It was not the first time Arthur had been captured. He had been fighting in this war ever since he was proficient enough with a sword. At some point or the other, one was bound to be caught off guard.

This was different, however. Arthur had been tied to a tree in a make-shift war camp, gagged and shoved into the back of a tumbrel, or made to trod after horses with bound hands. But never had he been brought right into the heart of enemy territory.

He glanced around. So, this was Ealdor, the capital of Balinor's realm.

Arthur didn't know what he had expected, but it wasn't this. Ealdor wasn't a town, it was a cluster of farms surrounded by a camp of tents! Sturdy, well-made tents undoubtedly, firmly fixed to the ground with thick ropes, but tents nonetheless.

He found himself draw an unfair comparison to the mighty citadel of Camelot, a city that could withstand a dragon's fiery breath, made to outlast months of siege. This assortment of tents could be taken down by any army within minutes if they set their minds to it.

Arthur stumbled and nearly fell when he was suddenly shoved from behind.

"Keep your head down!" the guard growled and Arthur complied, if only briefly.

He sneaked another glance up ahead as they continued walking. There were two guards, as well as Leon and Elyan, their hands bound behind them as were his own. Arthur found himself assessing the situation, automatically looking for a means to escape, though he knew there was no point, not this far behind enemy lines.

They were slowing down now and Arthur chanced another look. They had approached a huge tent made of elaborately embroidered cloth. One of the guards pulled aside the flap covering the entrance and then, Arthur was pushed again and shoved into the tent.

The floor was partly bedecked with carpets. Wooden benches were set up to either side of the tent, creating an aisle to walk through. Dozens of men had found a seat, most looking muscular and grim. Dragon warriors, no doubt about it, the closest Balinor came to having trained knights of his own.

A moment later, Arthur found himself pushed onto his knees. He went down smoothly enough, but started to struggle against his captors when a heavy hand caught in his hair and started to push his forehead towards the ground. Kneeling, he could endure, but Arthur Pendragon would not prostrate himself in front of the enemy.

He felt a weird sense of pride that it took three guards to finally make him comply and he was panting heavily by the time his forehead was pressed onto the carpet, the heavy foot of a guard weighing down on his neck.

"It's about time you learned your place, dragonslayer," came a voice, rough and deep. Arthur had heard it before, shouting commands from the back of a massive dragon.

"It's time you knew yours, Balinor," Arthur ground out.

He was rewarded with a swift kick to his side. Not so hard as to cause any considerable damage, but enough to bruise and drive all air from his lungs. Arthur coughed and spluttered, which was a hard task to accomplish when your face was still being forcefully pressed into the ground by a boot.

"You will address his lordship with the appropriate title," the guard snapped.

Arthur took a rattling breath, then spat, "I will not."

He braced himself for another kick, but none was forthcoming.

"Leave it," Balinor's voice echoed through the tent. "He will learn his lesson soon enough."

To Arthur's surprise, he was fully released. Arthur carefully straightened himself up until he was resting on the balls of his feet. He knew better than to try and stand up. He took a second to steady himself, then raised his head proudly.

Balinor, his long, dark hair curling around his stern face, was sitting on an intricately carved wooden armchair. Behind him, fastened to the wall of the tent, hung his banner, a white dragon embroidered on black cloth. The dragonlord was watching Arthur with hard eyes. Arthur had expected him to look gleeful, but if anything, he looked calculating, contemplative perhaps.

Arthur let his eyes flicker to the left. One of these three men he recognised, too, the fierce warrior that had attacked them wielding two blades. They were sheathed at his belt now, at the ready for another fight.

Arthur's eyes wandered over to the right. There stood the rider of the white dragon that so closely resembled Balinor's crest. He did not look like a fighter on closer look, though he was wearing the thick leather armour of the dragon warriors. He was tall and slim, pale of skin and dark of hair, closer in age to a boy than a man. There was a wariness in his expression Arthur did not know how to interpret. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Leon and Elyan, forced to kneel right beside him.

"Are you quite done staring?" Balinor asked.

