Summary: Merlin lives a meaningless life in the modern world, until the day his King returns. Merthur fluff, mildly slashy. Spoilers for 5x12 and 5x13, The Diamond of the Day parts 1 & 2
Just a pile of cute that emerged after the soul-crushing event that was the series finale.
Merlin hated having to go around masquerading as a bumbling old man. He was constantly riddled with aches and pains; he couldn't even button his coat without his knuckles screeching in protest. And he was cold all the time, which he had discovered was another of the many lovely treats of old age. But the worst part about the disguise was the memories it brought back: memories of happier era when he only had to don his disguise in times of dire need to help his king. The king of Camelot, who also happened to be Merlin's best friend, and who's destiny was forever entwined with his own.
But Merlin had to blend in with the society he lived in, and people would get suspicious if he stayed a young man forever. He had quickly discovered that his powers were sufficient to keep him from aging at all unless he so chose, so he artificially aged himself gradually, keeping up appearances for the curious public. Every 50 years or so, he would move to the other side of town and revert to his young self, only to start aging once again. Currently, he was nearing the end of this cycle, so whenever he was in public he transformed himself into a hunched, bearded, wrinkled old man. Too avoid this as much as possible, he spent most of his time in his modest one bedroom apartment.
The only reason he had put off his relocation as long as he had been was that he couldn't hope to find somewhere in a more perfect location. There was nothing special about the dark, smallish apartment itself, nor about the neighborhood, which was less than desirable. But the view from his 6th storey window was a straight shot to Lake Avalon, where King Arthur would emerge when his time finally came. Merlin lived for that day. The rest of his existence was mere filler, with no more significance to him than a half-remembered dream.
After venturing out for a necessary trip to the supermarket, Merlin returned to his apartment, locked the door behind him, set his bags on the kitchen counter, and at once undid the aging spell, returning to his true form. He straightened up gratefully, working the left-over kinks out of his back. Then he walked across the room to the window facing the lake. Peering out, he sighed. The sight always hurt to the point of physical pain, jolting him back to that day, the worst of his life, when Arthur had breathed his last breath encircled by Merlin's tight grasp. Yet he couldn't help looking, as that small, ordinary beach was the place he felt closest to his friend, who felt distressingly distant in this foreign modern world.
After a last gaze out into the quickly fading light, Merlin turned back to his living room and sat down on the simple, nearly threadbare sofa that he had acquired at a thrift store many decades ago. He wasn't lacking in money, because even though he didn't work, he had found that with his powers, he was always able to raise funds when he required them. Rather, the reason for the slightly ratty state of his furniture was that he barely noticed the difference. He seemed to be is a state of stasis waiting for Arthur's return.
On a cluttered coffee table in front of the sofa sat a boxy, bulky television set of the variety that had become obsolete so quickly. It, like many of the other articles of technology that were dotted around the room, was nearly forgotten. Merlin picked these things up out of fascination with the new technologies, and a desire to have them all on hand to astonish Arthur when he returned. Merlin couldn't predict how his friend would react to the modern world. There wasn't much that hadn't changed since the two had parted, from fashion to politics. Merlin pictured the haughty king he had known living in a cheap apartment and couldn't help but chuckle. While Merlin had had the opportunity to catch up with each new thing along with everyone else, Arthur would be hit with a millennia of new information all at once, and Merlin couldn't wait to help him figure it all out.
Merlin spent most of his time absorbed in a novel, one of the few old-fashioned pleasures that had managed to find their place in the modern era. In fact, in his opinion libraries were the single best thing about modern life. Now he picked up the Harry Potter book he was in the middle of and resumed reading. He had read the entire series before, but was so enthralled by both the quality of writing and characterization and the portrayal of wizards that was so different from his own experience, that he was re-reading them. Later, after he finished the last few pages of the book, Merlin put it aside, yawned, and headed off to bed for the night, curling up under his well-worn and familiar quilt.
When he awoke the following morning, he was plagued by that uncomfortable feeling that he had dreamt something important, but couldn't quite remember. He tried to shake it off, and went about his business. However, for the next week, every morning the same sensation plagued him: he would jolt awake with the sunlight just breaching the window, and the dream would always be just out of reach of his memory. On the eighth night, however, something changed. He found himself wide awake in the middle of the night, a message reverberating through his consciousness in a way he had not felt since the era of magic had been left behind.
Emrys! The voice proclaimed, seeming to echo from the very walls surrounding him. The time has come, the Once and Future King shall rise again!
