A/N

Trigger warnings for this chapter include the talk of death, suicide, and loss.

Arthur wasn't sure what woke him up. One moment he was sleeping a deep, blissfully dreamless sleep, and the next he was awake and staring across the room. There was a small window that was letting light seep onto the floor through a partially opened curtain, and with that light he could see Merlin.

The warlock was slumped on the floor, his head tilted against the wall, and his eyes were half open slits that stared into nothing. His knees were propping up his arms, and if Arthur hadn't been able to see the slight rise and fall of the other man's chest, he would have been concerned that he was dead.

"Go to bed." His voice came out louder than he intended in the quiet room and Merlin jolted, his eyes widening as he tipped over sideways and caught himself with one hand planted firmly on the floor.

Blinking a few times, the warlock stared at Arthur as the blond gave him his best royal glare. "You're exhausted. Go get some rest instead of sitting out here creeping about like some obsessed stalker." Or like a good friend. It reminded Arthur of another time that Merlin refused to sleep and stayed nearby, right outside his door.

"I'm fine." The warlock replied, his voice a hoarse croak that was followed by a yawn that he hurried to try and hide.

Arthur sat up with an irritated sigh and stared at him. "Merlin."

Instead of ducking his head or refusing him again, Merlin just smiled. Really, it was more of a grin.

"I haven't heard you say my name like that in a long time." He said by way of explanation as Arthur's lips pressed together tightly.

"Would you just go?" He mumbled, watching as Merlin's eyes flickered briefly towards his bedroom before he nodded once.

The warlock took all of three steps before lingering in the doorway. "You should try and sleep more too."

Arthur only waved his hand towards him in response, and Merlin nodded again before disappearing into the room, not quite closing the door all the way behind him. Sighing, the blond leaned back and snatched his phone off the table, brightening the screen and squinting at the sudden light in his face.

It was just past eight in the morning. He had a class in less than an hour. He wasn't going to make it this time, even if he wanted to. He'd only slept for four hours, and he dreaded the thought of sitting through another lecture with so little sleep.

Sliding his thumb up on the screen, Arthur's eyes scanned his notifications before they caught on two new messages from his father. One from the night before, and one just a few minutes ago. Maybe the buzzing from that was what had woken him up.

Unlocking the screen and going to his messages, Arthur frowned at the number of texts he had recently ignored from his father. Scrolling up, Arthur looked for the first message after his last response, which had been four days ago.

'How are your classes coming?'

'There's a meeting in two days just after your afternoon class. It's with some of the shareholders and you are required to be there.'

'I tried calling you, why aren't you answering?'

'I know your class schedule, there is no reason you should not be answering my calls Arthur.'

Grimacing to himself, Arthur continued through them, wincing with each message that grew angrier the longer he left them unanswered.

'Why weren't you there? I specifically told you that you were required to be present at this meeting.'

'Pick up your phone Arthur.'

'You can't keep ignoring me OR your responsibilities to this family.'

'ANSWER YOUR PHONE.'

Along with the several messages were a multitude of missed calls, two of which he'd received that morning. As he scrolled through, his phone lit up again and began to buzz in his hand. Displayed on his screen was his father's number and a photo of the two of them when Arthur was ten. It was the only picture he had of the two of them smiling together, and it was over a decade old.

Pressing the silence button and letting it ring quietly, Arthur placed his phone on the table again and dug the palms of his hands into his eyes. He couldn't keep avoiding it, but things were different now. How was he supposed to go back to how things were, how was he supposed to run a cooperation, when he had just learned who he used to be?

Things made more sense now though. He was destined to take over from his father who had created a legacy. Businesses and cooperations and joint ventures. An entire empire. A kingdom. And Arthur was to take it over and make his father proud. History always seemed to find a way of repeating itself it seemed.

Arthur had never been sure about his role in that though. He'd had his doubts, wished to do other things, but always the good son he'd done his duty. He'd taken the classes he was told to, studied what was needed, and soon he'd have the degree that was required before moving full time into his father's company. But this wasn't the first time he'd doubted, or the first time he'd felt as if his life weren't his own.

Flopping over on the couch, Arthur stared across the room and tried to close his eyes. Every time he did though the reality of the situation pressed over him, and his eyes flew back open.

Sleep wasn't going to come easy to him again, was it? Maybe he just needed to splash his face with water, wash away the lingering thoughts and focus on the here and now. A here and now that was admittedly stuck fairly far in the past.

