The Red Dragon
(Book one)
Chapter I
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Summary: Camelot is abuzz with excitement. The time is finally at hand for the peace talks towards the unification of Albion to begin. Gwen must play her part as the regal ruler, and Merlin is run off his feet ensuring that everything goes smoothly. But with so many former enemies gathered together in close quarters, how much of his old suspicion is justifiable, and how much is paranoia? Will Albion come to pass and the next part of his destiny be fulfilled? Or are there those who conspire against the golden age of prosperity foreseen since ancient times?
Rated: T
Characters: Merlin, Guinevere, Gaius, Leon, Percival, George, a whole host of knights, occasionally familiar tournament competitors and assorted Albion royalty.
Note: The first of three stories. Detailing the unification of Albion, and life after Arthur. There's a short prequel uploaded - Forbrecan ond gestrician - if you're wondering about the space of time before Merlin's return to Camelot :) I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it!
"Rise and shine!"
Light flooded the room, almost blinding in its intensity. With a demure groan, mind still fuzzy from the weight of sleep, Queen Guinevere screwed her already closed eyes tighter so against the morning sunlight, and turned her face into the pillow.
A shiver ran through her, brought on by a sudden blast of cool air. She drew her legs up under the heavy bedspread, and groaned again, this time more loudly and pointedly as she pulled her pillow to her face as though to smother herself. If it would bring more blessed sleep...
There was a loud creak as the wardrobe doors were roughly pulled open. She tried to ignore it, she really did. All she wanted was five more minutes.
It had been the small hours before she dismissed the council and retired to bed. There was so much to plan for, and getting everyone to agree was like fighting a protracted war single-handedly.
Something hefty landed on the end of her bed with a dull whump, two sharper clomps on the floor beneath following closely.
Awareness was here now, refusing to let sleep reclaim her. It brought with it the suddenly glaringly obvious realisation that something was not right with this morning's wake-up call.
She cracked her eyes, and blinked against the glare of early morning sunlight reflecting from the open window.
"Shake a leg!"
Gwen breathed a loud sigh, and pushed her braid back over her shoulder. She propped herself up against the pillows in her warm, comfortable bed, and observed the young man standing at the wardrobe at the foot of her bed, currently turning to and fro, his familiar face set in critical consideration of the ornate gown he held up against himself.
"Merlin. What are you doing?"
He looked up quickly, cocking his head at her over the neckline of the gown with an innocence that made her smile. "Waking you up."
"Why?"
"Because somebody has to encourage you to greet the day!"
"Where's Luned?"
Merlin hesitated to answer, a sheepish grin plastered on his face as he folded the gown over his arm and tossed it untidily back into the wardrobe. "I gave her the morning off."
Gwen tilted her head, and raised both eyebrows. Seeing the expression on her face, Merlin shrugged lightly and clasped his hands behind his back.
"She looked as though she needed it." He jerked into movement suddenly, swinging his arms by his sides as he made for the table and began serving the grapes and bread onto a plate. "And I should know. You Pendragons work your servants far too hard. It's disgusting."
Gwen huffed deeply. "Merlin-"
"Gwen-" he interrupted her hurriedly, "it's easy to fall into that trap. Having everything done for you. Being waited on hand and foot. You could end up like -"
"Merlin-"
"So Luned taking some time off is the best thing for everyone. She looked happy about it, or it could have been confusion. Didn't really think to find out-"
"Merlin-"
"Maybe you should do the same for everyone else. After all of this is over, the whole of downstairs is run ragged-"
"Merlin!"
He fell silent, reflexively clasping his hands behind his back once again at the intonation. Gwen watched him, feeling a sympathetic smile on her lips. She lowered her eyes to the floor at his feet, unable to meet his as she said "you're missing him, aren't you?"
Merlin said nothing. He merely swallowed, and lowered his own eyes to the floor.
He didn't need to say it. She didn't need to say aloud that she missed Arthur either. They both knew.
