A/N: Thanks for the all of the reviews. They were very encouraging and what prompted me to get this chapter finished tonight and uploaded just one day later! Please ignore any grammar errors but if I didn't upload this chapter tonight then it would be a couple days before it would happen. I had so many interruptions and it's taken me forever to edit! That being said ...

Enjoy.

CHAPTER ONE. The Young Pendragon

March 2009

Arthur stifled a yawn and tried to concentrate. He could already feel his father's eyes land on him, before narrowing and Arthur forced an interested look upon his face, pushing his glasses further up his nose. Seeming satisfied his father continued with his address to the board. But as usual Arthur drowned his father's voice out and started doodling on the back of the so called agenda page. He hadn't even read the agenda yet but given that it was three pages in length that meant he was stuck here for at least a good two hours when he could be at the pub with his mates, downing many pints of beer. What any normal person his age did on a Friday night but not him, no his life was anything but normal. His life felt more like a prison, too many expectations to be the all powerful tycoon that was his father. He didn't have a social life. He doubted he would ever have a life.

But this wasn't him, sitting in boring old board meetings, discussing the future of the Pendragon Industries, their aims and achievements, how they controlled the monopoly within the country and blah, blah, blah.

Power Arthur his father often preached that is where the future lies, in the power of profit, wealth is power and what keeps you in the lifestyle you're accustomed to. Don't ever forget that son. You would be nothing without this business. One day it will be your job to take over from me.

The drawing on the page began to take shape and a small smile crossed Arthur's mouth. It was nothing more than a fire burning under a canopy of forest trees.

See that Porsche you drive Arthur? Who do you think pays for that?

You of course father.

The drawing began to take shape. A dragon floated above the flames.

Who pays for your fine expensive clothes Arthur?

You do father.

A hand emerged from the shadows, the long skinny fingers, roughened by servant work. It was the hand that summoned the dragon from the fire.

Who pays for you to study at the finest university in this country?

Arthur continued to doodle and the hand became an arm.

You ... father.

A face emerged from the shadows, not much more than a boy.

That's right Arthur I pay for everything and without me you'd have nothing.

The boy's facial features took shape, ears that stuck out from his thin pointed face and eyes, too large, eyes full of sadness and shame. Arthur stopped and stared down at the image he'd just drawn. A feeling he couldn't even begin to fathom or describe assailing him. For a moment he's lost in another time and place it was me, I'm a sorcerer. Arthur's hand froze.

"It is my son's 21st birthday next week," Uther announced.

Arthur was brought back to present day with a jolt.

"We are having a special celebration and you are of course all invited."

Uther looked pointedly at his son and Arthur forced a smile to his lips.

"Once Arthur finishes his degree he will become a major player in the running of this company."

The smile remained plastered to his face. Did it matter what he wanted?

"I couldn't be more pleased."

His father was full of shit and once the meeting was over and the board member s had left, leaving just him and his father alone Arthur waited for the usual lecture.

His father crossed the floor and snatched the agenda from his hands. Arthur watched as he turned it over, noticing the drawing on the back. A displeased frown crossed his father's forehead.

"What is this?" he demanded.

"I dunno, just some doodling," Arthur returned with a shrug.

"Are you not getting a bit old for this?" his father snapped.

"I was bored."

"Then you won't mind if I tear it up."

And before Arthur could protest his father began ripping the sheet in half, then quarters, eights, till only tiny pieces of papers flittered across the board room table. Arthur sat there in muted silence, gazing down at what was left of his drawing and already mourning the too soon destruction of it.

"When are you going to start taking this seriously Arthur," his father raged "you embarrass me!"

"Give it a break father, it's a Friday night. I'm only here under duress."

His father's hand slammed down on the table.

"I was working two jobs at your age to get this company started and you ..." his voice broke off there as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration "you just take it all for granted."

"I don't, it's just I've been studying hard all year, plus working for you and I need a break."

Wrong thing to say, his father didn't believe in holidays.

"A break," Uther snorted.

Arthur sighed, removed his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes.

"You should try it sometime father."

Uther's face darkened and Arthur waited for the explosion. His father had a short fuse.

"You want to know why this business is so successful Arthur?"

No, not really. He'd already heard it more times than he cared to remember.

"It's because I put everything into it, blood, sweat and tears."

And at the expense of spending any time with me or Morgana, Arthur felt like adding but keeping his mouth shut. Just because his father was so ambitious it didn't mean he had to be.

"That's why I can stand here proudly and say that the Pendragon Industries is the most powerful business this country has yet to see, we have ownership and control over every other industry out there."