Arthur offered him a smile that was all teeth. "Nothing much to see in your funny little tent."

Some of the warriors on the benches hissed dangerously at his disrespect, but Balinor remained unprovoked.

"Ah, yes," he said. "You prefer hiding away in your castle, don't you, dragonslayer prince?"

So they did know who he was. He always left his sigil ring at home when he went out on a mission, but of course his face was recognised here.

"Why have you dragged me in here, Balinor?" Arthur asked grimly. "I'd prefer a swift death over your gloating!"

Balinor tilted his head.

"Why would I kill you?" he asked. He almost sounded genuinely curious.

Arthur scowled. Torture it was, then.

"I will not break under pain," Arthur vowed in a harsh voice.

"So dramatic, and quick to anger," Balinor said drily. "You're much like your father in that regard. What a shame."

"Don't talk to me of my father," Arthur growled, but Balinor had averted his eyes to look at the pale dragonrider to Arthur's right. Arthur startled at his next words.

"My son," Balinor addressed him and the dragonrider – Balinor's son – seemed to tense before he turned towards his father, "well done on his capture."

Balinor's son seemed to grow a few inches on the spot and the wariness Arthur had noticed before vanished, making space for a hint of pride. Arthur racked his brain for a name. He had known Balinor had an heir, but could not remember what he was called.

"Thank you, Father," Balinor's son said and bowed his head.

"What would you have us do with him? He is your prisoner, Merlin."

There it was: Merlin. Arthur was surprised he had forgotten such an odd name. It didn't seem to suit a dragonlord.

Merlin turned his head to stare at Arthur. His blue eyes were nothing like his father's, lacking their hardness as much as their darker shade.

"I'm not sure," Merlin said as he studied Arthur carefully. Arthur met his gaze head-on, made sure to stick out his chin, and smirked. Merlin stiffened where he stood. "He seems rather arrogant to me. I would like to see him taken down a notch or two."

Balinor nodded. "Agreed. He needs to be humbled." He paused, then announced, "He shall be your servant for the time being."

Merlin's startled expression reflected some of Arthur's own thoughts on the matter.

"Serve him?" he scoffed at once, throwing Merlin a look he hoped conveyed just how ridiculous a notion it was. "You can't expect me to follow orders from the likes of him. He's just a scrawny boy!"

Merlin looked positively thunderous at that pronouncement. Arthur seemed to have hit a nerve. He sneered provocatively, satisfied when he saw Merlin press his mouth into a tight, angry line.

"You'd be surprised," Balinor said cryptically.

"I'd rather die than serve a dragonlord," Arthur spat.

"I will not show you that mercy," Balinor replied, then his eyes shifted and he was now sizing up Elyan. "You look familiar," he continued. "But I can't quite place you."

Arthur watched Elyan school his features into a blank mask.

Balinor's eyes narrowed. "Ah, yes. You have much of your father in you, blacksmith. How is the forge?"

"Bright ablaze, melting down that precious draconite ore to make weapons to slay your beasts," Elyan announced, shockingly bold in the face of the enemy.

Arthur felt a sense of pride at the man's courage. In spite of his humble origins, Elyan had grown into a fine knight of Camelot.

Some of the dragon warriors had sprung to their feet and promptly started to threaten and curse Elyan. For the first time, Arthur could see anger in Balinor's impassive face, too.

"Your poison blades will be no more once we have won this war," he stated harshly. "We will tear down your forge and raze your mines. Not one more dragon shall die by your weapons!"

Elyan sneered back at him. One of the guards promptly buried a boot in his stomach. Elyan coughed and curled in on himself, mirroring Arthur's earlier plight.

Finally, Balinor's eyes shifted over to Leon, though if he recognised him as Camelot's First Knight, he seemed entirely disinterested by this.

"The prince shall be brought to Merlin's tent," he ordered. "As for the knights – kill them both."

Arthur's eyes widened. They would let him live, but kill his men? Unthinkable! Had this man no honour?

"No!" he called out quickly, tensing when the guards started to move in on Elyan and Leon. "Spare my men!"

