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Arthur seemed to be everywhere, his sword swinging and twisting in his grip as he faced their attackers. Merlin’s attention was divided, watching out for his prince, too aware of how easy it would be for a blade to pierce that strong body. Merlin hardly realised he was in danger himself until he was facing his own death, freezing in horrified amazement.
Gods, not like this. I can’t leave him. Power surged through him, gathering and swirling, ready to protect.
And then, and then the bulk of another figure was diving between him and his assailant, followed by a gasping cry of pain as his father collapsed back against him, nearly taking Merlin to the earth as he dropped.
No no no no no!
The power boiled over, painting his sight with gold as Merlin yelled out his anguish and pushed. There was a crack as the attacker’s head hit the tree and then stillness.
“Father, father, oh, no … don’t-“
“Merlin. Son.” Balinor’s voice was breathy, words coming in pulses as he fought against pain. “It’s fine. I’ve had much worse, I promise. Easy now, lad.”
“I thought, I thought…” Merlin scrubbed his hands across his eyes and swallowed hard. He tensed as he heard crashing through the undergrowth and turned to check it was Arthur approaching, although he knew instinctively it was. Merlin cast a comprehensive gaze over Arthur, ensuring himself his prince was uninjured before he scrambled forward as his attention fixed once again on his father, checking Balinor over and quickly locating the site of the injury. Merlin relaxed slightly as he saw for himself that the wound was not life-threatening.
“Is he alive?” Arthur asked.
Merlin wondered what his own expression was like as Arthur stepped back from where he'd loomed over them. Fury layered on top of fear and Merlin thought his features must be reflecting his anger at Arthur’s question; because he understood the enquiry had nothing to do with Balinor’s health and everything to do with using him as a tool to defeat the dragon.
It was Balinor who broke the sudden impasse.
“Ah, Pendragons have been trying to get rid of me for years, boy. It’ll take more than a few soldiers to do it. I’ve a slice down my arm. Merlin’s going to tend to it for me and then we’ll be on our way before we draw any more attention.”
Merlin felt the squeeze of Balinor’s grasp as it tightened on his arm in a silent warning.
“Let’s see how well Gaius has taught you, eh, Merlin?”
With a sniff and a final rub across his eyes, Merlin scrambled over to his bag, tipping out the contents and scrabbling through the small supply of pots and bottles Gaius always insisted he carried with him. He pulled two out and showed them to his father, trying to ignore his trembling hands. Balinor grinned in response.
“Good lad, let’s get this bleeding stopped, then.”
Merlin was aware of Arthur watching as he worked but that faded into the background as he concentrated on the seeping wound, smiling a little at his father’s – his father’s – expression, glancing up through his eyelashes and basking in the approval he saw there. Merlin worked in silence as he cleaned the wound well, packed it with some herbs to fight any infection and then wrapped it carefully with the clean linen strips Gaius preferred. Neatly, he tied it off and then sat back, ignoring Arthur, who was shifting from foot to foot, his sword still held in his grasp and his attention on the forest around him.
Before long, Balinor was getting to his feet. He picked up a sword, testing the balance and taking a look at it before unbuckling a scabbard from one of the dead soldiers. Merlin stepped forward to help him, awkward as Balinor was with one arm injured and Balinor smiled at him as he spoke. “Let’s get moving. We should get to the inn by early evening and we can buy another horse and some supplies. We can push a bit further before we camp for the night. I’m sure you’ve enough coin with you, eh Arthur Pendragon?”
Arthur nodded but seemed nonplussed by the way Balinor was taking charge, clearly unused to not being in command. He said nothing although he scowled at Merlin, who was doing a poor job of hiding his own amusement. Merlin couldn’t help it, he wasn’t sure he'd ever been this happy in his entire life. The earlier anger had dissipated as quickly as the fear he had felt for his father’s life. Try as he might, Merlin never could stay angry with Arthur for long and this time he'd more to feel happy about than he could successfully contain. From time to time as they travelled he caught Arthur’s gaze on him, but even though he knew he should try and temper his reaction, Merlin couldn’t find it within him to care.
He was walking beside his father.
**
Once all three had horses, the journey progressed with more speed and an increasing sense of urgency and by the time they finally stopped for the night Arthur was pleased with their progress towards Camelot. He watched as Merlin, ignoring his prince, slipped quickly off his mount and headed to Balinor’s side, easing him from the horse. Arthur witnessed the way Balinor gripped Merlin's shoulder for a moment and then with a slight smile he nodded towards Arthur. Arthur catalogued the ease between the two men and witnessed Merlin’s cheeky grin before he accepted that he was unlikely to receive anything like the attention from Merlin that Balinor had merited. He snorted and swung himself off his horse, glancing at the clearing Balinor had chosen. It was a good spot, Arthur acknowledged, a quiet glade in the midst of the forest; a little way off the main track, and tucked down in a position that should hide the light of the fire. When Arthur stood quietly he could hear the sound of a spring close by where they'd be able to water the horses. Arthur could feel Balinor’s gaze upon him, and it made him uncomfortable but he managed a curt nod in appreciation of the woodsman’s skill Balinor had demonstrated.
By then, Merlin was already in the process of circling around the area and picking up as much wood and kindling as he could find, dumping it in a heap. Arthur looked at it, frowning.
“This wood is wet, Merlin.” Arthur said.
In response, Balinor stepped forward and stacked the wood into a more sensible arrangement for a fire before he crouched down, stretched out his hand and spoke a single word.
Arthur startled back as the wood ignited, his sword drawn and at Balinor’s throat before he could even think. Balinor remained still and Arthur heard Merlin’s shocked cry although he refused to allow his attention to be diverted from the man in his sights.
See your great hero, Merlin, he thought, a sorcerer.
Arthur glared down at Balinor, made angrier by the lack of concern in the dark gaze.
“Are you going to kill me, boy? Go ahead. And then see what happens to your precious Camelot.”
Balinor was so unconcerned, so sure he had the upper hand here Arthur was almost tempted to kill him out of hand from sheer temper. Except that wasn't the type of man he was. His people came first, and if it meant accepting help from a sorcerer to gain their safety and security, then so be it. He didn’t have to like it, though.
“Arthur,” Merlin stepped close, laying a hand on Arthur's sword arm and gripping tightly. “He’s not evil. He’s coming to help us. To help Camelot.”
Arthur wondered how Merlin could be so sure, wondering at the simple faith Merlin expressed in someone he barely knew. What had happened between the two of them that Arthur hadn't witnessed. Or had Balinor bewitched Merlin in some way? The moment he thought it, he dismissed it. Merlin had always been more than capable of making up his own mind about people and Arthur accepted that whatever Balinor was or had done, the fact he'd Merlin’s support carried more weight with Arthur than Uther would like. Not that Arthur would ever be mad enough to let his father know how much he'd come to depend upon Merlin.
Silence stretched, the only sound the whisper of wind through the leaves, the gurgling of the brook nearby, the crackle of the fire as the wood caught and held, and then a soft whisper.
