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As Arthur lay dying, he looked at Merlin with resignation and deep affection. "All your magic, Merlin, can't save my life," he said, voice weak but filled with acceptance and.. fondness.
Arthur was many things, but a coward he was not. He knew going into any battle that death was a possibility. Now, as he got ready to depart, he was proud to have given his life fighting for his kingdom.
Merlin, however, heart pounding with desperation and fear, refused to give up. "I can. I'm not going to lose you," he insisted, voice trembling with determination and barely contained grief.
In the past decade, he'd saved Arthur's life countless times, against all manners of impossible odds. Prophecy be damned. He would save Arthur like he always had. This was just another obstacle to get past.
But Arthur, feeling the life ebbing from his body, only yearned for comfort in his final moments. Now, with the man he's loved for so long, he sought it. "Just, just hold me. Please," he whispered, bright eyes conveying the love and trust he had for his closest friend. This action he would not have asked of anyone else, except perhaps his beloved queen.
Merlin, torn between his desire to save Arthur and the need to provide solace, stopped his frantic efforts and held his king close, knowing that he was at a loss for what else to do but comfort his best friend.
With his remaining strength, Arthur poured out his heart. "Everything you've done. I know now. For me, for Camelot. For the kingdom you helped me build..." His words were filled with gratitude and a newfound understanding of Merlin's true role in his life.
Merlin, overwhelmed by emotion, humbly deflected. "You'd have done it without me."
But Arthur, his heart swelling with love and appreciation, knew better. "Maybe. I want to say... something I've never said to you before…”
He thought back to when he and Merlin held hands running through the corridors during Morgana’s takeover. How he had given Merlin his mother’s sigil a few months afterward, in essence proposing to Merlin, and how, though shocked, Merlin had accepted his proposal wordlessly.
He deeply regretted waiting until his deathbed to say these words. He had always thought there would be more time and believed he would eventually tell Merlin... maybe. But now, he wasn't so sure. Would it have taken him ten more years, or perhaps twenty? He and Guinevere were not planning on having children anytime soon. He could not bring himself to do so, not when Merlin was the man he so desperately loved and craved above all and anyone else. Would he have really dragged out his and Merlin's love story for three-quarters of his life, too afraid even as King to make a physical declaration of his deepest affections for his manservant? For at thirty, he'd already dragged it out for half his life. For this, Arthur suddenly felt deep shame.
Now, voice steady with conviction, Arthur spoke his dying words. “Thank you… I love you."
The confession, so tender and heartfelt, was a balm and a wound all at once. It was the declaration Merlin had longed to hear, yet dreaded, knowing it came at such a final moment.
Arthur's trembling hand reached up, attempting to pull Merlin down for a kiss, the ultimate seal of their love. But as his strength waned and his hand fell away, Merlin's world shattered. He felt the weight of unspoken words, of lost time, and the cruel irony of this moment. Tears blurred his vision, mingling with the sorrow that threatened to consume him. The realization that Merlin was losing Arthur, his friend, his king, the other half of his destiny, the man he loved above all, crushed him.
He cried out in anguish, "Arthur... No! Arthur! Stay with me!"
Arthur’s eyes briefly opened again for one second, giving Merlin a sense of vain hope, before they closed again for good.
In his final desperate act, Merlin summoned Kilgharrah, clinging to hope even as dread filled his heart. Merlin pressed his and Arthur's foreheads together desperately, terrified that this would be the closest he would get to Arthur from now on—the last time he'd get to be physically close to this man he loved so much. But he held onto hope that perhaps Arthur was not yet fully dead, and that Kilgharrah, great dragon that he was, may be able to save his king.
To his utter horror, the dragon stated, "Merlin, there is nothing you can do."
The great dragon had seen many a great kings live and fall. Death was like an old friend to him. He knew as a senior dragon, even his own time was drawing near.
"I've failed?" Merlin gasped, heartbroken.
"No, young warlock, for all that you have dreamt of building has come to pass," Kilgharrah reassured him.
This didn't do much to placate Merlin. Without Arthur to enjoy the win, there was no win at all in Merlin's eyes.
"I can't lose him! He's my friend!" Merlin exclaimed instead. So much more than a friend…
"Though no man, no matter how great, can know his destiny, some lives have been foretold, Merlin... Arthur is not just a King—he is the Once and Future King. Take heart, for when Albion's need is greatest, Arthur will rise again. It has been a privilege to have known you, young warlock—the story we have been a part of will live long in the minds of men," Kilgharrah predicted solemnly, with the deep wisdom of the ages.
