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The Prince of Camelot.

This fic has been sitting in the back of my mind for months, and I finally found the time to sit down and write it. It turned out slightly different from what I originally planned, but I think it’s all the better for it, so I hope you enjoy! :)

Pairing: Merlin/Arthur

Tags: Canon-typical violence, Arthur knows about Merlin’s magic, BAMF Merlin, Parent Merlin and Parent Arthur.

Summary: Edmond sucked in a panicked breath and looked around them again, the forest suddenly very unfriendly. “Black knights were here? Why?” Melaine didn’t answer, and when Edmond turned to face her she was staring at him oddly. He frowned and unconsciously drew back from her. “Melaine?” She looked away from him, green eyes firmly on the ground. “They asked if any of us had seen Prince Edmond Pendragon of Camelot.” Edmond flinched back and Melaine’s eyes widened. “That’s you, isn’t it? You really are the Prince!"

Read on AO3.

“Edmond!”

Edmond looked up at the shout, the birds around him startling and flying away. Melaine groaned in disappointment, her red hair spilling everywhere as she buried her head in her hands, and Edmond silently groaned with her. It had taken hours for the birds to trust them enough to sit on the forest floor with them, and now all that time had been wasted.

“Is that your dad?” Melaine asked.

Edmond sighed. “Yeah.”

“Edmond!”

He winced as the cry came again, this time with a touch of impatience, and hastily stood.

“I have to go.” He said, grimacing in apology. “Meet you again tomorrow?”

“Of course!” Melaine instantly perked up. “You’ve still got to teach me that new spell of yours.”

Edmond’s eye’s widened as he resisted the urge to smack his hand over his face. “I completely forgot! I’m sorry Melaine.”

“It’s okay.” She said, shrugging. “Meeting the birds was fun anyway.”

“Edmond!”

“I’m coming Dad!” Edmond yelled, not wanting his dad to come looking for him. “Goodbye Melaine!”

“Goodbye Edmond.” Melaine said with a wave, turning in the opposite direction to make her own way home.

Edmond ran through the forest, feet sure despite the roots reaching out to try to trip him up. Sunlight filtered through the trees in tiny patches, little pockets of light that made the fallen leaves look almost like they’d caught alight. A branch hit his shoulder, making him stumble, and a pair of butterflies flew away and into the sun. Edmond allowed himself a moment to watch them before he took off running again.

He burst out of the trees, stumbling to a stop in front of the little garden his dad loved to tend to. He darted around the garden, no wanting to trample any seedlings, and made his way to the front of their hut just as his dad started calling for him again.

“I’m right here Dad!” Edmond huffed, trying to catch his breath.

His dad whirled around, and already Edmond could see the eyebrow raised judgementally at him.

“Where have you been?” His dad asked, eyes checking him for injuries. “You know what today is.”

Edmond winced. That was another thing he had forgotten.

“I’m sorry Dad.” He said, finally able to breathe properly. “I was with Melaine by the fields. We were trying to get the birds to eat out of our hands.”

His dad’s lips twitched up into a smile. “I see. Well, I hope you had fun.”

His dad ushered him inside where a steaming bowl of stew was waiting for him, and Edmond’s mouth began watering. He hadn’t eaten since late morning.

“We did! Some of the birds came really close, and one was absolutely beautiful.” Edmond sat, his dad next to him, and began shovelling stew in his mouth between sentences. “It was all blue and green, you should have seen it! Melaine even thought it might have been glowing whenever it wasn’t in the sun.”

A brief flicker of worry entered his dad’s eyes, but it was gone so fast Edmond almost believed he had imagined it. “It sounds like an afternoon well spent.”

Edmond nodded exaggeratedly, his brown hair flying loose of its bun and almost ending up in his stew. He huffed and held it out of the way, still devouring his stew with his other hand.

His dad laughed, his own bowl emptied and washed long before he got home. “Alright you. Slow down before you choke. I’ve got to fix your hair anyway.”

Edmond whined. “But dad, it looks fine!”

His dad snorted, and suddenly his hair is in his face, covering his eyes. Edmond can just spot the lighter strands near his skull, his natural blonde colour shining through. Edmond huffed again and continued eating, slower now. His dad did have a point, he conceded. He normally never let it grow this much before fixing it again.

“Fine.” Edmond grumbled, not that he really had a choice.

His dad smiled and pressed a kiss to the top of his head before he stood to get the things he would need. Truthfully, Edmond wasn’t sure what exactly his dad did to turn his hair as brown as mud. He knew there was a spell involved, and some sort of paste, but he never paid attention to the details. So long as it wasn’t just mud- which his dad had assured him it wasn’t.

His dad sat back down as Edmond finished his stew, and he shifted a bit as his hair was pulled back an into a loose ponytail. It had gotten longer than he realised, well past his shoulders now, but he found that he liked it long. He hadn’t let his dad cut it the last few times they had done this, and his dad didn’t even bother asking now.

“Alright, now hold still.” His dad ordered, and Edmond sat straight and perfectly still as hands gently massaged the paste into the top of his head.

They feel into silence as his dad worked. It was a comfortable silence, but even so Edmond quickly grew bored. His thoughts started jumping from one topic to another, and soon his mind was a confusing mess of thoughts that he had no hope of ignoring. They were too loud, beating around his skull like a drum, and Edmond had been dwelling on them for far too long to have any hope of containing them now.

“Dad?” He asked at last, a tiny whisper of a thing.