“Arthur.”
Stepping back, Arthur sheathed his sword and stalked away into the woods surrounding them, crashing through the undergrowth, and venting his fury on the inanimate foliage around him. Eventually he stopped, leaning his forehead against the cool bark of a beech tree and tried to identify the emotions roiling through him. He was still fuming when a familiar presence made itself known.
“I’m letting him live, Merlin. Don’t expect anything else.”
“He healed you. He saved your life and he’s coming to save Camelot.”
There was disappointment layered through the tones of Merlin’s voice that pulled at something deep within Arthur. He scowled, feeling wrong-footed by the disapproval and unnerved by how much it mattered. “He’s everything I’ve been taught to fight, Merlin. You can hardly expect me to be happy taking such a dangerous man to Camelot.”
Merlin’s breathing had quickened and when Arthur glanced across at him, his expression was pinched and his fists were clenched at his sides. He looked… Well, Arthur wasn’t quite sure how to categorise the look directed at him.
“Your father decided magic was evil, Arthur. But magic has been around for as long as people have.” There was such determination in Merlin’s voice. As if he'd been waiting a long time to have his say. Arthur didn’t want to think about that. “Magic is used in other kingdoms and they haven’t fallen to ruin. Magic –“
“That’s enough. We're not going to discuss this.”
“Because you've no answers for him, Arthur Pendragon,” Balinor’s voice cut through the silence that fell. Merlin’s mutinous regard for the forest floor morphed into something else entirely as he glanced up to meet the Dragonlord’s gaze. Arthur didn’t like it.
“Why not summon the dragon now,” Arthur asked. “Why must you travel to Camelot?”
“My reasons are my own and if you want my help you'll have to accept that, Pendragon.”
Merlin was glancing uneasily from one to the other, his fists opening and closing. “Arthur,” he said.
Arthur shook his head and stalked past them both, walking through the camp and glancing at the fire as he grabbed the crossbow and strode out the other side into the dim green light of the forest.
The routine and quiet required for the hunt went some way to soothe him and Arthur managed to take down a couple of pheasants before heading quietly back to the camp. There was no intention of eavesdropping, but his movements had been stealthy enough to allow him to approach the flickering light of the small fire between the trees without alerting them to his presence and he could hear Balinor and Merlin in the midst of their own conversation. He hesitated, knowing it was not an honourable thing, but he was confused enough by Merlin’s immediate and profound trust in this man – this sorcerer - to try and get some kind of clue as to why. Balinor’s words had struck an unwelcome chord within him, too. Arthur knew so little of magic and his father had never offered a reasoned argument to explain why it had been banned or why Uther hated it with such implacable and deadly passion. What did Balinor know, Arthur wondered?
Balinor was perched on a tree stump, casually whittling at a piece of wood as he watched Merlin pace and while Balinor’s expression was serene, his concentration was all focussed on Merlin.
“He’ll never accept magic, will he? Uther has poisoned him.” Merlin paused to run his hands through his hair and tug at it.
“The prince doesn't have all the knowledge he needs to make a balanced judgement on the matter. He loves and trusts his father, Merlin. You wouldn't fault him for that now, would you?”
The smile Merlin threw at Balinor at that was sweet. “No, I suppose not. It’s just –“ He frowned, as if searching for the words to explain what he was feeling.
“Uther has only told him part of the story, Merlin. And all through his life, magic users have sought their revenge on Uther through his son. That's all Arthur knows. No-one's ever explained what magic is –“
“Then tell me,” Arthur stepped out from the cover of the forest, startling them and he didn’t miss the sudden tension in them both. “Tell me what I don’t know, Balinor. Tell me about magic.” He was committing treason by even asking, but he was tired of his father’s evasions, of the fear on the features of his people, of not knowing.
There's a moment’s stillness, a hiatus while Balinor regards him and Merlin stares in disbelief. Arthur raises his chin and glares back at Merlin until his manservant swallows, colour scalds across his skin and he looks down. It’s almost enough to make Arthur laugh, except for that sick sense within him, that tells him there's so much more he doesn't know – and somehow Merlin is at the heart of it. Without ceremony, Arthur tosses the brace of pheasants at Merlin, but there's a look in Balinor’s eyes that stops his usual brusque order. Instead, his tone is polite when he says.
“Perhaps you could prepare those, Merlin.” And he pretends not to notice the shock so swiftly followed by amusement. He contents himself with another scowl and stomps off to clean the crossbow bolts and stow the weapon somewhere where they can reach it quickly if needed.
They work quietly until eventually they are sitting around the fire once more. When they've cooked and eaten the birds, Arthur looks across the fire to Balinor and demands.
“Now. Tell me.”
Balinor sighs and runs hands through his hair. Merlin is sitting cross-legged by the fire, staring into the flames. His hands are closed into fists where they rest on his knees, and his body is hunched in slightly.
When Balinor began to speak, his first words were unexpected, capturing Arthur’s attention fully, while Merlin raised his eyes and fixed his gaze on Balinor. “Your father was a good man, once. When he won Camelot and raised it from chaos, he did so with honour and courage – and with the aid of magic.”
The statement hung in the air between them, Arthur wanting to deny it and yet somehow he knew Balinor spoke the truth. There was too much he didn't understand and too much his father would never explain. In that moment he acknowledged that he'd been travelling towards this point for many months - possibly since the arrival of a country boy from Ealdor and his inexplicable ability to both get into trouble and get out of it, too. For the moment Arthur contented himself with an abrupt nod, the gesture prompting Balinor to continue. Arthur tried not to show either his eagerness or his disquiet, seeing both reflected in the tense form of his manservant across the fire. He dragged his gaze away from the expectation and hunger on Merlin’s features and concentrated once more on Balinor.
“Uther and I were never friends, that I should tell you, but he was a good man and the Dragonlords knew he was the man to bring peace. We were arrogant though. We were all arrogant. “ His glance slid sideways, settling on Merlin for a moment and there was a tense silence broken eventually by a sigh that seemed dragged from the depths of Balinor's soul. “There was a prophecy. An ancient prophecy told by the Druids, and known by us all. The prophecy of the Once and Future King.”
Arthur’s attention was captured by Merlin once again, seeing the way he started and stared open-mouthed at Balinor.
“Merlin?” Arthur asked. It was obvious this was something Merlin had heard before, but the response to his enquiry was a shrug and a shake of the head. All it did was add to Arthur’s growing unease and suspicion.
Balinor continued. “There were some among us who thought Uther was the prophesised king. The king destined to bring a golden age not just to Camelot, but to the whole of Albion. The prophecy said the Once and Future King would have a powerful sorcerer by his side. Uther had Nimueh. She was the strongest any of us had ever seen. And she was Uther’s closest counsel.”
“You expect me to believe this? That my father…”
“I have no reason to lie-“
“- other than to turn me against my father. That's reason enough!” Anger surged and pulled at him, but there was a stronger undercurrent of fear; fear of what he was going to discover. Despite his hot denial, he knew Balinor was telling the truth. He just didn’t want to believe it.
