A/N: This is it. The final chapter of Tributes. It has been a hell of a ride - thank you for sticking with the story, and I hope you enjoy seeing the final pieces of the puzzle fall into place.

Guinevere opened her eyes, and for one glorious, blissful moment, she thought she was still in the Arena.

Never, in her wildest dreams, could she ever have imagined that she would miss being in the Hunger Games. But the truth was that Gwen would be anywhere, do anything, if it meant that Merlin was with her. If it meant that he was alive.

She kept her eyes closed, turning on her side, helpless as the tears began to flow. In a moment her body was shaking with uncontrollable sobs and she curled in on herself, biting down on her fist to keep from screaming out loud.

Merlin is dead.

She couldn't believe it – she wouldn't believe it – but it was the truth.

"Guinevere," a voice called softly, and she started at the familiarity. She'd never thought she would hear that voice again.

She felt a hand rest lightly on her shoulder, and if it had been anyone else's she would have shrugged it off. But Gaius was the one person who could even begin to understand.

Gaius said nothing else for a long while, keeping his hand on her shoulder as she continued to cry helplessly into her pillow, feeling like she would never, ever stop. She didn't know where she was or how she had gotten there (she vaguely remembered passing out from the pain of her arrow wound, but she felt no pain now. Had the Capitol taken that from her, too? Had they left behind nothing but an empty shell?

Finally, as her sobs began to subside, she let herself open her eyes. She realised at once that she had been brought back to her room in the tributes' tower, and felt a pang of that by now familiar emptiness that came with being a tribute in the Hunger Games. Where a week ago this building had been full of people, most of whom were innocent children terrified to die, now there was only her. She was alone.

She was the victor.

The fact seemed absurd, abstract, an actuality she simply could not wrap her head around. But I'm going home, she thought, and she couldn't help the very faint surge of relief at the thought, even if she immediately felt guilty, thinking of all the families who would not be getting their children back.

She met Gaius' eyes, and found his gaze as strong and unwavering as it ever had been.

The sight filled her with a small measure of comfort. He went through this, she thought. Gaius watched all of his friends die, too. And he's… well, Gaius lived alone. Gaius drank too much. But Gaius had also had Merlin and Hunith and sometimes Gwen over for tea, and he snuck food and medicine to the poorer families in their District. He is not okay. But he is managing. As I must.

Gaius would help her through this. Whatever she had to do next, Gwen would get through it because she had to, because it was the least she could do for Merlin. He had wanted her to live.

You have to see it, Gwen. See yourself walking out of that Arena, and stepping off the train, and into Lancelot's arms, he had told her.

I see it, she wanted to reply. Oh, Merlin, I promise you. I really see it.

ooo

Falling. He remembered falling.

Fly.

Merlin shook his head, frowning as the word refused to leave his mind, reverberating in there and forcing its way out on a tongue that suddenly felt long and forked between his teeth.

Fly.

Why was this place so familiar? He cast his eyes around, but there was nothing but flame. It was red and gold and sparking against his skin, but to his surprise, it didn't burn.

Fly.

It was his breath, he realised, that made the sparks. He was engulfed in a world of fire that was all his own doing.

Fly.

He felt the wings sprout from his back and the scales break out all over his body, and then he was soaring, over lakes and mountains and castles, and he felt like he could just go up, up, up into the sun, maybe become one with it, craving the heat more than anything else in the world even as soft, cool lines were drawn on his skin, leaving a tingling, grounding feeling in its wake which pulled him down, down, down...

Merlin.

That's not the right word, he thought, trying to shake his head but finding that his body wasn't moving right; there was no longer ground below him, but an impenetrable darkness. And it was coming up to meet him, wrapping its cool, damp hands around his arms and legs and pulling him back, reaching into his mind and pulling, pulling, pulling...

"Merlin."

Merlin started, eyes flying open and sitting up with a jolt, blinking rapidly against the stark, blinding light shining in his eyes, and recoiling from the harshness of this world which wasn't air and flame, which was solid and cold and all too real.

That was when he noticed Arthur, sitting on the edge of what Merlin vaguely registered was a bed, Wait, a bed? wearing a threadbare red shirt and looking not at all like himself – and after a moment Merlin realised that it was because he was clean; his hair looked soft to the touch and the golden strands were reflecting the artificial light of the lamp, and the blue eyes he'd come to cherish so much were bright and alert. Relaxed. Not like Arthur at all.

Merlin looked down himself, frowning at the light blue t-shirt he was wearing. He tried to sniff his arm discreetly, and eyes narrowed as he realised that he, too, was clean. Something was very, very off here – for one thing, they were both supposed to be dead.

"Oh, fuck," Merlin said, wide eyes flying to Arthur's as he put the pieces together. "We're in the Capitol, aren't we? They pulled us back, didn't they? Determined to make an example out of us for trying to cheat, oh my god, Arthur what are we going to do?"

To Merlin's complete bewilderment, Arthur merely smiled, taking one of Merlin's hands and stroking it lightly, almost absently, to calm him down.

"We're not in the Capitol, Merlin," he said, sounding almost like he didn't believe it himself, but he was still smiling. "But I think there's someone who can explain all this better than I can."

At the sound of someone clearing their throat, Merlin turned - and jumped backwards, scrambling up against the wall as the head Gamemaker, Kilgharrah Fiero, entered the room.

"You!" Merlin accused, pointing a shaking finger at Kilgharrah. "And... and..." he turned to Arthur, but he couldn't say it, he couldn't even begin to believe that Arthur would have betrayed him like this. Could Uther have planned this all along? Was this how he'd planned to make Arthur win it all? But... even in his completely panicked state, Merlin knew that never before had the Gamemakers actually entered the Arena to finish off the contestants themselves. "What the hell is going on?" he finally asked, slumping slightly. As the adrenaline began to wear off he realised how sore he was; he felt like he'd hit every rock on their way down after they'd jumped off the cliff.

