Merlin was exhausted when he woke. He didn't want to face what tasks might lay ahead. It could mean Arthur's death if Merlin didn't restrain the reborn Arthur somehow, and he doubted if he'd be able to. Unlike his Arthur, he was overly confident and utterly without compassion, but he could fight and he liked to kill. A powerful combination. If it came down to it, Merlin would likely have to kill him, something he desperately did not want to do.

On the other hand, if he could find a way to restrain him, it would give Merlin some time to find a way out of the disaster he'd created.

But when he glanced toward the other cot, it was empty. Arthur was gone.

Dressing as quickly as he could, cursing the whole time, Merlin could see that Arthur had taken his best sword and a leather vest studded with metal. The chainmail and armour had been left behind, and ordinarily Merlin would have thought nothing of it. After all, if Arthur wasn't going to fight, he'd not need it.

Yet something Arthur had said sounded warning bells in his head, that the reborn Arthur liked to hunt at night. Merlin had all but ignored it in the bleak aspect of losing his Arthur for good. But if he were hunting, he'd leave behind something as noisy as chainmail. A vest made of boiled leather was almost as good and it wouldn't make any sounds and that would mean… Arthur was on the hunt again. He was going to kill again.

Merlin was too late.

Shoving boots on, he hurried outside. One of the two horses they'd seized from the bandits was gone. Another sharp curse and Merlin was already trying to put the saddle on the second horse but it took precious seconds and panic was making him clumsy. It didn't help that the horse could sense his fear, and that made him skittish, jerking away from Merlin as he tried over and over again to mount him.

Finally, knowing that he had to hurry, that it might already be too late, he whispered a spell to calm the horse, then jumped on and began to follow the trail Arthur had left behind.

Apparently he was headed toward Willowdale.

The sun was coming up when he finally caught up with Arthur… and the mob closing in on him.

It was clear that the villagers had planned it. A net, half-destroyed, lay on the ground, and the crowd surrounding Arthur were armed with pitchforks and long knives. One was brandishing a crossbow, and Arthur's leg had a bolt sticking out of it. Another wound, bright with blood, was gaping in his gut; he must have broken off the feathered shaft to fight.

Merlin didn't think the villagers were stupid enough to attack Arthur at close range. They must have known that he was good with a sword, and even now, wounded, he was magnificent in the way he was keeping his enemies at bay.

But it wasn't a battle or some glorious quest, just villagers trying to get in a strike, to take him down.

As Merlin rode closer, he could hear the shouting. Accusations of murder, one woman shrieking at Arthur about her son and how he'd killed him, another man shoving his pitchfork into the air and howling for revenge. On the edge of the mob, several others were holding themselves as if in pain and Merlin could see red there, still seeping. Arthur must have wounded some, either before the others arrived or after they surrounded him. There were groans of agony and screaming for blood; it was focused chaos.

It was then Merlin realized that they hadn't meant to capture Arthur. It was an execution. The villagers must have set a trap for Arthur, and when he fell for it, they moved in for the kill.

Merlin couldn't let that happen.

Riding hell-bent for the centre of the mob, Merlin shouted, "Forþ flíehen." Several of the villagers went flying backwards, giving Arthur enough room to make a run for it. But instead, looking at Merlin for an instant and nodding as if pleased, he turned toward the crowd and began slashing his way through them.

It was Merlin's worst nightmare.

There were screams and everyone trying to escape, Arthur laughing as he began to attack the villagers. Horrified, for a heartbeat, Merlin watched, stunned at the ferocity of it all. Then he remembered his promise.

"Ic hér ácíege ænne windræs! Færblæd wæw! Hira síena, tóswierc. Ecg, cume hér."

And with that, there was a howl of wind, rising up and even Arthur, still trying to kill anyone he could reach, bowed his head against it. His sword went flying into Merlin's hand, and for a moment, he was defenceless. When Arthur looked up and saw Merlin holding it, he sent him such a look of hatred that it felt as if a dagger had plunged into Merlin's heart.

Then, realizing he was vulnerable, Arthur ran toward Merlin, shouting at him to give him back his sword, that he had to kill them all before it was too late. In that instant, Merlin thought he looked more like Uther in his madness than any likeness of Arthur.

