A/N: Hey! So this is just a random little thing that popped up into my head. This idea is left open-ended, so if anyone wants to expand it on their own, feel free, but make sure to PM me, cuz of course I wanna read it! :D

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the show.

Rating: T

Characters: Arthur, Nimueh, George, Merlin, Freya (I know, interesting combination, huh?)

Pairings: Freylin, mentioned Arwen

Warnings: light swearing, unanswered questions, may or may not be a sequel, not Beta'd or proofread (too lazy again)

Title: 1500 Years Later…

Summary: Arthur has returned, as prophesied, but where is Merlin? And what has happened to him? Will anything ever be the same? And how can Arthur and Merlin complete their destiny now?

Arthur knew immediately upon awakening that he had overslept, he just didn't know how long he had, or what the consequences might be. But instead of waking up in his plush four poster in his chambers, like he had expected to, he awoke in a boat. A wooden boat.

Strange.

But perhaps the strangest thing of all was the heavy air of peace that surrounded him and the small island where his small boat had docked. It was warm and inviting, tempting the king to just lay back and sleep for a few days. There was a sense of belonging, and in truth, Arthur could never imagine leaving the place.

Shaking his head out of the trance he had fallen into, he tried to think back to the last thing he could remember, but it proved to be a challenge. After a few moments of hard thinking, he decided his efforts were futile and clambered out of the boat and onto the dry land. The small island he was docked on looked strangely familiar, as if he had seen it before. But where?

Then it hit him: the Isle of the Blessed. He had come here when Morgause had lured him and showed him the spirit of his mother in attempt to turn him against his father and weaken the kingdom. Thanks to Merlin's quick thinking, her plot was foiled, but –

Merlin.

Mordred.

Sword.

Merlin.

Isle of the Blessed.

Boat.

Merlin.

Damn.

Within seconds, the memories had returned to him and before he really had a chance to work them out, think on them, and process them, a voice rang out from behind him.

"Yes, my king. How the great have fallen. Your fall is the greatest of them all. Except perhaps for one."

Arthur immediately spun around and found himself facing a beautiful woman. She had dark brown hair, blood red lips and stunningly blue eyes that held nothing but contempt for the king. But there was something else in there as well. Was it…respect? He wasn't sure. It almost seemed as though she was being forced to work with him.

Then, he realized that, like this place, he had seen her before. She was the woman in the woods when he had gone on that quest for the Morteus flower all those years ago. She was the sorceress, the one who had tried to kill him. He vaguely wondered how she died. Because she had to be dead, if she was standing there talking to him.

"If it isn't the Last Face I'll Ever See," he greeted her. "What is it? What do you want? Where am I? And why am I here?"

"Your time has come," she answered (quite dramatically, in Arthur's opinion). "Albion's time of need has come and your coin is needed. You will rise again, and the time of Albion will start once more."

Arthur blinked. She hadn't answered his question in the slightest.

"However, your coin is nowhere near whole. One side is broken. Broken by all the sufferings he went through, all for nothing. It is now up to you, Arthur," she told him. "Emrys is no longer the servant. He gave everything he had and everything he was and he paid for it. He paid for it dearly. Now you must fix that which has been broken, or all will be lost."

"What do you mean?" he asked, shaking his head to show that he didn't understand. "What are you talking about?"

"You will return to the land of the living. You will find Emrys. And you will fix him, for without him, you are nothing. You are but two sides of a coin."

"But…but who's Emrys?" Arthur asked helplessly.

She sent him a mischievous smile. "You know."

"No, I don…," but Arthur trailed off, an image fixed in his mind, an image of a familiar secret sorcerer. He sighed. Everything always came back to his friend, didn't it? "Merlin. It's Merlin, isn't it?"

The woman nodded. "Find him. Fix him. Help him. Or all will be lost."

"Lost? What will be lost? And how am I supposed to find him? I can't imagine him going back to Camelot after my death."

The woman smiled as if Arthur had said something amusing. Then she turned and…vanished. Just like that. Arthur blinked again, then looked at the small boat. Shrugging, he clambered in, and just when he was wondering how he would move the stupid thing, it began to move of his own accord.

But halfway to the shore, things suddenly changed. It was as if he had gone through some sort of magical shield and into a different world. He felt it as a chill that ran down his spine. Mentally waving it off as nerves, he peered towards the shore.