It had been more than a year since Camlann, but the pain was still raw. The first few months following the battle, she had felt lost. The knights had sworn their loyalty to her, and the people had followed wholeheartedly. They had all watched and waited with bated breath for her first actions as Camelot's solo ruler. Knowing that a whole Kingdom was watching her, and depending on her to rule and guide them through their period of mourning had been so, so intimidating. Arthur had died so young, so unexpectedly... She could still see them all, the lights of thousands of candles flickering in the courtyard and the streets of the town beyond as the people of Camelot held a vigil for their fallen king.
The memory still threatened to break her. When she had received word from Percival that Arthur really was gone, the dam had broken. If it had not been for him, for Gaius and Leon, she did not know how she would have continued on in herself, let alone stepped up and taken her role as queen, ready to rule alone.
Then, when the days became weeks, and the weeks became months; when she realised that Merlin was not coming back...
She breathed a light sigh, filled with both sorrow and relief as she set eyes on her dear, dear friend. He was here now. It had taken a year, but he had returned to Camelot, and a lot had happened. A lot had changed. And here he was, standing in her chambers, doing the work of her absent servant. Because he missed Arthur as well.
She smiled fondly, and shook her head. He was standing there, in that red coat he had been given to wear at her wedding, and of course his beloved neckerchief, hands behind his back, eyes averted to the ground. He had been offered the finest clothing to go with his new position, but had refused and insisted that the coat was fine and all he needed. Standing there because he missed Arthur and missed his old routine.
Gwen shook her head. "Hand me my robe, would you?"
Merlin did as she asked, helping her on with it and waiting while she crossed to the table and sat down.
"You know," she began, reaching for her plate, "people will talk. The queen and her court sorcerer, alooone in the royal chambers."
Merlin snorted and flumped down in the chair opposite her. "They'd probably think I enchanted you."
Gwen nodded, holding back a chuckle. "Enchantment or no, I've seen you as an old woman, Merlin. That's enough to overpower any spell.
With a smirk, Merlin drew himself up in his chair and waved a dismissive hand towards her. "Well!" He tossed his head, speaking in his Dolma voice, "I am offended, my Lady. I really am!"
"Stop that."
The sight of his cheeky grin was heartening. He had been so sombre since returning to Camelot. To see even a semblance of the old Merlin lifted Gwen's spirits some.
Absently, she picked at a grape on her plate, sending it rolling around the perimeter. Her spirits needing lifting. So much weighed on her mind at present that it sometimes felt as though she was being crushed. Even with the sleeping draughts Gaius provided her, she found it hard to relax.
Especially knowing that today was coming.
Her expression must have turned down. She had stopped harrying her grape about.
"Gwen?" Merlin ventured tentatively. "Are you alright?"
She snapped out of it, straightening in her chair to fold her hands in her lap and clear her throat lightly. "I'm fine, Merlin."
He was clearly unconvinced, and cocked an eyebrow at her. She responded by flicking a grape at him.
If she had been able to see herself, she knew that she should be shocked. Throwing food was hardly lady-like for any lady of any station, but one could not be married to Arthur for three years without picking up one or two of his less regal behaviours. Namely flicking food at his manservant.
The grape soared in an arc across the table, only to halt just short of Merlin's forehead and remain suspended there. Without preamble he picked it out of the air and tossed it in his mouth. "It'll all be fine." He told her between chews. "Nobody in Camelot doubts you. The knights and the people give you their full support."
"It's not them I'm worried about."
Merlin only hesitated a moment before continuing on as though she hadn't spoken. "A few days sitting through a tournament won't hurt too much. Granted it's boring, but you'll survive."
"What about you?" She asked with a small smile. "Will you survive it with nothing to do?"
He knew what she meant by that. Yes, he had suffered through an awful lot of tournaments in the past ten years, but he had always had tasks to complete; armour to clean, weapons to fetch, horses to water, and an Arthur to feed... people's lives to save without them realising it. He had generally kept busy. This was his first time sitting through one as a spectator. Needless to say he had been moaning about it all week.
In fact he had been so moved by the prospect that he had spent an evening bewailing his fate in the tavern. In the end Percival had presented him with a mace and suggested that he take part if watching was so painful. According to Leon, Merlin had grinned, and concluded that spectating didn't sound so bad after all. That was probably a good thing, really. He did have an unfair advantage.
