Chapter 5: Here there are dragons

The guards at the gate exchanged wary, unsettled looks as a giant man whose size made Sir Percival's stature seem run-of-the-mill in comparison, strode into Camelot's lower town. His long, steel-grey locks hung thickly as combed sheep's wool around his tanned face and his grim, watchful expression spoke of a hard life with many battles past.

Melwas cast magic out in subtle, unnoticed tendrils over his surroundings in search of his goal. The High Priestess had sent him here for a simple reason, even if her secrecy complicated his task perhaps too much. She trusted him most of all. The aged knight felt the pull of very old, very wild magic nearby, suppressed nearly beyond description, but it was too powerful to evade his notice. He walked at a swifter pace now, moving from the lower town towards the palace itself. The guards he passed visibly tensed as he proceeded through the inner arch but he was giving them no overt excuse to act. A tall, thin man with pale skin and raven black hair was padding down the front stair from the palace entrance. This was his destination. Melwas recognized the face of his Priestess' enemy. He felt a cold satisfaction when the warlock's deep blue eyes landed on his. The servant's descent stopped just short of the bottom step. Despite his immense power, the guardian's reaction reminded Melwas of a startled doe pausing to scent the air and test a hunter's intentions.

"He's going to kill you. Go!" A familiar voice suddenly echoed unspoken through both sorcerers' senses. Emrys turned and walked back up into the palace at a healthy, outwardly-unhurried pace, obeying the Prince's instruction. Melwas started to march forward, gradually gaining speed as he whispered a lethal spell under his breath. He felt the poison green flame intertwining his fingers- a smaller hand wrapped around his, diminishing the spell-fire with a disappointing, wet fizzle. Before Melwas could adjust he was yanked backwards with more strength than even a man of his size ought to wield. His back contacted a cold wall of liquid as if he were being plunged into chilly waters and he was rapidly encompassed by dark fluid.

"Wake up," a woman's voice ordered while his captor snapped her fingers over his face. The old knight opened his eyes and found that he was lying on his back on a cold, tiled floor. A beautiful woman with milky white skin, poppy red hair and eyes as crimson as her lips was leaning over him.

"I am in the world below..."

She rolled her eyes and sat upright, therefore leaving his field of vision.

"I mean you no disrespect, Milady. I- I was in Camelot to fulfill a vital task for my Priestess, and I did not expect ever to draw the eyes of a Fae."

"You should have, in retrospect. Your Priestess has deceived you," Nemain informed him, circling him as a cat circles an injured mouse.

"I do not understand your meaning..." Melwas denied.

"You were not sent to Camelot to challenge Lord Emrys- although it is cute that you think yourself capable of it. You were sent to fulfill a bargain," Nemain explained, then she paused to lean over his head and leer at him with too-sharp teeth. "You're payment."

"Not to question your honesty, Milady, but if that is so, then for what is my Priestess exchanging me?"

"Why, the Harbinger, of course." She grinned, "You look troubled, Sir Knight. I gather that you know of the Prince's destiny? You disapprove of a mother's choice. Is it not an honor to know that you are the one she trusts most? That was my stated price."

"I am the one that the Priestess trusted most and she has sold me off in exchange for the boy who would seal our fate! That is not a purpose of which I can be proud!" Melwas pushed himself up off the floor and began to pace back and forth across the intricate pattern. The Fae looked gleeful in response to his passionate refusal.

"Stings, doesn't it? I imagine that this is the point at which one might assure you that it isn't personal..."

Melwas sat up and regarded the smirking being with an unamused countenance. She scrunched up her nose in shallow sympathy.

"I know." She offered him her hand. He kissed it reverently. She pulled him to his feet. "Don't act so glum. I'm not done with them. You may yet have the chance to see your Lady again. No doubt you would relish it." The smile the Fae finished her reassurance with was sharper and deadlier than Excaliber's blade. Melwas eyed it grimly, realizing that before this ancient's plot was finished more blood was sure to be shed.

