A/N: Ahhh. So, I was a bit off in my estimated time to post this chapter. At least I got it up relatively quick! Ha...
So. This is pretty much the last chapter for the main storyline, while next chapter deals with tying up loose ends, I believe. All I really remember about this chapter is that it is overdramatic as all hell, ha.
Chapter title comes from the song The Night We Met, by Lord Huron. Definitely recommend the song if you've not heard it, it's great.
Enjoy!
~~~When the night was full of terrors
And your eyes were filled with tears
When you had not touched me yet
Oh, take me back to the night we met
I had all and then most of you
Some and now none of you
Take me back to the night we met
I don't know what I'm supposed to do
Haunted by the ghost of you
Take me back to the night we met~~~
It was funny, Merlin though, as he stared down, down, down. Funny, funny, so funny. Here he stood (knelt, he was kneeling, wasn't that funny?), body fine, alive, breathing. The world was still turning. Sound still existed. Light still shone.
And Arthur was dead. Dead, as is no longer alive. As in the past tense of alive. As in his lungs were no longer breathing, his eyes had dulled over and were sightless and glassy, his heart, once so strong and vibrant, no longer beat in time with his.
He was dead.
Arthur was dead.
And Merlin…
Merlin was alive.
Wasn't it funny?
Merlin couldn't breathe. He knew he could if he wanted. He wasn't dead, though everything inside him screamed he was. All he could do was stare, stare, stare, insides clenched tight. He didn't know why. Why he felt anything at all. He was alive, but why? He couldn't feel anything. Everything was frozen around him, his heart slowing with the passage of time, and he existed in this one moment, one second, and he'd exist here for all eternity until he could find the strength to go and battle the gods, the triple goddess, who took the one thing that mattered most, until he could scream and rage at the world like was his right.
He'd never find that strength. All he could do was stare, his heart and lungs frozen, at the dead, dead, dead eyes of the one person who meant more than this entire world. The one person he'd have done anything to save, even if it meant damning his people to a life of servitude and cruelty. That could be fixed. Someone who wasn't him could go and save his people if they so chose. It didn't have to be him who did it, why was it always him? Why? Why?
He couldn't fix this. Death was permanent. Merlin had known that since he was an infant, screaming for the mother he'd felt get taken from him before her time, screaming for days in his cot, no one able to calm him. He'd known that since he was a child, crying tears over the baby bird he'd failed to save, childish hands clutching the dead body of the tiny bird, barely given a chance to live. He'd known it since he was a man, looking into the vacant eyes of his father and king, once full of life until they became a parody of their former self, before losing life entirely.
Death was permanent. Death could not be fixed. For all his magic, for all his strength, he could not bring back the dead. Necromancy was a forbidden magic, for it always went wrong. For a life to be granted, a life must first be taken. Sacrifice was needed, but not just any sacrifice. The death of a child, taken before their time, the more powerful their potential the better. Only that could undo the decision the universe had made, to take the life of someone they'd claimed. And the life returned was never quite the life that they had once been, not truly.
Merlin was frozen, time slowed to a stop, and he could only stare at the man he loved. The man he'd do anything for. Would he kill a child for him? Would he turn his back on all he'd ever believed in to save this man? Merlin looked at Arthur, dead not for a second, and wondered just what he'd be willing to do if it brought him his beloved back.
Merlin didn't do it consciously, that much he knew, because one second, he'd been staring down at the body (body, dear god, it was a body, wasn't it? Not alive, not Arthur. A body) and the next he was clutching it, hand curled tightly on the chainmail that had done nothing to protect him from the poison his own father had forced into his mouth, the man fighting and screaming but powerless to protect himself.
"Wake up," he heard a voice rasp, the voice the most broken and desolate thing he'd ever heard. He wondered for a moment who had spoken, as time was frozen, before the voice sounded again. "You're not allowed to die. We were going to get married. We were going to rule together. You promised me I wouldn't be alone. Y-y-you…"
Oh. It was him, he realized, trying to gasp but no air coming in. His chest had constricted so much that no air could reach his lungs. They were dead, dead, and dead, and dead, and dead, and dead, and, and, and-
"Wake up," he pleaded, his voice wrong and wrong and wrong. It wasn't him who was speaking, it was a stranger who had climbed inside him and somehow knew how to speak. Merlin didn't know how to speak, he didn't know anything. He'd thought he'd known what pain was, had thought he'd felt it when his father had died, but he'd known nothing. He'd known nothing of pain, because if what he felt now was pain... No one knew what pain was. If they did, they'd surely end their own life before having the chance to feel the pain he currently felt.
In fact, it was laughable to call it pain. There should be a stronger word for it. Anguish, agony, devastation, heartbreak, torment, torture… none of it was enough. None of it explained the aching, empty feeling that filled him as he sat there, the world still frozen around him, the world not existing at all as he clung to the body (body, body, body, body) of the man he had once made plans to marry. Of the man he needed most desperately to survive.
What would he do to get this man back?
Would he commit the ultimate sin?
"W-wake up," the voice pled again, shaking, and broken, and wrong, wrong, wrong. It wasn't him. It wasn't his voice. It wasn't him. He spoke anyway. "I-I-I'll do anything, Arthur. I'll never insult you again. I-I'll… I'll give you everything. You-you can-you can have the world, I'll give it to you, I'll get it, just come back. Be a-a-alive again. Be-"
He cut off, his chest heaving as pain rattled through it. He could feel his magic swirling within him, around him, the world frozen as his magic tried to give him the ability to process, to find a way to reverse time, to fix what had been done. But people couldn't have time reversed on them. People weren't objects. People were people and when people broke, they didn't come back. They couldn't be put together again.
When people broke-
They died.
A sob escaped him, as he buried his head in the too still chest of the body of the man of the body of the man of the body-
"Why," he rasped, clinging so tight to the too still chest, shaking so hard he thought the world would collapse in on him. "W-why?"!
He didn't know who he was asking. The only person he cared to listen to was dead.
Dead.
Dead.
Dead.
Dead
Dead
De-
The word that was repeating in his head was interrupted when he felt it. It… what was it? He didn't know. But it was… it was an it. It must be, he'd felt it. A thing. A movement. A movement? A thing. What was it? He'd felt it. He'd had to have felt it, or else he wouldn't be lying here now, eyes wide and unseeing, contemplating the it he had felt.
