Chapter Text
Merlin had been feeling just a little bit off all day. Nothing big or alarming necessarily, just a prickle of off-ness along his spine. Just a hint that today would not be a normal day. Despite his best efforts to reclaim normalcy by pulling Arthur out of bed by his ankles and participating in a suitable amount of complaining about the hunt planned for the day, Merlin found himself unable to shake the odd feeling.
“Merlin,” he broke out of his introspection to find Arthur staring at him. “Where’s your head today? You’d better stop staring into nothing and find it before the hunt.”
Merlin huffed at him, “I’ve been feeling off all day, but I don’t know why. Maybe we could just stay here today?” he said hopefully. Arthur smirked at him.
“Nice try, I know you’ve been dreading this since I planned it last week. But there’s no way I’m giving it up now.” He gained a sly look, “You know, if you just let me promote you already, you wouldn’t have to come with me on the hunts.”
Merlin frowned at him, “You know why we can’t do that, Arthur.” It had been a well-treaded conversation between the two. Arthur desperately wanted to give his manservant - his lover - the ‘recognition he deserved’ but Merlin could already hear the protests from the old nobles of the council. And it would only cause problems down the line if Merlin was promoted to advisor - or more if Arthur had his way - before his magic was revealed to the public. And despite Arthur’s poorly hidden affections for Merlin and the desire to promote him, the last thing either of them wanted was Merlin being accused of ‘ensorcelling’ Arthur for the promotion.
Arthur sighed unhappily and pulled Merlin closer to him, “But Merlin,” he whined, “don’t you want to rule with me?” He kissed Merlin gently on the corner of his mouth and smiled when Merlin’s hands came up to cup the man’s cheeks.
“I definitely do not want to rule anything,” Arthur kissed him again, giving Merlin his best puppy eyes as he pulled away, “but I wouldn’t say no to no longer washing your dirty socks, you clotpole.”Arthur scoffed and cuffed him upside the head.
They kissed softly once more before Merlin pulled away to begin preparations for the hunt. Arthur only complained a little before begrudgingly letting him go. Merlin had just begun the walk toward the kitchens, beginning a mental list about what to bring with them when he bumped - thankfully not literally, although it was a near thing - into Morgana.
The princess was carrying a heavy looking tome with the title History of Future Prediction and Scrying. “Hello, Merlin,” she smiled at him, “do you have a moment? I wanted to ask you about one of the spells in the book you lent me the other day.”
Merlin managed a wane smile back, “I’m afraid not, Arthur has me preparing for a hunt.”
Morgana raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow at him, “You’re complaining far less than I expected but I’m guessing it isn’t due to a sudden change in heart regarding hunt. Did my idiot brother do something wrong?” She smirked, “Do you need me to turn him into something unsavory? Well, more unsavory than usual?”
He let out a sharp exhale in place of a full laugh, “No, no need for him to become anything unsavory. I’ve just been feeling… off today. Can’t seem to shake the feeling.” He met her clear green eyes, “You haven’t happened to notice anything have you?”
She tilted her head thoughtfully, silky black locks slipping off her shoulder, “No, I can’t say I have. My magic hasn’t indicated anything unusual to me.” She looked concernedly at him but Merlin could only feel a slight relief.
“Then perhaps it’s just me.” He smiled again, more genuinely than before, “Perhaps Arthur could use some lessons from you on reassurance.”
“I’m afraid he’s a lost cause there.”
Merlin let out a full laugh that time and restarted his walk toward the kitchens, “Make a note of your question and we can look at it after I return from the war Arthur is waging against cute furry animals.”
Merlin made his way down the steps into the citadel carrying a pack of food he had picked up from the kitchens and the small medical pack he had taken to carrying with him on these sort of trips. With the recklessness of knights - and especially one very pratly knight in particular - you could never be too prepared. He headed over to where the party’s horses were being brought out by the stablehands. He sped up as the stablehands began saddling the knights’ steeds, leaving Merlin and Arthur’s horses untouched for him to saddle.
