A/N It's possible I got a little carried away with the length of this but every time I thought I should break it up I changed my mind. Enjoy.
The mistakes we make
Part 4
"Why?" was all Merlin asked when they finally caught up with his father. He had entered his cave and settled down to make a midday meal.
"Why won't you help us stop the Dragon? It's not Uther who will suffer, you know. It's the ordinary people and those who will stand to fight against him. They will suffer. They will die. I know you hate Uther but...."
Merlin stopped helplessly and his father gave him a brief inscrutable look before turning back to his stew. He threw some roots and herbs into the pot and then began stirring.
"I've given you my answer," he said briefly, "there is nothing more to say."
The Keep was a confused and jumbled mess of citizens, guards and the injured lying on hastily-constructed pallets. Yvain noticed that the Lords and Ladies of the Court had tried to separate themselves from the masses but had succeeded only in squeezing themselves into a tight and uncomfortable corner with their servants and staff.
When the Knights walked in, their steeds tied up unavoidably exposed in the Courtyard, the common people of the town set up a ragged cheer.
"Leon," Lancelot yelled. Yvain followed the Knight as he strode across the room toward where Leon was lying on a pallet with a bandaged stomach.
"Lancelot?" asked Leon, slightly confused. "My Prince...?"
"When we returned to Ealdor, we discovered a magical threat to the Kingdom. Not knowing of the attack on Camelot, Merlin and Arthur went to counter it. Morgana and her maid stayed in Ealdor with the other servants. Ironically, we were riding back quickly to tell the King the... good news... about our treaty with Mercia."
Leon looked to his left where a man was lying pallid and unconscious.
"No," said Percival softly, "the King...?"
"One of the creature's claws stuck him in the leg. The wound is infected and Gaius has been unable to heal him. He says he needs...," Leon shook his head and closed his eyes as a wave of tiredness seemed to wash over him, "... something. Some root or herb or... something."
"Arrowroot," said Malcolm as he appeared and began to unwind the bandage covering Leon's wound, "we're out of arrowroot. Also hyssop and liquorice, although these we bought from southern traders and are not easily replaced."
"And if we don't get this arrowroot?" asked Yvain.
Malcolm gave him a wary look and then glanced around the room at the people crowded about them.
"Let's just say it would be better if we could," he said carefully.
Leon who had closed his eyes now opened them again and saw what Malcolm was doing.
"No, leave me," he ordered the boy, "there are others more injured. The King...."
"I will do it," volunteered Gwen, "you go and help the others."
Malcolm nodded and headed off to join Gaius on the other side of the room as Gwen finished unwinding Leon's bandage and began to wash his wound with the water she had gotten from the well.
She and Lancelot exchanged a look that Yvain couldn't recognise and then he surveyed the room for a moment, lost in thought.
"How many Knights are fit enough to ride out?"
"Five," replied Gwen, "maybe six, plus you. But every time the beast has attacked no tactic has worked. We send Knights out for our defence but... I think it sees them as... playthings. Pleasurable entertainment to pass the time."
"But how did it get free?" queried Yvain, "What does it want?"
"I was there when it was captured," volunteered Caradoc, "I was one of Uther's Knights even then. He lured it to a meeting by telling the Dragonlord Balinor that he wanted to open a dialogue with it. Once he chained it, he sentenced the Dragonlord to death for the use of magic and imprisoned the Dragon underneath the castle."
"Revenge," said Peregrine.
Caradoc nodded, the scar on his right cheek seeming to stand out in the dying daylight.
"I got this," he gestured to it, "from the beast when it tried to escape. As the Queen said, he could have killed me but he was just... playing. The King imprisoned him as a warning. This was a warning as well. A promise of what he would do to Uther when he got free. "
"But the King is dying," protested Percival, "so why does it still attack?"
"He wants Uther to see his people suffer," speculated Yvain, "He wants him to know how severely he has lost."
"Then we will fight," declared Tristan, pulling Fail Not from its home on his back. "We will ride out against this beast and we will bring back the arrowroot while we're there."
"Brave but foolish," said Caradoc harshly, "we should stay in the Keep until the Prince arrives. He and Merlin will..."
"I refuse to put my life in Merlin's hands," interrupted Vidor, "I don't trust him."
"Don't trust him?" asked Gwen, confused, "What?"
Lancelot waved his hand to dismiss the conversation.
"We have no choice but to try to defend Camelot ourselves. We will take all able-bodied men and ride out at dawn."
"No," protested Gwen, "there has to be another way." She looked straight at Lancelot, "You are my champion. The Queen demands her champion stay by her side for her protection."
