Chapter Text
Merlin made many mistakes in his life.
Sitting at Lake Avalon’s shore, staring at the spot where Arthur’s boat had sailed off a -minute, hour, day- ago, is just the confirmation he was never enough.
All the lies. The sacrifices. The deaths. The betrayals. All for The Once and Future King to die.
Merlin’s destiny got shattered and torn over like nothing but a foolish dream. His eyes track the calm waters of the lake, and he wonders. And wonders.
He regrets coming to Camelot and experiencing the feeling of belonging somewhere, since it is so easy to lose. Now that he’s lost it, Merlin doesn’t know what there is left for him.
His had thought his tears dried off, yet they are still coming down. Is it his destiny never to achieve his dream? To always want and try and fail?
Destiny. What a funny term. When Merlin first came to Camelot years ago, he was a young, innocent boy full of magic he barely understood. Then there was a purpose for it. Though unwelcome at first, he finally had something.
When an old, vengeful dragon tells you your destiny, maybe you shouldn’t listen. Maybe Merlin shouldn’t have taken any of the creature’s advice.
But it was trapped- out of place, out of time, out of luck. Merlin felt connected to Kilgharrah
before he even knew he was a dragon-lord.
So, Merlin listens. He grows to believe Morgana will be bad, but he never has the courage to truly kill her. He can never ignore those familiar eyes and separate the aching woman who needed justice, from the one who got so blinded by revenge she lost herself in it.
Not until today, when he drew the sword through her and felt nothing but shimmering panic at how quickly Arthur’s life was draining from him.
Arthur always succeeded in making Merlin do what he couldn’t do before.
Merlin lets himself believe that the young druid boy will grow to be a knight and he will kill Arthur. Merlin must hate Mordred, mustn’t he? Even if he feels achingly similar to the boy and constantly fights the urge to offer help and keep him safe.
Mordred is prophesied to kill Arthur, and Merlin can’t allow that to happen. Merlin’s destiny is to protect Arthur.
He failed at that, too.
Secretly, at nights Merlin is alone and greedy for a better life, he thinks he may have failed the moment he listened to his fears and kept his magic a secret. He selfishly imagines Arthur accepting him as he is even though Merlin is a warlock and everything that he himself made Arthur hate. But then, morning arrives, and desires are pushed back by reality.
Now he must believe Kilgharrah is right, and Arthur will come back at the time of Camelot’s greatest need. Merlin is not sure when Camelot will need her king more than right now, but it might be his soul screaming for the other half of it.
What is he without his king? Without someone to serve and protect and bicker with and sacrifice everything for? Merlin has grown so used to being by Arthur’s side, he doesn’t know how to live alone anymore.
For years, there has always been Arthur. Just within his reach, and seldom out of sight. But now…
Merlin forces his thoughts to drift back to the present. The rocks on the shore tear into his skin, making it red and itchy. Merlin digs deeper until his skin tears open and drips blood.
Here, now both his blood and Arthur’s were shed into the lake.
The memory of Arthur’s death is both stark clear and blurry. Merlin is not sure whether from the tears or the sheer pain. He cannot believe Arthur is dead, but he can’t start denying it yet. There is one last thing he must do first. For Arthur’s sake.
Merlin gets up and walks.
-----------------
His return to Camelot is slow and hazy. His legs don't work in the usual clumsy way of his- quite the opposite. Merlin oozes magic and the world itself flinches away from his pain. The ground turns smooth and soft, the rocks scatter away, and the trees bend out of Merlin's way.
He doesn't even notice it, doesn't notice the trail of magic he leaves that is thick enough to alert every slightly magical being in the land. The druids sense him more than ever, but this time, no one calls for Emrys. Instead, they make sure to stay away, and to not aggravate the grieving warlock.
When Camelot, in all her glory, appears in the horizon, Merlin breaks again. He sinks into his knees, hands buried in the soil and tears streaming down in rivers. No tears will ever be enough- he will never stop grieving his king.
Arthur once said no man is worth Merlin's tears. But he was wrong. Arthur is worth everything Merlin has to give.
Merlin forces himself to get up and breathe. He has failed so many people on so many occasions, his final mission is to inform Camelot, and more importantly, Gwen, of his own last failure.