There it was again. The it, the thing, the something, the weird thing that was not quite right but was not quite wrong. It cut through his fog with its differentness. What was it, he wondered, heart pounding where before it had laid silent and still and dead? What was he feeling, what was he experiencing, why was he feeling anything when the man he loved was dead, dead, dead, dead-
Dead?
Merlin gasped as he felt the thing again. Time was still frozen, but it was starting to move, slowly, now. He could feel it move, not even his magic strong enough to freeze time indefinitely. As time began to move, slow, so slow, he could feel that something as it screamed at it. As it reached for him. As it pleaded with him.
'I'm here! I'm here!' it cried, pounding against Merlin's head. 'I'm here! I'm here! Notice me! Feel me! Save me! I'm here!'
Merlin could only stare at the unmoving chest beneath him and didn't dare to think as he felt his magic, almost against his will, probe the body (body, body) beneath him. He hadn't before, terrified of what he'd find, but he did it now, despite himself.
And he felt-
He felt-
He felt-
Merlin gasped as he felt something push back against him. It was faint. Barely there. But something… something was still there, in the body (body… Arthur. Arthur. Arthur), begging to be let out.
But no. No, no, no. He couldn't let it out. It was trapped, but that was good. That was-
Merlin couldn't hear his own voice as he spoke spell after spell, hands shaking as he clutched the metal mail under his cheek, breath still frozen in his chest even as the world began moving at a snail's pace, people just beginning to wake around him. But he couldn't bother to notice them. He couldn't bother to notice anything. Only the spark he'd felt, clinging, clinging, clinging to life, as stubborn as the man he adored more than was healthy.
He poured his magic into the body, even as the most intense feeling of wrongness hit him, making everything in him scream in pain. But he didn't care, his entire being was in pain, his entire soul crying out in sorrow at what he'd lost, what he'd still lose if he didn't- if he weren't-
He poured his magic into the body below him. He poured everything he was, everything he'd ever be, everything he'd ever longed for. He poured and he poured, and he poured some more, mind frozen, heart stopped, world moving but barely.
And just when he thought he had nothing more to give-
Just when he thought he couldn't possibly have any more of himself left-
Just when he thought he'd been too weak to do the most important thing he'd ever done-
He felt it.
He didn't even comprehend what the it he was feeling this time was, until he felt movement under his cheek, weak and fragile, but there. His heart began to pound, a crescendoing wave inside his body as he gasped air that refused to go down. The edges of his vision were turning black, which helped no one, so he forced himself to breathe, even as it burned everything in him.
As he took in the first breath of air, time suddenly caught up to him, the wave of noise nearly deafening him.
"Arthur!" He heard voices cry, all of them sounding equally devastated, but he didn't care. He had eyes only for the barely there motion of the body (no, not body, person, he was a person, he was Arthur, not a body, not lifeless, not-)
Dead. He wasn't-
Dead. Arthur wasn't-
Dead, he thought, watching the chest move. Dead bodies didn't breathe. Dead bodies just lied there. Lifeless and cold and nothing.
Dead men didn't breathe.
"He's dead," he heard a lifeless voice call, a grief filling it that, before this moment, Merlin had never known. But he knew the grief. Knew what it tasted like. More than the person who that voice belonged to knew it, at least.
"No," another voice called, so foreign he didn't know what creature it could possibly belong to. When it sounded again, he realized it was his own voice, his chest rumbling even though he had no idea what he was saying. His ears were still swimming as he looked desperately for the proof of life he'd seen, the chest not expanding again like it should. It-where was- the breath, he'd seen- where was-
There, he noticed, the chest moving, a heart beating weakly in a too still chest, a heart that fought so valiantly against the poison attacking it, the bond he could feel get weaker by the second fighting so very, very hard. So hard.
"He's not dead," the foreign-familiar voice called, so tattered it didn't even sound human. "But he will be."
And that was the crux of it all, wasn't it? He'd felt a sign of life, Arthur struggling to live, to listen to the demands of his beloved. Of his bonded. But it was barely there, waxing and waning. He was alive, yes.
But if Merlin didn't fix him, he would die. And this time, there would be no it that would bring him back.
"You killed him," he heard that other voice call, anger filling it as a body approached him. He could feel it come close, but he didn't have time for such insignificant things. He had his beloved to save. Little men with agendas mattered not at all to him. His magic lashed out and forced the approaching body down, down, down. He could feel that evil magic as it repelled him, but he didn't care. He was stronger than it. He had to be.
"No, I didn't. You did, Uther Pendragon. With your hate and your wickedness. You've damned your son. I told you. You didn't listen. You're a fool."
The words were his, and yet they weren't. His voice sounded wrong, like he wasn't speaking, and yet he was. There was a whisper in it, another voice that called, impossibly old and aged. A third voice was mixed in, a child, so young it made him ache. It was him, but not him. He didn't have time to think about it as he gathered Arthur up and shuddered as he held the man that he loved more than life, than the world, feeling that spark and knowing what he had to do. But to do it meant he had to leave Arthur's side and he didn't want that. God, he didn't want that.
"N-no. You did this, sorcerer, with your magic! You k-killed him, not me!"
The rage he felt from the pathetic man was near palpable. But it didn't matter to Merlin. He didn't even spare the man a glance as his eyes glowed gold, the sound of a body hitting the floor the only indication that his spell hit its mark. Not dead, no, but knocked out. He didn't have time for this.
He stood, legs shaking, as he found the cup that had caused this entire thing. That had created such pain, such evil, such malice. He grabbed it with shaking hands, eyes unseeing as he stared blankly ahead.
Holding it… it felt so wrong. So unnatural. Worse than when he'd seen Uther carrying it, bringing it to the lips of his everything. It burned him like a brand as he turned it, this way and that. It looked so innocuous and innocent for the terrible evil it possessed.
It had to be destroyed. He knew that, as he stared at it. He could still feel the too still chest of Arthur beneath him and he shuddered to imagine feeling that again. He could hear a groan behind him, forcing him to turn, heart pounding. He didn't know if he felt disappointment when he saw Arthur still lying still as the grave on the ground. Disappointment meant that he'd had hope in the first place.
