II. The Last Dragonlord
"The chains, Arthur," Merlin gasped, holding his shackled wrists out in front of him, "Cut them away!"
Arthur looked at Merlin dismayed, shocked that he had the strength even to kneel and lift his arms, but he didn't have the time to wonder from whence that strength was drawn. "I can't!" he yelled, even as one of Cenred's men swung at him, "They're enchanted," he ran the man through, but he was only delaying the inevitable. They were all doomed, and he knew it, "Swords cannot cut them!" Another foul fighter had made his way to Arthur and was dispatched, "We need…" another foe cut down, "…the key!" And another enemy fell at his hands, but he knew he was defeated. Around him his loyal knights fought valiently, but they were five against fifty, with scores more waiting below should they by some miracle make it out of this courtyard. They would die here, now. It wouldn't be long until Merlin was broken, and then Camelot and all the Five Kingdoms would fall.
"No," said Merlin, "You can! Your sword can! Trust me. Arthur!" Arthur swung round, momentarily protected by the circle of knights battling around him and Merlin. Merlin knelt in front of him, looking pitiable in his wounds, but with furious certainty in his deep blue eyes, his arms outstretched towards Arthur, the length of glittering chain that held his manacles together pulled taut. Arthur didn't have time to argue or even think: he brought his sword down.
Excalibur sliced through the chains like butter, and instantly the heavy shackles crumbled from Merlin's wrists into a pile of ashes on the stone floor. "HA!" Arthur laughed with stunned disbelief. Merlin bowed his head forward, and Arthur quickly but gently sliced the collar away. It offered almost no resistance, falling apart with barely a touch from Excalibur and dissolving into ash just as the manacles had done. Then Arthur was on the floor.
He wasn't sure what had happened. He wasn't injured. He grabbed Excalibur and hurried to stand again, and then he realized that every man in the room had fallen, and they were now scrambling madly to reach their weapons and get back to their feet. Arthur stood, and immediately felt something powerful wash through him; like a pulse, or a wave. It staggered him, but this time he did not fall. So to, did his faithful knights remain standing, looking shocked as all of Cenred's men again hit the floor. Arthur could see Cenred himself, a few yards away, brought to his knees.
Then Arthur looked at Merlin, who was standing now, only a few feet away from him. The blood that covered half his face and his entire chest no longer made him appear pitiable, instead he looked fearsome. He was like a terrible caricature of his wounded self, all in black, white, and red. His skin stretched so tightly over his bones that it looked as though each of his ribs, his collarbone, his shoulder blades, and the joints of his elbows were about to pierce right through. There was hardly an inch of him that was not bruised black or purple, and the gore of lacerations on his chest and lashings on his back oozed deep maroon blood onto his tattered trousers, droplets falling to the floor at his bare feet. The black circles around both his eyes only made the irises, which now shown brightly gold instead of their usual blue, stand out all the more. He was thin as a corpse and pale as a ghost but somehow a staggering amount of power emanated from his small frame. Somehow he seemed huge.
He didn't look like Merlin. And he said not a word.
Another pulse, and all the enemy men were thrown roughly against the stone walls. They did not fall, however, but hung grotesquely in the air, some of them kicking and twitching, trying to scream but unable to make a noise. The knights looked around them, stunned, their weapons hanging limply at their sides. Then Merlin raised his eyes to the sky, and began to yell. It was a voice Arthur had never heard before, deep and commanding. More of a roar than a yell, and in a language Arthur could not understand, but Arthur thought he heard the word dragon.
When Merlin stopped yelling silence overwhelmed the court. It seemed that every man held his breath. Even the summer breeze seemed to still. Merlin took a pace forward, towards Cenred, who crouched a few yards in front of him, quaking with fear, his horrible queen cowering in the shadows against the wall behind him. Merlin looked down at the king, his face like stone. "You did not know who you had imprisoned, did you, Cenred?" he said, his voice cold and steady.
Cenred merely gazed up at him, eyes wide with terror, unable to speak. Arthur felt as if his heart would freeze within his chest.
"I am Emrys," Merlin continued, "I am the last warlock. I am the last dragonlord. And you should not have tried to hurt my friends."
Arthur had forgotten that a hundred of Cenred's men stood below, until he heard the sound of their terrorized screams. He, along with everyone else, turned towards the yard a tier below, just as the Great Dragon dove down like a demon out of the inky black sky, streams of fire pouring from its gullet onto the mass of humanity below. The tortured cries of the army as they burned to death were matched in horror only by the stench of burning hair and flesh that seemed to meet Arthur's nostrils unnaturally fast. The dragon swooped up and down again, again, and again. It rained hell upon the men until the last of their cries faded, before it disappeared into the blackness of the sky, leaving the orange light of the mass of burning bodies to illuminate the courtyard.
Arthur looked back at Merlin, who still stared at Cenred. His expression was unfathomable, as the light of the holocaust danced across his bloody cheek. "Please," gasped the fallen king, "Mercy!" But even as he pleaded a trickle of blood began to drip from his nose, followed by the corners of his mouth, from his ears, and his tears turned red. He struggled to breathe.
"Merlin," Arthur gasped. He didn't know what he wanted or meant to say. He was just in shock.
Merlin turned back to Arthur, and the golden glow faded immediately from his eyes. There was a slight smile on his lips, though it was pained. He looked like Merlin again. He looked small, and fragile, and hurt. "Arthur," he said, his voice suddenly sounding very young, "you're safe." It sounded almost like a question. And then Merlin collapsed unconscious on the floor, his magic had been all that was keeping him up.
