Aithusa let out a little huff of hot air, barely steam, as she attempted to gingerly dislodge the child hanging onto her snout. She was drawing particular attention as she squatted in the courtyard of the citadel near her master, because today in addition to being a dragon in Camelot, which was a strange enough sight, she was a dragon in Camelot with a prince tugging at her nose.
"Why didn't you tell me you had a dragon sooner?!" George shouted, letting out a burst of laughter as Aithusa straightened up and made a low, soft sound – not a growl exactly, something friendlier and more familiar. "Is she coming with us on our trip?"
Merlin cast a glance over his shoulder at the boy, dwarfed in the beast's great shadow. To think, a Pendragon laughing and stroking a dragon instead of trying to destroy it – it warmed Merlin's heart, but also solidified in him the feeling of complete and utter change. "She can come if she wants," Merlin said, drawing his attention back to saddle he was fitting onto a strong, young mare.
"Can I ride her?" George asked, attempting within the same breath to mount the great serpent's back.
"I think that's a bad idea," Merlin said in reply, paying no attention to the young boy. The dragon attempted to squirm out of his grasp without causing him any damage. When the boy persisted, Aithusa spat forth a fireball, small and pointed away from all the people, which sufficiently distracted George form his task.
Merlin let out a sigh as he finished securing the supply bag to his mare's side. It would be a short journey, less than half a day in each direction. With any luck they would reach the great stone circle just after mid-day, and be back in Camelot by nightfall. And if all went right, Merlin would get to –
"Merlin!" The sorcerer turned about, startled by the shrill tone in his Queen's voice.
Guinevere stared at him with a look of complete and utter confusion. Hadn't she agreed to this trip a few days ago? Merlin looked her up and down, and realized there was no anger in her expression – her eyebrows half raised, eyes a little widened – she was surprised.
"Yes, Gwen?"
"You shaved," she said.
Merlin straightened up a bit and glanced at his warped reflection in the recently-shinned saddle stirrup. What he saw looking back surprised him too, and not because it was murky and steel-colored. Still, he feigned ignorance.
"Don't seem so surprised, Gwen. No one liked the beard. You told me yourself."
"I…well." Her mouth hung open and then fell shut. She studied Merlin's face the way a craftsperson looks at the work of their betters. "Merlin, you don't look a day older than when I last saw you."
The sorcerer tried not to blush, rather unsuccessfully. He wasn't sure why he was so embarrassed, but he felt that his perfectly youthful face was a sort of offense. Not that Gwen had aged badly – but lines creased her forehead and began to billow out under her eyes. In the right light Merlin was sure he'd catch little shimmers of grey tucked into her dark, curly locks. She was older, as she should be since eight long-suffering years had passed.
Without the beard Merlin might have walked right out Camlan the day before. He had stared at himself in the dusty mirror in his new chambers for nearly an hour after he'd removed the scraggly, piteous beard, marveling at the wonder of his own face.
He shifted his weight. Tried to smile. "Gwen, I don't know what you're talking about."
She could hear the lie in his voice, and everything about her expression said as much. "And the jacket?" she said, nodding at the ratty brown coat Merlin had dawned in place of the burgundy cloak he'd been wearing. "Is that the same one you had all those years ago?"
"No," Merlin said, almost defensively. "It's a new one."
"It looks just like the old."
"I'll admit it's similar…"
Gwen suddenly let out a laugh. She stifled it, raising a hand to her mouth to remind herself to behave like a queen. "Stay right there," she said, and strode off towards the castle. Merlin stared after her, smiling despite himself. Behind him, George fell into a fit of laughter as Aithusa licked his soft cheek with her rough dragon tongue.
Gwen returned promptly, holding something playfully behind her back. She suddenly seemed ageless too, Merlin thought – good old Gwen the serving girl, always out to make a friend smile. She paused a moment then revealed her prize: a blue scrap of fabric. Merlin stared at it, uncertainty playing at his thoughts.
"Indulge me," Gwen implored.
Merlin hung his head for a moment, and Gwen feared she had upset her friend. After a beat, however, he looked up and his eyes were wide with laughter. "For you, Gwen, of course."
He took the scrap of fabric and pulled it loosely around his neck, twisting the ends of the fabric round until it appeared to be a seamless scarf. When he had finished, he took a step back and put his arms out, as if to model the improved outfit. "What do you think?"
"Perfect, Merlin. You look like you again."
The pair shared a rare moment of unabashed happiness as they laughed at nothing in particular and took in the atmosphere of the citadel. For a moment they were young again, living in a time before they knew sadness.
A pause. George ran up to his mother, taking her skirt in fistfuls. Aithusa lumbered up after him, making some inarticulate dragon noises which Merlin knew to be happy sounds.
"Mum! Did you know Merlin had a dragon? Isn't she great?"
Gwen let out a motherly sigh, eyeing the great lizard with suspicion. "Yes, she's very nice, isn't she, George?"
The little boy let go of Gwen's skirts and leaped towards the dragon's snout, she took evasive maneuvers, stretching her neck up so that the child couldn't reach. Gwen cast a worried look to Merlin. He smiled back, arms folded casually across his chest. "Are you sure it's safe?"
"Oh," Merlin said, "Aithusa wouldn't hurt a fly. She's great with kids."
"Tell me, had she ever seen a kid before George?"
Merlin's lips puckered the slightest, "Well, no…"
"Please just be careful," Gwen said.
Merlin tore his eyes away from Gwen's pleading stare. He knew what she was saying – she couldn't bear to loose anyone else. His gaze alighted on George, who had finally gotten ahold of Aithusa.
When the little boy smiled he looked like his father.
