As it turned out, the king and his companions did not have to travel all the way to Earl Gallien's court; it came to them instead. For as they rode through the woods that morning, they heard the distant cacophony of horns echoing through the trees, and soon after, their forward scouts returned, followed by a company of unknown knights.

The lead knight was a tall and imposing man mounted on a great destrier, all caparisoned in cobalt blue. He wore no helm, exposing fine, condescending features, and close-cropped auburn hair. When he saw Prince Edward and Princess Marguerite, he dismounted and went down on one knee, and all his men followed suit.

"Salut, Vos Altesses!" the knight exclaimed. "Dieu sauve le Roi, et Dieu vous garde!"

Prince Edward lifted a hand magnanimously, acknowledging the knight's homage. He responded in the Saxon tongue, rather than the Frankish. "Thou art gracious, Sir Knight. We thank thee for thy welcome. Arise with our benediction. However, as we sojourn in mixed company, let us converse in the common speech, that all may comprehend our parlance."

The auburn-headed knight got to his feet, a look of distaste wrinkling his face. It seemed he was perplexed that Edward, a royal prince with the blood of Rouen and Anjou in his veins, should want to converse in the ugly and barbarous Saxon tongue, rather than the refined Frankish speech of his race, merely for the benefit of Anglish peasants. However, he said, "An it please ye, Your Highness."

"And now," said Prince Edward, "thou art in the presence of a foreign king, one whose friendship we esteem highly. Reverence him, we pray thee, lest the men of Cambria think we Normans deficient in courtesy."

The knight now turned toward Arthur, whose attendants and squires were mounted nearby, displaying the royal insignia and arms of Camelot.

"Your Majesty," said the knight, eyeing the golden dragons and scarlet pennants of Arthur's House with some suspicion, "I bid ye and your retinue welcome, in the name of Earl Gallien of Lancaster."

"Gramercy," said Arthur. "What is thy name, Sir?"

"Sir Valentin D'Arcy, Your Majesty."

"Sir Valentin, we perceive our welcome is not entirely without reservation. Speak out, if aught troubles thee."

The knight hesitated. "If I may speak frankly, sire, your arrival here may cause some consternation. For it is generally believed that the dragons besieging our country were released from Camelot, whether by malice or negligence."

"Thou mayst assure thy lord," said Arthur, "that we knew nothing of this. Upon hearing of this calamity, we swore to rectify any fault on our part, and render every aid to thy people."

"Indeed!" said Prince Edward. "We trust this diviner of Gallien's hath proofs to substance his accusations. We live an age of mad prophets, who go about boldly slandering princes. The King of Camelot will not be slighted in our presence, not before some fault is laid at his feet. And see the truth of his words. He and his earls have come, together with our men, to join your efforts against these beasts."

"My prince," said Sir Valentin, "it may be too late for that. For the more hostile dragon was spotted winging from its lair early this morning, and my lord Gallien has taken the field after it. Many men have fallen to these creatures in the past, and so my lord counselled patience, but his mercenaries, eager for glory, have sallied forth. They seek to meet the beast in this very forest, for the ground here is replete with burial mounds, and much gold was deposited here by the ancient kings. Fearing to have the deaths of these mercenaries on his conscience, Lord Gallien has followed them at a distance with some small company of his knights, along with assorted Saxons, Danes and other heroes. I fear they will be drawn into a conflict they may not escape unscathed."

"What!" said Prince Edward. "Gallien rides to confront the beast in this very place? Well then, lead on! We shall follow thee with all our strength, and we may render the good earl aid yet!"

As Gallien's knights remounted, Princess Marguerite nudged her charger forward, her sharp eyes peering upwards through gaps in the treeline. "I see smoke," she declared. "Men and torches, and not far distant, I'll wager. Avec moi!" Her steed broke into a trot, but Sir Valentin barred her way.

"Madame," the knight said, "the field is most perilous. Entire companies of warriors have been turned to ash and bone. Stout and hearty men, battle-hardened veterans all, have flown before this creature in horror. It were better that milady rode behind the knights, for protection."

An expression of fury crossed Marguerite's features, and she drew her hand back as if to strike Sir Valentin. Then, evidently mastering herself, she merely spat at him, "Loin de moi, scélérat!" and wrenched on her horse's reins, turning it aside, before spurring it into a gallop and riding away through the trees.

Edward laughed. "You cannot stop the lioness when she is roused, good knight! She will ride where she pleases, and it were best we follow her swiftly, or else she may slay this dragon and leave no sport for the rest of us!"

So saying, he sent his war-horse galloping after his sister's, and his entourage quickly fell in behind him.

The dragon hunt was on.

