**EDITED**

Merlin did not respond for some time, unable to do anything but stare at him. After a long moment of shocked and disbelieving silence, he could not stop the slightly hysterical laugh that bubbled up in his throat. Once he had started laughing, he found that he couldn't stop himself. He laughed until there were tears in his eyes and he was doubled over holding onto his stomach and Gerund was looking at him as if worried for his sanity, but he couldn't pull himself together. This was just too much, it was far too much.

"I may be a lot of things, Gerund," he gasped out eventually, wiping at his streaming eyes, "but I am no prince. And I am certainly no king."

"Merlin," Gerund said gently, leaning forward and eyeing him carefully. "I know this is a lot for you to take in—"

"Oh no," Merlin cut across him sharply, still not having lost the hysterical edge to his voice. "No, being told I was a Dragonlord: that was a lot to take in. Being told I was Emrys: that was a lot to take in. Being told I was to be the most powerful sorcerer to ever exist: that was a lot to take in. Being told that I had a destiny that would affect the entire land: that was a lot to take in. But this? This is madness."

He found that he was on his feet without ever having made the decision to stand up, and then he was pacing furiously around the perimeter of the tent, feeling much too restless to sit still any longer. He hardly took note of Gerund's stunned, almost awed look at the revelation that he was Emrys; he had become so used to the name over the years that he often forgot that he was supposed to be a legend, a story, a prophecy, not a real person. The mage shook himself out of his daze after another moment and stood to face him.

"Carthis has been without a leader for nearly a month now," he said, a slight urgency coloring his tone. "The people are getting worried. The nobles are beginning to vie for support, and it will not be long before they get it. With the throne open like this, people are rushing to fill the power void, to claim the crown for themselves. The Council is handling things for now, but even they are getting desperate to choose a leader. Fighting and power struggles could erupt any day now. The only reason they haven't already is the hope that we could find you, the only person with a direct claim to the throne."

"My claim could never be legitimate," Merlin said immediately, latching on to what had been a source of shame for most of his life but which now seemed to be his saving grace. "I'm a bastard. I was born out of wedlock to a peasant woman from another kingdom. My claim would never stand."

"Your parentage is proven beyond a doubt by the abilities you inherited from your father," Gerund contended. "That alone will be enough to legitimize your claim to his throne in the eyes of the people, if not the council."

"I am not a King!" Merlin burst out abruptly, turning to stare at Gerund with barely concealed fear on his face. "I am a servant to a King, and a mediocre one at that! I spend my days making beds and doing laundry and…and mucking stables, not signing treaties and dealing with noblemen. I know nothing about affairs of state. I could never rule over anything. The kingdom could be destroyed through sheer incompetence if I were to take the throne."

"But the kingdom will almost certainly be destroyed if you don't," Gerund said fiercely.

This pulled Merlin up short, as did the determined light that was blazing in the mage's eyes now, and he stared at him in shock.

"Carthis is threatening to fall apart, Merlin. With no clear heir, the kingdom will fall into chaos and anarchy as the nobles fight each other for power. By the time someone finally seizes the throne and manages to hold it, there may not be a kingdom left to rule over. We need you, Merlin. Only with you can this end peacefully."

Unable to stop himself from shaking, Merlin sank back into the chair that he had vacated a moment before. He dropped his head into his hands again, leaning his elbows onto his knees and trying to take slow, deep breaths in an attempt to keep himself from hyperventilating.

This could not be happening, it just couldn't be. As if he didn't already have enough responsibility on his shoulders. His life was plenty complicated as it was, this was the last thing that he needed right now. He felt Gerund place a hand on his shoulder, but he did not find the gesture nearly as comforting as he probably meant for it to be.

"This is overwhelming, Merlin," he said softly. "I knew that it would be. Even more so, in light of your ignorance of your heritage. This is a huge responsibility to put on you with no notice. Believe me, I would never ask this of you if the situation were not grave."

Merlin nodded as best he could with his head cradled in his hands.

Merlin understood the dangers of a leaderless kingdom, as much as he wished that he didn't. When Cenred had been killed, Escetia had fallen into disarray, torn apart by factions and warlords and ambitious nobles and outside forces all wishing to claim it for themselves. There had been several people on the throne within the span of a few short weeks, all of whom had either been deposed or assassinated within days of their coronation.

When Lot had finally claimed the throne and held it, it had done very little to calm the people. Stability had yet to be returned to that land, even four years later. The kingdom was still considerably poorer and more fragile than it had been, and her people were impoverished, restless and insecure to this day. The death of a monarch had lasting effects on his kingdom even when he had an heir to succeed him. Without, the damage could be irreversible.

