A/N: This story idea came to me last night at 4am, after trying to think of a story that had a Dark!Merlin modern setting in any kind of capacity and failing to remember reading any before. Which my overproductive brain decided was a situation that had to be remedied at once and came up with this. It's my very first Merlin fic, and I apologize for the odd and antiquated (and quite stilted) way Arthur expresses himself in. He'll need some time to adjust to modern English.

I don't know how fast I'll be able to update this, but I'm having fun writing it so I'm hoping it'll progress quickly. Expect not to hear much from Merlin directly for a few episodes - it's up to Arthur to figure out what's happened with his old friend while he was gone, and come to terms with the past. I promise, the mysteries that he'll come across will probably only be really frustrating to him, while he's still missing some clues. You'll be provided with those in other ways, long before he'll get there.

Please feel free to leave comments and tell me what you think!

~ Prologue ~

The first thing that penetrates the fog that constitutes his mind is the absence of wetness.

Not that it greatly surprises him at this point, but the last thing he consciously remembers looking at had been the lake and the island within, before Merlin's anguished eyes had filled his horizon.

He remembers the sight of the lake and the smell of the water like it's barely been a second ago. As clearly as he remembers the air in his lungs suddenly feeling too thin, the taste of metallic blood coating the back of his throat. The dull thudding of his fading heartbeat. And the absolute clarity that settled on his bones that this – this! – was the end. This was a death he could no longer escape.

The same clarity fills him now. Clarity of limbs, of emotion, of an inner sense of purpose.

(Though the purpose may still elude him a little, but he knows it is there. This is his destiny.)

So he strides forth, his barenaked feet parting blades of grass, stomping on the sodden earth where once had been the still waters of the lake that carried him hence . He strides onwards. He strides home.

(There is no shadow of a doubt that he will find him there, waiting. For that, too, is his destiny.)

He woke up to the sound of a whisper in the air, and immediately felt crushed under the weight of his own elation. But the whisper turned into words, and the words failed at familiarity, and the catatonic surge of happiness drowned in the heaviness of his heart that seemed to want to sink him back into the earth that had spit him out.

(Had it, really? The timeless void of Avalon seemed nothing else now; what had been there had faded like the waters of the lake that once was.)

The words would not stop. He couldn't make them out. They made no sense to him, even as he pushed the bitter disappointment aside and tried to understand.

"Heló? Mister? Wyt ti'n iawn? Ydych chi ar ddihun?"

Still heavy of mind and desperately unwilling to face this kind of reality, Arthur lay still. As long as he'd keep his eyes firmly shut, he could still belie the odd sense of dread that had overcome him ever since he'd stepped ashore to find himself in a changed world.

(A world full of roaring angular-shaped beasts, that had arrogantly flaunted their transparent stomach's undigested contents at him as they'd rushed past and given him his first sight of the evil he was to battle . What manner of creature was it that would so callously give their prey a glimpse of their immediate future in its belly? Finding himself without his trusty sword, he'd taken cover behind a hedge to wait until the beasts were no longer afoot, but they'd been relentless in their onslaught, and he'd found himself succumbing to the weariness of his changed state of being.)

"Wyt ti'n iawn?"

As foreign as the tongue seemed, there was finally something his ears seemed to detect that hinted at a possibility he hadn't yet considered.

Could it be but a jest?

After all, had not Merlin always delighted in making him look a fool? Though he would consider the occasion one of poor taste, perhaps it was nought but Merlin's way of helping them overcome the gravity of their situation, by playing up the strangeness of their new encounter and pretending to be someone else.

Was this then Merlin's welcome? A show of mummery and foreign tongues?

Arthur ripped open his eyes, convinced to find the eyes of his former servant looking back at him right then. Merlin with the impish smile. The glib tongue and foul humour. The insolent jabs at his sense of self-entitlement.

(Merlin with the wisdom of the sages. The true and pure heart. The unwavering loyalty. None of which he thinks he ever deserved, for haven't his failings been too great for that?)

And as he blinked his eyes to adjust to the darkness of night time and waited for the blurredness to slowly fade from his sight, his heart drumming an exulted beat inside his chest, he knew he wasn't going to be angry with him for even such elaborate a ruse, because all that mattered, truly, was that they were both here. King and servant reconciled.

(Though one now less than a king, and the other much more than servant.)

And though the eyes that his own finally met were smaller than he remembered, and though the face they belonged to was that of a mere child of perhaps 10 years, they were unmistakably Merlin's. He couldn't stop the bubble of pure joy soaring In his heart anymore than the grin erupting on his face or the motion of his hand as it reached out to sink into the unruly mop of dark hair and shake the boy's head in mock anger.

"Oh Merlin! Can't even respect such a grave and momentuous event as this!"

He missed the boy's reaction as he pulled him down towards his own chest to grasp him in an embrace, and didn't think twice before admitting to him what had been in his heart since before he'd risen from the Isle. "It gladdens my heart to see you, old friend. Even in such a form as this."

But as he went to ruffle the boy's head once more with all the affection he could now afford, the child wriggled free of his embrace, and pushed himself off from the earth and him. With panicked eyes and an open mouth the boy stared down at Arthur for another long moment, as if his mind was still trying to digest what had been said and done.

As the boy stood over him, realisation dawned that though the boy was similar enough in looks to Merlin, he had not the sorceror's other familiar features, nor did his frightened, half-glazed stare show any kind of recognition.

Then the boy let forth an unearthly scream – upon which Arthur promptly lost consciousness.

But there was that split second before his mind followed him back into the darkness, where with a measure of satisfaction he took note of the fact that the boy, like Merlin, could do magic.

*** translated from Welsh: "Hello? Mister? Are you ok? Are you awake?"