Chapter 2: Hello and Farewell
Arthur camped half a league on Camelot's side of the border with Caerleon, so that by dawn of the next day he was at the river's edge, resting in his saddle, watching.
Not so much the ford and footing – for it was past midsummer and drying, dying down and running lower than at other times, to judge by the foot or so of dry bare bank below the grassline. But rather, he scrutinized the land of Caerleon beyond, and found himself hesitating.
Perhaps he ought to have sidetracked half a day to the village where Gwaine resided when he wasn't employed by Arthur or by Merlin. But pride balked at seeking company for company's sake – though at this precise moment he would have been glad to have a friend at his back.
Alone and unaided.
It sounded lofty and noble and obvious in Camelot. Surrounded by servants and guards and courtiers, with a soft bed aired and straightened for him, meals delivered and clothes laundered. Of course he was no stranger to the hardships of overnight patrols – not after the year spent searching for Morgana – but.
Alone. And unaided.
Which meant no one to say, but Sire. Have you noticed this, or thought about that. No one to see anything he might have missed, no one to defend his back if a fight found him. He rode without insignia, in plain rough clothing so as to remain unrecognized and there was safety for him in anonymity, but it was by no means definite.
And, he'd never actually ventured beyond Camelot's accepted borders. Even accompanied and supported. And this was Caerleon.
Of course! Merlin had exclaimed to his request, absolutely confident. Safe passage over Caerleon lands personally guaranteed by the prince. Come to Beckon Cove first, please, you'd be most welcome.
Arthur's mount shifted underneath him, impatient and probably picking up on Arthur's uneasiness.
Because hadn't he given Merlin assurances, when he brought the younger prince to Camelot? Under far different circumstances, of course, but the king of Caerleon could easily view Arthur the way Uther had viewed Merlin - with lifelong and intrinsic enmity. Would Merlin's king honor his word any better than Arthur's father had honored his?
He'd dare just about anything on Merlin's honor. But was that limited or absolute, in Caerleon?
There were dangers and risks on these quests, there were meant to be, to prove the mettle of a man, a knight, and especially a future king. But if anything happened to Arthur – and Caerleon was only the first step, the first risk – even if it was just a delay in weather or success, or illness, accident, losses…
Leon and Ectyr were dependable. The council was solid, the structure of Camelot stable. But King Uther was incapable of managing even minor crises, and if any of their enemies had been plotting or planning or awaiting an opportunity…
This might be it.
If something happened to Arthur, what would happen to Camelot? The quest was meant to prove Arthur's worth – but what if it proved him unworthy? And Camelot fell, and all his people suffered?
Arthur sighed.
Really, what choice did he have. Being a warrior, and a king, was about risking everything for duty, making sacrifices, even to the point of one's own life. If he wasn't worthy, Camelot must look to another.
Gathering his reins, he nudged his mount down into the water and crossed – long slender legs whooshing unconcernedly strong through the current, hard hooves confident on the riverbed footing beneath. No one was waiting for him, though he remembered Gwaine's telling of Merlin's homecoming.
He had no sense of being watched or followed – though it wasn't two hours before he realized the truth behind Merlin's sarcastic complaints about Camelot's comparative prosperity.
The ground was rocky, the hills abrupt and sheer, the grass sparse and the trees scrubby and rare. He caught sight of three separate herds of goats, over the course of the day, and rode within sight of one settlement that appeared to be built into cliff-caves. He was watched in silent wariness, neither hailed nor approached as he would have been in any one of Camelot's villages.
Past midafternoon, he came laboring over a rise, leading his mount to rest and spare it but keep moving, and was rewarded with his first view of Beckon Cove.
Brief sparkle of the bay the fortress was named for, beyond a fold of land to the southwest, and there was the faintest hint of brine on the air, if he paid attention to it. The encircling wall wandered the contours of the capital's stronghold, now up and now down, pulling inward and bulging outward – no perfectly rounded shape if looked down upon from the vantage of the round-tower. The hill it was built on and probably down into lifted the visible base of the tower above the top of the wall, though that perspective would probably shift as he came closer, and all the stone of a dark gray immediately more forbidding and gloomy than the light tone of Camelot's citadel walls.
And thinking of coming closer-
He felt the tremble of hoofbeats in the stony ground underfoot before he saw them, three horsemen galloping up the rise from a curve in the land to his left, in sight and upon him in seconds.
