I Will Be Right Here, Waiting For You, a merlin fanfic

Hello!

I've finally found the time to finish and publish this story. I'm leaving for London tomorrow and I wanted to post it before I left.

It's about Arthur's return. Merlin has been waiting for him for a long time, and he finally comes back. He does, but is it too good to last?

Arthur comes back in 1944, the second to last year of the Second World War; the battle of Camlann is historically set in 537, so Arthur comes back after 1407 years, fourteen hundred years.

In this story there will be some historically based parts, but I'm not granting the actual plausibility of my sources; they might be wrong.

Throughout the story, Destiny and Fate will be considered as two different entities.

Warnings for major character deaths and heavy themes, such as racism and persecution (it's all historical) and violence in general. If you're a sensible person who can't read this kind of stories, stay away. Features resurrections and reincarnations and un-aging!Merlin.

Rated T for the aforementioned reasons.

The names of some characters are different, but it's pretty easy to understand who's who.

Pairings: Arthur/Gwen, short time of Gwen/Lancelot; Gwaine/Morgana, it's my first time writing this, but it's a pairing I really like (Morgana is just mentioned in passing); there would be Merlin/Freya, but it's really really subtle.

The title is from the song "Right Here Waiting" by Richard Marx.

Thanks to my beta Lolaangelbunn, to AlxM for her constantsupport and to theAnonymousParadox for her cheering.

DISCLAIMER: Merlin belongs to BBC Network. The aforementioned song belongs to Richard Marx. I only own my ideas and my stupid brain.

Now, I'll stop babbling. It's time for the story. I hope you'll like it!

-MildeAmasoj ❤

Wherever you go,

Whatever you do,

I will be right here waiting for you

Whatever it takes,

Or how my heart breaks,

I will be right here waiting for you

-"Right Here Waiting", Richard Marx

When two people are born with a bond stronger than anything else, born to stay side by side, to fight for each other at the cost of their own lives - it is not a matter of casualty, of luck or anything of the sort.

It is Destiny's decision.

When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives means the most to us, we often find that it is who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, has chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand.

The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares.

Such a pure and beautiful art true friendship is... Admired and sought after by all. And Destiny is the artist behind such a marvel.

However, Destiny is always tormented by her jealous sister, Fate. Destiny's work is careful and meticulous; Fate, on the other hand, arranges things in an accidental and inartistic manner.

Fate is completely overshadowed by her sister, and she wants - in her own rights - a part of this great masterpiece that her sister has created.

What Destiny joins together, only Fate can tear apart. Fate is what tears an eternal bond apart, out of spite, and jealousy. In the end, it matters not how majestic Destiny's work is - how strong a bond between two people can be.

In the end, it is Fate that overshadows her sister. Destiny is the one who loses. And those who are left in the wake of their fight - they are the ones who get hurt the most. They are those who lose everything they had.

This story begins at the dawn of time, when the Triple Goddess was planting the first seeds for the creation of the almighty Albion.

It was written in the stars that after a terrible bloodshed, two children would be born - the Once and Future King, destined to reunite the lands of Albion, and Emrys, destined to help him in his journey and to bring Magic back to the lands of men - with a bond stronger than Destiny itself.

In a torrid day of summer, a boy, with hair as bright as the sun, saw the light for the first time. His loud cries announced his arrival to the world, as a whole kingdom rejoiced in his birth and mourned the loss of their queen.

That day would be the beginning of the Great Purge - a plague brought about by the guilt of a broken man. Many lives would be lost in the years to come, destroying the balance between Life and Death.

Less than four springs later, in the darkest night of the winter, the great amount of Magic roaming in the air - accumulated in the years due to the death of many of its users - fell on Earth as a meteor, hitting the womb of a screaming woman in a tiny house of a small village. Less than a hour later, a boy, his hair as dark as the night, silently opened his golden eyes and admired the world he had just become a part of.

Arthur and Merlin, two sides of the same coin - entirely different, yet entirely the same, like the sun and the moon, like the day and the night - came to life, carrying on their shoulders the weight of a kingdom and of a whole era.

The Once and Future King and Emrys. Their lives would become books, their shared Destiny would become legend and their eternal bond would become history.

