snowdarkred

Title: Bound to a Dragon's Tale
Author:

snowdarkred
Word Count: ~2.4K
Pairings: Arthur/Merlin, Arthur/Gwen, Gwen/Lancelot.
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, some swearing.
Author's Note: This is my third Merlin (BBC) fic. I wrote this fic for

wordflake , because she is awesome. It took me a stupidly long time to write this; sorry for the wait, love! I hope you like it! :D (P.S. - My summary sucks; make it better!)

Summary: My take on reincarnation!fic. Destiny binds and dooms them all, drawing them closer to the destructive end. Merlin attempts the impossible.

Bound to a Dragon's Tale

King Artorius stands on the balcony, his cloak flapping gently in the wind. Myrddin is slightly behind him, his eyes locked firmly on his King. Soft waves lap gently at the beach below them; the morning sun glints off of the ocean's smooth surface. Salt and brine are heavy in the air.

“Myrddin,” Artonius asks. He sounds troubled, and Myrddin tenses at the tone. “What do you think of Sir Lonzell? He and the Queen seem...close.”

Myrddin thinks about what the serpent told him, about the betrayal that is constant through the ages. Destiny, it had hissed to him time and again. Destiny binds us all.

“I don't think you should worry, sire,” Myrddin says. “They're just good friends.” The words sting in his throat, and he knows them for a lie.

---

Sometimes, when Merlin wakes in the dead of night, a scream teasing at his throat and a nightmares clouding his mind, he'll go down to the dragon's lair. Of course, the dragon is long gone, and all that is left is darkness and a coy, damp musk that tinges of fire and magic. Merlin will sit down there, sometimes, with his feet dangling over the edge of the abyss. Wind whistles hollowly through the cavernous space; it sounds like echoing voices. If he listens hard enough, he can almost hear what they're saying.

Destiny, the wind whispers. Two sides. The king. You. Bound forever.

Merlin is drawn to Arthur. Arthur is drawn to Gwen. Gwen is drawn to Lancelot.

This is how it is. This is what the dragon told him. This is their destiny, to be trapped in a never ending dance, forced to repeat the same patterns again and again. This is how they will die and Camelot will fall.

---

A woman stands on a hill top, looking at the stronghold perched at the edge of the sea. Her long, dark hair flows around her like the veil of night. Her eyes are sharp and piercing as she examines Artorius's castle.

“Tell me, Myrddin,” she asks the air. “When the time comes, who shall you chose? Your people, your power, or that man you call a king?”

I will chose as I have always chosen, Myrddin whispers back. She can hear him, though he is miles away, standing guard over his petty master. Modron throws back her head and laughs, high and wild.

“Oh, you poor thing,” she smirks bitterly. “He will never be what you want him to be. He will always let you down; he will always fall. Even now, the wheel is turning, turning, turning. You cannot stop what has already happened.” She laughs again, and it sounds like shattered glass and tortured steel. “Destiny binds us all.”

Than why do you try to change my mind? Myrddin asks. Modron has no answer for him, and the wind around her dies as the sorcerer leaves. Good-bye, Modron.

“Good-bye,” she repeats sadly. Poor Myrddin, she thinks. He does not know how freeing madness is. He does not know because he ties himself to a man who will never look at him beyond the surface. Poor, poor Myrddin.

---

Merlin doesn't accept the inevitable well. He throws himself into his books of magic, scouring each page for some hint, some suggestion, anything that will allow him to stop what destiny the Fates are weaving for them all. He reads until his eyes blur under the strain and his head aches from the foreign words he presses upon it, but he finds no answers.

After feverish weeks of this behavior, Gaius finally puts an end to it. He sneaks a sleeping drought into Merlin's tea and tucks his drugged apprentice into his cot for the night. He sends a quick message to Arthur, telling the prince that his manservant is ill and won't be available to serve him the next day, before settling in to watch over his wayward charge. (Arthur, for once, doesn't pitch a fit about the loss of his manservant and merely sends a notice of acknowledgment back.)

“Tread carefully, my boy,” Gaius whispers, careful not to wake Merlin. “You are dealing with dangerous forces.”

