Part 28: link
reyna Guinevere’s birthday
“Happy birthday, Love,” Arthur whispers into Guinevere’s ear, halik it softly. Gwen scrunches in her sleep, not wanting to wake yet.
“Go away,” she mumbles, pulling the blanket over her head.
“But I have a gift for you,” he says, pulling her closer, into the bilog of his arms.
“You gave me that last night. Twice,” she says.
He laughs. “Not that. Well, I mean, unless…”
“Arthur.”
“Honestly. Your first birthday gift is waiting for you.”
She flops the bedcovers back and looks at him. Arthur is grinning and immediately leans in to halik her before she can protest again. He starts out softly, only intending to persuade her to wake up, but she melts into him, halik back, her body responding to his touch and his kiss, and he cannot help but deepen the kiss, pulling her over him and teasing her lips apart with his tongue.
“Whoa,” he gasps, breaking away suddenly, remembering himself. “Sorry, got carried away,” he says taking a deep breath while she giggles at him.
He rolls to the side, depositing her back on the mattress, and smacks her backside playfully. “Get up and put something on.”
“Yes, Sire,” she says saucily, swinging her feet down to the floor and reaching for her dressing gown.
“So?” she asks, looking around.
“One minute,” Arthur says, taking her hand. “All right, Merlin,” he calls, and the door opens. Merlin and Elyan enter the chambers, carrying a beautiful cushioned chaise between them, upholstered in Pendragon red to match the room.
“Oh, Arthur, it’s lovely,” Gwen sighs, watching as the two men carry it to the window. The window that Gwen had begun to think of as the forbidden window.
“That’s just a small part, Love,” Arthur says. “Merlin, the window, if you please?”
Merlin nods, and as Arthur reaches his hand out for Gwen to lead her to the chaise, he mutters a word and frees the window latch again.
“All set,” he declares, walking over with Elyan.
“Ah, so the mystery will be revealed at last,” she says, looking sideways at Merlin, who at least has the decency to blush.
“Open it,” Arthur says. He’s like a little boy, Gwen thinks with a smile as she reaches for the window, which now pulls easily open.
She looks out, and sees that the green field that she normally admires has been planted over with flowers. “Oh…” she gasps, gazing down at the mosaik of purples and whites and yellows blowing gently in the breeze.
“Elyan helped. This is from both of us, actually,” Arthur says, indicating his brother-in-law.
She stands and hugs her brother. “Thank you,” she says, halik his cheek.
“And there’s more,” Elyan says. “I told Arthur how much you liked to grow things yourself, too, so—”
“I get my own garden?” Gwen guesses, looking at Arthur, who nods, smiling. “Oh!” she hugs Elyan one madami time and then tackles her husband, still sitting on the bench.
“Oof!” Arthur exclaims, his arms coming around her. He laughs as she squeezes him and peppers his face with kisses.
“I guess you were right, Elyan,” Arthur laughs.
“Thank you, Arthur,” Gwen settles down and kisses him sweetly, his face between her hands.
Arthur glances out the window. “Hmm,” he frowns.
“What’s wrong?” Gwen asks.
“Flowers. Not blooming enough.”
“Not blooming enough?” Gwen repeats, looking at him incredulously.
“Merlin? Can you, ah, help us out, here? That field should be a lot prettier for my lovely queen.”
Merlin steps pasulong and peers out the window. “Hmm. That’s a tough one, that is. Making bulaklak bloom, I don’t know if I can handle that complex…”
“Merlin.”
Merlin clears his throat, extends his hand out towards the field, and says, “Blósma.” Bloom.
As they watch, the mga kulay already present in the field increase and brighten as budding bulaklak burst forth into bloom and fading ones revive to sumali their already fully-blooming brothers and sisters. A gentle breeze sweeps across the field and the bulaklak sway as if a giant hand is brushing across them.
Gwen turns from the window, smiling broadly, eyes misted. She kisses Elyan’s and Merlin’s cheeks, then Arthur, throwing his arms around his neck.
The courtyard has been turned into a carnival. There are pagkain stands and entertainers, bulaklak are everywhere and children are running underfoot. The gates are wide open so that all may sumali the festivities.
Arthur and Gwen stroll the courtyard together, smiling at their subjects. One of the pages is trailing behind them, collecting gifts ibingiay to the queen.