He set down the packs carefully, wary of the glass bottles holding pre-made wound poultices and several pain relieving potions. Stepping over the bags, he approached Hengreon first. The handsome chestnut stallion was Arthur’s beloved war-horse. Despite his fierceness in battle the beast turned his head to gently nuzzle into Merlin’s cheek, the whiskers on the end of his nose tickling his face. Merlin stroked his nose before moving past him to the stables to retrieve the saddle and bridle. He hefted the gear up and carried it back toward Hengreon.
As he was walking, he couldn’t help but feel off somehow. He paused and the prickling sensation from that morning returned to him, along with something that raised the hairs on the back of his neck. That unsettling sensation of being watched. He glances around quickly, attempting to not be obvious about the surveillance. Nothing unusual.
‘Strange.’
“Merlin! You’re supposed to be saddling the horses, not daydreaming!” Arthur strode up to him, crossbow slung over his shoulder, the bolts in a holster looped onto his belt. “You’re just lucky that we went to get our own hunting gear or else we wouldn’t be leaving the citadel until midday at least.”
Merlin pointedly looked in the direction of the sun just barely poking over the horizon and then back at Arthur with a deadpan stare, “What a shame that would be, sire.” He began to saddle Hengreon, tightening the straps efficiently but carefully so as to keep both horse and rider safe.
He finished and had to return to the stables to get the riding gear for Llamrei, a rambunctious bay mare who had been one of Arthur’s first war horses, but her age and gentleness led the fair-haired king to gift her to Merlin. She nickered at him as Merlin bustled about, quickly tightening the straps. The knights had all of their horses already saddled by the assorted stablehands on duty and were impatiently waiting alongside the king for their finally party member to finish. He attached the medical bag and the food packs to the saddle before heaving himself onto the steed.
The horses formed two lines as they rode out of the citadel and through the lower town, carefully avoiding civilians and children going about their business on the main road. As people bowed and moved out of the way of the king, Arthur raised his hand or nodded in polite acknowledgment. Merlin couldn’t help but admire him - the kindness about his face and the pretty shine of his hair in the morning light. And as they crossed through the main gate, Merlin watched with a loving smile as the worry lines that had made their home upon Arthur’s face seemed to melt away. Despite his own misgivings about hunts, Merlin would always find appreciation for anything that could bring relief to his king’s every-present stress.
They rode north east of Camelot for some time, long enough for the sun to reach its apex in the sky and begin a slight descent. They had veered directly east for a period as Arthur caught the tracks of a buck and followed them in search of any deer trails. Despite following the tracks for a while on foot, they found nothing. Merlin took great joy in making fun of him for his fantastic tracking skills. Arthur punched the manservant in the shoulder on the way remount his horse, and to Arthur’s dismay, Gwaine began a tale of his latest tavern escapades as they recalibrated their heading to lead farther north.
“We’ll make camp here for tonight,” declared Arthur as they rode through a small clearing, “Leon, Elyan, Gwaine, walk around the perimeter and check that there’s no one around the area. Merlin, go ahead and start setting up camp. Percival and I will start unsaddling horses and watering the horses.”
“I’ll turn back and take a look around that river we heard,” said Elyan. “I’ll bet there’s game around there we can catch for dinner while Merlin gets a fire going.”
“Bold words from the men who couldn’t track a buck in broad daylight,” snarked Merlin in a (mostly) friendly manner.
“Oh come off it, Merls,” said Gwaine with a ruffle to the man’s black hair, “we’ll bring you back a feast to cook. Don’t you worry your pretty head about it.”
Merlin rolled his eyes, dismounting and moving the flint and steel from his saddlebag to his pocket before going about picking out firewood. The knights spread out to perform their designated tasks. Leon, Elyan, and Gwaine each strapped their swords to their belts and retrieved crossbows to bring with them on the scout.
