The Truth of Who We Are

by Marie_Iliea

Summary:

Set into the wall, a brazier evenly spaced between them, were words, each with the imprint of a hand below it, and a pair of footprints set into the floor below that. Loyalty, Strength, Courage, Servitude, Magic, Nobility, Humility, Authority, and Discipline. Merlin recognized the riddle right away, having met the dwarf during Arthur’s quest. He knew three of the names, three of the matches — and it terrified him. What would the others make of him being Magic? He shivered, a thrill of fear running down his spine.

Or: When Arthur and the knights go hunting, but events take a predictably unusual turn that exposes Merlin's magic to them all -- and then it all goes, quite literally, to the Otherworld.

I finally figured out where this 'one-shot turned story' is going to go. Since I like Lancelot and originally this was "Arthur is King, Lancelot is alive," this tale explores how everyone finds out Merlin has magic AND the fallout -- during the chaos with the Dorocha.

Notes:

Started out as a one-shot, is turning into a whole story.
If you've read it before, RE-READ, significant timeline updates (Arthur is prince, not king.)

Chapter 1: Discovery

It had started off simply enough, with Arthur bored and itching for adventure.

Of course, that never ended well for the Prince and those involved — mainly Merlin and the Knights — so when a simple hunting trip turned into a riddle-filled struggle of life and death, no one was entirely surprised.

“Not seeing a good way out of this one,” Gawain declared as he and Percival stepped away from the rocks that had blocked them into the cave. “These won’t budge — and it looks like more could come down if we try too hard.”

“So how are we getting out of here?” Leon asked. “Maybe there’s another way out somewhere? The cave might go deeper.”

Merlin turned away and muttered a soft spell to keep the torches they’d lit burning as a draft rushed through the cave, threatening to suffocate the sparse flames.

“That would be a yes,” Arthur said, heading toward the far wall. “Wind doesn’t come from nowhere.”

They followed him slowly, keeping their torches high and warily watching the ceiling for further signs of imminent collapse. The cave narrowed into a tunnel toward the back, and they squeezed into a line, filing slowly along with Arthur at the head, Merlin right behind him. The gusts of air became stronger, more frequent, and colder as they progressed, forcing Merlin to concentrate heavily on maintaining the integrity of the fragile torches.

Finally, the narrow walls opened into a large cavern. The ceiling soared over their heads, covered with sharp stalactites sparkling with a thin layer of ice reflecting in the firelight. The smooth floor stretched out for dozens of paces before them, leaving the opposite side a mystery that was not revealed by the light of their torches.

“This place is magic,” Merlin whispered to himself. The others heard, and turned to him.

“How would you know?” Arthur asked. Merlin gave him a look.

“What else would cause a giant cavern full of ice crystals to appear in the back of a cave right by Camelot that no one had ever noticed before — in the middle of summer no less? Dollophead.”

“Right. That…actually makes sense,” the Prince admitted. The knights chuckled.

“The wind isn’t coming from above us, or there’d be light where the opening is, right?” Leon said, considering.

“Agreed. We’re probably looking for another tunnel along one of the walls.”

“We should split up,” Percival suggested. “Half along one wall, half along the other. Call out if you find anything.” Arthur nodded and placed his hand on the right side of the cavern, holding his torch in the left and walking slowly along the rock. Merlin, Lancelot, and Gawain followed him, leaving Leon to lead Percival and Elyan along the other way.

The cave was bigger than they’d expected, though thankfully both groups could still see the light of each other’s torches and their shadows flickering along the walls. Arthur was looking sideways, watching those shadows and reassuring himself that his friends fared well in their search, when suddenly he ran face-first into something slender that clattered to the ground before him.

Everyone froze.

“Arthur!” came shouts from across the cavern, lights bobbing as someone turned and began to head their way.

“Stop! We’re fine, I just knocked something over. Stay there!” The Prince held his torch forward, illuminating the ground a few steps in front of him. There lay a short brazier, its coals scattered across the stone floor. He stared at it for a moment, confused.

“Help me pick this up, and we’ll light it,” he said. Gawain helped him lift the stand back into place as the others gathered the coals and replaced them in the bowl, which Arthur then lit. It took a moment, but a soft glow slowly filled the space around them, illuminating another brazier further down the wall.