Balinor raised his eyebrows but held up a hand to stop the guards. "Why should I? I have no use for them and any knight of Camelot dead is a win in my books."

"This is between you and I," Arthur stated, for the first time aiming for a more diplomatic tone. "They are but loyal knights who follow orders, nothing more. Prove yourself honourable, Balinor, and keep them as prisoners of war."

"You ask for mercy for your men?" Balinor gave him a tired smile. "When has your father ever offered mine the same courtesy?"

"I am not speaking for my father in this, only myself," Arthur replied. "These knights are loyal to me and I have a duty to protect them in return."

Balinor looked him over, but seemed unimpressed. Arthur ground his teeth. What had Balinor said? He wanted Arthur to humble himself and act as a servant to his son.

Arthur's eyes flickered towards Merlin. Would it truly be so bad? Playing Merlin's servant would give him direct access to the enemy's only son and heir. The young dragonlord was barely a man. If Arthur could get his hand on a weapon, he could easily take him down. Really, the boy looked so skinny that Arthur might be able to bring him down even without a blade. If not, he might at least get his hands on some valuable information.

Arthur knew what he had to do, but could he swallow his pride? He glanced at his men. They had warned him both that his idea to draw out the dragons into the Gorge of Gedref was reckless, yet they had followed him willingly. They did not deserve to die because of Arthur's own foolishness.

Arthur let out a long breath, then meekly bowed his head.

"Please, my lord," he said towards the floor, "I beg you to spare my men."

Murmurs flared up in the tent, interspersed with derisive laughter.

"Sire, please don't do this," Leon called out on his right.

"I will die proudly knowing it was for Camelot, my lord," Elyan added from the left.

Arthur ignored them and kept his head bowed.

"How unexpected," Balinor said. He almost sounded grudgingly impressed. "Begging for your men's life?" He paused to consider. "Very well. They shall live, but under one condition."

Arthur stilled. "Which condition, my lord?"

"Serve my son to the best of your abilities," he said. "Behave yourself. If you displease him, your men die."

"Agreed," Arthur said immediately, sealing his fate.

When he looked up, he saw Merlin glaring at his father and balling his fists.

"We are done here," Balinor announced, stood and left the tent through a side entrance, his long coat billowing as he strode off. Merlin followed him directly, not throwing a single glance at Arthur.


Arthur was immediately separated from Elyan and Leon. A half hour later, he found himself kneeling in another tent, stripped of his armour, and arms still bound by rope. He was barefoot, too, down to his breeches and tunic, but the tent was kept warm enough by a fireplace in the centre. He was alone, though he knew guards were waiting just outside. No sight of Balinor's son.

Arthur rose to his feet, awkwardly balancing himself with his hands tied. He wasn't about to cower on the floor like a serf waiting for his master.

Curiously, he looked around the room. It did not strike him as the tent of a fearsome dragonlord. He could see no weapons, no battle maps, no armour stand. There was a small desk, covered in haphazardly stacked books and papers. Another table in the corner was overflowing with vials, bowls and bushels of dried plants. And was that a toy? Yes, a carved wooden dragon, resting on a little stool right next to the bed. Arthur bowed down to inspect the figurine.

"Get away from that!"

Arthur jumped and turned around. Merlin stood at the entrance of the tent, his arms crossed. He had changed out of his leather armour into surprisingly undescriptive clothes – sturdy brown breeches and a soft blue tunic. A crimson scarf wrapped around his neck was the only hint at his nobility.

Merlin's glare was impressive, but Arthur was struck once more by the fact that Balinor's son was rather young and slim. How old was he? Certainly younger than Arthur, who had only recently come of age.

"Just looking," Arthur shot back, but retreated.

Merlin let his eyes wander over their surroundings, perhaps checking if Arthur had touched anything else. When he had satisfied himself that everything was in order, he turned away from Arthur and approached the desk. He rummaged through a stack of books, drew out a thick tome and sat down on his bed. He relaxed on the furs and started reading, looking well and thoroughly ready to ignore Arthur for the rest of the afternoon.

