Leonarema: Most definitely. It may be heart-wrenching and terribly sad but it is, as well, terribly beautiful. It showcases their relationship in ways that you wouldn't believe. We have the magic reveal, as well.

Thank you so much! And please, don't feel guilty for being a 'fickle' reviewer. :D As long as I know that you liked it, that's alright. :) Thank you. And yes, I won't stop writing ( I guess now AU?) future fics. :) Just so that I can try and help you heal your broken heart *nudge* I have one going on right now. (future fic! I mean.) You can find it on my profile page, it's called 'Beacon in the Night.' :)

A/N:

One of the things that break my heart is that Merlin will wait for Arthur thousands of years, alone and consumed by sadness. Then, as I thought about it, I came to the conclusion that Merlin, no matter how powerful he is could not have survived all of history's tragedies without help. And also, there are too many instances during British History in which Arthur could/ should be needed again. If only for a few moments.

(Thank you, WHAP- World History AP- I knew you would be necessary some day! )This is set during WW2. By 1942, all male British subjects between 18 to 51 years old, as well as all females 20 to 30 years old resident in Britain, were liable to be called/ drafted. Only a few categories were exempted, between them, students.

Angst. Bromance. *sighs.*

Please open your eyes
Nothing is wrong
You were not left behind.

- VNV Nation. 'Left Behind.'

Never The End.

"Mr. Parker."

The scattering of paper preceded the old professor turning around to face whoever had just entered the classroom in the late evening, almost night, and had spoken with such softness. The man before him, wearing the same faded shirt as the last time he'd seen him, was certainly someone whom he'd never expected to meet again and to see him now, paler and wearier if it were possible, seemed like an impossible dream that he knew could never be.

The name left his lips with the uncertainty of someone who does not know what to think. "Arthur Kipling."

The blond man said nothing as he stood before that old desk in which he'd become one of Mr. Parker's brightest students, the golden boy that held all of the University's hopes in his brilliant head, the man who could very possibly become the next most outstanding member of parliament.

Yet, now that he took his glasses with trembling hands and placed them upon his nose Mr. Parker could see something else underlined the young man's handsome features, a quiet heartbreak that would be hard to miss, even for the most unobservant of men. His cheeks, once flushed with color and excitement, were now devoid of their rosy color and his bright eyes that had once held within their blue hues more courage and wisdom than what Mr. Parker had ever seen in other human being were now hollow and tortured, as if this man was now a veteran of war. Which, Mr. Parker realized with a start, he was.

"I never expected to see you again." Mr. Parker recognized with all honesty and his voice echoed in the massive room, resounded within the walls and reached Arthur Kipling's tall figure.

"I know." The young man answered gently and, for a little while, that tortured gaze brightened when he offered his old teacher a small smile. "I thought I owed you an apology."

Silence. It was in that same room with barely lit light bulbs that Arthur Kipling had rushed in one night and told his old mentor that he would not be continuing his studies. The boy then had spoken with such rushed excitement and fervor that Mr. Parker thought him delirious but, to his great surprise, the next day Arthur Kipling had dropped out and was already gone.

"I owe you an apology." The wayward man continued, "Because you never knew. I never had the chance to tell you. And you've always done so much for me..."

Mr. Parker felt his busy eyebrows rise up in almost comical confusion and he guided his cane towards the man that he'd once thought a surrogate son. "My dear boy you have nothing to apologize for. Sometimes life gets in the way-"

"Do you remember-" the young Kipling interrupted, placing a large hand upon his old mentor's shoulder and licking his dry lips before continuing. "Do you remember that, when the war started, you told me that the draft did not apply to me? As a promising student…you said that I would do far more if I remained focused in my studies than if I went to battle."

Studying this young man's youthful face that had been so full of courage and faith and was now oh so weary and constricted with pain, Mr. Parker could do nothing but frown. "I remember…yes. And you agreed with me."

Arthur Kipling's eyes brimmed with a thousand emotions, so ancient and soul-rooted that Mr. Parker, for once, was left speechless.

"I thought it would be better." said he. "I thought I would be of better service that way. I thought I could find him after the war was over. But he was always such an idiot. Never listening to me."

"I'm afraid I don't understand what you're talking about, Arthur." The old professor said, scrutinizing with his eyes the sudden paleness present upon his once-student. "What happened?"

What could've been so devastating to place such a shadow of pain and horror upon his once-prodigy brow, to devoid each part of Arthur's countenance from his once regal air that spoke of a noble and kind soul? What had happened during those short hours between the evening class and the dawn for Arthur to run away and throw himself into a war that he should've not fought?

And Arthur explained to him, in that quiet and barely lit room, about Merlin. He talked about a man that was great, and mighty and so very brave, that had endured more than no other man could ever begin to imagine and that had never deserved to be taken away from the silent lake of Avalon to a place where Arthur, had the evil of the world not called him from slumber, would not have been able to follow.

"I saw a picture of soldiers sent into battle that same day in which I went away. I would recognize that lazy posture anywhere as I've spent almost my every waking moment with him back in-" he stopped talking and shook his head and Mr. Parker looked at him, confusion etched in every wrinkle of his aged face.

And, after a short pause in which his soulful blue eyes told Mr. Parker everything that his words could not ( of a home and a life once lost, of an unspoken promise as ancient as time itself.) Arthur Kipling went on.

"I knew it was him." The spark of light in his eyes returned. "So I went to him. I had to. I could not let him go into battle alone, not when he never left me."

The light of the sun filtered through the tall windows of the classroom and the professor, shaking his head and offering his student a smile said, "I would like you to continue, Arthur, but I should be heading home right now."

