Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You can’t get a regular flight to Avalon. Which is why a very special charter flight has been commissioned, on board a very special aircraft. Nevertheless, Uther Hercules Shipwright-Pendragon, current owner of said aircraft, also doubling for financial reasons as cabin crew, can’t help feeling nervous about the upcoming forty-five minutes.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this flight.” Uther shakes his head as he unclips his harness ready to distribute drinks and snacks to the passengers.

As well as everything else, because of the number of people on board, he’s had to commandeer an additional crew member: his son Arthur. Arthur is ridiculously excited about the whole thing, and Uther is happy for him, really, being fond of the boy, but at the same time he is under no illusions about Arthur’s intellectual gifts.

“Why, Dad? I mean, look at what you’ve got.” After unclipping his own harness, Arthur counts things off on his fingers. “It’s your plane, which is brilliant. And it’s Aithusa. Which is a brilliant plane. And you’ve got Merlin, who’s a brilliant pilot.”

Hmm. Uther tries not to scoff. Not at Merlin’s supposed brilliance, but rather at Arthur’s misplaced high opinion of the man. Still, it would be cruel to deflate Arthur’s enthusiasm on his very first flight, and Uther is not a cruel man. Stern, perhaps, he will admit. Pompous, occasionally. But no, by and large he thinks of himself as being the epitome of fairness, no matter what Katrina might say about the divorce settlement, and being mean to Arthur when he’s got a light in his eyes and a spring in his step would not be at all fair.

“And Gaius,” Arthur carries on, standing up and heading through the curtain into their cramped little galley at the back of the plane, “who although he’s getting a bit old, is an absolutely brilliant co-pilot and especially at telling Merlin what to do when he doesn’t know, which never happens, because he’s brilliant. And you’ve got me to help you and I can already tell I’m going to be brilliant at being a steward.”

“Flight attendant,” Uther corrects him absently. “Or cabin crew. We don’t say steward any more.”

Sighing, Uther chews his lip. He can’t really reveal the truth about why he’s worried. Not without Arthur learning an awful lot very quickly. Arthur, who still thinks Aithusa is private jet A-THSA, registered in Avalon, and is unaware that in reality she’s an adult dragon who’s had a magical internal refit that allows her to accommodate passengers.

“Bong bing. This is your captain speaking!” crackles Merlin’s voice over the tannoy that provides announcements to the whole aircraft. “We will shortly be reaching cruising altitude on this short hop to [crackle crackle]. I hope you enjoy a pleasant flight.”

“That’s Merlin’s voice on the tannoy? That’s brilliant.” A starry-eyed Arthur is pointing at the speakers. “His voice even sounds lovely over the tannoy, doesn’t it? All sort of low and boomy.”

Uther closes his eyes to pray to the goddess for strength.

“We ask you to remain seated at this time with your seatbelts fastened at this time because the seatbelt sign is still switched on at this time,” Merlin adds. “Erm. Can the cabin crew please get in touch at this time? Nothing to be alarmed about. Thank you.”

“Ooh, Merlin wants us to get in touch,” says Arthur, reaching out to grab the intercom – which is like a kind of telephone, except it only has two buttons: one to speak to the cockpit, and the other to make announcements over the tannoy. “I know how to work the intercom. Can I do it?”

“No, Arthur, you can not!” Uther grabs it hastily back off him and slams it back on the hook, ignoring the deflated look in Arthur’s eyes. “They probably just want some coffee. You’ve got other duties to do. Our passengers come first. So, get on with prepping the water and snacks.”

Ah, yes. And then there’s Merlin. As well as being the captain of this aircraft, by necessity thanks to certain arcane skills required for commanding an aircraft of this sort, namely, being a dragonlord, plus being one of aforementioned magic users, at the same time he’s a complete numbskull, prone to overreacting. Plus he has some sort of mental affliction that seems to hit him particularly badly when he’s in Arthur’s company. The worst thing about it is that his magic seems to want to do whatever Arthur tells it to. Uther and Gaius, by tacit agreement, have decided to keep the two of them apart at all costs, but that doesn’t seem to be stopping them from trying to communicate with each other over the tannoy and intercom.

“Bing bong. Or is it bong bing? Anyway, either way, really no biggie,” says Merlin over the tannoy again, “please don’t be alarmed at this time. But please can the cabin crew contact the captain? Thank you.”

“It sounds like he really wants to talk to us,” says Arthur helpfully. “Can I talk to him? Can I? Please, Father?”

