Summary:
Future AU. After a seeing-stone washes up on the shores of Ealdor, the last Island left after the great floods and rising Ocean, Merlin sees their salvation - a Sky City named Camelot. When he wakes up on the shores of the Sky City, Merlin starts to realise the New World is nothing as it was fabled. It is then that Merlin begins his journey to meet the 'dragon' that called him there, realising that nothing in Camelot is what it seems. Together they begin a revolution against a blind king and the foundations the New World was built on, uncovering even deeper secrets that were thought to be buried with the Old World when the land sunk.

Word Count:
~140,000

Pairings:
Arthur/Merlin (with Balinor/Hunith and Uther/Ygraine)

Warnings:
Character death (mostly minor, but includes a known character who dies in canon and a child), torture, flooded-world scenario (&associated issues e.g. refugee camps, starvation etc.), sort-of-slavery, intoxication (leading to what some might consider dub-con, though it's not intended as such)

Rating
NC-17

Thank you:

To moonilicious for cheerleading, theywerecones for the art (link on profile), cutsycat for the beta, crazy purplesage and disgruntled minion for listening to my every single whine. Without you, there would be no story!

Part One: The Islands.
Ealdor.
April, 3500.

Merlin woke, as he often did, with a gasp upon his lips. The image of crushing water surrounded him, swayed behind his eyes, pulling him down with the current and dragging him to the thick sludge at the bottom of the ocean. He could feel the waves sliding over one another, calm, as if they hadn't taken another one for their own. And then Merlin had been fighting, thrashing, to return to the surface.

He never reached it though. He always woke starved of oxygen, panting as if he'd really been dragged into the depths of the Great Ocean. The days he woke with the dream still pressed against the backs of his eyelids were never good days and Merlin knew, without venturing from his room, that the Great Ocean had stepped further to his door; crept up their pathway inch by inch while the island had slept.

Moving his arms above his head, Merlin stretched out his back, spine cracking as he sighed. It was a few more moments before he swung his legs out of bed, bare feet padding across the wooden floor as he moved to throw open the storm shutters. They gave an almighty screech as the hinges, battered from endless sea storms and countless attacks from the wind, swung open; sunlight streaming through to warm the cold wooden floors.

Merlin's toes curled in delight as he rested his upper body against the window ledge, his head outside of the window and allowing a calm sea breeze to ruffle through his hair. He couldn't remember the last time they'd seen the sun this strong and while the sky was far from clear (to the North you could see lighting clouds, hovering where Old Man Simmons had said great forests were, back in the Old World, and the South was shrouded in constant rain, blurring as far as they eye could see), it was peaceful around Ealdor.

A gull cried out and Merlin's heart sung at the sound, one which he hadn't heard for so long. There were legends that said the birds controlled the weather now, whispers that where their wings dipped and their feet settled would be a place of harmony. That was a lie though, Merlin knew, for the birds, like so many people, would move on when the wind changed, fleeing the rising tide and the loss of land.

"Merlin, breakfast's ready," a voice called from downstairs.

Leaving his perch at the window somewhat regretfully, Merlin exited his room and closed his eyes, walking through his house from memory rather than sight. He'd lived here his whole life, been through so many emotions while doing so, from fear as the seas raged outside to joy as his mother brought news of a neighbour giving birth. Children were rare in these times and it was usually up to the whole community to help the mother care for her child, to support her in a harsh and cruel world.

Despite having been unable to leave the house for days now that the sun was out Merlin no longer felt trapped. When the winds were howling like wolves of the Old World and the sea was stirring in fury, that was the time to feel trapped.

During the often week-long storms, when the stone walls of the home he shared with his mother closed in against them, that was the time that candles were snuffed out and people confined to their rooms. Merlin remembered wanting to see why the world was so angry, so hateful, itching to unclasp the bolts holding down the storm shutters, keeping the chilling winds and biting spray of rain and sea water at bay.

That was the most important thing, keeping the demons and waters out when the weather turned sour. It had happened once, lower down in the village, that someone had let the demons in and suffered, just like all the tales and cautions passed around.

The story, offered to little children who wanted to satisfy their curiosity of the storm, told of newcomers to the village. They hadn't been in Ealdor long, climbing out of their ruined boats and onto the shores of the Island, pleading and begging for mercy that had been granted freely.

The Ocean had risen too high, as it always had, snapping at their heels and forcing them to flee their homes. Ealdor had welcomed them, given them shelter and food, but they'd opened their windows in a storm, letting the sea-devil himself in to claw at their skin and invade their bodies.

Two weeks later, when the storm let up, they were all dead. Merlin had been there, alongside his mother, as they tried the best they could to heal them. There was no medicine on the island of Ealdor, not even the oldest on their island, Old Man Simmons, had been alive in the time of medicines, and so it fell to the sparse plants of their island to try and heal, prayers and wishes mingling with poultices. None of it had been to avail and the chill had crept into their bones, claiming them one by one until all that was left was to pile them up in the ruins of the boat they came and set them sail to the sea, fire purging their voyage and their demons.

It was a harsh life, but in Ealdor and the last of the Lands, you lived by the sea. You were born from the sea and you died by the sea. There were no exceptions to this, it was a simple fact. The Lands followed no Gods, no martyrs, and no idols. All they knew was the sea, the decider, the harbinger of good and evil alike and the one constant the Lands knew. The Gods and hopes they carried had died when the tides had swelled and the land had been taken, claimed by the melting ice and pouring rains.