“Arthur?” Leon called, getting concerned.

“We found an old light,” he replied. “Look sharp, watch for any on your side.”

Half an hour and several stumbles later, the back of the cavern was revealed by the light of a dozen braziers lined along the wall.

“Well…that’s interesting,” Gawain said, looking at the revealed exit.

Everyone had to agree.

Set into the wall, a brazier evenly spaced between them, were words, each with the imprint of a hand below it, and a pair of footprints set into the floor below that.

The words were Loyalty, Strength, Courage, Servitude, Magic, Nobility, Humility, Authority, and Discipline. Each word was carved into a stone block covered with a thin layer of smooth, sparkling ice.

Merlin recognized the riddle right away, having met the dwarf during Arthur’s quest. He knew three of the names, three of the matches — and it terrified him. What would the others make of him being Magic? He shivered, a thrill of fear running down his spine.

Thankfully, Arthur seemed to have forgotten, as did Gawain, not that he’d been paying much attention anyway at the time. Lancelot, however, threw a covert look at Merlin, concern in his dark eyes.

“You think each of them is one of us?” Elyan asked slowly.

“It makes sense,” Arthur mused, “but what about the other two spaces?”

“It’s a riddle, they’re likely placed to confuse us,” Lancelot replied quickly.

“Percival is the most likely to be Strength out of all of us,” Gawain said. Percival shrugged casually, moving to stand before the word Strength. He stood on the footprints and pressed his hand to the ice over the print there, but nothing happened.

“Could someone else be Strength?” the large Knight asked.

“None of us are stronger than you, Percival.”

“Perhaps we all have to do it together?” Lancelot suggested.

“All right, then who goes to the other words? I’m certainly not any of these things,” Gawain said.

“Nobility is obviously Arthur,” Leon said. “Being Prince, and all.” Arthur moved to stand in place, though the stones did not react to him any more than they had Percival.

“As First Knight, Leon would have to be Authority,” Elyan pointed out. The knight moved into place, then looked around at his fellows.

“Lancelot, you could be Discipline.” Lancelot shook his head.

“You are far more disciplined than I, as is the Prince, and others.”

“Humility then.” Lancelot looked down.

“Humility.” Elyan, Leon, and Percival said together. Lancelot stood in his spot, looking embarrassed.

“Elyan, you’ve got to be Courage,” he said, taking the attention off of himself. The knight scoffed.

“Yeah, I courageously ran off and abandoned my family…”

“But you came back,” Merlin pointed out, "without knowing how you might be received."

Elyan considered, and then walked to the word, studying it before settling into place with a sigh.

“Merlin, you’re Servitude,” Gawain said, looking at the other words. “That one’s obvious.” Merlin tensed, knowing it wasn’t true, and Gawain noticed. “Sorry your label isn’t as glamorous as the rest.”

Merlin smiled shakily. “I don’t mind.” He stood by the word, knowing that nothing would happen.

“What the hell am I, then?” Gawain fumed. “We all know I’m not magic, or terribly loyal, and Discipline doesn’t suit me either.”

"Go for Loyalty,” Arthur said. “It’s the best one.”

Nothing happened. Seven hands on seven words, and nothing happened.

“We need to re-think this,” Arthur said.

“Perhaps Arthur is Authority, and I Nobility,” Leon said. Arthur nodded, and they switched places.

Still nothing.

“Lancelot, move to Discipline,” Arthur said. “Regardless of what you think, you truly are more disciplined than the rest of us.’

Again, nothing.

“Okay, everybody take a step back. Let’s start with Gawain, who we can’t place. Which quality seems most like him, instead of which one does he seem most like?” He got blank stares from the others.

“You mean, if he had to be one of them, which one would he be?” Merlin asked.

“Yeah.”

They looked around at each other, then studied Gawain for a minute or two.

“Courage,” Elyan said, and the others murmured agreement.

“Though ‘brashness’ or ‘foolishness’ might be a better word,” Leon added. Gawain chuckled and smacked his friend on the shoulder as he placed himself before Courage.

“I still think Merlin is Servitude,” he said. “Sorry mate, but nobody else fits it, though several others fit you.” Merlin shifted back against the ice, nodding with a forced smile.

“And Percival is still the strongest,” Elyan said. Percival stepped back into where he’d been before.

