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Arthur stumbles down the stairs to the dungeons in a trance. The two guards watching over the entrance shift uneasily as they take in his bedraggled state, the blood smeared on his armour and still drawn sword.
“Release the prisoner,” Arthur rasps. He doesn’t recognize his own voice.
“The King ordered…”
“I am the King,” Arthur interrupts their meek protest. The men stare at him in horror as they slowly register whose blood is splattered on the Crown Prince’s face.
“Release the prisoner,” Arthur repeats. “I won’t ask you a third time.”
The men break out of their stupor and hurriedly open the iron doors. Mordred sits at the far end of the cell and eyes them wearily. When he sees Arthur, he stumbles to his feet.
“Arthur, what…?”
“Open his shackles,” Arthur orders.
“Your Highness… Your Majesty, I mean… This man is a convicted sorcerer.”
“Do I look like I care?” Arthur barks and snatches the keys from the guard’s limp grip. “Out with you! I don’t want to see your faces again!”
The guards flee the cell, afraid that Arthur’s gone mad or afraid of what Mordred might do to them once he’s free. Arthur doesn’t care. Mordred walks over to him, putting a tentative hand on his forearm. Arthur can barely stand the worried look on his face.
“What happened? Where’s Morgana?”
Arthur’s already unlocking the cold iron around his wrists. They don’t have much time left.
“Kneel,” he says, instead of an answer.
Mordred looks at him in confusion but does as he’s told. Arthur touches his shoulders with Excalibur’s besmirched blade.
“I hereby knight you, Mordred of the Druids as Sir Mordred, Protector of the Kingdom.”
Mordred’s eyes widen in shock.
“You may rise, Sir Mordred.”
“Arthur, what did you do?” Mordred’s voice is a hushed whisper, awe and horror written over his face.
“I did what had to be done. Listen, Mordred, there isn’t much time. Uther had some men bring Morgana to a monastery. Take a few trustworthy knights and bring her back. I don’t care what happens to Uther’s lackeys.”
“But…”
“Magic is no longer banned in Camelot. Tell Morgana this.”
“What about the dragon?”
“I’ll deal with it.”
“But Arthur, it’s a curse. The dragon can’t be slain. Only a virgin sacrifice…”
“I said, I’ll deal with the dragon!” Arthur roars. “Now do as your King told you!”
***
Arthur guides Llamrei through the forest as fast as she can go. The sun’s already setting behind the barren trees and the sacrifice must be ready as soon as the moon rises. Otherwise, the Great Dragon is going to burn Camelot and its citizens to smoldering ashes.
Llamrei, who has carried him fearlessly into many battles, shakes her head and shies away as soon as the burnt rock at the shore of the lake comes into view. The stake on its top looks like the finger of a skeletal hand pointing up accusingly into the darkening sky. Arthur doesn’t force his mare to approach further. He slips out of her saddle and takes her by the reins one last time.
“Goodbye,” he whispers against her soft nostrils, blinking back unbidden tears. He fastens Excalibur on her saddle. “Bring this to Morgana. She’ll need it once she’s Queen. Now run.”
Llamrei lingers for a moment, her big body quivering, then a flock of crows flies up from the trees, screaming hoarse cries, and Llamrei flees. Arthur turns to the looming hill, dread settling in his stomach. But there’s no turning back now. The curse his father brought over the land is going to end tonight. No more peasant children are going to be fed to the dragon year in and year out, and with Morgana on the throne there won’t be any sorcerers burning on the pyre either. And Arthur’s going to pay for his sins, for the unspeakable crime he committed. It’s the right thing to do. A deed fitting for a king. So why do his hands tremble and all he wants to do is run as fast and as far away as he can?
But he mustn’t be weak at the time his people need him the most. Arthur squares his shoulders and sets off on the arduous path up the hill. It isn’t really that high, just a formation of rocks looking out over the lake, but the path is narrow and steep, full of sharp-edged stones. He can only imagine the horrible ordeal of the unwilling sacrifices forced up this way before him.
When he reaches the top of the hill night has fallen. Forest and lake lie black and eerily quiet at his feet and the winter winds bite his skin. He left his armour with his signet ring and a scribbled note for Morgana in her chambers. Arthur eyes the manacles attached high on the stake with distaste. But he hasn’t much time left, so he steps up to the stake, pushing all thoughts of running to the back of his mind, and fastens the shackles around his own wrists. They close with a sickening thud and raw fear takes hold of Arthur’s body. There’s no going back now.
