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“So I was thinking,” Arthur began. Merlin’s head snapped up from where he was more or less treating Arthur’s desk as a convenient napping support. Whenever Arthur started sentences with things like ‘I was thinking’ or variations thereof, it sent Merlin’s poor stress-ridden heart racing, as it was usually not something Merlin was going to like/agree/approve of. Currently, he could feel a headache coming on.
Merlin didn’t have to say any of this out loud, thankfully. He shot Arthur a glower that conveyed all of that concern in one look.
Arthur rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes. ‘Dangerous pastimes, don’t hurt myself,’ I’ve got it. Don’t look at me like that, Merlin. I had a — a profound thought. An idea for improving relations between Camelot and the magical community. One I hope you will appreciate, actually.”
That earned a dubious eyebrow raise. Arthur sighed, greatly put-upon by Merlin’s unenthusiasm. “I’m thinking…the round table has plenty of representatives from each community. My knights. The court. The guild members. Magicians, and the like.” Merlin squinted at him, nonplussed.
Arthur thumbed at the ring on his pointer. He did that more and more often, especially in regards to magic, the legalization therein, and all related matters. He was still a bit twitchy — as were most of Camelot’s courtiers — on the subject, but Merlin understood it was a challenge to reverse over two decades of bias. Now it was less of an anxious tic and more of a tell to Merlin that the next question out of his mouth would be magic related. Arthur, of course, was going to ask his Court Magician about it. Merlin knew him well enough, he knew how Arthur’s mind worked. This was all part of his decision-making process. He would ask Merlin’s advice, Merlin would offer counterpoints, Arthur would pretend to ignore them, and then he would do whatever he wanted to do anyways.
Arthur said, “I think it’s missing something.”
“....right,” Merlin agreed cautiously. Always best to tread lightly on those matters, especially if he wasn’t quite sure what he was agreeing to. “And what prompted this—ah. Realization?”
Predictably, he was ignored. Arthur continued on, “The dragon community has grown a tremendous amount in the last few years.” Merlin blinked in surprise. He really hoped it wasn’t going to be a repeat of that awkward discussion months back, where Arthur had inquired who would be caring after the dragons, and Merlin had said, “Well, the last dragonlord’s responsibility is to dragonkind. So I guess it will be me.” At the time he had forgotten they hadn’t quite tackled that tidbit of information and Arthur had sulked something fierce for two months.
The discussion about dragonlord heirs was far more uncomfortable, not to mention embarrassing for all parties involved, and Merlin would peel the skin off his face if Arthur attempted to bring it up again. Especially if Arthur was going to get Kilgharrah or the other dragons involved.
(“It would be easier if you just got married,” Arthur had told Merlin, apropos to absolutely fucking nothing. It was during one of his random visits when he would drop into Merlin’s chambers in the evening under the guise of ‘catching up’ and corner Merlin with uncomfortable discussions about heirs and other court nonsense. The visits usually coincided with a difficult court meeting earlier in the afternoon, wherein Arthur had hummed and hawed around the questions of his own heir and the line of succession for the kingdom.
Gaius had referred to the affliction as some sort of mental anxiety possessed by married couples, who turned their sights on their unmarried or single friends. From your description, I believe the king has a case of the matchmaker’s, Gaius had told Merlin. Merlin had blanched at the idea, and then was confronted in his rooms with the above statement, and physically threw the king out of his tower chambers.
“I’m not getting married!” Merlin told him as he shoved the king by the shoulders and maneuvered him out the door. “Leave me out of it!”
Arthur had made a considering noise. “You don’t technically need to be —”
“Or having children!”
“I just believe you should reconsider,” Arthur had said, seriously, though he wheezed as Merlin elbowed him and forced him through the opening. “All these dragons, only one dragonlord. You can’t look after them forever.”
Unfortunately, he had a point. Merlin was stunned into a short silence, and Arthur started listing suitable matches for his Court Magician, until Merlin regained his wits and tossed him out on his arse.)
Merlin eyed Arthur with a renewed sense of apprehension. Arthur smiled pleasantly as he carried on, ignoring the daggers Merlin was shooting with his eyes. “So I’ve been wondering if we need a dragon to represent them, for the interests of dragonkind. I was thinking it should be Kilgharrah, or someone else among the dragons would be considered to speak on their behalf. Someone with… a desire for joining our discussions. I want them to know I appreciate their input as any other magical being in my kingdom.”
