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Chapter Text

The Warlock had not held his post for very long when the enemy troops descended.

He could see the thickening smoke from his tower, hear the screams of those who had not fled to the safety of the palace gates in time. 

They needed to abandon this place. The rations were few, the knights were already showing signs of starvation. They would not last much longer than this. But what could he do when his King chose to not listen to him? What could he say to make him forget his fear and contempt?

Days passed, blood flowed through his home, and dyed the banners of his countrymen wine red. The Warlock watched and waited.

For the gates to crumble, for the advancing army to shepherd cold death to their door. 

Arthur

What were people supposed to do in these sorts of situations? Should he fold his hands in front of him? Let them hang listlessly by his side? He turned to Morganna, his seemingly aggrieved half-sister, and watched unsheathed tears pool in the corners of her eyes. 

She did look sad, he supposed, especially for someone who had last spoken to the deceased five years ago. Should he mimic her expression? The slight purse to her gaudy red lips? The crease between her perfectly sculpted eyebrows?

“Stop. Watching. Me.” She said under her breath, sounding positively venomous. He rolled his eyes at her tone but relented nonetheless.

Her ability to drench words with such concentrated distaste was truly masterful, a talent really. Honed from years of bullying their staff and biting viciously at the tatters of Arthur’s waning self-confidence. At first, he’d felt strangely envious of her casual cruelty, his mother had never let him behave like a wretch, but soon he’d grown to hate her for it. She could be decent when she felt like it, but that didn’t happen often. Any goodwill she had was usually reserved for the few empty-headed socialities she deemed powerful enough to call friends.

Arthur turned his attention back to the grave his father was being lowered into and tried to school his expression into something the people around him would deem appropriate. Since he’d heard the news, he hadn’t felt much of anything really - he remembered waves and sunlight, a hammock swinging silently from side to side, everything perfect - until his father’s secretary had called in a panic to urge him to return to London. There’s been an accident Arthur, your Father needs you.

Cancun had been so lovely, and his place in the world so irrefutable, that his father’s sudden and inexplicable heart attack had felt ridiculous, even laughable. Uther Pendragon had never seemed the sort to die. He was solid and unrelenting, like a mountain, not this. Not this dead and pitiable thing, divorced from the glory that once made it a man. A large part of Arthur resented him for leaving the family like this. Neither he nor Morgana was ready to take on the responsibilities of managing a corporate empire this large, and the people around them knew that. Perhaps if they’d had more time to prepare, if he’d had more time to prepare.

He could feel himself beginning to unravel, a tightening chest, an anguished scream fighting to emerge from his throat. Tears. God, he wanted to cry, so so much, but he couldn’t. Not here with all his father’s associates circling his family like vultures.

He almost broke when it came to scatter cold dirt on the coffin, had it not been for Morgana’s nails digging into his side he may have fallen to his knees right there. In front of all these people, who despite their dark suits and solemn expressions, felt no pity for his family. 

Be watchful Arthur. They will ruin us if you let them. He heard a voice say. It sounded too much like his father’s. Before the words would have seemed paranoid and hateful, but now- Arthur understood. He had no allies here.

—--

When every guest had been shepherded off the estate, Arthur let himself breathe. Morgana was still skulking around somewhere, no doubt terrifying the housekeepers into attending to her every whim. Better she was away from him anyway, less they get into another pointless argument. 

“ Will you wait until his body’s cooled before you start asking after your inheritance?”

“The funeral’s over Arthur.”

“That’s hardly the point.”

Morgana would have to wait for the reading to hear that their father hadn’t actually taken her out of the bloody will. He certainly wasn’t going to be the one to tell her. 

“And what of the company?”

“What of it Morgana?”

What of the company indeed? He knew Uther had left it all to him, but things would not be confirmed until the reading of the will, scheduled to take place the next day. He had no intention of taking up his father’s position immediately; however, he needed to mourn, and take time to process all of this. But not too much time. The board would find some way to dispose of him if he wasn’t careful. Arthur could only hope that they had enough decency to wait a day or two before they began their plotting.

In the meantime, he would remain here, in the town where his father was buried.

South Stradford was small, embanked by a lake some of the locals liked to take leisurely strolls around on Sunday mornings. It was a quiet and unassuming sort of place, the houses were crumbling, old, and reminiscent of a time Arthur’s family had watched over it as Great Lords and Ladies. Its sizable geriatric population subsisted mostly on cattle farming, headed by the children and grandchildren who hadn’t chosen to flee to the bustling streets of London. The whole thing was rather quaint, Arthur thought, as he watched the ubiquitous mist roll lazily over the town. It looked almost beautiful from the balcony of the Pendragon Estate. Still, he couldn’t altogether fathom why his father had chosen to be buried here, and not in the family plot with Arthur’s mother. He’d never consulted Arthur about his plans, but then again they’d never discussed his death in any great detail. Aside from the fact that he, Arthur, would inherit the family business if he continued to remain loyal to Uther, and conduct himself in a manner befitting of the Pendragon name.

The cold late afternoon air bit into him. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear an old window creak to and fro, two raised voices, a door slamming, and then silence. Morgana’s conquest had come to an end then. She wouldn’t emerge from her rooms for a few hours now if they were lucky. Her moods were terrible, but predictable in their longevity and nature. He’d spent enough time angering her over their tumultuous childhood to know that.