"I'm sorry, my Queen, but with Leon injured that is not possible. We get some rest now and ride out at dawn."
He looked at Percival and Tristan who were conferring eagerly about the coming battle, "I said 'able-bodied'. That's not you two. You're both injured and you're both staying here."
"But..." Tristan protested.
"No arguments," said Lancelot, "you're no good to me like this. The rest of you, be ready to ride out first thing."
And he walked grimly away.
The rain began again as they finished eating. The meal had been conducted in an uncomfortable silence and the lack of human voices seemed exaggerated by the rhythmic pounding of the droplets on the stone.
As the afternoon deepened into early evening, Balinor brewed a herbal tea and handed it to the two men with a grunt. Merlin gave his father a disappointed look before blowing on the wooden cup to cool the contents.
Arthur waited for Merlin to speak as the hours ticked by. He was so used to his friend's enthusiasm and inability to keep quiet that he found it difficult to believe he had not challenged his father's decision. Instead he simply sat in disgruntled silence as the hermit went about his usual routine.
"This is ridiculous," he exclaimed, finally, throwing his cup onto the ground. "My Kingdom is being attacked, my people are dying and you don't even have the decency to tell me why you won't help us. You hate my father. I understand that. But I'm sorry, that just isn't a good enough reason."
The only acknowledgment Balinor gave him was to flick his eyes briefly in the Prince's direction. Then he returned his concentration to his tea.
"Fine," declared Arthur and he stood up abruptly. "I'm not convinced you can help us anyway. This is a dragon and I fail to see how one man can fight it. Come on Merlin, we're wasting our time with this... coward."
"You dare call me a coward," yelled Balinor as he stood up, his wiry frame seeming to expand to the ceiling and his black beard and wild black hair bristling with suppressed fury. "You who are Uther's son. The greatest lying coward of them all."
"My father is a great man," asserted Arthur, "his position on magic is wrong and he can be a little... unreasonably obsessed... but he is no coward. He at least would never cower in a cave when he is needed elsewhere."
"As far as I'm concerned, all who live in Camelot are complicit with that traitorous bastard and deserve their fate."
"You dare condemn innocent people for the Kingdom in which they were born while demanding my father not do the same for those with magic. You are a hypocrite... and a useless one at that."
"Please," protested Merlin softly but the two men ignored him.
"Do you know what that traitor did?" growled Balinor, "Do you have any idea what your adored father did twenty five years ago? Anyone who has released Kilgharrah and allowed him flight is a hero and should be celebrated as such."
"Please," pleaded Merlin, his voice rising softly.
"I don't believe that you're Merlin's father. Or Gaius' friend. Hunith would never fall in love with someone so... pathetic."
"Do not speak her name," demanded Balinor fiercely, "you're not worthy."
"I'm not worthy? The only thing you're worthy of is this wet, mouldy cave. Well fine, stay here. Grow old and die here, cold and alone. Your wife is a mere day's ride away, alive and alone, and yet you've stayed here for years since you found out. Pathetic. And a coward."
"Please," Merlin begged them, standing up between them with tears forming in his eyes, "please... just stop. Stop yelling at each other, I can't..."
He put down his tea and turned to his father. He took a deep breath to hold back the emotions threatening to overcome him.
"Will you help us defeat Kilgharrah?'
"No," said Balinor definitely, "I will not. Camelot is getting what she deserves."
"Then we have no reason to stay. We will have to return and hope that my magic..."
"Kilgharrah is a being of magic," interjected Balinor, "you and your magic are useless against it. When I die you will become a Dragonlord like me...."
Arthur started at that information.
"... but for now you are as helpless as..." he waved his hand toward Arthur. "If you face him, you'll die."
"Then I die," said Merlin in a tone that brooked no argument. "Come on Arthur, there's no point in delaying any longer."
"It's nearly nightfall," said Balinor, "at least wait until dawn."
"I can die just as easily at dusk as at dawn," said Merlin angrily, "come on Arthur. I have a spell to try that should take us back to Camelot instantly. I've never used it before but... well, there's no point staying here."
"Son, please," pleaded Balinor, "please... don't..."
"Don't what? Don't die? I'll do my best."
He turned to leave the cave and then stopped for a moment before turning back. The evening sun came through the entrance turning Merlin into an outline ringed by gold.
"He's right, you know," he said softly, "I thought you'd be... my mother and Gaius are so brave... they'd do anything for anybody... I'd hoped that you... it doesn't matter."
He turned back again and Arthur shot Balinor a disgusted look before following him.
