#omg this is incredible

arthursknight:

when he’s young– not yet old enough to recognize the hate in his father’s eyes for what it is, but old enough that he no longer has reason to sleep in the antechamber of his father’s quarters– arthur sneaks out.

he’s small, and his arms are weak little twigs trying their best to give way to sinewy muscle, and his voice hasn’t dropped, and yet his father’s men still look at him and see a king.

it’s probably why, then, one of them lets him into the lower part of the castle.

“you are not supposed to be here, arthur,” he tells him, even as the door swings open. “it’s far past your bedtime, and besides, you have your training in the morning.”

arthur sets his tiny jaw, raises an eyebrow like he’s seen gaius do before, and the guard just chuckles. “be back in ten minutes, and i won’t tell your father.”

he descends down the stairs, past old catacombs. the torch he’s holding is almost too heavy. he has to hold it with two hands, and the fire is bright and warm and too close.

when he finds the cave, his heart drops.

this is where, he thinks, his father keeps the great dragon. but it’s empty, hollow, the sound of water dripping from stalactites the only sound.

“show yourself,” he commands. it comes out more like a squeak.

the rustling of wings comes moments later. sitting in front of him, with molten eyes and leathery scales, is the scariest thing he’s ever seen. and it chuckles at him.

“hello, my king,” kilgharrah crooks.

“i am not the king,” arthur says. “what, you don’t remember who imprisoned you?”

the dragon just laughs.

“you will do well to remember this, boy.” he tilts his head, eyes squinting as he looks at him. “your time has not yet come to pass. but when the moment is right, you will find your destiny.”

arthur frowns. “i know i am to become king.”

the dragon’s face is twisted in a caricature of amusement. “i did not mean your rule, young prince. you will know when you find him.”

“him?” arthur calls out, as the dragon flaps his wings, disappears into the cave’s depths.

it’s then that he remembers the guard awaiting him. it’s then that the warning bell sounds. arthur is missing from his chambers.

somewhere, between the resulting punishment by the hand of his father and the repeated image of flames on a pyre, arthur wills himself to forget the night he snuck out into the castle’s depths. what do creatures of magic know, after all?

and then.

then, he’s old enough that his teeth have sharpened, his hands have calloused around where they hold swords and torches. then, he’s too young to die, not old enough to have lived, and there’s a dagger being thrown at him from the hands of a grieving sorcerer’s mother, straight to his heart–

you will know when you find him, the dragon had said.

when he looks up into the blue eyes of the boy who just saved his life, the very one he had fought in the marketplace, the same one he had thrown in jail–

shit, he thinks.he can’t tear his eyes away.