So here's the next instalment (and the last)! Hope you like it!
Merlin feels warm, for the first time in a very long time, warm and comfortable. His eyes refuse to open, but from what little he can feel in the foggy depths of his mind, he is wrapped up in fur, soft and comfortable, and he spares a second to wonder that he has not gone to hell, as he surely deserves, monster that he is, before the darkness engulfs him again.
When next he wakes, much loved voices are conversing around him; he picks out Gwen, light and full of steady comfort, and Gaius, calm and assured, and then, soft and strong and good, Arthur. And he can't help it, can't help the keening sound that escapes him, because they can't be dead, can't be dead, no no no no-
Broad hands cradle him, hug him to a solid chest as Arthur (and so this must be a dream, for Arthur doesn't care about Merlin, not enough to soothe his fears, to reassure him) rocks him, whispering that they are safe, that they are alive and well and happy, now that Merlin is awake, and Merlin wants to let loose the bitter laugh in his throat, but he is too, tired, so tired, and he trusts Arthur, always will, so he allows himself to slip back into sleep, content in the knowledge that his loved ones are safe.
When next he wakes up, there is sunlight streaming into the room, turning the dust in the air to dancing motes of gold, an alchemy that only nature can perform, all the more beautiful for its transience. The red sheets turn fire-orange, and Merlin freezes, because he has never had red sheets, and he doubts heaven looks so much like-
There is a brief noise of protest, and Merlin turns his head to see Arthur, still asleep, beside him, the sun turning the golden strands into a halo of light, and sleep softening the harsh features. Merlin remembers brash youth suddenly, superciliousness and arrogance, knives flying and the press of a warm body against his, a golden halo around Arthur's face even then, and swallows a lump, because those days are gone, ash and dust, their friendship broken and ripped apart.
He quietly begins to edge out of the bed, fearing the look of disgust, or worse, apathy in Arthur's eyes when he wakes up to see Merlin, who has apparently leeched onto the warm body in sleep, limbs tangled with Arthur's but stills when a hand shoots out, grabbing his. He stares down in mute confusion, and then looks at Arthur, who has a frown on his face, but otherwise looks to still be sleeping. Carefully, gently, he pulls his hand out of Arthur's, untangling his legs from Arthur, then looks up to find annoyed blue eyes glaring at him.
"Merlin, if you don't stop squirming and lie down, I will tie you down."
Merlin gapes at the sleepy words. Arthur takes his stunned silence for compliance, and, throwing a restraining and not altogether unwelcome arm over Merlin's waist, goes back to sleep. Merlin stares for a while before exhaustion sweeps over him, and he follows Arthur, (as he always has, always will) into slumber.
Merlin wakes up to gentle fingers carding through his hair, a soothing gesture, and Merlin automatically pushes into it, almost purring, caught in that soft-pale haze between sleep and waking, the colours muted and yet bright. The hand stutters, stops, and Merlin makes a disgruntled noise as the calming feeling slows to a halt. The fingers resume, and Merlin feels his pillow vibrate, a low sound like the rumbling winds when Kilgharrah speaks.
"What am I to do with you, Merlin?"
Merlin feels himself stiffen at the words, at the voice, because that is Arthur's voice. Panic sweeps away the mist in his mind, and he bolts up in dread, only to pause and reach out to a swearing Arthur when his head collides hard with Arthur's nose. Arthur waves him away, still swearing, his words distorted by the whine of pain and the blood-blocked nose.
The sight of Arthur like that, sleep-soft, day-bright, with hair still mussed and looking for all the world like a disgruntled cat, makes Merlin smile. Then he ducks his head, staring blankly at the sheets as his mind works, confusion swirling, shifting around his jumbled thoughts, because he can't be in Hell, and Arthur can't be in Heaven, and he doesn't appeared to have become one with the world as the Druids believe, so-
"I'm not dead?" He winces at his voice, which sounds like the rasp of a whetstone, sharpening Arthur's sword.
Arthur's eyes soften suddenly, breathtakingly, with relief and joy, and something else that Merlin hesitates to name, because it is so impossible.
"Not for a lack of trying. Honestly, Merlin, I would really love to know what goes on in that tiny mind of yours one day."
Merlin flinches, because his mind is dark and fragmented, full of ghosts of regrets and guilt, and Arthur doesn't belong there, not with his incandescent optimism and hopeful heart.
"No, you don't."
Arthur looks a bit surprised at the definite note in his voice, and then the blue eyes sadden, though their gaze is still steady on Merlin.
"I'll be the judge of that. I do, you know. It- It's a part of you. Even your mistakes." And Merlin is shaking his head, because he- he can't tell Arthur, couldn't tell him about his magic, can't tell him about the mistakes he made, the stains of black guilt and pain on his fractured soul, can't watch as this fragile new friendship he feels growing is smashed down under crushing betrayal.
