*Please read: Excuse for not updating in two years time!

Life happens. I also lost my writing muse and just recently found it.

...I also...might have forgotten...I was writing this...shh...

I'm not that into Merlin anymore as I was two years ago but I will eventually finish this I promise.

**Disclaimer: this is from 2013 or 2014, anything I write please don't hold against me. I don't have a proofreader. (It's a struggle when I can't catch my own mistakes.) If you're confused about a mistake you see, please just tell me or I'll honestly never know. The next chapter I have to write from scratch, so don't be alarmed if there's a huge change in writing styles but I'll try my best to match this one.

Any whoodles! Enjoy!

They had been riding in silence until they could not see the large wooden encampment in the distance anymore due to the foliage of the forest they rode in. Greens of all different colours made up the trees that surrounded them, with the occasional splash of colour from the birds or flowers spotted near tree trunks or on vines throughout their journey. The dark horse the prince was riding was not one he recognised, and he figured it must be one of Essetir's. Arthur let his gaze flicker over to one side. Mordred still had his cloak covering his face, almost as if he was shy or nervous around those he didn't know—which was true, according to the boy's mother. Arthur remembered the boy hadn't spoken at all—except once—during his illegal stay in Camelot. And that was to say only his name.

The golden prince frowned, staring hard at Mordred's cloaked figure that hid a young man, not who he previously presumed to be a twelve or thirteen year old boy freshly smuggled out of Camelot. This is a similar feeling to when I first encountered Lancelot of this...'realm'. The word felt foreign in Arthur's mind. Lancelot looks older; Mordred did not look like he was seventeen when I brought him out of Camelot...They both have aged, yet I have not. I seem to have gotten younger, The Prince frowned in his thinking. Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the beginning of a horrid head ache coming on. Arthur figured the heat radiating from the sun in the cloudless sky did nothing to relieve the pressure in his head.

"Water, Mi'lord?" George asked, perfectly anticipating his needs. Arthur gratefully took the water skin that the servant was handing him, and took large swigs of it.

"Do you think your King would be offended by our tardiness? I don't want to insult him more than we already have, what, with Arthur blatantly refusing to ride all the way there with the King and his Ward's escorts." Leon asked Lancelot, his tone a bit flat, touched with disappointment. The Camelotian knight had shot looks of disapproval towards Arthur throughout his sentence.

Arthur grunted apologetically, though he was slightly annoyed with his head knight for his words. He occupied himself by taking in another gulp ofwater, marvelling at the pleasantness he felt as it slipped down his throat in the midst of heat.

"Mi'Lord Balinor shouldn't hold any grudges against you, Ser Leon." Lancelot reassured.

Arthur involuntarily sputtered out the water he was previously enjoying, and started coughing. Letting the leather water skin drop from his fingers and onto the soft forest floor beneath their horses, he held his hands over his mouth, choking on the remaining bits of water he had, caught between swallowing and spitting it out. George swiftly picked up Arthur's water skin and tried to give it to the prince to help him, but Arthur shook his head, still coughing, and trying to speak.

Leon thumped heartily on Arthur's back a few times, and the prince sucked in a deep breath, seemingly getting himself all together. "Balinor," Arthur rasped the query in express dubiousness, "Bal—" Arthur cleared his throat, as it felt a bit sore and odd for suddenly choking on water. George silently offered the water skin to the prince once more, and Arthur gratefully took in, gulping down the remaining water to sooth his throat.

Leon's eyebrows were held in an arc that could rival Gaius' ever so famous brow, staring at Arthur quizzically. "I don't think dying before we get there will lessen the offence you have already carried out on Essetir's king, little prince." Arthur frowned at Leon, choosing to not respond to his words. Looking away from Leon, Arthur saw the outline of Mordred's cloaked shoulders trembling. Is he... laughing at me? Arthur thought sourly.

Lancelot chuckled more obviously than the druid boy had, "No, no, I'm sure King Balinor will not be offended at all. He has been excited to meet you, you know." Lancelot looked as if he was going to say something more, but Arthur interrupted whilst rubbing his sore throat and throwing his empty water skin at George, who fumbled to catch it.

