"He can't be who you think he is," Merlin said decisively. "You must be mistaken about Arthur."
The dragon – and some days Merlin was still in awe of what his life had become, talking to dragons in secret caverns underneath Camelot about great destinies – chuckled.
"Ah, the confidence of youth, thinking they know better than their elders – or destiny."
"He's an ass," Merlin told him. "And cruel, and uncaring, and you know what's worst? He's doing nothing to fight his uncle!"
"Agravaine is a poisonous influence, no doubt," the dragon mused. "Perhaps more so than Uther ever was."
Merlin clutched the torch in his hand tighter. "How am I supposed to do this? Help him become king if he doesn't want to face his uncle? Protect him in a place that hates magic and is full of spies?"
"It is your destiny, young warlock, and it must be fulfilled for the greater good of all."
Merlin felt a by now familiar sort of desperation well up inside him.
"How?" he cried. "I'm a nobody!"
"You are a powerful warlock, if inexperienced," the dragon replied, sounding merely amused in the face of Merlin's frustration.
"Which might get me killed," Merlin retorted. "Will get me killed. It's only a matter of time. How can it be my destiny to protect someone who cares only for himself? Who hates what I am?"
"A half cannot truly hate that which makes it whole. Very soon you shall learn that."
Merlin sighed. He was tired of the dragon's cryptic riddles.
"Look, I actually came to say goodbye."
The dragon said nothing, watching him.
"Coming here, it's too dangerous," Merlin continued. "I'm being watched and followed. Sneaking past the guards isn't easy, either. If anybody catches me down here, I'm burning on the pyre tomorrow, destiny or not."
The dragon still didn't reply.
"Well, goodbye then."
Another chuckle.
"You will return eventually, young Merlin. Nobody can escape their destiny."
Destiny, Merlin had decided, could go and get stuffed.
Whatever the dragon, or fate, or magic might have in mind for Merlin, it certainly couldn't be this: week after week of getting ordered about by his royal pratness and praying to the gods, old and new, that he'd live to manoeuvre through another day of deadly intrigues.
Currently, he had the questionable honour of holding on to a variety of Arthur's weapons while standing in the surprisingly warm sun of an early autumn day. The prince was busy with yet another training session. Watching Arthur fight had quickly become one of the less annoying parts of his days at Camelot.
He was, Merlin had to admit, a truly excellent fighter. Arthur easily bested knights twice his size or thrice as experienced. Of course, some of them could be holding back, unwilling to injure the heir of the kingdom, but nobody could deny the strength and elegance with which he fought.
"You!" Merlin turned his head at the sound of an authoritative voice. An older knight was approaching him, looking annoyed. "Fetch me a new sword from the armoury. The rust's getting to this one."
Merlin bowed his head: "I'm ever so sorry, sir, but I'm under the prince's orders to stay right here."
The man huffed, but turned and found himself a squire for his task.
"You learnin' the ways, eh?"
Merlin jumped and only just managed not to smash his foot with Arthur's maze as it fell. The speaker had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Merlin recognised the black hair and mischievous eyes from his first days at Camelot. He scowled and pointedly turned his eyes back to watch Arthur.
"Go away!"
"Why so mean, mate? I didn't do nuffin' to you!" the boy complained with a lopsided grin.
Merlin ignored him.
"Hm, you really have learned, Merlin." Merlin tried not to show any reaction as the boy smoothly lost his fake country accent. "I'm sure the prince appreciates it. People were betting on how long you'd make it, you know? A full month, now. Impressive."
"I said, go away," Merlin hissed.
"Fine, suit yourself," the boy replied and left.
The little pest was right, of course. Merlin had learned quite a bit since his arrival four weeks ago. Mainly: not to be naïve.
Gaius warning that anybody might betray him had turned out to be warranted. He had learned this the hard way, too. Merlin now knew how important it was to check over anything handed to him by someone else, to keep his mouth firmly shut in the hallways and not to believe messages other servants told him were from Arthur. At best, he only lost precious time instead of earning himself a scolding from Gaius, a cuff around the ears from the steward or Arthur's cutting remarks.
