Arthur was in his element; this had become clear as soon the prince had first entered the war tent.

He really is made for this, Merlin thought as he watched Arthur stand at the table, pointing at the map and talking with ease. His posture was confident, his voice naturally authoritative, and though there had been hate in these warriors' eyes not half an hour ago, they were now all but hanging on Arthur's lips, nodding along as he spoke.

Even Merlin's own father had taken on a supporting role for now and seemed comfortable enough in that position, quietly listening to Arthur outline his thoughts and theories. From what Merlin had gathered, they were trying to calculate how many men Uther could reasonably scrunch up and on what day the battle could be expected to take place.

"… and last I heard, my father had four good knights stationed here and here, each pair leading a squad of foot soldiers," Arthur was saying, pointing out the locations on the map with ease. "There's a bigger platoon over here, at the border to Mercia, that can be moved to the Ravine in the matter of a half-day, if they push the horses. They might already be there, and he'll likely use those to cover their flank in direction of the forests..."

If this was what Balinor had expected from Merlin, it had been no wonder that he had been nothing but a disappointment. Merlin was many things, but military strategist, he was not.

"…though I don't know how many men were lost in the raids on those villages a few days ago. Still, there used to be at least a hundred men spread out in this area. Small, mobile units, easily moved. And if he's really conscripting farm boys, well, the majority of Camelot's good farmland is over here, so that's what, fifty or sixty lads with nothing but a pitchfork arriving in two days' time? Plus…"

Merlin hadn't stepped up to the map. He was standing by the tent flap, watching from afar. He knew he was of little use here, though he partly blamed his father for his ignorance. Balinor had wanted him to be a great warrior and leader of his people, but hadn't had the patience to teach Merlin many of the things required, perhaps expecting destiny to provide. Nobody had had to teach Merlin dragonfyre – that had come on its own, a natural talent. Had he really been destined to become the Great Dragon, maybe talk of squads and platoons and the finer points of sword fighting would have come naturally to him, too.

Balinor believed it now, that much was clear, that Arthur was the one they were supposed to follow. But where did this leave Merlin? It had seemed his father had wanted to tell him something earlier, up at the dragon den, but they had been interrupted. What did he think of Merlin's new destiny? Was he ashamed or disappointed that his son was to serve instead of to lead? Would he prefer a son like Arthur, well-versed in the ways of swords and war?

Merlin watched Arthur gesture widely to make some point, laying down counter-strategies for Uther's usual tactics from the sound of it. It was more of a discussion now than a monologue, but Arthur was still dominating the conversation. Any last trace of hostility had vanished from the commander's faces at this point. One or two of them even looked just a tad awed as they listened to Arthur's opinions and suggestions for Balinor's response.

"… though I am no expert where that's concerned, of course, that's a question I'd ask Lord Merlin."

Merlin startled. He had only half-listened and had no idea why Arthur had called his name.

"Sorry?" he said and realised everyone was watching him.

"Lord Merlin?" Forwin drawled, scepticism returning to his face full-force. "You want to ask his opinion on this?"

"I don't see why not," Arthur replied confidently. "He's the expert, isn't he?"

"I suppose so," Forwin conceded reluctantly.

"The expert on…?" Merlin asked.

"Why, dragonfyre of course," Arthur told him, like it was obvious. He frowned. "Why are you standing all the way over there, anyway? I told you I wanted you at the meeting. Come on, Lord Merlin, join the conversation."

"Yes, sire," Merlin murmured and did as he was told. He looked down at the map. It detailed the area around the Ravine and he was immediately intimidated by the pins and figurines. He cast a wary glance at Arthur. "What do you need to know?"

"Most importantly? Your limits."

Merlin had no idea what that meant. "My limits? In regards to what?"

"Anything relevant to battle," Arthur elaborated. "What can you do? How long can you keep going? How far does it reach? You're probably our biggest asset next to the dragons."

"Biggest asset?" Baldor's sceptical tone really couldn't be any more unflattering.

Arthur actually sneered at the man. "Lord Merlin wields magic like nobody else, without a dragon anywhere near him. I've seen him take down serkets, wilddeoren and wyvern with a single word. I'd say that's a game-changer in any battle, wouldn't you agree?"

