Sometimes, he'd go and visit them, the reminders of his long last friends. The relations, the descendants of the knights, of his mother, of everyone he once counted as a friend. They looked like them sometimes, throw backs from a bygone era, they would stand tall, looking so much like them- that it hurt.
A physical ache, which time would never heal.
Today, it seemed was one of the days for him. He was in London, a place that he had seen flourish and grow into the huge belching city it had become, eating up the lives of thousands, before mellowing out, slightly, to the place it was now. He rarely came to London anymore, not since he had graced the court there a few centuries before- they had always been glad of a wise man, no matter how it would cross their most pious religion.
He had done so much, for royalty, it seemed his destiny had always been bound with that of the golden thread of royalty, regardless of where their line had once sprung. He had done so much, for so many, and yet his name was forgotten in the great tomes of history- few remembered him, or seemed to care.
He was still famous though, for his golden years, with Arthur. His sweet king, just and loyal and incorrupt, unlike so many other royals he had come to know- with their false ideas and corruption. The golden age, when his face had not been worn by the air around him, when he had been beloved by so many, and not a stranger upon the street. A time when he had worn the face he had been born with, not the face of a wizened man- something he could never truly be.
Immortality had robbed him of everything.
The face he had seen that day had been of a stable boy, young and blemished, slightly crooked teeth. He had never known him in familiarity, but yet, the sight of him had sent him into a gloom, darkened by the laughter of his girlfriend, another reincarnation, whom he knew he would marry.
Sometimes, he wondered if Arthur should arise, if he would still be recognisable, would the ages of guilt, fear, solitude and a weariness that no mortal could comprehend show upon his features, even should he return to his youthful face? He had always feared they would, even as he felt himself drawn to the royal tangles of Europe and the world- helping them in his own way.
But, it was the one's he hadn't helped that had made him cry, made him wallow in grief. No man is worth your tears, he had once said- but he had never known the people he had come to know- manipulated, cast aside and abandoned and lost as their lives imploded- leaving them desolate, and often dead.
There were so many, now: people he had loved the first time round, those that he had loved after, those he had helped, those he had condemned, those that he had lost. The one's that had walked to their execution, their head held high, their eyes leaking tears.
How they had bravely seen death in the face, seen the last lingering mortality fade around them. And, Arthur, always Arthur.
His Arthur, lost now, his reign cut short, tragically so.
The Once and Future King, killed by the folly and negligence of his sorcerer.
He would always carry the burden with him- the burden of their deaths.
Immortality was a long time to shoulder the burden, he knew. But, he hoped that Arthur, his golden king, would rise again and help him bear the burden, for a time at least.
He knew that no-one, not even his love, could last forever.