The year was 1455. There was a war in Britannia. So that meant this would be the year. He'll be back this time. He has to be.
The year was 1675. He'd be back this time. There was another war. But he'd be back this time to help Britannia. It was important this time. So he'd come back this time.
The year was 1754. This was it. He'd come back for this war. They would be fighting the dastardly French. And he'd have to be back this time. There was no argument. He'd be back for this war. He had a duty to perform.
The year was 1776. This was the war. The colonies had risen up. Britain was in danger. So this was the war. It had to be this time. No room for argument. He'd return.
The year was 1915. This was the year. It wasn't going to be like every other time. He'd definitely show up this time. He had to. It seemed the whole world was at war. It wasn't just Camelot in danger. The whole world was in danger. So he had to show up this time.
The year was 1940. It would be this time. It wasn't going to be like every other time. He'd definitely show up this time. He had to. The world was at war again. It wasn't just Britain in danger. The whole world was in danger. Again. So he had to show up this time. He just had to.
The year is 1968. It has to be this time. Arthur has to come back this time. He just has to. The last times were just flukes. He would help out this time. He'll help out for this war. He will. He-
"Martin, get your ass out here! We're under fire!" Merlin's head snapped up. He quickly pushed his journal beneath his cot, with its sealing magic making it undetectable, and grabbed his gun. It was never his intention to be involved in war. But when Arthur hadn't showed up the second time, Merlin had decided to help. He kept his magic to himself of course. Magic didn't exist in these people's eyes. It was just a story. But Merlin knew the truth. He was the truth. But he kept it hidden. He conformed with the times, switching from swords to arrows, then to guns. They had gotten more precise as the years had gone by, and had caused so much death. Merlin never particularly enjoyed killing. In fact, he rather hated it. But it was kill or be killed on the battlefield. He just pointed, shot, and hoped his opponent had a quick death.
"Emrys!" He cleared his head and ran out of the barracks.
"Yes Chief!" He cried saluting his superior. He was fighting with the Americans this time around. Strange, how he'd gone from fighting them, to fighting with them.
"Soldier, I need you out in the front, protecting your fellow men. Can you do that?" And suddenly Merlin had a terrible thought. About when he couldn't protect those closest to him. He couldn't protect Freya. He couldn't protect Gwaine. He couldn't protect Lancelot. He couldn't protect his father. He couldn't protect Morgana. And most importantly, he couldn't protect Arthur. The one person he was meant to protect. And he couldn't.
"Soldier! I asked you a question!" He shook himself out of his daydream to look at his captain. And he had his answer.
"I will do everything I can sir."
##############
"Whoa Emrys, I didn't know you had it in you! You destroyed those good for nothing bastards!" Said one soldier as he clapped Merlin on the back. Merlin weakly nodded back. He didn't like hurting people. He wasn't like the rest of these people. He didn't have a vendetta, or anyone to protect. He wasn't a warrior. He just wanted his friend back. So he went to all the major Anglo-saxon wars hoping he'd be there. But for some reason, he never showed up. He couldn't believe there could be something worse. Something worse than all these wars. But he still refused to lose faith in his best friend. He was sure the afterlife was keeping him busy. But he'd be back. He just needed a little time.
"Well, just doing what I can."
"Man, are you kidding? You shot them up with so much metal they might as well be one of those mechanical rides at the fair! I swear man, your eyes were glowing with fire, haha!" Damn. Had his eyes glowed? He thought he'd gotten better at hiding that. He had to play it cool. He weakly laughed and took a swig of the whiskey in front of him, nearly gagging at the taste. He missed the good stuff from his collection back home. His cellar full of the delicious, really aged stuff. Stuff that had been around since before prohibition. He still had that one bottle of wine saved for when Arthur returned. If he returned. He shook himself, where had that thought come from? Of course he'd come! That wasn't even a question. Arthur had always taken forever to wake up in the mornings, why should his resurrection be any different?
His neighbour to the left chatted away, but Merlin merely tuned him out and continued to drink the swill in the bottle in his hand. It wasn't like he was a classist, it was just, well, once you got used to a certain standard it was hard to return to the other stuff. And besides it wasn't like liquor bothered him anymore. He'd built up such a tolerance over these long years, he couldn't even feel the familiar buzz.
"Careful Emrys, you don't want to end up like Sloppy Sam." the soldier on the right of him warned, gesturing to the man passed out in the mud not too far from them.
"I'm alright. Got a pretty high tolerance." He replied, taking another sip.
"Haha, yeah right. A rail like you? You'd probably fall over with half a shot."
"You'd be surprised. I've been at this for a while." He said dryly.
"Suuuure. How old are you? 22? 23?"