He must stand on the tips of his toes to take some weight off his arms, the posture making it harder to breathe, and before he knows it his breath is coming in panicked little huffs. He’s acutely aware of every sound echoing through the otherwise silent night. Sweat starts to trickle down his back and dampens the hair on his temples. No matter how much he wishes he were braver than this, the knowledge that he’s going to be ripped apart by the claws of a dragon or burnt alive by its fire has his body trembling in fear.
The full moon rises over the mountains in the west. Its eerie glow turns the lake into a ghostly mirror. Arthur strains his ears to catch every sound over the frantic beating of his heart and the rasping of his breath, but he can't make out anything besides the rustling of dry leaves and the cry of an owl.
Eventually, even the wind dies down and the owl stays silent. Arthur feels the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stand up. The dragon's near, he can feel it.
He startles, an undignified yelp escaping his lips, as a clawed, long-fingered hand closes around his throat.
"What kind of trap is this? Don't you know I can't be killed? And how do you plan to harm me, Pendragon, trapped like you are?"
Arthur freezes. There's someone, something, behind him. Not the dragon, but nothing human either. He tries to breathe through the fear constricting his throat.
"It's not a trap," he manages through gritted teeth. "And you're not a dragon."
Arthur feels the breath of the creature tickle his neck as it chuckles, an amused, dark sound.
"Aren't I?"
It steps in front of Arthur, their chests nearly touching and Arthur stares into glowing golden eyes. He shudders as he takes in the whole beast. Its body is that of a human man, broad-shouldered and lean, dark curls falling around a sharp-featured face. He wears no tunic, exposing a well-muscled chest, and his head is crowned with vicious-looking horns. Large leathery wings are folded behind his back. If a dragon would be able to take on something assembling a human form it would look like this, Arthur thinks. His gaze falls to the creature's lips which reveal sharp canines as it grins down at him.
"If you indeed are the dragon, then kill me already. I need the curse to be broken," Arthur snarls with more bravado than he feels.
The creature, dragon-man, whatever, has the audacity to laugh at his words.
"It takes the lives of a Pendragon King and a virgin of the same bloodline to appease the dragon and break the curse. And I fear you are neither, Prince Arthur."
"I assure you I'm both. Would you just…get on with it and see for yourself."
Arthur feels his cheeks heat up at the utterly embarrassing admission. The dragon's gaze turns curious, predatory.
"No. You're a pretty distraction, aren't you? Where have you placed your men so that I'm unable to smell them?"
"I'm no distraction!"
Arthur squirms, trying to lift some pressure from his abused wrists. This conversation is just surreal. Why won't it kill him?
"So, you're a virgin then?"
The dragon leans forward and takes hold of the chain just above Arthur's wrists. He yanks once and the solid iron comes loose, allowing Arthur to move his hands. It also makes him lose balance and he stumbles against the dragon. It catches Arthur with an arm around his waist.
"How old are you? Thirty?"
Arthur can feel the low rumble of the dragon's words under his hands, braced on the dragon's chest.
"Thirty-two."
The dragon almost nuzzles his face into Arthur's neck. He shivers.
"See. Not a virgin."
Arthur feels indignation well up in his chest, covering shame and fear for a moment.
"I didn't know that virginity had anything to do with age. But you must be an expert on the subject as you claim to be a dragon."
Arthur's pushed back against the stake in a heartbeat, the dragon's face pressed against his throat.
"My name is Merlin," the dragon says against Arthur's skin, sharp teeth scratching over his pulse point. "And you're serious. That's why you smell so delicious."
Finally, they're getting somewhere. Arthur would've sighed in relief if he hadn't been so busy freaking out about the half-naked man plastered all over him.
"But you're still only a Prince unless…"
The dragon's split tongue darts out to lick something from Arthur's cheek.
"That's royal blood. Not yours. It tastes foul."
"Uther's dead. I'm King now."
The dragon's –Merlin's– gaze bores into his. His expression shifts into something almost gentle as he takes in Arthur's stubbornly set jaw. Then his gaze snaps up, his nostrils flaring as if he were picking up a scent.
"Did someone come after you?"
Arthur honestly doesn't know. He just hopes it's not Morgana foolishly trying to save him.
"You better hurry up. If these are my father's loyal knights, they'll kill me for the crime I've committed."
"Why did you do it? Why did you kill your father?"
Arthur averts his gaze, but Merlin curls sharp-tipped fingers around his chin and guides him back to eye contact.
"Tell me," he demands, and Arthur doesn't find it in himself to resist.
"My sister has magic. He was going to lock her up in a monastery for the rest of her days and kill the boy who tried to help her escape. Then I learned about the sacrifices. Uther had it arranged to make them in secret. Nobody knew. He must've chosen the victims among the most vulnerable."
"He did," Merlin agrees evenly.
