A/N: I don't own anything.

Merlin was dead.

He'd been dead for a week, but for Arthur it still hurt as much as it did the moment he had left the world. And it always would hurt, a pain Arthur would have to live with for the rest of his life as penance for the awful things he had said; the last words he'd ever spoken to his friend.

Morgana had attacked them while on patrol with a squadron of her minions (no surprise there) but this time she'd been clever about it. Instead of stalling for time and gloating like she normally would she just froze them all in place then went at Arthur with a knife, intending to cut his throat.

But then Merlin had stepped forward, unimpeded by her magic. He had shocked them all, Morgana included, by preforming magic and blasting her away from Arthur.

What followed was an epic battle between two skilled sorcerers while Arthur and the knights attempted to deal with the henchmen. It was clear Morgana was more skilled, casting deadly spells that Merlin seemed to always just barely avoid, but Merlin was cleverer, using his environment; stones, sticks, stray weapons, and flinging them at Morgana when her guard was down. He finally wacked her with a tree limb and the witch looked about the battlefield and seeing that her men had been decimated, she retreated with the parting words;

"If you're so anxious to defend Arthur, let your death be by his hands!"

After she was gone they had all stood and stared at each other for a long time. Merlin was the one to eventually broke the silence by saying two words, just two words spoken while never taking his eyes off Arthur.

"I'm sorry."

And Arthur had exploded. He had screamed at Merlin, threatened him with his sword, threatened him with the pyre! He had called Merlin awful words like liar and traitor, monster, and evil. And Merlin took all of it. He offered no defense other than the silent tears that dripped down his cheeks.

Everyone was so wrapped up in the drama before them, that no one noticed the one underling that wasn't quite dead yet slip a hand into his belt and pull out a dagger. No one saw the dagger being thrown at the king until it was too late. No one but Merlin.

The warlock charged at Arthur, his expression frantic, and Arthur felt a thrill of fear thinking his manservant had finally snapped and decided to attack him. But instead he was pushed to the ground, Merlin flinging himself on top of him.

His immediate reaction was to try and shove Merlin off, but the sight of Merlin's eyes stopped him cold. They were gold, pure gold and lit up with magic for just the briefest of moments that felt like an eternity. Then Merlin coughed a little and bright red liquid oozed out of the corner of his mouth. The golden eyes flickered sadly and appeared to grow dimmer and dimmer until the light was swallowed up by hollow blue. Merlin's head fell limply onto Arthur's chest.

The other knights gently helped to pull the manservant off the king while a swift swipe of Gwaine's sword relieved the dagger throwers neck of his head.

When Arthur sat up, he saw the knife embedded deep in Merlin's back, a direct hit to the heart. Desperation and denial gripped him as he slapped Merlin's face, shook his shoulders, and screamed his name trying to rouse the life back into him. But Arthur understood somewhere deep down that Merlin was gone. He had literally seen the life leave his eyes.

Nothing he could do would ever allow him to take back the words he had said that day. Nothing would let him go back and tell Merlin that he hadn't meant any of it, that he'd just been angry and upset. No power on earth, no twist of destiny, would ever give him the chance to confess that Merlin had been his best friend, maybe his only real friend. That he was grieving Merlin like a brother, and not a brother like the knights were his brothers in arms, like a sibling whom he was supposed to have as an equal companion, growing up and changing as he changed and always, always just being there. Merlin would never know he had felt that way.

Or so he thought.