Merlin felt his cheeks flush. Arthur made him sound a lot more powerful than he actually was.

Baldor blinked at the prince. "I'm sure you're right, Great One."

Ha! Merlin thought with satisfaction. They were catching on to Arthur's destiny, too. How could they not, after having listened to him give up Camelot's military secrets to help a dragonlord?

"So?" Arthur prompted.

"Right," Merlin said, trying to gather his thoughts. "What can I do? Well, anything related to fire works best, though I'd say my control on wind is almost equally good. Flames, storms, explosions, blasts of energy, that sort of thing. I'm terrible with water, dragon magic just clashes with that. That one is best left to the mermaids. I can manage earth, though. A rock slide, a small earthquake when I concentrate hard enough—"

"Small earthquake," Forwin repeated in a strange, strangled kind of voice.

Merlin flashed him a defiant little grin. "Yes. As for how long I can keep going – I suppose until I pass out? I never checked. I haven't had to exhaust myself yet to a point where it became relevant. And I have done magic in my sleep, I already told you that. But if I spread out the attack, like a rain of fire, it definitely weakens the individual hits. I'm at my best when I focus on one target. What was your last question?"

Arthur was smiling at him in an odd way when he reminded him, "How far does it reach?"

"Good question! The answer is, I don't know. I don't tend to use it on anything I can't see, but I could try, I suppose?"

"Right now?" Arthur suggested.

Merlin spread his hands in acquiescence. "Sure. What would you like me to do?"

Arthur took a moment to think. "Could you light a fire up on the ledge of the dragon cavern up in the mountains? That's fairly far."

Merlin smiled. "Probably? Let me try." He closed his eyes, trying to envision the ledge. He had spent so many hours of his life up there. He could see the details vividly in front of his inner eye. He raised his hand vaguely in the right direction. "Pŷr!" He paused. "Well, somebody better check!"

Togor briefly went outside to look at the mountains from afar. He returned with a strange expression on his face.

"Didn't work?" Merlin asked him, disappointed. He thought he had felt the flow of dragonfyre, but he might have been wrong.

"Oh, it worked, my lord," the commander said and it was the use of honorific, without a hint of sarcasm or contempt, that drew Merlin's immediate attention. He looked around. Almost all of his father's men were staring at him, and it wasn't in disgust or ridicule. One or two almost seemed impressed.

"Well, I better extinguish it, then," Merlin said awkwardly, and sent a strong gust of wind through the mountains to snuff the fire like a candlelight.

"Excellent," said Arthur, sounding far too excited when he subsequently launched into a lengthy speech about how best to use Merlin's magic to defend against platoons of archers and heavy-plated knights, every once in a while asking for Merlin's opinion.

The meeting wrapped up soon after, with Balinor giving orders and delegating tasks among the commanders, while Arthur kept studying the map, moving a piece here or there, clearly still in thought.

As the warriors left the tent, talking amongst each other, a warm hand settled on Merlin's shoulder. He looked up in the face of his father. Merlin needed far too long to decipher his expression and belatedly realised it was because he had hardly ever seen it there: pride.

"Well done," Balinor said. "The Great Dragon is quite right. You are an asset."

Merlin bit the inside of his cheek to force down some rather un-warrior-like emotions. Had he actually just heard those words from his father's mouth?

"We have much to discuss, when all this is over," Balinor added. It sounded not like a threat, but an invitation.

Merlin nodded mutely and his father exited the tent, leaving just Merlin and Arthur. Merlin needed a moment to collect himself, then bent down to lean on the map, trying to catch Arthur's eyes from below. "You quite done?"

"Mhm," Arthur replied, moving a piece again.

"You do remember we don't actually want to fight this battle?" Merlin asked with a worried frown.

Arthur nodded grimly. "Of course. Believe me, I feel sick at the thought of my men dying because of strategies I have put into place. But if we want to persuade my father to back down, he must be convinced that this battle is unwinnable. And we can only achieve that if our own strategy is sound enough to hold our own. If he believes he may lose before satisfying his thirst for revenge, he might pull out. He wants those dragons dead." He finally looked away from the map and down at Merlin. A small smile was tugging at the edge of his lips. "Looks like your father wanted you at the meeting after all."

