corilannam | FIC: The Tournament of All Magicks (Merlin, 2/4)

Continued from Chapter 1

"There it is," Arthur said as they cleared the top of the ridge and looked down at the town nestled in the valley below. "The den of sorcery."

Merlin eyed the fields and sheep wandering along the outskirts. "It looks like Greensward to me."

They had crossed the border on foot around midday, dodging a patrol of Uther's knights on one side and Cenred's on the other. Arthur had stripped off everything recognizable, down to his ring and necklace now hidden in his pack. The rest of Arthur's gear lay hidden in the brush behind them. Ahead of them lay Banncroft.

Arthur cocked his head and squinted. "Yes, it does look rather like Greensward, doesn't it?"

"They had a great inn," Merlin recalled with fondness. "Really great ale."

"Yes, I remember." Arthur cast him an amused glance. "I also remember you vomiting profusely over the side of my horse because you couldn't stay on your own. All the way back to the castle."

"Yes, that, too," Merlin agreed, though all he remembered was general illness and Arthur hauling him back into the saddle again and again. "But it was worth it, wasn't it?"

"Well, yes." Arthur started down the slope. "Let's hope Banncroft lives up to the image. But be careful. I don't want you drinking anything enchanted."

"Me?" Merlin glared at Arthur's back. As he followed his friend down the ridge, he muttered his opinions on enchantments and their respective records on succumbing to them.

They entered Banncroft through the main avenue that wound through the length of the town. No guards manned the rudimentary fortifications, though Merlin felt a shiver of magic run over him as they entered. He glanced around as they walked, but no one came running to accost Arthur and accuse him of being King Uther's son.

The street went through the market, which also strongly resembled the market in Greensward, or any other town, including Camelot itself. Merchants stood by carts and storefronts to hawk their wares. The wares were also the same as they saw daily back home. Merlin spotted a butcher, a smith, and a potter, but there did not seem to be anything magical about any of them.

Arthur stopped in the middle of the street and looked around, hands on his hips, as the townspeople bustled around him without paying him any mind. "I have to say, this is anticlimactic."

Merlin almost kept walking, but jerked back and gave him a conspiratorial grin. "You, too?"

A woman who might have been around Uther's age was pushing a cart past them. It looked exactly like the cart Maeve the baker's wife used to sell sweet honeyed rolls to the children of Camelot. The sight of the cart made Merlin's mouth water. Maeve always gave Merlin an extra when he came to buy some for Arthur, who was too mature and important to be seen buying children's sweets.

Arthur eyed the cart a little hungrily as it approached. "Yes, I was expecting something more blatant. But I suppose it is just a normal town most of the time."

Merlin also looked at the cart with anticipation, which turned to disappointment when it came close enough to tell that it held only rustic jewelry and small bottles. He turned away to exchange a silent, sheepish glance with Arthur.

"I know," he said. "But I keep looking at everyone, wondering if they're...you know."

He made a little head wiggle meant to indicate sorcery. It also meant magic, people who are like me. It made his stomach ache worse than hunger, as these half truths always did, to share even this much of it with Arthur.

"Bloody tourists," griped the woman pushing the cart as she trundled past them.

Arthur, who had just opened his mouth to reply to Merlin, turned a thunderous frown on her. "I beg your pardon?"

Merlin winced.

The cart stopped its forward roll. The woman turned to face them, and her scowl could give Arthur's a good competition in any tournament.

"I said bloody tourists. You lot always come looking for razzle dazzle cheap tricks." She waved her hand at her cart. "But you wouldn't recognize real magic work if it bit you on the nose. And if you wander about with your nose in the air, don't be surprised if it does."

"Those cheap trinkets are magic?" Arthur cast a scornful look back at the cart.

Merlin, who had learned a healthy respect for magic trinkets, sidled up to the cart and peered inside with new interest. "What kind of magic?"

The woman's demeanor changed as she pulled the cart open to display her merchandise. "Love, my dear boy, the only magic that matters."

Arthur approached the cart with greater hesitation, looking at it as if it might bite him after all. "Love? As in potions and such?"

She ignored him in favor of squeezing Merlin's shoulder. "A handsome young lad like you must have someone back at home, yes?"

"Um," Merlin said, ignoring Arthur's displeased sound at being ignored. "Not exactly."

Her smile widened. "Not a lover yet, then, but someone you'd like to be?"

He could not help himself--he looked over to Arthur. Arthur shot him a dark look in return that provoked a surge of panic in his chest.

Then he remembered Arthur's old reproofs about his visits to Morgana. His panic subsided in favor of irritation. Morgana had been gone for months, and it had been none of Arthur's concern in the first place.

"At the moment, no," he said, turning back to the cart. "Not a bit."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see when Arthur's glare subsided, mollified. It only made Merlin seethe harder.

The woman gave him another motherly squeeze before reaching into her cart and pulling out a handful of charms. "Should you think of someone, you might consider taking one of Lady Elaine's trinkets home with you."

He fingered a charm shaped like the sun. The magic tickled his fingers like the nibbles of a playful fish. "What does it do?"

"One look at you wearing this charm will dazzle the eyes of your beloved until they can see nothing but you." Elaine plucked the charm from the bunch and pressed it into his hand. "Yours for one of those sweet smiles, dearie."

Merlin turned it over between his fingers. He thought of Arthur looking at him with shining eyes, like Merlin was the sun, and he needed nothing else to live.

Then he thought of Sophia, and he thought of Vivian, and the way Arthur had looked at them.

He handed the charm back. "Thanks, but I think I'd better get by on whatever charms I already have."

"Who said you had any?" Arthur muttered, but he was smiling when Merlin glanced at him.

Merlin shot him a dirty look anyway. Morgana's theoretical virtue would be safe from Merlin for another day, never mind what had almost happened to Camelot because Merlin had not kept a close enough eye on her in the first place.

Elaine did not seem concerned with the loss of custom. She added the charm back to her bunch with a flick of her fingers. "I'm sure you'll do fine, dear. You have those eyes, those cheekbones...never mind about the ears."

He clapped his hands to the sides of his head. "What? What's wrong with my ears?"

Arthur burst into gales of laughter. Merlin turned to him in bewilderment, still holding his hands protectively over his perfectly normal ears.

"Oh, they're charming to one in love, I don't doubt." Elaine braced herself against her cart to get it moving again. "But if you decide you'd rather not take the chance, come see Lady Elaine any time."

With that Elaine trundled away, leaving Merlin still holding his ears and Arthur nearly doubled over, wheezing with laughter.

"What?" Merlin asked again, plaintive. "Arthur, what's wrong with my ears?"

