Um, hi. I'm back.
Seriously, though, I cannot begin to explain where I've been all this time. Long story short, I'm back, and it's strange to look back and realize that at the first chapter of this, I was in Pensacola, trying to figure out where I was going with my life. Well, big news...I still don't know. I am going to college there, though! So starting this September, I'll be sitting on the beach on the weekends trying to decide if I really do want to be a doctor of osteopathic medicine or if I really would rather run away to Italy and live out my life drinking tea and writing. We'll see which one I end up doing, if either.
Also, my book is totally planned, organized, and halfway finished being written. Unless I decide to change it again, that is. C'est la vie.
And anyone who was once interested has probably long-forgotten about all of that. So sorry for vanishing on you, but I hope you enjoy the ending of this story!

And One.

He could not control the jolt than ran up his spine and heightened his senses for a short heartbeat. Years of training under the renowned King Uther Pendragon sent his hand instinctively grasping for the sword at his side—only to realize that the familiar hilt was no longer there.

It did not matter, of course, for this time there was no danger to survive or enemy to oppose. Of this he was assured by the way several wrinkled parchments glided to the floor as the old door shut again, with just as much force as it had opened.

Merlin did not even glance at him as the young warlock stood silently for a moment inside the room, ignoring the mess of scattered things all around him. His little room was forever a mess; whatever items—scrolls, books, garments—that had been added to the chaos were just more decoration for the floor. There wouldn't be enough room in his small, single cupboard now to keep it all anyway.

After another short moment of silence, Merlin raised his hand up and undid the button at his throat, sweeping off the indigo cloak in one quick motion, not seeming to care how fine the material of it was as he let it drop to the floor amongst the rest of his mess.

Neither of them spoke. He watched as Merlin set the book he had been carrying onto an old, elegant chest—when had he gotten that?—at the end of his bed and removed a ring from the forefinger of his left hand. He stared at it for a moment with expressionless blue eyes before settling it alongside the mysterious volume. Then, slowly, tiredly, he pulled a leather cord over his head and set it with the book and ring, so that the large pendant on the end was facing up.

In the short moments of stillness that followed, he took a tiny step closer. Merlin continued to stare downward at his feet, as though the new boots belonged to someone else and he could not understand why he was wearing them. He took the opportunity to observe at his friend in the candlelight, and he frowned a bit when he noticed that his cheekbones seemed to stick out even more than the last time he'd seen him, and his dark hair was getting a little too long at the back of his neck, and the ridiculously luxurious clothes he was wearing were a too large on his narrow frame.

"Arthur."

All his thoughts cut off at that quiet word. Surely he had imagined it….

Merlin was touching the pendant on the leather cord, running his fingers along the raised edges of the bird there, like it could hear him.

"All of the kings attended today. The banquet hall was completely full. People were dancing and laughing, and Gwen was wonderful, Arthur. She stood tall amongst all the kings and spoke like one of them; in the end, they all reached a treaty that puts all of the five kingdoms at peace with magic. From now until as long as possible, our kingdoms will never go to war and good magic is free. You would have been so proud of her."

Merlin looked away from the pendant, but he never pulled his hand back.

Arthur nearly gasped when those eternal blue eyes seemed to meet his, but his shoulders relaxed when he realized that Merlin was looking past him, to the night sky outside his window.

"The entertainment lasted for hours. It's still going on; I don't think King Baltar is going to go to bed tonight, unless he passes out from drinking too much. You should have seen Queen Annis; she actually danced, Arthur, and very well, too. It was terrifying."

As he had spoken, Merlin had been moving around the place a little, tidying things with nervous hands (or making things even messier, it was hard to tell which). Now, though, he stopped with a handful of mostly-used candlesticks and a look deep and broken passed over his gentle face.

"She wanted to visit you, in the tombs. She asked me to take her there. I don't know if you heard her farewell, though; it was…nice, very respectful. I started to tell her that you're not there, that that's not where I left you, but I didn't. There's no point, anyway. You're not at the lake either."

Merlin's eyes were glittering in the candlelight, and he scrubbed angrily at his face as he tossed the candles onto his writing table.

Then, without warning, he whipped around again, and there was fire in those clear blue eyes that had once held so much calm light.