Arthur kept his right hand from the sword-hilt at his saddle with an effort. Though the warriors of Caerleon were thoughtless and headstrong in their brutality, he didn't think they were actually stupid. They knew he'd see them coming – it was intimidation, not ambush – and he stood still, letting them dance their mounts around him.
All three veiled. Leather-and-metal armor, two with broad-headed axes over their shoulders and the third with a sword and two daggers in his belt. Arthur shifted to keep track of them – which was only good sense, not edginess prompted by their show of aggression.
The one with the sword leaned from his saddle to touch the pommel of Arthur's sword with one grubby forefinger, then wheeled his mount to face the distant fortress.
"You must favor your mother's people, boy," he rasped. He lifted his hand to drag the veiling material down from his face, revealing the gray-and-white beard of a man well into his middle years. "You look nothing like your father. Fortune smiles on you, there."
Arthur was amused and relieved, as the tension shifted. He'd been accepted and allowed – but now tested, maybe. "Your Majesty," he said.
"Mount up," the king of Caerleon ordered abruptly. "I'm not waiting for you to walk to my hall at that pace."
Arthur obeyed without hurry, though the other two warriors remained silent and veiled, and maneuvered their horses restively and without regard for position or formation.
"I am surprised to see you dare come here alone," the king remarked, setting their pace at a fast walk. That allowed for conversation while still requiring attention to horse and trail that would not leave silences awkward.
"I believe Merlin is the sort to keep promises," Arthur answered, expecting something like the sarcastic barbs Merlin had flung his way in the early days in their friendship. He was a bit curious himself to see if their insults could actually goad him to lose his temper, if he was actively guarding himself against that.
"He is," the king said bluntly. "So are we all."
"I don't remember promising Uther to slaughter his son if he ever set foot on Caerleon land," one of the warriors spoke up contemplatively.
"Lucky for me, then," Arthur said – and was rewarded with a grunt of amusement from the king and snickers from the other two.
"Question for you, Pendragon," spoke the warrior who'd taken position behind the king, who rode half a horse-length ahead of Arthur and to his left. "You promised protection to our prince upon his surrender – and yet he returned to us with new scars."
The king sent Arthur a sideways glance from the corner of his eye and he had no idea what the best answer might be. Honesty – levity – apology? What had Merlin told them, and what interpretation might they have spun from his words?
"That is true," Arthur said mildly. "It was he who protected me, on that occasion."
The king gave him a longer look as if he expected more, and Arthur simply met his gaze. Then the older man inhaled and straightened, facing the fortress they were nearing. "Mmph. He said it was his choice to join that battle."
"He saved many innocent lives," Arthur added.
One of the warriors mumbled something derogatory-sounding, that included the words innocent and Camelot. Arthur ignored him.
"You carry his sword," the king observed.
Arthur couldn't entirely stop his smile. And corrected evenly, "I carry my sword. All thanks to Merlin for the gift."
"He swears you are unlike your father, and will never wield it wrongly."
For the love of Camelot, how was he to respond to that? More promises? A wiser demur? Affront for his father's sake, or gratitude for his own?
He did want to be like his father – in all ways save one. But no one protected Arthur from making making mistakes – not on this quest, and not back in Camelot. And most mistakes, Arthur was sure, could not be spied in advance, only regretted once past.
But it seemed silence was an acceptable answer. The king continued, "He will be glad to welcome you. You aren't unexpected – Caerleon is prepared to demonstrate hospitality tonight."
"Oh, hells," Arthur said without thinking.
That was also a highly acceptable response – one of the warriors cackled aloud while the other muffled a chuckle, and he could swear the king bit his lip so as not to smile.
So instead of retracting, Arthur ventured on. "Merlin's at Beckon Cove, then? I expected he'd be searching for his father, still – has he been successful, or delayed, perhaps?"
"You can ask him," the king responded shortly – but without offense.
Arthur decided to be satisfied with the news that he was to see his friend – a glad surprise – rather than just pass through his kingdom and stay a night at his home.
…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..
Freya slipped noiselessly into the bedchamber she and Merlin shared.
The room his mother had occupied as nursemaid during his childhood had been converted into a dressing room for her – still overwhelming, when all her life she'd been happy to have a single change of clothes for the sake of cleanliness – and there was no door between, only a narrow archway and a corner to break the line of sight.
The candles weren't lit yet, though the sun was setting and their room was on the east of the tower, and all was silent and still. Freya took a few moments to light a few strategically placed candles before rustling the golden silk of her new dress closer to the bedside.
