Drabble Challenge: The Birthday Challenge
Category: Gen (Canon)
Characters/Pairings: Merlin, mentions of Arthur
Ratings/Warnings: K
Word Count: 521
It had been five-hundred and fifty-two thousand, two-hundred and forty-five days since Merlin had last set foot in Camelot.
The nostalgia that had settled in the pit of his stomach had finally become too much to bear, so he journeyed back to the place that housed his greatest triumphs and damnations. Despite the preservation spell he had cast after the great kingdom's final battle, all that remained was the forlorn tower near the west gate and the crumbling stone walls that shaped the foundation of the once thriving city. Time had taken such a toll on Camelot that it was almost impossible to believe that it had been the most imposing kingdom in all of Albion fifteen hundred years ago.
Merlin closed his eyes, his magic leaking out into the cracks between the stones, and inhaled deeply, shoulders heaving forward. The words, "For the love of Camelot!", reverberated deep within his head, much like they did the day he last heard them which seemed like just yesterday instead of a millennia. They had been uttered with the utmost sincerity, and Merlin had had no reason to doubt the passion the person held for Camelot—the land he had died protecting.
He could recall with picture-perfect clarity that image that had thrown his world off-kilter: the flames licking the dead, the sound of metal on metal, the scent of blood in the air… Arthur had been hunched over against a rock wall, a crimson stain tainting his chainmail as his chest rose and fell in a somewhat synchronized motion. Merlin shook his head, throwing the memory to the back of his mind, but a new one shot forward: Arthur jerking in his manservant's arms, his sword slipping between limp fingers, and the king had fallen to the ground, dead to the world.
That had been the last time Merlin had seen Arthur alive.
As he gazed out over the ruins of Camelot, he felt tears prick in the corners of his eyes.
He remembered how Arthur Pendragon had been poised to fight with Excalibur raised in defense, the dim sunlight pushing through the cloudy overcast, glinting off the menacing blade, the name of his beloved kingdom rolling off the tip of his tongue. Merlin sighed, a single salt-water droplet rolling down his cheek. His destiny had always been clear to him: protect his King or die at his side. There had been a significant meaning to his life, and he fought each and every day to fulfill it, through the trials and tribulations alike. Sure, there had been many forks in the road, other paths that diverged from his chosen one, but he had always made the right turn before. It was hard to tell where he went wrong to end up where he was now.
His King was dead, and with him, Camelot had diminished into nothing.
However, there was a way to change at least part of the outcome.
Hissing a spell under his breath, his magic exploded, and as if in fast forward, the scene before him began to rebuild itself. Towers rose, stones flew, and crumbled walls were pulled up from the depths of the Earth. After a few short minutes, Camelot was once more the picture-perfect kingdom from his youth, awaiting the day its true King would come back and reclaim it.
With nothing left to do, Merlin turned on his heel and began the long trek back to his hut by the lake, but not before casting one last glance at the place he had once called home, what Arthur had given his life for, where Merlin would continue to rebuild until Arthur returned.
"Happy birthday, Arthur," Merlin said softly, "Hope it's enough."