A/N: Part two. Thanks to-Sofiajedi, for proofreading and general awesomeness, and a friend whose fanfictionnet profile I still can't find for letting me be antisocial and spend hours alone in my room writing this.
Nina: Thanks! Merlin really does warm Arthur a lot, doesn't he? Catrina, Cedric, Sophia…that Prince needs to listen.
Euonym: Thanks for the compliments! Actually, I was just trying to think up a cool name and then when I finished and looked around, I noticed my copy of The Fellowship of the Ring sitting next to me. And headdesked. Then couldn't think up any other name. I'm so glad Tolkein isn't interesting in lawsuits…
ExDee LessThanThree: Thanks for reviewing!
Kluddle: Thanks! It was really fun to write J
Rain rattled on the tower roof. The tower rose above the lands like a dark watchman, and none dared enter it. Not even when winds lashed the land and the few peasants who lived in that far corner of the world felt their huts blow away around them would they enter, though the rock was enduring and doubtless provided shelter. Even warmth might be found within, if one crept into the cavernous rooms and lit the hearths.
But none did. That tower was called the Watchmen for more reason than one, and in it's spire lived the Watch. The Watch's eyes peered out over it's domain, and it was more frightening by far than mere exposure.
The peasants felt those eyes. The lands the Watch dominated were sparse and bare, populated by goatherds in ragged tunics and their hard faced wives, those who worked their hands to the bone. Children were cautioned to play only around the outcroppings of rock, for fear of being swept up. The goats and sheep themselves were skinny and produced lean meat, but it was no matter.
No wolves preyed upon those beasts. Nor did peasants fear draught-the rains themselves were proof that water was plentiful enough. Starvation was held off by just the barest means, but it was not precisely hardship. The people under the watch were long used to a constant gnaw of hunger, and no longer thought of it.
These people might have lived differently and been prosperous. The wool from the sheep was good and might make fine cloth for cloaks and blankets, had they machinery not patched and worn. The goats themselves gave fair milk for the scrub they fed, and it could be traded. But fear ruled the lives of the people and it was their fear that kept them grounded in their hovels.
They feared the Watch. That thing that had rousted their old kings and queens from the tower, which now surveyed land from the highest window and knew it was secure. It knew not that it would not be much longer.
Travelers trudged across the lands. These were not the goatherds of the Watched Lands, but they were not fresh faced lads. Youthful perhaps, but with eyes that saw much and had seen worse. One strode ahead, purpose set in mind. Another followed that one, purpose more towards carrying and protection than the doing of great deeds. Another slogged along wishing for his horse. The next kept himself at the dog trot of a traveler, and was buoyed up by his own thrill at the doing of deeds. For all but one, scarlet capes stuck to their bodies and weighed them down.
Eyes spied them. Two great eyes of deep green, ringed with red, spotted the movement across the land. Slitted nostrils detected the traces of their scent even through the rain.
Men. Eyes narrowed. It did not wish men of that type, men who carried blades and smelled of danger. Another faint smell was with them, a different smell, but it was soon lost. The Watch prepared to leave the tower, dive over the lands and destroy the men afore they had chance to strike.
But it paused. The winds howled outside, and there were things within that must be kept safe. The men could wait. The Watch retreated to the interior and turned it's back on the rain.
The men, far below, struggled on.
"Merlin would you keep up!" The leader snapped over his shoulder. His mail and cape, so helpful against other threats, merely slowed him down now.
"I'm trying! You can carry your own baggage if you want any better!" The one upon whom bags were heaped, the least muscular, called back. It was he who carried that strange smell.
"Or you can move your arse." The leader, of the name Arthur, surname Pendragon, and title of Prince, muttered his words. The wind wetted his cloak and, for the sake of secrecy, he had taken one without the gold dragon badge that marked his heritage.
Had the Watch seen that badge, it would have destroyed him in a wrath. Or so it would be assumed.
"Go easy on him Arthur!" The one who slogged through mud with grumbling thoughts called ahead. He quickened his pace and took one of the bags Merlin carried. "It's hard traveling!"
Arthur ignored his knight and focused on the tower. It did carry a sinister air, but so did half the vaults in Camelot. He was not one to be frightened away by the mumblings of ignorant peasants.
"We all need to hurry! There's no shelter for miles around the tower, and there we'll be warm and dry!" Arthur ploughed on. The ground around the tower was barren, with no underbrush or rocks. He presumed it was in case of attack, so the former inhabitants would be absolutely safe from ambush.