Arthur straightened up and wiped his eyes. The occasional chortle still burst out like a hiccup as he stepped over to Merlin.

He wrapped his fingers around Merlin's wrists and pulled his hands away from his head. Merlin waited as Arthur studied him the way he would study a new horse. He braced himself for an exhaustive inventory of everything wrong with his face.

But Arthur only smiled and shook his head fondly. "Nothing at all," he said. "They're just your ears, Merlin."

"Oh," Merlin said. He reached up again to poke at one.

Arthur sighed and pulled his hand back down. "Your 'lady' Elaine was just trying to sell you something. I doubt it was real magic at all. Now come on, I want to take a look at the tournament field."

A thrill wiped out any lingering worry about his vanity. Even if he could not compete now that Arthur was here, he was eager to see what was happening. "Where do you think it is?"

Arthur shrugged. "Where they usually are, I imagine. Come on."

Now that Arthur seemed to have his bearings, he stalked with purpose through the town. He ignored everything he passed, focused on his mission.

Merlin could not look around him enough, now that he knew to look for the magical amongst the ordinary. He veered one way to check if the apothecary's potions promised more than natural medicinal effects, and then the other way to peer at a display of odd-looking things that turned out to be weathervanes.

"Merlin!"

He jogged to catch up again.

The tourney grounds turned out to be exactly where Arthur thought, near the edge of the town. If he squinted, Merlin could have believed they had stepped back into Camelot with its rippling flags and tall stands and wide sandy field.

Even the tall pegged board with the shields of the competitors looked the same there beside the registrar's table--except that Merlin did not see any coats of arms of the noble houses. Instead, the wooden seals bore strange serpents, birds, and trees twining in vivid colors around even stranger names.

Merlin's heart fell. Even if he was free to join the queue at the registrar's table, he had no shield, no symbol, no placard to hang. He did not even know where to get such a thing. Arthur's coat of arms had been carefully painted by a royal artisan.

Arthur was also staring, eyes wide and nostrils flaring. "Those," he said, "are definitely sorcerers."

His breath caught. While taking in his surroundings, he had forgotten those people queuing up to add their names to the tourney rolls. He had forgotten that they were warlocks, witches, sorcerers--people like him.

"Merlin." Arthur's elbow nudged his ribs. "Go check it out."

"Me? Why me?"

"Because you're the one who's suddenly chummy with sorcerers." Arthur nodded towards the registrar. "Isn't that your new lady friend there, in fact?"

He looked. Niniane stood at the head of the queue, one person away from the registrar.

"Right," Merlin said. "I'll be right back."

He slipped into the flow of the crowd before Arthur could change his mind or say he was kidding. Niniane's look of surprise when he appeared at her side gave him a moment of triumph.

"So the prince's man escaped the prince a second time," she said. "I'm impressed."

Merlin barely restrained himself from looking back to check on Arthur. "Maybe not quite so loud about the prince thing?"

This time her surprise was both greater and less satisfying. "You brought him here?" she hissed, leaning closer. "You mad fool."

"He wanted to come," Merlin protested, feeling like she should think better of Arthur for it.

"And what if you're not the only secret warlock who decided to sneak away from Camelot?" she said. "All it takes is one person to recognize your handsome prince and he'll never make it out of here alive."

"I'll make sure he does." It did not matter whether she believed him any more than it mattered how many people wished Arthur harm. Merlin would keep him safe.

Nonetheless, he risked a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure Arthur was still glowering where Merlin had left him.

"Next," called the man sitting at the registrar's table as the warlock in front of them moved away and Niniane stepped up. "I am Nennius, officiant for this tournament. State your name."

"Niniane, daughter of Pelham, of the Lake Country."

As Nennius inscribed her name, Merlin noticed a stack of the blank wooden placards next to his roll of parchment. When the registrar was done, he picked up one of the blank tiles and laid it down in front of Niniane. "Display your proof."

She lay her hand over the wood and murmured something. Smoke curled up from between her fingers, silvery and pungent. When she took her hand away, the tile was covered in green and gold.

A glorious tree spread out as though growing from the wood and curling around the edges of the placard. The letters of her name tangled amongst the leaves like golden vines and ripe fruits. Merlin had never seen anything so beautiful.

Nennius took it from her and gave it a cursory look before tossing it over his shoulder to his assistant. The assistant, a gangly boy, caught the tile and tossed it toward the great rankings board.

It flew, wobbled a bit, and spun rapidly in the air. Just as Merlin was about to ask if there was something wrong with it, it wobbled again and slammed onto the board with a loud crack.

The boy turned red and shrugged at Niniane. "Sorry," he croaked.

"You'll face Cluthe in the first round tomorrow," Nennius said after a glance at the board. "Be here no later than the noon hour for the oaths. Next!"

Merlin hopped to the side with Niniane to make way for the next competitor. "I'll come watch you tomorrow," he said, a bit wistful.

"You're an odd duck, Merlin." Niniane shook her head. "Cute, but I get the feeling there's more to you than I thought. I don't know if I'm sorry you're not competing or glad. I'm here to win."

He gave an innocent shrug. "I might surprise you."

"I bet you would." Her smile took on a lascivious edge. "If you can escape your prince a third time, I'll give you the chance to finish proving it."

Tournament-level magic suddenly seemed less interesting compared to the remembered magic of her skin. Merlin tried to clear the memory from his mind as he cleared his throat. "I'll see what I can do."

And then she could see what he could do. If Arthur had no such need for him, it did not seem like too much to ask for someone else to appreciate his abilities.

He watched her walk away before he turned to find Arthur again. The instant he found Arthur's face on the edge of the crowd, he knew he was in trouble. That glower was a shade deeper than it had been when last he looked.

"Merlin," Arthur said in tight, snipped tones as soon as Merlin returned to his side. "I believe I sent you to gather information, not make a tryst with a damned witch."

"I wasn't, I didn't," Merlin protested, which was almost true on a technicality, given that he had not arranged any specific time to meet with her.

Arthur's eyes flicked downwards for a moment before he looked away. Merlin's face burned. Clearly Arthur had noticed that Niniane had left him slightly tight in his trousers. Knowing Arthur had noticed, that hint of a sexual connection between them, was only making the problem worse.

"The first round starts tomorrow at noon," he said, determined to ignore his embarrassment until it went away. "We'll go watch, right?"

"Yes, of course." Arthur squinted off at the field and the stands as though planning the best strategic vantage point. "I never miss a match in any tournament if I can help it. That's the whole point in having them in the first place."

"Really?" Merlin fell into step beside him as Arthur moved back onto the main street.

