a/n : - Here is the new and final full chapter! I really hope you enjoy.

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To His Highness, King Clay of Camelot:

I received your letter this morning and have sat down to write a response immediately, which I hope does not too much betray my eagerness. I was glad to hear from you, glad to hear that your friend was recovered safely, and above all, glad to know that we have made an ally in you and in Camelot.

Your words regarding Tommy were either far too polite, or otherwise served as confirmation of a long-held suspicion of mine that he reserves his worst for me and me alone. I'm sure he managed to torment you in one way or another, but I am relieved his plan to waltz in the front doors and persuade you of his good intentions actually worked. I was half expecting him to be executed on the spot – a feat I still haven't managed and would have hardly blamed you for.

I want to be of use to you in the coming conflict, though I think I should make my intentions perfectly clear. I do not consider myself a traitor to Mercia herself, for the Mercia I know disappeared some time ago. It has been taken over by the Circle – a group that has turned Mercia into an unrecognizable shadow of her former self. They are using Mercia as a machine for war, searching for conflict that need not exist.

I wish to help you defeat them, but I will not be party to a type of reciprocal conquest. By the end of this conflict, I hope to restore Mercia to her former self – as her own nation. I also hope to end this war with as few casualties as possible, as I believe you and I both understand that the men people like us conscript to fight our wars – the men who have no power or wealth to gain through the outcome – are yet the most likely to die in battle. I have no interest in needlessly slaughtering my countrymen.

If this aim is agreeable to you, I look forward to your next letter, and will keep you informed of any useful information to which I am made privy.

In solidarity,

Lord Wilbur of Mercia.

The war almost didn't feel real – like a relic from a time before Dream finally knew about George. But it was still coming, as steadily as the spring breeze that swept through the open window. And it gave George a similar chill as he moved to shut the window firmly against the wind.

He had never noticed how drafty Dream's room could be until he spent the remainder of his recovery there – a process which only took a few days, thanks to his gran's healing magic, which he no longer had to hide. Each day, Dream had returned from his war meetings later and later in the evening, looking harried and anxious. And George knew it was time for him to return to the war effort.

Still. Easier said than done. Especially when considering what returning actually meant for George now.

His anxiety getting the better of him, George turned around and said, "We don't have to do this, you know."

"I think we do," Dream said, coming out from behind the partition. He was wearing some of his finest robes, his red cloak pinned around his neck, his crown resting on his head in preparation for the war council meeting. He looked handsome, the sun lighting up the colors of his robes and glinting against his green eyes. George glanced away in mild embarrassment, still having a hard time believing that he was allowed to do this: to look at Dream this way, to touch him, if he wanted to.

"I could just keep helping from the background," George said, as Dream walked up to him, reaching out a hand to fix the collar of George's simple blue shirt. "Nobody else has to know."

"What are you afraid of?" Dream asked, searching George's face.

George bit the inside of his cheek. "I just know they're not going to like it," he said. "At least, not all of them. I don't want you to have to deal with more problems on my behalf."

"This is worth it," Dream said firmly. "Everyone needs to know about what you've done, George, and who you are. And they need to know that my father was wrong about magic. That things are going to be different."

His quiet self-assurance fortified George, not for the first time, and he nodded.

Then Dream said, "No more secrets. Not with other people, and especially not with each other. Okay?"

George met Dream's gaze and saw the sincerity there. He nodded, hoping that his honesty was coming through as clearly as he said, "No more secrets."

"Attacks from Mercia have all but stopped in recent days," Eret said, gesturing towards the map of Camelot still spread across the large round table. Around it stood every Knight of Camelot and a few advisors Dream had retained from his father's council. At Dream's side stood George, feeling entirely out of place. "The skirmishes at our borders, the attacks on villages – they've all halted."

"Maybe they're realizing they can't win," Ponk said, crossing his arms.

"I don't see why they would think that," Bad said, peering through his glasses. "Considering we haven't actually won any battles yet."

"Maybe they were set back when we attacked?" Sapnap asked with a shrug.

"But we didn't actually do that much, except for getting George out," Dream said, and George felt several gazes suddenly stab into him, like he was an insect being pinned against a board. He fought to hold himself steady. He knew several members of the council held private doubts about why the king had endangered himself to save his servant. They were probably even less pleased to see him at a war council.

"So it's unlikely they're retreating," Eret said, his mouth pressing into a thin line. "Maybe... it's just the opposite. They're pooling their troops, getting ready for one major attack."

"I think you're exactly right," Dream said, his forehead creasing slightly. "They know that they can't keep picking away at us forever. If they're really trying to take over, they'll launch a full assault directly on the castle. They'll try to overwhelm us."

"Well, if our battles keep going the way they have been... they'll probably win," said Ponk, his voice heavy.

There was a moment of solemn silence as the knights stared down the reality of their situation. Dream looked at George, who nodded. Now or never.