"That's what I'd like to know," Arthur grumbled, shooting Kilgharrah a look that suggested he had asked the same question many times - though he still looked relaxed, like he didn't feel threatened by the head Gamemaker at all. Merlin didn't understand any of this. "He refused to tell me anything until you woke up."

"Refused is such an unpleasant word, young Pendragon," Kilgharrah said, voice infuriatingly calm. "I merely did not wish to repeat myself unnecessarily."

"Well, then," Merlin spoke up, suddenly feeling like he was quite done with the Capitol's games, "I'm awake now. So how about you start talking?" He tried to keep his voice even, like he had any kind of authority here, but of course he didn't. Surely, like every other part of his life, the Capitol was controlling all of this. Kilgharrah could kill him with a flick of his bony wrist, Merlin knew it.

But what Merlin didn't know was why he hadn't yet done any such thing. Why Merlin and Arthur were even alive at all.

"Indeed." Kilgharrah inclined his head, eyes sparkling, looking for all the world like a kindly uncle whose favourite nephew had come by for tea. "But first, Merlin, there is something I need you to see."

Merlin tried to catch Arthur's eye, but Arthur was looking down, smiling slightly. Merlin frowned.

He got out of bed, feeling the ache in his joints after almost a week of sleeping on floors and running for his life. His feet were bare on the metallic floor, and he was once again reminded of what a strange place this was. It looked Capitol for sure, but then again, it was oddly claustrophobic. There were no windows, for one thing, and the walls curved in in a rather peculiar way.

Kilgharrah led the way out of the room, and Merlin and Arthur followed him into a narrow hallway, where again every inch of the walls, floor and ceiling were made of metal.

Once they reached a door, Arthur pulled Merlin back gently, leaning close. "This is amazing, Merlin. Just wait until you see it."

Merlin tried to prepare himself for this, for whatever had convinced Arthur of all people to feel safe here.

But as Kilgharrah opened the door, nothing could have prepared him for what lay on the other side: it was a hillside, rocky and sparsely forested, and beyond where the cliff fell away Merlin could see forests, lakes, fields and mountains, all the way to the edge of the horizon.

Merlin's jaw dropped open. As a child of one of the twelve Districts of Panem, Merlin had never seen anything like it.

It was freedom.

"Go on," Kilgharrah said softly, as though he knew exactly what was going through Merlin's head. "Go outside. No one is going to stop you, Merlin."

Merlin wanted to argue - he wanted to find a way to prove that this was a trap, a trick, a final ploy by the Gamemakers. But as he once again caught Arthur's eyes and saw nothing but wonder there, he felt some of his reservations slip away. Arthur must obviously have had all of the same worries he did, and Kilgharrah hadn't yet done anything to make him suspicious. For now, that had to be enough for Merlin.

Merlin turned, taking a deep breath. He wanted this to be real so badly, and was terrified of finding it all an illusion. But once Arthur stepped up beside him, he knew he could do it.

They walked out the door together - and Merlin could have cried as he realised that the air he was breathing was finally - finally - real. It was nothing like the Arena's processed and manufactured ecosystem. This was actual air, full of both foreign and familiar smells. He could hear birds singing, and they didn't sound like the mockingjays that populated his District at all. The sound was at once so familiar and so different from what he remembered, and it mingled in his ears with the wind rustling the trees and the grass all around him.

Merlin didn't know how long he stood there, taking in deep, invigorating breaths, eyes moving around the landscape as though it was a feast of foods he did not even know he had been craving. It was like being back in his District, but a hundred times better – because even District 11, massive as it was, had fences. There were no fences here.

This is not Panem, he realised suddenly. He hardly dared to believe it, but yet he knew it to be true.

All his life, the idea of running away, of escaping past the fence and through the woods and finding somewhere better - where there were no Hunger Games, and no Peacekeepers, and no Capitol controlling their lives - had been a recurring daydream, something he knew most children in his District dreamed of, but he had long since given that up as nothing more but a nice idea, an abstract concept. He never, ever thought it could actually become a reality. In fact, up until now, he hadn't even been completely sure there had been anything outside of Panem.

He turned to ask Kilgharrah a question, but it died on his lips when he realised that what he and Arthur had stepped out of before had been a hovercraft. Much bigger than any he'd previously seen, but still, there was no denying what it was and where it came from. And the sight filled Merlin with a new sense of unease, a stark reminder that wherever they were, Kilgharrah was Capitol, and they were still at his mercy.

"Why did you bring us here?" Merlin asked, trying to mask the cautious optimism in his tone. Whatever the reason Kilgharrah had brought them here, Merlin refused to trust him. He refused to trust anyone involved with designing the Hunger Games.

"Ah, I see you are impatient for answers. I suppose I should have expected nothing less," Kilgharrah said. "And you shall have them. Follow me."

To Merlin's surprise, Kilgharrah did not walk back inside the hovercraft, but rather led the way around it, uncovering a small, overgrown path. This time, Arthur looked as surprised as Merlin, but clearly still trusting enough to follow without comment.

"Arthur, wait," Merlin whispered, grabbing Arthur's arm and slowing their steps, allowing Kilgharrah to move out of earshot. "What is this? What has he told you? Because all of this is great, but I still don't..." he trailed off. He wanted to believe that this was real. But how could he, after everything he'd seen?

