Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The air was thick with smoke, the acrid scent of burning wood and flesh wrapping around the village like a deathly shroud. Lucy’s heart thundered in her chest, each ragged breath feeding the fire of her determination. She nocked another arrow with steady hands, releasing it with a sharp twang. The projectile found its mark, another invader falling under her unerring aim.

King Lot’s raiders were relentless, their blades carving through the village without mercy. Yet Lucy moved with precision, her every action a dance of survival amidst chaos. But her quiver was nearly empty, and as the final arrow flew, panic clawed at the edges of her mind.

But soon, the arrows were gone. Her quiver, empty.

A flash of panic surged through her, but it quickly hardened into resolve. She wasn’t finished yet.

Spotting a fallen comrade nearby, Lucy rushed to their side, pulling a sword from their lifeless body. She gripped it tight, the weight of the blade a grim reminder of the cost of this war. With a battle cry, she hacked her way through the enemy, cutting down anyone who dared come near her. She knew the village was lost, but there was still one thing she had to do: reach her family’s home.

Her heart beat faster with each step. She could hear the screams, the crackle of burning buildings, the clash of swords—and the one scream that pierced through the madness, familiar and full of agony. Her mother.

Lucy’s legs moved on their own as she sprinted toward the sound, her vision blurring with fear and desperation. She reached the house and skidded to a halt.

Inside, she found her mother, Arel, struggling against a mercenary’s grip. The man raised his sword to strike, but before he could bring it down, the young woman was upon him, her sword slashing through the air. She drove the blade into his side, and with a final, gurgling breath, the mercenary collapsed.

Lucy’s chest heaved as she turned to her mother, who was slumped against the wall, blood pooling beneath her.

“NO!” Lucy cried, falling to her knees beside Arel, her hands trembling as she reached out.

Arel’s green eyes fluttered open, her gaze filled with a quiet acceptance, even as her life ebbed away.

“Mother… please,” the young archer choked, placing her hands over the wound, trying to heal it with the magic she’d inherited from her mother. The soft glow of her enchantment flared briefly, but the wound was too deep.

Arel’s hand gripped hers weakly. “Lucy,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, “no one escapes death. Not even Emrys.”

Lucy felt her world crumble. “I can’t lose you Mother,” she sobbed.

Arel’s eyes softened, a small, pained smile on her lips. “You must… stay strong, my Lucy.” Her words were slow, labored, but purposeful.

A sudden, sharp breath. “Take… my ring.”

Lucy’s eyes darted to her mother’s left hand. The gold ring she had always worn, a simple band engraved with a crest she had never understood.

“Find Gaius,” Arel continued, her voice faltering. “He will explain… everything. It is… important...”

With trembling fingers, the young woman removed the ring from her mother’s finger, her eyes filled with sorrow as she stared at it. Lucy had known that Arel had once been Gaius’ pupil in Camelot, but she never knew the entire story of her past. She has never even met the man in her life…

Arel’s hand fell limp in hers, and her eyes closed for the final time. The warmth left her, leaving Lucy alone in the silence of her mother’s passing.

Lucy’s breath hitched, a sob breaking free from her chest. She clutched the ring tightly in her hand, her heart shattered, her mother’s final words echoing in her mind.

She had no answers. Only questions.

But the one thing Lucy knew—she wasn’t going to let her mother’s death be in vain. She would find Gaius, no matter the cost.

⚔️⚔️⚔️

The young archer had been traveling for two days, with nothing but the gold ring clutched tightly in her hand, her dagger, a few arrows, and a bow she had managed to salvage from the battlefield. The journey had been long, and every step away from her destroyed village felt like an ache in her chest. Her mother’s last words burned in her mind— Find Gaius, he will explain everything —but that was all she had to go on.

As she neared the forests surrounding Camelot, the familiar trees and foliage offering a fleeting sense of safety, Lucy felt the quiet weight of exhaustion settling into her bones. She had traveled on foot, taking care to avoid bandits and wild beasts, and she was nearly there. She just needed to make it to Camelot’s gates, to Gaius, to the answers that would piece together her shattered world.

But the moment she let her guard down, the snap of a twig underfoot made her freeze.

Before she could react, a figure emerged from the trees, blocking her path—a tall, wiry man with a sneer on his face, the smell of alcohol heavy on his breath.

“Well, well, well… what have we here?” he growled, stepping closer. “Are you lost, pretty thing?”

Lucy instinctively reached for her dagger, but the man laughed, a low, mocking sound that made her stomach churn.

“No one will save you out here,” he continued, his grin widening as he stepped even closer. His hand reached out, grabbing her arm, and Lucy’s pulse quickened.

With a swift movement, she spun to the side, using her elbow to strike his face. He staggered back, enraged, but before he could retaliate, Lucy reached for her bow and the man lunged toward her, but just as he did, Lucy released the arrow. The sharp twang of the bowstring was followed by the sickening sound of the arrow embedding itself into his eye. The man let out a guttural scream, stumbling backward, his hands flailing as he clawed at his face in desperation.

“I’m blind! I’m blind!” he screamed, falling to the ground, blood spilling everywhere.

Lucy remained crouched, her chest heaving as she watched him writhe in pain. She was about to rise and finish the job when a sound caught her attention—the unmistakable pounding of hooves.

Two knights, galloping fast, appeared through the trees, their horses kicking up dust in the dimming light.

One knight, tall and broad-shouldered, dismounted quickly, drawing his sword with fluid grace. The other, a lankier knight with an unruly mop of hair, followed suit.

“You’re safe now, miss,” the tall knight said, his voice deep and reassuring. He rushed over to the bandit and dispatched him with a swift strike of his sword. The bandit’s screams stopped abruptly, his body going limp.

Lucy, still panting, sat up slowly, brushing herself off as the two knights turned to her. The taller one extended a hand, but Lucy waved it away, grumbling under her breath.

“I could’ve finished him myself,” she muttered, her gaze sharp despite the exhaustion weighing down on her.

The knights exchanged a glance, and the lankier one raised an eyebrow. “That may be true, but not everyone can fight off a bandit that easily.”

Lucy shot him a pointed look. “I’m not helpless,” she said, her voice firm despite her bruised body.

The taller knight, who had yet to speak, studied her carefully for a moment. “What’s your business here?”

Lucy hesitated for a moment, then held up the gold ring, the symbol of her mother’s final wish. “I need to see Gaius,” she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. “It’s important.”

The two knights exchanged another glance, then the taller one nodded.

“We’ll take you to Camelot,” he said. “Let’s get you back to safety.”

Lucy’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of Camelot, but she quickly suppressed the flutter of hope. She wasn’t done yet. 

As the knights made sure the immediate area was secure, the lankier one helped Lucy onto his horse, and she settled herself behind him, holding him tightly. The steady motion of the horse beneath them was a welcome distraction from the chaos she had just escaped, though her mind still raced with the weight of her mother’s passing and the mission she had to complete.

The taller knight climbed onto his own horse and rode alongside them as they made their way toward Camelot. The atmosphere was quiet for a few moments, the only sounds being the rhythmic gallop of their horses and the occasional call of birds overhead.

“I’m Sir Percival,” he said, his deep voice breaking the silence. “And this is Sir Gwaine.”

Gwaine gave a half-grin over his shoulder. “We’re not always this friendly, but for today, we’ll make an exception.”

Lucy couldn’t help but smile faintly, the smallest glimmer of warmth in her tired eyes. She shifted on the horse, trying to find a comfortable position as they rode. “I’m Lucy. Lucy of…” She trailed off for a moment, her voice faltering as she thought of the smoldering ruins of her village. “Lucy of a village that no longer exists.”

Percival’s expression softened, and Gwaine, usually the one to joke, grew serious. “What happened?” he asked gently, his voice sincere.

Lucy inhaled deeply, trying to push the ache from her chest. “Lot’s army,” she said, her tone flat. “They raided my village, slaughtered everyone. My mother… She…” Her words caught in her throat, but she managed to continue. “She was killed by a mercenary.”

Both knights fell silent for a moment, the weight of her words hanging in the air. Percival nodded solemnly, his eyes softening. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said. “No one should go through that.”

Gwaine, more reserved, added, “Camelot is a safe place. It can be your home if you want it to be.”

Lucy looked down at the ring her mother had entrusted to her, her fingers clutching it tightly as she tried to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The conversation fell into a comfortable silence, the wind rustling through the trees as the horses continued their steady pace toward Camelot. Lucy felt the exhaustion of the past days weigh on her, her body sore and bruised from the battle and the journey. Her hair swayed slightly with each movement of the horse. She kept her gaze ahead, though her mind was distant.

Percival glanced at her from the corner of his eye, noting the way Lucy sat behind Gwaine. Despite her exhaustion, there was something striking about her. Her features, though worn and tired, held a quiet strength. Her pale skin was dotted with a few bruises and cuts, evidence of the battle she had just survived. But it was her eyes that caught his attention—green and bright, though tinged with sorrow, they held a depth that he couldn’t quite place.

Her hair, long and chocolate brown, was braided tightly, though a few strands had escaped and now framed her face. She looked delicate, but there was a fire in her that made her stand out, even in her current state.

She’s beautiful , the tall knight thought to himself, his eyes lingering on her for a moment longer before he turned his attention back to the path ahead. Gwaine, noticing Percival’s glance, raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

Eventually, they reached the outskirts of Camelot, the sight of the towering castle walls in the distance offering Lucy the smallest shred of hope. She wasn’t sure what she would find there, but it was a new beginning—one she desperately needed.

⚔️⚔️⚔️

As Gwaine and Percival guided Lucy through the bustling streets of Camelot, the towering walls of the castle loomed ahead. Despite the warmth of the midday sun, Lucy couldn’t shake the chill that ran through her. This was a place of safety, but it also held the ghosts of her mother’s past—the very things she had come here to uncover.

They made their way through the castle gates and into the stone halls, finally stopping before a tall, narrow tower. Percival knocked firmly on the door, and it creaked open to reveal a young man with tousled hair and a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Merlin, this is Lucy,” Gwaine introduced. “She needs to speak with Gaius.”

Merlin’s gaze flicked to Lucy, noticing the exhaustion that hung heavily over her. “Right. Come in,” he asked, stepping aside to let her pass.

Lucy nodded, feeling the gravity of the moment settle in her chest. She couldn’t delay the conversation any longer. She thanked the two knights, who quietly left after, and walked into the tower, the stone walls dimly lit by candles and the faint sound of a quill scratching against parchment. At the far end of the room, an elderly man with sharp eyes and a dignified air sat hunched over a desk. His presence was calming yet authoritative, and Lucy knew at once that man would answer all of her questions.

Merlin left to let them talk in private. Gaius looked up as she approached, his expression a mixture of curiosity and caution. “Who are you?” he asked sharply.

The woman stepped forward, her heart hammering in her chest. “I’m Arel’s daughter.”

The name hit Gaius like a punch to the gut. He stood up slowly, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Arel? But… she’s…” He faltered, as if he could scarcely comprehend the words.

Lucy’s breath hitched, and she fought back tears. “My village was attacked by King Lot. My mother… my mother was killed.”

Gaius staggered back, his hands resting on the edge of the desk for support. “No,” he whispered, shaking his head in denial.

Lucy knelt before him, her voice calm despite the storm within her. “My mother said that when I showed you the ring, you would explain everything.” She carefully pulled the golden ring from her pocket and placed it in his hand, the weight of it a reminder of the past she had inherited.

Gaius stared at the ring, his fingers trembling slightly as he traced the crest engraved upon it. His eyes darkened, and he sighed deeply, as if the truth had been too long buried.

He sat back heavily in his chair and looked at Lucy with a new intensity. “You are the daughter of Arel and Sir Byron, knight of Camelot.” He met her gaze with a mix of sorrow and regret.

Lucy’s heart skipped a beat. She never knew her father’s name. “My father died when I was a child. You knew him?”

Gaius nodded slowly, his face hardening with the weight of the memories. “I did, yes. Your mother, Arel, was my pupil. She was a skilled healer, a druid. I recruited her to be my apprentice here in Camelot, and she and Byron… they fell in love.” His voice wavered with the sadness of a lost friendship. “They were to be married, but then the Great Purge began.”

Lucy felt a tightening in her chest. She had heard stories of the Purge—the mass executions of sorcerers and those suspected of using magic. She had never known why her mother left Camelot, but now the pieces were falling into place.

“When Uther sent me a list of those to be executed,” Gaius continued, his eyes dark with sorrow, “I saw Alice—my lover—on it. I knew I had to protect her, so I struck her name off the list. I gave her time to escape, and she took Byron and Arel with her.” He paused, lost in thought, and Lucy’s heart twisted at the mention of her parents’ flight from Camelot.

“What happened after that?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

“They disappeared,” Gaius said, his voice tightening. “I told King Uther that Byron died trying to protect citizens from sorcerers. But, in reality, your mother and Byron lived together in secret for a few years after. And since that day, I stopped practicing magic.”

Lucy’s eyes filled with sorrow. “What? You gave up your magic?”

The old man nodded solemnly. “I did. I had no choice. I couldn’t protect them if I was practicing magic. So I stopped. I remained in Camelot as the court physician, hiding the truth from Uther and the kingdom.”

Lucy’s heart ached as she imagined her mother’s life—always looking over her shoulder, hiding her true identity. “I didn’t know…” she whispered, her voice breaking.

Gaius’s expression softened as he reached for the ring again. “Your mother wrote to me over the years. She told me about you, about your birth. She wrote about Byron’s illness when you were just a baby, and then his death as well…” He looked at Lucy with a deep sadness in his eyes. “The ring you hold represents the crest of House Ylisse—your father’s family. You are the sole heir to this family, but your true lineage is a secret. You must never speak of your half-druid heritage, especially in Camelot. It’s too dangerous. You can get killed for being a magical being.”

Lucy nodded, her fingers clutching the ring as if it could anchor her to this moment, this revelation.

“You are the daughter of a nobleman of Camelot,” the old physician continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “And of a druid healer. You have the blood of both running through your veins.”

Lucy’s mind was spinning, a whirlwind of grief, revelation, and new responsibility. But one thing was clear: her parents had left her with a legacy, and it was up to her to carry it forward.

“But I need to understand more. I need to know what to do next,” she said firmly, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her.

Gaius stood, his old bones creaking as he moved to the window and looked out over Camelot. “I will help you, Lucy. But know this—there are enemies here in Camelot, and Uther is not the only one who seeks to bring down all those who practice magic. You must be careful. Always.”

The young archer nodded, her heart heavy but determined. Gaius, still in shock from the flood of memories and revelations, studied Lucy carefully. It had been years since he had last seen Arel—his beloved pupil, the young healer he had mentored, and a dear friend. Now, before him stood a woman, the daughter of his once-close mentee, all grown up but bearing the weight of so much grief and loss.

Gaius nodded, as if lost in thought for a moment, before turning toward the door.

"Merlin, come back in," he called softly. A moment later, the door opened, and the young man Lucy had glimpsed earlier—Merlin—stepped inside. He looked between her and Gaius, his expression curious but wary.

"Merlin, this is Lucy," Gaius said, his voice quiet but firm. "She’s Arel's daughter, my former pupil, but she is also the daughter of Sir Byron of House Ylisse. King Lot destroyed her village, so she will be staying with us for a while.”

The young man gave a brief, polite nod, stepping forward to offer his hand to Lucy. She took it, feeling a strange warmth course through her arm. But the warmth quickly intensified, like an electric current running through her, causing a jolt that went straight to her chest. She pulled her hand back quickly, eyes wide in surprise.

Merlin blinked, equally startled by the sudden energy. The touch had felt like something familiar, as if her very soul recognized it. Her heart raced, but a realization clicked in her mind—this was him . The Emrys her mother had spoken of so often.

Lucy’s eyes narrowed slightly, her voice steady. "You’re… Emrys, aren’t you?"

Gaius gasped, while Merlin blinked again, his eyes widening. “What? No—uh,” His voice was nervous now, and there was a subtle flicker of something that Lucy couldn’t quite place in his eyes.

Lucy stood tall and firm, the weight of her mother’s words echoing in her mind. “My mother once told me that druids need to serve Emrys to fulfill his destiny as the protector of Prince Arthur and return magic to Camelot. As a half-druid, I feel like it is my duty to do so as well.”

The young warlock’s eyes widened further, clearly taken aback. He glanced at Gaius for confirmation, and the old physician only gave him a somber nod, as if expecting this moment.

Merlin was silent for a moment, his eyes scanning her face, and then he exhaled a long breath, looking almost relieved. “I appreciate your trust,” he said softly. “But just so you know, here in Camelot, no one knows me as Emrys. It’s a secret. A very important secret.”

Lucy nodded, her expression serious. “I promise I will keep your secret. I wouldn’t betray it.”

Merlin let out a small chuckle, his nervousness easing a little. “I think we’ll become fast friends from this point on,” he said, a glimmer of warmth creeping into his tone.

Lucy’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “I think so too.”

Chapter Text

It had been a week since Lucy arrived in Camelot. The first few days had been a whirlwind of new faces, narrow corridors, and endless errands. Gaius was kind, if not a bit absent-minded, and his demands for obscure herbs and ointments kept her scurrying through the castle like a restless sparrow.

Lucy had fetched everything from crushed valerian root to powdered toadstool. She had delivered poultices to blacksmiths, tinctures to stable hands, and once, an absolutely vile concoction meant to soothe a merchant’s chronic indigestion. It wasn’t difficult work, but it was dreadfully mundane.

And now? She was bored.

As she leaned against the windowsill of Gaius’s chambers, the afternoon sunlight warming her face, Lucy sighed heavily. The open courtyard below buzzed with life, knights sparring, squires rushing with buckets of water, and maids exchanging chatter. The bustle called to her, reminding her of the thrill she once felt when the world was still full of possibility.

Then, she overheard it.

“Did you hear? Prince Arthur’s hosting an archery tournament for new recruits!” a young servant girl exclaimed as she passed beneath the window, balancing a basket of linens on her hip.

“Two days from now,” her companion replied, “and the prize is a full week’s training with the knights of Camelot.”

Lucy’s ears perked up. She straightened, her fingers unconsciously brushing the ring hidden on a chain around her neck. An archery tournament? A spark of excitement lit within her.

She had spent the past week blending into the shadows, keeping her head down, and trying not to draw attention. But this… This was an opportunity.

She smiled to herself. Two days to prepare? Easy peasy.

Gaius’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Lucy dear, are you planning to stand there all day, or do you intend to help me with the poultice for Lady Bradwen’s leg?”

“Coming!” Lucy replied, already making plans in the back of her mind.

⚔️⚔️⚔️

The day of the archery tournament arrived, and Lucy was determined to make an impact. As she stepped out of Gaius’s chambers, her heart raced with a blend of excitement and nervousness. She had decided to enter the tournament, but to do so, she would need to conceal her identity. In Camelot, a woman competing in such an event would raise more than a few eyebrows. The last thing she wanted was to be dismissed or ridiculed before she even had a chance to prove herself.

Fortunately, Guinevere, also better known as Gwen, whom she had grown close to over the past week, had offered to help. Their bond had formed quickly. Gwen’s warm, easygoing nature had made Lucy feel welcome, and the two had spent hours talking over tea, with Gwen revealing tidbits about life at Camelot and Lucy talking about hunting deers with her bow.

Now, with Gwen’s assistance, Lucy was disguised in a loose, dark tunic, the fabric draping over her form to obscure her figure. Her long, brown hair was tucked beneath a cap, a simple strip of cloth that kept it from falling loose. The ensemble was completed with a pair of leather gloves that covered her hands, ensuring that no one would see her ring or recognize her delicate fingers.

“You look perfect,” Gwen said, adjusting the cap with a final tug. “They won’t even know it's a woman.”

Lucy smiled at her friend, a spark of gratitude in her eyes. “Thank you, Gwen. I’ll make sure not to disappoint.”

The training ground was buzzing with activity when Lucy arrived, the scent of fresh earth and sharp pine filling the air. Squires lined the shooting range, nervously adjusting their grips on their bows. Arthur stood near the targets, his eyes scanning the crowd with the usual royal arrogance, though there was something behind his gaze—a challenge.

“Come forth, recruits! Show me your skill!” Arthur bellowed. His voice carried with authority, causing the young men to stand straighter, eager to impress.

Lucy stood on the outskirts of the crowd, slipping into line behind several young men, hoping her appearance would go unnoticed. Her heart thudded in her chest, the weight of the bow in her hand both comforting and foreign. She hadn’t trained in the castle, hadn’t had the luxury of practicing in Camelot’s lavish surroundings… but the skills she honed for her survival in her small village had never left her.

Her turn came sooner than she expected. The squire in front of her took aim, his arrow flying wide off the mark. Laughter rippled through the crowd as Arthur shook his head in mild exasperation. “Next!” he called, his eyes now on Lucy, who stepped up to the line.

Arthur’s eyes narrowed for a moment, studying her. He has never seen this person before, yet he liked the mysterious vibe coming through.

Lucy didn’t let the prince’s gaze unnerve her. Her focus narrowed, her body instinctively finding the familiar stance of a seasoned archer. She notched the arrow in one fluid movement, pulling the bowstring back with precision. The crowd quieted, watching her.

She exhaled, steadying her breath. Time seemed to slow as she locked her focus on the target. The faintest tension coiled in her fingers, and then— twang! The arrow shot from her bow, flying straight and true.

The crowd gasped. The arrow sank deep into the bullseye with a soft thud, pinning the center of the target with absolute accuracy.

“By the gods…” someone muttered from the crowd.

Arthur’s eyes widened. His royal composure cracked ever so slightly, impressed by the sheer precision of the shot. But Lucy wasn’t finished.

The next challenge was even more difficult—a series of moving targets, timed to make even the most skilled of archers hesitate. One by one, the squires took their turn, but no one could come close to the remarkable accuracy of Lucy’s first shot.

When it was her turn again, the targets began moving. The first darted across the range with speed, but Lucy was already ready, her stance steady, the pull of her bow smooth and practiced. She released the arrow in a single, fluid motion. The crowd gasped as the arrow flew, striking the target dead center. She didn’t pause to admire it—she was already preparing for the next.

The second target appeared, faster than the first. Lucy followed its path with her sharp, practiced eye. As it zipped past, she loosed her next shot without hesitation. The arrow flew, the crowd holding its breath. The shot met its mark, an almost impossible feat, and the target was obliterated with a clean hit.

The final test was the hardest—a series of targets moving erratically, nearly impossible to predict. But Lucy moved like she was one with the bow, her body moving effortlessly as she anticipated the targets’ every shift. With perfect timing, each arrow she released found its mark, the arrows piercing the bullseyes with stunning precision.

The crowd was silent for a long moment, and then the noise came—cheers, gasps of disbelief, and loud claps from the onlookers. Even the best-trained squires, those who had been practicing for years, stood in stunned silence, unable to match her grace, speed, and pinpoint accuracy.

Arthur’s gaze fixed on her, a mixture of astonishment and curiosity on his face. “What… who are you?” he muttered to himself, unable to take his eyes off the mysterious archer.

Lucy lowered her bow with a quiet, satisfied exhale, though she hid her smirk. She had beaten every single recruit—and she had done it anonymously. The crowd parted as she slipped away, the sound of their admiration still ringing in her ears.

But as Lucy made her way through the sea of people, her heart swelled. The crowd's cheers and exclamations had barely faded when Lucy stepped forward, her eyes meeting Arthur’s for the first time. She reached up and tugged the cloth from her face, revealing her long brown hair and pale, snow-like skin. A murmur of surprise rippled through the crowd as they caught sight of the young woman who had just demonstrated unparalleled skill with a bow.

Arthur's jaw tightened as he stared at her, his mind racing. This woman was one he has never met before… And there was something about her presence, something noble in the way she held herself.

The silence in the arena deepened. Lucy remained calm, her gaze meeting Arthur’s unwaveringly. She raised her hand, slipping off her gloves and showing off the ring from her finger—a ring that bore the crest of a noble family. The sight of it caused a collective gasp to spread through the crowd.

“This… this is the ring of House Ylisse,” Arthur said, his voice thick with disbelief, stepping forward to examine it. “But that house is—” He paused, his eyes scanning Lucy’s features, trying to put the pieces together.

“Destroyed,” Gaius’s voice rang out from the back of the crowd. The physician made his way forward, a knowing expression on his face as he spoke. “Indeed, Your Highness, this young woman is Lucy, the daughter of Sir Byron of House Ylisse.”

A murmur of shock spread like wildfire through the crowd at the mention of Sir Byron. His name was known throughout Camelot, a knight of great renown—though also one who had been killed during the Great Purge.

Arthur’s eyes widened as the pieces clicked into place. “But I thought Sir Byron—” he began, only to be interrupted by Gaius, who cleared his throat.

“Her father was believed to have died in an attack by sorcerers,” Gaius continued smoothly, stepping in to spin the story. “Her mother raised her in a small village before being killed by King Lot’s army not too long ago. Lucy arrived in Camelot a week ago, and showed me the crested ring. It is real, sire.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed as he processed this new information. The weight of it hung heavily in the air—A woman of noble blood, raised in secret, capable of such skill. 

Lucy took a step forward, her voice clear and strong. “I may not have had the chance to grow up in Camelot, but I’ve trained all my life. I want to honor my father’s legacy, and I believe I can make a difference.” Her words rang out, firm and unwavering.

The knights gathered around Arthur, murmuring among themselves. Gwaine stepped forward first, his voice enthusiastic.

“She’s ruthless,” he said, his grin wide. “I’ve never seen someone shoot like that. That’s the kind of knight Camelot needs.” He clapped his hand on Lucy’s shoulder in approval, making her smile briefly.

Lancelot stood next, his tone thoughtful but supportive. “Gwaine’s right. She’s got the skill. That kind of precision is rare.” His eyes sparkled with respect.

Leon, who had been quiet until now, nodded his agreement. “No one else in Camelot can rival that marksmanship, and if she trains with the knights, she could be a formidable fighter in her own right.”

Elyan added his support, a warm smile on his face. “We’ve never had a woman in the knight’s order, but maybe… Lucy can show us why it’s time to change that.”

Arthur listened in silence, his expression one of intense thought. His knights were giving him all very good arguments, but he knew that such a decision would have consequences. Camelot had never seen a woman knight, and there would be many who opposed it, including those who had been brought up in the old traditions.

Arthur looked at Lucy, then at the knights who stood behind her. The moment of tension hung in the air, when finally, he made up his mind.

“Lucy of House Ylisse,” Arthur said, his voice ringing with authority, “your skill and courage have earned my respect. As promised, I hereby declare that you will receive the prize of being trained with the knights of Camelot for a full week.”

The crowd buzzed with approval, but Arthur raised his hand, silencing them. “And,” he continued, “after consultation with my closest men, I am prepared to take a bold step for Camelot. If you impress me at the end of the training week, I might knight you as the first woman in Camelot’s history.”

Gasps of disbelief rippled through the crowd. Arthur’s knights were silent for a moment, their faces filled with a mixture of shock and admiration. Some of them exchanged surprised glances, but none spoke against it.

“Your knighthood training will start tomorrow, bright and early,” Arthur said. “If you are truly Sir Byron’s heir, you will not have any problem surviving the ruthless week that is awaiting you.”

But not everyone in Camelot shared the same enthusiasm. Sir Agravaine de Bois, who was also Arthur’s uncle, was standing at the back of the crowd and spoke up, his voice tinged with disapproval.

“Your Highness,” he said, stepping forward, “this is unwise. A woman knight—this will upset the order of Camelot. It is unprecedented and, frankly, unnecessary. We have enough knights without breaking tradition.”

Several of the elder nobles and knights murmured in agreement with Agravaine. There were many who believed a woman had no place in Camelot’s ranks, and the suggestion of a female knight was enough to cause dissent.

Arthur’s eyes flicked toward Agravaine, his expression hardening. “Uncle, Camelot is built on the principles of honor and strength, not tradition for the sake of tradition. Lucy has proven herself today, and if she continues proving herself in the next week, I see no issue making this raw talent, and as a matter a fact a legacy recruit, a knight.”

Agravaine opened his mouth to protest, but Arthur held up his hand. “The matter is settled.”

Lancelot, Gwaine, Percival, Leon, and Elyan exchanged a look, nodding in approval. As Arthur’s proclamation hung in the air, the crowd remained momentarily stunned by the weight of his decision. Then, without warning, the silence was broken by the sound of two familiar voices.

“Lucy!”

Merlin and Gwen surged forward from the stands, both of them breaking through the crowd with wide grins and excitement. Merlin was the first to reach her, practically throwing himself at her in his usual clumsy but endearing fashion.

“You won!” he exclaimed, wrapping his arms around her in a hug that left her breathless. “You were amazing out there!” His face was lit up with admiration and disbelief—he’d known she was talented, but to see it all come to life in front of Camelot was something else entirely.

Gwen was right behind him, her eyes sparkling with joy as she approached. “I knew you were good, but this… this is incredible!” She reached Lucy, pulling her into a tight hug as well. “You get to train with the knights! And maybe, you’ll be the first woman knight in Camelot’s history!”

The two women and Merlin stood there for a moment, laughing together, the weight of the moment finally sinking in. Lucy felt a rush of warmth, gratitude, and disbelief. She had never imagined this day would come—certainly not like this.

The crowd slowly began to erupt into applause, and the roar of approval quickly grew. As Merlin and Gwen stepped back, still grinning ear to ear, the crowd's enthusiasm reached a fever pitch.

“Good luck, Lucy of Ylisse!” someone shouted from the stands, and the phrase quickly spread. A chorus of cheers rang out, and the crowd began to chant her name, their voices rising in joy and excitement. The energy in the arena was electric, and for a moment, it felt as though the entire kingdom had come alive in celebration. The knights—Lancelot, Gwaine, Percival, Leon, and Elyan—stood with their arms crossed, nodding in approval, their faces filled with pride and respect.

Arthur’s stern gaze softened as he watched the jubilation around him. As the cheers continued, Arthur’s voice broke through the noise, still brimming with excitement. “Uncle Agravaine, you can’t possibly deny that she belongs with us, right?” he laughed.

Agravaine scoffed, his eyes filled with disapproval as he looked at Lucy. “It seems the people have spoken,” he said, his tone filled with disdain as he turned away and left.

Arthur returned his attention to Lucy, his expression unreadable. “Report to the training grounds tomorrow at sunrise,” he said firmly. Then, with a small smirk, he added, “And I expect no less than the precision you’ve shown today.”

Lucy nodded, determination gleaming in her eyes. “You won’t be disappointed, Your Highness.”

Gwen gave Lucy one final squeeze, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Lucy, still caught up in the whirlwind of celebration, finally allowed herself a wide smile, feeling the weight of the moment sink in. This was just the beginning.

As the crowd began to disperse, Gaius approached Lucy, his face a mix of pride and worry. “You’ve made quite the impression today,” he said quietly. “But you’ve also drawn a lot of attention. Be cautious, Lucy. Not everyone in Camelot will welcome a woman among the knights.”

“I understand,” Lucy replied, her voice steady. “But I’m not doing this to be liked, Gaius. I’m doing this because it’s what I believe in—and because I want the House of Ylisse to be represented again.”

Gaius gave her a small, approving nod. “Then you’ll need all the strength and courage you can muster. And remember, no one needs to know about your secret… abilities.”

⚔️⚔️⚔️

The sun hung low over Camelot’s main square, casting golden hues over the cheering crowd as the archery competition came to a close. Lucy adjusted her quiver, the thrill of victory still humming in her veins, when the sound of hurried footsteps reached her ears.

“Excuse me! Excuse me, Lady Lucy!”

She turned, brows knitting in confusion, only to see Percival jogging toward her. The towering knight, all broad shoulders and effortless grace, cut an impressive figure against the fading light. His blond short cropped hair, tousled from the wind, made his face both strong and kind, his sharp blue eyes locked onto her with an intensity that made her pause.

“Oh,” she said, blinking. “Sir Percival. No need to call me ‘Lady Lucy.’ Just Lucy is fine.”

The tall knight slowed to a stop, a little breathless but smiling. “Oh. Alright. If I call you just Lucy, please call me just Percival too.”

He hesitated for a second before his face brightened. “I just wanted to congratulate you. And to tell you how amazing you were in today’s competition. Those precise shots—wow. I still have goosebumps thinking about it.”

Lucy laughed, a warm, melodic sound that made Percival’s breath hitch. His ears burned red as he realized how intently he was staring. She was radiant when she laughed—genuine, unguarded, and effortlessly beautiful.

“Well, thank you Percival,” she said, amused by his enthusiasm. “That means a lot coming from a Knight of Camelot.”

Percival opened his mouth to respond, but words failed him. He had faced towering foes in battle, wielded his sword against the fiercest enemies, yet here he was, fumbling like a lovestruck teenage village girl. He babbled something about her technique—how sharp her aim was, how graceful she looked drawing the bow—but his tongue tangled, and he felt ridiculous.

Lucy, mercifully, didn’t seem to notice his flustered state. She simply smiled, grateful for his words.

“Well, I—I can’t wait to see how you perform in training tomorrow,” Percival finally managed, stepping back as if afraid he’d embarrass himself further.

Lucy nodded. “I’m excited for that as well. Have a beautiful evening, Percival.”

As he turned to leave, his face was still tinged pink. Unfortunately for him, Gwaine and Elyan had witnessed the entire exchange from a short distance away.

“Oh, look at him,” Gwaine mused, elbowing Elyan. “Blushing like a maiden at her first dance.”

Elyan smirked. “It’s adorable, really.”

Leon and Lancelot, overhearing their antics, chuckled in amusement as Percival shot them all a glare, his flustered state only fueling their laughter.

Meanwhile, Lucy lingered for a moment, staring after him thoughtfully. Praise from a knight as formidable as Percival wasn’t something she took lightly. If someone like him thought she was skilled, then she would push herself even harder in training tomorrow.

With renewed determination, she slung her quiver over her shoulder and strode off, unaware of the way she had just unknowingly stolen Percival’s heart a little more.