"This battle won't be like the others," Dream said calmly, his voice ringing with characteristic self-confidence. He looked up at each person standing around the table. "This time, we'll have magic, too."

The words clearly shocked the gathered group; a few of them started to murmur amongst themselves, while others just stared uncomprehendingly at Dream. George made eye contact with Sapnap, who raised his eyebrows in anticipation.

"There's something you need to know," Dream said. George felt his hand on his shoulder, and then he felt the gazes of the council pierce him even sharper than before. "Many of you know George as my servant. But he's much more than that. George is a sorcerer - a powerful one. And he's going to help us defeat Mercia."

There was a moment of shocked silence, and George braced himself for their reactions. Despite his knowledge – that he was in the right, that he was here to help, that Dream stood behind him – it took everything within him not to shrink from the situation, from standing up to a group full of nobility, a group that, very recently, had served King Daniel.

"George has magic?" Eret asked, his eyes wide.

"I do," George said.

"And he's used it to save my life many times," Dream said. "Now, he's going to help save Camelot, too."

"King Clay," said a man named Elric, an older nobleman who had served many years in Daniel's court. He had graying hair and wrinkles around his eyes, which narrowed angrily as he took a step forward. "With all due respect, this is an outlandish proposition."

"How so?" Dream asked.

"Magic is the thing that threatens Camelot most, and your servant is no exception," Elric said with distaste, sending George a disgusted glance. "If he is a sorcerer, then he is no hero. He is a traitor!"

George took a breath, preparing to defend himself, but Dream was speaking before he could find the words.

"I know very well what my father thought of magic," Dream said, and the murmurs in the room went quiet. "It took me many years to understand how wrong he was. Magic is not inherently evil. And neither are sorcerers. George has been using his magic in service to Camelot for many years. He has a gift – a gift that will help us survive this onslaught."

"Magic has been outlawed in Camelot for decades, and for good reason, Your Highness," Elric argued. "You cannot make an exception just for your servant."

"Actually, I agree," Dream said, and George jerked his head to look at him. "Which is why, starting today, magic will no longer be outlawed in Camelot."

It was –

It was shocking, at first, a flood of surprise washing over George, and then there was just pure joy, a warm, light feeling that suddenly consumed him. He fought to keep his reaction from reaching his face as he just stared at Dream, whose face was determined, the afternoon sun glinting softly off of his crown. He was beautiful and – and so Dream in that moment.

He was everything George knew he could be, all along.

"Clay," Elric exclaimed indignantly, as surprised whispers broke out again among the gathered group. "You can't be -,"

"I understand that you may need time and answers to your questions," Dream said. "Lord knows I needed both before I saw why I was wrong. You, each of you, are allowed to question this decision, but you must do so with the intention of understanding why I am making it. If you cannot reconcile yourself to the idea of magic in Camelot, then you must excuse yourself from my court."

The words resounded. Elric looked downright furious, his face going red. Several of King Daniel's former advisors looked similarly unsure, although George thought the faces of the knights, who knew both Dream and George, looked significantly less disturbed – more surprised than anything.

"George," Dream said, and George turned to him. "Tell them what you can do to help."

George stepped up to the table, and although his heart still raced, Dream's steadfast presence at his side calmed him as he spoke. "There are many protective spells I can place around the castle," he explained. "These will make it harder for the Mercian sorcerers to attack the battlements. I can also enchant your armor and weapons, to help them withstand the Mercian's enchantments."

"You can?" asked Ponk, and George was gratified to hear the knight's tone held more wonder than fear. "That's been – that would be an enormous help to us."

"I wish I could have done it sooner," George said, and Ponk nodded slowly in understanding.

"Do you – can you heal the injured?" asked Eret, stumbling a little, as though he wasn't sure what he was allowed to ask.

"Healing magic is difficult," George said, "but not impossible. We – my grandmother and I, can prepare healing poultices with magic properties in advance. But it's not an instant process."

Eret nodded, his eyebrows furrowing in thought.

"I'll fight with you during battle, as well," George continued, looking around the table. "But there's only so much I can do. I'm only one person."

"George," said Dream, touching him lightly at the elbow. "Tell them about the – the light."

That took George aback. "The light."

"It seemed to make you incredibly powerful," Dream said. "Can you summon it on command?"

"No," George said, surprised by this line of questioning. They hadn't discussed this previously, and talking about it in front of other people felt suddenly vulnerable – like an invasion of privacy. "It's – I've never summoned it intentionally. It just sort of... happens."

"What are they talking about?" Ponk muttered to Sapnap, and George heard Sapnap respond, "I've seen it before. It's a sort of power that overtakes George. He's done some pretty amazing things with it. He saved Clay's life."

"But what is it?" Ponk repeated, turning to George.