Arthur nodded, considering Merlin's words. "Honestly, Merlin, when I first woke up I was as skeptical as you were. More, even. I was raging, calling for you, Kilgharrah tried to restrain me and I burst out through the door... and found all of this. I was floored, as you can imagine - District 1 is very enclosed, I've never seen anything like this, you know… and I wanted to run, just make a break for it while I could. But," he paused, searching Merlin's face, "that's when he told me that you were still in there. And that I needed to wait for you to wake up, and then he would explain everything."

Merlin shook his head. "That still doesn't explain-"

"Think about it, Merlin," Arthur said, "why would he even bother with any of this if he was just going to take us back to the Capitol? Why even go through all of this trouble? In all the years I've had to watch the Hunger Games, the Gamemakers have never made the audience wait for anything. If he wanted a show, he would have let me run and set the mutts on me."

"It could still be a ploy," Merlin argued weakly, though he felt Arthur's cautious optimism affect him. Lowering his defences. He wanted to believe it – clearly, they both did. "Maybe this is all a simulation. Maybe..." his eyes widened. "Maybe this is your dad's doing. Maybe this was a part of his plan all along."

To Merlin's surprise, Arthur grimaced. "That's a good theory, Merlin. But my father is dead."

Merlin stopped dead in his tracks. Ahead of them, Kilgharrah glanced backwards and stopped when he noticed they were no longer following him. But he didn't come closer, letting them have their space.

"What? How do you even know that?"

"That was the other thing Kilgharrah told me," Arthur said. He was doing a very good impression of someone who didn't care about any of this at all, but Merlin knew Arthur well enough to see that he was masking a grief there, buried deep inside of him. But at the same time, there was still that lightness in his body language, which suddenly made a lot more sense. Freedom, Merlin realised. And not just because there are no fences.

"I'm..." Merlin trailed off. I'm sorry somehow didn't seem appropriate here. "How did it happen?"

"Kilgharrah told me he got desperate. Careless," Arthur said, expression grim. "After Morgana... apparently Father had not quite been as prepared to watch her die as he thought he would be. And he became obsessed - even more so than before - with getting me out of there alive. Apparently he weaselled his way into the control room and hacked the system, somehow, sending in those skeletons and communicating his intent to Nimueh, telling her to get me out of there. That's how she knew they were coming."

Merlin's blood ran cold as he remembered the notes he himself had received. Could they possibly have been from Uther all along, manipulating Merlin to keep Arthur safe?

"How do you know Kilgharrah is telling the truth though?" he asked, shaking his head, trying to focus on one thing at a time.

"Because of this." Arthur held out his palm, and Merlin looked down to see a thick silver ring resting in it. "It was my mother's. My father would never have let himself be parted with it, not even to let me or Morgana carry it as a token." Arthur closed his hand around the ring, and Merlin looked up to catch a flash of that same old pain as he'd seen whenever Arthur had spoken about Uther in the Arena.

"So the Gamemakers killed him?" Merlin whispered.

"No." If possible, Arthur's expression darkened even further. "They were still trying to work out who had broken into the system. My father was a powerful man, and he had many friends. But as he was busy covering his tracks... well, that is when he was called into the control room to watch the final act of the Hunger Games play out. Kilgharrah said..." Arthur paused, closing his eyes for a moment, composing himself. Merlin resisted the urge to reach out to him, knowing that Arthur needed the space. "He said that when my father saw the wall of fire come towards us, when he realised the Gamemakers' plan to make Gwen the victor, he just lost it. He grabbed one of the Peacekeepers' guns, everyone thought he was going to force them to stop it... but that is when the fire reached us. Apparently no one saw us jump. All they saw was the fire, and then two cannons sounded. And then Uther turned the gun on himself."

"But..." Merlin frowned. "If Kilgharrah was there for all of that, how could he have saved us?"

Arthur fixed Merlin with an intense, calculating look, eyes narrowed in speculation. "He didn't. Apparently, that was you."

"Me?" Merlin gasped, completely taken aback. "But I didn't- I mean, I passed out! I don't remember anything."

They both started when Kilgharrah called back to them, "As I said, young tribute, all shall be explained. But first, come along. There is something else you need to know about what happened after your fall… but which I suspect you will want to see for yourself."

ooo

Kilgharrah took them to a cabin. On the outside it looked like it was going to collapse in on itself, half covered by vines and ivy, roof looking like it had caved in - but inside, they found it bright and homey, with electricity and running water, a soft rug, several plush chairs and a sofa, and a fully stocked kitchen.

Merlin would have been surprised by all of this, if he had any surprise left inside of him.

"Tea?" Kilgharrah asked pleasantly.

"Answers," Arthur replied, arching an eyebrow. "I think we have waited long enough, Kilgharrah."

Kilgharrah hummed his assent, but still moved into the kitchen to turn on the kettle, looking completely unconcerned by all of this - like picking up stray tributes and taking them to a cabin in the woods was an everyday occurrence.

"Well, then, I suppose we may as well get started," Kilgharrah said. "But before I can tell you why you are alive, you need to see how you died."

Merlin and Arthur shared a look but said nothing, both realising that whatever Kilgharrah's agenda was, pressing him for anything clearly wasn't going to help them.

Kilgharrah pressed something into Merlin's hand, which Merlin realised was a remote, before shuffling back out into the kitchen to deal with the whistling kettle. Merlin looked at Arthur, who shrugged, and they moved to the sofa to turn on the television.

Merlin gasped as Guinevere's face appeared, the picture of her which had been taken on the day of the Reaping flashing up with the words:

The 57th Annual Hunger Games
Victor: Guinevere Smith, District 11

The image flickered and disappeared, and was replaced by a shot of Caesar Flickerman, who was waving and grinning at the screaming audience as he made his way onto the stage where he had interviewed all the tributes before the Games.

