Chapter Text
“When you let go and follow your fate instead of trying to twist your life around and master it, a man finds that happiness follows him.”
– Robin Hobb
“Why should we save the King of Camelot?”
Merlin had spent so long frantic, desperate to get Arthur to the lake of Avalon, that he hadn’t even thought of the ensuing deal he must make with the Sidhe.
Tightening his arms around Arthur’s barely rising chest, Merlin watched as the young, eerily luminescent sidhe studied Arthur’s wound with a wise, steady gaze. He looked much like his father; the only thing missing was the all-consuming hatred that his father held for the Pendragons.
Merlin winced. He hoped that the sidhe didn’t feel too much resentment at the death of his father at Merlin’s hands.
When the sidhe continued to stare at Merlin, impatient, Merlin let out a harried, harrowing shout, “He’s my friend! I cannot-”
Laughter, shrill and loud. The sidhe doubled over with the force, wings beating twice as hard to keep him up. When he finished, he straightened and the grin on his face sent a bolt of hot anger through Merlin’s chest, “Everyone has a friend. A friend of a friend of a friend. King Arthur, on the other hand, is not my friend. Now, tell me again, why should we help you?”
“You need to save him,” Merlin begged, drawing in a shaky breath. His cheeks displayed tears that had fallen and dried, the rest having landed in Arthur’s hair from where his head is tucked under Merlin’s chin, “Only your magic will heal him, he needs to live so he can unite the land and bring magic back to Camelot, please-”
“Don’t lie to me, boy,” The sidhe sneered, “I do not need to do anything. If we are to listen to the dragon, we should let nature take its course.”
“No!” The words burst out of him, and he whirled on Kilgharrah, the dragon stood with his head bowed. Remorseful, for once, “I will not just sit here and watch Arthur die. All my life I lied to him, and protected him, and gave up my whole bloody life for him and this is what it all comes to? He dies before he can even live?”
Kilgharrah shook his head, gaze boring into Merlin’s like he was trying to will understanding through looks alone, “It is Arthur’s time. Your destiny to protect him has been fulfilled, and now Arthur must die so peace and unity will endure until Albion needs him once more. Only then will he rise again. Now come away from the lake and let Arthur rest, young warlock.”
Unconvinced, Merlin only gripped Arthur tighter. At the increase of pressure, Arthur grunted and lifted a hand to grasp at Merlin’s arm absently.
“What you’re saying…” Merlin tasted the words in his mouth, ash and grit, “…is that if Arthur lives, magic won’t be restored to Camelot?”
The fluttering of wings amassed, a frenzy of vexed sidhe that bristled at his words. Their leader’s mouth twisted in scorn, “How do you find it hard to believe, boy? The king here has hardly changed his ways. Magic is still a sentence to death, just like Uther wanted.”
“It’s my fault.” Merlin gasped, “It’s all my fault, I-I told Arthur that there was no place for magic, and I lied so many times to save myself because I thought that Arthur would need me. But it was all for nothing,” Merlin turned to Kilgharrah with the utmost sorrow buried deep in his soul, “That’s it, isn’t it? The prophecy was never about Morgana, or Mordred. It was always about me, how I would keep him alive until I caused his death.”
“I’m deeply sorry, young warlock,” Kilgharrah’s tattered wings flared as he took a step back, “If there is any consolation, you will live until he rises once again. Your destiny will not entirely be over.”
Wavering, Merlin placed a hand on Arthur’s pale cheek. He cradled him, leaning so his forehead met Arthur’s. He could feel the slight breaths of air on his own face, the only sign that Arthur wasn’t dead just yet. A broken sob escaped him, a moment of acceptance before everything clicked.
Merlin sat up. His mind whirled with possibilities, running over every thought he’d attained about prophecies since he’d been given his.
“There has to be another way,” He pleaded to Kilgharrah, “I will not be able to live with myself knowing that I left him here to die without doing anything to change it. I want him to know that I cared for him, not just the people of Camelot or magic users. Someti-” His voice cracked, splintered the word in two, “Sometimes, I cared for him more than anyone else. I want him to know that it was never my destiny that made me care so damned much.”
