Epilog

"A tournament," Merlin repeated, deadpan. He and Arthur were walking together, as was their habit when they talked, through the castle. They planned to go out to the pasture and watch the knight training.

"Yes," Arthur said, "a tournament." He sipped from his goblet, watching Merlin over the rim. The Court Sorcerer appeared to be giving it some thought, but then he shook his head.

"It's too dangerous."

"Well, it's too late, anyway," Arthur shrugged. "I've already got one in the works."

"Arthur!" Merlin whined. "You supercilious prat!"

"Gwaine likes the idea of it," Arthur insisted. "It will be his first tournament since his knighting ceremony. Leon and Percival have been helping him train for it."

"Oh," Merlin said, tone turning quite sarcastic. "Well, that makes it all right, then. Prat!"

"And," the king continued, holding up a finger, "Gwen finds it a good idea as well. You're outnumbered."

"Please tell me that you're not competing, at least."

"What kind of king does not compete in his own kingdom's tournament, Merlin?"

"The smart kind," Merlin muttered. "All right, fine. When is the even taking place? I need some time to prepare some protection and anti-cheating spells, and Gaius will need to stock up on supplies for the injured."

"Oh, there will be plenty of time for that," Arthur assured him, placing an arm around his friend's shoulders. He handed his emptied goblet off to a passing servant, who curtsied and hurried off with it.

Merlin frowned as they passed through the empty courtyard. "Where is everyone?" he asked suspiciously.

"It's lunchtime, isn't it?" the king responded flippantly.

"Arthur…"

"Yes, Merlin?"

Merlin shook his head, already feeling a headache forming. "Never mind," he said wearily.

{Birthright}

The crowd roared deafeningly, drowning out the din of metal against metal. Gwaine stood by victoriously as his opponent was dragged off the field. Merlin applauded despite himself, seated in honor beside a fully-armored Arthur. Guinevere was sitting on his other side, wearing a flower crown. She had given her favor to Arthur, of course, who wore the kerchief around his bicep to proudly display his wife's affections, despite the fact that Arthur had lost in the third round.

It was the final round, and Gwaine had won battle after battle. His armor, which had been specially painted green for the occasion, was dented and scratched up, and showed silver. But it was no matter—it was testament to his fortitude.

His opponent walked into the ring.

No one knew who the mysterious man was, but he had been dubbed the Black Knight for his armor. Unlike Gwaine's, his paint was still nearly impeccable. Hardly a blow had been landed on him.

Once the men had shown one another respect and courtesy, as chivalry demanded, Arthur stood from his seat and raised his hand. The crowd fell silent.

The king looked sternly at each of the fighters as though to remind them that no cheating or bad form would be tolerated. Then he brought his hand down, signaling the beginning of the match.

The crowd roared, rooting for their favorites as the adversaries began to circle each other, looking for weaknesses and openings.

The Green Knight struck first, theatrically twirling his sword and clashing it against the Black Knight's. They appeared to be evenly matched, neither gaining the upper hand. Back and forth they parried, slashed, and blocked.

Gwaine finally grew frustrated and threw his shield aside. His helmet was quick to follow, and he shook out his shaggy hair, which was drenched with sweat. The Black Knight followed suit, revealing a head full of dark curls. He was too far for anyone to make out any other features, but Gwaine hesitated in surprise, then grinned.

They resumed their battle. With both hands free to wield their weapons, the fight was much fiercer, especially since they could better see as well.

Merlin found himself on the edge of his seat the longer it went on. He knew that one of them would soon begin to flag, unable to keep up the ferocious beating.

It was the Green Knight's strength that began to fail. His movements became slower, more sluggish, until at last his sword was knocked out of his numbed hands. Gwaine graciously yielded, though the Black Knight stepped back to allow him to retrieve his sword.

Many roared their approval, while those who had not rooted for the Black Knight either grudgingly clapped or openly booed. The royal couple stood, applauding the good show.

The knights approached, and bowed deeply.

Arthur leaned over the railing and first congratulated them both on the match. Then he addressed the Black Knight. Merlin could not hear over the tumultuous sounds of the crowd, but he presumed that the king had asked the young man his name.

He stood upright again and held up his hand for silence, which was obeyed. "The winner," he announced, "of the first annual tournament of Camelot: Sir Mordred!"

Merlin watched Mordred. A chill raced up his spine as they met eyes—eerily familiar eyes.

Emrys, said a voice in his head.

Mordred smirked.

End.