As he counted the number of creaks his foot made as he walked along the hall, Merlin placed his hand on the banister, a skill learnt from years of closing his eyes and mapping his house blindly. It had served its uses in the past, when the storms had raged for months and the energy the sun would have provided was used up and their homes were empty shells. Light was a commodity at night time, what with scarce electricity even when the solar panels had collected their maximum. There were the fire pits in each home, but they were to keep warm more than anything.

The last step Merlin placed his feet on gave a deep groan, as if it was about to collapse on itself, so he shifted the weight onto the balls of his feet, springing from the stairs and landing on the sole rug in the house placed in the hall between the door and the stairs. It was threadbare, as were all the materials on the island, but it had been at their threshold since before Merlin was born and he couldn't imagine a home without it.

His mother was in the kitchen, a small annexe off of the hall. Merlin smiled to himself as he heard her humming away, no tune in particular that floated through the house. She had been beautiful once, but as with many of the people who remained on the Lands, there was a sharp hardness to the corners of her eyes; a lingering sense of sorrow clinging to her as a person who had lost too much already.

What person that lived on the Lands hadn't lost anything? People were swept away by the seas, whole islands lost in one great wave far too often for no one to be affected. Merlin had lost his father before he was born to the waves, Ealdor had lost so many more and Merlin wondered how many more they were to lose in his lifetime.

"Oh, Merlin!" Hunith said, half-turned away from the stove where she was ladling out porridge. "About time too, have you seen the sun?"

She placed a bowl on the table, a spoon in her hand as she turned to face Merlin. "Get that under your belt before you even think about stepping out there."

Merlin dug the spoon into the steaming porridge, stirring the oats around and blowing on them. The first mouthful burnt down his throat, but he didn't lessen the speed at which he ate. The sun was out and there was no time to lose, but his mother wouldn't let him pass out of the kitchen unless he'd eaten his fill.

It wasn't that food was scarce on the island of Ealdor, but it wasn't a good idea to go wasting it. With harsh, unpredictable weather, any crops cultivated were hardy and usually unpalatable unless stewed within an inch of their life or mashed down into something particularly unsavoury. There was always the fish from the sea and the small amount of livestock people kept in their homes (why waste space for animal shelters when they could live downstairs, giving you more heat and enclosed more safely?), but those resources had to be checked carefully and controlled firmly.

Either way, they had to survive. Trying out new seeds (seeds that had been stored from the Old World; preserved through many decades of water-borne lands) was all well and good, but they had never taken to the land. It had left the people (the Water people, not the Land people) with little option but to turn to lesser nutritional sources, foods that hardly scraped the barrel in terms of health.

It was just the way they lived, the way of all Islanders. The Great Ocean was a harsh ruler, but what else could they do?

As they so often did, Merlin's thoughts drifted to the whispers of salvation, of massive sky-cities built when the waters first came rushing over the land. Great, prosperous places of harmony and peace, where they didn't have to fight each day just to survive where there were people who had never known the hardships of the Great Ocean. Where they never had to know the sting of the wind on their cheeks or the biting cold of winter when the house was too beaten to stand against the cold any longer.

They were the sky-cities of dreams, imagined by every traveller who passed by and sought by others who had grown too weary of this life.

"And for pity's sake, at least change out of your pyjamas!" Hunith said, snatching Merlin's now-empty bowl from his hands and slapping his shoulders lightly. When the sun was out it was best to make haste to get out there.

Merlin took the stairs two at a time, grabbing a hold of the balcony at the top and pulling his weight round the corner of the stairs. The wooden structure groaned after years of Merlin perfecting the move, but he wasn't there to hear it, having dashed into his room instead.

He dressed quickly, clothes flying onto the bed as Merlin stripped of his pyjamas. The sun was an oddity now, with the storm clouds covering the skies almost all the time and the rest spent battling biting winds and spray, so there was no time to lose. When the sunlight could vanish into the cold at a moment's notice you had to be ready to go out and give it your all. That was the sort of people the Islands bred; hardy and opportunistic at a slight notice.

Before he set out, Merlin reached under his bed, feeling for the small wooden box. It was a nondescript object, plain and simple, but it held one of the most important objects in his life.

The lid of the box unlatched, the metal rusty on the clasp from where it had been damaged by the sea and the salt of the wind. Almost every object bore marks of the sea, but Merlin couldn't afford to replace the clasp as metal was practically gold dust; people waging man-on-man wars for simple scraps.

The hinges gave a slight groan, but Merlin paid it no mind his attention turning instead to the object inside of the box. It was laid on rolled up scraps of fabric, a cushion against the wood of the box, and Merlin flipped back the scrap that covered the stone itself, brushing a finger against one of the smooth sides.

No matter how many times he'd seen the stone Merlin would never tire of the inky blackness and the hidden depths the lump of rock gave. Unlike any stone or crystal he'd seen, this one had been polished into an unnatural smoothness and it seemed to shine from the inside. It was the darkest of black, but gave no reflection of the person looking into it. Or at least of Merlin – he hadn't shown the stone to anyone, not when he was unable to explain half of the things he saw in it.

The Great Ocean got to people, tales told. Even Ealdor who thought themselves to be different to other Islands, a little more accepting of the times, would fall back on superstition. If Merlin admitted to seeing things there was no doubt someone would say the Ocean spirits had entered him and he was lost to them. What happened after that, Merlin didn't know, but he did know that no one had ever survived the 'exorcism' unharmed, and the faces of the 'cured' had been a tool to warn small children of the dangers of the Ocean.

This stone, though, was different. Merlin knew what was right and what was wrong and this stone didn't feel wrong or evil. Instead he felt connected to the stone, as if there was a greater force that had brought it to the island, made Merlin find it on the shoreline and compelled him to take it home. Even buried under grit and mud, the stone had shone, not a scratch on its surface; though, there was plenty it should have been damaged on.

