The Hidden Prince

Chapter 1

            Ten years. It's been ten years since he'd left Haldaerk. Ten years since he'd seen the gleaming white towers and the royal blue flags swaying elegantly in the wind. Ten years since he'd strolled through the lower towns, filled with the normal everyday morning rush. Ten years since he'd smelled the exotic food's in the air, seen the magicians playing tricks for fascinated children who'd run off from their parents. Ten years since he'd laughed with the servants and pranked nobles with his loyal knights. Ten years since he'd walked through the elegant halls of the castle. Ten years since he'd stolen fresh blueberry tarts from the cook, who'd pretend to threaten him, but slip him a few extras anyway.

            Ten years...

            It's been ten years since the betrayal that tore his home apart. Ten years since his traitorous uncle stormed the castle. Ten years since he'd brutally cut his way to the throne room. Ten years since he'd plunged his wicked sword through his father's belly. It's been ten years since he'd held his father last. It's been ten years since he'd seen his home, his life go up in flames. It's been ten years, and yet, he would never forget the day he lost everything except his poor mother. It's been ten years since a son lost a father, since a wife lost a husband, since a Queen lost a King and a Kingdom, their rulers.

            The five years Merlin has spent in Camelot, he had never forgotten his home or his people. In fact, he would always be more withdrawn on the anniversary of the Haldaerk's fall. He knew people noticed it. Of course they would, the normal bumbling, bright, goofy fool doesn't suddenly become a dark brooding storm cloud for no reason. Especially when said bumbling, bright, goofy fool broods the same day every year. You may wonder though, why has no one asked about it? Well, that's simple really. Merlin, the stupid bastard, is a master of changing the plate. He may not be able to lie to save his life, but he can change the plate smoother than a door swings on well-oiled hinges.

            And as it is, yet again, the anniversary of the day everything in Merlin's life went to hell, Merlin lay in his bed, glaring at the wall and a scowl set on his face. And while his body was situated in the bed of the spare room in Camelot's Physcian's chambers, his mind was stuck in a gruesome battlefield. Men and women alike strewn across the ground, blood streaming, children crying and in his mind's eye, he could see his uncle, cruel smirk attached and a nasty glint shone in his eye. In his brooding, he did not notice a certain blonde prat of a King hollering for him to "get his skinny arse out here before he decides to confine him in the stocks for an indeterminable amount of time." In fact, he'd not even noticed when said blonde prat barged into the room.

*****

            Arthur was going to kill his insolent manservant, he'd decided. He'd had a council meeting to attend early this morning and a training to conduct right after, yet the idiot hadn't even bothered to wake him up. It's like he expects Arthur to dress himself and bring his own food from the kitchens, preposterous! He was tired, he was hungry and he was roused from bed awfully early in the morning. Was he mad? Yes! Was he annoyed? Terribly! Was he being a bit ridiculous? Maybe.... Did he care? Hell no!

            So, understandably, he stormed out of his room, face thunderous, shirt tucked in places it shouldn't be and worn backwards, belt loose, hair sticking up everywhere and breeches being the only article of clothing worn right.... It would have been a good laugh to any passing servants if his face weren't so downright terrifying. Silently, they sent a prayer for poor Merlin because he is the only person that could invoke such a reaction from their usually well put together (and well-dressed) King.

            A few feet away from the entrance to the Physician's chambers, Arthur started yelling Merlin's name and making sincere (not) promises to throw him in the stocks. Growling, when he'd heard no reply or the tell-tale sign of clumsy feet knocking over various fragile items, he burst into the chambers and barged into Merlin's room. He was ready to start yelling, but paused upon looking at his friend's (for no matter how much he may try to hide it, he and everyone else knows Merlin is nothing less than his dearest friend) face. Never in all the five years he has known Merlin, has he ever looked so down-right muderous. His sharp jaw was clenched in obvious anger. His nose was flared, and his eyes.... Oh god, his eyes were practically burning. Arthur froze and prayed to all the gods that he never made Merlin this angry, he knew if he ever did, that look alone would kill him then and there (not that he'd ever tell him that, he had a reputation to hold.)