Shroud of the Kingdom
Rated T for trauma, language, violence, and a general dark atmosphere.
Merlin has released the Great Dragon, only for it to go back on its' word and terrorize the city of Camelot. Merlin decides that he has had enough. No more of this 'keep the Old Religion in balance,' game. It's high time he turns the tables in his favor. Dark!Merlin. Slight Merthur.
Merlin stared coldly back at the face reflecting in the mirror. There was no happiness, no light in those dark eyes. Only pain, the pain of the trembling city slowly crumbling at each pass of the now freed dragon. There was no other option, Merlin told himself, adjusting the black cloak latched at his throat. The dragon would have been released, one way or another. Now I have to deal with the repercussions. The raven-haired warlock took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying not to dwell on the fact that he may never enter his chambers again.
He walked purposefully out of the medicine tower, face set and jaw firm. He knew what he must do. There was no way to put down a dragon without magic. And there were none in Camelot as powerful as he. None in any of the five kingdoms, in fact. The warlock's eyes deepened in sadness for a moment as he remembered Balinor, and the instructions his father had left him before he breathed his very last.
'The gift of the Dragonlord is passed down from father to son.'
He could only hope he would come into his dragon inheritance when the time came to face down Kilgharrah. The fate of Camelot depended on it. The fate of his destiny, and Arthur's, depended on it too. Merlin shuddered and made his way up to one of the guard towers that was still standing, intending on knowing exactly where the great beast was. A servant carrying a basket of bandages and towels ran by him, an extremely wary glance cast at him. Merlin chuckled darkly to himself; it must be a sight to see the prince's manservant dressed in such dark apparel, the black cloak sweeping menacingly around his ankles.
The warlock continued on, only stopping when he had reached the height of the tower, stormy gaze taking in the destroyed view of his beloved city. He could call it his; after all, he was the one that had risked his neck time and time again to see it and its inhabitants safe. This was his city, his home, the turf of the gifted magician with the dragon inheritance. Today he would put a stop to all this madness. All of the madness. He no longer cared about keeping his magic hidden and out of view. He didn't care if there would be guards and knights all over him at the first gleam of his golden eyes. There would be no future for him and Arthur if there was no Camelot for them to live in and rule over. He would do as he must to ensure the task before him was completed.
There, on the horizon. The great dragon was slowly circling back, heading towards the ravaged city. Merlin let out a soft snarl. No more irritating riddles, no more telepathy calls, no more thinly veiled threats at revenge by that great winged beast. Merlin would make sure of it. He whipped around and made his way quickly back the way he had come, heading toward the still semi-clear courtyard.
"Merlin?"
An ever familiar voice called to him from the other end of the hallway, making the warlock freeze where he stood. He slowly looked over his shoulder to see Arthur gaping at him, bedraggled from fighting, sword held limply by his side. Merlin's heart broke a little at the sight, and at the thought of the carefully formed trust he was going to shatter within the hour. The warlock turned and walked over to the prince, stopping just within arm's reach.
"Why are you dressed like that?" Arthur gestured at the sorcerer's clothes.
"Because it's time Arthur," Merlin said quietly. Arthur frowned at the vague explanation. "I'm going to go do some real good for a change." The raven looked down sadly, and then back up at the confused ocean-blue eyes of his master. On an impulse that had long since been coming, Merlin took another step closer and threw an arm around Arthur's shoulders, bringing them close enough so that Merlin could kiss him. Merlin poured everything he had into the kiss, trying to tell Arthur all he never could with his actions. When he finally separated their mouths, the warlock noticed the desperate panic rising in the depths of Arthur's eyes.
"What are you about to do, Merlin?" The blond's voice shook with emotion, and his eyes once again betrayed a fear his body would never show. Merlin passed a thumb over the smooth expanse of Arthur's cheek, before stepping back and turning towards the end of the hallway.
"Become legend itself."
Arthur just stared some more, and the magician made his way once more toward the courtyard. The faces he passed were all just a blur, a momentary distraction to the bigger things that lay ahead. Several more people called his name, but he ignored them. He had already said his goodbye to the one he cared for most. He was doing this for Arthur, and for the future they were destined to have. There was nothing else that mattered. No one else that mattered. Everything and everyone else was just temporary, as temporary as the destruction that marred Camelot.
After the dragon was gone, he would fix the castle, Merlin decided. With magic. He was comforted by this thought as he finally entered the courtyard, rubble littering the sides and blocking most of the other entrances. The raven looked up at the sky just in time to see Kilgharrah soar threateningly above the castle. He felt the ancient magic inside of him rise to the surface, bubbling figuratively under his skin. He drew deep, taking all that the very earth would give him, channeling it, harnessing it, using it to focus his mind sharp as a needlepoint.
He closed his eyes, again recalling the conversation with his father. Balinor was dead. He was next in line for the gift. He would know what to do when the time came. Merlin's eyes snapped open and he bellowed a single name into the cloudy grey sky.
"KILGHARRAH!" The very walls around him seemed to reverberate with anger and force. In a moment the great dragon landed in front of him in the courtyard, weight sending the ground into a slight tremor. Still, Merlin did not budge. The dragon peered at him, amber eyes narrowed as he drew his wings in around him. There was not enough space in the courtyard to keep them open.
"Dear Emerys, you called." Kilgharrah waited then, interested in what the young warlock would do. Merlin felt his eyes turn molten gold and he allowed the magic to flow around him, filling him with the power of the Old Religion.
