He sat by the great expanse of a lake, trying to gaze into the depths of its murky waters with his sharp blue eyes. Over the chasm of time, trees had been cleared for park trails and park benches, but the lake had remained he same. No one had touched its mystic waters.

He had always had a feeling that the lake was some sort of magical… being. Ever since he was a child he would come on strolls with his mother and something would pull him to it – besides the fuzzy ducklings he was so fond of it. As he got older he began to have brief visions, a dead girl of innocence and beauty, a mighty sword, and his water clogged ears as he rescued a drowning man.

The thing was, he never remembered rescuing anyone from the bottom of that lake. Not in this lifetime. He was pretty sure no one walked around in chainmail anymore.

After University and securing a job, he came by the lake whenever he was free. There was some kind of draw to it, something he could never explain. He was waiting for something, he had told his mother once. He was waiting for someone to return. He always waited. When the work and obligations were done, he would go to the lake and sit at its edge, feeding the ducks that quickly took a liking to him.

One of his friends smiled knowingly, his dark hair and even darker eyes glistening in the sun.

"I can only imagine why you sit there everyday," he would say. "But I hope you'll soon reap your rewards."

There was a twitch behind him, a rustling of leaves and grass. He looked up and behind, absentmindedly letting the breadcrumbs fall out of his outstretched palms to the waiting ducklings below. They quacked in appreciation, pecking at the food with urgency. A sudden, warm summer breeze picked up and played with the visitor's blonde hair.

"Tell me you remember me," he said with such vigor that the man sitting by the lake's eyes widened a fraction.

"Am I supposed to remember something, sir?"

"Damn it all Merlin, don't be like this!"

The sharp blue eyes narrowed a bit.

"Excuse me?"

The blonde man flushed a deep red hue that the blue-eyed man found rather amusing.

"Is your name different?" he asked instead. "I mean, I'm still Arthur, but Gwen's is Gwendolyn… I much preferred Guinevere…"

"What are you on about?" The blue-eyed man asked, raising a quizzical eyebrow at Arthur.

"Don't play games, Merlin, please, I… I couldn't…" Arthur's voice broke. "You really don't remember me?"

The sharp clear blue eyes leveled with Arthur's and s world of color made both men's head spin. The visions, they were there, stronger than ever… Not visions, memories. Strong and crisp. The magic, Camelot, the dragon, the battles, the fights, the hidden embraces and whispers… As they grew older, more mature, the love grew but was never expressed to its full potential. Arthur had a kingdom, while all he had was a place in the court. Two people who needed each other, but not in the way they wanted…

When silence prevailed, Arthur felt a lump grow in his throat, something wet and persistence was stinging his eyes.

"You really don't…"

"You clotpole,"

Arthur's eyes widened and without his knowledge a few tears escaped.

"You lovable clotpole, you insufferable prat, oh but you're such a beautiful prat. A bit stupider on the uptake though,"

Arthur couldn't speak. For one of the first time's in his life, he was at a lost for words. Well, his present life.

"You should've known, Arthur, that if you were no longer King I'd take any advantage I get to mess with you," His voice was soft yet altogether powerful and teasing. He was on his feet now, that handsome, lanky man with the eyes that had always reminded Arthur of that beautiful blue orb that always guided him home.

How had he been so dense in his past life?

When those eyes were level with his own, Arthur gulped, trying to gain some composure!

"You… You bloody idiot! How could I… you were being… I should smack you!" He shouted, but before Arthur could act on it the man's lips were on his, gently pressing against his, moving oh so tentatively. Once again, before Arthur could give the enthusiastic response he had dreamed of doing for years, the other man pulled away.

"I'm actually called Emrys now," he muttered, caressing a hand against Arthur's warm cheek. "But just for you, I'll let you get away with Merlin."

Arthur, for the first time that day since he remembered that lake and all the treasures it held for him, smiled.

"I rather like 'Idiot' myself,"

Emrys, Merlin, hummed softly, his hand moving to play with Arthur's hair, like he had done when the doors of Camelot were closed, Gwen had long gone to bed, and sorcerer and king had conversed by the fire of Gaius's old quarters.

"Maybe," Merlin teased, winking. "After some catching up. Pity, Lancelot and I have had months to talk…"

Merlin let that hang in the air, loving the apparent jealousy that clouded Arthur's face. What a thousand years of waiting could do to someone…

"You twat, Merlin, if you've been flirting…"

Merlin laughed a deep, throaty laugh, and for the first time today Arthur realized Merlin had been re-born with an Irish brogue he hated to admit was sexy.

"Come on you clotpole, let's go home."

Merlin grabbed Arthur's hand and together they made their way to the path that would lead them to the life they had been waiting to start.