It was a dead end.
The path ended in a small cut away section of ground, dirt rising high on three sides to block them in. There was no way they could climb up and out, not with Odin bearing down on them.
This was the end of the line.
It was just a brief second—barely even a heartbeat—as they turned to look at each other. Odin and his men pounded up the slope, only a few dozen feet behind them.
There was no time to speak, no time even to lean forward and snag Merlin's collar, to tug him close and kiss him, feel his lips and mouth and body once, just once more, a memory to linger in his skin as he turned to meet fate.
But there were things that the eyes could say even when the body or voice could not, and a split second was all that Arthur needed.
Merlin's eyes were such a bright blue, always burning, always aflame. I'm here, they said. Always.
Arthur spun on his heel and faced Odin.