Merlin Headcanons

Albion

The five greater kingdoms of Albion, Nemeth, Camelot, Caerleon, Escetia, and Lot's kingdom, were not alone. Numerous smaller kingdoms, ruled by Olaf, Elena, Bayard, and others, dotted the landscape.

When Cenred died, Lot claimed a large chunk of his kingdom and turned covetous eyes to Caerleon and Nemeth. Smaller kingdoms expanded as they could. Caerleon grabbed most of what remained although Camelot, under Arthur, claimed just enough to straighten its border along the White Mountains.

Yes, this meant Ealdor was now part of Camelot. Yes, it meant Arthur could now send patrols there. But the same went for a number of other villages. There was no significance to the act whatsoever.

Caerleon died. Annis took his place. Lot tested her.

Lot retreated to nurse his bloodied nose. In more ways than one.

The smaller kingdoms fell to infighting. When King Olaf died, Vivian appealed to Camelot for help. Arthur would have been happy to send men in exchange for a reaffirmation of the treaty, but Vivian had neither the talent nor the inclination to rule. She surrendered her lands to Arthur without being asked and demoted herself to "Lady". It was probably for the best.

Elena, similarly threatened, also had to fight against Morgana. Through a series of treaties, a similar deal was reached. The invading kingdom was crushed and conquered quickly.

The remaining kingdom turned on Bayard and killed him. In accordance with the treaty, Arthur stepped in. (That treaty had cost them far too much to be ignored, thank you very much. And there was a reason Arthur had made sure no drinks were served during the recent treaty signings.)

The smaller kingdoms had been swallowed up. Normally, history would view this as a bad thing.

But then, normally the new peoples were oppressed. Normally, the new empire wasn't Albion.

Lot felt threatened. He'd learned his lesson with Annis, but Nemeth . . .

Rodor was dead. He had been old and sick. Mithian was a strong queen, but her lords refused to accept her. It was a sign of her skill that she'd held them together this long.

. . . . . .

The candle burned low at her desk. The papers from her spies were still stacked too deeply to even think of rest tonight.

She rubbed her eyes tiredly. She'd stretched the marriage game for as long as she could. The lords were getting impatient. She'd either have to marry one of them or drop the pretense.

Mithian wasn't holding out for love. Her kingdom came first, now and always. She'd marry any of them in a heartbeat, no matter how old or disgusting, if she thought there was a one of them who wouldn't just make the situation worse.

If only Arthur . . . Well, he was married now. It wasn't as if she'd loved him, either, but he had been her age and good looking. She'd liked him, and he was an excellent ruler. Her lords would have accepted him. As far as political marriages went, it didn't get much better than that.

The curtains stirred in the breeze.

Her window hadn't been open.

Silently, she drew a dagger from her skirt. Thsi wouldn't be the first attempt on her life, and she was determined it wouldn't be the last. She stood and walked towards the fire as if deep in thought.

Then she whirled, blade raised. It clashed against another with enough force that it went flying out of her hand. She screamed for her guards, only to find her voice trapped in her throat.

A slender man in a black cloak stood before her, hand outstretched. THe hand holding the knife - the left one - had lowered.

"Peace, your highness. I came only to bear a message."