Merlin walked past his own people, his head held high, and tried not to feel shame. Because he wasn't ashamed of what he had done. He had followed his destiny. Ironically, that was what his father had always wanted him to do.

Many of those they passed were making no secret of what they thought about Merlin's actions, spewing curses, but enough looked too shocked – or perhaps even too confused or thoughtful – to do anything other than stare.

They made it to Merlin's tent without being outright attacked, which was not so surprising. Merlin's father had spared him any consequences for now, and though some of his men might have had little scruples to attempt to kill Arthur without explicit orders from Balinor, they would not dare kill his son without explicit approval. But there were no guards stationed by his tent, either, and Merlin didn't like the implications behind that.

He quickly gathered what he needed to treat Mynur, along with a bandage for his own twice-burnt hand, then started to slip into some fresh clothes. When he had changed and turned to leave again, he nearly ran right into Arthur at the tent flap. Merlin had almost forgotten he was there.

"Are we going to talk about what just happened?" the prince said firmly, arms crossed.

"Not now," Merlin replied stiffly, not looking Arthur in the eye. "Mynur is in pain." He pushed past Arthur, walked back out of the tent and hurried into the direction they had come from. He had sent Gwaine and Lancelot off with Percival, to find the healer.

"But we are going to talk about it afterwards," Arthur insisted, hot on Merlin's heels.

Merlin ignored him and luckily, Arthur didn't push the point. They returned to the meadow, where the dragons were still waiting. The crowd had dispersed. Merlin patched up Mynur's wing as best as he could. The edges of the wound would curl outwards first, until Merlin's salve had drawn out the worst of the draconite's poison. Only then could he think of stitching the membrane back together.

A few paces to their right, Aithusa was snuggling with Arthur again. Merlin didn't even bat an eyelash when she said, "Arthur! Arthur Dragon!"

"It's Pendragon," Arthur corrected her, sounding vaguely amused.

"I'm sure she means Great Dragon," Merlin muttered and corked the salve.

"Arthur Dragon!" Aithusa agreed enthusiastically.

"Vethoas, would you mind giving Arthur and I another lift?" Merlin asked. "We're going to rest in the cave with you. I'd rather we were under some protection today, and I know you will all keep us safe."

"Of course, little brother," she replied soothingly.

They hopped on and soon, they had landed on the ledge above Ealdor. Merlin stifled a groan when he saw Kilgharrah waiting at the entrance. He was the last dragon Merlin wanted to talk to now. He was exhausted to the bone and already avoiding Arthur's pointed looks. He didn't have the strength for a cryptic conversation.

But he should have known Kilgharrah wasn't waiting for him.

"Great One," Kilgharrah rumbled, then bowed deeply to Arthur. "I see the quest was a success. A joyous day indeed."

"I suppose," Arthur replied dubiously, then added a stiff, "I thank you."

Kilgharrah's eyes shifted to Merlin.

"Don't," Merlin said immediately, raising a defensive hand. "I'm too tired for your riddles."

Kilgharrah chuckled, but inclined his head. Their packs were still strapped to the dragon's saddles. Merlin used some dragonfyre to free Mynur, Vethoas and Aithusa from their burden, refusing Arthur's offers to help, then set up camp inside the cavern near the pond.

He wordlessly pointed at one of the bedrolls, then all but crashed onto the other. He rested his forearms on his knees, then rubbed a hand over his face. Gods, but he was tired. His headache had finally begun to fade, but the quest and subsequent abduction were taking their toll. That on top of the many exhausting revelations, and Merlin was about ready to pass out for a full day.

Of course, Arthur wasn't letting him rest.

"We need to talk," he said, in a voice that signalled clearly that he would not let this go. It was the voice of a future king. Merlin's king.

Merlin groaned, but reluctantly met his eyes. While Merlin was slouching, Arthur was sitting straight-backed, and though he looked every bit as tired, his eyes weren't drooping, but wide alert. Definitely born for greatness, that one.

"So," Arthur said. "Your oath?"

Merlin carefully schooled his features. "What about it?"

