'I'll be there before the story ends'

(You'll be the only light I see)

"Merlin?"

The sorcerer heard the word. His name: one he'd nearly forgotten.

Then the world grew still, in anticipation, bated breath - in shock. It was like trying to swim through mud in those few seconds, barely moving sluggishness, like all were moving in slow motion, utterly impossible. Merlin heard the word, but he didn't understand it. His breath caught, heart slowed, mind silenced. The sorceror was frozen, quite simply; unable to move to see the face he thought would only ever live in his memory.

A solitary tear rolled down his wrinkled cheek, the salty water filling the crevices of his worn face. A single tear that said so much; I've missed you, it's time, I'm so sorry. But mostly it said 'The wait is over'.

His heart and soul and mind sang only one word in pure unlevelled joy.

Arthur.

Breathing heavily, as if all the air had been sucked from his lungs, Merlin twisted, eventually enough so that he was facing the source of the speaking. And there he was.

Standing there, Arthur stood in full shining armour, dripping wet and clear: surrounded in an orb of brilliant light from the rising day behind him, as if he were reborn of the sun itself. Still burning bright as ever.

He did not look to have aged a day in his thousand year rest, nor changed in any way, better or worse. In fact, he looked rested, ready. Like himself. Like the ghost that had haunted Merlin's memories for all those years. Like the face he missed more than any; the face he'd waited so long to see again. But it was too perfect. For him to be here, now: so brilliant in the sun like a knight of fairytale books.

It cannot be true.

"No," Merlin breathed, "No. You're not real, you're in my head. You're gone, you're gone, you're gone!"

His voice rose to a crescendo, as he screamed the final phrase over and over, pushing clammy hands over his eyes to block out the image. No. There had been so many times when he'd thought he'd saw his King, following sandy haired strangers or hallucinations for miles before realizing it was not his Arthur.

Every time it had broken him; chiselled him down even more until there was nothing left. He would not be fooled again. This was not happening. He was not real. Arthur – Arthur was gone.

Turned away with hands clamped over his eyes still, hunched slightly, Merlin forced himself to breathe. When he opened his eyes again, the figure would not be there, and Merlin would return home alone aside from his memories. But this hallucination was persistent.

"It is you, old friend," Arthur said. The voice spoke from Merlin's side, as arms grasped his own and pulled his hands away from his face.

"You're not real," Merlin rasped at Arthur despairingly, yet the hand felt real, the face genuine, "You can't be. I-it's been too long."

Holding Merlin's arms now, pulling them away from his weary face and into his own chest, on top of the dragon, Arthur looked closely into the face of his friend. Merlin was not the same as he had been.

"Look at me. I'm real. I'm here Merlin, what on earth are you talking about?"

The aged man watched him for a moment, feeling the solidness of the chest underneath his hands; he could even feel the faint heartbeat. Could it be?

"Arthur," the word escaped his lips, slipped out unintentionally and emotionally. "You're. . . back. You're back."

Merlin was in a shock so deep he began to shake, legs buckling beneath him, unable to contain the heaviness that was wrapped around the warlock, sinking to the ground. Arthur fell with him, concern now painted all over his face.

"Merlin? What is it? Talk to me," he pleaded, for now he knelt with a shivering man clinging to him in the pale dawn, with eyes of a dying fire, but with the hope of rekindling, "Please. Tell me what's wrong."

This seemed to finally get through, whose eyes refocused on his King, and breath returned into the quietened world. He was still pale, as well as feeling faint with emotion. After all the decades waiting, he could not believe his friend was back. Still holding onto the red of his clothes, noticing the line of worry on Arthur's brow, chilled by a growing wind, he snapped back.

Merlin with Arthur, at Avalon. It was foretold and now had come to pass.

"Arthur."

Like he was a broken record stuck on repeat. It was a sight that would have proved strange to any passersby: a soaked knight holding a weeping elderly man, with the shadow that was the abbey looming in the distance. But no one came past, no cars or vehicles, not even a far off dog could be heard barking. It was as if the world had stopped just for them, just for now.