Arthur frowned up at his father.

"You sound like this business is an empire."

"That's how I see it and one day Arthur you will rule it."

He wasn't his father. He doubted he would ever rule or even if he wanted to. And as much as he resented the control his father had over his life he also didn't want to disappoint him. He hated it too, this want for any hint of praise his father would sometimes throw his way. He should be his own man, stand up to the old man and tell him what he wanted and not what he thought best for him.

His felt his father's hand rest on his shoulder.

"You're young and you have a lot to learn," he spoke in a kinder tone "I know one day you will do me proud Arthur."

Arthur shut his eyes, warming to the words of praise, as he always did and at the same time hating himself for it.

Uther gave his shoulder a light squeeze before moving away. "Go home and get some rest, you'll need to be here tomorrow at 8.00am sharp."

Arthur's eyes shot open. What! But tomorrow was Saturday.

"I was going to go horse riding," he began to protest.

His father just held up a hand as he made his way to the door.

"I need you here. Some important business transactions are taking place."

Arthur glared at his father's retreating back before slumping back in his chair, raking both hands through his hair.

He groaned out loud. He'd gone too long without any physical exertion and it was killing him. He hated being idle. His love of sport had had to take a back seat once he started at University and working for his father. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd kicked a soccer ball. And when was the last time he hiked through the national forest in Hampshire? He missed those weekends, camping out, staring up at the stars, wishing his life were different and dreaming of all the possibilities it could become. Sketching by the firelight without any thought and letting his hand do what it wanted. The drawings often puzzling him, who was the gangly young man with the bright eyes and wide smile and why the strong sense of belonging whenever he drew him? As if there once was a time when his life had had meaning and purpose?

Arthur snorted to himself and stood up, looking down at the pieces of paper his father had just torn to shreds a moment ago.

His father hated his sketches art is for girls Arthur. And he'd learnt to keep it from him. It was just something that he did in his own time, when he felt like it, often when he felt alone and restless without even knowing why.

Arthur reached out a hand and picked up just the one piece of paper. Those eyes, full of shame and sadness I have magic. As if it was a crime.

Arthur took in a deep breath and shook his head to clear it. Gathering the pieces of paper in his hand he dumped them in the bin before exiting the board room.

Morgana was obviously having another one of her pool parties. Voices and much laughter wafted through the doors that led out to the heated enclosed patio. Arthur placed his briefcase on the kitchen bench. Least some one in this family was allowed to have fun. Morgana could do as she pleased. Opening the door to the fridge he tugged at his tie, pulling it free and reached for a can of beer.

"Where have you been Arthur?"

He turned around to see Morgana, wearing some ultra mini dress with a low plunging neck line that left little to the imagination.

"Where do you think," he muttered, throwing his tie onto the bench and flipping the tab off the can.

Morgana pouted her lips. "Daddy working you too hard again?"

Arthur gritted his teeth.

"You wouldn't know what work was Morgana," he retorted.

Her face hardened, and a flicker of annoyance flashed in her eyes. "That's because father is a sexist pig who believes only a man can succeed in business."

Arthur shook his head. "You shouldn't talk about him like that."

"Obviously you hold his same sexist attitude," she sneered.

He took a swig of beer, ignoring her. And to think she used to be sweet once.

"You really think I want to spend Friday nights in a board meeting? I'd gladly trade places with you."

Her face softened and she wove an arm through his.

"Why don't you come and join us," she suggested, smiling up at him "let your hair down for a change and have some fun."

He shook his head. "I can't, I have to be at work in the morning."

He felt Morgana's arm stiffen. "Just tell him you can't do it."

Arthur let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah right, father doesn't take no for an answer."

Morgana pulled her arm free and he noticed the flash of anger in her eyes.

"Are you ever going to stand up to him?" she snapped "he treats us as if we were commodities. He doesn't give a shit about us."

Arthur sighed and took a swig of his beer. He really didn't want to hear this.

"That's not entirely true."

Morgana was glowering at him now.

"Oh Arthur you are so pathetic," she sneered before turning on her heel and walking away.

Her words stung. He clenched his jaw tightly. Swift sudden anger hitting him square in the pit of his gut. Putting the can on the bench he stormed down to the basement. He yanked his overly expensive suit jacket off, along with the too fancy shirt and trousers before putting on his workout clothes. There was only one thing to do when he felt this way, run. Setting the treadmill to maximum speed Arthur determined to put his body through its paces.

Since when did Morgana become such a bitch? What happened to the happy go lucky girl she used to be?