"You should have been here." Low and dark, like an accusation, it cut Arthur to the core. "You should have taken care of the treaty. You should have entertained the kings. It's not Gwen's place to run your kingdom. You're supposed to be taking care of her; she deserves to be cared for, not to be negotiating with selfish rulers at a table where you're meant to be sitting. She's barely started to smile again. They all have. There's hardly been any laughter in the streets of Camelot, and it's because of you."

Arthur could not bear to look at him; with nothing he could do or say in his own defense, he gazed solemnly at the floor.

"And me—"

Arthur looked up instantly at that, especially since Merlin's voice broke before he could say another word.

"I spent more than ten years—ten years—serving you, guarding you, waiting for the day when you would be able to know me for what I am, hoping that you would be the man I thought you could. And then you gave me that, for only a day; but really I couldn't even have that because you were dying every moment. Was that meant to be your reward for me? Give me what I've desired since the day we met, but have me suffer my worst nightmare while you do? Is that what I meant to you, Arthur? Is that all I was?"

He kicked something—an old book, maybe—across the room.

"It wasn't worth it," he uttered lowly, not shouting, just barely more than a murmur, yet it was more sad and terrible than any screaming.

It felt to Arthur like a kick to his chest, but it was only then that he realized he'd gone still at the first sign of Merlin's stabbing rage.

"It wasn't worth it," the warlock repeated, even calmer, his piercing eyes cold and unrelenting. "None of it was. From the day I arrived here, you caused me nothing but trouble. That's all it was, just trouble—trouble, and loss, and grief, and pain, agony. That's all you ever gave me. That's all I ever was to you—a slave to inflict your worst trials upon, even if you didn't even notice. I was used, for you. And now what do I have?"

Arthur found his voice only enough to whisper a desperate, "No…" but instantly remembered. Merlin could not hear him.

"A wasted life," Merlin answered his own question, for there was no one else there who could. "That's all I have now—ten years of pointless living and seventy more to remember."

Arthur could see him shaking and hear his shallow breathing. Never in his darkest nightmares had he ever imagined Merlin—his ridiculous, good Merlin—looking like this.

"Arthur Pendragon," whispered like a curse, "my lord,…this is your fault. I will never forgive this. I hate you."

The mere, but violent, flick of his arm, and the seal with the beautiful bird went hurdling into the far wall to lie in the dark shadow of the corner.

Arthur watched him with wounded eyes as Merlin removed his heavy, dark tunic to put on his old nightshirt. The moon reflected off the belt buckle around his waist as he reached to undo it as well, but as soon as it had fallen to the floor, his graceful hands froze in the middle of moving.

The king blinked in surprise as Merlin's hands fell and he swallowed with closed eyes. He started to move toward him, but in that moment Merlin opened his eyes once more and a single tear glimmered in the full moon's glow. He circled his bed and knelt to pick up the fallen sigil with trembling, careful fingers. Pressing it to his chest, the warlock bent his head and a quiet sob ripped through the silent room.

"I'm sorry," came the whisper, like he was talking to the sigil itself, cradling it firmly over his heart. "I don't hate you. I could never hate you. I'm sorry."

Merlin could not see the shadow that moved toward him in the candlelight. He could not feel the firm hand on his back or hear the odd, gentle words that filled the air around him.

"It's all right, Merlin. You haven't done anything."

Of course, because he could not hear, the lonely warlock only continued to weep silently on the floor. Still, whether in some gallant hope or for his own comfort, Arthur moved closer, intending to wrap an arm awkwardly around the hunched shoulders. In that moment, however, Merlin stood abruptly, pushing away the invisible figure at his side without even realizing it.

Merlin never loosened his hold on the beloved pendant while he rose wearily to his feet. The king felt an ache in his chest as he watched his friend move to his bed; Merlin looked strangely feeble as he half-fell against the creaking headboard, like he was somehow elderly despite his youth and the weight of many miserable decades was pressing him down.

Arthur rounded the bed slowly. His eyes fell for a long moment on the costly cloak, now lying in a deep purple heap on the floor at the foot, and the sight of it brought an unexpected wave of sadness over him. He would never know what they could have been together, if only he had allowed it—king and warlock. It could have been so different, he understood that now, but he had been too blind and too foolish, and it was too late to be anything but sorry—not for himself, or even for his kingdom, but only for the servant who had given so much and received so little in return. Arthur wished he could give him everything he deserved, but he could not even offer a word or a touch in comfort.

