When he had asked for a challenge, he didn't actually think he would get one.

Arthur was in his second year at university. It had been hard going getting him there. The studying, the arguments, his father, all of it had to be overcome so he could study history at the university of his choosing. Uther had not been happy. He had wanted Arthur to specialise in business, the only actual degree a Pendagon could hold according to him. But Arthur had been of another persuasion. It was his education. I he was going to be spending all this time and money on a degree, he didn't want to spend all day looking at graphs and stocks. If he wanted to learn all about that he could just ask his father. In fact, he was fairly sure he could teach his own degree on business with the information he had learnt over the years.

No, Arthur didn't care about business. History on the other hand was a small passion of his. Between battle plans and extraordinary figures throughout the years, he was hooked. He didn't care that there was no real career path from studying just history, or that he would have to listen to his father go on about the extra year he could do in business so it wasn't a complete waste him going into further education. He just didn't' care. History was what he was interested in. So History he went to study.

To prove himself to his father he did his best, more than his best, in his first year, getting a first in all his courses. Of course, his father didn't see it as good news, merely proof that Arthur wasn't stupid, something he didn't need a history degree to tell Uther, so he said. He was more than happy to start second year to try again.

He took language classes, surprised at how easy he picked up Old English and Latin. Gaelic he was having trouble in, along with some other languages, but those two he barely had to study for. It was as if he had been taught them in another life, he just had to look at the page to get the bare grasp of what it was saying.

The classes helped with his work. He was being asked to stay behind more and more so he could work on some projects with his lecturers, which ended up in him excitedly telling his sisters about how well he was doing. They were proud for all of two moments before Uther overheard them talking and ended up overriding their praises with more talk on Arthur's extra year.

Despite Uther being his usual fatherly self, Arthur loved his course, thrived on the challenge they posed. Until they didn't.

It was almost Christmas, another week left of university and three essays under his belt. He was free, more or less, for the holidays, and thought to go pester his friend Leon for a while. He was a history student too, the two of them hitting it off almost instantly on their first day. It also helped they now shared a flat together, nothing made people become either best friends or mortal enemies than living together. Thankfully Leon was the former, the two of them getting along better than Arthur did with his own family.

He had thought the two of them could spend the evening on the town, maybe hit a few clubs to celebrate the upcoming winter holiday. Only, Leon was swamped with work.

'I don't know how you're done. I'm still coming up with the title,' Leon complained, barely looking up from his laptop.

A few hurried words later and Arthur was skulking back to his room wishing he had some work of his own to do. It was as he read over one of his old history books that he realized he hadn't actually done anything hard this semester. Sure, languages were difficult, but that's the same with learning any new language. What he meant was intellectual challenge. He had never looked at something this semester that really made him think. Never looked at something and was fascinated so much he had to look into everything about it. It was disheartening when he realized.

A few days later Leon got out of his pit long enough to suggest a flat outing. Arthur was half sure it was a want to get away from his work and half because he had ran out of junk food. That latter being something Arthur may have had a hand in to drive Leon out of his room.

'There's this Christmas fair over by the pub,' Leon said, still dreary eyed from his essays. 'What say we take a look and have a drink?'

'Excellent idea.' He knew because he was the one who had been suggesting going there for the past few days, slipping it into conversations and even leaving flyers around for Leon to sleepily glance over. Arthur knew how to get what he wanted.

The Christmas fair was small. Minuscule really. There were in total five stalls, and only one of them had an abundance of people. Naturally it was the food stand, which had Leon gravitating over to it like a moth to a flame. Ordinarily, Arthur would have been joining him, especially when he heard the call of free mulled wine with any purchase. In this instance another stall caught his eye. It was the last one in the line. The hangings were poorly draped and the vendor looked shifty to say the least, but his goods were interesting.

Instead of Christmas-y stuff like gingerbread toys or ornaments there was a mass of jewels and books. From living with two high maintenance woman all his life he could tell a real jewel from fake. These were definitely real. Big, expensive and real. If Arthur was really thinking about it they looked like they should be in someone's treasury, or in a museum. Instead, they were lying on a creepy man's stall being flogged to men who couldn't tell their real worth if they had spent their life working in a jewellers.

He had half a mind to buy one, Morgana would love the ruby hilted dagger. But the law would probably catch up with this guy soon, and Arthur didn't really want to be in prison before finishing his degree. So he cast his gaze elsewhere towards the books.

There were masses of them. First edition Dickens, Doyles and even magazines with short stories Arthur had only heard about existing in lectures. He had half a mind to buy them all. But again, the thought of being caught in a robbery investigation didn't sit right with him. He was about to leave, should have done from the start really, when a plain journal caught his eye.

Well, he said plain. To the unassuming eye it would look like the most ragged, worthless book in existence. Arthur however, was a history student, and was trained in the art of spotting this or that. The cover was ratty, but that was because it was old. In fact, Arthur was sure he could spot some purposeful knife marks, meaning it had been through an attack. The cover looked to be some kind of animal skin, most likely a sheep, although it was hard to tell from first glance.

