AN: A series of one shots that revolve around Merlin and Leon. I was struck by the fact that Leon can't die- what if he literally CAN'T die? I mean, the man bounces back from everything, well what if the Cup of Life meant that he embodied life forever? What if it froze him in time and made him immoral? And if so, wouldn't he and Merlin be hanging out, shooting the breeze? Because honestly if you had to live forever wouldn't you want to know if one of your friends was stuck on earth too?

So basically this is a bunch of drabbles where Leon and Merlin are dealing with their immortality and waiting for their friends to be reincarnated so they can hurry up and die already. Some happy, some sad, different eras, a lot of bromance between the two- because come on, we all know we wanted to see more of the knights bonding with Merlin in the show. And it must have totally sucked for Leon and Percival to be the only ones who lived.

I disclaim.

Everlasting

Everlasting. The young man stared into his reflection, looking for any sign of age, of a wrinkle or hair that would declare his youth over.

But there was nothing. There never was.

Leon stared at himself in the breastplate, the armor warping his features with its contours. There were plenty of mirrors in his house and the street was full of shining surfaces but he preferred the old comfort of silver, of his expression mirrored back in polished metal rather than the strange (at least it felt that way to him) fabricated material of the new era. He sighed, he, the everlasting moment, the incredible undying knight... the last.

Gently he placed the metal back on its cushion, careful not to harm it in any way. There were no more blacksmiths to pound out dents, no more servants to polish flaws. His amour, if he presented it to anyone, would be worth thousands of pounds, a collector's item. It had no place in the world now. Neither did he.

Although he was in peak physical condition, his knees creaked with age as he stood. His body was tired as it climbed the stairs up from his vault like basement. He didn't look back on the room, filled with medieval treasures, as he locked the door and made his way to the main entryway. Mary, his housekeeper, had left his coat and briefcase beside the door, a mug of coffee waiting on the side table with his keys. The woman herself was nowhere to be found, probably in the kitchen doing something- over a thousand years and Leon was still wary of taking care of himself. He preferred to let others subtlety boss him around, whether it be Mary or a prince or a wife.

It was a flaw, a ruminant of a life too long lived as a noble. But it was a flaw he embraced.

"Hello James."

"Hello Sir." He chauffeur replied. Stepping into the car, Leon tried not to wince at the loud noise emanating from the radio. "Sorry Mr. Blackwell." As soon as James slid into the drivers street he turned off the music. "I forgot."

"It's fine. Let's go." Those damn radios. Damn cars. Why was everything so loud these days? So overwhelming. Leon sank into the leather seats, the comfort bringing him no relief. He missed his horse and the woods. Missed the dull buzz of the wild. Leon leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window, watching the green disappear as they moved further and further into the city. He felt a sudden longing for Camelot, with its white stone and cool corridors- Cardiff was too grey, the cement of the city soaking up heat and misery and reminding him of times better left forgotten. "I'll be leaving early today. Be outside at 1500, alright?"

James glanced up and their eyes met in the rearview mirror. "Will do sir." James had been in the military before Leon had hired him. The old soul appreciated that, felt a kindred spirit in the young man who'd fought for his home, had thought that hiring a driver with a military background might make it easier for them to connect. But it just made Leon feel more empty- as far his employee knew he was just another lawyer, another smug aristocrat who'd never known war or hardship in life. He knew James despised him.

He was simply too tired to care.

Whatever the Cup of Life was, whatever gifts it bestowed, it was also a curse. Leon, knew, knew as he faced odds and challenges that were impossible, knew as he died and died and yet always lived, that the Druids had... changed him. The cup changed him.

His friends died. His knights, his king, his queen... his kingdom. All was gone and yet he remained, as unchanging, everlasting as a stone. Everyone... gone. But he was still alive. Camelot burned, Albion rose and fell, Arthur's son ruled brightly, and Gwen died; as her hair grayed his stayed russet. Frozen in time. He closed his eyes as they entered Cardiff, not wanting to see the metal and concrete civilization, pretending he could hear Camelot's market and the clang of swords in the courtyard. He was the man who never died, who never aged, Leon had been alive for almost fifteen hundred years, outliving his people (his purpose) and era. He was a relic who'd been forced to adapt to a changing world- six years ago he'd started a law firm, was the named partner of a powerful solicitors office. It helped, of course, that he'd been friends with his clients for decades, had known their fathers and grandfathers and was owed a certain allegiance by the areas elite. He knew all of Cardiff and most of London's powerful figures- hell he'd dined with royalty- but most knew him as the son or grandson of Leon Blackwell the I or II. At the moment he was playing his own grandson, a III, although he knew that he'd have to abandon this name soon. There was only so many times he could be the spitting image of his father before people started to ask questions.

