As time continued onward, the world of swords and magic and prophecies morphed into that of guns and technology and science.
Gone was the world that Merlin had grown to know. Days and nights passed, months and years blending together, making it difficult for him to separate memories. Empires came and went, created and brought down, ruled with kings or tyrants; lands no longer went under the names they once were, changing as their borders and rulers did. Magic became weaker and weaker, slumbering as those who were once a part of it (dragons, sorcerers, witches, Druids, spirits) slowly left the world and left only stories in their wake. People threw aside history, marking it out only as legends- legends that became myths- myths that were no longer believed.
While his old world faded, a new age took its place. Lights invaded the the skyline, buildings shooting for the stars and rivaling in their brightness and intensity. As the years passed, the warlock counted less visible lights in the sky, opting to observe the city lights instead and pretend that they were their own constellations. Machines made man's life easier, replacing all the ancient troubles the human race once struggled with. People weren't limited; they could do so much more, be so much more.
That didn't mean Merlin didn't appreciate the changes- no, he welcomed much of it, embracing the change. His long life was spent exploring the new lands ahead of him, discovering their wonders, and learning the traditions and magics they had to offer. He traveled to places that went far beyond the reach of quests he'd accompanied Arthur and his knights- across seas and deserts and mountains- his eyes taking in everything new, always full with wonder. There wasn't a moment where he didn't soak up the sights and smells; no place and person was forgotten.
Even as he traveled, he took time to visit his old home, noting how it became less of what he remembered after every visit. Civilization grew, the beautiful woods and lakes became a shadow of what they once were.
It saddened him, but it was a reminder that change was constant.
Yet, even with the change, there was still a sense of wrong within him, something that kept him from fully becoming part of this new age. He was a relic of the Old religion, living and breathing in a time where none believed in it's existence or in his. There were none like him- he was the last of his kind and would continue to be so for years to come; he would even outlive this New religion, walking an endless path through time, alone and weary.
And as he lived these years alone, he allowed time to change his body as it did every other living thing. Although gone was the fear that his face be recognized, the warlock had little care about his appearance; uncaring and detached he was about how people saw him and thought of him. He always thought the old appearance perfectly fit him, so full of life, yet tired of it, so he kept it.
After Arthur's end, he was seen as Dragoon, Merlin disappearing with the One and Only King. It didn't matter, as there weren't that many left who knew of him and his name, none to see him naturally turn into his Emrys counterpart.
It wasn't long until even that name was disregarded.
He supposed he grew beyond his years, becoming wiser and more connected with the world and it's workings (acting like the old man he was). People, though very few, came to him for advice throughout the ages and he gave his thoughts freely, offering aid to those in need- and an insult or two to those in dire need of it. But soon, those stopped as well.
He separated himself from the world and it's affairs, shedding his Dragoon appearance once and for all, condemning that side of himself to be forever lost in the legends.
He reverted to his younger face, fitting in an age dominated by the young and new.
Once forgotten, he settled to watch and wait and see what the new era would bring forth- what new things it would give him- what it would surprise him with.
Until then, he was content with keeping to himself.
.
.
.
A car horn screamed, accompanied by angry yells and curses, startling him.
Gone was the scenes of grassland and clear lakes, replaced by the crumbling asphalt and murky water falling down into the sewers.
He'd gotten lost in his thoughts- he reminisced far too often, stuck in the past rather than the present (or maybe he was just becoming senile).
It was raining again, like it always did, but he didn't mind. It was one of the things that didn't change as time passed. The air was always clearer during a shower, the droplets cool against his skin, momentarily washing away the smell of petrol that hung in the air.
Most rushed to get out of the pouring rain, not wanting to get soaked, but he deterred. As he sat back on the bench, he let his hood down and tilted his face up, eyes closed in content, embracing the fresh air. Although the sounds of the real world were all around him he'd gotten much practice in fading the unwanted background noise, focusing only on nature and the magic it brought.
He imagined the wind was whispering to him, the rain tapping to get his attention. Though spirits and other deities were long gone, some reminiscences were left, even if it was only a faint sigh with the breeze.
Minutes passed as he soaked up all that nature gave him.
