The feast was a truly miserable experience.

Arthur supposed he could have endured it better if all that had been asked of him was to pour Merlin some wine. But on top, he was made to serve platters of food up and down the head table and forced to listen to story after story about Camelot men dying by the hand of dragon warriors.

Some of the tales seemed downright sadistic, describing in great detail how much one knight or the other had suffered as a dragon slowly burnt them to a crisp. Balinor's men made sure to throw Arthur significant glances as they harped on about the gruesome details, though none had gone so far yet as to ask his opinion. Arthur wasn't so sure he could continue to keep his head down, as Merlin had warned him, when it came to that.

Merlin looked about as thrilled by the stories as Arthur felt. It was quite clear his talk of despising killing hadn't been an act. Arthur was slowly getting the distinct feeling the young dragonlord was quite different from many of the men he was one day supposed to lead.

Yes, Merlin had strong magic and had attacked Arthur twice. But he had been provoked both times and done Arthur no lasting damage. Other than that, Merlin had actually shown him a surprising amount of kindness: protecting him from harm, treating his wounds, offering him good food and a change of clothes from his own wardrobe.

This alone was rather strange behaviour for somebody who should be your sworn enemy. But on top of all that, he had taken Arthur to see the dragons, knowing full well Arthur felt nothing but hatred for the beasts.

Though he had to admit, the white dragon – Aithusa – had not seemed quite so terribly frightening as it had chirped and tried to rub against him. Arthur found he had to remind himself that the very same dragon had happily incinerated good knights at the Gorge of Gedref.

Arthur still wasn't completely sure of Merlin's motivation behind bringing him up to the cave, especially as he had reacted so poorly to Aithusa approaching Arthur. Clearly, he had wanted Arthur to see the wound the harpoon had inflicted and he had tolerated Arthur interacting with the bigger dragons well enough. Perhaps it was only the young dragon he was fiercely protective of. Maybe it carried special significance because it resembled the drake on the family crest.

Merlin had rather passionately tried to convince Arthur of the wrongs of draconite weapons. Had that really been the entire plan? Make Arthur feel bad about using the tools at his disposal? Merlin couldn't be so naïve as to believe pulling at Arthur's heartstrings would change anything. For all he cared, dragons could go extinct tomorrow and the world would be a better place for it.

"…water in the pond started heating up. We were cooking those knights alive! They were boiling in their armour, I tell you!"

Arthur scowled as he was snapped from his thoughts by yet another horrid tale, followed by rounds of nasty laughter. How could anybody listen to this while gorging themselves? Arthur was feeling sick just looking at the charred meat on their plates.

A glance at Merlin's untouched meal proved he was not the only person who had lost his appetite.

"Look at him," one warrior howled, clearly already quite drunk. "I think the princeling is about to start bawling."

Arthur tried to smooth his face into a blank mask. He could see Merlin shift on his chair, perhaps equally unhappy about the pointless provocation.

"Are you surprised?" another warrior jeered. "Have you forgotten how he begged Lord Balinor to spare his men?"

"Please, my lord," yet another chimed in, his voice going high-pitched and breathy as he attempted quite a poor imitation of Arthur, "please don't kill my men, Lord Balinor, I'll do anything you ask of me, please oh please!"

The men laughed loudly, mightily amused by their own antics.

Balinor, Arthur noticed, wasn't joining in, but neither was he discouraging his men or telling them to behave in a more dignified manner. His thoughts were hidden behind a mask of quiet complacency as he nursed his wine.

Arthur noticed Merlin was holding out his own goblet. Sighing inwardly, he approached, bowed down and filled it with the jug he was carrying.

"Don't let them get to you. Half of the things they're saying aren't even true. Another hour, and we're out of here."

Arthur threw a surprised glance at Merlin. He wasn't looking at Arthur, his eyes on the wine goblet, though he had clearly spoken to Arthur – giving him a pep talk, of all things. Really, what was Merlin's angle?

Suddenly, the voices around Arthur hushed and he straightened up to see what was going on. A man had appeared in the tent and was quickly making his way towards Balinor. He looked out of breath, like he had been running.

"My lord!" he called out and sank to his knees in front of the head table.

"What is it?" Balinor asked and stood.

"An urgent message from Commander Volik, my lord," he choked out. "I rode here as fast as I could."

"Spit it out, man!"

"Uther's forces are attacking villages all across the western frontline," he said, "he's gone on a full rampage, targeting women and children specifically. They say it's in direct retaliation to the capture of his son!"

Arthur stiffened on the spot. He could see a wave of faces turn towards him and they were filled with nothing but anger and accusation.

This was not good.

The report was also clearly a lie. Yes, his father could be ruthless – had to be, given the cruelty of Balinor's men – but Arthur did not believe for one second his father would order innocent children killed in the name of petty revenge. There was nothing to gain from such a mindless provocation.

"Is Volik requesting reinforcements?" Balinor asked the messenger.

"I have his full report on me," the man replied and revealed a scroll.

