When I posted this, a kind comment from wryter501 mentioned it would have been nice to see some moments of Merlin making good memories with child Arthur. I totally agreed and then… six years went by ahaha. If you're still out there wryter501, thank you for the suggestion!
To everyone else, I never post here anymore so now all my fics go up on AO3, you can find me there under Polomonkey if you're interested. And thank you so much to anyone who left a review on this fic, I really appreciate it!
~III~
Arthur stirs only half an hour after Gaius has left and Merlin panics for a moment. But Arthur doesn't seem as distressed as before, though his eyes are watchful as he sits up.
"Where's Gaius?
"He's working on a remedy for you bumping your head, sire," Merlin says gently. "He'll be back soon."
Arthur nods and looks down at the bedspread.
Merlin feels such a wave of compassion for the frightened little prince, the boy who spent years living in fear of Uther's rage. Arthur at eleven should have been rampaging around the castle, stealing treats from the kitchen and having mud fights with the other squires. Not too terrified to try anything new lest he put a foot wrong.
There and then, Merlin makes his mind up. He couldn't be there for Arthur the first time around but he's damn sure gonna be there for him now.
"Have you ever played twigball?" he asks, grabbing a ball from Arthur's desk drawer.
Arthur shakes his head, which is to be expected since it's a game Will and Merlin made up.
"Right, come on then."
"I'm not supposed to play games," Arthur says uncertainly.
"This isn't a game, it's an activity to practice hand-eye coordination and strategy skills," Merlin lies fluidly. "Having fun is just a side effect."
He holds out his hand and prays this will work; if Arthur doesn't want to go then Merlin isn't about to force him.
But after a long pause, Arthur pushes the covers down and climbs out of the bed.
He doesn't take Merlin's hand, which perhaps isn't surprising for a boy of eleven. Yet Merlin can't help the fact that he wants to pick Arthur up and cuddle him to within an inch of his life, to make up for all the affection he lacked at this age.
He settles for what he hopes is a reassuring grin as he ushers Arthur out of the door. They make their way to one of the private gardens by the side of the castle – adult Arthur's favourite, though he'd never admit to liking something as peaceful as a garden.
Little Arthur seems to have different concerns on his mind.
"The castle looks different," he says tentatively as they cross the courtyard.
"Yes, it does," Merlin says intelligently, groping for an excuse. Of course it would have changed over the last twenty years, and of course Arthur would be quick enough to pick up on it. "It's… being refurbished. They've been working all last night and they're… very quick."
Good gods, it seems that lying about his magic all these years hasn't improved his creativity much.
Arthur continues to look confused as Merlin steers him into the garden.
"The flowers in here are different-"
"The gardeners have been working overnight too! Now let's play twigball."
Merlin grabs a twig from the ground and instructs Arthur to do the same. Then he does his best to explain the frankly insane rules of twigball, a game he and Will invented aged eight whilst on a blackberry high, and played religiously well into their teens.
It's a good game for Arthur to play, because there's no real skill to it, therefore no way to be "good" at it. Merlin hopes it might help him loosen up a little.
And, wonderfully, it does. Arthur starts out stiff and anxious, not quite willing to believe that the only aim of the game is to enjoy yourself. But Merlin whoops and cheers every time Arthur hits the ball on the right side, and he makes fun of himself when he drops his stick, and soon he's rewarded by the best sight he's seen all day: Arthur laughing.
Eventually they both collapse on the grass, exhausted, with Merlin's twig snapped in half and Arthur's stuck in a high hedge. Merlin congratulates Arthur on a game well played and resists the urge to reach out and clap him on the back, unsure how it might be received.
"What would you like to do next?" he says instead.
"Um. I should probably practice with my sword."
Merlin's about to reject that proposal, given the complete lack of enthusiasm in Arthur's face, and then he has an idea. Arthur's nervous about swordplay because Uther uses it as an excuse to pick on and criticise him. What if he practised with someone who could build him up instead of knock him down?
"Of course. Stay right here and I'll get the equipment."
Merlin would be happy to try himself but his knowledge of sword-fighting is still sorely lacking. He needs an expert and he's hoping he might find one on his way to the armoury.
But who? Leon's too risky, Arthur definitely knew him at age twelve. Much as Merlin loves Gwaine, he doesn't have quite the delicacy necessary for the job at hand. And Percival's sheer size alone will probably intimidate Arthur-
"Woah there!"
Merlin's so lost in thought that he's walked smack into someone. He starts to apologise and then realises who it is.
"Elyan! Just the man! Can I have a word?"
Elyan takes the news that the king's been transformed into an eleven year old surprisingly well. Perhaps he's been in Camelot a bit too long. Either way he happily agrees to step in for some training.
"Go easy, though, yes?" Merlin says as they make their way back to the garden.
"I wasn't about to charge in and challenge him to a duel," Elyan grins.
"I know, I know, he's just, er… he's a bit nervous."
"Doesn't sound like Arthur," Elyan says.
