Chapter 16

It seemed their surroundings became more saturated with magic with every step they took toward the center of the kingdom.

The farmhouses and outbuildings were sturdy, clean, and well maintained. The domestic animals were healthy and well cared for, the fields were productive, vibrant and full of life.

Duranbolt had listened to their conversation as they walked along. He was impressed with the beautiful woman who Merlin had chosen for a wife. What lay ahead would not be easy.

"Your city and surrounding farms are delightful." Morgana said. "We are very impressed.

"We do take pride in our culture and environment." Duranbolt smiled. "The citizenry are rewarded richly for their efforts to keep it so."

"That must be very expensive," Morgana said. "How do you afford it?"

"Oh we do not pay our citizens, It is the magical blessing of Caledonia that inspires people. We have never had a crop failure. We have always had bountiful harvests. The people have been able to live off what they produce and sell the excess to neighboring kingdoms or trade for anything else they may need or want. The income from their industry and the blessing of Caledonia support our citizens well."

We did feel the magic as soon as we entered this place." Merlin commented.

"The feeling of it is ..." Morgana said with the biggest smile that lit up her whole face. "more than I have ever imagined...even in my wildest dreams."

"Duranbolt smiled, "It is because we allow magic here. If other kingdoms embraced magic as we do, they too would reap similar blessings."

"It would seem so." Merlin commented still studying the man.

"Since Uther's purge on magic started." Duranbolt frowned. "magic users driven out of Camelot and other kingdoms come here. These immigrants have added much to our economy, and culture with the skills and talents they have brought with them."

"We are glad to hear so many have found refuge within your borders. We have seen enough suffering caused by the purge to last a life time. It is a dream come true to see this safe haven for magic." Morgana said.

"They finally arrived at their destination.

"The city of Caledonia was enclosed by a wall which towered higher than any Camelot could ever have hoped to build, snaking its way around it in a near perfect circle of graceful white stone. Along the top ranged a number of guards in a dark uniform accented with that same royal blue, some with crossbows or longbows in hand and others not requiring mundane weapons, all treading their patrol routes and keeping a keen eye on the city streets spread out beneath them like a map.

A ripple of motion ran down the line as the guards caught sight of the group making their way toward them and each turned to inform the one beside him. "By the time they reached the elaborate wrought-iron gates guarding the entrance to the city, the message of their arrival had been passed along to the gate's keepers and it was opening wide to admit them. The guards were watching them curiously, some even going so far as to lean over the balustrade to get a better view as the group continued their ride through the city.

The streets, homes and small gardens of produce, beautiful and practical in design, were lined with a variety of shade and flowering trees and bushes that tempered the sun's heat and added charm.

Even though the light was beginning to fade from the sky, the day already drawing to a close, there were still people out and about on the streets, attending to their business while they still had the time to do so.

What really took their breath away was the open, unabashed, use of magic.

There was a thin woman with a gauzy scarf wrapped around her hair using magic to levitate a large jug of water from the well, clearly unable to have lifted it by hand, who passed them.

A very old man with a walking stick propped on his knee sat in the doorway of his house with a gaggle of small and very excited children at his feet, entertaining them by conjuring a shower of sparks from his fingertips and forming them into different shapes at the children's eager requests.

A young girl with freshly laundered linens piled high in her arms stumbled over a rock in the street and the pile began to teeter dangerously. It was steadied from afar by a young man's hastily called spell. Once she regained her grip and her balance, the girl smiled at him with a blush staining her cheeks, and he smiled back shyly, tipping his hat to her.

All around them magic was being used out in the open, freely and without restraint. No one ducked their heads to hide the shift in the color of their eyes, no one lowered their voices when they incanted a spell, no one looked over their shoulder before they spoke. People were helping each other with magic, not hesitating to offer their skills, or to accept someone else's in return.

Merlin squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could for a moment, stars appearing behind his eyelids, and then opened them again to make sure that he wasn't dreaming.

