Summary
Disguised as the revered sorcerer Emrys, Merlin stages his first dramatic audience with Camelot's rulers, paving the way for mutual cooperation and formal alliances with other sorcerers.
Chapter 43 Emrys Ascendant
Merlin urged Chestnut forward, the rhythmic clop of hooves matching his racing thoughts. Dawn's earlier confrontation with Arthur over the sorcerers' petition lingered in his mind, a tangle of frustration and hope. The king's initial amusement had given way to smoldering fury, and though Arthur had offered a compromising, yet wary approach, the path ahead remained as twisting as the road to the millhouse.
At his training ground, Merlin dismounted and tethered the mare to a weathered post. The air hummed with possibility however, charged like the moments before a storm. He closed his eyes, feeling the day's potential crackling around him. Court Wizard, a proposal for autonomy, aiding the magically wounded, fostering discourse with sorcerers – each task a crucial thread in an intricate design he was only beginning to weave.
Merlin reached for the Sidhe staff secured to Chestnut's saddle, feeling the familiar thrum of power as his fingers closed around it. The ancient metal seemed to pulse with anticipation, as if it too sensed the magnitude of the day ahead. Gazing in the direction of Camelot, he shielded his eyes. The castle remained hidden beyond the thick forest, but its presence loomed large in his mind. Merlin smoothed Chestnut's mane with one final stroke before gently patting her and setting off on foot.
The staff his walking companion, Merlin trod the undulating terrain, each rise and fall mirroring the uncertain journey ahead for magic in the kingdom. Conflicting emotions swirled within him – excitement and apprehension alternating in rapid succession. These familiar sensations were often present during pivotal moments, and now they surged again, offering challenge and comfort, terror and exhilaration. Merlin embraced the solitude of this trek, allowing his thoughts to coalesce, not into clarity, but into a determined resolve to face whatever awaited beyond Camelot's gates, both today and in the future.
Arthur's letter to the people fluttered through his thoughts, its impact spreading like ripples on a pond. Would those carefully chosen words reach Elyan, drawing Gwen's brother back from the shadows of distrust? Beyond that, could they soothe the hearts of those hurt by magic, offering a balm to old wounds? Might they also soften the stance of those who viewed the magical with suspicion, opening paths to cooperation and understanding?
Merlin's chest constricted, hope and doubt warring like twin dragons within. The letter was a seed planted in fertile ground indeed, but whether it would sprout into unity or wither in the face of long-held fears remained to be seen. Such delicate shifts in perception could reshape the kingdom's future, healing rifts that had long seemed unbridgeable, or keep them stagnant in fear and mistrust.
He moistened his lips, and considered the sorcerers' petition that now demanded equal attention. This new labyrinth of desires and fears needed careful navigation. As he walked, fragments of a proposal took shape – freedoms balanced against safeguards, ancient traditions meshing with a new era, benefits weighed against risks. Each element was a thread in a delicate tapestry, one that needed to be woven with utmost care.
Master Iseldir's wisdom, as deep and steady as an ancient well, would be crucial to infuse the proposal with the calm reason of the old religion. Iseldir's vast knowledge could bridge the gap between Arthur's understanding and the ancient ways more effectively than he or Gaius ever could, grounding the king in lore that had long been misunderstood.
Alator the Catha's experience could prove invaluable too – his order's emergence from the shadows of prophecy signaled their readiness to become staunch allies of Emrys. His keen understanding of the magical world's complexities would be essential in drafting the document.
Galahad's fresh perspective would also be vital, offering insights as bright and unexpected as a spark in darkness. And as Arthur had suggested, Merlin planned to leverage the exceptional pen and knowledge of Geoffrey of Monmouth, whose scholarly expertise would lend additional credibility to their proposal. Together with these extraordinary men, they might craft a document truly unifying – something powerful enough to sway even Arthur's cautious heart.
It wasn't until he reached a familiar bend in the road that Merlin realized he'd walked more distance from the mill house than he'd intended. The morning had slipped away too unnoticed, and as he crested an incline, the sun high in the sky, he found himself both thirsty and winded. He'd meant to teleport to the southern gates by now, but had become so lost in thought that he had noticed neither where he was nor how far he'd come. He was likely an hour behind schedule now.
