Chapter I: Dawn
The crowd parted for the young man easily. A few inclined their heads in a gesture of respect. He still wanted to wince away from the deference, but months of becoming accustomed to it (and quite a few hard-earned leadership lessons) made him accept the nods with a smile and a nod of his own. He understood why they treated him this way, even if he still didn't like it and probably never would. For in a land of myth and a time of magic, the destiny of a great kingdom rested on the shoulders of that young man. His name: Merlin.
It was a mid-spring day, uncommonly warm and sunny, the sort of weather that made people feel that anything was possible. Wispy clouds streaked the highest reaches of the sky, while great white puffs floated lower to the ground. It had rained the night before, leaving the air crisp and clean and rich with the scent of growth.
A year ago, before Merlin had first come to Listeneise, the land had been barren save for a few scraggly weeds sprouting up among the rotting shells of houses. Now, though, patches of moss dappled the worn cobblestones, and bright flowers bloomed in sunnier places. A few of the surviving houses—the more dilapidated buildings had been torn down for repairs and firewood—even had slender fingers of ivy creeping up their south sides.
More life sprouted in the distant fields. From this far away, the rows of crops were nothing but a faint green fuzz. Beyond the cultivated ground, green and brown and black and gray blurred together. Listeneise was coming back to life, but it would take time for the greenery to reclaim its long-lost territory. One day, the uncultivated land would host fields and forests, but for now, it remained half-barren.
Normally, those fields would be full of workers, but that day, they were empty of life. All the inhabitants of reborn Corbenic were gathered in a half-circle around the day's speakers. They were druids and farmers, healers and merchants, magical and not. They might be a bit thin still from the long winter, but Merlin was proud to say that not one of them had died since they'd arrived here from Gedref. Even the Amatans rescued from Sarrum's Great Oubliette were healthy and excited.
The warlock passed through them to join the center of attention.
Hunith Caledonensis held her infant daughter in her arms. Little Ganieda was something of a mascot for the exiles, but this was not her day. Every eye was fixed on her father, the Dragonlord Balinor, who clutched a massive white egg. Behind them loomed the vast golden bulk of Kilgharrah, and Wyrmbasu the red wyvern sunned himself on a nearby rooftop.
Merlin turned to face the crowd, then stopped. Morgana had taken up speechcraft over the winter, a direct outgrowth of her endless letter-writing, and she'd written something for her beau to say. Merlin thought it would be more appropriate for Balinor or Kilgharrah to speak, but they'd ceded the responsibility to him. After all, he was the one who had retrieved this egg from an ancient tomb, the one who had healed the land in which the infant dragon would grow to adulthood.
"Today is a day of hope and triumph," Merlin told the assembled people. "It's been twenty years and more since this world was safe enough to call forth a new dragon, but now, our triumph is on the horizon. Finally, finally, our efforts are bearing fruit. Finally, finally, it actually feels like the end of our long nightmare is in sight.
"We know, of course, that it isn't technically over yet… but soon, it will be. Three days from now, the Once and Future King will officially begin the Grand Conference of the Kingdoms that will officially set us free. Every reigning monarch in Albion will come to Camelot, and they'll negotiate a new codex for bringing us back. Within just a few weeks, magic will be legal again across the entire island!"
Cheers erupted from the crowd, loud as a dragon's roar. Merlin waited for them to die down, grinning all the while (except when he glanced back to make sure that Ganieda wasn't frightened by the noise, but she was as calm as ever). "I know, I know," he laughed, departing a little from the script. "I'm excited too." Morgana shot him an exaggerated glare, too glad herself for anything with real vitriol, and he obediently went back to her speech.
"Once again, dragons can live freely and safely, and so can we. Once again, we can walk through the streets of the kingdoms without fear of attack or persecution. Once again, we can hold high our heads without having to hide a key aspect of our identities. Once again, we can speak to our friends and families without fearing that they, too, will be condemned by that mere association. All we have to do is wait just a few more weeks, and the sun will shine upon us all."
More applause and cheering, because there's some unwritten code that says people have to cheer every few sentences in a speech. This time, Merlin backed away, allowing Balinor to take center stage. He placed the egg on a wooden pedestal and began to speak.
"Twenty-five years have passed since the last hatching," the Dragonlord announced. "That was before the Purge, and no one who attended could guess at what lay ahead. Then the Slaughter began, and the Twin Genocide against my peoples, and we all thought that the dragons would never fly again. Now, though, as my son said, we stand before the dawn. Therefore I name this hatchling Aithusa, for the light of the sun."
