Greetings Readers! Here's a new oneshot - I know it's been a while. I hope you enjoy!

Warning: This thing is angsty as all get out. Spoilers for end of series.

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin, or any of its characters.

The old man sat on the splintery steps of his home, a cup of steaming tea perched on the saucer on his knees. The tiny hut was beyond the streets and lights of the city, resolute, self-sufficient, alone. The only light that could be seen was in the small kerosene lantern at the old man's feet, which sent sparks of flickering light across the waters of the surrounding lake.

Taking a long sip of the tea, the old man closed his eyes and took a deep breath of the cool air before letting it fog out into mist before him. In the flickering light, the mist seemed to take on the guise of a dragon before it faded out over the lake.

The old man set aside the cup and saucer with a flash of his eyes and stretched out against the steps, groaning in appreciation as his joints creaked and popped before setting comfortably into the wood and grass. Darkness had long since fallen, and there was no way to tell how late in the night it was. The old man didn't care; he had stopped caring about the passage of time decades ago.

He no longer was impatient, he was far too tired.

Merlin…

The old man shook his head almost casually, as though the movement would shake the cobwebs of memory from his mind. It was most likely senility. The gods knew he'd been around long enough to develop at least a little. Or it could have been the shot of whiskey he'd poured in his teacup.

"Still can get drunk off a barmaid's apron, it seems," he chuckled to himself, albeit humorlessly.

Merlin…

He thought of drinking more of the tea to entrench himself in delusion more thoroughly, but couldn't muster the effort. If the whispers of his past wished to fill his mind, they would do so regardless of whatever he did; fate was inevitable. At his age, it wasn't worth the energy to attempt to prevent or expedite the process.

"Wonder if I'm going mad," he spoke to himself in the cool darkness. "Mad Merlin…and it only took centuries after that name was given to me. Although the heavens knew I was mad enough about it when I first read it." He chuckled. "Ah well, why bemoan the writers their fun. They only besmirch with the words. Over the years, I've done far worse."

Merlin…that's not true.

"Not true?" he snorted. "I've so much blood on my hands I'm surprised my nails don't reek of the stuff. I did worse when I was trying to do good."

But Merlin…you have done such good. You've made mistakes, but what man hasn't?

"But I'm not a man, though, am I?" Merlin replied. "I'm a creature of the Old Religion…a monster, really. I was right all those years ago…" He brought both hands to rub resignedly at his closed eyes. "And now I'm answering voices that aren't there. I am now most definitely senile. I hope I'm senile enough to not be able to use magic. A failing mind and limitless mind can only breed disaster."

Merlin…my boy…you were never a monster!

The whispers in his mind now sounded male, both scolding and soothing, in the tones he had not heard for eons. If it wouldn't have been childish, the old man might have plugged his ears against the sound. As it was, he let his arms fall to his side and let his eyes slowly blink open.

What looked like the ghostly figures of his love and his surrogate father stood before him, the water lapping at their heels, their forms luminescent in the glow of the kerosene lamp. The old man sighed and rubbed an eye idly. "I need to look at that whiskey again, I think there's something terribly wrong about it." He laughed. "Either that, or terribly right."

Merlin, the version of his love spoke again, it's really us. We're really here!

"Sure you are," the old man replied, a degree of gentleness in his tone. "Hallucinations are always perfectly present to those who see them. But they're not real." He waved a hand. "You all can go back now – if you want to mess with the mind of an old man, I warn you the job's practically been finished. No fun to be had here."

Fun? His love replied, and her voice caught in her throat as she reached beseechingly towards him. Merlin, this is not fun for me…

The old man shook his head and smiled kindly. "I don't mind you having your fun. Where else will hallucinations find it? I'm just warning you, I'm hardly good sport."

Freya is telling the truth, Merlin, the hallucination of his mentor began, stepping in front of the vision of loveliness clutching a fist to her mouth. We are not here for that. We are here –

"Need more whiskey," the old man muttered to himself, reaching for the cup.

Getting soft, aren't you mate? A new ghostly voice countered, and the old man looked up to see a cocky ghostly form swagger just beyond the reach of the lake, casting the long locks of hair out of his face with a casual stretch of the neck. We used to go through caskets of ale, and now all you need is whiskey.

"Lies and slander," the old man countered. "You used to go through casks of ale, and I would drag your drunken arse back to the castle after paying for it."

Ah yes, the hallucination smiled. Those were good times.

"Not for my pockets or my back!" the old man smiled back. "And that's not even counting the extra chores Arthur would make me do afterwards, the prat."

Still not showing me the proper respect, are you, Merlin? A new voice teased, but the old man shut his eyes against the sound, turning slightly so that his shoulder faced the apparition. He grabbed the teacup and gulped the rest of the drink down, shuddering at the glow of whiskey amidst the coldness of the tea.

