A/N: AHHHH! I'm so sorry it's taken this long to update! For a while, I was afraid that I might have already lost steam on this story. But no more! Thanks so much for waiting, and I love you all! Enjoy!

. . . .

"I've just seen a face,
I can't forget the time or place
Where we just met—
She's just the girl for me and I want all the world to see
We've met.

"Had it been another day,
I might have looked the other way
And I'd have never been aware—
But as it is, I'll dream of her tonight."

—I've Just Seen a Face, The Beatles

. . . .

. . . .

Weirdly enough, I never imagined getting him back. The idea—or rather, the image, so cruelly out of reach, and so taunting, could never burn itself behind watery blue eyes. And believe me, it would have burned there. And especially not in such an odd, intriguing (however wonderful) way.

I wasn't around when Arthur was a child, of course. I was being put to work in Ealdor at the same time he was probably frolicking with the witch in the fields of Camelot or something like that. Having the time of his life, as he had always seemed to be when I was working. But I imagined it every once in a while when the subject came up. A blonde child, clothed in purple silk (1), dancing with his dark-haired sister in the sunlight. Happy blue eyes that had yet to dilate with stress and sarcasm.

Once I even asked the witch what he was like as a boy. She responded with laugh and assured me, "He was much more easygoing then. And so easy to control! I used to blame him for letting all the knights' horses out of the stables at night—to be fair, he did help me out with that." However, this contrasted with what Uther had to say about it.

Now, I didn't actually have the nerve to go prancing up to the King of Camelot and take his time to ask what his son was like as a child, because I was just wondering. I think he'd probably chop my head off himself if I were to do that.

But this one time, when Gaius was away and Uther's personal servant was sick and not attending work, Arthur asked me to help him out a little bit. "He's a stubborn old man, so he probably won't ask you for help at all, but I want you to be there if he does. Mostly you'll just stand there doing what you do best, Merlin: nothing." I didn't really have a choice in the matter, so I nervously shadowed the King for the rest of the day, looking at him only from the corners of my eyes and hardly ever raising my head for fear that I might actually meet his gaze.

At one point, however, when Uther was busy writing and, I guess, filling all his kingly documents and such, he started speaking. Whether he was speaking to me, I'm still not sure. But he did speak, and there was nobody else in the room. "It is a rather sunny day outside." He said it with no infliction, as though it were just a statement of fact, which I guess it was.

"Indeed, my lord."

A short pause, a quiet scratching of quill on paper, and then more words. "I assume Arthur is training right now?"

"I believe he's currently on a hunting trip, sire."

The King rolled his eyes irritably, and I gave no reaction since I wasn't quite sure if I was meant to react. "He was never so irresponsible as a boy."

My curiosity got the best of me and I just had to ask. "Was he very keen to train then?"

"Yes. I have no knight quite so devoted as he was when he was little—that's to be expected, of course, though. He is the Prince of Camelot. Every day he trained with various weapons for several hours; he would have liked to go longer, but Lady Morgana would insist upon his taking a break and going to waste time playing games and such." He said it as though playing games was the deepest disgrace for a little boy. "He's gotten sloppy these years, however."

I smiled slightly and just had to open my big mouth, "Oh, I don't know, my lord. I know he thinks quite an awful lot about Camelot; that he cares a lot."

I guess I went a little too far, because the King looked up at me with narrowed, dagger eyes and inquired distastefully, "How on Earth would you attest to know that?"

"He talks to me." After that there was a rather awful silence in which several implications seem to fly back and forth between us in relation to those four words. A silent inflection seemed to be applied on the word "talks" and I hurried to try and smooth it over a little. "I mean, rather I just sort of…listen, and he just sort of…talks…to himself about it."

The King nodded slowly, still eyeing me oddly, and my mind buzzed with nerves. "Well…perhaps that is a good thing." He said, and once more it seemed as though he was only half addressing me. "He ought to reflect with others every once and a while. Just not too often."

"My lord," That was my response a lot of the time when I was speaking to Uther. Simply speaking the title could imply an awful lot depending on the situation—in this instance, it displayed a polite regard and a dismissal of the conversation. He didn't speak to me again.

And of course, I asked Gaius about it when I thought of it again in his presence.

"Arthur?" He responded, "Why, he was a very happy boy. Very spirited, very adventurous—of course, he's still spirited and adventurous in a different way—and the people absolutely doted over him."

"Uther said that he was devoted to training, and isn't now."

"Well, I wouldn't say that he isn't devoted, he's just not quite so intense about it now. Morgana's influence definitely cut it back a bit."

