Chapter Text
“I want to say something I’ve never said before… thank you.” With his final words, Arthur exhales and his eyelids fall closed. Merlin feels his already weak body going slack as his last breath leaves his mouth, and a raw pain rises in his throat as his stomach drops and eyes burn like fire. He could still feel Arthur’s last touch on the back of his head and his voice cracked as he cried.
“Arthur? No, Arthur? No, stay with me! Arthur? No, ARTHUR!” Merlin panics and looks around, cursing and crying out for aid where there is none to be offered. He holds Arthur’s face in his hand, though he was shaking and unable to clearly see his face through the thick tears that fill his eyes, obscuring his view. The whole world seemed to drop from around him. His whole body was numb, and he held Arthur closer to him. He felt the need to move, so he stood up only to take a few steps before sinking to his knees screaming with no thought to how it might damage his vocal cords. His breath comes in short and rapid breaths, and a familiar buzzing starts to fill his body. Waves of uncontrolled magic filled with pain ripple off of his body as he slams his fists into the ground. Trees and brush shifted as if being hit with violent winds and animals ran to take cover. His vision seemed to darken, though he wasn’t sure if he should attribute that to a panicked tunnel vision or a shift in the weather due to his involuntary manipulation. He hadn’t lost control of his magic in at least 15 years, and he struggled to recall a time when he lost control to this degree. Usually, when he gets bad he tries to center himself by manipulating the light of a candle, but he lets the grief wash over him. It feels good to let everything out, all of the anger and sadness. Anger at Morgana for turning and creating the sword that would end Arthur, anger at Uther for creating a world that demonized his existence, anger at the injustice of Arthur’s death, but mostly anger at himself. He chastised himself for not doing enough to save Arthur when there may have still been time. For not seeking out Arthur after wiping out the Saxtons. For never telling Arthur about his magic before it was too late. For not having enough control to have healed Arthur or prevented the injury entirely. Now there was nothing he could do. He slowed his breathing, the uncontrolled waves of magic slowing to a stop. He opened his eyes and looked everywhere but the body that lay a few paces away. He looked around the forest wondering what the hell he was meant to do next. There was a small clearing in the trees, and he could see light reflecting on what looked like water.
The lake, he remembers. He scrambles up from the ground, practically tripping over his own feet in his rush to get to Arthur. He hooks his arms under Arthur’s and lifts most of him off the ground, though his feet drag on the soil as Merlin makes his way to the lake that is just within sight. Arthur feels heavier in his arms than before, and Merlin stumbles over roots and patches of mud as he drags the once and future king towards the large body of water. He wondered in the back of his mind if he just caused some of the haphazard debris he maneuvered around now. He tries to be careful and gentle as he trudges into the murky water, just in case his jostling could move the shard of metal to dig deeper into his body, causing more damage. The water feels frigid and shocks Merlin as he pulls Arthur in, water slowly rising up their bodies to their shoulders. Arthur is easier to move in the water, and Merlin begins praying to every god and spirit that comes to mind, begging for help.
Arthur begins to slip from Merlin’s grasp, and he yelps and readjusts his grip. His feet are tangled in plants, toes barely touching the bottom of the lake as he tries to keep their faces above the water. Merlin can feel his calves teasing a Charley horse as he stretches them to keep his face above the water, kicking the plants away to relieve the feeling of claustrophobia they create, although his efforts are in vain because he just moves into another group of plants. The cold of the water starts to hit, and Merlin feels his muscles tense and shakes as he places a hand over Arthur’s wound and begins to chant. What he chants, he cannot explain. Words pour out his mouth of their own accord. Water starts to flow into his open mouth, causing Merlin to cough, and he can tell he won’t be able to stand much longer. He begins to tread water reluctantly, wriggling his frigid body to move Arthur to a place where he can hold him and still swim. His body and mind are already exhausted, and while he considers using magic to warm himself he decides to conserve as much magic and energy as possible. The idea of swimming back and closer to shore where he has solid footing comes to mind, but he fears a lesser chance of success should he move further away from the center of the lake.
