Twenty One
Arthur's sitting by the small river that runs through Ealdor, casually tossing stones into the waters. He sighs; he's feeling bored, having been sitting there for what felt like forever.
The young prince slumps back, closing his eyes and listening to the gentle rush and babble of the water over its rocky bed. He can hear the soft laughter and chatter of children from the village further down the river, as they dip their buckets in to gather the water.
Nearby a small, beaten path runs along the length of the riverside, and the dust of travel has gathered along it in small clouds, settling in a soft golden mist after the feet of a group of villagers trundle past.
Arthur lounges in the shade of a mighty willow that stretched its feathery green branches out low and wide, sweeping over the river, dipping the tips of its fingers into the waters. It dapples the loamy bank with soft, inviting shade, and Arthur looks up at the sunlight that flits between the branches as the wind dances around with the flexible branches, making them softly sway and rustle.
He'd picked a handful of wild berries off a leafy bramble bush that twisted and snaked its branches gently along the grass and up around the mighty trunk of the tree, and his hands and lips were soon stained purple with the juice as he ate them. He wipes his mouth on his sleeve and laughs.
He's so relaxed he doesn't notice the young man until he's right next to him, and Arthur jumps, pulling his sword out of its scabbard with a loud shhhiiinnnngggg before Arthur registers that it's just some man from the town.
"Can I help you?" Arthur's eyes narrow dangerously, and the man laughs nervously, worriedly eyeing his sword. Arthur slides it back into its scabbard, but keeps his hand on the hilt. The man doesn't relax much, he still seems nervous about something.
"That depends." His grin seems vaguely familiar, and Arthur wonders if he's seen this man in town before, scanning his memories he doesn't think so, but there are a lot of brown-haired blue eyed people about. It's very common in fact. Arthur proudly sweeps a hand though his own blond locks feeling just a little bit smug.
The man's soft brown hair is combed neatly into a short cropped ponytail with bits hanging casually loose towards the front, and his eyes at a quick glance are a shade of reasonably unspectacular light blue. He wears the average villager's clothes, with plain brown boots and a plain dyed-green jacket of sorts.
"Depends on what?" Arthur stares at him a moment more, then notices a tight ring of bandages round the man's neck.
He stares harder.
No... It can't be...
The man grins.
"Merlin?" Arthur cries, and Merlin, strange-brown haired Merlin, laughs.
"Hi Arthur!" He grins again, and Arthur realises the change in his voice he'd noticed before is much more noticeable now, and those blue eyes seem strangely lighter against the paler hair. Arthur's eyes narrow.
"No 'you know what' was used? Right?" He frowns. Because if that idiot had used magic after being told, explicitly, not too...
"Arthur! Shhh!" Merlin glances around wildly for a moment, then laughs "And no, none of that.. just..." here he shudders dramatically "a makeover."
Arthur barks out a short laugh, and looks the young man (because like this, he can't really be called a boy anymore) before him up and down.
"You... you look completely... different..." Arthur feels rather stunned, because you would never know the plain average villager before him was Merlin. The ears, for one, that Merlin could be spotted a mile away by, were hidden under the now immaculately cleaned, cut and combed wig. This Merlin could easily be lost straight away in a crowd, with nothing really to pick him out by. Arthur supposed that was the idea.
"What gave it away though?" Merlin bits his lip worriedly, "Gwen and Morgana said I looked average, 'with no redeemable features' and that I'd blend in. I mean, you knew I'd be in disguise, and Gwen said you might recognise me because you knew... but..."
"No, no... I... The bandages" Arthur swallows, a horrible feeling of guilt seeping into his gut. "The bandages gave you away... Otherwise, I didn't recognise you at all..."
"Oh..." Merlin's hand goes to his throat, and Arthur thinks again how different his voice sounds, he supposes the change must have been caused by the damage that had been dealt to his neck. He hopes over time it'll go back to normal. "I'm not sure what to do about them. I mean..." here he trails off.
"The bruises would show... and you can't exactly wear your neckerchief... that would be too obvious..." Merlin, who Arthur can't believe doesn't look a thing like Merlin, just nods sadly to this. "And we can't just call you Merlin...? And come to that, where on Earth would we have picked up a random serving boy? We can't just take you back without some kind of back story."
"Aaron." Merlin tweaks and tugs on his ponytail. "Morgana said I should be called Aaron, it's a reasonably common name, but memorable enough for you all to remember to call me by it. The girls say that, apparently, I'm a market boy from the travelling fair you supposedly took Morgana to, to get some fabric for dresses. She has some; by the way, as a cover story, she went and bought some red stuff from Old Ma' Martha in the village when she was getting me some new clothes. Anyway, you offered me a job because I was helpful to Morgana when she was picking out her fabric, and saved you some money or something." Arthur stares at him for a moment, Morgana really had this thought out. He smiles.
"Aaron..." Arthur tries it out on his tongue "Aaron and Arthur." He grins. "Aaron, Arthur, Gwen and Morgana!" He grabs Merlin's hands and spins him round and round like little maids at a flower festival. "Aaron and Arthur and Gwen and Morgana!" He chants, laughing, and Merlin can't help but join in, "Aaron and Arthur and Gwen and..." a blur of skirts and dark hair leaps on him from behind, and all three of them crash to the ground in a laughing heap "Morgana!"
Gwen, just coming up the path shakes her head and smiles.
Because the young man struggling to push the crown prince off him ('Gerrof Clotpole! You're so heavy!' 'Are you calling me fat Merlin!') didn't look like their Merlin at all,
No-one would ever know that Aaron Syrme (and who knows where Merlin came up with that ridiculous surname) was Merlin.
No-one would ever know.
Merlin could come home.
Home.
Back to Camelot.
A/N: Yey! Finally heading back to Camelot! :D
I hope you liked this chappie, drop me a review if you did! :D
Thanks for reading!
Lenle G.