A/N: first fanfic memories. whoa.

'I walk a lonely road'

Merlin was walking down a road so familiar he knew every bump and crack in the worn pavement when he saw the sign he had waited so long for; the spark of hope. Despite his weary spirit and aching limbs from hundreds of years walking the past the same spot, ever the silent protector of Avalon, his heart was lifted momentarily. For the first time in many years, Merlin felt his lips curve into his old smile, the one that had not been seen since he lost his youth.

For the promised time had come.

He is returning.

A thousand years before. . .

Merlin sat on the shore, watching the water grow darker, changing hues to deep purple in the evening light from the spectacular blue it had been hours before. The boat carrying his King - his friend - to his sleep had long disappeared into the mist shrouding the island, but still Merlin's gaze was transfixed on the lake, unable to look away.

Because looking away was accepting Arthur's death, and acceptance was letting go: something Merlin felt he would never be able to do. His tears had dried on his pale face, cooled by the wind biting now at his flesh, covering it in tiny Goosebumps; but he boy did not feel the cold as it clawed at his skin. Merlin felt nothing. It was like he wasn't there at all.

Arms clutched around himself with no one else to hold him, Merlin watched the sun set with a heavy heart.

After he had passed hours before, Merlin had wanted to never let Arthur go. To hold him for a thousand years and keep him safe in the only place he trusted, safe in his arms. And Merlin did for a while, arms wrapped around Arthur's chest, blood dripping onto his clothes as well as darkening Arthur's already red cape.

Merlin was a filthy, tired, tear streaked mess as he rocked back and forth on the ground, refusing to let go. Not ever. He knew Arthur was dead, that no heart fluttered underneath his fingertips as the stroked his chest; he would never again hear Arthur laugh at his mistakes or joke with his loyal knights or give a speech to motivate an entire kingdom into action. Merlin knew he would never again feel a playful hit from Arthur touch his skin, or clasp arms with his friend in promise. Merlin knew that things will never be the same again, not without him.

But still he couldn't let go.

It had taken hours, until the sun had risen high in the east, erasing the dullness of the darkest night Merlin had ever known until he was ready. Taking a shaky breath, he had set out to work, straightening Arthur's chainmail and cleaning him as best he could, all for the last time. Work he had resented for years in Camelot was now done carefully, with love.

Arthur looked grand when he was done. Like the King he was, dressed in his armour and red cape, clean as it could be, like a fairytale. Merlin was proud, Arthur would get the farewell such a great King as he deserved – it was the least he could do. Letting him go was the hardest thing Merlin had ever done. But, underneath a day so bright it was golden to pay its respect, Merlin tearfully muttered the spell, and Arthur sailed away from him, taking a piece of Merlin with him as he did. They were bonded eternally. It was destined to be.

I almost had it all. If he'd been quicker, gotten Arthur here faster to have him healed, Merlin would now be in Camelot, next to a warm fire and eating his favourite meal with Gaius. Arthur would finally know the truth, and Merlin would no longer have to live in fear of discovery. He could have brought magic back to Camelot, created a peaceful kingdom at Arthur's side. He could have been happy. But he had failed. He was too late so now his friend, his friend was-

Merlin could not even finish the thought without fresh tears springing to his eyes. He brushed them away with the back of his hand, his face creased into an expression of grief, distraught, the sorceror pounded the ground next to him in frustration, a scream erupting from his chest.

Jumping to his feet, Merlin paced in front of the lake, face scrunched up in effort to control the emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He screamed again; although his throat was raw, it felt good. Hands now wound in his dark hair, holding his head, Merlin returned his eyes back towards the lake, for now his thoughts had changed. Anger flared inside him, replacing the hollowness with a fire.

"Why did you leave me!" He shouted into the air, voice cracked with emotion. "Why couldn't you hold on," this time, his voice gave out on the last word, changing it into a despairing screech, and then it became a sob, barely a hoarse whisper "for me."

