Merthur One-shots

Same As Always

Merlin could have won that fight. If he hadn’t been distracted by trying to save Arthur.

And now…

Morgana’s killed him.

When Merlin threw out a spell to catch Mordred unawares, to send him sprawling to the ground with glassy eyes a mere moment before his blade would have connected with Arthur’s neck, he gave Morgana the only opening she needed. Arthur knew he’d remember Merlin’s expression until the day he died—that small smile when Mordred fell, when Merlin knew Arthur was saved. That smile which remained even as Morgana’s spell struck Merlin in the back, tearing the strength and the life from him.

But even as Merlin hit the ground, he was still doing his best to save them. To save Arthur. He threw out his hands with a violent shout, knocking down everyone on the field—

Including Morgana.

But not Arthur.

And when Arthur’s steel slid through Morgana’s skin, the battle was won… but Merlin was lost.

Merlin had won everything for them, but it had cost him his own life.

And to Arthur, that price was far too high.

He knew that he shouldn’t feel that way, he knew it. He was King of Camelot, and his duty was always to his people first. Always. He should be celebrating the win, grieving the other men who had fallen and honouring their sacrifice. One man should not be held above all others.

But Merlin… was Merlin.

And that made him different than the hundreds of other bodies that littered the field of Camlann.

Arthur clearly wasn’t the only one who thought so. In the corner of his eye he could see red cloaks shifting around them, the knights of Camelot who had known Merlin well coming to pay their own respects. They formed a tight circle, protecting as much as they were watching, shielding Arthur and Merlin from the rest of the world. But Arthur didn’t care. His hand was shaking as he curled it around Merlin’s limp fingers, squeezing tighter than he probably should have, his breath catching until he felt Merlin squeeze back.

“There has to be something I can do,” he said. Begged. “Something you can do. You told me—you told me that you’re the most powerful sorcerer in Albion—”

“You laughed when I said that.”

Arthur’s laugh now was pained. “Yes, well, it was a little pigheaded of you. But doesn’t that—can’t you—there has to be something.”

He could hear the desperation in his own tone, and Merlin’s attempt at a smile was as painful as a stab to the heart.

“Arthur,” Merlin said. “I told you, it’s okay. You survived this, and now… now that Morgana is gone, I know there’s nothing you can’t protect yourself from. Well, except perhaps your own habit of getting into trouble. But it’s okay. You don’t need me anymore.”

“No,” Arthur said, the single word cracking. “Don’t say that. I’ll always need you, I always have.”

“You’ll be fine. However…” Merlin pulled a face, though the expression clearly took a little more effort to manage than usual. “When you get back to the castle, please don’t be too harsh on George. He does mean well, you know.”