It took all that he had not to react to excited at seeing the journal. Even more so to bargain the creepy vendor down to a shoddy ten quid, it should have been worth fortunes after all. But he held strong, and trotted over to Leon when he was done most successful.

He was on it like a starved man when they got back to the flat. The cover really was sheep skin, the pages within frail under his fingers. He spent hours pouring over the little details, the odd splatter of dried blood. The smudged ink, and finally the writing itself. It was around this time that he realized he couldn't read it. He thought at first glance it would be Anglo Saxon, his old English coming in handy should he need to translate. Only, when he actually looked, the writing was a mixture of runes and a language even he couldn't decipher.

He had months before university started up again. Months of agony waiting to know what on earth this thing said. He thought he could do it. Thought he could wait and instead look over the handwriting itself. It was like Sherlock Holmes said, there was a lot that could be said about a man's handwriting. It was delicate at the beginning, thick strokes of ink that hung in precise places on the pages. Around the middle it changed, instead of smooth and patient it was spidery and erratic. There were blotches of smudges on these pages, almost as if the writer had been crying, or travelling. Travelling seemed more likely as the spidery handwriting evened out again near the end, curving around the bloodstains. What was most fascinating however, was the beginning. It was the only thing he could read, and that was because it was a name. Merlin. The letters were spaced out under a long line of words, most likely introducing the writer.

Merlin.

Stories of King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table came to mind. Growing up in a family of Arthur, Morgana and Morgause, he had grown used to the tales and jokes people would make about his name. He remembered going through a faze of hating even the mention of that king, sick of being asked whether his girlfriend would dump him for the first Lancelot coming her way. Of course, that all changed when he got older and more interested in ancient history. As soon as he hit that time of his life he wanted to know everything about king Arthur. What era he really lived in. What he lived in. Did the palaces the Romans built survive the fall? Were there castles in Britain before the Norman invasion?

Of course, when he investigated this supposed king of England he stumbled across the stories of Merlin. At the time he had dismissed it. If Arthur was real, Merlin wasn't. He was too cast in mystery to be real. He had to be just a plot device by Chaucer and Malory to make Arthur more interesting. To add substance to the myth of him.

At least he had been.

Someone in history had been called Merlin, the proof was in his hands. Not to mention...

He spent weeks in his room researching the language before him, the hunch he was on not leaving his mind. No one really knew what time period king Arthur lived in. It wasn't that far of a stretch to think he may have been a Viking king. It would explain the runes. The runes he was working tirelessly to look up online.

Only, the internet couldn't translate everything. It gave him something sure, he could get a grasp of what might be on the pages before him when he translated this rune to 'battle,' that one to 'boat.' But it didn't tell him much. The only way he could know for sure what it said was if he could figure out the rest of the page. Which meant figuring out the other stupid language.

It wasn't Anglo Saxon. It did however, have roots in Latin. Here and there were words firmly Latin but spelt differently. Most likely changing to the spelling of the time. Old English didn't seem old enough for what this was. It was before Beowulf, which made Arthur that much more invested in what he was reading. Beowulf was ancient, something before that but after the Romans meant he was looking into the gap where Rome had burnt but the Saxons had yet to invade. Celtic seemed to be the best answer he could come up with.

As soon as he thought about that he went to the nearest place teaching Celtic and signed himself up.

He had been to his first lesson, still repeating the basics under his breath when he got home to find a stranger in his living room. Leon was a nervous wreck. He had been strung so thin finishing his work that he hadn't left his room for the whole time Arthur had discovered his pet project. To be honest Arthur had actually forgotten Leon existed, something he felt guilty about when he saw his friend trying to play host while his eyes stayed glued to the door of his room. His work was calling, and Arthur was a crappy friend for making him stay away for this long.

'Who's this?' he asked.

Leon shrugged, the dazed look on his face getting worse now he'd seen Arthur 'Someone for you.' It was no surprise when he left the room.

The stranger huffed, something like a chuckle slipping from his lips as Arthur rounded the sofa to greet him. He didn't recognize him. He thought for a moment they might go to the university together. But Arthur was sure he would remember seeing someone like him around. There was something about him, Arthur couldn't quite put his finger on it. He was tall, that much could be seen even when he was sitting down. His long legs were just barely folded under him on Arthur's small sofa. His skin was pale, looking like it had never seen sunlight, well, ever. Eyes blue and black hair he should have looked like any other student, if not for that aura around him. Arthur got the sense that he was foreign, there was just something different about him, smoother, ageless, than the everyday people he surrounded himself with. Nevertheless he seemed friendly, the smile he sent Arthur blooming into a full on toothy grin.

'I didn't know I was expecting anyone,' Arthur started, wondering half heartedly where his manners had gone. He was usually more polite than this.

The stranger took no offence, holding his hand out to shake. 'My name's Merlin, and I would have called ahead but I didn't have your number.'

