1. The Return
Merlin sat hidden in the trees by the lake, looking blankly at the island where Arthur waited. No one usually saw him sitting here alone. When he was old, he was ignored, no one asked questions. It's not as though he drew attention to himself. Goodness knows he had always been good at blending in. This was the one life he lived. The one no one knew about. People did know him. In his other life he was young, charismatic, employable. He has probably had every job imaginable in the student employment spectrum. Now he was working in a book shop. It wasn't much, it was simple. He enjoyed talking to people about the stories and the histories behind them. On more than one occasion his old friends had been mentioned. The pain from those memories, of his life in Camelot, never fully subsided but in his own way he had moved on. That's why, now when people got talking about the Great King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table he was pleased; the inside jokes that only he knew made him laugh. People hadn't forgotten, in most cases they had gotten it wrong but their names had gone down in history.
No one ever guessed who he was. He went by a different name now. Actually he had gone by many names over the years and every once in a while, when he moved into a new town, new country, as a student, professor, traveler, retiree, he would change his name again back to what he used to be. Merlin. That name always did get some questioning looks, some double takes. It had turned out to be rather fun over the years. But it always came back to Arthur. They were undoubtedly linked in every conversation. Wise Merlin and King Arthur! Not usually in that order. And of all the stories he had seen come and go, his never died. Ironically he was still around and he guessed ,technically, Arthur was out there too...somewhere.
Somehow he always came back to this lake. He'd wait but he had learned long ago not to get his hopes up. He really didn't even know how Arthur would come back...and when!? Considering the wars the world had been through it was hard to imagine a world worse than the compilation of violence he had seen in, oh, almost a thousand years. He could be waiting here for nothing. What if Arthur was reborn? Quite possible really with a new royal couple and the world in a state of hopeful ignorance, surrounding the aimed and ready nuclear threats that is. The situation was right...then again it had been right a number of times. He looked out over the lake again.
The tower had ruined years ago but there was something new that caught his eye. He could have mistaken it but there was a flash of light a split second and then gone. He almost thought it was a trick of the light but then a fog set in on the lake and he felt magic – more magic than he had felt in a long time – surge through his heart. He looked down at his hands, the wrinkles of age had disappeared and his palms felt warm, the same warmth he always sensed in his eyes when they were speckled with gold. Did he dare hope? He looked up again at the fog. It was not ominous; it was mysterious and amidst the white of the air and the sky there was a shadow. He felt his heart leap when he realized it was the same shadow, a boat low to the water, that he had sent away all those long years ago. The boat...
The faint image grew larger, closer and he was running. Down to the water, he ignored the cold, he didn't care about that, he could always fix that. He ran until he was knee deep. Then he stopped. And the boat drifted closer. What if this wasn't it? How could it be? How could it not be? The boat stopped.
"Arthur?"
Nothing. The name felt old, missed. He moved through the water closer just barely looking over the edge of wood. He stepped back before he could see what layin the boat. This was it and he wanted a moment to realize that this was it. He strode through the water which he started to know was almost like ice. This was it and he was back!