"Yes, of course." He cast Merlin an amused glance. "Did you really think my father risks thousands of gold pieces just to watch me prance around in fancy armor and hit people?"

Actually, that was exactly what Merlin had thought up until that moment. "Um, no?"

"The point of a tournament is that every king and lord sends his best men to compete. So what does that mean?"

For Merlin, it generally meant a lot more laundry. "You get to see who's the best?"

"Yes!" Arthur beamed at him and wrapped his arm around the back of Merlin's neck. "We test each other's skills to see which lord has the best fighters to send to war."

"Right," Merlin agreed, though his interpretation had been more egocentric than strategic.

"Why do you think the kings and lords of Albion have been so eager to make peace with my father?" Arthur drew himself up with a quiet pride, far removed from the puffery he affected in front of the court during those same tourneys.

Merlin slipped his arm around Arthur's back in return and smiled at his prince and his friend. "Because you're the best in the land, obviously."

Arthur smiled back as if Merlin's opinion mattered more to him than any other. Merlin did not mind enjoying that illusion.

"Let's go get a room," Arthur said and pounded Merlin on the back when he choked. "Honestly, Merlin, walking and breathing at the same time should not be too much to ask."

"Right, breathing," Merlin wheezed. "A room. At an inn. Where we can breathe."

"As long as they don't put us over the stables, anyway." As he finished the sentence, Arthur looked like he was already reconsidering the incognito scheme.

They walked back through the town in search of lodgings that would meet Arthur's standards. He slowed as they passed the only stone building they had seen in the town. It also seemed to be the only place sporting conventionally armed guards.

The building was circular and seemed large here, though it was small by Camelot standards at only two stories. Merlin had been inside several before--it was the typical building where representatives of the king or local lord came to conduct business during their occasional visits to the larger towns.

"So who's sponsoring this particular gathering, I wonder?" Arthur mused. "And what are they hoping to see?"

Merlin had wondered that himself, though with a less politically strategic eye until now. He started to ask if Arthur thought it might be Cenred himself--but he lost the thought as a familiar figure caught the corner of his eye. Wild blond hair spread over a dark cloak as she hurried out of the stone building and down its steps.

Arthur saw her at the same moment. "Morgause," he breathed and managed three strides before losing sight of her in the street. "Merlin, go around back that way and cut her off. I have things I want to discuss with that witch."

Merlin nodded and took off in the direction Arthur had pointed. He had even more things to discuss with Morgause, though none of it was for Arthur's ears.

But when Arthur's indication of "that way" took him back by the tournament grounds, he slowed in his pursuit. No one remained in front of the registrar's table, and Nennius the registrar had begun to pack away the blank placards into a satchel.

Desire rose, hotter than anything Niniane had made him feel. He wanted to compete. If what Arthur said about the purpose of tournaments held true here, maybe he needed to compete. The magical world should know that Camelot was protected.

Before he made the decision, he was running towards the table. "Wait!" he called, wriggling his way between people and pushing them out of the way when necessary. "Don't leave. There's one more to register."

Nennius paused to look at him, unimpressed, as Merlin skidded up to the table. "You were here earlier. Should have registered then."

"I couldn't then." Merlin tried to sound so sure and reasonable about it that the man would not ask for any further explanation.

He did not ask, but nor did he look any more impressed. "But you can now?"

"Yes, exactly," Merlin answered and planted himself there to wait until Nennius heaved a put-upon sigh and unrolled his parchment again.

"Name?" Nennius picked up his quill and looked up at Merlin expectantly. "Oh, come now, it's not a difficult question. Or do you need to go away again to think about it?"

"No, it's just...." Merlin hesitated again, because obviously he could not use his real name. Distracting Arthur long enough to compete unnoticed would be difficult enough. He could hardly keep Arthur from ever looking at the ranking board.

The registrar sighed again and started to roll the parchment again.

"Emrys," Merlin blurted, because it was the only other name anyone had ever given him.

"What did you say?" Nennius froze with his fingers caught in the scroll.

"Emrys," Merlin repeated with more confidence. When the druid boy had called him Emrys, Merlin had been confused and not a little unsettled. But the more he said it, the more it felt like something that belonged to him.

Nennius also looked unsettled, until his spooked look faded into annoyance. "Boy, I don't know what game you're playing, but let me give you some advice. Claiming a name out of prophecy is never wise unless you can back it up with power."

"I can." Merlin considered that sufficiently true. His faith in other people's prophecies had diminished of late, but he had chosen his destiny and got by pretty well on the power he had.

"We'll see, won't we?" Nennius muttered as he set one of the blank tiles before Merlin. "Show your proof."

Merlin put his hand over the tile with a sudden burst of nerves. He understood this to be a test of magic, and perhaps identity, more similar to the chivalric coat of arms than he had thought.

Niniane had used a spell, but he had not overheard the words. He looked at the blank space, focused his magic, and thought in the old tongue, ácostne mín sigespéde.

For a moment, nothing happened. Nennius grunted.

Then all of Merlin's longing and power found the path through his fingers. The hum of the magic drowned out all other sound in his ears, and golden light filled his vision.

When the power faded, he blinked the last of it away and looked at the registrar. Nennius gaped back at him.

Merlin looked down at the placard and saw only black between his fingers. That could not be a good sign.

With a sinking feeling he removed his hand. The entire placard had been burned black. In the middle, his name--Emrys--was inscribed in simple, bold letters that still burned with gold fire.

"Will that do?" he asked.

Nennius closed his gaping mouth, opened it again to speak, but had to clear his throat to get any sound to come out. "Yes," he said at last. "Yes, lad, I think that will do."

His assistant had gone, and Nennius seemed reluctant to touch the tile with his hands. He muttered a levitation spell, and the placard rose up and drifted in a lazy arc to settle on the board with a contented rattle.

"You'll face Morwena at noon tomorrow," the registrar said. "Winner moves on to the next round."

"Thanks," Merlin said. As he headed off to find Arthur, his feet hardly touched the ground with the giddy combination of elation and dread.

He found Arthur not far from where he had left him. "Did you see her?" Arthur demanded as soon as he caught sight of Merlin.

"No," Merlin answered with a shake of his head, glad not to have to lie outright this time. "No sign of her."

Arthur blew out a long breath of frustration. "Damn her. I don't know how we're going to find one sorceress in this crowd, but we have to."

"Why?" Merlin felt it should be self-evident that it was a bad idea. "You can't make her give Morgana back. She's already bested you with a sword, and now we're on her turf."

"I might be able to reason with her," Arthur said. "Find out what she wants, come to an understanding."

Merlin stared at him in disbelief. "I thought you decided she was a liar."