Chapter Text

The morning sun painted the castle courtyard in hues of gold and copper as Lucy stepped onto the training grounds. The air buzzed with energy—knights were sparring, squires were hauling training dummies, and the sharp clang of steel echoed in the crisp air. Lucy adjusted the grip on her sword, the leather-bound hilt familiar in her palm. She’d trained before, back in the village, but this was different. Here, every movement was scrutinized by the kingdom’s finest warriors.

She caught sight of Arthur standing near the armory, his arms crossed and a faint smile playing on his lips. He was dressed not in royal garb but in a simple tunic and breeches, a practice sword at his side. He looked almost unassuming—if not for the aura of authority he carried effortlessly. Lucy had no time to dwell on his presence; a group of knights approached, each armed with weapons for her training.

"Ready to prove yourself, Lucy?" Arthur called, stepping forward.

She nodded, her jaw set in determination. "Always."

The first weapon she faced was the sword. She adjusted her stance instinctively, feet planted firmly yet nimble enough for quick movements. Gwaine was her sparring partner. He swung at her with measured precision, testing her reactions. Lucy parried, countered, and dodged, her movements fluid and economical. She was faster than Gwaine expected, her smaller frame allowing her to slip past his defenses and deliver a clean tap to his shoulder with the flat of her blade.

Gwaine stepped back, grinning widely in approval. "Good form, lass. Quick like a fox. Let's see if you can hold your ground when I press harder."

Arthur watched closely, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp. Lucy gritted her teeth as Gwaine increased his speed. She stayed light on her feet, using her agility to outmaneuver him, though his strength occasionally forced her to give ground. When the session ended, Gwaine clapped her on the shoulder.

"You'll make a fine swordsman… uh, I mean swordswoman," he said, his grin broad. "But don’t let speed alone be your crutch."

Next was the staff. Elyan stepped up, twirling his wooden staff like a dancer. Lucy took hers, feeling its weight and balance. She hadn’t trained with a staff as much as a sword, but her instincts carried her through. The clash of wood echoed as she met Elyan’s strikes. She spun, ducked, and retaliated with quick jabs that had him on the defensive.

"Not bad," Elyan said, breathing heavily. "You’ve got a knack for this."

Lucy smiled faintly, but her focus remained sharp. When Elyan tried a sweeping strike aimed at her legs, she leapt over it, landing lightly and spinning her staff to tap his wrist.

Arthur chuckled. "Impressive. You fight like you’ve been doing this for years."

Lucy shrugged modestly, though a flicker of pride warmed her chest.

The crossbow was next, and it felt like an old friend in her hands. Targets were set up at varying distances, and Lucy took her time to aim. Her arrows flew true, each one finding its mark with a satisfying thud. The crossbow required more strength to reload, but her precision never wavered. Arthur stepped up to watch closely as she hit a bullseye from the farthest target.

"Nothing surprising after yesterday’s performance. Seems you could rival the castle’s archers," he said, nodding approvingly.

When it came to daggers, her talent shone even brighter. A moving target was rigged—a straw dummy on a rotating pole—and Lucy was tasked with hitting its vulnerable points. She moved with the grace of a shadow, striking the dummy’s neck, chest, and limbs in quick succession. Her accuracy and stealth drew murmurs of admiration from the knights watching.

"You've got a natural talent for daggers," Arthur said, his tone genuine. "Where did you learn that?"

"Village army," Lucy replied, not meeting his gaze. "We didn’t have many weapons, so we made do with what we had."

Arthur nodded thoughtfully. "You’ve turned necessity into strength. Very good."

But then came the mace. As soon as she lifted it, she knew it wasn’t her weapon. The heavy, unwieldy mass made her movements clumsy. Percival demonstrated a basic swing, and Lucy tried to mimic it, but the momentum of the mace nearly threw her off balance. She bit her lip, frustrated at her lack of control.

“Don’t worry,” Percival said kindly. “The mace isn’t for everyone. It’s about brute strength, and that’s not your style.”

Lucy exhaled, frustrated, while setting the mace down. "No, it isn’t at all."

Finally, the knights brought out a horse for mounted combat practice. Lucy wasn’t a confident rider, but she managed to mount without too much difficulty. The challenge was combining riding with weaponry. Holding a practice sword, she struggled to maintain her balance as the horse trotted around the arena. Her strikes were off-target, and she felt more like a juggler than a warrior.

Lancelot watched intently before stepping forward to offer guidance. "Loosen your grip on the reins. Let the horse move naturally. Trust it."

Taking his advice, Lucy tried again. This time, her strikes were slightly more controlled, though still far from perfect. By the end of the session, she was sweaty and exhausted, but she’d managed a few decent hits.

When the training ended for the day, Leon approached her, offering a water skin. "You’ve proven yourself capable, Lucy. More than capable. I am very impressed. We all are."

"Thank you Sir Leon," she said, wiping her brow. "But there’s still much to learn."

Leon smiled warmly at her. "There always is. But with your talent and determination, you’ll be ready for anything."

⚔️⚔️⚔️

Lucy’s days on the training grounds were relentless. Every morning for a week, the other knights teased her about her tasks that were… less interesting.

"Don’t forget to polish my boots today, lass," Gwaine would quip, his grin mischievous but not unkind.

"Careful with my armor, wouldn’t want it to smell like cow dung," Elyan teased, though his wink softened the sting.

Every evening, after hours of grueling practice, Lucy and Merlin would gather the knights’ sweat-drenched armor. Together, they hauled heavy chainmail and dented breastplates to the washroom. There, under flickering torchlight, Lucy scrubbed until her fingers bled, the metallic tang of soap and grime filling the air.

“Why don’t we just enchant these to clean themselves?” Merlin suggested one night, his eyes glinting with mischief as he held up a sponge.

Lucy shook her head firmly, dipping a rag into a basin of soapy water. "Because then it wouldn’t mean anything. I have to do this, Merlin. If I can’t handle scrubbing armor, how can I claim I belong here?"

Merlin sighed but didn’t argue. He admired her stubborn resolve, though he often muttered about how ridiculous knights could be.

The physical challenges were ceaseless. Each day tested Lucy’s endurance, precision, and grit.

She sparred with heavy weapons like the axe and halberd, her body aching from the effort of swinging tools designed for men like Percival twice her size. She practiced horseback combat until her thighs burned and her hands blistered from gripping reins. Running through obstacle courses, she scaled gracefully over walls, leapt over ditches, and rolled under swinging logs, her every movement judged by critical eyes.

But there were moments of triumph. On a hunting excursion, the knights fanned out into the forest, each hoping to bring back a prize. Lucy crept through the underbrush, her bow taut as she tracked a deer. The knights watched from a distance, amused at her determination.

When her arrow flew, striking the deer cleanly in the heart, the laughter stopped. Lucy stood over her kill, her chest heaving with pride.

“By the gods,” Leon muttered. “She’s got the eye of a hawk.”

“She’s showing us all up,” Lancelot said with a grin.

Gwaine let out a booming laugh. “Good thing we’re knights and not hunters, or we’d be out of a job.”

The camaraderie during those moments warmed Lucy’s heart, even if the teasing never fully ceased.

Finally, the week of trials culminated in a challenge meant to test her adaptability and courage. Lucy was to face a knight of her choice in single combat, but the knight would choose the weapon. She stood before the gathered warriors, her gaze sweeping over them, and then locked eyes with Arthur.

A murmur rippled through the crowd as she spoke. "I choose Prince Arthur."

Arthur’s expression was unreadable, though a flicker of amusement touched his lips. He stepped forward, his tone even. "Then I choose the sword."

The knights cleared a space in the courtyard as Lucy and Arthur stepped into the makeshift arena. The crowd hushed as real blades were drawn, their edges glinting in the afternoon sun.

Arthur struck first, testing her defenses with calculated precision. Lucy danced around his strikes, her smaller frame and quick reflexes giving her an advantage. She lunged, her blade aimed for his shoulder, but Arthur parried effortlessly, his strength sending vibrations up her arm.

The duel became a blur of motion—Lucy’s nimbleness against Arthur’s raw power. She managed to slip inside his guard, delivering a light cut to his side, which drew gasps from the onlookers. But Arthur retaliated with a sweeping strike, forcing her to the ground.

Lucy’s sword clattered away as Arthur’s blade hovered inches from her throat. Her chest heaved with exertion, and disappointment burned in her eyes.

Arthur lowered his sword, offering her his hand. "Lucy, you may not have won, but you’ve done something far more impressive. Your instincts, your determination—they’re unparalleled. With a few more months of training, you’ll be indestructible."

He helped her to her feet, his smile warm. "And as of now, you have the best marksmanship I have ever seen in Camelot."

The knights erupted into cheers, their earlier teasing replaced with genuine respect. Arthur’s voice cut through the noise, commanding attention. "In three days’ time, you will kneel before the court and rise as Lady Lucy, Knight of Camelot."

The courtyard rang with applause as Lucy stood in stunned silence. Gwaine clapped her on the back, nearly knocking her over. "Well, lass, looks like you’re one of us now. Guess we’ll have to find someone else to scrub our armor."

Leon grinned. "Not tonight, though. Tonight, we celebrate."

⚔️⚔️⚔️

The knights led Lucy to the tavern, their laughter and cheers filling the streets. As the night wore on, Lucy allowed herself a rare moment of pride. She’d fought for her place in Camelot—and won.

The entire building buzzed with excitement as Lucy and the knights shared drinks and laughter, celebrating the end of her grueling training. Gwaine and Percival were embroiled in a hearty debate over the best way to cook a wild boar, while Lancelot sat quietly, his eyes occasionally flicking toward Lucy. As the night deepened, the warmth of camaraderie settled over them like a familiar cloak, and Lucy allowed herself to relax for the first time in weeks.

Merlin finally joined them after his duties as Arthur’s servant were complete. He slipped into the tavern with a sheepish grin, and fluffed Lucy’s hair to congratulate her. His presence was met with a round of cheers from the group, and he quickly found a seat next to Lucy and Lancelot. As the knights resumed their banter, Merlin, with a quick glance to make sure no one was looking, subtly flicked his wrist and refilled his tankard with ale using a burst of magic.

Lucy’s eyes widened, and she nearly choked on her drink. “Merlin!” she hissed, her face lighting up with surprise. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one had seen the subtle act, but the others were distracted by Gwaine’s loud argument with Percival.

Lancelot, however, had caught the trick and raised an eyebrow. “Merlin, I thought you’d promised not to show off your magic at a tavern,” he whispered with a grin.

Merlin leaned back in his chair, laughing heartily. “A promise is only as strong as the situation demands, my friend.” His eyes twinkled with mischief as he took a sip from his now magically refilled tankard.

Lucy’s gaze flicked between Merlin and Lancelot, her mind still processing the revelation. “You—Sir Lancelot—you know?”

Lancelot chuckled. “I've known for a while, Lucy. Merlin’s not exactly subtle with his... gifts. Besides, it’s hard not to notice when a simple man like him keeps getting people out of sticky situations without lifting a finger." His tone was light, but there was a deep sense of understanding in his voice.

Lucy felt a knot of surprise form in her chest. How could Lancelot be so calm, so accepting? Wasn’t magic banned in Camelot? But here he was, grinning, as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

Merlin shot her a look and leaned in, speaking in a lowered voice. “Lancelot’s as open-minded as they come. He knows more about me than most do, and that’s saying something.” He winked.

Lucy’s eyes softened as she turned to Lancelot. “You’re not bothered by it? Merlin’s magic... it’s so different from anything most people understand.”

Lancelot met her gaze, his expression sincere. “You’d be surprised what some people are willing to accept, if you give them the chance.” He smiled warmly. “Besides, Merlin’s a good man. If he can wield magic for good, then who are we to judge?”

Lucy’s heart swelled with gratitude. She hadn’t expected Lancelot to be so open, especially not with something so personal to Merlin. It was in that quiet moment that Lucy felt something else—an urge to confide in him as well.

She leaned in, lowering her voice so only he could hear. “There’s something I haven’t told anyone. Not even Prince Arthur.” She paused, taking a steadying breath. “I’m not just the daughter of Sir Byron. My mother was a druid.”

Lancelot’s brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t flinch. His eyes, however, betrayed a flicker of understanding. “A druid?” he whispered, his voice filled with awe and respect. “I had no idea.”

Lucy nodded, her fingers gripping the edge of her tankard. “She was killed not long ago during King Lot’s attack on my village. My father ran away with her right at the start of the Great Purge.” She looked at him, searching for any sign of judgment. “But now, I think... I think I can trust you with it. If you can keep Merlin’s secret, please know of mine as well.”

Lancelot’s smile was soft, kind. “Lucy, I promise you—I will keep this secret until the day I die.” He spoke with the utmost sincerity, and in that moment, Lucy felt a weight lift from her shoulders.

The bond between them solidified in that quiet exchange, and for the first time since her arrival at Camelot, Lucy felt truly at ease with someone outside her small circle. Lancelot was a man of honor, and his word meant everything to her.

As the evening wore on, the group of knights and friends celebrated, enjoying the warmth of good company and laughter. Even as the drinks flowed and the music played, Lucy felt a deep sense of belonging that she hadn’t realized she craved so much.

⚔️⚔️⚔️

Three days later, the atmosphere at Camelot was electric. The courtyard was adorned with banners, and the great hall was filled with nobles, knights, and lords who had come to witness the historic moment—the knighting of Lady Lucy, the first woman to become Knight of Camelot.

Arthur stood at the front, his regal presence commanding attention. His gaze fell on Lucy, standing before him, her head held high. The ceremony was short, but the weight of it was immense.

“Lady Lucy,” Arthur said, his voice booming across the hall, “You have proven yourself worthy. Not only as a daughter of Sir Byron, but now as a warrior and one of the best archers I have seen in a very long time.”

Lucy dropped to one knee, her heart racing. She could feel the eyes of the entire court on her, but all that mattered in that moment was Arthur’s words.

Arthur touched the sword to her shoulder, the blade gleaming in the sunlight. “Now rise, Lady Lucy of Ylisse. Knight of Camelot.”

The crowd erupted in applause, and for a moment, Lucy stood frozen, her mind struggling to process what had just happened. She had done it—she was officially a knight. Her hands shook with emotion as she rose to her feet, and the knights surrounding her cheered.

Gaius stepped forward, grinning from ear to ear. “To Lady Lucy!” he cried, raising a glass. “May you be the first of many!”

The cheers were deafening, and Lucy found herself swept into a whirlwind of congratulations. She shared a look with Merlin, who gave her a knowing smile.

But just as the celebration was in full swing, a shadow fell over her. Agravaine, who was Arthur’s uncle as well, approached and spoke in a low voice, his words laced with bitterness.

“Don’t get too comfortable, Lady Lucy,” he sneered, mocking his usage of the word lady . “There are still many among the elders and senior knights who do not approve of your place here. They don’t care if you’re the daughter of Sir Byron. They’ll never accept you.”

Lucy’s heart sank, but she kept her face composed. She could feel Merlin’s presence beside her, his quiet strength a reminder that she didn’t have to face this alone.

Agravaine smirked and walked away, leaving her with an unsettling thought. But Lucy refused to let it ruin the moment. She was a knight now, and she would prove herself over and over again, no matter what others thought.

The party continued, laughter and music filling the halls of Camelot, but Lucy knew this was just the beginning.

Chapter Text

It had been a year since Morgana's betrayal, and though Camelot had rebuilt from the wreckage of that dark time, the scars of her treachery still lingered in the hearts of many.

But for Lucy, it had been eight months since she had become the first Lady Knight of Camelot, and in that time, she had become a symbol of strength and resilience. She was a force to be reckoned with—whether in the training grounds or hunting in the woods, she had proven herself a knight worthy of admiration. Her marksmanship was legendary, and her nimble agility made her a formidable foe in battle.

While there would always be those who doubted her place amongst the more traditional nobles and some elders of the community, those voices were drowned out by the ever-growing fanbase she had among the women of Camelot. Noblewomen and village girls alike saw her as a beacon of hope and courage, a woman who had fought and earned her place in the king’s service, proving that a woman’s strength was not defined by her gender. They admired her grace and determination, and many dreamed of following in her footsteps.

Even the knights who had initially been skeptical, had come to respect her. They saw her as their sister-in-arms, a fellow knight who fought as fiercely as any of them. But the ones who supported her from day one, her close friends Leon, Elyan, Lancelot, Gwaine and Percival, had taken her in as one of their own, and though they still teased her like an annoying little sister, their bond was unshakeable. There wasn’t a moment she didn’t feel the warmth of their friendship and camaraderie. Her heart swelled with pride—pride in being a part of Camelot, pride in being a knight, and pride in the family she had made here.

Today, however, was a special day. It was the first Samhain celebration since Lucy had become a knight, a day to honor the memory of loved ones who had passed and to celebrate the bonds of life and death. It was a solemn occasion, but Lucy was eager to be part of the festivities. The traditions of Samhain were a reminder of her own personal losses—her mother, Arel, whose life was taken too soon, and her father Byron, who died when she was a baby and left her to be the heir of the House of Ylisse.

Lucy was heading back from Gaius’s chambers after gathering some herbs for his potions when she heard a familiar sound: the rhythmic clatter of feet pounding against the stone stairs. She glanced over her shoulder to see Merlin, his face flustered as he darted up the stairs toward the kitchen. His expression was hurried, as if he were on some urgent errand.

"Merlin!" Lucy called, her voice light with amusement as she jogged to catch up with him. "Where’s the fire? You look like you’re running from something—or someone!"

Merlin glanced over his shoulder, a sheepish grin creeping onto his face. "I’m just in a bit of a rush, Lucy," he muttered, his voice a little too low to decipher.

As Lucy fell in step beside him, she followed him into the kitchen where he grabbed Prince Arthur’s white shirt, hanging over… the oven? She giggled, and dared not to ask more questions. 

The two magic users turned around to leave the kitchen when Lucy saw a sight that instantly made her burst into laughter. Percival and Gwaine—both hidden up in a tight space above the bustling kitchen—were in the middle of an audacious food heist. They had rigged a rope to the rafters and were in the process of lowering it down to snatch a plump roasted chicken from the stove.

Merlin, quick on the uptake, winked at Lucy before quietly stepping into action. With a sly smile, he grabbed the rope and hooked it securely to the chicken, the massive bird swaying on its perch above the stove.

"Don’t let it fall," Merlin whispered under his breath to Percival and Gwaine, before stepping back, his face now beaming with the satisfaction of their small but successful ploy.

At that exact moment, the cook burst into the kitchen, eyes wide with fury. "WHAT IN THE BLOODY HELL?!"

Merlin and Lucy exchanged a quick glance before bolting toward the door. Their laughter echoed through the hallways of Camelot as they ran, the sound of the cook’s furious yells growing distant behind them. They rounded a corner, panting from the run, still laughing like teenagers caught in mischief.

"I swear, that cook will have our heads for this," Lucy gasped, wiping a tear from her eye as she caught her breath. "And you—Merlin—what on earth were you thinking, helping them?"

Merlin shot her a playful glance. "I wasn’t thinking. It’s just in my nature, I suppose." His grin was mischievous, his eyes twinkling with the thrill of the escape.

Before they could make it any further, Merlin suddenly stopped, eyes darting toward the corridor heading to Arthur’s chambers. "I’ve got to go. The prince needs his shirt."

Lucy watched curiously as Merlin hurried down the hallway, but grimaced when she saw him run into a servant who spilled wine on the crisp white shirt of the prince. He groaned loudly, cursing silently.

Someone laughed behind them. Lucy turned and almost bumped into Lancelot, who was casually strolling toward them with his usual easy grace. Lancelot gave Merlin a wink, his lips curling into a half-smile. "Merlin, looks like you’re in a bit of a pickle. Arthur’s shirt’s going to need some work, eh?"

Merlin froze, his eyes wide with sudden realization. "Uh... well, it’s—"

Lancelot cut him off, grinning. "An easy fix," he said teasingly. "I’m sure you’ve got it covered."

Merlin laughed and quickly whispered a spell, and to Lucy’s amazement, the wine stain vanished from Arthur’s shirt, leaving it spotless and as white as when it was first worn. Merlin held it up to show Lucy and Lancelot, smirking.

"Now that’s what I call efficiency," Lancelot chuckled.

Merlin just shrugged, offering them both a sheepish smile. Lucy scoffed at the magic use.  "Merlin, you’re incorrigible," she said, still trying to wrap her head around how quickly the stain had disappeared.

"Blame the knight who suggested the move," Merlin quipped, glancing back at her with a grin before turning to Lancelot. "If you two will excuse me, I’ve got a prince to dress."

With that, Merlin dashed off, disappearing around a corner, leaving Lucy standing with Lancelot.

"You know, he might be a sorcerer," Lancelot said, shaking his head with a chuckle. "But sometimes, he’s still just a troublemaker."

Lucy laughed. "You’re not wrong there."

As Lucy and Lancelot continued to laugh, enjoying their moment of lightheartedness, a young squire suddenly appeared in the hallway, rushing toward them with urgency. His face was flushed with exertion, his breath coming in quick gasps as he announced, “All knights of Camelot are to report to the council room immediately!”

The mood shifted from carefree to serious, and without another word, they both turned on their heels, hurrying down the hall. They arrived just in time to see Elyan and Leon entering the council room, their faces grim and weary from their recent mission.

Once inside, Elyan’s voice broke the silence as he addressed the gathered knights and nobles. "Morgana has returned," he said, his words heavy with sorrow. "She’s heading to the Seas of Meredor, aiming for the Isle of the Blessed. We’ve lost two knights to her attack—Sirs Bertrand and Montague."

The news hit Lucy like a physical blow. Her stomach sank, and a cold wave of grief washed over her. She had known the knights who had fallen, just a week ago she was sparring with Montague, and talking to Bertrand about his newborn child. To know that they had lost their lives to Morgana, someone who had once been so close to Arthur and Camelot itself, felt like an unbearable weight. She took her place next to Percival, listening to the report.

Agravaine, standing in the back of the room, spoke up, his voice cold and calculated. "We will send patrols to the Isle of the Blessed," he promised, his gaze flicking to Arthur. "We’ll ensure that she doesn’t escape again."

He turned to leave, but as he did, he bumped into Lucy in the doorway. His eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a sneer. "Lady Knight," he saluted her with a sneer, the words more venomous than necessary.

Lucy met his gaze coolly, her face a mask of indifference. Without responding, she brushed past him, her stride unwavering. She could feel Lancelot’s eyes on her, but she refused to let Agravaine’s malice affect her. The tension in the room had already begun to feel suffocating, and she was glad to leave it behind.

Lancelot fell into step beside her as they walked away from the council room. He was quiet for a moment, sensing the weight of her thoughts, before he spoke. "Morgana… it seems like she’s always just out of reach," he said softly.

Lucy nodded, her mind still reeling from the news. "She’s dangerous," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "And now... now she’s taken two more lives. When will it end?"

⚔️⚔️⚔️

They walked in silence for a while, the stone walls of Camelot echoing the footsteps of the two knights. Eventually, they reached the knights quarters. Lucy has moved to this aisle right after her knighting ceremony, and her room is at the end of the corridor, with her neighbor being Lancelot and on the opposite side of the hallway was Percival.

Her room was modest, though certainly not uncomfortable. It had simple, elegant furnishings—a bed with dark wood posts and thick curtains, a small oak desk with parchments scattered on it, and a few personal touches like a tapestry of Camelot’s sigil hanging on the wall. The room was neat, cozy, but practical. 

Lancelot paused at his door and turned to face her with a playful grin. "So," he said, his voice teasing, "will you wear a dress or your armor for tonight’s feast?"

Lucy raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe. "I haven’t decided yet," she replied, the corners of her mouth lifting into a smile. "I suppose it depends on how much fighting there’s going to be."

Lancelot chuckled. "I’d wager the only fight you’ll have is with your stunning reflection in the mirror."

Lucy blushed slightly at his compliment, but she quickly swatted at his arm, trying to hide her embarrassment. "Stop talking so suavely to women," she chided him with a grin.

He laughed, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "You know it’s true," he said. "But seriously, whatever you choose, you’ll look beautiful."

"Alright, enough of that," she said, smacking his shoulder lightly before heading into her room. "You’ll only encourage me to pick something ridiculous."

"Go wash your hair, it’s looking dirty," Lancelot teased, poking fun at her as she closed the door. Lucy poked her head out and pulled her tongue out mockingly at Lancelot, and he laughed loudly at her immature behaviour.

Inside, Lucy’s room was warm from the fire crackling in the hearth. A servant, Mabel, was already inside, busy preparing a bath for her. The young woman looked up at Lucy, a little flustered, her hands twisting in her apron. "Oh, Milady," Mabel stammered. "I was just filling your bath with hot water and soap, as you requested. I hope that’s all right."

Lucy smiled warmly at Mabel, grateful for her help. "That’s perfect, Mabel. Thank you."

With a graceful nod, she moved behind the dressing screen that separated the room, giving herself a moment of privacy. Her hands moved with ease, unbuckling her tunic and breeches and peeling it off her toned body. After months of training, her body had become leaner and stronger, her muscles more defined than ever before. Her arms and shoulders were now sculpted from hours of swordplay and archery practice. Her legs, long and powerful, were a testament to her relentless dedication to her craft. The body she once thought fragile now radiated strength, a knight’s body built from perseverance and determination.

She slipped into the steaming water, her muscles relaxing with the warmth, her body sinking into the bath as she closed her eyes for a moment of solitude. The water felt soothing, and she allowed herself to drift, thoughts lingering on Morgana’s return and the lives that had been lost. Mabel started to wash Lucy’s long brown hair when a knock at the door interrupted her peaceful moment. The young servant quickly rose from her seat to answer. "Who is it?" she called out, her voice soft.

"It’s Gwen," came the response from the other side of the door.

Lucy opened her eyes, surprised by the visitor. "Mabel, let her in."

Mabel complied, stepping aside as Gwen entered the room with a gentle smile on her face. 

Gwen stepped into the room with a bright smile, holding a delicate bundle of fabric in her hands. "Sorry to bother you during your bath, Lucy," she said, her voice warm with kindness. "Arthur asked me to deliver this to you."

Lucy raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a playful smile. "What, does he want me to look like a knight of Camelot tonight or not?"

Gwen giggled, clearly amused by Lucy's response. "Tonight, he thought maybe you’d like to feel like a lady from the House of Ylisse."

Lucy laughed at that, but her curiosity was piqued. Gwen carefully unwrapped the bundle and hung the dress over the folding screen in Lucy’s room. As Lucy’s gaze landed on it, her breath caught in her throat.

The gown was breathtaking.

It was an emerald green, the color soft yet striking, much like the grass fields of Camelot. Like both my eyes and my mother’s , she thought. The fabric shimmered faintly in the dim light, as though it were woven with threads of moonlight. The bodice was delicate but structured, with intricate lace details around the neckline, which dipped gracefully in a v-shape. Tiny crystals were sewn into the fabric, catching the light with every movement. The skirt billowed out from the waist, the layers of soft fabric cascading down like a gentle waterfall, ending just above the floor. It was a gown meant for someone elegant and refined, someone who deserved to be seen as more than just a warrior—someone like Lucy.

Lucy gasped softly, her fingers brushing over the delicate fabric. "It’s... beautiful," she murmured, her eyes wide in surprise.

Gwen smiled, pleased by her reaction. "Arthur wanted you to have at least one outfit that was feminine, and I agree. You deserve to feel beautiful."

Mabel, standing nearby, couldn’t hold back her excitement. "Milady, this is going to look amazing on you!" she said, giggling.

Lucy smiled gratefully at both of them. "Thank you Gwen, I love it," she said, feeling a rush of emotion as she admired the dress. Gwen nodded, giving her one last reassuring smile before leaving the room, leaving Lucy to prepare herself for the evening ahead.

Once Gwen was gone, Mabel helped Lucy finish her bath and into the gown, the cool silk brushing against her skin. The fit was perfect, hugging her body in all the right places but leaving room for movement. As Lucy adjusted herself in front of the mirror, she couldn’t help but notice the way the gown made her feel—graceful, regal, and, for the first time in a long time, more like the noblewoman she was becoming, rather than just the knight she had been.

She looked at her reflection for a moment, her green eyes sparkling against the pale fabric of the gown, her brown hair falling in soft waves down her back. She hardly recognized herself—months of training and combat had sculpted her into a warrior, but tonight, she was something else entirely.

When Lucy emerged from her room, she saw Percival and Lancelot in their Knight armor with their red Pendragon cape, standing in front of their own doors, clearly waiting for her. As soon as they saw her, both men stopped in their tracks, their mouths slightly open in surprise.

Percival was the first to speak, though his words came out in a stammer. "L-Lucy... you... you look... I mean... gods..."

Lucy laughed, a blush creeping up her neck at the unexpected reaction. "Thanks, Percival."

Lancelot, being the gentleman he was, recovered quickly. With a gentle smile, he stepped forward, offering his arm with a flourish. "Lady Lucy, are you ready to attend the feast?" he asked, his voice warm and respectful.

Lucy smiled, feeling her heart flutter a bit. She laced her arm with his, enjoying the way the gown flowed as she moved. "I’m ready, Sir Lancelot."

Percival, still a bit flustered, followed behind them, his gaze lingering on Lucy. There was a flash of something in his eyes—perhaps admiration, perhaps jealousy—but he didn’t say anything. Instead, they all walked together, their footsteps echoing down the corridor as they made their way to the King’s dining hall.

As they entered the place, heads turned, and the whispers started. The knights and ladies of Camelot were all taken aback by Lucy’s appearance. Ever since she had arrived at Camelot, she had worn nothing but her armor or practical tunics and pants for training, and to see her now, dressed in such elegance, was a shock to many.

Lucy smiled at the attention, though she tried to remain composed. She made her way to her seat at the table, where Leon and Elyan were already sitting. They both stood up in unison, their faces lighting up with genuine admiration.

"Lucy," Leon said, his voice full of awe. "You look stunning!"

Elyan nodded in agreement, a soft smile on his lips. "It’s like we’re seeing a different side of you tonight."

Lucy laughed, feeling a warmth spread through her at their kind words. "Thank you both but all these compliments are embarrassing," she giggled, settling into her seat.

At the far end of the table, Gwaine, ever the flirt, couldn’t resist the opportunity. "I must say, milady," he said with a mischievous grin, "if I knew you looked like this, I would’ve asked you out for a dance long ago."

Lucy rolled her eyes, laughing at his attempt. "Gross, Gwaine! Go bother someone else," she said, but there was no denying the teasing in her voice.

As she sat back in her chair, she glanced across the room and caught Arthur’s gaze. He was watching her intently, a soft smile playing at his lips. Lucy smiled back and mouthed a silent thank you to him for the beautiful gown. Arthur nodded in return, his smile widening as he acknowledged her appreciation.

⚔️⚔️⚔️

Arthur rose from his seat at the head of the table, raising his glass to signal the start of his Samhain speech. The hall grew quiet as all eyes turned to the king. His voice, deep and resonant, carried through the room, imbued with the solemnity of the occasion.

"Samhain is upon us," Arthur began, his gaze sweeping over the gathered knights and nobles. "A moment we feel closest to our ancestors, when we can honor their memories and their sacrifices. Tonight, let us take a moment to remember those who came before us—the ones who paved the way for us to sit here tonight, in peace and unity. May their spirits guide us in the days to come."

As Arthur spoke, Lucy’s mind drifted. Her thoughts turned to her mother, the druid who had raised her with wisdom and strength. She had died only eight months ago, and though the grief still stung, she closed her eyes for a moment and offered a silent prayer. She whispered her mother’s name in her heart, asking for her guidance and protection from the spirits of the past.

But as Lucy knelt in her own private moment of reflection, deep in the heart of the feast, something began to stir on a much darker level.

Far from Camelot, Morgana stood in the depths of a shadowed chamber on the Isle of the Blessed, surrounded by the eerie glow of flickering candles. She stood over the body of Morgause, her sister, whose lifeless form lay sprawled at her feet. She had broken the veil between the worlds.

Suddenly, the dining hall in Camelot seemed to grow colder, the air thick with magic. In that moment, the ground trembled, and a monstrous form appeared. A elderly woman, floating in the air with immense power and aura, emerged from the dark shadows of the world beyond, her presence overwhelming. The air around her crackled with energy, and the very fabric of reality seemed to warp and twist.

"EMRYSSSSS!" the voice called, deep and ancient, carrying through the air like a thunderclap.

Lucy’s heart skipped a beat, her blood running cold as the name echoed through her mind. She wasn’t sure what was happening, but the call sent a tremor through her body. At the same time, Merlin’s reaction was far more visceral. He gripped the edge of the table, his face pale, his breathing shallow. His eyes widened, and before anyone could react, he fainted, collapsing to the floor.

Lucy, still shaken by the voice, felt herself sway in her seat. A dizzying sensation overwhelmed her, her vision blurring for a moment. She gasped, clutching her chest as the room spun around her, and then, as if caught in the same whirlwind of magic, she too stumbled.

Percival, who was sitting next to her, immediately noticed her distress. His hand shot out instinctively to catch her, steadying her. "Lucy!" he exclaimed, his voice tinged with concern.

Lancelot, meanwhile, rushed to Merlin’s side. Without hesitation, he scooped the unconscious warlock into his arms and nodded to Percival. "Take care of her, I’ll get Merlin to Gaius."

Percival, still worried but trying to maintain his composure, helped Lucy to her feet. "Are you all right?" he asked, his voice filled with a mix of concern and awe.

Lucy, still shaken but determined to hold herself together, offered a weak smile. "I... I’m fine. Just a little dizzy." She hesitated for a moment, then lied, "I don’t know why Merlin fainted... but I’ll go with him to Gaius."

Percival nodded, his concern palpable. "Of course, let me help you."

As he guided her through the corridors of Camelot, Percival’s mind raced. Will she be fine? What happened to her?

When they reached Gaius’s chambers, Percival helped Lucy to a bench just inside the door. Lancelot, already there, was waiting by Merlin’s side, watching as Gaius worked to wake the young warlock.

"Thank you, Percival," Lucy murmured as he gently set her down.

