Chapter 1

Do you ever get that feeling that you have been somewhere before, been someone else before. I have. In fact I have been many places before, been many people before, lived a hundred lifetimes, yet I am still very much the same person that I have always been. This time round, I am James Harper, football superstar. I see the way in which myself and my teammates are fawned over, loved, worshiped even, and I laugh to myself, God how times have changed. Years ago, the kind of treatment I receive now on a daily basis was reserved for royalty. I should know. For the name I am known by now, is a creation of my own imagination, James Harper, if only they all knew who I really am, was. Respected, admired, loved, I was noble, valiant destined for great things. I am, I was Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot, Uniter of all Albion, and cursed with my immortality. Some days I awake and in the moments before reality sets in I find myself waiting for a dark haired figure, to draw open my curtains, present me with breakfast and try to get me up and out of bed with grin on his face. Merlin. My idiot manservant, court appointed sorcerer, most powerful warlock of all time, but most importantly Merlin, my friend, my lover, the other half to my whole. After those first few moments have passed and the reality in which I now reside once again descends on me, I feel empty, lost and so very much alone. Merlin, darling, idiot, too noble for his own good Merlin, how could you leave me like this. Alone, waiting, when you knew all too well that patience is not one of my virtues. But wait I do. I wait for the day that you will come back to me and we will be together once more, not as master and servant, but equals.

I look at the clock on my nightstand and damn it I am late for training once again, Coach is going to have my balls for this. I stumble out of bed and cross my penthouse heading for the kitchen, and that wonderful little creation known as coffee. As I take my first mouthful I am once again certain that a sorcerer must be responsible for its creation as it truly is magical. Mug in hand I head for the balcony, my eyes taking in the view of London herself. I do love this city, out of all of the places I have resided; London, England will forever be my favourite. I pick up the ever present pack of cigarettes from the table outside, and light myself one, inhaling it deeply, Coach says I should quit, but immortal right, not like I have to be concerned about the big C, nevertheless I am careful not to let him catch me again. As I watch the people of the city slowly come to life, and get ready for the day ahead of them, I crush out my cigarette, drink the remainder of my coffee, exchange a nod with the occupant of the balcony opposite mine, an actor I believe, and head for the shower.

I pull into the parking lot outside the training ground at 08:30am. As I walk in I exchange greetings with Tony the security around here. Not exactly Knight material, 40 if he's a day, a little over weight (too many donuts as he puts it) but a good man, who promptly informs me that Coach is not merely after my balls, but also my dick, great, just what I need. Disappearing into the locker room I change and head out to the pitch. Coach sees me approaching and gives me a look that, for a moment make me thankful of my lack of mortality, this is going to be interesting...

"Harper, you are late for training...again, that's a £1,000 fine" he snaps

"Start a tab" I mumble in reply.

My retort earns me another glare from Coach, and an amused look from his assistant. Rolling my eyes dramatically behind Coach's back I join my teammates on the field, and training begins. Since, my first incarnation, as I call it, as Arthur, I have been used to getting up at the crack of dawn and doing some form of physical training, usually with the Knights of Camelot. This was of course before I had Merlin as a manservant, the amount of times I had woken up to find him not there with my breakfast are too many to count. After getting myself up and dressed, and just about giving up on him, in he would come carrying a tray full of food and muttering apologies, promising never to do it again. Not that I knew it back then but he was only ever that late after he had been out using magic, saving Camelot, saving me. And how did I repay him for that? By making him muck out my stables. I will admit, discovering his magic was purely accidental, and somewhat difficult to deal with, but I knew that he would never use it to hurt anyone; there was never a malicious bone in that boys body. Had Nimeuh not returned hell bent on revenge I do not think I would have known for many more years. His magic, like my immortality, was both a blessing and a curse, though of course, I never cursed him with his magic.

Training over for the day, I head out of the locker room with my teammates, most of who have decided that seeing as we have a game tomorrow against an old enemy, the pub is out of the question, however dinner in a fancy restaurant is most definitely not. They are good men really, loyal to the club and each of its players, but also, a few of them are caught up in their own celebrity status. This dinner is nothing more than a ploy to get back into the papers before tomorrow's game, I mean what paparazzi is going to abstain from picturing all of the team out together in one of London's most swanky restaurants. Like my life as Arthur I know certain things must be suffered for the good of propriety, and going out like this is one of them, though thankfully there is a mutual agreement that the wives and girlfriends need not be present tonight. I give a small sigh of relief at this, not that I don't get on with their respective other halves, but because this means I do not have to listen to them all trying to get me to date so and so's friend. It's times like then, when I hate my single status, though to come out with the truth, that I just do not find women sexually attractive, well lets just say that it's something I would rather avoid to this lot. Of course there are those who do know of my sexual preferences, only two of those being teammates and they do offer assistance when conversations over my lack of love live arise, I'm not ready for the whole world to know yet, at least not until I find the one, not until I have Merlin back with me.