Merlin collected the tray of dirty dishes from the King's chambers and returned it to the kitchens to be cleaned. It was only a little distracting now to walk out the door, leaving Mordred perched on the King's vacated seat, only to pass Mordred who was leaning against the doorframe on the other side. Merlin felt himself being unceasingly observed, feeling pursued as he traversed the halls and descended the stairs without sight of the Prince. Merlin rounded the next corner and-

"You may not be able to leave me behind, Emrys, but I am not stalking you," Mordred reminded him as if he had remarked upon the sensation aloud. He fell into step with the warlock plucking Arthur's spoon up off the tray and attempting to balance it on his finger as they walked. "I am in your head."

"I know. It's strange," Merlin replied, watching the young royal's endeavor disapprovingly. "You are far too relaxed about this," he noted as he followed the teen's phantom into the kitchens. Mordred tossed the spoon up into the air and it flew back into its original placement on the tray as if he had never moved it.

"Because I am not really here," Mordred nodded to their discomfited audience bent over a nearby counter. "You're talking to yourself."

Merlin swallowed, flashing the kitchen maid who was staring at him an apologetic half-smile in an attempt to play his odd behavior off as tiredness. He made his exit as quickly as he could manage. When he was nearly back to the Royal Quarters, an unexpected, familiar figure stepped forward to cut him off at the top of the stairs.

"Oh. Hello, George..." Merlin quirked his brows in question. Mordred was crossing the landing behind his ex-servant, surveying him with a look of bored resignation.

"Merlin," George responded, sounding even more tightly strung than usual. "I require your advice."

"My advice. Sure, what can I help you with?"

"As you may have heard, I have been tasked with attending to the Prince's needs upon his return," George prefaced.

"Oh, again," Mordred intoned, squeezing his eyes shut and letting his head fall back against the wall he was leaning on. "I really must stop getting incapacitated."

"So, are you going to be his manservant after all," Merlin replied, mildly surprised, causing his mental guest to facepalm. "I thought..." Mordred focused more pointedly on his host. "It's not important."

"He may choose me for the task," George responded noncommittally.

"He turned down the Queen's offer? He doesn't approve of me," Mordred noted, tucking his hands behind his back. Merlin frowned slightly, wanting to reassure him, but not wanting to look insane.

"It would be an honor to hold such a position within the royal household," George stated needlessly, sounding as though he were reminding himself.

"Well, there's no rush, but if you still feel that you need my help..."

"I have no problem with promptness, nor should you," George reminded him. "I am however, aware that you have known his Highness for some time."

"Since he was a child," Merlin confirmed with a shrug.

George drew himself up into a somehow even more stick-straight posture. "I see. Then, I expect that you will therefore be familiar with his personal tastes."

"My 'personal tastes'," Mordred echoed blandly. "Tell me that he isn't the one looking after Bran."

"He isn't." Merlin muttered.

"I beg your pardon?" George questioned.

"Mordred is a very private person," Merlin covered, then paused to eye the subject of their discussion. "He doesn't really talk about his preferences, other than the necessities. Make sure that everything he actually needs to take care of himself is easily available, so that he can do as much as possible for himself and he'll be happy."

"That tells me little and hardly suits my purpose."

"Mordred has been a slave for years. He lived on the run for his life before that. He isn't going to need a manservant anticipating his desires or doing everything for him," Merlin pointed out. "What he's going to need is someone to stand at his side..."

Mordred narrowed his eyes at the Guardian in response to his unusual train of thought.

"I'm not sure that I grasp your meaning," George admitted. Merlin patted his arm.

"I wouldn't worry about it. Just focus on utility." Merlin advised, stepping past on his way to his own charge's quarters, he saw Mordred nod once in agreement. "I know he'll approve of that, utility over appearance."

Merlin walked into Arthur's chambers and turned back, momentarily disoriented once again when Mordred was suddenly no longer following a couple of steps behind him. He shook his head and closed the door before walking over to the King's desk. Mordred was bent over with his right hand resting flat on the dark wood, appearing to read over his Uncle's shoulder.