Sir Percival wandered through the shadowed woods, with only a torch to protect him against the rising darkness, its flame flickering defiantly against it. He had followed tracks through the land all day, ones he believed to have been left by Arthur and Merlin, but had not yet reached them; something akin to worry stirred in his chest, but he pushed it away.

Percival had lost the tracks a while back, but knew where they were headed so strived onwards. Having picked up the trail nearer to the island, he carried on, but warily. The King should have been headed back to Camelot by now, but he found no trace of a returning trail. Percival was so tired. He had lost so much today, and could not bear to reach the end of this journey to find another heartbreak. Yet he still carried on, like he always would.

It was as he crested a hill overlooking the island that he found Morgana's body. The wicked sorceress lay fallen in the dirt, blood dried on her stomach and eyes unseeing. He felt a surge of emotion, pressing his lips into a thin line to control himself. He had come so far, not only in hopes to find his King, but to avenge his friend. It would seem that somebody had completed this task for him.

I hope you are at peace, Gwaine. He thought of his friend for a moment, of his grinning face and troublesome attitude, almost cracking a smile at the memory of Gwaine's many food related incidents and tendency to care too much; the thing that had been his downfall in the end.

Eyes misting over, Percival steeled himself, forcing his head up, aimed at the Island on the horizon. Still, as he passed the witch's body he could not uphold his Knight's valour, disrespectfully but purposely spitting on her corpse as he passed: a final insult. Percival left that place behind him, not once looking back.

It was as he passed the tree line, many miles later that he finally saw the waters of Avalon. At first Percival saw only the island in the semi-darkness, but as his flame lit up more of the path ahead, he could make out a huddled shape on the ground in the distance. Picking up the pace, he hurried towards the figure, speeding to a jog until he finally saw who it was.

Merlin. The boy lay crumpled on the ground, knees buried in the dirt and head hunched over with hands covering his face. Merlin's scruffy hair was being whipped about by a fierce wind, and even his red scarf fluttered feebly. It was when Percival saw his young friends face that he lost all hope. Never had he seen such anguish on a person's face. Merlin was fixated on the island, seemingly staring it down, not even looking up as Percival approached him and kneeled at his side.

"Merlin," he began, placing a hand on the servants shaking shoulder. The boy blinked a few times before looking up at him in shock, but everything Percival needed to know could be seen in Merlin's shattered blue eyes.

Percival's face fell as he stood, eyes streaming as he looked out to the lake. He put a hand up to stop his tears, and after a few minutes regained his composure. The King is dead.

Merlin had not moved from his spot throughout this, still looking dazed and a little lost.

Percival turned back to him, knowing that no matter how crushed he was by the news, it was nothing compared to how Merlin was feeling. The boy was Arthur's best friend; however much the King would deny it.

"Merlin," he started again, "look at me. What happened?"

"I failed," came the bitter response, but Merlin still looked out towards the lake, "He's gone."

"No, no, you didn't." Percival grimaced at hearing Gwaine's last words repeated, "I know you did everything you could have."

"I wasn't fast enough to save him!" Merlin broke his concentration to say this loudly, but not angrily - passionately. "I was supposed to protect him, but I didn't get here in time."

This was why Merlin was the light to Morgana's darkness; where she found anger at her losses, using it to take revenge, Merlin found sorrow, using his heart to protect the victims, and to make sure it never happened again. Percival clenched is face, looking up from his crouched position to Merlin, his friend, who'd stood once more to face the nearing fog gathering around the island. He didn't know what to do, and felt there was nothing he could do that would ease Merlin's pain. So he sat on the grass and waited, giving Merlin time, whilst always being there for him.

For a while Merlin stood, one hand buried in his hair, taking deep breaths until the wave of emotion passed. It must have been a long time, for as he rejoined Percival, dawn was just beginning to gradually erase the nights hold on the land.

"I tried. I was supposed to get him here, to heal him, but we- I- was too late. I couldn't save him." Merlin paused before adding bitterly, "All my powers and I still couldn't save him. Some destiny."

