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25 days. 25 days ago the assassin rode into Camelot with one quest and one quest only.
Kill Arthur Pendragon.
25 days ago, Arthur hid away in his chambers with Merlin, as Uther stood on the castle’s balcony ordering the death of yet another nameless sorcerer.
“Merlin, read this Bill over for me. I need to make sure there are no loopholes for when I become king.”
Merlin startled from his place at the window, looking at the forest beyond Camelot’s walls instead of the execution directly below. He moved over to sit in the chair beside Arthur as he wrote and picked at the plate of sweetmeats in front of him.
Looking over Arthur’s shoulder, the words ‘ Rescinding the Laws Against Camelot’s Magic Users’ stood bold and defined as the page's title. Merlin had never been as proud of Arthur as of this moment.
One month ago
“ Mer lin, how many times are you going to complain about hunting? Is there anything else you can talk about?” Arthur’s voice rose above the incessant chatter from his manservant riding beside him, halted only by a squark of indignance and further offended chattering.
“This trip only? I’d say at least twenty times, Princess.” Gwaine unhelpfully added from his horse slightly behind Merlin’s mare. “In total though, I’d say at least a couple hundred, don’t you think Merls?”
“All I’m saying is that its a waste of a trip and life if we go on these hunts every month, only to parade the poor animal in front of the court for an evening and then discard the body. It doesnt even get eaten!”
“He does have a point, sire. It is a waste that the carcass gets left to the pigs when it could be eaten in a feast.” Leon commented, sending a wink Merlin’s way when he turned back in his saddle to look at the man.
Grumbling to himself, Arthur let the conversation go as he nudged his horse into action once more, irritated that his own first knight was siding with Merlin on the matter.
The knights continued their trek through the well-worn paths through the woods, every so often breaking into differing conversations about how the new knights are doing in their training, or how many different people’s beds Gwaine had tumbled into this past month.
What they didn’t realise until too late, however, was the score of bandits hidden amongst the trees. Or the archers propped up high in the canopies, their bows aimed at the Prince and his travelling party. The whistle of an arrow soaring is the only notice given to the knights before a hoard of bandits wielding an accompaniment of mismatched weapons shriek a battle cry and launch themselves at the troupe.
As if on reflex, the knights all throw themselves off their steeds and reach for their swords before jumping straight into battle. Occupied with fighting the bandits on foot and trying to dodge the arrows hurtling towards them, the odds never stand in their favour. As he observes the battlefield from behind a tree, Merlin sees one solution and one solution only.
“Arthur, forgive me for this.” he mumbles before running out of his hiding place, arm outstretched and eyes glowing the colour of molten gold.
“Projice istos scelerati et ne evigilent”
Within a second, the bandits are launched backwards into the air, crashing into trees with a deafening crunch as their lifeless bodies collapse to the floor. Looking around in part bewilderment, part astonishment, the knights gazes all fall onto Merlin as the amber fades from his eyes and he too collapses to the floor in overexertion.
“Merlin!” Lancelot breaks the stunned silence first, rushing towards his unconscious friend, his red cloak billowing out behind him.
This movement stirs Gwaine into action, standing between where Lancelot now sat with Merlin cradled in his arms, and Arthur, his face set in fiery determination to protect Merlin. “I swear to you, Arthur, if you dare even think of touching him I will break every vow I have ever made and I will run you through right here.”
Arthur drops his bloodied sword on the ground, a promise that no harm would befall Merlin at his hand, before attempting to push past Gwaine, who holds him back, hands on Arthur’s shoulders.
“No. You need to promise me, right now, that you will not hurt him.”
Arthur had never seen such ferocity in his friend’s face. He’d known since they’d met that Gwaine’s loyalties lay more with Merlin than with Arthur, but this time they were proven to be with Merlin.
“Move out of my way, Gwaine, who do you take me for? I’m not going to kill him for saving our lives. I’m not my father.”
With that, Gwaine let him go to Merlin’s side, where the man was regaining consciousness and softly being spoken to by Lancelot.
“You really know how to put on a show, I can give you that,” Arthur attempted a friendly smile as he masked the fear and betrayal simmering beneath his skin. He knew that right now his feelings didn’t matter, Merlin’s came first, and he bottled up any negativity he otherwise would’ve spewed if it weren’t for Merlin’s eyes going wide and his face paling as he saw Arthur coming towards him.
