The Art of Promenading

The last time Arthur Pendragon ever saw Camelot as lively as it was now was when they celebrated the end of a years-long war with the Kingdom of Ealdor. Granted, it was a foggy memory due to his youth; Arthur was all but five years when it happened. Stories told from that day written on the pages and binded by leather covers stored on shelves hidden in the Royal library gave Arthur a wild imagination on what it must’ve been like.

The retelling of decorations streaming from hung lanterns in the Marketplace, a hosting of banquets in the Castle, games of jousting an competitions of mock battles that called the Knights of Camelot to put on a showcase of their taught skills for the people filled youngest Arthur with the imagine of his ceremonial day of being twenty and one year old.

From what his father had described it’d be a week-long event celebrating the day he becomes recognized as Prince of Camelot, the heir to Camelot’s throne, and his beginning as a man. Arthur thought of the day a multitude of times, thinking of the dishes, the crowds, and the entertainment he’d get to enjoy.

However, as he’s grown from boy to adolescent, he’s begun to dread it.

That odd-dated day of announced peace and ending wars marked the day youngest Arthur Pendragon’s choice in marriage was signed away. In fair negotiations, King Uther Pendragon and King Balinor Ambrosius met in middle-ground, and agreed that Arthur would be betrothed to Balinor’s heir, Emrys, marking then that both kingdoms would be allied through marriage.

The day the King had summoned Arthur to the throne room and explained this matter to Arthur… didn’t take it too well. To be all but ten and five years and know you’ll never be able to marry someone you love was too much.

Arthur fled the room and spent half of it hidden in the Royal Stables in the horse stall of his mother’s. It took the Knights of Camelot all morning and halfway through the afternoon to scout the town, Marketplace, the rooms of the castles, and then the Stables for him.

It was Sir Leon who found him, a sniffling mess sat with his knees pulled to his chest behind the chestnut Irish Draught Her Highness, Queen Ygraine, had been gifted from an allied kingdom for her marriage. It was hard to coax him out from behind the large Palfrey, but that day cemented the bond between the pair and thus, since then, Arthur’s been barging into poor Leon’s chambers whenever he saw fit to complain or boast.

But today Arthur couldn’t do that. He couldn’t run away, he couldn’t deny the fact today marked the week-long celebration he’d been dreaming of since his youth. He was twenty and one year old, and he was to be named Prince of Camelot (officially, anyway).

It was still early morning when Arthur had stirred. The fresh birdsong had yet to reach his windows, and the sunlight had just begun its climb. His chambers were chilled from the drawn-out fire that spread a trail of highlighted smoke across his room, exhausted of flame and heat.

It was far too early to be dreading the day, and yet Arthur was already in a sour mood. Still, he couldn’t express his privilege of lounging in bed until his manservant, George, came to politely knock on his door and wait a pace of five to enter the room and stammer apologies for “barging in unannounced.” For everything he excelled at in efficiency, he lacked several times in social cues. It drove Arthur mad.

He untucked his arm, flopping it atop the red covers that swallowed his body. His fingertips grazed over the knitted-in golden-scaled dragon crest sprawled out and enhanced in size. Was it possible for him to say he hated red? It was the chosen color of his kingdom.

He sighed, watching his exhaled breath fog and mist away from his lips into the air. Once Arthur’s the announced king of Camelot he’ll be sure to inform everyone that he is not to be disturbed until mid-morning. Perhaps if given the chance to sleep in he’d feel more motivated to get out of bed.

Arthur scoffed softly. “No way in hell that’s happening,” he said, a soft whisper on his lips. Grabbing the ends of his sheets, he threw the blanketed covers off his body. The chill came in a swarm, attacking his sheltered body heat and sending his system into a shock. His skin crawled as goosebumps dotted across his skin and his hairs stood on edge.

He propped himself up on his arms until he managed to sit up and stretch his arms upward, flexing his biceps and squeezing his shoulders close. He swung his legs over the edge of his bed, grazing his feet against the cold stone flooring, and winced as the surface stuck to his warm skin, cooling it to the touch.

Now on his feet, Arthur walked to his wardrobe and had to debate. He wanted to be comfortable and, even with the weight, his chainmail made him feel safest. But today was his wedding day, he’d be meeting this so-called “Prince Emrys” from the Kingdom of Ealdor and take their hand in marriage. Were they pretty?

It hit him just then. Arthur had no idea who the hell this person even was, nor what they looked like. Due to the long distance between their kingdoms, in-person meetings were near and far. The only one he’d met face-to-face was His Majesty, King Balinor. He was a bearded brunette with long, shaggy hair, specked with gray that reached his shoulders.

His eyes were soft, sunken just slightly from too many restless nights, and he wore an expression of constant worry. Still, the day of this supposed meeting Arthur remembered the man crouching down to his level – Arthur must’ve been only seven or eight years of age – and held out his black-gloved hand for him to shake. The man’s hand practically swallowed his hand whole due to the difference in size, but the man looked Arthur eye-to-eye and smiled.

