Part III: Albion Games
Chapter 1: Late
Merlin's boot slipped on a loose stone and he skidded, cursing, down the trail in a shower of pebbles and dirt. The guard leaped to his feet, alerted by the commotion, and advanced on Merlin, sprawled at the foot of the path coming down the hill.
"Hells," Merlin coughed, and sneezed, and took the guard's hand.
"Are you all right, m'lord?" the guard asked respectfully, as Merlin brushed off his banquet-ready finery.
"Just Merlin," he reminded the guard – who was older than he by several years. "How is he?"
The guard shrugged. "The same I guess? I don't know – he never talks to me." The man didn't look like he knew whether to be grateful or disappointed.
Merlin grunted sympathetically and took the offered torch, passing the guard as he entered the cave. He drew his cloak more tightly around him as he moved through the passageway into the main cavern – cold and damp as most caves were. "Hello?" he called as he came out of the passageway onto the ledge, lifting the torch and looking around – the torchlight only showed a small sphere of space clearly. Nothing. He tried again, the words coming naturally to him after so long, "O drakon, e male so –"
"There is no need for that."
Pebbles shifted. Rocks clacked together. Talons scratched across the stony floor. A vast shadow opened blazing yellow eyes on Merlin, and the great dragon stretched wings and limbs wearily before settling into a more comfortable position.
"Ah, young warlock," he said in a deep, rasping voice. "I thought I might see you today, but I had almost given up on you." Merlin fitted the torch into the bracket on the wall, and seated himself on his customary boulder, clasping his hands around one knee. "Your mother visited earlier," the dragon added.
"Yes, she told me she was going to," Merlin said. "Did she try to persuade you to move out of this cave again?"
"Yes, she did." A chuckle rumbled through the mighty chest. "Hunith is a very caring woman. I am free to come and go as I choose now, thanks to the young king, but this cave has become my home, young warlock, and I am very old. I will not make another." Merlin blinked against a pricking in his eyes. "Why have you come?" the dragon asked.
"You know why, Kilgarrah," he said. "The same reason my mother came this morning."
This day marked one year's passage since Balinor the Dragonlord had fallen in the arena of the Labyrinth of Gedref, protecting his son with his life. The great dragon was a link to the husband and father still beloved and always missed. "Did you call my father young warlock when you first knew him?" he added, trying to introduce a note of humor. He could never hear enough about his father from the dragon, but Kilgarrah grew weary of reminiscing for its own sake, preferring to instruct Merlin on dragonlore during these visits. And to hint cryptically at destinies and prophecies, of course.
"I called your father Balinor, young warlock," Kilgarrah said with irony in his deep voice. "I called him by name. As I would you, if you would permit me, Em-"
"Stop it," Merlin said, irritated. "Young warlock is fine, if you won't say Merlin."
The dragon shifted, lowering its head so that its breath puffed over Merlin, sulfury but not unpleasant, and the yellow eyes were large and keen. "Why do you question your identity?" he asked.
"I know exactly who I am," Merlin said shortly. "I'm a farm boy with a little power and a spellbook, and a generous king for a best friend, not some legendary sorcerer. But I didn't come here to talk about me. My father -"
"Your reticence does you credit," Kilgarrah said, not to be dissuaded from his topic of choice. Merlin sighed. "If one were eager to fulfill the destiny of Emrys and thrilled to possess such great power, the land would shudder in grave foreboding. Tell me something, kin of my spirit, do you doubt your king?"
"Never!" Merlin said immediately, putting his foot down. "It's only been a month since the coronation, but everyone says –"
"Then why do you doubt yourself?" Kilgarrah interrupted, kneading the projection of rock he reclined on with his claws, causing trickles of dust to patter down to the cavern floor.
"How could I be – Emrys?" Merlin scoffed. "The greatest sorcerer of all time – guiding the king?"
"You stand with him, do you not?" The dragon blinked. "You would give your life for him, would you not?"
"Yes, of course I do – I would," Merlin answered.
"Two years ago he was anointed heir of Camelot – due in no small part to your protection of him in the arena," Kilgarrah continued. "Last year he earned the union of two of the five kingdoms – again, with your aid. You could have chosen the throne for yourself – you could have wiped the two kings from the earth with one thought… and that would have been a severe miscarriage of destiny. The time of Albion is upon us, and you face what may be your greatest challenge yet, young warlock. You must open your eyes and recognize this, before it is too late."
"Well, even if Arthur is the once and future king, even if he does unite Albion," Merlin objected, "that doesn't inevitably make me Emrys."