Sitting up and throwing his legs over the side of the couch, Arthur pushed himself up and strode for the second door, carefully pulling it open. He expected the darkness, but he also expected a small room. Fumbling with the light switch on the wall to his right, Arthur finally managed to flip it on and stood in shock.

He thought the room was the bathroom, but the second door had led straight to an office. Confused, Arthur slipped inside and spotted another door at the end of the room on the right. Walking over and carefully pulling it open, he was relieved to find the bathroom. Although that room also had a second door.

Curiosity got the better of him, and in seconds Arthur was pulling open that door too. The next room was dark, save from the light filtering through from where he was standing in the bathroom. Arthur could make out two small tables on either side of a large bed, and in the middle of that bed Merlin was sprawled, completely passed out with one arm hugging a pillow.

Quietly closing the door and bypassing the sink, Arthur found himself standing in the middle of the office. On one side of the room was an old oak desk with books stacked on one end and a lamp on the other. Next to it were two large bookcases that were filled to bursting with books. They all seemed to range from old to new, with some of the books coated in such a thick layer of dust that Arthur couldn't even read the titles.

The only other thing in the room was a large wooden wardrobe, with intricate designs carved on the doors. Arthur had never considered himself to be one to snoop per say, but as he opened the wardrobe doors and peeked inside, he knew his curiosity was too strong. However, the entire inside of the wardrobe, which was much smaller than it had looked, was disappointingly empty.

The man made to close the doors and then paused, remembering all the hidden places there had once been inside the Citadel in Camelot. Leaning inside and running his hands over the sides and back paneling, Arthur heard a soft click, and as he leaned away a false back swung open, revealing several shadows inside.

On the bottom and stacked neatly on the floor were three old chests, each unlatched but covered in the same thick layer of dust as the books had been. Near the top was a single shelf completely filled with leather bound journals. They were all exactly the same, except that the ones on the far left were covered in dust while the ones on the right looked almost new.

And there, hanging off to the side, was the only article of clothing in the whole thing. It was faded and dusty, but still such a brilliant shade of red that Arthur's breath caught in his throat.

His hand moved on its own, reaching for the fabric which felt brittle and old beneath his fingertips. As he pulled it out to get a better view, a sadness so strong and sudden washed over him, making his knees shake. It was his cloak. His knight's cloak from Camelot.

It had been one thing to remember, but to physically hold a piece of his past was heartbreaking. He couldn't even imagine what it felt like for Merlin. How had he held onto it for all this time?

Twisting the cloak around, Arthur began searching for the once familiar insignia. Instead, there was a gaping hole where it should have been. Startled, Arthur carefully hung the old fabric back up, trying not to think of how it had become ruined over the years. It made him think too much about what else had been changed or ruined or lost. His friends. Family. Guinevere.

A sudden pain in his chest made the man pause, sucking in a shallow breath. Glancing towards Merlin's bedroom, Arthur cut his eyes between the door and the chests stacked along the floor of the wardrobe. He knew he shouldn't be snooping, but how much of his old life was in those boxes? He couldn't help himself; it was like those things were drawing him closer, and he couldn't say no.

Stepping forward and grabbing the first chest, Arthur lifted it and pulled it out into the room, easing back the lid while he did. He wasn't sure what he expected to find inside them, but what was there looked as if it all belonged in a museum.

There were scraps of old, yellowed parchment. There were vials that were cracked and had weathered looking cork stoppers. There were old items of clothing, carefully wrapped books, and what looked like an old, tarnished necklace of Guinevere's.

Carefully replacing the items that he had pulled out, Arthur put the lid back on and set the chest back with the other two. He took it back; he didn't want to see what else Merlin had collected through time. All of the items looked as if they'd either been kept in storage a long time or had been scavenged with how damaged and dirty they were. Either option made Arthur depressed.

All that was left in the wardrobe was the shelf of journals, and while the man stood there looking at them, he firmly told himself no. He wasn't going to snoop or look at them. It wasn't his right, and that was crossing a line. There couldn't be anything in those that pertained to him. Not one thing. So he wouldn't open them. He wouldn't read them. Unless they spoke of his old life. Well, alright. Maybe just one. Maybe just a peek.

He hated himself already, but still his hand reached for the very first one, the one covered in the most dust. The first page was dated so many years ago that Arthur could hardly breathe. The first line on the first page made his eyes burn with tears.

'Arthur died last week.'