“Thank you, Wilhelmina,” Gwen says, receiving a bunch of bulaklak from the blacksmith’s wife. “Oh, and the tinapay was delicious, sa pamamagitan ng the way.”
The woman blushes. “Thank you, my lady,” she says, bobbing to her before turning to yell at her children to stop bothering the apoy eater.
Gwen laughs, and squeezes Arthur’s arm. She waves at Merlin, who is watching a magician keenly, smirking all the while. Merlin waves back and turns back to watch the magician some more. Tricks and sleight-of-hand only, he thinks, pushing away thoughts of causing mischief.
“Don’t even think about it, wizard,” Arthur mutters into his ear as he and Gwen pass behind him.
“What? I wasn’t…” he protests, but Arthur is walking away, laughing.
They pause to watch some minstrels playing a merry tune, and a man dressed as a jester bows theatrically before Gwen, offering his hand. She laughs and takes it, attempting to dance with the man, but he continually and intentionally misses the steps, falling over himself, kicking his feet high in the air, collapsing onto onlookers who catch him and throw him back in. Guinevere gives up trying to dance and instead claps her hands to the music with the rest of the crowd, laughing happily.
“Excellent party, Arthur,” Gwaine says, sidling up to the king, dented mug in hand.
“Thank you, Gwaine, I trust you find the mead to your liking?”
He hoists his mug in salute. “Always.” He takes a long pull, and then the minstrels start another song. “Hold this.” Gwaine thrusts his cup at Arthur, wipes his mouth on the back of his sleeve, and struts up to Gwen.
“My lady, a dance, if you please?” he bows to her, offering his hand.
“Of course, good sir,” she gives her hand, which he kisses, and they begin the dance.
“He actually dances quite well,” Arthur says to Percival, who has wandered over.
“He’s had just the right amount of drink,” the knight observes.
“What’s that?”
“Not enough, and he’s just terrible. Too much, and he’s clumsy and, um, grabby. If you take my meaning.”
“I do.”
“Somewhere in the middle he can actually dance,” Percival laughs. He lifts a chicken leg to his lips and takes a bite.
Arthur watches Gwen, enjoying watching her graceful steps, actually content to let Gwaine dance with her. Glancing up at Percival, he asks, “How many chickens gave their lives in honor of the queen’s birthday, do you think?”
Percival chuckles and shrugs. “More than a few, my lord. This is leg number four for me, so there are at least two out there that can no longer walk, at the very least.”
Arthur laughs at this, slapping Percival on the back.
Suddenly there is a shriek from the sky. It sounds vaguely hawk-like, but louder, madami sinister, echoing through the air.
An immense black bird swoops down into the courtyard, disrupting the entertainment. Everyone scatters away from it, running for cover and yelling for loved ones.
It perches on tuktok of a platform, jerkily turning its head this way and that in the way that birds have. Searching the crowd. Looking for someone.
Knights and guards draw swords, and some scramble for crossbows. Arthur holds his hand up. No man moves until he gives his say. At the moment, he just wants to see, take its measure, find out why it is here.
Eyes not leaving the bird, he says quietly, “Guinevere?”
“She’s behind me, Sire,” Percival’s voice a short distance behind him.
“Thank you.”
Gwaine, in fact, shoved Gwen behind Percival. He is now standing guard on one side of her. Elyan had rushed to her other side as soon as he saw Gwaine’s actions.
Arthur steps slowly towards the bird. Vaguely he realizes that Merlin is right beside him.
“What is it?” he asks Merlin.
“It’s a Blackfeather.”
“What is it doing here?”
“I don’t know. They’re very rare, and very nasty. So I hear.”
Arthur raises an eyebrow at him.
The bird fixes Arthur in its beady stare. “Arthur Pendragon,” it says, its voice hollow and eerie.
Arthur stops walking. “What do you wish of me, Bird?”
“It is not I who wish anything. I am merely a messenger.”
“Who’s message do you bring?”
“Whom do you think?” it asks cryptically, angling its great head.
“Morgana,” Arthur answers, reaching his hand slowly down for his sword.
“Do not bother with your trinket there, King. It will do you no good.”
Merlin’s eyes drift down and he sees that Arthur is wearing Excalibur today. He bites back a smile. That’s what you think, Bird.
Arthur drops his hand. “What is your message?”
“The Lady wishes you to know that she knows you gather allies around you, and they will do you no good. Her powers grow stronger every day, and she has a new, very powerful ally of her own.”