"You are quite correct," the dragon said after a moment. "But you chose that path, when you tied your fate to that of Arthur's in the amphitheatre of Camelot. When you connected your souls in the Labyrinth of Gedref."
Merlin cringed. He hadn't been able to lift the spell that had allowed him to find Arthur in the maze, but he hadn't tried very hard, either. Arthur didn't seem to notice it, and it didn't hurt anything. Made it easier to find his friend if he was in a hurry with a message, actually. But he didn't know anyone else knew of the connection he'd unconsciously forged. "But –" he said.
"Prophecies are rarely fulfilled by those intending to do so," Kilgarrah observed. "Only in retrospect does the fulfillment become clear."
"But even if Arthur is the once and future king, someone else could be Emrys, couldn't they? I mean, what if I got killed or something?"
"Merlin." There was a compassion in Kilgarrah's tone as unusual for the cold-blooded creature as the use of the sorcerer's birth name. "Do you really believe Arthur would take another sorcerer to his side and to his heart, as he has done with you?"
"I… If something happened to me, he should find another sorcerer to watch his back," Merlin said stubbornly. "He needs someone with magic protecting him."
"You are right." Another rumble of amusement started in the dragon's chest, puffed out of his nostrils, the smell of fire ruffling Merlin's hair. "But the two of you are two sides of one coin. He needs you and you need him, and neither one of you can change that, now."
What if Arthur never unites Albion? Merlin wondered. Would that mean another child would be born to that destiny? Another warlock brought into the world and raised to be the greatest? There had been unrest in the neighboring kingdoms in the last month, since Uther's death and Arthur's coronation, but Arthur had no thirst for conquest, no ambition for the subjugation of foreign powers and lands.
"Emrys, I –"
"Just Merlin," he interrupted, sighing. "Kilgarrah – I should go. There's the banquet to attend, and … I shouldn't be too late."
"No," Kilgarrah said, pulling back. "You should not be too late."
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As far as Gwaine was concerned, it was a victory feast. His own victory feast, at least in part. And he was late. Not because he'd been busy, no, Arthur – King Arthur, he corrected himself with a grin – had very generously given him a day off from knightly duties and training. That's why he was late. With all day on his hands, and Merlin disappeared somewhere, he'd spent some time – all day, his conscience whispered, giggling slightly - in the tavern.
He turned into the corridor leading to the great hall, struggling with the fastening on his red ceremonial knights' cape. Blast the thing – they did get in the way, as Leon and Percival had both warned him. Someone else was late, too, hurrying down the corridor fifteen yards ahead of him. He recognized the gawky stride and shaggy black hair of Camelot's favorite sorcerer, and was about to call out to Merlin, when an arm shot out of an alcove and snatched Merlin from sight.
All his senses on high alert – and the faint pleasant buzz that the tavern-ale gave him doused by a cold bucketful of dread for his friend's safety – Gwaine stepped close to the wall, checking the rear for further possible assailants before skulking closer to the alcove, hand on the hilt of his sword.
He heard soft voices before he saw anyone. There was tension in Merlin's tone – but he recognized the other voice a moment later and relaxed, grinning.
"You were waiting for me?" Merlin said softly. "Are you jealous, then?"
"Jealous?" the female voice scoffed. "Of a great scaly lizard? I'm not jealous, it's just that you smell… like… dirt… and ash… and sulfur." The murmur grew softer, and ended with a breathless giggle. "Em-"
"Merlin," Merlin mumbled insistently.
Gwaine's grin widened at other sounds that emerged from the hiding place. He wrestled with the temptation – for a brief moment – then gave in and stepped into view.
"Hey, there, you two," he said lazily.
Freya squeaked and hid her blush against Merlin's chest, her hand leaving his neck to pull the fabric of his shirt over her glowing cheek, the druid symbol tattooed on her wrist visible as her sleeve was pushed up. Merlin gave Gwaine a sheepishly bright-eyed smile, but didn't release her waist.
"You know this banquet is meant for the three of us, right?" Gwaine said. "If you and I –" he pointed from Merlin to himself – "are both missing for too much longer, Arthur's going to send out a patrol." He paused, then added, because he knew it irked the young sorcerer, "Lord Merlin."
Merlin grimaced. "We're coming," he said, then mocked Gwaine in the same tone the knight had used, "Sir Gwaine."
The three of them entered the banquet hall together, Gwaine heading to the right for the knights' table, while Merlin and Freya took the aisle on the left. Freya stopped to engage in conversation with her cousin, Lady Guinevere, the girl Arthur had his eye on for queen – whenever he'd work up the nerve to ask her.