"Gaius, Arthur trains every morning for at least two or three hours—you're going to tell me that a little boy was more intense than that?"

"Indeed; Arthur was pressed by his father to master several weapons—"

"Mighty kind of him not to force his son to master every weapon." I grumbled irritably, folding my arms and resting my chin on them. Gaius continued as though I hadn't even spoken.

"—and though, in the beginning, I know Arthur wasn't too enthused about his excessive training, he longed to make Uther proud of him. I'm sure he would have much rather been with Morgana."

"They were close as children then?"

"Oh, yes, Morgana was practically Arthur's big sister. Always getting him into trouble, dragging him off into the woods every day for exploring—he always came back with some kind of cut or other, sniffling and asking me to fix it for his training the coming morning while Morgana stood giggling behind him. I remember once, when Arthur was about ten, Uther and I entered his room to find him in a dress with Morgana putting makeup on his face. Uther nearly had a heart attack."

"I'll bet." I laughed, trying to imagine a skinny blonde boy (surely he wouldn't have built up all that muscle by ten?) with alarmed, humiliated blue eyes as he was caught in one of Morgana's dresses and with ruby lipstick smeared on his lip. Arthur in all his pride and honor—his sarcasm and disdain, caught by his father dressed as a Lady. He must have been a gullible child to allow that.

Yet, by the way everyone described him, it sounded as though he was a very pure boy—as though he was definitely lacking the previously mentioned sarcasm and disdain. Nearly everyone seemed to say that he was a sweet boy, that he seemed to love everything and everyone. Even that he seemed to always be smiling as a child—I could not imagine Arthur smiling all the time. The thought was oddly haunting.

Maybe this is some kind of variation of that. Not quite a sweet, innocent, gullible and blushing child, but a smiley one and a playful one. I watch in fascination as he rips a blade of grass from the Earth and twirls it in his little fingers. He has a very solemn look on his face, the kind of face Arthur always wore when contemplating battle plans and things of that nature. After a moment of thought, he lifts the blade of grass up before my face.

"I dare you to eat this blade of grass, Merlin."

"Why is that?" I ask with the odd patience of a new mother—I've never been this gentle with children before, but I guess that's because I haven't really made it a point in my excessively long life to be around children all that much.

"Well, I've decided that anybody could just prance into my yard off the street and say their name is Merlin and they'll be my extra special friend. So, I want you to prove that you're Merlin."

"But how will having me eat grass prove that I'm Merlin?" I ask this softly and with mild curiosity—I'm still sort of in shock right now.

"Well, you say that Merlin is a wizard. In that case, only Merlin would be able to stand the grody taste of grass." In any other instance I would of course argue, first, that grody isn't even a real word, and second, that a tough sense of taste has nothing at all to do with magic or proving one to be a wielder of it. However, there's a little bit of mischief and a little bit of entertainment in the little boy's eyes, and I picture the older Arthur from all those years ago patronizing me and using his royal command over me to force my participation in his little humiliating jokes.

I'm sure that this young one is not quite so malicious yet, but I can see very clearly when it started to constitute. I shrug—it can't be deadly or anything. Why not? "If it makes you happy," I accept the blade of grass and willingly chew it and swallow.

He stares at me with big, wide blue eyes like I've just grown a second head. "You actually did it!"

"You told me I couldn't prove I was Merlin unless I did it."

He giggled, "Well, yeah, but I didn't think you would actually do it. What does it taste like?"

I shrug again and smile. "Like grass."

Once again, Arthur giggles and sets his toy car down—it seems as though he's decided that I'm worth his full attention. "You're weird, Merlin."

"I know," For some reason—well, I guess not for some reason—I just can't stop grinning. I just can't believe that he's here. I know I must be going into shock or something worrying like that. I wonder as he starts chattering away if it's possible to die from so much heartbreak and so much relief?

"…That's what Mum says. When I won't eat my food she says that it's gotta taste better than that lake water over there. I wouldn't remember if that's true or not."

"What, you drank lake water before?" I ask, one eyebrow rising almost in disapproval. He rolls his eyes.

"Maybe, I dunno—but I must have gotten some of it in my mouth if I was just a baby, right?"

"What do you mean?"

"Mum says that she actually found me in the river—like in a movie, or something."

"Then…your parents aren't…?"

"Well, Mum says that I must have been gifted to her or something; Says that it seemed like the lake gave me to her or something. Whatever that means."

"You're right—that is like in a movie." I agree with him distractedly. I don't know what I was expecting. Reincarnations of Uther or something? That would have been weird to see I guess—Uther in modern clothing. But the idea somehow makes me sad.

