i.
"M'Lord, we were supposed to be back by now. We don't usually go this far; not in this part of the forest."
"A king cannot return from a hunt without any game. Do you understand nothing, Havor?" Arthur's foot servant fell into an uneasy quiet, lowering his eyes. The king eyed him down for a few more seconds, then turned, the absent tip of his sword drawing an arc in the dirt. The woods stood tall and empty around him, the trees spaced enough for easy movement, but close enough together to entice creatures to hide. It was early fall; there should have been plenty of game around. Where was everything? He began walking cautiously again, stepping toe-heel to avoid rustling the leaves on the ground too much. After a couple steps, he saw a dark flash in the corner of his vision. He spun towards it, startling his foot servant, but there was nothing except grey trees. Not even any swaying plants or disturbed leaves.
Something crackled in the underbrush behind him. Arthur turned, following the path of his sword, letting his gaze drift over the bushes, then flit through the bare autumn branches. Nothing. He exhaled through his nose as his eyes narrowed. Something wasn't right.
"What is it, sir?" Havor whispered. Arthur ignored him, standing up straight again and sheathing his sword.
"Perhaps you were right. It may be best we return to Camelot."
Just then, a rabbit shot out from under a thistle bush, darting straight through the trees. Instinctively, Arthur gave chase. "There! Come on, we have to push it towards the snare!" It was a smaller beast than he had been hoping for, but it was better than nothing. He heard Havor stumbling behind him but had no mind to slow down for the oaf.
"My Lord! Please, it isn't worth the trouble!"
"Keep up, Havor!" He side-stepped a tree, ducking under several branches. Perhaps if he found the hare's home, he could smoke it out. Or if he cornered it against a ridge…
But it wasn't long before he found himself wheezing, and the hare was slowly gaining distance from him. Even without his heavy armor on, he wouldn't have been able to keep up with such a creature. Or perhaps he was getting old.
His sprinting slowed to a jog, then a lope, before he halted altogether and leaned against the small dirt ledge jutting up from the ground. "Damn… mangy… beast…" he panted, running a hand through his blonde bangs to let the air soothe the sweat from his forehead. He turned to Havor for a drink of water, only to discover that there was no one behind him. Any where behind him. The woods, for as far as he could see, were empty.
"Looking for this?"
He jumped, pulling his sword from his hip and spinning to confront the voice.
Standing in front of him was a lanky, pale-skinned man with black hair. Perhaps not even a man, he looked too knobby to be older than a boy. In his arms, sitting quiet as a mouse, was the rabbit who had just outrun him. Its nose twitched, and Arthur was almost sure the black eye turned towards him was mocking him.
He tried to keep the scowl from his face as he stared the dark-haired boy down. "How did you catch that?" he asked, not lowering his sword. The kid didn't look like he could do much harm, but anyone alone so deep in these woods was someone to be suspicious of.
"How did you not?" the boy replied nonchalantly. Arthur let the scowl reach his face now, unsure whether that was an insult or not.
"What's your name? Who are you, and what are you doing here?"
"My name is Merlin." He leaned over to drop the hare onto the ground, and it hopped off slowly. Arthur watched it go, reining in his urge to spear it with his sword right then and there. "You're trespassing, you know. These woods belong to me." That grabbed the king's attention, and he scoffed in disbelief. The blue eyes across from him showed no sign of mischief, nor of humor or even regret for the words. He was completely serious.
"Your woods? I am Arthur Pendragon, the King of Camelot; this entire land belongs to me!"
"You are mistaken. Please leave here at once and return to wherever you came from." The boy turned his back to Arthur and started walking away.
It took several seconds for Arthur to find his voice through the impudence. "I will not leave the place I have a right to be! And you did not answer my other questions, Merlin. Who are you and what are you doing here?" The black hair stopped but didn't turn back around. Arthur glared at it, hoping the fire in his gaze could be felt.
"I will only ask you once more–"
"And I will only ask you once more," Arthur growled, quickly growing tired of this. He moved forward until his sword was pressed against Merlin's back. The boy did not even flinch. "This is my land, and I am a king. You will not treat me with such disrespect."
Merlin took a step, then turned in a flourish, folding his torso into a bow that ended just above Arthur's blade. "I am sorry, M'Lord," he said as he stood again, though the cocky grin on his face did nothing to help Arthur's mood. Nor did his next words. "I did not realize that being a spoiled brat entitled one to instant respect."
Arthur flicked his sword, catching Merlin's red hemp shirt and tearing a large hole in its front. The boy glanced down, for once a bit of surprise showing on his face. When he looked back up and met Arthur's furious gaze, the emotion in his eyes startled Arthur. It wasn't fear, it was… curiosity.
"M'Lord! M'Loooord!"
Arthur turned to where Havor's voice was coming from, just before the servant stumbled past the dirt ledge and into view, looking completely disheveled. "Ah, there you are!" he said breathlessly. "I was so worried you had become lost, M'Lord… is something the matter?"
Arthur blinked. "No, I just…" He looked back at Merlin, only to find nothing but air and disturbed dirt. He looked around, completely taken aback. No one could disappear that fast. "Havor did you… see that man run away?"
"What man, M'Lord?" The foot servant stepped closer to Arthur, wringing his hands. "Are you alright? Perhaps it is time we returned."
"…Yes," Arthur replied slowly, reluctantly pulling his gaze from the emptiness in front of him. He suddenly found himself doubting whether that had been real or not. After taking another few seconds to collect himself, he sheathed his sword again and strode past Havor, back the way he had come. "Come on, then. Before it gets dark."
"O-of course, M'Lord."
Arthur could not get the strange boy out of his mind. Every moment he had to himself, eating, or laying in bed at night, or taking a walk. Who was he, really? Perhaps some whore's kid from another kingdom… or an impudent poor boy who liked to escape his life… no, despite his ratty clothes, he held himself too well to be on a lower status. Then a knight's runaway son? But Arthur had asked everyone he knew about the neighboring kingdoms, and no one reported any missing sons.
He could never figure it out. But that last look in Merlin's eyes, the curiosity and intrigue–it drove Arthur to the edge of the forest several times. He stood right on the border between woods and farmland, debating on just disappearing off into the wilderness for a few hours. But he had no guarantee that he would find Merlin again, or even the spot he had been. They had certainly had a hard enough time finding their way back; he and Havor had spent hours trekking through only vaguely familiar land, Havor constantly voicing Arthur's inner fears of discovering that they were trespassing an enemy's territory, as unprepared and unprotected as they were. When they had finally stumbled into Camelot after dark, it had been such a relief that Arthur could not have imagined ever wanting to go back again.
And yet the next morning he found himself wanting that exact thing. To return, to find the knobby boy and demand to know who he was, and what right he had not to fear Arthur's anger.
But weeks passed, and he never went. And then winter came, the rain was icy and sharp, and even if he tried Arthur would not be able to find an excuse to leave the grounds. Not that he even wanted to; it was no climate to be running around the woods in.
Winter ebbed by. Then a war broke out between an enemy and an ally, and all of Camelot's forces– and Arthur's attention– was put on that. Merlin slid to the back of Arthur's mind as a hallucination, a dream brought forth from dehydration and that day's cold autumn air.