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wrennetteTitle: The Green Man: The Summer King (5/6)
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Arthur x Merlin
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Merlin is the property of the BBC. The author in no way profits from this fiction.
Summary: AU - In the legends, Merlin is always a boy without a father. He's also the wild man of the woods. What if his mother died when he was just a boy and he raised himself, half feral in the forest?
Notes: The beginning of the golden years of Camelot, when Arthur rules with Lancelot at his side and Merlin watching his back. Brings in some of the Lancelot legends and completely disregards the backstory given by the show for Lancelot. Also completely disregards anything ever written about Guinevere and her relationships with both Arthur and Lancelot.
Part 1: The Wild Boy
Part 2: The Hunter
Part 3: Jack of the Green
Part 4: The Horned God
Part 5:
Last Time:
Outwardly, Merlin was civilized from the moment he first set foot in Camelot. But his tryst with Lady Morgana and his treatment of the Pictish Queens proved within the first year that he lived by an entirely different set of rules than most. He learned quickly though, hearing every rumour that whispered through the drafty stone corridors and adapting as necessary. If there was one thing equally applicable to life in the forest and life in the Royal Court, it was that camouflage was a very good idea. So Merlin mellowed his vindictive nature, learned to keep his toothy smile from scaring people. It was impossible though, to change his mercurial temper or flights of nearly obsessive curiosity. When something took his interest, he would immerse himself in it fully, to the point of ignoring Arthur and the entire court. Often, that which took his interest was a pretty young woman, but it was just as likely to be a new method of brewing mead or applying gold leaf to illuminated manuscripts. Merlin's projects were not often finished, and he tired of his conquests fairly quickly as well, always returning to Arthur's bed when he grew bored of his mistresses.
It got to be so it could be told whether Merlin warmed Arthur's bed or not by the state of the Kingdom. If Arthur rode out to war or even just to tournament with only his Knights at his back, Merlin was in Camelot, between the legs of a pretty raven haired lass. If Arthur rode out with his Court Mage, then everyone knew that Merlin had returned to the King's bed, and confidence ran high. King Arthur won the majority of his campaigns and all of his tourney challenges. But if Merlin was at his side, he would not only win, he would win with a brutal efficacy that cowed his opponent and sent rumours of hidden divinity whispering on the wind.
Things continued in this pattern for the first few years after Merlin's arrival in Camelot. Civilization did of course, slowly change the sorcerer. He began to slowly accept and even accommodate the courtly patterns of behavior. At times, Merlin even acted as a noble would be expected to. From the beginning he had respected the bonds of marriage, and would not bed another man's wife. As time passed, he began to respect things like unspoken bonds of affection or a maiden's honour as a virgin as something other than challenges in bedding a woman.
That strange but somewhat settled pattern was broken when Arthur rode out alone against King Gillomanius of Eire, last of those who had supported the Saxons who encroached on the Isles. In hindsight, Merlin was amazed he had let the closest he had to friend or family left go off across the Inner Sea without him, especially given the reputation of the Irish for strong and dangerous magics. But he was rather infatuated with his current mistress at the time, and so Arthur and his contingent of Knights rode out of Camelot without their Mage, and though they were confident, there was a slight spring their steps lacked. A fortnight after the delegation left Camelot, Merlin could not sleep. He sent his mistress from his chambers abruptly, and by changing of the guards at dawn, he was pacing the battlements anxiously. Something was wrong with Arthur, and he did not know what. For the next week, he paced the ramparts and spent hours in the deepest caverns beneath the castle, trying to decipher the cryptic ramblings of the penned dragon.
The page that bore the message was run nearly into the ground, but the moment Merlin saw the boy's face, he knew what he needed to do. A spell lifted the substance of the summons from the surface of the boy's mind, and then Merlin was calling for his horse and his sword, not bothering with anything else. A few soft murmurs as he kneaded his horse's neck, urging it to greater speed, and they were soon outrunning the wind. They stopped but once, at a crossroads where three women awaited. Merlin knew them even before he fully recognized their faces. Lady Morgana and the sister Queens of Northingales and the Wastelands. He reined in his mount, and they curtseyed deeply, the Knight behind them bowing in his saddle.
"You will need a proper champion," Morgana said. "Sir Gawain's pride will not accept your leadership as anything other than Arthur's adviser." Merlin bowed his head in silent acceptance. His own gift of foresight was weak, giving him not visions but feelings. Morgana's however, was powerful almost beyond what could be understood. What she said almost always came to pass.
