Post by Arctura on Jul 15, 2014 18:13:04 GMT
SPOILER ALERT! If you have not yet seen the finale of the show, Merlin, and you intend on seeing it spoiler-free, please skip this. This is not AU. This short fic is canon, dialogue and all. I just elaborated.
He toiled as the Prince’s manservant, and on occasion, footstool. But with time, Merlin became his best friend. And he could not possibly ruin their dynamic with the truth that would only force Uther’s hand and unfairly test all that the Prince had been taught. Thankfully, in the end, Arthur understood that it wasn’t out of wickedness that he was kept ignorant: it was caring. He was disbelieving at the hardship Merlin went through to live in a kingdom that condemned something one was born with. It was also unfathomable to Arthur how diligently his manservant complied to his demands, no matter how ludicrous or debasing, when he harboured such magnificent power. Unfortunately, Merlin did not know beforehand how well the King would take it; but he decided that if his life meant anything, he would have to tell.
…
“Brought peace at last.” Arthur said after Merlin killed Morgana, grinning weakly. Merlin gave no reply, still coming to grips with his deed, and lugged the wounded King up. With the deep gashes Arthur received, Merlin would have to support his body weight. The strain of the armour was too great, but he had to keep going. After a few minutes of graceless trudging, the two found a clearing in the woods.
“We have to make it to the lake.” he said.
“Not without..the horses...it’s too late,” Arthur protested, his voice faint, “It’s too late.” He patted Merlin’s quivering hand. “You already saved my life.” He was done fighting, but it seemed his friend was not going to surrender so easily.
As faithful as he was, he put Arthur’s safety above his orders. They were going to the lake. “No, I can’t,” Merlin said firmly, “I’m not going to lose you.”
Arthur patted his arm gently, imploring him to let go. “Just, just...just hold me. Please.”
There wasn’t much else he could say, his mind dazed from severe blood loss. His conviction was gone - just rattled breathing and chest heaving - and by god, did he need Merlin to obey his last request. The King felt that if he was truly going to die, he wished to do it without struggle and surrounded by the people he cared about most. Lying on the ground, pulse faint, he was glad that if there was anyone who would have to see his weakness, it was Merlin.
Something about the unusualness of it all, the King’s vulnerability, his gentleness, weakened his resolve. Merlin stopped his efforts to hoist Arthur up and sat there, unmoving.
Maybe it was a lost cause.
The pair laid there in the callow grass, Merlin cradling Arthur’s head on his chest. A few harsh coughs came from the pale King and Merlin knew it was time.
Arthur’s eyes suddenly bolt open, fighting for his last moments of consciousness. “There’s something I need to say.”
“You’re not going to say goodbye.” It was an order.
“No.” Arthur shook his head and took a deep breath. “Everything you’ve done, I know now. For me, for Camelot. For the kingdom you helped me build.”
Merlin wasn’t having it. “You’d have that without me.”
“Maybe.” Arthur said, lightly chuckling. His breaths went from slow to very laboured, and he could feel himself slipping away. “I want to say...something I’ve never said to you before.” He strained to look up at Merlin. “Thank you.”
With a lazy smile, Arthur gave an endearing ruffle to Merlin’s hair. His hand froze there for a moment before falling limply to his side. His eyes closed.
The King was dead.
And Merlin cried. He had never felt such deep-rooted sensation, not even when Freya died. Freya- the only woman he ever loved, slain for crimes beyond her control. What he felt was infinitely more painful. A strange force possessed him, wringing his insides out. Unbearable.
He shouted out to the sky incoherently - some distinctly the Old Tongue, others too masked by agony. Kilgarrah arrived at his beckoning but was of no help. The creature offered nothing more than enigmatic sayings and hints at the future. As if the King would rise again, Merlin thought.
As if the world would ever need him, a warlock, lost in himself, forever lamenting the costs of freedom.
