Archive of Our Own ^beta

A prophecy was once foretold that Emrys would be the greatest warlock to ever walk the earth, and that the once and future king would unite Albion and legalise magic for all.

Alas, it did not happen. Some blamed the great lizard—cough, cough the great dragon—while others blamed the man himself. He, unfortunately, would have agreed.
After Camlann, it was as though Merlin had vanished alongside Arthur. Not a soul had seen him since. The castle mourned without him, its halls draped in silence as funerals were held for the fallen. The Queen stood alone among the mourning crowd, her crown gleaming, her grief unspoken. They had finally achieved peace in their kingdom with a heavy price of losing the bravest warriors.

The people whispered in the shadows of the citadel. They said the sorcerer had abandoned them, that when the king fell, his protector had slipped away too. Some said he perished at Camlann, buried beneath the carnage. Others swore he wandered the wilds, broken and hollow, a ghost who had once walked among them.
None of them were right.

Merlin did not die that day. In fact, he had learnt that endurance was the cruelest part of his curse. Perhaps, immortality doomed him for the rest of eternity. Immortality did not make him invincible. It only doomed him to watch as every face he had ever loved slipped into the grave. His friend’s faces fading, names slipping into history and Camelot’s stone crumbling.

Yet, this one sentence reverberated throughout his mind constantly. One day, during Albion’s greatest needs, Arthur will rise again.
The days had bled into years, kingdoms rose and fell, civilisation progressed and where once he had carried hope like a flame in his chest, he now only carried silence.
He did not seek company and no one dared to seek him.

Until one day, came a knock at his door.

*

*

It was the year 2025. It had been over 1500 years since he had spoken to anyone. The world had reshaped itself a hundred times over in that silence. Science and technology had evolved. Societies had changed. Yet Merlin had stayed apart, watching from the edges like a shadow that history never touched.

Instead of the bustling, loud cities that many had moved to, Merlin stayed behind. His world had narrowed to a small cottage on the outskirts of a village — a village that had once been called Ealdor. The name had changed with time, syllables worn away by new tongues and new rulers, but Merlin still heard the echo of it. Home. Or at least, what had once been.

He sometimes wondered what his mother would think, if she could see him still here,older than time itself, yet standing in the same soil where he’d first drawn breath. The faces had changed, the houses rebuilt, but the land remembered and so did he.

A knock on the door pulled Merlin from his chair. He rose slowly, muttering to himself as his joints cracked — not from age, but from the weight of years he carried anyway. He shuffled toward the front, scowling.

Another blasted villager, no doubt. Come to leave an offering or a plea and run before he could answer.

He swung the door open, prepared to glare into the night.

No one.

The path stretched empty beneath the pale wash of moonlight. Wind rustled the hedges, carrying only silence. Merlin let out a sharp breath, a curse slipping under it. “Figures.” He was already turning back inside when his eyes caught something at his feet.

A bundle of blanket, wrapped tight. Small. Still. Beside it, a note weighed down with a stone.

For a heartbeat, Merlin didn’t move. The last time someone had left something at his door, it had been a basket of food, shoved forward by trembling hands. But this was no basket.

He crouched, fingers brushing the edge of the fabric. Whatever was inside shifted, a tiny motion that froze him where he knelt.

Merlin’s breath caught. It wasn’t just a bundle. It was a baby.

Merlin stared at the bundle as though it might vanish if he blinked. Carefully, he eased the note from beneath the stone and unfolded it. The ink was hurried, blotched in places, as though written by an unsteady hand.

She cannot stay with us. She has magic. They say you are the only one that can help. Her name is Olivia. She’s only 6 months old. Forgive us.

Merlin’s jaw tightened. The words were no surprise. He’d seen them before, written a hundred different ways over the centuries, always ending the same: fear disguised as love, abandonment masked as duty.

His gaze dropped back to the bundle. A soft sound came from inside, a faint but unmistakable whimper. With a slow breath, Merlin tugged back the top of the blanket.

A child’s face peaked out. Her cheeks flushed from the cold. Her small hand curled in the air between them. Her fingers caught on nothing, grasping for warmth that wasn’t there. The eyes, when they opened, gleamed an unearthly gold flickering back to a more human hue.

Merlin rocked back on his heels, heart jolting in a way it hadn’t for centuries. He had not seen magic burn that fiercely in someone so young since… well, since himself. For a moment, he almost turned away. He had done this before. Taken in the desperate, the unwanted, the dangerous. And always, always, he had outlived them. A thousand years of graves marked the folly of caring.

But the baby whimpered again, the sound piercing through the stone wall he had built around his heart.
“Olivia,” Merlin murmured. The name was unfamiliar on his tongue. The gold flickered in her eyes once more, just for a heartbeat, as though the name had stirred something deep inside her.

He let out a long, weary sigh and shifted the bundle into his arms. She was impossibly small, impossibly fragile. Yet power thrummed beneath her skin like the crackle of a storm.

Merlin closed his eyes briefly. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

The only answer was a soft coo and the faint warmth of her cheek pressed against his cloak.

For the first time in centuries, the silence of his cottage felt different.