“I like Discipline for Lance,” Arthur maintained, and the knight grudgingly placed himself against the ice.

“Arthur and Leon really could go either way,” Lancelot said. “Just pick one, and if it doesn’t work, switch over again.” Arthur settled back into Authority, and Leon into Nobility.

“So......Humility for me?” Elyan said uncomfortably, placing his hand against the ice.

The whole sheet fell from the stone in a rumbling crackle, startling them all — especially Elyan, who was locked into place, his feet settling firmly into the grooved footprints on the floor, hand stuck immobile against the stone print. The word glowed golden, lighting up Elyan’s block with a warm light.

“Well,” Gawain said after the echoes had faded and the shock worn off. “I think we figured out Elyan.”

“What if the rest of us just tried each word until we got that reaction?” Leon suggested.

“No,” Arthur argued. “I’ve learned a few things about magic over the years, and I don’t think it’s wise to try and trick it. Let’s just figure this out. Obviously, no one else but Elyan has gotten this right. So step back again, the rest of you.”

“We keep assuming Percival is Strength, but obviously not. Maybe it’s talking about another kind of strength than the physical?”

“How do you mean?”

“Gawain is strong-willed.” Elyan suggested. Gawain looked taken aback, but pressed his hand to the word anyway.

The ice shattered again, leaving the knight trapped in place against the rock.

“RIght. Who’s next?”

“Lancelot is brave,” Leon said. “He killed the Griffin by himself!” Lancelot hesitated glancing over at Merlin, knowing that Leon wasn’t entirely correct. Nonetheless, he took his place, and — nothing.

“What else could he be? I think we’ve had Lance try just about everything!” Gawain complained.

“Nobility.”

Everyone looked at Arthur, baffled.

“I’m serious. Lancelot is the first commoner I’ve ever thought about knighting, let alone actually done. Being noble doesn’t just mean being born to a noble family — one can be noble of heart, just as Gawain is strong of will.”

Lancelot stood a little straighter, and stepped around Elyan to reach Nobility. He took a deep breath before settling his hand into place, and —

— the ice shattered.

A collective sigh of relief filled the cavern. They were nearly half-way there.

“Merlin.” The warlock stiffened, looking at his Prince. “Try Courage.”

Merlin was baffled. “Me, Sire?”

“Yeah, idiot. You. They don’t have “Moronic” on the wall, so maybe they’re convinced your ridiculousness is some kind of bravery.”

Merlin lay a hand on Courage, but nothing happened. He was not relieved, wondering how long it would be before he had to reveal himself. His heart raced, hoping that he could stave it off until the end, keep Arthur from executing him until they’d escaped from the cavern.

“You try,” he said softly. “If anyone is courageous, it’s you, Sire.”

Arthur looked at him, but stepped up beside his manservant, settling his hand on the word, and covering Merlin’s head as best he could as the ice shattered around them.

“Leon, try Discipline,” Percival said. “You’re more disciplined than I, by far.”

The ice shattered around the First Knight, and he smiled slightly.

“So Perce, that makes you Loyalty. You can’t be Servitude, you’re a Knight, and we both came from humble backgrounds, so you wouldn’t be more a servant than I.” Percival nodded to Elyan, ducking as the ice shattered around him and the word on the wall.

“So what, Merlin is Authority?” Gawain laughed. A couple chuckles bounced around the cave, though Lancelot looked concerned, and Arthur was deep in thought. The whole thing had triggered a memory, something he hadn’t paid attention to at the time (between being focused on his goal and later, nearly dying), but was coming to the surface now.

“Courage, Strength…and Magic.”

“Arthur?” Leon queried. The Prince looked uncomfortable.

“Most of you don’t know this, but when I went on my quest to the lands of the Fisher Prince, I was followed, and thus had a bit of unsolicited help.” Nobody looked surprised, though Gawain and Merlin looked a bit guilty. “I went to cross a bridge, and a dwarf stopped me. He named me Courage, and then told me I would need strength and magic to succeed. Merlin and Gawain ended up appearing to help me later on.”

Merlin took a step back as everyone turned to look at where Arthur and Gawain stood, then shifted their gazes to Merlin. His heart pounded, making his head feel light at the look of understanding that Arthur wore. Tears filled the warlock’s eyes as his Prince awkwardly drew his sword with his off-hand, straining to pull his right one from its confinement.

