And when Arthur awoke, he knew he was no longer in Avalon, where gargoyle wings cast shadows over incandescent gardens. He knew first that he was grown young - or never grown old at all. His head was not bowed by years under a crown, nor his hands calloused from too long spent fighting.
But it had not been a dream, for the sorcerer was still with him, hand holding his, helping him to his feet.
Wart coughed and blinked. There were twigs in his hair from the tree he'd just fallen out of. "What did I..."
"Oh, remembered it, did you?" Merlin asked, adjusting his spectacles and flattening his moustache. "The future. Yes, that's what it's like for me. Always remembering things that haven't happened yet. Sorry if some of it rubbed off on you."
There were faces - noble faces, ugly faces, beautiful ones and cruel ones - and he knew their intentions.
When he looked up, he saw the friend from his most recent adventure, somehow seeming quite expressively astonished for a squirrel.
"Say, Merlin... would it be alright if I tried to change it?"
"Oh, yes. It's not set in stone, you know. Well, some of it is, but we'll come to that. But what will you do differently?"
"How would it be... if I had help?"
The old wizard might have been smiling, but he seemed to hide it behind his beard. "Oh? Which helper would you choose?"
Wart did not need to think about it. He pointed straight up at the branch. "That one."
--From last post