The prince returned from the fight, unloading his helmet, sword and dagger onto Merlin's already full arms, and sighed contently.
"Good session," he said, stretching.
"Are you ready for lunch, then, my lord?" Merlin asked, carefully balancing his new load.
"Oh, didn't I tell you? I'm to eat with Morgana. It's a casual affair, so you're excused." He narrowed his eyes. "Speaking of which – what were you doing, talking to her pet?"
"Pet, sire?"
"Mordred, Morgana's little spy."
"Is that his name, my lord?" Merlin asked, feigning disinterest as he filed the information away. "He was getting on my nerves, that's all."
Arthur huffed. "He's some poor orphan she found on the street and took under her wings. Couldn't even speak when he first arrived. Now, that little creep has his eyes and ears everywhere. Morgana likes to be well-informed."
Needed to be, Merlin thought, like everyone else. He twisted his mouth into a miserable smile.
Arthur glared at him. "What are you smiling at? You're excused from serving lunch, not exempt from work. Make sure to return those weapons now, then come and help me change and freshen up. After that, fix my knife, it's blunt. Oh, and check if the horses are being readied, will you? We're going out on patrol, Sir Brennis said there's reports of poachers in the north. You're coming, so pack our bags if you're done."
Merlin suppressed a sigh as he nodded obediently, making a mental list of all the things Arthur expected him to do. Riding out on patrol, too. The days might still be warm, but the nights were getting colder. He was not looking forward to spending it on the damp ground of the forest.
Merlin checked the sun as he carried off Arthur's weapons. He would need to hurry if Arthur wanted to be on time for lunch.
In the armoury, he made sure to close the door properly, checked every corner twice, then huddled over Arthur's dagger and quickly murmured one of the spells he'd learned from Gaius' book. The blade glowed bright blue. A few seconds later, it was shiny and razor-sharp.
The door opened and Merlin flinched. The knife fell to the ground.
It was a squire. Merlin relaxed as he recognised him. This one mostly kept to himself and didn't bother anyone, certainly not Merlin. He had noticed that the squire was often the receiver of jokes and cruel remarks himself, though Merlin thought he didn't seem an obvious target. The man was quite good-looking, with dark wavy hair and muscular arms. His knighthood couldn't be more than a year off.
"Sorry, sir," Merlin said, hurriedly picking up the knife and stepping out of the way. As a nobleman, the other outranked him, even if they often did the same tasks.
"Don't worry about it," the squire replied easily and hoisted his shield on a hook on the wall. "You're Merlin, right? Are you gathering supplies for tonight?"
Surprised, Merlin halted his steps on his way to the door. "Soon, sir," he said carefully.
A huff. "Please, I'm not a knight yet. You can call me Lancelot."
Suspicious, Merlin only nodded.
Lancelot seemed to pick up on his hesitation. "Your first ride out with the prince, right?"
"Yes."
"I've heard him have a go at his last man. Make sure to pack treats for his horse and bring the fur-lined bedroll. He'll want that dagger, too."
Merlin crossed his arms. "Right."
Lancelot sighed. "Look, I'm only trying to help."
People at Camelot didn't usually do things just to be nice, though his advice sounded harmless enough. If Lancelot really was trying to help, he would surely expect a favour in return.
"Well, thanks," Merlin said and left quickly.
He endured Arthur's scolding about being the slowest, laziest manservant of all the kingdoms as he helped him get cleaned up, snarking back at him when he thought he could get away with it, then hurried to check on the horses, only just preventing the groom from delegating a sick stablehand's work to him. He certainly didn't feel like mucking out today.
At the storeroom, the clerk on duty eyed him suspiciously as he gathered what was needed for their outing. Spotting the bedrolls, he hesitated, then grabbed the one on the very right for Arthur.
