The Thousandth Year || Merlin fanfic

Breathing

"You don't have to do this, you know." I tell Arthur quietly. We stand in a loose semi circle around the bookshelf, everyone jostling to get closer; to see. Me and Arthur are a little apart at the front.

"Maybe this is my destiny." He says, half joking. "You always were so fond to tell me about that. I was going to be a great king, you said. I was going to unite albion." He gives a small pitying laugh, which lacks any humour.

"You did." I say passionately. "You did, and you can do it again."

He claps a hand on my shoulder, and looks down. "Yeah." He says. "Yeah maybe." I know that he is only saying it to placate me, that he has no hope at all of staying beside me in this world.

"Thanks, you know, for waiting." He says, squeezing my shoulder. He meets my eyes, and gives me one last smile, just a small hint of one. I realize that instead of worrying about himself, he pities me. Then without even taking a deep breath, he reaches toward the shelf, and grabs a book at random. The silence that surrounds us is so deep, so complete, it has its own sound: a sort of hum composed of the tension hanging so heavily in the air. I can feel the council members holding their breath. Terror cascades through my veins in white fire. Arthur, oh so slowly, peels back the first page, and stares at it for a moment, his expression shocked. We all wait with baited breath. He glances up at us, and shrugs.

"Well that was an anti climax."

And then he collapses.

I move to rush to him, his name already spilling hopelessly from my mouth, but Alaric's grip on my arm prevents me. In his eyes glints a wicked happiness.

"It's working!" He hisses, struggling a little to restrain me. "You musn't interfere Emrys. His soul remains intact, you must let the goddess convey her message." I know, somewhere, logically, that he is right, and that part of me is dancing up and down in happiness and relief. But all I see is Arthur, lying motionless on the ground before me, blood on his chainmail, a fragment of a blade working its way to his heart, something I've never said to you before, thankyou... silence, no pulse, a bed of rushes, an empty room, oh god, make it stop, please god make it stop, no, don't leave me, god don't leave me, not alone, please not alone... I blast away Alaric's presence beside me, uncaring in my desperation.

I barrel past the other councillors, and skid on my knees to Arthur's side, already sobbing the prayer of his name, my shaking fingers scrambling for a pulse. The world ascends from my shoulders as I feel the butterfly pressure against my fingertips.

"Thank god." I mumble. "Thank god." I close my eyes and focus on the life pumping through him. He's still here. He hasn't left me. I run a hand over his forehead, trying to sense the depth of the damage, the physical stuff, at least. I find nothing.

Arthur's P.O.V

"Well that was an anticlimax." Arthur said, shrugging. He wasn't quite sure what the council had expected to happen.   Without warning vertigo seized him, and he toppled foward, pulled by an irresistible force. His vision blurred into darkness. Oh. He managed to think before he fell into unconsciousness. That.

When he came to, what felt like hours later, he didn't recognise his surroundings. It was a world of white, with gentle mist enveloping him, and a tiled white floor beneath his body.  He groaned, stretching slightly, before getting to his feet. He scratched at his sleeve- this stupid shirt that Merlin had given him was incredibly annoying. What was wrong with a good tunic? Letting out a yawn, he turned around to examine his surroundings. And froze, still mid yawn, his hand hovering an inch away from his mouth.

Before him, stood a majestic figure, at least ten feet tall. Its features seemed to be a made of dozens of mirrors, with dozens of people looking at them: its face was old, young, male, female, somehow all at once. Somehow, Arthur could only stare. Gathering his wits, Arthur scrambled away from the... thing, already reaching for his sword. His frantic fingers encountered only air. He glanced down with dawning horror: Excalibur was absent from its sheath, its empty scabbard the only sign it had existed at all.