“If you’re talking about Lord Roderick…”
“I am not. That particular pawn has outlived his usefulness and has been disposed of. Do not presume to think you can trick me into giving away any information, King.”
“Indeed,” Arthur says coolly.
“The Lady also wishes you to know that the child your reyna carries is not safe. Do not be so foolish as to think that she will be merciful on an infant.”
Again, you are mistaken, Bird, Merlin thinks again.
“I see,” Arthur sagot noncommittally, ignoring the surprised gasps from the crowd around them. So much for keeping it a secret.
He glances sideways at Merlin. How do we get rid of this thing? Merlin nods very slightly.
“Is that all, Bird? I grow weary of your disruption,” Arthur tries a new tactic. He’s tired of playing nice.
The bird lifts its beak, straightening up, and looks around. “Where is your queen?”
“She is around somewhere. You need only deal with me.” He steps forward.
The bird squawks derisively, then cocks its head to the side again, as if having a thought.
Merlin mutters under his breath, hoping no one is paying him any attention.
“I think I should like something to eat…” it turns its head, surveying the crowd, looking at the people hiding behind the temporary structures, mothers hiding their children behind their skirts, the knights standing, fully alert yet apparently helpless. “Some lovely fat children might be a nice—”
The blackfeather’s words are cut off sa pamamagitan ng another sound. A terrifying sound to most of Camelot.
Dragon wings cutting through the air.
“What now?” Arthur yells, making a beeline for Percival and Guinevere. “Merlin!” he yells.
Merlin stands perfectly still, the only motionless figure in the chaotic courtyard as Kilgarrah swoops down, plucks the blackfeather up in its talons, nods ever so briefly at Merlin, and flies off.
They hear the dragon flap away. A few segundos later the people of Camelot hear the blackfeather shriek, but its cry is cut gruesomely short.
Merlin turns and looks at Arthur, who is striding toward him. “You have got some serious explaining to do,” he snaps at the wizard, his face stony.
“Arthur,” Merlin says calmly, “later. Announce to the people that the celebration is to continue. We will not be disturbed again.” He holds the king’s gaze until Gwen steps pasulong and places her hand on Arthur’s elbow.
“It’s all right, Arthur. We’ll talk about it later. This is a happy day,” Gwen says quietly.
They watch as Arthur’s glare softens. The muscles in his jaw twitches a few times as he clenches his teeth.
He looks around; everyone is watching him; waiting for his word. He takes a deep breath and hops up on the platform recently vacated sa pamamagitan ng the blackfeather.
“The queen’s birthday celebration is to continue. I can assure you that there will be no further disruptions,” he says, glancing quickly at Merlin, who nods again. “Minstrels, something happy, if you please,” he says, waving his hand at them. They slowly raise their instruments and begin to play as Arthur hops down and returns to Gwen.
They resume their circuit of the courtyard and gradually the people come out of their hiding places. Gwaine finds his discarded mug, upset in the commotion. He swings his arm around Elyan’s shoulders and half drags him along with him to get his mug refilled.
Merlin is sitting on the steps of the palace, overlooking the now-empty courtyard. It is late; the feast is over. Arthur has hardly spoken to him since the dragon appeared. I’m not worried, though. He’s not Uther. I have to trust him, just as he has to trust me. That’s the only way we’ll get anything accomplished.
“Merlin.” Arthur’s voice drifts down to him.
“Arthur,” Merlin replies, not turning around.
“That was the great dragon.” He sits beside Merlin on the step.
“Yes.”
“The one you told me I killed.”
“Yes.”
“I presume that this is one of those tidbits of information that you felt I wasn’t ready to know about before?”
“Yes.”
“Care to explain?”
“You didn’t kill him.”
“Obviously.”
“I sent him away.”
“And you expected him to respect that? To obey you?”
“Arthur, perhaps it escaped your attention that the dragon helped us today,” he says, turning to look at the king.
“It did not go unnoticed. And that is the only reason why I’m not shouting at you right now.”
Merlin sighs. “Arthur, you remember Balinor, the dragonlord?”
“Of course.”
“He was the last one. Was. Now it’s me.”
“You are a dragonlord?”
“Yes. So when I ordered Kilgarrah away that night, he had no choice but to obey me.”