"No, you and my father decided that." Arthur shot him a dark look that quelled the last of Merlin's giddiness. "I still have some questions I intend to ask."

"Whatever." Merlin turned away so Arthur would not see his clenched jaw.

Arthur grabbed his shoulder and spun him around again. "No, Merlin, you don't get to whatever me on this. You're the one who wanted to come play with the sorcerers, and now you're angry because I want to talk to one?"

"I'm not angry." He was angry, but he could not tell Arthur why. He could not tell Arthur that being lumped so casually onto Uther's side made him sick inside. He could not tell Arthur that he almost destroyed his own soul to save Arthur's, and risked doing it again every day he pretended to serve Arthur's father, the man who had taken away Merlin's.

And he certainly could not tell Arthur that if he wanted to have a conversation with a sorcerer, well, done and dusted.

Arthur's lips thinned in annoyance, but he glanced around and held his tongue. They were starting to attract attention, and this was not the right crowd for an argument over Camelot's laws on magic use.

"It's getting dark. Let's find the inn," Arthur finally said, and Merlin nodded in neutral agreement.

They could not use Arthur's name to secure the best room in the best inn, but the gold in Arthur's purse achieved the same purpose. While the previous occupants of the best room were being ejected from their lodgings, Arthur and Merlin sat down to dinner in the tavern.

"Look," Arthur said after they had devoured most of a roasted chicken together in silence. "I just want to find Morgana before Father goes mad--or to war--trying to get her back. I'd think you would care about that, too."

Defiantly, Merlin took the last drumstick, even though he knew it was Arthur's favorite part. "I don't know why you're talking like my opinion matters so much to you," he said around a mouthful of meat.

"It doesn't," Arthur snapped back and swigged another mouthful of ale. He had already had two full tankards and color spotted his cheeks.

"Then stop asking for it." Merlin had not drunk more than water, much as he longed for the fuzzy comfort of the ale. He had too many secrets to keep in close quarters tonight.

Arthur drank two more tankards as though daring Merlin to say anything. Merlin said nothing until the owner of the inn came to tell them the room was ready.

The room was clean and comfortable with fresh rushes on the floor and fresh water in the wash basin. A warm quilt covered the wide bed with its fluffy ticking.

Merlin had slept in beds like this before, when they had been traveling and Arthur was feeling generous enough to pay for two beds. After their quarrel tonight, he had no reason to suppose he would be sleeping anywhere but the floor.

Resentment flooded him. This was his journey, his tournament; Arthur had done nothing but get in the way. And now he would sleep in the cozy bed while Merlin tossed and turned and plotted how to keep him out of the way the next day.

"Merlin, why are you glaring at the bed like it ate your grandmother?"

"I'm not sleeping on the floor." As the words came out of his mouth, the surprise he felt matched the surprise on Arthur's face a second later.

"I hope you're not suggesting that I should sleep on the floor." Arthur's chin lifted in a silent dare to make any such suggestion.

"You're the one who invited himself along. I don't see why I should be the one on the floor." He already regretted starting this squabble, which he knew had nothing to do with the accommodations.

"And I paid for the bed, so I don't see why I shouldn't sleep in it." Arthur crossed his arms over his chest, looking stubborn, angry, drunk, and a little bit lost. "For God's sake, Merlin, I never said you had to sleep on the floor."

"Oh." Merlin still felt irritation swirling inside him, but the semi-conciliatory words knocked some of it out of him.

"The bed's not as big as mine, but it's big enough to share." Something stiffened in Arthur's expression, a nearly imperceptible hardening of every facial muscle. "Unless you object to the idea of sharing."

"Of course not," Merlin replied, though the closeness would not be as pleasant while he was still trying to be irritable. Still, Arthur had always shared what he had with others, especially Merlin, especially when they were alone. It was not something Merlin wanted to discourage.

"Generous of you," Arthur sniped, but his face softened as he started to undress.

Knowing Arthur was unlikely to need his help, Merlin worked on pulling off his own boots, hopping a few feet across the room in the process. When he heard Arthur suppressing a chortle, he made sure to hop all the way back to the door while dealing with the other boot.

"I thought I was the one who's drunk." Arthur climbed into bed and settled onto his stomach with another snort of laughter.

"You are," Merlin answered, fondness overcoming the last of his unhappiness.

He would figure everything out, he promised himself as he crawled into bed next to Arthur. And someday they would be able to figure things out together.

For now, he would have enough to do figuring out how to keep Arthur away long enough for Merlin to win one tiny little competition tomorrow. Arthur started snoring softly into his pillow. Merlin got in a good minute of thought before the comfort of the sound and the bed lulled him to sleep.

***

In the morning, Merlin sat cross-legged on his half of the bed and watched Arthur continue to sleep. Downstairs he could hear the clatter and clamor of the inn serving an early lunch to everyone who wanted to get to the tourney grounds by noon.

The smell of the food made Merlin's empty stomach rumble. A wave of nerve-induced nausea rolled through right after.

He had gone down an hour before to secure food for himself and Arthur. But even the scent of fresh roast pig had not stirred Arthur, and Merlin could not eat a bite himself. After a while Merlin had stuck the tray in the cupboard.

Outside the window, the sun shone high overhead in the deep blue sky. If Arthur slept much longer, Merlin would not need to worry about creating a distraction.

After a few more minutes, Arthur stirred a bit without opening his eyes. He mumbled something completely incomprehensible to anyone but Merlin.

"No training today." Merlin brushed the sleep-damp hair back from Arthur's face, at least the part he could see. "Go back to sleep."

And with another sleepy mumble, Arthur did.

Merlin stared down at him, not daring to blink. His plan had not included plying Arthur with ale, but if he had done it on purpose, he would have felt clever. Arthur rarely drank heavily and always slept heavily and long when he did.

Carefully, Merlin climbed out of the bed. He changed into the best clothes he owned. They had once been Arthur's, a rare perk of his job, since Arthur almost never gave up his comfortable workaday clothes. Putting them on now felt like having Arthur's support, even though nothing could be further from the truth.

As for Arthur himself, Merlin pulled the curtains and made sure no errant draft would cause so much as a sliver of light to cross Arthur's brow. He drew the quilt up around Arthur's bare shoulders so no hint of late autumn chill would disturb his rest.

For a moment he considered casting a spell--a little one, gentle, to discourage Arthur from waking for just a little longer than the drink would cause. But he had always been reluctant to work magic directly on Arthur's person, unless he had to save Arthur from something much worse.

Someday, he wanted to swear to Arthur with an honest heart that he had never worked magic against him. He would have only a few tiny things he would have to ask Arthur to overlook.

