"Uncle Gwaine!" Aithusa screeches. She half-runs, half-tumbles down the slight hill of the training field.
Percival follows merrily after the little girl, snarling and pounding his feet as he stomps along behind her. He lets out an exaggerated roar, eliciting excited and slightly hysterical giggles from the child.
"Help!" Aithusa calls. "Help, help! The bear-monster's going to get me!"
"Get thee behind me, fair maiden!" Gwaine calls, throwing his sword to the ground and running to meet her. "I will save you!"
Aithusa shoots past Gwaine, threatening to trip over the muddied hem of her favorite rose-pink dress. Lancelot, from where he stands still in a readied position from sparring with Gwaine, quickly drops his own weapon. He acts with now practiced ease as he swoops down and lifts her into his arms. She laughs and extends her own arms in the air. Lancelot lifts her little body above his head, then turns around so she can see the oncoming threat.
Gwaine throws a too-wide and terribly slow "punch" at Percival. Percival stumbles back, face contorted in comically exaggerated agony. Having won a blow on the beast, the roguish knight turns to bow at the little girl.
But he is so consumed in paying his respects to Aithusa that he completely ignores her screamed warnings. He finds himself blindsided when the Percival-beast picks him up bodily hefts Gwaine over his shoulder, one arm locked around Gwaine's arm and the other around his leg. He stoops and lowers Gwaine until the roguish knight hovers about a foot off the ground, then drops him entirely. Gwaine groans grotesquely and Percival steps over him to continue his pursuit of Aithusa and Lancelot.
"Oh, help, help!" Aithusa cries, kicking her feet in the air.
"I'll save you!" Elyan declares, hefting his quarterstaff and abandoning his own match with Leon. He moves in a slow jab in toward Percival's stomach, but the larger night grabs the stick and pulls Elyan in for a full bear hug before wrestling the knight to the ground.
Aithusa shrieks with laughter. As Lancelot jogs in a wide arc away from Percival, Aithusa spots familiar mops of black and blond hair approaching the training field, and she is immediately distracted. She wiggles, then thrashes against Lancelot's hold to break free.
Merlin and Arthur are deep in a conversation as they approach, both stone-faced. Arthur wears his mail without his armor, ready to participate in some light training once again after more than a fortnight of forgoing it in favor of meeting with his newest advisor.
Merlin wears his new clothes, still looking somewhat uncomfortable in his finery, no matter how plain the robes. Gwen had a few weeks ago arranged for an entirely new wardrobe for him, ignoring his every protest and whine.
Only Aithusa and Gwen were strong proponents of the new wardrobe; the former because her father now had a neckerchief to match her every dress, and the latter because she felt her friend deserving of it. Arthur found he didn't really care so long as his advisor was presentable, most of the knights either shared his view or lapsed into apathy, and Merlin simply complained when he could to cover his abashment at the special attention.
Today, Merlin wears a plain white tunic, black trousers, and a dusky pink neckerchief embroidered with white dragons, which perfectly matches Aithusa's dress. The little girl had cooed over it all morning, and had worn the neckerchief as a headscarf until her father left her in the care of the queen in order to meet with the king earlier in the day. When Merlin and the little human dragon parted, Aithusa had wrapped the scarf around her father's neck again and tied it again with clumsy fingers. The whole affair had made Gwen coo, Merlin smile, and Arthur roll his eyes.
"Papa!" Aithusa calls, wriggling with even more energy. Lancelot lets her down to allow her to race across the grass. "Uncle Arthur!"
Merlin breaks into a jog, a wide smile on his face. He meets Aithusa just near the shield rack and lifts her into the air, swinging her around in circles. Aithusa's laugh turns into shrieks interrupted by bubbling, hiccuping giggles.
"You need to save me from the bear, Papa!" Aithusa demands, wriggling in his grasp as he slows down. Merlin turns around to see Percival approaching with the same lumbering gait, arms splayed wide and mouth open to roar again.
"Oh no!" Merlin exclaims, picking up Aithusa. "How can we ever stop such a fearsome bear?"
Percival does a very convincing impression of a bear with a cold.
"I think Princess Little Dragon needs to roar right back at him," Arthur suggests seriously. "I bet it would stop him in his tracks."
"Yeah, give us a roar, Little Dragon!" Merlin tells her, placing her on his him.
Aithusa turns to Percival and tries to roar, but it turns into another burst of giggles halfway through. Arthur and Merlin encourage her to try again, and so she does, raising her little hands into claws and yelling from her little chest at the knight.
