Chapter Text
Hiccup glanced over his shoulder and grinned at the two women following them. Neither of their dragons could beat Toothless for speed, and he patted the black hide of his Nightfury in absent affection, but Toothless was in no hurry today and so they could keep up easily.
The sharp pain of his father’s loss was easing slightly but though the presence of his mother in his life was a new joy, there couldn’t help but be a pall over it. He sighed and then patted Toothless again as he cocked an ear backwards. It was uncanny sometimes, the way Toothless could pick up on his moods. He shook the sudden sadness aside, staring over the ocean until he could pick out the small, deserted island they were heading for.
Toothless veered towards it in his own elegant way, spreading his wings wide and gliding through the air. It was a rocky outcrop with sheer sides rising directly from the waves, and cliffs high enough to deter anyone attempting to make land by more traditional means. On top was a meadow, a green sward of short hardy grass covered in a mass of pink flowers.
Toothless set down first and Hiccup busied himself untying the baskets of food and the hides, spreading the furs out in a sheltered area as he waited for Astrid and his mother to join him. He didn’t waste time asking them if they needed help. They were warriors both, after all.
Hiccup intended to enjoy his rare day away. Taking up his father’s burden as chief of the tribe had been as onerous, confusing and downright frightening as he’d expected. In many ways he felt ill-suited to lead them, and yet they followed him without demur. All he could do was try not to be distracted by the hundred or so ideas he thought of during the day and instead give them the attention they needed.
A thump to the shoulder shook him out of his darkening mood and he turned to grin at Astrid.
Later, while they were resting after their meal and talking lazily of dragons and the life they shared, all three dragons suddenly raised their heads and stared in the same direction. Hiccup got to his feet and peered out at the expanse of sky. Across the sea, coming closer, was another dragon. Except, Hiccup bit his lip as it came nearer and he realised he couldn’t put a name to the type of dragon. Beside him he heard his mother take in a sharp, shocked breath.
It came ever nearer and Hiccup gasped as he saw the sheer size of it. In the next moment, the three dragons took off and headed for it, swarming around it for a few moments. There was a second when Hiccup panicked about them being abandoned on the top of the rock, but it seemed they had only gone to exchange greetings as they soon turned and headed back. The strange dragon turned with them and flew in close, and Hiccup was captivated by great, yellow, intelligent eyes, before it beat its huge wings and gained height and speed, heading back towards the mainland.
“What the –“ Hiccup said, once he had the breath to speak.
“By all the Gods,” his mother breathed. “I didn’t think any still existed.”
“What ?” Astrid asked, staring out at the empty air, her eyes turned towards the path the dragon had taken. Her brow was puckered and her mouth pursed.
“I think it was one of the great dragons,” she said.
“Father said Uther Pendragon had killed them all,” Hiccup suppressed the shaft of pain, and hurried on as his mother winced.
“Obviously not,” she said, and for the rest of the afternoon she spoke of legends, of dragons and dragonlords and a land where magic existed but where anyone caught using it would be put to the pyre.
**
Merlin saw him first: the oddly dressed stranger shrouded in animal skins and wearing a plain helmet, as the man led a sturdy, shaggy pony through the gates. He paused in his own progress across the courtyard, watching as the man spoke to the guard, before heading off towards the tall figure of Sir Leon.
As happened every time he saw Leon these days, Merlin felt the flare of shame. Leon still limped, his injuries from the dragon’s attack still troubling him though he remained stoic enough. Somehow, Gaius always managed to send Merlin on a seemingly urgent errand when any of the knights who’d been injured came to see him for treatment, but Gauis couldn’t hide them away, he couldn’t stop Merlin seeing the results of his folly and arrogance. Despair threatened to overwhelm him for a moment and his sight blurred, turning Leon’s red cape into a swirl of colour. The weight of guilt and grief was a heavy load to bear but he deserved every moment of it, he thought. He was to blame for everything that had gone wrong and he deserved to suffer. Drawing in a deep breath around the solid lump that seemed to have lodged permanently in his chest, he went about his own business.
**
“Where have you been? Arthur snapped at Merlin the moment he entered. “My father sent for me and I can’t find my red doublet.” He grimaced, as if aware of the petulance in his tone and when he continued his voice had calmed. “See if you could find it or something else I can wear. I need to wash.”