"Welcome!" Caesar exclaimed, taking his seat, pausing to allow for more uproarious applause. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have come to the end of this year's Hunger Games. And let me tell you, it has been non-stop excitement from start to finish!" Another pause, more applause. "And, after a tense finale, we now have our winner! Let us take a look at how it all went down."

With one final smile and wink at the camera, Caesar turned to the giant screen behind him, where the audience would be able to re-watch the moment that made Gwen the victor. The TV screen switched to it too, and Merlin felt Arthur shift in his seat beside him, probably feeling as apprehensive about this as Merlin himself.

But in the end, watching it all back was oddly anticlimactic. It was like watching someone else; this Merlin was filthy and his clothes were in rags, his eyes were bloodshot and his hair was matted with dirt and blood.

He watched as he, Gwen and Arthur escaped from the skeleton army. He watched how Tristan managed to crawl along the floor, unnoticed by the skeletons, following the trio and copying the movements he'd seen Gwen make to get the secret door open. He watched as the three of them collapsed in temporary relief, believing themselves safe in their sanctuary, and as Tristan silently loaded his bow and aimed it at Gwen.

He watched Gwen fall. He watched himself and Arthur backing up as Tristan advanced on them. And then - and then, it was odd, because for a moment the video feed flickered, and a strange, mirrored shot made it look like Arthur was holding a bow for a second, except Merlin knew he hadn't been - and then the arrow was embedded in Tristan's chest, and he was dead.

"Ah, yes, that one was hard for me to manipulate," Kilgharrah murmured from behind him, and Merlin started, not having noticed the elderly man's approach. He filed the comment away to ask about later, because the TV was still playing the footage of what should by all accounts have been his and Arthur's final moments. And Merlin wanted to know how it ended.

On the screen, he and Arthur moved back to Gwen's side. The griffin appeared. Arthur flung the griffin over the edge. The wall of fire burst up out of nowhere, separating them from Gwen.

Then Merlin and Arthur were kissing, exchanging what had for all intents and purposes been their final goodbyes, the camera cutting back and forth between them and Gwen, who was screaming and crying and calling for the Gamemakers to take her instead, that she didn't deserve it, that she wasn't worthy.

Merlin didn't notice that tears were sliding down his cheeks until one dripped onto his hand. A moment later, Arthur's own hand had wrapped around his, and Merlin took in a deep breath, reminding himself that this was the way it had to be. That Gwen was alive - even if he never thought he'd be there to see her win.

The fire was almost upon them now. Merlin saw himself murmur something to Arthur, but the microphone didn't pick up their words over the roar of the flames. And then it cut to a wide shot of the fire reaching the edge, and two loud BOOM!s cracked through the air.

The final shot was of Gwen's shocked, tear-stained face as the implications of everything that had just happened hit her. As she realised that she had won - and that Merlin and Arthur had died. Merlin watched despair war with relief on her features, and he wanted nothing more than to reach out and enfold her into his arms, telling her that he was alright - even if he had no idea how or why.

The screen faded to black. But, just as Merlin thought it was over, they cut back to Caesar.

"And now, boys and girls, it is time to welcome the victor herself! Please join me in welcoming the fearsome, the powerful, the beautiful Guinevere Smith!"

The screams from the crows were deafening. Caesar's face was nearly split in two, his grin was that wide. And there... there she was.

Gwen's head was held high as she walked onto the stage, wearing a simple dark red gown. She looked regal, Merlin thought absently.

Her hair and makeup were done impeccably, and Merlin thought with a pang of Gwaine and Freya, who had probably been there to welcome her when she'd returned from the Arena. He knew that they, at least, would have been kind to her. They wouldn't have pried. He was grateful.

She looked so composed, so relaxed, that anyone who didn't know her would think she was a Career tribute who had expected this victory all along. Only her eyes gave her away; they were haunted in a way Merlin had never seen before, not even in the Arena, and all the makeup in the world couldn't disguise the fact that she had clearly been crying.

"Guinevere, my dear," Caesar smiled kindly, and looked for all the world like he was genuinely pleased to see her (and for all Merlin knew, he was. Maybe that was how Caesar did it - somehow, he was able care only about the thing or person in front of him at any given time), taking one of her hands and shaking it, gesturing for her to sit down. "You're going home! You must be elated."

It took Gwen a moment to answer, and Merlin could almost see the words form in her mind. He imagined that someone - maybe Rufus - had drilled into her exactly what to say.

"Yes," she said at last, the same blank, composed look on her face. "I am relieved that I get to go back to my father and my friends."

"Now," Caesar said, clearly a bit put off by her lack of responsiveness. "Obviously we've seen you deal with some very tough times in the Arena. First when you lost your ally Elena –" Elena's picture flashed up on the big screen, and Merlin held his breath, but Gwen didn't even flinch. "- and then finding Merlin, only to discover that he had allied himself with a Career tribute!" Caesar looked shocked, like he was only just finding out this information, but Gwen's only indication that she had even heard him was a small nod. "And of course, then you shot Mithian."

The words were delivered so bluntly, Merlin was sure Caesar must be fishing for a reaction now. But even now, Gwen stayed silent, her body relaxed. After an extended silence, which Caesar was clearly waiting for her to fill, Gwen finally shrugged. "I know, Caesar. I was there."

That got a small chuckle out of the audience, although Merlin noted that Caesar's own smile was a little forced now. Good, Merlin thought savagely. Don't let him think he's got any power over you.

"So, Guinevere," Caesar said, his smile turning slightly predatory. "Let's talk about Merlin."

