Hello everyone! Thank you for clicking on this story. This is my first reincarnation fic, so I hope I do it justice. Please feel free to leave a review. Comments, questions, criticism, etc. are always welcome. I don't know how often I'll update, but I'll try my best.

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin.

"…suddenly a great crash resounded around the cabin. The passengers sprang from their beds, throwing on their dressing gowns as they ran up to the deck, wondering what on earth was going on. Little did they know-" Merlin was interrupted mid-sentence by the ring of the school bell. There was a collective moan of disappointment from his class.

"Now don't you worry," Merlin said kindly, "we'll resume our discussion of the Titanic next lesson. I hope you all have a good weekend." He watched as his students streamed out of his classroom, eager to start the weekend now that their school day was over. One boy, Charlie, approached Merlin's desk as he went out.

"That was a brilliant lesson, Professor Morgan." Charlie said a bit nervously. "It's like you were really there. I've never enjoyed a history lesson more. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that. Erm… I hope you have a good weekend too." And with that Charlie scurried out the door, shutting it behind him.

Merlin chuckled to himself. Charlie was a shy boy who rarely volunteered in class. Merlin knew he was intelligent; he got top marks on all his quizzes. But he had no confidence in himself and was too afraid of his classmates' ridicule to reveal his genius. He reminded Merlin a bit of himself when he first came to Camelot all those years ago.

Merlin sat down heavily in his chair. His students could never know that he actually had been on the Titanic. Over the centuries Merlin had gotten caught in many such occasions. He had been there at the fall of Camelot. He had watched the Roman Empire rise, spread, and fall. He had seen the ravages of the Black Death and witnessed the creations of the Renaissance. And yes, he had had the misfortune to book a ticket on the fateful maiden voyage of the "unsinkable" ship. There was no end to his stories. His unique teaching style had earned him the admiration and love of all his students, a very unusual thing among history professors. His lessons came from experience, not from a stuffy old textbook (which Merlin had found quite often to be often incorrect).

But he had lived far too long. Merlin had stopped counting the years when he reached 1400. He had been waiting longer than that, but it pained him too much to think about how much longer. When he signed up for this whole "return of the Once and Future King" business, he had no idea it would entail more than a millennium of waiting. Arthur still had not returned and Merlin was so close to giving up…

Merlin shook himself and stood up. There was no use thinking like that. Brooding wasn't going to help anything and he had been in such a good mood. No need to spoil it. He packed up his briefcase, put on his coat and wound his favorite green scarf around his neck. Over the years Merlin's wardrobe had changed with the times, but the one thing that hadn't changed was his fondness for neckwear. This time he had traded his neckerchiefs for more fashionable scarves. They seemed to be back in style now, much to Merlin's delight.

He walked out of his classroom, locking the door behind him. His gazed lingered on the sign next the door: Professor Colin Morgan, History. Merlin sighed. It had been so long since he had used his real name. But he couldn't go around calling himself "Merlin" in this day and age. He would be laughed at, for one. "Why aren't you wearing your pointy hat?" "Aren't you supposed to be old?" "Where's your owl?" No one took the Arthurian legends seriously anymore. That's all they were now: legends.

Despite the dark cloud that threatened his good mood, Merlin walked outside to his car, his breath forming puffs of steam in the chilly December air. He was determined to go home, relax, and turn his thoughts toward lighter subjects. Perhaps he would work on his writing some more or crack open one of the more absurd books on King Arthur he had in his library, just so he could laugh at the inaccuracies.

As he drove home Merlin reminisced on the first time he had seen the convoluted family tree that supposedly had survived the test of time. He had laughed himself silly until tears came to his eyes. Gwaine and Agravaine the sons of Morgause? Merlin had never heard anything funnier in his entire life. But the funniest (and perhaps most disturbing) one he had found listed Mordred as the son of Arthur and Morgause. If only his friends could see what history thought of them. Arthur would probably burst a blood vessel. Gwen would blush something furious. Gwaine would relentlessly tease them all. With this happy memory still in his mind, Merlin pulled up to his cottage by the Lake of Avalon.

For whatever reason, be it fate, magic, or some innate desire to preserve nature, as humanity spread out around the country, the lake had remained untouched and pristine. Merlin had chosen to make his home on its banks, just in case a certain prat decided to make an appearance. Merlin had built his house himself after he left Camelot for good, and had fixed it up and updated it as the centuries progressed. No matter how far away he strayed, or long he was gone, Merlin would always return to his house on the lake. It held a special meaning for him. Not only was it the final resting place of his king, but it also held the bodies of his first and only love, Freya, and one of his best friends, Lancelot. There was no way in hell that Merlin was leaving this lake.