"Merlin, what took you so long?" Arthur inquired, sounding only tangentially interested. Mordred stole a look at the other magic user through his eyelashes before leaning down closer to the ledger so that his face was obscured by his dark curls.

"George wanted to talk," Merlin explained, tidying up some scattered items from Arthur's morning activities, and noticing that his boot had a hole in it again.

"Mmmm. I've been thinking about what you told me yesterday on the training ground," Arthur reflected.

Merlin tensed, turning slowly to face his King.

"When we were in Morgana's mines and that Dragon rushed past us...You weren't afraid of it at all, were you?"

Upon hearing Arthur's words Mordred straightened to watch Merlin with unbridled interest.

"Not for my own safety, at least not that she would burn me."

"She?" Arthur echoed surprised. "How could you know that?"

"I just do."

"Because you're a Dragonlord?" Arthur guessed.

Merlin nodded.

"You told him that?" Mordred wondered. "With the laws as they are you could have been killed! You still could be killed for it."

"It is a trait that's passed from father to son," Arthur explained, gesturing to the set of tomes spread out over his desk. "I've been looking at the laws that my father and his council passed during the Purge. I thought that if I read over the details I might come to understand their thinking." The King ran a hand over the well-kept pages of the ledger before him.

"What's that?" Merlin asked, stepping up to the other side of the table opposite Mordred.

"It's a list of the condemned. All these names are of people who were condemned to death for crimes involving magic." Arthur pointed from the column of names to one made up of numbers. "Their ages. Their crimes. Their punishments." He paused, his eyes scanning over the page. "Mordred's father is in here somewhere. The trouble is, I'm not certain that would recognize him. Quite a few of these are children. Whole families. I suppose that your father's name is probably in here too, or maybe not. I doubt that every camp was tallied, even if it were possible. You both could have been." Arthur pushed back his seat and paced around the desk. "If only a few things had happened differently Guinevere could've..."

"You aren't responsible for your father's sins," Merlin reminded him. "You are a good man, Arthur."

"It isn't that simple anymore, is it? The war is over, or we say it is. I know you to be a good man, too, as is Mordred, and yet under our laws you would both have been beheaded. According the current laws you still could-" Arthur bit back his frustration slapping the old ledger shut. "I want to believe that I would have stopped it. I know that you are no sorcerer. I know that Druids aren't our enemies, but I don't know that I would have done what is right, because once I nearly let Mordred die! If I did not know you as I do now- I have murdered Mordred's people in my father's name and I felt sure that I was serving justice!" Arthur paced away to lean over the fireplace lost for a moment in his own thoughts.

"Arthur?"

"I cannot bow to Nemain's will. She is too great a threat to our people for me to back down, but she wasn't wrong. Camelot's laws are due for revision," Arthur said, sounding utterly exhausted. "I cannot I think myself any better than Nemain, or Morgana, or any other creature of magic who aims to bring my Kingdom to ruin if I continue to stain my hands with the blood of innocents through mere lack of care and consideration."

"What are you going to do?" Merlin inquired, feeling dread pool in his gut.

"Have you and Gaius found anything that we can use to defeat her?" Arthur asked, his eyes filled with desperation and the fear that Merlin dreaded.

"I'm sorry, Arthur. I don't think there is any way to fight her off, certainly not without powerful magic," Merlin admitted. He couldn't help feeling personally responsible for his friend's distress as he reported the honest truth. "Her kind are too far beyond human reckoning for even the Druids to know much more than to keep out of her way."

Arthur nodded, having expected that reply. "I need to see my nephew again, before Nemain returns. I need to ask his forgiveness." Arthur strode out of his quarters without looking back, headed for the Physicians' Quarters.

The two mages stared at each other for moment, in tense silence.

"Am I to understand that I am to die for the sake of political strategy?"