“No you can’t. I’m sure everything is fine,” says Uther, crossing his fingers behind his back and hoping that it’s just Merlin overreacting to something silly as usual. Taking a deep breath, he plunges through the curtain that separates them from the passengers and starts handing out lemon-soaked napkins.

But none of this is helping Uther’s nerves. Thank God that Gaius, Uther’s old friend and a safe pair of hands when steering the plane, is acting as co-pilot, otherwise Uther would be seriously considering turning the flight around, and sod the expense. In fact, there are many other reasons why this would be a good idea.

Sometimes, Uther thinks he must have been a complete bastard in a past life, given the way that karma seems intent on biting him on the bum in this one.

Chapter Text

“Are you sure we should do this flight today, with Aithusa going into heat?” Uther said as he poured boiling water into his mug and dunked his teabag with his fingers, taking care not to let them touch the water before he tossed the bag into the bin.

They were in their draughty office at Fitton air field, preparing for the flight. He’d gone over the flight plan with Gaius and Merlin before Arthur got there. Aithusa was fuelled and ready to go. But their passengers were yet to arrive. There was still time to abort this mission, although he’d never hear the end of it from Morgana if he did.

“What do you mean, Aithusa is going into heat?” said Arthur, putting milk into his tea and selecting a silver teaspoon from the drawer.

Pausing as he blew air across the surface of his tea, Merlin opened his mouth to answer.

“It’s a code, Arthur,” interrupted Gaius hastily. After last week’s incident with the chocolate Hob-Nobs, he and Uther had agreed to limit direct interactions between Merlin and Arthur as much as possible. However, neither Merlin nor Arthur were aware of that fact and indeed seemed to be seeking every opportunity to spend time together, which would be a Bad Idea, at least while Arthur was learning the ropes. “We have lots of codes when we’re flying. This one means she needs a service. And it’ll be fine, Uther, you’ll see. We have Merlin here with us. To see off any potential suitors. And you were saying only yesterday how you needed the money to keep the company afloat. Avalon pay well. Merlin, would you like a chocolate Hob-Nob?”

Chocolate Hob-Nobs were an excellent distraction technique. Clever Gaius. Merlin had a particular weakness for chocolate biscuits, as they had discovered to their cost last week, but it was astute of Gaius to put it to good use. While Merlin’s face was crammed with sweet treats, he couldn’t open his mouth to speak. Nodding in admiration, Uther squirreled away that knowledge for later use.

“Who is Avalon?” said Arthur, giving his tea a stir and tapping the side of his mug with the rhythm to ‘shave-and-a-hair-cut—two-pence’ as he always does. “I thought that was a destination, not a person. And what do you mean by potential suitors?”

“Avalon?” said Gaius. “Erm… Avalon are… well. They’re the customer, Arthur. And the suitors? Well… that’s another um code. For. Um. Malfunctions and the like.”

“Oh, I see! Because Merlin is a genius who’s brilliant at understanding the mechanics of the plane,” Arthur said, nodding as if he’d understood exactly what they’d been talking about. “Is there any sugar? I’d really love to have some sugar in my tea.”

“No, you finished all the sugar, last week, and unless someone’s been to Tesco—” Uther began to say, but at that moment there was a strange sound like that of a multitude of celestial cymbals crashing as they whooshed past at high speed, whereupon a large packet of sugar, at least a kilo by the feel of it, materialised on Uther’s head.

Merlin’s bloody magic. Doing whatever Arthur wants as usual, and sod the consequences.

“Ow!” cried Uther, hand flying up to massage his forehead, where the sugar had landed most painfully before bouncing and tumbling to the floor. “That bloody hurt! You imbecile!”

“Oops,” said Merlin through a mouthful of crumbs, stooping to pick the packet up.

“Brilliant!” cried Arthur, doe-eyed and rapt. “You’re brilliant, Merlin!”

Silently, Uther and Gaius exchanged long-suffering looks over one another’s heads.

Chapter Text

“Bong bing,” states Merlin’s voice over the tannoy. “Or is it bang bing? I mean, it could be bing bang bong. No, that would be silly. Hahah. Um. Cabin crew, please contact the captain at this time. I repeat. Contact the captain. Please. Now.”

Uther sighs deeply as he pauses in his traverse along the aisle with the trolley. If it weren’t for the fact that Morgana totally insisted on making the flight today, something to do with the portents or some such, he’d be sitting back in the office at Fitton airport drinking a cup of tea right now. Maybe eating a chocolate Hob-Nob. If Merlin hasn’t finished them all already. Which would be a stretch, admittedly. Thanks to last week’s incident, they have an almost unlimited supply.

