Wandering. Walking. Traveling the path alone. Those were Merlin's days now, his body old and creaking, his joints aching every step of the way.

He often walked these paths, weaving around young women jogging and old men sauntering past with their dogs. He liked the scenery and the shade, large trees creating a canopy overhead. It reminded him of the forests in Camelot. The smell of earth and mud, the sound of water rushing from the rivers and streams.

Here, the only water he heard came from the decorative fountains, but if he closed his eyes, Merlin could go back. Back to the days when his back wasn't hunched, and his hands weren't covered in lines. Back to a time when his body didn't scream in pain if he moved after sitting for too long, or when his eyesight wasn't clouded and bleary.

Even on days when it was colder, a chill lingering in the afternoon air, Merlin found himself there. Walking the same path, carrying the same small bag, and huddled in the same dark coat that practically drug along the ground like his feet. It helped to distract him from the things he wanted to forget. Things that made it clear to him how alone he was, and how lost.

How many years had he spent searching? How long had he wasted his time staying beside a lake that had slowly drained and withered away? His beard had grown long, hanging down past his stomach and waving in the small breeze that urged him to go on.

Keep walking.

Keep going.

Keep searching.

Keep praying.

But Merlin was so tired now, and so many years had passed. How he missed Arthur, how he wished he could see him again. Another step, another plea. How long could he keep going?

Daylight streamed out across the sidewalk and warmed the old sorcerer's body as he stepped out from beneath the trees. He had once again reached the end of his path. All that remained was a field and a young football team, cheering and screaming and laughing.

Merlin paused there, watching the children play. The ball was kicked from one to another before it was shot into a net and a group of boys in yellow shirts let out a wild cheer. They were so animated and so full of life. He envied them.

Once upon a time he had been just a few years older than they were and he had such great adventures. Now his body wouldn't dare to dream of trying to do something as menial as kicking the ball with those boys.

As he began to turn away, Merlin heard a few of the boys shouting, though the sound was different. There was no excitement in the tone now, but fear and warning. Moments later, the football bounced near the old sorcerer, and he watched as it came to a stop right at his feet.

"Sorry!" A distant voice shouted, and Merlin's old blue eyes settled on a young boy who had begun to race towards him.

Leaning down with a twinge of pain, the sorcerer retrieved the ball and held it carefully in his hands, the different colors bright and vibrant against his muted clothes.

"Sorry, Sir!" The boy shouted again, closing the distance fast while Merlin cradled the ball against him.

When the boy finally came to a stop in front of him, leaned over with his hands on his knees and his breath heaving, the sorcerer couldn't help but smile. The boy was young, perhaps ten or eleven years of age. He wore a yellow jersey and white shorts that were stained with grass and mud. His blond hair was a tussled mess on his head, and when he finally looked up, his bright blue eyes gleamed with mischief while his smile was wide and genuine.

"My mate kicked a little too hard this time, we didn't mean to almost hit you."

"It's quite alright, young man. No harm done." Merlin smiled, gesturing to his coat in show before he stretched out his hand and held the ball out to the boy. "Perhaps tell your friend to be more careful on where he aims, however."

"I will." The child grinned again, reaching out for the ball.

As he did, his small fingers brushed against the winkled and weathered ones of Merlin's, and the world exploded all around him. Lights flashed through the sky, noise erupted in his ears, and when the warlock's eyes fell to the child again, he was no longer there. Instead, in his place, was Arthur.

The man's blue eyes were wide, their fingers still touching over the ball the two held, and for a breath the world stood still. And then Merlin blinked, and the lights dimmed, and the noise faded, and the ball was yanked from his grip by the child. The young boy looked confused, and he cradled the ball against his chest while watching Merlin warily before he took off back across the field to his cheering teammates.

The warlock sucked in a short, pained breath, watching the young boy disappear into the crowd of children. Arthur. He was here. Reincarnated. He'd finally returned. Was it truly possible?

Lowering his head, Merlin closed his eyes tightly and felt the tears threatening to spill, his aching shoulders hunched over as he tried to force the images from his mind.

"Merlin."

Arthur's voice. Loud and distant but alive.

"Merlin."

No, that wasn't his voice. It was different. Older.

"Merlin!"

Jolting awake in his bed, Merlin shot straight up, his blankets clutched tightly in his hands and his breath heaving out of him. His body was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, his hand running across his forehead to unstick his hair. Only then did he notice the flickering glow of a candle beside him, and Gaius' half asleep features hovering over him.

"What happened? What's wrong?" The physician's eyes were wide with worry, and his hair and clothes still rumpled from sleep.

"I—" Merlin started, wincing at the pain in his throat. "I don't know."

"You were screaming." Gaius filled in, straightening his posture now that he seemed to know there was no danger.

"What?"

"Arthur's name, specifically."

Furrowing his brows, Merlin swallowed and winced again, his throat raw and sore. "I thought.." Trailing off, the boy managed a small shake of his head. "It was just a dream.." A chill shuddered through his body as Gaius frowned, moving to sit on the edge of his ward's bed.

"About what?"

"My future, I think." Merlin uttered, tugging his blankets over his knees and wrapping his arms around himself at the sudden cold.

"Do you wish to talk about it?" Gaius asked gently, and the young warlock found himself nodding once.

"It was so strange, Gaius. Unnerving even. I was so old and—"

"The spell you used, it upset you?"

"Well, yes." Merlin admitted, shifting uncomfortably. "But it was more than that. I wasn't old because of magic, I just was."

Thinking back, Merlin tried to pick out details of his dream and found it fading quickly. There had been a woman running, but she'd looked strange and barely covered. And then those children and that ball, none looked like anything he'd seen before. And then the buildings. So tall and bright and reflective. But even then, was it really what he remembered?

"Merlin?"

"Arthur had retuned." The warlock spoke suddenly, clutching his blankets tighter. "I had been waiting for so long and then there he was, a child, only when he touched my hand I could see him again, as the Arthur we know now."

"I'm afraid I don't understand." Gaius shook his head, switching the candle to his other hand.

Blinking slowly, Merlin shook his head as well. "I don't think I do either."

"Try and rest," The physician encouraged, patting the boy's hand. "That spell took a lot out of you; you need your sleep."

Staring down at the weathered hand on his, Merlin studied the fine lines that etched themselves into his guardian's skin. Did Gaius ever feel pain like that? Did he ever struggle when Merlin wasn't around because things needed done and he had no one else?

"Gaius, thank you. For everything you do for me." Merlin spoke quietly, meeting the older man's eyes as the physician smiled.

"It's always my pleasure, Merlin. Sleep now."

Laying back and tugging up his blankets, Merlin nestled into his pillow and watched while Gaius slowly stood and stepped out of the room, carrying the candle with him.

In the darkness sleep began to drift over the warlock once more, and in the distant corners of his mind he could hear a young boy's laughter echoing inside his head. It wasn't sinister though, but rather hopeful, something for the warlock to cling to. Arthur would return one day, whatever that meant, and Merlin drifted back to sleep with that surprisingly comforting thought.

A/N

A bit of a shorter chapter to start off 2024! I hope you all had a great holiday season and that your year turns out amazing!

If anyone is interested in reading a Merlin fic set in the future, I am currently working on one called 'Of Ipods And Dragons' where Arthur and the knights are reincarnated, so if you're curious go check it out!

I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and I hope you'll all enjoy the next story as we near on the finale of season three!