Arthur snorted at his attitude. "Yes. What was that all about?"

"I know I had to make it up on the spot, but I thought I chose the words quite clearly," Merlin muttered. Then he added more solemnly, "I have sworn myself to you and am ready to serve." He hesitated. "Sire."

Arthur studied him, his face now more guarded. "Why? You called me a dragonslayer just hours ago, and you aren't wrong. I have killed a dragon or two, and wounded some more. What has changed? Why would you want to follow me?"

"Because of who you are, sire." Or rather, destined to become. Merlin knew Arthur had a lot to learn about dragons and their people, but perhaps it was Merlin's job to teach him about the things Uther had prevented him from knowing or caring about.

Arthur gave him an incredulous look. "Really? That's it? Because I'm the Great Dragon?"

"Yes, sire."

"You swore allegiance to me because of a prophecy?"

"Yes, sire."

"Stop that at once."

"Stop what, sire?"

"You know exactly what I mean, Lord Merlin!"

Merlin couldn't help but chuckle. Arthur sounded genuinely annoyed and if he hadn't been so tired, he might have continued their little game just to see how far Arthur would let Merlin push him.

"Look, Arthur," he said instead. "It's that simple for me. You're the Great Dragon. You command my siblings, why should you not command me? I might not have been happy about it at first, but after what I heard you say and saw you do in Camelot? You care for your men, for your people. You defied your father and condemned his actions. You were ready to make peace, which is all I ever truly cared about where the war is concerned. Those are the makings of a great leader, a great king. I see it now, why destiny chose you."

He held Arthur's gaze. The prince looked just a tad humbled, which warmed Merlin's heart. He had an inkling the man might be holding out on a few more good traits.

Merlin made a gesture towards the cave's exit to add, "And my father, you heard him. He was in complete denial. My oath to you forces his hand. He has to make a decision now, be it to accept the truth about you or banish me forever."

"He certainly wasn't happy with you," Arthur pointed out unnecessarily.

"Yes, well, your father isn't so keen on you either right now, is he?"

Arthur grimaced, but he sounded amused when he replied, "Yes, I suppose you and I make quite the pair."

"I know you don't believe in destiny, but you must admit, it can't be a coincidence," Merlin continued, "how it all played out."

"What do you mean?" Arthur asked with a frown.

"Both our mothers died," Merlin said, counting on his fingers. "Both our fathers hate each other. We both grew up knowing nothing but war. We were both sent on a quest to prove ourselves. Now we've both broken with our fathers. We both want peace... I'm sure there's more."

"I reckon that's all true," Arthur admitted, "but it's not that simple, is it? My father tried to execute me at once, yours just stormed off. You wanted peace, I was rather planning on making you surrender. I succeeded in my quest, yours was, um, side-tracked—"

"Two sides of the same coin," a rumbling voice interrupted. This was Kilgharrah, who had chosen to rest on a rock just above their little camp – of course. That dragon was a meddler if ever Merlin had met one.

"You promised, no riddles, brother," Merlin groaned.

"There is no riddle to this, only what is and isn't," the dragon said. "You two are bound by destiny and shall herald a new age."

"Yes, but could we postpone the heralding until after I've got some sleep?" Merlin muttered. He demonstratively stretched out on his bedroll and closed his eyes. Luckily, neither Arthur nor Kilgharrah seemed inclined to deny him this time.

Finally, sleep was allowed to claim him.


He awoke to the sight of Gwaine, shaking him awake.

"Rise and shine," he said with a cheeky grin.

Merlin groaned. He felt like he had been chewed on by Kilgharrah and spit out again. The stress of the past days – stress of the mind as much as of the body – had really pushed him to his limits. He sat up on his bedroll with about every muscle in his body aching.

Gwaine hadn't come alone. He had brought Lancelot, as well as some meat pies. Arthur was already awake and eating. A glance at the cave's exit told Merlin they had slept well into the afternoon.

"How is Percival?" he asked between two bites.

"Concussed," Lancelot informed him.