He kept suspicion at bay by constantly changing his appearance and "aging" as time dictated before he switched forms again. Sometimes he appeared in the wizened old form he had taken as Emrys, but now he chose to keep the same look he had sported as a young man in Camelot, though his hair was a bit shorter and his face leaner. He found that this form suited him best.

His cottage had been warded to keep out curious neighbors and any unfriendly magic, though he hadn't been attacked in many, many years. Here he could use his magic freely without fear of being caught. He unlocked the door with a flash of his eyes and crossed the threshold. Finally, he was home.

As he entered, he hung his coat and scarf on the pegs by the door, and then made a beeline for the kitchen. He needed some tea. As he puttered about, going through the motions of preparing the drink, he thought about how out of all the drinks he had tried throughout his travels, nothing could compare to a good cup of tea. Mug in hand, Merlin made his way to the living room where he settled himself on the couch with a small sigh of contentment.

He was immediately assaulted by a streak of black fur. "Hello there, Hecate. Did you miss me?" Merlin cooed, gathering the black kitten in his arms and stroking her under the chin. The kitten purred in delight and snuggled up against his chest. Merlin knew he was only furthering the stereotype that all those who practiced magic had familiars, and defying the story that said Merlin's familiar took the form of an owl. But owls were impractical to keep in a modern setting, and Merlin was just a sucker for Hecate's cute little ears.

Hecate was always there to alleviate the loneliness that permeated Merlin's everyday life. He had found her abandoned in an alley outside the school and kept her ever since. Though he not yet been successful in communicating telepathically with her, she still seemed to know exactly how he was feeling at any given moment.

When he finished his tea, Merlin set down Hecate and made his way upstairs to his study. From the outside, Merlin's home looked like a small, one-story stone cottage. Nothing fancy, nothing that would draw any attention. But Merlin had used an expansion spell to give his house limitless room without altering the outward appearance. He could add or remove rooms and floors whenever he wished. He liked to say that his home was "bigger on the inside".

Merlin's study was one of his favorite rooms in the house. It was just the right size, wood paneled and lit by a plethora of floating candles that cast a golden glow throughout the room. It contained a writing desk, some bookshelves, an antique globe, and an old wooden chest shoved in one corner. It was here that Merlin spent a good portion of his free time, writing and researching. Merlin had written a good many books. Some were accounts of his travels, some were about Arthur and Camelot, others were anthologies on magic. He published some of the ones on Arthur under pennames, but they never seemed to receive as much acclaim as the largely erroneous books on Arthurian legend.

Sometimes he wrote letters to Arthur, telling everything about his magic, about what he had done for Arthur. Everything he had never gotten to tell Arthur in person. Other times he wrote about what he had been through while awaiting Arthur's return. He knew that Arthur would probably never read them, but sometimes they helped anyway. He put them all in a box in the very bottom drawer of his desk, hidden away behind stacks of papers and piles of other junk.

Tonight he was working on a medical dictionary, classifying and illustrating different herbs and their uses in medicine. Gaius would have been so proud. He worked relentlessly until he noticed that the candles had burned down to nubs. Merlin looked at his watch. It was already several hours past dinnertime. Merlin often forgot to eat or sleep when he was working, much as he had done when he had been Arthur's manservant.

He made his way downstairs to the kitchen once more, reaching down to give Hecate a pat on the head as she trailed after him. He made himself a quick sandwich, dropping bits of cheese for Hecate. As he ate, he walked back to the living room, grabbed a book off a side table, and began to flip through it, correcting it out loud to Hecate.

"No, no, no…Napolean was much taller than that." "Oh, for goodness' sake. I did not turn a Roman legion to stone! The Carnac stones were an earthquake detector, obviously." "Whoops. Looks like someone found that book I gave to Roger Bacon. They're calling it the Voynich Manuscript now? Well, no wonder they can't translate it, it's in the tongue of the Old Religion." After about an hour of this, Hecate was asleep on the rug by the hearth and Merlin himself was yawning. It had been a very taxing week and it was about time he went to bed.

Carrying Hecate upstairs, he deposited her unceremoniously onto his bed and went into the bathroom. As he brushed his teeth, Merlin looked at himself in the mirror and met his own piercing blue gaze. Suddenly a shiver passed over him. He felt the magic of the world ripple, then surge like an ocean wave. He gripped the countertop as his head spun, dizzy from the influx of magic. But as quickly as the moment came, it was gone. Merlin knew something was not right; he was getting one of his signature "funny feelings". Something was coming, something big enough to change the world's balance of magic. His mind was too tired to speculate on what this could mean. Merlin decided that he could deal with it in the morning, then slipped into bed, curled one arm around Hecate and let sleep claim him. His dreams were filled of dragons and kings, lakes and swords, but he would not remember any of them upon waking.