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Chapter Text

In the small hours of a late-winter night, two distinct sounds rise above all others in the halls of Tintagel Castle: the cyclic crash of angry waves upon the rocky shore, and the cries of a young woman enduring a troubled childbirth. The bluster outside is mirrored in the dim corridors within, as torches and candles alike wane and brighten with the cold draughts that blow through. All the while, servants hurry to and fro through the doorway of Queen Ygraine’s chamber, entering with an armful of clean linens, leaving with a pot of bloodied water.

The Prince of Camelot will be born this night, but all is not well. His father, King Uther, once desperate for an heir, is now mad with grief and fury and prepares to depart for home, to his grand citadel in the heart of Camelot. Tintagel is Ygraine’s ancestral home; he has never felt comfortable here. It’s not even on his land.

He will leave his struggling wife behind. He knows she will not survive the breaking of the dawn, and he will not be here when she dies. His Court Sorceress, Ygraine’s close friend Nimueh, bursts into the library, a chamber far removed from the pained screams of his queen, where Uther huddles with several advisors. Her dark eyes are accusing, her red lips form an angry sneer on her pale face. “Coward!” she screams.

For her outburst she earns a bloody lip, courtesy of the back of Uther’s gloved hand. But she is not deterred. “I told you repeatedly that the Old Religion would demand a heavy price to give you an heir. And now that we know the price, you would turn and run? Will you not comfort your dying wife? Will you not greet your son?”

“I no longer care,” Uther responds softly, looking down at her in a daze, his eyes a stony gray. “Magic has cursed me, and I will repay such evil in kind.” He looks away when Nimueh casually passes a hand over her mouth and heals the cut. The king frowns and looks about the room, seeming to check that he isn’t leaving anything important behind, and then meets her gaze again. “You are banished from my court for what you have done. And if I have my way, magic will be wiped from the land. I will never forgive you for this.”

“You are mad with grief, Uther! You speak nonsense. You cannot destroy magic. The world is magic. And what of your son? He was conceived by magic.”

Uther looks away from the storm brewing on her face. “I was wrong to do this. The child is a product of your dark designs. If it lives, it will remain here until I say otherwise. This is Odin’s land now, but he will let Tintagel be as a favor to me. You, on the other hand,” he snaps his eyes back to hers, “perhaps he will also do me the favor of ridding the world of you.” With that, he shoves Nimueh aside and strides from the room, shouting commands to his advisors and guards. “We’re leaving. Now!”

Nimueh rushes to the doorway, intent on hurling insults after him; instead, she just watches as his billowing cloak fades into the darkness of the corridor. She returns to the queen’s chamber and kneels beside her birthing pallet, taking Ygraine’s weak, shaking hand into hers. “I am here, Your Highness.” Ygraine does not inquire about Uther; she assumes he is gone. There is a brief respite from the excruciating spasms racking her exhausted body, and she knows this may be her last chance to speak.

“Promise me…” she breathlessly pleads, her wide eyes desperate “…look after my son. Now that we are at the cusp, I feel certain you are right…right about him…right about the prophecy.” She grows weaker with every word, but forces herself to continue; it sounds like a prayer. “He is to be named Arthur. Help him find his way. Protect him from his father…I wish for him to be happy. Please, I beg you…”

“Fear not, Your Highness, I will do all that I can,” Nimueh answers. “I promise you. I swear it upon my life.”

The birth is long in coming, but it comes; the queen’s screams are replaced with the wailing of a newborn boy. It is finally over. Nimueh and several servants help the trembling queen over to her bed to lie down. Meanwhile, the midwife cleans and inspects the child to be sure he is healthy, then carefully moves to Ygraine’s bedside and reverently lowers him into her arms. “Your son, my Queen,” she solemnly says.

The golden-haired infant prince fusses royally. His dying mother greets him with weary, tear-filled eyes and smiles, holding him to her breast. He stops crying and becomes still, as if he knows this first brief meeting with his mother will also be the last; he gently reaches for her face with tiny, open hands. He gazes into her eyes, blue on blue, and she marvels at the glow she sees within him. “My beautiful boy,” she weeps. A folded finger gently strokes a soft, chubby cheek. It is Ygraine Pendragon’s final act.

The Queen is dead.

And so, Arthur son of Uther is born into a troubled world, his future very uncertain. He lies in the embrace of his dead mother, and wonders at the quietly weeping faces all around him. He might look to a father, but none is to be found. He will never see his mother again, never experience her love or kindness, and he will forever live with the guilt that she died so that he may live.

All is quiet now in Tintagel Castle, save the tumbling and crashing waves of the sea, far below.

*****

Nimueh remains in Tintagel with Arthur. To make herself less a target for Uther’s wrath, the sorceress makes use of her considerable powers. She immediately creates warning wards around the castle, as well as a hidden safe haven in a forgotten chamber where she can conceal herself when needed. She also uses illusion to disguise herself – the village locals assume she left after the queen died. And she makes sure that rumors are spread far and wide of her departure, of falling ill, of her death.

Soon enough, a party of knights arrives to move the queen’s remains to Uther’s Camelot. Arthur is simply ignored, though the party’s commander ensures that the castle steward has the funds necessary to maintain a barebones household for the child. The abandoned prince is not to pass the walls of the castle grounds, by order of the King.

A small staff remains engaged at Tintagel: a handful of servants under the steward to handle the cooking and cleaning and general upkeep; a wet nurse; and the midwife, who stays on as the boy’s nanny. She is competent and firm, but not unkind. They all loved Ygraine, and all agree to keep Nimueh’s involvement with Arthur’s upbringing a closely guarded secret.

Within a moon of Arthur’s birth, Nimueh makes a secret deal with King Odin behind Uther’s back – involving magical promises and threats, no doubt – to leave her and Tintagel to themselves, hidden away in their walled sanctuary along the seacoast. Her network of spies from her days at court is still faithful, and keeps her well informed of events beyond the castle. She orchestrates everything from the shadows, like a ghost, and very few are any the wiser.

To keep her promise to Ygraine, Nimueh is determined to keep Arthur away from his father. So far it has been easy, but Uther could easily change his mind and summon the boy to Camelot. To her surprise and relief, the seasons pass with no such demand.

Although the King stays away, a group of Camelot knights arrives that summer with a chest of coin for Tintagel’s steward. Nimueh stays out of their sight in her magically hidden chamber. They will return the following summer, and each year thereafter, they promise, with gold from the King. The gold is always accompanied by an unambiguous reminder: the boy is not to leave Tintagel.

*****

Surprising news arrives a few days after the third anniversary of Arthur’s birth: Uther has named a new heir, the Princess Morgana, a daughter he fathered with his late friend’s wife. The King had never publically confirmed his son’s fate the night the queen was lost, so many people just assume the prince was stillborn. Of course, the knights return to Camelot after their yearly visits with claims of seeing the young Pendragon alive and well, so nobody is certain of the truth.

After the sixth anniversary of the prince’s birth, tutors are brought in to begin his formal education. Aside from the normal subjects, Nimueh insists that the young Pendragon learn about magic – its uses, good and bad, and its long and deep association with Albion. Ygraine would have wanted it so. Others are hired to introduce Arthur to the fighting arts. He’s a bright boy in most things, but his aptitude for strategy and weaponry is astounding for one so young.

At his tenth anniversary, Nimueh arranges for several Catha warriors to come and begin training Arthur vigorously in combat and horsemanship. He is a natural, and in time becomes an exceptionally talented yet humane fighter. Catha teachers come and go, and his training is relentless; he loves it completely. Physical exertion seems to calm his soul, and his success with every difficult task his instructors put before him allows some measure of pride to bloom within.

Over time, Nimueh finds ways to gently explain to Arthur the circumstances of his mother’s death and his father’s abandonment. They are difficult conversations. She also tells him of Uther’s Great Purge on people of magic – the cruelty and injustice of it all stirs intense anger in Arthur. If he takes after his father in any way, it is with a volatile temper. Despite the pain it causes, Arthur insists they talk of his mother often.

“I was with your mother, Arthur, for those precious few heartbeats that she held you in her arms,” Nimueh tells him one day. “She was overjoyed to bring you into the world, even knowing the cost. Your mother loved you with all of her heart.”

Arthur looks away, attempting to hide the tears that threaten to fall. They are sitting on a stone bench in the castle’s small garden. “Thank you for saying so,” he quietly replies.

Nimueh nods and places a gentle hand on his shoulder. “She wanted so much for you to be happy, but also knew this would not come easily. She feared what might become of you if raised by your father alone. I don’t say this to be cruel, because I know how much it hurts you that he left you behind…but, maybe, given the dark path he chose, you should look upon his absence as a blessing. I believe that, when you are older, you will look back and realize that it was.”

Nimueh wishes she could spare him the sad, hard truth of the events surrounding his birth; but, she knows he must not be shielded from it. He must come to terms with his mother’s death, with his father’s atrocities. And he must find a way to live with the staggering guilt that spawns from knowing that all of it, all of this death and needless suffering, was caused by the simple fact of his birth.

Despite all this – or perhaps, in part, because of it – Arthur steadily grows into a strong boy with a fierce and unyielding sense of righteous justice. He is also quite sensitive, Nimueh realizes, very much like his mother was. While he endures emotional hurts with a stoic front, they seem to quietly burn and fester deep down, hidden away. No doubt, a weaker person would crumble beneath the weight of it all.

*****

“Will I be a prisoner here forever?” Arthur asks the day of his twelfth anniversary. He turns to Nimueh as she sits down beside him atop a retaining wall, one with a view of the sea over the outer wall of the castle. It has become Arthur’s favorite spot on the grounds.

“Is that what you are, my prince, a prisoner?” She looks over to him with a tilt of her head and a wry smile of her red lips. Her expression becomes resigned, with a hint of sadness, as she looks out to the sea. “I cannot blame you for feeling so, I suppose. I promised your mother long ago I would keep you safe from Uther. This much, I think, I have managed. But I also promised her I would see to your happiness. This has proven a much more difficult task.” She considers her next words for a moment, and then looks again to Arthur.

“You have been raised around magic. Your existence here is no real secret out in the world…though there does exist an abundance of confusion on subject. However, your exposure to magic here presents a very real danger. Your father would see us all dead, would level this castle and the surrounding village in vengeance. So, I stay hidden when his knights arrive, and the Catha present themselves as non-magical men. I am sorry you can’t experience a normal childhood, with friends who come and go, carefree time spent at play. It saddens me that you are lonely.”

She studies Arthur, who sits with a look of resignation on his face, and offers a smile. He looks less and less a boy every day, chubby cheeks giving way to a firm jawline, and he'll soon pass her in height. She is not the motherly type, but does care for him. In the end, though, she must reluctantly admit to herself that she ultimately sees the boy more as a weapon to aid her agenda than a child to be coddled. Despite that, she still wishes for him to understand that his future will eventually be brighter.

“I make you this promise, Arthur: you will not be stuck in Tintagel forever. There are important things your mother wanted you to know – these will affect your life immeasurably. When you are ready, this knowledge will guide you away from us. You will break free of your father’s shackles, and you will make your own way.”

*****

Before his sixteenth anniversary, Arthur starts challenging the Camelot knights to various competitions when they arrive with Tintagel’s yearly stipend. He often wins, despite his young age and lack of experience; some of the knights can’t help but grow fond of him. Arthur wonders if news of his accomplishments reaches the far-off King, if it might finally make his father proud of him, accept him as a son. But, of course, the knights know better than to volunteer any mention of the forgotten prince to Uther. And Uther never asks.

Regardless of his growing hatred of the man, Arthur cannot stifle the unceasing yearning he feels to be acknowledged by his father, for him to know that he is a good person, a son most fathers would be proud to call their own. The lack of his father’s love leaves an emptiness deep within, one that he cannot seem to drive away no matter how hard he pushes himself on the training field. When he lies awake at night, tired but unable to find sleep, he has no greater wish than to find a way to stop the unending ache in his chest.

*****

As Arthur’s twentieth anniversary approaches, Nimueh and his Catha teachers begin weaving stories of prophecy into his mind. One day, after returning from extended visits with Druid leaders in several different kingdoms, Nimueh feels he is ready to hear the truth of it all. She joins him up on his retaining wall above the sea. It is still his favorite place to sit and think.

“Nimueh,” he says in greeting. “You’ve been gone a long while. How was your journey?”

“I am glad to be back, young prince,” Nimueh looks over to him, a playful smile on her red lips. “The Druids sleep in tents, and I am ready for the comfort of my bed.” He gives a chuckle, and she falls silent for a moment. “My travels involved the prophecies we have mentioned to you. I have learned much – things are in motion. Arthur, all of this is really about you…”

“About me? Well, please go on, my lady.” Arthur answers with exaggerated smugness and another chuckle. His smile quickly fades when he sees that Nimueh does not share in his amusement.

“There are many ancient prophecies held among the people of magic and the followers of the Old Religion; before your birth, there was one that stood above all others,” Nimueh begins. “It spoke of The Once and Future King, and many of us believed him to be you; your mother believed this, too, Arthur. You were destined to join with a powerful warlock, a boy the Druids call Emrys, and become a great leader over all of Albion.”

Arthur smirks with a doubtful expression. “I’m not even a proper prince. How was I to become some great king of all the land?” he asks, always a bit of a skeptic when it comes to things like prophecy or destiny, or anything else he can’t answer with a sword or his fist.

“Well, that’s just it,” Nimueh says with a careful tone, as if the answer might be perceived as bad news. “When Uther abandoned you before you were even born, everything began to shift. Prophecies continually evolve as events in the world come to pass. While you grew and learned and became the young man that you are today, a new prophecy emerged, one that demands a new path, one that still includes you. And Emrys, as it happens.”

“Demands?” Arthur questions. He doesn’t believe his chosen path should be commanded by anyone but himself. “Why do I feel as if you are about to inform me that the Gods have demoted me?”

The sorceress smiles. “Hmm. Perhaps not the best choice of word. Let us say that this new prophecy tells of the path that I believe you will take. And there is no ranking of good deeds – you will still change the world for the better, young knight.”

“Knight?” Arthur asks. “See, I have been demoted,” he laughs. “To be honest, even if it is a demotion, I’d rather be a knight than a prince. I’ve found very little reason to be impressed with royalty…”

“Indeed! And so you see how the prophecy has aligned with the truth of your life. It is the Prophecy of the Dragon Knight and the Dragonlord. The Druids tend to favor grandiose titles, I admit,” she smirks. “The Dragonlord is the boy Emrys; the Druids won’t say much more. I believed all dragons and their lords to be extinct. But where it concerns you, there is one point the Druids and many others of faith are adamant about: you must find Emrys. He is your destiny, and you are his. You will make one another whole.”

Arthur looks at Nimueh as if she is spinning some grand bedtime tale.

“I know this is…a little overwhelming,” she says, trying to sound reassuring. “But these are things deeply believed by many. The Druids will tell you more – they wish to do so face-to-face. Their seers claim your meeting with Emrys will have a remarkable effect on you both. Neither of you have claim to a singular soul, they say; you are each missing a part the other possesses. There is a saying, ‘You are like two sides of the same coin.’ He is your soulmate, Arthur; you must find him…you will then discover the answers together. You are ready to make your own path beyond Tintagel.”

“Um, all right,” Arthur says with an exasperated sigh. “So, how do I find this great warlock? Do you know where he is?” Arthur isn’t sure how much, if any, of this he believes. But if Nimueh, who has never wronged him, thinks it true, then he will go along. One thing is certainly true: he’s been itching to leave his hidden nest and see more of the world.

“I do not know where he is,” Nimueh admits, “but the Druids will help you. There is one I have come to know well – he is the chieftain of the largest clan in Camelot. Iseldir is his name; he is powerful and cunning – he has managed to keep his people intact without fleeing Uther’s Camelot, which is no small feat. He will aid you in your quest, for he believes that you and Emrys will be the Druid’s salvation.”

“It amazes me,” Arthur ponders, “that the Druids place such faith in a man they have never even met.”

“You foolish boy,” Nimueh answers with a smile and an emphasis on boy, “that’s how faith works. And I have faith even though I do know you.”

“Well,” he answers with a small smile of his own, “in that case, how could I refuse? I will begin preparations for my quest.”

“Arthur,” she says, becoming serious once again, “even if this particular prophecy is false or continues to evolve, all of us – all of the faithful – agree that your meeting with Emrys will still be of great benefit to both of you, and to all of Albion. I am confident in promising you several things.”

This gets Arthur’s attention anew; Nimueh does not give promises lightly. She calmly spells them out, one after the other. And they are utterly life-changing.

“With Emrys at your side, you will no longer ache for your father’s notice. You will find the peace that has eluded you since that grim day when both of your parents left you behind. You will discover the true meaning of devotion as you and Emrys protect and support one another. And, you will find the love you have always deserved…you will find it in the union of Courage and Magic.”

Arthur remains quite, lips parted in thought, attempting to comprehend all she has said. She can see his thoughts writ large upon his face. Nimueh continues to watch as his growing realization is reflected in his bright blue eyes. They remind her of Ygraine and her wish for Arthur to be happy. ‘Perhaps,’ she thinks, ‘I will make good on my promises after all…’

Arthur meets her eyes and smiles. His eyebrows arch up, silently asking, ‘Really!? I am not condemned to a lonely life of isolation after all?’ Nimueh smiles back and gives a little nod and shrug. Arthur coughs out a short laugh and lowers his head. His eyes become wet and his smile grows wide at the thought of it.

Chapter Text

Arthur leans on the afterdeck railing of the Maiden Mine as the ship gains speed, sails billowed taut in the strong onshore wind. With a somber emotion he can’t quite name, the forgotten prince watches as Tintagel Castle slowly fades from view, sinking into the wispy shroud of the morning fog.

It is several moons past his twentieth anniversary, and he is sailing away from the only home he has ever known. Except for a few horseback excursions with his Catha instructors, mostly for survival training and learning to ride in the forest, he has essentially been a comfortably kept prisoner behind the castle walls his entire life.

Despite this, he would never say he was mistreated in any way – he never had want for anything. Not really. Well…maybe there was one thing missing. He never knew love – it is nothing more than an abstract concept to him. He never once felt the boundless love of a parent or the affection of a sibling, never experienced the special intimacy of a close friend. The quest he begins today, he’s been told, will lead him to the one person who can end this want, fill this hole in his soul and make him whole. He hopes it is true.

Something in the water catches Arthur’s eye and wakes him from his thoughts. A seal, no two, race along with the ship. He smiles and silently scolds himself for his melancholy – after all, he is beginning the first great adventure of his young life. This, of course, is Arthur’s first time on a sailing ship. The journey will not be a long one: north along the coast, bucking the waves of the Great Sea of Meredoc; then up the channel of the Severn Sea to the Port of Gedref. Going by sea instead of cross-country will bypass the kingdoms of King Odin and King Alined. The kingdom of King Uther will be enough to deal with.

