by GR Griffin
“Father.”
Uther shut his eyes. Silence reigned over the battlefield before the Druids broke into vast, unanimous cheering.
“FATHER!”
Arthur ran to the edge of the cliff. His body froze. His father had jumped. Uther had jumped. Shock consumed him as he watched his father fall perilously. Vehement tears leaked from his eyes, not daring to fall. He couldn’t cry. Everything the man had done pelted him sadistically in the chest. He felt his magic fizzing, shattering against his skin. People had died, children had died; settlements had been lost. It was a painful reminder, a reminder that even after all of this, he hadn’t done the right thing. He had still tried to save a man Albion deemed not worth saving. That. That was enough to let the tears fall. He didn’t realise he was leaning too far over the edge until a pair of arms hauled him back and the view changed. Arthur struggled against their grip; unaware he was murmuring ‘father’ frantically. Pushing against the arms viciously, he broke free. He didn’t bother asking who it was. He gazed over to the White Dragon, eyes ferocious.
“I command you to take me down there Aithusa!” The Dragon remained motionless. “TAKE ME DRAGON-”
Snarling, Aithusa spat a small blue flame out of her nostrils. It narrowly missed his feet.
“-You are no dragonlord, you cannot force me to make a decision that is wrong. You offered him clemency; he refused.”
But Arthur was already walking away from the Dragon, fuck he was walking away from Merlin, disorientated and unexpectedly so blinded by his anguish. He didn’t think it would hurt, watching his father die. But fuck. It hurt. It hurt more than he wanted to admit, because what kind of person could mourn for a man who had caused so much suffering? The figure who had pulled him away from the edge reappeared. They stood in front of him sternly, jaw tightened, fists balled. Eyes…those eyes. This time Arthur saw exactly who they were. Blinking rapidly to adjust his vision, Arthur studied that pale face, those emerald eyes, that raven-black hair. Assured it was an illusion, he tried to brush past the figure. They held their hand out calmly, acting as a barrier. Their voice and words were far from calm.
“Will you just look at yourself!” the venom was clear. “Stop it! This isn’t you! Uther wanted this. He didn’t do it because had to; he did it because it was the biggest insult he could ever give you, his final move. He wanted you to act this way, to prove that you are exactly like him and would go to any means to ease your suffering. He wanted to convince you that you are like him.”
Arthur stared at the figure, eyes wide and desolate. Emptiness swathed across his face as he listened intently to her words. It was all he could do to stop himself from passing out in disbelief. She was right. Fuck of course she was right! He should have known his father’s last move would have been an insincere, deliberate taunting to his son. Casting the thought aside because it hurt his head and broke his heart, Arthur studied another heart-breaking sight before him. She was standing right here, right now. Her powerful, influential voice could turn tides and defy gravity if it wanted to.
He was certain. A fragmented laugh escaped his lips. This could not be…it was. How…how was this possible? He wanted nothing more for this to be true, prayed it with all his heart. Their watery eyes linked powerfully.
She smiled comfortingly at him, her lips parting to reveal those teeth Arthur had once likened to piercing daggers when he was six. She’d then retorted that they were because she was a blood-sucking vampire, and Gaius had promptly shushed the pair of them for talking about magical ‘nonsense’ in public. The memory crashed over his skin. He choked on his words with a stutter that was supposed to resemble a fond laugh. Speechless, he watched as she narrowed her eyes. The frequent and infinite passion she possessed added a radiant glow to her skin.
“You’re not like him Arthur. You’re not.” Her defiant, bold tone withered into a soft one that caressed his ears. “I won’t let you destroy everything you are because of his selfishness.” With that she drew him hastily into her arms. That was all the confirmation Arthur needed that this was real. He let go the breath he had been holding, releasing with it the bottled emotions. Pulling her closer, Arthur clasped his eyes shut, embracing the woman he was afraid he’d lost forever. Morgana. Morgana, it’s…you’re alive. He felt his mind whisper because he couldn’t bear to say it aloud afraid it would crumble and turn into a stream of crackled syllables. I’m here Arthur; it’s me.