So his reincarnation is really as alone as I am?

No witch, no Gwen, no Uther, never any Igraine—that can't be right. Babies don't come out of lakes. But suddenly I turn to look at the lake, puzzle pieces falling together like crashing boulders, and I stare with wide eyes at the water like she's going to be standing right there on the surface waiting for me or something. Freya?

A ripple jumps silently through the water, like an answer to my unspoken thought. Mournfully, I smile a bit. Yes, Freya.

Feeling very thoughtful all of the sudden, I turn back to Arthur. Why…? Freya…? Why would she…? How could she? Does she really have power like that? To call the Once and Future King back from his watery grave? I don't know the answers to any of the questions, and haven't felt so riddled and so confused in a really long time. This is healthy for me. Meanwhile, Arthur fiddles with his candy and with a creak, the front door of his home opens.

"Arthur?"

We both look up at the young woman standing in the doorway, face tired but somehow loving—she has one of those faces that just seems to always display love. Guinevere had a face like that. She looks at me in surprise, and I scramble to my feet.

"Um, hi, I'm Merlin," I stutter, holding out my hand, hopeful that she's not about to call the police on me. Half smiling, she shakes my hand.

"Julia. You walk around here often, don't you? I've seen your face before, I just know it."

"Yeah, I do,"

"It's okay, Mum," Arthur says, picking another blade of grass, "He's my friend."

"Is that so?" She smiles more widely, turning back to me. "Well, it's only natural, I suppose. Merlin and Arthur—so fitting."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…intrude…"—I was unsure that was the correct word to use—"We were just chatting."

"Not at all, Merlin. I hope he hasn't worn you out with his…frequent communication?"

I laugh slightly—Arthur has stopped paying attention. "No, ma'am, he kept me very entertained throughout."

"Mm, well, would you like a cup of tea, Merlin? I've just finished making it—if you can get past the sweetness of it, the taste is rather enjoyable. Arthur went a little haywire with the sugar…"

I gawk slightly for a mere moment. I feel as though I would be shuffling me away from her son if I were her, contemplating calling the coppers, and she's offering me iced tea. "Thank you, but my little sister is waiting for me back at my apartment, so I should probably go…"

"Merlin!" Arthur protests, apparently deciding to join the conversation again, "No, you have to stay! Extra special friends are supposed to stay!" If there's any logic behind that, only he sees it, but I really do wish I could stay. I wish I could stay forever, because I'm scared to leave him. And I'm scared that he won't be here tomorrow. However, it's nearly five o'clock, and Tex I know will be worrying…

"He has to go see his other extra special friend now, though, Arthur." Julia told the bemused boy before looking back up at me. "Of course, Merlin, you must come back tomorrow when you have time and drink iced tea with us."

"And I will be very angry if you don't." Arthur pouts, glaring up at me. I almost sigh in relief.

"I will," I smile down, kneeling down for a moment to ruffle his hair. "I promise."

And after exchanging a mutual "it was nice to meet you" with Julia and an affectionate wave to Arthur, I set back off towards the apartment again.

Every step I take away from him, I feel more nervous. Nervous that he's going to do something stupid without me there. But that's a good thing, because that was the exact feeling that I always had before he left me all those years ago. And he's back now. And the only thing I need worry about is that I'll lose my self-restraint, grab Arthur, and leg it before anything or anyone can take him away from me again.

Nothing can take him away from me this time. That will be my new fear, and my new motivation. Nothing.

. . . .

So, I was doing some research on the clothing that was worn in those days (mostly so that I could be more accurate with technical terms for armor and tunics and stuff like that) and I read that purple dye was very rare back then, and SUPER expensive, so only the very rich people—like, kings and queens (or in this case, princes) rich—wore it. Yay! I love putting bits of historical accuracy in my work, it seems to almost make up for the unbelievable inaccuracy that makes up the rest of it!

Hey, so review, review, review! And sorry again about how long it took to post this! I should probably thank the user Lycanthretics since the review you left me on my OTHER story "Er, it's a Horrible Plastic Beach" was the one that got me off my lazy bum to finally finish this chap. That doesn't mean that every review doesn't count, lovelies! The flattering one that you left to me, however, just put the cherry on top of my ice cream sundae and I was able to finish this!

REVIEW! Every person who reviews, I know who you are (*unintentionally sounding like a creeper*), and LOVE you! Each and every one of you wonderful fanfiction-ers!

All my love and apologies for the shameful updating schedule,

—Tais Takara