Merlin quickened his pace to stay near Arthur. His sense of unease grew whenever he looked upon the blackened stones of the dead court. Gwaine and Lancelot hurried in response, not wishing to be left behind.
"We're nearly there!" There were no gates around the tower. In fact, as Arthur's stride took him close enough to see through rain, he saw that there was even no door. The entrance was a gaping hole, where once massive double doors would have been.
Arthur strode into the entry. Inside was total blackness. As the knights filed in around him, he groped blindly for a light.
"Here, hold on a moment." There was the sound of baggage clanking. Arthur scowled. The noise was very loud in this deserted place.
"Merlin, try to be a bit quieter!" Light flared up behind him, and Merlin stepped to his side. He held aloft a burning torch, one he'd somehow produced from inside a pack.
"There's no one here to hear it." Merlin murmured. The light had illuminated a hall that was devoid of life.
It must have once been a festive place. The whole base of the tower was one room, a room eerily similar to Camelot's great hall. Two long tables ran the length of the hall, with the seats around them toppled or smashed. At the head of the hall was a throne, fallen over on it's back. Behind it the cold hearth was a yawning mouth. The butts of torches hung with spider webs were set in iron holders on the walls, indicating that once this was well lit. Merlin's torch sent light up high enough to suggest the skeleton of a chandelier above them.
"God." murmured Gwaine. Arthur advanced. His boots made footprints on the dust coated flagstones.
"It's shelter." He said brusquely. "Merlin, light the fire. There's plenty of wood stacked by it."
"We should not be here." Merlin whispered. He felt more than just the absence of life, absence of even rodents and bugs. Above them, far above them, was hostility. What lurked in the high tower had no love for men, and it was powerful. The musician's words came to his mind, and Merlin desperately wished he had not been ignored.
"Don't be so superstitious, whatever's done this is long gone." Arthur was uneasy with only Merlin's torch lighting the hall. Gwaine and Lancelot had moved closer to each other, and closer to the light. "We need to dry our clothing."
"We should leave." Merlin said. He prayed that just this once, Arthur would listen. "We should go back to the hovels, and stay there. You can see there are no jewels here." That was true. The hall was stripped of ornament.
"This is one part of the tower. We haven't explored any of it!" Arthur responded. "We don't leave until we have the necklace."
"Fine." Merlin handed the torch to Arthur and walked up the hall to the hearth. He blew off the dust, then frowned and peered within. A pot was still suspended over the fire. Merlin lifted the lid and sniffed.
Some sort of stew. It had conglomerated, and looked rancid. Still, whatever had attacked had come upon the court quickly. Merlin removed the pot, resolving to clean it out later.
He tossed a few bits of wood into the grate then glanced over his shoulder. Arthur was pacing around a table, batting away spider webs. Gwaine kept close to him, and peered around with something like horror. Lancelot too stayed in the torch light, automatically righting the chairs.
No one to see him. Merlin held out a hand and pulled fire from his mind. His eyes flashed gold, and the wood caught. Merlin turned his hand palm up and the flames leapt, consuming one log with great speed and warming the air around the hearth. He tossed another log on and waited to make sure the flames burned steadily. When assured of the fact, he rose.
"Nice fire Merlin." Gwaine left the torchlight and held his hands out. Merlin was already peeling off his jacket, and Gwaine did the same to his cloak. "Pity there's not a tankard of ale for me, I'd be right at home."
Gwaine had gotten over his first impression. He seated himself on the back of the overturned throne and stretched his legs. The soles of his boots began to dry.
"This is a bad place." Lancelot commented. He laid his own cloak by the fire and wriggled from his chain mail.
"No one." Arthur joined them. He flung himself down next to Merlin and slapped the floor in frustration. "Not one single skeleton is in here."
"This is a bad thing why?" Merlin responded. He automatically began scraping the rotted wood from the pot. Arthur scowled.
"If the necklace was just on some lady's neck, we could have it and be gone by morning. Now we have to search the entire tower." Merlin frowned and pitched the last bits of food over his shoulder into the shadows. To his unease, it was not answered by the scrabbling of mice's claws.
"I still say we should leave." Arthur rolled his eyes.