“So… how did you get to be a dragonlord?” Arthur’s brows knit in confusion. “Did Balinor… give the power to you just before he died? Did he know you had magic?”
Merlin looks down, the memory still painful. “In a way. The powers of the dragonlord are passed down. From father to son.”
Arthur looks at Merlin. “Balinor was your father?”
Merlin nods, still looking down, surreptitiously wiping a tear from his eye. “I only found out right before we went looking for him.”
“Did he know?”
“Not until I told him.”
“Whoa. I’m… I’m sorry, Merlin. Now I understand your tears…”
Merlin nods again; wipes his eyes again. “I didn’t become a dragonlord until he died. That is the only way. If I have a son one day, it will pass to him when I die.”
“And if not…?”
“Then I really am the last one.”
“So, then… you summoned him this afternoon?”
Merlin nods. “It seemed logical at the time. Got rid of that blasted bird. Showed you that the dragon is our ally. Made a point to Morgana.”
“Heh,” Arthur laughs dryly, once. “The dragon is our friend?”
“Yes. He’s helped us on madami than one occasion. You just never knew about it.”
“Example?”
“When Agravaine came and chased us out of Ealdor. Kilgarrah torched almost an entire battalion for us.”
“Did he kill Agravaine?”
“No. I did.”
“You?”
Merlin nods. “And a half-dozen of Helios’ men as well. In the caves. When I left you.”
Arthur is stunned. He knew that Agravaine had been killed, but did not have the details. Merlin did it. Okay, I have to know.
“Merlin, exactly how powerful are you?” Arthur asks.
Merlin finally looks up, and sniffles. “You know, I don’t know. Seeing as how I’ve not been really allowed to use my powers, I haven’t had much opportunity to test them.”
“True,” Arthur allows with a slight nod.
“I know one thing. As I age, as I learn, my powers grow. Even from the time when I first arrived here I’ve noticed a difference. You see, some people have to study magic, learn how to wield it. Like Gaius. He studied. Some people have magic lying dormant within them, manifesting at some point in their lives, like Morgana. Or sometimes not at all. And some people are born with it and can wield it from araw one.”
“Like you.”
“Like me. It’s just there, waiting at my beck and call.” He glances up at a nearby torch that is floundering, its flame dying. Arthur follows his gaze, and with hardly an effort, Merlin’s eyes flash and the torch springs back to life, the flame bright and hot.
“Five years nakaraan that would have taken effort,” Merlin says.
Arthur stares.
“From what Kilgarrah – that’s the dragon’s name – has told me, I would surmise that I am indeed quite powerful.”
“Okay,” Arthur says, a little uneasy now.
“I mean, I threw Agravaine and about six other men across that cavern, and I hardly even broke a sweat,” he muses.
“Merlin…”
“It did take two blows to get Agravaine permanently down, though…”
“Merlin!”
“What?”
“Enough! You’re making me nervous!” Arthur says, irritated with himself.
Merlin laughs. “Arthur, I’m still the same person.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I am. Promise. I may not be the bumbling servant with a tendency to prattle on any more, but I’m still me. I’m still your friend. I always will be.”
Arthur puts his hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “I know. Still adjusting.”
“How’s Gwen?”
“Exhausted. Once the bird let the cat out of the bag—”
Merlin guffaws at this, and Arthur cannot help but laugh as well.
“About the baby,” he continues, “the birthday celebration took a turn and everyone wanted to congratulate us and wish us well. Guinevere nearly fell asleep on my arm walking up to our chambers.”
“She’ll be able to sleep tomorrow. You won’t be waking her up again.”
“No, and neither will you, understand?”
Merlin nods. Perhaps I can have a bit of a lie-in myself.
“I’ve sent for a new servant for you,” Merlin says.
“Sent for? From where?”
“Ealdor.”
“Relative of yours?” he asks raising an eyebrow suspiciously.
Merlin laughs. “No. A young man I met while I was visiting Mum. Seemed eager to spread his wings and get out of Ealdor. Was keen on hearing about Camelot.”
“George will be crushed.”
Merlin laughs again. “He’ll get over it.”
“And you?” Arthur says, teasing him.
“I’m already over it.”
The two men sit quietly on the steps, watching as a few wilted bulaklak blossoms left from the carnival blow across the stones.
“He wants to meet you,” Merlin says suddenly.
“The new servant? Of course.”
“No, not him. The dragon.”
