translation of dragontongue

érkheo = (You) Come!


"Merlin!"

"Lancelot, please. Just— give me a minute."

Merlin came to stand by the wall and propped a hand against the rock. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. By the gods, but Arthur infuriated him like none other. He had been this close to drawing up dragonfyre again.

When he finally looked up, Lancelot was leaning next to him, his back to the wall. He was looking searchingly at Merlin. Merlin gave him a weak smile, inviting him to speak his mind.

"What was that?" Lancelot asked him. "Why bring him here?"

"I don't know. I was trying to make a point, I think," Merlin replied.

Lancelot frowned. "That man is your prisoner of war, not a diplomat on a peace mission. He is the enemy!"

Merlin bit his lip and averted his eyes. Lancelot was right. He was acting like a fool. "I know," he sighed. "I just thought…" He trailed off.

Lancelot's hand settled gently on his shoulder, coaxing Merlin into raising his eyes again. Lancelot's face had gone soft and his kind eyes were filled with understanding.

"I know you hate this war," Lancelot said. "We all do. But it's been over twenty years. There is too much bad blood on both sides. This war ends with one party eradicated, and you know it. You heard the dragonslayer. His mind has been poisoned by Uther's lies since birth. There is no peaceful solution to be found here."

"I just thought if he saw the damage, if he actually talked to a dragon instead of shooting at them—"

"He what, Merlin? He would go back to his father and talk him into ending this war? If anything, you've shown him that their weapons are doing their job as intended."

Merlin sucked in a breath. He had not considered this. Another wave of guilt rushed over him and he squeezed his eyes shut. "I'm a complete idiot," he gasped.

"You're kind and compassionate," Lancelot replied, "and it is what makes you such a good friend."

The words were meant to soothe, but they struck a different nerve all together. Merlin straightened abruptly and said bitterly, "It's what makes me a terrible warrior, you mean." Lancelot didn't reply, but Merlin knew he agreed. "My father is right, I'm too soft. I'm not cut out for this."

"You're the Great Dragon," Lancelot argued.

"Yes, so they keep telling me," Merlin replied. "I wonder, sometimes, you know? If my father remembered the words incorrectly. If he misheard the prophecy."

Lancelot shook his head. "Stop that. You're destined for greatness. You will grow into it in time."

"We don't have time," Merlin replied. "People are dying every day in this senseless war. We've lost three dragons in the past year. The prophecy speaks of peace! It says my birth will end the war, but I've only lived to see it grow ever bloodier!"

"You're not even of age, Merlin," Lancelot retorted. "Nobody expects you to solve this conflict when you've hardly grown into a man!"

"My father expects—"

Merlin's answer died in his throat. His eyes had wandered past Lancelot's shoulder and focused on Arthur. Arthur and Aithusa. The dragon had approached Arthur and was sniffing at him, and the prince was just raising a hesitant hand towards her snout.

Merlin was moving before he knew it, drawing up dragonfyre as he ran towards them.

A word, and Arthur was blasted backwards, landing at the very edge of the ledge, his head just peaking over the cliff. It was a close call – a few inches more and he would have fallen off and down the side of the mountain, but Merlin didn't care.

"Don't touch her!" he shouted and came to stand above him. "Don't you dare touch her!"

Arthur was staring up at him with wide eyes, hands raised in a defensive gesture.

"It came to me!" he gasped.

"Don't you dare touch her!" Merlin repeated. "If you hurt her, I will end your pathetic life!"

"Merlin," Lancelot said behind him, grabbing him by the arm. "Calm down. Let him get up!"

To Merlin's horror, Aithusa surged forward again and sniffed at Arthur's face. The prince grimaced and turned his head away, but the dragon was insistent, looking like she was worried for Arthur of all people.

"Arthur," she said. "Arthur."

Merlin froze. Aithusa had yet to speak her first word – until this moment.

"Arthur," she repeated, then chirped.

This was a nightmare!

"Yes, hello," Arthur said, looking equal amounts uncomfortable and alarmed.

"Aithusa, get away from him," Merlin called. Aithusa looked up reluctantly, but stayed by Arthur's side. Merlin shifted his voice to a deeper tenor. "Aithusa, érkheo!"