“Edmond.”

“Do you think Father is... gone? Like Mother?”

His dad froze, along with what seemed like the air itself. Edmond hadn’t asked before, not in all the months they’d been living here, but the question had been eating away at him, and he needed to know despite how much he dreaded the answer. He remembered what it had been like, years ago, when a horrible sickness had taken his mother, and how much he had wanted to know if she was alright, even as he dreaded the answer.

Finally, after a long pause, his dad’s hands started moving gently through his hair again. “No Edmond. Your father is fine. I know it.”

Edmond tilted his head back, looking his dad in the eyes. “You do?”

His dad smiled thinly at his skepticism. “I do.” His head was pushed back down, and Edmond allowed his chin to drop to his chest. More paste fell onto the hair near his neck. “You know your father. He’s too stubborn to die, especially to a man like Caliban.”

Edmond wasn’t so sure, but he accepted the words anyway. “And Grandfather?”

His dad sucked in a breath, and Edmond tried not to let his panic show. He knew that his dad and grandfather never got along, but he loved them both, and the thought of anything happening to his grandfather made something painful in his chest twist.

“They’re alive Edmond. Both of them.”

His dad sounded so certain. “But how do you know?”

A gentle hand pulled his hair up and back into a bun, and then he was turned around to face his dad properly.

“I know because I can feel it.” He said, his eyes turning gold as he pulled Edmonds hand up to his chest. The thu-thump of his dad’s heart calmed him. “And I know because when Caliban attacked the castle, he swore he would destroy the Pendragon bloodline in a single, swift strike. Do you know what that means?”

Edmond shook his head. “No.”

His dad let go of his hand in order to pull him into a hug. “It means that so long as you are free from his grasp, he will not kill your father or grandfather. Without you, his plans fall to pieces, and Albion will never fall to him. And do you know why Albion will never be his Edmond?”

That, at least, he had heard before. “Because he’s not the Once and Future King.”

“No.” His dad agreed. “No, he is not. Arthur Pendragon is the Once and Future King, and you, Edmond, are his son. One day, Albion will be united under your father, and a Golden Age of prosperity will begin, and when you take the throne I know you will be a king just as great as your father.”

Edmond sniffled, trying and failing to imagine it all. “Really?”

“Really really.” His dad assured, cuddling him closer. “It’s destiny, my little prince.”

///

“Blóstma.”

A tiny flower grew in Edmonds palm as he watched, wide eyed. It was pink, and looked like a star, with a smattering of yellow in the middle where a number of small stems reached up towards him. He’d never seen anything like It.

It was almost worth the month of repeating the spell over and over with no results, much to Melaine’s amusement. She had gotten it on her third try, the same day Edmond had taught it to her. She’s grown a beautiful yellow primrose, and had grown more until there was enough for her to make her own flower crown. She’s made one for him too, but Edmond wasn’t used to being beaten, and he’d refused it, claiming he’d make his own.

He cradled the flower in his hand with a wide grin, waiting for Melaine to arrive so he could show her that he could cast the spell after all.

It felt like it took her forever to arrive – he had been waiting for at least a candle mark before she came crashing through the undergrowth.

“Melaine!” Edmond greeted, standing up and holding his hands out. “Look I-”

Melaine grabbed his hands and pulled him, heedless of his cries or the flower she was crushing, until both of them were hidden, crouched beneath some thick bushes. Edmond fell silent, his heart racing as he finally took in the terrified expression on his friend’s face. Flower forgotten, Edmond crouched low to the ground and listened to the forest around them.

“I wasn’t sure if they’d followed me.” Melaine whispered after a while.

Edmond turned to face her. “Who? Melaine, what happened? Did someone hurt you?”

“No, no, nothing like that.” Melaine tugged on the sleeves of her dress, a nervous habit, and leaned closer, voice dropping to almost nothing. “The black knights.”

Edmond sucked in a panicked breath and looked around them again, the forest suddenly very unfriendly. “Black knights were here? Why?”

Melaine didn’t answer, and when Edmond turned to face her she was staring at him oddly. He frowned and unconsciously drew back from her.

“Melaine?”

She looked away from him, green eyes firmly on the ground. “They asked if any of us had seen Prince Edmond Pendragon of Camelot.” Edmond flinched back and Melaine’s eyes widened. “That’s you, isn’t it? You really are the Prince-”

“Melaine!” Edmond hissed, rushing forward to grab her as he glanced wildly around. “Did anyone say anything?” Melaine shook her head, but she still looked terrified, and Edmond felt dread pooling in his gut. “Melaine, please.”

She shook her head again, her shoulders slumped in defeat. “They- they threatened Isolde and her baby. Tristan had to tell them.”

Edmond felt the blood drain from his face. He scrambled out from under the bush, eyes on the path towards home. It looked deserted, no knight in sight, but Edmond knew better than to assume.

“Where are you going?” Melaine said, following him. “Edmond, what are you doing?”

She grabbed his arm, tugging him backwards, and Edmond wrenched his arm free. “I have to go warn my dad.”

Melaine shook her head, reaching for him again. “Edmond, no. It’s you they’re after.”

“And it’s my dad they’ll kill if they don’t find me.” He shook, terror making his heartbeat loud in his ears. “I have to warn him.”

“They’ll be there already!” Melaine cried. “Just come back with me, we’ll hide you in our barn until they leave. Your dad will be fine, he has his magic.”

