Disclaimer: I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to BBC Merlin.
Author's Note:Okay, so this has officially become my longest chapter to date. A bit of worldbuilding here (as well as tying up of loose ends) :). I thought about separating it out, but the next several chapters will (hopefully) be jam-packed with action as the siege commences. To those of you who read Author's Notes, I don't normally do this, but I would like to know your thoughts about how it might be best to format the next few chapters: i.e. should I keep having Merlin's P.O.V one chapter and Arthur's P.O.V. the next? Or should I split perspectives each chapter? That is, each "section" of the chapter would switch perspective (which is how I used to write these stories). I have my own thoughts, and I already did a bit of experimenting at the end of this chapter. I don't guarantee I'll necessarily make the same decision, but I would like to hear your input! I also hope you really enjoy this chapter—I think it has the potential to become one of my favorites :). Please enjoy!
Reviewers: All 320 of you, thank you!
Rating: T/M
Summary: Three years have passed since Merlin's partial reveal of his magic. On the eve of their assault on Helios and Morgana's forces, Emrys must finally reveal himself in full. Quite without his knowing, it alters the entire course of Camelot's future—as well as his own, with the Once and Future King…[Ambiguous Relationship (Merlin/Arthur)]
"Speech"
Personal Thoughts/Memories (Italics)
.:A Man's Measure:.
By Sentimental Star
VIII: The King's Grace (Part 14)
Merlin's shoulders slumped once Kilgharrah and Aithusa had flown out of sight. Sighing, he rubbed his face, attempting to stave off the headache that threatened to form.
Trust Arthur to notice.
"Merlin…?" the king's arm tightened around his shoulders.
Merlin groaned, sliding his hands down to the nape of his neck and tilting his head back, "I wish I didn't have to involve Aithusa. But this is the only way to ensure she won't wander off and get tangled in things beyond her ability to handle."
Arthur snorted warmly, "That troublesome, is she?"
He used the arm he had wrapped around Merlin's shoulders to steer them in the direction of the fire they shared with Gwen. Around them, their people's own fires flared to life as they began to prepare the evening meal.
In response, Merlin groaned again, vigorously rubbing his neck, "You have no idea…"
Arthur chuckled and fell silent, nudging him to the right as they navigated their way through camp.
About halfway to their fire, the king suddenly blurted, "Can I help you?"
Merlin blinked at him, slightly stunned.
Arthur flushed, attempting to clarify, "I mean…can we bring her to Camelot? We could arrange something…"
"What do you know about raising a baby dragon?" Merlin laughed, twisting beneath Arthur's arm to peer up at his best friend, gaze warm and somewhat incredulous.
Surely he must be joking…
The red on Arthur's cheeks blossomed, "Not much," he admitted sheepishly. "But I could learn—"
…Or perhaps he's not.
Merlin paused, taking note of Arthur's growing blush, "…You're serious," stated with no small amount of wonder.
Arthur flustered, "Of course I am, Merlin."
"But…the ban-" stammered.
Halting mere feet from their fire, Arthur tugged Merlin around to face him, hands slipping down to the warlock's shoulders, "—Can be lifted." A hand lifted to cradle Merlin's cheek, "Our people know you have magic. That was made rather apparent by our practice early this morning and your antics yesterday. It's really just a matter of logistics and trying to convince certain stubborn councilors. Honestly, I'm half tempted to banish the lot of them…"
As Arthur trailed off to muse on the least obvious ways to get rid of crochety old councilors and make it look like an accident, Merlin turned his face into the hand against his cheek and whispered, "…You don't want to do that."
His reaction caught Arthur's attention and the other man grinned, "Why, Merlin…" drawled, "are you shy?"
…And just like that, things returned to normal.
Merlin soundly thumped him, blush high in his cheeks, "Look who's talking, oh high and mighty king!"
Arthur laughed, fending off the half-hearted attack, and grinned, boyish and with a definite flush highlighting his cheeks.
However, before Merlin could retaliate, he found himself yanked into a tight hug, Arthur's shoulder smothering the surprised sound he made.
"…Arthur?" the warlock murmured against the fabric.
Arthur's arms tightened around him, "…I told you three years ago that you'd be safe," the older man remarked softly in his ear, "that things wouldn't be how they were forever…I don't intend to rescind my promise now."
"Arthur…" Merlin shook his head, stepping back to rest his hands on the king's arms.