Then he felt something entirely different, a warm feeling that glided about him before going off. Something he hadn't felt from anything or anyone other than himself in centuries. A warm feeling that could only be described as pure, strong magic. His eyes snapped open, moment of meditation lost.
And there, a ghostly butterfly fluttered just above the heads and umbrellas, leaving a fading trail of red.
… Go on… go find him…
Something in his gut twisted and his heart skipped a beat, his eyes immediately darting around to try and find where the voice came from. There hadn't been a voice able to pierce his consciousness for decades, yet he knew that voice, knew that feeling. However, all that greeted his vision was the grey of the world and the blank faces of strangers peering out at him from beneath umbrellas and hoods. Nothing magical of the sort came forward beside the dainty creature floating about.
"Freya?…" He didn't receive an answer, just the the fluttering of the butterfly coming back to him before whisking back into the sea of people, tempting him.
He was on his feet without further thought, legs moving on their own accord, to a destination that he didn't know. He joined the mess of people, fitting snugly between two people who didn't give him a single glance, none of which cared for his soaked appearance. Once moving, he was finally aware of how cold he had been getting, his fingers burning once he shoved them into his pockets. His hair was sticking to his forehead and the back of his neck, but he paid it no mind; nor was he bothered by his ever numbing lips and reddening nose.
All that mattered was the lingering effects of Freya's voice and the smoke-like trail that followed the peculiar butterfly, fading as soon as it formed.
He passed numerous streets, some familiar and some he'd never seen before. Once or twice he itched to go into one of cozy stores and warm up, but he only hitched up his hood and tugged at his scarf a bit, continuing on. His eyes were only for the dainty creature flying ahead of him, always coming back as to make sure he hadn't lost his way.
Left, then right, straight for a few blocks. Cross the street, past the the pub, through the intersection.
But then, he was released. Stopped at the edge of a street, under the streetlight, noticing the glow it gave all those that passed by it. With a flutter or two, the little insect he'd been trailing settled on the lightpost closest to him. He watched it, seemingly looking at nothing to all those that passed and gave him a strange glance. Cocking his head, a part of him wanted to question the little thing, but settled with looking around for whatever he was supposed to find. Once again, strangers stared back, from the sidewalk, windows of shops and cafes, cars and taxis.
The butterfly spiraled about him, grabbing his attention once more. Lifting a hand, he offered it his finger, which it took to immediately. It didn't seem to mind his chilled skin, strangely giving him some warmth in return.
Slowly, he twisted his hand, watching it as walked to keep itself righted; bringing it to his eye level, he regarded it like a friend who had led him astray, "You don't think that you're just as lost as me, do you?"
A flap or two of its wings was all he got in response.
That's when he heard a faint call, the words distorted but familiar. Then it came again, only stronger and different. Multiple voices were distinguished, all calling the same thing and coming closer and becoming louder as the moments passed.
He glanced about, but didn't see anything past the unrelenting rain and people. The mysterious sounds rang out, The ageless boy determined that it came from ahead of him, down the street, and looked that way.
Merlin.
A name- his name.
He blinked.
It was his name. One he hadn't heard in decades. One that no one knew belonged to him, no one that lived. One that he'd given up hope in hearing.
Someone was yelling his name, haphazardly throwing it about without a care.
The butterfly twitched just as he caught a glimpse of gold moving within the grey. Squinting, he peered further, watching as the color became clearer and finally emerged out of the sea.
He froze-
-his eyes burned-
-and everything froze along with him.
It was almost like the world had slowed ever so slowly, to the point where it looked like it never had been moving in the first place. Noise was gone, not even the ringing silence to take its place. Life was put to pause and motion simply ceased. People, cars, the rain- anything and everything stopped.
All except for the few fellows standing across the street from him.
The only fellows who were breathing, giving off small clouds from their breaths, while every other person nearby did not. The fellows who were smiling at him like they'd finally found some long lost treasure, their eyes solely on him. The fellows who looked like friends he thought long gone.
He recognized each and every one of them, despite the time that had passed- how could he not, they were his everything. No sound escaped him, openly staring through the millions of droplets suspended in the air. Even with the countless years to back him up, Merlin was speechless, his mind and body freezing over from surprise.