Edmond stumbled away from her, still shaking. “No, I’m not putting you in danger.” Melaine went to protest but Edmond cut her off. “Go back home Melaine.”

Melaine took one step back before stopping. “Edmond, promise me you’ll be okay.”

Edmond forced himself to give her a shaky smile, and then he turned and ran. Melaine cried out behind him, but he ignored her, focusing on getting to his hut as quickly and as quietly as he could. He wasn’t a fool – he knew the black knights were most likely already there. More than that, he knew about the manacles they had made specifically for his dad, the ones that cut off a person’s magic.

They’d just barely escaped them before, and Edmond had seen how badly his dad had reacted to just being near them before. He’d have no chance fighting against the knights if those manacles were forced on him.

He slowed as he got near to their hut, his steps becoming quieter as he examined his surroundings. He couldn’t hear or see much through the trees, just the very top of their roof.

A twig snapped beside him and suddenly a weight was baring him down into the dirt. He struggled fiercely, hitting and kicking uselessly at charcoal black armour.

“Stop struggling, brat.” The knight hissed.

Edmond glared and spat at him, satisfaction swirling in his chest as the knight jerked back and wiped angrily at his face. Edmond doubled his struggles, managing to get a scratch in near the knight’s ear before he was restrained again. He tried to spit at him again, but the knight raised a hand and slapped him, hard. Edmond’s head jerked to the side, his body going slack as his head rang and the world spun.

Something else hit him hard on his head, making the world immediately go dark.

///

When he came to, it was to his dad yelling.

“If you lay another hand on him I swear-”

“What are you going to do, oh mighty Emrys? You’re nothing without your magic.”

Edmond moaned, his head pounding. “Dad?”

Someone stomped over to him, and his dad started yelling again, and then suddenly he was pulled upwards by his arm. He cried out and opened his eyes, unsuccessfully trying to push the person away.

“So the prince wakes!” The man holding him yelled, and Edmond squeezed his eyes shut as his head protested the loud noise. “How gracious of you to finally bless us with your presence, your highness.”

“Put him down!” His dad yelled, furious, and Edmond blinked his eyes open again just in time to see a knight kick him – hard.

“Dad.” He cried out, voice strangled. “Stop, please.”

“It’s alright princeling, you can drop the act.” The knight holding him cooed. “We know who you really are.”

Edmond kicked at him weakly, causing the rest of the knights to laugh. Edmond tried to glare at them all, but his head was spinning and it was all he could do to keep his eyes open.

He was thrown suddenly, the ground rushing up to meet him, and he groaned as he landed. His dad reached for him, and Edmond got a good look at the horrible manacles as he was pulled into an embrace. He let himself sink into it, trying to ignore the way the manacles seemed to suck the warmth out of the air around them.

“Lets get going. King Caliban is eager to end this war once and for all, and we’re far enough from Camelot as it is.” The knight that had thrown him ordered.

Several men muttered their assent, and the sound of a camp being broken up filled the air.

“Edmond.” His dad whispered, quiet but harsh. “Edmond, listen to me. You need to escape the instant you get the chance. Don’t worry about me or anything else, just run, you understand me?”

Edmond whimpered, pulling his dad closer. “Not without you.”

“Yes, without me.” His dad insisted. “There’s a spell. Forbearnan. It should cause enough of a distraction for you to slip away. Use it, and run as far north as you possibly can. Find King Olaf. He will give you shelter.”

Edmond shook his head, but then someone was pulling him out of his dad’s arms and he screamed, reaching for his dad and trying not to cry.

“Shut up!” The knight shook him until he stopped, and Edmond recognised him as the man that had captured him in the first place.

Red scratch marks ran from his ear down his cheek, and Edmond allowed himself to feel some pride. He’d not gone down without a fight, certainly, and not without leaving a mark.

The knight sneered at him and shoved his arms into a pair of manacles – ordinary ones, of course, because no one would think that a Pendragon would ever learn magic. He was let go immediately after and fell back onto his dad, careful to keep by his side as they were forced up and moving.

There were no horses as far as Edmond could see. It meant the journey home would be longer – during their year on the run they had managed to travel to the very top of Mercia, a place so barely habited it was basically all just forest. It was perfect for them, or at least, they had thought it was. Clearly, they should have kept moving.

His dad looked at him meaningfully. The extra time would also grant him more time to learn the spell and escape, though he had always taken a long time to learn his spells.

He just hoped a month would be enough.

///

Edmond felt his heart skip a beat as the spires of Camelot castle came into view. A barrage of emotions warred in his chest, homesickness and pure terror rising above the rest to choke him.

He hadn’t managed to cast the spell.

No matter how hard he tried, the most he could manage was a tiny flame – like that of a candle – that fizzed out almost as soon as it formed. It was frustrating, and it was obvious his dad was growing steadily more desperate the closer they got to Camelot, but the black knights were vigilant, and Edmond never even got the chance to try and escape. Not for the first time, Edmond wished that he was better at magic. He had taken to the sword like a fish to water, but a single spell had always taken him months to learn.

A shove pushed him forward, the knight behind him muttering curses. Edmond ducked his head and hurried forward, one step behind his dad, as he had been the whole march home. He reached forward, hand shaking, until he managed to grasp his dad’s elbow. His dad didn’t react, not with the eyes of the knights on them, but Edmond felt comforted, nonetheless.

In a blink they were standing at the gates of Camelot, and Edmond felt tears prickling his eyes as the gates slowly opened. Fear rooted him to the ground. He couldn’t move, not even when a knight yelled at him, and it was only when someone roughly shoved him that he managed to stumble forward.