"We will be right outside if you need anything," Percival said, his voice steady despite the fluttering in his chest. He and Lancelot stepped back, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before he turned away.

Inside, Gaius gently patted Merlin’s face to bring him around. When the young man finally stirred, groggy and disoriented, Lucy and Merlin exchanged glances. Whatever had happened was no coincidence.

"Merlin?" Gaius asked, his voice soft but urgent. "What happened?"

Merlin blinked a few times before explaining everything he saw, his voice shaky. Gaius sat down, shocked at the vision Merlin and Lucy saw.

"The Cailleach... she called to you, Merlin. Something happened on the Isle of the Blessed... Morgana must have done it."

Lucy’s breath caught in her throat as Gaius’ words confirmed her worst fears. 

Merlin’s gaze locked with hers, and they both understood in that moment—this was bad. Very bad.

Gaius, too, recognized the gravity of the situation. He nodded solemnly, looking between the two of them. "If Morgana has truly torn the veil, then there’s no telling what kind of havoc could be unleashed."

Lucy’s eyes darkened with resolve. "We have to stop her," she said, her voice steady but filled with determination.

Merlin nodded, his gaze flickering with both fear and determination. "We will. But first, we need to understand what she’s unleashed."

⚔️⚔️⚔️

The next morning, the mood in Camelot was tense. The knights had gathered in the council room at Arthur's summons. The usually composed prince stood at the head of the table, his expression grim. Beside him stood a young teenage girl, trembling with fear. Her face was pale, streaked with dirt, and her wide eyes darted nervously between the knights.

Arthur addressed the room. "This is Drea. Her village was attacked last night... by creatures with no faces." His voice was steady, but the concern was evident. "She is the only survivor. Whatever these creatures are, they must be stopped before they strike again."

The knights exchanged uneasy glances. Arthur continued, his tone resolute. "Leon, Elyan, Lancelot, Gwaine, Percival, and Lucy. We leave in two hours. Prepare yourselves."

As Arthur dismissed them, Lucy stepped forward, her heart aching for the frightened child. She stood in front of Drea, offering a gentle smile. "Hello Drea. My name is Lucy." Her voice was soft and warm, as if speaking to soothe a wounded animal. "You're safe now, I promise."

The girl hesitated, then flung her arms around Lucy’s neck, clinging to her like a lifeline. Lucy hugged her tightly, stroking her back. She reminds me of myself just a few months ago, Lucy thought, sadness washing over her. She remembered her own fear and helplessness before finding her place in Camelot. "We’ll make sure those creatures can’t hurt anyone else, okay?"

Drea nodded, her small frame shaking with silent sobs.

Lucy gently handed her off to Gaius, who had offered to care for her. Then, she left to prepare.

In the armory, Lucy moved with purpose, her armor already secured over her tunic. The red Pendragon cape draped over her shoulders bore the crest of Camelot, a symbol of the loyalty she’d sworn to uphold. Her fingers hesitated as she touched the House of Ylisse ring on her hand. Removing it, she slipped the ring onto a chain and fastened it around her neck, tucking it under her armor. 

It’s safer there, she thought, squaring her shoulders. 

Turning, she reached for her crossbow and quiver of arrows, ensuring they were secure. She adjusted the belt holding her daggers, ready for what lay ahead.

As she turned back toward the rack, she bumped into Percival. His solid frame barely moved, but he reached out instinctively to steady her.

"Sorry Percival," Lucy muttered, stepping back and looking up at him.

Percival gave her a small smile. "It’s all right." He studied her face for a moment. "How are you feeling today? I was… I mean we were all worried yesterday. "

Lucy hesitated, then offered a reassuring nod. "Better, thank you. Just... still concerned about what we’ll find in the village."

Percival’s expression turned serious. "Me too," he admitted. "But whatever it is, I have your back."

Lucy felt a flicker of comfort at his words. "And I have yours," she echoed, her voice firm.

⚔️⚔️⚔️

The knights and Merlin arrived at the village late that night, the air eerily still. Shadows stretched long across the empty streets, and an unnatural chill crept through the air. The knights dismounted and spread out in pairs to investigate, torches lighting their paths.

Merlin and Lucy headed toward a barn near the edge of the village. The heavy wooden door creaked as Merlin pushed it open, the torchlight revealing hay bales and farming tools scattered inside.

Merlin jumped suddenly, yelping as a rooster darted out from behind a pile of hay. Lucy stifled a laugh, though her nerves remained on edge.

"Don’t tell Arthur about that," Merlin muttered, adjusting his scarf as they moved deeper into the barn.

But then the air shifted. A bone-deep cold seeped into their surroundings, making their breath visible in the torchlight. Both froze, a sense of foreboding washing over them.

"Do you feel that?" Lucy whispered.

Merlin nodded. "We need to get out of here."

They turned to leave, but as they did, the barn seemed to darken. Merlin raised his hand, attempting to summon light magic, but nothing happened.

"My magic—it’s not working," he said, panic creeping into his voice.

Lucy instinctively reached for the familiar warmth of her own power, but it too felt distant and unresponsive. "Neither is mine," she said, her voice taut with fear.

A guttural sound, like a whisper carried on the wind, echoed through the barn. A faceless figure emerged from the shadows, its form shifting and indistinct.

Before it could strike, a blazing torch cut through the darkness. Lancelot burst into the barn, thrusting the flame toward the creature. "Get back!" he shouted, positioning himself between the creature and the others.

The faceless being recoiled from the light, retreating into the shadows with a guttural hiss. Elyan called out from the far side of the village. "Over here!"

The knights converged, their torches illuminating a grim scene. Elyan stood over the body of a villager, frozen solid, their face contorted in terror.

Leon’s voice was grim. "What are we dealing with?"

Lancelot glanced at Merlin and Lucy, who were shaken. "It attacked them in the barn. My torch drove it back."

Merlin’s voice was low, laced with dread. "It’s the voices of the dead. They can kill a man with a touch."

The realization hung heavy in the air. These creatures were unlike anything they had faced before, and the knights knew they were in for a long, harrowing night.

⚔️⚔️⚔️

In the days that followed the attack on Drea’s village, Camelot became a place of fear and mourning. The Dorocha, creatures of shadow and death according to Gaius, spread across the kingdom. They came with the night, leaving a trail of lifeless bodies in their wake. The only defense against them was fire and light, but even that offered no guarantee of safety.

Families from across the kingdom flooded into Camelot, seeking refuge behind its walls. The city, once vibrant and alive, was now shrouded in a heavy silence, broken only by the crackle of torches and the cries of the bereaved.

One night, while making rounds in the Lower Town, Percival and Elyan heard the terrified screams of children. They ran toward the sound, their torches cutting through the oppressive darkness.

"Over there!" Elyan pointed to a crumbling alleyway, where three children were huddled against a wall, their faces pale with terror. The shadowy form of a Dorocha loomed over them.

Percival didn’t hesitate. He charged forward, swinging his torch in wide arcs. The creature recoiled, retreating into the shadows. Elyan grabbed the children, shielding them as they ran back toward the safety of the castle.

As they reached the gates, another Dorocha descended upon them. Elyan shoved the children forward and raised his torch just in time, its light driving the creature back. Percival threw himself between Elyan and the shadow, his torch blazing.

"Go!" Percival shouted, his voice hoarse with urgency.

The guards at the gate rushed to help, their combined light finally forcing the creatures to retreat. Breathless and shaken, Percival and Elyan led the children inside.

In the castle’s infirmary, Gaius bustled about, tending to the injured. Lucy, who had been assisting him for the evening with Merlin, turned as the door burst open. Her eyes widened when she saw Percival and Elyan, both bruised and weary, escorted by guards.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, rushing to them. Her hands fluttered over Percival first, checking for any signs of injury.

"I’m fine," Percival said, his voice soft, but his cheeks flushed at her attention.

Elyan smirked, leaning against the table as Lucy moved to check him next. "We’re alright, really," he assured her, though there was an amused lilt to his voice.

Lucy gave them both a sharp look. "You nearly died out there. You’re lucky you made it back." She sighed, shaking her head. "Stay here. Gaius will want to check you over just in case."

As she moved away to tend to another patient, Elyan elbowed Percival, grinning. "You were blushing," he teased.

"I was not," Percival muttered, his ears turning red.

"You were," Elyan said, laughing quietly. "I need to tell Gwaine about this."

Percival shot him a warning look, but the faint smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

⚔️⚔️⚔️

Later, while walking to the council room, Merlin and Lucy talked about the recent events, and she noticed how his face was pale and his hands trembling. "I’ve faced monsters, sorcerers, and a dragon," he said, his voice hollow. "But this... I’ve never felt so powerless."

Lucy placed a hand on his arm, her expression equally grim. "You’re not the only one."

Merlin looked at her, fear flickering in his eyes. "If I can’t stop them, what good am I?"

"You’re Emrys," she whispered. "We’ll find a way."

The answer came from Gaius. In the meeting with Arthur, Agravaine, Lucy, and Merlin, the physician delivered the grim news.

"The Dorocha are the result of the veil between the worlds being torn," Gaius explained. "The only way to banish them is to repair the veil. And to do that..." He hesitated, his eyes heavy with sorrow. "A life must be sacrificed to the Cailleach on the Isle of the Blessed."

Arthur rose to his feet, his jaw set. "Then I will go."

"Arthur—" Merlin began, but the king raised a hand to silence him.

"I am the king. This is my responsibility." Without another word, Arthur left to inform his inert father of his decision.

That same evening, Lucy entered Gaius’s chambers with her travel bag slung over her shoulder. Merlin and Gaius looked up as she set it down.

"The knights and I are going with Arthur," she said, her voice steady.

Gaius frowned. "Lucy, no—"

"I’ve made up my mind," she interrupted. "If someone must sacrifice themselves, it should be me." Her voice wavered, but she stood firm.

Merlin stormed out of his room, his eyes blazing. "No! That’s not your choice to make."

"Then whose is it?" Lucy shot back. "Arthur is too important, and your destiny is to unite Albion with him and return magic to the kingdom, Merlin. Camelot needs both of you."

"And it needs you, too! You’re a knight of Camelot!" Merlin yelled. "It’s my duty to protect Arthur. If anyone is making that sacrifice, it’s me!"

The two glared at each other, the tension thick. Gaius stepped between them, his voice soft but firm. "Enough. Whoever it is, know this: I love you both as if you were my own. And I hope this isn’t the last time we meet."

The three of them stood in silence, the weight of Gaius’s words settling over them. Finally, Lucy stepped forward, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"I’m sorry Merlin… I’m scared of what will happen," she whispered.

Merlin’s anger faded, and he pulled her into a hug. Gaius joined them, his arms wrapping around them both. Lucy let a few tears escape, but when they pulled apart, her resolve was unshaken.

"Whatever happens," she said, her voice soft but firm, "we’ll protect Arthur. Together."

⚔️⚔️⚔️

The following morning, the air was thick with the tension of what lay ahead. Camelot’s courtyard was bustling as the group of knights and their companions prepared for the dangerous journey. Lancelot, Leon, Elyan, Percival, Gwaine, and Lucy stood together, their faces marked with determination and a quiet sadness.

Lucy gently stroked Shay’s mane, her strong white horse, who had been by her side for the past few months. The bond between them was unspoken but deeply felt. Shay’s calm presence gave Lucy a sense of stability, even as the uncertainty of the days ahead weighed heavily on her heart.

Gwen rushed into the courtyard, her eyes filled with concern. She ran straight to Lancelot and begged him. "Please," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "Protect Arthur. Please."

Lancelot placed a hand on Gwen’s shoulder, nodding gravely. "I will, " he promised softly.

Lucy gave her a reassuring smile, and Gwen nodded but didn’t seem entirely convinced. She hesitated, watching the group, before turning to leave.

As they made their way out of the courtyard, Lancelot turned to Merlin, who stood a few paces away, fiddling nervously with his sleeves. "Merlin," Lancelot said, his tone gentle but firm. "You should stay behind. You’ve done enough. We can protect Arthur."

Merlin shook his head, his face set in determination. "I’m going with you. I won’t leave Arthur."

"You’re not listening," Lancelot said, his voice soft but insistent. "It’s too dangerous. You can protect yourself and Gaius better by staying here—"

"You can’t make me stay," Merlin interrupted, his voice thick with the weight of a decision he had already made. "I have to be with him. This is my destiny."

Lucy, overhearing the conversation, smirked and teased, "Lancelot, don’t push too hard. Merlin’s as stubborn as a mule."

Merlin shot her a look, but she could see the faintest glimmer of a smile tugging at his lips. Lancelot rolled his eyes. "I’m just trying to save his life."

"Just as I am trying to save Arthur’s," Merlin replied dryly, though there was no malice in his voice. Lancelot cleared his throat to say something else, but Lucy shot him a look that shut him up. It was no use to convince someone like Merlin in this kind of situation.

Arthur joined them then, stepping up onto his horse. He looked around at the group, his eyes somber but resolute. "This journey is going to be dangerous. There’s no guarantee any of us will return."

The group exchanged glances, but no one faltered. Gwaine gave a mock pout and said, "Yeah, we know, Princess."

Elyan chuckled, adding, "But we’ll make sure we come back. No need to worry."

Leon laughed heartily, and the tension broke, their laughter light in the face of the dire journey ahead. They mounted their horses, bickering and teasing one another as they rode off into the wilderness.

The midday sun was high in the sky when they stopped for a break near a quiet river. The sound of the flowing water was a welcome reprieve from the intensity of their journey. Percival and Lucy volunteered to fill their water skins. As they stood by the riverbank, Percival glanced at Lucy. Her green eyes were distant, lost in thought. He had learned over time that Lucy was a woman of deep reflection, and she often kept her emotions hidden.

"You know," he said quietly, "you’re always thinking about everyone else. Are you alright?"

Lucy didn’t meet his eyes at first, but then she let out a small breath, looking at him. "I’m just... trying to prepare myself," she said softly. "For whatever comes next."

Percival gave a small nod, understanding her unspoken words. "You don’t have to carry it all on your own," he said gently. "We’ll all be there with you."

She offered him a small, grateful smile, but said nothing more. Some things, she knew, would take time to share.

⚔️⚔️⚔️

As night fell, they made camp in the ruins of Daobeth. The crumbling walls provided some shelter, but the night was cold, and the fire they had managed to start flickered weakly, casting long shadows on the stone.

The warmth of the fire was a comfort, but as it burned down, the shadows seemed to stretch longer, and the cold bit at their skin. They would need more wood soon, but Arthur and Merlin had gone to gather more and had been gone longer than expected.

Gwaine, always the one to crack jokes, was trying to lighten the mood with Elyan. "Well, I hope Arthur doesn’t trip and fall down there," he said, grinning.

Elyan chuckled, shaking his head. "We all know who would be more likely to trip himself. And it’s not Arthur."

Lucy and Lancelot exchanged uneasy glances. "They’ve been gone too long," Lucy said, her voice tense.

"We should go after them," Lancelot said, his expression hardening.

Gwaine tried to protest, but seeing how everyone got up, he ran after them quickly to join them. With only one torch remaining, the group set off in search of Arthur and Merlin. The night was dark, and the wind whispered through the ruins, making the search feel endless.

As they walked, Leon fell into step with Lucy, his eyes soft with concern. "How are you holding up?" he asked, his voice quiet.

Lucy sighed, her hands gripping the torch tightly. "I’m scared, Leon. What if something happens to them?"

He squeezed her hand gently, offering a small, reassuring smile. "We’ll find them, Lucy. They’re both stubborn, bickering fools. Nothing can keep them down."

Lucy gave a small, shaky laugh. "I hope you’re right."

They walked in silence for a while, the sound of their footsteps muffled by the soft earth. Then, out of nowhere, the air grew colder. The distant sound of a scream shattered the night.

Lucy’s heart skipped a beat. "ARTHUR!" she shouted, breaking into a run, the others following close behind.

They burst through a door of a ruin open, just in time to see a Dorocha attacking Merlin and Arthur. Merlin shoved Arthur aside, leaping forward to face the creature, and the Dorocha flew straight through him, sending him crashing into a stone wall.

With no time to think, Lancelot used the fire from their torch to vanquish the Dorocha.The Dorocha's form disintegrated into the night, vanishing like smoke in the air. The fire from the torch flickered, casting haunting shadows as the group rushed forward, breathless and shaken by the fierce battle.

Lucy’s eyes locked onto Merlin’s crumpled figure first, her heart thudding violently in her chest. Her legs moved of their own accord, carrying her to his side as if the world itself had slowed.

"Merlin…" she whispered, her voice breaking, as she dropped to her knees beside him.

Arthur was already there, his hand trembling as he carefully turned Merlin over.

Lucy gasped, her breath catching in her throat.

Merlin's face was pale—unnaturally so. His once vibrant skin had taken on a ghostly hue, his lips a deadly shade of blue. His eyes were shut, but there was no warmth in his face. Frost covered his skin, the touch of the Dorocha’s cold magic leaving its unmistakable mark. His skin looked almost as if it had been frozen over, an eerie sheen of ice beneath his cheekbones. His usually wild hair lay limp and frozen against his forehead, and his body, so full of life just moments ago, was now stiff and unmoving.

The sight of him—so cold, so still—struck Lucy like a blow to the chest. Her breath hitched, and she clutched his hand, desperate for any sign of life. "Merlin, please, please..."

Her voice faltered, choked by the growing sense of dread that constricted her heart.

Arthur looked down at his friend, his face contorting with fear. "No..." His voice was barely a whisper, but it carried all the weight of the world. He shook Merlin’s shoulder violently, calling out his name again, but there was no response.

Lucy felt a scream rising in her throat, a cry of despair that threatened to tear her apart. She staggered back, unable to bear the sight any longer. Her heart felt as if it had shattered, and her body trembled with the raw terror of losing someone so dear to her.

"NO!" Lucy screamed, her voice shattering in the night air. She fell to her knees, her sobs wracking her body. "MERLIN, NO!" 

She knew, after trying so many times on corpses found in Camelot, that her healing abilities couldn't help her friend at this moment. She knew… she failed him. She failed Merlin, but worse; she failed Emrys. Her tears came up to her eyes, and spilled quickly. 

Percival rushed to her side in an instant. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as she sobbed uncontrollably, her face buried against his chest. "Lucy, I know," Percival murmured, his own voice thick with emotion. "I know, I know." His grip tightened, as if he could somehow shield her from the horrible reality they faced.

But Lucy couldn’t hear him—couldn’t think of anything but the lifeless body of Merlin before her. 

Elyan, Gwaine and Leon all stood around them, grief stricken. But Lancelot then knelt beside Merlin, his brow furrowed in concentration. He placed two fingers on Merlin’s neck, searching for a pulse. The seconds stretched like hours, and just as hope began to slip away completely, Lancelot’s eyes widened. His fingers twitched, pressing harder.

"I—I feel it," Lancelot breathed out, relief flooding his face, but it was fleeting. His eyes locked onto Arthur’s with grim understanding. "It’s faint... But it’s there."

Arthur exhaled sharply, his eyes darting from Lancelot to Merlin. "It’s not enough," Arthur muttered, his voice hoarse. "We need to act now, or he won’t make it."

Lancelot nodded, his face set in stone. "We can’t waste any time."

Lucy, still cradled in Percival’s arms, slowly lifted her head with her tear-streaked face. Lancelot stood and pulled Arthur to his feet, and stared deeply into Lucy’s green eyes.

"We move now," he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Arthur nodded, a fire burning in his eyes. "We won’t let him die. Not like this."

Chapter Text

The morning sun filtered weakly through the forest, the light unable to pierce the pall of dread that had settled over the knights. Merlin lay slumped against the ruins, his face pale and icy, a ghost of the lively man who had joked with them mere hours ago. His breath came in shallow gasps, his body trembling as if the Dorocha’s touch had drained the very life from him.

Arthur knelt beside him, his face etched with anguish. “We’re taking him back to Camelot,” he declared firmly, his voice trembling under the weight of the decision. “Gaius will save him.”

“I’m not sure,” Lucy’s voice cut through the stillness, soft yet resolute. Her red Pendragon cape swayed in the breeze as she stepped forward, her gaze locked on Arthur. “There is no cure, Arthur. No one can escape death.”

Arthur spun around, his eyes blazing with fury and desperation. “I won’t leave him to die here! Not when it should have been me! He saved me—he saved all of us!” His voice cracked, raw with guilt and grief.

Sir Leon stepped forward, his tone steady but urgent. “Sire, we can’t abandon the quest. If we don’t make it to the Isle of the Blessed, hundreds will die. The Dorocha won’t stop.”

The silence that followed was unbearable. The weight of their choices pressed down on them like a suffocating fog.

“I’ll take him,” Lancelot said, his voice breaking the tension. He knelt beside Merlin, his usual calm unwavering. “I’ll take him back to Camelot.”

Arthur turned on him, incredulous. “You’d carry a wounded man alone? It will take two, maybe three days to reach Camelot!”

“I’ll go too,” Lucy interjected, stepping closer.

Lancelot nodded, grateful. “Together, we can take the Valley of the Fallen Kings. It’s a shorter route. If anyone can make it back in time, it’s us.”

Arthur looked between them, his expression conflicted. “This is madness. You’re asking me to send two of my best knights away—”

Leon placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, his voice low and steady. “If anyone can bring Merlin back to Camelot alive, it’s Lucy and Lancelot.”

Merlin stirred weakly, his voice barely a whisper. “No... I need to go... I have to...”

Arthur leaned in closer, his voice breaking. “No, Merlin. You’re not going anywhere… Lancelot and Lucy will take you back home.”

Merlin’s trembling hand reached for Lucy, his words faint but desperate. “Follow him... protect Arthur... you know what must be done...”

Lucy knelt beside him, gripping his hand tightly. “My duty as a druid is to ensure you fulfill your destiny. And with you dying, that destiny becomes impossible,” she whispered slowly only for Merlin’s ears to hear.

Arthur’s eyes met Lucy’s, a storm of emotions swirling within them. “Don’t let him die,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

“I won’t,” Lucy said as she stood up firmly. Her eyes narrowed as she added, “But don’t you dare throw your life away either. You still have a kingdom to protect.”

Arthur clenched his jaw, nodding reluctantly.

Percival stepped forward, lifting Merlin as if he weighed nothing, and carefully placed him on Shay’s back. The white horse neighed softly, as if sensing the gravity of the moment.

Before parting, Gwaine approached Lucy and ruffled her hair. “Make sure he lives, alright?”

Lucy smiled faintly, her eyes glistening. “I promise.”

As the knights prepared to separate, the atmosphere grew heavier. The bonds they had forged through countless battles seemed to strain under the weight of their choice. Arthur, Leon, Percival, Gwaine, and Elyan mounted their horses, their gazes lingering on Lucy and Lancelot.

“Take care of him,” Arthur said, his voice carrying both command and plea.

Lancelot smiled gently, and nodded. Lucy gripped Shay’s reins tightly and her voice cracked with emotions. “Good luck, Arthur.”

The two groups parted ways, the air thick with unspoken words and unrelenting resolve. As Lucy glanced back one final time, her gaze locked with Arthur’s. It was a silent promise—a bond of trust that, no matter the cost, they would do their part to save Camelot and Merlin.

⚔️⚔️⚔️

The path through the Valley of the Fallen Kings was shrouded in mist, the air heavy with an eerie stillness. Lucy guided her horse carefully as Lancelot’s horse trotted next to them, Merlin’s limp form draped over Shay’s back. The faint, rasping breaths of the young warlock filled the silence, each one sounding more labored than the last.

“Lucy,” Lancelot said softly, his voice tinged with concern. “We need to stop. He is getting worse.”

Lucy nodded, her face pale. “There’s a lake just ahead. Water might help.”

They guided Shay to the water’s edge, and Lancelot carefully lifted Merlin down, cradling him like a fragile treasure. He knelt beside the lake, laying Merlin on the soft grass, and Lucy hurried to check his pulse. It was faint, erratic, and the sight of his pale, frostbitten skin twisted her heart.

“He’s not going to make it,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

Lancelot’s jaw clenched, his determination unwavering. “He will. We’ll find a way.”

As Lancelot dipped his hands into the cool water to dampen a cloth, Merlin’s arm fell limply to the side, his fingers brushing the lake’s surface. The reaction was immediate. The water rippled, glowing faintly as if coming alive. Lucy and Lancelot stepped back in awe as the glow intensified, and Merlin’s hand seemed to sink into the lake as if it were pulling something from the depths.

“What... what’s happening?” Lancelot breathed, his hand instinctively going to his sword.

Before Lucy could answer, the surface of the lake shimmered, and tiny bubbles of water began to rise. They hovered in the air, swirling and dancing like living beings.

“Who are you?” Lucy asked, her voice trembling but curious.

The bubbles seemed to coalesce, forming shapes that flickered and changed. A soft, harmonious voice resonated around them.

“We are the Vilia, water spirits who inhabit the brooks and streams of this land.”

The bubbles drifted closer, circling Lucy and Lancelot. “We know of you, Lady Lucy. Your mother Arel, the healer druid, was one of the finest among us.”

Lucy’s breath caught. “I tried... I’ve tried everything to save him, but my magic—it isn’t enough.”

One of the Vilia floated before her, its voice gentle. “The young warlock is stronger than you give him credit for. Merlin carries a destiny far greater than you can imagine. He will endure.”

Lancelot, though wary, watched the Vilia with awe. “Can you help him?”

The Vilia seemed to smile in their way, their glow brightening. “My sisters are already healing him. Look.”

They turned their gaze to Merlin, whose body was now bathed in the soft glow of the water. His breathing steadied, and the frost on his skin began to melt away.

Lancelot exhaled, stunned. “It’s... it’s magic unlike any I’ve ever seen.”

The Vilia turned their attention back to Lucy. “We will grant you a gift, Lady Lucy—a healing ability to aid you in the trials ahead and to protect him when the time comes. But remember, it cannot save those who are dying, or bring back the dead.”

Lucy hesitated, but the Vilia gestured to the lake. “Dip your hands into the water, and you will know our power.”

She knelt, trembling as she submerged her hands. A surge of energy coursed through her, filling her with warmth and light. Her mind raced with images of healing spells and protective magic far beyond anything she had learned before.

When she pulled her hands from the water, they glowed faintly, a testament to the gift bestowed upon her.

“You may rest here tonight,” the Vilia said. They conjured a shimmering sphere of light that encircled the group. “This barrier will keep the Dorocha at bay. Sleep, and we will watch over you.”

Lancelot, still wary but grateful, nodded. “Thank you. Truly.”

⚔️⚔️⚔️

The first rays of dawn broke through the mist, and Lucy stirred, blinking away sleep. Panic gripped her as she noticed Merlin’s spot was empty. “Merlin!” she called out, her heart racing.

Lancelot was on his feet in an instant, but a laugh rang out.

“Over here!”

They turned to see Merlin, looking remarkably healthy, sitting by the water’s edge with a makeshift fishing rod. A triumphant grin spread across his face as he held up a wriggling fish.

Lucy let out a cry of relief and ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck. “Merlin, you idiot! Don’t scare us like that!” She kissed his cheek, her emotions overwhelming her.

Merlin chuckled, though his expression softened as he saw the tears in her eyes. “Sorry, Lucy. I feel... better. I don’t know what happened, but—”

“You were healed,” Lancelot said, approaching with a mix of amazement and relief.

Merlin’s face grew serious. “We need to catch up with Arthur. He’ll need us.”

Lancelot shook his head. “You’re going to Camelot. That’s non-negotiable.”

Lancelot looked to Lucy for support, but she was already packing up their belongings. “We’re going after Arthur,” she said firmly. Merlin grinned and started walking to the horses.

Lancelot sighed, exasperated. “Great, both of you are crazy. Arthur’s right about you, Merlin. You never do as you’re told.”

Merlin grinned cheekily, the spark of mischief back in his eyes.

The rhythmic thud of hooves echoed through the day as the trio moved in sync, the landscape around them dark and silent. Shay was steady beneath Lucy, Merlin perched behind her, his weight light but his presence comforting. The journey had been long, but Merlin was back to his usual self—physically at least—and Lucy couldn’t help but feel a warmth in her chest knowing that his strength had returned.

Merlin had insisted they catch up to Arthur as quickly as possible. The prince, he believed, would need their help if they were to complete the quest. Lucy had quietly agreed, though a gnawing sense of foreboding lingered at the back of her mind.

As the moon rose high, they spotted a cabin in the distance, its silhouette casting long shadows. The air shifted, an eerie stillness hanging about the place, almost as if the very land was holding its breath.

“I don’t like this,” Lancelot murmured, his hand drifting to the hilt of his sword.

Lucy frowned, feeling it too—the unnatural silence. “Let’s check it out.”

The three dismounted and approached the cabin cautiously. The door creaked open under Lancelot’s hand, and they stepped inside, the air musty and thick with the scent of decay. The dim light from the moon filtered through the grimy windows, casting a pale glow over the room.

In the center of the cabin lay a figure, frozen in place, his body rigid with death. His face was pale, eyes wide open in a permanent expression of terror. His hands, once reaching for something, were now frozen in mid-motion.

Lancelot’s eyes narrowed, a curse slipping from his lips. “Gods, the Dorocha got to him.” He shook his head, a deep sadness settling over him. “It’s too late.”

Lucy stepped closer, her heartbeat loud in her ears. She crouched down beside the body, her fingers hovering just above the frozen skin. The same coldness gripped her heart, and she felt the weight of it all—the countless lives lost to this malevolent force. The Dorocha were relentless, and no one seemed immune to their curse.

“We have to try,” she said softly, a desperate edge to her voice. She closed her eyes, focusing on the powers the Vilia had gifted her—the surge of energy still fresh within her. With a deep breath, she placed her hands gently on the man’s chest, willing her magic to heal.

But as she channeled the power, she felt it—the undeniable sense that something was already gone. The pulse of life was absent. The air around her seemed to thicken with the finality of death.

Lucy pulled back slowly, shaking her head. “He’s gone,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. “No one can avoid death.” Her mind flashed to her mother’s words and the Vilia.

Lancelot nodded grimly, his face taut with sorrow. “It’s okay, Lucy. At least you tried.”

They all stood in silence for a moment, each lost in their thoughts, before Lancelot spoke again. “We should rest here for the night. We have enough wood to keep a fire going, and the Dorocha might find us if we venture out in the dark.”

Merlin agreed, and with a flick of his wrist, he summoned a spark that caught the dry wood and quickly flared into a warm, crackling fire. The light danced across the cabin, flickering in the corners of the room, and for a moment, there was comfort in its glow.

Lancelot chuckled, a slight edge to his voice. “It’s almost too easy with the two of you—one heals, the other starts fires. How convenient.”

Lucy managed a small smile, but the humor didn’t quite reach her eyes. She was too distracted, her mind too full of worries. She stared into the fire, watching the flames dance, but her thoughts were far away.

Lancelot and Merlin exchanged a glance, and Merlin spoke first. “Lucy, what’s on your mind?”

She hesitated, unsure if she wanted to voice her fears aloud. But she couldn’t keep it in. “I’m worried about them,” she said quietly. “The others... Arthur. What if something happened to them while we were gone?”

Merlin met her gaze, his expression serious. “He’s not just a prince, Lucy, he has more fight than anyone I know. I am sure he and the others are fine. But we need to join them as fast as we can, or something could happen.”

Lancelot’s brow furrowed. “Yes, he is right. We can’t stop now.”

Merlin looked at Lancelot, his gaze unwavering. “Actually, Lancelot… You should go back to Camelot.”

Lancelot blinked, surprised. “What?”

“This magic... It's too dangerous. I’ve experienced it firsthand. You should return and let Lucy and I finish this.”

Lancelot smiled softly, but there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. “I can’t. I promised Gwen I’d protect Arthur. He’s also my friend, and I’ll honor that promise until my last breath.”

Lucy crossed her arms, and questioned with a teasing tone. “So now you listen to Gwen?” 

Lancelot smiled wistfully, the sadness in his eyes deepening. “Always. Gwen has a way of getting me to agree to the most dangerous things.”

Merlin’s voice broke through the silence, his words heavy with realization. “You still love her, don’t you?”

Lucy blinked, her heart skipping a beat. “What? You love Gwen? I never knew... Why didn’t you say anything?” Her voice cracked slightly with the surprise, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure whether she was more shocked or confused.

Lancelot’s gaze fell to the floor, the weight of his unspoken feelings clearly visible. “Not anymore. Arthur... Arthur’s a far better man for her than I am. She deserves someone who can give her everything she needs. And I can’t be that man.”

Lucy’s heart ached for him, the words hitting harder than she expected. She reached out, her hand finding his, and she squeezed it gently. “Lancelot, one day, someone will come along who will see your worth. You’ll find your happiness. I believe that.”

Lancelot looked at her, his smile small but genuine. “I hope so, Lucy. I really hope so.”

The three of them sat there, the fire crackling quietly in the background, but the air between them heavy with unspoken thoughts and emotions.

⚔️⚔️⚔️

The night air was crisp, and the fire crackled softly as the trio huddled around it for warmth. The flames danced lazily, casting flickering shadows against the cabin walls. Lancelot had fallen asleep first, his breath steady and deep, though still tinged with the tension that gripped them all. Lucy leaned back against the wall, her hands gripping her crossbow tightly, her eyes heavy but unable to fully shut. Merlin sat opposite her, lost in his thoughts, his gaze fixed on the fire.

Time passed slowly, the fire dwindling as the night deepened, its light growing faint and the warmth fading with each minute. Lucy’s eyelids fluttered as sleep began to claim her, the weight of the day’s journey and the strain of the unknown finally pulling her under.

But then, the chill hit. It wasn’t the coolness of the air—they were used to that—but something deeper, a coldness that seemed to seep from the ground itself. Lucy’s eyes snapped open, her body immediately alert. She could feel it too—the unmistakable sense of danger.

Before she could speak, a piercing scream broke the night. The Dorocha was back.

“GET DOWN!” Merlin’s voice, sharp and panicked, cut through the air like a dagger.

The ground seemed to tremble as the Dorocha appeared—twisting, ghastly figures, their forms barely human, their eyes glowing with an unnatural light. They had arrived.

