Archive of Our Own

'Can I ride it?'

Merlin swallowed a hysterical laugh at Gwaine's question, wondering if this day could get any more stressful. His heart was in his throat and a dull ache slammed against the back of his skull. It was all well and good Arthur and the others knowing about his magic. They'd had almost four months to grow accustomed to the idea, and after those first tense days when he'd worried about being shoved on the pyre, they'd all placed themselves firmly on his side.

The dragon was another matter entirely.

'No.' Kilgharrah answered, his lips pulled back from his teeth as he glared down his muzzle at Gwaine. 'I am no beast of burden. I do not carry passengers.' His nostrils flared, silently implying that Gwaine's entire existence went beyond a mere "burden" and into the territory of "atrocity".

'It can speak,' Leon breathed, and Merlin winced as he took in the Knight Commander, who looked as if he might faint dead away.

'Unfortunately.' He glared at Kilgharrah, a hand outstretched in each direction to pacify both sides. The knights all still held their swords, and he did not miss the way that Kilgharrah appeared to be keeping some of his breath in reserve, as if he would happily roast Arthur and the others in their armour, destiny be damned. 'Is there a reason you're here?' he demanded, wincing as Arthur stepped forward in a single stride.

'Yes, dragon. Why are you here? I was led to believe that you had been slain.' He cast a hard look in Merlin's direction, who grimaced and rolled his eyes.

'What else was I meant to tell you? "Oh no, Arthur, it's fine. I sent it away?" That would have gone well.'

'Especially since it was you who let me out of my prison in the first place, young warlock.'

Merlin silently wondered if he could skin the beast. He needed new boots, after all, and the creature seemed to be revelling in his discomfort. 'Don't start,' he warned, aware that his voice had deepened, the pitch dropping and the growl beneath his words coming to the surface as the urge to bite out something scathing in Draken pressed against his teeth.

'No, do start.' Arthur set the point of his sword in the ground, raising one eyebrow as he focussed his attention solely on Merlin. 'You let it out so it could wreak havoc on Camelot?'

'I don't need a dragon to wreak havoc on Camelot, Arthur. I could do that myself.'

He wasn't sure what was worse, the half-hidden look of horror on Arthur's face, or the fact that Gwaine and Lancelot both smothered laughter in their gloves. They looked as if they could not quite believe Merlin had the audacity to threaten the kingdom, especially in such a bored, tired voice.

'I let him out because I needed to save you and he wouldn't tell me how until I freed him.'

'And you couldn't have sent him away once you did that? You waited until he had set half the city on fire?' Arthur gestured at Kilgharrah, who had that smug, satisfied look on his face that Merlin hated more than anything. 'I thought only a Dragon Lord could control a dragon, so how does that even work, Merlin? As far as I'm aware, the last one fell to a bandit sword.'

Oh, gods. He really didn't want to be having this conversation now... or possibly ever. In the depths of his heart, he had hoped the whole issue with Kilgharrah would never come up. Instead, there was a huge flying lizard basking in the middle of the sun-dappled clearing, and Arthur was watching him like a hawk, as if he were questioning his decision not to put Merlin to the sword when he found out about his magic back in the winter.

'Why are you here, Kilgharrah?' he demanded again, his voice falling into a whine as he ignored Arthur's question. 'Did you need me for something, or did you just show up to smirk?'

Kilgharrah huffed, smoke curling from his nostrils. All the knights took a step back, but Merlin merely raised his eyebrows and spread his hands. For a moment, they stared at each other, the silence growing thick and heavy before the Old Scorch sighed. 'I merely wished to check on your well-being. To see with my own eyes how you fared. I am assuming nothing untoward has happened?'

'Like what?'

The dragon shrugged, a gesture magnified by his great, rustling wings. 'I could not possibly say.'

Merlin glared, noticing that Kilgharrah was not quite meeting his gaze. He hated this: the way he seemed to thrive on secrets, doling out information in a manner that could often be summed up as too little, and far too late. 'Thovi-lo, Draken!'

