Chapter 12: For the Love of Albion

I stood by Father in the center of the circle of Mother, Uncle Merlin, and the knights, gathered in the midst of the courts of all the kingdoms, as we watched three knights making their way down to the camp below us under a white flag. Father had decided to give Landin a chance to retreat and take back his threat, now that he saw the alliance gathered against him, but we weren't trusting Landin much. All three of the knights had magic and could teleport themselves out of the camp if something went wrong.

From where we stood on the top of the slope, we watched as the knights – one of Camelot, one of Nemeth, and one of Caerleon – reached the edge of Landin's camp; several of Landin's men came out and led them further into the camp.

"And now we wait," Father said, letting a hand rest on my shoulder.

I found it rather hard to believe that less than two weeks ago I hadn't known what my father's hand on my shoulder felt like.

As it turned out, we didn't have long to wait. Less than half an hour after the knights were taken into the Saxon camp, there was a massive whirlwind in front of us, and the three knights materialized out of it.

Their leader, Sir Rodney of Camelot, who had once upon a time been Uncle Merlin's first magical apprentice, stepped forward. "I'm afraid they were most resistant to our suggestion, sire," he said. "Landin insisted he would crush any paltry resistance that could oppose him. We had to disappear to save our necks."

Uncle Merlin shot Father a very superior, I-told-you-so look; he had been the one to insist we send magical knights to Landin when Father had proposed trying to parley. Father rolled his eyes at Merlin and turned to address the kings and queens gathered around us, who were shifting and muttering.

"My friends!" he called out. "We have been threatened by a man who thinks by fear and intimidation he can cause the greatest kingdoms to bow before him. But we shall not be intimidated; we shall not be bowed! He fights to conquer, to take over lands not his own. We fight for our homes, to protect our people and lands, to keep safe those we are entrusted to watch over. We have a far greater cause than Landin knows! We shall fi him tomorrow, since he leaves us no other choice. We shall fight to defend our kingdoms, our homes, our future, our honor!"

There was cheering among the royalty and their courts gathered around us, and rather to my surprise a few cries of "Long live the king!" before the group dispersed to prepare for war.

Father, though, stayed for a moment staring at the camp before us, the plain where the battle would be fought, and sighed, his hand still absentmindedly on my shoulder. I could tell he wasn't looking forward to the battle.

Mother came up and stood beside him. "I wish we didn't have to fight too," she murmured softly, "but we have a chance with you here, Arthur. I don't know if we would have had that without you leading us."

Father didn't say anything, just took her hand for comfort, but he was smiling a bit now, and I felt better, too.

There was very little sleep for anyone that night. We were preparing to attack at first light on the day our three months ran out. Father had been planning the battle strategy with the different rulers for the last several days, and everyone knew their place. We had planned that the signal to move out of camp would be the sorcerers among us flaring the torches high, and that if the Saxons surrendered before they were all dead, horns would be blown to declare the end of the fighting. King Bayard of Mercia had been the last king to join us; unrest in his land had prevented him from arriving as soon as he wished, but he had appeared the day after we set up camp on Caerleon's border with a large army. There were now eight armies preparing to take on the Saxons and their sorcerers. There was much scurrying about that night as everyone armed and prepared themselves for battle, and the healers and physicians prepared to care for the wounded.

About an hour before dawn, I sat in my family's tent, watching Father and Uncle Merlin put on their armor; Father had insisted that if Uncle Merlin was going to go into open battle by his side he needed armor. Currently, however, Uncle Merlin was helping Father into his armor, working with an effortless efficiency that amazed me. I had learned with the other squires how to help a knight into his armor, and nobody I had seen had done it as smoothly as he was.

"You're very good at this, Uncle Merlin," I said, awed.

"A decade of practice," Uncle Merlin said lightly, tugging a buckle tight.

Father chuckled. "You wouldn't be saying that if you could see the first few times he did it," he remarked. "You were absolutely hopeless at helping me back then, Merlin."

"I'd hardly ever seen anyone wearing armor, much less tried to help anyone into it," Uncle Merlin protested. "If you knew how little I actually knew about anything when I first started serving you, you might give me a bit more credit."