"Older than that." He murmured.
"Really? What, 24, 25?" The man asked, a bit incredulously.
"Sure." Of course, that was nowhere near his real age. But due to his immortality, and all that jazz, he managed to keep the appearance of the age he'd been when Arthur had died. He supposed it was just so he'd be young enough still to wait hand and foot on his dollop head of a master. Honestly he didn't mind so much, though he suspected he was the reason the vampire lore of no aging was created. Well, when you never grow any older, people did tend to get suspicious. So he moved around a lot. Never stayed in any one place too long, in fear of someone recognizing him. Of course this meant he'd been everywhere. Name a country, he had probably been there. But the world was growing everyday. Battles for land being fought, and it all seemed to change in the blink of an eye.
"Emrys. Hello? Hey English, I'm talking to you." Merlin started when he saw two fingers snapping his face. He looked to his right to see the man he'd been talking to staring at him in curiosity.
"I have to wonder where you go man. You just seem to zone out all the time."
'Sorry. Just thinking."
"Did it hurt?" Merlin chuckled at the joke. He necked the rest of the bottle and turned to the man, Private Jon Stewart.
"Is this how you talk to all your superiors?" Stewart grinned and shook his head.
"Nah, just you sire." And with that Merlin was thrust back into a rush of memories.
"Yes Sire."
"No Sire."
"All hail the great King Arthur!"
"Your royal pratness."
"Arthur."
"MER-lin."
"ARTHUR! NO!"
"Martin." He blinked quickly, shaking the memories away.
"What?"
"You're crying." He touched his face to feel the moisture that had gathered there.
"So I am."
"Um… Are you ok?"
"Perfectly fine. Just thinking."
"I guess that really must have hurt." Stewart joked trying to get the other man to laugh, but Merlin merely gave a weak smile.
"More than you know."
#########################
The year was 1781. They had been engaged in this war against the Americans for some time, and were winning. How couldn't they? They had more trained men, and a grand navy. But when Merlin, now Michael had been called into his superior's tent, he had to wonder what Arthur would think of his new life. Most likely shocked at what his manservant had become. Well, he could have a say when he finally decided to get off his lazy arse at return to this world.
"Sir? Lieutenant Michael Emrys reporting for duty."
"Ah, Emrys, come in, We've just finished up the strategy meeting. What do you think? The colonies can fight back all they want, but we'll win this war. And the battle tomorrow at Yorktown will prove it."
"Of course sir."
"However, I have a favour to ask. I'm sorry about this, but I must ask you to deliver this letter and parcel." Merlin cocked his head to one side.
"I'm sorry to ask sir, but wouldn't that job be better suited for one of a lower position?"
"Emrys, I'll be straight with you, I need this message to be delivered by you. It's to… someone important. And it must be delivered in the utmost secrecy. That means out of uniform. And it must be delivered as soon as possible. I need someone I can trust to deliver this, and I believe you are trustworthy enough. And there is something you must tell the recipient." Merlin was startled by his General's words.
"Sir, I'll do everything I can." He replied with a salute.
"Good man. Now, take it to this address…"
- Much Later-
It had been more than a day's ride to find the address he was supposed to deliver the package to, but he finally arrived. Merlin double checked the address as he got down from his horse. Strangely enough this didn't seem to be a hidden base or encampment of any kind. With the entire secrecy surrounding his mission, he was expecting either a hole in the ground or a small remote cabin in the middle of nowhere, but instead was met with the sight of a plain, moderately sized house. Quite elegant really, though still presented with an air of modesty. He approached the door, before leaving a tentative knock on the door. When there was no reply, he tried again, a bit more forceful this time. Finally, after knocking twice more and receiving no answer, he was about ready to give up. He turned to go when he heard the door open. He spun around to see a lady silhouetted in the doorway. He took his hat off as a sign of respect and bowed to her.
"Uh, can I help you sir?" He straightened and nodded, before handing her the box and the attached letter from the General. Her face paled as she took it from his outstretched hand, seeing her initials written in tight letters. She quickly tore open the envelope and read through the letter.
"I see. You'd better come in…?"
"Lieutenant Michael Emrys madam. And thank you for your hospitality." She watched him with interest as he entered her house. When she directed him to the drawing room she observed that he waited for her to take a seat before sitting himself.
"I have to say Lieutenant, you have good manners for a soldier." He laughed, an almost musical sound, at her words.
"Thank you madam. I suppose I have my mother to thank for that."
"Is she strict then?"
"She could be. But she was still kind, and loving." She noted that he used a past term for his mother.
"Has she passed then?" she then slapped her hand over her mouth and her eyes widened.