“I swear it's only for you. Only for Camelot, and rescuing you, and I couldn’t help it but you were in trouble and there was no other wa-”
“Shhhh, Merlin. It’s okay.” Arthur cut off Merlin’s frantic rambling, instead kneeling and reaching his hand out to hold Merlin’s. “I’m glad that you used it, otherwise we’d all be dead right now.”
Looking down and smiling to himself, he continued, “I’m also guessing that isn’t the first time you’ve used your magic to save me, is it?”
At the playful tone in Arthur’s voice, Merlin gained some confidence to regain the banter that drifted naturally between the two. “Well if your royal arse didn’t believe in rushing headfirst into any battle or assassin that finds itself in your midst then I’d have a lot less work on my hands,” he retorted, still curled in Lancelot’s arms, looking like a baby deer still shaking from the impact of the spell.
“Come on, we’ll take you back to Gaius. And on the ride back I’m sure you would enjoy regaling the knights on the times you’ve rescued me, even if it is at my ego’s expense.”
Now
“Thank you, Arthur, for this.”
“For what? All I’ve done is write how magic shouldn’t be illegal on pain of death, into a Bill that won’t see the light of day until I am king. It hardly is something that needs thanking, it should never have to be made in the first place. The Purge should never have happened in the first place.”
“Yes but, you’re writing it for me, and thank you.” One look at Arthur’s face shut Merlin up, a feat that only happened once in a blue moon. But the stoic determination of his Prince- no, his King, said everything that his words didn’t. This Bill wasn’t only going to be for Merlin, but for the little children made terrified by accidentally flying their toys around their houses, for the old healing woman who feared for her life daily lest she accidentally let her magic heal a patient. For the druids who lived in fear of discovery. For any magic users in Camelot who didn’t allow themselves to live, merely survive, terrified that one day it’ll be them on the pyre.
Maybe the druids were right, Merlin thought, Arthur is the Once and Future King, and as long as I live I will help him fulfil our destiny.
Later that night, Merlin was setting the fire as Arthur was getting into his bed, ready to turn down for the night. It was the last chore Merlin had to do before retiring to his own chambers on the other side of the castle.
“Goodnight, Prat,” he called, as he stood up and wiped his coal-covered hands on his neckerchief before he put the garment back on.
“Goodnight, Merlin,” Arthur called as his manservant left his chambers, dipping further down in his covers as he got comfy for sleep.
However, Merlin hadn’t been gone two minutes before a loud ruckus sounded from behind his chamber door. Yells, bangs and shattered glass were all heard echoing around the normally peaceful room.
Rushing out still in his nightclothes, Arthur opened the door as the battle came to an abrupt end. On one side of the hall lay an unbreathing figure disguised by a thick black cloak, lying in a pool of their own blood. Right in front of him, though, was another matter.
Amidst all the shards of glass and ripped-down tapestries stood Merlin, A sword protruding through his chest. He took one look at Arthur before heavily dropping to his knees, saved from falling straight to the floor as he sank, as Arthur’s arms wrapped around him to cushion his fall.
“R’thur,” He slurred, his eyes losing focus and darting around manically as he tried to look at Arthur’s distraught face.
“No, Merlin. Shhh. Save your energy.” Arthur whispered as Merlin attempted to say his name again. “Stay with me now, don’t go to sleep. C’mon Merlin stay with me.”
His quiet begs to Merlin were interrupted as he switched between talking calmly to his manservant as he lay bleeding out in Arthur’s arms, to him yelling for help, for somebody, anybody to hear him and fetch a guard or Gaius.
Merlin was losing a lot of blood though, coating his blue tunic until the area around the sword was a deep maroon, covering Arthur’s arms as he futilely tried to stop the blood pouring out.
He knew the inevitable. No man could bleed out this much and live to tell the tale. No man, not even Merlin, no matter how miraculous his warlock was. He tried to ignore it though, ignore the voices in his head telling him that this was the end. Ignore the flashbacks to his first battle where he sat holding a young squire, barely fourteen summers old, in his arms while the boy drowned in his own blood.