He had said it lightly, but I thought Father looked guilty for a moment. "How did you figure out the armor?" he asked. "I seem to remember you knowing how to help me by the time I faced Valiant."

It was Uncle Merlin's turn to chuckle. "I asked Gwen for help," he admitted, turning to put on his own chain mail. "We were friends, and she was the blacksmith's daughter. She knew everything there was to know about armor."

"Helpful," Father admitted, helping Uncle Merlin fasten on his plate metal. They both took up swords; Father thrust Excalibur firmly into his sheath. I watched them with a lump in my throat. In their mail, armed and stern-faced, they looked very much like men who could lead an army to victory, the king and the warlock; but much as I was trying not to think of it, either or both of them could die today.

Father turned suddenly to Uncle Merlin and put his hand on his shoulder, making Merlin look at him.

"I just wanted to say," he began awkwardly, then cleared his throat and added decidedly, "Merlin, you're the bravest man I've ever known."

From the way he said it, the way Uncle Merlin's eyes widened, I could tell he was referencing something in their past. Father's face was very sincere, and he shook Merlin's shoulder a bit for emphasis.

Uncle Merlin suddenly smiled, his wide, full, bright smile, nodded, and stepped back. "Thank you, Arthur," he said quietly.

Father nodded back; then he resumed his kingly face and strode from the tent. Uncle Merlin and I followed him.

All my uncles, Leon, Percival, Lancelot, Elyan, and Gwaine, waited for us there; Mother was standing by Uncle Elyan's side, the torchlight reflecting off tears in her eyes even as she faced the coming day with courage in her erect posture and firm lips. Clearly she had been saying goodbye to her brother.

Father looked around at his men, who all watched him solemnly, even Gwaine. "Whatever happens today," he told them, "I want you to know that it has been an honor for us all to be here together again. I wouldn't want to go into battle with anyone else by my side." He drew a deep breath and unsheathed Excalibur. "For the love of Camelot!" he shouted, and the knights took up the chant. "For the love of Camelot!" echoed across our camp.

I had said goodbye more or less to the knights earlier, but now I turned to Uncle Merlin, who was standing next to me. "You have to come back," I whispered.

He bent a bit to pull me into a tight hug, which I returned, and neither of us could say anything more.

Father was saying goodbye to Mother. There was a terrible solemnity hanging over this preparation for battle, because Father had died the last time the Saxons attacked, and all of us were terrified of losing someone close to us. I'm not sure Father and Mother said much of anything, just held each other close, kissed softly, and whispered their love.

Then Father came to me, even as Uncle Merlin hugged Mother goodbye. Much as he had done the first day I had ever seen him, Father swept me into his arms and pulled me close; I closed my eyes against the tears as I hugged him back. Father was saying something about loving me and being proud of me, but by this time I knew it was all true, not just because he had told me that multiple times but because it showed in the way he treated me every day, and I knew whatever happened I would cling to the memories I had of this month with him for the rest of my life. Neither of us said anything about his coming back, but we both knew he would do everything he could to return from the fighting; it would break us all if he didn't.

Dawn was coming near, and it was time for the army to move out. Camelot would lead the charge directly down the slope and into Landin's camp, accompanied by Mercia and Essetir. Caerleon would lead the charge on the Saxon's left flank, accompanied by Gawant and Cornwall, Odin's kingdom. The attack on the Saxon's thinner right flank would be led by Nemeth and supported by Deorham. Torchlight danced along the camps; chain mail clanked; horses whinnied; men braced themselves.

Messenger after messenger came up to Father and told him that their kingdom was ready, braced on the edge of the slope, prepared for battle. Gawant was ready. Mercia was ready. Caerleon was ready. Nemeth was ready. Deorham was ready. Cornwall was ready. Essetir was ready.

At the last, Uncle Leon turned to Father, standing by his side as he had stood for years at Mother's, and said quietly, "Camelot is ready, my lord."

