In the courtyard, passersby were stopping dumb in their tracks to gawk in awe or fear at the large, pale rear of the dragon whose head was tucked so gingerly in the castle window. Occasionally, on some command or tenor of voice, the great creature's tail would swing carelessly from side to side, threatening to send any unfortunate soul standing too near flying into the castle wall.

"Galahad, would you look at that!" Young Tristan said, pushing a tuft of his bright hair away from his face. "That dragon is wagging its tail!"

Galahad let out a disgruntled sigh. "It's not a dog, Tristan, it's a beast."

"Dogs are beasts, in a manner of speaking."

"Don't start with me," Galahad huffed. "This day has been bad enough without your mindless chatter." The knight turned to walk away, but halted when out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of his companion drawing nearer to the creature.

Tristan approached the dragon with the mock caution of a child, dancing closer with exaggeratedly slow steps until he was within arm's reach of the great creature's tail.

"What are you doing?" Galahad asked, his voice turning deep and gravely as if to admonish Tristan's petulance.

"I'm going to pet her," Tristan said. He slowly reached out a hand.

"You fool…" Galahad groaned. Before he could croak out another word, Tristan gave the dragon's hind a great scratch, to which she responded with a gleeful wag of her great tail. Tristan toppled over, gracelessly collapsing onto the cobbled ground. He let out a hearty laugh, and continued laughing, until he realized he was pinned by the massive white tail.

"Sir Galahad," Tristan implored, still on the verge of breaking into another wild bout of laughter, "If you would please get this dragon's tail off of me…"

"Oh, now you ask for help."

Without much thought, Galahad approached the beast's tail. He stared at it for a moment, assessing the best way to move the thing without finding himself in the same predicament. After a pause, he squatted down and attempted to take the scaly tail in his arms and lift it outright, but it was heavy and quite unwilling to budge.

"Pet her," Tristan prompted.

"No. I'll not be pinned down like you."

"Please," the young knight implored, "I rather feel like I'm being crushed down here."

Galahad glanced at Tristan's face and noted it was contorted into something between a grimace and a smile. Had he not known his friend so well, he might have misinterpreted the look as something of mockery. However, as he had seen the daft young man caught in many follies, he knew the strange look to be that of someone who is perpetually optimistic despite being in a great deal of pain.

Galahad sighed again. With a reluctant movement, he reached up and scratched the creature's hind. The dragon shifted, but its weighty tail lay dormant on top of Tristan.

"Scratch harder!"

Galahad, who was growing impatient, drew his sword and moved a half step back. It took Tristan a moment to realize his intentions, and before anything could be done to stop it, Galahad gave a quick, half-strength jab to the dragon's tail.

Aithusa let out a yelp of pain, lifting her tail just long enough for Tristan to roll out of the way before it came back down with such force that it cracked the stone beneath it.

"Now look what you've done!" Galahad shouted.

"Me?" Tristan moaned in return. "You needn't stab her!"

"Would you prefer to be trapped there?"

Upstairs, Merlin ducked just in time to dodge a small ball of fire that Aithusa had inadvertently spit out. He charged towards the window and peered down at the knights bickering below. When he saw the small wound on Aithusa's tail he nearly exploded with anger, but thought better of it and collected himself. The wound was, after all, barely noticeable – a mere nick on the dragon's tough exterior. He would not throw a proper fit over that, but he was certain they deserved a stern talking to.

"Gaius, I must go deal with something," Merlin said.

The old man stared at the great dark spot on the opposing wall where the dragon's breath had singed the stone. "I'd say you do."

Merlin stormed down the winding staircase, paying no heed to the man whom he passed there. In fact, no one paid any mind to the stalky, dirty-faced man who had been wandering the citadel for the past hour or so, though he was a stranger to Camelot and had an unusually unkind look about him.

The man peered after Merlin, his stark brown eyes betraying some sinister purpose. When Merlin had gone, the man continued up the stairs, shoulders hunched beneath a ratty brown cloak.

At the top of the stairwell he looked about him, seeing a servant at the far end of the hall. Purposefully, he made his way toward the servant, his uneven gait causing him to stumble now and again. The servant passed him going the opposite way, hardly casting a glance in direction.

With some ceremony the man stopped in front of a large wooden door. He pressed one ear to the wood, attempting to make out the soft voices from within. Once his suspicions were confirmed, he whispered something beneath his breath, and then gingerly pushed the door open.

Inside the room, George still sat on his mother's lap. Neither noticed the man in the doorway, until he ventured a few steps inward and the unnatural sound of his movement attracted Guinevere's attention. She looked up, and recognized that there was someone there, but seemed to stare right though the man, as if he was some indistinct person whom she passed every day.

"Can I help you?" Guinevere asked, forgetting to be upset that a stranger had intruded on her in her private chambers.

The man stepped forward again. His face contorted into a great grimace.

He pulled a dagger from beneath his cloak.