Carefully cupping the stone, Merlin laid it out on the windowsill to rest. It was, in essence, just a stone, but the weak warmth and light the sun gave to it had always led to the best 'visions', as if the stone was connected to the Old World, when the sun had governed the land and not the sea.

He turned to leave his room, glancing back at the stone once more. It gleamed against the rays flooding the window, a small rock that could fit in the palm of his hand easily. He'd return later to the stone, to navigate what it showed him, but now was the time to head outside.

Outside, Merlin saw people blinking, stepping out of their homes for the first time since winter had begun. When the sun came out, Ealdor came together; people talking to neighbours they might not have seen for months as if they'd simply been away for ten minutes. Families (or the remains of families) took walks and animals were let out to graze on the tough grass, not for nutrition, but because it was natural, right. The Ocean could steal a lot from them, but when the sun came, the people of Ealdor and other Islands came alive once more.

Hunith and Merlin lived on a slight hill, on a cobbled road leading to the main bulk of the Island. It was a short walk of about ten minutes before they hit the main town, where the shops and most Islanders lived, but Hunith refused to move closer to town. While most in the community preferred to stick together, the house on the hill had been in their family for generations and Hunith refused to move.

It was a house she had rebuilt from her mother and father with her husband, a house she had given birth to Merlin in. It was a house that Merlin had grown up in and was steeped in their family history. Despite the safety being around other people might bring, Merlin never wanted to move homes. He loved the rickety white-washed house they lived in with all his being and while he'd move if there was no other choice, it would always be their home.

The path into town was lined with relics of the past. They were oddities that had no place in the world of the Ocean and yet no one could bear to destroy them. A faded-red post box and telephone booth sat side-by-side, a lonely couple who would stay the land until the waters rose too high and consumed them. They had stayed the test of time - been loved in a strange way by the people around them and while the materials they were made from might have fetched a price, they were memories of Ealdor before the Ocean swelled up.

Set away from the main town, just on the outskirts, lay a church. It was derelict, crumbled in on itself and yet you could still see the stained glass windows that lay on the side, broken and dirtied yes, but still there.

No one on Ealdor believed in the gods of the past. They were stories now, another relic from the past. Many wanted to have such faith in a God (any god, any religion), but living out on an island, swamped by the sea and with the battering of waves only a constant reminder that you were on a sliding time scale gave you no faith. The Ocean was the only entity you could afford to believe in and there were no prayers for tomorrow, simply because life was too uncertain.

Like so many things, the old stories of religion had died out - forgotten and buried at the bottom of the ocean. For anyone who could remember details, it seemed so unlikely that there was any salvation from this that it was better not to hope, better not to think that things might get better. It was realistic, harsh, and Merlin often wished he could believe in some higher power, some helping hand.

They'd all learnt that lesson long ago; there were no hands coming out to help you, only your own feet planted firmly on the ground and the support of your community. If there had to be a god or a deity to believe in, Merlin could believe in the people of his village because that was all there was left. He didn't know the outside world, didn't know anything but the small scrap of land they called home.

There was one last obstacle to cross before Merlin could hit the main town, a humpbacked bridge. The tarmac was split and spotted by hardy weeds, but that hardly mattered. Cars were an invention of the past and, even if someone owned a car that could work, fuel had run out years only way around was to walk or sail, but no one ever chanced the sea.

The bridge once crossed a river that fast flowing and clear. The river was gone now, all that was left was a stagnant pond, tinted green and brown as it reached the muddy banks around it. When the floods had seen sure to take their village, they had built blockages and dams, trying to stem the flow of nature for as long as they could. It had worked, but time was running out and the Ocean was beginning to take the hand of the battle, tilting the odds in favour of the floods.

Ealdor's time was coming to an end, but no one thought of it. Merlin had seen things, terrible images in the stone back in his room. Perhaps they fuelled his nightmares, but anyone living out on the seas had similar dreams. Merlin's nightmares, though, held a different quality. They were almost real; as if Merlin really was drowning; as if he'd become the person he'd seen in the stone's images.

But that was just all nonsense. Merlin shook his head as he stepped onto the rough stone of the village square. He was known as a bit of an odd ball, more of a dreamer than anyone else dared to be, and surely these things were just manifestations of his character. There were no visions, no glimpses into a bleak future. They'd all die by the sea eventually and it was that thought that gave Merlin the dreams.

He wasn't, in any way, shape or form, special.

The first stop Merlin made was to a small cottage on the edge of the square tucked behind a few other houses. Once it might have had a lovely garden and picket fencing, but now it was almost derelict. The garden had been reduced to slabs of stone and grit; puddles of water dotted around – as it they were in everyone's gardens. There was no beauty in the land of Ealdor, but the villagers took beauty in other things; the quiet of night when the storms paused, the sunlight when it filtered past the cloud; the hope that the sea might finally rest its campaign against the land.

He didn't bother knocking on the door, instead pushing past the bolt he knew would be unlocked and stomping his feet on the threadbare doormat.

"Will?" His shout rang through the house as he walked towards the kitchen and peeked in. It was still early in the day and if Will wasn't in the kitchen eating he'd be in bed.

The kitchen was empty so Merlin left the threshold and moved over to the room across from the kitchen. Will was there, still tucked in his sheets and curled up with a pillow over his head.

"Wake up you lazy sod," Merlin called, wrenching the pillow from his friend's face. Will blinked sheepishly before rolling over, burrowing under the covers.

"The sun's out now, get up!" Instead of the hurried reaction that news had given Merlin, Will uttered something unintelligible, trying to push Merlin off of the bed so he could return to sleep.