A throat cleared delicately behind them before Merlin could say anything more.
Merlin and Arthur jerked halfway apart, glancing up to find Isolde eyeing them with great interest where she lounged against one of the logs surrounding their fire. The smuggler held herself stiffly, but overall looked much better. The knowing smirk tugging at her lips may have leant that impression, but she was not the traveling companion that caught their attention.
Sitting on another log beside the stew pot bubbling over the flames, an unamused Gwen glowered at them, arms crossed over her chest.
As Merlin flushed to the roots of his hair, Arthur groaned.
"Don't look now," he whispered to Merlin as he released him, "but I think Gwen has decided to do battle with us."
IOIOIOIOIOI
Over what, it soon became clear:
"…Why are you trying to convince me?" Merlin groaned as he banked the ashes of their fire around the stew pot. "I am fully aware you are more than capable of handling yourself in battle!"
"Because you're the only one anyone ever listens to!" she exclaimed. Gwen's pique was up, and unfortunately, Merlin found himself faced with the task of diffusing it as neither Isolde, seconds away from dissolving into laughter, or Arthur (who looked much the same) were of any help.
Glaring at Arthur for his badly concealed amusement, Merlin gave long, drawn out sigh, "If I can't even convince this lug," and he lightly kicked Arthur's boot as he sat beside him on the log, "to listen to me, I'm not sure how you came up with that idea."
He expected Arthur to scowl and yank his boot away (it was what his friend usually did in moments like this). But Arthur did nothing of the sort.
Instead, he grimaced in what looked a lot like guilt and finally entered the fray with Gwen, much to Merlin's surprise:
"Honestly, I'm not sure why you think you need to convince us," the king kept his response careful. "Both of us know how deep your courage runs and how skillfully you wield a sword. We have known that for many years. We aren't the ones you need to convince, Gwen…"
…Merlin could not think of a thing to say. Not because he disagreed, but because he never would have expected Arthur to articulate it so well.
Clearly, neither had Gwen, because absolutely all the air went out of her and she eyed him speculatively, rather surprised.
Looking incredibly uncomfortable, Arthur glanced away to stare into the flames of their fire, rubbing the back of his neck with a faint flush coloring his cheeks.
Seconds later, Gwen's face softened, and she looked inexplicably proud of him.
"Who do I need to convince, then," she remarked softly, "if not you, the king?"
Merlin held his breath, waiting to hear how Arthur would respond. Across from them, Isolde observed Gwen and Arthur's interaction just as keenly.
Somehow, Arthur and Gwen had reached this point on their own. Whatever Arthur said next would determine the course of their relationship from here on out.
Taking a deep breath, the king pressed his knee against Merlin's. Glancing up for a split second to meet the warlock's surprised blue eyes, he moved his gaze to Gwen, then—further beyond her—to Leon, who was hesitantly making his way towards them from the opposite end of camp, near the woods.
Gwen followed Arthur's gaze and promptly blushed, but nonetheless tilted her chin up, giving a firm nod. Squaring her shoulders, she set off to meet their Head Knight halfway, eyes falling to rest on a brightly colored bundle partially concealed behind the man's back.
Merlin had a feeling he knew what it was and confirmed it a moment later when Gwen found herself intercepted by a handful of bluebells that Leon presented to her, utterly unaware of what he had just managed to diffuse.
Any remaining ire on Gwen's part quickly fled as she accepted the bouquet with wide eyes, a sweet flush on her cheeks. Touched, she smiled slightly and dipped her nose to inhale the scent of the blossoms.
"Why doesn't that work for me?" Merlin groused, watching the two of them head off as they spoke quietly to one another. Even from this distance, he could see a hue of red coloring Leon's cheeks as he tilted his head down to listen to her.
(Gwen was still a fighter, no matter how sweetly her temper might have been interrupted.)
"Because she doesn't fancy you, maybe?" Arthur snorted, even if he did look a bit forlorn.
"She fancied me once!"
Arthur glanced over at him, arching an eyebrow, "Oh, were you actually aware of that? Morgana and I didn't think so."
Merlin scowled, a faint blush of his own washing across his cheeks, and kicked out at Arthur once more, "For your information—"
…And got interrupted by Isolde's hastily smothered snort of laughter.
"I'm sorry," she laughed, as Merlin and Arthur blinked at her. "I'm sorry. It just…it sounds like I would have enjoyed knowing the three of you when you were younger."