Merlin crossed to the wardrobe and began to sort through the disordered contents. With the loss of Morgana, and Uther’s desperate attempts to find her, on top of the loss of knights and commoners, Arthur was being drawn thin. Increasingly, he barked orders at Merlin, criticising everything he did and even though Merlin understood he didn’t really mean it, the loss of their easy friendship still hurt. One more hurt on top of many.
“What’s wrong with you?”
He started and then turned to find Arthur staring at him, and Merlin almost wept at the concern so poorly hidden. Almost.
“Nothing. Here’s your doublet.” A judicious piece of magic while concealed by the cover of the wardrobe had delivered the required garment, freshly laundered.
Arthur accepted it with a quizzical look at its pristine state, almost raising a smile from Merlin as the gaze slid to the disordered depths of the wardrobe. Almost.
Instead he shrugged and moved to help Arthur dress, taking a moment to smooth the fabric across Arthur’s shoulders, reflecting that more muscle had been added between the endless training and his final journey into becoming a man full grown. The lump in his chest rose up and choked him for a moment.
As he pulled away, Arthur captured his wrists. “I know something’s wrong, Merlin.” His thumb stroked the inside of Merlin’s wrist, where the blood thrummed ever more hectic through his blood. “Can I do anything?”
Merlin blinked hard and then shook his head, pulling away gently. “Your father will be waiting.”
Arthur hesitated and the concern dissipated, and Merlin felt as if he’d failed somehow. Again.
“Attend me,” Arthur ordered, and Merlin obeyed, trotting along behind Arthur as he covered the distance through the corridors in long, determined strides.
**
They entered Uther’s small council chamber to discover the same oddly dressed individual Merlin had seen earlier. Merlin saw Leon, along with Gaius and Geoffrey. The warning glance Gaius sent in Merlin’s direction had him slinking back into the shadows where his reactions would be hidden. From that one look, Merlin already knew he wouldn’t like what was to come.
“Arthur,” Merlin noticed the slightest twitch of Arthur’s frame and understood why as he heard the edge in Uther’s voice.
Across the room, Gaius and Geoffrey shared a swift look. Merlin edged even further back.
“Arthur this man comes with grievous news. “ Uther gestured at the stranger in their midst, who took it as his cue to speak.
“My name is Bedwyr. As I travelled in the far north of this land I heard a tale, a tale I first discounted for its madness. Until I witnessed it for myself and knew it for truth.”
His voice rose and fell with an odd cadence, but everyone was listening closely and no one missed a word.
“I saw dragons.”
Merlin couldn’t help his shattered, shocked breath and saw Arthur half-turn as if he’d heard it.
“I destroyed the dragons,” Uther said. “My own son killed the last of the great beasts only weeks ago.”
“Aye, Sire, I heard that said and it’s the reason I travelled here. To tell you the beasts still exist.”
Uther’s eyes glittered in the candlelight. “Do you hear this, Arthur? Do you know what this means?”
“Sire?” Arthur’s voice remained level, careful.
“The attack by the great dragon is a ruse, a diversion to enable them to capture and kidnap Morgana. Whoever controls these dragons has her. We must march for the north at once.”
Merlin felt his jaw drop open and he met Gaius’ eyes across the room, just as Gauis stepped forward and bowed.
Sire, if I may offer council?”
Uther paused before he offered a gracious nod.
“In this instance, a more stealthy approach may be profitable. We need to find out where the Lady Morgana is being held, and to determine the size and scale of the threat we face. I would suggest sending a small party – as small as possible – to reconnoitre and collect information. “
Arthur spoke. “That sounds like a sensible option, Sire, do you think so? It means we’ll have time to build our strength and draw together supplies to deal with whatever is found.”
Uther calmed at the sound of Arthur’s voice. “Indeed, Arthur. You will ride for the north at once. Take only your servant and find out what you can.”
Arthur bowed. “I will, Sire.” He turned and searched out Merlin with his gaze, and Merlin, with a swift look in Gaius’ direction and a bow of his own, turned and raced after Arthur.
Merlin managed to hold his tongue until they reached the relative security of Arthur’s chambers.
“Arthur, you can’t do this. You know this is madness.”
His words were cut off as Arthur spun around and in a split second Merlin found himself pressed against the door, Arthur’s forearm pressed against his throat. Arthur’s eyes were wild.
“You will hold your tongue,” he said. “I will follow my King’s command.” He seemed to realise the position they were in and backed away, holding his hands up in something that might have been an apology.
“Morgana has not been abducted by dragons.”