As he stepped off the path into a quiet glade, Merlin's heart thundered in his chest, his hands trembling at his sides. The aged Emrys he was about to transform into – and the future this old self represented – triggered doubts within again. Would he truly embody the wise and revered figure Arthur had spoken of so confidently over a fortnight ago? Could he match the powerful presence he'd projected as Emrys the night before? Should he even attempt to? Or would he falter, exposed as a fraud before a crowd still wary of magic?
He clenched his fists, willing the tremors to subside. The enormity of his task—bridging the world of magic and Camelot's court—suddenly bore down on him like a tangible force. Sweat beaded on his forehead and above his lip. Yet beneath the fear, determination burned strong and constant. He had faced seemingly insurmountable challenges before and prevailed. Now, with the fate of magic and Camelot teetering in the balance, he had no choice but to do the same.
Merlin drew a deep breath, steadying himself, still wrestling with the persistent doubts. He and Galahad had saved Camelot from crisis, breathing life back into barren lands. That feat alone validated his worth. And it was merely one moment of service to the kingdom. He was not a fraudster. This was who he was. There was so much more he had accomplished in secret, and still more waiting to be unleashed for Camelot's benefit.
But Emrys in Arthur's court – a delicate balance indeed. The druids knew his dual identity, accepting both his youthful and aged forms without question. In court and council, however, these dual personas might be more than just misunderstood. If – no, when – they discovered that he was Emrys, the revelation could spark outrage and distrust. Many would not appreciate that he had been amongst them for years, conceivably influencing kings and other powerful figures with his magic. Would the court view the king as a puppet, manipulated by a hidden sorcerer? This could severely undermine their ultimate goal: trusting in Arthur and Emrys and in their ability to bring about Albion.
Swallowing against a dry throat, Merlin's stomach churned at the thought of how this might truly affect Camelot. But time alone would reveal what destinies these days set into motion. For now, he and the inner circle must focus on controlling the present the best they knew how, with Arthur leading the way.
Drawing one last steadying breath, Merlin began to chant the aging spell. As the words of power flowed from his lips, his body groaned and bent under added years not earned. Youthful hands dried to mottled skin as the vibrancy was sucked from soft flesh, revealing gnarled and aching bone. White hair and beard cascaded like a snowy waterfall to his waist, the quickened growth tingling and tickling his skin.
Merlin knew his azure eyes would appear dimmed under a weathered brow – all the solemn wizard and blithe youth in one vessel. A rust-red robe enveloped him, patched yet strangely comforting. Strange, he mused, to inhabit this venerable form as easily as shedding a coat. He leaned into his iron companionship, his bony hand feeling the staff's familiar power coursing through him, ready to usher in this destined age.
With another flash of magic, Merlin materialized on a distant hilltop overlooking Camelot. The castle's proud spires pierced the sky on the horizon, flags waving atop them like beacons. The sprawling meadow before the gates, once bustling with coronation festivities, now stood empty and grand. The absence of tents and allies lent an air of solitary majesty to the scene.
Merlin's keen eyes scanned the area, noting the smattering of people still coming and going along the winding path out beyond the wall. He carefully assessed potential landing spots, mindful of choosing locations that would make his appearance both safe and suitably dramatic.
He vanished again, materializing halfway down the hill, the air crackling with energy, leaves and dust swirling in his wake. From this vantage point, he could make out the gates and the tiny figures of guards standing watch. Another blink, and he reappeared beside an ornate carriage making its way towards Camelot. The horses startled, whinnying in surprise, as the driver jerked the reins in shock. He offered a quick, apologetic bow before vanishing once more.
Merlin reappeared near a lord and lady on horseback traveling south out of Camelot, far enough from them not to startle their mounts. The couple's eyes widened in surprise. He smiled broadly, bowed low, and disappeared before they could react, leaving them gaping at the empty space where he had stood.
With a final, dramatic flash, he appeared directly before the gates, the sudden materialization sending a shock wave rippling outward, startling nearby travelers and guards alike. Some stumbled back, shouting with agitation. Others froze in place, squinting through the dust, unable to comprehend the display of raw magical power before them. Horses whinnied in fright, their hooves clopping loudly on the cobblestone as astonished pages struggled to settle them. A cart laden with produce tipped over, spilling apples and cabbages across the ground. The cacophony of curses, neighs, and rolling fruit created a chaotic backdrop to Merlin's arrival – perhaps more dramatic than he'd intended.
Merlin winced inwardly at the mayhem he'd caused. Beyond the guard's shoulder, he spotted Percival and Ranulf striding into view, their expressions filled with concern and resignation as they surveyed the turmoil.