"…You could have," Tristan spoke up from behind her, causing Merlin and Arthur to start. He smirked at them, half-apologetically, and placed a new pile of wood close to their fire. "We both could have," added a touch ruefully, as he leaned over to hand Isolde his own bouquet of flowers.
She stared up at her partner in surprise, accepting them, "Why…what are these for?"
Tristan shrugged one shoulder, a smile quirking up the corner of his lips as he sat down beside her, "Just because."
A small flush worked its way across her cheeks as she followed Gwen's example and buried her nose in their fragrant blossoms.
Merlin's face softened as he watched the two of them, but Tristan's response seemed to have caught Arthur's interest:
"What do you mean…'could have?' I…forgive me, but I do not believe I had heard of 'Tristan and Isolde' before we first met. Are you…nobility? I had suspected, but…"
Merlin gaped at him.
Of course…if Tristan is nobility…he would have had access to exactly the kind of texts needed to learn about the Dragonlords.
Tristan released a faint sigh, exchanging a glance with Isolde, who gave him a tiny smile and a nod over her flowers.
"A compromise, then," Tristan agreed softly, turning back to Arthur. "A tale for a tale. What say you, King Arthur?"
Arthur looked distinctly more wary and Merlin nervously rubbed his palms against the fabric of his breeches.
"What are you proposing?" the king asked.
"I will tell you our story…if you explain exactly who this Morgana is that you are intending to fight."
IOIOIOIOIOI
(An Hour Later)
"…Morgana was my father's ward when we were growing up," Arthur murmured, scraping at the sides of his stew bowl. "She came to Camelot when I was 11. Her…father at the time had passed away. If you are indeed nobility…you would have known him. Gorlois?"
Arthur stared into their fire as he began the story even Merlin had not heard, resting his half-empty stew bowl in his lap. Across the fire from them, Isolde and Tristan listened quietly as they ate their own stew.
"We had where I am from, yes," Tristan acknowledged, but Isolde shook her head.
Intrigued, Arthur raised an eyebrow at her, but continued, shifting his hand to nudge it against Merlin's resting on the log between them, "I didn't realize it at the time…but my father had had a fit of conscience and brought her in to live with us."
Taking the wordless hint, Merlin gently interwove their fingers, offering support in the only way he could right now.
Relaxing imperceptibly, Arthur tangled their hands together, "I was an only child and had never had any siblings. We…did not get on at first, she and I. We both had to adjust, never having had to share space with another before. It did not help that my father was outrageously partial and utterly dismissive of her intelligence in turns. He never could treat her with any kind of consistency. Perhaps that is why she rebelled as she did…" he trailed off to muse on it, a bit bitterly.
If that is the case, Merlin thought quietly, it explains much of the interactions I observed between her and Uther when I first came here. Never mind the fact that he never told her he was her father…or even breathed a word of it to Arthur.
"What changed?" Isolde's question was soft, and she set aside her empty stew bowl at her feet.
Arthur released a tremulous sigh, tightening his grip on Merlin's hand, "There was an attempted coup against my father."
Against him, Merlin started, knowing exactly which coup his best friend referenced.
Arthur raised his eyes from the fire, locking them onto Merlin's as he sought to ground himself, "We were only fourteen. She took care of me after I had been injured in the attack."
Merlin sucked in a sharp breath, understanding what Arthur had not admitted to: Gods…no wonder he would not hear a word against her until I showed him evidence of what she had done. To suddenly have had that, after years of living with a distant Uther…
"It helped that, at the time, she had just gotten a new lady's maid," Arthur murmured, returning his attention to Tristan and Isolde.
By the gradual widening of their eyes, Merlin could tell they had made the same connection he had, "…Guinevere," he stated with certainty.
Arthur glanced at him…and nodded, before dropping his eyes to the stew bowl in his lap, briefly overcome by the memories.
Gingerly, Merlin removed the bowl from his grasp, setting it on the grass next to his already empty one.
"You have got to eat more, Arthur," he muttered.
Too close to him not to hear, his best friend snorted softly, "Who is mothering now, Merlin?"
Merlin rolled his eyes, elbowing him gently in the ribs. But then he let his shoulder rest there, just beneath Arthur's, and placed his chin against the cold chain mail, arching an eyebrow up at his king.
Arthur nodded to him, indicating he was fine. Merlin rather doubted it but chose not to call the other man out on it.