Balinor waved his arm at him impatiently and the man quickly got to his feet and delivered the message into the dragonlord's hands. The tent had gone deadly quiet as everyone watched Balinor's face as he read. His eyes were flying over the parchment, his face growing more and more serious.

"Baldor, Forwin, with me!" he barked and left the tent through a flap in the back. The men in question sprung to their feet and followed their dragonlord.

Merlin, Arthur realised, had not been called and was making no move to follow his father on his own accord. Arthur tended to be involved in most of his father's strategy meetings these days, but he had already discovered things were strained between Merlin and Balinor. If he ever made it back home, Uther would be thrilled at the insights Arthur had gained while staying at Ealdor.

"We need to leave."

Arthur blinked in surprise at Merlin's quiet announcement. He still wasn't looking at Arthur directly, but taking in the room. The dead silence had been replaced by ever-rising murmurs and more than one pair of narrowed eyes was fixed on Arthur. Many of the men looked not only severely inebriated, but ready to act on their anger.

Merlin was right. This could get ugly.

Merlin stood and began making his way towards the nearest exit. Arthur set down the jug at the table and promptly followed. They had walked but four or five paces when somebody stepped into their path. Arthur recognised him as one of the three men that had assaulted him on his first day in Ealdor.

The man had drawn his sword and his eyes were on Arthur. "Where do you think you are going?"

"Step aside, Godric," Merlin said calmly and positioned himself in front of Arthur.

"Come on, hand him over! I want to give him a taste of his father's medicine." The man's face was flushed. Clearly, he had been indulging in more than one tankard of ale.

"Stand down, Commander," Merlin ordered, an edge to his voice. "You will not touch the prisoner!"

Godric was not backing down. "What are you doing protecting this piece of dragonslayer shit?" he spat. "What kind of dragonlord are you, boy?"

Arthur felt his heartbeat picking up speed. He dearly wished he had a weapon at this moment. Perhaps he could get his hands on a table knife if things got out of control. This was dangerous territory. Balinor's man had just questioned Merlin's authority in front of everybody important enough to attend the feast!

Merlin had stiffened on the spot. Out of the corner of his eyes, Arthur could see Merlin's men, who had been sitting at a table further down the tent, rise to their feet. Others got up in response, though in whose support, Arthur wouldn't know.

"You're forgetting yourself, Godric," Merlin warned. His voice was now loud enough that it had to be carrying through the whole tent. There was not a single person present that wasn't watching them.

"You're forgetting where your loyalties should lie!" Godric retorted. "You are supposed to be our great saviour! You're meant to lead us to victory! Yet here you are, all but kissing the arse of the bloody Prince of Camelot!"

Arthur could see that Merlin was balling his fists, but he didn't reply to Godric's taunts. Encouraged by Merlin's silence, Godric continued, "You know what I think? I think your mother got it all wrong! You're nothing special, just a freak of nature!"

Arthur had no idea what the man might be referring to, but whatever it was, it caused Merlin to inhale sharply.

"Now step aside, boy, and let me teach the dragonslayer a lesson!" Godric hissed and approached, blade at the ready.

Alarmed, Arthur took a hurried step backwards and nearly collided with Merlin's friends rushing to help. But Merlin had already raised his hand. He growled a word Arthur couldn't hope to understand and Godric was blasted backwards. He fell to the ground, startled but seemingly uninjured as he stared up at Merlin from the floor. It had been a warning, nothing more.

"You will not touch the prisoner," Merlin repeated, his voice much deeper and more dangerous than before.

Godric took only a moment to recover, then sneered, "Look at you, attacking your own people with dragonfyre. You heard the report. Uther is killing women and children! Yet you're standing here, protecting his son! If you had even a drop of warrior blood in you, that piece of scum would be dead by now!"

A couple more men had come forward during Godric's speech. One of them helped Godric up, others had unsheathed their own swords and daggers, clearly equally intent on getting to Arthur.

Gwaine stepped forward, two blades in his hands. "You heard Lord Merlin," he growled. "The prisoner is not to be harmed. Back off and let them pass." Percival and Lancelot joined him.

"I will not follow the orders of a traitor," Godric growled.

For a moment, it looked like Gwaine would rise to Godric's challenge and attack, but Merlin intercepted him just in time.

"You're right, Commander. Perhaps I am a traitor," he said, startling everyone with his words. Godric himself seemed so surprised by Merlin's admission he actually lowered his sword. "I'm not willing to punish Arthur for the deeds of his father. Nor am I willing to seek revenge for the lives he has taken in this war. If that's all that it takes to label me a traitor in your eyes, I will gladly wear that title."

He turned to gesture at Arthur.

"What crime is this man guilty of that many of our own people have not committed in this never-ending conflict? War is cruel and requires men to become equally so."

He paused and looked around the tent.

"Do you actually believe killing Arthur Pendragon changes anything? Perhaps it'll give you a short moment of satisfaction, but Uther's response will only be all the bloodier. Aren't you tired of all this? Haven't you had enough of the bloodshed? I know I have."

