Arthur's death was like a dagger to the chest, only worse. Pain from a stab wound dulls over time. But losing him- that pain never went away.
The ache in Merlin's heart persisted, filling him up until it was all that was left. He watched, through the years, as Gaius too died, then Sir Percival, then Gwen, and eventually all of Camelot. And soon the castle wasn't even standing, not a trace but for a story in some old tomes. Merlin left.
He walked the earth, looking to help anyone he could. He worked, he spoke to other people who were travelers like him. He heard their stories, worked alongside them, all just to occupy his mind. Most of all he waited.
Centuries passed. Merlin found himself one day standing in the middle of a town, surrounded by unfamiliar people wearing unfamiliar clothes, with weird, albeit brilliant new technology. It was maddening.
Merlin retreated back to the Lake of Avalon, a field now that the water had all gone. It was his only hope. He changed his face, became an old man, unremarkable and forgettable.
He went into town sometimes, wandering around and keeping up to date on the state of the world, composing a list of what to tell Arthur upon his return. People spoke to him, but the conversations were short, the words tight and hurried. Merlin went on his way.
The conversations with people of the modern world became fewer and farther between until eventually people stopped talking to him altogether. They seemed to look past him, eyes sliding over him and never meeting his own. Merlin found he preferred it this way. It was more peaceful.
He became the old man in the old house by the field, who spent his days sitting on a rock staring out at the planes of grass until night fell. He would imagine the rippling grass was water, the ghost of what once was, upon which Arthur would come home, gliding on his burial boat back to Merlin.
And one day, he did. Merlin woke one morning and went outside, taking place on his usual rock. As he stared into the grass, he saw him- there was Arthur, still as radiant as before. His armor shone bright like his hair, and he had a confused expression on his face like he had just woken from a dream.
Merlin ran fast as his legs could carry him. On the other side of the field, Arthur brought a hand to his side, feeling for the wound that wasn't there anymore.
"Arthur!" Merlin cried out, stumbling, nearly blinding himself with his tears.
Arthur looked around. His face was concerned, staring confusedly at his surroundings.
Merlin skidded to a halt in front of him. "Arthur," he wheezed, his grin threatening to break from his face. Tears streamed down his cheeks and soaked into his beard. For the first time, he didn't feel as old as he was.
Arthur looked around again.
"Arthur?" Merlin said again, because Arthur wasn't responding.
He doesn't recognize me, he thought. He needs to change back into the way he was.
HIs eyes flashed gold and Merlin felt his long gray hair break from his face and fall to his feet, his skin smoothing and his bones becoming stronger. He took his hat from his head and threw it aside.
"It's me," He said, "It's me, Merlin. I know this might be weird for you, but I'm here. I've been here the whole time, and I'll help you."
Finally Arthur turned in the direction of Merlin's voice. Merlin lifted his arms, as if to say "Here I am, here I've been." He grinned and waited for Arthur to react.
Instead Arthur's eyes seemed fixed on some point in the distance behind Merlin. Arthur began to walk that way.
"Arthur, what-"
Merlin let his arms fall as Arthur moved past him, wading through the grass. Merlin followed him until Arthur found Merlin's house. He followed him inside.
"This is where I've been living," Merlin explained, "I'm not sure for how long, I lost track of what year this is. It's been a while. I wanted to make sure I was here when you came back..."
He trailed off. Arthur was moving around the room that had become run down over the years. He bent to examine the writing on the walls, spray painted and carved with pocket knives. There was a soft tinkle as Arthur's feet found the empty beer cans littered on the floor.
"Where the hell am I?" Arthur wondered aloud.
"This is my house," Merlin said again. "It's gotten dirty over the years, but we'll clean it up. Maybe we can actually get a real house, it'd be nicer, more what you're used to."
Arthur shook his head and brushed away a cobweb. Sighing, he walked past Merlin again and went back outside.
"Where the hell are you going?" Merlin asked, following him, "Listen to me! I've been waiting for you for a thousand years, talk to me!"
