#i promise my other two fics for horror leon are better

[navstuffs]

The Tragedy of Leon S. Kennedy

Pairing: Leon S. Kennedy x GN!Reader

Summary: When your partner Leon. S Kennedy disappears after investigating an old laboratory facility, you take matters into your own hands.

Warning tags: ANGST HORROR, 16+, hurt/some comfort, infected!leon

Author's Notes: it seems every time i write an angst fanfic, i challenge myself on how can i make it worse next time(emptiness, creep). this fic is based on this fanart by @hurrakka, thank you so much for letting me write about it! also thanks for the support @90sbee and my husband, who gave their insightful opinions <333. enjoy!!

my halloween's masterlist

The world is unfair. Cruel. Brutal, cold, and heartless. To some more than the others. 

Take a look at Leon S Kennedy's life, for example. For someone who always fought for others and kept the weak protected even in his lowest moments, moments that he didn't believe he could do, where he couldn't believe in himself, his life seems unfair. 

A man who had never had a chance to do HOW he desired. Especially on saving lives. He wanted to help people, but not like that. Leon S. Kennedy could have been a teacher, a firefighter, or a cook. They help people in their own way. But no life is unfair. Stuck into a job he was forced to. How much helping and constantly fighting a battle couldn't destroy a man? How much is given? How much is enough?

Until Leon Kennedy disappeared. The last contact was in an old laboratory facility, deactivated long ago.

One would think the disbelief over their best U.S. agent not returning would have made the efforts to locate him fast, but no. None of his direct superiors seemed to give a damn about it. Who would have thought Leon Kennedy would vanish like that? Because the word infected never came into anyone's mind.

Maybe he had run away. He seems to deserve it, right? Leon had found happiness with that mysterious black-haired agent he kept encountering and decided to run away with her. Living on a remote island where misery and unfairness couldn't touch him. Where the government couldn't use him anymore.

That's what the ones closest to him wanted to believe. It is way easier to imagine Leon with his swimsuit sunglasses, drinking a piña colada, sunbathing, and relaxing.

If life had any decency in being fair, that's what should have happened.

They strongly advised you not to go there. Your superiors thought this whole mission would be a waste of time. Agent Kennedy considered M.I.A. now was, yes, one of the greatest, if not the best, agent they had ever had. Still, your superiors couldn't waste any more resources on finding Agent Kennedy as if they ever tried. As if they cared about him in the first place.

It had to be your close relationship and accomplishments with Leon Kennedy as your partner that allowed you to take five people whom you could trust. And some big name helped your case up in the hierarchy.

Your official mission was to search for what they did in that laboratory and find a cure. It's always about a cure. Your unofficial one? Find what the heck happened to Agent Kennedy. 

When you arrive at the old laboratory facility, you understand the place is a maze. With numerous floors underground, you went in the front as the most experienced and the leader of that mission.

"Are you really willing to sacrifice the life of five agents for one?" 

As you and your team start going down more levels, it is clear how easy it is to get lost in that place. You don't even know why and how they sent Leon alone here for the first time, especially with the amount of infected appearing from different rooms attracted by the lights and sounds. Your team takes it one by one quick, but it's clear as day no one was supposed to come to this place in the first place.

As you start going down more levels, the amount of Infected rises. You try to think like Leon would like he taught you: search for any way to get into their plans, the most secure way to get there without putting your team at risk. 

You finally get to an open and dark area where the number of infected practically lessens. Zeroes. 

There is no sound ahead of you, and the air becomes stagnated. Something is down there: waiting and observing your group. You warn your team to pay attention when you hear shots from behind you, followed by a horrified scream and someone getting ripped apart. Then, just darkness and the same silence as before.

That can't be a normal infected. You have read about this: some infected are different and showcase special abilities, making them harder, almost impossible, to kill. You dash to the back, where your team member disappeared, pointing the flashlight to the walls. You see a black mass moving away inside the darkness, too fast for you to reach. 

Before you can assess the situation, the team member in front gets suddenly dragged away without even screaming. You go into high alert mode, warning your team to focus on any signs of this Infected, clearly faster than the normal ones. 

Maybe the answer to what happened to Leon.

One by one, the rest of your team members get taken down. You don't know what or where to shoot. This Infected had to be at least uncommon or Special. With no other option, you and the last team member run away. You tell him to run first, protecting his back, squinting your eyes so you could see. 

When you are almost on the 3rd floor, the special infected pounces above your head, immediately killing your team member with its giant claw. It has the body format of a human, making sure the claw is pierced all the way down inside the body. It makes no sound, his back toward you, a low growl echoing in the darkness. 

You gulp, slowly raising your flashlight as the monster turns in your direction, looking directly at you.

It is Leon.

Except it isn't Leon anymore. Whatever was left of him was gone, infected by this virus. 

Instead of an arm, a huge black claw comes from his sleeve, long enough to almost drag across the floor, and another grows from his other sleeve. You bite your lip, holding back a sob or a scream, watching his pale skin. How long has he been here? Leon retracts his lips, growling low, his blue eyes more yellow now. 

In a perilous situation, some people flee or fight. Some beg. You decide to do the most illogical thing.

"Leon?" 

You want to say there is a sign of recognition as if Leon S. Kennedy is still there, though deep down, you know it is impossible. Your partner. Your friend. The man you admire. He shouldn't have ended like this. The tears come out of your eyes, but Leon doesn't stop, moving toward you.

"LEON!"  

Nothing. You dragged your team down here, and Leon killed them all. How selfish. You deserve to die for what you did. And if Leon ever came to his senses, this would have destroyed him.

An unfair mission to save a man who never deserved to die. 

Life is so fucking stupid.

You start shooting through Leon's head, momentarily stopping him. Your only chance is to escape him because you don't think you can kill him. 

You dash, passing Leon, but you know you can't outrun him for long. Maybe you deserve him piercing your body with his claws.

For some reason, Leon stayed stuck in this facility. Maybe Leon is trying to keep himself down there, not to hurt anyone because he is still deep in that creature, a small part of him, and you brought people to be killed in a vain attempt to save him.

You have to find some sanity in this madness. A reason to continue fighting. 

You communicated through the comms a single word: "Extermination."

It is what Leon would have wanted, it is what you deserve. You just have to keep them in there until it happens. 

Those are the longest fifteen minutes of your life. Maybe your superiors knew something beforehand because, by the time the bomb was prepared, it took them less than thirteen minutes. Which made you wonder if they weren't trying to get off you in the first place. 

Less than two minutes now, and your job is entertaining the infected. You disturbed the wasp's nest, you deal with it. Leon is right behind you, taking down infecteds as nothing so he can get to you. You count the seconds for him to pounce and impale you, but he doesn't.

Dying right now would be your biggest reward.

Someone hurries you to get out of there. Do you really deserve it, though? Leon is dead. Your team members died horribly and painfully because of you.

"Do you know what you will do after all of this?" 

It was the end of your first mission with your new partner. You two sit by a cliff, your legs dangling, Leon lying in the grass at your side. Dirty but alive. Maybe a sprain in your ankle, and Leon has his arm in an improvised sling from your shirt, but you live to see another beautiful orange sunset.

"There is an "after" all of this?" Leon jokes, making you giggle. "Get dinner?"

"Yeah? But after all of this? Retiring and moving to a paradise, maybe?"

Leon thinks for a moment, his eyes going to the sky. The helicopter to take you to safety sounds closer when Leon finally answers, the emotions emphasizing every word of his sentence.

"I am going to live."

You make a decision. Less than a minute now for the bomb to blow up.

You are going to live. 

For yourself, for Leon.

With a sudden shot of adrenaline passing through your veins, you run to the exit, not looking back. The thousands of growls and Leon follow you, but you ignore that. Bullets will be useless by the amount you have dragged. Someone on the comms asks your location, and you urge them to throw the bomb no matter what, bringing the zombies closer to the surface. Before you exit, closing the last door behind you, you quickly glance over your shoulder.

It is like those movie scenes when you cross your eyes with someone and have a conversation with them, just with your eyes. Yours cross with Leon's yellow ones, and in that milli second, before you close the door behind you, you ask for forgiveness. You apologize for bringing your team members into your mess. You tell him you shouldn't live, but you will. You tell him how much you love him. You apologize that the world never treated him with kindness.

The door closes behind you, and you continue running, hearing the jets getting closer. 9, 8, 7…

The roar in the door sounds like a scream. As if Leon is telling you to escape, to forget about him and not look back.

At precisely one second, when the door finally can't take it anymore, and you are meters away, three bombs get thrown, exploding the facility and everything inside. With the blast, you hit your head when you get pushed by the explosion.

You turn around, still lying down, stomach up, to look at the sky, breathing deeply. It is still blue, but you can't see stars with the smoke left by the bombs; you are like that empty sky right now, no stars, no moon, nothing. 

"I am going to live." You whisper to the night without stars. As a secret or a broken promise, only time will tell. 

taglist: @daydreamrot, @scar-crossedlvrs, @roseglazedlens, @sarahs-secrets2

[abbacchiosbelt]

Say You Will | Siren!Abbacchio x GN!Reader

here’s fic two of the mystery summer event! in case you missed it, here’s the first fic.

waking up alone and disoriented in a cave isn’t so bad when there’s such lovely singing coming from somewhere...

18+ under the cut! cw for mentions of injuries and possessive behavior.

You awaken with a horrible pounding in your head and the feel of cold water lapping over your feet. Whatever your head is laying on is hard and scraping against your cheek, but you can’t find it in yourself to open your eyes. Unable to get your bearings, you drift back into unconsciousness.

When you awaken again, you feel much of the same — your head is still aching and the ground beneath you is hard and unforgiving. For a moment you wonder if perhaps you’ve died and this is just the in-between to whatever afterlife awaits, and then you hear it.

A deep and silky voice rouses you from your spot on the ground, willing you to push yourself up on your sore arms and open your weary eyes. You blink, wincing at the sting that comes along with it. The voice quiets for a moment and the soothing feeling that came with it turns into abject horror when you realize you have no idea where you are. Looking around, you see you’re in some sort of cave filled with craggy rocks and a sandbar, which you’d woken up on.

You’re about to scream and cry for help but then it starts up again and your mind soothes itself in an instant. The voice is perhaps the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard, and when you listen, there’s an insistent pulling at your body telling you that you must follow it. Your own safety doesn’t matter when something so beautiful is in your grasp. At least, that’s what your mind is telling you.

You pad through the cave, not caring about the cuts on your feet or the fact that your clothing is torn and covered in blood. The voice becomes louder as you make your way through the cave, eventually coming across sunlight starting to filter through the opening.

You take a few more steps before you stumble upon a brilliant set of iridescent purple wings attached to a pale and muscled back. This wasn’t a normal sight, no, but did it matter when this creature’s voice was so alluring? When you take another step forward, the voice stops, and the creature stands and turns to face you.

Fear strikes your heart when you meet his deep violet gaze. Whatever this thing was towered over you — his face was absolutely stunning, with full lips and high cheekbones. He had long, silvery hair that cascaded down his back and faded into loose curls, his hair’s beauty rivaled by the stunning wings that rose behind him. And yet he wasn’t completely human either. His hands and feet are practically claws and he’s sneering at you with a mouth that has too many sharp teeth.

And despite the horror you feel, your eyes shamelessly trail down his naked body and take in the sculpted torso and the sizeable cock laying against his muscled thighs.

“You’re awake.” He says. His speaking voice is just as deep and alluring as his singing voice, though you don’t feel the same pull to walk towards him. You swallow and look around, quickly realizing there was no escape. He takes a step toward you and lets out a deep laugh when he sees you step backward. “I wouldn’t try to run  if I were you.”

“W-who are you? Where am I?” You yell, your voice going up a pitch higher than you intended. The man smirks and steps forward until he’s only an arm’s length away from you. The faint smell of iron fills your nostrils. Before you can think better, you stammer out another question. “What are you?”

“You don’t remember what happened?” He watches you shake your head and clicks his tongue. “I’m a siren.” Your mouth gapes at his answer and you have nothing to say, so you shakily nod for him to continue. If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it. “Your boat crashed. And before you get any silly ideas in your head, it wasn’t me. There’s a territory war going on. You just happened to wash up the nearby beach and I dragged you here. Otherwise, you’d be dead.”

Your brain is overworking itself trying to understand anything the man just said. You say the only thing you can think of. “Thank you.”

His eyes widen in surprise for a second before he shifts back into his surly expression and quirks an eyebrow at you. “I could still eat you; you know. Tear you limb by limb and rip your flesh from your bones.”

Something about the droll way he said it made that hard to believe, though you knew since he was a siren it was a real possibility.

“I don’t think you will.” Your response makes him click his tongue in annoyance, but he doesn’t push it further. Tentatively, you glance down his naked form again — that gets his attention.

“Most humans aren’t thinking of how nice our cocks might feel before we kill them.” You blush at his blunt words and stammer, but you really have no excuse. You were being absolutely shameless in a situation that would have most people crying and begging for their lives. He purses his lips and stares at you for a moment, giving you a shameless once-over that you more than deserved. “I didn’t just drag you here out of goodwill.”

“Oh?” He watches you carefully before he steps forward and presses his body to yours. There’s no mistaking the hardness that’s forming against your thigh.

“I need a mate. You looked… beautiful. I didn’t want the other scum around here to get to you first.” He turns his face away and you swear you can see the lightest flush of pink on his cheeks.

“You won’t kill me?” He turns his gaze back towards you and places his large hands on your shoulders. They feel cool to the touch.

“No. Even if you don’t agree, I’ll let you go. But I can’t promise that if we meet again, I’ll do the same. You shouldn’t get involved with me…” He bares his fangs at you and even though you know it’s a little wrong, it only strokes the flames of arousal starting to build in your stomach. “But if you want to be my mate, I won’t ever hurt you, not when you belong to me.”

