Chapter Text
“Take heart, for when Albion’s need is greatest, Arthur will rise again.”
They should have let Arthur rest. They should have let Merlin die.
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It probably started when the Nordic countries left the European Union. Norway suffered from an unbearable case of smugness and “I told you so” attitude for a while.
Already fighting against the depression, the central Europe fell. Next was United Kingdom, turning towards the strong northern alliance and United States.
It didn’t save anyone, of course. The modern economy was global no matter what you did and the over strong northerner currency just made the plunge worse. Soon there was no European Union and no NATO. Then even the countries started breaking apart. Suddenly there were four independent countries on British Isles and fifty countries where used to be fifty states of United States. Russia kept together, but barely.
Without anyone knowing quite how, China became the most powerful player on the political field. India was close second with Russia focusing all its strength inwards. That was when the dictators began to rise – dictator’s prepared for cyberwar, with nuclear weapons and dangerous resources for biological warfare. Balance shifted again.
When one dictator started his conquer of the whole Europe from Wales, Merlin turned towards to Avalon. He might have been able to stop arrows and even bullets, but he could only ever protect so many men. Against radiation and bioweapons he was powerless.
But there was a traitorous hope brimming inside him, whispering about Albion’s greatest need. Surely it was finally the time for Arthur to come back.
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Avalon is beautiful as always, now almost completely removed from the world and cloaked by the Earth’s own magic. No earthly wind ripples its waters and no living person apart from Merlin has visited it in centuries. After watching the civilisation to fall apart it feels like safe, peaceful haven.
He sends a silent greeting to Freya, frowning when he receives no response. She has faded greatly since the days of Old Magic but he has always been able to sense her. With a pang he realises that it has been more than hundred years since he has last seen her. It had been just before everything had fallen apart. He had been busy, trying to stop it from happening – and failing as always.
There seems to be no trace of Freya’s magical signature anywhere but something else catches his attention on the beach. He knows what it is before he sees it.
Excalibur has been struck to the ground, a painful parallel to the time when it stood in the stone. He approaches, waiting for some other sign of Arthur but nothing happens and he reaches for it carefully.
I am so sorry, Merlin. You’ll find Arthur in Camelot.
Freya’s voice is full of sadness and Merlin can’t understand why she is apologizing. He is drowning in happiness which even the loss of Freya can’t quite diminish. Maybe she is apologizing for leaving him and not being able to share this moment with him. They had both waited this for a long time. It is a shame but she deserves her rest.
Naturally, the Camelot as Merlin knew it is long gone. But there is a new city there, one of the most important ones of the rising empire. With a chuckle Merlin thinks how typical it is for Arthur to appear right in the eye of the storm. It is a beautiful city in its own way, full of glass and ambiguous lines, though the years are already starting to wear it down. It is also quieter than Merlin remembers, but he doesn’t pay it much heed, trying to locate the golden light he has come to associate with Arthur.
The main square, however, is full of people dressed in black. The flags are half-mast and an ornamental coffin stands in the middle of it all, guarded by soldiers in black uniforms apart from their red capes. Merlin stops and frowns at them, trying to figure out why the colour bothers him. What was the shade of Camelot’s red? He can’t remember but feels like this has come unfortunately close.
He has barely time to duck out of the way when the crowd parts, but something makes him turn back even before that. There is a wisp of gold there, though it feels somehow pale and cold compared to the feeling he remembers. When he sees him, he needs to grab a nearby wall for support.
He is dressed in the same uniform as the soldiers, but it bears golden ornaments, setting him apart from everyone else. Merlin doesn’t quite remember what Arthur used to look like, but he remembers the blue eyes and golden hair, and even apart from that it all seems so right.
Arthur kneels in front of the coffin and as one the crowd follows him. Merlin is glad he cloaked himself, because he doesn’t want to attract attention – not yet. Especially because there are hot tears falling of his cheeks.
Finally.
Arthur’s eyes are dry as he rises, but Merlin knows it must be a mask. Always so brave and strong and Merlin just wants to go and hug him, let him cry and hide his tears to Merlin’s shirt. But there is time for all of that later.
A huge screens light up around the square showing a close up of Arthur’s face.
“My father, the emperor, was a great man” Merlin wonders if it had been Uther all again. The emperor had certainly been a vile man, raining destruction on the world with ruthlessness he knows Uther once possessed. He tunes out the speech and just watches Arthur, imagining how they will fix the world together. Smile on his face must look maniac, but he doesn’t care and nobody will notice it anyway. This time it will go right.
Something on Arthur’s face brings him back to reality. It is rage, contained, but still clearly there.
“You know I have led the Emperor’s troops relentlessly for years.” No, that cannot be right. “Rest assured that I will show no mercy to those who try to stand in our way. There is no redemption for those responsible for my father's murder. This is what happens to traitors.”
He produces a small device from his pocket and Merlin watches with dread as the view on the screen changes.
Merlin recognises the city as New York. Despite everything the statue of liberty is still standing proudly. He doesn't understand. A public execution is the only thing he can imagine. But why New York? But then the view shifts again, this time to a flying missile. He must be dreaming – besides the missile shields are still in place. Maybe this is just a misplaced show of force driven by grief.
Except the missile doesn’t stop. It lands somewhere in the central city. For a second nothing happens before the whole city goes up in a mushroom cloud. He tells himself that this is a trick. Arthur would never have launched anything as destructive as nuclear missile. Maybe it was something else. He remembers hearing that vacuum bombs can cause such a cloud. But is that really any better? It could be an animation. That's the only possible explanation.
“We disabled the shields using a virus.” No. “Four other missiles were sent to other cities with connections to the assassin.” No! “My right to rule is divine! I will continue my father’s work and bring the whole world together!” NO! The man smiles, for surely Merlin is wrong and this man is no Arthur, raising his fist to the air and the crowd erupts to enthusiastic shouts.
“My name is Arthur Pendragon, and you will either fight by my side or die by my hand!”
The world spins.