Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, or make any money from this. I mean no harm, just a fun story for those who wish to read it. =)

Author's Note: Welcome to my first ever fanfic! I'm not sure why I settled on this RAF/military theme, I just had this thought of the medieval best-knight Arthur being this era's equivalent of a self-sure talented fly boy. If there are any inacuracies in that, I apologise in advance. I am not a military person, so I'm having to do the best I can! I would love any reviews and comments, I'm new to this so it is all very much appreciated.


"I am very sorry for your loss , Merlin." Group Captain Percival, Station Commander of RAF Camelot, slowly rose from where he had been sat in the Emrys family's living room and replaced his hat. Once it was in place he gave a last nod and sympathetic gaze to the new widow and her son, before seeing himself out. The family had barely move in the past few minutes while he had broken the news to them that Flight Lieutenant Balinor Emrys had been killed in a tragic training accident. He sighed softly to himself as he shut the front door behind him, glancing up and down the road at the terraced houses that made up the married quarters for RAF personnel and their families. He felt the presence of all those in the houses around him, but could see no sign of any of them. They were all staying safe inside their houses, thanking whichever God they chose that it had not been their loved one who had been taken from them. Everyone knew the reason why the Station Commander visited a family in their own home. But what they didn't know was that no-one was safe, not even behind the comfort of their own locked door. Percival stepped forward to the waiting car and got inside, looking back with a melancholy air as the driver started up the engine and drove away. Percival had been the Station Commander of RAF Camelot for the past three years, responsible for the military personnel stationed there. His station contained one of the best groups of fighter pilots in Albion's history, the pride of the military. While the new hot-shots were generally young men making a name for themselves it was the steady skill and experience of those like Balinor that made the team so successful. His loss would be sorely felt, and it was now time for him to break to news to those of his team who didn't yet know about his untimely demise.

Several minutes passed in silence in the living room, punctuated only by the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece. The muffled sound of a car engine starting filtered through to them, and its retreating hum as it drove away. Merlin blinked, and blinked again, the world not seeming to move in time with his brain. His father was dead. How could this be? He had been one of the most talented fighter-pilots on the base, one of the core elite who could always be confident of getting things right, a natural. Being a member of Albion's military carried its risks, everyone knew that. But this was so unexpected, out of the blue. They weren't even at war now, for crying out loud! How could this happen? A stifled sob suddenly wrenched him back into reality, and he turned suddenly to look at his mother. Hunith had risen while Merlin had been staring off into space and now stood by the mantelpiece, one hand reaching out to gently brush a picture of her family containing her smiling husband. Her other hand was pressed firmly against her mouth, trying to hold back the rush of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. Merlin cursed silently to himself – he wasn't the only person suffering here! – and rushed over to his mother and wrapped his arms around her, whispering fiercely "Don't worry, I'm here for you. We're going to get through this." It proved too much for Hunith who started to sob uncontrollably, turning towards her son so that she could wrap her arms around him also, pulling his head down onto her shoulder. Merlin buried his head into his mother's shoulder, feeling as though he were a young child again, being comforted after banging his knee. Except this time the hurt would go much deeper, and remain with both of them for a long, long time. He felt the burning heat of his tears as they fought their way past his eyelids, and he too began to cry.

The next several days passed in a blur for them both, with one stark contrast – the funeral. Even though each moment from that day was stamped crystal clear into Merlin's it still seemed unreal, as though he were watching someone else's life unfold before him. There was a full military funeral with all the formality and honour it accorded endless rows of crisply pressed uniforms and mirror-bright black shoes. The rest of Balinor's group of fighter pilots was there, and it seemed that not a second went by without someone or other saluting, and there wasn't a single smile to be seen anywhere. Not that this was a happy occasion of course, but Merlin was really starting to feel the strain of sleepless nights and mournful days. At the end when it was all over Merlin and his mother walked out towards the sunlight. Everyone from the base crowded round them, not impeding their passage but offering their support for this most difficult part of the service – the final walk away, the last goodbye, never to see each other in this life again. There were murmuring voices all around, saying how sorry they were, that they would miss such a good man, that the family should call on them whenever they had need. There were hugs from the women, a squeeze on the shoulder from the men, and Merlin even felt a hand brush against his at one point but was unable to identify who it was; his eyes had filled with tears again and he was barely able to see where he was going.

The night after the funeral as Merlin lay awake and sleepless in his bed, he finally started to think about the future. His father had been serving military personnel, entitled to accommodation for himself and his family whilst serving Albion. What would happen to him and his mother now his father was dead? He had been born here, lived his entire life within military confines, all his friends were sons or daughters of fellow military personnel. He didn't think he even had any family left who lived in the civilian world. He was fairly sure his mother would be allowed to continue living on base; she was a teacher at the primary school on site. But what would become of him? He had turned eighteen a few months ago and received his A Level results just a few weeks ago. Thoughts of going to university had been gently talked about by his mother, but that would mean leaving the base – something that scared Merlin a little, but he hadn't told anyone else that. Besides, what would he do at University? He had no particular vocation towards anything in particular. The military, whilst being something he was intimately comfortable with, wasn't an option for him either. Despite constant feeding-up from his mother, and his father continually taking him out for 'fun' activities (assault courses, rock climbing, mountain biking – but Merlin was so clumsy they rarely ever ended well) he remained tall and slender, definitely not one of the hurly-burly, save-the-world, macho types. Before today he had never really worried about the future. He had never been able to explain it satisfactorily, but he had this feeling that he would know what to do with his life one day, almost as if he were destined for something. He huffed as he sat up in bed, trying to beat his pillow into a more agreeable shape so that he could try and get some sleep. Tomorrow he would start to look about the base, see if there was anything he could do to make his position here more stable.