Merlin stood at the bottom of the Red Ravine, feeling strangely removed from the idea that in but a few moments, Balinor might be dead.

Up above, along the edges of the Ravine, a handful of dragon warriors had gathered, abandoning their positions in favour of watching their leader fight. Nobody sent them away, though Merlin knew beyond the Ravine, two armies were being put into position.

Merlin observed his father. Balinor was wearing leather armour, though he had reinforced the dragonlords' traditional fighting garb with metal vambraces and greaves. Likely, they had been taken from a knight of Camelot at some point. A well-polished, dragon-forged sword hung off his belt. He had tied the better part of his long hair back into a bun, though a few loose strands hung about his face, giving him a wild look.

He stood tall and confident in front of Kilgharrah, who had carried him into the Ravine to face Uther. The king had yet to make an appearance, though if the sounds coming from direction of Camelot's camp were anything to go by, he would arrive shortly.

As Merlin observed Balinor speaking quietly to the dragon, pieces of his own conversation with his father started swirling through his head.

I should have realised I was trying to make you into something you were never destined to become.

You always worked hard to meet my expectations and I failed to see that.

I treated you too harshly and unfairly. I am sorry.

Your mother would be proud of you.

Gods, but would Merlin really have to lose him now when they had just started to undo years of hurt and accusations? He squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden wave of emotion that swept away the sense of detachment he had felt before.

Pull yourself together, Merlin thought angrily. The time for tears has passed!

When he opened his eyes again, he glanced to his left. If Arthur was in similar turmoil than Merlin, he certainly didn't let on. His face was composed. He stood apart from Merlin and Balinor, perhaps sensing that for this duel at least, his place was back with his own father.

Merlin would lie if he said he felt sad about the possibility of Uther dying. Yet, he didn't find it in him to wish death on the man. He was still Arthur's father and Merlin had come to care about the prince. If Uther died, it would wreck Arthur, in spite of all that had happened between them, this much Merlin was sure of.

The atmosphere around him suddenly seemed to shift and Merlin looked up.

Uther had arrived at the top of the Ravine, accompanied by a handful of knights. The king was on horseback, wearing light armour: chainmail, breastplate, vambraces. Anything heavier would be too much of a disadvantage against the lighter load of Balinor's leather. As their horses made their way down the path to the bottom, Merlin took in Uther's form. He was a couple of years older than Balinor, though he looked to be fit enough, certainly not softened by overindulgence. Merlin didn't know how well the man could fight, but if Arthur took after him, he was a force to be reckoned with. Balinor himself was a respected fighter, but in recent years, he had more often than not stayed on Kilgharrah's back instead of joining the battles below and was likely out of practise.

Merlin suspected the two of them were about evenly matched, and the thought scared him.

Finally, Uther and his entourage had arrived at the bottom. Merlin saw that a couple more knights and soldiers had gathered above on Camelot's side of the Ravine, mirroring the dragon warriors. The king dismounted, then stepped away from his group. His eyes were already fixed on Balinor, and they were filled with nothing but hate. On the opposite side, Balinor straightened and abandoned Kilgharrah's side to face Uther.

In that moment, Merlin felt the inescapable pull of destiny. If Balinor won, Arthur would be king. If Arthur was king, there could be peace.

"Balinor," Uther growled.

"Uther," Balinor returned in the same, menacing tone.

"I see you brought your beast," Uther sneered. "Good." He unsheathed his blade and Merlin tensed at the sickly gleam of draconite. Kilgharrah bared his teeth and snarled dangerously.

"You will lose this fight," Balinor vowed and went for his own blade.

They went quiet and observed each other as they both fell into a fighting position. The wind carried over the faint sounds of soldiers aligning into formation, of equipment being moved into its final position.

Then Uther made the first move and Merlin's breath caught.

The first few strikes exchanged were tentative, probing the opponent's defences. Both men weren't moving as smoothly as they might have liked, but muscle memory served them well. Soon, they were trading blows in earnest, every swing of the sword made with the intent to cut, maim, kill. The sun of noon shone down mercilessly and both Uther's and Balinor's faces were soon covered in a sheen of sweat.

For the longest time, neither man appeared to have the upper hand. They were too equally matched. Uther managed to strike Balinor's left arm with the blunt side of his blade, Balinor landed a weak hit on Uther's flank protected by chainmail. The dragonlord stumbled as much as the king faltered and they frequently retreated to circle each other, catching their breath with their eyes ever-fixed on the enemy.

Merlin's heart was beating frantically in his chest. Every time it looked like one man might have finally gained some advantage, he tensed, clenching his fists or biting his lip.