His breath caught in his throat, and Arthur fought back the memories of his last moments, his last words, his last breath. Turning the page, he found a date that was three years later than the first.

'We said goodbye to Gaius today. He was given a beautiful burial thanks to Gwen.'

Swallowing, Arthur skimmed his finger down the scrawled writing he'd once known so well, reading briefly about how his friend's mentor had died, and how Merlin had taken over his duties for a time. Flipping several pages past, Arthur's eyes skimmed over various entries through the years.

'Leon was killed in battle today. He was the last original knight, and he died with honor while protecting the queen.'

'Gwen stepped down from the throne today. There are no more Pendragons to rule. Camelot has been on the brink of war for so long and today the enemy has finally won. It broke her heart as much as it broke mine. I thought for sure Arthur would have returned for this final battle. It's the greatest we've ever had. This loss won't hurt Gwen for long though, we both know that her time is soon.'

'I told Gwen today. About my magic. About the magic I've had all along. And she laughed.'

Frowning, Arthur stopped himself from flipping another page and focused on the entry, bringing the journal closer.

'She told me that she had always known. I was rubbish at hiding it, apparently. She never told a soul. Even when she married Arthur she kept my secret, afraid for my life. We spent the evening telling stories from when we were young. She asked if I would live forever, and I told her the truth. I told her that Arthur was destined to return, and she smiled. She also cried. She never remarried. She loved him so much.'

Tears were falling down his face now, and Arthur didn't even care. He had loved her so much, but he'd never meant for her to never love another again.

Arthur continued to thumb through that first journal, going slower as his heart broke a little more with each death he read about. Finally, everyone they once knew and loved was gone, as were their children, and Merlin had secluded himself in a cabin near the lake. Camelot was in ruins, and magic had never returned. He was in hiding, and he was protecting. He would be there when Arthur returned, his words promised it.

Closing the journal, Arthur swallowed down his emotions and carefully selected another one, a few down from the first. Years had passed, decades, and Merlin continued writing. He spoke of wars that raged around him, of deaths and plagues and famines. Merlin spoke of his cabin burning, and the things that he had so carefully preserved from his life in Camelot had been destroyed or burned beyond recognition.

Arthur glanced into the wardrobe again at that part, taking in the things that Merlin had salvaged in a new light. How long had he tried to keep those things safe, guarded them as if they were his life? In how many ways were those things actually his life?

Continuing to flip through the pages, another entry caught the man's eye, and he slowed down to read it.

'Her name was Maria. I've never been able to bring myself to write about her before now, but the memories are fading, though the pain remains the same. I can't bear to lose the thought of her, so I'll write the things I loved about her here. Maybe one day when the pain has lessened, I can look back at these thoughts fondly. Maybe one day.'

Arthur blinked at the smudges near the end of the entry, his fingers carefully moving over the dots that curled the pages. Tears. Merlin had been crying as he wrote.

'She was young. In her early twenties. Maybe not young back then, but young to me. She was beautiful, with golden hair and eyes as green as the forests in Camelot once were. She was kind, but ferocious over those that she loved. Over me. I loved her. I told her who I was, and she had heard the legends. That's what we were back then, legends of great men. We existed. We lived. We reigned.'

Turning the page carefully, more spots where the ink had bled down the page were evident, but Arthur wondered if it was from when it was first written, or from being reread.

'She never judged me for my magic, or for not intervening when the first war broke out. People died, and I felt like I should have helped. But my Maria, she told me that I could have changed things too much. That people had gone without magic for this long, and they could stand to go without it now. Her soul was wise and sometimes felt older than my own. God. I miss her.'

Running the tip of his tongue over his dry lips, a sense of dread washed over Arthur as he realized what was coming.

'She died. She died in my arms. Just like Arthur. Just like Gaius. Everyone I love keeps dying. I thought she could live. I thought I could keep her alive. But my magic failed me again. I could not heal her. The disease in her bones grew and overtook her from the inside out before I even knew it was happening. She died. I couldn't save her, and she died.'

Arthur couldn't imagine living for as long as he had, losing person after person after person. It would have destroyed him.

The next book that Arthur chose was just as heartbreaking, but in a different way. Merlin's writing had turned dark, depressive. He'd distanced himself from others, allowed himself to barely survive, only getting through each day because of his belief that Arthur would return. Soon. It had to be soon. But as Arthur flipped back to the first page and checked the date, he felt ill. It was still a few hundred years before he would.