Merlin fully picked himself up off the desk. Arthur was still watching him for signs of interest. Or maybe waiting for Merlin to catch up on some punchline he had missed. He was usually having Merlin on in some manner, which gave Merlin the unique position of someone constantly feeling like they were blundering into an obvious trap, but not quite sure whether to expect the floor or ceiling to cave in without warning.
With that understanding it was a perfectly reasonable expectation when Merlin replied, “You’re pulling my leg.”
“No,” Arthur corrected, annoyingly earnest. “Will you ask him? If he’s interested, that is.” His voice got all testy at the end, so maybe he wasn’t pulling Merlin’s leg for a laugh. Which was a far more frightening prospect.
Merlin had no idea what his face was doing, but it was likely displaying an appropriate amount of unmitigated horror. “You want me to ask what?”
Unfortunately, the world hadn’t been righted and whatever new mental affliction Arthur acquired (probably after taking too many hard hits to the head with a shield) was still prevailing over his mind. Arthur scowled and said, “Whether he’ll join the round table, Merlin.”
Merlin stared at him for another beat. “You’re fucking joking, right?”
“Is your hearing broken?” Arthur retorted. “Go ask Kilgharrah. I want an answer.”
“Fucking absolutely not,” Merlin muttered. “I am not asking Kilgharrah.”
“Fine.” Arthur pulled himself up to full height, in that haughty way he did when he was being particularly obstinate. “Then I will.”
Merlin was already keyed up for a fight and snapped, “Fine. You go do that.” Hopefully Kilgharrah would get an appropriate laugh out of that request. Arthur stomped out and swung the chamber door hard behind him. Merlin fell back in his chair and resisted the tickling of hysterical laughter threatening to climb out of him.
Kilgharrah at council meetings. The round table discussions. Weighing in on grain usage reports. That idea was so ridiculous Merlin couldn’t even picture it.
Less than a candlemark later, the king’s chamber doors were re-opened. “He said yes,” Arthur announced as he entered.
Merlin blinked back at him. He looked back down at his book on The Intricate Natural World of Herbology and Magicks for answers. Then back at Arthur. “What? Who said yes to what?”
“Kilgharrah,” Arthur said with an edge of impatience. “He said yes.”
Merlin was assaulted with the reminder of their previous discussion before the great big immature twat — also known as King Arthur — stormed out to prove Merlin wrong, apparently. Merlin deadpanned, “You’re kidding.”
“I’ve already established I am actually quite sincere about all of this, Merlin,” Arthur shot back, peeved. “And I would appreciate it if you took some sense of seriousness about all of this…”
Merlin’s head was still spinning as he tried to process that. “Hang on. Wait. Kilgharrah said yes?”
“Yes,” Arthur said with a sniff. “He also asked if he got a title and land, to which I said we’d need to return to that discussion at a later date. I’m not sure how one would go about giving a dragon land or a title.” Fucking hell.
Merlin slammed the book closed. Arthur cheerfully carried on, “Maybe we should start with knighthood. Hm. I guess he would be Sir Kilgharrah. Merlin, where are you going —?”
There was a fucking dragon poking its head through the window into the court chambers.
“I do not believe I will be able to fit in here,” Kilgharrah had said skeptically as the hatch was opened.
“That’s what she said,” Gwaine murmured. Percival kicked him in the knees as Gwaine snickered to himself. Merlin had decided he was far too sober to deal with everything and was grieving the secret stash of honey mead in his tower chambers.
Arthur had his hands on his hips and his shoulders out, practically preening like an overeager bird in search of a mate.
The king had hired brickmasons to tear out one of the tall windows and install a rounded hatch, which could be shut in inclement weather, but more importantly allowed their tall scaly advisor to witness the proceedings of the court.
“Items of relevance for today include continuing discussions regarding Lord Trent.” Arthur set down the stack of correspondences before him. “It appears Lord Trent is once again refusing to pay taxes, claiming bankruptcy. Our last attempts at letters of diplomacy were clearly not successful. Suggestions?”
“Well —” Leon began.
