Epilogue: Seven Years Later

Arthur thought he deserved some sort of reward for enduring George's incessant fussing. The man was well-known to be infatuated with propriety, of course, but seemed to have a special obsession with Arthur's wardrobe.

"I think the folds of the cape look just fine, George," Arthur spoke up after what had to have been two full minutes of the diligent manservant draping the red cloth over his shoulders while making thoughtful humming noises.

"Your Majesty is holding court and will want to make a suitable impression on his subjects, no?" George replied. He had perfected the art of protocol-abiding scolding.

"Of course," Arthur sighed dutifully. He almost groaned with relief when a knock at the door resounded through his chambers, forcing George to finally abandon the cape – though not without a wistful glance at the crimson cloth – and make for the door.

Arthur's relief quickly turned sour when he spotted his visitor. This one coming to his chambers always spelled trouble.

"Morgana," he greeted her warily. "What a pleasure."

His half-sister smiled her faux-sweet smile as she approached him and looked him over with keen eyes. "My, someone has bedizened himself for today's audiences."

Arthur thought she was one to talk with her scandalous white dress and pearl-covered hair, but glanced down at his outfit. It didn't look particularly flashy to him, though he supposed he usually didn't bother with the fineries of a king, preferring chainmail or even just a simple tunic for the most part. "George picked it for me."

Morgana glanced at the servant lingering in a spot two proper paces away. "And what a fine job he has done, cleaning you up. You truly look like a king today." George practically preened under her attention, looking impossibly pleased by her assessment.

"Yes, well done, George," Arthur murmured, just to see George flush and stand even taller. It was easy to tease the uptight manservant, but Arthur couldn't help but appreciate a man who took pride in his work.

Morgana looked back at Arthur and tilted her head, placing a finger against her chin. "I wonder… is there a special occasion for all this pomp and splendour?"

Arthur didn't bother hiding his responding scowl. "Morgana…"

She let out a chuckle, but abandoned her mocking pose in favour of stepping up to him. She ran a hand over Arthur's cloak. Somewhere behind her, George let out a choked noise, undoubtedly despairing over the Princess ruining his hard work of draping the thing to perfection. More gently, she asked, "You're nervous?"

Arthur averted his eyes. "I don't get nervous."

"Of course not, Your Majesty." Morgana's eyes warmed, skin crinkling around the edges as she added more softly, "I know how you are about the druids."

Arthur struggled, but lost the fight against the sudden heat in his cheeks. He averted his eyes. "Yes, well…" He cleared his throat. "You know my history."

Morgana's face softened, eyes turning compassionate. It made Arthur's heart squeeze. "You were young," she continued in the same quiet tones. "Inexperienced. And you were only following orders."

"That's no excuse—"

"Arthur."

Arthur let out a long exhale and nodded. They had been over this before, many times. He knew he couldn't win this argument, but he also knew he would not overcome all of his guilt. Even now, nearly a decade after that fateful raid, the memories tended to creep up on him in his sleep unexpectedly, haunting him through restless nights. He doubted he would ever be fully rid of the nightmares.

And he shouldn't want to be. Remembering what happened that day was what made him a better man and – he liked to think so, at least – a better king. He tried not to linger when his thoughts were irrevocably drawn to his father. He knew Uther would never approve of Arthur's reign, would curse at Arthur ruining his legacy, but he had come to terms with that, for the most part.

"If it helps," Morgana added after a moment of loaded silence. "I've Seen today's audiences."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

She nodded. "A bit fuzzy around the edges, as visions are bound to be," she elaborated. "But nothing to suggest that it will be a catastrophe. Auspicious omens only."

"Did you See the druid? The representative they're sending?" Arthur asked, trying and failing not to sound too eager, or too apprehensive.

"A man. Young, I think," was all Morgana revealed. Her brow furrowed. "He was… hard to grasp. But I Saw plenty of you, and you seemed to be doing just fine." She hesitated and her next words were spoken slowly, as if she was unsure she should say them out loud, "It felt important, though, what I Saw. Very important. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I've never felt the forces of fate so strongly while dreaming."

Arthur swallowed.

