Merlin, the first Merlin

"Merlin—"

That was quick. Normally Arthur took things in steps. He started somewhere between disbelief and eye-rolling before gradually narrowing his eyes as he realized the implications. That was when the accusing look was brought out and the first syllable of his name drawn and quartered.

"—explain."

And that was new. Insults were all too common before his royal pratness demanded that things be stated in the simplest possible terms. Maybe a couple years of being not-quite-dead had jostled some things in that narrow mind of his.

"Well, er, you see…"

"NOW."

Maybe not.

"Uh, I wouldn't mind some explanations either," an older, Gwaine-like voice cut in. "I still don't get what all of you are doing being…well, alive for one and not old for another."

"Certainly disappointed my expectations, and they weren't too high to start with," another voice added dryly.

"HEY!"

"Insults are one thing, sir, but blatantly disrespecting my manservant—the king's manservant—whom you have never met before is another altogether."

Let's go back a little to make Merlin's job a little easier.

This whole problem started some time back. In fact, it started a little less than two thousand years ago, when he decided to set Arthur to rest—temporarily, might he add—in the Lake of Avalon. He probably should have thought the whole location through better. At the time it seemed very appropriate, given that he hadn't expected to have to wait two thousand years for the prat to wake up, but it hadn't been even a thousand years when he learned something very important: things change.

So, to speed things up, he might have taken a short trip, had a nap or two, and voila, no more lake. The island was much bigger now and its name was now Edinburgh. To stick the icing on the cake, there was a castle over the whole bloody thing. A big one. With people.

It made watching over Arthur a bit harder.

Then there had been those other extra-curricular activities he may have indulged in while waiting, the biggest of which was currently thanking him by giving him a boot to the rear. This was what he got for trying to do anything good. Every once in a millennium or so he had a moment of sympathy and understanding of Morgana's mindset when she had finally aligned herself against Camelot.

"Merlin. I'm waiting."

But that was ancient history. This is just a few years into what the locals and most of the human world would call the 2000s. Arthur had taken his good time and woken from his slumber with a short, sleepy yawn…in the middle of a meeting of the Senior Council.

Merlin's mastery of magic had not ceased after his king and master's 'death.' Rather, it had continued to grow in leaps and strides that sometimes startled and frightened the teenager. After laying Arthur to rest, something had clicked in him and he had stopped aging. To continue life in Camelot, he and Gaius had set to creating a daily batch of potions to keep up the appearance of growth.

Problems with magic users continued to arise, and so he had set to fixing them in a way that Arthur had never been given the opportunity to. If he couldn't find a way to get people like Uther to understand that magic itself wasn't the problem, then he could protect magic users by making the world forget about their abilities. The process was a long one, but in the long term he was successful. It was unbelievably difficult—almost unbearably so—to watch Camelot fall, knowing that if he interceded that he could save the kingdom he had helped to build, but that he would also be undoing all of his hard-won work.

He made himself into a legend among magic users, not as a teenager but as his somewhat inane alter ego. For some reason, an elderly man in robes with a staff whittled from a grand tree that had stood not far from Gaius's cottage was easier to follow and revere. It had been Gwen's idea, really, and who was he to say no to his queen? A hundred years after the fall of Camelot, he'd decided that he couldn't stand the idea of never hearing someone call him by his actual name. Where he had once gone by a dozen different names for a dozen different groups, he gave in and insisted that everyone call him 'Merlin.' It wasn't like anyone he knew would ever catch on, because all of them were long dead.

Yeah, he hadn't thought that all the way through.

Let's speed up a little, because Arthur is getting impatient. We should be grateful he doesn't have his sword.

There had been issues amongst magic users, specifically their avoidance of the laws of nearly every kingdom in existence. They could unlock their prison doors, push officers of the law out of the way, and generally cause a lot of havoc with no restraint. As much as Merlin himself hated authority, he had to admit that it was necessary. Working with the remaining druids, as well as magic users across Europe and even Asia that had grown to respect his opinions and power, he created a court of sorts to regulate the use of magic. Laws were complicated, annoying and filled with loopholes, so Merlin made it simple. He made it clear to all that he came across that there were seven limitations to their power. He didn't care if they disregarded every other rule laid down to man, but if they didn't submit to his seven Laws of Magic, he would personally make their lives a living hell.

(This doesn't seem like much, but by this point in his career, he had practiced his glares and scowls as well as patented a Do Not Cross expression that had no equal. It helped that he might have encouraged some particularly horrifying and awe inspiring stories to quickly disperse across multiple continents. Listening to his threat, there were few who didn't throw themselves down on the spot and beg forgiveness for any law that they may have gone against before he had enacted them.)

The so-called White Council of Wizards had come to power quickly with him leading them mostly from the shadows, intervening only in dire situations. Immortality is unusual in humans, even those possessing high levels of magic, so Merlin finally gave his fledgling council his consent to decide on his replacement before he disappeared into the shadows of the council entirely, keeping a careful eye on them all the while. His only recent nudge was the decision to move the location of the White Council's headquarters from Madrid to Edinburgh (oh so coincidentally on top of Arthur's final resting place).