Morgana. Who has just swivelled round in her seat to regard him now with those knowing eyes of hers. She smirks and turns back to her magazine.

“Don’t you think you should go and find out what Merlin wants?” says Arthur, hard on his heels with the tray of complimentary sealed-up water cups. “Or I will! I’m happy to go and see him!”

“You will not.” Uther tries not to roll his eyes as he stops to reply. “They’re probably just playing a game of some sort. You know what Gaius is like.”

“Gaius?”

“Yes. Such a playful character. Why, while we were at university… but you don’t need to know about that. Look, I’ll check in a minute if it makes you feel more comfortable.”

“All right.”

On the opposite side of the aisle from Morgana is a particularly scary-looking woman that Uther vaguely recognises, with large blue eyes. She is wearing a turban wrapped around her head. This woman, whose name eludes him for the moment, reaches out to clutch at the hem of his jacket as he passes. He evades her grasp but above the sound of the engine, there’s a faint cackling sound, as if someone is trying to suppress their mirth at his expense.

Bloody witches. He damned well hopes she hasn’t put a hex on him. They can be unpredictable, these witches. He wouldn’t put it past them to be enacting vengeance upon him for perceived misdeeds in distant, past lives despite the fact that he and his crew hold their lives in his hands.

“So. Why are all the passengers on this flight women?” says Arthur as he hands out the water while Uther distributes mini packs of pretzels.

“Hmm. You mean you’ve just noticed? It’s… um… it’s a um. Avalon women’s football team.” Uther nods at someone else he vaguely recognises as Morgana’s half sister, who is wearing too much kohl and narrowing her eyes at him. No change there, then. “Going to a c– a Um. A match.”

“That’s weird. I watch loads of women’s football but I don’t recognise any of them. And Gwen and Morgana are on the flight,” says Arthur, with a puzzled frown. “And so’s Morgause. And they don’t play football.”

“They’re um… lucky fans. You know how much they love going to Avalon. Well, they’ve got really into their women’s football team recently. They want to cheer them on.”

The scary woman snorts. Nimueh, that’s it. One of Morgause’s friends. He knew he’d seen her before somewhere.

“Bong bing,” says the tannoy again, and Uther doesn’t have time to be grateful for the interruption before Merlin’s voice crackles across the air waves. “This is your captain speaking again. Um. Cabin crew, if you don’t mind, please contact the captain urgently. Green dragon alert! I repeat, green dragon alert!”

“Oh, no,” mutters Uther under his breath as he tugs at the trolley. This is exactly the sort of thing that his doctor has warned him will be bad for his blood pressure. He hurries back to the rear of the craft, trolley and all, ignoring the queries of the passengers, seeking the relative safety of his rear-facing chair. “Oh, God. Not a green dragon alert! Not today! I knew we shouldn’t have taken this charter. The timing is terrible. Come along, Arthur,” he adds, his son being rooted to the spot, having gone all dewy-eyed and star struck at the sound of Merlin’s voice. As usual.

“Green dragon alert?”

“It’s a code!” hisses Uther. “Now come along.”

“Oh! A code! I see. But what does it mean?”

Thankfully Arthur starts to follow him down the aisle. And for once, he’s taken his cue from Uther and is speaking in a whisper that the passengers can’t hear. Which is good. With a green dragon alert on their hands, they’ve got enough problems already. The last thing they need is for word to get out among a passenger cohort that includes a faerie queen, two high priestesses, one of which is Morgana, and a gifted seer, that the flight crew don’t understand each other’s in-flight code language.

“It means two things. First, and most importantly, sit down and strap in at once.”

Having docked the trolley, Uther demonstrates the urgency of this need by sitting down in his rear-facing chair and pulling the straps of his harness over his shoulders.

“But why?” Arthur sits, shrugging into his own harness far too slowly for Uther’s liking.

“We’ve explained this to you before.” Uther clips himself in with a click. “It’s code. For… erm… unusually violent upcoming turbulence.”

And if they’re unlucky, and Merlin doesn’t manage to send away Aithusa’s latest suitor quickly enough, the terrifying possibility of a clutch of baby dragons to deal with in a few months time.

But Uther doesn’t mention that. His beloved boy, not being either magically or intellectually gifted, is struggling enough already with the information overload today without having to learn about the real nature of their aircraft, their mission freeing Albion’s skies of draconian mischief-makers, or indeed the credentials of the people listed on their passenger manifest.