The message pounding through the air, again and again, and Merlin sat in trance-like stillness in the dark. After a time, the voice faded, then ceased all together. When Merlin came back to himself, it was still dark outside, but he leaped out of bed and out the door without a second thought, and was down the stairs and out into the night on his way to the lake in seconds. He remembered too late that he hadn't disguised himself, but couldn't be bothered to stop and correct his error. When he reached the lakeside, panting from his sprint and from barely contained anticipation, he could just make out a faint glow expanding over the surface of the water. Then, only a few feet from shore, Merlin saw the bright glint of light on polished metal, and immediately recognized Excalibur. Finally, under the now brightly illuminated surface, the shape of the legend who wielded that sword became visible. He rose up and up, Excalibur proudly held high, before finally bursting up to the surface and taking the few steps to bring him to dry land.
And so King Arthur emerged, dripping wet and spluttering, with an indignant frown shaping his features. Shaking the hair out of his face, he glanced around and caught sight of Merlin, who was staring at him slack-jawed.
"Merlin," Arthur called in his customary irritated voice, "what on Earth is going on here?"
As Merlin heard his voice, so completely unchanged by the intervening centuries, a grin spread uncontrollably across the warlock's face, and his eyes brimmed with tears. The agony of the ages was suddenly lifted from him, and he felt at home at last, even in the foreign world that he inhabited. Merlin rushed to Arthur, and pulled the dripping man into a tight hug, ignoring his indignant protests.
"Shut up, Clot Pole," he shuddered through his tears into Arthur's ear, and the words were saturated with such unmistakable affection that even Arthur couldn't miss it. He haltingly reached up to wrap Merlin in his arms as well, furtively glancing around to make sure no one was witness to this inexcusable moment of – Arthur shuddered at the thought – tenderness. When Merlin finally pulled away, wiping his eyes brusquely on his sleeve, Arthur took the opportunity to give him a quizzical once-over.
He noticed the fleece pajama bottoms decorated with snowflakes and t-shirt that Merlin had on. "Ah, Merlin, dare I even ask what you're wearing?"
The comment was so exactly like his best friend that Merlin had to laugh. And then all the tension seemed to drain from him as he laughed and laughed, collapsing to the ground in guffaws. It was minutes later when he finally regained control and looked up again, smiling through his tears. Arthur was staring at him skeptically.
"I honestly will never understand what's wrong with you!" he sighed in exasperation, throwing his hands up in the air, Excalibur now safely fastened to his belt. "Now will you please explain what I'm doing in the lake? Not to mention you're interesting fashion choices."
At these words, Merlin's mind finally came back to him enough to realize what Arthur was saying. "Arthur, don't you remember what happened? Morgana and Mordred? And…" Merlin stopped himself, suddenly wary. If Arthur didn't remember the last days of his life, he might not recall Merlin's revelation and his own eventual acceptance of it. Merlin decided to see what Arthur remembered before mentioning his magic.
Arthur stared at him in confusion for a moment, and then seemed to remember something. He stood deep in thought. "There was… a battle. Against Morgana, and Mordred turned traitor! It was my fault, I should have realized…" he trailed off. "I killed him," he finally stated, his tone full of realization and grief.
"You had no choice," Merlin reassured him. "You killed him, and saved Camelot by doing it." Merlin once again felt a stab of pain. It should have been him to stop the druid boy, and he had been warned so many times. If only he had listened, Arthur would have lived.
"Wait," Arthur demanded, suddenly tense. "Where's Gwen? Is she alright?"
Merlin looked at his friend, and his eyes demanded an answer. "She was fine," he promised. "She was the best queen Camelot could have hoped for."
"What do you mean 'Was'? Merlin, something's not right here, and I want you to explain right now."
Taking a deep breath, Merlin started. "Arthur, you killed Mordred and saved Camelot, but in the process he stabbed you with a sword forged in a dragon's breath. The touch of such a sword is fatal. He killed you, Arthur." Merlin's voice caught on the last word. "The year is 2013. I've been waiting for you for over 2000 years."
Arthur stared. And blinked, and stared some more. Slowly, he looked around, now noticing some things which, in his confusion, had escaped him. The cement sidewalk at the top of the beach. The blinking red light on the island behind him. The metal "No Swimming" sign on a post only a few meters to his right. A look of bewilderment overcame his features.
"Let's go to my, eh, rooms," Merlin suggested. "I can explain there."
Arthur nodded mutely, and walked by Merlin's side as he led the way home, staring up at the tall buildings and the parked cars in awe. Suddenly Arthur stopped, and spun around to stare at Merlin. Feeling his movements, Merlin turned apprehensively to face him.
"You," Arthur started. "You're a sorcerer! It's coming back to me now. You were the one who rescued us in battle against Morgana." A look of awe dawned on his face. "And you were the one who rescued us countless other times for years, never asking for credit."
Throughout this speech, Merlin stared at his friend, first relieved that his memory had returned, and then with a growing grin as he was assured of Arthur's acceptance. He put his arm around his friend's shoulders, gripping tightly, and led him the rest of the way home.
Thanks for reading! My first fic ever, so reviews greatly appreciated! I'll give you a cookie :)
Second and final chapter is written, will be up soon.