For the Love of Camelot

1. Disbelief

Arthur couldn't focus his sight properly. He didn't even know where he was, and he felt like death. Lights danced around his vision like tiny sparks as he caught a glimpse of a man with raven-black hair and the fire that blazed between them, and a word, a single name, subconsciously escaped his lips.

"Merlin." The man sitting across from him turned, relief apparent on his face. He rose quickly and made his way over to the fallen king, his expression gentle and filled with concern.

"How are you feeling?" Merlin knelt down next to him, his eyes watering. Arthur frowned. Why was Merlin crying? He adjusted himself, trying to sit up. He almost made it. But then, he felt the pain. The sword. He knew then, knew that there was no saving him. Knew that the blade's tip was growing closer to his heart with every breath, every sentence he spoke. But he said nothing as he grasped onto his servant's shoulder, gasping from the effort.

"Where have you been?" It suddenly dawned on Arthur that Merlin was nowhere to be found during the battle, yet here he was now, taking care of him. As always. "Where are we?"

"It doesn't matter now." Merlin laid a hand on Arthur's arm, causing him to slump into the ground even more, his head still resting on the tree behind him. Arthur cursed as pain shot through him again, the ever-nearing blade cutting its way through his flesh.

"Ah, my side..." Arthur gasped, clutching the ground with one hand and his servant's knee with the other. "My side..."

"You're bleeding." Merlin glanced at the wound, his face filled with worry and... was that... regret? Arthur couldn't tell.

"That's alright," Arthur responded, groaning with the effort of speaking, even if it was but a few words. "I thought I was dying." Merlin glanced down at Arthur as the king fought to remain conscious.

"I'm sorry. I thought I defied the prophecy," His servant muttered, almost to himself. "I thought... I thought I was in time." Arthur squinted up at the man leaning over him, the beautiful man with cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass and eyes as blue as the sky on a summer day, eyes even bluer than his own. Confusion was written on Arthur's face as he responded,

"What are you talking about?"

...

The moment had finally come. He had waited for this for years and years, and years upon years. He would finally tell him, finally tell his king that he'd been lying to him all this time, that he had committed treason, that he had helped him and hindered him in so many ways. It was all his doing, and this was all his fault. The sorcerer took a deep breath as he gazed down at his king whose beautiful blue eyes shone in the sun, golden hair mussed but somehow still perfect. He took a moment to help the other sit up, leaning his back against the tree trunk, and then took a deep breath.

"I defeated the saxons. The dragon. And yet..." Merlin's eyes teared up, and he struggled to do on. "And yet I knew it was Mordred that I must stop." Arthur looked up at him with confused but loving eyes and pats him on the shoulder, showing his concern for the saddened man.

"Merlin... the person who defeated them was the sorcerer." He didn't understand, then. Well, if he didn't understand yet, he would soon enough.

"It was me." The tears flowed freely out of Merlin's eyes now, and he gripped Arthur's wrist, struggling for breath, but somehow managing to speak clearly. "It was all me. This is all my own doing... It's all my own fault." Arthur shook his head, not wanting to believe what he'd just heard.

"Don't be ridiculous, Merlin." He met the other's gaze, and something unknown passed between them. "This is stupid, why would you say that?" Merlin was shaking so badly now that Arthur felt compelled to reach out and hug him, but he resisted the urge and simply patted his manservant on the back.

"I'm a..." Tears fell down Merlin's face, splattering onto the ground to create tiny iridescent pools in the dust. He was shaking, shaking so terribly that Arthur forgot his pain and hoisted himself up, wrapping an arm around his friend. Merlin glanced at him sadly before speaking, the rare wisdom that he so often tried to disguise laced into his words.

"I'm a sorcerer," Merlin said, pointing to himself. "I have magic. And I use it for you, Arthur. Only for you." Arthur stilled, processing the words that had just escaped through his servant's mouth. It couldn't be. No, he wouldn't believe it. His Merlin, a sorcerer? Merlin was obviously trying to protect the old man, as he'd done with Guinevere all those years ago.

"Merlin, you are not a sorcerer. I would know!" Arthur's face was a mixture of disbelief and confusion. Of course he would know if Merlin were a sorcerer. Merlin trusted him. Merlin couldn't keep a secret if his life depended on it.

"Look. Here." Merlin raised his hand and turned towards the flames, suddenly becoming so calm and still that he would've appeared to be a statue if it weren't for the words that then fell from his lips, travelling through Arthur's ears like beautiful music. Arthur would've savored the sound had the words not been foreign to him, had his servant's eyes not flashed golden before a dragon leapt from the flames, remaining for a split second before disintegrating into ashes. Merlin's eyes glistened with tears as he turned back to Arthur, awaiting his judgement, awaiting acceptance. But Arthur couldn't accept this.

"Leave me."