Here, Gwen did react – it was only a slight twitch of her hand, but Caesar clearly had the eyes of a hawk, because his hand was on hers immediately. For a moment Merlin thought she was going to pull away, but thankfully she remembered herself, and didn't.

"Alright, let's talk about Merlin," Gwen said, and even though her eyes were flashing dangerously, her voice didn't even waver as she looked straight at Caesar. "Merlin was like a brother to me. He was kind, and good, and a much better person than you or I could ever hope to be. And he died, right in front of me. Is that what you wanted to know?" She turned to the camera, and Merlin could see everything she couldn't see clear as day on her face. "Is his death a victory?" She whispered.

He knew she couldn't say anything else. Knew that it would simply be too dangerous, both for her and for both of their families, to voice any kind of dissent for the Capitol or the Games.

But if the complete silence of the crowd was anything to go by, Merlin thought that just maybe, her words had had a small effect anyway.

Merlin was absolutely convinced that Caesar was not physically able to become ashamed. But he did remove his hand from Gwen's, and subtly changed the topic, talking now about her upcoming victory tour.

Kilgharrah cleared his throat, and Merlin regretfully took his eyes off the screen, not wanting to look away from Gwen, feeling such a strong surge of affection for the poor, broken girl who thought she'd lost everything.

"Now that you have been assured that Guinevere is alive and well, I think it is time you learn why you are here," he said.

ooo

Merlin practically inhaled the two sandwiches that Kilgharrah placed in front of him. He hadn't realised how hungry he'd been.

Arthur cleared his throat after finishing off his own plate. "No offence to you, Kilgharrah, mostly because I know you've probably got fancy Capitol weapons hidden under your fingernails," he said, raising an eyebrow at the older man, "but I've been pretty patient about this, and—"

"Ah," Kilgharrah said, holding up a hand (which Merlin couldn't help checking for microscopic blades, but he couldn't see any. Maybe they were between his teeth), "I see. You want to know about Merlin."

Merlin frowned. "What? What about Merlin?"

Arthur frowned. "I saw it, you know. Even if the cameras didn't pick it up, Tristan's arrow changed direction in mid-air, Merlin. That doesn't happen. And then there was the fall…" he shook his head. "I don't remember much about it. I must have blacked out. But I do know that we fell. And then suddenly we stopped. We didn't die, we just… hung there. And that there is no way that should have been possible." He turned accusing eyes on Kilgharrah. "You know, don't you? You know what's going on with him?"

Merlin was relieved to hear that Arthur didn't seem to be judging him for anything that had happened, even though he wasn't really sure he'd actually done something wrong. But things like these… odd occurrences, they scared people. He'd known that all his life, somehow, even if nothing odd had ever really happened to him.

Well. Maybe a few odd things had happened. But they had been small things – mugs and crockery somehow managing to remain intact even when he dropped them, or that one time when Gwen and Elyan's cat had got caught in one of the balers and had somehow miraculously emerged unscathed – but it had been nothing like stopping an arrow mid-air, which yes, Merlin couldn't deny had happened.

Even though with everything else that had happened, somehow that whole situation kind of hadn't seemed as important to him in comparison. But clearly it was to Arthur.

When he turned to Kilgharrah, the older man was looking back at him with a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Indeed. Young Merlin has actually been something of a special project for me for a long time now."

"Wait," Merlin said, "I didn't even know about this until that thing with the arrow happened, how could you have known?"

Kilgharrah paused, picking up his teacup and swirling the contents around, as if he was searching the leaves for the right words. When he spoke at last, his answer was not at all what Merlin had expected.

"Because of your father."

"My father?" Merlin shook his head, completely nonplussed. "But my father is dead, he died five years ago. How could he have had anything to do with this?"

"Actually, he had everything to do with this," Kilgharrah said, and for the first time, Merlin thought he detected a note of something else besides mild amusement in his tone. "I had been watching Balinor Emrys for a while. Let us say that we were… connected, in a way. A long time ago. And when you were born, Merlin, I knew that the time had come."

"The time for what?" Merlin exclaimed, sick of Kilgharrah's crypticness. "What is all this about?"

"You, of course," Kilgharrah said as though it was obvious. "All of this has been about you, Merlin. And the young Pendragon too." He inclined his head at Arthur as though acknowledging some grand importance – but when Merlin glanced round at Arthur, the other boy looked as bewildered about it all as Merlin felt.

"But my dad…" Merlin trailed off, shaking his head.

"Your father saw what I did, Merlin. He saw that you were the one the world had been waiting for. The Emrys line has long shown signs of having it, but you were the one."

"What did he have?" Arthur asked impatiently, though Merlin thought he already guessed the answer – he just wanted Kilgharrah to say it.

And he did. "Magic."

Arthur barked out a harsh laugh, but even Merlin could hear how forced it was. They had both seen that arrow freeze.

Merlin himself could not even feel surprised by this information. He supposed he probably should be – after all, the idea that he should have something as silly and childish as magic was completely ridiculous. Except it wasn't.

I have magic.

The words felt right in his mind. He almost wanted to say them out loud too, to hear how they would taste in his mouth, but that would have to wait. For now, it was enough that they all knew, even if the very concept seemed preposterous. There was no such thing as magic.

And yet... I have magic. He had magic. Yes. Of course, he thought. Once the word had been thrown out there, it was like it had always been right in front of him. Just out of reach, but always there, waiting for him to notice.

Something inside of him tugged, and it felt… golden.

He took a deep breath, and slowly nodded for Kilgharrah to continue speaking.