“And how would you know what happened?” Arthur asked. There was a short pause. “It doesn’t matter, Merlin. My King has spoken and I must obey.” He rubbed a hand through his hair before he attempted to undo the fastenings of his tunic.
Merlin watched him struggle for a moment before he stepped forward and brushed Arthur’s hands aside with an irritated huff of breath. Once Arthur had shrugged off the jacket he retreated to sit at the table and rest his head in his hands.
“When will we leave?” Merlin asked.
“I’ll leave tomorrow. I can travel as a merchant –“
“No you can’t.”
Arthur’s head snapped up and he stared at him. “What do you mean?”
“No-one would ever take you for a merchant. You’d be better going as an itinerant knight. That would explain why you carry a sword and have a servant.”
“I can’t ask you to do this, Merlin.”
For a brief moment Merlin wanted to tell him, to say that dragons were his business and his concern. Instead, he shrugged. “When did you ever ask me?” He wondered if it sounded as bleak to Arthur as it did to him. “I’ll go and make the arrangements.”
Arthur nodded, not even attempting to argue further. “I’ll go and talk further with Bedwyr, to get as much information from him as I can.” He stood and pulled out his long brown coat, shrugging into it. As he passed Merlin he rested a hand ever so briefly against a shoulder and as he drew away, the back of his hand dusted across Merlin’s cheek.
As the door closed behind Arthur, Merlin pressed his hand to the spot Arthur had touched, as if he could capture the sensation and keep it forever. Resolutely, he fought down the choking lump of grief once more. Arthur wouldn’t be so kind if he knew what Merlin had done. Taking a deep breath, he looked out at the encroaching night and set off to start his own preparations.
**
Arthur walked through the halls, hardly noticing his progress as he mulled over the seemingly ever-present and underlying concern about his manservant. It didn’t seem to matter how he approached Merlin, or what he said, he seemed unable to break through the miasma of grief that was so obviously weighing him down. Without knowing what was the root of Merlin’s troubles, Arthur had no way of helping him. For a moment, he wondered why he was so concerned about a servant, before accepting that Merlin was so much more than that . He frowned, chasing down the thought, worrying at it, wondering what it really meant.
He swept around a corner, still lost in thought and collided with a figure hurrying in the opposite direction. There was a moment of confusion, when Arthur found himself deluged in soft material and clutching onto the other person, trying to stop them both tumbling to stone floor. Stumbling, he lurched against the wall and used it to steady himself, and in turn managing to steady his unwitting assailant.
When he pulled an offending piece of linen from his face, he was face to face with a blushing Gwen. He was lost for words, staring at her and almost shocked once more by her beauty.
“My apologies, Guinevere,” he managed to find his voice. “ I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
She was alternating between gathering up the tumbled laundry, and stopping to cast shy, laughing glances at him.
“Here, let me help,” Arthur said, and bent forward to retrieve a fallen garment.
It was sheer bad fortune that she had leaned over at the same moment and an audible crack followed as their foreheads met. Gwen brought her hand to her head, reeling backwards and dropping the basket, and the contents, so recently recovered, ended up on the floor once more.
They stared at one another for a moment, before Gwen cracked, all shyness gone as she slumped against the wall and giggled. Arthur felt his spirits lifting and he knew his smile was unforced and fond. He took a step forward and lifted a hand to gently touch her forehead.
“I hope I didn’t hurt you?”
Her eyes were warm. “No damage done – and at least the laundry hadn’t been cleaned yet.” She laughed again, and then turned her head at the sound of footsteps approaching, her expression morphing into one Arthur couldn’t read. For a moment, he thought she looked sad.
It was enough to raise Arthur’s eyebrows, but before he had a chance to ask, one of his knights rounded the corner at some speed. Arthur tried to shout a warning but it was too late. The figure tripped over a doublet, fell forward onto Gwen, grabbing at anything to try and abort the fall. Unfortunately, he took a firm hold on Arthur’s cape, pulling him off-balance, and down they went in a tangle of limbs.
As the world stilled and settled, Arthur became aware that the worst of the cursing was emanating from Gwen, who was trapped under two hefty specimens of manhood, both of whom were wearing voluminous capes and chain mail. Carefully, he rolled to the side and managed to get to his knees, staring down at the new arrival.
Leon.
With a wince and a thought to the new bruises he’d just collected, Arthur got himself to his feet. Leon, befuddled and still tangled in the red of his cloak, was already stammering out apologies. Arthur offered him a hand up and then they both turned to Gwen.