"Oh my, I am so sorry. I shouldn't have asked. That was much to personal. I apologise." He laughed once more, and shook his hand in dismissal.
"It's quite alright. She has long since left this world. And she left peacefully and happy. That is the important thing." The woman nodded and smiled.
"I suppose you are right sir. Oh my goodness, I haven't even introduced myself. Miss Lesedi Kamari at your service sir." He nodded in greeting, observing the woman in front of him. She was pretty, dark curled hair and warm brown skin the colour of cocoa beans. With dark eyes, she was striking, a beauty that men surely fought over. So why was she out here, stuck in the middle of nowhere? He then remembered his mission, and straightened up.
"You must forgive me ma'am, I don't mean to intrude so late. But I was told it was a matter of utmost importance that I deliver this parcel and a message to you." She nodded and spread her hands.
"Well, whatever I can do to help." He grinned, before clearing his throat. He looked up, in attempt at remembering the exact words he had been told to relay.
"Right. Well, the captain said to tell the recipient of the message, 'I may not be able to contact you again. The contents of the box should help you. If we never meet again, be brave. Andrew will forever be safe.'... Does that make any sense?" He looked over to the woman to see her bright face had disappeared and was replaced by an empty look, as if all the happiness had been drained from her.
"I see." Was all she replied with, fiddling with a locket around her neck. Merlin was shocked to see tears making their way down her face.
"Madam, are you alright?" She sniffled quietly before sighing and wiping at her eyes.
"I do apologise Lieutenant. Don't know quite what got into me."
"It's uh- it's quite alright ma'am. Is there uh- anything I can do?"
"I'm afraid there is nothing you can do Lieutenant. I just need a moment. If you could excuse me." Merlin stood as a sign of respect as she left the room muttering something indistinctly. He sighed as the clock chimed, signaling the late hour. He sat back down, rubbing his face. He really couldn't tell why the captain had sent him on this mission. In all truths, he felt he was beginning to get a bit old for this. Of course, he still didn't look a day over 23, but he still tired quite easily, at least mentally. After all, when one is alive for so very long, the days eventually begin to just blur together. He stood abruptly when he heard the pitter patter of footsteps behind him. He turned to see a boy standing in the doorway, no older than four. He had tanned skin, a colour that reminded Merlin of his old friend Guinevere. The boy stared at him with curiosity in his amber eyes. Merlin smiled at the boy and the boy grinned back instantly.
"Hello there young man."
"Are you a soldier?" Merlin chuckled as the boy gave him an excited look, eyes sparkling.
"I am."
"My father is a soldier too!" Merlin was a little taken aback at this statement. Although he personally did not believe any one race was better than another, it seemed the rest of the world did. The years had certainly changed since Guinevere's rule, with people of a darker skin complexion considered as a lower race. Of course, Merlin fought this as much as he dared, not wanting to mess too much with the status quo. After all, there was only so much one man could do, even a warlock such as himself.
"I see. And who's your father young man?"
"I dunno. But mother says he's a great soldier who's out there protecting us."
"I see… what's your name young man?"
"I'm-"
"Andrew." They both turned to see Lesedi standing there, a look of shock on her face. And suddenly it clicked. The secrecy of the mission, the woman's reaction to the message. Everything made sense.
"What are you doing awake? Go back to bed." She said sternly, crossing the room, ushering him to the staircase. The boy sighed but allowed his mother to lead him away, but not before turning back to Merlin.
"Goodnight Mr. Soldier! If you see my daddy, can you tell him I miss him?" Merlin smiled softly, and nodded. The boy grinned once more and exited the room, to ascend the staircase towards his bedroom. The room was silent for a moment as the gravity of the situation weighed on both adults.
"I can explain-" Lesedi began, before Merlin interrupted her.
"There's no need. Nothing to explain." She regarded him in suspicion, but seemed surprised at what she found.
"You really don't care, do you?"
"Care about what?"
"That I am who I am, that my son is who he is. Who his father is. Our differences."
"Of course not. I learned long ago that the power of love transcends all odds. We fall for who we fall for, and there is not a thing in the world we can do about it." She smiled gently at him, and sat, gesturing him to follow in her lead.
"You sound as if you speak from experience." He gazed off to a corner, memories bubbling inside him.
"There was someone once, a very long time ago. She was beautiful, perfect yet so flawed. She was all I wanted, and despite our differences, she loved me and I her, for as long as we could. I still think about her to this day. If I could turn back time, to have just one more moment with her, I would do it in a heartbeat." He looked back over to Lesedi who had been watching him, the faint smile played upon his lips but the forlorn look in his sapphire eyes said it all. His was not a happy tale to tell.