Destiny Fulfilled
Merlin had lied to Arthur for five years, never giving him the truth: he was a sorcerer. The warlock had been too blinded by fear of the young Pendragon’s rejection, so he devised an excuse for each unsavory situation. Never magic - oh no. Only strange circumstance and coincidence. The chair didn’t move; it was simply the wind. Or, perhaps, it was light that was playing tricks upon the eyes.He toiled as the Prince’s manservant, and on occasion, footstool. But with time, Merlin became his best friend. And he could not possibly ruin their dynamic with the truth that would only force Uther’s hand and unfairly test all that the Prince had been taught. Thankfully, in the end, Arthur understood that it wasn’t out of wickedness that he was kept ignorant: it was caring. He was disbelieving at the hardship Merlin went through to live in a kingdom that condemned something one was born with. It was also unfathomable to Arthur how diligently his manservant complied to his demands, no matter how ludicrous or debasing, when he harboured such magnificent power. Unfortunately, Merlin did not know beforehand how well the King would take it; but he decided that if his life meant anything, he would have to tell.
…
“Brought peace at last.” Arthur said after Merlin killed Morgana, grinning weakly. Merlin gave no reply, still coming to grips with his deed, and lugged the wounded King up. With the deep gashes Arthur received, Merlin would have to support his body weight. The strain of the armour was too great, but he had to keep going. After a few minutes of graceless trudging, the two found a clearing in the woods.
“We have to make it to the lake.” he said.
“Not without..the horses...it’s too late,” Arthur protested, his voice faint, “It’s too late.” He patted Merlin’s quivering hand. “You already saved my life.” He was done fighting, but it seemed his friend was not going to surrender so easily.
As faithful as he was, he put Arthur’s safety above his orders. They were going to the lake. “No, I can’t,” Merlin said firmly, “I’m not going to lose you.”
Arthur patted his arm gently, imploring him to let go. “Just, just...just hold me. Please.”
There wasn’t much else he could say, his mind dazed from severe blood loss. His conviction was gone - just rattled breathing and chest heaving - and by god, did he need Merlin to obey his last request. The King felt that if he was truly going to die, he wished to do it without struggle and surrounded by the people he cared about most. Lying on the ground, pulse faint, he was glad that if there was anyone who would have to see his weakness, it was Merlin.
Something about the unusualness of it all, the King’s vulnerability, his gentleness, weakened his resolve. Merlin stopped his efforts to hoist Arthur up and sat there, unmoving.
Maybe it was a lost cause.
The pair laid there in the callow grass, Merlin cradling Arthur’s head on his chest. A few harsh coughs came from the pale King and Merlin knew it was time.
Arthur’s eyes suddenly bolt open, fighting for his last moments of consciousness. “There’s something I need to say.”
“You’re not going to say goodbye.” It was an order.
“No.” Arthur shook his head and took a deep breath. “Everything you’ve done, I know now. For me, for Camelot. For the kingdom you helped me build.”
Merlin wasn’t having it. “You’d have that without me.”
“Maybe.” Arthur said, lightly chuckling. His breaths went from slow to very laboured, and he could feel himself slipping away. “I want to say...something I’ve never said to you before.” He strained to look up at Merlin. “Thank you.”
With a lazy smile, Arthur gave an endearing ruffle to Merlin’s hair. His hand froze there for a moment before falling limply to his side. His eyes closed.
The King was dead.
And Merlin cried. He had never felt such deep-rooted sensation, not even when Freya died. Freya- the only woman he ever loved, slain for crimes beyond her control. What he felt was infinitely more painful. A strange force possessed him, wringing his insides out. Unbearable.
He shouted out to the sky incoherently - some distinctly the Old Tongue, others too masked by agony. Kilgarrah arrived at his beckoning but was of no help. The creature offered nothing more than enigmatic sayings and hints at the future. As if the King would rise again, Merlin thought.
As if the world would ever need him, a warlock, lost in himself, forever lamenting the costs of freedom.
