A Rose by Any Other Name

For CelestialRosegold

Sometimes, subscribing to the crotchety old-man stereotype appealed to Merlin, especially when he was feeling the ache of longing in his chest for Arthur's return. It was always there, but every hundred years or so, it would bloom and pain him afresh. So, it was always around this time that he returned to the Lake of Avalon and the surrounding towns.

He usually returned looking about sixty or so. This gave him ample time to live out what life he planned before faking his death, but also left him old enough to not warrant curiosity or prying. Nobody questioned you when you were old, especially if you had the life experience to back up what you were saying when you answered their questions.

Merlin had life experience in abundance.

Throughout the course of his long, long lifetime, Merlin had picked up many things – on his travels, throughout various degrees and majors and studies – and had developed a love of countless hordes of them. One such love was his love of gardening (which was also less ponderous if he were an older gentleman). He had an especial affinity for roses, for whatever reason. Whenever and wherever he settled down, Merlin always planted a new batch of twelve roses. From garden to garden, the roses varied in colour and shape and size, but they always numbered twelve.

One for every person he had loved and lost during his time in Camelot.

These roses, more so than anything else, were the pride and joy, the pinnacle, the centerpiece, of Merlin's garden. He went to great lengths to preserve and care for them, usually warding them to protect them from unruly weather patterns, animals, or human beings.

The roses gave him something to focus his energies on, especially when he was going through one of his melancholic lulls. When other people were taxing and disappointing and only served to remind Merlin of what he'd lost; when the world seemed too bright and fast and unwelcoming; when he felt lonely and crowded and restless and tired all at the same time, the roses gave him something to channel his feelings into and care for. Merlin, ever the servant, felt like he was somehow still serving his king and not just waiting for him helplessly when he grew the roses.

That was why, when Merlin meandered outside early one morning, he was beyond horrified to see a black cat pawing through his rose bushes.

"What are you doing?!" Merlin cried, before he could stop himself. "Stop!" The sound of his angry voice startled the feline. It clasped its jaws around the stem of the farthest rose – Arthur's rose (Merlin knew every distinct petal of each distinct flower, and that was Arthur's golden rose) – and dashed off into the forest beyond the garden fence.

Merlin felt rage ignite in his chest. With one last look to ensure the other eleven roses remained intact and needed no care, he launched himself after the terrible animal in hopes of staging a rose rescue.

He chased after the cat, following the flashes of gold shinning through the foliage. The cat led him further and further into the forest, pausing every so often to make sure Merlin didn't lose its trail. The aged warlock was too incensed to notice the cat's periodic pauses, nor did he notice his surroundings. Merlin hadn't even stopped to ask himself how the cat had penetrated his magical wards, even though only other creatures of magic could do such a thing.

Eventually, Merlin lost sight of the cat. Desperation rising in his chest, he followed the paw-prints as far as they lead. That rose was all that remained for him to care for in Arthur's name; their friends and family had long since been lost to the sands of time, and their beloved kingdom had faded from all but legend. He could not lose that rose too, not now, not to that mangy and meddlesome cat!

Merlin felt his panic all but overwhelm him as he caught sight of some fallen, gold-coloured rose petals up ahead. His magic lashed out, causing his façade of age to fade and reveal the Merlin of Arthur's time beneath. He failed to notice this in his distress. He failed to notice anything.

Merlin rushed to grab the scattered petals before they could blow away, and then saw some more down the path and grabbed them as well. He cradled them carefully in his hands, but he knew the damage was done. And then, as he looked up to find that miserable cat, he saw what remained of Arthur's precious, golden rose floating in the water of the lake up ahead. He ran over to the shore and snatched the bloom out of the water - all that remained of it, that is. The stem was bent, almost clean in half, and the flower head was crushed on one side, missing half its petals, and hanging on by one small, green strand.

Merlin felt tears threaten and bowed his head. For a minute, grief and loneliness overwhelmed him, and he just stood there. His head was bowed in mourning, like it had been before on that same shore so many centuries ago. He was choking back sobs.