“Move!” Merlin shouted, his hands already reaching for the oil flask by the fire. Without hesitation, he threw the liquid into the dying flames. The fire exploded into life, a roaring inferno that shot up into the night sky, sending the Dorocha back with a sudden burst of heat and light.

“Go!” Merlin barked, his voice taut with urgency.

The trio sprinted toward the woods, the firelight casting long, stark shadows behind them as they ran through the thick underbrush. Their hearts raced, breaths ragged as the sound of snapping branches and distant growls followed them.

Merlin’s eyes glowed with an intensity that startled Lucy. He yelled a spell she never heard before, his voice steady but filled with power.

"O drakon, e male so ftengometta tesd'hup'anankes!"

Lucy’s heart skipped a beat. The words were foreign to her, ancient and heavy, as if they carried centuries of weight. She had never heard Merlin speak this way before. The air around them thickened, and suddenly, she understood. These were no ordinary incantations. This was something... ancient .

“What—what was that?” Lucy gasped, her voice hoarse as they ran.

Merlin’s expression softened, almost sheepish, but there was a spark of guilt in his eyes. “Oh... I didn’t tell you? I’m also a Dragonlord.”

Lucy stumbled, almost tripping over a rock. “A what ?” Her voice was a mix of shock and disbelief.

Before she could process what he said, a tremendous roar echoed through the trees, shaking the earth beneath them. A massive shape appeared through the mist of the forest, its eyes burning with an otherworldly glow.

A dragon emerged with a power that stilled the air. His wings beat once, twice, and the force was enough to send the trees swaying, their trunks creaking under the pressure.

Merlin stood tall, his posture resolute, even in the face of such a terrifying creature. “Kilgharrah, stop them!” he commanded.

With a single, powerful breath, the dragon unleashed a torrent of fire. The Dorocha scattered before it, their twisted forms screeching in agony as they retreated into the darkness, vanquished by the dragon’s flames.

Lucy stood frozen, staring up at the creature that now loomed before them. The dragon’s presence was overwhelming, and yet... It was strangely comforting. Lancelot was wary and started to draw his sword, but Merlin raised his hand to stop him.

Kilgharrah’s gaze shifted, his massive head turning to face Lucy, Merlin, and Lancelot. The dragon narrowed his eyes, assessing them, before speaking in a voice that rumbled like thunder.

“Who are these friends you have brought, Merlin?”

Merlin stepped forward, his voice calm but proud. “These are my companions. Sir Lancelot, and Lady Lucy—two knights of Camelot. Lucy, Lancelot, this is Kilgharrah. ”

Kilgharrah’s massive head tilted, a glint of recognition in his eyes. “Ah yes, Sir Lancelot. The bravest and most noble of all.”

Lancelot let out a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I don’t think that’s quite true.”

Kilgharrah seemed to consider this for a moment, then his gaze shifted, spotting Lucy below. His eyes widened in surprise. “I didn’t think I would meet Saeth tonight.”

Lucy’s heart skipped. “Who is that? What are you talking about?”

Kilgharrah looked at her with a certain intensity. “You don’t know, do you?”

Lucy shook her head, bewildered. “I don’t have a druid name, Kilgharrah. What are you saying?”

The dragon’s gaze softened, but there was a deep wisdom in his eyes. “It is not a name, Lucy. It is a role. A role you have already begun to play.”

Lucy frowned. “What role? What does this mean?”

Kilgharrah’s voice grew serious, his words weighty. “You are Saeth—the Arrow. The one who will help Emrys in his time of need.”

Lucy felt a shiver crawl up her spine as the dragon’s words sunk in. She was Saeth ? The Arrow ? Her mind reeled, struggling to understand what it meant. “But... I’m just a knight of Camelot,” she said, voice trembling with the weight of the realization.

Kilgharrah’s gaze turned to Lucy. “You are a daughter of the House Ylisse, known for their superior marksmanship abilities, but you are also the daughter of Arel, one of the best healer druids there was. When you were born, your destiny as Saeth was sealed. You and Emrys’ fates are intertwined. In time, you will understand the full measure of your role. It is not a coincidence that you are here. You, as the Arrow, will help shape the future. When the time comes, your skills will be needed, and you will help Merlin complete his destiny.”

Lucy’s stomach churned. Her destiny? But how? Her magic always was a bit clumsy and basic other than healing spells that her mother taught her, but now she was apparently written in the druids’ prophecies like Emrys? The dragon’s words hung in the air, thick with significance.

“Kilgharrah, please,” Merlin said, urgency in his tone. “The Dorocha... Can we stop them without a sacrifice?”

The dragon’s expression darkened. “The veil between the living world and the dark realm is closing. The Dorocha cannot remain here, but the Cailleach will demand the blood price.”

Merlin’s voice was firm, resolute. “I will sacrifice myself.I will close the veil. I am ready.”

Lucy stepped forward, her heart pounding. “No, Merlin. If anyone should sacrifice themselves, it should be me. I am this… Saeth person. I can protect you. I can protect Arthur.”

Kilgharrah’s massive wings flared, and he let out a low, rumbling growl. “Neither of you should make this sacrifice. The world would be empty without both of you. You both have roles to play—roles that cannot end now.”

With a final, knowing glance at them, the dragon spread his wings, the air crackling with the power of his flight. “You must hurry. Arthur is waiting.”

And with that, Kilgharrah took to the skies, his great wings carrying him into the night, leaving the trio behind to continue their journey.

Lucy and Merlin shared a quiet look, the weight of the dragon’s words pressing down on them.

⚔️⚔️⚔️

The morning sun began to rise, its golden light casting long shadows across the woods. Lucy, Lancelot, and Merlin rode in silence, the weight of their recent encounters settling over them. The gentle clip-clop of the horses' hooves echoed through the still air, a rhythmic lullaby against the backdrop of the distant birdsong.

As the sun climbed higher, they decided to take a brief rest, stopping to stretch their legs. Lucy dismounted, her stiff muscles protesting, and walked over to Shay, offering the horse a drink of water. She stroked its mane, lost in thought. The weight of her new identity, the role she barely understood in this twisted fate, sat heavily on her heart.

Lancelot and Merlin stood nearby, the tension between them palpable. It was clear that a conversation was brewing, one that had been hovering between them since the dragon's warning.

"Merlin," Lancelot began, his voice serious, "you and Lucy... will you really sacrifice yourselves for Arthur?"

Without hesitation, both Merlin and Lucy answered in unison, their voices overlapping.

"Yes," they said at the same time, glaring at each other with matching intensity.

Merlin's voice softened as he turned to face Lancelot, his expression a mixture of resolve and sorrow. "It is my destiny, Lancelot. I have to do this. It's the only way."

Lucy’s eyes flashed with frustration. "Your destiny is to protect Arthur, Merlin, not to die for him!" Her voice was sharp, the words cutting through the morning air. "I’ll do it. Maybe… This is my moment. Maybe… this is what Saeth was meant for."

Merlin’s brow furrowed. "No, Lucy, you are your own person. You don’t need to involve yourself in my matters." His voice was soft but firm, as though he thought he could convince her.

Lucy crossed her arms, a scowl crossing her face. "Are you kidding me? The dragon literally said our fates are intertwined! How can you just stand there and think I’m not involved?"

The two were nearly at odds, their voices rising as they exchanged words, neither willing to back down. The tension thickened, the air growing heavy with unspoken fears and unresolved emotions.

Lancelot, who had been watching the exchange with increasing discomfort, finally snapped. "Enough!" he barked, his voice cutting through the growing storm of their argument. "We don’t have time for this. We need to focus on getting to Arthur, not bickering like children."

Lancelot motioned to the horizon. "Now, let's go. Time is not on our side."

Merlin and Lucy exchanged one last heated glance before nodding in unison, remounting their horses in a strained silence. The three spurred their steeds into a gallop, pushing forward into the dawning day.

⚔️⚔️⚔️

By the time the sun began its descent, the air had cooled, and the shadows lengthened, stretching their dark fingers across the land. Lucy squinted into the distance and gasped, spotting a plume of smoke rising into the sky.

“There,” she said breathlessly. “It must be them.”

Her heart quickened, a sense of relief rushing through her veins. She spurred Shay forward, urging him faster, and Lancelot followed suit with Merlin on his. They raced toward the smoke, the sound of hooves pounding against the earth filling the air.

When they reached the clearing, the knights were already gathered around a fire. The sight of familiar faces sent a wave of warmth through Lucy’s chest. She and Lancelot quickly dismounted, rushing toward the group. The knights drew their swords as they noticed the approaching figures, but Arthur squinted his eyes, trying to see who it was.

"Wait!" Arthur called out, his eyes scanning them as he stepped forward. When he recognized Lancelot, he smiled. "Lancelot! You made it!"

"And Lucy! Dear gods, both of you are fine," Leon exclaimed, his grin wide.

Arthur’s eyes darted past them, searching behind them. "How is Merlin?" he asked, his voice tense with worry.

Lucy and Lancelot exchanged a look, their faces unreadable, before Lancelot spoke with a dramatic pause. "Bad news," he said, his tone heavy.

Lucy smirked, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "He’s still alive!" she added, teasing the group.

And then Merlin emerged behind the horses, his face lighting up in a rare, genuine smile. The knights let out a collective cheer, the tension lifting, their hearts lightened by the sight of their friend. Arthur was the first to move, his arms wide as he pulled Merlin into a tight embrace.

Percival stepped forward and gave Lucy an awkward but heartfelt hug. Elyan and Gwaine shared a look, and Gwaine could barely contain his laughter as he elbowed Elyan.

"Look at that," he whispered. "Percival’s gone soft."

Elyan chuckled, shaking his head. "Don’t be too hard on him. He’s just happy to see her again."

The group gathered around the fire, catching up on their journey. Lucy, sitting between Gwaine and Leon, couldn't help but smile at their stories. Leon ruffled her hair affectionately, his eyes slightly teary. "We're happy you're back," he said quietly, his voice filled with sincerity.

She laughed softly, her gaze flicking between the group. “So, what happened to you lot?”

Arthur grinned, though his expression was edged with weariness. “Well, we had to take a shortcut through the Caves of Andor. Wilddeoren infest the caves, but we thought we could make it through quietly."

Gwaine, grinning wide, interrupted. “Until I killed one. Arthur’s still holding it against me.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, but it was clear the frustration was more out of habit than real anger. “It was an idiotic decision, Gwaine,” he muttered.

Elyan leaned in with a mischievous glint in his eye. "And before we even got to the Wilddeoren, Gwaine put his hand in a beehive for a taste of honey... without using smoke first. The bees attacked him, of course."

The group burst into laughter, with Gwaine groaning in mock indignation. "Hey, I was hungry, okay?" Gwaine then took off his boots to get comfortable, unaware of the effect it would have. The moment his feet hit the air, a collective grimace swept through the group.

"Bloody hell!" Elyan gagged, fanning the air. "What is that smell?"

Gwaine grinned, unbothered. "What? It’s not that bad."

"Bad? It’s foul! As if someone died in there," Leon added, wrinkling his nose.

Lucy and Leon got up, retching at the stench, and moved to the other side of the fire. She sat next to Percival and Gwaine pouted at the sight of it.

“Come on, Percival is a big ball of sweat too! Pick on him instead,” he exclaimed, frustrated.

Lucy laughed and scooted closer to Percival. "Why? Percival smells nice and washes," she teased, giving him a wink. Percival blushed deeply, muttering something about "trying to stay clean" under his breath.

As the laughter died down and the fire crackled softly, the group began to settle in for the night. Lucy found a comfortable spot between Leon and Elyan, her body exhausted from the journey.

As the night wore on and most of the knights fell asleep, Lucy felt Elyan move in his sleep, accidentally bumping into her. She stirred slightly but didn’t fully wake, her eyes fluttering open just enough to hear a conversation.

It was Merlin and Arthur, both lying awake beside the fire, unable to find sleep. Their voices were hushed but filled with emotion. She pretended to sleep, but she couldn’t help but listen in.

Merlin’s voice was quiet, filled with a sadness she had heard all too often. “You don’t have to sacrifice yourself, Arthur.”

Arthur’s voice was steady, but there was a deep ache beneath it. “I have to. To save my people, my kingdom. Camelot.”

Merlin’s response was soft, but insistent. “I will take your place.”

Arthur’s voice broke slightly, joking. “What is the life of a servant compared to the life of a prince? Good servants are hard to come by.”

Merlin scoffed. “I am not that good.”

Arthur paused, and when he spoke again, it was with a quiet determination. “One thing, Merlin. Look after Guinevere. I want her to be happy. She deserves that.”

Merlin’s voice, when it came, was steady. “Don’t worry, Arthur. I’ll make sure of it.”

Lucy’s heart tightened as she listened to the exchange. She sighed softly, her resolve hardening. Perhaps this was what Saeth had meant. It was time for her to do what needed to be done, to protect both Arthur and Merlin, even if it meant making the ultimate sacrifice. She closed her eyes, letting the weight of the decision settle over her like a cloak. Tomorrow, she would face whatever destiny had in store for her.

⚔️⚔️⚔️

The day was still young when the group set off on the boat, gliding over the calm waters toward the Isle of the Blessed. The wind was gentle, the sun hanging low in the sky, casting its golden glow over the shimmering sea. The journey was quiet, with each person lost in their thoughts. Merlin sat in silence, his mind racing with unspoken fears, while Lucy gazed at the horizon, her heart heavy with the weight of their mission. Elyan stood watch, his eyes scanning the waters.

The boat finally reached the island, and as they stepped onto the shore, a sense of foreboding filled the air. The Isle of the Blessed was as eerie as it was beautiful, with its mist-covered paths and ancient stones that whispered of a long-forgotten past. They began their walk, the ground beneath their boots soft and uneven, the trees towering above them like silent sentinels.

But their journey was interrupted by a piercing screech that tore through the stillness. From the sky, several massive Wyverns descended, their scales glistening in the sunlight like armor. They circled overhead, their wings beating with power, sending gusts of wind toward them. Merlin's heart pounded in his chest, but he quickly regained his composure, his dragonlord powers awakening within him.

"S'enthend' apokhorein nun epello-o-o," Merlin whispered, his voice steady, as his eyes glowed with the power of his heritage. The Wyverns faltered, hesitating in the air as if caught by an unseen force. But it wasn’t enough to deter the beasts entirely. Lucy had her crossbow ready, and with expert precision, she fired two bolts, each striking a creature straight in the eye. The two Wyverns she was able to hit screeched in pain, but they didn’t fall.

"More are coming," she said, her voice grim as she reloaded. The air was thick with tension, and before they knew it, more Wyverns appeared, circling them like vultures. There were too many.

"We can’t hold them off much longer," Elyan said, his sword drawn and his stance defensive. "Get to the Cailleach. We’ll handle this."

"Don’t be foolish!" Arthur shouted, but there was no time for an argument.

"Go! We’ll keep them busy," Leon added, his grip tight on his sword.

Merlin hesitated, guilt flashing across his face, but Gwaine gave him a firm shove forward. "We’ll be fine! You need to go."

And with that, Arthur, Merlin, Lancelot and Lucy ran into the heart of the island, leaving Leon, Elyan, Percival and Gwaine behind to fight.

The Cailleach’s dwelling was not far, an ancient temple carved into the stone of the island, shrouded in mist. As they entered, the air seemed to thicken with magic. The Cailleach, an old woman with eyes that glimmered, sat in the center of the room, surrounded by glowing symbols. Behind her was the wide rip between the worlds, and screams of the lost ones were thundering in the room.

Arthur stepped forward, his voice filled with authority. "Stop the rip. Now."

The Cailleach’s laugh echoed in the chamber, a sound that sent a chill down Lucy’s spine. "You think I would simply end the destruction with a wave of my hand?" she asked, her voice like a caress of ice. "You know what I need."

Lancelot drew his sword in a flash, stepping forward with a growl. "You’ll do as he says, or we’ll make you."

But the Cailleach only raised a single finger, her magic crackling in the air. "Try it, sir knight," she said sharply. "I will stop you before you can even draw breath."

Arthur raised his hand and signaled to Lancelot to stand down. The knight grumbled and lowered his sword, unhappy.

Arthur’s voice was calm but insistent. "If you won’t stop it willingly, I’ll offer myself as—."

Before Arthur could finish the sentence, Merlin’s hand shot out, his magic surging. With a swift incantation, Arthur flew and fell limp, collapsing to the floor unconscious.

Merlin stood, his chest rising and falling with the weight of his decision. He turned to face the Cailleach, his eyes filled with determination. "I’ll take his place," he said, his voice steady, yet laden with the knowledge of what this meant.

Lucy’s heart stopped. She couldn’t breathe. "Merlin, no!" she cried, her voice cracking as she stepped toward him, desperate to pull him back. "I will—"

But Merlin, his face softening for a moment, looked at her with a sad smile. "No, not this time, Lucy." He reached out and, with a gentle but forceful push, sent her stumbling backward. "This is my choice. My destiny."

The Cailleach raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the exchange. "Emrys, Saeth," she said, her voice tinged with amusement, "it seems you both are not done with the world of men just yet."

Lucy stood frozen, a coldness settling in her chest. As she tried to steady her breath, she heard a familiar sound—footsteps.

Lancelot was in front of the rip, having walked past them without the magic users noticing. His expression was calm but resolute. He turned one last time and smiled briefly at them, before stretching his arms wide and walking toward the veil that separated the mortal realm from the unknown.

"Wait—Lancelot!" Merlin called, but it was too late. The knight stepped forward, his figure disappearing into the veil, the barrier closing behind him with a soft shimmer.

Lucy’s world stopped. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared in disbelief. "NO, LANCELOT!" she screamed, her voice raw with agony.

Merlin, too, stood frozen for a moment, his face ashen, the weight of Lancelot’s sacrifice settling on him like a stone. Lucy collapsed to the ground, her sobs wracking her body. Merlin knelt beside her, his arms instinctively wrapping around her as she broke down in his embrace. He, too, was silent, his own tears falling as he held her close.

"Why?" she gasped between sobs. "Why did he... why?"

Merlin didn’t have an answer. He couldn’t find the words. The only thing that mattered was the loss they both felt, the grief that now bound them together in a way nothing else could.

And as the Cailleach watched them as she slowly disappeared, her eyes dark and knowing, she spoke once more, her voice carrying through the air like a distant whisper. "Fate is a cruel mistress, Emrys and Saeth. But there is always a price to pay."

⚔️⚔️⚔️

The days following Lancelot’s death felt like a long, suffocating blur. The mourners filled Camelot's halls, their faces etched with sorrow, but there was an air of heaviness that could not be shaken. The kingdom mourned the loss of one of its greatest knights, but for those who knew him intimately, the grief was something far deeper. Arthur stood at the front, his voice strong but trembling as he declared Lancelot the most noble knight he would ever know. The words were sincere, but the weight of his emotions was impossible to hide. His gaze lingered on the empty space where Lancelot should have stood, and the silence in the air spoke louder than any words could.

Lucy stood at the front of the gathered crowd with her brothers-in-arms, her heart breaking with every word Arthur spoke. She wasn’t sure if she was hearing the eulogy or if it was just a memory of Lancelot’s spirit echoing through the halls of Camelot. The people around her whispered in respectful silence, but it was Gwen’s quiet sobs that drew Lucy’s attention. Gwen, pale and worn from the days of sadness, stepped forward with tear-streaked cheeks. Her voice cracked as she looked at Arthur, her eyes filled with a mixture of love and pain.

"Lancelot didn’t sacrifice himself for Camelot," Gwen whispered, her words trembling, "He did it to fulfill the promise he made to me. To protect you, Arthur, no matter the cost."

Arthur’s face softened, a mixture of guilt and sorrow crossing his features as he looked down at Gwen. His lips parted, but no words came out. There was nothing to say.

Lucy could feel the weight of Gwen's words press down on her, suffocating her as the realization of Lancelot’s sacrifice settled in. She slowly stepped back from the crowd, the sounds of the ceremony fading into the background as her mind spiraled. She needed to be alone, to gather herself, but the grief gnawed at her every step.

Walking through the hallway to the knights’ quarters, Lucy’s eyes were blurred with unshed tears. She passed by the door to Lancelot’s room, the one next to hers. Her heart stuttered in her chest. She could feel his presence in the air, as though he might step through that door any moment and offer one of his quiet, knowing smiles.

She paused in front of the door, a lump rising in her throat. Her hand hovered over the door frame, trembling slightly. Please, she thought desperately. Please let him be there. Just this once.

With a shaky breath, Lucy knocked softly, her voice barely a whisper. 

“Lancelot?” The sound of her own voice felt foreign in the stillness. “Lancelot, are you there?”

There was no answer.

She stood there for a moment, hoping, wishing, but nothing came. The silence was suffocating, and with every second that passed, the reality of his absence settled deeper into her chest. A sob caught in her throat, and she let out a shaky breath, slowly sinking to her knees. Her hands pressed to her face, trying to hold back the flood of tears that came without warning. She had lost so much—Lancelot, her brother-in-arms, her friend. The grief felt unbearable, and yet, it was real.

Footsteps approached, and Lucy felt the presence of someone behind her before she heard a deep voice. “Lucy?”

She didn’t turn around. She couldn’t. Her tears fell freely now, her body shaking with silent sobs. Percival knelt beside her, his large frame casting a shadow over her as he gently touched her shoulder.

“I know,” Percival whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as her sobs wracked her body. “I miss him too.”

Lucy cried harder, her face buried against his chest, the reality of Lancelot’s death a raw, aching wound that seemed impossible to heal. Percival’s heart broke for her. For all of them. They had lost one of their own, a knight who had fought for them, bled for them, and died for them.

He didn’t speak, but his arms tightened around her, offering what comfort he could. But seeing Lucy’s pain, hearing her silent cries, made it feel even more unbearable. After a moment, Percival’s own tears began to fall. He let them, not caring that his grief was on display. The room Lancelot left in the knights’ quarters would never be filled with his presence ever again.

They remained like that for what felt like hours, the two of them sitting on the cold stone floor of the hallway, holding each other as the weight of their loss sank in.

⚔️⚔️⚔️

That evening, the somber mood was no less oppressive in Gaius' chambers as Lucy quietly set the table for their dinner. As she placed the last of the silverware down, the door creaked open, and Lucy's heart sank at the sight of Agravaine. His cold presence filled the room like a winter draft, his sharp eyes scanning the chambers with a calculated air.

Gaius, without missing a beat, greeted him with a polite but cautious nod. "Sir Agravaine," he said evenly. "What brings you here?"

Agravaine's eyes shifted briefly to Lucy before he spoke. "I need to ask you something, Gaius. Do you know of a sorcerer named Emrys, and his follower Saeth?"

Lucy froze, her breath catching in her throat. The names Emrys and Saeth stirred a deep, instinctual unease within her, but she quickly masked it, her face a perfect mask of indifference. Gaius, ever calm, appeared unfazed by the question, though the brief narrowing of his eyes told Lucy that he too recognized the weight of the names.

"No," Gaius replied slowly, his voice as steady as ever. "I’ve never heard of them."

Agravaine didn’t look convinced, his gaze flickering between Gaius and Lucy with suspicion. "Really?" he pressed. "Not even a whisper of such names in your circles?"

Gaius met Agravaine's piercing stare without hesitation. "If I had, I would have told you." His words held no hint of deceit, but Lucy could sense the underlying tension beneath them.

Agravaine then turned to her, as if expecting her to add something to the conversation. "Lucy," he said, his voice disgustingly soft yet commanding. "What about you, dear?"

Lucy’s heart raced. She had to lie—there was no other choice. She had to protect herself, and most importantly, she had to protect Merlin and the secrets they were sworn to keep. Her voice was steady, though it felt like the words were being pulled from her chest.

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” she casually replied, her eyes meeting Gaius’ in silent agreement. "As the matter of fact, I don’t know of any sorcerers."

Agravaine scoffed, clearly unsatisfied. "Of course," he said, his tone dripping with disdain. "Women usually do not know much, do they?"

Lucy’s breath hitched, and her hands clenched at her sides. The insult stung deeper than she expected, and in a flash of fury, she turned to face him. "What did you just say?" Her voice was a low growl, her anger barely contained.

She took a step toward him, but before she could get any closer, Gaius intervened, stepping between them and holding up a hand. "That’s enough, Lucy," he said quietly, his voice calm but firm. "Be polite to our visitor."

Agravaine cleared his throat, a smug look on his face as he straightened his tunic. "If you hear anything about this Emrys and Saeth, you know where to find me," he said curtly, his eyes lingering on Lucy for a moment longer than necessary. "Do try not to forget." With that, he turned and left as swiftly as he came, leaving behind an air of unspoken tension.

Lucy stood frozen for a moment, her chest heaving with a mixture of anger and frustration. How dare he? The audacity to belittle her like that in front of Gaius... and yet, she knew it wasn’t about her at all. It was about their secrets, their magic. Agravaine knew something, but how?

Just as the door clicked shut behind Agravaine, Merlin burst from his room, his face etched with worry. "What was that all about?" he asked, his eyes darting between Lucy and Gaius.

Gaius sighed deeply, looking gravely at the young man. "Morgana must have seen the Cailleach and communicated with her," he said, his voice lowering, "and it’s likely she has learned about Emrys and Saeth." He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "Agravaine may not be as virtuous as he seems. Perhaps… he is working with Morgana."

Merlin’s brow furrowed, his confusion clear. "Agravaine? But he’s Arthur’s uncle! And loyal to Camelot… isn’t he?"

Gaius turned to Merlin, his expression one of cautious wisdom. "Agravaine has every reason to be against Uther and Arthur," he said quietly. "His sister, Arthur’s mother, died because of them. His hatred may runs deep, and he might be more willing to betray them than we realize."

Lucy felt the chill of the room settle around her. She knew what that meant. Agravaine could very well be a threat. They’d have to be careful. But she couldn't ignore the gnawing feeling that something worse was coming. The future of Camelot—of Arthur—was at risk.

"Great," she muttered under her breath, the frustration clear in her voice. "Now I have to look out for this bastard." 

Gaius nodded, though the line of worry in his face didn’t fade. "Remember," he said, his voice lowering even further, "Morgana must never find out the truth about who you are, Merlin. And Lucy... you must remain vigilant, my dear. Trust no one who doesn’t share our cause."

The weight of Gaius’ warning settled over them like a blanket. Camelot was no longer a safe place for secrets, and if Agravaine was truly an enemy, they would have to be more cautious than ever before. But the path ahead was uncertain, and with every step they took, the walls around them seemed to grow tighter.

Chapter Text

The castle buzzed with excitement as the court prepared for Arthur's birthday celebration. Bright banners adorned the halls, and the sound of music and laughter echoed through Camelot. In the courtyard, servants and performers from a traveling circus troupe unloaded their wagons, readying their tricks and talents for the grand feast that evening. 

Lucy found herself wandering the training grounds, her crossbow slumped on her back. The knights had the day off from training to assist with preparations or simply enjoy the festivities. She spotted Percival sitting on a low stone wall near the stables, sharpening his blade even though it wouldn’t be needed tonight. She approached with a smile, the crisp morning air brushing her cheeks.

“You’re diligent,” she teased lightly, crossing her arms. “Even on a day off?”

Percival chuckled, setting the blade aside. “Old habits die hard. Besides, the circus might have a juggler who wants to toss knives at me. Best to stay sharp.”

Lucy laughed, taking a seat beside him. Together, they watched the bustling courtyard, where colorful costumes and exotic animals filled the scene. The air smelled faintly of roasted nuts and hay, mingling with the crispness of the season.

“I heard Uther might attend tonight,” Percival said after a moment, his tone lighter than usual. “It’s good to see him feeling more like himself these days.”

Lucy nodded, a soft smile crossing her lips. “It’s a relief, isn’t it? Arthur worked so hard to keep the kingdom together during his father’s illness. I’m glad Uther’s doing better, for Arthur’s sake. A father should celebrate the birth of his child, after all.”

Percival glanced at her, something unspoken lingering in his expression. “Do you ever wish you’d gotten to know your father?” he asked gently.

Lucy hesitated, the question catching her off guard. She looked down at her hands and her Ylisse crested ring, fidgeting slightly with the edge of her tunic. “I’m not sure,” she admitted quietly. “All I’ve ever heard about him is how noble and brave he was. But he died of illness when I was so little... I don’t even remember him.”

Percival’s gaze remained steady, silently encouraging her to continue.

“My mother never really talked about him,” Lucy added, her voice soft. “I think it hurt her too much to dwell on her past love. She always focused on me, on what we still had. But some days, I can’t help but wonder. I wish I knew more. I wish I knew him.”

Percival nodded thoughtfully, his large hands resting on his knees. “It’s natural to want that. To feel like a part of you is missing when you don’t know where you came from.”

Lucy tilted her head, her expression contemplative. “Maybe,” she murmured. “But I think I’m more curious than anything. I don’t feel sad or empty. Just... thoughtful, I guess.”

The two sat in companionable silence for a moment, watching as the circus performers set up their elaborate acts in the background. A juggler tossed flaming torches high into the air, and a tightrope walker balanced with ease above the bustling crowd. Laughter rang out as children gawked at a towering stilt-walker weaving through the courtyard.

Percival broke the quiet with a small smile. “If he was anything like you, Lucy, I’m sure he was remarkable.”

Her cheeks flushed faintly, and she gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Percival. That means more than you know.”

⚔️⚔️⚔️

The hallway leading to the grand dining hall was alive with anticipation. The knights of Camelot gathered, their polished armor gleaming under the soft glow of the torches. Laughter and light-hearted jests filled the air as they adjusted their capes and brushed off the dust from the day’s activities. Lucy stood among them, her heart lighter than it had been in weeks. The camaraderie of her fellow knights was infectious.

“Ready to dazzle, Lucy?” Gwaine teased with a grin, adjusting his sash flamboyantly. “I hear the circus performers are planning something outrageous.”

Lucy smirked. “If it involves you, Gwaine, I’m sure chaos will follow.”

Just as the knights prepared to enter the hall together, a commanding presence drew their attention. Arthur and Uther strode down the corridor, side by side, their regal bearing undeniable. The knights immediately straightened, their playful demeanor replaced by solemnity as they saluted their king and his father.

Uther’s sharp gaze swept over the group, lingering momentarily on each knight before finally landing on Lucy. His expression softened—a rare sight from the once-stern king. Lucy felt the weight of his scrutiny and braced herself for the kind of judgment she often received from men like Agravaine.

But Uther’s words surprised her. “Ah, you must be Lady Lucy,” he said, his tone measured. “We have not met formally since your knighting ceremony. I congratulate you for your dedication and talents.”

Lucy blinked, momentarily stunned. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

Uther stepped closer, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied her face. “You look... exactly like your father. A female version of him, to be precise.”

Her breath hitched, emotions swirling within her. The mention of her father was unexpected, and coming from Uther—who rarely displayed warmth—it struck a chord deep within her. “I wish I knew him, my lord,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Uther nodded, his expression growing distant, as though he were recalling a memory long past. “Byron was one of the most honorable knights I’ve ever known. Back then, I was very devastated when I learned that sorcerers killed him.”

The king refocused his attention on her, and added quietly, “He would be proud of you.”

Lucy’s chest tightened. She struggled to find words, managing only a soft, “Thank you.”

With a small, almost imperceptible smile, Uther turned away, signaling Arthur to lead the group into the dining hall. Lucy lingered for a moment, her heart full.

⚔️⚔️⚔️

The feast was in full swing, the hall alive with music, laughter, and the enticing aroma of roasted meats and spiced wine. The circus troupe dazzled the court with acrobatics, juggling, and fire-eating, each act met with thunderous applause. At the head of the table, Arthur basked in the revelry, his grin as wide as a child’s.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” The Gleeman, dressed in a patchwork of bright colors, stepped forward with a flourish. His voice carried effortlessly over the crowd. “It is an honor to perform before the great court of Camelot, and on such a special occasion as the birthday of our noble prince!”

The crowd cheered, and Arthur raised his goblet in acknowledgment.

“For my next act,” the Gleeman continued, “I shall need a volunteer! And who better than the man of the hour himself?”

Arthur chuckled, waving a dismissive hand. “Oh no, I—”

Before he could finish, the knights and court erupted in cheers and encouragement. With a reluctant laugh, Arthur rose to his feet. “Very well. But if I lose an arm, it’s on all of you.”

The Gleeman guided Arthur to the center of the hall, where a large spinning board awaited. Tying him securely to the board, the Gleeman addressed the audience with a confident smirk. “Fear not, my lord. I never miss my target.”

Arthur, ever the showman, quipped, “Ah, good! Like my good knight Lucy, she—” He was abruptly silenced as the Gleeman stuffed an apple into his mouth.

The crowd roared with laughter, and even Lucy couldn’t suppress a grin—until the Gleeman produced a set of gleaming knives.

Lucy’s smile faded, her heart pounding. She glanced at Merlin, who stood at the edge of the room, his face uncharacteristically serious. His eyes were fixed on the spinning board, his fingers twitching subtly at his side.

The first knife flew through the air, embedding itself with precision just inches from Arthur’s arm. Lucy held her breath, her fingers gripping the edge of the table.

The second knife followed, landing closer to Arthur’s side. A bead of sweat formed on Lucy’s brow. She stole another glance at Merlin, who remained poised, ready to intervene if necessary.

The final knife gleamed under the torchlight, its trajectory seemingly aimed straight for Arthur’s chest. Gasps rippled through the crowd, and Lucy felt her heart stop.

But at the last moment, the blade shifted course, stabbing cleanly through the apple in Arthur’s mouth. The crowd erupted in cheers and applause as The Gleeman bowed.

Gwaine was the first to break the tension, shouting with astonishment, “Oh wow Lucy, you’ve got competition!”

Arthur, freed from the spinning board, grinned triumphantly. “See, Merlin? Nothing to worry about!” He playfully threw the apple in the air and caught it like it was a ball, then bit into it with a satisfied crunch.

Lucy exhaled a shaky laugh, her hands trembling beneath the table. Merlin caught her eye and gave her a faint, knowing nod. She smiled back, grateful for his silent reassurance. 

