Chapter 3

The Cave of Kilgharrah

It was incredibly cold.

Only a few hours before Arthur had been sweating in the sunlight, but now that he was chained up like a common criminal beneath the courtyard, with only a small, barred window at the top of his damp cell, he could not stop shivering. His fetters rattled and clashed harshly against the stones above his head, sounds that grated against his ears and seemed too loud in the dark expanse of the dungeons. Arthur clenched his jaw to silence his chattering teeth, but it did little good.

He half wished Gwaine hadn't gotten away, if only so he wouldn't feel so abandoned. It was too much like being a child again, waiting for his father to return with something to eat. Hunger gnawed him then as it did now.

The thief stretched his stiff legs out in front of him. There was a patch of orange light on the floor. He ached to feel the warmth of it, but it remained just out of reach, and moved farther away with each passing hour as they sun began to lower itself on the horizon.

A shadow crossed it. Some passerby in the courtyard, perhaps. For a long while Arthur had tried to catch such people's attention by screaming himself hoarse, but if they did hear him (and certainly they did, there was nothing to prevent it), they ignored him. Who, after all, would listen to a criminal?

"Psst!"

Arthur opened his eyes, not having realized he had closed them in the first place, and saw that the shadow was still there.

"Psst! Arthur, mate, is tha' ye?"

"Gwaine?"

The blond could hardly believe it, but squinting he could just make out his friend's features, framed by those long locks, through the shadow.

"Hold on, mate, I'll have ye out in no time!"

And Gwaine went to work digging the iron bars out of the mortar that held them in place, noisily chipping it away with a sharp blade. Arthur glanced nervously at his cell door, but no guards came running at the sound. He allowed his head to rest back against the wall, his sickened heart easing slightly with the arrival and assurances of his friend. Gwaine did not speak as he worked, instead working at a furious pace that was almost uncharacteristic of him. He constantly threw glances over his shoulder to check if anyone marked what he was doing, but it seemed no one paid any attention a man crouching at a dungeon window. It was supper time for most, at any rate.

The work did not take long, old and mold-ridden as the bricks were.

Gwaine sat back and delivered a swift kick to the bars, knocking them free and sending them to the floor with a raging din. Arthur winced at the noise, expecting to hear alarmed cries and pounding boots even as Gwaine shimmied backwards through the window. It was a tight fit, but the thief made it through.

He gave his ruined dagger a disparaging glance, then tossed it to one side. It was a small price to pay for freedom.

"What are you going to do about these?" Arthur whispered, twisting his sore, chafed wrists in the manacles to emphasize them.

Gwaine knelt beside him and examined the lock, which required the use of a key. He glanced around the room as though expecting to find one, but instead he picked up the brittle ribcage of a long-dead rodent that was lying nearby and broke off one of the sturdier ones.

"Ye say that as if I haven't got any practice in matters such as these," Gwaine said, setting to work. He stuffed the point of the rib into the small hole and shook it around.

"Hurry up," Arthur hissed.

"Piss off, princess." For a moment, there was only the sound of clinking chains. Then Gwaine said, "Oi, speaking of princesses."

"Oh, shut up, Gwaine," Arthur scowled. It was a tender subject for him. The thief had thought long and hard on Guinevere: why she had been avoiding the guards, why she had gone with them, why she had lied to them about her identity, and so on. So far he had not come up with entirely satisfactory answers, and he did not plan on staying long enough to ask her any of it.

His rescuer merely chuckled and continued with his task.

Both men froze at the sound of approaching, echoing footsteps.

Gwaine abandoned his friend and hid in the deep shadows of the corner closest to the door. Just in time, too—the pair of feet stopped at the barred door, which was unlocked to allow the entry of a cloaked figure. Arthur glowered steadily as the stooped person approached him slowly, while Gwaine stealthily raised his hand as though to knock the stranger down.

