Thanks to sandsofpatience tumblr for the beta 3
One night, during one of those dismal summers that might as well have been called winters, a storm broke out and whipped the lake into a stir. This was not unusual; the area was often plagued by wind and rain, and nobody could live there without having a certain appreciation of the beauty of a storm. Perhaps that was why so few people actually did. If this particular storm was slightly more remarkable, then that was only noticed on the morning after, when a body washed ashore. Not a corpse, he was not dead. It was the living, breathing body of a man.
Of course, he would have died, had it not been for the convenient fact that the village had its typical old tramp; that slightly nutty old fellow with a thousand nicknames, whose real name nobody could remember. He seemed to always have been there, and he seemed to have always been old, an ancient presence in the form of a gibbering homeless guy with no recorded history except his aimless roaming. He always seemed particularly preoccupied by the water - an old sailor, perhaps, it was not unheard of for them to fall into misfortune. He had spent the stormy night in a shed by the beach, one of those sad, crumbling structures that must belong to someone, but which nobody wants to take responsibility for. It was an eyesore, to be honest, rickety and ugly, it was a wonder it stayed up through those stormy nights, considering it looked as though a well-aimed sneeze would bring the whole thing down. For the old man, its continued existence was fortunate. It provided a much needed shelter against the elements and against the world, when he needed that. People knew he stayed there, of course, and that the shed in all likelihood was not his, but they pitied him, and nobody alerted whoever owned it - in fact, nobody really knew who owned it, so the trespassing didn't seem to matter. For all his eccentricities, the old tramp was one of them, and they would look out for him as they saw fit.
He walked along the beach often. Since he'd been sleeping in the shed, rambling along that well worn track seemed the obvious course of action on the morning after the storm. It was never different. Through the ages he had seen the world change, but what astonished him the most was how everything was, essentially, the same. And the walk, like everything else, never changed. It never changed until he saw the sparse, cloudy light suddenly reflect in golden hair, saw water bloated skin stretched over battle-won muscle, a young body sprawled on the rocks, hugged by freshwater seaweed. An onlooker would not be able to tell the way his heart jumped, though they would certainly be astonished at the pace with which this withered, worn character managed to run to the unconscious victim of the storm. Even more impressed would that onlooker be with the ease and efficiency the old man lifted the young, as if he had done it dozens of times before, and the youngling were no more than a babe. Just as well that there were no onlookers to be astonished.
He dragged the young man off the beach and to the nearest building, which was the village's only inn. The inn earned most of its money during the holiday seasons, but this year, because of the dreary weather, the guests had been few. Attending the reception, and by extension, the entire establishment, were two local girls in their late teens, Bridie and Surekha. Bridie had three years on her colleague, was employed in a superior position, and came from a family whose connection to the village could be traced further back, and so she naturally fancied herself a great deal more important than Surekha. Their summer job was excessively boring, however, and so she deigned to converse with her inferior about universities in London - one of which Bridie attended and several of which Surekha considered applying to - and to let her join in on bemoaning the fact that they were stuck here in this backwater when several friends of theirs were holidaying in such exotic places as Marbella and Alanya. However, when the door burst open and the nutty old tramp staggered in, carrying the weight of a rather handsome young man, they did get their share of excitement.
After gaping unhelpfully for a few moments, Bridie was the first to snap out of the shock.
"I'll call nine one one," she barked, "Surekha, don't just stand there, help him!"
"Are you sure you don't want to call the local emergency services?" Surekha replied drily even as she ran to close the door firmly before helping the old man, "You do know that nine one one is the American number. Nine nine nine would be infinitely more helpful."
Bridie huffed, pretended she was not blushing, and was about to take that suggestion when the old tramp spoke up.
"There's no use calling an ambulance," he croaked, and it occurred to both girls that neither of them had ever heard him speak before. His voice was gruff and strange. If dried moss on a rock had a sound, it would sound like him. "It will only take up unnecessary time. I can take care of him."
Balancing a smartphone between her sparkling fake nails, Bridie eyed him skeptically.
"You can take care of him?"
"I was a doctor once. He needs immediate attention."
She bit her lip, but then nodded. She would never be able to pinpoint why she complied with his crazy suggestion, but persuaded she was, and even Surekha, who Bridie had decided was quite the contrarian, didn't argue. There was something frightening about the old man. You wouldn't want to go against him.
"What are you waiting for? Get him up to a room, for god's sake! D'you want a death on your conscience?"