Instead, Merlin feels the need to swim closer to the island at the center of the lake, remembering the great power that may be able to help him save his king. His fingers struggle to hold on to the cold, wet, and heavy armor that Arthur wears. His lungs burn and he can feel his breath burning, becoming shallower by the second. He kicks his stiff and cramping legs further into the water. He can see his breath cloud in the air, and his cheeks sting. Just as Merlin can feel himself settling into some sort of rhythm, the muscle of his left calf finally knots into a Charley horse, and he instinctively yells and goes to grab it before realizing the mistake he’s made. His face dips beneath the surface, and water pours into his mouth. He can’t move the cramped muscle and he can’t breathe. His only relief is that he somehow managed to hold onto Arthur, and he tries to push him up to the surface. He knows it makes little difference, but admitting that would mean admitting to himself why Arthur’s face doesn’t technically need to be above the water. Holding Arthur up takes more energy than he has, and he struggles to swim himself up. Every square inch of his body was in excruciating pain, and he thought of joining his king and Freya in the lake. The lake was beautiful, it wouldn’t make a bad final resting place. Gaius and his mother would be heartbroken, but the pain of drowning sounds nicer than the pain of living on without Arthur. He exhales what little air is left in his lungs and feels himself sink slowly. The burning in his chest grew stronger as he inhaled, causing his body to involuntarily convulse, trying to expel the water. He inhaled again and thrashed for a moment before calming himself. He watched Arthur sinking down to meet him, and a wave of grief washed over him before he closed his eyes. He thought he imagined the tugging at the back of his shirt as he lost consciousness.
___ _ ___
A feeling of warmth filled his chest, spreading throughout his body and erasing the cold and much of the pain. The feeling was soft and nostalgic, and it reminded Merlin of coming home to his mother for supper after a long summer's day of playing with Will. Merlin opted to keep his eyes closed, relishing the feeling. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wondered if he was entering the afterlife. If this was what life after death felt like, he welcomed it with open arms. He struggled to recall the events leading up to this feeling, only able to think of one thing: Arthur. He opened his eyes and saw his king lying on his back next to him, eyes closed and skin pale. He could see mud streaked across his face, grass, and a thick fog slightly obscuring Merlin’s view of his profile. Merlin’s stomach dropped and a thick sense of dread overwhelmed him as his memories came flooding back.
That was a very unwise course of action, Merlin. Although I can’t blame you. A soft voice echoed in his mind, and he was unable to discern if its origins were audible or telepathic. He sat up and looked around, eyes landing on a translucent, ghostly woman standing on the edge of the water. A woman he recognized immediately. Her skin was clean and pale, and the way her hair didn’t quite land on her shoulders made her look like she was standing at the bottom of a body of water. She wore a band on her head covered in white pearls, and her dress matched in color but lacked the elegance of the band. It was simple, but like her hair, it flowed ever so slightly around her as if submerged under water. She looked like a goddess, but her eyes held the same sadness he remembered seeing while she was alive.
“Freya,” he gasped, voice still weak from crying. He looked at Arthur and crawled over to him, placing a hand over the spot where the sword pierced him. “Can you- can you help me?”
Merlin- she started. Merlin could feel the familiar stabbing in his throat and pressure in his eyes. He couldn’t bear to hear another magical being say there was nothing to be done, that Arthur was gone.
“Please, I’ll do anything. I’ll travel to the end of the world. I’ll trade my own life for his. Is there anything that can be done?” he begged. He moved closer to Arthur as if trying to shield him from the fate he had already met. Freya looked at him with an indiscernible expression and didn’t respond.
“Answer my question, Freya. Can you help me save him?” Merlin snapped. He did not mean to hurt her, but he was growing more frantic at the chance to fix his mistakes by the second. “I’m sorry, Freya, but please,” he begged softly, “I can’t lose him, it would break me.” He stared into her eyes, silently begging for her aid. Slowly, Freya nodded her head and Merlin felt that she had handed him the world. He leaned in and listened earnestly for what she would say next.