Sparks flecked off the stone as Merlin struck it with the steel onto his carefully constructed firepit. He cupped his hands around the glowing specks, blowing ever so lightly to catch the kindling ablaze. He heard the crunch of boots as Arthur came up behind him.
“Why do you light it with the flint and steel instead of magic?” he asked curiously.
Merlin tilted his head as he watched the slowly blackening logs. “There’s something special about doing it with your hands. It feels more personal to bring the fire to life like this.
Arthur settled beside him with a contemplative hum. “I’m not sure I understand but I think I like it anyway.” Merlin had just begun to rest his head on Arthur’s shoulder as a branch snapped off in the trees behind them. His head jolted back up and the prickling suspicion, almost forgotten from the peaceful ride out, returned with a new level of irritation. Elyan stepped out of the trees and Merlin let out a relieved sigh.
“Hey Percy,” the dark-skinned man called, “I shot a doe! Leave these lovebirds to their sappiness and help me carry it back.” He grinned at the pair near the fire teasingly.
“If I wasn’t already hungry I’d get you for that,” Arthur called back. “Best get to it before I change my mind.”
Percival rinsed his hands with his waterskin and joined Elyan at the edge of the treeline.
“It’s a ways off west,” Elyan was saying to Percival, voice fading as they disappeared into the trees, “Just came out of no where!”
Merlin heaved himself up from the ground, heading back to where the saddlebags had been removed and placed together on the ground next to the still-rolled bedrolls. He fumbled with the flap of his saddlebag.
“What are you doing?” Arthur called.
“Getting the herbs I brought for seasoning the meat,” Merlin responded. “Only the finest cooking for his majesty and the finest knights in the land,” he said in a goofily pompous voice.
“Finest is not how I’d describe it,” Arthur teased back.
“Your knights or my cooking?”
“Oi!”
Merlin smirked as he pulled the herb pouch free. He tucked it under his arm and was about to refasten the bag he still held in his hands. The prickle returned once more.
Merlin’s back straightened as he listened carefully. Nothing.
‘Wait-’ An airy whistling noise. Merlin yelped as the bag flew from his hand, a shattering noise echoed as the arrow now pierced in the fabric. ’Shit, I hope that didn’t break anything important,’ he thought as he saw the fluid from whatever bottle broke seeping through the fabric.
“Merlin!” Arthur tore toward Merlin. Excalibur was already unsheathed in his had as he sprinted to defend the man.
“Arthur!”
Merlin made to meet him part way, but as he moved to step over the bags a pulse sent the earth beneath him moving like a ripple of water. He stumbled and fell into the piled gear. A sorcerer. His jaw clenched. He looked toward the trees where the arrow came from and he caught a glance of something moving through the trees.
He felt the next wave of malicious magic move toward them, but it came from the opposite direction of the arrow and Merlin was unable to throw his own magic out fast enough to protect Arthur from the blast.
Arthur went flying and crashed with a sickening crunch into one of the trees next to the horses. The war horses snorted and pawed the ground at the harsh sound. Merlin scrambled to Arthur, falling to his knees next to the figure. He cracked his magic out like a whip in the direction of the attack and felt it latch on to the opponent sorcerer, sending them flying into the forest.
“Arthur!” he cried. He tapped his lover on the cheek and shook the man’s shoulder in an attempt to wake him. No flutter of lashes or twitch of his face. Arthur was entirely, terrifyingly still. The rise and fall of his chest was the only thing keeping Merlin from a full blown panic.
He was reminded of the archer who nearly shot him as footsteps - far too many for comfort - approached from behind. He threw a glance over his shoulder, a hand reaching out to grasp Excalibur’s hilt before he stood and face the men.
“Lookie here boys, we’ve caught ourself a king and his little servant. Our employer paid a pretty price for us to bring them your heads.” Merlin swallowed. There were no mere bandits, these were hiremen, assassins. The men crept just into the clearing. Merlin shifted his grip on the hilt of Arthur’s sword, eyes shifting to keep as many figures within his gaze as possible. He chanced a glance back at his unconscious king. His resolve hardened.