His eyes widened as he spotted giant…metal…things. He didn't know what else to call them. They were giant metal boxes with wheels attached to the bottom. They zipped over a dirt road by themselves, without even a horse or ox to pull them. But what drew Arthur's attention was the metal. It was shinier than anything he had ever seen in his life. It reflected the afternoon sun, almost blinding him. His mind instantly jumped to the word "magic," but this time, he wasn't sure if it had a negative, positive, or neutral connotation to it.

And there was something else, something about the air. The air was thicker than he remembered it, and much warmer too. Arthur debated pulling off his chainmail when he realized…he had none on. Instead, he wore a black tunic over some strange blue trousers. They seemed to be of very fine quality and he wondered where he had gotten them.

Eventually, he came to a stop on the shore in front of one of one of the large, black, shiny, black boxes. He was about to ask the man standing in front of it a question (he didn't know what question; perhaps he should start with: which way is Camelot?) when he realized he recognized the man. He was standing up straight and proud, staring straight ahead, at attention, as if waiting for an order. The man was wearing a strange assortment of clothes: a white collared shirt, a black jacket, black trousers, and a strange knot at his throat. It kind of reminded him of a flower. When he spotted Arthur, he bent forward in an elaborate bow. The king wished he had a goblet.

"Sire," said George. "It's been a while. The Lady of the Lake and the High Priestess have restored my life for a small amount of time, given that I show you what the world is now like."

Arthur tried for a smile, though he was very aware that it probably turned out as a grimace. Well, at least that was one problem solved.

"Of course," Arthur replied. "You can tell me all about it on our way to Camelot."

"I'm afraid that is not possible, sire," he responded, still staring straight ahead. Arthur wondered what would happen if someone were to tell the man he wasn't looking proper enough.

Then the words registered. "Excuse me?"

"I have direct orders, sire," said George. "And it is no longer physically possible to return to Camelot."

Arthur didn't like the sound of that at all. "What on Earth are you talking about?"

George seemed to deflate, his posture sagging so he no longer looked the perfect servant. His tone was resigned. "Perhaps you should get in the car."

Arthur frowned. "The what?"

George stepped back and gestured at the black, shiny box. "This is called a car. I'll explain on the way. Why don't you get in?"

"The way? The way to where?"

George went over and opened a door, revealing the lush interior inside what Arthur had dubbed "car." The former manservant glanced at his king and replied, "Your estate, of course, sire."

This "estate" that Arthur apparently owned was nothing more than a manor. Arthur wasn't used to manors, and by his previous living experience, this one was tiny. It had only about a dozen rooms total and the grounds didn't even deserve to be called "grounds."

And on top of that, the manor was dirty and musty, as if it hadn't been lived in for several hundred years. So, Arthur couldn't even live in his tiny manor. Instead, he resided in a "hotel" with George. This hotel was filled with many extravagant things, but also many things he had no knowledge of – like a "microwave" and a "refrigerator." And it was small. Even more so than the bloody mini manor.

Arthur also found that this hotel also housed many other guests, people whom he had no relation with. Some would smile and glance at him, a few women sending him suggestive smirks.

And oh, the women.

When Arthur had first seen them, he had thought he had stumbled into a world full of prostitutes and for a moment, he had no doubt why Albion needed a king once more. Really, the women here wore little clothing at all. They wore trousers so short that there was little left to the imagination. And some of their shirts looked as if a griffin had sliced down the middle, revealing far too much of their breasts. Arthur saw not one woman in a dress that day.

George, seeing his expression, had patiently explained that this was now the fashion and that it was not dishonorable for a woman to wear clothes such as those. He also explained that it was also not dishonorable for an unwedded woman to bear a child.

Then the manservant launched into explanations of women's rights. These rights allowed them to own land, have a voice in the government, vote (for what? A Prime Minister, of course!), and other things. Arthur, for one, had no idea if he should be appalled or impressed.

The idea that women now had absolutely no shame was appalling. Where was the honor in all of this? But then again, from what George was saying, it seemed women had taken matters into their own hands. It seemed that women were proving themselves to be just as capable as men, even fighting alongside men in wars (Arthur's eyes widened when George mentioned this. "What?! What if they were to be injured? What happened to chivalry?")