"You got old, my friend," Arthur commented with a half smile.

"You didn't," Merlin return the smile weakly, regaining at least some of his strength in the warmth of seeing Arthurs smile once more, "How rude of you. It's been a long time, my lord."

"How long has it been? This place . . ." the King looked around, lip upturned. It was his disgusted expression that the warlock was all too used to, and had ached to see again. ". . . is a dreadful looking sight. What has become of my kingdom? This surely cannot be Camelot." Merlin couldn't think how to answer. How do you tell someone that everything they held dearly was gone? Merlin spoke, "Do you remember? All that passed in those last few days? That I'm-"

"-a sorcerer? How could I forget?" Arthur had many years to think of his friend, and the secret between them like a barrier. But he had forgiven Merlin for his secrecy even before his first passing, he must know that? By the look of it, his friend had walked the earth for many a year, and it had changed him beyond Arthur's ways of repair. "But I fear you're not the same person you were, you're changed, Merlin. I can see it."

"I'm still me," Merlin said, briefly the haze lifting and his old face, so kind, flashing upon his face. "May I?"

With a consenting nod from Arthur, Merlin closed his eyes to concentrate; conjure long forgotten words to mind, "ieuenctid hen, dychwelyd. adennill fy hun o oed hen."

His voice was stronger as he performed the magic, more confident. After chanting the phrase, his eyes snapped open, filled with bright light. Merlin changed in front of Arthur's eyes: old features dissolved to boyish looks, lines of age smoothed, face falling back into place.

In seconds, Merlin, his Merlin, how he had looked back at Camelot, was kneeling before him. Young once more, just a boy in looks, but not in mind, the young walock was returned to hos former glory, just as Arthur had been returned to him.

"Merlin!" Arthur spoke clearly now, for it was his friend before him again, not the hardened sorcerer he had seen at the battle of Camlaan. They still knelt on the dewy grass, Arthur holding Merlin's arms, but saw nothing but the other's face. He saw the boy he had first met in Camelot, same as he always was: ruffled hair too messy to be considered clean, dimpled face creased into relief, eyes bright; but it was his eyes that worried Arthur.

Despite him being restored physically, Merlin had still lived through nearly the whole of time. The memories, the heartache – that would not be fixed so easily. He looked tired. Drained. Beaten. But still holding onto hope.

For Merlin, he saw his King. Alive. It was possibly the greatest sight he had ever seen. Better than the dragon's egg hatching, more great than Arthur being crowned King, far more amazing than the first time he had used magic.

But he was troubled, for Arthur looked so young now, undamaged by the realities of everything that was to come. He looked unafraid of anything, hopeful that he would again be King of Camelot. But Camelot was gone. And it killed Merlin that he would have to break this news; see Arthur's hope fade a little.

But right now, nothing bad hung between them. A blissful happiness consumed them both, so they were content to forget anything they needed saying for now.

"Now we have both defied time," Merlin said, almost smiling. Then he broke down, tears streaming down his now youthful face, of relief and pain. Love, too. Yes, there was love there. As he crumbled, face turned to the grass, Arthur felt a surge of sympathy rise within him. He had treated the boy so poorly over the years, yet it was him who remained, loyal to the end. As Merlin cried, he drew him closer, in the embrace both had waited for. Kneeling in his Kings arms, the reassurance there, Merlin sobbed harder.

Arthur's cape flowed around them in the may breeze, curling behind them, leaving the sight of the King and his young Warlock open for the world to see. The world watched, pleased with its work of magic and might. For some lives, few among great men, were foretold; this moment was meant to be perfect.

Afterwards, both were unsure how long they had stayed in the cold morning. But they remembered it fondly, for all that followed expanded outwards from that very moment. But for now, they knew not was to come, only what is.