‘I just need to last until the others can get here,’ he thought. He didn’t say anything to the hiremen but they must have seen the determination on his face and taken it as the challenge it was. As the first ran forward, a hefty axe raised above his shoulder ready to strike, Merlin’s eyes turned gold and the man tripped on a newly-grown tree root.
With his attention focused on the first man, Merlin was barely able to lift the blade in time to deflect the sword of the second. The blow caused him to stumble and he used magic to heat the hilt of the blade so that the hireman dropped it in shock and pain. The man was too surprised to dodge Merlin’s stab to his chest. Blood pounded in his ears with the adrenaline and single-minded thought to keep Arthur safe. He readied himself for the third incoming enemy.
Pain struck his gut. But the hireman was still too far in front of him; the man had flinched back at the same time the pain had struck. With a stumble backward, Merlin looked down to see an arrow protruding from the left side of his stomach. Blood already pooled into the surrounding fabric. He looked back up at his opponent who was wearing a savage smile, waiting for him to fall. Others were coming up behind like a pack of wolves waiting for their prey to give in to despair.
Merlin thought of Arthur. He was still unconscious. Defenseless. No. Not defenseless, Merlin was still here. He channelled his magic inward, not healing the wound but rejuvenating his stamina. He lunged forward and swung.
The blade hit its mark with the vicious sound of cutting meat. The man went down with a choking noise as the sword hit between the protective cage of his ribs and straight through his lung. The men behind him staggered back with the resilience of their prey, clearly they had not expected the fight to continue. Merlin felt a rush of satisfaction; he would not go down easily. One of them raised their their fist in the air - not a move to attack but-
Breath was knocked from his lungs as a second arrow hit its mark. Merlin’s body was jerked to the side with the force of its hit so that he was no longer facing the hiremen in front of him head-on. His vision blurred and even with his magic dulling the pain, roaring fire flooded his veins. The fletchings of the arrow just under his left collarbone sat in his vision like a taunt: you thought you could protect Arthur? Tears pricked at his eyes and his left hand came up to grasp the arrow as he gasped for air. His body shook and a drop of the sweat that was beading on his forehead dripped into his eyes.
Merlin dropped to one knee, swaying with the sudden motion. He saw the boots of his next opponent approaching but couldn’t raise his head to look at him. Gravity seemed to weigh his head down to look at the sword in his hand, if he were to push more magic to keep him going, this blade would be his only weapon.
Already, with two arrows in his body and the distance they were from Camelot, there was no way he would make it back to Gaius. This was it. He could give in now or stand and fight until the magic - and his life being sustained by it - drained from his body.
He pushed more magic into his body.
His shaking arms stabilized and his thrust the sword up and out, straight through the skull of the man in from of him. He shakily regained his balance. Merlin’s eyes burned with a fire as he looked back across the clearing at the leader of the group. The man snarled at him and shouted something, but the sound didn’t reach his ears with the daze of blood loss taking a toll on him.
The archer who shot him crept from the trees, flanked by reinforcements. Too many. The archer drew back another arrow and Merlin already knew that if it hit its mark, he would not be able to keep going. The drain on his magic was already too much. He felt cold.
The third arrow struck, and it hit its bullseye, barely missing his heart. He only just had time to see the group look to their right in alarm before his vision went black and he lost all sense of time.
He woke. His eyes were watery and his torso felt like it was on fire. He could hear… something, but his hearing was muffled and he had a vicious sense of vertigo. All he could do was lay there and look at the blue sky that seemed to spin above him. He clenched his right hand and found it empty.
The sword. Arthur. He needed Excalibur.
He let his head tilt to the side and groped weakly.
His chest heaved with weakened, labored breaths.
The tip of his middle finger brushed the hilt.
