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[pratentious]

[This time, the recording starts with a long, drawn out sigh. Then, surprisingly, it's still Merlin's voice that rattles off the voicemail in tones of long-suffering.]

Hello, you've reached King Arthur Pr--Pendragon. He isn't here to answer your call because he's incredibly important and busy. If you leave a message here with me, I'll make sure he gets it because I am a good servant--and friend-- [he adds the last bit in a rush, accompanied with a thwap!, an 'ow!' and an 'I heard that,' then forces the rest of the words out through gritted teeth] and will do anything my master asks of me.

[A couple seconds pass, then Merlin speaks again, this time sounding a bit further away, like he isn't speaking into the bracelet anymore.] There, happy now? If you ask me, the other one is still better-- Shut up, Merlin. It's time to do yours next. Wait, what --

[ click! ]

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[pratentious]

[ 'Until the end,' and hadn't Merlin said they were destined to do this together? Perhaps the Fates had not quite intended for Ragnarok in their path, but they are here all the same, side by side at the end.

Arthur swallows hard before letting his eyes fall to meet Merlin's gaze. There's something unraveling inside, falling apart in spite of him, but there's a certainty in Merlin's eyes that holds him in place, keeps him steady there. It's tentative and fragile, something he needs but is scared to reach for lest he break it, as he is so very like to do.

He purses his lips instead and says nothing, just waits, holding Merlin's gaze. ]

[dragonspeak]

[He leans forward then, unhurried. Time might be slipping through their fingers like the grains of sand in an hourglass, but he'll be damned if he doesn't make the time for this. War or not, this thing between he and Arthur is worth more than just a trite, cursory nod. So much more.

They are two sides of the same coin, and it's only after coming here that Merlin's really allowed himself to believe it. They can build Albion together. They will be great someday. This, Merlin believes now with a surety that he'd lost somewhere along the way as he was forced further into Camelot's shadows with every difficult decision he'd made. He knows better than to doubt now.

The hug is nothing like the few they've shared before this. It isn't some means of comfort to quell the desperate feelings of grief. They're worn down to the core and torn at the edges, but even so, the embrace holds no trace of that. It's a warm, gentle kind of connection that Merlin wills to convey all the feelings of love, loyalty, and gratitude he's come to associate with this man who would be his king.

When he speaks, it's to say just one thing: ]

Thank you. For everything.

[pratentious]

[ And there - that does it. It breaks on contact, stealing Arthur's breath away on a quiet, ragged inhale. But it's not a crashing sort of thing, not shattering and splintering in the ways that cut to the quick and bleed a man dry. It's tearing something apart to leave something better behind, two pieces falling together to create a whole.

It breaks, but there's a beautiful divinity in the destruction. Arthur has set up so many boundaries, built walls thick behind the ones planted there by his upbringing, and Merlin barrels through them all to find him at the centre. He feels raw and vulnerable but not weak, stronger than ever, and when his arms rise tentatively to return the embrace, it is in search of comfort but rather because it's comfortable.

Because this place they built for themselves is where they belong, after breaking down all that restrained them, all that held them back, and this is their right, their due. They share a destiny and a fate and so much more than that; they have each other, to the ends of everything and back. ]

You had better damn well be grateful.

[ Light and teasing, spoken largely against Merlin's shoulder, but his hands grip tightly in the fabric at Merlin's back. They don't do this, might never again (or at least for some time), but there is an edge to this moment where they stand on the precipice between everything and nothing, and Arthur holds both in his hands. Merlin has to know that the feeling is mutual. ]