Chapter One
The Worst Day
He sighed. Being immortal was not all it was cracked up to be. It had been over 500 years. His arms bore the signs of long years of depression and self-harm.
There had been a few good years in there, too, but mostly bad. He had seen all those he cared about—all his friends, and even his own mother—go to their graves. The only one he still had was the White Dragon.
After everyone was gone, he attempted to find the White Dragon. He finally found her dying in a cave. He used his Dragon Lord power to heal her wounds, and even to restore her ability to grow properly. He then spent many years teaching her how to speak, and refreshing her memory of the Old Religion.
Finally, Aithusa was the Great White Dragon that she was meant to be. She, like him, would now be immortal. Because of this, she remained on the Isle of the Blessed and only ventured out across Lake Avalon and night.
The Dragon Lord visited her once a month. She always looked forward to his visits, and would often give him a ride across the lake. However, she knew he came to Lake Avalon once a month to see someone else, as well.
Every month, he sailed out into the middle of the lake and peered down in the water hoping to see him there; hoping to see his king. This month was particularly hard, as it was the anniversary of the Battle of Camlann.
He ran to the king's side. He knelt down, as tears streamed down his cheeks. He could not be too late. He couldn't! It was his job to protect the king. He could not let him die.
Gaius found them. He told the physician everything. Gaius said the only chance he had to heal the king was to take him to Lake Avalon. He agreed to make the long journey to the lake. He would do anything for Arthur.
On the way, he told Arthur the truth. "I am a sorcerer," he said. At first, the king could not believe it, but then, after he had proved it by creating a dragon out of the sparks from the fire, Arthur looked at him with a look he couldn't quite read. It was part anger, part fear, and part…admiration…or was that his imagination?
Time was running out, and he knew it. He called on Kilgharrah, the Great Dragon and asked him for one last favor. He asked Kilgharrah to fly them to Lake Avalon. The Great Dragon agreed.
At the lake, Kilgharrah told him it was too late. He refused to believe it was true. It couldn't be too late! He was supposed to protect the Once and Future King until the day he died!
Finally, after Arthur had thanked him, and drawn his last breath, he accepted the fact that his best friend was dead. He placed him in a boat and then used magic to send it out on to the lake. He couldn't bear to set it on fire, so he just sat down and sobbed.
He sobbed now, remembering how awful that day had been. Aithusa flew overhead, watching her Dragon Lord, ready to stop him if he began cutting himself with his enchanted knife, as he usually did on these days. This time, however, he was too depressed to even pick up the knife.
He sniffed and pulled himself together. He had things to do, and a life to live. He sailed back to shore, where Aithusa was waiting for him. She bent her great head down to his level. The Dragon Lord took her head in his hands and placed his forehead against it. "I'm glad you're here," he said.
"Me too," the White Dragon replied.
He sighed. What was the point? What was the point of going on living without his best friend? Arthur had been his entire world. He had never wanted anything more than to be his servant. He wanted to be by his side until the end of time.
He knew he had to try to keep living. Kilgaharrah had said that Arthur would return when Albion most needed him. But great famines, and terrible wars had seized the country over the years, and still Arthur had not returned. Was it really true? Would Arthur return? Or was it just something the Great Dragon had told him to comfort him?
He sighed again. He really should concentrate on the paper before him.
He threw the book down, and slammed his laptop closed. He couldn't take it any longer. What was the point of pretending? He was almost 600 years old and had all the knowledge that comes with that many years of experience.
The only problem was, he still looked 24. He could do an aging spell on himself, but it would take a lot of energy to maintain. Besides, if Arthur ever did return, he probably wouldn't recognize him if he was old.
He tossed and turned in his bed. There was a voice in his head that would not shut up. "Emrys!" it called. "Emrys!" He groaned, turning over and trying to block out the noise. The voice continued. "Emrys! Emrys, she brought the sword to island."