A/N: Naturally, the finale to Merlin left me depressed (Okay seriously it happened a week ago and I'm still not over it what's wrong with me). I've been coping with the loss by reading various reunion fics, but I'm always somewhat disappointed with the way Arthur's return is portrayed. There's rarely a reason for it, he always just kind of shows up. (Not that I don't appreciate the other fics out there- you guys are truly awesome!) So here's my take on the way their story will play out. This chapter is really more of a prologue; I hope to make it a bit more light-hearted. Also, I'm American, so my dialect may be a little different than British readers are used to hearing on the show. :)

He had lived to see it all.

He had lived to see Albion united, to see it prosper. He had lived to see it divided, to be unable to stop it. He had lived to see king after king claim the throne: some worthy and honorable men, some cruel tyrants.

And he had lived to see the age of kings fall.

The ancient art of magic had died out, with only legends remaining. The Old Religion was forgotten.

And he was alone.

He had lived to see countless wars: some great, some small affairs. Humans had become so good at finding new ways to cause destruction. They no longer needed magic. Various inventions had become commonplace, making his old spells look like parlour tricks. Keeping up with current events and such had become exhausting, and he rarely bothered anymore. Once in a while, if the need was great, he would step in to help resolve a conflict from the sidelines.

He had found ways to pass the time, of course. Most of his waking hours were spent working his small farm. The rest of the time, he slept. The old man rarely used his magic anymore; there was hardly a use for it in the modern world. After an eternity of waiting, the Earth had outgrown Merlin.

And still he waited.

The afterlife was not quite like the way most humans had imagined it.

As a brave knight would be struck down in battle, he would feel a flash of pain, which would quickly subside. His body would drift off into a state of unconsciousness as his mind would fly in many directions. He would be assaulted by visions: some blissful and nostalgic, some regretful and angry. And finally, his soul would be at peace. The brave knight would drift off into a calm, eternal rest.

Such was not the case, apparently, for kings.

At least, not for the great King Arthur. As he had felt his life slowly slip away, he had a great deal weighing on his mind. He worried for his kingdom, his people, his family. He worried for his fellow knights, those who had bravely laid down their lives. And as Arthur's body finally died, his worried mind remained.

His soul was at rest, but not at peace.

Is this what purgatory is like?

He would often wonder such things. He wasn't alive, he could not move nor see nor hear. Yet he was conscious. He became aware whenever a familiar soul passed on, leaving the earth to be at rest. He would feel a touch of grief at this knowledge, soon followed by a relief and acceptance. And then, a pang of loneliness as he was reminded again and again that he was utterly and completely alone. He felt the souls of his kin, his knights, his beloved Guinevere, each pass on in their own time. Each was brought to an eternal slumber. With one notable exception.

For most people in the afterlife, time had no meaning. They simply slept, interrupted by the occasional happy dream. For Arthur, time passed in a strange manner. He had no perception of days, months, years... only eternity. Each time the monotony of his consciousness was broken by another passing soul, an eternity would pass. If he were still human, he felt he might have gone mad. But he couldn't. All he could to was wait, as a tired man does when he cannot fall asleep.

As many lifetimes as Arthur waited, something was always missing. In time, he understood why it was that he lived in this manner, if you could call it living. Quite simply, his soul could not be at peace because it was incomplete. No matter how long he waited, he still missed that which made him whole.

Call it Destiny.

That was the word Merlin had always used. Arthur's destiny was to be a great king, and Merlin's was to be at his side. But Arthur knew now that his fate was only the beginning. He was tethered to the Earth by a greater destiny, one that he remained patiently waiting to fulfill.