"What do you need that for, boy?" asked the balding man when he saw Merlin pick up the fur-lined bedroll. "It's not winter yet."
"The prince specifically requested it," he lied bravely.
The clerk nodded, but it looked like he made a special note on his parchment. Great. Merlin sure hoped Lancelot's advice wasn't getting him into trouble.
By the time he had visited the kitchens to gather provisions and everything was packed, Merlin just had enough time to have something to eat and change into a warmer pair of breeches and his jacket before he went out into the courtyard.
The rest of the party had already started to gather. Merlin nodded tentatively at Lancelot as the squire sought out his gaze. The knight he was attending, Sir Geraint, was already on his horse talking to Sir Leon, while the brothers Sir Osric and Sir Odlof were just mounting.
"I assume you can ride?" Arthur finally greeted him.
He'd gotten back into light armour without Merlin and was currently pulling on sturdy leather gloves.
"I do, my lord," Merlin replied as he tied Arthur's bag to his saddle. Though how well he'd ride one of Camelot's noble steeds remained to be seen. The old nags in Ealdor had been considerably smaller.
"Get on then," Arthur said, pointing to a chestnut mare held by a stablehand.
Merlin nodded. Knowing the prince was watching him, he approached the horse. It was big, but as Merlin held out his hand, allowing the animal to smell him, he got the feeling it was of gentle character. He took a few moments to familiarise the mare with his voice, stroking the long neck.
He then fastened his own pack to the horse's saddle, fiddling briefly with the stirrups before he got up, though he needed three tries to finally get his leg over the saddle. He smiled when the horse obediently followed his commands and they came to a rest next to Arthur.
The prince didn't comment, only nodded at him, which was probably as close as he'd ever get to giving Merlin approval.
Two more squires finally completed the party and they were on their way.
The sun had almost fully set when they made camp near a small stream. They hadn't spotted any poachers on their way into the forests north of the city, but Arthur's plan was to push onwards early in the morning, hoping to catch them at dawn.
Merlin, unused to riding for any longer than an hour, was glad for the break. He tried not to groan too loudly as he slipped off the saddle and got busy.
By the time the last sunlight had vanished, they had a fire going and some torches set up around the area. The horses were grazing at the edge of the stream, and the knights had settled down to eat and talk strategy, their bedrolls placed in a neat semi-circle behind them.
As there was no need to hover at Arthur's side as he ate, Merlin helped himself to the last of the stew he'd thrown together over the fire, then looked around, unsure where to settle down.
To his surprise, Lancelot waved him over. He was sitting quite a bit apart from the other two squires on a rock near a torch, Merlin noticed. Warily, he made his way over.
"The prince seemed content enough with your work," he said as way of greeting when Merlin settled down onto the bare ground next to him.
He was right, too. Arthur had indeed asked for crab apples for his horse and certainly hadn't complained about the warm bedroll, as the air was damp with fog starting to settle in.
But Merlin only hummed vaguely in response as he dug in, still feeling suspicious that Lancelot was expecting something from him.
"You make a good stew, Merlin," Lancelot added.
This set Merlin even more on edge, though he murmured: "Thanks."
Sudden laughter drew Merlin's attention. He looked up. The other two squires were watching them, looking amused.
"Lionel, Gareth, settle down," Sir Geraint chastised them at once, but it wasn't enough to wipe their grins.
"What's their problem?" Merlin found himself saying.
"The usual, I'd imagine." He looked at Merlin, then raised his eyebrows. "Oh. You don't know."
Merlin shrugged, unwilling to admit to anything.
Lancelot looked into the fire. "Let's just say I'm an unusual case."
Merlin certainly knew how it felt to be the odd one out. They spent the rest of the meal in silence.
The night passed uneventfully.
Merlin had laid out his own bedroll apart from the knights, but still close to the fire, slipping easily into sleep after a hard day. When he awoke, he was shivering, damp air stiffening his road-weary limbs.