Surekha lead the way and the three of them hobbled off towards the ground floor rooms. Bridie took a deep breath and lifted her phone again. Even if an ambulance wasn't necessary, she figured contacting management and reporting the incident would not go amiss. Scrolling down her contact list, she stopped at M for Mum.
In room number five, the old man laid his patient down on the single bed. The young man groaned, half-conscious.
"We'll need to warm him up. Do you have a hot water bottle? A bucket would also be a good idea; he's likely to vomit."
Surekha nodded and hurried away just as the man's eyes blinked open. They were of a clear blue colour and stared up unfocused for a second before they settled on the old man's face, and he smiled weakly. He uttered a feeble sound, but it took a few tries before the syllables became audible.
"Merlin," he choked out in relieved recognition.
"Shh," Merlin whispered warmly, stroking a hand affectionately across the man's forehead.
"I don't know how I never recognised you. You are exactly the same… Your eyes…"
"Don't talk, Arthur. You've been out pretty bad, you shouldn't exert yourself right away."
Arthur looked for a moment as if he were about to argue, but then he relaxed and drifted off to sleep.
When Merlin came back out into the reception a while later, Bridie was in the company of her mother, Doreen, the innkeeper - or the hotel manager, as she liked referring to herself.
"He'll live," he announced.
"That's good," said Doreen in relief, "Who is this boy?"
"Oh, there's no need to worry about him. I will contact those who need to be contacted on his behalf. Oh," he said when he was halfway to the door, "I nearly forgot. Here is some money for the room. He should be out of there by the evening, but he will need a few more hours rest. And don't let him go anywhere on his own; I've no guarantee that he can take care of himself."
"Oh, but I can't take this," Doreen protested, alarmed that the old, penniless beggar was trying to give her money. God knows where he'd gotten it from.
"Nonsense. You take it and make sure he's fine and stays put until someone arrives to take care of him."
Doreen's mouth opened and closed a few times, before she gave up and nodded dumbly. Again he got what he wanted against everyone's better judgement. As she watched the old man leave, she wondered that he'd know the family of this strange person who she, who prided herself in knowing everyone there was to know in the village and surrounding area, had never seen before. He really does know everything about everyone, she could not help thinking with a shiver, who knows how long he has been watching us. Barely an hour later, before any change had occurred with the lad, another unfamiliar creature arrived. This one seemed to be of an age with the sleeping one, just under thirty by the looks of it, but he was slightly less bulky, and with dark hair that curled a little, damp from the rain outside. It still baffled her that two grown men could just appear in the village out of nowhere. So far, only the old tramp in the shed seemed to know them, but she sure would ask around as soon as she left.
"Hi, er, I'm looking for my friend?" the strange boy said, and Doreen could see now that there was something implacably familiar about him after all. He looked sweet, with bright blue eyes and a childlike smile. If he'd been a little younger, she might have considered trying to set him up with Bridie.
"Yes, dear, he's in room number five! I'll show you the way. Bridie, you'll mind reception, won't you?"
The girl nodded as her mother fussed with the visitor.
"He was in a right state, or so I hear, of course, only the girls were in when old Beardy brought him in… He alerted you, I suppose?"
"He, er… Yeah."
"Found him by the lake, he said to Surekha. Lying in the water, no clothes or nothing."
"Yeah, I… I brought some for him."
"Good, good. What was your mate doing out last night, anyway? It was not the kind of weather I'd go drinking in, certainly not the kind of party that'll rob you of your clothes."
"Your guess is as good as mine. I'm just glad he's alright."
"Of course."
Doreen knocked the door to room number five once before opening, while the cogs in her brain still creaked to identify the boy, who she would now swear she'd met before, although she'd no idea where. Surekha was just placing another hot water bottle by the near-drowned man's feet.
"He's been really cold. The old doctor said to keep them as warm as possible," she explained.
"Yes, I… He's instructed me."
"Thank you, Surekha, dear," Doreen said with a bright smile, "You've done very well."
Surekha bowed her head, and with a self-satisfied smile, she left.
"What's his name, then?" asked Doreen.
"Arthur," the new arrival answered. The way he spoke the name sounded almost reverent, and there was a strange look on his face. It was as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing, one step down from outright staring at his friend in awe. Doreen continued her investigation with a small grin; she was beginning to get the picture.
"You been worried about him, then?"
This elicited a huff of laughter.
"You have no idea," he answered, his voice low. Then he turned to her. "You've been so helpful, thank you ever so much for this. I don't want to hold you up any longer, I can take it from here."
"Are you sure?"
"Quite sure."