Halfway through the stack of journals Arthur found a brief entry about Merlin finding another woman. Someone that he loved. Someone he had married.

The entries became less frequent after that, and when he did write, they held more hope. They sounded more like the Merlin he knew. And then it happened. She died.

'She wouldn't let me help her. She wanted to age gracefully, and she wanted to go naturally. I offered to help her, to ease the pain at least, and she told me no. She never believed that my magic was wrong, or evil, but she also didn't want any part of it. For so long we lived our lives as if it wasn't even there. And then at the end she told me to stay strong. To go without her and live. And now that she's gone all I can think is I can't. I can't. I can't.'

Arthur quickly shut the journal, his chest heaving. He never should have read them. He didn't want to know. He never wanted to know. But how could he have done this? Because it was his fault. Merlin had been waiting for him.

Despite hating what he was reading, as Arthur replaced the journal he chose another, four from the end, and pulled it close. He didn't have to skim long before finding another entry that tore his heart to pieces.

'I saw him today. He stood on the edge of the pavilion's ledge. He had his back to me, but I knew it was Arthur, there was no denying it. I called out to him, but he didn't move, didn't respond. I rushed over, because the wind was strong today and I didn't want him to fall. But that's what happened. He fell. He just threw out his arms and fell forward. I heard people screaming, running for the ledge, but I got there first.

When I looked over he was on the ground, blood haloed around his head. Only his hair was black, not blond. And he had a beard. It wasn't Arthur after all. I keep seeing him everywhere nowadays, even when he couldn't possibly be there. But Arthur or not, that man, it was still another person I failed to save.'

If Arthur could go back he would have changed everything. He would've fought harder to understand magic. To understand Merlin. He would've treated him better; he would've treated him as more than a servant. He would've treated him like the close friend that he was.

Arthur would have told him not to do it, too. Not to wait. He wasn't worth it. Whatever destiny Merlin thought he had wasn't worth it, not for this kind of pain.

Arthur felt drained from all the reading, but as he replaced the one in his hands, his eyes fell to the very last journal. Reaching for it, the man didn't bother with skimming, he simply flipped to the end and backtracked, finding the most recent entry near the middle of the journal.

He was surprised to find that the date was the previous evening, just hours before they had run into each other. Sitting down on the floor and leaning his back against the door of the wardrobe, Arthur's fingers trailed over the lines as he read.

'I don't know that I can do this anymore. I write that a lot, and I think it even more, but it's been so hard the last few months. I haven't been able to get out of bed. I'm not eating. I can barely function. After Lucy, after Edward and Emelia, I can't anymore. I just can't.

I have an old recipe from years ago, and I rebrewed it earlier this month. I didn't think I'd use it, really. It was more of a way to cope. But now I think it's time. I've waited for Arthur for so long. So long. I've lived through wars and life and death and I'm tired. Lonely. Broken. I hate myself for even considering this, and I'll hate myself more if I follow through. But I cannot do this anymore.

No one will miss me. I haven't shown up for classes in so long that I'm certain the university won't notice. Won't be bothered. I never made friends this time around, and maybe that was my downfall. I just couldn't bear the thought of losing them again. Of pretending I have nothing more to worry about than good grades and finding a good job after.

I want to see the fountain in the park one last time though. It's beautiful, and it calms me on my worst nights. Maybe it will calm me this time. Maybe I won't go through with it if I'm there. Or maybe it will give me the peace I need to finally end my time.

Arthur, if you do return, if you find these, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't stay and wait. I'm sorry for failing you. Back in Camelot before you died, and now, when you've returned. I should've fought harder. Been stronger. I pray that you'll succeed in doing what I could not. In returning magic and reclaiming your land. I'm sorry, my friend, for not being there when you return. I hope that you will forgive me.'

Tears, again, were dripping down the man's face, and he hurried to smother the half sob that started to choke out of him. He couldn't believe it. He couldn't. How could this be happening? His chest felt tight, and his heart was breaking.

"You don't understand the meaning of privacy, do you?" Merlin's harsh voice cut through the silence and caused Arthur to jolt, his fingers tightening around the journal as his eyes lifted.

The warlock stood in the doorway from the living room, his hair a bedraggled mess, his arms folded over his chest, and an accusatory glare in his eyes.

"Merlin—"

"Were you just waiting for me to sleep so that you could rifle through my things?"