Part 30: link
reyna Guinevere’s birthday
“Happy birthday, Love,” Arthur whispers into Guinevere’s ear, halik it softly. Gwen scrunches in her sleep, not wanting to wake yet.
“Go away,” she mumbles, pulling the blanket over her head.
“But I have a gift for you,” he says, pulling her closer, into the bilog of his arms.
“You gave me that last night. Twice,” she says.
He laughs. “Not that. Well, I mean, unless…”
“Arthur.”
“Honestly. Your first birthday gift is waiting for you.”
She flops the bedcovers back and looks at him. Arthur is grinning and immediately leans in to halik her before she can protest again. He starts out softly, only intending to persuade her to wake up, but she melts into him, halik back, her body responding to his touch and his kiss, and he cannot help but deepen the kiss, pulling her over him and teasing her lips apart with his tongue.
“Whoa,” he gasps, breaking away suddenly, remembering himself. “Sorry, got carried away,” he says taking a deep breath while she giggles at him.
He rolls to the side, depositing her back on the mattress, and smacks her backside playfully. “Get up and put something on.”
“Yes, Sire,” she says saucily, swinging her feet down to the floor and reaching for her dressing gown.
“So?” she asks, looking around.
“One minute,” Arthur says, taking her hand. “All right, Merlin,” he calls, and the door opens. Merlin and Elyan enter the chambers, carrying a beautiful cushioned chaise between them, upholstered in Pendragon red to match the room.
“Oh, Arthur, it’s lovely,” Gwen sighs, watching as the two men carry it to the window. The window that Gwen had begun to think of as the forbidden window.
“That’s just a small part, Love,” Arthur says. “Merlin, the window, if you please?”
Merlin nods, and as Arthur reaches his hand out for Gwen to lead her to the chaise, he mutters a word and frees the window latch again.
“All set,” he declares, walking over with Elyan.
“Ah, so the mystery will be revealed at last,” she says, looking sideways at Merlin, who at least has the decency to blush.
“Open it,” Arthur says. He’s like a little boy, Gwen thinks with a smile as she reaches for the window, which now pulls easily open.
She looks out, and sees that the green field that she normally admires has been planted over with flowers. “Oh…” she gasps, gazing down at the mosaik of purples and whites and yellows blowing gently in the breeze.
“Elyan helped. This is from both of us, actually,” Arthur says, indicating his brother-in-law.
She stands and hugs her brother. “Thank you,” she says, halik his cheek.
“And there’s more,” Elyan says. “I told Arthur how much you liked to grow things yourself, too, so—”
“I get my own garden?” Gwen guesses, looking at Arthur, who nods, smiling. “Oh!” she hugs Elyan one madami time and then tackles her husband, still sitting on the bench.
“Oof!” Arthur exclaims, his arms coming around her. He laughs as she squeezes him and peppers his face with kisses.
“I guess you were right, Elyan,” Arthur laughs.
“Thank you, Arthur,” Gwen settles down and kisses him sweetly, his face between her hands.
Arthur glances out the window. “Hmm,” he frowns.
“What’s wrong?” Gwen asks.
“Flowers. Not blooming enough.”
“Not blooming enough?” Gwen repeats, looking at him incredulously.
“Merlin? Can you, ah, help us out, here? That field should be a lot prettier for my lovely queen.”
Merlin steps pasulong and peers out the window. “Hmm. That’s a tough one, that is. Making bulaklak bloom, I don’t know if I can handle that complex…”
“Merlin.”
Merlin clears his throat, extends his hand out towards the field, and says, “Blósma.” Bloom.
As they watch, the mga kulay already present in the field increase and brighten as budding bulaklak burst forth into bloom and fading ones revive to sumali their already fully-blooming brothers and sisters. A gentle breeze sweeps across the field and the bulaklak sway as if a giant hand is brushing across them.
Gwen turns from the window, smiling broadly, eyes misted. She kisses Elyan’s and Merlin’s cheeks, then Arthur, throwing his arms around his neck.
The courtyard has been turned into a carnival. There are pagkain stands and entertainers, bulaklak are everywhere and children are running underfoot. The gates are wide open so that all may sumali the festivities.
Arthur and Gwen stroll the courtyard together, smiling at their subjects. One of the pages is trailing behind them, collecting gifts ibingiay to the queen.