"Sorry," said Morgana and rubbed her nose in an endearingly sheepish gesture. It made her look like the girl Arthur had grown up with, not the powerful sorceress and princess she had grown into. "I know this probably doesn't help much with your anxiety."

"I am not anxious," Arthur told her. "But we will be late, if we don't leave now." He offered her his arm.

Morgana took it readily, slipping on a polite mask. "Lead the way, Your Majesty."

"Your Highness," he responded and together, they made for the throne room, leaving George to his favourite activity: polishing.

They entered from the back through the antechamber of the Great Hall. The court was well-visited today, nobles and commoners mingling on the grand floor of the throne room. Arthur found he wasn't surprised by the sudden interest in the normally rather tedious procedures. He had opened Camelot to magic over a year ago – after another year of fighting his father's council tooth and nail – but apart from Morgana, Gaius, and a few brave souls amongst the nobility revealing themselves to possess a small amount of sorcerous talent, no magic users had come forward to pledge their allegiance. The fact that the druids had now sent a representative was big news indeed.

Arthur exhaled as he settled down in his throne, causing the crowd to hush, all eyes turning on him.

The beginnings of the audiences were quite anti-climactic after all the nervous energy he had been working up this morning. He mediated a land dispute between two bickering lords, announced a milder-than-expected punishment for a wayward knight, then listened to the woes and troubles of the bakers' guild, trying not to fall asleep. Alas, talk of mill moth infestations and wheat flour stretched with millet bran did little to hold his attention. That was probably why it took him a moment to notice the figure making its way towards the dais after the head guildsman was finished with his tales and had extracted vague promises of assistance from his King.

When Arthur did notice, the person was already upon them, standing tall and proud before the throne. It looked to be a man, though his face was obscured by the large hood of a blue cloak. Arthur instantly recognised the simple fabric and plain-cut garb as one of the druids. He straightened on the throne, abruptly thrown from his boredom-induced stupor.

"The sorcerer Emrys," the herald announced and the hall went utterly silent.

Arthur swallowed, heart suddenly thumping in his chest, palms growing clammy, as if he were facing a foe on the battlefield. Here he was, then, the druid representative. From all accounts, a mighty warlock, a revered figurehead amongst his people. Where this man led, they followed. Arthur would have to impress him, convince him of his good intentions if he wanted to win the druids over, which would go a long way to patch the wounds of the past.

Arthur was glad when his voice rang out as strong and even as ever: "Be greeted, Emrys. We are glad to welcome you to Camelot."

Emrys shifted. He gave the barest of bows, which could have been insulting were it not for the clear awkwardness of the movement and the naturally assumed inexperience of a druid when it came to court protocol. Two pale hands came up to draw back the hood of the cloak, revealing a head of unruly, dark hair and a pair of bright, blue eyes.

It took Arthur more than a few moments to place the face he saw before him, given that it looked sharper than he remembered and sported just a hint of dark stubble. When he finally did, he felt his eyes grow wide and the words slipped from his lips before he could help it, every syllable laced with the kind of dumbstruck surprise that had no business coming from a king, "Lords, Merlin? Is that you?"

"Hello Arthur," Merlin replied, casually and recklessly breaking protocol like it was of no consequence, and the court went wild, gawking and talking, craning their necks.

As the long anticipated meeting with the mighty Emrys now seemed to have lost its sense of gravity, Arthur decided they had better move this somewhere more private, away from the curious eyes and ears of the courtiers. They ended up retiring to the antechamber with Morgana, who was staring curiously, and Leon, who had emerged from the courtiers to play bodyguard at the door, offering Merlin a firm nod in greeting.

"Merlin, this is my half-sister, the Princess Morgana. Morgana, meet Merlin, the last dragonlord."

Contrary to his earlier display, Merlin did seem to possess some courtly manners, as he took a gentle hold of Morgana's hand and bowed his head over it, like any courtier might have done. What he said, however, was almost impossibly rude, "Oh! By the gods, but you're a witch!"

Morgana let out a delighted chuckle. "Yes! Is it that obvious?"

Merlin shrugged. "If you know what to look for." He glanced at Arthur and for the first time, his demeanour changed into something serious. His eyes turned calculating and Arthur, in spite of himself, stiffened under his gaze. "The Princess of Camelot, a sorceress. I knew things were changing around here, but…" He trailed off as he let go of Morgana's hand.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Yes, well." He gestured at Merlin. "You, too. Emrys ?"

