[Third Person POV]
"PENDRAGON?!"
Both Nicholas and Perenelle exclaimed in unison, the word exploding out of them. Their shock was so great they instinctively sat up unable to contain their surprise, staring at Arthur as though the very air had been stolen from their lungs.
"As in Pendragon, Pendragon? King of Camelot, ruler of the once-mythical Britain, that Pendragon?" Nicholas demanded, his voice cracking with disbelief. He leaned closer, eyes narrowing as if sheer proximity might make the revelation any less impossible. "You mean… the bloodline of King Arthur himself?"
Perenelle, normally the calmer of the two, was no better. Her elegant hands fluttered, betraying the tremor she was trying to suppress. "As in the founder of the Knights of the Round Table Pendragon?" she pressed breathlessly. "The one who wielded the holy sword Excalibur? That Pendragon?!"
Arthur's lips twitched as though he were fighting the urge to laugh—or grimace. Beside him, Merlin covered her mouth, shoulders quivering as she tried and failed to hide her amusement.
"...Yes," Arthur finally admitted, the word escaping on a reluctant sigh. "He is my ancestor. And because of that lineage, I am now the sole surviving member and the current head of the House of Pendragon." He lowered his head slightly, a shadow of guilt passing over his features. "I am sorry for keeping this from you both. I thought it safer if the truth remained hidden, at least for a time."
Nicholas's jaw dropped. He fell back into his chair as if the revelation itself had force him down, "Are you kidding me?!" he burst out, running a hand down his face. "If I were in your shoes, I'd have buried that secret in the deepest vault on earth. Your name alone could shake the political order to its core. We're talking wars breaking out overnight, assassination attempts, factions clawing for control over you—chaos of every kind."
"Nick!" Perenelle scolded sharply, giving her husband a swift tap on the arm. "Mind your words! Do you want Arthur trembling at his own shadow"
Nicholas winced, his expression softening with a hint of regret. "Right, right. My apologies, Arthur," he said, though his wide-eyed stare betrayed that he was still trying to comprehend the revelation. "It's just… whoa. I'm honestly at a complete loss for words."
Arthur chuckled, raising a hand in a small gesture of reassurance. "It's fine. I understand the reaction. And truthfully, it's not as though I haven't thought of all those consequences myself. The name Pendragon carries power, influence… and danger. That is one of the many reasons as to why I chose to live under an alias for so long."
Perenelle studied him carefully, her maternal instincts prickling even as he maintained a composed façade. Beneath the steady voice and polite smile, she sensed the faint but unmistakable tension in his posture. "Arthur," she said gently, "you did the right thing. Truly. It speaks volumes that you trust us enough to share something so monumental."
Nicholas nodded in agreement, though his mind was still spinning. As he turned his gaze toward Merlin, another realization slowly began to dawn on him. He blinked once, then twice. "Wait… hold on. Your name. Merlin. Don't tell me—are you… are you by any chance a descendant of the original Merlin?"
Perenelle's head whipped toward the sorceress, eyes widening as the question settled in the air. It made a certain unsettling sense.
"Nah," Merlin said with an airy laugh, waving a hand as though brushing the thought aside.
Both Nicholas and Perenelle released the breath they had been holding, a strange cocktail of relief and disappointment washing over them. One legendary bloodline in the room was more than enough for anyone's nerves.
"I'm the real deal," Merlin added casually, flashing a playful peace sign before puckering her lips in mock flirtation.
"HUH—WHAT?! COME AGAIN " Nicholas and Perenelle nearly choked on their own voices, the words coming out as strangled cries of disbelief.
"No thanks, once is enough," Merlin said with a mischievous grin, raising her hand toward Arthur in an exaggerated gesture of victory. "Ayo! High five!"
Arthur snorted despite himself and slapped her hand, the sound sharp in the stunned silence that followed.
Nicholas and Perenelle remained frozen, their minds barely keeping pace with the revelations piling on top of each other.
"W-what… what do you mean you're the real deal?" Perenelle finally managed, her voice trembling as she clutched the edge of her seat.
"It's exactly what you heard." Merlin's grin widened as she gave a lazy shrug. With a flick of her wrist, a ripple of magic shimmered through the room—and in an instant, the youthful little girl was gone.
Standing in her place was a tall, robed figure with a long grey beard that flowed like silver mist, eyes gleaming with ancient knowledge and a touch of wicked amusement.
Arthur's breath caught. He stared at the transformed figure, words dying on his lips as a storm of emotions surged through him—reverence, disbelief, and an odd, aching familiarity. "Merlin…" he whispered, his voice thick with something unspoken.
"Ah, that's right," the ancient sorcerer said with a sly twinkle, his voice rich and deep. "This is the first time you've seen me in this form, isn't it?"
She stood up and started looking at Arthur with a perverse expression, panting heavily with lust in her eyes, "What a pretty boy you are…" She breathed, licking her lips all over until they were wet with saliva, "Makes me just want to eat right up"
Arthur visibly cringed and gave an involuntary shudder, the playful light that had flickered in his eyes only moments ago snuffed out. His earlier warmth hardened into an icy, almost regal chill. "Change back," he said flatly, his voice dropping into a monotone that cut through the air like a blade. His gaze, sharp and cold, fixed on Merlin with the kind of authority that brooked no argument.