A dragon could not resist that voice – though for a moment it looked like she really wanted to. With a last look for Arthur, she retreated and came to rest by Merlin's side.

"What are you playing at?" Merlin snapped at Arthur. He had half a mind to add to the garland of cuts and bruises on his face, but Lancelot was still keeping him in check.

The prince was getting to his feet and hurriedly stepped away from the brink. "Your dragon came to me!" he retorted angrily. "You attacked me! And you're asking me what I'm playing at?"

"Let go of me, Lancelot," Merlin said and elbowed his friend until he was released.

He took a moment to look Aithusa over and ordered her to go to the cave. Then he turned towards his other two companions and said: "Percival, Gwaine, take the prisoner back to his cell!"


It took two full days of Arthur being confined to his cell until Balinor requested Merlin's presence.

Merlin entered the war tent warily. It seemed Balinor had just wrapped up a strategy meeting with some of his commanders. He was still studying a map that was rolled out on the table. Forwin and Godric were among the men leaving, sneering at Merlin as they brushed past him. Clearly, they had not forgotten nor forgiven him the confrontation over Arthur.

"Father. You wanted to see me?" Merlin asked, stepping up to the table.

Balinor didn't reply. He was tracing a line on the map with his finger, clearly deep in thought. Merlin turned his eyes on the parchment. It showed the front, a wavy red line between the regions controlled by Uther and the lands seized by Balinor. Merlin knew it was an ever-changing border, though neither side had made any considerable advances in the past months.

"Look at this," Balinor finally said. So he had noticed Merlin's arrival.

Merlin took a moment to study the area his father had pointed out.

"The Forest of Brechfa," Merlin said. "What about it?"

"Uther is moving troops here, from the eastern edge of the Forest of Ascetir." He looked up. "Why?"

Merlin frowned at him, then studied the map again. Was this a test of some sort? When had his father ever cared for his opinion on the matters of martial strategy?

"He suffered some heavy losses at the Red Ravine, didn't he?" Merlin ventured. "Kilgharrah took out a whole garrison there last month."

A glance at his father's face told him he had remembered correctly. "Go on," he said.

Definitely a test, then. Merlin turned his eyes back onto the map, his heart picking up speed. "Maybe he's giving up on the area. If his men are spread too thin, he's looking at a substantial risk of losing control over even more territory. Perhaps he wants to focus on Brechfa to make sure he won't be losing ground there as well."

Balinor shook his head and Merlin's stomach churned when he saw his lips turn downwards. "He would never give up on the Ravine. It's too close to the Ridge of Ascetir and less than a day's ride from the city of Camelot. If the Ravine ever falls, we'll likely win this war." He looked at Merlin expectantly, clearly giving him a second chance to get this right.

Merlin took another look at the map as if it would cough up the right answer this time, but drew a blank. He had never been good at this sort of thing.

"I don't know," he admitted and braced himself for that look of disappointment on his father's face. It still hurt when he saw it: Balinor pursed his lips, frowned, then rolled up the map with a near inaudible sigh.

The weight of his father's disapproval settled heavily in the pit of Merlin's stomach and he couldn't fight the red spots of shame from appearing on his cheeks. "Perhaps if you actually let me attend the meetings—," Merlin started, his voice tight with indignity, but a single look from his father stopped him in his tracks.

"I didn't call you here to argue," Balinor replied, voice clipped. "Why is the prince lazing about his cell?"

"I told you I have no use for a servant, Father," Merlin answered.

"Then put him to use elsewhere," Balinor replied. "He can work at the farms. Hells, have him carry rocks around Ealdor and supervise him, for all I care. He needs to be seen working for you."

Merlin suppressed an urge to roll his eyes. "What's the point? Aren't you trading him in any day now?"

Balinor scowled. "Uther has yet to respond to our messenger. It seems he's not as eager as I thought to buy back his son."

"Really?" This was surprising news. "No response at all?"

Balinor's nod was curt. "Uther isn't a fool. He's weighing his options. He knows the true value of the Stone."

"His son doesn't."

This had Balinor raise his eyebrows. "You talked to the dragonslayer about this?"