The words slipped out, the syllables bitten off between his teeth as he pinned Kilgharrah with his glare. Behind him, he was aware of the knights retreating further. They were used to the older language of his spells, but they were softer and more melodic to the ear. The dragon's speech was, by its very nature, made to be roared, and his voice always became a deep, ageless snarl when he spoke it. The only one who did not move was Arthur, who stood his ground, his gloves creaking as he curled his left hand into a nervous fist.

Kilgharrah grimaced as if Merlin's command weighed upon him like a physical thing. Perhaps it did. After all, a dragon could not go against the word of a Dragon Lord. It was a lot of power, and more often than not, Merlin did not enjoy using it, but today his patience for Kilgharrah's riddles was running short.

'Very well. The draconic powers in Balinor's bloodline were particularly strong. Your father's were weak through ignorance and lack of use, but your great-grandfather's were renown. One of his abilities, which he discovered unexpectedly and to great surprise one day, was to take on a dragon's form. I merely wondered if the power remained.' He tilted his head like an inquisitive bird, his stare seeming to pierce Merlin's skin and look deeper, hunting between the bars of his ribs for something unseen.

'You're asking if I can turn into a dragon?'

'I am warning you that it may be a possibility. It would be.... unfortunate if you happened to be in the citadel when the power came to the surface.'

Merlin managed a faint squeak of protest at the very thought. Bad enough that he was a sorcerer in Camelot. At least he could hide his magic, most of the time. It helped that there was a wilful sort of ignorance among the people. They could ignore the occasional narrow escape or stroke of good fortune, but there was no way they would miss the sudden appearance of a dragon in their midst. 'And you're only telling me this now?' he hissed.

'It may be of no matter. It could be that the ability has been lost. It merely occurred to me that you should be aware of the possibility, as I doubt Balinor had the opportunity to reveal much of your heritage.'

Merlin ran his tongue over his teeth, shoving aside the usual tangle of anger and sadness that accompanied thoughts of his father. The man had, after all, had almost two decades. He could have returned to Merlin's mother and learned of his son's existence if the possibility of a family had ever crossed his mind. Instead, the Purge had driven him into a life of solitude, and he had never taken the risk of setting foot in Camelot's borders again. He had known nothing of kin until the day he died, and a small, childish part of Merlin hated him for his ignorance.

Tiredly, he scrubbed a hand over his face, wishing he could wipe this whole incident from existence and start over. In truth, he had no idea if he could shift his shape or not. It was not an aspect of his magic he had ever considered, and nor was it something he could truly explore, not trapped within the confines of Camelot

'Nothing's happened yet,' he said at last, offering a shrug of his own. 'Obviously, since I've not been forced to flee or burned at the stake.'

'Why now?' Arthur's question slipped through the air like a striking sword, honed and sharp. 'You could have told Merlin this at any point, so why did you wait until today, unless there's something you're not telling us?'

'Indeed.' Leon stepped forward, finding his voice as he settled near Merlin's left shoulder. 'And what help is your warning? You've told him the bare minimum. Are there no signs we should watch for? No indications of a growing power that Merlin should know about?'

Dimly, Merlin heard the other knights follow Leon's lead, closing the distance as they ranged behind him, presenting a united front. It was a bold move, especially as they did not know the precise words of Merlin's demands when he had banished the dragon from Camelot. Both the kingdom and all of her people were under his protection. Kilgharrah could not go against Merlin's word, not unless Merlin himself released him of their binding. He could not even raise a claw to Uther, thanks to the broad sweep of Merlin's orders that fateful day.

Kilgharrah gave them all a hard look, his body held firm and powerful before a slight sag of his muscles betrayed his grudging surrender. 'I came as soon as I recalled the possibility. I know little of it,' he admitted at last. 'Your great-grandfather did not confide in me; I was not his. Just as, strictly speaking, I am not yours.'

