This is very naughty of me since I promised myself that I wouldn't put up any new stories that weren't one shots until my other ones were finished but this has been hanging about now for an age and I finally gave in. i hope you enjoy this because the ending to Merlin was not to my satisfaction either. I mean, how much fun could they have had with telling Arthur that Merlin had magic earlier in the show? And who on earth decided that Gwaine needed to die? I hate that person.

Anyway i wrote this story for everyone who wanted something after they left it at an inopportune moment since I want them to make another episode for Arthur to come back (how dare they make Merlin carry on waiting). So here is my version of what will happen when Arthur returns. Hope you like it!

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin. BBC does.

It had always been said that King Arthur would return again. No-one knew when or how. They just knew it like a dog can sense a storm or the birds can sense the winter approaching. It was one of the most well-known facts of life that no one questioned it. But the one most vital question was never asked. What had happened to the one who had been most faithful, most subservient and valiant? What had happened to Merlin?

If that question had ever been answered the person who had asked would have wrinkled their nose in disgust and shouted to the poor answer-er that they were mad. Who would have thought that the most powerful warlock in history, the man who was eternal, would live in a tiny shack by a lake near Glastonbury? Certainly not the 'true' believers. They imagined him to have accumulated a certain amount of money over the years, spent it on a grand house and lived his life in luxury whilst waiting for the king's return. The tiny shack was the last place that anyone would look.

It was well known that Marvin was mad. Those who lived in the area would look at him fondly and say things like "Good old Marvin! He's come to give some poor soul their tincture." Or, "Look, there's Marvin! What words of wisdom has he got for us today?" These so-called 'words of wisdom' were never listened to but the townsfolk always thought to humour him. They never would have truly sussed out who he really was from the way that he acted or talked. He was just Mad Old Marvin, reliable to always be strange and live as the village hermit. But those who had been to his shack would have known at once that he was not all that he seemed to be.

The shack, for reasons known only to Marvin, was situated right on the edge of the lake. Marvin never went to Glastonbury to buy food or drink. Anything he needed he grew or got from the lake. It wasn't unusual to see him sitting on the edge of the lake, a rusty metal bucket at his side, singing at the top of his voice as he held a rickety fishing pole out in the lake. No one ever knew what he was singing, though, since he always sang in another language which everyone who wasn't Welsh thought was Welsh. The shack looked dilapidated on the outside and seemed to lean in on itself. The roof sagged and the walls seemed to be slowly sinking into the ground. It was the kind of house you might have imagined that the Bucket family once lived in before moving to Willy Wonka's factory. Of course only one person was in residence here and the inside was completely contradictory to the outside.

Inside the shack was actually rather spacious. There was a comfortable bed set against one wall, opposite which was a window. Next to the bed was a wardrobe and a chest of drawers had been pushed between the bed and the third wall. A stove was set up underneath the window so that any fumes would instantly leave the building instead of floating around inside. Running through the middle of the building was a long workbench, on which stood a variety of vials and test-tubes filled with a variety of multi-coloured liquids. These were the tinctures that Marvin gave out and were known both for being amazingly effective and notoriously foul. The entire third wall was taken up with a bookshelf stacked with dozens of books, each shelf having three rows deep of books at least. How Marvin could find the book that he wanted was a mystery to all. Finally, hanging from the rafters of the shack was a variety of things. Herbs, spices, dried game, buckets, cooking utensils plus many more stranger things like old swords (hilt nearest the ground), bows, kindling and a crossbow. There were cupboards along the window wall and one either side of the door which contained jars of pickled foods and jams and a whole cupboard filled with cold meat and ice. In the corner to the left of the door was a myriad of things lent up against the wall as if there was no room for them to go anywhere else. These things consisted of staffs, rakes, brooms, spades, pitchforks and even a couple of spears although what Marvin ever used them for was the continued mystery. But as said before, not many people ever did visit Mad Old Marvin and that was how he liked it.

The way of life in the town wasn't ever really disturbed by the existence of Marvin. Every so often he would leave for a bit and then he would return months later and carry on his existence in his shack. Many would have been surprised to have learnt that every year, without fail, a Marvin Emeryson would turn up in the Camelain Hotel in Winchester (which happened to be a five-star extremely desired hotel. It was once said that even the Queen sometimes couldn't get in with the number of celebrities who wanted to be known to stay in the hotel). How he managed to get the placement every year was known only to the people in the Reception desk who knew that he would spend the three weeks that he stayed there in the old medieval ruins of the castle and gave good tips to all of the staff. He was, after all, a generous man. For the rest of the few months a mysterious, yet wealthy, grandson of the name Michael Emeryson would then take in the old man and people wouldn't see him for a week, although his grandson only ever seemed to leave the estate when his grandfather was at home although since his skin was so pale, it seemed obvious to everyone as to why he would get kicked out of the house. No one ever thought to ask as to whether the estate was ever empty.

So it was a day like no other when everything changed for everyone. Many would remember it as the day that a boat was seen floating in the lake, a boat that was more of an ancient row-boat than the modern engine powered boats used by the local fishermen. Not that there was anything worth catching in the river (apart from whatever it was that Marvin ate). No-one knew where the boat had come from or who was in the boat, if anyone at all. It had just suddenly appeared, the Glastonbury Tor throwing a rather romantic backdrop to the entire affair. What really made the day different was how Marin reacted to it. Anyone who bothered to go by his house that day would have seen him, as usual, sitting by the bank of the river, fishing pole in hand, waiting for his next catch. What made this day different to any other was that Marvin was not singing. He was not spitting out wonderful lines of fantasy, or being his usual eccentric self. In fact the fishing pole was practically lying in his lap, all but forgotten. Marvin was just staring out across the water murmuring, "At last. At last."

Of course no one knew what this meant and a small police boat was sent out to see what the boat contained. A great panic ensued when it was realized that within the boat was the body of a young man, barely breathing, but, thankfully, alive. Ambulances and paramedics were called out to the scene and the man was rushed to the nearest hospital. Reporters, historians, journalists and a great many tourists appeared, all clamoring to see the miraculous young man who had appeared dressed in medieval gear. No one knew who the man was (no on thought to ask Marvin) and no one noticed for a long time the mysterious disappearance of Marvin. Smoke disappeared from his chimney, the cupboards within the house had been emptied and any evidence of anyone having lived there vanished overnight. By the time the police noticed this, the hype for the young man had died down. He had not woken once within a week and no one knew what was wrong with him.

There were inquiry's of course. Just because no one from Glastonbury knew who the young man was, that didn't mean that no one from the surrounding areas knew who he was. The results came up with a blank. Around this same time, a young man appeared in Glastonbury, apparently having just acquired the rather large estate that hadn't been bought for nearly fifty years by the river. Part of this estate included Marvin's old cottage but the young man claimed to never have known the man. No one questioned him and the town waited with baited breath for the man to wake. Little did they know what was to ensue from this coming forth of a boat but the mysterious newcomer knew exactly what it meant. And if you had looked carefully, the young man bared a strange younger resemblance towards Mad Old Marvin. But of course no one looked and no one asked.