“Hey!” His dad yelled, pulling him close.

The black knights sneered at him. “Get moving.”

Several swords poked at Edmond’s back, urging him forward, but it was still only when his dad started moving that he was able to follow him. His dad kept him close, an arm around him, as they were marched through the lower town.

At first, Edmond kept his head down and huddled close to his dad, wishing he could just disappear. A pit of dread steadily grew in his stomach the closer they got to the castle. A crowd of people gathered around them as they were marched forwards, each person whispering wildly when they saw him. He shrunk further into his dad’s side and stared hard at his feet.

“Prince Edmond!” A voice called in the crowed, startling him. “Long live the prince!”

Someone else took up the cry, a quiet voice from behind them. “Long live the prince!”

“Shut up!” A black knight yelled, glaring into the crowed. “Or you’ll all be hanged for treason.”

The whispers of the crowd were louder now, and Edmond could hear several murmurs of his name and title. He glanced at the people around him, the people that he was to one day rule and protect, and he felt a small tug on his heart. Now he was looking, he could see how drawn and worn the people were, how starved almost every face was, more than even the harshest of winters had left them before. He wondered how horrible a ruler Caliban was, to neglect his people like this.

A spark of Pendragon rage caught in his chest, and Edmond felt himself straighten. His dad glanced at him as he lifted his head and rolled his shoulders back, his eyes now firmly on the castle. His people still believed in him, and, more importantly, they needed him. Caliban was no king, for all his power, and Edmond refused to be cowed any longer. His father had taught him to be brave, and Edmond would not let him down.

His dad seemed to sense the difference in him. He let Edmond pull away without a fuss, and something like pride shone in his eyes, through all the pain and fear.

They were marched all through the lower town, as if The black knights wanted to show off their prisoners, before they were taken to the courtyard. Edmond felt his dad tense the instant they saw the steps leading into the castle – and the man waiting atop them.

Caliban had not changed in the year that Edmond had been away. He still reminded Edmond of a rat – a long face framed by flat, oily black hair. There was an evil in his eyes as well, an evil that even the royal purple robes could not hide, nor the beautiful and very obviously magical staff he held in his hands.

“Emrys!” He greeted, his voice booming across the courtyard as he smirked. “And little Prince Edmond. Welcome home.”

His dad glared. “Caliban. I wish I could say I was happy to be home.”

Caliban laughed and waved his hand in dismissal. “Don’t be like that Emrys, this is a family reunion! You don’t want to spoil the mood, do you? I’m sure Edmond can’t wait to see his father again.”

He turned his smirk on Edmond, and he glared right back, meeting the false kings’ eyes unflinchingly. Caliban’s smirk dropped. He spun on his heel, his cape swirling around him, and gestured to his knights. Edmond was shoved forward, his dad not far behind, and they were marched forward and into the castle.

The throne room look almost unrecognisable to Edmond.

Black banners hung from the walls, Caliban’s snake carved into them in blood red, as if the fabric itself was bleeding. The windows had all been shattered the night of the attack and never fixed – a harsh wind blew through the window, the first hints of the storm Edmond could tell was gathering. He shivered and turned his attention to the throne.

Or at least, to where the throne should be. Where once there was a golden throne for his grandfather and a smaller, plainer throne for his father, there was now chains hanging from the ceiling. Chains, Edmond quickly realised, that were holding his father and grandfather, forcing them to stand in the middle of the cold room, their chests bare and littered with marks.

“Father!” Edmond called before he could help himself, his eyes trained on his father’s face.

His father’s eyes blinked open slowly, and Edmond allowed himself some small relief, that at least his father was alive and not a corpse dangling from a chain. He had almost mistaken him as one – never had he seen a man so thin, all his bones showing beneath his skin, or so pale, at least beneath all the cuts and bruises. He looked nothing like the knight his father had always been proud to be – and Edmond was terrified to look at his grandfather, for he already knew that he had suffered worse than his father, could see it without having to examine him closely.

Edmond had known Caliban was a cruel man. He had known that he wanted his family dead, no matter the cost, and he had known that he would not treat his prisoners kindly while Edmond was free from his grasp.

Still, Edmond could never have imagined that this is what Caliban had been doing in the year that he had ran.

That Pendragon rage was back and burning, and Edmond turned from the horror in his father’s eyes, from the beaten form of his grandfather, and towards the man responsible. He was talking, perhaps gloating, but Edmond wasn’t listening. He wasn’t listening, because his dad was screaming beside him, and the black knights were focused on restraining him, and that left him free to move.

He ran forward, eyes on the knife strapped to Caliban’s belt. A knight called out behind him, and Caliban was turning, but not fast enough. The knife slipped out of its sheath easily and Edmond took a second to grip it properly, his chains making him fumble his grip for a second, before he thrust forward, aiming for the man’s neck.

He was a second away from skin when his whole body froze, magic gripping him tight and not letting go no matter how he struggled. Caliban stared at him in shock, his hand up and eyes a murky yellow. Edmond growled at him as he plucked the knife from his fingers.

The next thing he knew he was kneeling on the ground, a hand in his hair and the very knife he had grabbed at his throat. Silence rang around the room.

“Well.” Caliban said, tightening his grip on Edmonds hair so fast he had to bite his tongue to hold back his cry. “It would seem the little prince has some bite.”