Just before leaving, Nimueh told Arthur of rumors that had begun to seep from Camelot, that perhaps King Uther was ill. Word from her network of spies would soon confirm or deny them, but on the day of Arthur’s departure, they remain hearsay. Some even suggest his father is past recovery; that Princess Morgana is now acting as regent.

How this might affect Arthur’s journey into the heart of Camelot, no one knows. But that is where he must go to meet the Druid Iseldir who will point him to his destiny; to the young warlock called Emrys. Arthur will not be alone on this quest; one of his long-time Catha instructors, Ballar, travels alongside the young prince. The Catha are well acquainted with sea travel – most of Arthur’s teachers had sailed to Tintagel from their home on the Holy Island north of Gwynedd. Ballar will stay with Arthur until they join with the Druids; his magic will be needed to find and enter Iseldir’s camp.

“How does it feel, my lord, to finally leave Tintagel, perhaps for good?” Ballar asks after joining Arthur on the afterdeck. Ballar is dressed simply for the journey - he wears an unadorned yet well-crafted hooded robe over his tunic and trousers, essentially covering him from head to foot in pale yellow fabric. Like all Catha warriors, he is a large, well-built man with a smooth shaven head and fearsome tattooed markings on his face and arms. And like some of his brethren, Ballar can hide the markings with magic, which can be advantageous when traveling.

“Well,” Arthur responds as he turns away from the wake-roiled sea and leans on the railing, “to be honest, I expected to be a bit scared – already so much is new to me, and the quest has only just started. But I really am not. Scared, I mean. A bit nervous, perhaps. I suppose I feel like my life is just beginning – like a man who has just been released from captivity.”

Ballar looks over at Arthur with an arched brow and questioning smirk.

“Please do not misunderstand, Ballar. I am very grateful for all that has been done on my behalf. You have been an excellent teacher and guardian – I could not ask for more in that respect.”

Ballar smiles kindly in return. “Truthfully, my lord, I am happy to see your castle walls behind us, as well. Time spent among the blessings of nature will be good for us both.” Arthur smiles too, for on that they agree.

They stand in comfortable silence, enjoying the wind and sun on their faces and the view, over the length of the ship, of the sea ahead. Arthur is dressed in black trousers and a pale blue tunic; he also wears a beautiful vest of dark brown leather armor given to him by Nimueh. On its front, filling his chest, is an incredible image of a dragon carved into the leather. Not a simple silhouette like the Pendragon crest, but a detailed, life-like dragon with wings spread, poised to launch into flight, with an amber jewel for an eye. He also wears a dark blue cloak with a border of gold. On each side of the cloak, just below the shoulder, is an image of a sword, pointed skyward, sewn with gold and silver thread. And on his belt, sheathed in a sturdy leather scabbard, is the real thing, gleaming with a fresh polish.

With a crown of golden hair blowing about in the breeze, blue eyes bright in the sun, and heavy cloak hanging proudly from broad shoulders, Arthur looks every bit a knight, every bit a prince – forgotten or not.

They are meant to reach Gedref on the second morning; there, they will begin the land journey into Camelot. Their horses are aboard, too. Arthur is thankful he was allowed to choose his favorite mount from Tintagel’s stable to accompany him. Hengroen, a large black stallion, has been his four-legged companion for several summers; they have learned to work well together.

*****

Their landing at Gedref is without issue; the horses are in good spirits and their belongings intact. The port city is in Camelot, but the borders of Gawant, Deorham and Nemeth are near, so subjects from all four kingdoms are commonly seen, coming and going on business or personal travel.

“Welcome to Camelot, my lord,” Ballar says with a smile as they leave Gedref behind. “By rights, this should have been your home, Arthur, your kingdom.”

“It was not to be, Ballar. If I have a home, it is Tintagel. And I have no wish for a kingdom.”

Ballar considers this for a moment. “Well said, my lord. But I believe you will find a new home with your warlock, with Emrys. And that home shall move with you, wherever the two of you may roam. But…first things first. We must meet with Iseldir and his fellow Druids, and they will lead you to Emrys. And then, your destiny will unfold.”

“You and your destinies and prophecies…” Arthur teases, with a friendly roll of his eyes. “Let us ride, and take the day as it comes.” Both are dressed simply in tunics and trousers for the ride through Camelot. By evening, Arthur has traveled further on horseback than ever before. He loves the freedom of movement and the opportunity to see new lands. A sense of contentment has always eluded him, but he feels it creeping up on him, bit by bit.

*****

As Arthur and Ballar break down their camp on the third morning, six rough-looking bandits burst from the trees, yelling loud enough to raise the dead.

They shake off their surprise, unsheathe their swords and ready themselves for a fight. “You know what to do, Arthur,” Ballar says calmly. “Remember you training and all will be well.”

Arthur has never killed a man, but that will change on this pleasant, sunny morning. The bandits are unorganized and poorly trained; they are no match for the two warriors from Tintagel. Arthur has trained so hard for so long, he fights with barely a thought. Within moments, Ballar has killed three, Arthur two, and one young scared ruffian has fled.

“Are you unharmed?” Ballar asks, as Arthur stands over the two men he just killed. The more experienced fighter sees the unease painted on Arthur’s face, the blood splattered on his boots. “You did what you had to do, my lord. These men chose their path, and have paid the price for it.”

“I understand, Ballar. And I am all right.”

“You did well. One never knows how well their training will serve them in actual combat. I am not surprised that you exceeded my expectations; and, no doubt, theirs.”

“You fought bravely, both of you!” The voice comes from behind them. With all the noise and commotion, neither of them noticed the two Camelot knights approaching them on foot, swords drawn. “I am Sir L…”

“Leon!” Arthur exclaims.

“Arthur! What in the name of the Gods are you doing in Camelot? Why aren’t you in Tintagel?” Leon was rightfully confused. But he knew and liked Arthur, and was genuinely happy to see him again. Leon had visited Tintagel many times with the party of Camelot knights making Uther’s annual stipend delivery, first as a squire and then a young knight. He sparred with Arthur many times during those visits, often losing to him despite being older. He respected the forgotten prince, and secretly believed Uther’s treatment of the boy to be despicable.

“Sir Knight, I am Ballar, Arthur’s escort. We are traveling peaceably and mean no harm to Camelot, or to anyone. I beg that you appreciate my concern for my lord’s safety, should his father become aware of his presence here.”

Leon nods to his fellow knight, and they both sheath their swords in an offering of peace. “We intend no threat to either of you. Camelot is now under the rule of Princess Morgana as regent. Your father is not well, Arthur; he is unlikely to rule again. You have no reason to fear me or my companion here, Sir Lancelot.” Leon gestures to the knight beside him, and Lancelot gives a friendly nod of his head. Leon continues, “My lord, Princess Morgana has quickly made some changes that are likely unknown to you. One of them directly concerns you – she has rescinded Uther’s long-standing order that you are to be arrested on sight if found outside of Tintagel’s walls.”

This certainly gets Arthur’s attention. “The rumors we heard at Tintagel are true, then? My sister rules Camelot?”

“That is correct, my lord. And, I can tell you from hearing it first-hand: the princess would like to meet you. She had intended to travel to Tintagel after the coming winter, but now you are here.”

Arthur looks to Ballar, who arches his brows and shrugs. This is certainly an unexpected development.

Leon looks to Ballar. “Ballar, I will speak bluntly, but I hope to put your mind at rest. I, and several other knights, have long suspected the Catha were involved with Arthur’s education. Why Tintagel’s steward chose to involve you and your bothers, I do not yet understand. If you are indeed a Catha, please know that no harm will come to you because of your magic. Princess Morgana has lifted Uther’s policy of immediate arrest and execution for those of any association to magic. In fact, the Princess recently announced that she herself has some measure of magic. In Camelot, punishment now reflects the crime; and magic is no longer a crime.”

“Your pronouncements are breathtaking, Sir Leon,” Ballar says. “I must remain a skeptic for the moment, but you give me great hope.”

“Leon,” Arthur asks, “will you allow us to go on our way? I am meant to meet someone, and we shouldn’t delay. But, in time, I would very much like to meet with my sister. Will you tell her of today’s events, and let her know?”

“I will. And you are both free to go. I wish you a safe journey.” By this time, a third knight has led their three horses from the woods on the opposite side of the clearing to join his comrades. Leon reaches into his saddlebag and retrieves a medallion and a small iron spike. He scratches a symbol on the medallion and hands it to Arthur. “Take this, my lord. If you encounter any more knights in Camelot, this will encourage them to leave you be.”

Arthur and Ballar give the knights a slight bow in acknowledgement. “You have my thanks, Leon; all of you.” The two travelers return to their camp and, with the help of the knights, pack up their belongings, scattered as they are after the attack. After mounting up, they give the knights one last nod. “Farewell, my friends,” Arthur says with a smile.

The knights nod in unison in return.

****

Arthur and Ballar had arrived the previous night to Iseldir’s Druid camp in the Forest of Brechfa; both are up early. Ballar prepares to depart – this is where he and the young prince will go their separate ways. “I must bid you goodbye now, my lord. It has been my honor to teach you, and to bear witness as you grew into a strong and noble man. I wish you well on the next leg of your quest. The Catha, and all the faithful, pray for your success.” Catha are not known for emotional displays, something Arthur has tried, but often failed, to emulate. But there is no denying the mist that clouds Ballar’s eyes.

“I can’t find the words, Ballar. Just…thank you. You and your brothers have done so much for me. I don’t know who I would be today without you. I…um…just, thank you.” Heartfelt speeches are not Arthur’s strong suit, as Ballar well knows. They grasp one another’s forearms in salute, then Ballar mounts up and rides away. Back to Tintagel, Arthur understands, and then back home to the Holy Island.

Arthur checks on Hengroen then walks toward the center of the Druid camp. Iseldir approaches him. “Good morning to you, Dragon Knight,” he says, clasping his hands in front of him. Arthur is not used to the new title – no one has uttered those words to him since Nimueh. Iseldir is older, perhaps fifty summers, with long silver hair. He has a kind face that exudes a calm confidence that is somehow reassuring yet slightly threatening.

“I hope you rested well,” Iseldir says, reaching out to guide Arthur by the arm further into the camp. “Soon, we will leave for Ealdor – it is just over the border with Escetir. That is where you will find Emrys. First, we shall eat, and then I would like you to talk with Ailina – she is an elder here, a Druid Seer."

After a meal of bread and fruit, taken while sitting around a communal fire in the center of the camp, Iseldir leads Arthur toward the Seer’s tent. On the way, many of the druids they pass nod and greet him as the Dragon Knight. Arthur is not sure what to make of it; Iseldir merely smiles.

When they reach the tent, Iseldir motions for the prince to enter but remains outside himself. Inside, Ailina is sitting on the ground, which is covered with furs; in front of her is an array of metal charms and small stones arranged in concentric circles. Colorful banners of countless shapes hang from the walls and ceiling of the tent. She is a stout woman of considerable age with a kind round face and green eyes. Ailina points a finger to a spot opposite her on the other side of her rings of bauble, and Arthur sits.

“Greetings, Arthur Pendragon. I am happy to meet you, face-to-face. Such a handsome young man,” she says in a kind but gravelly old voice, smiling in a motherly sort of way. “I met your mother several times, long ago. She was a kind Princess - and then Queen, of course. Kind to those with magic, and so beautiful. You are blessed with her light hair and bright blue eyes. So clearly do I see her in you.”

“Greetings to you, Ailina. Thank you for your words. I can think of no greater kindness than to be compared favorably to my mother,” Arthur says with a sincere smile. “You do not call me ‘Dragon Knight’ as others here seem to insist on doing. May I ask why?”

“You may, and the answer is simple. You are not yet a Dragon Knight,” she says, as a matter of fact. “You must first join Emrys. He will show you the way. He will make you a Dragon Knight.”

“I see. And you, Ailina, you are as certain as Nimueh, as the Catha and Iseldir, that this is now my destiny?”

She looks at Arthur with a wistful, slightly sad smile. “For much of my life, I worshipped the Prophecy of The Once and Future King. He was to be you, Arthur; I am sure of it. But then, your father abandoned you at birth; very few Saw this coming. And so, that beloved prophecy was swept away in the flow of time, caught-up in the turbulence of changing events. In its absence, a lonely, unloved boy was left behind, hidden away in an empty castle.”

Arthur considers her words for a moment. “To be honest, I have been well cared for my entire life. As you probably know, the sorceress Nimueh saw to that. But you are correct. I was lonely, and do not know love. I doubt I would even recognize it if it somehow found me.”

“There is no ‘if,’ my forgotten prince. Love will find you. And you will recognize it immediately,” she says with passion. “When you meet Emrys, your life will change, completely and irrevocably. You and he will be caught and pulled along like two leaves on a swiftly flowing stream, bound together as one. The undercurrent of that stream is the Prophecy of the Dragon Knight and the Dragonlord. You, my boy, you and Emrys will do great deeds, important things. Your actions will help bring peace to the troubled people of this land. It has been Seen.”

Her last statement has a note of finality. Her eyes are closed and she seems lost in thought. If nothing else, Arthur is gratified that Ailina and Nimueh seem to have the same interpretation of this new prophecy, and agree on the importance of this seemingly preordained bond with the young warlock Emrys. After a long moment of silence, Arthur looks to the front of the tent, expecting Iseldir to reenter and guide him away.

Suddenly, Ailina reaches over her Seeing Circle and rests her hands upon Arthur’s wrists, meeting his gaze with a satisfied smile and a twinkle in her eyes. “Farewell, Arthur Pendragon, forgotten prince. The prayers of the Druids will keep you.”

*****

Iseldir accompanies Arthur on the next leg of his quest. From Brechfa, they ride along the southern foothills of the Ascetir Mountains and approach the border with Escetir. Thankfully, the ride through open country has been free of bandit attacks, lacking the cover of the forest they rely on for the advantage of surprise. Nor have they stumbled upon any more Camelot knights.

They have a third horse with them, tethered behind Hengroen; it is laden with large saddle bags that were packed by the Druids. Arthur does not know their contents; he only knows the horse is to go with him to Ealdor: a gift for Emrys.

“This is the limit of my journey, young Dragon Knight,” Iseldir says as he pulls his horse to a stop. Arthur stops alongside his Druid companion. “While magic is not illegal in Escetir, King Cenred is not kind to my kin. He would strap us in iron and use us as weapons in his army. It is a short, painful existence. I have, however, great hopes for our future here in Camelot under your sister’s rule. Princess Morgana has already brought positive change, and I am due to meet with her and offer council at the citadel very soon.”

Arthur nods in agreement. “I have already sent word to her with a trusted friend, a Camelot knight I know from my time at Tintagel, that I would gladly meet with her.”

Iseldir smiles. “Ah! You have already begun to make yourself known. I have great hopes for all that you and Emrys might achieve, and great faith that you will do so.” Iseldir points to the east. “This path will lead directly to Ealdor, to Emrys. Become our Dragon Knight, Arthur, and serve your Dragonlord, as he will serve you. I bid you farewell – go with the prayers of the Druids.”

Arthur looks over to Iseldir with open sincerity. “You have my gratitude for your help, your kindness, all so willingly given. I have learned much during my short time with the Druids. I hope my journey to Ealdor brings about all the great things you foresee. I will endeavor to be worthy of your faith. Safe travels, Chieftain Iseldir. I look forward to our next meeting.”

Iseldir nods with an appreciative smile, turns his horse, and rides west. Arthur continues on.

“Well, my trusty Hengroen, it is just you and I – at last. Well, and our companion – I never did get her name.” The way is clear and the path well-trod. Arthur encourages his stallion to stretch his legs a bit, and the trailing mare keeps pace with no problem. Iseldir had encouraged him to don his leather armor and heavy cloak that morning, and the cloak billows behind him, lifting off Hengroen’s back. They sail through the tall grass, a wake of swirling dust marking their passage. Arthur’s heart races, his skin buzzes, his soul soars with the sudden rush of freedom. To be alone and unhindered in the vast empty beauty of nature may be an ordinary thing to many, but it is utterly new to him. He will never be the same again.

*****

The ride to Ealdor is short, and Arthur enters the village with the sun still high. He dismounts and is greeted by odd stares. The villagers appear quite poor and somewhat battered; frail, even – poor nutrition the likely cause. And here the young prince stands in his rich blue cloak and stunning leather vest; he is much taller and broader than any around him, and holds the reins of a large, beautifully kept stallion. He slowly leads Hengroen and the mare along the main path until one of the staring men nervously approaches him.

“Good day to you, my lord. I am Curtis of Ealdor. I beg you, forgive our curiosity – you make quite a sight here in our humble surroundings.”

“Not at all,” Arthur smiles politely. “I am Arthur - might you help me, Curtis? I am searching for a young man by the name of Emrys; or, perhaps, he may yet still be a boy.”

“I apologize, my lord, for I cannot help you. We are not many, and I can say truly that there is not one here by that name.” Curtis looks a bit fearful, having noticed the gleaming sword at Arthur’s side.

“He is said to be a great sorcerer; or rather, a great warlock, I suppose,” Arthur says, trying to clarify. Curtis’ smile fades and his expression grows dark. Arthur tries to reassure him and everyone listening, “I mean no harm to any of you, I swear it.”

Curtis points to the far side of the village. “That house, down there on its own – Hunith lives there with her son. Best you go speak to her, my lord.”

Arthur attempts a friendly smile and nod in thanks, but Curtis’ expression does not lighten. He leads the horses further along the path to the small dwelling that sits alone on the outskirts of the village. While small and humble like the other structures in Ealdor, it has an odd sense of permanence that the others lack, as if a storm could flatten everything in sight, but this one building would remain standing, unharmed. The feeling is inexplicable; Arthur does not dwell on it, for now.

He knocks on the door, and it soon opens inward revealing a kind-looking middle-aged woman. Her dark hair is neatly attended, but her pale blue eyes betray a long-suffered weariness. Life is not easy in villages such as this.

“Good afternoon, madam. My name is Arthur.”

“My goodness! Why would a young, handsome knight such as yourself be visiting me?” Hunith exclaims, a friendly smile on her face. She then silently reprimands herself for her lack of proper manners. “Oh, forgive me my lord, I am Hunith.”

“Hunith,” Arthur nods in greeting, “I was told you could help me. I am looking for a boy called Emrys.”

“I know of no such boy, my lord. Nor anyone of that name.”

“He is said to be a great warlock. I wonder if…”

Suddenly, Hunith’s face crumples with fear. “Please, I beg you, leave us alone. I do not know what you are talking about.” She begins to retreat back into the house, but she hesitates to hear Arthur’s plea.