The two guards on duty—unfamiliar faces, likely new recruits—struggled against the sudden gust of wind and swirling dust. One guard coughed and rubbed his eyes, irritation clear in his furrowed brow as he tilted his halberd towards Merlin. His companion, equally distressed, tried to blink the grit from his eyes.
"You must be Emrys," one guard stated flatly, his tone more exasperated than awed, red eyes tearing.
"I am expected," Merlin rasped with a smile, his voice crustier than normal.
"Couldn't you have arrived without all the..." the guard coughed, gesturing vaguely at the settling dust, "...commotion?"
Merlin clicked his teeth, raising an eyebrow. "Oh. My apologies," he grumbled. "Next time, I'll aim for less dust and more... sparkles!" He leaned on his staff as if it were a third leg, deliberately appearing feebler and putting on a convincing show of frailty.
Percival and Ranulf shouldered through the still-discomforted guards. "Emrys," Percival said, his tone impressively even. "I see you've... cleared the way for your arrival."
"I have indeed," replied Merlin. He noticed Ranulf, the knight's expression a mask of practiced indifference. Even in the face of such a dramatic magical display, the knight had recovered with remarkable speed, his stoic demeanor reasserting itself as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.
"We'll escort him," Percival said to the guards, ushering Merlin beyond the gate. He tossed over his shoulder, "The king and queen command a word with you."
"Command?" Merlin asked, stopping in his tracks, his voice sharp with feigned indignation. He stared at Percival expectantly, his aged brow lifted high and a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Percival crooked his mouth sideways, shrugging his mountainous shoulders. "Perhaps, 'request' is a more suitable word. They would like to thank you for what you've done."
Merlin smiled broadly then, his aged features crinkling with mirth. "Only them?" Surprisingly, he noticed Ranulf's cool defenses crumbling, the knight struggling to retain his composure, his hand covering to his chin in a poor attempt to hide a growing grin.
Percival's eyes darted between Merlin and Ranulf, clearly measuring the situation. After a moment, he spoke, genuine gratitude warming his voice. "Thank you, Emrys. From all of us."
Merlin chuckled warmly, and as they walked, he reflected on the change in Percival's demeanor these last few days. The first knight seemed less burdened than he had in recent times. Merlin knew that as a Christian, Percival had likely wrestled with guilt over some of their more morally ambiguous actions. But since the crop restoration, a weight appeared to have lifted from his shoulders. Perhaps some faith – in magic, in their cause, in himself – had also been renewed. Whatever the reason, Merlin was glad to see the change.
"It is my honor to be of service, young Percival," Merlin replied, infusing his aged voice with a touch of playful condescension.
Percival looked away, biting back a grin now. Merlin too suppressed a chuckle, knowing that in truth, "young Percival" was probably ten years his senior.
People in the square turned toward them as they made their way across the courtyard, some stopping to gaze. Merlin glanced at familiar and unfamiliar faces, surprised by what he saw – or rather, what he did not see. His very appearance embodied the essence of 'sorcerer', from his flowing beard to his gnarled staff, yet fear was absent from their expressions. Instead, he saw wariness, indifference, and a healthy dose of curiosity. To his relief, no one cried for the head of this sorcerer who walked so boldly among them.
As they moved through the crowd, Merlin caught glimpses of parchment in the hands of nobles, knights, and servants. Could these be copies of Arthur's letter? he wondered. If so, it might explain the unexpectedly calm atmosphere. The king's words, reaching far and wide, perhaps had softened the ground for Emrys' arrival.
Unable to contain his curiosity, Merlin snatched one of the parchments from the closest person – a woman. Her indignant "I beg your pardon, sir!" echoed behind him as he shuffled onward, his eyes already scanning through the letter's contents.
"Apologies, my lady," Merlin heard Ranulf say behind him, his voice tinged with embarrassment and resignation.
"The king is indeed a complex individual," Merlin cackled gleefully to no one in particular, stuffing the letter into the cuff of a sleeve. He caught Ranulf and Percival exchanging shocked and worried glances from the corner of his eye, their uneasiness only adding to his amusement.
The climb up the citadel steps commenced, Merlin affecting a slow, hobbling pace. What began as an act, however, soon became uncomfortably real. His knees started to ache, bone grinding against arthritic bone with each step. He grasped his staff, found himself genuinely grimacing as they ascended. The line between performance and reality blurred, his aged form no longer just a disguise but a physical challenge.