Merlin smiled a small smile. "It's what the druids call me."

"What does it mean?"

"It's a sort of title," Merlin replied vaguely.

"Because you're a dragonlord?" Arthur prodded.

"No. The druids don't care about that part of me at all." Merlin's smile turned wistful. "I quite enjoyed that for a while, to be honest."

Arthur studied him, Merlin's words awakening memories of conversations nearly forgotten, of a young boy sitting at a campfire, knees drawn to his chest, grieving for his father. He swallowed down a sudden lump in his throat.

"But you're here as a dragonlord?" he asked thickly.

Merlin's face grew utterly serious, then. "Yes, Your Majesty," he said and it was the way he spoke the title, his tone as respectful as it was challenging, that had the atmosphere in the room shift.

"You've come for your dragon," Arthur surmised, adopting the airs of a king in turn. Next to him, Morgana drew herself up as well, standing by her King's side, all graceful poise and imposing presence. At the door, Leon shifted, armour clinking.

"I have, Your Majesty," Merlin confirmed. He had laced his fingers behind his back now, standing tall – a little taller than Arthur, he noticed faintly. "I seek to right a wrong committed by your father. I would ask that you let me free Kilgharrah, the Great Dragon, who has been cruelly chained beneath this castle for over twenty-five years."

Merlin's eyes were fierce in that moment, just daring Arthur to deny him. He could feel it, then, the mighty powers that had the druids bestow a title upon this man. Arthur knew he possessed no magic of his own, but there was something crackling in the air and Morgana seemed to sense it, too, shifting nervously at his shoulder.

"Peace, Merlin," Arthur found himself saying. "I gladly grant your request. The dragon is yours to set free, whenever you wish it."

Merlin's shoulders relaxed visibly and when he bowed, it was low and respectful, subservient in a way Arthur would have never expected him to be capable of. "I thank you," he murmured. When his head came up, he was smiling again. "He's been calling for me since the minute I set foot into the city. Won't shut up, actually." He tapped his forehead, indicating some magical communication. "Would you mind…?"

"We can go now," Arthur confirmed, smiling back a little helplessly when faced with Merlin's excited impatience. He turned to Morgana. "Will you come?"

"I've had quite enough of that beast's riddles," she replied, grimacing just a little. At Merlin's questioning noise, she added, "He doesn't like me much, your dragon. Called me Arthur's downfall, or some such nonsense."

Merlin scratched at his ear, chuckling awkwardly. "Ah, well. That's dragons for you. Don't pay too much attention to it. They can be quite full of themselves when it comes to soothsaying."

"Is that what it was?" Morgana asked dubiously.

"Dragons divine," Merlin replied. "Not too successfully, in my opinion." He gave Arthur an oddly intense look when he added, "But they do have their moments."

Feeling like he was missing something, Arthur added awkwardly, "Morgana is a Seer as well. She's been dreaming the future since she was a child."

Merlin perked up at that. "Oh? Is that how your magic manifested, then?"

"Yes," Morgana confirmed. "It was not the most pleasant of experiences."

"I dare say." Merlin glanced at Arthur again, then added, "Must have been scary, realising you had magic, living in Uther's household…"

Morgana gave a tight smile. "It was." The smile turned more genuine when she looked at Arthur. "But I found allies in unexpected places."

Merlin followed her gaze, then nodded knowingly, eyes crinkling. "I see."

"Shall we go, then?" Arthur said after clearing his throat, heat prickling across his cheeks.

"Yes, please," Merlin enthused and they were off to the dungeons, leaving Leon to escort Morgana to her next appointment.

"How have you been?" Arthur asked awkwardly, pointedly ignoring the shameless stares of anybody they passed in the hallways.

"The druids were very good to me," Merlin replied. "I've also travelled quite a bit, with Aithusa, to see Albion. Visited Essetir a few times, too."

Arthur nodded, then ventured, "Your mother is in good health?"

"She is, thank you." He sounded amused and when Arthur glanced at him, he saw him smile knowingly. "But you already knew that."

