Chapter Text
Merlin always was a small boy. On the outside, at least. People in the future, in a time when he was nothing more than a myth, would say that his power could have easily tripled him in size. Merlin knew this. Of course he did, how could one not? He was only eight years old, and already the things in the ground spoke to him, calling him to dig deep into the soil and dirt, to uncover what was hidden beneath the surface. Merlin knew that he was unnatural. He had met people with magic before. None reminded him of himself. He was completely and entirely unique. Merlin knew that death would come to him were anyone to discover his secret. Merlin also knew what the things that spoke to him from under the ground, from under streets and under meadows were. They called him: taunting him, begging him, wailing in the night for him to free them from their suffocating tombs. They knew that he could hear them. He did not doubt that they could hear him as well. They never stopped crying, those spirits of the dead.
“Merlin.”
Merlin’s eyes snapped open. Directly in his line of vision was a giant blurry shape. Startled, Merlin attempted to jump back, but only hit his head on the wall in the process. He grunted. Soft laughter was coming from the strange blob in front of him. Confused, Merlin rubbed his eyes, the face of his mother, Hunith, becoming clearer as he did so. He sat up.
“Merlin, I am going out to help the men gather the harvest. I prepared you a bowl of oatmeal,” His mother informed him. Merlin nodded drowsily, still rubbing his eyes. Hunith smiled at her son warmly and ran a hand through his dark hair before turning, grabbing her scarf, and exiting through the front door.
Merlin yawned, still tired, before deciding that he would take a walk in the woods. The woods of Ealdor was his favourite place to be, no matter the time or weather. It was peaceful there…and the voices were much quieter. Merlin snatched his favourite neckerchief off the rack, tied it around his neck, and set off down the familiar path to the woods. It did not take long for Merlin to arrive in a clearing that he called “The Heart.” He heard the sound of birdsong all around him, enriching the atmosphere with their melodious chirps. The trees towered above him, making him feel small and insignificant, but it did not bother him. Golden light streamed down from the canopy above, causing the upper layer to shine and sparkle. The leaves that fell from their branches were encased in that same golden light, flawless, as though they were to stay that way forever, preserved in that one moment for all of eternity. But it was not so. The leaves were disconnected from their life source. They would wither and die, shrivelling up under the tree on which they once were displayed so proudly. When they once reached for the sky, they now sink to the ground, never to fly again.
One singular leaf fell towards Merlin. He reached out a finger hopefully, and caught it at the very tip. The moment it made contact with his skin, it began to wilt, blackening and rotting, just as most things did when they touched the boy. Not humans, never humans, but animals and plants. Living things were repulsed by the eight year old, despite the young boy having done them no harm. At least not intentionally.
As though they had noticed his presence, the birds in the clearing ceased their beautiful singing and flew from their branches. Merlin hung his head and sighed. For once in my life, why can’t I just be normal? He thought, kicking a rock that lay near his foot.
A sudden sound caused Merlin to raise his head and look in the direction he came. There stood a boy, maybe ten or so, with blond hair. The thing that surprised Merlin most was his clothes. They were expensive looking. The boy was clearly the son of a nobleman. The boy seemed to spot him then.
“Hello,” Merlin said, caution clear in his voice. He didn’t trust people of nobility. They would have him killed without a second thought.
“Hello,” the boy responded, equally as cautious.
“My name is Merlin, what’s yours?”
“Arthur.”
Arthur despised his father sometimes. Ever since Uther had taken the tiny town of Ealdor from Cenred—”Yes, quite the achievement, father”—he had been insisting that Arthur go to visit. Why? Arthur had no idea. Something about “growing closer to your kingdom,” and “You will need to know how your people live when you become king.” Arthur thought that his father just wanted to get rid of him. Arthur had been asking a lot of questions lately, “pestering” his father about certain things involving Arthur’s late mother, Ygraine. Uther would tell him nothing.
Arthur sighed inwardly. He had been riding for nearly two days, and he was sore. He was ten for goodness sake! He glanced beside him to see his guard: Sir Gilland, Sir Brian, and Sir Varan. They seemed cool and collected, but Arthur could tell they were just as tired as he was. Arthur sat up a bit straighter before addressing the knights.
“How long until we reach Ealdor?” He asked, hoping they were nearly there.
“Less than an hour, Sire,” Replied Sir Varan.
“Good,” Arthur shielded his eyes from the bright sun, attempting to look into the distance. “I hope to arrive as soon as possible.” He could not help the slight weariness that slid into his tone.
They rode in silence for another half an hour. Arthur was about to suggest they stop for a moment—if only for his tired legs—when he heard a sound from behind. The knights only had time to draw their swords before the bandits were upon them.
They streamed from the woods surrounding them, seemingly blending with the trees themselves. They were dressed in brown and green, perfect for camouflaged ambushes. That was just what it was: a camouflaged ambush. They formed a ring around Arthur and the three knights. There were at least twenty of them. The odds were not in their favour.
Knowing their impossible chance of victory, the three knights and the young prince glanced at each other before letting their weapons fall to the ground. The four swords landed in the piles of leaves with a sharp clang. They dismounted from their horses. As they did so, one of the bandits stepped forward, grabbing the reins of the four mares and leading them away. The knights had automatically placed themselves protectively in a circle around Arthur, wishing to keep their prince safe from harm.
Four bandits entered the ring, each grabbing one of the four noblemen. Arthur was tugged from the ring by the neck of his tunic—a very expensive tunic—which irritated him greatly. The man dragging him was thin and weedy. He was covered in hair, and his sneer made it clear that nearly all of his teeth had rotted out. The few that remained were yellow and cavity-filled. Arthur grimaced. Clearly bandits don’t have much care for hygiene, he thought.
Still being tugged along by his collar, Arthur risked a glance around his captor. He caught a glimpse of Sir Brian, although the knight was being led by his shoulders, rather than his tunic. Sir Brian noticed his stare, and tilted his head towards the gangly man dragging Arthur. Arthur raised an eyebrow. Sir Brian jutted his head out again, this time directing his nod towards the man’s belt. Arthur followed Sir Brian’s eyes only to see a short dagger sticking out of said belt. Arthur grinned and reached for the blade.
The young prince’s fingers closed around the hilt, unsheathed the dagger, and, before his captor could notice, plunged the blade into the man’s thigh. The bandit shrieked with pain, clutching at his leg as blood flowed freely from the wound. Arthur elbowed the man in the chest, sending him sprawling to the ground. Arthur spun around, only to find that the knights were still incapacitated.
The knights looked at their prince, both fear and determination shining in their eyes.
“Go!” They all shouted in unison.
Arthur hesitated. He did not want to leave the knights. He looked up and made Eye contact with Sir Gilland. One look into the man’s eyes, and Arthur knew he had to listen to them. These knights knew what they signed up for. It was their honour to die for their prince. Before any of the other bandits could react, Arthur turned and disappeared in the thick of the woods.