"Don't be such a wimp, Merlin. You might have stayed home." Merlin shook his head. He could not conceive leaving Arthur to face the menace up in the tower alone. Merlin knew, though he knew not how, that Arthur was in as great danger in this place as he had ever been.
"Were you planning on cooking? I'm starving myself." Gwaine twitched his boots idly. "And Arthur, though it pains me to say it, is right. Nothing here but ghosts."
"Ghosts aren't real." Lancelot said. He too looked unafraid. Sitting cross legged, his shoes off by the fire and his clothing already starting to dry, Lancelot was far more at ease. "The whole place is empty."
"Do you know that?" Merlin shot back. He opened his flash and poured water into the stewpot. It was followed by herbs, and bits of a rabbit Arthur shot before entering the lands. "Where are the bodies?"
"Probably someone came and buried them." Arthur said. "Any decent person would."
"And then leave this whole place?"
"Maybe they didn't like the terrain." The Prince rolled his shoulders. "It's not your job to argue."
"No, just to haul your remains back to Camelot." Merlin muttered. It wasn't quietly enough-Arthur cuffed the back of his head. Merlin shot him a glare, to which Arthur smirked in a manner most unrepentant.
"This is an interesting quest." Lancelot commented. Gwaine snorted.
"Hardly. I've been in bar fights with more excitement." Arthur glared. Merlin leaned forward between the two and fixed the stew above the fire. It broke the line of glare, and Gwaine looked away. "Those peasants had a lot of needless superstition."
"They were uneducated and had nothing else which with to occupy their time." Arthur said. He glanced at Merlin. "Any relation to you?"
"Shut up. My mother is my only family, and she's educated enough." Merlin snapped back. Arthur felt a stab of remorse. He'd been needlessly cruel with that comment, and now Lancelot was studiously avoiding looking at either and Gwaine was glaring at him.
Interesting. Lancelot and Gwaine had no family to speak of.
"When we find the necklace, I'll claim this land for Camelot. It stands on our borders anyway, perhaps we can help these people." That brought a smile to Merlin's face. Arthur bumped his manservant's shoulder. "There's a decent market for wool and goat milk."
Merlin smiled faintly. He thought any great plans would come to naught if Arthur did not leave this place alive. The thing inside the tower wasn't about to let anyone take the lands from under it's control.
Gwaine sat on watch. Lancelot had curled on the floor with his boots as a pillow and his only slightly damp cloak covering him-an experienced traveler, he'd dealt with worse. Gwaine wondered how someone who had fought so many needless battles still held to his knightly ideals.
Arthur himself also lay on the floor, his head on one of the packs Merlin lugged for miles. His cloak was covering him and Merlin. In his sleep the manservant had curled close to Arthur. Perhaps unconsciously, Arthur'd flung an arm over him and pulled him under the cloak.
Gwaine glanced round the hall. He could imagine it, in some other time, full of dancing and feasting. When he closed his eyes, he almost heard the music play. Alone, it was easier to shiver and wonder what had happened.
But there were worse places. Gwaine had seen villages wiped out by plague and old battlefields never cleared of bodies-he would handle an abandoned court. The knight turned his thoughts from the past and imagined the tale he might tell of this.
They explored as soon as dawn light peeked through the high set windows. First to the cellars, revealed by a square hole where a wooden trapdoor should have been. Arthur went down first, then Lancelot. Merlin followed, with a torch to match Arthur's.
After all, he feared for Arthur not in the depths. The heights were more threatening by far.
"Preserves." Lancelot said incredulously. He picked up a jar. "The glass of these is half melted."
"There's wine here too." Arthur crouched down and began brushing away at dust. "Merlin, help me."
Merlin began blowing away the inches of dust on the floor. He was far more efficient than Arthur, and soon their torches threw light on the blackened floor.
"That's a scorch mark." The prince muttered. He looked around. The jars and bottles nearest to the ladder were melted. The ladder itself was malformed-it seemed to have only survived for being made of metal. "This is the work of sorcery."
Merlin doubted it. A simple sorcerer he felt, would not radiate that darkness in his mind. Nor would a sorcerer be waiting, with such a feel of cunning.
"I don't think so. Why would they leave all this food?" Merlin picked up a bottle. "This is more valuable than half the stuff they serve in Camelot."
"Don't let Gwaine see it." advised Lancelot. He and Merlin swapped grins. "Lucky he went on the other side of the room."
