Merlin didn't reply for for a moment, assessing this man claiming to be his father. No. He lied. Just like most of the sorcerers he'd met. This was a trick for some darker purpose.

"You're not my father!" Merlin retorted, his shaking hand pointing with his sword to the bodies on the ground. "My father was a good man. Gaius told me so. He wouldn't do what you've done!"

"Merlin..."

"My mother told me he was kind and helped people."

"Merlin..."

"Stop saying my name!" Merlin shrieked, his sword bouncing in his grip.

Matthew's voice grew even more soft. "How is your mother?"

"You don't know her."

"I did."

"Shut up!"

"Her eyes are like the sky on a winter's day. Her hair dark and silky to the touch. Warmth and fearlessness are in her heart." Matthew locked eyes with him. "And I loved her. I still love her."

"You're just guessing," Merlin accused, his voice breaking.

"Does she still sew in the chair carved with wildflowers? It was my first gift to her."

Merlin's chin trembled. All his life he'd adored that chair, running his fingers over the delicate carving. His mother had said it was a gift long ago from a dear friend. "You can't be Balinor," he whispered. "You can't."

Matthew moved towards him.

Merlin's arm ached from squeezing his sword so tightly. "No closer."

Matthew ignored his stammering order. He reached out and pulled the sword from his hands. Merlin began to fall. Matthew caught him, easing him to his knees. "I wasn't sure how the drug would affect you."

Merlin shuddered, overwhelmed by emotion and his magic churning still.

"But I intended no harm. These knights will awake."

"Why did you do it?" Merlin murmured.

"I could not go back to Camelot, not after I had been seen, and especially by the young Pendragon. I could not risk my appearance getting back to King Uther."

"He hates you."

"You know then?"

"Gaius said I couldn't tell anyone you were my father." Merlin looked up at him. Balinor had kept his hand on his back, moving it gently in circles. "You really are my father."

Balinor nodded.

So many questions tumbled through Merlin's mind, but not a one made it to his tongue as Balinor spoke.

"I have come to take you with me. To tell you who you are and show you what your life can be."

Merlin moved his gaze to the lifeless Arthur. "But Arthur..."

"Is a Pendragon," Balinor finished. "Do you pretend he cares about you? If he knew for a moment who you were, he would kill you."

"He wouldn't," Merlin disagreed.

Balinor gripped his chin and turned him to meet his eyes. "I thought I could trust Uther. He deceived me."

"Arthur isn't like Uther."

The hand on his chin tightened. "Don't deceive yourself, Merlin. Their tolerance has limits."

"But..."

"I know what Kilgharrah has told you. He is wrong."

Tears sprang up in Merlin's eyes. "I'm...Emrys."

Balinor blinked slowly. "Come with me. I will explain and you will understand."

"Arthur."

"Let the prince return to his father. Let them wage war without you."

Merlin stared at Arthur's still form. All those dreams of The Dragon Man had been real. Arthur did exist. And Arthur had been nothing but good to him. He wouldn't ever kill him. "I can't leave him," he whispered.

Balinor sighed. He dropped Merlin's chin and stood, his face grim. "I am sorry. I did not wish to do this." He began to chant in the deep, strange language Aredian had used.

Merlin slid backwards on his knees, fearing whatever power Balinor possessed. A loud flapping sound drew his attention and he stared wide-eyed. "Kilgharrah."

The golden scaled dragon winged his way downwards. Merlin cried out and ducked down when it looked like the dragon would land right on top of him. Instead he felt himself lifted from the ground, and he gasped as the land below grew smaller and smaller. He was locked in Kilgharrah's claws. He tried to stammer out something, but fear silenced his voice. He gripped Kilgharrah's ankle and closed his eyes, praying he didn't fall.

Balinor settled on the log Merlin had occupied. He pulled a small piece of parchment from his bag and scratched away with a quill. He didn't write much, only a few sentences. He rewrapped the quill and placed it back in his bag, then knelt next to Prince Arthur. He ran an eye over the young man. The last time he had seen him he'd been a child.

Balinor rubbed at the left side of his chest. Turbulent memories played through his mind—magic used against him, Kilgharrah chained, himself threatened, then... Balinor stopped rubbing. His face hardened. No matter how innocent he looked asleep, the prince was his father's son. He'd marched on Druid camps and killed their inhabitants. He didn't deserve Merlin's devotion.