He let the faint swish and sway of the branches of a nearby tree lull him into one of his own absent-minded moods. Words, images, and half-formed ideas filtered through his mind as he contemplated the grounds of his childhood home, but they were soon lost to the wind. Arthur felt them leave and prayed they would take his dark feelings with them, but they remained there, lodged in his throat like a jagged stone.

Not now, he would cry later, not now.  He’d cry when he was locked away from the prying eyes of the staff, and more importantly, where Morgana couldn’t reach him. For now, he would have to settle for the silence, and the dark grey clouds drifting threateningly over the trees of the estate. Their lawns were vast and strikingly green, even under the fading daylight. He could recall a time when he and his family had been happy here, even Morganna, in her own dark way. He hadn’t visited for ages, perhaps a decade or so? Not since they’d lost his mother. 

Compelled by memories of quiet laughter, soft hands, and the lavender-scented embrace of his mother, Arthur felt the urge to explore the grounds. As a boy, he’d relished his little expeditions. He’d quite liked the idea of not being found again, and living the remainder of his life hidden away amongst the hedges and the puppies that tottered after him on occasion. He pushed away from the banister and moved and descended the adjoining stairs towards the gardens.

A groundsman who he vaguely recognized from his time there, smiled at him, as he made his way past them and into the denser greeny surrounding the property. He acknowledged the man with a slight incline of his head and continued on. 

“Mr. Pendragon sir!”

Arthur turned at the sound of a voice. The groundsman from earlier (Theo? James?) was out of breath, and rubbing his hands against the sides of his mud-darkened trousers in a manner that Arthur found oddly distressing. 

“Yes? Can I help you?”  Keeping irritation out of his voice had always been a bit of a struggle for Arthur but- his mother had insisted on politeness when dealing with their people. He wasn’t going to disrespect her memory by forgetting that lesson. 

“You best not go that way, sir. I forgot to mention it when you passed by earlier.” The man explained nervously.

“And why not?” 

“Tom’s handling the horses sir. A mare and her foal came down with something last week and it’s spread to the rest of the herd. Something nasty, never seen anything like it. We’ve been keeping people away from the stables ever since.”

Arthur turned away from the man and to the direction, he had been walking in. In five or so minutes, he’d be at the stables.

“Why haven’t I been informed of this?” Arthur asked as calmly as he could. A plague of this magnitude would no doubt be expensive. He had no particular attachment to the horses, they were his father’s pastime, but he did not like the idea of them being lost like this.

“We did not want to bother you, sir, on account of-”

Arthur waved the man’s explanation away with a flick of his hand.

“It’s fine, return to your duties.” 

The man glanced at him nervously and nodded, walking back in the direction he’d come from. A plague- just what he needed. He contemplated ignoring the whole thing, let Morgana handle it, but- he couldn’t do that. All of this was his now, it was time he started acting like it.
—-----

The place was dark, the Warlock could hear rats scuttling around his cell, knawing on the long-forgotten bones of the country’s damned. Whatever they’d fed him - was flowing through his veins, blurring the edges of his vision and making his breath come out in short painful bursts. He was going to die here, he knew. 

He called for his magic, reaching desperately for hope, for salvation- but all he found was darkness - and it was spreading -up into his lungs, his throat, his eyes. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe -

—-----

The first sign that something was amiss, was the smell. Rot, like something, had died and had been left to the mercy of the sun and insects for days. He covered his nose and mouth with his arm on reflex and fought the urge to return to the house. To his shame, he’d always had a particularly weak stomach. When past girlfriends had managed to coax him into watching horror and gory slasher movies, he always slinked away before the end credits. He despised the sight of blood.

Tom stumbled out of the stable, clearly out of his depth, if his expression was any indication. He couldn’t remember seeing the stableman quite so distressed. Tom was the right sort of man. He had a strong, solid figure, a sharp mind, and capable hands that seemed able to mend anything they came across. Uther had considered him the most competent of the workers here. 

“Arthur!” The obvious fear in the stableman’s voice frightened him.

“Tom! What in the blazing hell is going on here?”

“I have no idea, some sort of plague? I couldn’t quarantine them fast enough, whatever it is spread like nothing I’ve ever seen before. I’m sorry Arthur there’s no saving any of them now.”

He risked a look at the stables and willed his feet to draw him closer to the site. He had to know the extent of the problem-

“I really wouldn’t Arthur-”

Why was everyone always trying to warn him away from his responsibilities? Did they not think him capable of completing the simplest of tasks? Did they not think him capable of taking over his father’s responsibilities and running the Estate as he had?

He turned to Tom and regarded him coldly. He would have to learn that he was in charge now, Uther’s reign over the staff had been absolute, and complete, yes. And Arthur knew he had no hope of replicating his father’s style of leadership, but he couldn’t allow the place to fall apart under this looming insubordination. He was the master of the estate now, come the morning he would have full control of all the Pendragon assets, they needed to listen to him. He ignored the rest of Tom’s protests and stepped into the stables.

The sight was horrific.

Two horses, the mares, were strewn on the ground, emitting soft anguished sounds from where they lay.  Their heavily muscled bodies twisted and writhed weakly, sending bits of hay and dust into the foul air. Their eyes would have been a milky-white, had it not been for the thick green-yellow puss that oozed from them like a river of mud.