"He is Galahad, called Lancelot du Lac, son of King Ban of Benwick, who is Vassal of Arthur," she said, and Merlin looked back at the man. His own age, or perhaps a few years his senior, with dark shoulder length hair and rich bronze skin.
"Well met Sir Lancelot," Merlin said, his horse dancing under him. "Will you serve our King?" Lancelot bowed his head, his armoured gauntlet striking his breastplate over the heart, making the shining steel ring like a bell. The unease Merlin had carried with him for the last week eased slightly, and he nodded. He bowed to the three Queens, and they curtseyed deeply in return, backing off the hard packed highway. Merlin leaned over, stoking his hand down the neck of Lancelot's charger, then spurred his own mount, and they were lunging forward, covering the leagues to the sea with unnatural speed.
As they approached the shore, Merlin did not slow his mount at all. Lancelot reined in sharply, watching in amazement as Merlin's horse leapt the breakers as if they were fallen logs then continued on, hooves skimming over the top of the ocean waves. Merlin turned in the saddle, then wheeled his mount, and Lancelot nodded and spurred his charger into motion. It balked somewhat beneath his hands, but then he too was racing over the sea, salt spray flying up into his face and stinging his eyes. By nightfall they were within the encampment of the Knights of Camelot. The Knights looked downtrodden, beaten and disheartened.
When they saw Merlin ride by, they looked up at him darkly, muttering under their breath, wondering where he had been with his magic and flashing eyes when they had needed him on the field of battle. Lancelot they just stared at blankly, and Merlin knew they would wonder if this was perhaps his latest lover. Merlin disregarded the stares and whispers of the Knights though, and made for Arthur's pavilion. With a single glare he cleared the attendants from the shadowy interior of the tent. Going to Arthur's side, Merlin went to his knees, taking the pale hands of his King in both of his own hands.
"Arthur," he said softly, emotion tightening his throat and stinging at the corners of his eyes. "You cannot die. Not yet. Not when I have only just realized what it would mean to lose you." He leaned in, ghosting delicate closed mouthed kisses over Arthur's closed eyes and wan face. Their trysts had never had room for tenderness, only savage lust and possession. But Merlin had not slept, had barely eaten since he felt something go wrong with Arthur. If Arthur were taken from him, he was certain he would run mad with grief, and tear the world apart with his hands. He leaned down again, resting his head on Arthur's chest, listening to the slow, thready tripping of Arthur's heart. "Please," Merlin whispered softly, and silent tears slipped free of his shuttered eyes, glistening in his dark lashes before trailing down his cheeks.
Slowly Merlin took a deep breath, then stood, quickly stripping away the rich robes of Court Mage. With tender care he removed the light nightshirt that was Arthur's only garment, then straddled the King's hips on the pallet. Shaking his hear back from his face, Merlin laid his hands on either side of Arthur's head and took a deep breath. Arching his back, presenting his face to the hidden heavens, Merlin's lips moved. His spell was silent, passing from his lips straight into the heavens and touching no mortal ear in between. Under him, Arthur's heart steadied and strengthened. The infection faded from his grievous wound, and the flesh knit slowly back together. Arthur stirred gently, and Merlin's mouth kept moving. The King stilled, settling into a deep, healing sleep, and Merlin collapsed against his chest, eyes rolling into his head as he poured every ounce of his strength into preserving Arthur's life.
When Merlin woke, he was curled in Arthur's arms, riding side-saddle on the King's lap. When he stirred, Arthur's mailed arm tightened around his waist, and he stilled, resting his head on Arthur's broad shoulder.
"I will not leave your side again Sire," Merlin said, and Arthur looked down sharply, rather surprised to hear his title in anything but a mocking tone from his sorcerer. "I almost lost you," Merlin murmured, reaching up to trace one hand along Arthur's face. "I cannot bear the thought of it Arthur. There is so much yet to be done. I will not be parted from you. Not yet." Arthur smiled softly, brushing a chaste kiss across Merlin's brow. "I am yours to command," Merlin said softly. "Your weapon, to use as you will if you should wish it." Arthur shook his head, leaning closer to kiss the corner of Merlin's mouth.