Arthur feels his throat close at the thought of the horrible fate of these poor souls, his anger flaring again.
"You killed them," he accuses.
Merlin grins down at him.
"No, your Majesty. A virgin sacrifice doesn't have to be killed, it just has to be taken."
Arthur has no idea what he means by that, but he's distracted by hoofbeats. His father's most loyal knights have come after him, just as he feared. But Merlin doesn't seem impressed. He lifts Arthur up into his arms like a blushing bride and jumps down the hill towards the lake. For a few horrible seconds, they're falling, and then Merlin opens his large wings and takes flight into the night. The surprised yells of the knights follow them into the darkness.
***
Arthur isn't proud of the way he curls up in the dragon's arms and buries his face in his neck. But the night is cold and although Arthur knows he's going to die soon he still fears the height and the fall.
"You have to look up at the stars if you're afraid to look down," Merlin rumbles.
"I'm not afraid," Arthur lies, making the dragon chuckle.
"Sure."
Arthur's shivering with cold when they finally reach a lonely tower up in the mountains.
"We're almost there," Merlin promises. "You can warm up inside."
Arthur stares in wonder at the beautiful building clinging to the side of the mountains. No one without wings is able to get up here, Arthur's sure of it. They fly through a door that opens with a growled command from Merlin and then they're inside a cozy room lightened by candles and a roaring hearth fire.
Merlin puts him down on a plush sofa and places a blanket around his shoulders almost as an afterthought. The dragon himself seems perfectly at ease, bare-chested and barefoot as he is.
"Are you hungry?"
"No. I– Listen, I really need to break this curse." Arthur looks down at his still shackled wrists. Who would've thought that he would have to persuade the dragon to eat him, or whatever a dragon does with his sacrifice.
"You're very eager to die," Merlin says.
"I need to right my father's wrongs."
"I didn't kill the people he sent to me. I just helped them get away to begin a new life."
Arthur looks up at him in surprise. Merlin seems to be further proof that magic isn't evil in and of itself.
"I'm glad you didn't. But still the curse has to be broken."
Merlin kneels down in front of Arthur and takes his hands. He mumbles a spell and the cuffs fall from Arthur's wrists.
"Did you leave your throne to your sister?"
"How did you know that?"
Merlin grins at him. "I seem to be getting a sense of what a noble and self-sacrificing idiot you are."
"I'm not– That's not what I–"
"So, I may have already killed the King when your sister ascends the throne," Merlin says, his voice taking on a sultry tone. "All we have to do is kill the virgin and the curse will be broken."
Arthur swallows around a suddenly dry throat.
"I'm not sure what you're talking about."
"You understand me perfectly well." Merlin's fingers play with his hair, tracing the outlines of his face and wandering down to his chest. Arthur can't help but lean into the touch. "I won't take your life. Your virginity on the other hand…" He leans in to nibble on Arthur's ear. "I'll take that gladly if you offer it freely."
Arthur makes a little sound, almost a moan.
"It's yours," Arthur says, too fast, too eager, but he can't help it. He wants to crawl into Merlin's lap, and kiss him, and, and… he has no idea how to proceed. He feels himself blush at his inexperience. But Merlin growls at his words, the sound approving, content.
"Have you been kissed before?"
Arthur's cheeks heat up even more.
"No," he whispers.
"Good," Merlin says. "May I?"
His face hovers only inches from Arthur's, his eyes glowing in the sparsely lit room. He looks otherworldly and Arthur’s mouth waters. He can only nod his assent.
Merlin surges forward and kisses him. It starts with a sweet, almost chaste press of lips but soon Merlin playfully bites at Arthur's bottom lip, his split tongue demanding entrance. Arthur opens up readily, moaning into his mouth. Why does this feel so good? The way Merlin's hands roam across his body, how he presses him down into the cushions with his warm, firm body, the way his tongue curls around Arthur's.
Merlin's hands wander down his body, his claws catching in the fabric of Arthur's ruined tunic.
"Can I take this off?" Merlin asks.
"Yes."
Merlin brings his hands down and the fabric tears like he's moving a knife through butter. It should be alarming to have these razor-sharp claws so close to his skin, but all Arthur can feel is arousal burning low in his belly. Merlin palms his clothed cock through the fabric of his trousers, making a content sound when he feels Arthur's already hard.
"Take your breeches off. I want to see you."
Arthur scrambles to obey, relieved that Merlin tells him what to do and incredibly turned on by the simple act of submitting to someone else's orders. Merlin looks down at him with open hunger once he's naked. He traces Arthur's scars with soft touches.
"You're so beautiful," Merlin says with reverence. "But you'll tell me who's responsible for these," he adds with a dark look to Arthur's scars.