“No, please! Hear me,” Arthur begs. He fears he is failing already, on his very first day alone. “I mean no harm to anyone. I am on a quest, and the Druids pointed me to Ealdor. I seek a young warlock. We…we are meant to be friends, to share in a great destiny.” Arthur isn’t sure if he is helping the situation – this poor woman fears he will kill her and her son, after all. But he refuses to give up. I must not fail!

 “If this warlock is your boy, I understand your desire to protect him. I know there are those who would hurt him for his gift.” He becomes a bit frantic. “That is not me. I know magic – I was born of it…I was raised alongside it.” The memory of his childhood slams to the front of his mind. The sight of this frightened mother who clearly loves her son makes his eyes wet as the ugly guilt of his mother’s death twists in his belly. Why would a mother who loves her son believe me? I’ve never deserved love. Gods, I’ve barely begun, and I’m already a failure…

“I am here as a friend.” He says softly, with an embarrassing crack of his voice. “At least, that is my hope.” A tear slides down his flushed cheek, and Hunith unthinkingly reaches to wipe it away with her thumb, her hand resting gently against his face. Her motherly instincts override any thought of impropriety; but still, she quickly retracts her hand.

Hunith studies him for a long moment, searching for any hint of a lie, then lets out a heavy sigh. “Oh, my boy. I see only honesty in the sadness of your eyes. I believe you speak the truth. But still, I do not know of an Emrys.”

Arthur matches her sigh, but then a thought occurs. “Emrys is the warlock’s name in prophecy; this is what the Druids call him. Perhaps the name you gave your son is your own. He does have magic, yes?”

“This is something I rarely admit to anyone, but there is something about you…” Hunith thinks aloud. “Yes, my son is a warlock. And from what I understand, unusually powerful for one so young – just eighteen summers. His name is Merlin.”

“May I meet him, Hunith? I give you my solemn oath: I will not harm him – not today, not ever. I will leave my sword here with my horses.” Arthur steps back to Hengroen, unties his scabbard and stuffs it and his sword into the long pouch on his saddlebag.

Hunith understands the significance of this gesture. She sighs, then raises her arm to point a finger. “The tree line, just over there, that is the creek. You will find him somewhere around that tall oak that stands above the others. Folks leave him in peace there,” she smiles. A frown quickly replaces it. “At least, they have lately; I’m afraid his life has been difficult at times. If people fear something, they usually try to destroy it. Friends have been hard to come by.”

“Perhaps today that will change for the better. I will take my leave, and go now to speak with him.” Arthur turns away, but hesitates a moment and turns back to Hunith. The success of his quest may depend entirely on this first encounter with her son. He knows he has no right to seek reassurance from this woman, but he feels compelled by her earlier display of kindness. “I’m more than a little nervous, to be honest. The Druids and many others have great expectations of this meeting. I fear failing them.”

“You will never meet a gentler soul than my Merlin, Arthur. He will quickly sense the truth of you, or the lack of it. Just be honest and direct with him. If this talk of prophecy and destiny – and friendship, most of all – is proven true, then perhaps your appearance today is the blessing I have long prayed for. Go, meet my son. I will tend to your horses.”

Arthur smiles and nods, and turns to walk toward the tree line; it is a hundred or so long paces from Hunith’s dwelling. As he gets closer, he can see there isn’t a soul in sight up and down the creek. Just as he begins to hear the babbling of the water, he notices a figure on the ground. It’s a young man on his knees, back to Arthur, humped over with his face near the ground, seemingly studying something intensely. He raises his head slightly at the sound of Arthur’s approach, and Arthur stops, several paces away.

“Are you Merlin?” he asks. The man does not respond, staying perfectly still. Arthur continues, “I am here as a friend. I mean you no harm. My name is Arthur.”

The man spins around and settles cross-legged facing Arthur, and cocks his head with curiosity. His baggy brown tunic and trousers are soiled with dirt and dead leaves. A large butterfly picks this moment to land on the tip of the man’s nose, and he goes cross-eyed for a moment to study it; he huffs a breath up from his mouth to shoo it away. His bright blue eyes then follow its erratic path as it flies away, and he laughs at his own antics through a wide grin. “Yes, I’m Merlin. Hi, Arthur!”

Merlin is a waifish young man, long thin arms, and even longer legs. He has a mop of scraggly black hair and a sharp-boned face; sort of odd looking, but strangely beautiful, too. Suddenly, a bird lands on his shoulder and plucks a small twig from the mess of his hair. “Really?” he sighs, turning his head to frown at it. The bird cocks its head and flies off with a squawk. Merlin shakes his head and laughs again.

Arthur nearly joins in his laughter, but immediately feels a strong tug on his chest. He can’t explain it, but he feels drawn to Merlin. Something in his soul seems to click into place, and he is consumed with a feeling that he knows this man, like he is a long-lost brother. He is confused, but instantly trusts him.

“Do you also go by the name of Emrys?”

“Emrys? Wow, how’d you come up with that? I saw that name before in a book on Druid prophecies. But I’m just Merlin.”

“Well…” where to start, Arthur wonders. He is feeling nervous, again; fearful of failure. “Many people I know – and they are people of magic – believe that you are Emrys. They believe you and I are meant to be, you know, together…um, it is a prophecy, you see. Oh, and they told me I was meant to find you, and that you would show me the way. Well, here I am.” Arthur shrugs his shoulders and pastes an uncertain smile on his face; he fears he must sound mad.

Merlin rises with a grunt and lowers his head in thought. A moment ago, Merlin looked much younger than his eighteen summers; now, he suddenly looks much older. He meets Arthur’s gaze with serious eyes. “Arthur, will you allow my magic to know you? I try to keep it caged up most of the time, but it is yearning like mad to come to you. I know I can trust you. I don’t know why, but I do. Do you trust me?”

“I…yes…I do trust you, Merlin. Ever since I approached you, I have felt…I do not know…a bond, or something, forming between us. I am at a loss to explain it. Is this your magic at work? Something is changing within me that I do not understand.”

“It is magic at work, I’m sure of it, but…not mine,” Merlin answers. “It is the magic of the Earth and sky – it is at work on me, too. This is…new to me. Are you….” he stumbles nervously. “Are you for me, Arthur?”

Arthur is equally nervous; he doesn’t know exactly what is happening to him. But he does know it isn’t bad. No, it is good – gloriously good. “I am,” he states with sudden certainty. “I am for you, Merlin. And you are for me. I would be glad for your magic to know me.”

Arthur steps a bit closer to Merlin. He can sense the power emanating from him. It is the same sensation he felt when approaching Hunith’s house. Then he can see it – golden tendrils of warm mist move along the ground from Merlin’s feet and curl around Arthur’s legs. They climb and coil like friendly ivy and loop about his arms and chest. Arthur looks down and raises his arms from his sides and opens his hands, staring in wonder. The sensation on his skin is incredible, and he feels no trace of fear. “It is so beautiful,” he exclaims, a look of awe and admiration clear on his face.

“You can see it? You can see my magic?” Merlin asks excitedly. “Not even my mum can see it!”

Without thought or hesitation, they close the gap between them. Merlin laces his fingers with Arthur’s. Facing one another, holding hands with arms at their sides, the enchanted mist cocoons them in a sparkling wispy cloud of gold. Arthur gasps when Merlin’s eyes ignite with bright gold. All at once, dozens of blue butterflies pop into existence and flutter about them. Arthur cannot speak; he can only attempt to comprehend the overwhelming flood of emotion that threatens to rupture his chest. He cannot hear anything other than the melodic hum of the cloud. Merlin’s magic surrounds him; it flows inside every artery and along every nerve and through every pore. Suddenly, a realization dawns on him: never again will he be lonely; never again will he grieve for the child abandoned at birth. Realization dawns, and tears flood his eyes. His soul feels cleansed and whole.

Merlin closes his eyes; he seems to be listening to something hidden in the hum of the cloud. He tightens his grip on Arthur’s hands, and Arthur relishes the tingling sensations that pass between them. The warlock opens his eyes and grins happily, and the cloud of magic begins to fade. Arthur feels as if he and Merlin have just exchanged a lifetime’s worth of knowledge about one another. Not facts or dates or places, but emotion and feeling and recognition – the joy of triumph, the pain of disappointment, the hurt of loss, the truth of their souls. Arthur thinks back to Ailina’s words – you will recognize it immediately.

As the mist around them dissipates to clear air, the hum of Merlin’s magic gives way to silence. After a moment of absolute quiet, the sounds of the land return – the babbling creek, the birds and frogs and insects, the rustle of the leaves overhead in the gentle breeze. It is as if time itself had stood still to bear witness, and only now started moving again.

“I love you.” Merlin states, like it’s the easiest thing in the world to say.

Arthur meets his eyes, blue on blue, and he coughs out a sob.

“What is it?” Merlin asks, concerned.

“I…I have never heard those words before,” Arthur croaks out. “No one has ever said them to me.”

“Well, now I have.” Merlin releases his grip on Arthur’s hands and raises his to gently hold the sides of Arthur’s head, long fingers carding into his golden hair, thumbs softly stroking blushed, wet cheeks. The warlock tilts the prince’s head forward and kisses him on the forehead, then says with a smile, “I love you, Arthur.”

Arthur returns his smile and his blush deepens. “And I…I love you, Merlin.” It's almost like he is watching himself say the words, they are so strange on his tongue. But he can feel the absolute truth to them. They flow from deep within; from a place that has always been inaccessible to him before this moment.

*****

Hunith steps from her house as the sun sinks low, and is greeted by a curious number of blue butterflies. She looks over toward the tree line – Merlin and Arthur are walking back from the creek; they’re about halfway home. She squints as something catches her eye.

“Are they holding hands?” She asks herself, not believing what she sees. Then she gasps, as hundreds of flowers of every color suddenly spring to life, shooting upward from the ground. They are blooming all around the house, and along the path to the creek; she hears a burst of distant laughter on the breeze. Hunith can only smile and shake her head. Her boy must be happy.

Chapter Text

“Come on, I’ll introduce you to Mum,” Merlin says, tilting his head towards home, towards Hunith’s house on the outskirts of Ealdor.

“We have already met. It required some convincing, but she was the one who told me how to find you. She worries for you – you are very lucky,” Arthur replies with a smile and wistful gaze. “I have never known the care of a mother.”

Merlin looks at him and frowns. Never before has Arthur met a person who could express such empathy, so much care, in a fleeting expression. Merlin cups his cheek and gently rubs his thumb over the corner of his mouth. He lowers his hand and Arthur takes it without thinking.

“Come on,” Merlin says, as they begin their walk home. They are a sight: Merlin is tall but thin as a stick, with a mess of black hair on top sticking out in all directions, dressed in baggy old clothing that is dull brown, dusty and patched; and Arthur is nearly as tall as the warlock but broad and strong, with a crown of golden hair; his blue and gold cloak frames the beautiful dragon carved into his leather armor vest.

They walk silently along the path from the creek back to the village. Arthur is quietly amazed at how comfortable he feels with Merlin at his side. He can’t fathom how it is possible; after all, he’s known him for less than a candlemark. Of all the questions he has for this man, one pops to the front of his mind.

“Merlin? I am curious. When I first approached you, you were bent over, looking closely at something on the ground. What on Earth were you doing?”

“Oh, just helping out a beetle I know.”

“Pardon me?”

Merlin smiles. “There’s this one beetle I know. He had a scuffle with some pissed-off ants a few days ago – they mangled his leg. I figured out a way to heal him – to fix his leg. So, I gave it a go.”

“Did it work?”

“Yep! I was watching him walk around on it when…you know… you snuck up on me.” He says the last part in jest, evidenced by a wide grin.

Arthur immediately decides that Merlin’s huge toothy grin is something he’d like to see often, as often as possible. He chuckles and shakes his head. “You really are something quite special…and not just for your magic. I feel there are countless things – probably all of them insufferably endearing – that I am to discover about you in our time together.”

“We don’t just have ‘time,’ Arthur. We have forever.” Merlin squeezes Arthur’s hand a bit tighter. “Of everything I felt within you today, when our souls mingled as one, it was the pain of loneliness that stood out most. You will never be alone again. As long as we both breathe, we will be together, side-by-side.”

Arthur is lost for words, and probably couldn’t have choked them out, anyway. He just returns Merlin’s squeeze. ‘Gods,’ he thinks, ‘how has this all happened so fast?’ Once again, Arthur thinks back to Ailina’s predictions; and to Nimueh’s. Much of what they saw in prophecy is actually happening.

Hunith comes into view when they are nearly half-way back to the house, joined hands swinging widely with their stride. Merlin grins and says, “Watch this.”

His eyes ignite, and colorful flowers instantly shoot up from the ground. They are blooming all along the path, all the way to the house. Even from this distance, Hunith’s surprise can be seen in the jolt of her arms. Arthur and Merlin break out in a burst of laughter.

*****

“I was going to ask if everything was all right, but you two seem…um…happy enough.” Hunith smiles as they near the house, waving her hand at the thick carpet of magical wildflowers all around them while stealing a glance at their joined hands.

They stop before her and she reaches out a hand and grasps Merlin’s free arm. Her expression is part relief, part confusion. “I’ve been worried about you. I do trust our visitor here, but still…mothers worry. Well…I assume we have much to talk about?”

“I’m not even sure how to describe what has happened, Mum. But yes – much to talk about…”

Hunith reaches out her other hand to hold Arthur’s arm. She gives it a rub in reassurance, “And may I assume your meeting with my son was a success for you, my lord? That you did not fail in your quest, as you feared?”

“Quite the opposite, madam. Our meeting was indeed a success. But, as Merlin said, I am not certain yet what exactly happened. But I feel as though I have been…reborn…I think. I…I do not know…it will take some time. I can say one thing with certainty: your son is…extraordinary. I have never met his like. Oh, and please, call me Arthur.”

“And you shall call me Hunith. There are no inns here in Ealdor, Arthur. You are welcome in our home, humble as it is.”

“Of course he will stay with us, Mum. We won’t be separated. Not tonight, not ever,” Merlin states, as if it should be obvious.

Hunith just raises her brows. “Yes…much to talk about…” She lowers her arms and gestures to the side of the house. “Arthur, there is an old shed around back. You can tether your horses there for the night; plenty of grasses grow there. And there is a bucket for water.”

Arthur laughs as he looks over to Hengroen, who is nibbling on one of the flowers that just popped up at his feet. “Fortunately, they seem to like the taste of your flowers, Merlin. By the way, the smaller one, the mare, is yours – a gift from the Druids. And, she needs a name.” He ruffles Merlin’s hair in response to his grin of surprise and delight. “And we should take her saddlebags inside – they contain more items sent by your admirers.”

Hunith shoots Arthur a questioning look, and he responds with a shrug and mischievous grin, “Apparently, they revere our Merlin, and believe that he and I will be their salvation.”

Hunith can only shake her head with a sigh, “…so very much to talk about…”

*****

Hunith makes a simple vegetable stew that becomes something quite special, to her and Merlin at least, when she adds the dried venison Arthur volunteers from his pack.

“I wish I could offer you something more, Arthur, some bread or something. I suspect you are used to eating far more than Merlin and I do.”

“Not at all. The stew is lovely, Hunith,” Arthur says. Hunith sits in the single chair in the house, a plain spindly wooden affair, while the boys sit on the opposite side of the small table on a skinny bench along the wall. Several candles, plus a low fire on the hearth, provide the limited but warming light. “And, I have several skins of Druid wine. I think we should enjoy some with our dinner.”

After eating, Hunith refills her and Arthur’s cups with wine. When she gets to Merlin, who looks up at her expectantly with a big grin and pleading eyes, she gives in and pours him another half cup. “Just a little more for you, young man. You know it goes straight up to that head of yours – no telling what we’d be in for if you lose yourself…” This, of course, elicits a laugh from Arthur.

“No fair!” Merlin pouts.

“Arthur?” Hunith starts, “I don’t know where to begin with all of my questions. Why don’t you start at the beginning – tell us where you come from and how you came to be in Ealdor today.”

“Right,” Arthur says. “Okay…well, I’m sure you have heard of King Uther Pendragon and Queen Ygraine of Camelot. I…I am their son.” Merlin’s and Hunith’s eyes go wide and both make a questioning sort of gasp.

“It is true…however, I did not come to them in the normal way. My mother was unable to conceive a child, but Uther was desperate for an heir. He asked his court sorceress, Nimueh, to intervene magically; she did, and I was born as a result. My mother did not…” Arthur pauses for a breath, and lowers his head, “…she died giving birth to me – this was the price demanded by the Old Religion for my life. Uther went mad with grief, abandoned me without ever seeing me, and began his Great Purge against magic.” He looks back to Merlin with sad eyes, “I never knew my mother or father.”

Hunith and Merlin both have misty eyes. “Oh Arthur…” she says, with a sympathetic gaze. Merlin looks more angry than sad.

Arthur nods at them both in appreciation for their empathy and continues. “I was raised in secret by Nimueh at Tintagel Castle along the western coast – it was my mother’s dying wish. Uther knew I was there, but did his best to keep me a prisoner behind the castle walls. I held to the hope that he would one day recognize me as his son, as the Prince of Camelot, but it was not to be – I remained in Tintagel until I left to come here. As I grew, Nimueh brought in tutors to educate me, and arranged for Catha instructors to train me in the fighting arts when I was older.”

“She and the Catha both believed strongly in Druid prophecies, some of which spoke of me and a warlock called Emrys – that we were destined to be together, that we would complete one another. Supposedly, Emrys and I are prominent in a particular Druid prophecy, one they call ‘The Prophecy of the Dragon Knight and the Dragonlord.’”

Arthur looks to Merlin. “The Druids guided me to you, Merlin. You are the prophesied Lord; and I, the Knight. What happened today, though I do not understand it, is indeed what a Druid Seer predicted: that I would find purpose, my destiny, even love, when I found you. The purpose is still a bit of a mystery, I guess. But, somehow,” he looks to Hunith, “I do love Merlin; and I know he loves me, too.”

Everyone is silent for a moment, till the quiet is broken by Merlin. “Me, a Dragonlord? The dragons and their lords are all dead, aren’t they? Even if they aren’t, how could such a thing be possible? Yes, I have magic, but I’m just a nobody, a peasant without a single coin in the pocket of his worn-out clothes.”

Hunith frowns at her son’s assessment of himself. “You sell yourself short.” She rests her forehead in her hand and sighs deeply. “I’ve put this off far too long. But now I have no choice, it seems. My darling boy, I must tell you the truth about your father.”

“My father?” Merlin asks, the hurt clear in his voice. “You never speak of him, no matter how often I ask!”

“I know, and I’m sorry. But now it is time. Your father was a Dragonlord, Merlin; his name was Balinor. He and his dragon were the last of their kind. He actually served your father, Arthur. When Uther began his purge, he tried to kill him and capture his dragon. Balinor escaped from Camelot and ended up here. I took him in and you, my dear son, were the happy result. When Uther’s knights crossed the border in their hunt, Balinor chose to flee to keep me from harm. I never heard from him again. I do not know if he yet lives. If he does, he does not know that he has a son. Balinor did not knowingly forsake you, Merlin.”

