Author's note:

Arthur is planning something stupid in this chapter.

I'm beginning to miss Merlin so I can tell you right now that he will return in the next chapter as I switch back to using his point of view. I'll be working on that this week.

Don't hesitate to send your reviews!

Thanks

MERLIN: DAWN OF THE DRAGONLORD

Chapter 17

In the end of the afternoon, Arthur, Gwaine and Lancelot were walking steadily towards the inn where they had left their horses. There was a very enjoyable breeze which made the walk uphill less of an effort.

"How long do you think the king will last?" Lancelot said in an attempt to stimulate the conversation. The prince had been strangely quiet ever since the news that the king's illness had gone from bad to worse.

"Merlin said that he may not last the night," replied Gwaine, "which is a good thing, I hear. It will put an end to his long suffering. Not to mention the fact that Lord Brunor is ready to rule."

"You don't think that the king will name Merlin?" asked Lancelot innocently.

Arthur couldn't help snorting. "Merlin is many things, as it turns out: a sorcerer, a Dragonlord, a physician, an annoying servant. But he's not a knight and certainly not a king."

"You've got to admit that he makes one exceptional noble," replied Gwaine obstinately.

"Yes, but he's too naïve and that will only get him killed," said Arthur sternly.

"What does that make you, I wonder?"

"Gwaine!" let out Lancelot indignantly.

"No, he's right," uttered Arthur under his breath.

The other two fell silent. Arthur was glad for his knight's respect of his need to think. He wasn't sure of what he was doing or how he was going to do it. It was strange for him to be thinking of magic and curses when such things were forbidden in Camelot. His father would be furious. His friendship to a sorcerer alone was enough to be called treason. Would Uther order the death of his own son if he ever found out about Merlin? Arthur was trying hard not to think about it. It was the kind of action that could bring about the end of Camelot. He wasn't going to be the cause of that; then again, his father might not leave him a choice.

Either way, at dawn, he was going to walk down a dangerous path.

"Hurry up! We have to get back before dark," he called to the others while picking up the pace.

"Forget it!" yelled Gwaine in reply. "I'm not going back until I have had a pint."

The prince did not even object to the idea. His main concern was to appear to be doing something else than what he actually had in mind to do.

"CURSE YOU!"

He had been so absorbed by his own thoughts that he had barely spotted the old man lurking behind the trees before the yell broke the silence.

"Curse you Pendragon!" bellowed the old man again.

His hair was white, his clothes worn, his back bent and his eyes wild with rage. He was not a man to be feared by Arthur's standards, but still Gwaine and Lancelot drew out their swords as a precaution, mostly because the old man looked out of his mind.

"Let him speak!" said the prince.

The old man took a step forward.

"The Dragonlords have betrayed the deep magic," he said, his voice shaking. "They are the reason why the dragons are no more and I tremble for the race of men."

"They were the ones who were betrayed…" Arthur began to say.

"Yes! Men betrayed by lesser men. The Dragonlords were supposed to be something more. Now they are the reasons why the dragons are gone forever and why the valley is cursed. The evil that lives in the Black Lake will swallow us all. Not even Lord Balinor's brat can change…"

He did not finish his sentence. At the word brat, Arthur had pulled out his sword without thinking and without any effort. With one hand he pushed the old man hard against the tree; with the other he aimed the tip of his blade at the man's throat.

"Very poor choice of words," uttered Gwaine with a grin.

"Peace, Sire!" cried out Lancelot, pressing a hand on Arthur's forearm.

He couldn't help but glare at the old man. Galahad had told him that the villagers were afraid of Merlin, but to hold him responsible for the curse was taking it a grade too far.

"Arthur, he's just a useless old man," said Lancelot softly.

It took the prince a few more seconds before releasing the old fool. As he was putting his sword back I its sheath, the old man cried out, "That sorcerer of the old religion will be our doom. The valley does not want him. Why don't you bring him back with you?"

And then the old man took off at a run and disappeared behind the trees.