"Crying over a crushed rose? I knew you were a girl's petticoat, Merlin, but I thought you were made of sterner stuff than this!"

At the sound of that voice, all of Merlin's sobs collided in the back of his throat. He turned around, very slowly.

Arthur was standing there, as healthy and alive as the day Merlin had first seen him, water cascading off his hair and armor. The crushed stem dropped to the ground, forgotten.

"Arth…? Arthur?" The king smiled at Merlin.

"I know it has been a few years, but surely you haven't forgotten my regal visage, have you?"

With a cry, Merlin launched himself at Arthur and clung to him. Arthur hugged him back just as fiercely.

"Miss me?" he asked, laughing and squeezing Merlin back as Merlin squeezed him tighter. The warlock was too choked up to respond.

Then, he pulled back a little to get a good look at his king, saying, "Me? Miss that ugly mug? I spent centuries trying to forget it, you prat. Centuries!" The huge grin on Merlin's face betrayed the truth however. And it was a grin that widened when Arthur grabbed him in a headlock and drove his fist into his hair good-naturedly.

At the sound of mewing from the ground, they both stopped and looked down. The black cat from before was twining around and between their legs, looking thoroughly pleased with itself. The boys laughed and stepped back from each other. Neither of their grins diminished. But, before they could say anymore, a hazy light began to surround the cat. It sat down and licked its paw as the light grew and grew. It grew to be so bright that both Merlin and Arthur had to look away. When it died back down, the cat was gone, and in its place was a pretty, young woman in a white gown, still surrounded by a mystical halo of light.

Merlin's eyes could hardly believe what he was seeing, and his heart could hardly contain itself. This was truly too much in one day for an old man like him! His eyes welled over again. Arthur just smiled.

"Freya?!" Merlin's voice was a harsh whisper.

"Hello, Merlin." Freya smiled and stepped towards the boys. "I hope you can forgive the deception and the destruction of that beautiful rose." Merlin reverently reached out a hand to his former love, almost as if he couldn't trust what his eyes told him. She did the same, longing plain on her lovely face. Their fingers touched for a few brief seconds, but then Freya's ghostly ones passed through Merlin's.

"I cannot stay long," she said, drawing her arm away "but I could at least help guide you back to your king's side." Arthur moved to put his arm around Merlin again, and another smile broke free on the warlock's face.

"Thank you, Freya."

"Yes, thank you," Arthur echoed. "For everything."

Freya nodded in acknowledgement of their thanks. She then walked past the men with the intent of returning to her home within the lake. As she walked past, Merlin leaned in and gave her pale cheek a brief kiss. It was like kissing a cloud. Freya held his gaze for a moment, her sadness mirroring his. But then, not wanting to mar the boys' reunion with grief long past, Freya waded into the water, wiping a ghostly tear as she went.

Merlin and Arthur watched until she was fully submerged and had disappeared. Merlin was quiet, lost in memories, when Arthur's sad voice came from beside him.

"I'm sorry, Merlin, I'm so, so sorry…" When Merlin turned to look at him quizzically, Arthur explained: "She told me everything. What I did, to you, to her…"

Merlin shook his head and waved his hand emphatically in front of Arthur's face. "I promise we will have a proper conversation about everything, because my goodness do we need it, but not now." He smiled at his king, joy that he'd thought he may never experience again lighting up his features. "I've been waiting for your return for centuries. Let me enjoy it a little longer before dredging up the past, hmmm?"

Arthur stared at his friend a little longer, but then mirrored his smile.

Then, arm and arm, they returned to the modern world.

Together.

A/N: This is to thank the wonderful CelestialRosegold for all they've done and for just genuinely being awesome! I am not the best at keeping up and reading all their stories, but please check them out because they are amazing! They're mostly Harry Potter, and if I weren't such a clueless Harry Potter fan I would have tried to write something in that fandom. Because I'm really not much more than a fan by association of Harry Potter, I decided to stick to what I know best. So, here's a quick resurrection fic! The name doesn't have too much to do with the story...I just liked it?

Leave a review if you're so inclined; they are always very appreciated, even if I don't manage to get back to you!