They had a short time together - not even a decade - before Arthur died at Mordred's hand. His was not an ordinary death, more like a temporary halt to his duties. He would have to rest in Avalon - to allow the deadly wound he had received to heal properly - and he would rise again in Albion's time of need. And he would come back, after fourteen hundred years, during what would be called the Second World War.

For all that time, for those seemingly never-ending centuries, Merlin waited for him. He waited, hoping and dreading at the same time the return of his greatest friend - for who knew what calamity would happen in Albion to need the Once and Future King again?

It was a torture.

At the beginning, he had kept in touch with Camelot, until Gaius, Gwen, Leon and Percival died. The Queen had conceived a son just before her husband's death, and he ruled upon Camelot with kindness and wisdom. The kingdom had not lasted for long, though, after Amhar Pendragon fell in battle, but its glory would live forever into the hearts of men. After Camelot's decline, Merlin had decided to travel and learn new things, for it was too painful to stay there, where everything was a constant reminder of everything he had lost.

He had soon learned not to get attached to anyone; they would all leave him, one day, and that was a something he was not ready to go through again. He had made the mistake to open his heart to a little girl once - a cheerful and kind nine-years-old orphan with short and curly red hair - whom he had seen as a daughter, and who had seen him as the father she never knew. That had been wonderful at the beginning, when his days where full of happiness and smile and laughs.

It was revealed to be a mistake when the girl died, after giving birth to her second child - she had married a peasant, and they had lived happily together for years with their always young "uncle Merlin" to watch over them - and no magic had been enough to save her life. The warlock was sure that Death had come to claim him that day, along with his adopted daughter, when her sparkling green eyes had slipped closed, never to open again. But his heart continued to pump blood into his veins, not caring about how painful every beat was for him. He bade farewell to the heartbroken husband and his children with a half-baked excuse and a handful of money, before leaving the village and continuing his journey alone.

It was then that he realized that just like Arthur was resting in Avalon, his heart, too, needed a rest; he began to live alone, almost as a hermit, and began using the aging spell to explain his wish to be left alone as the result of old age - and that was not a complete lie.

In those centuries and centuries of waiting, the days had blended into each other and his life had become a mere stage of his wait for Arthur. The hope he held in his Destiny and the promise of a new rise of his friend were the only things to keep him sane.

During the First World War he had found out that he was not immortal - as he had believed until that moment - but that he just could not age. He had been severely injured during the fight (luckily he had removed the aging spell for the time being and his body had been stronger) and had almost died, much to his surprise, due to the infection of the wound.

He was beginning to think that Arthur would never come back - that he was doomed to an eternal wait to pay for his faults and sins. After all, the war had been terrible and many people had died, so he was not that sure about his king's return anymore. Could there be anything worse than a worldwide war? Yes, it could.

For if a worldwide war had been bad, the second worldwide war had been disastrous. Not just the soldiers were dying - even the civilians, and a terrible amount of Jews were being hunted like animals and killed without mercy. It felt like going back in time - like living again in the Middle Ages, with the Great Purge hanging heavily on the head of every sorcerer. The rage and hatred that filled the hearts of men was inhuman.

You would think Merlin saw their behavior as animalistic - no, it was so much worse. Animals killed for instinct or survival, not to follow the ideas of a psychopathic man who was hellbent over killing thousands of people just because he thought they were different.

That was particularly familiar to Merlin, as it was just like Uther's hatred towards magic users. No, scratch that. It was worse. Uther had been wrong, but at least he had had a motive - Ygraine's death, even if he was the real culprit - and sorcerers had the power to defend themselves. But during Hilter's time, his thirst of blood had destroyed thousands of lives - killed thousands of innocents.

Merlin had been forced to watch as men and women, even children, were slaughtered. He had tried to help, but not much cold be done aside from hiding and protect some of them.

Everyday he had prayed for Arthur to come back. He had been living near the Lake of Avalon - waiting until his brother rose from the waters - and everyday he had sat on its shores, narrowing his eyes at every movement he saw.

And one day, he had.

Arthur Pendragon opened his eyes for the first time in hundreds of years - and the first thing he realized was that he could not breathe.