⚔️⚔️⚔️

The festivities of the evening wound down as the crowd in the dining hall slowly dispersed. Servants moved about, clearing the remnants of the lavish feast, while laughter and the hum of celebration lingered in the air. Arthur, however, was still very much in the spirit of his birthday as he stumbled his way back to his chambers, Merlin following closely behind.

“I’m not drunk, you know,” Arthur muttered, waving a hand for emphasis. The gesture, however, threw him off balance, and Merlin had to steady him before he toppled over.

“Of course not, sire,” Merlin said, trying and failing to hide his grin. “You’re simply… tired from all the excitement.”

Arthur squinted at him. “Exactly. It’s been a very noble sort of day.”

The knights, lingering in the hallway to ensure their prince made it back safely, exchanged amused glances. Gwaine chuckled, leaning against the wall. “Ah, to be king and immune to consequences.”

Elyan smirked. “Let him enjoy it. He deserves a day to let loose.”

Arthur waved dismissively at their comments, though his words slurred slightly. “I’ll have you know, I could out-drink all of you. Especially you, Gwaine.”

The laughter of the knights followed him down the hall as Merlin guided him through the doors of his chambers, muttering about the challenges of serving a "not drunk" prince.

Lucy adjusted her red cape and fastened her crossbow on her back. It was her and Leon’s turn to patrol the castle grounds tonight. Leon appeared moments later, his armor pristine as always, his expression calm and collected.

“Ready, Lucy?” he asked with a faint smile.

She nodded. “Let’s hope for a quiet night.”

The two knights began their rounds, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone corridors. The castle was serene, the revelry of the feast a distant memory. As they walked, their conversation drifted to lighter topics before naturally turning to more personal matters.

“You’re so lucky, Leon,” Lucy sighed thoughtfully. “I can’t imagine growing up in Camelot as the son of a knight and a noble.”

Leon chuckled. “It was a disciplined upbringing, to say the least. My father had high expectations, and he made sure I met them. But Camelot has always been home. I can’t imagine my life any other way.”

Lucy fell silent for a moment, her thoughts wandering. “I wonder sometimes... how different my life would have been if I’d grown up here. If my father had lived, and my mother didn't leave Camelot. Would they both still be alive? Would my mother still have been Gaius’ pupil? Would my father have approved of me becoming a knight?”

Leon slowed his pace, sensing her introspection. “It’s natural to wonder about the paths not taken,” he said thoughtfully. “But dwelling on ‘what could have been’ can blind you to what’s ahead. If you focus too much on the past, you might miss the opportunities and joys waiting for you in this lifetime.”

Lucy looked up at him, his words striking a chord. “That’s... good advice,” she said with a soft smile. “Thank you, Leon.”

He returned her smile, a warm and steady presence as always. “Anytime, Lucy. Now, let’s finish these rounds and make sure Arthur doesn’t stumble into trouble before sunrise.”

With a quiet laugh, Lucy nodded, the weight of her thoughts lifting slightly. The castle's tranquility shattered with the echo of Arthur’s panicked yell. Lucy and Leon exchanged a single, alarmed glance before sprinting toward the screams, which were the king’s chambers. The two guards posted at the door lay dead on the floor, blood and weapons scattered. The door was ajar, and Arthur’s voice rang out again.

“Father! Stay with me—someone, HELP!”

Lucy pushed the door open, her heart hammering in her chest. The sight before her made her blood run cold: Uther was crumpled on the floor, blood pooling from a wound in his chest, and Arthur knelt beside him, his face pale and his hands shaking as they pressed against the injury. Arthur himself looked worse for wear—his movements sluggish, his balance unsteady.

Leon immediately turned on his heel, sprinting toward the bell tower. “I’ll ring the alarm and fetch Gaius!”

Lucy dropped to her knees beside Arthur, gripping his shoulder. “Arthur, what happened?”

Arthur’s words came out in a desperate rush. “The Gleeman... He was waiting here. I barely managed to stay standing, let alone fight. He knocked me down like it was nothing, and then—” He paused, swallowing hard. “Father grabbed a sword... He tried to protect me. He... he saved me.”

Lucy’s heart sank. Uther’s wound was deep, the blood flowing too freely. If Gaius didn’t arrive soon...

“Arthur, move back,” she instructed, keeping her voice steady despite the panic rising inside her. “Let me see what I can do.”

Arthur hesitated, his hands still pressing against his father’s chest, before finally shifting aside. As he did, Lucy noticed his movements were oddly uncoordinated, his eyes glassy and unfocused. He wasn’t just drunk—something was wrong with him, too.

She pushed the thought aside, focusing on Uther. Drawing on the lessons Gaius had drilled into her, she pressed her hands to the wound, her eyes scanning for anything that could staunch the bleeding. But as her fingers met Uther’s chest, she made a quick decision. Angling herself so that Arthur, still groggy, couldn’t see her properly, she closed her eyes and concentrated.

A faint golden light began to glow from her eyes and beneath her hands, her newfound healing magic surging through her. She poured her energy into the wound, willing it to close, to knit together, to stop the relentless flow of blood.

But nothing happened.

Lucy’s breath hitched. She tried again, focusing harder, the glow intensifying. And still, nothing.

Her hands trembled as the realization struck her: it wasn’t working because Uther was too far gone. Death was too close—perhaps too close for even magic to intervene. His breath was faint, but it was there. He wasn’t dead yet, but he was slipping away.

The door burst open, and Merlin rushed in with Gaius and Leon close behind. At the sound, Lucy abruptly stopped her magic, the glow quickly fading as she pulled her hands back. Merlin’s sharp eyes caught the movement, and their gazes locked. She shook her head subtly, her expression desperate, and he understood instantly.

Gaius dropped to his knees beside Uther, already pulling out supplies and barking instructions to Leon to prepare the room.

Arthur, still kneeling nearby, seemed barely able to process the chaos around him. “Is he going to make it?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

Lucy’s throat tightened. She glanced at Gaius, who worked with precision and urgency, but said nothing. Taking a deep breath, she placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, steadying him. “He’s in the best hands now. You need to rest, sire. You’re not well.”

Arthur shook his head stubbornly. “I won’t leave him.”

Lucy didn’t argue, but she exchanged a glance with Merlin. Something was deeply wrong—not just with Uther, but with Arthur too. As if… he was drugged or something. And as the night stretched on, she just hoped things would be going in the positive direction.

⚔️⚔️⚔️

The pale light of morning filtered through the high windows, casting long shadows across the stone floors of Uther's chambers. His body remained still on the bed, the sheets stained with the remnants of the previous night’s horrors. The quiet was broken only by the hushed murmurs of Gaius as he stood by Uther’s bedside, his hands steady despite the gravity of the situation.

Arthur stood near the doorway, his face twisted in disbelief and pain. “Is there nothing we can do for him, Gaius?”

Gaius sighed heavily, his brow furrowed as he turned to face Arthur. “The Gleeman’s dagger... it struck Uther’s heart. There’s internal bleeding that cannot be stopped. His body is weakening, Arthur. I’m sorry, but it’s only a matter of time before...” Gaius trailed off, his voice faltering under the weight of the inevitable.

Arthur’s eyes darkened with a mixture of anger and helplessness. “No. He can’t... Not after everything we’ve been through.” His voice cracked, and he stumbled back a few steps, clearly struggling to hold his composure.

Without another word, Arthur rushed out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway. Merlin, who had been standing quietly by the door, immediately ran after him.

Gaius watched them go, then turned to Lucy and Leon, who had been quietly observing from the doorway. The tension in the room was palpable, and Lucy felt a lump form in her throat. The news was sinking in, and it felt like the walls around her were closing in.

Leon looked down at his feet before speaking, his voice low. “I’ll go inform the elders,” he said quietly, his eyes heavy with the burden of the news. He walked off without another word, leaving Lucy standing alone with Gaius.

Lucy’s mind raced. Her eyes involuntarily flicked back to the bed where Uther lay, his chest rising and falling too slowly, too shallow. She felt her heart thump in her chest, the weight of the failure gnawing at her. She had tried. She had really tried.

Swallowing hard, Lucy whispered to Gaius, her voice shaky, “Did I do something wrong? Why isn’t my magic working? How... how could I not help him?” Her hands clenched at her sides as if trying to hold onto something—anything—that could bring back some sense of control.

Gaius, ever calm and composed, gave her a soft, understanding look. “Lucy, your magic is a gift, but it has its limits. The healing magic the Vilia gave you works on those whose bodies still have a chance to survive. Uther’s injuries... they are beyond the reach of your magic. The wound was too severe, too deep. You did everything you could.”

Her heart felt like it was sinking. She closed her eyes, trying to process his words, trying to make sense of the situation. But the sense of helplessness lingered, and no matter how much she wanted to believe she could save him, it wasn’t enough.

“Sometimes,” Gaius continued gently, “there is nothing to do. Uther’s time is simply coming.”

Lucy nodded slowly, her eyes still fixed on the still form of the king. Her magic had failed.

Gaius gave a small, sympathetic nod before his gaze softened, noticing the blood on her hands and armor. “You should wash up,” he suggested softly. “There’s no need for you to stay in this state.”

Lucy glanced down at her bloodstained hands, feeling the coldness of the reality settling in around her. She nodded mutely, swallowing the lump in her throat, and turned to leave. As she walked toward the door, she cast one last look at Uther, her thoughts a jumbled mess of emotions. Could she have done more? Could anyone have?

She didn't have an answer, and she didn't think she would. But as she made her way to the washroom, she felt a heaviness settle in her chest—a reminder that, no matter how hard she tried, some things were simply beyond her control.

⚔️⚔️⚔️

Later in the day, after her bath, Lucy made her way to the council room where the knights had gathered. Arthur was pacing anxiously, his mind clearly on his father’s deteriorating health. Agravaine was standing near him, speaking in his usual measured tones, his face a mask of concern that Lucy didn’t quite buy.

“It seems we’ve traced the assassin to the town of Wenham,” Agravaine said, his voice cold but laced with a hint of false sympathy. “It lies within Odin’s lands. The assassin was hired by him, to avenge the death of his son.”

Arthur’s face darkened as he listened, his fists clenching by his sides. “And what are we going to do about it?”

Agravaine’s eyes shifted momentarily before he answered, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll send someone after the criminal. But, Arthur… Our thoughts are with you. But if there is anything I can do...” He let the offer hang in the air, clearly hoping to curry favor with his nephew.

Arthur turned to him, his voice heavy with a weariness that was more than just physical. “Your support is a deal to me. Thank you, Uncle.” Agravaine gave a curt nod, his gaze briefly flicking toward Lucy before he turned and exited the room, a sneer curling on his lips as he passed by her. Lucy couldn’t help but roll her eyes in response to his insincere attitude.

Once Agravaine left, the other knights slowly began to trickle out of the room, one by one. Lucy was about to do the same when Merlin burst in, clearly late to the meeting.

Arthur, his brow furrowed, quickly turned to him. “Any changes?” he asked, his voice tight with worry as he referenced his father’s condition.

Merlin, out of breath from running, shook his head. “No.”

Arthur’s expression shifted from frustration to despair. “Why isn’t Gaius doing anything then?”

Merlin’s gaze softened, and he stepped forward, speaking gently. “Because there’s nothing to do, Arthur. Uther is beyond help.”

Arthur’s shoulders sagged, and with a deep sigh, he turned and walked away, the weight of his father’s impending death hanging over him like a cloud. Merlin watched him for a moment, before turning toward Lucy.

He lowered his voice, as if offering a faint glimmer of hope. “Maybe... maybe your magical skills can heal Uther.”

Lucy looked at him, shaking her head. “I can try again, but according to Gaius, it won’t work. No one can escape death, even with my enhanced healing powers from the Vilia.” She gave a soft sigh, the reality of the situation sinking in.

Just then, she glanced out the window and saw Agravaine riding out in a hurry, heading toward the forests. Her instincts flared. Is he meeting Morgana? Lucy wanted to follow him, to see if there was more to his actions than what he had shared in the council room. But before she could act, she bumped into Elyan, who was also making his way out.

“They’re setting up a vigil in the courtyard,” Elyan said, his voice somber. “People from all over the kingdom are lighting candles and praying for the king. We need to do rounds to make sure everything stays safe.”

Lucy nodded, the urgency of their tasks cutting through her thoughts. “Alright. Let’s go.”

As they walked through the courtyard, people lined the area, holding lit candles and praying in hushed voices. The air was thick with tension, and Lucy could feel the heaviness of the kingdom’s uncertainty. She couldn’t help but feel the weight of the moment pressing down on her as she walked beside Elyan.

“Elyan,” she began, her voice breaking the silence, “did you get along with your father?”

Elyan’s expression saddened slightly, and he sighed deeply. “Gods no. A year before Merlin became Arthur’s servant, I was... rebellious. I fought with my father about taking over the blacksmith business. He wanted me to carry it on, but I wanted to travel, to live my youth.” He paused, his eyes distant as he continued. “I didn’t even return for his funeral. Gwen resented me for it. For not being there.”

Lucy’s heart ached for him, hearing the pain in his voice. “I’m sure that must have been hard.”

Elyan closed his eyes, as if reminiscing about the hard past. “I thought I was a bad son. But an… incident happened with Gwen and I realized I needed to be responsible. I couldn’t keep running away from my past.” He glanced at Lucy, a small but genuine smile forming. “So, I reopened my father’s forge and took over his job as blacksmith in Camelot. Then Cendred’s army attacked, and Arthur asked me to join him to defend Camelot. It... it changed everything.”

Lucy smiled, impressed by Elyan’s strength. “That’s incredible,” she said softly.

Elyan chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, blushing. “Yeah, I’m sure my father never imagined I’d be a responsible knight. Even Gwen’s surprised!”

Just then, Percival and Gwaine approached, their expressions serious. Lucy greeted them with a small nod, then asked, “What’s Leon doing?”

“They’re prepping in case the king dies,” Gwaine said, his tone grim. “Leon’s making sure Arthur’s protected, and preparing for his coronation if it comes to that.”

Lucy let out a long breath, trying to process everything that was happening. She turned to Elyan, feeling the weight of the moment. “I need to go see Gaius,” she said, her voice quiet.

Elyan nodded, his expression softening. “Say hi to Gaius for me. We’ll rotate you out with Leon when he gets back.”

As they parted ways, Lucy felt the lingering sense of uncertainty. There was so much she couldn’t control, so much she couldn’t fix. But she couldn’t ignore the sense that something was wrong. Something was off, and she needed to follow that feeling.

⚔️⚔️⚔️

Lucy hurried to Gaius’ chambers, her thoughts racing as she approached the door. She was determined to learn more about her father, to understand the truth behind the mysterious events that had shaped her life. But just as she was about to speak, the door swung open, and Merlin dashed in, looking flustered.

“Arthur’s planning on using magic to heal his father,” Merlin blurted out, barely catching his breath.

Gaius froze, his face pale with shock. “My god, he’s desperate…”

Merlin nodded. “He knows it’s the only way to heal Uther.”

Gaius quickly turned to him, his voice stern and filled with worry. “Merlin, please tell me you’re not going to do this.”

Merlin’s eyes were unwavering. “I’d be lying if I said no.”

Lucy raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. “And maybe.. I could help. Maybe there’s something I didn’t try yet, who knows?”

Gaius groaned, clearly exasperated. “You two fools can’t risk exposing yourselves like this. It’s too dangerous.”

Merlin’s tone softened but remained resolute. “Arthur didn’t recognize me last time.”

Lucy looked confused. “What do you mean, last time?”

Gaius sighed deeply. “This idiot used an aging spell—one that I should remind you, nearly got you burned at the stake last time.”

Merlin’s voice remained determined. “It’s worth the risk.”

Lucy scoffed. “Clearly not, since you almost died.”

Merlin shot her a glare. “I thought you were on my side!”

Lucy shook her head. “I mean, I try to be, but when Gaius tells me how stupid you can get, it’s hard to want to be on your side.”

Merlin’s eyes widened in mock indignation. “Hey! I’m not stupid!”

Gaius, his patience thinning, raised his voice. “Enough, you two! Do you really think Uther is going to thank you for healing him with magic? He’s more likely to have you hanged!”

Merlin, undeterred, met Gaius’ gaze. “Uther will never change his attitude toward magic, I know that. But if Arthur allows it to be used to heal his father, his attitude will change forever. He’ll see that magic can be used for good.”

Gaius shook his head vehemently. “You of all people should know that the use of powerful magic is fraught with danger.”

Merlin’s gaze never wavered. “If it works, I won’t have to hide anymore.”

Gaius’ face softened with concern. “And if it doesn’t? I can’t stand by and watch you do this, Merlin.”

Merlin stepped forward, his voice steady. “Well, don’t try to stop me, because you can’t.” He turned to Lucy, his expression pleading. “Lucy, are you in?”

Lucy hesitated, glancing at Gaius, who gave her a pointed look. “Uhhh, if Gaius promises not to kill me for helping you, I guess I’m in.”

Gaius’ eyes narrowed, though there was no malice in his tone. “I don’t need to kill you if Uther kills you two first. You’re playing a dangerous game, Merlin.”

Merlin shrugged, unfazed. “I’ve been playing a dangerous game since the first time I set foot in Camelot. Maybe this is my chance to change things.”

With that, Merlin pulled Lucy out of the chambers, his mind already racing with plans. As they walked down the hall, he explained his plan to her in a hushed voice.

“I’ll improvise a story about Gaius knowing a sorcerer who lives in the forest of Glaestig, someone who could help us. I’ll ask you to come with us, and you’ll have to distract Arthur while I go and hide. Once I’ve used the aging potion and spell, I’ll transform.”

Lucy raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Easy plan? We’ll see if it plays out easily in real time.”

Merlin smiled, confident. “Just go along with it. You’ll see. I’m pretty sure Arthur will want to leave at first light, so you should get some rest.”

They stopped at a crossroad in the hallway, preparing to part ways.

Lucy sighed, the weight of what they were about to attempt settling in. “I really hope you know what you’re doing, Merlin.”

Merlin’s grin was wide and reassuring, even if his eyes betrayed a hint of nervousness. “I always do.”

⚔️⚔️⚔️

The sun was just beginning to rise as Merlin, Lucy, and Arthur set off from Camelot, riding three horses through the dense forest of Glaestig. The air was cool, but the day was sure to warm up quickly. The journey was silent for the most part, each of them lost in their thoughts, the weight of their mission settling in.

Arthur, leading the way, glanced back at Merlin and Lucy. “Are you sure this is the right place? It looks like a charcoal maker's hut,” he said, brow furrowed as he eyed the shabby structure ahead of them.

Merlin shrugged nonchalantly. “The old man can hardly make a living practicing magic. I think a lot of sorcerers are in the… charcoal business.”

Lucy raised an eyebrow. “That sounds really stupid, but whatever. Let's go.” She started toward the hut, her boots crunching on the ground, her steps purposeful. Arthur followed closely behind, his frustration growing.

“Are you joining us or what?” Arthur asked Merlin, who had remained by the horses, staring off into the distance.

Merlin looked back with a grin. “I don’t want to overwhelm him. He probably doesn’t get many visitors. I’ll watch the horses.”

Arthur scoffed. “I have never met anyone who is so scared so often. Scream like a big girl if you have any problem.”

Lucy shot Arthur a sharp glare, her gaze icy, and Arthur immediately realized his mistake.

“Sorry, scream like a big baby,” he amended quickly.

Merlin, grinning, called out, “Don’t worry, you’ll hear me.”

The door of the hut was unlocked, and the atmosphere inside felt strangely quiet, unsettling even. Arthur entered first, calling out into the gloom. “Hello?”

After a few tense moments, Arthur stepped back out, clearly irritated. “There’s no one here. Are you sure this is the right place?” His voice carried a note of disbelief, frustration bubbling in his chest.

Merlin, standing a little distance away, nodded confidently. “I’m absolutely certain of it. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “How do you know?”

Merlin gave him a look. “He’s a doddering old man. He can’t have gone far.”

Lucy, sensing Arthur’s impatience, stepped forward. “Sire, let’s just wait inside. He’ll be here.”

Arthur sighed heavily, rubbing his forehead. “Fine. Let’s go inside.”

As they entered, Lucy exchanged a knowing glance with Merlin. She winked, and Merlin flashed a quick smile before darting off again. But just as he turned to disappear into the trees, Arthur turned around unexpectedly.

“Where are you sneaking off to?” Arthur asked sharply, his hand on the doorframe.

Merlin, caught off guard but quickly recovering, grinned sheepishly. “Pee. Unless you want to watch me, go inside with Lucy.”

Lucy, teasing, leaned over to Arthur and whispered, “By the gods, Arthur, are you a peeping tom?”

Arthur’s face turned bright red. “What?! No! Let’s just go inside!”

Lucy giggled and shuffled inside, Arthur following, still flustered. Merlin’s voice echoed from outside. “Make yourself at home!”

Inside, the hut was a chaotic mess. The floor was covered in dried herbs, vials, and scattered papers. Shelves lined the walls, bursting with old books, jars of strange ingredients, and odd trinkets. The air was thick with the scent of potions and smoke, and the low light from a single flickering candle cast shadows on the cluttered walls. A large, cracked cauldron sat in the center of the room, and more than one candle had melted down to nearly nothing, their wax pooling on the floor.

Arthur, ever the curious one, started poking around, clearly frustrated by the mess. As he moved, he accidentally bumped into a precariously placed pot with his sword, sending it tumbling to the floor with a loud crash.

Lucy sighed, rubbing her temples. “Please, can’t you just sit and wait like a normal person? Now you’ve broken his pot.”

Arthur quickly tried to push the pot out of sight, his face reddening. “No, no. Let me just move this. He won’t notice.”

Just then, the door creaked open, and a figure shuffled in. An old man, with a long, scraggly white beard and hunched posture, looked like he had seen better days. He was dressed in a long robe, his blue eyes gleaming with mischief. But Lucy’s sharp gaze caught the familiar twinkle in those eyes. She narrowed her eyes, her heart skipping a beat. It was Merlin.

Arthur frowned. “Ugh, it’s you. I should’ve known.”

The elder gave a dramatic bow. “So, we meet again, Arthur Pendragon. Who is this beautiful lady here?”

Lucy, trying to keep her composure, smiled politely. “Hi, my name is Lucy of Ylisse. I am a knight of Camelot.”

Dragoon (Merlin’s disguise) smiled, clearly intrigued. “Goodness me, a lady knight of Camelot. How advanced of you, Prince Arthur.”

Arthur, a little defensive, straightened his back. “It’s not advanced at all. When one is good at fighting and protecting the kingdom, they deserve to be a knight of Camelot.”

“Apparently so,” Dragoon/Merlin said, eyeing Lucy with interest. “Lucy, dear, I hope you are not romantically involved with this brute?”

Lucy chuckled. “Ohhh, no, no, no. He’s like an annoying older brother.”

Arthur shot her a glare. “I am not annoying!”

Lucy raised an eyebrow. “Sometimes you are.”

The old man chuckled, clearly amused. “Good, because you can do better than this fat prince.”

The prince’s jaw dropped. “Did you… just call me fat?”

Lucy, laughing nervously, interjected. “Mer—uh, I mean, Sir Sorcerer, that’s not nice to call the prince fat. And anyway, I would never go for someone like Arthur. He’s not my type.”

Arthur blinked, shocked. “What? What is your type, then?”

Lucy frowned, teasing him. “That’s a secret.”

Dragoon/Merlin cleared his throat, trying to steer the conversation back to business. “So, have you come to kill me?”

Arthur sighed, exasperated. “No, that’s not my intention.”

The old man walked over to the broken pot, stepping on it deliberately. He glared at Arthur, who quickly pointed at Lucy.

“She did it!” Arthur accused.

Lucy, indignantly, slapped her hands on her hips. “What?! You little lying… uh—” She shot Arthur a quick look before finishing, “Uh… Prince.”

Dragoon/Merlin, shaking his head, smiled. “Darling, I know you didn’t.”

Arthur, clearly embarrassed, muttered, “Okay, I broke the pot. Sorry.”

Dragoon/Merlin nodded sagely. “You’ve always been a clumsy fool.”

Arthur looked like he was about to argue but stopped himself. Lucy giggled, clearly entertained.

The old man, his tone growing serious again, turned his attention to Arthur. “So, if you haven’t come all this way to kill me, why have you come? I take it you didn’t come all this way to smash my favorite pot?”

Arthur sighed, a weary breath escaping him. “If I’d known who you were, I wouldn’t have come at all.” He turned toward the door, clearly ready to leave. “Lucy, let’s go. He’s a waste of time.”

Lucy, not willing to let this chance slip away, gave Dragoon/Merlin a quick glance and mouthed, Say something.

Dragoon/Merlin’s voice was calm, but his words caught Arthur off guard. “I uh—I thought you may have come to ask me to use magic to heal your father.”

The prince stopped in his tracks. “How do you know?”

The old man smiled slightly, his old eyes gleaming. “I know more than you could possibly comprehend.”

Lucy leaned in, played along, faking her curiosity. “Bloody hell, that’s scary. Can you read minds?”

Dragoon/Merlin chuckled. “No, darling. I’m not a clairvoyant.”

Arthur, rubbing his forehead in frustration, let out a sharp breath. “Given your hatred for my father and everything that he stands for, I’ve clearly wasted my journey.”

Dragoon/Merlin, unfazed, looked at the prince with knowing eyes. “Don’t suppose you know my mind, Arthur.”

Arthur frowned but took a deep breath. “Then… Will you help me?”

Dragoon/Merlin paused, considering the question. “You are asking me to help a man who almost executed me?”

The prince looked him straight in the eye. “I know what I am asking of you. You have no reason to help me, but you are my only hope. I’ll give you anything you ask for—land, gold, name your price.”

Dragoon/Merlin shook his head, sighing. “I do not want your gold.”

Lucy, feeling the weight of the moment, asked, “Then what do you want, Sir Wizard?”

The old man frowned. “Lucy dear, just call me Dragoon…” He paused, and added wistfully, “All I ever wanted was to live in peace, that those who practice magic are accepted rather than hunted. That is all I ask. That is the price for your father’s life.”

Arthur, surprised, stepped forward and extended his hand. “You have my solemn word. When I am king, things will be different. You won’t have to live in fear.”

Dragoon/Merlin met his gaze, his hand grasping the prince’s in a tense handshake. The air between them crackled with an unspoken understanding. Arthur’s voice cut through the tense silence as he stood up abruptly.

“Good, let’s go,” he said urgently.

Dragoon/Merlin, frowned, clearly taken aback. “What? No, not now. There’s no hurry…”

Arthur’s face hardened. “No time to waste. My father weakens by the hour. If we don’t leave now, it may be too late.”

Dragoon/Merlin tried to protest, his brow furrowed in disbelief. “But I don’t have a horse!”

The prince, in a rush, didn’t even look back at him. “You can ride my servant’s horse.”

The old man paused, still shocked. “And what about him?”

Lucy caught the tone and raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, Arthur, what about Merlin?”

Arthur sighed deeply, a flicker of frustration in his gaze. “Hell, just let him walk back.”

Both Dragoon/Merlin and Lucy gasped in unison, visibly offended by the suggestion. “You’ll let poor Merlin walk all the way back to Camelot?” Lucy exclaimed, eyes wide.

Arthur threw his hands up in exasperation. “I don’t care whose horse the sorcerer uses, just get on with it. We need to go to Camelot before it’s too late!” His voice was laced with an urgency that made even the trees seem to hold their breath.

Dragoon/Merlin, however, had another concern. “I need to gather a few rare herbs,” he said, his voice added with urgency. “It’s essential for the spell. It will take some time.”

Arthur’s patience was wearing thin, his words clipped. “How about this?” He looked at the old sorcerer with a resolute expression. “I’ll meet you tonight at the lower gate, outside of town. Give me your word that you’ll be there.”

The old man didn’t hesitate. “You have my word.”

“Good.” The prince’s voice was final as he turned toward the exit, clearly unwilling to wait any longer.

Without another word, Arthur left the room, the door closing behind him with a thud that echoed in the quiet hut. Lucy, looking back at the warlock, saw the determination in his eyes.

Dragoon/Merlin leaned in close to her, whispering urgently, “Cover for me. I need to go take the reversal aging potion.”

Lucy didn’t hesitate. She turned and dashed after Arthur, her footsteps echoing against the grimy floor of the hut as she made her way outside. She had to buy Merlin some time.

The prince was already walking briskly ahead, his long strides quick and determined. Lucy caught up to him, breathing hard from the sprint.

“Sire, wait! You’ve been to the forest, right? Have you seen the… leaves on the trees? The amazing… fresh flowers?” She fumbled for a diversion, trying to steer his attention away from the back of the hut.

Arthur glanced at her, unimpressed. “I haven’t got time for your distractions, Lucy.” His voice was terse, but there was something more—an edge to it, like the weight of his father’s condition was more than he could bear. “Where is my useless servant, anyway?”

Lucy could hear the impatience in his voice, and it made her heart race. “Uh he’s probably not too far, I’m sure. He’s just... busy.”

But just as Arthur opened his mouth to respond, a twig snapped in the underbrush, at the back of the hut. His eyes darted around, and in an instant, his hand moved to his sword. “Lucy, draw your crossbow. The old man may have attacked Merlin.”

They both froze, but just then, a figure emerged from the forest—it was Merlin, stepping out of the trees, looking entirely unaffected and casually adjusting his pants.

Arthur blinked, confusion clouding his features. “Where have you been?” 

“Uh, peeing!”

Arthur looked at him incredulously. “We just had a full-on discussion with a sorcerer, and you’re telling me that you… have been peeing this entire time? You need to get yourself checked out, something’s definitely wrong with you.”

Lucy couldn’t help herself. She smirked and teased, “Yeah, Merlin. We might need to check that with Gaius. I’m sure he’ll have some... insights.”

Merlin shot her both a dry look as he continued walking, clearly unfazed by her teasing.

The trio made their way back toward Camelot, the atmosphere awkward but with a faint sense of relief. Once they reached the town’s gates, Arthur turned to them with a resigned sigh.

“Well, I guess this is where we part ways. I will see you both later tonight.”

With that, Arthur waved and walked off, leaving Merlin and Lucy to share a brief, knowing glance. The next steps were crucial, and she and Merlin couldn’t afford to lose time either.

The night air was cool as she and Merlin hurried through the narrow hallways toward Gaius's chambers. Every step felt like an eternity, the weight of the mission pressing heavily on both their shoulders. Merlin, his face set with determination, and Lucy, her heart racing with worry, pushed forward in silence. Merlin, without hesitation, swung the door open.

Gaius was sitting by the table, his weathered face creased with concern. “Oh finally, here you are!” he exclaimed, his voice a mix of relief and frustration. “I was worried. I thought something had happened!”

Merlin pushed past him, half-grinning despite the tension. “Apart from Arthur thinking there’s something wrong with my bladder, everything went according to plan.”

Gaius scowled, clearly not amused. “You’re still going through with it, then?”

Merlin nodded firmly. “If I can heal Uther, Arthur has given me his word to bring back magic to Camelot.”

Gaius’s gaze darkened, his concern evident. “What if it goes wrong?”

Merlin’s eyes met his, unwavering. “I have to try.”

Gaius looked over at Lucy, silently asking for help. She simply shrugged, her voice calm but resolute. “He’s right, Gaius. We have to try.”

The physician’s shoulders slumped as he muttered under his breath. “Goodness, not you too!”

Without another word, they all moved to the workbench where the spell books were scattered in a haphazard mess. Merlin flipped through them, his brow furrowed in concentration, but there was no sign of the answers they needed.

Gaius, observing the scene, shook his head. “You’re reading the wrong books,” he said, stepping forward and pulling a dusty tome from the shelf. “Here, read this. Gwillem of Cambria may have been mad as a coot, but there was never a better healer.”

Merlin and Lucy exchanged a relieved glance before both murmuring their thanks to Gaius. With renewed determination, they set to work. The hours seemed to blur as they prepared the potion. The ingredients were laid out meticulously, each one measured carefully. The liquid bubbled and shimmered in the vial as the final touch was added. Gaius watched them closely, his face etched with concern.

“You must use only four drops,” Gaius warned, his tone serious. “Any more, and it could be dangerous.”

Merlin’s hand trembled slightly as he reached for the vial. “I just hope I can remember the spell,” he muttered.

Lucy gave him a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, I’ll memorize it too.”

Gaius placed a hand on Merlin’s shoulder, his eyes softening with a mixture of pride and anxiety. “You must trust your abilities, Merlin. You’ve come this far. You can do this.”

Just as Merlin was about to begin reciting the spell, they heard a loud voice outside. 

“Merlin!” Arthur’s voice, sharp and demanding, carried through the door. 

Lucy’s heart skipped a beat, and she spun toward Merlin. “It’s Arthur! Merlin, hide, quick!” she hissed, her eyes wide with panic.

Merlin didn’t hesitate. In one fluid motion, he ducked behind the door, his breath shallow as he tried to remain as still as possible. 

Arthur barged into the room, his gaze immediately falling on Gaius and Lucy. “Ah, Gaius, Lucy,” he said, his voice dripping with frustration. “Have you seen my useless toad of a servant?”

Gaius, ever the picture of calm, shook his head slowly. “I’m afraid not,” he said, his voice even. “Lucy?”

Lucy, her heart racing, forced a smile and shrugged. “Haven’t seen him since we parted ways.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed in irritation. “Now, where on earth is he?” He looked around, his eyes scanning the room, but didn’t seem to notice the hidden figure behind the door.

Gaius glared at Lucy. She hesitated for a moment, before blurting out, “Uh... have you tried the tavern?”

Arthur’s face lit up with sudden realization. “The tavern, of course! I’m going to make him wish he was never born,” he grumbled, turning on his heel and storming out.

Once the door slammed shut, Merlin emerged from behind the door, looking incredulous. “Why did you tell him I was at the tavern?” he asked, his voice dripping with disbelief.

Lucy let out a breath, still feeling the rush of adrenaline. “It was the first thing that popped into my head!” she admitted sheepishly.