"Eh…?" Merlin blinked, momentarily stunned by the complete one-eighty in his demeanor. Just a moment ago he had been smiling, now his eyes were devoid of emotion.
"I said… Change. Back." Each word was crisp, deliberate, and final. Arthur's eyes flared with a faint, unnerving glow as he leaned forward ever so slightly. "I will not repeat myself, Merlin."
A faint tremor coursed through Merlin's body. For someone who had lived centuries and faced down kings, demons, and gods, it was rare for her to feel… small. Yet something in Arthur's voice sent an unexpected shiver down her spine. Slowly, almost sheepishly, she raised her hands and dispelled the glamour. The towering old man dissolved in a shimmer of light, revealing once more the petite, youthful girl with mischief in her eyes.
"I… sorry," she murmured, looking down, her usual confidence cracked. The soft apology barely escaped her lips, but the faint pink blooming across her cheeks betrayed a far more complicated swirl of emotions. She hadn't heard Arthur speak with such commanding finality at her before. Against her better judgment, her heart gave an odd flutter that left her uncharacteristically unsettled.
Arthur exhaled through his nose and scoffed quietly, though his cold gaze lingered for a moment longer, making sure the transformation stayed undone. Across the room, Nicholas and Perenelle remained rooted to their seats, their minds struggling to catch up with what had just unfolded in their own living room. A descendant of King Arthur Pendragon and the actual legendary wizard Merlin—right here, having just eating lunch with them.
Nicholas finally found his voice, though it emerged as a tangled mess of half-formed words. "I… You… He—no, she—I don't… By Merlin's beard—wait, I mean your beard—no, that doesn't even—" He slapped a hand over his forehead and groaned. "I honestly don't know what to say anymore."
Perenelle pressed a hand to her temple and let out a breathless laugh that sounded more like a sigh. "I think I'm feeling light-headed…"
"I'll… I'll make tea," Nicholas muttered, pushing himself to his feet like a man moving through a dream, shuffling off toward the kitchen.
Arthur and Merlin exchanged a glance but wisely refrained from speaking. Neither wanted to overload the Flamels further. Silence settled in the room, heavy but oddly comforting, broken only by the distant rattle of teacups and the soft hiss of the kettle.
When Nicholas returned, balancing a tray with steaming mugs, the four of them settled into the living room. The simple ritual of sipping hot tea grounded the moment, and both Flamels looked visibly calmer, though the occasional twitch of an eyebrow betrayed the chaos still whirling behind their composed faces.
Nicholas cleared his throat and leaned forward. "So… Merlin, sir" he began carefully, "how come you're… uh… posing as a little girl? Is this just to keep Arthur company? A disguise for blending in?"
Merlin gave him a lopsided grin and a dismissive wave. "I'm not posing as anything. I am a girl—and I always have been. The old man you knew, the grand wizard of the legends, was merely a convenient mask. Back in the day, people equated age with wisdom and masculinity with authority. If you were a wizened male sorcerer, you were revered as a sage. But if you looked young and feminine? You were branded a wicked witch dabbling in dark arts." She shrugged with practiced nonchalance. "It was easier to wear a fake beard and let everyone call me a wise old man than fight centuries of stupidity."
Perenelle's eyes softened in understanding—perhaps more than anyone else in the room. "That makes sense," she said quietly, her voice tinged with a knowing sympathy. "Society can be cruel to women who refuse to fit its molds."
But then her curiosity sparked, and she leaned forward slightly. "What intrigues me more is your relationship with Arthur. Are you… bound to him somehow? Some ancient duty to protect the heirs of the Pendragon line?"
Merlin snorted, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Satan, no. Can you imagine how horrible that would be? Babysitting spoiled Pendragons for centuries? Ugh. My only task was to ensure the bloodline continued. That's it. And trust me, I've met more than a few of Arthur's ancestors who made me question whether it was worth the trouble at all."
Nicholas chuckled weakly, though his brow furrowed as another, heavier question formed. He set his mug down with a soft clink. "All right… let me preface this by saying you don't have to answer if it's too painful. Think of this as an old man's curiosity. But… Arthur—what exactly happened to your parents? How is it that you are the last surviving member of such a storied house?"
Arthur's shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly. He stared into his tea, watching the faint swirl of steam rise from the cup as though seeking answers within it. Finally, he let out a slow, weary sigh. "I don't mind sharing," he said quietly, his gaze distant, dissociating, as it made it easier to share.
As Arthur began to recount his tale Nicholas and Perenelle listened in stunned silence. With every word, their expressions shifted from curiosity to horror. Nicholas's normally genial face hardened, his jaw tightening with a deep, quiet fury at the injustice inflicted on someone so young. Perenelle pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, her eyes shimmering as tears threatened to spill.
When Arthur finally fell silent, the room seemed to hold its breath. Perenelle rose without a word, crossing the space between them in three swift steps. She sank down beside Arthur and wrapped her arms around him in a fierce, maternal embrace, her tears sliding freely down her cheeks.
Arthur gave a small, awkward smile, clearly already anticipating such a reaction. But he didn't pull away. Instead, he allowed himself—just for a fleeting moment—to lean into the warmth of her embrace.
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