It was still dark, though some birds were already singing of the approaching dawn and the fog had thinned out. Sir Leon was up, keeping watch.
"Early riser?" he murmured as Merlin stretched.
"Have to be, sir."
The knight nodded.
Merlin stepped into the bushes, then went down to the creak for a drink and a quick wash. The cool water drove any remaining sleep from his eyes.
When he returned, the camp was still quiet. He stoked the fire to new strength, then settled down with some bread taken from his pack.
"Cold night," Sir Leon said.
Taken by surprise, Merlin chewed quickly. "The fire helps, sir."
"You seemed right at ease, making camp, foraging for dry wood. Have you been on the road much?"
"Some," Merlin answered carefully.
"But your first time with the prince, I hear."
"Yes, sir."
Was Sir Leon fishing for information? He seemed to be watching Merlin carefully. The knight looked friendly enough, but Merlin had learned not to trust appearances at Camelot.
"It's not a manservant's usual work," Sir Leon observed, "riding out on patrol, going after poachers with knights and squires."
Amused, Merlin dared to show just a hint of cheek: "Well, some say I'm an unusual manservant, Sir Leon."
"So I've heard," the knight agreed, in a tone Merlin did not know how to take.
They fell silent.
Soon after, the prince awoke and promptly stirred everyone else. Merlin hurried to refill their waterskins and gather everything he'd unpacked. He was glad that the prince had turned out to be a hardy traveller. By the time Merlin approached him, Arthur had already fetched his own rations from his pack and gathered up his bedroll like anybody else in the group.
"Get this fastened to the saddles," he ordered, pointing at their bags. "Make sure the buckles are tight, we might need to up our pace today."
When Merlin finally led their horses over, Arthur had put on his sword belt and was spurring on the squires to make haste.
"Hurry up, then," he said with some annoyance. "I want us to be on our way at first light."
They left shortly after with the faint glow of dawn just poking through the trees.
"Merlin, stay out of the way," Arthur ordered when they were back on the trail. "These poachers could turn out to be bandits. We don't need any distractions if we find them."
Merlin let his horse fall far back until he was riding alongside Lancelot.
"He's right," the squire said. "If there's a fight, you need to keep your distance." He inspected Merlin. "Do you have a weapon on you?"
Merlin shook his head.
Lancelot reached to his side and, one-handedly, removed a leather sheath from his hip. The wooden handle of a hunting knife stuck out.
"Take this," he offered. "You should be able to defend yourself if it comes to the worst.
Merlin accepted it warily. What was Lancelot's angle?
He awkwardly fastened the knife to his belt while holding onto the reins. He hadn't thought about needing a weapon, hadn't even brought one on his journey from Ealdor. After all, he knew his magic had always saved his from serious harm: a falling branch blocking an angry boar's path in the woods, a convenient pile of leaves or heap of straw cushioning his fall…
As they rode on, he started to see the conversation he'd had with Sir Leon in a new light.
From the beginning, Arthur had expected him to do a squire's work on top of the duties of a manservant and Merlin had simply accepted it. He hadn't realised how unusual it must be for Arthur to bring him along on this trip. The knights could clearly fend for themselves, not in need of courtly service, and a lanky manservant, inexperienced in combat, was likely to slow them down.
Determined not to be a burden, Merlin made sure not fall behind as they rode on.
A half-hour had passed when Arthur brought his horse to a quick halt. Merlin could just make out his finger pressed against his lips, telling them to be quiet. Sir Leon wordlessly pointed into the trees.
Merlin squinted. He hadn't heard anything but, yes, the faint glow of fire could be seen just beyond some bushes, perhaps thirty yards off the path.
A moment later, a glowing arrow struck the thigh of Sir Osric's horse. It roared, bucked and kicked, promptly throwing the knight off before charging away.
"Get off, get off!" Arthur shouted just as another arrow barely missed his own horse. "Take cover!"
Merlin hurried to comply. By the time he'd made it down, the others had slapped their horses on their hinds and the animals took off after Sir Osric's injured steed without their riders.