He was ready for the rejection of his confession, but it never came. When he tilted his head to see hesitation in Kilgharrah’s expression, his heart skipped a beat.
“Kilgharrah,” Merlin spoke, low and threatening, “Tell me. Now.”
The dragon shook his head, more insistently this time. He refused to look at Merlin, tone abrupt and forcibly brisk, “There is another prophecy foretold that overlaps this one and results in the same outcome. However, I highly advise against it, the risks are too dear to-”
“Kilgharrah, I command that you tell me of this prophecy!” Merlin cried out, the old English instinctive, refusing the dragon any escape.
“I cannot, I-” Kilgharrah fought against the pull, rearing his head.
“Please.” The whisper was as deafening as a shout. Merlin could feel the life draining from the man in his arms, sand trickling in an hourglass.
Kilgharrah sighed, “When I gave you your destiny, I have always led you on your journey based on the first prophecy foretold. But there has always been another prophecy. One where Arthur lives and Albion is united nonetheless.”
“Then why have you never led me on that one instead? Why did you never tell me?” Merlin asked, cruelly reminiscent of how Arthur had asked him the same question days ago. He now understood exactly how it felt.
“Because this prophecy requires you to gamble on your life,” Kilgharrah snapped, “Arthur lives from this moment on, upholding his place on the throne as the King of Camelot. His rule will be just and fair but sorely lacking any safety for magic users. It’s only when he departs on a journey of his own and accepts your counsel that magic will be restored to Camelot and the destiny will be fulfilled when he dies at the hands of Mordred’s bloodline.”
Merlin grimaced at the mention of Mordred and pushed the painful notion from his mind, letting Kilgharrah’s words sink in, “Okay… okay, that hardly sounds difficult-”
“You will only be able to reunite with Arthur as a trusted companion if you defy death,” Kilgharrah declared. There was nothing but cold and ugly truth that Merlin heard, “You will be betrayed, and before your timely death, a devoted friend will either save you or fail in their mission. The two outcomes are equally likely to happen. I dare say this destiny was too vague for me to even consider as an option.”
“What will happen if I do die?”
“Magic will never return to Camelot. When Arthur rises again as the future King, there will be no warlock waiting for him.”
Death. The concept had always been known to Merlin, close but never close enough. He had always accepted it as inevitable. That one day he would have to put his life on the line for Arthur. He’d never shied away from it. This time was no different.
“And this… friend. Will I be able to trust them?” Merlin questioned. The fragment had to be nearing Arthur’s heart, it had to be, they had no time-
Kilgharrah’s gaze met his with the surety of a thousand promises, “You would trust them with your life.”
If Merlin was being honest, the decision had been made since the start. He spoke, lips pressed to Arthur’s forehead, “I’ll take my chances. Tell me what to do.”
“Well,” Kilgharrah gestured his head towards the lake, drawing Merlin’s gaze to the fairies gathered, “This prophecy has always started with the sidhe.”
Gratified, the leader threw his arms wide and grinned renewed at Merlin, “This has taken an unexpected turn. If you are to do as you say, then I will make one request in exchange for the use of my magic.”
“Anything.” Merlin breathed. Leaves swirled on the ground beside him, dancing with the accidental magic of a desperate and reckless man. Arthur’s chest heaved under Merlin’s shaking hands. Blood flecked his lips.
“The dragon speaks of a time where magic will not be returned until you reunite with the King. Us, the creatures and the sorcerers, we will not survive any longer being destroyed for what we are,” The sidhe cocked his head, “I imagine you agree, boy? That is why, in exchange for saving the King, I will have your word that you will not return to any kingdom. Instead, you will build another kingdom, safe for others like us, built upon that of your legend, Emyrs.”
To hear his name shaped by the sidhe’s lips was unlike hearing it from any other mouth. Still, he supposed anyone could have drawn the same conclusion from the conversation that had come before. The sidhe now knew that, without question, he was the greatest sorcerer to ever live.
He braced to lever Arthur up, ready and willing, “And this would be until we reunite?”
“Until you survive death, yes,” The sidhe mocked, “Do we have a deal?”