*

*
The cottage was not built for children. Its corners were sharp, its shelves cluttered with forgotten scrolls, its hearth long unused for anything other than his own meals. Merlin looked down at the bundle in his arms and felt the weight of her presence pressing against the quiet he had guarded for centuries.

He laid her gently on his narrow bed, then stood back as though she might shatter at the touch. Olivia stirred, her tiny fists batting at the air.

Merlin rubbed the back of his neck. “Right. Food. Babies eat, do they not?”

He muttered a few words, and a jug of milk appeared on the table with a faint shimmer of gold. The jug looked innocent enough, but his brow furrowed. “I have no idea how this works.”

A frustrated sound rose from the bed. Olivia’s cheeks reddened as her small cry filled the room. Merlin winced, caught between exasperation and panic. He conjured a bottle, fumbled with it clumsily, then crouched to hold it against her lips.

To his surprise, she quieted almost instantly, her tiny mouth latching on with instinct. The sound of her drinking was soft and steady, and it struck him harder than any battle cry ever had.

Merlin sat down heavily beside the bed, watching her. She was still so new to the world, so unaware of what kind of burden she had been left with. Her eyes opened again, the brief flare of gold flickering before settling into a deep brown.

Through the years, magic had become rare. Fewer and fewer were born with the gift, until it was spoken of only in whispers and legends. No one practiced openly anymore. Most no longer believed in it at all.

Yet there were still a few. Children born with sparks in their veins, their power untamed and unwanted. Families hid them, or worse, abandoned them. To most of the world, magic was nothing more than an old story. To those who carried it, it was a burden.

He sighed. “You will be trouble. I can see it already.”

She made a noise that might have been agreement, or perhaps just contentment, and drifted into sleep.

Merlin leaned back, staring at the ceiling beams above him. For the first time in fifteen centuries, he was not alone. And that terrified him.

*

*
He lowered her gently onto the soft blankets, but the instant he did, she began to squirm, arms flailing. Merlin sighed and plucked a pacifier from a drawer, his fingers trembling slightly. He had not expected to fumble so much.

When she cried again, louder this time, he ran a hand through his hair and muttered curses under his breath. “Very well, I see we are starting with chaos.” He leaned over, rocking the cradle with an awkward rhythm, whispering nonsense words to calm her. Surprisingly, they seemed to work. Her cries softened, though her eyes stayed wide and alert, glittering gold for a heartbeat before settling back into brown.

Merlin sank onto the floor beside her, exhausted already, and stared at her tiny, determined face. “You are going to make this very difficult, aren’t you?”

A faint coo was her answer. He rubbed his temples. “And of course, no one else is coming to help. Just you and me, child. That is the way it will be.”

You know the saying that goes it takes a whole village to raise a kid. Merlin would have laughed at that. Not because it was untrue, he knew it was, but because in his case, it was utterly useless.

No one in the village wanted anything to do with him. Not really. They passed by his cottage with downcast eyes, whispered old tales under their breath, and crossed the street if they saw him coming.

Generations had grown up knowing him as a legend, a shadow, a figure best left alone. But over the years, he had learned the truth: even the greatest warlock could not do everything alone.

So if anyone was going to raise Olivia, it was going to be him. Every messy diaper, every sleepless night, every burst of uncontrolled magic all fell squarely on his shoulders. And Merlin, despite the centuries of loss and solitude, would do it. Begrudgingly. Grumpily. But he would do it. Because for the first time in a very long time, someone needed him.
*

*
The first morning was predictably disastrous. Merlin awoke to a chorus of high-pitched wails, which he quickly determined belonged to Olivia. He rubbed his eyes, muttering under his breath, and reached for the bundle of blankets.

“Good morning, Olivia,” he said, though his voice was rough and more annoyed than cheerful. “Maybe I should call you Olive. Starting so early in the morning is making me feel bitter.”

Olivia squirmed and squealed as he lifted her from the cradle. Her tiny fingers grabbed at his hair, and Merlin yelped. “Watch the hair! Very well, perhaps breakfast first.”

The jug of milk still shimmered faintly from the night before. Merlin poured it into the bottle with exaggerated care, as though a single misstep might ignite a magical explosion. To his relief and surprise, Olivia drank quietly for a moment before spitting some out, which landed squarely on his tunic.

He groaned. “Oh, splendid. A baptism by vomit. Exactly what I needed.”

By the third day, Merlin had learned two things. One, babies were relentless. Two, Olivia was not an ordinary child. A small toy horse, placed too close to the edge of the table, had rolled off and then hovered in midair for a few seconds before clattering to the floor. Merlin’s eyes widened.

“Ah,” he muttered, crouching to pick up the toy. He watched it twitch slightly, as if trying to rise again. “You are going to make this very interesting, aren’t you?”

Olivia giggled, a sound like tiny bells, and her golden eyes flickered once more before settling back to brown. Merlin couldn’t help but smile despite himself.

That evening, Merlin tried to settle her for the night. He bounced her gently in his arms, whispering nonsense words to calm her. Yet the moment he placed her back in the cradle, she squirmed again, tiny fists batting at the air.

“Very well,” Merlin muttered, rubbing his temples. “Apparently, sleep is optional for you. And clearly, discretion is not in your vocabulary either.”