There’s an obvious sense of possession to his words but even without his singing, his behavior is drawing you to him. Something behind his words screamed loneliness to you and it was hard to resist saying yes, knowing that this creature might feel just as alone in life as you did. It’s dangerous and stupid and you know you might just be gambling your life away, but you nod.

There’s one thing that you need first, though.

“What’s your name?” What could be a smile, or a smirk crosses his face — you’re not quite sure.

“Abbacchio. But you may call me Leone.” When you repeat your name back to him, his lip quirks up in what you know is a smile this time.

-

Abbacchio doesn’t waste a moment pinning you to the cold floor of the cave once you agree to mate with him. His mouth finds your neck and begins to place hungry kisses on it while you writhe under him, crying out when his sharp teeth scrape at the sensitive skin.

Before you can protest Abbacchio shreds your clothes from your body with his sharp claws, leaving you exposed before him. Despite your cuts and bruises from the wreck, he’s clearly pleased with what he sees, subconsciously fluttering his wings behind him as he takes in your naked form, his hard cock pressed flat to his abdomen and already leaking.

(You weren’t sure how often sirens had sex, so you wonder if Abbacchio was perhaps pent-up, considering how eager he was.)

The adrenaline rush from being pinned underneath such a dangerous creature has your nerves on fire but every time his mouth brushes against your chest or his long fingers trail across your skin and dip to stroke at your sex, the need to have him inside of you grows stronger.

Abbacchio groans when you rut against him and whine for more.

“It’s been so long,” he growls, running his hands up and down your sides. “Let me enjoy you.” The words of protest about to leave your mouth are cut off by Abbacchio pressing his lips to yours and drawing you into a languid kiss, his too long to be human tongue snaking its way into your mouth and making you shiver from the pleasant yet strange feeling. He moans into the kiss and adjusts to press his cock against your entrance, rubbing his precum into it.

“You’re mine,” Abbacchio hisses, pressing himself into you and pushing the head of his cock inside. You cry out and Abbacchio covers your mouth with his again in an almost painful kiss. One of his arms snakes around your waist to lift your hips up and he presses his cock into you further, letting you adjust to the stretch. Your nails scratch at his back - careful to avoid his wings - as he presses himself to the hilt. You’ve never taken anything quite so large and there’s a sting to it, but the moans that are falling from Abbacchio’s mouth help to distract you.

“You’re never leaving me,” he rasps, flexing his cock inside of you. You cling to his shoulders as the sting subsides to something pleasant — you feel so full and right and wander through the haze of pleasure clouding your mind if this is just what being with a siren was like. He flexes his cock again and starts to pull back, dragging it against your walls. “Answer me.”

“I won’t,” you reply, breathless. Abbacchio growls out your name and pulls all the way to his tip before slamming back in, scooting you across the cave’s smooth floor.

You can barely think as Abbacchio continues to pound into you, mouthing at your neck with his sharp teeth and whispering about what a perfect little mate you are. When your hips start trembling, Abbacchio adjusts and presses your knees back as far as they can go — his cock hits you so deep when he thrusts in again that you scream out his name as he fucks you into the floor, his wing spread out behind him and fluttering in the breeze that filtered in through the cave.

“I’m going to mark you as mine so no one can ever take you away.” Abbacchio says, meeting your gaze. Maybe you should be more concerned, but his possessive words make you tighten around his cock.

“Do it,” you whisper.

Abbacchio’s beauty distracts you from his descent upon your neck to bite into you and for one moment you think perhaps he’s lied about the whole thing — but he pulls back when he’s sufficiently marked you and laps at the blood before he shudders and presses all the way into you, cock twitching as he releases himself inside of you.

Your neck burns but it’s nothing, not with Abbacchio’s cock still inside of you and his fingers threaded through yours—

He presses a bloody kiss to your cheek, murmuring that he was sorry before he uses his hand to bring you to your own release, watching with renewed lust as you cum and cry out his name.

You whine out his name again when he flexes his cock inside of you, his member having lost none of its hardness even after his release. He grins at you with those too-sharp teeth again, lips stained red from your blood.

(There’s a tug at your heart that still tells you to run, that you’re in danger, but you’re Abbacchio’s now, he’d claimed you as such. Your human inhibitions wouldn’t be needed much longer, you think, and perhaps there’s some truth to the rumor that sirens are capable of turning others…)

He cards a hand through your hair and leans forward to lick at his bite mark — his bond to you.

“I’m not done with you yet, mate.”

[capmerthur]

THE ONCE AND FUTURE FIC

Yet another resurrection fic (sorry?). ARTHUR RETURNS IN CHAPTER 2. Lots of feeeeels, and overdue conversations (at last!) between our precious King and Warlock. Title might change as this goes along, but this has always been the work title in my head since I started thinking about writing it, so… Starts right when 5.13 ends. WARNING FOR SUICIDAL THOUGHTS IN CHAPTER ONE.

Excerpt PART VIII:

"You cannot be my manservant anymore, Merlin."

(PREVIOUS CHAPTERS UNDER CHAPTER VIII)

VIII. (ARTHUR POV)

Arthur has noticed another oddity in Merlin's memories: Gwaine - or better said: his absence. He's seen Gaius, Leon, Percival - all older than he had known them. But there has been no Gwaine; and Arthur doesn't dare to ask. On the one hand, Arthur knows Gwaine's loyalty had always been to Merlin first, so perhaps be had decided to keep at Merlin's side at the lake? On the other hand though... It feels too positive to be true though, and Arthur fears Gwaine wasn't only absent from Camelot but from everywhere else too. And so, Arthur doesn't ask - he simply doesn't want Merlin to have to relive nor explain any of it, in case it might be the second option.

As he's pondering on this all, he starts undoing the ties at his wrists - he evidently doesn't need his armour (as Merlin doesn't seem expecting an attack), and his body reminds him he'd like to get dry...

Merlin is suddenly in front of him - "Sorry Arthur, I should have realized-" - aiming for the ties; and Arthur swiftly moves his arm further away, out of Merlin's reach:

"What do you think you are doing?"

Merlin looks at him as if he's lost his head:

"Helping you out of your armour, as I should have done already by now?"

And so Arthur has to spell out the obvious, apparently:

"You cannot be my manservant anymore, Merlin."

Merlin's head tilts, and his eyebrows furrow; but in worry more than puzzlement.

"Because I have magic?"

And Arthur feels like slapping himself. No matter how defiant it might sound, there is an undertone in Merlin's voice - a hurt, fragile, fearful tone Arthur has heard only once: when he had pushed Merlin away after he had revealed his secret. Of course Merlin misread the swift withdrawal of his arm coupled with such words for disgust or fear! Arthur inches now closer to Merlin, wishing to make sure Merlin knows he doesn't - *doesn't* - fear him nor feel repulsed by him, and corrects him with a shy smile:

"Because you are the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the Earth. And now that I'm aware of it, it doesn't feel right to have you wash my socks and emptying my chamber pot? There surely must be greater things for you to do."

Merlin seems stunned for a moment - and then he shakes his head.

"I swear this is the most ridiculous thought you ever had. What should my abilities have to do with being adequate or not for being your manservant? And why taking care of my mother made me a loving son, but taking care of you should be demeaning?"

Arthur can only sigh:

"Because your mother didn't throw buckets of water over your head nor throw stuff at you?"

Merlin seems surprised by Arthur's sudden open shame at his own past behaviour. Then Merlin's eyes turn softer, and his voice now sort of soothing:

"I accepted it as part of the job, Arthur... I never complained, right?"

"You should have. I was searching for your limit, I think, in a way; because there seem to be none; and I... appreciated that. But I know I sometimes went too far..."

It's Merlin's turn to sigh:

"Don't you see? I didn't want to complain. You never really minded my bad mouthing you either, did you? So surely, you must understand. Believe me, I didn't want to complain. Because somehow, I sort of relied on it. It kept me grounded."

Arthur hadn't expected such an answer; but indeed, it makes sense. Power can easily get to the head. Especially such as Merlin's - alledgedly unparalleled. And knowing Merlin's *kindness*? Of course he'd fear to succomb to its lure...

And yet, Arthur knows he sometimes abused his. And only rarely, and never straightforwardly, apologized.

"Your playful insolence cannot equal some of my faults, Merlin. You never took out on me your anger for something I had no responsability in..."

"Again, Arthur: I accepted it as part of the job."

"A manservant isn't supposed to be a receptacle for one's fury."

"No. But a good friend can be."

Arthur has to close his eyes. Friend. No matter how many times he had repeated to Merlin that they could never be friends (not that he didn't want Merlin as his friend; simply because he couldn't - a King is alone); he knows that's what they became, indeed. And this time, at least, finally, even if he's not saying it, he doesn't want to deny it out loud. Even if it only makes his past behaviour even more shameful. He gives Merlin a sad smile:

"Well, in that case... Just as a powerful sorcerer, a good friend shouldn't be a manservant, either."

Merlins smiles back:

"Wrong again. *Only* a good friend should be a manservant. Because it definitely isn't limited to tending to one's physical needs. (a smirk) And anyway, to tell the truth; if it bothers you that much? I never actually touched your dirty laundry, nor your chamber pot."

Arthur can't help but laugh at that.

"Is there anything you've actually done with your two hands?"

He sobers right away though, not wanting Merlin to think he actually means any of it.

"I know there is, Merlin", Arthur pledges.

My armour.

My food. (As Arthur suddenly realizes Merlin's habit of 'stealing' from his plate has probably been about protecting him from poisons more than about keeping him in shape).

"I know."

"Good. So now that the matter is settled, will you grant me the honour?"

Only Merlin could utter those words with both such mirth (in his eyes) yet so much devotion (in his voice).

Arthur smiles, warmly this time, bringing his arm in Merlin's wainting hand.

"As long as you know the honour is mine."

Merlin shakes his head and sighs.

Arthur knows though from the blush that reaches his ears that Merlin heard he meant it.

(PREVIOUS CHAPTERS)

(Warning for this chapter: suicidal thoughts)

I. (MERLIN POV)

Merlin holds Mordred's sword in his right hand, appraising it. He still can't believe he has found it; still can't believe it's actually in his hands.

Over sixty years now - nothing; yet far too long - Merlin has been waiting for this moment. Since he has begged Freya, and threathened (and apologised - he couldn't blame Freya for not listening; he wouldn't have either, if their roles had been reversed), and begged again - in vain, for Excalibur. Since he has finally understood that he was a fool to hold onto hope for something that couldn't, wouldn't come to pass. Arthur was *never* coming back: Merlin had simply witnessed enough - he had witnessed too much; and too many times; and definitely one time too much one time too many - to ignore it any longer.

/

It was not that Merlin had grown too tired of waiting - too tired of the ache, the longing, the loneliness... For Arthur? Merlin would *always* wait; however long it might take.

It was not that Merlin had come to believe mankind didn't deserve Arthur to rise again to start with - even though it *was* an easy conclusion, when it was at its worst, when it turned its anger against itself - too many horrors, atrocities, bloodshed. But mankind could be beautiful, when loving, in any form; and marvelous, too, when it was at its best; when it turned its anger towards its limits: the medical progress over the ages would have had Gaius exhilarated, and proud; and what about its general neverending thirst for discovery, for explorations, for quests? - of course Arthur would come back: if only he could.

It was just that Merlin had finally understood that he had been played - not even because Albion (the name has since long fallen out of use and its people had been scattered through the globe, so it might mean nowadays something else than it had used to to start with) had got united without Arthur (and even if it still only meant Great Britain, well, it might after all need to be united again); but simply because the list of unending reasons why Arthur should have come back to save the day and yet hadn't (to mention only the very top of the list: half of humanity wiped out in a finger snap by the Black Death? the whole world collapsing in chaos, bend on destroying itself - World War?) had turned out suspiciously too long, and finally impossibly too long, as mankind had truly reached the lowest point not only ever but even possible without Arthur rising yet again (organised experiments and torture on toddlers, honestly?).

So.

Arthur wasn't ever coming back from the dead, simply because no one ever came back from the dead (except as a shade - and that would be even worse, wouldn't it? - or at a cost too great to burden anyway). It had been easy to believe in the prophecy; simply because it had been what Merlin had wanted. A distant promise of Arthur returning was still way better than no Arthur at all, and so Merlin had willingly taken the bait. But the fake prophecy had obviously been made up; as revenge, or entertainment - or both; and Merlin had felt stupid for not having realized this ages ago - The Sidhe were proud indeed; and Merlin had thwarted them. (It had been easy to forget it at first - to tell himself that they hadn't known Arthur was THE Arthur at the time, whatever...) Merlin wasn't sure about what Kilgharrah might have exactly known or not (On the one hand, Kilgharrah had forged Excalibur, who had always truly helped them. And Merlin had been warned by the Great Dragon, right from the start, and repeatedly; so wouldn't it all have worked out just fine if he had listened. On the other hand, if he had listened? Wouldn't he have been a monster, punishing people for crimes they had not yet committed? So maybe giving him the truth had in fact been the sure way to have him not acting on it. After all, Kilgharrah had hated the Pendragons - at least Uther - enough to have tried to wipe out Camelot. And he hadn't been exactly pleased either to discover Merlin was a Dragonlord, even if he had seemed to soften when he had realized that Merlin would not control him as a puppet. And last but not least, Kilgharrah hadn't taken care of Aithusa as Merlin had thought he would; and that's how Aithusa had ended up with Morgana - and had forged the sword that had killed Arthur), but it didn't change anything anyway...

Well, you bet Merlin hadn't been willing to indulge them any longer. Not that anger was what was driving Merlin, of course. There was simply *no point* anymore in waiting. Nor in living, to be honest - especially as it might be what kept him from actually finding Arthur again somehow; next life, paradise, wherever and however and whenever? Merlin was no religious man, but even he had no answer about what happened after death after all. Maybe it was worth a shot? It was a very, very thin chance indeed; but it was still more of a chance than just staying here waiting for *nothing*... So. Merlin had begged Freya for Excalibur. But as she had kept absent, it had dawned on him at some point that Excalibur wasn't the only blade he could use... Merlin had searched for that other mighty weapon through his magic for years; then had sent his creature to retrieve it when he had successfully localized it.