“I’m sorry, Arthur,” he whispered, the betrayal on his friend’s face breaking his heart. “I have magic, yes. I am Magic — not just the label on the wall, but by nature of my birth.”

“You’re a sorcerer!” Leon exclaimed, furious and hurt.

“I’m a Warlock, there’s a difference!” Merlin cried. “I was born this way! I didn’t choose it!” He turned back to the Prince. “I only use it for you, Arthur! Since the day I met you I have been loyal to you, even in the beginning when I didn’t always want to. Everything I have done since then was for you, to protect you, to aid you, to help you build your kingdom and become the great Prince you are destined to be.” The tears in his eyes spilled down his cheeks slowly. “My destiny is to serve you, Arthur; and I am honored to serve you until the day I die.”

He ignored the voices of his (once?) friends as he touched the space on the Magic block. Arthur, separated from him only by the space of Servitude, raised his sword, but Merlin ignored him, tilting his head back to revel in the sharp slices of ice striking his face, the tiny cuts stinging like the pain in his heart. He welcomed the small wounds as only the beginning of the price he must pay for his birth.

The ice settled, the golden glow enveloped them all…and then the entire wall shuddered, splitting into three pieces that left Merlin alone, divided from them, in the center. The two side pieces with the knights and Arthur turned inward, spinning slowly around so that the six of them were facing the bright light and warm air of Camelot’s woods in summer — and Merlin was nowhere to be seen, the space in the middle merely a stretch of grassy earth on the side of a small hill.

Chapter 2: Actions and Intentions

Notes:

Updated for accuracy-Arthur is prince, not king.

Merlin slid down the stone wall, his hand coming free from the block as the grass of the ground outside settled into place where his friends had been. The floor released his feet, but the golden glow remained, blanketing him in a warm light that brought no heat to his cold skin. He curled in on himself, pressing his head to his knees, both thankful that he was alone and away from Arthur, and devastated at the loss of his Prince, his Destiny…his Friend.

The golden light…wiggled, dancing out of the stone and hovering gently above Merlin’s head as though trying to attract his attention. Sniffling, he looked up, watching as the glow moved closer, hanging right before his eyes, as close as it could be without sending him cross-eyed.

You are sad. I thought you didn’t want to go with them? The golden one drew his sword on you.

Merlin gaped.

You’re alive? You can talk?

I am Magic, came the reply. I am with you in all your forms, Emrys. I am of you, as you are me.

I am so confused.

You are young.

And you should not have kept him.

Authority, you didn’t even have anybody you could keep, so leave it alone. They would’ve killed him, did you see!

He wasn’t going to hurt him! He was just upset!

Nobody asked you, Courage.

You broke the rules, Magic.

Existing is breaking the rules, for Emrys!

Guys! Merlin wrapped his fingers around his head, digging into his hair as the voices swirled around in his brain, their associated lights flashing in time to their speech. You’ve got to stop, you’re giving me a headache, and I can’t concentrate. If I’m not supposed to be here, let me leave.

You cannot. We can only open the wall if the riddle is solved, and the riddle has been solved for you. The wall may not be reset while you remain.

Merlin groaned, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, thinking.

Just because we can’t let you out, doesn’t mean you can’t leave, Emrys.

Of course, the warlock thought. Just because he’d gotten in didn’t mean they’d let him in either. Now that no one was watching — not that it mattered at this point — he could go out the way he’d come in.

*****

“Merlin!” Arthur cried, reaching for the grassy patch between the stones, paying no attention to the fact that his hand and feet were free. Lancelot intercepted him, catching his wrist with one hand, the other settling onto the hilt of his sword.

“What in Hell? Lancelot, let me go! We have to find Merlin!”

“And what will you do then, Sire?” the knight replied quietly. “For I will not stand idly by while you execute him for having been born.”

Arthur pulled up short, his jaw hanging a bit slack as Gawain moved to stand by Lancelot, hand near his sword as well.

“Nor will I,” he declared.