Hands grabbed his shoulders. “Merlin!” A hand reached under his cheek and turned his head. Red hair. Curly. Leon. “Merlin, can you hear me?”
Merlin could only let out a sighing moan of pain. Leon reached under him and Merlin’s head lolled back as Leon lifted him into his lap. “It’s alright now, Merlin, we’re here now.” Merlin closed his eyes as Leon stroked a hand through sweaty black hair. Merlin felt him tap his cheek, “Stay awake Merlin, come on. Elyan is gonna bring you a pain potion, okay?”
Merlin could barely find the strength to open his eyes again. The world seemed darker than last time. Leon had tears in his eyes. Merlin would normally comfort him but-
“Merlin!” Someone dropped to their knees on his other side. “Merlin, you’re gonna be okay mate.” Gwaine. “Get up, Leon, we have to get him back to Gaius! Lets go!”
Merlin tilted his head, “‘waine,” he could barely get the word out. He gave up on the words and simply hummed a negative noise.
“Gwaine,” Percival stood behind Gwaine now, a hand resting on his shoulder. Elyan was kneeling down next to Merlin’s legs, a comforting hand set on his thigh. Merlin couldn’t feel it, but appreciated the sentiment anyways. “He’s not going to make it.”
Gwaine cried out, “No! No no no, come on, Merlin. I’m gonna get you home.” He attempted to pull Merlin from Leon’s lap. Merlin’s vision flooded with white and his ears rang. He shrieked with pain, a sound he didn’t even know he still had the energy to make. He sagged back into Leon’s arms as Gwaine let go of him and flinched back at the sound. His body trembled uncontrollably and he had to just lay there, breathing shallowly as the pain subsided from blinding agony to its ongoing panging throbs.
When Merlin finally found himself able to see again, Gwaine’s cheeks appeared soaked in tears. Percival was hugging him from behind. “I’m sorry, Merlin, I’m sorry,” he sobbed the words. Merlin, unable to spare an ounce of strength if he wanted to make his final inquiry, only upturned his lips in a barely-there smile before turning his head back to Leon.
“Elyan, are there any pain potions for him?”
“No,” Elyan rasped. “The bottle shattered in the bag, there wasn’t anything left.”
“A’thur?”
“He’s okay, Merlin, you kept him safe. You did so good, Merlin. Elyan checked on him and he’s just fine.” Merlin’s eyes flicked to Elyan and the dark skinned man smiled at him sadly and nodded.
His throat felt stuck and dry as he forced out the next words, “Take care?” The words came out slurred and he could barely make his lips move anymore.
“We’ll take care of him, Merlin.” Leon brushed a hand through his hair again.
“You too?”
“We’ll be careful too. You can rest, Merlin. We’ll all be okay.”
“Mhm,” Merlin let his eyes fall closed and he felt someone take his hands. That was nice. The last of his magic drained and the last of his energy left with it.
He knew no more.
Leon felt the tears that had been collecting in his eyes finally fall as the man in his lap closed his eyes for good. Merlin looked so small laying in his lap, the blood that had seeped through his clothes made his skin look even paler. Even though he knew that Merlin could not feel it, Leon couldn’t bear to set him onto the hard ground. He didn’t deserve this, not Merlin. He didn’t deserve the arrows, he didn’t deserve to die without Arthur by his side. He didn’t deserve to die in pain, without a single barrier, a single potion to stave off the pain of his wounds.
Gwaine had turned around in Percival’s arms and they were embracing tightly. Leon felt Elyan move next to his shoulder and felt himself be wrapped into a side hug with his friend. The knights of Camelot grieved for their brother. They were not brothers by blood nor by the oath of knighthood, but Merlin was their brother none the less. He was just thankful that Merlin’s eyes were already closed. Leon had seen many a warrior die on the battlefield, glassy eyes open to the sky, uncomforted with no final goodbyes. Merlin was not a warrior and Leon could only be thankful that he did not die alone like one.
