Chapter Text
Merlin looked out across the grave yard; he remembered the names of most of those who were in his battalion and most rested here. The vividness of all his memories still shocked him, but it was those of the bloodiest war he had lived through attacked him now. He remembered being sat in a muddy trench with shells falling all around him, his nose filled with the stench of death, his eyes seeing only suffering and his mind constantly replaying the ear piercing screams of the last man who had died. He remembered the bullet that had hit him in the leg and the pain as his flesh re-grew around it and forced it out. He could still taste the dryness of his mouth and feel how his heart ripped every time one of his men fell.
There had not been a time while he had roamed the earth that there had not been a war, Camelot had seemed so big in the old days, but when he lost Arthur he sat and let his magic explore. The peace Merlin thought Arthur had brought to the world had been brought to a speck of everything around him. One land, one island of United Kingdom’s and it had torn Merlin to pieces. But slowly, watching each person who dwelled there and the love they held for their country, for Arthur and for each other, Merlin realised how much it mattered and his pride, and his love, for Arthur swelled.
Camelot did well under Gwen’s rule and when Merlin finally returned to her she welcomed him with kindness and love as she always had. There was always a dull sadness that was always present though, sometimes Merlin noticed Leon looking around for Arthur and realising he wasn’t there. Or Gwen reaching out a hand to find empty air. Leon filled that air in the end, they healed each other’s broken hearts and they both lived long happy lives in the end. Merlin became Gwen’s closest advisor along with Leon and the three of them created a Camelot Arthur would have been proud of. Then Merlin watched it slowly change and die and re-grow till it was unrecognisable except for the crumbling castle towers that stood on a hill surrounded by little terraced houses and blocks of flats.
The legend still lived in the minds of men, changed and ever changing, Arthur’s name lived on along with Gwen's, Merlin’s and the knights. The days of magic and dragons filled people with awe and wonder, for people are always wanting to escape from the world around them. Merlin had hundreds of lives inside his one. In the beginning he could do as he wished unnoticed and he did but then the world started documenting and people wanted to know who he was and where he was from and he found himself having to fake his death, and then reappear as someone different in another country.
He was Henry VIII’s court Physician, a Greek scholar, very briefly a cowboy, a butler to a rich American bootlegger, a college professor and hundreds of other things; he had even had a stint as a postman, using his magic to keep growling hounds at bay. He could take a car apart and put it back together and read a novel in five minutes. Merlin did things; he kept himself busy; he tried to dull the pain. Every year he visited the lake and stared out at the grey water and wished with all his heart for his king to return.
He drove back to his hotel room and flicked channels. Then he saw something, he blinked and looked again. The French news was flashing pictures of an Arthur Pendragon. Prince Arthur Pendragon son of Uther King of the United Kingdom. Merlin stared, smiling back were the same white teeth and soft pink lips that had smiled at him hundreds of years earlier. The Queen had disappeared; he checked Wikipedia, Uther was listed as the son of Elizabeth the second who was reported to have died 10 years earlier.
“History has just changed.” Merlin whispered.
It was strange seeing Arthur in modern clothes, a leather jacket and sunglasses with a pair of jeans, his blond hair styled and gleaming in the summer sun. Merlin sat motionless, he didn’t know how to feel, it seemed odd that he would return now, that he would return when nothing seemed wrong. Merlin realised that Arthur wouldn’t remember, wouldn’t know who Merlin was. Merlin delved in the bottom of his bag and found the box that contained Arthurs ring. Gwen had given it to him before she died. He let himself touch it, let his hands feel the cold metal, he did it so rarely it still felt new and, although it brought back the sadness of losing Arthur in brutal waves, it too brought with it the memories and the laughter he had longed for all this time.
He was restless on his journey back to London. The relief of seeing Arthur was overwhelming and it filled him inside and made him jumpy, he lost sense of his surroundings and got some displeased looks as he got off the train at kings cross and knocked several passers by over with his bags. He had no idea what he was going to do next, what would happen when he saw Arthur or what he wanted to happen. Though he was old now he didn’t feel it, he felt like the same young boy that had wandered into Camelot with a smile on his face and everything he owned in a small pack on his back.
When reached his house in London he dumped his bags by the front door and tried to think, which was easier said than done when his brain was alight and his heart longing more than ever. His love for Arthur had never died even after all this time, it still dwelled inside him, knowing away in desperation, clinging to the one slice of hope that the chance of Arthurs return gave him. Hope that he needed more everyday he lived as he watched the people he loved die and each world he got to know crumble around him.