Then there was a shift. Gradually at first, hardly noticeable, but Merlin saw it. Both men were getting tired, but Uther more so than Balinor. He was older, his armour was heavier, and his feet were starting to drag. Balinor managed to strike him twice, thrice in quick succession and Uther was forced to retreat again and again. A roar of anger and frustration escaped him as he jumped forward. It was a sloppy move and Balinor knew to use Uther's slip to his advantage. He side-stepped the attack, then brought his sword down and drove it harshly into Uther's ribcage. The chainmail prevented the blade from slashing his flesh, but it did nothing to shield him from the impact of the blow.

He stumbled and fell to his knees. Inelegantly but effectively, Balinor kicked at him and Uther toppled over, rolling onto his back. Balinor brought his sword down in a forceful swing, which Uther just managed to awkwardly parry lying down. But the blow loosened his grip on the hilt and the blade flew out of his hand and clattered across the red soil, lost to the king.

Merlin held his breath. This was it.

Balinor let out a triumphant shout, brought down his sword and then— he halted, the blade just inches away from Uther's exposed throat.

Merlin's eyes widened.

"Uther," Balinor exclaimed, his shoulders heaving with exertion. "Surrender. Step down from the throne. Hand Arthur the crown, and make way for peace! Agree to these terms, and you shall live."

Uther let out a strangled laugh. "You're a fool, Balinor," he hissed, then raised his voice. "Shoot the dragon! Now!"

Merlin's head snapped up. Just out of the corner of his eyes, he saw movement along the wall of the Ravine, someone hiding in a nook. Before he could wrap his mind around what was happening, before he could even think about raising his hands and drawing up dragonfyre, a draconite harpoon had already wrenched itself deeply into Kilgharrah's side.

The dragon let out a deafening roar of pain that echoed through the Ravine.

Balinor screamed with rage and slit Uther's throat. Merlin hardly spared the dying king a second look. He was running towards Kilgharrah, whose roar had quickly quieted into hoarse, pitiful whimpers.

"Brother!" Merlin cried.

He needed to take only one look to see that it was a deadly strike. The harpoon had struck Kilgharrah into his right side, close to the heart. It would only be a few moments until the draconite's poison would make its way there and take its toll.

"No," Merlin gasped. "No, Kilgharrah!"

Balinor was by the dragon's side a moment later, hands reaching for Kilgharrah's bowed head, pulling him close.

Merlin was faintly aware there were shouts and movement around them. People drawing swords, knights and warriors running and sliding into the Ravine as they cursed and shouted accusations. But he had only eyes for Kilgharrah, dying right in front of him.

They should have realised Uther had not an ounce of honour. If he could take even one dragon to the grave with him, he would do it. Never trust a Pendragon!

Finally, Merlin pulled his eyes away from the dying drake, anger stoking his dragonfyre. He would revenge Kilgharrah. He would destroy those cowards hiding away behind those rocks. He would burn them alive, gladly, along with everyone else who had ever dared to touch a dragon.

He looked up and, across a flurry of armed men crossing swords, he locked eyes with Arthur.

The prince stood motionlessly, looking utterly devastated. He had unsheathed Excalibur, but it hung uselessly by his side as he stared back at Merlin with wide eyes, his mouth slightly opened, his brow lined deeply.

The sight made Merlin stop dead, even as the fighting escalated around them.

They were back to the start. A Pendragon and a dragonlord on opposite sides, ready for revenge. Betrayal and bloodshed. Another cycle of violence begun before the first had ever really stopped.

They couldn't continue like this. They just couldn't.

Merlin would not let it come to this.

Dragonfyre was still prickling at his skin, just waiting to burst out. Merlin inhaled and, without even a word of dragontongue, let the powers at his disposal loose.

A shockwave rattled the Red Ravine. Everyone in vicinity was violently pushed to the ground or toppled over, interrupting the fighting with the sheer force behind the explosion. The earth underneath rattled. Loose rocks tumbled down the Ravine, sending clouds of red dust into the air. Only Arthur had remained untouched by the blast, protected by Excalibur. He was still staring at Merlin, his eyes now filled with fear.

"Stop!" Merlin shouted at the top of his lungs, his voice breaking half-way through. Dead silence descended, only penetrated by the faintest of mewls from Kilgharrah. "Stop," he repeated anyway, his voice hoarse. "Please, no more fighting! Please."

"Merlin." Arthur's voice was choked, but it carried in spite of it. He took a shaky step forward. "Merlin, I'm so sorry."

Merlin shook his head, fighting back tears. "I know," he said. "I know. But it's not your fault. This isn't anyone's fault but Uther's."

He looked down and beyond where Uther's body was lying in the red dirt in a pool of his own blood. He was pale and still, most certainly dead.

Kilgharrah's pained mewls reached his ears again and pierced his heart. Merlin's breath hitched, but he shook his head, willing the hurt away for a moment. He needed to find the right words. All around them, the fighters were slowly recovering from the blast, scrambling to their feet and turning to stare at Merlin. Not too long, and they would overcome their shock, raise their swords again to slaughter the enemy.

Merlin looked back at Arthur, who had taken another few steps into his direction.