Merlin and Will were the only two of their age on the island and while it made sense for them to be friends they were different people and it shouldn't have worked. It did though and had worked ever since they'd grown old enough to be able to walk outside. They were best friends and Merlin had been there for Will when the worst had happened, while Will had been the one to listen to Merlin's fears, his dreams and hopes. Their differences led to arguments, sure, but they'd never fought so badly that they couldn't turn around and laugh.

Simply put; anger wasn't a reaction you could keep on the Islands. Will would always be his best friend even if he'd prefer to sleep through the sun and try to rope Merlin in on 'quests' along the shoreline, up to old Simmons' place to bother the man again and again.

"What the fuck Merlin?" Will eventually popped out from the covers, frowning. "You know I hate it when you're just hovering around and I'm trying to sleep."

"Maybe that's why I did it," Merlin retorted, raising an eyebrow.

"You're a creepy, creepy man. Now get the hell out of my room and go make me breakfast." Will smiled widely to the words, throwing the covers back and stretching. "And then we'll go do whatever it is that caused you to wake me from my sleep, but it better be good. I was having a brilliant dream about some of the village girls. The things I've heard about that girl with the-"

"I'm going," Merlin said hurriedly. He didn't need to hear about Will's wank dreams this early in the morning.

He did as Will asked him to, making a standard breakfast of porridge and water. He wondered when Will had gone to the well last as the large tank of water looked almost empty – it had to be at least a week.

The water supply had been tainted years ago and instead a new system, complete with purifier, brought salt water through the well and gave fresh water. How exactly it worked, no one really knew, but it was the last piece of technology from before the Flood that still worked.

"The offer still stands, you know," Merlin said softly after Will had started eating.

Will's spoon hovered over the bowl for a moment before he shook his head, digging into the porridge with enthusiasm.

"And my answer's still the same," he replied, tone even.

"Yeah, but you know what my mum's like. She'll keep asking," Merlin added, looking out of the kitchen door to where the stairs lay, step boards missing and the railings split in places.

Will was five when his mother had died. There had been a sickness that claimed half the island and she, along with so many others, had perished. Hunith had taken him on, under her wing as he followed after Merlin, despite only having known him for a few months. When Will's father would go out to work Will would come around their house to play.

It was a tradition that had kept long past infancy. Will had spent his spare time at Merlin's and – when they'd been old enough – just in the company of Merlin. It had been the way they'd lived for years, but it had changed since last summer.

Will's father was one of the few people on the island who owned a working boat and took to the seas when they could, fishing for the island. It was a dangerous task and only given to those who had impeccable talent with a boat. Even so, it wasn't uncommon for a group to go out and return one man or boat down, setting Ealdor even further back.

Matthew, one of the other fishermen, had returned from the catch with a sombre look, heading to Hunith's house. Merlin could remember the way Will had fallen to his knees, face blank as Matthew told him his father's boat had tipped over, that the waves had come down too hard and too fast for anyone to do anything. Merlin had watched as Will sunk into Hunith's embrace, clutching at her arms.

After that, Will had returned home, closed off the upstairs to his house and shut himself away for weeks. There was nothing Merlin could have done as the storms raged around that time of year, but he eventually barged inside of Will's house, furious.

They'd argued, Will had thrown things and Merlin had left more than once, but they worked through. You couldn't hold onto anger and live on an Island. You couldn't let grief consume you or the Oceans would have won. All you could do was keep living, show the world that you weren't going to give up, and keep going.

Turning down the offers of coming to live with Hunith and Merlin, Will had decided to stay in his family home. Though he was surrounded by the memories of his family – of what he'd lost – a day never passed that Merlin worried for his friend. Like all Islanders, Will was strong.

"There's gossip the Ocean will settle this summer," Will said after scraping the remains of his porridge from the bowl. He licked the spoon and set it back to rest in the bowl.

There was always gossip the seas would settle. Every year, people muttered about how this one would be different, how the tides would begin to recede.

Will stood and took his bowl over to the sink, slamming it down.

"Why can't they just admit it's pointless? We're all going to die on this stinking piece of land and rot until the Ocean just buries us." Will turned, practically snarling. "And that's if we're lucky! What if the water just keeps going and we have no other option but to just drown? None of us can swim, we'd drown in seconds!"

Merlin had had this conversation before, but Will had always been optimistic, never on the side of the people who had told them that life was useless and they'd just die.

There had been a time when Will had been adamant he'd learn to swim before the Ocean got them, but such a task was impossible. If you were able to get out far enough in the waters to be able to get the depth you needed, that was an achievement in itself. The currents were strong, the sea too unpredictable even on sunny days. Most of the people who had even tried to swim out had died right there and then and perhaps only one or two had survived the illness that had crept upon them once back on land.

The Ocean was wild, untameable, dangerous and a million other things. You couldn't escape its jaws forever and if you fell in, you were unlikely ever to come back up. Will had realised this soon after he had planned to learn to swim and now it seemed like every hope he'd had had been sucked from him.
"Will-" Merlin began, only to be cut off.

"No, I'm sick of it." Will shook his head. "I just… I just want it to be over, you know?" He moved back to the kitchen chair sinking down slowly. "I'm sick of wondering whether I'll have half my house ripped off in the night or whether the town will be flooded the next time I turn my back."

"You can't think like that," Merlin said hurriedly. Everyone had these thoughts, but they didn't do any good. What was the point of worrying that you were going to die when you just had to keep going?

But, a little voice said, what was the point in going on when inevitably all that lay before you was death? No matter what Merlin had seen in the inky black stone, it wasn't real; couldn't be. His visions, or whatever they were, were simply an imagination brought up on stories from the Old World.