"You are so much more than a weapon love," Arthur said gently, eyes soft with affection, and Merlin nearly gasped, his chest searing with pain. His hands fisted against Arthur's chest, eyes falling closed. He opened his mouth in silent supplication, and Arthur reined his mount in slightly so he could lean down to kiss Merlin breathless.
"How long?" Merlin asked a while later, eyes fixed on the distant horizon.
"They say you arrived the day before I woke," Arthur said. "That was four days past. While I yet slept, and for the first day after, when I was as yet too weak too bear arms, Sir Lancelot led the Knights, to great success. Yesterday Gillemanius gave his unconditional surrender. His head will be more than sufficient warning to those who would back my enemy." Merlin smiled wickedly at the steel in Arthur's voice. Although fair and just, Arthur had a well trained vindictive side, and Merlin had always found that slightly wilder aspect of his King enormously appealing. He leaned up, trailing his mouth along Arthur's clean shaven jaw, tasting the clean sweat on his skin and the salt of the sea breeze.
They stopped and set up camp early that night, one day outside Camelot. The Knights hunted for their suppers, and when the bonfires were built high, they feasted like the war bands of olden days. Wineskins were raised high to the health and honour of both King Arthur and his warlock, and for the first time, Merlin began to feel as though Camelot were really his home. At least as long as Arthur was there. Other toasts were made to Lancelot, who had already secured himself as the Champion of the hour. The carousing went on into the wee hours of morning, but Arthur and Merlin retired early to the Royal pavilion. There, Merlin brushed the King's hands from the straps of his armour and unfastened it himself, as if he were a common servant. He kneeled reverentially as he unlaced Arthur's breeches, and Arthur's hand rested heavily on his shoulder.
"I swear to you Arthur," Merlin breathed, looked up, golden-eyed, through his lashes. "I am yours. Yours alone. No one else has ever meant anything to me Arthur. They were simply diversions, petty infatuations. I am yours forever, no matter what your duty requires of you". They both knew what Merlin hinted at. They both knew that eventually, Arthur would have to take a wife and get her with child. But at the moment, that was in the future. The present belonged to them. Arthur smoothed his hand up the wiry musculature of Merlin's shoulder, up the graceful column of his throat, then pulled him gently to standing. "No matter my duty Merlin," Arthur breathed, "your place is at my side". They kissed deeply, and the next day, when they entered Camelot, Lancelot rode in the place of honour at Arthur's right hand, but Merlin was still in the King's arms.
The new Knight fit easily into court life, and it was soon as if he had always resided at Camelot. Within a month of his arrival, Gwen, the freedwoman who had once been the Lady Morgana's maidservant was his mistress and numerous other ladies of the court, courtesans and courtiers alike, were plotting ways to replace her in his affections. It was a more or less futile endeavour of course, Lancelot was nothing if not loyal. The Knight's first loyalty was to Arthur, his Liege-lord, but his second was to Gwen, and by the time four months had passed, most of the other women of Camelot had given up. After Gwen, Lancelot's loyalty was to Merlin, and after the sorcerer, to the three Ladies of the Crossroads, as he called Morgana, Niniane and Vivianne. Merlin did not question the designation, and when Gwen's belly began to swell with child, too large to be hidden by generously cut gowns, Merlin whispered into the King's ear about the true nature of nobility until a tenuous connection found through her dead mother to a House with no Heirs and she was made Lady Guinevere of the Summerlands, a golden apple on a crimson field her noble insignia.
A golden glow seemed to settle over Camelot in those days. Arthur had finished his father's work, uniting the various small Kingdoms of Celts and Picts under his banner, securing the fealty of those who had once sided with the Saxons and even driving the Saxons back to their stronghold of Angleland. He repelled the Romans from Londinium, chased them through Bretony and took the life of their commander, with the warning that such would be the fate of any other interloper upon the white shores of Albion. The court grew in size and opulence, and Merlin sat ever at his King's left hand, hidden in the shadows behind the throne. Lancelot and his Queen sat on the right hand of the King, his chosen Champion and second in command. And if Merlin's eyes glittered constantly golden now, ever watchful for anything that might harm his Liege, his lover, his life, Arthur did not mention it, nor did anyone else.
Part Six: The Opener of the Gates
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Arthur x Merlin
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Merlin is the property of the BBC. The author in no way profits from this fiction.
Summary: AU - In the legends, Merlin is always a boy without a father. He's also the wild man of the woods. What if his mother died when he was just a boy and he raised himself, half feral in the forest?
