It seems like hours before Arthur's sobs stop. He can't quite recall when they did, he's only aware of the dried tear marks on his cheeks. He stares blankly down at his friend's body. Merlins lips are now pale and his skin has begun to turn ashen. Over the last month or so, it seems that he had begun his journey towards looking like a corpse. Shadowed eyes, blanks looks, pale skin. But now, Arthur realizes, compared to this, he had been very much alive. What he kneels over is no longer Merlin. It is a broken and empty shell.

Arthur sets the body down carefully on the grass and rises. As he gases down at him- no, it, he feels a gaping chasm open up in him. A feeling of emptiness so strong that it was almost hunger. And much like hunger it was a need. He needed to see Merlin alive. He needed to see him smile again. He needed him back. All other emotions were pushed out, he felt no anger, no joy, and surprisingly no sorrow. Just plain, unadulterated, emptiness. It seemed to swallow him, if he didn't fill it, he felt he would die.

But it couldn't be done. So with this pain, just as any other, he simply ignored it because he couldn't fix it.

He tore his eyes away from the body and looked to the water spirit. "I need to retrieve my men." he stated, cursing under his breath when his voice cracked. 

The creature simply nodded and a flash of white light illuminated the bank. His men appeared, all laying on their backs, seemingly asleep. Percival's large form was among them, and Elyan lay next to him. Arthur took a mental tally, all fourteen were there.

"Do not worry young Pendragon, they are unharmed. I don't believe they are even aware they were ever taken." the water spirit says softly, "I know it may seem soon, and I may be at fault for his death, but if you wish, Emrys may be laid to rest in my waters. Here he could rest in peace and never be disturbed."

"Its not your fault." Arthur nearly whispers, "He would be alive now if it weren't for my pride and blind following of my father. He was wrong wasn't he? About magic. It doesn't corrupt does it?"

"No young Pendragon," the spirit responds," magic is merely a tool. It can no more corrupt a man than any other power. If used for the right reasons, it can be a great blessing. Your father was a proud man who made a terrible mistake. But instead of taking accountability, as you have done, he blamed the tool that had enabled the catastrophe."

"My mother." Arthur murmurs, "you're talking about my mother aren't you?"

"Yes. Your father was so desperate for a son that he was willing to give his wife's life for it. It seems that after the deed was done, however, that his heart found the price to have been too dear. He sought to avenge his love, but he was too blinded by hate to see that he had only himself to blame. You are a different man Arthur. What I have seen proves this to me. You give hope to us all."

Arthur finds that the anger he had expected to feel toward Merlins killer simply isn't there. He turns and gathers Merlin into his arms. The boy is startlingly light. Just more proof that it wasn't really the blade that had killed him. He carries him, cradled tightly against his chest as if that could ease the growing sense of loss that seems to be congregating there. He lays him by the waters edge and steps back as a wave rises, and with equal gentlness envelops the body and carries it to the very deepest depths of the pool.

Arthur nearly breaks down again when his last naive hope of Merlin simply sitting up and saying some stupid joke is torn away. Merlin is gone, and it still doesn't feel possible. It doesn't feel real. It's as if a very big part of himself was also torn away.

A red peice of fabric floats toward the edge of the lake and Arthur stoops to pick it up. Once in his hand, he instantly recognises it as Merlins neckercheif. He rings the water out and ties it around one of his wrists. When he turns to thank the spirit he finds nothing but calm water. Behind him He hears the men begin to stir.

He takes a deep breath and let's one last tear fall and join the lake as a last tribute to the friend he had failed so miserably. He then turns and faces his role as king, alone, and with much more red then he had set out with.