The second thing he realized was that he was underwater - a good enough explanation for the lack of air around him - and he swam towards the surface of whatever pool he had fallen into.

When his head was finally out of the water, he took in a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, while his memories began to clear; the first thing he remembered was that he had died. Oh God, he had died in Merlin's arms and had left him, Guinevere, the knights and the whole of Camelot alone.

He continued to swim until he reached the shores, while his head filled by thoughts regarding Camelot and everyone he had left behind. His musings were interrupted when he saw an old man looking at him, a shocked and strangely hopeful expression on his withered face. Arthur recognized him from the battle at Camlann. He was the sorcerer that had helped them in the fight against Morgana.

He was Merlin.

Arthur walked towards him and reached a shaking hand to touch his friend's shoulder, while the other man continued to gape at him. As soon as his fingers brushed the fabric of the worn-out shirt the warlock was wearing, the blonde saw his withers fade and his beard recede, until it left only smooth and rosy skin on his face. His hair was now as dark as he remembered it, and his blue eyes were bright with unshed tears. Arthur smiled and hugged his friend, laughing, and murmured in his ear the only thing he could say. The most important word to him, and a word the raven haired man had not heard for centuries. "Merlin," he breathed, soothingly, and no other words were needed.

As the warlock's mind cleared and he went out of his shocked state, he became painfully aware of how much he had missed his king. The weight of all the years he had lived alone took its toll on him, and he began to cry, sobs wracking his lithe form. Not thinking about it twice, Arthur hugged him, hushing him softly, reassuring him that he was never going to be alone again. They were together now, and nothing was going to tear them apart.

It had taken some time for them to adapt to their new life - Arthur to the modern world (and to Modern English, which was the most difficult thing he had ever tried to learn) and Merlin to the presence of his friend. They had not dwelled too much on that part, though - they were going to fight, and both of them were familiar with battles.

The blonde noticed that although many things had changed with time - technology, in the first place, with those metallic carriages(how could they move without horses?), those things with which you could communicate to someone who was far away (that was still a mystery to him) and the 'guns', that reminded him much of crossbows without bows but with 'bullets' (he was quite good with them). The most surprising thing was that Merlin, of all people, was really good with those weapons, and he was able to shoot at the center of the target from an impressing e distance (Arthur suspected he might be using magic, the sneaky cheater).

That 'World War' was something he had never even thought about, in Camelot. When he had to fight at Camlann, he was sure that was a huge and important battle. But this? This was enormous, and it involved most of the nations. How much the world had changed. When he lived in Camelot, he thought the world did not go beyond Albion, Europe and Africa. He had heard something about Asia, but he did not know much about it. Now there was a whole new continent, America. The USA were fighting against Hitler, along with the United Kingdom, and Arthur could not help but like those people (even if they had a weird pronunciation of that even weirder Modern English).

Arthur had returned from Avalon in 1944, when Germany was beginning to weaken, but the war was still raging. At first he had wanted to apply to enter the army or the Royal Air Force, but Merlin had disagreed. The blonde had told him that if he had not come back to rule, it was because he had come back to fight, and he would not just stand there and watch as innocents were savagely slaughtered. The warlock, however, made him notice that there were enough soldiers in the army and that they were needed elsewhere.

Merlin showed him where he had hidden some of the civilians, in Germany. It was a small house on the outside, but inside it was bigger. It was located in a dangerous place, around which Nazis were always present, but it was necessary and it was protected well. The warlock had cast upon the place a spell that allowed it to be larger and one that muffled the sound coming from there, as well as covering the people that lived there. There were almost two hundred people hidden; mostly women and children, but some if them were those destined to end up into a concentration camp. Merlin provided for medical care for them, as well as giving them water and food; they were many, but the inner part of the house was big, and they managed to live at ease. Most of them knew of his magic and the others suspected, but he trusted them but to tell anything, for they owed him their life. They were not scared of him; some of them even asked him to teach them, and he made them learn how to defense themselves and the others, in case he was not present.

When Arthur went in, silence fell around him; after all, he was easily mistaken for a German, those days. With his blond hair and blue eyes, he lacked just the uniform and the weapons (well, he had weapons, but he was not about to show them). Merlin quickly explained that he was not a threat, and they slowly began to trust him. Their role was, now, that of protectors; if they found someone who needed shelter, they have it to them.