"Mordred. I told you I am not going to stand by and let you die," Merlin reassured him.

"I am aware," Mordred replied, looking upon closer inspection, to be surprisingly undaunted by his own peril. "The King doesn't know that."

Merlin's lips pressed into an unhappy line across his face and he jogged out after their ruler.

Arthur sat beside his nephew's bed and watched his pale, expressionless face. In this enchanted repose, he reminded Arthur too much of the stone likenesses carved atop his dead relatives' final resting places in the Royal crypt beneath them. It was a stark and unwelcome reminder of things to come.

"Mordred," he paused to rally himself. "My nephew. I never told you how long I tried to find you. Yet still it was not nearly long enough. I don't know if you can hear me, but I hope that at least you will understand that, despite my failures, I always intended to give you a better future. It was never only about your birthright..." Arthur paused, struggling against his emotions. "You were meant to be my legacy, but far more than that, Mordred Pendragon, you are my family. No matter what comes to pass I want you to know that I am so very proud of you." From the doorway Mordred's unseen specter watched the King place a final kiss on his head and brush away a stray tear. "Forgive me for what I am about to do."

"I see that you have come to a decision, Your Majesty," Walker's voice observed, preceding the appearance of its speaker a few paces behind Arthur's back. Merlin preemptively stepped in through the outer door nearly passing through Mordred in his haste. The door slammed behind him, causing both mages to flinch at the loud noise. The Fae in Walker winked at Merlin. Arthur closed his eyes for a moment to tune out the pointless distraction, before standing and turning to face his challenger.

"I have."

"And what is your decision, Pendragon?" Nemain goaded, enjoying his torment. The King kept his face a grim mask.

"I would prefer you did not trap my servant here for this. He has tasks of his own to grapple with," Arthur negotiated.

"Nice try, but the dragon stays," Nemain dismissed. "He has possession of something that may very well become my property in a moment. I wouldn't want to bother with a needless chase." She turned to look Mordred's disembodied person in the eyes, glancing sidelong at the minor upward twitch of his brows. Arthur looked from her to Merlin with mild skepticism, then decided it wasn't worth pursuing and continued with the more pressing issue.

"I cannot in good conscience allow an enemy of Camelot to dictate changes to the laws intended to safeguard the citizens of my kingdom. No matter the personal cost," Arthur stated with resignation.

"Hmmm, well then I-" Nemain started forward to collect her price but Arthur stepped closer and held a hand out to block her approach.

"I am not finished yet." He lowered his hands once Nemain's posture relaxed. "There may have been some truth to what you said. The edicts passed by my father and his council led to the deaths of many. It is not just his hands that have been stained by the blood of innocents who were condemned by a coincidence of their birth. Our very line has been tainted."

Nemain cocked her head as if to ask, "So what?"

"However, my nephew is perhaps the only one of us who is innocent of that sin," Arthur continued forcefully. "He is also my heir apparent according to the rules of succession. He may not yet have been publicly announced as my heir apparent, but the fact remains: should anything happen to me by the laws of this kingdom, Mordred will take the throne."

Mordred pushed off the wall, horrified. "No!" As much as he wanted to resist this, hearing the elder clairvoyant's warning echoing through his shocked consciousness, he was helpless, unable to make himself heard. "Emrys, do something!"

"If you truly believe, as you said, that this is all for the sake of learning to respect magic… If you truly desire justice, then Mordred is the King who could enact the necessary changes with a fair and measured hand. I have the utmost faith that he will prove to be the best of us, and I will not object if you choose to claim a sacrifice. I only ask that you choose to punish those of us who are guilty." Arthur stared into the Old God's crimson eyes, unblinking, steadfast in the righteousness of his compromise.

"Arthur!" Merlin protested stepping forward, but Arthur held up a hand to stop him.

"You pose a convincing argument," Nemain considered, still locked in a silent standoff with the Once and Future King. A grin stretched across her stolen face. "You are absolutely right."

Those were the last words that Prince Mordred heard before his world was plunged into darkness.

