"Thank you," Merlin said to the cashier as he put away his change and moved to pick up his reusable bags. The young cashier bit her pierced lip as she worriedly watched Merlin's boney arms shake as he reached for his groceries. She ran her hand through her short cherry red hair as her eyes darted up to his heaving chest and wrinkled face and she watched him take a deep raspy breath. His long white hair and beard were mussed, and his back hunched with age.

"Are you sure you don't need any help with those?" she asked with concern in her voice.

"Oh no, no, I'll be fine," he said gruffly before grunting as he hoisted up his bags. The cashier nodded but held out an arm as if she expected him to fall over. Merlin walked away strenuously, aware of the concerned glances in his direction. He faked a slight limp from the extra weight of the bags, barely hiding his mischievous grin behind his long white beard. His glassy blue eyes darted across the other customers as they hurriedly jumped out of his way. He caught the laugh that had slipped past his teeth just in time to change it into a sputtering cough.

He knew, of course, that while he was, in fact, far older than anyone would believe, his muscles and bones were still perfectly capable of lifting a couple of grocery bags. Even if he had lost his strength, it wouldn't matter because he was using his magic to hold the bags up. It was a bit lazy of him, sure, but he had just completed a large shop up and had a reasonable walk home. He smiled because even after so many years of masquerading as his old disguise of Dragoon, Merlin still enjoyed playing the part of a feeble old man when he in fact had more power than any of these people could imagine. It was fun to take advantage of the excuses gained with age without suffering many of the negatives.

His thoughts drifted far into the past and he smiled as he recalled spurring Arthur on with his heels when in the disguise of a tired old sorcerer in need of a piggyback ride. All those years ago, grinning from Prince Arthur's royal back, Merlin had mused how such behavior would never grow old, and indeed it had not. The memory of his old friend quickly turned and sent a pang through his chest as well as a solemn expression across his face. Merlin shook his head, as if to send those painful memories away. Then, from the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a familiar face.

Gwen.

Merlin turned to get a proper look. The young woman had turned, and Merlin could now only see the back of her head. Styles had changed immensely since he had last seen Guinevere, and the Gwen that he knew would never wear her hair up in a high bun like this woman, but there was a sense of familiarity that Merlin could not shake.

Forgetting to keep up the appearance of being an old man, Merlin quickened his pace and followed her. As if on cue, a mass of shoppers came from the stores on either side of him and pushed in between him and the woman he presumed to be Gwen. Merlin tried to push through the crowd, but his grocery bags slowed him down. Every now and again he would catch a glimpse of her, but one moment she would be nearby on his right and the next faraway on his left.

Eventually, he lost sight of her completely and stood wildly looking around. Again, he caught the briefest glimpse of dark hair in a high bun and quickly pushed his way to her. When he finally caught up to her, he slid his bags up onto his forearm and grabbed hold of her wrist. The woman in front of him jumped and tore her arm from his grasp as she turned to look at him. Merlin caught a glimpse of a face as pale as ivory and stumbled backwards as if he'd been struck. The woman in front of him certainly looked familiar but was not the friendly face he thought he was pursuing. Her look of defensive fright quickly changed to one of concern as she turned and saw a very old man stumble backwards.

"Are you alright?" She asked with an Irish accent as she reached out to help him balance himself, but the sound of her voice pierced through Merlin's shock and brought him back to reality. Quickly remembering his disguise, Merlin stumbled forward with a long groaning grunt, pushed past her, and hobbled away.

The woman watched him go with a startled expression and when he was gone, she looked to her friend and asked, "What did he say?"

The woman who responded was tall and blonde with striking dark eyes. "It didn't seem like words to me," she remarked as she pushed a fallen strand of jet-black hair behind her friend's ear. "He probably mistook you for someone from his past. Come, we've still got a lot to do." Without waiting for a response, she turned to walk away. She looked over her shoulder to find her friend staring after the old man in a daze. She walked back and placed a hand on her shoulder. "What is it, sister?"

The dark-haired woman shook her head, causing the strand of hair to fall back over her face. "No, it's nothing," she responded. "He just seemed familiar, is all."

The blond-haired woman smiled, tucked the fallen strand behind her sister's ear once more and lead her into a nearby store.

Once Merlin had put a substantial distance between himself and the raven-haired woman, he slowed down and strained his neck to get a glance of Guinevere. He found himself glancing back towards the woman he had mistaken for her, wondering if he had really seen who he thought he had. He shook his head again and searched for Gwen. Becoming quite fed up with the situation and his hands growing sore from pulling along his floating groceries, Merlin's eyes flashed a golden glow as he slowed time and focused on finding Gwen. He found her on the other side of the plaza, exiting a store carrying some lilies with a smile on her face. Merlin watched as she moved towards the exit, and he hurried to follow. By the time he had pushed his way through the throng of people, however, he had lost sight of her. Disgruntled and questioning his eyes, he began his walk home.

Throughout the course of his walk home, Merlin could not get his mind off what he'd seen in the square. For centuries, he had been waiting for Arthur to return as foretold, but even after all this time, Merlin was unsure as to when or how Arthur's return would occur. Sometimes he worried he had somehow missed it, perhaps while he was away from Albion exploring the rest of the world. His lack of knowledge was not for lack of trying, however. Merlin had spent years at a time scouring libraries, searching out ancient tomes, and speaking to every creature of the Old Religion that he could find. It was not that he had no information, in fact, in some ways he had too much. He had at least eleven different ways that Arthur may return and hundreds, if not thousands, of dates on which he would, most of which had long since passed. Which theory or myth was true, Merlin could not be sure. Today's shop-up was, in fact, a much-needed break from a days-long examination of every piece of Arthurian lore he had. He was starting to wonder if his research, combined with a dangerous pairing of lack of sleep and reminiscing, had made him see things – people – that were not actually there.