"Uther was my friend," Balinor called out suddenly.
"What?" exclaimed Arthur, disbelievingly, "I do not believe that..."
"There was a group of us," Balinor continued, cutting him off and sitting back at the fire to pour a new cup of tea, "We were a... magical circle of advisors. We helped to defend the Kingdom against magical attacks and Uther... Uther was my greatest friend. When Ygraine," he nodded to Arthur, "your mother died, he went a little mad. He blamed Nimueh..."
"Why?" interrupted Arthur, "what does this have to do with my mother? And Nimueh? Are you saying that Nimueh was in this circle?"
Balinor glanced at Merlin then turned back to the Prince.
"You know Nimueh? No, do not answer. I have a story to tell. Let me just tell it. I'm not... I'm not used to speaking so much. Please, do not interrupt."
He took a sip of tea and marshalled his thoughts.
"Your mother died and he blamed Nimueh. So did I, so when he moved against her I supported him. Then he decided it was evidence that users of magic had been given too much freedom. I agreed with him there too."
"You agreed with him?" asked Arthur, drawn in despite himself.
"You have to understand. Magic was used for everything. A simple argument could become deadly in seconds. People who would once throw words threw spells instead. Curses were common. So much suffering."
Balinor dropped his head onto his hands. "I didn't notice his madness. I thought his actions were reasonable. Each step was so small that I didn't see how far he'd strayed from sanity. One day he executed an old, harmless woman. She was a healer who provided the contraceptives to local women and helped them get rid of unwanted pregnancies. It was old magic. Simple, benign. Uther declared he would execute any woman who dared to interfere with procreation."
"What did you do?" asked Arthur. He seemed caught between disbelief and fascination with the story. His father rarely talked of his mother and never spoke of her death.
"I protested, strongly. Your father pretended to hear me. He told me to find Kilgharrah, the last dragon, and offer him a truce. He said his purge was over. I... I believed him. I brought Kilgharrah to Camelot and, once he was there, your father imprisoned him and sentenced me to death. His oldest, truest friend."
He stuttered to a halt then, his unusually-long speech apparently over. The silence extended out like a rubber band that would eventually break and fling back to hit its holder in the face.
Arthur looked at him thoughtfully for one long minute and then wiped his hair away from his face.
"That old woman - the one who was executed," he said finally, "hundreds of her will die again if you don't help. I don't know... I don't know if I believe what you've told me about my father. I don't know what to feel about that at all. But if you believe the things you say you do, if you are as angry about injustice as you seem, then you have no choice."
"Please, Father," said Merlin earnestly, "please."
Balinor downed his tea and looked at the darkened cave wall as though his attention had completely wandered. Then he looked back again and stoked the fire with a stick.
"I don't know," he said. "I'm not entirely sure that if I saw Uther again I wouldn't do the same thing as Kilgharrah. Hatred is a terrible thing, my son. It lives and grows inside you quietly, unnoticed. You don't know how large and how... unmanageable... it has become until...
"Very well. At dawn then. But I do this for... old women and the innocents of Camelot. Not for Uther and....," he looked straight at Arthur with anger bubbling in his dark eyes, "not for you. Now, get some rest. We leave first thing."
The Knights rode out at dawn; their armour gleaming in the golden rays of an otherwise gorgeous sunrise. Yvain, Vidor, Caradoc, Peregrine and six others who were deemed able-bodied lined up in the Courtyard preparing to set out. In the distance, they could see Kilgharrah firing fields in the distance. He had attacked the fortified Keep all night and they had all gotten very little sleep.
"Lancelot!" a voice called out and Guinevere came into the Courtyard. "As Queen's champion, it is my duty to wish you luck," she said, her voice hitching slightly.
"I am grateful, my Queen," replied Lancelot graciously. She handed him an embroidered handkerchief and he took it and tucked it into his gauntlet.
"Good luck," she told them all and then they slammed down their visors and rode toward the city gates.
Yvain kicked his horse up to Lancelot and drew alongside him.
"I'm sorry," he whispered to him so the others could not hear, "I did not know."
"Know what?" asked Lancelot.
"That you... I thought that you came with us to Mercia because you knew Merlin's secret. But that wasn't the reason, was it?"
"No," agreed Lancelot softly, "it wasn't."
"The Queen is virtuous and you are honourable. I can't imagine Arthur believes that..."
"He doesn't. He knows that we would never... but others do. The gossip were I to remain while he departed...."
"You came for her sake, for the sake of her reputation."
Lancelot simply nodded.
"If we die today, Sir Lancelot," said Yvain, "then know that it has been a privilege for me to have met you."