"Come now, old man," Ranulf teased behind him. "Surely your bones aren't that fragile."
Merlin shot him a stern scowl, the tangible ache in his joints lending authenticity to his expression. Despite the pain and the unsettling truth of his aging body, he secretly delighted in the banter. "Have some respect, boy," he rasped, infusing his voice with both feigned and real weariness. "Do you know how far I walked to grace this kingdom with my presence?" He leaned heavily on his staff, shoulders slumped with fatigue that was only partially exaggerated.
"Walked?" Ranulf countered, eyebrow raised. "That's not how it looked to us."
Merlin opened his mouth, ready to continue their sparring, when Percival interjected. "The king and queen await," the first knight said, his tone firm.
"Yes, yes, I know," Merlin grumbled, his tattered robes fluttering like weary wings around his stooped frame. "Do not rush me."
Reaching the landing at last, he made quite a show of catching his breath, stretching and cracking his aching bones, smacking his dry lips. In all honestly, he really was thirsty too, having forgotten his waterskin on Chestnut's saddle.
"Water," he demanded, eyeing Ranulf's supply. "I'm parched."
With a raised brow, Ranulf passed him a waterskin. Merlin took a long, grateful drink as Percival scratched his cheek, shuffled his feet.
"Merlin," Percival leaned in, his voice low and tinged with frustration, brow furrowing, "we really must—".
"Ha!" a familiar laugh cut Percival's words short. Galahad strode towards them from the castle doors, his eyes dancing with delight as he took in Merlin's aged disguise.
"Is this the fearsome Emrys? You look ancient!" he chuckled, shaking his head in amazement, raking his gaze over Merlin from head to toe. He glanced at Percival and pointed. "He looks as if he might crumble to dust with a strong breeze!" He laughed heartily again, his joy permeating the air.
Despite his teasing tone, Galahad's eyes shone with wonder and pride. Merlin realized that though his mentor had inspired him in ways that had made him appreciate this aged form as much as his youthful one, this was the first time Galahad beheld the transformation.
"Thank you," Merlin said to Ranulf as he returned the waterskin. Unable to keep from smiling, his gaze drifted to Galahad. Out of respect for the journey they'd shared, Merlin decided to let Galahad have his moment of playful teasing. He mused that his friend's humor rivaled even Gwaine's, a thought that both warmed and amused him.
"The king and queen ponder your delay, Sir Percival," Galahad reported to the first knight, grinning and staring with undisguised awe at Merlin.
Percival's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Let us proceed then," he said, shooting Merlin a frustrated scowl. "Follow me, Emrys."
Merlin winked at Galahad as the young knight fell in behind with Ranulf, both struggling to contain their mirth. Percival, maintaining his role as first knight and marshal, led the way through the citadel with a determinedly neutral expression. Along the corridors, people paused their tasks, craning for a glimpse as he passed. He softened his features and wiggled his nose at the onlookers, his aged ears picking up hushed whispers.
"He looks familiar. Could he be the one? Isn't that the sorcerer who escaped the pyre?"
Though odds remained this introduction could still go awry, he had observed a spectrum of reactions since entering the courtyard: some faces showed wariness, others curiosity, and a few even displayed cautious hope. At least open hostility wasn't bubbling on the surface with his imminent ascension in the king's court. At least not yet. His gaze drifted to the parchment clutched in many hands. Arthur's letter, he mused, a throaty grunt of approval escaping.
They arrived at the familiar doors of the great hall, entering amidst an influx of curious followers. As Merlin crossed the threshold, the change in atmosphere shifted abruptly. The cool stone of the great hall seemed to leech away the cautious optimism he'd felt outside, replacing it with an undercurrent of unease pervading the chamber.
His eyes glided with purpose across the room, taking in the same medley of court life – nobles, knights, and servants, their faces beginning to blend together in a sea of expectant gazes. Yet amidst this familiar crowd, a few rows from the front, two figures stood out: the new physicians, Leonard Vanne and Ruadan Firestone. Curiosity and professional assessment marked their expressions, a refreshing change from the usual court masks. However, Ruadan's eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of suspicion darkening his gaze.
Several knights flanked the rear of the dais, their formidable demeanors rigid with vigilance. Before them, George stood at attention on the left, his face as impassive as ever, and Sefa hovered on the right, her eyes wide with wonder. Only Geoffrey of Monmouth dared to stand close, positioned calmly and centrally behind the throne chairs, his face a mask of scholarly interest that belied the significance of his presence.