Balinor put a hand to his boot, feeling his dagger. How easy it would be to just stick the prince in the gut now. How would Uther feel, losing his own son? Perhaps a fraction of the grief he'd felt all these years. Balinor's breath stuck in his throat. He slowly stood. His nature fought him too strongly.

He rolled the parchment, then stuffed it into the top of the prince's breastplate where he would be sure to find it.

Merlin shivered. Bitter currents had whipped over him as Kilgharrah flew, and now as the dragon landed high on a mountain, releasing him, he curled up, quivering like a leaf fluttering in a winter breeze. He heard a rush of breath and a warmth covered him like a blanket then seeped through his skin, banishing the cold.

Merlin shifted, turning his head to find Kilgharrah above him, eyes fixed intently on him. "Kilgharrah. Please, help me." The dragon said nothing, but such sadness pierced his gaze, Merlin didn't speak another word. Kilgharrah waddled away from him to the end of the ledge and lifted back into the sky. He disappeared into the dark.

Merlin stood, wrapping his arms around himself. The warmth was fading, howling wind threatening his comfort. A ball of light lit up his hand and he stepped carefully toward the ledge, looking down. His stomach lurched at the sheer drop off and he backed away. He walked the length of the ledge, seeing no way down. He extended his light and discovered a large gaping maw at his back. He gathered his courage and moved inside the cave.

Not too far inside the cavern grew wider, but a tunnel to his left caught his eye when he perceived a flickering glow at its end. Merlin crept through it until he reached a smaller chamber. His brows raised in surprise. The rocky space was decorated like a room, containing a simple bed, a table, a chair, and three wooden chests. A fire danced in the middle of it all and Merlin looked up at the smoke exiting far above through a hole in the ceiling. It reminded him of his home in Ealdor.

Merlin moved near the fire to warm up, but kept glancing around at his surroundings. His father must live here. How long had he been here? An idea came to him and he glanced back at the tunnel. He should take advantage of the time. Learn all he could about this man who had spirited him away. Maybe find a weakness.

He knelt in front of the chests and lifted a lid. Several pieces of clothing lay inside, some unexpectedly fine. He turned to the next chest. It contained several rolled scrolls. He opened one, and even though Morgana had taught him much about language, he couldn't understand the writing. He moved to the third, and this one held his attention.

He pulled a carved box out of the clutter. Opening it, he found a series of letters. He withdrew one and startled to sense his mother's voice from the first line: My precious Balinor, My heart cannot be full when you are gone. Every night I pray you will come back to me safely. I do not know where your mission has taken you, but know I wait every moment for your return. Merlin read on, feeling the love of his mother's words. He skimmed through the rest of the letters, each expressing such tenderness and intimacy.

Footsteps echoed outside the chamber. Merlin piled the letters back into the box and set it in the chest, closing it as quickly as he could. He ran to the fire, snatching a blanket from the chair as he went. He swaddled himself and lay down, closing his eyes.

The footfalls stilled. Merlin barely cracked his eyes to catch Balinor standing in the entrance. He breathed deeply, hoping to appear asleep. The footsteps came near his form. "Sleep well, my son. There is so much for you to learn."

The steps moved away. Merlin's heart pounded, the letters he'd read tormenting him. His mother had loved this man. She would never have chosen someone wicked. Could he trust this man he had never known like she had once?

Merlin stifled a moan. Arthur. What did it matter if the man in this chamber was his father? He wouldn't stay. He couldn't. He was meant to be with Arthur, and nothing would ever change that.

"My lord?"

Arthur blinked a couple times at the weak morning light. His head ached, his mouth was dry as sand, and his eyes prickled. He rubbed at them and tried to sit up. A hand aided him.

"Slowly, sire."

A wave of nausea brought sweat to his face, and he dug his palms into the ground at his sides, willing back the urge to vomit. "Leon," he whispered.

"Sire?"

"Is Merlin alright?"

Leon didn't answer right away. Arthur turned his head to the older knight sitting next to him, pale faced and pinching his lips together as if he, too, fought queasiness. Arthur glanced around the clearing at knights awaking as he, many losing the stew they'd eaten.

"He's...not here," Leon informed him.

