Description: Arthur returns.
Merlin paced the empty apartment, watching the sunset's glow reflected off the shiny leather of his shoes. The soft facets bounced every which way as he stared down, softening the hardwood floors in a blur of yellow light.
His mind couldn't focus on anything at the moment. He was home from work, it was a Saturday evening, he was well-liked, he (appeared) young....
Though it seemed he shouldn't have been, Merlin was miserable.
Tonight, like every night, his thoughts had traveled somewhere far away. Merlin's mind was back on that rocky beach, where his best friend had drawn his last breath. If only he could have done something, Merlin thought. If only Arthur's wounds hadn't taken him from away so soon, if only they'd had a better goodbye.
Merlin stopped in his tracks and turned on his heel, decidedly putting an end those thoughts where they were.'If only' was a dangerous thought, it'd only keep him from moving on.
Like it had for the past fourteen hundred years.
Merlin sat on the double bed, crinkling the red sheets (Pendragon red - he'd searched online for hours to find the right shade). He clutched his head in his hands as memories stabbed at him. A warm smile, messy blonde hair, eyes deep and blue as a lake. Ironic, Merlin thought. He also remembered Mordred, Morgana, and all of the evil they'd endured, but those recollections weren't nearly as painful as the happy ones. It was the remembrance of those times he and Arthur laughed together, trips he'd taken with Arthur and Guinevere, fighting side by side with the knights, helping Gaius - it hurt to remember how much he'd lost.
He shook his head, flipping his black hair out of his face, and stood up, walking to his small, overflowing kitchen. He focused on making tea, knowing he could have used magic but needing a distraction. Merlin was resolute to ignore the image of an island that kept prying its way into his mind. He poured the hot water and stirred the drink slowly, toying with the tea bag with his spoon. Then he brought his fingers up to trace the rim of the mug. Anything, but thinking about the fact that his best friend was gone. Merlin placed the mug down to let the tea steep, and leaned against the kitchen counter. The blue fabric of his scarf caught his eye and he stared at it, seeing the slight shimmer of the protection spell he'd placed on it. He hadn't been able to let everything go, as perhaps he should have. Merlin had lost Gaius, Guinevere, all the knights, and eventually the entire kingdom to the grip of time -- he couldn't have left the little things behind.
He sat on a plush chair and sipped the tea slowly. It was too still, he realized, but he shrugged it off. The Old Religion had all but died off, he couldn't expect there to be much magic left around him. The great sorcerer sighed.
Just then, there was a very sudden, invisible disturbance. Merlin was almost knocked over by the assault on his senses; every magical bone in his body felt like it was stress fracturing. What was it he was sensing? There was a light in his head, steadily growing brighter, blinding him inside-out. Merlin took a desperate shot in the dark, tuning his mind to the island where the greatest man the world had ever known had become just a legend. He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers to his temples, focusing his mental vision on the beach and finding it, as always, utterly empty. As Merlin was about to give up, knowing he shouldn't have hoped for something so irrational, there was another flash of light. When it faded, there was a figure left on the beach. Merlin's eyes snapped open wide.
"Arthur." He breathed.
The sorcerer dashed out of his apartment building and jumped in his car. He didn't have the time to do a transport spell - modern methods would have to do. He'd moved close to the Isle anyway, though he should have forced himself to stay away. It was only a five minute drive. Upon arriving at the shore, he ran to the water, conjuring a bridge with a flick of his hand and sprinting across to the island. Arriving on the beach and rushing to his friend's side, Merlin found him unconscious but breathing. The wizard took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He pressed his fingers to Arthur's temples and focused on flowing energy into Arthur. He felt small magic seep out of his veins and into Arthur, reviving him. Those clear blue eyes that fluttered open - God, Merlin had missed looking into them.
Arthur pushed himself up. "Where am I?" He mumbled. Arthur had only to turn his head a fraction of an inch for his confused eyes to register Merlin. They stared at each other for an unreasonably long few seconds, and then Merlin tugged his king towards him in the tightest hug he could possibly manage.
"You're alive." He whimpered into Arthur's neck, tears of joy escaping his eyes. Still not sold that it was real, Merlin nevertheless decided to savor the dream for a while, and pulled Arthur even closer. Arthur abandoned his usual pride and sank into Merlin's embrace. "Merlin... what happened? Why are you here? Are you... Merlin, are you dead?"
Merlin chuckled and pulled back, wiping at the tears on his cheeks. "No, you came back. You're alive. And you kept me waiting long enough, you dollophead." He choked out another laugh. Arthur's eyes widened in wonder. His lips quirked up in a heavenly smile. Fitting.
"Why?" He asked. Merlin shrugged. After a moment, Arthur said, "God, it's good to see you again, Merlin." Merlin nodded and grinned, sniffling. They sat quietly, looking at the sand. There wasn't much to say, really - they just wanted to bask in each other's presences, trying to soak up all those years of missed moments.
"We should go," Merlin said, after a while. Arthur nodded and pushed himself off the ground, still as lithe and graceful as he'd been in the sixth century. As Merlin stood beside, Arthur tilted his head curiously.
"Merlin?"
"Yep?"
"What on earth are you wearing?" Merlin looked down at his ripped jeans and Death Cab for Cutie tshirt. "Yeah, I guess we have to talk."
