It had been three months since King Arthur died at the hands of Mordred, and Merlin had yet to forgive himself.
Merlin often found himself spending his free time riding through the woods, searching for nothing of any importance. He often hoped that Arthur would just appear at his side and call him an idiot. But no such thing happened.
When Merlin wasn't riding his horse, he was taking all his negtive feelings out on a tree with a sword.
He had no meaning in his life. He still couldn't use magic, unless the Queen wanted him to. That hardly ever happened, since she blamed magic for Arthur's death.
He was just glad she didn't blame him for it. If she had, he'd be dead.
Whenever he wasn't taking his anger out on innocent trees, he would go searching for a fight with a lone bandit. He knew that Arthur wouldn't approve, but Arthur wasn't there anymore. There was no telling when he would come back.
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It had been a year since King Arthur died at the hands of Mordred, and Merlin had stopped blaming himself.
Merlin became the Court Physician, since Gaius was near the end of his time. He never used magic to heal a patient, unless it was absolutely necessary and the Queen agreed. She often agreed, since she did not want to face anymore untimely deaths.
Whenever Merlin had time to himself, he would often go riding in the woods to think. He often thought about Arthur. Merlin still wished the king was still around to call him an idiot.
Sometimes when the warlock was sleeping, he often dreamt of Arthur and his resurrection. Each resurrection was different. There was no way of knowing which one was true.
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It had been five months since Gaius died, and magic was allowed once more.
Merlin no longer had any free time. He was the Court Physician and the Court Sorcerer. If he ever had a moment to himself, he would spend it thinking about Arthur and Gaius. They had made such an impact on his life.
Every time he slept he dreamt of Camelot disappearing and magic dying. He dreamt that it would all just be a fictional story.
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A year after Gaius died, a sickness hit Camelot. A sickness that Merlin could not cure.
As an attempt to save those who were not yet affected, Merlin and Queen Gwen organized an evacution of Camelot.
There were only a handful of survivors. Most of which practiced magic.
The survivors watched from a distance as The Great Dragon lit Camelot on fire.
Merlin watched as his home of twelve years fell to the ground. Camelot was no more.
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Two years after the Fall of Camelot, Merlin returned to Ealdor in time to witness the murder of his mother.
Angered by the loss, Merlin traveled to the Lake of Avalon. When he arrived there a boat was waiting for him.
As he stepped into the boat, it drifted away from the shore and headed to the small island in the middle of the lake.
The warlock stepped out of the boat and sat on the shore of the island. Being where he was made him feel closer to the one true friend he had.
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As centuries came and went, Merlin stayed on the island. He only ever left when he needed supplies. He never aged. He always looked to same.
Everything that had had ever been became a fictional story to tell kids at nighttime. Magic was almost extinct. Merlin was one of the few left who held magic. The others with the power to weild magic were young, inexperienced and had no one to guide them.
Merlin never got in the way of their lives. He didn't want to grow close to anyone only to outlive them and lose them in the end. He let them find their own ways of harnessing their magic.
No one in the towns surrounding the lake ever noticed. To them he was just a man who wanted to be left alone.