But the scene had not changed and he had to blink back the tears that threatened to fall, struggling to breathe through the sudden constriction of his chest, nearly overcome by the sight of something that he had always considered to be all but impossible, an idle fantasy, an unrealistic ideal. It had been so long since he had truly believed that he, Arthur and Morgana could achieve all that the prophecies said that they were going to; he hadn't realized just how hopeless he had become until he saw his goal lain out in front of him and found that he had never truly expected to live long enough to see it become a reality.

Merlin looked over to Morgana to see her eyes shining with unshed tears. What she saw was beyond her wildest dreams. It was a kinder version than what Morgause had fed her while she was under the curse. As she watched the old man entertaining the children and the people helping each other with magic rather than trying to kill, destroy or control. She realized how flawed and violent Morgause's plan was. She realized now, what she was seeing was her dream; freedom to use magic openly to help, heal, entertain, and make life easier, without fear of execution. She looked over at Merlin and shared a watery smile with him. "Thank you for saving me for this moment, for this time, in this place." She reached out to him and they held hands, their magic swirling together in a euphoric dance.

Merlin's smile was brilliant "There is no one I would rather have at my side to share this with me my love."

As The group moved into the business district, they noticed there was a celebration. All the merchants had clean, orderly shops filled with everything imaginable. The smell of cooked meats, fruits, vegetables, cheeses, fresh breads, pastries, cakes, wines, juices, and sweets filled their nostrils. As immortals, they could go days without eating. Still they could eat and enjoy food. They stopped in a small shop and bought some meat and vegetable kabobs, hot bread with honey butter, and cherry pastries. The merchant had given them cups with a sweet pink drink in it. They also got some water and filled their water skins from a water pump. A public wash room with privy access was available for public use.

When they asked Viviana what the occasion was, she smiled with a twinkle in her eye and told them it was the Beltane festival that took place early summer of every year and lasted three days. People were very happy. Many were dancing. They were informed the pink drink they had received was part of the festivities and contributed to the high energy.

They sat at a table outside the shop, ate and watched a variety of other people do the same thing. Merlin and Morgana guessed these others were travelers like themselves as no one was dressed in a similar manner. They looked around in fascination noticing the different dialects that were spoken all at once.

Merlin and Morgana enjoyed a dance or two before Viviana and Duranbolt told them they must keep moving as the day was coming to a close."

They continued forward noticing that while overall, the city seemed to be a happy place, there was an undercurrent of tension, a sort of wariness just below the jovial surface that added a nervous energy to everyone's movements. There were more guards ranged around the city proper than were strictly necessary, and more were set in place at the base of the palace, their eyes scanning the crowds cautiously for any sign of trouble.

The castle rivaled and outshone Camelot in every way with it's graceful architecture, turrets, battlements, balconies, courtyards, gardens and fountains. There was a warmth and familiarity as they got closer to the castle. They felt as if they had come home after a long absence. Merlin and Morgana wondered at the sensation as they were taken to the main entrance.

The guards parted to let them pass as Duranbolt led Viviana, Morgana and Merlin into the courtyard of the palace, whispers springing up in the wake of their passage. A small crowd was gathering around them, far enough back so as not to be intrusive but near enough that it was clear that they were hoping to overhear any conversation that might pass between them.

Duranbolt ignored them and led Merlin and Morgana toward what were most likely the royal stables. He swung himself down from his gelding and passed the reins off to a waiting stable hand, indicating that they should do the same. Duranbolt helped Viviana off her horse while Merlin helped Morgana off her horse.

Duranbolt told the boy to make sure that their steeds were treated with the utmost respect and care, and ordered that their things be taken to the west wing. The boy looked a bit taken aback at this order, his gaze flicking back over them as if he was reconsidering his opinion of them, but he hastened to obey anyway.

Merlin held out his arm for Morgana.

When she put her hand in the crook of his elbow, he could feel her strength through their channel and took comfort in her presence as they trailed after Duranbolt, aware of the eyes they felt on their backs.