But with a flash of gold within the recesses of the hood, the thief was flung into Arthur's lap by an invisible force. They stared, stunned, as the figure lowered the ragged cloak to reveal steely eyes beset in an aged face. She raised her gnarled hand and flicked her wrist; with another flash of golden eyes, the shackles fell away, freeing Arthur.

The three regarded one another.

The old crone was the first to speak. "I will free you," she croaked, lifting a long-nailed finger, "under one condition: you free my friend from his prison."

Gwaine and Arthur exchanged a look.

"What prison?" they asked.

"A cave," answered the old woman, "not far from here. He is trapped there, and I cannot reach him. There are magic-blocking wards, and without magic I am just an old crone. I cannot do it alone." She extended a hand toward them, shuffling her bent body forward. "Will you help me, in exchange for your freedom?"

Arthur opened his mouth to refuse. They had been just about to escape on their own, and didn't need the help of a sorceress.

"Sounds reasonable," Gwaine nodded.

"Gwaine!"

The old woman smiled sweetly at them—or, it might have once been a sweet smile, but her teeth were rotted and her lips stretched thin. "I will take you to the cave."

"What, now?" Arthur raised his eyebrows.

"Of course," replied she. "Unless you'd rather have a good night's rest here?" The crone gestured to the ceiling, where webby white mold grew, and slimy water oozed down the walls. It made Arthur's stomach turn to look at it; Gwaine shuddered beside him.

"What he meant was," Gwaine explained pleasantly, "is that he—that is, we—haven't had a morsel to eat since the morning. It's a bit hard to organize a rescue an' escape on empty stomachs, yeah?"

Another rotten smile. "Certainly. This way, then."

Arthur was more than ready to make a run for freedom, but he couldn't very well leave his best friend with a witch. He couldn't shake his uneasiness, either. There seemed something incredibly off-putting about the sorceress, particularly in her eyes—it was the way she looked at him as though she somehow knew him. But Arthur was certain he'd never met her; he would have remembered such a traumatic experience.

They cautiously followed her out of the cell and into the dim hall. As the stooped crone passed, each torch flared up in its bracket, then extinguished itself. Arthur and Gwaine moved closer together and stayed well back from the causer of the phenomenon. Gwaine looked as though he regretted his quick agreement.

As they approached the stairs that led to freedom, the thieves spotted the slumped figures of the guards at their gambling table. They slowed at the foreboding sight of congealing blood. It spread thickly over the rough-hewn wood of the table, dripping over the edge to pool at their feet. Glassy eyes stared unseeingly.

"There is food and wine on the table," the old crone pointed a gnarled, black-nailed finger. "Eat quickly."

Gwaine smiled nervously. "I think…I think I've lost me appetite, actually."

Arthur was slightly green.

She shrugged. "We should move quickly. More guards will come soon to take their place, and this unhappy accident will be discovered." The witch started up the steps.

Arthur grasped Gwaine's arm and held him back, looking at him intensely. "Gwaine, they will think I killed them."

"Eh? No, 'course not, mate!"

"Gwaine. A missing prisoner and two dead guards? My life is forfeit." He touched a hand to his throat, already able to envision the halter looped around it.

"Oh, ahhh." Gwaine looked especially troubled at that. He looked up at the witch, who did not seem to notice that they were not still following. She was entirely focused on making it up the stairs. "Perhaps she will confess to the crime?"

Arthur shook his head, his stomach rolling. Gwaine squeezed his shoulder, then hurried after the crone. The blond gave a silently apology to the murdered guards, then followed.

"Where exactly is this cave, er…?" Gwaine trailed off.

"Not far from here is a lake," the crone answered without breaking stride or supplying a name. "Not far from that lake is a cave. That is where he is trapped in his lamp."

"In his lamp?" Arthur repeated.

"Allow me to start from the beginning," she said, lips curling as though she had been waiting to deliver her tale. She told them as they walked, wending their ways through the palace halls to the courtyard, and then through the town toward the gate. "Years ago, when I was still a young woman in Constans Pendragon's court…"

"Bloody hell," Gwaine whispered, "that was only thirty years ago, she was young!"