"Wait, King Balinor—Balinor—your king? You mean Balinor...as in, the Last Dragon Lord?" Arthur sputtered out the question, caught by surprise by the sudden onslaught of the king of Essetir's name once more. The king isn't Lot or Cenred, but I don't think having a grumpy hermit as king would do the kingdom justice. The blonde prince thought, thinking of the few character traits he had gathered from meeting the Last Dragon Lordin person when they were in need of a Dragon Lord to defeat the dragon that had been attacking Camelot's citadel.

Leon raised an eyebrow, "I'm glad you listened in our council meetings over neighbouring kingdoms, truly," Arthur was definitely not appreciating the condescending tone the elder knight was giving him, "But the last Dragon Lord? There are a plethora of dragon lords, and I fear it would not be well to only have one Dragon Lord when dragons are almost as common as..." Leon was quite for a moment in thought as he rode through the path with the other four when a few birds let a jubilant song rip loudly from their throats, "Well, song birds, sire. Balinor just happens to have a better connection, a deeper connection, to the Great Dragon—one of the oldest and more powerful dragons in existence." Leon finished, and watched the birds take refuge in the trees from the sweltering sun.

"Oh! Kilgharrah, the Great Dragon," Lancelot gave a smile, "You'll love him, your highness, though he is, ah, as my lord puts it, 'an annoyingly bloody cryptic lizard,'" Lancelot chuckled.

The dragon that attacked Camelot had a name...? Arthur thought, and sighed. He felt his thoughts pulling him back to one of Gaius' telling of the dragon and how it came to be under the castle before he had ridden out to fight it when they came back without a Dragon Lord—out of options,

"Before the Purge, Balinor and Nimueh were members of the Court, and each trusted Uther with their lives; the same as Uther trusted his in their hands. When the Queen died, Nimueh fled to the Isle of the Blessed to plead with the power of Life and Death, however; when it had been a fortnight without Nimueh's return and the queen's vigil had already taken place, Uther became suspicions. Thought he that Nimueh was running away after murdering the queen," Gaius had paused here to gather his thoughts, looking worn out.

He had remembered thinking, 'Father is right, those magic bastards can do nothing but evil. But to murder the queen—and on purpose—that was something unheard of. She should have been hunted down and killed for treason.'

"Uther called Balinor to his chambers, and asked him to call forth the Great Dragon, to which Balinor happily replied—the man loved sharing the appreciation towards dragons. Balinor had always wanted more people to be around the creatures—not just Dragon Lords and the likes. What Balinor didn't know—didn't know until he was bound, gagged, and thrown in the dungeons—that Uther planned to catch the dragon.

Uther had a contraption for catching such a large dragon built in secret and it was placed just outside the citadel. They had caught the dragon with Balinor's involuntary help, and hoisted it down under the castle, under the dungeons. Large unbreakable chains had been attached in multiple places within the cavern under the castle, and Uther used the Great Dragon as propaganda towards the rest of the magic war—as a warning of a war that would surely be the end of magic. Uther slowly began killing off other dragons and their lords. As I have told you before, I am the one who smuggled Balinor out of the dungeons and out of Camelot—I had not known what had happened to him after that. Arthur. You must remember—the Great Dragon has been chained up during the Purge and twenty years afterwards, he, in his high point of rage, will be difficult to slay. I beg you to be careful, sire."

Arthur sighed; it was difficult to think of the dragon that had fed off of Camelot's fear and destruction as just a cryptic lizard. He couldn't take the dragon lightly.

Leon laughed happily along with the Essetirian knight, and Arthur swore he heard a light tinkling of a pleasant sounding laugh from the young druid man, who rarely made vocal noise until now, "This is true, I've caught wind of his riddles. I'd imagine how irritating they must be to decipher them in a regular conversation..." Murmured a deeper voice than Arthur had expected. Really, wasn't Mordred supposed to be younger than he, himself? Leon's hazel eyes flickered over to the blonde prince's dumb founded face, "I forget—this is your first time visiting Essetir, isn't it? You always stay home when our King or our Queen and the Lady Morgana visits, hunting or questing…or busy with the council work the King will let you touch," Arthur gave a scowl that Leon didn't catch, as the curly mop of blonde hair turned to look at Lancelot, not letting Arthur answer, "You weren't Captain of the Guard last time I visited, you were just a squire after you left Camelot, weren't you? I'm curious. How have you gone from peasant to nobleman?"