Kilgharrah snorted from where his head was sticking through the window. A dragon had no need to raise their voice to interrupt, as their voices beat out any man’s voice. Kilgharrah suggested, “Kill him.”
“Pardon?” Arthur asked after a beat. Gwen made a wide-eyed expression of pleading in Merlin’s direction, evidently hoping Merlin would helpfully step into the discussion and keep the meeting from completely off-tracking. As much as he loved Gwen, and respected her as queen, he was absolutely not going to do that. It was also more amusing to watch Arthur flounder.
“Kill him,” Kilgharrah repeated. “Burn his lands. String him up outside the city gates as a warning to others.”
“Er,” Arthur said. “I was thinking maybe we could have a conversation with him first.” Kilgharrah snorted again. Merlin was the only dragonlord around but he translated that snort to mean ‘boo, boring.’
Beside Arthur, Gwen broke the dreadful silence and offered, “Perhaps we should start with a summons.”
Arthur practically jumped at the olive branch of normalcy and latched onto it like a lifeline. “Excellent suggestion, your highness. Next order of business…”
Merlin gave him a week. Then he would apologize to Kilgharrah with pleasantries like oh, I believe you would be a better fit for the merchants guild, but thank you, and life at court would return to normal.
It did not. Arthur continued the charade, though it was impossible to tell whether it was truly his pride, his stubbornness, or his desire to never let Merlin face him with an “I told you so.” Not for lack of trying.
“I told you this was a mistake,” Merlin hissed, as Kilgharrah menacingly displayed his forearm-sized incisors to the lord who had just (likely willfully) disrespected the bloodline of dragons and magical creatures.
Please don’t make a scene, Merlin ordered him.
Tell your human companions to mind their manners before I give them a reason for one, Kilgharrah replied, which was par for the course.
Arthur made a considering hum. “I still believe his presence is more beneficial than harmful to our relations with magic users. For example, he was very helpful with his advice regarding the invading Saxons.”
“He literally just asked for permission to land on the field and flame broil them.”
“Exactly. And now we don’t have as big of a Saxon problem.”
“You are so fucking obnoxious I literally can’t stand you.”
Arthur looked him up and down. “Then sit down.”
“Oh, fuck off.”
Against Kilgharrah’s wishes, the king left with a group of knights to confront Lord Trent at his keep. Merlin made his case to the king, as his purpose there was purely decorational. “I request to remain in Camelot. You don’t need a magician for bullying tax-evading lords.”
“Request denied,” Arthur said cheerfully. “And tell Kilgharrah we ride tomorrow. I expect him to join us at Lord Trent’s keep.”
Merlin blinked. Then blinked some more as Arthur’s expression remained unchanged, and he didn’t pull out that bastardly grin when he had Merlin on. “You’re shitting me.”
“I most certainly am not.”
Lord Trent did not take kindly to orders from the king. Even less so from a dragon towering over his head, or with Camelot’s infamous Court Magician at the king’s side. If only that were the worst of it.
“Don’t say it,” Arthur said as Merlin approached his tent. He held up his hand to forestall any comments. Merlin whistled innocently and steered himself towards Gwaine’s tent in search of a drinking partner. A waste, Merlin reflected, that court life truly drove even the most spirited people to drink. It was all so fucking exhausting. No wonder all the courtiers spent every available moment in private drowning their sorrows in expensive mead.
They returned a fortnight later, a bit dispirited and bruised, though none more so than their egos. Arthur scheduled a debrief upon their return. He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “Needless to say that entire arrangement was a complete and utter failure.”
“Yes,” Leon said wearily. “That did not go to plan.” Merlin snorted.
“Oh, don’t sugar coat it,” said Gwaine. “It was a complete fucking shitshow.”
“I think it went rather well,” Kilgharrah said above their heads. “Everything has happened as it was destined to be. All you have dreamed of has come to pass.”
That statement received more than a few blank stares around the table. “Was he on the same mission as us?” Elyan whispered.
“Oh really?” Merlin snarked at the dragon. “Thank fucking shit for that, then.”
Relations between dragons and the citizens of Camelot improved. Some. Maybe. Possibly. There wasn’t any real manner of measurement for that sort of thing, but Merlin thought things seemed a little better.
