AN: This is just the random thing that happens when I free-flow
Merlin had lost count of the years he had wandered the earth; all he knew for sure was that it had been too many. Fortunately, he certainly had time to accept his immortality and settled. Sometimes he would wander and travel when the high of life hit him, but other times he sought the simple comfort in a familiar spot in Albion – or England, as it was now known.
The first years had been painful, but he had done what he always did – what he had to – and moved on. Camelot was his first life and his longest memory, but he had made several new ones since, with a growing smile. He had loved and he had lost, taking some harder than others, but truthfully, he was sure he felt happy. As much as any immortal could, anyway.
That was why, when on a nothing-Tuesday King Arthur, Guinevere, and the Knights of the Round Table found themselves at the door of his humble home, he had nothing else to say but, "what are you doing here?"
They all clamoured in together, trying to squeeze and push through at once, and Merlin winced as he eyed the doorframe. It remained in tact once they had negotiated to enter more peacefully, and now sat at his own round table in the dinning room; Gwaine, unaware of the eyes that followed the table to Merlin with a knowing light, exclaimed with a joy the warlock had almost forgotten, "it's just like the one we had!"
A smile tried to gain some space on the paling immortal's face, but other emotions were weighing it down, and Merlin had to wonder if Gwaine had only spoken to break the silence that surrounded them. It worked, at least with the knights; they all began to chatter and, when Merlin sat with them, told him their own stories. They were all similar: reincarnated but without memory, until a seemingly random point in time. Each laughed or listened quietly at certain points in the tales, but Merlin found no laughter as the pit in his stomach grew deeper as the truth sunk in.
"You're actually here," he muttered, in the middle of Leon's story. The knight had been talking about studying law, – or was that Elyan? Maybe Lancelot – but Merlin was reaching out a finger to touch Arthur's arm. He pushed hard with the one finger, until it bent so much it hurt, but his eyes didn't leave the spot until he spoke again, training his bright blues on vibrant ones frowning. "You're all real. Now. Here."
"Is that a question, or a statement?" Arthur smirked, but Merlin noticed the hesitancy immediately and it only fuelled his own anxiety. The king's smile fell as soon as he realised Merlin did not share his own joy. In fact, the warlock's happiness escaped just before his front door closed on them, and he didn't know that it would return.
"How about you, Merlin?" Gwaine chipped in from across the table, again after a staring match evolved into a tense silence. "When'd you get here?"
"What?"
"When were you brought back?" Lancelot asked carefully from Merlin's other side, and the warlock heard the concern in the man's soft voice. A voice nothing like a shade, but like his very old friend.
Merlin blinked once, and then a second time. A third time and all expressions had turned into frowns, so he stood quickly, pushing his chair out with a force it almost toppled over. It surely would have done, too, but his eyes glowed instinctively.
"You still have your magic?" Gwen said.
"He has magic?" Percival and Elyan spoke simultaneously, looking to each other before Elyan asked, "he had magic?"
"Of course Merlin had magic," Gwaine sat back in his seat, a little too proud of himself.
"You noticed?" Arthur pointed a finger at the knight.
Apparently, Leon had to get a word in, too, "you three knew?"
Merlin heard Lancelot clear his throat. "You knew as well?" Percival asked. "And you, Arthur?"
"I only found out after Camlann!"
"I'm going to make tea." Merlin moved out from the group, catching Gwaine's glinting grin in his direction.
"I'll go for something stronger." The warlock hit him with a weary stare, not the playful one of years past, but one filled with true irritation; when Gwaine's permanent smile finally faltered underneath it, Merlin knew he had to get out of there.
The process of making eight drinks took a while, but not long enough. Not long enough to think, to put on a façade of happiness as the pit in his stomach sucked any joy he might have straight in. Swallowing hard, he lined up the drinks and enchanted them, and one by one they flew into the dinning room and settled softly in front of their drinker. He didn't even have a smile in him as each showed a range of expressions at their mugs, from delight to suspicion, and Elyan blinked, "I don't think I'll get used to that any time soon."
Again, Merlin settled, but it was to a quieter audience this second time. Some of them kept their eyes on him, others trying to covertly catch him in the corner of their gaze. The warlock, for his part, sipped at his tea slowly, dragging out the drinking as much as humanly possible.
