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Black, Black World
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People wrote books.
They wrote books about a king they never knew and call him the best there has ever been, he finds it ironic that in the end, after it all, all Arthur had ever wanted had came true, he was remembered. But none of it was the true story of the golden king.
They don't know about crooked smiles and dying breaths, they don't know how a spoiled boy became a beautiful man that led a kingdom that adored him, as he did them. They don't know about unicorns and guilt or beasts and fiery deaths to restore balance. They don't know, and they never will.
Human life is fleeting and he's seen countries rise and fall and empires of gold crumble to dust and he's dined with kings and he's seen them dead and gone as well. He'd seen things that disgusted and wondered him.
And for Merlin, who is forever young and yet old, well he'd seen war and blood and pain. But he'd seen joy and love and beauty and though the good never quite outweighed the bad the world wasn't bleak.
He was lonely and