"Alright. If there's anything you need, you just call reception. No need to hesitate."
"Thank you."
When the door closed for the last time, behind Doreen's back, the worried young man was by his friend's side immediately. Holding his hand, he whispered a quiet "Wæcce." At the sound, Arthur's eyes flew open and he drew in a sharp breath. Once he'd gotten his bearings, he let it out in a laugh, and smiled warmly at Merlin.
"Now, that's a more familiar appearance."
"Well, you hardly look your age, so why should I?"
Arthur's brow furrowed.
"I don't look… My age? What do you mean by that?"
Merlin sighed slowly, wrapping both hands around Arthur's.
"What I am about to tell you isn't going to be easy to hear. I'm going to get it over with now, but I know you. You're going to want to throw things and hit me and possibly run out to kill something. But that's not going to be possible, because you're not well yet, Arthur. So promise me that whatever I say, you stay put in this bed."
"Promise," Arthur answered, still frowning, "Merlin, you're scaring me now. What is it? Did something happen? Is everyone alright? Is it Gwen? Gaius? What is going on?"
"Hush, Arthur. Calm down. What is the last thing you remember?"
"I remember journeying towards the lake. I remember the pain pretty well, too. I remember you… I never thought you could save me. And then, I dreamed… I dreamed of a woman… She said… I can't remember what she said. She knew you. God, it feels like I have been asleep for a man's age."
"More than that." Merlin drew a deep breath. "Arthur, you've been sleeping at the bottom of that lake for nearly one and a half thousand years."
Arthur responded with a blank stare.
"I've… I've what, now?" he eventually stuttered, utterly perplexed. "You can't be serious."
"I'm afraid I am. You were right, I couldn't save you. You died, Arthur, and was laid to rest before your destiny could be fulfilled. Our destiny. And I have watched the centuries go by, waiting for you to return."
"But then - Camelot. What happened?"
"The story is too long to tell in detail right now, it would be too much. You need to rest. I can tell you that Camelot thrived. Guinevere ruled for many years in your memory. You could not have chosen a better queen. Many advisors told her to remarry, but I couldn't bear seeing another king in what should have been your time - especially one who might overrule her. I advised her to keep the throne for herself, and she listened. She took a ward, Eric, and raised him with your ideals. Whether she fell in love again is a different question, I don't know the answer to that."
Arthur nodded, shell-shocked. The tears would come later, once he'd had time to internalise just what he had lost. His face looked as pale as the sheets he was resting against.
"And the knights?" he asked.
"You outlived Gwaine, I'm afraid," Merlin said darkly, "Percival died in battle a few years after you, but most of them enjoyed long and happy lives."
"But they're all long gone now. A thousand years, you said?"
"And a half," he confirmed, "Yes, they are all gone. I am all that is left. I'm sorry."
Arthur covered his face with the hand Merlin wasn't holding. His breathing was irregular, and he shook a little.
"Well," he mumbled when he had gotten his senses back, "I suppose you are better than nothing."
Merlin grinned at him.
"I appreciate your regard."
Arthur smiled back, to the best of his ability.
"As I've come to understand it, having you by my side isn't little at all. Without you, who knows what would have become of me."
"Well, you'd have died a lot more, that's for sure."
"I'm being serious," Arthur insisted, and the hand Merlin was holding finally gripped his in return, "If I could choose anyone to wake up to after all this time, it's you I would have chosen."
Merlin patted Arthur's hand.
"All these years… I would gladly wait a thousand more, if that's what it would take to see you again."
He rose from his seat at the bedside and went to pick up his bag. The hotel rooms were modest in size, and it was far from a luxurious establishment. But they did manage to supply each of their guests with a table, and he had discarded his things there. From the bag, he extracted some modest, but fashionable garments.
"I brought you some clothes. The fabric and make will be unfamiliar, but it is easy to get used to. When you feel ready to get up and move about I can dress you, like I did in the old days. I have a flat waiting in London - I don't suppose we ever went there, did we? We'll have to go by car this time, of course. You will like those, they're terrifying. Faster than you would believe, and frightfully dangerous things. Right up your alley. You always seemed to like things that threatened to kill you and take you away from…"
The trembling of his hands made the shirt he was unfolding shiver, ripples spreading like they would on a puddle under the breeze. He laid it back down on the table instead, which he proceeded to lean against.
"You will be fine, Arthur," he said after a few deep breaths, and turned around, "It will take time, and it will be difficult, but you will be fine. We will be fine."
From the bed, Arthur could do nothing but nod.