Apparently not having noticed her amusement, he shrugged and answered in a somewhat despondent tone, "I suppose it won't be so bad. I'll do what all the other courtiers do: 'ooh' and 'ahh' when I'm supposed to, clap in all the right places. I can pretend to enjoy it. I'm good at pretending – ah," he winced, aware of how that sounded.
Gwen was clearly aware of it too, but chose not to interpret it as anything to do with the past ten years. "I'm glad. You'll have to give me some lessons. It won't do for me to stare off into space when I'm supposed to look entertained."
"Arthur did that a lot."
She swallowed against the pang of sadness she felt at her husband's name and smiled past it. "Arthur could get away with it."
Merlin did not say anything to that, instead fighting back a smile.
Her plate cleared, Gwen pushed it away, furrowing her brow at Merlin as he reflexively reached to clear it away. "You had better go and find Luned."
He looked at her with a questioning expression. There was something else there, though. Something else in it. She knew that look. It was his 'ready to serve' look, with a hint of incomprehension thrown in for good measure. He didn't need to speak. She understood perfectly.
'Why? I'm just as good a servant as her.'
She shrugged lightly, attempting to gesture to herself without actually doing so. Merlin didn't understand. He just stared at her blankly. She tried again, shrugging a little harder this time.
He pursed his lips, and shook his head back and forth slowly.
Gwen cleared her throat demurely. Merlin pressed his lips together, still missing her point.
With a good-natured huff, Guinevere did gesture to the length of herself then, more specifically her nightgown.
Understanding dawned. Merlin gave something of an uncomfortable 'ah', and rose from his chair, hastening towards the door.
"I'll just... go get Luned."
Gwen inclined her head, trying to contain her giggles. "See you later."
He paused halfway out the door and nodded. "Later."
"And Merlin?"
His head reappeared around the door. Gwen smiled. "Thank you for breakfast."
With one of those wide, lop-sided grins of his, he disappeared, the door closing behind him.
Shaking her head fondly, Gwen rose from the table and made her way back towards her bed, and the dress that Merlin had flung there earlier.
She couldn't blame him for wanting the security of his old routine. It had taken some time before she stopped dusting hers and Arthur's chambers, and scrubbing the floors after she married. Arthur's gentle prodding had eventually weaned her off housework, though she had never stopped folding things. Maybe because Merlin was the enemy of all things proper in the name of folding, but she had always found some comfort in it.
Automatically she bent and placed her boots together beside her bed. It was pleasing on some level to see things done properly. Not everybody shared her need to do a job well. Certainly not Merlin. He was happy to hurl her boots in the general direction of the bed and leave them feet apart from one another where they fell. That was fine. She didn't mind cleaning up after his efforts. Something about that made her smile.
The queen clearing up after her court sorcerer. In what other Kingdom?
She glanced towards the window, beautiful, bright sunlight streaming through the open air and latticed panes. Silently, she moved to the sill, nails clicking quietly against the stone as she took up a lean and gazed out over the courtyard below.
People were hard at work; hanging the streamers, and banners of many different Kingdoms from the walls. Servants bustled to and fro, baskets of fruit, vegetables and bread for the evening's feast in their arms. Others carried linens, while young squires ferried their masters' armour to where it be needed.
Descending the steps from the castle, his cloak a flurry of red behind him, Sir Leon made his way across the cobbles towards the drawbridge.
It was as Merlin had said: preparations were well advanced. Her people worked hard to make ready. She must make ready also.
Gwen turned from the window, and the warm light of the spring morning and returned to her bed where her gown waited. On the table beside her bed, resting on a velvet cushion was her coronet. It shone in the early sunlight, polished beyond anything a normal hand could achieve. It had not been quite so lustrous when she went to bed. She would have to thank Merlin later.
The sight of it stilled her. There it sat, in all the glory befitting a queen of Camelot. She drew herself up a little and raised her chin. It meant more than that today, she understood. It's glow in the sunlight of a new day, finished by the magic of the most powerful warlock to ever live - it was more than a symbol of state. More than the coronet of Camelot's queen. Today it would see the beginning of a new age. Today, and in the days that followed, it would witness the birth of Albion.