A small spark flared from her fingertip as she reached for the edge of the cradle. Merlin’s eyes widened, and he snatched a cloth to block the tiny ember. “No, no, no,” he said, flustered. “Magic is not a plaything at bedtime!”

Olivia’s giggle filled the room again, and for a moment Merlin just stared at her. In all the centuries he had lived, he had never felt this… alive. Every tiny noise, every movement, every unexpected spark of power made his heart race and his old, guarded soul stir.

He sighed and sank onto the floor beside the cradle, lifting her into his lap. “I suppose we are in this together,” he said softly. “For better or worse. Which, judging by your behavior, is mostly worse.”

Olivia cooed and reached up to touch his face. Merlin couldn’t help but grin. Perhaps the first true smile he had given in centuries.

*

*
The years blurred into each other. Nights of endless wailing gave way to toddler tantrums, and those to a whirlwind of laughter and sparks of uncontrolled magic. Merlin had marked the passage of time not by calendars or seasons, but by the steady growth of the child at his side.

Six years had passed. Merlin’s cottage, once quiet and orderly, now bore the marks of a small tornado with golden eyes. Toys littered the floor, half-finished drawings stuck to the walls, and small scorch marks marred the hearth where a stray spark had jumped during one of Olivia’s experiments.

Olivia herself was a whirlwind of energy. Her curls were untamable, her laughter contagious, and her golden eyes now fully aware of their own strange power. She could make objects float with a flick of her tiny fingers, summon small gusts of wind when frustrated, and occasionally, when very excited, cause the candles to dance across the room. Merlin had long since stopped pretending to be surprised.

Olivia, will you please sit down before the table explodes?” he called, exasperated as a small pile of wooden blocks hovered midair, spinning in her wake.
She grinned, a spark of mischief lighting her face. “I can’t! I’m making magic.”

“Yes, yes, very magical,” Merlin muttered, ducking as the blocks tumbled to the floor. “But do try to aim your creativity somewhere other than my head, if you don’t mind.”

Despite the chaos, Merlin could not imagine his life any other way. He had spent centuries alone, watching the world pass him by, and now, for the first time in over fifteen hundred years, he felt tethered to someone. Someone who needed him, challenged him, and whether she knew it or not, reminded him that life was not meant to be endured in silence.

Later that evening, Merlin watched Olivia practicing a simple levitation spell. The object hovered for a moment before drifting to one side, then wobbled and finally settled on the table. She looked at him proudly.

“I did it!” she exclaimed.

Merlin couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, you did. But remember, power without control is a recipe for disaster.”

She pouted slightly, then giggled. “I’m learning!”

“That’s great.” Merlin laughed. “Though you’ve got quite a long way to go to master everything. You’ll be just as old as me then.”

Olivia pouted again, her eyes downcast towards the ground. “That’s too long.”

Merlin raised his brows, his voice filled with sarcasm. “So you’re saying I’m old?”

She turned her head up so quickly and began to giggle. “Noooooo.”

Merlin chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment. Mostly.”

Olivia clapped her hands together, her curls bouncing with excitement. “Can you teach me another spell, Daddy?”

Merlin froze for a heartbeat, the word hitting him harder than he expected. Daddy. He hadn’t said it aloud before, not in years, not since he’d taken her in.

And now, here it was, spilling from her mouth so naturally, so innocently.

He cleared his throat, trying to hide the sudden warmth in his chest. “Very well, but only one spell at a time. We don’t want the kitchen floating into the ceiling again, do we?”

Olivia’s eyes sparkled. “Nooo! I want to learn properly this time!”

Merlin sighed dramatically, but a smile tugged at his lips as he settled onto the floor beside her. “Alright then. Lesson one: levitation. Focus on the object, not your excitement. Do you think you can manage that?”

She nodded eagerly, bouncing on her knees. “I can do it! I’m ready!” she said, grinning at him as though daring him to doubt her.

Merlin hid a small, uncharacteristic smile behind his hand. Yes, he was old, grumpy, and world-weary. But this girl had slowly brought his old charming self back.

*

*
Olivia’s curls bounced as she scrunched her face in concentration, her tiny hand hovering over the wooden spoon on the table. The spoon rattled, lifted an inch, then dropped with a clatter. She groaned loudly and flopped backward onto the rug.

“It hates me,” she declared, throwing her arms out dramatically.

Merlin leaned back in his chair, smirking. “It’s a spoon, Olivia. I doubt it’s plotting against you.”

“It is!” she insisted, rolling onto her side to glare at the spoon as if it had personally insulted her. “It listens to you but not me.”

“That’s because,” Merlin said with exaggerated patience, “I’ve been practicing for centuries. You’ve been practicing for”—he held up his fingers, pretending to count—“what, six years? And most of that was spent learning how not to set the curtains on fire.”

Her cheeks flushed. “That was one time!”

“Three,” Merlin corrected, but his smile softened. He slid off his chair, kneeling beside her. “Listen, magic isn’t about forcing things. It’s about balance. You have to let it flow through you, not demand it to obey.”

Olivia frowned, clearly trying to process his words. Then she whispered, “Like when you hold me when I’m scared?”

Merlin blinked, caught off guard by the comparison. Slowly, he nodded. “Yes… exactly like that.”

