A/N: Here we are! Hopefully it lives up to the anticipation. Note: I noticed that my dividers I was using to switch back and forth between the points-of-view keep disappearing when they are being uploaded no matter how many times I put them back. I decided to let you know by name when they switch from now on. As always, let me know what you think cause you guys are awesome!

Disclaimer: There would have been a happy ever after if it were mine.

Ch. 6-Splintered Soul

Arthur.

Arthur.

Arthur.

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ARTHUR!

That word, that name, seemed to be the only thought that his brain could properly comprehend. The moment he'd locked eyes with his (alive!) king again, his mind had stuttered to a halt and everything else refused to pass through it but the other's name. How his king extracted him from being punished by the other nobles, he didn't know, (likely offering to punish Merlin himself, the prat) because it seemed his ability to hear, just like his brain, was no longer functioning properly.

Why did it sound as though he had bees trapped in his skull? Surely that couldn't be normal.

Brain functioning properly or not, Merlin's body was conditioned to follow Arthur's command and offered little resistance, and little help, as he was dragged away.

Arthur.

Arthur was here.

Arthur was alive.

Alive, breathing, conscious, mobile, in control….alive.

Merlin could not honestly think in that moment of a more beautiful word.

Part of him finally allowed him to realize that they had stopped moving (well, Merlin had anyway, Arthur continued to prowl), having reached their destination. That same part of him knew they were in the armoury, unable not to notice after having spent so many hours in the place, but that seemed unimportant. His king finally stopped pestering the corners of the room (like they were honestly hiding something, really Arthur?) and turned to face him, expression hopelessly anxious. Great dragons! If he'd looked like that out there before all of the nobles, they were in for some serious trouble later, that's for certain. And anxious? What did he have to be anxious for? Arthur was the one who had died, not him!

Unless…he was anxious over Merlin.

"Merlin?"

As though his name were the key to unlocking the warlock, Merlin splintered. Nearly literally. Leaping towards his king, the warlock wrapped his arms around the blond's neck and his gangly legs around his waist. Credit where credit is due, Arthur staggered somewhat under the sudden weight, but kept them both upright, actually pulling Merlin higher into a safer, more comfortable position. The dark-haired man barely noticed, too busy crying desperately into the other's shoulder.

It was just too much. Too bloody much.

Merlin had known from the moment that Kilgharrah had begun spouting off about Arthur's and his great Destiny that it was not going to be easy, and he would likely never get a moments peace. But the true horror (greatness) of that Destiny was never revealed all at once, only being released one agonizing piece at a time. Though there had been plenty of wonderful moments along the way, they were now overshadowed by the true reality of his failure. He'd failed the druids, the knights, Camelot, all of Albion.

But worst of all, he'd failed Arthur, his friend and king.

Arthur had died.

Oh, some small part of him had acknowledged that Arthur's death had always been part of their future, but it was never meant to happen before they could truly fulfill their Destiny. Or was it? Merlin had the sudden wild urge to march down to that know-it-all dragon and demand the whole truth this time, not prophecies sprinkled with riddles just to give him a headache and make them sound palatable. And if it was supposed to be part of this so-called Great Destiny, well…

Then Destiny would just have to find someone else; Merlin was keeping Arthur. Because his friend, his king would not be allowed to die this time; the warlock would see the world annihilated first. He knew that he should be worried about his feelings over the matter, that they weren't normal, but after having the other man die in his arms, he wasn't certain they would ever return to normal.

Because what was normal about being held by a man who had died in your arms in a previous life?

That would not happen again, Merlin vowed to himself as his magic swirled somewhat chaotically around them; Arthur would live.

Or Merlin would die trying to keep him that way. Again.

~Arthur~

Arthur wasn't certain what he had expected, but his (former?) manservant nearly tackling him to the ground was absolutely not it. The sudden addition of the man's weight, however slight, still sent the prince-king staggering back a moment with its suddenness before he rallied. One arm under Merlin's behind, the other around his waist, Arthur tugged him higher, redistributing his weight better. A quick glance around the room revealed a small pile of straw by the wall and Arthur walked them over, carefully lowering them onto it. With a sigh, he settled back against the wall, cradling the man who was now essentially straddling him. He raised the hand no longer supporting the warlock's behind to card through the raven hair.

This…this so was much worse than he had anticipated. Arthur had believed that they would engage in a rather embarrassingly long hug (hopefully out of the sight of others), shed a tear or two, maybe even yell at each other, but this…His shirt was rapidly becoming soaked through with Merlin's tears and it didn't seem as though the man was going to stop any time soon. Not that Arthur could have peeled him off of him what with the death grip the warlock had on his shirt and his legs still firmly locked around his waist despite the move. He was actually afraid that if he did tried to remove the man that Merlin wouldn't just crack open completely, hollowed out by what he was suffering.