Instead, dispassionate eyes slid over to the man who was struggling to stand, the fiercest glare on his face, a look of pure hatred. Merlin felt nothing as the man took out his sword, breathing heavily as he shook with his malice.
"You cursed him," Uther Pendragon hissed, eyes narrowed and full of hate. Merlin shook his head, too numb to feel anything as he stared at the pathetic man, trembling, and blaming all his faults on another. Because magic must be to blame, right? Not his own inadequacy. His own failings.
"No, Uther Pendragon. I did not. You did."
His voice was still wrong, and it made Uther's eyes widen, naked fear on his aged face, before he pushed it down, an emotionless mask coming into place.
"No. Everything that I did, I did for him. I did not cause this, sorcerer. Your evil did. Your magic. You've killed him!"
Merlin growled as Uther charged at him, his eyes flashing gold as he threw the sword out of the man's hands, forcing Uther to his knees. The man stared up at him with wide, hate-filled eyes, terror swimming within them, though the man was clearly trying to hide it.
"I would never hurt him. I love him, more than life itself. He is my other half, as I am his. We were destined for each other long before any of us were even born. He belongs to me, and I belong to him. You tried to take him from me. You try even now. I can save him. I know how. But each second you delay me is a second in which he steps closer to the grave. Do you want that, Uther Pendragon? Do you want to cause the death of your only son?"
He didn't know where the words were coming from. They weren't coming from him, his brain. He couldn't think, let alone formulate the words that were coming, brimming with power he didn't even know he had. Uther was wide eyed as he stared at him before his eyes darted to Arthur.
"You... you can save him?" Uther questioned. Merlin just nodded, tensely. He could. He would. Even if he had to burn the entire world to the ground, he would save Arthur. He had to. Uther gasped in a breath, shaking as he stared at his son. "How?"
Merlin looked down at the cup he held in his hands, seeing it but not seeing it. Everything felt like he was underwater, like the world was wrong and foreign. He didn't like it. He couldn't stop it. It was everything now.
"I must destroy this," the foreign voice within him said, Merlin's hand shaking as he grasped the burning metal tightly. He had no idea if the thing was truly burning him or if he was just imagining it. He truly didn't know. Uther gasped, forcing dispassionate eyes to fall back to the man before him. He was wasting time. Each second that passed was one step closer to Arthur's grave. Yet he couldn't move. He could only stare as Uther's face contorted, so many emotions running through them at once.
"No… you are a liar. You just want to ruin everything I've created. Everything I've done. N-no," Uther gasped, though there was doubt and uncertainty lining that aging face, eyes glued to the still too still form of Arthur. Merlin couldn't look away, couldn't look at that still body, lest he lose all strength entirely. He had a plan. The dragon was on his way, Merlin could feel it. He had to get out to meet the dragon, but this moment seemed important. He'd lost his father. He didn't want Arthur to go through the same thing, no matter what the man had done. He didn't want to have to kill Uther.
He would, though. If the man tried to stop him, by god, he would.
"I am not lying. Look into yourself, you'll see the truth. I don't want to fight you. Please don't make me."
Uther said nothing. He just continued to stare, eyes on the almost unmoving chest of his son. Movement was there, Merlin knew it. He could feel it. He'd know if that breath stopped. He'd know.
"Why should I trust you? You have no reason to care for my son. He is but a servant to you. Magicless. What need do you have for Arthur?"
Merlin could only stare at the man, his words sounding ridiculous in his head. What need did he have for Arthur? Stupid question. Obvious. All the need. He didn't know if he'd be able to survive without the man. He knew that might sound ridiculous, overdramatic, but it was the truth. Without Arthur… well, what did he have? Who was he, without his other half? Nothing, he felt. Nothing at all.
Uther wouldn't understand that. Merlin didn't know the man well, but he had a feeling he was the traditional sort of man, the kind who wouldn't approve of a man loving another man. Who wouldn't understand it. But still, Merlin wouldn't lie. Not now. Not about Arthur.
"Arthur," Merlin stressed, feeling his hands shake with the emotion he felt inside, his entire body aching with the feeling, "is everything to me. From the moment I met him he was so much more than just a simple peasant, or later a servant. He is my friend, my best friend, and I would do anything to save his life. I owe him more than you can ever know, and I would do anything to save him. We, we have a plan, to save this kingdom. To make it a fair and just land, for all, not just a few. I know you will never believe me, but I am not like my father. I do not share his fear. And Arthur… Arthur does not share your hate. We will make this kingdom prosperous once again. We will triumph over hatred and fear. But I cannot do it without him. I need him, more than you can possibly know. Now, I will save him, regardless of what you say or what you think. Please, don't make me hurt you. Arthur needs his father. He adores you, even still. So please. Let me save him."
He felt strangely empty after he had finished speaking, like he'd given everything over in his words. All his emotions, his fear, his love. His adoration. He poured it, all of it, into his words. And they were his words, his own voice speaking for the first time since Arthur… since Arthur. It was his words given to the King. No one else's.
He wasn't entirely sure why he was working so hard to persuade Uther, other than he knew that, without magic, he could not disable the current king. Arthur's father. He'd have to fight and waste precious time. He'd win, of that he had no doubt. When the life of the person you loved the most was on the line, you always won. But at what cost? What cost?
He could only stare with bated breath, the seconds ticking by, as Uther kept his eyes glued to his only son. The dragon was getting closer and closer by the second. Arthur's life was fading. Merlin was running out of time. He didn't want to harm Uther or his men, but he'd have Kilgharrah burn the entire encampment to the ground if it meant they got the chance to save Arthur. Normal dragon fire may not harm them, but Kilgharrah wasn't a normal dragon. Who knew what his fire could wrought? At least it would give him an advantage, enough of a surprise to give him time to escape.
But that wasn't ideal. He'd more than likely kill the men and women he'd brought to this battle if he did such a thing, even if the king's soldiers were protected. He had no desire to kill or be the cause of the death of any more people today. Enough blood had been shed on these now hallowed grounds. The land would never recover, he feared. He'd walked on old war sites before, on lands where the greatest of battles had once taken place. Even centuries later, he could still taste the death in the air, the blood never truly washing away from the ground. Camelot reeked of it. He didn't want to add to the horrors of this day. He truly, truly didn't.