The guards at the gates don't even try to greet him, probably seeing his bloodied clothes and blotched face. Merlin fears his eyes might be coated in gold, because his magic is still trying to chase the thread of Arthur's life. It was always so easy to find- Arthur's vibrant soul was the other part of Merlin, the completion to his own life, and it was always right there. Merlin searches and searches and searches, and there is nothing.
He isn't sure how he has made it to the castle, but he does.
Queen Guinevere's face is beautiful as always, yet tear streaked. Merlin's first thought is that somehow, someone has already informed her of Arthur. But it shouldn't be possible. Merlin was the last person to see Arthur. The one to hold him and feel his life moving to a different place Merlin can't follow yet.
Gwen looks up, gasping when she sees Merlin's state. "Oh, Merlin, have you heard already?"
"Heard what?" Merlin can hear how awful he sounds, lifeless. He is empty- he's missing the better half of his soul.
"About Gwaine… He…" Gwen shakes her head, swallowing. "Morgana killed him." She announces, her hands fisting the dress she wears.
Merlin pauses, his world spinning and freezing in blurring moments. Gwaine? Gwaine is gone as well?
Merlin and Gwaine have always been incredibly close, and Merlin always thought that if not Lancelot, he would have told Gwaine about his magic, just to confide in someone.
And now he is dead. And Merlin can do nothing. Another person he has failed.
Gwen sees his shocked face and frowns. "You didn't know, then." She looks behind him, her warm eyes hardening when she doesn’t find what she is looking for.
"Merlin, where's Arthur?" Of course she'd ask about Arthur. Wherever Arthur is, Merlin follows right behind him. One cannot be found without the other.
Words abandon Merlin. Feelings, too. Everything is too much, so it turns into an eerie nothing. There is a buzzing in his ears he can't quite ignore. Merlin fights the urge to slap his hands on his ears so the noise would stop.
Gwen strides to him, shaking his shoulders with tears already flowing down. "Merlin, where is he?" Her voice titters on a shout, and Merlin realizes it is the first time Gwen ever shouted at him. It is not a surprise it's about Arthur. Everything in Merlin seems to be about Arthur.
He blinks out of his stupor, crying again. When did he start crying?
"I'm sorry, Gwen. I'm so sorry. I couldn't… He wasn't… I tried everything! I swear, Gwen, I'm sorry…" Merlin sobs, and both the queen and the warlock fall to their knees, hugging each other and ignoring the mess of tears and the blood on Merlin's clothes.
Gwaine is gone. Arthur is gone. And Merlin failed so grandly it could be a perfect tragedy.
-----------------
Both funerals happen less than a day later. Gwaine’s is private, only the knights (that are left), Gwen, and a few other friends Gwaine has found over the years.
Merlin tells the sky to stay bright blue, full of life just like Gwaine. He forces the fire to be magnificent and beautiful, captivating like Gwaine was.
Arthur’s funeral, and as a result, Gwen’s coronation, are public events.
Arthur’s funeral makes Camelot silent. Merlin asks the birds to stay away, and the wind to be quiet. None dares to make a sound, to show a hint of life, when Arthur is gone.
Merlin’s heart breaks a little more when he sees Gwen wiping her tears at her coronation, and his voice shatters when he hails the Queen.
Later that day, Gwen and Merlin meet alone. They say nothing for a long time, and that is just fine. They both grieve; they both suffer.
Gwen is -was- Arthur’s wife, but there is not one person who has seen the King and can deny that Merlin and Arthur always came together as a package.
It is Merlin’s destiny to serve Arthur. His destiny never implied what he should do if Arthur is gone. It was never supposed to happen- Merlin was never supposed to fail.
He stands, hugging Gwen one last time. She understands his intentions without him ever telling her. “Stay?” She pleads, but there is no conviction in her words.
“I can’t, Gwen.” Merlin whispers, the gentle breeze only making him shudder. Everything in Camelot is Arthur, and everything about Arthur hurts.
“I hope you find your path, Merlin. Know that you will always have a place here.” Gwen smiles as much as she can, hugging Merlin to her chest.
She engraves his physique into her heart one last time, and Merlin grasps at the last straws of what Albion should have been before he lets go.
They both know it is a goodbye. “You are a great queen. Just… be safe.” Merlin doubts he can suffer another loss, and he doesn’t plan to find out.