One day, they came across a beautiful and familiar young girl who was running from the Nazis. She was pretty, with curly hair and dark skin. That was why she was being pursued; colored people were deemed as inferior, thus they deserved to die (that was how Hitler's twisted mind worked; it was disgusting). She was in company of her brother, who had an even darker skin, and her boyfriend, who was an immigrated Argentinian whose father was a Jew.

Her name was Jennifer, but she preferred to be called Jenny. Yes, she was Guinevere's reincarnation. When Merlin and Arthur found her, they were left speechless. What shocked them even more was that she remembered everything about her past life, as did Elliot (Elyan) and Lance (Lancelot). Even if they did, though, Jenny and Lance still remained a couple. Arthur felt a pang of jealousy every time Lance kissed her, but that feeling was quickly overcome by grief when Lance died.

It was one of those days in which the Nazis searched for anyone who should have been brought to a concentration camp. Lance and Merlin had gone out to buy some food, but they had come across an enemy soldier. The man had wanted them to follow him, and when they had refused, he had pulled the trigger of his rifle. Merlin had tried to stop him by knocking him unconscious, but he was not able to stop the bullet from hitting Lance in the chest. He had brought him to Camelot (that's how Arthur had dubbed the refuge where they sheltered people at risk; it was a name that meant 'home' to them, as well as 'safety' and 'hope') and had tried everything to save him, but no magic had been enough.

He had been forced to watch his friend die again - and no matter how many years had passed, or the fact that in this life they had barely known each other, the pain was still as raw as ever and the feeling of failure had overthrown him. Jenny had been completely heartbroken and it fell upon Arthur to try and soothe her with gentle words. That was when she had fallen in love with him - again - and they had become truly inseparable. This time, though, Merlin swore to himself that they would not be parted. He would make sure of it.

A year after Arthur's arrival, the war was coming to an end. The Allies were winning and the Axis were losing. That was a good thing, because it meant that Hitler would be defeated, but it had its disadvantages.

Germans had become desperate while trying to hide the evidences of their crimes, especially of their concentration and extermination camps. It meant that yet were in a much more dangerous situation than before, since they were witnesses of the massacre. Luckily, a group of soldiers who fought on their own had decided to help them in protecting Camelot.

It was a little group of three courageous men coming from different places: Gregor Neart, who had a mix of Hebrew and German origins and loved drinking; Leonard O' Connor, a kind and just man with reddish-blond and curly hair, coming from Ireland; Paul Adevar, a big man who spoke little and had a heart of gold. They were respectively the reincarnations of Gwaine, Leon and Percival. They had remembered everything once they had seen Arthur. The strangest thing had been the discovery that Gregor was married to a certain black-haired and green-eyed beauty, whose name was Morgan and was the most compassionate person in the world, just like the old Morgana had been. If he had married her before remembering that she had been the one to kill him or not, he did not say. Arthur, as well as the others, had been stunned when he found out about her, but they were glad that she had finally found happiness, at least in this life.

Everything was perfect - they had all been reunited (even if he had not met Morgan yet) - and Arthur was sure that it would all remain that way.

Until the Nazis had arrived to destroy Camelot. It was not completely unexpected - it was a fairly big refuge of people they wanted to kill - but they had come suddenly and had taken Camelot's protectors by surprise.

That was the day when everything changed.

While Jenny stayed in the refuge to help who lived there, the former knights of the Round Table and Merlin had decided fight in the open. If they were going to fall, they were going to do it fighting.

"Arthur!" Leonard called. "They're coming!"

The blonde turned toward his brother-in-arms. "How many?" he shouted back.

The redhead narrowed his eyes as he counted the oncoming enemies. "At least thirty of them, maybe forty. They're all heavily armed!"

The former king cursed. They could fight, maybe win, but it would be difficult. The odds were forty against six, and they were dangerously disadvantaged, even with a warlock on their side. He gasped, when a sudden idea came into his head. "Merlin!" he called.

The raven haired man reached him, with a rifle tied onto his back and two guns (for good measure) on his sides. Fear was clear in his sparkling blue eyes, and not an ounce was for his sake, just for his friends and the people they were fighting for. "What is it?" he asked, worried.