"You were a boy when I first met you," Arthur began nostalgically, talking down to Merlin's huddled form, "Then, as we lived and fought, you became a man before my eyes. The bravest one I ever knew, despite what I said to you the last time we spoke in Camelot. You grew up. And now, after however long I have been gone, and you have waited, you have become more than a man. I can't believe I'm saying this, Merlin, but I do think you are possible the greatest man this world has ever seen, or ever will see."

He spoke softly, from the heart, trying to console his most loyal friend, but not knowing how to fix the damage left. He had never felt as helpless before, not in any of his battles, nor as he lay dying. Arthur wanted so desperately to make everything okay, but knew such things took time.

"Even if you are also the biggest clotpole to walk the Earth as well," he added, and through the tears he felt Merlin's shoulders begin to shake with laughter.

The boy glanced up, "That's my word."

"Here it is," Merlin threw his arms wide, beaming at Arthur as they stood next to the wooden gate in front of Merlin's cottage.

He loved it deeply, it's quirky outlook, stone walls like the castles'- the home he had built there. Arthur, on the other hand, looked less impressed.

"That's it?" He asked, eyebrows hitting his hairline and his old snark creeping into his voice.

"What's wrong with it?" Merlin's face dropped into an expression of hurt, exaggerated for Arthur's benefit. Pretending it was all alright, the usual routine between them; comedy and tragedy.

"Well, for the so-called 'greatest sorcerer to walk the earth' you live in an awfully . . . small, would you call this a home?"

"Typical," Merlin retorted, "There's just no pleasing you."

The warlock opened the gate in an exasperated manner; it swung forward with a familiar creak as he trotted down the stone path to his yellow front door. He grinned, hearing Arthur following him steadily. Merlin turned, to see the King had stalked past the gate without a second thought as to shutting it.

He rolled his eyes, putting on an old face, dusted off from misuse for years; it was the one he wore whenever Arthur did something idiotic and arrogant. Gwen had once called it his 'Arthur's-being-an-idiot' face.

Merlin scurried down the path, sarcastically closing the gate himself as Arthur watched on, bewildered. Then he was back at his front door, picking a key from his deep pockets and noticing that the clothes he'd donned as an old man no longer fit him well.

"Ta da!" he opened the door with a flourish. Arthur pushed past, treading heavily in Merlin's garden and uprooting the daffodil's to enter the warmth of the house.

As he passed, Arthur muttered and smirked at his own joke, "Just like magic."

Merlin's home was simple; a kitchen, a bedroom, an empty garage. It was small, "cosy" according to the warlock, furnished cheerlessly. The kitchen was white and silver, the bedrooms lacked colour, a plain house for a man with a washed out heart.

Arthur noticed this, but held his tongue, taking a seat on the sofa in the living room awkwardly. He had never seen such things. Just, over on the way here, they had seen a vile beast, a metal horse spewing monstrous black gas as it went. Above, noisy metal birds roared, and then there was this house – water that came from neither well nor river, but from a "tap"; light flooding the rooms with a flick of a switch, not by firelight; such bright and unusual things he never thought he'd see.

It quite tired him, really, trying to figure it all out. There were too many things to think on, too much to be said. Merlin came back to find him sitting there, looking dumbfounded at the walls and lights in confusion.

"You okay?" he asked, knowing that it would be hard for his friend to comprehend the new world he had entered.

Arthur nodded slowly, "It's just strange. This is not the world I left."

He kept back his question about how long exactly had passed; having figured out for himself that it had been quite some time, and what that meant for his old friend. From his place at the door, Merlin nodded in agreement.

"It was funny, watching it change. I never thought it would become this." For a second, his eyes glazed over, lost in memory and far away from there. Then he snapped back to the present, entering the room with a warm smile and placing a green mug in front of Arthur, "Here, drink this."

"What is it?" asked Arthur, regarding the substance in the cup suspiciously, smelling it tentatively like it was poisoned.

"Tea," said Merlin, smiling as he took the armchair opposite him, "Try it. You'll like it."