"Will he be all right?" This was Arthur, sounding genuine in his concern. He was probably feeling guilty for having over-done it when knocking Percival out.

"Got a thick head, that one," Gwaine joked. "He'll be fine, after a few days of rest."

Lancelot sat down on Merlin's bedroll, their shoulders only just brushing against each other. "So," he said, his voice oddly neutral. "You're sworn to Camelot now, are you?"

Merlin stilled. Across from him, Arthur was throwing them a look, but kept quiet for now. Gwaine was perched on a rock nearby, observing.

"Not to Camelot," Merlin stressed. "To the Great Dragon."

"Who so happens to be Prince of Camelot," Lancelot pointed out, an edge of something creeping into his tone. Anger, perhaps, or worry.

"Not for much longer," Arthur muttered from across, but was ignored.

"What do you want me to say, Lancelot?" Merlin sighed. "You heard the prophecy. He shall wield dragonfyre, born to serve the king. Am I supposed to ignore all that, now that I'm no longer the one meant to lead? Destiny isn't pick and choose, as far as I'm concerned."

"I'm not saying that," Lancelot replied. "But… he's not even king. His father is!"

"He will be," Merlin said firmly.

"Not so sure about that," Arthur commented.

"Oh, will you shut up!" Merlin snapped. "You're not making this any easier, you know?"

Arthur had the gall to flash him a quick grin. Merlin wanted to throw his half-finished pie at his head, if it weren't so delicious. Instead, he took a defiant bite to buy himself some more time to find an answer to Lancelot's next words, "Your father is absolutely furious. The commanders aren't too pleased with you, either."

"That lot never had an ounce of true respect for me, anyway. I just confirmed what they always thought to be true. You heard Godric."

"Your oath put us in an uncomfortable position, too, you know?" Gwaine suddenly spoke up. It was an unusually serious statement from him.

"This changes nothing for any of you," Merlin told him with a frown.

Gwaine shook his head at him. "Don't be obtuse, Merlin," he chastised him. "You know we would rather die than abandon you. By swearing yourself to Arthur, you've bound us to him right along with you." He glanced at Arthur. "And I, for one, find him lacking."

"You don't owe him your allegiance," Merlin retorted, but he knew Gwaine had a point. They were his men, and if he followed Arthur, they would follow, too, simply to stay by Merlin's side. Damn his wonderful, idiotically loyal friends.

To his surprise, Arthur stood and spoke up. "I don't expect anything from either of you," he said firmly, looking both Lancelot and Gwaine in the eye for good measure. "I never asked for Merlin's oath, either, though I have accepted it and am just as honour-bound by it. As his liege, it is my responsibility to protect him as much as it is his to serve me faithfully. You can be assured I don't take any man's loyalty for granted, least of all Lord Merlin's, and will do everything within my power to live up to his trust in me."

Merlin blinked up at him. He had spoken so well and so formally, as if making a vow. "Thank you, sire," he found himself saying, and meant every word of it, too.

Gwaine was still giving Arthur the side-eye, though Merlin could tell from the twist of his mouth that he was impressed by the prince's statement.

Lancelot followed Arthur's example and stood. "What's your plan, then?" he demanded. "Will you take up Excalibur and fight on our side?"

Arthur shook his head. "You can't honestly expect me to attack my own people."

Merlin got to his feet as well. "The goal must be peace," he said, though he threw a questioning look at Arthur. He was supposed to follow the prince's lead, after all.

"Yes, absolutely," Arthur confirmed without hesitation, and an excited tingle travelled up and down Merlin's back. "There has been enough bloodshed. With the heirs of both sides bound to each other, a path to reconciliation has been opened."

"You can't walk it alone, though," Lancelot replied doubtfully. "You'll need the support of the people."

Gwaine hopped off his rock. He studied Arthur again, then looked over at Merlin. "Well, you've got my swords, for what they're worth," he announced. "Both of them," he added with a wink for Merlin.

Lancelot hesitated, but then nodded. "Merlin has my unwavering loyalty." He turned and threw Merlin a look. Merlin suddenly knew what he was going to say before he had even spoken, "Percival might be more difficult to convince, however, what with…" He trailed off.