Father drew himself erect. He squeezed my shoulder silently; took Mother's hand one last time and brushed a last hint of a kiss on her lips; looked at Uncle Merlin, who met his eyes with a quiet, steady nod.

King Arthur lifted Excalibur and pointed it forward, and Uncle Merlin set off the signal, his eyes flashing gold and making the torch in Uncle Leon's hand flare up, a brilliant beacon of flame in the still-dark sky. All along the armies, torches flared up as the sorcerers in the other armies answered the beacon. Distantly it occurred to me that this was the first time I could remember Uncle Merlin performing magic in front of a large group of people without even trying to hide the gold in his eyes.

"For the love of Albion!" Father shouted at the top of his lungs. The cry went up and down the line. "For the love of Albion!"

United as one, for that day no longer eight disparate kingdoms but a unity, fighting together for a single cause, the army of Albion poured over the edge of the slope, following King Arthur to the battle.

Mother and I stood together on the edge of the slope, her arm tightly around my shoulders, and watched the battle as best we could. The queens Mithian, Elena, and Annis stood with us. The waves of torchlight flowed down the hill as our soldiers bore them in the charge. Landin's camp must have realized what was going on, for torches were flaring throughout it. As the sky turned gray with the coming dawn, the first armies reached the Saxon camp, and the clang of hundreds of swords suddenly engaging broke the stillness of the predawn.

It became difficult to tell who was whom or what was which as the armies of Albion pressed onwards and became intermixed with each other and tangled up with the Saxons. Here and there over the battle of swords, the places where the magic users tangled with each other became clear as the sun rose overhead – fire flaring unexpectedly, tents collapsing when they clearly should not have, whirlwinds of dust or fire appearing. Now and then we could tell where a whole group of men was thrown violently on their backs when a sorcerer showed up; occasionally lightning flashed sharp from the thin sheen of clouds in the sky, and by that sign we could tell where Uncle Merlin was, as he was the only one to use it. I wished there was a way as easy as that to identify where Father was too; we could only pray he was with Uncle Merlin.

The troops who had been assigned to try dragging wounded men from the battle and tend to them became very busy as the day grew bright, and the infirmaries in camp filled with the groans and screams of the wounded. The healers and physicians were rushed off their feet. Watching the recovery groups bringing in men horribly injured, I suddenly remembered how Uncle Merlin had always insisted that war was to be avoided at all costs; remembered Father's attempt even at the last minute to solve this issue without war; remembered the story of Father requesting single combat during the long-ago conflict with Caerleon. And I understood at last. War was not something glorious or to be sought out; it was a horrible thing, and its cost was paid in lives, lives which meant as much to someone as Father's life meant to Mother and me. I closed my eyes and buried my face in Mother's dress as I had done when I was young and didn't want to face something; she wrapped her arms around me and tucked my head close against her. I could tell she was crying and hiding it.

But I couldn't keep my eyes off the battle always; I tugged my head out of Mother's dress when my fear for those I loved overcame my horror at the screams and looked back at the valley below us, the midmorning sun flashing off chain mail and swords. When I had made out the mess of confusion enough to get a sense of what was going on, I gasped, horrified. It was fairly clear that our swordsmen were more numerous and powerful and were getting the upper hand, but we had been right to fear the numbers of the Saxon's sorcerers. Where the magical fighting was going on, Landin's magic users were advancing, and in places, where we had no sorcerer to fight them, they were sweeping aside the ordinary swordsmen before them like chaff.

"Mother—" I gasped, protesting.

"I know," she whispered, her hand clenched tight on my shoulders. The price of the long persecution of magic and its nonacceptance in the armies of many of the countries we were fighting with lay demonstrated below us.

Suddenly there was a deep, fierce roar of a distant voice. I couldn't make out any of the words, but I could tell it was the tongue of the dragons.

"Uncle Merlin," I whispered, tense. "Aithusa!"

Instants later, the white dragon flapped over our heads, her wingbeats strong and steady; even in the daylight, I could see the fierce glow in her eyes. She swooped down on Landin's magic users who were advancing unimpeded and let loose great blasts of flame. I watched as they were destroyed instantly, half-eager, half-horrified, understanding now why in spite of her pleading to be permitted to help Uncle Merlin had insisted that she wait until he was sure she was needed.