"What happened to her?" He sighed, thinking of Morgana's grinning face as they rode off. Off to save his village. A happier time.
"She died. Hers was not a peaceful life, but she died without suffering, and that was all that mattered to me. That she was finally at rest." And she could not hurt anybody else anymore, he thought to himself darkly. He had loved her, but had seen where love got people. He was determined not to let happen again. She nodded, a bittersweet expression on her face.
"I love him you know. And he loves me. But… no one can ever know. We could never be affectionate. I can never meet his family. We can never marry. Andrew can never know his father, and his father can never know him. Despite the fact he desperately wants to." Merlin nodded sagely, as she looked off into the distance, a troubled look on her face. Suddenly the bell chimed once more, signaling that it was dawn, and the birds would soon be awake. He sighed before standing, and turning to the woman. She stood as well, and he bowed slightly.
"Miss. Kamari, as much as a pleasure it was to have met you, I'm afraid I must be going. I'm sure my efforts are need on the battlefield. I cannot be away for much longer."
"Of course. I'll show you out." They made their way to the foyer in silence. He nodded his thanks to her before walking out the house. He had just made it to his horse when he heard Lesedi call out to him.
"Lieutenant!" He turned to give her a questioning look. She bit her lip indecisively before continuing.
"Look after him. Please." And Merlin was thrust back into a memory. Of Gwen asking him the same thing. And of him failing. Well he wouldn't fail this time.
"I'll do everything I can." He rode as fast he could. He'd really do it this time. He'd help them. He'd make sure the Lieutenant met his son. He'd make sure they'd be happy. He'd do it. When he had returned to base however, he found out his captain's fate. The date was October 19th 1781. The day after Britain's surrender at Yorktown. His captain… well, he made sure to break the news in person.
#################
"Hey English! English. ENGLISH!" Merlin snapped awake to see Private Jon Stewart shaking him awake. He sat up realising he had fallen asleep by the fire pit… just like old times.
"Jesus, did you spend the night out here?"
"I guess."
"Don't you have a bunk for that?" Merlin sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, his mind not quite awake yet.
"Yeah… sorry, I'm just a little out of it."
"I can tell. What you were you dreaming about?"
"Yorktown. I can still remember it so vividly."
"What?" Merlin came to full attention, realising his mistake.
"The dream. I can still remember the dream so vividly." Jon stared at him with a look of confusion written across his face.
"You dream about the Revolutionary War?"
"Yeah... don't you?" Stewart cocked his head and stared at Merlin before chuckling.
"You are one strange man Emrys." Merlin let out a short bark of laughter before shaking his head and standing up, stretching his sore muscles.
"You are not the first to tell me that Private. And I'm certain you won't be the last."
"I can tell. Come on then sir, there's work to do."
"Right."
####################
"Hey Jon, Jon look at me." He repeated over and over, slapping at the boy's face. He was only 19. So young, and due for so much more life.
"Damn it man, why'd you have to do that?" He shouted, more out of pain than anger. The privates eyes wandered up to Merlins tear filled ones.
"S'alright English. I always knew I'd take a bullet. I don't mind that it was for you." Merlin felt the tears fall, ignoring the cries around him, the bullets whizzing past the location of his cover.
"I would have been fine. You didn't have to save me!" He felt tears falling faster, as he kept applying pressure on the wound, which he knew deep down was useless. The wound was fatal, and even if he allowed himself to use magic, it wouldn't matter at this point. He heard a growl of frustration, not even acknowledging it was coming from him. He still attempted to stop the bleeding, pushing down hard over the bullet wound. By now, blood would be filling his lungs. Why would he do this? And why couldn't Merlin stop him? Why could he never stop anything? Jon lifted a hand, and grasped Merlin's upper arm, bringing his attention back down.
"Did," he coughed, blood spattering from his mouth, "Did I do good Sergeant?" Merlin felt his blood run cold, and he gripped the man's arm in return.
"Yeah, you did really good Private." He assured him, voice managing not to wobble. The boy smiled weakly before his head lolled back, and his arm went limp. Merlin lowered him to the ground slowly before he sat back on his knees, threw his head back, and let out a scream of anger laced with pain. He had to watch it again, watch another person die because he couldn't save them. And yet another person died to protect him.
"Sergeant, we've got to move. Sergeant, we have to go. Now!" He allowed himself to be yanked away, and felt a mask of anger fall over him. And the rage of a good man was far worse than any other.