The tableau was interrupted by a discreet cough, and Arthur closed his eyes at the thought someone else had witnessed this particular debacle. He turned to discover Merlin standing with his hands on his hips and while his features were solemn, his eyes danced with mirth. Arthur lost his embarrassment in an instant and smiled at him, pleased to see this glimpse of the Merlin he knew. The moment stretched and it was only Leon clearing his throat rather noisily that broke the silence. Arthur turned to find both Leon and Gwen watching him, and he wondered what had caused the considering looks they were bestowing on him.
Slightly embarrassed, without quite knowing why, and with an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, Arthur took his leave, aware – so very aware – of Merlin walking so close to him. It didn’t occur to him to wonder why all his thoughts were centred on Merlin and not on the woman he believed he loved.
Merlin jostled his shoulder as they reached the room set aside for their guest, catching his attention.
“I’ve got some errands to run for Gaius,” Merlin said and Arthur noticed the brief moment of normality had gone and Merlin’s features were pinched and while once more.
Merlin was gone before Arthur could object, leaving him strangely bereft and slightly confused – Merlin didn’t usually explain his actions. Arthur frowned and then sighed, pushing his concerns away to concentrate on the task at hand.
**
Merlin slipped through the lower gate and sped down the track, slowing only when he left the road and had to pick his way over more uneven ground. Eventually he made it to the clearing and threw his head back to call out to the skies, unaware of the raw pain colouring his voice and deepening it to husky command.
Moments later and he could hear the characteristic sound of Kilgharrah’s wings as he approached. Merlin waited until he’d settled, flicking the great wings back to rest against his sides and lowering his head, the golden eyes huge and bright in the darkness. A creature of wonder and magic, indeed.
“You told me you were the last of your kind.” Merlin accused.
“And so I am.”
“There are dragons in the north – aren’t there?”
“There are,” Kilgharrah’s voice remained calm although there was an edge to it.
A loaded silence followed. Merlin was determined that he wouldn’t demand, he wouldn’t use his power as a Dragonlord to enforce compliance.
“I am the last of the great dragons, the last of those born from magic. Did you never wonder why the Dragonlords had the power they did? It was because they crafted the dragons. Using magic, they brought traits of the wyverns and the north dragons together and created us to serve them.”
“Uther has learned of the dragons in the north. He’s convinced they have Morgana and wants to hunt them down. Be still.” Merlin held a hand up, cautioning the dragon as Kilgharrah reared up as if about to launch himself towards Camelot.
“Arthur and I are travelling there to gather information. I give you my word, Kilgharrah, I will protect them.”
“The prince may discover your secret if you do.” Kilgharrah had settled again, watching Merlin through ancient, shielded eyes.
“Perhaps. Perhaps it’s time he knew.”
Kilgharrah pushed his snout forward. “You are troubled and unhappy, young Dragonlord.” He breathed out then, covering Merlin in a soft golden haze that left him feeling as if he could finally draw breath without it physically paining him.
“Thank you. Will you tell me more of the dragons and what I might find?”
They talked for hours, while Kilgharrah spoke of the many types of dragons, of scauldrons and Whispering Death, of the Skrill and the Deathly Nadder and many others, their traits and peculiarities as well as their fighting preferences and how to counter them.
As he left, Merlin asked. “Could it be repeated? Could we create more great dragons?”
“Why would you want to do that?” Kilgharrah sounded as puzzled and lost as Merlin felt.
Daring to touch for once, Merlin reached out and placed a hand on Kilgharrah’s cheek. “I hate to think of you being the last of your kind,” he said, before he spun away and hastened back to the castle.
Behind him, there was a moment of silence followed by a rush of air as Kilgharrah took his leave.
**
Uther was on the steps as they set off in the cold light of the dawn. Bedwyr was to be their guide as far as the coast, where he told them they’d make faster time taking one of the coastal trading ships that plied their trade up and down the coast. Merlin hugged Gaius, whispering a reassurance that did nothing to ease the concern in Gaius’ face. There was a strained leave-taking between Arthur and Uther, too, and then they were on mounting up and on their way, trotting out of the gate and into the countryside beyond.
**
There was the faintest crack, the sound of a careless foot treading on a twig. It was enough for Lancelot to pay closer attention to the forest around him. There were birds singing, though off to the side opposite the original sound the birds were taking to the air in alarm, and in front of him a branch moved although the day was still.