George also attempted to explain new inventions that had come about while he had been sleeping on the Isle. There were obviously cars, "airplanes," "cruise liners," "trains," "computers," "the internet," "cellphones," "phones," "television," "Americans," and a few other things that went completely over his head.

And after about two weeks of solid studying and learning, he was able to go out into the world without George at his side (thank the gods…). And though he would sometimes get confused on what certain objects were for or what certain terms meant, he now knew enough not to be given a strange look. Arthur took that as a huge accomplishment.

But one day, George loaded Arthur in his car and decided to drive him somewhere. He wouldn't tell Arthur where they were going, claiming it was "a surprise," and the former king had a sinking feeling that it had something to do with brass, which was still George's favorite conversation topic.

"Where are we going?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that."

"Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise, my lord."

Arthur suddenly perked up, an idea of where they might be headed, presenting itself. He turned towards his manservant eagerly. "We're returning to Camelot, aren't we?"

George suddenly had that defeated look about him again and Arthur felt himself go cold.

"What is it?" he asked, dreading the answer.

George took a steadying breath, his eyes locked on the road. "I'm afraid you won't like what I have to say, your grace."

"Spit it out, George," Arthur snapped.

George closed his eyes for a moment, only a moment. "Camelot…is no more, sire."

Blind, confused panic muddled Arthur's thoughts. "What? Surely you must be mistaken."

George shook his head. "Sadly, I am not, my lord. Camelot is nothing more than a myth in the minds of men. A kingdom that exists only in tales passed from father to son. Your kingdom, our Camelot, fell shortly after your queen died, roughly one thousand, five hundred years ago."

Arthur felt dizzy. He had never asked how long he had been dead because frankly, he didn't want to know. Because of all the new technology and inventions, he had guessed that he had been dead for a while, but his estimate would have been around three hundred years. But one thousand five hundred years? That, that was just…

And Camelot was gone. The kingdom he had tried so hard to build was gone and long dead, along with its people. He had died, left his widowed wife to rule, and then the kingdom fell. He put his head in his hands, letting a small anguished groan escape from his throat.

"Have no fear, sire. I think I have something that may lift your spirits yet."

Arthur looked up at his manservant with a doubtful expression. "Really? And what could possibly do that?"

"That is where we are going sire. Somewhere where, hopefully, faith in yourself can be restored," replied George.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "I have plenty faith in myself."

"I have no doubt, sire," he answered automatically.

Arthur rolled his eyes and resumed his gaze out the window, letting his thoughts wander. He had little time for that, however, as mere moments later, they pulled into a parking lot of what looked to be a library. The former king turned to his manservant.

"A library?" he said, an eyebrow raised. "You've brought me to a library?"

"Oh, you haven't seen anything yet, my lord," George assured him with a self-satisfied grin. He gestured for Arthur to lead the way. With a roll of his eyes, the king did just that. Together, they entered the small library where George instantly took the lead, Arthur following bemusedly on his heels.

A few minutes later, the man seemed to find the isle he was looking for and beckoned for Arthur to come forward. He held an arm out, gesturing to the mass collection of books.

"My lord, I present you a collection of books all retaining to the Arthurian Legend."

It took a moment for Arthur to process what George had just said, and a few moments more to put together that his name, Arthur, and Arthurian sounded awfully alike. Not daring to believe it, he looked around with wide eyes.

"What – what…?" He cleared his throat and asked in a more dignified tone, "These legends…what do contain?"

George was watching the king fondly, something that Arthur found slightly disturbing. "They speak of a land of myth and a time of magic," he replied. "They speak of a great kingdom called Camelot, the chivalrous Knights of the Round Table, and a King Arthur, the mightiest of them all. To this day, sire, your legacy lives. And it will not fade so easily from the minds of men."

Arthur eyed the books dazedly in front of him. He cautiously stepped forward and ran a finger down the spine of a book that was titled, "The Legend of King Arthur." A book, about him. The thought was believable, considering that he was a king. But this many years into the future? One thousand years? The thought was dizzying and humbling. With a small huff of laughter, he realized that he must've done something right.

