Chapter 1

"Morgana, why are you doing this? What have these people ever done to you? What have I ever done?"

The witch tossed her head back in laughter, a black sea of curls showering around her in her disbelief. "What haven't you done? This place, these people, they watched the wrongful persecution of my people. And you, you let that man do it."

"That man is my- our father! Besides, things are different now! I didn't agree with everything he did and am trying to change that. However, you and your people are making a poor display of why I should," the prince argued, a ray of golden light in the thick shadows that surrounded them.

Morgana shook her head. "You don't understand, Arthur. You're just like him. And Camelot will never change until your blood is gone." She nodded once and a dark figure slunk from the black, standing beside her, face cloaked. "Kill him."

Arthur, who had long since been unarmed, was now frozen against his will from one hand wave from the witch. The other man drew his sword and revealed his identity. Arthur gasped.

"Mordred," he whispered.

Mordred smiled painfully, lifting the blade. "For my people." And he pushed the sword through the prince's side.

"NO!"

Merlin shot up from bed, frantic, knocking over the light and cup on his nightstand. They fell to the floor with a crash, glass spewing around his feet. The loud clatter of the broken objects and the cold water pooling around his toes shook him from the nightmare. Merlin fell to the firm mattress, chest shaking from the all too real dream, as if he had been reliving those moments once more.

He hung his head, dark strands of raven feather hair drifting around him, the odd piece stuck to the beads of sweat clinging to his forehead. Exhaustion swept through his body at yet another sleepless night. He fell back against the pillows, pulling the soft blue comforter back over him and praying he could get some more sleep before work.

Beep, beep, beep, beep-

"Ugh," he groaned, slapping the off button on his alarm clock, the only item left standing on his nightstand. He sat back up, staring at the glowing green numbers. 7:00 am. He sighed heavily. Another sleepless night and now another tired day. Day 539,470, to be exact. He stood up, forgetting the glass, and almost stepped on a particularly nasty looking piece. Sighing, again, he went over to the closet by the tv and pulled out a red broom and dustpan, sweeping up the mess.

The whole time, he wondered, why that dream? There were plenty of worse memories, he was sure. So why that one? He glanced at the calendar thoughtlessly as he dumped the glass into the garbage by the sink. September 29th, 2016. Oh. Today.

Merlin's shoulders sagged and he sighed for the third time that day. Today marked the anniversary of Arthur's death. 1,477, now 1,478, years that he had been dead. And that Merlin had been waiting. He scratched the back of his neck, thinking. There was nothing to do about it though. Nothing to do but do what he's always done. Get dressed. Go to work. Find happiness in the small things. And keep going.

For god's sake, he had to keep going.

xxx

He pulled the door of his flat closed tightly, turning the lock with one of the several keys attached to a tattered 'I Love London' key chain. Coffee in hand, he went down the stairs, covered in thinning floral carpet. His landlady and her husband (Mrs. Reba Jones and Mr. Gil Jones) sat in the kitchen of the downstairs part of the small house he was renting a room in. They waved at him as he headed out the front door. Such wonderful people. And while he could have afforded to buy his own mansion here in Strotsville, he enjoyed the presence and company of the elderly couple. Besides, his small room with a kitchen and bath was more than enough. And cozy.

He hurried down the cobbled lane, turning left at the end of the walk to head to work and sipping his coffee to keep away the chill of the early morning air.

He had been tempted to stay home that morning, like many other anniversaries. But he knew better. The museum needed to be opened today. He had been told that a group of tourist had come to see the ruins of the castle of Camelot. They would probably go to the museum as well. And while Janette did have a key, he didn't want to worry the young student about his whereabouts on such a busy day.

The sky stirred above him, clouds greying, casting a gloom upon the day. Rain was in the air and while the plants were dry and dead now, soon they would be mushed with the bold greens, reds, and browns of fall. The water always seemed to bring the best of things.

