#brolinskeep

“Merlin.”

Merlin jerked awake, heart pounding.  Was that Kilgharrah calling him?  He turned his head and peered into the darkness, his sleepy brain acclimating to his surroundings.  He let out a sigh and slumped into the mattress.  Of course.  He was in his own room in his own house on the small piece of property that he had owned for nearly 300 years.  Every few decades, he would change his name and age and pass the property down to a “distant relative.”  It was almost time for that process to begin again.

Yawning and rubbing his face, Merlin got up and headed to the toilet.  He had simply dreamed about Kilgharrah again.  Three times in the last month, he had been awakened to the voice of the long gone dragon calling his name.  For several years after both Arthur and Kilgharrah died, Merlin had dreamt of being summoned by the great dragon.  Back then, he would leap from his bed, excited that the voice had been a sign of Arthur’s return.  He had travelled to the lake of Avalon so often during those years that the queen had to sit him down and remind him that his new Court Sorcerer duties were more important than chasing ghosts.  Merlin leaned over the sink to wash his hands and stared into the mirror, eyes straining in the darkness to see his wrinkled and craggy face under the shock of white hair.  Gwen was long gone, as well.  Dead for over a thousand years.  So why could he still picture her smile when he couldn’t even remember what he’d had for lunch yesterday?

He reached for his glass and held it under the running water.  Two small sips was all he allowed himself, though.  Didn’t want to wake up again in half an hour needing the loo.  It really was time to magically restore his youth.  He enjoyed the leeway he got from the community as an eccentric elderly gentleman, but this old body was a pain.  Or more like twenty different pains all over, ranging from vaguely annoying to persistent torment.

Merlin eased himself back into bed, hoping sleep would come easily.  He wasn’t sure why he was dreaming of Kilgharrah again after all these years, unless it was just his subconscious telling him it was time for a reset.  He thought he might skip straight to his thirties this time, though.  He could come to town as an established doctor, ready to move into his great uncle’s house and treat patients in the local hospital.  He had seen the local twenty-somethings preening about town constantly filming their every move and decided he definitely wouldn’t fit in with them.  He had no desire to learn what a “tick tock” was.

*****

“Merlin.”

A month later, he was awakened again by the voice of the dragon calling him.  He sat up abruptly, which was much easier to do in his newly youthful body.  Something about Kilgharrah’s call was different this time.  It felt more urgent.

In the years since Arthur’s death, magic had faded from the earth.  As far as Merlin knew, he was the only sorcerer still in existence.  Of course, there were those around the world who had the potential, and they probably noticed a few oddities here and there.  Prophetic dreams or lucky moments they could chalk up to coincidence.  But as far as the conscious use of magic, Merlin was alone.  He’d used his magic throughout the years to help people in small ways when he could, but even his own power had decreased.  It took all the magical energy he had to make himself young last month.  He couldn’t use his magic for days afterward, even for something as simple as boiling water for his tea.

But in this moment, he felt his magic humming throughout his body like it had in his actual youth.  When Arthur was still alive.

Throwing on a pair of sweats and a hoodie, Merlin bounded out of his house and down to the lake.  He felt more energetic than he had in centuries, barely noticing the scenery along his well-worn path to the road and then down to the edge of the water.  He stood, peering into the thin fog covering the lake’s surface.  He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but he watched the movement of the fog over the water until he realised he was holding his breath. He calmed himself and then sat on a large stone to think about Arthur.  Merlin pictured his face.  Remembered his laugh.  He smiled as he thought about all the teasing and the jokes they had shared.  He closed his eyes, focusing until he could almost hear Arthur’s tender voice.  The voice reserved for those moments of doubt when he turned to Merlin for reassurance.  That he was doing well.  That he was worthy to be king and to rule his people.  Merlin’s magic bubbled within him so much that he thought he might look down to see his skin shimmering.  He was almost certain that certain memories were making his eyes blaze gold.

Two hours passed and Merlin started to wonder if tonight was really the night.  Something was definitely happening as his magic swelled in power inside him, but perhaps this feeling was only the beginning.  Perhaps he had to do something to bring Arthur back.  Cast a spell or brew a potion or uncover a magical object that would trigger Arthur’s return.  He wished he had some sort of guide.  Something besides the disembodied voice of an always cryptic and rarely helpful dragon, that is.

As daylight began to dawn, Merlin decided to head back to his house to get some sleep and later he could pull out the notes he had copied down long ago before Gaius’s books on the old religion began to fade and fall apart.  He had pored over those texts hundreds of times, looking for any clues that might explain Kilgharrah’s prophetic message that one day, Arthur would return again.  Merlin had found no mention in any of the ancient texts, either from Gaius or from other sources he had tracked down over the years, of a king returning from the dead or of bringing someone back properly from death.  So he had assumed the magic of Avalon would return Arthur on its own when the time was right.  He simply had to wait.

As Merlin walked slowly up the road toward his home, his palms tingled and his tummy fluttered.  These feelings had to mean something.  He had not felt this way in literally hundreds of years.  And it wasn’t just the magical power rising within him.  Thinking about seeing Arthur again was making him positively giddy.  He felt the same way he had as a teenager with his first crush on a boy.  The way he felt when he first started to fall for Arthur.  All jittery and flustered.  He was having a hard time focusing on anything other than seeing Arthur’s smile and feeling his arms around him.  Merlin laughed.  He thought that sort of heady, newly in love feeling was long behind him.  He couldn’t stop smiling as he turned onto the path toward his house.  Even if this was just the beginning of a process of bringing Arthur back, Merlin was filled with hope for the first time since, on the way to Avalon, Arthur had collapsed into his arms and told him it was too late and his magic couldn’t save him.

Merlin was reaching for his doorknob when he heard a voice.

“Merlin.”

Goosebumps erupted down his arms and legs.  This time the voice wasn’t Kilgharrah’s calling to him in a dream.  This was Arthur’s voice.  And it was right behind him.

Merlin whipped around and there he stood.  His golden king.  His best friend.  Merlin couldn’t breathe.  Was this real?  Was Arthur really standing in Merlin’s garden path in chainmail in the year 2022?  A sob bubbled from Merlin’s throat and he took one hesitant step forward.

“Arthur?”  His voice was barely above a whisper.