A/N: Reposted the past parts of the series on AO3, started posting this there first. Decided having it in both places was probably a good idea. :) Will upload as my schedule allows.

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin.

Prologue

"I think it's time for me to disappear."

Caldwell Barclayn looked up from his book, frowning at his old mentor. "Disappear?"

Old Merlin, sometimes known as Emrys, sometimes known as Dragoon, sighed and sat down heavily, his gaze wandering over his expansive chambers filled with books and magical artifacts. "Arthur's been dead for years. Llacheu is king. Gwen is dying. All of the old knights here save Leon are gone, and he won't last much longer. And I'm tired. I cannot die, yet I'm so tired." His laugh came out dry and creaking. "It's time for me to go, Cal."

The other man's dark eyes were sorrowful, but his voice remained level as he asked, "Go where?"

"Somewhere far away. Somewhere no one knows my name. Somewhere I can rest for a while."

However, the warlock did not leave Camelot in that year.

Beloved Queen Guinevere passed, and Merlin took one last trip up north to Bernicia with Caldwell. Hayden Wyverndomitor had long ago followed his wife into the afterlife, leaving the three or four living descendants of his wyverns in the hands of his son and daughter's families. King Everard had died the previous year, the last of his siblings to pass, and his oldest son Aldwyn sat upon the throne.

Gwaine, former knight of Camelot, present lord and knight of Bernicia, and the man once called Strength was on his deathbed when Merlin arrived. "Not how I expected to go, honestly," he croaked out to the warlock. "Thought I'd die in battle like Arthur."

Merlin managed a smile and murmured a spell, just a simple one to ease the dying man's pain. Gwaine noticed and grinned, "Still up to those tricks."

They talked for a while about the old days, then Merlin stepped aside to allow Gwaine's children to have some time with him. Before he left, his friend grabbed his arm. "You're a good friend, Merlin. The best. Always have been."

Blinking back tears, the warlock whispered, "You too, Gwaine. You too."

Sir Gwaine died in his sleep with his son, daughter, and closest friend by his side. All in all, it was not a bad way to go.

Merlin returned home, the last of the Trio and wearier than he'd ever felt, even more so than when Arthur had died at Mordred's hand. Then, at least the sheer anger and pain had made the tiredness bearable.

He remained in Camelot until Sir Leon took his last breath, then departed with nothing more than a few words of advice to King Llacheu. None of his old friends were left there now.

Camelot fell mere decades later, and the Golden Age of Albion passed into legend. Merlin, out traveling the world, heard the tidings and did not return.

He even stopped talking to Aithusa.

Hundreds of years passed before Merlin set foot in Britain again, drawn by the promise of Arthur's eventual return. There was a Prince Arthur in England at the time, but he died before ascending to the throne. His brother, who succeeded him, was a veritable madman with terrible relationship skills.

Still, Merlin stayed, drawn by the lake and the memories.

As time passed, magic retreated, until Merlin could barely feel it anymore. He took to visiting Aithusa more often in her far-flung hiding places, longing to feel the presence of any other magical creature. Science ruled now, making the knowledge of Camelot seem obsolete. Technology soared far beyond the dreams of people in the past. The world changed more and more with each passing day.

Some things got worse with time. Others became better.

Emrys waited.

When Albion's need in greatest, the Once and Future King will rise again.

So many plagues and conflicts wracked the globe, including two world wars. Magic remained dormant, and Arthur did not rise.

Emrys waited.

Then came the apocalypse.