Arthur stiffened, picking up on what remained unsaid.

"Of course," Merlin agreed. "I will talk to him when he's better." He fixed both Lancelot and Gwaine with a grateful look. "I appreciate your support, more than I can say. Thank you."

"My lord," they both murmured, bowing their heads. For the first time, it didn't make Merlin the least bit uncomfortable. It gave him hope, for a better, a peaceful future.

Lancelot and Gwaine bid them goodbye soon after and Merlin glanced up at a nearby platform, where a twitching blue tail was giving away Mynur's current location.

"I need to check on Mynur's wing," he told Arthur, grabbed his bag with medical supplies and climbed the rock. To his surprise, Arthur followed him up. As Merlin knelt to spread another round of salve on Mynur's wing, the prince approached the drake.

"Great One," Mynur acknowledged him.

"Mynur," Arthur replied. His voice was tense, and Merlin realised why just a moment later. "I'd like to apologise." Merlin's eyebrows shot up, but he kept working.

"It was not you who plunged that harpoon in my wing," Mynur told him.

"It was I who got you into that position," Arthur argued, "though that's not entirely what I meant. The way I spoke to you, the way I ordered you and the others around – it was ill-done of me. Disrespectful. Most especially considering that, from what I have gathered, it is impossible for you to deny me anything as long as I have got that sword. I've misused that power, and I'm sorry."

Merlin hid his smile with a bow of his head as he finished up his ministrations.

"You have much to learn yet, Arthur," Mynur said, not unkindly. It didn't pass Merlin by that he hadn't used the honorific this time.

"Will you accept my apology?"

"Of course." Out of the corner of his eyes, Merlin watched Mynur bow his head, though not in a show of respect, but to blow some hot air against Arthur's hair, ruffling it thoroughly. Dragons, being affectionate with Arthur Pendragon. Merlin wondered if he would eventually get used to the sight.

Arthur asked Mynur where to find Vethoas and then disappeared down the other side of the rock, on his way to give another apology at the back of the cave.

"All set," Merlin told Mynur, still smiling.

Mynur studied him. "And how does it feel, Emrys, to embrace one's destiny?"

Merlin looked at him and the smile melted away. He sighed. "Scary, to be honest. I'm not making a lot of friends at the moment."

"Your destiny is not an easy one, and comes with great burdens."

"Thanks, that helps," Merlin deadpanned.

"Have faith, little brother," Mynur told him. "Your siblings are here for you. Your father will see reason in time, too. He is talking to Kilgharrah as we speak."

Merlin looked around, only now realising that the dragon in question was indeed absent. Merlin wondered if Kilgharrah would get through to Balinor. At the rate he had been denying the truth, Merlin doubted his father would believe the facts even if he saw all of dragonkind do Arthur's bidding with his own eyes.

He wandered out of the cave to sit on the ledge, his legs dangling off the cliff. He closed his eyes for one moment, enjoying the feel of the wild wind against his skin. Aithusa joined him not too long after, snuggling up to his side and resting her head in his lap. She was getting bigger every day, it seemed. He stroked her head and enjoyed the sound of her purring as he watched Ealdor from above.

A hundred tents, filled with his people. Not everyone had shown him respect in the past, but he knew there were few among his kind who had not believed Merlin to be the Great Dragon. His untethered dragonfyre, along with Balinor's unwavering conviction, had made sure of that. Merlin could only imagine their disappointment and confusion. But even if his kind despised him now, they were still his and Merlin wanted to shield them from harm. If not as the Great Dragon, then in his service, as Emrys.

How does it feel, Emrys, to embrace one's destiny?

He hadn't lied when he told Mynur that he was scared. But there was also exhilaration and, surprisingly enough, an ease of pressure. The parts of the prophecy Merlin had always dreaded the most, the parts about leadership and being a great warrior, were not about him, no longer his burdens to carry. The parts that were about him resonated with him. Dragonfyre came easy to him. Protecting people had always been his goal, as was peace. And to serve a king… well, he could serve a good one, couldn't he, even if he was a Pendragon?