“Arthur,” Merlin said, “let him tell it all.”
Arthur cast a bitter glance at him, ignoring the soft sympathy bleeding from Merlin’s blue eyes, but Arthur subsided and gestured for Balinor to continue.
“Uther ruled well and we all rejoiced when he fell in love and married Ygraine. There were some who raised doubts then, because she was supposed to marry Gorlois, and no-one knew why that changed. But they were happy and Gorlois married Vivienne and so we ignored it. Everything seemed perfect. Until…” He paused in his narrative, looking up to spear Arthur with a piercing glance. “Until they'd been wed for over two years and she had yet to get with child.”
There was a long silence and Balinor seemed as reluctant to speak as Arthur was to hear what he had to say next.
“One thing you must understand, Arthur.” His voice was soft and held a curious gentleness. “What they all did – they did out of love. Ygraine was desperate for a child – for you – Uther wanted nothing more than to make her happy and Nimueh loved them both.”
“What did they do?” Arthur’s voice caught on the words but he stopped Merlin’s seemingly instinctive move towards him with one look.
“Nimueh found a spell. To create a life. But magic and the Old Religion is all about balance. And you cannot create life…”
Merlin finished softly. “…without a life being taken in exchange.”
How in the name of the gods did Merlin know that?
“Nimueh told him. Gaius warned him. But they were so happy and none of them believed for one moment that it would be Ygraine who would pay the price.”
“My father… “ He turned to see Merlin, eyes downcast and fists clenched on his thighs and horror burned through Arthur as he recalled the his mother’s words., the words spoken by the spirit that Morgause had summoned. “Uther killed her.”
“No, boy.” It seemed ironic that it was a Dragonlord, a sorcerer, who was coming to his father’s defence. “Uther wanted nothing more than to make her happy. But when he lost her, he felt the guilt sure enough. And because he couldn’t face his guilt, he needed to find someone else to blame. Nimueh fled and so he blamed magic itself.”
Arthur had heard enough, standing and holding his hands up, palm outwards and he spun away from both men to stride towards the forest. Arthur turned as he reached the edge of the small clearing, some instinct guiding him. Merlin was already on his feet and making ready to follow him. Arthur paused and met Merlin’s gaze witnessing the concern, the – Arthur shook his head and Merlin hesitated and then moved across to tend the fire instead.
How was it they could have an entire conversation using only the slightest of gestures, Arthur wondered, and then pushed the thought aside and moved into the shelter of the trees, moving until the light of the small fire was merely a glimmer that shone like some distant star in the darkness. Then he leaned against a tree, unconscious of the dampness of the rough bark at his back, and tried to realign everything he thought he knew. Despite the shattering content of Balinor’s revelations, Arthur didn't doubt them. Years of half-understood comments from courtiers, of evasion from his father, the words uttered by the shade of his own mother. All the individual strands had gradually combined; twisting together into threads, becoming warp and weft until now he had almost a complete tapestry. Almost, he thought, almost. There was still something missing and Arthur tried not to believe he might know what that was.
Arthur spent some time wrapped in the calming embrace of the forest, and it felt as if the earth itself was caring for him tonight. By the time he was ready to move back to their camp, the others had bedded down. Arthur worked quietly to settle himself without disturbing them, but was not surprised when he looked across the fire and met a concerned gaze.
“Go to sleep, Merlin,” he said, and he ignored the roughness of his own voice. “We ride hard for Camelot at first light.”
**
Arthur tried not to notice the trail of devastation in the courtyard of the castle as they swung themselves off the horses, or the smell of burning that seemed to permeate the air. He felt as if every single bone and muscle was aching and his mood wasn't improved as he again witnessed Merlin’s antics as he hastened to help Balinor and ignored his prince. His master. Yet Arthur had no appetite for drawing attention to the neglect, even though it rankled for more reasons than he wanted to admit, because his mind was still haunted by the words Balinor had spoken, and his senses were still tainted by the tangible reminders of the power of the dragon’s fury. Instead, Arthur slipped inelegantly from the horse, taking the time to rub a grateful hand down its neck before consigning the stallion to the stable hands, and then he waited until Balinor and Merlin approached him. Arthur did not deign to notice his manservant, the lack of concern he'd shown biting at him and leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.
Side by side, Arthur and Balinor picked their way through the wreckage and made their way to the steps. There was no hesitation in Balinor’s pace, no attempt to wait and see where he must follow as he paced confidently beside Arthur, as if he'd passed this way many times before.
The bustle in the courtyard and the comings and goings into the castle came to a gradual halt, as people began to realise who it must be walking with Arthur. There was a curious quality to the resulting silence and stillness, thought Arthur. A sense of waiting and watching. As Arthur surreptitiously scanned the crowd he caught sight of Gaius, standing at the entrance to the undercroft where they'd established their makeshift hospital. He was bent and stooped more with weariness than with age, but Arthur saw him straighten and raise his head at the sight of them. Balinor paused in his walk and Arthur witnessed the silent exchange as Balinor inclined his head. And Gaius… Gaius bowed as if to a monarch, before bestowing a gentle smile on the third member of their party: Merlin, who hadn't been asked to accompany them into Uther’s presence, but would do so anyway. Arthur didn't even attempt to send him away.
They made their way towards the council chamber and Arthur hoped there wouldn't be too many of his father’s advisors present. As the guards opened the doors, Balinor strode past him, ignoring the knights and council members present and Arthur and Merlin trailed in his wake. Balinor stopped some way from Uther, who was sitting, apparently at his ease, on the other side of the council table.
“Pendragon.”
“He is the king.” Arthur said, only too aware of his father’s darkening expression and becoming clearer about why Balinor insisted on coming to Camelot. Balinor intended to have his say safe in the knowledge that Uther had no choice but to listen.
Balinor’s voice was strong, resounding around the room and reaching every corner.
“Uther Pendragon is no king of mine. I'm here to help the people of Camelot because they didn't deserve this. I'm here because someone dear to me asked me. I'm here because I would not see the last dragon slaughtered because he's mad with grief and loss and pain. I'm not here for a petty man, whose only way of dealing with his grief and guilt was to slaughter innocents.”
Uther was off his chair and reaching for his sword, advancing on Balinor, who stood stock still.
Arthur was distracted as Merlin stepped forward to place a hand on Balinor’s arm, but the alarmed glance Merlin cast in his direction shook Arthur from his stasis and he moved swiftly to intercept his father.
“Sire, we need him.” He appealed to his father as king, trying to reach past the fury to the duty he knew – he hoped – he prayed – was there. Arthur's own voice remained calm and he tried not to let his own concerns bleed through.
The room was still and yet it felt to Arthur as if it was the calm before some great eruption, the fury of both men pulsing through the air. Many of those who'd been present when they arrived had disappeared and Arthur spared a moment to be grimly amused at the self-preservation they displayed. Those left tended to be wearing the red cape of Camelot and he was grateful for that, especially when he took a swift glance around and saw that most of them were his men rather than his father’s.