The water bit at Merlin’s skin as he submerged, pulling Arthur carefully into its depths. Was the shivering from the chill or adrenaline, he did not know, and he did not care to differentiate. Hauntingly, the sidhe became a presence all around him, shadowing his and Arthur’s wade into the lake.
Merlin looked up at their leader, “What do I do?” He asked.
“Drown him,” The sidhe said, “Push on his chest until you can see him no more. Our magic will do the rest.”
It went against everything Merlin had ever fought for to place his hand over Arthur’s heart, revering in the slow but existing heartbeat he could feel against his skin. He stared at Arthur’s closed eyes, listless mouth and drank his fill. He traced every scar and line of his face until he could see him with memory alone.
“I’m sorry,” Merlin told him, pushing until water swept over Arthur and began to encase him. Compelled to make it easier, he gathered his strength and uttered an incantation, “Swefe nu.”
Hoping the spell would give Arthur peace beneath the lake, Merlin turned away, nodding his head at the sidhe as he marched past. He didn’t stop until he stood in front of Kilgharrah. He refused to look away from the dragon’s indifferent gaze, fingernails digging into his palms, “You lied to me. When I saw that vision in the crystal cave. You told me you didn’t know about Arthur’s bane. But you knew. You knew all along.”
“Yes. I knew that one day Arthur was to be slain before his time. I was never given the knowledge of how or when,” Kilgharrah said, “I was trying to protect you-”
“You don’t care about me that much. Don’t start pretending like you do now.”
A spark of anger was now present, and Merlin almost felt relief that Kilgharrah was impassive no more. He wanted everyone to feel like he did right now, selfish, fractured, sick to his stomach with a rage that burned brighter than a thousand fires.
“I thought if you ever knew that Arthur was going to die regardless, you would stop protecting him before he took his place on the throne and started to change the ways,” Kilgharrah huffed weakly, “Now I know you would have protected him by affection alone, sacrificing Albion in the process.”
Merlin was unable to deny Kilgharrah’s claim. He was right, after all.
“Where do I go?” Merlin wondered, knowing that the five kingdoms made up most of the land, along with certain territories being held by new rulers. There was hardly any alternative if he was supposed to never return.
Kilgharrah bent low, “Hop aboard, young warlock. I will take you to the land that no one dares venture. A place encompassed by magic and untouched by new religion, a last resort to those who find it by chance when the world refuses them.”
Too hollow to be surprised, Merlin thought that it was better than nothing and moved to climb onto Kilgharrah when something caught his gaze. Arthur’s sword was laid in the grass, blade shining like the day it was born. The sword Merlin had used to kill Morgana.
He stumbled towards it, knees now weak as if his anchors were aweigh and no force held his ground. Grabbing it by the hilt, Merlin’s first instinct was to throw it back to the river. Have Freya catch it, drag it down with her. But it was Arthur’s, and along with Arthur’s mother’s sigil tucked in his pocket, it was another keepsake.
He was not to see Arthur for a long time.
Kilgharrah didn’t remark on the sword in Merlin’s hand as he clambered on. He readied his wings but stilled when Merlin placed a hand on his neck in a silent order.
“Sidhe!” He called, watching as the leader looked back. His spell danced along Arthur’s chest, the unconscious man now floating inches above the water as if repelled. Merlin swallowed the sharp lump in his throat, “When he wakes, tell him why I had to leave. Tell him that I wouldn’t leave if I didn’t have to. Oh, and one last thing,” The sidhe bared his teeth at him impatiently, “If I ever find out you didn’t hold up your end of the deal, there will be no corner of the land that you could ever hide from me.”
Merlin removed his hand and clutched at the dragon’s spike as Kilgharrah leapt into the air, the lake of Avalon fading from view.
⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆
Merlin drifted off minutes into their journey, murmuring an enchantment just before his eyes slipped shut that would keep him from falling. It’s done under the assumption that, although he wouldn’t have minded the eternal silence of death in this moment, he thought that Kilgharrah would be displeased at seeing Merlin plummet to the ground unexpectedly.
