Only For You

~ chapter one ~

"Albion's greatest need. That was when I was told you would return."

The old man looked out upon the waters of Avalon.

Of course, it was no longer known by that name. Instead renamed through blatant mistranslations by oblivious mortals as Llyn Cau, nestled right near Cadair Idris, among the mountainous ranges of a national park. Long forgotten as the place of Avalon. Known only for being the chair of a mythical giant king. It was all nonsense, of course. Merlin knew better than anyone else that this was no throne of a giant king.

But it meant the attention of Excalibur-crazed treasure hunters was taken to other various lakes, for which Emrys was eternally grateful.

The calm waters below him, and the serene beauty of a soon to be night sky were fit for royalty, and a stunning backdrop for a throne, he would be the first to admit, but it was not any giant king to whom the throne belonged. Rather the greatest king Camelot – and Albion – had ever known.

The Once and Future King.

Arthur Pendragon.

Destined to one day return, and reclaim his rightful place on the throne. Or so Merlin had been told by an old friend, all those years ago.

Yet lately, Merlin had been second guessing the prophecy which had kept him going for the past fifteen hundred years. All the death and destruction of the past, and yet the calm waters of Avalon had remained just that. Sheltered from the rest of the world, just as Arthur supposedly was. If he was even there. The countless wars fought, the lives lost, the kingdoms which had fallen and still nothing. Through numerous pandemics and revolutions, and humanity making mistake after mistake after mistake. And still, Arthur was no where to be found.

"Camelot is long gone, Arthur! As are the knights and the commoners and the queen that reigned long after your death. Gaius, Gwen, Leon, they're all gone! Camelot's allies, her enemies, nothing remains of the time in which I called home. Of which we, called home."

His breath hitched, and he fell to his knees. There was no one left from the time of Camelot's golden age. He was the last one. And although he had come here to find a sense of hope, to see for himself what he had been staying alive for, and protecting the world for, there was only silence.

Merlin could no longer feel the magic which used to surround the lake of Avalon.

He could no longer feel Freya, her presence which used to give the waters their very essence seemed to be silent.

Yet where there should have been tears, none fell. They had stopped over a thousand years ago.

Instead now, there was just a solemn sense of nothing. A sense of pure empty, and isolation, because no one could possibly understand what he had been through. For the first couple of centuries, he had tried to remain in a normal state of life. He made sure his ageing looked natural, even if it was just an illusion of him growing old. He met people he loved, people he could call his friends, people who made him feel like he was home.

But none of them could ever understand. And every one of those relationships ended the same way his and Arthur's had. Merlin, walking alone in a world he didn't belong. Watching those he loved get sick, and hurt, and age, and die. Soon he didn't try to fit in. He didn't try to find a family with each generation, he just accepted that while he waited for his king, it was best to be alone.

That way the heartache was easier to accept. But as with all things, and the changing of the times, the 20th century had rolled around and Merlin found himself becoming a part of society, even the smallest bit.

By the late 2010s, Merlin had forgotten the lessons which all the years of countless hardships and heartbreak had taught him. He opened a book shop to sell some of the more common books he had collected over the centuries, and even loaned out some of the rarer stories, only to those he knew he could trust. It wasn't long before he started with his Arthurian Tales evenings. Where twice a week, people from all over Carmarthen would come to hear his tales of dashing blonde princes, and strong knights with flowing red capes. Of dragons, and sorcery, and a tyrant king who came before Arthur. He enchanted them with his words, astounded them with the details he included. But he knew although they were interested in what he had to say, they were worried about him. Although the people loved a good story, that's all Merlin's – or Emrys', as he was known in the town – tales were to them.

They called him crazy, when he would start talking in the first person, recounting the tales as if he were there. They had called the doctors, therapists, psychologists, but he refused to see them. Continuing with his stories, and his shop, and trying to not let the whispers get to him.

But it was inevitable that they did. And just as with any words spoken enough times, Merlin began to doubt what he knew. Who he was. What if they were right? What if he was on his knees in front of the lake of Avalon because of a delusion he had conditioned himself to believe over the years? He was only brought back to what he knew was real by the pain, not that he would share his doubts with anyone close to him. He knew there was only one person he could trust.

"They don't even believe me, Arthur. They don't believe that you existed, or that I am actually the real Merlin. They say it's all a myth. That it's all just a bedtime story to tell their children. That magic, dragons, the Great Purge and the Old Religion were never real. For centuries, I've had to deal with their ignorance. But I always thought that you would rise, and then we could show them together that it was all real. Instead you just stay quiet. All the while their whispers and their opinions get louder. How do I know you're still even here? How much will it take to get you back?"

So far, nothing had brought Arthur back. And Merlin had tried basically everything. Every possible incantation he could imagine. Druidic rituals, Pagan rituals, all the rituals under the sun. Visiting the lake on eclipses, and solstices, and hundreds of variations of the phases of the moon. He had crawled into the depths of Avalon's waters, given himself to the cold embrace of the lake in the dead of winter, trapped under the ice before waking up to bright lights and a constant beep by his side.

Every new monarch crowned, he found himself back by the lake's edge on their coronation, as he sat by a fire, sculpting dragons and princes out of the embers, eyes flashing gold as the images reflected in the surface of the waters, desperately hoping for Arthur to rise once again. Yet he never had, and so Arthur, Camelot and the rest of Merlin's old life had faded into legend. There was almost nothing left to try. Just one more idea, a small ray of hope in an ever expanding room of darkness.

"You're not coming back of your own accord anytime soon. I know that now. But I can't live like this. I can't live in a world where no one believes in what you and what you did for Albion. Where no one even believes in Albion to begin with. I can't continue being mocked for my name, having to change it every hundred years so as to not make the mortals suspicious. I can't continue being called crazy, and having to live a life which is not mine. I can't go on without you, Arthur. I need to get you back."

The old man stood once more, and faced the dying sun. If anyone had seen, the gold in the man's eyes could easily be put down to a reflection of the gold which streaked across the sky. Blending perfectly into oranges and reds, through purples and finally into a deep blue, speckled with stars and moons and worlds entirely new. But no one could have explained how in the old man's place now stood a tall, raven haired man. With high cheekbones and a newborn sense of self confidence, topped off with dress pants and a dinner jacket, as though he had somewhere important to be.

"If you can hear me, Arthur," he paused, regaining his voice. Much younger than the man who had just stood speaking. "I'm sorry for what I am about to do. But I'm doing it for you, Arthur. It's always for you. I just hope you will be able to forgive me."

Merlin turned around, and walked back down the side of the mountain with not a look backwards to the lake. An orb of pure light coming to life in his palm, illuminating his path, just as the sun dipped below the horizon and took with it the last light of the day.