Although… It was possible… Several of his informants had been sure that those that were integral to the progression of King Arthur's story would be reincarnated in the future to help him once he did return to Albion. While Merlin held these theories with a certain level of dubiousness, he had always hoped that they would be the ones to come to fruition. How he would love to see his friends again, but the thought of it often brought too much pain for Merlin to be able to think about it for long. These theories were therefore some of his least studied and mostly came out when he was feeling alone after several glasses of wine.

Merlin chewed on his lower lip as he considered the possibility. If those theories were true, then that could have been Gwen that he saw… But what would he have done if he had caught up with her? Would she have the memories of the Gwen that he had known? Even if she had, she wouldn't have recognized him as he was. If she didn't… would those memories come back? Or would he have to start anew with her and pretend that they hadn't been close friends over a thousand years ago? That thought was painful, possibly more painful than the thought of never seeing her again.

And what of the other woman that he had seen? Had that really been Morgana? These theories had given Merlin hope that he may see his friends again, but it had never occurred to him that his old foes may return as well. Thinking about her and the pain she had brought to his loved ones brought a fearful cold throughout his body. But Morgana had not always been like that. She had a good heart that became twisted and deformed by hatred. She was not the only magical person to suffer that fate; many had done so in response to the war that Uther Pendragon had waged upon their kind. Many more would do so again and again as they were persecuted throughout history. Merlin's thoughts wandered back to the naïve decisions he had made during Arthur's lifetime. Perhaps if he had been wiser, people with magic would not have suffered for all these centuries; if Arthur had brought magic back to Albion back then, they would now be able to use their magic without fear. Now, those with magic, the few that were left, were in just as bad of a situation as they were in Uther's time, if not worse. Merlin no longer even knew what would happen if his secret was exposed, because magic had been purged from Albion for so long that adults no longer believed in it, let alone feared it.

Perhaps, Merlin wondered, his mind returning to his previous train of thought, without Uther's hateful influence, Morgana could be a strong ally in the upcoming fight for magic. But then a thought crossed Merlin's mind that was so terrible that he stopped dead in his tracks.

What if Uther is reincarnated?

Merlin shuddered at the thought at how much more difficult his job was going to be if that was the case. Arthur had always been at his best when he was thinking for himself and doing what he believed to be right rather than listening to his father. Theirs was a complicated relationship, but in the end, Arthur loved his father and desired his approval. That was a weakness that held Arthur back from being the king that he was destined to be. If Uther returned…

Merlin sighed and shook his head. He looked up to continue walking and realized that he was so engrossed in his thoughts that he had missed the turnoff to his cottage by several hundred meters. He sighed again as he turned around to walk home.

The next several weeks went by with little of consequence occurring. Merlin spent most of his time bent over his research. The few times he did leave his cottage, he did not see anyone from his life in Camelot. He was, however, seeing them quite often in his dreams. The occurrence had sparked a renewed interest in the reincarnation theories of Arthur's return. Merlin spent a lot of time pondering the nature of reincarnation and who would be reincarnated, but his resources proved to be vague and rather unhelpful. Many sources depicted Arthur rising from the lake in which he had been laid to rest. Merlin wondered if this was a metaphor for reincarnation or if he should be expecting Arthur to walk out of the lake one day, dressed in the armor in which he had died. He had always felt that no matter the manner of return, it would most likely happen where Arthur had died. So, he built his cottage on the edge of the lake centuries ago.

Merlin had led an interesting life since the final battle against Morgana. He had returned to Camelot a bearer of bad news, but he continued to serve Gwen. She had ruled well and brought magic back to the land, but it was not to last. After she passed, Merlin continued to serve the rulers of Camelot as a royal adviser. Merlin had not known about his immortality but began to wonder as he watched all his friends die and yet he remained. He looked old, yes, but he suffered not the tiredness and frailty that comes with old age. Eventually, he sought out the druids, those that called him Emerys, and learned that Emerys is a word for immortal. Whether or not he was truly immortal, Merlin did not know, but he continued living year after year, decade after decade, century after century. Merlin stayed in Camelot for generations and he became somewhat of a legend as townsfolk created myths about his real age and origin. Merlin learned, though, if you live longer than every other person, there is nobody who knows how old you truly are and while his life was surrounded by myth, most people were too polite to question him directly, and those that did were usually silenced by his huffy outrage.

Eventually, Camelot fell, and Merlin moved on. After living in several different kingdoms, he began to have trouble living as mysteriously as he was accustomed. His reputation, it seemed, preceded him. He decided to try a reverse aging spell, and to his surprise, it was not as difficult as the aging spell he used to first become Dragoon, and it quickly became permanent, so it did not take much energy at all. He decided to go by the name of Myrrdin and start life anew in a far-off kingdom. And that is how Merlin had lived; living out lifetimes until he was old and wrinkly before taking the appearance of the young warlock that Arthur had known. It was always a shock to see his young face again, and during the first several years of each transition, he found himself thinking of his old friends more often than usual. Over the centuries, Merlin had travelled through most of the world, learned many languages, and spent many an hour hunched over dusty old tomes.

With the rise of organized governments and public history records, Merlin's life became a lot harder. Once he got the hang of it, though, with a bit of creative problem solving and a lot of magic, he managed to forge all the documents he needed to remain independent and unsuspecting. Every lifetime or so, he would forge a new birth certificate, change to his young self, and change his name. Of course, the recent advances in technology had made things even more difficult, but Merlin made sure to keep up with it, adapted quickly, and found that the technology, combined with his magic of course, often made his job easier. He now spent less time sneaking into public offices to forge documents, as he could often use magic to do so from the comfort of his own home.