Merlin sits in stunned silence, eyes full and ready to flow. Arthur slides over to him and puts an arm around his shoulder; Merlin collapses into Arthur’s side, head resting against his shoulder.

“Merlin, my love,” she pleads, “please do not be angry with me. I only kept this from you because I believed it the best way to keep you safe. I do not know much about Dragonlords, we weren’t together all that long. But if Balinor is indeed dead, then his powers would have passed on to you - though what use they are without a dragon, I do not know. Either way, you are, in fact, of noble blood. You are not a peasant like your mother…”

“Are you all right?” Arthur asks him after a long silence, then tries to lighten the mood. “Hey, how about that? We are both nobles.” Hunith looks at Merlin, pleading for forgiveness.

Merlin raises his head, but remains slumped against Arthur. “Yeah, I’m all right. And I’m not mad at you, Mum. This day just gets more and more overwhelming…”

“Oh, I know the feeling, my son. Maybe we should all get some sleep soon. But first, if you’re up to it, tell me: what did happen today? I know sleep will never find me with this question still at work on my mind.”

“Sure Mum, but I still don’t fully understand it myself. Well…I was up at the creek, minding my own business, when this annoyingly handsome knight-looking fellow snuck up on me.” Merlin gives Arthur a little elbow in the side, and they both smile. “When he got close, I felt something…like a surge of magic around me, between us. It wasn’t mine…well, not at first, anyway. It was old magic…from deep below and high above. I suddenly felt…I don’t know…like I knew Arthur. I trusted him completely, even though we’d barely exchanged a word. I had no idea what it should feel like to fall in love…yet I knew I was falling in love with this man the moment I looked upon him. And I could feel the same thing happening to him.” Merlin looks over at Arthur, who nods in agreement.

“When I let my magic free, it rushed to Arthur; I entered a sort of dream. I suddenly became aware of the hurts he carried, the lifetime of loneliness. I felt I had been called upon to help him, to share with him the parts of my soul that his was missing, as he would do for me. I knew, I just knew, that we belonged together, that we had been made inseparable, and would remain so forever. I also had some sense that we were meant to do something important, something that would help the world around us. I don’t know what else to say… from what Arthur has told us, this must tie-in with some Druid prophecy. All I know for sure? In the span of a few candlemarks, my life has completely changed. …”

“As has mine.” Arthur gives Merlin’s shoulder a gentle shake. “And there is still more to discover: the packs sent by the Druids still must be opened. Oh, and you still have a horse to name,” Arthur remembers with a smile, again trying poke a small hole in the seriousness of the conversation. “But all that can wait until tomorrow.”

“Well,” Hunith remarks with a weary smile, “I can plainly state that this has been the most unusual, most remarkable day of my life. For all of us, I suppose. And for you Arthur, this day has gifted you with a new family, if you will have me in addition to Merlin. If my Merlin loves you, then I love you, too…even without all the magical prompting! You are my son now…”

These words mean the world to Arthur. He squeezes Merlin a bit harder and raises his eyes to Hunith, and nods with a wet smile. With his free hand, he wipes the tears away; but more will flow.

*****

Merlin’s sleeping pallet is on the floor along a wall in the same room as the cooking and eating area, just around the corner from the wall with the bench. Arthur brought in his bedroll and blanket from Hengroen’s saddlebag to supplement the minimal comforts of the pallet. Hunith sleeps in the back, in a small chamber separated from the rest of the house with thin curtains. They all find sleep easily; the day’s events have taken their toll.

The next morning, Hunith rises early and sneaks about as quietly as she can. Initially, all she can see is Arthur’s broad back on the other side of the room; he is lying on his side with his face toward the wall. He has no covering save Merlin’s threadbare blanket. When she moves a bit closer, she can see her boy, half underneath Arthur, between him and the wall. Merlin is wrapped up snug, both in Arthur’s thick blanket and in his strong arms. She can just see his face, half-hidden against Arthur’s neck – she’s never seen such a content look of utter comfort; he is practically smiling in his sleep.

‘How can it be,’ she wonders, as she has on many occasions, ‘that behind his precious face and within his fragile-looking body rests the power to level the entire village with a thought?’ Even so, even as Arthur sleeps, he seems to be shielding Merlin from the world with his body, protecting him from anything that may wish him harm. The sight brings a tear to Hunith’s eye.

She builds up the fire on the hearth, then leaves the house to pick some berries. She also plucks two ripe apples from their small tree. The door creaks open, then closed, and Arthur joins her near the tree. He rubs his hands and arms – it’s cool enough to see his breath in the crisp morning air.

“Good morning, Hunith,” he says with a shiver, keeping his voice low.

“My boy, where is your cloak? Do you wish to catch your death only one day after finishing your quest?” she tuts with a teasing smile. “Come back in – I have some oats to make a warm porridge.”

“I will be along shortly. I just want to check on the horses.”

With her small basket of fruit balanced in one hand, she reaches up with the other and rubs his arm and smiles, and heads back to the house.

*****

As Arthur closes the door, he sees Hunith busy at the hearth and Merlin sitting up on his sleeping pallet. His hair is a disaster, but it seems the messier it is, the more adorable he is. Arthur moves to sit next to him; he’s still wrapped in Arthur’s thick blanket.

“The wash basin water is quite cold, but I could heat it for you,” Arthur offers.

“I thought you grew up around magic, Sir Knight. That will not be a problem, as I am a famous, incredibly powerful warlock,” Merlin teases. His eyes glow and in an instant, the water in the basin is steaming. Hunith chuckles from across the room.

“Right.” Arthur answers with a playful roll of his eyes. “Never mind, then.”

There is a small private area behind a screen, along the wall with the opening to Hunith’s chamber, where Merlin washes and changes. After they eat the oat porridge and berries, Arthur drags the packs and saddlebags to the middle of the room while he and Merlin enjoy their apples.

“Shall we see what the Druids have sent to their favorite sorcerer? To be honest, I suspect some of this bounty was provided by my guardian Nimueh – she met with the Druids often.” Arthur opens one of the smaller packs. “Ha! Like these daggers, for instance – they seem more her style. In truth, they are perfect for you Merlin, light and agile – I can show you how to hide them on yourself and train you how to use them.”

Hunith eyes them with concern, but just shakes her head as they continue to unpack the bags. Merlin is practically in shock. He has always been poor, and today he is receiving more gifts in one moment than he ever expected to get in his entire life. There are several ancient-looking books on magic and spells and one on the healing arts; a leather bag full of small bottles of various ointments and salves and potions, all carefully labeled; a box of what appear to be doctoring tools; various food stuffs; a bag of gold coins; and, finally, various articles of clothing. There are several sets of trousers and tunics, sturdy gloves, a heavy blue cloak with silver-stitched borders, a nicer pair of boots than Merlin has ever seen, and a beautiful leather vest of armor with an intricate carving of a dragon.

Arthur looks down at his own vest, and he and Merlin smile widely. The carving on Merlin’s vest is different, though – the dragon is in flight, looking sleek, its body twisting with the suggestion of speed.

Hunith gasps, “What on Earth…”

“I told you: the Druids are very fond of him!” Arthur exclaims.

There is a small piece of parchment pinned to the vest with some strange looking words on it – definitely a language Arthur does not know.

Merlin removes the parchment, then dons the vest and cloak. They are much too big for his thin frame. He utters the words he read on the note and with a flash of gold in his eyes, both garments adjust themselves into a perfect fit on the smiling warlock.

“Ah, Nimueh’s doing, no doubt,” Arthur says with a smirk.

Merlin rushes over to Arthur and crashes into him with a strong embrace, yelling into his neck, “Look, we match!” He moves to stand in front of his mother and holds out his arms. “Well, what do think of your peasant son now?”

“For the second day in a row, I am nearly speechless,” Hunith says with an exasperated smile. “You look so handsome, my boy; so grown up. And you look important…you look like the nobleman that you are.”

Merlin walks about, enjoying the billow of the cloak. He’s never worn one before. Hunith turns to Arthur, her proud smile fading.

“Arthur, what does this all mean? The clothes, the coin. To me, it looks like Merlin is meant to travel somewhere, to leave his home.”

“I wish I could say for certain, Hunith. You may be right. The Druid Seer said things would become clear once I joined with Emrys…er, Merlin. I suspect we will find out soon enough. She told me we would discover our path together.” Arthur takes her hand in his. “I swear this to you, dear lady: whatever comes Merlin’s way also comes mine. I will be at his side, no matter what.”

“Daisy!” Merlin yells. Arthur and Hunith turn to him with bemused, questioning looks. “My horse – her name will be Daisy, Mum’s favorite flower.” Merlin raises his arms, hands holding unseen reins, as he continues to move about the room.

Arthur rolls his eyes with a smirk. “That is a fine name, Merlin. ‘Here cometh the powerful wizard Emrys, and his fearsome steed Daisy.’” Hunith and Merlin break out into laughter, and Arthur can’t help but join them.

****

Later that day, Arthur walks to the creek; the sun is warm, so he wears only his tunic – the armor and cloak are left at home. Merlin left about a candlemark ago to do some fishing while Arthur tended the horses – he should have returned by now. When Arthur gets close, he sees Merlin kneeling in the creek with a bloody lip; a large young man stands over him with a fist at the ready, poised to land another blow.

“You will stand down and move away. Now.” Arthur growls.

“Jus’ what you gonna do, lordling? You too pretty ta fight likes a man do. You see, I don’t like dis scrawny wimp. Never have…” The cretin draws his fist back to hit Merlin again. He outweighs Arthur, but Arthur easily overpowers him. He grabs his cocked arm and spins him around, then punches him in the face with enough force to break his nose, and then instantly punches his injured face again.

The man screams in pain and lowers his face into his hands. “I yield,” he sputters through the blood pouring down his face, “please, no more.” Arthur grabs the bully by the collar with both hands and forcefully pulls him near.

“If you ever harm my friend again I will drop you where you stand, and I will cleave this ugly head from your shoulders. Merlin has the power to end you with a thought, but he is too decent a man to use his strength against a cowardly imbecile like you. I have no such compunction. Let it be known.” Arthur shoves the man, who stumbles away as quickly as he can.

“Merlin, are you all right?” Arthur turns back to his friend and helps him to his feet. “Why did you let him hurt you?”

“It’s nothing, Arthur; nothing new, anyway. Mum doesn’t like me to use my magic against anyone in the village. It just makes things worse.”

Arthur gently takes Merlin’s chin in his hand and tilts his head up to take a better look at his bleeding lower lip. “Well, what is new, Merlin, is me. As long as I am around, you will not be harmed; nor insulted or disrespected, for that matter.” Arthur raises his brows, daring Merlin to argue; instead, Merlin just lowers his head and smiles as Arthur grabs him around the shoulder to help him from the creek.

“My brave knight,” Merlin sighs, wrapping his arm around Arthur’s back. “But maybe you shouldn’t have hurt him so badly.” Arthur just snorts in reply.

“Wait, the fish.” Merlin says, turning back to the creek. He grabs his stringer from the water, which has three good-size perch hooked to it, and his net.

“Three? You caught three fish with just that flimsy old net?” Arthur asks, impressed. He smiles warmly at Merlin and extends his hand, “Come along, my warlock; we have earned our supper.”

*****

Arthur is awakened in the middle of the night by a sudden movement. He takes a moment to gather his wits: he and Merlin lay side-by-side on the little sleeping pallet along the wall. Merlin is against the wall, facing Arthur with his face buried in Arthur’s chest. Like the previous night, Merlin is wrapped up snugly in Arthur’s heavy blanket, and the prince’s arms are wrapped around warlock and blanket both, ever protective. All is quiet, until Merlin twitches with more than a little force. Arthur assumes it was such a movement that woke him. Clearly, Merlin is dreaming as he slurs whispered words that Arthur cannot make out. His breathing becomes rapid and shallow and his heart pounds. “Ah!” Merlin blurts out, eyes suddenly wide.

“Merlin, what is it? You were dreaming,” Arthur asks, worry in his voice.

“I’m sorry I startled you.”

“You are the startled one, Merlin. What is it?”

 “I...I’m not sure. We have to leave…now. We have to meet someone. It’s the next step.”

“The next step? Of what? Merlin, what did you dream?”

“It wasn’t a dream, not really. More of a vision. We must go and talk…talk to a…a dragon.”

“A dragon? I thought they were all gone?”

“I don’t know, Arthur, but we must do this. Remember what you told me? Your Seer said things would begin to happen after we met. Well, I think this is the next step.”

Arthur rolls his eyes as he rolls to sit up. “Well, I suppose that after the last two days, nothing should come as much of a surprise, eh Merlin? All right, let us ready ourselves. It is time for you to wear your new clothes for real. If we are to meet a magical dragon, you best look the part!”

As they begin to prepare, Hunith pokes her head from the curtains to her tiny chamber, more in fear than confusion. Merlin explains his vision and reason for leaving so suddenly while they help one another dress: black trousers, pale blue tunics, ornate leather armor vests, and heavy dark blue cloaks. Merlin also pulls on his new boots, which aren’t oversize by much, given his overly big feet. The same spell he used before sizes everything perfectly. The two men stand shoulder-to-shoulder before Hunith for inspection.

“Goodness, look at you both,” she whispers, love and awe evident in her voice. They make a noble, beautiful picture, even in the dim candlelight. “If only I could have a portrait of you two in this moment.” She receives glowing smiles from both of them before Arthur turns to Merlin.

“Merlin,” he asks, “how far are we going? Should I prepare the horses?”

“No, it’s not that far. We can walk. I’ll pack a small bag with some supplies. Mum, we should be back before nightfall next. Try not to worry.”

“I will watch over him, Hunith. You have my word.” Arthur dips his head with a reassuring smile, and Hunith nods back. Her weak smile cannot diminish the tears flooding her eyes. Once Merlin has packed his small shoulder bag and Arthur has strapped on his sword, they depart. Hunith watches them quietly disappear into the nighttime mist.

*****

Arthur and Merlin have traveled on foot for a bit less than a candlemark. The warlock’s magic has guided them to a secluded clearing. They join hands, standing just beyond the trees as Merlin’s mage lights slowly circle about. The bright blue-white light of the orbs has helped them safely navigate their way through the forest.

“Your magic is endlessly useful and impressive, my love,” Arthur whispers with an adoring look. Merlin just smiles and squeezes his hand, and the orbs sing with a happy hum. Out of nowhere, a loud whooshing sound accompanies a strong downdraft that nearly knocks them from their feet. There is a looming shadow overhead, followed by an earth-shaking thud as an enormous beast lands in front of them. The mage lights shriek and scatter to the tree line.

Arthur and Merlin both stare, open-mouthed and wide-eyed. It is a dragon. A real, honest to the Gods dragon. The scales that armor it shimmer with a dark greenish gold glow. And it is huge – terrifyingly so. From smoking nostrils to spiked tail, it is half the length, at least, of the entire village of Ealdor.

Huge amber-lit eyes narrow as they locate the two men, who are huddled together. The dragon lumbers toward them - one step, then another, and then lowers its massive head. The black, vertical slits within the glowing amber focus on Arthur for a moment, then turn to Merlin. Arthur extends his arm in front of Merlin, as if he can protect him from the creature. When the dragon speaks, the sound reverberates deep within them, like their bones might shake apart.

“Greetings, Emrys. I am Kilgharrah, the Great Dragon. Balinor is my Lord, but not for long. I’m afraid your father is near death, young warlock. He wishes to see you, and…it must be soon." Merlin looks to Arthur, and they exchange unbelieving looks of astonishment. Not only does this enormous dragon speak, it does so in the common tongue; and it seems to be proffering an invitation. "And your little knight should accompany us, as well.”

Chapter Text

“Did it just call me ‘little knight?’” Arthur scoffs at the dragon’s slight.

“You will not refer to me as ‘it’!” Kilgharrah bellows, snorting smoke from his nostrils in warning.

Arthur begins to stammer an apology, but the dragon ignores him and lowers his head until it rests on the ground – a seeming invitation to climb up.

“Wait a moment, you expect us to…what…ride upon you as you fly?” Arthur asks, incredulous. Merlin, still mostly behind Arthur, wraps both arms around him, both to keep him from doing anything brave and foolish like grabbing for his sword, and to offer reassurance.

“It’ll be fine, Arthur,” Merlin says from behind, head nearly resting on Arthur’s shoulder. “We need to go with him – this is important. It’s my father – we have to go. We will be all right, I promise. He will not let us fall.”

Merlin releases then steps around Arthur to look him in the eyes, and gives him a smile and a positive nod. He reaches out to Arthur with an open hand. “Come on.”

Arthur takes the warlock’s hand and they walk past the dragon’s head, warily glancing over at the huge, sharp teeth partially exposed along the line of his mouth. The boys scramble up onto Kilgharrah’s neck and find a spot to sit, where the spikes along his spine provide suitable handholds.

“What would your mother say?” Arthur asks, not at all convinced that they should be doing this. “I promised her I’d keep you safe when we left.”

“No…” Merlin corrects with a smirk, “you told her you’d keep watch over me. And here you are, keeping watch.”

“Very funny…”

“Arthur, we’ll be fine. Don’t be such a fusspot. We are about to do something very few have done. You told me we are meant for great things. Well, this seems pretty damn great!”

Suddenly, their stomachs lurch as Kilgharrah launches into the sky and his great wings begin their slow beat. With every downbeat, they feel the great beast rise higher. The treetops merge into a dark sea of indistinguishable shapes, barely visible in the dim moonlight. Everything below becomes a blur – the men sense that they are traveling at a great pace, yet the motion of the dragon’s wings remains at a slow, steady beat.

Arthur and Merlin grip tightly onto the spikes atop Kilgharrah’s neck, and on to each other. As they slowly become more accustomed to the sensation of flight, their grips ease a bit. Neither of them can help yelping in joy, eyes wide with boundless excitement.

“It is surprisingly peaceful up here,” Arthur observes. “I barely feel the touch of the wind or cold.”

“I think the dragon has placed a ward around us – to prevent us from falling, and to keep us comfortable.”

“Thank you, Sir Dragon!” Arthur yells. The dragon only grunts, clearly annoyed.

“Call him Kilgharrah,” Merlin tuts; Arthur just rolls his eyes. “His magic feels ancient, like the magic I felt around us when we first met. I…hang on, something’s changing…”

The dragon begins a steep descent, even though they’ve been traveling for less than a quarter candlemark. Within moments, dark shapes are rushing up around them, and the dragon slams onto the ground. Arthur and Merlin tumble from their perch, scrambling for something to grab, until they land on the ground in a heap.