Merlin and Finna rode through the green light of the wood, the hoofbeats of their rounceys muffled on the damp earth. Their native Cambria was not a warm place, yet it was cooler here than they were accustomed to, and a fine mist had swirled between the trees that morning, chilling their limbs and speckling the forest with dew. Merlin had aged his appearance before they'd mounted and set off.

"Right," he'd said sourly, as he'd swung himself onto Misty. "Let's get this over with, quick as we can. Horse riding's none too kind on me bones. And the fog's making me joints ache." He launched into a litany of complaints about the weather as they departed.

Finna, watching him with her cool blue eyes, said, "And this is how you see old age, is it, Master Dragoon? Goddess preserve us when your young shoulders have truly felt the burdens of many winters. 'Twill be a sight to behold. Would that I could witness it..."

They moved swiftly, travelling in the same direction as Arthur and his men must be, but keeping well out of the army's path.

Kilgharrah is nearby, Merlin thought, as they travelled. Finna doesn't have the ear for the Dragonspeech as I do, but she knows he is near too. Perhaps she feels his presence even more keenly than I.

Merlin had never realised it before, but dragons truly were the kings of beasts. With his awareness of the forest heightened by the Druidlore Finna had taught him, he understood that dragons could never be truly silent, even when they muffled their voices. One might as well silence the passage of an earthquake, or a thunderstorm - its effects would still be plain to see.

The whole texture of the forest had changed. Merlin had never been in this province before, and he did not know the usual trails of the wildlife here, or the songs of the birds - but he knew they were disrupted. It was like arriving in a village one had never visited, but still knowing that things were too quiet, that some solemn festival or great calamity was about to take place.

Herds of deer ran through the woods, and occasionally swerved for no reason, as if compelled by some invisible magnetism. Great flocks of starlings winged through the sky, unusually hushed, banking now and then as if the shadow of great wings fell over them. The smaller animals bolted away and hid themselves behind trees or in burrows, their noses quivering.

Everything felt on edge. And each creature moved in but one direction.

Men flee before the Pendragon kings, as lesser beasts flee before the dragon.

Merlin couldn't remember who had told him that. For some reason, the words echoed in his father's voice, though he was sure Balinor had not said them.

A dragons' heart is on its right side, not its left. Surely Balinor hadn't meant for Merlin to kill the last dragon? But he had foreseen the possibility that it would be necessary, and had given Merlin the knowledge to do so. That was how men like Uther and Balinor had survived, by anticipating the worst possible scenario and preparing for it. Life had taught them that idealism belonged in chivalric romances, not in war or statecraft.

Your soul and his are brothers. When you speak to him as kin, he must obey your will. If Merlin and Kilgharrah had once been brothers, they were long estranged. That must be why Merlin could no longer command him. And yet, Balinor had still told him where a dragon's heart was. Love your brothers. Show mercy to your enemies. But know where every man's weakness lies, and if he turns, strike first and true.

If he killed a dragon, would he be a kinslayer, a fratricide? Would he be no better than Morgana, whom the Archbishop called a descendant of Cain, the first and most heinous brother-killer? Cain's sin had turned him into a monster. What would happen to Merlin if he slaughtered dragons instead of speaking to them, if he went against his own destiny? Would he also be twisted into something monstrous?

Some would say the dragons already were monsters. And I am brother to them, a Dragonlord's spawn, an ill-omened birth. Some among the Druids would say Merlin already was a traitor to Destiny for serving Camelot instead of the sorcerers who opposed her.

If I must choose between Arthur and the dragons, I choose Arthur. Let everything else burn.

"Be ready," said Finna. "You must feel him too."

"I do," said Merlin.

There were small mounds in a treeless space ahead of them, barrows such as those which the ancient kings were buried in. Perhaps that was what had brought the dragons here, if treasure was what they sought.

They cleared the top of the nearest mound, and beyond it the ground fell away, and they saw Kilgharrah lying prone in a shallow depression.

"Go to him," said Finna. "If he turns hostile, I will back you."

Merlin dismounted, not wanting to force Misty closer to a creature she would be uncomfortable with at the best of times. As he approached Kilgharrah on foot, he began to have second thoughts about his decision. At least being mounted gave him some extra height. On the ground he felt very insignificant beside the dragon's bulk.

Kilgharrah's body looked different. His scales were no longer the dull russet and brown Merlin remembered. They appeared polished, smoothed. Fire seemed to pulse just under the dragon's skin, and veins of light shot through the skin's surface, making the dragon glow with bright hues: garnet, ruby-red and burgundy. Some fresh power radiated from him, and Merlin felt it on his face, like a blast of heat as one approached a great bonfire.

