Chapter One.

Martin and Brenda Tucker had been married for forty-five years. It had become routine for the couple that on the anniversary of their wedding they would stroll along the lakeside before settling under their favourite tree for a picnic.

This year the day started much like it did every year. Brenda set about preparing a feast of sandwiches and cakes to take with them before donning a pretty but practical dress. Martin's job was to stay out of the way and to make sure he looked presentable. He stood in front of the mirror in an attempt to choose which shirt best went with his new trousers. It didn't matter what he chose he mused to himself. He would still probably end up changing his shirt three times before Brenda was fully satisfied.

By midmorning the couple were ready. They left the house hand in hand. Martin, as usual, insisted on carrying the basket despite Brenda's pleas to let her help. Martin shook his head "I want this to be perfect," he would say "Just like our first date," Brenda would sigh, knowing perfectly well that (and Martin would never admit it) he was not as strong as he was back then.

True to Martin's word the day was perfect. Even the weather played along in recreating the day they had met all those years ago. The sun warmed their skin as they walked and a slight breeze fluttered through their hair. Brenda smiled to herself. The couple walked idly swapping memories of years gone by. Martin was half way through telling his favourite story when the lake finally came into view. He was telling the one where he first laid eyes on Brenda. Brenda had always enjoyed hearing his version of events. Every time he retold it things became wilder and more fantastical. Martin did like to exaggerate.

Brenda's breath hitched in her throat though this time it was not due to the events of Martin's story. Nor was it due to the beauty of the scenery surrounding her. As her eyes focussed on the lake she noticed something was amiss.

"There's someone in the water!" she blurted out.

Martin stopped abruptly. Sure enough there was a young man floating in the water looking quite lifeless. All details of the story he had been telling left his mind. Without thinking and without realising what he was doing Martin had set off running. He dropped the picnic basket, spilling Brenda's banquet at their feet. He raced as fast as his legs would carry him until he was in the water, splashing around next to the body.

"Be careful Martin!" he heard Brenda calling faintly.

He flung his arms around the young man and started dragging towards the shore. He didn't know if the man was conscious. He didn't even know if he was alive. All that mattered was that he got him back onto dry land. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins. He felt as young and as fit as he had done on his wedding day. What a great story this would make to tell next year!

The young man kept bobbing underneath the surface. Something was weighing him down. With a jolt Martin realised the young man was wearing some kind of armour. Even more unnerving he was carrying a sword. Martin struggled to free the sword from the man's grip but it was too difficult and he felt himself going under. Instead he once again focussed his energy on reaching the edge f the water.

Brenda was stood at the edge shouting something unintelligible. It looked like a small crowd had gathered, watching in anticipation. After what seemed like a lifetime Martin had dragged the young man to the edge of the water. He ached all over but his job was not over yet.

"Does anybody know CPR?" he called into the crowd. No one stepped forward. It looked like it was down to Martin again. He set about doing what he could remember seeing on TV hoping desperately that he was doing it right.

Martin carried on for what seemed like an eternity. This was more exhausting than being in the water. Still there was no response. He was starting to lose hope. He couldn't stop though. Not until an ambulance arrived. He exchanged a look with Brenda as he continued pumping. She said nothing but laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Martin's thoughts were interrupted by a small groan and a faint cough. Martin stopped pumping. The young man's eyes fluttered open as he rolled onto his side and emptied the contents of his stomach and lungs onto the grass.

Martin couldn't help but let out a laugh. Relief washed over him. "He's awake!"

Arthur was confused. He was surrounded by a black fog. His head was pounding and his ears were ringing. His eyelids were too heavy to open. If he listened carefully he could hear muffled voices somewhere above his head.

He could feel a pressure on his chest. As if someone was rhythmically punching his sternum. He tried to lift his arm to force back whatever was attacking him but found himself somewhat paralysed. Instead he tried to speak. Rather than words all that came out was a weak watery cough. The pressure on his chest stopped and the world around him buzzed. Once he'd started coughing he couldn't stop. Against his will something rolled him onto his side. A foul tasting liquid poured from his mouth as he choked and spluttered.

