A/N Do you ever get that feeling of déjà vu? Yes, this is kinda sorta the chapter you just read. I wrote this chapter after a couple of really big days at work when I was just exhausted. Bad idea! I really didn't like it. I thought Arthur was OOC and that another chapter of M/A yabbering away in the forest was making the plot drag. So I've rewritten it to combine it and the next chapter together. Sorry for any confusion.

Oh, and yes, I've completely stolen a scene from the final ep of Season 2 and subverted it. I couldn't help myself.


The mistakes we make

Part 3

The Knights had left Ealdor and pushed on through that day and all the next, stopping only to ease their body's most basic needs. Yvain was the most exhausted he had ever been in his life and he could not understand how the others could be so lively after the hard journey.

Lancelot still rode straight-backed at the front of their party. Tristan and Caradoc still bickered about their differing attitudes to romance, even as every passing minute saw Tristan grow paler from trying to stay upright in his saddle despite his wound. Peregrine was as stoically silent as ever and Percival rode in a romantic daze about Merlin's new powers, his shoulder bandaged from the crossbow bolt.

Vidor was the only one who seemed changed and Yvain wasn't yet sure whether it was for the better.

"This dragon," said Percival finally, being the first to break their unspoken decision not to discuss what they would face in Camelot, "how do we fight it?"

"We do not," replied Lancelot calmly, his eyes never leaving the path. Yvain wondered if the others noticed how those shoulders were stiffer now. He was far more concerned than he appeared. "We simply hold our positions and protect the people until Merlin and Arthur return with help."

"If they do return with help," muttered Vidor.

Caradoc turned around on his horse with a look of thunder on his face.

"You do not speak about your Prince like that," he barked to the sullen man at the back of their party.

"I'm not speaking about my Prince," countered Vidor, "I'm speaking about Merlin. He's been discovered. Are you telling me you trust him to return to Camelot? For all he knows, we ride back to Uther to reveal his secret. If I were him..."

Tristan stopped and turned his horse around to face the other man, a look of bloody murder on his face.

"But you're not him," he said angrily, "as much as we all know you'd like to be sometimes."

"You're one to talk," bristled Vidor, "you're so busy waxing lyrical about courtly love and noble women you haven't noticed that you insult the Queen every time you do."

"Maybe if you weren't so busy trying to get up Morgana's skirts than..."

"I was trying to do the right thing," yelled Vidor.

"Oh, and the right thing just happily resulted in her being forced to your bed."

"I would never...." spluttered Vidor, "she would have.... I would.... I could have made her happy. Unlike Merlin who could have apparently snapped his fingers at any time and made Uther do whatever he wanted. How can he have that much power and let the King do something that would make her so miserable? I can't believe that he could be so... dishonourable... as to just dispose of her like that.... and...."

"Enough!" roared Peregrine, shocking everybody into silence.

Lancelot stopped finally and nodded to Peregrine in acknowledgement. "We arrive in Camelot in less than two hours," he said, "I expect people to see the noble Knights of Camelot riding bravely to their rescue not a pack of children brawling. Merlin and Arthur will return," he directed this last comment to Vidor, "with help as soon as they are able. Until then we know what we must do."

Vidor looked as though he was about to argue but one glare from Caradoc chastened him and the group rode the rest of the way in silence.


The autumn rain that began once more to pour down upon their sodden, exhausted heads seemed to reflect the two mens' moods as they made their way slowly to the village where Merlin's father, Balinor, had last been seen.

They checked into the local inn and sat unobtrusively in the main room eating their sparse meal and drinking a mug of ale. It seemed that their arguments had grown as sodden as themselves and they ate and drank in not-quite-amiable silence.

They went up to their room then, laying their wet clothes to dry by the fireplace as they bathed and then lay down on their cots.

"It's going to be freezing in here without clothes on," noted Merlin unhappily.

"It'd be colder trying to sleep in wet clothes," countered Arthur, "besides you're the one that sent the Knights and servants straight to Camelot with all our extra clothing."