Chapter Text

Arthur could not stop the lurch of his stomach, and the acid and bile that followed it. He tried to get as far away from Tom as he could, but he had no doubts the man was watching him empty the contents of his stomach onto the heavily manicured lawn surrounding the stables.

“Sir-”.

“Right yes Tom, give me a bloody moment will you?” He spat, wiping away what was left of his accident from the corner of his mouth. This was not really how he wanted to start his stint as Lord. But it didn’t seem like much was going right these days.

“How-How could this possibly have happened?”

Tom was no fool. He’d been on the Pendragon payroll for nearly two decades now, and that did not come without a substantial amount of proficiency and talent.

“I honestly have no idea Arthur, sir-” said the stableman, removing the flat grey cap previously perched on his dark curls.

“This- I’ve never had anything like this happen before. Some of the horses occasionally get sick, but there’s been nothing of this magnitude. I couldn’t even tell you what this is, quite honestly.”

Arthur nodded, his body still turned away from the man. He appreciated the honesty.

“Well… there’s not much we can do about it now is there?” He said, glancing at the now unmoving horses strewn on the ground. He would just have to replace them. He couldn’t let the stables fall to ruin the day after his father’s funeral

“Get this cleaned up, no bury them…somewhere near here.” He ordered, finally turning to look the stableman in the eye. 

Tom nodded in acquiescence. He looked crestfallen.

“Don’t worry I won’t sack you. Even I can see that there was no helping… this. You’ve been good to my family and the horses, my father would crawl out of his grave if I tried anything of the sort.”

That got him a hesitant smile.

“Thank you, Arthur.”

As he readied himself to leave, he heard a pained groan, coming from the inside of the stable. The dying animal inside sounded strangely like… a person?

“You’ve not developed a fancy for kidnapping and imprisonment since I last saw you, have you Tom?”

“Uh, not that I’m aware of sir.”

Arthur didn’t want to go back in there, so he gestured for the man to go in and investigate, he’d learned his lesson. Tom stood motionless for a second but he started as soon as Arthur cleared his throat. 

He watched the stableman disappear into the open blood-red doors (horrid color), occasionally jumping at the too-human sounds emanating from the structure. Groans turned into growls, into claws running over concrete floors, to mangled words, and back to groans. Some pretty uncharitable things were running through his mind about Tom by the time he made his way out of the stable. (Had he been keeping a rabid wolf in there as a pet?) but they were frankly too laughable to give any real consideration.

Something old and terrible, stirred within him as he watched the stableman’s face upon his return. An ancient fear. Whatever was in there was angry, Arthur would not go near it.

“There’s nothing there.”

He said walking up to Arthur, face ashen and eyes terrified.

“What do you mean there’s nothing there? I can clearly hear who-whatever it is rustling about in there. Do you make sure to check properly?”

“Yes Arthur I swear, I checked everywhere, in every compartment, I even- there’s nothing there sir I swear.”

“But you can hear it?”

Arthur asked watching the stable apprehensively.

“Yes sir, I can hear it.”

They both stood in silence for a moment or two, listening to the sounds of…whatever it was.

“Okay, after you’ve dealt with the horses, gather up the others and search the entire area. I want whatever this is found. Do you understand me?”

“Yes sir.”

And with that Arthur walked back toward the manor, leaving those nightmarish sounds behind.

—

The groundsmen found nothing, despite having searched the entire night. Arthur had even made them expand the search area in a fit of rage, but the source of the sound remained elusive. He was restless, as he retold the story to Morgana and tore into his eggs at the breakfast table. She calmly considered him, in that annoying way of hers, slightly inclining her head when he said something marginally interesting.

“Well, it has to be somewhere. Have them look again.” She drawled, not remotely interested.

“I had them out the entire evening, Morgana, fat load of good that did. I suppose I could call-”

“The police? Oh don’t be daft Arthur, the family doesn’t need that sort of attention right now. Forget the noises, I have no idea why you’re so fixated on them anyway. Edward is coming today, have you forgotten?”

“No Morgana, I haven’t forgotten.” He mocked, pulling a face.

“Don’t do that, you look even more boorish than you usually do.”

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re getting at, no I don’t know what’s in the will, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I was you. You haven’t spoken to father in nearly half a decade.”

“I wish you wouldn’t”

“I wish YOU wouldn’t”

Morgana scoffed, crossing her arms and staring at Arthur like he was mad. He had no desire to entertain this conversation with her yet again. She’d always had an issue with the…patriarchal nature of the succession. Claiming that she was older and more intelligent. So the company should fall to her. She was a cunning little snake, he’d give her that, but she vastly overestimated her capabilities. A few master's degrees, wouldn’t make up for her complete inability to lead.

“You know you’re not suited for it.” She said cutting into her sad little leaves while his fingers tightened around the cutlery in his hands.

“I suppose we’ll see who’s more suited for it at the reading, won’t we?”

“I suppose we will.”

A mousy maid interrupted their rather epic stare-down, a Pinterest-perfect green smoothie was perched on the silver serving dish in her hands. Morgana turned to her and smiled her pretty smile.

“This better not have any grapes in it,” she threatened sweetly, looking up at the maid like a particularly hungry constrictor.