She sat up again, more determined than ever, and fixed her gaze on the spoon. Her small hand lifted, steady this time, her lips moving in the shape of the words Merlin had taught her. The spoon trembled… hovered… and then floated neatly into her lap.

Olivia gasped. “I did it! Daddy, I really did it!”

Merlin felt the proud smile tug at his face before he could stop it. He reached out, brushing her hair from her forehead. “Yes, you did. Well done, Olivia.”

She threw her arms around him, hugging tightly. And though Merlin’s first instinct was always to stiffen, to guard himself from the ache of love and loss, this time he allowed himself to melt into it. Slowly, he was getting used to her presence.

*

It was a cold morning when Olivia insisted they go for a walk by a lake. There was none nearby, but Merlin loved her too much to deny the request—especially with the pout she had put on her face. So, at last, they found themselves at Lake Avalon, the place where Arthur had been laid to rest.

The air around the lake was still, the water a mirror reflecting the pale morning sky. Mist curled low across the surface, clinging to the edges of the shore like fingers that refused to let go. Merlin paused at the edge of the path, his breath caught in his throat. It had been centuries since he last stood here, but nothing had changed.

Not really.

Olivia skipped a few steps ahead, her curls bouncing in the breeze. “It’s so big,” she said, her voice carrying over the silence. She bent down to pick up a stone and tossed it into the water. Ripples spread out, breaking the lake’s perfect reflection.

Merlin’s gaze lingered on the center of the water, where he could almost see a faint shimmer beneath the surface. He knew it was only memory. Or perhaps wishful thinking. “Yes,” he murmured. “It is.”

Olivia tugged on his sleeve. “You’re being quiet again.”

“I am always quiet,” Merlin said, managing a small smile.

“Not like this.” She frowned, tilting her head up at him. Her eyes, brown with the faintest flicker of gold, searched his face. “You look like when I drop my blocks,” she said softly. “Like you’re going to cry.”

Merlin swallowed hard. Few had ever seen through him so easily, and none had spoken with such simple honesty. He crouched beside her, resting a hand on her shoulder. “This place… holds many memories for me. Some good, some painful.”

“Is it about your friend?” she asked softly.

He blinked. “How do you…?”

“You talk about him in your sleep sometimes,” Olivia admitted. “Arthur. You say his name a lot.”

For a moment, Merlin could not speak. The weight of fifteen hundred years pressed down on him, heavier than any spell he had ever cast. He let out a slow breath, his voice quiet. “Yes. About Arthur.”

Olivia squeezed his hand, her small fingers warm against his. “I’m here with you now.”

Merlin looked at her, at the child who had tumbled into his life and shattered the silence he had carried like armour. He felt the sting of tears he had not shed in centuries, and for once, he did not turn away from them.

“Yes,” he said softly. “You are.”

“He’ll be coming back soon.” Merlin snapped his head towards her, but her eyes stayed fixed on the lake.

“I’m sure he will.” Merlin smiled.

Little did he know, it would be sooner than he anticipated.

The lake lay quiet before them, its surface smooth as glass, reflecting the pale sky above. Merlin’s gaze flicked to Olivia, her small hands folded in front of her, her expression oddly solemn for a child of six.

A breeze stirred the reeds at the edge of the shore, though the air around them remained still. Merlin frowned. There had been no wind. His eyes drifted back to the water.

Ripples spread slowly across its surface, circling outward as though something beneath had shifted. Olivia tilted her head, gold flickering faintly in her eyes.

“Do you see it?” she whispered.

Merlin’s chest tightened. “See what?” His voice was harsher than he meant, but she did not flinch.

“The light.”

Merlin stared harder, his heart stumbling. For just a moment, a faint glow shimmered beneath the lake, like the sun breaking through deep water. Then it was gone, leaving only stillness.

He dragged a hand down his face, muttering, “It cannot be.” Yet even as he spoke, he knew the truth he had been waiting centuries to face.

Merlin’s breath caught in his throat. For centuries he had imagined this place, avoided it, returned to it in his dreams. But never had the water stirred like this.

“Olivia,” he said carefully, his voice tight, “what did you see?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her gaze remained fixed on the lake, her curls moving gently though the air was still. Finally, she whispered, “Someone’s waiting.”

A chill worked its way down Merlin’s spine. He knelt beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder, though he could not tear his eyes from the rippling water. “No one is waiting, Olivia. The lake is… only a lake.”

Her brow furrowed, small fingers tightening around his sleeve. “But it called to me.”

Merlin closed his eyes. That word called pressed against old wounds. For fifteen hundred years, he had carried the weight of destiny like a curse. He had waited, endured, believing the day would come. But hearing it from her lips, in that soft, certain tone, made something long-buried stir within him.

Hope.

And hope was more dangerous than any enemy he had ever faced.

He opened his eyes again, forcing a smile he did not feel. “Come. It’s too cold to linger. You’ll catch your death out here.”

But as he guided her away from the shore, Merlin risked one last glance back. The lake lay smooth once more, still and silent, yet the image of that faint light clung to him. He knew, with a certainty that chilled him to the bone, that Avalon was not done with him.
*

*
That night, Merlin could not sleep. Olivia had long since dozed off beside the hearth, curled beneath a pile of blankets, her soft breathing filling the cottage with a steady rhythm. But Merlin sat awake, his eyes fixed on the shadows beyond the window, the memory of the lake gnawing at him.