Just quietly, above the bustling atmosphere of other nobles talking business, he said, “Hello, Prince Arthur. I am King Balinor.” His smile spread across his face, his cheeks rounding and making his eyes close to crescent moons. Such a soft expression, one that resembled the sweet sound of his mother’s lullabies.

Hopefully, that man’s heir was given that man’s softness. Arthur wasn’t a fan of formalities; he thought they only distanced man from his other part. Arthur, despite his title, wished his people saw him for just himself, not as His Majesty, or lordship.

Was that such a hard request? Arthur sighed. Seems his mood has been soured. He turned around to his bed, but before he could take a step a voice called out from the darkness. “Going back to bed sweetheart?” asked his mother, Ygraine.

Arthur jumped, balling his fingers to fists and getting into a fighting stance. That was, until, his mother laughed and it hit him that he’d just made a fool of himself. “Mother,” Arthur said through an exhale, running his fingers through his bed hair. “What are you doing here? Did you even knock?”

His mother shrugged, or at least that’s what it looked like.

She walked over to one of the unlit wax candles and through some dedication lit it. “I don’t see why a mother would need to knock if it's her son’s room she’s entering,” she replied. Ygraine grabbed the candle and brought it to the opened lantern she had swinging from his wrist. It lit and emitted the room with an orange light, giving them a bright dose of pain as their eyes adjusted.

“Well then!” She chimed, tone brightening, “why are you up so early, dearest? Planning to run away?” Arthur rolled his eyes, turning back to his opened wardrobe. Ygraine laughed and walked up, taking a peek inside. “You’ll want to wear your ceremonial robe. The red one right there,” she mumbled, pointing towards the red, velvet tunic, adorned in jewelry and the Pendragons’ crest.

Arthur sighed. Ygraine arched her brow, fixing her gaze on him. “You’ve sighed about twice since I’ve walked in. What’s wrong dear?” she asked, reaching her free hand up to Arthur and cupping his face. Arthur frowned. How could he confess that he was dreading this marriage? Dreading the fact he’ll never be given a chance to find love or explore it?

“When you married father,” Arthur said, averting his gaze to the floor, “did you love him?” Ygraine pursed her lips, eyes narrowing a hitch. She inhaled slowly, looking over to the tunic she’d just previously pointed out.

“When I was brought to Camelot, I was scared out of my wits,” Ygraine mumbled, setting the lantern down. “I was a widow with three daughters, and my father decided I’d done enough sulking and it was time I wed another man.”

Ygraine reached out and grabbed the tunic. She brought to Arthur’s chest, looking as if she were measuring to see if it’d be the right fit. “I’d heard the rumors – Uther Pendragon’s a cruel man, with more blood on his hands than kings who ruled for decades before him. I thought my father had married me off to a monster.”

“Father? Really?” Arthur asked, in awe. He’d never heard of those rumors before. “Oh, yes,” Ygraine said, nodding. “But when I entered the ballroom and saw your father standing there by the priest, I saw a young man with shaky hands, a look of fear in his eyes, and a glimpse of purity I’d never seen in a man before.”

“Not at all like those rumors then, huh,” Arthur murmured. Ygraine laughed, setting aside the shirt and pulling out Arthur’s usual wear, a simple cloth shirt of worn fabric and drained, red color that had lost its vibrancy. “I thought I had walked into the wrong room. But, no, that day I married a man who loved grandly, protected fiercely, and was even phlegmatic when it mattered most.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, taking the shirt from his mother. “Doesn’t sound at all like father now.” Ygraine’s smile softened as she said, “Yes, that is true. War has hardened your father’s shell, I fear. But last night he spoke to me and said, ‘Dear, I fear Arthur is not ready to be Prince. He is too soft, valuing the opinion of his people and hesitates to do what is right.’ And I said, ‘well, that is because he is your son.’”

“Where are you getting at, Mother?” Arthur murmured, confused now. “What I’m trying to say is that… love comes gradually, and you are your father’s son,” Ygraine said. “I believe that, despite your nerves making your heart shake, you will see your betrothed and know that this is who you’ll marry, and this is who you’ll get to love. That should be enough, shouldn’t it?”

Arthur shrugged. “I suppose so.” Ygraine tilted her head, meeting Arthur’s lowered gaze. “You have always shown to be brave and sincere, Arthur. Be yourself, and whoever you marry will love you.” She grabbed Arthur’s face, bringing it close, and kissed his forehead. “Now get dressed, your mother wants a morning ride before the rest of the people wake.”

Arthur chuckled. “Alright, alright. Give me a moment, I’ll meet you by the stables.” Ygraine nodded and, after a moment of trying to make Arthur wear something other than that worn shirt, left him in peace to dress himself.

He slipped on that same worn tunic, pulled up some baggy brown pants he’ll soon outgrow if he keeps bulking, fitted some boots around his feet and started his descent through the maze of halls and staircases down to the Royal Stables where his mother has surely sent Sir Leon in advance to prep their horses and accompany them on their leisure stroll through the farmlands and surrounding forest.

Perhaps today would be good after all.