/

And here, now, finally, is Mordred's sword.

And Merlin feels no dread, no fear, while holding it. If anything, he feels calm - calmer than he has ever been, probably. And that's how Merlin knows that his decision is indeed right: even his magic agrees.

He should do it in the lake though. Magical artifacts just shouldn't linger around in the open, huh...

Yes.

Let Mordred's blade rest along Excalibur.

And let Merlin rest along Arthur.

Freya will make sure they all lay undisturbed.

Merlin blindly pulls at the cord around his neck, taking it out from under his tunic and sliding his left hand along it until it closes around Arthur's mother sigil (AN) and Camelot's ruler's ring (Gwen had it brought to him, so he could give it back to its true owner on his return: Camelot in the meantime was to be ruled by a Concil of Knights and a Guardian, until Arthur would come back to sit on his kept empty throne and his kept empty seat at the Round Table).

Merlin closes his eyes; makes a silent promise.

I'm coming, Arthur.

He takes a first step into the lake.

.

Backstory: +1500 years in short - because it hurts and I just don't have the heart to fully write the prologue I had intended to write:

Merlin has never left the lake. He kept waiting. He couldn't, wouldn't leave, (nor SLEEP even for that matter by the way) no matter for how short - imagine if Arthur came back just when he was NOT there, huh. And of course he wouldn't trust his magic to warn him somehow - it had failed Arthur when he needed it the most after all. So no. Merlin has never left the lake. But Gaius has mentioned to him (Merlin got visitors, in the beginning (and his mother came to live with him until she died); before he cut himself off the world) how maybe the time he was given without Arthur was to LEARN more about magic; so that he would be prepared when Arthur came back to face whatever ordeal they were supposed to face. Because even if Merlin is hyper *aware* - he feels *everything*, through his magic - practice is necessary too. So Merlin mastered the art of molding sand/clay and animating it with his magic (basically, he walks the Earth as Old Merlin - because people tends to let old grumpy men on their own - whenever he needs anything physically). He can speak, hear, see, learn, through him, following the world as it expands (America, Australia, etc etc, because even if he was aware they existed, he couldn't physically *go* there before they were 'found'). And he can touch, and carry (for example you bet he brought back something red for Arthur to wear every time - Merlin sort of owns a 'male red mode through the ages' museum by now - and he hates it, of course). The first time Merlin has truly thought Arthur *would* come back has been The Great Plague. The second time has been WWI. The last drop has been the Nazis and Unit 731 experimentations. So Merlin sent its creature to fetch Mordred's sword after having localized it though his magic - and that's what Old Merlin is bringing back to him when this all starts (aka that shot at the end of 5.13)…

(AN: Just so you know, Merlin's magically pierced in the thickness of Ygraine's sigil to pass a cord - he wouldn 't make a hole in the front design of course!)

(Also... A resurrection fic!? What am I getting myself into!? I'm still a newbie around here so I definitely haven't read enough Merlin fics to ever claim making something original (so by the way, please feel free to let me know your all time favourites resurrection fics! So far I've read The Change Trilogy and Like the cycle of the year we begin again (and they're both gorgeous reads so run and read them if you haven't yet!) but I haven't seen (yet?) my take, both on the waiting and on the getting along after Arthur's return, in the fics I've read so far, so I thought I might as well write this down ?)

.

II. (ALTERNATE POV)

Arthur regains consciousness under water.

He's cold; so cold he's shaking - helpless, steady spasms he just can't put an end to (being past half dead apparently has repercussions?). But it's bright, up over him, and he instinctivally pushes himself up towards the light; towards the air.

The moment he breaks the water, Arthur registers that he's not only alive but that he feels *just right*. No pain in his side, no weakness, no dizzinesss, no strain: nothing wrong at all - except from the convulsions from the cold, but you bet he's not going to complain, all considered. The sun is veiled by clouds, but feels nonetheless like a welcomed warmth on his face, and Arthur breathes deep, bringing his arms up and turning his palms towards the warmth too as the tremors start to subdue; he's alive!; and well! He doesn't need to pat his absent wound in wonder, nor to look at the water, transparent clear instead of bloodened red, to know that what he feels is true.

Merlin's done it.

He *has* saved his life.

Again.

It's both unexpected (Arthur had been so sure he had taken his last breath, when all had finally faded to black) - and yet somehow expected. Magical waters and a sorcerer who knows how to work its power would do wonders, obviously. It has happened before after all, bringing his beloved Guinevere's spirit back?

A sudden realization; and Arthur can't help but laugh. And it feels so exhilarating - alive! alive! - the laugh turns into a howl; and Arthur relishes on it, throwing his head back. Honestly? How could he have ever been *so* blind - of course it had been Merlin then too by the water edge, disguised as an old woman!

/

Somewhere on his right, a buoying laugh erupts.

And Merlin knows that laugh. So hearing the exact right tone of that entirely unexpected laughter at once feels as if a vicious invisible hand is squeezing at his heart.

He had forgotten it; he realizes. But he would recognize that howling laugh amongst any other...

Merlin doesn't dare to *believe*. Cruel hope nonetheless blooms unbidden in his heart, and his eyes can't help but zero in on the source of that sound.

And it is exactly as it should be; exactly as it has used to be...

There *is* ARTHUR; standing in the lake, water reaching his hips, chainmail glistening, head thrown back as he laughs. (Has anyone ever looked more simply breathtakingly majestic no matter what they did and even without trying?) Merlin can only see his back, but you bet he would recognize the shape of that back amongst any other too.

Merlin's breath is knocked out of him; and Mordred's sword falls from his hand.

Merlin knows what he hears and sees *cannot* be true. He has seen the world in a much, MUCH more desperate state without Arthur coming back then. There is absolutely no reason for Arthur to come back right now. So. He is being granted a vision; that's all. But of course Merlin wouldn't, couldn't, try to take his own life anymore, not after having had even just a glimpse... Besides, he has just handed over the last sword that could end him anyway. Merlin has to acknowledge The Sidhe's thinking; they know exactly well how to play him. But damn, they are vicious.

But no matter the abysmal pain from such a low blow, Merlin still considers this to be a gift, and is determined to draw it out for as long as he will be allowed to. Those few seconds might sustain him for another fifteen centuries to come, and maybe more...

/

Arthur quiets down after a while. Thinking about his savior: where is he?

Arthur scans his surroundings; and the warmth he feels when he finally spots Merlin definitely eclipses the sun.

/

The laughing stops, and Arthur turns, eyes searching; and a bright smile appears on Arthur's face the moment they find him.

"Merlin!"

Merlin's knees give out. His name through Arthur's lips has sounded *exactly* right - righter than in any memory Merlin has relied on to live on hanging onto. And it hurts. The shame, and guilt - to realize he had forgotten *this* too? It shouldn't have been possible - to have something so dear going misformed; a pale, withered, incomplete, erroneous copy, so far from the original that its truth has disintegrated? Oh yes, it hurts.

And Merlin's fingers dig; hard, deep into the sand. He cannot reach out. He longs for; he *aches* to - both physically and emotionnally. But he cannot. As long as it's only his eyes and ears that are deceived, then he can pretend it is true...

Merlin starts to cry. He can't help it; he cries - as he hasn't cried since, well, all those years ago: silent tears endlessly streaming down his face, unabached, treacherous; and Merlin hates them - hates the way they blur his vision when he has to - HAS TO - *see*. He is powerless to stop them though.

It is *blinding*.

Merlin has tried, so hard, to keep remembering, to NOT forget. But his memories, even sustained with his magic, have so obviously failed him; haven't done Arthur any justice at all. Merlin has forgotten so, SO much; and being proven just how much he has actually forgotten slices through him like a knife. The exact darker shade of Arthur's blond hair when wet. The exact way Arthur stands and moves. The exact sharpness of Arthur's features - his nose, his cheeckbones, his jawline. The exact shape of that smile - that particular, undeniably fond smile following his name Merlin has used to live for and from. Guilt slashes through him again. How could he have *forgotten* the exact shape of *that* smile; the most precious to him amongst the myriad of each and every of Arthur's smiles?

/

But then Merlin collapses, instead of cheering with him - he has thought him gone for good? And Arthur suddenly feels like there is still after all a gaping aching wound on his body; but this one deep in his chest, and of his own making. He owes Merlin *everything*, doesn't he? Yet he has hurt him - and so very severely. Despite it, though, Merlin obviously still cares for him; and so very much... His own behaviour puts Arthur to shame. So. Arthur hadn't had the time nor the strength to plainly apologize before. But he has now; and he won't run away from the words that he needs to say - and even more important, that Merlin needs to hear...

/

Arthur is now rushing through the water towards him - so fierce!, so strong!; alive and well!? His smile is gone though; replaced by worry - because of Merlin's tears, no doubt: yet another reason to hate them then...

And then Arthur is plopping down in front of him, out of breath; and Merlin gets proof again of just how much he had forgotten - the exact colours and depths of Arthur's eyes! There is now a fragile smile back on Arthur's face - a soothing smile, meant only for Merlin's sake; and it's going to break Merlin's heart, no doubt.

.

III. (MERLIN POV)

"I'm fine, Merlin. I'm fine."

And not only the voice is perfect, but the language is the one Merlin hasn't heard for over a millenium...

"Arthur?" is all Merlin can let out - no more than a somewhat hiccuped whisper as he still has no breath, no voice, to start with; but an obvious plea coming from the depths of his soul. A world of wonder, and longing, and ache, and disbelief, and hope - because no matter what, Merlin can't help but want; can't help but hope - in those two syllabs that own his heart. Magic *does* exist, after all; and Merlin would give it all - all the magic he possesses, all his pain, all his hopes, everything - for this vision to turn real.

Arthur's already fragile smile falters: "Don't you remember, Merlin. No man is worth your tears." The reproach is nothing but badly fake though, and Arthur's voice somehow breaks as it ends: "Especially not me."

And then suddenly - and so quickly Merlin doesn't register any of it before it has actually happened, and so it is too late for him to move backwards to prevent it from happening - Arthur brings his hands on Merlin's face, gloved fingers brushing his tears away under his eyes - and Merlin can *feel* them!?

Merlin is lost; lost in what he sees, lost in what he hears, and lost in what he feels. Can this be true? Can it truly be true?

But then Arthur starts speaking again - rushed out words leaving Merlin stunned.

"I apologize, Merlin. The way I reacted- (sigh) I deserve all the names you've ever called me and more. I'm thick, and dumb, and *such* an idiot, and a complete dollophead, and a cabbage head, and a prat, and a royal *ass*, and I still don't know what a clotpole exactly is but I'm certain I am the definition for one indeed too. I may have seen anyone with magic turning against me; but I should never have doubted *you*, Merlin. I should have remembered the butterfly (AN)."

Merlin just cannot believe what he's hearing. It's everything he has ever wanted to hear; everything he has ever hoped to hear - so how can it be real?

"But more than anything, I think, I'm sorry because I should have known, Merlin. I called you a liar; looked at you like you had betrayed me. But you've told it. You actually shouted it for everyone to hear; and I believe you nearly told it to me, privately, at least once, and presumably more... But I just didn't want to hear it, did I? So I'm sorry I was such a coward; a *coward*, Merlin. And I'm so sorry, and so ashamed - and honestly I really can't blame you for not trusting me to understand: because you were right; and it guts me, Merlin. 'There is no place for magic in Camelot'? How hard it must have been for you to say-"

Merlin can't help but shake his head, about to interject. Not because (even if it's true) one exception shouldn't and couldn't be enough to break a rule anyway; at least not at once, and not until Arthur would understand that magic itself isn't corrupt. Not even because it hadn't been hard in fact to say those words - at least not hard enough, and that will always feel wrong. But simply because real or not just cannot matter anymore; not when Arthur's gaze is boring into his very core, pleading and honest and full of a guilt Merlin just can't bear to witness: "Arthur-"

Arthur silences him though, cutting him off by shaking him once by the shoulders: "But what counts is that I know, now, Merlin. Your magic is not only part of who you are; it also makes you who you are. And I will trust it; because I trust *you*. You must believe- No, let me rephrase this before you obey me again - because you *always* obey me, don't you Merlin; even when whatever I say in anger or despair isn't intended nor meant to be an order; and I've done it so often, haven't I... 'Do not put me into that position again'? 'Tell me it's gone'? (AN) So. Can you believe me; Merlin? It's not an order; I definitely do not deserve to give you any order at all to start with anyway. And I'm not asking for you to forgive me; I even think you shouldn't forgive me. But please, at least, can you b-"

"Of course I believe you. And there is nothing to forgive, Arthur. Nothing." Merlin half shouts, ancient words flowing instinctively, head skaking 'no' for emphasis, bringing his hands up to Arthur's wrists and pushing downwards, keeping Arthur's hands in place on his shoulders. If this is a waking dream then Merlin never wants to leave it. This is solid enough, real enough, for the rest of his maybe neverending life. "You're here. You're well. That's all that matters, Arthur; I swear that's all that has ever mattered to me."

Arthur holds his gaze for a long, long time; as if waiting for Merlin's clear eyes to betray his words. And when he finally seems confident enough that they are indeed genuine, he whispers, but it sounds like a pledge: "And you're here, Merlin, and you're *you*; and I swear that's all that will matter to me from now on."

.

AN: Tiny quotes from my Body Swap fic; sorry, I just couldn't NOT put it there, it just FITS...

(Also, just imagine they speak in old brittonic... but please don't expect me to write it? sorry?)

.

IV. (MERLIN POV)

Arthur squeezes his shoulders one last time and then lets go, about to stand.

"Now, let's go home. We have a feast to prepare in your honor."

