Chapter 19

The Eastern Tower had seen many battles. The stone steps to reach the top were mostly worn out and the walls were blackened by fire. One could easily tell that the main part of the keep had once been beautiful. Now the tower was little more than a ruin. The statues and gargoyles were absent from the many windows gazing out at the valley; few pieces of them remained but only limbs, never their whole bodies. A huge chunk of rock was missing from the highest rampart like a knocked down tooth and it gave the tower an ominous look, like the carcass of some monster, forgotten by time.

Lately, however, a figure could be seen regularly standing at the top of the tower or sitting casually on the rampart, with eyes fixed on the horizon, searching for something that normal men could not see.

"I do hate it when you make me climb all the way up here," said Galahad wearily as he reached the top of the stairs.

Merlin Brittanicus had heard the knight's unsteady steps but he had not bothered to stand up and bow to the nobleman. Sir Galahad would not have tolerated it. He had been the first knight of Aria's Cradle to recognize him as an equal.

"I'm interrupting some deep thought, aren't I?" asked the knight from behind him. "Are you trying to call the Great Dragon again?"

The young warlock shook his head. "I thought that he may have followed Arthur here. I told him to go back to Camelot and stand guard. It seemed logical that he would return now."

He heard the clunk clunk of Galahad's walking stick as the knight advanced to stand next to him.

"One cannot guess the thinking of dragons," he said solemnly.

Merlin glanced momentarily at the knight. "That's kind of part of the job description, you know – Dragonlord. There's a bit about dragons," he replied pointedly.

He turned around to face Galahad, feeling as though he had had this conversation before, but otherwise glad for the company.

"How do you do it?" asked Galahad.

"Well, I don't really think. I just talk and sometimes stuff comes out that's a bit funny and…"

"I mean calling the dragon!" burst out Galahad, suppressing a laugh.

"Oh… that. I just sort of reach out with my mind and he's supposed to be there."

That part made Merlin uneasy. He had tried day after day to get in touch with the dragon just like he had in the cave. Yet the only image that he got was a black blur as though Kilgarrah was sleeping or hiding, if that was possible. It had been the same ever since his arrival at Aria's Cradle.

"I wish there was a book about the art of the Dragonlords that I could tell you to read. Unfortunately, the tradition of passing down knowledge from father to son can lead to these kinds of very poor results."

Merlin couldn't help but grin. Galahad had a lot in common with Gaius; mainly, his love for logic, science and mostly books, which Merlin found extremely weird for a knight.

"What would be your diagnosis, then?" asked Merlin smartly.

"I'm not sure I have a diagnosis, but I certainly know the cause. Get out of this godforsaken valley – and then try to call him again," replied Galahad.

"That's not going to happen unless I manage to free the valley of that curse," snorted the young warlock.

"My point exactly," uttered Galahad.

He couldn't help but smirk at the older knight. Despite the long hair, the scars, the wild looks and rough-and-tough attitude, Galahad's approach towards Merlin was extremely protective. At first, it had been almost like having a bodyguard. The role had been Lord Brunor's idea and explicit wish. As the last Dragonlord, Merlin's status in the royal household was uncertain. Balinor, Merlin's father, was viewed by some as a traitor and by others as the rightful heir to the throne. The fact that Merlin had magic was also part of the reason why the knights and villagers had been less than welcoming. The art of the Dragonlords was rooted in the Old Religion and so was magic, but apparently one could not possess both without being regarded as uncanny or dangerous. The knights had eventually warmed up to him after he had saved all of their lives a few times in a row, but still there remained a certain hesitation when it came to the topic of magic, and the villagers were forever fearful, refusing even the help he could give them with his physician training.

For Galahad, however, none of that seemed to matter. The bond between them was deeper than duty or allegiance. With him, magic could be discussed openly, which was something new to Merlin.

"What's the plan then?" asked the knight casually. "We wait until the old goat is dead. And then what?"

"He's the King, Galahad, not an old goat!" let out Merlin, slightly amused.

"Old age is not an excuse to treat everyone like dirt, especially your own flesh and blood," snorted Galahad.