Lancelot gave a nervous chuckle, "Ah, yes. About that, um—Milord Emrys and I had made fast friends," Leon looked surprised at this. "I haven't yet spoken to your Prince yet as there was no cause; and that I figured every noble your age was like—"

"Please do tell us what you thought every noble was like when they were about my age, Sir Leon." Arthur gave his own Captain of the Guard a pointed look, tone hard and irritated.

"—as I said, but he would befriend a peasant? A squire is naught but a step up from a common castle servant." Leon finished, "Ah, not to be rude," Leon reassured the Prince's manservant, George. George nodded, understanding—at least he was the best servant, if not a little boring. The seemingly perfect servant adjusted his tunic, and smoothed out the horses' reigns in his hands. The servant was still walking as diligently as ever besides Mordred and his horse, as the druid boy wasn't accustomed to riding the beast. Arthur was mildly impressed with the servant—he, himself, would loath to be on the ground and active in this heat. Glancing at Mordred, Arthur wondered why the boy was still wearing his cloak. The blonde shifted on his horse, moving his attire that had gotten stuck to the sweat on his back.

Mordred, as if sensing the princes' musings, pulled back the hood of his teal cloak. Arthur couldn't help but notice Mordred's suddenly defined jaw line and his hair was full of curls that hadn't been there before, but they suited him. Arthur just stared harder, at the boy, taking in the young man's features and comparing them to what he had remembered. Mordred quickly noticed Arthur's stare and looked up to meet his eyes. Arthur almost scowled—where had the soft face of the younger Mordred gone? Arthur swore he did not look at all mature when he had smuggled him out of the dungeons.

Mordred raised a curious eyebrow at the scowl he was receiving, but choose to say nothing on it. The druid boy looked back to Lancelot who was still speaking, trying to ignore Arthur's oddly baffled stare.

"Milord saw my skills, and I had told him my dream to be a knight," Lancelot said, face brightening as he talked about his prince. "I had also told him I had been rejected as a knight from Camelot, as I was not of noble blood, as well as warning him with the news of the griffin I had been tracking, passing through Camelot and into the boundaries of Essetir. My prince trusted that my words were true, and he tackled the problem head on by talking to his father about the unfairness of perfectly able fighters and sorcerers that are not able to defend the kingdom they loved simply because they lack the blood status to do so," Lancelot paused, reminiscing in his memories.

Arthur raised his eyebrows in question, He had gone to Camelot? I didn't even remember—well, I don't suppose I would remember what hadn't happened here, I don't remember anything happening in this realm. And the griffin, I wouldn't have heard of the threat at all if I hadn't met Lancelot, and even more so if the griffin had simply passed over Camelot. Had Leon known of this? Arthur shot a sidelong glance at Leon, wondering if the head of the Camelotian knights took on more responsibilities than he himself took before he was Prince Regent. People would report to him first, as it would be a bother to the King or Prince to report to them something without any interest. Like…a peasant wanting to become a knight. Or a mythical creature that may or may not be real, Arthur thought, looking towards the beaming face of Lancelot.

"I do remember you, Sir Lancelot," Leon put emphasis on his title with a smile. "You said you had wanted to become a knight of Camelot, and that you were tracking a creature with the head of an eagle and a body of a lion—thought you were crazy. It took me a while after you left to remember our court sorcerer and physician had told me about a creature with the exact description of what you had told me a few days before hand—a griffin. I didn't think they were real. And our court sorcerer also told me that a rampant griffin cannot be slain without the use of magic; then, what of the griffin, Sir Knight?"