The sound of hooves trotting against the cushion of dirt transition to the cobblestone floors trailing up to the entrance of the kingdom marked the end of their leisure ride. That old Irish Draught was still kicking and taking the lead on their little walk, with Leon’s warhorse Thoroughbred’s matching its gait and keeping pace. Arthur lingered behind them both, watching the scenes around them switch from open plains of growing wheat and other crops to towers and stone walls built many years ago.

The peak of blended voices let him know they’d just entered the lowertown and were coming up on the Marketplace. The village was alive with music, running children, and streamers decorating the houses and tying them together, all in preparation for Arthur.

The villages cleared way for the three of them, but it felt as though all eyes were on him. The whispers, the occasional cheers, and gawking children who had yet to build a filter for their words pointed and yelled his name.

Honestly, it was taxing. Had he born a peasant, nobody would even look twice if he parted through the crowd on horseback. Instead, he was subject to fingers, cheering, and forcing a smile to them all and waving his hand.

His horse, a bay Arabian, snorted. They turned and entered the Royal Stables and the smell of hay, barn animals, and some manure brought him back to when he hid away from everyone after finding out about his marriage. Leon certainly remembered, chuckling lightly.

“Something funny, Sir Leon?” Ygraine asked, catching the knight off guard. Leon glanced back to Arthur, who had his brow raised in question, and Leon bashfully shrugged. “Just thought of something that happened at the Taverns.”

He dismounted first, leading his Thoroughbred into the stall and locking the door behind the mare. He attended to The Queen as Arthur dismounted on his own, bringing his Arabian inside the stall and sparing it some extra hay to tide away any hunger.

That Irish Draught neighed, its cry making Arthur’s head ring. He’d definitely need a shower once back inside the castle. “I think I might head out first,” Arthur murmured, walking over and giving his mother a kiss on the head. “Wash up, look presentable for my betrothed.’ He nodded to Leon, gripping his forearm, and Leon gripped his, and the two hugged.

“I’ll supervise the festivities then,” Leon said through a smile, scratching the back of his neck. Arthur nodded, turning back to his mother. “You should go meet Father, I’m sure he won’t be happy to know we left him out of yet another morning ride.”

Ygraine rolled her eyes, patting Arthur’s shoulder. “Don’t forget, you aren’t Prince until this afternoon, so don’t go bossing around your mother.” Arthur chuckled and made a break for the castle. It was good weather, sunny with little clouds.

Hopefully everything went according to plan. That was one thing he got from his father. The two of them liked orders, things going according to plan. Spontaneous decisions were more his mother’s things, and perhaps Arthur’s hesitancy with genetics. Better to chalk it up to a gene pool than the fact he’s cowardice.

He turned a corner, walked his way up the staircase leading to the castle and entered. He rushed down the hall and hoped he’d make it in time to catch George tidying his room and request he run him a bath.

George dressed Arthur down in that royal-red velvet tunic. The fabric rubbed against his freshly washed skin that made him want to recoil and crawl back into that loose-fitting shirt he’d worn this morning. He slipped into some black pants, tied a red cloak around his neck, and was fitted with his crown.

If one hadn’t guessed Arthur were royalty then in the market, they certainly would now. He was practically shining in the sunlight with his shirt adorned with sewn-in jewels, his cloak a flower, rich red with the yellow dragon crest, and his blonde hair mixing with the gold of his heavy crown.

Arthur sighed. It was heavy, and all for show, really. Still, he should be excited. He was to be crowned prince by his father, and wedded all in the same day. Exciting, right? He slid on his black gloves and, after giving thanks to George, left to find the throne room.

The halls had been freshly decorated with flowers and ribbons, trailing all the way up to the throne room. He walked up to those large wooden doors and paused. Just behind them would be a crowd, a priest, and his family. His half-sisters all seated in their thrones, his mother sitting front row on that risen, rugged platform. At the very front, standing just by the priest, would be his father with a sword gripped in his head, ready to appoint his title.

Was this all happening too fast, it felt like it was. He’d spent years dreaming of it but now he felt too nervous to even breathe. His head was swooning and he couldn’t even move. Was he ready?

“Arthur?” called out a voice. He turned and his nerves dissipated in an instant. Walking up to him, dressed in a purple, velvet-fabric gown, came Morgana. She looked beautiful, her dress, too, having sewn in jewels.

She chuckled when she saw she was correct. “What are you doing? The ceremony is happening in there, not out here.” Arthur said, begrudgingly, “I know that. I just need a second.” Morgana smirked. “Oho, is the mighty Arthur Pendragon nervous?” she teased. Arthur didn’t respond, and her expression softened.

“Hey,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder, “you’re going to be alright.” Arthur struggled to believe that. “How can you be so… sure,” he asked, quietly. Morgana studied his face, brows furrowed. She hummed in acknowledgment, tilting her head to the right. “It’s not the ceremony you’re stressed about, is it?”

Arthur stiffened. Morgana sighed softly, squeezing his shoulder. “I’ve heard good things about this Emrys. How they’re dedicated to their studies, fair in all regards, and beautiful beyond comprehension.” She walked in front of Arthur, moving her hands to his and grasping them. “Trust me, you’ll be fine. And if not, Leon and I will sneak you away for a drink.” She giggled when Arthur gave her a ‘are-you-serious’ look that was less than amused.