'What excuse did you give father?' she asked as they pitched the tent, one long plait falling over her shoulder.

'I told him I was attending a science fair and would spend the night at Ewan's house.'

She giggled. 'A science fair, that's a good one, no doubt it'll please father.'

He smirked. 'What about you?'

Morgana tilted her head to the side, a thoughtful expression crossing her face.

'I'm supposed to be at a grooming and deportment class, where I'm to be taught how to become a young lady, fit to grace the circles of the elite class.'

He raised an eyebrow. 'But that is what you're supposed to be doing tonight.'

She grinned. 'I know which is why I'm wagging it so I can be here with you instead.'

'You could be missing out,' he teased.

'I know where I'd rather be.'

Arthur gave a low chuckle. 'Yeah and I can't see you giving up your tomboy ways anytime soon and becoming a young lady.'

Morgana screwed up her nose. 'I couldn't think of anything worse.'

Arthur lent back on his heels. 'The tent is pitched, I'll start a fire.'

'I'll get us something to eat.'

Arthur collected firewood. Morgana rummaged through the backpack.

He soon had a small fire going and Morgana handed him a sandwich.

'I made them which means you better eat it Arthur without pulling a face, otherwise I'll punch you.'

He gingerly took the sandwich from her. Morgana was always putting strange things in her sandwiches. He could only wince at what might be in it.

She exited the tent with a bottle in one hand and a six pack of coke.

'What is that?' he asked, eyeing the bottle

'I stole it from the liquor cabinet, it's a bottle Scotch.'

He looked at her horrified.

'Lighten up Arthur,' she laughed sitting down next to him on the log.

'B-But you're only 15,' he spluttered.

'And you and I are going to get pissed and don't go giving me some lecture about not drinking I know you do.'

'Yeah well I'm 17.'

She rubbed her shoulder against his, giving him a pleading look.

'Oh alright but take it easy.'

Morgana lay sprawled out on the ground, one arm behind her head, staring up into the sky. Arthur continued to draw in his sketching pad.

'I love camping,' she murmured sounding half sloshed 'you think father will let me take up fencing.'

Arthur snorted in reply, as if.

'I sometimes dream that I'm fighting with a sword and it feels so good, like I feel powerful.'

Arthur snorted again. 'People don't fight with swords anymore Morgana.'

She rolled over and looked at him thoughtfully.

'Are you still drawing.'

'Nothing else to do.'

She sat up and managed to scramble to her feet, swaying slightly before stumbling over to him and plonking herself down on the log.

'I don't feel so good.'

'Welcome to the evils of alcohol,' he returned with a grin.

'I'm not drinking ever again,' she mumbled leaning against him.

That's what they all say, he mused but in her case he hoped so. She was far too young to be drinking.

Her eyes rested on the sketch pad.

'Who is the boy?' she asked.

'I don't know?'

'Why is he holding out his hands and the other two men flying backwards?'

'He has magic.'

'Where is his wand?'

Arthur rolled his eyes.

'It's not Harry Potter Morgana,' he exclaimed ' besides he doesn't need one'

'Then how does he do the magic?'

Arthur stopped drawing, a puzzled frown crossing his forehead. 'I don't know?'

'You're really good at drawing, you should be studying Art.'

Arthur snorted again. 'I can I really see that go down well with father.'

'Screw daddy, you should stand up to him, you shouldn't have to stop doing things you like to please him.'

Arthur closed the sketch pad, shook his head sadly.

'I think it's time we went to sleep.'

He stood up and Morgana joined him, nearly toppling over. He steadied her with his hands. Her eyes met his.

'You should remain true to yourself Arthur.'

Arthur, utterly exhausted, sweating pouring down his face slowed down the treadmill till it stopped. He gripped both sides of the handle bars, breathing heavily. Tears threatened. He fought them back. What the hell was wrong with him? Why did his life feel so empty?

"I'm sorry," a female spoke from the doorway and turning his head he glanced at Morgana.

She stood there in her tight mini dress, over stylized hair and make-up too heavy barely resembling the 15 year old girl camping with him in the forest. It made his heart ache for reasons he couldn't understand. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Me too."

Merlin bumbled is way around the back of the old antique shop. It was a quiet day, the first in a while. People seemed to be garnering an interest in the type of old relics he kept these days. He found it oddly amusing, these changes; people searching for that old world.

A little coloured television was blaring away in the corner and a voice disturbingly familiar caught Merlin's interest. He glanced at the screen and there stood Uther in all of his glory, the so called leader of the Pendragon Industries, the most powerful industry currently operating in all of Britain.