This was all he could give the young man. For it was the truth. And he knew this truth would set Merlin free.
With nothing else to say, the elderly dragon took off, back into the skies. He did not envy Merlin his fate.
Merlin felt a complex mix of emotions—grief at the present loss, hope for the future, and a deep, aching loneliness at the prospect of waiting for Arthur's return. But he knew that he would surely wait, however long it took for Arthur to return. The King was not dead, not really. Other kings would reign in his stead, but they were merely stewards, keeping the throne warm for the day when Arthur would return. Each ruler would pale in comparison, for none could truly embody the spirit and destiny of the Once and Future King.
As Merlin watched Kilgharrah disappear into the horizon, he clung to this hope. Albion's greatest need would one day call Arthur back, and until then, Merlin would wait, guarding the legacy of the king who would rise again.
Meanwhile, Arthur felt a strange weightlessness as consciousness returned to him. The piercing pain that had wracked his body was gone, replaced by a sense of ethereal calm. He found himself standing on the misty shores of a lake, its waters shimmering with an otherworldly light.
Confused, Arthur looked down at his hands, turning them over. They appeared solid, yet somehow translucent, as if caught between two worlds. The last thing he remembered was Merlin's tear-stained face and the feeling of slipping away.
Suddenly, a glint caught his eye. Through the mist, he saw Excalibur arcing through the air, its blade catching the strange, silvery light. Without thinking, Arthur reached out, his hand breaking the surface of the lake. To his surprise, he felt the familiar weight of the sword's hilt in his grasp.
As he drew Excalibur beneath the water, Arthur felt a pull, as if the lake itself was drawing him in. He hesitated, looking back towards the shore. For a moment, he thought he saw Merlin's silhouette, hunched and weeping.
Merlin, as he tossed Excalibur, was struck with awe and a bittersweet sense of wonder as he witnessed Arthur's hand emerge to catch his sword, a final miraculous moment shared between them.
"Merlin," Arthur whispered, voice echoing strangely in this in-between place. A sense of unfinished business tugged at him, even as the lake's allure grew stronger.
As Arthur submerged into the lake's depths, he found himself transported to a realm of shimmering light and otherworldly beauty. The Sidhe, small blue-skinned beings with gossamer wings, surrounded him.
"Arthur Pendragon," they spoke in unison, their voices like chiming bells, "your mortal journey has ended, but your legend has just begun."
Arthur, still gripping Excalibur, looked at them with a mixture of wonder and determination. "What is this place? What happens now?"
The lead Sidhe approached, its eyes gleaming with ancient wisdom. "This is Avalon, the heart of magic. You are here not to sleep, Once and Future King, but to prepare."
"Prepare?" Arthur questioned, brow furrowed.
"When Albion's need is greatest, you have been prophesied to rise again," the Sidhe explained. "But until that time, you must learn. The magic that flows through this realm, the knowledge of centuries—all of this will be your study."
Arthur's eyes widened as understanding dawned. "You mean to train me?"
"Not just us," another Sidhe chimed in. "The magical beings of all realms will be your teachers. You will learn the ways of magic, the secrets of the earth, the wisdom of the ages."
Arthur thought of Merlin, of how magic had always been a mystery to him in life. Now, he had the chance to understand it fully. "I'm ready," he said, voice filled with resolve.
The Sidhe nodded approvingly. "Your journey begins now, Arthur Pendragon. Each day here will be filled with new knowledge, new skills. You will train in combat with legendary warriors, study ancient texts with the wisest of sages, and learn to wield magic itself."
As the Sidhe spoke, Arthur was given glimpses of his future studies—sparring with mythical heroes, poring over scrolls filled with arcane symbols, channeling magical energies with his own hands.
"And when the time comes?" Arthur asked.
"When Albion's need is greatest," the Sidhe repeated, "you will return, bearing not just Excalibur, but the wisdom and power of the Otherworld. You will be the king that Albion needs—a bridge between the world of men and the world of magic."
Arthur nodded, a new sense of purpose filling him. As he followed the Sidhe deeper into Avalon, he knew that every moment of his time here would be spent preparing for the day when he would be called back to fulfill his destiny once more.
With Excalibur in hand, Arthur took a step deeper into the lake, the waters swirling around him. As he submerged, a profound sense of peace washed over him, along with the knowledge that this was not an end, but a beginning. Somewhere in the depths of his being, Arthur knew the words of the Sidhe to be true: he would return when he was needed most.
