nightfox

Epilogue

Merlin was curled up in his favourite spot, the window embrasure he’d magically enlarged just for this purpose. Arthur had indulged Merlin and allowed him to burn almost everything in the old royal chambers and they had moved the official residence of the King to an entirely different side of the castle. Merlin had actually enjoyed using his magic for such a frivolous pursuit as expanding and remodeling the simple chambers that had existed here into something comfortable, functional and grand enough to suit everyone’s sensibilities. Arthur hadn’t cared what he did with the place as long as the bed was comfortable but Merlin had the rooms appointed with simple, elegant furnishings fit for his king. Arthur might claim he didn’t care but deep down, Merlin knew he enjoyed his creature comforts. There was nothing ornate about the decor, it was just high quality workmanship coupled with comfortable practicality. Sumptuous bedding had been provided for Arthur’s enjoyment while the enormous window was a purely selfish indulgence on Merlin’s part. He’d picked these quarters specifically for the view. A thick cushion insulated him from the cold stone of the castle walls while he looked out over the Queen’s Garden. Arthur had offered to rename it for him but he’d declined and said that they should keep it as a memorial to his mother, Ygraine. He’d been given a wide smile and a warm hug in response.

Arthur smiled more often and easily in recent months. It was a lovely change from his usual frustrated and careworn expressions. Merlin looked down at the large bump bulging beneath his heart and fondly rubbed his swollen belly. The next Pendragon prince gave him a kick in exchange and he felt a grin spread across his face. His little passenger was the reason behind Arthur’s good cheer and Merlin would always be grateful to his unborn son for the unintentional effect he was already having on his father.

Merlin glanced down into the garden where Cynhafar was holding court. He’d enchanted the Big Oak to produce a miniature throne to grow from its roots and he’d placed his two-year-old brother upon it. Little Talfan stared up at the brightest star in his sky, his five-year-old brother Cynhafar. Gathered around the two, were children sired by knights and servants, nobles and craftsmen. The Queen’s Garden was for the children of Camelot and neither Arthur nor Merlin had wanted to limit whose offspring had access to it. Both of them had grown up very lonely, Arthur isolated by his station in life, Merlin by the powers he was born with. They didn’t want the same fate for their boys.

Three years had gone by and they were still fully occupied with repairing and restoring all the damage Uther had done to this land and its people. While the Druids and other practitioners of magic and the Old Religion were utterly delighted to have Emrys as their sovereign’s consort, many of the citizens of Albion had initially been extremely wary when he and Arthur had married. Under Uther’s control, he’d been forced to use his powers to terrorize the people and many were unaware that he’d been forced to perform those atrocities against his will. Those who lived in Camelot itself were easier to convince, having been witnesses to Uther’s grand speech about “capturing and taming” the Dragonlord, but others had been harder to convince.

Merlin was slowly winning them over with his constant efforts to reverse what damage he could, and help restore what he could not. He’d been forced to act under the open scrutiny of a skeptical populace and much as he hated to be the focus of so much attention, Arthur had convinced him of the need for it. It seemed as if it was finally paying off. His public benevolence, his quiet, self-effacing demeanor and his friendly cheer were winning him more and more of the people’s trust every day. Then there were the heirs he provided for Arthur. After Cynhafar’s birth, every citizen of Albion had become aware of the Dragonlord’s ability to bear children. Few knew he could only bear sons for his mate but all were delighted that the line of succession now appeared so secure. With two healthy, bright and gifted male heirs and what looked to be a third on the way, many a citizen of Camelot would have found themselves warming to such a royal consort.

Glancing down once more, Merlin smiled to see Morgause settled on the ground with several children gathered around her. She was performing little spells for their amusement and Merlin shook his head, amazed as ever how much Morgause, of all people, seemed to adore children. Apparently it was adults she had more difficulty with. Still, she’d turned away from the practice of dark magic and while she didn’t live in the castle, she had her own set of apartments here and spent a great deal of time with her sister and the royal family.

Morgana had been the one who’d had a more difficult time settling back into life in Camelot. She’d left for several months after Mordred’s death, both grieved by his death and mortified by his actions in equal measure. She’d been so proud of him for killing Uther but on hearing of his attack on Arthur and Merlin, something inside her had seemed to break. At first, it had been difficult to convince her of the truth that Mordred had indeed attempted to kill Arthur. She’d only come to accept the facts when Morgause performed a spell on them to confirm the veracity of their accounts of the incident.