Still, her words comforted him. He rolled back his shoulders and Morgana dropped her hands. “Now then,” she said, moving back to Arthur’s side and linking her arm around Arthur’s, “escort me in.” Arthur raised a brow. “Do I have a choice?” Morgana smiled in response. Of course not.

Arthur walked forward, pushing open the door with his free hand. They slowly swung open, creaking as their weight was pushed. The wooden doors fell back, revealing the full seats and staring eyes on Arthur and Morgana. In front, like he expected, was his father and the priest, standing side-by-side with a Bible and a sword.

Morgana’s hand tightened around Arthur’s arm, grounding him. He glanced her way, just to check in, and when she smiled up at him, Arthur nodded. He walked forward, unshaken and confident. Down the aisle to the steps leading up to the raised platform where all their thrones stood.

Just behind Father and the Priest was his mother, seated and staring at him with pride, and his two other half-sisters, Morgause and Elaine. All were dressed in their family royal colors, his mother in red, half-sisters in their father’s royal purple, and all wearing jewels, head accessories, and smiles that warmed Arthur’s heart with conquering courage.

At the base of the steps Arthur allowed Morgana to slip away. He watched her walk up the steps, pass The King, and take her seat beside Elaine. Turning his attention up to his father, Arthur tightened his face and dipped his head in respect.

“Kneel,” Uther commanded. Arthur obeyed. He got on one knee, bowing his head. The priest cleared his throat, flipping through his Holy Book. “Esteemed guests, noble warriors, and revered elders,” he said, addressing the court and crowd, “Today, we gather to witness a momentous occasion: the appointment of our beloved prince, Arthur, as he ascends to his rightful place of responsibility and honor.”

“I invoke the blessings of the gods and the spirits of our ancestors to guide and protect him, and may they bestow upon you, Arthur Pendragon, their divine favor. As you take on this mantle of leadership, remember the sacred oaths you swear today—to protect our land, to uphold justice, and to serve your people with honor.”

“With this blessing, I affirm your rightful place as prince. May your reign be long, your deeds noble, and your legacy enduring. Amen,” he said, finishing his blessing. The crowd murmured a resonating “amen,” and then fell quiet.

All eyes now on The King, the man raised his unsheathed sword. “In this solemn ceremony, I bestow upon you the title of prince of Camelot. With this title comes great responsibilities, ones I, and every citizen of Camelot will look to you to uphold it.”

“Knowing this, I ask: Do you, Arthur Pendragon, accept the role of esteemed Prince, the one who shall surpass me when I am laid to rest; to oversee my kingdom when I have gone, to uphold tradition and law, and protect its citizens?”

Arthur shakily exhaled. “I do,” he yelled, voice unwavering. Slowly, the side of his father’s sword fell on either side of him, tapping his shoulders. “Then I hereby announce to you, Arthur Pendragon, Prince of Camelot. Long live The Prince!”

The crowd chanted those words: “Long live The Prince!”, repeating it three times as Arthur rose from his kneel and shook hands with his father. As they finished, cheering broke through the crowd. His father wore a smile, his father teary-eyed from the sight. He glanced over to Morgana who was trying to wipe away the tears that threatened to fall.

A hand fell on Arthur’s shoulder. He turned around and grinned. Sir Leon stood there, proud, and squeezed Arthur’s shoulder. “Congratulations, your Highness!” he shouted and Arthur brought him into a hug.

The crowd began to move. Outside, waited the rest of Camelot, awaiting the news on if the ceremony went well. They all had to hurry. “Arthur, come on!” yelled Morgana, who had parts of her dress picked up in her hands to make running easier.

Together, minus Sir Leon who stayed behind to be crowd control, the six of them raced for the balcony upstairs. The sound of giggling from his half-sisters filled his ears, which were buzzing. “You did so well, Arthur,” said Morgause with a smile, her smile lines becoming more obvious. Ygraine hummed in agreement, stumbling up the stairs. “Indeed. I am so proud of you, my son!”

They made it onto flat ground and Uther charged for the doors. Arthur was just behind him. Uther swung open the doors, walking onto the balcony and once Arthur was there to accompany him his head nearly swooned.

The entire plaza area was filled with people, and more people were pooling out on the bridge that separated the Castle’s grounds from the rest of the town. All eyes were on them. Arthur froze, feeling his stomach flutter with nerves. Hell, he hadn’t even noticed his father beginning to speak and announce the fact Arthur had officially been crowned Prince.

It wasn’t until he felt cold fingers slot between his that he was grounded. He looked to his right and smiled. It was his mother, holding his hand through it. She leaned over to his ear, saying, “Smile, dear,” as her eyes glanced from him to the crowd.

“Oh. Right,” Arthur murmured, smiling as his ears allowed in the noise of his father shouting, “Long live The Prince,” which cued everyone else there to cheer. Arthur grinned, waving down at the crowd. The sounds of his people chanting his name, the eruption of music being played somewhere in the crowd, and the sound of his half-sisters laughing and leaning over the balcony’s stone railing to peer down and wave.