He flinches as Arthur reaches a hand out, realising numbly that they are still tangled together. Arthur notices the movement, and brief pain flickers across his face before it is replaced by determination, and his hand catches Merlin's lacing their fingers together, reassuringly tight, as if to never let go.
"Tell me."
And Merlin does, unable to resist the command, because this is his King, but it is also Arthur, and Merlin can never deny Arthur anything he truly desires, would bring the stars and the moon for him, would raze the entire world in an inferno of dark light and fire for him.
He tells of young innocence lost to Destiny, of Dragons imprisoned and hungering for revenge, of witches with the power of life and death, of true friends, and false ones, of poisoning and betrayal and green eyes staring up in pain and uncomprehending shock. He speaks of desperate bargains and Dragonfire, of family lost and love lost. He speaks of loyalty, at first reluctantly, then fiercely, joyfully given, of friendships growing against all odds. He speaks of hope lost, of magic and great deeds hidden, and Arthur, Arthur listens in complete silence, no hint of the thoughts whirling in his head. Merlin talks and talks until he speaks of magic revealed, and friendships shattered, and nightmares and the cold, aching, empty feeling of losing a part of yourself, of feeling your soul slip away in shards of lost dreams, burning you from the inside.
Then he stops, because there is nothing more to say, nothing left of himself that is unknown to Arthur anymore.
Arthur sits up, gently pulling Merlin along (and hope flares up, because would Arthur bother to be gentle with one facing the pyre?) with him, tugging until they are both sitting up. He looks down at their joint hands, then at Merlin, and Merlin feels his breath catch as a small smile grows on his King's face, sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
"Thank you."
Merlin, who has gone back to staring at the sheets, feels his head snap up in shock.
Arthur chuckles slightly at the look on his face. "Don't let it go to your head Merlin; I will not say that again. But for everything you've done, for me, for Camelot; it deserves recognition."
Merlin gapes, mouth open in surprise. Then he feels his eyes narrow almost against his will.
"I haven't died, have I? This isn't my very own version of Heaven?"
Arthur laughs outright at that. "While I'm gratified that your idea of Heaven has me in it-" Merlin blushes and Arthur stops laughing, though fond amusement softens his gaze. "- no, you're not dead, to my great and ludicrous relief."
Merlin feels the familiar feeling of fond exasperation he used to feel with every conversation with Arthur, before the revealing of his magic.
"Well, it's not like I'm jumping up and down at your continued existence, Sire." Merlin sends an uncertain look at Arthur, is this allowed now, in this tentative new relationship, and Arthur nods, almost imperceptibly, before smirking in that way that never fails to make Merlin want to simultaneously punch it off his face or kiss it off.
"Really, Merlin? Because I distinctly remember a confession of love somewhere in your babble."
And suddenly the mood turns serious again, because Merlin doesn't reply, can't deny it, because it is true, he loves Arthur, loves his strengths that make him great and good, and his flaws that prove that he is mortal, man instead of remote god.
Arthur hears the pause, the thick silence full of unexpressed feelings, and his look morphs from gleeful to shock to uncertain.
"Merlin-"
"Don't, Sire." Merlin cuts him off, the words at once a warning and a plea. "I- I cannot help what I feel, and I apologise for-for any discomfort I-"
Arthur looks stunned. "Why on earth do you think your feelings cause me discomfort?"
Merlin looks at him askance. "Because you do not feel the same way. I understand, Sire, I knew that all along, and it's alright, I-"
Arthur cuts him off again, starting to looks annoyed. "And who exactly told you I did not feel for you what you feel for me?"
Merlin pushes down the treacherous hope. Arthur cannot love him, cannot love someone who destroys everything he touches, who betrays and kills, a freak with too much power, outcast among both his kind and those unlike him, and then Arthur's arms are around him, holding him tight, and Merlin stiffens, confused, blinking back tears, then realises that me has said this aloud, for Arthur is rubbing his back in comforting motions, whispering that he is not a freak, not a monster, not any of the words and names that have been directed at him in his dreams and reality alike, because he is Merlin, and Merlin is his, and then Merlin is melting, melting into welcoming arms that only tighten around him, protective and possessive both.
In the future, he knows, they will have to discuss this, deliberate the repercussions of Merlin's magic, now known to all, discuss the nature of their relationship, Talk about the prophecy, of Albion with Arthur as High King and Merlin by his side.
But now, Merlin simply pushes deeper into the comfort of Arthur's arms, his own coming up to clutch at Arthur, and they hang on to each other as the new day begins, and a new era with it.
Do tell me what you think. Hope you enjoyed this. Bye!