Percival clutches at his chest, then drops to the ground.
"Oh, my," Percival gasps. "She has frightened me… to… death!"
He slumps over, sticking his tongue out.
"Oh no, oh no!" Aithusa yells, and she struggles to break free of Merlin's grasp once again. Merlin lets her go and watches as she runs over to Percival. She pokes his cheek once, then twice.
"I think he's dead," Aithusa pronounces solemnly.
Percival squints open one eye to look at her. Then, without warning, he lunges forward and nips at her fingers. Aithusa screams, then keels over with laughter. Percival grins at her, picks her up, and puts her on his shoulders. They go trotting around the training field, watching some of the other knights as they begin to spar again.
"You wanted to hear her roar?" Merlin asks, sidling closer to Arthur as Aithusa and Percival walk away.
Arthur gives him a shrug. "I thought it might sound… dragon-ish."
"And?"
"Oh, fearsome."
Merlin chuckles. Then, he sobers slightly and asks, "Any news?"
"It will be some time yet before he replies, I'd wager," Arthur replies in a low voice.
"The longer we wait–"
"He knows where our interests lie. He wouldn't do anything rash at this point, not when he could earn some gold or leverage out of it."
Merlin glowers. "He might consider acting rashly as a favor to you."
"Merlin–"
"The stories I have heard of that man… exceed evil," Merlin says, studying the knights.
"I was very clear in my missive," Arthur reminds him. "You helped me write it. I understand that you're worried–"
"It's my job to worry, sire," Merlin replies evenly.
Arthur sighs. "It worries me the degree to which you believe that to be true."
"None of us can choose our destinies, Arthur," Merlin replies, and the king truly cannot tell if his advisor is serious or joking.
"You feel badly about it," Arthur guesses.
Merlin shifts on his feet. "Of course."
"It's not–"
"I can't go over this again, Arthur," Merlin says, his voice tired and strained. "It may not be my fault, but it does not absolve me of my guilt. Or my worry."
"At least Aithusa got away," Arthur comments watching the little girl as she cheers on both Gwaine and Lancelot in their sparring. "Finally, something we can thank Kilgharrah for."
Merlin shudders. "I'd rather not think of the alternative."
They watch for a moment as Aithusa scrambles off of Percival's shoulders and runs to the edge of the field. She picks up a stick, carries it back with her, and begins whacking Leon's legs with it. He stops what he's doing and dips into a crouch in front of her, showing her the proper handhold and foot positioning in order to hit him properly.
"A dragon who can fight with a sword," Arthur murmurs. "Interesting."
"She's barely a dragon," Merlin replies. "And can barely fight with a stick."
"Well, we know where she gets it from, then," Arthur tells him.
Merlin shoves at his shoulder.
"Right," Arthur says. "I think it's time we talked about this with the rest of the Round Table. Put some of your worries at ease."
Merlin makes a face, then nods. "I'll send out the word."
"We have servants and messengers for that, Merlin. I'll take care of it," Arthur says, clapping the younger man on his shoulder. "In the meantime, though, we're going to distract you."
"How?" Merlin complains, looking around the field. "Watching grass grow?"
"You're training with me today," Arthur announces happily, a little louder than necessary.
Several pairs of eyes turn to look at them. Merlin frowns at the king and crosses his arms.
"I'm sorry? Didn't you just say I'm no good with weapons?"
"Actually, I said you're so hopeless that even Aithusa could beat you armed with a stick."
"You didn't say that."
"Well, I meant to."
"Shove off, Arthur," Merlin complains. "You should know by now that training with me doesn't hone your skills at all. It's a waste of time. I'm just your training dummy."
"Ah," Arthur says, smiling. "With weapons, yes. But we've never trained with steel against your magic."
Merlin freezes. It feels as if the air in the world has been sucked away. He cannot breathe, and a great pressure has appeared on his chest. He watches as Arthur's smug look dissipates into one of incredulity, and then concern as Merlin still does not reply. Arthur grasps one of Merlin's shoulders and squeezes, waiting until the warlock's eyes find his own.
"It will be okay," Arthur says in a low voice. "You can use your magic. You're safe."
"I'm not–it's not meant–my magic is meant to serve you, Arthur. Not attack you," Merlin says, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
"It's a spar, Merlin," Arthur says. "You're not supposed to hurt me. You pull your punches."
"I'm not sure how to do that," Merlin tells him honestly.
"What?" Leon asks, drifting closer.