Maybe he had nothing to worry about. If this went well, then perhaps his wedding will too.

Or… maybe he spoke too soon. As he was waving at the crowd he watched the sun practically disappear and coak the crowd in darkness. He furrowed his brow, confused at the sudden darkness until the sound of shriveling shrieks and cries of horror erupted from the crowd.

Arthur spun around, looking up just in time to see three dragons of varying sizes – though, admittedly, humongous, – gliding over them. The smallest one had white scales, pale in color, and practically bare in terms of spikes. Its jaw opened and a high-pitched cry poured out, making his ears ring.

Arthur winced, cupping his hands over them. He turned to his father and was surprised to see him watching the dragons with a nonchalant look on his face. He looked to his mother who, surprisingly, looked overjoyed.

“Come on, Arthur, they’re here!” his mother chimed, clapping her hands together. Arthur stammered, confused. “What do you ‘they’re here’? Who's here, Mother?”

Ygraine clicked her tongue. “Don’t be foolish, Arthur. Your betrothed is here.” Arthur’s jaw dropped. “You mean one of the people who just came here on dragon-back is my…”

“Your soon-to-be, yes,” his father chimed in, gesturing to his half-sisters to get inside. “I’ll calm the crowd, you go meet Emrys and their family.”

Ygraine took Arthur by the wrist, dragging him away. And hell, all Arthur could think about in that moment was the fact his betrothed just rode in on a dragon. Talk about badass.

When Arthur was young his mother would sit him down on her lap and tell stories about Camelot and a kingdom called Ealdor. She told him about how it originally was just a small village under the rule of a man named Cenred, who was King of some kingdom that ceases to exist now.

She told him about fables. How the land of Albion was filled with magic: it was in the trees, the dirt they walked on, and in the air they breathed. Arthur always wondered why, if that was the case, then why he didn’t possess magic.

Whenever he’d ask that question his mother would laugh and kiss his head. Then, she’d say, “because your other half has it.” And then, like always, she’d delve into another story, one about coins and whatnot.

Apparently, for every two people, there was one coin. Each person was one side of it. One person could be brave, the other cowardice. Together, however, they could combine these unlikely quirks and become stronger through it. Ygraine said that was the case with Arthur – his other half, the other side of his coin, was magic. The supernatural. Arthur was simply human, man amongst a world of boundless creativity.

He never saw that as fair, but he kept that bit to himself. Apparently, when Ealdor rose up and fought against Cenred’s rein, they vowed that every magical creature is welcome under their care, so long as they are fair and abide by their laws, which were written to promote peace and equality.

Ealdor soon became a safe haven for the supernatural. It wasn’t until later, when Arthur was older, that his mother told him of how their kingdoms went to war:

Uther was taught from his youth to hate magic by his father. His father showed him the cruelty, the ugly of it. As such, Uther saw only that. And when Cenred fell and Ealdor rose, Uther was filled with burdening anger. And when they announced freedom for magical beings Uther’s short temper erupted. Suddenly, Camelot was thrown into war against this magical kingdom, and despite Ealdor’s many attempts of keeping the peace, Uther’s warpath could not be stopped.

Many lives on both sides were lost during that years-long battle. It wasn’t until a particular woman, one with magic running through her veins, was brought to Uther to wed. Originally, the woman feared for her life. If her secret were to be realized, she’d be burned, would she not? And thus, she never revealed to her husband the fact she harbored magic. But, unfortunately, she never thought that her gift would pass onto her daughters, who went under his care when they wedded.

And one night Uther found his step-daughter, Morgause, using magic. He didn’t know what to do and when this woman found this out, she threw herself at him and begged. She begged him not to burn them, to at least give them the luxury of fleeing, if that be what he wishes.

But, that night, something changed. Uther saw the woman he’d grown to love, her daughters he’d grown to protect as his own, and saw that magic was not always cruel. It was the people who possessed it that made the choice to use it for evil that were cruel. And to the woman he promised he’d change. He vowed he’d right his wrongs and that night wrote a letter to the King of Ealdor, requesting they meet to negotiate a peace treaty.

And after it was signed, and Camelot was free of war, Uther had changed. And to Arthur it seemed all make-believe – the idea of war, of magic, of some kingdom far away possessing creatures like unicorns, dragons, and trolls were all stories to soothe him to rest. Which they did.

Oh, how wrong young Arthur was.

Arthur raced on his Arabian, his hands tight on the reins. He raced with his mother for the Royal Stables, mounted onto their steeds, and followed the traveling sound of cries until they caught eye of those dragons circling in the sky.

One by one they dropped from the sky, disappearing into the trees. He urged his horse forward, listening to its heavy breaths as it inhaled the heated air of summer. Ygraine led the way, riding on Sir Leon’s thoroughbred. They charged through the fields, entered the forest, and zig-zagged through the trees until they came across a thinning of foliage and overhanging leaves.

He pulled on the reins, slowing his horse’s gait to a trot as they came to a clearing where three large dragons rested. The largest was a spikey, gold-scaled dragon with matching golden eyes. The second largest was muddy in color with swirling horns, much like a ram’s. The smallest, and quite small indeed, was the pale dragon he’d seen before.

