Disclaimer:I don't own Merlin.
Author's Note: While I continue to be lazy over any possible projects I say I'm going to do, here's a short, drabbly, one-shot piece.
On a cold, wintry day, an old, bearded man was walking to get supplies. He glanced toward the frozen Lake of Avalon and sighed. It was many, many years ago since the King that Merlin had served for so long was killed, the Warlock's destiny seemingly killed along with it. The only thing that gave him hope these days was the words that still rang in his mind and his heart; the words Kilgarrah had spoken of The Once and Future King, he would once again rise when Albion desperately needed him.
But as the centuries passed, the now old and grey Warlock's mind had had plenty of time to be poisoned with doubt. There were days when he thought that there was no destiny, no Albion. That Kilgarrah had lied. But, he needed something to hold onto, so even when he didn't believe, especially when he didn't believe, Merlin clung to Albion and Arthur Rising and Destiny. Because it was his only hope.
On this particular day, the Warlock was having trouble believing. He turned away from the Lake in disgust and sorrow. That lake was pain and death, nothing more. The old man heard a heavy crack, and looked around to make sure no one was hurt. As he did so, he saw a crack, in the center of the Lake.
Odd, he thought, Winter isn't supposed to break for several months more.
That was when he saw it. Metal, shining so brightly in the light of the Winter Sun. It thrusted it's way through the ice of the lake, and Merlin could see a hand holding the sword at the hilt.
Freya, he thought at first. But he realized that it was not Freya's hand. It's not-it couldn't be...could it?
The hand through the sword onto the ice, beside the small hole it had made. Merlin could hear banging, and he knew it was coming from the lake. His eyes glowed gold, and he made the hole bigger. A person climbed out of it, onto the ice. Merlin couldn't see past the wet, blonde hair. Until the King shook it, revealing his face. He looked exactly as he had when..when...
Merlin couldn't help himself. He shouted out the King's name gleefully, joyful tears springing into his eyes. The man fell to his knees, the snow freezing through his pants, but he could not bring himself to care. This was him. The Warlock sobbed, partly with pain from all of these lonely, isolated years, and partly from happiness that those years were at an end. His King was back. He sobbed so hard and so long that he didn't even notice Arthur making his way over to him.
"...Merlin?"the King squinted up at him. He recognized the face as Dragoon, yet something in his eyes told him it was his old friend.
"Arthur,"the man laughed a laugh that was full of joy and relief. "After all these years..." Arthur smiled softly.
"I suppose I've been gone a long while?"Arthur said, looking down at Merlin's clothes. The Warlock snorted.
"You can say that again." Arthur smiled, and took his friend's arms to pull him up, and hug him. When he let go, he said,
"I don't know much, but I do know this; there is much that must be done." The Warlock smiled and nodded.
"Then let's get it done. Together."
And with that, they went to Merlin's apartment to figure out all that would happen, and talk of all that had happened. There was laughter, and tears, and anger, but in the end, both men were happy. The world was new and confusing for one, and old and lonely for the other, but they both had their best friend back, and that would get them through.