Back at the penthouse I dress myself in one of my Armani suits, going for stylish yet smart, once pleased that I am at least camera presentable I head to the restaurant. I arrive well before the agreed time of 19:30pm and see several photographers already there; I guess that one of the players provided them with an anonymous tip off. Typical. As I pull up the valet takes my keys and I slip him a £20 note, which is met with his gracious nod, honestly grateful. I always tip, valets, bellboys, waiters you name them I tip them, not out of the arrogant knowledge that I can afford to, but because over the years I have had every job imaginable, and I know what tips mean to people, hell sometimes it makes up the majority of their income. I turn and give the paps what they want, a smile, a nod they take their snaps, they're happy. One of them calls out about the upcoming game, and I give him my standard response. Of course I'm confident we will win and then I'm inside.

With thirty minutes to spare I take a seat at the bar, ignoring the excited whispers and looky loo eyes. The barman comes over and soon a glass of bottled water and lime is sat in front of me I generously tip him and he takes the unspoken request to leave me to it. As I sit here being gawped at I remember Camelot and how as Crown Prince I was forced to sit through political dinners at my father's side, now I sit through dinners which are a publicity stunt, funny how things haven't changed that much. Soon enough I am joined by Jerry Lewis and Gareth (aka Gary) Jones, the only two team members I truly like and get on with, no surprise that these are the two who know of my interest in other men. As they order their also non alcoholic drinks I am once again reminded of why we get along so well, as if we have know each other for years, for you see we have done this before, many years ago. Jerry and Gary are none other than Lancelot and Gawain, two of my best Knights and closest friends, they of course know nothing of this, and put our easy friendship down to the fact that we have so much in common. Well Jerry did, Gary, when convinced it wasn't because I fancied him.

"You get snapped by the paps then James?" asked Gary

"Of course he did, our little Golden Boy can't go anywhere without being photographed" came Jerry's reply

"Shove off, the pair of you" I grumble good-naturedly back at them

"Awwww come on James you know they love you, you are a decent enough player, not ugly to look at, and you let them have their photos. Unlike other's I could mention" said Jerry throwing Gary a very pointed look.

"What? Just because I am a 'famous' footballer does not mean I have to like having my face in paper after paper, magazine after magazine" snapped Gary complete with air quotes on the word famous.

I let them resume their argument about the press and the notion of footballers being celebrities, an argument which has been going on since they both joined the big leagues, roughly 4 years ago. Neither of them regard themselves as celebrities, much like myself, but whereas Jerry sees the media as a necessary evil to deal with, Gary would much rather, and frequently does tells them all to Fuck off and leave him alone, ironically making them take a bigger interest in him. They don't get very far for we are soon joined by the rest of the team, and being directed to our, very large table.

Once seated the maitre d' began his ass kissing, most of the players enjoyed this part of the whole going out to dinner thing, me I sat there trying to ignore the urge to laugh at the whole scene in front of me, not helped at all by the faces Jerry and Gary were currently pulling. After deciding he had done enough bootlicking, he called forth several waiters and thankfully left us to our dinner. Once everyone had ordered an obscene amount of food, and a single glass of wine each, small scatterings of conversation broke out. How did we rate our chances tomorrow? Anyone see David Hayes fight last night? If you had to who would you rather Cameron Diaz or Jessica Biel? Normal topics really. The food arrived and finally the idle chit chat died down. Glancing around the restaurant, I noted a few couples, a couple of cabinet ministers, a small gathering of female soap stars celebrating a birthday, and the paps still outside, waiting for us to leave. The food was as you would expect unfaultable, the service impeccable. However just as desert was to be served I noticed two of the more burley waiters and the maitre d' ushering someone out of the front door. I thought nothing of it until I caught sight of an unruly mop of black hair, and my stomach clenched. Without excusing myself I left the table and followed the maitre d'. Outside I saw as the waiters unceremoniously dumped whoever they were 'escorting' on the pavement. As they returned inside, blue, blue eyes looked up at me from the gutter, eyes I would recognise anywhere. Merlin...