Merlin cannot tell if his heart has just completely healed or totally disintegrated. Let's go home?

It's real! Of course it's real. If Arthur doesn't know- It's real! Arthur is truly back! And that's...

But *Arthur doesn't know*. And so *Merlin will have to tell*.

Merlin blanches. He feels guilty, anew. Because he has hoped and prayed and begged for Arthur to return; with everything he had. He has been selfish, hasn't he? And he has been blind; stupidly blind - again. All those years he has prepared for taking care of a still bleeeding wound, for clothes, for food, for any necessities; but it has never crossed his mind that Arthur wouldn't know... and he is not prepared for Arthur's emotional pain; and even less for causing it. Some small part of Merlin can't help but wish now that Arthur had stayed in the lake after all, had never awoken. It's too cruel. Merlin shouldn't be the one to break Arthur's heart.

Arthur is reading his panick wrong, of course:

"Don't worry- No one else has to know about your magic if you don't want to. But you DID end the war, Merlin; you did what I couldn't do - Morgana... All Camelot should know what they owe y-"

And Merlin can't bear Arthur's concern on his behalf any longer; making it last feels like a betrayal. And no matter how much Merlin doesn't want Arthur to get hurt, ever, he cannot and will not lie - not about this. Conjuring ghosts wouldn't be real and would only make it worse in the end anyway. The only option is a clear cut, right away.

"It's not- (deep breath) I'm so sorry, Arthur. We cannot go home. You were gone. For such a long time. For such a long, long time, Arthur. I'm so, so, sorry."

And Merlin watches, feeling his eyes filling up once more, as Arthur's eyebrows furrow in incomprehension; as Arthur blinks, taken aback as realization hits; as Arthur's eyes turn desperate and pleading, shaking his head in denial-

"No. I remember just-" His voice falters as he probably notices the house behind them - the house that definitely hadn't been there before - and who knows what more (trucks on the road farther away? joggers in strange clothes passing by?) "And you look exactly-"

And Merlin has nothing to say, nothing to offer, to soothe the hopelessly growing pain ready to crush his King, hollow him out - nothing but the cruel testimony of his once more, always, useless tears; and Arthur knows, indeed.

It comes out as a whisper, but it sounds as if Arthur's spirit has gone with it, vacillating.

"They're all-"

And the only thing Merlin can say still is: "I'm so sorry" - again.

"My people? My Knights? My- Guinevere..."

And it hurts. Oh, it hurts; to have to see Arthur's broken heart on his face, to hear its crack as his voice breaks on his Queen's name and his head turns away.

"I'm so sorry."

A litany; a chant; a prayer. Over, and over, and over. Pointless, worthless, useless, anyway; as his King cries silent tears, all the more shattering by their quietude...

Then Arthur is up and pacing, a fierce but dark spark in his eyes as his hands turns into fists - anger, rage; of course.

"Why did you bring me back then? How could you bring me back if-?"

And Merlin would gladly take a blow; if it could help Arthur to feel better, somehow. But nothing comes. It's Arthur. Of course nothing comes.

Arthur briefly closes his eyes, inhaling sharply. And when he opens them again, Arthur's anger hasn't faded; but isn't directed towards Merlin anymore.

"But then; you would have brought me back right away, wouldn't you have - if it had been in your power..."

And Merlin feels crushed, again; by how he *always* fails Arthur, indeed.

"I'm so sorry..."

.

AN: I realize I do have a thing for Merlin crying - blame it on Colin's A+ crying performances - so of course it has to appear somewhere... Merlin will not weep though for much longer, if it can reassure you...

.

V. (ARTHUR POV)

Merlin hasn't said the word; but Arthur heard it anyway.

Dead.

He'd been dead.

And for such a long, long time, Merlin had said; even though it feels merely minutes since he closed his eyes?

It makes no sense; it feels unreal - impossible. Merlin hasn't aged a day...

And yet... The grief in Merlin's eyes tells him it's true. Everyone he knows, except Merlin, is gone. Arthur doesn't know what feels worse. To know that he will never see any of them again; or to know that he has failed them all... He feels unfulfilled, hollowed out; utterly lost, even though knowing exactly where he is...

He feels furious, too. What is the point of coming back to life, if it's coming back *too late*?

But Arthur simply knows, somehow, that Merlin - who has literally collapsed upon seeing him emerge from the lake; who has seemed so utterly shattered by his apology; and who looks now so honestly sorry for his loss, gazing up at him from the ground, nothing but stabbing understanding and concern in his eyes - isn't to blame for that lost time.

Which means his presence, here and now, is puzzling indeed:

"What are you doing here, then? If you neither cured me through the lake nor provoked my return?"

.

VI. (ARTHUR POV)

("What are you doing here, then? If you neither cured me through the lake nor provoked my return?")

Merlin seems to hesitate - looking embarrassed?

"I was waiting. Since you- I've been waiting for you."

And this just doesn't make sense.

"Why would you think I would, I could, ever come back, if I was...?"

"There is a prophecy, Arthur. So you were to return, in order to fullfill it."

"A prophecy?"

Arthur is stunned shocked. He had expected some malicious sorcery at work and Merlin having heard of it and come over - it would have made sense; and it would have given him the opportunity to fight, if not to save then at least to honour his lost people. But Fate? How is he supposed to make Fate pay? And what is Its intent to begin with? A prophecy about him? Arthur feels powerless. Is his life not even his own?

Then Arthur remembers the puzzling word has passed Merlin's lips once before.

(I'm sorry. I thought I'd defied the prophecy.)

So. Merlin had known about this? Before...? And had never said a word - again? Another secret Merlin has kept from him; but this time, about himself - about *his death*? It feels even worse than Merlin hiding his magic. After all, Merlin's magic concerned Merlin, indeed. But how and why could Merlin - who Arthur considered as his true friend, no matter how often he had repeated they couldn't be - keep something that concerned HIM from him? Especially something that monumental?

It hurts. Arthur wants to scream. But all that comes out is a shocked whisper:

"All those years; and you never said a word. You knew how and when I was to die; and you never said a word."

Merlin looks shattered by the accusation - but he doesn't refute it; only try to explain the unexplainable, eyes apologetic under Arthur's blaming gaze, voice so evidently full of guilt and regrets:

"Because I believed I could actually prevent it from happening, Arthur. You are the once and future king who will unite Albion and bring magic back to the land; and helping you achieve such a goal is to be my destiny. So says the prophecy. So I believed I was the one, the only one, able to prevent it from happening. And as it depended on me alone anyway, I thought I should spare you from the weight of such a burden."

Merlin lets out a deep sigh before meeting his eyes fully again, his voice turning urgent and pleading:

"What was I supposed to say? That your loved ones would turn against you? You wouldn't have believed me. And even if you had... I didn't want you to have to worry all the time and about everything. You have no idea how it feels - the infuriating and desperate helplessness; to constantly fight to stop something you constantly fear, but to see everything you ever try twist and turn against you; to realize at every corner that what you thought you understood means something entirely different; and that nothing you ever do makes a difference in the end... 'Once and future'? I used to think it meant you would win the war; take your throne back for good. Or die trying, by Mordred's hand and Morgana's will - but only if I failed. There were two stories, and I thought it was to be or/or; but it was and/and. I was such a fool, Arthur; such a blind fool. It's only when you- when you- that I understood what it truly meant as a whole."

Merlin sounds utterly sincere; not only heartbroken but even empty after his confession.

And Arthur wants to believe that Merlin's silence had been well-meant.

But Arthur can't help but feel betrayed still, lingering on the echo of yet another odd word he hadn't realized to be literal at the time.

(It's my destiny. As it has been since the day we met.)

And Arthur finally understands what he has never been able to comprehend until now. Merlin's puzzling bone-deep *devotion* to him; that dumbfounding unequivocal absolute *commitment* he has never wanted to doubt nor question. Well; it turns out it has in fact little to do with him... He is just a mean to an end, right? Arthur can't help but replay their shared years through his head now with this new knowledge; and it all slashes through him like a double treachery. Arthur can't even tell what feels the worst:

Did I ever know you at all?

Do you even like me at all?

'I want you to always be you', he had said - and he had meant it: the magic, all in all, had only been an addition to who Merlin was. But this? This isn't a simple revelation. This feels like a revolution - a definitive, shattering change. And it hurts, losing Merlin; even though he's right in front of him. Does the person he had always believed Merlin to be even exist? Yet another grief, on top of his fresh mourning for everyone and everything he's lost...

Arthur's hands turn into fists at his sides to suppress his urge to snarl.

"So that's why you came to Camelot. For me to bring magic back."

"What? No! I had no idea- My mother hoped Gaius might be able to guide me: I had questions, about my magic, and-"

Merlin seems honestly surprised - and appalled - by his train of thoughts; at once standing and coming closer in his urge to explain. But Arthur moves away, keeping distance between them. He cannot trust anymore in his abilities to see straight through Merlin without further information. He has never seen straight through Merlin, apparently.

"When did you hear about it then?"

"A few days after I had arrived in Camelot", Merlin confesses right away; eyes pleading, definitely understanding the terrible weight of his words yet obviously choosing to come clean - but not moving closer this time, knowing it would only be rejected.

And it's here, again; in those little things. The way Merlin not only respects his boundaries, but respects them *even at his own expense*. The way Merlin has kept so much hidden, and for so long; yet can't actually tell a lie right to his face when asked for the outright truth, even to save his own skin. It cannot be pretense, right? On the one hand, Merlin's face tells him all he needs to know. But on the other hand, Arthur still needs more answers, and he commands them.

"Who told you?" (Not Gaius, right? Please; not Gaius.)

"Kilgarrah."

"Kilga- who?" Arthur is honestly puzzled. He surely never heard of someone with such a name in Camelot.

"The dragon your father kept prisoner under the castle."

"What are you speaking about?" Arthur doesn't let Merlin time to answer though, cutting him once more as he opens his mouth - collateral information must wait for later, when faced with such an enormity. "No matter; one treacherous beast just said (can dragons even talk?) *this nonsense*, and you believed it? It's insane!"

"The druids spoke about it too."

"That's even more insane! Why would the druids trust- They hated Camelot. They hated me."

"They didn't. Not all of them, at least. (helpless sigh) Anyway, the prophecy is truth, Arthur. Your return is proof of it. You were to rise again; when Albion's need would be greatest. And you just did, Arthur. You just did."

The words stab through Arthur, making him see red. So Arthur cannot be softened by the evident not only wonder but even joy in Merlin's voice and eyes and everything. It comes out in a roar.

"My people needed me! What need can ever be greater than that responsability!"

Silence falls, all the more shattering after his outburst.

But Merlin has heard his need for an answer, and so he gives him one - even if it's none; shaking his head in helplessness, voice breaking and eyes begging:

"I do not know, Arthur."

Merlin is nothing but obviously caring, and sorry - sorry for him; holding his gaze with only patience and commiseration - hurt about his hurt, regrets about his regrets, and helplessness about his helplessness.

And somehow, having to see Merlin's hurt and regrets and helplessness feels worse - worse than his own hurt and regrets and helplessness, somehow: because the pain on Merlin's features is his own doing, again - even though Arthur has sworn to himself only moments ago never to hurt Merlin that badly anew; and even though Arthur knows that none of the injustice he feels is Merlin's fault to start with, if everything had already been written in the stars anyway. Arthur now feels guilty for having lashed out.

Besides, Arthur knows his rage cannot and will not change a thing, sadly. Even Merlin's supposedly unparalleled magic is powerless, obviously. So. His whole purpose, his reason to be, has simply vanished. The desperate rage finally turns into crushing grief, the shout into a devastated whisper.

"The only destiny I ever wished for was to be the King Camelot needed. And now Camelot is gone."

"No."

The fiery professed word brings his attention back to Merlin - Arthur hasn't been expecting an answer; it hasn't been a question. Merlin shakes his head, a clear denial; and then kneels down on one knee, all reverent, head bowed down.

"For as long as I draw breath, Camelot still stands, Arthur. I may have grown up in Ealdor, but you have always been and will always be my King."

The words ring nothing but deeply heartfelt. But to Arthur, they only feel infuriating. Merlin officially bowing to him off formal ceremonial occasions makes him sick. Because surely Merlin is deferent in any way but not that one, especially when it's just the two of them. And most of all, because this is fake and wrong. Arthur wouldn't tolerate even for the most helpless person to bow to him simply because he should to start with; so the greatest warlock to walk the Earth, the most powerful being alive probably? The idea isn't only ludicrous, it's simply nauseating.

"Because a prophecy says that you were 'born to serve me'?", Arthur can't help but spit out, knowing now how literally Merlin had meant those words. It is not enough. It could never be enough. Arthur lets out a deep sigh though at the edge he couldn't keep out from his tone, realising in fact and no matter what, he is more angry at Merlin's Fate than at Merlin himself. How come Merlin isn't enraged too, to start with? He is just as much a puppet of Fate as he is, isn't he? "Get up Merlin; this is ridic-"

"Because I wouldn't change a thing, Arthur", Merlin exclames, cutting him mid-sentence. And it is not often indeed that Merlin actually raises his voice in anger at him; and it startles Arthur silent.

Arthur has crossed a line, apparently. The most startling though is to realize that Merlin's lines aren't about himself (he sure never looked angry over buckets full of cold water over his head or anything): they're about Arthur - once about Arthur creeping around in the woods unprotected for example; now about Arthur misreading him. Merlin's eyes are now boring into his, nothing but fierce and ardent; even though his voice turns again gentle and even adamant:

"You are not my King because of a prophecy. You are my King *in spite* of it. I grew up wondering why I was born with the abilities I had, indeed. But when I was told... Believe me, I really didn't want it to be true; at least, you bet I didn't want it to be *about you*. But then... I got to see what you were truly made of; who you really were. And everything I've ever done since then has always been for and because of you. That's why my magic is for you; and only for you, Arthur. Not because I am supposed to; but because I want to. Because I believe in you. And if my destiny is to be of any help to you then I am proud of it indeed - because I am proud of you."