Finally, Merlin's gaze settled on the king and queen sitting on their thrones, and he felt his heart sink. Unlike their subjects, who had displayed varied emotions, the royals presented a united front of controlled impatience tinged with guarded caution. Arthur's jaw was clenched, his eyes a steely mix of irritation and wariness – perhaps also recalling the terrible incident with his father, but also clearly annoyed at being kept waiting. Gwen sat rigid, her gaze fixed on Merlin's aged form with shock and apprehension.
He swallowed hard, suddenly parched again. Their disquiet emotions radiated outward, challenging his resolve. In the whirlwind of preparations and concerns about the kingdom's reaction, it seemed the three of them had overlooked how profoundly this moment might affect them personally. This realization threatened to unsettle Merlin's composure, but he braced himself. There was no turning back now.
Percival stopped before the throne, the soft clink of his chain mail echoing in the hushed hall as he bowed his head respectfully. "Your majesties," announced the first knight, stepping aside. "Here is the man we seek."
Merlin stepped forward, the tap of his staff on the stone floor seeming to match his heartbeat. He bowed low to his friends, his beard nearly brushing the floor.
"My name is Emrys. I come to you in peace." Merlin paused, his aged eyes meeting Arthur's steady gaze. "May I commend your majesties for your bravery in embracing such changes concerning magic."
Arthur's blue eyes measured Merlin up and down, his silence stretching long enough that Merlin began to fidget, his aged joints protesting the stillness. The quiet in the hall became unsettling, smothering, broken only by a symphony of subtle sounds: the soft rustle of clothing, the muted clink of knights' chain mail, the whisper of leather as hands tightened on sword hilts, and the barely perceptible shuffle of countless feet shifting uneasily around the chamber.
Finally, Arthur leaned forward, the leather of his royal short coat creaking softly. His tone and expression severe though a glint of mirth at last sparked in his eyes. "You told us long ago your name was Dragoon the Great."
Memories flooded Merlin's mind: being escorted into King Uther's council meeting, blurting out that silly name, innately knowing not to call himself Emrys. He had been there to save Gwen, acting on impulse and desperation. Years later, assuming this persona again, he and Arthur had dared another encounter to save the dying Uther—an incident that could discredit them both if fully known. Those pivotal moments lingered between the three of them, a shared history as complex as any spell. Yet, despite the greys of their past—its triumphs, near-catastrophes, and shadowy dealings he was not proud of—Merlin managed a grin, feeling the wrinkles around his eyes deepen.
"Another name, my lord, used for protection," he replied, his aged voice carrying a hint of mischief. Turning more sober, he added, "Camelot… was a dangerous place for people like me."
"Despite the change in our laws, your presence here is... bold, considering our history." Arthur's voice carried clear across the hall, firm yet tinged with curiosity.
"Did you summon me for execution, King Arthur?" Merlin's challenge rang out, sudden and sharp.
Arthur stiffened, his jawline feathering, clearly taken aback. His eyes widened slightly, surprise and something akin to hurt flashing across his face.
"That… was never my intention," Arthur replied, his tone carefully measured. "We seek to build bridges, not burn them."
Merlin's eyes flashed, his posture straightening despite his aged appearance. "Then let us speak plainly, King Arthur. Have I not proven my loyalty to Camelot time and again?"
His staff struck the stone floor with a sharp crack that startled the onlookers, including Arthur and Gwen. The sound echoed through the hall, emphasizing his words.
"Did my actions not save your future queen all those years ago?"
"Yes," Gwen said softly, nodding her head. "You did."
Merlin turned to her, noticed how she leaned forward slightly, her earlier concern giving way to keen interest. Sunlight from the high windows danced on her crown like stars on a river as the court around them seemed to hold its collective breath, hanging on every word of this exchange.
"You have a question for me, Queen Guinevere?" Merlin prompted gently, recognizing the inquisitive look in her eyes.
"I am as curious as perhaps everyone else here," Gwen said, her voice soft as down and her head tilting slightly. "But why would you do that for me? Save me? I had never seen you before, yet you risked everything."
He gazed at his friend solemnly, his aged eyes crinkling gently at the corners. "Because I have been amongst you, and I'd watched you over the years, my queen. Your kindness, gentleness, and compassion flowed freely to all who needed it, noble and commoner alike. It was crucial to extend the same grace to you, for your ascension to the throne was but the first step of your greatest destiny – to nurture Camelot beside her greatest king, guiding the realm toward true equality and justice."
