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It’s hard to be alone, yes, but sometimes it's even harder to be seen. This is particularly true for those who have always lived in the shadows, whether it's by choice or not.
Now, panting, eyes wide as he stands over Morgana’s corpse, arms still raised from the power he had called down upon her, he knows that more than ever. Arthur stares at him wide eyed, fear and sadness waging war in his eyes.
Arthur stares at him, and suddenly Merlin misses the feeling of being alone. He misses the anonymity of his lies. He misses his secrets. All these years he had thought that he kept them out of necessity, that he had had to. Now, as Arthur’s lips move wordlessly, he knows that isn't true. He kept them because he wanted to, because they were safe and familiar.
“I’m sorry,” He says. “I’m sorry.”
Then he disappears in a whirlwind of magic, leaving Arthur alone with what was left of Morgana. He wonders, briefly, what they will do with her, what they will do with his name, but there is no point to it. There is no point in wondering.
He is known now, seen, and it is too much, too bright, too soon. A decade of loneliness, the kind of loneliness that comes when you are surrounded by others who do not understand you, cannot be so easily forgotten. It cannot be so easily shed.
He doesn’t even know if he wants to.
He leaves a note, when he leaves the castle for the last time. He almost doesn’t, but he cannot help but feel that they deserve to know the why. He leaves a note, and he explains everything to them, from the moment he first realized he was different to when he arrived in Camelot to an execution to the dragon and the prophecy to Morgana and her death. He leaves a note that explains everything, yet he knows that no one will understand.
It is impossible to understand a kind of loneliness that you have never felt. Impossible to understand the fear and pain of others. Yes, everyone has fear and pain, everyone has their struggles, but no one in Camelot could fully understand his.
He goes to the Isles of the Blessed. He goes to the Crystal of Neahtid. Each time he stares into their depths and asks what comes next. The witch is dead, Arthur is safe.
His travels tell him that Arthur has allowed magic back into the Kingdom. His people are free. He could return home.
He looks into the crystal, into the lake. He looks at his reflection, and asks himself what is home. Was it ever really Camelot? Has he ever really known?
Will he ever know?
He sighs as the crystal shows him Arthur, riding into battle with Merlin behind him. The Lake reflects his own face back at him. He sighs, dragging a hand through it. The water ripples, and the reflection stands no more.