"Your petty magic is futile against me. We are kin, Merlin." Merlin didn't allow himself the luxury to be drawn into the pit of the dragon's words. Because he had noticed Arthur then, standing on the balustrade between the two guard towers, armed with a crossbow but looking wildly at the scene below him. Merlin groaned internally at the agony he was about to put Arthur into. But there was no other choice. It was time.
The voice of his father came to him now, whispering the words in his ear that would give him the power of the Dragonlord. He pulled his staff from its makeshift sheath on his back, removing the invisibility spell he had cast on it with a muttered word. He slammed it into the cobblestones of the courtyard, blue crystal at the top glowing as Merlin allowed his magic to flow through it. He looked the great winged beast straight in the face, said dragon raising his head warily at the confidence of the warlock before him.
"Dracan! Nán dyd ǽlc áciere miss! Eftsíðas eom ála cræt! Géate' stǽr ábære gárrǽs! Géate cyre! Mé tácen átende diegollice! Car grise áþes!" Merlin screamed the entire binding statement at the dragon, voice being powerfully amplified by the Dragonlord magic. Kilgharrah flicked back his ears and bowed to Merlin, eyes dropping to look at the stone floor. Merlin breathed in raggedly, glowing eyes still boring into the now tamed beast.
"Merlin, I am the last of my kind. Whatever wrongs I-"
"SILENCE!" Merlin yelled at the dragon. "You deserve no mercy you wretched beast. You're no kin to me." The ancient dragon looked at him sadly, but could not reply because of Merlin's last issuing command. Merlin walked a few paces closer, staff clinking ominously against the cracked flagstones. "Perhaps with you gone," Merlin said thoughtfully, "the world will be more welcome to magickind. I will finally be able to complete my destiny without having to bother with you anymore." Here Merlin straightened, and his voice took on an air of finality. "Kilgharrah, as the last Dragonlord I command you give me all of the knowledge and magic you possess, so that I may be the sole keeper of all Dragonlore when you are banished from this Earth."
If he had been able, the great dragon would have given out a low moan at how utterly defeated he had suddenly become. As it were, Kilgharrah merely lowered his eyes to the ground once more. There was nothing he could do; the Dragonlord had spoken, and he was bound by blood and Dragonmagic to obey his master.
A golden haze began developing around the ancient beast, becoming thicker and swirling around faster with each heartbeat that passed. The dragon looked up at Merlin, eyes trying to convey a message that Merlin could not seem to grasp. All at once, the haze rushed towards Merlin, enveloping him in a golden cocoon of energy and magic. Merlin screamed in agony as he was forced to accept the dragon's magic, head pounding with the knowledge Kilgharrah had passed on. Kilgharrah slumped to the ground heavily, literally drained of everything he had. He closed his eyes tiredly, not noticing the wings that had grown from the back of the great warlock.
Merlin had been pushed to his knees in the surge of Dragonmagic that had briefly overridden all of his senses. The throbbing in his head mellowed to a dull ache, and his very veins buzzed with the double magic they had ingested. Merlin inhaled deeply, opening his now permanently golden eyes and taking in the scene of the exhausted dragon before him. All of the prophecies and magic Kilgharrah had kept within him were now accessible to Merlin. He understood now that he had changed the path of Fate itself, and everything that he did from now on had not been foreseen. He could write his own story.
Merlin got up shakily from his knees, noticing a strange heaviness on his back. He turned his head and gasped at the large wings that now protruded from the area where his shoulder blades had been. In their place were black, leathery wings, exactly like Kilgharrah's but proportioned to fit him. On the tip of each wing was a single golden duclaw, hooked forward and looking extremely sharp. Merlin touched his left wing hesitantly, shuddering as he recognized his touch on the sensitive appendage. Dragonmagic, Merlin thought absently. He was distracted with a wheezing cough by the age-old dragon still lying on the ground.
Merlin's face darkened as the dragon struggled to simply breathe, the magic he had been divested of no longer able to support the Old Religion beast. The warlock's eyes lifted to the heavens, and he raised his staff to the sky above. The clouds began to thicken and darken above where Merlin pointed, swirling sky beginning to flash with lightning. Merlin raised a hand to the conjured storm and a single bolt flashed down, striking the dying dragon right in the head. He felt the soul of the great beast leave its body, and knew that the empty corpse in front of him meant the safety of Camelot.
Merlin sighed deeply and chanced a look back up at the balustrade, seeking out Arthur among the group of knights that had gathered there. He saw the blond hair and the ripped red cape - and the shocked and terrified expression on his prince's face. Merlin's heart broke in two at the way Arthur looked at him. Gone was the trust. Gone was the belief that his manservant was a bumbling idiot. Gone was the friendship, and maybe the little bit of something else that had been starting to form.
Arthur stared at the threatening figure of his manservant, who was apparently a powerful sorcerer and the last Dragonlord. The raven haired young man below him was absolutely terrifying; leathery black wings extended from his back and towered several feet above his head. Even from here, the prince could see the swirling gold-colored irises looking back at him. The staff just added to the picture of a highly potent magician. What was it the dragon had called him? Emrys? Yes, this was Emrys; Merlin would not do such a thing, would not become a creature such as this. Emrys was the one standing near the snout of a dead dragon, looking at him with a sad expression.
Merlin tried to flap his wings, but found himself to be utterly depleted of such energy after the turn of events that had commenced in the courtyard. With a last look up at Arthur, Merlin turned and walked slowly back inside the castle, wings dragging on the cold stone. It was time for the next change in command.