AN: And here we are, at the end of this adventure, my friends. For all those who made it with me, thank you. Thank you for your support, your encouragement, and your inspiration. To the silent readers, I hope you enjoyed this story. To those who reviewed, thank you for the strength you loaned me to continue. To those who followed and favorited, I can hope this tale has touched you in some small way. Love to all, and thank you for the warm welcome back into this world!

PS- So, while this is the end of the series as it was always intended to progress, I have made a small concession. There will be a Book 6, called Snapshots. This book will be a place for me to add stories that take place in this universe, but before this final chapter of the future. Just in case I ever feel like coming back to it. If there are any events you'd like to see written out, please don't hesitate to ask! I'll add it to the Snapshots Book!

MERLIN1010101010101010MERLIN

Merlin smiled into the sunlight coming through the small window. Another beautiful day, he thought, though his mind was on other sunrises. The ones that streamed through the castle windows, waking their inhabitants with the light of a new day, not the jarring buzz of an alarm clock.

"You're remembering again," Arthur purred in his ear, wrapping arms around him that had lost none of their strength through the centuries. "You always have this look on your face when you do."

"I miss them," Merlin answered softly.

"So do I," Arthur agreed, placing his chin on a still thin shoulder. The food quality had changed so much- Arthur couldn't stand to eat anything from the modern day restaurants- but it never seemed to put any fat on on the lean frame of his husband. That they still trained daily with their choice of weapons helped keep them both fit. "Often."

Merlin nodded, soaking in the warmth of the body behind him, and the sunlight coming from the glass of the window. He breathed magic onto the window, displaying the images going through his mind to share them with the man who had loved as fiercely as he had.

He remembered his wedding day in Dumnonia, the celebrations and the laughter. The joy he had felt. He remembered for the hundreds of people crammed into a grand hall, he'd never taken his eyes from those of his lover, never stopped watching them dance and glow with a happiness he'd rarely seen from him. He remembered getting so drunk at Gwen and Durstan's wedding a week later Arthur had to carry him back to their chambers. Their joy had been as radiant as his own, and he hadn't been able to resist celebrating it with enthusiasm.

He remembered Arthur being crowned High King of Albion, remembered the peace that came with it, the acceptance of magic balanced against the justice of fair laws that everyone was subject to in the years that came afterwards. He remembered Arthur's deep grief when old Artemis had passed from the world.

He remembered the birth of their children, a fine golden son as expected, and a surprise magical dark haired little girl who delighted in mischief. The joy of their lives, though it came with the grief over the death of their mother, Queen Mithian, only a few short months after the birth of the twins from an illness no one could seem to cure. Now he knew it for cervical cancer, understood exactly what he had pushed aside the awful night of the Ritual. She'd died happy, in the end. In all these years, Arthur had never forgiven her, though he'd never said anything but kind words when their children asked about their mother as they grew. His own mother had been shielded from him, and he'd never allow that for his own. Still, on occasion he'd get raging drunk, remembering the night of the ritual, and those nights he was best left to his anger.

He remembered how proud he'd been the day little Ygraine had been crowned heir apparent for Nemeth, only five at the time and so bored by the ritual of it all. And when Balinor had won his first tournament- with dual long daggers! Their son had taken to them quite young, despite Arthur's continued insistence the sword was the more valiant weapon. Balinor never achieved Merlin's speed, not with his father's solid bulk as a frame, but he had a power in his strikes Merlin had never matched.

He remembered years of peace and prosperity for all the Kingdoms of Albion. Remembered the family he had gained with the royal family of Dumnonia, the happy years spending time in both Kingdoms, the brother he had gained in Durstan, the sister in Elloise. He remembered competing with Durstan as to who could worse spoil the little girl born shortly after he'd been poisoned. Elloise, of course, outshone them both in that department.

He remembered the day they realized that time had stopped touching Arthur. It had been an off-handed comment made by Ian, Merlin's manservant at the time, that had made him really look at his lover. He knew every line, every trace of that face, that body, by heart. None had changed since before the Allied Battle against the Saxons. That was the day they'd realized the Link had done so much more than link their deaths- the alteration that had been made during The Trials. What old Artemis had meant when he'd told Arthur he'd never walk his path alone, and that Merlin's destiny would be the ebb and flow of Life. Fifteen hundred years later, and Merlin could still pass for 20, while Arthur not a day over 30, their only signs of aging the experiences that had worn at tired souls, their still gold crowned eyes windows to all the great and terrible things they had seen in their time alive.

He remembered the day Balinor was crowned High King of Albion.

