Hey everyone!
Long time no see, huh? :P So, I've been pretty busy with schoolwork, but I had a plot bunny that wouldn't leave me alone. So... ta-da! Time travelling Merlin! Exciting, right?
Enjoy the prologue. Let me know what you think!
Prologue
He was the greatest warlock to ever walk this earth and would be until the end of time. Power beyond imagination lay beneath the skin of his fingertips, crackling. Golden blood thrummed through his heart and his veins. Visions of the future, the past, the present, of this world and others played in his mind when he closed his eyes, desperate to slip away from this painful existence.
After he sent Arthur away, on the flaming boat, Merlin had waited. In truth, he only sat there for a couple hours, but honestly, it felt like several years. With great difficulty, he had managed to dry his eyes and wander home, back to Camelot. He had eaten dinner with Gaius and held Gwen as she sobbed. He was present at Gwaine's funeral and even gave a speech, eliciting some laughs from the crowd when he spoke of Gwaine's drunken antics. He mourned with those who knew Morgana before she turned and was there when Gwen was crowned Queen of Camelot, long live the Queen.
He stayed in Camelot, occasionally visiting his mother in Ealdor, until the world became a semblance of normal. Merlin continued his studies as a physician under his mentor's guidance and was a beam of support for Gwen as she was suddenly in charge of all the states of affairs. He knew Arthur would have wanted him to help her, so he did, to the best of his abilities.
Slowly, Albion was becoming all Merlin dreamed it would be.
Gwen had pronounced all magic legal later that year, reaching out to the Druids for peace treaties and alliances. Percival got married to Mithian, therefore becoming King of Nemeth, securing the alliance between Nemeth and Camelot. It was only a year later when they announced they were to have an heir, and that heir was announced to rule over both Nemeth and Camelot when she came of age.
One night, Merlin heard Kilgarrah calling to him. So he left, in the middle of the night with only a hurried note left to Gaius, to journey to Kilgarrah's cave. After several days of traveling, he reached Kilgarrah's side. He stayed there until the Great Dragon gave his last breath, and a part of Merlin felt as if it had broken.
It was after several years and Merlin was 33 when he realized he wasn't aging. Leon had said, quite nonchalantly, during a meeting of the round table one day that Merlin looked as if he hadn't aged a day since Arthur passed. Merlin had laughed it off, but was suddenly struck with grief, because it was true. His skin had not aged in the past 7 years and his hair had not greyed.
So as to not upset the others, he only told Gaius, and together they created a potion that would allow him to take on an appearance that he was aging. Soon, to his delight, Merlin found that the crinkles he got near his eyes when he smiled became permanent, and the hair around his absurd ears began to turn silver. It was just pretense, Merlin knew, but it felt nice to age, to begin a journey toward death and perhaps peace.
Gaius died in his sleep. He had lived to an old age, and was quite content with the way he lived his life and Merlin was glad he had gone so peacefully. Next came Percival—he died in battle, honorably. Soon, one by one, they all left him: Leon, his mother, Gilli... Gwen was the last.
Merlin had held her weathered hand in his, as he sat by her bed. She had asked him to change back, to become young again, just for a moment before she died. Smart Gwen, she always knew the truth. Merlin obliged, and soon his crinkly white beard disappeared and his hunched back straightened, and once again, Merlin was young, just as she and Arthur had once been. Gwen closed her eyes with a smile on her face.
The Queen was dead. May she rest in peace.
Years went by and rulers changed. Merlin would come and go, sometimes living among the people and sometimes opting to stay with Aithusa. While magic had grown and was prosperous under Gwen's rule of Albion, the people soon forgot. The number of Druids dwindled and people plundered the earth, slowly hacking the magic away. Merlin could feel it. Whenever a tree was chopped, the magic of that tree, the life of it, would travel to the closest magical beacon it could find, which mostly ended up being Merlin.
So as the magic of the earth drained, Merlin's magic heightened. Not that it did him much good. Once again, witches and wizards were hanged and burned. Religions had risen that spit at the old ways. Merlin rarely used magic. No, he wasn't afraid of being caught, he could easily escape. He wasn't afraid of being killed, he was immortal. He merely had no purpose for his magic. He would age himself and then make himself younger, in an endless and quite frankly, boring cycle. Sometimes he would magic the laundry or the books when he couldn't bother to make a physical effort.
When Aithusa died, Merlin felt as if his insides would burst. His fingers tingled with energy and every step he took felt like he could fly, but even with so much magic, Merlin continued his tedious way of life.
Most cycles he became a doctor, it was what he liked best. It reminded him of the way things were before. He wished he could show Gaius what he learned, the wonders of modern medicine!
Once, he joined the army. If you asked him, he couldn't tell you anymore which war he fought in, or who for. All he remembered was that his fellow soldiers laughed at him, and though Merlin tried his best, he found no comfort knowing that they fought alongside him. Rather, it seemed as if the comradery he shared with the knights was extinct in this new age.
Sometimes he became a teacher. He liked that, teaching students, some so eager to learn. Other students, not so much. He mostly liked to teach younger children. Children still filled with innocence. Children that still believed in magic. He tried to instill values of humanity, honesty and bravery in them as much as he could and he was proud to say that his students always ended up the most chivalrous of them all.
He also enjoyed travelling. The world was constantly changing and he traveled as much as he could, visiting the sites and the people. He had been to the Himalayas twenty three times, could speak seventeen languages and had read the Harry Potter series in eight.
Merlin was no longer sad. The sharp and sudden ache of everyone's death had ebbed away slowly as years went on. No, he wasn't sad. He was lonely. No one stayed for long and Merlin found himself wishing and hoping that Arthur would return soon.
The Dragon had said that Arthur would return when Albion's need was greatest. Albion was gone, and Merlin found himself wondering if Arthur would ever come back, seeing as there was no Albion to return to.
He was old again when he got the idea. Wearing a trench coat and a beanie atop his white hair, Merlin had been walking on a highway to reach Avalon. As he wobbled down (his knees ached), Merlin could close his eyes and almost imagine that he was back in Camelot, on the day that he had sent Arthur off.
If only he could go back and save him.
And with a sudden burst of arrogance, one of the likes Merlin hadn't had in a long time, Merlin decided that he would and that he could. He had so much magic pent up inside him, it was impossible to say he couldn't.
Since Arthur seemed to be taking his time coming back, perhaps it was up to Merlin to go back and save him.