Merlin gives him a shrug. "The magic I've done so far has been either for fun or life-and-death. I've never sparred."
"So you don't know what you can do?" Gwaine asks.
"Well, I have an idea," Merlin responds, only somewhat defensive. "But it's not like I had much opportunity to practice. I just do what I need to do most of the time."
"You're a sorcerer who doesn't practice magic," Elyan repeats, voice a little flat.
"Warlock," Merlin corrects. "And until now, yes, that's largely been the case."
"Well, let's put it to the test," Arthur says. "How about this: we'll make it a test of creative defense. Stop us from getting to you, but don't attack. Can you do that?"
Merlin looks at him much like a wounded puppy commanded to do a trick. The king raises an eyebrow at him. The warlock stands there for a moment longer as if hoping his continued silence could absolve him of acquiescing to the king's request. But after a few moments standing there, Merlin decides that there's little use in waiting. He throws his hands in the air and walks to the center of the field where he stands with arms crossed.
"Fine," Merlin calls. "Come at me."
"Lancelot," Arthur calls. "You're up first. Try to land a blow on Merlin."
"Papa is going to fight?" Aithusa calls, her voice small and tremulous.
"Your papa," Lancelot answers before Merlin can, "is going to show us how strong and smart he is. Wouldn't you like that, Princess Little Dragon?"
Aithusa squints at Lancelot, then Arthur, then turns her gaze on Merlin.
"Wait," she commands.
Lancelot and Merlin dutifully wait. They watch as Aithusa dashes in sloppy circles around the training field. Finally, she spots what she wants and reaches down into the grass. With a large smile on her face, she runs back to her father and holds up her arm. A small white daisy is held in her fingers, which she offers to Merlin.
"My favor," she tells him.
Merlin gives her a grin and takes the flower. He tucks it behind his ear and swivels his head so she can get a good look at it.
"Fight bravely, Papa," Aithusa tells him. "Win."
Merlin's smile grows. He sweeps into a deep bow, then lifts his head and gives Aithusa a wink.
"But of course, my princess."
Aithusa gives him a sure nod and runs, tripping several times and nearly face-planting at least twice, back to Arthur. He swings her onto his hip and gives Merlin a slightly-encouraging, slightly-sadistic grin.
"Begin," Arthur barks.
Lancelot gives Merlin a wary look. Merlin looks back. But instead of tensing as if readying for a fight, Merlin seems to relax. His shoulders even out and become more square. His hands hang loose by his sides. His feet stay planting on the ground, shoulder-width apart.
The knight raises his sword. Then, he charges forward.
Merlin's eyes glow gold. Without even whispering an incantation, his magic pours from him with ease. He watches with satisfaction as the ground beneath Lancelot becomes first slick, then treacherously muddy. Lance slips and splats onto the ground. He gives Merlin an exhausted look, which is returned with a mischievous grin.
Lancelot gets up and picks a path to the edge of the mud pit. He swipes at his armor, readjusts his grip on his sword, and moves forward again.
A vine shoots up from the ground and wraps itself around Lancelot's ankle. The knight stumbles again, but manages to keep himself upright. He slashes at the vine and frees himself, but cannot manage another step before a second vine wraps itself around both ankles. Again, he attempts to free himself with his blade, but manages to cut only one away before the vines grow and wrap around his legs, then arms, then his entire torso.
Lancelot looks up at Merlin and gives him a smile.
"I concede."
"Percival, you're next," Arthur calls.
Merlin waves a hand and the vines recede back into the ground. Lancelot goes to the sidelines and begins trying to wipe the mud off his armor.
Percival takes off at a run. Halfway to Merlin, however, his foot doesn't manage to find purchase on the ground. The knight gasps then looks down, expecting to see a hole where before there had been solid ground. But instead, he finds the ground a little further away than it normally is.
He blinks, then looks up at Merlin, only to find the warlock grinning at him.
"Want to get down?" Merlin asks.
Percival squints at him, then back at the ground now a full foot below the soles of his boots. Then with a speed that should be impossible given his size, the large knight throws his sword at Merlin, hoping to get a blow on the warlock in that manner.
Merlin's eyes glow gold and Percival drops back to the ground just as the dulled sword flashes white. Everyone watching blinks away the phosphenes in their eyes and watches as dust falls into the grass where just moments before there had been a sword.
"I concede," Percival says. "Impressive, Merlin."
The warlock shrugs.
"Gwaine," Arthur says. "Your turn."
Gwaine flicks his hair out of his face and raises his sword.