As Merlin drew near, Kilgharrah uncurled himself, stretching out his long neck, and looked down at Merlin, as he had many times before. There was a fierce brightness in his yellow eyes, yet they were grave and sorrowful as they met Merlin's. For a long time the human and the dragon looked at each other, and something deeper than words passed between them.

"So, young warlock," the dragon said. "You have come at last."

Merlin said just one word. "Why?"

A dragon's face was so unlike a human's, and yet at times Merlin felt he could read Kilgharrah more easily than he could those among his own kind. He could see Kilgharrah was pained now. For all their cryptic nature, their slyness, and the riddles they spoke in, the dragons were still more truthful in their own way than most humans Merlin had known. So was Kilgharrah regretful at the distance that had grown between them, at the lives he had taken? Had he lived over a thousand years, and decided to grow a conscience now?

"I warned you," said Kilgharrah, "that the Dragontongue was a grave gift, not a toy to be played with at whim. I warned you that using it without understanding would have consequences."

"So what's happened is my fault. Again. Explain this to me, Kilgh-"

"Don't speak my name!"

The Great Dragon looked up at the sky, as if fearful of what might be watching them. "We dragons are creatures of mind, and will, and speech. Language is essential to our nature. As it was to the humans of old. Know the right words, and you can alter the nature of a thing. Sorcery depends upon this principle. As do your religions, both old and new.

"I'm old enough to remember when the Druids were in this land, and they reckoned their language so sacred, they refused to write it down. They allowed it to be lost rather than let it fall into the wrong hands. I remember the Norsemen who invaded, too, and their god Old One-Eye, the Wordsmith. He did write things down, in old runes, but hidden in such cryptic ways that one needed his wisdom to understand what they read - a dragon-mind, he had, though he had the form of a man…

"And I remember when the Palatines, and later, the Franks, made all this land under the Nazarin Creed, and their priests well understood the power of words. 'In the beginning was the Word,' they said. They said with the right incantations, a man could turn bread and wine into the flesh and blood of an immortal god. They said the world began… do you remember how it began?"

"I do," said Merlin. "On the first day the Lord said, 'Let there be light,' and it was so. And then he said, 'Let there be a firmament,' and it was so. He spoke the world into existence. I suppose the Nazarin God is a sorcerer, too. But what does this have to do with anything?"

"When Uther massacred my kind, the voices of dragons fell silent in this land for twenty years. Not until you inherited your father's gift was that voice heard once more in Albion. And whenever you used the Dragontongue to summon me, Merlin, the power of your speech echoed further than you could have foreseen. Magic always has consequences. When you called, it was not I alone who heard you..."

"But you were the last dragon… but for Aithusa..."

"The last dragon in Albion. There were others of our kind, fled, or taken as eggs beyond the borders of this island. There were still others, more ancient, who belonged to foreign lands. She was such an ancient one. There are legendary figures among dragons, even as there are among humans. She slumbered in the icy north, hiding, fearing the dragon-hunters who had pursued her and slain her sisters. And then she heard your voice on the wind, the voice of a Dragonlord, and she awoke and flew south in search of you. She found me first..."

"She? The other dragon? Who is she?"

"I dare not speak her name."

"Why not? Why didn't you, or she, come when I called you?"

"You may command ordinary dragons, Merlin. Your Dragonlord powers are useless against her, for she is a Dragon Queen."

"A what?"

"I forget how little you know of our lore, for all the power you wield. There are ranks among dragons, even as there are among your human courts. She is of the Old Blood, descended from the most ancient progenitors of our race. A human king may compel your actions by law or by force, but a High Dragon has sovereignty over the very will and mind of her subjects. She can enslave with a glance, command absolute obedience with a word… her nature is to dominate, and all beings around her are crushed beneath the weight of her will. It is her nature. Just as fire burns, as a fish swims, as a bird flies, she reigns."

"That's monstrous," Merlin breathed. "I thought human kings could abuse their powers. She has dominion over your very soul."

Kilgharrah fixed him with one yellow eye. "You think her monstrous? The power she wields is the same power you have over me, Merlin. Exactly the same. For the Dragonlords' gifts and the Dragon Queen's abilities share the same ancient origin… "

Merlin's face burned with guilt. "That… I'm nothing like her! I only used my powers to stop you attacking Camelot, to protect my people!"

"That is exactly her own rationale. To protect her kind! Humans have hunted dragons to extinction. I was the last one left on this island. Have dragons hunted humans to extinction? Tell me, Merlin, which of our peoples is in greater danger from the other?"

Merlin had no answer to that, so he said, "What does she mean to do?"