"I know that you will need some time to come to terms with this, and to make your decision," Gerund said.

Merlin looked up at him in surprise, making the mage smile slightly at him.

"It is still your decision, Merlin. I will not blame you if you refuse, and I will not force you to come with me. Either way, whatever decision you make, I want for you to have this." The mage reached into a pocket of his cloak and pulled out a ring, holding it out to Merlin. "You will always be welcome in Carthis. And your claim will stand."

Merlin took the ring from him with a trembling hand and looked at it closely. It was a sigil ring emblazoned with the royal seal of Carthis. It had obviously been made with magic, much too fine and detailed to have been forged by hand alone, no matter how skilled the craftsman. The two small dragons twined around each other, each with every minute scale distinct and gleaming, and with intricate flames roaring from their mouths to encircle the band in a wreath of fire.

Turning the ring over in his fingers, Merlin felt a shiver of recognition, stronger than he had felt when he had seen the crest on Gerund's cloak.

With a jolt, Merlin was suddenly seeing not the inside of Gerund's tent, but an image of his mother, younger and smiling and with an identical ring strung on a cord around her neck. He very nearly dropped the ring in his shock. His mother had worn that ring around her neck for years when he was a child, as far back as he could remember. Then she had taken it off one day when he was ten years old and put it away. Merlin had not seen the ring again after that and he had quite forgotten about it until now.

Glancing up, Merlin realized that Gerund had left the tent while he was examining the sigil, probably to give him time to think in peace. Merlin tried to think, he really did, but his thoughts were whirling so quickly that he could not seem to get a grip on any of them. The throbbing pain growing in his left temple was certainly not helping either.

Trying to force himself to think clearly, he focused his gaze on the ring that made everything so much more real. The ring, and the memory he had of it, meant that he could no longer pretend that this was just a dream that he could wake up from or some sort of elaborate practical joke.

His mother had had this ring. His mother had had a sigil ring bearing the royal seal of Carthis. These sorts of rings were only forged for royalty, and no one outside of the royal family was ever permitted to own one. And yet his mother had. No doubt, Balinor had given it to her before he had left, as a token, something by which she could remember him. Maybe he had even asked her to hold on to it for him, claiming that he would come back to her when it was safe.

Somehow, Merlin doubted that Balinor had told his mother about his heritage or the ring's true meaning. Having never lived in a large city, Hunith had probably never seen a sigil ring before. She would not have known the significance of it. Hunith had been wearing a symbol of royal status on a frayed string around her neck for years without having the slightest idea. But now Merlin could remember it clearly, and he knew exactly what it meant. His father had been Crown Prince of Carthis. And apparently that title now fell to him.

Merlin pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes until he saw stars. Prince Merlin. King Merlin. He shook his head. It just didn't sound right. Arthur was the king, not Merlin. Merlin was supposed to guide and protect the king, the Once and Future King, and help him reach his full potential. Where in his great destiny did it say that Merlin was supposed to be a king too? Nowhere.

This couldn't be right, it was not supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be at Arthur's side in Camelot, not ruling over another kingdom on his own. Besides, Merlin was still having trouble comprehending that a kingdom where magic was free even existed, much less the prospect of ruling over said kingdom himself.

But if he didn't, then he knew what would happen. Merlin had seen what happened to a secular kingdom when its inhabitants fought amongst themselves, and he could hardly bear to imagine the devastation if magic was added to the mix; fields made barren by curses, sturdy structures brought down with a single spell, unimaginable carnage wrought on a scale no secular man could hope to achieve. Carthis could destroy itself from within.

If Merlin did not take the throne, then the kingdom that was apparently his birthright could very well fall to ruin. Could he live with that on his conscious? Could he really turn his back on an entire kingdom just to stay by Arthur's side? Arthur was his destiny, it was Merlin's duty to protect him. He had known this for years, practically since he had first set foot in Camelot, but could he forsake all of Carthis for one man, no matter the great portents of his destiny?

More than anything, destinies and birthrights aside, Merlin knew that he was scared, more scared than he could ever remember being in his whole life. He had had years to come to terms with his magic and with the responsibility of protecting Arthur no matter the cost to himself, and he knew himself to be capable of that. He was powerful, he was dedicated, and he would gladly give his life for his friend and his King, but this was something else entirely. Not only was he being asked to leave his friends and his home behind, but he would be ruling over an entire kingdom. He would be stepping into Arthur's shoes.