“But, why?” says Arthur again. This has been a frequently asked question in the Pendragon household ever since Arthur turned three.

And dear Goddess, the idiot boy still hasn’t fastened his harness.

“Just… just… put it on!”

“But…” Thankfully, Arthur complies, still frowning. Which is just as well. Because the jet aircraft suddenly lurches to one side, then the other. “Whoa! That was brilliant! And the second thing?”

“Second thing?”

“You said the code means two things.”

“Oh. Yes. Aha. We’re erm… erm… playing a game,” Uther improvises.

A swoop in Uther’s stomach signals a sudden drop in altitude. Several passengers gasp and one of them lets out a little scream.

Uther knows his duty. He lifts the intercom from its hook and presses the tannoy button.

“Ladies and… Ladies. Please remain seated with your seatbelts on. We are experiencing some turbulence,” he says as smoothly as he can given the excitable way that the plane is juddering. “Nothing to worry about, but for your own safety you must remain in your seat.”

He hangs up the tannoy.

“What kind of game?” says Arthur, seemingly unphased.

“Game?”

“You know. The mysterious green dragon thing. You said we’re playing a game.”

“Oh, that! Yes, of course. We’re playing a game of… erm… silly pub names! Haha! Gaius is hilarious, isn't he?”

“Ooh, I love this one! Can I play?” says Arthur, face lighting up as he holds out his hand. “Let me have the intercom, go in, I’m brilliant at this! And I love pub names! But the Green Dragon isn’t very silly. I know some much better ones. Go on, Dad. Let me have the intercom so I can talk to Gaius! Please! I’ve got a really good one.”

“You have?” Uther determinedly does not hand over the hand set.

“Yes! It’s The Surprised Pigeon!”

“There’s a pub called the Surpri—i—sed Pigeon?” Uther’s voice skips a little as they get jerked roughly from side to side again and Aithusa tilts to one side.

“Not yet,” says Arthur, appearing unphased by all this. “But I think there should be. There’s a Mad Squirrel after all. And isn’t there one called Pervy Percy’s in London?”

“I think you’re thinking of Dirty Dicks.”

Not content with merely juddering, the aircraft is now doing a rhythmic up and down movement that worries him enormously given the circumstances.

He picks up the intercom so he can express his concerns to Gaius in the cabin without the passengers hearing them (apart from the ones who have second sight of course. But they probably know what’s going on already), and without Arthur twigging anything. At least not yet. The boy can’t keep anything a secret.

“Gaius?” he mutters on the private channel between the cabin and the cockpit, trying to keep his voice low so that Merlin doesn’t hear. “Is everything under control?”

“Yes, no problem,” says Gaius into Uther’s ear, his voice sounding a little strained. “Merlin has made contact with the other creature and is in the process of sending it away.”

“In the process?”

“It seems somewhat reluctant.”

“I thought that a dragon had to obey a dragonlord’s voice.”

“Well, yes, it does, but unfortunately this particular dragon is a bit prone to selectively mishearing things, which means that Merlin’s spending a lot of time clarifying his orders. And he says he thinks Aithusa is enjoying it a bit too much.”

There’s a rustle of static and Merlin’s voice comes on the line.

“Everything is fine, sir,” he says in a breathless voice that instills the opposite of confidence. “Tell Arthur I’ve got it all under control. Is Arthur there? Can I talk to him?”

“Of course, he’s here.” Uther sighs. Heavily. “We’re on an aircraft some thousands of feet above the Irish Sea. There isn’t a magical escape ladder and even if there were, it would lead to certain death by drowning.”

“Is that Merlin?” Arthur’s eyes, already round, go all puppyish and eager. “Does he want to talk to me?”

“Shut up, Arthur.”

By the Goddess, Uther’s getting too old for this. He pinches the top of his nose. Hormonal dragons are bad enough. A hormonal son and a hormonal captain as well? He’s definitely being punished for something.

“Don’t worry about a th—” Merlin’s voice over the intercom goes a couple of octaves higher as Aithusa shakes violently, like a dog that’s got wet, or someone with the fit of the giggles, “Oh for heaven’s sake, I said bugger off, you overgrown lizard, and leave Aithusa alone! And it’s not funny Aithusa, stop laughing!”

In the background, Gaius is yelling something about Merlin forgetting to use his dragonlord voice.