Merlin hadn't stirred. He was sprawled cross-wise over the coverlet of their bed, head just below his pillow and his feet where her feet would go when they shared. Shirtless and barefoot, and Freya took another moment to admire the candlelight playing over the bare skin of his back and arms – slope and shadow, smooth and warm and strong.
She loved him. She loved loving him, but today it hurt to know that he was disappointed. Cheerful and optimistic about other options to explore in searching for his father, and logical about the odds against swift success in Merendra, and cheerful, but. Still disappointed.
Reaching out, she laid a hand over his shoulder-blade and drew it down his waist. "Merlin."
He grumbled in the back of his throat and turned his head away from her without opening his eyes, mussing his hair against the bedcover.
She grinned to herself, and hiked her skirts. Well, she wanted to cheer him up, didn't she? Carefully she crawled onto the bed, straddling his hips and spreading her body atop his, gradually releasing all of her weight, and burrowed slightly into his pillow to find his ear.
"Mer-lin…"
He grunted again, but she could tell he was waking up, and not at all opposed to their relative positions. She squirmed a little, pressing air from his lungs, til she could take the lobe of his ear between her teeth and flick it with her tongue.
His body tightened in reaction, though he made no move, and his inhalation lifted her about an inch. She snickered breathlessly into his ear, feeling him shiver and muffle a gasp.
"Are you awake now?"
He shifted a bit more to be able to speak clearly, facedown in the mattress and blankets. "Do I have a good reason to be?"
She wriggled some more, just to enjoy the position of dominance. "Yes. You do."
He tried to turn over, and she didn't let him dump her off, supporting her weight on her hands as his shoulders twisted but his hips didn't. He was smiling as he found her gaze, loose-lipped and heavy-lidded and happy to let her make him happy. He said, "Hello."
She leaned down and kissed his mouth, but when his fingers ventured into her hair, she pulled back with a warning sound.
His eyes took in the jewels Maegden had wound into her hair and the unfamiliar silk of the gown, confused. He twisted a little more to lay his shoulders flat, running his fingers up her sleeves before slipping them inwards to her ribs and the smooth material fitted close to her skin. "Why are you wearing this?"
She repressed a shiver, already touching him too intimately with her legs to either side of his. "We have company. Their Majesties have ordered a feast."
Merlin groaned, tipping his head back even as his fingers came to rest possessively on her hips. "I have a better idea," he said, shifting his position and trying to coax her to rest all of her weight on his body again. His voice lowered and took on a husky note that sent ripples of anticipation tingling along her veins. "Why don't you take this off and we'll forget about dinner? We can sneak down to the kitchen later, when everyone else is abed, and beg pardon for our absence in the morning?"
She grinned, feeling a blush color her cheeks to imagine the knowing smirks that would result at breakfast, and not quite able to meet Merlin's eyes, husband or not. Beneath the merry twinkle was a deep and unguarded warmth that stole her breath.
"I can't do that," she declared, lowering and shaking her head at once so that her curls brushed his bare skin. She did want to rest down onto him, rubbing her cheeks against the smooth muscle of his chest. "He would never forgive me."
"He who?" Merlin complained, releasing her hips to try for more sensitive areas that she knew from experience would drive all other thoughts right out of her mind. He knew that, too. "The king?"
"The prince," she returned, taking her chance the moment his grip eased, moving back from him.
He sat up, letting bent knees drop lazily to the mattress, puzzlement on his face again – maybe her proximity made it hard for him to think clearly, too. "The prince?"
"Of Camelot," she added, leaving the bed and retreating to one of the seats left pulled out from the table. A vantage point, and if she was lucky, he wouldn't realize it. This time.
"Arthur's here?" Merlin exclaimed, his smile and the light in his eyes changing – but no less irresistible, to her. He scrambled forward, almost tripping to get off the bed, and strode barefoot across the room to the wardrobe, trousers hanging low from his hips.
"The queen wanted to let you sleep," Freya told him, watching as he yanked the wardrobe open and chose quickly – a plain linen shirt of the lightest yellow, and a brocade tunic of a brown just slightly deeper than his trousers. "But Arthur will probably thank you to rescue him from the king's attention."
"Glares and silences," Merlin guessed.
Freya only hummed agreement, reveling in the sight of her husband dressing himself, moving swiftly and with purpose and as if entirely unaware of her regard. Smooth pale skin, a scattering of dark hairs, lean muscle and long limbs…
He was the best man in the kingdom, and he was hers. Good fortune sometimes took her breath away, when she remembered those endless hours in Halig's cage-cart, wishing for death and emptied of anything resembling hope – and that had been a relief to what had come before. It sometimes made her uneasy, as if such happiness could not last, burning bright and fast – but rather than worry over what she could not control, she chose to enjoy what she'd been given while she had it.