He himself, after the shock of the day, had gone for a much stronger drink. A glass tumblr in his grip held amber liquid, and he took a small sip as he passed over the other drink. Arthur noticed this, and reached forwards to grab Merlin's smaller glass.

"Whats this then? It's not the same."

"That's mine!" Merlin made an attempt to grab back his drink, but Arthur was too quick, twisting away to keep it away from him. "You won't like it, Arthur. I'm warning you."

"Oh, you're warning me? I see: big man's saving all the good drinks to himself."

Arthur was smirking as he took a huge gulp of the liquid. His expression quickly changed as he spat the whiskey onto the floor, eyes bulging as he coughed, spluttering for a second before his wits returned.

"Are you trying to kill the king?" he demanded of Merlin, who was laughing, actually laughing, so hard his sides shook and stomach ached. "Because that's – that's treason – what poison was that?"

His face was priceless: horror, shock, disgust at the foul taste lingering on his lips, it was hilarious. Merlin could not contain himself, giggling like a schoolboy with hands clasped around his side as his friend got to his feet in anger.

"I did warn you" he choked out, "I told you that you wouldn't like it. You just didn't listen – as usual."

Then, to add insult to injury, he picked up the glass and drained the remaining alcohol with a grin. Arthur still looked outraged, but was so relieved to see Merlin smiling that he softened, taking a seat on the sofa once more.

"What was that?" he repeated.

"Whiskey," Merlin answered, unsure how to explain the drink simply, "It's uh, like mead from the tavern, only stronger."

"Oh well that explains it all then, I should have known you'd still spend most of your time in the tavern."

"Typical knight," challenged Merlin, fighting Arthur's condescending attitude with his own satire, "Can't handle his liquor, too much 'honour' to admit it."

"You can't insult me, I'm the king."

"And I'm Sir Merlin!" the warlock couldn't help but grin, remembering how much he'd wanted to tease the King about Gwen knighting him all those years ago.

"What?" Arthur was shocked, his jaw nearly hitting the floor. He stood.

"Gwen knighted me in my absence, or so I've heard," Merlin grinned, "I'm a knight now."

Suddenly, they burst into laughter. Arthur slapped his friend on the back as they doubled over, carefree for a moment. Merlin- a knight? It was ridiculous. Neither could hold in the laughter bubbling up within them. They couldn't help it: they were back and it was like the old days and it was wonderful. Arthur caught Merlin's eye; refusing to let it go this time.

"Answer me honestly. How long has it been since my passing?" He asked earnestly, but was surprised by the response. Merlin welled up, tears brimming in darkened eyes flashing pain from days gone by. He let no tears fall, maintaining his composure in from of his King.

He opened his mouth a few times, but found no words came out, he had to breathe noisily and blink the water from his eyes before answering quietly, not looking Arthur in the eyes.

"A thousand years, my lord."

"A thousand years?" Arthur's voice rose in amazement, his expression re arranging itself on his face to one of complete shock. Surely it could not have been so long? Yes, time did pass strangely in the other world; days could pass in the blink of an eye or stretch for eternities. But a thousand years? It was not possible. That would mean everything . . . everything was gone. It had all changed. Except for Merlin.

"But that would mean you're, you're-"

"Immortal? Yeah, funny how things work out." Merlin was back to his old ways, trying to force a smile, but his true feelings were thinly veiled. Arthur was quiet for a long time, staring into the fire.

"You have waited all this time for me?" he finally asked.

"I was told you would return."

"But for a thousand years?" Arthur moved forward in his seat, staring Merlin down in disbelief. "You waited all that time for me."

"Of course I did," Merlin smiled, embarrassedly looking down. "You're my King, and my friend."

"But it's more than just being a friend. I don't think I've ever known such loyalty, or ever will again. You've waited for so long, my friend; you deserve that knighthood - perhaps more than any man." Arthur was touched, genuinely. He knew his fellow knights would have died beside him, but to wait a hundred lifetimes? That was beyond all others.