"I... I still don't quite know," George said honestly, though Minx's words rang distantly in his head. Her words were a lead, a clue to a mystery he had spent years unable to solve. "But I can try to figure it out."

"I think you should," Dream said. "If we can find a way to – to harness that power, to control it – I bet you'd be able to single-handedly push back the Mercians."

Hearing the light described as a tool to be used felt wrong, somehow, to George, but he didn't say so. Dream had no way of knowing how personal the light felt to him; how intrinsic, on a molecular level. And he was right, anyway. If George could figure out how to summon it, control it – to not rely on it swooping in at the last second, but to deploy it strategically – then they could feel confident going into battle.

"I'll find a way to summon it," he promised, and Dream nodded, giving him a smile.

This topic of conversation quickly became very interesting to the other knights, who spent the rest of the council meeting quizzing George over the boundaries and extent of his magic; what he could do, exactly, and how much time he would need. If their suspicion about the coming battle was correct, it could happen at any time: in a matter of days, or even hours. George started to feel his head spin with the list of things that needed to be done, but he set his shoulders and listened resolutely, thinking through the best way to expend his energy and finish as many tasks as possible to fortify Camelot.

They talked well into the evening before Dream ended the meeting, ensuring everyone understood what they needed to do to help the effort. George was making his way towards the door, talking excitedly with Bad and Sapnap, when he saw Elric stop Dream.

"May I request a private word, Your Highness?" he muttered, and George turned his head sharply, seeing a shadow cross over Dream's face.

"You may," Dream said, and waved the other three on.

They lingered outside the Great Hall for a few minutes, discussing the best way to start fortifying the castle walls, when the doors suddenly flew open. Elric stalked directly towards George, his face alight with anger, and forced George to take a startled step back as he shoved a finger in his face.

"You are a traitorous snake," Elric hissed. "I will not allow you to corrupt King Clay any further."

"You're wrong," George responded, his pulse jumping, as Bad and Sapnap stepped to his side. "I am loyal to Clay and Camelot."

"You may have the king fooled, but I see through you," Elric said, his eyes narrowing. "If I have to take care of you myself, I will."

The sound of a sword unsheathing stopped him, and Dream paced out of the Hall, holding Excalibur at his side.

"There is a limit to my patience, Elric," Dream said, his expression stony. "And you just found it."

Elric swallowed hard and took a few steps back. "Your Highness -,"

"Let me be clear," Dream cut him off. "Any action against George is an action against the crown. He has my trust and is under my protection. Do you understand me?"

Elric clenched his jaw. "I will not stand by and watch you destroy Camelot."

Dream sighed and shook his head. "Leave Camelot tonight, Elric. You will retain your title, but you can no longer serve on my council."

Elric's eyes widened. "Clay -,"

"My decision is final," Dream said, and then motioned George, Sapnap and Bad to follow him as he walked away.

"Your father would be ashamed of you," Elric called after them bitterly, and George saw Dream's shoulders stiffen.

Quietly, so that only George could hear, Dream muttered: "Maybe he would."

To King Clay:

Your last letter surmised the situation in Mercia precisely. The lack of attacks in recent weeks is not for a lack of resources or desire, but instead reflects a tactical maneuver. The Circle is planning a full assault on Camelot soon. And they will bring every weapon, spell, and set of hands they can to that battle. Unfortunately, I have not been told exactly when the assault will take place; the Circle keeps me at arm's length, as they do for all non-magic nobility. The attack could be within weeks, days, or hours. I wish I could provide you with more certainty.

I was surprised, but happy, to hear of the shift in attitude towards magic in Camelot. I hope this means your friend, the sorcerer, will be able to aid in your war efforts.

I will write again, immediately, if I am to catch wind of the timing of the coming invasion.

In solidarity,

Lord Wilbur of Mercia.

In all their years of knowing each other, Dream had never seen George so busy. Or so... happy.

He had a different kind of spirit about him, now, as he rushed around the castle, helping wherever he could with the war preparations that were now consuming the entire city. George spent hours enchanting the newly-forged weapons from the blacksmith, putting protections over armor, and casting wards over the castle battlements, strange words falling from his mouth as easily and naturally as his native language.

Dream had never noticed that George had been somewhat muted, somewhat guarded, until he saw the guard fall: saw the absolute light in George's eyes as he talked about new spells and tactics to try. He cast spells in the kitchens so that bread baked faster, and helped them stock shelves with little more than a flick of his wrist. When the sun set and it became too dark to work outside, George wordlessly created lights that hovered in the air and allowed work to continue.

He was amazing. And it became clear that he didn't need any help to do what he should, rightfully, have been doing all along. So mostly, Dream left George to his own devices, consumed enough with his own preparations: calling upon every lord in his kingdom to join the cause; coordinating shipments of supplies and rations; and finding places for the most vulnerable citizens of Camelot to take refuge, for the time being.