Goddess. It really was much easier when Balinor was in the co-pilot seat. But unfortunately, when a dragonlord comes of age, he inherits his powers from his predecessor, who then promptly loses the lot. Plus there’s the small fact that Balinor and Hunith have gone to Antarctica for an extended and overdue honeymoon that they can be sure is, in Hunith’s own words, “as far away as possible from any bloody great reptiles with fishy senses of humour.” And who can blame them?

But the inescapable fact is that they have left Uther with a captain who, though a powerful dragonlord, is also horrendously inexperienced, and whose brain cells seem to disintegrate whenever faced with the presence of a blond himbo of a flight attendant with more muscles than sense.

“Just… just sort it out, Merlin.”

Bloody dragons. Bloody dragonlords. Rolling his eyes, Uther ends the call and mops his brow with a handkerchief.

But soon and miraculously, the turbulence begins to slow.

“Bong bing. This is your captain speaking. The green dragon is banished,” says Merlin’s voice, imbued with a hint of pride.

Applause ripples through the cabin and there’s a collective exhale as if thirty people are breathing simultaneous sighs of relief. Which isn’t surprising given that many of them could see what was going on out of their windows, and many others were gifted with Second Sight.

“Bravo, Emrys,” shouts someone who sounds a lot like Morgana.

“Who’s Emrys?” says Arthur. “And why are they all clapping? Has Merlin won the game then? I mean, the Green Dragon is a good name and everything but really I do hope not. I didn’t get to have a go. And I really want there to be a Surprised Pigeon.”

Just then, a noise rather like the percussion department of an orchestra but perfused with a tinkling sound whooshes through the air. It sounds awfully like Merlin’s magic.

Oh no. What now?

Probably he’s still following up the banishment of the green dragon. The magic just seems loud because Aithusa is no longer bouncing around the place. Uther certainly hopes that’s what it is. But before Uther can breathe a sigh of relief, an ominous ‘beep’ sounds as someone requests assistance. And can he hear cooing?

“I’ll go,” says Arthur, bounding out of his chair. “I bet I can fix any problems these ladies have.”

“Why on earth do you think that?” Uther stretches wearily and contemplates the possibility of a nap at some point during the journey.

“Because I love football, of course. I’m brilliant at talking to footballers. You stay there, Dad. I’ve got this under control. But wait! I know! What about the Escaped Phoenix?”

“What,” cries Uther, surging out of his chair to peer out of the window. Thankfully, he can’t see a phoenix anywhere, though. “Escaped phoenix? Where?”

“It’s not real, silly. It’s just a good pub name.” Arthur grins. “I think it’s a good one, don’t you? I’d love an Escaped Phoenix.”

There’s another cooing sound, louder this time.

“Gosh!” says Arthur. “That pigeon sitting on that woman’s head does look very surprised, doesn’t it? Mind you, not quite as surprised as her. Do you think that’s why the passenger in seat 5A rang their bell? Although, I’m not sure it’s surprise that she’s showing on her face right now. I think maybe she might be angry, to be honest. Maybe one of us should go and find out?”

“This pigeon just pooped on me!” shrieks a loud voice, and Uther’s a little bit worried it might be Nimueh’s. “I’m going to sue you for the damage it’s done to my favourite turban.

A pigeon? Oh, God. So that’s what the infernal noise was all about. Merlin’s magic is getting worse. It’s beginning to manifest Arthur’s wishes even when he’s not in the same room, seemingly without Merlin even noticing. This time, it seems to have manifested a surprised pigeon. On some poor unsuspecting woman’s head, of all places.

“Mind you,” Arthur carries on, oblivious to the crisis he’s precipitating. “The Surprised Pigeon isn’t actually my favourite pub name any more. I’ve thought of another good one.”

“Don’t even think about making up any more pub names!” cries Uther. He picks up the intercom.

“Not even The Green Woman?” Arthur chatters on, the idiot boy. “I’ve always wondered why there were only pubs called The Green Man. Isn’t that a bit sexist? I wish there was a Green Woman instead.”

There’s that noise again, only louder, and suddenly the entire cabin erupts in surprised gasps, punctuated with the occasional scream.

“Eeek! I’m green! My entire skin is green!” shrieks a particularly penetrating voice that sounds a bit like Morgana’s.

“So’s mine!” says another voice

“And mine,” says another.

“For the love of the Goddess, will you shut up, Arthur!” Uther cries before Arthur can say anything else that will conjure accidental hexes. There are a lot of powerful women on this flight and the last thing he wants is for them to be hell-bent on vengeance!