"Take it easy on me, mate," Gwaine calls.
Merlin just shrugs again.
Gwaine, instead of charging forward, begins circling Merlin carefully. The warlock watches as the knight paces.
"Oh my gods!" Gwaine shouts, pointing behind Merlin. His face is a mask of horror and panic.
Merlin spins around, searching the castle walls and training field and even the sky for a threat. He only sees the knights' laughing faces.
Feet pound across the grass behind him, and Merlin spins just in time to dodge a blow from Gwaine. A laugh erupts from the warlock's chest, and his eyes glow gold again. A breeze picks up around them, which turns into a wind, which then transforms into a gale the likes of which Camelot has only seen in the worst of storms. It knocks Gwaine to the ground, and Merlin grins again, his eyes fading back to blue as the wind dies.
Then he hears Gwaine groaning on the ground, and sees the knight holding his arm. Merlin's face drops.
"Gwaine?" the warlock asks, worry and guilt dripping from the word.
He dashes forward and crouches next to the knight. He leans forward, intending to check for any injury Gwaine may have sustained, and leans directly onto the dulled point of a practice sword.
Gwaine's pained expression morphs into a smug grin.
"I believe that's my point," Gwaine tells him.
"You sneak!" Merlin exclaims, laughing. He falls back into a seated position on the grass and shoves Gwaine's blade away. "I can't believe you."
"It worked, though, didn't it?" Gwaine replies with a wink.
Clapping from the sidelines distracts both of them. They look over to see Aithusa, Arthur, and the rest of the knights applauding them both.
"Very well done, Gwaine," Arthur says. "What you lack in honor you make up for with a victory."
Gwaine shoots him a devilish smile. "And which of those really counts in the end, princess?"
"I'm the princess!" Aithusa calls, bestowing her honorary uncle with a pout.
"You are correct, Princess Little Dragon," Gwaine says, dragging himself onto one knee. He dips his head deferently toward Aithusa. "My deepest apologies, my lady."
Aithusa gives him a nod and a hm, which makes Arthur and Merlin both smile. Gwaine climbs to his feet, then turns to offer a hand to Merlin. The warlock takes it gratefully and allows himself to be pulled up.
"I believe this is mine," Gwaine tells him. He plucks the daisy from behind Merlin's ear and places it in his own hair.
"Suits you better," Merlin replies.
"Of course it does," Gwaine tells him.
"So," Arthur says, addressing the knights at large and distracting from Gwaine and Merlin's conversation, "what can we learn from this, men?"
"That Merls is too soft-hearted for this world," Gwaine answers easily.
Merlin rolls his eyes. "Not the lesson to take away, Gwaine."
"Swiftness and strength didn't help Percival or Lancelot too much," Elyan observes. "Merlin stopped them without even trying."
"And what made Gwaine successful where they were not?" Arthur asks.
"A willingness to fight dirty?" Leon answers.
Gwaine and Merlin furrow their brows at this response.
"Not quite," Arthur says. "Though that certainly helps."
The knights are quiet for a moment.
"He knew my weakness," Merlin offers. "He knew that if I thought he was injured, I'd go to check on him. Let my guard down."
"Right," Arthur says, sounding almost pleased. "So, men, what can we learn about fighting other magic users from this exercise with Merlin?"
"That sorcerers are people," Percival replies, "and have all the same weaknesses we do. Rather than in armor or technique, however, it's in character."
Arthur nods. "Exactly right, Perce."
"What about fighting with magic?" Merlin asks.
Arthur and the rest of the knights regard him with interest. They're quiet for just a second before Arthur bends to put Aithusa on the ground. He ignores the resulting pout.
"Five on two, then," Arthur says, drawing his sword. "You and me, Merlin, against Leon, Percival, Elyan, and Gwaine."
Merlin raises an eyebrow at the king. He only receives a mirrored expression in response. So Merlin shrugs again and says, "Fine. But it doesn't really seem a fair fight."
"No?" Arthur asks. "You can't take on two knights?"
"Oh, you misunderstand me, sire," Merlin says, grinning. "I think the two of us would need about fifty more knights to fight in order to make it fair."
"That sounds like a challenge, Merlin," Gwaine says.
"I think it was a challenge, Gwaine," Lancelot replies with a grin. "Did it sound like a challenge to you, Percival?"
"It certainly did," Percival answers.
"Wonderful," Arthur says.
