318"Arthur, do you trust me?" The silence that followed wasn't long, but it seemed to last a lifetime.
"Does it really matter now?"
Merlin laughed, "More than ever."
Arthur sighed and placed his head in his hands. Merlin didn't know where to look, and was about to change the subject when Arthur suddenly replied, "Dammit, yes, Merlin, yes, I do. And I'm- I'm sorry. For what I did to you. After what you have done for me." He turned away from Merlin, "Believe me when I say I regret it. Hah, it will haunt me until the day I die. " He laughed mirthlessly. "…Aren't you going to say anything?" Arthur said after a few seconds. Merlin shook his head slightly, before smiling a small, light smile that he once wore so often. "Trust me on this Arthur," he said, grinning widely and stretching his tired limbs, "You're not going to die tomorrow."
The night was long, and neither of the two men slept. Little more was said, and they sat in a silence that could almost be described as companionable.
Arthur was thinking of Guinevere. He had hoped to give her more than this. He thought he could offer her a life… she would have been better off without him.
The King was dragged from his thoughts as Merlin stirred, the soft pre-dawn light throwing shadows on his face. He looked old, Arthur thought, and laughed. Merlin blinked at him, his eyes coming back into focus as though he had been looking elsewhere, a thousand miles away. "How did you end up here, Merlin?" Arthur said, by way of explanation, "You were just…" he was interrupted by Merlin's laughter.
"I've never been 'just' anything." The warlock informed him with a knowing smile. Arthur laughed again. The noise sounded out of place as it echoed off the cell walls. The King's face slowly fell. "What do you think the time is?" he asked quietly. Footsteps sounded in the hall. Merlin grimaced. "Dawn." He said quietly. "I think it's dawn."
As guards entered the cell, Arthur's breathing gradually became heavier. "You first." One grunted, roughly grabbing the King's arm. As they pulled him to his feet, and the cell door slammed behind him again, he yelled something over his shoulder:
"This better be good Merlin!"
Arthur didn't struggle as they lead him out into the square. He held his head high; no one could see that he was shaking. A drum was beating. People were crying, but he didn't like that. He didn't want their pity. Pity is for the weak and the helpless. His heart thumped in his chest, fighting for a life it was never destined to live, Arthur thought.
There was a block in the centre of the square, on a raised platform. A hooded man stood by it, holding an axe. Arthur had seen it all before.
The drum was beating faster as Arthur looked up to the balcony. They weren't really her eyes any more, not the way he remembered them. In his memory, they were alive with light and love for the world. She was smiling. He wished she wouldn't smile. A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, and he fell to his knees. The block was in front of him now. He put his own head on it- her smile faltered at that. A small act of defiance.
"Here ends the line of Pendragon," Morgana hissed, and then more quietly, "Sleep well, brother mine."
Arthur was breathing hard, his eyes darting from side to side, searching for a way out, any way out. He stopped, and stared once more at his sister.
For the King, it was as though time sped up.
The drum stopped.
Her hand was in the air.
He closed his eyes.
The axe stopped. It was hovering, held in position an inch above the King's exposed neck. And then she screamed, a great and terrible scream of anguish; a dying scream. For the bloodied point of a sword was protruding from Morgana's stomach. The sword twisted once. With a final weak cry, Morgana dropped forwards, pitching off the balcony and falling to the ground, the light already leaving the eyes of the witch, the High Priestess who had caused so much contempt and hatred and pain…
Morgana was dead before she hit the floor.
There was silence, complete and unbroken. As the axe lifted from his neck, Arthur scrambled to his feet, and looked up at the man on the balcony.
Emrys stood tall and proud, one hand outstretched and in the other, the sword, still warm with her blood, the mangled remains of the chains that had once, briefly contained him hanged harmlessly from his wrists, their spell broken, their power gone. His eyes were still glowing gold, and the air around him seemed to shiver. He was the earth, the air, the rock, the sea, the sky… He was magic. The sorcerer looked down at the King, and nodded once. There was a moment's pause before Arthur nodded back.
A white horse trotted into the square. It had no tack, no owner, no rider. It stopped below where Merlin stood, and looked up at him. In response, he stepped up onto the edge of the balcony; the crowd gasped, and a few cries of horror were heard as he took one deliberate pace forwards into thin air. The King started, and for one horrible moment he thought that this was where it ended, and there was nothing he could do, but Merlin landed lightly on the balls of his feet, and stood up unscathed, eyes sparkling with mirth. He moved forward with an easy stride, shoulders back and chin up, the wind ruffling his hair and cooling his face. In one smooth movement he swung himself up onto the horse's strong back.
