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Merlin walked briskly, almost as if trying to escape his own thoughts. Camelot was still the same labyrinth of corridors, betrayals, and whispers, but that morning there was something different in the air, something that tightened his chest for no clear reason. He knew the reason, but what was new about his lies?
Turning towards the king's throne, I heard there was a meeting with the Knights of the Round Table and some advisors; I wasn't expecting anything out of the ordinary. Until I heard it.
A laugh.
And not just any laugh. That laugh.
The laugh he knew all too well, the one that had once sent shivers down his spine and now pierced his chest with thorns. He stopped right at the threshold. He raised his gaze, almost reflexively, as if his heart had compelled him to do so.
And there he was.
Unmistakable, even from afar. His perfectly styled, eternally golden hair, his posture rigid yet slightly relaxed... and that smile. That damned smile that had once been his. Or so he liked to believe. But he wasn't alone.
Beside him, an old friend with somewhat large, gentle eyes gazed at him adoringly, as if the world revolved around her. She brushed against his arm naturally, with the kind of tenderness born only of habit. A smile formed on her face; she belonged there. Merlin sensed it. This scene wasn't fleeting. It was stable. It was comfortable.
They belonged to each other. Two souls in one, as the poets say.
Just thinking about it made his stomach clench. The air grew thick, hard to breathe. Lancelot noticed, of course he noticed. He'd never been able to hide anything about himself, not his magic, and certainly not his feelings. Their eyes met for an eternity. Merlin didn't know what to say, or what to do. Everything inside him screamed, but his feet decided for him.
He turned around and walked away. No, he fled.
He cannot escape his destiny no matter how much he wants to.
The corridor stretched out like a bad dream, and each step felt more awkward than usual, more alien. As if the entire castle wanted to close in on him, as if the walls were telling him there was no longer room for his story. But that he had to stay.
Lancelot followed him. Merlin listened behind him, but he didn't stop. He couldn't
His pride barely supported his body.
He reached Morgana's room, which she had abandoned since her betrayal. No one came to this place anyway. He closed the door with a dull thud. He placed his hands on the nightstand, panting. The room's coldness wasn't enough to extinguish the fire that consumed him from within.
He looked at herself in the mirror.
And there he was: cloudy eyes, golden sparks trying to escape from her eyes, a tense face, loneliness reflected mercilessly.
He couldn't lie to himself.
No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't do it. he could lie to everyone except him.
What he had seen was true.
Arthur had moved on.
He had forgotten about it. He had gotten over it.
And he... he remained bound to a ghost. His legs remained firm. But inside, something was cracking. Something ached with an old and familiar echo.
Lancelot found him and gazed at him sadly for a long moment. Merlin was about to open his lips to speak, to make even a sound. Nothing came out. He only continued to look into Lancelot's eyes.
And then, without making a sound, without even shedding a tear... he collapsed.