It was perhaps… as large as a few horses or cattle stacked up, smooth with thinner scales and barely any visible spikes or horns. It looked so young, an adolescent maybe. Regardless, they were all beautifully terrifying.

Ygraine dismounted, giggling. “Hunith!” she yelled, almost falling as she raced towards them. Arthur’s chest tightened. He dismounted quickly, running after her. “Mother! Mother, slow down, you’ll fall!”

Ygraine raced right up to the dragons. The largest let a low bellow vibrate in its throat, something so loud he felt it vibrate through his body. His mother didn’t seem bothered, in fact she ignored it completely as she ran for the muddy dragon.

He honestly didn’t get it. Where was this supposed Hunith? Was it the dragon itself? Arthur wasn’t sure until he saw, mounted up on the back of that dragon, a woman dressed in fine silks of Druid blue. She, too, was a giggly mess. The woman began scaling down the dragon as his mother finally stopped at the wing of the dragon. Once the woman finally dropped down onto the ground, she ran for his mother, and the two collided into a hug.

Both women were giggling and screaming. Arthur just stood there, puzzled. Was that… Queen Hunith? They spun around in a circle for a few moments, fearing to let go. But, soon their laughter died down and the two separated. That’s when the woman looked his way.

She was beautiful. Soft features, pale skin. Rounded down blue eyes deep like a lake’s water, with soft waves of brown sprouting out from her head. And that smile… It matched King Balinor. Soft and nurturing. She gasped, lifting her left hand to cover her mouth. She glanced over to her mother and the two stared at one another, seemingly having a conversation just from looks alone.

Seriously, women could talk using just about anything.

The woman lowered her hand and gestured him over. Arthur obliged. Closer up, he could see the wear of age of her skin, soft wrinkle lines on her eyes and forehead. She was also quite shorter, five feet and three inches? Quite the contrary to him and his mother, both averaging around six feet.

Still, the space she occupied was tranquil, and the blue matched her perfectly. She reached up a hand, cupping his face in her palm as she studied his features. “So you’re Arthur,” she said to herself, in awe. “Ygraine always said you were handsome. Awh, you’ve got her eyes, dear.”

His face flushed with embarrassment. He didn’t want to be awkward but he’s just met the woman and already she’s looking at him like he’s some grand achievement. Then, lowly and with comfort, a man’s voice that made that foggy memory clear as day, spoke through. “Hunith, dear. You’ll make him uncomfortable.”

Her brows shot up and her cheeks brightened to a rosy blush. “Right. Sorry, sweetie,” she said, softly. Her head fell away, and with that Arthur turned to see the man, Balinor, walk up. He was shorter than he last remembered. Arthur must’ve looked puzzled before Balinor gave him a look. “Something the matter, your Highness?” he asked with a light smile.

Before Arthur could quite respond Balinor flinched and slapped his hand over his mouth. Arthur furrowed his eyes, concerned. Slowly, his hand peeled away and he looked sheepishly Ygraine’s way. “His ceremony, it has happened, yes? Merlin was worried we’d be too late and tried rushing.”

Hunith popped in, too. “Oh, yes, but he was pushing poor Aithusa too hard and we had to take a break for her sake. Best believe I gave him a strong talking to about rider-dragon relationship and having respect for them.”

Ygraine couldn’t help but smile. “Oh, don’t be so hard. I’m sure he was just nervous.” Hunith shrugged and walked over to Balinor, and that’s when Arthur got a good look at him, and the person behind him. He stiffened. That had to be Emrys. They were hiding behind Balinor, back faced to him as they stared up at a white dragon, who had just walked over to them.

A hum filled his ears and his body felt the vibrations of the dragon’s noises in his veins. He stumbled back, admittedly startled, and that’s when he felt his mother’s hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, dear. They’re just talking,” she assured, squeezing his shoulder with her hand.

Arthur raised a brow. “Talking? But they’re not even–” a voice cut him off, definitely a man’s, but not Balinor’s. It was young, almost had a sarcastic tone to it. “Queen Ygraine’s right, Prince Arthur. We are talking. Just… telepathically.” It was the person hiding behind Balinor, who’d moved to the side.

Except, the person Arthur was expecting this oh-so-great Emrys to be was definitely…a girl. Arthur stood there, puzzled, as Emrys turned around, revealing the fact he very much was not. True to Morgana’s words, he was… beautiful. He was wearing a ceremonial blue cloak with Druid runes on it, and a dragon’s crest, though it bowed instead of reared. His skin was pale, much like his mothers, his features soft and eyes a deeper shade of blue. He wore a silky shirt with a popped collar, with combed brown hair and a crown atop his head.

He looked like a prince. Probably because he was. He. Emrys was a he. Didn’t they need to produce an heir?..

Emrys walked up and bowed his head. Then, he held his hand out. Arthur dipped his head like it was second nature but to shake that man’s hand? His betrothed was a man, how could his mother not tell him? How many knew: Morgana, Elaine, his father?