Sir Duranbolt led them up the long flight of steps to a set of wide double doors which were opened for them by another pair of uniformed guards.

The castle was more spacious than Camelot's, brightly lit by tall windows spaced evenly down the corridors. The chambermaids they passed nodded to Duranbolt and watched them all curiously as the four of them made their way toward the center of the castle.

It was not much longer that they stood before the doors to the council chambers, hearing the low murmur of voices from the meeting taking place within.

Merlin felt like he might be sick, his stomach currently trying to force its way out of his mouth but not quite able to fight its way past the heart that was stuck in his throat. He straightened his clothing with shaking hands."

Morgana, who was used to formality and court life, turned to Merlin and smoothed his hair and clothes with a spell. She then put her hand in the crook of his arm sending comfort and love through their channel. "Everything will be fine Merlin. It seems Viviana has prepared a way for us.

Duranbolt saw they were ready and gestured to the guards who pulled the doors wide.

The council room contained a long, narrow table which had carvings of dragons that might have been runes or symbols of the Old Religion along its edges. It was lined with high backed chairs of a similar make and style. Seated in them were men—and a number of women, Merlin was surprised to see—wearing long blue robes similar to the cloak that Duranbolt still had slung around his shoulders, each with the crest stitched on the left side of the chest.

Merlin traced the ridges of the minute dragon scales and the swirls of fire on the band of the signet ring in his pocket. The conversation the councilors had been in the middle of faltered and died almost immediately upon their entrance as all eyes turned toward the sudden intrusion into their meeting.

"Sir Duranbolt," a very old and rather rotund man seated near the head of the table said as he clambered laboriously to his feet. "You have brought us guests."

"That I have, Lord Melbourne," Duranbolt said, lowering his head in a respectful greeting which the Lord stiffly returned.

"Who is this?" a man closer to Merlin's own age, perhaps a few years older, said from the middle of the table where he was leaning back in his seat, tapping his fingers against the table's edge in a repetitive pattern. "I take it that you have finally been forced to acknowledge the futility of this ridiculous search of yours?"

A few other members of the council chuckled, as if this was a long running joke among them.

A muscle in Duranbolt's temple jumped sporadically as he clenched his jaw but he displayed no other outward sides of irritation.

"Far from it," he said calmly. "My ridiculous search was, in fact, a success."

The mirth faded at this statement, uncertainty creeping up on the faces of various councilors while others scoffed and exchanged sidelong looks of skepticism with their neighbors. None of them paid the slightest bit of attention to Viviana, Merlin or Morgana.

"A success?" the young lord repeated with a bark of laughter. He rose to his feet with the swagger of a man certain of his place in the world. "You mean to say that you actually found this mysterious heir that you are so determined to believe exists?"

"There was never any doubt as to his existence, Lord Ellison," Duranbolt said, his polite tone noticeably forced now. "A new dragon was hatched in the time since the late prince's death."

"There are still plenty of people with the affinity, Duranbolt," Ellison drawled with an unconcerned gesture of his hand.

"A new dragon can only be called forth from its egg by a Dragonlord in full possession of his powers, as you well know," Duranbolt snapped impatiently. "No one with an affinity, no matter how strong, could have accomplished such a deed."

"Ellison raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, apparently conceding the point as one for which he did not have a rebuttal, but he smiled indulgently around at the other councilors as if he were only humoring Duranbolt.

Merlin didn't understand this talk of affinities, but he understood there was something else going on here, some history he was missing where this Lord was concerned.

"And you claim to have found this man?" Ellison asked, his voice practically dripping with doubt. "You have actually located the heir of our late, great Prince Balinor?"

Merlin bristled at the slight underlining his words, the sarcastic lilt he put on the word great.

He saw Duranbolt clench his fists tightly by his sides as well.

"Yes," the mage gritted out. "I have."

Ellison moved toward them, his hands spread wide in an all-encompassing gesture that was both an invitation and a challenge. It was the same motion Arthur had made in Merlin's very first encounter with him, back when he was arrogant and cocksure, completely certain of his superiority and looking to bait his opponent into humiliating himself.