The man with the crossbow was aiming again. Merlin flung out his hand and the bow flew into the air, the bolt going wide. Howling in rage, the villager was racing toward them both, pulling out a long knife as he did. Arthur didn't see him, so intent was he on reaching Merlin and wresting the sword from him. But Merlin pushed out his magic again and the villager fell backwards, out of harm's way.

In all the chaos, the mob began to regroup, surging toward them both. Merlin, realizing that there was very little time before they were both overwhelmed, galloped to Arthur, yanking him up behind him. It didn't help that he was fighting Merlin all the time, grabbing at the sword, punching Merlin in the back and along the side of his head to make him let go.

When Arthur hit him again, a solid blow against his temple, agony exploded in Merlin's skull. For an instant, everything greyed out. Arthur was shouting at him, the noise wavering as he tried to hold onto consciousness. His vision blurred. There was a sound of another crossbow bolt whizzing past and another and then Arthur jerked upright and his grip loosened. As Merlin's horse surged forward, Arthur slid off, hitting the ground hard and then lay still.

Merlin pulled the horse up sharply, jumped off toward where Arthur lay. In his chest, a crossbow head was clearly seen. It had gone into his back and when he fell, it pushed right through. There was blood everywhere. Pendragon red.

Kneeling down, still faint from Arthur's blows, trying to clear his head so that he could use his magic to heal him, Merlin babbled, "Don't die. Don't die. I have to save you. I have to…."

"Should have killed you…." There was a whimper of sound, bright colour bubbling out of his mouth, then Arthur frowned, looking almost puzzled. "I've been trained to kill since birth, you know."

Grasping at Merlin's arm, squeezing tightly, gazing up at him with mad blue eyes, he gave out one final grunt of pain. And then his face slackened, his hand let go and he slumped backwards and lay still.

Arthur, reborn out of love and loss, was dead.

"I know," As he closed Arthur's eyes, Merlin choked out. "I know."

Merlin was numb. He'd failed again; his choices had led him to Arthur's death. Again.

Body sprawled in the dirt, blood slowly congealing, Arthur looked almost peaceful. Merlin pushed down the matted hair, straightened the tunic collar, tried to adjust the leather vest, tugged at it, tugged hard, but it wouldn't budge. It was only after a few moments that he realized the crossbow bolt in Arthur's chest was stuck fast to it.

He let out a long, frantic wail, then jerked out the shafts one at a time, his magic exploding them into dust. He smoothed over the wounds with gentle fingers until all he could see was the brown blood soaking through and Arthur lying there. Too late, too late.

Behind him, the villagers were raging. They probably thought him an accomplice in Arthur's killing spree, and although he could have explained, he was just too heartsick to care. As he adjusted and smoothed and let grief take him, he ignored their fury, laying fire across their paths to keep them from taking Arthur away.

After a while, they must have seen that they could do nothing against him and stopped trying. In one corner of his mind, Merlin knew that they were gathering up their own wounded and dead. They weren't foolish enough to ignore him, though. They left guards just in case he decided to take revenge - not that anyone could have stopped him. But it saddened him to see it, saddened him that his despair and longing for Arthur's return had led to the murder of innocents.

Gathering up the body, he put Arthur across the horse's saddle, then slowly walked back to his hut. If the villagers followed, he didn't notice. He was too numb with his own grief to care.

It took time but Merlin was gentle, washing down Arthur's body, sewing up his wounds, dressing him in the finery he deserved: chainmail and armour and the Pendragon-red cloak. Clothes fit for a king.

But when he got to Avalon's lake, he couldn't. He knew he'd have to release his Arthur and let him go; he knew Arthur was still trapped inside, probably furious with Merlin for taking so long, but it was all he could do to lift the body off the horse and lay it down next to the shore. His hands were trembling and he wasn't ready to let go, not yet, not yet.

Slipping a bit in the mud and ice, as he sat down next to him, he pulled Arthur's limp body into his arms. The red cloak was spread around him, floating a little at the lake's edge. Around them was snow and rock and water - cold and more cold, as lifeless as the corpse in his arms.

Watching Arthur's slack face, feeling the weight of him against his chest, knowing that he would soon be gone and Merlin would be alone, he couldn't hold in his grief. He hadn't been able to save him and it was his mistakes that cost Arthur his life – again.