But he would do it. If there were no other option, if his words had failed? If it was the choice between more needless death, or the death of Arthur?
Well.
There was no question.
"Is there no other way to save him?" Uther asked, voice brittle. He didn't sound angry, though. Or disbelieving. He just sounded…
Heartbroken.
Merlin swallowed and shook his head slowly. He didn't know if Uther could see, but he did it more for himself than anyone else, anyway.
"No. We've looked. Arthur was born of magic. He is bound to me, through Fate. By destiny. He may not be able to wield it, but it flows through him as surely as it flows through me. If we do not destroy the runes on this cup, if we do not destroy its magic… he will die. And Camelot will die with him."
Uther looked at him at that, a halfhearted sneer on his face. But he looked… tired. Wavering.
"Because you will destroy it."
Merlin smiled, no humor in the gesture, his eyes dead and cold.
"I do not know what I would do, should Arthur die. My power is great but has always been so instinctual. If he were to die… I have no idea what my power would do. What I'd let it do. If he dies, I die with him. What would remain in my body would no longer be me. Not even by half. I think you know better than any man what grief will turn a person into. How it can change them, even against their will."
Merlin saw the moment understanding passed on Uther's face, along with a multitude of other emotions. Disgust was there, Merlin knew, as well as what might have been horror and confusion. But eventually… eventually his expression settled. Merlin had no idea what it had settled on, as Uther turned away, breathing heavy. Kilgharrah was almost there. Merlin was almost out of time. But he hesitated. This moment was fragile. Raw. Arthur's life was ticking away with every second wasted, but…
If he could wait…
If he could change Uther's mind…
If.
If.
If.
Well.
Another second ticked away as Uther breathed heavily. Merlin let out a shaky breath, shaking his head.
"We've not much time," he stressed, looking down at Arthur, who'd gone deathly pale. Morgana was beside him, now, stroking his hair with tears running unchecked down her cheek. Agravaine and Tristan were beside her, both looking breathless with their worry. Tristan was poised to fight, even though his wrists were still bound. He'd offer a distraction if Merlin were proven to need it. Good. He had no idea what Uther would do.
Another second passed.
"Please."
His word lingered in the air, desperation thick in it. Everything in him was aching as he stared at the proud back of the current king. The father of the man he loved most. He still wore his cape, the bright red billowing in the wind that blew through the ruined tent. Merlin hadn't bothered paying attention to his surroundings, the detail not important at the moment, but he knew he'd destroyed the entire thing with his magic. Sun was shining through the tears he'd created in the fabric. It was a sunny and bright May afternoon. Funny. He thought it should be raining.
"Go."
Merlin could only stare as the almost inaudible word echoed in the silence. Merlin was almost certain he'd heard wrong, the word sounding so forced and strained. It couldn't… his words couldn't have worked… Uther couldn't have…
Another second passed. Uther looked up, eyes furious, but also full of the deepest pain. A tear rolled down his cheek. A tear of pure regret. Oh, what power such a tear could have. The tears of a king, true and deeply mourning, had powers none without magic could ever know. He had no need for such a thing, but it made him feel awed to see, nonetheless. Uther lashed out with his arms, like he meant to strike Merlin, but he did not take a step closer. If Merlin had any inkling that Uther even had an ounce of magic, he'd be afraid the man meant to curse him. But, given who the man was, he highly doubted it. He just watched as Uther bellowed, voice cracking with grief, but also anguish and rage at the death of over twenty years of planning. Merlin almost felt sorry for the man.
"Go! I will not say it a third time! But know this, warlock," Uther hissed, chest heaving despite not having moved an inch. The man shuddered, looking back at his son, naked pain on the aging face. It made Merlin's chest tighten to see. "Know this. If he dies… if you are untrue in what you say and are lying to me… not even death will prevent me from destroying everything you have ever held dear. You will rue the day that you ever crossed Uther Pendragon. I promise you that."
Gasping, Merlin nodded, taking one look at Arthur, a wry smile rising on his face as a tear fell from his eyes.
"Well. I suppose there is one thing you've got right, King Uther," he claimed, seeing Uther jolt slightly in his peripheral. His mirthless smile widened as more tears filled his eyes. "Should he die, you will indeed have taken everything I've ever held dear."
Merlin didn't bother to wait for Uther to reply. He'd wasted enough time as it was. Kilgharrah was nearly there, and Merlin had to meet him. Nary three minutes had passed since the water had passed Arthur's lips, but already he was almost gone. Merlin could feel himself weaken more and more as each second passed, all of his magic being funneled into Arthur to keep him alive. The spark within his chest, where the bond between them lived, was fading so rapidly. It was stubborn, as stubborn as the two men who were connected through it, but even the most stubborn of mules couldn't defeat death, if it came calling. Destiny was one thing. A path that could, potentially, be followed. But it was only one path on a long and winding road. Anything could happen. Destiny, while strong, could always fail. Arthur could die. Merlin knew this. But he'd do everything within (and outside of) his power to prevent such a fate from happening.
Arthur wasn't allowed to die.
Merlin could hear himself call to the Dragon again, even though he knew the beast had heard him. It was all he could do, and he heard the call from within him, that the Dragon had heard and was coming.
It was right as Merlin had run into the clearing, which was still slick with red blood, though soldiers were slowly clearing away the dead, that he spotted Kilgharrah in the distance, a tiny speck growing larger and larger as the second passed. Dragons could accelerate to blinding speeds if they so chose. When he'd been atop the beast, it had purposely gone slower, to protect its passengers. But Merlin knew the speed of a dragon well. The knowledge, it was Within him, always.
He could sense the soldiers around him shifting, eyeing him nervously, but luckily none tried to stop him. He didn't know why, but he didn't care. As long as they didn't bother him, he had no reason to worry about them.
When Kilgharrah landed, an alarm was sounded through the camp, but Merlin paid it no mind. He could hear shouting, but nothing mattered as the one hope he had had landed before him, bowing its head low in greeting.
"I have the cup," Merlin breathed, brandishing the damned thing like the horror it was. Kilgharrah hummed, golden eyes trained on the thing. The Dragon tilted his head towards the ground, a few feet away.
"Place it down, young warlock. I cannot promise what will happen. The events of this day are murky, even to me. I have no idea if what you ask of me is possible."