In spite of Aithusa's assistance, the battle waged on. Hours passed as I stood, frozen, huddling against Mother's side like a much younger child, the cacophony of endless swords on swords and the screams of the wounded a sharp backdrop to the fierce battle. The banners of the united kingdoms pressed further and further into Saxon territory, led by the dragon banner of Camelot, yet the Saxons refused to yield. In the late afternoon it occurred to me that I had not seen lightning for some time, and I feared suddenly for Uncle Merlin, but not wanting to distress Mother, I said nothing. Day was segueing into night when at last the sharp cry of the horns rang out across the valley.

I had been drooping with weariness, but at the call of the horns I straightened up at once. From the direction of the sound, Camelot had been the first to wind the horn, but the call spread all up and down the line of warriors as the kingdoms agreed to the ceasefire and passed the news on. There were a few remaining skirmishes where some of the Saxons didn't seem to get the idea, but within half an hour of the sounding of the first horn fighting had ceased.

Silence fell over the valley, and everything seemed hushed for a long moment as the threat passed. For it was clear that we had won; our banners were deep in what had once been Saxon territory now. Mother sank to her knees, and I fell to the ground with her, worn out now that the threat had passed. Aithusa flew back, wings battered and head hanging tiredly low, and landed with a thump outside the royal tent. At least I knew she had survived, but I was still terrified whether Father, Uncle Merlin, and the knights had made it through the terrible struggle.

The armies began slowly straggling back into camp, utterly exhausted and bringing their wounded with them. The queens dispersed to meet their own men. There was an air of subdued euphoria over the whole camp; the battle had been won, but everyone was exhausted and the count of the dead was high. And there was the continuing tension of who had made it out of the battle, or who it was that lay unmoving in clumps on the valley floor.

A small group broke out of the stream of Camelot's army coming back to camp and came toward us; Mother gave a cry and ran toward them. The last dying rays of the setting sun shone on Father's gold hair as I chased swiftly after her.

My father stood in the middle of a small circle of men. Mother had thrown herself into Father's arms, not trying to hold back her tears; I nudged against them, needing to feel Father solid against me, and he wrapped an arm around my shoulders. He was dirty and disheveled, bleeding from several cuts, but he was alive. I hid my face against his side and let the reality sink in that my father had survived the battle he had been sent back to lead. He had not been sent back to save Camelot and fall fighting for her; he was still alive, and I would have my father in my life.

When that thought had at last sunk into my tired brain, I drew back and looked around for Uncle Merlin; for an instant I panicked, wondering if he was gone, before I saw him, leaning against Uncle Percival as if the big knight was all that was keeping him on his feet. His normally pale face was gray; his chainmail was cracked, and he was bleeding from an odd variety of cuts, but he, too, was alive. I quickly put my arms around him, trying to be gentle, and he embraced me back.

"I came back, Little Dragon," he whispered, his voice worn and hoarse, probably from casting spells constantly. I clung to him tightly, shaking as the emotion of the day swept over me.

Looking around from the security of Uncle Merlin's embrace, I realized that all the knights had come back. Uncle Gwaine was standing near me, leaning on his sword and teasing Father and Mother shamelessly about how attached at the hip they were; Uncle Lancelot's hair was dark with blood, but he was alive and watching us all with a tired smile on his lips; Uncle Elyan was leaning on a disheveled Uncle Leon, his dark arm bound and bloodstains running down it.

None of the group had made it out completely unscathed, but everyone I loved who had gone into that battle had lived. I slumped against Uncle Merlin and let the tears come. We had faced the Saxon invasion – the moment of Albion's greatest need that had called Father back – and we had come out intact.

We were free.