Uther had paused and was glaring down at Arthur, his colour high, as he obviously struggled with his basic urge where magic was concerned. “Deal with this,” he said. “And then attend me in my chambers.”
“I will, Sire.”
Arthur took his hand from his father’s arm and stepped back, offering him a low bow full of respect and then watched, still wary, as Uther strode from the room, scattering all who remained. It was almost funny, Arthur thought, the way everyone scrambled to get out of his way.
I never want my people to fear me.
His attention returned to Merlin and Balinor, watching the quiet conversation, and noting the way Balinor’s hand covered Merlin’s.
I came because someone dear to me asked me.
Oh.
The surprise was one thing, because even though he'd witnessed the rapid growth in closeness between the two men, he'd not accepted it might mean – No, what surprised him was the twisting in his gut, the way he wanted to push Balinor away from Merlin and proclaim –
What? What could Arthur possibly say?
Instead, Arthur strode towards them and he ignored the small part of himself that was happy to break into the intimacy.
“Is this why you insisted on coming to Camelot? You could've met the dragon anywhere couldn’t you?”
“Maybe. It’s none of your business anyway, boy. It’s between me and Uther Pendragon.” The dark gaze seemed to bore into him.
This was an argument Arthur was destined not to win and he'd sense enough to let it go for the time being at least.
“Will you call the dragon now?” Arthur asked.
Balinor stared at him for a moment, before his stance relaxed. “Tonight. I’m not as young as I was and I want to rest first. It won't be an easy confrontation.”
Try as he might, Arthur could see no fear in Balinor, only a deep weariness and an even deeper sadness. In Merlin’s features he saw the same concern and hated the way Merlin was so focussed on the Dragonlord. Arthur couldn't deny that there was some spite in his next words.
“George will show you to somewhere you can rest and will fetch you food and anything else you require. Merlin. Merlin,” He had to raise his voice to get Merlin’s attention. “I want dinner waiting in my chambers. Is that clear?”
“I can take Balinor – “
Irritated beyond measure, Arthur raised a hand. “George will look after Balinor. Do as I bid.” He said, almost at the end of his endurance.
He effected not to hear the muttered insult that followed him as he strode from the room, or the considering look on Balinor’s face. His fury followed him as he strode through the corridors and he was only peripherally aware of the fact that everyone he met scattered in much the same way as they had before his father. They probably thought he was angry about having a Dragonlord in the castle when instead it was something very different that was driving Arthur Pendragon. Even if he wouldn't admit to himself what it was.
When he reached Uther’s chambers he took a deep breath before he entered. Uther was standing at the window with his back to the room, one hand on the hilt of his sword. He turned as Arthur closed the door behind him.
“Arthur. Where is the sorcerer?”
“He’s resting. He'll call the dragon tonight, he says. Will you tell me something of the Dragonlords, father?” Part of him prayed that Uther would either corroborate some of what Balinor had told him or at least offer an alternative sequence of events that Arthur could believe instead.
“A Dragonlord has the power to command the dragons and together they can rain down such destruction upon us. The power of a Dragonlord is handed down from father to son. We must be sure the man has fathered no children. There's nothing more you need to know, Arthur. It's sorcery and it's magic. You know it's evil.”
“He’s lived in a cave for nigh on twenty years. It’s been a solitary existence, father. I don't believe there's a child.”
“We must be sure, Arthur. Even if the dragon is defeated, the Dragonlords were always powerful sorcerers. A son of such a man would be a danger to Camelot.” Uther’s features were flushed, his eyes glittering and Arthur watched warily as Uther paced round the room and though his arms hung loosely at his sides, his fists were clenching and unclenching.
“Why must we worry about a son?” Arthur asked.
“Because, Arthur, the moment that man defeats the dragon, you'll kill him in turn. Balinor must not live beyond this night.”
Arthur swallowed, “Father,” he said, swallowing against sudden bile. In the name of the Gods, surely his father wouldn't ask him to carry out such a heinous act. The act of a coward and a scoundrel.
“That's an order from your king, Arthur. We will not allow such a dangerous man to live. Do you understand me?”
Arthur sank to one knee. “I understand, Sire,” he said, before he gathered his composure and left. This time his walk through the corridors was uncertain, reflecting the sense of loss that seemed to be taking root within him. His confidence in his king and trust in his father seemed to have been shattered. Balinor’s words had cracked the shell of Arthur’s certainty and now it was Uther himself who'd completed the final destruction.
When he reached his own chambers he was both irritated and relieved to see Merlin fussing by the table, setting out the dinner. Merlin's lips were turned downward in a pout and he didn’t react to Arthur’s entry.
Bitterness swirled through Arthur, mixing with the sense of his father’s betrayal of all the values Arthur associated with Camelot. The last thing he needed was Merlin sulking like some lovelorn maiden.
“Gods, Merlin, do you have to be so obvious.”
Merlin stilled and his lips pursed, but at least he finally looked at Arthur. “What do you mean?”
“Balinor.”
Arthur had never seen that level of wariness in Merlin, or knew he could be so still or so pale.
Arthur waved a hand, “Well look at the way you’re pining and you’ve only been away from him for half an hour. Gods, it would be funny if it wasn’t so pathetic.” Now he'd started, Arthur seemed unable to halt the flow of words. “The way you hang on every word he utters and can’t take your eyes off him. Never knew you were interested in men, Merlin, but don’t you think he’s too old for you? Or do you like that? Is that what makes your blood pump?”
Why isn’t it me?
Merlin’s face had morphed through several expressions by this stage from puzzlement to embarrassment, but Arthur could pinpoint the exact moment he finally understood what Arthur was driving at. The pale skin flushed a deep, mortified red and Merlin pressed his hands against his face.
“You’re mad!” He said. “How could you think such a thing? How can you say things like that? Balinor’s a good man. What’s wrong with me admiring him.”
“He’s a sorcerer.”
“So what!” Merlin almost spat the words at him.
They were both red-faced and breathing heavily by now, anger and something else buzzing in the air between them.
Weakly, more for a way to try and break this sudden uncomfortable impasse, Arthur attacked again. “You’re really telling me you don’t like him like that, Merlin? It doesn’t look that way. Gods, he’s old enough to be your –“ Arthur stopped short. Well, that would explain… No…
All colour drained from Merlin’s face. And then he took a deep breath and stood, proud and tall.
I never realised he was taller than me.
“I didn’t know until the day we left. But it’s true.” And there was a desperate pride, joy and happiness as well as the trepidation in the face of a truth uncovered. “Balinor is my father.” There was a long silence while Arthur desperately sought for some way to come to terms with this and eventually Merlin spoke again. “Please, Arthur, please.”
Why are you begging? He could find no words and instead his father’s voice resounded in his mind.
The power of a Dragonlord is handed down from father to son.
A son of such a man would be a danger to Camelot.
Balinor is a sorcerer. Merlin. Merlin is – must be. Balinor is a Dragonlord. One horrible suspicion tumbled after another.