Merlin slumbers on, unaware, and the dreams take him again.

---

Gwenhwyfach sits on a throne and wears a delicate crown. Her husband, her king, sits beside her, his back straight and proud. She can see Myrddin, Artorius's loyal shadow, standing just behind him to his left. It seems like Myrddin is always watching these days. She can feel his gaze on her when she glances about the great hall, her eyes questing. Sometimes, she thinks he sees too much.

Then she spies Lonzell, and all thoughts of Myrddin and Artorius fade from her mind. He is beautiful, her Lonzell, and sometimes she wonders at the fierce love she has for him. She cares for Artorius, he is her king, her friend, but she does not love him like Myrddin loves him. She does not love him as she loves Lonzell.

When she is alone, this worries her, these feelings that she has. She has heard the tales that people have spun about King Umber, Artorius's father, and his wife Ygrayne. Bards still sing of their love for each other to this day, despite the tightness it brings to Artorius's eyes. Gwenhwyfach does not feel that way toward her husband, no matter how hard she tries. And she should, for he is kind and gentle when he is not in battle, and he would defend her to the death.

She worries, but she cannot change the fluttering feeling that comes into her heart every time Lonzell looks at her, or touches her, or holds her to him. She thinks that fate has cursed her, to be so in love with a man to whom she is not married.

From across the room, Lonzell looks at her and bows. Beside her, Artorius stiffens in his seat. Gwenhwyfach looks down at her hands folded over her gown and pretends not to see.

---

Merlin sees Gwen and Arthur kiss in a deserted corridor and knows that destiny is catching up to them. The wheel turns ever faster, and the strings tighten around them all like a noose. They are all caught in it now.

Arthur's eyes follow him as he runs away.

---

Modred waits. He has slain the king before, in other lives. He watches as Myrddin draws close to his king, struggles to protect and guide him through his doomed reign.

Artorius will fall to his hands, just as he has before, just as he will again. The great serpent has whispered tales into Modred's ears, tales of glory and vengeance, and he wants it so strongly he tastes blood on his tongue. Destiny binds them all, and it bids that he wait for Artorius to stumble, so that Modred might swoop down and take what is rightfully his.

Far beneath Artorius's throne, the foundations begin to crack and wither under an unnatural strain.

---

Merlin has a new sense of purpose. He tells Arthur that he is going to go visit his mother for her birthday, and Arthur agrees. The prince's eyes are troubled, however, and he looks at Merlin as if he were trying to figure something out and he doesn't like what he believes the answer might be. Merlin tries not to think about it as he saddles his horse and mounts.

Once he is out of the sight of the castle, he changes his path. He heads south instead, traveling for three straight days until he reaches the place that his magic tells him the Druids reside, hidden from Uther's sight. He tells them of his worries, and of what the dragon told him, and of what he fears that this means for the kingdom. He tells them about Arthur, about his strength and his stubbornness and his dogged determination to do what is right. He tells them all that he can bear to, and when he runs out of words, he falls silent and waits.

The Druids examine him with flat eyes; he can see the coldness in them, and the pain. Uther has torn their people apart in his blind fury, and they are not a forgiving people. He knows even before the headwoman speaks what their answer to his plea is.

“Your love cannot save him, Merlin Emrys, Myrddin Ambrosius. Let the Pendragon boy fall as he is meant to. Someone must pay for the blood of our brothers and sisters. Uther has sealed his fate, even as destiny has.”

Merlin wants to scream in frustration as soon as the word “destiny” passes from her lips, but he doesn't. He mounts his horse and starts to ride away disheartened, when a cloaked woman approaches him.

“The sword,” she whispers hoarsely. Her face is shadowed by the dark hood that she pulls tight around her like a veil. Merlin thinks he recognizes the pale thinness of her hand, but she turns before he can think to ask. “The sword was forged from a dragon's breath.”

---

It has all come to pass before. It will all come to pass again. The names change, the lands change, but who they are does not. They are bound to a wheel that will never stop, not even when the world is stripped bare and the sky is cracked open. It will continue, as it has always done.

