Britain, modern day

As the city below buzzed with nightlife, Merlin collapsed into bed, still fully clothed and completely unable to close his eyes. His eyes darted around his flat as he tried in vain to calm his mind enough to get at least a little rest that night. For someone who had been alive for more centuries than he cared to remember, he had remarkably few possessions in his comfortable but spare home. It was too much to continually accumulate things, especially since he changed his life so frequently. Instead- with a little help from his magic- each new life was a new identity, a new home, and entirely new possessions, with all traces of the previous life wiped away. Only a few items made the transition with him from place to place, from life to life. There was a pendant Gwen had given him before her death, with its small, deep purple amethyst stone constantly reminding him of his friend and queen. A clasp from the cloak of a knight of the Round Table. On his bedside table sat an intricately carved wooden box Gaius had given him with the explanation that it was a family heirloom that rightfully belonged to his son (Merlin had not been able to hold back his tears at that). And the item he'd had the longest, one he had actually possessed years before the end of Camelot as he knew it: a small disk with a symbol carved in it- Ygraine Pendragon's sigil, which Arthur had given him when he was planning to sacrifice himself to close the veil. These possessions, of infinite value, stayed with Merlin always, preserved with relatively simple spells so they did not decay with age.

Rolling over, Merlin's thoughts drifted to the days after he finally returned to Camelot. After some time alone with Gwen to explain the circumstances and to grieve together, he had called together the few survivors of that band who had pledged their loyalty to Arthur around the first Round Table in that cave years ago. Meeting their eyes with difficulty, he confessed his magic to them and explained what he had done at the lake's edge. After asking their forgiveness for keeping such a secret for so long, he had offered them each a choice. His spell would bind them together in death and in new life, but he understood that they might want to simply rest in peace. Merlin asked each of them to choose if they would like to be taken out of the web of life he had woven, to not return when the others did. Predictably, Gwen lost all queenly demeanor as she made it quite clear that she would find a way to haunt him for eternity should he not give her the chance to have a whole new life with Arthur one day, then hugged him fiercely, whispering her thanks in his ear. The remaining knights exchanged glances for only a moment before Leon spoke for them all a simple affirmation. Only Gaius requested to be left out, telling Merlin that he was an old man, and this was a time for the young to build a new world.

So Merlin had kept his word. When Gaius died a few years later, peacefully passing in his sleep, Merlin wept for the only father he'd truly known and laid him to rest with the promise of eternal peace. As time passed, he began to feel the pain of seeing off his friends, one by one. Out of the knights, only Sir Leon lived to die of old age, leaving Gwen to mourn him as she would her own brother, and Merlin to wait for the dreaded day when his queen would leave him too. And when that day finally did come, Gwen called him to her chambers, where he climbed into her bed and held his oldest friend, smoothing back her gray hair and holding the soft and slightly wrinkled hand until she breathed her last, with the words, "It's not goodbye, remember. I'll be seeing you, Merlin."

As the centuries passed, Merlin learned to move with the times. He never moved far from Camelot, even when the kingdom had long since ceased to exist. And he waited, waited for the day when he would see his friends rise again. He kept himself busy, doing all he could in every age to save lives. He amused himself by creating new names for his various false identities. Over the years, he watched in vague awe as the legends of King Arthur and the golden age of Camelot spread around the world. Of course, he thought wryly, most versions got it wrong. That was another way he had stayed entertained over the centuries- keeping tabs on all the versions of the story he had lived. Most got one, maybe two parts right. One or two- one modern version in particular, he mused- managed a surprising degree of accuracy. Sometimes, he couldn't help laughing. Of course he would be remembered as the old man disguise he had used, although he hated that the age gap it produced tended to twist and obscure the relationship that had defined his life, his friendship with Arthur. And the stories that portrayed Gwaine as the paragon of virtues, of all things, chastity? That one sent him into actual tears of laughter. With the dawn of film, there was a whole new category of fun: how completely unlike the people he'd known these versions looked. Although, he had to admit, he'd rather enjoyed the animated one. But not all of what he heard made him smile. The idea of Mordred as Arthur and Morgana's son made him recoil the first time he saw it, and the disgust really hadn't lessened with time. He did regret, deep within him, how history and legend had remembered those two. Terrible as their deeds eventually had been, Merlin still remembered the brave, clever, compassionate woman Morgana had been, and the days when Mordred was so loyal he sometimes doubted the boy's destiny and so understanding he sometimes dared to feel not entirely alone. But the worst, as far as Merlin was concerned, was how Queen Guinevere had been changed in these legends from the wise, capable, and compassionate queen he had loved and served to a fickle woman and unfaithful wife he didn't even recognize. He mourned that the world did not remember her goodness or Lancelot's nobility, but that the false affair contrived by Morgana had become a black mark on their names forever. That was the problem, he supposed, with loving creatures of myths: the myth inevitably was nothing like reality. Only in this case, reality was the better of the two.

Merlin hadn't expected anything different that day when he had gone to class. Over the years, he had acquired several degrees; he figured he might as well become as educated as possible, especially to keep up with the times. This time, studying in Britain where he felt most at home, he was under the guise of a twentysomething doctoral student of political science named Rhys Mage (it amused him that his name was essentially a diminutive of his prophetic name and, literally, "wizard"). It was the first day of a new session, and he was sitting in the second row of a course on theories of rule. Of course, I've probably got more experience with actual rulers than anyone here, he thought to himself with a slight smirk as he remembered the wise clotpole of a king he had advised. Just as the small class was getting started, the back door of the room flew open as a student dashed in late.

"Ah, Miss Smith. I thought you might've been driven away by that unfortunate class of mine last semester," the professor remarked dryly, as she cast an almost fond smile at the newcomer.

Merlin didn't bother to turn around, instead using the distraction to grab a new pen and mutter a quick spell on his notebook to clear an ink blot from his previous, leaky pen.

"Of course not! I'm so sorry I'm late, Professor!" Miss Smith cried, slightly out of breath as she slipped into a seat two rows behind and to the side of Merlin.

Merlin's pen dropped to the floor with a clatter at the sound of her voice. As he ducked down to pick it back up, his heart began pounding so loudly he began to think his classmates must be able to hear it.

It can't be. I'm hearing things. I'm hearing what I wish I would hear. I'm making her voice sound like that in my head. When the professor turned around to write on the board, Merlin quickly turned his head to the side, just enough to see the woman who had spoken. If his heart could have sped up any more, it would have, as one look was enough for him.

Guinevere.

Did you expect Merlin to encounter one of our friends this quickly? Let's see how he reacts! Also, in case anyone was wondering, Ygraine's sigil comes from a deleted scene from the S4 two-part premiere. I wanted to get the beginning of the modern-day segment started before I get swamped the rest of the week, so this update came much faster than I originally thought I'd manage. Special thanks to AHarryPotterGleeMerlinFanGir l and Agana of the night for my first two (wonderfully kind!) reviews! Please read and review, and, as before, if you have any ideas, specifically on modern-day names for characters such as Gwaine and Mordred, please, please let me know!

~C