"The queen is going to give me archery lessons while you're gone," she mentioned, as Merlin lifted his boot to the seat of a nearby chair to tighten the lacing.
He made a pleased noise; he was just too far away for her to card her fingers into his hair as he bent, even if she leaned. "That'll be fun," he said. "Won't it? Are you looking forward to it?"
"Not especially," she said honestly, as he straightened to switch feet. "She's very strong-"
"So are you," Merlin said immediately; it made her smile.
"I mean to draw the bow and aim and shoot," she said. "I'll be embarrassed, and sore…"
He grinned, pulling her up from her seat by the hand, leading her to the door. "Trust me, it cannot possibly be any worse than what they put me through when I was a boy."
Merlin had accepted Their Majesties' choice of him as heir in spite of deep and lingering doubt in himself, she'd glimpsed enough of that in her earliest years in Beckon Cove to know. And she'd accepted his choice of her as his queen in much the same way. She tried every day to make him her example – to hold her head up and smile cheerfully and try again, however inadequate she felt.
"And look at you now," she agreed facetiously, following him down the hall, down the stair.
He snickered at her sarcasm, nodding, and pulled her hand tight through his elbow against his ribs as they entered the busy hall.
…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..
The main chamber where all such feasts and large meetings were held was a confusion of arrangement. Trestle tables and benches had been brought from the sides to the center of the room, and platters and tableware were already being laid, as well as initial dishes requiring minimal preparation. Servants moved between groups of warriors who were taking advantage of the ready food and drink and the expectation of an evening spent in revelry.
"Well, it's one way of ensuring that the warriors remember Arthur's visit as a positive thing," Merlin murmured to Freya, halting to search for a glimpse of guest or hosts – turning to see that they hadn't actually passed the other three royals in the moving crowd.
Freya made a mournful noise. "Oh, I bet they're going crazy in the bakehouse."
He grinned down at her; she looked lovely and delicately regal in the gifted silk gown. "Bet you're happy you don't have to work when we have a feast, anymore."
"If it wasn't for Arthur, I'd miss the excuse to avoid all this," she claimed, tilting her head and one eyebrow at him.
Which reminded him of the excuse he'd offered her, back in their bedroom – take off the dress – and he opened his mouth to remind her of it, but she interrupted, looking past his shoulder.
"There they are…"
He spun, already moving, her hand secure in his. Behind the short table lifted to the dais in front of the high-backed chairs used for official receptions, Thurston glowered comfortably, overseeing the room as Annis spoke past him to their guest.
Merlin forgave himself for not spotting Arthur immediately. The prince of Camelot wore no obvious armor, no glittering chainmail, no scarlet and no golden dragon. He was simply clad, a soft hide vest hanging open over a bleached tunic, dark trousers and sturdy boots.
And the sword at his hip.
"Oh, good, you brought it," Merlin blurted, unintentionally interrupting the queen and Prince Arthur, in place of a more suitable or decorous greeting. And a year ago it might have discomfited him more. He grinned at Arthur's raised brow. "I did wonder if you would. I mean, it's only manners to accept a gift and say thank you, but magic is still banned in Camelot."
"Well," Arthur said, trying not to smile and not quite succeeding. "I'm not in Camelot anymore, am I?"
Merlin stepped up to the edge of the dais, reaching across the table to clasp Arthur's forearm. "Welcome to Beckon Cove. I'm glad you've come."
"Thank you." Arthur aimed a reserved smile past Merlin's shoulder. "My lady."
Freya ducked her head in an abbreviated curtsy of shy pleasure as Merlin stepped back down to her side. "Sire."
"And now that the formalities are out of the way, we can all use each other's given names," Merlin suggested, shepherding his wife around the end of the table to join Arthur more properly.
The prince regent glanced a please excuse me? sort of look at Queen Annis, who smiled wryly and turned away. The king shifted his weight and glared in a different direction, ignoring both of them, and Arthur stepped to meet Merlin and Freya with only a moment's hesitation.
"Standing still more comfortable after riding all day?" Merlin guessed.
Up close, Arthur looked well. Serious cast to his expression – this quest thing the knights of Camelot did wasn't for fun, after all – but no shadows in his eyes, no pinch to his mouth, no sag in his shoulders.
"For you also?" Arthur returned, leaning a forearm negligently over the back of one of the seats positioned for royal use. "I didn't expect to see you here – you haven't left yet, to find your father?"