After that encounter, Arthur did not utter and word and resumed his course towards the inn. The old man's hatred of magic seemed reminiscent of the aura of fear and loathing that was growing in Camelot and especially in the king's court ever since Morgana's betrayal. But what could he do to change the minds of so many people? Even with Merlin at his side, he was still just a man. The Pendragons had lost the sacred gift of the Dragonlords. How else was he going to prove that magic wasn't altogether evil? How could he possibly make others see when he, the king's son, had just begun to accept it? He couldn't very well ask Merlin to conjure pretty butterflies in the king's Hall just to prove his point now could he? No, he thought wearily, he would be executed on the spot, and I cannot accept that. I will not stand by and watch Merlin die. Not now, and not ever. I would rather die.

He noticed that they had arrived at the inn only when he almost tripped on one of the white stones that were placed in circle around the main house.

Gwaine led the way inside and found a comfortable table. It was almost sundown and there were only a few customers at the inn. They ordered some mead and inquired about their horses. At length, Gwaine could no longer keep his comments to himself.

"What about that old man, huh? I reckon he was barking mad. As if Merlin could be evil or even dangerous. I always thought that it would be a good thing to have a sorcerer around. I hate the way they're all looking at him and whispering behind his back, but it would probably be the same in Camelot if everyone knew, or worse. If it was me and I had magic, I'd chase them all out with lightening. But Merlin would never do that, and that's why he's Merlin. We should be glad he's the one with magic. He's putting his life in danger every night for these people and still they would cast him out if it wasn't for Galahad and the other knights. I hate this place. I think we should go home. Even the mead stinks."

Gwaine wasn't even bothering to keep his voice down. Arthur saw several of the villagers at the inn glare at them.

"When are we going home, by the way?" continued Gwaine with the same nonchalance. "Do you reckon everyone still thinks you're with Lady Vivian?"

Arthur thought that the comment did not even merit an answer. He was watching the sun go down through the window. It was just over the hills now. Soon it would be dark and time to do what he was meant to. At last, he was going to repay Merlin for everything that he had done for Camelot and for him.

"You haven't spoken to him yet."

Arthur leaned back on his chair, crossing his arms on his chest. Lancelot was looking at him with piercing eyes and the prince felt as though he was being scolded.

"Yes, I have!"

"The night when he almost died and was completely out of it with fever doesn't count."

"I have spoken to him. We fought and I said… things."

Gwaine was shaking his head in disapproval; and so was Lancelot.

"The fighting doesn't count either," said the younger knight.

"All right!" said Arthur, throwing his arms up. "I said… Merlin. That pretty much covers it."

He knew that the two knights were right of course. There just had not been that many opportunities. Merlin always seemed so busy. Not that it should bother him of course; he was Prince Arthur after all. But there was still the matter of what he was going to say. He had already made up his mind that he wasn't going to apologize…

"Well, we can't wait around forever waiting for you to make amends," said Gwaine pointedly.

"Who says that I need to make amends? I haven't done anything wrong," snapped back Arthur, annoyed that they were back on that topic.

Lancelot and Gwaine exchanged a meaningful glance.

"You called him a traitor," said Gwaine. "You said you didn't need him, that you were going to kill him…"

"What if I did? You forget that he lied to me for years and right under my nose!" cried out Arthur.

"If you had said those things to me I would have run you through," pointed out Gwaine. "And make no mistake on the fact that Merlin can take you."

Arthur was rubbing his temples now. For eight months, he had had this argument with himself or with others. Now that it came down to it, he still could not find the right words to say. Why couldn't it be as easy as punching him on the shoulder? That had worked before, had it not?

"But what about this valley?" murmured Lancelot. "We can't just leave all those people to their suffering. I've seen the despair in their eyes. They are scared, and not only of Merlin. They will not survive long like this."

Gwaine threw his fist down on the table which made everyone in the inn jump. "What about me? I'm scared! Forget the heart to heart talk! How about we just grab Merlin and leave? It would be for his own good. You both can see how pale and tired he looks. There's something evil about that lake and it's affecting him somehow."