“Did you find the dragon under the castle, Merlin?” Arthur could hardly get the words out.
“Arthur, please let me explain-“
“Explain how you unleashed hell on my people? This should be an interesting tale.” For a moment he understood his father completely, the sting of betrayal almost too much to bear as ice seemed to replace the blood in his veins.
Merlin was babbling. “I didn’t know he'd do that, I swear, dear Gods on everything I hold sacred, on my father’s life, my mother’s, I swear to you I didn’t know. He’d helped me – helped you so many times and he made me swear to release him. If I'd thought for one moment – I would have left him to rot.” There were tears in Merlin’s eyes, now, fists clenched and breath heaving through his frame.
“You said you were sorry. On the battlements,” Arthur said. “Gods, I said it wasn’t your fault. And it was. It was.”
They were staring at one another now, caught in an agonising trap. Merlin was waiting, his eyes wide and the longing and shame there was a potent, explosive mix. Now, after all this, Arthur could see what he hadn't even admitted to himself he wanted to see. Now, when it was too late and all trust was as ashes. He shut his eyes against the sight and instead concentrated on the parade of images assaulting him as he re-evaluated everything he'd ever believed about Merlin, seeing different possibilities in it all.
And yet.
Merlin could have destroyed him many times over, could have manipulated and ensorcelled him, could have made him a puppet prince, could have arranged it to become a prince himself. That’s what his father – the king – would have him believe. Perhaps it was time for Arthur Pendragon to decide for himself what he believed about magic and those who used it.
Because all he could think of now were the times Merlin had stood by him, had helped him, cared for him, been ready to die for him.
His friend.
His eyes opened and he wasn't surprised to see that Merlin hadn't moved. He would wait there, Arthur realised, to accept whatever condemnation or sentence Arthur handed down. Arthur sighed and looked out of the window, the ice thawing as quickly as it had formed, leaving him weary and confused.
“It'll be dark soon. We need to eat and then deal with the dragon. After that, we'll deal with everything else.”
“Arthur,”
Arthur ignored the softly spoken plea, moving to the table and dumping food onto two of the plates. The stew had cooled and the fat was beginning to congeal. It looked less than appetising. He thrust the two bowls towards Merlin.
“Can you do something to heat this up?”
The utter shock on Merlin’s face was almost enough to cheer Arthur although he didn't allow his own expression to shift. But there must have been enough for Merlin to see as he smiled at Arthur shyly. He murmured a word and Arthur’s breath caught in his throat as gold washed across blue and then was gone. Arthur picked up one of the now steaming bowls and tested it. Hot enough and not too hot.
“Now I understand the boiling bathwater,” he said.
“I’ve been practicing,” Merlin said. They ate in silence for a few moments and then Merlin began to fuss around him, setting the place to rights and tidying up in a way that was so out of character it almost made Arthur smile. “Arthur – “
“Later.” Arthur’s tone this time brooked no argument and Merlin continued to potter, making no attempt to leave Arthur’s chambers and as confused, angry and unsettled as he was, Arthur had no real desire for him to go. The silence was maintained until the sun began to sink towards the horizon and then Arthur dismissed Merlin, knowing he'd go straight to Balinor. He was aware of Merlin’s sharp, assessing gaze before Arthur was left to try and come to terms with yet more new information.
The past few days had tested his loyalty to his king, and had almost completely destroyed his relationship with the man as his father. If it had only been Balinor’s word against his father, then in the past there would have been no contest. But too much had happened and he'd seen too much over the past few years. For some reason the memory of Anhora and the unicorn came to his mind. Uther had immediately understood there was a curse involved, but couldn't accept that Arthur had been the one to unleash it dint of by killing the unicorn. He remembered, too, the way the unicorn had come to life once more and how he'd felt – the awe and the joy and all because a magical beast lived again. Bit by bit his beliefs had been shifting. Bit by bit he'd come to acknowledge that there were other interpretations than those Uther offered, just as Balinor had offered a completely different interpretation of why Uther hated magic so much. The fanatical hatred of magic in an otherwise balanced and just ruler made more sense when there was guilt involved. Uther had to find someone else to blame and as magic had been at the centre of what had happened, it was easy to target. Arthur had often wondered what Camelot would be like if his mother had lived; now he wondered what it would've been like if magic had never been banned.
His thoughts swirled through his mind, and Arthur realised he was getting nowhere in his own attempts to untangle the truth. He had two opposing points of view, and in the midst of it all was Merlin, who was – He shied away from any acknowledgement of what Merlin might mean to him and instead he pushed away from the table to go in search of the one other person who might be able to offer him some perspective. And the only other person, he realised, who must've known Balinor, Uther and about Merlin’s magic.
**
The physician’s chambers were dimly lighted, one candle flickering uneasily in the draught from the door as Arthur pushed it open.
“Gaius,” he said, unwilling to disturb him if he was actually asleep.
“Sire,” Gaius approached out of the gloom, gesturing for quiet and Arthur slipped back out of the door, aware of Gaius following him. Gaius shuffled past him and led the way to a quiet alcove.
“Can I help you, sire?”
“You look exhausted. This can wait.”
Gaius shook his head. “You wouldn't have come to me now if you didn’t need my help, Arthur. What’s troubling you?”
Carefully, Arthur checked the corridor before he spoke. “I know about Merlin’s father.” He put out a hand to steady the old man. “I know about Merlin – not everything, but I know what he is and that he released the –“
He held up his hands as Gaius was about to speak, to protect Merlin as much as he could, Arthur guessed. “Merlin and I will be having a conversation about that later. Balinor told me… He told me I was born of magic. That my parents asked Nimueh for help – magical help.”
“Oh, my boy.”
“Balinor spoke truly, didn’t he? Did the king know…? Did he know the price?”
“Nimueh told him there'd be a price to pay, yes, and I told him the same even before he approached her for help. But none of us thought Ygraine would be the one to pay that price. Nimueh, your father, me, all of us loved Ygraine, Arthur, but in trying to give her what she wanted more than anything else, we condemned her. “
To Arthur, it looked as if the grief and guilt Gaius expressed now was as fresh as it must have been twenty or so years ago. There was no comfort here for either of them.
Still, he reached out, squeezing Gaius’ shoulder, before he glanced out of the window at the gathering dusk. “I've a task to carry out. Thank you for your honesty.”
“Arthur – about Merlin, what will you do?”
“Try and get some rest, Gaius. Hopefully there'll be no new casualties tonight.”
He couldn't answer Gaius’ question, when he'd no idea what that answer might be. One thing at a time, he decided as he strode through the corridors to the chamber he'd allotted Balinor, knowing Merlin would be there, too, and knowing he'd go with them. Because Merlin was always with him when he faced danger; whether Arthur wanted him there or not.
**
The air was cold and crisp but it wasn't the temperature that caused Arthur to shiver. It was the sheer power in Balinor’s voice that sent a frisson down Arthur’s spine and he watched as Balinor threw his head back and called out to the inky darkness of the night sky. They stood in silence for a few moments before Arthur recognised the sound that had been haunting his nightmares.