The next morning, Olivia asked again. “Can we go back?”

Merlin hesitated. Every instinct screamed to keep her away from Avalon. Yet her gaze was insistent, and he had never been able to deny her for long.

When they arrived, the lake was calm. For a while, Merlin dared to hope it had been a trick of the light. But then Olivia slipped her hand into his and pointed.

“There.”

The water stirred. Not violently, not even enough to rustle the reeds, but enough that Merlin’s stomach dropped. A faint shimmer traced across the surface, spreading outward in widening rings.

On their third visit, the glow returned, brighter this time, pulsing like a heartbeat beneath the surface. Olivia stepped closer, her golden eyes reflecting the light.
“Daddy,” she whispered, her voice hushed with awe. “He’s waking up.”

Merlin froze, his throat dry. He wanted to deny it, to tell her she was imagining things, but he could not. The shimmer pulsed again, and for a fleeting instant, Merlin thought he saw the faint outline of a hand pressed against the underside of the water.

He yanked Olivia back, holding her close, his own heart racing like a storm.

Arthur was stirring. Avalon was no longer silent.

The fourth visit came on another cold morning, mist curling low over the surface of the lake. Merlin had told himself they would not return, that it was too dangerous, but Olivia’s persistence wore him down as always.

This time, when they arrived, the water was not still. It churned faintly, as if something beneath struggled against the surface. Olivia tugged at his cloak.

“Daddy,” she whispered, “he’s ready.”

Merlin’s pulse thundered in his ears. He opened his mouth to speak, but the lake answered first. The water split with a sudden surge, light spilling upward in dazzling streaks that painted the fog gold. Merlin staggered back, shielding Olivia as the glow grew brighter, searing into his vision.

And then a figure rose from the depths.

Arthur.

His armor gleamed as though newly forged, though no rust or decay marred it. His face was pale, his hair damp, but his chest rose with a shuddering breath. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

Merlin could not move. His knees weakened as centuries of waiting, hoping, despairing, all coiled into this single impossible moment.

Arthur’s gaze lifted, searching, until it landed on him.

“…Merlin?” His voice was hoarse, cracked, yet achingly familiar.

Olivia’s hand tightened around Merlin’s. “Daddy,” she whispered again, this time more firmly. “He’s here.”

Merlin’s throat worked, but no words came. His heart broke open under the weight of it all, and finally, he managed a single, trembling word.

“Arthur.”

Arthur staggered forward, the water lapping at his boots as if reluctant to let him go. Merlin, still frozen, could barely breathe.

Arthur’s eyes swept over him, confusion warring with recognition. “You… you haven’t aged a day.”

Merlin gave a weak laugh, though his voice trembled. “Trust you to notice my face first in so long.”

Arthur blinked, his brow furrowing. “So long?” His gaze darted to the girl half-hidden behind Merlin’s cloak. “And who—”

Before he could finish, Olivia stepped out, her golden eyes wide with awe. “You’re the Once and Future King,” she said matter-of-factly, as though she were announcing the weather.

Arthur’s mouth opened, then closed again. He looked at Merlin, bewildered. “She knows about me?”

Merlin swallowed hard. His voice was soft when he answered. “She knows everything I could bear to tell her. Olivia… She's my daughter.”

Arthur’s eyes widened. “Your… daughter?”

Olivia beamed, stepping closer to Arthur without fear. “My dad said you’d come back when the world needed you most. I told him you’d be soon. See? I was right.”

Arthur’s expression softened as he knelt, still unsteady, but steady enough to meet her gaze. “You must be very special, then.”

“She is,” Merlin said firmly, his voice thick. “More than you know.”

Arthur looked back at him, their eyes locking — centuries of grief, of silence, of longing compressed into a single shared look. For the first time in over a thousand years, Merlin’s lips curved into something real.

Arthur let out a shaky breath, his voice quiet. “I suppose we have much to talk about.”

“And much to do,” Merlin replied, the weight of destiny pressing down on him once more.

Olivia giggled, slipping her small hand into each of theirs. “Then what are we waiting for?”

The three of them stood in silence, the lake rippling gently behind Arthur as if reluctant to release him fully. Merlin’s heart thundered, every instinct torn between clinging to Arthur and shielding Olivia.

Arthur finally tore his gaze from Merlin to look around. His eyes caught on the distant line of houses across the hill, their windows glowing with electric light. He frowned. “The stars… they’re dimmer than I remember.”

Olivia tilted her head. “That’s because of light pollution. Dad says people made too many lights and forgot how to look at the sky properly.”
Arthur blinked at her, then glanced back at Merlin. “Light… pollution?”

Merlin’s lips quirked in the faintest smile. “You’ll have a great deal to catch up on. The world you left is gone, Arthur. This is what came after.”

Arthur looked back to the glowing houses, then down at the strange clothes on Merlin’s shoulders, the shoes on Olivia’s feet, and the paved path leading to the lake. His hand clenched at his side. “And magic? Is it still here?”

Olivia answered before Merlin could. She raised her palm, and a tiny spark of golden light flickered between her fingers.“It’s here. Just… quieter.