“Gaius!” he growls into the intercom. “Get that stupid boy to control his magic at once. There’s a pigeon in the galley, all our passengers have turned green, and I don’t want any phoenixes materialising anywhere.”

“Isn’t it a bit late for that, Uther?” Gaius says faintly.

“Oh no,” Uther groans, anticipating what’s coming.

“Oh, yes,” cries Gaius. “I can smell smoke in the cockpit and there’s phoenix poo all over the controls.”

At that moment, the cockpit door flies open and a phoenix emerges, glowing gold and swooping its silent flight across the heads of the passengers, accompanied by a whiff of burning sulphur.

“Tell Merlin to sort it all out, Arthur!” yells Uther over the screaming, fully at the end of his tether now. “Now! All of it! That’s enough!”

“Me?” says Arthur, pointing at his chest.

“Yes, you. Command Merlin’s magic to put things right. His magic seems to do everything you want it to!”

“Oh. It does? That’s brilliant!” Wreaths of smiles crowd across Arthur’s face. “I wonder if–”

“Not now! Just… just do it, Arthur! You can crow about it later.”

“Okay!” Arthur pouts. “Can you sort it all out, Merlin, please?”

The magical sound happens again. With a sigh of relief, Uther crosses his fingers. This better have worked, or he’s in deep phoenix doo-doo.

Chapter Text

Thankfully, it’s a short flight. By the time they get to Avalon, with Arthur sulking but mercifully silent at his side, the pigeon and phoenix have been restored to their natural homes, and all the magical bird poo has been removed, while the witches are no longer kitted out in shades of green. Uther’s nerves are ravaged a little, but otherwise the remainder of the flight has been incident free.

He always enjoys landing at Avalon. The sky seems to be permanently suffused with a pale pink, as if it’s dawn, or sunset, and the ocean swirls about in pleasing shades of blue and purple. The air is full of the plaintive music of rare songbirds, and at this time of year magical flowers bloom, the scent of blossom captivating and wistful. It reminds him of dear Ygraine, his first wife and Arthur’s mother. She grew up here with the Fae, and always brought with her a faint echo of Avalon’s blossoms wherever she went. How he misses her! But at least she left him with his dear boy. Arthur may be a little slow on the uptake, but his loyalty and enthusiasm remind Uther of her every day, and he is grateful for that.

“I do apologise for all the events of the flight,” says Uther formally to the final passenger disembarking from the plane. “I’m afraid that the bond between my son and Emrys has chosen an inopportune moment to manifest, and he is yet to understand its full power. I fear that I have neglected my duty to educate him about his destiny, but I did not wish to burden the poor boy...”

“It’s all right,” says the Queen of the Fae. She flashes him a gracious smile and thanks to the removal of the magical green-woman spell, her skin tone is no longer that of a winter conifer’s leaves, instead having returned to its previous warm shade of deep coppery brown. “I’m used to it. I do live with Morgana, after all. You should have seen the state of our house when her magic started responding to all my whims! All the curtains turned yellow! There were sunflowers everywhere.”

“That actually sounds rather lovely.”

“Ha. You try cooking lasagne when all your pasta has been replaced by sunflowers!”

“Oh, I see.” Uther laughs. “That does sound unfortunate.

“Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that Arthur and Merlin will be fine.”

“Thank you, my lady.” Uther bows.

“Come on, Gwen!” calls Morgana over her shoulder. “We’ll be late for coven cocktails!”

“Just a minute!” says the Queen. She steps forward to add, in a whisper that Uther has to bend to hear, “between you and me, the phoenix dropped several feathers. They’re powerful artefacts and will be super useful. Morgana’s wanted some for ages. She’ll be the talk of the coven. So don’t worry too much. She’ll be grateful soon enough.”

“Thank you.” Heart lightening a little, Uther manages a little smile. But that’s before he turns round and spots Arthur talking to Merlin, all dewy-eyed and coquettish.

“...Coach and Horses is a bit boring,” Arthur is saying. “It would be much more fun if it was The Coach and Sheep or something. Or… or, I know! What about The Coach and Cattle!”

Oh no. They’ll be chucked out of Avalon airport if the runway suddenly becomes littered with magical sheep and cows. And this is the most lucrative contract he’s landed since Katrina was forced to hand Aithusa over in the divorce settlement.

“Arthur, shut up!” Uther cries.

But judging by the distant baa-ing and moo-ing, it’s all a little bit too late for that. Again.

“Never mind.” The Queen pats his hand. “They’ll come in handy for feeding your dragon. After all, you will need to refuel before you return to Albion.”