He was about to pluck one of the books from the shelves when something out of the corner of his eye waved out to him. He looked up, glancing at the marker labeling the section "Arthur." Next to it was another section, labeled, "Knights of the Round Table," and as Arthur looked, he recognized the names of all the knights he had had, and a few that he didn't. Arthur noticed a few other sections: "Scandal," "History," "Culture," and finally… "Merlin."

This section intrigued Arthur, since it was just as large as Arthur's own section. It was also slightly astonishing that there had been books written about Merlin, seeing as how he was only Arthur's manservant. In his last days, it had been revealed that Merlin had been a sorcerer all along and had fought and sacrificed everything for Arthur and his kingdom. And Arthur also came to realize that, really, he hadn't been the one to make all the tough decisions. Instead, it had been Merlin. The fate of the kingdom had ultimately fallen down to Merlin, because Merlin could've wiped it out or taken it from Arthur any time he wanted, really. Yet he thought he, along with maybe three others had been the only people who had actually known of Merlin's secret abilities. He had no idea that Merlin would become this famous, this well known, and from the looks of it, liked.

Well, he reasoned, it wasn't all that hard to like Merlin. In fact, he admitted, it was kind of hard to dislike him. Merlin had always been so open and honest and himself (well, he supposed, not entirely) and happy. His bright smile could light up a room and cause the maids in the room to swoon. Merlin went bumbling along, acting his idiotic self, yet there was something endearing about it all. Merlin was a friend you wanted to hold onto forever – which wasn't that hard because once you earned a place in Merlin's heart, he would go to hell and back for whatever you so much as desired.

Hesitantly, he opened a book up and flipped to the first page…and laughed. Merlin was depicted as an old man, the same man on the hill at Camlann. It was actually quite amusing to see his best friend in long, dress-like robes and a long white beard. Oh, when he found Merlin, he would never let him live this down.

"I was supposed to find him…," Arthur suddenly remembered.

"Forgive me sire?" said George, placing a book back in its proper place and turning to give Arthur his utmost attention.

"Merlin," said Arthur, no longer mumbling. "The woman on the Isle. She told me I needed to seek him out…or all would be lost."

There was something on George's face at the mention of Arthur's greatest friend that scared him. It was almost…sadness? Pity? He wasn't quite sure what it was, but it scared Arthur right to the bone.

"What?" he asked quickly. "What is it?"

George opened and closed his mouth, then seemed to finally decide on what to say.

"My lord, there is something you may want to know."

"Well then…? Spit it out."

George swallowed. "The Arthurian Legends are legends for a reason. They were first written down a thousand and a half years ago by our very own Geoffrey of Monmouth. But over the years, the legends have been translated and passed down from word of mouth, twisting and disfiguring the tale so that it was nearly unrecognizable. In most versions of the Arthurian myth, it says that Merlin was trapped in a tree or a cave by Morgana (in reality, it was a cave) and died there, which was the ultimate cause of your doom. However, Merlin was not killed by Morgana."

Arthur nodded. "I should know. I was there when he slayed her."

George sighed. "Sire…what I'm trying to say is…Merlin…he never died."

Arthur furrowed his brow in confusion, not entirely sure what the other man was getting at. "I don't understand."

There was a silence while George stared at the floor, looking extremely uncomfortable. "Sire…the Druids call Merlin 'Emrys.' This name means 'immortal' in the old tongue, and… Merlin lives up to that legacy."

If George kept doing this, he was going to give Arthur a heart attack, or a mental breakdown at least. Arthur simply stood there, staring at the bookshelves in front of him, but not really seeing them. Instead, his mind was focused on his friend, possibly the kindest, gentlest, sweetest, most honorable man to ever walk the Earth. What had the lad done to ever deserve this? Arthur couldn't imagine what it would be like to live for a thousand years, to watch the endless cycle of life and death, to watch the brutality that was the human race. To Merlin, it must've been ten times worse. Merlin's life centered around his friends. He'd rather die a thousand times than to stand by and let an innocent person suffer.

Something clicked right then. Merlin was a strong man, stronger than even him or any one of the knights. But he couldn't handle this. No one, no matter how strong, all powerful sorcerer or not, could ever withstand that kind of torture. All these years alone must've taken its toll on the man. And though Arthur tried his best to deny it, he knew it would've broken him long long ago.

Suddenly, the woman's words seemed more important than ever. He turned to his new manservant wide-eyed, wishing it were Merlin who stands there, not George.