Rather late the next morning, the Original Round Table met in the royal tent over breakfast. We had all slept soundly and long the night before, recovering from the fighting and the stress, but now it was time we discussed what came next. The knights sat or lounged around the tent, their various wounds bound and bruises showing around the edges of their clothing, but chipper and bright, for we had won the battle that had been hanging over our heads for the last three months. A genuine smile was hovering continually around Uncle Merlin's lips as he sat at the table with Father and Mother, both of whom were glowing with quiet joy. I couldn't keep from smiling over and over again to myself when I remembered that the battle had been fought and we were all still here.

"The end of the battle came when we killed Landin," Father told us. "He had himself well protected, and reaching him was not easy, but when he was gone his second-in-command promptly surrendered to us. The Saxons are not gone, however, and I want to make a treaty with those of them who remain to prevent them gathering an army and attacking us periodically again hereafter."

With that the meeting became rather like most of the council meetings at home, as the group worked to get the wording of the treaty right. Sitting on several cushions, I nearly fell asleep again, soothed by the familiarity of the discussion; precise wordings of laws, treaties, or edicts were something we dealt with constantly in council meetings at home.

Father was getting to the clause where the Saxons were to agree to never invade any of our alliance again. "This is a lot of kingdoms to write out," he complained to Uncle Merlin, who had made Father do the writing of the treaty, claiming it would carry more weight if a king wrote it. "Besides, what if we gain more allies in the future? Would we have to make a new treaty to protect them?"

Uncle Merlin sat up suddenly, a gleam in his tired eyes. "Just write that the Saxons are to stay out of Albion," he suggested.

"What exactly is this Albion anyhow?" Uncle Percival asked.

Merlin glanced quickly at Father. "All the kingdoms used to be part of it," he explained softly. "Arthur was prophesied to reunite them, so we could probably define Albion as all the kingdoms under our protection."

Father looked torn between being troubled and intrigued. "Alright, then," he said. "Albion will be our term."

He added it to the document before leaning back in his chair, adding lightly, "So I'm supposed to be king of eight nations, eh, Merlin?"

Uncle Merlin looked relieved at that comment. "Don't get a bigger head than you already have over it," he scolded. "It's not that impressive."

"Says the man who always told me I would be the greatest king Camelot had ever known," Father mocked.

"Yes, well, I said Camelot, not Albion," Uncle Merlin told him.

"There was no king of Albion when you said that," Father informed him. "And as I am to be the first king to reunite it, I shall also be its greatest."

"There were kings of Albion before it splintered," Merlin shot back.

"None of them reunited it, though," Father said loftily, turning back to the treaty with the air of a man dropping an argument when he knew he was ahead.

We had the treaty ready to be signed by noon, and once again, knights who could teleport went to carry the message to the Saxon camp. Sir Rodney did not lead them this time, however; he had fallen in the battle. The knights came back on foot and safe with the news that the Saxon leaders would come to sign the treaty that night.

In the afternoon I found Uncle Merlin gently binding up Aithusa's wings and minor wounds and went over to sit by him. Despite the fact that she looked exhausted and her white skin was marred in multiple places where spells had been shot at her, Aithusa looked happier and prouder than I ever remembered seeing her.

"Yes, Aithusa," Uncle Merlin said patiently, as if this was the twenty-first time he'd said it, "you did save Arthur's life. You can consider whatever ridiculous debt you're carrying around in your head canceled now."

"Hey, Uncle Merlin," I said, coming to sit against Aithusa's warm side; clearly in a good mood, she twisted her head out of Uncle Merlin's hand to ruffle my hair with her snout.

"Amhar," he greeted me. "Don't distract my dragon! Aithusa, head back here now – I haven't finished yet."

He sounded very much like a parent, and Aithusa huffed at him like an annoyed child. It made me smile, but I had darker thoughts on my mind just now. I couldn't talk to Father or Mother about them, because they were the ones who had let me come and they would regret it if they saw how much the battle had shaken me, and I didn't regret coming, but I thought Uncle Merlin would understand.

"You were right about war," I said abruptly.

He looked at me over the spines on Aithusa's head. "About war?" he asked, not quite understanding me.

I stared at the grass around my feet. "That it's horrible and should be avoided," I whispered.