Edmond tried to twist so his hair wasn’t pulled quite so tight, but that only made the knife press closer to his skin, and he forced himself to stop. He could feel the metal against his neck now, cold where the rest of him was still burning with rage.

“You know, I had worried you might not recognise him, what with all his pretty blonde hair turned to mud.” Caliban tugged on his hair, as if the emphasise his point, and Edmond whimpered slightly. “But I think I know the perfect way to fix that.”

The knife was pulled away from him and held in front of his face instead. Edmond could see his reflection in the metal – whoever had cleaned and polished it had done an excellent job – and then his dad was screaming, his father straining against his restraints, and the knife disappeared only to slice just above his head, so close he could almost feel it against his skin.

He crashed to the ground before he realised what had happened, heard Caliban’s laughter rise above his parents yelling.

“There. That’s much better, I think. Now everyone can tell he’s your son again Arthur.”

Edmond whimpered and brought his hands up to his head. His fingers met a short mess of hair, shorter than Edmond could ever remember it being. Short enough that he knew all the brown was gone, nothing but his blonde roots left. He whimpered again, a sudden wave of loss tugging at him.

He’d loved his long hair.

“Get him up.” Caliban ordered, and in seconds Edmond was hauled to his feet, a black knight on either side of him. “Tie them both to the floor and have four guards stationed outside the door at all times.”

He walked from the room, a smirk the last thing Edmond saw on his face.

“I have an execution to plan.”

///

The black knights tied Edmond to a small chain connected to the ground at his father’s feet, his dad beside him. Edmond forced himself not to move as they mocked them, and instead he glared at the ground beneath his hands, hoping that it would make them leave faster. They must have grown bored easily, for they left within a few minutes.

The door slammed closed behind them, and immediately Edmond surged up, the short chain just barely allowing him to cling to his father’s waist. He hid his face in his father’s middle and sobbed, his whole body shaking.

“Edmond.” His father said weakly, voice full of relief and fear, love and sadness.

In that moment, Edmond wished for nothing more than his father’s arms around him. It had been over a year since he’d seen his father – over a year since he had been forced to flee his home, even as his father still fought for it. Edmond just wanted one of his father’s hugs so he could believe everything would be alright, at least for a moment.

“Arthur.” His dad said, sounding broken. “I’m so sorry.”

Edmond turned his head enough to see his dad’s hands hovering over his father’s chest, like he wanted to hug him but wasn’t sure he could. His father grunted, pained, and Edmond loosened his grip. He felt his father move, leaning as far as he could into his dad’s hands.

“Shut up Merlin.” He whispered. “It’s not your fault, idiot.”

His dad laughed before he cut himself off with a sob. “Clotpole.”

Edmond found himself squished between his parents, his dad hugging the both of them. Edmond turned and grabbed his dad’s tunic, knuckles turning white as he held on as tightly as he could.

“Edmond.” A voice wheezed, barely there and full of pain, when Edmond had only ever heard it sound stern and sure.

Edmond turned his head to the other side. “Grandfather.”

He looked worse than his father. There wasn’t a part of him that wasn’t bruised or cut, and it looked like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. He seemed to be just barely conscious, fighting to stay awake as he dangled from his chains. Edmond wanted to run and hug him as well, but he was too far away, the chains around his wrists too short.

He settled instead for pushing back into his parents and closing his eyes, as if that could make everything horrible disappear.

///

Edmond startled awake to the sound of a door opening, and for just a moment he was confused. Then he tried to rub his eyes, and the sound of chains reached his ears. He stiffened, becoming aware of the arms around him, the feet pressing into the back of his legs. He blinked and followed the legs with his eyes, until he recognised his father standing above him.

He pushed himself out of hid dad’s arms and sat up straight, pressing back against his father, as he turned to where Caliban was stalking into the room.

Caliban glared at them all, silent, and the longer he stood there the more Edmond could feel fear clawing at his chest. His dad slipped in front of him, as if to hide him from Caliban’s eyes, and the man smirked.

“Get them up.”

Edmond struggled as arms grabbed him and pulled him forward. His dad was shoved after him, and a grunt of pain let Edmond know that his father had been released from his chains. He twisted back desperately, and just caught sight of his father being hauled to his feet and his grandfather dropping to the ground with a cry before he was roughly forced forward. A hand at the back of his head made sure he couldn’t turn again, and Edmond strained his ears for the slightest sound as he was lead out into the courtyard.

A large platform had been built in the centre of the courtyard, and a crowd had gathered to watch what was happening. They gasped upon seeing him, recognition lighting up their faces. Edmond did his best to keep his chin up as they forced him up the stairs of the platform. He was shoved onto his knees, his dad to his left and his father to his right. His grandfather collapsed beside his father a moment later, his whole body bowed in exhaustion.

Caliban appeared before them, dressed all in black with his staff glowing faintly in his hand. He smirked down at them before turning to the gathered people.

“People of Camelot!” He called, silencing the crowd instantly. “Before you kneels a man that is responsible for the deaths of thousands of innocent people. Twenty-seven years ago, Uther Pendragon started the Great Purge, and from that moment on, a terrible genocide of magic begun.”

Caliban paused and bowed his head for a moment, as if in mourning, but Edmond wasn’t fooled. He had seen Caliban storm the castle – had seen him cut down his own sorcerers when they refused to fight Emrys. Caliban cared not a bit for the innocents lost to the Great Purge, he only cared for power.

Power, and revenge.

