Sipping your hot chocolate, the sweet liquid makes the back of your throat tickle pleasantly. Going to café 'Lady of the Lake' was always something you could look forward to, it was the highlight of your week. You sigh contentedly, leaning back into your chair as your eyes sweep over the familiar sight. The lake seemed silver, the calm surface reflecting the grey sky. It was a popular place and attracted tourists like bees to honey. They came here because of the history, as it was believed that the famous King Arthur Pendragon had died here. You, however, merely came here for the view.
Slowly but surely, your eyes wander to a tree growing close the lake. Unlike all of the others, this tree was still covered in healthy, green leaves. It gave you an eery feeling to see it contrasting so sharply against the others, who had dropped their leaves long ago. Against it sat an old man with white hair and a grizzly beard that was only slightly darker. Clad in deep blue jeans and a dark grey jacket, he almost looked normal. Almost. Maybe it was his eyes, or maybe it was the fact that he had been sitting there for as long as you could remember, but he just didn't seem to belong in this century.
His eyes were brimmed red, you notice. His knees were pulled against his chest, and the sad expression on his face only added to your impression that he had been crying. Slowly, you stand up, meaning to approach him and ask him why he sat here, every week, every year and why he always looked so sad. But you never do. You feel a warm hand on your shoulder and turn around to see your friend grinning at you. Trying to smile back enthousiastically, you glance back at the old man. Your questions would have to wait until next week.
When Saturday finally arrived, you hesitate. The old man had been on your mind all week, and you had been developing theories about why he is so sad. Did the lake remind him of where he used to live? Was it because a friend or family member died, and the lake happened to be their favorite place to go? You don't have a clue.
Slowly, carefully, you walk to the tree. Sitting down next to the stranger, you copy his posture, so that you were now both staring at the lake...
Minutes go by like this, the two of you sitting in silence, nothing but your breathing interrupting it. The old man hasn't paid you a glance so far, but for the moment, you really don't mind. Now you know why he sits here, of all places. The tree is on slightly higher ground than the café and had a much better view. You can see the whole lake from here, so perfectly framed by woods, you could almost forget that you were right next to a city. The leaves rustle as a gentle breeze sweeps over the lake. You breathe in deeply, admiring the peace and beauty of it all. Suddenly, you feel his gaze on your back.
"It's nice to know that at least someone comes here for the nature and not for that blasted King." His voice was soft, almost a whisper. Startled, you look back at him, the bright blue eyes sending chills down your spine. His stare was intense, powerful, but also sad and tired. Extremely tired.
"I saw you staring at me last week. You looked troubled." he said.
"I was wondering why you were so sad." you say. "I've been to this lake every week since I was twelve, and every time you were here, looking as if you had your heart torn out."
His expression darkened. "My misery has a very long history. I do not think it will do you good to listen about my suffering."
You nod. You can understand that he doesn't want to talk about it, but somehow, this only makes your curiosity grow stronger. "Please, at least tell me your name."
"I have many names. Many know me as Merlin, others as Emrys, and still others know me as Dragoon. You can call me any one of those."
"What is your given name?"
The man's eyes lightened. He wasn't smiling, not yet, but it was the closest to cheerful you had ever seen him. "Merlin."
As you start to stand up, his hand shoots out to stop you. You look at him, surprised. "I just wanted you to know..." he paused, shakily taking a breath. "I just wanted you to know that I am not mourning a friend. I am waiting for one." With that he releases your arm, and you leave, feeling his eyes on your back the whole way. Somehow, you know that that was the first and the last time you will ever speak to Merlin.
Two weeks after your meeting, something strange happens. You knew it would happen the moment you woke up and left for the lake. It vibrates in your bones and fills the air with an electric current, yet you seem to be the only one who notices it. You sit down at your usual spot, having your usual drink, and doing whatever you thinkt was usual to do at the lake.
And then it happened.
The tourists had left and the café staff were having their lunch break, leaving the lake abandoned. It had been a particularly ugly day, the winds whistling and thunder booming in the distance. Yet, the storm managed to make it's way to the lake in a matter of minutes, and in no time you are soaked and getting ready to go.
But you don't get the chance.
The wind picks up, wailing and biting at any exposed skin. The temperature drops. The wind swirls and whirls around, seemingly focusing on one spot of the lake. The dark clouds gather over it as well, creating a wall between the sun and the earth. In the midst of it all, lightning strikes the water. Bolts of electricity shoot through the liquid, creating waves as it goes. A figure rises above the waves, glowing molten gold, and as it starts to move towards the shore, the storm calms.
It was over.
The sky clears. The waves disappear. There, on his hands and knees, coughing, was a man in chainmail. Sword at his side. Blond hair. Blue eyes. And then Merlin appears out of nothing, helping him up. He's scared, you notice. Scared that the man wouldn't recognize him, wouldn't accept him, would die in his arms again. Because now you know what your looking at.
The blond man straightens, staring at the old man. For a moment, you too are scared for Merlin but that feeling vanishes when the King wraps his arms around him. "I told you you wouldn't get rid of me that easily." the man saysd in a deep, soothing voice, just loud enough for you to hear.
Slowly, Merlin becomes taller, his hair turns darker, his beard vanishes, his skin becomes smooth. You know that this new, lanky, raven-haired man with sparkling blue eyes is the real Merlin. And then he does something you've never seen him do before, as he rests his chin on Arthur's shoulder.
He smiles