"You can't just drink yourself to death!"

"Yes" – hiccup – "I can!"

Kiligharrah, Greg, whatever the hell his name was, grabbed the bottle out of Merlin's hand. "No, no you can't."

Merlin groaned and kicked him in the shin. However, he was intoxicated and ended up throwing his balance off and falling down. He fell face-down onto the carpet. "Just go away."

"So you can just drown in your own misery? I don't think so."

"Imma immortal, you bastard. Can't die."

He heard Kiligharrah, Greg, (or whatever the hell his name was) sigh. "Fine. Don't listen to me."

Merlin frowned. For the past hour or so, Kiligharrah had been trying to convince him of something, but he couldn't exactly remember what it was. That was probably due to how drunk he was.

"You're not immortal," Kiligharrah said, sounding exasperated, like he was repeating himself. "Arthur came back. That took your immortality away. I noticed that when I saw you gradually aging, which you haven't noticed because you're so used to your body being the same. Listen, Merlin, you're going to stared aging normally now, and you're susceptible to things that would cause your death. You're mortal now and – ah, geez, I should've explained this earlier….

"Okay, so basically I've had my suspicions for a while. I never really told you about it because I figured that I was wrong. I thought that you would figure it out before me. But then I realized you hadn't. Then Arthur…you know…and you began to just faded, like you lost the will to go – which I kinda get because of everything you've been through – but what was different was that it showed. You actually looked weak, tired – the whole shebang. I realized that's something that would happen to a normal person, but not an immortal. Immortal people don't really – are you even listening?!"

Truthfully, Merlin wasn't. He had fallen asleep.

Kiligharrah sighed. This would be hell to explain again, especially considering he realized most of facts as he talked.

Black hair turned gray. Smooth skin wrinkled. Aches appeared everywhere. Youth seemed to evade him.

Sure, he had wanted this. But not this way. Aging was a maddening process.

Taking walks was something those crack-pot (and probably on crack) "experts" always said helped with getting old. They lied.

Still, he liked taking walks, even though they hurt. He lived near a lake, one that almost looked like the Lake of Avalon (which had dried out in the past thousand years). He took a walk there and back every day.

There wasn't even a path to follow. He just walked on the side of the road and hoped no cars would hit him. That was about as thrilling as life got nowadays.

He had a routine, too. It was a masochistic, self-destructive routine, but he did it anyways. He would go out to the lake, and stare at it for a while. Then, only when the sun started setting, did he actually allow himself to think. He would think about Arthur, and how he failed him. Twice. He would think of Camelot, its shining glory, and its untimely demise. Then, he would think about everything.

He would think about all the friends he had made and lost, all the lives he failed to save, the lives he did save. He would think of old jokes he shared with friends that were so dead and gone that they were probably dust by now. He would think about the families he started, and had to watch die. He would think of all the times he had tried to kill himself, and how many times he regretted his very existence.

It's quite strange of how staring at a body of water could make a person think all that.

So, following his routine, he took a walk out to the lake, stared at it for a good few hours, then decided to head back. That was the plan anyways.

Instead, while walking, he had spotted a truck on the road and had thought nothing of it. Well, he had thought nothing of it until it hit his body straight on.

He was dead within seconds.

It was dark. That was the first thing he noticed.

The second thing he noticed was that he was, most likely, dead. He felt himself die, felt the life force sucked out of him. Damn. He never realized dying would actually feel like anything.

The third thing he noticed was that something was poking his face. It wasn't anything sharp, like a stick, or something soft like…. Well, he couldn't think of anything that was soft and able to poke people, but it wasn't soft.

He realized it was a finger poking him.

For the briefest of seconds, he pictured a severed finger of a person poking him in the face, and felt a wave of terror flow through him. He then realized that was a pretty stupid idea, though he still felt a little apprehensive. Really, it could be anyone poking his face.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. It was no longer dark, but overwhelmingly bright. He squinted against it, and blinked a few times, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

Nope. He still couldn't see.

"Idiot."

He frowned. He knew that voice, but he couldn't place it at the moment. He probably should, he reasoned. It stirred something in his mind, so whoever it was, was probably important.

He couldn't remember much, actually. That was a result of dying, he guessed.

Somewhere, he realized he was no longer old and wrinkly. He felt like he was eighteen again, as in actually eighteen, not just looking it like he had for thousands of years. It felt good. He had missed youth.

The poking of his face turned to a gentle caress and he frowned again. This was going to bother him, not knowing who was doing this.

He blinked again the bright light again, finding it a bit easier to see. He was able to see an outline of a person, a distinguishingly male person.

He was able to make out a smile on that person's face, and a pair of blue eyes. He blinked again, and found himself able to see clearly.

"Hey," Arthur said.

"Oh," Merlin said. "Hi."

Arthur quirked an eyebrow. "All I get is a 'hi'? Really?"

Merlin nodded. "Yep."

They stared at each other for a full minute. Merlin cracked first.

"You prat!" he whispered as he launched himself at the Once and Future (and now Past) King. They both laughed, and cried, and ended up just blubbering onto each other's shoulders as they did something they barely did in their first life; they hugged.

And thus, prat and idiot, king and warlock, were reunited again.

THE END. (REALLY.)

A/N: Eh, life got in the way of me putting this little epilogue thing up. Whatever. It's done. Break out the champagne and ice cream.

Well, thanks again to all of those who've reviewed, followed, and favorited this story, and to all those who've stuck with this train-wreck until the end. You all are awesome, and I love you all. (I also apologize for basically posting my first draft on every chapter. I never realized people actually edit these things... XD Still haven't learned from my mistakes, this chapter was barely read over too. I'll fix it one day...)

Well, thanks for reading!

(Stay away from muffins!)