Chapter Text
On the battlefield, Death was the one great equalizer. It floated above the heads of all the warriors involved and whispered in their ears at every turn that it would always be waiting to catch them when they fell. It would always be willing to ease their pain, to sing them to sleep, to close their wounds. There would be no fear on the other side, it promised. No war. No violence. Death doesn’t care about one’s lineage, friends, the family that may be left behind; there is only the individual and whether they are to be taken away or left behind. One man stabbed in the stomach may be fortunate enough to receive help. Another man with the same wound may bleed out in minutes because nobody noticed him fall.
Death has a soft spot for unlucky warriors. They are given the gift of departing quickly when their time comes. Their wounds may hurt like hell and their eyes may roll back in their heads and sometimes they might scream; but it’s never long before their faces go limp and they mumble a song of blissful nonsense and slip beneath the surface.
Arthur knew this from experience. Death was a constant; it had followed the king his entire life and often seemed to be teasing him with how close it dared to get at times. He had knelt by the side of many a dying man in his lifetime and was the last face that hundreds of his enemies had seen before it took them. Sometimes he would stay by his enemies’ sides as they passed, too. He didn’t see the harm; they were on the way out anyways. Sometimes they would thank him for staying with them. Arthur would always tell them they were going to be okay, even if he knew it wasn’t true, even if Arthur was the one who had sent them into Death’s arms. They still liked to hear it. Sometimes they would say that they were scared. Arthur would always tell them there was nothing to fear. Sometimes they believed him.
It never took more than a minute or two.
So acquainted with the stench of death was Arthur that he had always carried a clear vision for how he himself would like to go out. His own death, he was certain, would be the same as all of these men. Quick. Violent. Humane. Impersonal.
He never imagined he’d be so wrong.
Arthur’s vision went white as the sword broke through his skin and sent a wave of agonizing pain throughout his entire body. His knees buckled. He gasped in pain and dug his own sword into the dirt, fighting desperately to stay standing. He couldn’t see. The movement sent Mordred’s blade even further into his chest, making a soft shhhk as it pierced through the chainmail on the other side.
Arthur’s only coherent thought was that swords aren’t supposed to burn.
He blinked through the pain and looked up at Mordred.
Gods, he was so young.
So young, in fact, that Arthur could not tell if his sword had strayed from dead center due to inexperience or cruelty.
Belief in the former is what allowed Arthur to drive his blade directly into the boy’s heart. This, he reflected through the haze, was true mercy.
Mordred would not suffer the way he had doomed Arthur to.
Mordred’s face contorted in pain but he didn’t scream. He stared for a second, struggling with shallow breaths and a pain that no doubt rivaled Arthur’s. He let out a short wheeze and fought for air for a few seconds more before turning his gaze to the sky. The boy’s eyes were gleaming. Mordred smiled, erasing any doubts Arthur had about what had guided his blade.
He should have known. Arthur didn’t train him to miss.
Arthur wrenched his blade free, leaving the boy to fall in a crumpled heap on the ground. He gritted his teeth against the white hot pain that still surged throughout his body. Whether the sword was enchanted or simply ill-placed, it burned like fire and crowded his thoughts with flashes of blinding white intermittently. It came in horrible waves, surging forward and retreating like a monstrous ocean within his chest. It was too much to bear. He fell to his knees and allowed himself to rest. Dizziness unlike any Arthur had ever experienced overtook him and he lost consciousness soon after.
• • •
The pain persisted until his last moments. For all Merlin’s attempts to be gentle and carry him with four times the strength Arthur ever knew him to possess, every slight bump or shake sent a wave of nausea through Arthur and seemed to split his wound open over and over again.
When they finally stopped, all Arthur could think about was how much it burned. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be, he managed to think. It was never supposed to last this long.
Mordred was dead. Morgana was dead. And now, Arthur was dying. All tied up with a neat little bow, with the exception that it was still happening.
At least Merlin was alright.
He didn’t look it, at the moment. Merlin’s eyes were wide and the realization of what was happening was starting to settle in. The tears began to fall only once it became clear that Arthur had given up.
“Merlin,” Arthur tried to reassure him. “It’s alright.”
Speaking sent sharp jabs of pain through his abdomen that nearly caused him to pass out again.
“Come on,” Merlin begged, voice quiet with panic. “Please. Please stay with me.”
Arthur brought a hand up to touch Merlin’s face and smiled with the last bit of strength he could muster.
“Thank you.”
His vision went black.
He began sinking.
The burning finally stopped. Relief washed over Arthur so completely that he nearly cried. It was over. No more fire. No more knives in his lungs. No more pain.
It’s cold.
Arthur suddenly realized his eyes were still open. He blinked but the darkness did not change.
Hesitantly, he extended a hand out into the abyss that surrounded him, trying to find something to hold onto. He wondered if perhaps he was still lying in the field.
Where was Merlin?
The air moved around him in a strange and unsettling way.
So cold.
Then, his feet thumped gently against a very solid surface.
Surface. He was standing upright. How was he standing? Why couldn’t he move? Was dying meant to be this exhausting?
Arthur blinked but the darkness still remained. He brought a hand in front of his eyes with great difficulty and recoiled in disgust when it appeared green. Green and foggy and not quite right.
Where was he?
The burning was creeping back into his lungs.
No, no, no. Not again.
He looked in the direction he believed to be up.
It was green. Green and foggy and brighter near the top. It shimmered like a mirage.
Sunlight?
Then it clicked.
Water.
Arthur braced himself against the ground and kicked as hard as he could, the burning in his lungs screaming for him to just stay down and slip away. He thrashed his arms wildly and squeezed his eyes shut and fought the urge to breathe.
When his head finally breached the surface he made a wild attempt to kick himself forward towards what he hoped was dry land. Instead, he found himself on his hands and knees in ankle deep water.
“What?” Arthur exclaimed aloud.
His hands stung. Rocks, he realized. Lots of little rocks beneath the water.
Rising to his full height and pushing his hair out of his eyes for the first time, Arthur turned and stared out at the lake. It was pitch black outside. He frowned.
Where did the sunlight come from?
Arthur never expected the afterlife to be so cold.
He turned around to begin his trek towards the shore and froze. A man stood at the edge of the water, just far enough away to be obscured by the shadows.
“Hello?” Arthur called out. He put a hand on his sword reflexively.
A tall man in strange clothes stepped into the moonlight. Arthur’s eyes widened and he took a few clumsy steps forward. He squinted into the darkness.
“Merlin?”
Merlin’s face was pale and fraught with disbelief. He began to walk forward with a hand up as if the moon was too bright.
“Arthur?” He called.
Arthur resumed trudging towards the shore with renewed vigor, trying not to trip over his cape or any unfortunately placed rocks as he went. He met Merlin in the middle and stared openly, trying to make sense of the situation.
“Why are you here?" He asked. "What happened? You were still there when-"
“I've been here the whole time,” Merlin interrupted, eyes still roaming Arthur’s entire face as if afraid he’d disappear. “I’m alive.”
Arthur froze.
“What?”
“I’m alive,” Merlin repeated breathlessly, the hint of a smile starting to form on his lips. “Arthur, we're both alive.”
Death, it seemed, had favored Arthur more than he knew.