"I swear," he said to Percival as he straddled the bench at his place. "If he doesn't ask her to marry him soon, I will."
"Good day at the tavern?" Percival inquired pleasantly, not bothering to ask Gwaine for clarification on the odd greeting.
He grunted. "I have got to look up the laws regarding the ration of alcohol to water allowed in public establishments," he said. "And they were out of –" the words died on his tongue.
Merlin had gotten only a few steps beyond Freya before Hunith met him, the lanky sorcerer bending down for the tight embrace of his mother. Gwaine could see Hunith's shoulders heave with sobs as she held her son, and a wave of guilt swept over him – he had managed to forget that this was the anniversary of significant loss for his friend, not just the simple celebration of survival it was for him.
He wished he'd given Merlin a few more minutes in the alcove, if it helped to put a smile on his face. That was probably Freya's thought as well, Gwaine thought with a snicker, and a sigh.
As Merlin leaned back to look into Hunith's face and speak seriously, Gwaine glanced up to Arthur, who still looked faintly uncomfortable on Uther's central throne-like chair. To his left, his mother, fair-haired and pale but smiling happily, leaned over to speak to Geoffrey, the councilman who also oversaw the library. The chair to Arthur's right was empty, waiting for Merlin. Arthur drummed his fingers impatiently, then leaned to question Gaius, in the seat next to the empty one. The old physician glanced up at the king's question, gestured down the aisle toward the sorcerer and his mother. Arthur saw them and nodded, as one of the palace message-bearers slipped in between them, laying a note on the table at Arthur's right hand.
Leon and Percival were discussing the day's training around Gwaine. "I couldn't believe he'd attempt such a foolish maneuver," Leon was saying.
Percival made a noncommittal noise. "Well, you have to admit that Guinevere's brother –"
"Arthur didn't knight the man solely for that," Gwaine reminded them, watching Arthur read the note, re-read it, then reach to pinch the bridge of his nose.
"Says the man who's been a knight for a month," Leon said.
Gwaine looked over at Merlin as the sorcerer caught sight of the king's reaction as well, and spoke a few words of excuse to his mother, moving her to the side with a gentle hand on her shoulder. "We've all seen the potential in Elyan that the king sees…"
Merlin hurried around the corner of the high table to reach Arthur, perching sideways on his seat to lean close and question the king. Arthur flicked his fingers in response, and Merlin picked up the note to scan it.
He'd seen Merlin endure the skepticism and censure of the council, and to a lesser extent the other members of the court with good humor. He'd seen him resign himself to the uncomfortable title and clothes, seen him stand up to Arthur on some obscure detail of a law or treaty, firm and deferential in the face of Arthur's rare temper – then joke freely with the king the very next minute. He'd seen both of them deep in worried conference over the reports of raiders and rumors of turmoil in other lands.
From across the room, Gwaine could see the sorcerer's lips tighten. That wasn't a good sign.
Ah, hells, he thought. What now?
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Normally Arthur enjoyed a ride through Camelot's countryside in the sunlight. As a boy, his father had taken him on many such outings. As a young man, he'd had less time for it, but as crown prince he'd taken pleasure in weekly hunts, whether they found game or not. This was, he realized, the first time he'd been more than an hour from the city, the whole month he'd been king.
He should have been enjoying the warm sun and the brisk breeze. But not today.
He'd been warned. It was inevitable, really, the trying and testing of a new king – by his own court, by his people, by the rulers of surrounding kingdoms – and more so for an heir not of the bloodline or raised to the throne.
For a month he'd changed nothing, aside from one or two mildly divergent interpretations of a law or custom. There wasn't much to change, actually, aside from his irrational prejudices and overly harsh applications of consequences for lawbreakers, Uther had ruled a fair kingdom. The biggest change he'd made was to officially recognize Merlin's status as Dragonlord, and the loudest voice of protest to that was the sorcerer himself. The fact of the abilities to call, control, and speak to dragons was indisputable, especially after Kilgarrah's sole public flight of freedom – Merlin's way of mourning Uther's death last month. The term dragonlord was self-explanatory, after all, and once the title Lord had been added to Merlin's name, giving him a seat on the council had been child's play. As it had been his only change to the council, none of the other members had complained, much.
Arthur glanced over his shoulder at his friend. Mostly Merlin could be persuaded to dress in a more courtly fashion for meetings – for the couple of royal dignitaries' visits they'd had, the banquet two nights ago. But while Arthur and the knights rode in chainmail and Camelot red, Merlin was inconspicuous in his regular garb – brown trousers and jacket over blue shirt. He could have been mistaken for one of the servants in the rear of the train. Except he rode by Arthur's side.