Merlin hadn't gotten a chance to admit pertinent and significant details in a more leisurely way to Freya, so he condensed the story of his and Gwaine's trip to Merendra with the same few sentences he'd given Queen Annis and his mother, finishing with the reason for Gwaine's absence and his intention of riding north to the western edge of the range of the White Mountains.
"After what we did in the Forest of Essetir this spring," he said, referring to the creatures that had plagued Camelot in their various ways, and the portals he'd opened magically to send them back to their realms of origin. "I have a feeling I'll be able to tell when I'm nearing the dragon. I expect Balinor will be with him."
He felt Freya's eyes on him. No one had ever given the dragon a definite gender that he knew of, but he felt right to Merlin. And he found that he hesitated to say the word father in reference to the dragonlord. Not til he was sure. Just in case hopes and expectations were disappointed.
"Oh," Arthur said – a bit too blankly. "And you're – leaving in the morning?"
"First light," Merlin said. "Or dawn, if first light feels too early." With Freya's hand tucked comfortably in his, it felt already like first light would be too early. He'd missed his wife after three days – and who knew how many it would be this time, before he was home again? "Why?"
Arthur took a deep breath, considering. Then, with a shrug, admitted, "That is the road I will be traveling as well."
"Is it really?" Merlin said, pleased. "Well, perhaps I won't have to suffer loneliness and boredom, after all."
"Just because," Arthur said, his brows drawing down, "we ride the same road at the same time in the same direction, does not mean that we travel together."
And Merlin realized, before reaction had a chance to be offended, and grinned. "Because you'll be alone and unaided, on your quest."
"I'm going to consider the two of you together," Freya informed him, softly but firmly. "I'm sure Hunith will as well. And if Gwen knew, she'd be pleased, also."
Merlin could see Arthur biting his tongue out of courtesy. "If I were not a married man," he interjected, teasingly, "I would say something here like, women."
Freya clicked her tongue disapprovingly – and to distract her, Merlin pulled out the chair that was hers at the high table.
"Keep an eye on your ale-cup," Merlin advised Arthur, preparing to take a seat on Freya's other side. "We brew it strong, here."
"That doesn't surprise me in the least," Arthur retorted, lowering himself into his chair.
The king, already slouched in his own place, banged his cup on the table in wordless command for the feast to begin, without any formalities.
"Say what you like about the worries of those left behind," Freya leaned to murmur in Merlin's ear. "I am glad he'll be with you."
The worries of those left behind. And maybe part of Merlin's delight at this fortuitous turn of events was a relief that Arthur would not be traveling Caerleon at least, alone and beyond reach of aid. Not every lord or landholder of Caerleon was inclined to obey royal directive every time, and there was still resentment toward Camelot over their losses at Denaria and Fyrien.
It made him wonder briefly what reception Gwaine might face when he reached Orkan-broch.
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Annis stood on the bottom step, surveying the bailey area in the silver-gray predawn. A few watchmen, a few servants beginning preparations for the day's meals and cleaning – and one young man checking details of his horse and his supplies, waiting.
Prince Arthur was up earlier than she'd expected, honestly, after the feast last night. Possibly Merlin had warned him about the ale; Thurston was still snoring heavily in their bed, she was sure.
"This spring," Hunith said softly beside her, attention directed to the same young man, "they made the best of a bad situation, and Merlin still suffered harm. I wonder if I should be worried more to know that Merlin is riding out with the Pendragon, or less?"
"Worry less," Annis advised, without examining the sentiment too closely for truth, or all the possibilities for mishap or misadventure for two young men on an open road, beyond the bounds of their kingdoms.
She had watched the two princes at the banquet – this time in the Caerleon stronghold, and as allies, if unofficial. She had seen Arthur smirk and she had seen Merlin laugh and she had seen both princes at separate times, lean over Freya to speak to the other in lower, more serious tones. She had seen a bond.
Would it survive the dangers of the road? Would either prince protect the other if it meant their own life, or would they abandon a comrade as an enemy so their waiting kingdom would not be left without an heir, descending in all likelihood into strife and unrest and potential war?
That remained to be seen. Destiny, perhaps. Moving in unforeseen ways, but always in the right direction, as Alator of the Catha had written to her, when Merlin had first been taken hostage by Camelot.
But a mother's worry would not change a thing – it would only make Hunith unhappy, and maybe distract-
"Merlin," Hunith said, turning a moment before Annis, at the sound of footsteps on the steps behind them. "Here you are – where's Freya? I thought she'd walk down with you."
