Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin.

Chapter One: The Boy in the Woods

9 years later

Arthur sat on a branch high in a tree, swinging his legs.

"Arthur, there you are!" came a voice from below him. He looked down to see his mother standing below, craning her neck to look up at him, "Come down here," she called, "Carefully!"

Arthur scrambled down the tree. When he got low enough, he jumped, landing lightly on his feet.

"I've been looking for you," His mother brushed leaves out of his hair, "Your aunt's baby was born. I thought you might want to come meet him."

"Yeah, sure I'll come," Arthur shrugged, trying to appear disinterested. Only girls got excited over babies, after all.

"So, it's a boy then?" he asked his mother as they walked back to camp.

She nodded, smiling, not at all fooled by her son's show of nonchalance, "That's right."

They arrived at the camp and entered the tent that belonged to Arthur's aunt and uncle. His aunt was sitting on her sleeping pallet, holding the baby in her arms. His uncle was sitting on the ground beside her. She looked up, smiling when she spotted her sister-in-law and nephew. She beckoned them over.

Arthur walked over and sat on the floor next to his aunt, leaning over to examine the baby.

"He's really tiny!" he said. He reached out and ran one finger over the baby's cheek, "He's really soft too!"

He looked up at his aunt, "What's his name? Have you decided yet?"

She nodded, "Yes, we have. His name Is Mordred."

"Mor-dred?" Arthur repeated, pronouncing the sounds carefully.

His aunt nodded, with a smile, "Yes, that's right."

Arthur studied the baby, forgetting that he was supposed to be trying to look uninterested.

The baby was sleeping. Wisps of black hair clung to his head.

"Would you like to hold him?" his aunt asked.

"Yeah, okay," he remembered to sound bored this time, but his eyes gave him away and the grown-ups smiled knowingly. Arthur's uncle lifted the baby carefully, and placed him in Arthur's arms.

"Be careful," he said, "Hold him just like this," he positioned Arthur's arms, "And remember to support his head."

"Is this what I looked like when I was a baby?" Arthur asked as he looked down at his cousin.

His mother and aunt exchanged glances.

"Well, we didn't know you when you were this young," his mother said gently, "You remember how Celyn found you."

Arthur nodded, "He saved me from the bandits!"

He looked up, "If the bandits hadn't taken me, you wouldn't be my mother, would you?"

She shook her head, running her hand through his hair, "No, I suppose I wouldn't be."

"Then I'm glad they took me," Arthur said decisively.

His mother smiled, "Sometimes bad things can lead to very good things. And I'm certainly glad that you're in my life, my baby boy."

Arthur scowled at that, "I'm not a baby!" he complained.

His mother laughed, "I know you aren't. But you'll always be my baby."

Arthur rolled his eyes, but secretly he was pleased.

He looked back down at baby Mordred again. The baby stirred, the opened his eyes and looked up at Arthur.

"He's got blue eyes," Arthur said, "They're kind of like mine," he added, smiling.

"You're pretty cute, I guess," he added to the baby, "Even if you can't really do anything yet."

Mordred made a cooing sound.

"He must like you," Arthur's mother said.

"Really?" For a moment Arthur beamed, then he schooled his expression into one of disinterest again, "I mean… that's nice, I guess."

His mother and his aunt and uncle seemed to find this amusing, for they all laughed.

Arthur shot them a scowl, but was too busy watching the baby to do anything else.

Mordred suddenly began to cry.

Arthur's eyes widened "What did I do?!"

"You didn't do anything," his uncle assured him, reaching out to take the baby from Arthur, "Mordred is probably just hungry." He handed the baby back to his wife.

"How will the baby eat?" Arthur asked.

"I'll feed him," his aunt responded.

"How?" Arthur asked again, "Like the goats feed their babies?"

His aunt laughed quietly, "A little like that, yes. It's something special that only mothers of babies can do."

"We should go, Arthur," his mother stood up, "Give your aunt and uncle some privacy."

Arthur raised himself to his knees then hesitated. Very quickly, he leaned forward and kissed the baby's head "Bye, Mordred."

Then he sprang to his feet and hurried out of the tent, clearly embarrassed.

His mother followed.

"So, do you like your new cousin?" she asked, with a smile.

Arthur couldn't help but smile back. "Yeah, okay, I like him," he admitted.