“Everyone on this bloody planet knows you’re allergic to grapes Morgana, stop bullying the help and drink your smoothie. You can leave.” He told the girl. She scuttled off almost immediately leaving him and Morgana to stew in the uneasy silence.

“Right, I’m going to go up to my room and forget we ever had this conversation. See you when Clifford gets here.” He announced, pushing away from the table.

—

The Pendragons had not been cruel to him, not at first. When he and Kilgharrah descended onto the small island, they were greeted with warmth and salted meats. The nobleman and women were overjoyed that a warlock, and a Dragon Lord at that! Had chosen their people, their land to protect! Surely Camelot would enter an age of abundance and prosperity! Nothing and no one would dare to harm them again.

The King was unremarkable as Kings usually were, a greying old drunk, but he was fair. He let Merlin do as he pleased from atop his looming magical tower, so long as their boundaries remained untainted with the stink of black magic, and his royal children grew fat and healthy within the castle walls.

It did not take long for him to turn cruel however, it never did with the Pendragons.

—

Arthur despised Clifford. He was his father’s most trusted lawyer, the only one who had any real access to the running of the estate. He was a severe and deeply, deeply boring man. He wore rather gauche pocket squares, and his interests only seemed to extend as far as croquet and disproving of whatever trouble Arthur had gotten himself into over the years. Naturally, he and Morgana got on swimmingly.

“Edward!” Morgana exclaimed, watching the man stride into their father’s study. They’d wordlessly agreed to settle the matter here, it seemed appropriate.

“Morgana always a pleasure. You look lovely.” He replied, the wrinkles around his eyes squinching together in delight.

“Oh stop. You do like to flatter.”

She’d changed of course. She wore a green dress that seemed far too ostentatious for the occasion.

“Sir,” Arthur said while the pair smiled adoringly at each other.

“Arthur.” The man said with a noticeable dip in tone.

“Right let’s get on with it shall we?” 

“Oh don’t be so hasty, Edward has only just arrived. Shall we call for some tea?”

“No Morgana, I’d like to get this over with as soon as possible. I have other matters to attend to.”

Arthur replied cutting off whatever asinine response Clifford intended to give.

The man frowned deeply in response. Jesus Christ, Arthur thought. Why did he always insist on behaving this way? It was just a painfully awkward conversation with Morgana, not a bloody diamond.

Clifford moved to take a seat behind his father's desk, after giving Arthur another one of his unimpressed looks.

“I’m sure you’ll find perfectly good seating here with us.”

Arthur said to stop him, gesturing to the three leather chairs in the center of the room.

He’d asked his people to prepare them earlier, knowing that the man would probably happily sit in his father's chair in some weird bid to inspire authority. Morgana shot Arthur a look from the corner of her eyes but moved to take her seat. Arthur followed after her, as did Clifford after a brief pause.

“Right, let’s get this uncomfortable business settled then. Your father was a great man, a true force of nature. I’m sure the two of you will do your best to continue his legacy in a manner befitting of the Pendragon name.”  He began.

Clifford lowered his leather briefcase onto the antique table between them and removed a thick ream of papers from it.

“Now Morgana, I’m sure you know how upset Uther was that you refused to speak to him all those years, but he is- excuse me was, a kind man, as you know.”

Morgana’s eyes watered as she nodded in response. Gods.

“He has left to you. his only daughter, the Griffith Estate in Cardiff, and all its contents. In memory of your late mother. As well as a total sum of 500 million pounds, to do with as you wish. Payments will be made in installments of course, but we can discuss all that messy business later.”

“I don’t understand. What of the company?” Morgana questioned urgently.

“I’m truly sorry Morgana but we all know Uther always intended to leave the rest to Arthur. No matter how some might dislike that decision.”

“And what has my father left me?” Arthur asked tonelessly. 

“Everything, Arthur, everything. You are now the Lord of Pendragon Manor, the majority owner and CEO of Pendragon Ltd.”

—

They both watched Morgana storm out in a fit of rage, he doubted he’d be seeing her for at least the next few months.

“Come now Arthur, we have something else to discuss. Your father has also left you a letter, the contents of which you must regard with the utmost urgency and care.”

“ I see my father's penchant for unsolicited commands hasn’t faded, even in death.”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t get into another one of your rebellious moods. The matter is quite serious…and delicate. If you don’t follow the contents of this letter exactly you can say goodbye to the Pendragon name, and all the riches that come with it.”

Arthur leaned forward, considering the man with more seriousness than he’d allowed so far. 

“Follow the instructions here and there will be nothing to worry about. I have something else I must attend to regarding…well you’ll understand soon enough. So I must leave you to handle this by yourself.”

Clifford said standing and carefully brushing off invisible lint from the carefully tailored lines of his suit jacket. He then reached into the left pocket and pulled out a white letter, with the red Pendragon crest stamped carefully on the front.

His father had been the only one allowed to use the crest for any written correspondence. 

“Do not disappoint your father,” Clifford said handing Arthur the letter, before picking up his briefcase and walking towards the same door Morgana had left from.

Arthur opened the letter, his eyes frantically moving down his father's carefully inked words.

When he was finished he stood there, for what felt like an eternity. When the sun finally set, and his heart began to quiet, Arthur placed the letter in his pocket and made his way down to the stables. Down into the gardens. Down to where the Warlock was waiting. 

