He looked at them, his children. They were sitting in the garden talking, their partners and children surrounding them while chasing each other, playing hide and seek and laughing as if there was no tomorrow.
Hunith was with them, chatting happily with his daughter-their daughter- and smiling at something the boys said. The boys. They were well past the age of twenty-five but they'd always be the boys.
He would look at Arthur and see that short kid, a blond mop covering his eyes, talking about football and this little girl living next to them. There would be Marlin, the shortest child he had ever met, rambling about some scientific experiment gone wrong while explaining the stains on his new shirt. And then there would be Morgan, wearing her pretty green dress, the one she wore on her fifth birthday, skipping around pretending to be an evil witch.
Yes, Uther thought, they were still his little children.