“R’thur,” Merlin coughed out, spattering Arthur’s face with specks of his blood, “You told me, no man-” His words were interrupted by shortness of breath as his lungs filled with blood.
“No man is worth your tears, Arthur. Not even me.”
If you had asked Arthur a year ago what he would imagine Merlin’s last words to be, he would’ve said it’d be something along the lines of insulting Arthur whilst also rambling on about armour or chores.
Not this. Never those words.
As Merlin let out a final shaky exhale, Arthur broke down into heart-wrenching sobs, holding the now lifeless body of his best friend to his chest, wailing into Merlin’s once fluffy hair, now streaked with blood and salty tears.
Arthur sits on the cold floor, rocking back and forth with Merlin’s body wrapped in his arms, tears spilling down his cheeks as he sobs. “Wake up Merlin, this isn’t funny you idiot. Wake up. Wake up. Wake… up.”
Help came in the form of Elyan, who had been walking a very drunk Gwaine back to his quarters and had heard the commotion on his way back to his house in the city, but he was too late.
All he saw coming onto the scene was the dead assassin’s eyes staring lifelessly up at him, and then an inconsolable Arthur hanging onto a limp Merlin, muttering unheard words into his ears. It took all of him not to back away from the scene, as he realised his friend needed him to be there, if not to shout for help, but for emotional support.
In the end, his morals overruled his flight response, as he dropped down to the ground next to Arthur and lay a shaking hand on the prince’s knee.
“Arthur.” He spoke softly, not wanting to spook his friend any more, treating him like he would a startled horse. “Arthur, come on, we’ll take him to Gaius.”
He struggled to think of a better idea. The thought of taking Merlin’s body to Gaius sent shivers down his spine as he imagined the old man’s face stricken with grief as he was presented with his dead nephew. Still, it was the only scenario he could imagine Arthur ever managing to get off the floor where his best friend had died.
It took a few minutes for Elyan to get his grieving prince up off the floor, cradling a dead Merlin in his arms bridal-style. It took even more alongside gentle coaxing and small words of affirmation before Arthur and Elyan began their journey up to the Physician’s quarters, no matter how ineffective any attempts at saving Merlin’s life proved.
However, it was something, anything to get Arthur away from the wreck left outside his bedroom door. Anything to stop Arthur from sitting in a pool of his best friend’s blood any longer.
“Gaius?” Elyan whisper-called into the dim chambers as he tentatively opened the door. Nothing except complete, comfortable silence disturbed by occasional soft snores greeted him in return.
“Gaius, please, it’s Merlin.” Elyan tried once again, turning back behind him to see Arthur once again slumped on the ground, his body curled into Merlin’s.
“What is it, what’s happened to Merlin, dear boy?” Gaius’s sudden wakefulness at the mention of Merlin’s name snapped Elyan out of his head and back into the present. How was he ever going to be able to break the harrowing news if the mere mention of Merlin’s name sent Gaius into worrying about his nephew?
Prizing Merlin from Arthur’s arms seemed like an impossible task, and would most likely cause more chaos than good, especially since Arthur was protective of his manservant when Merlin had been alive, so there was no doubt that he wouldn’t be releasing him from his grasp any time soon.
“Arthur, come on, we need to put Merlin on the patient bed, please just stand up.” Begging as much as he could of Arthur, just trying to do something to help the sorry situation in front of him.
After a few moments of pleading with his heartbroken friend, Merlin finally got placed on Gaius’ spare bed reserved for patients. It wasn’t without fanfare, though, as as soon as Arthur rose to his full height and walked Merlin over to the bed, shocked gasps and sobs erupted from Gaius by the door.
“What- what happened to him? He isn’t dea- no, he can’t be. Elyan please, what happened to my boy?” Gaius’ tear stained face looked pleadingly towards Elyan, the knight lost for words on how to tell Gaius the situation.
“There was,” Arthur started, saving Elyan from an inevitable task. Inhaling shakily, he continued, using the only confidence he could muster to inform the old physician. “There was an assassin. I think- no, I know- I was the target. But Merlin, the noble idiot, got in the way. Must’ve tried to save my life. But instead… instead he lost his.”