As he finished speaking, Merlin's solemn expression changed for just a moment. His eyes twinkled with warmth for his first friend in Camelot. Gwen's features softened, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips before she composed herself.
Merlin then shifted his attention to Arthur, his face once again the picture of aged wisdom. "And you, Arthur Pendragon. Your life is a beacon to many, illuminating the path for a united Albion. Your wisdom in embracing change, your commitment to justice for all your subjects – these qualities mark you as a truly great king, one I am duty-bound to protect."
Arthur lifted his head, brow furrowed deeply, lips pressed in a thin pout. Merlin recognized the look— it was Arthur's way of processing praise without letting it go to his head, a trait Merlin had always admired. The king's gaze drifted away from him, roaming soberly over his people, as if seeking confirmation of Emrys' words in their faces.
The crowd's voices rose and fell through the hall like waves on a shore. "How can this be? He's lying. He's enchanting us all even now. No, he is true, sincere. But what if he's right? What if magic could truly help Camelot? Can we trust any sorcerer? Careful now…"
Merlin stood steady, allowing the murmurs to wash over him. He kept his gaze fixed on Arthur and Gwen, watching as they exchanged meaningful glances with him and those of the inner circle.
Then he continued, his voice resounding in a tone that seemed to still the very air in the hall. "My king," he said, advancing a few steps, his staff tapping against the stone, "your kingdom was built on many faiths, once a tapestry of peaceful coexistence. And then the darkest of ages befell Camelot, plunging magic and the world into horror. Many died. Many families broken. Many faiths shattered. Almost thirty years hence, light returns as magic breathes free once more."
He turned slowly, regarding the audience with a stern stare of judgment. "Discord lingers. I've glimpsed unrest and distrust among you – not much, but it threatens all. And to what purpose? I have restored your fields – you've partaken of its bounty, yet some would embrace hunger rather than accept a sorcerer's goodwill. Yes, some of us on both sides have caused great harm of late. But they are mere drops in an ocean of those who freely offer their gifts to the kingdom, or those who lend a tender, merciful hand. What folly to spurn such blessings?"
With a flourish, he pulled Arthur's letter from his sleeve, his eyes flicking to the king. Arthur's lips parted in surprise, another murmur rippled through the crowd at this unexpected reveal.
Merlin held the letter aloft. "A brave gesture for a monarch to acknowledge wrongs, extend hope, and to know that his kingdom must mend its wounds or risk fading like mist at dawn. Your efforts shine with honor, courage, and wisdom, King Arthur, and I commend your service to so many." He drifted back to the throne with dignified slowness, ignoring his aching joints, each movement a calculated performance.
"Opposition will always exist, like shadows in sunlight, but it need not define us. Know this: my magic and support stand ready to aid Camelot. The time has come to nurture harmony, to forge a unity from the diverse strengths of the people of this kingdom."
Arthur sat taller, his eyes blazing with determination and conviction. "Your words strike at the very heart of what we seek to achieve," he declared, his tone resonating through the hall. "As I have come to believe, and as it must now be clear to all, you are not our enemy, Master Emrys, but a vital ally in the future we strive to build." He stood, his presence commanding the attention of all present.
"Emrys, please approach," Arthur commanded as Gwen rose beside him. Merlin advanced upon the dais, his heart racing beneath his aged exterior. This was the moment he had long dreamed of, yet never truly believed would come. Arthur extended his hand. "Camelot not only thanks you but embraces you as a cornerstone of the new era we forge together."
The world seemed to slow, sounds to fade as Merlin grasped the king's wrist. He gripped it firmly, squeezing as tightly as his bony fingers pressed into Arthur's flesh, the physical contact anchoring him in a moment that felt almost unreal. Was this truly happening? Years of secrecy and struggle coalescing into this single, defining instant.
"I thank you, King Arthur," he heard himself say, his voice loud in his own ears. A smile, broader than any he'd worn before, spread across his face, crinkling his aged features. Merlin deftly tucked the letter back into his sleeve, the motion automatic and fluid. "You are indeed wise for one so young," he added, the words floating out of him unbidden.