Meanwhile, laying Arthur in the boat, Merlin's heart felt as if it were being torn from his chest. His whispered "Arthur. In sibbe gerest" was filled with love, sorrow, and a promise to wait, no matter how long it took, for the day when Arthur would rise again.
. . . . .
It was about one year later. As Arthur immersed himself in the magical studies of Avalon, a constant ache resided in his heart—the absence of Merlin. Despite the wonders surrounding him and the knowledge he was gaining, Arthur found his thoughts often drifting to his loyal friend and secret protector.
One day, while practicing elemental magic with a group of ethereal beings, Arthur's concentration faltered. As the water he was manipulating splashed to the ground, he sighed heavily.
"You're distracted, Once and Future King," observed Freya, The Lady of the Lake.
Arthur nodded, his eyes distant. "I was thinking of Merlin," he admitted. "I miss him more than I ever thought possible."
Freya walked closer, curiosity plain on her gentle features. Speaking softly, she said, "I knew him, and I miss him too."
"Yes," Arthur said, smiling sadly. "He was more than just my servant or even my friend. He was..." Arthur paused, struggling to find the right words. "He was everything."
As he spoke, Arthur's mind filled with memories—Merlin's goofy grin, his unwavering loyalty, the depth of emotion in his eyes during their final moments together. The love Arthur felt for Merlin washed over him anew, bittersweet and overwhelming.
"I never truly appreciated him when I was alive," Arthur continued, his voice thick with emotion. "And now, learning all this magic, understanding what he must have gone through... I wish I could tell him how much he means to me, how much I love him."
Freya listened patiently, then spoke kindly. "Your bond with Merlin is strong, Arthur. It transcends the boundaries between worlds. Though you cannot see him now, know that your love reaches him, just as his reaches you."
Arthur nodded, taking comfort in her words. He closed his eyes, focusing on his feelings for Merlin, hoping that somehow, across the veil between worlds, Merlin could feel his love and gratitude.
Opening his eyes with renewed determination, Arthur returned to his magical practice. Each new skill he mastered, each bit of knowledge he gained, he dedicated to Merlin. And he held onto the hope that one day, when Albion's need was greatest, he would return not just as a wiser king, but as a man worthy of the love and sacrifice Merlin had given him.
. . . . .
A thirty-seven-year-old Merlin sat beside Gaius's bed, his hands clasped tightly around the long-retired physician's. Gaius's eyes, still bright with wisdom despite his failing strength, met Merlin's with a mix of fondness and acceptance.
"Gaius," Merlin began softly, his voice thick with emotion. "I never wanted this day to come."
Gaius smiled weakly. "We all must face it, my son. Even sorcerers like me. But you must keep living. Your love for Arthur has never wavered, and neither has your hope. When Albion's need is greatest, Arthur will answer its call.”
Merlin squeezed Gaius's hand gently. "Thank you, Gaius. I will. And thank you for all that you have taught me. I will never forget you, as long as I live, I shall carry you with me."
"It has been my honor, Merlin," Gaius replied, his voice growing faint. "To have known you both."
As Merlin sat in tears, watching the flicker of life leave his uncle’s eyes, he whispered one last promise to his mentor and father figure.
"I will keep your memory alive, Gaius."
. . . . .
About a decade later, Merlin, in his mid-forties, found himself sitting by his mother Hunith's bedside in Camelot, where Queen Guinevere had graciously welcomed her in her final years.
Merlin held his mother's hand gently, the lines of age etched deeply on her face softened by a peaceful smile. "You've lived a full life, Mother," he said softly, voice tinged with both sorrow and gratitude.
Hunith turned her gaze to her son, her eyes filled with love and deep happiness. "And I am grateful to have seen you become the man you are, Merlin," she replied, her voice frail but filled with warmth. “Court Sorcerer, who would have ever dreamed?”
Merlin brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, fighting back tears. "I wish Arthur could have been here to see you one last time," he murmured, voice thick with emotion.
Hunith smiled gently. "He is with us in spirit, Merlin. Just as he always has been."
Merlin nodded, heart heavy with memories of his lost king and friend. "Just as I keep his memory alive, so I will cherish yours, always Mother."
Hunith squeezed Merlin's hand weakly. "You still have a great destiny ahead of you, my son. I have always known it."
Merlin bowed his head as tears spilled over his thin cheeks. "Thank you, Mother. For everything."
As Merlin sat with his mother in the quiet of the Camelot quarters, he felt a sense of peace knowing that in her final days, she was surrounded by comfort and love. And as he thought about the kingdom he had helped build, peaceful and filled with magic the past two decades, he whispered a promise to both his mother and his beloved Arthur: "I will never forget you. I will love you always."