Leon stood firmly beside Arthur, though he looked torn, and Elyan fidgeted uncomfortably with Percival off to one side a bit, uncertain of where their loyalties stood. For though they all would die for Arthur, they would die for Merlin as well — and no one felt threatened by him because of his magic. Indeed, they all began to realize just how many of their lucky escapes and unexpected victories were likely caused by the manservant, and though the sting of being lied to hung in their hearts, it was overshadowed by the concern for that same individual not being by their side.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do, Lancelot,” Arthur said heavily, sheathing his sword. “I can tell you I won’t kill him on the spot as soon as we find him, however.”

Lancelot searched his face warily for a moment or two before releasing his hand and stepping back. “Then let’s find him,” he said.

Arthur nodded, and the tension among them eased, for the most part.

—and then the dragon dove into the forest, creating a clearing by shattering the trees in its path.

*****

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

The sound rippled through the cave, bouncing off the fallen rocks at the entrance as Merlin shifted them aside with a wave of his hand, his magic racing through his veins in a fiery wave that lit his eyes with gold.

The rumbling of the stones faded, only to be followed by the slow thump of Kilgharrah’s wings as he sped toward the warlock, knocking aside trees as he landed before his friend.

“Why do you summon me, Young Warlock?” he queried, his mellow voice layered with confusion and concern. “This is not our usual place of meeting, nor the usual time.”

Shouts erupted from not far away, on the other side of the hill that rose above the cave entrance.

“Please, Kilgahrrah, take me away from here,” Merlin begged. “I will explain, but there’s no time!”

The dragon paused, bending his head as though to let Merlin climb upon his neck, but Arthur and the knights burst through the trees at the edge of the sudden clearing, swords bared and voices raised in a chorus of battle-cries. Kilgahrrah lifted off with a massive thrust of his wings, catching Merlin gently in his claws as he rose into the air, leaving the manservant’s erstwhile friends behind.

Merlin held on tightly, hiding his face from the wind as he wept, knowing that those swords had been raised not to defend him against the dragon, but to defend against the warlock and the dragon he had summoned to his side.

*****

Expletives burst from Arthur’s mouth as the Great Dragon flew away, Merlin a helpless bundle in its grasp. The younger man didn’t move or struggle, and Arthur worried that the beast had killed him in its grip.

Gawain swore as well, tossing his sword on the ground. Lancelot was crestfallen, and the other knights merely watched the sky in shock.

“Now what!?” Gawain fumed, throwing his arms up in the air.

“We go back to Camelot,” Arthur said. He held up a hand to forestall argument from the others. “We can’t follow a dragon, horses or no. There’s nothing else to do but head back and…and figure out something to do.”

Dread hanging in his chest, he neglected to mention that those plans might include preparing to defend Camelot against a vengeful Merlin — because no matter how it had happened, the manservant/warlock had been left behind, and magic users had never taken kindly to anything they viewed as betrayal.

Chapter 3: Destiny

The cuts on his face stung.

Merlin sniffled and wiped at his face, the salt of his tears whipping each tiny wound into a bright burn of pain.

Pain he deserved, he thought as he scrubbed the dampness deeper into his cheeks, his hands coming away tinged pink with dilute blood.

The warm, scaly abdomen he lay against rumbled as Kilgharrah inhaled, and then the dragon's head was snaking around to examine him.

“You are injured, young warlock.”

“It's nothing.” Another sniff.

“It is always something, when one goes out of his way to cause himself pain.” Huge eyes blinked sadly at Merlin, and then warm breath was surrounding him, soothing his chilled bones, easing the burning of his skin, calming the ache of his heart.

A fresh tear slipped down Merlin's cheek, and it did not sting. The cuts were gone.

“Thanks,” the warlock said. “You didn't need to do that.”

“Ah, but I did.”

Merlin dropped his head back, staring up at the clear night sky.

“Is this where you stay?” He asked the dragon, examining the jagged peak of the mountain towering above him, and the cold grey ledge nestled into the cliffside.

“It is a fair place. There were many places like this, once. Some remain, up high as this one, and a few lower down, where the air is warm. One of my kin made his weyr in a hill covered with wildflowers, and played games with the villagers who lived nearby. But that was long ago.”

“His weyr?”

“A weyr is where a dragon lives, young warlock. Reptilian we may be, but our souls we find kindred with the birds – we sleep best under the open arms of the sky.”

Merlin nodded, thinking of the window in his room, the whole of Camelot lain out beneath him, stars glittering in the evening blue.

