Chapter One: The Broken Obelisk
Arthur's eyes shot open, his inactive lungs taking in a sharp breath of what turned out not to be air at all, but ice cold water. He was surrounded by cool blue with ribbons of light dancing through the strange new world around him. In an instant, the Once and Future King's every limb was alive with the fire of adrenaline and he was thrashing wildly toward the silvery ceiling overhead.
He surfaced with a dramatic splash and the most frantic gasp he'd ever taken. It seemed that the chilled air around him might never be enough to quench his thirst for oxygen. He still felt like he was drowning.
How long have I been under?
It took another few moments of panting before Arthur could blink the fluid from his eyes and look around. It was freezing, and with his chainmail weighing him down he knew he'd have to be free of what seemed to be a lake as soon as he could manage it—but every practical thought was torn from his mind when the world came into focus around him.
This wasn't his world.
He was definitely in a lake, not far from the center near and island where a crumbled obelisk now lie broken by the ages. Ruins and lakes were no great surprise to him though—what nearly knocked him back below the surface was what rose beyond the body of water.
Rolling green hills, again nothing unusual, but on the horizon were what looked like shining towers of silver gleaming in the sunlight. The sky was pale orange and clouded over, but the familiar disk of the sun illuminated the landscape and sent rays bouncing off the water and nearly blinding him. He tried shielding his eyes with the gauntlet-shrouded hand but it was no use. This strange new world around him continued to look like a trick of the light.
Not far from the shore was a long strip of black and white. Some sort of cart or chariot was pulled to the side, sticking half out of the water in a way that it most certainly shouldn't have been. Beyond the blackened path, where a forest had once been, was a village the size of a small kingdom—each building large enough to house the family of a nobleman.
Arthur blinked uncontrollably, swallowing hard and whipping his head around like a maniac. The world smelled foul—like the earth had been churned up around him and spilled the blood of monsters out onto the land. The air was thicker than he remembered, and for a moment he felt as though he couldn't breathe. His confused composure collapsed into panic.
"M—Merlin." He choked out, immediately biting it back. His voice was horse as though it hadn't been used in centuries. His breath came quicker—if that was even possible. He remembered everything.
The way Mordred's sword had felt slicing through his flesh, the agony of the shard working its way toward his heart, His brief but meaningful journey with Merlin—Merlin the sorcerer—who did everything he could to save him. In the end his closest ally's efforts had been in vain when the two of them collapsed not far from the shores of Avalon. The image of Merlin leaning over him, gripping his hair with tears streaming down his face was too vivid to bear. The boy had done everything and fought, even when his king no longer could, but in the end Arthur had left him. The last thing he remembered was Merlin's face inches from his and his own lips uttering a weak "Thank you" as he stared into the brave sorcerer's deep blue eyes.
Arthur ripped himself from his memories, pressing his hand to his mouth and forcing back tears. Perhaps there would be time to make amends with his own heart later—when he knew where he was. With his memory restored Arthur at last recognized the place where he stood.
The Lake of Avalon—his final resting place. How was he still here? His body would have been long gone? But perhaps it was best not to question the magic of the land when he was just happy to be breathing again. But then there was that question rising in his mind again.
How long have I been under?
Arthur began to wade clumsily toward the shore of the obelisk island—it was closer and more familiar than the mainland. As he staggered through the chest-deep water he prayed quietly to himself that he hadn't been gone for too long—a few years? But then what were those shining towers on the horizon? And what was this horrible stench in the air? Where were the trees? Arthur collapsed onto the bank of the Island and headed for the hilltop.
And where were all the people?
All of these thoughts were erased from his mind as a new, far more powerful one crept in.
Where is Merlin?
Instantly another rush of cold fire surged through Arthur's limbs. The King, always so brave and collected under pressure began to panic as he reached the summit of the green bluff. Feeling as though he might faint like a damsel in distress, Arthur pressed his back against the base of the crumbled obelisk and watched the world spin around him. His mind was consumed by thoughts and possibilities of what had become of his servant—the dearest person in the world to him. Had Merlin gone on? Had he returned to Camelot? Where was he now?
Arthur's throat swelled as he tried to choke back another bout of panic.
Had Merlin died?
Naturally he must have—everyone dies. With the world so different it must have been years and years since he'd said a bittersweet thanks to his sorcerer on the shore of Avalon.