No applause met Balinor's pronunciation, just a breathless silence. As one, the audience leaned forward, straining to watch as the first slender cracks spiderwebbed across the surface of the egg. Then a bulge, so small that Merlin could barely make it out, something pressing against the eggshell from within. Another push, and the first fragment fell away. More cracks, more pushes, and then he could see a tiny pale shape within. Then the last great wall of eggshell fell away, revealing the tiny, perfect form of an infant dragon.
Ganieda cooed, clapping her hands together in delight. The little dragon shook herself, her wings opening like miniature sails. She looked around with an air of curiosity, skimming over the thrilled humans and redolent wyvern until she noticed Kilgharrah. The young dragon stretched out her slim neck toward the older, and he leaned over until their snouts almost touched. Countless emotions gleamed in the great golden dragon's eyes.
After an infinite stretched-out moment, Kilgharrah drew back, straightened his neck. "A white dragon… is indeed a rare thing, and fitting for one named after the light of the sun." He smiled. "No dragon birth is without meaning. Sometimes that meaning is hard to see, but this time, I believe, it is clear. The white dragon bodes well for Albion, for the kingdom being built before our very eyes."
The crowd went berserk, shouting and applauding with such force and vigor that Aithusa squeaked and nearly fell off her little pedestal. Balinor caught her back up in his arms. Ganieda whined, making little grabby motions. Chuckling softly, Hunith brought her over to Balinor and the other baby. Ganieda patted Aithusa's snout with surprising gentleness for a child of less than eight months. The dragon trilled, leaning forward for more affectionate touches.
Merlin wondered if it was possible for someone's heart to melt. Gaius would have told him if that was possible, right?
"Just think," Hunith said to him, very softly. "By the time they grow up, the world will be a different place entirely."
"A better place," Merlin agreed. Ganieda and Aithusa would never know the pain and fear he had experienced as a child. For them, the Purge would be nothing but a story.
Gods, that thought made him happy.
"Oh, yes. A much better place indeed."
It had been a long, cold winter, made colder and longer still by how they'd had to struggle to survive. Without a preexisting food supply, the refugees in Listeneise had been forced to tend the fields every day, encouraging winter crops to grow under less-than-ideal conditions. They'd relied heavily on fish, with crews casting off every morning in cobbled-together boats which would have broken apart without a steady influx of magic and prayers.
Fuel, too, had been scarce. While they occasionally sent out parties to gather deadwood and other vital supplies, their main source of burnable material had been the crumbling ancient houses that comprised so much of Corbenic, Listeneise's no-longer-deserted capital. The refugees had never had to resort to burning dried dung, but they'd all worn multiple layers and slept under as many blankets as possible for months.
Their magic had saved them from scarcity. It couldn't conjure food, but almost every spellbinder could call up flame without fuel, even if only for a few minutes. More importantly, they could keep the less hardy plants alive. Merlin must have learned thirty or forty spells to protect plants against cold, freezes, hail, and/or raging wind. He'd never known that agricultural spells comprised such a big branch of magic, though of course it made sense that something so important would have inspired a lot of research and experimentation. He was already considering applications for after magic was free.
("Say, Arthur, have you had Geoffrey look over crop yields?"
"Not yet, but it's on his list of things to do. I don't doubt that banishing magic drastically decreased Camelot's food supply.")
But though the refugees depended mostly on the land and seas for food and shelter and fuel, they hadn't been able to fulfill all their needs with just their surroundings. A band of druids came by every few weeks with supplies, and Merlin and Morgana had managed to finagle secret agreements with two kingdoms. Arthur made arrangements to secret food away—never enough to be suspicious, but enough to keep the small colony's bellies full.
The other kingdom was Amata. Once the seat of Sarrum, who despised magic even more than Uther, it had recently been claimed by the tyrant's only surviving son, Claudin Ua Cleirigh. Claudin's vile uncle, Sarrum's brother Clovis, had promptly declared his nephew an unfit ruler and revolted. While Claudin could, eventually, have won on his own, the King of Amata was smart enough to realize that magical help on the side would save time, resources, and lives. He'd reached out to Arthur, who had asked his contacts if they would be willing to help Sarrum's son. They were, and Claudin repaid the clandestine magical assistance with supplies. He'd even procured a bit of jam for the solstice, which had done a great deal to endear him to the more suspicious refugees.
("Good thing you exiled Cenred. He might have joined Clovis, and then we'd really have been in a pickle."
"Would he, though?" Gwen wondered. "He seems more cunning than that."
"You'll be in the Orkneys this spring, right?" Morgana asked. "Maybe you can ask him then."
"I'm honestly not sure if I'll end up in the Orkneys or just go directly to Loth in Essetir. I suppose it depends on how long my other missions last.")
