Author's Note: This was originally written for last year's Merlin Reverse Bang, a collab with The_Pen_and_the_Sword. If you want to see the art this was based on, you'll need to go hunting on Ao3 or tumblr, as FF doesn't allow for links or image embedding.

Prologue: Shattered Childhood

With more enthusiasm than the plain food merited, Merlin shoved the last spoonful of breakfast porridge into his already stuffed mouth.

"Fnshd," he announced, then winced a little when Father raised a bushy eyebrow at him from across the table. With some difficulty, Merlin swallowed down the glob before repeating more clearly, "Finished."

Father let out a good-natured grunt. "Eager to leave, are we?"

Merlin pushed the empty bowl away from him, trying not to sound too whiny when he replied, "We haven't been to see her in five days."

Father calmly scraped out his own bowl. "You know why we can't go more often, son."

Merlin sighed a little. Yes, he did know. How could he forget the hour-long lectures on secrecy his parents regularly gave him since he was old enough to understand them? The fact that they now included the necessity of hiding a dragon on top of hiding his magic did not make them any less repetitive.

His eyes briefly sought out Mother. She wasn't looking at either of them, busy preparing vegetables for their next meal at the kitchen workbench, but Merlin could just make out the little frown on her face. Mother was worried. Nothing new where the topic of Aithusa was concerned.

"Aren't you afraid something will happen to her when we leave her alone for so long?" Merlin asked, looking back at his father.

"She's not helpless. She's got wings and fangs," Balinor pointed out, stacking his now empty bowl on Merlin's. He made a little waving motion and Merlin dutifully got up and went to clean the dishes in the water basin out back.

When he returned, Father had wrapped his arms around Mother and was kissing her cheek. "We'll be back before noon," he murmured.

Mother's frown deepened. "Be careful, Balinor. Please."

"Yes, love." Father went in for another kiss, on the lips this time.

Merlin made a face at the sight of them, turning away to look around for his boots. He spotted them abandoned in a far corner of the house and quickly went to put them on, then pulled on his jacket. The sooner he was ready, the sooner they could leave.

"Don't forget to take the wood basket with you," Mother cautioned. "You can't afford looking suspicious, disappearing into the forest every other day or so. People talk."

By then, Merlin had already shouldered the wicker basket, adjusting the leather straps at the front. "All set," he said impatiently, then threw a meaningful look at his father. "Can we go now? Please ?"

Merlin could just make out Father's smile behind his thick beard. "Patience is a virtue," he said as he laced up his boots. Finally , he got up from the bench, grabbed the axe from the hook on the wall and gave his wife a little wave before he approached the door where Merlin was already waiting, impatiently shifting from one foot to the other.

"Bye, Mother!" Merlin called out and then, they were on their way.

Ealdor was quiet yet. A foggy dawn was just turning into a bright spring morning. Flecks of pinkish sunshine speckled the dirt road winding through the village. Nobody appeared to be out and about yet except for old Simmons, who was tossing handfuls of grain into the pen by his stable to feed his chickens.

"Morning, Simmons," Father greeted him, but the old man only gave a non-committal grunt. He wasn't the friendliest on a good day and had taken a distinct dislike to Merlin, blaming Will and him for every misfortune that befell him.

"Good morning," Merlin greeted him anyway, though only after his father had pointedly jerked his head.

They walked past the other houses - with Father setting a punishingly unhurried pace - and by the time they had almost made it out of Ealdor, Merlin was brimming with excitement. He was just about to speed up, the path into the forest but a few paces beyond, when another voice rang out to their left.

"Balinor. You're up early."

Merlin only just suppressed a scowl, knowing his father wouldn't approve. It was Matthew who had spoken. Merlin liked him even less than old Simmons. There was just something off about the man. It seemed like with every chance he got, he was watching either Father or Merlin like a hawk, beady eyes half-hidden behind those long strands of dark hair falling into his face. Matthew lived on the plot at the very edge of Ealdor. He was standing at the fence, one hand wrapped around a wooden rake, the other set against his brow to block the glare of the morning sun as he stared at them.

"Morning, Matthew." Father's voice was friendly enough. Merlin knew he didn't like Matthew either, but he had told Merlin several times that it never hurt to be civil.

Matthew looked them over. "Out into the forest again?"

Father lifted the axe he was carrying and used it to point at the wicker basket strapped to Merlin's back. "Aye. In need of some more firewood."