"It must be. Nothing else exists that could do this." Arthur said flatly. "And Merlin, bring the finest vintages up with us. They'll make an excellent gift when my father is…restored." Merlin obediently gathered up bottles. He felt it would be good to have what many men called liquid courage when what was in the tower struck them. For sure they'd need all they could find.
"Arthur, Merlin, Lancelot!" They emerged from the cellar to see Gwaine gesturing for them. "I found a staircase that leads up!"
"Good. Merlin, bring a pack." Merlin scrambled to put the wine in a bag and catch up with Arthur. Gwaine had found a winding staircase that led upwards. This one was narrow enough that they had to walk single file. Merlin made sure he was directly behind Arthur.
It wound up perhaps twenty feet before they found a door. It was made of stone, and locked.
It took Arthur a few thrusts before he had it open. The inside was barren of life. It might once have been a bedroom, for a table stood in one corner, and a metal chamber pot rested on the floor. A window hung open.
"Nothing." Arthur was disgusted. "Perhaps the people all went mad and became goatherds."
"No." Lancelot's voice was odd. "The door was locked from the inside." Arthur stalked to the window and peered down.
"This window is large enough for a man to jump. Most likely suicide." Merlin edged closer to Arthur. The prince eyed him. "I'm not about to fall, Merlin."
"You might." Merlin poked his own head out the window. He looked to the sky. The rains had gone, but he could spot not one native in the open. Arthur placed a hand on Merlin's shoulder, protectively. He had no trust in Merlin's balance.
"Let's keep going." They progressed upwards. Still, only empty rooms with windows gaping. Arthur's frustration grew. Lancelot and Gwaine slowed to stay a few stairs behind Arthur, and kept Merlin between them and the irate prince. Merlin, for his part, ignored the possibility of Arthur lashing out at him. They were drawing closer to the lair.
At last, they came to another stone door. This one was beyond Arthur's strength to open. It took he, Gwaine and Lancelot's strength combined to budge it. When it fell open with a puff of dust, they had found the skeletons.
The door had been difficult to open because it had been blockaded, by a wardrobe and a bed. The wood both were made of had weakened such that they had cracked and collapsed when the door was forced.
"Check for the necklace." Arthur ordered. His voice was hollow. "We bury them after we find it."
The room held about ten skeletons. Two sprawled on the bed, entwined. The scraps of clothing indicated a noble lady's elaborate dress and a man's boots. Another hunched in a corner in a fetal position. One was prostrate on the floor, another eagle spread with head resting on a pillow.
All were dressed in clothing appropriate for feasting. The wardrobe, upon inspection, was full of beautiful silk dresses, but most not sized for the skeletons. Arthur judged that they'd fled up here, and starved to death. He shuddered.
"I don't see it." Lancelot's voice broke through his imagination. The knight held out a fistful of jewelry. There were earrings that dripped diamonds and gold, broaches that still sparkled even after years of dust, and a few necklaces. But none the necklace they sought, none were pure gold with emeralds the size of fists and sapphires around them like peacock feathers.
"Me either." Gwaine shrugged. "Only average bits of fancy."
"Why did they lock themselves in?" Arthur asked himself. "What was so terrifying they would rather starve in isolation than even attempt a fight?"
"Arthur?" Merlin bent over a skeleton in a chair. This one held in skeletal fingers a book. A dried up inkwell was on one arm of the chair, and a pen was clenched in one fist. "Here."
"Let me see." Arthur flipped through crackling pages. "It's a journal."
Solstice 1132- Going to the feast tonight. We shall see if Sir Robert likes so to ignore me in this dress, with the bodice pulled yet lower and handsome Sir Filne on my arm. I believe that the Queen will even wear her emeralds, the ones that glow so in the light of the fire. I do believe that the King adores her ten times as much when she wears those, for his eyes never leave her chest. I much prefer his leery eyes there than peering down mine, for sure. But I must run, Sir Filne calls. If he helps my cause, I may allow him to see what wonders the neckline scarce conceals in full, but only that. My bed remains the property of dear Robert.
I know not what to mark this. It is the same day but the merry feast seems to be in a different lifetime. I cannot even keep track of the day, for this room has no window. It is our salvation that it has none, for we are here impregnable, but there is no food. I must recount it as well as can be, to remember.