It seemed that even now he underestimated the boy who sat before him, still not quite meeting his eye. Of course, it was Merlin after all: he would call it his duty or destiny to wait for Arthur and was happy not to receive any credit for it. He would not speak of his time waiting, or what he had done for it, for it was never of his self that Merlin thought. Arthur was finally beginning to understand a selfless man; it would change him.

"I'm sorry." After Merlin stayed silent for some time, seemingly lost to the world in memories, Arthur spoke again, "It must have been terrible."

Stirred, the sorcerer sighed, looking up at his King. "It was - hard, I won't deny. But the worst part was that I had all those years to think about how I had failed you when you needed me the most. That I have had to wait so long to apologise."

"Apologise? You have nothing to be sorry for, you tried harder than anyone. You did more for Camelot than anyone."

"But I let you down!" Merlin became agitated now, fingers twitching as he poured himself another drink. He gulped it down quickly.

"You think, even now, that you failed?" not getting a reply from the silent man, he continued "You never failed me. You made Camelot safe; you stopped Morgana; You-"

"-watched you die? Knew it was my fault? Failed my destiny? I did a great deal, Arthur. Not all of it was good."

"But you are good. In every sense of the word. The goodness inside is what saved us all, and you will always be a good man, even if you make mistakes."

They started at each other a second, Merlin's eyes welled in frustration and a bitter loneliness which had lasted centuries. The words struck him, silencing all of his complaints for now – he would never get over this, but for now, things were okay again.

He wanted to savour that. Nodding clumsily, he looked down and had another drink. Arthur now tried a sip of the 'tea' Merlin had made him. It was much more to his taste; Merlin glanced across the room, breaking his mournful silence.

"Better, my lord?"

"Much, Sir Merlin."

At that, they shared a smile.

Later, when the day had been drawn from the sky and replaced with darkness, punctuated with tiny stars roaring with light, Arthur found Merlin standing in his little garden, watching the skies. He stayed in the shadows for a second, just content in watching his friend. Merlin looked calm now there was no one to impress or be strong for: his face was clear, eyes brighter, body less tense as he watched the stars above him, ever in awe of the beauty of the world.

Arthur could see him visibly relax, so carefree, so young looking, even now the King knew his true age greatly outweighed his appearance. To have lived so long and not be irreplaceably broken was an amazing feat, showing his true heart. Arthur was proud of the man his friend had become.

"Stargazing?" he asked, stepping from the shadows, "That's a bit girly, isn't it Merlin?"

The boy's lips curved into a slow smile as he glanced away from the stars that filled his eyes, seeing his King in leaning in the doorway. Arthur was still dressed in his full armour, no longer damp but still heavy and silly looking in the modern day.

"Gardening too," the boy replied, "After you trod all over my daffodils."

Arthur held up his hands in mock defeat "Stargazing and gardening? It's no wonder you're a knight, entire armies wouldn't stand a chance again your mighty talents."

"We really need to get you some new clothes," Merlin mused, shaking his head and choosing to ignore the previous comment. He was regarding Arthur's armour thoughtfully, offending the King.

"What's wrong with this?"

"You can't walk around dressed up as a Knight, dollop head."

"I am a knight!" Arthur protested; he had worn this armour for every major battle, and was reluctant to lose it now.

"I know that," Merlin rolled his eyes, "But people aren't knights anymore. It's a new world Arthur - things don't work the same here. We'll have to find something out for you; I have some things that might fit."

They made their way back indoors, shutting out the nights chill. Arthur in particular was amazed by the concept of central heating, glad not to have to build a fire all the time; it was lovely and warm inside the cottage. He stood as Merlin stooped low to rifle through drawers in the cupboard built into the wall in the hallway.

"Here," Merlin stood, brandishing a bright orange T shirt at least three sizes too big for Arthur and a faded pair of jeans. He nodded, handing it over and announcing. "Perfect."

"You are joking?" Arthur couldn't help the sarcasm creeping into his voice, but sternly reminded himself to be kinder to his friend.