It was almost as if Merlin had forgotten Percival sat beside him, for he jumped when the knight asked "What do you mean? What destiny?"

Merlin shook his head sadly. "Nothing."

Percival was still curious, but let the matter drop for now. He'd been considering when to break the news of Gwaine's death, deciding that it was better just to do it now, but gently.

"Gwaine and I went after Morgana once you were headed here. We tricked her into believing you were headed the opposite direction and we met her there. We just wanted to rid this world of her evil. Merlin, I'm so sorry, but Gwaine died. But he wasn't alone, I was with him."

Merlin closed his eyes at the revelation, sorrow flashing across his face as his thoughts turned to his other friend. Gwaine. Sir Gwaine: always laughing, always fighting- gone forever.

"I'm so sorry," he said to Percival, knowing the Knight would be broken.

They had been close, Gwaine and Percival. So many of their friends had passed recently, but Merlin knew that any knight remaining would be loyal, and they would not be forgotten. Percival shook his head upon seeing the concern on Merlin's face. For all his own pain, the boy still put others before himself.

"They didn't die alone. And they died with honour, Merlin. It's how they both would have wanted it" Percival said, more passionately than he intended.

"I know." Merlin smiled sadly, remembering how Arthur had preached the Knights code sacredly, and would have been content with dying for the kingdom he loved so dearly. "I know."

As light stretched out upon a clear, new sky, Percival stood, offering a hand to Merlin and helping him up. They had sat in a comfortable silence, each dealing with grief in their own way, but glad of the others company. Neither should have been alone that night.

"It's a new dawn," Merlin said softly, eyes on the sun above them, not quite at its midday heat, but high enough to warm their backs. Percival mimicked him, searching for the sun's rays against a backdrop of blue space. It was a beautiful day: too beautiful for the horrors of the previous one, and Merlin found himself wishing for a greyer one to match his mood.

No, He thought, this is a new dawn for Camelot. Arthur may be gone, but Gwen will rule well in his place, she will be a kind queen. Today is the day magic will be brought back.

But Merlin knew that he himself would not be returning to Camelot, so needed to carry back a message of magic and hope; he needed Percival.

So standing on the shore, Merlin began a tale so great that over time, it became woven with the myths of the land: one of a young prince, a warlock who served him, and the destiny they shared together. Merlin spoke because he knew that he would not be able to carry this message himself, and the only way to bring magic back now was to show that it can be a force for good. He knew no one better than Percival to complete this task.

As Merlin spoke, Percival's face changed frequently, from confusion at the turn of conversation, then to a profound shock as he realized what was going on. But he did not interrupt once, just listened, and he understood. He understood how this one simple young boy had saved them all so many times and how much Percival owed him.

When Merlin finished, he looked at the knight apprehensively, as if he thought Percival might drag him back to Camelot and execute him, even now. He was surprised when the knight took a step forward and embraced him, pulling him into his huge arms, dwarfing Merlin by comparison, and hugged his friend.

Percival stepped back.

"You had magic all this time?" he asked.

Merlin nodded solemnly, if hurriedly.

"And you've saved my life so many times?"

The younger man looked sheepish, only replying, "You've saved me too."

"But that's nothing, compared to what you've done for the kingdom." Percival was astounded. Merlin, all this time, was protecting them, for nothing in return. For once, Percival looked admiringly at the skinny serving boy, before dropping into a low, respecting bow. "Thank you, Merlin. We all owe you a great debt."

He stood to find Merlin watching him, a strange look on his face. Merlin still wasn't used to people respecting him for his powers, with so few people knowing, he didn't know how to react.

Percival could see something, something more in those eyes now. A spark he had not noticed before, a fire, but the eyes were also weary with the weight of all Merlin held. Percival couldn't believe he'd missed it for all these years.

