Guess who's back!

I've been going back and forth with myself on whether or not to publish this because it would be out of order chronologically. I've decided to just have this be a series of interconnected one-shots but they won't happen in any particular order. I'll post as I come up with them that way you guys get content a little more often and I don't have to worry about keeping a timeline completely straight. Maybe once this all draws to an end, I'll post a chapter saying a tentative timeline for everything. We'll see. Let me know what you think.

Anyways, enjoy!

Arthur grumbled quietly as he stormed through the woods, hefting a bag on his shoulder. Honestly, it was his life and his choice so his father could just kindly butt out of it. He didn't want to be the next CEO of Penn Industries, the rightful heir to the Pendragon name and all that other pretentious bull. It wasn't him and it wasn't something he wanted to do. That didn't mean he hadn't accepted that it was going to happen anyways, but his father could have at least let him have this one thing.

He let a long slow sigh and glanced at his bag, the torn pages of his manuscript peeking out from the depths. He'd almost been done with it too…

He eventually reached a small grove, one he stumbled across when he was just a boy. The place seemed trapped in a perpetual summer and it all seemed to stem from this one ancient oak that stood at the center of the grove. The place had felt familiar to him even back then and now, years later, it was his own little safe haven, the only place his father didn't know of.

He set the bag down and braced his back against that mighty tree and just let the atmosphere wash over him, allowing it to steal away his anger and replace it with a comforting calm. Once he felt like he could work without wanting to throw something, he pulled out the pieces of his manuscript and some tape. Sure, trying to piece paper back together in the middle of the woods probably wasn't the best idea but it was the best he had. Besides, it was the only place he knew his father wouldn't be able to rip his passion project to pieces again.

The tale was one he'd dreamt up as a boy, a classic of knights and magic and quests. He'd tired to ignore it as all he'd wanted to do back then was make his father proud. However, the story refused to leave his mind so he eventually began to pour it onto pages of an old journal which turned to another which turned to scenes on any scrap of paper he could find. He found that once he started writing it down, he couldn't stop and after a while, he didn't want it to. The tale was a release and it resonated with a part of him he hadn't entirely sure was there before.

Arthur sighed and snapped a piece of tape loose as he pieced together a page. He'd finally gotten it all down in one place too…

A small stick landed beside him and he looked up just in time to hear a voice float down from the treetops.

"Ow! What was that for, Bartholomew?"

There was a person. In the tree. Arthur'd never seen anyone else even come close to this small grove let alone climb the ancient oak. Even he'd sensed something about the tree that kept younger him from climbing it. Yet there he was, a random bloke perched up closer to the top as if there was nothing wrong with it.

Arthur stood and backed up a few steps, head craned and eyes shielded with a hand to try and get a better look at the man above. He couldn't get much past the sun glare. The person was lanky and by the sounds of his voice, young, probably around Arthur's own age.

"Well hello there!" he eventually called up, more than a little curious to see what type of person sat amongst the branches like a bird.

The figure stiffened at the sudden address and seemed to look around. "Wha-aguh!"

Arthur flinched as their movement offset the precarious balance that kept them in the tree, and they came tumbling to the ground.

He opened his eyes as a heavy thud sounded followed by a low groan of pain.

A man lay sprawled out on the floor (half on top of his already ruined manuscript, part of Arthur's brain noted with dismay) but as far as he could tell, he was uninjured minus a leaf or twig caught on ebony colored hair or worn clothing despite having fallen from a rather great height.

He wore dark jeans and a long sleeve blue shirt and an odd triangular scarf around his neck that nagged at the back of Arthur's mind in a baffling manner. The man was barefoot and casting his eyes about the grove again, Arthur noticed a pair of brown boots and a brown jacket nestled against the trunk of the tree on the opposite side he'd been working.

The man groaned again, and Arthur snapped back to reality as he rushed forward to offer a hand to the stranger. "Sorry, mate. Didn't mean to startle you," he said.

The man shook his head and reached out to take the hand. "No, that was on me. I should've been more careful," he trailed off as he pulled himself to his feet and looked up. Blue met blue and Arthur blinked at a sudden wave of familiarity. The other man must have felt it too because his eyes widened and his voice pitched oddly, "Arthur?"

And then it was suddenly very hard to look this man in the eye. Arthur let go of his hand and took a step back just to put a little space between him and the stranger. "Yeah. That's my name. Have we met before?" he said quickly in a rush that was so unlike anything he'd ever been taught to speak like when encountering someone new. His father would have his hind for that introduction.

The man studied him before backing up as well, back lightly touching the bark of the tree. "Uh, no. No, I don't think we have. Sorry. I just-" A paper crunched under his foot and he looked down. "What…?"

