Merlin watched as everything he had once known changed, and magic began to fade from the world. People began to forget, and the truths of his time were soon called myths, and magic, real magic was thought of as nothing more than a fairy tale. Months turned into years, then years to decades, and before he knew it, centuries had passed by. But thankfully, the story of Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table survived the journey into the modern world. As their legend was passed down, it began to change, and soon, almost everyone was telling a different version, but the same basic truth remained - Arthur was a hero and the best damn king there ever was, and that was all that needed to remain known. Merlin cared not if his name was remembered, but as fate would have it, it was.
His story was that of a great sorcerer, the best to ever exist, even. And to his great amusement, people always remembered one major thing about him - the beard. Soon, they were dressing him up as well, describing him as having worn a long blue cloak, and a blue hat with bright yellow stars. Merlin was even guilty of encouraging these ideas himself. How could you not?
Wars waged, and Merlin fought in some of them, making sure that the right side won. When he went to war, he posed as a man named Arthur Emrys, but when he traveled, he switched between many names. Sometimes Balinor, Lance, Elyan, Gwaine, Leon, Percival, or Gaius, but never would you hear someone call him Merlin. The name was too conspicuous, and frankly, it just reminded him of his past. Of the days when he and Arthur were together; a time when things were a little easier to bear, because he knew that he did not have to bear them alone. Everything is so different now - Merlin had no one by his side, no one to anchor him to this reality.
Merlin had been living in his new flat for a couple of months when it happened. A bright red butterfly flew through the window and landed atop his pillow. Tendrils of steam curled out from behind him as he opened the bathroom door. When he saw it, he slipped and nearly bashed his head open on the sink. Instead he landed smack in his ass, sliding a bit on the wet tiles. He sat there stunned for a moment, before he shakily got to his feet. Merlin approached the butterfly slowly, not wanting to scare it off before he got a good look at it. When he finally reached it, he held out his hand, and it flew straight into his palm. Merlin brought the vibrant creature closer to his face to examine it more thoroughly. The butterfly was mostly red, but upon closer inspection, Merlin was able to see little gold spirals on its wings. In all his years of living, he has never seen a butterfly such as this. The butterfly gently flapped its wings before flying back out of the window.
Merlin stood there for a moment longer, pondering his next move before rushing to find clothes. He threw himself over the bed to grab a pair of pants before sprinting toward the door. Just before he was about to leave, Merlin grabbed his keys and a gray hoodie. Barley locking the door behind him, he stumbled down the steps in an attempt to catch up with the butterfly. When he finally got out of the building, he looked around frantically, searching for the beautiful creature. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, the butterfly flew right past his nose and down the street to his left. Racing after it, Merlin struggled to get his hoodie over his head so that he could to walk - let alone run – without the fear of running into something, or having someone run into him. The last thing that Merlin wanted was to get run over by a car when Arthur was so close to returning.
The butterfly is leading him to Arthur, and the fate of the United Kingdom. After quite a few blocks of cat and mouse, they finally came upon Lake Avalon. Merlin slowed his pace to a trot, not quite knowing what to do next. It's a Sunday night, so the odds of someone walking in at the worst possible moment are pretty low, but it wasn't enough to set Merlin's mind entirely at ease. You never know with the wandering college students, they don't care that it's a Sunday night, because for them, night translates roughly into "party".
Merlin caught sight of the butterfly once again, and started to walk faster, before he stopped entirely when it flew out over the lake. Merlin looked out into the darkness, hopeful for the best possible outcome – Arthur's return. If that didn't happen, then he would be absolutely crushed, and probably fall into another decade long depression.
He stood there for a moment longer before working up enough courage to whisper, "Arthur?" into the night-darkened waters before him. When a response didn't come, he moved a little closer to the lake, whispering the name of his lost friend once again. The sound of the water gently lapping against the shore was the only answer that he got. Merlin sighed and settled down for the night, Arthur would have been late for everything if not for Merlin's help, and it didn't look like this was going to be an exception. The only problem is Merlin can't help him this time - this is something that Arthur has to do alone.
Merlin must have dozed off sometime in the night, because the next thing he knew, he was jerking awake with a profound need to sneeze. He opened his eyes, and saw the butterfly again, but this time it was hovering right in front of his face. He jerked back in surprise and sneezed. Looking up, Merlin saw that the sun had begun to rise over the lake. Ripples had begun to form on the surface of the lake, which was strange because there wasn't so much as a gentle breeze. It was then and there that Merlin knew, without a doubt, that Arthur was coming back, and he was coming back right now.
The air was electric, so much so that Merlin could even hear it crackle when he moved. The wind picked up even more, and he pulled his hoodie tighter around him, shielding himself from the cold, if only slightly. Merlin's heart beat picked up in anticipation, at first skipping a beat, but then doubling all together. It had been so many years since they had seen each other, what if things had changed between them? What if Arthur was different? Merlin knew that he had changed enough for the both of them, but Arthur had been perfect as he was. A bit of a prat, yes, but he had been Merlin's prat, and he loved him for it.
Suddenly, a hand surged up from the water, but it was not unaccompanied, because in it, grasped as tightly as a dying man holds onto his last breath, was Excalibur. Merlin didn't wait to see any more before he pitched himself into the water. He swam with the same vigor of a man infinitely younger than him, until he reached Arthur, and began to fumble for a hold on him. His fingers strained to get a good grip on Arthur, because not only were they both soaked to the bone but Arthur was also stark naked.
A/N: I'm not British, in case you couldn't tell, so bear with me here. I have a bit more written, but I'll need time to edit it before putting it up here. Besides, I thought this was a pretty good spot to stop. What do you think?