We were feasting, and I was dancing with Sir Filne. Poor, poor, Sir Filne, who died so thoughtlessly. I scarce appreciated him, and hope that he found some pleasure in his last night. But to our feast-we danced, and many sat at tables. The King and Queen were at their thrones, his eyes of course on her emeralds. I was dancing. I never completed that dance. And here there is scarce music, for our singer is below in a windowed room. In the middle of a song, there was a roar of sound. The great oak doors smoked at the edges then burst to flame.
Oh, the flames! They were white hot. Then it came, crashed through the doors and was among us. Nobles screamed, yelled, flew from their chairs. It had many dead in a moment, for those massive claws and jaws-my God, the teeth were as big as my ring finger-snapped and crunched vertebrae without effort. I saw people run for the cellar, and would have joined them. Sir Robert was among those.
But a thought intruded. Would not something that breathed fire roast those in a cellar with a wooden door? It lunged across the floor and went for the Queen. She was standing proud in front of the throne, emeralds shining. It penetrated her with a bloody claw, and lifted the diamond from her snapped neck. Then it blasted fire down to the cellar, and was not afeard to kill our best knights. Then Sir Filne pulled me away and we joined the crowds running up the stairs.
I and a few others bypassed most of the doors. We knew no windowed room was safe, not from a creature with such wings. We ran for Lady Margot's room. She has no window, for the sun causes her such awful headaches. We came in just in time, for the creature sent fire up the stairwell after us. I was last into the room, and I saw poor Sir Filne's bones melt and clothing burn to ashes in seconds. I closed the door and we began fortifying our defense, in case that beast might somehow come up the stairs. I doubt it, but we feel heat at the door every now and then, so mayhap it sends up fire whenever the fancy strikes. Either way, there is no hope of escape.
Solstice 1133- I wonder if rescue is out of the question. Lady Helen, who spends all her time in the arms of Sir Mattheus, suggests Camelot. Are they not powerful? Is King Uther not a man who would help us in our plight? I decline to mention that King Uther does not even know we are dying, and that no man can kill a beast with that scaly hide.
I have now lost all reckoning of time. I only know it passes because the ache in my belly grows fiercer, and my dress looser. Lady Helen and Sir Mattheus merely lie in bed together, preserving energy. I read. It is a comfort. There is a strange quiet upon the room. We are all so afraid.
I have weakened. I see life before this as something I should have loved more, treasured to a greater extent. What I would give for a glass of that bad wine we mocked as being only good after twenty years, or even a mouthful of shepherd's pie. How we used to worry about our waistlines before. Now it seems an irony that we ladies are dying of that very thing we aspired to-small bellies. I pray daily for a miracle.
Sir Fersoth has run mad. He spends his time whimpering and wailing, curled up in the corner like some scarecrow child. The maid who flew up here with us, Jae, speaks constantly of food. I would rise and slap her mouth shut for she helps no one, but I am too tired. Please, Uther, come for us.
No miracle has come. I am very frail now, like an old woman. We could not leave if we tried, for none can push aside the blockade. I leave this record now if a lonely traveler passes through and strays into our tower for shelter. I tell you only to prepare your last rites and be ready, for there is no escape from this accursed place.
Weak now. Most have died. I do not think I shall wake again. Fear dragons, weary traveler, and carry our story outwards. And I beg you, pray for our souls.
Lady Catrina of the family Daen.
Arthur closed the journal. Gwaine and Lancelot were silent.
"Dragons." He hissed. Merlin flinched. He knew now why he could feel so perfectly the mind of what lived up at the top of the spire. "I thought my father wiped out them all."
"Clearly not." Lancelot muttered. He gripped his sword hilt. Gwaine did the same, his eyes fierce. "You said you killed one once?"
"Yes. And I can do it again." Arthur turned around. "It's probably at the top, since it can fly." Merlin grabbed his arm.
"Wait! If you fight with a dragon in close quarters you're going to be roasted!" Merlin lowered his voice. "This isn't a fight you can win Arthur. We should flee while it isn't in the tower." Merlin could feel that the presence had left them several hours ago.
Arthur pulled his arm away. "That's what they said about the first fight, and I'm sill alive. We should find the lair while it isn't here, and then ambush the thing!"
Gwaine and Lancelot's nods of agreement were almost synchronized. Merlin frantically reached out with his mind, hoping to intercept the dragon before it reached here. Every nerve in him jangled as his instincts warred.
Save the dragon. Dragonlord feelings. There must have been more to the story.
Protect Arthur. His heart. Arthur must not know that his loyalties were divided here.