Eventually the coughing stopped as the liquid had emptied itself from his stomach and airways. He flopped back and finally found the energy to open his eyes. It took a while for Arthur to focus on the scene around him. There was an old man bent directly above him. His rather large nose only an inch or so from Arthur's own. There was also an old woman hovering anxiously over the man's shoulder. He was vaguely aware of other movement and voices around.

"He's awake!" the man called out in an accent Arthur couldn't place. "You gave us quite a scare laddie. What's yer name?"

As Arthur tried to sit up he felt the pain in his head intensify. "Arthur," he croaked. His peripheral vision was dark and blurry and he could feel himself slipping into unconsciousness again.

"What happened to you?" it was the woman that spoke this time.

That was a good question. What had happened? The last thing Arthur remembered was his manservant holding him tightly.

"Where's Merlin?" he tried to ask but his voice was little more than a whisper.

If the couple had heard the question they chose to ignore it.

"You relax. Help is on its way,"

With that Arthur let his head fall back and was once more consumed by darkness.

Merlin sat up in bed, gasping for breath. The sheet beneath him was drenched with sweat. His vision blurred slightly and Merlin realised he was crying. He'd always suffered from nightmares. These past few nights, however, the dreams had become more vivid. More realistic. It always started the same way: Arthur was trapped and was calling for Merlin. No matter what Merlin tried he would be unable to reach his King until eventually Arthur would slip away, lost forever. He always woke up with a great sense of loss, as if every night he lost Arthur all over again.

Merlin desperately wiped at the tears in his eyes wishing that there was some way he could be reunited with his friend. He dwelled on all of his past attempts. The scars on his body serving as a harsh reminder of this never ending torture. Reminders that no matter how hard he tried Merlin would not die.

Ever since Arthur had gone Merlin had felt like half a person. There was a deep emptiness in the pit of his stomach. He felt utterly useless. Like there was no point in carrying on. And there was no point. He had failed his destiny. He had let Arthur die and the idea of Albion had died with him. The only thing this feeling was comparable to was the feeling Merlin got when he lost his magic. A piece of him was missing. Merlin rubbed at a particularly nasty scar running down his wrist. So much time had passed that he more or less had lost hope that Arthur was ever going to return. No matter what the dragon had once said.

He swung his legs round to the side of the bed and pulled on yesterday's clothes. He couldn't be bothered to wash. There was no point. He couldn't be bothered to do anything. Every day Merlin found himself just going through the motions. He caught sight of his reflection. Merlin's body had much remained the same as it was back in Camelot though there was a certain tiredness in his eyes that reflected his true age. He studied his face resenting the fact that he had not grown old with his friends. He often disguised himself as an old man, an act that made him feel a little better about himself. However the effort it took was draining.

As Merlin pondered the meaning of his existence a thought struck him. Perhaps he was still alive for a reason. He was a pawn in destiny's giant game of chess. Perhaps there was a chance, however small, that he would still be able to fulfil his purpose. He shook his head tore himself away from the mirror. He had a strange feeling in his gut. Suddenly he didn't feel as empty as before. Something was nagging at the back of his mind. It couldn't be? Could it.

Merlin rushed to complete his morning routine of aging himself. He had often visited Arthur's final resting place. At first in hope that he'd find Arthur had risen again but as the years passed the visits became more habit than anything else. Today, however, something was different. Merlin had a funny feeling and Merlin knew from experience that his funny feelings were not to be ignored.

When Merlin arrived at the lake there was quite a commotion. A small crowd had gathered around a lifeless body on the floor. As he drew closer a couple of paramedics lifted the body into an ambulance. Merlin's stomach tightened as he saw a mop of golden hair. A slight glimpse of… was that chainmail? He rushed forward but the doors had already been closed.

"Arthur!" he shouted after the retreating ambulance.

An old man with a blanket draped around his shoulders approached "You know him?"

Merlin pondered the question "I did," he finally answered "A long time ago,"