Merlin ducked his head as he heard the whistle of another arrow, then followed the other men's examples and dove into the underbrush next to the path.
A few more arrows rained down where they had just stood, glowing eerily against the ground, then nothing.
Sir Odlof, who had taken cover right next to Merlin in the bushes, hissed: "Magic!"
Merlin stared at him, but before he could even think of what this might imply, he heard movement, the sound of a struggle, then a strangled cry. The rough voice of Sir Geraint called: "Archer down!"
Arthur's voice rang through the darkness: "Move!"
And off Sir Odlof went and, judging from the sounds around them, the rest of the fighters followed. Merlin needed a moment to gather enough courage to stick his head out of the bushes. By then, the group had gone towards the earlier spotted fire, dark shadows in the slowly brightening forest.
Unwilling to be left behind, Merlin followed, though he stuck close to the ground as he moved, scared another magical arrow might come flying at him.
He arrived at the edge of a clearing where the knights were fighting two men in dark cloaks wielding wooden staffs. As they impacted with the swords, they sent out bright sparks of magic. One more figure was already lying dead on the ground, bow and arrow marking him another archer.
Just then, Arthur slayed his opponent with his sword and Gareth, with the help of Sir Leon, took down the final one near the edge of the clearing.
Immediately, the men regrouped, forming a circle with their backs to the campfire which had alerted them, their swords raised.
For a moment, all was eerily quiet. From behind a tree, Merlin eyed the clearing, taking in the number of bedrolls and supplies. There were too many for just four people.
Arthur seemed to have come to the same conclusion as he shouted angrily: "Show yourselves!"
A roar unlike anything Merlin had ever heard before ripped through the forest. And whatever it was that made this ungodly sound, it was close. Very close.
The knights turned toward the noise and for a moment, Merlin forgot to breathe.
A head, the unnaturally tall head of an eagle emerged from the forest, followed by a pair of massive wings brushing against the trees. When the beast finally stepped fully into the clearing, the body of a lion revealed itself. The creature roared again, but by then, Merlin had spotted a chain of light leading from its neck to one of the two, dark-cloaked men walking with the beast.
"Lower your swords, you fools!" one of the figures shouted. With his white beard and lined face, he looked much too old to control a beast of this magnitude, but clearly, he was assisted by magic. "You stand no chance of slaying the mighty griffin with your weapons."
Arthur, shockingly bold in the face of such a monster, ordered: "Men, do not back down!" He addressed the two men: "Sorcerers, how dare you conjure this monstrosity of magic in the realms of King Uther!"
"We care not for the cruel laws of your king," the older men scoffed and the griffin screeched as if it agreed. "Albion has breathed magic for a thousand years. Pendragon's bloody reign and blind hate for magic is a blight on these lands!"
"You will follow the rules of your sovereign," Arthur ordered sharply, raising his sword in clear provocation. "End this wicked magic now, or we will kill you along with your creature!"
"We will never obey your king's commands," the younger man now shouted. "Soon, magic will be unshackled in Camelot! Emrys shall rise!"
"Emrys shall rise!" the older echoed fervently – and the chain of magic dissolved into thin air.
The griffin jumped forward, aided by its wings, and the knights scattered. The beast roared in anger, then picked a target and followed Sir Leon, who only just managed to ward off the beast's beak with his sword. The weapon shattered into pieces and Sir Leon, eyes wide with shock, flinched back with only the hilt remaining in his hands.
Before the griffin could use its advantage, however, the brother knights had charged the beast from behind, Sir Osric coming from the left and Sir Odlof from the right. Their blades suffered the same fate as Sir Leon's, breaking as they made contact with the beastly body, but the griffin was angered, reared and turned.
"It can't be slain!" called a blanching Lionel, fear eminent in his voice, "it's invincible!"
"There is no such thing!" Sir Geraint shouted. "Charge!"