Merlin understood better than anyone how difficult the job was; he had seen enough of Arthur's struggles to know that the pressure would be far too much for most people to handle. Even Arthur had crumbled under the weight of his responsibility before, and Merlin had been the one to boost him back up with words of wisdom and confidence. Merlin did not think he would be able to bear it, especially not without his friends to support him as he had long supported Arthur. He was not capable of this. Ruling a kingdom was so far out of his realm of experience. The weight of it would crush him.

Merlin shut his eyes tightly and forcefully pushed down his fear and his insecurities, shutting them away where they would not cloud his judgment on the matter at hand. He had had plenty of practice with that; in his life, things happened far too quickly for him to let fear get in the way of what it was that he needed to do. He often did not have time to stop and determine how he felt about things, knowing it to be completely irrelevant in the grand scheme of it all, he just had to think and act before his emotions could cripple him.

He could not afford to think like Merlin right now, not when there was a destiny and a kingdom and thousands of lives on the line. He had to think like Arthur, like a king. What would Arthur do? With a heavy sigh, Merlin rubbed at his throbbing temples. He knew what Arthur would do, of course he did. For Arthur, the people always came before the self. The needs of the many before the needs of the one. He could not let thousands of people be put in danger just so that he could protect Arthur, the thought was unconscionable.

Merlin had to take up the crown. There was no other option. Camelot was strong. Arthur was strong. They would be able to get on without him. Carthis, on the other hand, would not. Carthis needed him far more than Camelot did right now, and Merlin would go to her aid, no matter how alarming the prospect of being king was. He would leave his home and his friends and everything he had ever known and he would take the throne of a magical kingdom in turmoil. There was just one problem that needed to be dealt with first: he would have to tell Arthur.

That thought alone was nearly enough to make him change his mind about the whole thing. There was no way for him to explain anything to Arthur without explaining everything. And the only thing more terrifying than becoming a king was having to tell his best friend everything that he had been keeping hidden from him for the last eleven years. But he would have to. There was no way around that, not now, not if he was going to go through with this.

He couldn't very well cover his tracks like he normally did, with lies and evasions and half-truths; there was no way that Arthur would not hear about the new King of Carthis. And Arthur knew Carthis to be a magical kingdom, and one which was ruled by a magical family. Even if he did not tell him, Arthur would find out. And Arthur, as his best friend, deserved to hear the truth directly from Merlin.

Merlin stood up suddenly and squared his shoulders. It was now or never. If he waited any longer then he would talk himself out of it. He crossed the tent and, after only a second or two of hesitation, forced himself to pull back the flap. He was hit with the usual noises of camp that had been muffled by the silencing spell Gerund had put in place, the rustlings of fabric and the clinking of chain mail and the crackling of the campfire and the low murmur of voices.

While Merlin and Gerund had been talking, Percival had joined Thalia, Mordred and Gwaine by the fire, but Arthur, Leon and Elyan were still clumped together defensively by the horses, their suspicion not yet alleviated. They were eyeing Gerund, who was speaking with Tibalt on the other side of the camp, with undisguised wariness, and Arthur was picking at the straps on his saddle, something Merlin had noticed years ago that he rarely ever did, and only when he was anxious about something.

As Merlin watched, Arthur shot a quick look toward the tent and then did a double take, as if he had been glancing over periodically and almost didn't notice that the view was different this time. Trying to keep his heart from leaping frantically out of his mouth, Merlin gestured for Arthur to join him. Arthur nodded and said something to Leon before jogging over to the tent. Merlin stood back to let Arthur past him into the interior of the tent before letting the flap shut behind him once more.

The silencing spell was still in place, immediately blotting out the ambient noise of the campsite as the flap fell closed, and Merlin wasn't sure whether or not to be grateful for it; on the one hand, if Arthur wanted to yell and scream and rage at him, then he could do so without drawing attention to them and letting everyone else know what was going on before they needed to. On the other hand, whether he could tell that it was magical or not, the conspicuous lack of sound from the outside world seemed to put Arthur on high alert as soon as he crossed the threshold, as if he was feeling threatened before they had even begun.

Scanning the perimeter of the tent warily, Arthur turned and waited for Merlin to speak but, like Gerund, he could not seem to find the words to begin. How was he supposed to broach this sort of subject? Was there any way to say it that would sound anything less than awful?

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Arthur said dryly, raising an eyebrow at him. "What did that sorcerer say to you to make you so shaken up?" Merlin dragged a hand through his hair, trying to decide what to start with, which revelation would be least shocking.

"Do you remember Balinor?" he finally asked. Arthur grimaced in confusion.

