son of the earth, the sea, the sky

(OOC: I did!! However, with the all the holidays around this time of year, and with all the other asks I’ve received since then, it genuinely just slipped my mind to respond, and the message itself fell to the very bottom of my inbox. 

“Oh,” Merlin winced--he still remembered the winter he had broken three bones in his wrist from his own tumbles in the snow, “yeah, that sounds pretty bad. Do you want me to take a look at it?” He knew, if he didn’t get back to the training field in the minute or two, Arthur would likely toss him in the stocks for the rest of the day, but he just couldn’t leave Elyan alone and hurt when he knew he could help.

“Gwaine,” Merlin rolled his eyes, “everybody here is your friend! The whole kingdom is your friend! You’ve gone out for a drink with practically every citizen in Camelot at least once. You certainly don’t need me.” And wasn’t that a nice way to put it.

Merlin certainly didn’t screech out loud in the middle of the courtyard--but, if he did, which he didn’t, but if he had, well, it would have been absolutely valid and justified and warranted, and all the other big important words Gaius used that also meant valid, because who the actual hell comes running up behind an innocent and hardworking who just wants to get on with his chores and stuffs snow down the back of aforementioned innocent and hardworking servant’s tunic like an absolute dollophead--? 

“Leon?!” Merlin shouted, a little bit incredulously--he had expected Gwaine, or Arthur, or even Cor from the castle kitchens, or Samuel from the stables, but Sir Leon? All right, that was it. He didn’t have all day to stand ’round and frolic about in the snow--and why would he, it was absolutely miserable out here, all cold and wet--but he did have the time to teach Leon a little lesson at least. After a quick, cautious glance around the courtyard, Merlin threw out a little burst of magic, and sent a snowball sailing straight for the back of Leon’s curly head. Goddess knew the man deserved it. 

It would be a lie for Merlin to try and say he had never thought about the dragonlord side of his family, the dragonlord side of himself--the fierce and wild roar in his chest as he shouted in the harsh and guttural tongue of the creature, the bits and pieces he picked up from Kilgharrah’s mind, even when he didn’t want to, even when he didn’t mean to, the way he could feel the things Kilgharrah felt, and the empty hole inside of him where all his hopes and all his dreams about his father used to be. 

So he had just pushed it out of his mind, just swallowed all the words he never got to say, just shut up all the questions he never got to ask, away inside of him. But now, Balinor stared expectantly back at him from the other side of the table, and maybe, now, he could finally--

“Not--” Merlin shook his head, “--not much. The--um--the power is passed from the--from the father,” he tripped, a little, over the word, and he really hoped Balinor didn’t hear it, “to the oldest son. The dragonlords have a sworn duty to protect every dragon alive. The dragon eggs can live for a thousand years. Only a dragonlord can call a dragon from the egg. “That’s--” Merlin shrugged, “--that’s all I really know.” 

Merlin scowled down at Gwaine. He already had quite enough to get on with right now, and he certainly didn’t need a lap full of a very drunk knight to get in his way. “How hard it is to be you,” he said, dryly, and tried to push Gwaine’s head back off his knees. “Get off, will you? Go bother Leon. Or Elyan. Or both.” 

Merlin slipped and slid and skidded through the door on a trail of snow and ice still stuck to the soles of his boots, and leaned, with a heavy sigh, against the door to shut it. At least he could get half a moment in the warm chamber, even if he would have to dash right back outside again to see to Arthur--he really didn’t understand why the prat couldn’t just whack a squire about the head instead of him, because this was absolutely not part of a servant’s duties, at all--

“Elyan?” Merlin pushed off the door, a little bit unsteadily, with another stumble on the slick stream of sleet. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be on the training field? With the rest of the knights?”  

Oh, it’s beautiful, but how on earth did you get those--those lights--are they candles? That might not be the best idea--Gaius calls candles in trees a “fire hazard”.... 

Oh! Well, thank you! A wonderful Yuletide to you, too!