"She is a Dragon Queen. A female of breeding age. And she is furious with your race for massacring her cousins in Albion. There is only one thing she can do. She will find as many male drakes as she can. She will breed countless children, queens to protect her bloodline, and warrior drakes as offensive troops. She will brood the eggs in magic and rage, and hatch them as swiftly as she can. Her children's wings will blot out the skies above Albion. An army of dragons, born from wrath, will not rest until the human race which hunted their mother are enslaved or reduced to ashes. A new reign of fire and terror will begin… "

Merlin's mind whirled with the impossibility of what he was hearing. There was too much to take in. "You can't allow this! You can't want this to happen!"

Kilgharrah bowed his head. "I may not have a choice, young warlock. Not unless your will is greater than hers. And even then, perhaps not. Knowledge without will is impotent, but will without knowledge is aimless."

As busy as Merlin's mind was, something stirred in his memory. "How can she hatch eggs? I thought you said only a Dragonlord could hatch new dragons."

"The Dragonlords' gifts were borrowed - some would say stolen - from the High Dragons among my kind. The Dragonlords were once dragon hunters, tasked with preserving Mankind, and stopping the dragons from annihilating your ancestors completely. We dragons were plentiful in the world in those days, and, bound to the will of our warlike rulers, we were a terror to all beings. All of Creation feared us: men, elves, gods. The first Dragonlords knew that Words were the dragons' weakness, the key to our nature and our power. We had to obey the words spoken by our true sovereigns. Our Kings and Queens spoke commands in the Dragontongue, which were the key to dominating us... So the first Dragonlords killed our High Dragons, took their powers, and replaced them."

"What? My father-"

"Not him, personally. He merely inherited his gift. Did you never wonder why a Dragonlord's gift is passed on only when the previous holder dies? Most magics can be taught and shared like any other knowledge or ability, but not the Dragonlord's power. Can you think of any institution that is passed down in such a manner?"

"Well… kingship… "

"And that is no accident. The Dragonlord's power is inherited like a royal title because it is a royal title… and this Dragon Queen possesses it, just as you do. She has all the abilities of a Dragonlord, even those you little understand, Merlin, and can use them far more effectively than you."

Merlin felt overwhelmed by despair. "How do I stop her, Ki- Great Dragon?"

"You need to study the Dragonlore, Merlin. You need to speak with your father. He may be able to guide you."

Merlin swallowed. "My father is dead."

Kilgharrah shook his head. "Dragonlords and Druids rest less easily than other dead men. It is not difficult for a sorcerer to speak to those beyond the Veil. Ask the Druidess who travels with you how to contact Balinor. She will let you hear your Father's voice. Perhaps he will know if any Dragonlords survived, or if anyone may instruct you."

"But I-"

A great roar tore the still air, cutting Merlin off, reverberating through the forest, shaking the bones of the Earth. Flocks of birds rose in alarm from distant trees.

Kilgharrah's scaly face winced. "She is hunting again," he said. "The mercenaries have provoked her. Arthur and your companions will be in danger. You must protect him."

"But… if my Dragonlord powers don't work against her, how can I stop her?"

"I doubt you can, alone. But perhaps we can hold her off together. I can buy you and Arthur enough time to escape."

"Won't she just command you to get away?"

"You are nearer to me than she is now, so your Voice will be as loud as hers. When you are on the battlefield, when she overpowers you, use your Dragonlord gift on me. Order me to assist you, and your will may shield me from hers. Even if you can't overpower her completely, you will loosen her hold on me enough for me to resist her, and attack."

"Isn't she… stronger than you?"

"She is stronger than all of us, Merlin. But I am useful, as the only adult male dragon in Albion. For that reason, I hope she will not kill me outright, even if she may… hurt me. I alone may do this, as I have some protection against her."

"But Ki-"

"Do it, Merlin! For all of us. Although I would rejoice to see my people's numbers restored, I fear the consequences of another war with Men. And I fear being enslaved by her and used in her conquests, as much as I shrank from being bound to your will.

"It has been a joy and a frustration, an honour and an agony, to share a world with you, young warlock! And greet your father for me. He was my friend, and I loved him. And tell him that I say you have made him proud, and already excelled him.

"Now mount your horse, and follow where I fly."

A/N:

Salut, Sapindetin! Thanks as always for your in-depth review. I do appreciate help and constructive criticism with my knowledge of French language and culture. Let me reply to your review in parts! (Somehow this became an essay.)