Arthur chuckled, his teeth capturing his bottom lip to suppress amusement, humility, and subdued surprise. "This is where I formally ask Emrys to be my Court Wizard." He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a mere whisper that seemed to resonate through Merlin's very being. "You've journeyed far to reach this moment, Merlin. Are you ready to assume this mantle?"
"Am I ready to assume the mantle? Despite all appearances, I'm terrified," Merlin replied, his face folding into a frown that was only partially feigned. "My body aches fiercely after all my theatrics, and I'm more than a touch weary. Sleep eluded me last night as you know, considering what kept me awake, and I walked further to Camelot this morning than wisdom would have dictated. I'm exhausted, Arthur, and I still need to speak with Galahad and Geoffrey about the proposal, let alone contact the other masters."
"I understand," Arthur said, though his tone and the way he brushed aside Merlin's own concerns like leaves in the wind suggested otherwise. "Tomorrow's challenge will be steeper still – protocol now demands I introduce you to my council."
Arthur leaned even closer, curiosity and mirth mingling in his eyes, and it seemed to Merlin that the king's "understanding" was indeed as shallow as a puddle as he continued. "Nice touch with the letter," Arthur said. "I have some ideas about that, by the way, so join us for a meal later to discuss them."
He paused, his voice dropping to a near whisper, a hint of wariness in his tone. "But I need to know, Merlin – are there any more surprises I should be prepared for?"
"Not…sure," Merlin admitted, exchanging an exasperated glance with Gwen, who offered a sympathetic smile. His voice an exhausted rasp, he leaned heavily on his staff, fatigue truly gnawing at his old bones now. "But, three days in a row of transforming into Emrys – my nerves are already over-excited, Arthur. Might we postpone a few days?"
"No," Arthur said without hesitation, his word falling with unmistakable finality. "Better get used to it, Emrys." A smile tugged at the corner of Arthur's mouth, a familiar blend of authority and amusement that Merlin had seen countless times over the years.
"Arthur…" Gwen interjected gently, her tone a soft rebuke to her husband's stubbornness.
"What?" he defended, turning to her with crossed arms. His expression softened slightly at her look. "He kept us waiting for near an hour." Returning his attention to Merlin, Arthur's smug grin reappeared. "Consider this your penance."
He shifted slightly, maintaining eye contact with Merlin while addressing the knight. "Sir Percival, ensure any outstanding records against Dragoon are cleared."
"Yes, sire," Percival responded, a crooked grin playing on his face.
Merlin pressed his lips together, irritation and reluctant amusement flaring beneath his aged visage. Of course Arthur would find this situation entertaining, he thought. Some things never change, even when you're suddenly the most powerful sorcerer in the realm.
He supposed he did keep the royalty waiting unnecessarily though and conceded to… some form of penance. But he could feel the strain of maintaining his aged form intensifying, a dull ache settling into his bones. How long could he keep up this charade today without arousing suspicion?
"Take respite the remainder of the day, Merlin," Gwen intervened after a soft roll of her eyes at Arthur, her voice compassionate. "Sir Galahad, come forward please…" She paused, considering her words carefully. "Have the steward find him quarters. Um, somewhere close to Merlin's perhaps? And ensure he spends this time resting, not working. Merlin, we'll see you at supper tonight."
"Yes, my queen," Galahad responded, a small chuckle in his throat.
"Thank you, Gwen," Merlin said with a strained bow, relief flooding his tired frame like warm honey. As he turned to leave, his eyes twinkled with mischief.
"Well," he mused loud enough for Arthur, Gwen, and the nearby knights to hear, "I didn't realize how much fun deception could be, having so many accomplices along for the ride."
The reaction was immediate. Arthur's eyes widened, alarm flashing across his face. A hand flew to Gwen's chest, her lips pressed together, clearly fighting back apprehension again. Percival and Ranulf exchanged panicked glances, while Galahad's shoulders shook with barely contained mirth. Merlin grinned, nodding as these same shared feelings coursed through him, officially welcoming them to his world.
"Fair day, Arthur, Gwen," Merlin acknowledged with smug satisfaction before turning slowly.
"This way," said Percival, pivoting on heels, Galahad and Ranulf flanking him like honor guards.
Merlin glided down the aisle with practiced poise, balancing the frailty of his aged form with the dignity of his newfound position. His shoulders were pulled higher now despite his growing fatigue, buoyed by today's success. He'd weathered his first audience with the king, queen, and court like a ship through a tempest. Next, he'd need to navigate the treacherous waters of the council's harder scrutiny.