"I know," Will said miserably, resting his head on the table. "But the waters are rising again and I was there when Simmons gave his report, freaking half the village out. And guess who has to calm down some of the kids? Me!"

Merlin nodded sympathetically. All Will needed was to talk, like most people. How long had he sat alone, unable to talk while storms raged around him? At least Merlin had Hunith.

"They're right though," Will muttered, grabbing Merlin's arm. "Do you remember the rocks we used to play on as kids? You used to be able to see them out of the window here."

The shutters were thrown back and all Merlin could see was the water. The rocks and the scraggy beaches that had littered his childhood were gone now, swallowed up by the sea. Houses on the outskirts of the village had vanished too. They were shrinking now and it was far too late to be convinced otherwise.

"Simmons is holding a meeting soon. All he'll say though," and here Will's voice was bitter, "Is how we need to stick together. A load of shit that'll do, we need to think bigger."

With wary eyes, Will turned to Merlin, voice low as if imparting a secret.

"We need to look to the ends of the Earth. The places where the waves are smooth and gentle, where there are huge utopias!" Will's hands were clenched and Merlin wondered how long he'd be thinking of this plan. Did Will wish he'd thought of it last year? Back when his father was alive?

"There aren't any miracles Merlin," Will said, face stern and serious. "And those tides out there," he continued, "Aren't going to go down. The only thing they'll do is rise and rise until we're all dead."

Merlin didn't like the look on Will's face. It was a look he hadn't seen for years, not even after his father had died. There was only one time Will had looked like this and it had been when a gull he'd taken in after it had been injured died.

He'd turned to Merlin, back when they were on the cusp of adulthood, and said, "If the sea won't care for her own, what will she do to us?"

Their future was bleak, always had been, but Will seemed so convinced in these tales of utopias and sky cities. So many people had been convinced only to land on Ealdor, exhausted and angry that they'd gone for so long without even sighting the illustrious cities. They were myths and left people bitter and haunted, their last hope stolen away with a wicked twist of the waves.

"But we can't do anything," Merlin said softly. It wasn't that he wanted to die, but why risk your life chasing a dream when you had your feel planted on reality, the real word.
Will shook his head slightly.

"My dad kept a book, I saw it when I..." he trailed off, looking uncomfortable. Merlin assumed he'd been looking through possessions he'd never had the courage to recently and decided to say nothing. "Well I saw it. It's an old book, all in tatters."

Will paused again before holding a hand up, stilling Merlin and wandering off. He returned with a scrapbook in his hands and placed it on the table.

"Here. It's got pictures of news reports, from ages ago."

Merlin's hands shook a little as he took the book from Will, gently opening the front page. Newspapers, or any news for that matter, hadn't existed for decades, falling shortly when the Great Flood had risen up, cutting connections from mainland and splitting great countries into Islands. Technology had failed then too and electricity shortly after.

"But these are impossible," Merlin said, slightly awed.

Underneath his fingers were blotched images that must have been captured right before the Flood. They showed images of structures being built, massive iron wrought creations rising up on seas and lands. They were taller than anything Merlin had ever seen and, by the looks of it, hadn't even been finished.

"They're the sky cities. They have to be," Will said hurriedly, flipping the pages of the book to reveal more and more images of the structures being built, technology that hadn't existed for centuries finally being showcased in use, not just the archive pictures Merlin had seen in other books.

They couldn't hope though. Hoping wouldn't do them any good if there was only hardship at the end.

"Who's to say they lasted though?" Merlin didn't look at Will, didn't want to see his face either way. "What if they built them and then the Flood hit and they crumbled?"

He didn't want to know if Will agreed with him. What if Will realised that his hopes were futile? Could Merlin destroy his friend's hopes that easily? He certainly didn't want to, but what other option was there? Will couldn't leave the island, not without Merlin.

And the other option? To accept that the sky cities were real and, when the inevitable happened and Ealdor began to sink, head for them? Merlin didn't know if he could do that, could place so much faith in a hope.

He wanted to though. Secretly, deeply inside he wanted it all to be true. He wanted there to be glorious cities, but he couldn't dare hope. He was just a boy from a dying island, nothing more nothing less. Even though he'd seen things - wonderful, terrible things - in the stone, what good was that? He wouldn't leave Ealdor, there was too much of a risk and nothing to risk it for.

So no. Merlin wouldn't let himself believe in what Will wanted him to, simply because he'd never have it. In the darkness of night, when he'd woken panting from his dreams, that was the time he could think about what he wanted. Between waking and dreaming, he could think about the feel of clouds, the feeling of safety, but only then.

"So what? We have to try it Merlin!" Will's sigh was tired and he turned away, setting his bowl in the sink and resting his hands on the kitchen counter. "I'm sick of never having anything to hope for. If I can't have this one thing then what's the point? I don't have any family left except you and Hunith, but it's not the same."

Merlin waited. It hurt a little to hear that, but he knew his family could never compare to the family Will had had before the sea had taken them away.

A sudden howl of wind cut into Will's words and the pair of them turned to the window.
"Shit," Will whispered. "The sun's gone already."

He fixed a look at Merlin as if to question the reason Merlin had woken him up. Merlin shrugged in response and made for the door.

"I'm off then. A storm will probably close in again soon and I have things to do. You're welcome to come..." he trailed off as Will shook his head.

"Nah, I need to think some things over." Merlin was about to say something, worried for once, when Will continued. "I'll be over later, yeah? If it's not pissing it down that is!"