Ellison looked around the room, eyes passing right over the trio standing directly behind Duranbolt without the slightest pause. He still had a smug little half-smile on his face; while his demeanor was reminiscent of a young Arthur, that smile reminded Merlin so strongly of Agravaine, of the way he would smirk behind Arthur's back when he knew something was going to go badly, that he had to clamp down on the sudden urge to obliterate the man where he stood.

"Well?" Lord Ellison prompted. "We're waiting. Where is this long lost prince of yours?"

"That was his cue. Merlin stepped forward to stand at Duranbolt's right hand.

Morgana knew this was Merlin's fight. She stayed back to let him fight it. But she sent message through their channel that she had his back. Her mother stood stoically beside her

It bolstered Merlin's confidence.

Ellison glanced over at Merlin, his jaw dropping.

Merlin straightened his stance instinctively, pulling his shoulders back and raising his head high. He did belong here, he could feel it in his bones. There was something in the dragon carvings and the runes inscribed on the council table, lingering in the air itself, in the very stones beneath his feet, some remnant of the ancient magic that had shaped and laid them, that recognized Merlin's own magic as kin. It called to him, resonating deep within his soul and lending steel to his spine. He belonged here, in the home of his forefathers, and he would not be looked down upon in his own castle.

"That would be me," he said, his voice, strong and clear, much more so than he would have expected it to be just a few moments ago, his voice seemed to echo around the chamber. His indignation had washed away any lingering fear, at least for the moment.

Ellison closed his mouth and did look at him this time, allowing his eyes to scan Merlin appraisingly from head to toe. He frowned realizing he had some real competition. Still he was not sure and looked at Duranbolt with a raised eyebrow, not even bothering to dignify the claim by expressing his skepticism out loud.

"Lord Ellison, other esteemed members of the council," Duranbolt announced formally, addressing the statement to the room as a whole, "May I present to you all Prince Merlin Ambrosius, son of the late Crown Prince Balinor and his wife Morgana Le Fey Ambrosius."

The addition of the surname caught Merlin and Morgana a little off guard as they had not heard it before today, but their communication was swift as Morgana sent through their channel that she was proud to take on his surname.

Merlin had never had a surname before, after all, low born as he had been and without a father whose name he could take in its stead—but he didn't allow his expression to show his surprise. Instead he stood tall and proud, meeting Lord Ellison's disbelieving eyes without flinching.

Ellison laughed nervously because more and more he was sensing the very real power rolling off Merlin and Morgana "Surely, Sir Duranbolt, you do not expect us to believe that?" he asked, forcing out another laugh and trying to sound convincing.

Merlin's offense was mollified slightly by the fact that none of the other councilors seemed at all inclined to join in; they were looking between Duranbolt's face, hardened by anger at Lord Ellison's ill-mannered display, and Merlin's own, reading the solemnity there and realizing that it was no laughing matter.

"You claim that this…boy," Ellison sneered, waving a hand at Merlin, "is the long-lost prince that you've spent the last several months tracking, is the heir to the purest Dragonlord ability of them all? Ha!"

Duranbolt opened his mouth angrily but Merlin responded before he could, unable to let such an insult to his person go unanswered.

"This boy" he said with ice in his tone, "is no such thing. And if you will not do me the simple courtesy of addressing me directly, then I would ask that you at least refrain from such blatant disrespect while in my presence."

"The silence that followed was strained and heavy with trepidation as Merlin and a no longer laughing Ellison locked eyes, staring each other down across the few feet that separated them.

Morgana was silently cheering for Merlin in the background, simultaneously, wishing she could blast this Lord Ellison out the window.

The councilors seemed to be holding their breath as they waited for Lord Ellison to react. He was looking at Merlin through narrowed eyes, their watery blue taking on a more considering edge as he reevaluated his opponent. A slow, sharp smile spread over his face and he dipped his head diffidently. "My apologies, of course," he said in an overly gracious tone that spoke of anything but sincerity. "No offense was intended. I merely meant to express my surprise that the prince whom we have sought for so long would be so…"He trailed off delicately, glancing down at Merlin.