"Once we knew that the magic was inside of you, we had to act quickly," Kilgharrah said. "Magic has been gone from this world for so long, hardly anyone alive knows that it was ever real, and with so little of it left in nature, we had to count on your gift remaining dormant until you were forced to use it, pressed into such an extreme situation that your body had no choice but to protect itself with everything it had. I told Balinor that the Hunger Games were the only way to bring it out in you, but he refused. He said it was too risky. And he was right." Kilgharrah's expression darkened. "We could not risk anyone finding out the truth about you – and placing you in the Games would put you on display for the entirety of Panem. As you both very well know. No, Balinor's plan was more sensible. Get you out while you were still young enough that your absence wouldn't be noted by the Capitol, and hopefully coax the magic out of you somewhere down the line. But…" he sighed. "We failed."

Merlin swallowed, trying not to let himself be affected by Kilgharrah's story, or the memories they were dredging up. "He told me we were going on a trip," Merlin whispered. "A few weeks before he got sick. He never said where we were going, only that it was far away. I never thought… I never thought he actually meant it."

"Somehow, the Capitol got word of our plans," Kilgharrah said grimly. "Balinor and I were in constant communication, hoping to work under the cover of that year's Games when everyone's eyes would be glued to their screens. But one of us must have gotten careless, or the Peacekeepers just got lucky. I heard they said it was a severe case of food poisoning."

"But he was murdered," Merlin breathed, horrified. "The Capitol…" Even after everything the Capitol had done to him, this one fact still left him with a cold fury. "They can't be allowed to get away with this."

"They already have," Kilgharrah said gruffly. "This happened five years ago, Merlin."

Merlin was about to reply, but Arthur placed a hand on his arm. It was a clear enough Hold that thought gesture that Merlin knew he wasn't being cut off, so he closed his mouth again.

"So your plans changed," Arthur said calmly – too calmly. He was angry, too. Good, Merlin thought savagely.

Kilgharrah nodded, fixing Arthur with a measuring look. "That is correct. I have always prided myself on my ability to keep a low profile, but after I lost my ally, I realised that more drastic measures needed to be taken. I knew Balinor would condemn me for this had he been alive, but I was out of options." He sighed, shaking his head, looking as if the memory truly pained him. "From my place in the Capitol, I could not reach Merlin without drawing attention to us both. Balinor had been slowly drawing the magic within Merlin forward, but I knew I would not be able to do that even if I had been able to get him out on my own. And there was still the matter of yourself, Arthur, already training in District 1 with your father. No, I knew then that there was only one option left to me: I had to step into the spotlight, positioning myself as the Head Gamemaker to take you both through the Hunger Games. I could awaken Merlin's magic and find a way to bring you both out of Panem in one fell swoop. Plus," he added, frowning, "I could save two innocent children from the Reaping that year. It felt like the right thing to do."

For the first time since all of this had started, Merlin felt a pang of sympathy for Kilgharrah. But he didn't have time to dwell on it – because something had just occurred to him. "You sent me the notes!" he exclaimed.

"Wait, what notes?" Arthur asked, but they ignored him.

"I did," Kilgharrah said. "I thought that was a rather genius little device, myself."

Merlin snorted. "Yeah, except they didn't actually make any sense."

"They were effective though, weren't they?" Kilgharrah said, eyes twinkling. "You ended up exactly where you were supposed to."

Merlin almost smiled before he realised that he and Kilgharrah weren't supposed to be sharing some great inside joke right now. He still had questions, and Kilgharrah was still Capitol. He didn't really think the older man was the enemy anymore, but he still wasn't sure he liked his methods. So many things could have gone wrong with that plan.

"So I take it the cure for Arthur…?" Merlin asked.

"I ran into a spot of trouble there," Kilgharrah admitted. "I had not counted on Uther's schemes. They were making the other Gamemakers suspicious, and I had to go through Guinevere – a route they would never expect Uther to take. And then when they figured out what she had received and who it was for, they tried to keep her from you. But as you both know, Guinevere is resilient. I had to trust that she would find a way, and she did."

It made Merlin feel absurdly proud, hearing Kilgharrah praise his friend like that. Knowing that for whatever reason, Kilgharrah wanted both Merlin and Arthur alive, and he trusted Gwen enough to give her such an important job to do – even if she hadn't known who she was doing it for.

"But my father…" Arthur looked troubled by all this, but Merlin thought he was holding himself together quite well, all things considered. Arthur hadn't known about the magic, either. And he must still be reeling from Uther's death, even if he wasn't letting it show. "You said the Gamemakers didn't touch him. How could they not know everything he was doing?"

"Your father had important friends, Arthur," Kilgharrah acknowledged. "In fact, I was one of them. After all, we had a shared interest in keeping you alive, even if he didn't know that. Uther was a cruel man, as I am sure you will agree, but he tried to keep you safe until the end. I was not going to stand in the way of that unless I had to."

Arthur swallowed, saying nothing. Maybe not trusting himself to speak. If they had been alone, Merlin might have reached out to him, but as it were, he merely offered him a small smile. Arthur's expression softened minutely and he nodded, showing that he was all right.

"Really, once you were in the Games, I did not have to do much more than make sure you two were launched into the same area and sit back, letting events unfold as I knew they would," Kilgharrah continued, smiling slyly as he observed their silent exchange.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Merlin asked, feeling suddenly self-conscious at Kilgharrah's all too knowing look. "How could you know anything about what we'd do in that situation?"

"Ah. There is so much I could tell you about yourself that you never even dreamed of… but I would rather not." Kilgharrah said smugly. "I believe that everything will work out better for you with a clean slate. No need to burden yourself with a past you can't change."

"And again, you're cryptic," Merlin grumbled.

