Character/s: Merlin, Arthur
Summary: They miss each other by seconds
Warnings: Major character death.
Word Count: 464
Author's Notes: So yeah. Sorry, guys, for the depressing-ness.
It’s on the anniversary of Arthur’s death that Merlin kills himself.
It’s been thousands of years; war after war after war. Merlin can’t see humanity degrading any further. Can’t envisage any need existing that would ever be greater than any of those from the recent few centuries. And he can’t cope. Not on his own, not without Arthur.
Merlin has missed him, so much more than he could ever have imagined. He’s missed the days where they saw no one but each other and even the little smiles that Arthur would shoot him across a crowded room, to let him know he was still noticed, still loved.
Arthur has dreamed of Merlin, dreamed of his touch, the tingle of his magic. His power, his vision, his love. The crinkle around his eyes when he smiles, the way he’d act entirely unlike a servant should, teasing Arthur, treating him as an equal. He misses it.
Merlin cannot stomach another day alone, let alone another thousand years. By this point, he is certain Arthur will never return, that the dragon lied to him. He refuses to live in this utter torment any more, of hope with no relief.
Merlin is immortal, but only to a point. There are some deaths there can be no return from. A disused mine shaft a few miles from his home provides the necessary seclusion. He steals C-4 from a nearby quarry, and he sets the charge, and he holds it until it explodes. A death so violent not even his magic could protect him from it.
Birdsong is the first thing Arthur hears when he awakes. There’s a chink of light, a gap in the earth that entombs him, and he scrabbles at it, enlarging the hole until he can fit through. But his movements are mechanical. He knows. He can feel it. Merlin is gone, and it was the shockwaves from his death that brought Arthur back from the living dead, a little premature, but mostly heartbroken.