. . . . .
When Merlin became a crotchety old man, having watched over Gwen's children with the care and affection of a loving uncle, King Leon, then Percival passed on, also from old age, both warm in their beds.
At last, as Merlin, now aged ninety-five with a long white beard, sat beside Queen Guinevere's bed in Camelot, he held her frail hand gently, his eyes filled with sadness and love. Guinevere herself had all-white hair that was still beautiful and flowing. Her face was wrinkled with old age, just as his was, yet she had aged with grace and remained beautiful. For the last decade, he'd been her closest friend, always by her side. He'd replaced the late King Leon as her confidant.
Gwen had waited for her children to depart the bed chambers, giving her and Merlin some time alone. Now she smiled weakly at him, her voice soft but steady. "Merlin," she began, words punctuated by labored breaths, "I have always known."
Merlin squeezed her hand gently, urging her to continue.
"Arthur loved you most," Gwen whispered, her eyes searching his face with affectionate certainty. "I saw it in his eyes, in the way he relied on you, trusted you. You were his truest friend, Merlin. And he.. even whilst I was alive, had begun to replace me with you… You and Arthur were supposed to rule side by side…"
As Merlin looked about to protest, she said calmly, "Don't deny it, please Merlin.. Neither of you were subtle." She gave a tiny laugh.
Tears welled in Merlin's eyes as he nodded silently, overwhelmed by Gwen's words.
"And I have always believed," Gwen continued, her voice barely above a whisper now, "that one day, Arthur would return. And this time," she paused, her breath hitching slightly, "this time, you will be with him. And you will never have to part again."
Merlin's heart ached with both grief and hope. "Gwen," he murmured, voice thick with emotion, "thank you. For believing in us. For believing in Arthur."
Gwen smiled faintly, her hand trembling in his. "I have been blessed, Merlin," she said softly. "To have known such love and courage in my lifetime."
Merlin leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to Gwen's forehead. "Rest now, Gwen," he whispered, as tears trailed down his cheeks. "You will always be in our hearts."
. . . . .
Later that night, surrounded by her friends and family, Gwen cried out, “My dear Lancelot, is that you?”
Merlin gasped through his tears. Lancelot’s spirit had chosen to assist his soulmate Queen Guinevere into Spirit with him. Soon after her proclamation, the Queen was dead.
Merlin felt a profound sense of loss, but also a deep gratitude for having known such a remarkable and kind queen. He vowed to honor her memory and continue waiting for the day when Arthur, his beloved king and friend, would return.
With his dear friend Gwen's passing, Merlin found himself the loneliest he'd ever been as the last living link to the days of Arthur's life shattered to the wind. But as Camelot's court sorcerer, he continued his service steadfastly, a beacon of magic in an increasingly changing world.
He guided Gwen's children to be humble rulers to the throne, and indeed, for centuries more, the Pendragon line ruled strongly.
That is, until the Crusades.
. . . . .
Five centuries passed
King Arthur’s skills in magic and combat had grown immeasurably, his wisdom deepened by the teachings of countless magical beings. Yet, as his power and knowledge expanded, so too did the ache in his heart for Merlin.
One day, while meditating in a grove of silver-leafed trees, Arthur found himself overwhelmed by memories and longing. He opened his eyes, tears streaming down his face.
A nearby dryad, sensing his distress, approached. "What troubles you, Once and Future King?"
Arthur's voice was hoarse with emotion. "It's Merlin. After all this time, I still miss him more with each passing day. I thought... I thought perhaps the pain would lessen, but it only grows stronger."
Arthur stood, pacing restlessly. "I've learned so much here. I understand magic now in ways I never could before. But all of it... all of it makes me think of him. Every spell I master, every secret of the universe I uncover, I want to share it with Merlin. I want to see his eyes light up, hear his laugh, feel his presence beside me."
Arthur's hand unconsciously reached for Excalibur at his side, the sword a constant reminder of his destiny and his separation from Merlin. "Five hundred years have passed. Has he moved on? Does he still wait for me? Does he know how deeply I love him, how much I regret not telling him sooner?"
The dryad listened patiently, its ancient eyes filled with compassion. "Some bonds transcend time itself. The love you and Merlin bear for each other is one such bond."
Arthur nodded, trying to take comfort in the dryad's words. But the weight of centuries without Merlin pressed heavily upon him. "Will I ever see him again?" he whispered, voicing the fear that had grown in his heart.