Every sentence that Arthur managed to choke out was broken by distressed sobs. “He lost his life protecting me. It should be me on that bench, Gaius. Why is it not me? Please, Gaius, is there anything you can do? Anything to trade his life for mine? I can’t live without him.” Pleading for his own death shouldn’t have been anything Arthur would even have dreamt about, but in this instance it was the only logical thing for him to do. Merlin was younger than him by two summers. He had barely reached twenty-four. He had so much life to live, and yet he got that ripped out from under him by an assassin who wasn’t even aiming for Merlin to be his target.
Noble fucking bastard, Arthur thought to himself. Never thought about the fallout, about how I’m supposed to live on without his snarky comments, or his constant rambling that calmed my mind when everything got stressful.
Thoughts ran so quickly through Arthur’s mind that any sounds made in conversation between Elyan and Gaius all faded to white noise. All Arthur could focus on was the blood rushing through his ears, yet again another stark reminder that Merlin was dead. Blood didn’t rush anywhere through Merlin anymore, too much of it abandoned in the corridor outside Arthur’s chambers, cold and drying itself onto the flagstones. Never again would he see Merlin’s face flush a deep red whenever Gwaine sung one of his raunchy tavern songs. No longer would he sport a snarky grin, the ones where his eyes crinkled up into tiny crescents, whenever he found himself with the opportunity to call Arthur a clotpole, or a cabbagehead , or a royal prat.
Arthur keeps mumbling to himself, still in abject shock over what happened. He repeats “No, he can’t be. No, he’s not. He’ll wake up.” like a mantra, over and over and over again.
A slight touch to his arm brought him back into the room. Following the arm’s length with his eyes, he found Elyan staring worriedly at his face.
“Arthur. Arthur, he’s gone.”
Those four simple words seemed to be his downfall. Fresh tears streamed down his face once more, as he threw himself down into the chair by Merlin’s bedside. His spine no longer held the strength to keep him upright, and in his despair his head thumped heavily onto Merlin’s stomach, sobs and wails wracking his body as he heaved lungfuls of air in between cries.
Gaius looked up from his own seat next to Merlin’s other side, sharing a glance with Elyan, sending a message through his own watery eyes. Fetch the others. Elyan gets the message loud and clear, almost rushing from his place hovering awkwardly at Arthur’s side, in his mission to get out of the room, now stifling with sorrow.
Barely five minutes pass before a worried Morgana peals through the door, closely followed by Gwen. Both women take one look at the sight of a bloody Merlin, a mourning Arthur draped over his lithe form, before turning to each other’s arms and sliding down the wall, tears breaking the surface and pouring down their faces.
Not two minutes later, do Gwaine and Percival race through the door before standing in shock in the middle of the room. Gwaine hesitates, tentatively taking steps towards the cot, red thunder in his eyes only muted by the sight of Arthur, his soft sobs rocking his entire form as he clung to whatever parts of Merlin he could grasp. Then, Gwaine is off again, running straight out of the door and back down the corridor.
Percival still stands in the centre of Gaius’ array of tables and various potions, looking entirely torn between staying for his friends, and sprinting after Gwaine. In the end, the latter wins out, and he takes off back out the door to find his distraught friend.
As he opens the door, in his hurry he crashes into a disturbed Lancelot, stepping out of the way to allow the knight past. Taking one look back at the room, he continues his path to where he knew Gwaine would be heading - the tavern.
Elyan follows into the room not long after Lancelot, closing the door softly behind him. Choosing to sit next to his sister, he wraps his arms around her and Morgana, both of them leaning over to return the favour.
Offering his chair up for the only knight left standing, Gaius takes himself back to his own cot, gesturing towards the now free seat for Lancelot to sit down. Lance returns a small smile, more of a grimace, though its intentions are clear. Gaius must’ve seen the uneasy expression on his face, and he is more than grateful to have a seat before he fell to his knees in grief.
Percival and Gwaine return once everyone has drifted into a distressed slumber a handful of candlemarks later. They end up taking residence on the floor, nestled within one another’s arms. No one had dared breach the door to Merlin’s room, all of them instead opting to sleep surrounding their late friend.