Arthur sighed, doubtless aware of Merlin's choice, but turned back to their enraptured audience, "That was the start, I think, of our friendship, though I did not know to call it that at the time. We continued like that for the next four years—sometimes at each other's throats, sometimes each other's only ally. It did not coalesce into anything more substantial until Merlin came to Camelot when I was eighteen. After that…I finally knew to call her—and Guinevere—my friend," completed softly.
It was accompanied by the same look he had given Merlin in Excalibur's clearing two days ago, when Merlin had fallen to his knees and proclaimed him the rightful king—too full of humility and awe to be properly expressed in words.
Overcome, Merlin lowered his own gaze, tracing his eyes over the stitchery of his breeches. He felt Arthur's hand slide out from beneath his and saw it come up to squeeze his knee.
Swallowing, he glanced up to find his best friend watching him, edges softened, and blue eyes turned copper by the sun's fading light.
Isolde cleared her throat, "Well…" she sounded abashed, "our story is not near so profound I am afraid."
Arthur made a sound that was halfway to a strangled laugh, turning his attention back to the smugglers, "I haven't finished, yet, but the next part…is rather hard for me to share, so I would welcome speaking of something different for a while."
Isolde glanced over at Tristan, raising an eyebrow. The man nodded and glanced at Arthur, "A fair trade," he agreed. "As you surmised…we are, indeed, nobility. Though I do not often like to claim so. King Mark of Cornwall is my uncle—and adopted father. Our relationship is…not what it was when I was younger. Had I stayed on with him, I may have indeed met you some years back. He and your father set up a parley just after you turned fifteen, I believe."
Arthur nodded. Clearly, he remembered it.
"You were not in his entourage," murmured. "I would have remembered you, had you been."
A crooked smirk lit up Tristan's face, "I will take that as a compliment."
Merlin chuckled as Arthur blushed, but noted his friend did not refute it. Skills such as Tristan's would not have gone unnoticed by the future Crown Prince of Camelot.
Tristan's smirk dimmed somewhat, "But as it happens…I had left my uncle's court just the preceding spring to travel to Eire at his behest."
"Eire…?" Merlin jaw loosened slightly. Even in Ealdor—two days' journey from the sea as it was—they had heard of Eire, and its mythic land. Merlin had been more taken by those stories than most, because of how steeped in magic the tales had been.
Isolde chuckled at him, clearly aware of his thoughts on the matter, "Yes, Eire. I am from there, after all. I would have met you, Arthur, in one of two ways: as a princess of Eire…or as the wife of King Mark." She smiled sadly at Merlin's appalled look, "Yes, Merlin, I was betrothed to Tristan's uncle. Royalty…we do not usually have much choice about who we are to marry."
Merlin knew this, he had seen Arthur through at least two near-marriages that would have left his best friend desperately unhappy. This only solidified his belief that—in some ways—royalty was absolutely mad.
Arthur snorted, albeit a bit ruefully, all too aware of Merlin's thoughts on the matter and able to fill in the gaps far more easily now that he had a bit of a backstory, "I think I know what happened…but I need to confirm it. Tristan was sent to escort you to Cornwall, correct?"
Isolde smirked at him, "Correct. I was willing, at first. You know better than anyone the obligation a princess—or prince—feels to their land and people, Arthur Pendragon. You would not be planning a near-suicidal assault on Camelot otherwise. But…then I met Tristan. My father held a tournament of arms to honor (what he saw as) the sealing of the pact he made with King Mark. Tristan, of course, was invited to participate." She gave her partner a gentle—and a touch besotted—smirk, "He won the tournament, and I was suitably impressed. I tried to convince my father to change the terms of the pact so that it was Tristan I married, instead. I argued that, as a ward of the Cornish king, he was as much royalty as his uncle was. My father, naturally, did not see it the same way."
Merlin lifted his head from where he had been listening to her, mesmerized by the pictures she brought forth in her narration, and now glanced at Tristan, "So when you said the way I defended Arthur reminded you of the way Isolde had defended you…"
"This is what I was talking about," Tristan agreed with a lopsided smile.
"So, what happened?" Merlin asked, though—like Arthur—he already had a guess.
Tristan met Isolde's eyes, who held his gaze and gave him a completely besotted smile, "…We fell in love," the knight errant concluded softly.