"Well, eleven's an awkward age," Merlin says uncomfortably. "And, um. Gaius says there were some difficult things going on around him at this time in Arthur's life. So I think he needs encouragement most of all. And patience."
"Of course," Elyan says, his face serious now. "I'll make him feel like a champion."
Arthur looks up skittishly as Merlin leads Elyan into the garden.
"Arthur, this is Sir Elyan. He's our newest knight, just arrived."
"Sire," Elyan says, bowing his head.
"Arrived from where?" Arthur says.
Merlin and Elyan exchange a somewhat panicked look.
"He's from Mor… mor… he's from Mormor!" Merlin says.
"I've never heard of Mormor," Arthur says.
"We're… a small land," Elyan says weakly.
"Small but mighty," Merlin adds quickly. "Anyway, enough chit chat!"
He hands Arthur a practice sword and Elyan steps forward.
"What have you been working on, sire?"
"Footwork," Arthur says. "And feints… but I'm not very good at them."
"Nonsense," Elyan says bracingly. "There's no such thing as a bad swordsman, only one who needs more practice. Let's begin."
Merlin watches from the side as Elyan takes Arthur through the exercises. He's the exact person for the job – encouraging enough that Arthur feels safe, but also authoritative enough that Arthur believes his praise.
It's not all smooth sailing. At one point, Elyan gets a little too close whilst demonstrating a thrust, and Arthur flinches back violently. Elyan takes it in stride, with only the tiniest sideways glance at Merlin.
After an hour Elyan calls a break and hands Arthur a water skin to drink from. While Arthur's sat panting on the grass, he discreetly makes his way to Merlin's side.
"Who's he afraid of?" he says without preamble.
Merlin hesitates. He doesn't want to break Arthur's confidence, but he can see Elyan's almost put his finger on it.
"Uther," he admits at last and Elyan doesn't look surprised.
"That man has a lot to answer for," he says heavily, and Merlin wonders if Elyan is thinking of his own father's death too, and Uther's role in that.
It hurts to imagine a different Camelot, in which Gwen and Elyan had never lost a father, in which Morgana had felt supported, in which Arthur had been safe… Uther had made his choices and he was long gone now. But Merlin could still privately condemn him.
They stand looking at Arthur for a moment, who's gotten up from the grass and is stepping back and forth, determination written in every line of his little body.
Elyan lets out a tiny sigh.
"When Gwen and I were children, we'd come to the courtyard to try and catch a glimpse of the prince. We'd make up all these stories about the life of luxury we imagined he led, with servants at his beck and call and every whim catered for. We swore he must be happy every day, because he never had anything to worry about."
Elyan smiles ruefully.
"Children don't know much, I suppose."
"Not just children," Merlin says, a lump in his throat, because this morning he'd have counted himself as one who thought Arthur had been as cosseted and pampered growing up as any spoilt noble. Now he realises his modest upbringing in Ealdor was by far the better, despite the hunger and the poverty and the fear of his magic being discovered. Because his mother had always been there for him, keeping the worst of it at bay. He had trusted her – still trusts her – with his wellbeing and happiness, and he'd always known she'd never hurt him.
Elyan squeezes his shoulder.
"You've done a good thing today, Merlin," he says sincerely. "Arthur deserves a happy memory from this time."
Merlin smiles then, because that at least is true.
"Thanks for your help."
"Anytime," Elyan says. "Do you want me to stay?"
Merlin looks up at the position of the sun.
"I think Gaius should have made the antidote by now, I better take him back. I can't say I like having a tiny king running around that any assassin in Camelot could just bundle into a sack."
"They'd have to get past you first," Elyan says warmly, then he turns to Arthur, gaining his attention with a loud cough.
"I had best return to my duties, sire. It was a pleasure to train with you today. You have all the makings of an excellent swordsman."
He approaches Arthur slowly, his hand stuck out in front of him. Arthur only eyes him for a second before he takes the handshake.
"It was good to meet you," he says, with a shy smile.
Elyan takes his leave and Merlin drinks in the happy glow on Arthur's face, no doubt a result of Elyan's final compliment.
"Well, I think we might return to your chambers sire, I believe Gaius will have the remedy for your head ready."
Arthur nods, then his eyes flicker to the side.
"What is it?" Merlin asks.
"Nothing, only… well, I found two more sticks whilst training so…"
Arthur still sounds slightly hesitant, but he's looking Merlin in the eye and there's no trace of the fear that was there earlier in the day.
Merlin can't help but grin wide.
"One last round of twigball? I think that could be arranged."
And then, quite suddenly, there are little arms around his waist and it takes a second or two to realise that Arthur's actually hugging him.
"I wish you could look after me all the time," Arthur mumbles into Merlin's tunic, and Merlin's heart swoops and breaks at the same time.
He crouches a little to wrap his arms around Arthur, and gives his hair a quick ruffle.
"Well that's good, because that's what I'm going to do. It'll be you and me from now on."
"Really?" Arthur says, his little face peering up at Merlin's.
"I swear," Merlin says, and it's the easiest vow he's ever made.