"Merlin," Arthur started after a few minutes had passed, "are you immortal?"
He almost choked on his tea.
"What?"
"We were talking." The king gestured to the group. "Percival mentioned something he had heard as a child – in Camelot."
Merlin's eyes followed the king's to the bigger man. "I remember being told of sorcerers that aged, but slowly. Much slower than the rest of us."
"That's not immortality," Merlin was quick to point out.
Percival nodded his head calmly, but Arthur spoke, "it's close!" The warlock remained silent but placed his mug softly atop the coaster on his old table. "Are you?" the king gritted out.
"Arthur-"
-"Tell me."
Merlin closed his eyes, breathing out a resigning sigh. Opening them, he noticed just how kindly everybody was watching him. How old their eyes truly were, how real their presence was. A long time ago he would have killed for this moment.
"I don't know," he said simply, with a neutral but earnest expression. "I think I do age; you tell me."
"You've been alive this whole time?" Lancelot asked, and Merlin turned to him blankly. "How long?" he whispered.
The immortal shrugged, "you tend to lose count after the first thousand have passed."
There were gasps all round, until Arthur asked, "but you don't know if you age?"
"Like I said, I think I do. Nobody told me, though."
"What?"
"It's not like they give you a leaflet, 'so, you're the most powerful sorcerer to walk the earth'! No, they just leave you to figure it out for yourself."
"What do you-"
-"I mean that one day you wake up with the plague, and after a bloody awful weekend you wake up absolutely fine. I mean that one day you have to cast an ageing spell so that your neighbours don't accuse you of witchcraft again." Merlin couldn't help the pointed look to Arthur, but didn't spare a second for his reaction as he addressed the others again. "I mean that when you get so fed up of just living because it's been six hundred years, not a gun, a knife, a pill, or even your own magic can get you out of this!" his final word was emphasised by a smash of some sort. Most eyes remained on him, though, only Arthur briefly turning to catch whatever had broken. Even Merlin had no idea what it was this time.
"Merlin, I-"
-"Don't." The warlock stopped Arthur in an instant, expecting the sombreness but hating it all the same.
"You've lived this long?" Leon asked, almost sounding slow on the uptake. Merlin offered a slight nod, his heightened emotions dissipating a little.
"Through the plague?"
"Several."
"The Renaissance?" Gwen added.
"Wouldn't have missed it."
"Civil wars?"
"And World." Merlin huffed, straightening in his seat. "Perhaps you should just assume that whatever historical event – however big or small – you're thinking of, I was there. Playing a main part, as usual."
"There's nothing written about you." Arthur didn't sound indignant, but he made the point anyway.
"Except the myths," Gwaine's mischievous smirk grew again as he winked at Merlin. The immortal was still not tempted, though, and the smile fell this time as quickly as it appeared.
"Obviously I didn't use Merlin, otherwise I might as well have asked for the pyre!" Arthur cleared his throat. "Anyway, I was never properly noticed; I stayed in the background, usually." His eyes fell, "it was better that way."
A beat of silence, before Guinevere managed to reach over Arthur for the warlock's hand. "Were you alone?"
He stared into her sweet eyes, on a face full of life and beauty, and he wished he could lie. "For the most part." Her eyes turned even more pitiful, but something possessed him to add, "I got tired of watching those I love die."
"Oh, Merlin!" and he was engulfed in her arms, Arthur pushed away for the moment. Merlin blinked, so unused to any touch as he was. Then he breathed in, and he recognised the scent immediately. It was Gwen, his old friend. A friend whom he never said goodbye to, as he never returned to Camelot after Camlann. It was a modern Gwen, but it was Gwen nonetheless. Finally, he let himself sink into the embrace with closed eyes and a heavy heart, and a pit in his stomach that would once again make itself known once the moment was over.
Still, he had the moment, and he whispered in Gwen's ear, "was Gaius alright?" his voice sounded wetter than expected, "did he understand?"
Gwen went still for a second, but she soon understood him, and he felt her chin nod against his shoulder as she sniffled. "Of course!" she pulled away from him, only to look him in the eye. "He never blamed you for anything, Merlin, and he passed peacefully."
