Chapter Text
Arthur is only a prince when the first whispers of the prophecy reach him. He’s young and idealistic, sheltered by a father who’s borne the harshness of rule for him, and the morning of the day he hears the prophecy, he’s on his way to the weapons’ room to pick out a sword for the afternoon’s training.
When he enters the armoury, he finds a certain hapless manservant asleep across the polishing table. For a brief moment, Arthur has half a mind to walk over and hit him upside the head for sleeping on the job. He expels the thought quickly, appalled at himself for thinking such a thing.
Merlin’s looks peaceful, smiling even in his sleep, lips quirked up in the corners. Arthur gives a fond sigh and brushes the hair from his face, noting that Merlin’s fringe was in need of a trim. Then, carefully, he moves the sword out from Merlin’s hands lest the idiot hurt himself with it in his sleep.
The door to the armoury flings open as Gwaine bursts in. Catching sight of Arthur, Gwaine’s expression lights up immediately. “Your highness, I’ve been looking for you all over the castle - !”
Arthur gives him a fierce look, jabbing a finger to his lips in a gesture of silence. He nods in Merlin’s direction, who gives a small stir before settling back to sleep. Gwaine puts up both hands in peace.
“You’re back from your quest,” says Arthur, after moving to the hallway and closing the door behind him. “Have you reported to the King yet?”
“I’ve just come back from his receiving room,” Gwaine answers. He casts a cautious look around the hallway and shifts from foot to foot, causing Arthur’s suspicion to rise immediately. “Only, well, there may be some things I left out of my report.” At Arthur’s deadpan look, he fidgets more uncomfortably. “I thought it would be wiser to tell you instead.”
Arthur raises an eyebrow, à la Gaius. “Well?” he asks.
Gwaine checks the corridor one last time before leaning in an lowering his voice. “I ran into some druids on my quest.” At Arthur’s bewildered expression, he barrels on, “They told me… things. A prophecy, of sorts. Sire, you know that druidic prophecies are almost always right.”
“What did they say?” Arthur asks.
“To be honest, I didn’t catch most of it, it all seemed like a bunch of drivel to me,” Gwaine admitted, and Arthur fought the urge to throw his arms up into the air. “I did catch one part though, which I thought would be of interest!” he added defensively when Arthur’s expression turned to annoyance. “Something about Merlin. At Emrys’ feet Merlin will fall, and from Merlin’s demise he shall rise.”
Arthur’s blood runs ice cold. He squares his shoulders to mask the involuntary shudder. “Was there anything else?”
Gwaine shakes his head. Arthur fights the urge to hit him. A prophecy foretelling Merlin’s death, and the daft knight can’t give him any more detail as to how it’ll happen, or how he could prevent it.
“It’s just a stupid prophecy,” Arthur says when he’s finally able to speak again. He thinks about the boy who’s currently sleeping tranquilly in the room behind them, at the way the soft puffs of air leaves his lips in even measures. He imagines Merlin never breathing again and crushes that image the second it appears in his mind. “Nothing’s going to happen to Merlin. You said it yourself, it’s a load of drivel.”
“Perhaps we should be more wary, sire.”
“Gwaine, nothing will happen to Merlin. I won’t let anything to him.” Arthur’s eyes take on a dangerous glint that disturbs Gwaine to his core. “Whoever this Emrys is, if he so much as lays a hand on Merlin, I’ll kill him.”
oOo
Uther’s body isn’t even cold in its grave when Morgana launches her attack. Presumably she thinks Camelot would be poorly protected in its mourning - if so, she’s sorely mistaken.
Arthur shouts orders at his troops. He himself hurries to the ground floor to meet Morgana and her army head-on. Even in his state of grief, he knows what’s expected of him as the new king. So he swallows his feelings and fights, channeling all his sorrow into battle, until suddenly he hears Morgana say, “He must be here, it must be Emrys! Find me Emrys!”
It’s a name Arthur hasn’t heard in a long time and it takes him a while to figure out where he’s heard it before, but in that moment, his heart stops. In that moment he can only think, when did he last see Merlin?
Cold, raw fear gnaws at his stomach. He shoves his sword into the sorcerer in front of him and whirls around where he stands, searching the battleground for his manservant. Then a body slams into him and he stumbles to the ground.
No, he has a duty to his people, he thinks, shoving the fallen corpse off of him and crawling to his feet. First, he must protect his kingdom, and then he can go find Merlin.
His soul cries as he pushes thoughts of Merlin from his mind and forces himself back into battle.
In the end, they don’t even find a body.
Less than a day ago, Arthur had lost his own flesh-and-blood father. He thought he’d never know pain like that again, but he’d been wrong. This is much worse, he thinks, sliding down the wall and curling in on himself as he cries, items in his room smashed to pieces. It’s all his fault, because he’d known about the prophecy all along, and if he’d have just gotten to Merlin earlier…
There isn’t even a body for him to clutch in despair, isn’t even any proof that Merlin is gone for good to offer some form of closure. For all he knows, Merlin could’ve taken a wrong turn in the castle and is simply lost in the corridors. The thought makes Arthur laughs, because it’s completely believable for someone of Merlin’s nature, and with that laugh his heart breaks into a million pieces. Merlin will never be there again to make him smile.
“What did he even do to you,” Arthur manages through gritted teeth, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Why him?”
The name Emrys etches itself into his mind and Arthur promises himself that he will hate him for all eternity.
oOo
Somewhere in the mountains, some distance beyond Camelot’s borders, a person awakens. In some months, perhaps even a year, the person will remember who he is, and how he ended up there. For now, though, he lies in a state of pain and confusion.
Later, he will find that he’s in a temple isolated in the mountains. After several days, he will go exploring and discover a crystalline pond further up the hills, as well as a little town at the foot of the mountain.
Most importantly, in a week, he will find some tablets in his new home that offers him some compelling information.
And so, he-who-was-once-Merlin is laid to rest, and Emrys is born.