“We should remove the arrows,” Percival spoke over the top of Gwaine’s hair, “and wrap his body. I don’t want him to stay like this…” He trailed off as he failed to find the words to express his feelings.
Elyan gripped the back of Leon’s neck gently, “Can you set him down, Leon? So we can take care of him?”
Leon brushed his hand through Merlin’s hair one last time, “Give me a cloak. So he’s not laying on the ground.” He paused. “He didn’t deserve this,” his voice broke. Leon placed his hand over Merlin’s still chest - the heartbeat was already gone, “Why him?” No one answered.
Percival had untangled himself from Gwaine and the two of them spread Percival’s cloak on the ground in front of Leon. Merlin was settled gently on top of the red fabric. Blood immediately soaked into the fibers. Elyan was the first to step up to the task at hand. His hand gripped the base of the arrow in Merlin’s gut and he took a deep breath, closing his eyes before pulling.
The knights were all used to the sights and smells of gore. But never had it been associated with one of their own so closely. Gwaine fled from the body and the sound the arrow made as Elyan tore it from their friend’s flesh. Leon could hear his retch and had to turn away as he suppressed his own nausea. The arrow clattered as Elyan threw it away from them. Leon and Percival each took one of the two remaining arrows.
Three arrows to bring their friend down. Gods. He always was the strongest of them.
Gwaine returned as they began to wrap the body up in the cloak, concealing it from view. Percival left to retrieve Arthur’s unconscious body. The man lifted the king into strong arms and moved him to lay next to the fire. The other knights moved to join him around the fire.
Leon sobbed, just once, as they walked away from the body. It felt as though they left him behind. The red-haired knight turned to look behind him at the wrapped form - their brother. He shuddered and moved to sit next to Gwaine.
The man looked horrid, both hands gripped the hair he was normally so protective of and he keened to himself quietly. Leon had never seen him look so lost. Elyan had busied himself with removing some of their king’s armor. The blacksmith’s son could hardly see through his own tears, relying purely on his hands to find and undo the straps. After the man finished, he took Arthur’s cloak and spread it over him to act as a blanket.
The emotional weight on Leon’s shoulders felt so heavy that he found himself peeling off his own chainmail to remove the physical weight on his shoulders. As Leon’s chainmail fell to the forest floor with metallic clinking, they all fell into a raincloud of silent grieving.
The knights of Camelot waited for their king to wake.
Arthur’s head was throbbing. He cracked his eyes open carefully, expecting to see the mid-evening sun, but was instead met with the fading light of dusk. As he regained his senses from the grogginess of unconsciousness, he caught the smell of burning wood and quiet murmuring of familiar voices. He felt strange, a little emptier inside than he was that morning, like he was missing something inside. He sat up carefully, a hand pressed to his aching head. A fogginess covered his memories and he furrowed his brow in confusion. A cloak slid off his figure as he moved and the murmuring stopped.
“Sire, you’re awake,” Elyan said from his place directly across the campfire.
“So it would seem,” Arthur replied with a dry tone. “What happened? Why was I unconscious?”
The knights shared an expression that had too many emotions for him to decipher and yet it brought an icy feeling to his stomach. Gwaine wouldn’t look at him and Percival busied himself with the fire. Leon swallowed and then shifted to face him. Arthur waited with a growing sense of unease for him to explain.
“Sire, you and Merlin were attacked-” Arthur swiveled his head to look around.
“Where is Merlin?” When he didn’t see him he returned his attention to Leon, “Slacking off again, is he?” The words themselves were flippant but the tone of his voice must have conveyed his worry clear as day.
Leon closed his eyes and took another deep breath. It shook slightly as he inhaled. “When you were attacked, Merlin protected you. He-,” the knight broke off again, wiping a hand down his face. Arthur could see tears in his eyes. His hands clenched the red fabric of the cloak that had been laying on him. Merlin got hurt for him.
“He was too injured. Nothing could be done.”
Arthur heard blood rushing in his ears. His hands continued to unconsciously worry the fabric in his fists. His voice came out a barely audible breath of air, “No.”