Chapter Text

Merlin was terrible.

Arthur recalled his father reading Lovecraftian stories to him while he sat perched on his knee. He was terrified out of his mind, hearing stories of wayward tentacles, and desperate fishermen lost at sea. And here he was, a boy once again, terrified of a great black beast.

Its eyes glinted in the darkness, blue and evil. Watching Arthur as he made his way across the damp cellar. The letter had said to treat it like a servant, as that was what it was. A tool to be used to further the Pendragon name, nothing more.

“Pendragon.” It said from the guttural depth of its throat, leaving Arthur suspended in fear, allowing the cool damp air of the room to invade him. He wanted out. He wanted to ascend the rickety stairs he had come from and never have to look at this terrible beast again.

Instead, he reached into the depths of his trouser pocket, pulled out the letter, and read the inscription etched at the bottom in his father’s handwriting. 

“Vinctus erit.”

The words reverberated through the cellar. Arthur stood and waited for the reply, hearing the pitter-patter of stray droplets of water landing on the stone floors. None came.

“Vinctus erit.”

Arthur watched the shifting mass of black, adjust itself and settle. It did not reply, not like his father had told him it would. 

“Vin-”

“Do you know how long it has been Pendragon? Since the filth of your centuries-old magic touched my scales? It grows old. It grows weak. And soon I will die.”

Arthur dared not reply.

His father’s letter had explained as much. The Pendragon blood curse would have to be rebuilt soon. Otherwise, the creature’s life would end here. Taking everything they had amassed with it. Arthur was the key, the only one who could make it right.

“I’ve come to offer you a thousand more years, dragon. A thousand more years to attempt to escape from this prison.”

The creature attempted something that sounded like a chuckle.

“A thousand years? Has it been that long? ”

A chuff of decrepit warm air escaped from the mouth of the creature, ruffling the golden strands of Arthur’s hair.

“Nonetheless Pendragon, I refuse your offer. Century after century I have allowed your bloodline to trap me here, all in hope that I would someday find a way to break this curse and slaughter you all. I’ve grown weary of it, kill me if you must, but I will not grant you more prosperity. Your wicked reign will end here.”

He couldn’t - Arthur wouldn’t let him. The creature’s life and the blood curse he would have to renew, were the only things keeping the Pendragon empire going. Without it, their enemies would descend on the manor, the company… everything. He could not let that happen, his father would never forgive him for it.

“I-I will grant you more freedom. You will be allowed to roam the manor grounds. On the condition that you do not harm any of its inhabitants and that you submit to the binding ritual when it is time.” Arthur said, his voice deceptively calm and steady.

The creature- Merlin, was silent. Arthur hoped he would accept. None of his predecessors had allowed it this freedom, but the creature had been younger then. Still fueled by its arrogant belief that it could find some way to break free from his family. The creature before him was ready to give up, Arthur had to reignite its hope. Even if it meant risking everything.

“Allow me access to my library.” It finally replied.

“You can’t possibly be serious-” 

“Allow me access to my library, or let me die here.”

Arthur considered it. It was a gamble. His predecessors had wiped the creature’s library of anything relating to the curse or how to break it, but some of its books still remained. There was always a chance, albeit a slim one, that something in there would help it undo the ties that bound it.

“Think faster little Pendragon, this exchange is beginning to bore me.”

Arthur almost rolled his eyes.

“Alright, we have a deal.”

He reached into his pockets once more and pulled out a vial of his blood. The creature's eyes never left him. 

He then crouched and rolled the glass vial over the grey cobblestones and into the creatures’s expectant claws. It smiled a great big terrible smile before it guzzled the blood down into its stomach.

“What?” Arthur asked, perturbed by its strange behavior.

“Next time, Pendragon, I will drink this straight from your neck.”

Chapter Text

“What do you think of them? The King and all the rest? I don’t suppose you think we should have chosen somewhere else to settle?”

“Your questions are disturbing my slumber young Warlock, go find someone else to satiate your boredom”

The Warlock kicked at the scales of Killigrah’s tail, it swished lazily in response.

“Killigrah-”

“Hush, Merlin.”

—--

It was dark when the warlock opened his eyes again. He had slept for an entire day, still tucked away in the cell that had been his home for centuries. The waning curse had made him weak and the few guzzles of the Pendragon’s blood would only keep him going for so long.

He was…he was tired.

The Pendragon boy had left the cell door open, and an invitation for Merlin to explore the grounds, not before warning him not to disturb any of the groundsmen, or the women who tended to the wretched family. Merlin had agreed because he had no choice, but also because he had no strength to deal with the humans. They would see his wings and sharp teeth and flee in fear. They would cower like the Pendragon had.

He feebly pushed himself to his feet, leaning on the cold stone walls of his prison. He needed to make his way to his library, or what was left of it. There he would piece together whatever he could from his memories and what they had not destroyed. There he would break the magic, and kill every Pendragon who still walked the earth, stain what was left of their empire with blood.

Moonlight shone through the cracks of the door leading to the outside, the inclining stairs that led to it bathed in the silver almost-otherworldy light. Merlin took a few stumbling steps to the first step and began his climb. It was not easy, heaving his trembling legs up the stairs, but with every step, he grew more confident, and the trembling began to subside.

