Chapter Text
Arthur stood on the balcony of Camelot’s castle, Morgana, Tarald, and Uther by his side. It was another clear day, and the wind whipped at Arthur’s cloak teasingly. However, he could not enjoy the fine weather.
Far below in the center of the square stood a large wooden stake, kindling piled at its base. Tied to it was Mordred, silent as he stared at the cobblestones. A small crowd had gathered to watch, but other than the occasional murmur, they remained still.
“Mordred Céo,” the herald read. “You are accused of high treason, the use of sorcery, fleeing imprisonment, impersonation of a member of a royal family, robbery, and general lawlessness. For these crimes against the Crown, you are hereby sentenced to burn at the stake.”
“This is wrong,” Arthur whispered, shaking his head.
“I know he saved your life,” Tarald said, “But his crimes cannot be ignored. I’m sorry, Arthur.”
Suddenly, Arthur felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Merlin, face grave.
“Arthur,” he said quietly, so that the prince was the only one to notice. “I should have told you every day from the moment I met you,” he breathed out. “I love you.”
Arthur stared at Merlin in stunned silence, too shocked to reply. He’d always hoped, but hearing it now was like being struck by a thunderbolt. Turning on his heel, Merlin left the balcony, trotting rapidly down the stairs. Arthur rushed to the edge, looking over into the crowd. There, he could see Merlin’s black shock of hair bobbing amongst them, never once pausing to look back.
The drumroll went up as the executioner approached Mordred, a lit torch in his hand. It was then that Arthur saw a flash of green and white out of the corner of his eye, just like he had ten years ago. He cast a desperate glance at Morgana, silently pleading with her to forgive all their petty squabbles and help him just this once.
Morgana smiled knowingly at him, before pressing a hand to her forehead and sinking to the ground. Tarald and Uther were immediately at her side, their attention diverted. Down in the crowd, shrieks and screams went up as Merlin drew a sword, pushing his way through the throng.
“Move!” He cried, but he was a fraction too late. The executioner had already lit the kindling, and flames were starting to lick at Mordred’s boots. Swinging his sword frantically, Merlin chopped at the kindling, pushing it out of the way. Embers scattered across the cobblestones, sending the crowd jumping backwards. The executioner advanced on Merlin, pulling an axe from his belt, and Merlin was only able to parry him at the last instant. Mordred pulled against his bonds, but could not free himself.
Arthur looked at the chaos below, making a split-second decision. He drew his dagger and stabbed it into the banner hanging off the balcony, bracing it against his gauntlet. With a grunt, he threw himself off the side, hanging on to the thick fabric for support. The dagger slowed his descent as it cut through the cloth, but Arthur still hit the ground painfully hard, wincing as he rolled to disperse his momentum. Dagger still in hand, he rushed to Mordred’s aid, slashing at the bindings until the druid was free.
Meanwhile, Merlin bashed the executioner across the head with the pommel of his sword, sending the hooded man to the ground. Together with Arthur, he pulled Mordred from the growing fire, slinging his arms over their shoulders.
The three men ran towards the main gate, only for it to be blocked by a regiment of knights. With Mordred too weak to use his magic and Merlin’s still concealed, they would be unable to fight their way through. Instead, Merlin pulled Mordred up the rampart steps, Arthur bringing up the rear with his dagger brandished. The knights paused, hesitant to fight their prince, and Merlin and Mordred took advantage of every second they had.
When they reached the top of the ramparts, Mordred was wheezing from the smoke in his lungs and Merlin looked pale beneath a coating of soot. However, their faces were determined as they sprinted for the parapet, Arthur close behind them.
Suddenly, another group of knights blocked the way, Tarald and Uther at their head. Merlin froze, Mordred stepping away from him.
“I thought an escape attempt might be on your mind,” Tarald said, sword leveled at the two warlocks.
Uther sneered at Merlin. “I grant you clemency for rescuing my son, and this is how you repay me? By helping a druid ?”
“He’s a good man,” Merlin protested, as Mordred grinned smugly at Uther.
“You forget your place, Merlin,” warned Tarald.
“It’s here.” Merlin took a step to his left, Tarald’s sword pointed at his chest as the manservant placed himself between the two men. “Between you, and Mordred.”
“As is mine,” Arthur declared, moving to Merlin’s side. He slipped his hand between them, clasping his fingers through Merlin’s and squeezing reassuringly.