Merlin nodded. A Dragon Lord could control all dragons, but they formed a true, deep bond with one such creature and one alone. It was not something that could be replaced, and Kilgharrah had lost his true Dragon Lord the day Balinor died. 'So, you don't know anything else?'

A great sigh, smelling of brimstone, stirred the hair back from his face. Kilgharrah hated to admit his ignorance, but now it seemed he had no choice. 'I do know that your great-grandfather kept extensive journals. While most books detailing magic were destroyed in the Purge, some were saved. It is possible his records may be among them.'

'And where would we find these books?' Arthur demanded, his armour clanking as he took a step closer to Merlin's side, their shoulders bumping. 'If they do indeed survive?'

Merlin watched the expression on Kilgharrah's face change, his eyes narrowing in contented amusement as his nostrils flared around a rumbling laugh. 'Young Prince, the largest collection of magical texts and artefacts in the five kingdoms resides in Camelot.'

'What?'

'Your father seeks to keep objects safe by locking them in the vault, and his scribe-master has never been happy to see books burn.'

'He's right about that at least, ' Merlin said. 'There's a hidden room in the library. It's stacked to the ceiling with tomes and scrolls. It would take me years to read them all.'

'You may not have the luxury of that much time,' Kilgharrah pointed out, heaving a sigh and lumbering to his feet. 'I cannot say for sure, young warlock, whether the talent lies within your grasp, but it is something you should discover for yourself, before it takes you by surprise.'

Strong muscles coiled in his haunches, and his wings gave a mighty boom as Kilgharrah launched himself into the air. The wave of magic that helped him ascend crawled over Merlin's skin in ticklish ripples. The Old Scorch did always love to have the last word, and Merlin swallowed back his annoyance as he shook his head in disbelief.

'No, that's fine. You go,' he called out, not caring if the dragon heard him or not. 'It's not like I needed to know anything else!' He jammed his hands on his hips and glared at the ground. 'My ancestor's name might have been useful!'

Around him, he could sense the great weight of various things unspoken, and the sudden urge to get away – to seek some space and silence with his own thoughts – raced through him from head to toe. He could not face this now, not the sideways glances of the knights or the thoughtful look on Arthur's features, and he hastened to make his escape.

'I'll collect firewood, unless you've changed your mind about making camp?

He turned to look at Arthur, realising with a start that those blue eyes were fixed on him, bright and unreadable. For a moment, Arthur made no response, bearing witness to the race of his own considerations, whatever they may be. Eventually, he gave a slow nod and gestured towards the forest around them. 'Don't wander too far,' he warned.

Stifling a grumble of complaint, Merlin slipped away between the trees, taking some petty pleasure in the crunch of the winter's leaves beneath his feet. Distantly, he could hear Arthur ordering Gwaine and Elyan to try and round up the horses, which had scattered when they stumbled upon the dragon. The rest of them would clear the area and dig a firepit, setting the foundations for their camp.

There were plenty of jobs associated with the task, too many for one person to do in a timely manner, and the knights were well-used to pulling their weight. Merlin let the busy noises from their activities fade from his hearing, picking his way deeper between the trees as he searched the forest floor.

A quick spell would have two bundles of sticks at his feet within a dozen heartbeats, but right now he was happy for an excuse to work. His mind felt like a kicked beehive, swarming with thoughts. He needed the time and space to get his head on straight so he could face the inevitable questions his friends would have for him.

Not, he conceded, that he was likely to have answers. Ever since they had discovered the truth about his magic, they had turned to him more and more. After all, by sheer dint of what he was, he should be the expert on the various magical creatures, people and curses they often stumbled across. Yet instead of reassurance, he could rarely offer anything more than his best guess. Uther had destroyed more than the practice of magic; he had annihilated its culture. Merlin had much to learn, and there were very few left alive who were either able or willing to teach him.

Even Kilgharrah, wise as he was, did not know everything. Sometimes, true enough, he had an answer, but more than once Merlin had found himself wondering if the dragon's way was the best path to take. Who knew how differently things may have gone if he had the knowledge to help himself, rather than relying on others? Now there was this.