24 days ago, each of the knights, the Lady Morgana and her maidservant, the Crown Prince Arthur, and the old physician woke in the physician’s quarters, gathered around the corpse of their closest friend, the boy they collectively agreed was the light in their friend group.
As soon as dawn broke, Arthur peeled himself off of Merlin’s body, inhaling shakily as he attempted to subside the tears threatening to leak down his face.
“What do we do now?” Morgana’s voice was the first to break the thick silence.
“Well, I’d expect we do what he would’ve wanted.” Gaius returns from where he perches on the edge of his bed. “We should take him back to Ealdor, let him be buried back in his first home. Return him to his mother, allow her to attend his funeral. It’s only right.” Gaius’ detached facade a skill only honed through the hundreds of bodies that had passed through his door. The only thing betraying his mask is the sheen of tears reflecting in his eyes, threatening to spill.
“I must tell my father. Let him know why we are taking such a journey into Essetir.” Arthur’s voice croaked with the strain of talking after a night of broken hearted sobbing. Turning back to Merlin, he grasps his hand in both of his own, gently kissing the knuckles before laying it back at his side. With that, he is gone, out of the door, making his way towards his father’s chambers.
“Enter.” Uther’s voice asserts its power through the thick oak door as Arthur’s knock echos around the room.
Shakily walking into the room, Arthur straightens his spine as he prepares to address his father.
As Arthur heads into his father’s chambers, a place he had only dared step foot in a handful of times his entire life, Uther greets him as he sits at the heavy table in the centre of the room. Arthur’s always felt uncomfortable in Uther’s presence, always felt the pressure of being the perfect son tenfold anytime he was around the man, and this time was no different.
Wearing the façade of a man who had not lost the most important person to him not 24 hours prior, Arthur began to speak.
“Father, there was an assassin in the castle not two days ago,” he started, Uther automatically going to stand at the mention of the assassin. However, Arthur continued, deciding that he needs to mention what he came here for in the first place before anything else. “I am unharmed, though my manservant has been mortally wounded. He lost his life last night.”
Interrupting his son’s speech, Uther spoke up. “Does this mean that finally you’re going to get a new manservant, one that actually does his job properly?” The condescending tone in his words did not go unnoticed by Arthur, his defences bristling at his father’s slander. “In all fairness, the boy did grow on me slightly. It will be a shame not to see him around the citadel anymore.” Finishing his speech, he looked to Arthur, not expecting the miserable look on his son’s face. Unknowing how to console his boy, he settled for what he knew best - by brushing off the entire interaction as an inconvenience.
“I will allow you two days to mourn him and to plan his funeral - ensure it is a meagre matter though, I don’t want him shown any favour - and then I expect you to resume your usual duties. Yes, he is dead, but there is no use in wallowing when you have more important matters at hand.” With that, he had all but dismissed Arthur from his presence.
“Yes, father,” Arthur replied curtly, before turning in place and leaving.
Outside his father’s closed door, it took all of his strength not to turn back and tell his father just how heartbroken he was over Merlin’s death. More important matters , he scoffed, as if anything was more important to me than Merlin.
—-------------------
Merlin’s funeral was, as Uther had put it, a meagre affair. In looks, at least, it was. The attendants were a different matter.
When Arthur had announced to his close friends his plans for a pilgrimage to Ealdor so that Hunith could be present for the funeral, they had all been on board. So on board, in fact, that they had then gone and told almost everyone in the citadel who had been friendly with Merlin about the plans, and ended up gathering a procession of almost 50 people who wanted to pay their respects.
In the early hours of the morning after Arthur’s conversation with his father, Arthur and his closest Knights, accompanied by Gwen, Morgana, and Gaius set off on horseback for this final journey of Merlin’s to Ealdor. As they pealed through the streets, more and more people joined their procession, a couple on horseback, some riding donkeys, and most walking beside the group. Happily trotting beside them, Arthur’s favoured hunting dogs ran in between the families and horses, taken initially as a precaution in case of bandits on the journey, but to those who knew, it was because in Merlin’s presence, the dogs’ demeanor’s flipped from hunting dogs to playing like puppies.