“I swore to avenge all those we lost to the Tyrant King.” Caliban continued. “And so I took the kingdom of Camelot, and toppled the Tyrant from his throne.” He paused, and Edmond could hear the smirk on his face. “But it would not be enough to simply take down the Tyrant. To assure the Purge truly ends, once and for all, we must destroy all traces of the Pendragon line.”

Caliban turned, glaring at them all in turn. Edmond glared back, unflinching. Unexpectedly, Caliban smiled.

“Knelt before you are the last known remnants of that line.” A pause. “However, there is one more Pendragon. A bastard the Tyrant sired and hid from the world.” He stopped and looked directly at Edmond. “I’m sure you’re excited to see your aunt again, little prince.”

Edmond had just enough time to think again? before a black knight appeared from the direction of the dungeons, dragging a person along behind him. Edmond recognised Morgana in an instant. She looked filthy, like she had been in the dungeon for a long time, which made no sense to Edmond. The last he had heard, Morgana had been living with a group of Druids far to the south. She had been there for months before Caliban attacked, and his parents had been so sure no one would ever be able to find her.

Then what Caliban was saying hit him, and Edmond felt his jaw drop. He looked to his father and saw him glaring daggers at Caliban. His grandfather, however, was staring at Morgana with a look of such guilt and grief that Edmond immediately knew what Caliban had said was true.

Morgana was his aunt.

Caliban smirked as Morgana was shoved to her knees at his feet. Morgana glared back at him, chin up and eyes blazing. The people were whispering now, shocked and horrified in equal measure.

Morgana had always been popular with the people of Camelot.

“You’re a madman.” Morgana spat, heedless of rage burning in Caliban’s eyes. “Camelot will never bow to you.”

It made satisfaction burn hot in his gut, and he started to hope that perhaps they would make it out of this alive. Morgana had her magic after all, and she had to have learned something useful from the druids. She could save them.

Then Caliban’s hand shot out, quick as a snake, and pulled Morgana up by her hair. “Camelot will not only bow to me, but thank me for being given the opportunity.” He spat, spittle flying everywhere. “I will do more for this land than any Pendragon ever could.”

He threw Morgana away as he finished speaking, and Edmond cried out when her head slammed into the ground, though Morgana herself didn’t make a sound. She managed to push herself up just as a black knight stepped forward to drag her into the line, between his father and grandfather. Edmond tried to catch her eye, wanted to ask her a million questions, but the knight holding his shoulder jerked him backwards, forcing him to look towards Caliban.

Not fast enough. Edmond had seen the cold iron manacles around Morgana’s wrists – her magic was locked away, just like his dad’s.

The hope that had been building fizzed out in an instant.

“’Gana.” His father whispered, and got a sharp kick to his side in retaliation.

Caliban had to have been speaking, though what he had said Edmond couldn’t say. He had been too focused on Morgana, on his own building despair, that he hardly even noticed when the man stopped in his speech.

He did notice when Caliban turned towards them, a smirk on his face. He tried not to shrink back when his eyes focused on him. He tried to square his shoulders and lift his chin, but he could feel himself trembling, and knew he wasn’t fooling anyone.

Caliban’s smirk widened, and then his eyes slid to his dad. “We shall start with the traitor.”

“Leave Merlin out of this.” His father pleaded. “He has no Pendragon blood.”

“Perhaps not.” Caliban agreed, circling his dad. “But a Pendragon by marriage is still a Pendragon.”

His father’s face went blank. “We aren’t married.”

“And yet the Druids tell me differently.” He leaned close to his dad’s face, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I hear it was a beautiful ceremony. Iseldir was so very eager to share the details after some… persuasion.”

Anger flared in his dad’s eyes as he suddenly lurched forward, smashing his head into Caliban’s nose with a crack Edmond could hear from where he was kneeling. He had a moment of satisfaction where Caliban stumbled backwards, hands on his nose, before he rightened himself. Blood dripped from his nose, but one harsh word later and it was as if he had never been hurt in the first place.

“Yes.” Caliban growled. “We will start with you.”

Edmond felt true panic grip him as he watched a black knight step forward, axe in hand. Caliban stepped back, smirking once again. His dad struggled as he was brought forward, his head forced forward and neck bared with a spell. Caliban took the axe from the knight’s hand, giving him his staff in return, a murderous look in his eye.

“Edmond.” His father hissed. “Close your eyes.”

But Edmond couldn’t. He felt frozen, his heart pounding desperately in his ears as Caliban lifted the axe.

Edmond didn’t know many spells. His dad had taught him, during their long time on the road, the most basic spells he could. Edmond knew a spell to call any object he wished towards himself, and he knew how to cast a spell that would shove someone backwards, though he had never managed to do more than make someone stumble back a step. His dad had been trying to teach him a shielding spell, so he could protect himself, and then of course he had spent the month long march to Camelot trying and failing to cast the fire spell.

The only spell he could cast to any great effect, he realised, was the flower spell.

And it was probably a stupid, stupid idea, but Edmond had only one shot at this if he wanted to keep his magic free, and he had run out of time. It had to work.

Edmond threw his hand out in front of him, startling the black knight holding him, and focused solely on the axe as it swung downwards.

“Blóstma!”

Edmond watched in desperation as the axe lowered, slowly, towards his dad’s bared neck. He could feel eyes on him, and it would have bothered him, had he not been focusing so intently. As it was, he missed his family beside him staring in open shock, and, in his grandfather’s case, a little bit of horror.