"Please, Kilgharrah, you must try. Arthur drank, unwillingly, from the chalice and is dying. If you don't destroy it…" Merlin trailed off, tears building back up in his eyes as he gasped, shaking his head sharply. "Well. You have to destroy it. There is no other option."
Kilgharrah looked grim as he nodded, though he said not a word. Merlin did as he was previously asked and put the cup on the ground, far enough away from all bodies, living or dead, that they'd not get engulfed in the flame. He then stepped back and watched with wary eyes as Kilgharrah settled his limbs and breathed white hot fire onto the, now glowing, cup.
Seconds disguised as centuries passed as Merlin watched the Dragon blow his fire as strong and as hot as he could. The cup was glowing bright red, molten, and Merlin held his breath as he watched with hopeful eyes. A second passed. Another second passed. And another. And another.
It was when fifteen seconds had passed that Kilgharrah stopped, forcing Merlin to gasp bitterly.
For while Kilgharrah had put as much energy and power into his fire as he could, still the cup stood.
No…
"I… I am sorry, young warlock. The magic that binds the cup is too powerful for me. I… I cannot destroy it."
Merlin could hear nothing as the blood pounded in his ears, eyes unseeing of all but the eternally damned cup. The chalice that had taken everything from him. His father. His kingdom.
His heart.
"No," he muttered, tears still so thick in his eyes but refusing to overflow. He almost wanted them to, but they couldn't. He was frozen, dead inside. He was shaking his head, he realized, rapid and bruising. It hurt, but he didn't care. "No, no, no. There must be something we can do. You're the Great Dragon. You must... fuck. You must know something. Tell me!"
He screamed the last words, heart stuttering as he tried to gasp for breath that wasn't coming. It was like when he'd seen Arthur fall, but a million times worse. Now, he had no hope. Now, he had no plan. Now…
He had no future.
"I am truly sorry, Merlin. If I could stop it-"
"Then do so!" He screamed, his magic gathering around him like a fog. It was sluggish, as most of it was being used for Arthur, so he stole some from the earth around him. From the bodies still cooling on the ground from the useless, pointless battle. Doing such was a sin, but he didn't care. He didn't even notice he was doing, truth be told. He wouldn't care even if he did. He looked up at the Dragon, naked pain in his eyes, pleading. "Please, Greet Dragon, the might Kilgharrah, please find a way to destroy that cup. I will do anything you ask. Grant any wish you could possibly desire. Anything you want I can and will give. Just help me. I ca- fuck. I can't lose him. I can't, Kilgharrah. I can't."
And that much was true. Without Arthur… without Arthur, he was nothing. One half of a broken coin, one half of a worthless destiny. One half of a once whole heart. One half of a joint soul. One half of a complete set. He was nothing, alone. Just one half. His greatness only came from his proximity to Arthur. His match. His missing piece. He needed Arthur more than he needed air to breathe, or water to drink. To lose him…
No.
It was unthinkable.
The Dragon looked at him with pity in those aged eyes. Eyes that had seen so much, much that had already happened, but much that yet had occurred. The Dragon shook his head, but Merlin refused to listen. His magic, stolen or not, shrouded around him, darkness marring the once beautiful weather. He didn't care. No sun would shine ever again should Arthur perish. That much, he knew. Merlin scrambled to his feet and he pointed a finger at the horrible beast, death stare on the thing as his chest heaved.
"You listen, and you listen good, Dragon. What my father did to you will be nothing in comparison to what I will do if you don't help me here. I will not play your mind games. I will not follow your rules. Find a way to destroy that cup. Find a way to heal Arthur. Or I will rain fire and hell upon these lands until the day Arthur risen again. No place will be safe from my pain. I promise you that, Dragon. I promise you that."
His voice had gone wrong again, his Not Voice saying words he barely understood but knew were true. If Arthur died…
Merlin died too.
Even if not in body, but in spirit.
So much power, so much rage… where could it go but out? He didn't want needless death. But if the universe took the one person that he needed most away from him, he'd raze the whole thing to the ground. Let the earth restore itself. He'd lost so much in his young life. His mother. His father. Alice. Will. The friends he'd never had a chance to make. He'd lost everything.
He couldn't lose Arthur, too. Refused.
He could see the offense in the Dragon's eyes, could see his rage at being addressed as such, but Merlin refused to back down. He set his jaw and lifted his chin up high, even as his lips wobbled and his body shook. He was one second away from breaking down. It was only sheer force of will that kept him standing.
The Dragon stared for a second, before sighing, body relaxing from the offensive position it had previously been in. The Dragon shook his head and sighed.
"I don't know what more I can do. My fire, my magic, is not strong enough to destroy the chalice alone. Perhaps..." the Dragon trailed off there, looking to the side. Merlin was about to angrily prompt him when the Dragon hummed, sounding far too casual for the urgency the moment called for. Bastard. "I wonder. Where is your staff, young one? The one your betrothed had me enchant for you, before carelessly letting it fall into the wrong hands?"
Merlin blinked, not comprehending the words for a second. He'd been prepared to scream, to be angry, but all he currently felt was… well, confused. But also… maybe… hopeful.
Heart pounding, Merlin summoned the staff with nary a thought, the thing flying into his open hand like it was a magnet. He said nothing as he stared at the Dragon, who had hummed again.
"I cannot destroy the cup alone, young warlock. And neither could you, should you try. But perhaps… well. Perhaps, if we pooled our efforts together…"
The Dragon trailed off, but Merlin understood his meaning. His heart in his throat, he could do little more than nod as he turned to the chalice sitting carelessly nearby, still slightly red from the previous attempt at its destruction. Shaking only slightly, he nodded again at the Dragon, indicating he was ready. He could barely feel Arthur, now, the man slipping far away with each second that passed. If this didn't work…
Well.
He watched as the Dragon blew his white-hot flame at the cup, blue fire pouring out at the intensity. Merlin was, for a moment, stunned into awe, before he kicked himself and pointed his staff at the chalice, no words needed as his magic took over.
It seemed several eternities passed as he poured everything he was, everything he'd ever been and ever would be, into the stream of magic. He could feel himself flaying, fracturing, so he stole more energy from the world around him, the grass draining of all life as he took and took and took. He didn't care. He couldn't care. He was doing everything he could to defeat that eternally damned object. No amount of plant death he gave them would be worse than the destruction he'd rain down should this fail, and he lost… god. He couldn't think of it.
