Growing up beside You
Hey folks... So, I know I'm not continuing Paper Boats but I'm determined to finish this. It's going to be a cute, fluffy, oneshot method piece. No drafting chapters, they'll all be done in one attempt. Prepare for angst, fluffy mini Arthur and Merlin growing up together, aww. Oh, and in case you're wondering about what they look like as younger kids in my mind just copy these links into your browser:
SVOD/SKYENTERTAINMENT/IMAGES/S/Spy%20S2/L_Spy_S2_
Merlin-just asa butterfield but more cheekbony
Arthur Pendragon is a man of habit. He is now at the age of 27 and has been for a long time. Even when he was seven years old and hanging up his coat on a peg in the Year 3 cloak room he made sure the collar was turned out and the buckle of the brown leather satchel he would hang on top his dark red wool jacket was facing him. Always done up. Always at precisely 8.45am.
On the other hand, Merlin Emrys is not. When he attended primary school (the same one as Arthur, coincidentally) his brown coat and red scarf were thrown haphazardly over the peg with a wizards hat sticker beneath it. Arthur's had a crown. He was always boasting, after studying medieval history and touching on the Arthurian legends in the winter term, that his name was Arthur. Proudly, he had handed out Christmas cards signed 'King Arthur Pendragon'. In this bought of medieval fever, Arthur had insisted that Merlin be his 'valued advisor, assistant and friend' to be as authentic as possible. Since that moment during morning playtime, they had been firm friends.
Ninety nine point nine percent of Arthur's memories seemed to include Merlin's overly large ears; Merlin clutching his 'Gameboy'; Merlin grinning, ever the optimist. When Arthur turned ten, it was Merlin he invited to go bowling, Merlin he shared his huge birthday cake with. They were like brothers. Something that Merlin's mother Hunith wholey approved of and Uther, Arthur's father mostly ignored. He always seemed to have money to wholeheartedly fling at his only son but never time. Arthur and his sister Morgana had pretty much learnt to get by on their own. Both were competent cooks by the age of twelve. Hunith saw no positives in this and was always bundling the pair under boxes of delicious lasagne or hearty stews to warm them up or, one step better, inviting Arthur to tea and Morgana too-if she wasn't at Gwen's. Gwen was a kind, pretty and intelligent girl who just wanted everyone to get along and have a nice time. If Arthur and Morgana fought, it was always Gwen who got whichever one of the two to swallow their pride and build a bridge over the rift which, at a young age, was often who chose what they would watch on TV but got more serious as ages became higher. Often, they would go days without speaking; Morgana taking Uther's side and Arthur left to cry to Merlin. That was the one d efining thing about his and Merlin's friendship. Arthur could cry to Merlin with no shame. He knew he would face no judgement, no pressure into making a decision too soon. Merlin was-and still is-his rock. His one totally reliable support. Someone to get drunk with, have serious conversations about life with. The only person he can scream like a girl in front of during a horror movie. Someone to secretly confess his membership in the Frank Sinatra fan-club to. In short, Merlin is his everything, it just took him a while to realize.
So, as the years passed and both boys grew up their friendship blossomed into something robust like an immoveable weed but as beautiful as a delicate blue-bell.