They shared a smile and after leaving Will's, Merlin headed for the centre-most house, situated directly in the town square. It was the main supply house and while Hunith hadn't mentioned anything, Merlin knew they were running low. In his pockets he'd stored the last of his childhood toys - little metallic cars. To make sure they got the most they deserved, Merlin had been selling off old, unwanted toys for reuse, to be melted down and pulled apart. Hunith had no idea and he wanted to keep it that way.

There was little else he could do. They didn't keep livestock anymore and their garden had failed to produce crops for the third year now. While no one on the Island would deny them food, they'd only receive morsels, not enough to make Merlin happy for his mother's health. She gave too much for him and he couldn't give anything back.

He bought the supplies and prepared his lie for Hunith. He'd simply say he helped fix someone's fence and they'd given him something, or Old Man Simmons had been willing to give them a little more on the promise that Merlin wouldn't come back for a while.

As he moved to walk back, wind whipped against Merlin's face, cutting into his cheeks. He grimaced and looked up the path he'd taken down to the village. It wasn't the only pathway to take that led from the village heart to his house, but it was the easiest - especially when the storms hit.

This time, though, with Will's hopes ringing in his ears, Merlin wanted to take a risk. So instead of taking the cobblestones back up to the house, he'd walk down by the shoreline, on the path that only the ocean knew now.

It wasn't difficult to get to and soon Merlin stepped onto the crooked pathways the waters had half-swallowed, crossing his arms as much as he could with the sack in his hand. He grimaced each time the sea winds hit his face, but he didn't ever consider turning back.

There was an old set of steps leading to nowhere (now at least and no one could remember what they used to belong to) and Merlin often sat on them, looking out at the never ending anger of the sea. Today, though he shouldn't, he sat on the middle step, supplies tucked at his feet and body curled up against the beginning of another storm.

Merlin's eyes took in the sight. There was no sandy beach or stony ground, but mud and sludge on either side of a beaten path. The waves rose and fell over the path, coating it continuously in mud and grit, beating down the slabs of concrete just like they were beating down the island.

Maybe Will was right. The tides were drawing ever closer, even a blind man would be able to see that. He wanted to hope, but looking out as far as he could see, all Merlin found was waves. There were no sky cities, not even on the horizon. None of the refugees to come to Ealdor had ever seen them either... so how could they exist?

He sighed, shaking his head. Too many thoughts, not a big enough head and too many ambitions for a simple Island boy. What would he ever achieve? Living maybe, but not much else.

Merlin's thoughts turned to the stone in his room and of its whispers. Of the visions he'd seen, the horrible things and the wonderful things. They showed sun, freedom and a life spent away from the horrors of the ocean. He wanted to believe in them so much, but what could a stone show? Magic and such things belonged in fairy tales, not the life of someone from the Ocean.

Slinging the sack over his shoulder, Merlin continued on, ignoring the angry crash of waves and the silence of everything else. It wasn't fair; how they had to live. How many days did they have left? Old Man Simmons had been whispering about a surge of water that would be coming for months now and the thought of a giant surge scared Merlin.

What if his dreams - the images he'd seen in the stone too - were going to come true? He didn't want to think about it, but aside from sitting on the coastline, there was little else to do.

"I'm back!" Merlin called through the house as he entered, stomping his feet on the welcome mat and shaking his coat off.

He took the sack into the kitchen, where Hunith smiled softly.

"I'll be upstairs," Merlin said and she nodded wearily. Her eyes were pink, as if she'd been crying and Merlin wondered what aspect of their life had got to her this time - Will, the Ocean or the loss of his father.

The stone was cool in his hands and Merlin wasted no time on lying down in his bed, rolling onto his stomach with the black stone in front of him. Nothing happened for a moment, as always, and then Merlin could feel the tug in his belly, a call almost. Something shifted and flowed inside of him, as if the stone called to a primal sense within his blood.

And then he could See.

Colours exploded as Merlin looked into the stone, thousands of images crisscrossing each other, calling for his attention. There was no process of selection, rather the stone chose what it wanted to show him. He waited, eyes flickering over the moving shapes and colours, until he finally felt the tug once more, calling him and pulling him in.

He could see himself, a child's raggedy doll on the water, floating. The sky above looked calm, but Merlin (the onlooker-Merlin) knew it would change in an instant. And true to form clouds began to draw closer, darkening as they gathered over his patch on the calm ocean. Waves began to build, rocking his body angrily, trying to push him from the waters.

It was the vision Merlin had seen countless times and he wanted to close his eyes, turn away from the stone so he no longer had to watch himself drown. It was futile though; should he manage to tear his gaze away, the stone would simply call him back to draw him in and make him sit, watch the vision all over again.

Now he was drowning, sinking like a stone to the bottom of the ocean floor. Merlin's lip curled. He didn't want to watch this now, not with what Will had said and his mother's blotched eyes in his mind.

Focusing on the tug of the stone, Merlin felt the power inside of him, beating in time to his heart and wrapped around the stone. He couldn't close his eyes, but he could tug, pull back and away from the visions. If he had to see visions, he didn't have to see these ones at least. He didn't have to watch himself die, only to repeat it later and feel himself die.

The stone seemed to heat in his hands, reacting to Merlin's power and tug, refusing to let him go. But Merlin wouldn't let this one go. The stone was the only thing he had that was different, it was the only thing he had connecting him to life outside the island. He'd seen the past through the stone, seen things no one else could even dream of and he wasn't about to lose this fight. The stone was his, not the other way around.

There was a surge of power and Merlin felt it through his body, the stone shining with an unnatural light coming from inside. Almost as if it had its own power, Merlin could feel it curling around him, wrapping into his own power and mingling. It didn't push, didn't pull, but almost niggled, tempting him to look into the stone.