"Your destinies are intertwined," the dryad reminded him gently. "When Albion's need is greatest, you will return. And I believe, in my heart of hearts, that Merlin will be there waiting for you."
Arthur took a deep breath, steadying himself. He knew he had to continue his training, to prepare for the day he would be called back. But now, more than ever, he longed for that day to come—not just to fulfill his destiny, but to reunite with the one person who made him feel truly whole.
As he resumed his meditation, Arthur sent his thoughts across the veil between worlds, a silent promise to Merlin: "Wait for me. No matter how long it takes, I will return to you. And this time, I'll never let you go."
. . . . .
595 years after Arthur’s death…
The Crusades, hell-bent on viciously wiping out as many believers of the old religion as possible, lasted two centuries and brought with it one of the hardest challenges of Merlin's life thus far. It was two centuries of hiding, fighting, warring with militant religious leaders and self-righteous, all-consuming hatred. Uther at his very worst was benign compared to this.
Merlin fought tirelessly to protect Camelot from the tide of destruction sweeping across the land. He wove enchantments around the kingdom, casting protective spells and setting wards to shield its people from harm. His magic became the lifeblood of Camelot’s defenses, a shimmering barrier against the darkness encroaching from all sides.
But the enemies were relentless, their hatred fueled by zealotry and an unyielding desire to eradicate the old ways. Despite Merlin's efforts, the forces against them were too great. The Crusaders breached Camelot's walls, their ferocity unmatched by anything Merlin had encountered before. Many believers of the old religion were brutally murdered—no one was spared. Women and children, everyone was killed indiscriminately. They were hung upside down and throats cut, crucified, raped, set on fire, beheaded, tortured in various unmentionable ways—forced to convert to save their own lives. The air was thick with the stench of burning buildings and the cries of the innocent.
Merlin fought with all his might, his magic crackling through the air as he stood at the forefront of the battle. Yet, for every enemy he felled, more seemed to rise in their place. The once mighty kingdom, which had stood as a beacon of hope and chivalry, began to crumble.
The new King of Camelot, a direct descendant of Queen Guinevere and King Leon, and his princes and princesses, the heart of Camelot, were mercilessly hunted down. One by one, they fell, their royal blood staining the halls that had once echoed with laughter and song. Merlin’s heart broke with each loss, a fresh wound that deepened his sorrow and his sense of failure.
As the last of the royal family was struck down, Merlin’s strength waned. He knelt amidst the ruins of Camelot, the once-glorious castle now a graveyard of shattered dreams. His magic could no longer hold back the tide, and the kingdom he had sworn to protect was no more.
In the silence that followed, Merlin’s grief was palpable. He had fought valiantly, but it was not enough. The great sorcerer, the protector of Camelot, had been defeated. The Crusaders had won, leaving behind a trail of devastation and a broken man mourning the loss of all he held dear.
Merlin's heart was heavy with the weight of his failure, the images of the fallen royal family haunting his every thought. He whispered a final prayer to Arthur, his voice choked with tears, wishing that his beloved king could have been there to guide them through the darkness.
. . . . .
Long after the Crusades, as memories of it faded and the masses forgot the terror, falling under the false illusion that the dominant religion's popularity stemmed from truth rather than centuries of bloodshed and torture, belief in magic nearly disappeared.
In the quiet solitude of Avalon's shores, Merlin alone endured—the rotten curse of immortality. His aging eyes scanned the misty waters, his memories vivid and enduring. He had seen kingdoms rise and fall, witnessed legends fade into history, and borne the weight of centuries. Yet, his devotion to his beliefs and his loyalty to Arthur never wavered.
"I will protect you," Merlin whispered to the distant echoes of Avalon, where magic still lingered in the air. "For as long as I draw breath, I will safeguard those who seek refuge here."
As time marched on and the world changed, Merlin became a guardian of ancient traditions and a keeper of memories. His presence on the shores of Avalon became a symbol of hope and resilience, a testament to the enduring power of magic and the unbreakable bond between a sorcerer and his king.
. . . . .
Over a thousand years since King Arthur’s death…
The stark white walls of the psychiatric ward seemed to close in on Merlin as he huddled in the corner of his room. His once vibrant blue eyes, now dulled with millennia of grief and loneliness, darted around frantically. To the staff, he was just another elderly patient suffering from delusions, but the truth was far more tragic.
"Arthur," Merlin rasped, his voice hoarse from disuse. "Arthur, where are you? I can't... I can't hold on much longer."
