Though the war had primarily consisted of front skirmishes, raids, and clashing patrols in the past years, it was not Arthur's first battle. There had been a couple of larger, more organized fights in contested areas since Arthur had actively joined the ranks of the knights.

This, however, was set up to be a battle of entirely different proportions. Arthur had known in theory, of course, how many men his father had called to the Red Ravine, and how much equipment he had moved. Still, seeing it with his own eyes was something else entirely.

From Aithusa's back, he could make out Camelot's war camp, red banners raised proudly between the tents and carts. It was filled with moving dots, each a knight, a foot soldier, a boy barely old enough to hold onto a weapon. Near the edge of the camp and on the plane between the tents and the Ravine, at least thirty launchers had been set up, manned even now to guard Camelot's positions. These machines, along with draconite weapons and recipes for fire-resistant coatings, had been a game changer in the war early on, Arthur knew. Uther wouldn't have stood a chance against fire-breathing drakes had he not paid good money for this technology. Every knight was trained to shoot with precision and had at least a draconite dagger shoved down his boot to deal a final blow. It was all this that had given Arthur the confidence that they could succeed at the Gorge of Gedref.

"He's really doing this," Merlin said from behind him. Even over the sound of the wind whipping past them, Arthur could hear his apprehension.

Aithusa flew along the Ravine, giving them a chance to look inside. It was not as steep as the Gorge of Gedref, nor as narrow, but it still cut stunningly through the landscape and made for a natural border. There had been a river here at some point, though all that was left from the once mighty stream was the reddish-brown earth, coloured by deposits of iron and clay.

There was a reason this area had always been guarded heavily from both sides. Not only was it located right at the centre of the shortest direct route between Ealdor and Camelot, it was a natural barrier for foot soldiers and knights on horses alike, giving dragonriders a clear advantage – unless they were shot from below by a launcher hidden in the Ravine. Should Arthur and Merlin fail and the battle take place, that trench would be filled with bodies not before too long.

Arthur shuddered. He could not bear the thought of his people lying dead in the Red Ravine, their blood seeping and blending into the soil underneath. He knew Merlin couldn't either.

"We will stop him," Arthur vowed as Aithusa flew a curve and towards Balinor's camp.

The dragonlord had followed most of Arthur's advice, this much was already clear now, from the way he had positioned the already arrived dragons to the arrangement of the fortifications. If Uther ever made it past the Ravine and attacked with whichever troops the dragons hadn't managed to burn to a crisp, they would meet enough resistance to cost them dearly.

Before his inner eye, he saw Leon pierced on the sharp edge of a barricade, Elyan trampled by horses, and by the gods, even Merlin, pale skin covered in blood and gore as he desperately blasted away at those ready to kill him.

So many years of senseless violence and yet, his father had decided this was better than seeking peace.

They landed at the edge of the camp. Arthur could see they had drawn attention again. Arthur Pendragon riding a drake was not a sight any of Balinor's people would be used to. It certainly didn't help that it was a white dragon, or that Aithusa nosed him enthusiastically as soon as he had slipped from the saddle, pushing eagerly against his shoulder until he started to stroke her scales. He could see disbelief in those faces, scatters of remaining hostility especially amongst the oldest of them, but there was also hope. So much of it that it scared him.

He watched for Merlin's reaction to Aithusa's attentions and found a quiet acceptance in his face that had been absent before. It was still mind-boggling to Arthur, the way Merlin had poured all of his trust into his destiny, into Arthur; kneeling in front of Arthur and swearing an oath as his own people had cursed him; swearing fealty to the man that had killed his siblings and abducted him into enemy territory. How did Arthur ever deserve loyalty from this man, who could so easily destroy Arthur with a single word and a flick of the hand were it not for Excalibur strapped to his side?

They hadn't talked about it in so many words, but he had seen Merlin study the crystal set in the sword's pommel. Merlin knew that as long as Arthur wielded that sword, he was safe from Merlin's magic. But it would only take a careless moment, an hour of unguarded sleep without Excalibur at his arm, for Arthur to become as vulnerable to Merlin's dragonfyre as anybody else.

He had slept but three or four feet apart from Merlin for the past two days. Merlin would have had every opportunity to exploit a weak moment. Of course, he hadn't. Merlin had protected Arthur long before he had ever known the truth about his destiny. It was just the way he was.

"Worried?" Merlin had stepped up to him, frowning. Likely, Arthur had done a poor job hiding his conflicted thoughts.

"I never thanked you, I think," Arthur blurted.

Merlin's frown deepened. "What do you mean?"

"For your oath," Arthur said, his voice strangely hoarse. "For your trust. It's… humbling, frankly." And just a tad terrifying, he didn't say out loud.