The sounds in the stables were gentle. Soft. The light breaths of horses at rest. Camelot's great and strong war horses, placid and calm in their stalls, lazy in the light of morning. The sound of horses chewing had always been calming.
There had been a good few horses in his village. Their presence had always been pacifying. Horses were needed to pull the huge logs from the forests to the village workshops. A task that required the assistance of strong men as well as patient beasts. To hear them nearby... If he closed his eyes, he could picture his home as it had been.
Percival opened his eyes, finding himself in the warmth and earth of Camelot's stables once more. He knew that holding a memory would help it live, but he also understood that he could not live in a memory. He ran a hand over the sleek neck of the black charger whose stall he shared, stroking the placid animal's ears. It turned it's fine head to him, resting its muzzle against his arm.
Percival regarded it sadly, and placed his palm against its forehead, caressing its soft hair lightly. Its muzzle dipped, eyes drifting closed. To hold onto a memory was to keep it alive, but one could not live in it, nor restore it to reality. Percival knew that, for all the comfort it brought him.
"Percival?"
The soft swish of straw underfoot indicated Sir Leon's entry to the stables. Percival looked up and greeted his friend with a nod.
Leon moved to speak, halted by the sight of Percival and the black horse. He lowered his eyes to the ground and coughed, hiding his own sorrow as best he could with the action.
Percival returned his attention to the horse, stroking a hand along its neck to pat its withers, causing its head to jerk up at the action. "He's tired." The big knight murmured, partially to Leon, partially to the air around him. He stroked the black stallion's muzzle, sending it off to sleep once more. "There's been no work for him to do for a year. He's tired of being bored."
Leon looked up, watching Percival and the horse quietly. He understood. So did the other knights. Nobody had sat astride this horse in a year, because it was not theirs to do so. The thought saddened him in more ways than one. Every knight had a horse, but this horse did not have a knight. Gringolet stood idle while the other chargers ferried their riders through patrols, battles and tournaments. He had carried no one since Percival led him back from the forests without his rider.
To see the fiery creature so subdued, it was almost as if Gringolet knew that he was without his master. Though, of course, horses could not reason such things.
"Perhaps he'll find work during the tournament?"
Percival shook his head. "The competitors will have mounts of their own. Besides-" He met Leon's eyes, something of a tiny smile twitching at his lips, "Gwaine always said he was rubbish at jousting."
Leon allowed himself a smile, and swept a hand back through his hair. "As was Gwaine, so he was one to talk."
"He'd lamp you if he heard you say that."
As true as that was, Leon didn't want to acknowledge it particularly. He well knew that getting hit by Gwaine more often than not involved going down like a sack of rocks, and much cursing from both sides. The man had possessed a practiced right hook. Just the thought of one of Gwaine's punches made his jaw ache. So instead he turned his attention to the reason he had come seeking Percival. "The queen will be down soon. We ought to be there to greet her."
Percival nodded and straightened from his lean against the stable wall. He patted Gringolet's neck fondly, and left the sleepy war horse to his hay. "She'll need support today."
Together they made their way from the stables back to the citadel. Camelot had waited for this day. Now that it had finally arrived, no matter the outcome, nothing would ever be the same again.
Once more, through anticipation of events to come, Percival's heart felt heavy, weighted down by the many memories he held: of lost friends unable to see this day, and the burden of helping them live on through memory.
He fought to hold his shoulders back, and his head high. Many had died so that this day could come. All that would happen now, would be in their honour.
In honour of Lancelot, and in honour of Elyan. Of Arthur, and... Gwaine. To the honour of those he did not know, who had given their lives for Camelot's peace. Today was a new beginning owed to them all, and he would honour it, as he honoured their living memories.
His chambers had rarely been a state that could be regarded as tidy, but for some years now they had adopted a quality of disarray as often seen in the wake of a particularly vicious hurricane. Gaius largely equated that to his no longer living alone. It seemed that no matter how much he tidied and organised, his ward would sweep through like a whirlwind and throw everything into disorder again. In all honesty the transformation left him dizzy and utterly bewildered. Even the leeches had seemed confused of late, and he put that down to his own cause of near constant disorientation.