A nurse entered, carrying a tray of medication. "Come now, Mr. Emrys," she said gently, using the name on his admission papers. "Time for your meds."
Merlin's eyes flashed gold for a moment, proof of his still-great power. "No, you don't understand. I have to wait for him. Arthur will return. He has to."
The nurse sighed, having heard this many times before. "Of course, Mr. Emrys. But you need to take your medicine while you wait, okay?"
As she approached, Merlin's fragile grip on reality slipped further. In his mind, he was back at the lake of Avalon, watching Arthur's boat disappear into the mist. "No!" he cried out, magic surging uncontrollably. The lights flickered, and the tray clattered to the floor.
Alarmed, the nurse called for backup. As orderlies rushed in to restrain him, Merlin's anguished cries echoed through the ward. "Arthur! Please! Albion needs you... I need you!"
Unknown to all, Merlin's desperate plea rippled across the veil between worlds. In Avalon, Arthur suddenly stiffened, Merlin's voice cutting through centuries of separation.
"Merlin," Arthur gasped, his heart clenching with terror. He turned to the Sidhe surrounding him. "It's time,” the King said.
Arthur could feel Merlin's mind in pieces. All these years, being so powerful, Merlin was never in any real physical danger. It was only now, that Merlin seemed to be really losing his mind, that Arthur realized Merlin needed Arthur the most. Without a sound mind, Merlin was in danger of being lost to the world. Merlin... "Merlin is the last remaining essence of Albion, and he needs me. His mind seems to be fracturing," Arthur stated to the Sidhe.
The Sidhe nodded solemnly. "The moment has come, Once and Future King. Albion's need is greatest, for its heart—your Merlin—is breaking at last. You must go to him immediately. It is not too late."
As the veil between worlds began to thin, Arthur gripped Excalibur tightly. "Hold on, Merlin," he whispered. "I'm coming back to you. Just hold on a little longer."
In the hospital, restrained and sedated, Merlin's eyes fluttered closed. But deep in his splintered mind, a spark of hope ignited, for he had felt the air around him shimmer, the magic of Albion stirring once more as its king prepared to return.
Merlin’s eyes suddenly snapped open, glowing orange.
. . . . .
The waters of the Lake of Avalon stirred, ripples spreading outward in ever-widening circles.
A hand broke the surface, grasping Excalibur, its blade gleaming in the early morning light.
Then, with a great surge, Arthur Pendragon emerged from the depths, his golden hair plastered to his forehead, his armor glistening with water droplets.
Arthur waded to the shore, his eyes scanning the misty banks expectantly. His heart raced with anticipation, ready to see Merlin after centuries apart. But as he stepped onto dry land, the reality of the empty shoreline hit him.
"Merlin?" Arthur called out, his voice echoing across the still waters. Only silence answered him.
He turned in a circle, searching desperately for any sign of his friend, his love. The lake was surrounded by unfamiliar terrain—trees where there had once been open fields, strange metal structures in the distance that Arthur couldn't comprehend.
"Merlin!" he shouted again, a note of panic creeping into his voice. "Where are you?"
As the mist began to clear, revealing more of this changed world, Arthur felt a deep sense of disorientation and loss. He had returned, just as prophesied, but the one person he had longed to see for centuries was nowhere to be found.
Arthur sank to his knees on the damp shore, Excalibur falling from his grasp. The strangeness of this new world and the crushing disappointment of Merlin's absence overwhelmed him.
"I'm here, Merlin," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I've returned. But where are you?"
As the sun rose higher, casting its light on the once and future king, Arthur realized that his quest had only just begun. He was back in Albion, but now he faced a new challenge—finding Merlin in this unfamiliar world and reuniting with the other half of his soul.
With a deep breath, Arthur stood, picked up Excalibur, and took his first steps into this new age, determined to find Merlin no matter the cost.
Arthur trudged along the busy street, his armor and sword concealed beneath a long coat he'd "borrowed" from a clothesline. He didn’t want to stick out too much.
The cacophony of car horns and the glare of neon signs assaulted his senses, but he pressed on, driven by a single purpose: finding Merlin.
Being fresh from a land of all manners of magicks, he was used to strange, so he quickly adapted to this new world. After all, part of his lessons in the Otherworld had been the modern world too, in preparation for his return. He had learned all about cars, computers, cellphones, technology, etc. The Sidhe assured him he’d thank them later.
Arthur was nothing if not determined. He used the internet at a local library and searched for any trace of Merlin. "Come on, my love. Where are you hiding?"