Arthur watched him read for about three minutes before his patience ran out. "Come on, don't just let me stand here!"

Merlin kept his eyes on the book, though Arthur saw that his eyes had stopped moving.

"I don't need a servant," he informed Arthur.

"I don't want to be your servant," Arthur retorted.

"Good," Merlin replied and pursed his lips.

Arthur stared at him, then sighed, "Could I at least get my hands unbound then?"

"No."

Arthur huffed. "You're going to have me stand here all day, doing nothing, with my hands bound?" Merlin ignored him again. Well, Arthur would get a reaction from him somehow! "Are you sure this is what your father had in mind when he ordered this? You wouldn't want to disappoint him."

Merlin's head snapped up.

"Shut up," he barked. Arthur was surprised to hear his voice had gone dangerously low.

"Sore spot?" Arthur mocked.

Merlin shut the book with a thump, tossed it onto the bed and stood abruptly.

"You must be a very stupid man to dare speak to me like this," Merlin said and stepped closer. "Have you forgotten your little deal with my father? Obey, or your men will suffer the consequences!"

Arthur knew Merlin was right. He couldn't risk antagonising him if he wanted Elyan and Leon to live. But he had an inkling Merlin would not go running to Balinor any time soon. Arthur knew the look of a man wanting to impress one's father only too well. Besides, there was something about Merlin that just made him want to push.

"Curious, that," Arthur shot back. "Balinor must have thought you'd need all the help you can get to keep me in check."

"Be quiet!"

"Or what?" Arthur replied mockingly. "Are you going to go and cry to your father about how your new servant is misbehaving? You wouldn't want Balinor to think you weak, would you?"

Merlin dangerously narrowed his eyes and Arthur allowed himself to bask in the triumphant feeling of having hit another nerve.

"I wouldn't provoke me if I were you," Merlin hissed.

Arthur made a show of letting his eyes wander down Merlin's skinny frame. "Why? What are you going to do to me?"

"You have no idea," Merlin warned him.

Arthur smirked and lifted his chin in invitation. "Be my guest! Come on!"

He braced himself for Merlin's retaliation, ready to take the lad on with his hands bound, but no slap, no kick was forthcoming. Instead, Merlin fixed him with his eyes. Eerie eyes, Arthur thought with shock. They suddenly seemed ablaze with fire. Merlin opened his mouth, raised a hand and growled words Arthur did not understand.

Dragon magic, he thought faintly.

In the next moment, his knees gave in as he was violently pushed to the ground by an invisible force. Struggling was futile, though Arthur found himself trying to resist the magic all the same. The forces seemed to tighten their grasp all the more viciously in response and suddenly, he was choking, unable to draw in even a single breath of air.

Before he knew it, he was kneeling on the ground again, head bowed meekly, breathlessly trembling at Merlin's feet.

"I don't need any help subduing you," Merlin spat from above.

Arthur could see his boots moving, and then Merlin had left the tent, leaving Arthur to choke. For a moment, he was convinced that Merlin had decided to kill him like this. Dark spots were creeping in on his vision.

Then the magic binding him seemed to snap and Arthur was abruptly released. He instinctively gulped in air as he fell forward, unable to stop the fall with his bound hands, and ended up shaking and trembling on the ground. He coughed and panted for a few minutes before he could eventually muster the energy to scramble back onto his feet.

Arthur found himself gaping at the flap through which Merlin had disappeared.

He knew dragonlords and many of their dragon warriors wielded magic, of course, but Arthur had never seen it this close. He also knew they called it dragonfyre, because the powers at their command came from the dragons themselves. Merlin's eyes had been burning with it.

But Arthur had always thought they needed to touch a dragon to draw upon their magic. Separating riders from their drakes was an absolute priority in every battle and his father always insisted prisoners be kept far away from their beasts. But Uther must have been mistaken, because Merlin had used magic freely just then, no dragon in sight.

Worst of all, he had taken Arthur down within seconds. Clearly, Arthur had underestimated him.

Perhaps Merlin was a warrior after all, but of an entirely different breed.