He was not going to tell Arthur he was right, however. And Kilgharrah was sabotaging that tenuous role at every corner. Gwen had played the role of diplomat when it came to easing tensions at court with the large golden dragon who occasionally stuck his head in just to frighten courtiers, but things seemed…a little less tense. The small population of dragons that Merlin had hatched were starting to venture closer to the citadel, and people were less likely to scream in terror if they saw a big winged shadow over their heads.
Kilgharrah even seemed to be in a reasonably good mood, though it was hard to tell as he was generally a very grumpy dragon to begin with, but any marginal improvement was still noticeable. He had thankfully taken Merlin’s advice not to interrupt the council as often, especially after Aithusa repeatedly bumped into his leg (encouragingly? reprimanding? Merlin wasn’t sure). It helped that Aithusa adored Gwen, while they merely tolerated Arthur and Merlin. On the other hand, adoration hardly covered the wealth of fondness Aithusa had for the queen.
“Somebody’s been eating well,” Gwen cooed as she petted Aithusa’s snout. They were lounging after dinner in the royal chambers, and Merlin was happily taking advantage of the peace and quiet and thankfully drama-ridden evening. Arthur’s legs were propped up on the stool beside Merlin, equally enjoying the respite and laziness after a full meal. He massaged his knee where he had twisted it at the last tournament, though he had refused to let Merlin do any magic to heal it. Merlin wasn’t going to force the issue. If Arthur wanted to suffer a little, then who was Merlin to tell the king to follow his advice?
There was a knock. Aithusa chirped curiously from where their head was perched on Gwen’s lap and budged up their head into Gwen’s hand as she had ceased patting their scales. Arthur called out, “Come in.”
Leon poked his head around the door. His mouth was pursed unhappily. “Er. Sire. I apologize for disturbing your evening. Kilgharrah is asking about the prisoners currently awaiting trial in our dungeons.”
Merlin topped off his cup of wine with the flagon beside him, because from the look on Leon’s face, he was certainly not going to like the answer. “Did he say why?” Arthur asked.
Leon swallowed. “He wants to know what the crimes were. He, uh, he says that he’s feeling a bit peckish. Though that was unfortunately overheard by most of the court, and then word got down to the dungeons, so there’s. Ah. A little bit of a prison riot on our hands.”
Arthur scrubbed a hand over his face. Aithusa made a small chirp of confusion as Gwen mimicked the action and covered her eyes.
“Fucking hell,” Merlin groaned. “We’ve talked about this. Kilgharrah doesn’t eat people!”
“You try telling them that,” Leon said. “He seemed pretty convincing to me.”
“Merlin,” Arthur ordered crossly. “Go deal with your dragon.”
Merlin, who had unfortunately taken a deep sip from his wine and wasn’t expecting to be addressed, sputtered to compose himself. “My dragon? Go deal with your court advisor, he’s your problem now!”
Aithusa growled lowly beside Gwen’s chair. They didn’t like raised voices. Gwen didn’t raise hers though she stood up straight, and her voice was sharp and commanding when she spoke: “Arthur. Merlin.”
They both turned guiltily to face her. Gwen patted Aithusa’s head, who purred happily. “Both of you will go down. Arthur, you will tell Kilgharrah that as an advisor, he is expected to represent all of dragonkind, and to be more mindful of his remarks. The walls have ears. Merlin, go deal with the situation in the cells. I will address the court myself.”
It was late in the evening. Her hair was unplaited, and her makeup and jewelry were wiped away. Though Merlin thought she had never looked more like a queen, especially with a fierce dragon kneeling beside her, who watched Arthur and Merlin with sharp sapphire eyes.
Merlin sensed a shimmer of amusement off the young dragon akin to, you’ve made mother angry.
“Time is of the essence, please.” Gwen’s tone was firm and clearly not open for argument.
Arthur and Merlin exchanged a wide-eyed look and said together, “Yes, your highness.”
“...There have been some points of concern raised by other members of the council.” Arthur was addressing the sculpture above Kilgharrah’s head, perhaps to keep his knees from buckling, or because he wasn’t sure where exactly to look when addressing Kilgharrah’s enormous head through the window. Merlin was staring up at the ceiling and steadfastly counting the beams over their heads, as he had been since Arthur called them to council, and rambled endlessly on about the Mercian-Camelotian state of affairs. Somehow that had taken a turn after Kilgharrah suggested torching Mercia’s capital city, and Arthur evidently determined that was the time to put his foot down.