The grounds looked different, the looming walls long-demolished in favor of something smaller, yet no less grand. He could see the manor’s lights shining distantly in the darkness, like a quiet call, a beacon. There were no humans as far as he could tell, just a lazy mist that drifted over the cleanly trimmed glass.

Merlin drew a breath of cold air into his aching lungs and began to walk.

The manor was strange, the old stone walls giving way to a cleaner more rounded design. Gone were the wide angular arches and gleaming adornments of Merlin’s time. The sight pleased something within him. The old king had been so fond of his castle, in that slimy self-satisfied way of his, and Merlin was happy to see it gone.

Would the library still be intact? The little Pendragon had promised that some of his tomes and manuscripts still lay within the building, preserved and stored, “by the best archivists that money can buy”, the boy had said. But Pendragons were known to lie.

With a feeble swoosh of his giant black wings, Merlin latched onto a window on the third floor of the building. The glass gave way easily, scattering on the red carpets below. A frantic maid, rushed to see what had caused the disturbance, only to find shards of glass scattered haphazardly in their polished hallway, and no sign of whoever-whatever had broken inside.

Finding his way to the Library was easier than expected, the general layout of the building remained the same, and he found the door unlocked when he made it there. Perhaps the Pendragon boy was not a liar after all?

The inside, however - was disappointing though he’d expected as much. Most of his scrolls and tomes were gone, lost to the Pendragon’s fear and the passing of time. What remained were mostly historical accounts of his time in the castle, and a few paltry spells he’d used to entertain the noblemen - useless. Unless-

The Warlock scratched at a stone in a far corner of the room, heart soaring when it began to tremble in response.

“My maid’s been scared out of her wits because of your little stunt with the window.” A voice said from behind him. The warlock turned to face the Pendragon, carefully angling his body before the secret stone.

“I only promised that they would not see me- not that I wouldn’t disturb your precious castle,” Merlin said flippantly, moving towards the Pendragon. It pleased him to see him shrink back in fear.

“It’s not a - whatever. See to it that no one sees you, and remember our agreement - beast.”

“It’s not like I have much of a choice.” The Warlock replied, sticking out his long tongue, he could still taste the sweet cloying blood from earlier. It bound him to the Pendragon, for the time being. A stronger spell would have to be carried out for the true binding.

“How long?”

“How long until what?” The Pendragon asked, despite himself.

“Until the binding. How long do I have?”

“A month- maybe two. We have to wait for the blood moon.”

Good. That was enough.

“I didn’t expect you to answer so honestly. Are you an idiot?” The Warlock asked a faint chuckle in his voice. He perched himself on the end of one of his desks and regarded the Pendragon with interest. Tail lazily swinging to and fro.

A wave of color traveled up the Pendragon’s face, flushing his cheeks with a vibrant red. He opened his mouth - as if to answer and promptly turned to leave the Warlock’s library.

Merlin watched him go, his great booming laugh echoing through the halls of the estate.

Chapter Text

Arthur did not see much of the beast after that, but sometimes - when he was answering calls from angry board members or giving his workers some instruction or other - he could feel its cool blue eyes on his back. He tried not to think about it too much, he had the binding to worry about not to mention a very irate team of employees waiting for him to return to London and take on his father’s position.

Virtual calls would just have to do for now - he still had to deal with his father’s sudden passing, speak with the solicitors - and perform the stupid binding ritual that was keeping their whole sorry business empire afloat. 

A part of him could hardly believe any of it, even with what he’d seen so far. His father’s letter had detailed the entire sordid history, how they’d bound the evil creature to their family and used its magic to assure their prosperity. How he was fated to continue the practice, how it was his destiny, how everyone depended on him to perform his duty.

Even now, Uther’s presence was as stark and oppressive as ever, weighing on him from beyond the grave.

The blood moon was still months away, he thought nervously. He was sure that the beast would find no way to break the binding, after a thousand years of attempts, but having it roam around his estate unmonitored made him jumpy. Nights were filled with formless terrors, and he could hardly keep his food down at mealtimes or take tea. He briefly considered contacting Clifford about his decision to let the beast into its old library - but decided against it. The man had sent a message informing him that he was busy preparing the ingredients for the ritual, and Arthur did not want to disturb him.

The library was useless anyway, anything of note was stored in their vaults in London as a precaution (the full contents of which had been made apparent to Arthur after the meeting with Clifford). All that was left were disordered accounts of his family history, nothing more.

“Alright there Arthur?”

Arthur looked up at Tom, the surprise interruption chasing his frantic thoughts away. He’d come down to the stables to “oversee” the cleaning and disinfecting process, but really he’d just needed to get away from the estate.

“Yes?” Arthur answered, feeling a bit embarrassed at being caught so obviously immersed in his thoughts. He had been leaning against the red walls of the stable, vaguely watching Tom and his men go about their business. Tom must have snuck up on his when he wasn’t concentrating. 

“I know we’re not exactly close, but your father was like a brother to me. If you need to talk about it lad, I’m here.”

He considered the words, feeling both annoyed and grateful, he let the weird mixture of feelings swirl in his stomach for a bit and let out a resigned breath. 

“Tom, did my father ever speak to you about - private matters? Family matters - like things to do with the estate, me, Morgana, all of it?”

The stableman seemed a bit surprised by Arthur’s question.