He left Arthur sleeping and stepped out into Banncroft, finally free to see if this was where he belonged.

His name was still at the bottom of the board when he arrived at the list field. People were already thronging into the stands as Merlin looked around for some sign of where to go.

He used Arthur's logic: if this were Camelot, the knights would wait in tents at the far side of the field. When he squinted in the right direction, he did see tents of drab canvas, lacking the colors and pennants of the chivalric nobility.

But they must have been the right place, because Niniane ducked out of one of them and moved to join a group of people waiting along the edge of the lists. Merlin's heart and his feet picked up speed. This was real, and those were the people he intended to measure himself against. He wondered which of them was Morwena.

Niniane looked up and smiled as he hurried to join the group. "Come to wish me luck, prince's man?"

"Sorry," he said with a broad grin. "I think I better keep my luck for myself."

Her eyes widened. "What, you? When did you register? I didn't see your name on the board."

"Last night, but I could hardly use my own name, could I?" He felt delighted with himself, swimming with the possibilities of what he might do next.

Niniane shook her head, but before she could say anything else, another voice called out over the ambient noise.

"All right, all warlocks and witches who intend to play upon this field, gather now."

Merlin turned to see Nennius the registrar standing out in front of them. Today he was formally dressed in robes similar to what Merlin usually saw Geoffrey wearing in the archives, and equally dusty. He paced along the front of the group with his registration scroll, looking from scroll to sorcerer as though taking attendance.

His eyes lit on Merlin last and lingered for a heartbeat. When he looked away, he let the scroll roll closed and stood with it clasped in front of him.

He said something under his breath, and a ball of light formed over his head. When he spoke next, the light shimmered and his words boomed out over the entire arena.

"Welcome, fellow mages, druids, students of the magical arts, and spectators all. I am Nennius, historian of the court of Cenred, and officiant over these games."

Niniane leaned over and whispered in Merlin's ear. "He wrote the defining works on the magical history of Albion. I had to memorize every page during my lessons."

Merlin fought another pang of envy as Nennius continued speaking. "Combatants, you have all registered and proven your right to be here. This tournament will begin now. The winners of each round will compete each day until one remains."

"What do we win if we win?" Merlin whispered.

Niniane shrugged. "Just a cup. And a place in immortal legend, if you believe Nennius."

Merlin did not mind the sound of that, though he had rather been hoping for some gold or a powerful artifact of some sort.

"All who intend to test themselves on these grounds must swear these oaths with me." Nennius looked up as the ball of light grew brighter.

The light made Merlin squint, and something tingled in the back of his skull. He probed at it like a sore tooth, but it eluded him.

"I swear to abide by the laws of the Old Religion and to accept their justice," Nennius began. "I will interfere in no match that is not my own. I will not betray the secrets of any magic user to any who would do them harm."

That gave Merlin a pang, and he wondered again if bringing Arthur here had been the right thing to do. But he had to trust his friend over the prince, the king that would be over the king that was.

So when Nennius finished his recitation, Merlin mumbled his agreement along with the others around him. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, the magic in the back of his head flared to life. For an instant he could see it connecting all of them, bound by magical pact.

"The two hundredth tournament of magical combat has now begun," Nennius declared, and the ball of light blinked out. "Emrys and Morwena, as the last to register, you will be the first to compete. You have one half hour to prepare."

At the mention of Merlin's false name a murmur went through the crowd of sorcerers. Near the front of the crowd, a flame-haired woman craned her neck to look around--Morwena, he guessed.

Merlin ducked his head and tried to look unlegendary. Niniane had already turned to go back to the tents, but stopped and threw him a sharp look. "You? That's the name you chose? To use here, of all places?"

"It was the only thing I could think of," he said with a shrug.

She grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the tent from which she had emerged. "Come on, you better use my rest tent to preserve your mystique a little longer. You can meet my first teacher. I'm sure she'd love to see the fool who decided to name himself Emrys."

He had a moment to anticipate meeting an actual teacher of magic before he was pushed into the tent--and instantly recoiled.

"Morgause," he said through gritted teeth.

Morgause drew in a sharp breath as she rose from her chair. Then she burst out laughing, an unpleasant sound.

"Lady?" Niniane said behind him. Merlin could feel her tense.

"I knew Uther Pendragon had a serpent in his nest," Morgause said to Merlin, ignoring her student. "I looked and looked. I should have guessed it would be Arthur's idiot manservant, always interfering where he doesn't belong."

Merlin barely heard the insult. "Where's Morgana?"

"Far from here," she spat.

"What have you done to her?"

She clenched her fists and took a step toward him. "What have I done? What right do you, her murderer, have to even speak her name?

"Murderer?" His heart contracted at the word. In the dark days after the Knights of Medhir, the conviction that Morgana still lived had been one of his few comforts. "You said you could save her."

"And I did, but not for you or your false king. She belongs to us now. She chose the people you betrayed. Tell me, Merlin, do you have loyalty to anyone?"

"Only to Arthur," he said. "I've found no one else who deserves it."

"The prince is here in Banncroft, Lady," Niniane interjected. She had not let go of Merlin's arm, and her grip now felt more menacing than friendly. "He came with this one."

For the second time Morgause looked surprised. "Is this true? Does he know what you are?"

"No," Merlin had to admit. "He doesn't know."

"And yet he is here," Morgause mused under Merlin's glare. "I will have to think about what that means."

"It means he's not his father and you should leave him alone."

"Perhaps. And yet despite my best efforts, he remains blind to the truth and allows Uther's reign to continue." She narrowed her eyes at Merlin. "Did you have anything to do with that, strange little warlock?"

"I have no love for Uther," Merlin said, Balinor's face in his mind's eye. "But I won't destroy Arthur along with him, and I won't let you do it, either."

Niniane laughed at him, but Morgause did not. "I respect the wish to protect one whom you love," she said softly. "And perhaps my hope for Ygraine's son is not completely lost. But he will only get so many chances."

A boy, Nennius's assistant from the day before, stuck his head in between the tent flaps. "Emrys? You're due in the lists."

"Emrys?" Morgause looked amused. "Who gave you the right to bear that name?"

"The druid boy, Mordred, called me that," Merlin answered.

Arthur might have scolded him for giving up a strategic advantage, but Merlin enjoyed watching the smirk fade from Morgause's face. He turned and pushed past Niniane to leave the tent.

So much for his new friendship, he thought as he followed the boy out to where Morwena stood waiting for him. And so much for this being a safe place for Arthur to be, although at least Morgause seemed less eager to harm him this time. But if Morgana was evidence of how Morgause treated those she claimed to love, Merlin was not trusting her anywhere near Arthur.