Arthur shushed him, unwilling to draw the witch's attention to the insult on her ancient appearance.

She continued uninterrupted, "…my friend and I, you see, were lovers. But that was before Vortigern came and usurped the throne, killing the Pendragon family and most of the nobles at the court. He replaced them with his own bloodline. We tried to stop the attack, but Vortigern had his own sorcerer, one who practiced black magic. I managed to escape, but my dearest friend was trapped in a lamp.

"Or, I should say, his soul was captured in the artifact, leaving his lifeless body behind. I brought it to the lake so that his flesh would be preserved by the lady in the water. I had planned to bring the lamp back there to restore him, but the evil sorcerer hid the lamp in the cave, warding it against me. To keep out all others, they commanded the Great Dragon Kilgharrah to guard the caverns."

The thieves started.

"Hold on!" Arthur uttered.

"Ye never said anythin' 'bout a dragon," Gwaine said.

The old crone rolled her eyes. "It has been vanquished by a warrior, but that warrior sacrificed himself along with it. You have nothing to worry about."

"Oh, well then tha's all right, innit?" Gwaine responded cheerily. "So all's we have to do is walk in, get the lamp, and come out again?"

By that time they had reached the gate, and strolled out unimpeded by the lazy guards. The last rays of the sun painted the sky purple, deepening the shadows of the nearby forest. The first stars began to twinkle above their heads. The moon was a mere sliver.

"Yes," the witch said. "And, as your reward, you shall have all the rest of the horded treasure within."

Gwaine perked up at once. "Treasure?"

"What treasure?" Arthur asked. "If there were really a cave full of horded gold, guarded by a dragon, so close to Camelot no less, wouldn't we have heard about it?"

The old crone smiled knowingly. "The wards prevent unwitting travelers from discovering the cave. It is only found by those who know where to look. And I am a good secret-keeper, Arthur."

"Come now, mate," Gwaine said, looping an arm around Arthur's shoulders. "Riches beyond measure? A dream come true, innit?"

"Well, yes," the younger answered hesitantly. He turned suspiciously to the sorceress. "And you have no desire of the wealth?"

"My only wish is to be with my love," replied she. Her eyes shined wistfully. "It has been nigh on forty years since I last laid mine eyes on him. When I am with him, I shall need nothing else."

Arthur suddenly felt cruel for doubting her intentions. But then he remembered the murdered guards in the cell, and realized that even if her lover was all she wanted, she was willing to kill for it. He and Gwaine would have to tread carefully.

They proceeded in silence. The only sounds were those of leaves and twigs crunching underfoot and the various nightlife calling and chattering. The air was growing colder, especially under the protection of the thick-leaved trees, and though Arthur had warmed up considerably since he left the damp cells, he was beginning to dread entering a cave, which was cold, dark and wet—and had no windows. But there was little for it; he and Gwaine (mostly Gwaine) had agreed to retrieve for her the lamp. If they became filthy rich in the process, so be it.

The alternative was death, at any rate, so Arthur decided he would take his chances.

It was not so far into the forest as Arthur had thought it would be, but the cave was neither as close as the crone had implied. The moon offered little by which to see, but apparently the old woman had come prepared. From beneath her cloak she produced a pouch, and the men realized that this was what had made her appear hunchbacked; from the leather bag she pulled out a torch, which she lit with a golden flash of her eyes. She handed over the torch to Arthur, then silently gestured to the gaping black mouth of the cave. It looked as though a blockage had been cleared away; small and large stones alike were scattered or piled about them.

Deep gouges rent the earth in front of it. The claws of some huge creature had made them. Arthur balked; Gwaine visibly swallowed.

"After you, princess."

Arthur scowled, then braced himself up for the task. Perhaps it was better left to the morning, but the thief wanted to get it over with, and then run far away from Camelot. He didn't know where he'd go, but he would damned if he were going to be executed for the witch's crime.

