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Merlin was finally happy.
He had it all — friends to rely on and who relied on him, his King’s respect, and most of all (his greatest joy) the freedom to be his whole self, magic and all. Warlock allowed.
There was even talk of a title — Court Sorcerer (not that he needed it). He felt deliriously happy.
Merlin!
Merlin!
Which is why...
Young Warlock!
... Kilgharrah had to burst his bubble and wake him from the dream. It was too good to be true!
Alas, Merlin was still the King’s (formerly the Prince’s) bumbling servant who was a good-for-nothing lazy bum, if the kitchen staff was to be believed. And was only good enough for the stocks, to the kids’ infinite joy (whoever said kids couldn’t be cruel had never taken a rotten tomato to the hair, or worse, the face). Trust him; he was an expert on those matters.
Anyway, here he was again.
Just roaming the kingdom’s halls and the eventual forbidden tower, like the one where Kilgharrah called a prison, and that had to be the worst secret ever. (Or was it just him, stumbling into secrecy and making a mockery of everything it stood?) Ha, he was half-decent at it, he’ll have you know, kind sir. Ask Gaius! The Court Physician, who he called a friend and a mentor, was his secret ally and not-so-secretly exasperated more than a couple of times, but he was family.
Just like Arthur himself was, in a way. The whole two sides of the same coin business. But that was only if he could tell the Once and Future King about his greatest fear (his greatest gift).
(With his luck, either he or the prat would die before that came to be.)
(With his really rather rotten luck, he did.)
(Stupid mouth, stupid dragon, stupid prophecy, stupid Morgana…)
(Stupid Merlin!)
The Goddess really hated him. She must.
Were Ygraine and Balinor watching them over the veil? Watching him fail ?
His dream would never come to pass because, as he prepared to ride back to Camelot kingless, Merlin felt his heart shatter. No use dreaming when you’ve got nothing else to feel.
That was how he felt. Gwen was Queen; Camelot would go on — at least until her lifetime ended, and the kingdom would be thrown (and lost) into a succession battle, never to be; forevermore a legend.
Lost to history pages, lost to magic, lost to Merlin.
Merlin, who would roam forevermore. Waiting for a prophecy that would never be (fully) fulfilled. Cursed with permanence, remembrance, with being the last of his kind, just like he’d been in life.
The Last Dragonlord. The Last Warlock. The Last of Camelot.
Forever the last.
(Unless a certain Future King awakens, then they could last together)