Arthur swallowed another threat from the food roiling in his stomach and forced himself to stand.

"Sire, wait." Leon climbed to his feet, stumbling after his king who moved back to the log they had been sitting on before they collapsed.

Arthur went to his knees. He reached down and Leon knelt next to him, peering at him to see him clutching Merlin's pet kestrel.

"Is the bird..."

"Alive," Arthur confirmed. He worked to keep his tone neutral. "He wouldn't leave Nero. He was taken by force." Not to mention, he wouldn't leave me.

"Most likely," Leon agreed.

Arthur looked back at the knights in the camp. "See to them. Bring me a report."

Leon struggled to his feet and began moving from man to man. Arthur turned his attention to Nero, stroking the bird's soft breast. A thought occurred to him and he stood, cradling Nero in the crook of his right arm as he shuffled over to the horses. Lebryt was still here. He lost his footing and sank down among the horses, breathing deeply to regain his composure.

He fought the haze of his mind, recalling the merchant standing, unaffected, realizing he must have done this to them, thinking that once again, Merlin had been right. Merlin. The merchant had said something, something about stealing, about... Arthur clenched his jaw. He'd said a Pendragon wouldn't steal his son. Could he have really been Merlin's father?

Arthur balled his fists. What right had this man to come and take Merlin as if the boy was an object? It was then he felt something brushing his chin. He glanced down at a piece of parchment peeking out of his breastplate. He lay the kestrel gently on the ground, then pulled out the parchment and unrolled it. A fine handwriting met his eye.

Merlin is my son. I guarantee no harm will come to him. Do not search for him. You will not find him. He is no longer your concern. There was no signature.

"Sire?"

Arthur looked up to find Leon leaning over him. "My men?"

"Most are waking. A few are not and their breathing is labored. Some are very weak." He held out his palm in front of Arthur who beheld a piece of cloth tied with a small string stained by the stew. "A medicine that tainted the stew."

Arthur picked up the cloth and ground his jaw. The merchant promised Merlin's safety, but what did they know about Merlin's father, after all? Arthur and Merlin never talked much about their missing parents, but Arthur could tell when the subject did arise that it was sensitive for the boy. They certainly both shared the desire to know the parent that had left them behind. But who could have expected this? Merlin's father a ruffian, a hoodlum, drugging them to take back what he thought he owned. This was not a man to be trusted.

Arthur began to rise and Leon offered him a hand. Arthur heard a rustle and looked down; Nero was waking. He picked up the bird lightly in his hands. His expression grew angry. "How many of the knights are travel worthy?"

Leon knit his brow, thinking. "Perhaps six." They hadn't been a large contingent in the first place.

"Take those that need Gaius back to Camelot."

Leon firmed his jaw. "You're going to look for Merlin."

Arthur nodded succinctly.

"What do I tell your father?"

"It's too late to stop me." Arthur stomped away towards the camp. The merchant may be Merlin's father, but he hadn't acted like one. He'd been absent Merlin's entire life, and he had no right to the boy. He hadn't been the one to teach him and care for him and make sure he was provided for. Merlin was his responsibility and by the gods, he'd get him back.

"Morning," Merlin heard Balinor say when he stirred before the fire. It took Merlin but a moment to remember what had happened. He abruptly sat up, turning with ferocity, a night of rest restoring his vigor.

"Take me back," Merlin demanded.

"I won't do that," Balinor said from his seat on the bed, not harshly, but with a sorrowful tone.

Merlin ground his jaw. "Arthur is my destiny." His feelings may have been conflicted over his father last night, but morning brought utter clarity.

Balinor drew in a long breath. "Arthur is the son of a bitter king who kills without thought. And as I have heard, hates magic as much as his father."

"He's changing."

Balinor slowly stood. "This is not an argument I want to have with you. You cannot understand until you learn."

"Where is Kilgharrah?"

"Outside."

Merlin sent one last scathing glare at Balinor, stood, and bolted for the tunnel.

"He can't help you. I told him not to. And he will obey me."

Merlin looked back at his father in betrayal.

Balinor sighed. "Merlin, try to hear me. You are far more than you understand. Magic is deeply interwoven into your blood and soul, but you are even more. There are things you can do and responsibilities that must be laid upon your shoulders. You cannot take them up if you remain in Camelot." He reached out a hand that held a bowl of steaming grain. "Let me tell you. Give me a chance to show you, then you may make your choice and return to Camelot if you must."