“Thank you, Wilhelmina,” Gwen says, receiving a bunch of bulaklak from the blacksmith’s wife. “Oh, and the tinapay was delicious, sa pamamagitan ng the way.”
The woman blushes. “Thank you, my lady,” she says, bobbing to her before turning to yell at her children to stop bothering the apoy eater.
Gwen laughs, and squeezes Arthur’s arm. She waves at Merlin, who is watching a magician keenly, smirking all the while. Merlin waves back and turns back to watch the magician some more. Tricks and sleight-of-hand only, he thinks, pushing away thoughts of causing mischief.
“Don’t even think about it, wizard,” Arthur mutters into his ear as he and Gwen pass behind him.
“What? I wasn’t…” he protests, but Arthur is walking away, laughing.
They pause to watch some minstrels playing a merry tune, and a man dressed as a jester bows theatrically before Gwen, offering his hand. She laughs and takes it, attempting to dance with the man, but he continually and intentionally misses the steps, falling over himself, kicking his feet high in the air, collapsing onto onlookers who catch him and throw him back in. Guinevere gives up trying to dance and instead claps her hands to the music with the rest of the crowd, laughing happily.
“Excellent party, Arthur,” Gwaine says, sidling up to the king, dented mug in hand.
“Thank you, Gwaine, I trust you find the mead to your liking?”
He hoists his mug in salute. “Always.” He takes a long pull, and then the minstrels start another song. “Hold this.” Gwaine thrusts his cup at Arthur, wipes his mouth on the back of his sleeve, and struts up to Gwen.
“My lady, a dance, if you please?” he bows to her, offering his hand.
“Of course, good sir,” she gives her hand, which he kisses, and they begin the dance.
“He actually dances quite well,” Arthur says to Percival, who has wandered over.
“He’s had just the right amount of drink,” the knight observes.
“What’s that?”
“Not enough, and he’s just terrible. Too much, and he’s clumsy and, um, grabby. If you take my meaning.”
“I do.”
“Somewhere in the middle he can actually dance,” Percival laughs. He lifts a chicken leg to his lips and takes a bite.
Arthur watches Gwen, enjoying watching her graceful steps, actually content to let Gwaine dance with her. Glancing up at Percival, he asks, “How many chickens gave their lives in honor of the queen’s birthday, do you think?”
Percival chuckles and shrugs. “More than a few, my lord. This is leg number four for me, so there are at least two out there that can no longer walk, at the very least.”
Arthur laughs at this, slapping Percival on the back.
Suddenly there is a shriek from the sky. It sounds vaguely hawk-like, but louder, madami sinister, echoing through the air.
An immense black bird swoops down into the courtyard, disrupting the entertainment. Everyone scatters away from it, running for cover and yelling for loved ones.
It perches on tuktok of a platform, jerkily turning its head this way and that in the way that birds have. Searching the crowd. Looking for someone.
Knights and guards draw swords, and some scramble for crossbows. Arthur holds his hand up. No man moves until he gives his say. At the moment, he just wants to see, take its measure, find out why it is here.
Eyes not leaving the bird, he says quietly, “Guinevere?”
“She’s behind me, Sire,” Percival’s voice a short distance behind him.
“Thank you.”
Gwaine, in fact, shoved Gwen behind Percival. He is now standing guard on one side of her. Elyan had rushed to her other side as soon as he saw Gwaine’s actions.
Arthur steps slowly towards the bird. Vaguely he realizes that Merlin is right beside him.
“What is it?” he asks Merlin.
“It’s a Blackfeather.”
“What is it doing here?”
“I don’t know. They’re very rare, and very nasty. So I hear.”
Arthur raises an eyebrow at him.
The bird fixes Arthur in its beady stare. “Arthur Pendragon,” it says, its voice hollow and eerie.
Arthur stops walking. “What do you wish of me, Bird?”
“It is not I who wish anything. I am merely a messenger.”
“Who’s message do you bring?”
“Whom do you think?” it asks cryptically, angling its great head.
“Morgana,” Arthur answers, reaching his hand slowly down for his sword.
“Do not bother with your trinket there, King. It will do you no good.”
Merlin’s eyes drift down and he sees that Arthur is wearing Excalibur today. He bites back a smile. That’s what you think, Bird.
Arthur drops his hand. “What is your message?”
“The Lady wishes you to know that she knows you gather allies around you, and they will do you no good. Her powers grow stronger every day, and she has a new, very powerful ally of her own.”