Isolde smirked, then laughed, turning back to Merlin and Arthur, "Not at first," she conceded. "At first, it was still mainly obligation…with a bit of attraction mixed in, as well as the hope that…maybe…I could choose my own spouse. My father had never felt the need to curb my actions, but on this he was firm. So I agreed—with the thought that, perhaps, I could convince Tristan to take my side in the matter once we met his uncle. But, well…"
"…It was a harrowing journey from Eire to Cornwall. Two days tossed about on the sea, three days' trek through unfamiliar territory after being blown off course to Wales and from thence into Snowdonia, which we had to walk the entire length of before finding ourselves in Gloucester. Only then could we navigate into Somerset and beyond that into Exeter, finally arriving over a month after we were originally due in Cornwall," Tristan admitted, finishing the thought. "In that time, naturally we grew a great deal closer. By the time we met my uncle…I very much wanted Isolde as my bride."
"Your uncle, I take it," Merlin sighed, "did not agree."
Tristan gave a short, slightly bitter laugh, "Not at all."
It explained so much of his early interaction with Arthur—even if it did not excuse his actions (in Merlin's mind).
For Arthur, however, it seemed to, as the king reached out his free hand to clasp Tristan's arm across the fire. He included Isolde in the genuine smile he bestowed upon the knight, "Someone very wise once told me…" Arthur slid his smile over to Merlin, "people should marry for love. And that an unhappy king—or queen, for that matter—does not make for a stronger kingdom."
Moved, Merlin ducked his head, brushing his palm across his eyes and swallowing harshly.
Did I…what I said then…did it really-?
Arthur smiled at him—crooked and endearing, squeezing the knee he still held, and turned back to Tristan and Isolde, taking a deep breath, "Understand, you are under no obligation to say 'yes' to this—it will be entirely your choice, I promise—but…would you consider allying yourselves with Camelot…and with us? I know your skills…and we need any willing fighter, if I'm honest. Your story just now…it also made me think I would very much like to have you as long-term allies. I know you may not be able to officially promise your allegiance, but I do not particularly care about that—"
An incredulous laugh from Tristan interrupted Arthur, but before Merlin's hackles could be raised, the knight exchanged an equally disbelieving glance with his lover, turning to the warlock with the lopsided grin Merlin had begun to recognize as Tristan at his most sincere: "You were right," the man admitted, in not so little awe. "He is nothing like the kings I have come to know."
"The answer, King Arthur," Isolde put in with a tender smile, as the two men tried to grapple with that revelation, "is yes. Yes, we will ally ourselves with you. For this battle…and hopefully, for many years of prosperity yet to come."
IOIOIOIOIOI
"…That was amazing, what you did with Tristan and Isolde," Merlin admitted softly, helping Arthur buckle into his plate armor three-quarters of a candlemark later.
"Well," a slight flush colored Arthur's cheeks as Merlin tugged his chain mail straight, "I meant it. They are incredible people."
Merlin smirked in agreement, brushing Arthur's hair away from the chain mail links as he lifted his king's coif over the man's head and set it on a nearby table, picking up his breastplate to settle it across his shoulders.
They were in the garrison's armory, Arthur having dragged Merlin there once twilight fell and preparations for the siege were well underway.
We never did finish their story—or ours, for that matter, the warlock thought quietly, reaching beneath Arthur's arms to buckle his breastplate into place over the plackart around his middle.
Perhaps that had been done deliberately. There was now the hope of "after"—after the siege, after Camelot had (hopefully) been reclaimed, after Morgana and Helios had been defeated…perhaps then there would be time to sit, and speak, long into the night as the new allies acquainted themselves.
And perhaps then I will be able to speak with Arthur, about all we've kept hidden.
Merlin released a soft sigh, moving to pick up Arthur's left pauldron from the rack beside them.
"Merlin…?" he felt his best friend's hand touch his back, conveying his concern with a single gesture.
Merlin smirked crookedly, turning around to fasten the pauldron to Arthur's shoulder, "It's nothing, Arthur…just a stray thought."
Arthur gave a half-hearted snort, conveying his skepticism and attempting to lighten the atmosphere all at once, "And what have we said about your thinking process?"
Merlin rolled his eyes, reaching for the other pauldron and securing it in place over Arthur's right shoulder, "That it's dangerous and I should engage in it only rarely?"
"Exactly."
"Of course, in the same breath you've also accused me of not thinking enough…" Merlin pointed out, reaching for the coif again.
"Merlin…!" scandalized. "When have I ever done that?"