After taking a deep breath, he lifted the torch and marched forward. He was heartened to hear Gwaine's footfalls behind him.

He did not even hesitate as he crossed the shadow that marked their entrance into the cave. It was perhaps his imagination, but it felt warmer under the shelter of rock than under the trees. Gwaine let out a huff of laughter as they turned a corner and lost sight of the old crone waiting in anticipation.

"See, tha' wasn't so bad, yeah?"

Just then, something crunched loudly. Both men leapt in fright, the torch fwooshing loudly as Arthur swung it in every direction, looking for the source. At once the realization that it had come from underfoot seemed to dawn on them, and the blond lowered the flame toward the cavern floor.

A thick layer of dust had masked their steps, but under that layer were several distinct shapes. Gwaine shifted his boot nervously, upsetting a precariously balanced skull from a ribcage. It toppled with a hideous din, then came to a rest with a leery grin at the thieves.

Arthur let out a hysterical laugh.

"Well, I don't see any lamp," Gwaine said quickly. "Or gold, for that matter. Let's go, shall we?"

"Right, yes," Arthur nodded, turning to do just that. "I do believe that that is the best idea you've had all week, Gwaine."

"Yeah, sure, yeah."

They hurried back the way they had come, and in only a moment they spotted their guide. Her haggard face fell upon sight of them.

"No lamp, sorry!" Gwaine said, shaking his shaggy hair. "Another time, maybe."

"How many men have you sent in already?" Arthur demanded, gesturing with the torch back toward the cave. "It's like a catacomb!"

"You need not worry," she insisted. "The dragon is slain!"

"We see nothing but old bones," Arthur retorted.

"You did not go far enough!" the old crone spat. "Cowards! Heathens! Worthless boys! You come back empty-handed with your tails between your legs. Oh, would I were able to enter myself and find my dearest treasure! Alas, I am failed, failed, failed—forever failed." With that, she sank to her knees all atremble and began to sob and wail with abandon, clutching at her hoary hair.

The thieves stood awkwardly, mouths opening and closing like those of fish.

A beat passed before Gwaine took pity on her. "M'lady," he said. "M'lady, please, no more. I shall find your lamp and bring it to ye."

She wiped her cheeks with the hem of her cloak. "Oh, thank you!" she gasped out, rocking back to look up at him. "A good man, that's what you are, a poor old woman's hero."

Gwaine nodded, though he looked put out to be considered anyone's hero. He thrust his hand out toward Arthur. "Give me the torch, mate. Ye go back to Camelot, get a good sleep. I'll be along."

"Idiot!" Arthur said, holding the torch further out of reach. "If you think I'm letting you go in there alone!"

The brunet raised his eyebrows, then swiftly grinned, averting his outstretched hand to sweep it through his hair. "I'll make an adventurer of ye yet!"

"It was your idea to leave in the first place," Arthur grumbled, kicking at a stone.

With that, the pair turned and reentered the darkness.

{Birthright}

The cave system was dark and winding, but dry and warm, which were the only positives Arthur could see about the situation. They walked in silence, doing their best to avoid treading upon the bones of the unburied. Though the thieves were not superstitious, they did not want to take the chance of incurring the wrath of vengeful spirits. Definitely not when they were practically trapped. Not far into their journey they had come across some tarnished swords in the dismembered skeletal hands of some long dead knights, and had taken them just in case—not that using them on spirits would have any effect.

It was impossible to tell how long they had been walking. In the darkness, it felt as though hours had passed, seconds marked by their infinite footsteps. The torch crackled steadily as Arthur held it aloft between them, splashing flickering orange light across the cave walls, which were charred black.

They came at one point to a place open to the sky. Gwaine and Arthur stood looking up, necks craned back. Soft moonlight filtered in through the small opening, alighting on a stone pedestal worn smooth by years of rain. It was the only such stone in the cave. The thieves skirted around it and continued along the tunnel. Once more they were engulfed in darkness.