Upon waking, there was a distinct feeling of shaky descending. Merlin opened one eye and was met with the setting sun disappearing behind the trees they were approaching.
Way too fast.
Wide awake, Merlin sat up only to have to duck down again as branches came rushing towards him. He hissed in pain as they smacked against his arms and legs, burying his face in Kilgharrah’s scales and covering it completely. He could hear the wind whistling in his ears, a warning siren.
“Kilgharrah!” Merlin managed to shout right before they hit the ground. He threw out a wordless spell that managed to soften the blow, keeping himself seated so he wasn’t hurled into the undergrowth.
The aftermath was quiet, except for Merlin’s panting as he slid from the dragon’s back. Kilgharrah didn’t stir. He remained on his side, the only movement the slow rise and fall of his chest. Fearfully, Merlin staggered only to collapse on his knees beside Kilgharrah’s head, “What- I don’t understand, what happened?”
Kilgharrah’s eyes opened, pupils wavering until they landed on Merlin, “The long journey was wearisome on me. My strength, it dwindled and with it any chance of flying any further,” His words were broken by death-rattled breaths. When his wings uncurled, Merlin saw the gruesome tears now mangled to nothing but pieces, hanging loosely, “It doesn’t matter, you are here now, young warlock. The Paradise of Powys.”
Merlin ignored this, shaking his head, “Kilgharrah, get up. You’ve got to get up.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible. My time is now, whereas yours is just starting.”
“No, no,” Panic clawed up Merlin’s throat, “You can’t- you can’t die, I need you. I need you, I can’t do this without you, you’re the only one I have left. I’ve lied to everybody I’ve ever loved and killed people who I cared about, and it’s all been for nothing and now I have nobody so I need you, Kilgharrah,” Merlin pushed his palms into his eyes until all he could see were stars, “I can’t do this, I can’t-”
“Emyrs,” Kilgharrah said his name, slow and purposeful, “If I had a choice, I would choose to spend the rest of my days by your side helping you build a kingdom that will become a haven for all our kind. But my time has come earlier than I anticipated. I don’t regret any of it, and it has been a privilege to have known you.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry Kilgharrah, I pushed you, I pushed you too hard and-”
“It is not you who pushed me. There were many others along the way. You, Emerys, were the only one I cared about enough to push myself, and now I get to be the one to die knowing that I guided the most powerful sorcerer to ever live until he was able to continue on his own. Walk to the edges of the forest, young warlock. There, you will see your new destiny.”
The fond look in his eyes flickered and faded. He gave one last breath, a sigh of peace. And in no time at all, the great dragon was dead.
Merlin let out a scream that tore at his vocal cords and sent a wave of magic rolling through the forest, trees bending precariously and animals scattering from their hiding places.
Everyone was gone. Freya, Lancelot, Mordred, Morgana, Kilgharrah, his father- and Merlin had killed them. Inadvertently or intentionally, it didn’t matter. Names after names after names. Arthur lived, but at what cost? Merlin would never see Arthur again, not for a while, or Gwen or Gaius or the knights. Or his mother.
He was completely and utterly alone.
When he had no voice left to scream, he sobbed until the sun fully set and his head throbbed viciously.
Then he stood. Wobbling onto his feet, Merlin conjured a fire and scanned the woods for stones. Silently, he built a marked grave next to Kilgharrah, stacking the rocks arduously. Placing the last stone, he took a step back and ripped the neckerchief from his neck, laying the red scrap of fabric across the grave.
“Thank you,” Merlin said, wiping at his eyes. He then took heed of Kilgharrah’s words and started for where the trees part. Leading the way with a roaring fire cupped in his palm, Merlin stumbled through the woods, tripping over roots and jumping at every sound until he broke through the dense overgrowth.
Moonlight shone down through a clear sky, the vast lake reflecting the beams and casting the surroundings in a beautiful blue. A battered, crumbling castle stood across the lake, graceful even in its deterioration. Merlin gaped at the solitary sight, mountains encircling the open lands with an open valley that led to the brisk, roaring ocean.
He understood now why Kilgharrah called it the Paradise of Powys.
It was only then that he realised, frozen in awe, that Arthur’s sword was gone.