The air stirred and whirled around them. Balinor was still and Merlin, he could feel Merlin standing beside him and, despite Arthur’s own initial feelings of betrayal and anger, he was comforted by Merlin’s presence. He seemed unable to hate Merlin, unable even to maintain the initial disgust that had suffused him when he'd finally understood what Merlin had done. For some reason all Arthur's thoughts seemed to swing from a desire to know why, to a rueful acknowledgement that Merlin’s innate compassion made it all too likely that he wouldn't be able to resist setting the creature free.
His attention returned to the matter at hand, feeling every fibre of his being tense as the huge dragon settled gently on to the ground and furled its great wings.
“It is many years since I answered the call of a Dragonlord.” It dipped its head until the great snout touched the ground briefly.
Arthur started. For some reason it hadn't occurred to him that the beast would be able to speak – or could possibly sound so sad.
“Kilgarrah, my friend. Can you ever forgive me for what I've done.”
And Arthur watched as Balinor stepped forward, sank to his knees and bowed his head.
“We were both betrayed.”
“Why did you attack Camelot?” Merlin stepped out of the shadow of Arthur’s presence.
“Ah, young Merlin. You think me a monster, evil …”
“They were innocents.” Merlin’s voice was hoarse, raw, and in it Arthur heard the acknowledgment of his own guilt.
The dragon was unrepentant. “Ask Uther Pendragon. Ask him how many of my kin died in his bloody purge. We were pledged to protect Camelot and to serve her. He broke his vow. And I have broken mine. Ask Uther how many he killed. And then count the dead. One for one. I took one for one. And I could have taken his son – as he took my kin – and yet I did not.”
Arthur shifted as the wound in his shoulder protested. He knew it was true. The dragon could easily have killed him.
“The king has no dealings with magic.” It sounded false even as Arthur said the words, especially in light of all he'd learned over the past day.
“In your history, this is so, my prince. But there was a time before you. Ah, Ygraine. How all dragonkind mourned her passing. And how vast a price the world paid – for her death and for your life.”
Arthur felt as if he’d been punched in the gut and was suddenly grateful as Merlin shifted to stand closer to him. His world tilted, reeled away from him, one more terrible shock on top of days of new knowledge and understanding.
“And what now, Dragonlord,” the dragon asked. “Will you kill me for what I have done?”
Balinor climbed to his feet. “No, Kilgarrah. I'd as soon kill myself. But you must agree to obey the call of your King when the time comes.”
“When the Once and Future King calls, I will obey. I'm sure his Dragonlord would make it so, even if I did not agree.”
Dragonlord. His Dragonlord.
Slowly, so slowly, Arthur turned his head until he could see Merlin, to find him already facing him and Merlin’s expression was such a study in confusion, hope, dread, anguish and pride, Arthur could hardly bear it.
Now I see you. Now I see you.
A long silence followed as they regarded one another and then Arthur inclined his head, slow and deliberate. Relief was expressed in a brilliant, if fleeting grin, so overwhelming that Arthur had to look away, and he turned his attention to Balinor who was watching their exchange, his dark gaze fixed on them.
Heaving in a deep breath, Arthur said. “The king ordered me to kill you once you'd killed the dragon.”
He heard Merlin’s distressed hiss but it was over-ridden by Balinor’s laugh.
“I’m not the trusting fool I was, boy.” Balinor said. “I knew what Uther would try to do. I never had any intention of killing Kilgarrah. He's my brother.”
“Arthur wouldn’t have done it. He'd never have done something like that.”
Oh, Merlin. Such faith. Arthur managed to find a bleak smile for Merlin, stunned into silence by his faith in Camelot’s prince.
Arthur was struck by the way Balinor’s expression changed, going from understanding and fondness – love – when he looked at his son, to the compassion colouring that expression when his gaze settled on Arthur.
He knows. He knows what I've lost.
His own stance straightened, his jaw firm. And he met Balinor’s gaze. Beside him, Merlin’s breathing was rapid and shallow.
Balinor’s features settled into something Arthur thought might even be respect and that was proven correct when Balinor dropped to one knee in front of him.
“Prince Arthur. When the time is right and you have need, those of us who remain will renew our vow to Camelot.”
There was movement beside him, and Merlin stepped past, joining his father and kneeling at his side.
How to… What was he supposed to…?
And then Merlin glanced up and in that well-loved face he found his salvation. Drawing in a deep breath, he spoke.
“I thank you for your loyalty.”
The dragon watched them, enigmatic, calm but focussed on Arthur, and he met the gold gaze for a moment, accepting his vow, too.
A line crossed.
Acceptance.
Change.
He tried to ignore the fact that his validation was coming from the pride in Merlin’s eyes.
It was a king who stepped forward then, placing his hands on Balinor’s shoulders and pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead before drawing him to his feet. Merlin looked as if he was about to scramble up, but a look from Arthur stopped him as Arthur repeated his actions, except pressing a kiss to Merlin’s brow somehow felt a great deal more intimate.
When Merlin blinked up at him, so close to breaking, Arthur brushed a gloved finger across his cheek, and slipped a hand under his elbow to urge him to stand.
“My oath, as Arthur, Crowned Prince of Camelot: dragons, Dragonlords and kin now fall under my protection. I'll see no harm come to you. I'll protect you with my sword and my life should any try. But should you attempt to harm any of her subjects,” and his gaze hardened as he stared at Kilgarrah, still finding it almost impossible to forgive the beast’s actions despite acknowledging the provocation. “I'll show no mercy.”
He met Merlin’s gaze then, holding it for long moments, before he broke the impasse, and he knew Merlin had understood.
“Balinor, you know you can't remain in Camelot.” Arthur said.
“I've no wish to stay while Uther reigns – and there's someone else I need to visit.” He glanced at Merlin as he spoke and smiled almost shyly.
Arthur thought of Hunith then, and wondered what she'd think when she saw Balinor again. He looked at Merlin, seeing how torn he was. And then he thought of the king’s wrath when he learned both dragon and Dragonlord still lived.
Balinor sighed. “You knew I wouldn't be able to stay, Merlin.”
“I know. It’s just -. I’ve only just met you. I wanted to take you to Ealdor. But I have to stay with Arthur.” The simplicity of his absolute loyalty was breath-taking.
Arthur cleared his throat. “It might be better if you weren't in Camelot for the next few days, Merlin.”
“Are you sending me away?”
He sounded so dismayed and Arthur tried not to be pleased by that. “Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin. I expect you back in a seven day,” he said. “But the king's seen you in the company of a Dragonlord and will be suspicious of all who've had any contact with him.”
“But, Arthur-“
“I’ll make it longer if you don’t shut up.” It wasn’t until he said it he realised how ridiculous it sounded and he saw the sudden grin flash across Merlin’s face.
“I’ll be back in three days,” Merlin said. The decision in his voice almost took Arthur’s breath away.