Another bend.

"Gah!"

The torch slipped from Arthur's grasp and fell to the floor even as their surprised shout echoed violently. They swiftly extended their swords toward the humongous heap of glittering golden scales—a dragon. It did not seem to notice them, sleeping as it was. But no, it wasn't sleeping, either.

After a moment of unsteadiness, the men lowered the weapons cautiously.

"It's dead," Arthur whispered, swallowing hard. "It's dead." He put a hand over his fluttering heart, willing it to calm.

Gwaine let out a laugh, sweeping a shaking hand through his hair. "Aye, tha' it is." Then he stooped down and picked up the torch, which, fortunately, had not been extinguished. "Shall we onwards?"

Arthur cleared his throat and nodded.

All the same, the thieves edged carefully around the huge carcass. It was so large that they hardly came up to its elbow, which was bent so that its arm was lying trapped beneath its belly. The creature was hardly fat—rather, it was built of lithe muscle, covered in hard golden armor that flashed coldly in the torchlight. The head, they saw, was turned from them—but they had imagination enough to know that it held razor sharp swords for teeth, and saucer-like nostrils that could flare with a raging inferno, and snakelike, paralyzing eyes. The tail itself was as large and long as a horse train, tapering off as did one's perception of distance. The end of it disappeared into an opening.

As they approached, the dead dragon flew from their thoughts, no longer as important as the new spectacle.

This time it was Gwaine who let the torch drop, slowly. The rusted swords were lowered to their sides.

Breaths stolen by awe, the friends entered the gigantic room in which they found themselves, gazing around in wonder. High above them, several balls of light hung as though they were the unwavering orb of the sun, illuminating the chamber. Mountains of gold, gems of all shape and color, silver, and books towered over their heads, a veritable ocean of wealth as possible only in one's wildest dreams.

Arthur felt weak in the presence of such glory.

Gwaine, however, let out a low whistle. He fell to his knees, tossing aside the now useless torch, and began to rake up a pile of coins. He bit one to test its authenticity and found it true to its appearance. With a gleeful laugh, he stuffed his purse full.

"Gwaine," Arthur said breathlessly.

"We're rich, Princess! Rich!"

"Gwaine," he repeated. He shook his head, suddenly finding his senses. "Remember why we are here. First we must find that poor soul and free him from this prison."

"Bah, prison." Gwaine snorted derisively, but stood. "What I'd give to be imprisoned here!"

"What, with no women?"

"Bloody hell, with this kind'a money a man could buy a queen!"

Gwaine followed Arthur as he began to maneuver about the wealth, searching for a golden lamp.

"Just how are we going to find a lamp in all of this?" Gwaine asked, looking around. "There must be hundreds of acres here."

Arthur merely shook his head in answer. He stood akimbo before the first hillock of gold, looking toward the summit as though mapping out hand and footholds. Perhaps a higher vantage point would aid in the discovery of a lost soul.

A shadow slunk past them. With a startled yelp, both whipped toward it, swords raised threateningly to face to their resurrected, fire-breathing foe.

The owner of the shadow, a curly-haired man, held his hands up in surrender, eyebrows raised in a placating expression. He had a scruffy beard not unlike Gwaine's.

"Who're ye?" Gwaine demanded, voice still high pitched with hysterical terror.

Arthur desperately tried to slow his rabbiting heart, taking a deep, calming breath. He'd once faced a wyvern in a dream, but that was a dream for God's sake! Behind the stranger he spotted the tail of the dragon, unmoved from its position.

The man shook his head, but when Gwaine stepped forward and pressed the tip of his weapon to the stranger's throat, he opened his mouth to respond. Jewels tumbled from his lips, flashing in the light, and bounced at his feet. The thieves froze, obviously shocked. The precious stone spillage ceased when the stranger shut his mouth again.

