Little Arthur raced down the corridor, a blur of blond and red as he sped around sunny open corridors and bustling maids. His tiny feet skidded over the cobblestone floor as he ran into an old tapestry next to a turn, than into a manservant right after.
He ignored the servant's shrieks as he sped down the halls towards a very specific location. Nothing could hold him back from the pure elation he felt, so high he flew with wings! Unfortunately, his "wings" held a little too much wind-sending every poor soul it touched spiraling to the ground, or into the wall with a violent 'oof!'.
He whizzed by a maid calmly walking down the corridor with laundry, and tripped over her skirts. He knocked into her knees and sent her sprawling back, her armful of neatly folded laundry launched into the air.
She shrieked as she fell onto her bum, and gaped in dismay as the starched white clothes rained down from the sky to the top of her head. She snatched them off of lap and the ground, and searched furiously around for the wayward prince. She spied him up and going already a long ways down the stony wide corridor. She shook her empty fist at his retreating back and screamed
"Prince Arthur! Watch yourself!" "
"Sorry!" he called, still tumbling down the slippery corridor, "The babe is coming! I cannot stop!"
The little prince finally made it to the right hall, and skidded to a halt outside his mother's door. He listened intently, pressing his ear against the door, but heard not a sound inside. He bit his lip anxiously, he had heard that there should have been screaming or yelling or something of that sort. Had something gone wrong? He bounced a little in indecision on whether to knock. He may be only four, but he knew he couldn't just barge in.
Then, the door opened. Arthur's father stood tall and proud, at this moment not as a king-but as a father.
The king of Avalon was a tall sturdy man, with neat gray hair that was once black with deep blue eyes that matched Arthur's own. At that moment he wore none of his fine steel chain mail, or red finery befitting his kingdom; instead wore the simple white tunic and fine brown breeches that befit a tired and content man.
Uther smiled down on his son and said somewhat tiredly, "Would you like to meet your brother, Arthur?"
Arthur raced passed his father into the room filled with excitement with no further prompting. His father chuckled and shut the door behind him, closing them off from any eaves dropping servants.
His mother's room was a sunny and bright as any in the castle, with high glass pane windows open to allow in fresh air, with the green drapes fluttering with the spring breeze. Arthur's mother was laying contentedly back on large white pillows, her faced flushed with Arthur's golden hair lying about her shoulders. In her arms was a clothed bundle, mewling quietly in her embrace.
Arthur padded quickly over the plush rug to his mother's side, standing on his tiptoes to try and catch a glimpse of the new child. His mother's green eyes lifted up to his and she smiled with pure exhausted happiness. "Hello darling, ready to meet your brother?"
Arthur peered over the edge of the bed at the white bundle in his mother's arms. It was moving slightly, and he could see a hint of fingers wiggling just on the top of it.
"Is that a baby?" Arthur asked with wide eyes, standing on his tip toes for a better look. King Uther chuckled as he rested his hand on small Arthur's back. "Yes child that is a babe. He will grow to be your second in command someday."
"Uther he is your son first, not a chess piece. Remember this." Ygraine chided. She smiled down upon Arthur and asked him gently, "Arthur, would you like to hold him? A tiny thing he is, you must be gentle." Arthur nodded ferverently, standing back down firmly on his feet, and extended his small arms.
Uther moved to his wife's side, glancing uncertainly between his wife and son,
"Ygraine are you certain-?" Ygraine simply held out the child to Uther, her tired eyes firm.
"Let him hold his brother my husband-they need to connect. Trust between them is of most importance."
Uther frowned, but took the child carefully from his wife's embrace. He couldn't help but quirk a smile down at the wrinkled bundle, whom was fast asleep and wholly trusting of his father's grasp.
"He will be a fine champion someday." He said quietly. He took a quick firming breath and stated firmly to Arthur, "Sit and hold him firmly. Support his head."
Arthur scrambled onto chair by the window and held out his arms eagerly, holding himself as still as possible. Uther gently lowered the bundle into his arms.
"He is your responsibility to guard and teach now Arthur; he will support and advise you when the time comes-but you are to protect him in return. You will be King one day, and he will be your champion."
Ygraine interrupted from her bed,
"They are brothers Uther not chess pieces. Arthur, you support each other as brothers first and always; the king and champion are nothing without that, nor anything compared to it. Family, Arthur-not soldiers or chess pieces."
Arthur nodded, not really understanding but willing to please his parents. He looked down at the bundle in his arms-and thought it looked nothing like the cherubs he heard the maids describe. The babe was all wrinkly and old looking-but he was the big brother now, so he supposed the child was alright. The hair on the boys head actually reminded him of a bird his mother used to have-it was black and silky. He thought it was called…
"Merlin. Papa he looks like a merlin! Like Mama's merlin!"
Uther frowned in puzzlement, his brows furrowing. He looked down at the babe, and asked, "What merlin son? Your mother had a raven not a hawk…oh ha! Arthur the black bird is called a raven not a merlin. Although..." He looked thoughtfully down on the little babe. "He does look like a Merlin though. What do you say my dear? Prince Merlin?"
Peter smiled, "My brother, Merlin."