He scowled. “Five days.” He held a hand up as Merlin looked about to argue. “Five days, Merlin.” He held Merlin’s gaze until he was sure he'd capitulated, witnessing the moue of dissatisfaction and the heavy sigh. Arthur stepped back, satisfied Merlin would do as he was told.
“Do you need horses?” he asked, turning his attention to Balinor and ignoring the speculation in his gaze.
“No, if Kilgarrah will carry us,” said Balinor
“Will you order me, Dragonlord?”
“I ask, Kilgarrah.”
“Then I will take you and Merlin to Ealdor.”
Arthur was a little discomfited as the huge head shifted and he was suddenly the focus of Kilgarrah’s attention as the dragon continued.
“And I will return Merlin to Camelot in four days time.”
Four days?
Arthur scowled at Merlin’s smug expression, before shaking his head ruefully, not quite sure he was up to arguing with a beast that had killed his people, whatever its justification. Instead he settled for a curt nod and then stepped back and watched as they made their preparations to leave.
For a long time after he acknowledged Merlin’s raised hand, Arthur stood in the silence of the green meadow and watched the sky, before he walked alone through the gates to Camelot.
Without pausing, he made his way to Uther’s chambers, stopping just inside the door to stare at the king. Uther was slumped on the chair, illuminated by the flickering light of the fire. When he saw Arthur he stood and waited for Arthur to approach.
Shadows flitted across expressionless features and Arthur had no idea at all what thoughts might be going through Uther’s mind. It had been a long time since he'd known or understood that. There was no doubt, however, that Arthur’s news was going to be unwelcome.
Arthur bowed before he spoke. “The dragon is gone, Sire.”
“Gone?”
There was a moment’s pause.
“It's not dead?”
“No, the Dragonlord wouldn't kill it. They left after I exacted a promise from him not to return to Camelot and to order the dragon to do the same.”
“I told you –“ Uther was winding up into a rage and Arthur was suddenly completely and utterly tired of it all.
“Sire,” he broke in before Uther could really start. “This was always the best result we could've hoped for. The dragon's the only bargaining power Balinor had; the only way to protect his life. You must've been aware of that.” He didn't add that he couldn't conceive of killing Balinor in cold blood – especially when he'd discovered the connection between Balinor and Merlin.
Uther was less than pleased, but even he seemed to see the futility of arguing the point once it was done. Instead, he scowled at Arthur. “Very well. You're dismissed.”
“Sire,” Arthur didn't intend to leave until he had some answers. “Balinor told me magic was used in my conception. Did he speak truly?” This time he'd have the truth.
Uther spun to face him. Arthur could almost see the way he tried to draw his anger about him, and Arthur held up a hand to forestall that, suddenly feeling as if it was he who was the king.
There was a moment’s tense pause and Arthur wondered if perhaps the same thought had occurred to Uther, but then Uther relaxed, removing the coronet he wore and placing it on the table before he drew a hand through his hair,
“Your mother couldn't bear children. In those days magic was still rife in Camelot. I tried to give her what she wanted most.”
“But she died – and you blamed the magic?”
Uther stared at him for a moment, as if he was struggling to find words but in the end he said nothing.
There was a long, cold silence before Arthur spoke again.
“You took your revenge on magic in your grief. And yet you couldn't see that magic had made your son. Magic made me. Didn’t it?”
Uther took a step back, as if he'd been dealt a physical blow. As if it had never occurred to him that with the loss had come a gain.
Something had broken between them, Arthur realised, and while he was saddened at the loss, somehow he also felt relieved. The ties with the king gone, Arthur Pendragon was at last free to become the man – the king – he wanted to be. He bowed and left Uther standing in the shadows, not feeling the need to wait until he was formally dismissed.
Uther may not accept it yet, but the days of his rule were dwindling.
And Arthur. Arthur was ready to lead.
**
The door to his chambers opened, the sound a soft punctuation in the silence of his room. Arthur heard it close and then someone breathing. He marvelled how, from such small clues, he knew without doubt who was standing behind him.
“You’re back then.” As if he hadn’t doubted. As if he hadn’t spent the long, silent evenings listing every reason for Merlin to stay away.
“I know you can’t manage without me.” Merlin said, and his voice seemed to catch in his throat.
Did he have any idea, Arthur wondered, how true that was. He turned, raking his gaze down the long form, seeing Merlin start and wondered why in the instant before Merlin propelled himself across the room and into his arms. Fists clenched in the soft, white fabric of Arthur's shirt as he automatically wrapped his arms around Merlin’s shoulders and held him close and dear. He could feel Merlin’s breath on his neck, quick and panicked, where he'd ducked his head down and rested his temple against Arthur’s cheek.
Arthur had spent the days of Merlin’s absence navigating through a sea of personal feelings, reassessed memories and the king’s silent, ever-present fury. The physical work involved in clearing up after the dragon’s attack had exhausted his body but left his mind free to work.
He'd been born and brought up to rule, and tied up with that was how to think around an issue, to weigh evidence and points of view, to understand bias and partisanship and work out how to balance all the competing elements. In this, the king had taught him well and as time had passed it had finally exposed Uther’s own irrationality with regard to magic and magic users. Arthur was loyal and had dutifully supported Uther’s stance, but had never shared the hate. The mistrust, yes, based on the number of attacks he'd suffered from those who used magic. Even then, though, he'd understood the reasons it was happening, although it confused him that the king, so measured and thoughtful in so many ways, didn't see – or admit – the correlation.
So the few days Merlin had been away had allowed Arthur to work past the first flash of anger, hurt and betrayal and allow him to consider Merlin’s motivation – why he'd kept his magic secret – and understand and believe Merlin meant him no harm. Merlin’s distress about the dragon’s actions had been real, Arthur recognised that at a fundamental level. The guilt and despair he'd expressed Arthur had been – glad – to see. Because, without doubt in Arthur’s mind, Merlin did share some responsibility for what had happened and for the people who had died.
Kilgarrah bore the blame, in Arthur’s eyes, because ultimately, even if he could see the beast’s motivation, Kilgarrah had the choice on whether or not to exact such a brutal and unforgiving revenge. And then there was Uther, who had chained the dragon in the darkness and killed its kin.
All because Ygraine had died.
And Arthur had lived.
**
Arthur became aware he was smoothing his hands back and forth across Merlin’s shoulders, and that Merlin had settled, his fingers unclenching and spread across his lower back. The intimacy of their pose wasn't lost on Arthur and he spent a moment to marvel at how right it felt. The more Merlin relaxed against him, the tighter Arthur’s hold.
Eventually, with a soft sigh, Merlin said. “There so much more I need to tell you.”
Arthur didn’t think he could bear any more revelations for a while, and certainly not when he had Merlin in his arms.
Finally.
“I know. Just… not right now. Tell me things when I need to know them.”
Merlin sighed again and the breath ghosted across Arthur’s neck and he shivered as heat surged through him. Merlin’s frame had tensed in his hold, every muscle and sinew screaming of a deep distress.