Lancelot continued in his path, but loosed his sword from its scabbard and moved to the side of the path, closer to cover of the trees.
Too late, it seemed, as a giant of a man stepped out before him, blocking his way, and when Lancelot spun around, there were two more. These were smaller, but were brutish, unshaven fellows, grinning meanly at Lancelot. He manoeuvred himself until there was a tree at his back, but he kept his sword pointed at the forest floor.
Good morrow, fellow travellers,” he said. “Where are you heading?”
“Good morrow.”
One the uncouth men parodied Lancelot’s greeting, while the other sniggered. The giant stood unmoving and silent, and was the dangerous element of the trio. Lancelot regarded him, assessing his strength, the competent fighter’s stance, the way he was holding a poor excuse for a sword. What concerned Lancelot most, however, was the dead expression in his eyes, an expression that suggested the man was hollow inside. Such overt evidence of loss resonated with him, and Lancelot knew his own features had softened in sympathy.
The man started, eyes flaring wide for a moment, before the hollow blankness was back, but he started shifting from foot to foot, his huge fist clenching and unclenching around the pommel of his sword.
The third of their number sauntered forward. “I reckon you could pay for our lodgings for a night or two, fine gentleman that you are.”
The threat was real, but still made Lancelot chuckle. “If I had the money to spare, I would gladly share, my friend, but all I have is my sword.” He looked the leader dead in the eye. “And that I will keep.”
The tableau was broken as the third of their party broke his silence.
“You would share with us? Why?” His voice was more cultured than his companions, Lancelot noted and there was a note of real enquiry in it, a puzzlement spreading across a handsome face. A young face.
Lancelot kept half an eye on the other two, but spared enough attention to reply. “It is a hard world we live in. We can choose to go our own way, to fight for our own survival whatever the cost, to do harm to others along the way. Or we can look out for one another, we can share and protect and encourage. I try to live a good life, friend, to do as little damage to others and to help where I can.
A flush of something that might have been shame darkened the man’s skin, and his tone was defensive as he retorted. “Yet not all will – some will kill without mercy, kill those who can’t protect themselves.”
“Come on, Percy,” the leader of the little group interjected. “Let’s deal with him and get out of here.”
The third man nodded in agreement, his eyes fixed on Lancelot’s sword.
Lancelot ignored them, acknowledging the raw edge of a recent grief in the question he’d been asked, with a softening in his tone, his sympathy bleeding through.
“Then surely that is even more reason for those of us who are strong to protect those who cannot protect themselves. Those who prey on the less fortunate are less than beasts.”
“Hey,”
Percy’s companions were bright enough to pick up the insult, as Lancelot had intended they should. Most of his attention remained on Percy. His brief consideration of the dynamics of this group told him that the other two had mistaken the numbness of a deep grief as a lack of intelligence.
That wasn’t the case at all.
Percy turned his head and looked at them. “I’ve been a fool,” he said, and a sigh seemed to be dredged from the very depths of his being. “And my family would be ashamed of me.” He hefted his sword and stepped forward, turning to stand at Lancelot’s side. “My name is Percival,” he said. Suddenly he smiled and leaned forward a little to say to his two former comrades. “Run.”
There was a pause, a moment when the forest itself seemed to hold its breath, the breeze dropping and all around them still.
They didn’t run. The two men exchanged a glance and then backed away slowly, their eyes fixed on Lancelot and Percival who now stood side by side, swords raised in identical poses, ready to defend themselves.
A stray beam of sunlight caught the sheen of Lancelot’s beautifully cared for sword, and the blade gleamed and sparkled for a moment.
Then, they turned and ran.
Lancelot and Percival remained at the ready until the crashing sounds of their retreat through the woods faded to nothing.
Lancelot broke the tableau, sheathing his sword and letting loose a quiet chuckle.
“Not the bravest bandits I’ve ever encountered.”
Percival hesitated and followed suit. “I think they’re possibly the two most stupid men I’ve ever met.” He flushed and bit his lip, staring at his boots.
“When you wish to, you can tell me how you came to fall in with them, but for now I am grateful you chose to stand with me today.”
Lancelot extended a hand and waited until Percival, with a shy smile, accepted it and tightened his own fingers in a grip that was oddly gentle and told Lancelot a great deal about his new friend. Despite their manner of meeting, he’d liked Percival at first sight.
“Where are you heading?”
