Author's note: Picks up 5x13 just before Merlin calls for Kilgharrah.

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin


Merlin's panicked voice shouting his name is the last thing he remembers before fading in Merlin's arms.


Then he is lying on the throne room of Camelot, sunlight glistening serenely through the regal hall. Everyone is kneeling around him, looking down with warm smiles. Gwen. Merlin. Leon. Gwaine. His father. Morgana, as she was before. Lancelot. Percival. Elyan. A sense of peace washes over him. He closes his eyes and smiles.


A jostling sound a short distance to his right slowly brings him to awareness. The grassy ground is cold, but soft beneath him. There is no weight from chainmail on his chest and he revels in breathing easy. Bright sunlight pierces his closed lids and he opts not to try to open them. He lifts his head in an attempt to sit up, but his body feels heavy and achy so he settles back down with a groan. Now the jostling sound is right beside him.

"Arthur?" that's Merlin's voice. He relaxes. He knows he's safe.

Air breezes across his waist as his tunic is lifted. Fingers caress his side then cloth covers him again.

"Arthur? Arthur!" Merlin sounds panicked. Why? Everything feels tranquil, surely there's no reason to panic…

Hands cup his face and warmth presses against his forehead, blocking the sun. It feels nice.

"Please, Arthur, stay with me…" Merlin's voice pleads, breathe ghosting his lips. A wet drop hits his cheek and slides down to his ear.

Stay. The hands are comforting; he wants them to stay. He brings his right hand up to cover the one over his right ear. The pressure on his forehead starts shaking as he hears Merlin let out a relieved sigh and more wet drops cascade across his cheeks. Suddenly, there's a soft, urgent push on his lips that lingers a moment then quickly pulls back, along with the pressure from his forehead.

"I-I'm sorry, I thought you were…I shouldn't have- I didn't mean-"

He feels the hands lifting away. Stay. He squeezes the one he'd been covering. It stills, hovering just above his cheek. He moves his mouth, expecting sound, but nothing comes out. He tries again.

"St-Stay…" his voice feels tight, rough, but the whisper must have been loud enough because the hand returns gently to his face. He feels his lips smile as he calmly falls back into darkness.