Still, knowing that they weren’t to blame hadn’t made it any easier for her to be around them, so she’d gone off on her own, leaving even her sister behind on her journey to find peace. Eventually she’d returned to them, seeming to have found what she was looking for. Now she lived with them full time, a de facto member of the royal family. She did her part to help Merlin in healing the land and rebuilding the kingdom and as they worked side by side, something of their old friendship returned to them. It wasn’t the same, but neither were they. Too much pain and suffering had touched their lives for them to ever go back to the simple relationship they’d once enjoyed, but the bond they’d formed in these last few years was strong.

As though his thoughts of Morgana had summoned her to his side, a knock sounded at the door. When he called out his permission to enter, the door swung open to reveal the black haired sorceress herself. He smiled at her and nodded her forward but found he was too comfortable to move from his perch. As comfort was becoming something of a scarcity as his pregnancy progressed, Morgana was inclined to forgive him the lapse in manners. After a casual exchange of greetings, Morgana had settled on the window seat beside him. He’d purposely made the window big enough for two. She too looked down on the garden where the children played, and where her sister was now seated beside Gwen who dandled little Talfan on her knee. Hunith had her own following of little ones who appeared to be listening raptly as she told them some tale. He could understand their fascination for his mother had filled his childhood with amazing tales of wonder and magic. Her presence here, since she had felt it safe to return from Cait upon Uther's death, was one of the reasons Camelot finally felt like home.

“Has he been setting any more fires lately?”

Morgana nodded toward the toddler, who, much like his father and elder brother, had shown an early inclination toward incendiary magic.

“No, thank the gods. He’s not anywhere near as powerful or stubborn as Cynhafar.”

His eldest continued to be a handful but Merlin relished the challenge of raising such a child. However, Gwen, as the Royal Nursemaid was most happy to contend with a milder boy this time around.

“No, he never will be, but he’ll be a great King.”

Merlin looked at her sharply, her words were delivered in the tones of conviction, not speculation. Her visions came less frequently these days but were more vivid and powerful than the chaotic dreams her developing Sight had once plagued her with. Something in the way she’d just spoken hinted at a knowledge gained from her Sight.

“Oh? Will he now?”

She arched an eyebrow at him as if to chastise him for the coy response. She knew very well that he was perceptive enough to know when she was speaking with authority.

“I had a dream last night. It involved your children.”

She turned back to the window but her eyes saw things that his probably never would. He had technically mastered the use of the Crystal of Neahtid but he still wasn’t comfortable using the damned thing.

“My children or Arthur’s children?”

“Both.”

Merlin tensed. For all that his eldest son displayed no jealousy or resentment of Talfan’s position as heir apparent, Merlin knew the boy didn’t realize what it meant for him. He was so young, who was to say he might not grow up to resent the fact that his younger brother would be the one to inherit their father’s crown? It was a nagging worry in the back of his mind and had been ever since Talfan’s birth. He sighed aloud and asked the question, for he knew Morgana wouldn’t volunteer the information. She always wanted to be asked.

“What did you See, Morgana?”

She turned to him and smiled gently. The expression sat well on her lovely features.

“They will all learn well the lessons we teach them, and they will carry on your legacy, both yours and Arthur’s, well into the future. It probably won’t surprise you but Cynhafar will be a Dragonlord. Sadly, Talfan will not. He will have enough magic of his own that he’ll be a force to reckon with but he’ll follow Arthur’s path more than yours, dedicating himself to the art of the warrior. Cynhafar will be much more powerful but, like his father before him, he’ll use his powers to protect and serve his King.”

He let go of the breath he’d been holding with a loud sigh and Morgana’s smile became a grin.

“Worry not, he’ll be most content with his dragons and will never covet his brother’s throne.”

“Wait, dragons? As in, more than one?”

She nodded and her eyes sparkled.

“Kilgharrah is returning and he won’t be alone.”

Merlin laughed aloud with joy.

Sighing in bliss, he leaned his head back against the cushions piled behind him. The dragons were coming back! Without cracking an eye, he asked one final question.

“Do you know when they’re coming?”

“Soon.”

It was vague but it was enough. The last of Uther’s pollution would be driven from the land with the return of the majestic creatures he’d labored so mightily to eradicate. That knowledge was like the missing piece in the mosaic they’d created from a broken Albion. The pieces would never fit together in the same way but in their new arrangement they formed a picture more beautiful than the original. The old now merged with the new and Albion would eventually be all the better for having been broken as he and Arthur would build a stronger kingdom from the remnants of the old.