Arthur swallowed, tense. His plan was good, and if it worked, they could manage to win and save everyone. But it was dangerous. Really dangerous. "Merlin," he repeated slowly - as if that word held a completely different meaning from just a name to him (it probably did) - and put his hands on the man's shoulders. "Can you put up a big barrier and attack at the same time with magic?"

The warlock's eyebrows knitted together as he thought about how much magic both of the spells would require. He nodded, sure that he would be able to do what his friend was asking of him. "Yeah, I think I can. I'll put up a barrier around Camelot and one around us. Barriers don't need a constant dedication, they just need a continued influx of magic; I can direct a part of my power towards them and use the rest to attack the soldiers. The only disadvantage is that I won't be able to move around as much as I would like to. I would rather stay near the barriers to avoid any risks."

The blonde nodded, satisfied by the other man's answer. "Perfect," he replied. He looked around and saw that the Nazis were getting close. "Are you ready, men?" he shouted. They all answered with a 'yeah', except for Gregor who shouted that 'he was born ready' before taking a swing from his water (more like whiskey) flask. He breathed in deeply before letting out a yell as their enemies placed themselves in front of them, and began to run while shooting.

Many men fell at his hand; he directed a quick glance towards Merlin, who seemed to be faring well. His barriers could be described as big golden hues of light with blue streaks like lightning flashing around them. Magic was truly a majestic talent. He could not understand how his father could have believed that it was evil and, subsequently, had convinced everyone that it was. The Nazis had been shocked at seeing the warlock's power, but had recovered surprisingly quickly; magic or no magic, their enemies would fight.

Elliot had been injured - Merlin's shields had their limits, and the former knight had left the protected area - being, in this life, the least experienced with weapons; he had been shot at the thigh, that always bleeds a lot, so Paul had been forced to carry him to Camelot to get treated. Jenny had almost had a fit when she had seen her brother covered in blood, but she had composed herself soon to help him, and had managed to sew the wound successfully with the help of a Jewish doctor that lived in the refuge.

After some hours and a long fight, most of the Nazis had fallen - less than ten of them were still standing - while Arthur and the knights presented no more than some scrapes. Merlin, however - after killing a quarter of the men on his own - was clearly having difficulties in keeping the barriers up. Sweat glistened on his forehead and his breath came out in short and fatigued gasps, while his eyes flashed between bright blue and fierce gold.

Everything seemed to go well - too well, in their opinion. Something was bound to happen, as was normal in a situation like that. And something did happen.

The Nazis were clever; it was evident that they were more intelligent than what they had given them credit for. They had noticed that Arthur was the leader - king or no king, he would always be the leader - and that without him, the group of rebels would be nothing. They had probably even understood that the magic man - their most dangerous opponent at the moment - seemed to be particularly dedicated to protecting the blonde, and that was something they could use to their advantage.

While Arthur was busy dodging the shots of one man, another one sneaked up on him from behind, and he suddenly found himself with a rifle pointed at the back of his head. He raised his hands and turned around, his gaze shifting between the weapon and its holder. The man was tall and muscular, with pale skin and icy grey eyes, his dark hair short; he reminded them of Mordred. If he really were or not his reincarnation, they did not really care. What really mattered was that he had put his finger on the trigger and was about to pull it, putting an end to Arthur's life.

Just as the king was closing his eyes - sure that it was the end - an almost inhuman yell broke through the silence of the moment. They all turned towards the source of the sound, and what they saw surprised them slightly - though, in hindsight, it should not have. Merlin's eyes were blazing a constant gold, while pure and unadulterated power crackled around him; his cheeks were flushed red with rage, contrasting with the paleness of his sweaty face.

As his voice thundered and the whole world seemed to kneel before him, the rifle pointing at Arthur flew out of the man's grasp; the blonde, silently thanking his savior, took advantage of his enemy's surprise and knocked him out with a hard punch in the jaw (he would always be merciful towards Mordred, even if he did not deserve it). The man fell in a boneless heap to the ground, and his head had barely enough time to touch the dry and warm ground before the fight started again.