Merlin could see himself hitting the bottom of the ocean floor, as usual, but there was something else. As a stream of bubbles escaped the stone-Merlin's throat, he could feel a familiar light headedness, fright crawling at his chest. The stone had connected him somehow to the vision and Merlin could feel the terror that haunted his dreams.

Instinctively he ripped his power away from the stone, trying desperately to untangle himself and his mind from that of the stone's. Instead of being freed, however, the stone merely just seemed to pull him in tighter, wrapping him further in the vision and choking him, proving to him that he was only going to die alone and on the bottom of the ocean floor.

No, Merlin decided. He wouldn't, and he pulled back with an almighty shove, pushing the stone's 'consciousness' back. It went, but took Merlin with it, snatching his power and his heartbeat and his thoughts, wrapping them up into inky darkness.

Merlin closed his eyes as the last of the air left his lungs. He'd usually woken up by now.

.

Merlin opened his eyes. In the back of his head, Merlin was aware of the fact that he shouldn't be here, but the thought didn't worry him. The darkness around was comforting, familiar, and without understanding how he knew it, Merlin knew he was inside of the stone.

"What's so important you needed to drag me here to show me?" he asked quietly, pushing himself up from where he'd been lying on the floor. Myths and legends of stones from the Old World ran through his mind, but Merlin couldn't remember anything on Seeing Stones, let alone stones that could transport you to places.

It was like magic, but magic didn't exist. Maybe the stone contained old power, fabled magic that had died long ago and been buried within the stone. That would make sense – the myths and stories had some truth, but it had died out long ago to be of any use anymore.

The land around was a wasteland, crumbled buildings that could have been grand and noble years ago. Instead there were remnants of pillars covered in moss and twisted weeds, ugly, yellow flowers poking up between crevices. Once this place must have been loved, such was the smooth of the dilapidated marble statues, but the person who must have loved it had fallen long ago.

Assuming of course that this place was real and not just some figment of the imagination.

Although it appeared to be night, there were a row of lanterns dotted around clear-cut pathways, overhanging the areas to walk and fanning light out to spread across the landscape, highlighting the ruins and the lost memories.

Merlin began walking, unsure exactly where he was going, but he half-stumbled up concealed stairs, grabbing uselessly at the crumbled banister. There was something wrapping around him, pulling and pushing him in a direction. The feeling - not unlike the tendrils of power that had curled around him when he'd held the stone in his hands - appeared to be leading him, wanting him to see something. Perhaps this was why Merlin had been brought inside of this world; there was something here he needed to see.

The only sound around him was the sound of his footsteps. Never before had Merlin felt such quiet. Even on the island there was the constant thrum of waves in the background to remind you who exactly watched over you. The Ocean was always there, but now there was an empty place in the back of Merlin's mind as he walked, finally free of the sea.

"Once upon a time," he muttered, thinking up an old fairy tale Hunith might have told him... or was it Will's dad? Or even Old Man Simmons, he always had liked a good old story after all.

"Once upon a time there was a young boy," Merlin continued. The stairs he'd been walking up had led to a wide platform, almost as if it had once been a grand room. There was a half-ruined chair in the centre, made of stone. It looked regal somehow, as if it had once belonged to a great king.

Maybe it had. Maybe this place had been a golden palace before the floods, but now was left to the wilderness and rot.

"And he was a stupid boy who never listened to what people told him," Merlin said hurriedly, turning to look back the way he'd come. This was ridiculous - there was nothing here. Maybe he was dreaming, that would make far more sense than the other option of being inside a stone or another world.

"And one day," Merlin said softly, eyes raking over the stairway and beyond, frowning as he noticed there wasn't a convenient portal or anything, just ruined pillars, weeds and darkness. "He decided to do a stupid thing and got himself stuck in a creepy place with no way out." Merlin sighed.

"Who are you?" a voice broke into his thoughts and Merlin span round to face the direction of the throne, face ashen and shoulders tensed.

Even in the shroud of darkness, it was clear no one was there. The voice had been hollow, surely not a real voice, and anyway, what was someone else doing here? It was Merlin's dream (or mistake, but he didn't believe in things like magic, not the Ocean boy from Ealdor), nothing else. No one could be here, it was impossible.

But that didn't mean he couldn't play along. Maybe it was the stone, embodied with a voice in his dream.

"Merlin. Who are you?" he replied, eyes scanning the land furiously, trying to spot movement in the shadows.

"I think the question should really be, Merlin," the voice drawled, "Is how you got a hold of one of the Obsidians."

Merlin frowned; what the hell was an Obsidian? Did he mean the stone? Why was a stone asking how it got there, surely the stone knew? Oh, but it was a dream, right. Dreams didn't make sense. He could humour a dream.

"You washed up on the Island shores. I found you and took you home." Merlin gave a bleak smile, spinning around in hopes the stone would see it.

"Do you always look like such an idiot?" the voice asked and Merlin's smile fell, turning to an angered frown. He spun around once more, peering through the lights until he finally caught a glimpse of movement.

It came from the throne, curled around the broken stone as if it had been there all this time. It wasn't a particularly big creature, but then again it looked more of a projection than a living being. Its tail was curled on the floor, the main bulk of its body curved around the back of the stone and its large head resting atop of the throne back, smoke curling from its nostrils.

A dragon. Or at least the projection of a dragon, but Merlin had read enough of the old books to know that projections had to be sustained by a living core nowadays. Electricity ran low and you had to connect the supply to a living object in order to get a projection as flawless and real as this one, which meant somewhere out there, across the oceans, further than Merlin had even dared to dream, was a dragon.

"Who are you?" the dragon asked again, shuffling forwards a little and releasing a stream of smoke with its words. Its lip curled at Merlin's silence, revealing sharp teeth.