Merlin coughed, blinked, and then swallowed. "Thank you."
Gwen stroked his shoulder gently before sitting herself down back beside Arthur, who remained silent throughout the exchange, and Merlin became painfully aware of the emptiness creeping back into his soul. He had been happy, he was sure. But their return had reminded him of everything he had once missed with all his being.
"And do you?" Arthur asked, looking at Merlin who had damp eyes and a deep fear set in his bones. "Do you blame us, for leaving you?"
"What?! Do I- what sort of a question is that, you prat?" the insult tumbled out with the old indignant voice, and he clamped his mouth shut on the last letter, eyes wide with shock.
The king stared at him, perplexed, but it was Leon who voiced the question they had all been thinking. "Then why are you so angry with us?"
"Angry?" he echoed, looking over each face trying to remain neutral but confirming they all believed Leon's words. "No, no, I'm not…" he sighed, "I'm not angry."
"Are you disappointed?" Lancelot asked out of the blue, all eyes fixing on him.
Merlin looked at him with the most earnest stare he could muster, willing himself to feel happy rather than anxious, "no. It's good to see you. All of you. It's just…" again he shifted, struggling with his words. "I don't understand why you're here." The brief hurt that crossed their faces told him he had not picked the correct ones.
"It's been a long time," Gwaine spoke in a voice Merlin had only ever heard when he spoke of his father. "We understand, Merlin." He looked to be getting up.
"Gwaine." It was Arthur who spoke before Merlin could, and the warlock briefly wondered if he would have.
"Princess, we don't get to just barge in on his life! It's not like he was reincarnated, he's actually been around long enough to move on." There was no hatred in his words, but it stoked some flame in Merlin that he thought had gone out long ago.
"He hasn't told us anything," Arthur said at the same time as Merlin spoke louder, "it wasn't as simple as that."
"Merlin, we get it." Gwaine shrugged, "it's been thousands of years-"
-"I know how long it's been, Gwaine!" lightening lit up the sky through the window, but they were all sure it had been bright before. "How long since I lost you, every single one of you! I know how long it is since I've lost everyone!" his eyes caught the darkness outside, and he took a breath. Then another. The blue in the sky returned as he took his third and his eyes caught the wood of the old round table, the tip of his finger scratching against it. "That's not… that's not why I can't… can't be happy for your return."
"Then what is?" Gwaine asked, not unkindly. His words were strangely full of sympathy, despite Merlin's outburst.
"You have to tell us, Merlin." Arthur said softly from his side. "If you ask us to leave, then we will." It sounded as if he had trouble promising it. "But you owe us a reason."
Merlin scrubbed at his face with both hands, resigning himself to that pit in his stomach.
"When you died, Arthur, I was told you would return." He remembered the words as if they were carved into his brain, "when Albion's need is greatest, Arthur will rise again. I didn't know it meant all of you," Merlin looked around, but then back to Arthur. "And, of course, I'm glad for it, but, like you said, I had to move on. I've been alive for thousands of years," he stressed, still feeling the guilt gnaw at him even though he was sure he had forgiven himself.
"You said that wasn't the reason."
"No, well, because, how could I? How do you move on from that? Living through all those years, all the natural disasters, all the hatred, all the wars. That prophecy was always there, whenever something huge happened. Whenever people uttered, 'it must be the end of the world', I would wonder where you were. Sometimes I could move on, but… but other times…"
"Merlin?" Arthur prompted gently.
"Those times, I fell into despair. But, like I said, I couldn't exactly do anything to change my situation."
After a few minutes of silence, from which Arthur must have assumed Merlin had finished, he spoke in such a melancholic note Merlin had heard only on few occasions. "You are angry, then. With me." It sounded either way that Arthur was already punishing himself.
"No," the warlock was quick to reassure. "No, if I was mad at anything it was the prophecy, it was the goddess, it was Kilgharrah for giving me that damn destiny. But that's not why I'm not… why I don't appear happy to see you. All of you. It's just that, when you've lived through so many disasters, thinking that one of them must be so terrible that The Once and Future King will rise again, well. You have to wonder what's on the horizon; what is so terrible that you have returned?"