The fear that their leader's almost-death had left in their hearts had transformed into adrenaline, providing the knights of a last burst of energy that was needed to win. In less than five minutes, all the Nazis were laying on the ground - some of them unconscious, most of them dead.

They would never, for the life of them, be able to recount exactly what happened in those last moments.

In the haste of saving Arthur, Merlin had involuntarily directed all his magic towards Mordred's look-alike to knock the rifle out of his hand. It meant that his already weakened body had been submitted to an even worse expense of energy, causing every spell to be extremely difficult for him. When he had seen the last of the Nazis fall, he had inadvertently let his guard down, sure that everything was over and that he could finally rest for a minute.

Arthur gestured for him to come, kneeling by his almost killer's form. Merlin crouched down beside him and looked at what the blonde had in his hand. It was a pendant with a Druid symbol etched onto it; it belonged to their unconscious enemy and it proved that the soldier was indeed Mordred reincarnated.

As the king stood up and began searching for anything useful in the soldier's pockets, Merlin - who had followed him - stopped walking. His attention was caught by something moving in the corner of his eye. He had barely enough time to shove Arthur out of the way before a dull and improvise pain in his side took his breath away.

"...Oh."

Arthur froze in his tracks as the warlock let out that quiet, surprised exclamation. There was something about the way he had said it, something so terribly mind-blowing and earth-shattering, something so subtle that even an expert of people's communication and their behavior would have found difficult to individuate.

The blonde turned around so quickly that some of his vertebras cracked, and stopped at the sight that met his tired and bloodshot eyes.

Merlin was pale, paler than he had ever been before. His face bore a mix of surprise and confusion - the kind that you see on a child's face when they break their favorite toy, just before they start crying. He swayed on his spot and raised his head slowly, deliberately so, almost as if without acknowledging what had happened, it would suddenly disappear. He met Arthur's eyes with a finality that made the blonde's insides churn in compete and utterly fear.

Merlin lowered his head, and Arthur followed his gaze, a small and surprised gasp leaving his lips as he saw the dagger deeply embedded into his side.

As the first droplets of blood hit the ground, the warlock's knees buckled and he pitched forward in a slow descent - not different from the one of a withering leaf that breaks from its branch in autumn. The king reached him in the span of a heartbeat and broke his fall, his muscular arms circling the pale man's lithe frame in an act suspiciously resembling an embrace.

He heard a gunshot and the sound of a body hitting the ground, and he did not even have to spare a glance to know that one of the knights - he suspected it was Gregor - had killed Mordred in a fit of (completely justified, in his opinion) rage.

Arthur fell on his knees and continued to hold tightly onto Merlin's shivering body. He shifted slightly to make his friend more comfortable in his arms, and his eyes almost automatically fell on the wound. In his knightly days, he had seen his fair share of injuries and he had enough notions of medicine to be able to know if a man had a superficial cut or something fatal. And Merlin - with a blade buried deeply into his side, that had most likely caused internal damage - was probably one of the latter.

He met the younger (well, he was older than him now, but would always be like a little and troublesome brother to him) man's bright blue eyes with fear coursing through his body in painful waves. "Can't you heal yourself?" he begged, his voice quivering.

Merlin shook his head, slowly. "I can't," he began, pausing to wince when he unintentionally jostled the wound. "I'm not... powerful enough. This wound is too severe to be he healed by normal means, and I'm already weak after the fight. To save a life you must sacrifice another, and I'm not willing to let anyone die... for me," he explained. Arthur swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded, fear clawing at his heart with its icy fingers as he understood completely the implications of his friend's words.

Merlin wanted nothing more than to remove the heavy burden that laid on his friend's shoulders - the burden of losing a half of his soul - for he had experienced the same thing and he knew how it felt. The pain... It was unbearable. No wound was comparable to what he had felt when Arthur had died, and he was terribly saddened by the idea that his king would have to go through the same.

The others had probably gone back to the refuge to be treated, but more importantly, to leave them alone - they probably had understood that Merlin's condition was really serious.

The bond he and Arthur shared - it was something no one would ever be able to understand, not even the knights or Guinevere. It was something older than the Old Religion itself, something that was woven deeply into the fabric of the universe. They were always meant to live for each other - or to die side by side.