Arthur always knew Merlin had a soft spot for his dogs, despite the amount of times he had complained about cleaning their kennels. He always blamed it on the treats he would often catch Merlin sneaking to them, but after he discovered Merlin’s magic, he knew it was a deeper, instinctual tie between Merlin and his hounds.
As the procession made their journey to Ealdor, around four hours into the trip, they unanimously decide to stop and rest before continuing. It wasn’t even Arthur who had called for this, he was more than prepared to make the entire journey in one go, not thinking to even stop for the horses. Stopping meant looking at the cart attached to the back of his horse, at the Pendragon-red cape covering the Merlin-shaped figure in tow. Gwaine was the one who actually called for the rest, managing to stop the entire group as Arthur rode on until he noticed everyone had stopped and had to turn back.
The rest was a short-lived affair. Once everyone had managed to eat, breaking off into separate circles around fires to cook what food they had brought with them, they were all back on the road. No one wanted to end up still travelling after dark, and considering Arthur only had two days before he was expected back in the castle, one being halfway through already, they were running on a tight schedule.
The entire journey had been a sombre affair, though the silence that cloaked the travellers was comfortable. There was no doubt that tears had been shed, small sniffles and occasional weeps echoed off the trees surrounding them. Everyone walked on, each comforted by how much Merlin had touched their hearts in his years at Camelot.
As they reached the final few miles of their journey, just as the sun hit its highest peak in the sky, voices murmured. Occasional stories of times Merlin had saved lives, been a gentleman, and helped those in need rose up above the group, as more and more people joined the conversation. Even the knights, who had been stony-faced and morose for the majority of the pilgrimage, had begun sharing stories. The loudest storytellers had to be Gwaine and Morgana, however, their giggles and tales of the more embarrassing moments of Merlin’s friendship were infectious, causing a cacophony of laughter to reverberate across the group.
The villagers of Ealdor all rushed out of their houses at the sound of hoofbeats and laughter, curious as to what was happening. Spotting the bright colours of the Knight’s cloaks and the glint of the chainmail in the afternoon sun, one of the younger girls abandoned her game of dolls to rush towards Hunith’s tiny hut.
As the travellers got down off their steeds, some taking the opportunity to simply sit after almost seven hours of constant walking, Hunith and her kind smile approached them. Arthur could see in her face that she was scanning the group, looking for a glimpse of dark hair and stuck-out ears, and before she had managed to put two and two together, he had already met her.
“Where is-” She began, unknowing of what had happened.
“There is something you need to know.” Arthur cut her off, a solemn look gracing his face as he steeled himself to break the news to a woman he had begun to see as a mother.
“He was a brave man. The greatest warrior I ever knew, despite hiding his true potential in the time I knew him. He was-” Arthur broke off, looking off into the hillside to collect his thoughts, the crestfallen look on Hunith’s face proving too much for him to keep his emotions in check. “He was my best friend. I loved him.”
Arthur’s voice broke as he muttered his confession, before promptly being encompassed in the warmest hug he had ever felt, Hunith’s arms wrapping around his entire frame. He rested his head on her shoulder as he wept, which was quite a feat considering he was the height of a warrior and Hunith barely came up to his shoulder.
They stood hunched together, locked in the most motherly embrace Arthur had only dreamt about, for a solid few minutes before Leon interrupted them.
“Sire, we must get on with the funeral. It is time.”
Slowly, Arthur peeled his arms away from where they were wrapped tight around Hunith, wiping away stray tears that had silently dripped down his face during the hug as he did so. Steeling himself, he straightened his back and prepared himself for what would be the last time he saw his best friend.
It had been a collective decision between Merlin’s closest friends that he would be buried rather than cremated, as none of them wished to smell the charred remains of their friend in the aftermath, and the pyre had been one of Merlin’s greatest fears, so burial was the next best conclusion.
The procession all gathered in the outskirts of the village, some stood in the treeline, surrounding a small hole in the ground. The cart that had been holding Merlin’s body was now being used as a seat for the elderly and children to have a better view and rest their legs, Merlin now being carried in Arthur’s arms.
Holding Merlin’s limp form, Arthur kept his gaze straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge what - who - exactly he was holding. If he ignored the truth until the day was over and he could fully process it, then he wouldn’t break down in fits of tears in front of his closest friends, loyal subjects, and the people of Ealdor. Not to mention that if he did start crying, there was no guarantee he would ever stop.