It was only now that his face fell, and he finally looked down at the twisted, broken corpse of his mortal enemy. He looked up at Arthur with a small, sad smile.
The King made no attempt to stop Merlin as he rode out of Camelot.
Three years later
The people were in the square, candles clutched close to their chests in an attempt to stop their feeble light flickering and dying in the harsh wind and heavy rain. Of course it was futile, and even as Arthur watched a few more slipped away, back to the comfort of their small houses and their warm firesides.
The King's daughter was dying. She was six months old. Arthur kicked the wall, hard. He wanted to go back to her, but Giaus had insisted he needed time alone with her. Would come and tell him immediately were there any change, he had said.
And Arthur had known no change would be good; over the last three months, he had watched his baby grown thinner, her skin had paled and become yellowed, her blue veins standing out more and more brightly, like spider's webs covering her arms, legs, neck... No one knew what it was, no one knew what to do. They had tried everything.
He wondered where Guinevere was. They had been one another's only source of comfort in the past months, but each knew when the other needed time alone.
Arthur sat, and placed his head in his hands. He was helpless.
The door creaked open. Arthur's chair toppled backwards as he stood up; "Giaus." He said heavily. The old man smiled a small smile.
"I think you should go to her now, my Lord." He said quietly.
Arthur threw himself out of the door and sprinted down the corridors. He didn't try to stop the tears falling and they streaked down his face as he ran, throwing himself round corner after corner and pausing only when he reached the great oak doors, opening them slowly as he always did so as not to disturb her.
He froze. There was a figure in the room, hooded and cloaked. They were holding his baby.
The dagger was in his hand before he knew what was happening.
He crossed the room in two sprinted strides and lifted his arm, grabbing the impostor's shoulder and yanking it back, pressing the cold blade their throat. The figure gasped in shock; it was a man. Arthur's knife pressed harder, drawing blood.
"Put her down." He whispered hoarsely, and even he was surprised at the malice in his voice, but then something strange happened. The baby giggled; she hadn't done that in weeks. Arthur couldn't quite see her face, but as the man stooped to gently drop the child back into her cradle, she laughed again. Her face was shining, her eyes were bright, her legs kicked aimlessly as her mouth opened in a toothless grin. Arthur laughed, a breathy sigh of unadulterated relief; she was back. He turned his attention to the figure.
"Who are you?" he asked quietly, the dagger held loosely at his side but still in his hand.
"I think you know." The man said, as he slowly lowered his hood.
It was Merlin. Of course it was Merlin, Arthur thought, of course, of course he had come home; he wondered now why in those long, dark nights, he had ever doubted it.
"She's going to be fine." Merlin said with a small smile, "But… Arthur," he continued hastily, "If you'd rather I go, if-" he glanced over Arthur's shoulder at the door before his eyes flicked to the nearest window and then back to the King.
"Merlin…" Arthur said quietly. As he walked slowly forwards, Merlin leaned back, pressing himself against the cold stone wall behind him.
Arthur hugged him, and after a split second's hesitation, Merlin hugged him back. The King coughed gruffly. "There's a room waiting for you," He said, not looking the sorcerer in the eyes, "And… and plenty of boots to be polished." The King looked up, deep grey eyes twinkling. "A room?" Merlin said quietly, "For… me?" Arthur ignored him.
"Oh," he continued, "They found this in your- cell, I kept it for you. Thought it might be important." Arthur drew from his pocket a thin, silver bangle, somehow glowing with a strange light. For a second Merlin's eyebrows narrowed as he looked at it, but he took it from Arthur, and smiled the same smile he once wore.
"Ah, Arthur," he said, grinning, "There's just so much to tell you."
The King picked up his daughter from her cradle, and the two men left the chamber together, walking together as equals, as they were always intended to be.
AN: It's been a pleasure. To those who've stuck it out with me, I am eternally grateful. Please drop me a review if you have time!
I'm intending to begin another Merlin fanfiction, but I'm going to write a few chapters in advance for some more regular updates. Look out for it!
Thanks again, GJ.