Merlin had told Arthur he was taking a leap of faith when he had sworn his oath, and it was true. Merlin had known him for a week, half of which they had spent hurling accusations at each other. Though Merlin had also felt determined to shield him in a way that couldn't be explained with anything other than their shared prophecy. He shall offer protection… Destiny had a way of pushing things into the right direction.

It would be difficult to fulfil the prophecy with both Arthur and him so disconnected from their people. But destiny was a winding path, never a straight road, this much he had learnt by now. If Arthur and he really were destined to work together and bring about peace, an opportunity would present itself.

"Somebody is thinking." Merlin looked over to see Arthur settle on Aithusa's other side. She immediately snaked her tail around him, but didn't move her head, which pleased Merlin immensely.

"You should try it some time," he retorted and was pleased to hear Arthur's dry chuckle.

They fell silent for a bit, watching birds of prey sail lazily past the ledge in companionable silence.

"It was good of you to apologise," Merlin said.

"They deserved it," Arthur replied.

Merlin smiled. "It's a big responsibility, commanding dragons," he said. "I always found I didn't really need to use the voice. They are quite willing to cooperate, if you have their respect."

"I'd like to earn their respect," Arthur admitted. "Just as I'd like to earn the respect of any of my people."

"It's a good trait in a king."

"I always wanted to be that," Arthur said very seriously. "A good king." He let out a noise akin to a sigh. "I liked to think my father was one."

Merlin hesitated, swallowing down the words that first sprung to his mind, about tyrants and cruelty and death. Arthur was grieving, coming to terms with a great loss, no matter that his father was still alive. He deserved better than Merlin's hateful ramblings.

"I know what it's like to look up to your father, only to find him lacking," Merlin finally said. "Perhaps we need to remind ourselves that there are reasons why they have become who they are. All we can do is not to follow in their footsteps."

Arthur hummed thoughtfully. "I wanted to ask—" He stopped.

Merlin's curiosity was peaked. "What?"

"When you first took me up here," Arthur continued, his voice quieter, less certain, "you said something about my father. About how he betrayed your father."

Merlin thought back to the day and nodded. "Yes. It's how the war started."

"Not according to the stories I heard growing up," Arthur said. "I want to hear your side of it."

"You might not like what you hear," Merlin cautioned, but Arthur insisted.

So Merlin told him what he knew, that shortly after Arthur's birth, Queen Ygraine died. Uther blamed the dragonlords and their dragons, and did what was deemed reprehensible, even taboo: He had weapons forged, in secret, from poisonous draconite. At night, he ambushed the dragonlords in their chambers, and their dragons in the cave below the citadel. Three of the four noble dragonlord houses were eradicated that night. Merlin's uncles died as well, leaving only Balinor as the last of the dragonlords.

He had not been in his chambers, but stayed in the cave with Kilgharrah. Ten dragons were killed, but the rest followed Balinor and Kilgharrah, who found refuge in a village beyond the Ridge of Ascetir, where they soon gathered their people. A camp of tents emerged, meant to be a temporary settlement until Uther the Tyrant could be toppled from the throne. A war broke out and Balinor took some lands, from which he managed to sustain his people. But the war wasn't so easily won, and stretched, for over twenty years…

"Why would he blame the dragonlords?" Arthur asked after Merlin had finished his tale. "That's what I don't understand. From the way my father talked about it, I always assumed he caught Balinor murdering my mother in her sleep…"

"You would have to ask my father," Merlin said.

"And I shall answer, if you truly want to know."

Merlin flinched at the sound of his father's voice and was glad that Aithusa's weight kept him firmly settled on the ledge. He turned to see Balinor stand just where the ladder ended, his coat billowing in the breeze as much as his long hair. How long had he been listening?

"Father," Merlin exclaimed and pushed at Aithusa to let him stand.

"You can stay where you are, Merlin," Balinor said, then fixed Arthur with a look. "I'm here to talk to him."