He watched the bare trees, farther away as he got closer to the lake. The hills before them were similar in expression; dry, yellowing. Dead and lifeless. The autumn rain would do the land good.

At the lake, he stopped, as he has done every morning since Arthur's death and as he would continue to do, until the day the prince decided to return. He looked towards the rocks in the middle, forming a small, misshapen island, untouchable by man. And while he would normally just pause for a moment and nod towards the stones respectfully before continuing on his way, today, he stopped, thinking about the dream. About the day. The anniversary.

"You know, Arthur, with everything that's gone on, I'm honestly surprised you're still not back. You would have thought the recent falling of Britain would have worked but, apparently not. You always did like to sleep though." He shook his head, laughing quietly, the pain in Arthur's face when the sword stabbed him flashing through his mind and making him cringe. "While you like sleeping, it would be nice if your sorry arse decided to wake up and come help us out with this. Besides. I miss being able to call you a prat, I guess."

"Do you always talk to yourself? Some people might think you're crazy, you know. Of course, I already know that's true."

Merlin rolled his eyes at the voice of the prince in his mind, as haughty as he remembered. "Even my hallucinations have accepted you were a total arse to me. Nothing changes, I suppose."

The warlock gripped the brown handle of his worn leather bag tightly, turning back to the trail to continue on to work and wondering if he had packed any of his medication with him. He paused at the sight of the prince next to the path and tutted in frustration. He really didn't need this right now.

"Great. Now I can see you, too. It's been a while since my mind's pulled that one. Thanks, brain." He started walking, trying to force back the tiredness that had gripped onto his mind at the illusion of the man standing there.

"Merlin, what are you talking about? I hope you can see me. I am standing right here." Merlin rolled his eyes and started walking. Arthur grabbed his arm, frowning, still talking. "What are you doing? Come back here. Where are we? And why are you dressed like that?"

Merlin froze at the cold weight of Arthur's hand on his arm. Water dripped from his chainmail, soaking Merlin's thin black jacket. His heart stopped for a split second at the thought…the possibility that Arthur was…Arthur was back. He choked out a laugh.

"Okay, very funny, brain. Or maybe this is just someone pulling a joke. You can stop now!" Merlin called out, turning around, looking for cameras or someone else. Arthur watched him, worried and getting angrier with each second.

"Merlin, it's me. King Arthur? You were my manservant. You're a warlock. Stop messing around and tell me what's going on."

Merlin pulled back, anger flooding his heart. Whoever or whatever was doing this, he was sick of it. "You're dead. So stop haunting me or tricking me. I have to get to work." He turned to go, more forcefully this time.

Arthur grabbed both of Merlin's arms, confused as all hell. What was wrong with the man? He suspected the tavern.

"Merlin, I don't know what's happened, but I'm here. I am real. I am obviously living and breathing and talking. Whatever happened, let us sort it out. Perhaps you've had too much to drink at the tavern."

It was that last sentence that fully caught his attention. He looked more carefully at the king, at the golden hair, dripping wet, the eyes, blue with concern, the face, sharp and smooth and so very much Arthur's. It was Arthur, not someone else. And he was gripping Merlin's arms, dripping icy water all over him.

"Do you hear me? Merlin?"

Merlin shook his head as all the pieces clicked, turning in his mind. He took a step away from the king, terrified. No. No no no. Had he finally gone mad? Was this is it? Or should he even consider….Was it- was this real? He felt real. He looked real. He sounded real. Arthur. But how? There was no way- it just couldn't be. But either he had finally gone insane or the king was here. Those were the only two explanations. Neither of them were reassuring. Merlin's breaths slowed as the facts fell into place. Extreme hallucinating or Arthur was real. His heart picked up at those words…at that possibility. He thought it again, just to kick-start his heart again. He was real.

"Arthur…you're real?" But saying the words out loud proved too much. The edges of his vision darkened and he could feel himself falling, could feel his knees give out underneath of him.

The last thing he saw were the two arms reaching forward and the blue eyes, confused. Angry. Concerned. But there.