"Let us just say that you and Arthur are tied together," Kilgharrah said. "I knew that you would not be able to kill each other, not in the Games nor under any other circumstances. The very idea is preposterous, though you might not realise just how much so. But…" he paused, that same smirk on his face again, "what happened next was quite your own doing, believe me. Destiny has many shades, but I have to admit, I was happy to see this one light up for you."

Merlin felt his cheeks redden, and avoided Arthur's eye. Half of what Kilgharrah was saying made no sense to him, but he was pretty sure that he didn't want to have this particular discussion with the Head Gamemaker of all people – however nice and apparently non-murderous he was.

"You throw around words like destiny and magic like they mean something," Arthur sighed, and Merlin didn't know if he was trying to change the topic or if he really had just had enough surprises for one day, "and you bring us here, to this place… but you have never actually explained why."

Kilgharrah sighed. "Ah, young Pendragon, always so practical. But I am afraid I cannot give you a reason which does not involve both of those things. I have done all of this, spent all these years devising a way to get you out of Panem, simply because you were never meant to be there in the first place. Your destinies, as it were, lie elsewhere. It has been my duty, as it ever was, to guide you, to make sure you were on the right path. Heavens know that Panem needs a saviour, but it will not be today, and it will not be you."

"But…" Merlin glanced at Arthur. "My mum. Gwen. Will. I can't just… leave."

"And what would you propose instead, Merlin?" Kilgharrah asked, raising an eyebrow. "What do you think the Peacekeepers would do to you, for not to mention President Snow, if he got word that a tribute – who for all anyone knows died in the Hunger Games just as the Capitol had planned – waltzed right back into his District alive and well? Do you think it would just be you they punished? No, Snow's craving for power and complete control runs much deeper than that. For all we know, by this time this year we could find ourselves with eleven Districts rather than twelve. Is that what you want?"

"No, of course not," Merlin said, chilled by Kilgharrah's words but angry that the Gamemaker thought he would ever be that careless. "But I need to see them. They need to know that I'm alive!"

Kilgharrah sighed. "No, Merlin, they don't. It would only endanger them."

"But I…" Merlin's resolve was faltering. He knew that Kilgharrah was right. But still. There was one person he would not compromise for, one person who needed to know. "I want Gwen to know. She went through all this with us. I can't live with myself knowing that she thinks I'm dead." He set his jaw. "If you help me get word to her, I promise I'll go wherever you want me to go. I appreciate the fact that you saved me – us – but you and I both know that we don't have to do anything you tell us to. We've already faced our deaths once, there is nothing left for you to threaten us with."

Following his words, there was only silence. Merlin bit his lip, half expecting Arthur to argue. But he didn't, and when Merlin looked over, Arthur was glaring at Kilgharrah as if daring him to disagree with Merlin's words. Merlin felt a surge of gratitude, and a renewed sense of relief that whatever was happening here, at least he had Arthur by his side through it all.

Kilgharrah looked between the pair of them, looking like he was trying very hard to think of an argument. But after a long pause, he nodded gravely.

"Guinevere is the presumed sole survivor of this year's Hunger Games, and has emerged the victor," he said. "She will be sent home to her family, burdened with the grief of having watched her best friend die, and she will carry this grief with her on the victory tour just as everyone will be expecting her to."

"But I-" Merlin started to protest, but Kilgharrah held up a gnarled hand (which up close Merlin realised had been adorned with what looked like scales. Capitol customs would never make sense to him), and he fell silent.

"But when she comes back home to District 11 after it is all over," Kilgharrah continued, "there will be a letter there waiting for her, written by you. And she will read it, then burn it, knowing that her friend and the boy he loves are both safe, and far away, where the Capitol can never find them. Are these acceptable terms?"

Merlin had blushed at the boy he loves part and glanced over at Arthur, who met his gaze with an amused, slightly challenging expression. Merlin rolled his eyes.

"I… yes. Thank you, Kilgharrah," he said turning back to the elderly man. "Really, this... I can't begin to express my gratitude. For both of us."

Kilgharrah laughed hoarsely. "Do not thank me, young tribute. As I have explained to you, I was merely playing my small part to set you and Mister Pendragon on destiny's true path."

"Right," Arthur said, "that destiny thing again. If we can't go home, what are we supposed to do now?"

"For a few days, you can stay here to recuperate," Kilgharrah said. "I have to return to the Capitol, to do damage control and make sure that no one ever finds out the truth about what happened to you."

"Wait, you're just leaving?" Merlin asked in alarm. Not that he particularly fancied the old man sticking around (he still found him slightly creepy, despite everything), but Arthur and him had no idea where they were, or what they were supposed to do next. "You haven't even told us what this great destiny you keep going on about is."

"Ah," Kilgharrah smiled, "but that is for you to find out. There is, after all, a whole world out there beyond Panem," he said. "A world that needs you. A world that is ready to be saved."

"And what about Panem, then?" Arthur asked. "The way I see it, there's plenty of saving to be done here. The Games, for one—"

"And yet that is not our fight, young Pendragon," Kilgharrah said, voice firm. "Everything has its time, and Panem's has not yet come. But if it is any consolation to you, I can tell you that right now in District 12, there is a little girl being brought into the world. Her name is not important. All you need to know is that she will have a destiny far greater and more terrible than we can imagine. But face it she must, and not until she is ready. In this matter, I must not interfere, and neither can you. Your paths will not cross."

Merlin and Arthur looked at each other in confusion, neither able to decipher Kilgharrah's cryptic words.

"Listen," Kilgharrah said, rising suddenly from his seat, "I think this has been quite beneficial, but I am afraid my time is up. I know you must both be tired, and I have arranged it for you to be able to remain hidden here for a few more days. But we are not far from Panem's borders, and I cannot guarantee your safety here for very long. When you move out, go south. That is all I can tell you. The rest is up to you."