But the winter hadn't all been strain and anxiety about food and war and secret deals. For the first time in his life, Merlin had been able to learn magic openly, without fearing that a guard would burst in on him and Gaius or that a hunter would overhear him and Blaise. He learned from all sorts of sources, soaking up the knowledge like a thirsty sponge.
Blaise, his old druid tutor, continued to teach him a broad variety of general-use spells, things like repairing shoes and cleansing water and erasing tracks. Morgana would join them, sometimes, for simpler spells, and Merlin had just started the very basics of shapeshifting. Morgause had a wealth of knowledge about higher-level spells, many of which Merlin didn't actually want to learn because they felt… morally incompatible with his values, but also about magical theory. From her, he learned why spells worked. Alator and his Catha helped Merlin practice combat magic, drilling with him to ensure that he could use the spells at a moment's notice. They also, upon learning he'd briefly been trained in the use of a quarterstaff, insisted on making him practice that again. That had been… interesting, especially at first. Brisen of the druids rounded out his education with her emphasis on healing magic, a topic that always made him think of Gaius. The old physician's training had ensured that he didn't need much remedial education about anatomy, injury, and disease, although he'd never gone in-depth with actual spells.
While these four were Merlin's main magical tutors, other residents chipped in here and there. Balinor and Kilgharrah had a wealth of dragon-lore. Anhora sometimes tagged along with Blaise and gave a lesson about illusion or magical creatures. Plenty of spellbinders wanted to pass on their favorite cantrips to the famous Emrys. Sometimes, the spell was as simple and silly as adding bubbles to wine; Merlin learned it, loved it, anyways.
(Besides, Ganieda loved the bubble spell.)
There were also his leadership lessons from Morgause, Alator, his parents, and occasionally a visiting druid chieftain, but Merlin viewed those as more duty than pleasure. Learning magic was a joy, plain and simple. The more he learned, the more he felt like himself.
("Do you ever feel that way, Morgana?"
"Sometimes, but I think it's different for you."
"You're learning really quickly, too, you know. Everyone says so, and even if they didn't, I could see it for myself. You're good at magic, Morgana."
"You're sweet, Merlin."
"My greatest secret. Don't tell Arthur.")
Twice a week, Merlin and Morgana would step into the dream-world to speak with Arthur and Gwen. Some of their meetings were business, but some were just to check in, to talk together, to enjoy the presence of their absent friends while filling each other in on what they'd been doing. The other three had been just as busy as Merlin.
Morgana had dedicated the last few months to three things: honing her magic, writing letters to virtually every nobleman she'd ever met (not to mention several she had not), and, eventually, drafting speeches. She'd produced several for Arthur to use at various points in the Grand Conference of the Kingdoms, so many that he'd nearly refused to accept more.
The witch might have lacked Merlin's raw natural affinity for all things magical, but her knowledge and power had nonetheless grown by leaps and bounds. Less than a year ago, she'd been unable to cast a single spell; now, she was on the brink of learning to teleport, the goal she'd set herself at the start of the year.
("See, Morgana? I told you you're brilliant!")
Arthur had, of course, spent his winter in the great citadel in Camelot, establishing his reign. Being a king was busy work. There were petitions to hear, court cases to conduct, laws to research, laws to draft, laws to edit, spoiled lordlings to placate, guilds to hire, problems to mediate, and, of course, endless reams of paperwork. Vast and horrifying amounts of paperwork that he swore existed just to torment him. Sometimes, he struggled to fit in his daily training with the knights.
("Speaking of swords, when are you getting Excalibur back to me?"
"…We were thinking right around the start of the conference."
"What are you not telling me?"
"We may or may not have asked Morgause to plan the return."
"Morgause? Are you mad?"
"Don't worry, she promised no serkets!"
"That does not reassure me, Merlin!")
He spent surprisingly little time on making magic legal again, preferring to have Sir Geoffrey of Monmouth and his assistant, Lady Blanchefleur, draw up the vast majority of the legal code for his approval. He did, however, keep a close eye on their work, and frequently consulted the old law books to see how things had been before the Purge. Nor did he need to spend many hours on planning for the conference, putting it off until just a couple weeks ago.
Arthur's main contribution to returning magic lay in his twice-monthly general assemblies with the people of Camelot. The meetings began with Gaius (or occasionally Geoffrey) delivering a brief lecture about some facet of magic, then blossomed into a public discussion mediated by the king. They could share their own stories, voice their concerns, even argue with each other. As he put it, he needed to make clear to all his people that their king was not abandoning them, and also that he wasn't a brainwashed slave.
("I understand that you have to convince them I'm not controlling you like a puppet. I really do. But do you really have to tell them all those embarrassing stories about me?"
"Yes. Yes, I do.")