"That's really not fair," he rasped, the slump of his shoulders painfully pronounced. "I understand that you must seek your fun somewhere, but must you remind me of that? The greatest mistake of all?" He took a great swig of tea that had somehow reappeared in the cup. "I cursed all of you enough when you weren't hallucinations, but my failure to protect – " he swallowed hard. "To protect…you…was the worst of all. All I tried to do was keep you safe, and I couldn't even do that."

Merlin… a new female voice joined in, you did your best. No one could fault you for that. And you helped me so much when he was gone.

"That didn't change my failure, Gwen," the old man began and then stopped to drink more tea. "And now, I'm talking to the hallucinations. And expecting answers." He shook his head.

Merlin. The first voice was compassionate but sharp, and he looked towards her silvery face. Stop it. Do you think we are here to condemn you?

The old man looked back towards the rest of the lake. The shore was now nearly crowded with ghostly forms. He saw his father with his arm around his mother. He saw Gaius. He saw Lancelot, Percival, and Gwaine. He saw Leon and Elyan. He saw Gwen. He saw Freya.

He saw Arthur.

"I deserve it, certainly." The old shoulders raised and lowered listlessly. "So have at it."

There was silence. These were odd hallucinations, to go silent now that he allowed them their time to speak.

"I'm sure there's plenty to say," he began gently, prompting them. "How about how I lied to almost all of you? How I didn't trust hardly anyone with my secret?"

Silence.

"It was my fault that most of you died, you know," he continued. "Lancelot, I should have been able to get to the portal before you did. Father, it's my fault that you were in the path of that sword. Gwaine, Elyan," he rubbed his eyes. "If I'd taken out Morgana earlier, or if I'd never forced her hand all those years ago, you never would have died through her actions." He chuckled bitterly. "I'm surprised she's not here, actually. She'd have plenty to contribute I'm sure."

Merlin, you were the one who helped me rule when Arthur was gone…you and Leon and Percival helped me to carry on.

"I still managed to get your husband killed." The old man sighed. "The one thing I tried to accomplish above all, and I couldn't even handle it."

To be fair, the smug-faced shadowy figure replied, although his smirk seemed too solemn, protecting the Princess is a hard job. Only man I ever met who could nearly get killed by a bracelet.

The shadowy figure with the flowing cloak and rune-covered sword punched the smug figure in the shoulder and the others laughed, their laughter filling the otherwise silent clearing. The old man smiled a little but didn't laugh.

"Well, it's my fault that Morgana became the way she was – or at least I helped," he amended when the shadowy figures seemed to want to contradict him. "And I helped steer Mordred away too." He smiled knowingly at the hallucination of his king. "And he could have been a great asset – I always thought you liked him better than me before he defected to Morgana."

The hallucination gave a start as though he'd been slapped, and there was a regretful sorrow in his eyes. The old man blinked curiously, he hadn't known that hallucinations could be so expressive. Merlin, you idiot, the hallucination faltered, I never did.

"He at least knew his way around a sword," the old man replied. "And he was a knight. Never did manage that."

I always said he should have knighted you. You were the bravest of us all, and he never even knew.

I did at the end.

The figure of his king moved closer. Merlin, I always knew.

The old man wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, noting with some disgust the tears gathering there.

Oh, my Merlin, the first voice crooned, drawing closer. You are so tired. You have been here so long, waited for so long.

"Don't taunt me," the old man gasped brokenly. "I can stand the wait. I have no other option. But please do not mock me with what I must endure."

Merlin, it is time. And with that, the figure of his love placed her hands on either side of his face.

The hands felt warm. And solid. And real.

He looked up in shock to meet the warm loving gaze of his Freya. It's time, Merlin, she whispered, tears beading in her beautiful eyes. It is time for you to enjoy the rest of Avalon.

"You're – you're –"

A warm hand, calloused from a lifetime of wielding a sword, landed on his shoulder. Now you're catching on, Merlin. You always liked to be late, but waiting for centuries really is pushing it. The joke faded out of his friend's eyes and his face softened into a gentle, welcoming smile. It's time, Merlin. Come with us. Come home.

The ghostly figures came close to the porch, to crowd around the shaking shoulders of the final sentinel, their most faithful friend. The man pushed up from the wooden steps and stood on his own, before he was folded into the arms of his friend and king. Gwen followed suit as soon as her husband released him, and the knights ruffled his hair and cuffed his shoulders as though he were a boy again. His mother kissed his cheek, and both his fathers hugged him with a proud fierceness.

He looked for his love, who stood at the edge of the lake, holding out her hand towards him and smiling. Surrounded by those he had befriended and served, Merlin took eager steps towards the lake, his age falling from his limbs and features. It was with the hands that had first caressed her face that he took Freya's hand, and with the same youthful bashfulness that he kissed her.

Gwaine jeered appreciatively, and Merlin sent a wave of water towards him with a nonchalant wave of his hand. He smiled down at Freya, who squeezed his hand, and turned towards the lake.

And so it was that, with his love's hand in his, his loved ones surrounding him like a guard, and his friend and king's arm about his shoulders, Merlin entered the waters of Avalon.

A/N: And there you are. Thanks for reading and please review!