"Tell Gwen I'm sorry, and Gaius. . . thank you," The young Warlock began, "And then tell them the story. Magic is not evil, there is only evil in the hearts of some. It can be used for good, Percival, tell them that. Return magic to Camelot for me. Please" Merlin spoke earnestly, imploring his friend to understand.

Percival nodded, "You're not coming back, are you?"

Merlin shook his head. "My place is by Arthur's side. Camelot is not my home anymore. I must wait here."

"For our King will rise again," Percival remembered this part of the story from earlier. Merlin looked at him, and they instinctively clasped elbows, as the knights did when they made their vows, in front of the mystical lakes reflection on this new dawn.

"I will see magic back in Camelot," Percival promised.

"And I will guard our King, our friend, until he rises once more."

"Good man, Merlin."

The men nodded at each other, Percival finally knowing the truth of Merlin, and they were the same. They were not a knight and a lowly serving boy, but two men who held the heart of Camelot in their spirits. They parted as equals, and friends.

So that's how Merlin lived. His home became the woods and his job simply waiting. He had no idea how long the wait would be, but he believed it would happen, and he would be there when his friend came back. He vowed to be there, promised it.

I will be where I always am, by your side, protecting you; I always will be.

Eventually, he used his magic to create a small wooden hut in the trees, it was simple, plain, but Merlin was happy with his work. He used his magic openly now he no longer had to fear. Every night he made a fire by the shore in case Arthur walked out of the lake while he slept, because Merlin wanted him to always have a light to guide him home. And that's how it went for decades; he lived as best he could, alone. Waiting.

Merlin saw his friends from Camelot only one more time after that, a year later. He was sitting on a rocky ledge, legs dangled over the side carelessly, when a noise to his left startled him. Standing quickly, he could see the small party arriving clearly from his vantage point above. The Queen led the way, flanked by two knights either side, and the lone figure of Gaius behind them.

They were all dressed in Camelot red, the Knights armour glinting in the sunlight as their capes flowed behind them, with dragons blazing on the surface of their clothes. He watched them dismount, wandering to the water's edge. Percival was talking quietly to Gwen, pointing out spots on the land, then out to the water, as if explaining something. Merlin guessed what was happening immediately – they were visiting the Kings final resting place.

They had every right to, he told himself sternly. Gwen was Arthur's wife, after all - but still, he did not want them to see him. Even now he could not face them, not knowing he'd let them all down.

The group was close to him now, and would surely see him if they looked over. Queen Guinevere stood with the water lapping over her feet, but her face remained passive. She had never seen her husband here to link this place to him, to picture him here. She had never got the chance to say goodbye to her beloved Arthur, and it seemed she could not even do so now. Her forehead creased into a frown, grief as fresh as when Percival had delivered the news flashing across her features.

Sir Leon stepped close to her, putting a reassuring arm on her elbow; Gwen was glad of her childhood friend's presence. He had been so good to her over the past year; she would not have coped without him. Passing him a small smile while covering his hand with her own, she felt the first tears begin to form in her eyes.

Gaius stood away from the group, looking not at the lake where the fallen king lay, but around him, into the woods, searching for the face he knew better than his own. Merlin.

Where was he? For days after the King's death, Gaius had sat in his chambers waiting for Merlin to return. It was only when Percival had come with the news of Arthur's death that Gaius was told the boy was not coming home. By then, the two bowls of his favourite meal were stone cold on the table.

So where was Merlin now? Gaius had waited a year, a lonely one, to give Merlin time to grieve away from Camelot. But surely he'd come back with them now? Gaius didn't think he would last another winter alone. It was all too empty without Merlin; he found himself waiting for the young warlock to make a remark at mealtimes, or looking for him out of the castle windows, or found himself rushing to the door every time footsteps approached: hoping Merlin had come home.

But he never did.

It was that red scarf that gave him away. As Merlin turned to leave quietly, the vibrant colour caught Gaius' eye.