"If we don't stop now, we never will," Merlin called out shakily. "Whoever will be left of our people after this battle, they will continue the senseless cycle until the kingdom of Camelot is no more. Please, Arthur. Call back your men." He turned on the spot to face his father, who was still clutching Kilgharrah. "Please, Father. I'm begging you. Tell them to stand down."

Balinor stared back at him.

"Your brother is dying," he said, his voice raw with anger and pain.

Merlin swallowed down a sob. "I know," he said. "I know, but how many more of our siblings will die today when we walk down the same path of violence and revenge?" His voice turned pleading again. "Please, Father. Enough is enough!"

Kilgharrah let out another pained mewl, then rumbled weakly, "Balinor. Listen to Merlin." Balinor looked up at him. "Think of the prophecy." Balinor immediately shook his head, closing his eyes, grimacing as if the very thought of destiny was suddenly offensive to him, but Kilgharrah pressed on. "He shall offer protection and bring about peace," he recited faintly. "Let Merlin fulfil his destiny. Let both of them fulfil it."

For a moment, Balinor didn't make a move as he stood, clutching his dying brother. His face was pain and grief and suffering. Then he opened his eyes and, with a hand still resting on Kilgharrah's head, called out, "Men! Stand down! There will be no more fighting today. Pass the word! Everyone retreats to the camp!"

Arthur's voice rang out but a second later, telling his men the same.

There was hesitation, confusion, even anger in some of the faces around them, but nobody objected. Blades were lowered and weapons were sheathed as everyone drew back. Their leaders had spoken. A couple of knights and warriors started to make their way up either side of the Ravine, to carry on the message, others made their way to fallen or injured comrades.

Arthur walked over until he came to stand at Merlin's side. He looked at Kilgharrah and swallowed.

"I'm so sorry," he said again.

Kilgharrah let out a faint rumble and closed his eyes. It wouldn't be too long now. Silently, they stood vigil as Kilgharrah took his last breaths. Balinor kept stroking his muzzle as he gently guided Kilgharrah's head to the ground. He knelt by his side, whispering words of reassurance in dragontongue until the dragon was no more.

Merlin rubbed fiercely at his wet eyes. Another sibling lost to this war. He dearly hoped it would be the last.

Though he wouldn't have expected it, Arthur's warm hand settling on his shoulders was a welcoming comfort. Merlin looked up at him, then over his shoulder where Uther's body lay.

"I'm sorry, too," he sniffed and Arthur nodded, grim-faced, though there was a tell-tale gloss in his own eyes. He was grieving as well, though the tears would likely come much later.

Balinor took another moment to say good-bye, then straightened and stood. He turned towards Arthur, whose hand slipped from Merlin's shoulder. For a moment, Balinor and Arthur only looked at each other, two faces lined with pain and regret. Then Balinor offered Arthur an arm.

"We will break up our camp and return to Ealdor," he said. "I expect your invitation for the upcoming negotiations."

Arthur grasped the offered arm firmly, fingers curling around the vambrace, and inclined his head. "You shall receive it shortly," he vowed. "I am committed to peace."

"As am I."

As soon as their arms had parted, Arthur unbuckled his sword belt with one, swift motion, once more offering up Excalibur.

"Here," he said. "Take it, please. As a sign of trust and good faith. We negotiate on equal footing."

This time, Balinor accepted the sword. "I will return it to you when the time is right." He inclined his head. "Great One."

"Lord Balinor," Arthur replied.

Balinor turned and, after a last long look for Kilgharrah's still form, he walked, off to coordinate his men's retreat.

Arthur looked at Merlin, who bowed his head respectfully. "Long live the king," he murmured.

Arthur grimaced, but nodded his acceptance.

"Sire!" Sir Leon had hastily slid into the Ravine and was fast approaching. He bowed deeply, murmuring his condolences, then said. "The council awaits you at camp."

"Yes, of course," Arthur replied and turned to follow.

Merlin caught his arm and once more sought out his eyes. "Arthur, listen. You're going to be a good king," he told him firmly. "I know you will, and I am proud to be serving you."

Arthur smiled, faintly but genuinely. "Thank you, Merlin." He moved his hand, joining their arms for a proper grasp. "I mean it. Thank you for everything, my friend, and I'll see you soon."

Merlin smiled back, proud and sad and hopeful all at once.

They parted. Merlin watched Arthur walk, then pause at his father's side. He crouched down, bowing his head for a moment as he placed a hand over Uther's face to close his eyes. He murmured some words – a prayer perhaps, or a good-bye. Then he left with Leon, while some knights moved to pick up the body and carry it away.

Merlin looked at Arthur's retreating back until a large shadow on the ground drew his attention. He looked up to see Aithusa circling the Ravine, come to pay her respects to the fallen Kilgharrah.

A white dragon was a good sign.

There would be peace at last.