Ygraine cleared her throat and nudged Arthur. He blinked. He glanced from his mother to Emrys, then to his parents who stood there, confused. His lips parted but no words came out.

“I… can’t,” Arthur whispered. Ygraine gave him a look. “What what that dear?” Arthur’s breath grew shaky as Emrys’s hand stayed there, open and waiting. But, he just couldn’t. He was going to be married to a man.

Before he could realize what he was doing Arthur was running, the wind against his face. His mother was screaming after him and the sound of a dragon roaring made the ground shake. He hopped onto his horse, kicked into its sides, and raced off.

Seriously, he just… needed a moment.

One thing Arthur liked about the castle was how easy it was to get lost. And sometimes you were found. That’s how he managed to find a secluded garden hidden away behind the castle, tucked behind some trees. It was hard to call it a garden when he’d first found it all those years ago but, with Sir Leon’s help, Arthur was able to spruce it up.

It was quiet, closed off from the rest of the world and his responsibilities. Whenever it was decided that it’d be too reckless for him to ride away from his responsibilities and spend a night in the woods to escape all the noise, he’d come here.

It was a him thing. At times it spurred memories, mostly of magic. Sometimes he could’ve sworn he felt it. A faint pulse of magic against his fingertips. It soothed him, grounded his anxieties. Today, it served a different purpose: it was a place for him to get lost in those anxieties.

Seated in the middle was a bench and in front was a small pond he’d been caring for. Surrounding it were rocks and a growing flower bed with flowers he’d specifically planted, with seeds he’d bought himself. Whenever he felt like doing something nice for one of his sisters he’d grow them a bouquet and deliver it by hand to “cheer them up.” It was his way of showing he cared.

He sighed, leaning his head back. He’ll have to show up eventually. If his parents don’t mind him he’s sure those dragons would be able to pick him out in an instant. Was it so wrong of him to dread it? Arthur never discriminated. Whenever he’d sneak off to the taverns with the knights he’d send a coin or two on a woman or man, whichever suited his desire.

But this was marriage. Up until now he expected to be wed off to a woman, like his mother to his father, and produce an heir. How on earth could that happen now? Maybe it was all a mistake on King Balinor’s part for not announcing his heir was a man.

But, thanks to seeing and hearing him clearly for the first in a long while, that memory of meeting him was clear as day. Before he crouched down and introduced himself he spoke to the court, and the reason they were all seemingly riled up was because he spoke of Emrys, and how he was to be Arthur’s husband on his twenty and one year celebration. Was he the only way who saw this as a totally fucked scenario?

He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. “I have a headache,” he murmured under his breath.

“I’ve heard rumors that headaches often curse those who think the longest,” said a voice, piercing his thoughts. Arthur jumped, unsheathing his sword. He spun on his feet and held it up, steady, against the person who intruded on his space and, wouldn’t luck have it, it was Emrys.

He looked at the edge of the sword with amusement more than fear. How strange, indeed. Arthur cursed under his breath, lowering his blade. “...Sorry,” he murmured, sheathing his sword and scratching the back of his nape.

Emrys shrugged. “I’ve dealt with more threatening foes,” he replied, walking past Arthur, “once you’ve dealt with a dragon, nothing else scares ya.” He strolled over down the stoned path, grazing his fingertips over the petals of a growing poppy.

Arthur scoffed.

Emrys chewed on his lip for a moment and the silence between them brewed. It was Emrys who broke it, though. He plucked a poppy from its root and turned around. He walked back to Arthur and reached for him. Arthur flinched back.

Emrys laughed softly. “I have no intention of harming my husband,” Emerys assured. He snapped the stem to make the flower shorter and then slid it between the gap of Arthur’s ear. Emrys stood back, admiring. “You’re as beautiful as my mother said you’d be.”

Arthur felt his cheeks heat at the compliment, which was short-lived as Emrys continued to talk. “Of course, I took them with a grain of salt since she only saw you when you were just a babe.” He giggled to himself. “And, well, father never talked of you. Said it’d ‘spoil the surprise.’ I’m glad he decided against it, since you’re more than just ‘handsome’ and ‘fair-skinned,’ like Mother tells me.”

Arthur huffed, saying, “I fear I can’t say the same.” That peaked Emrys’s interest. “That so?” he cooed, leaning close with a smirk. Closer up, Arthur couldn’t deny the fact that this man was far more beautiful than any maiden he’d seen before. He had to admit, if one was capable of loving someone off first sight alone, then consider Arthur practically swooning over the man.

But, could he really admit that out loud? Emrys cleared his throat. “You really do think a lot. I can see the gears in your mind working, and as funny as it is, you haven’t answered my question. Why do you say what you say, Prince Arthur?”

Arthur averted his gaze. “My mother always implied you were beautiful. Clearly, she was confused with handsome.” Emrys nodded slowly, eyes narrowed. “And, please, call me Arthur. I hate formalities.” He brushed past Emrys , walking down the stone path and before he knew it Emrys was at his side, walking with his hands behind his back.

“Correct me if I’m wrong…Arthur,” Emrys said, murmuring Arthur twice before continuing, “but I think what you’re getting at, and the whole reason for your fleeing, was because I am a…man?” Hell, when he puts it that way, it makes him sound like a fussing girl. But, yes, one could say that was true.