He remembered, with a tug on his heart, the day Gwen passed away. Prince Durstan a few years later. He remembered all their deaths. His mother, Leon, Percival, Elyan, and even the devil may care rogue, Gwaine. His old friend Kilgharrah had gently faded from the world of the living. That was the day Aithusa flew off, and had not been seen since, no matter how often he Called. He remembered the day he'd tried to call that ancient power to him, and found it wasn't there any longer. They had grieved their winged friends together.

He remembered the day he had gone to speak with the Lady of the Lake, his dear Freya, and there had been none there to answer. It was that day that Arthur had first discovered how much Merlin had actually cared for the girl, all he'd been ready to forsake to go with her. Never quite a secret between them, Arthur had simply never asked for details, and Merlin had never offered them.

He remembered the day he'd known, with every fiber of his being, that he could not watch his children pass. He remembered sobbing into Arthur's arms, remembered the whispered confession that it had been on his King's mind for some time as their children aged. Even Ygraine, for all her power, had obviously not inherited the immortality that was the destiny of her Fathers. Gray had come to their hair, lines graced their faces, and Arthur had stopped a grief stricken Merlin from taking his own life. That was the day they'd decided to leave Camelot, leave their home.

He remembered gathering their children, and their grandchildren, together for one night. He told them a grand tale of a secret warlock and a prat of a prince. He told of adventures and battles, of love and loss, of friendship and betrayal. Of a Link so strong that it would take these lovers, this King and his Consort Warlock, through time itself.

He remembered riding away from Camelot for the last time.

"So," he threw out as they rode without any destination. "A farm?"

Arthur nodded, smiling, remembering. "A farm."

He remembered living for years in the farthest corners they could reach, until eventually, civilization would catch up with them. He remembered as magic slowly faded from the land, seeping deep into the earth, as magical creatures either died off or went to a place where they could live in peace without the increasing noise that was mankind. His own magic, and the power Arthur wielded through the Bond, had never wavered, both increasing in strength as the years moved forward. Those with the talent continued to make their way in the world, described often as an extra sensory perception, a thing of evolution and science, rather than as the magic they knew it to be.

He remembered great battles, remembered the rebuilding of one civilization, only for it to again fall to blood and ash, watched another rise in its place. At first, they'd fought together, side by side, to keep the foreigners off their lands. But over time, they stopped, recognizing it as inevitable, and the two warriors- one of steel, the other of magic- were forced to admit it wasn't worth fighting for any more, wasn't worth the risk, since their immortality prevented death only by time- they could still be killed. More and more they faded from the world around them, creating their own.

He remembered when they had decided to board a ship to the new world. It had saddened them, but all that was Camelot was long gone by then, though their bloodlines still sat on thrones in today's monarchs.

They'd gone to a country that was now called Canada, found a quiet plot of land in what was now known as Alberta, and finally, at long last, built their farm. When it seemed civilization would get too close again, Arthur had gone out and bought all the surrounding plots. He let them stay forested, and to this day enjoyed hunting on them- always with his own weapons, never with guns. Neither of them had ever developed an appreciation for them. On horseback, it took about three days to go around the entirety of their property, a trip they often enjoyed, taking only a bedroll and meager supplies.

Gold had only increased in value over the centuries, and they'd always had plenty- especially once simple coffer keepers turned into a whole profession of bankers. They'd spread their wealth into various banks as they popped up, moving it around every 80 years or so. It made them laugh to keep one pouch of the actual gold coins that they'd brought from Camelot, though they had donated half of it the to British Museum.

They'd learned to hide their immortality, but lived every day as though it were their last. They had no idea how long it would last. They laughed often over the Arthurian legend, surprised sometimes with just wrong it all was, and equally surprised when they actually got some of it right. Those myths, too, had changed over time and it was always interesting to see the latest version. Merlin in particular liked to tease Arthur about the popular theory of him having been a Roman, snickering over the image of his golden god in one of the soldiers leather skirts.

For a lark, they'd gone to university to become historians, experts in the Arthurian era. That had lasted only until they'd unearthed Gwaine's sword, and Merlin had broken down sobbing right there on the site. After that, they had left staff in charge of the Farm, and traveled the world for some years. Merlin easily picked up any language he heard, and often found work as a translator, while Arthur remained the foremost expert in the Ancient Tongue, now called Irish Gaelic. The invention of the internet made keeping their secret easy on a professional level. They often found joy in touring the Renaissance Fairs, teaching their fighting styles, teaching how to make era authentic armor.