He couldn't stand it. He wanted to tear the world apart or if not, sink down into the ice and become as cold and lifeless as Arthur was. That, if he sat there long enough, the frozen air would deaden his mind as well as his body. But it didn't. It only reminded him of his true punishment, that he was the one left behind.

Tears started unbidden, frosting his face with cold reminders of failure, and he curled inward, cradling Arthur to him. Rocking, rocking, the grief destroying him, his heart shattering under the weight of his loss and the pieces cutting through him like glass. He felt as if he were bleeding inside, that the sword Mordred had wielded at Camlann left shards in him, too. He knew it wasn't real. But the pain was real enough, tearing him, shredding at his throat as he howled out his fury into the uncaring air.

But grief did not bring back the dead.

Hours later, days perhaps, eons filled with frenzy and madness and utter despair, finally, finally he gathered up what little courage he had left and said, "Grið fæstne mid þisse tintregende sáwol."

There was a gasp of breath and Arthur, his Arthur, his beloved king opened his eyes. "Thank you, Merlin."

"Don't leave me. Please, Arthur, don't..." Merlin hugged him closer, hoping to keep him there just a little longer, touching his face, his hair, the cold skin at his neck and wishing that this was the beginning and not the end, never the end. "Don't leave me."

He wanted to rage; he wanted to scream and argue and laugh and tell him jokes and have Arthur throw things at him and call him idiot; he wanted to pull lightning from the air and shatter the world if it would keep Arthur from leaving him.

What use was magic if he couldn't keep alive the only person he'd ever wanted?

"Such a girl." Arthur reached up to cup Merlin's face a moment, brushing a thumb across the tracks of grief on his cheek. Then his voice growing weak, Arthur said, "Remember. No man is worth your tears."

Merlin let out a bitter laugh. "You are, you damn prat. You are and don't you forget it." Hysteria rising in his throat, he pressed his forehead to Arthur's, one hand cupping the back of his head, trying to close the distance between them, trying to make the final few moments last an eternity. "Please, Arthur, don't go. I can still bring you back again. If I try hard enough, I'm sure I can find a way. Please, let me try, please don't leave me alone."

Arthur pulled back, stared up into Merlin's face. There was horror in Arthur's eyes as he said, "No, you promised you wouldn't. If you care about me at all, don't. Not that way."

Merlin had never seen him so unnerved, even when they faced the Dorocha, even when they faced monster after monster, armies and demons and destruction. Arthur had faced them all with determination, knowing that he could die at any moment. But this, this more than anything, was something so terrible that even Arthur ran from it.

Merlin couldn't force that on someone he loved.

"I won't, I give you my word." Merlin's throat was tightening again, as he tried to hold back his grief. "Besides, the dragon said you'd be back. The Once and Future King, he said. In Albion's greatest time of need. Promise me. You'll come back… please, Arthur."

"Talking to… dragons? Really, Merlin?" Arthur said. Merlin could see the struggle in his eyes and the way Arthur's body was stiffening. Time was growing shorter, every second precious.

"He said we had a destiny, you and I." Merlin sent him a nervous half-smile as he smoothed down Arthur's hair, brushed across his cheek, and tried to ignore the increasing coldness of Arthur's skin. When Arthur didn't mock him, just lay there watched Merlin growing more and more frantic, he knew there were only moments left. Desperate, Merlin said, "Promise me you'll come back. Promise."

"Merlin… I don't…." Arthur was frowning, looking at him with concern as if it were Merlin who was dying and not his prat prince.

He didn't want to shout, but the foolish idiot was being too noble, and there was no time. He couldn't let him go, not like this. His hand framed Arthur's cheek, white fingers stark against the icy skin, as Merlin said sharply, "Promise me, damn it!"

Lifting his hand, shaking and clearly weakening fast, Arthur covered Merlin's fingers with his own. Merlin could feel the shape and weight of him and the idea that this might be the last time Arthur ever touched him like this, destroyed Merlin all over again. He couldn't breathe for the despair of it.

Merlin was fighting back tears as he heard Arthur say, "If…it's possible, I'll find a… way."

