Work Text:
His last words pound against his soul, in the rhythm his golden heart once beat. They ring throughout the land and deafen agonized screams of grief, and they, relentlessly, forcefully, echo against his ears.
It starts to rain. (The water is cold and he can feel it dripping down his face).
Merlin shakes his head. Tries to think, millions of interrupted thoughts cross his mind, half-formed plans are listed on his brain, and new and more complicated steps are added each time he starts the plan again.
He shakes his head.
He doesn’t want to plan. He can’t plan…The words override everything.
Fuzzy and painful white noise is sliced by a million half-formed words. He notices that his hands are shaking, that the trees around him are bending in sorrow.
There is a familiar smell of metal, oil, love, and loyalty surrounding him, and a weight that is pulling him down.
He shakes his head and knows: he can’t look down.
The weight - it is too much (toomuchtoomuchtoomuch). It shouldn’t be. It had never been before. It had never been dead weight. NO! Stop. Stop... no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.
…The words are harsh against his ears.
He lets them overwhelm him.
Merlin shakes his head.
He is on the floor, the weight is pressing him down into the damp earth, the tree tops are almost touching the ground, and the sun is being pulled by the same weight Merlin can’t carry anymore.
He needs to go. He can never go. He needs to stay. He can't stay. Because he would want… he would have…
Merlin shakes his head, his hands keep shaking.
Time passes, flowers grow and die around him, the sun falls and the moon rises just to fall, over and over, and the words keep ringing. A never-ending echo of a warning bell, of a war drum, of a laugh that had made the strings of fate jealous of its anchoring pull.
He takes a deep breath and chokes at the familiar smell of metal, oil, love, and loyalty that is being drowned by that of death.
He shakes his head
Merlin doesn’t want to look down. He has to. He would have, so he has to.
He shakes his head, closes his heart and looks.
The words stop.
(The world stops).
Merlin stops -breathing, beating, thinking, planning. He ceases and looks.
(The last of the raindrops drip down his face, down, down, down, to the weight he can no longer carry).
Merlin claws at his eyes. He wants to be blind, to pull his eyes out of his skull, to burn the image out of his mind. He looks up. For just a second, he wants to fool himself, just for one more second, to believe that this isn’t real.
His King is beautiful. Gold hope and painful dreams adorn his blue star eyes, his animated hands draw universes and his lips smile love into existence. He is standing at his favorite window, watching the world pass him by.
The words pound around him once more. He, more than anyone, knows that you can’t fool a fool.
He looks down again.
He can see the blue-gray of death that has taken over his King’s skin, the pale lips, a metal-covered chest that doesn’t rise, and the dried red of life that has dripped down.
Merlin exhales, and the world re-starts.
He is struck with the realization that he has to let go. A shaky laugh forces its way out of his lungs and it gets stuck in the air around them. He has to let go.
The realization jars. It causes a shift in the foundation of the world. He has to let go. The words are screeching against his ear. Louder than ever.
(His last order, his last request, his only ask: Just... hold me).
His breath comes out in shorter and shorter bursts. His hands are shaking again. In Camelot, the citadel crumbles, the cobblestones streets split down the middle, cracks climb houses, the animals cower, a golden crown is lost forever.
He fulfilled his last request.
Merlin has to let go. Merlin has to let go. Merlin has to let go.
He looks down again.
He will let go… he will let go because his King is dead. Merlin held his King in his arms as he drew his last breath, saw how blue star eyes dimmed, and felt how part of his soul died with him.
The words echo, the world blurs, the rivers start to run in reverse.
He was with him in the end, he held him, he looked down; he will let go.
And his last words pound against him, in the rhythm his golden heart once beat. They ring throughout the land and deafen agonized screams of grief, and they, relentlessly, forcefully, echo against his ears.
Thank you.
They weren’t words of regret, of chances missed, or of sorrow. He was thankful, for what he lived - for what Merlin had done. He hates that the words feel like a relief. It kills him that he doesn’t know for whom that relief was meant.
And he will never know, because Arthur is dead, and he was thankful in the end.
Merlin has to let go.
He holds his breath...
and inch
by impossible inch,
he does.
In the centuries that are yet to come, his King’s last words will pierce him, they will burn his skin and carve their path into his heart.
They will anger him. Make him feel humiliated, pitied, and worthless, the echo of them still ringing into his ears, a tinnitus that will haunt his every step. They will make him powerless, unwilling, and unworthy. He will destroy what little objects remain that once were held by him. They will flame his recklessness and impulsivity. They will make him paranoid, see shadows in the smiles of strangers, and knives in the hands of friends.
They will also comfort him as the guilt drags him down. They will grow like wildflowers and bring light to his endless days, they will be his source of joy, of peace, and they will bring him a sense of accomplishment. They will soothe his aching heart like his mother once soothed his wounded knee. They will blanket him in love, and acceptance and make him know that everything is worth it, will be worth it.
He will forget words in his native tongue, the faces of those once-loved. He will forget some of the magic and the dragon-speak will be purged from his tongue when the last dragon dies. He will forget how he would say his name, how his blue star eyes were adorned with gold hope and painful dreams, how his animated hands drew universes, how his lips smiled love into existence.
But he will never forget what was said in the end.
"There's something I want to say.”
“You're not going to say goodbye.”
“No, Merlin... Everything you've done, I know now. For me, for Camelot and the kingdom you helped me build...”
“You'd have done that without me.”
“Maybe... I want to say something I've never said to you before. Thank you.”