Chap. 1
A King Returns
So long sleep well my friend
Take him back to Avalon
I will wait and guard
The future king's crown
Blind Guardian, "A Past and Future Secret"
The water was pressing down him from all directions, filling him, his mouth, his ears, his eyes. He flexed his frozen fingers and toes – he was holding the hilt of his sword in one hand, unable to move. He felt something pulling him forcefully upward, towards the flickering light above. At first, he couldn't recall how he got there, or even what was his name. Until he did.
It was hell. He was drowning, suffocating, dying alive. He started fighting the water around him blindly, panicked, when he was yanked upward by the same force that was calling him to rise.
He broke the surface of the water, sucking the cold air with thirst. The sun was unbelievably bright, and his armor was weighing him down, back into the black depths. With the help of the mysterious force, that was now pulling him through the water, he pedaled desperately until he reached the rocky shore.
He collapsed on the slick pebbles, sword in hand, catching his breath. Now he could see that he was lying on the shore of a lake – had he been here before? – looking over an emerald green island. It was a beautiful sight… one that made him wonder how he got there.
What was the last thing he remembered? Arthur pushed his wet blond hair out of his eyes with a gloved hand. He remembered the battle at Camelan. Yes, he had been injured, and Merlin was going to take him somewhere to heal… Merlin, who had turned out to be a sorcerer…
But something wasn't right. Merlin's magic must have worked – he felt no pain – but something still felt wrong. He couldn't remember getting there. The last thing he remembered was Merlin, holding him. He was sure it was the end, that he wasn't going to make it. But here he was.
"Arthur."
A familiar voice startled him out of his dark thoughts.
"Merlin," Arthur rasped in relief, realizing that his manservant was standing right behind him all that time. Had he been controlling the force that brought him back to shore? It didn't really matter either way as a wave of relief washed over him at the sight of his old friend.
Merlin helped him up from the rocky ground, and then, without warning, embraced the king tightly. Arthur warped his steel-clad arm around his servant with a sense of relief, and a whisper rose from the depths of his memory, "Stay with me…"
He stepped away from the embrace, unfazed, and for the first time realized that Merlin looked different. He was wearing an old, deep blue clock over his simple clothes, and his dark hair hung in curls over his forehead, much longer than Arthur had remembered it to be. But the strangest thing that seemed to change were Merlin's eyes; they were forlorn, shielded, not as bright and full of wonder as they had always been.
"How do you feel?" Merlin asked. At least his voice and his cheeky grin were the same as always.
"Alright, I think," Arthur replayed uncertainly, blinking in the blinding sun. "I'm starving."
"I thought you might be," Merlin said cheerfully, moving toward a small fire that Arthur hadn't noticed before, to check on a bubbling stew pot. Arthur took a seat on a nearby rock, still feeling confused. Merlin was humming as he prepared the stew. It felt so surreal.
"Merlin, what happened?" Arthur finally broke the silence, "How did I get in the water?"
"I brought you here," Merlin said, passing him a bowl of steaming stew. "To heal. Seems it worked." He appeared giddy and devastated at the same time.
"Seems it did," Arthur echoed, feeling his wound. Or it least, the place where the wound used to be; the pain had disappeared, as if he had never been wounded at all. Still, something wasn't right.
"How long had I been in there?" He asked his servant, "And where did you get these clothes from?"
Merlin looked slightly terrified at the question, looking at his clothes as if he was seeing them for the first time. He seemed to be thinking what to say.
"Merlin!" Arthur was losing patience at his servant's strange behavior.
"Arthur," Merlin replayed evenly. He looked at Arthur strangely for a moment, then looked away and added, "It's difficult to say…"
A sense of dread came over Arthur, and he said nothing. When Merlin finally spoke, it was in a calm, almost distant tone.
"I failed," He said, "Avalon was so close, but… You couldn't go on anymore. You died, Arthur."
Arthur let out a forced laugh. Merlin wasn't laughing.
"Don't be stupid, Merlin," Arthur chided, falling back to the comfort of their banters. "Do I look dead to you?"
"No," Merlin said meekly. "You came back."
"From the dead?" Arthur raised an eyebrow. Had Merlin lost his mind completely? He realized that his servant's powers were greater than he had ever imagined, but raising the dead seemed like a far reach.
Merlin said nothing, steering the stew needlessly. His hair had grown longer, Arthur was sure of it.
"How long had I been in the lake?" He asked again, dreading the answer.
"I'm sorry, Arthur," Merlin said with heavy sadness. His blue eyes were bleeding red in the light of the small fire. "It has been a hundred years since you died."