Merlin fic
Title: Forever can never begin
Author: deadasaduck
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: PG
Summary: “After a few seconds, a lifetime, they hit land and the women somehow help him to stand up and Arthur sees. Sees the island of eternity, sees paradise, sees Avalon in all its glory. But mostly, he sees Merlin.”
Disclaimer: Merlin and Arthur do not, and will never, belong to me.
Warnings: character death, slash
A/N: This is a sequel to I’m not afraid to die, but when I die it won’t be the first time I wish that I was somewhere else (wow, that has to be the longest title ever). And once again it is unbeta’d.
Arthur strikes Excalibur deep and true within Mordred’s chest and watches the other man die with a fleeting sense of disappointment and a solid feeling of anger. Does the bastard have no sense of gratefulness; he, Merlin and Morgana had after all saved him from certain death. And here the druid boy had grown into a man who was trying to end Arthur’s life as a thank you. By the look and feel of the dagger sticking out of the king’s stomach he’s going to succeed at it too.
Arthur draws his sword out of Mordred’s body and sinks to his knees. Mordred has fallen on his back and is staring sightlessly at the sky. Arthur stares at the dagger and resists the urge to pull it out, he needs to stay focused a while longer.
“Sire!” A shout comes from the left and Arthur turns his head to see sir Bedevere come running towards him. “My king, you’re hurt!”
“Never mind that now, Bedevere,” Arthur says and brushes off the knight’s worried fretting. “I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything, sire, but I think you need to get help before I do said anything.”
“No, listen, Bedevere,” Arthur orders. “You need to take my sword and throw it into the lake.”
“Throw away Excalibur, sire?” Sir Bedevere looks extremely sceptical. “You’re not making any sense, your highness. I need to get you back to Camelot.”
“No,” Arthur barks, annoyed now. “You need to obey your king. Will you obey your king or will I see you as a traitor in the last moments of my life?”
Sir Bedevere looks torn for a short while but then grabs Excalibur firmly. “As you wish, sire.” He leaves.
Arthur lies back and grabs the hilt of the dagger; stomach wounds always hurt the worst.
Then sir Bedevere comes back and lies and Arthur has to send him away again. The second time the knight lies again and Arthur sends him scurrying away from his anger. Lord, it’s about as hard to get this man to do one simple thing as it was to get Merlin to do something useful back in the day. Minus the fun part of trading insults.
The third time the knight returns he speaks the truth. Arthur nods thankfully, sighs and pulls the dagger clean out. Sir Bedevere panics but Arthur can’t quite hear him, can only feel his life bleeding out of him in great bursts of blood. And he is at peace with the world, his life, his Albion.
Then, through the darkness of the forest around him and death closing in, there’s a light. Nine women gather around his dying body and lift him up in their arms, ever so gently, ever so softly. They carry him thorough the forest down to the lake and place him, ever so lightly, in a ship. They all sit down around him and the ship starts moving, seemingly without wind or the strength of arms.
After a few seconds, a lifetime, they hit land and the women somehow help him to stand up and Arthur sees. Sees the island of eternity, sees paradise, sees Avalon in all its glory. But mostly, he sees Merlin.
The warlock is standing on the shore, smiling serenely. He looks young and happy and healthy and, gods, Arthur has missed him. Merlin stretches out his white, slender hand towards him and the king can only stare at it.
He dares not take it. For Merlin is young, clean and whole and is wearing the finest blue robes that the king has ever seen on him and Arthur is old, bloody and grimy and is wearing a suit of armour that has definitely seen better days. He doesn’t want to taint him.
But the women urge him on and Arthur is forced to take Merlin’s hand so he won’t fall in the lake. But he needn’t have worried, for the second he steps upon Avalon his old strength flows through him again. The boat is slowly floating out from the shore with nine women smiling coyly at them, but Arthur doesn’t notice. He is to busy looking down at himself.
There’s no blood, grime or even armour left, only a set of kingly red robes that fit perfectly. On closer inspection the king’s hand in the warlock’s looks clean, soft and young again.
