1. La Chute

Apart from returning once the day after his departure to free the animals contained in the kingdom, Merlin does not visit Camelot. The memories there are too painful for him to bear because everywhere he looks, he sees ghost of Arthur. An Arthur training the knights, an Arthur walking through the marketplace, an Arthur in his chambers, an Arthur sleeping next to Guinevere. He recalls his first encounter with Arthur, as he rides through the forest. Of course, he didn't know then— how could he have known? Such a prat back then, Merlin thinks, though that never did change. Not really.

And so, the years roll by. Merlin adopts his druid name for awhile in the 1200s for a change of pace. He hears of King John being excommunicated by the Pope, of the Magna Carta. None of this interests him; he still waits. He often finds himself wondering how long he should have to wait, and the one thought that refuses to leave him: how long should he be alone? What sense is there in making friendships, forming relationships when they will all die while he continues to live? He supposes that he could always restore his youth with a spell and age alongside others until they die and he must start over, but why put himself through that agony of loss. He is so afraid of death, that he fears living.

Perhaps, he thinks to himself, perhaps Arthur will return in another place. Perhaps he will return far away, across the world.

And so, Merlin resolves to travel.

The 1300s see him in France. He is there for the death of King Philip IV and the succession of his son, Louis X. He is still there when Louis X dies and the crown is passed to his brother, Philip V until Louis's son, John I, is born. He, too, dies, and after only five days, so Philip remains on the throne... So many deaths, Merlin remarks to himself, their kings keep dying. He decides he doesn't care for France in this century, and so he moves on once again.

Having heard of the arrival of the Black Death, he does not return to England. Instead, he journeys to Sweden and remains there well into the 1400s, but leaves shortly after the Battle of Brunkeberg begins. So much fighting, always there is fighting, he thinks. Unnecessary bloodshed. Kingdoms falling and new kingdoms rising from their ashes.

He meets Mary, Queen of Scots once during the 1500s in the years between her returning from France to Scotland and her fleeing to England. He later hears of her death and is remained untouched by it.

It is in the 1600s that Merlin falls into a depression. He has no one and it must remain so. He longs for the days when he would ride with Arthur or joke with Gwaine. He misses eating supper with Gaius and he even misses being a servant. So long ago are the days when I was relevant! he thinks as he sheds a few tears. I am not needed anymore. Perhaps it will be sometime before I am needed again. Thus, feeling sentimental, Merlin returns to England as, once again, a young man. He has shed his old exterior and is now only old in soul and in heart. The politics in the country do not interest him (so what if King James VI of Scotland becomes King James I of England? What does it matter in the long run? Soon they will all be dead and it will have made no lasting difference, Merlin knows this; he has seen it all before).

He contemplates visiting Camelot, which now only he can see. It exists for him only. He had been so determined to stay clear for he knew he would want to remain there forever. Is it worth it to go, he asks himself, when I'll only have to tear myself away once more? An internal struggle for the no-longer-young warlock. Sure, he might feel better in the moment, but in the long run (and he's sure it will be a long run)? Would it only hurt more? He feels as though it would. No, he decides, I must not, though I could... The 1700s see much of this internal debate, but ultimately he decides that, much like Arthur, it is not yet his time to return.

By the 1800s, he is sure that he is the only one of his kind left. He has not sensed magic in a very long time. There was that one time in Ireland in 1598, he recalls. Perhaps there may be others and I have forgotten. Though age has scarcely touched him in anyway other than appearance, it is naturally difficult to remember all that occurs over the course of hundreds of years. Remaining in England, he decides in lieu of visiting Camelot, perhaps he will have a go at friendship, maybe even romance.

In 1823, he marries a young woman with whom he is immensely enamoured. There was something about her that reminded him of Freya from so long ago. He dedicates his heart and soul to this woman and for a time, he is very happy. She falls ill in 1832 and passes away at the young age of 31. They have sired no children. Merlin stands over her casket, tears rolling down his cheeks. His sweet belladonna, his beautiful Lily. Not even his magic could save her; she was already too far gone. He kisses her on the forehead and says his goodbyes.

"I love you..." He whispers, "Goodbye..."

No more, he decides. No more friendships, no more loves. He cannot bear the pain of loss. He later kneels at her grave and cries, sobs, lets himself release all of the pent up emotions he's been feeling. His fingers trace the name on the tombstone, Lily Emrys (at this point, he has reverted back to calling himself Merlin and uses his second name as a last name). His belladonna... She always loved it when he called her that because her favourite flower was the belladonna lily. A bouquet of these flowers he places in front of the cold, hard stone. So unnatural, he thinks, so wrong because she was soft and warm. It hardly seems fitting. The bouquet no longer seems to be enough.

"Bláthanna ag fás." He murmurs and flowers begin to sprout up all around the grave. She lives on in these flowers, he tells himself in an attempt at self-comfort.

The friends he had made try to comfort him in the weeks following the death, but Merlin pushes them away. When they refuse to give up on him, he moves country yet again and in the 1900s, he is in America. Never a fan of politics, he travels north to Canada. Moreover, he takes residence in the northern most areas of Canada, where it is secluded and lonely. He isn't bothered by the cold. The next few centuries, he remains there, watching life pass by, but taking no part in it, leaving no mark.

Eventually, he moves back to England with the resolution of remaining there until Arthur returns. He begins to lose track of time now that he no longer concerns himself with the going-ons of society. Through his window, he watches. Civilisations rise, civilisations fall. None of this holds meaning for him.

Life holds no meaning for him, not until Arthur returns.

Fortunately, there are indications that the return approaches.