Everything was silent except for a thud and the momentary ring of chainmail as Arthur sank to the ground. He slumped forward, letting his heart slow in his chest until he reached a point of placid confusion. He couldn't rise from the lake on his own—and couldn't for the life of him think of why he'd returned from the veil in the first place.
The king let his head fall between his knees. He couldn't bear to look at the evidence around him that his own world was gone. Wherever he was, he never wanted to leave the spot where he'd come to rest against the obelisk. It was the only thing left that was even remotely familiar—even if it was in ruin.
The king, once a man of action and unrivaled fearlessness, felt he'd reached his limit this time.
"Arthur!"
Arthur raised his eyes and blinked into the sunlight once more.
"ARTHUR!"
There it was again, louder. The young king narrowed his eyes at the speck of dark blue making distant ripples by the lakeshore.
The gears in Arthur's head began to turn as he strained his ears to hear the figure call out again. The voice was impossible to make out at such a distance, and between the blinding sun and dancing water it could easily have been a trick of the light. Perhaps he was hallucinating.
But that voice was unmistakable.
"Merlin?" Arthur's breath caught in his throat as he whispered the words to himself, refusing to believe it.
"ARTHUR!" the figure was growing closer, stumbling through the shallow water.
Arthur rose to his feet faster than he thought possible—the weight of his armor making no difference as he stepped forward, squinting.
"MERLIN?!" He felt stupid as soon as the name left his lips—like he was calling out to a mirage.
"ARTHUR!"
An explosion of warmth and fire raged through the young king's flesh and settled in his heart. He raced forward into the ice-cold water until it pushed back on his knees and nearly sent him tumbling headlong into the lake. He waded as quickly as his strength would allow until he was chest deep and could make out the silhouette of his long-lost friend—although the wildfire in his heart told Arthur that the young sorcerer was much more than that to him.
Arthur had to step back into waist deep water and wait for Merlin to come to him—which was harder than he anticipated as the boy's face became visible through the blinding sun. He fought the urge to rush forward for fear of drowning beneath the weight of his chainmail.
Merlin's face was just as Arthur remembered it—his dark hair dripping down over his pale skin and the smile that was spread from cheek to cheek. His dark blue eyes were shining like they'd never done before. Upon making out the face of his friend, Arthur's expression of broken shock melted into pure joy as they crashed together at last. He wrapped himself around merlin, pressing his face into the young man's soaking wet neck. Merlin held him as though he'd never let go, laughing joyously so that Arthur felt the uneven rise and fall of the servant's chest against his.
At last they broke apart, with nothing but the shining waters of Lake Avalon between them.
"Arthur I—I don't believe this!" Merlin's wonderfully familiar voice was brimming with awe. "I was beginning to think—"
Arthur wasn't listening. Although their time apart had been brief from his own point of view, the last he remembered of the young sorcerer was him leaned over his king's dying body, begging him not to go. Merlin's smile was exactly the comfort he needed in this shocking new world.
"Arthur!" The king snapped back to reality as Merlin's smile melted to concern, "Arthur can't you speak?!"
Arthur swallowed and smiled again. "Of course I can speak you dimwit." He reached out and ruffled the boy's wet hair. "What the hell are you wearing?"
It was a valid question. Merlin's clothes were like nothing he'd ever seen. He rubbed the fabric between his fingers curiously. It felt too smooth to be wool and the droplets of water practically rolled right off of it.
"It'll explain later." Merlin laughed and the two began to follow one another toward the island once more. Apparently Merlin had no desire to return to the shore either.
The fire roared to life with Merlin's wordless command. It still sent a cold chill down Arthur's spine to see the Servant he thought he'd known so well doing something as strange to him as magic. But that was no matter now. The gold flare across Merlin's dark irises was among the crumbling obelisk on Arthur's list of things that still felt real.
The world was growing dark, and although the sky was clear and the moon was a crescent, the black dome above them was darker than Arthur imaged possible.
"What happened to the stars?" Was Arthur's first question about the world he had awoken in. He hadn't dared to ask anything else yet.
"They're still there." Merlin said, poking the fire. The servant's voice was different—a difference that sounded like the accumulation of years of loneliness. "They're just blocked out by all the other lights."
"What other lights?" The landscape was dark.
"All over the world." Merlin said calmly.
Arthur didn't understand. Even with all the lights in Camelot on full blaze, the sky had still been brilliant.
