All the Light I Cannot See

Nine

Of course.

The door crashed back on its hinges, and Merlin's hands grew cold. 

He's gone.

He's gone again.

Maybe he was never mine to keep.

That thought sent Merlin reeling, stumbling on unsteady legs until he sank to the ground, limbs no longer able to support him. He was painfully aware of the beating of the heart within his chest, smashing itself against the rib cage. Like Merlin, it was trapped, stuck in the same role until the day he died.

And what's the point if he didn't have Arthur?

Arthur, the one thought that kept him waking up in the mornings, that reminded him he was human. During the war, he had forgotten that-- stopped thinking about things in black and white.

Then, of course, everything was black. Literally and figuratively.

There were still stars that shone at night, of course, and camp fires that conducted sparks and laughter into the air. Lighthouses still cut through the fog, spotlights still flooded the stage. The world was still bustling and busy and bright.

But not for Merlin. 

He knew the light was still there, twinkling at him, but he could never lay hands upon it. It was always floating just out of reach, and, until today, he had thought that maybe he could see it again one day.

With Arthur. They could walk into the light together, bathed in the glow of dawn.

I love him.

Fuck that, I need him. He is my destiny; the half that makes me whole. I've waited centuries to hold him again. 

Head in hands, Merlin wept shamelessly, imagining his tears as drops of golden stardust.

And he doesn't want me.