Though it was a projection, Merlin knew it was more deadly than it let on. Especially as it was a dragon, who knows, maybe they could do magic from afar with only the barest of links to perform their incantations.

(And, okay, maybe Merlin was quick to jump the gun in agreeing about magic now, but meeting a dragon kind of blew things out of the water a little and you tended to accept things first and think about them later.)

"I told you," he replied to the dragon's question, "I'm Merlin."

The answer didn't satisfy the creature though for it snorted, shifting on the throne with a clatter of talons and a shift of wings.

"No, I mean how did you get here? It's not somewhere you can just... pop up in." There was an undercurrent to the words, but Merlin didn't fancy inspecting it just yet. All he wanted was to go home, maybe the dragon could help?

"I didn't mean to," he started, moving his hands so that they were widespread and clear for the dragon to see. He wasn't armed, but the dragon had no reason to believe that before now. He wanted to make friends (sort of) and get home, nothing more.

"I was looking at the stone... the black one." Merlin frowned, "The Obsidian? Is that what it's called?"

The dragon didn't even flutter an eyelid and so Merlin chose to carry on. "Well whatever it's called, I was looking into it." Merlin took a slight step back.

He suddenly didn't really care as to why he'd landed in this place. Maybe there was a hidden trap door or something and that was how he'd gotten in. Or, if it was a dream (though that was looking less likely, Merlin had never seen pictures of dragons and never been interested in them much before, so why his subconscious would choose to present him with one was beyond him) then he could find a way to wake himself up, surely.

The dragon pushed itself up more, snaking its head towards Merlin. The teeth were back under its lips, but there was a glint lingering in its eyes that Merlin didn't particularly like.

"You said the Obsidian was washed up on the shore?" There was something behind the words, but Merlin couldn't fathom what to name it. Desperation perhaps? Curiosity maybe?

"Yes," he replied, his foot catching on a rogue piece of rubble that sent him sprawling backwards. The dragon moved then, sliding from the throne and onto the ground, taking a step towards him. It was longer than Merlin had imagined, sleek in the darkness around them.

"Where are you from?" the dragon said, sitting back on its haunches and staring at Merlin. Its eyes were golden, full of curiosity now and little else.

How could the stone not know where it was? It was the one that had washed up and if this dragon was connected to it or something (weren't there stories of dragons collecting vast amounts of jewels - maybe this one was attached to everything it had collected?)

"The Island of Ealdor." Merlin crossed his legs, regarding the dragon without fear now. If it was curious in him, maybe he could simply keep on talking until he was able to leave this place.

The dragon flared its nostrils, smoke spouting out. Okay, so maybe waiting wasn't the best thing. Trust Merlin to get the dragon-projection to hate him from answering a question.

"You can't be from an island," the dragon said, shaking its head at Merlin. "All of them were lost, years ago."

Merlin shook his head slowly. He'd never been a liar in his life and he didn't intend to start now, even if it cost him a few chargrilled limbs.

"Ealdor's one of the last islands left now, what with the floods." He paused, looking down to pull a clump of weeds out of the ground. "I don't think we have long left though," he admitted, finally caving into Will's fears and his mother's sobs.

Everyone on the island knew it; they were doomed. It was just a matter of time before they all drowned, the last of the islands finally succumbing to the pull of the Ocean.

"Why haven't you moved then?" the dragon asked, sliding down on the ground until it was on its belly, still eye-to-eye with Merlin. Its neck snaked out, head tilting to the side in contemplation.

Merlin gave a huff of laughter. "Moved? How can we when there's nothing but water around us? People try, but they die." He shook his head. "It might be easy for you to get up and move on, but not all of us are dragons."
For a moment, the creature looked taken aback, looking down at itself sharply. The moment was lost as its head jerked back to look at Merlin, eyes wide.

"You said your name was Merlin?" it asked, inching forwards.

"Yeah, Merlin of the Emrys family," he replied, frowning. Trust a dragon (one that might be able to help in some way) to focus on the unimportant things, such as a name.

"Emrys?" came the surprised answer, golden eyes widening. "Emrys of the Ocean?"

Merlin rolled his eyes. For a creature of such majesty, it was rather slow on the uptake. "Yeah, from Ealdor," he added, giving the dragon something else to fix on.

"How did you get here?" the dragon demanded, tone changing once again. The curiosity was still there, but it had a dangerous edge now and Merlin knew he had to be careful.

"As I said before," he began carefully, "I was looking into the Obsidian stone, as I always do. I could see myself drowning in the ocean and then, suddenly, I could feel something pulling me in."

He looked at the dragon, hoping it would tell him what the force was. He received no such gesture and so carried on.

"I tried to fight it, but I eventually ended up here." Merlin looked at the dragon and knew it didn't believe him. There was one last thing he had to know though, before he'd be satisfied to go home. "Where exactly is 'here'?" he ventured, hoping it wouldn't send the dragon into a rage.

Thankfully, the dragon merely raised an eyebrow, pushing itself up off of the ground.

"The personal gardens of Queen Ygraine," the dragon said. "Though they've been left to ruin since the queen died."

Merlin looked around, saddened to think that no one had cared enough to continue the queen's obvious love for the garden. Did the dragon live here now? If no one came to tend the garden then maybe it was a good place to stay.

And then a thought hit Merlin and he wondered why it hadn't been his instant reaction. A garden. A queen, left to ruin - not ruined by the sea.

.

Notes:

This was written for 2011 paperlegends bigbang on livejournal. Art link is on my profile.

This story is complete so updates will be regular thank you for reading, comments are very much appreciated!