Camelot was on fire.

That was the only way to describe it. No grandiose adjectives, or in depth portrayals. Camelot was simply on fire, the grand white castle crumbling to the ground, the lower town already demolished by hungry flames. Most were dead, or worse, being burned alive. Few were still standing, some passed out from heat exhaustion, while others were trying to run from the growing inferno. Only one man ran towards the flames.

The king had lost all self-preservation. He didn't care if he died. The only thing that mattered was his manservant. His manservant that currently was missing.

He tossed up rubble, jumped pass flames, coughing his lungs out whilst doing so. He still didn't care.

The smoke had already intoxicated his lungs, making it hard to breathe. He swayed slightly, his vision going double. Just falling down on the cobble-stones and never waking up sounded tempting. But he couldn't. Merlin needed him.

Every breath he took was painful, as if someone had dumped acid down his throat. Every movement was labored. Shaking fatigue off was worse, trying desperately to remember why he couldn't stop. Why he needed to keep going. The only reason he needed to live.

He needed Merlin to be alive. Merlin was the only person he ever truly cared about, the only person who really knew him. Even Guinevere he had to put boundaries up with. He gulped, remembering his "beloved" now. She was probably dead.

And so is Merlin, the small voice of doubt said in the back of his mind.

He shook his head, sufficiently clearing it for a full second. Merlin; find Merlin. That was his mission. That was why he needed to live.

Arthur sucked in a breath, not noticing that it rattled. His eyes searched around the flaming debris, not really seeing with his hazing sight. Numbly, he felt himself move towards a piece of singed cloth. It was red. Like Merlin's neckerchief.

Merlin! His mind cleared for a moment again. The cloth was Merlin's neckerchief. If that was the case, his manservant should have been around that area.

But that wasn't the case. The king scoured in vain for the raven-haired boy. He even got on his hands and knees, checking under every fallen object. He was in the flaming castle now, the whole foundation deteriorating around him. Just in time, he jumped out of the way of a collapsing beam. If he wasn't careful, he could die. That meant he couldn't save Merlin.

Merlin. He kept his manservant in mind, finding it easier to focus when his thoughts surrounded his objective. Merlin and his stupid smile. Merlin and his friendly banter. Merlin and surprising bouts of wisdom. Merlin and his endearingly clumsy nature. Merlin and his kind heart, his open trust, his faith in Arthur.

Arthur was plunged downwards as the floor beneath him gave out.

Pain was back, like a constant friend. This time, no matter how much he thought of Merlin, he couldn't will his body to move. He wasn't sure if it was because he was exhausted or because a ceiling beam had him pinned down.

More pain washed over him as flames licked his skin. It burned; literally. He could feel it creeping up his legs, just making its way up to his torso. He would've screamed, but he was already too far gone. The icy hand of death had gripped him.

Wait, no. That wasn't that icy hand of death, but it was a hand. A pale white one that belonged to a brown-jacketed arm. Vaguely, the king worked his way up to the face of the owner of the hand on top his.

"Arthur," an ash and sweat covered Merlin croaked out.

"Merlin," rasped the king.

No other words were said as another ceiling beam fell on top of them. Arthur looked at Merlin's hand on top of his own and intertwined their fingers.

The last thing Arthur saw was Merlin's sad, melancholy smile.

And as the world comes to an end

I'll be here to hold your hand

'Cause you're my King

And I'm your Lionheart

A/N: Sorry for this. Everyone in this fandom knows about the song "King and Lionheart" by Monsters of Men, right? ('Cause Arthur's a king and Merlin's a lionheart.) Well, I got the inspiration for this from the part above. (You listen to one song for five hours straight and this is the result.) Well, I really need to stop writing pointless one-shots...

Review if liked or hated. I doesn't really matter to me.