Merlin cleared his throat. "Yes, well. You did your very best to make me look at least somewhat competent."

Arthur actually laughed at that. "Yes, it was all my doing. Nothing to do with your special talents." He straightened up, abandoning the map, and turned to lean against the table with his back. "You know when I first started seriously considering your talk of peace?"

Merlin tilted his head in an invitation to continue, his curiosity peaked.

"When I saw you fight at the Crystal Cave," Arthur continued. "Not with the sword, mind you. Who in the name of all gods taught you to hold onto the hilt like that?"

"Oh, shut up, you prat!" Merlin grumbled, and Arthur threw back his head for another laugh at his expression.

More soberly, he continued, "I watched you take down those wyverns and serkets and skeletons with nothing but a word and thought: If that man ever realises his full potential, we are all done for." Merlin looked away, feeling shy all of a sudden. Arthur bumped a fist against Merlin's shoulder. "Perhaps it's good someone can keep you in check. We wouldn't want all that power to get to your head."

"I'm not that powerful," Merlin muttered.

"Earthquakes," Arthur said, and Merlin felt his ears go hot.

"I don't want to use it that way, if I can avoid it," he admitted. "I never did. I'd much rather – I don't know, help people. Protect them. Keeping my men from becoming wyvern fodder is one thing, killing another person, a whole squad of soldiers even…" He trailed off, then though to add, "I took no enjoyment from burning your men the day I captured you. I hope you know that?"

Arthur nodded, his face serious. "I do. It's hard, taking another's life. Some kills haunt you for a long time. I have some that'll never leave me, I think…"

Merlin grimaced. "Howden?" he ventured.

Arthur looked away. "Among others." He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "I find myself thinking back to the dragons, too. Kind of hard not to, when you're surrounded by them. It was easy to justify when I thought them nothing but brutal creatures, but now that I have talked to them? Flown on their backs?" He lowered his gaze to the floor, looking genuinely regretful. "You were right when you said they're people, too. I realise now I killed your siblings, and I can't tell you how sorry I am for that."

Merlin exhaled. He could easily tell Arthur the names of those drakes he had slain or sent home severely wounded, could hurl accusations, but what would be the point but to induce more guilt?

"Both sides have done terrible things in this war," Merlin stated. "If we want peace, we need to accept that there can't be justice for every harm, every wrong done. We can only try to make amends as best as we can and move forward from there."

"It's a long path to forgiveness," Arthur murmured, eyes distant, and Merlin could hear all that doubt and fear that he felt himself when thinking about how daunting their task really was.

"But we have to start walking it at some point, don't we?" Merlin replied. "You and I together, we'll set things into motion. The Great Dragon and Emrys, dragonblade and dragonfyre."

Arthur nodded, his voice grave and solemn when he promised, "I want you to know, I will never bind your dragonfyre again. It was reprehensible."

"I trust you, Arthur," said Merlin. And it was true, despite everything, despite years of hate and all that had occurred in the past week – or because of that – he trusted him. He trusted Arthur, and he trusted their destiny.

"Come on," he added, aiming for a lighter tone. "I didn't take you for the broody type. Let's get you some dinner. I'll protect you from those big, bad warriors lurking on the way, too, if you ask nicely."

Arthur scoffed, though with a humorous twinkle to his eyes. "Right. Like I need your protection, Merlin."

They left the tent, bantering. Arthur called him an idiot. Merlin called him a clotpole in return, which launched a rather animated discussion on the legitimacy of insults. Soon, in spite of the looming battle, Merlin found himself sitting in his tent, sharing dinner with Arthur Pendragon and laughing heartily about Arthur's reaction to the word dollophead.


"Training?" Merlin asked the next day. "Really?"

"I need to let off some steam," Arthur said as he pulled on his chainmail. "Come on, your father must have ordered drills. We're at war! A battle is coming!"

Merlin looked at Arthur's hopeful face and caved. "Fine," he said. "I'll show you the training grounds."

As Arthur had expected, the grounds were busy. They were nothing but large stretches of dirt surrounded by fence at the edge of Ealdor, currently filled with dozens of sword-wielding dragon warriors.

