Ok, so this is the epilogue. I hope that you all enjoyed the story that I wrote here, even with the eight month long hiatus! Please leave a review and tell me what you thought. My birthday is coming up and if we reach 75 reviews, it will be a great birthday present!

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin

Also I think that I should once again mention that my story is set after Season 4. I have taken some elements from Season 5 as inspiration, but this story isn't set in that timeline.

One Year Later

After a year, everyone was beginning to act rather jumpy and careful with what they did and said around Merlin. Gwaine in particular wasn't himself for a week leading up to the date.

He'd been the most affected by Merlin's problems a year ago and had been the one who had offered the most support for the servant.

This year Merlin had locked himself into his room and didn't answer any questions that people asked through the wooden door. Everyone had had a go at trying to convince the poor boy to come out of the dark room, but nothing had succeeded. Even Arthur had spared several minutes to come and speak with his friend.

In the end it had been Gwaine that helped Merlin through the week or so that he refused contact with the outside world. The knight had sat outside the door during the whole week, sleeping, eating, talking and almost never getting up to leave. He'd ordered tankards of beer from a servant that Arthur had assigned to him after the king had realized that Gwaine couldn't be moved from his vigil.

A week later, Merlin emerged from his locked room, looking gaunt and tired, but had a slight smile on his face as he'd past the wild knight and continued on his way to the kitchens. Gwaine followed him and managed to persuade him to come to the tavern to boost his spirits slightly.

Merlin had a horrible headache the next morning, and even Gwaine did not escape the suffering of a hang-over.

Five Years Later

Hunith came to Camelot to live with her son. She was getting no younger and was unable to do as much to help her village as she had in the past. Merlin had welcomed her with open arms and so had the king and the other knights.

She had her own rooms on the other side of the castle and sometimes helped Gaius with errands, when the old man became too old to run up and down stairs to tend to patients. Sometimes Hunith would help out in the kitchens and though the staff had to get used to the mother of a powerful warlock helping out, she soon became a valuable asset when things got tough.

When Gaius finally died a couple months after Merlin's mother had come to Camelot, Hunith was there as her son wept and mourned the loss of his mentor. She was there when he'd completely broken down and had just done his job like a ghost. Walking around and doing stuff, but not being aware of it.

Flu had broken out in the lower town and Hunith had been the one to take care of the elderly and young, even when she herself was nearing the age of fifty-five and beginning to acquire aching joints herself.

She passed away from the flu herself not long after.

Ten Years Later

The prince of Camelot turned seven years old. He was raucous little thing, much like any young boy at the age of seven. He had most of the servants and citizens wrapped around his little finger, as he was polite, cheerful, obedient and fun to be around. In Merlin's own words, it was a relief to have a prince who was the complete opposite of Arthur.

Merlin loved the little boy and they could often be seen running through the woods just outside the city walls in a game of bad guys versus good guys.

The prince, Loholt, always insisted that Merlin not be allowed to use his magic, because it wasn't fair. Merlin cheated sometimes of course. Occasionally he would have to save the prince from doing something stupid that had a zero percent chance of him coming out unscathed.

There was one time, when Loholt had decided that it would be a good idea to walk on a fallen tree that was balancing over a gorge and river. Merlin had only arrived just in time to stop the young boy from slipping and falling to his death.

Gwen and Arthur had had a good long talk with the boy and for several days afterwards, Loholt had refused to talk to Merlin on the grounds that Merlin had "been bad and tattled on him."

Merlin had accepted his fate, knowing that considering that he was one of the only people who would stand up to his father when the child had to be inside for lessons, Loholt wouldn't sulk for very long.

He was right. Loholt soon learnt that having Merlin as a friend, even if said friend had tattled on him, was better than having to read long history books. Of course, Merlin was disciplined well by the short kid, and made to promise never to tell anything to his parents ever again.

But no matter what Loholt did to Merlin, he always made the servant or friend or warlock smile and cheer up. And that was what made Merlin love him the most.

Twenty-Five Years Later

When Arthur lay on his death bed, it was Merlin who he sent for first. Having sustained the wound in battle, Arthur now lay dying from the infection that had set in. Weak from blood loss, his body could no longer fight against the inevitable.

Arthur opened his eyes with some difficulty and stared up at his friend or servant or advisor or idiot, whichever one Merlin happened to be on any given day. He already had his hand out, pressing it against the king's side, ignoring the pus and blood that was seeping out of the wound. Around them, the most trusted knights looked on, as well as the crown prince, whose eyes never left his father's chest.

Guinevere wasn't with them. Taking care of Camelot required much effort and so the Queen had had to manage the court affaires whilst her husband and son went off to fight.

Merlin was murmuring words, but Arthur silenced him with a hand to the shoulder and shake of the head. The king could see the confusion in the sorcerer's eyes as Arthur refused the treatment that could save his life, but he stayed firm with his decision. He was dying and he knew it.

At this point, if magic was used to heal him, someone in their company would perish in his stead and Arthur couldn't take that chance. He'd been king for almost twenty-five years, one of the longest reigns that had ever been chronicled, had a good life, and had lived to see his son grow from a child to an adult and be proud of his accomplishments.

He was one of the lucky ones.

With a nod, Merlin removed his hand from his side and stepped back half a pace to give the king some space. Arthur knew that his friend was thinking of all the people that he had seen pass on in his lifetime and it pained him that he had to add to the already painful burden, but he felt as if this was what he was meant to do.

Removing the royal seal from around his neck, Arthur passed it to his son with a forced smile and a nod, hoping that Loholt would understand the pride that his father had in him. He next pointed to a letter thrown haphazardly on to a makeshift table and nodded at Merlin. The wizard returned the gesture and bowed his head. The knights opted a similar position.

Arthur reached over to his closest friend and squeezed his arm gently.

"I'm sorry, Merlin. I'm so sorry…" And the great king breathed his last, the grip around his warlock's arm slipping until his arm fell on to the bed.

Fifty Years Later

Freya would watch from her position in the lake, as every year as a tribute, her dear Merlin would come and visit her. Every year he would look a little older, a little wiser and have a few more wrinkles and scars. He'd even started growing a beard several years ago, and now it reached down to his waist.

This year he was leaning heavily on a staff that Freya had never seen. Carved out of oak, it was a fine work of craftsmanship. His eyes were tired and the bags beneath them were growing heavier than previous years. Freya longed to hold him, to talk to him, to tell him not to be so sad, but she couldn't. The lake would always keep her prisoner until the world came to an end.

She herself, was still young. The lake of Avalon had kept her young and healthy for all the years that she'd been there.

Merlin was still standing there and hadn't said a word in the time that he'd arrived. Freya was beginning to wonder if he would speak, when his lips started to move. The girl in the lake had to strain her ears to catch what he was saying but she managed to understand most of what was being said.

"I love you… I miss you…"

One Hundred Years Later

Snow was falling gently in the meadow on the edge of the lake. The ground was covered in a layer of white frosting, the branches of the trees growing heavy with the extra weight. A trail of footprints, coming from the woods that faced east, was the only thing that disturbed the perfect scene. They passed by the lake shore, before curving slightly to head south.

A rose that hadn't been there before, was pushing and growing out of the hard, cold ground. Blood red and facing the lake as a reminder and a memorial.

Thanks again to all readers and reviewers! I may have left you all hanging around chapter 7 or 8, but I appreciate all the support that you've given me. Thank you all once again.

WritingReadingLaughing