Title: I cannot love but one

Disclaimer: only Arthur and Merlin aren't mine; title from Lord Byron

Warnings: references to bad things happen to children

Pairings: none

Rating: PG

Wordcount:

Point of view: third

Wordcount: 495

Prompt: Merlin, Arthur Pendragon/Merlin, We were like gods at the dawning of the world, and our joy was so bright we could see nothing else but the other.

He'd thought that Arthur, when he returned, would be as vibrant, as glorious, that figure of legend even he believes in now, a thousand years after he sent his king to the water.

But Arthur is young, now, is foolish as only the young can be, as he'd forgotten Arthur was when they met, that brash prince who acted so sure of himself, before Merlin learned to read the truth in the set of his shoulders, in the twist of his lips.

This boy is someone he doesn't know, yet. This boy, barely fifteen and taking care of himself in the streets of London, leader of a small gang of lost children like himself. This boy, with a glare so familiar it hurts. Oh, my king, he thinks. It hurts so much more than he thought it could.

This isn't someone he knows, yet. He wonders, briefly, if the others will return, as well, or if it'll only be them, facing some calamity he can't imagine, staring into fierce brown eyes and seeing the man this boy will be, if he's given the chance to grow.

He's believed for a thousand years that Arthur would return grown, a king of men, a legend walking the world again. But this boy waits until the last of his little gang disappear down the alleyway, and then he turns on his heels to follow.

My king, Merlin thinks, watching him go.

This boy has Arthur's soul, but he is not Arthur. Arthur was a prince raised to be a king, raised a warrior, raised in a world that no longer exists. And perhaps, then, he doesn't need the Merlin that has been mourning and pining and hoping for a thousand years. To become a hero in this world, he needs Merlin to be someone else.

Merlin is, as he always been, the most powerful being in the world. He cannot, will not, remove his magic, or all the skills he has learned over the years. What he can do is remove a thousand years of memories.

.

"Billy!" Moira yells, tumbling into their fortress, her brother and sister just behind her. "Billy, there's a boy out there. Think 'e's hurt."

"Frankie," Billy calls to his second, a solemn girl who terrifies him sometimes, "keep watch while I check it out."

She nods, her dark hair falling into her face. She flicks it out of her face, expression annoyed, but he hasn't suggested she cut it since that first time, when she nearly thrashed him for it. If she had better people skills, he knows, she'd be in charge instead of him.

"See, he's there," Moira tries to whisper, her brother bouncing beside her.

There is a boy outside, huddled against the far wall. It's hard to tell his age or size, or if he's injured.

Billy won't realize for years why something that's always been unsettled in him settles as the boy raises his head, eyes going straight for Billy.