Lancelot considered Percival’s question. “I have no real destination in mind – the journey is important to me. I spoke true when I said I want to help those who are in need where I can.”
Percival stared at the ground. “I need to make amends. Could I travel with you and help?”
“It would be an honour.”
They shook hands again and Lancelot gathered his meagre belongings and as they began to walk along the forest trail, Lancelot spoke about Camelot and his friends there.
**
Morgana stared out at the landscape, lost in her thoughts. Morgause hesitated to disturb her, concerned still by her pallor. Damn that boy, she thought, not for the first time. How he’d worked out that Morgana was the source of the spell and how to break it had troubled her – at least until news came to them of the dragon’s attack on Camelot. She’d told Morgana, admitting she’d heard about the dragon but had dismissed it as a tale, not believing Uther would ever leave a magical creature alive for all this time.
Somehow, she reckoned Merlin must have received the knowledge on what to do from the beast. There were few who would have access to the old lore. How Merlin came to find the beast was another interesting puzzle, but given the boy’s propensity for turning up where he had no right to be, perhaps it wasn’t so surprising.
“How are you feeling, sister?”
Morgana roused herself with obvious difficulty. “A little better each day.”
Morgause smiled. “Good. When you’re stronger we’ll begin to work on training your magic.”
“Will it help to stop me dreaming?”
Even with Morgause’s bracelet helping her, Morgana’s recovery was plagued with dreams. At the moment they were half-remembered, but were enough to shock her awake, crying and pleading against some ill-defined future nightmare.
Morgause wasn’t sure of the answer.
“It will help you to explore what the dreams are trying to foretell. That may help.” She tried to sound as positive as she good.
Morgana’s shoulders slumped and she turned back to her contemplation.
Standing by the door, unable to help, Morgause cursed Uther and Camelot once more. Uther’s hatred for magic and the stringent laws he’d instigated throughout the land had led to the loss of much of the knowledge that might have helped them both now. Her eyes narrowing, she considered the future, and plotted the downfall of the tyrant king.
**
One of the few advantages of this mad adventure, Merlin thought, was the unlikely outcome of his first long voyage. He stared out at the ocean and tried not to feel too smug at the sounds of retching. Arthur, it transpired, was not a good sailor, and had turned green the moment the boat cleared the bay, and over the past two days he’d been unable to keep much down.
Merlin, in contrast, was absolutely fine. There was a small, nasty part of himself he hated, that was glad Arthur was looking as miserable as Merlin still felt. A twinge of shame and an upsurge of sympathy overtook him and he glanced sideways, chewing on his lip. Arthur’s inability to retain even water was beginning to concern him. Decision made, he manoeuvred past crewmembers to the water barrel and picked up some of the coarse bread. Carefully, he drew his hand down Arthur’s back, whispering quietly and shutting his eyes to hide the tell-tale gold.
The final few days of the voyage were much better as Merlin’s magic kept Arthur well and in turn he threw himself into the work of the ship. Merlin was secretly proud, amazed and impressed as Arthur demonstrated an insatiable appetite for learning how the ship worked. By the last day, he was taking his turn working the ropes and sails. By this time, Merlin was less impressed as where Arthur worked, he expected Merlin to do the same.
They disembarked with good wishes on all side and Merlin knew even he had gained some colour, surprised when Arthur had expressed real satisfaction at that. The growing distance from Camelot seemed to be easing the strain they’d both been living under, but Merlin knew it hadn’t gone, and that what they would find when they travelled further north was likely to further widen the gulf between them, perhaps to a point where there would be no bridging of it.
Merlin took his own leave of the crew. He’d grown to like the rough men and their steady captain, even if they had little to say about dragons or the lands much further north than this harbour. It was as far as they went, the last place there was a decent enough population to make the journey worthwhile.
The captain was good enough to introduce them to his brother, who had married and settled there, and ran an inn where they could stay the night, as well as selling them a couple of the hardy ponies. Arthur looked askance at the beasts when he saw them and Merlin knew he was comparing them unfavourably with his own war horse. Hengroen would not have appreciated the terrain they would be traversing, and the ponies were bred for this landscape. The innkeeper assured Arthur they would easily carry a man for a full day, but not to expect great speed.
The next morning, after a night in an inn that was comfortable, though the atmosphere between Arthur and Merlin was not, they packed their gear and with Bedwyr leading as he would travel with them for the next few days, and Merlin leading a pack pony, they headed north.