Rayna lay in her bed thinking on all she had learned during the day.
Her uncle Balinor had had a wife! Poor Uncle, she thought to herself, as she remembered that the woman was dead now as well. Her mind turned the information over in her head so she couldn't sleep.
Why had no one ever told her? She understood why her uncle wouldn't want to speak of her, and her family, but surely her own father would have told her not to tease her uncle about being bachelor because of this Hunith.
Sighing, she sat up. Why did she even think that her father would ever tell her anything? She was nothing but a disappointment, the son that wasn't a son.
Her father looked at her and her two sisters in disdain, the only people who truly cared for her were her uncle and the Barions.
It hurt, more than she would like to admit, that her father didn't love her. She knew that she wasn't a son and therefore couldn't carry on the ancient power of the Dragonlords, but that didn't make her worthless.
Tears pricked at her eyes, and she felt a lump start to form in her throat. Burying her face in the pillow, she willed the tears to go away, but found that she couldn't. So, she cried.
Cried for Hunith and Balinor, whose life together was torn apart by death, cried for her and her sisters for not being the sons that her father so desperately wanted, and she cried for the Dragonlords, her ancestors and kin who had all been killed during the purge. Wiping her eyes, Rayna felt no urge to go to sleep, and, slipping on her cloak, she made her way out the door.
Moving through the deserted corridors, Rayna felt like a ghost, her only companions the flickering torchlight and the occasional guard on duty, who it was frighteningly easy to slip past.
She had no idea where she was going, only that she couldn't stay in her confining chambers anymore all alone with her thoughts.
Suddenly, she felt a pull, a tug at the edges of her mind, like something was calling her, and down, down she descended, following this strange feeling.
When she felt the tug at the edges of her mind stop, Rayna found herself in an abandoned part of the castle, standing on the ledge of yet another staircase.
Yet this one was different.
An invisible breeze picked up, and she wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she had had the forethought to at least put on something slightly warmer.
The stairs appeared to be carved into the very foundations that Camelot sat upon, and a foreboding sense of dread settled upon her. She wasn't meant to be here.
But the tug in the corner of her mind had picked up again, edging her forward to take the first step.
Casting her gaze around, she noticed an unlit torch thrown haphazardly on the ground, as if the last person to come down this way had left in a hurry. That thought most definitely wasn't helping the sense of unease which was prickling under her skin.
Gulping down her fear, she picked up the torch, and with a whispered word, it lit, the flames dancing along the walls, casting shadows, which flickered in the uncertain light.
She began the descent.
Trailing her free hand along the rough stone wall for balance, she felt suddenly very small.
A noise!
There, almost imperceptible over the pounding of her heart, she could hear it. A whisper of a breath.
Something was down here.
Almost as suddenly as they began, the stairs stopped, and Rayna stilled her movements, catching her breath, and mentally prepared herself for what would be around the bend.
What she saw was not what she was expecting.
Towering over her, golden scales faded with time, yet still glittering in the torchlight, an amused expression on his face was a dragon!
She sank to her knees, what her father wouldn't give to find this! She had always been told that the dragons were all gone, their kind wiped from the face of the earth.
Maybe, just maybe, if she told her father, she would finally get in his good books, be seen as his daughter, and not just a disappointment for not being a son…
No. She shook her head. If her father ever found that a dragon had been imprisoned, entrapped, underneath the very belly of Camelot, it would mean war. And Rayna would always know that the blood of the thousands of people who would die would be on her hands, all because she wanted recognition from a man who never loved her.
No. It was best that her father never learnt about this.
"Who are you?" she breathed out, utterly entranced by the dragon's beautiful form. She had only ever seen dragons in drawings, but compared to this, this creature, they were nothing.
The dragon stared at her, golden eyes blinking, and then a huff of breath escaped from his lips.
"I am the last of my kind, young witch, as old as these very walls which have become my prison," the words were said with an almost amused delight, like the dragon knew a great deal more than he was letting on. "But the question is, who are you?"
Somehow, Rayna knew that the dragon knew who she was, even before she uttered out her name, "I am Rayna, your greatness, princess of Deaestidria, daughter of King Cwellere and Queen Elene."
The amusement in the dragon's tone increased exponentially when he heard this, a soft laugh escaping in breathy amusement from his mouth, "Ah, yes. It has been many years since someone of your descent has graced Camelot with their presence, yes, yes, many years, many years indeed…"
As the dragon drifted off into a muttered amusement, Rayna felt confused. Why had the dragon brought her here? And how exactly did her father never hear of this? Or if he had, why did he never act upon trying to save the last of the dragons? How did the dragon end up here? And why did he seem amused by the idea of her family not stepping foot in Camelot for many years?
Rayna knew the stories about dragons and their wise words. She also knew that many a man had wasted away trying to decipher the dragons' meanings and prophecies, only to go mad.
"Why did you call me here, O Great One? If I have any idea how to free you from this place, I would, but alas, I doubt that only my magic could break your chains."
The dragon eyed her, a terrible smile gracing his lips, as he bared his teeth.
"Destiny is oftentimes cruel and unyielding, little one… be wary of her step. She moves in mysterious ways. Only Emrys can save you now."
Wait, what?
But the dragon was already in the air, his great wings flapping, as he moved up and out of sight.
"Wait, please, I need to know more? And, Emrys? I thought he was a myth? Don't just leave me here!"
The hallway flickered in the uncertain light, shadows weaving and dancing like long forgotten echoes of days gone by.
He walked with purpose, for there was no time to lose. This information would be vital in the coming days.
He grinned, his teeth shining white against the dirt and grime which covered his face.
Finally, he reached his destination, a wooden door, nothing too special, yet behind it lay the very future of the entirety of Albion.
Knocking, he waited for the soft voice to answer, "Come in."
The door opened into a room, with only the pale moonlight which streamed through the thin slitted windows to light it. It was hard to tell the other man's features in the darkness, shrouded as they were in a dark cloak.
Bowing his head, he uttered his message to the man in the cloak, "It has been confirmed. He is there, and the men are in place."
From beneath the cowl, the man saw a wolfish smile appear, teeth almost seeming to be sharper than what was natural.
"Excellent. Send word to our little spy. The traitors will be rooted out, and King Arthur destroyed. Camelot won't know what hit them."