Arthur jumped, startled by the logistics of killing such a beast, Magic? How was the beast killed before? Lancelot used a lance, there was no magic present. Had Gaius preformed a spell before Lancelot had gotten to the Griffin? Was Lancelot a sorcerer, himself? Impossible! How many other creatures were falsely defeated? The Afnac, then, how was that defeated? Arthur shook his head, fire from the torch, and a blade. He himself had made sure of that, Morgana and Merlin had just stood to the side, it was impossible for magic to have been used at all.

But… now that the blonde prince was thinking about it, there was an unexplainable burst of wind out of nowhere—the trio hadn't been near the entrance of the cave at all. Morgana? Arthur frowned, Morgana had betrayed Uther by siding with Morgause, but it was unexplainable that Morgana herself had magic, and even if she had had magic, wasn't she against the throne from the beginning? What of Merlin? Had his very own manservant been hiding the fact that he was learning and practicing magic in Camelot the whole time he had been with Arthur? That's too ridiculous of a thought. Arthur dismissed said thought immediately, and in doing so missed the answer of the question he had asked himself.

Lancelot's soft but sure accent continued speaking, "We have not slain the griffin as of yet, but we do have the means by blade and magic to do so. There have been no reports of the griffin close to the Camelot boundaries, I assure you—you have nothing to worry about. And even if the griffin were to threaten your borders, your kingdom is safe, our alliance will make sure of that," Lancelot sent a reassuring smile to Leon, pulling the horse's reins sharply in Leon's direction, directing the horse to fall in step beside Leon's trusty steed, leaving Arthur more excluded, more behind the two knights. Was his attitude so bad before that Leon and Lancelot excluded him from their conversation so naturally?

The Prince of Camelot then continued to eavesdrop—no, that was too un-princely; he was simply continuing to listen to a far-too-loud conversation—on the two knights ahead of him, a clash of red and royal blue as their cloaks billowed in the wind as they spoke to one another. The two were the very definition of what every knight should be, Arthur supposed—loyal and honourable.

Arthur looked forwards; I guess I would be spoiled; I do have everything I had wanted: a family, my mum and father along with a sisterly Morgana, not to mention I'm a prince. Yet I have no one to ground me, without Merlin and… Arthur sighed; there must have been someone else who had left an impression on thought of Gwaine, who had taught him nobility in those who aren't noble—yet still managed to get into trouble. ...there is no one to ground me without my manservant and without the rogue tavern-goer, Gwaine, to keep me in my place. How silly—absurd—must that sound to a common ear? The prince briefly wondered how Gwaine was, and if he would meet the ruffian soon. He had a lot of strength and guts, Arthur had no reason to worry about the man's well-being.

The blonde prince's thoughts wandered back to that of the griffin—that's what had brought Lancelot to meet him in the first place, but if the griffin had passed over Camelot without the Prince and the honourable Lancelot crossing paths, Lancelot would have been rejected as a knight. Arthur wouldn't have met him, as Merlin wouldn't have insisted he should meet the boy, and—Merlin. Again, where was Merlin? Arthur frowned, "What of Ealdor?" Arthur remembered Ealdor as his manservant's hometown, and even if he was in a different realm, the prince hoped it wouldn't be too different.

"We already passed through it, Milord," Leon responded, glancing over his shoulder, "The Druid Encampment where we were stationed was inside the Ealdor region—'tis a big town." Lancelot smiled. Arthur noticed a soft smile on the lips of young Mordred as Leon was talking about his home town.

"But, of course, it is where the royal wedding took place—between our current King and Queen of course," the black haired knight continued, casually spewing facts to the Camelotian knights, all the while looking over his shoulder at Arthur. "Milady the queen was a peasant, after all—a farmer's daughter. She was born and raised in Ealdor, by her older brother; you do know Gaius, don't you—your court sorcerer?"

"And physician," Leon stated, proudly, "He's very adamant that he share the same title with Alice, the two are the very definition of love birds," the sandy haired knight said with a teasing, and carefree tone. Lancelot looked to Mordred, "You and Gaius get on well, yeah? Gaius visits our queen often, and he stays in the druid encampment for weeks at a time gathering druidic herbs and what not," Mordred smiled at the mention of the old Court Physician, and leaned to the side, a hand shuffling through the brown wool bag resting at the side of the horse's saddle and pulled out a simple leather bound book, showing it off to the other four. "Oh, isn't that one of Gaius' old spell books?" Lancelot asked the younger man whose head bobbed vigorously in answer.

