Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the TV series "Merlin", which is trademarked by the BBC. All characters are created and owned by the BBC and the writers of "Merlin" and I do not claim any ownership over them. The story I tell here is my own invention, and it is not purported or believed to be part of the "Merlin" story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is, unfortunately in this case, not part of the official story line. Although I am bitterly disappointed and heartbroken by the way this outstanding series was ended, I want to thank the BBC and the "Merlin" authors for creating the characters with whom I have laughed and cried for 5 wonderful and touching seasons. Without them, my story wouldn't exist.

The Riddle of Grief

Chapter 1 - A World He Once Knew

O Merlin in your crystal cave
Deep in the diamond of the day,
Will there ever be a singer
Whose music will smooth away
The furrow drawn by Adam's finger
Across the memory and the wave?
Or a runner who'll outrun
Man's long shadow driving on,
Break through the gate of memory
And hang the apple on the tree?
Will your magic ever show
The sleeping bride shut in her bower,
The day wreathed in its mound of snow
and Time locked in his tower?

Edwin Muir

The young man was kneeling by the side of the water, doubled over, riddled by sobs. The boat carrying his now silent master, the King, his friend – oh! so much more than just a friend! - out onto the lake had long since vanished in the mists, but still Merlin could feel Arthur's weight in his lap, the warmth of Arthur's laboured breathing on his chest, the pityingly weak touch of Arthur's once so firm hand on the back of his head. Still he could hear the king's deep voice, shaking and raw from the sheer endeavor of holding on, from the fear of not getting the chance to say what he needed Merlin to know, that he couldn't have achieved what he had without Merlin, that he thanked him.

Thanked him! Merlin almost cried out when a new wave of grief shook his slender frame. So many times he had saved the great Pendragon's back, and Camelot, and the day, and never had he heard the tiniest thank you. "You're such a girl, Merlin! Don't be such a coward, Merlin! You idiot, Merlin!" Such were the words the Prince had used to acknowledge his presence - and how he longed to hear them now, to be bullied around by Arthur, to have something thrown at him, a boot, a pitcher, anything, thrown in mock rage that in reality expressed how deeply Arthur had cared about his clumsy, useless servant. Clumsy indeed! Merlin sobbed anew. So clumsy that I couldn't for dear life prevent a traitor settling in our midst. So useless that for all my wonderful magic I couldn't save you in the end! So damn idiotic that he never thought of calling his oh-so-mighty dragon the moment he heard Gaius say that he had to take Arthur to Avalon, instead of when it was already too late. Why did you have to leave me, Arthur? Everything is over now! Nothing will mean anything to me anymore now. "Nothing! Nothing, do you hear me?" With a start, Merlin realized that he had shouted the last words. He hadn't even noticed that he had stood up and stepped back into the lake again, as if to make Arthur hear him better. But Arthur's ears were closed to all earthly sounds now.

His normally so bright blue eyes dark with tears he gazed over to the tor for one last time and, lips quivering, whispered "Goodbye…" Then he slowly turned around and with heavy, squelching steps made back for the lake's edge. The sun had been steadily sinking and the first noises of the falling night could be heard from the direction of the forest, accompanied by a chilly breeze, but the young warlock didn't think of magically drying his dripping boots and trousers, didn't even notice that they were wet. He never had felt so drained, so hollow, in his entire life. Not when he had lost his childhood best friend Will, not when he had had to say goodbye to Freya, not when he had buried Lancelot – in a boat just like the one where he had laid Arthur to rest. So many times already did he have to watch loved ones cross over into the other world for one so young, and he suddenly felt a thousand years old, a lost wanderer in a world he thought he knew, a world to which he had once owned a map, a map that he still gazed at with uncomprehending eyes because all he could see was the Arthur-shaped hole that burned, crimson, in its middle.

He stopped on the small strip of grass that surrounded the lake and for the first time wondered where he should go now. Everything that had made up his life in Camelot seemed unreal to him, blurred, like something left behind decades ago. Had he really scuttled up and down the castle's neverending stairways to care for the man now dead on the Isle of Avalon? Polishing the armor that in the end couldn't protect him, sharpening the sword that had killed Mordred, all right, but only when it was already too late? At this Merlin started crying again, or maybe he had never stopped crying, and the the thought of the castle brought back other duties he had had, errands he had had to run for Gaius – Gaius! How could he ever face him again? How could he tell him – how could he tell Gwen –Gwen! – and Gwaine and Sir Leon and Percival, how he had failed Arthur, had failed all of them? But tell them he must, he saw that clearly all of a sudden. He couldn't just go and hide, just start running, running and never stopping again until all that had happened today was far behind him, as much as he wanted to. What he wanted was finding a place where he could be all alone, where he could just sit and stare and think of his lost friend, think of what was supposed to be his destiny, think of everything he now never would achieve and, most important of all, think about what Kilgarrah had said to him by the lake.

Yes, for all his grief and terrible guilt Merlin hadn't forgotten what the dragon had told him, about Arthur being the Once and Future King who would rise again when Albion's need would be greatest. The words were engraved in his brain and a tiny, twinkling light buried almost completely beneath his utter hopelessness, almost unaccessable under his conscious thoughts. He didn't as yet dare to look at it. He couldn't face the notion of a new beginning, of another chance at fulfilling his destiny yet. His grief was too full, too sharp. But the light was there. He knew it was there, and in time he would be able to step out of the darkness to examine it. But for now, he had to begin his dark and lonely journey to Camelot. With a last look over his shoulder, towards the dark lake, Merlin drew a deep breath and swallowed hard. Bracing himself against the sensation of his magic, his birthright he now could never wholly trust anymore, he sent out small strands of magic to show him the right direction, and with hot tears still steadily dripping down his haggard face, he set out for Camelot, and admission of his failure.