A/N: For whatever reason it seemed like good timing to me to start up writing again right as finals began... anyways, I'm hoping for more frequent updates now that school's out. Working on getting back to all of the reviews and PMs as well. Thank you all for everything and enjoy! X

"Dragon!"

For a moment, Arthur's world erupted into chaos. His men scrambled for cover, raising shields and swords with equal fervor. Their horses cried out in fear and one tossed his inexperienced rider, galloping back towards Camelot with a terrified snort. Arthur didn't move. His own steed began to jerk beneath him, wanting desperately to follow the horse which was now several yards away, but it grew still after a swift kick to the side.

"Sire, get out of the clearing!" Sir Blaise had riden up next to the king and now made to reach for his reins, thinking him frozen into inaction. "It isn't him!"

Arthur had realized as much; the dragon which now blotted out much of the sky above was white, not black, but even so he batted away Blaise's hand.

"Hold!" The knights stirred uneasily but obeyed as Aithusa landed in the clearing. Arthur was struck by how much she'd grown since the battle; even her descending wingbeats were enough to flatten the trees nearest to her, and he heard another novice rider fall off a rearing horse.

There was a long silence that followed, and to Arthur it was immediately obvious that Aithusa was trying to speak to him. He heard nothing but stepped forwards, reaching out to touch the massive dragon's nose. Up close her eyes were great blue moons, searching. There were questions in them, and something else, and so when she suddenly leapt into the sky and flew away, Arthur knew he had to follow.

"Keep a distance!" He shouted over his shoulder without turning back to see if his orders were followed. Aithusa was flying slowly, almost languidly, so that he could match her pace. He had an idea of where she was taking him and he spurred his horse onwards, quicker.

In the time since the battle at Camelot, Nimueh's castle had been especially dismal. When she killed Morgana after the sacrifice to the Triple Goddess had already been made, she was in effect renouncing her loyalty to the Goddess. Her powers had not been stripped but her immortality had, and the idea of death kept her awake almost every night. More immediately troubling was the loss of her army. No mercenary would ever serve as well as the dead, but without the aid of the Goddess, Nimueh didn't hold much faith in any necromancy spells working in her favor. And so, irritating as the decision was, she left Camelot- and Merlin- to their own devices for a time, and began the very boring and laborious task of creating a kingdom of her own.

It was easier than she thought, really. Men were easily bought and cheaply kept, and it helped that they found her irresistible. They knew her name and her power and were easy to keep in check. Druids came when she called, too—those that did not so easily forget or forgive Uther's cruelties even with his more liberal son on the throne. Likmus had returned and sat always to the right of her throne, greasy and brooding, commanding the Druids and daily getting closer to their goal.

Men begot men, and with very little work on her part Nimueh's army grew like a weed and flourished under Likmus' hand. This left Nimueh to focus on winning back the love of the Triple Goddess. Her sacrifices and prayers went ignored, and daily she would fly into a rage with only the image of Merlin's suffering to ease her mood. She could hear him sniveling, a disembodied child, and it was her sole source of joy even as Likmus constantly brought her news of his experiments advancing.

It was on one such day that Likmus found Nimueh in her chambers, staring into a pitch-black fount and crooning quietly to the scattered images projected there.

"My lady?" he ventured, and she silenced him with a slender, upheld hand.

"Listen to him scream," she murmured, her voice as tender as if she was singing a lullaby to an infant. She lowered her hand and stroked the glassy surface of the fount instead, disrupting the images that were already fragmented there. All Likmus saw were ghosts—fading memories, distorted and oversaturated with desperation. Snatches of Merlin's life, and of Emrys, oblivious to his phantom passenger, intertwined and bleeding into one another like dirt and water.

Likmus waited a moment before trying again. "My lady."

"What?" Nimueh was irritated, turning so quickly that the Druid man stepped back, unsettled. "What is so important?"

"We've done it, my lady." He stepped forwards again, his voice earnest and his eyes glittering in a way that made him look not unlike an oversized termite. "It's time."

For the first time in a very long time, Emrys woke up alone.

He had been dreaming again, although as usual he could not recall even a fragment of whatever he had been imagining and was left with only a brief sting of some alien misery he could not understand. Instinctively he looked for Aithusa, who always slept at his side, and found only a depression in the grass.

Uneasily he sat upright and cocked his head, listening. Her wingbeats were a mile off, maybe more, and slower than her regular pace. Beneath the sound of her wings he could hear hoofbeats and the breathing of men and he was filled with an odd sense of anxiety. There were not enough men to be dangerous, and Aithusa could easily outfly them if she chose. So why didn't she? There was something else too, something unplaceable, something that came from deep in his chest where his dreams hid away from him. He wanted to fly towards Aithusa and fly away from the men all at once, and so could do nothing but stand, rooted to the ground, and wait.