They spend the remainder of the morning tearing up the training field, sparring with as much fervor as they had ever displayed outside of battle. Aithusa alternately cheered and booed from the sidelines, and by the time the training session ended, the knights had abated in their sparring in favor of playing an intense sparring game of Capture the Little Dragon with Merlin playing against the rest of the knights.
At the end of training, Arthur walks up to Merlin, panting and smiling.
"Feeling better?" Arthur asks.
"Weirdly, yes," Merlin replies.
Arthur laughs and claps the warlock on the back. "Watch out, Merlin. Soon you're going to be acting like a knight. Who knows: given enough time, you may even enjoy hunting."
"Please," Merlin says, fighting hard to get in control of his breathing again after so much running, "I'm not thick enough to be a knight. No matter how much fun I find training now that I'm not the punching bag."
Another laugh bubbles up from Arthur.
"Go get cleaned up," Arthur commands, "and have lunch. I believe Gwen is expecting to eat with you two today. And then come to the small council chambers so we can present what has happened to the Round Table."
Merlin blows out a sigh and gives his king a nod. At that moment, Aithusa chooses to wander up, looking at Merlin with large, pleading eyes.
"Food?" she asks.
"Food and a nap for you, little one," Merlin replies.
Aithusa crosses her arms and stamps her foot. "No nap."
"Nap," Merlin insists, bending down to pick her up.
"But I'm not tired," Aithusa whines. Even as she says so, however, a little finger reaches into her hair to twirl a curl. Merlin and even the king and his knights know well enough by now that the hair-twirling is a sure sign of imminent sleep for the little girl.
"Uh-huh," Merlin says, arranging her on his hip.
"I'm not," Aithusa replies.
"How about this, Princess Little Dragon," Arthur says. "If you're good and take a nap after lunch for your papa, Auntie Gwen and I will take you to the markets tomorrow. We'll buy you a lovely toy."
"Will you take me to my friends?" Aithusa asks.
Merlin smiles. After a while, Aithusa had of course come across a coterie of noble children, but found most of them to be intolerable. Merlin had said fondly and in trusted company afterward that she took after him in that manner. The one exception to that rule, however, was the son of a minor lord, a child nominally a year her senior named Dagonet.
Ever since their first meeting, Dagonet and Aithusa had become inseparable. They playing in puddles together, took lessons together, coerced sweetmeats and toys from nobles together. And once, about a fortnight ago, in the process of completing some chore or errand for Gaius, Merlin and Lancelot had toted the pair to the lower town.
While there, Aithusa and Dagonet had encountered a few children around their age and the group of them played for hours while Merlin had occupied himself negotiating with the blacksmith over the prices of various copper bowls and iron cauldrons, or with visiting a nearby citizen who had something health-related to complain to the physician's apprentice about. Lancelot had helped keep an eye on the children in the meantime, and had reported later that the group got along famously. In fact, according to the noble knight, by the end of the trip the group of eight had become thicker than thieves and just as mischievous.
"Of course, we can visit your friends," Arthur tells her. "We'll even take Dagonet with us, and buy every child you can find a toy from the toymaker. Sounds good?"
"Yes," Aithusa tells him sweetly. She holds out her hand. "But you have-ta shake on it."
Arthur gives her a perfunctory shake. Merlin shakes his head.
"You're a menace," the warlock says wonderingly. "Did you just manage to get a bribe from the king for a nap you'll take anyway?"
"Yes," Aithusa replies, incredibly satisfied with herself.
Both Arthur and Merlin laugh uproariously.
"Incredible," Merlin says. "I think we need to get you to play cards with Gwaine."
"That's how I got my dolly and hairbrush!" Aithusa crows excitedly.
Merlin bends over laughing, tears springing to the corners of his eyes, and Arthur finds himself clutching at his own stomach and unable to stop the convulsions of laughter escaping him.
"Okay, okay," Arthur says, rubbing at his face. "You two need to get going. I expect you both in two hours."
"Of course, sire," Merlin says, just as Aithusa chirps, "Okay!"
Merlin takes Aithusa back to their shared chambers. Gwen is already waiting for them there, along with a sturdy lunch of mutton, potatoes, and summer vegetables. Between the two of them they manage to convince Aithusa to eat some, submit to a brief scrub with a damp washing cloth, and get into bed. They sit together for a while after, talking about the latest reports from the outer villages and the predictions for the upcoming harvest.
Then, all too soon, their allotted two hours are up. Merlin gently wakes Aithusa and walks with Gwen toward the chambers that house the small council.
The time has finally come to discuss Morgana.