Five years passed like the fleeting whisper of wind. In the courtyard of a grand, stone-hewn castle, sunlight cascaded through the canopy, dappling the ground with golden patches. Laughter echoed in the air as a young boy, Paul Emrys, darted around, his small hands sparking with faint tendrils of magic, his magical powers he herited from his father and the ability to see the past and future from his mother.
Cassandra stood on the balcony, her gown flowing like ripples in the wind, eyes glimmering with pride. Beside her, Merlin, watched intently.
"He has sane curious look as yours," Cassandra mused, her voice soft like a breeze.
"And he looks and behaves just like you," Merlin responded, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
Below, Wu Zhu, clad in dark, intricate robes, stood at the edge of the courtyard, ever vigilant, his eyes scanning the surroundings with the precision of a hawk. Though hidden in shadow, his presence was unmistakable, a silent guardian ensuring the boy's safety.*
Paul's laughter rang out again as he waved his hand, summoning a flock of birds that scattered into the air, their wings glittering like shards of glass against the sun. The world felt alive around him, bending and shifting to his whims.
In that moment, Merlin's heart stirred. The future was unfolding before him—bright, unpredictable, and filled with the potential of a boy who held the power of two worlds in his small hands.
"Paul, come on," Merlin called out, his voice carrying over the courtyard. "We must go to Westeros."
Paul turned, his innocent face beaming with excitement, and sprinted toward his parents. The boy's energy seemed to light up the air around him, a spark of life wherever his feet touched the ground. Merlin, with a flick of his hand, conjured a swirling portal of shimmering light, its edges crackling with raw magical power. Cassandra placed a hand on Merlin's arm as they all stepped into the vortex.
The North of Westeros greeted them with a cold, biting wind. Snow drifted from the heavens, blanketing the ancient halls of Winterfell in a sea of white. The Starks—Torrhen and his family—welcomed them with the somber warmth of northern lords. Yet Merlin's mind was elsewhere, his gaze distant as they dined, exchanged pleasantries, and made their way through the evening's festivities. They soon made there way to Kingslanding.
It was Aenys's name day, and the great hall was filled with celebration. Laughter echoed off the stone walls, fires crackled in towering hearths, and the scent of roasted meat filled the air. Paul, with the charm only a child could possess, had drawn Aenys and Maegor into his orbit. The three boys played, laughter spilling from their lips as they ran through the feast, chasing one another beneath the towering banners of direwolves and dragons.
Merlin watched them closely, his brow furrowed in contemplation. Maegor, the boy whose destiny was marred by bloodshed and the cruelty of power, seemed at eas, even tugging a small smile as he shared in the joy of the night. Yet Merlin knew too well how the pages of history would turn.
"Maegor…" Merlin whispered under his breath, his voice barely audible over the revelry. "You loved your family once. Your brother. But you will never love his children."
His mind flashed with visions—Maegor's cold, unyielding expression as he claimed Balerion, the Black Dread, without shedding a tear for his father's death. The boy before him, innocent now, was destined to become a tyrant, wielding power with an iron fist, relentless in his disdain for the Faith of the Seven.
But what if this moment could change that? Merlin's heart wrestled with the knowledge of the future. Could Maegor, given this rare opportunity, take a different path? The boy's smile was genuine—he was not yet the monster the history books would record.
Merlin's eyes gleamed with determination, knowing the weight of what lay before him.
"Let's see if destiny can be rewritten," Merlin murmured to himself, his gaze locked on the boy who would soon be known as Maegor the Cruel.
While time passed quickly Paul grew up around Torrhen Stark, Loric Dayne Martell, Mern Gardener and Targaryen's children.