His confusion served no one. Arthur stormed from the chamber and upward, Gwaine and Lancelot following. Merlin had to follow them, or lose them all. He had no idea how to find a dragon with his mind, he'd never been trained, never gotten a manual on what to do at times like this-
It was unimportant. Arthur reached the highest chamber, and Merlin followed because it was Arthur, and what else was he to do?
"The necklace must be here." Arthur said triumphantly. The chamber was heaped with gold and precious stones. Chests with indents in them from being carried in claws stood open to display hundreds of coins. "Knights, spread out and search."
It was unfortunate that the dragon flew home then.
The Watch had gone flying that day. The men were in the largest hall, where it would avoid going for the expense of fire. They would keep. Probably treasure hunters.
Instead it glided over the lands, casting shadows on huts and causing the few peasants caught in the open to fall upon their faces on grass in fear. It wasn't hungry, so it took no sheep or goats, but went to instill fear.
They had to be kept under control, frightened, and subservient. The foreign men might have caused ideas to bloom, made them think that they weren't under it's dominance and therefore protection. The quick flight convinced it that there was no uprising to fear.
But as it went home, it caught foreign man scent. In it's own den! Wings beat faster, rushing air and soaring with greater speed than any horse. It burst into the chamber. It could not belch flame, as it would in other places, for the gold might melt.
Instead it opened wings and caught one of the men on the forehead, sending him into a pile of gold. He went limp there. In the next beat another tried to use steel on the dragon-ha! No steel would penetrate dragon scale.
That one was pushed out and down, down stairs. The next was pitched to the floor, and eyes fluttered shut, as it prepared to bit down and then-
"Stop!"
Merlin roared. The dragon reared up in shock then down. The wings spread and it crouched, neck extended and head down. The position was utterly deferential.
His tone changed to a croon, calming growls and sounds that no human would pronounce but made up the dragon tongue. The dragon shivered, green eyes partially closed. The red ring that would cover the pupil when fire was summoned was merely a pink line.
" My Lord." The dragon said reverentially. "I knew not. Never would I attack your" she breathed in, inhaling the scents "lover. My sorrow is great."
"Who are you? Kilgarrah believed himself to be the only one, and my father Balinor never said differently."
"I grieve for Balinor. I am Faerscaer, and I did not answer the call when it came to Camelot, for I had other business and it was not for me. They knew not to call me. Then I heard the screams." Her voice turned wroth. "Balinor said that I should stay away, and Kilgarrah must be run mad."
Merlin let his agreement be felt in their minds. His mind turned to the people below.
"Many in this place had died, and you attacked them unprovoked." Faerscaer turned her head up and tipped it inquiringly.
"This tower? I had need for a safe den, and made bargain with their King. He broke faith with me, and so I with him. This was no good King. His people starved on the moors and scraped out living, I felt it no great loss. Now I keep these lands."
"They will be under control of Camelot." She looked up, her eyes widened.
"My lord, no! King Uther shall destroy all that lies within, and all our future!" Merlin raised his eyebrows. A certain sardonic trace entered his voice.
"Certainly, now that you hurt his son." Faerscaer's gaze turned to Arthur, and red began replacing the green in her eyes. "No. Arthur is a good man, you will not harm him."
"He would kill me." Faerscaer's voice held confusion. "You love this man who is the son of one who slaughtered our kin?"
"Sons and Fathers differ. He came here only to retrieve a certain necklace, one said to soothe the mind and spirits. Uther's mind has broken, and he wants to heal him with a son's devotion."
"His father killed mine, and my mate." But Faerscaer was resigned. She could no more refuse her lord than she could turn herself to a tree. "You may have the Emeralds of Avalon, if you so desire. They are only a trinket to me."
"What are you protecting?" Merlin felt that in her. All the careful subordination of the people, the immediate destruction of any in her nest, was not self preservation. Self preservation would have been to fly to the farthest corner of the world from Camelot.
Faerscaer rose and moved to another corner of the chamber, where heaps of gold were mounded on one side. On the other was a depression where she clearly slept, curled round her precious charge.
Five eggs lay in the nest. They rested on swathes of silk purloined from distant courts. The eggs were roughly large enough that Merlin could carry one in his arms. In color they were a pale gold and speckled.
"My eggs. The future of our kin." Faerscaer's tone held pride. She leaned into the next and blew hot air on them. The gold around them kept the whole place like a furnace.