Arthur asked another question, quickly changing the subject into something non-magical as George the Perfect Servant was putting the book of magic bag in Mordred's saddle bag with the careful watch of the druid's icy blue eyes, "Then—wouldn't Gaius be something of a duke, being the brother of a queen?" Arthur hid his express surprise at the fact that the Essetirian king had courted a peasant farmer's daughter. Leon raised an eyebrow at Arthur's query, and change in attitude over the whole journey, really. He actually seems interested. How odd. Leon thought, pulling back on his horse's reins, meaning to slow the steed and fall into step besides Arthur's, to engage the prince more in the conversation.

"As I'm sure you know, Gaius and King Uther are close friends," Leon nodded to Arthur, "Uther was a lot like you when he was your age, but Gaius put him in his place, 'e did—he was already an advisor to your grandfather, and when Uther was of age to start training and learning the ropes of the kingdom, and that was when Gaius and Uther had the chance to become fast friends. And fast friends they were. Gaius was something of…your father's older brother." Leon smiled, "I was only into my adolescent years when I met Uther personally—and he had been crowned a young king a short few years later. As for Gaius," Leon gave a faint laugh, "He had grey hairs when I first started maturing—barely made it past fifty with a head of youthful hair, the poor chap," Leon continued to chuckle, and Arthur gave a faint smile.

What he really wanted to know was how his father and mother had met, their marriage, everything about his mother—not that the relationship between Uther and Gaius when they were younger wasn't nice for him to hear about, not that he didn't find neighbouring kingdom's odd choices in rulers or opinions of peasants being equal to nobility.

"And to more directly answer your question earlier, no, Gaius is not a duke. He wished to continue being Camelot's physician and advisor—being loyal to the King as he is," Leon smiled at the youthful blonde. "It's hard to find someone that loyal to the crown."

Arthur winced; Merlin was loyal to him—though as the man, not just the crown, even if he was just a servant and not a knight. His manservant's nobleness and loyalty was enough to match, if not surpass, his other knight's to boot. Yet so was Leon in terms of loyalty, but Leon would always have blindly followed Uther's words through anything, as Uther was the King.

"Look," Mordred said in his quiet but deep voice. Arthur, who was so engrossed in the conversation before and didn't notice when the horses had stopped, looked to where Mordred was pointing: a beautiful view of a castle from where the greens of the forest opened up. Arthur could see the stones of white from the castle in the distance and the lower town, the view was closer to where they stood, were tents of vendors painted in many different colours just as the druid camp had been. At a closer look, Arthur noticed the tallest tower of the castle in the far distance had some manner of beast wrapped around it—an odd addition to the castle's architecture, in Arthur's opinion. The beast looked the epitome of majesty against the multi-coloured sky, the sun setting behind the bright white castle. Mordred spoke again, "That's the Great Dragon, isn't it?" the young man looked towards his a older companion, who agreed,

"That he is," Lancelot said, pleasantly, "Once the town's people were used to his size—as most dragons are smaller than he—Kilgharrah claimed that as his usual perch. You could say Essetir is known for having a Dragon Lord as King." Lancelot nodded, and looked to Arthur, who was staring at the beast with certain wariness. Knowing he wasn't hallucinating, Arthur saw what appeared to be a bronze or copper coloured dragon—large, very large—curled around the tallest tower, tail twinning around the tower before trailing down to touch the ground beneath him.

"But don't worry about him, he doesn't bite," Lancelot assured Arthur. Arthur chuckled nervously, nonplussed.

"That hard," George added on in a murmur, to which Mordred laughed quietly at.

"I'm sorry?" Leon asked.

"I had said, milord, that if the dragon would bite someone, it wouldn't be hard." George started; a bit put off of what he should say next to explain why he had spoken up.

"A-a brass coloured dragon can't be all that bad, yeah?" The servant paused to lick his lips nervously, "Because if he did bite, it would be a pain in the…br-…-ass…" George had started, voice strong, but it had gotten quieter under Arthur's unamused stare. The man servant fidgeted for a good while before going still, his eyes staring down at Arthur's feet in a respectful manner.