Merlin glanced up, aware of Arthur's gaze, and the tension eased as he gave him a reassuring smile. No words were necessary. They'd already spent hours discussing the invitation – brief to the point of being terse – and there was no more to be said until more information was given them.
He leaned forward in the saddle as they climbed the last rise, and reined in a moment to take in the scene below. A large central pavilion was already erected. To three of the four points of the compass individual campsites were going up, servants scurrying back and forth, horse-handlers seeing to the picket lines, a few fighting men sparring in different locations.
It looked like Camelot was the latecomer to the party.
He took a deep breath and guided his mount down the hillside, holding a leisurely pace. Fifty yards out, they were met by a herald bearing Odin's wolf's-head on a maroon tunic.
"My lord," the herald said, bowing. "Their majesties are partaking of a light repast in the pavilion of meeting, along with their court sorcerers, if you would care to join them. I am prepared to show the remainder of your entourage an optimal setting for your encampment."
"You have my thanks," Arthur returned, signaling to his knights. Percival and Elyan would see to establishing the camp, while Gwaine continued on with Merlin and Arthur.
Reaching the pavilion, they dismounted, handing their reins to Gwaine, and Arthur led Merlin into the pavilion. Once inside, he removed his riding gloves, folded them, and tucked them through his belt, to give himself a moment to observe the other three monarchs of the five kingdoms of Albion. Five kingdoms, it was still said, though Camelot had controlled two for the past year, since the contest in the labyrinth.
There was Odin, unmistakable in the wolf's-head on maroon, a man with brown hair and a gray beard and a deceptively mild expression. There was a young man at his elbow, a highly nervous boy no older than Merlin, with round eyes set close together that never left the rugs covering the ground of the tent, and ears that stuck out. There was Alined, his gray hair short, his smirk in place on his deeply lined face. A middle-aged man with striped trousers and a widow's peak raised his eyebrows as he whispered in Alined's ear.
And there was Annis, an attractive woman for her age, with long red-brown hair held in place with a twined circlet, wearing a fur-lined mantle and a leather hauberk over a deep blue dress. She stood in one corner in deep discussion with another woman, dressed in black, with long black hair loose down her back. This woman, possibly Annis' court sorceress, looked over her shoulder to glare at Arthur as soon as he entered the pavilion.
An attendant brought a goblet of wine on a tray to offer to Arthur, who accepted it, and held it to the side. Eyes were drawn to the pair as Merlin stepped forward to touch the goblet lightly, and Arthur watched them watching his court sorcerer check for poison. He'd seen Merlin do it countless times – and even argued with him over it once when a visiting noble took offense – the blue eyes flashing briefly to gold. Merlin released the goblet; Arthur knew it was safe to drink, and did so.
"Greetings, King Arthur," Annis said, with no small amount of condescension. "And this is your infamous court sorcerer. I must say, I expected someone … different." She glanced over her shoulder toward Alined and his sorcerer, and added sarcastically, "But, so long as he can breathe fire and conjure butterflies, I guess he'll do." The sorceress beside her glared disdain.
Merlin said clearly, "Of course, my lady. I can juggle, as well."
Annis was taken aback, but only for a moment. "I look forward to seeing a performance, someday."
"We four have gathered," Odin began, his right as the oldest ranking male present, "to air our grievances and attempt a solution. Unless anyone has objections, I say we dispense with formalities and niceties, and allow ourselves blunt honesty today, as is compatible with this open-air forum." No one said anything. "I am ambitious. I make no secret of that or apology for it. I bear accusation against Arthur of Camelot for the death of my son in a sponsored tournament last year. I would see my land expanded and Arthur dead. That is all."
Dead silence. Almost every eye was on Arthur for his reaction, but he maintained a respectful silence. It was not, after all, his turn to speak, and he'd only hurt his credibility and spark the very conflict he was there to prevent if he tried to defend himself at this juncture.
"I seek not to change borders agreed on long ago," Queen Annis spoke up. "I desire peace in my lands no matter how extensive or restricted they may be. My complaints are two-fold – I hold Camelot responsible for the murder of my husband three years ago. And I call on King Alined to answer for the depredations of the Saxon renegades he has allowed a port of landing."
Ah. That was a detail the scouts hadn't managed to verify. Good to know.