“Young warlocks sleep best in their beds,” Kilgharrah rumbled after a moment.

“I can't go back. You saw them, swords drawn, screaming battle-cries. I'm a sorcerer, and they know it now.”

“You are a warlock, and there is a difference,” the dragon huffed. “Besides, the half cannot truly hate that which makes it whole.”

“You're wrong.” Merlin's voice shook. “You should've seen his face in that cave. The look of betrayal...even if magic wasn't against the law, I doubt he'd ever speak to me again.”

“He needs you.”

“It doesn't matter. He'll kill me if I go back.”

Wind ripped through the mountains, whipping Merlin's hair about, tearing his kerchief from his neck. He curled into himself, tucking his face into his knees as he pulled them to his chest, squeezing his chilled fingers into fists. Kilgharrah wrapped tighter around him, extending one great wing to cover the young man, but even surrounded by the dragon's innately fire-warmed scales and shielded from the brunt of the wind, Merlin couldn't get warm.

“You cannot stay here.” Kilgharrah sighed into the cavern he'd created around the warlock, warming the air with his magic and his breath, and the tinge of blue around Merlin's lips and fingers faded away. “I cannot warm you indefinitely.”

“Where should I go? Not Ealdor; I am in service to Arthur, or I was, and he never dismissed me. Technically, I'm a criminal now. He could easily cross the border into Essetir for that – not that Prince Lot would even care. Maybe to one of the other kingdoms, one where magic isn't banned? Not that it's a terribly common practice anymore, not in the open. The druids might take me, I suppose, but what could I contribute to them?”

“You are Emrys; with a word, you could rule the druids. They will accept you, even though it is not where your destiny guides you.”

Merlin looked at Kilgharrah, searching the eyes that hovered just inches from his head.

Do not send me back to Arthur; tell me where I should go instead, he said in the dragon-tongue. The eyes blinked slowly, almost sadly, and the Great Dragon spoke in the most solemn voice the Warlock had ever heard.

If you have a Destiny, it is with Arthur. If there is such a thing as a second-best destiny, it is to lead the Druids and help them become the people they were in the time of the Old Religion.

“Take me to the Druids."

 

Notes:

Chapters updated: Arthur is prince, not king. Timeline fixed.

Chapter 4: Here There be Dragons

The door to the council chamber burst open, the heavy wood slamming into the stone wall before the guard could catch it and prevent. Everyone startled, chairs scraping as several rose to their feet, including Arthur who hurried to the other side of the roundtable.

"My Lord," the messenger gasped, kneeling before him, his perspiring face flushed red and chest heaving, "we have received reports of a dragon in the forest of Essetir."

The Prince's blue eyes grew wide, meeting Leon's where he half-stood across the table.  "Gather the knights," he said firmly.  The man left, hurrying to follow his lord's command. Arthur turned back to the messenger, raising the exhausted man with a hand under his arm. "Bring water and something to eat," he called to a servant as he guided the messenger to sit in one of the high-backed chairs.  "You must rest. You've done well." His voice was gentle, reassuring, and the messenger smiled grimly, glad to have pleased his Prince, but deeply concerned by his own news. "Now, tell me: has the dragon attacked anything? Has anyone been harmed?"

The man shook his head, still panting, sweat dripping from his shaggy brown hair into his eyes. "No, Sire. It has scared several small villages in and surrounding the forest by being there, but there have been no reports of any injuries or damaged property."  The messenger paused, catching his breath, and then spoke again. "It is massive, Sire. Larger than any two houses together. More, even."

"Strange." Arthur glanced up at Agravaine. "Dragons are not generally known for their restraint, Sire," his uncle continued, his scowl nearly as dark as his robes and hair. The Prince had requested his uncle join the council after the King's decline, having felt uncomfortable with what he felt was a usurping of his father's throne. Agravaine had proven to be invaluable in the past months, offering wisdom and advice, though his mood was generally dour.

"No....they are not." Arthur frowned as well, deep in thought.

The chamber doors opened again, though less aggressively this time, and several knights entered, Leon, Percival, and Lancelot among them.

"As many knights and footsoldiers as we can spare are readying for battle, Sire," the First Knight said.