"We must find Merlin."

George nodded grimly.

They searched for three months, going from town to pub, to village, to city. There was no sign of Merlin.

What Arthur had dubbed "the Manor" had finally been restored, and though Arthur still thought it small, he couldn't help but admit that it was lavish. It even had its own collection of books on the Arthurian legend, which Arthur couldn't get enough of.

It was strange enough to read a collection of books centered around yourself, but Arthur soon discovered that George hadn't been joking when he had told Arthur that the legends weren't all that accurate. In fact, it seemed like the only things the legends managed to get right were the names. And sometimes, even those were a challenge.

But the one thing that bothered Arthur the most was his "affair with Morgana." Now that was truly disgusting.

After reading an entire book on that, he slammed it shut and threw it across the room, rubbing his aching and abused eyes. Getting to his feet, he hurried from the room, grabbed a coat, keys, yelled something to George about going out, and practically ran to the car.

He drove for a few miles, not really sure where he was going. Spotting a quaint park, he stopped, got out, then collapsed on a bench, watching as the children played on the playground.

He sat there, lost in thought for a while, thoughts usually always returning to two people: his beloved Guinevere…and Merlin.

Emrys. The Immortal.

Then something distracted him. From out of one of the nearby neighborhoods, a young couple came running, holding hands and laughing too much to really be running all that fast.

The young man, who couldn't have been older than twenty-two, tugged on the girl's hand, effectively stopping both of them. They laughed for a bit, saying a few things that Arthur couldn't hear from where he was watching. Then, they pressed their heads together and shared a short, chaste kiss. They then held hands again and the boy walked the girl to a car. They talked for a few minutes more before the young girl entered the car and drove off, waving to the boy who waved back. After she was gone, the boy shoved his hands into his jean pockets, and still smiling, started down the small path. He was now at an angle where Arthur could see his face.

The king nearly fainted.

Merlin looked everything he used to be, except of course, for the fact that he was now wearing different clothes. He was wearing a blue shirt under a ridiculous, but somehow fashionable red scarf. He wore dark trousers and a brown hoodie and brown trainers. But Arthur was not focusing on his clothing in the least.

He looked the same, which brought tears to Arthur's eyes. He had an idiotic smile on his face, the same that could light up any room or make just about any girl fall for him. He walked with that same walk that was guaranteed to get him to trip at least three times a day. He had those same ridiculous ears that resembled that of a monkey's. But the thing that really made moisture spring to his eyes was the eyes. Those same deep blue orbs that shone with innocence and curiosity, but with a hint of wisdom and sadness.

As if in a trance, Arthur stood up slowly from the bench, still staring at his friend who still hadn't spotted him yet. Slowly walking around the bench, he approached Merlin, still walking and staring as if in a trance, but getting faster as he got closer to the young man.

Before he knew it, he was running.

"Merlin!" he yelled, tears blurring his eyes (though he would never admit it, even on pain of death). Then, surprising even himself, he threw himself onto Merlin, wrapping his arms around the young man who had gone stiff as a board. He clutched his friend to his chest tightly, seeking his comfort. He needed something real, something from his past life besides George. He needed something familiar. He needed an old friend, someone to poke fun at him, someone who could assure him that he wasn't mad – then proceed drive him mad. He…he needed Merlin.

He pulled back and gripped Merlin by the shoulders. He smiled at his old friend.

"Idiot," he said fondly.

Merlin stared at him in a mixture of shock and confusion which Arthur figured was only disbelief and denial at seeing Arthur alive and well again. Arthur shook him slightly.

"Well, are you just going to stand there like a bumbling fool, Merlin?"

Merlin blinked, the shock now completely gone, replaced by confusion and alarm. Arthur stepped back automatically, thinking that he had hurt the young warlock in some way.

"Merlin?" he asked hesitantly. He tensed, ready to catch his friend if he decided to pass out on him.

Merlin, looking thoroughly confused, shook his head. Arthur felt his heart sink in dread, but the next few words Merlin said completely broke his heart.

"Um, sorry, but…who are you?"

A/N: I know, I know, you hate me:) I'm just evil like that. As mentioned before, I'm not sure if I'll do a sequel to this...it was just something I had in my head… Hope you guys liked it!

Until Next Time,

~theAnonymousParadox