“You acted like a noble man Arthur, you gave him a choice,” She whispered into his ear, glancing over to the mountainside behind him. “It’s more than what any of us would have done in your place.” Humming in agreement vaguely, Arthur gradually reopened his eyes. As he did, Merlin and Aithusa came into view. Morgana’s words served as a vital reminder to who exactly had been in his place. Breaking the embrace abruptly, he released the woman and rushed over towards the white Dragon and the Druid.
Aithusa’s tail was curled around the body on the ground. The expression in her sapphire eyes wasn’t promising. Choosing to ignore it, Arthur leant down beside Merlin. He was pale; more pale than he had been which he was unsure was even possible. The abnormal glowing from the chest had dwindled down to a mere ember of white light, adding a peculiar hue to his skin. His forehead was still burning. His hands were still cold. Arthur spared Morgana a look that said all he couldn’t say, before turning his attention back to the Druid.
“Merlin,” he breathed. Nothing. Silence. Swallowing-hard, he leant closer, enough for Merlin’s face to become a little blurry at the proximity. “Merlin?”
Blinking open his eyes faintly, a smile ghosted over Merlin’s face. Pulling back slightly, Arthur felt relieved. Still, he wanted to wipe it off because he failed to understand how Merlin could be smiling of all things right now. His enigmatic, striking blue eyes were even more of a contrast against it skin now his complexion was almost ashen. Somehow, Merlin still found the strength to speak.
“Arthur,” concern was etched into his croaky, sore voice. The strain on it made Arthur queasy just thinking about what had happened between him and Uther. “You’re okay.” Then he gasped for air. There was a slight daze over him, distancing him directly from the scene. Arthur could feel this distance and it worried him. “I’m…not okay.”
“Well observed Merlin.” Arthur spat sarcastically, though the bite lacking in his voice and was replaced with tender affection. Glancing up at the White Dragon questioningly, Arthur grimaced. You said it wasn’t potent! What’s happening to him? Averting her gaze, the Dragon roared, clearly beckoning Kilgarrah. I don’t know Arthur I’m sorry. This wasn’t looking good at all. And although he could hear the cheers of the People, the rejoicing on the battlefield as what was left of the dark army faded over the horizon to never return, all he felt was sorrow.
“If,” Merlin began, surprisingly calm for the state he was in. “I die here…I just need…-"
“-Don’t!” Arthur hissed wildly, absently clutching Merlin’s shirt in his fists. He put on a convincing calm and calculated voice. “You’re going to be fine. I won’t hear any of that nonsense, not from you.”
The thud of a golden Dragon landing on the ground absorbed attention for a moment. Kilgarrah gazed down at the young warlock, exchanging a pensive glance with Aithusa.
“Can you help him?” Arthur asked, not realising he was pressing his palm against the great Dragon’s chest until it looked down at the hand in confusion. Removing it, he raised his eyebrows. “Kilgarrah?”
“I fear that this is no natural sickness,” The Dragon eventually said, and well really Arthur could have deduced that by himself and without riddles. He pressed his lips together in frustration, wondering if the Dragon had anything else to say. “I have not seen anything like this before…”
“-Arthur!” Turning round, Arthur watched Morgana run towards them, weapon in hand. As she got closer, the two Dragons became fixated at what was in her hands. Aithusa flinched away from it unwillingly. “It’s Uther’s gun. There’s something odd a
bout it.”
“We’ll take it with us,” Arthur stated, flinging one of Merlin’s arms around his shoulder. “Perhaps Gaius will be able to figure it out.”
Merlin’s voice sounded quietly beside him.
“Alive.” It was full of relief, then a wretched. “Gwen…”
Balancing Merlin on the other side, Morgana smiled.
“We made it out before the blast Merlin,” she cast Arthur a triumphant look. “All of us.” The news warmed his heart, a genuine smile lingering on his lips for a second. When Merlin moaned, his smile faded.
“We’ll talk more about what happened in Iaonam later.” Arthur pretended not to see Morgana flinch at the words. Gently, the pair of them placed Merlin on Kilgarrah’s back. Merlin had slipped out of consciousness again, breathing heavily and unevenly.
“I’ll go with him.” Arthur stubbornly said before anybody could protest.
He knew there would be protest.
“You are the Once and Future,” Kilgarrah replied. “The People of Albion are waiting for your presence on the battlefield.”
Gripping his hand, Morgana squeezed it reassuringly.