But the seconds passed. More and more and more. And still, even as he grew tired, weary, the thing. Would. Not. Break.
Merlin screamed, the sound echoing across the field, across all of Camelot probably, all his rage and grief and pain flowing through him as he screamed and screamed and screamed.
But it. Still. Wasn't. Enough.
"NO!" He demanded, eyes liquid gold as he looked to the sky, the heavens dull and almost pitch black, despite the fact it was midday. He'd steal the sun from the earth if he must. He'd do anything. Anything at all.
"Clyw fi Dduwiesau, a chlyw fi'n dda. Achub ei fywyd neu bydd y byd hwn yn darfod. Byddwch chi'n achub ei fywyd neu bydd yr holl fywyd yn dod i ben.*"
He could feel the insolent words rise within him, the angry curse releasing itself almost against his will. He knew threatening creatures as powerful as the Goddesses was neigh on suicide, but he didn't care. Let him die, if only Arthur should live. It was a risk he was willing to take.
Nothing happened, good or bad, making Merlin scream again. He could feel the last of his magic fading, but the cup still stood, withstanding the white-hot heat of a dragon's breath and the all-encompassing rage of the world's most powerful warlock. Whatever had created that chalice had never intended the thing to be destroyed. He was nearly sobbing as he felt the last of his magic swell within him, fighting desperately to keep going. To keep holding on. Arthur was so distant now he almost feared that he'd truly lost him, and all had been for naught. He used up the last bit of his magic, needing to do everything he could to save his love.
But then….
Then…
He cried as he felt the warmth that had once filled his heart die, suddenly, gone, gone, gone. No…
"NO!" Merlin screamed, before putting the last of his strength, all he had, into destroying the cup. Even if all were lost, even if he had nothing to return to, he'd destroy that wretched thing if it were the last thing he ever did. And it just might be. Sorcerers were not supposed to use all of their magic. Doing so tore into their very souls, taking the magic that was bound to them from birth and bastardizing it until it was gone, the soul fading as the magic that made it was taken. But Merlin didn't care. Let him die. He was already dead.
His eyes were blurry as he poured all he was out, every last drop. He had no idea what was happening, sobs thick in his chest, arms shaking so hard he could barely hold the staff that still was in his hands.
It was as he'd reached the very last drop within him, the last ounce of magic he had to his name, that he heard the Dragon roar. Gasping, Merlin felt his magic shut off, that last drop remaining, though it burned within him, like it was punishing him for abusing it so. Like it wanted him to suffer, like he had made it suffer. He didn't care. He didn't care! All he cared about was if that chalice was gone for good. If the thing that took his life from him had been destroyed as well.
Weak and weary, Merlin collapsed to the ground, face pressed into the blood-soaked earth, staining him forever. But it didn't matter. He tilted his head, exhaustion blooming within him as he shifted his gaze up, up, up, until his neck was stretched, and he could see the cup that had mocked him so carelessly. So cruelly. So relentlessly.
He could hear noises above him, a voice talking, loud and clear, but none of it mattered. Nothing mattered at all.
Because sitting, where a simple yet deadly chalice once lied, sat a hunk of molten metal, nothing more than a bitter puddle on the dying earth.
He didn't have energy to celebrate the fact, or even feel a shred of happiness. He was empty inside, the space his bond once had been empty and rotten, like dust. While he'd succeeded in his task, he was too late.
Arthur had died.
With that thought, Merlin closed his eyes for what he hoped would be his final time.
He'd done enough.
Now? Now he rested.
Or he would have. Had a wave of energy not filled him, then, coaxing him back from the brink of endlessness, the sweet embrace of death that was his only possible solace now. Ripped from him as cruelly as Arthur… He gasped, tears leaking from his eyes, as he rose from his position of lying on the ground, his hands under him as he bowed low on all fours, knees and palms pressed hard into the bloody muck. He shuddered and gasped as his heart, despite everything, still beat on. Even though the life that had once filled it was gone. How cruel Fate was, wasn't she?
"I am sorry, but death is not your destiny today, little Warlock," the Dragon muttered, sounding, strangely, tired. Exhausted. Worn down. He didn't even know dragons could sound like that, let alone Great ones. He almost wanted to laugh. But he'd never laugh again. He was sure of that. His laughter had been stolen from him. Like his love had.
"You should have let me die," he rasped, tears still leaking from his eyes as sobs heaved his body. He could feel the Dragon's magic as it coursed through him, not much, but enough to replenish the magic he'd stolen from his soul. It would be a long while yet until his magic was good enough to be used, longer than the day or two it usually took, with as much as he'd channeled. He'd almost lost himself in his magic entirely. That wasn't an easy fix. Good. He wanted to hurt. To hurt and hurt and hurt. Nothing was real, nothing was right. Life had no meaning. No meaning at all.
"I could not do that, young warlock. Your destiny is not yet over. You have much you still must do if Albion is to be saved."
Merlin shook his head, still shaking on all fours, sobs too powerful for him to do anything else. Eventually he was able to bite out bitter words.
"How? Arthur's gone."
And he was. He was. Merlin couldn't feel him, anymore. Couldn't feel much of anything anymore. Nothing existed. Nothing mattered.
He didn't matter.
The Dragon, damned creature that he was, had the audacity to fucking chuckle. Merlin swore that as soon as he was better, if he ever got better, he'd kill that beast with his bare hands. Slowly and painfully.
"Perhaps you should check the validity of your words before believing in them so surely, young one. After all, how can you be certain?"
Merlin's heart stopped at the words, his shudders intensifying with the meaning. What? But… no…
"O-o-our bond. I… it's not… I can't… feel it, I can't…" Merlin gasped, shaking so hard he was surprised any words came out. He was likely in shock, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Gaius whispered within him. The Dragon hummed, the chuckles gone as what sounded almost like sympathy took its place. But it couldn't be. The Dragon felt nothing for anyone. He was a bastard like that.
"You used up almost all your magic, Merlin. Had I not gifted you part of what little I have left, you'd surely have perished yourself. I doubt you could feel much of anything at all, lest of all a bond. That doesn't mean it is gone, not for good."