"Good, thank you, Leon." Arthur paused, folding his arms across his chest and stepping away from the messenger, leaving the exhausted man to gulp at the water being offered to him by one of the servants. "Lancelot, I need to ask you something, but before I do, I need you to swear to me that you will answer honestly."  The knight's brow furrowed, but he nodded, shoulders drawn back and head held high. 

"You have my word, Sire," he replied solemnly, meeting his Prince's eyes. Arthur took a deep breath, uncertain if he was prepared for the answer he was about to receive.

"Merlin has magic. You knew this before, we know this now. Tell me; as far as you are aware, is Merlin able to control or influence dragons?"

Lancelot looked down for a moment, thinking, and then raised his eyes to the Prince sadly.

"This is not something that ever came up between us directly, My Lord," he said, "but we spoke once of family, and he told me his father was a good man, but a lonely one. This man had left Merlin's mother behind, not knowing she was with child, to protect her from the wrath of a powerful lord who was pursuing him. Merlin only met him once, when he sacrificed himself to save Merlin's life and died in his arms."

Arthur squeezed the bridge of his nose, his elbow resting on his other arm where it folded across his body, having a distinctly uneasy feeling that he knew where this story was headed.

"What does this have to do with anything?" Agravaine scolded. "Arthur, we need to be dealing with the dragon, not listening to sad tales of a wanted sorcerer's father."

The Prince raised a hand, bringing the tirade to a halt, and Agravaine shifted from his standard pose of eternally-folded arms to toss his hands in the air in frustration.

"Continue, Lancelot."

"You yourself, Sire, told me once of the Great Dragon's attack on Camelot the year after I first came, and your search for the Dragonlord to end it.  You told me how you found the man, alone in a cave; how Merlin was the one who convinced him to come with you. How he died saving Merlin's life." the knight paused. "How Merlin cried as the last of the dragonlords died in his arms."

The tension in the room was palpable, the silence so thick it stuck to everyone's skin, holding them in place.  It was Gaius who spoke first, his soft voice easing the pressure.

"A dragonlord's power is passed on from father to son at the moment of his passing," he said. "Sire, if it is as Lancelot indicates, and Balinor was Merlin's father, then Merlin is indeed a dragonlord, and the Great Dragon is likely not dead, as you believed, but was sent away by Merlin when you returned from your quest, and is under his control at this time."

"Then we must kill Merlin," Agravaine said simply, turning to Leon and waving his hand. "Take the men, and--"

"Really, Agravaine, if he can control a dragon, I doubt we'll be able to simply kill him. We lost scores of men the last time the Great Dragon attacked, and that was with Merlin following me around not using any overt magic at all. Now that the secret's out, do you really think he'll quietly sit there and allow himself to be slaughtered?"  Arthur's voice grew louder as he spoke, his agitation increasing. "For that matter, when have we managed to catch and execute a sorcerer at all? Beyond the odd person caught with an enchanted bauble or magical remedy here and there, all the sorcerers we've run into have managed to elude us -- and wouldn't I be unsurprised if Merlin was behind half of it!"  He calmed slowly, switching from aggravated gesticulation to sitting down at the round table with a heavy sigh, dropping his head into his hands.

 "My lord?" Arthur looked up at the hesitant voice of the messenger, who stood once more, his face still pink but the sweat no longer streaming down it and his breathing having come back to a normal rhythm. 

"What is it?" The Prince said with a heavy sigh.

"The reports with the most numerous sightings of the dragon are also in areas where we believe Druids to be hiding," the man said. "I know it is not my place to advise the Council, but perhaps if you were to send someone to speak with them, they may have more information." He hesitated, then squared his shoulders and said courageously, if with some fear, "I would be willing to volunteer, Sire."

Arthur stared at him for a moment, jaw just barely dropped, and then he turned to Agravaine. 

"Remind me, Uncle, to have a simple man with no fancy titles assigned to the Council. One who can see simple solutions where his Prince obviously cannot." He turned back to the messenger. "Thank you, ah....?"

"Royce, Sire."

"Thank you, Royce; you are brave to volunteer. If you have nothing further to add, you may go." Royce hesitated, shifting his weight slightly from one foot to the other, and opened his mouth slightly as though trying to decide if he should respond, or leave.

"What is it?" The Prince asked.

