Chapter Text
“I want to s-say something I’ve never s-said to you b-before.”
Merlin can feel life trickling out of him, his body getting heavier, sinking further into Merlin’s arms. He can’t tell whether the stuttering is the result of pain or cold. Arthur’s skin has always been golden, warm to the touch even during the fiercest of winters. Merlin would know. He’s spent the past ten years marveling at the fact. Arthur has always reminded him of the sun - intense, blinding in its beauty. Irreplaceable. One of a kind.
He’s all of those things still. Even when his skin has turned ashen pale, his lips blue and trembling.
Merlin shakes himself, trying to hear over the deafening noise of his heart pounding in his ears.
He clutches Arthur closer, pressing their cheeks together, breathing him in. He smells strongly of dirt, sweat and blood. But underneath it all he still smells like Arthur - like thunderstorm and grass after rain.
His breathing slows down rapidly, and Merlin searches out his eyes in panic. The sparkling blue of his irises has dimmed to a hazy grey and he stares up at the sky with an empty look. But he must feel Merlin’s gaze on him, because he takes a long breath in and cranes his neck until their eyes lock. For a split second, Merlin sees a flash of that familiar sparkle and his heart clenches with hope.
Arthur’s dry lips part, and Merlin wants to tell him not to strain himself, to hold on for just a little longer.
It’s Merlin who has so much to say, so much to explain. Knowing that Arthur doesn’t hate him, that he forgives him, is above anything he's ever allowed himself to hope for. It’s more than enough.
But he owes Arthur so much. Arthur deserves so much. So much better than what he’s been dealt. So much better than Merlin.
“I love you.”
Arthur’s tongue doesn’t trip over the words. There’s no trace of barely concealed pain in his voice. Not once does his gaze waver, and he looks like the warrior he was born to be.
When he takes in the gobsmacked look on Merlin’s face, there’s an ever so soft tilt to his lips, and Merlin realises, with irrefutable finality, it’s a smile meant only for him. He knows, because he’s seen it before. Only a few times, only on the rarest of occasions, when Arthur felt safe, and happy, and free. When he allowed himself to be vulnerable in front of Merlin, opening his heart, letting Merlin see.
He raises his hand, the rough leather of his glove sliding through Merlin’s matted hair. He smiles then, not wide but blinding all the same.
Merlin’s heart skips a frantic beat when he registers Arthur’s pulling him down, his dimming eyes locked on Merlin’s lips. Merlin wants so badly to follow his lead, to press their mouths together, as they always should have done, and breathe life into Arthur, the way all those fairy tales speak of.
But his body is frozen in place, the echo of Arthur’s soft but sure I love you running through his veins like lightening.
Arthur’s hand slides heavily alongside Merlin’s neck, eyes turning into his head and eyelashes fluttering shut.
“No,” Merlin chokes, panic boiling in his stomach. "No. Arthur.”
His hands scramble over Arthur's serene face, desperately shaking him awake.
"Arthur!"
Arthur's eyes blink open momentarily, but he's not looking at Merlin, he's not really looking anywhere at all.
Merlin feels him slip away further, somewhere he knows he can't follow. He still begs him in a hopeful whisper, "Stay with me."
The last spark of warmth seeps out of Arthur's body, leaving him lifeless in Merlin's arms. Merlin clings to him, mumbling prayers and pleas against Arthur’s temple. He feels a sob crawling up his throat, but it comes out as a roar.
"O drakon, e male so ftengometta tesd'hup'anankes!"
His voice breaks on a heart-wrenching sob, and he couldn’t care less. Gently, carefully, he extracts himself from under Arthur, making sure he doesn't let go at any moment. He takes Arthur's beautiful, stone cold face between his trembling hands and brings their foreheads together, eyes squeezed shut. Maybe, if he keeps them closed for a little while, he can open them again and find it's only been a terrible dream.
But Arthur doesn't move under him, his breath doesn't ghost over Merlin's skin.
Merlin’s magic screams in anguish at having been separated from what it’s always been a part of.
He doesn't realise he's crying until a few tears land on Arthur's cheeks, trickling down his face as if they belong to him. Merlin brushes them away with his thumb, then follows the path with his lips.
He's never been one for fairy tales. The battle between good and evil is not external. It's a battle everyone fights inside themselves every day. Good isn't always good, evil isn't always evil. Everyone and everything is made of both. And fairy tales are just a lie.
But there's this one thing he does believe in. One thing that can move worlds, that can conquer life and death. One thing that bends the rules. One thing that can defy destiny and rewrite the stars.
He presses his lips to Arthur's, trembling and feather-light. Magic burns under his skin, demanding to be reunited with its other part. He lets it consume him, trusts his magic to know what to do.
Into the space between them, he begs one more time, "Stay with me."
Kilgharrah's roar resounds in the distance.
Arthur's body remains cold.