"We couldn't afford the extra horse to carry them," argued Merlin, "we needed speed."

"Well, we're here now. No Balinor. And everyone we ask denies knowledge of him."

"Last time I came here he was living as a hermit in a cave nearby. We'll go there tomorrow. Hopefully it will have stopped raining."

Arthur's expression froze at the words 'last time I was here' and Merlin thought he was going to launch once again into the argument they'd had almost that entire day. Instead the Prince relaxed and Merlin gratefully took the reprieve.

He shut his eyes and began to flutter into a light sleep when a pillow hit his head.

"Wake up," ordered Arthur, "I haven't finished talking to you about this. I don't like that you have secrets from me. You're supposed to serve me and to do that you need to tell me everything. So I demand you tell me everything. To do anything else implies that I'm... untrustworthy."

"I told you, Arthur," groaned Merlin, wanting desperately to fall into oblivion or a few hours, "my mother told me about my father after I nearly died from that crossbow bolt. But she told me he was a Dragonlord that Uther had sentenced to death. It's like my magic. If I told you, I'd put you in a position where you had to decide between the law of Camelot and me. I couldn't do that to you."

"But you visited him?"

"Yes. I wanted to meet him. He was... well, he was a hermit. He'd forgotten how to talk to people. He didn't bathe. Hadn't shaved in years. I tried to talk him into going back to Ealdor but he didn't believe it was safe. Or maybe he was just scared of seeing my mother again after so many years. I don't know. Either way he stayed and I went back to my life in Camelot."

"Merlin, did you or did you not promise me that when your mother finally told you about your father...."

"Yes," Merlin conceded, "But I decided it was too dangerous – for him and for you."

He rolled over onto his side and propped his head up with one hand.

"I am sorry I didn't tell you. I had my reasons but I am sorry. I truly am. I'm sorry."

There was a long pause and Merlin thought that the Prince had finally drifted off when he suddenly said in a clipped tone.

"Apology accepted."

Merlin grinned in the dark room and slipped into sleep.


The Knights rode through the empty cobbled streets of the city confused by the silent calm. They had expected chaos and death and fire but here was... nothing.

"Maybe they've run," suggested Vidor and Tristan shot him a vicious glance that said their argument was not yet over.

"You may be a coward but the King and Leon are not."

"They've obviously fortified inside the Keep itself," said Lancelot, more to forestall their impending clash than to provide information. "The main gates are closed. The Lower Town has been abandoned."

"Then this dragon must be formidable," said Percival, in voice wavering slightly.

Yvain could sympathise with the young Knight. He had to admit to a genuine terror stealing its way up his limbs. It was the empty streets, the strange silence that seemed to amplify the feeling; the sense that in the nothingness there was a something terrible waiting to appear from behind or in the periphery of their vision.

He looked at the well standing in the main square.

"They've had to abandon the water," he whispered, "if we don't defeat this then..."

"Gwen," exclaimed Lancelot suddenly.

Yvain turned and saw the Queen sidling toward the water pump, too busy scouring the sky for the beast to see them.

Lancelot's face blanched and he called out to her to get back inside.

She noticed him then and, after a start of surprise, shook her head in determination and headed toward the pump.

As she began drawing water, a gigantic shadow, the likes of which Yvain could not have even envisioned in his most terrifying nightmare, fell over the square and a terrible lizard dived down into the courtyard to the girl standing pumping water at the well.

"Guinevere!" yelled Lancelot and he slid off his horse and pelted across the courtyard throwing himself on top of her so that the dragon's claw raked down his armoured back and tore down the back of his legs.

"My Queen," he said awkwardly, as if suddenly realising he was lying atop her.

"Good Knight," she answered politely and then made a gentle gesture to be released. Lancelot helped her up and she smoothed down her simple woven dress.