"I see. Well, good luck foraging."

"Have a good day, Matthew."

Merlin managed to keep his mouth shut until they had made it three or four paces into the woods. "Matthew's a right pillock."

"Merlin! Language!" Father scolded him immediately.

"You don't like him, either!" Merlin said petulantly, refusing to feel sorry. "You said it yourself: he keeps looking ."

Father hummed thoughtfully, then added, "That he does. Still, no reason to speak of him like that." He slowed down a little and Merlin reluctantly matched his pace, though he smiled when a large, warm hand came to briefly rest on his shoulder. "It's never good to make an enemy, Merlin. There are enough people out there who have a mind to hurt us."

Merlin swallowed, smile fading quickly. "Because of our magic, you mean."

"Aye," Father confirmed. "And our dragon heritage."

The reminder of Aithusa immediately had Merlin brighten up again, chasing away the faint shudder of fear that had been creeping up his back at Father's words. They would see her again in just a few minutes.

It was still mind-blowing to Merlin, knowing his father had hatched an actual dragon! A white one, too, which, according to Father, was a sign of good fortune. Aithusa had been a tiny thing a year ago, but she was quickly growing and now the size of a cow.

"Are we really the last of the dragonlords?" Merlin asked, carefully making his way over a fallen tree.

"Around these lands? Yes. There might be some left in far-away kingdoms, but those sharing our blood are all gone." Father's voice had turned wistful and Merlin immediately felt bad for having asked. He knew of an uncle who had been killed. Cousins, too. Before Merlin could apologise, though, Father added, "Besides, son, you're not a dragonlord yet."

Merlin felt even worse then. Because he knew what Father meant. He might have dragons' blood running through his veins, but Merlin wouldn't come into his powers until Father died. And that was a thought Merlin was not willing to entertain, not ever.

"Sorry," he murmured, eyes on the forest floor.

"Don't be," Father replied. "You need to know about your heritage. It's why I'm taking you to see Aithusa and teaching you how to take care of her. My father and grandfather taught me everything they knew of dragons, and I'm passing on that knowledge to you so that one day, you will do the same for your son."

They walked on in silence, Merlin soon caught up again in his excitement to see Aithusa. Eventually, they made it to a small clearing, ground covered in moss, little nests of cowslip and bluebells serving as pretty reminders that spring had well and truly arrived.

"You go ahead and gather some wood now, son," Father said.

"But I want to listen to you calling her," Merlin replied, knowing he sounded whiny again.

Fortunately, Father indulged him. "Stay nearby then."

Merlin nodded eagerly. He set down the wicker basket against a tree stump, then went to scour the edge of the clearing for twigs and branches, all the while glancing at his father out of the corner of his eyes.

Father had stepped into the centre of the clearing and was now tipping his head back, getting ready to speak the ancient words. Although Merlin was prepared for it, goosebumps travelled up and down his arms when the guttural sounds echoed through the forest just a moment later. Whenever he heard dragon tongue, the words seemed to touch something deep within Merlin. It was not his magic, but something else, a hot spark of a power he did not yet understand. When he had told Father, he had nodded and said it was a sign of Merlin's affinity to dragonkind, proof that he truly shared the dragons' blood.

The last of the ancient words rolled off Father's tongue, then the forest fell quiet. Merlin knew it might take a while for Aithusa to show up, depending on how far she had ventured, so he busied himself collecting more wood, using some quick magic here and there to dry damper branches or to break a log to size.

Eventually, a familiar whooshing sound announced Aithusa's imminent arrival and Merlin unceremoniously dropped his latest load of wood somewhere near the wicker basket before running into the clearing to join his father.

He was just in time to see Aithusa circle above the trees twice, before she descended elegantly and came to land right in front of them.

"Aithusa," Father said fondly, one hand stretched out in greeting.

The dragon respectfully dipped her head, as she always did when seeing Father again, then let out a happy chirping sound when she spotted Merlin.

Merlin immediately stepped up to her and Aithusa bent down willingly for a scratch, chirping again before announcing, "Merlin! Merlin!"

She rolled the r in a way that made Merlin grin ear-to-ear. The dragon only spoke a few choice words yet, though Father had taught Merlin that dragons were capable of learning many a tongue once they were fully grown. Aithusa seemed to comprehend most of what was said to her and was, according to Father, born with the ability to understand – and compelled to follow – a dragonlord's commands.

