Only For You

~ chapter eight ~

"Three months since the disappearance of Carmarthen resident Emrys Du Lac, authorities have started the process of transferring ownership of his local bookstore to his nephew, Merlin. The link between the pair was found in old documentations located within the bookstore itself, uncovering a shared relation between Merlin's father, Ballinor, and Mr. Du Lac himself. After much negotiation with police, Merlin has made the painful decision to stop the active search for his uncle, with the chief of police fearing Mr. Du Lac was fatally impacted by the attacks led by the Black Knight Gang earlier this year. The investigation into their leader, Morgan le Fey, is still ongoing, with pleads for anyone with information to—"

"How's that?"

"Well," Merlin said, turning to the man beside him. "That does explain where I've come from. But the people may still be suspicious, especially calling off the search."

"We can hardly search for someone knowing they're right in front of us, Mr. Du Lac."

"I suppose you have a point, Detective," Merlin said to the older man ahead of him.

"I suppose I do."

Merlin folded his arms across his chest at the detective's words, as he let a smile creep onto his face for the first time in weeks. He was finally going back. Back home. He could go back to his old life, even though he had a new name and face. At least to the people who used to know him at his shop, anyway. He could go back to telling his stories.

Stories of knights in shining armour. Of dragons and great citadels, and of sorcery, and daring fights. All products of a time long gone. And now that his friends were back; Elyan and Percival and Lancelot and Leon and Gwaine, his stories would be even more exciting. He could even ask them to visit sometime. The people would love that. He could be happy. For the first time in over fifteen hundred years. But deep down he knew something was missing. As if a piece of him was gone but he didn't know where it had went. Deep down, there was a part of his mind that knew that no matter what happened, he could never be complete again. A part of him had died inside, as the flames had scorched the last hope of Albion. If only he knew which part of him it was.

***

"You can't make me do this."

"You can't put it off any longer, My Lord."

"But the others—"

"Will have to come as well," Leon interjected. "It's the 21st century, not the 6th. Besides, you can't go out in public wearing," Leon paused to gesture at the large piles of chainmail which sat in the corner of the room, and then at the clothes of the men in front of him, all of which were torn, tattered, and almost threadbare due to their cross-country adventures during the previous months. "...that." Leon finished with a grimace.

"Fine," Arthur said, having finally caved after weeks of Leon's pestering. "But this better be quick."

***

Six and a half hours later, Arthur had finally had enough. His arms had been laden with bags of clothes he still didn't understand all through the day. Pants that seemed much too tight to what he was used to. Shirts that were much too light after countless centuries in chainmail, under the heavy weight of Avalon. Shoes that were all too confusing, and now, as if to test his patience once and for all, Leon had taken them to get 'formal attire'.

"Who knows when we may need it sire," Leon had explained as Arthur had walked out of the changing rooms, now dressed in a black dinner suit, with a gleaming red tie. "You don't realise how lucky we are to have been put into accommodation as luxurious as ours. And it's only a matter of time before it's possible you may be invited to attend a dinner party, or a charity event, now that the whole world knows who you are."