"It's the best I can do for now, I'm afraid. I'll go shopping tomorrow and try to find something that fits." Merlin was already haphazardly throwing unneeded garments back into the drawers, pushing it shut with his foot and turning to his King.

"Well?" he asked with an impish grin, "Aren't you going to try them on?"

Arthur, who had been deep in thought for hours, finally inquired carefully a question which had been playing on his mind all day. "Earlier, you said Guinevere knighted you 'in your absence', what does that mean? Surely you returned to Camelot?"

Merlin's face clouded, almost looking guilty. "No. I stayed at the lake; Percival found me later that day and I sent with him a message back to Camelot, but I never went back myself."

"But I had just died, and the kingdom needed protecting – you just left them?!" Arthur felt anger rising in his stomach, red-hot and grief stricken. How could Merlin just abandon his friends? Guinevere was strong, but she would have needed support in those early days, and who better than the world's greatest sorcerer to help her? Fuming, he dropped the clothes at Merlin's feet, not caring about the strange hurt look on the boys face as he did so.

"I couldn't face them, n-not after I'd let them all down."

Yes, it was guilt on Merlin's face, but he spoke the truth.

"But what if they had needed you? You said Camelot fell – could you have stopped it?" Arthur demanded, moving closer to Merlin as his rage flared, waving his hands dramatically as he spoke.

"No! Yes, maybe. I – I don't know. I know the attack on Camelot was unexpected, but that was years after Gwen's time. It wasn't my fight anymore!"

"But it was when Guinevere was still alive, when my knights needed guidance! That was your fight, you just ran away from it!"

"No!" Merlin, for one of the few times, felt genuine anger towards Arthur. Not the playful stop-being-an-idiot anger, but real rage. Arthur had no idea what he'd been through – what it had been like. "No, it wasn't! My fight was with you, clotpole! Always with you!"

He shouted in his Kings face; then turned away in frustration, running a hand through his hair. Today had been so perfect, why couldn't Arthur just leave the past alone? God knows Merlin had tried to forget it.

"You know Merlin, I really thought after today you weren't a coward, but leaving them all behind? That's a coward's way out."

Arthur was no longer angry, but disappointed. Merlin might have saved his kingdom, but hid away from shame instead. He started to walk away, but had only gone a few steps before the boy roared behind him, causing him to spin around.

"How could I leave you?" Merlin yelled, facing Arthur now, seeming to grow to twice his height in his rage, "You were dead! Everything I had worked for: Everything I had lost – it was for nothing! I'd been shot, poisoned, tortured; lost my best friend, my father, the only woman I ever loved – and you're calling me a coward? I'd worked for my destiny for my whole life, but it all went way with you. The only thing I had was a promise, a stupid, worthless," he was spitting the words out now, drawing nearer to his King with each one, "Last hope. How could I leave you after all that?"

With this, Merlin passed Arthur like a full blown storm, striding to his bedroom and slamming the door. It shook in its frame as he yanked the bolt across, locking himself in and leaving Arthur alone in the hallway. The King stood stiff, anger emitting from every part of his body as he began to pace the hallway. Head whipping about in every direction, with his hands clenched at his sides, he even started towards Merlin's door a few times before stopping himself.

No, he thought, now is not the time for fighting.

Upon this realisation, he ceased his pacing and took several deep breaths, reminding himself to think. Could any of it be true? Could Merlin, who never complained about anything serious, suffered so? Although he tried to convince himself that it couldn't have been that bad for the servant, he knew in his heart that he was in the wrong, and that Merlin had done more than anyone. Then it was his turn to feel guilty for his harsh words – Merlin was no coward. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Merlin on the other hand, stood a few steps inside the room, back to the door, stiffly standing, tears forming in his eyes that he angrily pushed away. How could Arthur treat him like that? He waited a thousand years for him, it wasn't meant to end like this! But as always he had acted arrogantly, assuming he knew the full extent of what had happened, hurting Merlin once more.

