Merlin forced a sigh. He slipped his hand over the paint-peeled edge of the rowboat he had rented earlier that afternoon and slid his fingers down into the cool waters of the lake. He shut his eyes, forcing his body to relax and let go of...

He laughed to himself. Is it really relaxation if you force yourself to un-tense your body which for the past sixteen-hundred years had not known rest? Ironic, really. But, here Merlin was, on a boat lazily drifting across this watery expanse and wondering where had all the time truly gone. Albion was no longer Albion and Camelot was relegated to high fantasy. What a piece of work is man! Of all the glory of Camelot, Geoffrey of Monmouth's chronology was all that remained and he didn't get the half of it right. Merlin snorted at the memory, and found himself smiling at flashbacks of the man. He did help as best he could. If only historians knew the whole story.

Sunlight flicked across the water as if Puck, the mischievous fae himself, had picked a plethora of shining stones and skipped them all at once. Cicadas thrummed and wind made hushing sounds through the rushes. It was one of the more peaceful days Merlin had lived, for certain. Sixteen-hundred years...surely he would have risen by now. Merlin fought the thoughts, but they still appeared like nasty tranquility-stealing little goblins. It was true, though. War, plague, famine had all lashed the land with their desecrations, but where was the once and future king? Could it simply have been a lie and if not,

"Then why am I still here?" Merlin rasped, his voice heavily affected from disuse. A single tear trailed down his pale cheek, followed by another and another until his body began to shed a millennia's worth of tears. The lake witnessed his sorrow with open arms, and nature continued in its song, a calm lullaby to soothe his troubled soul.

AN: I don't own any of Merlin. I also plan to pick up all of my fanfics where I left off. Ciao for now.