Arthur gasped as he caught sight of what lay on the other side of the road. A café with an electric Open sign, two cars and a motorcycle parked outside. Beyond that was a park full of children. After a moment, Arthur started towards it.
"No," Merlin said, "Don't go there. You don't know how to talk to them, Arthur it's been centuries."
Arthur ignored him.
"At least don't go in your chain mail! Let me get you some normal clothes!"
Merlin held his breath as Arthur crossed the road, and sent a silent thanks to the heavens when no cars came speeding past.
"Why are you ignoring me?" Merlin shouted as soon as Arthur reached the parking lot of the cafe. "Arthur!"
Arthur stopped to inspect the motorcycle, leaning warily back. Merlin wondered what such a contraption would look like to him after knowing only mideval things.
"Hey mister!" The voice of a little boy caused both Arthur and Merlin to turn.
"Why are you dressed like that?"
Arthur blinked. "Excuse me?"
The boy pointed. "You going to a fancy dress or something?"
"I...this is my chainmail. It protects me."
"From what?"
"From attackers."
The boy cocked his head. "Like a bulletproof vest?"
"A what?"
Arthur wrinkled his brow and interrupted before the boy could respond. "Look, I'm looking for a way home. Do you know where I am?"
"This is Glady's," The boy said, pointing to the chalkboard propped next to the door of the cafe, declaring this to be "Glady's cafe."
"Is this anywhere near Camelot?" Arthur asked. Merlin fought the urge to bring his palm to his forehead.
The boy giggled. "Are you King Arthur?"
Arthur's eyes widened. "Yes!" He said, "Yes, that's me! You know who I am?"
The boy just giggled again. "What were you doing in the Emrys House?"
"The what?" Arthur and Merlin said in unison.
"The Emrys House," The boy said, pointing back to Merlin's old shed. "If you're King Arthur, why were you over there?"
"What's the Emrys House?" Arthur asked.
The boy grinned and beckoned. Arthur leaned down until he was at eye level with him, looking earnestly for the answer.
"It's haunted," The boy said conspiratorially.
"What do you mean?" Arthur asked, alarmed. Merlin opened his mouth. His house isn't haunted!
The boy nodded solemnly. "My brother says so. He and his friends go there all the time, but he won't tell me what he does. He always has a backpack with him and one time I looked inside and it was full of beer. I didn't say anything though because he would have gotten in trouble with daddy."
Arthur just stared at the boy, confused.
"One time he went there with his girlfriend," the boy went on, "But she got scared because she said she saw a ghost and wanted to go home. My brother was mad because he said he had gone to so much trouble to get the drinks."
A memory stirs in Merlin's memory suddenly. One night he had come home to find two teenagers sat in his house, cans of beer in hand. The boy had a hand on the girl's thigh. "Who the hell are you?" Merlin had asked. The girl's head whipped around. When she saw Merlin, she screamed. The two fled.
"Brian!" A man jogged over from the park, middle aged and balding, with the same nose as the little boy. "There you went! Who're you talking to?"
"This is King Arthur, dad!" Brian said, pointing at Arthur, who straightened and offered a gloved hand.
Brian's dad took it gingerly. "Oh really?"
"Yes," Arthur said, and Merlin snorted at the diplomacy in Arthur's tone. "Brian here was telling me about the Emrys House." He cast an uncertain glance to Brian at the name, but Brian was focused on his dad.
"Tell him about it, dad!" Brain said, bouncing on his toes. "Tell him the story!"
"I'm sure Arthur here doesn't want to hear-"
"I do, actually," Arthur said, the authority in his voice tainted with a hint of desperation. Merlin leaned forward, also curious to hear what this man had to say about his house.
The man rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "It's not that great, really," He said. "The Emrys House has been there longer than anyone can remember. These days it's just a place for teenagers to hang out, but there are a lot of ghost stories about it."
"What kind of stories?"