His thoughts still whirled as he took his place on the field and smiled absently at Morwena. He was not sure how he was going to keep Arthur away from Morgause and away from Merlin's matches at the same time, all while protecting Arthur's identity and his own.

With his luck, Morgana, Mordred, and the Great Dragon would all show up for tomorrow's bout.

The gasp of the spectators made him look up in time to see a shimmering net floating down over his head. Across the field, Morwena had her hand raised and lips moving as she guided her conjuration down to trap him.

Merlin looked back up at the net, which seemed insubstantial until he felt the magic behind it. He flung his hand up over his head and muttered a spell he had once used to dissipate the smoke in Arthur's rooms when Merlin had forgotten to have the chimney cleaned.

A sigh ran through the crowd as the net dissolved into pinpoints of light. Merlin took a deep breath and resolved to worry about the match he was fighting now before he worried about tomorrow's.

Morwena looked enraged and immediately flung another spell at him. He flung his hand out with the same kind of shield he had used when the Dragon got cranky. The spell hit the shield and twisted it, trying to transform whatever it could touch. Merlin did not want to know into what.

There was one way to find out. He grunted as he muttered a repulsion spell that sent the writhing magic back to its source. Another gasp went up from the crowd and Morwena herself as she reeled back from the impact.

She tumbled backwards onto the ground, tumbled back and back until the woman was gone and only a tiny mouse remained on the field with Merlin. She skittered around in a circle before making a break for the shelter of the stands.

"Well, guess that shows what she thought of me," Merlin said to himself as he watched her dash away.

From his seat next to the ranking board, Nennius gestured to his assistant. The boy ran out and summoned the mouse into his hand. He carried her carefully to Nennius, who examined her and then motioned Merlin over.

"I think it's fair to say you have won this round, Emrys," he said when Merlin approached. "You will move on to tomorrow."

"Thanks," Merlin said, watching as Morwena's placard cracked in two and Merlin’s moved up a level. The victory still felt unreal, considering he had not even noticed the match beginning.

"Now that we have that formality out of the way," Nennius went on, stroking the mouse's back to soothe her. "Would you might telling me what spell you used on the young lady?"

"Um," Merlin said, embarrassed. "I think you'd have to ask her. I just made it up as went along."

"I see." Nennius handed the mouse back to his assistant, who ran off with it. "Then so shall we. Same time tomorrow, young man. You may join the audience if you wish to know who your opponent shall be."

"Thanks," Merlin said again before shuffling awkwardly off the field. He did want to stay and watch the others, but first he had to go and fetch his sleepy prince.

He only made it a few yards from the grounds when his worlds collided once more. A flash of gold and red was his only warning before a strong hand closed around the back of his neck and dragged him in against Arthur's side.

"Merlin, what a pleasure to see you," he said, and Merlin felt a rush of relief right before Arthur's fingers tightened to the point of pain. "Especially since I was denied that pleasure when I woke up this morning."

Merlin already had his rationalizations ready to go. "I thought you must be tired after fighting all those men yesterday. I didn't want to wake you."

"You thought I'd be tired?" Arthur said in disbelief. "After that little bit of exercise?"

"You deserved a lie-in, so I came to scout things out." Merlin course corrected, and then could not help sabotaging his own efforts. "You do get cranky when you're tired."

"Oh, do I, Merlin?" Arthur had already started working himself up into a good crank as if to prove Merlin's point. Merlin braced himself, but then Arthur made a visible effort to rein in his temper. "All right. I'll make a bargain with you."

Merlin pulled away far enough to let Arthur see the suspicious look Merlin was giving him. "What sort of bargain?"

"I'll stop being cranky if you stop trying to ditch me at every opportunity."

That did not seem like the best bargain for Merlin, given that he would need to ditch Arthur at least once every day they were here, if he was lucky. But no magic shield had ever protected him from Arthur showing genuine emotion.

"All right," he said, aching for the closeness more than the trophy.

Arthur grinned in genuine relief. His arm slid back around Merlin's shoulders, this time companionable and affectionate. "Good. Now come on, what have I missed?"

"Just the first bout," Merlin said happily. "The guy who won was amazing."

He fell easily into step beside Arthur as they headed up into the stands. Today he intended to enjoy. He would just have to think of something for tomorrow.

***

By the next morning, he had not thought of anything. His heart raced, his nerves so focused on Arthur that he had not any left over to worry about the competition itself.

The day before had been worth it. They had watched the rest of the first round together high up in the stands. Arthur had tensed the first time someone launched a magical attack, but soon he was as caught up in the action as if the combatants were knights jousting in Camelot's own tiltyard.

"That one can't keep his left side covered," Arthur tutted over Niniane's opponent just before the warlock in question was pulled into the air by his left hand. He dangled there helplessly as Niniane accepted her victory applause.

They had spent dinner dissecting the competition like every other patron in the inn. Merlin concentrated on not betraying too great a knowledge of magic use, allowing the burly drayman at the next table to school Arthur while Merlin stored up every bit of strategy for later use.

Afterwards they had lain in bed late into the night, still talking. "I wish I understood more," Arthur had mumbled before falling asleep, half on Merlin's arm.

"I wish you did, too," Merlin whispered and let his hand rest on Arthur's back as he fell asleep.

Now as they left the inn together, Arthur bright eyed and eager, he wished it more than ever. He had only half an hour before he was meant to be competing again, and he still had no idea how to manage it, with or without breaking his promise to Arthur.

Arthur was already analyzing his predictions for the day's match-ups. "And I didn't get to see this Emrys fellow, thanks to somebody," he was saying with a heatless glare at Merlin. "But I don't much fancy his chances against that Garvin."

"I don't fancy his chances, either," Merlin muttered.

"Garvin conjured an entire bear. Out of thin air! Did you see that?"

Merlin had seen it. And while he was thrilled that Arthur had taken so well to seeing magic used around him, he wished Arthur was not quite so keen on viewing Garvin's next match.

Arthur paused and looked down a side street. "What's going on there?"

A long line of people, mostly women, sat cross legged in the middle of the street, one behind the other. Each of them had a plain stone bowl in front of them. As he followed Arthur towards them, Merlin saw that each bowl was filled to the brim with water.

"I have no idea," Merlin finally answered, though the sight of them gave him a chill.

"Those are the seers," a familiar voice answered. They turned to see Lady Elaine, the merchant of love charms and potions, coming up behind them, this time without her cart.

"Seers?" Arthur said with a frown.

"The ones who dream into the future," she replied.

The chill solidified into ice along Merlin's spine. He looked reflexively up the line of seers to see if Morgana sat amongst them. He dreaded and longed to see her face, but he did not find it.