Mordred woke with a gasp and surged upright. "Arthur!"

"Oh, my goodness!" Gwen hurried over to his bedside and caught him by the shoulders before he could do more than push back the covers. "Shh. Be still. You're home now. You're safe," She soothed, while pushing him back against the ridiculously soft feather pillows. She even pulled the blankets back over him.

"Where is my Uncle?"

"Mordred, please try to relax. I know that you have been through quite an ordeal." Gwen turned to beckon George closer and Mordred realized that he was in a room he didn't recognize. "Inform Gaius that the Prince has awoken."

Mordred looked around the spacious quarters. They weren't quite as large or luxurious as the Royal Quarters, but they were close. An ornately carved screen of dark-stained wood split the room into two sections. The furs on his bed were of the softest, finest black fur and the dark blue-green draping around his bed was likely silk by the look of it. They perfectly matched the indigo, green and violet in the tapestries and curtains adorning the walls and large windows. There was silver detailing on the side table and shelf on either side of his four-poster bed. The cabinet across from him sported gold filigree.

"I hope you like your new chambers. I had your things moved in for you when you were first returned. I knew that you would make it," Gwen related to him, worrying a bundle of spring green fabric in her lap.

"It is- Thank you, your Majesty," Mordred remembered himself at the last minute, returning to the formalities more appropriate for a conversation with one's Queen. "I know that I have not made things easy for you of late."

"Now don't start," Gwen corrected, a little teary-eyed. "We haven't gone through all this trouble to start speaking to each other as if we were strangers. We've had our troubles, all of us, but we are going to be stronger for it. There is no need for anyone to take the blame."

Mordred scrutinized her face in search of clues, still feeling a dark pit of worry in his stomach. "What of the King?"

In the next second the door opened and Gaius shuffled in, followed closely by Merlin and Percival-oddly enough- and last but not least...

"Sire, I wondered when I would see you again," Mordred remarked to his Uncle as if he hadn't been feeling sick with trepidation seconds prior.

"Look this way, please, your Highness," Gaius prompted, cupping a hand under the teen's chin and studying his eyes.

"I still haven't agreed to accept that title," Mordred stated.

"Luckily, that isn't how it works," Arthur responded patiently. "You were born a prince whether you want it or not."

"I was born a Druid bastard," Mordred responded while Gaius checked his reflexes. "I doubt that your council will be at all willing to support that."

"Don't say such things," Guinevere chastened him. "The council will support our decision. Arthur is right; you belong with us. He wasn't always so happy to be prince either, but you will grow into your duties. It isn't as horrible as you fear."

"So you've told me." Mordred turned to look at his Uncle. "With respect, Sire. I may be your Prince and your ward, but I draw the line at succession. You'd best not die before you find an alternative lest I join you instead."

"This is no time to joke about dying, you've already threatened that enough," Arthur rebuked.

"I hardly meant that in jest."

"We missed you, Mate," Percival put in bashfully. "I can't say I know how you're feeling now. I just want you to know that as things are, I couldn't ask for a better Prince to lead us, and I doubt that I'm the only Knight at the 'Table who feels that way."

Mordred calmed a little in response to his friend's words. He couldn't really argue with him. Even so, he still knew that he was no leader. He looked up at Emrys' watchful eyes waiting to see his reaction and surrendered to the inevitable. He was a Prince by blood, but he was not the leader. That didn't mean he couldn't be a useful proxy and a shield for the rightful King. He could be the Queen's secret weapon, and his Uncle's, too- even if Arthur didn't know it.

A/N:Hey guys, I know that this was an inexcusably tardy update, and I do want to take this chance to reassure you that I am still writing this story;my progress has simply slowed of late. Thank you all for bearing with me, and special thanks to my precious reviewers Agana of the Night, Teddy0407, NerdGirlAlert, SisterOfAnElvenWannabe, Linorien, and TeapotsAndKittens for their consideration and encouragement. I do this for you guys.