Merlin was three years old when the knights came for Balinor.
. . . . .
Arthur was five when he met the other boy for the first time. He had been crying because the gash on his knee hurt quite a bit, but he'd been trying not to, because his father had looked at him, full of disappointment, and said that princes didn't cry.
He jumped to his feet hastily and scrubbed at his face. "What do you want?" he demanded angrily.
The boy held out a ball. "Wanna play?"
The boy was younger than him and even at five, Arthur knew he wasn't one of the noble's sons. His father wouldn't approve of him playing with a peasant.
"No," he said sullenly.
"Oh." The boy peered at him and pointed at his knee. "Ouch."
"It doesn't hurt," Arthur lied.
The other boy looked enormously impressed. "How'd you get it?"
Arthur may have exaggerated the story a little, but the basics remained the same, and by the end of the day, they were chasing the ball all over the castle.
"What's your name?" Arthur finally remembered to ask.
"Got two, but I can only tell you one," he said with all the solemnity a three year old could muster.
"I've got two names too, but I'll only tell you the first one," Arthur countered immediately. "I'm Arthur." Normally, he would have rolled out his status as a prince ages ago, but he'd kept his mouth shut this time. He didn't want to scare the other boy off.
"Okay," the boy agreed with a blinding smile. "You can call me Merlin."
. . . . .
They burned down the whole village. Balinor went to fight them. Hunith grabbed Merlin and ran for the woods.
. . . . .
"What's it like, being a prince?" Merlin was ten now and had long ago learned that inconsequential fact.
Arthur threw himself into the hay with a huff. "Stupid. You're not allowed to do anything and Father - " He shut his mouth.
Merlin's face grew almost frightening in its darkness. "I know," he said. "I don't like him."
"He's the king," Arthur said half heartedly.
"Shouldn't your first protest have been he's your father?" He tossed Arthur an apple from the barrel and started juggling three more.
"He killed her," Arthur said quietly. "He had her drowned. She was our age."
More apples drifted of their own accord out of the barrel into Merlin's capable hands. Arthur was too used to it to be bothered. No one came here but them.
"Aren't you going to eat one of those?"
Merlin shrugged, face still dark. "Not hungry."
"I won't let him hurt you," Arthur promised. "Don't worry so much."
Merlin laughed, and all was golden in his face again. "It's you I worry about. He doesn't even know I exist."
. . . . .
"Hide here, Merlin. Don't come out, no matter what."
. . . . .
Merlin scowled at Morgana as she rode into the courtyard. "I don't like her."
"Her parents are dead. Give her a little sympathy."
"My parents are dead too," he pointed out. "And so is Gwen's mother, and your mother, and we'd all be better off if your father - "
