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Arthur can feel that there’s no coming back from this one. Many times his life has been in the balance, only to miraculously bounce back, but the shard of sword inside him is screaming that this time will be different.
And then there’s Merlin. Sweet Merlin, who is unravelling at his side and trying to make one last miracle happen. Because it’s clear now that’s who has been responsible all these years.
“I have magic.”
Through the pain, both physical and emotional, Arthur puts together the pieces that have been glossed over and set aside since Merlin appeared in his life.
The memories flood him: odd circumstances and excuses, sliding together and righting themselves into place. Arthur doesn’t need Merlin’s admission to know that the magic has only been for him; the loyalty and love contained within a decade of devotion lodge firmly in his chest, just as the sword did hours before.
Arthur knows now.
Time slips and Arthur feels himself fading faster. But he can’t leave Merlin without letting him know that it’s okay, that the secret life he’s worked so hard to keep hidden is valued. Accepted. Not because the magic has helped Arthur countless times, but because it’s Merlin. His clumsy, ridiculous, adorable manservant who became his best friend and companion so easily that Arthur can’t pinpoint the moment it happened.
He has to let Merlin know that the secrets and lies of being a sorcerer, his sorcerer, in Camelot are forgiven; must find the words that will help Merlin carry on after Arthur closes his eyes for the last time. They swirl around his foggy mind until they tumble out, haltingly, but Arthur knows that they’re the right ones at the look of wonder upon Merlin’s face.
“I don’t… want you to change. I want you… to always… be you.”