For the Love of Camelot

5. Love

Arthur didn't remember blacking out. He didn't really remember much of anything anymore. Merlin's voice sounded so far away, he could barely make out the words.

"Arthur, you need to hold on. One more day." A cool cloth was pressed against his forehead, then taken away only to return again. Arthur opened his eyes to the sorcerer kneeling next to him. A singular thought filled his head, a thought he'd been thinking for some time now. Merlin had magic. But he'd trusted him. So why...

"Why did you never tell me?" Arthur's words were an effort, slurred as though he were half asleep. Merlin looked down at him, eyes filled with such emotion that Arthur had to look away.

"I wanted to, but..." Merlin took the cloth away, turning it over so that the cooler side touched Arthur, and placed it back on his forehead.

"What?" Arthur looked back at Merlin, who was now uncapping the waterskin that had lain by his feet.

"You'd've chopped my head off." Merlin pressed the cool waterskin against Arthur's lips and the king drank gratefully. Arthur swallowed as Merlin pulled the vessel away and capped it, setting it back on the ground.

"I'm not sure what I would've done."

"And I didn't want to put you in that position." Merlin's gaze travelled to the ground as Arthur looked at him, at his eyes, his nose, his cheekbones... and back at his eyes again. Eyes truly were the window to the soul, and Merlin's soul was a beautiful one. Perhaps...

"That's what worried you?" Arthur's gaze was questioning, but different, softer somehow. Merlin looked straight into Arthur's eyes and spoke from his heart, as Arthur realized he'd been doing all this time.

"Some men are born to plow fields, some live to be great physicians, others to be great kings. Me, I was born to serve you, Arthur. And I'm proud of that, and I wouldn't change a thing." Perhaps... perhaps Arthur had been wrong to judge Merlin so quickly. Perhaps Merlin was still Merlin, still the man that Arthur loved. And perhaps he wouldn't die.

"Ready?" Merlin, the sorcerer, took Arthur's arm and draped it around his shoulders, helping the king up. And Arthur knew that he'd been wrong about magic, and he'd been wrong about Merlin. No, Merlin was not to be feared. And so he would never fear of his Merlin again.

...

He lead the way through the forest on horseback, always aware of the king's position behind him, always aware of any threat. Smoke rose through the trees ahead, climbing up into the cloudless sky. Merlin raised his hand, and Arthur urged his horse to a stop.

"Saxons?" Arthur questioned, his voice weak. Merlin concentrated as the magic flowed through him, locating the campfire. He examined the smoldering kindling for a moment before withdrawing his magic and returning his attention to Arthur.

"They're long gone." He kicked his horse onward, and they continued at a slow pace.

"How do you know?"

"I can... how do I put it... I can 'see' the path ahead." Merlin struggled explaining his magic to Arthur.

"So you're not an idiot. That was another lie." He couldn't quite tell if Arthur meant this as a compliment or an insult.

"No, it's just another part of my charm." They rode on in a neverending silence as the reality of death closed in upon them.

...

Leaves rustled ahead, a sound that the half-conscious Arthur seemed unable to hear. Merlin raised his hands, sensing the saxons' presence.

"In there." The sorcerer took hold of the sluggish king's wrist and pulled him into the bushes, waiting for the patrol to pass. As they neared, Merlin noticed a footprint that they'd left on the muddy path. His heart rate rose, and his mouth moved out of instinct as the magic coursed through his veins, invisible tethers reaching out to cover any trace that they'd ever been.

"Andslyht!" With this simple word, he had control of the winds. The invisible tethers latched onto several fallen leaves, which flew seamlessly over to cover the print. His actions, however, did not go unnoticed.

The saxons stopped as they reached the bush where the king and his sorcerer hid, searching for the origin of the sudden movement. But the sorcerer's eyes flashed gold, and the bushes across from them rustled, leading the saxons astray.

"This way!" One called, and the rest followed, diving into the bushes. It was then that Merlin felt the king's gaze on him.

"You've done this before," Arthur spoke from behind him and Merlin turned, looking at his king with what could only be described as love. Arthur returned his gaze as he continued, "All these years, Merlin... You never once sought any credit."

He knew he was doing it, knew he was smiling that saddened smile again, but he couldn't help it. Of course he had never sought any credit. He did this for one reason, one reason only, and though he'd tried to convince himself it was destiny, perhaps it was something more.

"It's not why I do it. Come on," Merlin said gently as he hoisted Arthur's arm over his shoulders, and soon they were on their way. But all this time, one thought, two words, consumed his mind, eating away at his existence; Arthur, and Avalon.

...

His life was draining out of him, and there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing he could do to stop his head from slumping, prevent his eyes from closing, halt the blade on its deadly path to his heart. He was growing weaker every moment. He couldn't keep going like this. He couldn't.

Merlin saw his head fall and called out. He went over to the king and lifted his head.

"I can't go on." He couldn't hear himself speak properly, couldn't decipher his own words. Merlin looked up at him, concern written on his face.

"There's not far to go. We need to reach the lake before dawn." But it would do him no use. No, the king was as good as dead. If he lived, well... that would be a miracle indeed.

"No, Merlin. No." Merlin needed to rest as well. He'd been exerting himself nonstop, all for Arthur's sake. But in his last days, he wanted to see his old manservant well.

Something in Merlin's face changed, and he nodded, lifting Arthur down from his horse.

"Alright. We rest for an hour."

...

An hour had passed, and Merlin seemed to have decided that they would stay for awhile longer. He had collected kindling, made a fire, and found food all while Arthur rested with his back against a tree, wishing for his friend's company. Finally, after giving Arthur some water, Merlin seemed to have settled down. Arthur needed to speak, and he needed to speak now.

"Merlin, whatever happens..." He started. But Merlin cut him off.

"Shh... don't talk." He sat next to Arthur, drawing in the dirt with a stick. No, that wouldn't do. Arthur needed his full attention.

"I'm the King, Merlin. You can't tell me what to do." Arthur smirked, even as he lay there knowing death would soon be upon him.

"I always have. I'm not going to change now." Merlin looked up now and their eyes locked, a silent truth.

"I don't want you to change. I want you... to always... be you. I'm sorry about how I treated you." Because Merlin hadn't deserved that. Merlin had always been there, always by his side, always ready to walk to the end of the world for him, to fight to the death. And though he had been less so, Arthur would have gladly died for Merlin, too. Merlin smiled, a true, wonderful, happy smile, and tore his gaze away from Arthur's.

"Does that mean you're going to give me a day off?" Merlin's eyes shone, and Arthur realized how much his words had truly meant to him, and how badly his actions of late had hurt him. He swallowed the lump forming in his throat.

"Two." They were both smiling now, and Arthur, on the verge of death, knew it would not be two days but a thousand years.

"That's generous." Merlin's smile quickly faded as Arthur's head lolled to the side, and he moved over to check his pulse. Seemingly content, he gently eased the king onto the ground, smoothing his hair. "Get some sleep."