Merlin would not allow himself to succumb to gestures of self-consciousness, not when there were evaluating stares pressing in on him from all sides. He needed to project an air of confidence, of authority, the way Arthur always did. He needed to command the room with his presence alone. He needed to behave like a prince, like a king, even if they would never believe him to be capable of fulfilling the role.

"I will confess," he said in a tightly controlled voice, "that until today. I was ignorant of the fact that my father was born of a royal family."

The shocked murmurs that followed this admission were not unexpected; the implications of the statement were evident to anyone who knew what to listen for. The eldest of the council members, Lord Melbourne, spoke first, leaning heavily against the table. "And what exactly do you mean by that?"

Merlin could practically hear the implied 'boy' at the end, held back only because of the scathing response he had given to Ellison.

"I mean exactly what I say," Merlin held, refusing to back down in the face of the man's obvious disdain. "Until today, I hardly knew anything of my father beyond the ability that he passed down to me upon his death nine years ago."

They had suspected the truth from his previous statement, this one confirmed it, and the reactions all around the table were suitably scandalized.

You would bring a bastard before this court and propose him fit to rule?" a heavy-set man with a ruddy face and a scowl demanded of Duranbolt, leveraging himself out of his seat and looking outraged by the very concept.

For the first time, Merlin was glad of the many years in his childhood for which "bastard" had been the first insult out of any bully's mouth, because it meant that he had long since stopped flushing with shame and indignation when the damning word was thrown in his face. When he had first arrived at Camelot, he might have blustered his way straight into the dungeons had someone said such a thing to him, but now he bore the slur with little more than a slight clenching of his teeth.

"Really, Duranbolt, this is the alternative you present to us?" Ellison said. "Are you really so opposed to my rule that you would support a bastard in my stead?"

"Merlin was shocked into finally looking in Duranbolt and Viviana's direction; they had said nothing about there being another candidate to the throne.

"Merlin's claim is as strong as yours," Duranbolt insisted without returning Merlin's accusatory gaze, though he must have noticed it.

"The law states that only those children who are born of an observed marriage, or those who have been publicly acknowledged and endorsed by their fathers, are eligible to rule," one of the ladies near the end of the table recited staunchly.

"And the law also states that only those of the house of Ambrosius may take the throne," Duranbolt argued. "There has never before been a ruler who was not either a Dragonlord or one who bore the affinity. The ability to call and consult the dragons is a hallmark of the office, one of the pillars on which this kingdom was built."

"There are only four dragons left, and only three available to us. They will not live forever and their wisdom will die with them," Ellison said harshly. "Why should the ability to call that which no longer exists be of importance any longer?"

"If the eggs in the vaults were to be hatched, the dragons may not be lost to us," Duranbolt said fiercely, which drew a soft gasp from Merlin's lips; the existence of more dragons and eggs, the possibility of saving the race of dragons, was so far beyond anything he had ever imagined that he couldn't contain the sound. Aithusa was a female, the species could potentially be saved. His astonishment went unheeded, though, as the others continued to argue around him.

"Cerandillia and Kilgharah still have years before them," Duranbolt was saying. " Their counsel cannot be so callously disregarded."

"Eleanor's reign did not suffer for its lack," the heavy-set councilor protested.

Merlin winced; from what he had heard, Eleanor had been a fine and gracious queen even without the support of any dragon's council. The only way to counter that particular point would be to imply that Ellison was a lesser person than Queen Eleanor and not fit to rule without guidance, and somehow Merlin did not see that particular comment ending in any favorable way. So as Duranbolt puffed up to retort, Merlin decided that he had quite enough of this foolish quarrelling.

"Why don't we ask the dragons what they think?" he broke in loud enough to get the attention of all the men and women in the room.

