Chapter Two: An Old World
A couple thousand broken hearted years later and Merlin was finally reunited with his King.
Ten centuries of immortality and still nothing was burned into the back of his mind quite like Arthur's final moments. Even after an eternity he still had to choke back tears when he thought of the light fading from his king's eyes—and their final tender moments on the grassy shore.
He did return to Camelot after all was said and done. Merlin still vividly remembered giving the news to Gwen. She was so strong but she cried in chorus with the entire kingdom. Merlin's tears had been spent by then. He wondered if he'd ever cry again. Of course he cried when Gaius died and Merlin at last realized the curse of his immortality. When he knew his place in Camelot was gone he left to live on the shores of Avalon where he knew he belonged.
His heart broke again when Camelot fell in the Norman Conquest centuries later, along with the rest of Albion. As that war tore the land apart Merlin would sit all day and watch the waters of Lake Avalon for Arthur to rise. It was terrifying to think that a darker day was coming for the kingdom.
Over and over Merlin watched in resigned sadness while empires rose and fell. As the world fluctuated between war and peace, the young warlock found happiness as well. He watched people learn and prosper and create and build. And when civilization finally caught up to him he melted awkwardly in with society. He learned with them and lived in peace with the decedents of his people, all the while watching over the waters of Lake Avalon.
He aged as naturally as a powerful sorcerer could, knowing the whole time that he could be young again whenever he wished but never really bothering to make the change. He had no reason to be young if there was no one to be young with. He tried to keep up with the changing world—often spending years studying different subjects. He thought of Gaius whenever he opened a book on modern medicine and never could keep from laughing at the healing methods he remembered from centuries before.
And whenever he felt his heart breaking beneath the weight of the endless years he could hear Arthur's voice softly whispering too him—telling him to never change.
He was still him.
But god how the world changed—faster and faster until it seemed to be spinning out of control. Reality rushing around him as he sat on the shores of Lake Avalon watching the water and remembering the greatest years of his long life—never losing faith that one day the world would grow so dark that his king would rise from the waters and return to his arms.
Even still, he wasn't quite prepared when it did.
Although magic was never truly lost from the land, it was pushed away by mankind slowly until it had been long forgotten. Merlin believed there was no one else left who could wield the true power of the old religion.
Perhaps the soul of the land itself had feared the end of magic, and had ripped open the veil between worlds and let the greatest forces in heaven and earth spill out. Or maybe it had been someone who knew the secrets of the ancient powers—whoever—or whatever that could possibly be.
For months civilization was torn apart in the chaos as spirits from the otherworld were released into this one. Even Merlin, the most powerful sorcerer to ever live, was helpless to stop the apocalypse when it was the forces of magic itself that had catalyzed it.
So he survived while the world collapsed into chaos, all the while watching the waters of Lake Avalon knowing that the King's Return would be soon.
Because Albion needed Arthur.
Because the world needed Arthur.
Arthur was asleep at last. His face was turned toward the fire and his angular features were casting shadows over his gently closed eyes. Merlin had tried drifting off a few times now but had ultimately failed. For the first time in centuries he really felt alive. Maybe it was just switching back to his youthful form for Arthur's sake, but every time his eyes flickered toward the sleeping king his heart skipped a beat and left his limbs feeling warm. He wasn't certain what he was feeling but only knew he hadn't experienced anything like it in all his time without Arthur.
Merlin had to try not to stare, manipulating the dying flames into shapes just to keep his eyes from straying to his sleeping companion. Every time he looked for too long, Arthur's face morphed into a memory and filled Merlin with familiar feelings of pain and regret. He also felt strange watching the young man as he slept.
The sorcerer happened to have his gaze on Arthur when the young king's eyes opened groggily. Merlin looked away quickly, hoping his king hadn't noticed. It was all so familiar, and for a moment it felt like they were on an adventure again, centuries in the past, with their horses tied up nearby and imminent danger ahead.
"Were you staring at me?" Arthur joked lazily and sat up. There were dark rings under his striking blue eyes—all the confusion was weighing heavily on him.