Kilgharrah gives a little chuckle. “Welcome to the Holy Island, to Dracafief Mountain. I apologize for the rough arrival – it’s been some time since I carried a rider. Come along young warlock, little knight – there is no time to waste.”

“We have traveled all the way to the Holy Island?” Arthur asks, as he stands and looks down on Merlin. He just shrugs in return, as if to say ‘I suppose we have.’

Arthur helps Merlin to his feet, and they soon realize that they are high up on a mountainside. The cold wind quickly becomes noticeable without the dragon’s protection. They do their best to make one another presentable, then follow Kilgharrah into a large cave – it is more than big enough to be his domicile.

In the rear wall of the cave is a small opening to a separate chamber. The dragon lowers his head to the opening and speaks. “I have brought your son, my lord. He is indeed Emrys, but goes by the name given by his mother: Merlin. He is accompanied by his prophesied knight – he is Arthur. Arthur Pendragon.”

Kilgharrah steps back, allowing them passage into what is presumably Lord Balinor’s chamber. There are several lit torches in sconces on the walls, plus a fire on a sort of hearth. All of them burn without a trace of fume or smoke, or any visible fuel source. “They must be magic…” Merlin quietly observes.

The cave has furs on the floor, and contains a few pieces of conventional furniture: a bed is along one wall, and a table and chair are in the center. Also present are several large trunks, lined-up along another wall. Balinor sits in the chair at the table, facing the entrance, dressed in aged robes with a heavy fur cloak over his shoulders. His black beard and long hair are marked with gray; they both frame a face that is heavily lined and weary, more with illness than age. His eyes are dark and sad, and he sits slumped over, arms resting weakly in his lap.

Merlin approaches Balinor slowly, and Arthur remains a pace behind out of respect. Dragonlord and warlock look upon one another for a long moment, then Merlin breaks the silence. “Are you Balinor? Are you my father?”

“I am,” Balinor says, his weak voice a hoarse whisper. “And you are my son, Merlin. I am so very sorry – I never knew Hunith carried a child. I do not know what it is to have a son.”

“Nor I a father,” Merlin answers, his voice full of sadness and regret. He moves to kneel beside Balinor’s chair; he reaches out a hesitant hand, then rests it on his father’s arm. “But now we know. I am glad, so happy, that we are finally meeting, even if the circumstances are not the best.”

“I only wish we had more time, my son. But I am failing quickly – there is so much we should discuss, but there’s no time. You can thank Uther for that,” Balinor sneers in sudden anger, his voice strong for a moment as he looks to Arthur. “His father – he chased me away from my family.”

“Uther was no father to him – they’ve never even met,” Merlin says softly. “Arthur is a good man – the best I know – and I love him. Magic brought us together, and so will we remain.”

“Yes…I’m sorry…I know.” Balinor’s voice returns to a whisper and his anger fades, and he looks back to Merlin. “He will be your Dragon Knight…you, my son, will be his Dragonlord. Until days ago, I was resigned to die as the last of my kind. But, now you are here. You will carry on. It…it was Kilgharrah…he found out about you. He sensed the joining of your souls…you and your knight.” Balinor’s breathing has become shallow and labored.

“Father, are you certain you are beyond healing?”

“Yes, Merlin…Kilgharrah has tried. There is little time…Arthur…come, you must join us.”

Arthur kneels on the other side of the Dragonlord’s chair, opposite Merlin. He and Merlin each take one of Balinor’s offered hands into their own; they look to one another with worry at the deep tremors they feel in the dying man’s hands.

Balinor meets Arthur’s gaze. “Arthur…soon you will be a Dragon Knight…the first in many generations. Promise me…you will protect my son…you will love him as your lord.”

“Of course, with no reservation, I promise it.” Arthur squeezes Balinor’s hand in reassurance, and Balinor nods weakly with a small smile. He turns to Merlin.

“My son…I apologize for leaving you so soon…so soon after you found me. Swear to me…swear that you will look after Kilgharrah…be his lord, but also be mindful of him.”

“I swear it, father. But…I do not know how to be a Dragonlord…”

“You will, son…the knowledge is within you. It will awaken, once I am gone. You…you will make me proud…I know it. Kilgharrah! It is time…”

The Great Dragon had been listening intently at the entrance to Balinor’s chamber. He makes a bit of a snort, then a golden mist flows out from his mouth over to the three men. It surrounds them – the magic within it is unmistakable – then dissipates. “My Lord,” Kilgharrah says – not to Balinor but to Merlin, “we are now bound.” The dragon reverently bows his head low, then turns away.

The tremors in Balinor’s hands cease and his eyes go blank; he is dead. Tears puddle in Merlin’s eyes; for most of his life, he knew nothing about his father. But since Arthur’s arrival, just days ago, he learned that his father was a Dragonlord; then he learned he was alive, but dying; and, just now, Merlin held his father’s hand as he died.

Arthur releases Balinor’s hand, placing his limp arm back to his lap, then stands and moves over behind Merlin. He stoops and reaches his arms around, and gently pulls Merlin’s trembling hand away from his father’s. Then, with a feather-light grasp on his upper arms, he encourages him to stand with a soft tug. Merlin follow’s Arthur’s lead and stumbles to his feet.

Arthur turns him around and silently looks upon him with all the compassion and strength he can muster. Merlin’s tear-streaked face and quivering lip unmask the grief and confusion welling up inside him. Arthur wraps the young Dragonlord in a tight embrace, which is instantly returned, and Merlin cries quietly with his face pressed to Arthur’s neck. Arthur raises a hand to the top of Merlin’s head, weaving his fingers in his hair and gently rubbing his scalp – a subtle reminder, despite recent events, that he is not alone. A reminder – and a promise – that Arthur is here for him, just for him, and always will be.

*****

“Merlin, this was your father’s sword; it is the sword of a Dragonlord. It is now yours. Take it in hand, my lord.” The sword is beautifully crafted, and displays intricate engraving on the blade, along both sides of the fuller; they are the words of an ancient language. Merlin and Arthur stand before Kilgharrah in his chamber, and the sword floats between them. Merlin takes the sword by the hilt and holds it up, the point of the blade reaching for the ceiling of the great cave. At his touch, the engraved words on the blade ignite, every miniscule groove in the metal lit with gold.

“Kneel before the Dragonlord, Arthur.” Kilgharrah speaks with a commanding yet reverent tone. The two men turn to face one another; both are a bit nervous. Merlin’s eyes are still glassy with grief, but he manages to return the small smile that brightens Arthur’s face when their eyes meet. Arthur sinks to one knee before Merlin, head bowed. The Great Dragon continues, “Arthur Pendragon, do you swear an oath of fealty to your Dragonlord, and do you swear to protect him, even at the cost of your very life?”

“I swear so to do, on my honor and on my life.”

Kilgharrah looks to Merlin to nudge him into action. The Dragonlord lowers his gold-lit sword to Arthur’s right shoulder, then his left, and says, “We are bound together, Arthur Pendragon, from this day until our last. When you rise, you do so as my Dragon Knight.” The words flow from an innate but previously untapped well of knowledge within.

Kilgharrah turns to Arthur and bows his head. “Rise, Dragon Knight. Together, you and I shall serve our lord.”

*****

They speed eastward into the rising sun. “We are going straight to Ealdor,” Merlin tells Arthur.

“Is that a good idea?” Arthur asks, gesturing at the giant beast they ride upon.

“I am a Dragonlord; Kilgharrah is my dragon; and you,” Merlin takes Arthur’s hand in his, “are my knight. We may not fully understand what any of that really means yet, but my days of hiding are over, Arthur. And with the easing of the laws in Camelot, it no longer seems like much of a necessity.”

“All right then, I agree – and I am happy for the world to know you, my lord.” Arthur smiles widely at Merlin, then leans toward him and says with a smirk, “my very handsome lord…”

Merlin laughs, and elbows him in the side. Arthur returns the gesture, perhaps with a bit more force.

“Kilgharrah,” Merlin yells, “land in the field between the creek and my mother’s house. Um, gently this time, if you please.”

“Very well, my lord,” Kilgharrah grumbles.

“Do you think he knows where to go?” Arthur asks.

Merlin smiles. “He does. He knows because I know.”

*****

Hunith steps from her house to investigate all the commotion. The horses have become unsettled – even the normally stoic Hengroen is huffing and stomping. Hunith begins to hear excited shouts from the villagers up the road, and sees one of them point to the sky.

She looks up and gasps in shock. A huge dragon glides overhead then circles around Ealdor. On its back she can see two blue-cloaked figures – is one of them waving? The dragon completes its circle and lands with a thump amidst Merlin’s flowers, not far from the house. Villagers crowd at the edge of town to gawk at the spectacle, but dare not come too close.

Merlin jumps from Kilgharrah, slowing his descent with magic just before impacting the ground; Arthur does the same, with an assist from the warlock. One of the trunks from Balinor’s chamber, which has also traveled to Ealdor, then floats to the ground under Merlin’s direction. Lord and Knight walk to the front of their dragon, and Merlin lays a hand on the side of its lowered head. After a moment, both men step back a pace and bow; the dragon bows in return, then launches skyward. The grasses and flowers sway violently with the beat of its wings, and then it is gone.

Hunith watches expectantly as her two boys approach – despite their journey and lack of sleep, they look as regal as a painting. Dark blue cloaks billow about in the breeze as flashes of sun bounce from polished sword hilts. And the low morning light accentuates the carvings in their handsome leather vests. She still can’t fathom it – how much everything has changed in just a few days.

“I shared with Kilgharrah our plan to go to Camelot…” she hears Merlin tell Arthur, who nods in acknowledgement.

“You’re going where?” Hunith asks, worry in her voice. Merlin extends his arms as he gets close, and pulls his mother into a hug. She pulls back and exclaims, “and how on Earth did you end up riding a dragon home? Was that Kilgharrah? Did you find Balinor last night? Is he still alive?”

Arthur willingly accepts a hug from Hunith. “Come, Hunith, let us go inside. Merlin and I have much to tell you.”

They enter the house, the trunk happily bobbing along behind, leaving a gaggle of confused-looking villagers in the distance. Eventually the group disperses, muttering unkind words about sorcerers and dragons and overdressed peasants parading around like lords.

*****

Hunith prepared as special a supper as she could. Rabbit and vegetable stew was accompanied by Maslin bread, prepared using some of the coarse flour the Druids had sent with Arthur. Without a proper oven to bake it, it wasn’t quite what Arthur was used to; but it was real a treat for Hunith and Merlin. After finishing the bread and stew, they enjoy some of Arthur’s wine.

“My baby boy, a Dragonlord…” Hunith muses, half to herself. They are sitting around the little table with their cups of wine, while the fire on the hearth burns merrily. Much of the day had been spent regaling Hunith with the story of their nighttime journey, and listening to her tales of her brief life with Balinor. The conversation had turned more general as they all pitched in to prepare the food and then enjoy it together. But now, Hunith’s thoughts return to Balinor. “I wish you’d had the chance to know your father, my son. He was a good man. I hope he didn’t suffer too long with his illness.”

“I don’t even know what ailed him,” Merlin says sadly. “There just wasn’t any time for us to talk. But I’m so happy I got to meet him, if only for a few moments. I suppose he is burned and buried by now.” Merlin looks down, gripping his cup with both hands. “Kilgharrah planned to cremate him when he returned, then bury his bones. I guess it’s a sacred ceremony between a dragon and his lord.”

Arthur is sitting close on the bench, and flings his arm around Merlin to offer some comfort. The Dragonlord leans into his knight. “You will make him proud, my love, I know it in my soul,” Arthur says, smiling and rubbing Merlin’s shoulder.

“Boys, you said earlier you planned to go to Camelot. Isn’t that dangerous? Uther would see you burn, Merlin; and only the Gods know what he might do to you, Arthur.”

“That may have been true once, Hunith, but much has recently changed. On my way from Tintagel to Brechfa, I learned that Uther is very ill…my half-sister, the Princess Morgana, now rules. They say the laws are changed – Merlin will not be arrested for his magic.”

“If that is true, then it changes everything!” Hunith exclaims.

Merlin perks up at that. “What do you mean, Mum?”

“Merlin, your Great Uncle Gaius lives in the citadel in Camelot – I’ve mentioned him before, but not in any great detail. He is the Court Physician; he is also a magical scholar, though he swore-off the practice of magic before The Purge. The book on magic you’ve had all these years? That came from Gaius. He has long wanted us to live with him there; I was very tempted to do so…he could have been a great help to you. I never dared, though…I was terrified you might be caught. But now, with the change in the law, not to mention the change in you, I feel the time has come…it is time to leave Ealdor. He said, many times, that he would employ me as his assistant.”

“That would be perfect!” Merlin smiles. “I don’t think Arthur and I will be spending much time in one place – we wouldn’t have to worry about leaving you alone if you lived with Uncle Gaius. You’d be safe there, and probably more comfortable, too.”

“Well,” Arthur says before draining his cup, “this calls for more wine. We must celebrate this happy development – one sorely needed after the trials of this past day. And tomorrow, we can make a plan, and begin preparations.”

*****

Over the course of several days, Arthur spends a lot of time working to prepare Merlin for the trip to Camelot. Merlin’s never really rode a horse, so those lessons are important. Fortunately, with Merlin’s magic and natural connection to animals, not to mention Daisy’s mild nature, he is riding confidently in good time.

The Dragon Knight also trains his Dragonlord on the correct – and deadly – use of his daggers. When Arthur asks how much Merlin is using magic to hit the bullseye on their makeshift target, time after time, Merlin merely smiles and shrugs. “Very little,” is all he will admit.

In the meantime, Hunith displays a tattered flag at the designated location in the village – it is a signal for the messenger to stop. This messenger usually rides through the village every few days on his journey between Escetir and Camelot; Hunith will pay him to deliver a note to Gaius at the citadel. It seems only proper to give him notice of her decision to leave Ealdor. Arthur prefers no mention be made of his impending visit, feeling it best to approach the princess cold, with no time for her to develop expectations or conditions for their first meeting. Merlin agrees.

One evening when Hunith is out, Arthur suggests they use Balinor’s trunk to haul Merlin’s and Hunith’s belongings, since it is mostly empty. The trunk does contain a few items of great interest. First is Balinor’s Dragonlord staff, which now belongs to Merlin. The staff, which barely fit inside the large trunk, is nearly as long as Merlin is tall. It is straight as a bolt, made of a dark heavy wood, with a bronze fitting at the top that holds an amber jewel. “I can see why Kilgharrah insisted we bring this trunk home with us,” Merlin observes.

The trunk also contains two hooded shirts of armor, similar to a knight’s mail but made with small dragon scales. The scales look like shimmering glass – in low light they look black, but in sunlight they have a dark greenish-gold glint. “They’re so beautiful,” Merlin says, “but I have no idea what holds it all together – other than magic, of course. I believe these small scales are those that Kilgharrah shed as he grew.”

“What makes you think that?”

“More of that innate Dragonlord knowledge, I suppose,” Merlin says while pondering the armor. “Arthur, I have an idea. This armor is far stronger than any man-made metal, and less weighty and more flexible – we should make use of it. I can feel the magic within it – I think I can resize it to fit us, then we can wear it under our leather vests.”

“That would be brilliant!” Arthur says with a wide smile. “Let’s give it a try – hand me one of those.” Merlin helps him pull the shirt down over his head and arms.

“Well,” Merlin says, “it’s too small over those shoulders of yours and the sleeves are a bit short, but the length looks about right, ending right below your…um…parts we should keep safe.” Arthur laughs. “Here, let’s raise the hood; oh, and put your vest on, too, then I’ll adjust the fit of everything.” Merlin utters the spell, and the armor shirt and vest all expand and shrink as needed. “Ah! That looks great!”

“This is really something, Merlin! The freedom of movement is much better than any mail I’ve worn. I’d wager that we are the only ones with dragon scale armor in all of Albion. You next.” Arthur helps Merlin into his shirt and vest, and once again magic takes care of the fit.

Just then Hunith walks in. “Oh my Gods…I remember seeing your father in such armor – though he didn’t have those wonderful vests. My boys…just when I thought it impossible for either of you to become more handsome. You two…you continue to amaze me…”

“The important thing,” Merlin says, attempting to ignore his reddening cheeks, “is that this armor is just about impenetrable. Anyway, how did it go with Curtis?” Curtis, the man Arthur met on his first day in Ealdor, happens to own the only horse-drawn cart in the village.

“He agreed to my bargain,” Hunith says. “In swap for carrying me, your trunk and anything else we take to Camelot, he will take ownership of this house. He will bring the cart by in the morning, so we’ll probably be ready to depart by the sun’s peak.”

“Excellent,” Arthur responds. “Our saddle bags are packed, and we can prepare the trunk tonight. Our pace will be slower and our route longer with the cart, but it should only take an extra day or two, I think. Our Lord Merlin here claims he will find us the best path, and I have complete faith in him.” Arthur pats him on the shoulder with a teasing grin.

Merlin rolls his eyes and smiles, making a bow in jest. “I shall do my best…”

*****

“Are you all right?” Arthur asks Merlin, who looks back on the village one last time, at the only home he has ever known. They ride side-by-side, bumping knees, Hengroen and Daisy keeping a lazy pace.

Hunith and Curtis follow behind, the cart rocking to and fro over the uneven ground; Curtis rides his horse, and Hunith sits in the rear of his cart.

“Yep, I’m fine, Arthur,” Merlin responds, turning to face ahead. “It’s just…well, for most of my life, I kinda felt like I might be stuck in Ealdor forever…always hiding, always hoping to find a purpose…with no friend except Mum. Things sure have changed – everything has changed, and it all started the day I met you. Now, Mum is on her way to a better life; and I ride next to you, my knight and my love. I have no idea what waits ahead for us, but I do know there is a purpose to it. And I do know that we will be together, which is what matters most. Being free, being with you, it means everything to me.”

Arthur reaches out, and they hold hands while they ride. Curtis shakes his head and snorts. Hunith just laughs at it all, happy as can be.

Chapter Text

On the fourth day of their journey through Camelot, the party wakes to a clear, chilly day. “Rise and shine, my love…” Arthur whispers to Merlin, who stirs unhappily and pokes his face from a cozy nest made of warm blankets and Arthur’s arms.

Hunith is already up and about, preparing a simple meal to break their fast. Curtis stirs in his cart near the horses, where he has been sleeping each night. However, he stayed a little closer to the camp after the first night, when Arthur was forced to dispatch two bandits who attacked their camp in the wee hours. And he stayed even closer after the second night, when Merlin had to kill a large magical serpent that penetrated the ward he’d erected around them after the events of the first night. Fortunately, the third night had been quiet.

They eat quickly and begin to pack up the camp. “We should reach the citadel well before nightfall…” Merlin says.