---

Merlin goes to the lake and searches, the cloaked woman's voice echoing through his mind. The sword was forged by the will and fire of a dragon; it can do powerful, terrible things. It is meant for Arthur's hand alone, but Merlin casts aside his doubts and dives headfirst into the water.

The sword falls into his hand eagerly, his palm meeting the gleaming hilt after barely a minute. When he rises from the lake, the water ripples out from him in small waves, and the sun glints off of them in colors Merlin's never seen before. The air is quiet with expectation.

Over these last weeks, he's read so much lore, looked through so many books, tried so hard. Now it all goes out the window because, somehow, he knows what he has to do.

He closes his eyes and summons his power, as much of it as he can. An unnatural breeze picks up along the edge of the lake, and the earth rumbles gently under his feet. A sweet singing sounds echoes through the trees, weaving around their branches and shaking the leaves. His breath hitches, and when he opens his eyes—

He can see them. He can see the strings of destiny. He can see how they intertwine around him, how they tether him to his path. He can see the shape of the dragon's plan for them all, stretching far into the future and beyond, into the black void of death. They are caught in a web more extensive and incredible than he thought possible, and he's seen some undeniably astounding things since joining Arthur's service. He reaches out and runs one finger along a thin strand.

Just by touching it, he can tell that the this is the string that ties him to Morgana. The one next to it is the link between Morgana and Uther. The one crisscrossing that is Arthur and Morgana's. The one on the other side of that is Arthur and Uther's. Gwen. Lancelot. Gaius. Sophia. Morgause. Mordred. Nimueh. They are all here. All tied up in the endless dance that is going to destroy everything.

Merlin grabs the most important ones, the ones that hold the whole net together: him, Arthur, Gwen, Lancelot, Morgana, and Mordred. He wraps one hand around them and pulls them taunt. He hefts Excalibur in his other hand, holds it steady in the air above the threads of destiny.

He cuts.

The world explodes.

---

The castle shudders and breaks, and it falls gracelessly into the sea, one crumbling marble stone at a time. Modron's feral laughter and Modred's vicious pleasure mingle in the air, and Myrddin is powerless to stop any of it.

---

“Merlin!” he hears someone – Arthur – shout from very far away. “Merlin! You bloody fool, what have you done now?!”

Merlin opens his eyes; gods, they feel so heavy. Why do they feel so heavy? Why is he so tired? Why is the sky spinning and the earth tilting? Why did he feel so damn awful? His vision is clear, if a little weak, and the helpless knot of strings is gone. He can see the sun filter through the leaves, weaving patterns in the air, but they are normal patterns, left by normal shadows.

Arthur is there, suddenly, right beside him, holding him. Merlin can feel the heat of his hands as the prince checks him for injuries that aren't there. Excalibur's hilt is still in his hand, but when Merlin drags his head up and looks at the sword, he sees that—

It's broken. He broke Arthur's sword. He broke the sword that the dragon said—

But what the dragon said doesn't matter now. They're free. They are all free. Merlin set them free.

He grabs Arthur by the shirt collar and kisses him. Arthur kisses back.

---

There is an echo in the land, when the castle falls and word spreads. An echo of a long forgotten legend resurrected by grief. The tale becomes a popular one, worked into ballads and retold over the fire; it is a tale that stays with the land longer than any other. One day, the king and his court will return to them, his people, and they will be saved by his quick mind and steady heart. And by that kings side, a wise wizard will sit, ready to protect and guide his king, for it is his destiny.

---

They live their lives, struggling against the chains that draw them closer to fate. They are forever bound, to one another and to the wheel. They fight even as they fall, and they fall even as they soar.

---

Destiny binds us all. But the wheel is slowly cracking, and it is only a matter of time before it breaks and shatters to the four winds.

To mote it be.

---

Merlin is Myrddin. Arthur is King Artorius. Gwen is Queen Gwenhwyfach. Morgana is Modron. Lancelot is Lonzell. Uther is Umber. Mordred is Modren. Ahem. /is a name nerd. <3 <3 <3