"Bloody hell," Gwaine whispered, wide-eyed.

"Cursed," Arthur said. "Must be a curse."

"Curse me with tha' any day."

"Gwaine," Arthur chided. Then he lowered his sword, suddenly conscious that it was still raised, and pushed his friend's arm down as well. He asked, "Can you write?"

The stranger nodded.

"Can you write your name?" the blond asked. He glanced around for something on which to write, but though there were manuscripts aplenty there were no inkwells or quills. "Er, well…"

The cursed man held up a finger and knelt down amongst the hoard, sweeping away some gems and coins to clear a space. Arthur and Gwaine bent over him and watched as he lined up gold coins.

"L," Gwaine recognized the rune. "E…O…N. Leh-awn."

Leon shook his head, frowning at the rogue.

"No, it's Lee-own," Arthur corrected him.

Leon shook his head again, gesturing emphatically at the coin letters.

"Lee-un?" Gwaine guessed.

Leon sighed.

"Lay-on," Arthur tried, but Leon did not give it to him.

Gwaine frowned at the name. "Is tha' really how it's spelt? I'm sure me tutor would've said summat. But then, I was eleven."

"If Gwaine doesn't know, then I certainly don't," Arthur confessed. "He's the one who taught me to read."

Leon scratched his straw-colored head. Then he placed a hand over O – N, hiding the letters, and pointed at L – E.

"Leh," Gwaine said.

"Lee," Arthur answered when Leon shook his head 'no.' To that, Leon nodded, then hid L – E and pointed at the uncovered O – N.

"On!" Gwaine cried desperately. Leon nodded courteously, then uncovered the letters, gesturing to the whole of the name.

The thieves said in unison, triumphantly, "Leon!"

Leon applauded them patronizingly, standing from his squatting position and dusting off his calloused hands. The thieves noticed then that he had a sheathed sword at his hip, and of a very fine make at that. It was not too much of a stretch to assume he'd found it amongst the treasures; weapons of high caliber were greatly prized.

Arthur suddenly realized that time had been wasted. "Leon," he said seriously. "Do you know of a lamp? Well, I suppose there may be more than one lamp, all things considered, but this one, it imprisons a soul."

"Ye sound mad when ye put it like tha', Princess," Gwaine informed him.

But a spark in Leon's eyes bespoke of understanding and a knowledge of the thing sought. He turned and pointed in the direction from which he had come. The thieves looked past him and saw that at the far end of the cavern was an arched doorway, covered in roughly-hewn runes that seemed quite out of place amongst the beauty. Through the arch was darkness, but it was not total—there seemed to be a sort of light emanating from within.

"A good place to start," Gwaine commented. "What do ye think, Leon?"

Leon gave him a curious look, but shook it off and led the way toward the offset cavern chamber. Gwaine could not resist touching treasures here and there: a silver chalice, a ruby amulet hanging from a golden candelabra, an ivory figurine of a busty woman (obviously a foreign relic), and a brass pot filled to the brim with diamonds like teardrops. There was much more besides those. He stared longingly over his shoulder, whispering a promise to return, as the trio crossed the threshold of the smaller room.

A soft blue glow washed over them. Arthur looked up and found the source: a blue orb of light hovering high and center. It illuminated the cavern walls, where small golden flowers grew from stone though it should have been impossible, and a crystalline lake below surrounding a small, shrine-like pedestal, atop which was seated a golden oil lamp. But for that, there were no treasures else.

Before Arthur could inquire how one would reach the lamp, Leon pointed out a rickety one-man boat, nearly hidden behind a growth of stone. "I'm going to get it," he said. His voice, though soft, sounded harsh and discordant in the silence. He started toward it, rolling his heels to avoid taking loud steps.

"I'll stay here with our friend, then," Gwaine said in his normal cheery tone. The broad accent defiled the almost sacred feel of the place. He looked at Leon thoughtfully, then extended a hand, palm facing upwards. "Say, mate, how do ye like the weather, eh?"