As soon as they arrived, they were drawing looks from everyone. Merlin thought the faces were maybe a little less hostile and perhaps more sceptical or apprehensive. His father's men had likely spread the word, of Balinor's acceptance of destiny and Arthur's military expertise. The sight of a well-rested, golden-haired Arthur in shining chainmail, with Excalibur gleaming in the morning sunshine, looking every bit the intimidating warrior prince he was, probably helped, too. Still, Merlin knew that Arthur had yet to prove himself to these people.

Merlin spotted Gwaine, warming up in leather armour, and walked over, Arthur by his side.

"Gwaine," Arthur called out as they approached the man. "Still up for that duel you promised me?"

Gwaine beamed as if Arthur had just promised him the entire contents of his castle's vaults. "Bring it on, Camelot!" he said and instantly reached for his blades.

They picked an empty patch of dirt and soon started circling each other. It took hardly ten seconds until they had gathered an audience. Everyone was eager to see the prophesied warrior and his sword in action. Arthur didn't disappoint. Gwaine was a well-respected fighter, yet Arthur downed him within two minutes, and had a cocky grin to show for it, too. He had barely broken a sweat.

"Well fought, Sir Gwaine," he said and offered him a hand.

"Ugh," Gwaine replied, grimacing at the title. "Your victory was insult enough, I don't need you to taunt me like that." But he did accept the hand and let himself get pulled up.

"You'd look good in Camelot red," Arthur teased him.

"Not a chance in hell, Pendragon," Gwaine replied, but he did grab Arthur's shoulder in a surprising show of comradery.

Lancelot was next, though he only lasted a minute and a half. Soon after, other warriors dared to approach and in no time, Arthur had six victories on his tally and agreed to one tie with a well-seasoned warrior, perhaps out of respect for his age.

"You're good," Merlin said and tossed a waterskin at him.

"I know," Arthur replied. It sounded self-assured, not arrogant. "I could teach you if you like. Get that terrible posture out of you. Your legs are all wrong. There are drills for fixing that sort of thing."

Merlin groaned. "Drills? I'd rather fight a hundred more wilddeoren."

Arthur sounded vaguely offended. "I'm a good teacher! I train all of Camelot's knights myself."

"Well, you heard the prophecy." He pointed at Arthur. "Great warrior." He wiggled the finger at himself. "Great mage."

Arthur suddenly stilled, looking past Merlin's shoulder. "Here comes trouble," he murmured.

Merlin turned to see Commander Godric had arrived. He had been absent from yesterday's war meeting and from the intense look he threw Arthur, he had come to check if what he had heard was really true. Sure enough, the man made a beeline for Arthur and rested a hand on the hilt of his sword. A hush fell over the training grounds.

"They say Lord Balinor thinks you're the Great One after all," he sneered. Clearly, he wasn't so convinced.

Arthur remained calm. "If that is was you heard."

Godric sized Arthur up. The commander was considerably older than Arthur, but a well-muscled, beefy man and a seasoned fighter. "Up for a match?" he said with a rather predatory smile.

"Any time." Arthur passed back the waterskin and stepped back onto the grounds.

Merlin then had the great satisfaction of watching Arthur take Godric apart. Merlin might not be all that great with a sword himself, but he knew what he was seeing: Arthur was devastating Godric's defences and mercilessly forcing him backwards with quick, succinct blows. Godric was kept busy blocking Arthur, and none of his few offensive swings came even close to shaking Arthur up, let alone hitting him. Arthur had Godric squirm in the dirt and Excalibur hovering at his throat within the matter of thirty seconds.

Here was an opportunity for Arthur to get revenge on the man who had not only assaulted him, but planned to kill him, too. From the grim expression on Godric's face, the commander was clearly thinking the same thing.

"Come on, finish what you started. You know you want to!" he taunted. "I'm not afraid of death!"

Murmurs ran through the crowd and some people shifted, perhaps preparing to step in. Arthur studied Godric impassively. But he did not strike a final blow, did not even utter a humiliating phrase. He pulled away his sword and instead offered Godric a hand, as he had done for every opponent before. A peace offering.

But Godric only grimaced, ignored the hand and scrambled to his feet by himself. He threw Arthur another glare, then strode off with what little dignity he could muster.

