Merlin was alone. Again. He spent most of his time alone. Everyone in the village thought he was strange, and they didn't like him because he didn't know his father. It wasn't his fault he didn't know his father, he thought mutinously. It wasn't his fault he had magic. He hadn't asked for it.

He sighed and swung his legs. He really had tried to hide it, like Mother told him to. It didn't matter. Everyone knew he was peculiar, even if they didn't know why. He placed his chin on one small hand. Even at six, he knew the pain of being different, and his kind nature railed at the injustice of it. His knees throbbed, skinned and bleeding from when one of the older boys tripped him. He still had bruises on his shoulders from being shoved a few days ago. It was his heart that hurt the most, though. It was a soft, tender thing, and the cruel insults the other boys flung combined with his mother's heartbroken expression was enough to make it ache.

He scrubbed at his damp cheeks, a single teardrop falling from the oak branch he took shelter in. It dripped into the pond below, causing a ripple to spread across the glassy surface. A silver fish flickered through the water.

Truthfully, he didn't mind when they taunted and hit him. It was better than the alternative, the days when they kept their distance and sent him wary, frightened glances. At least when they yelled, it meant they weren't afraid, and if they weren't scared, it meant he wasn't scary. It meant he wasn't a monster.

Right?

He sniffled. He didn't feel like a monster. He wondered if monsters ever did.

A strange rasping sound distrubred the tranquil forest, scattering a handful of birds. Merlin didn't look up. It didn't matter. No one would find him in his tree. Not that anyone was looking. It would be hours before his mother called him in for a meager dinner.

Merlin's tree was his haven; an ancient, gnarled oak whose crooked boughs extended over the water, where a small, clever six year old could hide from the world. He hid there whenever he was upset, which meant he was there a lot. He would sit in the crook of the branches and watch the fish in the clear water, or the herons stalking the rushes, or the families of ducks that came by in the spring.

He met his reflection's eyes in the water. He didn't look like a monster, just a thin faced, grubby young boy with red-rimmed eyes. He wiped his nose and winced as a sharp ache spread across his face. He'd hit the ground face first this time. Merlin wasn't graceful at the best of times, intentionally being tripped didn't help.

Suddenly, he was gripped with the desperate desire to prove those boys wrong. He wasn't a monster. Frowning, he cupped his hands in front of him and concentrated. His narrow face screwed up in effort, and a soft golden glow spread across his irises. His palms warmed, faint light gathering in his palms. He shut his eyes. Warmth spread through his limbs, seeping out from under his ribs and crawling through his veins, from the top of his head to the tips of his toes, curling in his hands.

When he opened his eyes again, a fragil, jewel bright butterfly flapped lazily in his grip. He smiled and held it up to the sunlight. It fluttered and launched itself into the air, the wind whisking it away.

"Neat trick," A cheerful voice called.

Merlin was so badly he fell out of the tree, landing in the pond with a splash. His stomach lurched, heart galloping in his chest, limbs locking in frozen terror. Cold water drenched him, and the small silver minnows scattered. One of the ducks took off in a whirr of feathers.

Merlin heard a gasp, and the splash of feet in the pond, but his eyes were screwed shut and he couldn't bring himself to open them. His hands shook.

"Are you alright?" This voice was different, female and strangely accented. A soft hand landed on his shoulder, and the sweet smell of a foreign perfume filled his nose.

He forced his eyes open, and met a striking hazel gaze. He couldn't help but flinch.

"Hey, it's alright," the woman said softly. She was young, with shoulder-length golden hair and big, warm eyes framed with thick black lashes. Her smile was wide and friendly. She didn't look angry, but she'd seen. Merlin couldn't help but cringe.

She wasn't alone, he remembered. The first voice had been a man's. Merlin looked around wildly. There, a few feet behind her, face creased with concern. He had dark eyes and strangely styled hair, and wore clothes that Merlin didn't recognize. So did the woman, clad in bright colors and layers and trousers made from an unfamiliar bluish-grey fabric, currently being soaked with pond water.

Merlin brushed off her hand and scrambled to his feet, backing away. The woman let him go, straightening and holding her hands up, showing they were empty. No shackles, no swords.

"Sorry," the man apologized, running a hand through his hair. "We didn't mean to frighten you." His voice was very gentle. He seemed kind.

Merlin's heart still raced in his chest, and he thought he might be sick. The strangers exchanged a loaded look.

"I'm the Doctor," the man said. "And this is Rose."

Rose gave him a tiny wave.

"What's your name?" She asked.

Merlin frowned. "That's a very strange name, Doctor."

The Doctor grinned and shrugged. "Mind telling us where we are?"

"Outside Ealdor. Cenrad's kingdom," Merlin replied. The Doctor quirked an eyebrow and nodded thoughtfully.

"Right."

Rose giggled. "You have no idea what that means."

"Er," said the Doctor.

Merlin furrowed his brow and examined them. He wondered where they were from. Not Camelot.

"Are you-" He swallowed hard, voice small and scared. "Are you going to tell?"

The Doctor cocked his head. "Tell?"

Merlin nodded, staring down at his soaked boots. The water rippled around his ankles.

"About…" He couldn't say it. "You know."

"The butterfly?" Rose asked kindly.

Merlin nodded, wordless.

"No. No, sweetheart, we won't tell. Why are you so scared."

"It's magic," he breathed, barely audible, and looked up at her from under wet lashes. She was looking at him oddly, strange, buzzing energy in her stance, her eyes wide and bright.

"Magic?"

"Shh," Merlin snapped, looking around. "It's. You know. Bad." He twisted his shirt in his hands.

The Doctor and Rose looked at eachother. "Why is it bad?" The Doctor asked.

Merlin gaped at him. They were very foreign foreigners, he decided. And they were going to get themselves, and quite possible Merlin, killed.

"It's-"

A voice drifted through the trees, cutting him off. Merlin's head snapped back in the direction of his village.

"That's my mother. I have to go." He took a step, then hesitated and looked back and Rose and the Doctor. "You promise you won't tell?"

The Doctor smiled and rocked back on his heels, making a funny gesture. "Cross my hearts."

"Thank you." He bit his lip. He really shouldn't tell them. If they told someone else, a guard or bounty hunter or mercenary, there would be trouble. But… they promised not to tell. "My name's Merlin, by the way," he blurted, and sprinted away.

The Doctor and Rose gaped at his retreating back, then turned to each other.

"No," the Doctor breathed, disbelieving. He looked the way Merlin had gone, then back at Rose, and laughed.