"You cannot be serious!", Merlin asked incredulous. He was laughing now, watching as Arthur squished his head in concentration.

"Shut up, Merlin.", Arthur shot back annoyed.
Then he repeated himself, receiving nothing but ridiculous glances from Merlin.
"Forbearnan", Arthur whispered with perfect pronunciation. But nothing happened.

Arthur groaned. "I don't get it, why is this so hard?", he screamed.
Merlin raised an eyebrow. Much like Gaius tended to to. Maybe he was unconsciously copying the old physician?

"What are you even trying to do?", Merlin asked, slightly concerned for his king.
"To light a fire.", Arthur said, staring at a miniature pyre in front of him.

"I can see that.", Merlin said and squinted his eyes as he sat next to Arthur. "But with magic, Arthur? Magic is illegal in Camelot!"

"I know, you idiot. I just -", Arthur sighed, before turning to Merlin.
"All these years my father told me magic was evil. That it corrupts people. But I have seen good people use it too. The Dolma for example. I know she kidnapped you an all, but she didn't really ask for much to save Gwen.
And she returned you safely without as much as a scratch.
The druids – they are peaceful. I have seen them use it to heal people. So I was wondering if -"

"If it really corrupts people?", Merlin whispered, eyes wide at Arthur's admission.

"Well yes. My father told me people could choose to use magic. That they would turn to it, as soon as something bad would fall over the land.
But it seems I can't use it. At all, I mean! Despite what you may think, I'm not as arrogant as to think that I'm incorruptable!"

Merlin grinned at that. "I'm pretty sure that's not a word."

"You know what I mean."

"Yes, I suppose I do. Arthur – may I ask – have you ever wondered if maybe it is magic that chooses who will be able to use it? Not the person to wield it, but magic itself?"

Arthur looked up from his desk. "You think magic has a mind?"

Merlin laughed. "No – but – hmm. How do I explain this. What if it is like with sword wielding?
You've seen me hold a sword -"

"And you are horrible at it."

"Absolutely. I just – can't use it. No matter whether or not I wanted to. It's a talent – a gift. How you use it is your choice. Whether you become a knight or a bandit is up to you. I imagine it's no different with magic.

But to fight with a sword, you need a sword. To fight with magic, you need magic. It seems you just don't have it."

Arthur looked at him as if he had grown a second head. "You speak treason, you know that right?!"

"Says the king who just tried to cast a spell.", Merlin retorted.

"That's different. I'm the king. I can do this without being hanged. YOU can't."

"You want to hang me?", Merlin asked, flinching slightly as panic filled his mind.

"What? No, of course not. In fact, if you could prove to me that what you said was right, I would probably allow you to use magic freely."
Then suddenly, Arthur laughed. "Nah, not really. You're not a sorcerer after all."

"Neither are you, but you just tried a spell.", Merlin bit his lip. Was this his chance? Could he show Arthur who he was now? Was this a risk he was willing to take, after all these years?

"Well – try it then. If you are as talented with it as with the sword, then I doubt I have anything to fear."

Merlin bridged his nose with his hand, as he took the spellbook into his hand. Skipping pages as he quickly read them. "Pff, don't bother to read all of that Merlin. Just use the same one I did.", Arthur said teasingly.
Merlin looked at him, kind of done with this kind of teasing.

Merlin did not say anything. He did not raise his hand or anything, he just looked at Arthur. Arthur looked back with challenge in his eyes.
His challenge turned to confusion as Merlin really didn't do or say anything.

Then Merlin's eyes turned gold and the fire was lit instantly. Not just the small fire on his desk, but the one in the fire place as well.

Merlin wondered what Arthur would do now. What he would think now.
But Arthur's mouth was open, full of surprise and shock. There was confusion too, but mostly the glee of a child who had just opened a Christmas present a day too early.

"How on earth did you do that? You used magic, you did. But how? How do you feel? Do you feel different?" With a whisper he added. "Do you feel corrupted? Do you want to kill me?"

"I was born with magic, Arthur.", Merlin finally confessed. Then Arthur's funny face fell.
"You – what?", he asked, irritated.
Merlin sighed. "I could do things like move objects-", Arthur's pillow flew into his hand, startling the king, "and light fires before I could talk.", Merlin said and bit his lip.
"I never chose any of it.", Merlin said.

Arthur studied him intently, wondering, questioning what this meant.
"So what you mean is – you're not useless after all.", he said and then grinned a humorless grin.
"Unless saving your life can be counted as useless.", Merlin's lips curled into a teasing smile, as Arthur laughed at him.

"Yeah sure, tell yourself that. So what. You've had magic all this time and never used it against the kingdom. You're not corrupted?", Arthur asked, a bit more serious now as he tried to judge Merlin now. Making the servant feel a little uneasy.

"I'd like to think I never changed as a person.", he said instead.

Arthur smiled now. "If that's the case, I think we have some work to do to lift the ban on magic."

"And unite the lands of Albion.", Merlin added happily. He had never been this happy before.

____________

And then he woke up. Tears staining his cheeks. Happy tears, he realized, until he realized where he was. And remembered what had happened.
A dream.
Arthur was dead. The comparison to his dream hurt more than anything else. And Merlin felt himself coil into himself.
He was at the lake of Avalon, where he had burned Arthur's corpse just days prior. He was still here. The fight at Camlann still clear on his mind.
He felt himself scream, as he realized all too clearly what he had lost.

Arthur was dead. His corpse was burned. He would never share a drink with him again. Never tease him again. Never jab him, never get slapped by him.
They never united Albion. Magic never returned to Camelot and yet Merlin couldn't care less.
The dragon had told him they did it. But they hadn't.
It was a sorry excuse to cheer him up. It never could. Not when he didn't know how long it will take for Arthur to return.

In a way Albion had fallen with Arthur's death.
All because Merlin hadn't been fast enough. Not strong enough. All his life he was told he should hold duty over his morale. And because he never believed it, he followed his heart. And when he realized how that had cause nothing but trouble, he returned to duty, only to be stabbed in the – bad comparison.

Merlin cried. There was no point in blaming himself. Because Arthur was dead. And Merlin wished he could die now too.
Where was the point in staying alive, when the person you lived for had passed on?
Arthur – Merlin realized now – had been his life. He had always known that of course – but with Arthur dead, Merlin felt he must have died as well. His will to live certainly had.
Just that his body had become his prison and he would have to live on for who knows how long.
Alone.
Without his other half.

Merlin tasted the bile in his mouth, before he felt his body convulse over the rocky ground he had slept on.

He would never get over this. He would never accept this. Never forgive himself. He had bared everything that had been thrown at him. All to protect Arthur.
No it came crushing down on him. Heavily, with a pressure so intense, it crushed Merlin's heart.
Merlin crowld up into himself even more, hoping that his tears would dry out soon. That the world would be merciful on him once again and grant him another dream.
He wanted to see Arthur again. He needed to. And so he did. The gods being merciful on him for once.

He passed out again, never waking up in a hundred years, when grass grew over his slowly aging body.
And for those hundred years, he slept peacefully. Dreaming of a land he should have built but failed to.
Of a man he loved and was unable to protect.

And when he awoke the next time, he would realize that he had given up anything else for that dream.
He had been a fool to think this dream was a relief.
The people he had loved – the ones left in Camelot – had moved on without him. Dead, every single one of them. Because Merlin had slept through his grief.
He had failed yet again. He had failed them. And he had failed Arthur. Again.