Merlin searched for the right retort but found nothing in his arsenal of what he needed Arthur to hear. All he managed was a quiet murmur. "I still can't believe you're here."
Arthur's smirk fell and he replied with a straight face and downcast eyes, "Neither can I."
They were silent again for a while. The horizon in the east was just beginning to turn light blue, changing the landscape into a forest of silhouettes. At last Arthur spoke again.
"So what does that make you then? Like One Thousand years old?"
A half smile crept across Merlin's face, "Yes." He replied. "Something like that."
Arthur chuckled, "You look pretty good for a-thousand."
"Was that a compliment?" Merlin turned to Arthur with a grin of fake surprise. He'd missed this more than he had thought.
Arthur snorted, "Don't flatter yourself Mer-lin." He drew out the young sorcerer's name as he often did when they bantered.
Merlin shrugged. "The sun's going to be up soon. We need to eat."
Arthur nodded in agreement and shifted into a more comfortable position, grunting slightly. Merlin wondered if the king was feeling the weight of his centuries in Avalon—or if that was even possible.
"I'll go into town when it gets a little lighter," Merlin said.
Arthur replied almost sternly "You're not going anywhere without me." Merlin would have to grow accustomed to the king barking orders at him again.
"Afraid I'm going to leave you here all alone?" The sorcerer teased as if Arthur had been fearing for himself. Merlin was bluffing though. He wasn't sure his king was ready for what lie beyond the shores of the lake.
The two met one another's eyes, Merlin's heart swelling with affection as Arthur pulled himself to his feet. The young warlock hadn't doubted for a second that Arthur thought himself brave enough to face this darkened world.
"You'll need a weapon." Merlin said, trying to smother the fondness in his tone.
He watched Arthur's hand fumble awkwardly at his empty sheath. The king raised his eyes to Merlin whose lips had curled into another smile.
"Where is it?" Arthur asked, "What happened to my sword?"
Merlin replied softly, "it's safe. It's been safe all this time."
He gave Arthur a nod then started off down the hill in as mysterious a way as he could manage. Merlin heard the king snort in sarcastic disbelief and knew Arthur was rolling his eyes, but moments later he heard the metallic jingling of armored footfalls trotting up behind him.
Merlin didn't want to step back into the icy water, but what choice did he have. He waded in while Arthur stood on the shore.
"Where are you going dollop-head?" The king's voice was lighthearted but brimming with something like concern. When Merlin didn't reply with more than a hand gesture, Arthur called again. "Merlin!?"
Merlin didn't have to speak, or even wait before the moonlight caught something rising out of the water. It was a fast, almost heroic gesture as the pale arm thrust the gleaming blade up from the depths. Excalibur was practically glowing as it reflected the moon on the water and the pale light of early morning. It split the night and sent ripples of magic out into the air.
A smile crept across Merlin's face. He'd been waiting a hundred lifetimes for this. Freya had been true to her title, keeping the enchanted blade for eternity while Albion awaited its king.
"Who—" Merlin heard Arthur's voice trail off in disbelief as the young sorcerer fastened his grip around the hilt and watched with a little bit of sadness as the white hand slid back below the silvery surface. But the Lady of the Lake was as eternal as the land itself and Merlin felt comforted by this.
As the young sorcerer turned, he found Arthur had splashed into the lake up to his knees and was staring with wide eyes as the spectacle he'd just witnessed.
"The lady of the Lake." Merlin nodded to the King, "The keeper of your sword."
Arthur shook his head slightly, his eyes running down the blade. Merlin saw the attachment there in his gaze as the once and future king ever-so-cautiously slid his fingers around the silvery hilt. The young man lifted it effortlessly from Merlin's grasp, his eyes never leaving the steel as he held it out, testing it as if to make sure it was still his own. Arthur grinned.
"I wish I could thank her." Arthur said, running his fingers ever so lightly over the blade.
"She knows." Merlin nodded, smiling to himself. He sized Arthur up, knowing it was time to introduce him to the world he'd awoken too—however desolate it might be.