"But I'm not changing his diaper!" he added, scrunching up his face in disgust at the thought.

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2 years later

"You can't follow me, Mordred, you aren't allowed to leave the camp."

The two-year-old's bottom lip stuck out in a pout. "Awtuh, I come!" he insisted.

Arthur hid a grin. His little cousin was always following him around the camp. Arthur pretended it irritated him sometimes, but he secretly loved it.

"I'll play with you when I get back, okay?"

Mordred gave a long-suffering sigh, "Kay."

Arthur ruffled his hair, "See you later, Mordred."

As he left the camp, his friend Meical joined him.

Both boys carried baskets, having been told to gather mushrooms while they were out. Before long it turned into a competition of who could gather the most mushrooms. The boys raced through the woods, laughing and challenging each other. Eventually, they split up, each claiming that he knew the best place to find mushrooms.

Arthur was bending down to pick a mushroom when he heard something behind him.

"So, you admit I was right," he turned around, grinning triumphantly, then froze. It wasn't Meical behind him. Instead, three men stood there, dressed in silver chainmail and red cloaks bearing a golden dragon. Knights of Camelot.

Arthur's face paled and he nearly dropped his basket. He didn't move a muscle, staring at the knights, wondering if he should run.

Then he realized something strange. The knights weren't behaving as he would have expected them too, either seizing him for being a Druid, or questioning him, or even simply ignoring him.

Two of them were exchanging questioning looks with each other, clearly waiting for instructions from their leader. But the leader was as frozen as Arthur, staring at the boy as if he'd seen a ghost.

Arthur took a step back, then another. This seemed to snap the leader out of his reverie.

"Wait!" he ordered sharply and Arthur froze.

He stepped forward and Arthur backed up another step.

"Arthur?" the man's voice was disbelieving. The other two men were staring now too.

"How do you know my name?" Arthur demanded, wide-eyed.

"By all the gods!" one of the men muttered.

"It is you," the leader said, "Prince Arthur."

Arthur shook his head, "I'm no prince. You've mistaken me for someone else."

"How old are you, boy?" the knight asked.

"Twelve," Arthur answered.

The men behind the leader exchanged a look.

"Look," Arthur said nervously, "I have to go…"

"Go?" the leader of the knights repeated, "You can't go. You must come with us. We will head for the castle by the quickest route."

"I told you," Arthur said, "I'm not a prince."

"But you are," the man replied, "You are Arthur Pendragon, only son of Uther Pendragon, prince of Camelot and heir apparent to the throne."

Uther's son? Arthur cringed inwardly at the thought and shook his head again, "You're wrong. Why do you think I'm the prince?"

"I recognized you the moment I saw you," the knight said, "Your hair, your eyes, the shape of your face. You're the right age too. And you answer to the name Arthur."

"That's just a coincidence," Arthur protested, but the protest sounded weak to his own ears. Because what the knight was saying fit. He had been told the story of how Celyn had found him many times, kidnapped by bandits and held for ransom, dressed in fine clothing… and wasn't a prince worth holding for ransom?

"You must come with us," the knight repeated firmly.

"But-" Arthur trailed off. What could he say, I promised my baby cousin I'd play with him when I got back? For a heartbeat he thought of just turning and running, but he knew he couldn't, he couldn't risk leading the knights back to his camp.

There was no choice, he realized, he would have to go with the knights.

He took a cautious step towards them.

"What's your name?" he asked the leader.

The man smiled, and then he bowed, "I am Sir Ector, Sire."

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Heads turned as Meical burst into the camp, panting.

"They took Arthur! They took Arthur!" the boy cried.

People stopped in their tracks as heads turned to stare at him. Across the camp, Anwen dropped the pot she had lifted to set over the fire and water splashed everywhere, soaking her feet. But she didn't seem to notice.

She hurried over to Meical, catching him by the shoulders, "What do you mean, Meical? Who took Arthur?"

"Knights," Meical gasped, still out of breath from his dash back to camp, "King's men. They said- they said he was the prince."

"The prince?" Anwen repeated, unconsciously tightening her hold on Meical's shoulders.

"Anwen," came Celyn's voice, quiet and calm as always, "Let the boy go. Give him room to catch his breath, so he can tell us the full story."