Instead, he saw when green blossomed across the handle of the axe, when the blade turned a pure white, with just the barest of pinks marking the tips as the petals unfurled.

It collided harmlessly with his dad’s neck, the flower breaking off and falling to the floor.

He allowed himself a second of triumphant relief before he focused. He could see a ring of keys on Caliban’s belt, and he recognised instantly the one that had been used on the manacles locking his dad’s magic away. The black knights had teased them with it enough on their march to Camelot.

“Onbregdan!”

The spell, Edmond knew, was supposed to call the object to the caster. His dad had always told him to imagine pulling whenever he cast the spell, but that wasn’t what he wanted right now. The key pulled itself off of the hook on Caliban’s belt, and Edmond’s eyes immediately snapped to his dad. Whatever spell had been keeping him immobile had been broken, and as he caught Edmonds eye he reached out his hands.

Edmond imagined pushing, and the key flew through the air and into his dad’s hands.

“Stop him!” Caliban screeched.

Edmond wasn’t sure if he was talking about him or his dad, but it didn’t matter. The black knight behind him took that as his que to shove his gloved hand in Edmond’s mouth, effectively silencing him. The leather tasted horrible on his tongue, and he struggled uselessly against his hold.

Caliban turned back to his dad, and Edmond’s struggles doubled. He bit down, hard, but the black knight simply grunted. Then he kicked out with his foot, behind and up, and caught the knight in his most sensitive place, right where his armour and chainmail failed to protect him. He cried out and stumbled back, just for a second, and Edmond managed to spit his hand out and focus on Caliban again.

“Ástryce!”

The man had been bending forward, reaching for the key his dad was desperately trying to fit into the second cuff, and the small shove from Edmond’s spell was enough to send him staggering sideways, unbalanced. He fell heavily on his side, and several of the black knights rushed forward to aid him.

Edmond was yanked back, the horrid leather once again shoved in his mouth. He kicked out again, but the knight had learned, and his foot hit empty air. The hand on his arm tightened painfully and Edmond fought against the tears gathering in his eyes. He couldn’t seem to get in enough air- his head felt dizzy, and the sound around him was muffled. He tried desperately to get air in through his nose, but nothing he did seemed to work.

And then Edmond’s dad looked up, and his eyes were glowing a brilliant gold.

“Get your hands off of my son.”

A blast of magic swirled around him, and instantly the hands on him were ripped off. The magic continued to swirl around him, gentle and loving, and for the first time since the black knights had found them he felt safe.

“Emrys!” Caliban yelled, pure venom dripping from his voice.

Edmond tensed, but the magic immediately soothed him, and his dad smiled reassuringly at him.

Eyes still glowing gold, his dad waved a hand in front of him. “Tóspringe.”

Edmond heard several clicks, and then the shackles around his hands fell. He turned away from where his dad was raising his hands at Caliban. He knew his dad – he would not lose, not this time. Every sorcerer that had once been apart of his army had long left him, either dead or disgusted with Caliban’s murder of their kin. That left only the black knights, who all seemed to know nothing about magic, and Caliban himself.

And Caliban alone was no match for his dad.

“Father.” He whimpered, crawling the short distance to where his father was slumped on the ground.

He rested his hand gently on his father’s shoulder, unsure, and sobbed when his father grunted and pushed himself upwards. His father stared at him for a moment, scanning him for injuries, and then he was pulled forward and into his arms.

“Edmond.” His father sighed, relieved.

Edmond clung to his father, face buried in his neck and tears dripping onto his father’s bare chest. His father ran a hand through his hair, soothing, as shouts and the sound of fighting surrounded them. His grandfather’s voice, rough and exhausted, caught his attention as his tears slowed.

“Morgana.” He whispered, and Edmond knew his grandfather well enough to know when he was giving a silent apology.

“Don’t-“ Morgana growled, and Edmond knew she was furious. “We will talk later. Not now.”

And without another word she helped him to stand, his whole weight leaning on her as he groaned. She glanced around wildly and caught Edmond’s eye. Her expression immediately softened.

“Arthur!” She called, and his father startled, turning around with a grunt. “Come on.”

His father turning had left Edmond with a clear view of the rest of the courtyard. The people of the lower town had left the instant Caliban had started throwing magic around, and Edmond was glad. The last thing any of them wanted was innocent people getting caught up in the fighting. The black knights, too, were mostly staying clear of the fighting.

And in the centre of it all was his dad, a golden shield protecting him against a giant fireball.

Edmond gasped as the fireball dissipated with a bang. His dad stumbled backwards, his shield falling, and Edmond squeezed his father tightly. A second later a hand pressed his face down into his father’s neck, effectively blocking his vision from the fighting. He felt his father stand, and tried to struggled out of his grip, aware of the pain he must have been in, but his father simply held him tighter.

So Edmond let himself cling to his father, his eyes squeezed shut.

The rumbled of thunder rolled through him and a second later the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Something flashed, bright enough that he could see it through his eyelids, and someone screamed. He tried to lift his head, but his father pressed him down, unrelenting. He wanted to see, desperately, to check that his dad was okay, but even weakened his father was strong.

Then, suddenly, he was set down. He instinctively reached for his father, despite knowing he was too old to be carried and his father far too hurt, but selfishly wanting to be carried anyway. His father pulled him against his side instead, though it felt more like he was leaning on him rather than hugging him.

“We need to get them somewhere safe.” His father whispered.