Uncle Merlin sighed, and Aithusa pressed her wing around me and tucked me against her side. For a moment there was no sound but the rasp of cloth on scales as Uncle Merlin finished cleaning a cut on her snout; then he sat down beside me, and Aithusa tucked us both under her wing.

"I wish you didn't have to see war so young," Uncle Merlin said quietly. "It's terrible to witness all the pain and suffering."

"You didn't see war till you were older, did you?" I asked softly.

He chuckled a bit. "I grew up a farm boy out in the country," he told me. "I knew bandits as a child, but never all-out fighting. Your father saw more than me, I think."

"You'll miss Rodney, won't you?" I asked him quietly; he had been the first magic user Uncle Merlin had trained after the ban on magic had lifted and had stayed a good friend. I had never really known death before, except as something that happened when one was old and had lived a good life; I had never known young men cut down in the flower of their lives, middle-aged men dying when they should have lived to see the fruit of their labors. I would miss Rodney myself; he had always been a kind man and had been the first to show all of Camelot just how possible it was for a sorcerer to be an excellent knight after Mother had dared conventions and knighted him.

"Of course," Uncle Merlin said tiredly. He leaned back against the dragon's side, looking worn, small cuts standing out starkly red on his face. "He was a good friend. But he'll be with his Lilyanna, and they'll be happy."

I knew from hints dropped in conversations of long ago that Lilyanna was the woman Rodney had loved, and that she had been killed because of the magic she had. Now I suddenly remembered the conversation on the way here about Freya, the woman Uncle Merlin had loved and lost, and noted the wistfulness in his voice when he spoke of Lilyanna and Rodney being together.

"You'll be happy here, Uncle Merlin," I protested, my voice breaking a bit; I drew closer, curling up against his side like I used to when I was a small boy.

He sat up and put his arm around me. "We'll be alright, Amhar," he said gently. "The threat is gone, and we'll heal from the battle in time; we have before."

But he didn't make any move to get up, and I began to cry softly, trying not to let the images of the wounded and dead fill my head. Uncle Merlin held me and let me cry, and Aithusa curled her wing tightly around us, holding us against her warm side in a white cocoon, and we stayed there until I felt less shaky and was ready to face the world again.

True to their word, the Saxons appeared at evening to sign the treaty. Fifteen of them showed up, accompanying their new leader, but they weren't marching in the perfect lockstep they had used when they brought the challenge. All the kings and queens of the eight kingdoms of Albion and the primary members of their courts stood in the royal tent of Camelot by the table on which the treaty to be signed. All of my beloved knights were there, of course, standing behind Mother, Father, Uncle Merlin, and me. Everyone present at the signing looked both relieved and worn; some of the Saxons even looked rather apologetic.

The signing itself was very simple. Father read the terms of the treaty aloud; then as the leader of Albion, he signed it. The Saxon's new leader stepped forward and followed his example.

"We shall refrain from attacking you again," he said formally when he had done so, as if to reinforce aloud what he had just signed his name to. Then he and his party turned and left.

The Saxon threat was over.

Father collapsed into a chair after all the other kings and queens had also retired to their camps. "Well, that was underwhelming," he remarked.

"That must be a pity," Uncle Merlin retorted. "To be called back from Avalon for an underwhelming task."

"Merlin," Father retorted, "I didn't say the whole thing was underwhelming, just the conclusion. Or maybe you thought the battle which, might I remind you, took us a whole day to win, was child's play?"

"I should hope not," Uncle Gwaine inserted lightly. "I'd hate to see what a real battle would look like in that case."

Uncle Merlin smiled, looking relieved. "The dragon told me that you would return when Albion's need was greatest," he said softly. "If this was Albion's greatest need, then perhaps now we will have peace."

"Peace would be very welcome," Father agreed. Then his brain caught up with the rest of the sentence. "Wait, which dragon told you that?"

A/N: Hopefully the battle wasn't too much of a letdown after all the buildup to it; I was at a double disadvantage in that Amhar is only watching the battle, not in it, and that I've never really written an action scene like that before. But the Saxon threat is finally resolved!

Next chapter on Monday - "The Lady of the Lake."