Disclaimer: I don't own "Merlin".


The throne room was a deathly quiet. Red drapes hung over tall tinted glass panes, the heavy fabric tied off to the sides to allow the light in. Reds, blues, whites and greens painted the stone floors, interrupted every so often by the shadow of a guard stationed in front of a window. Myrddin's father, the good King Peter, sat atop his throne, a great steel chair lined with gold and silver and bronze. Rubies, diamonds and numerous other precious stones decorated its surface.

Prince Myrddin Emrys Ambrosius entered the room, the giant oak doors opening and closing with an ancient moan. The clacking of the prince's heels as he approached was the only sound. It echoed loudly against the walls, giving the impression of vacancy.

Myrddin stationed himself barely a few feet from the throne. He bowed and said, "My lord."

"Myrddin," his father greeted, his hands clasped in front of him. With a wave of his hand the sentries filed out of the room.

"You called for me, father?" All royal formalities were dropped, gone with the plethora of guards.

The king sighed and massaged his temple. "I'm afraid I must send you from Eleriwyn."

"What?" Myrddin exclaimed, startled at the abruptness.

"The land is under attack—"

"Which is exactly why you need me here, father!" he shouted, taking a step toward the throne. "I will not run when my people need me most."

"Let me finish," Peter admonished. Myrddin muttered angry curses under his breath, but bowed his head slightly in apology, scowling.

"That is not the whole reason why you must leave," he replied. "It is only what I will be telling the rest of my council."

Confused, the prince opened his mouth to ask a question. Peter cut him off, saying, "My son, do you know why your middle name is Emrys?"

"No, father," Myrddin answered. Although at a loss as to what his middle name had to do with his need to leave in the middle of a war, he kept his silence. His father couldn't keep him in the dark for long.

"There is a prophecy of Emrys," he began after a long moment, almost as if he were second-guessing his decision. "It tells of a young man meant to become the greatest king in all of history."

Silence reined over the hall once more. "And... you think I am that man?" the prince assumed, bewildered. It seemed too... this wasn't real. How could it be? Eleriwyn was such a small kingdom—no king hailing from here could amount to as much. No, he wasn't this man. It didn't feel right. He could still feel the panic clawing at his throat and lungs despite; what if it was true?

Peter smiled gently, a flicker of amusement in his bright blue eyes. "No," he admitted, "you are not."

Prince Myrddin felt his knees go weak with relief. "Oh, thank the gods." He felt a little selfish at the twang of disappointment and jealousy in his gut at the realization. Why couldn't he be as great a king as this Emrys?

"What does this King Emrys have to do with me?" And why did you name me after him?

King Peter chuckled. "Oh, Emrys isn't a king. No, not yet." Smiling, he added: "He is you, Myrddin."

"Wh— what?" There was a prophecy about him after all. Then who was the king his father had mentioned? What of this Emrys? Of him? Where did he fit into all of this? He tried to say something else, but found he couldn't. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

"It is the legend of the Once and Future King and the man who will assist him in fulfilling his destiny as the greatest king in history." Peter smiled again, sadder this time. "Emrys, however, is the greatest sorcerer to roam the earth. He is the friend and protector of the Once and Future King, and he is the one to return magic to the land of Albion. You see, Myrddin," he said, his lips upturning into another despondent smile. "You must do these things, but you cannot do them in Eleriwyn."

Myrddin tried to say something. He really, truly did. But he couldn't. What way was there to respond to such a statement? He was surprised, but at the same time felt nothing. No, he felt something. It wasn't overwhelming, nor was it a thrill of fear. It wasn't pressure weighing down upon him or the inferior feeling most would have in the light of destiny. But it did feel... right.

He could feel power flowing through him, as much a part of him as the blood flowing through his veins. Turning to his father, he finally said, "What do I need to do?"

I've been reading way too much Game of Thrones. Anyway, just needed a break from the other Merlin fic that I'm working on (the tenth chapter should be up soon, I've just started working on it!). School's been kind of dominating my life for the past couple of weeks, being the end of the first quarter and everything. I've had this terribly unoriginal idea stuck in my head for a while now, and since I've only found one prince!Merlin story that I liked on here, I decided to write my own! It's gonna be taking a backseat to my other one, though, at least for a bit. In an ideal world, however, I would be updating them both at the same time. I'll try and do that, but don't get your hopes up.

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