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The day had began normally for Arthur and the knights. They woke up, ate breakfast, threw a goblet at a certain insubordinate manservant (at least in Arthur’s case), and headed to the training grounds for their bi-weekly practice sessions.
Unfortunately, guessing by the huge shadow currently being cast upon them and the smell of brimstone, it was not going to end that way. The Great Dragon—didn’t he kill The Great Dragon?—flapped once and landed in a cloud of dust, which was impressive given that the area was covered in grass, and looked at a shocked Arthur and knights with what seemed disconcertingly like a glare. It took Arthur a solid fifteen seconds before he got his wits about him once more, and he barked an order, the Round Table knights clustering around him in a defensive position.
Arthur raised his sword threateningly. “I don’t know what witchcraft brings you back from the dead, beast,” he bellowed with false bravado, “but I’ve slayed you once and I will not hesitate to do so again!” He moved to strike, knowing the dumb beast incapable of sentient thought, much less a response.
Which is why it chilled him to his innermost bones when the dragon let out a deep, guttural laugh, mirth glittering in its eyes and a bitter smile on its muzzle. Arthur, shaken deeply by the human emotions this supposed animal was showing, stood dumbfounded as the dragon shook his head wryly. Finally, it turned to address the Camelotians once again.
“Foolish king,” The Great Dragon rumbled, the words so foreign coming from a dragon that Arthur barely held in a screech. It locked him in a condescending glare. “Did you truly believe one such as yourself could kill a creature of the Old Religion?” It didn’t wait for Arthur to reply (not that the Pendragon would have anyway), instead continuing with another chuckle. “No mortal blade can harm me, much less ones of such low caliber.”
Rage rose in Arthur’s chest and with it the overpowering urge defend against the retort, but the logical part of his brain (which sounded suspiciously like Merlin) told him that would be an insanely stupid and dangerous course of action that would more likely get him roasted on the spot than salvage any of his lost pride. The dragon’s smile widened.
“I see our young warlock has been busy,” he said approvingly. “Your father would have not hesitated to respond to such an insult with crude violence and endanger his own life and the lives of his men.”
Arthur didn’t have time to ponder who the hell the ‘young warlock’ the dragon spoke of was as the beast was already continuing.
“Speaking of,” its voice turned dry, “you and I have much to talk about regarding Emrys…do take a seat.”
Arthur somehow found it in himself to jut his chin out stubbornly and straighten, feet still planted firmly on the ground.
“Do not test me, young King of Camelot,” the dragon growled, releasing a snort of smoke that startled a yelp out of Gwaine. “I promise you, I am not pleasant when I am angry.”
“You’re not all that pleasant when you’re not,” Arthur muttered under his breath, but nonetheless sat with a frustrated grunt, struggling to find a position on the soft grass that didn’t look entirely foolish.
The dragon stared pointedly at the knights, and all four of them scrambled to the ground in quick succession.
“Now,” The Great Dragon said, in a tone that indicated the beginning of a long tale, “listen closely, knights and kings alike, for I am here to tell you the story of a man called Emrys…"
Arthur could’ve sworn he heard a mumbled, “Cause Gods knows he won’t tell it himself”, but he thought better of pointing it out. The dragon seemed cross enough as it was.
Arthur’s head swam with the sudden rush of information. After a few hours worth of tales of Emrys’ exploits, the man’s victories and failures, feelings and emotions, sacrifices and deeds, things happened and things yet to come, he felt utterly overwhelmed and shaken by just how much the mystery man had done for them all. As he and the knights tried to consider all the implications with wide eyes, Kilgharrah (as they had learned was The Great Dragon's proper name) sat back and grinned, looking very pleased with himself.
“Now that you have been enlightened,” he said, “and will likely rethink your life choices, I will be on my way.” He threw his mighty wings into the air, but before he could propel himself into the sky Percival jumped to his feet and let out a cry. “Wait!”
Kilgharrah paused, lowering his wings and settling back onto solid ground. “What is it, knight?”
“It’s just…” Percival paused, clearly choosing his next words with care. “…you said his Druidic name, the name he is referred to as in the prophecies, is Emrys…but then he must have a birth name as well, right? What would we know him by if we ever met?”
Kilgharrah seemed to find this utterly hilarious, and he grinned a grin all teeth, a chuckle or two escaping from his maw. “You—all of you—met Emrys years ago!” He explained, to the shock and confusion of Arthur and the knights. “In fact,” he shook his head in amusement. “You see him on a daily basis!”
Arthur’s mind scrambled to think of all the people he saw in his every day life. The knights, Gwen, Merlin, Gaius, the people in his council, but he could think of none that fit the dragon’s description of the mighty warlock. Apparently finding humour in watching them freak out, Kilgharrah stayed silent, a smile still playing on his face.
“Just tell us who he is!” Arthur snapped after a minute or two, anger building in him at Kilgharrah’s amused nonchalance.
“But of course,” the dragon replied, grin widening. “All you had to do was ask.”
Arthur huffed, but listened intently as Kilgharrah leaned in closer.
“Emrys, the most powerful warlock who ever has and ever will walk the earth, sworn protector of the Once and Future King, slayer of Nimueh and Cornelius Sigan, friend of Camelot and enemy of all twisted magic, has the birth name given to him by his mother in the town of Ealdor, of…”
Arthur’s breath came in a sharp gasp as realization dawned.
“Merlin…”
Arthur marched down the hallway, trailed by the Round Table knights, aiming with purpose for Gaius’ and Merlin’s door. Coming to it, he threw it open with a bang and strode inside, the knights filing in after him. Leon, thoughtful as ever, closed the door behind them.
Merlin, who had been working on some sort of tincture, startled and whipped his head around to look at them, then grinned as he saw who had entered. The grin slowly left his face as he glanced around and saw their expressions, however.
To be fair, they would be rather confusing to experience at once.
Gwaine fixed him with a gaze filled with calm reassurance, uncharacteristic to say the least. Percival stared at him with undisguised wonder. Leon wouldn’t meet his eyes, and fear tugged at his face. Elyan’s attention darted between Arthur and Merlin, uncertainty radiating from him. And Arthur….his face was a a mixing pot of anger and confusion and desperation and awe and fear and hurt and a million other emotions all swirled together.
“What’s…going on?” Merlin asked hesitantly.
“”What’s going on?’! ‘What’s going on?’!” Arthur mocked furiously. “The Great Dragon—the one you said I killed, by the way—just landed in the middle of Camelot and he told us everything, Merlin, or should I say Emrys!? Or Dragoon!? What the bloody hell is that all about!?”
Arthur wasn’t sure how exactly he was expecting Merlin to react—maybe for him to deny everything, or try to explain everything in that awkward way of his, or just straight out run away, but he certainly wasn’t expecting what did happen.
Merlin blew out a loud sigh, a disturbingly unsurprised expression on his face, and rolled his eyes.
“Damn dragon,” he muttered darkly.