Arthur looked away again, eyes firmly on the spiral staircase they were approaching. "I'm sorry," he found himself saying. "I understand how it must look, the King of Camelot keeping tabs on her."

"It's fine. You weren't out for blood, unlike your father," Merlin replied. "I'm glad you kept an eye out."

Arthur swallowed. "Merlin, I'm— About your father—"

"Let's not talk about him today," Merlin interrupted at once. "In fact, I'm sorry I brought up yours. Twice now, I think. It was ill done of me." He paused as they stepped on the staircase, then added, "Though I would give you my condolences."

Arthur focused very hard on taking the stairs. "He died two years ago now," he pointed out, voice gruff. "Never fully recovered from those injuries he suffered in the war against Mercia." He paused, then admitted, "It turned out he was a man who had kept many secrets. Morgana's parentage, the circumstances of my birth, the dragon below the castle…" He cleared his throat. "He wasn't a very good man, I've come to see that very clearly."

"He may not have been a very good man, but you should never be ashamed of grieving his death all the same," Merlin replied softly. "I know what it's like to lose a father, Arthur."

It struck Arthur, how wise Merlin sounded, and he only managed a curt nod in response, emotions momentarily constricting his throat.

They stayed silent for the rest of the walk until they came upon the door that sealed the entrance to the cave. Arthur fumbled for the key at his belt, pushed it into the lock, then stopped, turning to face Merlin.

"I wanted to free him, right after I was crowned King," Arthur said, suddenly feeling like he needed to explain himself. "But he wouldn't promise not to harm my people. He seemed quite set on revenge and I—"

Merlin held up a hand. "He's not your responsibility," he said. "He's mine." He grimaced. "If anyone has failed Kilgharrah, it was me. I could have come earlier, but I was…" He swallowed. "I was a coward. Much too afraid to come here and demand he be set free. It would have been my duty, as the last dragonlord."

"You were a boy when Balinor died. And my father would have never granted your request," Arthur replied reasonably, picking up a torch from the nearby wall. "In fact, you would have been attacked the second you stepped foot into the city and revealed your identity."

"I know," Merlin replied, but the guilt was still etched into his face when they entered the cave.

The dragon was waiting for them when they stepped inside, sitting on the large rocks right at the ledge. "Emrys!" he rumbled, voice booming and echoing off the cavern walls. "At last!"

Merlin tensed, but stepped forward without hesitation. The dragon bowed to him, which Merlin seemed to accept with a stoic sort of dignity, raising a hand in greeting. "Kilgharrah. I've come to set you free."

"I am glad, and grateful, my dragonlord," the dragon replied. He looked at Arthur. "Though I fear I would flatter myself if I believed I was the sole reason for your visit."

Arthur frowned. The dragon seemed to be as cryptic as ever. Arthur had been to visit him several times since his father's death, and the beast had hardly ever spoken sense, spewing threats and riddles in equal measures.

"I'm glad to see you well, Kilgharrah," Merlin replied. "I'm sorry it's taken me so long to come for you."

"You are not to blame for the long and winding paths of fate," the dragon replied mysteriously. He tilted his head. "You look so much like your father. I was very saddened when I sensed his death."

"Balinor wanted to free you, too," said Merlin, shifting on the spot. "But he had his family to think about…"

"I quite understand," rumbled the dragon, momentarily sounding more reasonable than any time Arthur had spoken to him. "You are freeing me now, which is all that matters."

"I will. However," Merlin continued, voice turning stern, "I will free you only if you promise not to harm Camelot, nor any of her people."

The dragon let out a mighty roar at that. Arthur flinched, hand instinctively going for the sword he always carried at his belt, but Merlin looked distinctly uncowed.

"You cannot ask that of me, Emrys," the dragon growled. "Uther may be dead, but his knights are still around. Those same men who have chained me in this godsforsaken cave! The same men who have killed your father! I have a right to take my revenge on them!"

Merlin seemed unimpressed. When he spoke again, it was in a foreign tongue, low and guttural. Arthur faintly remembered hearing it once before, in a meadow in Mercia – the dragons' language. The Great Dragon growled and hissed as Merlin talked, but eventually, it bowed low in acceptance, seemingly unable to resist his dragonlord's commands.