Anwen released Meical with an apology, then stepped back a few steps, her face anxious.

Celyn waited for a few minutes until Meical's breathing had returned to normal.

"Now, tell us what happened," he instructed gently, "From the beginning."

"Arthur and I were picking mushrooms," Meical explained, "And we split up to see who could get more. When my basket was full, I went to find him and… there were these three men with him, knights of Camelot. I didn't know what to do, so I hid behind a tree. And I heard one of them say that Arthur was the prince. He bowed to him, and called him Sire. And then they left. And they took Arthur with them." He had tried to call out to his friend in his mind, forgetting for a moment that Arthur did not share that gift.

"The prince…" Anwen repeated weakly, "Oh, Arthur…"

She looked at Celyn, "Can it be true?"

Celyn nodded, his eyes full of sympathy, "It makes sense. We always knew he was likely a nobleman's son. And now we know why you were given his name long before he was born."

Anwen closed her eyes, "Will he be safe?'

Celyn put his hand on her shoulder.

"Of course," he said gently, "The knights will not hurt their prince. They will protect him with their lives."

"I'm never going to see him again, am I?" her voice held a quiet despair.

"You can't know that," Celyn said, "None of us know what the future will hold."

Anwen nodded, but though his words brought comfort, it was small.

Feeling the eyes of everyone in the camp on her, she turned and hurried away. Only when she reached her tent and sank down into a sitting position on her pallet, did she allow the tears to begin to flow, weeping as she had not wept since her husband had died.

After a while, she felt a hand on her shoulder. She raised her head to see her sister-in-law kneeling next to her.

"Delyth," Anwen wiped her eyes.

Without a word, Delyth pulled her into a tight hug. For a few minutes, she didn't speak, she just held Anwen and let her cry. Finally Anwen's tears ceased.

She pulled back and looked at Delyth, "What will you tell Mordred?"

Delyth sighed, "I wish I knew. How can I make him understand why Arthur isn't here anymore?"

She shook her head, "But let me worry about that," she said firmly, "You just worry about yourself."

She looked at Anwen seriously, "I can't imagine what you must be feeling right now," she said quietly, "This is hard. It's hard for all of us. But maybe all this happened for a reason."

"What do you mean?" Anwen asked.

"Arthur is the prince of Camelot," Delyth said, "Your little Arthur could very well be king someday."

Anwen blinked at the idea. Her little boy… the king of Camelot. It was overwhelming.

Delyth reached out and took Anwen's hand, "Arthur could change everything for our people, Anwen."

A hint of a smile appeared on Anwen's face. It was faint, but it was there.

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Arthur lay on the bedroll that the knights had given him. Two of the knights were asleep, while one of them remained awake on watch.

Arthur couldn't sleep. Part of him longed to sneak away and try to find his way back home. But even if he was able to sneak away without the guard noticing, they were already far away from his home and he didn't know if he could find his way back.

And besides… there was a part of him, deep down inside that had to know if what the knights were saying was true, if he really was Prince Arthur.

So Arthur lay still, but his mind was back in his camp. He wondered what Meical had thought when he disappeared. He wondered if the others knew the knights had taken him. He wondered if Mordred was upset when he didn't come back.

Most of all, he wondered about his mother. Was she worried about him? Did she know he was safe or would she think he had just vanished?

His mother, Mordred, his aunt and uncle, Meical… would he ever see any of them again? Arthur suddenly felt tears sting his eyes. He wiped them away, embarrassed, even though no one could see him. He was far too old to cry.

But, even so, there was a lump in his throat that he couldn't seem to get rid of.

He rolled over onto his side, watching the shadowy outline of the knight on duty. He had been vague when they questioned him about his life. He didn't know what the men would do if they found out he had been raised by Druids.

Arthur's hand went to a spot on his chest, above his heart. The place where his Druid mark lay. He realized suddenly, that if he went to Camelot, if he stayed there, that he would spend the rest of his life hiding it.

All his life he had heard King Uther spoken of in hushed, fearful whispers. And now he found out that the man who had caused so much suffering to his people might be his father. How was he supposed to deal with that? What was he supposed to do?

What would it mean for him if it turned out to be true? What would it mean to be the prince of Camelot?

Arthur closed his eyes tightly, as if he could shut out the world. Eventually, he fell into an exhausted sleep.

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