"Why?"
Merlin hesitates. "I want to obliterate everyone who hurt you. It's probably not my place, but I want it all the same."
Arthur looks at him in wonder. He never had someone protective of him.
"Lean back," Merlin says, pushing gently against Arthur's chest. "Make yourself comfortable."
He obeys, leaning against the back of the couch and relaxing into the cushions, his face heating up. It's strange being naked in front of Merlin, being stared at with open desire. It also makes him pant with arousal, precome dripping from his cock.
"Spread your legs."
Arthur does, averting his gaze. He feels like he might combust from arousal and shame at once if he keeps looking down his naked, exposed body at the man kneeling comfortably between his open legs.
"What a gorgeous sight you are," Merlin hums and leans down to press his nose into his groin. Arthur yelps.
"Can I taste you?"
"What?"
"I want to taste your cock. Can I?"
"Yes! Gods! How can you say something like that?"
Merlin looks up at him with a curious expression, his nose and sharp teeth inches from Arthur's cock. His warm breath makes Arthur's skin erupt in goosebumps.
"Like what?" he drawls, licking a wet stripe from the base of Arthur's cock to the tip.
"Something so–" Arthur's interrupted by his own surprised moan. "–filthy."
"You're adorable."
Merlin puts a hand on Arthur's abs and slowly retreats his claws until they look entirely human. He takes Arthur's cock into his mouth, the heat and suction so exquisite Arthur's grabbing the cushions and bucking his hips within seconds.
"Easy," Merlin murmurs, making Arthur whine as he retreats his mouth. His hand wanders between Arthur's cheeks, hovering above his entrance.
"I want to touch you there, too. I want to stretch you open with my fingers and fuck you over my desk. Am I allowed to?"
Arthur nods frantically. His lust-fogged brain would probably agree to anything right now, but Merlin being so considerate as to ask for permission makes him feel safe.
"Tell me if you don't like something."
"I will. Now stop talking and get on with it already."
"Impatient, are we?" Merlin chuckles, but obliges. He swallows down Arthur's cock again, making him thrash and swear. When Merlin's fingers start to draw circles around his entrance they're wet.
Arthur's a whining mess once Merlin's satisfied with opening him up. He tries to spur the dragon to go faster, to take him already, but the infuriating creature won’t be hurried. Arthur thought it would be painful to have his virginity taken. Never had he imagined that it would be such a raw pleasure to have someone's fingers inside him. Never had he thought that he would crave more, ask to be fucked even. He's probably going to feel ashamed later.
"Now, my little virgin, we're going to break this curse. Are you ready for my cock?"
"Yes, please, yes," Arthur babbles.
Merlin puts an arm around his waist, the other under his thighs and lifts him up. Just like that. Arthur wraps his legs around the dragon's hips on instinct. He's carried towards an oaken desk and Merlin flips him around seemingly without effort. Arthur moans as he adjusts his position, his cock trapped under his body, his arse up and on display, and his legs pushed apart by Merlin to stand between them.
"You're like treasure," Merlin says reverently. "So precious. So beautiful." He presses his cock against Arthur's entrance and slips in.
Arthur moans wantonly at the pronounced stretch. "Oh, Gods."
Merlin rolls his hips experimentally. As he shifts the angle just right, stars explode behind Arthur's closed eyes.
"Do that again," he orders, begs, he's not even sure anymore.
"Bossy," Merlin laughs, but hits the same spot with precision, again and again.
Arthur can barely move, stretched over the desk as he is, only the tips of his toes touching the floor and Merlin's hands firmly on his hips, but he writhes in pleasure nonetheless.
"Come for me," Merlin growls, his thrusts speeding up until he stills with a groan, pressing right against Arthur's pleasure spot.
Arthur cries out, his orgasm washing over him, leaving him pliant and boneless. Merlin drapes himself over his back with a contented sigh, nuzzling his neck.
Later, after Merlin helps him clean up and ushers him to his sleeping chambers, Arthur allows himself to doze in the dragon's arms. He cherishes the moments while they last, until Merlin will inevitably send him on his way.
"You could stay for a while, you know?" Merlin says as if reading his thoughts. "As long as you like. We could make sure the curse is broken for good."
He places a lingering kiss against Arthur's throat and Arthur thinks he has an inkling what that means.
***
It's the third year of Queen Morgana's reign and her belly is round with child. She seems to have escaped the obligations of the court on a hot summer's day to have a picnic in the woods with her Prince Consort.
Arthur looks at his sister lying relaxed by the lake. He squeezes Merlin's hand.
"Don't worry, love. The curse is long gone. You're allowed to see them again," the dragon by his side rumbles.
And so they step out into the clearing.