Lancelot looked insulted. "We can't just snatch him against his will, Gwaine!"

"You weren't there! You haven't seen that evil up close. It was a nightmare!" snapped back the knight. "It's not a coincidence that a few drops of water from that lake made him sick. But you spoke to Galahad so you know that the water touches everything in the valley: the trees and the plants, the cattle, the food, even that blasted mead. How long do you think Merlin will last if he can't touch any of that? This place is like poison. Let's just get him and go!"

"We'll do nothing of the sort," said Arthur commandingly.

Lancelot leaned in closer conspiringly. "Am I correct to assume that we're going to fight whatever evil is in that lake by ourselves, Sire?"

Arthur couldn't help but grin. He should have known that Lancelot would see right through him.

"What makes you say that?"

"Firstly, you make us climb all the way up here near sundown when you know that there is a curfew. Secondly, you tell Galahad that we are going to spend the night at the inn. And thirdly, you bring to this so-called pleasurable walk your chain mail and two swords."

"Two?" asked Gwaine out of the blue.

As a reply, Arthur brought out the long bag that he had been carrying on his back. He placed it on the table and unfolded the cloth to reveal Merlin's short silver and gold blade. As he held the weapon in his hands, Arthur took a second to appreciate the craftsmanship behind it. It was exceptionally light, which was enough to explain why Merlin seemed so skilled. It suited him in terms of weight and length, it made him faster than an average fighter, and he could use magic to make his blows stronger. There were also inscriptions in fine gold on each side of the blade. Galahad had translated them as "Day becomes Night" on one side and "Night becomes Day" on the other.

"That's Merlin's sword," whispered Lancelot, slightly taken aback. "How did you get it?"

"He asked Galahad to take it to his chambers," replied Arthur matter-of-factly. "Apparently, the king doesn't like the sight of it. So I told Galahad that I would take it on account of his bad leg."

"Are you mad?" Gwaine burst out. "We don't have magic. We don't have an army. We don't have anything."

Arthur tried to recall the way of thinking that had led him to take the sword.

"This is the weapon that was placed on the wall and that none could remove. Now if it was me and I had placed a curse on my kingdom, my family and all that I hold dear, I would have left a key behind, a way to unlock the curse."

"And you think that the sword may be it?" said Lancelot.

They both looked at Gwaine for his input but he was merely shrugging.

"I never understood much about magic," he uttered uneasily.

"But did you see Melrin use the sword against those flying creatures?" asked Arthur.

Gwaine allowed himself a few moments to think back. It seemed as though a shadow was passing in front of his closed eyes.

"No, he only used magic," he said finally. "But have you thought that if Merlin was the one who removed the sword, he should be the one…"

"No! I will not accept that! I will not let him risk his life again. Not for me!"

The prince had spoken so forcefully and with such fervor that the two knights did not dare argue.

"I suppose that it could work," said Lancelot after a while. He was glancing intensely at Merlin's sword. "Why not? The Pendragons used to be Dragonlords, after all."

"Just don't tell my father," replied Arthur with a grin.

"Well," said Gwaine, raising from his seat and throwing a few gold pieces on the table. "That was without doubt the worse mead I have ever had. I'm just really disappointed that it's going to be the last. I'm not looking forward to seeing these daemons again either, but I sure as Hell am not staying in this dreadful inn a moment longer. Shall we?"

Arthur kept Merlin's sword in his right hand as they walked out of the inn. He did not care that the villagers were whispering behind their back. His mind was set. He was going to break this curse tonight, or he would not be returning home. He owed a debt of honor to Merlin for saving his life countless times, and this was his way of repaying him. Not apology. No heart to heart talk. His actions, he hoped, would speak for themselves.

He did not see, at the other end of the road, on the highest tower, Merlin looking out in the direction of the inn and hoping that Arthur was in fact not doing anything stupid.