One of them laughed, "Well look at that lads, we've left him speechless." He nudged the bigger man next to him, who was offering a small smile, "I know my looks are likely to stun, but I'm not so sure about Princess here."
The flippant man should've been shoved. From the depths of Merlin's memories, that was what was expected. Good-naturedly and more of a habit, but shoved nonetheless. Merlin could see it in his minds eye, expecting it to play out as he'd seen it million times before. But no, no one was hit or given a glare or yelled at with a more-or-less witty response. The man was received with laughs, like it was some hilarious joke.
A joke that he should've been laughing along with.
Still, Merlin didn't move.
He'd hoped, but didn't believe- couldn't believe. His years were reduced to nothing in a matter of seconds. No longer was he the wise, ancient being that had traveled and learned the secrets of the world, but rather the young boy fresh from the village, anxious and awkward and excited all at once.
Something within his chest became strained, the empty feeling within him begging to be filled once more. An ache he'd thought he'd kneaded away came back, reminding him of past failures. Some part of him took notice that he'd begun to shake, his small friend flapping to keep hold on his hand.
He'd failed his destiny, there was no way to sweeten the fact. He wasn't able to protect his future. These men brought back memories of failures and mistakes and death, all of which were the fault of his own actions. That was why he was forced to live on, leaving behind those left alive, but never those left dead; his searching and waiting were a punishment, slowly ebbing at his hope and faith.
But there they were, men of old, standing before him like none of the troubles had graced them. Like he had been out for far too long in the woods collecting herbs, leading them to go out in search of him and remind him of the time.
Alive and breathing and there.
He'd spent years going over what he would say, fantasizing- all of which was gone from his head.
With no response coming from him, the men seemed to sober up, their smiles fading. Now, through his stupor, Merlin could see concerned expressions were beginning to take hold.
"-Merlin?"
The voice was what shook him out of his revere, unfogging him mind. His eyes zoned in on the blue staring back at him, his mind going back to the clear lakes in the north that looked to have trapped the sky within them. He hadn't forgotten that voice or that face, even after all the years (with how many times it patronized him, an exasperated expression always in accompaniment). His throat tried to formulate something- anything that could get him through the moment.
He managed to let out a strangled version of a greeting, quite the opposite of what he wanted. He kept on switching his focus on the group, taking in everything about them, but always going back to the golden man- his king.
Another attempt at getting a word out gave him the same garbled result, albeit a bit more understandable.
"You alright there, Merlin?" The oldest looking one asked, his hair a dirtier blond compared to the golden-haired in front.
"You remember us, yeah?" The flippant one who spoke first butted in, pushing back the man he interrupted (who was going to say more, from the looks of it), "Old age hasn't made you senile, has it?"
"Gwaine!"
"What?" The man- no,Gwaine said, frowning, "Oh come off it, Elyan, it's called 'lightening up the mood.'"
Gwaine. Elyan. Leon. Percival. He knew these names, knew these men.
And they were using his so freely and casually- but he wasn't supposed to have that luxury, friends.
"I..." Merlin took a ragged breath, swallowing his fear, "I'm... sorry."
He wouldn't meet their eyes, not wanting to see their expressions of outrage when they finally remembered all his lies and secrets. How he had failed them- him.
"Merlin." He- his king, said, voice strong and commanding and angry. It demanded acknowledgment, respect, and, above all, submission. There were few times Merlin had heard it- his king wasn't one to force loyalty. Still, the warlock refused to look at him, disregarding his command just like he used to.
There was a pause where all the men went silent, waiting, unwilling to get between king and his once manservant.
"... Merlin." It was quieter now, soft to an almost unimaginable degree. Not a command, but a plea.
Merlin looked up.
Blue eyes captured his own, clear and full of resolve. It was accompanied by a lopsided grin, so carefree that something inside Merlin twinged when he saw it, "It's alright."
Something besides his magic was prickling at his eyes.
"You did your best."
Those simple words seemed to hold everything for him, speaking volumes where long apologies would be rendered useless. He sniffed, the cold finally having gotten to him. The realization that he no longer wanted a field of raindrops between him and these men hit him like a ton of bricks.