As always, Merlin just sounds sincere, radiating unwavering loyalty; and Arthur is baffled. Can it still be true, despite it all?

"Please get up, Merlin," Arthur repeats, this time more gently.

"Not yet."

Stubborn - as always, again. It would make Arthur smile if it didn't feel so heartbreaking.

But then, Merlin lowers his gaze once more as his hand moves about his collar, and Merlin is presenting him with Camelot's ruler's ring, holding it out.

"Here. Gwen had what is rightly yours - according to each soul in Camelot - sent to me; so that I could give it back to you on your return."

And Arthur is paralyzed. It means so much. But he cannot take it. It is both too much and not enough. And more importantly: he has no right to - he has let his people down.

"Please, Sire."

And Arthur hears the word exactly for what it is. 'Sire' had used to be his official appellation in Merlin's language in their beginning ('My Lord' being restricted for sarcastic comments since its first use). But its meaning has grown over time - as Arthur had let simply his first name or nothing at all become the norm between them - and Merlin only uses it now on special occasions: whenever Arthur needs an extra boost in confidence and Merlin feels like insisting on his allegiance to him. Some things apparently truly never change.

"It doesn't have to be for me; nor for you."

He's transparent to Merlin, isn't he? Always has been, probably. It doesn't feel worrying though. It is a gift, to have someone who understands him that intrinsically.

"It is the wish of your people. Take back your ring. Wear it with pride. For the love of Camelot."

And how could Arthur deny this? The rallying cry is deep embedded in his soul, indeed - and he would never turn it down. No matter his guilt or inadequacy, Arthur will honor his people's will.

"For the love of Camelot."

Arthur finally takes the ring from Merlin's hand and puts it on.

/

AN:

I swear, those two will be the end of me. Everything about them is so LOADED, and it hurts :( Their shared history is heavy. Merlin's lonesome centuries are heavy. Arthur losing in a wink his reason for being is heavy. I'll never rest until they get some happiness, they just deserve it :(

Also, please don't be angry at Arthur. He's not at his best in this bit, I agree; but his purpose for being alive is gone for good and he's supposed to be all right 'because it's meant to be'? He has a lot to go through, and it is a lot to take in. So remember two chapters ago. Arthur isn't good with talking about feelings; but he's brave, and when it matters, he speaks - and he actually said A LOT to Merlin then, for someone usually emotionnally constipated who expresses his affection by throwing punches, right...

.

VII. (ALTERNATE POV)

Merlin sadly but undeniably beams at him - and still doesn't seem willing yet to stand up. So Arthur gets down - sitting on the ground instead of commanding Merlin up once more. It's the result that matters anyway: to get them both on the same level. And it works, Merlin finally quitting bowing down to simply sit too.

Arthur focuses for some time on the ring back around his finger, and finally exhales:

"I was unnecessarily harsh, wasn't I?"

And he knows Merlin hears it for the apology it is - and accepts it:

"It's all right, Arthur. I realize it is a lot to take in."

And somehow reassured by Merlin's understanding, Arthur finally dares to ask:

"Will you tell me - what happened?"

Arthur can't help but hold his breath - his loved ones being long dead is bad enough; Arthur isn't sure he could deal with learning that the circumstances of their deaths had been bad too...

/

Merlin feels stabbed in the heart. Because of the swift cut from his own pain at his losses - still, no matter how long ago. And because he can read not only Arthur's pain but also Arthur's fear in Arthur's features.

So Merlin hurries to give Arthur both a firm nod and a fragile but positive smile - a silent soothing promise that it is not the worst, at least:

"I can even *show* you; if you want. Share my memories?"

It's out before Merlin had time to weigh the pros and cons; but Merlin won't back off. Sharing his memories implies sharing how he feels about them - and Merlin of course doesn't want Arthur to get more hurt in the process. But sharing his memories brings an added level of truth and certainty and knowledge to what only words ever could - and Merlin's priority right now is simply to make sure Arthur never gets to wonder about how much he might have edulcorated the past in his retelling.

Arthur starts breathing again, but still has to ask for confirmation, in probably the tiniest voice Merlin ever heard from his King: "They aren't bad, right?"

And Merlin just knows what he should mention first; what Arthur fears the most:

"Gwen lived a full life, and brought Camelot his golden age in your name."

Arthur seems to absorb the information. And then, he smiles - a smile both fond and proud:

"I always knew she would be the greatest Queen."

Arthur meets Merlin's eyes again; sad, of course, but assured:

"I'd like to see, then."

"All right."

Merlin moves closer, extending a hand towards Arthur's forehead, explaining:

"We'll have to be connected. And you must close your eyes."

Arthur studies his eyes a moment - not his hand; then gives a nod, doing as requested. Merlin presses his hand against Arthur's skin; not even taking the time to relish on its welcome warmth - alive! alive! - before plunging inwards.

/

Merlin focuses on Gwen, and there she is.

"I understand why you need to stay here. But please don't become a stranger?"

And so Merlin had taken a pebble from the ground and had enchanted it before giving it to Gwen. If she held it in her hands, they could communicate through their minds.

And that's why Merlin can show to Arthur how she reigned - or, in fact, not. She soon took the title of First Guardian instead of Queen, taking care of Camelot until the return of its true ruler, and ruled Camelot with her Concil of Knights. One guardian in waiting was elected right away, and then every five years, by and from Camelot's commoners, both to assist and to be trained as next Guardian, so that there would always be continuity by people aware of the kingdom's affairs in case Gwen would suddenly disappear. The new Concil Knights were chosen by all Knights from the Knights ranks whenever a Concil Knight had to be replaced. The First Knight (Sir Leon had been the first of course) was elected by his fellow Concil Knights. The next Guardian was to be chosen from and by the guardians in waiting. Everyone admired Gwen's natural grace, intelligence and gentle heart. She was a just and concerned ruler, and her people thrived to be worthy of her. Merlin had placed magicals protections on Camelot's borders, so attacks were rare, and never a surprise. There were winters harder than others, and summers harder than others; but all in all, life in Camelot was good.

His last memory of Gwen still brings tears to his eyes.

"I'm sorry I have to leave you too, my dear old friend; but my time is coming to an end. I can feel it, Merlin. This is our last conversation. And I thank you, for all you did for Camelot, for all I know you will continue doing for Camelot, and most of all, for being here for Arthur, when he finally returns."

Merlin needs a pause.

Arthur is crying silent tears when Merlin cuts their connection.

/

Arthur doesn't know how to deal with the force of it all. He hadn't realized he would not only see but FEEL Merlin's thoughts as clearly as his own - nor that Merlin's feelings would be as conflicted as hiw own.

Because Arthur feels relieved, from what he saw: Guinevere had been well, indeed. And Arthur is grateful, and amazed, and proud, and grateful, again, for all she accomplished, indeed. But he can't help but ponder about what he didn't get to see - or better said, to hear: her laugh.

"Was she happy?"

Merlin confirms his doubt, making a face and hesitating before answering; and Arthur can't help but wince.

"Happiness comes in all sorts, Arthur. After all that had happened... But all in all, she was *content*, I believe. Satisfied about what she had achieved, about her people living in peace and prosperity. It brought her joy, and fullfillment. You know she was always happy for anyone being happy. That counts too, Arthur."

"She never remarried?"

"She didn't."

And Arthur's first emotion at Merlin's words is guilt.

"I've doomed her, haven't I? My love for her trapped her into becoming this resplendissant but melancolic Queen." She had been his Queen, and she would always be his Queen, no matter the title she had chosen to wear.

"No. Her love for you."

"I let her down."

"It was neither your fault nor your wish to begin with, Arthur; she knew that."

"But I did it all the same. I had sworn to take care of her; and I didn't."

Arthur can't help but let out a huge sigh.

"She would have been happier with Lancelot, wouldn't have she? If only they had escape-"

/

Merlin's heart definitely cracks at the honesty in Arthur's words. Because Arthur loves Gwen that much indeed - to put her first; even if too late. And because Arthur's remorse is only wishful thinking anyway.

"It wasn't Lancelot at the time, Arthur."

"What do you mean?"

"Lancelot had passed behind the veil, and never came out of it. It was a shade, an empty shell brought back and controlled by Morgana to tear you apart. Remember how he was different? So Gaius and I checked. It wasn't Lancelot."

/

Again, Arthur doesn't know how to deal with this new information.

On the one hand, it makes sense, indeed. Lancelot loved Guinevere; had always loved Guinevere - Arthur had realized in retrospect after his Knight's death. But he was nothing but honorable to start with. The Lancelot he knew wouldn't have tried to...

On the other hand, if it hadn't been real, why hadn't Merlin explained it? Merlin had known Arthur had felt guilty for being the reason for Lancelot's death - again. Merlin had known Arthur had blamed Guinevere, even as he had missed her.

But Arthur understands, eventually.

Because it didn't change anything in the end.

Arthur was still the reason for Lancelot's first (and only) death. And Guinevere still loved Lancelot to start with. Arthur had realized that too, long before then - as she had mourned his passing. Knowing bad magic had been involved explained why things had actually happened - Lancelot wasn't Lancelot and Guinevere was enchanted - but it didn't erase the reason things happened from...

Still, it mattered.

Because even if it didn't change the reason, it had taken away Guinevere's choice in the matter, hadn't it? Arthur had accepted not once but twice that he was her second best. Because he loved her. And because she loved him - Arthur had never doubted her love, even though knowing 'With all my heart' meant 'With all there is left of my heart to give'. So Arthur had chosen to forgive her, of course; but he had blamed her, at first. And he knows Guinevere had always blamed herself. But knowing now what he knows? Arthur believes there would have been nothing to blame her(self) for, if no magic had been at play. Even if Lancelot had been real and she had chosen Lancelot over him? She would have told him, before, instead of...

"Did you ever tell her?"

"Yes."

"Thank you."

.

AN:

It's canon after all magical beings *can* communicate through their minds. Merlin is just powerful enough to create such a link even with not magical persons, bear with me. I mean - he could even communicate with Lancelot's mind after his death, right ! (so no, no, no, this has nothing to do with me being too a Trekkie in love with mind melds...)

Also: I have a lot of feelings about how BBC butchered my heart with 4.09 (and their lousy treatment of its aftermath) and it shows, sorry?

[verybisexualwriter]

The Sorcerer And The King (merthur)

This fic I wrote was really just an idea that wouldn't leave me alone. I kept thinking about what would happen if Morgana never went evil? If Uther died of natural causes? If Arthur knew about Merlin's magic? So I wrote it. Hope you enjoy!

Arthur felt so stupid for letting Merlin go off on his own. Sure, he was only going less than a mile from camp, but he wasn't a servant anymore, he was the court sorcerer and the royal consort. He didn't have to wash everyone's dishes. But of course, Merlin insisted upon doing it and doing it alone. So Arthur and the knights sat around the fire, watching Morgana's magical hand puppets and laughing like small children. Until they heard a sudden commotion, quickly followed by a piercing scream. “Merlin!” Arthur cried, instantly drawing his sword as he ran in the direction of the scream. Morgana followed, her eyes already glowing a fierce gold. Gwaine, Leon, and Percival followed quickly behind her.

By the time they got there all they found were empty, half cleaned dishes and a small fire, still burning bright. “I'm going after him,” Arthur announced coldly, already heading back for his horse. Morgana quickly grabbed his arm, her thin fingers wrapped firmly around his upper wrist.

“Arthur, we've no clue where he's heading and there's not enough of us for a search party,” she explained.

“That doesn't matter!” Arthur booked.

Leon finally spoke up. “Sire, I believe lady Morgana has a point,” he tried softly, “if we go back to Camelot we can gather the rest of the knights, perhaps even some volunteers. We can cover more ground with more people.”

Arthur sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Unfortunately, I know you're right. We'll ride back to Camelot.”

The knights quickly mounted their horses and began the long journey back to Camelot. Arthur refused to stop and set up camp, though he seemed to be searching every inch of the woods for something.

As soon as they got back Arthur began sending out groups of three knights, sending them as far out as he could manage. He was planning on leading a group himself, but Gwen and Morgana stood between him and the door out of his chambers. “Arthur, I know you how much you care about Merlin, but you still have a kingdom to run,” Gwen tried.

“You clearly don't know how much I care about Merlin! I only told him I love him a month ago! I will not rest until he's found!”

Morgana rested a hand on her brother's shoulder, sighing softly. “I can't prevent you from worrying, but I can tell you that if whoever took him wanted to kill him, we'd know by now.”

Arthur sighed, quickly brushing a single tear off his cheek.

“And I can most certainly tell you that Merlin isn't the type to give up easily. He'll fight as hard as he can to get back to you,” Gwen added, her eyes never leaving Arthur's, “and he can't come back to you if you die searching for him. He'd want you to stay here, taking care of Camelot. We all know that.”

Arthur finally gave in. “You two are right. Merlin would want me here. But if there's any sign of him, I'm going out there.”

The two women smiled. “I'll be leading my own group, and know I'll be the first to tell you if I see anything,” Morgana promised.

“Speaking of, you'd better go or Gwaine and Percival might leave you here,” Gwen teased.

“Like they'd last a second without me,” Morgana giggled, pecking Gwen on her cheek before grabbing her sword and hurrying out. Arthur, even in his horribly depressed state, couldn't help but bite back a smile. Gwen and Morgana we're perfect together.

A week went by painfully slowly, and each day a different group sent Arthur a message via carrier pigeon, but everyone came up empty. Until Leon came riding up to the castle gates one morning, his companions nowhere to be found. Arthur ran out to meet him. “Leon! What's going on? Have you found him? Where's sir Gregory? Lady Eva?”

“Their still stationed in the forest. But I returned because… we think Merlin's still alive.”