"No! Those are mine. Please do not look at them," Arthur spoke quickly as eyes widened and a sharp series of curses flashed through his mind and he dashed forward to start collecting the scraps. The man unfortunately began to do the same, eyes flickering over the meticulous writing.

"You wrote this?" The question came quiet and almost reverent as the man stared at one of the pages he held.

Arthur snatched it out of his hand and quickly gathered up the last of the pages, holding them somewhat protectively to his chest. "No," he denied before realizing it was a very obvious lie. "Well, yes. They're nothing serious. Just something to pass the time. They're not even that good," he rambled.

The man shook his head and lowered himself to the ground with a smile. "What I read sounded great though it seems it's gone through a pretty rough time." He located the tape Arthur had left laying around and held it up. "How 'bout you tell me about it while I help you fix it up? I'll even tell you some stories of my own."

There was something about him, the way his smile quirked, the mischievous light in his eyes, Arthur didn't know what it was, but it had him sitting down and tentatively placing the manuscript back down. Maybe it was the warm comforting aura of the forest, maybe it was the openness of the stranger, or maybe it was even Arthur's own need to have someone listen, that he opened his mouth and began to speak.

Arthur didn't know how long they'd been talking, sharing tape and trading pieces of pages until there was nothing left and even then, still continuing on, but he also found that for once, he didn't really care.

This stranger was most certainly the oddest person he'd ever met. He spoke of how he'd also discovered this haven when he was a child and took to hiding in the trees whenever he wanted to get away from the other kids in the town. He'd named it Bartholomew which Arthur immediately mocked. (A small twig fell dangerously close to his head from the treetops and he'd quickly retracted the statement wondering if it was possible for a tree to be offended.) Apparently, the man visited the area quite a lot to just sit up in the canopy and think and Arthur wondered if they'd ever been there at the same time and just never realized.

In return, Arthur told him of his story and how his father disapproved of his son's hobby. He told him how the business life was something he was raised to do and how he wasn't sure if he was even the right person to pass on the company to, to which the man immediately refuted saying that Arthur was an amazing leader and that if he wasn't worried that it would be clear he wasn't the right person. The praise made him unreasonably happy though he managed to hide it under a quirked eyebrow.

And so, it went on, chatting and sharing things that Arthur never dreamed he'd tell anybody let alone someone he just met after they fell out of a godforsaken tree of all things.

Eventually, an evening chill settled into the air and the man looked up at the darkening sky. He sighed and tugged on his boots and jacket. "Well, it's been nice, Arthur, but I should probably get going." He stood and was walking before Arthur even had a chance to say anything else.

Arthur blinked at the sudden shift and made a move to follow the man, maybe even just get his name, before something caught his eye.

There, at the base of the tree where the stranger was sitting not moments before, was a book and like none he had ever seen. The cover was leather bound, a sigil of a dragon burned into the cover and when he picked it up, he found the pages were a thick parchment. What struck him most of all were the words.

They were his.

They were the very same words that he and the stranger had just spent hours piecing together and getting right. All of them. Printed neatly and properly on the pages of a leather-bound book with a familiar sigil and his manuscript was nowhere in sight.

He… He didn't understand. How could this be? He'd never written on parchment before and heaven knows that the pages they'd been working on weren't these. The flimsy copy paper and tape were nowhere to be found. So this must be his but it wasn't because he'd never seen anything like it before. It made absolutely no sense.

Until it did.

Arthur took off into the trees, book clutched tightly in his hands. Where was he? It hadn't been long? He couldn't have gotten very far.

There! Just a small ways ahead, he spotted a flash of red and blue and black.

He paused as Arthur slowed to a stop behind him, breathing heavy. He turned, eyes curious and maybe just a little hesitant.

Arthur regained his breath and straightened, fixing the other in a small glare.

"What was said here is to be told to no one, is that clear? I can't have the media or worse my father getting wind of what I've told you today," Arthur demanded, voice stern and everything he used on his employees.

"Uh, yeah," was the confused response, "I figured that you'd-"

Arthur cut him off. "Because you already have such a great way of ruining my reputation, Merlin," he'd finished, and he smirked as his old friend's face froze into open shock, eyes wide and jaw ever so slightly slack.

There were several different emotions flickering across the warlock's face and Arthur felt mildly proud that he was able to read every one. There was the obvious shock but then there was hope and maybe even a little hesitation. Arthur couldn't even imagine how long he must have been waiting for this moment.

Eventually, the open expression was stifled by a glare even though his eyes sparked with joy. "About time you remembered, you prat," Merlin huffed with a roll of his eyes and Arthur cuffed lightly over the back of his head before swinging an arm around Merlin's shoulders.

I think I've remembered all this time, he thought to himself as he led the both of them out of the woods, his book tucked under one arm.

~(~)~

Almost six months later, Myth and Magic hit the shelves. A week after that, it classified as a best seller.