He knew, in an absent manner, that he had kin and a bloodline. Everyone did, after all, whether history deemed it significant or not, but there was a difference between comprehending the existence of a great-grandfather and knowing there had been a man, once, with magic over dragons who could change his shape. Someone else a little bit like him.

It just raised more questions. Kilgharrah had spoken as if he no longer walked the earth. What had happened to him? Had it been some accident, or a twist of fate? Had he died along with his dragon, at Uther's hand, or had death found him before the Purge, at a time when magic was still openly practiced?

Merlin didn't know, and he probably never would. It was a lonely feeling, and he let out a sigh as he dropped the few sticks he'd gathered into a meagre pile and turned away, about to amble off in search of more.

'Would you ever have told me?'

He spun around, blinking at where Arthur leaned against the bole of a nearby tree, his arms folded across his chest. He did not meet Merlin's eye, but rather stared at his boots, as if he was not sure he wanted to hear the answer to his question.

A worried frown pleated his brow, and it took Merlin a moment to realise what was different about him. No sword hung from his belt, nor was it stuck in the ground anywhere nearby. It was rare to the extreme that Arthur left it behind when they were out and about in the kingdom, and Merlin wondered if he had done it for him: a way to make Merlin feel more safe. Not, of course, that he would be entirely unarmed. Merlin knew of at least two daggers Arthur carried on his person, but it was still an unexpected concession.

'About the dragon?'

Arthur made a rude noise, lifting his head and giving Merlin a Look. It started off a touch sharp, but rapidly softened into something gilded with sadness. 'No. I know the answer to that. You would have kept that hidden until you had no choice – not that I can really blame you. I meant about Balinor.' Arthur pushed himself away from the tree, taking a single step towards him. 'He was your father.'

Merlin sighed, bending down to ferret some more small branches out from among the leaf litter. It gave him something to do, a way to keep his hands busy and avoid meeting Arthur's gaze. 'You didn't know about my magic, back then. If I'd told you, you would have drawn too many conclusions, and after...' He straightened up with a shrug. 'It didn't seem relevant.'

For a moment there was only silence, interrupted by the susurrus of dead leaves as Merlin continued to forage for firewood. The sudden clank of metal made him look up, and he frowned in bafflement as he realised that Arthur had peeled off his gloves and battled with the awkward buckles of his pauldron, letting it fall to the floor as he grappled with his chainmail.

'What are you doing?' He dumped the sticks he had found in the pile before marching over to Arthur's side, grabbing the hem and helping him. Chainmail was not easily removed, not without getting it hopelessly tangled in strands of hair and scraping sensitive skin along the way.

The moment Arthur was free of it, he surged forward. Merlin had no time for anything but a grunt as he found himself wrapped in a strong embrace, the metal hauberk still bundled awkwardly between them. His entire body stiffened in surprise, because he and Arthur did not do this. Yes, there was the occasional ruffle of hair or taunting headlock, a punch in the shoulder or a nudge of the elbow, but this? Arthur had never done this before, and Merlin was shocked by how safe he felt.

The chainmail slithered to the floor as it fell from his fingers, and he clumsily looped his arms around Arthur's back in return, his body sagging closer of its own accord. Arthur bore his weight without a murmur of complaint, tucking his chin over Merlin's shoulder, their feet sharing space and their hearts falling in and out of beat with one another where they were pressed together, held separate by nothing but skin and bones and fabric.

Arthur's padded gambeson smelled like horse and saddle soap and sweat: a familiar, comforting fragrance edged with the hint of the sage Arthur had demanded in his bath that morning. It steadied the edgy jitter of Merlin's nerves, and the subtle brush of Arthur's thumb between his shoulder-blades smoothed away the tangle of his thoughts, allowing them to flow once more.

'I'm sorry.'

The heartfelt apology was the last thing he expected to fall from Arthur's lips, and Merlin eased back to get a good look into his face.

