Merlin: Return of the Monarch

A Prince and a King

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In the year 2013, a Prince was born, by the name of Arthur Windsor. In the year 2014, the old man with the long white beard and hair stopped coming to the bench beside the Thames River and the London eye.

            On September 20th 2016, two young men fresh out of university bought an apartment in Alderny St. One was tall and lanky, with dark hair that could match the night sky and ears that could shame a donkey. His name was Merlin. The other was Arthur, and he had shiny blonde hair and cheekbones sharp enough to cut through steel.

            Together, they hauled the piles of cases and the few boxes into the building, and disappeared from street view. From the apartment on the top floor, the tinkling sounds of vague music could be heard. As daylight sunk below the horizon, the curtains of all the apartments were pulled shut by residents living there.

            Inside the apartment on the top floor, Merlin and Arthur had just finished unpacking what little they had.

“I still cannot believe you made me sell her crown.” Arthur grumped, slumped in one of the two small sofas in the room. Merlin looked at him, sorrow in his eyes. He knew how much Arthur missed his late wife, Guinevere, but there was nothing to do to bring her back. “I’m sorry.” Was all he could think of saying.

            Arthur harrumphed, and turned his head to the fireplace. Now that they had lived together in this new world for two years, Merlin had had a chance to show Arthur the new culture and how to behave. They’d also managed to get through a two-year course at the University of London, meaning they were able to get high paying work for financial companies, should they need to.

For now however, they had sold all of Merlin’s possessions from the old Camelot, to raise the money to afford the first year’s rent on a reasonable flat in the heart of London and, at Arthur’s request, as close to the royal household as they could get.

            “But if you hadn’t been quite so picky about where we lived, we wouldn’t have had to.” Merlin added, a touch of his old self showing as he set the last suitcase down on the floor and slid it under the cabinet. It held Merlin’s most treasured possession- the one thing they could not sell for money. Gais’ old book of magic.

            “Are you criticizing my rather excellent choice of location?” Arthur replied. Merlin glanced behind him as he stood up from hiding the suitcase away. “No, not at all.” He said, his mouth tugging into a small smirk. Arthur had had some difficulty with adjusting to the new lifestyle of not being the most important ruler in the city, and it was taking Merlin all he had to not take the Mickey out of him every day.

            “Well it’s all right for you, you’ve been living through each century without skipping 1000 years.” Arthur pointed out as Merlin filled the kettle in the small kitchen. The warlock shook his head with a smile on his face as he switched on the kettle. “Yeah, but it didn’t take two years of demanding that I be passed through as “I am a king” and getting thrown out of lectures.” Merlin chuckled, using his magic to sort out the rest of the tea.

            He sat down opposite Arthur on the other sofa, and sighed deeply. “You know, I still can’t believe I found you. I mean, you were dead- you were dead!” He repeated with emphasis. Arthur raised his eyebrows. “Well done Merlin, glad to see nothing gets past you.” He remarked coolly. Merlin rolled his eyes.

            “Yes but even by the laws of magic, you shouldn’t be alive right now.” The warlock said. Neither had been able to find out the reason for Arthur’s return. They had spent every spare moment researching folklore and old magic, but there was nothing.

            Arthur, who’s eye had been wandering out to the view of the window, suddenly sat up straight. “Merlin…”

            Merlin eyed his friend with concern. “What is it Arthur?” He asked, twisting in his seat to look out the window behind him. There was smoke rising from the cream coloured estate, which was Buckingham Palace, and in the distance sirens could be heard wailing.

            “OUCH!” Arthur yelped, curling over in pain as something shot through him. Merlin was by his side within seconds. “Arthur? Arthur what is it?” He asked desperately. The old king shook his head, and groaned. “It feels like a burn.” He gasped out, and as he rose his head Merlin could see tears leaking from the corner of his eyes. Arthur never cried.

            “Arthur what can I do.” He desperately asked, his hands pointlessly wavering over Arthur’s shuddering body. He cried out as he arched his back, his jolting movements making him fall off the sofa and onto the floor. Merlin jumped back, his hands in his hair as he watched in despair. The sirens outside Buckingham palace stopped suddenly, and out of the corner of his eye Merlin could see the smoke cloud thinning.

            Arthur gasped and straightened out on the ground, gasping and panting. Merlin was able to rip off his shirt, and his eyes nearly fell out of his head as he saw the red marks that were angrily scratched across Arthur’s taught stomach. “Arthur. Arthur!” Merlin half yelled, clicking his fingers in from of Arthur blank face. He placed his hand a few centimetres above Arthur’s nose and mouth, and breathed a sigh of relief when he felt the short, itchy breaths coming from him.

            Using his powers, Merlin cast a thought to a bowl on the side bench in the kitchen and filled it with water. He lifted Arthur up onto the sofa, and using his shirt dipped it into the bowl of cool water dabbing it softly on Arthur’s burns.

            A million questions were flying across Merlin’s mind, as he soothed his friend’s burns to the best of his ability, but as Arthur started coming to, his attention was on how Arthur had managed to burn himself without coming into contact with anything warm, let alone burning.