Re: the use of the French language

Unfortunately, I don't even speak French(!), so at first I tried to avoid the use of the language as much as possible. However, I've established that England in this world has been conquered by the Normans, and also by the later Plantagenet/Angevin kings. That means we are squarely in the period of English chivalry, where French is a hugely influential language among the wealthy elites of England, Wales, Ireland and Scotland, and will remain so for several centuries.

England's defeats in the Hundred Years War will cause the English rulers to dissociate from their French ancestry, and identify more strongly with "Englishness." Only then will the English tongue undergo a resurgence in England, and return to its official status. After that, French will not longer be the sophisticated language of the nobility in Britain. However, until that point, I can't write a story in this setting without trying to include some snippets of a language I don't speak, which will mean lots of mistakes ;( désolée in advance to my Francophone readers.

Using Modern French to represent whatever the Normans speak

To make things more confusing, the Albion I'm writing has compressed cultures spanning more than a thousand years into one single melting pot. I have included elements from Celtic prehistory, sub-Roman Britain, the Germanic Expansion, Viking Age, Norman and Angevin conquests, etc.

The Normans spoke a Norse-influenced dialect of Old French. This was different to the more standard dialect spoken by the later Angevin rulers. To make matters worse, Norman kings of England like Richard were descended from Eleanor of Aquitaine… which means that as well as Old French, Richard and his brothers spoke Occitan (langues d'oc at that point?). There's no way I can represent all these varieties of Old French/Occitan authentically (bear in mind I can barely say more than bonjour and au revoir). So to represent whatever the Normans/Frankishmen are speaking, I will try to use phrases in modern French that seem vaguely appropriate. (I realise I used an Old French phrase earlier, but that was only because I knew that one in particular.)

However, I will take your suggestion and use mon seigneur and ma dame, avoiding the newer constructions. I considered doing this earlier, but thought it might be confusing, because I know monseigneur is also a religious title, and later become attached to the French king's brother. However, I'm also using the English titles my lord and your grace for both secular and religious leaders, so this makes sense, plus honestly, I'm writing a fantasy so I'm giving myself permission to use whatever titles for Church and State leaders feels right at the time.

Culture of the Anglo-Bretons after the Norman Conquest

I take your point about the Bretons having quite a different language and culture from the rest of France. However, Bleys' father is probably an Anglo-Breton (a Breton born and raised in England, whose ancestors came from Brittany). When William of Normandy invaded England, he brought armies made up of knights from across northern France, mostly Normans, Bretons and Flemings.

The Bretons and Flemings had their own languages and cultures, but because they were part of William's army, and sworn vassals of the Norman kings, I believe they were absorbed into the French language and culture. After arriving in England, they became part of the new nobility, and French was the language of chivalry and court life.

That means that while the Bretons back home in Brittany might have still been very Celtic, the Bretons settled in England after the Norman Conquest must have been at least comfortable with the French language, which became the common language among all educated peoples (including Normans, Franks, Bretons, Flemings, etc.). I believe the Anglo-Bretons also dressed like Normans and followed the Norman fashions, so they would have looked quite French to the local Anglo-Saxon people.

My knowledge of Brittany is admittedly very poor, so I don't know how much Breton culture was retained by the Bretons who came over to England. I have read that the Norman kings often sent Breton lords to conquer Welsh territory, because the Bretons still spoke a Celtic language like the Welshmen, and had memories of originally coming from Britain, so invading Wales was like taking back their own land! However, I'm sure the Welsh still perceived the Anglo-Bretons as invaders, because even if they still spoke a Celtic language, they also dressed like Frenchmen, served the Norman kings, and probably seemed foreign to the Welsh.

On Bleys' Saxon mother... Initially in England, intermarriage between French speakers and Anglo-Saxon peasants was stigmatised. However, a lot of male knights came to Britain to fight for the Normans, and eventually many of them "went native" and took local Anglo-Saxon women as wives. So many Normans, Bretons and Flemings eventually married Saxon women, and my character Bleys would be a product of such a mixed marriage. He probably learnt some Anglo-Saxon from his mother. I imagine if his Breton father was a noble, he would have made sure his son learnt French to function in high society, but perhaps he passed on some Breton language to him as well (unless it was forgotten after generations in England).

Also… because my timeline is all over the place, I'm not sure if the Bretons on the mainland live in Armorica, Brittany, a duchy conquered by the Normans, or some fusion of all three...

By the way, I like to think Bleys was brought up with some Celtic heritage from his Breton father, even though he speaks French. He is a bard who is interested in old legends, plus, I cheekily used the spelling "Bleys" from Tennyson's poems, but his name corresponds to Father Blaise of the Arthurian legends. I believe you asked me about Blaise many months ago… well, I decided to make him a bard instead of a churchman, for now. So keep an eye on him!