That wasn't good enough. Merlin needed more than just platitudes and reassurances. He needed Arthur's vow; he needed to know that Arthur would come back to him, no matter what. Rocking back, taking Arthur's hand and pressing it against Merlin's heart, he begged, "Give me your word!"

Something must have got through to Arthur, Merlin's desperation or his loneliness or the bleak future that they both knew was ahead. Arthur pushed his fingers harder into Merlin's chest, pushed again and then all his strength seemed to disappear. Arthur sagged back, his hand held there only by Merlin's determination as he whispered, "I… promise."

"I'll wait for you." Merlin meant it. This was the man he'd give his life for a thousand times over, his best friend, the man he loved with all his heart, and if it meant waiting forever to be with him again, then that's what he would do. But not yet, not yet.

"Merlin, I…." Arthur let out one last, long breath, and then he grew silent and still. And cold, so cold.

Arthur was gone.

As Merlin sat there, shattered, calling Arthur's name over and over again, shaking him as if it would somehow bring him back, knowing it was useless, the sky opened up. Rain poured down. Lightning, bright and terrible, ignited the trees around him; the flames were roaring like pyres and there was the sound of rain evaporating into steam and the crack of something exploding in the distance. The noise was echoing on and on and he knew that it was drowning out his cries but he could still feel the pain inside, pounding against his chest. He was soaked and shivering and it didn't matter what was happening around him - because Arthur wasn't in the world to share it with him.

Merlin didn't know how long he sat there, broken, but when he could see clearly again, the trees along the shore had turned to ash and there was the smell of damp smoke lingering in the air. Devastation encircled him like a cloak.

It didn't matter, though. Nothing had changed. Arthur was still dead, still a cold body in his arms.

There was only one last task, one last vow to keep.

He didn't remember finding the boat or bringing it back to where Arthur lay, cold and alone. In the distance, there was snow blowing and Avalon's hill was covered in white but all Merlin could see was his friend's still face and the Pendragon-red cloak covering him like a shroud.

Putting Arthur's body in the boat and setting it alight was one of the hardest things he'd ever done. But he did it because he'd promised. Now there was nothing left but to wait for Arthur to return and know that this was Merlin's punishment, ever and eternal.

The madness came back, memories crawling into his chest and he was broken and he knew it. But he'd promised Arthur to help Gwen regain what Merlin had destroyed with his choices. And it was this promise that kept him from sinking into the earth and never coming out again. After all, he'd ignored Arthur's pleas for weeks and all it had done was destroy them both.

He found Gwen honoured at Queen Annis's court. At first, she refused to see him but she understood him in ways Arthur had not and when she saw how much he blamed himself for what happened, she listened to what he had to say. She never forgave him, of course, but at least she listened. In time, Camelot flowered again and Gwen reigned long and well. But Arthur had always been the heart of Camelot for Merlin and he saw the kingdom as nothing more than a hollow shell – much like himself.

For his service, Gwen brought back magic, and for a time it was enough. But when she died and his obligation to her died as well, he retreated back into his cave, waiting, waiting.

As the years passed, decades, centuries, the stories of King Arthur twisted and turned, morphing into a tangle of golden ages and heroics, becoming legends and then myths so warped that Merlin couldn't begin to recognize them, but it didn't matter. At least Arthur's name was remembered with honour.

Merlin kept his promise. He didn't try to bring Arthur back again. Eventually, he found a way that might have worked but it was fraught with risk and remembering Arthur's terror, knew that he couldn't put his best friend through that again. Besides, he'd promised and Arthur had promised, too, to come back.

So Merlin waited and watched and mourned, knowing that his best friend, his king, would return someday.

Because Arthur promised.

And Arthur always kept his word.

The end

Translations:

Mid þes sceatte, ic ðu áben, Arthur Pendragon. Cume fram begeondan wítescræfe. Aríse und eftáríse, min cyning.= With this tribute, I summon you, Arthur Pendragon. Come from beyond the pit of torment. Arise and live again, my king.

Forþ flíehen= Fly back

Ic hér ácíege ænne windræs! Færblæd wæw! Hira síena, tóswierc. Ecg, cume hér. = I summon a storm-wind. Sudden blast, blow! Their vision, obscure. Sword, come here.

Grið fæstne mid þisse tintregende sáwol. = Bestow peace with this tortured soul.