'What for?'

'I berated you for your grief, that day. Even when I suspected there was more to it than met the eye.' Arthur scowled, as if he felt he should somehow have been able to read Merlin's mind. 'I should have been a better friend to you.'

'You had other concerns: a dragon laying siege to your kingdom, for one thing.' Merlin shook his head, chewing over his next words with care. 'Thank you for the apology, but I don't need it, Arthur. You didn't do anything wrong.'

'Neither did you.' Arthur waved a hand dismissively when Merlin cast him a look. The circle of their embrace broke, but neither one of them retreated. 'The dragon wasn't your fault. You were not the catalyst for his rage, nor the one who imprisoned him in the first place. That crime rests on my father's shoulders. Nor did you order the beast to flame the city to nothing but ash, that was his own decision. You were as much a victim as anything else. No blame lies with you.'

The doubtful noise that hitched in Merlin's throat made Arthur glare, and he placed his hand on Merlin's shoulder, giving it a quick tight, squeeze. 'I mean it, Merlin. From where I'm standing, your motives, at least, were pure, even if the end result was less than ideal.'

It was amazing, to Merlin, how far Arthur had come since the day they met. Back then, he had been a brash bully in the marketplace, revelling in the power his rank bestowed and content not to challenge either himself or the status quo of Camelot. While that time might lie several years behind them, now, it was still remarkable how Arthur had grown into a man who could push aside prejudice and look beyond the surface of a given situation to the complexities that lay beneath.

'I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Kilgharrah sooner. I didn't –' Merlin wrinkled his nose and lifted one shoulder in an awkward shrug. 'I didn't want you to think ill of me. Especially when you're still getting used to what I am.'

'A warlock and a Dragon Lord?' Arthur's smile was little more than a small curl of his lips, but it was genuine all the same. 'You had your reasons, like you said. I understand. What bothers me more is the idea that, if the dragon had sought you out in private to share his latest revelation, I would never have known about any of this. You would have kept it to yourself: the existence of Kilgharrah, your kinship with Balinor, not to mention the potential to change into a dragon.'

Merlin bit his lip, the desire to escape the turns this conversation had taken stealing over him. He did not know why it left him feeling so exposed and raw. Perhaps it was the fear that this would be Arthur's final line in the sand, the point where he realised that there was nothing simple or straightforward about being Merlin's friend. Would today be the day that Arthur decided that the weight of Merlin's secrets was too great a burden? Oh, he might not put him to the pyre or the sword, but the prospect of exile scared Merlin the most. Arthur casting him aside like that? He did not think he could bear it.

'We don't know I can even do that,' he pointed out, looking around the forest floor before breathing a quick spell, wincing as the sticks and small branches rattled towards him and threw themselves at his feet in a neat bundle. They were bone-dry, his magic made sure of that, and the flare of his power was a comforting reprieve. 'You heard Kilgharrah. My father couldn't do it.'

'It's not the kind of thing we need to take us by surprise.' Arthur shook his head, his expression serious once more as he considered the ramifications of such a transformation. 'We'll help you try and find those journals, myself and the knights both. Maybe we can write to Morgana and see what she or the druids have heard? There must be some knowledge out there. Something you could use.'

Merlin made a non-committal sound. Morgana, at least, had got safely out of Camelot when it became clear she needed some kind of training for her magic. Uther thought she was spending a year visiting old friends of Gorlois, and Morgana herself? Judging from her letters, she was coming into her own power with grace and enthusiasm.

Still, he would rather not bother the druids with this. Their reverence of him was uncomfortable, and while Arthur knew almost everything about his power now, the prophecy and claims that Merlin was Emrys had not yet come to light. It was bad enough that Arthur and the knights looked to him for guidance in all things magical, and he came up short. He did not want to consider what it might be like if they believed the druids.

'I've never felt the least bit dragon-ish.' He stooped, picking up the sticks and turning back towards camp. 'The chances are the power has been lost.'