"You are a good man, Yvain." The older Knight smiled. "And we will not die today."
They rode out the main gates and towards the fields, the dragon seeming to grow in size and ferocity as they rode.
"Gods, I have never seen something so massive," breathed one of the young Knights in fear. He had been a squire until the evening before when Lancelot had Knighted him so he could ride out with them that morning, "its size is impossible."
"Phalanx!" ordered Lancelot and the Knights lined up behind him.
"You need uneven numbers for a phalanx," sang a happy voice. Yvain swung around to see Tristan quietly bringing up the rear. He had strapped himself to his horse so his useless leg couldn't unbalance him and had drawn Fail Not in preparation.
"Come now, boys, what's the matter? Are you frightened of a little lizard?" He banged his visor down and took the final position in the phalanx.
"Tristan," began Lancelot, "I told you to..."
"How can I prove my love to the wondrous Yseult if I do not ride fearlessly into battle against impossible odds?" argued Tristan, "No Knight had women fall in love with him because he bravely stayed in the infirmary. Just think of all the women in Camelot who will adore me after this glorious victory."
"You call that love," growled Caradoc with a grin, "that's not love."
"I beg to differ, scar face. That is love and I will have it. And if that means riding against an unstoppable fire-breathing dragon with one useless limb... I say, I am Tristan and I will win."
Lancelot and Yvain smiled at the two men's now familiar argument and then turned to face the beast. They sat there for a moment, Yvain feeling the extraordinary strength that flowed to him from riding into battle with these men who had come to trust with his very life.
He once again felt that strange dislocating sensation of having come home.
"I am Yvain," he called out, "Yvain of Camelot!"
"For Camelot!" yelled Lancelot and he drew his sword to raise it above his head.
"For Camelot!" they yelled behind him and then they launched themselves towards their prey.
"Merlin?" asked Arthur as they gathered in the clearing outside Balinor's cave the next day. "You say you've never used this spell. What happens if it doesn't work?"
"We cease to exist," replied Merlin off-handedly and then he laughed when Arthur blanched.
"I'm joking. If it doesn't work, it doesn't work. We walk home. But it will. I'm sure of it."
"Father?" he enquired as Balinor hovered uncertainly outside the circle he'd created.
"I haven't changed my mind," he said softly, "I just...."
He pulled out three small carved wooden dragons and handed them to his son.
"I made these for you. One for every year since I found out about you. Like a... birthday present. I wanted you to have them."
Merlin looked at the rough carvings and smiled.
"They're beautiful, father. Perfect. Now come on. We have a Kingdom to save."
He gathered them into the circle and then concentrated for a moment.
"Edhwierft," he said and Arthur had the strangely disconcerting feeling of fading. He was about to panic when he suddenly felt whole again.
He looked around in confusion.
"Where are we?"
"The fields near Camelot. Now, father, you should use your gift of illusion so that... Gods, no."
The two men followed his gaze to the nearby field where the dragon was attacking a dozen or so Knights of Camelot.
"We must hurry," ordered Arthur as Kilgharrah swooped Peregrine and threw him off his horse. He landed with a thump on his shoulder and cried out in pain.
"Peregrine?" Lancelot slid off his horse and ran to the taciturn Knight's side. "Are you alright?"
"Just winded," he answered huskily.
A fierce scream rent through the air and every man stopped and looked up to see Tristan in the dragon's jaws. The beast had torn him off the horse, the strapped and injured leg merely serving to exacerbate his pain as he was dragged screaming off his steed.
The dragon threw the man like rag doll and he landed, feet first, on the grass, a screaming cry of pain flying from his lips as his damaged leg cracked and splintered like so much driftwood.
"Tristan?" Lancelot ran over to the other man and looked helplessly at the bloodied stump that was once his leg.
"Lancelot!" called Merlin and he and Balinor began running across the field. Arthur drew his sword and joined the other Knights where they stood prepared to face the dragon should it swoop again.
Merlin and Balinor reached Tristan and Lancelot first and Arthur saw Balinor concentrating as he ran, obviously trying to reach down and draw on his atrophied Dragonlord abilities. He stopped at Lancelot's side and, just as his son turned to him to discuss their plan, Balinor was hit by the edge of the roaring, boiling fire that Kilgharrah unleashed on the Knight beside him.
Lancelot shrieked as he was roasted in his white-hot metallic armour and Balinor fell to the ground beside him; still alive but so seriously burned that he was unlikely to survive.
And in the air above him, Kilgharrah flew away... his laughter echoing in the heated air.