###################
When he returned back to the base in the States, he tried to get back to normal. The days were spent training. Pull ups, push ups, climbing, and crawling never got easier, but it wasn't quite the same as the intense training it took to wield a sword for a battle. Cenred would love these newfound weapons, easier to finish off an opponent, and you could go for longer periods of time. Of course, Merlin hated them on principle alone. Yes, he wielded them, but he hated how easy it was to take a life. Merlin was determined that if he didn't find Arthur this battle, he would be a medic a next time around. He'd had his fill of taking lives, despite the fact he still needed to be on the front lines. He'd done what he had to do, to protect his team, to protect his secret, but he didn't want this life anymore. And so he he kept his promise. The Vietnam war had been such a terrible defeat for the Americans, a wound to their pride at the cost of so many lives. But they went on.
Merlin returned to his life of seclusion soon after the war ended. He did not want to stay in America, where some spat at him upon learning he was a soldier, however he knew he had no choice. It still struck an angry cord in him when people disrespected the men who'd been fighting overseas. Everyday they'd risked their lives, in a war they didn't choose, to protect others at cost of their safety and their lives. Respect was such a small thing to ask for in return.
"Oh Marcus dear!" He turned his head with a smile as the older woman hobbled towards him. He'd been treating her husband, who was having some mystery pains in an old war wound. Turns out that the bone had never healed properly, so they'd had to re break it, much to the old man's displeasure. That had what Merlin had been up to in the most recent years, taking care of veterans who had not been receiving proper care, either due to the fact they couldn't afford the extended amount of care they need, of the VA didn't cover all procedures they needed.
"Hello Ethel, how are you? How's Frank doing?" He asked, as he paused to let her catch up to him.
"I'm wonderful, thank you Marcus. And you know Frank honey, he's complaining as usual."
"Is his leg acting up?" He asked with concern. She chuckled and waved her hand dismissively.
"No dear, he's too busy complaining about today's youth to even think about his leg." Merlin laughed at that, familiar with Frank's antics.
"That's Frank for you." He replied with a fond smile. Frank was one of his particularly favourite patients. He had the mouth of a sailor and a heart of gold. Always tried to set Merlin up with some girl or another in repayment for his services. Merlin ran a free clinic, having saved up enough money over the multitude of years he'd lived. After all, you couldn't go that long without picking up some trinkets. In fact, he could practically open up a antiques shop with the amount of stuff he had piled up in his storage container. A few priceless vases, a sketchbook from Da Vinci, even ballet shoes signed by Anna Pavlova herself. Of course, there were the ones he'd never part with; Gwaine's sword, Gaius' mortar and pestle, his mother's necklace, a sketch of Camelot in all her beauty by Percival, and a painting of Arthur and Guinevere that he'd been given as a parting gift on that painful day he'd had to watch the woman he held so highly pass on. All treasures to him, one's that each came with their own special brand of pain. He did his best not to visit his storage container too often.
"Marcus? Are you alright?" He glanced over to the kind woman who was looking at him with concern and flashed her his usual cheerful smile.
"Never better ma'am."
#########################
He was a sentimental old fool, and he knew it. He'd been told that numerous times, by Kilgharrah before his passing. He missed that old grump, despite all their hard times. If you had told Merlin when he first arrived at Camelot, that he would become like family to a thousand-year-old dragon, he would have laughed in your face. Outright, belly clutching, knee-slapping laughing. Of course, he'd probably do the same if you told him he'd become King Arthur's manservant/best friend. There he went again, reminiscing. Sentimental old fool.
Merlin paced in front of the doorway, furious steps as he thought of all the very good reasons he shouldn't be doing this. All of them very valid and important reasons. He took a deep breath and let out three resonating knocks on the wooden door. He waited for a moment before deciding he had been very right, and this was a terrible idea. He turned on his heel to go before hearing the tale tell creak of the door opening. Oh god. This had been a terrible idea.
-The year 1946-
Merlin entered the lowly lit bar with a hankering for ale, and the knowledge he wouldn't be receiving any. He ordered a beer instead, not as strong as the stuff served at tarven, but not as bad a the swill served on the front lines. He sipped at the cold brew, taking in the environment with all his senses. The vocalist crooning softly in the back corner, a forgettable song that he'd heard a hundred times before. The rough feel of the wooden bartop, scratched from years of use; the cool condensation of the beer glass against his fingertips. The beer itself soothed his throat, and relaxed him, a familiar habit. The scent of smoke curled around him, crooking it's finger innocently as it longed to drown him in it's scent. He took in all the vagrants around him, each intertwined in their own spoken dance with one another. Each man leaning in far too close for public decency, each woman bashful, but with a spark of enjoyment in their eyes. It was interesting to watch, how times had changed. The skirts had gotten shorter, the heels taller, and none seemed to worry about any of the others surrounding them, focusing solely on each other. Of course there was always the man with the wandering eye, and the woman who was never quite satisfied. Alas, they all ended up the same way. Back in the bar. Merlin was contemplating all this when he felt a tap on his shoulder.
