Merlin had been waiting for a very long time.

He had seen many things. He had seen entire societies crumble and rebuild. He had witnessed the creations of inventions that would change the world, had seen entire nations fall to their knees under the crushing weight of war and violence. Men had walked on the moon and magic nearly vanished entirely in the face of science. Through all of this, he waited. And after a while he turned bitter. He grew tired of waiting. tired of waking up every day, wondering if today would be the day (finally finally today, please arthur please) but it never came. he had begun to think it never would. Merlin has lost count of the years after the first couple hundred, it was pointless anyway, right? He had seen every form of evil this world could offer and still he never fucking /woke up/.

Before he grew tired, though, he had been angry. Before men had invented electricity and cars (oh, so much to teach him once he comes back to me) Merlin had sat by the lake, every day, cursing and screaming and sometimes throwing rocks into the water. No magic or spell could give him any kind of hint and merlin thought maybe the great dragon was wrong, just like he had thought when he and arthur had first met. Maybe /this/ was his destiny, to live and wait and mourn for a king (no not just a king so much /more/ than that) who wasn't returning.

It had happened quite randomly. Merlin had a house near the lake, of course, and he was out in the forest collecting firewood (fires just like the ones i used to light in his chambers) when he felt it. A tug in the direction of the lake. It started out as just a feeling in the back of his mind, an almost imperceptible pull. He ignored it, surely it was nothing. He didn't allow himself to hope. Merlin returned to his work, bent over to pick up a stack of logs when the feeling tugged again, this time harder, insistent, and nearly physically putting him on his back. Merlin dropped the logs and straightened, heart pounding in the almost-darkness, breath heavy and uneven.

Looking to his right, he could see the lights of his little house (maybe mine could become ours) and he could feel his hands shaking. He tried telling himself that no, it couldn't be (but what if it is) he has no reason to come back (maybe he misses you too, idiot) and the little voice in his head won.

Merlin followed the winding path down to the lake, his heart racing. Everything seemed so much more clear, and vibrant, and /alive/. And when he saw the silhouette of a man lying on the shore of the lake, it took all of his willpower not to break in to a sprint. Merlin didn't know how much he remembered, or if he would remember anything at all. Merlin's stomach clenched at the thought (surely he would remember me, he must) and he nearly turned around and went home (maybe this was a mistake)

All doubt was banished from his mind, however, when he knelt by the figure as it raised it's head and blue eyes blinked up at him. There was an astonished "/Mer/lin?" and that's when Merlin finally gave in. He grabbed Arthur (he's back and i can say his name again) by the shoulders and pulled him into his arms. He buried his face in Arthur's hair and tightened his grip, still not fully believing. After all these years, after all the pain and the loneliness and the desperation Merlin had felt, he was back and Merlin was never going to let him go again. It wasn't until Arthur tentatively slid his arms around Merlin that he realized he hadn't been breathing. He tried to laugh but it came out as a sob; Arthur was warm and solid and so tangible that Merlin's head swam.

They stayed like that for a long time, Arthur in his arms and Merlin repeating his name, over and over and over. It almost didn't feel real, like Merlin was dreaming and any second he was going to wake up, alone in his bed and aching (wouldn't be the first time i've had a dream like this) but then Arthur would press his lips to Merlin's neck or run his hand over Merlin's face and it would be like an electric shock, energy running through him and reminding him that he is very much awake.

Eventually they stood and made their way back to Merlin's house. Arthur was stumbling and slow, still in his armor; Merlin held his hand (perhaps a bit too tightly) and patiently led him along the path. Once they were inside, Merlin made quick work of Arthur's armor, stripping him down to just his trousers. The pile of metal and chainmail looked out of place in the harsh light of his bedroom, among the stacks of books and laundry that was haphazardly strewn everywhere. For a moment Merlin felt self-conscious about the mess but when he looked at Arthur, his insecurities were forgotten. Merlin nearly laughed out loud at the expression on Arthur's face, a look of bewilderment and slight fear. "Merlin, what on earth-"

"Nevermind that now, just... come here," Merlin said, grabbing Arthur's hand and pulling him down so they were both laying on the bed. Now that Arthur was back Merlin didn't want to stop touching him, didn't want to stop feeling the golden warmth of his presence; it had been so long and Merlin was so full of relief he wanted to cry. Arthur seemed happy to comply and he wrapped his arms around Merlin's back, engulfing him entirely in his embrace.

"So, how long has it been?" Arthur said in to Merlin's hair, once they had comfortably settled themselves.

"Centuries, Arthur, too many to count."

"Well lucky for you I don't plan on going anywhere any time soon," Arthur said, pressing a kiss to the top of Merlin's head.

"I hope not, you've kept me waiting long enough, you prat," Merlin said but there was no venom in his voice, only affection. Arthur hummed a reply and brought his hand up to stroke his thumb along Merlin's cheek. Merlin sighed contentedly and closed his eyes. He fell asleep to the feeling of Arthur's heartbeat against his chest, and for the first time in several millenia, he slept peacefully, wrapped warm and safe in Arthur's arms.