The Lake Of Avalon is the only thing left from Camelot. But even the lake has changed, grown, altered by mother nature and by man. But Arthur still rests there. And Merlin has a little hut by the edge of the lake. To the townspeople he's known as the Old Fisherman Of The Lake. No one can remember when he moved there, but they rarely see him.
Merlin can't take it every more. Honestly this happens nearly every year, on the anniversary of Arthur's death. Merlin wades into the lake. He just wants the pain to end. He hopes, that this time, he'll finally die. But he always ends up on the shore, drenched, cold, still alive...
He's up to his waist now; Arthur...come back.. I need you..
His shoulders; Please, just let me die this time.
Water is entering his mouth, he doesn't try to stop it, he welcomes the replacement of air; let me die so I can be with him...
Soon he's at the bottom of the lake, and nearly all the air has been pushed from his lungs. He fights his survival instincts, not letting his body move from the riverbed.
Within minutes, there is only water in his lungs. His eyesight going spotty. And finally, black.
"Merlin, you've got to stop this..." Merlin hears a sad voice say, he'd swear he could feel something solid against his back, a hand on his cheek, in his hair. What he imagines is water droplets, falling onto his face.
Merlin dreams of golden blond hair, and bright blue eyes. And a soft voice, telling him everything is okay. And cold, but soft lips, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.
But when Merlin's eyes flutter open, he's lying on the shore. And there's no one there, only the moon and the stars to keep him company.
Merlin lets out a defeated sigh, before hauling himself up, and staggering into his hut, to dry off himself and his clothes. He doesn't look back. If he had looked back, out across the lake, in the very middle, he would have seen bright blue eyes, and golden hair. Eyes full of tears, lips mouthing 'I'm sorry, Merlin... I'm so sorry, my love...'. If Merlin had looked back, the old man would have ran straight back into the lake. Straight into the arms of the man who had just his head above the water.
But the old man didn't turn around, he just cursed quietly to himself. Another year he'd lived, another year he'd have to live. And so, the man in the lake sank back into the depths of the blue water, back into his everlasting slumber. Because although Merlin needed him, Albion did not.