"How have you been, Aithusa?" Merlin asked her.

Aithusa chirped. To Merlin's utter delight, a small puff of smoke escaped her left nostril.

"Father, did you see that?" he exclaimed.

"Aye," said Father, a hint of pride in his face. "Her fire's been lit, then."

"Will she be able to spit flames now?" Merlin asked excitedly.

"Nothing quite so powerful yet," Father dampened his enthusiasm. "A spark or two, perhaps. Enough to send some dry tinder aflame, if need be."

Aithusa made a huffing sound, as if offended by the poor assessment of her incendiary prowess.

"Don't you worry," Merlin spoke up immediately, offering her another scratch for comfort. "You'll be setting the forests 'round here ablaze soon enough."

"Hopefully not ," Father said with a stern look, though there was humour lacing his voice.

Merlin grinned up at him until he had elicited a smile from him before turning his attention back on Aithusa. "You're getting so big now," he told her, gently stroking the long neck. "Do you think she will outgrow the Great Dragon, Father?"

Father's smile faded a little. "I doubt it, son. Kilgharrah is a mighty creature. He is not called the Great Dragon for nothing."

"I should so like to meet him some day," Merlin replied, more quietly this time, sensing he had made Father sad again.

Sure enough, Father only sighed, reaching out to let Aithusa nuzzle his hand with her snout.

"One day, you'll be able to free him, Father," Merlin added after a moment of silence. "Then he and Aithusa can fly together."

"As they should," Father said in a low voice. "Dragons are not made to live in solitude forever…"

A loud crack in the woods behind them, followed by a rustling sound, had them flinch, then swivel their heads. Merlin squinted beyond the bushes but saw nothing. Next to him, Aithusa was cocking her head, as if listening intently.

"Deer?" Merlin suggested.

"Maybe." Father did not sound convinced. He peered intensely into the forest and Merlin watched his eyes flash bright gold, only for them to widen drastically a moment later. "Someone's coming," he announced, voice low and tense. "Merlin, go hide! Now!"

"Hide?" Merlin blinked, confused. "But…"

Father bent down, grabbed both his shoulders and squeezed them tight. "Listen carefully to me, Merlin. Find a tree to climb or a fox hole to hide in and stay there. Do not speak a word, do not show yourself, no matter what happens. Is that understood?"

Cold dread spread quickly from somewhere deep within Merlin's chest, rising up his neck and clogging up his throat. "Father," he choked out. "Why–"

"I said: Is that understood?" Father insisted, tightening his hold on Merlin's shoulders.

"Yes," Merlin whispered and nodded in emphasis, his heart picking up speed.

Father pressed a quick kiss against Merlin's forehead, then forcefully pushed him away, making Merlin stumble. Not a second later, Father was growling something urgent in dragon tongue that had Aithusa immediately unfold her wings. Merlin didn't stay to watch her ascend. He ran from the clearing, frantically searching for a place to hide.

He found a hawthorn tree a few paces to the left that offered some low, sturdy-looking branches and he quickly set to climbing it until he was up high, hopefully hidden by foliage. He had only just stopped moving, his arms wrapped tightly around the stem, when he spotted Aithusa flying up above. Merlin craned his neck, peering up through the leaves until she had disappeared into the bright blue sky.

For long moments, Merlin was sitting in the tree and straining his ears, trying to listen for more cracks or Father's voice, hearing nothing but rustling leaves and birdsong. Then, the wind changed abruptly, and words started floating towards Merlin.

"… looking for you for a while." A stranger's voice. He didn't sound nice.

"What do you want from me?" Father replied. His voice rang out strong, but Merlin could tell he was on edge.

"We're no fools, dragonlord," another, harsher voice spoke up. "We saw your beast fly off. Come quietly and we don't have to make this difficult."

"I don't know who you think I am—" said Father, but was cut off by a burst of harsh laughter that set Merlin's teeth on edge.

"Come now, Balinor. Stop playing games. Put down that axe and come along. King Uther wants to have a word with you."

Merlin only just managed to press a hand against his mouth before a gasp could escape him. King Uther? The King of Camelot? Merlin knew it was him and his knights that were responsible for the dragonlords' deaths, them who had hunted dragons as fiercely as they hunted magic-users now. The Great Dragon, Kilgharrah, was locked up in King Uther's citadel, cruelly chained in a cave below the castle. Mother and Father had always warned Merlin to run and hide if he ever saw a golden drake on a red cape.