Leon scowled at him.

Arthur clambered into the boat, hoping it did not tip, for though he could swim the water would certainly be cold, and he was tired of feeling chill. There had been too much of it for him, lately. But it held steady, and hardly wobbled even as he pushed off from shore. The oars were in good shape, so he was able to paddle smoothly.

He steered the small watercraft to the shrine, reaching out a hand as he neared to slow to a stop. The thief was just tall enough to reach the lamp when standing, so he did so carefully, holding on to the surprisingly dry stone to keep his balance. His distorted reflection looked back at him from the shiny golden surface; the light made him appear blue-skinned. The lamp must not have been touched in ages, but it was still as brilliant as if it were newly molded.

He grasped it and lowered himself back into the boat. Arthur took a moment to admire the make of the sleek tool; it was unlike anything he'd seen. He supposed it must have been imported from an Eastern merchant.

With the surprisingly warm weight of the lamp on his lap, the young man rowed himself back to shore. Leon came forward and helped him land. Gwaine stood by the arch nursing a black eye. Arthur didn't bother to ask.

"I've got it," he said. "Let's get out of here."

"What about the gold, mate?" Gwaine reminded him. "It belongs to us."

"It will be here still later," Arthur responded. "For now, I want to free this soul and then get some sleep in my own bed. And eat."

"Food sounds good, yeah," the other agreed, putting a hand over his stomach. "What do you eat around here, Leon?"

Leon stepped out of the room and pointed up as the thieves followed. Arthur spotted a family of bats roosting on one of the overhanging shelves, and shuddered. Perhaps the cursed man hadn't had any luck fishing.

"Hmm, I'm in the mood fer pickled eggs at the tavern," Gwaine said, flicking his hair. "Ye should come with us. As much as I'm fer living alone on an island o' money, a man needs to drink once in a while, yeah?"

"Yes," Arthur said. "And we know a witch who may be able to break your curse."

"Or, y'know, ye could keep it and never be poor," Gwaine shrugged.

Leon nodded slowly.

"You'll come?" Arthur asked.

He nodded again, this time more certainly.

"Great!" Gwaine exclaimed. "First round's on Princess."

Leon grinned, clapping Gwaine on the shoulder. He seemed to say, "Let's go, then!"

Together, the trio set off toward the main tunnel that wound through the earth back to the surface. Gwaine picked up the torch, which was still burning where he'd dropped it at the entrance. They each walked with a spring in their step, and hardly minded having to move around the Great Dragon's body. Arthur held the lamp carefully upright, unsure what would happen to the soul (if it were even aware of its surroundings or at all able to feel) if he shook or bounced it too much. He imagined it would be similar to riding a cantering horse, but without having anything to hold onto.

The walk back seemed much shorter than the walk in. (Arthur mused that the flow of time was altered according to mood, which struck him as funny. He resisted the urge to laugh so he would not be obliged to explain it to his friends. Thoughts like that were a woman's fancy.) Even the brittle bones snapping beneath their weights were no longer a matter of concern. They'd gotten what they had come for.

Finally, they came to the mouth of the cave. It was still nighttime, so they had not realized they had reached the end of it until they heard a delighted croak.

"You have returned!" cried the crone joyously.

They could not yet see her, but the torchlight must have been visible from where she stood to have noticed their arrival.

"The lamp?" she asked as the men discerned her shadowy form in the darkness. She was standing where they had left her some several feet away from the cave. "Do you have it?"

"Aye, we have!" Gwaine said. "Just as I told ye, I'd find it."

"Give it to me! Give it to me!"

"Here," Arthur said, holding it up. Her spindly fingers reached for it as Arthur stepped past the threshold of the cavern, but at the last moment another pair of hands snatched it up and backed away into the tunnel. The thieves and witch looked at Leon in surprise. He merely glared at the old woman, tucking the lamp in the crook of his elbow protectively.