Eventually Arthur asked. “Is there anything worse than the dragon?”
“Yes,” Merlin said. “Morgana.”
“Tomorrow,” Arthur said. “Tell me tomorrow.”
Merlin nodded, and Arthur felt arms tighten about him, the warmth of Merlin’s body seeping into the cold places of his soul.
“I’m sorry, Arthur. I’m so sorry.”
“I know,” Arthur said. “I understand that, Merlin. I promise I do.”
Unthinking, he pressed a kiss to Merlin’s temple, wondering at the start of surprise and the heartfelt longing in Merlin’s tone.
“Oh, Arthur.”
Everything changed.
Merlin pulled back, releasing a hand to cup Arthur’s jaw and a lush, desperate mouth took possession. Arthur gasped into the kiss and then relaxed, giving himself up to Merlin’s sudden mastery. It was delicious, he thought, to be able to submit so completely to someone, filling a need he'd never known and would've been unlikely to acknowledge even if he'd recognised it. It took Merlin, possibly the most powerful person Arthur knew, to sweep away the expectancies of a lifetime of privilege and rank and lead him down a different path. Not just in this, the understanding that a friendship was evolving into something so much more, but in the way Arthur wanted to rule, wanted to live his life and interact with his people. In the hazy moments he could still think of something other than Merlin, he knew he wanted to find a different way. He'd taken a number of steps along that new path already – there was a bloody sorcerer kissing him to within an inch of his life, after all – but this was the first time all the elements had coalesced into determination and understanding.
Merlin’s hands had worked their way under the white shirt and fingers were trailing tantalisingly across his skin, sparking sensation that flared into need and want.
Finally breaking the kiss, Arthur ignored the disappointed sound Merlin emitted and dragged him across to the bed. He pushed Merlin down, only to tumble after him as Merlin grabbed him and yanked hard, rolling them until he was on top. After a certain amount of wriggling, he settled and claimed Arthur’s mouth once more.
The wriggling had had what was obviously the desired effect as Arthur felt Merlin’s mouth curve into a grin even through the kiss, as their bodies aligned and there was no longer any way to deny what they both wanted. Not that either of them seemed about to have any second thoughts anyway. Arthur broke the kiss, grumbling and twisting until Merlin slid off to the side and then it was a flurry of hands, of curses and orders broken by more kissing, until hard, naked flesh was clasped together as they wrapped hands around, thrusting and stroking and pulling. It was fast and messy and Arthur thought he'd never in his life come so hard or enjoyed it so much.
They collapsed against one another, sweating and gasping, Merlin’s face buried against Arthur’s neck and Arthur revelled in the feeling until he was too hot, shoving Merlin off to the side. As he regained his breath he turned his head and gazed across at Merlin, eventually propping himself up on one elbow.
His own shirt was across the room and his brais were undone and shoved around his knees along with his small clothes. Merlin was without his jacket but was still wearing his neckerchief and his shirt was tangled around one arm. His own breeches were around his knees much the same as Arthur’s, but while one foot was bare the other was still booted.
He couldn’t help it. Altogether it made for a ridiculous scene and Arthur felt the tensions, worries and terror of the previous days seep out through sudden hilarity. He giggled for a few moments before the laughter took him and he was reaching hysteria almost before he knew it.
Merlin pulled him down into his arms, holding him tight, asking no questions although he'd looked rather bemused.
The contact helped to soothe Arthur and he burrowed against Merlin’s heat until he was calm enough to speak, and could find the amusement that had triggered the outburst. In the past he would have been ashamed at such a loss of control but with Merlin he knew he could be himself. He laughed gently once more. This time he laughed for sheer joy.
“Life with you is never dull, Merlin.”
“I blame you – you attract trouble.” The rejoinder was swift but there was no real heat in it.
Arthur placed a kiss on Merlin’s chest and then pulled away, beginning to struggle out of the rest of his clothes and then helping Merlin do the same. When they were finally naked, they crawled under the covers and gravitated naturally together once again.
The mood was quiet and introspective, both men seemingly occupied with their own thoughts.
As Arthur slipped towards sleep, he asked, “Will you stay?”
And he heard Merlin say the words as if it was a vow. “As long as you want me.”
Forever then.
**
Merlin blinked, suddenly awake and disorientated. For a moment he wondered where on earth he was until movement at his side caught his attention and he turned to see Arthur shifting and murmuring.
He wasn't entirely sure what he'd been expecting when Kilgarrah had brought him back to Camelot. Part of him had wondered if Arthur, often quick to anger and slow to forgive, might've thought better of his apparent acceptance of magic. As quickly, he'd dismissed the thought, knowing Arthur had changed and had become a much wiser and calmer person, although he couldn't help but experience some trepidation. Because even though Arthur may have shifted his stance on magic, Merlin was the one who'd released the dragon. Merlin had imagined many scenarios in his few days away from Camelot, and had worried more than anything that he may have lost Arthur’s trust and friendship.
In his wildest dreams, he hadn't expected to end his first evening in Arthur’s bed. Hot colour washed over him and he wondered if he should tell Arthur that he'd never done that before. While he knew he'd loved Freya, there'd been a chasteness to it, and what he now recognised as a lack of passion. He smiled. There would be no lack of passion with Arthur and he looked down at him where he lay splayed on his back, the covers pushed down to expose his chest. Arthur’s cheeks were flushed with sleep and his hair was tousled. His mouth was open and Merlin couldn't help smiling as Arthur snored gently, already thinking how to tease him in the morning.
The cold air of the room caressed his own naked skin and he shivered only noticing then the dull embers of the fire. The passion earlier had generated enough heat for them both, and Merlin hadn't even thought to feed the fire and bank it for the night.
As quietly as possible he crept from the bed, wincing at the icy temperature of the floor. He tended the fire quickly and stood watching it for a moment before padding back to the bed, slipping under the covers and luxuriating in a softness and comfort he hadn't known before. Arthur grumbled a little as Merlin tucked his cold feet under Arthur’s legs, but as he pulled Merlin close, it didn’t seem that he was too annoyed.
Merlin stared out into the darkness, working through the complicated feelings assailing him. After the despair of what he'd done to Morgana and the horror of the dragon’s attack, each day had been spent in a miasma of guilt and grief. He still dreaded telling Arthur about Morgana. The guilt associated with his actions hadn't gone and would always haunt him, he knew, but at least now there were more positive emotions, more wonderful things he could dwell on. Most wonderful of all was the knowledge that he could help to plan and build a better Camelot.
Beside Arthur.
With Arthur.
Awe shook him for a moment. Finding his father and then becoming Arthur’s lover would've been unthinkable scant days before and yet here he was, held possessively close in Arthur’s arms and he felt a security in his future that he'd never known. All the dragon’s talk of destiny now seemed achievable and he'd be able to help Arthur work towards that in the knowledge that Arthur understood exactly what Merlin was and what he could do.
Merlin linked his fingers with Arthur’s and let sleep take him, falling into dreams of uniting Albion at Arthur’s side.