Surveying the latest destruction of his bookshelves with a disbelieving expression and his hands on his hips, Gaius almost threw his hands in the air and demanded aloud what the point was. What had it been this time? Merlin waking with a slight twinge in his lower back and a sudden flight of panic, that it could be nothing as Gaius suggested; that it could just have been his sleeping in an awkward position, or it could be a number of infinitely more sinister things. Like his magic warning him of impending assault by Sidhe, or a flock of griffins, or mad witches bent on Camelot's destruction, or a spell that failed to take a hold designed to incapacitate Gwen's most powerful protector.
Gaius had raised an eyebrow at that last one. Merlin didn't mean to blow his own trumpet – and to be fair, he would have to go a long way to do so – but after charging down the stairs from his room in the early hours of the morning and proceeding to crash about in the bookcase, he had not found the physician in the most charitable of moods.
Even now Gaius found himself in two minds on the whole thing. He did understand. Merlin was feeling the pressure.
Since returning to Camelot Merlin had been jumpy, and slightly paranoid. After all that had happened, Gaius really did understand.
He could see it in his ward's behaviour to be sure, but also in the subtle choices Merlin made: the places he went, the things he took with him when he went to them. The fact that, despite his now being sorcerer to the court of Camelot he still lived in the tiny room at the back of Gaius' chambers. He had turned down the self-contained, grand chambers Gwen had offered him, electing to stay close to his mentor. Gaius appreciated that, as he quietly appreciated Merlin's decision to remain in his old room. After so long without him, it was good to have Merlin back where he belonged.
Merlin feared change. He avoided it where possible, and had become terrified of losing any more of his loved ones.
Now, with the day of Albion dawning, it almost felt as though all the mood swings and slamming doors, and midnight potion brewing sessions had been worth it. Gaius felt elated. All his life he had been waiting for this day – for the time the poets spoke of – and now...
His hands fell from his hips and he turned at the sound of hurried footsteps outside the door.
As he anticipated Merlin burst in, looking somewhat dishevelled and harassed, barely acknowledging him on his way across the chambers to his room.
Gaius watched him pass, unsurprised at the loud clatter at the top of the stairs as Merlin tripped over the various pieces of armour lying strewn about the place. Yes, Gaius had seen him sneak up there with it all the previous night. As much as Merlin had complained about it in the past, he did seem to find cleaning armour therapeutic as mindless tasks so often were. Sir Bors had apparently been heard remarking to Percival that his armour was cleaner than it had ever been, and that whoever was responsible ought to receive thanks.
Gaius couldn't help but smile a little. If only Bors knew. If only any of them knew.
"Gaius! Have you seen my list?!"
Oh! He wanted his list? "I haven't, I'm afraid - And is it any wonder, the state of things up there?"
"Haven't had time to sort it out." Came the somewhat muffled reply. Must have his head under the bed.
"Now I hardly think that's true!"
That went without a reply. A sure sign of the truth having been uncovered.
"... I really need my list!"
Gaius turned away from his ravaged bookshelves and hazarded a glance up the steps to the open door beyond. Quite what was going on up there, it could only be serving to worsen the situation. Various objects flew past the open door - a boot, some sprigs of herbs, a neckerchief, a cursed wooden box, a cracked vase (very soon to be broken) and its wilted contents, the Sidhe staff, a nightshirt.
The physician felt a fresh wave of despair, but forced it down as a trivial thing in the face of all that was going to happen in the next few days. "Where did you have it last?"
"If I knew that, I'd know where it is! What kind of question is that?" There was a pause in the crashes and flying items, Merlin's shoulder just visible at the edge of the door as he sat back on his feet. "Would be today I can't find it, wouldn't it? Oh, what's that, Mer-lin? The most important day in Albion's history? You need your list? The one that tells you exactly where you need to be, and everything you need to do? No, no. Today it's going to go missing and you can waste all your precious time looking for it. Ha. Ha. Ha!"
His shoulder vanished and the crashing resumed – a solitary sock, some of Kilgarrah's scales, a notebook, something that may have once been an apple, his leather bracelet he had been looking for the other day...