“Truly?” Arthur asked, his blue eyes suddenly becoming two shades brighter.

“Yes, but you may need to sit down for this,” Leon warned.

“Leon, I'm the king, I can handle whatever it is you have for me.”

With a shaking hand, Leon handed Arthur a tiny bundle of red material. Arthur instantly recognized Merlin's neckerchief and tore it open. He almost threw up.

Inside the pouch was a bloodcaked, cold, human eyeball. A sky blue eye that Arthur instantly recognized as Merlin's. Suddenly, horror became a toxic mixture of rage and deep concern. “Where did you find this?” He asked, his voice cold and emotionless.

“Two miles east of the Gold River, lady Eva and sir Gregory are searching the entire area.” Leon explained quickly.

Without needing a word, a servant hurried to get Arthur's sword and horse. Arthur told everyone that Gwen was in charge until he returned, then mounted his horse and sped off, Leon trailing behind him. On the way back to Leon's camp, they gathered Morgana and her group, explaining what Leon had found as they rode. Morgana used her own magic to search for another magical essence, the knights riding with their swords drawn in case they came across anyone.

As soon as they got to the Gold River they began searching on foot. Morgana suddenly cried out to Arthur. “Arthur, there's magic here! I think it's Merlin, but there's someone else too,” she explained, following an invisible trail.

Arthur signaled for the other knights to stay where they were while he followed Morgana on her twisting, invisible path. “We're getting close,” Morgana mumbled, picking up the pace. Arthur followed only inches behind her as her dutiful trot turned into a full on run.

Morgana came to a sudden stop in front of the wide, jagged mouth of a cave. A sudden, sickening shriek emerged from it, and Arthur shoved past Morgana and sprinted after the sound. “MERLIN!”

Morgana chased after the king, calling after him in hushed whispers. She managed to catch up to him as he came to a screeching halt. She very quickly realized what caused him to stop so suddenly.

There was Merlin, horrifically bruised and battered, caked in blood, and supported only by the iron shackles keeping him suspended from the cave ceiling. Suddenly, Arthur snapped out of his daze and ran to Merlin. Merlin instantly flinched, his eyes squeezed shut. Arthur felt like someone stuck a hot knife in his heart and twisted it. “Merlin,” Arthur whispered, “it's me. It's Arthur.”

Slowly, Merlin opened his eyes, revealing one bloodshot blue eye and one empty, bloody socket. It took him a second, but he focused in on Arthur, then started sobbing with joy. “I-I thought you'd given up on me,” Merlin rasped softly.

Arthur smile sadly, gently cupping Merlin's freezing cheek in his calloused hand. “I'll never give up on you Merlin. Now let's get you out of here, you're cold as ice. Morgana, little help?”

Morgana hurried over, her eyes glowing gold as she wrapped her hand around the lock on Merlin's shackles, which fell open after only a second. Merlin knees instantly buckled from underneath him, but Arthur managed to catch him and gingerly lift him up into his arms. With one last suspicious glance around the cave, Morgana led the way out.

They walked as fast as Arthur could without jostling Merlin too much, getting back to the other knights in record time. Leon asked Morgana a handful of questions while Percival and Gwaine helped Arthur get Merlin onto his horse. “Don't you find it odd that no one was guarding Merlin? They went through all this trouble, then leave him alone. It doesn't add up,” Leon sighed.

“I was thinking the same thing,” Morgana replied, “we can discuss it further later. Right now, we need to get Merlin to Gaius.”

While the knights mounted their horses, Arthur pulled Merlin even closer to his chest while sitting atop his own horse. “Arth,” Merlin mumbled sleepily.

“What is it love?” Arthur whispered.

“Cold,” Merlin replied, his eyes drifting shut again.

Arthur quickly removed his cloak and wrapped it tightly around Merlin's shaking shoulders. “Better?” The king questioned softly.

Merlin nodded as he laid his head back against Arthur's shoulder. Arthur smiled and pressed a soft kiss to Merlin's forehead.

The ride was long, as Arthur insisted upon riding slower so Merlin wasn't jostled too much, but they managed to make it back just after sundown. Arthur quickly carried Merlin down to Gaius’ chambers, but Gaius refused to let Arthur stay while he took care of Merlin, insisting that he go rest. Arthur sighed and rolled his eyes, but stomped upstairs to his chambers.  

Morgana returned to her chambers immediately after they got back, flopping down into a chair in full armor. Gwen smiled from her perch on the bed before standing and scurrying over to Morgana. “I heard you found Merlin,” Gwen purred, gently peeling off Morgana's chainmail, “how is he?”

“Honestly? He looks awful,” Morgana sighed, “but I think he'll pull through, his energy is still very strong.”

A smile tugged at the corners of Gwen's lips as she knelt in front of Morgana to help her out of her boots. Morgana smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of Gwen's head.

Meanwhile, Arthur was pacing nervously in his quarters. He wasn't sure how long he'd been pacing, but he didn't sit down until his feet began to ache. He tried to look over some documents, read, even just start a fire; but he couldn't manage any of it. He barely managed to take off his own armor, his hands fumbling and shaking worse with each movement. A sudden knock on the door startled him, but he told whoever it was to come in.

Leon shuffled in and held the door open, and Gwaine and Percival hurried in behind him, carrying a sleeping Merlin on a stretcher. Arthur immediately stood. “How is he?”

“Gaius said he should be alright with a few weeks of rest,” Leon explained, “he wanted to bring Merlin himself, but you know how busy he gets this time of year.”

Gwaine and Leon gently transferred Merlin into Arthur's huge bed. Arthur seemed to pale when he saw all the bandages wrapped around nearly every part of Merlin's body, and Gwaine slapped his hand over Arthur's shoulder. “He's stronger than he looks, Arthur. He's going to be just fine,” Gwaine promised.

The knights quickly made their way out, and Arthur took a seat on the edge of the bed next to Merlin, gently taking the sorcerer's hand into his own. He stared down at the clean white patch of cotton secured over Merlin's empty eye socket. It made his blood boil. He wanted to go out and rip the head off whoever did this to his precious Merlin. He had just begun to stand when a low, weak groan fell from Merlin's lips. “Love? Are you awake?” Arthur asked softly.

Merlin's exposed eye slowly cracked open as he nodded wearily. He opened his mouth to speak, but Arthur hushed him before he could get a word out. “Don't speak, you need to rest,” Arthur explained as he poured Merlin a goblet of water. “Drink,” Arthur mumbled as he pressed the goblet to Merlin's busted lip.

Merlin happily obliged, quickly draining the large goblet. Arthur quickly refilled the goblet, but this time made Merlin drink from it in smaller sips. “Don't want you wetting the bed tonight,” Arthur teased. Merlin didn't even try to stop himself from laughing, and Arthur couldn't help but press a soft little kiss to the tip of Merlin's nose. A soft blush filled Merlin's pale cheeks.

Merlin patted the empty side of the bed beside him, and Arthur instantly peeled off his boots and climbed in behind Merlin. Merlin snuggled close to Arthur, his head pressed into Arthur's neck. “Are you comfortable?” Arthur mumbled.

Merlin nodded sleepily.

“Do you need anything? I can get whatever you desire.”

“A kiss,” Merlin mumbled.

Arthur chuckled. “Really, Merlin? I'm the king of Camelot, I can get anything your heart desires, yet all you want is a kiss?”

“I want nothing more than your love,” Merlin replied, leaning back to stare up into Arthur's eyes, “at least for now. Maybe I'll want some fancy foreign fruit in the morning.”

Arthur laughed as he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Merlin's lips. Merlin smiled, wrapping his arms around Arthur's neck. Arthur took that as his cue to pull Merlin in even closer, though he was careful with Merlin's injuries.

They laid like that for so long that they lost track of time. Arthur didn't even remember falling asleep, but he was suddenly jolted awake by the squirming and groaning boy beside him.

“Merlin,” Arthur murmured, gently setting a hand atop Merlin's shoulder, “Merlin, wake up.”

Merlin suddenly sat bolt upright, his eye snapping open. Arthur instinctively pulled Merlin closer, so they were lying chest to chest. Arthur gently wiped the tears from Merlin's cheek, sighing deeply. “You had a bad dream, didn't you?” Arthur asked softly.

Merlin nodded sheepishly, burying his face in Arthur's neck.

“Would you like to talk about it?” Arthur queried.

Merlin shook his head. “I'm alright,” he promised, though Arthur was looking at him as if he had three heads. “Arthur, I promise I'm alright. Just- hold me, please?”

Arthur tightened his arms around Merlin. “Anything you desire, love,” the king whispered.

A weak smile crept onto Merlin's face.

[bananagator]

A Role to Play

Series: Rage of Bahamut: Virgin Souls

Characters: Azazel, Kaisar Lidfard, Rita, Favaro Leone, Nina, Mugaro, and Rocky

A/N: A silly mini-fic AU wherein Kaisar attempts to help out Azazel with his relationship problems, but he might not have the best solution...

Kaisar saw Azazel leaning up against a stone wall.  Further down in the slums was a similar wall that had, for reasons unknown, been demolished, but Kaisar had only wondered at it in passing. 

“Hey, Azazel!!” Kaisar called out.  The demon had his back to Kaisar and didn’t react to being hailed.  “Azazel!!” Kaisar said again as he got closer.  Still no response from the demon.  He didn’t even turn.  Kaisar quirked his brow and trotted up to Azazel.  “Hey, Azazel!!” he said, clapping the demon on the shoulder this time.  Strangely, particles of what looked like dust came loose under Kaisar’s hand as Azazel gave a start of violent surprise.  His head snapped up, turned, mouth already open to yell at whoever had grabbed him.

“Wh--” he started to demand before seeing Kaisar.  Annoyance crossed his features and he said, “Oh, it’s just you? What the hell do you want?”

“It’s good to see you, Azazel,” Kaisar said, not being at all bothered by Azazel’s rude attitude.  Although perhaps it was more accurate to say he was simply used to it.  “Well, I called out to you a few times just now.  Didn’t you hear me?”  His hand was still on Azazel’s shoulder.  Upon realizing this Azazel scowled and smacked Kaisar’s hand away and upsetting more particles of dust.

“Don’t touch me.”

“I’m sorry.  But more importantly why are you covered in dust?” Kaisar asked.  “Did... something happen?”

Azazel scowled and stomped his feet as he turned his back to Kaisar.  “It’s none of your business!! Nothing happened, so just go away.”

Kaisar didn’t go away.  Instead he said, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I told you, nothing happened, weren’t you listening?!”

“It’s just that... a minute ago when I called out to you...  You looked like something was on your mind.  That’s why you didn’t respond, right? Forgive me if I’m over-stepping, but you seemed troubled by it.  So if there’s anything I can do for you...  I’m here to help.”

“Tch.  You’re so nosy,” Azazel muttered.  He crossed his arms.  Most people would have taken the obvious hint to leave.  Then again, most people wouldn’t have approached the “Rag Demon” in the first place.  Kaisar, however, didn’t take the hint.  He rarely did.  Azazel shut his eyes, hoping to hear the sound of retreating footsteps.  Kaisar waited.  Azazel’s finger began tapping.  Tap, tap tap, tap.  The rhythm of his finger increased speed.  Azazel’s brows creased, his teeth began to hurt from how hard he was locking his jaw, and pressure like steam from a tea kettle began building.  At last his eyes flew open, and he made the mistake of whirling towards Kaisar, who was, infuriatingly, still there.

“Are you still here?!” he demanded.  Then he made eye contact with Kaisar and felt a foreign sensation not unlike being pierced with arrows.  Kaisar’s eyes were soft and gentle.  They gazed upon Azazel with a deeply heartfelt concern.  The demon couldn’t stand those abominable eyes.  Azazel used to think Kaisar was trying to make a fool of him, to look down on him, or worse, to pity him.  However, the more the demon encountered Kaisar, the more he began to realize the truth: Kaisar was simply an empathetic person by nature.  That’s just how he was.  Kaisar wasn’t being condescending, not on purpose at any rate.  The human was probably physically incapable of condescension.

Azazel’s face twisted as though he’d just bitten into a particularly sour fruit.  Kaisar’s eyes seemed to see inside him, and the demon hated the sensation of being so exposed.  Azazel glanced away.  For a long moment he said nothing.

“Alright, fine.  You’re so annoying, you’d probably keep on pestering me.  But if you tell anyone else, I’ll kill you.  Got it?”

“On my honor as a knight, I will keep all that you tell me strictly between the two of us.”  Kaisar placed his fist over his heart as he spoke.  “You have my word.”

Azazel resisted the urge to roll his eyes.  He mulled over the jumble of thoughts in his mind.  At last he said, “It’s about Nina.”

“Nina?” Kaisar repeated.  “Is something wrong with Nina? She’s not in any danger is she?!”

“Hn, no more than she is normally, I suppose.”

“Then...”

Azazel was already starting to regret having spoken.  He scowled.  He opened and shut his mouth a few times, unsure what to say.  Frustration began building up in him again. 

Kaisar thought.  “Did you want to talk to Nina about something?”

“No!! I don’t know!!” Azazel snapped.  “She doesn’t make any sense!!” he said as he gestured wildly with his arms.  Kaisar was taken aback.  “I mean, what’s her problem anyway?!” Azazel continued heatedly.  “One minute she’s begging, ‘Hug me!! Hug me!!’ and the next thing you know--” Azazel paused.  “I did what she wanted again, but she punched me that time!! Nina is crazy!! What does she even eat to get that strong?!“

All Kaisar could manage to say was, “Is that what the dust is from?”

“Oh, this? Yeah she punched me into a wall.  Again.”

“Again?” Kaisar said faintly.

“Yeah, can you believe the nerve of her?! She was the one who was all over me from the beginning.  I don’t get what’s going on in her mind.”

“Hmm...  So if I’m understanding this correctly, you’re feeling frustrated because Nina is sending you mixed signals?”