For a moment he was stock-still, torn between acting on his desire or breaking down right then and there, before the usual feeling of warmth bloomed from behind his eyes. He found himself barely a foot away, eyes alight and uncaring in his display of magic, lunging for the blond at the head of the group like a sinner in need of salvation.
Noise and life and movement crashed back into being as he rammed into the man, arms wrapping tight and having no intention of letting go. He felt tears at the corner of his eyes, but he paid them no mind.
A surprised grunt escaped the man and a few exclamations from the others as the world came alive, murdering their senses.
After a moment of hesitation, his hold was returned, just as tight. Even as the rain slowed to a drizzle and with strangers passing them left and right, Merlin felt less lonely than he had in years, "I missed you, clodpole."
His king- Arthur gave a small chuckle, the sound making a new wave of tears about to break through. Both of them were content with keeping this contact for a while longer than necessary, but that was more than alright with Merlin, "And I missed my servant."
Merlin smiled into the blond's shirt, enjoying the feeling of completeness. He'd found the other half of his coin, the one he'd been destined to be next to, to help and live by.
"Hey! No hogging the sorcerer!" Gwaine yelled, trying to force himself between their hold. Surprisingly, Arthur allowed it (Merlin was the one a bit reluctant to let go, in fear of him vanishing), watching with amusement as the rest of the knights mobbed the magician. Merlin was subjected to hugs, playful shoves, and a small amount of rough-housing; he took it all in good grace, reveling in the men's attention.
Although, it wasn't long until Gwaine shoved Elyan aside to be next to Merlin once more, "You won't believe how hard it was to find you! I checked every pub we passed- of course I had a pint or two because you don't expect me to pa-"
Percival cut off Gwaine just as he was beginning his spiel, patting Merlin on the shoulder, "We've been searching for a while."
"You've been searching for me?"
The irony in the whole thing was no doubt giving destiny a good laugh.
"Of course we have! But we didn't expect to find you renting out your face." Gwaine shoved his face barely an inch from Merlin, who jerked back in surprise. The knight scrutinized his long-time friend, "Really Merlin, I didn't know you could even grow a beard!"
"Makes him a bit shaggy looking if you ask me." Arthur shouldered his way back next to Merlin, somehow able to look content and annoyed, glaring at Gwaine all the while. Gwaine promptly ignore him.
"Yeah, it's been a- wait-"
"At least now he looks his age." Leon replied to the blond, attempting to defend Merlin's facial hair. "More mature."
"I think it fits." Elyan had gotten between Merlin and Gwaine, who frowned at the new arrangements. He was pushed to the outer edge of the small circle with Merlin at its center, pouting like a child kept from his favorite toy. No doubt that'd change and a war would break out between them all.
They all seemed fine with going on with his appearance, uncaring that he was among them. His scarf was brought up and unjustly questioned (you will never stop wearing that, will you?), and his hair was ruffled (a comb can do wonders, Merlin, you just have to use it). Each and everyone of them attempted to get a word out, talking to him and giving him any type of physical contact whenever they could. How they expected him to comprehend it all at once was a wonder.
They stopped when the creature that he'd followed to them popped up in his peripheral vision, his shoulder a great perch to view its surroundings.
Merlin smiled at the butterfly, stroking it's translucent wings as they twitched under his touch. Thank you, the words came to him unconsciously, his gratitude unmeasurable. The consciousness of the insect was simple and warm.
"A butterfly? Isn't that a bit girly for a sorcerer?" The butterfly fluttered, as if affronted.
Merlin started, noticing the men staring at his magical friend, mouth slightly agape. The question was so out there, so unexpected, so… Arthur.
A laugh bubbled up and out, directed at his king, the giddy feeling he hadn't had in a long time forming in the middle of his chest. Years of pain and regret shed off him, wiped away as easily as a raindrop on one's skin.
And with his smile came the sun, bright and overpowering as it erupted from behind the clouds. Faces turned upward to watch, marveling.
The rain had finally stopped, petrichor lingering in the air, fresh and new.
I was inspired by the fanart done by ptelly, The Return of the King (it's the cover art for this piece). The picture is also on deviantart and tumblr, so check it out!