Tile: Of Magic, Fandom: Merlin, Words: 278, Summary: Merlin waits, and is rewarded - Set Post-Series end, Paring/Characters: Sort of Merarthur but not really, Fluffy as all get out.
There are many kinds of magic, from many different cultures. As Merlin walks across the London Bridge making his way to the church he thinks about them. About the age of heroes, and how it will one day come again. How the magic in his blood has told him that it is coming soon. And now. Thinks on how his age is a glamour, people often times cannot tell the old apart. He reaches St Paul's Cathedral and steps into the church. He casts magic, it comes so easily to him now, and slips into the areas where one is not supposed to go. Slips past his own barriers, made when he realized that this would be the place. The tug that he had been feeling earlier, the whisper of the time of heroes calling him deeper and deeper down. Into parts of the church now hidden to time. He did not think it would be here, so far from home, but magic has no master. Magic is wild, and free.
He reaches the far most chamber, were the table lays and waits. And as he waits age slips away from him. The grey of his beard, the winkles on his face, they melt away, like history forgotten.
In the end he does not have to wait long. The area around the table beings to glow, and the whole room beings to crackle with the magic of it all. Ever so slowly a figure appears on the table, golden hair, blue eyes. Dressed in little more than a rag. He blinks and turns to him, “Where am I?”
Merlin only smiles, “You are home.”
“Ah.” Arthur says, “Ah.”