“Merlin’s route has been flawless – we have not encountered a single obstacle the cart could not handle. Well done, my lord,” Arthur says, looking to Merlin with a wide grin.

Hunith joins in. “Indeed. I am so proud of you, my son. And of you, Arthur – you’ve both kept us well and safe.” The three of them exchange smiles and nods. Curtis just snorts.

When they are nearly ready to mount up and depart, Merlin stops them. “Oh…wait a moment. I almost forgot…I have a little surprise. I discovered a pair of wonderful items hidden in a compartment in the bottom of Balinor’s trunk. I decided to save them for a special occasion. That’s now, I think.”

Merlin pulls the two small items, wrapped in cloth, from his pack. He frees them from their wrapping, revealing two ornate silver medallions, each about the size of a man’s palm, with glimmering silver chains. He holds them up; the outer edge of each disk is not smooth, but is a string of jagged peaks. “This one says ‘Lord of the Dragon’ and this one ‘Knight of the Dragon.’ The writing is an ancient language that I can apparently read now. And the rough edge indicates an endless line of rugged mountains.” In addition to the words, each medallion is also engraved with the image of a dragon.

Merlin gently hangs one medallion around Arthur’s neck. The chain is the perfect length – the disk rests against his leather vest just above its carving. “I made sure the length of the chain was just right,” Merlin says with a wink. Arthur helps Merlin with his medallion, and they turn to face Hunith.

“Oh my…” she chokes out as she takes Balinor’s old medallion into her hand. “Oh my boy…you continue to amaze me. I do love you.”

“As do I,” Arthur says, gripping his medallion in one hand while giving Merlin’s hair a ruffle with the other. “While we are traveling, I suggest we pack these away. But we can wear them with pride when we greet my sister – we shall present ourselves as the last Dragonlord and his faithful Dragon Knight!”

Curtis walks away, shaking his head. And, of course, he snorts…just for good measure.

*****

“There it is!” Merlin shouts, pointing ahead. As they crest a hill in the path, the citadel of Camelot suddenly comes into view. It is a magnificent sight. The enormous castle, with towers higher than any structure any of them have seen, is made entirely of glittering white stone. Below its outer walls lies a sprawling, bustling town. They feel as if they’ve traveled to an entirely new world.

The path becomes a road and their horses relish the opportunity to unwind a bit. The sun is well past its peak when they pass through the lower town; it is crowded with merchants and shoppers; with people going about their lives. Arthur wonders if these happy people realize how dangerous and unsettled the world beyond really is.

In time, they come to a gatehouse at the drawbridge that leads into the courtyard of the citadel. Guards stop them there. “I am Arthur, Knight to my Lord Merlin. Please, I must speak with Sir Leon.” Arthur presents the medallion given to him by Leon many days before.

The guard studies it briefly and his eyes brighten. “If it please you, my Lords, wait here a moment. Sir Leon is most likely in the armory at this time of day. I will fetch him.” With that, he hurries away in search of the knight.

“Everyone is staring at us,” Merlin says quietly. “You’d think they would be used to seeing visitors.”

“I am sure they are. But they probably know the colors of most of the nobles around here – I suspect we are something new to them. And…you must admit…my lord and his knight do give a rather dashing appearance.” Arthur says it with a flirty smile and wink. Merlin rolls his eyes and laughs.

“Arthur!” a quickly approaching voice greets.

“Merlin,” Arthur says quietly, “that is Sir Leon hailing me. Give me a moment to speak with him.” Arthur climbs down from his horse. “Leon! It is good to see you. I am here with my Lord Merlin.” Merlin smiles and nods, and before Leon or Merlin can say anything else, Arthur continues. “This is Merlin’s mother Hunith, and Curtis of Ealdor – he provided the cart and will return to Ealdor forthwith; Hunith will be staying in Camelot with her uncle Gaius, your court physician.”

“Greetings to you all,” Leon says politely. “Gaius informed me of Hunith’s impending arrival, but I was not expecting you, Arthur. I assume you wish to see Her Highness your sister?”

“Indeed I do; that is…I should say, we do,” Arthur gestures up to Merlin. “I did not forewarn anyone, including Her Highness, of our visit.”

Leon’s expression darkens a bit. “That is for the best, Arthur. We have much to discuss. Please allow me to lead the way – we should gather in Gaius’ chamber. We can talk there.”

Arthur mounts Hengroen, and the party follows Leon and two guards across the bridge and into the courtyard.

*****

*****

“Who on Earth are they?” Princess Morgana asks, standing at a window high in Camelot’s citadel. A figure steps from the shadows and joins her – it is Morgana’s half-sister Morgause, a sorceress and high priestess. They are both attractive young women in their prime, though Morgause's golden hair and fair complexion is quite a contrast to Morgana's black hair and pale skin. The two peer down at a pair of young men slow-walking their well-groomed horses into the main courtyard – they are led by Sir Leon and some guards. Both men wear black trousers, ornate leather vests and rich, dark blue cloaks. But what really catches the eye is the armor plainly visible down the full length of their arms – it is like nothing they’ve ever seen. It reflects the rays of the sun, shimmering in hues of black and gold and green like the facets of some precious jewel.

“I do not know, sister…” Morgause replies quietly, with intense curiosity. “If I didn’t know better, I would say they are wearing mail made from dragon scales. But how could that possibly be…wait…do you…do you feel it?” Morgana only looks confused. “Open your mind, sister; think of seeing only the magic in those around you.” Morgause utters a spell and the sisters meditate on the visitors for a moment. Abruptly, they both squint and gasp in pain, raising a hand to shield their eyes. Morgause quickly ends the spell.

“It was like staring at the sun!” Morgana exclaims.

“It is the dark-haired one. He has magic. He burns with it – I cannot explain it. We must be cautious, sister.” Suddenly, the sorcerer turns his head and looks up, directly at the window they stand behind. They recoil and step back on instinct, and Morgause can’t hide the look of fear that consumes her face. She quickly calms herself, then continues after a moment of thought. “I saw no magic in the gold-haired one, though it surrounds him like a second skin. They are clearly lords of some sort – no doubt they would appreciate an audience with you. I suggest putting that off until tomorrow – I need time to consider what this man is, what his arrival might mean.”

“Agreed, sister,” Morgana says after considering the situation. “I will send word to grant them accommodation for the night. They will be made to feel welcome; that they are among friends.”

“Very well – I will take my leave and come to you at first light,” Morgause says. “We can decide then how best to proceed. Whoever they are, we cannot let them disrupt our plans.”

Morgana gives a thoughtful nod as Morgause departs, then carefully steps back to the window. The princess considers the gold-haired lord, preferring to keep her gaze away from the magic user. ‘Such a handsome man,’ she thinks, ‘there is something about him, something familiar…’

*****

*****

“What is it?” Arthur asks when Merlin turns sharply in his saddle to look up at the citadel.

“I’m not sure, Arthur. We are being watched…strong magic took notice of me. Whoever it is…they seem…I think they fear me.”

“From where I sit, that is not a bad thing. That they fear you, I mean. I was told my half-sister has a bit of magic, but I was not given the impression that she is particularly powerful.”

“Hmm…” Merlin hums. “I can’t be sure, but I believe there were two young women watching…and there was something familiar present, too. One of them could have been your sister.”

They bring their horses to a halt at Leon’s direction, not far from stairs that lead into a wing of the citadel. The size of Camelot’s grand castle is overwhelming – a single wing is larger than all of Tintagel.

Several servants scurry over to hold the horses as Arthur and Merlin dismount. Arthur turns to the Camelot knight. “Leon, would it be possible to have assistance taking the items from the cart to a safe place – perhaps to the physician’s chamber? If we empty the cart, I can send Curtis on his way – I’ll see to it he has coin to stay the night at an inn.”

With Leon’s agreement, several more servants are summoned over, and the cart is emptied in short order. Curtis is paid, and he turns his horse and cart around to head to the lower town, where both horse and master can eat and rest.

“Curtis,” Hunith calls, “take care of yourself. I bid you safe travels.”

“I wish you well, Hunith.” It’s the nicest thing he’s said for the entire journey, so Hunith accepts it with a smile and a wave.

“If you will all follow me.” Leon holds out a welcoming hand at the base of the stairs. Merlin, Arthur and Hunith do just that and, after a long climb, they all burst into Gaius’ chamber. The servants have made a large pile of all the items from the cart, and Gaius looks completely bewildered. He’s too busy arguing with the servants to notice the arrival of Leon and his guests.

“What on Earth are you doing?” Gaius shouts, believing the servants have made some terrible error. “These are not my things – I did not ask they be brought here. Take them away!”

“Gaius!” Leon shouts. “It is all right. You have visitors.”

Gaius turns to argue with Leon; instead, his face lights up in an instant. “Hunith!” He shoves past the servants and Leon to embrace her. “My dear niece, I am so happy you decided to come to me, at last.”

“Hello Uncle. I am very glad to look upon you – thank you for taking me in.”

“So, these are your belongings? Oh goodness…” He turns to the servants. “Boys, I apologize. You may go.”

As the servants head to the doorway, Leon leans toward Arthur. “My lord, I am duty-bound to report your arrival to Princess Morgana. I will return again as soon as I can. I will attempt to be vague on who you really are, but I cannot lie to Her Highness.”

“Of course, Leon, I understand completely. And thank you…thank you for your help.”

Leon follows the servants out of the crowded chamber.

“Hunith,” Gaius says, “there is a room in back, just up those stairs – that is yours. Now please tell me, who are these two young lords?”

Hunith sighs and gathers her wits after the rush of activity, and places a hand on Merlin’s arm. “Gaius, this young man is Merlin, your nephew.”

“Merlin? Oh, my boy. I’ve waited so long to meet you! We have much in common, as your mother has probably told you…” The old physician steps to Merlin and gives him a warm embrace. The young warlock returns it gladly, a wide grin on his face.

“Gaius, can we talk safely here?” Hunith asks. After he nods to continue, she finishes the introductions. “And this is Arthur…Arthur Pendragon.”

“Arthur? Arthur my prince? Why, this is incredible! I’ve held onto the hope, all these long years, that someday we would meet. I wanted to travel to Tintagel after you were born, but Uther forbade it. Before your birth, I was your mother’s physician – well…I suppose that is obvious. My boy…just look at you,” Gaius says with disbelief. He raises his hands high to place them on Arthur’s shoulders. “My prince…I am so very sorry for what your father did to you.” Gaius moves to embrace Arthur, his eyes wet with tears. “I tried, many times, to convince him to bring you home; but…it was to no avail.” As Gaius pulls back, Arthur wipes away a tear of his own with one hand, and Merlin grabs his other hand and holds tight.

The old man takes note of their intimacy and smiles, then continues. “In later years, Leon kept me informed of your progress. It was such a relief to know you were well. And…I know he encountered you recently in Camelot…but I did not know you would be coming here.”

“I appreciate all that you have said, Gaius. Knowing that you thought of me all these years truly warms my heart. I certainly hold no grudge towards you,” Arthur reassures him.

“Well, the three of you clearly have quite a story to tell. My head is set to burst, trying to fathom how on Earth my hidden nephew and my forgotten prince have ended up standing here, together in my chamber. And this clothing, and this armor…this armor is fascinating.” Gaius pushes his spectacles up his nose and leans in to study the shining scales on Merlin’s arm.

Just then there is a quiet knock at the door. Gaius beckons them to enter – it is Sirs Leon and Lancelot.

“My boys,” Gaius says, standing up straight. “For reasons that will soon become clear, I feel that Leon and Lancelot should listen in as you explain what has brought you here. Merlin, Hunith, you’ve met Sir Leon; his companion is Sir Lancelot – you can trust them both, I promise you.”

“Leon, please join us,” Arthur says. “Hello again, Lancelot.”

The Camelot knights nod in greeting. Then Merlin and Arthur, with occasional input from Hunith, tell their incredible story – the magical guardians of Arthur’s childhood, Merlin’s unusual and seemingly unlimited magical abilities, the joining of their souls and the Druid prophecy that predicted it, Balinor and Kilgharrah – all of it.

“I’m afraid it will take some time for all of that to sink in,” Gaius exclaims wearily. “But there is something else we must discuss without delay. Arthur, you are here to meet your sister, are you not?” Arthur nods in agreement. “It saddens me to say it, my lord, but her regency has recently become compromised.”

“Sadly, it is true,” Leon says. “We started noticing strange behavior a while ago, but more recently, just after we met you near Brechfa, it became clear that the Princess was not acting entirely of her own will. Gaius believes Her Highness to be enchanted.”

“Days ago,” Gaius continues, “the High Priestess Morgause made her presence known. I assume she has secretly been in contact with Morgana all along. Arthur, you are not Morgana’s only half-sibling. Morgause is Morgana’s half-sister. And I am certain that Morgause is responsible for poisoning King Uther.”

This is the first Arthur hears of the nature of Uther’s illness. “Does the King yet live?”

“He does Arthur, but only just.” Gaius seems resigned to Uther’s fate. “His mind is clouded by enchantment – severely so – no doubt a spell cast by Morgause.”

“Uncle, perhaps I can break the enchantment. Would the King then recover?” Merlin asks.

“His mind would clear, my boy. But the physical damage is done – he will not live much longer,” Gaius answers. “The important thing is to first break the hold the Priestess has on Her Highness. If we do not, then Morgause will soon have complete control over the kingdom. If that comes to pass, I fear greatly for us all.”

“It may be useful to know,” Lancelot breaks in, “my wife, Guinevere, has long been maid and friend to the Princess. She was recently dismissed after questioning Her Highness on her odd behavior. This was completely out of character, as they love one another deeply. There can be no doubt – Princess Morgana is not herself.”

“Arthur, the Princess wishes to have an audience with you tomorrow at mid-day. And she now knows who you are,” Leon explains. “It was not possible to deny her want for details. Perhaps,” Leon considers thoughtfully, “when she is distracted by meeting her long-lost brother, Lord Merlin might decipher the spell that holds her.”

“That might work,” Merlin says. “The closer I am to her, the better. We have time to work out the details, if we are not to meet her until mid-day.”

“In the meantime, I think we all could use some rest,” Hunith says with a motherly tone that brooks no argument.

Leon nods in agreement. “At Her Highness’ request, I have assigned chambers to Arthur and Merlin. Your horses have been moved to the guest stable, and your bags brought to your rooms – they are not far from here, and they are near to one another.”

“No!” Merlin shouts, perhaps more angrily than he intended. Everyone turns to look at him.

“Merlin!” Hunith scolds, with a roll of her eyes. Arthur does his best to disguise a brief chuckle.

Merlin acquiesces. “Um…sorry. But Arthur and I will not be separated for any reason.”

“I apologize, my lord.” Leon bows his head with respect. “This is not a problem. The guest chambers are large enough to share. The two of you need not be separated.”

With that, Arthur and Merlin follow Leon to their rooms, while Lancelot stays behind to help Hunith get settled in Gaius’ spare room. Gaius is too exhausted from the unexpected excitement of the evening to do anything but watch…

*****

A servant drops off a tray full of food in Merlin and Arthur’s chamber, and tosses a few logs on the fire while he is there. Once alone, the boys sit opposite one another at the table, and Arthur wastes no time tucking in. Merlin tries a bite or two of various items.

“Is there a problem with the food, Merlin? Seems terrific to me.”

“No Arthur, the food is fine. It’s just a bit rich for me, compared to what I’m used to. But it’s good – I promise.”

“Well, I would surely like to see you eat more. We need to put some meat on your bones – you do tend to resemble a spear with ears.” Arthur laughs with fondness, but quickly stops when Merlin drops his head with a frown, the hurt obvious in his wet eyes.

“Oh, no. No-no-no-no-no. Merlin, I truly did not mean to hurt you. I was just making a dumb joke. Please…” Arthur begs, and quickly moves around the table to sit next to Merlin, arm around his shoulder. “I really am sorry…”

“It’s fine, Arthur. I know you didn’t mean anything by it.” Merlin looks to Arthur and pastes a weak smile on his face. “I don’t know…I’m probably just tired…it’s silly to be so sensitive. Please, let’s just drop it. We should discuss our approach with your sister – it’s a good bet that this sorceress Morgause will be there when we meet her.”

Arthur searches Merlin’s face carefully, considers for a moment, then decides to move on as Merlin asked. “I agree – she will surely be around.” Arthur stands, and begins to pace next to the table. “Based on what we know, we must assume Morgana is under her spell, and that the sorceress is using her to gain control of the kingdom. Camelot’s citizens, and especially the knights, will never accept Morgause as their sovereign, but they already accept Morgana. And once Uther dies, Morgana will be Queen.”

Merlin thinks for a moment. “I think the trick might be to distract Morgause somehow, so I have the opportunity to break the spell she cast upon your sister. But I'm not sure…we'll probably just have to make it up as we go, once we see the situation for ourselves.”

“Well, I am usually pretty good at distracting people,” Arthur says with a grin. “But Merlin, how do you know you have the knowledge or strength to break this spell, or to fight the sorceress? I do not doubt your abilities, of course, but we know nothing about her.”

“It’s hard to explain, Arthur. But from everything I’ve read over the years, I know that my magic works differently than anyone else’s. I’ve dealt with sorcerers a few times, back in Ealdor. It seems I can instantly interpret their magical strengths and weaknesses, and my magic just knows what to do. It never takes much effort on my part. The truth is, my magical strength is unmatched in this world. I don’t know how I know that – I just do.”

“My Merlin. You continue to impress me, more and more each day. Oh Gods…I sound like your Mum!” They both laugh at that.

Dragonlord and Dragon Knight continue discussing their plans; a candlemark later, there is a knock. “Enter!” Arthur shouts, and his face brightens. “It is here…”

*****

Merlin feels very self-conscious, dropping his towel only as he steps into the copper tub. Arthur had been the opposite, of course; happily parading around the chamber naked before he climbed into the tub first. Merlin settles himself into the hot water, his back to Arthur, and rests his arms on his friend’s raised knees.

“I cannot believe that you have never been in a proper bath before!” Arthur says. “And no, the deep pool in Ealdor’s creek does not count.”

Merlin snorts. “You do realize, don’t you, that the vast majority of the inhabitants of this world do not know the luxury you were raised with? Besides, I suspect this is a first for you, too…at least partly.”

“Yes, my love. I will happily admit that I have never before shared my bath with another. I quite like it though,” Arthur says, grinning like a fool. After they wash, Arthur leans back in the steaming water so his back rests on the rear wall of the tub. He reaches forward and rubs Merlin’s back, soft as a breeze, and the warlock can only sigh with utter contentment. “Do you know,” Arthur quietly asks, “that this is the first night we have truly been alone since we met?”