Merlin gifted him a reassuring smile. "You can do this," he said firmly, voice filled with conviction. "We can do this."

Somehow, Arthur believed him.


They had made a banner of one of the red cloaks taken during the patrol, to be carried on their ride into Uther's camp. Arthur was staring at it now, grim-faced. A golden dragon, pierced by a harpoon. He knew the sharp, black line had been an addition of recent decades. His own signet ring, passed down generation after generation, still bore only the Pendragon drake. Once this was all over, he would change their crest back.

Alongside the red flag lay another, a white dragon on black cloth. Balinor's crest, once displayed proudly in Camelot's council chambers and the throne room when his family had still been loyal followers instead of enemies. Would Arthur be able to restore it there? He stroked a finger over the embroidered dragon before pulling on his glove, right up the edge of his vambrace.

"Many thought Aithusa's birth was another sign, you know?" Merlin said next to him. He was clad in leather armour, a red scarf wrapped around his neck – almost the right shade to be Camelot's. "A white dragon is incredibly rare." He paused. "Of course, she was also the last dragon to hatch in years. Without the Stone of Rebirth…"

Arthur looked at him. "I will return your artifact when this is all done," he vowed.

"I never doubted it," Merlin replied. "You ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."

They were standing next to Balinor's tent, with four horses prepared. Gwaine and Lancelot would escort them to the edge of Uther's camp, carrying the banners in a show of unity and as a signal they were coming in peace. They all climbed their saddles. They were just about to leave when a fifth horse made its way towards them.

It was Percival. Arthur tensed, immediately apprehensive, but Percival said calmly, "Mind if I join you?"

He was speaking to Merlin, but he gave Arthur the tiniest nod. A peace offering. Perhaps, they couldn't have asked for a better omen.

"Of course not," said Merlin, and from the look on his face, he was proud, and feeling bolstered, too.

With a last nod for Balinor standing by the tent flap, they were on their way.

Silently, they made their way out of the camp. Some of the people they passed wished them luck, others only nodded or simply stared. Arthur noticed a woman or two among the warriors, a face here and there that was much too young to be clad in a helmet. Arthur knew Balinor's recruitment process had been about as desperate as Uther's.

The sight tightened his throat and he fixed his eyes forward and towards the Ravine. The morning sun only enhanced the redness of the soil as they carefully led their horses down a steep path towards the dried riverbed.

They were spotted, of course. Scouts were hiding in the creases and nooks of the ravine, behind dried bushes and piles of rock. Nobody attacked.

Unaccosted, they made it to the other side and up the Ravine, across another plane and then, the tents of Camelot were before them, golden and red. Arthur could see movement along the edge of the camp, a flurry of archers, bows ready but not taut, a couple of knights with their swords drawn. Arthur could tell the moment they recognised him, saw it in the instinctual lowering of the swords and bows long before he made out the mix of disbelief and hope in their eyes.

"It's the prince," somebody called. "It's Prince Arthur," exclaimed another, "he's returned!" "Welcome back, sire!" "The prince is back!" "Sire!" "Thank the gods!"

Merlin threw Arthur a significant look at the warm welcome.

They stopped at the edge of the camp. Arthur smiled faintly when it was Leon who stepped into their path. He wondered if the knight might have been waiting, knowing the battle was drawing near, hoping for Arthur to make a move.

"Sir Leon, I would speak to the king," Arthur told him firmly. "I will leave the escort behind, but not Lord Merlin. Will you guarantee us safe passage?"

"Of course, sire," Leon replied and bowed to the man his father had declared a traitor. Arthur hoped it was another good sign.

They dismounted and followed Leon. Merlin fell back to walk a half-step behind Arthur, though if it was out of nervosity or to make a point, Arthur did not know. Everyone was staring at them. Some were saying Arthur's name, others bowed their head as he passed. If anybody was feeling hostile, they weren't showing it. Arthur vaguely recognised some of the foot soldier's faces. There were people among them who had no business on a battlefield. Aged farmers who regularly sold their wares in Camelot's market, skinny servants who served platters of foods at feasts.

Before long, they reached the king's tent.

On a chair, in front of the flap, throned King Uther. He was wearing chainmail and a sword, though Arthur did not know whether his father had any intention of riding into battle himself. It had been a while since he had actively participated in the war.

He sneered when Arthur came into view, and the harsh lines on his face only deepened when he set eyes on Merlin. Arthur did not bow, though he respectfully inclined his head and said, "Your Majesty."

"What do you want?" Uther spat.

Arthur cast a quick glance around. Many of the high-ranking knights were there, along with a couple of lords. Agravaine was standing right by Uther's side, as well as a sizable part of the rest of the council. Any member bodily able to pull on armour and wield a blade had come. Arthur couldn't have wished for a better audience, but would it be enough?