He closed his eyes for another, brief moment against these thoughts, and continued to the other side of the little bed.

Merlin had curled against the headboard, pressing the seal even closer over his heart with both hands. His side must surely have ached with discomfort, but he did not seem to notice or care, red-rimmed eyes staring distantly at the single flickering candle on his little side table. His breathing was almost worrisome, faint and harsh with tiny, shuddering sobs intermingled, shaking his chest and shoulders. His face was drawn and even paler than when he had entered, his fingers white as fresh snow and trembling around the sigil, even though it was not chilly in the room.

Arthur settled behind him on the edge of the bed; though the old mattress sagged under Merlin's slight weight, the blankets did not even wrinkle at Arthur's presence. He could not pull his wide, blue eyes away from the sight before him, for it stunned him to think that Merlin, who was the bravest and strongest and wisest of any man he'd known, could be reduced to this, and though so much was clear to him now, it stunned him even more to know why.

He reached a gloved hand out and squeezed one slim (almost too slim) arm, but Merlin did nothing in response, and so he dropped his hand and remained in silence. After a long time, the jagged breathing grew stronger instead of quieter, and then, all at once, Merlin was curled tighter in on himself, burying his tears and muffling his sobs in his arms.

Arthur was moving before he knew it, hesitating only for a moment before his eyes turned resolute and he curled a hand around the narrow shoulder, inching closer until he could see every tear glitter in the candlelight. His other hand stroked the thin material covering Merlin's back, and he frowned a little at the clarity with which he could feel his spine, even through the sleep shirt and his leather glove.

When Merlin choked out a weak, "I'm sorry," that had nothing to do with his throwing the sigil, Arthur shifted even closer and rubbed his hand against the back of his friend's neck, fingertips slipping through the dark strands. He wanted to speak, but knew it would only frustrate him not to be heard, and so he just sat there, unseen and unfelt but there.

At long last, Merlin raised his head, eyes mostly closed and dull. He scrubbed at his face with one sleeve, still clutching the seal in his other palm, and rested his temple against the wall. In a matter of moments, his eyes slipped shut completely and his shoulders relaxed under Arthur's touch.

Arthur watched helplessly as three more tears fell, even though Merlin slept now. He ran his hand up and down the thin arm again. Merlin shivered, lids fluttering with some inner disturbance, and where there once had been endless thoughts of his people, his knights, his court, and his kingdom, wars, peace, betrayal, and loyalty, there was now only one thing in all of creation that had Arthur's attention.

Timidly, he slid his hand from the nape of Merlin's neck and around his shoulder; when his jaw brushed against soft hair and he could take in the scent of it, any unease drained away into the night. With a gentle grip, he pulled Merlin's sleeping form back, pressing his arms around his back and across his chest.

If Arthur noticed the way Merlin's hand loosened around the seal in his lap, and his body relaxed in his king's hold so that he slept peacefully, he did nothing to acknowledge it, but watched the flickering candle as it burnt down and continued to hold him, whispering silent words into unhearing ears, knowing that in the morning he would be gone.

On an island in the middle of a lake surrounded by a few ancient trees surrounded by too many modern houses, Merlin stood numb as a pair of young, strong arms went around him, his own name ringing in his ears after so many long centuries of what felt like silence.

The warm lake water lapped at his knees as he wrapped his old, weak arms around Arthur, not caring about the pinch of the chainmail against his skin.

Perhaps he had grown stubborn in his old (very old) age, but it took three tries and one exasperated "Merlin" before he willfully let go.

Arthur beamed at him freely, and with one hand on his thin shoulder to steady him, he reached out with the other and touched the heavy, chipped pendant around Merlin's neck.

"You've never been alone," he told him simply, like it was the only thing he felt he needed to say after all this time, and it took Merlin a moment to understand, for he'd not heard either that voice or that language in much too long.

Arthur allowed it with a fond, surprised chuckle when Merlin embraced him again, threatening to knock the breath from him despite the armor he wore; his laughter tickled Merlin's long, snowy hair.

It was then that the old warlock from Camelot realized, with tears dimming his eyes.

Neither of them had ever really let go.

End…finally, I know

I hope that was a sufficient ending. I really love writing Arthur; he's so precious. I really hope all of my friends on here are doing well! Please let me know how you are, if you remember me...Rin...hello...anyone...?