Arthur’s eyes softened, his voice catching. “Both of us.” He looked at Merlin again, the unspoken weight of years pressing between them. “You waited all this time.”

Merlin swallowed hard, his voice quiet but firm. “I promised I would.”

Arthur took a step closer, his eyes still drinking in the impossible sight of Merlin standing unchanged. “And now?”

Merlin glanced down at Olivia, her small hand clutching his. He straightened, his voice steadier than he felt. “Now… we begin again.”

Olivia tugged Arthur’s sleeve, her golden eyes bright with certainty. “Come home with us. We’ll explain everything. You’ll like it, I promise.”

Arthur looked down at her, then back at Merlin, torn between disbelief and something dangerously close to hope. At last, he nodded. “Then lead the way.”
*

*
Merlin kept a cautious eye on her as she skipped along the lake’s edge, her curls bouncing in the cold wind. Olivia stopped suddenly and pointed at the faint trail of lights in the distance where cars hummed down the road.

“Those are cars,” she announced proudly, as though Merlin had asked. “They’re like carriages, but they don’t need horses. They just go vroom!” She flung her arms forward dramatically to mimic the sound.

Arthur raised a brow, following her tiny finger. “Carriages without horses? And what drives them, then?”

Olivia frowned, chewing on her lip. “Um… I think it’s… fire? Or maybe juice. Daddy says it’s complicated.”

Arthur gave Merlin a look, suspicion flickering across his face. Merlin only shrugged, lips twitching.

“And that?” Arthur asked, pointing up at the faint line of an airplane soaring across the sky.

Olivia’s eyes lit up. “That’s a plane! It’s like a big bird, but with windows. People sit inside its belly, and then it flies to other countries.”

Arthur blinked at her. “Inside its… belly?”

“Yes!” she said, giggling. “But don’t worry. It doesn’t eat them. They just sit and then it spits them out when it lands.”

Arthur looked utterly lost, and Merlin couldn’t help laughing, the sound slipping free before he could stop it. “She’s not wrong,” he admitted, though he gave Arthur no further explanation.

Arthur muttered something under his breath, staring at the sky as though trying to decide whether the child was teasing him. Olivia, oblivious to his confusion, twirled on the spot, pointing out more “modern wonders” with all the confidence of a teacher giving a grand lecture.

However, Arthur’s gaze lingered not on Olivia, but on Merlin. The man who had waited all this time for his return. The same man who had betrayed him, who had wielded magic under his very nose throughout their years in Camelot. Bitterness twisted in his chest, but so did something far heavier, the ache of familiarity.
Merlin looked older now. His hair was longer, curling at the ends where it brushed his neck, though his posture was still the same awkward slouch Arthur remembered. His smile, though, was different. Brighter. Softer. It lit his face as he listened to Olivia’s rambling with a patience Arthur had never seen from him before.

Arthur’s hands curled into fists at his sides. He remembered the battlefield, the sword in his chest, the last breaths he had taken with Merlin kneeling over him, begging him to hold on. He remembered the lies, the concealment, the betrayal that still cut like a blade.

Yet now, as he watched Merlin crouch to fix Olivia’s scarf where it had slipped from her neck, the anger faltered. This was not the same boy who had stumbled into his service with clumsy hands and nervous smiles. This Merlin looked tired, but not defeated. He looked… alive, in a way Arthur had not expected.

Olivia giggled and tugged on Merlin’s sleeve, eager for him to follow her pointing finger. Merlin ruffled her curls absentmindedly, his smile tugging wider at the corners.

Arthur turned his face toward the lake, trying to ignore the warmth creeping beneath his bitterness. He had every right to hate Merlin for the lies. Every right to curse him for all that had been lost. And yet… centuries had passed. The world was unrecognizable. And Merlin, somehow, had endured it all.
Arthur whispered under his breath, the words tasting both foreign and familiar. “You waited.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Arthur stepped closer, his voice gentler than Merlin had heard in a lifetime. “You waited for me all this time. After everything. Even after I called you a traitor in my head a hundred times over.”

Merlin let out a shaky laugh, somewhere between bitter and fond. “I’d wait another thousand if I had to.”

Arthur’s chest tightened, and he found himself reaching out — not quite touching Merlin, but close enough that his hand hovered at his sleeve. He thought of Merlin, alone for so long, still here, still carrying everything.

“You’re a fool,” Arthur whispered, though there was no anger in it, only something softer. “The biggest fool I’ve ever known.”

Merlin managed a smile, faint but real. “You always said that.”

Arthur’s lips twitched, the ghost of a grin pulling at them. “And you always proved me right.”

This time, when their eyes met, it wasn’t just friendship or regret that passed between them. It was something deeper, something unspoken that had always been there, waiting — like the prophecy itself.

Before Merlin could get a word out, Olivia interrupted. She clapped her hands and announced brightly, “Daddy, look! The water’s sparkling like it’s full of stars!”
Arthur froze again at the word. Daddy. The once and future king had no words.
*

That night, as Olivia busied herself with her dolls, Arthur lingered by the fire, watching Merlin move about the kitchen. It struck him, the way Merlin moved with an ease that spoke of routine—dressing her up, setting aside her favorite cup without needing to ask. The sight tugged at something unsettled in Arthur. At last, when Merlin turned to slice vegetables, Arthur stepped closer. “Where’s her mother?” Arthur asked, his voice careful, though there was an edge to it.