“He died bravely,” Leon’s voice broke, “He’s- The body is over there.” Arthur’s head turned slowly to follow the point of the knight’s finger. He couldn’t breathe. Just past the packs and a decent distance away from where the horses were tied lay a lump wrapped in red fabric.
A hand came up to cover his mouth. “No.” This time the whisper barely made it past his lips. He launched himself up and flung the cloak aside. His head throbbed with the movement but he hardly noticed with the terror welling in his chest. He ran toward the form. Vertigo made his head spin and he collapsed to his knees next to it.
He reached out trembling hands to the cloth. Gods, he didn’t want to see. But he needed to see. Arthur gently took the corner of the cloak’s fabric and pulled it back.
Merlin’s face looked so pale next to his dark hair. So pale next to Arthur’s hands. Arthur heaved a breath, a soundless sob. He gently, so gently, traced his fingertips across Merlin’s cheek. The skin was ice and desolate of life.
The chill of his skin was enough to break the horrified trance that Arthur had been under. Arthur lifted the corpse out of the cloak and into his lap, unknowingly mirroring the position Leon had held Merlin before his death.
“Merlin, Merlin,” He said the name as if the man might still be listening. “Please, Merlin, you can’t do this to me.” A keening moan fell from his mouth as he tucked Merlin’s head into his shoulder. Arthur pressed his face into the dark hair. “Don’t go where I cannot.” His love lay in his arms. Still, so still. The emptiness of his chest gaped, an open maw of loss.
Hot tears fell and as his burning eyes trailed over that loveably silly neckerchief to his torso, Arthur’s last blockade against his own emotions snapped. The fabric of Merlin’s tunic - it was his favorite, the purple one - had three small tears, each one ringed by stains of dried blood. Arrow wounds. Arthur let out a horrible screaming wail as though he was feeling the pain of Merlin’s death wound himself. He clutched Merlin to his body and rocked them both, pressing kisses to Merlin’s marble-cold cheeks and forehead, stroking gentle fingers though his cold hair. Arthur cried for everything he had lost. He cried for his failure to protect his most important person. He cried for the love that had slipped between his fingers like sand.
A hand, so warm, so unlike the nimble hands of his love, was placed on his shoulder.
“Sire- Arthur-”
He turned his head to see Leon with a sorrowful expression on his face. A frenetic and single-minded anger took hold of Arthur. He set the corpse down and wheeled to face Leon. “Why weren’t you there?!” Arthur howled, he fisted the front of Leon’s cape. His voice broke and another tear dropped from his eye. “Why weren’t you there with us? Why couldn’t you save him?” he asked with a wavering voice. Leon placed both of his hands on Arthur’s shoulders.
“I’m sorry, Arthur. There’s nothing I wouldn’t give to have made it there in time.” Leon drew Arthur into his arms and they hugged tightly. Arthur sobbed into Leon’s shoulder, hands clenching the cloak and tunic underneath. Leon could feel the heaving of Arthur’s chest against his own.The last time they had hugged like this, they were just boys and Arthur had been yelled at by Uther for something. He wished so deeply that they didn’t have a reason to hug now. He wished Merlin was here.
Leon took a deep, fortifying breath. He needed to stay strong for Arthur. Because Arthur needed him. Because Merlin told him to take care of him. He rubbed a hand up and down Arthur’s back in what he hoped was a comforting way. As seconds ticked by, Arthur’s sobs slowed and finally Leon felt that he could shift the other man into a more comfortable position.
But as he went to move them both, Arthur pushed back against Leon. He turned back to the body. Merlin’s legs had lain strangely when he had been places back on the ground. Arthur could not bear to leave him so uncared for. He sank to his knees again by the body. Although he was no longer openly crying, his vision was still blurry and his cheeks were still wet.