He stood up, his joints popping, but there was a strange sort of energy to him which Merlin hadn't really noticed before. He was old, yes… ancient, even, and yet…

"You are magic, aren't you?" Merlin blurted, unable to keep the question from spilling out. This might be the final chance he got to ask it, after all.

Kilgharrah gave him a long, searching look. "Yes and no, young tribute. I was magic, once. Now, I am no more than a messenger."

Merlin wasn't sure what it was about Kilgharrah, but something about his words had struck something deep within him, and he knew somehow that he was telling the truth. A week ago, he would never in his wildest dreams have been able to imagine any of this, and yet now… it felt, strangely, like his life had only just begun.

We were never meant to be here, he thought, remembering the Gamemaker's earlier words, and somehow, he knew them to be true.

All the things they'd been through, all the horrors they'd faced, it had all been designed by Kilgharrah as a way to get them here. Wherever here was. And whatever came next... well, he'd have to deal with that when the time came.

Yesterday, Merlin had been just another unlucky tribute in the Capitol's cruel Hunger Games, fighting against the inevitable, his only crime being that the odds had not been in his favour.

Today, Merlin was free. He had magic, and apparently a destiny, and no idea what to do next... But right now, all that mattered was that he was alive, and that he had Arthur by his side. That was all he needed.

ooo

Dear Gwen,

I realise that this letter will seem like a cruel joke to you at first. But please don't throw it away before reading it through. I can't promise that it'll all make sense (hell, it hardly makes sense to me!), but I CAN promise you that you'll want to keep reading.

You know my handwriting, I know you do. I also know what you're thinking right now: what cruel Capitol arsehole forged it, and why would they do this to you? But see, they would have no reason to, now would they? That's why you must right now be biting your lower lip in the way that you always do when you're confused, trying to work out if this could really be me. Well, it is. I promise.

I am alive. I can't believe I'm actually writing this, but it's true. Right now, as you're reading this, I am alive! And Arthur is with me. And, sorry, but this is the part where I tell you that I can't explain how, and that it's safer for you not to know – I know, that never seems like a good enough reason when you're the one who the information is being kept from, but it's the truth. I'm sorry.

Remember that one time when we were children, and Will had climbed onto the roof of the school building to throw a dead skunk down the principal's chimney, and we were keeping watch (even though it was disgusting and we didn't think it was that funny to begin with)? Remember when he lost his footing and fell off the roof - and how, by some complete miracle, he wasn't hurt at all even though by all rights that fall should have killed him? Well, let's just say I don't think it was really a miracle. And that it, somehow, is part of the reason why me and Arthur made it out of the Arena alive.

I needed to tell you the truth, Gwen, because you deserve it more than anyone else. But this next part is very, very important: the Capitol must never know. And you must never, ever tell ANYONE. No, not even Lancelot. Not Will. Not my mother, or your father. I don't want to place this burden on you, but I also could not live with myself knowing that you thought I had died, that you thought your victory came at the price of my life. Because I know that if the roles were reversed, Gwen, I wouldn't have been able to deal with that. And that's why I'm writing to you now, despite the dangers. Because I want you to deal. I want you to live. I always wanted you to live, you know that, and despite all the horrible things we've both been through, I hope I can trust you to actually enjoy the fact that you get to spend the rest of your life with the person you love - just as I will. (Don't judge me, Arthur is nicer than he seems!)

I need you to do one last thing for me. Once you have read this letter, destroy it immediately. Burn it, and spread the ashes over the fields. But tear off the bottom right corner, where you'll see a little symbol, like a bird? Give it to Gaius. He won't say anything, and you can't ever talk about it with him, but I think he'll know. And I need him to know.

I miss you every day, and I will continue to miss you for as long as I live - but hey, at least we both live! You won't ever see me again, but that's okay, because you and I have made enough memories together to last a lifetime. And at least I can leave you with one final promise: thanks to friends in high places, you can now go on to start that family with Lance that you both always wanted, knowing that none of your children will ever have their names entered into the Hunger Games. I wish I could extend that promise to every child in our District, or hell, all of Panem... but right now, the Capitol just stands too strong. Maybe one day that will be different, and hey, when that day comes, maybe me and Arthur can come back. But until then, don't ever forget to live!

All my love,
Merlin

P.S. take care of my mum and Will. Not that you aren't already doing that, because I'm sure you are. Maybe I'm just stalling because I don't want to end this letter. But I have to. Are you ready? (I'll never be ready.)

I love you.

Goodbye.

And that's the end. Or... the beginning. Note that I am not planning to continue the story, though - I rather like leaving it at the start of Merlin and Arthur's new adventure in this brand new world, which has nothing to do with the Hunger Games.

But stay tuned, I might be inspired enough for a small coda showing what happened next. Would you be interested in another wrap-up chapter in which Merlin and Arthur explore their newfound freedom?

Either way, I hope you liked this final chapter, and that it answered all the questions you might have had along the way. I have written the whole story knowing that this would be how it ended, so hopefully it is all cohesive.

Please leave me your feedback on this story, and check back to my profile in the future for more stories. I am currently working on two other Merlin stories: the sequel to my canon-era story The Patter of Tiny Feet on Cold Stone Floors, and a novel-length modern-era Merthur story titled The Bucket List, which is about learning to appreciate the simple things in life (it's more riveting than it sounds).

Thank you for reading! Writing this story has been an absolute pleasure - who knew The Hunger Games and Merlin merged so well? :-)

Until next time,
-TheAvalonian