Merlin froze mid-chop, the knife hovering over the vegetables. He took a deep breath, carefully setting it down. “Not sure,” he said slowly, “She was dropped at my door when she were just a few months. I decided to take her in ever since.”

Arthur frowned, stepping closer. “So she’s not actually yours?” His chest tightened, though he couldn’t have said why. Perhaps it was the idea of Merlin keeping secrets yet again. Or perhaps it was that this child—this Olivia—looked at Merlin with the kind of love Arthur had thought was his alone.

Merlin turned, his gaze sharp, protective. “Blood doesn’t make her mine, Arthur. Love does. I may not have been there at her birth, but I’ve been there for everything since. Every scraped knee, every nightmare, every burst of magic she couldn’t control.” His voice lowered, steady but firm. “She is mine. In every way that matters.”

Arthur held his stare, searching for a crack in his words, but all he found was conviction carved deep by years of sacrifice. His shoulders eased slightly, though a shadow of confusion lingered. “It’s just… strange, to see you like this. A father.”

Merlin let out a short, humorless laugh. “Strange doesn’t begin to cover it. I never thought I’d… have this. Or want this. But she changed everything.”

Arthur glanced toward the sitting room, where Olivia sat humming to herself, arranging her dolls in neat little rows. Her laughter carried faintly back to them, warm and bright. “She’s lucky,” he said softly. “Luckier than most.”

Merlin’s lips twitched into a smile, small but real. “So am I.”

Arthur’s tone grew more serious. “So I’m back. Will the rest come too.”

Merlin glanced back at him, his expression equally heavy. For a moment, the only sound was the crackle of the fire and Olivia’s faint humming from the other room.
“I don’t know,” Merlin admitted quietly. “The prophecy only ever spoke of you. Albion’s greatest need, the once and future king. Nothing about who else might return with you.” He paused, staring down at his hands. “I’ve hoped, more than I should have, that it wouldn’t just be you. That somehow Gwen, the knights… all of them might follow. But all these years teaches you not to put too much faith in hope.”

Arthur leaned against the counter, arms folded, his jaw tight. “I don’t like the idea of being the only one. If they’re gone for good, and I’m the only one dragged back…” He trailed off, frustration flashing across his face.

Merlin met his gaze, voice steady but softer now. “You’re not the only one. You’ve got me. You’ve got Olivia.”

Arthur gave a faint, skeptical huff, though his eyes flickered toward the sitting room again. “That girl…she’s got more spirit than all my knights put together.”

Merlin chuckled, though the sound was tinged with melancholy. “Don’t let her hear you say that. She’ll never let you live it down.”

Arthur studied Merlin for a long moment, the kitchen suddenly feeling smaller around them. “You’ve told me about Olivia, about the prophecy, about… all of this,” he said, gesturing faintly around the cottage. “But you haven’t told me about you. How have you actually been, Merlin?”

Merlin’s hands stilled on the counter. He didn’t answer at first, his eyes fixed on the vegetables as though they held the secrets of the world.

“You’re dodging, Merlin. I didn’t ask how you’ve managed. I asked how you’ve been.”

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, almost brittle. “I’ve… endured.”

Arthur frowned. “Endured?”

Merlin gave a short, humorless laugh. “What else was I supposed to do? After Camlann, after you—” He stopped, swallowing hard. “After I lost you, I couldn’t go back. Not to Camelot. Not to Gwen. Not to anyone. I couldn’t bear to walk those halls, knowing you weren’t there. So I stayed away. And the years kept moving on without me.”

Arthur shifted, guilt flickering across his face. “Merlin…”

Merlin shook his head sharply, as if to cut him off. “The truth is, I never spoke to anyone again after that day. Not properly. I let the world forget me, and I let myself forget the world. Easier that way. Safer.” He paused, his jaw tightening. “Immortality isn’t a gift, Arthur. It’s a punishment. You don’t live, you just… watch. Everyone you love turns to dust, and you’re left standing in the same place, unchanged.”

Arthur’s chest tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He had never seen Merlin like this, stripped bare of his usual wit and stubborn light.
“But Olivia changed that,” Merlin added after a beat, his voice softer now. “For the first time, someone knocked on my door, and I couldn’t turn away. She forced me to remember what it felt like to live again.”

Arthur let out a slow breath, his eyes searching Merlin’s face. “You carried all that alone.”

Merlin managed a weary smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “That was always my fate, wasn’t it? To carry it alone.”

Arthur was silent, the weight of Merlin’s confession settling heavily between them.

*

They had finished eating their dinner when Arthur began with his questions again.

Arthur’s brow furrowed. “I still don’t understand, Merlin. Why now? Why me? Albion has no throne to reclaim, no army to command. What possible need could the world have for me after all this time?”

Merlin didn’t answer at first. He was too busy watching Olivia, the way her eyes glowed with magic and joy all at once. A warmth tugged at his chest, something he hadn’t felt since Camelot — hope.

“So it’s me,” Arthur pressed. “I’ve returned because they need a king again.”

