AN: Thanks, everyone who read/reviewed/followed/favorited the first chapter, and thanks especially to trustpixiedust for your encouragement. I lied; this is not going to be a one-shot, it's a two-shot. I just couldn't resist writing this brief follow up. Sorry about all the tears, I promise this chapter makes up for it. So again, please review; I really appreciate constructive criticism. Oh, and I forgot to say earlier, I don't own Merlin. Okay, enjoy!

The old queen's face was stone, gazing across the crystal lake, while the young king sobbed into her sleeve. His older sister, a princess with her father's proud countenance, laid a hand on the teenage boy's shoulder, only adding to the weight that pressed so heavily on the boy king. The shock of losing his father so suddenly had come with a tidal wave of responsibility that he did not feel ready to bear.

"He died bravely, Lohot," Queen Guinevere said to her trembling son, "protecting Camelot so that when your time comes to rule, it will be safe and strong." Nevertheless, she could not stop the tears falling from her chocolate eyes. She had loved her brave husband with all your heart.

"Mother," asked the princess, struggling to hide her grief from her frightened brother, "why are we not burying father with Uther, in the tomb of the great kings? Why are we here?"

Gwen smiled sadly, her eyes fixed on the great stone monument planted on the island at the lake's center. "Blasine, dear, before you were born, before magic was allowed back into Camelot, your father lost...well, he was far more than a friend, but there isn't a word to describe what he was. Your father lost a great friend on the shore of this lake." Arthur will be with you soon, Merlin.

Arthur's death happened the way it should have happened all those years ago, on the shore of Avalon. Camelot had been threatened, and Arthur, ever the valiant and noble king, personally led the charge in the battle that eradicated the threat, against the will of his queen and his children. In the battle, he had been wounded fatally. The court physician and the court sorcerer did all they could, but they were not powerful enough to stay the course of destiny as Merlin had. Arthur's time had come, and he accepted it with only one request: that he be laid to rest in the lake of Avalon, so that he may rejoin his friend.

And so on the shore of the lake stood the queen and her children, every member of the court, and much of the population of the lower town, all mourning the passing of a great king, who had given so much to his people in the borrowed time gifted to him by a young warlock. It was the funeral at Avalon that Merlin never had.

The court sorcerer, a middle-aged man man with Druidic symbols tattooed on his arms, strode forward, the king's form limp in his embrace. A boat floated in the water just off the shore, though no one knew how it came to be there. The Druid knelt beside the boat and gently lowered Arthur's proud form into it, folding the king's hands over the sword on his chest before turning to join the crowd.

Gwen rushed forward, unable to contain her grief. "Arthur!" she cried as she dropped to her knees at the boat's side. She stroked his sunny hair, brushing it off his forehead, and studied his closed eyes, lamenting that she would never again gaze into their honest blue. The queen could not know it, but Arthur bore the same proud and determined expression worn by Merlin the day he had died. Gwen kissed his forehead, then his lips, before returning to her children.

"Arthur Pendragon," the sorcerer declared, "son of Uther and Ygraine, husband of Guinevere, father of Lohot and Blasine, king of Camelot. You gave so much to your people and your kingdom. You were a brave king, and a true friend." He stepped forward and raised his hand, his eyes flashing gold as he incanted, "Arthur. In sibbe gerest." At his command, the boat began to drift, cutting a path through the water straight to the island.

The crowd gasped in surprise and awe as the entire lake came alive with golden light, waves of pure magic pulsing and dancing across the surface.

"What's happening?" Lohot wondered, his eyes lit up with awe. "Who's doing this?"

Gwen only smiled, her grief replaced by joy. "Merlin," she whispered, "he's here."

Across the lake, on an island shrouded in mist, stood a man and a woman, laughing down to the raven-haired man in the water. "Merlin, you've lit up the whole lake!" the woman giggled.

"Gwen is here, Freya. And his children, god, look at his children. Blasine looks just like him, and Lohot has the same posture. That boy will be a great king."

"As great as Arthur?" the man chuckled.

"Yes, Lancelot," Merlin replied.

Freya laughed again, a sound sweeter than birdsong. "Look at yourself, love. The lake is gold, all of it! I've never seen you so happy."

"He's never been this happy. You know, Merlin, most people grieve when a loved one dies," Lancelot quipped.

"Grief is for the living," Merlin responded without missing a beat. "I've missed him." He watched the mourners on the shore and let his magic flow, pouring every emotion he'd held for the last twenty years into the water. Emptiness. Despair. Longing. Impatience. Hope. Sorrow. Anticipation. And now, golden tendrils of pure elation bled through his fingers and into the lake.

Suddenly, a dark form broke through the mist. Merlin turned toward Lancelot and Freya, flashing them one last joyful grin before charging forward through the clear water.

"Arthur. Arthur, you're here!" he cried as he waded toward the swiftly approaching boat. When it was close enough, he caught hold of the side and dragged it the rest of the way to the island. "He's here," Merlin panted to his two friends standing on the shore, "Arthur is finally here."

When the bottom of the boat grated against the sandy beach, Lancelot and Freya reached inside, grasping the arms of the form inside the boat and hauling the king to his feet. His eyes were still closed, and he swayed a bit before opening them. Arthur knitted his brow, blinking in the light as he took in his surroundings. When his gaze finally fell on the grinning warlock, his face split into an elated smile. "Merlin!" he cried and tackled his best friend in a bone crushing hug. "Oh my god, Merlin!" He untangled his arms from around his friend and grasped the young man's shoulders, studying the face he had seen only in dreams and memories for the last twenty years. Then he laughed, crushing Merlin in another hug. "At last," he whispered.

Merlin's joyful tears wetted Arthur's golden hair. "It's been so long," he laughed into the king's ear. "I missed you too, Arthur."