Emrys snorted. The sound of it made Arthur stop and look at him, confused. Emrys’s cheeks were rusted pink as he tried to stifle his laughter. He raised his hands to his face, covering it. “What’s so funny? Is it fun to laugh at how I feel, Prince Emrys?”

Emrys’s laughter died quick but a smile remained as he lowered his hands. “Hey,” he said, tone now sterner than before, “if we’re going to drop formalities then please, call me Merlin. Emrys is my middle name.”

“Oh, I didn’t know,” Arthur said, clearing his throat. “Apologies… Merlin.” The boy shrugged. “I take it you don’t know a lot about me, so I suppose it’s fair you ran. I’m sure I would’ve ran too if my betrothed turned out to be a man after everyone promised he’d be a she.”

“Though, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt. I was nervous too, and seeing you run… took a blow at my confidence, Arthur,” Merlin mumbled, looking down. Arthur frowned. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Think it's too late to get a redo? First impressions are important after all.”

Merlin laughed. “Yes, they are.” He hummed in thought and then paused. Arthur circled around to the front, facing him head on. He truly was beautiful. What a foolish decision he made running from it.

“Yes, foolish indeed,” Merlin chirped, grinning. Ah, right. Telepathic. Arthur scowled, grumbling quietly. Merlin’s cheeky grin only widened. “Hey, now! Don’t be upset, I can control who’s thoughts I hear and don’t, but yours are just so sweet I couldn’t ignore it.”

“Don’t be an ass,” Arthur huffed, turning around and picking up pace. Merlin shrieked, chasing after him. “You thought I looked beautiful!” he called out. Arthur stopped immediately, which wasn’t his best choice as Merlin quickly collided into him.

They both stumbled forward and although Arthur was able to upright himself Merlin continued downward. That is, until Arthur caught him by the waist and yanked him up. Merlin collided against his chest with an audible “umpf” and looked up, catching Arthur’s gaze of pure embarrassment.

“You look embarrassed. Is it because you thought I looked beautiful?” Merlin inquired, looking clueless. But, Arthur knew that was just a cheeky facade. “Don’t read my thoughts,” Arthur said, voice low and commanding.

Merlins’ face scrunched to a scowl of displeasure. He pushed Arthur back, wiggling himself free. “If we’re going to be married, we should set some ground rules. Like, number one, not ordering me around!” Merlin hissed.

Arthur stammered, brushing down his tunic to make sure it wasn’t too crinkled. “Sure, fine. Ground rules. How about not invading privacy for one.” Merlin scoffed, “And what about your running away problem? I’d rather not walk down that aisle if you’re just going to run away from me.”

Arthur groaned. “I panicked! You were beautiful, and not what I expected at all. I freaked out and ran because how am I supposed to marry a man?” Merlin wasn’t budging. In fact, he was walking now, creating even more space between them.

He was panicking. Nothing he was trying to say came out right, and here he was insulting the guy he’s going to marry within a few short hours. He bit his lip, his head aching from his overly complicated thoughts.

But, maybe that was it. Merlin did say these headaches cursed those who thought too hard, maybe too much. He was tired of thinking. So, he acted. He chased after Merlin, grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. Merlin scoffed, pissed from being manhandled, and as he fought to get Arthur’s hand off him he pulled him close, wrapping his arms over his shoulders.

A hug. A simple gesture, but one that was making his heart race nonetheless. His legs shook, the anxiety bubbling in his stomach. Merlin’s breathing slowed and as they stood there, stalled, Arthur could feel his heartbeat slow to match Merlin’s.

“I’m not good with words. I overthink and hesitate,” he confessed. “But, what you say is true. I do… think you’re beautiful, and I am sorry for running. I won’t order you around, I promise that. My mother said that it takes time to love somebody, and truth be told I don’t know if time will grant you that.”

“Arthur,” Merlin whispered.

“But,” he continued, “I can try. Marriage is about commitment. So, ground rule number two: no running away. I’ll stay by your side, even if I’m scared. Terrified, actually.”

“That a promise?” Merlin murmured. Arthur nodded. “I swear it.”

A soft, stifled giggle came from Merlin, making his cheeks flush from embarrassment. “I’m being serious here,” Arthur grouched, releasing Merlin from his grip. The brunette took a step away, wiping away a tear from his eye. “Aww, I had no idea you’re a softie! My mother never told me that either.”

He rolled his eyes, trying to hide his smile. “I’m full of surprises.” Merlin hummed, nodding slowly. “That I can see.” He raised his hands, clapping them together. “Well then, as much as I enjoyed this heart-to-heart, I believe we’ve got a wedding to catch with… all of Camelot attending, right?”

Arthur’s heart dropped. “Shit. Right.” He held out his hand and, almost naturally, Merlin accepted, interlocking their fingers. “Together then?” Merlin said, moving to Arthur’s side.

“The art of promenading at its finest,” Arthur murmured, rolling his eyes again. “Let’s give them a wedding.” Merlin grinned. “Lets.”