He turned his head to come to face with a woman who had the most piercing eyes he'd come across in quite some time. They were the colour of the forget-me-nots that had grown in the harbouring woods of Ealdor. Hair so dark against her porcelain skin nearly brought him back to- no. Her hair was wild from curls, not from living in the woods or being on the run. She had a bright smile on her face, lips painted crimson. She seemed so out of place, almost as if she was from another time, one far less abrasive than the city of London, still being rebuilt from the war.
"Um, yes?" He heard himself say, still a little lost in the woman's eyes. She smiled a little brighter and Merlin felt his heartbeat a little faster.
"Hello, do you mind if I have a seat next to you?" Merlin scrambled into action by pulling the bar stool out for her to have a seat at. She flashed him what seemed to be her signature smile a sat down.
"I'm Margaret by the way. Margaret Windelton. And you are?"
"Me? Oh right, of course you meant me. I um- I'm Malcolm. Malcolm Emrys. Pleasure to meet you." He replied, slightly stuttering. She grinned at his flushing face as he tried to gain some semblance of self control. Dear Lord, he was in his late hundreds now. He should know how to talk to women.
"Nice to meet you too." She said with a soft smile. He nodded and turned back to his beer, taking a large sip.
"I'll have a gin and tonic, please sir." He heard her order to the bar man, and listened as he poured the liquid into the shaker. They sat in silence as he made the drink, the only noise being the ambience of the bar.
"So," he started and turned to look at the woman who was smiling over at him, "what's your story Malcolm Emrys?"
"Haven't really got one ma'am." He answered simply, averting his eyes, hoping to avoid the conversation. But she didn't seem to mind the obvious brush off and continued.
"Come on, everyone's got a story." He sighed and glanced over to her, and could tell by the look in her eyes she wasn't going to let this go.
"Uh, well. I was born in a small town and grew up with my mum. Dad wasn't in the picture. When I got old enough I moved to a large city. I served as a uh, butler of sorts, to a rather wealthy family. The father was a nightmare, and to be fair so was his son. At first at least. But, then as he grew older, he grew wiser, and we became good friends. When his father died, he took over the… well, I suppose the company. When the war started, we both went out to fight. We fought side by side, but he was sta- uh shot and… I couldn't save him in time. He died and I lost my best friend. I lost a great many friends that day." He finished, sentence trailing off at the end. They were silent once more, as they each took a sip of their drinks.
"Sorry-" they both spoke at the same time, before stopping and laughing.
"Uh you go ahead." She prompted but he waved his hand in dismissal.
"Oh, no I insist." He countered and she grinned at him again.
"Well, I was just going to say, sorry for asking. I could see you were uncomfortable and I should have left well enough alone." He smiled gently at her and shook his head.
"No, trust me, it's not you. I just haven't done this," he gestured in the space between them, "in a while."
"What? Talked to somebody?" She teased and he let out a bright laugh.
"Yes, talked to somebody." She looked up at him from her lashes and smiled once again.
"Well you can talk to me." And talk they did. They talked all through the night. Up until the bartender, politely as he could, told them it was time to go. Merlin offered to walk her home, and gave her his coat despite the frigid chill of English weather.
"So you never told me your story." She smiled widely at him, something she did often, and thought for a moment.
"Well, there's not much to tell. I'm far less interesting. I was born in London, and went to a boarding school for ladies in France, and traveled a lot when I was younger. Although I long to visit Switzerland, Geneva especially, since I never got to go on a skiing trip there like all the other girls. I've got a Mum and Dad and two younger sisters, both awful as you can imagine. I work as a seamstress at a local shop but my dream…" she stopped herself and looked at her hands.
"Your dream is…?" He pushed lightly, trying to get her to continue.
"No it's silly." She tried to wave it off with a laugh.
"If it's coming from you it can't be silly." She looked at him carefully before leaning in conspiratorially.
"My dream is to be a writer." He smiled down at her as she giggled madly, seeming to find the notion ridiculous.
"That's not silly." He assured her and she stopped laughing to look over at him.
"Me? A writer. How many successful women writers do you know?" He hummed before stopping and turning to her.
"Mary Shelley, Jane Austen, Charlotte Brönte, Emily Brönte, Agatha Christie, Virginia Woolf-" He listed, checking them off on his fingers as he went along before she interrupted.
"Alright, alright. But me? I could never be one of them." She said with a bittersweet smile. He leaned in closer to her.
"You never know unless you try." Her smile grew as she looked at him and with a surge of confidence, took off down the street, dragging a cackling Merlin with her.