“No. Not you.” Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter than Arthur expected. “It isn’t about thrones, Arthur. Or armies. Albion’s need isn’t what we thought it was.”

Arthur straightened. “Then what is it?”

Merlin turned, meeting his gaze. His eyes were tired, but they shone with a clarity Arthur hadn’t seen in centuries. He nodded toward Olivia, who was now coaxing one of the floating lights to hover near the window. “Her. Albion’s greatest need is her.”

Arthur blinked, confused. “A child?”

“Not just any child,” Merlin said firmly. “She carries magic stronger than I’ve seen all my life. And more than that, she isn’t afraid of it. She isn’t burdened by it. She plays with it, shapes it, laughs with it. She is what Albion was meant to be — magic not hidden in shadows, but alive, free, unashamed.”

Arthur looked back at Olivia, his expression softening despite himself. She caught his gaze, grinned, and ran over to shove a glowing light into his palm. He stared down at it as it flickered warmly against his skin.

“She’s…so small,” he murmured.

Merlin’s lips curved into a faint smile. “So was Albion, once. Small, fragile, uncertain. But given a chance, it grew. So will she. And she’ll need us. That is why you’re here, Arthur. Not for crowns. Not for war. For her.”

Arthur looked from the light in his hand to Merlin, and for a moment, the weight of destiny felt less like a curse and more like a gift.

Olivia turned towards him. She smiled, holding out her hands as if offering him the little orb she had made.

“See?” she said brightly. “It’s not scary.”

Arthur blinked, his throat tight. For years, magic had been the thing he’d fought, the thing he’d feared, the thing that had taken his father, his kingdom, and finally his life. Yet here it was, resting harmlessly in the palm of a child.

He crouched down so he was level with her. “No,” he admitted softly. “It’s not scary at all.”

Olivia’s grin widened, and she placed the light gently into his hand. It flickered, warm against his skin, before dissolving into the air. She giggled, clapping her hands.
Arthur looked up at Merlin, his voice rough. “She’s the future, isn’t she?”

Merlin nodded, his chest heavy with pride and something close to relief. “Yes. She is Albion’s greatest need. And she is why you’re here. Not to fight battles long past. But to protect what’s to come.”

Arthur glanced back at Olivia, who had already moved on to balancing her blocks with magic. For the first time since waking by the lake, he felt the old fire of purpose stir in him again.

Olivia turned towards him, her golden eyes flickering faintly. “What’s wrong?”

Arthur opened his mouth, but Merlin spoke first, his voice quieter than Olivia had ever heard it. “He’s asking if this is the beginning… or the end.”

Arthur glanced at Merlin, startled, but then sighed and nodded. “Something like that.” He hesitated, then added, “I thought Albion’s greatest need would be war, or peace, or me holding a crown again. But looking at her…” His gaze lingered on Olivia, who was tilting her head curiously at him. “Maybe it was never about that.”

Merlin swallowed hard. For so long, he had carried the prophecy like a weight chained to his back, waiting for a day that seemed like it would never come. And now, the answer stood barefoot before him with curls in her hair and mischief in her smile.

“It’s her,” Merlin whispered, more to himself than anyone else. His hands trembled as he said it aloud. “All this time, Albion didn’t need armies or kings. It needed her.”
Olivia beamed, though she didn’t fully understand. She reached out, tugging Merlin’s sleeve. “Does that mean I’m important?”

Arthur laughed softly, the sound carrying a warmth Merlin had almost forgotten. “More important than either of us ever were.”

Merlin crouched so he was eye level with her. His face softened in a way it hadn’t for centuries. “Yes, Olivia. You’re the reason we’re both here. You’re the future we’ve been waiting for.”

That night, the cottage was quiet. Olivia had long since fallen asleep, curled on the rug with her dolls still scattered around her. The soft glow of embers in the hearth painted the room in gold and shadow.

Merlin stood by the window, staring out into the darkness. The words still echoed in his chest. Albion’s greatest need was never war. It was her.

Behind him, Arthur shifted. “You’ve carried this on your own for too long.”

Merlin didn’t turn. “I had no choice.”

“You did,” Arthur said quietly. “You chose to keep going. You chose her. And now…” His voice trailed off as he looked toward Olivia, her curls spilling across the blanket. “Now you’ve given me a reason to keep going, too.”

Merlin’s throat tightened. For centuries, he had rehearsed what he might say if this moment ever came, but now that it was here, all he could manage was, “I never stopped hoping. Not really.”

Arthur stepped closer, close enough that Merlin could feel the warmth of him again after fifteen hundred years. “Neither did I. Even at the end, I trusted you.”

Silence stretched, heavy but not suffocating. Merlin finally turned, meeting Arthur’s eyes. The old anger, the old grief, was still there, but so was something else. Familiar. Steady.

Arthur’s hand brushed against his, tentative at first, then firmer. “We’ll face this together. For her. For Albion.”

Merlin let out a shaky breath, a smile tugging at his lips despite the tears burning in his eyes. “Together.”

In the corner, Olivia stirred in her sleep, murmuring something.

Arthur chuckled softly, and Merlin did too. For the first time in centuries, the silence of the cottage no longer felt empty. It felt like the beginning of something new.

The end