Notes: The beginning of the golden years of Camelot, when Arthur rules with Lancelot at his side and Merlin watching his back. Brings in some of the Lancelot legends and completely disregards the backstory given by the show for Lancelot. Also completely disregards anything ever written about Guinevere and her relationships with both Arthur and Lancelot.
Part 1: The Wild Boy
Part 2: The Hunter
Part 3: Jack of the Green
Part 4: The Horned God
Part 5:
Last Time:
Bound by their oaths of fealty, Arthur sent the sister Queens back to their former Kingdoms. They rode out in magnificent gowns, but they were still wearing Merlin's chains around their necks. Despite his jealousy though, Arthur could not bring himself to send Merlin away. He made excuses for his sorcerer, and some of them even rang true. After all, Merlin had been, to use a worn expression, raised by wolves. How could anyone expect him to know the strictures of courtly etiquette, let alone follow them?
Outwardly, Merlin was civilized from the moment he first set foot in Camelot. But his tryst with Lady Morgana and his treatment of the Pictish Queens proved within the first year that he lived by an entirely different set of rules than most. He learned quickly though, hearing every rumour that whispered through the drafty stone corridors and adapting as necessary. If there was one thing equally applicable to life in the forest and life in the Royal Court, it was that camouflage was a very good idea. So Merlin mellowed his vindictive nature, learned to keep his toothy smile from scaring people. It was impossible though, to change his mercurial temper or flights of nearly obsessive curiosity. When something took his interest, he would immerse himself in it fully, to the point of ignoring Arthur and the entire court. Often, that which took his interest was a pretty young woman, but it was just as likely to be a new method of brewing mead or applying gold leaf to illuminated manuscripts. Merlin's projects were not often finished, and he tired of his conquests fairly quickly as well, always returning to Arthur's bed when he grew bored of his mistresses.
It got to be so it could be told whether Merlin warmed Arthur's bed or not by the state of the Kingdom. If Arthur rode out to war or even just to tournament with only his Knights at his back, Merlin was in Camelot, between the legs of a pretty raven haired lass. If Arthur rode out with his Court Mage, then everyone knew that Merlin had returned to the King's bed, and confidence ran high. King Arthur won the majority of his campaigns and all of his tourney challenges. But if Merlin was at his side, he would not only win, he would win with a brutal efficacy that cowed his opponent and sent rumours of hidden divinity whispering on the wind.
Things continued in this pattern for the first few years after Merlin's arrival in Camelot. Civilization did of course, slowly change the sorcerer. He began to slowly accept and even accommodate the courtly patterns of behavior. At times, Merlin even acted as a noble would be expected to. From the beginning he had respected the bonds of marriage, and would not bed another man's wife. As time passed, he began to respect things like unspoken bonds of affection or a maiden's honour as a virgin as something other than challenges in bedding a woman.
That strange but somewhat settled pattern was broken when Arthur rode out alone against King Gillomanius of Eire, last of those who had supported the Saxons who encroached on the Isles. In hindsight, Merlin was amazed he had let the closest he had to friend or family left go off across the Inner Sea without him, especially given the reputation of the Irish for strong and dangerous magics. But he was rather infatuated with his current mistress at the time, and so Arthur and his contingent of Knights rode out of Camelot without their Mage, and though they were confident, there was a slight spring their steps lacked. A fortnight after the delegation left Camelot, Merlin could not sleep. He sent his mistress from his chambers abruptly, and by changing of the guards at dawn, he was pacing the battlements anxiously. Something was wrong with Arthur, and he did not know what. For the next week, he paced the ramparts and spent hours in the deepest caverns beneath the castle, trying to decipher the cryptic ramblings of the penned dragon.
The page that bore the message was run nearly into the ground, but the moment Merlin saw the boy's face, he knew what he needed to do. A spell lifted the substance of the summons from the surface of the boy's mind, and then Merlin was calling for his horse and his sword, not bothering with anything else. A few soft murmurs as he kneaded his horse's neck, urging it to greater speed, and they were soon outrunning the wind. They stopped but once, at a crossroads where three women awaited. Merlin knew them even before he fully recognized their faces. Lady Morgana and the sister Queens of Northingales and the Wastelands. He reined in his mount, and they curtseyed deeply, the Knight behind them bowing in his saddle.