A stronger man would have endured whatever would happen to his kingdom. But Merlin is too weak to watch it happen.
He turns away from Gwen, from Camelot, and from the Albion that should have been glorious, and walks.
He isn’t sure where he is heading until Lake Avalon glints in the night sky. Merlin settles against a tree and waits for Arthur to return.
No prophecy said what Emrys will do without The Once and Future King. It is only sensible that the reason is that there is no Emrys without the King. There is no Merlin without Arthur, either.
-----------------
Merlin can't recall how long he has been waiting, but he forces his eyes to stay open. If he closed them, Arthur might need help to step out of the lake and Merlin won't hear him.
He won't hear his king. The Once and Future King. His destiny. His second side of the coin. His friend. His life.
What is Merlin supposed to do now, when Arthur is gone?
He has sacrificed everything he had for a future that will never come.
Merlin scoffs at the thought of the golden age. He scoffs and chuckles bitterly, his hand aggressively wiping away the tears that stream down without his permission.
What a funny thought. Why would anyone give Merlin, a young village boy, the destiny of Albion itself? Why did he never tell Arthur? Why did he make all the wrong decisions? Why can't he be the man he was destined to be?
Why is he alive when Arthur isn’t? It never should have happened.
Merlin feels a serene calmness wash over him. He stands, muscles aching from sitting for -hours, days, weeks?- and stretches just a little. It doesn’t matter anyway.
Merlin breathes deeply, looking at the quiet lake before him. The lake that took Arthur. The lake that cemented his failure. Merlin breathes again. In. Out. As calm as the waters.
A better, stronger man would turn his back after a final goodbye and try to find a new path in life.
Merlin never claimed to be better. And he could never turn away from Arthur. And so, Merlin does the only thing he knows- he follows.
Merlin has followed Arthur for a decade. He has followed him into danger after danger. Into mistakes and losses and victories and into the new age he was promised but never got. It only makes sense he would follow Arthur into the end as well.
There is no Emrys without The Once and Future King. No Merlin without Arthur. Wherever his king goes, a loyal servant follows. And Merlin is nothing if not loyal.
Merlin steps forward, his legs not stumbling over any of the rocks, his eyes never looking down to make sure of his path. Arthur waits on the other side, and because of that, Merlin doesn't falter when he enters the lake. He hears a gentle buzz that blocks the sound of waves, animals, and the world itself.
There is an eerie sense of determination a man feels when his goal is clear. That sureness that Merlin is finally making the right decision. After a life of failures, he can make his last choice right.
Deeper and longer. Until the blue water, bright from the sun, turns nearly black in the depth of the lake. Until the only thing he can breathe is the smell of clean water. Until air is not an easy habit, but a luxury.
For Merlin, air has become punishment, for how can he breathe when Arthur doesn't?
He can feel his chest tighten, trying to gasp and inhale what Merlin doesn't allow it to. His body may fight for life, but Merlin doesn’t want it. It is useless to live without a soul anyway, and his soul has gotten snatched away with Arthur.
His life has been a harsh journey. It may have been full of many wonders. Many good, pure people. But destiny looms darker than any storm, and Merlin's destiny was always supposed to be his end.
He opens his mouth in the water. Loosens his chest. Forces his limbs to go slack. And sinks.
Letting go has never felt better.
-----------------
When Merlin opens his eyes, he expects to find the Camelot of his dreams, magic shimmering in the wind, hand in hand with the air itself. It would be full of laughter. Arthur will be there, his eyes shining with life, waiting with some jab towards Merlin that carries no heat. That is what heaven would look like.
Instead, he opens his eyes to Lake Avalon's shore.
Well, maybe he made it to Hell instead. It makes sense, after everything he has done. After all the pain he caused.
But Freya's hand touches him softly, brushing his arm, face, and hair. Freya could never be in Hell. That is when Merlin heart sinks, reality hitting him harder than any punch.
Maybe it is his own special Hell, staying alive.
Merlin screams, anger and resentment forcing his magic out in lash after lash of pure gold. The lake rages on, the day turns to night, and the sky fills with storm clouds. The animals scatter away and make the forest silent. The earth shakes, tears open and close repeatedly.