And that certainly wasn't the last of their meetings. They continued seeing each other for a long while, and shared more secrets with each other. And eventually, as they often do, they fell in love. Of course, Merlin knew nothing could come with it. But for the first time, in a very long time, he allowed his heart to want something. He never revealed his deepest truth, but listened to her every wish. He'd told her very early on, that he could never marry, and one day, he would have to go. She had put her finger on his lips, and had said,
"Then let's enjoy the time we have." And they did. He took her sight seeing all around the world. Paris, Rome, Venice, Barcelona, and many more. They never did make it to Geneva like they hoped, but she had gotten homesick. They returned home to set up in little village in the North of England, and settled down best they could. It was nothing grand, but it was theirs. She joined a alterations shop a bike rides away, and he worked at the local general practitioners. He still stayed alert for any battles that perhaps Arthur might arrive at, but for a several years, they were at peace.
The day he had to leave broke both of their hearts. She had noticed finally, that although she began to notice fine lines and mysterious aches and pains, he had not aged a day. She came home early one day, and noticed his case packed by the doorway. He walked out to the living room and froze.
"Leaving were you? Without saying goodbye?" She demanded, voice edging on shrilly. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
"I believed goodbye would be too painful." Her anger broke at that, knowing neither truly wanted him to leave. She hurried towards, dragging him into a tight embrace.
"Malcom, I have a request before you go." She asked, her voice soft but tone leaving no room for arguments.
"Anything Margaret. Anything." He murmured, placing a kiss on her forehead before pulling back.
"Take a picture with me." She said softly, taking his hands in hers.
"Margar-" He protested, but she merely held up a finger.
"If I am to lose you Malcolm, at least give me something to remember you by. To remember you were real. At least that." He watched her for a moment before nodding slowly. He would give her at least that.
That was the last time Merlin opened his heart up for a very long time. He had forgotten how painful it was to leave someone behind, for the fear they'd grow old in front of him, leaving him to watch once more as somebody he loved died. That was the last day he saw Margaret, he kept his promise to himself not to bother her anymore. For a very long time.
-Present Day-
"Sorry can I help you? Takes me a moment to answer to door with the boys running round." He turned slowly to look up at a plump young woman, an apron tied around her and a drying cloth over her shoulder.
"Sorry, I was just wondering if a woman Margaret Windleton lived here, but I can see she doesn't, so I'll just-" Her face dropped open in surprise as her eyes caught his face.
"Oh my god, it's you." He looked a little uneasy at that and flashed her his classic confused face, hoping to seem innocent.
"Pardon?" He asked.
"Sorry, but you are practically a carbon copy of him." She replied, the wide eyed look still on her face.
"Sorry, I'm not sure-" He tried.
"What was he called? Mark, no Michael?" She cut him off, tapping her finger on her chin.
"Malcolm?" He sighed, throwing her a bone.
"Yeah, that was him! Malcolm Emrys, the man in the picture." She peered closely at him, as if she couldn't quite believe his eyes.
"He was my father." Her face lit up, and she quickly ushered him inside, telling him to ignore the tip the house was, with three boys, it was inevitable after all. She brought him to the living room and despite his protests, brought him a cup of tea and a chocolate biscuit. Once he had settled, and was quite pink in the face, she brought over a picture frame hidden in the back corner.
"Here it is. Mum, and the mysterious wonder as she used to call him. God, did she ever tell a good tale about him." He looked up at that, with a very well concealed look of pain.
"Mum? So you're her-"
"Daughter? Yeah. Well, one of two. Two girls and two boys. That was Mum for you. Everything had to be neat and matching." He nodded gently and turned back to the photograph with a fond smile.
"So she married?" He asked, not moving his eyes from the picture.
"Yep. She married Dad in, ooh what was it? 1955? Yeah, just about then." He nodded once more, eyes transfixed on her delicate face, forever frozen in time.
"When did she pass?" He asked softly.
"About a two years or so ago. Dad went a few years before then. It was time, you know. Age finally caught up on them, as it must all of us I'm afraid." He nodded once more, before tearing his eyes away and looking up at the woman who was smiling at the frame bittersweetly. That same smile he'd seen in that bar in 1946.
"Tell me about her." She smiled over at him, and took a seat on the armchair across from Merlin.
"Only if you tell me about him." And so they did. They talked long into the afternoon, exchanging stories of Merlin's past, and Margaret's long, happy, fulfilled life. And though it hurt Merlin to hear some of the stories, he knew it was the life he had wanted for her. It was why he had left after all. Eventually it was time to leave, and although she invited him for supper, he politely declined, noting that he had to been leaving soon, for he had work in the morning. Lie, but he really couldn't bare to be in their little house any more. It was still the same, but with different items scattered around. Different pictures, toys covering the floor, and a new colour on the walls. Nothing had changed, yet everything had.
