AN: This is my first Merlin fanfic, so sorry if it's not that good. Happy Holidays! Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin.
Merlin sighed as he passed the Lake of Avalon. It had been fifteen-hundred years since his best friend had perished in the Battle of Camlann. When he returned to Camelot, he discovered that Gwaine had met his demise as well. He stayed in Camelot, helped Gwen rule after her husband's death.
Gaius died not long after Arthur. Next was his mother. Percival died in battle, twenty years after Camlann. Leon died naturally. Gwen was the last of his friends to go, the last of his reasons to stay in Camelot. After the queen died he traveled Albion. Soon, Albion became Great Britain, and Arthur, Merlin, Gwen, the knights, all became legends, nothing more than stories.
Merlin went by different names. Lived many lives, and accomplished so much. Currently, in the year 2015, he was Martin Evans. He was working at a University in a city near the lake where his best friend's body lay. He taught the subject of Arthurian Legend, though he had to teach the incredibly inaccurate version that depicted him as Arthur's wise, old adviser. Honestly, he thought to himself, I only used the disguise of Dragoon a handful of times.
The warlock continued his trek home. In the nineteenth century, he had built a house for himself, so he could be close to the lake in case Arthur rose, as Kilgharrah had said he would. Merlin had gone through so many things, certain that each time Arthur would rise. Now, Merlin had all but given up hope of Arthur's return.
Merlin wasn't in the festive mood, but the rest of the city certainly was. On his way home Merlin had noticed every store had something holiday related. For most people it was a time of joy to spend with family and friends. For Merlin though, it was just a reminder of the death of his best friend.
Merlin entered his home and hung up his jacket. His home emitted magic, that any half-decent magic user could pick up on. He had a room stuffed with books from Camelot's library, though it was a mere fraction of the original. He had rare herbs that he had collected over the years. There were potions on the shelves lining the room. He had artifacts from Camelot, that he had preserved from the old times.
These surely looked strange, especially when compared to the twenty-first century appliances in each room, and the gadgets littered around the house. In his free-time, Merlin tinkered with new technology. He liked to see what he could improve on the piece. This led to metal pieces being left on the ground, quite carelessly. "I should really clean this place up." The dark-haired man said aloud, "Then again, it's not as bad as my room in Camelot." Here, a bittersweet smile crossed his face. It still hurt to think of his old home.
Merlin set about making some dinner for himself. He had to do something to get the place he had called home off of his mind. He ate a small meal of soup before glancing around for something else to do. His eyes landed on a book that looked to be in good shape, which meant it wasn't from Camelot. Any book from Camelot would be worn cover to cover.
He was about to pick the book up, when suddenly the ground shook beneath his feet. When the movement subsided, Merlin glanced around the room, a confused expression on his face. What could have caused that?
Merlin attempted to use his magic to sense what the sudden shaking was, but it started going haywire. The radio sitting across the room suddenly exploded. What the hell? My magic isn't this violent usually. What kind of thing could make my magic react like that? It has to be a powerful change in the Old Religion.
Realization hit Merlin suddenly. He rushed out the door not bothering to grab a jacket. He stopped at the shore of Avalon. In the light of the moon, Merlin could see ripples on the lake, spreading from the center. A splashing noise filled the night air, and a blond head burst from the center of the lake.
Completely disregarding the fact that he was still fully clothed, Merlin ran into the freezing water. He swam to his best friend, and dragged him back to the lake shore. "Arthur." Merlin uttered the word so quietly it was barely audible. He soaked in the sight of his best friend, his brother, for the first time in centuries.
Arthur looked exactly the same as he had last time Merlin had seen him. But his face wasn't quite as pale, and the wound from Mordred's sword seemed to have disappeared. The armor-clad man stared into Merlin's face. "Merlin? What are you wearing? It looks ridiculous."
Merlin let out a small laugh. "Merry Christmas, clot-pole."
AN: I feel like this is a good ending, but I might be wrong. I only planned for this to be a one-shot, but if people ask me I'll probably expand it.