Shocked silence greeted him. Merlin waited for one more moment, then calmly walked towards Godric and his supporters. They didn't move and only stared at him. Arthur was taken roughly by the arm and pushed past them and through the exit.

As soon as Merlin had left the tent, he lost his composure and all but broke into a run. His friends hurried to follow him. Arthur was dragged along by Percival, whose hand was like a manacle around his upper arm. He wouldn't be surprised if the punishing grip would leave some bruises.

They stopped only at the edge of Ealdor, not far from the prisoner cells. It was dark out, with a full moon steadily rising. They had been at the feast for at least two hours and night had settled over the tents. Percival shoved Arthur one more time before letting him go. Arthur stumbled forward but managed to catch his balance.

For a moment, nobody spoke. Merlin had his back towards them. In the silver light of the moon, Arthur could tell that he was breathing heavily. When he finally turned, his face was strained.

"Are you all right, Merlin?" Lancelot spoke up.

Merlin let out a strange, choked noise. "No," he admitted. "No, I'm not all right." He cast a wild sort of look at Arthur, then averted his eyes.

"Merlin just saved your royal backside!" Gwaine said, addressing Arthur.

"Not that he deserved it," Percival spat. "You heard the messenger. Pendragons simply love to slaughter children, don't they?" He sounded vicious enough to fit right in with the mob were it not for his obvious loyalty to Merlin.

"Those reports are full of lies," Arthur retorted, before he could think better of it. "My father is a hard man, but he would never target innocents like this, not even in war."

"Oh, that's rich, coming from you, murderer!" Percival howled and advanced on him, fist already raised for another fight.

Lancelot jumped into his path. "Easy, there, Percival!" he said and only just managed to restrain him.

Belatedly, Arthur remembered what Merlin had revealed about Percival. A man who had lost everything at Howden. Arthur swallowed and suddenly couldn't look the man in the eye.

"You better start to wise up quickly, Camelot!" Gwaine snapped at Arthur, teeth bared. "You don't need any more enemies around here. Is this how you repay a debt, by antagonising those who helped you? You ought to thank Merlin on bended knee, and keep your spoilt mouth shut otherwise!"

He was right. Had it not been for Merlin standing between Arthur and his own people, Arthur would likely have died in that tent tonight. Undoubtedly, many considered his life forfeit if they believed the messenger's words. It had been a courageous, an honourable thing to do, to stand up for Arthur under such circumstances.

"It's true," Arthur acknowledged with a nod for Merlin. "They would have killed me had you not intervened on my behalf. I'm grateful for that."

"Don't thank me," Merlin replied. "I'm not sure you were worth alienating my own people. Those who didn't already think me weak will believe me to be so now."

"You did the right thing," Lancelot assured him, only just easing his hold on a glowering Percival. "Your father wouldn't have stood for a lynching either had he been there."

"Are you sure? My father would have me prove myself a mighty warrior above everything else," Merlin replied bitterly. Defeat was creeping into his voice and his shoulders slouched. "It's just all so senseless. Every single death, this war, all of it!"

"It will end eventually," Gwaine responded. "Soon, I should hope."

"Will it, though?" Merlin replied. "Sometimes, I fear we are doomed to continue like this for another twenty years. What are we even fighting for at this point? We're stuck in an endless cycle of revenge unless both sides are willing to step forward and extend the hand of peace!"

Upon hearing those words, Merlin's actions and words from the past three days abruptly slid into alignment in Arthur's head, resulting in a moment of stunning clarity. Suddenly, Arthur felt like he was seeing Merlin for the first time.

"You actually mean that, don't you?" he exclaimed. "You want peace! You took me to see those dragons in the hopes of convincing me to end the war!"

Merlin sent him a tired sort of smile. "Brilliant observation!"

Arthur stared at him. "You must know it's impossible. Neither side is willing to step down."

"I'm willing," Merlin returned. "If my people ever let me, I would broker peace on their behalf." He looked at Arthur, his eyes searching. "Don't you want this war to end?"

Arthur didn't know what to say. Did he want this war to end? Of course he did. Good men died every day, innocent people were suffering. He would be a fool not to want an end to all of that. But he had always thought victory the only option. Balinor controlled a third of Camelot's rightful lands which Uther was unwilling to part with.

"My father would never stand for it," Arthur replied.

"I'm not speaking to Uther," Merlin said. "I'm asking you."

Arthur opened his mouth to respond, though before he could even think of the words he wanted to say, a harsh voice interrupted them.

"Merlin!"

Balinor, a thunderous expression on his face, was fast approaching them. Merlin stiffened, then pulled himself up straight as he turned towards his father. It didn't pass Arthur by that he positioned himself in a way that would partly block Arthur from Balinor's view. Even now, Merlin was protecting him.

"Father."

"Have you any idea—" Balinor stopped and looked around sharply. He seemed to realise that whatever he wanted to say to his son should not be discussed in public. "Follow me!"

"Yes, my lord," Merlin replied and hurried after him, but not without throwing Arthur a last, lingering look.