Now that Arthur was scrambling to finalize the details for his conference, Merlin took a great deal of glee in pointing out that he wouldn't be in this situation if he'd spent his time preparing rather than telling everyone about the time he got distracted and walked straight into the wall. Arthur just grumbled at him to shut up.
The real legwork—literally—for restoring magic had been turned over to Gwen, newly minted lady and ambassador extraordinaire. She'd spent the winter traveling to almost every kingdom in Albion, encouraging every monarch she met to rewrite their treaty with Camelot to remove the pacts of mutual aggression against any nation which left magic legal. Those clauses had been instrumental in spreading the Purge beyond Camelot; their erasure would be just as instrumental in ending the Slaughter for good.
It hadn't been easy. It wouldn't have been easy for the noble scion of an ancient house, much less a promoted peasant—and by the time Gwen left Olaf's kingdom, Dyffed, word had spread of her peasant roots. King Bors of Ganis had gone so far as to arrest her and her retinue before he'd sent a messenger off to Camelot warning Arthur of the impostor trying to rework the pacts between their lands.
("They've arrested you!" Arthur had yelled, jerking upright.
"It's not nearly as bad as you think."
"It's not—they arrested you!"
"Do you want me to break you out?" Merlin asked.
"No, no, he's sent someone to Camelot. We'll just have to wait a fortnight or so until Arthur can confirm that we're real. Send someone with a fast horse, please. I'm worried about Gilli and especially Sefa. This is something of a nightmare come true for them."
Merlin had ended up visiting the two spellbinders, reminding them that Gwen had an amulet with which to summon him in an instant. That helped, as did Gwen's stubborn cheer and unexpected-but-not-really ability to befriend the guards.)
To his credit, Bors had been very apologetic after the misunderstanding had been cleared up. He'd even written ahead to his sister-in-law, Queen Evaine of Benwick, assuring her that Lady Guinevere's unconventional selection did in fact come from Arthur. Still, Gwen and her retinue had been glad to leave Ganis.
That was far from the only problem caused by Gwen's roots. She'd faced quiet derision and not-so-quiet scorn. Some monarchs had put her in their lowliest apartments, the ones that normally weren't used until all the others were occupied, or they'd not give a feast in honor of her arrival. But each kingdom that acknowledged Guinevere as a lady added legitimacy to her position, as did every reworked treaty she sent off for Arthur's records. It didn't hurt that Tristan and Isolde had taken to dueling—and trouncing—any knight who got too obnoxious.
("I could curse them for you, you know."
"As much as I appreciate the offer, Merlin, I have to decline. International relations, you know. Right, Arthur?"
"Actually, this is one of the rare times when Merlin's right. What kind of curses were you thinking about?"
"Arthur!")
By the time of Aithusa's hatching, Gwen had just finished her task in Essetir, at the newly restored court of King Loth. While Essetir's last king, Cenred, had already altered his land's treaty with Camelot, Loth had had no reason to honor that contract. He'd signed the original treaty with Uther twenty years ago, before the King of Camelot had ousted him and chased his family to the Orkneys. Cenred had been the son of the usurper king to whom Uther had granted the newly conquered Essetir.
("Wait, that was you at Carmarthen?"
"Yes. That was a bad few days."
"Does this mean that Hunith started the riot?"
"Obviously. What else was she supposed to do?")
Essetir's complicated political history made it something of a wild card. Loth had no reason to uphold a treaty with someone who'd kicked him off his throne, but he also had no reason to let himself be bound by Cenred's word. He also retained his claim to the Orkneys, and his not-quite-disowned grandson served Arthur as a knight.
Gwen had gone in expecting a labyrinthine nightmare, but Loth had cut the Gordian Knot with a few simple sentences: "There isn't much point in being king of the only two kingdoms who'd go to war against magic. I just regained this throne. I'll not lose it again. Still, I expect compensation for Camelot's crimes."
That was a whole other kettle of fish, and it was enough to keep them occupied for a good long while. Gwen would be accompanying Essetir's restored royal family on their journey to the Great Conference.
All in all, Merlin reflected, it had been a good winter. Hard, but they'd gotten so near their goal that he could almost taste it.
The spring and summer would be even better.
Alternate chapter title: "In Which DRAGONS!"
Next chapter: May 6. People start arriving in Camelot.
I don't own this franchise, and this disclaimer applies to the entire fic.
Nerd time! In Arthurian legend, the father of King Claudin was named Claudas, so I obviously couldn't give the uncle that name. However, Wikipedia tells me that the mythical Claudas might have been partly based on the historical Frankish kings Clodio and Clovis I. I like to tie the myths in when I can, so Clovis it was.
Where is Rience, you might ask? Well, rats always survive a sinking ship. That's all I'll say for now.
See you soon, friends!