Merlin must have read Arthur's mind, as he often did, and said with a half-smile, "it's not important now. You should rest. You're back from the dead after all."
"Why?" Arthur asked, sitting back against the wall of the ruins.
"Well you look pretty tired and I—"
"No." the young king cut him off, "why am I back from the dead."
Merlin lowered his eyes. "The dragon said you'd return when Albion was in its time of greatest need."
"And what time is that exactly?" Arthur bit his lip as his heart pounded. He wasn't sure he wanted the answer.
Merlin swallowed hard, looking directly into his eyes sending a wave of mixed feelings through Arthur's body.
"The year is 2013." He said in a low voice.
There it was again, that wave of burning adrenalin that surged through Arthur's body like a river on fire—but this time his head could hardly handle it and he was overcome with an uncontrollable dizziness. Merlin's hands were on him in seconds, keeping him from falling as the young king gripped his own skull.
More than a thousand years! Everyone was gone! His beloved Gwenivere! Had she taken over in his place? She was strong and he knew she would have ruled well but his heart would break if he'd awoken to a world without someone he cared so much about! And his knights? What had become of them after the battle? And in the years that followed? And Gaius and—he felt rare tears welling up behind his eyes—
What had become of Camelot?
Arthur fought his own uncontrollable sadness as Merlin's warm hands lingered on his neck. He knew his eyes were glassy and all the blood had rushed from his face. His breath came in quick bouts.
"Calm down Arthur." Merlin almost ordered, "You'll hyperventilate!"
"What does that mean?!" Arthur found himself snapping at his long lost friend. Merlin's eyes were forgiving but the young king's emotions were getting the best of him at last. "What does any of this mean?! Where am I?! What happened to everyone?! What happened to Camelot?!"
As quickly as his outburst had begun, Arthur fell silent once more, falling to his knees and pressing his face into his hands.
"What does any of this mean Merlin?" His voice was muffled and he refused to look up. "Why now? What is Albion's time of greatest need?"
Merlin lowered himself to look Arthur in the eyes. Their faces were only a few inches apart, as they'd been when Arthur had died in the young sorcerer's arms.
"Albion's time of greatest need is upon us."
The young man's voice was grave in a way that made Arthur's blood run cold.
Merlin almost whispered, "Arthur…'
'This is the apocalypse."
Chapter Two: A Brave Old World
A couple thousand broken hearted years later and Merlin was finally reunited with his King.
Watching the light fade from Arthur's eyes had been enough to rip him apart for years. He did return to Camelot. Even after all those years Merlin remembered giving the news to Gwen. She was so strong but she cried in chorus with the entire kingdom. Merlin's tears had been spent by then. He wondered if he'd ever cry again. Of course he cried when Gaius had died and Merlin at last realized the curse of his apparent immortality. When he knew his place in Camelot was gone he left to live on the shores of Avalon where he knew he belonged.
His heart broke again when Camelot fell to Normans along with the rest of Albion. As that war tore the land apart Merlin would sit all day and watch the waters of Lake Avalon for Arthur to rise. It was terrifying to think that a darker day was coming for the kingdom they'd built together.
Over and over Merlin's heart was broken—by the unending deaths of friends that he made throughout the years—by the rise and fall of empires—by the landscape being torn apart by mankind. As the world fluctuated between war and peace, Merlin also found happiness too. He watched people learn and prosper and create and build. And when civilization finally found him he melted awkwardly in with society. He learned with them and lived in peace with the decedents of his people, all the while watching the waters of Lake Avalon.
He aged as naturally as a powerful sorcerer could, all the while knowing that he could be young again whenever he wanted but never really bothering. He had no reason to be young if there was no one to be young with. He tried to keep up with the changing world—spending years studying different things, and there were always new things to study. He thought of Gaius whenever he opened a book on modern medicine. He took Arthur's last advice, keeping it in mind whenever his heart was breaking under the weight of the endless years—he never changed who he was.
He was still him.
But god how the world changed—faster and faster until it seemed to be spinning out of control. Reality rushing around him as he sat on the shores of Lake Avalon watching the water and remembering the greatest years of his long life—never losing faith that one day the world would grow so dark that his king would rise from the waters and return to his arms.
Then it did.
Some force more powerful than any he'd seen since before the fall of Camelot swept over the land.