Merlin wasn't sure if his father approved or not, but there was no point in lying now. "He asked me why we hadn't killed him on the spot, so I told him he was needed for a trade. He knew Uther had stolen an artifact, but didn't seem to be aware of its importance."

Balinor huffed. "Uther is so obsessed with eradicating any trace of our kind, he would rather his son remain ignorant than give him valuable information that could win him this war." He shook his head. "That man is a fanatic." He paused and looked Merlin over. "You didn't tell his son any more of the Stone, I hope?"

Merlin narrowed his eyes at the suggestion. "Of course not, Father," he retorted, "though he must have an inkling it's important if he's going to get traded for it. He knows killing the heir to Camelot would deal Uther a heavy blow. Why would we give up such an advantage if the item wasn't valuable?"

"I fervently wish we could stick a blade through that arrogant dragonslayer, but we can't risk the Stone," Balinor said determinedly. "We have but twelve dragons left and Aithusa was the last one born in five years."

Merlin nodded. Of course he knew how important the Stone of Rebirth was. Without it, there would be no more dragon eggs.

"I want you to bring the prince to the feast tonight," Balinor stated. "Make him serve you. Order him about. Have him juggle eggs, if you like, as long as he is seen following your every command."

Merlin bristled. "Do you really think this will prove anything?" he asked. "Do you actually believe your men will come to respect me if I have Arthur dance a jig in front of them?"

Balinor glared at him. "Just do as I say."

Merlin knew he should back down, but he was fed up with being dismissed by Balinor.

"You made me look weak," he accused his father, "when you struck that deal with Arthur. Even if he follows my commands tonight, everyone will think it's because you're holding the life of his men over his head."

"I did what I had to do," Balinor replied harshly.

"You didn't even give me a chance!" Merlin knew he shouldn't be raising his voice to his father, but some of his smouldering anger was seeking a way out. "I brought Uther's son to you on my very first patrol and still, you think me useless and weak!"

"Ha! The patrol made up exclusively of your friends?" That hurt. "Besides, it was sheer luck Uther's son was at the Gorge that day, Merlin, and you know it!" Balinor's voice turned dismissive. "Now do as I say with the prisoner!"

Merlin bit down on some words he would later regret, taking a deep breath before continuing: "Father, please hear me on this. This isn't the way. If Uther refuses the bargain, we need to use Arthur to broker peace between our people. And we can't do that if we alienate him!"

Balinor's eyes widened before they narrowed to angry slits.

"Broker peace? Is that what you think you have been doing while you were feeding him pastries and taking him up to the cave for a chat?" Merlin opened his mouth to deny the truth, but Balinor cut him right off. "Yes, I know of your silly escapades, treating him like a guest instead of the prisoner he is. I thought you would come to your senses on your own, but clearly I was mistaken. You're delusional to think Uther would ever agree to a peace treaty. That man wouldn't honour a ten-minute ceasefire if he thought it could win him just an inch of our territory or a single scale off a dragon!"

"More blood cannot be the answer!" Merlin urged him. "The prophecy speaks of unity and peace!"

"The prophecy speaks of the Great Dragon," Balinor spat. "When will you finally outgrow these silly dreams of yours? You are depriving your people by refusing to embrace your rightful role. You are meant to be a warrior! Act like one! Because if you don't—"

He stopped abruptly, but Merlin heard the unspoken words.

"If I don't, it's my fault if we're losing this war," he said bitterly and turned to leave.

He had made it all the way to the tent flap when his father called his name. For one foolish moment, Merlin actually thought his father would apologise. But Balinor only levelled him with another disapproving look. The steel in his voice allowed no argument, "Bring the prince to the feast. Make him obey. That's an order."

Merlin bowed stiffly. "Yes, my lord."


Arthur glared at him when Merlin ordered him out of the cell, though he obediently followed him to the well.

"Get yourself cleaned up," Merlin told him. "You reek."

Arthur half-heartedly splashed some water into his face, then glanced up from the bucket. "If you won't let me wash these clothes, this will do little against the smell."

Merlin looked him over. He was probably right. The prince's shirt was blood-flecked, his breeches covered with streaks of mud and other questionable stains.