That was why, once Arthur had perished, Merlin had felt like his world had ended and the stars had fallen down, crashing upon him, burdening his heart with an unbearable grief.

The blonde was staring at him intensely, in the vain hope that, maybe, if he did not let him out of sight, he would be alright. But, deep down, they both knew that it was nothing but the foolish wish of a desperate man - a man who could not bear the mere thought of losing his friend.

After his return, Arthur had begun to slowly remember some things of his time in Avalon. His only company had been that of a slightly familiar girl who was called Freya and had become like a sister to him - she wondered if she had been reincarnated as well. He had been aware of the time passing, those long centuries melting into each other until they became no more than a confused mess of days, spent watching the men destroy their own kind. But most of all, he had seen Merlin's struggles to live for those long years, waiting for his king to come back. He himself had wished nothing more than be able to comfort his friend, his brother, who he had missed dearly and without whom, life - if his time in Avalon could be called so - had become insignificant.

It had been a long wait on both parts, two sides of the same coin calling to each other, desperately needing the other to become whole once again. And then, Destiny had reunited them, giving them hope for a serene and happy life. But it was too good to last. Fate had decided to tear them apart once again, more cruelly than last time - if at all possible - for they had been forced to wait long to be reunited, just to get no more than a year with each other.

They had quickly fallen back into the same, old pattern, wrapping themselves into each other's presence - it protected them like armor - and they had fooled themselves into thinking that nothing could go wrong, as long as they were together.

But now Merlin laid on the ground - pale and bleeding and dying - and Arthur knew they had confided too much in their own Destiny.

"Arthur..."

The warlock's weak voice interrupted his musings, and he was forcefully dragged back into the real world - and the utterly wrongness of the situation hit him once again, leaving him almost breathless. "Yeah?" he whispered softly, not able to raise his voice, either because he did not wish to break the silence that surrounded them, the stillness of the moment - oh, how he wished he could stop time and go back - or because he did not have the strength to do so.

Merlin blinked slowly, as if even that feeble movement took a great deal out of him (it probably did) and focused his eyes onto the scared face of his king. Silent tears were streaming down his face as the blonde removed the dagger swiftly and then desperately tried to stem the blood flow, his hands pressed firmly on the wound - portraying a confidence he most certainly did not feel - even if the rest of his body trembled with fear. The raven haired man swallowed the lump in his throat and gathered every ounce of the strength he had left to speak. "I'm... sorry," he said, gasping as a wave of pain coursed through him. "I'm so sorry..."

Arthur hushed him and shook his head, forcing a gentle smile on his tear-streaked face. He knew what Merlin was apologizing for - he was about to leave him and understood how much it hurt, having felt the same crippling pain when he had been the one holding his dying brother in his arms - and he knew that no matter what he said, the warlock would still blame himself. "I know," he murmured soothingly. "I know. I'm sorry, too."

He was apologizing for the same thing. They did not need heartbreaking words and tearful goodbyes - those were things that did not need to be spoken, for they were already as clear as the sun. A glance was enough to communicate everything that they wanted to say - 'goodbye, thank you, I'm sorry' - and they knew that what they had left unspoken was evident in their eyes.

Arthur held Merlin tight - the warlock's head resting comfortably on his broad chest - as he struggled to breath, and looked at the grey sky hoping to receive some sort of help, any kind of support. He had put his hand where the man's heart was, and he could feel it beating frantically under his fingers - it reminded him of the desperate flutter of a dying bird's wings. Eventually, Merlin's struggles ceased, and he relaxed into the blonde's hold. His bright - and once full of warmth - blue eyes slipped closed, never to open again and shine with emotion.

Arthur rocked gently, humming softly a lullaby his nursemaid had used to sing to him during the stormy nights, as if he was holding a small child in his arms - it was not strange, for his brother had never seemed so fragile as in those moments - and kept looking at the sky, even when the rain began to fall, mingling with the salty water of his tears. That small smile still lingered on his lips, in disaccord with the dullness of his cerulean eyes. He stayed there, on the ground - with Merlin's body in his arms - for hours, until the sun began to rise.

The smile left his face at the same speed of the sun dawning, and he welcomed the new day with a long, grief-stricken scream that soon turned into loud sobs.