Over Albion, many would call this day a warning from the gods. From the old religion itself.
Merlin just curls into the ground and screams until his throat cannot make a single sound.
His body is not his, just a fragile vessel containing magic's essence. His mind is filled with nothing and everything and it is overwhelming him. But being overwhelmed is better than knowing there is a place Arthur went where Merlin couldn't follow.
He stabs his broken nails into his skin, watching rivulets of blood streaming down with empty eyes. Why can he bleed but not die? Merlin digs deeper into his skin, trying to reach into his own heart and take it out.
Freya's hand snatches Merlin's own out of his palm, resilient and calm. Her gentleness tears through Merlin's anger like a sharpened spear, and all that is left is despair.
"Freya…" Merlin croaks, his eyes still golden, having no intention of fading to blue soon. "He… Arthur is… gone." His voice breaks on the name of his king.
Merlin has failed him. He kept his own secret, sacrificed all his morality, his life, and his death, for Arthur. All for it to bring him nothing. No, it brought him an apparently infinite existence of regret and pain.
"I know, Merlin." Freya whispers, her hand combing through the nest of wet locks on his head. Only now Merlin notices he is shivering. Freya must have dragged him out of the lake. After he tried to kill himself.
And failed again.
He watches as the water dampens the earth beneath him, turning it into dark soil. His own hand curls on the ground, sparks of gold shooting out of him, trying to escape his pain.
"What will I do now?" Merlin asks weakly, forcing himself to sit up from the pitiful curl he is in. He asks Freya as if she knows all the answers to the world. What is there to say, really? He must live, forever, without Arthur.
"The dragon says Arthur will come back." Freya reminds him.
Merlin's head falls slowly, a long sigh escaping him. He knows it, he knows. But he thought… maybe he could join Arthur early. Maybe he doesn’t need to wait so long. Maybe he can reunite with his king.
"All you need to do is wait." She says, as gentle and everlasting as the waves of the lake. Merlin isn’t sure he is patient enough. He has waited ten years for his promised golden age. He tried to do everything to make the prophecy come true. He has been patient and kept the responsibility of the world on his shoulders, alone. At the end, his patience didn't help. The golden age didn't shine on Arthur and Merlin together, and the prophecy wasn't fulfilled.
"Arthur wouldn’t want you to harm yourself, Merlin. He cared for you too much to allow yourself to rot." Merlin flinches at Freya's words, shuddering at the brutality of them. She is right, of course. Merlin has been letting himself rot. He could barely remember his short time in Camelot after Arthur's...
Oh, that is embarrassing, how he can't bring himself to even think about Arthur without wanting to throw up.
"I know, Freya. I know." Merlin whispers, surprised to find his voice so raspy. Why is it like that? "It's not like I have another choice." He sighs, standing again.
Freya stands with him. She is so beautiful, with her dark hair and deep eyes and flowy ethereal dress. She looks like the eternal creature she is. She is the Lady of the Lake, beautiful and wonderful and lovely. Yet all Merlin can think about is golden hair, bright eyes, and a pratty attitude.
He never thought he would miss Arthur's insults, but here he is, wishing for someone to call him an idiot in that same tone that has vanished from the world.
Arthur took everything with him when he died. He took all the color, and the novelty, and all the hope. He took Merlin's soul as well. He wishes Arthur could've stopped to take the body with him.
Merlin is not a better man than anyone. He is weak, desperate, and hopeless. But he always was, and always will be, loyal to Arthur. If he can’t join him, then he will do his best to be who Arthur needs him to be when the king returns. Which means he will need to be alive when Arthur returns. Because he must return. There is no other option.
For now, all Merlin needs to do is to survive. He needs to be someone Arthur will be proud to call a friend once more. Arthur won't recognize Merlin if he is suffocating under the weight of grief. Merlin has always been the optimistic- he had to be. And while it didn't pay out for him, he can't give up. Arthur never did. When he returns, Merlin will be waiting, and as always, by his side.
Merlin glances at Freya again. She is immortal too, but time passes differently as a spirit, an eternal creature. For her, time passes in the drops of water. It can be a second or a century before a river fills again. For Merlin, every moment is agony. But he can deal with it. He must.
"I am sure we will meet again." Merlin smiles. It is soft and small, but genuine, and so Freya smiles as well.