"But what are they doing?" Arthur pressed.

"Competing, of course," Elaine said. "The tourney isn't only about the flash and glamour over in the lists, you know. The seer who correctly predicts the outcomes of all the matches will take home a hefty purse."

That did not seem fair to Merlin, given that he did not stand to win any actual money himself--assuming he made it past, or even to the next round.

"In the meantime, some of them are happy to do a little business on the side." Elaine held up two silver coins and rubbed them together with anticipation. "After selling charms and potions all day, a girl wouldn't mind a little something for her own love life."

Merlin felt ill at that, but Arthur just scoffed. "A maker of love spells who needs someone else to predict her romances? That doesn't say much for the quality of your wares."

She muttered something about ignorant men before pocketing her silver and poking Merlin in the side with one fingers. "Have you reconsidered my offer, boy? I can give you a potion that will make the object of your desire burn with a fire only your seed can quench."

"All right, that's enough of your charlatanry." Arthur seized Merlin's arm and pulled him away--surprisingly, in the direction of the seers.

"What are we doing?" Merlin pulled back, reluctant to go any closer. Arthur might want to hear more about what a great king he was destined to be, but Merlin did not think it was the best idea to spread that news around town right now.

"We came here to see what sorcerers could do, didn't we?" Arthur pulled Merlin inexorably past the first few seers before he stopped and pulled the purse from his belt. "Well, let's see what these can do."

"I don't think--" Merlin started to protest, but Arthur was already spilling a handful of silver coins into his palm. He knelt on one knee and pressed one of the coins into the hand of the nearest seer.

"Tell me the future," he said in a low voice. "Tell me the future of Camelot."

She turned to him, eyes glittering with a silver mist. "Golden kingdom," she murmured. "Golden king."

Arthur stared hard at her. He rose without a word and moved to the next seer. "Tell me about Camelot," he said as he dropped the silver into her lax palm.

This seer did not look at him at all. She kept her eyes on the glassy surface of the water in front of her. "Camelot will lead a new age of prosperity for all of Albion."

This time Arthur looked almost angry. He got up without waiting to hear more and moved to the next, a young man this time.

Merlin followed him from seer to seer. Each time, the seer spoke of the glory of Camelot's future and her future king and queen and noble knights. It was the same promise on which Merlin had founded the last two years of his life.

Arthur only grew more agitated. Merlin put his hand on Arthur's shoulder after the sixth repetition of the pattern. "We should go. The tournament's about to start," he said, instead of what he wanted to say: don't worry about the future--that's my job.

"You heard the woman, Merlin," Arthur replied without looking at him. "This is part of the tournament, too."

"Arthur," he started, but a high, thin voice from further down the line made him lose his argument before he could make it.

"Camelot will be betrayed. Darkness will fall on the shining realm. Love no woman, King Arthur."

She was a young girl, slender to the point of insubstantiality. Dark hair fell over her olive-skinned shoulders. Her eyes might also have been dark if they were not glittering like stars, brighter than all the others.

Arthur was on her in two long strides. "What did you say?"

The girl bent her head and whispered something to him. Merlin hurried to join them, but caught none of the exchange. "Arthur?"

"Go, Merlin," Arthur said without taking his eyes from the girl. "Get us seats and watch the first match for me."

Merlin wanted to argue and pull Arthur away from any talk of darkness or betrayal. Then the girl turned her unsettling gaze on him with an incongruously sweet smile. "Yes, go. Emrys has a destiny of his own."

His throat went dry at the realization of this unexpected gift. Arthur would not be budged. For as long as the girl would talk, Arthur would not move. "All right," he said slowly.

Arthur poured all but one of the remaining silver coins into the girl's cupped hands. As she giggled with delight, he looked up at Merlin over his shoulder with a small smile.

"Here, see if anyone's taking wagers on Emrys." He flipped the last coin up to Merlin. "Maybe I was wrong about him after all."

Merlin caught the coin, tried to say something coherent, then gave up and hurried away. As soon as he turned the corner back onto the main street, he started pelting full speed towards the tournament field.

When he got there, breathless with gratitude that this was not a physical contest, Garvin was already waiting for him in the lists. "Thought you'd done the smart thing and forfeited," Garvin sneered as Merlin scooted past him. "Got something special planned for the renowned Emrys."

"Can't wait," Merlin replied as he passed. He was starting to think the Emrys thing was getting out of hand.

As he took his place in front of the packed stands, Niniane looked on from the sidelines. Her face was stony. He saw no sign of Morgause.

He allowed himself one last regret for the forest, and then he focused on the man across from him. Garvin was a huge bear of a man, which would mean nothing if Merlin had not seen him create a literal bear out of nothing the day before.

Merlin would need to end the fight quickly--to avoid being eaten by a bear, and because sooner or later Arthur would lose his patience with the seers and come looking for him. He braced himself as Nennius took his seat, lifted his hand, and dropped it to begin the fight.

Instantly Garvin lifted both his hands and pushed them forward. He shouted, and the ground erupted around Merlin.

Merlin stumbled, but stayed on his feet. He thought he could replicate the spell, though it did not seem all that effective.

Garvin seemed pleased with it. He grinned as he planted his feet in a wide stance and spread his arms out towards the crowd. "Now see how Garvin deals with imposters who pretend to greatness."

Merlin could not hear the exact words Garvin incanted next, but he suspected bears were involved somewhere. He was wrong.

Twin streams of fire erupted from Garvin's upraised hands. They joined above his head in a flaming mass that quickly took shape.

"Great," Merlin said to himself. "Another damn dragon."

The fire dragon roared up into the sky and circled over the crowd before hovering between Merlin and Garvin. It looked at Merlin with murderous intent.

Merlin looked back with resignation.

"Kill him!" Garvin shouted.

As the dragon reared up above him, Merlin tried to remember if Nennius had mentioned any rules against killing your opponent. He was pretty sure he had not. At least now he understood why Garvin had broken up the ground: it made it impossible for Merlin to run away.

The dragon blew a stream of fire at his face. Merlin was ready for that and already had his hand up to deflect it.

"Oh, the fire breathing trick," he said with unconvincing confidence. "I was expecting something original."

The dragon stopped in the middle of working up another blast and snapped its fiery jaws shut. "You object to my methods of effecting your demise?" it said in a voice that roared in Merlin's head like the greatest pyre ever built.

He tried to snap his own jaws shut as he gaped at the dragon. It was a creation of magical flame, not a living creature. He had not been expecting conversation. "To be honest, it's the demise part I object to the most," he tried.