They turned to look at him in surprise, even Duranbolt, as if the idea had not occurred to them at all. Granted, it likely hadn't, as none of them possessed the ability to summon the dragons and therefore they were unlikely to have considered it a possibility.

"If you need proof of my heritage, then that should do the trick quite nicely. And if you would like reassurance of my abilities despite the status of my birth, then I'm sure the dragons will be more than happy to answer any questions that you may have."

The council members looked among themselves, considering the idea. Sometime during the heated argument, Lord Ellison had lost that cocky, self-assured air that Merlin now knew had come from the belief that he would soon be crowned king, and was scowling fiercely around at them all as if they were traitors.

"Surely you aren't entertaining this…this farce of a claim?" Ellison exclaimed.

"If the dragons come to his call," said an elderly councilwoman with her silver hair swept up into an elegant bun and netted with gold thread, "then I believe his claim will stand."

"He's a bastard, Penbrook," the heavy-set man repeated yet again, as if the point had not already been made abundantly clear.

"With the means of proving his royal blood," Lady Penbrook countered serenely. "He does not need acknowledgment if his paternity is not in question."

"He is illegitimate!"

"He is a Dragonlord."

"I would be happy to prove it to you," Merlin broke in impatiently, more than a little fed up with being ignored and spoken of as if he were not there. "However, the daylight is already faded and my wife and I have been traveling for some time.

"Might I suggest, that it may be more prudent to put off all necessary demonstrations for a few days?" Lady Penbrook said easily, despite the way Melbourne, Ellison, and the brash, red-faced man for whom Merlin had yet to catch a name were all attempting to stare her into submission. "The hour grows late, my friends. Let us all retire for the evening and revisit the discussion when Beltane is over."

Lord Melbourne did not look at all happy with this decision, but he held his tongue. Apparently Lady Penbrook's opinion carried enough weight with the other council members that he didn't dare kick up a fuss. He growled a dismissal and the men and women began getting to their feet, lingering around the chambers in twos and threes as they discussed the developments of the day amongst themselves.

Merlin felt some of the tenseness in his shoulders ebb away as soon as twenty pairs of eyes were no longer fixed on him, probing, examining, judging. The muscles in his back and shoulders felt tired and sore from how tightly he had been holding himself. The servant portion of his mind, the part of him that had actually listened and taken to heart the many times that Arthur had tried to beat propriety and respect into his head, was absolutely horrified at the way he had dared to speak to these people.

They were powerful people all of them, highborn and venerated, and they were without a doubt used to being treated with the high regard that was afforded to them by their station. But if Merlin had behaved as a servant, as anything less than their equal, then they would have viewed him as such and treated him accordingly; they would never be able to see him as their leader, their king, if he bowed and scraped like a serving boy.

As it stood, he would treat them with respect when they returned the favor and not a moment sooner. He could not back down, could not let himself be looked down upon, could not show any weakness, or they would eat him alive.

"Pay no mind to Lord Tennison," came a voice from over his shoulder.

Merlin started. He had not heard anyone approaching and turned to see the old woman with silver hair who had spoken for him where the dragon was concerned, "Lady Penbrook?"

Penbrook, seeing confusion at her unfamiliar name , gestured with her head and he followed the Lady's gaze to the heavy-set man who seemed to be so personally insulted by Merlin's illegitimate birth. He was speaking in low, harsh whispers with Ellison, half hidden from Merlin's view by a set of support pillars and sending occasional vitriolic looks in his direction.

"He wants nothing more than for his son to be on the throne. I'm afraid your claim is a rather large obstacle, one which he may not be able to overcome."

"His son?" Merlin asked.

Penbrook nodded with another glance in the other Lord's direction. Merlin looked back and understood only after a long moment of confusion.

Now that he saw them standing side by side, he could see the resemblance between Lords Tennison and Ellison. They had the same blocky shoulders, nearly identical noses over thin lips pursed in matched expressions of displeasure, not an inch difference in their heights, similar shades of dark brown hair worn long and pulled back at the nape of the neck with a leather thong. If Ellison was Lord Tennison's son, then it was no wonder that he took such an immediate disliking to Merlin and protested his claim so vehemently. If Merlin's claim were to be considered invalid, Ellison would be clear to take the throne.