Kilgharrah’s tone was dry. “Continue.”
Arthur swallowed. “As you are representing dragonkind, and part of our table discussions, you are also considered citizens of Camelot. So we are not sure how to deal with an unprecedented member of council. Should dragons start earning wages? Paying taxes? Seeing as the population increase has been… noticeable. And ruining the brickwork on our towers and roads.”
“...Rudeness that cannot be counted on one’s claws or toes alone,” Kilgharrah said, sounding positively affronted. “I could still just burn you all to death.”
“You are culling our sheep herds and have personally advocated for more egregious types of taxes than I myself would have ever found reasonable.”
Merlin continued looking up at the ceiling.
“I dunno,” Gwaine chimed in. “Dragons are basically just big fire-breathing carriages. I wouldn’t tax a carriage.”
Kilgharrah growled warningly. “Sir Gwaine, we are dragons. Not vehicles for transportation.”
Gwaine snapped his fingers. “You’re right. Carriages have no personality. You’re big, mean, fire-breathing horses.”
As expected, Kilgharrah didn’t appreciate the tone or content of that response. “Careful with your words, sir knight. As you noted, dragons indeed breathe fire, and do not take kindly to speciesist insults.”
It was said about Sir Gwaine that no other knight enjoyed toeing the line as close to out-right suicide as he. Which was unfortunately true. Merlin was no seer, but he saw the scene unfolding, a prophetic dressing down from man to dragon.
Gwaine raised a brow — ignoring Arthur’s frantic handwaving for him to stand down across the table — and asked, “Is that so? What about all the times you insulted us?”
Kilgharrah’s eyes narrowed. “I have done no such thing. I will not stand here and be debased by falsehoods and lies.”
“Then perhaps you will recall,” Gwaine started, and withdrew a comically large scroll from his person, from which Merlin supposed was either magic or some other unspeakable crevice from his body (and Merlin was certainly not going to ask), “that you, Sir Kilgharrah, Lord of Camelot’s Dragon Affairs, have repeated on multiple occasions such speciesist remarks to myself and our fellow human companions? Starting with earlier this morning — Sir Leon asked if you could not poke holes in the roofs of our citizens inhabiting the lower towns, to which your response was a candid ‘What do I care for the weak little warm-blooded gnats.’”
Merlin couldn’t tell for sure but Kilgharrah’s scaly brow seemed to incline upwards at that. “Ah,” Kilgharrah started.
Gwaine cleared his throat. “Last Thursday of this harvest season, so recorded and noted by the date here in the scroll, you nearly stepped on myself and Sir Elyan. When we demanded an apology at our near costly loss of life your response was ‘All puny humans are insignificant fleshy ants under my might. I apologize to no man. Begone, sweaty bog-creatures.’”
“That sounds pretty insulting to me,” Leon agreed amicably. Kilgharrah huffed an intimidating breath of smoke in his direction.
Gwen’s trained smile was noticeably fraying around the edges. Aithusa was still too young to decipher most of their words, but they poked their head briefly over the edge of the table, sensed the distressing amount of rising tension, and hid under it again. Arthur was staring fixedly at the center of the table, as though ignoring the chaos unfolding around them would make it go away.
Reap what you sow, and all that.
Emrys, Kilgharrah warned in his mind. Control your human pets, or I will remind them of their place. And why man should always fear dragons.
Merlin flicked a stray clump of lint off the table beside him. Nah. This is the most fun I’ve had all week. Take your lumps, you damn old lizard. Maybe this will teach you to stop talking in circular riddles and keep your mouth shut.
To be fair, Kilgharrah had started it. Merlin was not going to step in now. He’d dug his own big dragon grave, and he could damn well dig and/or fly himself out from being buried under it.
Kilgharrah didn’t like that reply based on the growling he sent Merlin’s way, but he also knew he was playing a war on two fronts, and wisely knew when to pick his battles. So he went back to bickering with Gwaine in earnest and left Merlin to count motes of dust and scratch his nails into the groove of the table where Aithusa had accidentally clawed off some of the woodwork.
Merlin couldn’t wait until Aithusa was old enough to take over. Maybe then they’d finally get some fucking work done around here.