Arthur adjusted his posture, aiming for that poise that had been drilled into him since he was a young boy.

"I have come to ask you to call off this battle," he said, raising his voice so it might carry far into the camp. "Lord Balinor is ready to withdraw if you are, and willing to negotiate instead. The dragonlord wants peace. I have brought Lord Balinor's son and heir, Lord Merlin, to speak in his name."

Murmurs rose all around them, comments of doubt mingling with those of shock and hope. Uther quickly raised a hand and the camp fell silent.

"I don't negotiate with the likes of Balinor," Uther said dismissively.

"Have you looked across the Red Ravine today?" Arthur made a gesture to indicate what lay behind him. "Do you know what your men will be facing?"

"Yes, I've seen your little tricks," Uther scoffed. So, he had recognised Arthur's hand in Balinor's set-up.

"Then you must know the outcome of this senseless battle."

"The outcome of this battle will be every last dragon dead and Balinor bleeding out at my feet."

"That might very well be so," Arthur agreed, "but their blood will join that of the thousands of others lying dead in the Ravine before the sun has set. Countless of pointless deaths, on both sides. Is that worth it?"

Uther abruptly stood from the chair. "I never thought I'd see the day my son becomes a traitor," he hissed and the edge of pain in his voice rang true. He felt betrayed.

"I am not a traitor," Arthur returned evenly, "for seeking peace where you will only seek destruction."

"Peace," Uther repeated scornfully. "There can never be peace between Balinor and I."

"This is not just about you and Balinor," Arthur stressed, "this is about our people. Look around! Thousands of lives are on the line. Isn't it your duty as ruler to do everything in your power to keep harm from those you once swore to protect?"

"It is my duty to rid this world of the evil that are dragons," Uther retorted, without so much as a glance for their audience.

Arthur suppressed a sigh at his father's obstinacy. "Twenty-one years," he said. "For as long as I have lived, these lands have known nothing but war. Aren't you weary? Aren't you ready to lay down your weapons?" He turned his eyes on the others, knowing he was speaking to them as much as his own father.

There was Lord Ashe, giving an almost unperceivable nod. Sir Bedivere, meeting his eyes squarely. Sir Pellinore, uncurling his fingers from the hilt of his sword. They agreed, he knew. They sought an end to this as much as Arthur, though they would not admit to it out loud. But there were others, too, who avoided his eyes, whose mouths were set in a grim line. Some were extremely loyal to his father, others merely cowed by Uther's notorious rage, a few misguided by pride or a thirst for revenge.

"Save your breath, Arthur," Uther told him snidely. "Return to your dragons and prepare for our first strike."

"Your Highness, if I may?" Arthur turned to look at Merlin. His eyes were on Arthur, but his head slightly bowed, his hands laced behind his back.

The reaction was immediate. People's heads snapped towards the young dragonlord. The whispers that flared up were too quiet to make out, but Arthur could all but hear their thoughts anyway. Had they heard right? Had Merlin really addressed Arthur in this deferential fashion? Was this truly Balinor's son, acknowledging their crown prince as his superior?

"Speak freely if you wish, Lord Merlin," Arthur conceded.

"Thank you, sire." Another bow of the head. He was putting on a show. "I have come here in my father's stead, but not only as his representative. I am also here as the sworn liegeman of Prince Arthur." Even Uther stood at attention, hearing this. "I have committed to finding a peaceful solution for both our people by putting myself in his service. Enough blood has been spilled between us."

"You? Sworn to my son?" Uther said, then laughed. It was an ugly laugh, harsh and devoid of humour. He looked at Arthur. "What game are you playing, Arthur? Am I to believe this charade?"

"I have accepted Lord Merlin's oath of fealty," Arthur confirmed. "You might be stuck in the past, but a new generation is ready to move on and seek reconciliation."

"You have sworn allegiance to Prince Arthur?" This was Lord Ashe, astonishment evident in his hawkish face. "Why would you, young dragonlord?"

"I have come to know him as a good and noble man. I believe in the future he represents," Merlin replied. In the prophecy of the Great Dragon, he did not say.

"And your father?" asked Ashe. "Has he sworn allegiance to the prince, too?"

"No, though he is no less willing to negotiate in good faith."

People were whispering again. Merlin's revelation had shaken even those Arthur knew to be hardliners in this war. There was Sir Kay looking incredulous, there Lord Graves raking suspicious eyes over Merlin's slim form. This, they had not expected.

Arthur quietly thanked Merlin for his ingenious instincts in revealing the oath. There was an opening here.