"They're beautiful." Merlin climbed into the nest and rested his hand on one. He was aware that if he wasn't a dragon lord, the dragon mother's wrath at this would be terrible to behold. Under his hand, it seemed like the contents of the egg shifted just a bit. "How long until they hatch?"
"Around five years. You see why the natives must be kept under dominance? They will not fly for a year after hatching. They will need me for ten years longer, and even then would not be safe alone in the world." Merlin could feel the sadness in her voice. It would be a lonely existence remaining here alone, doing nothing but warm your eggs and ensure that no one came close to you.
It rather made him want to see his own mother.
"I understand. I'll…deal with Arthur somehow."
"None of them are seriously hurt." Faerscaer assured him. Merlin nodded. He would know if Arthur was in true danger.
Arthur, for virtue of being most often knocked out, was first to awaken. He blinked, wincing at the glitter the gold cast on his eyes.
Merlin. What happened to Merlin?
Ah, there he was. Sitting on a mound of gold, talking to an enormous dragon, with a hide of light green brushed with gold and grey claws the size of his head. They appeared to be quite friendly.
"Merlin?" He groaned. Speaking hurt. Merlin rushed to his side.
"Arthur! Listen, we need to talk. About the dragon." Arthur felt fuzzy.
"The dragon? Oh 's right over there. 'S watching me. Don' worry, I see." Merlin shook his head. Arthur watched the blue of his eyes swim.
"No, about why you came. Remember the necklace?" The blurry feeling of his senses was coming back into focus.
"The Emeralds of Avalon-wait!" Arthur tried to leap to his feet and only made it to his elbows. "That's the beast!"
"It's rude to call her a beast." Arthur shot Merlin an incredulous look. "We've been speaking."
"It speaks English?"
"Yes your highness." Arthur squeaked as the dragon spoke. "Many languages."
"Merlin!" Merlin brushed some of his hair off his forehead.
"Shh. Listen, we worked out an agreement. She's going to give us the Emeralds of Avalon. We leave and never speak of this to Uther. If they even work, which no one is sure of." Arthur glared.
"No, we're killing it and taking the entire horde." Merlin rolled his eyes.
"You can hardly move." Arthur scowled. "The fact that Faerscaer hasn't killed us both despite us being at her mercy is a sign of her benevolence."
"Fahscar?" Arthur said. He couldn't move his tongue around half that word. "Camelot does not deal with dragons."
"No, you use our own kin against us to kill us for a highly debatable crime which we had nothing to do with." Faerscaer said tartly. Her claws scraped the floor. "Take them and leave. The dragon empire will parley with you as king, you have my word."
"The dragon empire?"
"They aren't all dead." Merlin pressed his hands to Arthur's. "And there are hordes like this one scattered over the world. When you're King, you'll have a right to the contents of many. Moreso, there are passes once secured by dragons, and some that still are. Think Arthur, of having dragons on your side."
"We can see what they did to this castle." Arthur ground out.
"I had deal with the King, and he broke it. I needed this place, whether or not he wished to honor us." Her eyes narrowed. "And I did not take out my vengeance on every member of every race even vaguely associated with humanity."
Arthur flopped down. His head was in Merlin's lap now, and that was a nice feeling.
"The Emeralds?" Merlin held out his hand. The necklace was, as promised, beautiful. Five massive emeralds, all set in shining gold and surrounded by tiny sapphires. They seemed to emit a gentle green light. "Your sworn word that you shall do nothing to harm Camelot. Ever."
Faerscaer inclined her head. "That has already been given. You may go in peace, and believe me Arthur Pendragon, we shall meet again." Arthur tucked the emeralds into a pouch on his belt. With an arm around Merlin's shoulders he managed to stagger to his feet.
"We will, and you will honor your promise." Merlin glanced over Arthur's shoulder at Faerscaer as they went to wake Gwaine. They exchanged a silent promise of Lord to Vassal, that Faerscaer's eggs would be protected.
"One more thing my lord." Faerscaer said in his mind.
"Yes?"
"Beware the Emeralds of Avalon."
A/N: I heart Rain. It makes such a wonderful sound on the roof as you write. The thought of rain on a tower roof set off this whole three-shot, because I wrote this part then the first chapter then the third chapter. I don't know why people like sunny days more than rainy ones, the sunny ones are much more difficult to write during.