His brick offices (he refused to work in a newer building) rose up outside the glass. "3 pm James." He reiterated as he exited, not bothering to wait for the man to come around and open the door for him.

Inside, up the elevator, past his secretary- unhappy, unhappy, unhappy. He wanted to curl up in his basement, around his real things, and never emerge. "You're late." His silent partner was in his chair, cocky and disrespectful as always.

"Sod off Merlin." Leon huffed and tossed his briefcase (empty except for a few file folders for show) into the corner. "I'm in no humor."

~Merlin~

Leon wanted to claw the grin from Merlin's face. He knew the man was as miserable has him, knew that the warlock woke up each day a little more broken when the King didn't appear. The difference was that Merlin was much better at faking it- hadn't he fooled them all for years? And so his grin was brighter, step quicker, lies more believable.

It had been the ex-servant's idea to start the law firm with their connections. He'd seen Leon's melancholy and thought that a job might lift his spirits and get his mind off old ghosts. Blackwell and Preacher was successful, but it was mostly due to Merlin's keen negotiating and quick mind that it succeeded. The ex-knight didn't feel overly fulfilled in his position, but rather upstaged and immoral. Merlin was playing the part of lowly associate, winning cases and turning Leon down the right path while the older man got all the credit; it stung Leon's honor to take credit for another's deeds- it made him flinch and remember all the other times he must have taken credit for the warlocks successes- witches and warlocks and creatures that the boy had defeated but for which he let the knights take the glory.

Merlin stood, habit making him walk over and take the coat from Leon's shoulders and the briefcase from his hand. The noble grimaced, uncomfortable with a all powerful being playing at servant, even after all these years. It was a nervous habit that only came out when Merlin was stressed or worried, and his mind was clearly on other things as he tried to fold Leon's coat like a cloak before sheepishly hooking it on the door hanger. "What's wrong?" Leon asked, dread in his voice.

The last time Merlin was this distracted he'd accidentally burnt down a square block during a flashback. It had been 1549, and the magic users post traumatic stress disorder flaring up had not been beneficial for the mostly wood based houses. Back then, of course, PTSD didn't have a name, but Leon had seen enough war to know Merlin's shell shocked expression and reaction.

They were both broken.

"Nothing, nothing." Merlin sang, mindlessly polishing and ashtray with his suit sleeve.

"Merlin." Leon sighed and sank into his chair. It was still warm, meaning Merlin's body must have rested for a while in it supple leather- he'd been waiting.

Snapping out of his nervousness, Merlin collapsed into the chair across the desk. As ever, Leon was amazed by the man's lanky and awkward body, his limbs graceful confusion. It was like Merlin was a marionette, purposeful and yet completely out of control. "This message was waiting for Preacher this morning." The dark haired man inched a message pad across the oak desk.

Preacher was the silent partner of the firm, Merlin in reality but officially, as far as the public were aware, Leon's ancient mentor. Two years ago Merlin had given up on his old persona, tired of the beard maintenance and, according to him, of children asking if he was Dumbledore. Leon had been shocked when a young faced and freshly shaved Merlin had appeared in front of his desk but had agreed to forge a new hire and say that Preacher had 'retired.' It would have been shocking, but Merlin went through these old/young fads every few centuries and honestly, Leon was just too jaded about the man's magic to be that surprised by anything anymore. "It's a catastrophe." Merlin moaned, flopping his head into his hands. "The gods are punishing me."

Leon read through the message, a panicked and hysterical laugh bubbling up as he went over it again. "Merlin, this..." He trailed off, a grin splitting his face for the first time in weeks. "This is going to be a disaster."

Five minutes later his secretary craned her neck, trying to see in through the fogged glass. Her boss had been laughing for a half hour, the strange sound had made her smile at first, but now it was just freaking her out. What could be so funny?

Offices of Preacher and Blackwell

Message from: Pendragon Industries

Regarding: Mr. Uther Pendragon requesting the services of firm regarding matter of employee lawsuit- unjust termination of personal assistant. Employee fired for performance failure, suing on basis of termination due to religious beliefs (Wiccan). Please respond immediately with agreement to represent of alternate proposal of representation.