'Merlin,' He tried out, taking the hand. He had a sinking feeling as soon as the name fled his lips. He was here for the journal. Still, he could try and play stupid. He had paid for the damn thing after all. 'Anything I can do for you?'

Merlin nodded, 'I hope so. See, I got burgled a few weeks ago. The police were nice about it, helped me get most of my things back. But the guy who stole from me kind of flogged some of my stuff before we got to him.' Damn, he really was here for the journal. 'He said he sold something to you, I was hoping to reimburse you.'

'Damn.'

It was hard to deny he had something when Merlin knew he had it. Not to mention Arthur strangely didn't want to lie to him. It was probably his guile, he looked too innocent for his own good. It made Arthur's good nature come out, and had him taking Merlin over to his room to collect the journal.

'How much did you pay for it?' Merlin asked, tossing the journal around in his hands like it was worth nothing. Arthur had to bite his lip to stop himself from shouting at the boy to be more careful.

'Ten.'

'Hundred?' Merlin gasped, the journal finally stopping in his fingers.

'No, just ten. I don't think the vendor really knew what he was selling.' The fingers had started up again, Arthur was sure he was developing a tick watching them pull on the frail pages. 'Could you maybe be more careful?'

Merlin stopped again, Arthur seeing him bite back a smirk as he reached into his pocket for his money. 'Don't worry, it's been through worse than me touching it.'

He took the money quickly, before he started begging for Merlin not to take it. It wasn't his after all, he had to remind himself, this man had been burgled, it wasn't right for Arthur to have stolen goods. It was one of the reasons he hadn't bought anything else off the stall after all.

'Still, it doesn't hurt to be careful.' Something dawned on him as he watched Merlin bite his lip again. 'So, is that actually real. I mean, you're Merlin. Is that just some kind of weird doodlebook or...?'

Merlin didn't fight the smirk this time, his face tilting in a way that frankly made him look like a giddy idiot. 'It's Viking. In fact it was written during the invasion. You know, just because someone has the same name as someone in a book doesn't actually mean they are them. Like Arthur, I'm sure you're not King Arthur ,Henry VIII older brother, or even the great King Arthur himself.'

'I know,' Arthur huffed, even if he wished Merlin had lied to him. Knowing it was a worthless gibberish book would have been so much easier to let go of than a genuine historical artefact.

Merlin was watching him, an odd look on his face as he held the book up. 'Why did you buy this? I heard there were thousands of pounds worth of jewels on the guy. Would have thought you'd like to spoil your girlfriend, not buy some ratty journal.'

'History student,' He shrugged, which explained it all really.

Merlin hummed, still looking at Arthur weirdly. He started thumbing through the pages, even took a seat on Arthur's bed and kicked his feet up. For a stranger he was taking way too many liberties. Something he would have barked at if Merlin hadn't stopped at a random page asking, 'Can you read this?'

Arthur thought about lying, saying yes. There was something about this boy that had him wanting to impress him, or beat him around the head. One or the other. But of course, his want to tell the truth came first, so he shook his head and explained his search to find out what kind of language it was.

Merlin looked impressed when he finished, fingers flitting again. 'It's not Celtic. Not fully anyway. It's sort of coded. The writer was an exile, living in the Northern lands as he amassed an army to invade his homeland. Even the runes you translated weren't really correct. You can see here,' He motioned Arthur over, 'It looks like the rune for bird but there's an added flick here. It's his own brand of writing that was meant to fool the Saxons if they ever found it.'

'So it is Saxon?'

Merlin shook his head again, going on to explain that Saxons couldn't really read or write at this time, mainly the monks and king were the only ones with this power. He said it was written in a format that looked Saxon but was actually a whole other language Arthur had never heard of, nor could pronounce. In actual fact he was so fascinated with it he had Merlin repeat it three times before realized he spent most of that looking at Merlin's lips than how he formed the language's name.

He shook himself off, this man was taking his pride and joy away after all. He had to be firm.

At least that was what he thought until Merlin held the book up to him. 'You spent a lot of time on this didn't you?'

Arthur shrugged again, hoping to play off his efforts, 'History student.'

Merlin grinned that stupid grin again, his face going all dopey. 'You wanna know what it says?'

'Dear God yes.'

Arthur hoped then and there Merlin would tell him more about what was in the journal. His curiosity was burning to know what was in it. But Merlin had other ideas. He grabbed Arthur's pad, writing down an address like this was his room and not a complete strangers, then told him to come around when he was free. It was almost painful letting him leave after that. He wanted to know now. He knew Merlin could read it, there was no doubt about it. He had probably been brought up on the journal, his mother or father reading it to him as a child. Or maybe he was a history student himself who had dedicated his life to figuring out the journal. In any case, Arthur was sure in his knowledge Merlin had the answers he wanted, and hoped showing up tomorrow wasn't too forward since he wasn't waiting another week to know what secrets the Viking world had.