This farm, The King's Ground, stayed constant, however. They kept the large house up to code as it changed, but never changed the interior design. An odd quirk to any who had walked through the very modern farm down the long lane to find the castle that was an exact replica, though somewhat smaller since they had no need to host Court members, of the one Arthur had grown up in. Merlin's only concession had been installing indoor plumbing as soon as it had come about- and electricity. Reinforced with magic, the foundation and interior would never be subject to time. It was even filled with any genuine artifact they could access, and replica's of many others. If any ever found their way below the main floor, they would be shocked to see the tomb room of Camelot, which they had returned for when the City finally fell to raiders. It helped them feel closer to the ones they'd lost from that time, as Arthur had made sure not only his parents, Gaius, Hunith, but also the Knights, and even Ian, had been laid to rest in the royal tombs. Merlin went frequently down to talk to their children, though Arthur tended to avoid the place.

They dismissed the staff needed to run it every fifty years. Merlin used illusion magic to artificially age them- with grace, of course. Then they'd go on vacation, 'die', change their clothing style and dye their hair, and reintroduce themselves as sons, or grandsons. Always close family so the resemblance was rarely questioned. Arthur had developed quite the fetish whenever Merlin got something pierced, though tattoos had been strictly forbidden. As it was, Merlin never lost the habit of wearing gloves to cover his scarred hands, nor did he ever remove his shirt in public, always conscious of the inexplicable scars on his back, arms and chest.

"Would you change it, if you could?" Arthur asked him. He watched the images, lifting his hand to touch the faces of those he'd loved so dearly. This happened, every now and again. He was always grateful when it was to remember these that they'd loved. On occasion, his lover would wake, grabbing for him, shaking apart with the memories of all he'd once been during the battle with Morgana. One of Arthur's fears as he watched magic slip quietly into the earth had been that the power to reinforce those protections would go with it, and he'd lose his husband for good. He kissed that same shoulder, grateful that the Bond had thus far remained strong.

Merlin smiled, and shook his head. "No. Maybe, if I didn't have you…" he shivered. He'd have gone mad, he was sure. Likely long before he'd gathered the courage to leave Camelot. Or he would have succeeded in taking his life. Arthur had barely arrived in time.

Arthur tightened his hold. "Always here, Love. Right here," he soothed, knowing where his husband's mind had gone. He still remembered having lived that life, knew how dark it was. Despite the changes he'd made, the destiny he'd re-written, he'd never allowed those memories to leave him. They were reminders. He shuddered as he remembered how close he'd come to Merlin's decision that he couldn't bear the loss of their children.

Merlin jumped as the alarm clock buzzed to life. Growling, his eyes flashed gold, and it exploded. He heard his lover sigh against him. "Rebecca is starting to think I like her," Arthur grumbled. "In almost every week for a new alarm clock. She thinks it's an excuse to see her."

"So go to a different store," Merlin answered coolly, well aware of that particular shop keepers interest. Fifteen hundred years together had not lessened either man's tendencies of possessiveness and jealousy. They kept to themselves for the most part, only going into town when they needed supplies. They were known to be recluses, borderline hermits. Most knew they were married- they'd never made any secret of it- a fact that had caused quite a stir for what Merlin considered was the most ridiculous two centuries in history. "We don't need one anyway. You're always up when the sun hits you."

"We have slept in on occasion, especially if a certain warlock who shall remain nameless kept up me very late scaring the cows," Arthur teased. Centuries of making love to each other had not made them any quieter in the bedroom.

"I hate the damn thing. The staff know what they're about. This place practically runs itself," Merlin answered grumpily.

"Are you okay? Memory lane doesn't usually tend to leave you in a good place," Arthur asked, using a hand to rub the bare arm. Despite where he knew these days took them, he always loved waking up to the sight of his still glorious lover bathed in sunlight. He never tired of reaching for that skin, for that physical sensation. He wanted to ground his husband, knowing a day like this would mean vicious nightmares for weeks to come. It broke his heart, but Merlin had never stopped having them, though they'd had many happy times in their years since that Final Battle.

Merlin sighed apologetically. "Sorry. They deserve to be remembered. Even if it breaks my heart."

Arthur chuckled, nuzzling the throat that had never once, in all these years, ceased to entice him. With all his heart, he'd kept that promise, that Merlin would always be enough for him. "Will you ever get over this whole sacrifice yourself for the greater good thing?"

Merlin laughed. "Probably not."

"All right then, did I ever tell you about the time Gwaine dragged me, Leon and Lancelot into the tavern?"

Merlin let the words flow over him, soothe the parts of his soul that were hurting. Arthur had told him, but he never got tired of hearing the stories. Never stopped appreciating when his husband made the effort to make sure he remembered the happy memories too.

Someday, he might tell his King that remembering the laughter also made him remember the tears.

But not today. Today, he leaned back, taking in the scent of his constant companion, his strength and his love, that had somehow never wavered through the centuries, never offered less than all he was.

And together, they braved to give life to those long dead heroes from a land of myth, and a time of magic, when the destiny of a great kingdom rested on the shoulders of a young boy...