"Merlin!" he called out weakly, taking a few steps towards the colour. As he moved forwards, Merlin stepped away, shaking his head with wide eyes. Gaius started forwards again, not understanding why the boy was backing away, but again Merlin moved back, further into the tree's shadow.

Gaius stopped, as did the boy so close to him he might as well be his son.

"Merlin, please," Gaius whispered huskily. They held each other's gaze, Merlin pleading with his eyes for Gaius to know that he loved him, but he just couldn't come closer. Likewise Gaius' eyes emitted confusion, alongside hurt that Merlin did not want to see him. In his idiosyncratic way, Merlin tilted his head to the side, a movement so familiar, so much like the old Merlin, that tears filled both of their eyes.

"Merlin?" at Gaius' words, Gwen spun around, red dress flaring around her ankles, dark hair flying. All of the knights looked up too, and soon everyone was watching Merlin, waiting for him to speak, or at least do something.

Merlin just looked at them, so very sadly. First, he met Percival's eye and the towering knight nodded sincerely, the plan was working. Merlin allowed a small smile to cross his lips, directed at his friend; it was everything he had ever wanted, magic back in Camelot. If only Arthur was at his side, there to see the great kingdom rise further, grow stronger, with magic at its heart.

Next, he took a breath to steady himself and slowly faced Gwen. Her sweet face looked too desperate, so broken for somebody so young. Gwen and Merlin locked eyes, and the Queen gave a kind nod of her head to communicate everything needed – she knew. She also knew he would have done everything he could've to save Arthur. In that look was her forgiveness, but also her asking, 'Was he okay? Did he die at peace? Merlin nodded back, his own pain reflected in her. He could not deny her one last thing.

Merlin raised his hand; fingers splayed, and uttered a quiet spell. His eyes flashed golden, orbed by light, and witnessed by the royal party; he conjured an image in the still lake waters. Gwen looked at him curiously, wondering what he had done, but Merlin only gestured towards the lake. She turned, and her gasp was quashed in her throat by her tears.

For in the mist an image appeared, it was not quite real - a flashback of Arthurs death. The outlines of Merlin and Arthurs huddled figures on the hillside were moving faintly. They made no noise, but the communication between them was clear. Gwen moved forwards until she was standing in the icy water. As Arthur died in his servants arms, the picture changed to later on that day; Arthur in the boat, sailing away.

Gwen now stood beside the conjured Merlin; both were watching the King float away from them. It may have just been the angle he was standing at, but from where he was looking, it appeared that Gwen was holding the vision-Merlin's hand, to let him know he was not alone.

As Guinevere reached out towards an empty lake, tears etched upon her cheeks, reaching for something that was no longer there, the vision ended. It was the final thing Merlin could do for Gwen; show her Arthur's final moments, and that he was treated well in the end. That he died loved.

Merlin looked at Gaius a last time, before turning away and vanishing into the depths of the forest, never to be seen by them again.

There were times after that, of course, that Merlin wished he had gone back to Camelot. That he had spent more time with them before he learnt the hard way that like all things, Camelot fell. It took many years, until Guinevere was old, and after many years of peace and prosperity and magic in the kingdom - but all things must end.

They all faded, Camelot fell, and Merlin was left truly alone. He had been promised Albion for his whole life, but when it was at its happiest, he could not be there to witness it. It was like the world was playing a cruel joke on him.

New kingdoms rose, wars were fought, humanity evolved; yet still Merlin remained resolute at his post. It was not his world anymore, not his fight. His fight was here, with Arthur.

So time passed, and still Merlin stayed. Technology was invented then the forest industrialized. The immortal thing was a surprise; Merlin found he only aged if he wanted to. He stayed the same for centuries, knowing Arthur would need to recognize him when he came back and becoming a doctor when a town was built in the area where he lived. It was his way of carrying on Gaius' work, and he hoped his mentor would be proud of him if he could see him.

Merlin worked hard, learning what he could, growing with the experiences, but his biggest regret was that he had to resume his old forte of hiding his magic. There were none but him left of the old religion, so people just wouldn't understand. Times hadn't changed that much.