"He won't harm your people," Merlin announced, face serious as he turned back to face Arthur. "By your leave, I will free him now."

Arthur nodded and watched Merlin step up to the edge of the ledge to study the chains from afar. "I'll need to use magic to get these off," he mused, then glanced over his shoulder with querying eyes.

"Magic is legal in Camelot," Arthur returned, thinking that would have been clear. "You are free to use any spells you require."

But Merlin shook his head, his eyes wandering. "Would you lend me that?"

Arthur followed his gaze. "My sword?"

"Yes. I think it'll do nicely."

Confused, but not unwilling, Arthur stepped forward, handing over the sword. "It won't break, will it?" he asked belatedly. "A, um, dear friend forged it for me. It means a lot to me." A vision of Guinevere's lovely face crept up on him and he blinked it away. He had yet to dare and ask her the important question. Morgana thought he was being ridiculous and a coward.

"Quite on the contrary," Merlin replied. "I will improve it." He held up the sword. "Kilgharrah! Would you refine this with a bit of dragon fire?"

The dragon let out a strange noise. It took Arthur a moment to recognise it as a chuckle. "Young warlock," he said. "I see you are wasting no more time offside the paths of your destiny. Creating Excalibur, for the Once and Future King? Albion will rejoice!"

"Yes, all right," said Merlin dismissively, sounding impatient. "Will you please just do it?"

"Of course," said the dragon. "Who am I to stand in the way of what has been foretold?"

Arthur watched, fascinated, as the dragon spit a thin stream of fire at the sword, turning the blade hot-red. Merlin lowered it a moment later, his free hand hovering over the metal. He smiled. "Yes, this will do very nicely," he repeated his earlier sentiment, then went to climb down into the cave.

From the ledge, Arthur watched him swing the sword at the chains while uttering some spell. There was a great explosion of sparks and then, the dragon was free.

The beast reared, immediately ascending, though he didn't fly off at once, hovering at the ledge instead, wings flapping and causing a great wind inside the cave as he stared down at Arthur. "The Golden Age is upon us, young king," he said. "Heed Emrys's advice, and Albion shall prosper."

With that, he was off, roaring as he found his freedom at last. Arthur looked after him, perplexed, until Merlin showed up at his side.

"What on Earth was he talking about?" Arthur asked him.

Merlin shrugged, though there was something off about it when he said, "Dragons. Hard to understand them sometimes."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "You know something."

"Me? No idea," Merlin replied innocently, ducking his head. Then, more seriously, he offered up the sword, bowing his head as he lifted it with both hands, "Your sword, my King."

Arthur took it, feeling a sense of gravity in the gesture, mirrored by an intense spark in Merlin's eyes as he watched Arthur inspect the weapon. Strange, faintly gleaming runes had appeared, etched into the blade, and the metal was shining as if George had spent hours and hours polishing it. Belatedly, he registered Merlin's phrasing: My King . A pledge of loyalty?

"You will stay?" Arthur asked, surprised how right the idea felt to him. "We would be glad to have you. I changed the laws months ago, but we have yet to welcome outside sorcerers at court. Good relations with the druids would go a long way to ease tensions and fears on both sides."

Merlin looked pleased. "I'd love to stay." He tilted his head. "May I call for Aithusa, though? I made her stay behind in a cave in the Darkling Woods, but I'd rather she didn't have to hide away like a thief in the night."

"Of course. You can summon her in the main square, if you'd like."

Merlin chuckled. "It would certainly make for a grand statement," he replied.

They looked at each other for a moment.

"Thank you," Merlin said finally. "For letting me free Kilgharrah."

"It was the right thing to do," Arthur returned with a dismissive wave, uncomfortable with the ill-placed gratitude. "Besides, I was in your debt. Still am, probably."

"You never sought to hunt me or my dragon, and you allowed magic back into Camelot." Merlin inclined his head. "Whatever debt there might have been has long been paid, my King."

Those two words again. Arthur swallowed, feeling humbled and terribly inadequate in a way he could not even begin to fathom.

"Come on, then, Merlin," he said, a little too gruffly. "Let me show you Camelot."