“Yes well, we would talk sometimes - over a pint or two. Is there anything in particular you were asking after Arthur?”

He didn’t want to involve the man in his family’s problems - problems he seemed entirely unaware of. Arthur sighed and pushed away from the stable.

“It’s nothing - I should get back.”

Tom looked unhappy but nodded in acquiescence. Arthur appreciated his concern, even if he couldn’t exactly confide in him. He patted Tom on his shoulder and smiled before walking back in the direction of the estate. 

—----

He let himself into his father’s - his study, fully intending to return to work had it not been for the black figure that descended from the ceiling the minute he reached his desk. Barely holding in a scream, Arthur turned to face the beast, shoulders squared - hoping that the faint tremble in his hands would go unnoticed.

Why was it revealing itself now? It had been days since the incident in the library. 

“You speak to them like their people.” It said in that weird guttural tone, Arthur hated it when it spoke. He paused for a second, confused at who the creature could be talking about.

“Who?”

“Your seeeeervents. You speak to them like they are people, it’s been quite amusing- watching you play pretend over these few days. “

“I’m not pretending, I simply have manners. Something you could learn a thing or two about. I’ve seen you skulking about - watching me.” Arthur said, frowning deeply. 

“Oh but you’re so interesting to watch little Pendragon. You huff and puff around acting like a great lord, when there’s nothing but a small trembling boy inside you isn’t there?” It said, eyes cooly considering him. 

Arthur felt deeply unsettled by the creature's words - he felt a tremor begin to work itself to life in the pit of his stomach. 

It was trying to get a rise out of him, study the little chips in his armor, and wear him down with fear. He wouldn’t let it, the creature was bound to him and his will. He had not cause to fear it. It was weak and soon it would return to its cage where Arthur would never have to look at it again.

“Get out of my office- I’ve already seen far more of you than I can stomach.” He ordered, squaring his shoulders and staring it down.

“Oh look at you all puffed up again, so scary.” It mocked, turning away from him and studying the room with feigned interest. 

Arthur, felt himself growing angry, but he clenched his fists and pushed the feeling away.

“This isn’t yours though, is it? It belonged to someone else, your father? I heard some of your maids speaking of him. He sounded like a right git - my sincerest apologies by the way.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes, at the creature's glib tone and walked to sit by his desk. If it wanted to stay here and annoy him, so be it but he wasn’t going to waste any more of his time or attention on it. He let his computer boot up and immediately opened his inbox - where he still had over 300 unread emails to sift through. Fantastic.

“Uther was it?”

Most of them were from opportunistic idiots trying to gain a foothold at the company, now that his father was dead.

“Come now little Pendragon we have months to look forward to together - don’t ignore me.” It crooned.

Arthur rolled his eyes and stubbornly fixed his gaze on his endless unopened emails - there was one from his father’s secretary about finalizing his transfer -

“What’s this metal box - some sort of rune magic?”

Said the creature - right next to his ear.

“Jesus Christ!” Arthur yelped, scattering a few wayward pens onto the cupboard.

“Friend of yours?”  

Arthur turned to glare at it - his eyes shifting away as soon as they met its eyes. They were a deep unsettling blue, and far too human for Arthur’s liking. Its whole body a disordered mismatch of fangs, long protruding horns, and a partly human face - 

“Did you always have a nose?” Arthur asked astonished. 

“Of course silly, I need to breathe don’t I?” 

Arthur narrowed his eyes.

“You know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

Was it becoming more human? That certainly did not bode well.

“Are you scared your little binding spell is unraveling? Fret not little Pendragon, my return to the surface has granted me a bit of my magic - just enough for some vestiges of my humanity to return. No need to worry.” It smiled revealing two sharp rows of teeth. 

“Excuse me if I don’t take your word for it,” Arthur replied.

“Yes, you Pendragons are quite a distrustful lot, aren’t you? Always so eager to dispose of allies over the smallest of suspicions.” 

“You’re not an ally.”

The creature paused and regarded Arthur, a cruel glint in its eyes.

“No, I’m not - not anymore.”

Chapter Text

A sigh escaped Arthur’s mouth as he pondered the creature's words; it was an attempt to trick him, surely? His father’s letter had described the beast and his family’s relationship with it as nothing but a torrid and ghastly deal with a devil. Albeit a necessary one.

It was gone now, back to wandering the dark corners of the estate and plotting God knows what. 

He ran a hand over his face and angrily pushed the pile of documents in front of him aside, feeling a headache begin to form. He was contemplating sending one of the staff for a painkiller when a Teams call notification popped up on his screen.

It was from the secretary; he’d been dodging her calls for the past few days, and he probably couldn’t get away with it for any longer. Feeling particularly dispirited, he sighed once again and clicked ‘accept’.

“What is it now?” He asked when her weathered face popped up on screen. She did not look pleased. And considering how long she’d worked for their family, she was unlikely to hold back on whatever she had to say to him.

“Arthur, you can’t be ignoring my calls like this. I understand how difficult this is for you, but we need to have you here in London. I can’t hold the board or the investors off for too much longer.”

She said, apologetically yet still obviously annoyed. She’d never liked him much; none of his father’s associates seemed to. 

In the distance, the wind gave a ghastly call, rattling the branches of the English Oak next to his father’s study. They scraped angrily across the glass of the window. 

