Part II:
The People Knows It

Little can rattle the inhabitants of Camelot anymore. They've had their fair share of sorcerers both good and bad, of magical creatures of all shapes and sizes, of rampant kings, angry druids, peaceful druids, stuck-up princes and wrestling with wyverns.

Over the years, they have seen the initially arrogant, selfish and overall unpleasant prince turn into a strong warrior, a man firm in his belief of his people's worth and a just regent. When he finally becomes King, cheers echoes through the streets.

Lately though, the streets have been tense and silent. The King might not be aware of just how far and deep he affects his city. When his mood drops it's like a dark sheet abruptly falls over the city, chokingly.

"One of their tiffs, huh?" asks Gregory the guard when exchanging shifts with another. The other man nods. "Yeah. I could hear them yelling and jabbering like old wives."

Gregory sighs. Last time had been awful. The King had walked about constantly frowning and/or pouting, complaining about his unwashed clothes, cold food, rusty armour, suddenly off-balance sword and the dusty chambers he could swear hadn't been properly scrubbed in at least a week. And about his idiot manservant this and his idiot manservant that, and his idiot manservant most of all.

After a while, people had learned to simply tune out though goblets had been thrown and tantrums echoed down the halls. And since the King is very … adamant … he also had sternly refused to apologize for whatever had happened.

Rumours still ran wild about exactly that argument had been about. Some say the King had been overly insensitive in regards of his manservant's feelings. Others say he'd broken his manservant's toes and almost pushed him down a stair (by mistake, or maybe when they were trying to get at it and one of them stumbled, but opinions divides here). Another, even more incredulous in Gregory's opinion, rumour says that the manservant had found the King going it at with some maidservant and it'd broken his poor heart, but Gregory has been around for awhile. He can discern false rumours from the truth: and beneath that harsh shell, King Arthur is a good and faithful man, and one has to be blind not to notice the looks he sends across the council hall.

Anyway, he's just a citadel guard; his opinion matters little in the whole.

"I just hope it'll end soon," sighs his companion. "At this rate they might turn the whole castle into shreds and the knights will flee for Bayard's kingdom and we'll have recruit new guards in the western wing."

Gregory understands very well why they'd fled. "Yeah. Me too." He needs something to distract him from all this chaos. "What about meeting later in the tavern over a game of dice?"

()()()

"Have you heard? They're going to find the dragon egg!" murmurs the kitchen aide excitedly to her friend the scullery maid, who passes the word on to the stable boy, who passes the word on to some lord's manservant, who passes the word on to a merchant, who passes the word on to the rest of the world (well not all of it, or at once, that'd be too complicated). "They're taking the dragon egg back to Camelot! Just wait, next they'll be inviting druids!"

And what the people initially thinks of this discussed over dinners and chores and when buying turnips on the market. As the King rides out of the city gates, closely followed by his loyal manservant and his Knights of the Round Table (whether there really is a Round Table is another favourite discussion on the market) the whole city is buzzing with anticipation.

()()()

The King's return is celebrated heartily.

The little dragon, who is a lot smaller and well, more adorable than the people had expected it to be, smells and nudges at everything and everyone like a curious puppy, much to the amusement of the people and the annoyance of a very concerned manservant.

"What if he falls and hurts himself or something!" Sara the Cook overhears the King's manservant say to Sir Leon.

"Don't worry, Merlin," the knight responds, "there are people looking after him everywhere. He won't get hurt."

It takes several concurring voices hurrying to reassure the lad that, yes, the knight is right, no harm will come to the dragonling, and a couple of cookies to coax the manservant out of the kitchen doors so he can bring the King his (over an hour late) lunch.

()()()

"Good morning, sire," Gregory greets the King and nods his head as he passes by.

It's kind of strange but no unpleasant. King Uther had wanted guards and knights to be unseen and unheard so not to bother him: King Arthur waves at everyone in greeting. It's very different indeed, but Gregory isn't a man of complaint. He adds a smile and a warm "Good morning, Merlin!" at seeing the very tired-looking manservant trailing behind the king, followed by a baby dragon. The creature has grown, the guard notes: it now reaches above the man's knees. And its claws looks very sharp and it regards everyone save for the King with distrust, nostrils flaring, as soon as anyone attempts nearing the manservant.