If Merlin couldn't breathe before, he'd forgotten what air had ever felt like at the words. The Dragon... but no, he'd felt the bond break before, he'd… but... but he had been using so much magic. Pouring so much into it. From his very soul. Maybe the bond was just buried. Maybe-
Maybe Arthur-
God, he couldn't think it. Couldn't hope it. Merlin could only scramble up without a thought, almost falling a second later as he swayed drastically. He could feel nothing but determination within himself, however, as he clutched the staff that he still, stubbornly, held. He couldn't believe the thoughts, the hope, until he'd seen proof with his eyes. He didn't dare hope. He couldn't. Hope was the deadliest of all creatures when it had every chance of being proven false.
The trip to the broken red tent took eons, Merlin felt. He passed more and more tents and soldiers, but they meant nothing. Nothing at all. He could hear moans and yells of pain, but nothing mattered as he limped towards the tent he searched for. Even as his borrowed strength waned, even as he wanted nothing more than to collapse and never get up again, he knew he couldn't. He had to see. He had to know. He had to.
Finally, his heart still as the grave as it clenched so horribly, Merlin was stood before the tattered tent he'd destroyed not so long ago, and yet ages before. So much had happened. So much. So very, very much. He almost didn't want to enter.
But Merlin wasn't a coward.
He entered the tent.
"-miracle, Arthur, my son," he heard a voice mutter, his chest clenched so hard as he turned his head to where he'd last seen the man he adored. The man who owned his heart, fully and truly.
His eyes met bright blue.
His chest flooded with warmth at the sight, the feeling that had been missing for the last infinity finally slotting itself back in place, Merlin gasping as he stumbled forward, almost toppling to the ground as he lost his grip on his staff. The staff clattered to the floor, but he'd never cared less for an object. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered.
Nothing but bright blue eyes, shining with love and adoration and such sheer relief that he couldn't help the helpless laugh that bubbled out of his chest.
"Arthur," he breathed, legs moving forward despite his brain not telling them to. He saw Arthur shuffle, pushing his father (who'd been embracing the man a moment before, Merlin noted distantly) and crawling his way to where Merlin stood, eyes almost as disbelieving as Merlin felt. Merlin fell to his knees when Arthur was within arm's length of him, arms outstretched for the person he most longed to hold.
"Merlin," Arthur returned, voice breathless, arms wrapping tight around Merlin's waist as he clung with bitter desperation to his other half. Merlin didn't mind. He was clinging just as hard, just as desperate, just as overjoyed.
God.
Arthur was alive.
Arthur was alive.
"I thought you had died," he heard a voice say. It took him a second to realize that the voice hadn't been his own. He felt confused, until Arthur continued. "I was dying. I felt that. I tried to fight it, but it was too strong. But then I felt you and your power as it flowed through me. It helped me fight, helped me hold on. Helped me stay alive. Without it, I know I would have died. But then… then, it was gone. Completely. Before the darkness could overcome me entirely, though, my eyes were open, and I was breathing. Father hugged me, b-but… it was wrong. I didn't realize at first, but then I realized. Our bond. It was gone. And Merlin… fuck. Never do that again. Whatever you did. It's not worth it. I could have lost you. Don't do that ever again. Promise me you won't."
Merlin shook his head, even as the bond pressed on him tight. It was still weak, Merlin's power waned almost to nothing. But it was there. It was there.
"No. No, I cannot do that. I would do anything to save you, Arthur. My life is nothing without you. Meaningless. I would gladly die if it meant you could live. I will not apologize for that, nor can I promise to not do it again. I would. I always, always would."
Arthur scoffed, shaking his head as he pulled back. Merlin had no time to complain as he felt a warm, slightly sweaty forehead press against his, sweet breath (that smelled anything but sweet, but because it was Arthur, it was perfect) fanning over his face. Merlin shifted so his entire body, from chest to knees, was pressed against the man before him, pressed as tightly together as was possible while kneeling.
"And what of me? You expect me to live while you die? Don't be a pillock, Merlin. When I woke but the bond was gone… don't. Don't do that. I would rather die than know you'd given your life for mine. You hear me? Please, Merlin. Please."
It hurt Merlin to hear the desperation in the man's voice, his usually strong and steady tenor high and trembling with his fear. Merlin could see tears gathering in oceanic eyes, before a single one fell. Merlin couldn't help the way he leaned forward, kissing the tear away before it could travel far. More fell, and he kissed them away, too. The salt was bitter on his tongue, but he didn't care. He'd almost drowned in his own tears. He could handle the taste of Arthur's.
"Shh, shh. Don't worry, my love. The solution is simple." Arthur gave him a quizzical look at that, so Merlin responded with the widest grin he could manage, his heart still so frozen from his residual panic. "Neither of us can die, then."
Arthur laughed, the sound husky and strained, but so goddamn beautiful that Merlin couldn't help but laugh too. He felt some tears fall from his eyes, but before they could fall too far, he felt warm lips press against his face, kissing away his tears, a reverse of the previous minute. It made Merlin laughed again, so overjoyed he had no idea what to do.
So, he did the only thing that felt natural.
Arthur's lips were chapped from his brief stint with death, but they were as warm as always when they met his, pressed so tightly to him that he would never forget the imprint they left. The kiss was more pressure than anything, a desperate mashing of lips together, but it was good, nonetheless. The two moved against each other with a helpless energy, Merlin feeling fingers tangle into his hair as a warm hand pressed against his hip, pulling him flush to the warm body before him, somehow getting impossibly closer. His own hands were tangling into sweaty, impossibly tangled hair, holding as tight as he dared, needing proof. He could feel a hardness against his groin that had nothing to do with the chainmail Arthur still wore, making him moan softly against chapped lips. God, how he wanted this man.
The sound of an awkward clearing of a throat interrupted the pair, forcing them to pull back as they gasped, faces both bright red as they remembered their audience. But, strangely, Merlin felt no shame, as he remained pressed tight to his love, refusing to part from him for even a second. A wave of exhaustion overcame him, then, Merlin blinking hard at the sensation. Oh, right. He was still exhausted from his magical deluge from earlier. Huh. He had forgotten.
"Ah, nephew mine, as charming as this reunion is, perhaps such acts can wait until you are in more, ah, private quarters?"