"A simple perspective, from a simple man, Sire." He paused, weighing his words. "When we found out Merlin has magic...For nearly thirty years, we in Camelot have heard of the evils of magic. The time leading up to the Purge, the Purge itself, and the years after, each with at least one burning or beheading to speak of. But in the lower town, hearing that Merlin was a sorcerer...this didn't concern most of us. All men have their naysayers, it is true, and there are those, but most of us heard the word without fear for the first time in many, many years -- for some, the first time in all our lives." His eyes slid from a point somewhere in the center of the table to meet those of his Prince directly, ignoring the deepening scowl on Agravaine's face and the various displeased looks of the Councilmembers surrounding him. "Some of us remember when magic was thought of as a tool to be used for good or ill, not a weapon able to do nothing but destroy. Even those of us who are too young to remember, Sire, do not find Merlin's magic to be a thing we should fear; no man as selfless, genuine, and happy as Merlin could be evil."

The messenger bowed his head, waiting for Arthur to reply. Agravaine stepped toward him expression thunderous, ready to summon the guard to drag him off -- but Arthur waved him away.

"Thank you, Royce. I find myself again considering placing one such as you in my Council; knowing the hearts and minds of my people is vital to ruling them well. You may go."

Royce bowed deeply and left the room, his relieved sigh echoing in the hall outside the door. 

"Arthur, he sympathizes with sorcerers! He must be arrested!" The man was livid, voice raised in a shout, hand pointing after the departed messenger.

"Agravaine, he's done nothing wrong. And I must know what the people are thinking if I am to be a good leader." The Prince faced off with his uncle, steadfast and struggling to remain calm. 

"Your father is still the king, Arthur! You cannot simply ignore his laws because he is ill and you do not like them!" Arthur's calm broke.

"Enough!" He shouted angrily, swiping the flat of his hand through the air between them, cutting Agravain off mid-rant. "Leave us," he said to the rest of the Council, angry eyes fixed on his uncle. He broke the stare for a moment to glance at Leon. "I will meet you in the armory once I am done here; I will meet with the Druids and see what they may have to say about Melin and this dragon." Leon bowed as he left the room with the others, but Arthur took no notice, his glare returned to Agravaine as the guards pulled the heavy doors shut with a dull thump.

"Arthur this is madness," Agravaine began as soon as they were alone.

"I said enough!" Arthur's face was red with fury. "I will hear no more of this, Uncle. Until the king recovers, I rule Camelot. I have refrained from claiming Regentship because I have faith he will recover, but in the meantime, I expect you to behave as a man should before his Crown Prince, not scold me as you would a naughty child!"

Agravaine stepped toward him, hands outstretched placatingly.

"Now, Arthur, you know that wasn't my intention. I only want what is best for you and the kingdom. The peasantry doesn't know just how hard we've worked, you've worked, to keep them safe from the evils of magic, and so they don't understand just how insidious it is." His voice was calm, soothing, gentle as he reached out and grasped the Prince by his shoulder.

"Agravaine, I appreciate what you do for Camelot, and for me. But in the future, you will keep any such strong disagreements with me and my decisions private, not air them before the council."

"Yes, My Lord, of course," the noble replied, nodding solemnly, his dark hair sliding over his face. Arthur reached up and put a hand over the one grasping his shoulder.

"I have seen things over the years, Uncle. And now I know that many of those things I have seen accomplished were done by a sorcerer who can command dragons, and yet worked himself ragged as my servant for years without asking anything of me or working against me. Merlin saved my life so many times without magic, I can only imagine how many times he used it to do the same." Arthur took a deep breath and shrugged off Agravaine's hand, making his way to the door. Before he opened it, hand resting on the wood, he turned back, looking at his uncle over his shoulder. "If I am wrong in the choices I make, if my father returns to himself and takes up his crown again, I will welcome any judgment he passes upon me for the joy of having him returned. Until such a time, I must rule as best as I can with what information I have -- and all tales tell me that whatever is happening with Merlin, it does not currently include the immenent destruction of all we hold dear."

"Of course, My Lord," Agravaine replied compliantly, bowing deeply to the Prince as he followed Arthur out of the Council chambers. "Of course."

 

 

Notes:

Inspired by a short fanfiction I read where Merlin introduced Lancelot to Kilgarragh (who called him Nobility), and I can't find it again, so if you know it or wrote it, let me know so I can tag/gift this!