"Well," the man said, "This is all just rumors, but sometimes people say they see an old man there, sitting on a rock and staring at the grass. Apparently his name is Emrys and he used to live in the house. He's waiting for something, and apparently he can't move onto the 'next world-' " He made air quotes, "-until he gets whatever it is he's been waiting for."
Merlin looked at Arthur. He had gone very, very still. "What is he waiting for?"
The man shrugged. "Dunno," He said. "Revenge? A lost love?"
"Nobody knows!" Brian interjected gleefully. "He's always just there, but my brother saw him! Coming into the house!"
Brian's dad laughed. "Of course he did," He said. "Well, we should be getting home. It was nice to meet you, uh, Arthur."
"Thank you," Arthur said. He nodded down at Brian, who waved, before his father led him away.
Arthur was left alone in the parking lot, Merlin standing bewildered next to him.
"What a load of bollocks!" Merlin exclaimed. "They're talking about me like I'm a ghost!"
Arthur didn't respond.
"I'm right here though! Arthur!" Merlin waved a hand in front of Arthur's face.
"Arthur?"
Arthur turned his gaze back across the street to Merlin's house. Merlin followed his gaze.
The house was a bit run-down, made of rotting wood and mud. The glass that he'd put in was broken, the structure leaning in on itself on the brink of collapse. Some teenager's name was spray painted in black.
Arthur crossed the road again and Merlin followed him, this time more weary with his step. As they went inside the house, Merlin took a closer look.
The ground was littered in empty beer and soda cans, crumpled up crisp packets thrown into a pile in the corner. A magazine lay with its pages open on the ground, and Arthur bent to pick it up. He started when he found a woman's completely exposed breasts glaring up at him.
Merlin suddenly feels very cold. At some point in his many years of living here, this house had become not his without him even noticing. People had come and gone, and Merlin hadn't paid them any mind. When had this become a teenage makeout spot?
Merlin bent to inspect the graffiti on the walls. Old ones carved into the wood read things like "Jimmy D. rocks" and "Jean and Ben 4ever" and "Class of '67 rules!" There were also newer ones, like "Lanie Sanderson is a slut" and "555-8888 hmu for a good time ;)" and, even more recently, "#YOLO," under which someone had written "unless you're Emrys LOL" in black sharpie.
Merlin reeled back. This was not his home. This place wasn't even close. Very suddenly it dawned on him that he didn't know where he was, or how old he was, or what year he was in.
"Arthur?" Merlin croaked, turning. The King was studying the graffiti, not paying any attention to Merlin at all.
Merlin felt his breathing speed up. It can't be. It couldn't be. Merlin would remember dying. That's the kind of thing one would remember, wouldn't it? He would have remembered his death.
Merlin brought a hand to his throat. There was no pulse.
"No," He breathed, "I'm not dead." He raised his voice.
"Arthur!" Arthur said nothing. "Arthur, listen to me! I'm right here!"
Merlin's lips curled. "I waited two thousand fucking years, Arthur Pendragon, and I didn't do it just to be ignored. Get your head out of your arse and acknowledge me-"
Merlin stopped himself. Arthur wasn't even blinking.
"I waited so long," Merlin growled, this time mostly to himself. "And I didn't do it just to stand by and not be able to talk to you. I'm here to help you, that's what I'm supposed to be doing. I'm meant to serve you, how can I do that when you can't even see me?"
Merlin snapped his fingers in front of Arthur's face, but Arthur kept on staring around at the house. Merlin cursed.
"I'm not dead," He said in defiance. This time he didn't expect Arthur to respond.
Arthur sighed and left the house again. Merlin sent a last look at the now unfamiliar room, and followed him.
AN: Hope you enjoyed! This is something I might continue, so if you liked it please let me know!
Edit 10-10-13: This story might not be continued for a while, due to writer's block and me being extremely busy. I've got some shorter stories I can finish and post, but this is one I might wait on until my schedule is clear enough to write longer chapters and update consistently. Just a heads up.