Merlin almost wasn't able to place the voice, but then he looked up and saw an awkward looking Agravaine, making him remember how he knew the voice. Ah. Arthur's uncle. He'd have felt embarrassed, but he honestly didn't care. He thought Arthur shared his sentiment, as he only grinned happily, eyes shining with relief, even as he shrugged with faux sheepishness.
"Sorry, Uncle. You know how it is," was all Arthur said, pressing his forehead to Merlin's once more, eyes wide as they took in every inch of Merlin's own blue eyes. Merlin didn't complain. He just contently stared back, memorizing the way the light reflected in those too blue eyes. Incredible. That man… incredible.
Another voice laughed, but Merlin didn't pay it any mind, as captivated as he was. He did listen to the voice (which he placed much quicker as Arthur's other uncle, Tristan) spoke.
"Ah, my nephew, I fear my brother doesn't. Never had himself a lover, for long. Too fickle, ickle Agravaine was. He couldn't possibly understand."
The sound of a fleshy object hitting chainmail sounded then. It didn't take a genius to figure out what happened, especially with the indignant 'hey!' sounded a second later. Merlin couldn't help the smile, which was answered by Arthur, though neither looked away. It was like if they looked away, the other would disappear. Maybe that was the case. He wouldn't put it passed the world for doing something so heinous to him.
"Like you'd know any better, brother. I don't think I've ever seen you with a girl."
"Aye, what a wonder. But have you seen me with a man? Aha, brother dear, then I still have more experience than you."
Huh. Well, that was interesting. Or would have been, had Merlin cared about anything at all other than the warm hand that was working its way down his side, slipping under his shirt like a tease. He could see the smirk Arthur gave him, eyes half lidded and heady. Oh, Christ. If they had been alone at that moment…
"You two are alright with this?" A voice hissed, making both Merlin and Arthur freeze, the warm hand glued to his side as those blue eyes widened again, looking frightened. Merlin understood. His throat had gone dry, but he refused to back away from his beloved. Not even for a second. Not even for an instant. Not for anything.
"Ah, brother dear. You have much to learn about the world. Come, we shall speak. Niece in law, you come as well. Let the young lovers reunite in peace, hm?"
Merlin had never been more grateful for Arthur's Uncle Tristan than in that moment. The man had always intimidated him, made him feel as if he was being judged. And maybe he had been. And maybe, just maybe, the verdict was a positive one. Well. At least not all of Arthur's male family hated him. That was good.
It took a moment, the air frozen, before they heard feet storming out of the ruined tent, other feet following shortly after. The last pair, footsteps lighter than the others, paused before leaving. Merlin didn't look, but Arthur did, his eyes darting away for a brief second to meet ones that belonged to another person his beloved loved.
"I'm sorry," a soft, feminine voice called, the sound wrecked and broken. Arthur could say or do nothing, though, before the feet kept moving and exited the tent, as well. Arthur sighed, shaky and hard, his hand shaking as it trailed up Merlin's side.
"Well. What a day this has been, huh?" Arthur muttered, eyes drooping with an exhaustion Merlin could relate to. As much as he wanted to continue their previous actions, his lips aching to feel that warmth against his, he knew they were both too tired for anything else. They had both almost died, had both expended their stores of magic. They needed to rest and relax before they could even dream of continuing their actions.
Soon, though, he promised himself. Soon he would have Arthur and know what he sounded like when he came. Would know his taste. He vowed it.
"Come, Arthur. Let's get some rest. I think we could both do with some rest," he mumbled, eyes blinking as he tried to keep awake. Arthur just nodded, looking around the tent quickly. Merlin did as well. Their eyes landed on the thin, but comfortable looking cot at the same time. Arthur hummed, reluctantly peeling himself away to crawl over to the thing, no energy to stand, Merlin following suit. He didn't let go of Merlin's hand, though. It made crawling awkward, but Merlin didn't care. Not one goddamn bit. In fact… it was kind of utterly perfect.
The cot was not built for two grown men, even one as gangly as Merlin, but it was fine. They managed to get themselves situated, Merlin lying practically on top of Arthur. The man didn't seem to care, though. In fact, he just wrapped an arm around Merlin and held on tight. Like he never intended on letting go.
Good.
Merlin didn't want him to.
"What a day, hm?" Arthur repeated, voice impossibly tired. A lazy hand was dragging itself through his hair, making him want to purr like a feline.
"Yeah. My betrothed almost died on me. Like a prat," he mumbled against a warm, breathing, moving chest. The chest moved up and down abruptly with the sharp laugh Arthur gave, making Merlin give out a sleepy noise of complaint. Arthur chuckled softly, his other hand running up and down Merlin's side, like he was trying to make sure he was actually there.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I'll be sure not to almost die next time."
"You make sure you do that," Merlin stated, more awake now. He was still exhausted, but the residual adrenaline and fear coursing through him made it hard to fully relax. Arthur sighed, before a warm kiss was pressed to the top of his head. Merlin hummed at the sensation, body relaxing again despite himself.
"I'm sorry. I promise I'll do my best to never do that again. I don't fancy dying, much." Despite the casual words, Arthur's tone was anything but. He sounded impossibly fond, but also serious. Like he meant it. Merlin smiled, snuggling closer. Arthur hummed, kissing the top of his head again. "Now, get some sleep, my dearest love. We'll talk later. And no nightmares, you hear? Sleep well and deeply. Regain your strength. You'll need it."
Merlin felt his eyes droop even more, closed tight as another wave of exhaustion hit him. He yawned but stayed awake long enough to repeat the favor. After all. He didn't want his beloved to suffer because he was too tired to do his duty.
"Mmm. You too. Sleep. Go to it. No nightmares. Order," he muttered, words slurring, but not impossible to make out. Arthur hummed in response, but Merlin had no idea if he said anything more.
He was out like a light.
Held by the man he loved more than life itself.
It was good.
*means "Hear me Goddesses and hear me well. Save his life or this world will perish. You will save his life, or all life will end." In Welsh, according to Google. Basically, it's a threat. I know I invoke the name of God a lot in this fic, but Merlin is still a creature of the Old Religion, and I finally got to the point of the show, when writing this chapter, that dealt with the goddesses and all that. So, yeah. Sorry.
A/N: So! Hope this all made sense, but who knows, ha. Thanks for the comments last chapter, I appreciated them. :-)