“It’s barely been a week, and you’re all already- look, I understand the urgency. I’ll go up in a week, call a board meeting.”

“For good?” She asked hopefully.

“No, there are…matters that need attending to here. Once they have been dealt with, I’ll return to London.”

She frowned, but relented silently, probably sensing that she would not get anything more from him.

Arthur closed the call and walked out of his father’s study.

He needed to speak to the creature again.

—----

Killigrah was already the last of his kind when they met. He carried the sadness of it like a mother would a stillborn babe. At times, the Warlock would curl against his great, bulging side and let the heat of the dragon’s scales seep into his body. 

He wondered if that comfort would be enough, if anything could ever be.

______

Merlin hadn’t felt hungry for some time. Not since that first ugly night. His involuntary pact with the Pendragons kept him satiated, as long as he consumed the blood of each new male heir, his body would not call for anything else. Still, the roast that a rather plump maid had placed into the kitchen oven smelled heavenly. 

He contemplated stealing it while she was called away to do something or the other. Or perhaps he could go back to frightening the Pendragon heir; he enjoyed the way the colour drained out of his skin when he was afraid. He loved the sharp taste of fear that radiated off the young man in his presence.

“There you are. I thought I told you to stay hidden.” The Pendragon said from behind him, he’d heard him scuttling around the estate in search of something. Apparently, it was him.

“Do you think you would see me if I did not want you to?” Merlin asked, turning to regard his captor. He was wearing a particularly aggrieved expression, eyebrows pinched down like a morose child. It made Merlin want to bite .

The Pendragon considered him for a few moments and then rolled his eyes. The perfect picture of spoiled aristocracy. Merlin had always hated his kind, even before all of this. Nobles were useless parasites that fed off everything and everyone around them, their only redeeming quality being their luck at birth. He had met hundreds of men more deserving of the riches than these porcelain dolls who wasted themselves away on parties and silly games of hierarchy. 

“What do you want, little Pendragon? Come to issue more demands? I’m not sure what more I can give you, since you already own my soul.” 

Merlin settled in front of the oven and watched the roast bubble away inside. He suddenly wished for those long-forgotten pangs of hunger, hunger motivated by more than a need for Pendragon blood anyway. 

“Why do you keep doing that? You speak of this whole ordeal like you’re not to blame. My father’s letter was clear about you and your involvement in this. You brought this on yourself.”

Merlin was so so amused. He already knew by now that the real nature of that night had been obscured by time and Pendragon's deceit, yet the boy’s words still ignited something of a surprise in him.

“And what pray tell did I do to ‘bring this on myself’?” Merlin asked playfully, a dangerous undertone to his words, turning back to watch the odd wave of emotions roll over his captor's face.

“I haven’t come here to chat. Here-.” The Pendragon said, handing him a warm vial of blood. Freshly extracted, it seemed. “I won’t have you wasting away before the blood moon.”

Merlin considered ignoring it, but he knew he couldn’t. Eventually, he would grow desperate for it, going so far as to beg those who kept him imprisoned for its relief. He’d spare himself the embarrassment; he needed his strength. He shuffled over to the Pendragon, eyes never leaving his face. When his claws reached out to grasp the vial, he could feel the way his talons made the man shiver. 

“Your father was far less chatty than you are.” Merlin mused, dunking the contents of the vial into his mouth. 

“You acted like you did not know my father.” The Pendgragon said, eyes narrowing.

“Did I?”

___

Uther’s letter had been both condescending and meticulous. Though any personal relationship with the creature had never been mentioned. Arthur figured he sent whatever helpless servant to deliver the vials of blood needed to sustain the curse over the years he was alive, leaving the creature to rot away beneath the earth.

Had he been mistaken, or was this another trick? He felt exhausted; the blood needed for the curse was not substantial, but the entire process made him sick. Having to call in the family doctor, who asked too few questions for Arthur's liking, and feed his blood to this…thing.

What had his father been thinking? How had this been kept from him, from Morgana? He wished his father had had the presence of mind to have explained all this in person, before he’d died. Instead of leaving Arthur to the mercy of Clifford and Uther’s own asinine, perfectly penned letters. As far as he knew, he was the first one to have let the creature out of its cage, the first one who had been called to convince it to live. He felt angry, he felt - he didn’t know what he felt. 

The creature in front of him shambled back to the front of the stove, evidently tired of their conversation. Arthur watched it go, its black tail dragged over the stone of the kitchen in a manner that was vaguely disturbing. He’d caught it watching the stove when he entered, though it did not seem in any hurry to poach anything from its contents. 

“I figured you’d be in your library, not find anything of worth then?” Arthur asked, oddly perplexed by its behaviour.

“Your family destroyed it, like it destroyed everything else. Don’t worry, your pretty little golden head. What? Do you think I’ll find some way to break away from you?” The creature asked, not turning around.

“You would not have agreed to any of this if there was no way of escaping.” Arthur countered, bristling in anger. It treated him like an idiot, like he didn’t know what he was doing.

The creature let out a surprised chuckle, turning back to watch Arthur amusedly. Its face was as grotesque and mean as ever, contrasted by two oddly blue, gentle eyes. 

There was something wrong, though, Arthur thought, as he watched it. He could see something forming - the corners of a pink grin willing itself into existence. 

Something was wrong. 

The creature was changing, becoming more human.