'We can't put our faith in "chances", Merlin, not when there's so much at stake.' Arthur bundled his hauberk and pauldron under one arm before grabbing Merlin's elbow and pulling him up short, his voice firm but apologetic. 'It's not only you who would suffer if my father discovered what you are.'

Merlin chewed his lip. Arthur could not have chosen a better argument, and they both knew it. Back when he had found out about Merlin's magic, one of their conflicts had stemmed from Merlin's fear of what would become of his friends. Their knowledge of what he was and refusal to do anything about it branded them as traitors in the eyes of the King. If he ever realised the truth... It did not bear thinking about, and it was the one risk Merlin refused to take. Arthur knew that, and he wielded it like a weapon when he felt he had no other choice.

'Besides, this is about more than finding out if your magic will take us by surprise one day. It's about you. My father destroyed an entire way of life during the Purge, and I hate to see you struggling with the consequences of it. If the dragon is right, if the biggest collection of magical books and items really does lie within Camelot's walls, then we should learn what they can do and put them to use.'

'And how do you plan to do that? Uther will not take kindly to you prodding around the vault.'

'I'll think of something. As for the books, the only thing standing in your way there is Geoffrey himself. As soon as this patrol is done, we'll see what he has managed to ferret away in that secret room you mentioned. Perhaps there's too much for you to explore on your own, but between us, I'm sure we can make some progress.'

He made it sound so easy, as if circumventing Camelot's laws and sneaking around under his father's nose was a trifling matter. Once, such rebellion would never have crossed Arthur's mind. Now, he almost revelled in it, and despite his reservations, Merlin could not bring himself to regret the path they walked.

After so long struggling with his magic alone, it felt good to know that his friends were not only accepting, but actively supportive of the things he could do. More to the point, with every spell he cast, large or small, he knew he was showing Arthur the truth: that power was a tool to be picked up or set aside as needed, neither dangerous nor cursed.

'And if it turns out I can change into a dragon?' Merlin asked, prodding at the notion like a sore tooth. 'What then?'

'Then we keep it a secret, the same as your magic, until such a time that you can be yourself without risking execution.' Arthur raised his chin, defiant. 'That day will come, Merlin, I promise you.'

Merlin's heart tripped in his chest, and he paused near the edge of the clearing, his sharp gasp whistling between his teeth. As open-minded as Arthur had become of magic, he had never mentioned anything like this before.

While he had begun to see the flaws in Uther's philosophies and the tyranny in his laws, he had never spoken even a hint of undoing them until this moment, and Merlin was left breathless at the possibility. Nor, he realised, was it a vow idly-made. Arthur's face was a picture of determination, his resolve on clear display, and for the first time since he had arrived in Camelot, Merlin truly believed that things could change.

'Thank you,' he rasped, not knowing what else to say.

'I think it is I who should be thanking you, Merlin,' Arthur replied, his hand warm against Merlin's arm and his blue eyes fathomless. 'For showing me the truth about magic and those who wield it.'

Warmth bloomed through Merlin's chest, flooding through to his fingertips and down his thighs. For too long, it felt as if he had been fighting an uphill battle alone. Now, at last, it was as if a veil had lifted from his eyes. He did not have to struggle on in solitude, not when Arthur was by his side, every step of the way.

Arthur nudged their shoulders together, his smile soft and carefree as he added, 'Oh, and Merlin?'

'Yeah?'

'If it turns you out you can transform into a great, winged creature, I hope you'll be more cooperative than Kilgharrah.' Arthur looked at him, his eyes agleam with a flicker of half-hidden excitement. 'One day, I would very much like to see my kingdom from the air.'

Merlin grinned. The idea of sharing that with Arthur warmed him through from soul to skin. He still doubted Kilgharrah's proclamation, but in that moment, he could almost picture it, the two of them soaring high into the dawn of that promised Golden Age. His answer came easily, as much a vow to himself as the prince he served.

'Of course, Sire.'