The warlock yanked the chain mail hood down over his best friend's head (and momentarily contemplated leaving it there), "A little over two weeks ago, when you were after me about adding another hole to your belt."
When Arthur face emerged, a fetching blush had colored his cheeks, "Oh. Right."
Despite himself, Merlin snorted, which quickly dissolved into soft laughter at the sheepish expression on his beloved friend's face.
It got interrupted when Arthur's warm hands came up to cradle either side of his jaw.
Surprised, Merlin glanced into the blue eyes now within two hands' span of his own.
"Arthur…?" he murmured.
Arthur brought their foreheads together and breathed, resting his brow against Merlin's, "I have something for you. It's been here for a while. I wasn't sure if you'd ever need to use it."
"What are you talking about?" Merlin whispered, feeling a lump form in his throat. Gift exchanges were hardly common between them, taking place only on Yule and Conception Days.
Drawing back far enough to tug at Merlin's arm, Arthur led him to the far end of the table that still held the king's vambraces and gauntlets.
A nondescript mahogany box sat there, and at Arthur's urging, Merlin carefully lifted the lid back on its hinges.
…It was armor. Specifically, it was hand-tooled leather armor, embellished with an unmistakable series of accents and symbols unique to the Dragonlords. There was also a single, shingled spaulder, not quite so intricately designed as its counterparts in the box, but beautiful with its contrasting leather hues and undeniably well-made.
Dragonflight armor.
Merlin fell back from the box with a gasp, unable to comprehend how Arthur had even found this, with the Dragonlords all but extinct.
"How-?" his voice cracked and gave way.
Of all things, Arthur looked embarrassed, scratching the back of his neck as he glanced away from Merlin's wide eyes, "I, ah…did some research, with Geoffrey's help. My father destroyed Balinor's dragonflight armor, but Geoffrey had hidden away some sketches my mother had drawn of it, when she first met him," for a split second, longing at the memory of Ygraine flashed across Arthur's face before melting into a crooked smile as he finally met Merlin's eyes. "Your armor is an exact copy of your father's, as near as Elyan and Gwen could replicate it. With one minor difference."
He lifted the spaulder from the box and turned it to fully face Merlin. Hesitantly, his hand shaking, the warlock reached out to brush his thumb across the engraving of a merlin branded into the top shingle.
"Fit for Camelot's Lady Hawk, I think," Arthur murmured, eyes bright as he beheld Merlin's reaction.
A strangled sound emerged from behind the hand Merlin had pressed to his mouth, half incredulous laugh, half overwhelmed sob.
That Arthur had even gone through the effort of acquiring this—
"…You have an affinity for grand gestures, don't you?" Merlin choked out.
Arthur's thumb came up to trace Merlin's cheekbone as he stated quite seriously, blue eyes intense, "When it comes to you? Yes. Absolutely."
"Show off," the younger man murmured thickly, shutting his eyes, and turning his face into the caress.
Arthur snorted out a surprised laugh, gently tangling his fingers in the hair at the back of Merlin's head as he brought him into a sort of half-hug, "Well, I needed some way to balance out getting repeatedly saved from certain death."
A strangled chuckle and Merlin raised his face from Arthur's palm, letting his best friend's hand fall to cup the side of his neck as he gazed up at him, eyes overbright, "Arthur…this goes beyond a mere 'thank you.' This is—"
"—Long overdue," Arthur interrupted, softly and earnestly. "I was serious when I said you no longer needed to hide, Merlin. Even when I commissioned this, I had hoped—one day—to see you wear it openly and proudly." He took a deep breath in, and not an entirely steady one, at that, "I am hoping today might be that day."
"…You know I can't say 'no,'" Merlin whispered, tugging the spaulder out of Arthur's grasp.
Arthur's fingers lightly entrapped his own.
"Let me," the king entreated, reaching for the first piece of armor.
IOIOIOIOIOI
Merlin and Arthur finally emerged from the armory fifteen minutes later, fully-suited up, to find Kilgharrah and Aithusa waiting outside with Leon, Bors, and their core group of knights—including a beaming (and equally kitted out) Gwen, who stood between Tristan and Isolde.
When Kilgharrah caught sight of Merlin in the flickering torchlight, he huffed out a ring of smoke, most impressed, "Well," stated gruffly, "that's more like it. You look like a proper Dragonlord now."