"Your Majesty, this changes everything." It was Agravaine who dared to speak up first. "If Balinor's heir recognises the crown prince as his rightful liege–"

"Silence!" Uther barked. "You can't actually believe this farce to have any impact on the matters at hand! We know how much a dragonlord's oath is worth. They betrayed us before!"

"We have no reason to believe Balinor's son would break his word. Forcing the battle under these circumstances is most unwise, Your Majesty." This was Lord Darwin speaking. Arthur was surprised he had donned armour, given his advanced age. But then he provided two hundred and fifty levies to the king and was a man of honour. Perhaps he had not wanted to abandon them in the face of certain death. "Both heirs, bound to each other by sacred oath–"

"A traitor cannot be considered my rightful heir," Uther interrupted him.

"Yet you have not disinherited your son," said Lord Darwin boldly. "He remains Crown Prince to this day."

Arthur tried to mask his surprise at this revelation. He had been sure his father had disinherited him already, but it would not do to lose his air of confidence now.

Uther turned on Lord Darwin, face flushed with outrage. "How dare you speak to me this way!"

"Your Majesty, with all due respect," Lord Ashe intercepted. "The council has followed you willingly for twenty-one years. The lords have provided you with both men and money, placing our trust in you to do what is right for this kingdom by way of this war."

"As is your duty!" Uther hissed.

Lord Ashe bowed to concede the king's point, but soldiered on, "However, you cannot expect us to support you indefinitely in this endeavour if a better path presents itself."

Uther turned to face the lords and knights behind him. "Is this what you all think? You would betray me, too?" he hissed. "You would defy me now, on the brink of battle?"

"You have our unwavering loyalty, Your Majesty," Lord Darwin placated. "But we must urge you to reconsider! If there is a chance to end the war—"

"Traitors! Usurpers! The lot of you!" Uther growled and went for his sword.

Arthur tensed along with everyone else, but Uther didn't attack Lord Darwin. He turned towards Merlin, fingers curled around the hilt of his weapon, and spat, "Here's a message for your father, boy. If my council thinks me weak, I will prove them wrong. Have Balinor meet me in the Ravine at high noon. A fight for life and death. Tell him to bring his dragon. Once I have taken both their heads, the battle shall commence and last until every last one of those vile beasts has been slaughtered." He paused, then added, "As for peace, Balinor can have it over my dead body!"


Balinor received the news with a grim face, though he did not hesitate for a moment and accepted the challenge.

Arthur found himself seeking solitude after their return. For some reason, the thought that his father might die had never occurred to him, though it had been just as likely with the battle looming as it was now, with a duel set at noon.

In spite of all that had transpired, he did not want Uther dead. Arthur could never want that. Uther was his father, and though he had often been harsh with Arthur, he had raised him well and taught him to be honourable and noble and brave. Even now, as Arthur was slowly coming to terms with the king's faults, he loved him, and did not want to see him killed. Lest of all by Balinor's hands, now that they were on a path of reconciliation.

Uther's death would leave Arthur without a parent, a kingdom in disarray and a crown he felt far too young to carry. He had just come of age this year.

Aithusa found him first. He was sitting on a rock at the edge of the camp. She was supposed to maintain her position east of the battlefield, but she was young and Arthur didn't have the heart to order her away. Instead, he allowed her quiet companionship. And wasn't that all kinds of ironic, Arthur Pendragon seeking comfort with a drake while facing the very real possibility that his father might die in a few hours?

Merlin joined him an hour later. Arthur briefly took in his red-rimmed eyes. The sight didn't come as much of a surprise, after seeing him break down at the Crystal Cave.

"You talked to your father, I take it," Arthur murmured.

Merlin nodded. "There is every possibility he might be dead in a couple of hours," he said quietly.

"Cleared the air?" Arthur asked.

"Some of it," Merlin replied, then let out a short, dry chuckle. "He actually apologised to me. I don't think I've heard him apologise to anybody in all of my life."

On a whim, Arthur bumped his shoulder into Merlin's. "That's good, then."

They stayed silent for a while, both lost in thought as the sounds of thousands of soldiers readying themselves for battle filled the air around them.

"I'm sorry it has come to this," Merlin finally spoke up. His voice sounded haunted.

Arthur didn't feel much better, but he answered, "We did everything we reasonably could."

"It wasn't enough, though."

"This has always been our fathers' war," Arthur told him. "It is only fitting they should have a hand in ending it."

"If your father wins—" Merlin cut himself off, just as Arthur squeezed his eyes shut. There was no way they could talk about this without jeopardising the tentative bond that had just started to form between them. Arthur wasn't so sure it would survive their fathers fighting to death, either.

They remained silent again, until noon was upon them.