The Warlock in the Forest

A Chance Encounter

This doesn't take place in a particular time. Uther is still alive, that much I know. If I write more to this, I'll figure out the timeline.

Thanks for reading!

Words: 2,787

___

Settling his cloak over his head, the small figure of a young man slides gracefully through the trees. He's nothing but a shadow, unseen by all but the creatures of the forest.

Coming to a stop, Merlin peeks around the large trunk of a tree, waiting until Cenred's men pass by on the trail not twenty feet away from him. Sighing once he's in the clear, the boy runs a hand over his hair, pushing his hood off his head. Moving to collect some wood for a fire, the young warlock sets up camp for the night. With a few mumbled words, his eyes glow like gold and the flames rise through the wood.

After eating a far from filling dinner, Merlin sits with his back against a tree. His knees are bent, his elbows resting on them and he twists a small vine between his fingers. He looks up from his fidgeting and lets his gaze stare into the small fire eating away at the wood in front of him.

Merlin looks down when the small fire starts to warp in his vision. When it brings forth memories of much bigger flames. Houses, homes, on fire. Crops, lands, families. He can still hear their screams, their pleading. He can still feel the helplessness he felt. The guilt over not stopping it.

Shaking his head, Merlin closes his eyes and runs his hands over his face. He kicks his feet out, snuffing out the small flame with dirt from the forest floor. No need to think about things long past. It'll do him no good.

Shifting until he's lying on his back, Merlin stares up at the treetops and the few stars shining through the leaves. He lifts a hand as if reaching for them. Oh, what it would be like, to live amongst the stars and their beauty. It sounds peaceful. With these fleeting thoughts in mind, Merlin lets himself drift into sleep.

_________

Same as the day before, Merlin treks through the forest. There's no real destination in mind, just to get away from where he'd been. It's risky, staying in one place for too long and doing what he does. Word of a mystical healer, fixing wounds and curing illnesses, travels fast. It wouldn't be wise to stick around for long.

The sound of sword hitting sword has Merlin crouching behind a tree. He listens carefully to the sound of fighting and slowly creeps forward until he's resting atop a hill. Below him, what looks like bandits gang up against a single man in silver armor.

Merlin doesn't have to watch long before the man goes down. He's clearly been injured, whether in this fight or by something else, Merlin is unsure. It's beyond an unfair fight and being already injured, the man goes down, unconcious. Merlin stands quickly as the bandits approach, ready to end the man's life. But with a single flick of his hand, the men go flying back.

Sliding down the heel with ease, Merlin move to the man once his feet are firmly back under him. He walks to the man with silent steps and crouches by his side. Hands braced against his shoulder and arm, he gently turns him onto his back. It's not hard to put it together. His features, the seal on the hilt of his sword. Merlin's never actually seen him before but it's not hard to determine that the man lying before him is Arthur Pendragon, the Prince of Camelot.

"Great," Sighing loudly, Merlin looks around. All the bandits are down, no longer a threat. But it's still not good to stay here.

It's a little more difficult than he'd like to admit, moving the prince to a safer part of the forest. Must be all those feasts and banquets that come with the job. Merlin shakes his head at his own thoughts and quickly sets up a small fire before tending to the prince. Left unattended, his wounds would surely lead to death. But with Merlin's magic, Arthur is soon on the mend.