Lancelot led the speeches, holding a cup full of watered-down wine above his head as a toast to his late friend. “Merlin was the most selfless person I know. He saved my life on multiple occasions, even willing to give up his own in return so I could live one more day. He never expected any recognition for the noble deeds he did every day without fail, so now we must recognise him for the countless things he did to make Camelot a better place. He was my greatest friend and will live on forever in my heart. Goodbye, noble Merlin.”
One by one, all the knights went around spreading words of kindness about Merlin, some anecdotes being met by gasps of shock and entertainment (all thanks to Gwaine’s speech), and some were met by silent tears and an ache in people's chests, their love for the man so great now being faced with the fact that he was no longer alive.
After some time and many speeches, it was finally Arthur’s turn, and finally time for Merlin to be laid to rest. Not a dry eye could be seen in the crowd, and some had decided to walk away after some speeches, their sobs being heard from further into the village.
“Merlin,” Arthur began, his voice hardened as if he was delivering a speech in the council chamber of the castle so as not to crack under the pressure. “Merlin was my first true friend. When I was still an arrogant prat of a prince, he stood up to me and told me to my face I was being an ass.” Memories of their first meeting echoed around Arthur’s mind, bringing a slight smile to his face.
“He was the first person to ever stand up to me. He showed me how to be a better person. He lectured me into realising how much of a self-centred, privileged prince I was being, and how I needed to change my ways to grow into the king I want to be. Merlin also taught me that my father isn’t always right. The self-sacrificing idiot,” Arthur chuckles slightly at this before continuing, “He has saved my life using magic countless times that I know of, and many more times that I do not know of. He has helped me to realise that magic is a gift, not simply a weapon of destruction. Magic can be beautiful, helpful, lifesaving - just like Merlin. I wouldn’t have realised this if Merlin hadn’t showed me.”
Finishing his speech, Arthur gently lowers Merlin’s body into the freshly-dug grave, more tears spilling over has lashes as the village children gather to place flowers beside Merlin, before the grave is filled in.
The procession from Camelot don’t stay in Ealdor long, the knights and prince leading the journey back to Camelot to ensure they are back in the citadel in time for Uther not to have a hissy fit over Arthur’s whereabouts.
////
The following 24 days drag along for Arthur. Each morning he would be woken by a new servant, barely making it to noon before firing them because they simply weren’t Merlin . He pummels his knights during training, almost beheading Leon during one of their sparring sessions. He and Gwaine got into a heated fight, after the knight had made a brief comment about how Merlin wasn’t heckling them from the sidelines. Arthur had put Gwaine on his back, and was threatening to run him through before Lancelot and Elyan decided to restrain him, with Percival wrapping his arms around Gwaine’s shoulders and dragging him away. With tears streaming their way down his face, he writhes and yells in Elyan and Lancelot’s grip, threatening to run them through as well if they didn’t let him go after Gwaine.
Council sessions seem to be twice as tedious without Merlin’s snarky little comments in his ear about each of the petty quarrels the landowners have each week, which meant the council members bore the brunt of Arthur’s attitude most of the time, after being used to the prince half asleep through all the past council meetings.
Arthur isn’t the only one suffering the loss of Merlin. Gwaine spends almost all of his time slumped over the bar in the Rising Sun, raking up a hefty bill to the castle for his drinking habits. Lancelot closes himself off from everyone, acting like he usually does, but without any glimpse of happiness or life behind his eyes, his emotions shielded from even himself. Gaius throws himself into his work, barely sleeping, barely eating, just nonstop working on potions and tinctures, refusing to take a break for even five minutes.
Every night, without fail, Arthur would skip dinner with his father and Morgana, choosing instead to disappear into the woods on a horse, stopping at a clearing and screaming. Sometimes he would shout himself hoarse, yelling at whatever power was in the sky to just “Swap my life with his, please, I beg of you. Someone hear me, please!”, but most of the time he would kneel, staring up at the moon and stars, whispering pleas to an invisible force. After a week of this, Arthur found himself routinely in Gaius’ chambers, begging him to scour all his books on magic to find a way to swap his place with Merlin, to bring back his manservant in exchange for his life, his soul, anything just as long as Merlin came back. Gaius never had a spell for this, and even if he did, he would have never used it, the stakes being far too high for everyone involved, despite how heavily the loss of his nephew weighed on his heart.