Gaius frowned, daring to venture a step closer to the whirling frenzy of detritus; didn't even flinch when a gauntlet came rolling down the stairs. "Merlin-"
Something apparently fell over, probably landing on Merlin judging by the pained 'ow' that followed. Gaius tried again. "Merlin, I really think you're taking this whole thing a little too seriously."
The activity stopped. Merlin appeared around the door, leaning there to stare back at Gaius as though he had gone insane. "Too seriously? This is only the pinnacle of my 'oh so important' destiny happening right here, right now, today. The thing that has been thrown at me and rubbed in my face constantly for the past ten years, and will affect the future of every Kingdom and everyone I know, and is the whole purpose of me and and everything I am. So maybe I can be forgiven for taking it 'a little too seriously', yes?" And he was gone again, clattering about with what sounded like renewed ferocity.
Gaius wanted to sigh. Instead he braved the storm and hitched up the hem of his robes to ascend the stairs to its eye.
The place really was a mess. A scene of total destruction. It hadn't been much better before the frenzied searching, but there was no way anyone could find anything in this. A glance at Merlin revealed him to be halfway into his cupboard tossing various items out. That wasn't the way to go about this. If they were to have any success, this had to be approached logically and calmly. So Gaius began straightening the items Merlin had displaced.
"Do you really have no idea where you saw it last?" He asked, one last attempt at sound reasoning.
"No." Came the huffed reply.
"But you only had it last night. It was all that I could do to stop you pouring over it at the dinner table."
"The way my head is right now, I can't remember back that far!"
So no joy there, then? Resigned, Gaius turned to the bed and began making it. He had just folded the quilt back up to the pillow when he huffed, and shook his head. "Merlin."
"What, Gaius!?" Merlin pulled his head out of the cupboard and rounded on his mentor.
Without a hint of emotion, Gaius held out a rolled up scroll of parchment.
At the sight of it, Merlin grinned sheepishly, and reached out his hand to take it. "Ah."
"Ah, indeed."
"Thanks."
Gaius handed it over with a slightly raised eyebrow, watching as Merlin's nimble fingers hastily unrolled it.
The thing really was comprehensive. Every possible task and eventuality had been thought of and planned for and around. A good few things had been addressed directly with annotations along the lines of 'I don't know – sort it out with magic' and 'Why did I decide to tackle this myself?'
Suddenly, Merlin rolled it up again and shoved it through the belt of his coat. "Right!" He turned and made to fly down the stairs as fast as his feet would carry him, only to be stayed by Gaius' voice,
"Merlin."
He looked back over his shoulder, finding Gaius to be looking back at him, his hands clasped in front of him.
The old physician fixed him with one of his serious 'looks', effectively freezing him in place. "Don't strain yourself today," Gaius told him, "I really do feel that you have taken on more than you should have with all of this." Seeing that Merlin was about to protest, he held up a hand, "I know why you have. Just know that there are others willing to help you. Don't feel that you must handle everything by yourself. Those days have passed." The 'look' fell away, replaced by a large smile.
Merlin returned it, and threw his arms around Gaius as the old man stepped forward and embraced him.
"I am so proud of you, my boy," Gaius told him, "and all you have done to bring this day about. Well done." He released Merlin and stepped back, hesitating a moment before waving him on his way. "Now go on. What are you waiting around for? Get going."
Merlin grinned, and raced away down the stairs, almost tripping over the stray gauntlet at the bottom.
Gaius watched him go, his hands folded before him inside his sleeves. He watched his boy's stumbling retreat until the door of his chambers slammed shut and all was silent.
Yes, perhaps his chambers had been slightly tidier, and his bookshelves organised before Merlin's arrival, but he would not be without his ward for the world. Even if, once these talks were done with, said ward would have to clean his room from top to bottom before he was permitted to sit down to dinner.
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Notes: There we have it, chapter one. It's been interesting writing a slightly different Merlin - after everything he's been through it's a surprise he didn't end up more damaged in the show, I hope he turned out as interesting to read. Hopefully the next chapter will be up tomorrow. Thanks for reading! XXX