Merlin’s eyes narrowed, a half-smile tugging at his lips despite the situation. “Next time, go for the second or third thing,” he muttered. “Just anywhere but the tavern!”

With the tension easing, they quickly returned to their preparations, double-checking everything one last time. The potion was ready, and Gaius gave them a final nod of approval. “Good luck, you two,” he said, his voice heavy with the weight of his concern. “I’ll pray the gods are with you.”

The three of them shared a brief, heartfelt hug before Lucy turned and hurried out of the chamber. She needed to meet Arthur before he grew any more suspicious. As she slipped out the door, she gave Merlin one last glance. “I’ll cover for you again. You just... make sure you do it right.”

Merlin gave her a nod, the gravity of the task at hand settling back over him. With a deep breath, he prepared to face what came next.

⚔️⚔️⚔️

The night was heavy with tension as Lucy ran alone toward the southern gate. The cool air seemed to push against her, but she kept her pace steady, her heart pounding with every step. She could feel the weight of their mission pressing down on her, but she pushed it aside as she focused on her task.

As she reached the gate, she spotted Arthur standing, his back straight and his eyes scanning the horizon. He looked irritated, clearly impatient. He had arrived not too long ago, and his expression was a mixture of frustration and concern.

Lucy slowed to a stop in front of him. “I’m sorry, Sire, I still haven’t found Merlin.”

Arthur scowled, his voice sharp. “I checked the tavern. He wasn’t there either.”

Lucy shrugged, attempting to look nonchalant. “Who knows where he is? Maybe he’s off hiding somewhere, like usual.”

Arthur let out a frustrated sigh, but they both fell into a silence, standing under the dim light of the gate as the minutes ticked by. Lucy fidgeted nervously, glancing at the darkened road, waiting for the sorcerer to appear.

Five minutes later, they heard a sound—the faintest of footsteps approaching. Arthur’s head snapped up, his gaze sharp. “Finally,” he muttered, his voice tinged with relief.

From the shadows emerged the unmistakable figure of Dragoon/Merlin, looking old and wrinkly thanks to his successful aging potion again.

“I was starting to think you weren’t coming,” Arthur grumbled.

“I gave you my word, and here I am,” the old man replied, his tone calm, though it held an air of amusement. He turned toward Lucy with a soft smile. “Hello, Lucy dear.”

“Hello, Dragoon,” Lucy said warmly, teasing a bit to diffuse the tension. “Lovely meeting again.”

The prince didn’t seem in the mood for pleasantries. “Stop chatting,” he commanded, turning sharply. “Let’s go.”

Dragoon/Merlin raised an eyebrow but gestured in the opposite direction, pointing toward the palace. “I am led to believe that the king’s palace is that way.”

Arthur glared at him, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice. “We can’t be seen walking through the main gate with a known sorcerer!” he snapped.

The old sorcerer’s expression remained unfazed. “You’re already going back on your word?”

The prince’s eyes narrowed. “Heal my father, then I’ll give you everything I promised,” he said through gritted teeth.

Dragoon/Merlin sighed dramatically. “Very well.” He nodded in resignation, and they made their way toward the undercity. The air was thick with tension as the trio moved through the darkened streets, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls. Arthur reached for the barrier at the entrance and, with a grunt, closed it behind them, sealing off their path.

As they continued, Arthur’s pace quickened, his long legs covering the ground with ease. The lady knight jogged alongside him, but Dragoon/Merlin, to their surprise, was lagging behind. His slow shuffle made it clear that his age was catching up to him.

The prince shot a frustrated glance over his shoulder. “Is this really as fast as you can walk?” he called back, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Dragoon/Merlin grinned, a spark of mischief in his eyes. “When you’re as old as I am, let’s see how fast you can walk.” He paused dramatically for a moment, leaning heavily against the wall. “I need to rest for a moment.”

Arthur stopped dead in his tracks, incredulous. “What? There is no time for rest, sorcerer!”

Dragoon/Merlin shrugged, his tone teasing. “Then perhaps you should carry me.”

Lucy’s laugh rang out. “Good idea, Arthur. It will be quicker.”

Arthur’s glare shifted between Lucy and the old sorcerer, his patience clearly wearing thin. But, after a moment’s hesitation, he sighed dramatically. “Fine,” he muttered. “If it means we get there faster, I’ll carry you.”

He bent down, lowering himself to give the old man a piggyback ride. Dragoon/Merlin hopped onto his back, and as he settled in, he gave Arthur a swift kick, as though he were mounting a horse.

Arthur’s face turned a shade darker as he bristled with indignation. “Did you… just kick me?” he asked through clenched teeth.

Dragoon/Merlin chuckled, his voice low and mocking. “Now, who’s wasting time?” He gave Arthur another kick. “HYAH!”

Arthur, now thoroughly exasperated, stumbled forward as Dragoon/Merlin kicked him once more. “Faster! Faaaaaster!” Dragoon/Merlin shouted, his voice full of energy.

Lucy, unable to contain herself, burst into laughter. Her lighthearted chuckle seemed to ease some of the tension in the air, while Arthur, though clearly irritated, couldn’t help but pick up the pace as Dragoon kicked his sides once more.

⚔️⚔️⚔️

The royal quarters were silent, the dim light casting long shadows on the stone walls as they approached Uther’s chambers. Arthur led the way, his expression a mixture of urgency and grim determination, his every step echoing in the hollow silence of the corridor. Lucy walked closely behind him, trying to steady herself, her emotions in a whirlwind. She could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on her, knowing the fragility of life and death lay within the room ahead.

When they reached the door, Arthur turned toward them, his face taut. “Wait here,” he said, his voice unwavering. He walked up to the two guards stationed at the entrance with the calm confidence of a prince.

“You're dismissed for the evening,” Arthur stated plainly.

The first guard hesitated. “But, Sire, we were instructed not to leave our post.”

Arthur’s gaze hardened, his voice cool. “And I said you're dismissed.”

The second guard, after a moment of hesitation, nodded. “Yes, milord.”

Arthur cleared his throat as a signal when the guards were out of sight, and Lucy, her breath catching in her chest, gently pulled Dragoon/Merlin into Uther’s chambers. The heavy door creaked open, revealing Uther lying motionless in his bed, his skin unnaturally pale and his breathing shallow, a stark contrast to the once powerful king. Lucy’s heart skipped a beat at the sight—how fragile life seemed in this moment.

Dragoon/Merlin wasted no time. He reached into his robes and pulled out a small vial, dripping four drops of the potion into Uther’s mouth. His hands hovered over the king’s body as if preparing for the spell, but just as he was about to cast it, Arthur's voice rang out from behind him.

“Wait.”

The old man turned toward him, his expression unreadable. “Is something wrong?”

Arthur's jaw clenched. “My father taught me never to trust magic, and now I’m using it to save him.”

Dragoon/Merlin’s lips curved into a thin, understanding smile. “Your own life has been saved with magic more times than you can possibly imagine.”

Arthur’s brows furrowed, confused and defensive. “What on earth are you talking about?”

Lucy stepped forward, her voice a murmur. “Dragoon probably means that magic is all around us, am I right?”

“Exactly, darling,” Dragoon/Merlin replied, his tone soft. “Magic is woven into the very fabric of the world.”

The prince shook his head, still unsure, his eyes narrowing. “How can I be sure this is the right thing to do?”

The old man’s expression softened, his voice gentle yet firm. “I know you have suffered because of magic, as many have, but not all magic and not all sorcerers are the same. I wish only to show you that magic can be used for good.”

Arthur paused, his emotions churning in the silence of the room. He stood still, lost in his thoughts, the weight of his father’s condition pressing heavily on him. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he gave a single nod to Dragoon/Merlin.

“Do it,” Arthur said quietly, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Lucy exhaled, a sense of relief washing over her as Dragoon/Merlin moved forward. He reached for a special incense from his pouch and lit it, the faint smell of herbs and fire filling the air as he waved the smoke over Uther. As he began the incantation, the room seemed to hold its breath.

"Efencume... ætgædre, eala gastas cræft ige gestricaþ þis lic forod."

The seconds felt like an eternity as they waited, each of them hopeful yet terrified of the unknown outcome.

But then—nothing. The room remained eerily still.

Dragoon/Merlin glanced at Lucy, his eyes filled with desperation, but before they could speak, Uther’s eyes fluttered open, locking onto Arthur. The prince froze, relief flooding his chest, his breath catching as he stared into his father’s gaze.

“Father...” Arthur whispered, a tear slipping down his cheek. He reached for the king’s hand, his pulse quickening.

But then, as though the brief moment of hope had been a cruel illusion, Uther took a sharp, painful breath, his body stiffening as if in agony. His eyes widened in terror before he seized, his body writhing on the bed, and then, with a final, haunting gasp, he went still.

Arthur’s breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he couldn’t move. His heart pounded in his chest as a single word escaped his lips, broken and raw. “No.”

His body trembled, and before anyone could react, he turned to Dragoon/Merlin, rage and grief flooding his veins. “What have you done?!”

Dragoon/Merlin’s voice was panicked, filled with regret. “It… it was not supposed to happen like this.”

Arthur’s eyes blazed with fury, his sword already drawn. “You killed him!” he roared, advancing toward Dragoon.

“No!” Lucy cried, rushing forward. She stepped between the prince and the old man, her eyes wide with panic. “Arthur, NO!”

But Arthur, consumed by his grief, lunged forward. The sword raised in his hands, ready to strike. In that instant, Dragoon/Merlin’s eyes glowed golden and his magic flared, a protective wave of energy knocking Arthur to the ground. He crumpled unconscious, his body hitting the floor with a heavy thud.

Lucy fell to her knees beside him, tears threatening to spill over as she looked over at the lifeless body of Uther on his bed. Time seemed to stand still, the only sound in the room was the faint crackling of the incense. Her heart ached with the weight of failure, the crushing realization that no matter what they had tried, it hadn’t been enough.

“Lucy, please, do something! Use your healing magic!” Dragoon/Merlin pleaded, his voice full of desperation.

Lucy stood up and walked to Uther’s body, her hands trembling as she tried to channel her powers, reaching deep within herself for something—anything—that might work. She whispered the incantation under her breath.

"Efencume... ætgædre, eala gastas cræft ige gestricaþ þis lic forod."

But nothing happened. So she tried again, this time with more conviction. Her eyes glowed gold so bright, as she screamed the spell out loud.

"EFENCUME, ÆTGÆDRE, EALA GASTAS CRÆFT IGE GESTRICAÞ ÞIS LIC FOROD!"

The air felt heavy, as though death itself lingered in the room, mocking them.

“It’s over.” Lucy whispered, her voice breaking as she felt the truth settle in her chest. “No one can escape death.”

She could feel her tears falling, hot against her cheeks, her shoulders shaking as the weight of the moment crushed her. “Merlin, drink the reversal potion and run away,” she murmured, her voice trembling. “Quickly.”

Dragoon/Merlin nodded without hesitation, his heart heavy with guilt and sorrow. He fled the room, his figure vanishing into the shadows.

Lucy stood there, motionless, for a moment longer before she kneeled down, carefully reached for the prince’s cheek, tapping him gently. “Arthur...” she whispered, her voice trembling as she shook him awake.

His eyes snapped open, frantic. “Where is he?” Arthur demanded, his voice harsh.

Lucy wiped her eyes, forcing herself to stay composed. “Gone. He knocked me out with his magic too, Arthur. Get up.”

Arthur blinked, confusion and anger still clouding his mind. “Are you okay, Lucy?”

“I am, Sire,” she said softly, her voice a little steadier than she felt. “Let’s alert the guards, quick.”

Arthur scrambled to his feet, his legs shaky as he ran toward the door. “Ring the bells!” he shouted, his voice echoing down the hall. “My father has been killed! And the sorcerer is on the run!”

The bells began to toll, their mournful sound reverberating throughout the castle, but all Arthur could do was slump to the floor, tears streaming down his face. His sword lay forgotten beside him, his body trembling with grief and fury.

Lucy followed him, her heart breaking as she knelt beside him. She reached out to him, her arms pulling him close, wrapping him in a tight hug. “Arthur, come here,” she whispered, her voice gentle despite the storm raging inside her.

Arthur buried his face in her shoulder, tears streaking down his face as he collapsed into her arms. “I’m so sorry, Arthur,” she whispered, her voice full of sorrow. “Something went wrong, I’m sure of it. Dragoon seemed to know what he was doing.”

Arthur’s sobs shook his entire body as he pulled her tighter. “No... magic took my father. It took my mother. I should have never trusted it. I SHOULD NEVER HAVE TRUSTED IT!” His scream broke with anguish, and Lucy held him, her own tears mingling with his.

She didn’t know if she could fix what had been broken, but in that moment, all she could do was hold him—hold him while the bells rang, signaling the death of a king, but also the death of a father.

⚔️⚔️⚔️

The morning after Uther's death was a dark one for Camelot. The castle was filled with an eerie quiet, as though the very walls mourned the passing of the king. In Gaius's chambers, Merlin and Lucy stood before the old physician, who carefully placed a necklace that was on Uther’s neck on the table before them. The glint of the chain caught the light, but it was the pendant that caught Merlin's eye—a symbol that made his heart stop.

Merlin’s voice trembled as he whispered, “It was Morgana. She’s the one who caused the spell to go wrong, not my magic.”

Gaius looked grim, his face lined with both regret and weariness. “I feared as much. Morgana’s influence in Camelot has been a curse for a long time, but now we have even more reason to fear her. She’s been using dark magic, and it was her meddling that turned what should have been a simple healing spell into a catastrophe.”

Lucy stood motionless for a moment, her thoughts heavy. It wasn’t just magic she was struggling with. It was everything—the loss of Uther, the pain Arthur must feel, the blood that kept spilling around her. Morgana made her mark again. Lucy turned away and left swiftly Gaius’ chambers, needing to escape the weight of it all.

As she walked down the corridor of the knights quarters toward her own shelter, she passed by Lancelot’s empty room. The door was slightly ajar, the room still untouched since his departure. A pang of sadness hit her chest as she remembered his friendship, his warmth and unwavering loyalty, now lost forever.

She continued walking, but bumped into Percival, coming out of his room, just across Lancelot’s. He stood before her, tall and fully armored, a stern look on his face that softened as he saw her.

“Lucy,” he said quietly, his voice filled with concern, “you look terrible. I heard you were with Arthur when Uther died.”

Lucy felt the familiar sting of tears, but she quickly wiped them away, forcing a weak smile. “Yes, it was horrible. I need to take a moment in my room. This… this is too much for me to handle.”

Percival didn’t hesitate, his large hand gently but firmly taking hers. “Lucy, you can’t be alone right now. Come with me. Let’s walk.”

She didn’t resist as he led her away, their footsteps echoing in the silence. They passed through the courtyards and into the flower garden. The scent of roses and lavender filled the air, but even the beauty of the garden couldn’t ease the sorrow that clung to Lucy’s heart.

Percival found a bench beneath an oak tree and invited her to sit. As she did, he sat beside her, his presence both calming and strong. Lucy stared down at her hands and her Ylisse crested ring, the weight of the recent days pressing on her shoulders.

“So many people have died recently,” she whispered. “I still haven’t recovered from my mother’s… and Lancelot’s. Now our king is dead. My mother was right… No one escapes death.”

Percival’s hand found hers again, his grip steady and warm. “I know,” he murmured. “It’s hard to understand. But death is a part of life, as cruel as it is. We can’t change it, Lucy.”

Her voice faltered as she continued, “When Arthur cried in my arms, I… I could see myself in him. The way he cried for his father. It’s the same way I cried for my mother when she was killed. They were taken too early from us.”

Percival’s eyes softened, a deep sadness reflecting in them. He squeezed her hand gently, offering what little comfort he could. “I feel you,” he said quietly. “My village was destroyed by Cendred’s army. My parents were killed right before my eyes. And my poor siblings… they didn’t even stand a chance. I still hear their screams in my nightmares.”

Lucy’s heart ached for him. She could see the pain in his eyes, the ghost of his past lingering in his words. She looked at him, her voice trembling. “I wish my father was here to tell me that being a Knight of Camelot will make a difference. Ever since I became one, all I’ve seen is death.”

Percival turned to face her fully now, his expression thoughtful. “It’s not just death, Lucy. You make a difference every day. You’re here to help, protect, and to guide the people of this kingdom. Your presence means more than you realize. But sometimes, there are sacrifices. There are losses. And that’s part of life. We can’t avoid it. But after every storm, there’s a new dawn. And with this moment of sadness, a new day will rise. Tomorrow, we serve a new king.”

Lucy nodded slowly, his words seeping into her heart. A new king. Arthur. The future of Camelot now rested on his shoulders, and she would be there to support him, just as she had supported the kingdom in the past.

“You’re right,” she said softly. “We have to support Arthur. He needs us now more than ever.”

Percival smiled, his hand gently patting hers. “And we will. Together.”

As they sat there, the sun began to break through the clouds, casting light on the garden. For the first time in days, Lucy felt a small flicker of hope.

⚔️⚔️⚔️

The day after Uther’s funeral, Camelot was draped in a veil of solemnity. The kingdom had lost its king, but today, it would gain a new one. The weight of the previous day’s sorrow still lingered, but there was a flicker of hope, a light that shone through despite the grief. It was a day that marked both the end of an era and the beginning of something new.

Lucy stood in the grand King’s Hall, her heart heavy yet hopeful, surrounded by the knights, noble families, and the elders of Camelot. The chamber was filled with a hum of quiet conversation, the air thick with anticipation. Her closest friends—Leon, Gwaine, Elyan, Percival—stood around her, their presence a steady comfort in this moment of uncertainty. Together, they had faced many battles, seen many losses, but today, they stood shoulder to shoulder, waiting to witness the crowning of Arthur as the new King of Camelot.

As the procession began, Lucy could feel her emotions welling up inside her, threatening to overwhelm her. It had been such a long, hard road for Arthur, and for all of Camelot, to reach this point. To see Uther gone, and now Arthur, his son, standing where his father once stood—it was almost too much to bear. But the pride she felt for Arthur, for what he would become, softened the ache in her chest.

She turned her gaze to the side, and her eyes met Merlin’s across the room. He stood beside Gaius, his expression one of quiet reflection, his thoughts undoubtedly in the same place as hers. The sorrow of the past few days was still there, but there was a glimmer of something else—something brighter, something full of hope. They shared a look, a silent understanding between them. A moment of solidarity, of reassurance that they would face the future together, no matter how difficult it might be. She offered him a small, encouraging smile, and in return, he smiled back, a look of warmth and gratitude in his eyes. It was as if, in that moment, everything else faded away. For a brief second, it felt like the world had paused, allowing them to acknowledge the strength they had found in one another.

But soon, the moment passed, and the ceremony continued. The trumpets blared, and Arthur stepped forward, his regal presence commanding the attention of everyone in the hall. The room fell silent, the weight of the moment settling over all of them. Arthur stood before the great altar, his face a mixture of determination and solemnity. His father’s crown, heavy with history and burden, was placed upon his head, marking the official beginning of his reign.

Lucy’s heart swelled as she watched him. The man who gave her the chance to become the first Lady Knight of Camelot was finally going to be king. She knew the road ahead would not be easy for him. There would be challenges, hardships, and losses. But she also knew, with certainty, that Arthur would lead Camelot with honor, with courage, and with wisdom. He had already proven time and time again that he was worthy of the throne.

The court began to chant, their voices rising in unison. 

“Long Live the King!” 

The words rang through the hall like a wave of sound, a declaration of loyalty, of faith in the man who would lead them into the future. Lucy joined in, her voice strong and unwavering. She couldn’t help but feel the power of the chant, the unity that it represented. It was more than just words—it was a promise. A promise that they, the people of Camelot, would stand with Arthur no matter what came next.

"Long live the King!" she shouted, her voice loud and clear, blending with the voices of the others around her. Her eyes remained fixed on Arthur, on the crown upon his head, and for the first time in a long while, she felt a sense of peace. The grief, though still present, seemed more bearable. In that moment, she believed in Camelot’s future.

The crowd’s cheer swelled, and for a few precious moments, there was nothing but the echo of their voices, a collective declaration of hope and belief. Arthur’s gaze swept over the crowd, and for a brief moment, their eyes locked. In that glance, Lucy saw the weight of everything that had come before—the loss, the pain, the struggle—but also the promise of what was to come. She could see the king that he was becoming, and it filled her with a fierce pride.

Arthur turned to face the gathered court, his voice strong as he addressed them. "I vow to serve Camelot with honor. I will carry the weight of this kingdom with strength and with the courage of those who came before me. And I will never forget that it is the people of this land who make Camelot great."

The words resonated in the hall, a declaration of resolve and unity. The people cheered again, their voices lifting Arthur higher, lifting Camelot higher.

She turned to her side, where the knights stood beside her, their faces full of pride. Percival gave her a small, knowing smile, his hand resting on her shoulder in silent support. Leon, Elyan, and Gwaine stood in quiet solidarity, each of them feeling the same emotion that filled Lucy's heart—pride, sorrow, hope, and love for the kingdom and for the man who now wore the crown.

As the ceremony continued, Lucy felt something new—something brighter. In the midst of all the loss, there was still life. In the midst of the shadows, there was still light. Arthur was no longer just the prince. He was the king. And Camelot would rise with him.

"Long live the King," Lucy whispered to herself one last time, a tear slipping down her cheek as she looked at the man who would change their world.

Chapter Text

The storm had passed, leaving the lower town of Camelot battered and bruised. Muddy streets were littered with fallen branches, shattered shingles, and broken crates. The air carried the scent of damp earth and rain, mingled with the faint aroma of baked bread from the nearby bakery attempting to resume its work. Despite the mess, the sun was shining brightly as if to signal hope.

Lucy adjusted her daggers at her hips and glanced at her companions. None of them wore their knightly armor today; instead, they donned simple, practical clothes. Lucy tied her long brown hair in a high ponytail, while Leon, always composed, rolled up his sleeves. Percival and Elyan, already grinning, seemed eager for a challenge. Gwaine, as usual, looked around and flashed his most beautiful smile to the village ladies.

“All right,” Leon began, taking on his unofficial role as their leader for the day. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover before we head back to the castle. Let’s split up and get to work. The faster we finish, the sooner we can eat.”

“I like the sound of that,” Gwaine said with a smirk, tossing an apple from the supply cart into the air and catching it effortlessly. “But don’t expect me to do anything too physical. I have a reputation to uphold—a knightly one, of course.”

“You mean a lazy one,” Elyan teased, slapping Gwaine on the back as he and Percival made their way to the nearest damaged house.

Percival steadied the ladder as Elyan climbed up to inspect the storm damage. “Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us,” Elyan called down, surveying the gaping holes and loose shingles.

“Nothing we can’t handle,” Percival replied, hoisting a toolbox onto his broad shoulder and climbing up after him.

As they worked, Elyan couldn’t resist turning it into a game. “Bet I can hammer in more shingles than you before we’re done.”

The tall knight chuckled, setting a nail in place with a deft hand. “Oh, it’s on. Just don’t cry when I win.”

From below, Gwaine’s voice rang out, dripping with mock authority. “Faster, you two! Those shingles aren’t going to hammer themselves. And remember, the safety of Camelot depends on your speed and precision!”

Elyan leaned over the edge, pretending to glare at Gwaine. “You could help, you know.”

“I am helping,” Gwaine replied with an exaggerated tone. “Supervising is an essential part of any operation. Carry on, good sirs!”

Percival rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his grin. Elyan’s hammering quickened, and soon the two knights were fully absorbed in their friendly competition, their laughter echoing through the streets.

Meanwhile, Lucy and Leon made their way to the village well, where a line of villagers waited patiently to fill their buckets. Lucy picked up two empty pails and smiled at the elderly woman in front of her. “Don’t worry, we’ll carry these back for you.”

“Thank you, milady,” the woman said with a grateful nod.

Leon handed Lucy the rope to lower the bucket into the well. “You’ve got to use a steady hand or you’ll spill half the water on the way up,” he advised.

“Steady hand?” Lucy raised an eyebrow. “Watch and learn, Sir Leon.”

She lowered the bucket smoothly, filled it, and hauled it up with ease, splashing only a few drops. Leon feigned an impressed whistle. “Not bad, Lucy. But let’s see if you can beat me in a race back to the houses.”

Lucy smirked. “You’re on.”

They each picked up two full buckets and took off down the street. Despite Leon’s longer legs and steady pace, Lucy’s agility allowed her to dart ahead, avoiding mud puddles and stray debris with ease. By the time they reached the first house, Lucy was a few steps ahead, setting her buckets down with a triumphant grin.

“Not bad,” Leon admitted, slightly out of breath. “But I let you win, of course.”

“Of course,” Lucy replied with a laugh.

Gwaine, true to his word, avoided manual labor by taking charge of a group of rowdy children whose parents were busy repairing their homes.

“All right, little warriors,” Gwaine declared, crouching down to their level. “Who here is brave enough to face the Great Gwaine Monster?”

The children squealed with delight as Gwaine roared dramatically, pretending to chase them around the muddy square. He juggled sticks and fallen apples, balancing them on his nose to their cheers. When a little girl tripped and started crying, Gwaine scooped her up and spun her around until she was laughing again.

By the time the parents returned, the children were exhausted but happy, declaring Gwaine the “Champion of Fun.”

“All in a day’s work,” Gwaine said with a wink, ruffling a boy’s hair.

By late morning, the group reconvened at the edge of the lower town. Their clothes were caked in mud, their hands sore, but their spirits were high. They admired the repaired roofs, the orderly water lines, and the smiling villagers.

“Not bad for a morning’s work,” Elyan said, stretching his arms.

“Speak for yourself,” Gwaine replied, brushing mud off his shirt. “I single-handedly saved Camelot’s youth from boredom. Clearly, I’m the true hero of the day.”

Elyan snorted and picked up a leftover shingle, tossing it at Gwaine. The knight dodged it with an exaggerated leap, nearly landing in a puddle. The group erupted in laughter.

⚔️⚔️⚔️

The group of knights strolled back, their steps lighter after the morning’s hard work. Gwaine was mid-story, dramatically recounting his babysitting skills from earlier, earning groans and chuckles from the others. Lucy walked a step behind, watching curiously Merlin’s hurried figure weaving through the lower town.

“Lucy,” Leon called, slowing his pace to let her catch up, “why do you look so distracted?”

She blinked, realizing she hadn’t been paying attention. “Oh! I… uh, I think I forgot one of my daggers back at one of the houses we repaired,” she said, feeling bad about lying.

Elyan arched a brow. “Forgot your dagger? That’s not like you.”

Gwaine smirked. “Must be spending too much time with Merlin. His scatterbrained habits are rubbing off on you.”

“That’s not true!” Lucy protested with a pout.

Leon shook his head with a fond sigh. “Go on then, but don’t dawdle. We’ve got a meeting with Arthur.”

“I’ll catch up!” Lucy called over her shoulder as she turned back, hiding a sheepish grin when she felt the reassuring weight of her second dagger safely tucked in her boot.

Once the knights were out of sight, Lucy hurried through the winding streets of the lower town, following the path she’d seen Merlin take. She then spotted him near the entrance of the Rising Sun tavern, his body half-turned toward the door as though debating whether to go in. He was fidgeting nervously, his hands wringing together.

“Merlin!” she called out sharply, causing him to jump. She closed the distance between them and, without warning, smacked the back of his head.

“OW!” Merlin yelped, rubbing the spot she’d hit. “What was that for?”

“What are you doing skulking around here?” Lucy scolded. “Are you seriously sneaking off to day-drink instead of working at the castle? Arthur’s going to have your head!”

Merlin gave her an indignant look. “I am NOT day-drinking, thank you very much!”

“Then what are you doing?” she pressed, crossing her arms.

Merlin hesitated, glancing around to ensure no one was within earshot. “Fine,” he relented, lowering his voice. “Last night, a man named Julius Borden came to Gaius for help.”

Lucy frowned. “Borden? Never heard of him.”

“He was a pupil of Gaius’s for a short time after your mother, and left during the Great Purge,” Merlin explained. “But Gaius doesn’t trust him. He refused to help him, said he was dangerous.”

Her expression turned serious. “What does this Borden want?”

Merlin leaned in, whispering in her ear. “He has two-thirds of the Triskelion—the key to the Tomb of Ashkanar.”

Lucy’s eyes widened. “The Tomb of Ashkanar ?!” she hissed. “You mean the one that—”

“Holds the last dragon egg,” Merlin finished.

Lucy drew back, her mind racing. “That’s impossible. The druids have always protected the key. If Borden has the Triskelion, he either stole it… or killed for it.”

Merlin shrugged, his expression conflicted. “I don’t really care how he got it. All I know is that I need to find that egg. I’m the last Dragonlord, Lucy. It’s my duty.”

She searched his face, noting the determination in his eyes despite the weight of the risk. “You’re really going to meet him, aren’t you?”

Merlin nodded.

Lucy sighed, her concern deepening. “Then I’m coming with you.”

“No,” Merlin said quickly, holding up a hand. “You can’t—”

“Don’t argue with me,” she cut in. “If this man is as untrustworthy as Gaius says, I’m not letting you walk into this alone. Besides,” she added with a smirk, “you’ll need someone to watch your back.”

Merlin sighed, knowing he wouldn’t win this argument. “Fine. But don’t expose yourself as a Knight of Camelot. If Borden suspects anything, it’ll make things worse.”

“Understood,” Lucy agreed. “Let’s go.”

Merlin glanced at the tavern door, his unease evident. He squared his shoulders and led the way, with Lucy following close behind, her instincts sharp and her daggers ready for whatever awaited them.

The Rising Sun tavern was a dimly lit and cramped establishment, its air thick with the scents of stale ale, roasting meat, and unwashed bodies. The wooden beams creaked under the weight of years, and the mismatched furniture gave the place a disheveled charm. At the far end, a roaring hearth cast flickering shadows across the worn floorboards, while patrons clustered at uneven tables, laughing, arguing, or brooding over mugs of drink.

Merlin and Lucy entered cautiously, their boots tapping softly on the floor as they moved past a rowdy group of gamblers. A staircase to the right led to the upper floor where private rooms were located. Merlin glanced up, his expression wary, and gestured for Lucy to follow as he began to ascend.

The stairs creaked with every step, and they instinctively moved slowly, their breaths shallow to avoid drawing attention. At the top, Merlin pointed to a door at the end of the narrow hallway. They approached, Merlin hesitating for a moment before carefully pushing the door open.

Inside the small room, the air was stale, and the curtains were drawn, leaving only a faint strip of light peeking through. On the bed lay a lump-like figure, motionless beneath a rumpled blanket.

Merlin stepped forward cautiously. “Julius Borden?” he called softly.

Suddenly, a man leaped from behind the door. 

A trap?! Lucy thought.

Before Merlin could react, Borden shoved him against the wall, a dagger pressing dangerously against his throat.

“Who are you?” Borden growled, his eyes alight with suspicion.

Before Merlin could answer, Lucy stormed into the room, her dagger in hand. She moved with precision, the blade finding its way to Borden’s throat in an instant.

“Let him go,” she hissed, her tone low and dangerous.

Borden’s gaze darted to her, and with a swift motion, he twisted away, parrying her strike with his own blade. The two lunged at each other, their daggers clashing in sharp bursts of sound.

Lucy growled in frustration as Borden’s agility matched her movements. Finally, she drew her second dagger from her boot, spun around, and delivered a powerful kick to his chest, sending him sprawling into the wall. In a heartbeat, she pinned him there, her daggers poised just inches from his eyes.

“One more move, and I’ll pierce your eyes,” she said coldly.

Borden froze, his breath coming in short gasps. “What do you want?”

Merlin, still recovering from the shock, stepped forward. “To help you.”

Borden’s eyes flicked to Merlin, then back to Lucy. “Who are you people?”

“We’re friends of Gaius,” Merlin explained quickly. “I heard what you told him last night. I want to see the dragon’s egg. I want to come with you.”

Borden’s expression darkened. “Did he send you? And this… crazy woman?”

“No,” Merlin said firmly. He glanced at Lucy. “Release him.”

Lucy sighed, clearly reluctant, but stepped back, lowering her daggers. “Fine.”

Borden rubbed his chest, glaring at her as he straightened up. “So… Gaius didn’t send you?”

Merlin shook his head.

Borden’s demeanor shifted, his suspicion still evident but tempered with intrigue. “Then get out.”

“Wait!” Merlin protested. “I know everything about dragons. I’ve read everything—”

“Not interested.” Borden stepped forward, grabbing Merlin’s shirt and shoving him toward the door.

Before he could push him out, Lucy’s fist connected with his jaw in a swift punch. Borden stumbled backward, clutching his face.

“What the bloody hell, you bitch?!” he shouted.

Lucy planted a foot on his chest, her dagger once again finding its place at his throat. “My name is Lucy,” she said icily, “and you do not put your hands on my friend. He’s trying to help you, you prat.”

“Okay, okay!” Merlin hurried forward, pulling Lucy back. “That’s enough! Lucy, stop!”

Reluctantly, she stepped away, muttering under her breath as Merlin helped Borden to his feet.

Merlin tried again. “You won’t get into the vaults without me.”

Lucy’s head snapped toward Merlin at the mention of the vaults, her eyes narrowing.

Borden scoffed. “And how’s a boy like you going to help?”

Merlin straightened. “Because I’m the personal servant of King Arthur.”

Borden’s eyes widened, and a sly grin spread across his face. “Ah, you should’ve said so, my friend! What’s your name?”

“Merlin,” he replied. “And I want to help you find the dragon’s egg.”

Borden nodded thoughtfully and gestured for Merlin to sit on the bed. Lucy remained standing, her daggers still in her hands as she watched Borden warily.

“So,” Borden said, his tone conversational. “Why do you want to help so badly?”

Merlin hesitated. “Uh, well… I just want the dragon to be free.”

Borden chuckled. “Ah, don’t we all? How about you and I talk about strategies, hmm?”

Lucy cleared her throat pointedly. Both men turned to look at her.

“I’m not staying here to listen to you two plan a raid on the vaults,” she said flatly. “I’m out of here.”