Around him Cenred's men fell, those who were still alive immediately fled. Cenred himself gasped for breath, still huddled in a ball on the ground.
"Merlin!" Arthur yelled, running towards the fallen man, Gwaine at his heels. But they stopped abruptly in their tracks when a great roar sounded and a set of gargantuan talons crashed down directly in their path. Before them was the Great Dragon. It stood thirty feet high, its gleaming golden eyes narrowed down at the tiny men in front of it. Each one of its claws almost the height of a man and nearly the girth, forming a cage around Merlin, through which Arthur could see the as yet unconscious young man.
The dragon stared down at Arthur with wild ferocity, and Arthur knew that the cage wasn't to keep Merlin in, but to keep anyone who might do him further harm out. Gwaine had taken an unconscious step backwards as he gazed up at the mighty beast, and behind him and Arthur, Leon, Percival, and Elyan stood with their swords aloft but frozen to the spot, not sure of what to do. Then, the beast spoke.
Arthur thought there could be no more shocks in a single day, so when the Great Dragon said his name, he gave up on disbelief altogether.
"Arthur Pendragon," The dragon said with an ancient and mesmerizing voice. "What have you done?"
"I…" began Arthur. He didn't know what to say. He took a hesitant step towards Merlin, reaching out, but froze once more when the dragon thrust its huge head towards him menacingly.
"Merlin is my kin!" Bellowed the dragon, "He is the last of his kind, and I will not let any more harm come to him!" The beast glared at Arthur with fury in its eyes. Arthur just felt confused, tired, and scared. It was one of those rare moments when he really didn't know what to say or what to do. The last time he'd felt so uncertain, he had asked Merlin for guidance. That day seemed a lifetime ago.
"The last of his kind," Arthur repeated dumbly. "Merlin, the Sorcerer." He still had trouble believing it.
"Not just a sorcerer," said the dragon, slightly more calmly, "A sorcerer is a man who learns to command the magic of nature through study and skill. Merlin is a warlock, born with magic within him. He is a creature of magic," here the beast paused, studying Arthur quizzically before continuing, "…and he can no more help what he is than I can help being a dragon…or you a king."
The anger seemed to be fading from the dragon's voice, and it sounded wise, but its fearsome claws remained unmovable. Arthur could feel that he was trembling slightly, but he couldn't bring himself to be ashamed. "All my life I've been taught that magic was evil. That magic corrupts."
"Is Merlin evil?" Asked the dragon, now speaking almost gently. If Arthur still had it within him to feel shocked, he would have been, for here he stood, conversing calmly with a monster.
"How can I know?" Asked Arthur, and he looked wearily at Merlin. "I don't even know him." He felt like giving up. Like nothing mattered anymore.
"Oh, but you do," replied the dragon. "He is no different from who he has always been. It is you who has changed." Arthur stared blankly at the monster, "You learned something new about him, and that changed your perception. It did not change Merlin."
Judging by the dragon's eyes, it almost looked as if it was smiling, but Arthur knew that could not be. "You know his heart, Arthur Pendragon," it said, "Is there any evil in it?" The dragon cocked its head to the side and looked down at its own massive claws, "Look at him. What do you see?"
Arthur felt a tear slide down his cheek. He felt his knees suddenly give way. He heard Excalibur clatter as it dropped to the floor. And he found himself kneeling on the stones, inches from the deadly talons of the beast. He found himself reaching his hand through the space between the ivory claws and laying it upon the bruised and bloodied hand that lay palm up on the floor. He couldn't tear his eyes from the battered face before him, and within him a wave of regret, guilt, and loss hit so hard he felt as if he would drown, "I see no evil," his voice broke, "I see only my truest friend."
The talons lifted slowly away, and Arthur pulled closer to Merlin. He touched his face. And everything was silent.
Then, the dragon spoke again. "He is dying," it said.
"No!" gasped Arthur, pulling his eyes away from Merlin to look up at the beast. "No! Please, there must be something you can do. Use magic. Anything! Please, you must save him!"
"I cannot," said the dragon, and Arthur quaked.
"You're lying," Arthur exclaimed stupidly.
"I cannot save him," continued the beast, "But you can."
Arthur was numb. He no longer knew what to think or feel. All he knew was that he had to save his friend. "What do I do?" he asked.
"You must take him to the Lake of Avalon," replied the dragon, "There, the Lady of the Lake will heal him."
"I don't know the way," said Arthur.
"Then I shall guide you."
Arthur took Merlin into his arms and stood slowly. With a few flaps of its mighty wings the Great Dragon thrust itself into the air and hovered above them.
"Here, let me, my lord," said Percival, stepping forward and reaching to take the injured man. Arthur had almost forgotten that his knights were there.
"No," said Arthur, "I have him."
"And what about them?" Asked Gwaine, motioning with disgust toward the quivering king and queen. Arthur looked upon them, and he wanted to destroy them. He wanted to take a knife, and torture them slowly, until they begged for death.
"Leave them," he said, staring into Cenred's bloody eyes. "What will be done with them is up to Merlin. They won't be hard to find, and they can live the rest of their lives knowing that they will pay for what they've done." The queen let out a strangled sob, and Arthur led his men away from the courtyard, past the dozens of bodies crumpled on the floor, past the field of burning corpses, while the instrument of their destruction hung limply in his arms.