“If you’re talking about Lord Roderick…”
“I am not. That particular pawn has outlived his usefulness and has been disposed of. Do not presume to think you can trick me into giving away any information, King.”
“Indeed,” Arthur says coolly.
“The Lady also wishes you to know that the child your reyna carries is not safe. Do not be so foolish as to think that she will be merciful on an infant.”
Again, you are mistaken, Bird, Merlin thinks again.
“I see,” Arthur sagot noncommittally, ignoring the surprised gasps from the crowd around them. So much for keeping it a secret.
He glances sideways at Merlin. How do we get rid of this thing? Merlin nods very slightly.
“Is that all, Bird? I grow weary of your disruption,” Arthur tries a new tactic. He’s tired of playing nice.
The bird lifts its beak, straightening up, and looks around. “Where is your queen?”
“She is around somewhere. You need only deal with me.” He steps forward.
The bird squawks derisively, then cocks its head to the side again, as if having a thought.
Merlin mutters under his breath, hoping no one is paying him any attention.
“I think I should like something to eat…” it turns its head, surveying the crowd, looking at the people hiding behind the temporary structures, mothers hiding their children behind their skirts, the knights standing, fully alert yet apparently helpless. “Some lovely fat children might be a nice—”
The blackfeather’s words are cut off sa pamamagitan ng another sound. A terrifying sound to most of Camelot.
Dragon wings cutting through the air.
“What now?” Arthur yells, making a beeline for Percival and Guinevere. “Merlin!” he yells.
Merlin stands perfectly still, the only motionless figure in the chaotic courtyard as Kilgarrah swoops down, plucks the blackfeather up in its talons, nods ever so briefly at Merlin, and flies off.
They hear the dragon flap away. A few segundos later the people of Camelot hear the blackfeather shriek, but its cry is cut gruesomely short.
Merlin turns and looks at Arthur, who is striding toward him. “You have got some serious explaining to do,” he snaps at the wizard, his face stony.
“Arthur,” Merlin says calmly, “later. Announce to the people that the celebration is to continue. We will not be disturbed again.” He holds the king’s gaze until Gwen steps pasulong and places her hand on Arthur’s elbow.
“It’s all right, Arthur. We’ll talk about it later. This is a happy day,” Gwen says quietly.
They watch as Arthur’s glare softens. The muscles in his jaw twitches a few times as he clenches his teeth.
He looks around; everyone is watching him; waiting for his word. He takes a deep breath and hops up on the platform recently vacated sa pamamagitan ng the blackfeather.
“The queen’s birthday celebration is to continue. I can assure you that there will be no further disruptions,” he says, glancing quickly at Merlin, who nods again. “Minstrels, something happy, if you please,” he says, waving his hand at them. They slowly raise their instruments and begin to play as Arthur hops down and returns to Gwen.
They resume their circuit of the courtyard and gradually the people come out of their hiding places. Gwaine finds his discarded mug, upset in the commotion. He swings his arm around Elyan’s shoulders and half drags him along with him to get his mug refilled.
Merlin is sitting on the steps of the palace, overlooking the now-empty courtyard. It is late; the feast is over. Arthur has hardly spoken to him since the dragon appeared. I’m not worried, though. He’s not Uther. I have to trust him, just as he has to trust me. That’s the only way we’ll get anything accomplished.
“Merlin.” Arthur’s voice drifts down to him.
“Arthur,” Merlin replies, not turning around.
“That was the great dragon.” He sits beside Merlin on the step.
“Yes.”
“The one you told me I killed.”
“Yes.”
“I presume that this is one of those tidbits of information that you felt I wasn’t ready to know about before?”
“Yes.”
“Care to explain?”
“You didn’t kill him.”
“Obviously.”
“I sent him away.”
“And you expected him to respect that? To obey you?”
“Arthur, perhaps it escaped your attention that the dragon helped us today,” he says, turning to look at the king.
“It did not go unnoticed. And that is the only reason why I’m not shouting at you right now.”
Merlin sighs. “Arthur, you remember Balinor, the dragonlord?”
“Of course.”
“He was the last one. Was. Now it’s me.”
“You are a dragonlord?”
“Yes. So when I ordered Kilgarrah away that night, he had no choice but to obey me.”