"Oh! Before you go." She hurried over to her dresser drawers and pulled out an envelope. She turned back to where he was waiting in the doorway with a smile.
"Perhaps you could give this to your dad, or read it to him somehow. She always held out hope he'd return one day, but I think she knew deep down he never would." He nodded, shot her one last smile, and left. When he finally arrived at his apartment, he sat on his bed, and opened the envelope with shaking hands, to reveal a copy of their photo, and a letter.
My dearest Malcolm,
If this letter finds you, it means I'm dead. There is no need to cry my dear, for I lived a long, happy life. I found love once more, and gained a new kind of love through my children. I suspect that when you receive this letter, you shall look not a day older than when you left that dreaded day. Although I miss you terribly Malcolm dear, I have managed to move on. I never did become a great writer, I took on a far more important role. The role of a mother. I still tell the story though, of the mysterious stranger I met that one night to my children, however I did clean it up a little. We met at a gala, not a jazz bar. We drank champagne, not gin and tonic. And you and I shared an epic romance, which of course we did. At least on my end. My darling, I will always love you. And I hope you manage to find happiness of your own one day soon. Until then my love, may we meet again.
Love,
Margaret
Merlin couldn't help but sniff as he felt the tears falling down his cheeks. He had forgotten how much it hurt, he had forgotten the pain. How could he forget this pain? He lied there holding that picture for a very long time, re-reading her letter over and over again. When he finally got himself together, it was the next day. And he knew exactly where he had to go. He'd heard after all, Switzerland was lovely this time of year.
############################
Despite his desperation not to dredge up old memories, he still visited Lake Avalon each year. Just to see her one last time. On Samhain the lines between the living and dead blurred, and she would visit him. His darling Freya. He had three great loves in his life, and she was one of them. The innocent one. The pure one. She visited him to tell him about her life in Avalon. How painless it was, how happy she was. The sky was made of diamonds it seemed, and there were strawberries everywhere, juicy and ripe. Just like she'd always hoped for. She protected the sword for him, and sat with him through his tears. Sat and listened to the broken old man, and assured him the time would come.
"But when Freya, when? How long do I have to wait? How long am I asked to wander the world? One millenia? Two? Why am I cursed to live this endless life? Why am I never allowed to rest?" He cried, into her arms one night, having lost yet another friend to the hands of time. She hushed him and pulled him closer, cradling his upper half against her chest.
"Merlin the day will come. Arthur will return. Be as strong as I know you can be. The day will come my sweet." That night was a silent one, both holding each other tightly, until it was her time to go. It was a sad day, as he trudged back to his apartment, seeming less like home by the hour. He knew he'd have to go into tomorrow, well today, and live another day as Marco Emrys, doctor extraordinaire to small-town Italy. He knew he was helping people, but he wished desperately for his friend to return for him. To have a real adventure. To defeat evil, with his brothers at arms beside him. He never was particularly good with a sword, but he had mastered his craft by saving people through other means. And now, he knew how it felt to be a knight, a soldier. To fight for wars you don't always agree with, but doing so anyway, for the people at home. The innocents. So many names flashed before his eyes. The names of the dead.
The captain he couldn't save. The man who took a bullet for him. The woman he'd fallen for when he believed he couldn't fall again. All strong and brave in their own ways and each fell victim to the ever passing tide. And yet here he remained, unwavering as death followed him, never quite catching up. But even as these depressing thoughts returned to Merlin, he found strength. Arthur would return. He just had to be patient. Arthur would come back for him. And come, he did.
-In A Distant Future-
Merlin sat at Lake Avalon, awaiting Freya once more. The fashion had certainly changed since he last saw her, he wondered what she would think this time. She seemed to giggle every time she saw him. He sat there, fiddling with the leaves, watching them fly up into the air, occasionally making them hover there. Suddenly he felt the air hum with magic. It was time, she was coming. He never really stood on command with her. She had asked him to stop doing that after the first century. Now he sat, and waited for her to join him on the picnic basket. He heard footsteps and then a voice that stopped him cold.
"Merlin, just what are you wearing? You look like a prat. " He just sat there, eyes filling with tears. Scarcely breathing, barely hoping to dream, scared to even look. He finally pulled his eyes upwards to stare at the golden-haired figure before him.
"Come on then Merlin. There's a battle to be fought. And one to be won." The man knelt then and looked him in the eyes with a grin.
"You didn't really think I wouldn't come back for you, did you?"
And for the first time in a very long time, Merlin, the broken wanderer, the man of legend, smiled.