"Stay strong until next time, Merlin." She greets, disappearing into the lake that took all that Merlin was.
-----------------
The years haven't been kind to Merlin. They pass as slow as the steps of an old man, each year dragging after the other.
Until they don't. Until it all blends into a month, year, decade, century at a time. And Merlin isn't sure anymore what year it is and how much of the evolution of humanity he had missed. In the blink of an eye, kingdoms and empires have risen and fallen.
Merlin can't decide if it is a good thing or a bad one that he can't see time in the same way anymore. His purpose is still there, as solid as a rock in the back of his mind, but it is muted by the passing of time.
Merlin waits for Arthur to return when he hears distant talk about Camelot's nearing demise. The kingdom is rumored to be in ruins, barely holding on against other kingdoms, and raids, and the world that hurls at what is left of Camelot. There is no time for the Once and Future King to be needed more than now. Soon, there will be no Camelot to save. But Arthur doesn't return.
Merlin is left waiting.
-----------------
Camelot is long abandoned to Merlin's past- he couldn't bear to be there after Gwen died. He couldn't stay in the kingdom where he once had everything, even if it meant there would be no Camelot to return to. Even if it meant he had left Camelot to crumble.
The day Camelot falls, Merlin grieves. Tears stream down again, his eyes blazing in gold as he feels the agony of destiny's weight falling on his shoulders once again to remind him of his failure.
The earth cries with him, rain decorating the atmosphere more than air, the seas getting flooded and the world turning into a darker shade of blue. Camelot has been washed down to nothing- a remainder of a time long passed.
Merlin watches Arthur's kingdom from afar. He feels the ache as sharp as decades ago, when he first came back to Camelot, after Arthur's death.
There is no one left for Merling to grieve with. No one he has ever known is alive now. Gwen, Percival, Leon. All dead. The rest have died even before. Arthur, of course, is just a name on the history pages. A word passed through to commemorate how the once great Camelot has fallen.
Only Freya rests her hand on Merlin's shoulder. In the rainstorm, he called for her. Wishing for any familiarity in his life.
"Merlin. You're flooding earth." Freya whispers. He blinks, frowning at how she got here. Freya can only travel in large entities of water. but Merlin is sure he had watched Camelot from on top of a mountain.
When he glances down, he finds out the mountain is nearly buried underwater. It is jarring, to see how much he doesn't notice when he is lost to his magic. How easy it is to get carried away into his own world and let his magic work free.
Merlin breathes slowly, closing his swirling golden eyes and gently soothing the storm. He apologized to the earth, who comforts Merlin and helps him dry the land.
Over Albion, many believe magic is peaceful again. There is nearly no kingdom outlawing magic anymore. So, they pray to the old gods for peace, thanking them when the land turns dry again.
"There is no Camelot for Arthur to return to, Freya." Merlin leans again a tree, his clothes soaking the remaining drops from the newly diminished storm.
Will Arthur be mad at Merlin doing nothing to save Camelot? If Arthur had known how Merlin left Camelot and abandoned her, he would have been furious. Arthur would not forgive Merlin for leaving when the kingdom needed him. But Merlin couldn't do it. He couldn't stay in the place where everything was so purely Arthur. Every slab on the pavement felt Arthur's legs, every building had Arthur's touch on it. For Merlin, the air itself smelled of Arthur. Of failure belonging to a tragic past he wishes to forget. Even with all his grief, he would accept Arthur's anger and hatred, if it means seeing Arthur again.
He wanted to save Camelot, he really did, but couldn't face the first home he ever had. For Merlin, it was never about Camelot. It was always Arthur.
Noblest of all kings, kindest, bravest. Dead.
It is the first time Merlin wonders to himself just how long he will have to wait. It has already been many decades.
"Maybe you should travel around Albion, Merlin. There are barely any kingdoms that outlaw magic. See the golden age." Freya suggests, her voice wavering as the water disappears. She will soon be gone again.
Merlin laughs. "There is no golden age without Arthur." How can there be a golden age without his king leading him into it? Why should Merlin even care when Arthur isn't here to see the fruits of his hard work? Of the prophecy he has never been privy to.
But after another decade of waiting, Merlin listens to Freya's advice. He travels.