“You should probably close your mouth soon or everyone will think you’re an imbecile. It’s not very kingly.”
Arthur’s head snaps up to catch the smug smile spreading across Merlin’s lips. He narrows his eyes at the warlock and pulls his hand back.
“I’m sure they will think nothing of it,” Arthur replies, haughty expression in place. “After all, they have had to look at your moronic smile for years now. They are probably used to it.”
Arthur takes his time to watch the smile slip of Merlin’s face before he crushes the other man in a hug. “Merlin” he murmurs and breathes the other man in.
“Arthur” Merlin whispers back and returns the hug with equal strength. Gods, it’s been a long time since the king heard his name said from this man.
They stay like that for a while, clinging to each other. And there’s a strange feeling in Arthur’s chest, pressing to the point of bursting. He pulls away far enough to be able to look at the other man and Arthur watches the content glint in Merlin’s eyes, his rosy cheeks and the small, happy smile curling his lips upwards.
The feeling in the king’s chest grows and he absently touches his thumb to Merlin’s smile. It falters slightly and the warlock instantly looks vulnerable. Arthur tries desperately to catalogue whatever he’s feeling. It burns to far up to be lust, even though that’s an underlying stream waiting to rise. It’s strange, it’s kind of like Arthur always imagined being in love would feel like. Just much stronger.
“What are you doing, Arthur?” Merlin’s voice wavers slightly on the question.
“I think I…” he doesn’t dare say it. “I want to…”
Merlin raises an amused eyebrow at his stammering. “What do you want, Arthur?”
“I want to kiss you.” Merlin tenses up at that and tries to pull back, but Arthur keeps him in place.
“You don’t mean that,” the warlock protests and avoids the king’s eyes.
“Yes, I do,” Arthur says firmly. “I really, really want to kiss you right now.”
“Please don’t, Arthur. You know I lo-”
“Well, me too, so just shut up, you idiot. You know I’d never hurt you.” And without further ado Arthur presses their lips together.
At first Merlin freezes up and doesn’t respond, but then he gives up a small noise of defeat and starts kissing back with fervour. Arthur makes an appreciative moan and closes his eyes. And, naturally, Arthur has been physical with other people before, but none of it has ever felt like this. This desperation to get even closer, these sparks running up his spine, this light-headedness and this sense of completion.
Even so, he eventually has to pull back to get some oxygen; but he only does it so far that they can rest their foreheads together. Arthur opens his eyes and meets Merlin’s gaze, the warlock is staring at him with an expression mixed between hope and despair.
“If you don’t mean this, Arthur, I swear I’m going to-”
“Merlin,” the king interrupts firmly and tries, as he has done countless times before, to control his annoyance. “I know that you have always been a little slow to notice the obvious but, honestly, this just takes the prize.”
Merlin looks suitably confused. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the fact that I just died and that so far I have only taken one step onto Avalon. And the first thing I do, on Avalon, is to stand here and kiss you. This should, at least, be a humongous hint to the fact that I, for some entirely incomprehensible reason, am in love with you.”
At first Merlin only looks really shocked, but then a huge smile breaks out across his face. “But you’ve never been able to before. Your destiny-”
“Yeah well, I’m dead now. There’s no destiny deciding what I should and shouldn’t do anymore.” And as he says it he knows it’s true. For the first time in Arthur’s life, or existence rather, he actually feels free. The king matches the warlock’s smile with one of his own.
“So, are you going to kiss me now, or have you in some impossible manner managed to get over me?”
“You’re still a prat, I see” Merlin replies and shakes his head slightly. But he kisses his king anyway. Arthur’s heart swells in a new, entirely pleasant way and he knows that they will be here, like this, forever.
Or, you know, at least until the people in Albion can’t manage to get by without him anymore.
The End
I'm slightly embarrassed that I wrote such a big pile of nothing but fluff, but the first part was so depressing to write that I had to do it. Hopefully it isn't too crappy.