Merlin stared at the man. He supposed he did share some resemblance with him—the dark hair, high cheekbones, angular face, blue eyes. Though Merlin's eyes were lighter. More like his mother... What Balinor said, it was fair. And he did have questions, so very many.

Merlin shuffled over to Balinor, taking the bowl and slumping down into the chair.

Morgana ran a brush through her hair, smiling at herself in a small mirror. She fingered the golden trim at the neckline of the green dress she wore. Lancelot always liked her in this dress. She planned to "happen to pass by" the knights' training. Arthur had taken off on night patrol, leaving his friend to lead the training if he didn't return until the next day.

Lancelot had come by to see her after dealing with an issue in the lower town, some disgruntled disturbance between two rival factions in the blacksmith's guild. He was worn, dirty, and tired, but reported success. He'd refused to hold her and smudge her with his sweat and grime, but had fixed her with glinting eyes. Today she'd make sure the only desire that filled him was to find her after the training.

The door to her chamber opened, and she turned to see Gwen, the girl clothed in pale pink, a color that suited her. Morgana smiled to herself. "Arthur comes back today."

Gwen nodded, averting her eyes as she proceeded to make the bed. "He does."

"You're beautiful, Gwen."

Gwen busied herself with the sheets. "Not like you, my lady."

"Oh, stop," Morgana protested, turning in her seat. "What is beauty, Gwen?"

Gwen turned as she fluffed a pillow. "You, my lady."

Morgana laughed. "It's a gift of happenstance. And it matters little in the end."

"You don't like your beauty?" Gwen sounded shocked.

"Yes...and no." Morgana lowered her eyes.

Gwen laid the pillow on the bed and reached down to pull up the coverlet. "What do you mean?"

Morgana twisted her hands in her lap. "Sometimes it's all people see, especially men. When they come to a feast, when they meet me in the hall, what do they think I am? A beautiful woman and nothing else."

"That can't be true."

"It's true. Their eyes rove over me like I'm a jewel from the vaults." Morgana looked back into the mirror, meeting her own gaze. "But I'm so much more."

Gwen stepped up to her, laying a hand on her shoulder. "I know you are, my lady. You are kind and intelligent and brave, and I'm not the only one who knows. I don't think Lancelot..."

Morgana looked at Gwen in the mirror when she broke off. "What?"

Gwen smiled gently. "I don't think it would matter to him what a woman looked like if she had a beautiful soul."

Morgana raised her hand to take hold of Gwen's at her shoulder. "You have a pure heart, Gwen. Strength and boldness under that tender exterior of yours. Arthur sees that. He loves it."

Gwen smiled at her gratefully. The chamber door opened again, and they both turned. Morgana stood, surprised to behold one of the men they had just been discussing. "Lancelot?"

The knight peered from Morgana to Gwen. "Most of Arthur's patrol returned this morning."

"Most?" Morgana questioned as Gwen gripped her arm.

"They met a man who set something in their food, put them to sleep."

"Arthur?" Gwen asked.

"He's alive."

"Is he with Gaius?"

"He didn't come back."

"Why?" Morgana asked.

"When they awoke, Merlin was gone. This man apparently took him... And..."

Gwen's hold tightened on Morgana. "Arthur is going after him."

Lancelot nodded. "Of course. But Leon said the man claims he is Merlin's father."

Gwen stared. "His father?"

"Yes. I thought you would want to know." He looked worried, but pressed on. "I am expected at training."

"Yes," Morgana murmured.

The knight bowed his head and left, shutting the door.

Gwen moved to sit on the bed. "Merlin..." That boy! Always in trouble. Taking off after sorceresses, getting put in the stocks, kidnapped, falling out of trees—he couldn't let her rest for one minute! "Why is it always Merlin?"

Morgana shook her head. Merlin. Again. From the time he'd arrived, everything had changed around here. He'd become some kind of focal point for them all. Morgana twisted the bracelet on her wrist. She bit her lip. She'd dreamed about Merlin twice, and when he was around, she sensed a connection, like they were two old souls that had known each other since time immemorial. Such a silly thing, but she couldn't help it. And she couldn't help thinking that if she didn't have Merlin, something within her would break.