Chapter II

'Imprison him,' Arthur realised that it didn't matter where he put him, the boy was going to do whatever he wanted anyway.

This hypothesis was proven to be right when he entered his rooms that evening. The boy had made himself comfortable in Arthur's favourite chair by a roaring fire. He'd pulled his knees up to his chest and was sitting in it slightly sideways, not unlike a cat. The sight only caught him off guard a little bit.

'Gods! It's warm in here,' Arthur said casually. Silently announcing that it took a little more than showing up unexpectedly for him to lose his cool. The boy didn't look away from the fire, but smiled.

'Being in that cell chilled me to the bone,'

'I didn't expect you to actually sit in there,' Arthur stood behind the opposite chair. The boy tore his eyes away from the fire and looked at him, eyebrows slightly raised.

'You didn't?'

'No, I figured you'd use —' he waved his hand around in a vague gesture.

'— Magic?' The boy supplied helpfully, barely suppressing a grin.

They stared at each other for a moment, both equally assessing, equally expecting.

'Yes,' Arthur breathed. 'Magic.'

'That wouldn't have upset you?'

'You're worried about upsetting me?' Arthur asked incredulously, perhaps a little too fiercely. The boy turned towards the fire again. Arthur looked at him, puzzled. Powerful enough to command the seasons, to defy the laws of nature, defy the laws of physicality even, yet he seemed so harmless. Was it an act? Was he actually in great danger? Utterly confused Arthur opted for one of his favourite tactics: the direct approach.

'Are you here to kill me?'

The boy snapped his head up to look at him, Arthur's gaze was caught by his two great round eyes of surprise and disbelieve. His expression quickly morphed into a mixture of disappointment and pity, the way you might look at a slow learning child. And did he see that correctly? Was there a hint of bitterness?

Bitterness or not, Arthur did not at all like to be looked at as if he were a fool. He huffed indignantly and said with all authority he could muster: 'That is a perfectly reasonable question, I'll have you know!'

The boy only raised one eyebrow slightly. Arthur continued: 'The most powerful wizard I've ever heard of, is sitting in my bloody chambers — I have a right to know wether or not I should start considering my last words!'

'Don't torment your overprivileged little brain about it, I'm not here to kill you!' The boy's agitated words were accompanied by him getting out of the chair and walking towards the window sill, as far away from Arthur as he could get without leaving the room.

Arthur followed his movements, surprised into a stupor by what that gangly kid had the nerve to say to him. He spluttered indignantly. 'Little brain?! My brain is of perfectly ample size! You, you — you uneducated, insolent, unwashed speck of filth!' He professed to the back boy standing there with shoulders tense.

'Gods, if I had known you would turn out to be such a prat, I wouldn't have gone through so much trouble,' he muttered.

'If you're going to continue insulting me, please have the guts to at least do it to my face.' Arthur challenged. The boy turned around.

'You, Your Royal Highness, Crown Prince of Camelot, are a massive and utter PILLOCK! You're a spoilt little rich kid with — despite of being knighted — no sense of nobility or honour. You are arrogant and condescending. But worst of all, you are a prejudiced and narrow minded PRAT!' The mocking and disdain in his voice again robbed Arthur momentarily of his ability to speak. Giving the boy time to add: 'But it's not entirely your fault I guess, you have been raised by Uther...' He sighed wistfully, but it was lost on Arthur.

At the mention of his fathers name, a switch had flipped. He flew towards the boy, grabbed him by the collar and pushed him against the cold glass of the window. He lowered his mouth to the boys ear and in a deceivingly calm voice he spoke lowly and through gritted teeth: 'You do NOT speak of my father that way.' At that point he half expected to be sent flying across the room by a blast of magic. One does not accost such a powerful wizard without receiving a blow in return, right? But the boy did nothing of the sort, he merely struggled against Arthur's grip, stubbornly defiant. Physically he was no match for Arthur and he held him in this state of apparent powerlessness effortlessly. Confused, yet again, he leaned back and held the boy at an arms length, still clutching his tunic.

Their eyes met and it was him as if he saw him for the first time: a boy grown up in terrorised village, the struggle and the horror forcing him to grow up too young. A boy in possession of such powerful magic that it scared himself and the people around him, but with a character so honourable that he won't use it against people even when attacked. A lonely boy, driven into solitude by a secret he can't share. A boy looking for hope in Camelot, seeking out it's Crown Prince... And being disappointed by what he found.

Arthur slowly let go of the fabric tangled between his fingers, leaving the boy's tunic all rumpled. Arthurs eyes dropped down from the boys eyes to the mess his grip had caused and he absentmindedly attempted to smooth the stubborn creases, a gesture so accidentally tender it made the boy's eyes go wide and his mouth fall ever so slightly open. When Arthur reconnected their shared gaze, he realised what he was doing and let his arm drop lamely at his side. However too confused to be embarrassed he held their gaze and asked in a gentle voice:

'What's your name?'

The boy was sitting slumped against the window, his face angelically pale against the night sky, his eyes big and bright and impossibly blue. He looked so utterly lost. Perhaps it was caused by the guilt he felt for failing to protecting Ealdor, or because he'd somehow been a disappointment to this boy, but he suddenly felt overwhelmed by the most powerful urge to take care of him. To protect him. To make sure those eyes would never again see the horrors of the world.

'My name is Merlin. Merlin Emrys.'

'And why are you here, Merlin?'

The boy hesitated. A sadness filled his eyes.

'I don't know any more.' As soon as the words left his mouth, his eyes flashed golden. Arthurs breath got stuck in his throat as he witnessed how the window, previously the sole support behind Merlin's back, flew open and the skinny boy came tumbling down. A cry escaped Arthur's lips as he flew forwards, hoping to grab a hold of the boy and stop him from falling to his death. However, nothing but air slipped through his fingers and he leaned over the window sill to look down at the ground, where the boy inevitably would have landed. The darkness was too thick for his eyes to pierce so he couldn't see the proof of what had happened, but then again he didn't need it.

Just as a big wave of sadness and guilt crashed over him, a great red dragon flew passed his window into the night sky. On it's back he saw a figure, the unmistakable black haired and big eared head of the wizard boy turned towards him, apparently checking if Arthur had spotted him. He was hard to miss really, sitting on the back of a giant dragon and all. And then suddenly, a flash of gold, and they disappeared. Arthur stared at the spot of ink black where the dragon had vanished for quite a while. Would he ever see the boy again?