Arthur wandered around the flat aimlessly, thinking about Merlin. And how could he not when Merlin had looked like he was about to fall to his knees and beg him to go inside. But why hadn't he wanted that woman – Mrs. Knight, was it? – to know Arthur's last name? Arthur wasn't blind, he had seen the urgency in the way that Merlin had handled things, and knew that there would be no arguing the point. And even though he didn't understand exactly why Merlin had acted as he did, Arthur trusted his judgment. Arthur didn't know how things where in this time period, or if he is supposed to keep a low profile, but he did know that his best, and only, chance at surviving in this new world was with Merlin's help.

Even though Arthur was confused as to why Merlin and him hadn't yet talked about some things. For one, everything they had said and done when Arthur was at death's door. He hadn't been thinking that he was going to come back to life, and so when he told Merlin to hold him, it was because he was selfish and wanted to spend his last moments in the arms of someone he loved. And he enjoyed it too, because he was dying, and there was no way for Merlin to save him and no way for there to be repercussions to his actions.

Until there was a way, and he began to come back. It had been painful, even more so than death had been. Death was more like fading away, with the pain of your wounds ebbing little by little before they disappeared entirely. And then you were left with a few moments of, not comfort, but as close as you can get, before your heart finally stopped beating. But coming back, that was something far less merciful.

It had felt like he was being squeezed from all directions, forcing the air into his lungs and blood into his brain. Imploding didn't even begin to explain how it felt to come back to life. And with each passing moment the pain came into sharper relief, and everything became more focused than it had been since he entered the fog.

Arthur felt a cold, yet familiar, weight in his hand. He glanced down to check, but all the muscles in his neck flared to life, sending shooting pain from his head to the tip of his toes. But look down he did, and what he saw, was the watery glint of a sword, untouched by the hand of time.

Arthur began to surge upward, from no cause of his own actions, and he was lifted out of that blissful fog that didn't allow for thought or pain, just quiet existence. Never really here nor there, everywhere but nowhere all at once, acquitting for nothing and everything. That had been his existence – thoughtless, painless, and emotionless. And it had been nice, just sort of drifting through time.

But sometimes he would get snatches of things, like the color blue or the sound of laughter, but he was always too far away to reach them before they disappeared. And even if he did fight back, if he did push against the tide to try to find out where these things were coming from, or why, he was shoved back into his place. And all the fight was drained from him, along with the memories of the things that he was fighting for.

It was up until the point when Merlin pulled him out of the lake that Arthur started to remember those things. The blue he had seen, it was the exact shade of Merlin's eyes. And when they began to laugh after the fall, the second piece of the puzzle finally clicked into place. Merlin had always been there with him, even in that world of fog, even when Arthur was barely even there himself.

Arthur trailed his finger over a picture that Merlin had hanging on the wall. His finger traveled the swirls in the water and the rays of the sun that were shining through the splits in the clouds. It was incredibly realistic looking, and Arthur marveled at its beauty. It took a moment for the scene before him to really register. It was Lake Avalon during a sunset. Arthur was just beginning to wonder who had painted it when Merlin came into the room. Arthur turned around when he heard Merlin begin to approach.

A finger still lingered on the painting when Arthur asked, "Who made this?"

Merlin tilted his head to the side to see behind Arthur, but when he saw the painting, he blushed slightly. "Oh, uh, me, actually."

Arthur puzzled over Merlin's shyness. It's a beautiful piece and Merlin ought to be proud of himself, boasting even. "It's Lake Avalon at sunset, isn't it?"

"Yes," Merlin said smiling. "But at sunrise, not sunset. I prefer beginnings over endings."

"It's beautiful, Merlin. It's almost as if you have a window overlooking the lake, instead of a painting. I didn't know that you could paint like this."

"Well, I had a lot of time on my hands, when I no longer had to keep you from dying every twenty minutes," Merlin joked.

"Are you sure you didn't become a fool as well as a painter?" Arthur laughed.

"I'm sure you've thought that I was a fool long before now, Arthur."

"And right you are, Merlin. Though the bravest fool I've ever known. I feel that I should thank you again."

"You really needn't-," Merlin started only to be cut off by Arthur.

"No, I must, and probably should for the rest of my days."

"Arthur…"

Arthur moved away from the painting, and laid his hands on Merlin's shoulders, squeezing gently. "Merlin, thank you. For everything – every time you have saved me, with or without the use of your magic. And thank you for waiting for me, even though I'm sure you didn't have any certainty that I would return, because even I didn't know until a couple of hours ago."

"You're my friend, Arthur. I couldn't just sit by and do nothing. And with or without destiny I will continue to fight for you, and for the future of Avalon."

Arthur looked at Merlin as he studied the floor, willing him to look him in the eyes as he spoke. When Merlin stopped speaking and still didn't look up, Arthur began to get frustrated. Who knew an all-powerful wizard, capable of nearly anything the mind could fathom, would be so ridiculous. Fed up, Arthur pulled Merlin into a hug, the kind of hug that he was too weak to give the last time they had seen each other. It was a hug that spoke volumes for both of them – telling of their strength, friendship, and dependence on one another. But what the hug didn't need to say, was how much Merlin missed Arthur, and the relief at their reunion. They truly were two sides of the same coin, because one without the other was like the sun without the moon – incomplete.

A/N: I thought it would be ironic for Merlin to have a knack for painting because Bradley is the more… artistically inclined one. Haha. Thank you guys for everything, and sorry that this took so long to post. My internet was down all week and the guy who was supposed to come yesterday blew me off. Any who, what do you think?