"Tennison's wife Imogene was your father's cousin," Penbrook explained. "Ellison joined the council upon inheriting her estate. She was a lovely girl, really. She and Balinor got on splendidly in their youth. But Tennison was always jealous of Balinor. He is not so powerful himself, not half the warlock your father was no matter how much training he received. And he could never comprehend how Balinor could give up the opportunity to become king and seize all the power and prestige that comes with it."

"Power isn't everything," Merlin said with a furrowed brow.

"I am afraid that he would not agree with you on that point," Penbrook sighed with a rather disappointed look at the disgruntled Lord. But she turned back to Merlin with a soft smile. "But I do."

She held out her hand to Merlin and he took it, bending to press a kiss to her knuckles in a way that made her smile fondly at him. "You remind me a great deal of your father, my boy."

Coming from Lady Penbrook, the term did not carry the weight of derision that it had from Ellison. Instead it seemed affectionate, more like when Gaius said it, and the address warmed Merlin almost as much as did the comparison to his father.

"I helped mind Balinor after his mother died," she told him. "Later, I was one of his tutors. He was a bright child, opinionated, and never afraid to stand his ground. You strike me as much the same.

"Thank you, my Lady," he said sincerely. "You have no idea how much it gladdens me to hear you say that."

"Welcome home, my Prince." With a twinkle in her eye, she clasped Merlin's shoulder, her grip surprisingly strong for someone of such an advanced age.

Merlin stared after her as she walked away, too stunned to have responded had the woman waited for him to do so. "My Prince," Penbrook had already made up her mind on the matter, it seemed, and she believed Merlin to be the true heir. But it was more personal than that. "My Prince," she had said, with that same warm, genuine tone she had used when speaking of his father. Welcome home, "My Prince".

Merlin was still boggling over it when Duranbolt, Viviana and Morgana appeared at his side once more, apparently having overheard most of the conversation.

"That is good," Duranbolt said. "Lady Penbrook is an influential woman. Her approval will go far in getting the rest of the council members on your side."

Merlin rounded on him and Viviana then, snapped out of his daze, remembering abruptly that he was angry. "You did not tell me that I would have to fight for this!" he hissed, jabbing a finger into Duranbolt's chest as hard as he could without making it obvious enough for the council members still in the chambers to see. "You didn't say anything about there being someone else with a legitimate claim. You told me I was the only one."

"Er, no, I said that you were the only one with a direct claim, "Duranbolt corrected hastily, backtracking a bit at Merlin's mutinous expression. "Lord Ellison is your second cousin, and he shares royal blood with you through his mother's side. But he is three generations removed from the true royal line, while you are a direct descendant. The throne should fall to you as a true Dragonlord of the house of Ambrosius and Balinor's only son."

Merlin would have responded angrily, but a spike of pain through his temple dissuaded him from arguing as much as he wanted to. Headaches, the likes of which this one promised to be, were always a trial, and this was not the first time he had earned himself one; he blamed his life for that. He was inordinately grateful when Morgana placed a hand on Duranbolt's arm to get his attention.

"Perhaps we ought to retire for the night," she suggested firmly enough that it was clear that it really wasn't a suggestion at all. "We could all use some rest and some time to clear our heads after a day like this."

"Of course," Duranbolt sighed, the righteousness draining out of him as soon as he really looked at Merlin. "You must be exhausted."

"Just a bit, yes," he said. It was an understatement; with the adrenaline of the confrontation fading from his bloodstream, he was finding it more and more difficult to keep his eyes in focus. He rubbed at them, hoping that maybe that would help, but it didn't really. "It's been a long day."

"That it has," Morgana agreed.

"Right, right. Come, this way. I'll show you to your chambers," Duranbolt said with a gesture.