After Gaius runs out of excuses for finding the spell, and instead begins to not entertain Arthur’s begging, Arthur loses the spark of life in his eyes. He becomes a living zombie, neglecting his duties - much to Uther’s annoyance - refusing to talk to anyone, not even Morgana as she sits by his bedside pestering him to talk, to eat, to move at all. It is as if Arthur’s will to live died the day Merlin died.
Things have changed in Ealdor, too. Every day, without fail, Hunith spends an hour sitting by the patch of mud where Merlin lay, singing sweet lullabies and narrating the birdsong to the empty space next to her. It seems, she notices, that the sky is brighter, the trees are greener, and the grass is dusted with more wildflowers than before Merlin’s death. As if he himself has been changing the landscape to be a glorious cacophony of colours in his own memory.
On the 24th day after Merlin’s death, Arthur appears in Ealdor for the first time since Merlin’s funeral, finally having gained the motivation to check up on dear Hunith. As he rides over the steep hill, he spots her sitting by Merlin’s grave. Without wanting to startle her, he dismounts his horse in front of her cottage, tying the reins to a short fence running outside the building.
“Hunith?” He says softly as he approaches her on foot.
She looks up at him, a sad smile appearing on her face, stopping mid-hum. “Prince Arthur, how sweet of a surprise this is.” Arthur sits beside her on the other side of the grave, and they stay there for hours, enjoying the quiet comfort each other’s presence brings. Eventually, dusk arrives, and the pair head into Hunith’s cottage to eat and rest.
As twilight appears, the ground surrounding the grave begins to shake softly, as if an ancient tree has fallen a mile away. The wildflowers growing around the grave seem to glow, their colours concentrated as they would appear during the day.
Great gusts of wind circle the small village, ruffling the autumn leaves across the dirt paths, shaking the branches in the trees.
Throughout all this hubbub, the village sleeps on, quietly. The village, except for one prince, who had woken up at the first sign of something off in the air. Gingerly, Arthur gets out of the makeshift bed Hunith had made for him, throwing his cloak around him for warmth as he steps out of the hut.
His attention is quickly stolen by the faint hum of magic in the air, and the soft glow emanating from the patch of dirt where he had lay his best friend to rest barely a month ago. Frozen in awe, he watches the scene in front of him, making no movement save for the condensation coming out with each breath he takes.
The spectacle in front of him continues for a few minutes, the wind and light picking up as time goes on, before coming to an abrupt stop as if nothing had ever occurred in the first place.
The dirt begins to shift by itself, moving and moulding itself with an invisible force, as if something is digging its way up through the earth.
Muddy fingers scrabble through the soil, dirt caked into the nailbeds as they grasp the ground beneath them. The rest of the hand follows them before an entire arm shoots through the dirt.
Allowing himself to move towards the grave, Arthur practically sprints, before frantically digging up the rest of the soil with his bare hands, still partially in shock, but needing to help.
Before long, Merlin’s face is unearthed, blinking up at Arthur through dirt lined eyes.
It takes less than a few minutes for Arthur to finish clawing at the ground, freeing Merlin from his earthly resting place. With his top half no longer buried, Merlin sits up, looking as alive as he had done 25 days earlier. Without hesitation, Arthur surges forward, kissing Merlin like a starving man, not caring about the mud and dirt embedded in the man’s skin. Merlin returns the kiss, albeit a few seconds after realising that this is Arthur, finally kissing him.
Moments pass between them, before they both break for air.
“I didn’t realise I had to die for you to kiss me already,” Merlin croaks into the nighttime silence.
Arthur smiles down at the floor, fiddling with a blade of grass, before looking into Merlin’s eyes, nothing but sincerity behind his expression. “I didn’t realise what this feeling I had for you was till you were gone. And now I realise what it is.”
Merlin looks at him in confusion, wordlessly asking him to elaborate.
“It is nothing but pure love. And I have been a fool not to notice it for what it was.”