His breakthrough came when he stumbled upon records of a patient named Merlin Emrys in a psychiatric hospital not far from Avalon. The description—an elderly man with delusions of being an immortal wizard—made Arthur's heart race.
Now, standing before the imposing hospital building, Arthur took a deep breath. He'd faced dragons and armies, but this moment filled him with more trepidation than any battle.
As he approached the reception, he steeled himself. "I'm here to see Merlin Emrys," he declared, trying to sound confident despite his unfamiliarity with modern protocols.
The receptionist eyed him suspiciously. "Are you family?"
Arthur hesitated, then replied with conviction, "I'm the closest thing he has to family."
After some negotiation and a bit of kingly charm, Arthur found himself being led down a sterile corridor. His heart pounded with each step.
Finally, they stopped at a door. The nurse opened it, revealing a small, sparsely furnished room. And there, huddled in a chair by the window, was a frail, white-haired man.
"Merlin?" Arthur's voice was barely a whisper. Merlin looked more like Dragoon than ever before, and yet Arthur couldn’t help feeling fondly attracted to him, knowing this was his Merlin. His love.
The old man turned slowly, his dull eyes widening in disbelief. For a moment, neither moved.
Then, like a dam breaking, Merlin launched himself from the chair with surprising agility. "Arthur!" he cried, his old scraggly voice cracking with emotion as tears streamed down his face.
As they embraced, centuries of separation melting away, Arthur felt tears streaming down his face as well. "I'm here, Merlin," he murmured into his friend's shoulder. "I'm sorry it took so long."
Merlin pulled back, eyes clearing and a spark of his old self returning. "You clotpole," he said fondly, "I knew you'd come back. I always knew."
As they stood reunited in a world so different from the one they'd left, Arthur knew that together, they could face whatever challenges this new age might bring. The Once and Future King had returned, and with Merlin by his side once more, anything was possible.
The moment Arthur and Merlin were alone in Merlin's room, away from prying eyes, Merlin's eyes flashed gold. A warm glow enveloped him, and before Arthur's astonished gaze, years melted away from Merlin's form. His white hair darkened to raven black, wrinkles smoothed out, and his frail body regained its youthful vigor.
Within seconds, the Merlin standing before Arthur was the same awfully handsome twenty-seven-year-old man he'd last seen by the lake of Avalon. Arthur, of course, hadn't aged a day.
"Merlin," Arthur breathed, a mix of awe and affection in his voice. "You never cease to amaze me."
Merlin grinned, that familiar cheeky smile lighting up his face that Arthur had missed so much. "Well, we can't have you looking younger than me, now can we? Let's get out of here." Merlin gave a skip, as if relishing in his newfound youthful body.
With another flash of his eyes, Merlin conjured a shimmering veil of magic around them. "This will keep us unseen," he explained. "Ready?"
Hand in hand again, much like they had that time over a thousand years ago, they walked out of the room, past the nurses' station, and through the corridors. Staff members walked by, oblivious to their presence. They strode right past security and out the main doors, the cool breeze of freedom washing over them.
Meanwhile, inside the ward, chaos was erupting. A nurse had gone to check on Mr. Emrys, only to find his room empty. Alarms were raised, searches were conducted, but there was no trace of the elderly patient.
Security footage showed no sign of him leaving. His belongings were still in the room. It was as if Mr. Emrys had simply vanished into thin air.
As Arthur and Merlin walked away from the hospital, Merlin couldn't help but chuckle at the commotion they'd left behind. "They'll be scratching their heads over that one for a while," he remarked.
Arthur shook his head, amused and exasperated in equal measure. "Still causing trouble, I see. Some things never change."
Merlin's eyes twinkled with mischief and affection. "For once just doing what you told me, Sire."
"About time," Arthur said solemnly but with a lopsided grin.
As they disappeared into the bustling streets of the modern world, the hospital staff were left to wonder about the mysterious disappearance of Mr. Emrys—a story that would become legend in its own right among the hospital halls.
As they walked away from the hospital, Merlin couldn't stop glancing at Arthur, still hardly believing he was real. Suddenly, Arthur stopped, a mischievous glint in his eye.
"Merlin, I have something to show you," he said, drawing Excalibur from its hidden sheath.
Merlin raised an eyebrow. "Arthur, what are you-"
Before he could finish, Arthur raised Excalibur, its blade glowing with an ethereal light. With a fluid motion, Arthur traced a symbol in the air. To Merlin's astonishment, golden sparks followed the sword's path, forming a shimmering magical sigil.
