The morning passed quietly, which in Arthur's experience meant something was wrong.
He finished his chores without incident, fed the horses, repaired a loose fence rail, and even managed to avoid Kay's usual commentary. That alone should have been suspicious. By the time the sun climbed higher, Arthur felt that familiar prickle at the back of his neck—the sense of being watched.
He did not look up right away.
He already knew who it was.
"Are you planning to stare all day," Arthur said at last, wiping his hands on his trousers, "or is there some trick you're warming up to?"
The trickster sat atop a low stone wall, legs dangling, white hair loose and catching the light. He looked entirely too pleased with himself.
"I admire diligence," the man replied. "It's a rare quality in boys your age."
Arthur frowned. "You don't know my age."
"I have a good eye."
"That's not an answer."
The trickster laughed softly and hopped down, landing with an ease that did not match his lazy posture. He circled Arthur once, slow and deliberate, eyes sharp despite the relaxed smile.
"You've improved," he said. "Your balance is better. Your movements waste less energy."
Arthur stiffened. "You've been watching my training."
"Of course."
"That wasn't a question."
The trickster tilted his head. "Would you have stopped me?"
Arthur opened his mouth, then closed it again. Annoyance flared, followed closely by something else—unease.
"No," he admitted. "Probably not."
"See? Honesty already. You really are fascinating."
Arthur exhaled sharply. "You keep saying that. Why?"
Instead of answering, the magician reached down and picked up a length of broken wood from the ground. He tossed it lightly into the air, caught it, then held it out.
"Strike it," he said.
Arthur stared. "Why?"
"Humor me."
Suspicion warred with curiosity. Arthur took his practice sword and swung. The wood snapped cleanly in half.
The magician smiled.
"That," he said, "was better than yesterday."
Arthur froze. "You weren't here yesterday."
The magician met his gaze, unbothered. "Wasn't I?"
————±————±————±————
They walked together along the edge of the fields, the space between them tense and quiet.
Arthur spoke first. "You never gave your name."
"Names are troublesome things."
"That's convenient."
"True things often are."
Arthur stopped walking. "Why are you here?"
The magician stopped as well. For a moment, his expression shifted—not darker, not heavier, just… older.
"To see," he said simply.
Arthur scoffed. "That's it?"
"For now."
The answer irritated him more than a lie would have.
"You speak like you know me," Arthur said. "Like you expect something from me."
The magician's smile returned, faint but knowing. "I expect many things from many people. Expectations are not commands."
Arthur studied him carefully. The white hair. The strange cadence of his speech. The way he never seemed surprised, never startled, never wrong-footed.
"You're not just some wandering hedge-mage," Arthur said slowly.
"Oh?" the magician prompted.
"You move like someone who doesn't fear consequence."
The magician laughed, genuine this time. "Very good."
Arthur's jaw tightened. "So what are you?"
The magician leaned closer, voice lowering. "Someone who has made mistakes. Someone who would prefer you not repeat them."
The words settled heavily.
Arthur turned away. "I didn't ask for guidance."
"No," the magician agreed. "But you'll take it anyway."
————±————±————±————
That evening, Arthur sat alone near the fence line, sharpening his blade with slow, practiced strokes. The magician watched from a distance, saying nothing.
Finally, Arthur spoke. "You knew my training schedule. You knew my progress. You speak as if you've seen this all before."
The magician said nothing.
Arthur continued. "You told Ector how to correct my footing last week."
A pause.
"And you warned Kay about overextending his shoulder," Arthur added.
The magician smiled faintly. "He didn't listen."
Arthur lowered the blade. "You've been influencing things."
"Yes."
"You've been here longer than you let on."
"Yes."
Arthur stood. "Then stop pretending."
The magician's eyes gleamed. "Pretending what?"
"That you're just watching."
Silence stretched between them.
At last, the magician sighed. "Very well."
He straightened, posture shifting subtly. Not imposing. Not threatening. Just… undeniable.
"Tell me, Arthur," he said, "what do you know of magi?"
Arthur hesitated. "They manipulate the world through mystery. Through rules most people don't see."
"Good," the magician said. "And what do they fear?"
Arthur frowned. "Things older than them."
The magician smiled.
"And what do they fear becoming?"
Arthur's breath caught. "…tools."
The magician inclined his head. "You learn quickly."
Arthur stared. A realization crept in, slow and unwelcome.
"You're not here by chance," he said.
"No."
"You're not observing out of curiosity."
"No."
"You're here because of me."
The magician met his gaze fully now.
"Yes."
————±————±————±————
Arthur slept poorly that night.
Dreams pressed at the edges of his mind. Fire beneath skin. Weight coiled in his chest. A presence vast and patient, neither hostile nor kind.
When he woke, the magician was already waiting.
Arthur sat up abruptly. "How long have you been there?"
"Long enough."
Arthur rubbed his face. "You didn't answer the most important question."
"Oh?"
"What is your name?"
The magician regarded him for a long moment. Then, softly:
"Merlin."
The name struck like a bell.
Arthur's breath stilled.
He knew that name.
Not from stories. Not from songs.
From somewhere deeper.
"…That Merlin?" Arthur asked quietly.
Merlin smiled, something fond and dangerous in it. "There has only ever been one."
Arthur lay back against the bedding, staring at the ceiling.
"Of course," he muttered. "That explains everything."
Merlin chuckled. "Most people scream."
"I'm too tired," Arthur replied. Then, after a pause: "And too angry."
"Oh?"
Arthur turned his head. "You've been watching me struggle."
"Yes."
"You knew what I was."
"Yes."
"And you didn't say anything."
Merlin's smile faded, just slightly. "You weren't ready."
Arthur closed his eyes.
"…I still might not be."
Merlin leaned closer. "That, my boy, is the most honest thing you've said."
————±————±————±————
When Merlin left before dawn, Arthur remained awake.
The world felt heavier now. Clearer. Sharper.
He did not yet understand what it meant to be watched by the greatest magician in history.
But he understood this:
Nothing about his life was accidental.
And whether he wanted it or not, the path ahead had already begun to narrow.