"You will need a proper champion," Morgana said. "Sir Gawain's pride will not accept your leadership as anything other than Arthur's adviser." Merlin bowed his head in silent acceptance. His own gift of foresight was weak, giving him not visions but feelings. Morgana's however, was powerful almost beyond what could be understood. What she said almost always came to pass.
"He is Galahad, called Lancelot du Lac, son of King Ban of Benwick, who is Vassal of Arthur," she said, and Merlin looked back at the man. His own age, or perhaps a few years his senior, with dark shoulder length hair and rich bronze skin.
"Well met Sir Lancelot," Merlin said, his horse dancing under him. "Will you serve our King?" Lancelot bowed his head, his armoured gauntlet striking his breastplate over the heart, making the shining steel ring like a bell. The unease Merlin had carried with him for the last week eased slightly, and he nodded. He bowed to the three Queens, and they curtseyed deeply in return, backing off the hard packed highway. Merlin leaned over, stoking his hand down the neck of Lancelot's charger, then spurred his own mount, and they were lunging forward, covering the leagues to the sea with unnatural speed.
As they approached the shore, Merlin did not slow his mount at all. Lancelot reined in sharply, watching in amazement as Merlin's horse leapt the breakers as if they were fallen logs then continued on, hooves skimming over the top of the ocean waves. Merlin turned in the saddle, then wheeled his mount, and Lancelot nodded and spurred his charger into motion. It balked somewhat beneath his hands, but then he too was racing over the sea, salt spray flying up into his face and stinging his eyes. By nightfall they were within the encampment of the Knights of Camelot. The Knights looked downtrodden, beaten and disheartened.
When they saw Merlin ride by, they looked up at him darkly, muttering under their breath, wondering where he had been with his magic and flashing eyes when they had needed him on the field of battle. Lancelot they just stared at blankly, and Merlin knew they would wonder if this was perhaps his latest lover. Merlin disregarded the stares and whispers of the Knights though, and made for Arthur's pavilion. With a single glare he cleared the attendants from the shadowy interior of the tent. Going to Arthur's side, Merlin went to his knees, taking the pale hands of his King in both of his own hands.
"Arthur," he said softly, emotion tightening his throat and stinging at the corners of his eyes. "You cannot die. Not yet. Not when I have only just realized what it would mean to lose you." He leaned in, ghosting delicate closed mouthed kisses over Arthur's closed eyes and wan face. Their trysts had never had room for tenderness, only savage lust and possession. But Merlin had not slept, had barely eaten since he felt something go wrong with Arthur. If Arthur were taken from him, he was certain he would run mad with grief, and tear the world apart with his hands. He leaned down again, resting his head on Arthur's chest, listening to the slow, thready tripping of Arthur's heart. "Please," Merlin whispered softly, and silent tears slipped free of his shuttered eyes, glistening in his dark lashes before trailing down his cheeks.
Slowly Merlin took a deep breath, then stood, quickly stripping away the rich robes of Court Mage. With tender care he removed the light nightshirt that was Arthur's only garment, then straddled the King's hips on the pallet. Shaking his hear back from his face, Merlin laid his hands on either side of Arthur's head and took a deep breath. Arching his back, presenting his face to the hidden heavens, Merlin's lips moved. His spell was silent, passing from his lips straight into the heavens and touching no mortal ear in between. Under him, Arthur's heart steadied and strengthened. The infection faded from his grievous wound, and the flesh knit slowly back together. Arthur stirred gently, and Merlin's mouth kept moving. The King stilled, settling into a deep, healing sleep, and Merlin collapsed against his chest, eyes rolling into his head as he poured every ounce of his strength into preserving Arthur's life.
When Merlin woke, he was curled in Arthur's arms, riding side-saddle on the King's lap. When he stirred, Arthur's mailed arm tightened around his waist, and he stilled, resting his head on Arthur's broad shoulder.
"I will not leave your side again Sire," Merlin said, and Arthur looked down sharply, rather surprised to hear his title in anything but a mocking tone from his sorcerer. "I almost lost you," Merlin murmured, reaching up to trace one hand along Arthur's face. "I cannot bear the thought of it Arthur. There is so much yet to be done. I will not be parted from you. Not yet." Arthur smiled softly, brushing a chaste kiss across Merlin's brow. "I am yours to command," Merlin said softly. "Your weapon, to use as you will if you should wish it." Arthur shook his head, leaning closer to kiss the corner of Merlin's mouth.