"Count on George to be soft on a dragon because the colouring of his scales holds a likeness to brass." Leon chuckled. "I wouldn't be surprised if George thought the Stymphalides was a friendly creature instead of a man eater because the beast has the claws and a beak of brass." Lancelot added. George, having gone pale under Arthur's gaze, stood still, unsure eyes flickering between the Camelotian knight and prince. Leon punched the servant's arm lightly, "Lighten up, mate, this isn't an execution."

"You're not to be reprobated for a few harmless jokes," Lancelot smiled winsomely whilst Leon nodded in agreement.

"Would you like to hear another, then?" George asked with the tone of a professional servant, a hopeful twinkle in his eye.

Leon raised his sandy coloured eyebrows and looked to Lancelot, who shrugged and gave another easy smile, "Surprise us."

"What do you call a type of metal that can measure time?" George asked, looking expectant in the most intelligent way.

"I don't know of such a thing," Leon paused in his answer, thoughtful. Lancelot nudged Leon and asked, "What?"

"An hour-brass." George said proudly.

Arthur felt his mouth become dry because of the horrible joke, so he smacked his lips together, some things never do change... To his left, he heard Mordred coughing loudly, trying either to hold back a remark—which would be odd, as Arthur had barely heard more than a word out of the boy—or laughter. Arthur wasn't sure which would make more sense, as George's brass jokes are never funny. Arthur looked to Leon who had an amused smile on his face that matched the one Lancelot wore. George almost broke his professional stride—looking like he wanted to laugh himself. The manservant opened his mouth to speak before Arthur said, "That's quite enough verbal harassment for toda—" The prince's words stopped as he noticed George giggling. Arthur let his eyebrows rise dramatically. Arthur cursed his inner Gwaine calling himself a drama queen.

"You wouldn't want me to...surbrass you, would you? You see, you said harass but you could have easily said 'h-brass' to keep in the theme of things—you do see, don't you?—and it made me laugh." George giggled to himself, "Oh—that was brass of me."

Arthur was pretty sure the coughing to his left had turned into laughter, but the blonde was, in no way, amused. George must have taken the prince's blank stare as the blonde not having got the joke.

"Do you get it? I meant to say "crass", which means—"

Arthur cut the manservant off, "Yes, yes, I know what it means. I was staring because it made me feel a bit ill..." The manservant fell silent once more. Arthur let out a suffering sigh before politely asking, "Don't you have any jokes that don't involve brass?" The question came out less polite and more irritating sounding; it's the thought that counts. Arthur told himself.

"I... I don't, sire." George frowned. "What other jokes would there be—do you happen to know of any?" He asked, intrigued. The quiet laughing to his left stopped and Arthur could feel the hair on his nape prickle from the druid's gaze.

"Well, there's..." Arthur trailed off as he noticed Lancelot and Leon's expectant gazes on him, as well as George's and presumably Mordred's. The prince's eyes widened as he realised the implications of his words, they're expecting me to tell a joke. He coughed uncomfortably, "Leon, I'm sure there are other jokes, you agree with me?"

Leon looked more amused that Arthur would like. Arthur cleared his throat and looked to George, who looked crest fallen. Lancelot chuckled and nudged Arthur's shoulder, "I was sure you'd have a great joke cooked up for us, I was wondering what kind of joke would be grandiose for the Prince of Camelot, but it seems like there isn't anything better than the sound of brass jokes." George perked up at the indirect complement, seemingly forgetting about the disappointment he had held onto just a few seconds earlier.

Arthur coughed into his fist, trying to hold his tongue at Lancelot, "You're too kind," slipped out of the blonde's mouth. George, not seeming to catch on to the insult, nodded in agreement.

"Let's continue on, shall we?" Lancelot urged his horse forwards, "We'll rent rooms at the tavern in the lower town for the night."

I'm gonna start replying to reviews in PMs not on the chapter page, hope no one minds.

Posts this before I can change my mind, hahahh.

Cheers!