Merlin walked up to Arthur, who was staring after the man. "We should give him time," Merlin said.

"Yes," Arthur agreed. "Though I fear some divides might never be bridged."


When Gwaine came to tell Merlin that Percival was asking for him, his excitement about his friend's recovery quickly turned to dread when he looked at Gwaine's worried face.

"He heard," he said. "He's not happy."

Merlin swallowed. He glanced at Arthur, who was sitting on Merlin's bed, half-heartedly browsing a book on healing herbs to distract himself from the looming battle. Merlin knew him well enough by now to sense he was listening intently.

"He's at his tent?" asked Merlin and Gwaine confirmed it with a nod. "I'll go now, then. I don't want him talking to somebody like Godric first."

The two of them left together. Gwaine was walking close to Merlin, offering silent support.

"He was probably too out of it, but I wish he'd seen," Merlin murmured as they passed a storage tent and turned left towards Percival's. "Arthur's face, I mean, when he realised that Uther had ordered those raids. Perhaps…"

"I doubt it," said Gwaine, and he was probably right.

They were at the tent now and Merlin drew up a shaky smile for Gwaine before brushing his hand against the tent flap and calling out Percival's name.

"Come."

Merlin took a deep breath and entered the tent. Percival was resting on his pallet, pale but focused. The dazed look had disappeared, though his face was pinched, as if he was still suffering from a headache. Or like he was holding himself back from punching Merlin.

Merlin really hoped it was the headache.

"Feeling better?" he asked tentatively.

"Barely," Percival said. His voice was clipped. It wasn't like Percival to be curt with Merlin. Anger, then.

"Gwaine said you heard?" Merlin asked carefully.

Percival grunted a noise of confirmation, his eyes narrowing. Merlin suddenly couldn't meet his gaze.

"So, it's true then," Percival said, disgust bleeding into his voice. It wasn't a tone Merlin ever wanted to hear from a friend and it pained him enough to make his breath catch. "You've sworn yourself to the dragonslayer."

"The Great Dragon," Merlin corrected gently.

Percival made a derisive noise and looked away. "Right," he spat. "You actually believe that, don't you? That a murderer could be our saviour?"

They shouldn't be having this conversation like this, distanced. Merlin approached the pallet with tentative steps. When Percival didn't react, he dared to settle down at the very end, just resting against the edge.

"Percival," Merlin said, "I know this must be hard for you—"

"You know nothing!" Percival barked. His head had snapped back towards him and his face was contorted with open anger now. Merlin cringed back on instinct. "How would you know, Merlin? He took everything from me. My mother, my sisters—" He stopped abruptly to make a fist and hit the tent. The fabric billowed. Probably not a very satisfactory punch. "You have no idea what it's like!"

He breathed heavily and Merlin let him calm down a bit before responding.

"I lost people, too," said Merlin quietly. "I lost siblings. He killed them, personally, with draconite."

Percival grimaced. "Yes, of course," he said, almost apologetically, then shook his head. "So why, Merlin? How could you ever follow him? How could you forgive him?"

Merlin settled a hand on Percival's leg stretched out next to him. He was glad when Percival didn't pull away. "Because of my people, who deserve peace," he said quietly. "And because I trust destiny. I trust Arthur, too. He's ready to change, to make amends."

Percival scoffed. "Amends? There's no way to amend any of this."

"I know." They both startled and Merlin whipped his head around. Arthur was standing just at the entrance of the tent. His face was tense, his eyes fixed on Percival. "Some things can never be made right again. Believe me, I know that."

Percival growled, "Get out!"

"I have no right to forgiveness, Percival," Arthur soldiered on. "But I'd humbly request that we talk and you hear me out. To give me a chance to explain."

"I don't owe you anything," Percival snapped.

"Of course, you don't," Arthur agreed and regretfully bowed his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

Percival stared at him, perhaps lost for words at seeing such humility from an arrogant dragonslayer.

Merlin, his hand still resting of Percival's legs, squeezed his calf encouragingly. "Give him a chance," he murmured, then stood. "I'll leave you to it."

He brushed a hand against Arthur's shoulder when he passed him on his way out of the tent. Gwaine was waiting outside, pacing. He stopped when he saw Merlin exit alone, throwing a worried look past his shoulder.