So Arthur, who had once been buried in a lake that would have been very easy to jump out from unnoticed by passing tourists, had come to be shrouded in the epicenter of magic itself or, more specifically, right in front of the Merlin's seat.

You heard that right. Not Merlin's seat. The Merlin's seat.

And that little detail was the source of His Once and Future Majesty's dissatisfaction.

"Okay, I…uh, Arthur…see, you were dead."

"I remember that part, you twit."

Arthur's awakening rendered Merlin's spell null, and so there had been much swearing, scrambling, stuttering, stumbling and many other s-words at the realization that a grown man decked out in full armor had just appeared from nowhere at their feet. Arthur, just woken from eons of slumber, demanded they all pipe down. That was hardly taken well.

To make things even more interesting, Morgan chose that very moment to slam his way into the council room in full blown rage, dragging a laughing Dresden after him by the collar of his shirt. Before he could even state his reasons, the situation became immediately evident to both of them and it would have seemed that Arthur was going to be turned into a pile of shiny, royal dust.

Luckily for us, Arthur, who did not quite realize the gravity of his situation but quite understood that only one person could have placed him in it, narrowed his eyes and yelled, "MERLIN!"

All the wizards present took a moment to blink once, twice, then turned with raised brows to the other Arthur in the room, the current Merlin, Arthur Langtry, who in turn raised his palms up in a shrug as if to say, "Don't look at me." He opened his mouth to speak when a blur of red and blue shot past Dresden (who now felt he should visit more often if this was what he was missing) and Morgan to stand, panting in front of Arthur. "Sorry, sire. Thought I still had another couple hundred years to spare or I would have taken you someplace more comfortable."

What the rest of the room suddenly saw were two teenagers—one regal and distinguished, the other not—about to get into a hissy fit. Dresden raised his hand as well as he could with Morgan still clutching his shirt in a death grip. "Uh, can someone let me in on the joke?"

The teenagers looked at him, then everyone else in the room, and finally each other. Arthur's expression grew darker and Merlin was beginning to look flighty. "Merlin. Where are we?"

"A castle. Well beneath a castle, I suppose. See you were in the lake, you know, Avalon, but the lake dried up and people built a city on the original island…"

"And what are all these people doing here?"

"They, uh, work here, Arthur."

McCoy's eyes widened. "Arthur? King Arthur? Of Camelot?"

Arthur waved a hand disdainfully. "Yes, yes. Don't you see the crown?"

Ancient Mai fell back into her seat, shock clearly expressed on her face, and Dresden could swear that Rashid was covering a grin when he lifted his hand after a delicate cough. The remaining wizards lowered their hands and weapons. Even Morgan had to take a step back.

McCoy forged on, growing steadily more confused. "Then, you're Merlin. The original Merlin."

The lanky teenager, dressed slightly more with the times in skinny jeans, a plain blue tee and a tan aviator's jacket, a red handkerchief tied oddly around his neck, turned bright red at his words.

"Original Merlin? Are there more of you?" Arthur asked skeptically, crossing his arms with a clinking of armor.

"I…uh…he probably means the, you know, bird…merlins, obviously…"

"He was the first in a long line of incredibly powerful wizards to stand at the head of the White Council, and, some say, the greatest of them all," Listens-to-Wind stated benevolently. "It is said that he wrote the Laws of Magic and created the White Council after the fall of the Roman Empire single-handedly."

"Merlin."

It took ten minutes for him to stumble through all the explanations. In the meantime, the Senior Council's expressions varied from amused (Rashid), awed (McCoy), depressed (Langtry), and stunned (all the rest). Dresden snorted and Morgan threw his hands up in the air. "I give up," he finally huffed. "The greatest reigning body of wizards in the world was founded by a stuttering adolescent and England apparently has a new monarch. I'm taking the rest of the day off." He nodded at Langtry, turned on his heel and strode out the way he came, leaving with what was left of the Senior Council's pride and dignity.

Dresden took one look around, shrugged and pulled up a chair to plop down next to his former mentor. "Why didn't you tell me about the entertainment sooner? I would come to all the meetings if they turned out like this."

McCoy just slowly shook his head. Not a minute into the teenager's explanation, Ancient Mai had regained her wits and demanded that he stop playing tricks and explain how they got into the building past the extensive system of wards.

Merlin, who had clearly had this happen one too many times already, called his white staff back to him (which Langtry released with a startled squeak) and slammed it down on the ground with a rush of power that would have knocked any wizards less powerful off their feet. The teenager's eyes blazed with inner fire. "I am Merlin, Emrys of the druids and last of the dragon lords," he boomed, and those standing too close covered their ears with a pained wince. "I have watched the rise and fall of empires, brought champions to glory and felled the cold of heart. Time and space heed my will, the earth herself speaks to me alone, and all magic awaits my command. You would dare ques—oww!"