“You could say that again.  Women don’t make any sense.”

“Maybe if you talk to her about it, she’ll--”

“Hell no.  She'd probably punch me again.”

Kaisar frowned and rubbed his chin.  He thought hard, and then a nebulous idea began to formulate.  He looked up and stared at Azazel.

“What’s that look for?” Azazel asked suspiciously.

“Well, I think I have an idea that might be able to help you out,” Kaisar said.

“Forget it,” Azazel said.  “Your ideas are always terrible.”

“Just hear me out,” Kaisar protested.  He paused.  “Maybe...  If you recreate the situation you had with Nina, I might be able to understand what you're doing that’s causing her to punch you.”

“Are you saying this is somehow my fault?!“ Azazel cried in rage.

“Calm down.  I just want to grasp the situation better, that’s all.”

“Hmph.  You say that, but how am I supposed to recreate the situation with Nina by myself?”

“Oh, uh...” Kaisar thought.  Then he said, “Um, well...  Maybe...  Maybe I can pretend to be Nina?”

Azazel stared at him.  “Are you stupid?”

“Eh?! What’s wrong with my idea?”

“Everything about it!! You don’t even look like Nina or anything.”

“Just use your imagination!!” Azazel made a face, but Kaisar grabbed hold of Azazel by the shoulders and said, “Look, just....  If I was Nina, and you saw me right now, what would you do? Act naturally and try to do what you did when you met Nina before.  Okay, so I’ll stand over here, and you do your thing.”

Azazel still looked skeptical.  His face scrunched up and tried, really tried, to pretend Kaisar was Nina.  “I can’t do this,” he protested after a long moment.

“Do you have any better ideas?! This is the only way if you don’t want to talk to Nina directly.”

“Fine, fine, just stop talking, it’s throwing me off.”  Azazel’s brow twitched.  Kaisar stood near the wall pretending he hadn’t noticed Azazel.  The demon felt his heart thud against his chest from embarrassment.  He coughed and walked up to Kaisar.  He slammed his hand against the wall next to Kaisar’s head.

“Hey!! Kai-- uh, I mean, N-Nina...!!”  Azazel felt stupid but forged onward.  “Where the hell were you?! You promised to meet me!!”

“Eh?” Kaisar looked up.  His long lashes fluttered.  Azazel twitched.  There it was again, that look from those infuriating eyes, so soft, delicate.  Vulnerable.  Azazel forgot to breathe momentarily, to remember what he was supposed to be doing.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Kai-- I mean, Nina!!” Azazel said.  He leaned closer to Kaisar, who shifted back against the stone wall.  “F-Forget it, there’s no time to wait around anymore!!”  Azazel hesitated.  Then he reached out and grabbed hold of Kaisar by the shoulders, felt sure he was only imagining the way Kaisar’s breath seemed to catch in that moment.  He pulled Kaisar up against his chest.

“Azazel...?” Kaisar sighed, almost breathlessly.  Azazel swallowed and let his arms slip around Kaisar.  He rested his chin on Kaisar’s shoulder, which was only possible because Kaisar was much closer to Azazel’s height than Nina.  Azazel shut his eyes, found himself yearning for that transformation, knowing it would never happen, that it was too late, and that the cost had been too steep a price to pay.  And it was all his fault.  Azazel found himself not wanting to let go.  Then he remembered.  The bodies of his kind, the shock on their faces as they had met their end...

Azazel shoved Kaisar back without warning.  His lips pressed together.

“Azazel?” Kaisar asked softly.  The demon pulled him back into his embrace.

“Shut up,” he said quietly.  “This isn’t working...”  Kaisar felt a pang in his heart.  The intensity on Azazel’s face seemed too real, too full of hurt, and Kaisar reciprocated the hug.  Azazel pushed Kaisar back again, less forcefully.

“Kaisar...” he said.   “I have no other choice...”  He tilted Kaisar’s chin back with his finger and thumb; the knight felt a bead of sweat slide down his jawline.  Kaisar’s eyes were wide, and he forgot to speak.  Azazel’s mind swirled with a maelstrom of thoughts that blurred into nothing. 

“Wh--”  Kaisar started to say, tried to say.  He wasn’t sure if any sound was coming out.  Azazel leaned in closer...  closer... He shut his eyes, and his brows furrowed in concentration.  Azazel’s lips hovered with uncertainty before they pressed against Kaisar’s own.  Kaisar stood rooted in place, a faint blush creeping across his face.  Azazel’s eyes flew open and stared at Kaisar in what was unmistakably horror.  He drew back.

“You were supposed to punch me,” Azazel hissed.  The sensation of his breath against Kaisar’s lips tingled just slightly.

“Why...  would I do that.. ?” Kaisar heard himself ask numbly.

“You idiot!!” Azazel said in growing agitation.  “I told you already, this is the part where Nina punches me!!”

“You didn’t say that!!”

“Yes, I did!!”

“Well, how was I supposed to know?! Besides I didn’t expect you to kiss me!! You told me you hugged Nina, not that you kissed her!!”

“It was an accident, okay?!” Azazel said.

“How did you accidentally kiss her?!”

“Not her, I meant you!!”

“What?!” Kaisar gasped. 

Before either of them could say anything more, they heard a cough.

“Ahem.  Well, you two sure are having fun, aren’t you?”

Both of them were sweating bullets as they turned to look behind them.  Standing there was Rita.  Azazel and Kaisar’s jaws dropped open.

“R-Rita?!”

“W-W-What are you-- How long have you been standing there?!”

“Long enough,” she said.  Although her expression did not seem to change from its customary poker-face, the corners of her mouth twitched upward.

“Wait, wait, wait!!” Azazel said.  “This isn’t what it looks like!!”

“It’s not?” she said in amusement.  Azazel was too agitated to realize he still had one hand against the wall by Kaisar’s head and was standing far closer to him than would be considered normal.

“We were just, uh, that is...”

“I’m happy for you two.  Love is a wonderful thing.”

“You damn brat!!” Azazel shouted.  “I told you it’s not what it looks like!!”

“Yeah, I was just helping him,” Kaisar said, unthinkingly.  Azazel groaned.

“Don’t listen to what this idiot says,” Azazel insisted.  “Nothing is going on between us!!”

“Yet you kissed him for a long moment just now,” Rita said. 

Azazel blanched at her words.  Kaisar’s face was decidedly pinker.

“That’s a little close for a casual conversation, don’t you think?” Rita added.  Azazel turned back towards Kaisar, their noses almost touching, and let out a cry of alarm.  He shoved away from the wall as though he’d been scalded.  Kaisar for his part remained against the wall as though he was still pinned by  Azazel’s body.  Azazel fumed and let out a string of incoherent sounds.

“We should have a celebration for the occasion,” Rita said.  She turned and started heading back.

“Wait!! What occasion?! Get the hell back here!!” Azazel shouted.  She didn’t listen, of course.  “Great, this is just great,” he growled when she was out of their sight.  He turned on Kaisar and snapped, “I knew I shouldn’t have listened to your stupid idea!! This is all your fault!! Come on, let’s go!!”

“Go? Go where?” Kaisar asked.

“Isn’t it obvious, you fool?! We have to hurry and stop her from blabbing about this to the others!!”

“Oh.  Y-Yeah...”

“You’re too slow on foot, so get over here.  I’ll fly us back.”  Kaisar was in far too much a daze to argue.  He approached, and Azazel grabbed him impatiently.

“Wait, Azazel,” Kaisar said suddenly.

“What now?!”

“You still have a little bit of dust in your hair...” Kaisar reached up and carefully brushed off the remnants of debris.  “There...”  Kaisar gave a small smile and didn’t notice Azazel’s mouth was hanging open.

“Would you quit wasting my time on useless stuff?!” Azazel snapped again.  “You’re so annoying.”

“But I didn’t want any of that dust to get in your eyes--” Kaisar started to say before Azazel’s wings flared out and launched them into the sky like a rocket.

--

Azazel and Kaisar ran inside the hideout only to be greeted by everyone grinning at them.  How Rita had managed to get back first was a mystery, however, the damage was done.  Kaisar was bent over double trying to catch his breath, and Azazel’s shoulders heaved from the exertion of flying so fast but mostly because he was worked up.

“Oh, hey!! There they are!!”

“Welcome back, love birds.”

“L-Love b--” Azazel gasped in outrage.

Favaro slid up to Kaisar and cuffed him around the neck heartily.  Kaisar let out a “hurk” as Favaro yanked him upward.  He grinned his biggest grin and said, “Hey, Kaisar!! You sly dog, you!! I’m so happy for you!! I mean, Azazel’s not the choice I’d have gone with in a million years, or like, ever, but you’re my friend and I support your decision all the way!!”

“Wai-- Favaro!! It’s not what y--!!” Kaisar protested, half-choked by his friend’s muscular arm.

Mugaro smiled quietly.

“So? How long have you guys been romantically involved? Been keeping it a secret long? When were you two planning on telling us?!” Nina’s eyes sparkled.

“No!! Wrong!!” Azazel roared.  Kaisar, being choked by Favaro, couldn’t get a word in edgewise.

“No need to be shy,” Rita said.  “Everyone supports your relationship.”

“You damn brat!!” Azazel breathed.  “I’ll get you back for this...”

“Oh, I see,” Rita said.  “You’re mad because you wanted to be the ones to tell everyone in your own time.  But I figured you’re the type to not be honest with your feelings, so I did you a favor and said it first.”

“No!!”

“Let’s all celebrate with drinks!!” Favaro said, punching the air with a fist.

“Are you all really this stupid?!” Azazel yelled.  “Do you honestly believe I’d ever fall in love with that moron?!” He jabbed a finger at Kaisar.  “He’s obnoxious, always sticking his nose in my business...  I can’t stand him one bit!! He can drop dead for all I care!!”

There was a deafening silence.  Shock etched itself onto everyone’s faces.  Azazel was panting.  Favaro's arm slipped off Kaisar.  Kaisar straightened up.  The hapless demon’s brow quirked at the sudden quiet, and he realized that everyone was staring at him.

“What?” Azazel said testily.  “What’s with those looks you’re giving me? You got some kind of problem? I was only telling the truth.  It’s a wonder Kaisar hasn’t gotten himself killed already on account of how stupid he is.  It’s not my fault he’s a simpleton.”

“How horrible you are,” Rita said.  Her mortification was genuine.

“What did you just--?” Azazel said.

The others shook their heads.  Even Rocky, who was merely a severed hand, seemed to move in a manner that suggested strong disapproval.

“Man, how much of a jerk can you be?” Favaro said in disgust.  He turned to Kaisar and gently placed a hand on his shoulder.  “I’m so sorry, Kaisar.”

“Wh-- Have you all lost it?” Azazel said in irritation.  “What’s the big deal?”

Nina’s expression went from shocked to enraged.  She stomped toward Azazel.

“You stupid jerk!!” she shouted and stabbed him hard in the chest with a finger.

“Ow!! What are y--” Azazel started to say before she jabbed him again and produced another “ow” from him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“That’s my line!!” Azazel retorted.

Despite how much shorter she was than Azazel, Nina stood her ground and glared up at him.  “You know, you’ve got a real attitude problem!! I hate that about you!! You’d better hurry up and apologize to Kaisar right this minute!! How is that any way to talk to someone?!”

“Tch!! This whole mess is your fault anyway!!” Azazel growled.

“My fault?! What on earth are you talking about?!” Nina demanded.

“I wouldn’t have kissed Kaisar if it weren’t for you!!”

Rita and Favaro exchanged looks.  They were both thinking the same thing: Whoa, he really admitted it...

“What the heck is that supposed to mean?! Don’t go blaming me for your own relationship issues!! Anyway, I’m already... in...”  Nina blushed and faltered slightly before continuing, “i-in love... with someone else.  It’s got nothing to do with you and Kaisar kissing each other!!”

“Listen, you--”

“Anyway, I’m telling you to apologize to Kaisar already!!”

“Why?!”

“Are you for real?! Because you’ve seriously hurt his feelings!!” Nina said, gesturing towards Kaisar.  “Why else?! Just look at him!!”

“Huh?” Azazel looked at Kaisar and immediately regretted it.  Kaisar had been quietly watching Azazel argue with Nina, and it was only now that the demon realized what kind of expression Kaisar was wearing.  His soft, forlorn eyes gave him an appearance that was not altogether unlike that of a hurt puppy. Azazel was caught off guard by Kaisar’s evident melancholy.  The demon felt inexplicable guilt in spite of his anger regarding the situation.  The others glanced nervously back and forth between Azazel and Kaisar.

“Azazel...” Kaisar whispered.  The tension was so heavy in the room that everyone heard his voice plainly.

“Now say sorry,” Nina said, one hand on her hip. 

“Don’t order me around.”

“You need to own up to your rudeness.  And if you're dating, then--”

“How many times are you going to make me say it?! Kaisar isn’t my boyfriend, and he never was.”

Rita, Favaro, and Nina all gasped at that.

“I can’t believe you!!” Nina said furiously.  “Are you trying to break Kaisar’s heart on purpose?!”

Azazel opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, someone else beat him to it.

“Nina.  It’s okay.”  Everyone turned towards Kaisar. with wide eyes.  He had a pained smile. 

“But--!!” Nina said.

“It’s okay,” Kaisar said softly.  “Azazel... doesn’t love me.”

The words fell like a hammer in the hearts of all.  Despite the crestfallen looks on his friends’ faces, Kaisar smiled in reassurance.  His eyes were like starlight shimmering in deep, still waters.  Nobody spoke.

“I’m sorry for the misunderstanding, everyone,” Kaisar said.  “Nobody is to blame for this.  Please forget all about it.  Now, if you’ll excuse me...”  He walked down the main tunnel that led to the inner cavern chambers.  Everyone stood rooted to the spot as his footsteps faded.

“Tch.  What a nuisance,” Azazel said.  It was the wrong thing to say.