While Merlin blushed, Aithusa chirped approvingly, skittering down the older dragon's snout to launch herself at the warlock, her small talons latching easily onto the flight armor, and scrambled up to perch on top of the spaulder.
For a moment, the nine humans merely stared at each other.
"Well," Arthur murmured at last, "I suppose this it."
Bors snorted, "Indeed."
Arthur reached out his arm to him. After a surprised moment, the Northumbrian knight clasped it.
Arthur used that hold to draw him close, "Watch out for Merlin," he muttered into the knight's ear.
Bors snorted again, but nodded, whispering back, "I do not intend to do anything but, Your Majesty."
IOIOIOIOIOI
Beside them, Merlin and Leon were having much the same conversation, although the Head Knight had bundled the warlock into a gruff hug (much to a shrilling Aithusa's indignation), "…Watch out for yourself, too, Merlin. Arthur would not handle your loss well."
Merlin snorted, but stepped back after Leon gave him a final, brusque squeeze, "Nor I, his. I ask you this, Leon, but you must be careful, as well. There may soon be someone who would be rendered inconsolable were we to lose you." He glanced significantly at Gwen, who had since wrapped Percy in a tight hug, much to the large knight's embarrassment.
Leon followed his gaze…and flushed. He cleared his throat, "Merlin, I—that is, would you-"
Merlin chuckled, squeezing his arm, "I'll protect her, I promise."
Unable to find the words to express his gratitude, Leon bowed his head, reaching out to stroke a finger along Aithusa's back fin. Her shrilling faded into content warbles, almost purrs.
"…Be safe, little one," he murmured.
Aithusa nipped at him, accepting the affection.
IOIOIOIOIOI
It was only as Leon boosted Guinevere onto Kilgharrah's back, the knight and the maid speaking quietly with one another, that Arthur and Merlin were able to snatch one final moment together.
"…What are you doing, Arthur?" Merlin murmured, staring a bit when his best friend motioned for him to mount, clasping his hands together with the clear intention of using them to lever him up onto Kilgharrah's back.
Arthur rolled his eyes, "What does it look like I'm doing? Come on, Merlin…"
Bewildered, Merlin gingerly placed his hand on Arthur's shoulder and slid one foot into the makeshift stirrup the king had formed with his hands.
A moment later there was powerful upward thrust and a rush of air. Merlin found himself neatly vaulted up and set astride the Great Dragon's shoulders.
Where he had lowered himself to the ground, to make it easier for them to mount, Kilgharrah gave a soft grunt, but otherwise did not complain.
Straightening, Arthur stepped up to Merlin's side and busied himself by tying a scrap of red cloth around the warlock's arm, just above his elbow.
Merlin started, glancing down in surprise, "Arthur…you've already given me a favor."
Indeed, the first—now faded—scrap of cloth remained fastened around his right dagger's hilt, fluttering in the evening breeze.
Arthur set his jaw and finished tying off the new one, raising his head to lay a defiant glare on Merlin, "Well…maybe I want everyone to know this time."
"Arthur…" Merlin began, a bit emotional. If this was how they were going to say good-bye…the warlock did not think he could handle it.
Arthur shook his head, leaning forward to press his forehead against Merlin's arm.
"You are my chosen champion," he murmured. "There is no one I would rather have at my side during this battle than you. Just…promise me you'll be careful. I-I wouldn't be able to bear losing you."
Merlin gently brushed back Arthur's hair, leaning down to rest his lips against his beloved friend's temple, "I will…but you must promise the same."
For a few seconds, they merely stood and sat there respectively, connected only by Merlin's lips against Arthur's skin and Arthur's brow against Merlin's arm, but the king eventually nodded, forcing himself to step back as Kay joined him and Bors lifted himself up onto Kilgharrah's back, using the other knight's shoulder as leverage.
"Are we away?" he muttered, looking distinctly ill-at-ease about riding on the back of such a great reptile.
Gwen leaned down to drop a kiss on a startled Leon's cheek. Kay reached up for one, last, tight arm clasp with Bors. Merlin grabbed Arthur's hand and squeezed, locking their eyes together.
"We're away," he murmured, blue on blue conveying one final message.
Don't forget your promise, Arthur.
You don't, either.
Kilgharrah's body surged beneath him and Aithusa hopped about excitedly, pouncing on her Dragonlord's head. Arthur released Merlin's hand at the last possible moment, the powerful upbeat of the Great Dragon's wings launching the first raiding party into the night sky.
TBC