Merlin considers this, and thinks it might be time for a bold action. “In that case, Arthur Pendragon, I believe it is high time we shared our first kiss.” Merlin twists his body a bit, and their eyes lock in a gaze that speaks volumes. Heads tilt, eyes flutter shut, and lips meet. Their first kiss is gentle but full of passion; somehow, it perfectly expresses the unknowable strength of the love they share.

Merlin pulls back slightly and smiles widely. He wonders if they did it right; if Arthur felt what he felt during those fleeting moments. He turns and leans back as Arthur wraps his arms around him, and he has his answer. “My knight, did you bring your sword into the bath?”

Arthur laughs. “Oh, am I alone, being in such a condition?”

“No, definitely not.” Merlin admits with a laugh. “Arthur…I know that neither of us have experienced…you know…being with another person. But can I assume that you, like me, have plenty of experience…um…taking yourself in hand?”

“Of course!” Arthur nearly shouts. “Um…yes, of course I do,” he repeats more softly, with a chuckle.

“Well, then maybe we can…you know…do that with one another. I’m sure we’ll figure other things to do along the way. But that would be a place to start, yes?”

“Yes!” is Arthur’s happy answer. Yes! Merlin thinks to himself. And so they do, with all the frantic energy of two young men who have deprived themselves for much too long. In their excitement, they manage to splash half the water from the tub by the time they're done.

*****

Merlin is quite certain he has never been this comfortable before…not once…ever. “Wow, this bed is magnificent!”

“Another first, Merlin – sleeping in a bed?” Arthur jokes.

“Actually, yes…” Merlin answers with a defiant smile. They are cuddled together under layers of soft blankets. But something nags at Merlin – a worry that won’t go away. They were naked with one another this night for the very first time. They are still naked now. And Merlin feels troubled by the physical disparity between them – after all, Arthur is quite stunning, clothed or not. And Merlin believes he doesn’t measure up. “Arthur,” he says hesitantly. “I am glad…relieved, really…that you are not put off by me.”

“What on Earth do you mean?” Arthur asks, a bit of concern in his voice.

“Well…I mean…you have the look of some beautiful Roman statue, chiseled from marble, so clean and perfectly shaped and regal. Me? I’m basically the opposite – sort of a boney mess, really. All in all, not much to look at, I wouldn’t think.”

Arthur props himself up on an elbow and looks down at Merlin, and speaks with stern sincerity. “Never again say such a thing. I truly regret my earlier words, as you are unbelievably beautiful to me. And our actions tonight – the way in which I know you now – my love for you has only grown stronger. You are everything to me, Merlin, and not because I am compelled by magic or some damn prophecy. I love you, just as you are…every skinny, messy, brilliant part of you…and that will never change.”

Arthur plops his head back to his pillow with a huff and pulls Merlin in tight, bare chest to bare chest. “Thank you, Arthur,” Merlin says softly. And then he adds with a smirk, “I love every part of you, too.” Arthur chuckles, and they snuggle further into their nest.

As sleep takes Arthur, Merlin thinks back over his life in Ealdor, of the many nights he lay awake, trembling with fear. In the bright light of day, he’d become adept at wearing a happy face for his mum, lest she worry more about him than she already did. But in the inescapable honesty of night, he met the truth: that most of the world was against him, hated him, or thought him a monster to be slain. But this truth has eased its grip on the warlock of late. As Merlin drifts closer to his slumber, he wonders how he ever managed to find sleep before…before he had Arthur at his side to chase away his demons…before he had Arthur lying next to him at night…before he had Arthur's strong arms wrapped around him – ever protective – as though he is the most precious thing on Earth.

Chapter Text

‘Emrys. Emrys! Can you hear me?’ Merlin’s eyes snap open and dart about, and his heart races as he attempts to gather his wits. He is in a bed, and his face is pressed against something warm, something moving. It is Arthur’s chest, moving in rhythm with each breath as he softly snores. ‘Arthur…thank the Gods,’ Merlin thinks. “Arthur,” he whispers, “was that you calling out to me?” Arthur doesn’t answer – he is fast asleep. ‘Must’ve been dreaming…’ Merlin decides, and he relaxes into Arthur’s embrace.

The two are still positioned as they were when they fell asleep – like they have been every night since they met. Arthur holds him tight, his body half on top of Merlin’s to shield him from harm. His anxiety quickly fades, and his thoughts turn to all that occured just a few candlemarks earlier: their first bath together, and the fun that followed; Arthur’s kind words of reassurance; and Merlin’s very first time climbing into a real bed.

Without warning, he hears the voice again. ‘Emrys. I am Iseldir, a Druid leader and a friend to your Dragon Knight. My lord, can you hear me?’ This time, he can see that it isn’t Arthur – Merlin now realizes the voice is in his head. He’s read of the Druid ability to communicate in this manner, but he has no idea how to reciprocate. Nor does he hear it again.

He rolls to his back, leaving Arthur’s embrace, which inspires a sleepy grumble from his knight, “Merlin…”

There is a soft knock on the door. Merlin moves from the bed to hastily don his tunic and trousers, and cracks open the door. A young servant looks back at him.

“Good morning, my lord. I bring word from Sir Leon – he and the court physician will join you in half a candlemark. I will return then with food for you. If you do not require me further, I will take my leave.”

“Um…yes. No! I mean…you may go,” Merlin stammers, still not fully awake.

Merlin closes the door, stumbles to the opposite side of the room, and pulls open the heavy curtains. The sun is up, but just barely. “I guess they rise early around here,” Merlin mumbles.

“Merlin! Close those…” Arthur complains, still lying on his side and facing away from Merlin. “Come back to bed.”

Instead, Merlin sneaks over to the bed, and abruptly rips the covers from Arthur. The warlock laughs and prepares for some sort of retaliation, but Arthur just rolls to his back and slides his hands behind his head of sleep-ruffled golden hair. He’s not the least bit embarrassed by his excited state. Arthur glances downward then back to Merlin, and his face lights up with that mischievous grin that makes Merlin’s heart pound.

Merlin takes in the view with wide eyes, but then squeezes them shut. “I’m afraid we have no time for that, my knight…much as I am tempted. We have visitors coming, and soon.” Arthur can only grumble…

*****

Arthur has barely finished pulling on his trousers and tunic when the servant returns with a large tray of food. After placing the tray on the table, he stokes the fire on the hearth, then quickly departs. He is soon replaced by Leon and Gaius, and all four of them sit and break their fast together as they talk. Leon confirms mid-day as the time of the meeting with Princess Morgana. He also suggests that Morgana and the High Priestess Morgause have been meeting privately since first light.

“I will make certain,” Leon says, “that the knights and guards who will be anywhere near the Great Hall today know of our plan to rid Her Highness of Morgause’s spell and influence. All will be in agreement, I think, and will not interfere. But, Morgause has her own men – a dozen of them. Their color is black, and their herald is a red coiled serpent. If the Priestess is there, they will not be far behind.

“A suggestion,” Gaius says to Merlin. “Enchant Arthur’s sword. Morgause will have wrapped her knights in magical wards. You can make it so Arthur’s sword will overpower any such advantage.”

“Thank you, Uncle. I will do that. I’ll also attempt to place a protective spell around Arthur.”

“You must be careful, Arthur. Their weapons are likely to be enchanted, too,” Gaius warns.

Arthur rolls his eyes. “You sorcerers certainly make things complicated!”

“Merlin,” Gaius continues, “you may need to spend some time in Morgana’s presence before you can develop a plan to break the spell. Hopefully, Arthur will be able to buy you that time.”

“There’s no way I can be sure, Uncle, but I feel the proper course of action will become clear to me without delay once we meet the Princess.”

Gaius smiles and pats Merlin’s shoulder. “I wish we had more time to discuss all of this. But know this: I see greatness in you, my boy; a great well of untapped power, just waiting to be unleashed. I feel it, deep within my old bones. I can see why the Druids believe you to be the Emrys of their prophecies.”

Merlin smiles and nods in thanks. “Oh, speaking of Druids: do either of you know of a Druid called Iseldir?”

Gaius and Leon eye one another, while Arthur aims a questioning gaze at Merlin. “A Druid by that name is in our cells,” Leon states, “by order of Her Highness. He came here, by invitation of the Princess, to have talks regarding the ongoing legalization of magic in Camelot. Inexplicably, she ordered him arrested – this was just two days prior. For us, it was yet another example of her inexplicable behavior.”

“I, too, know of him,” Gaius offers. “He is the chieftain of the Druid clan that still resides in Camelot. He is a good man – he does not belong in our dungeon.”

“He is a good man – he helped guide me to Merlin. Can you take us to see him?” Arthur asks. “It may be relevant to the task at hand.” Merlin nods in agreement, and both he and Arthur look expectantly to Leon.

“Yes, I can arrange it. If I take you down, the guards will not question or report it.” With that, Leon stands. “I will go and see to it, and return for you shortly.”

Gaius also stands. “And I must see to the King. Your mother will be joining me, Merlin – I am putting her right to work! We will see you later in the Great Hall.” Gaius sighs, and gives them both a meaningful look. “Good luck to us all.”

“Merlin,” Arthur asks when they are alone, “what made you ask about Iseldir?”

“Well…I thought it might have been a dream at first…but he spoke to me this morning, in my mind. This is something Druids can do…he asked if I could hear him. But I don’t know how to answer him.”

*****

“You have visitors, Chieftain Iseldir,” Leon states as he, Arthur and Merlin arrive at the barred door of a cell in the dungeon. “May I present…”

“Arthur!” Iseldir interrupts. “And my Lord Emrys, you heard my call – thank you for coming.” He bows deeply to Merlin.

Merlin looks nervously to Arthur, then back to the Druid. “Um…please…just call me Merlin. And stand up…please, this is not necessary.”

Iseldir rises and smiles. “Merlin. I am honored to meet you, and elated to see you with your Dragon Knight. Events are aligning with prophecy in a way I’ve never witnessed. It all feels true and right; and despite my current circumstance, I am truly overjoyed. Many Druids and others of faith felt your souls join, and all celebrated..”

“Oh? That’s…er…nice…” Merlin smiles crookedly, lost for words.

“Iseldir,” Arthur asks, “why are you here? Why did Morgana have you arrested?”

“I came to the citadel after we parted, Arthur, as I told you I would. But something was very wrong here when I arrived. It is the High Priestess Morgause. At least a moon before my visit, she initiated contact with Morgana and used their sibling relationship to gain access…to become close. In time, she enchanted the Princess…Her Highness does not act of her own will. With Morgana’s help, she was able to do harm to the King. When I arrived and deciphered the situation, I ended up in this cell. Usually, I could escape such confinement…but the Priestess contains me with magic. She is more powerful than I.”

“We intend to meet with my sister soon,” Arthur tells him. “Or, more likely, with both of them. We hope that our mighty warlock here will be able to break the sorceress’ hold on Morgana. Can you tell us anything about this Priestess that might help?”

“Morgause is powerful,” Iseldir says, turning to Merlin. “Her strength is born of dark magic. But you, Merlin, you are the most powerful warlock to ever walk the Earth. You do not just have the magic of a sorcerer or a Dragonlord. Unlike anyone alive today, or anyone who has lived in generations, you were born of the magic of the Earth and sky. You were born as a warlock…as our Emrys. You may lack experience, and you still have much to discover about your abilities, but you carry within you the faith and knowledge of all who believe. You must believe, too, Merlin. Believe in yourself. Believe in Emrys. Do not fear the power at your fingertips; instead, let it guide you. If you do, you will easily defeat this dark Priestess.”

Everyone is silent for a moment. Leon sighs and looks to Arthur with raised brows. Arthur looks to Merlin, who appears unsure; perhaps even a bit frightened. He grabs his Lord by the shoulders, turns him and embraces him. He pushes back and gazes deeply into his eyes. Arthur smiles and says, “I believe.”

*****

The servant who came to wake Merlin early that morning returns to their chamber with a bit more food, and offers to help the men dress. As time is growing short, they gladly accept.

“Thanks…er…what’s your name, anyway?” Merlin asks.

“I am George, sir, at your service,” he answers as he straightens a pleat in Merlin’s cloak. Arthur bends low so George, who is much shorter, can place his medallion around his neck. Once Merlin’s is in place and they sheathe their swords in the ornate scabbards at their belts, the two are ready. Lastly, Merlin takes hold of his staff, which he grabbed from Gaius’ chamber on their return from the dungeon.

“What do you think, George? Are we ready to greet Her Highness?” Arthur asks with raised brows. They both wear fresh black trousers, pale blue tunics, their carved leather vests, and their dark blue cloaks. Dragon scale armor extends down their arms from under the vests, sparkling in the ambient light of their chamber.

“You both look impeccable sir,” George answers. “I would not have it any other way. If you don’t mind me saying, sir, I have never seen mail anything like this – it truly is stunning.”

“It is dragon scale armor, George; you will probably never see its like again,” Arthur smiles. “What do you think, Merlin? Hoods up or down?”

“Hmm…” Merlin considers. “Perhaps since you are the knight, your hood should be up. I will leave mine down. What do you think?”

“Sounds perfect,” Arthur says as he pulls the hood of shimmering scales up around the back of his head. “Shall we go forth and free a princess?”

*****

Sir Leon escorts Merlin and Arthur to the anteroom of the Great Hall. Gaius and Hunith are there, as is Lancelot and a young woman, presumably his wife Guinevere. A handful of nobles and lords, along with some Camelot knights, mill around just outside the huge doors that lead into the hall.

When the citadel bells announce mid-day, Leon steps forward into the Great Hall. “Your Highness, Princess Morgana, Regent of Camelot; I present Lord Merlin and his Knight, Arthur Pendragon.” The two men enter the vast, high-ceilinged hall; with a shared glance, they begin the long walk to the far end where the throne of Camelot stands. All the others who'd been milling about in the anteroom follow them in, but they all remain in the rear of the hall, leaving Merlin and Arthur to walk alone. Normally, a knight would accompany guests up to the throne, but Merlin had asked Leon to keep everyone back.

The warlock and knight walk the length of the hall, side-by-side with matching strides. The wall on their left is an interior wall – it is decorated with large, evenly spaced red and gold Pendragon Banners; the wall on their right is an outer wall – it has enormous, multi-paned windows that reach to the ceiling. Every window features intricate designs of colored glass, each telling a different story.

Their dragon scale armor makes a pleasant shink-shink as they walk in perfect rhythm, and it looks glorious in the afternoon sunlight that streams through the huge windows.  Merlin clicks his staff on the stone floor with every-other stride.

At last, they stop a few paces from the dais, which contains Uther’s empty throne and a smaller, but no less ornate, chair next to it. This is the seat from which Morgana rises. Arthur bows at the waist to his sister, but Merlin remains standing tall – he just offers a slight bow of his head.

“My lords,” Morgana says, much too sweetly. “How impressive a presence you both make. Arthur Pendragon – my long lost brother. I feared we would never meet.”

“Greetings, Your Highness. I should say that I was never ‘lost,’ sister. My location was known to many all my life. I was missing only by order of the King.”

“And do you now come to Camelot to exercise your birthright and lay claim to the throne?” Morgana asks, a slight smirk on her face.

“I have no interest in the throne. I only wish to know you.”

“And why should we believe that?” It is Morgause – she emerges from the shadows and joins Morgana on the dais. “If you are here only to meet your sister, why does this boy sorcerer stand at your side?”

Merlin tenses as her dark eyes fix upon him. He feels the power of his magic building within. In the past, he always feared it like a quickly approaching storm that might grow wild and wreak havoc. But Iseldir’s words that morning echo in his mind; he relaxes and a serene expression takes hold of his face. He can feel the warmth of Arthur standing close at his side. He believes, and Merlin will not let him down. He lets his magic guide him, and then he sets his magic free.

Merlin taps the base of his staff on the floor; just once, just lightly. Instead of the expected click of a wooded pike, it makes a deep, bone rattling boom, which is immediately followed by all the doors in the hall swinging shut. The heavy slams of the large doors at the rear of the hall echo for several breaths like thunder. Merlin looks into Morgana’s eyes, ignoring Morgause. He can sense fear in both of them – he knows they have never before witnessed powerful magic performed without incantation or spellwork.

Merlin does not take his eyes from Morgana. “You should believe him, Your Highness, because he is your brother and the most honest man in all of Albion. He wants you to rule Camelot. But currently, you do not. The witch at your side does.”

He feels Arthur go tense beside him, ready to fight. Merlin leans into him slightly - a subtle suggestion to refrain from acting out.

“How dare you!” Morgause shouts. She raises a hand and mouths a spell. Merlin feels a slight tug on his staff as Morgause attempts to pull it to her; he easily repels her spell without a word. His head stays aimed at Morgana, but his eyes slide sideways to engage Morgause’s enraged gaze.

Merlin smirks. “No.” It is all the warlock says. Without another word, Morgause’s feet suddenly slide out from under her, and she lands on her back with a thud.

“Kill them!” she screams, a bit dazed and out of breath from the fall. A dozen black-garbed knights emerge from behind the dais, swords drawn. They rush toward Arthur and Merlin. Morgana just looks confused, as if she’s awaiting instructions while Morgause struggles to regain her footing.

Arthur runs toward the oncoming rush. He unsheathes his sword and slashes the neck of one of the black knights, all in a single motion. He instantly engages two more, and they quickly fall. Four also rush toward Merlin; the others hang back, reserved for a second wave. The four approaching Merlin are stopped and flung through the air – they crash into the hall’s inner wall. Two of the huge banners are dislodged and crumple to the floor along with the unconscious men.

While Merlin is dealing with them, the remaining five decide they stand a better chance against Arthur. The Dragon Knight runs the first one through and engages the second. While Morgause’s knights are talented fighters, their enchanted swords cannot penetrate the dragon armor. But one of the more agile men spins around Arthur and runs toward Merlin’s back, his sword aimed for the warlock’s neck. There is no time to warn him – Arthur lunges away from the man he fights and sinks his sword into the side of Merlin’s attacker, killing him instantly. Unfortunately, one of the black knights takes advantage of Arthur’s defenseless position and slices the back of his unarmored thigh. The Dragon Knight yelps out in pain as Merlin spins to see him fall to the floor .

“NO!” Merlin bellows, eyes ablaze in gold. At once, all of the remaining black knights lurch to a stop. Their necks break loudly as their heads spin farther around than nature intended, and they slump to the floor. By the time Morgause has regained her senses, all of her knights are dead or unconscious. Merlin looks over to Arthur, who grasps his bleeding leg with both hands, and receives a nod that he is all right for the moment. He then looks to Morgause. “Witch! I demand you release the Princess from your spell. Cooperation now may help you when the Old Religion decides your fate.”

“You foolish boy! I am a High Priestess. I am the Old Religion.”

“No, you are not,” Merlin states with a calm surety born of confidence in the innate Dragonlord knowledge he carries within. “You mislead yourself. Before this day’s end, you will learn the true nature of the Old Religion.”

