For the Love of Camelot

7. Immortality

"Merlin!" The King's voice rang through the royal chambers, causing the sorcerer to pause. Such a beautiful sound it was, the voice of his king, but was it true?

"Arthur?"

"Merlin, don't just stand there." Suddenly Arthur was in his face, inches away from his lips. He steadied himself. "I need you to polish my armor, clean my boots, and launder my clothing." Arthur's expression was firm, all the compassion of the previous day gone from his face. But... Merlin couldn't believe it. Arthur was here, Arthur was alive, Arthur was... Arthur was alive. It had all been a dream.

"Arthur..." His voice exited his lips as a breath, soft and gentle, and hung in the air around them. It hadn't been real, it had all been a dream...

"Merlin?"

"I... you... we..." Merlin stumbled on his words. It hadn't been real, Arthur was alive, Arthur was here and he loved him, he loved that royal prat with all of his heart. The king stared at him, his face cloaked in fake annoyance.

"What's wrong, Merlin?" Arthur stepped even closer to the sorcerer, gently caressing his cheek. His touch was pure magic, and it lit a fire in him, a flame of desire. He needed him, and he needed him now. His Arthur...

"You were dead." Merlin's voice broke. "You were dead, and I couldn't save you." Arthur closed the distance between them then, his lips silently brushing over the sorcerer's. Short but sweet, Merlin moaned as Arthur pulled away.

"Merlin..."

"Arthur?"

"I am dead."

...

Merlin awoke with a start, barely noticing the pain of the stones beneath him. Arthur... he was...

Rolling onto his side, the sorcerer arose and walked the few steps it took him to get to the lake's waters. It was dark out, the moon was only a sliver in the sky, and yet he could see perfectly well. Lowering himself, Merlin sat on the shores of Avalon, looking out at the liquid sky. It was the sky, the mirror image, where Arthur's remains lay, somewhere among the fish and the seaweed. So many lives he could've saved... so many times he'd failed.

The sorcerer lay back on the cold stones, not wanting to think about his dream but finding his thoughts drifting there anyway. Had it been a message, a communication with the spirit realm? Or had his mind simply been playing with him? Whatever it was, it was torture. It seemed an eternity until his life would be lived out, though his destiny was already fulfilled. Once he'd had other dreams... and then he'd met Arthur.

...

He couldn't remember when he'd first started having feelings for the prince, but it was pretty obvious that Arthur had liked him since the first day they'd met.

"Tell me, Merlin, can you walk on your knees?"

"Let him go. He may be an idiot, but he's a brave one."

"Father!"

"Merlin! Where is that useless servant of mine?" He still had no idea why Arthur had always thought him at the tavern, but that didn't matter so much anymore, for Arthur would think him at the tavern no more. Hell, he wouldn't ever go to the tavern again, wouldn't go to Camelot again. He'd made himself that promise, made Arthur that promise, though silently, and intended to keep his word.

So he stayed on the shores of Avalon as the leaves turned yellow and as the snow fell, as the flowers bloomed and the anniversary of Arthur's death came. He stayed as the city of Camelot fell to the ground, as the castle crumbled and the town turned to dust. And fairly soon, it was obvious that there was something different about him.

While word came that Guinevere had grown old and died, Merlin stayed the same. And as the skyscrapers rose, he barely aged.

For it is commonly known that the sorcerer's true name is Emrys.

And in the old language, Emrys means immortal.