Annis was reminded of another day, early this spring, when she'd sent her prince raiding with the assurance of his brilliance. He'd been nervous and apprehensive, burdened with responsibility – this morning his shoulders were straight, his eyes clear, his smile quick. He was dressed nearly the same as he had been that chill morning, months ago, but for the cloak which was rolled and bundled with the pack slung over his shoulder, next to the sword-hilt riding easily at his back.
She spoke before he could. "I would guess Freya said her farewell before Merlin left her bed."
Merlin's eyebrows – and the color high in his cheeks – rose at her insinuation. Hunith – as had been her habit since her son's wedding-day – placidly ignored the implication. Annis privately thought, when the young princess' body began to betray the results of her prince-husband's willing attentions, Hunith would not be so complacent, at the prospect of grandchildren.
"Oh, well, that's all right, then," Hunith said. "A bit too difficult for her to actually watch you ride away?"
Annis knew what she meant. There had been quite a few unimportant excursions – hunting trips, unofficial visits she had not been required to accompany – where she hadn't bothered to stand and wave as Thurston rode away. Though, always when danger was expected. Perhaps Freya trusted Merlin's safety to Arthur more than Hunith did, maybe because Hunith had been to Camelot and witnessed at least part of Merlin's ordeal there. Perhaps Hunith remembered saying farewell to her own young husband one day, and it became the last time she'd ever seen him. And she feared the same for her son; this time his journey had no definite destination or expectations of time spent before his return.
"Don't worry, Mother," Merlin was saying. "I'll be fine. I'll be better than fine, I'll be with Arthur."
"Unless Arthur leaves without you," Annis remarked, raising her voice intentionally. The prince of Camelot - swinging up to his saddle, handing his reins and adjusting his seat – was close enough to hear.
"That's all right, I could manage to catch up," Merlin said cheerfully, also intending his friend to hear. "I know this land better than he does, anyway."
Beyond Arthur, Annis spotted one of the turbaned warriors leading a saddled mount out from the stables – Merlin's gelding, if she had to make a guess at the distance. And Tythan, also.
She turned to Merlin, gathering him into an embrace that was uncomfortable, given his ring-studded breastplate, but his arms were gentle around her in response, if surprised. "Take care of yourself," she told him, not caring at all if she repeated or usurped Hunith's admonitions to their son. "You carry our good wishes, remember."
"Even though the king isn't here?" Merlin asked. There was a twinkle in his eye and a quirk at the corner of his smile – and Thurston hadn't seen him off to Merendra, either. "Is that because he can't or won't or doesn't approve of the errand, or because his confidence in my ability to accomplish it is so absolute?"
"Both," she told him, and thumped the center of his breastplate, over his heart, where the hidden symbol of his adoption and status hung from the chain around his neck. "Fight to discover your destiny."
"We love you," Hunith called after him, as he leaped down the last step and mounted his gelding before finding the stirrups with his boots.
"Finally," Arthur drawled sarcastically at him, prompting another grin.
"Fare you well also, my lord Pendragon," Annis said suddenly. "We wish you success and safety on your quest. Do you plan to return by this route?"
"I have not decided that far ahead, but – thank you," Arthur said, straightening as if slightly surprised at the sentiment from her. "I suppose we shall have to see what fate has in store."
Tythan had released Merlin's reins to his control, and stepped back from the horses. "Pendragon," he spoke up unexpectedly. "We are trusting our prince's protection to your custody once again."
"I will not forget," Arthur told him, with half of a smile. Raising one hand in a salute to them all, he wheeled his horse toward the gate.
"I will see you soon!" Merlin called, pulling his horse's head around to follow the older prince.
"What fate has in store," Hunith repeated, watching them trot away.
Beyond them at the wall, the gate-guards pushed open the doors. Annis thought about walking up on the walls to watch the two riders a while longer, and decided against it.
"Sometimes that is better than what we plan for ourselves," she said to Hunith. Perhaps a prince of Thuston's own blood would have been more like him, and the struggle to develop intelligence and instill morals would have been far more difficult; she couldn't imagine that the end result of a child of their own blood could have been a better prince, a better man, than young Merlin.
Hunith hummed, her eyes on her son as the two rode through the gate and beyond their sight. "Maybe, but I would have been happy with what I planned… Though it is probably true, Merlin never could have been a farmer. Too much of his father in him."
For good or ill, Annis thought, and maybe now they would find that out, in meeting and possibly befriending Balinor the dragonlord. And, "We shall see."