“Lower your weapons!” Uther cried, raising a hand. “Lower them now!” The knights obeyed, looking amongst each other with confusion and relief. Mordred clapped his hands together, a grin on his face.
“Well,” he said brightly, clearing his throat, “I believe this is my cue to leave.” He wove his way among the knights until he reached Tarald. Looking him up and down, Mordred smiled.
“You know,” the druid said, “You’re not as much of a pompous git as I thought you were.” Tarald gaped at him in response, and Mordred turned back to Arthur and Merlin.
“Same for you, Prince Arthur,” he added. “Take care of him, will you Merlin?” Merlin grinned back at Mordred, nodding. The druid strode to the very edge of the ramparts, arms spread.
“Oh, and Uther?” The king glared at Mordred, scandalized. “You know exactly where you can shove your sword, and it bloody well isn’t your scabbard.” So saying, he allowed himself to fall backwards, toppling off the high castle wall. Arthur, Merlin, and Tarald rushed to the edge, only to be blown backwards as Kilgharrah soared towards the sky, Mordred in his claws. The three men stared at the sky as the dragon rapidly disappeared, Mordred’s whoop of triumph fading into the distance. His face white with anger, Uther stalked off the battlements to return to his throne.
“Sire?” Leon asked anxiously. “What should we do?” Tarald turned to face the knight, a smile twitching at his lips.
“Oh, I think we can afford to give him a day’s head start, don’t you?”
Leon nodded, heading down the rampart steps to help control the crowd. Tarald moved to follow, but paused on the edge of the step.
“Merlin,” he said. “I’ve seen the care you put into your duties.” Merlin nodded in agreement, composing himself. “I would expect such a man to put care into all aspects of his life.” So saying, the elder prince headed out after Leon, the sun catching his quiet smile as he did. Arthur and Merlin were left alone on the ramparts, looking out at the kingdom.
“So,” Arthur grinned, the adrenaline of the fight still surging in his veins. “What now?”
Merlin looked back at him, beaming out from underneath the soot and sweat. “Whatever you want, sire.”
“For God’s sake, Merlin, it’s Arthur.” With those words, Arthur slipped his hand around the back of Merlin’s head, drawing them close. There was a moment’s hesitation, but Merlin pressed their lips together, eyes closing.
Merlin tasted of soot and smoke, but Arthur didn’t mind. He savored the touch of Merlin’s lips against his own, the faint smell of earth and soap that Merlin always smelled of. When they broke apart, both master and servant were grinning from ear to ear.
“Do you think he’ll be alright?” Merlin asked. “Mordred, I mean.”
Arthur scoffed. “Of course,” he replied, looking out at the forest. “I’m sure he’s already planning his next scheme.” Merlin stared out across the sky as well, hope glistening in his eyes. Arthur entwined their fingers as they stood together, feeling calm despite the whirlwind that had uprooted his life in the past few weeks.
As far as he was concerned, they could stand like this forever.
~M~
Kilgharrah placed Mordred on the ground, the druid running a few paces to stop himself from tripping. They were well outside Camelot’s borders, tucked away in the deep forest. He was met to a series of cheers from his companions, and a soft croon from Aithusa. Mordred let out a delighted shout of his own, stroking the white dragon’s flank. Despite being marred with burned spots, the skin on her wings was already starting to heal, no doubt aided by Gaius’s healing abilities. From his perch on Aithusa’s back, Hudraer playfully growled at Mordred, who tickled the baby dragon under his chin.
“I believe these are yours,” Freya said, holding out Mordred’s pack and cloak. He gratefully fastened the fabric around his neck, smiling as he did so. All around him, druids looked to him with pride and awe, moving out of the way as he made his way to the front of the group.
Running his fingers up and down Kilgharrah’s scales, Mordred mounted the dragon. He breathed deeply, closing his eyes for a moment before looking down at his followers.
“Well don’t just stand there,” he called. “We’ve got some hell to raise!”
The druids whooped and cheered, hopping onto their horses, and riding into the forest.
“Let’s go, Kilgharrah,” Mordred said, leaning over to touch the dragon’s neck.
“Where to, young Mordred?” asked the dragon.
Mordred’s eyes gleamed as they reflected the last rays of sunlight peeking over the treeline. “The horizon.”
THE END