“Caliban’s knights are everywhere Arthur.” Morgana shook her head. “Nowhere is safe. Not for us.”

Edmond felt panic claw at his throat at her words and quickly glanced around. They’d made it off of the platform and away from the centre of the courtyard, all the way to the stairs that lead into the castle. They were hiding out of sight of the fighting, but Edmond could still hear spells being flung back and forth, and he knew it was only a matter of time before someone found them.

Then Edmond saw the black armoured bodies littering the ground behind them, and the bloody sword in Morgana’s hand, and thought perhaps they already had.

It took a few moments before he realised what his father was saying. He pulled away with a frown.

“I’m not running away again.”

His father grimaced. “Edmond-“

“No!” He whisper-yelled, just barely resisting the urge to stop his foot. “I’m not leaving you again.”

“It’s too dangerous.”

“The safest place is next to dad.” Edmond said, crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s what you told me. Dad will protect us.”

“Merlin’s fighting Caliban.” Morgana rebutted gently. “He can’t protect us at the same time Edmond.”

As if to prove her point, thunder rumbled across the sky and several strikes of lightning hit the courtyard. Silence followed, the silence of a battle suddenly over, and Edmond’s heart started racing in his chest. Despite all his earlier confidence, he knew how weakened his dad had become while in the manacles, how strong Caliban was, especially with his staff. His dad could have lost just as easily as he could have won.

He ran back out to the courtyard before anyone could stop him.

He heard several curses behind him, and the call of his name, but he ignored it. The battle was over, and Edmond had to see, he had to. He had to know who had won- if his dad had won.

Heaving for breath and more terrified than ever, he finally stumbled to a stop at the base of the now ruined platform. Charred spots littered the ground, some of them still smoking. Some of them weren’t the ground at all, but the broken remains of pure black armour, the corpses within charred beyond recognition. Edmond tried not to look at those. Instead, he focused on the last place he had seen his dad and Caliban fighting.

And saw his dad standing tall, eyes still a bright gold, an unmoving Caliban at his feet.

Then his dad stumbled, his eyes flickering back to blue, a relieved grin splitting his face. He stepped over Caliban’s body, not even bothering to send him a glance, and surveyed the courtyard. Edmond didn’t wait for him to notice him standing there – he ran forward, scrambling up the stairs and rushing forward as fast as he could. He heard Morgana call his name, but he ignored her and leapt into his dad’s waiting arms.

“You did it.” He sobbed out, surprised at the tears falling down his cheek.

“No Edmond.” His dad murmured, hugging him tightly. “We did it. You saved us.”

Edmond sniffed, trying to reign in his tears. He let his dad hold him as the rest of his family joined them, and then suddenly another pair of arms wrapped around them. His father pressed a kiss to the top of his head and Edmond grabbed his hand in return. He grabbed his dad’s hand too and pulled the both of them to his chest, silently wishing he could just stay here and never let go.

“He’s dead?” He heard his father whisper.

His dad nodded, relieved. “He is. We’re safe.”

Edmond could feel his father shaking. He gripped his hand tighter and squeezed his eyes shut, hoping it might help and not sure if it would. He heard someone’s breath hitch, and then his father shifted and a third hand wrapped around where Edmond was gripping his parents. He opened his eyes and saw Morgana, smiling through her tears. He smiled back at her, small and weak, but there.

And then his grandfather was there too, standing back but smiling in relief. It was the gentlest he could ever remember his grandfather looking, no kingly mask in place. It made a hundred emotions rise in his chest, to be surrounded by his family again. He sighed and closed his eyes once more, fully relaxing for the first time in over a year.

///

Edmond shifted impatiently from foot to foot as he waited at the top of the castle stairs. His grandfather would scold him if he were here, but this was hardly an event grand enough for the king. More than that, Edmond had asked that this be a private greeting, just him and his parents.

A small cart pulled into the courtyard, newly restored after the battle four months ago, and Edmond almost yelled in delight. His father placed a hand on his shoulder, gently forcing him to be still. Edmond smiled sheepishly up at him before his eyes snapped back to the courtyard.

Then a girl jumped down from the cart, red hair spilling over her shoulders, green eyes wide with wonder as she looked all around her, and he couldn’t stop himself. He slipped out from his father’s grip, a grin lighting up his face as he ran to his friend.

“Melaine!”

Melaine’s eyes snapped to him, a hesitant smile curving her lips upward.

“Edmond!” Then her eyes flickered to her mother, and over his shoulder, at his parents, and she ducked her head down in a shallow bow. “I mean, Prince Edmond.”

Edmond shook his head immediately, his hands shooting out to grab her shoulders. “You don’t have to do that Melaine. We’re friends.”

Melaine rose her head, eyes impossibly wider. “You’d still be friends with me?”

“Of course!” He yelled, before he turned teasing. “Why else do you think I wrote to you, asking you to come here?”

“I don’t know.” Melaine giggled before looking down at her feet, suddenly nervous. “And the rumours? Has the magic ban truly been lifted?”

Edmond grinned and cupped his palms in front of him.

“Blóstma.”

Magic gathered in his fingertips as his eyes glowed golden. He heard Melaine gasp, along with her mother, and then his parents were there, talking, but that didn’t matter to Edmond. His smile grew as he followed Melaine’s eyes down.

And there, cupped delicately in his palms, was a small rose, its petals dyed a pink so light it was almost white, with just the smallest hint of Pendragon red in the centre.

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