Nina whirled and let out a scream of fury as her fist smashed into Azazel’s face.  The demon went flying.  His head was the first part of his body to slam into the solid rock floor of the cavern.  Azazel’s body twisted from the sheer force and went rolling.  Each impact Azazel’s body made with the ground left sizable craters behind.  When he at last rolled to a stop, limbs akimbo, it was an outcrop of rock that stopped his trajectory.

Nina’s tiny body heaved, her eyes blazed with unbridled fury.  Her knuckles had traces of blood.  She looked moments away from breathing fire, too.

“You’re the worst,” she spat.  “I don’t know what Kaisar sees in you!!”

The only response she got was a clatter of some debris.  At any rate Azazel had his face buried in the ground and would have been hard-pressed to say anything anyway.

“Is he dead?” Favaro whispered.

“Well, if he is, I can just turn him into a zombie,” Rita said.  She and Favaro watched in morbid awe as Nina marched over to the heap that was Azazel and grabbed hold of him by one leg.  She yanked him out of the rubble and dragged his limp body across the floor to the middle of the room.  She let go of his leg where it flopped to the ground.  His butt stuck up into the air.

“I seriously can’t believe you,” Nina said quietly.  “I mean, Kaisar really cares a lot about you.  Everyone here already knows that.  You’re the only one who doesn’t get it.  I’m sure he considers you a dear friend.  Doesn’t that mean a single thing to you?”

Azazel shifted his limbs in agony.  He groaned and struggled to get up.  After a long minute he managed to sit up.  His breathing was labored.  He didn’t turn to look at them.

“Well?" Nina said.  “What have you got to say for yourself?!”

“Huff... huff..  It’s... none... of your business...”

Nina grabbed Azazel by the arm and forced him to turn.  “It is my business!! Because Kaisar is our friend!! And you were the one trying to blame me!!”

Azazel struggled to his feet.  “I’m so tired of you people trying to lecture me.”  He began to turn away.

“Wait a minute.”  It was Rita.

“What?” Azazel said glancing over at her.  “You gonna lecture me too?”

“You’re going the wrong way,” Rita said.

“Huh? What are you talking about?” Azazel asked. 

Rita pointed down the tunnel.  “You’re supposed to be going that way.”

“What for?”

“You must have hit your head too hard.  Did you forget? You still need to go and apologize to Kaisar.”

“Why the hell should I?!” Azazel said.  Rita’s eyebrows slanted down.  A zombie arm that launched itself at Mach speed and pulverized Azazel in the face let him know exactly why.  He finally took the hint and limped down the tunnel without another word of protest.

--

Azazel cautiously slipped into the room where he found Kaisar sitting on the makeshift bed.  He stood before him awkwardly.  Kaisar half-glanced up at him.

“I’m sorry, Azazel,” he said.  The demon opened and shut his mouth.  He was entirely unsure how to react to this.  After all, he was the one who was being forced to apologize.

“What’s with that?” Azazel muttered.  “Rita’s the one who had to go run her mouth about us.  She just likes to mess with me.  That damn...”

“Do you want to sit down?” Kaisar asked.  Azazel looked around the room in bafflement as though there was anyone else Kaisar could possibly be asking that question.  Kaisar had already shifted to make space for him. 

“W-Whatever,” Azazel muttered and sat down heavily.  Fwumph! A puff of fresh dust rose up.  He let out an involuntary sigh.  His protesting body was in much need of rest.  He shut his eyes.  For once Kaisar was silent, for which the demon was grateful.  His head already hurt enough as is.  It was rare to have a moment of relative peace.  Without opening his eyes the demon broke the silence at last.  “Sorry,” he said abruptly.

“It’s okay.”

“What a pain in the ass...”

“I’m sorry for troubling you with this.”

“Yeah, well, you weren’t exactly being very helpful in clearing it up.”

“I promised you...” Kaisar said.

“Huh?”

“You made me promise not to tell anyone what we were really discussing.”

Azazel gaped.  “Seriously? That’s why you...”  He groaned when he saw Kaisar nod in affirmation.  “You’re unbelievable...”  Azazel exhaled sharply.  “It’s so obnoxious how you’re always getting in my way and causing more problems.  Yet you go around acting like you care about me...  You truly are an idiot.”

“Yeah... maybe,” Kaisar replied softly.  He gazed down at the floor, lost in his own thoughts.  A sad smile crept across his face.

Azazel gave a start of alarm.  That wasn’t the reaction he had expected in the slightest and gasped as something dawned on him.  “Ah!! W-Wait!! Hey, hey!!” He whipped around towards Kaisar and gestured frantically.  “Hang on!!” You..!! Forget about what I just said alright?!”

“You have a point,” Kaisar said quietly.  “Sometimes I feel so useless...”

Azazel shook his head furiously.  “No, no!! Listen, Rita and Nina are gonna freakin’ kill me if you go around acting all depressed like that!! That sadist Rita forced me to come here and apologize to you, so if she sees you walking around wearing a sad expression like that, she’s going to think I didn’t really say sorry!! But I already said it, didn’t I?! So hurry up and go back to being your usual self!!”

“But...  I...”

Azazel grabbed hold of Kaisar by the shoulders and shook him.  “Just shut up!! I take back that bad stuff I said earlier.  Nina really will kill me!! I told you she was a crazy girl.”

Kaisar looked up.  “Azazel,” he said before stopping and gawking.  He had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he hadn’t taken a proper look at Azazel until that moment.  The demon was covered in fresh debris and was looking altogether worse for the wear.  Fresh injuries, including a black eye, several bruises, and large scrapes adorned his face.

“What happened to you?!” Kaisar cried.

“... Nina happened to me.”

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?!” Kaisar looked around.  “Where is the first aid kit...” 

“Never mind the first aid kit.  I don’t need it.”  Azazel’s words didn’t stop Kaisar from fetching it, however.

Kaisar sat back down with the first aid kit.  He leaned over and brushed off the debris off Azazel with a cloth.  “You shouldn’t be so reckless...  You’re lucky Rita is such a skilled doctor.  She always knows where to get medical supplies...”

Azazel grit his teeth and caught hold of Kaisar by the wrist.

“Azazel?” Kaisar asked.  “What are you--”

“I don’t understand you,” Azazel interrupted sharply.

“Wha--”

“Why?!” Azazel's expression seemed both bitter and desperate.  “Why do you continue to bother with someone like me?! I’m nothing but a lowly demon!! Have you already forgotten that I’m the one who killed your father, and your friend Favaro’s father as well?! And I enjoyed doing it, too!! You have every reason to despise me!! So why do you care about what happens to my worthless life?! Are you stupid?! If you'd only kept your mouth shut and followed orders, you wouldn’t be regarded as a traitor and a fugitive now.  If you continue associating with me, it’ll eventually get you killed!! And that’s why you’re such a fool!!” Azazel’s head bowed.  “Why would you go this far? I... I just don’t understand...  Why...”

The demon’s hand, which gripped Kaisar’s wrist, trembled.  Kaisar gazed upon him with wide eyes.  “Azazel...”  A droplet of sweat beaded on his skin.  “Is that how you truly feel? How can you say such things about yourself? You’re not some lowly demon!! You helped prevent Bahamut from destroying the world!!

It’s true, you are the one who killed my father.  But I don’t hate you.  Hating you won’t bring back my father, or Favaro’s.  The past is the past.  I won’t waste my life on vengeance any longer.  I don’t think of you as my father’s killer, I think of you as Azazel.  That’s all there is to it.  And you’re only trying to do what’s right for all the demons who are currently suffering great injustice.  You... want to know why I would ‘go so far’? You’re seriously asking me that? More than anyone else, you’re risking your life aren’t you?! Why should you be the only one to put your life on the line?! You’ve really opened my eyes...  On my honor as a knight, I cannot simply allow myself to stand by complacently and ignore what’s been happening.  That’s why I want to help you.  You’re my friend.  And I don’t want you to die.”

A shiver seemed to course through the demon’s body.  Azazel could not bring himself to look at Kaisar.  The demon hesitated.  “Sometimes...” Each word weighed heavy on his tongue.  “I...  I wonder why I’m still fighting...  I just... can’t seem to die...”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Kaisar said, his voice firm.  “There has to be a way!! No matter what, I won’t stop seeking a way to achieve peace.  I promise.”

“Stupid...” Azazel whispered.  However, he spoke not with rancor but a scarcely audible wretchedness.  Kaisar placed his prosthetic hand on top of Azazel’s in silent reassurance.  For the first time, Azazel didn’t shove away Kaisar’s hand.  His entire body shook; Azazel’s chest ached with a sharp intake of breath as he attempted to calm himself with little success.  Kaisar gently smiled.

“Now let me see those injuries.  It won’t be easy to accomplish our goals, but it’ll be a whole lot tougher to fight if you don’t take proper care of your wounds.”

Azazel was far too exhausted to bother pointing out the irony.  He felt mild embarrassment as Kaisar tended to his wounds and occasionally winced.  Azazel did protest when Kaisar insisted upon checking for wounds under his clothing but eventually caved in.  Azazel stiffly tugged off his shirt, and Kaisar gasped in shock.

“This is horrible!! Who did such a thing to you?! Was it the king?!”

“N...  No...  This was also... from Nina.  Just now...”

“Oh...”  Kaisar was in the middle of bandaging up those wounds when something occurred to him.  “By the way...  earlier I thought I heard a noise...  Like...  some kind of distant rumbling.  Was that...”

“It was Nina,” Azazel growled.  Kaisar finished bandaging the rest of Azazel’s wounds in silence.

--

“There...” Kaisar said.  He wiped his brow.  “How do you feel?”

“Lousy.”

“Where else does it hurt?”

“Don’t worry about it.  You bandage me any more and I won’t be able to move.”

“Are you sure? Did I miss any cuts or scrapes? Let me make sure...”

Kaisar was so earnest about it that Azazel couldn’t help but start laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Kaisar asked in confusion.

“Ha ha ha...  Nothing much, it’s just...  You really are unbelievable.  I’ve had injuries far worse than this, and yet here you are worrying about a couple of cuts and scrapes.  Heh heh... You’re so naive...”

“I’m just worried about you!! Is that so wrong?!”

“Heh heh...  Like I said, that’s why you’re naive.”

Kaisar scowled.  “I don’t care if you think of me as naive.”  He paused and then grinned at Azazel.  “Besides, what are friends for?” He nudged Azazel in the side with an elbow.  Azazel winced and doubled over.

“Ow!! Ow!! Hey!! Watch it!! I’ve got an injury there, you idiot!!”

“Ahh!! Sorry!!” Kaisar gasped.

“You fool.  Do you ever use your brain?”

“Sigh...  I really am useless...”

Azazel grew flustered at the sight of Kaisar slumping over.  “No!! No, you’re not an idiot!! I mean, you are a bit of one, but I thought I already told you not to go getting all depressed!! You want Nina to kill me?!”

Kaisar sighed again.

“H-Hey...” Azazel said uncertainly.  “Y-You’re... not still... mad at me, right? Come on...  Say something.”

Kaisar looked up at this and smiled at Azazel warmly.  “Azazel...”

“Y-Yeah? What?” The demon said defensively.  He glanced at Kaisar out of the corner of his eye with the wariness of one who expected Kaisar’s smile to incinerate him at any moment.

“I was never mad at you in the first place.”

“Y-You’re not mad at me?” Azazel asked.  “You’re sure?”

“Yes,” Kaisar said with a laugh.  “It was all a misunderstanding anyway.”

“Well... good!!” Azazel said.  “But don’t get the wrong idea.  It’s not as though I care about your feelings, but it would be a real pain if you were upset.  Because of Rita, you know.”  Azazel glanced suspiciously at the room’s entryway as though expecting the necromancer to be lurking there.

“Sure, sure.”  Kaisar smiled.  “But the truth is the truth.  I’m not mad at you.  Anyway, what kind of drinks do you prefer?”

“What’s with that all of a sudden?”

“We might as well have a party, even if it was thanks to a misunderstanding.    After all, with everything that’s been happening lately, none of us have really had many opportunities for respite.  We should take advantage of this moment to simply enjoy each other’s company while we can.”

“Drinks, huh? I bet that old drunkard has plenty of good liquor stashed away.”  Azazel scratched the back of his head.  A cloud of dust floated down.  “Maybe I could use a drink or two after the day I’ve been having.  But if anyone dares to insinuate anything about the two of us, I’m leaving.”

“Ha ha, but first we should fetch a bucket of water.”

“Are we gonna dump it on those idiot friends of yours?”

“No, it’s for you!! You’re like a walking dust cloud.”

“Like I keep telling you, it’s all Nina’s fault!!”

“She is pretty scary if you get on her bad side.  She’s usually pretty easy-going, but she cares about all of her friends.  I think that’s admirable of her.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not in much of a mood to admire her after she tried to crack my skull in half.”

“You should rest up for a little while.  I’ll be back soon, okay?”  Kaisar stood up.  “Do you want me to get anything else for you?”

Azazel exhaled and slowly lay down on the sheets.  “Just don’t get yourself killed while you’re out running errands.”

“I promise to be careful.  You can count on it!!” Kaisar said.

Neither of them were aware that a certain necromancer girl was leaning up against the outer tunnel wall a foot to the left of the entryway.  She smiled and began to head back the way she had come.

“Hmm... What do you think, Rocky?” she murmured to the zombie hand resting on her shoulder.  “Should we forgive Azazel?” Rocky, being just a hand, did not say anything in reply, but it gave a little scuttle.  Rita smiled again.  “Yeah, I also think so.  His execution was a bit clumsy, but... Kaisar seems to be in good spirits again.  I’ll let him off the hook this time.”  She began to hum.  “Now then, we’re gonna need some tasty food tonight.  What would you like? Let’s send Nina and Favaro to the marketplace.”

The party later that night overflowed with nourishment and exuberance aplenty.  For one night, it was all that really mattered.