It will take a great amount of magic and energy, both of you will be weak for a long while, but you will both be alive. I must warn you that I cannot guarantee that he will be grateful to be saved, many have held resentment towards those who have brought them back. Merlin nodded, desperate for even five more minutes with his king. If there is a chance he can have anything, he’ll take it.
Freya instructed him to remove Arthur’s armor and to pull him into the water until his face was submerged. Arthur’s armor was cold and felt heavier than it ever had before. Without Arthur’s cooperation, the task took at least twice as long. Soft tears fell from Merlin’s eyes as he thought of the lingering touches, prolonged eye contact, and banter that usually accompanied the removal of Arthur’s professionally crafted gear. He pushed forward, yearning for the former mundanity. Piece by piece he set the armor to his side, placing it on the damp grass and rocks as if it was made of porcelain. Freya watched but said nothing as Merlin set down the last piece and started to carefully pull Arthur the short distance to the water. This time, Merlin stripped his boots and socks before stepping into the freezing water. Freya moved back to allow him room, and he noticed that she did not stand on the very top of the water as he previously thought. As Merlin moved closer to her, she looked less like a goddess and more like the girl he met years prior. They both kneeled in the water next to Arthur, who was now fully submerged. Merlin felt that the water was cold, but his hair didn’t stand on end and he felt comfortable, unlike before.
Merlin listened intently to Freya’s instructions, following every step as closely as he could. The water around them emitted a light with a soft yellow hue, and he could feel the water warm gradually. Had the situation not been dire, had Arthur been awake, he might have made a remark about Arthur relieving himself in the holy lake. He chuckled as he imagined Arthur putting him in a headlock and cupping the lukewarm water onto his head in response to the joke. Freya didn’t seem to notice as she continued chanting, Merlin mimicking the words filling the air around him and copying her movements fluidly.
Hours passed like this, though Merlin didn’t notice until the sun touched the west horizon. By this point his voice was hoarse and his vision had been fading in and out for a while. But seeing as he was still standing, he pressed on. Besides, he thought he could see the color returning to Arthur’s lips. Merlin ignored the fatigue setting in and squared his feet so he wouldn’t tip over.
Come on Arthur, you were born of magic, you died of magic, surely you can be saved by it too?
For the first time in what felt like hours, Merlin moved his eyes past Arthur to glance at Freya. She looked thinner. Her skin clung tighter to her bones, making her cheeks look hollow and her eyes sunken. Merlin felt his heart fall into his stomach. No, I didn’t want this, he thought desperately. He blamed himself for her mortal death, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he managed to end her immortal one too. Freya glanced up at him.
Focus, Merlin. As her voice echoed in his head, her form blurred. He nodded and looked back to Arthur, who now looked like he could be sleeping. A hot tear streaked down his cheek and his voice cracked as he spoke. He tried not to look at Freya; he couldn’t bear to watch her disintegrate before his eyes.
It wasn’t long before the sun dipped below the horizon. Merlin couldn’t watch the setting sun paint the sky a brilliant orange and red, the clouds starkly contrasting their background with a soft purple. Stars popped into existence above them. It was a scene that otherwise would’ve had Merlin gaping up for hours. It seemed that just after the light of the sun vanished, Freya began to glow. Soft at first, like the reflection of moonlight on a water lily. The light became more noticeable, and soon she outshone the moon that hung above her. Her voice grew softer and more distant the brighter she grew like she was moving away. When she was almost too bright to look at, she stopped chanting the ancient spells. Merlin stopped as well, squinting to look at her. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought she was moving closer, leaning over Arthur.
“I couldn’t watch you lose another beloved. You made me feel loved in life, I hope I can bring you to something close now,” she spoke. Her voice was as clear as when he first heard it, with no hint of godliness like before. He felt a soft, cool hand cup his cheek, and a kiss was pressed to his forehead. His eyes closed, mixed emotions churning in his stomach. Would he have asked so much of her had he known what she would be sacrificing?
He didn’t have time to consider the answer, for she vanished like mist in the air. When he couldn’t feel her cool presence anymore, he felt himself start to fall, consciousness waning. But just before he hit the water, he swore he saw Arthur shoot up, gasping for air.