“I know the last thing you want to do is declare victory while Merlin is suffering,” she said. “But you are a not a simple Druid, you’re a leader.”
Nodding reluctantly, Arthur gazed over to Merlin wistfully. Mounting Aithusa, he frowned.
“Look after him, please.” Bowing his head in response, Kilgarrah broke into flight, flying back to Iaonem with Merlin.
♦☼♦
The battlefield was littered with bodies, blood and destruction. Arthur and Morgana walked through the wreckage silently, paying their respects to those who had fallen in the fight for justice. Amongst the casualties were many Druids. It stung Arthur’s eyes as they carefully treaded through the massacre. So many had died. The magnitude of this great battle finally sunk in. The Breguoin plain stretched for many miles, all of it consumed in smoke, death and fire. Reaching for Arthur’s hand, Morgana swallowed-hard as her eyes gazed over the bodies in grief. From behind, Aithusa followed, white wings tucked gracefully into her back. She grumbled deep in her chest, murmuring something in Dragon tongue that neither Arthur nor Morgana understood.
Helsceaða œne! Bereofan ċaeim âmaş
Hei cnyssan ofer, măwe đruiţe ĩean gehrören
Not far ahead stood a group of people, roughly a dozen. Behind this group of people, hundreds of Druids that had survived were also standing, offering new hope and new light to the world that had been finally rid of a great evil. Relief washed over Arthur when his eyes met his oldest friend; Gwaine. Standing beside Gwaine were Will, Lancelot and Elätha. Behind this group, Arthur spotted Raegan and Topia, a majority of the Clan leaders, some of the Elders and a large mass of surviving Druids. As he approached them, his feet marching silently to the fading drums of war, all eyes focused upon him. Less than a few meters from his friends, Arthur lifted his head brazenly; tip of Excalibur plunged into the ground. There was great intensity in his stare.
Then, he cast his sword into the air majestically. It was a grandiose gesture, one of bravery, respect and one that promised a new beginning. At the gesture, the plain became alive with cheering and applause. Druids pushed their weapons into the air in victory, some too overwhelmed to do anything other than smile or laugh. Arthur forced a smile onto his lips. He almost stumbled over when Aithusa fired a single jet of blue flame onto the sword. She had to always be theatrical and pander the crowd, didn’t she? Gazing up at the sword in wonder, his eyes widened as its body glowed with a sapphire tint, the golden engravings more prominent. This spurred on the cheering. Lowering his sword, Arthur silently examined it before casting Aithusa a questioning glance.
It has now withstood the fire of two Dragons. This sword is sacred; the first of its kind. Treasure it Arthur, it is forever yours.
Sliding a hand over the metal that was ice cold, Arthur gaped at it in wonder. Catching sight of Morgana, Lancelot bolted forwards urgently. She only had to nod with a small smile to evoke a heart wrenching, honest smile from him and tears of joy. He fell into her arms, the pair of them breathing soft laughs. As Gwaine approached them he exchanged a cautious glance with Will. They pair of them frowned, and he asked the question everybody had in the back of their minds but didn’t dare bring it forwards. Arthur felt his composure falter as the words washed through his ears, the cheering slowly dissolving away.
“Where’s Merlin?”
Averting his eyes, Arthur swallowed-hard. Topia and Elätha stood beside Gwaine, their eyes full of concern. Everything inside Arthur ached, throbbed. He wanted nothing more than to tell them all Merlin was fine. He wished that could have been the words he said. He wished Merlin was standing beside him now, strong and resilient, able to relish the scene of his People rejoicing in their triumph. He pressed a hand to his pounding head, not realising he had fallen backwards into someone’s arms. Blinking, he heard voices around him, but they were speaking far too slowly. Everything suddenly flickered from slow to fast in a confusing, disorientating blur that seemed not to care it was messing up his balance.
“Where’s Merlin?” Will repeated, this time more insistent and intimidating.
“Stop it, can’t you see he’s overwhelmed?” Morgana hissed back, hand cradling Arthur’s neck that threatened to roll his head back with dizziness.