"I understand." said the young Kipling softly. He rummaged in the worn backpack he carried for a moment before handing his old mentor a piece of worn paper. "I've written it all down for you."

The old professor turned back towards his wayward student, who was looking at him with blue eyes that spoke of a thousand different emotions and heartbreaks, of a long lost part of him that he had left long ago. His hand did not stutter as he held the paper towards his mentor and waited for him to take it.

So, naturally, although his soft eyes were narrowing at the strangeness of it all, Mr. Parker took it and held it tight in his fist. "You didn't have to do that, Arthur." he told the young man, "I understand the meaning of duty."

"It was not duty what made me join the ranks, Mr. Parker." said Arthur Kipling softly, gently, as if it hurt to admit it. "It was him."

Mr. Parker felt an erratic emotion shake his heart when his eyes connected with those of his dear student and he saw, in the depths of them, how true that small phrase was.

"This means a lot to you, Arthur, doesn't it?" He said, swallowing through the sudden tightness of his throat. "Why don't you come tomorrow so we can discuss it thoroughly?"

A knowing though suffering smile lit Arthur Kipling's face.

"Sometimes destiny is fickle." he said.

And that was the truth. A few days later, as he was lecturing, Mr. Parker learned that Arthur Kipling was no more.

He'd died putting himself in the path of bullets meant for civilians.

That night, when he reached home between the counting of the death and the hissing of the bombs, the old professor pulled the wrinkled, worn paper from his nightstand. He willed himself not to cry over a man that was worth more than any other he'd ever met and carefully unfolded it, reminiscing the stylized handwriting of his favorite student, whom he'd held higher than any other and whom he'd regarded as a son.

You might think me mad professor Parker for dropping in the middle of the semester. But you must know that there was little I could do. Perhaps you'll never believe me and I don't blame you. That's alright. But you deserve the truth.

I had no choice.

Merlin and I…we were separated by destiny but either way I always remembered him, no matter how much time had passed. It didn't matter if I'd opened my eyes in the middle of a broken Albion that was now divided and torn and that needed a savior, it didn't matter if it was in the middle of a plague that was killing half of my people. My first memories were always of my distant past, of my sweet Guinevere and my brave knights and of him. Of Merlin. Always, as soon as circumstances were propitious, I began my search to find him again.

Perhaps it is fate's sense of humor but I believe that, now, whenever I find myself on the earthly plane again, it is for me to save him as he once saved me. Because…all this time it hasn't been Albion who's needed me but him. Just as I needed him throughout my reign and just as I held on to him during my darkest times now it is me who's here to return the favor.

As soon as I understood that Merlin, the bravest man, the idiot, had gone to war I knew that I needed to follow. Years and years of fruitless searching were behind me as I made my way towards him, first drafted and then sent to the battlefield.

I found Merlin, as I always have, when he needed me the most.

I never expected him to join the actual army. Not really. I thought he would use his gifts to aid the weary and dying, his skill as a physician that had only become greater as the years passed, and his compassionate heart. I thought…

I never expected to find him on that battlefield.

He was never good with weapons. Not even I could teach him to wield a sword properly. He was not built for this kind of gruesome battle. He was not built for this.

Of course he was shot down at the same moment I screamed out his name.

He smiled at me, that same idiotic smile from my memories, and then the shot rang and suddenly he was tipping over and I was too far…too far to reach him.

But I did. By God, I always will.

I thought I was too late. During the bubonic plague he'd gotten himself sick while trying to eradicate the disease and I stayed by his side until his fever died down. When he got himself lost in a storm it was me who found him. But for one small, terrifying moment I thought I was too late. Too late this time.

The German who'd shot him already sported my knife on his throat.

I could not be too late. I could not fail him.

I could not lose him.

Not Merlin.

How was I supposed to return, one day for far more than a few years, to find my dear friend cold and dead and gone?

It is still I possibility I dread with all of my heart. A lifetime, no matter when or where, without Merlin.

I hardly thought. It is an old habit to us, I suppose, to always catch the half that falls. I reprimanded him for being an idiot and told him to stay awake, to stay with me but it was all too much and too soon and he just smiled at me.

Just that smile….just one smile. It was all worth it then, Professor Parker. I know you thought I had the highest chances at becoming the brilliant student you always saw in me, maybe even a Prime Minister one day. But, even if once I guided Britain to prosperity it is not time yet. Not yet.

Merlin survived the bullet.

It took almost no time to convince Merlin's fellow brothers in arms to let me hold him though they were insisting (Merlin always had a way of gaining people's hearts, the idiot.); as if I would entrust him to anyone else, as if I would deprive myself of any of the few moments I had with him. I told them he was my brother. I told them that I had him.

The war raged on but Merlin and I, we were blissfully spared of it for a few days. I stayed by his side, as he always did on that first lifetime in which both of us barely knew what would become of our bonded souls. I stayed until he was up and about again and then-

Then he was taken away from me. As he always is.

And I, too, had a duty to my country, to my people.

"Thank you, old friend." he said. And then he was gone, and so was I. I knew my time would come in months because he no longer needed me.

We never say goodbye, though. Because it's not the end. It's never the end.

"It's never the end." Mr. Parker muttered to himself, wiping tears that he'd unwillingly shed as he read the worn paper, a paper that looked as if it had been written in the middle of battlefields and late nights in the campfire. His old eyes, so very tired, stared at his surrogate's son's handwriting before he placed his head upon his hands.

He did not know if he believed what he'd just read. But maybe, just maybe he could find some comfort in it.

It's never the end.

Perhaps, now, it is Arthur's turn to protect Merlin. To give him hope. He'll have to wait for thousands of years, alone? Nope. Nopidity Nope.