Before Merlin could protest, she turned and left the room, her steps echoing down the hallway.

“Wait!” Merlin called after her, running out and grabbing her arm. He pulled her into a quiet corner of the hall.

“Please,” he pleaded, his voice low. “Don’t tell Arthur. Or Gaius. You know how important this is to me.”

Lucy sighed, her expression conflicted. “I know, Merlin. That’s the problem. This is important to you, but…” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “So is my role as a knight. I can’t, in good conscience, know about your plan to steal the last piece of the Triskelion, and in the vaults for that matter. You’re helping a… a thief.”

“You don’t know he’s a thief!” Merlin argued, almost pleading.

Lucy gave him a pointed look. “Merlin, please. He is. He’s only interested in you because you can help him, and he’ll walk all over you the moment he gets what he wants. I won’t interfere with your plans, but I won’t help you either. I’m a druid, and it seems like he stole something from my people. Not only that, but I’m also a Knight of Camelot, and he’s planning to steal from my castle. I need to leave before I learn more.”

She turned to go but paused at the top of the stairs. “I hope you find the egg,” she said softly. “And I really hope he doesn’t dupe you.”

Merlin watched her disappear down the steps before returning to Borden’s room, his resolve firm but his heart heavy.

⚔️⚔️⚔️

The warm glow of the knights' dining hall radiated comfort, a stark contrast to Lucy's swirling thoughts. As she entered, the cheerful chatter of her comrades brought a fleeting smile to her face. Elyan was the first to spot her, waving her over with enthusiasm.

"Lucy! Over here!" he called, his grin infectious.

Her gaze landed on Leon, Elyan, Percival, and Gwaine—each lost in their usual conversations. Leon, ever the thoughtful one, gestured to an empty seat beside Percival. "Saved this for you," he said with a wink.

She slid into the chair as Percival, his broad frame slightly hunched in shyness, carefully plated a generous portion of food for her from the shared dishes in the center of the table.

"Thanks, Percival," she said, her gratitude genuine.

Before Percival could reply, Gwaine, perched on the table with one foot on a chair, boomed, "Lucy, have I ever told you the story of how I met Arthur and Merlin? It was during a tavern brawl, of all things!"

The other knights groaned.

"Not again ," Elyan muttered, while Leon leaned back with an exasperated sigh.

"Fine!" Gwaine huffed dramatically, "How about the time I met the Fisher King?"

This earned even louder groans.

Lucy chuckled softly at the scene, but her hands fiddled absently with her food. Percival noticed her distraction almost immediately.

"Lucy, are you all right?" he asked, his voice low enough not to attract the attention of the others.

She hesitated, torn between confiding in him and keeping Merlin's dangerous secret. "Yes, yes, I’m fine," she replied, too quickly.

Percival frowned slightly. "Thinking about something, then?"

She sighed. "Merlin. And his idiocy."

Percival’s lips quirked into a small smile. "Ah. So, nothing new then?"

This drew a laugh from her. "No, unfortunately not."

"Anything I can help with?"

Lucy paused, guilt flickering across her face. She couldn't drag Percival into Merlin's schemes. Instead, she deflected. "Just him trying to get me to do his chores while he runs off... probably day-drinking."

"Does he realize you’re a Knight of Camelot and not his personal errand girl?"

"Apparently not," she quipped. "He likely thinks of me as his annoying sister who’ll do everything for him."

Elyan, catching the tail end of their conversation, interjected, "I wish my sister and I had a relationship like yours with Merlin. You’re not even blood-related, and you two get along so well."

Leon raised an eyebrow. "Elyan, if you stopped being so scared and actually talked to Gwen, she wouldn’t bite your head off."

Lucy nodded in agreement. "He’s right. Gwen’s patient and kind. If you spend time with her—take her out, create bonding opportunities—you’d grow closer."

Elyan sighed heavily. "I still feel her resentment over… everything that has happened to us in the past. It’s not easy."

Gwaine leaned in with a warm smile. "Want me to talk to her for you?"

A chorus of "NO!" erupted from the group, followed by laughter.

Leon grinned. "We love you, Gwaine, but the moment you open your mouth, you make everything worse."

Lucy patted Elyan’s shoulder. "Don’t worry. I’ll put in a good word for you."

Elyan smiled gratefully, and the conversation shifted to lighter topics like horses and hunting, the tension melting into warmth and camaraderie.

Later, as the knights dispersed, Lucy found herself walking the dimly lit hallway with Percival towards the hallway that led to their rooms. They passed Lancelot's old room, and Lucy instinctively paused, her lips moving in a silent prayer.

Percival stopped as well, waiting without a word.

"You don’t have to wait for me," she said softly when she was done.

"I don’t mind," he replied simply. 

As they reached her door, Lucy giggled. "Percival, you don’t have to walk me to my room every night."

Percival blushed, his large hands fidgeting slightly. "I want to."

Her expression softened. On impulse, she reached up, gently tugging his collar to make the tall knight lean down, and pressed a light kiss to his right cheek. "Thank you for keeping an eye on me, Percival. I really appreciate it."

Percival froze, his heart hammering in his chest as she turned to unlock her door.

"Good night," she said with a warm smile before closing the door behind her.

Percival stood there for a moment, touching his cheek, a mix of shock and elation lighting up his face. He threw his hands in the air, feeling victorious.

Inside her room, Lucy sighed, leaning against the door. Her thoughts immediately returned to Merlin. Should she tell Gaius about what she knew? Could she justify staying silent and letting the young warlock walk this dangerous path alone?

She changed into a simple sleeping gown and climbed into her bed, the freshly washed sheets a small comfort. But as the night stretched on, sleep refused to come.

What am I supposed to do? she wondered, tossing and turning.

Her loyalty to her friends warred with her sense of duty as a knight. She couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that Merlin was in over his head—and that she might be the only one who could stop him before it was too late.

⚔️⚔️⚔️

The council room was stifling, the heavy air thick with the murmur of too many voices, all droning on about strategy, defense, and the usual weighty matters of Camelot’s protection. Lucy, standing alongside the other knights, fought to keep her attention from wandering. Her eyes slid over the grandiose map spread across the table in front of them, detailing the northern borders, the mountains, the coastlines, and every strategic point Arthur and the elders had been arguing about for the past hour.

The meeting was dragging. Her legs were starting to ache from standing so long, and the incessant discussions about Odin's raids seemed to have no end in sight.

“We need to strengthen all our outlying defenses as Odin’s raids only go to prove,” Agravaine’s voice was like a lullaby—dull, methodical, and utterly unremarkable. Lucy’s mind drifted, half-listening but mostly zoning out, wishing she were anywhere else.

“It is the northern borders that are particularly vulnerable.”

Arthur nodded gravely, pointing at the map. “It's always been so, and the reason’s obvious. If you look at the terrain here...” He gestured toward the northernmost section, where jagged mountain ranges and dense forests created a natural barrier—one that could easily be used against them by an enemy.

Lucy squinted at the map, barely making out the details. She had seen it all before. It was the same endless discussion about fortifications, supplies, and keeping the borders safe. She couldn’t help but stifle a yawn.

But then, something caught her eye—something far more distracting than the war strategies.

Arthur suddenly stiffened, his brow furrowing as he shifted uncomfortably. Lucy blinked, confusion creeping in as she watched the king... lose his trousers.

What in the world just happened?

Her eyes widened as Arthur’s trousers slipped down his legs, a baffling, surreal moment unfolding in front of the entire council. There was a collective gasp, followed by stunned silence.

No one dared laugh. No one moved. Lucy quickly turned her gaze, worried to see more than she should.

Everyone was too shocked to comprehend what was happening.

Before Lucy could process it, Merlin, ever the problem solver (or rather, the troublemaker), lunged forward. “Allow me to help you, Sire.”

“No! No, Merlin! Get off me!” Arthur’s voice was strained, half-surprised, half-angry, as Merlin began to grapple with him. Both of them were now engaged in a bizarre struggle to pull Arthur’s pants up, the very picture of absurdity.

The knights exchanged awkward glances, their faces flushed with second-hand embarrassment.

"I’m trying to help you, Sire!" Merlin insisted, tugging harder on the trousers, only making matters worse. Arthur, red-faced and livid, was swatting him off in frantic bursts, but Merlin didn’t relent.

At last, they managed to untangle themselves, both of them standing there in a heap. Arthur hastily adjusted his trousers, his expression one of utter disbelief, while Merlin, grinning sheepishly, stepped back, hands behind his back as though nothing had happened.

“There we go. Will there be anything else, Sire?” Merlin asked, his tone a little too calm, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

“No!” Arthur snapped, his voice sharp with embarrassment. “Get out!”

Merlin, unfazed, offered a bow before backing out of the room. His eyes met Lucy’s briefly, and she noticed something. In his hand, he was holding a small, glinting key. Her sharp eyes followed the movement, realization dawning.

When the door closed behind Merlin, Lucy couldn’t contain her anger. She excused herself from the room, her steps calm and deliberate as she made her way toward the hallway. She waited until she was sure no one was looking and then, with a burst of speed, dashed to catch up with the young warlock.

Merlin was walking casually down the hall, seemingly in no hurry. She grabbed his arm, pulling him into a secluded corner where no one would overhear them.

“What in the world are you playing at, Merlin?” she demanded, her voice low but firm. “I saw you steal the key from Arthur’s belt. Don’t even try to deny it. And I bet you used magic to make him drop his… pants.”

Merlin looked momentarily startled, then smirked, clearly trying to brush it off. “You didn’t see anything,” he said, but there was a flicker of unease in his eyes.

Lucy’s gaze hardened, her eyes narrowing as she pressed on. “Yes, I have. You know I have good vision, you fool. Tell me what you're up to, or I swear I’ll make you regret it.”

He cleared his throat, obviously trying to figure out how to explain without making her more suspicious. Finally, he sighed in resignation.

“Alright. I have the key to the vault,” Merlin admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lucy’s eyebrows shot up. “So, you’re going to help Borden steal from Camelot?”

Merlin’s expression darkened, his tone low and edged with frustration. “You’ll never understand what it’s like to be responsible for the last dragon egg in existence. If you were truly a person of magic, you’d see why this is necessary. I’m not asking you to help. I’m asking you to let me go.”

Lucy stared at him, searching his face for any sign of hesitation or deceit. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she took a moment to process what he was saying. Finally, she exhaled, resigned.

“Fine. But if anyone dies because of this, I will not hesitate to act as a Knight of Camelot,” she warned, her tone icy.

Merlin raised an eyebrow, surprised by her ultimatum. “Meaning?” he asked, his voice laden with curiosity.

“Meaning,” she said, her gaze steady, “ you don’t want to know what I mean. Just make sure no one dies. Get the key, get the egg. That’s it.”

Before she could say anything more, Merlin stepped forward, surprising her by pulling her into a tight hug. For a brief moment, she stiffened in his arms, unsure of what to make of it. But then, he pulled away quickly, his face softening.

“Thank you. You won’t regret this.” And with that, he was gone, his figure disappearing down the hallway as if he had never been there at all.

Lucy stood there for a moment, watching him go, a sense of unease settling in her chest.

⚔️⚔️⚔️

The shrill sound of the warning bells sliced through the morning stillness, jolting Lucy awake. Her heart raced as she shot up in bed, her tangled hair a mess of knots, and her armor—hastily strapped—askew. She barely had time to notice the state she was in before she was out the door, in her half-assembled armor, barely awake but fully alert.

She nearly collided with Percival, who came rushing from his own room in much the same state—hair wild, sleeveless chainmail crooked, and armor hastily donned. They locked eyes for a split second, before the urgency of the moment took over, and without a word, they both started sprinting towards the council room.

They arrived at the same time as Gwaine and Elyan, and a few other knights, all out of breath and equally disheveled. Leon was already there, speaking with Agravaine and Gaius.

When Leon spotted his comrades, he excused himself from the conversation with the older men and strode over to them, his expression serious.

“Someone raided the vaults last night. Do you know anything about this?” Leon asked, his voice low and urgent.

The knights exchanged glances, then shook their heads in unison.

“No, absolutely not.” Percival said firmly, his voice matching the others in conviction.

Lucy quickly added, trying to sound casual, making sure the suspicion in her voice was not too obvious, “No clue… did they take anything?”

Leon nodded grimly. “I’ll be going down with the king, Lord Agravaine, and Gaius to figure this out. Be ready to move soon.”

The group nodded, the tension palpable. Leon turned and walked off with the others, some of the knights dispersing to their respective duties.

Elyan turned and looked at Lucy with a grin, his gaze lingering on her messy hair, still hanging in wild strands around her face.

“Goodness me, I would not want to wake up next to you,” Elyan teased, laughter dancing in his voice. “You look like a banshee with your hair all over the place.”

Lucy blushed, immediately trying to tame her wild hair with one hand, though it didn’t help much.

“Shut up, Elyan,” she muttered, clearly embarrassed.

Gwaine, not missing a beat, leaned in with a smirk. “I wouldn’t mind waking up next to you, Lucy,” he said, giving her a wink.

Elyan, Percival, and Lucy all groaned in unison. Lucy rolled her eyes and glared at Gwaine. “You’re disgusting, Gwaine. Keep it in your pants, will you?” she retorted in exasperation.

Gwaine only grinned wider, clearly enjoying the banter.

As Lucy continued to struggle with her hair, Percival noticed and stepped forward. He adjusted the chainmail armor on her shoulders, making sure it was in place before his hands unexpectedly reached up to pull her hair back. Surprising everyone in the room, he began to detangle and braid Lucy’s hair with surprising skill.

Lucy blinked in shock, eyeing him curiously. “How do you know how to braid hair, Percival?”

He paused for a moment, his fingers moving deftly through her hair. “Well, I did have a younger sister before,” he said softly, a note of sadness in his voice.

The room fell into a brief, unexpected silence. Percival’s face grew solemn as the weight of his words hung in the air. The others exchanged glances, sensing the pain behind his casual words.

Elyan, clearly uncomfortable with the heavy moment, cleared his throat and tried to lighten the mood. “Well, uh, I have a sister, and I don’t know how to braid hair. You’re really good at this, mate.”

The group nodded, and Percival gave a small, appreciative smile at the compliment, though there was a faint sadness behind his eyes.

Lucy felt his fingers gently brush against her scalp and neck as he continued to tend her hair. The sensation was oddly soothing, and she let out a quiet, involuntary moan, not fully realizing it until it escaped her lips.

The room went silent again, but this time, it was more from astonishment than anything else. Gwaine and Elyan exchanged shocked looks, their expressions frozen in disbelief.

“What… was that sound?” Gwaine asked, his voice filled with amusement, though his eyes were wide.

Lucy’s face flushed a deep red as she realized what had happened. “What?!” she sputtered. “His hands feel nice, okay?”

Percival’s own face turned a shade darker, his hands faltering as he tried to hide his embarrassment. Elyan and Gwaine, unable to hold back their grins, quickly backed away from the awkward scene.

“Well,” Elyan said with a chuckle. “Time for us to leave you two alone, and finish… whatever this is.” He and Gwaine both started to walk toward the door, clearly trying to escape the awkwardness of the moment.

Lucy turned her head slightly, still blushing, and caught the tall knight’s eye. He was still holding a fistful of her hair, his fingers stopped working as his face was beet red.

The silence was thick, and awkward.

“Percival?” Lucy said with a smile, still a little embarrassed. “Are you going to finish braiding my hair?”

Percival laughed softly, his earlier tension fading as he met her gaze. “Yes, yes, Lady Lucy. Allow me to finish.”

Both of them chuckled, the moment lightening as Percival continued his work, the conversation easily flowing between them. 

⚔️⚔️⚔️

Later that day, as Lucy strolled towards the armory, her mind busy with the morning’s events, a servant hurried toward her, slightly out of breath.

“Lady Lucy!” the young girl called. “Gaius has requested your presence in his chambers. He said it’s urgent.”

Lucy frowned but nodded. “Thank you,” she replied before picking up her pace, weaving through the castle halls. The urgency in the servant’s tone left little doubt—whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

As she approached Gaius’s chambers, raised voices reached her ears. She slowed, hesitating outside the door, which was ajar enough for her to hear snippets of the conversation.

“How could you be so stupid!?” Gaius’s voice thundered, uncharacteristically angry. “What were you thinking!?”

Merlin’s response came, defensive yet determined. “I am a dragonlord. It is my sacred duty to protect the last of the dragons!”

Lucy’s stomach twisted. She knew exactly what the conversation was about. She gently pushed the door open and stepped inside just as Gaius was gesturing furiously at Merlin.

The old physician caught sight of her, his expression shifting from exasperation to suspicion. “Ah, Lucy, dear. Please tell me you didn’t know about this.”

Lucy froze under his scrutinizing gaze. “Uhhhh…”

Gaius’s eyes widened, his voice sharp as a blade. “Lucy of Ylisse! You knew?!”

Her cheeks burned as she raised her hands in a placating gesture. “Gaius, please listen. I did not assist him in any sort!”

Merlin, still nursing his pride, muttered sarcastically. “Wow, thank you for your generous help.”

Lucy shot him a glare. “You knew my position about this!” she snapped.

Gaius’s frustration boiled over. “The tomb could’ve remained sealed for another 400 years! The egg would’ve been completely safe! Now Arthur is riding out intent on destroying it!”

Lucy’s eyes widened in alarm. “But… What happened to Borden?”

Merlin looked sheepish. “He… tricked me. Knocked me out and left me behind.”

Lucy groaned, exasperated. “Oh, you idiot. I told you so!”

Merlin crossed his arms, scowling. “Again, Lucy, thank you for your comments about my intelligence. But I think I’ve grasped your point.”

Lucy threw her hands up in mock surrender. “Fine! I’ll shut up then.” Under her breath, she muttered, “Fool.”

Merlin heard her anyway and sighed heavily. “We have to hope that Borden gets there before Arthur does.”

Gaius scoffed, his voice dripping with skepticism. “You still trust Borden? Do you really believe he intends to release that dragon? I fear to think what he’ll do with such a creature in his possession. Why couldn’t you just leave things alone, Merlin?!”

Merlin’s shoulders slumped, his gaze dropping to the floor, guilt etched into his features.

Lucy’s frustration softened as she glanced between the two men. With a sigh, she spoke, her tone quieter but resolute. “Gaius, I am sorry for not telling you sooner. Merlin had valid reasons for helping Borden, and I didn’t stop him. I knew it was important to him, for the dragon egg. But what’s done is done. We need to focus on finding Borden before it’s too late.”

She paused, her voice steady as she relayed the news. “Leon said us knights ride in two hours.”

The room fell into a tense silence, the gravity of the situation sinking in. Gaius finally nodded, though his expression remained stern. Merlin glanced up, gratitude mingled with determination in his eyes.

“We’ll find a way,” Lucy added, her voice firm. “We always do.”

The three of them nodded in silent agreement, each already steeling themselves for what lay ahead.

⚔️⚔️⚔️

The main square of Camelot bustled with activity under the midday sun. Merchants packed up their stalls, stable boys tended to horses, and castle servants carried baskets filled with provisions. King Arthur, already mounted on his steed, adjusted his grip on the reins and turned to Merlin, who was fumbling to mount his own horse.

“Hurry up, Merlin!” Arthur called, impatience evident in his voice.

Merlin finally clambered onto his horse, mumbling under his breath, while the knights—Arthur, Leon, Elyan, Gwaine, Percival and Lucy, all expertly mounted, awaited the signal. Arthur spurred his horse forward, and the group galloped out of the square and into the countryside.

The countryside unfolded before them, with rolling hills, dense woods, and open fields shimmering in the afternoon light. The wind carried the earthy scent of autumn, and the rhythmic thudding of hooves echoed across the terrain.

They slowed as Arthur raised a hand. He dismounted, crouching near faint impressions in the dirt. Lucy and the others gathered around.

“Same hoof tracks,” Arthur announced, squinting at the trail. “We must be closing on him.”

Lucy, her sharp eyes scanning the horizon, caught sight of something. She pointed toward the tree line where a faint column of smoke spiraled into the sky.

“Look,” she said.

Merlin, craning his neck, nodded. “He made camp.”

Without another word, Lucy kicked her horse into motion. “Ya!” she called, and the others followed, riding swiftly toward the distant smoke.

The sun dipped lower as they arrived at Borden’s makeshift camp in a secluded glade deep in the forest. Shadows lengthened under the towering trees, and the remnants of a campfire smoldered in the center of the clearing. Arthur dismounted, his face grim as he knelt beside the ashes.

“It’s still warm,” he said, running his fingers through the blackened wood.

Elyan inspected the surrounding area. “He can’t have more than a few hours’ lead on us.”

Arthur stood, determination hardening his features. “We need to keep moving.”

They pressed on, the fading light making their search increasingly difficult. At one point, Arthur stopped on a rocky hillside and crouched, examining the ground.

“Deer tracks,” he muttered, frustrated.

Leon’s voice broke the silence. “We lost him?”

Arthur sighed, straightening. “It’s getting too dark to see. We have to find somewhere to hole up for the night.”

Merlin groaned, his horse shifting beneath him. “But we’re so close to him.”

Arthur gave him a pointed look. “Unless you can see in the dark, Merlin, there’s not much else we can do.”

Reluctantly, they turned back, searching for a suitable spot to set up camp. They ended up agreeing to stay for the night in a bit of a secluded area, nestled beneath a canopy of dense trees. The knights set about their tasks—gathering firewood, securing the horses, and checking their weapons. Merlin prepared supper, stirring a hearty stew over the fire as the aroma wafted through the air.

Leon was the first to grab a plate, his stomach growling audibly. “Whoa. I’m famished,” he said, grinning as Merlin ladled extra stew into his bowl.

“Ah, I’m hungry as a horse,” Gwaine declared dramatically, holding his plate out. Merlin rolled his eyes but obliged.

As Merlin finally crouched to serve himself, Arthur’s voice rang out. “As a point, Merlin, have you fed them?”

Merlin blinked. “What?”

Arthur gestured toward the tethered horses. “The horses. Have you fed them?”

Merlin hesitated, his shoulders slumping. “Well—”

“Come on, they must be starving,” Arthur insisted, his tone firm.

Merlin groaned but obeyed, muttering under his breath as he carried feed to the animals. As he worked, he paused, a sudden unease prickling at the back of his neck. He scanned the darkened forest but saw nothing. Shaking off the feeling, he continued feeding the horses.

Meanwhile, around the fire, Lucy pushed her food around her plate, her brow furrowed in thought. Percival noticed and nudged her arm.

“Are you going to finish that?” he asked, his tone light.

Lucy looked up, startled. “Oh, uh, no. I’m not hungry.”

“Lucy, we’ve been riding all day. You should eat something,” Percival frowned.

She shook her head, smiling faintly. “No, really. I’m not hungry at all. Here, take my portion.”

Percival eyed her plate skeptically. “Are you sure? At least take a spoonful.”

“If I get hungry, I’ll munch on a piece of bread or something,” Lucy waved him off. 

Percival shrugged and took her plate, finishing her portion without further argument. Lucy returned to her thoughts, her mind racing as she tried to piece together how Borden could have taken the second part of the key. She knew the druids had protected it. Her concentration broke when Elyan leaned close, whispering conspiratorially in her ear.

Lucy glanced at him, her expression softening into a grin. Elyan’s plan to prank Merlin made her chuckle, and she nodded in agreement.

After supper, the knights handed Merlin their plates one by one. Gwaine sighed contentedly. “That was lovely, Merlin. Thanks.”

“I loved it,” Percival added, smiling as he handed over his bowl.

Leon followed suit. “Me too.”

Arthur, ever the leader, didn’t miss the opportunity to tease. “If you’re going to wash those, wash this too.” He handed Merlin the cooking pot.

Merlin scowled. “Thanks.”

“Wait, Merlin.”

Arthur scooped up the last of the stew with a ladle and ate it with a satisfied nod. “Mm. Mm. Little bit salty, though,” he added with mock seriousness, patting Merlin on the arm before walking off.

Merlin sulked, hungry and slightly pissed off as he prepared to carry the pile of dirty dishes toward the stream. Before he could leave, Lucy called out.

“Merlin.”

He turned, brows furrowed. What else? he thought.

Lucy grinned widely and revealed an untouched plate from behind her back. “There’s another plate here.”

The knights erupted into laughter. Even Merlin couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking his head as he carried the plates away.

Lucy leaned back against a log, her smile lingering as the camaraderie around the fire warmed the chilly forest night.

⚔️⚔️⚔️

The campfire crackled softly, sending flickering shadows dancing across the thick canopy of leaves above. The knights were settling in for the night, their quiet murmurs mingling with the sounds of the forest—rustling leaves, distant hoots of owls, and the occasional snap of a twig. The air carried the earthy scent of damp wood and the faint tang of cooked stew lingering from supper.

Lucy sat cross-legged near the fire, idly tracing patterns in the dirt with the tip of her dagger. Merlin leaned against a log, staring into the flames with a faraway look. Around them, the knights were stretched out on their blankets, muttering the last of their jests and grumbles before sleep claimed them.

Arthur approached, the firelight casting sharp angles on his face. He dropped down beside Merlin with a casual thud, glancing between the two of them.

“You two are awfully quiet,” he remarked, a note of curiosity in his tone.

Lucy looked up from her patterns. “Just thinking,” she replied softly.

Arthur turned to Merlin, who seemed lost in thought. “And you?”

Merlin hesitated, the flicker of something heavy crossing his expression. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

Arthur tilted his head, frowning. “What is it?”

Merlin avoided his gaze, the firelight casting deep shadows on his face. Arthur leaned closer, his confusion growing. “Merlin?”

Taking a deep breath, Merlin finally spoke, his voice low and tinged with sadness. “It was here... this forest. This is where I last saw my father.”

Arthur straightened, his eyes widening slightly. Even Lucy looked up sharply, her fingers freezing mid-pattern.

“You never talked about it,” Arthur said, his tone softer now.

Lucy added quietly, “Gods, Merlin... are you alright?”

Merlin shook his head. “There’s not much to say. I didn’t really know him that well. But... I was proud of him. I want him to be proud of me.”

Lucy sighed, her gaze dropping back to the dirt. “I wish I could say the same. I wish I knew my father. All I know is how amazing of a knight he was.”

Arthur leaned back, staring into the fire with a faint, bitter smile. “I can understand both of you. Fathers are... something difficult to live up to.” He chuckled dryly. “You should try being in my shoes. It was hard enough while he was alive, always having to be more than what he expected of me. It’s even harder now, as king. I know what he faced—the decisions he had to make…”

He paused, before continuing. “I’ll tell you this, Merlin, Lucy; don’t start measuring yourselves against a man who’s gone. You’ll never win.”

Merlin gave a faint, rueful smile. “I know. He’ll always be better than me.”

Arthur’s expression softened as he reached out and patted Merlin on the arm. “For a moment there,” Merlin added, “I thought all three of us had something in common.”

They chuckled, the sound breaking the solemn air. Arthur ruffled Lucy’s hair affectionately before rising and heading to his bedroll. The fire’s glow dimmed as the camp fell silent once more.

Hours passed since. The knights’ steady breathing mingled with the nocturnal hum of the forest. The embers pulsed like a heartbeat, casting faint light on Merlin and Lucy’s faces.

Lucy leaned back against a tree, her crossbow resting on her lap. “Think he meant it?” she asked softly, breaking the silence.

“About not comparing ourselves?” Merlin replied. “Maybe. But it’s easier said than done.”

Before Lucy could respond, a strange sensation gripped her—a whisper, soft and insistent, brushed against her mind.

“Emrys. Saeth.”

Her eyes widened, and she sat bolt upright, gripping her crossbow. Merlin turned to her, his expression mirroring her alarm.

“Did you hear that?” she whispered.

He nodded, standing slowly. The voice came again, more urgent this time.

“Emrys. Saeth. Come here.”

Lucy rose to her feet, her crossbow aimed steadily at the darkness. Merlin’s gaze darted around the shadows beyond the firelight.

“Where are you?” Merlin asked aloud, his voice tinged with unease.

The whisper returned, tugging at their minds. “Emrys. Saeth. This way.”

The two exchanged a look before silently agreeing to follow. Merlin led the way, his steps cautious but determined, while Lucy covered his back, her crossbow ready. The forest seemed to close in around them, the trees casting long, eerie shadows.

Suddenly, a hooded figure stepped out from the darkness, followed by others. The moonlight illuminated the man’s face as he lowered his hood.

Lucy’s crossbow was aimed directly at him. “Reveal yourself,” she commanded.

The man inclined his head, his voice calm. “We are the Iseldir.” He turned his gaze to Lucy. “Hello, Saeth. It is a pleasure to finally meet the daughter of Arel.”

Lucy frowned, her grip tightening. “You... seem familiar.”

“I should. Your mother and I were good friends. We met once or twice when you were a child.”

The Iseldir turned to Merlin, his tone soothing. “Do not be afraid, Emrys. We know of your quest.”

The druids behind him moved in a circle, their presence ethereal and foreboding.

“How?” Merlin asked, his voice edged with suspicion.

The Iseldir’s expression darkened. “The man you seek also stole from us. He passed through these woods not three hours before you.”

Lucy scoffed, shaking her head. “I knew it. I knew he stole it from the druids. My mother told me the key was carefully protected. It was impossible for you to have just... given it to him.”

The Iseldir nodded approvingly. “Good intuition, Saeth. He tried to kill me, but I survived. I am here to help you both.”

“Which way did he go?” Merlin asked.

“To the east. But you must beware, Emrys. The legends tell a tale known only to the druids.”

Merlin’s brow furrowed. “What tale?”

Iseldir hesitated before speaking. “Ashkanar was a wise man. He knew one day men would come seeking to disturb his rest. The Triskelion is not just a key. It is also a trap.”

“A trap?” Merlin asked.

Lucy’s voice wavered. “But my mother said that was just a story. Are you saying it’s true? Are we walking toward our doom?”

“I do not know that, Saeth. But the legends are clear. You must beware.”

The druids began to hum softly, their voices blending into an otherworldly chant. The Iseldir stepped back into their circle.

“Emrys. Saeth.”

Merlin and Lucy paused, looking straight, wary of what the man would say next.

“There is one other thing the legends say,” The Iseldir added. “Only when the way ahead seems impossible will you have found it.”

The druids created a small opening in the circle, letting the two magic beings go through it. Merlin and Lucy exchanged a wary glance but nodded before retreating back toward the camp. As they walked through the dense forest, Lucy whispered, “Do you know what he meant?”

“No,” Merlin replied, his tone grave. “But we will soon.”

⚔️⚔️⚔️

The morning light filtered through the trees, casting long shadows across the forest floor. The knights, swords drawn and eyes sharp, crept silently through the woods, the weight of their journey heavy in each step. Their breath fogged in the cool morning air as they approached Borden's makeshift camp, a place they had tracked the thief to the night before. However, upon reaching the clearing, their hopes were dashed. The camp was abandoned, the remnants of a fire still smoldering in the center, but no sign of Borden.

Arthur squinted around, his brows furrowed in frustration. "He must’ve left in the night," he muttered, his voice laced with disappointment.

Gwaine knelt beside a patch of ground, scanning the area. "No horse tracks. He’s covered them," he said, looking up at the others.

Elyan kicked a small stone in irritation. "He’s a slippery one."

Merlin stood apart, his face a mixture of concern and frustration. "We had him. We were so close."

Arthur walked over to him, his eyes narrowing. "Where are you going? We don’t even know which way he went."

Merlin turned, his expression unreadable. "He’s heading east."

Lucy, walking beside the group, scoffed softly, her thoughts running through her mind like a whirlwind. This idiot is so not subtle.

Merlin’s eyes flickered to her, a slight smile curling on his lips. I can hear you, Lucy.

Lucy’s face flushed, and she quickly turned her head toward him. Merlin kept his gaze forward, as if nothing had happened. Annoyed, she shot back telepathically, Stay out of my head, Merlin.

Arthur, unaware of their mental exchange, raised an eyebrow. "How do you know that?"

Merlin hesitated for a moment, trying to think of a believable explanation. "Because I can sense it."

Lucy burst into laughter, unable to contain herself. Everyone looked at her in surprise, the sound of her laughter echoing through the trees. Merlin shot her an exasperated glare.

"Oh, sorry," Lucy said between giggles. "You were serious. My bad."

Arthur sighed, shaking his head. "Sense is not a word I associate with you, Merlin."

Just then, Elyan found something that caught his attention—a clump of fresh horse dung. He knelt and examined it closely. "Hang on!" he called out, his voice rising with the discovery. "He’s right."

Arthur, clearly skeptical, looked at the others. "He can’t be."

Leon, who had been standing back, nodded slowly. "Well done, Merlin."

Merlin, his pride rising despite himself, shot Arthur a smug glance. "You ever heard of the word 'sorry'?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "No, is that another word you made up?"

The group continued their trek for hours, moving deeper into the wilderness. The fatigue was palpable, the air growing thicker with every step as they made their way down a rugged path. Tired eyes scanned the landscape, the weight of the journey beginning to press down on everyone. Arthur, ever the leader, glanced back at the knights.

"This is a dead end," he muttered in frustration, his voice hoarse with exhaustion. "That’s it. Let’s go back."

The knights turned to head back toward the cave entrance, but not Lucy and Merlin. Lucy, ever determined, walked down towards the water, her eyes scanning the area.

Merlin, noticing her movement, called out. "What about the cave?"

Arthur’s voice rang out from behind them. "We’re wasting our time."

Lucy, however, remained unfazed, crouching beside a patch of mud. "Arthur. Come here," she called.

Arthur, reluctant but curious, walked over. Lucy pointed at a muddy footprint near the water’s edge, her finger tracing the edge of the print. Arthur’s eyes widened, and he nodded in acknowledgment.

"Thank you, Lucy," Arthur said, his tone filled with respect. "Knights! To the cave."

They entered the cave cautiously, drawing their swords and stepping carefully through the darkness. The air was cool and damp, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the quiet expanse. They moved deeper, their eyes adjusting to the dim light.

Lucy, walking alongside Merlin, whispered, "You know this cave?"

"Yes," Merlin replied, his voice tinged with something darker. "It was my father’s cave before he died. But... I feel something else here."