"That was the Dragonlord we went after, wasn't it?" he said, sounding bewildered as to what, exactly, that had to do with anything. Merlin nodded mutely. "Yes, I remember him. Why? What about him?"

Merlin took a deep, shaky breath.

"He was my father."

Arthur stared at him for a moment. Then he laughed.

"Come on, Merlin," he chuckled. "That is ridiculous. I told you, these sorcerers cannot be trusted in anything they say. Surely you don't believe him?"

Merlin could not prevent himself from rolling his eyes this time.

"That's not what he told me, Arthur. I already knew that," he confessed.

Arthur stopped laughing then and looked at him more closely, trying to judge whether or not his servant was serious. When he saw that he was, his expression clouded over.

"You already…? Merlin, you told me that you never knew your father," he growled, his tone more than a little angry.

"I didn't! At least, when we had that conversation, I didn't know about him. I didn't even have a name back then," Merlin said quickly. "I only found out about Balinor later. Gaius told me that he was my father the night before we rode out after him. Turns out, he didn't know about me either. He didn't even know that he had a son."

Arthur had turned around and was gripping the edge of the rickety table tightly.

"And you didn't think to mention this?" he barked over his shoulder. "I knew that there was something wrong with you on that trip, but you blew me off, told me that you were worried about Camelot. Why didn't you just tell me?"

"Your father had the Dragonlords hunted down and slaughtered, Arthur," Merlin pointed out, his tone a little sharper than he had intended for it to be. He made a conscious effort to soften his voice before he spoke again, to sound less accusatory. "What do you think he would have done if he had found out?"

Arthur turned to stare at him, looking incredulous and offended.

"You think I would have told him? That I would have turned you over to my father?" he demanded. "Did you really think so little of me? Merlin, I know better than anyone that the son should not be blamed for the sins of the father. You have no more control over who or what your father was than I did. Why would I have turned you in for that?"

Merlin nearly growled in frustration; he had not counted on Arthur's complete lack of magical knowledge and understanding on making things more difficult.

"Arthur, the power of the Dragonlord is inherited," he told him, fighting to keep his voice steady as he revealed what was arguably his biggest secret; people had known about his magic before, either they had found out or he had told them, and Emrys was quickly becoming common knowledge among the Druids. This, however, was something only he, Gaius, Balinor, and very briefly Lancelot, had ever known. "It is passed down to the son upon the father's death."

It took a minute for Arthur to realize what it was that Merlin was telling him, but the moment of dawning comprehension was obvious. His eyes widened and he took an involuntary step back, his hand twitching toward the hilt of his sword. Merlin winced, more hurt than he had expected to be by a reaction for which he thought that he had prepared himself long ago.

"Merlin, are you trying to tell me…that…that you're a…" he stuttered, unable to get the words out of his mouth.

Merlin nodded once, not knowing what else to do. Arthur turned back around to brace himself on the table again, his head down and his elbows locked. Tense silence reigned for a minute or two while Arthur tried to wrap his head around the knowledge that he had just been given and Merlin held his breath, wishing that that was the worst of what he had to say.

"You're a…you are a Dragonlord?" Arthur finally croaked out.

Merlin hesitated for only a second before pushing his fear resolutely to the back of his mind; his ability was nothing to be ashamed of. It was an honor. He was the last of an ancient and noble breed, and he was determined to act like it. He would not cower before his best friend. He would make his father proud. He straightened his back and lifted his head high as Arthur turned to face him, waiting for confirmation.

"Yes, Arthur," he said firmly, allowing just a touch of his magic to creep into his tone, making it deeper and more commanding than it usually was. He could see that Arthur could tell the difference in both his voice and his stance, and that it disconcerted him. "I am a Dragonlord. The last Dragonlord."

"The Great Dragon," Arthur said suddenly, as if it had just occurred to him. "I didn't defeat it, did I? I was unconscious, but you weren't. You were the only one left standing after that attack, and the dragon was nowhere to be found. What did you do?"

"I ordered him to stop his attack," Merlin said. "I commanded that he leave, and that he never attack Camelot again."

"And it just listened to you?" he asked, his voice dripping with skepticism.

"He cannot disobey me," Merlin said plainly. His tone rang with surety and he could see Arthur shiver involuntarily at his uncharacteristically imposing aura.

The king ran a hand over his face, his jaw clenched until Merlin could see the tendons standing out in his neck in sharp relief. Arthur turned away again, obviously not able to bring himself to look at his servant at the moment. Merlin just waited for his master to say something, anything.

"You said that you already knew this," Arthur said eventually. "You have known about Balinor and about being a…a Dragonlord for years now. So what did that mage have to tell you? And what does it have to do with Balinor?"