The King is a flurry of red and silver, but there are dark rings beneath his eyes and his manservant also looks exhausted. Gregory offers a sympathetic smile. Child rearing always sounds so much easier than it actually is.

()()()

Merlin's outing himself as magic isn't, opposed to outing himself as being the last Dragonlord, an accident. It's very much on purpose.

A couple of weeks into Aithusa's stay at Camelot, good things have begun to happen: travelers from far and wide have come to see the rare white dragon. Word flies across the lands of how great the Kingdom of Camelot has become, how powerful it must be to have gained such a mysterious creature as its ally and like flies drawn to a spotlight, mercenaries fills the streets and foreign kings seek alliance with the city's King and noblemen and commoners alike plead to be tested for Knighthood under his name. It's all good and well.

Arthur is shocked how well accepted the dragon is. And the word 'magic' ceases to be spoken with fear. In fact even the oldest, sternest councilors are now beginning to look at him expectantly, waiting for the next big step to be taken.

Most people think the King should have seen this coming.

Two months after bringing the dragonling to the city, King Arthur proclaims that the ban on magic is to be lifted. Any crimes used with the aid of magic will still be punished, just as if the crimes had been committed without magic, but sorcerers will no longer be shunned or executed for the craft they possess, for their very existence.

So, when Merlin outs himself, Arthur shouldn't be surprised: hasn't he noticed a thing over the last few years? Is he completely blind?

Really, he shouldn't even have raised an eyebrow.

But he does, and then some, when Merlin looks apologetic but hopefully and his eyes glow gold and he opens his palm, letting some gold butterflies fly off. In front of a hall full of courtiers, knights and ordinary people: total strangers and friends and family and everyone.

()()()

Merlin is an idiot. An idiot with golden eyes and a dragon cuddling his feet.

Arthur struggles to breathe. To make sense of the world. It's kind of difficult.

"You – you have magic!"

The reply is weak, frail. "Yes," Merlin whispers, suddenly looking small and scared and Aithusa presses himself reassuringly against the servant's leg, as if to support him. "Yes."

"Are you mad?" exclaims Arthur, standing up from his throne and walking up to him. "Are you completely out of your mind? If you're magic you should've sought cover someplace else, not go to the kingdom where you'd be prosecuted! You really have no sense of self-preservation do you? Of course not. I should have known. All the odd things happening around you – around me as of late …" The King's eyes narrow all of a sudden and there's a change of tone in his voice. "It was you wasn't it? The Questing beast's demise, the defeat of the Great Dragon, the Griffin. All of it! It was you!"

He's now standing right in front of Merlin, his hands on both of his shoulders, shaking him: Idiot, idiot!

"Err. Yes," Merlin responds awkwardly and avoids looking at him, cheeks pink. (it's a rather lovely colour, Arthur's mind supplies. "That was me (all that and then some)."

Breath is knocked out the warlock's lungs as the King wraps his arms around him in a very manly hug. So what if he might bury his face in Merlin's neck a little too long and breathe his scent deeply and let his hand linger in his soft, dark hair.

"Seems like a new position is in order then!" the King exclaims merrily as he breaks the embrace, Merlin staring at him in complete shock, and he turns to his subjects: "People of Camelot, do you accept this bumbling fool as your Court Sorcerer?"

"Warlock. The correct term is warlock," the still-in-shock (former) manservant mutters into the King's neck.

Arthur feels the voice brush against his cheek (annoyed but warm, loving, in some way kind of wonderful) and his lips quirks upward in a small smile; but the words drowns in the sound of a hundred voices ringing as one in the great hall as the people replies, without hesitation - "Aye!"

()()()

Camelot responds with no protests when the King lets his mother's old throne be dusted off and placed next to his own. And the city fills with joy when the Court Sorcerer (Warlock!) is seated upon it, a white dragon purring by the pair's feet, the King holding the former manservant's hand.

Gregory decides it best not to report to the Court Warlock/Dragonlord/Queen that he's spotted the little dragon in the company of a certain knight down the Rising Sun, not until next morning; it might ruin the mood.