"Come along," he told him and turned towards his own tent.

Inside, Merlin went through his wardrobe. He pulled out a tunic that was too big on him and a pair of breeches that would likely stretch. The colours didn't match, but Arthur wouldn't attend the feast as a guest of honour. He tossed the clothes at Arthur along with a towel, then picked up a washcloth from a basket and grabbed a bar of self-made soap from his work table, before leading them back to the well. Balinor would likely have a fit if he let Arthur use the bathhouse.

"Do you mind?" Arthur said as he dipped the washcloth into the bucket.

"No need to be shy," Merlin replied, but turned to the side to afford the prince some more privacy.

Merlin deduced from the rising scent of soap that he was lathering himself up just as a group of passing guards spotted them. They promptly came closer, started laughing and made humiliating comments.

"Get a move on!" Merlin snapped at them and the men must have seen something in his face, as they took one short look at him and hurried away, their heads bowed.

"Thanks," Arthur murmured and from the sounds of it started to get dressed again.

Merlin turned, only to catch a glimpse of fresh bruises before the prince had pulled on the shirt.

"Wait," he said and stepped up to the man. "Lift that up again."

Arthur scowled, but obeyed. Merlin inspected his back and flank. Clearly, the prince had only recently been mistreated again.

"Who's been beating you?" he asked tightly.

"The guards were having some fun last night," Arthur replied. "Didn't you send them to teach me a lesson about not touching your precious dragons?"

Merlin swallowed. "No."

Arthur studied him for a moment. "They seemed to think they were working under your orders."

Merlin shook his head, fighting a fresh wave of anger. Though he dearly would have liked to in that moment, he knew there was no point in confronting the guards now.

"They weren't," he said with emphasis, then gestured at the towel and other things abandoned on the floor. Arthur bent to pick them up. "Come on, we don't want to be late."

"Late for what?" Arthur asked warily, falling into step beside Merlin.

Merlin grimaced, seeing no point in hiding his own feelings on the matter. "You're to serve me at the feast."

Arthur stayed silent for a moment, then asked, "What's the occasion?"

Merlin snorted. "Boosting morale, or some such thing. An excuse to get drunk and boast about how many men one has killed."

"And how many kills will you be boasting about tonight?" It was another clear provocation, given the tone, but it was not the kind of bait Merlin would rise to.

"I don't celebrate death. Any life lost is one too many."

"Any life?" Arthur asked sceptically. "Do you actually mean that?"

Merlin pushed aside the flap and entered his tent again. "Maybe this is a concept that is hard to grasp for somebody like you," he said, "but I don't actually enjoy taking people's lives."

"Someone like me?" Arthur retorted. He sounded genuinely offended. "What do you take me for, a murderer?"

Merlin let out a humourless laugh and turned to face the other man. "You know what I mean."

"No, actually, I don't," Arthur replied and crossed his arms defensively.

"I've heard the stories," Merlin said. "You're ruthless. People still talk about Howden after all these years."

For some reason, Arthur seemed to shy away at the mention of the village. He averted his eyes and studied the fireplace as if it was of particular interest to him.

"What?" Merlin asked, suddenly curious. "Are you surprised by your own reputation? This is why Percival hates you so much, you know. All of his family died that day. He's one of four people to make it out alive." When Arthur still didn't respond, Merlin prodded, "Come on, dragonslayer, boast!"

"It was the first raid I led," Arthur finally replied. His voice had gone uncharacteristically flat. "I was fifteen."

Merlin frowned. "So you were a merciless killer at fifteen."

Arthur was now glaring at the floor, but he continued speaking. He sounded strained. "I was young and inexperienced. I told my men to spare the women and children, but…" He stopped, cleared his throat and looked up. "I'm not proud of what happened that day, that's all I have to say."

Merlin might have been gaping at him for a moment. He hadn't expected Arthur to open up to him like this, but he clearly must have struck a chord when mentioning Howden. Arthur's shame seemed genuine.

"So, tonight?" Arthur said uncomfortably, clearly keen on changing the topic. "Anything I should know?"

"Keep your head down," Merlin advised him, "and do as I say."