Ironic, Merlin mused. He still didn't know what to make of it but he now knew Arthur existed. At least he hoped. Merlin had to fight the temptation to track him down. Just too lay eyes on him again after all these years. Was he the same? Was he really the Arthur he was once knew his dear old friend? But it wasn't time yet. And Merlin understood time, the right moments, living so many years had taught him that.

Uther was bragging about his latest business conquest. He already had a reputation for being heartless and ruthless. Merlin glanced back at the television.

"Old tryant," he snorted.

He heard the sudden jingling of a bell alerting him to the fact that someone had entered the shop.

"I'll be there shortly," he called out.

He took one look at Uther. The faces of those people he once knew had become faded and fragmented with time. And it had been so many many years since he saw them last but Uther did bear a striking resemblance to his former self. Picking up the remote Merlin turned the television off, calmed himself and went to greet the customer.

She stood staring at the wall that displayed a number of different types of swords, her long dark hair falling in one straight soft pretty wave to her waist. There was something strangely familiar about her. Merlin moved quietly till he could see the side profile of her face.

"Can I help you," he spoke.

She turned and looked at him, a small smile crossing her face and if his eyes were not deceiving him he could have sworn she looked just like Morgana.

"I was looking to buy a sword," she replied and her voice sent chills down his spine.

It couldn't be ... could it? His heart rate increased in tempo.

"I'm not normally from this part of town but I happened to drive past your antique store and it intrigued me," she continued.

She was so much like the kind, sweet Morgana he'd first met that it made his heart ache.

"What is your name?" he asked.

She frowned slightly as if wondering why he was asking. "Morgana."

Well there was no denying it now and he could scarcely believe his eyes. It had been over a thousand years and why now?

"Morgana," he murmured, the name feeling rusty on his lips.

She returned her attention to the swords.

"I've never seen swords like this before."

"They are the finest in all of England and some dating back many hundreds of years."

"Where did you find them?" she asked politely.

"I'm a collector, it's my hobby and I've been around long enough to know what the real thing is and what isn't."

Morgana smiled and he smiled in return. It was an odd sight to behold.

"What sort of sword are you looking for?" he enquired.

"Something old but with a hint of nobility to it."

Merlin's smile widened and his heart just about jumped into his throat at the word nobility.

"It's a birthday present."

"For someone special?"

She nodded. "My brother."

"What is his name?" he softly asked.

"Arthur."

Arthur tears gathered in Merlin's eyes was it his Arthur? It had to be.

"Though I'm not sure if he'll approve of such a present," Morgana continued "he seriously needs to lighten up."

Yes he always did Merlin mused and a short brief laugh escaped his throat. Morgana frowned and Merlin pulled himself up with a start.

"I'm afraid he takes himself far too seriously," she murmured, a thoughtful expression crossing her face.

That sounded just like Arthur.

"I worry about him."

Merlin detected a hint of sadness in her eyes. "I worry about what father will turn him into."

Morgana shook her head a wry smile crossing her face. "I don't even know why I'm telling you this."

"I guess I just have one of those faces," he said kindly "old, weather beaten, probably reminds you of your grandfather."

Her eyes rested on his face and a soft smile curved her lips.

"Yes I think you do."

Merlin stood there basking in the sweet moment, happy to see the kind and thoughtful Morgana of old. He quickly pulled himself together, broke eye contact.

"I think I have just the right sword for Arthur, wait here."

Merlin shuffled to the back of the shop, hope and excitement swelling in his heart mingled with sadness. Once the door was closed he leant against it for support.

I worry about what father will turn him into came Morgana's words. Tears trickled down Merlin's nose but he wouldn't let that happen. Making his stiff limbs move Merlin opened the old chest, the only one he had left from Camelot times and pulled out a sword. He had only managed to collect a few swords forged in the heart of Camelot and had cherished them over the years.

Merlin carefully laid the sword down on his work bench and looked at it longingly. He ran an old gnarled hand over the smooth blade, wiping away the tears with his other hand. There was no time for sentimentality.

When the time is right Arthur, remember me he murmured and his eyes glowed with golden light.

It had been a long time since he last performed any magic and his heart lifted in the same way it did when he was a young boy. Hope filled his heart.

Arthur had returned. Did this mean the return of Albion?

A/N: Now I sit here anxiously biting my finger nails in nervous anticipation about what people will think of this chapter. Please let me know. So far I'm really enjoying writing this story and I hope people are enjoying reading it. I am most anxious to see what people think.