He faced the griffin head-on, Gareth by his side. The beast howled and kicked at them, hitting Gareth square into the chest. He crumbled to the floor and the beast easily swept Sir Geraint aside with one giant wing. The knight was knocked into a tree and slipped to the floor, unconscious. Screeching in triumph, the griffin bowed down and easily pierced Gareth's chainmail with its beak, ripping out flesh and blood.
Lionel screamed and ran into the forest, abandoning his sword and leaving only two men with both body and weapon intact.
"With me, Lancelot!" Arthur shouted with grim determination, circling the griffin. The beast, momentarily occupied with its gruesome meal, paid no attention.
At the edge of the clearing, Merlin saw movement and looked over. The two sorcerers had come closer and were raising their own glowing staffs towards the oblivious knights, ready to end this fight.
Finally shaken from his stupor, Merlin felt his own powers rush uncontrollably to the surface, crackling hot and wild at his fingertips as he extended a hand towards their enemies. The men were violently knocked back by an invisible hand, flipped and turned in the air, then thrown far into the forest.
The gust of energy had also fanned the campfire, still burning in the centre of the clearing, to new heights. Its flames licked at the griffin's wings. The creature let off Gareth's mauled form and sidled backwards, screeching.
"Fire!" Lancelot called out. "It hates the fire!"
This brought the other knights back into play. They approached the fire, courageously reaching into the flames. The brothers started flinging smouldering logs and sticks at the beast whereas Sir Leon had managed to grab a make-shift torch and waved it at the griffin. It worked – the beast retreated towards the edge of the clearing.
"This is our chance!" Arthur shouted. "There must be a way! Lancelot, go!"
They ran at the beast. A moment later, their swords clattered to the ground, broken and useless, and Lancelot, too, was violently swept to the edge of the forest by the griffin's wings and flung into some bushes.
This left only the prince and the beast facing each other. The monster did not dare charge him, still afraid of the fire, though the brothers were quickly running out of projectiles and the flame of Sir Leon's makeshift torch was weakening by the second.
Arthur, perhaps realising this was a time for desperate measures, reached for his belt and unsheathed his dagger.
"For Camelot!" he roared bravely, charging the beast alone.
Hurriedly, Merlin flung out his hand again, but the magic only ruffled the feathers of the beast like a harmless gust of wind.
This was it, then. Merlin was absolutely certain the prince was going to die.
But, instead of attacking the beast from the front, Arthur used the damp forest floor to slide underneath its belly. He violently stabbed at it with his dagger.
The griffin let out an ear-piercing scream, flapping its wings to get back and away from Arthur's attack. A moment later, it turned and fled into the forest.
Nobody moved.
Then, the knights rushed towards Arthur who was already sitting up, rubbing at his head and scowling. His hair and armour were partly covered in what had to be the beast's blood, sticky and almost black in colour.
Relieved, Merlin finally left his cover and walked towards the group.
The sound of rustling leaves alerted Merlin first. He whipped his head around and saw the younger sorcerer, miraculously having survived Merlin's earlier burst of magic, jump from the bushes. He had a shimmering crooked blade at the ready and made a mad dash in a last attempt to kill. The knights, still huddled around Arthur, were an easy target.
Without thinking, Merlin drew Lancelot's hunting knife, stepped into the man's path and slashed at him.
Merlin almost missed, only just slitting the skin of his left arm, but it was enough to make the other man stumble and lose momentum. The sorcerer screamed angrily, changed his course and raised his knife at Merlin instead, who started to retreat, clumsily slashing at the air in a desperate attempt to keep his opponent at a distance.
"Help!" Merlin called out.
The knights finally became aware of the situation. With the confidence that came from hours and hours of combat training, Sir Leon approached the man from behind and brought down his armoured elbow.
The attacker sank to the floor, looking dazed. Without effort, Arthur took the sorcerer's blade from his hands and finished him off there and then.
Finally, it was over.
Merlin, feeling weak in the knees, allowed himself to sink to the floor by his prince's feet and simply breathe.