Blinking, Arthur slowly lowered the book. He'd never hear Merlin be so venomous towards him before. "You left them for me." Was all he could manage to say, lifting the most recent journal as Merlin's eyes narrowed, and then realization dawned.

"How much did you read?"

"Not a lot."

"Arthur."

"Okay. A lot." The man sighed, glancing down at his lap as he tried to formulate his next thought. "I couldn't seem to help myself, which isn't an excuse but.. you were going to kill yourself. Tonight. Before you found me."

All the energy seemed to drain out of Merlin as the warlock sagged against the doorframe. With the light framing his body, Arthur took a moment to look at him, to really look at him.

He wore grey sweatpants, a black shirt, and thick socks. With his arms folded, Arthur could see faint scars decorating his arms, some long and deep and white, and some thin and small and pink. Merlin was also more muscular than Arthur remembered, and with the scruff on his face, his longer and messier hair, and the deep sadness in his eyes, the warlock was almost unrecognizable.

"Sometimes remembering wasn't enough."

Until he spoke. Then he sounded just like his old self. Just like Merlin.

Turning his back to the blond abruptly, the warlock walked through his bathroom and into the bedroom, and for a minute Arthur thought that was it. He'd said all he was going to.

"I needed something tangible." Then his voice suddenly echoed through the rooms, and a moment later Merlin reappeared, holding the scarf he'd been wearing the previous night in both hands. "I needed something with me every day as a reminder."

Tossing the scrap of fabric towards him, Arthur caught it in one hand. Carefully setting the journal on the floor beside him, the blond pulled open the scarf, and his breath caught in his throat.

He'd thought it was just one of those strange neckerchiefs that Merlin had always liked to wear but hidden out of sight within the folds of the fabric was an old, gold insignia. Camelot's insignia, cut carefully from his cloak and fashioned into a scarf. Merlin had been carrying around a piece of Arthur, of Camelot, all this time. And it still wasn't enough.

"You weren't here, and I didn't know if you'd ever truly return." Merlin admitted softly, standing in front of Arthur now and staring off into space. "I couldn't do it anymore. The mindless wandering, the never knowing. Being alone." Merlin's gaze dropped to the floor then, and Arthur tightened his hold on the scarf.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Merlin shook his head, finally meeting his friend's gaze. "It's over now, all that waiting, so it doesn't matter."

"But it does."

"No, it doesn't." He sounded tired but firm, and Arthur felt the weight of a thousand lives held in those old eyes of his. "It doesn't and it can't, because right now we have bigger things to worry about."

And there it was. The other shoe dropping. Arthur had hoped for more than four hours of sleep before needing to deal with his new world crashing down around his ears. Then again, when had he ever been that lucky before?

"What do you mean?" He asked warily as Merlin dug his phone from his pocket.

"It's the reason I woke up and came to find you." As he held out his phone, all Arthur could make out was a news alert on the notification screen. "Come on." The warlock motioned, walking out of the office and back into his sitting room.

Taking a moment to replace the journal and to set the scarf on the desk, Arthur followed his friend and found him turning on his television, quickly skimming through the channels. Finally finding the right one, Merlin lowered the remote and turned up the volume.

'—returned from her journey and brought back quite a few new finds that she has graciously donated to the new exhibit.'

The broadcast was already underway, and Arthur's eyes dropped to the bottom of the screen, trying to read the words that quickly scrolled past. It seemed as if a new museum were opening, with an exhibit on Camelot and Arthurian legend. Everyone knew it wasn't real, but there were scholars throughout the years that had tried to find proof, claiming that the stories and the myths were anything but.

"Damn." Merlin cursed, and Arthur's eyes lifted back to the reporter as the camera panned wider.

Standing at the podium delivering the final words of his speech was the Prime Minister. And there, right beside him was—

"No." Arthur gasped, staring wide eyed at the screen.

Because the woman standing at the podium now, offering a wave and her gratitude at the kind words, was Morgana. Her eyes fell to the camera, and Arthur swore he could feel her staring right at him, her piercing gaze burning a hole into his head.

"She's back." Arthur gaped as Merlin nodded once.

"Just like you."

A/N

And we have liftoff! I know a lot of people don't like Morgana as an antagonist, but I can say that this story veers in a different direction than you would expect, though as of now she does not get a redemption arc in this story. I hope you all will still give this story a chance however!

Feel free to leave any comments, questions, or concerns! And I'd love any and all reviews you want to leave too, they're always the best part of my day!