In the world wars, Merlin worked at the local hospital, treating wounded soldiers. Both times, despite the devastation being caused, Merlin felt hopeful.

Is it the time?

But both times he was disappointed when, after endless nights sat under the stars in that damned field, Arthur made no appearance.

Would Arthur ever return? Or was it his fate to spend eternity hopelessly waiting for nothing? Was that his punishment for not saving Arthur in time, and failing his destiny?

Merlin had worried about this for so long. He thought that he had been deceived, that Kilgarrah might have been acting from kindness; lying to him to make him carry on. At these times, Merlin sank into despair so deep that the sun would not shine for days. And back before the lake had rejoined the earth and became a field, these dark times led Merlin to extreme actions.

There were times, in the first few hundred years, when the lake revealed no secrets, that Merlin had gave up. He had calmly walked into the waters, wanting to join his King in death, for he felt it was the only thing left for him. Merlin had walked steadily until the inky depths had surrounded him, praying for some sign, or just for an end. He was so very tired.

Each time, as the blackness was about to overcome him, and Merlin closed his eyes, something had pushed him back up to the surface. Strong arms he could not see, as well as a force definitely there, carrying him back towards the light. He would wake up on the shore, curse everything in sight for not letting it all end, damp but safe.

Merlin was never quite sure if it was his imagination, or even subconscious magic saving him, but he was never able to complete the act. Somewhere in his mind, a voice nagged at him, shouting THIS IS THE SIGN.

He had been asking for proof that some part of Arthur still lived, so maybe; just maybe, it was his friend saving him. Repaying Merlin for all the times he had saved him. This part was hope. Merlin learnt that against it all, it was hope that kept a person alive.

It was hope which made Merlin, now a haggard old man, too tired to keep up a young face, walk past that spot everyday and pause. This time, hope paid off.

Now. . .

It was cold that morning. Merlin was on his walk, the one he had taken every morning and evening for the past thousand years. Though the road had changed since then many times, it still remained, beaten and worn, but there.

He turned the collar of his blue coat up against the wind, his pace as brisk as his aching joints would allow. Although he had silver hair and beard similar to Gaius', Merlin's eyes remained painfully young, so bright, but heavy with the weight of all he had witnessed in his long time walking the earth. He was still Merlin.

'You will always be' his father had told him in the crystal cave. It was strikingly true.

It was on this walk, as ordinary as any of the others taken, when he found his sign. The spot, now known as Glastonbury Abbey, was covered in Arthurian myths. Arthur had been remembered: Merlin's story, spread through Percival, had lasted through the ages. It was a place connected to Arthur, fabled as his grave site; Merlin knew the stories were true. He had made them, after all.

Guinevere had been buried there when she passed, so she could be with her husband forever. Merlin was jealous of her in a way; she had joined him when it seemed Merlin would be parted from him for all of time. Merlin laid a rose where her grave had been once a year.

The dawn was bright, the sun edging higher in the sky but not yet able to break free of the Earth. He was looking at his shuffling feet, not ahead, almost missing the miracle. There, thrust into the ground exactly where the lake once met the shore was a sword. No ordinary sword, Excalibur.

It still shone as it did the day the dragon's breath gave it strength beyond all others, not looking a day old, let alone a thousand. Its lettering ran deep, it's perfectly balanced blade half buried in the grass, alongside a patch of red poppies. And it was dripping, rivulets of water gliding down the blade, falling from the handle to gra

ss, like it – like it had just emerged from the lake.

Merlin's hope had led him to this moment, his undoubting faith in Arthur all building to this one perfect picture. His heart hammering in his mouth, eyes clouded with tears of pride, brimming in his deep blue eyes, spirit soaring higher than he had ever thought possible; Merlin smiled for the first time in an age. For it was finally here. His wait was over.

He is returning.

Behind him, a voice, one as familiar as his own, spoke his name.

"Merlin?"