The flaming face took on an abashed air. "I regret the necessity, but my master has commanded it. I have no choice but to obey."

"Actually, I'm the one you have to obey." He took a deep breath; time to see how real a dragon this was. "I am a dragonlord, and he isn't."

The dragon considered. "That is true," it conceded. "But he is my creator."

"Dragonlord trumps creator," Merlin said quickly. "Plus, he's kind of an ass, don't you think?"

"In the few moments of my existence, I have not formed a favorable impression of him, no." The dragon gave a contemplative sigh. It singed Merlin's hair, but as a sign of trust and power, he did not shield himself.

"Then obey my commands," Merlin said in the firm tone he used with Arthur's dogs.

"You are a dragonlord, so I suppose I must." This dragon sounded more cheerful about the prospect than Kilgarrah had. "Would you like me to kill him?"

"No, that's all right," Merlin replied. "Maybe you could make him scream and run around a bit? Just until he begs for my mercy."

"That will be a simple matter," the dragon said and flew off.

As the dragon chased Garvin around the field, Merlin made some dramatic gestures to make it look like he actually had any control over it. Eventually he gave up and stepped back to the safety of the wall to enjoy the show along with everyone else.

The onlookers screamed in fear at first to see the dragon turn on its maker, but then started cheering every time it cut off Garvin's escape or singed part of his clothing from his body. Merlin grinned until his face hurt.

He stepped to the middle of the field with a flourish as the dragon drove Garvin toward him for the grand finale. "Mercy, mercy," the other warlock gasped. He flung himself at Merlin's feet and tapped frantically at the ground in the universal sign of surrender. "Mercy, great Emrys."

Merlin could get used to hearing that. He motioned to the dragon, which let out one last punctuating gust of flame into the ground behind the groveling sorcerer.

Then it bowed deeply to Merlin amid the gasps of the crowd. "Thank you for the opportunity to serve you, Dragonlord."

"Oh, my pleasure," Merlin answered, distracted as he waved to the screaming crowd while trying to discreetly get Garvin off his boots.

"The golden one is watching you very intently. Is that the one you wished to impress?"

Merlin looked up in alarm. His gaze went straight to the side of the stands and--Morgause. Her hair gleamed gold in the sun.

He wanted to gloat and let her see what power she was up against. But she only smiled as though she were the one who had gained a victory.

She inclined her head to him. Then she turned and looked over her shoulder, a triumphant invitation to follow her gaze.

Several paces behind her, frozen in the midst of his pursuit, Arthur stared at Merlin like his world had just cracked in two.

"Arthur," Merlin whispered and took a step towards him, kicking Garvin away.

"Good luck," the dragon said and dissipated into a thousand sparks across the sand.

Arthur turned and stalked away. Ignoring the cheers of the crowd and Nennius proclaiming his name as victor, Merlin ran after him.

He stopped and turned on Morgause as he passed her. "Whatever game you're playing this time," he growled, "don't think I'll let you use him the way you used Morgana."

"I was only a catalyst for what you knew must come." She looked at him with pity, but no mercy. "If he is what you say he is, it is long past time."

"You don't have the right to decide that." He held her gaze, equally unrelenting. He ached to blast her into dust.

But Arthur was getting too far ahead. There could be no question as to who was more important. Without another thought for Morgause, Merlin took off running again.

He did not waste time apologizing to the people he knocked out of his way as he ran. Arthur was getting further ahead. Merlin had a horrible feeling that if he lost sight of Arthur now, he might never see him again.

With a burst of speed he caught up and got his hand onto Arthur's shoulder. "Wait, Arthur," he gasped, struggling to hold on against Arthur's forward momentum.

Arthur spun around and knocked Merlin's hand from him. "Don't touch me," he snarled, but he stopped and stood facing Merlin.

"Arthur, just stop, let's talk about this." He had only seen Arthur this enraged once before, and that had been with a sword to his father's throat.

"Oh, now you want to talk, do you, Merlin?" Arthur was panting; it could not be from exertion, only rage. "I practically beg you to tell me whatever strange things are going on in your head, but now you think you deserve the chance to lie to me some more?"

"I never wanted to lie. I didn't have a choice." Arthur had to see that. To protect himself, and Arthur, there was nothing else he could have done.

Arthur seized him by the shoulders and shoved him into an alleyway. Merlin stumbled backwards into a stack of abandoned crates.

"Choice? Of course you had a choice. You could have chosen to trust me the way I've trusted you." Arthur put his hands to his head. "God, I trusted you with everything. Everything."

Merlin pushed himself out of the crates and tried to stop himself from shaking. "I swear by everything sacred, Arthur, I have done nothing that wasn't to serve you."

"And what does a sorcerer hold sacred?" Nothing but scorn filled Arthur's voice, but Merlin could see his hands and they were shaking, too. "You told me yourself: sorcerers are evil. They all have underhanded motives. I guess you would know."

He had never doubted that someday he would pay for those words. "Morgause has her own agenda, and I don't know what it is," he said. "I still don't know how much of what she said was true. But what I'm telling you now is. What I did then, and everything I've done in Camelot, was only for you, to protect you until you become king."

Arthur was breathing even harder, his face bright red with anger. "What, so you'll have a puppet on the throne?"

Merlin sputtered. "How can you even think that?"

"How can I not?" Arthur gesticulated in the direction of the tourney field. "I saw you, Merlin. You had a dragon kneeling at your feet."

The blood drained from his face, leaving him cold. He had not had time to think of how that might look to a Pendragon prince.

"No, see, the dragon was his idea," Merlin said with a desperate wave in the direction he had last seen Garvin groveling. "And I didn't tell it to bow. I didn't even tell it to exist."

Arthur stared at him, and his face was as stark white now as Merlin's felt. "You controlled the dragon," he breathed, and Merlin understood they were no longer talking about Garvin's creation.

"Only after Balinor died," he said. "He was my father, but I didn't find out until we met him."

"Your father." Arthur turned to lean one hand on the wall and bow his head. "You didn't tell me that."

He had wanted to, ached to talk about it with Arthur, who was the one person who might understand even while he was the one person Merlin could not risk telling. "What would you have done if I had?" he asked and watched Arthur's jaw twitch.

Finally Arthur straightened up and half turned back to Merlin. His voice was still hard, but something in his eyes had given way.

"I'm going to walk away now," he said. "If you follow me, I promise you'll regret it."

Merlin nodded. There was so much more he wanted Arthur to understand, but he knew Arthur and the limits of where he could push.

All he could do was watch in an agony of anxiety as Arthur walked away. All he could do was hope Arthur was truly the man and the friend Merlin thought he was. He had to trust him.

***
Continued in Chapter 3