"How much do you know about the kingdom of Carthis?" Merlin asked slowly, deciding that the method which Gerund has used with him would work well enough here. Surely Arthur knew considerably more about the other kingdom than he had, and so Merlin would not need to explain as much to get the point across.

"I know that it is a kingdom where magic and sorcery go unchecked," Arthur scoffed.

Merlin was hard-pressed not to roll his eyes at Arthur's disdainful ignorance; magic was far from unchecked in Carthis, he was sure of that. Just because it was legal did not mean that curses and plagues were running rampant in the streets.

"And I know that their queen died recently. They are weak and leaderless at the moment with no heir to take the throne. Why?"

"Do you know anything else about the royal family?" Merlin pressed.

"That Queen Eleanor's sister Theanor ruled before her. That is all that I really know about it. What does this have to do with anything, Merlin?" Arthur snapped impatiently.

"Did you know that Eleanor and Theanor had a younger brother?" Arthur had not known that, judging by his expression. Merlin swallowed, finding it difficult since his mouth had become rather dry. "His name was Balinor."

Arthur grasped the implications of this much more quickly than Merlin had. He stared in horror for a few seconds, his mouth hanging open in a display which would have been comical in any other situation. As it was, the thought of mocking his master did not even cross Merlin's mind. He braced himself for the explosion.

Arthur finally managed to close his mouth, though it did nothing to lessen the expression of dismay, and took several deep, slow breaths, his eyes closed tightly. When he opened them again, he had regained control of himself and slotted into place the cool, emotionless mask which he often adopted for diplomatic proceedings. Merlin had never had that expression turned on him, though, and he found it quite unnerving.

"Sir Gerund lured us out here under the guise of a dragon attack in order to inform you of the position awaiting you in Carthis?" he asked in a chillingly polite voice.

"Yes," Merlin breathed out, feeling tears prick the backs of his eyes when Arthur kept his gaze firmly over Merlin's shoulder, refusing to look at him.

Arthur nodded slightly then dropped his eyes to the ground for a second. When he looked back up, his composure was strained, like he was trying to hold something back and not succeeding very well.

"Forgive me if I am mistaken, Merlin," he began, and Merlin thought he could detect the barest hint of a tremor in his master's voice, though he still would not look Merlin in the eye, "but is it not the practice of magical kingdoms to have a magician on the throne?"

Arthur's voice hitched slightly on the word "magician" and Merlin felt his throat close up, preventing him from answering properly. The muscle twitching in Arthur's jaw, the strain in his tone, the slightly frantic clenching and unclenching of his fist by his side, the way he was determined to look at anything but Merlin; the obvious distress of his master, his King, his destiny, his best friend, finally forced the tears from Merlin's eyes.

Unable to get any sound past the lump in his throat, and knowing that his tears would be answer enough, he simply dropped his gaze.

Arthur did not say anything else. Merlin stayed as he was, unable to bring himself to look up, terrified at the thought of what he might see on Arthur's face if he did. He squeezed his eyes shut against the tears that would not stop coming, running traitorously down his face as evidence of his crimes.

The clinking of chainmail brought Merlin's head snapping up just in time to see Arthur striding toward the exit. He was just going to leave. Just like that. No. No, he couldn't. Merlin needed to explain, he needed to tell him all the things that he had always wanted to. Merlin reached out and put a hand on Arthur's shoulder to pull him to a halt.

"No, wait! Arthur, please, I—"

Something in Arthur snapped. As soon as Merlin touched him, he growled in a more menacing way than Merlin had ever heard before. He spun around, knocking Merlin's hand away from his shoulder as he did so, and his own gloved hand wrapped itself around Merlin's throat and forced him back a few steps.

Gasping under the pressure, Merlin grabbed hold of his wrist and stared in horror at Arthur's furious face. Underneath the rage, though, he could see the hurt still, the betrayal and the confusion, and he could not help but feel that he deserved this pain for all that he had done. That did not stop him from struggling to breathe, tugging reflexively at Arthur's fingers in a futile effort to loosen the vice-like grip that they had on his neck.

He saw it in his eyes when Arthur realized exactly what it was that he was doing. They widened slightly and he released Merlin as if his throat were on fire. Merlin dropped heavily to his knees, coughing and wheezing until his stomach hurt.

By the time he had his harsh breathing back under some semblance of control, Arthur was gone. Merlin could only stare at the tent flap for a moment, too overwhelmed to feel anything but dazed in that moment. Then he wrapped his arms around his legs, buried his face in his knees, and cried.