Morgana believes Merlin to be distracted with Morgause, so she attempts to fling a spell to knock him back. She fails.

“Don’t waste your time, Morgana,” Merlin sighs. He locks her in place where she stands, leaving her unable to speak. It's hard not to feel badly for her. The situation is not of her doing – she is a victim in all of this. But for now, she still presents a danger. He maintains his hold on the Princess, but does not harm her.

“Release the spell, Morgause!” Merlin yells, giving her one last chance.

“I will not. I will see you dead. I do not know what kind of monstrous aberration you are, but you will not kill me.” She angrily raises both hands and begins to speak a spell. But her speech becomes garbled, like her mouth forgot how to form words. Nothing happens.

Merlin smiles. “On that point you are correct: I will not kill you, though I suspect you may not survive the day. I judge you guilty of abusing your magical powers, High Priestess Morgause. Your adjudication lies with me; your sentence will be decided by others.” Merlin raises his staff and tilts it toward Morgause. He turns violently to his right, and Morgause flies through the air, directly at one of the great windows lining the outside wall of the hall. But she does not crash through; she stops short of the colorful glass panes and hangs there, suspended.

“What nonsense is this?” Morgause screeches. “What gives you the right to judge me? Who are you – where did you come from?”

Merlin laughs. “I am Merlin of Ealdor – I doubt you’ve heard of me, or of my home. The Druids, however, call me Emrys…and I know you’ve heard that name before. Perhaps you should feel honored to be judged by a legend of prophecy.”

By this time, Arthur has hobbled over to Merlin’s side, using his sword as a makeshift crutch. He places a hand on the warlock’s shoulder to help take the weight from his injured leg. Arthur attempts a grin, but that is immediately replaced with a wince of intense pain. Merlin drops his staff and helps Arthur to step back and sit on the step of the dais, lowering him gently by the shoulders.

“Don’t worry,” Merlin reassures, noting Arthur’s worried glance to the Priestess, “she’s done. We’ll take care of your wound soon. But here, for now, I will slow the bleeding.” The warlock leans over to place his hand under Arthur’s thigh. His eyes flash gold and the knight’s face relaxes as the pain diminishes. Merlin then lowers Arthur’s hood and runs his fingers through the matted golden locks. His eyes flash again, and the sweat that soaks Arthur’s scalp evaporates with a hint of a cooling breeze. “I am so sorry, my love; apparently, I need to work on my protection spells.” Morgana watches all of this with great curiosity. Morgause’s spell appears to be losing its hold on her, but the Princess remains locked in place by Merlin’s magic.

“What about her?” Arthur asks, gesturing toward Morgause. She still hangs high in mid-air, near the huge window. She continues to struggle and curse, but to no end.

“Ah…yes,” Merlin smirks. “You will like this, my knight.” He stands tall and unsheathes his sword. The runes of the ancient language along its blade ignite with bright gold as he raises the sword high. He tilts his head back, and bellows in some deep, guttural language – one that sounds impossible for a human to speak. Leon, Lancelot and several other knights had been making their way to the front of the hall with swords drawn, but stop at the sound and sight of the unearthly spectacle. Even the constant, fearful clamor of those huddled in the rear of the hall goes silent.

“More nonsense!” Morgause accuses. “Meaningless trickery!” She tries again to cast a spell, but it falls to nothing as it leaves her lips. She sighs loudly as her shoulders slump, finally feeling defeated.

Suddenly, a giant paw with long curving claws smashes through the window from outside. Large jagged sheets of glass crash down to the stone floor and shatter into countless shards as the claws wrap around Morgause and hold her tight. The screams of the Priestess blend with those heard down in the courtyard and from the rear of the hall. She looks to Merlin with terror in her eyes.

“Oh,” Merlin smirks, “did I forget to mention that I am also a Dragonlord?”

“Has this witch been a bother, my lord?” Kilgharrah asks, looking in through the battered remains of the once magnificent window.

“She has, Kilgharrah.”

“I see,” the dragon hisses, then turns his attention to Morgause. “There is an old saying, witch; perhaps you are unfamiliar with it: ‘Beware the judgement of a Dragonlord.’”

Merlin lowers his sword and releases his hold on the Priestess. “Goodbye, Morgause,” he says quietly. Kilgharrah then flies off, his captive screaming and wriggling in his grasp.

“Yes!” Arthur exclaims, twice banging the hilt of his sword in celebration on the wooden step of the dais. “Well done, my love!” Merlin turns to him with a big toothy grin.

“Gaius, Mum,” Merlin yells. “Please, we need you up here.” He then addresses the crowd. “Everyone – it is over. The Princess will soon be free of the enchantment. The doors are not locked – you may depart, if you wish.” Merlin steps up onto the dais and approaches Morgana. She swoons and collapses into his arms just as he reaches her. He helps her over to the step and sits her down next to Arthur, who helps steady her. “Kilgharrah has seized Morgause’s magic. The spell is broken, and I can easily clean up the remnants.”

Merlin lays his hand atop Morgana’s head and his eyes flash. She becomes steadier, and her eyes open wide. “My lord, thank you. I…thank you.” She is still a bit dazed. “I feared I would never be released from her hold…you have saved me…you have saved Camelot.”

Within moments, Gaius kneels next to Morgana and Hunith begins wrapping a temporary bandage around Arthur’s thigh. “Your Highness,” Gaius smiles, “I’m so relieved to have you returned to us. How do you feel?”

“Mostly tired, Gaius. And a little confused. Well, perhaps more than ‘a little.’”

“That is to be expected. Your head will clear after you rest.” Gaius looks to Merlin. “My boy, is she free of the spell? May we take her to her chamber?”

“Yes, Uncle,” he answers, then looks to Morgana. “Get some rest, Your Highness.” Merlin moves to sit on the other side of Arthur.

Before she stands, Morgana looks to Arthur. “This is not how I wanted our first meeting to go, brother.” She leans her shoulder to his. “I am so sorry for all of this. If I could have fought her off, I would have…”

“Of course. Go, rest. We have much to discuss, but it can certainly wait,” Arthur says with a friendly smile. “Despite all the commotion, I am happy to finally meet my sister.”

Hunith and Gaius help Morgana to her feet just as Guinevere runs up to her, pulling her into a strong embrace. “Oh, my lady. I’ve missed you.”

“I’m so sorry Gwen, for everything. I beg you, will you serve me again? I need you now more than ever after all this.”

For Gwen, all is forgiven on the spot. “Yes, of course! Come, let me help. Let’s get you back to your chamber so you can rest.”

The four of them begin to walk away, but Morgana stops them for a moment so she can talk with Sir Leon, no doubt ensuring that all is under control. Gaius looks back. “Well done, my boy. Thank you…both of you. Merlin, look after Arthur’s leg. We will attend to him shortly – I’m sure he will need some sewing.” With that, the group continues on its way.

“Sewing?” Arthur frowns. “Not sure I like the sound of that…”

Leon approaches them. “Lord Merlin, Arthur – I have no idea how to properly thank you. Your heroics here today will not be forgotten. And to think a dragon came to help us. Gods, what would Uther think?”

“Were he sane,” Arthur muses, “he would realize he has been wrong about magic all this time. But I hold out little hope for that outcome.”

“Come,” Merlin says as he helps Arthur to his feet. “Let us get you out of here. We must tend to your leg. Here…sheathe your sword and use my staff to lean upon. Oh...um…sorry about the window, Leon…”

“Think nothing of it, my lord.” Leon laughs. “It is a small price to pay to get one’s kingdom back.” He and Merlin help Arthur as he limps, as his injured leg can carry very little weight.

“Merlin,” Arthur says with amusement as he struggles along. “In our earlier discussions, you failed to mention involving your dragon in all of this…”

“Well, I don’t want to be too predictable,” Merlin answers with a laugh. “What fun would that be?”

*****

The next day, Merlin and Arthur meet with a well-rested, clear-headed and apologetic Morgana in the council chamber. Aside from Gwen, who remains close by the Princess for support, they are alone. “I regret my weakness in allowing my sister to take advantage of me. I suppose I was so thrilled to discover this new relationship that I was blind to her ambitions. She showed her true nature when she enchanted me against my will.”

“It is a road any one of us could easily travel,” Arthur offers. “The want of companionship, of belonging, is a powerful force that can seduce the strongest person. My own lonely childhood showed me as much.”

“So she poisoned Uther?” Merlin asks, changing the subject away from one that pains Arthur.

“Uther was already ill when Morgause made herself known to me – an infection from an animal bite. I wonder now if that was her doing, too. Certainly, once she had me under her spell, it was easy for her to exasperate the King’s condition with potions and spells. But she took her time – she wanted his death to appear slow and natural.”

With that, Morgana is happy to have yet another change of subject. Arthur gives her a quick run-down on his upbringing, the Druid prophecy, and the subsequent meeting – and joining – with Merlin. For his part, Merlin tells her about Ealdor and Hunith, his Dragonlord relationship with Kilgharrah, and Arthur’s role as his Dragon Knight.

Arthur reassures her again that he has no interest in Camelot’s throne, but much interest in seeing her succeed. They make plans to reunite for dinner; Iseldir will be invited, too – clearly, she has many more apologies to offer over the course of the day.

Before they break, Morgana mentions Uther again. “Arthur, Gaius feels our father’s time is near. I can’t fathom what your feelings might be on the matter. He certainly wasn’t a kind and loving father to me. But still, if I may, I will offer this advice: you may want to at least look upon him once before he dies. You may come to regret not doing so later in life. If you wish to go, I will escort you to his chamber. Without Morgause’s interference, his mind is reasonably clear, though his body grows weaker with each passing candlemark.”

 Arthur has already been considering this very question, and he knows the answer. He must look upon Uther’s face one time before the King dies.

*****

Morgana ushers Arthur and Merlin into Uther’s bed chamber. Gaius is there at his bedside; he stands and walks to Arthur, and places his hand on his arm. The old physician gives him a meaningful look, then steps to the outer chamber. Merlin raises a hand to the back of Arthur’s neck and gives a little squeeze, then Arthur steps closer to Uther’s bed.

“Father,” Morgana says from behind them, enunciating each word clearly to ensure the dying king understands, “this is Arthur Pendragon, son of Uther and Ygraine. The innocent child – the son – you abandoned on the night of his birth has grown into the proud man who stands before you. He, and his Lord Merlin who stands with him, saved your kingdom yesterday from certain doom.”

Uther studies Arthur with hooded eyes. He raises a frail, trembling hand and gestures in Arthur’s direction. “You…you are my son?” he asks in a weak, unsteady voice. “Oh…my son. Look at you. I…I regret what I did…can you forgive me…for what I did? Will you permit me to go…to pass on…in peace?”

Arthur responds not with anger, but with calm resolve. “Looking back, I feel you did me a kindness, Your Majesty – though that certainly was never your intention. I am glad you did not raise me. In her eternal rest, my mother is glad of it, too. With the cruelty of your absence, you made me strong. With the blessing of your absence, my mind and soul were never infected with your evil beliefs. I found a better calling than being your prince. I found a far better man to serve.” Suddenly, Arthur recalls Nimueh’s prediction, made long ago, that someday he would consider Uther’s abandonment a good thing.

“No…not true…oh, Ygraine.” Uther is becoming weaker by the moment, but no less selfish. “My son…just this once, will you do me the favor of…will you call me ‘father?’ May I hear it…just one time?”

Arthur does not even consider it. “You were never a father to me. You deserve no such favor.” Arthur cannot deny feeling a twinge of guilt as he looks into the King’s sad, vacant eyes. “I will, however, wish you a peaceful death, as I would any man.” He’s had enough – part of him wants to break down and weep, and part wants to run the old man through. He decides the best option is to leave. “Farewell, Your Majesty.” With that, Arthur turns and walks away. He grabs Merlin’s hand, and pulls him along behind him.

*****

Later that day, a small group is assembled in the royal family dining room. A feast is planned for the following evening, but a more intimate setting seemed appropriate this night. Morgana sits at the head of the table. Arthur, Merlin and Hunith sit to her right, and across from them, Iseldir, Leon and Gaius sit to her left.

“Thank you all for joining me tonight,” Morgana says as she rises from her chair. “I’d like to say a few things…but don’t worry – I won’t bore you with more apologies; I hope I made those clear on an individual basis earlier today. But I must once again offer my profound thanks to Lord Merlin and Sir Arthur. As I understand the story, thanks must also be expressed to Chieftain Iseldir for his wise counsel given to Merlin early yesterday. Camelot and I owe you all a debt that could never be repaid.

“Now, we all know that Arthur has a rightful claim to Camelot’s throne. Our noble knight is adamantly against any such pursuit, but I feel strongly he should be officially recognized in some way. In addition to his title as Dragon Knight to Lord Merlin, Arthur will carry the title Prince in Absentia of Camelot. While I realize that Arthur cannot swear fealty to any other than his Dragonlord, or to any kingdom, I hope the title conveys our acknowledgment of his heritage. To Prince Arthur.” Morgana raises her goblet, and the others join in the toast.

Arthur looks around the small gathering with a sincere smile. No one returns his notice more brightly or more fondly than Merlin, who rocks in his seat to nudge him firmly in the shoulder.

“Finally,” Morgana looks anxious to conclude her remarks. “I have asked Chieftain Iseldir to stay with us in Camelot for a while, to offer more of his wise counsel; this time regarding the ongoing effort to normalize the practice of magic in the kingdom. As you know, progress has already been made, with the suspension of Uther’s draconian laws and procedures. Once I rule, those laws will be abolished.”

“Here, here,” Arthur exclaims, raising his goblet. “Here, here,” they all repeat.

As the servants bring in the food, Iseldir brings up Morgana’s magic, which is of great interest to Merlin. “Your Highness,” Iseldir says. “I understand your magical abilities center on the Seer’s art. I would like to offer you guidance on that front as well. The Seers in the Druid community are very adept, and can help you develop your power.”

“I would like that, Iseldir, very much. Thank you,” Morgana says, a smile brightening her face.

The conversations continue, then everyone listens closely when Iseldir gives his interpretation of Morgause’s defeat.

“I feel that the Prophecy of the Dragon Knight and the Dragonlord has been realized, and in a very short time,” he says. “Just a handful of days ago, Merlin and Arthur met as strangers. They instantly joined together with a love incomprehensible to the rest of us. Soon after that, Merlin became Dragonlord and Arthur became his Knight. After yesterday, I believe we now know their true purpose on Earth: to rid Albion of those who abuse magic for dark purposes. There will always be those who seek to use power for evil, be it magical or otherwise – it’s just the nature of man. Those who abuse magic now have a powerful force to contend with. A force for good.”

Leon raises his goblet, “To the Dragonlord and Dragon Knight.” They all join in, and drink.

“Well, the two of you should have a place to call home,” Morgana offers. “Camelot is already your home, Arthur; and it can be yours, too, Merlin. If you wish to stay, I will assign a large chamber in the royal wing to you both. You will enjoy the services of royal servants, the royal stables, the knight’s training ground; you are welcome to make use of it all. You may come and go as you please, of course, though I’d certainly appreciate being kept abreast of your activities, at least to the extent possible. I wish to see magic accepted across all of Albion, and nothing will bring that to fruition faster than your efforts to banish evil practices.”

Arthur looks to Merlin with raised brows. “What do you think, my lord?”

It's an easy decision for Merlin - after all, the citadel really is Arthur's rightful home; and it is home to his mother and uncle. Plus, Camelot is set to become the center of Albion's reconciliation with magic. The seed of a new age has been planted, and he wants to help nourish it; to see it grow. Where else should he be? “We accept your generous offer, Your Highness. Thank you!” Merlin responds with a wide grin.

“Excellent!” Morgana says. “And, we will also look after your mother, Merlin. When you and Arthur vacate the guest chamber near the healing rooms, Hunith may move in, permanently. She need not be crammed into Gaius’ tiny spare room.” Merlin flashes a big smile to his mother.

“That is most kind, Your Highness,” Gaius says with a bow of his head.

Hunith looks a bit overwhelmed, but manages to croak out a sincere “Thank you!”

The happy mood is interrupted by a knock at the door. Sir Lancelot enters and closes the door behind him. The room goes quiet as all eyes turn to him.

“Lancelot?” Morgana asks.

“I bring news, Your Majesty. The King is dead.”

Everyone sits in silence for a moment, then Leon stands and raises his goblet. The others follow and they all turn to Morgana as Leon exclaims, “Long live the Queen!”

*****

It is the second day since Kilgharrah hauled Morgause off to meet her destiny on the Isle of the Blessed. One way or another, the world has seen the last of her. The feast scheduled for the evening has been cancelled; instead the castle prepares for Uther’s funeral. And that will be quickly followed by Morgana’s coronation as Queen.

Arthur and Merlin have spent the afternoon moving to their new chamber, which is quite luxurious. They have arranged with a coppersmith to have a two-man tub fabricated – it will become a permanent addition…and well used…

Their chamber is unusual in having access to a small balcony. They stand there now, enjoying the view as the sun sets. Ever since Iseldir’s revelations the previous night at dinner, the boys have been discussing their future.

“I will endeavor to learn all I can about personal wards and spells of protection. I need to find ways to keep you safe when you run off swinging your sword at angry warriors bent on doing us harm.” Merlin looks to Arthur and chuckles.

“I would never!” Arthur scoffs.

“But you did…two days ago you did, when those black knights rushed us from the shadows.”

“Well, my lord, that was instinct. And I should remind you that I was injured while stopping a man from running his blade through your neck. I will always do what I must to protect you, even at the cost of my own life…just as I am sworn to do.” Arthur sees Merlin’s reaction, the hint of worry that darkens his face. “But I promise you, my love: I will never do so recklessly. Um…never again, I mean.” Arthur smiles and cups the side of Merlin’s face, and rubs his thumb over his lips. In a soft, gentle voice he says, “I would suffer a thousand deaths for you, if it meant the world could continue to benefit from all you have to offer it.”

Merlin takes Arthur’s hand in his and holds it to his mouth, placing a gentle kiss upon his palm. The warlock pulls his knight into an embrace, leaning his forehead against Arthur’s. “Don’t even think it. I could not go on without you, Arthur. My soul would wither away…”

Arthur pulls away after a moment, and they return to standing shoulder to shoulder. “Gods, Merlin; when I think on it...I am still astonished. Not long ago, I felt so lost and alone, wondering what purpose there was to my life. And I had no idea what love was – I could not fathom it. Yet here I stand today, near to bursting with love for you…knowing I could never again live without it…without you. Let us cease this talk of death and separation. We shall do our best, with each new day, to keep one another safe and whole and happy. If we manage that…well, then we can do our best to help Albion. We now know the true purpose of our union. I am anxious for us to do our part in healing this land.”

“Agreed, Arthur.” Merlin leans into him with a contented sigh. “Let us do our part.”

    ***** THE END *****