Before Lucy could respond, Merlin surged ahead, moving swiftly through the cave. His senses seemed to guide him, and Lucy followed close behind, trying to keep up with his pace.

"Merlin, this is ridiculous. Where’s he heading?" Arthur called out from the back, growing more frustrated with the seemingly endless tunnel.

Merlin whispered back to Lucy, his voice tense. "Remember the Iseldir’s warning? I think... something is here."

They continued through the cave, the walls narrowing as they descended further. Suddenly, Merlin stopped, his hand raised in warning.

"There’s light ahead," he whispered.

Lucy, in awe, nodded. "A way out. That’s perfect, Merlin."

They pushed forward, and as they neared the light, they realized the cave was actually a hidden tunnel, its exit concealed behind a waterfall. The water cascaded down with a deafening roar, hiding the entrance from anyone who might have passed by unaware.

Arthur, never one to hesitate, sheathed his sword and reached forward, his hand parting the water as he crossed to the other side. "Follow me," he called.

One by one, the knights followed, their bodies stiff with the cold of the water as they emerged on the other side. Gwaine grinned in admiration. "No wonder no one’s ever found it."

They walked down a narrow hill toward a massive tower rising out of the mist, the dark stone walls reaching toward the sky like a silent sentinel. The surrounding forest was dense, the path narrow and treacherous.

Lucy glanced over at Merlin, her voice low but filled with a new understanding. "I see what the Iseldir meant now. Very good, Merlin. I would have never guessed it."

Merlin smiled, the corners of his lips curling in satisfaction. "See, I’m not always an idiot."

Lucy grinned and gave him a playful shove, her eyes bright despite the exhaustion settling in. The two shared a moment of camaraderie before continuing down the path toward the tower.

But their moment of peace was shattered when Percival suddenly cried out in pain. An arrow struck him in the leg, and he staggered back, dropping to one knee.

"Take cover!" Arthur shouted, his voice commanding. The knights scrambled, pressing their backs into the trench walls as another arrow landed dangerously close to Arthur’s feet.

"Percival!" Arthur shouted, turning to the injured knight. "Are you all right?"

Percival grimaced, his voice strained with pain. "Yeah."

Just as Arthur began to move, another arrow whizzed past Percival’s head. "LUCY!" Arthur yelled with a tone of urgency.

Lucy, without hesitation, dashed toward a nearby tree. She scaled it with an agility that stunned everyone, her movements quick and fluid. Borden, perched high, fired arrows at her, but Lucy easily dodged, her speed and precision unmatched. She reached a branch with thick leaves, using them as camouflage.

Gwaine’s eyes widened. "That is... incredible."

Elyan shook his head in disbelief. "Where’s he firing from?"

Arthur turned to Leon, his voice grim. "I’ll draw fire to help Lucy spot him. Get Percival to safety."

With that, Arthur dashed out, drawing Borden’s attention as he ran to one side of the clearing. Borden’s next arrow flew, but Arthur was already gone, dodging out of its path. Leon quickly helped Percival to his feet, leading him to a safer position.

Lucy, now in place, saw Borden moving on the ridge. Without a second thought, she pulled out her crossbow and fired precisely. The bolt struck Borden in the shoulder, and he cried out in pain. He staggered back, trying to retreat.

"I hit him, Arthur!" Lucy called out, her voice filled with triumph.

She quickly telepathically reached out to Merlin. Merlin, smash his crossbow!

Merlin, his face set in concentration, used his magic to wrench the crossbow from Borden’s hands, slamming it against a nearby tree. Borden cursed in pain, clutching his shoulder as he fled into the trees.

Arthur reached the spot where Borden had been, his sword drawn and ready. "What happened? Where’s he gone?"

Merlin shrugged, his expression unreadable. "Perhaps he ran out of bolts."

Lucy started climbing down the tree and when at a safe distance, jumped gracefully, landing with a soft thud. Arthur and Merlin stared at her in surprise, surprised at how elegant and effortless she was. The other knights regrouped and quickly made their way through the woods to meet up with the king, the warlock and the lady knight.

But as they neared a narrow path, Merlin, ever impulsive, dashed forward.

"Careful! Who knows what he’s left lying in wait for us!" Arthur scolded, grabbing Merlin’s arm to pull him back.

Merlin shook him off. "We can go around that. He’s bleeding, thanks to Lucy. We can follow his blood tracks."

Arthur grabbed him firmly, his expression hardening. "No. He knows we’re coming. And Percival is hurt."

Merlin opened his mouth to argue, but Arthur cut him off. "We’ll make camp. We continue at dawn. Don’t argue with me."

Merlin sighed, frustration bubbling under the surface, but he relented. "Fine."

The fading daylight cast a warm glow over the camp as the knights began to settle in for the night. The crackling of the fire and the distant sound of rustling leaves were the only things breaking the stillness of the forest. Lucy, with the steely focus she always had in moments of crisis, turned her attention to Percival, who was still struggling with the pain in his leg.

"Sit down," she commanded gently but firmly, guiding him to a log by the fire. He grimaced but complied, sitting heavily. Lucy kneeled beside him, her fingers deft as she examined the wound. The arrow had lodged in his calf, but it was not too bad.

"It’s not too deep. But this is going to hurt, Percival," she said, her voice soft but serious.

Percival gritted his teeth. "Just do it," he replied, his voice strained but resolute.

She didn't waste a second more. With the swiftness of someone who had done this countless times before, she yanked the arrow out, not giving him a warning. Percival let out a yelp of pain, his hand instinctively clutching the edge of the log as his body stiffened.

"Bloody hell, Lucy," he grunted through clenched teeth, his face twisting in pain. "Could you be less brutal?"

Lucy smirked, an eyebrow raised in mock offense. "Nope. Told you it would hurt," she teased, her eyes flashing with a mischievous glint.

With the arrow removed, Lucy took a moment to grab her water skin. She unscrewed the cap and gently poured a small amount of water over the wound, rinsing away the blood. Her hands were careful, but she avoided scrubbing at it, letting the water do its work. Her mind was already moving to the next step as she pulled out a small bundle from her bag.

"What’s that?" Percival asked, watching her intently.

Lucy didn’t look up as she began to unroll the poultice. "Gaius always prepares yarrow poultices for me before I leave on a mission. This is going to help prevent the infection," she explained softly, her fingers pressing the herb-packed cloth onto the wound.

Percival winced slightly as the poultice touched the injury, but it was a welcome relief from the pain. Lucy tore a long strip of her red Pendragon cape, the fabric soft yet strong, and used it to wrap around his leg tightly, securing the poultice in place.

She looked up at him then, her gaze softening. "You’ll be fine," she said, her tone both reassuring and confident.

Percival’s gaze softened as he reached for her hand, his touch warm and steady. "Thank you, Lucy." His grip lingered, and their eyes locked. In that moment, it felt as if the world around them had slowed down, the crackle of the fire and the rustle of the trees fading into the background.

As their hands remained intertwined, Lucy felt a warmth spread through her chest. Percival to be a strong and loyal knight, but now, sitting before her, he was more than that. His eyes were a striking shade of blue, a calm and intense ocean in the middle of the chaos around them. His face, though rugged from the journey, held a quiet strength that had always been there, but she hadn’t truly seen it until now. The way the firelight danced on his features only accentuated the sharp angles of his jaw and the softness around his eyes.

Percival, too, seemed caught in the moment, his gaze never leaving hers. He had always known Lucy as the brave and capable woman at his side, but now, there was something else. The firelight highlighted the gentle curve of her face, the way her long hair framed her features, and the strength that radiated from her even in her exhaustion. Despite the dirt and weariness, to him, she had never looked more beautiful.

The air between them felt charged, and Lucy's cheeks flushed a deep crimson. She quickly stood up, trying to diffuse the growing tension. "There. All done," she said, brushing her hands off and stepping back, though her heart was still pounding in her chest.

Percival blinked, his hand still hanging in the air where hers had been moments ago. He cleared his throat, awkwardly stood up and walked over to Leon, but his eyes couldn’t help but steal glances back at Lucy. He didn’t know why it felt so difficult to look away now.

Lucy sat down on a log nearby, trying to distract herself, but her mind kept returning to the look in Percival’s eyes. Her thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice in her mind.

You know, you could have just used your healing magic, Merlin’s voice echoed, the familiar telepathic connection they shared buzzing in her mind.

Lucy’s lips curved into a smile, and she shook her head, rolling her eyes. And get my head chopped off? No thanks.

Merlin’s mental chuckle came through, light and teasing. Fair enough. For your information, he won’t stop looking at you. It’s creepy.

Lucy bit her lip, trying to suppress a laugh, and glanced at Percival out of the corner of her eye. He was indeed still watching her, a softness in his expression she hadn’t noticed before.

Merlin, you’ve got a weird way of showing concern, she teased mentally, but her words were filled with warmth.

Merlin responded with a playful thought. I’m just making sure that you don’t get distracted. We have a dragon’s egg to save.

Lucy smirked and shared a silent laugh with him, the connection between them growing even stronger. This new telepathic link was going to be useful, she realized. 

⚔️⚔️⚔️

The scent of woodsmoke mixed with the earthy aroma of the forest, a welcome reprieve after a long day’s journey. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the trees, but the night was peaceful, almost serene. In the center of the camp, Merlin was busy stirring a large pot hanging over the fire, his face scrunched in concentration. The broth inside bubbled softly, filling the air with a savory fragrance. He was cooking dinner for the group, though his mind was clearly elsewhere, distracted by the ever-present worry of what could be lurking around them in the shadows.

With a sigh, Merlin stepped away from the pot for a moment to grab the salt from his bag. He had barely taken a step when a sudden plop sound echoed from the direction of the soup. He turned sharply, brows furrowing, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

Merlin hesitated. He stirred the pot once more, peering inside, but nothing seemed amiss. It was probably nothing, he told himself—a trick of the wind, or his imagination playing tricks. He shrugged, deciding to let it go, though the thought of it lingered at the back of his mind.

Turning slightly, Merlin checked to see if the knights were preoccupied. They were, each of them scattered around the camp, engaged in their own quiet activities and conversations. Taking the opportunity, Merlin reached for a plate, preparing to serve himself first. He wasn’t used to this luxury—getting a first helping before everyone else. After all, he was usually the one cooking, and he thought it would be nice for once.

Before he could take a bite, however, Arthur appeared beside him, his voice cutting through the air.

"Merlin," Arthur called, his tone light but firm. "Can you get some more firewood?"

Merlin's eyes widened in mock disbelief as Arthur snatched the plate right from his hands, not waiting for a response.

"Well, I was just going to try the soup…" Merlin began, but his words trailed off as Arthur dug into the bowl, savoring the first bite.

"Mm. Mm. Mm. This is good," Arthur said, his voice thick with approval. He glanced over at the other knights, who had started to gather around the fire. "Guys, you’ve got to try this!"

One by one, the knights approached, each grabbing a plate and serving themselves. Elyan, always eager, was the first to ladle a generous portion into his bowl. Gwaine followed close behind, clapping his hands together with enthusiasm.

Lucy chuckled as she watched them, but she was distracted. She began to unbraid her long brown hair, her fingers working through the knots and tangles with a quiet focus. The wind picked up slightly, tousling her hair as she sighed contentedly, but there was something not quite right. She wasn’t not in the mood for the hearty meal that Merlin had so carefully prepared, still thinking of how Borden escaped and how he landed an arrow on Percival.

Elyan noticed her hesitance. "Lucy, not eating again?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

She shook her head, offering him a smile. "Nah, I’m not in the mood to eat tonight," she said, with a nonchalant shrug. "Feel free to take my portion, Elyan."

Without hesitation, Elyan grabbed the plate she had set aside, and Gwaine immediately jumped in beside him. The two began to squabble over the last helping, acting like children over the single remaining portion of food. Lucy couldn’t help but laugh at the sight, shaking her head fondly at their antics.

She glanced over at Merlin, who had returned to the pot, saddened that there was none left for him. "Let me help you with the wood," she said, standing up.

Merlin grumbled in response, clearly not interested in having help, but he didn’t protest. "They always tease me!" he muttered, his frustration bubbling to the surface as he reached for the firewood nearby.

Lucy grinned as she picked up some wood herself, following Merlin toward the edge of the camp. "They do this because they love you, Merlin," she teased, her voice light.

Merlin shot her an exasperated look. "Doesn’t feel like it," he muttered under his breath.

The two of them returned to the camp with the firewood, Lucy dropping her bundle near the fire. The knights were sprawled out on the ground now, already showing signs of exhaustion after a long day. The stillness was almost unsettling. They had all eaten their fill, but something felt wrong.

Merlin noticed the silence and frowned, his hand tightening around his bundle of wood. He sighed heavily, setting it down with a loud thud. "Alright, don’t tell me… it was too salty?" he said, half to himself, but when no one responded, his frown deepened.

He stepped closer to the group, his eyes scanning the knights who lay, unmoving, as though in a deep sleep.

Lucy dropped to her knees beside Percival, her eyes widening as she looked at him. "Merlin! What is happening?" she exclaimed, her voice laced with panic.

Gwaine was snoring softly, the steady rise and fall of his chest unremarkable. Merlin cursed under his breath as he dropped to the ground beside Arthur. He examined his face, his brow furrowing in confusion. This wasn’t right. They weren’t just sleeping.

Lucy, crouched beside the cooking pot, was the first to spot something unusual. She reached in with a cautious hand and pulled a strange poultice from the bottom of the pot. She held it up to her nose and sniffed.

"Bloody hell, Merlin," she muttered, her face scrunching in disbelief. "This smells like valerian! And a big dose of it."

Merlin's heart sank. He had no idea how it had gotten into the soup, but now, as he watched the knights struggle in their unconscious state, he knew it wasn’t a coincidence. They were drugged.

Suddenly, Arthur began to cough, a sharp, choking sound that made Merlin’s blood run cold. It was bad—he could hear the struggle in Arthur's throat, wheezing as if he couldn’t breathe properly. Merlin was at his side in an instant, placing a hand on Arthur’s chest and whispering urgently in the old tongue.

“Ic þe þurhhæle þin licsare!”

Arthur’s body jerked as he gasped for air, his chest rising as he took a full breath. His face, which had been pale and strained, slowly returned to normal as he slipped back into a peaceful, though still deeply asleep, state.

Merlin turned, desperate to help the others. He rushed to Gwaine first, shaking him by the shoulder, but it was no use. He used the spell again, and turned to look at the lady knight for help. Lucy already healed Percival and was now at Leon’s side, gently whispering the healing incantation as well.

“Ic þe þurhhæle þin licsare!”

"Lucy," Merlin called out, his voice tight. "Quickly! Elyan’s next!"

The two of them shrugged off the panic fighting for dominance in their minds and rushed to Elyan, the last who needed help. Lucy whispered the incantation as she knelt by Elyan’s side, the magic flowing through her hands. As the last of the knights breathed easier, Merlin collapsed onto the ground beside Lucy, sweat trickling down his face.

Merlin wiped his forehead, looking over the sleeping knights, his voice heavy with realization. "Borden is trying to kill us," he said, his tone grim.

Lucy glanced at him, her lips curling into a sarcastic smile. "So, I guess Gaius and I were right then?" she said, her voice dripping with irony.

Merlin shot her a weary look, his patience thinning. "Shut up, Lucy," he muttered. "He must not be far. We should go after him."

Lucy’s eyes turned hard with determination. She looked over at the knights, all of them breathing soundly now, and nodded. They had no time to waste.

Looking back at Merlin, her expression resolute, Lucy whispered, "Let’s go."

⚔️⚔️⚔️

Merlin and Lucy hastily moved through the dense forest, their boots crunching against the underbrush as they pushed forward in pursuit of Borden. The canopy of towering trees above them created a murky twilight, with only the faintest glow of the setting sun creeping through the thick leaves. Their hearts raced, and their breaths came out in labored bursts. The chase was on, but with every twist and turn, the shadows grew longer, and the tension heightened.

They came to a halt before a looming stone tower, its silhouette dark and foreboding against the evening sky. The air felt thick with danger as they saw Borden scaling the side of the ancient structure, his form barely visible as he climbed with agility. Without a word, Merlin and Lucy exchanged a determined glance, silently agreeing to follow. The chase had led them here, and they weren’t about to let Borden escape now.

The duo moved swiftly, their feet light on the moss-covered ground as they approached the entrance of the tower. They slipped in quietly, shadows among shadows, as Borden reached the top, his movements slow and deliberate. They didn’t want to alert him, but their presence wasn’t to be ignored for long. They heard the creaking of ancient metal and the shifting of stone as Borden finally reached his goal: the Tomb of Ashkanar. It loomed before them, its stone walls etched with symbols of a forgotten age.

Merlin and Lucy stayed hidden around a corner as Borden approached the keyhole in the stone wall, the Triskelion—a mysterious and ancient artifact—clutched in his hand. He slid the key into place, and the lock clicked, a low, ominous sound reverberating through the still night air. The door began to open, and a swirl of thick smoke began pouring out, emanating from the gargoyles perched above the entrance. Borden coughed, dropping to his knees as the smoke seemed to have a strange effect on him.

Merlin’s eyes widened in realization. The trap!

But it was too late. The door swung open with an eerie groan, and Borden staggered inside, barely able to stand. As he entered, the smoke continued to pour from the mouths of the gargoyles, and soon, it was flooding the air, moving toward Merlin and Lucy. Merlin reached instinctively for his jacket and pulled it over his face to shield himself from the heavy smoke. Lucy did the same with her red cape, trying to hold her breath as best as she could.

“Þrosm tohweorfe!” Merlin whispered fiercely, his eyes glowing with power as his magic swirled in the air around them. The smoke began to dissipate, the oppressive fog lifting as if it had never been there. Merlin’s breath came out in sharp gasps as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

Lucy crouched down beside Borden, her brow furrowing as she slapped him hard across the face.

“Looks like he’s out,” she muttered, glancing up at Merlin.

Merlin’s expression was dark. He didn’t trust Borden, and whatever plan the man had set in motion, it couldn’t be good. Lucy picked up the torch from the ground and, with a flick of her wrist, signaled for Merlin to move forward. They began climbing the stone steps leading deeper into the tomb, the smell of ancient dust thick in the air.

As they reached the top, the light from their torch flickered against the walls, casting eerie shadows. Merlin’s eyes went wide as he saw it—a dragon egg, larger than any he had ever seen before, sitting on a pedestal bathed in a beam of sunlight from a crack in the ceiling. Its shape was smooth, teardrop-like, and the faintest shimmer of magic could be felt in the air around it.

Merlin took a step forward, setting the torch down beside him, and gently reached out to touch the egg. His fingers brushed the surface, feeling its warmth, its energy.

But then, from behind them, came a voice.

“Give it to me.”

Borden had recovered, somehow, and was now standing at the top of the stairs, his eyes locked on the egg. His face twisted with greed.

“No!” Merlin snapped, his voice low and dangerous. “The egg isn’t yours to take.”

Borden’s eyes narrowed. “Give it to me, and I will grant you a half-share, Merlin.”

Lucy stepped forward, her hand on her crossbow. “Merlin, please, don’t listen to this thief.” She handed him the torch, her fingers tightening around her weapon as she prepared herself.

Merlin stood his ground, his expression fierce. “No, the egg must go free.”

Borden scoffed, a mocking smile curling on his lips. “Don’t be a fool, Merlin! Think of the power it could bring us! The lands we could rule, the riches.”

“I’m not interested in that,” Merlin replied, shaking his head.

Lucy’s voice was firm as she joined in, pointing her crossbow in the thief’s direction. “Dragons cannot be used like that! They must be left unshackled, free to roam the earth.”

Merlin nodded in agreement, his voice low but sure. “Lucy’s right. No one can control them in the way you want to!”

Borden took a step forward, his tone turning venomous. “But this is your chance, Merlin. Your chance to escape your meaningless life! To gain power, to claim your place among kings.”

Lucy’s eyes blazed with fury. “You! How dare you say this about Merlin?”

Merlin’s voice rang out, the words cutting through the air like a blade. “It’s not my life that’s pitiable, Borden. It’s yours. Wasted... for nothing.”

Borden was enraged now, his fist clenched around the Triskelion. “I pieced together the Triskelion! I found the path that led us here! The dragon belongs to me! Now, hand it over!”

In a swift movement, Borden grabbed the torch from Merlin’s hand and waved it close to their faces, threatening the two magic beings with it. Lucy didn’t hesitate. With deadly precision, she shot an arrow straight into Borden’s other arm she didn’t shoot at earlier. He roared in pain.

“You… BITCH!” Borden spat, his face twisted with rage.

Merlin stepped forward, his fists clenched, enraged. “Stop, Borden. I will not hand you the egg.”

Borden swung the torch at them, his face contorted in anger. “You’re not going to stop me, boy!”

Lucy’s eyes narrowed. She released another arrow, this one striking Borden in the leg. He screamed in agony but managed to rise, despite the pain.

“Dragons are magical creatures!” Merlin shouted, his voice thundering. “They belong to no man!”

“Yes!” Lucy echoed. “They are for the benefit of all!”

Borden sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. “What do you know? You’re nothing but a serving boy and a pitiful woman who thinks she’s a knight!”

Merlin’s eyes blazed with fury, his voice shaking the very walls. “I AM THE LAST DRAGONLORD!”

Borden’s face faltered. He took a step back, his resolve cracking for a moment.

Merlin advanced, his eyes locking with Borden’s. “And she may be a Knight of Camelot, but Lucy is also the daughter of a druid! You stole from her people, and I will not stand you stealing what is mine. I am warning you—leave this egg ALONE!”

Borden, desperate, glanced at the egg, his greed outweighing his fear. He tried swinging the torch at them, but Lucy was faster, shooting him straight in the chest. The impact sent Borden stumbling backward, crashing to the stone floor. Merlin raised his hands, his magic flaring as he hurled Borden away to the far end of the tomb, sending him flying through the air.

Suddenly, the tomb began to tremble. Rocks began to fall from the ceiling, the structure collapsing in on itself. Merlin grabbed the egg from its pedestal, cradling it gently. “Let’s leave!” he yelled to Lucy, his voice filled with urgency.

They rushed toward the exit, dodging falling stones and debris. The ground shook beneath their feet, but they didn’t stop running. With every step, the sound of crumbling rock echoed around them, the tower’s collapse growing louder with each passing second.

Finally, they burst from the tomb and into the woods, their lungs heaving with exhaustion. Merlin quickly retrieved his satchel and carefully placed the dragon egg inside, covering it to protect its existence.

The knights had arrived at the clearing, still groggy from their earlier unconsciousness. Arthur, his brow furrowed with concern, called out to them.

“What the hell happened?”

Lucy, panting, looked over her shoulder at the ruins of the tomb. “The tomb was a trap. He set it off. He never got out.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “What about the egg?”

Merlin shrugged, shaking his head. “It would’ve perished with him.”

Arthur’s face darkened, but Leon stepped forward, a note of finality in his voice. “Nothing’s going to survive under all that.”

The tower was now a pile of rubble, the last remnants of Borden’s greed buried beneath tons of stone. The knights stood in silence, staring at the debris, disappointment etched on their faces. But Merlin’s eyes were drawn to the satchel at his feet. He crossed gazes with Lucy, who smiled gently at him. 

They had done it. They had saved the last dragon egg.

⚔️⚔️⚔️

The stone walls of Gaius’ chambers were bathed in the warm, flickering light of the hearth. A crackling fire danced within the small fireplace, casting soft shadows across the wooden table where Merlin, Gaius, and Lucy sat, the air thick with the rich scent of a hearty supper. The evening had quieted after the chaos of the Tomb of Ashkanar, and Lucy’s nerves finally began to settle after the trials of the day. She sat comfortably across from Merlin, her hunger finally catching up with her, and she ate heartily, savoring each bite of the meat and bread that had been placed before her. She was famished—both from the journey and the emotions she had been carrying for so long.

Gaius, ever observant, watched her with a mixture of amusement and knowing concern. With a slight raise of his brow, he set down his goblet of wine, his voice tinged with sarcasm as he glanced over at Merlin.

“Well, shame about the egg,” Gaius remarked, his eyes sparkling with the kind of knowing skepticism only an old friend could muster.

Merlin, sensing the subtle trap, tried to keep his composure, offering a small, almost forced smile as he shifted his gaze between Gaius and Lucy. “Yes, it is,” he replied, his voice almost too casual, trying to hide the undercurrent of unease that flowed beneath the surface.

Lucy, catching the tone of the conversation, smiled and played along, her face carefully neutral. “Very sad,” she added, keeping her voice light, though the faintest glint of amusement tugged at her lips. She wanted to appear unaffected, though she was still adjusting to the rush of emotions that came with their success, her body still processing the toll it had taken.

Gaius, however, was not so easily fooled. His sharp gaze flicked from Merlin to Lucy, his suspicion mounting. “You weren’t able to save it?” he asked, leaning forward, his eyes narrowing as he studied the pair.

Merlin shook his head slowly, trying to keep his face as unreadable as possible. “No,” he said, his voice firm, though there was a slight edge to his tone as if he was hiding something, despite his best efforts.

Lucy, still playing her part, gave a small, disappointed sigh, keeping the mood light. “So sad,” she repeated, though her heart was still racing.

There was a long, pregnant pause as Gaius looked at them, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp with suspicion. Merlin and Lucy continued eating in silence, not meeting his gaze, but both could feel the weight of his scrutiny. Gaius wasn’t the type to let things slide, especially when it came to Merlin’s cryptic behavior.

Finally, Gaius couldn’t help it. He tilted his head, squinting his eyes in a gesture of silent inquiry. Merlin and Lucy exchanged a brief glance, one that spoke volumes—there was no hiding it any longer. Then, almost simultaneously, they both burst into quiet laughter, the tension of the past few hours finally cracking.

Merlin stood quickly, a grin spreading across his face. “Alright,” he said, trying to recover some semblance of composure, “I can’t keep pretending anymore.”

He rushed to his satchel, and pulled it from the floor beside his chair. Gaius watched with raised eyebrows as Merlin carefully unfastened the bag and reached inside, his hands gentle, as though handling something far more precious than anything else in the room.

Lucy, watching intently, gave him a small nod, signaling her silent approval. Merlin’s fingers brushed against the smooth surface of the dragon egg before he pulled it out, its glossy, iridescent shell shimmering in the firelight. It was a thing of wonder—its shape perfect, like a teardrop, glowing with a faint ethereal light that seemed to come from within. The egg was impossibly beautiful, its surface patterned with faint, intricate designs that seemed to shift and ripple as the light caught it.

Gaius inhaled sharply, his mouth falling open as he stared at the egg in awe. For a moment, no words came to him. He simply stood there, wide-eyed, his gaze locked on the object of such legendary power.

“All the jewels, all the treasures, Gaius,” Merlin said softly, his voice filled with quiet reverence, “they don’t compare to this.” He handed the egg carefully to Gaius, who took it with both hands, holding it as though it were a fragile newborn.

Gaius glanced up, his eyes blazing with something akin to admiration, though his voice was filled with reproach. “And it was nearly lost because of you,” he muttered, his tone sharp with reprimand.

Lucy scoffed lightly, not missing the opportunity to tease Merlin. “He’s right,” she said, her tone playful but with an undercurrent of truth.

Merlin gave her a pointed glare before turning back to Gaius, the weight of the conversation settling on him once more. “I’m sorry, Gaius,” he said, his voice earnest. “I was too quick to act.”

Gaius let out a small, frustrated sigh, shaking his head slowly. “You have to think things through, Merlin. Ashkanar did exactly that. He had the foresight to conceal this for more than four hundred years.” He paused, his gaze piercing. “And now it’s down to you.”

The silence between them was thick with expectation. Gaius handed the egg back to Merlin, who took it gently, holding it close to his chest as if it were a part of him. The decision was now in his hands, and Gaius’s words were a reminder of the responsibility Merlin now bore.

“It is up to you, Dragonlord,” Gaius said, his voice soft but firm, “to decide what you intend to do with it.”

Merlin nodded slowly, his mind already racing. He knew what had to be done. “I’ve thought about it,” he said, his voice steady with resolve. “I’m going to make sure it goes back to where it belongs.”

He looked over at Lucy, her eyes shining with quiet understanding. “Lucy, would you like to join me tonight?”

Lucy smiled gratefully, the weight of the moment passing between them in a shared glance. “Merlin... I would love to,” she replied, her voice soft with affection.

The moon hung high above, casting a silvery glow on the forest as Merlin and Lucy ventured far from Camelot. The air was crisp, and the sounds of the nighttime creatures filled the atmosphere with a quiet hum. They had chosen this remote location—deep enough into the woods to ensure they were undisturbed, but not so far that they couldn’t return quickly if necessary.

Lucy gently dismounted from her white horse Shay, her boots hitting the ground with a soft thud. She brushed a strand of her dark hair behind her ear and looked over at Merlin, who swung his leg off Shay and landed easily on the forest floor. His face was lit with a mix of excitement and nervousness, his usual confidence replaced by the weight of the task ahead. In his hands, he held the last dragon egg, cradled gently as though it were the most precious thing in the world.

As he walked into the clearing, the trees seemed to bend slightly toward him, their branches creaking in the breeze. He approached a large, weathered tree stump, its bark rough and cracked with age. Setting the egg down carefully upon it, Merlin stepped back and looked at Lucy, his heart racing. The egg was now surrounded by a quiet stillness, as if the entire forest was holding its breath.

Suddenly, the air shifted. The wind picked up, a deep rumbling noise filling the night sky. Through the trees, a shadow appeared—huge and powerful. Kilgharrah, mighty dragon that he was, swooped down from the heavens, his great wings beating with thunderous force as he landed gracefully beside them. The ground trembled beneath his massive feet as he fixed his gleaming golden eyes on the egg.

“Greetings, young warlock, lady knight,” Kilgharrah’s deep voice rumbled, echoing through the forest.

“Hello, Kilgharrah,” both Merlin and Lucy replied, their voices filled with excitement.

Merlin’s gaze remained on the egg, his voice slightly shaky as he spoke, “So… is it still alive?”

Kilgharrah looked down at the egg, his nostrils flaring as if scenting the air. “It can live for more than a thousand years,” he said, a slight warmth in his tone.

Merlin and Lucy exchanged a glance, both of them smiling softly, the relief and wonder of the moment clear in their eyes.

Lucy, her voice filled with awe, asked, “So, you are no longer the last of your kind?”

Kilgharrah chuckled, the sound low and reverberating in the night air. “It would seem not, Lucy.”

Merlin’s heart swelled with pride and anticipation. “When will it hatch?” he asked, his voice quiet but eager.

Kilgharrah turned his head slightly, his great golden eyes narrowing as he considered the question. “Young dragons were called into the world by the dragonlords. Only they had the power to summon them from the egg.” He met Merlin’s gaze, his tone solemn. “As the last dragonlord, this solemn duty falls to you, Merlin.”

Lucy looked at Merlin with wide eyes, a sense of wonder overtaking her as she whispered, “Wow. This is… such amazing power, Merlin.”

Merlin’s chest tightened, but he nodded with determination. He had known this moment would come—he was prepared for it. “How do I summon it?” he asked Kilgharrah, his voice steady now, filled with a quiet confidence.

Kilgharrah’s golden eyes glimmered. “You must give the dragon a name.”

Merlin closed his eyes, thinking deeply. The weight of the moment pressed on him. This was not just a name—it was the beginning of something far greater, a creature that would change the fate of their world. After a long moment, he opened his eyes, his voice soft but filled with ancient power as he spoke the name in the dragon tongue.

“Aithusa.”

The egg trembled, a sharp crack echoing through the night. Merlin and Lucy watched in awe as the shell began to break apart, pieces falling away to reveal the tiny dragon within. The sight was nothing short of magical. Aithusa, with scales of pristine white, emerged from her shell, her wings a delicate shade of translucent white, almost ethereal in the moonlight. Her big, blue eyes blinked in the dim light, taking in her surroundings as she let out a soft, startled yelp.

Lucy crouched down beside the tiny creature, her heart melting as she gently removed the remaining egg debris from Aithusa’s tiny head. The little dragon cooed, its eyes bright with curiosity, and Lucy smiled, the joy in her heart overwhelming. “Oh gods,” she whispered emotionally, “It’s so little.”

Kilgharrah, standing tall beside them, watched the birth of the dragon with a soft chuckle. “My, my,” he mused. “A white dragon is indeed a rare thing… and fitting. For in the dragon tongue, you named her after the light of the sun. No dragon birth is without meaning.”

Merlin’s eyes were misted with tears as he watched Aithusa, the dragon he had summoned into the world. His smile was full of emotion, and for a brief moment, the weight of all that had happened and all that was to come seemed to lift.

Kilgharrah’s voice grew softer, but there was a deep wisdom in it. “Sometimes the meaning is hard to see, but this time, I believe it is clear. The white dragon bodes well for Albion, for you and Arthur, and for the land that you will build together.”

Lucy stood slowly, her gaze never leaving Aithusa as she looked up at Merlin. “And now what?” she asked, her voice filled with a mixture of awe and curiosity.

Kilgharrah stepped forward, lowering his head toward the tiny dragon, his immense wings folding around him like a protective cloak. “I will teach this little one what it needs to learn,” he said, his voice steady and calm. “I thank you both for this opportunity.”

With a powerful beat of his wings, Kilgharrah rose into the air, Aithusa clinging to his back. The dragon’s massive wings created a whirlwind of wind, and for a moment, the forest seemed to shimmer with the raw power of their departure. As Kilgharrah soared into the night sky, his silhouette disappearing against the stars, Merlin and Lucy were left in the quiet aftermath.

Lucy, her heart still racing from the moment, reached out for Merlin’s hand. She squeezed it gently, her eyes filled with a quiet joy. “That… was worth all the trouble,” she said softly, her voice full of wonder.

Merlin, still gazing up at the sky where Kilgharrah had vanished, nodded with a deep, contented sigh. “I know,” he replied. “I cannot wait to see Aithusa again.”

Lucy smiled, her gaze still on Merlin. “Me too,” she whispered.