Now, the warlock was through with him – with all of it. Destiny, fate, promises – what good had it ever done him? In the end, it had left him alone. Hands again wound tightly in dark hair, despairing and broken down, he felt his body being magnetically pulled around, back towards the door. He stopped short just in front of it, unaware Arthur had done exactly the same thing on the other side.

It had been said a long, long time ago that a half cannot truly hate that which makes it whole. Eternities later, this was still being proved to be right. For Arthur and Merlin's coin had been flipped, but it was landing, lucky side up.

There, standing on separate sides of a door, both made a decision in their own minds. It went unspoken, but it didn't need saying. After all this time, they weren't going to leave one another now.

Arthur stepped forwards, lifting a hand to knock the door, pausing with a sigh, then letting his hand fall. There was no answer from Merlin, who started at the knock, but had turned away once again, not yet ready to listen.

"Merlin," he called, leaning against the door frame now, talking closely to the door. "I'm sorry," Arthur kept talking, turning as he did so he was now leaning with his back against the door, one knee bent and head up. "You're my friend and I shouldn't have spoken to you like that."

The young warlock had tears rolling down his face now, anger subsided but reluctant to listen, he stood resolute with his back to the door, but even then he could feel himself stirring, wanting to open the door. He pushed this feeling down, shaking his head angrily, putting his hands to his mouth as his face creased.

"MER-LIN" with each syllable, Arthur banged the back of his head against the door. "Listen to me, I need you."

At this, Merlin felt his resolve shatter; shoulders sagging, he slowly crept towards the white peeling door. He paused before it, reaching a hand out and leaning his head against the wood; closing his eyes.

"Let me in, please," his friend pleaded from the other side, and Merlin was reminded of similar words said long ago "Just hold me, please".

A final tear fell before he opened the door a fraction. Arthur flipped around, their eyes met: then they understood. Each was sorry, each had made mistakes, but it was all forgiven. They froze there, just watching the other, for a while. It was Arthur who broke the silence, sitting suddenly cross-legged on the carpet.

"What's your favourite spell?" he asked.

"What?" surprised, Merlin opened the door the whole way, light from inside flooding the hallway, illuminating Arthurs face.

"I've had a long time to think about it. I've only even seen you use magic two, maybe three times. You must have a favourite spell?" Arthur gestured for Merlin to sit, and he did, sitting opposite the king on the ground after clicking off the light switch whose light seemed too artificial.

"Well," Merlin's face was screwed up in concentration, thinking hard about the question. He'd never really thought about it before. In a flash it came to him: it was the clearest thing in the world. "There was one spell, long ago. Morgana took away my magic for a while once, but I found myself and it was returned to me. It was the first spell I did when I got it back."

Merlin smiled slightly at the memory, eyes clouded over in memory. Arthur leaned forward slightly, interested, "Will you show me?"

Merlin nodded; of course he would. Kneeling, as he had done before, hands cupped, he closed his eyes.

"Gewyrc an lif," he spoke the spell reverently, with power in every breath. Light flashed in his irises as his eyes flew open. Looking at Arthur for a moment, and seeing the Kings fascination, he slowly opened his sealed hands, from which sprang a butterfly, glowing its own light upon them.

The King's face lit up as the butterfly, Camelot red this time, flew around their heads, encircling them. Gaze fixed on the beautiful creature above him, Arthur did not see how Merlin was staring only at him; face a mix of emotions; curiosity, anticipation, relief. Above all that was a strong joy at finally being able to do this, to be his true self in front of his friend.

Long had Merlin dreamed of this moment but seeing the pure amazement and adoration on the King's face, Merlin realized he would have waited all the time in the world for this. With a smile bursting full of everything he'd ever hoped, the young warlock too lifted his head skywards, where the butterfly flew high and proud.

Together, they sat in awed silence in that tiny stone cottage, where far above in the inky sky stars sang of this story right across the universe. The creature faded, but still they sat, not noticing the new dawn as it passed them by. For all they knew, they had all the time in the world.