“His is alive,” Topia sighed, seeming to instantly bring the atmosphere down from traumatised to inquisitive and concerned. “I can still feel his magic among us.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.” Will snapped angrily, not caring that he was addressing a Clan Leader in such a rude way. “Where the fuck is he?!” His eyes locked on Arthur Pendragon who was lurching forwards slightly. Arthur felt shame and guilt consume him. He should have got there sooner, he could have prevented this, and he could have prevented all of this if he’d acted swiftly. Will’s hostile tone alerted him, scared him. They had just been on seemingly good terms, almost friends. He was sure, for what had happened Will would never forgive.
“I-” he stammered, as he spoke he narrowed his eyes in confusion at the look of pure fear and terror on their faces.
Then it happened so damn fast he almost thought he’d imagined it.
“-ARTHUR LOOK OUT!”
There was a gunshot. Just one; a loud one that fired menacingly through his ears. There was rapid movement around him, screams. He heard Morgana yell out desperately. Aithusa growled, her wings flapping dangerously as she tried to source the noise. Arthur barely had time to register the word of warning, before he was pushed out the way valiantly. As his vision blinked in and out of focus, the events quickly swam through his mind. Gunshot. Look out. Shove. Push. Scream. Gunshot. Cries. Gunshot fucking gunshot! Determinedly pulling his weary mind back into focus, he leapt onto his feet. What he saw shocked him. Lance and Morgana were viciously standing over a rogue enemy who was scarcely breathing, tearing the gun from his hands. Gwaine was crouched down on the ground. But not where Arthur had fallen.
Arthur put the pieces together. The man on the ground must have mustered the last of his strength, taking a pretty accurate shot. The shot was for Arthur. His heart raced, palms clammy and breath ragged.
But he wasn’t dead.
He hadn’t been shot.
Dark realisation flashed in his eyes. Someone had pushed him out the way. Gunshot. ARTHUR LOOK OUT! Cries. Screams. Someone had taken the bullet for him. The voice of these words gave his rescuer an identity. Rushing over, Arthur felt bitter tears prickle his eyes, because this wasn’t fair at all. The one who had taken the bullet for him was Will. Will was on the ground. Will was dying. Blood stained his shirt. There was no denying the wound was fatal. Will had saved Arthur Pendragon from certain death. Falling to his knees beside the dying man, Arthur looked up at Aithusa who shook her head sadly in response to the question his watery eyes were asking. He could not be saved.
“Will,” he muttered, remorse and anguis
h drenching his voice. “You saved my life.”
The man on the ground gazed up gradually, a bitter smile squeezed over his face.
“A thank you would be nice,” he managed to choke out through his agonising cries of pain. “Though…wouldn’t expect it from you.”
Gently, Arthur chuckled at the words. His morbid expression contradicted the gesture. Will spluttered violently, blood spewing from his cracked lips.
“I hated you once,” he gasped, clenching his eyes shut as a wave of irrepressible agony washed over him. Talking was clearly not doing him any good. However, as Gwaine tried to shush him, the man continued in objection, pushing the hand away from his bleeding chest. Silent, Arthur felt his lips twitch at the words. “But I…I was wrong. You’re a good man, a great man; great enough to die for. And I would do it again-”
Bowing his head, Gwaine sighed. The reality of the situation had been breached.
“-Will-” Arthur began, his voice failing him when he tried to be stern.
“-Look after Merlin, please.” The dying man retorted bluntly, a bitter smile spreading over his face. Abruptly he began to cough again. This time he cried out in pain, wincing as his hands reached for his chest anxiously. Gwaine leant a little closer in concern; smiling bleakly down at the ‘ray of sunshine’ he’d become acquainted with the past few months. Unable to speak, Arthur bit his lip and turned to Morgana. She shared a penitent look with him. Vibrancy and resolution faded from Arthur’s eyes, diminishing until there was no sparkle left. Merlin. If- when, there really was no time to think about ‘if or when’ – woke, he would be crestfallen, confounded by this horrible news. Will’s voice pulled him back in.
“I’m…scared.” He hissed. Right now, Arthur knew the one thing Will needed was Merlin, his best friend. Or Gwen. They would have soothed him, been able to console the dying man. He needed somebody to tell him it was all going to be okay. Instead he had Arthur who could do nothing but delicately respond to the blunt, brash words that Will was renowned for. Arthur had told enough lies the past few months; he couldn’t bear to tell another. Inhaling a deep breath, he reached for one of Will’s trembling hands, clasping it in a vice grip. Their eyes met fiercely.