"You are so much more than a weapon love," Arthur said gently, eyes soft with affection, and Merlin nearly gasped, his chest searing with pain. His hands fisted against Arthur's chest, eyes falling closed. He opened his mouth in silent supplication, and Arthur reined his mount in slightly so he could lean down to kiss Merlin breathless.
"How long?" Merlin asked a while later, eyes fixed on the distant horizon.
"They say you arrived the day before I woke," Arthur said. "That was four days past. While I yet slept, and for the first day after, when I was as yet too weak too bear arms, Sir Lancelot led the Knights, to great success. Yesterday Gillemanius gave his unconditional surrender. His head will be more than sufficient warning to those who would back my enemy." Merlin smiled wickedly at the steel in Arthur's voice. Although fair and just, Arthur had a well trained vindictive side, and Merlin had always found that slightly wilder aspect of his King enormously appealing. He leaned up, trailing his mouth along Arthur's clean shaven jaw, tasting the clean sweat on his skin and the salt of the sea breeze.
They stopped and set up camp early that night, one day outside Camelot. The Knights hunted for their suppers, and when the bonfires were built high, they feasted like the war bands of olden days. Wineskins were raised high to the health and honour of both King Arthur and his warlock, and for the first time, Merlin began to feel as though Camelot were really his home. At least as long as Arthur was there. Other toasts were made to Lancelot, who had already secured himself as the Champion of the hour. The carousing went on into the wee hours of morning, but Arthur and Merlin retired early to the Royal pavilion. There, Merlin brushed the King's hands from the straps of his armour and unfastened it himself, as if he were a common servant. He kneeled reverentially as he unlaced Arthur's breeches, and Arthur's hand rested heavily on his shoulder.
"I swear to you Arthur," Merlin breathed, looked up, golden-eyed, through his lashes. "I am yours. Yours alone. No one else has ever meant anything to me Arthur. They were simply diversions, petty infatuations. I am yours forever, no matter what your duty requires of you". They both knew what Merlin hinted at. They both knew that eventually, Arthur would have to take a wife and get her with child. But at the moment, that was in the future. The present belonged to them. Arthur smoothed his hand up the wiry musculature of Merlin's shoulder, up the graceful column of his throat, then pulled him gently to standing. "No matter my duty Merlin," Arthur breathed, "your place is at my side". They kissed deeply, and the next day, when they entered Camelot, Lancelot rode in the place of honour at Arthur's right hand, but Merlin was still in the King's arms.
The new Knight fit easily into court life, and it was soon as if he had always resided at Camelot. Within a month of his arrival, Gwen, the freedwoman who had once been the Lady Morgana's maidservant was his mistress and numerous other ladies of the court, courtesans and courtiers alike, were plotting ways to replace her in his affections. It was a more or less futile endeavour of course, Lancelot was nothing if not loyal. The Knight's first loyalty was to Arthur, his Liege-lord, but his second was to Gwen, and by the time four months had passed, most of the other women of Camelot had given up. After Gwen, Lancelot's loyalty was to Merlin, and after the sorcerer, to the three Ladies of the Crossroads, as he called Morgana, Niniane and Vivianne. Merlin did not question the designation, and when Gwen's belly began to swell with child, too large to be hidden by generously cut gowns, Merlin whispered into the King's ear about the true nature of nobility until a tenuous connection found through her dead mother to a House with no Heirs and she was made Lady Guinevere of the Summerlands, a golden apple on a crimson field her noble insignia.
A golden glow seemed to settle over Camelot in those days. Arthur had finished his father's work, uniting the various small Kingdoms of Celts and Picts under his banner, securing the fealty of those who had once sided with the Saxons and even driving the Saxons back to their stronghold of Angleland. He repelled the Romans from Londinium, chased them through Bretony and took the life of their commander, with the warning that such would be the fate of any other interloper upon the white shores of Albion. The court grew in size and opulence, and Merlin sat ever at his King's left hand, hidden in the shadows behind the throne. Lancelot and his Queen sat on the right hand of the King, his chosen Champion and second in command. And if Merlin's eyes glittered constantly golden now, ever watchful for anything that might harm his Liege, his lover, his life, Arthur did not mention it, nor did anyone else.
Part Six: The Opener of the Gates