“So… how did you get to be a dragonlord?” Arthur’s brows knit in confusion. “Did Balinor… give the power to you just before he died? Did he know you had magic?”
Merlin looks down, the memory still painful. “In a way. The powers of the dragonlord are passed down. From father to son.”
Arthur looks at Merlin. “Balinor was your father?”
Merlin nods, still looking down, surreptitiously wiping a tear from his eye. “I only found out right before we went looking for him.”
“Did he know?”
“Not until I told him.”
“Whoa. I’m… I’m sorry, Merlin. Now I understand your tears…”
Merlin nods again; wipes his eyes again. “I didn’t become a dragonlord until he died. That is the only way. If I have a son one day, it will pass to him when I die.”
“And if not…?”
“Then I really am the last one.”
“So, then… you summoned him this afternoon?”
Merlin nods. “It seemed logical at the time. Got rid of that blasted bird. Showed you that the dragon is our ally. Made a point to Morgana.”
“Heh,” Arthur laughs dryly, once. “The dragon is our friend?”
“Yes. He’s helped us on madami than one occasion. You just never knew about it.”
“Example?”
“When Agravaine came and chased us out of Ealdor. Kilgarrah torched almost an entire battalion for us.”
“Did he kill Agravaine?”
“No. I did.”
“You?”
Merlin nods. “And a half-dozen of Helios’ men as well. In the caves. When I left you.”
Arthur is stunned. He knew that Agravaine had been killed, but did not have the details. Merlin did it. Okay, I have to know.
“Merlin, exactly how powerful are you?” Arthur asks.
Merlin finally looks up, and sniffles. “You know, I don’t know. Seeing as how I’ve not been really allowed to use my powers, I haven’t had much opportunity to test them.”
“True,” Arthur allows with a slight nod.
“I know one thing. As I age, as I learn, my powers grow. Even from the time when I first arrived here I’ve noticed a difference. You see, some people have to study magic, learn how to wield it. Like Gaius. He studied. Some people have magic lying dormant within them, manifesting at some point in their lives, like Morgana. Or sometimes not at all. And some people are born with it and can wield it from araw one.”
“Like you.”
“Like me. It’s just there, waiting at my beck and call.” He glances up at a nearby torch that is floundering, its flame dying. Arthur follows his gaze, and with hardly an effort, Merlin’s eyes flash and the torch springs back to life, the flame bright and hot.
“Five years nakaraan that would have taken effort,” Merlin says.
Arthur stares.
“From what Kilgarrah – that’s the dragon’s name – has told me, I would surmise that I am indeed quite powerful.”
“Okay,” Arthur says, a little uneasy now.
“I mean, I threw Agravaine and about six other men across that cavern, and I hardly even broke a sweat,” he muses.
“Merlin…”
“It did take two blows to get Agravaine permanently down, though…”
“Merlin!”
“What?”
“Enough! You’re making me nervous!” Arthur says, irritated with himself.
Merlin laughs. “Arthur, I’m still the same person.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I am. Promise. I may not be the bumbling servant with a tendency to prattle on any more, but I’m still me. I’m still your friend. I always will be.”
Arthur puts his hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “I know. Still adjusting.”
“How’s Gwen?”
“Exhausted. Once the bird let the cat out of the bag—”
Merlin guffaws at this, and Arthur cannot help but laugh as well.
“About the baby,” he continues, “the birthday celebration took a turn and everyone wanted to congratulate us and wish us well. Guinevere nearly fell asleep on my arm walking up to our chambers.”
“She’ll be able to sleep tomorrow. You won’t be waking her up again.”
“No, and neither will you, understand?”
Merlin nods. Perhaps I can have a bit of a lie-in myself.
“I’ve sent for a new servant for you,” Merlin says.
“Sent for? From where?”
“Ealdor.”
“Relative of yours?” he asks raising an eyebrow suspiciously.
Merlin laughs. “No. A young man I met while I was visiting Mum. Seemed eager to spread his wings and get out of Ealdor. Was keen on hearing about Camelot.”
“George will be crushed.”
Merlin laughs again. “He’ll get over it.”
“And you?” Arthur says, teasing him.
“I’m already over it.”
The two men sit quietly on the steps, watching as a few wilted bulaklak blossoms left from the carnival blow across the stones.
“He wants to meet you,” Merlin says suddenly.
“The new servant? Of course.”
“No, not him. The dragon.”
Part 30: link
