A/N: It's been a long, long time.

I actually tried to update several months ago but it turned out that all of my notes and unfinished chapters had been lost, and I was so discouraged I considered ditching the story entirely.

Lately I've been missing writing though, and I reread everything, and I'm trying again. However, since it's been so long, I have no idea what plotlines I was initially following.. so we'll see what happens

from here.

Thank you for your patience. -X

The months that followed the battle were occupied almost entirely by the monumental task of rebuilding, and Arthur was thankful for the endless tasks he found himself faced with. There were simple things, like repairing the castle walls and restocking the armories, and more complex things, like restoring morale in the streets. Gwen helped with the latter; under her recommendations a memorial was installed in the courtyard- a simple statuette of a boy soldier bearing a torch aloft, and for weeks there were vigils at night where people spoke in hushed but loving whispers about the dead.

Patrols were increased, and Arthur went with them always. Although he never said so, the missions for him were more about scouting for the black dragon than for signs of imminent attack. He knew that in some respects it was selfish to want Merlin back. He could recall with heartbreaking clarity the look in the sorcerer's eyes upon discovering that he'd killed Camelot men and he knew Merlin would never overcome the guilt he felt, and that it was kinder to let him live on, unburdened, as Emrys. All the same he would lie awake at night, feeling the great emptiness in the old physician's quarters like a throbbing wound. A new physician had been hired by necessity but he worked out of different rooms, because nobody had the heart to disturb Gaius or Merlin's things. Arthur was the only one who still entered the old chambers, and Gwen would find him there often, sitting quietly on a cot with his hands over his face.

"I miss him," he said quietly on one of those occasions. "I worry about him."

"I do, too," she said, and took his face in her hands and kissed his forehead. "But he can never be happy here again."

Years were passing now. The black dragon was gradually growing strong again, until he was well enough to fly alongside what he gradually understood to be his mate.

Aithusa, for her part, had come to terms with the black dragon's past, as she had come to terms with her own. She would never forget the death of her mistress but she herself had killed while under the influence of another, and so she could not blame Emrys. She understood, too, that she was fated to be with the strange black dragon. They would often fly together at daybreak and she would show him the stars that she used to witness alone, and found their beauty anew through the gaze of another.

Emrys seemed happy enough with their new life, yet he spoke little. He still had his strange dreams, and every morning when he woke, Aithusa could see some wild, sad ghost in his eyes. He wasn't aware of it, she was certain; whenever she asked what he had dreamed the night before, she was met with blankness. At first she decided to ignore it, thinking it to be some remnant of the past- memories of murdering her mistress that haunted him, maybe. But the desperate look in his eyes, flashing in the morning light, felt so alone. Even the color was odd; she had caught glimpses of a hazy, rainy blue, before it was enveloped by blossoms of gold. One night, she decided to try and speak to him as he slept.

Emrys.

There was a scattered whisper in response, not the voice of her lover, but of somebody else.

Who are you?

She got the sense that the entity was screaming, trying to respond, but it was too fragmented and she could barely make out any sound at all. Her eyes narrowed and her head dropped onto her paws, mere inches from Emrys' snout.

You're the sorcerer, aren't you?

This time there was no attempt at noise, but she felt a wave of emotions, so strong she jerked back, nostrils flaring, eyes wide. Grief. Confusion. Despair. Guilt. It was a plea and an apology all at once, and she knew instantly that it was Merlin, and that he had not been responsible for Morgana's death. And she felt a great pity for the man who had once shielded her from harm before she had even hatched. Just as suddenly, Emrys stirred, his eyes opening and for one moment alien, before they were gold again and he huffed at her sleepily. The entity was extinguished from her mind.

From then on she was faced with the loneliest conflict she had ever encountered. On one hand, she loved Emrys, more than she would have ever thought possible when they first crashed down into a clearing. There was an instinctual and primal joy in having a mate, something she'd never dreamed of before but now valued more than her own life. The thought of the loneliness she would have experienced as the last of the dragons was crushing. And yet, every morning, she felt a wave of guilt. She could hear Merlin in her dreams now, too, and whether real or imagined, it broke her heart.

That was why, one day, she left Emrys sleeping and sought out a band of men with crimson dragons emblazoned on their tunics.