The rawness of the reaction surprised the blond royal with its depth, but the longer they sat there, the faster the reality of the situation began to sink in. Based on Merlin's…distress was the kindest word…Arthur must have died. In Merlin's arms no less. It didn't answer the question of how they came to be back to the beginning of their relationship, but at least he was allowed to check off the most important question of Arthur's incredibly long list. How they were granted this second chance was now vying for the top, but deemed nonessential at the moment, faced with Merlin's pain. Having the most important person in your life (and arrogant or not, Arthur knew he was to Merlin) die in your arms…the king-prince could barely contemplate…but then he tried.

Arthur had many people that were close to him die during his lifetime, and many that he wished he'd known better die for him. Closing his eyes, he leaned back, picturing the different deaths he had suffered through. His father's? While his relationship with Uther was a tangled mess of lies, deceit, disappointments sprinkled with the joy of pride and happiness, when Arthur tried to visualize holding him as he died and being as devastated as Merlin, only a dull ache surfaced, the pain of that loss scarred over with time. Even if the wound of the loss had been fresh, Arthur knew it wouldn't be this potent. If his mother had lived, perhaps? It was hard to know how much pain a death would cause you when you were never granted the right to know them during your lifetime. And as much as Arthur valued his knights, their deaths would not draw this from him.

But what of Gwen?

Arthur was ashamed to say that how little thought he had given his wife since his return. He'd only caught a glance of her once or twice out of the corner of his eye, but he'd never felt the need to pursue, begin to recreate what they had had before. What would her death do to him? The king-prince took a deep breath and thought of finding Gwen, dying of a stab wound, trying to save her, but in the end only being able to hold her in his arms as she breathed her last. Gut-wrenching pain surrounded those thoughts, and he pushed them away as quickly possible, but even that could not produce what Merlin was suffering.

Perhaps it was his death, perhaps something else, but as much as he loved Gwen, he was reluctant to approach her. The need to protect her maybe? Being his Queen had made her the target of so many that wanted to stop Arthur and somehow that never sat right with Arthur. As his Queen, she should know only safety, not danger. Or he could be just too idealistic, but that's what he wanted for her. And while he knew she loved him, the specter of Lancelot never seemed too far away. If Lancelot had never left, would she have given Arthur another thought? He could admit now, that it was a thought that gnawed away at him at times in the middle of the night.

No. Time enough to give that due consideration another day. Gwen could wait; Merlin could not. As Arthur cast his mind back, he was suddenly struck by the memory of Merlin drinking poison for him, back when they had barely even known each other. Even then, so loyal, so willing to sacrifice himself (Arthur was going to have work on that) to protect Arthur. The horror of Merlin beginning to choke and the panic that it caused when he'd eventually collapsed was once more ignited in his veins. He seized in half-forgotten terror, clasping the warlock tighter to him as he finally understood. It was like being stabbed all over again, only this time with added evisceration.

His feelings for Merlin then were a mere puddle in relation to the yawning ocean they were now. The thought of the man dying and Arthur unable to prevent it, as he nearly had before, felt like being clawed open by a dragon, insides gleefully chomped on. Squeezing the dark-haired man tighter, the king-prince buried his face in the warlock's shoulder, attempting but failing to regain control of his breathing.

Not dead.

Merlin was here. Not dead.

Alive. In Arthur's arms. Safe. Protected. His friend. His advisor. His warlock. His friend. His. No one else's.

Not dead.

Arthur sucked in a deep breath and held it, hoping to restore some balance of sanity because it was very dangerous for both of them to be having mental breakdowns at the same time. For half a second, he thought he might be achieving his goal. Until he felt Merlin's magic.

The prince-king had always enjoyed being around his manservant, even in the early days when they hadn't liked each other very much. Merlin seemed to brighten the glow of the world to a dazzling degree, bringing with him a certain warmth and peace. Arthur understood now, as the golden tendrils swirled around them, exactly what he'd been feeling that entire time. Safety. Brought on by Merlin's magic. A magic that Merlin had only ever used for his benefit and protection. And, well, likely some of his chores. But the blond royal could hardly fault him for that; he would probably do the same!

His father, from his earliest memories, had preached of the evils of magic. Of how it had sought to lead those into temptation, brought destruction, pain, suffering, chaos. And Arthur had seen it do all that. But he couldn't help but think of the small acts of magic that he'd seen performed by those willing to help, whom he'd turned a blind eye to more than once because they had not used their magic to harm, only help. He couldn't see persecuting someone like that. If he had, what would it have done? To know that, all he had to do is look to his father. If your people lived constantly in fear of death for their gifts, wouldn't you be willing to attempt to remove the threat? Arthur would be the first in line to do so to protect his people and had been so many times. If one constantly beat down a dog, eventually that dog was either going to lie down and die, or bite back. Unfortunately for Camelot, they usually suffered through the "bite back" variety of sorcerers.

But as he sat there, basking in the glowing warmth of Merlin's magic, Arthur held no fear, only the welcoming sense that he had finally returned home.

End Ch. 6

A/N: Happy glowy moments all around! Let me know what you think cause you're not the only one who is dying of anticipation!