Alined spread his hands, giving them an insincere and unapologetic smile. "As Odin, I also am ambitious – for the good of my kingdom. We seek to expand, to grow. I look not on the Saxon as a threat. We have a treaty with them that allows ingress so long as our lands and people are left in peace."
Annis looked mad enough to spit nails. Odin looked like he was considering how to turn the information to his advantage. Arthur set his goblet down firmly on the table in front of him. My turn. He took a deep breath, taking courage from the silent support of his friend and sorcerer.
"My lord," he said, inclining his head to Odin. "King Rodor of Nemeth has long been allied with Camelot, and has officially recognized myself as Uther Pendragon's heir and high king over that province. They have sent for our aid and support to fight the encroachment of your men upon their lands. They wish only to maintain the borders established of old peaceably, and we will honor our accord with Nemeth to the fullest extent. As to your son, he issued a challenge in keeping with the rules of the tournament, and his death was a tragic accident I would have prevented if I could. I had no quarrel with him; I asked him to withdraw." He took a deep breath and went on; dealing with these monarchs was little different, after all, than dealing with Uther – and he'd gotten fairly good at that. "You kill me, my lord, and you will have all of Camelot to answer to."
"Camelot is nothing without it's king," Odin scoffed.
"Then you don't know Camelot," Arthur said.
Beside him, Merlin spoke up. He didn't often, but when he did, people found themselves paying attention. "We will hunt you." His voice was matter-of-fact, quiet and calm, but Arthur heard I when Merlin said We. "We will find you. And we will not rest until we're done."
"You may want to reconsider your quest for Arthur's blood," Annis remarked off-handedly. "I have it on good authority that Uther fell prey to a curse when he attempted an assassination of one of Arthur's men, and that is what struck him down and caused his death."
Arthur bit the inside of his cheek to control his surprise. Gaius had said it was something to do with Uther's heart. Merlin stood perfectly still, his face revealing nothing. Annis' sorceress tossed her head.
"I came here to for a truce, Odin," Arthur said. "To give the people hope for the future." He shifted his weight and gave Queen Annis a somewhat more courtly salutation. "Caerleon ventured illegally more than once upon lands ruled by Camelot, as I learned of it. He seized the village of Stonedown upon our western border, and was captured soon afterward. He was given a chance to treat, to renew the peace that had been established between Uther and his father, and he refused."
"He refused and he was murdered," Annis said sharply.
"I am sorry –" Arthur began, but she cut him off.
"Sorry does not bring back my husband. Sorry does not give my people back their king."
"I realize that. I know there's nothing I can do to repair that loss." Arthur waited a moment more out of courtesy as the queen pressed her lips together. "I share your concern over the Saxon threat. We in Camelot have been increasingly troubled over the reports of raiding on our land and our people, and believe me, my Lord Alined, when I say that Camelot will permit it no longer. If you have formed an agreement with the Saxons, you must answer for their actions. Let them follow the laws of the lands they trespass upon, or let them stay inside your territories – or you may find war on your hands."
Alined snorted. "Camelot cannot fight a war on three fronts at once."
Arthur opened his mouth to warn them of the power of the sorcerer at his side – he was sure Merlin was quite capable of facing an army himself, if he had to – then stopped. It was not his power to threaten, after all. Nor did he want to achieve peace by intimidation.
"I believe you will find Camelot well able to protect her own," he said instead, evenly, "be it on one front or three. However, I came not to find enemies or to declare war, but to seek peace, and treat with allies."
"I echo the sentiment," Annis said resolutely, eyeing the kings. "Therefore, I propose a solution I hope your majesties will be amenable to." She paused as they waited expectantly, then sauntered around the edge of the thick carpet laid out over the ground, and stopped at arm's-reach from Arthur.
"We have before us a personification of the argument I wish to make," she continued. "Uther was a man restricted by his short-sightedness and not burdened with an excess of intelligence. However, he gambled upon a bold idea and won – twice over. There is in Arthur Pendragon the promise of a great king, and it diminishes us not at all to admit it. Cenred chose to challenge Camelot – and here, again, is the result. The young king rules two kingdoms."
"By all reports, Arthur's prize was not limited to the crowns and land," Odin growled, and Arthur realized that everyone's gaze had gone to Merlin.
"Indeed," Alined simpered.
"What I propose is simple," Annis continued. "A third challenge. Assemble a team, to strive for a goal. The winning team achieves an unchallenged victory for their monarch. And we anoint a high ruler over Albion."
A/N: Some dialogue from ep.2.2 "The Once and Future Queen", 4.5 "His Father's Son" and 5.4 "Another's Sorrow."