"We need to get inside," she commanded, "Leon and the rest of the Knights and guards have all been injured by the Dragon. We're fortified in the Keep. The Dragon mostly attacks at night when we are at the greatest disadvantage but...." she waved her hand at the beast flying back toward Camelot for a second charge.

"And the King?" asked Caradoc with concern.

"The King..." Gwen paused, "The King rode out against the dragon himself and was seriously injured. Unless these attacks stop and we can restock our medical supplies, the King.... the King will die. Now come along...." she stopped, her eyes suddenly taking in the reduced group. Her hands gripped the dress suddenly, the tendons standing out on her slim arms.

"Where's Arthur?"

"Gone to get help, although that is not the story I will tell everyone. Obviously. Merlin scried the dragon's release and they have gone to find a Dragonlord."

Yvain followed Lancelot's gaze as he watched the dragon in the distance happily destroying the wheat fields just outside of Camelot's gates.

"If things are as grim as they appear here, we can only hope their trip is successful and they return with help... and soon."


The light sprinkle of autumn rain dripped off the rocks onto moss-covered ground as Merlin and Arthur walked their unsteady horses toward Balinor's cave.

As they got closer, Merlin got increasingly pensive about their welcome until Arthur finally told him that the man was his father and to stop being such a bloody girl. The other man's mood lightened somewhat at the old insult and their progress improved until Merlin finally waved for them to stop.

"This is the edge of my father's property. At least in his mind. We should camp and wait for him to notice us. Otherwise he might... um... attack us."

"Attack us," exclaimed Arthur disbelievingly.

"Well, he is a hermit, Arthur," argued Merlin, "I told you. He's forgotten how to talk to people. And also..."

"No, Merlin, there can't be more," protested Arthur, "surely."

"Well, it's just... Arthur, you know how I have such strong magic..."

At this further revelation, the Prince simply dropped his head into his bare hands and began to laugh.

"Oh Gods, Merlin, what else? Come on, you can tell me. Let me guess... he's also a Druid King who's next in line to rule? Maybe he's secretly a bunny rabbit in disguise? Um? One with big nasty teeth and a killer overbite. Is he going to hop up and rip our throats out? Come on, you can tell me."

Merlin gave a muted grin but a grin nonetheless, "Don't be ridiculous, Arthur. That's all, I promise you. Just a Dragonlord of the old religion who happens to be my father and was sentenced to death by your father for the crime of being a very powerful magical being. That's all."

"Oh, that's all, is it? Well, if that's all, Merlin. Wait, didn't you once tell me that any warlock with real skill had nothing to fear from execution. Why did your father run?"

"Because he may be able to protect himself but couldn't protect his family or the people he cared about. Besides, his gift isn't violence. It's illusion."

"Illusion?" asked Arthur, intrigued, "What does that mean?"

"It means he's sitting right beside you sharing your fire," said a guttural voice and both men gave a sharp startled jump and then leaped up and grabbed their weapons as a man wavered into view right beside where Arthur had been warming himself.

"Is that any way to greet your father, son?" he said, with a pleased smile as he beheld Merlin.

"Father," sighed Merlin, happily and he grasped the older man's hand in his own.

Balinor was, as Merlin had promised, unwashed, unshaven and generally unkempt. But he had a keen sparkle in his eye that reminded Arthur of his son.

"My son," Balinor said and a few tears ran unashamedly down his cheeks. It appeared that the man was as openly emotional as Merlin as well. "I had hoped you would return. I have been waiting for many years to see you again. And this must be Prince Arthur? The man who is only his father's son in the best ways."

Arthur was somewhat taken aback at being described in that way but greeted the hermit warmly nonetheless.

"What do you do here? Since you have brought Uther's son I cannot imagine it is a social call."

Merlin shook his head. "I'm sorry, father, no. The Great Dragon has been freed and attacks Camelot. We need you to come with us to defeat him. Will you help us?"

Balinor gave his son a proud look, the tears still staining his filthy cheeks, and squeezed the hand he held more tightly.

"No," he said simply and began to walk back toward his cave, the two stunned men following behind him.