He carefully straightened Merlin’s legs. His hands brushed over the well-worn leather of the boots Arthur always thought were a little silly for all of the buckles. One of the buckles had come undone and he carefully redid it. He moved up Merlin’s torso, smoothing the wrinkles as Merlin does- had done every morning for the past decade. Arthur let his hands rest on Merlin’s forearms, sliding them down until he grasped those deft hands. Their callouses were in different places and yet Arthur had always thought that had made theirs hands fit together more perfectly. As if it wasn’t only destiny that had made them perfect for each other, but their own actions to care for the other. He brought the hands up to his face, letting his chapped lips graze the skin of pale knuckles with gentle kisses. The last ones he would ever give. Ones that Merlin couldn’t even feel.
The moistness of his cheeks left the pale hands damp as he pulled away. Arthur took those pale hands and meticulously interlaced the long fingers together, leaving the hands to rest across Merlin’s bloodied stomach. Arthur leaned down to kiss Merlin’s lips one more time. He paused there to inhale the smell that was Merlin, his Merlin, before finally closing the cloak wrapping around him once more.
It felt like a final goodbye. There was no more Merlin and Arthur.
Now it was just Arthur.
He took another shaky breath as the finality ached in his core. Leon helped him up and squeezed his shoulder comfortingly. But Arthur felt no better. His first knight maneuvered them back over to the campfire, where the other knights had kindly averted their eyes to the king’s breakdown, not out of a need to preserve the king’s dignity but out of the solidarity of a loved one lost. Leon guided Arthur to sit down next to him near the fire. The flickering light highlighted the shine of the tear tracks on Arthur’s face and the redness rimming his eyes. His anger seemed to be washed out of him with the crying and although he was looking toward the fire, he had an unfocused look about his face that told the knights he wasn’t really seeing. He leaned into Leon’s side. Leon let him.
The knights sat with their king in a silence they were unwilling to break. They each took subtle glances toward the king, although it was unlikely the man would have noticed at all if they were not subtle. It was not until the logs on the fire had burnt to coals that the king finally spoke again.
His voice was rough with the rasp of grief and silence, “He was supposed to rule beside me.” He paused as the knights processed that, although it was clear that the silence was not meant for them. “Merlin would not let me simply place him in the role, for all my authority. He wanted me to take it slow, to allow the people to acclimate to him as a sorcerer before being placed into the role of authority beside me. I should have just done it.” He swallowed hard, “Maybe if I had done it, he would have been in the castle, safe, instead of…”
“As someone who has lost his family before,” began Percival, “it does not do to dwell on what-ifs and what-could-have-been’s because you will miss what will be.”
“But every ‘what will be’ I ever imagined included him.”
“That just means you have to live a future that he would have been proud of.” Percival’s eyes shone in a way that spoke of the experience in his advice.
Arthur looked at his palms, examining the creases as he melancholically contemplated his knight’s advice and the next step forward. “What do you know about the people who attacked us?” Grief still hung around Arthur in a cloud but some of his mind had shifted to the next step: retribution.
“They were only hired men, mercenaries tasked with killing you and Merlin,” said Percival. “I found this on one of them.” He passed Arthur a crumpled piece of parchment. He glanced it over, it was a simple note, only pertaining the amount of pay received upon proof of both their deaths. These were no bandits and that was no simple murder attempt. It was assassination.
He pursed his lips. There was no signature - he would have been shocked if there was - but there was a symbol drawn at the bottom. Upon closer inspection, it was a ring print - the kind that one would get if they dipped a signet ring in ink and used it as a stamp.
“The employer is a lord,” said Arthur. The knights looked at him in shock. “There’s a family’s signet at the bottom of the parchment pressed in ink. It looks to be an outline of a pair of birds - maybe crows or ravens - but I don’t recognize it.”
Leon leaned over his shoulder to look. Arthur shifted so that they could both examine the symbol, “It looks familiar to me, but I can’t place it,” said Leon, brow furrowed. “We should bring it to Geoffrey and see if he can find out whose it is.”