A tall and blond man lowered himself down on the soft green grass, on the same spot he had always laid upon. A beautiful lake occupied the landscape and beyond the thick layers of fog, an isle with an ancient tower in the middle could be seen.

The man had visited that same place every year, on that same day, for ten years. He had been waiting for someone important, hoping he would come back. That day was important to him, for it was the day in which that someone had left, the day in which Arthur Pendragon had last seen him.

He sighed, thinking about his long lost friend. He had accepted his death, after all those years, but it did not mean that he had forgotten him. Merlin still occupied a big part of his heart, and Arthur thought of his brother at least once a day. Oh, how he missed him. His life in the last ten years had been happy; he had married Jennifer as soon as the war had ended, he had met Morgan - who had hugged him and apologized profusely for what she had done in the past - and he still had his knights and friends beside him. But without Merlin it was not the same.

His musings were interrupted by the sound of running footsteps. A young boy, no more than eight tears old, with curly blond hair and chocolate eyes dropped down beside him and looked at him curiously. "What are you doing?"

Arthur turned towards his son and smiled, ruffling his hair fondly. The boy scowled at him, not wanting to be treated as a child. "I'm waiting for an old friend," he said simply, his eyes one again looking towards the lake.

Lance frowned, his little brow furrowed in confusion. "Where is he? Is he late?" he inquired, his head tilted to the side.

Arthur grinned and shook his head. "No, he's not. He's just being a lazy idiot," he joked, poking the boy in the side. He began to tickle him mercilessly, enjoying the sound of his son's joyous laughter.

He stopped when he heard two pairs of footsteps coming from the side. He did not look at the new arrivals, sure that they were his friends, his wife or his sister. He was surprised when his son stood up, a bright grin lightning up his round face and waved at whoever was there. "Hey, Merlin!"

His heart skipped a beat when he heard the familiar name. He turned his head to look at the side and saw a boy - probably around Lance's age - with dark hair, blue eyes and giant ears standing there with a playful pout on his face, and a girl - probably younger than him - with wavy brown hair and warm chocolate eyes who giggled at her friend's antics.

The boy walked to stand near his son. "My name's Martin, you clotpole! How many times to I have to repeat it?" he explained exasperatedly, as if it was the thousandth time he was repeating the same words.

Lance laughed had threw his arm around his friend's neck. "But, Merlin!" he gasped, feigning shock. "That pointy hat fitted your head perfectly! Tell him, Faye! You know I'm right!"

The girl smiled shyly, glancing towards Martin before she lowered her eyes down, blushing. "He's right, Martin, you did look like a wizard with that hat..."

They continued to bicker, the playful banter exchanged between the two boys reminding Arthur of the old times. He blinked to hide the tears welling up in his eyes and smiled widely.

Lance's voice interrupted his thoughts. "What are you two doing here, anyway?" he asked, confused by their presence.

Faye looked at Martin. The boy bit his lip nervously, before looking towards the lake. "I'm here to meet a very old friend," he murmured, his expression serious and his voice low.

Arthur almost laughed out loud when Martin's eyes found his and widened to the size of saucepans, before an excited smile found its way on his face. "I think there's no need to wait anymore," the boy whispered, his eyes still locked with the blonde.

Arthur grinned broadly. That was true, there was no need to wait anymore. Merlin had finally come back, and everything would be perfect with him in his life.

Fate had torn them apart, yes, and she had won over her sister. But Destiny would always be the most powerful of the two, she would always overshadow Fate.

Arthur smiled at the thought.

It is Destiny's decision.

And it matters not if Fate tries to separate them, if they end up without each other - Destiny would always help them.

It came to Arthur like an epiphany - a wonderful reassurance that Merlin would always stay beside him.

The Once and Future King and Emrys were just like two sides of the same coin - one would be nothing without the other. They would always find their way back to each other, for one could not live fully without a part of him.

But now he was sure; the missing part would always find its way back to what makes it whole.

Their souls were bound, had always been bound, and always would be. They were two with one soul between them, perfectly joined, perfectly fitted.

-Ann Marston

FIN.

P.S) Did anyone understand who the little girl (Faye) was?