"You know there's every chance Percival is throttling him this very moment?" he pointed out, clearly only half-joking.

"He won't," said Merlin. "Come on. This might take a while."

Arthur returned to Merlin's tent half an hour later, his face strained. When Merlin looked at him expectantly, he grimaced.

"I said my part," Arthur told him, sounding rather exhausted. "The rest is for him to decide."


Another strategy meeting was set in the afternoon. It was decided that Arthur and Merlin would be leaving for the Red Ravine that night with the rest of the dragons and most of the commanders.

Merlin set out to find Arthur's armour they had taken from him after his capture. He found it in a storage tent, dull and a little beat-up. He hauled the pieces back to his own tent, then rummaged through his tinctures to find something to polish it with. He settled down on the bed and got started on the vambraces.

"You don't need to do that," Arthur told him awkwardly.

"I want to," Merlin replied, then tossed him a rag. "But feel free to help."

They sat in companionable silence, rubbing away at the metal pieces.

"So," Merlin finally said, "what's the plan with your father?"

Arthur's hand stilled against the breastplate. "I'll borrow a horse from Balinor, ride into Camelot's camp and convince him to call off the battle."

Merlin nodded, having expected this. "What makes you think he'll listen to you this time?"

"The fact that he will be facing an army perfectly set-up to counter his attack," Arthur replied confidently, then sighed. "But you're right. If he's really gone mad, he might not listen in spite of that."

"Then what?"

Arthur shook his head. "I don't know."

Merlin hesitated, then ventured, "Would you fight him?"

Arthur stiffened, but there was no anger or offense in his voice when he repeated, "I don't know, Merlin. I just don't know."

Merlin considered all this. "Well, I'm coming."

"No," Arthur said at once. "They might shoot you on sight."

"They might shoot you on sight," Merlin retorted. "Besides, I can defend myself."

"I could order you to stay."

Merlin glared at him. "You could certainly try."

Arthur let out a huff. "What was the point of swearing an oath of fealty to me if you won't listen to your liege's commands?"

"I'm sorry, Your Highness, did you want an ally prophesied to help you end this war, or a spineless vassal grovelling at your feet?" Merlin snapped, waving a greave in a warning not to provoke him further.

"Fine, suit yourself!" Arthur conceded. "Come along, if you must."

Satisfied, Merlin drew up dragonfyre and mended a bent in the metal with the help of some magical heat.

"Look, from what Sir Elyan said, your people aren't exactly keen on this battle," he finally continued. "And I don't think most of mine are, either. Sure, Godric and his ilk might be thick enough to believe there is some warrior's pride to be lost in seeking peace. But if you ride into that camp, offering a solution that doesn't require good men to die, your father will be under considerable pressure from all sides to accept."

"If he is pressed, my father is the kind of man who would rather double down and lose before he gives an inch," Arthur cautioned.

"Well, I thought my father was like that, too, and now he's actually considering peace." Merlin paused, then voiced an ugly thought he had kept to himself until then. "Of course, he wouldn't listen to me. I told him so many times we should look for a different solution. Then you come along…"

Arthur laid a hand on his wrist, stopping the angry motions of his rag. "Hey. I know better than anyone what it feels like not to have the respect of one's father."

Merlin exhaled. Of course he did. Uther had almost had him executed.

"I know it's stupid," Merlin told him. "What does it matter who convinced him, if peace is the outcome?"

Arthur studied him. "Have you two actually talked?"

Merlin shook his head. "There was no time."

"You will work this out. I'm sure." With the awkwardness in his voice, he somehow managed to underscore the sincerity of the statement.

Suddenly, a weird sense of amusement worked its way up Merlin's throat. When Arthur frowned at his chuckle, Merlin gestured between the two of them. "It's kind of absurd, isn't it? Not two weeks ago, we hated each other and now, well—" He stopped, grasping for the right words.

Arthur understood. He threw him a wonky sort of smile, then said, "Yes, well, you're the one who's always going on about destiny."

It was the most direct concession Merlin had heard Arthur make about accepting that the prophecy might in fact be true and it made Merlin giddy. Together, the Great Dragon and Emrys shall herald a new age.

He dearly hoped they would succeed and see this dream come true.