"Merlin..." Gaius begins to stir from his sleep. He sits up and stretches, "My back..."
"Gaius," Merlin breathes and embraces him, "It's been so long. I had to wake you. I was through with being alone."
"Merlin, what on earth are you talking about?"
"I put the kingdom to sleep. Everyone. After Arthur—"
"Arthur!" Gaius interjects, "Did he make it? Did you get him to Avalon in time?"
Merlin bows his head in shame.
"No. I... I was too late. He... He died..." Even though it has been years—centuries—since the dismal event, tears roll down his cheeks as though he has just returned from Arthur's final send off.
"Oh, Merlin..." Gaius places a hand on his shoulder, "But you mustn't blame yourself. You did all you could."
"I should have done more."
"Merlin."
"No, Gaius. I should have saved him. I should have tried harder, done more. He shouldn't be dead. He wasn't supposed to die. I should have... I..." He is crying now, crying heavily. Gaius embraces him.
"You did all you could, you—"
Merlin is awoken by a loud blast.
"Coinnigh slán." He murmurs without thinking, casting a protective shield around himself.
It turns out to be a good reaction as he can soon feel, radiating from the edges of his shield, the immense heat from the blast. He sees the walls melt away around him, the floor burning to nothingness. The walls gone, he can see the disintegrating town around him. He knows what has happened, what he knew was bound to happen. The war-torn countries have found a peace now, in eternal sleep. The deadly nuke has been launched and all that remains now is ashes. Ashes and Merlin and his bed. That is all. The scorched earth holds no more life other than he and those who have prepared for this. He knows not how many there are, but he does know that the population has been decimated. The trees are dead, the plants, the animals... All flora and fauna now gone.
Merlin knows he must act or surely all will perish. Without food or oxygen-producing plants, no one will last. He stands, the protective shield following him. As soon as he has moved, the bed, too, melts.
He kneels down and begins to incant,
"Ais aeráid mheasartha," he murmurs and he can feel the cool breeze as the earth returns to a regular temperature, the abnormal heat easing and dying, "Scamaill bheith imithe, aer glan." The noxious clouds of radiation disperse and the air is cleansed, "Lig nádúr a chur ar ais, sreabhadh aibhneacha," Around him, the grass begins to sprout and trees begin to grow at an accelerated rate, plants growing at the trunks, forests coming to life around him. In the distance, he can hear the flowing of a river, "Ainmhithe filleadh ar an domhain." He can now hear the distant chirp of birds as animals return, alive once again. The lives lost, unfortunately, cannot be restored. Merlin knows this all too well. However, those who live still will be able to continue to do so without risk of radioactivity, starvation, or thirst. So, thinks Merlin, there's still a chance, now, that Arthur may return. He knows Camelot is safe, as well as a few other areas he enchanted long ago, such as Avalon. Avalon, he is sure, will be pivotal to Arthur's return.
He sighs heavily; he knows Arthur's return is not quite nigh. He does, however, believe that it is not, perhaps, so far away. The time is approaching, he tells himself, but not yet.
Before long (perhaps a century or two, but he has lost count), Merlin sees civilisations rising from the ashes. Only, things are different now. A few generations have passed with the remainder of the human race too afraid to leave their fallout shelters. The generation which lives now does not know of things such as the automobile or the television; they do not know of the age of technology. Sure, they have heard the stories passed down, but to them, they are no more than myths— not to be believed.
Merlin smiles to himself as he walks through a quaint village which much resembles the villages of his day. His era is returning and he is fairly sure that Arthur will soon return with it. After all this waiting... Perhaps his wait has come to an end. He will live again! What joy, what bliss it will be to have his old life back! The smile refuses to leave his lips as he continues walking, entering what is much the same as a kingdom. Then, he sees something which makes his smile drop and dread fills his stomach with lead. He stops mid-step and can only stare at the woman in her elegant dress of fine silk bending down to smell the grouping of roses next to the cobblestone path. He cannot see her face, but he can sense the strong (and thankfully dormant) magic that lies within. When she turns, having felt eyes staring, it is confirmed.
Merlin finds himself staring into the eyes of Morgana Pendragon.