"How... how did you do that?" Merlin gasped, his eyes wide with wonder.
Arthur grinned, lowering Excalibur. "Turns out, Avalon had more to teach me than just combat and kingship. I've learned magic, Merlin. And Excalibur, it seems, makes an excellent conduit—a wand of sorts."
Merlin's jaw dropped. "You... you can do magic now?"
Arthur nodded, his expression softening. "The Sidhe granted me magic to nearly rival yours. I wanted to understand your world, Merlin. To truly appreciate everything you've done. But that's not all."
He took Merlin's hand in his own, his voice growing serious. "I had to return when Albion needed me the most. You see, you were the last remaining piece of Albion. And without me, the Once and Future King, Albion would not stand. I needed to become immortal too, so the Sidhe have granted me both magic and immortality, Merlin, to be with and safeguard you forever."
Merlin's eyes filled with tears. "Arthur, I... I don't know what to say."
"You will always be more powerful, but say you'll let me protect you this time," Arthur said softly. "Let me use this gift to ensure Albion's legacy lives on through us both. Together, forever."
Overwhelmed, Merlin pulled Arthur into a tight embrace. When they parted, both had tears in their eyes, but they were smiling.
"Well then, O magical King," Merlin said, his voice thick with emotion but lightened by his characteristic cheek, "shall we see what trouble we can get into in this new world of ours?"
Arthur laughed, the sound full of joy and promise. "Lead the way, my Court Sorcerer. We have all of eternity ahead of us."
. . . . .
As they walked hand in hand through a quiet park, away from the bustle of the modern world, Arthur suddenly stopped and turned to face Merlin. His eyes were filled with an intensity that took Merlin's breath away.
"Merlin," Arthur began, his voice thick with emotion, "I need you to know something. All those years in Avalon, learning and preparing, there was one thought that kept me going—you. I love you, Merlin. I love you more than I ever thought possible."
Merlin's eyes welled up with tears. "Arthur," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I love you too. I've loved you for so long."
Arthur pulled Merlin close, resting their foreheads together. "Tell me, Merlin. Tell me what happened to you."
Merlin took a shaky breath. "After you... after you died, I waited. For so long, I waited. I watched as everyone we knew grew old and passed away. The last dragons faded into memory. Camelot fell, and new kingdoms rose in its place. But you didn't come back."
His voice grew softer, filled with pain. "Five hundred years passed. Then a thousand. And I never lost hope, Arthur. But the world changed so much, and I was all alone. My mind... it started to fracture. I couldn't bear the weight of the memories, the loneliness.
But through it all, I kept dreaming of you each night. I dreamt of all our memories, every single one. And then I began dreaming of you in Avalon. I saw you training, and I would be young again and I’d scream at you to return, but you’d fade away and I’d wake up in tears, still terribly old and alone."
Merlin’s words were hushed as he recounted, and his eyes took on a sad hollow look. Arthur's arms tightened around Merlin. "I'm so sorry," he murmured. "I'm here now. I'm real, and I'm never leaving you again."
Merlin looked up, his blue eyes meeting Arthur's. "Promise?"
"I promise," Arthur said solemnly. “All my time in Avalon, I thought of you every day. I regretted not telling you so many things.. After our secret engagement when you accepted my mother’s sigil, I’m not sure I would’ve ever made another move.. Merlin, I was so scared. All the expectations I had thrust on me as King were so overwhelming, and I was never as brave as you.”
Merlin looked at Arthur, his eyes brimming with a mix of sorrow and relief. "Arthur, you were always brave. Braver than you give yourself credit for," he said softly.
Slowly, Arthur leaned in, giving Merlin time to pull away if he wanted. But Merlin met him halfway, their lips coming together in a tender, heartfelt kiss. It was soft at first, a gentle press of lips, but soon deepened with centuries of longing and love.
They lost themselves in the kiss, hands cupping faces, fingers threading through hair. When they finally parted, both were breathless.
"I've waited a thousand years to do that," Merlin said, a hint of his old cheeky grin returning.
Arthur laughed softly, pressing another quick kiss to Merlin's lips. "Well then, we have a lot of time to make up for, don't we?"
Merlin grinned, remembering how often Arthur would comment on his arse, and how often he’d stare at Arthur’s crotch. Yes, he was most definitely a bottom. Not just any bottom, Arthur’s bottom.
As they stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, the weight of their shared destiny felt lighter than ever before. They had eternity stretching out before them, and they would face it together, just as they always should have.
“Now, how about that farm?” Arthur asked, grin widening.
. . . . .