The greatest wizard to have ever lived held a hand to the back of his head and aimed two large bambi eyes at Arthur, who now stood behind him. "Jeez, Merlin, you don't have to shout. They're standing…maybe ten feet from you. Honestly."

"But, Arthur—"

The blond grabbed a chair, spun it around, and looked nothing less than regal as he sat down, chin propped up on one fist. "Enough. Before we were interrupted, you were saying…?"

Merlin sighed, but continued.

"I think…I should be thinking something along the lines of 'How did no one know this?'" McCoy drawled, tearing his gaze from the spectacle, "or maybe, 'How is the world still standing?' but apparently I've been around you too often, because the thought that keeps running through my head is 'When were neckerchiefs ever popular?'"

Dresden snorted. "Is it just me, or is the Gatekeeper enjoying this a little too much? Hey, are all the conversations in here somehow recorded? Because this would be awesome to play during the Christmas party next month." He wasn't sure the Senior Council would ever be able to live this down, if that were the case.

And so it was that a new age dawned on mortals and immortals, gods and men alike; one in which Merlin steadfastly refused to be reinstated as the Merlin—he'd had paperwork long enough, thank you very much, and that was a stupid title—, Arthur did not like being called His Majesty, His Highness or (as suggested by his ever-faithful servant) His Royal Prattiness—"Can't you just call me Pendragon or King Arthur? Is that too much to ask?"—, the Senior Council, headed by Langtry, firmly declared that pending further investigation, the whole matter was to kept quiet—whether they meant their reactions or the re-emergence of Camelot was not specified—and the discovery of the Knights of the Round Table happily lifting their pints of ale in a rambunctious cheer in a cellar by one flummoxed scribe was enough to make anyone chuckle after listening to Ramirez's spirited rendition.

It was an event never to be forgotten. Especially during the Christmas parties, when Rashid replayed it over and over through his holographic recording.

[five hours later...]

Michael Carpenter stumbled down the stairs in the middle of the night, covering a yawn and hoping that Charity had slept through the doorbell. He tied the sash on his robe and, once he'd deemed himself decent, pulled the door open.

In his doorway stood a knight. The Knights of the Cross he was used to greeting at all hours, but this was the first time he could remember seeing an actual, fully-clad, medieval knight at his home. "Good evening, good Sir Michael," the knight humbly greeted. "I have been informed by Wizard Dresden that you have in your possession my sword."

"Arthur, you should probably introduce yourself first," an exasperated voice said from behind him, and as the knight moved, he noticed the teenager with the unmarked, pure white staff behind him. There was a glimmer of flame as Michael's eyes met his for an instant before the teen bowed his head. "I apologize for my friend's idiocy. He's a little behind the times." Dresden stood not far off, staying outside the fenced perimeter in fear of incurring Charity's wrath for just being on the premises. The wizard was clearly suppressing a grin.

He noticed in that moment the crown atop Arthur's head as moonlight illuminated it with a faint blue and silver sheen. Amoracchius, hidden and sheathed under the living room table, resonated with him and almost seemed to speak. "You must be Arthur Pendragon, the Once and Future King, I presume?"

The knight—no, king—nodded. Dresden's jaw dropped. Clearly he'd been hoping for a better reaction.

"Amoracchius, or rather, Excalibur, has been awaiting your return. Please wait here." He returned shortly with the sheath in hand, dropping to one knee as he offered the sword to the king, regal and radiant even displaced in time. Arthur accepted, grasping the handle and in a single, simple maneuver drew it out to its full five foot length. He held it out before him with the air of one who has always wielded a sword. A second later, he wordlessly sheathed it, this time in the scabbard at his own waist.

"I thank you, as well as the Knights of the Cross, for looking after my sword. It was a precious gift, one that came at great cost to a friend of mine." Arthur inclined his head and removed one of his gauntlets to hold out his bare hand.

Michael enveloped it quickly in his own as he gave a bright smile. "It has been a pleasure, my king."

"Arthur," he insisted. "My friends and knights call me Arthur."

The former knight's smile widened.

"Come, Merlin," the king called, striding out the white gates. "We have knights to round up, history to catch up on and I'm sure there are some monsters that need slaying somewhere around here." The teenage sorcerer scrambled to catch up, spouting complaints about getting food and taking a break in the near future.

"What…? How did you…?" Dresden, it appeared, had no immediate plans to follow the two. His curiosity had, as usual, been enough for him to risk venturing into Charity's grounds.

Michael tapped his brow. "Everything has a reason that will be made clear in time. This was one of those times."

"That doesn't even make sense!"

There was a silence filled only by the rasp of crickets and the rustling of grass. The former knight and sulking wizard stood side by side just outside Michael's home, watching a pair of friends stroll purposefully into the distance.

"I assume the other boy was Merlin. The original one, I mean."

"Yep. Do you think we should be concerned about dragons and long-extinct monsters waking up too?"

"Aren't we always?"