Her face contorted acutely. "Give it to me!"

Leon mutely shook his head.

"Leon, mate," Gwaine frowned in confusion, "what's the matter with ye?"

In response, Leon pointed emphatically at the witch, then to his own mouth.

Arthur glanced between them, brow pinched. "What, she…? She cursed you?"

Leon nodded, again backing away as she tried to make a grab. She could follow him no farther, prevented from entering due to the wards against magic.

"Liar!" she moaned. "Lies, lies, lies!"

Gwaine and Arthur shared a dark look.

"Mate, listen," Gwaine said, stepping forward and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "How about ye give 'er the lamp, and she fixes yer curse, yeah?" He looked to the witch as for confirmation.

She nodded quickly, holding out her hands again.

"There, see?" Gwaine smiled.

But Leon shook his head once more, regarding her darkly still.

This time Arthur stepped up to try and convince him. "Leon, I don't think you understand. The soul in the lamp is her lover, I think. If you give it to her, she'll undo the curse, and everything will be fine."

He shook his head, turned, and made to return the lamp. Arthur grabbed hold of the object. "Leon! Please, without this we—"

The witch snapped in her impatience, stretching out her hand toward them. "Aithusa!" she shrieked, startling the men, who turned and watched her with trepidation. "Aithusa, the lamp!"

For a split second, nothing happened, and all was deathly still.

Then an earsplitting roar from above, nearly drowning out the horrible sound of scrabbling claws against stone. A white dragon, not as large as the carcass deep in the bowels of the earth but terrifying nonetheless, appeared, slinking like a lizard down the wall of rock. It bared its teeth, growling in the back of its throat.

The trio gaped in horror, frozen.

Arthur carefully, slowly extricated the lamp from Leon's slackening grip, and made to set the thing on the ground between them. Hopefully the creature was sentient enough to know that they wanted no trouble, and it would take the treasure and leave.

Aithusa stepped forward, the ground rolling beneath her heavy steps. As she neared she drew herself up so as to tower over the puny humans. Her head and webby wings brushed the low ceiling, loosening a few stones, which fell gently over her smooth back. She inhaled deeply, throat heating rapidly.

"Nice lizard," Gwaine whispered hopefully.

The dragon took another step. Behind her, the witch was cackling loudly, "The lamp! The lamp! Mine, all mine!"

Suddenly, a blue orb manifested, distracting Aithusa. She observed the phenomenon curiously, fury temporarily abated. The magic light pulsated once, twice, then exploded.

Aithusa screamed, frantically trying to back away from the blinding light, thrashing her limbs every which way. The men cried out and ducked to the floor to avoid slashing claws, shielding their eyes from the light, Arthur holding the lamp tightly and feeling Gwaine pressed up close against him. He didn't know where Leon was, couldn't have seen even if he'd tried.

There was an ominous crackling sound, heard above Aithusa's deafening screams.

In the next moment Arthur felt suddenly weightless. A second later he realized that he was tumbling into a dark abyss—the ground had crumbled like dry bread beneath him. He heard Gwaine's alarmed shout and knew that they were both going to die.

He screamed.

{Birthright}

"Aithusa!" the witch wailed. Her despaired sobs rent the night air as she dug away the collapsed cave with her bare hands. The wards on the stone were still active, preventing her magic from clearing the rubble.

"The lamp!" she moaned, raking her hands through dust and pebbles. Her nails turned ragged and bled. Clumps of bloody dirt formed around her nail beds and cuticles; her dress and cloak were irreparably stained. "Aithusa! My lamp! Aithusa! Gone! gone! gone! Damn you, Emrys!"

The old crone knew her dragon was dead—their bond, which had formed the moment Aithusa had hatched over two decades ago, had been severed. The lamp was lost forever, too. She could no longer feel its power.

It was over.

She keened and retched pitifully, yanking her tangled hair with grimy, bloodied fingers.

It was over.