What would they do with Father? Would they really capture him, take him to Camelot?

Suddenly, shouts sounded through the forest.

"Shite, he's—!"

"Magic! He's using magic!"

"Damned sorcerers—!"

More shouts, the sounds of metal on metal, and Merlin started trembling, fingers curling painfully into the tree bark, his other hand still pressed tightly against his face and his heart racing a hundred leagues an hour.

"Don't!" somebody shouted.

Several loud thuds, a scream that had Merlin flinch and then – silence; nothing but the wind, swooshing gently through the bright green leaves of spring, for several long moments.

Finally, another voice cut through the quiet, "Gods damn it, Bors! Weren't you listening when the King gave his orders? He wanted to interrogate the man!"

"He was turning my own sword against me—"

" Alive ! He wanted him alive!"

Merlin squeezed his eyes shut. No. No, no, no. Surely Father wasn't— Surely they couldn't have—

"Well, good riddance, as far as I'm concerned. We're all witnesses here. He attacked us with magic and left us no choice."

"Agreed. Our job here's done."

"What about the son? This Matthew, he mentioned a lad, thirteen summers old—"

"Probably flew off with the dragon."

"You're certain? Shouldn't we make sure and search the woods…?"

"We're an hour on foot into Cenred's land, Osric. I don't know about you, but I'd rather we weren't found in enemy territory with fresh blood on our swords. We can always come back for the boy later if the King needs him."

"You're right. Let's go."

By the time the forest was silent again, tears were streaming freely down Merlin's face. He was still pressing his hand against his mouth, stifling the sound of the sobs rocking his body. Eventually, he dared to climb down the tree, still sniffling. His hands were trembling so badly he lost his hold half-way through and almost fell off the tree, only just managing to grasp a different branch in time.

Finally, he jumped onto the forest floor. He ran a sleeve over his face, then tried to brace himself. He could do this. He wasn't a child anymore. He could go back and see. He could check whether or not Father really was—

Merlin inhaled shakily, hitching breath just shy of another sob, then walked towards the clearing. At the edge, he came to an abrupt halt.

Father was lying belly down, face hidden by cowslip and bluebells. His long coat was torn in two places, his arms and legs bent at awkward angles. Near his right hand lay the axe, abandoned. There was an impossibly large puddle of blood around his chest, deep red liquid slowly soaking into the moss.

Father wasn't moving. Not even a bit.

Merlin didn't need to go touch him to know the truth.

With another sob wrenched from somewhere deep within his chest, Merlin turned and ran. He ran and ran until his lungs were burning, stumbling and falling several times, scratching his skin and tearing his breeches. He didn't care.

King Uther had— Father was—

Merlin didn't know how long he ran. Eventually, he came upon the forest stream. He collapsed there, falling to his knees right at the edge of the water, shaking, almost choking on a fresh wave of tears.

Finally, after what might have been mere minutes or an hour, he heaved a huge breath. Then he held his hands into the cold water and splashed it at his face, washing off the worst of the tears and snot. He stood, swallowing heavily, then followed the creek downstream, knowing it would lead him to the western edge of Ealdor.

By the time he was stumbling past Will's house and towards his own, he was feeling numb. The noise of the world had grown distant and foggy, as if somebody had spread thick cloth over his ears, which was probably why he didn't hear Will until his friend stood right before him, waving a hand into his face.

"Merlin? Merlin!" he was saying. "Are you all right, mate? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Merlin only shook his head, pushing past him. He needed to go home. He needed to tell Mother.

Will followed him, now tugging at Merlin's arm. "What happened? Was it those men? They were coming from the forest. Did they threaten you? They had swords—"

Merlin shook his head again. He couldn't deal with Will right now. Couldn't tell him that those men had been knights of Camelot, that Matthew had betrayed them, that Father was—

Finally, he had made it to the fence, now pushing past the gate and stalking towards the door. Will didn't follow, though he did call out Merlin's name one more time before falling quiet.

With trembling hands, Merlin pushed open the door to his home, only to come face to face with Mother. Despite the quick wash he had given his face, Merlin had to make a frightful sight, because Mother immediately gasped, one hand coming up to her mouth, her face going white as snow. "What happened?" she whispered.

"They found him," Merlin croaked, his own voice strangely distorted in his own ears. "Uther's knights. They found Father and he's— he's—" Merlin sniffed, then choked out, "He's dead ."