"He's the only one around here who has actually known my father so I had to try."

He was remembering a particularly painful conversation during which the old king had first thought he was talking to Balinor, which had been really weird, and then he had screamed at Merlin for having brought the curse on the valley. Of course, the confusion was mainly due to heart attack that had caused damage to the brain and paralyzed the old man's body on the left side from head to toe. Luckily – if there was indeed such a thing – it had happened before Merlin had arrived therefore he couldn't be blamed for the illness. But all hopes of finding out more about his father had vanished the moment he had realized that the old ruler could no longer think straight.

And now it looked as though the king of Aria's Cradle wasn't going to last the night.

"I told you about the five other Dragonlord Houses," said Galahad, his voice full of meaning. "We know that the Pendragons no longer have the gift, but there are still the Houses of Bagatelle, LeNoir and Veronus. You could go and look for them. You don't have to stay here."

Merlin found nothing to reply and he turned towards the horizon again, leaning on the wall and thinking. He could still not quite believe that the words Pendragon and Dragonlords actually belonged together. The idea of finding out more about the Dragonlord Houses had crossed his mind. However, that path would take him further away from what he was supposed to be doing, which was helping Arthur unite the land of Albion. Whatever that means, thought Merlin wearily.

"I don't understand why you keep wanting me to leave," said Merlin wearily. "My father grew up here. Doesn't it mean that I belong here too?"

Galahad leaned against the wall to stare at Merlin but he accidentally stepped on his bad leg and let out a soft moan.

"Are you all right?" asked Merlin with deep concern.

He could tell that the wound on his leg was bothering Galahad more and more. It had happened on the night that Merlin had pulled him out of the water. Apparently, the knight had had in mind to take on the dark creatures around the lake all by himself. He had failed quite miserably of course. Merlin had only arrived in time to see him sink under the dark water. He had walked into the lake himself and snatched Galahad's limp body from the claws of some dark shadowy monster. After that, with the other knights' help, they had brought Galahad back to the castle where Merlin had tried to heal him. Most of the damage had been repaired except for a nasty deep gash on his leg. No matter how much he tried, there was no getting rid of that evil.

On the bright side, Galahad's escape had successfully proven for the first time in years that the evil within the lake could be challenged and possibly even defeated. It had given a lot of people hope, which was not a small accomplishment for Merlin's first day on the job as the last Dragonlord.

"Don't look at me like that," said Galahad. "You did everything that you could. Keep your strength. You're going to need it, especially with that prince."

"You still haven't told me why you want me to leave," repeated Merlin stubbornly.

He was also trying to avoid a certain topic at all cost.

"I don't know many nobles who would take on such a journey for a servant," commented Galahad, completely disregarding Merlin's question.

"But I'm not really a servant anymore," murmured Merlin. "I'm a sorcerer and a traitor. He probably thinks that I'm going to turn into some dark wizard and try to destroy Camelot. That would give him an excuse to burn me at the stake."

Despite his best attempt to sound bitter, he knew that Galahad was seeing right through him.

"So I see that you haven't really spoken to him," said the knight.

"Actually, I'm still just trying to get over the fact that he's here."

"You can get over that fact tonight," said Galahad pointedly. "He's at the inn. You should go and talk to him."

Merlin shook his head. "No, I should stay here – the king…"

"There's nothing more you can do for him," said Galahad.

It was late in the evening now. The evil surrounding the Black Lake was starting to stir. Merlin could feel it creeping under his skin. It was like that every night. He could not sleep, nor eat, nor find peace of mind from the moment the sun went down.

"Why did he go at the inn?" he said absent-mindedly, thinking of Arthur.

Galahad merely shrugged. "Your friend Gwaine needed a drink I suppose. They didn't seem to think much of your curfew."

"The curfew is there for a reason," said Merlin bluntly.

He still didn't know what he was supposed to tell Arthur, but spending a good time with Gwaine and Lancelot did not seem like a bad idea. All of the gloom and darkness were making him wish for brighter things. He could always pretend to be inquiring about Gaius…

"I should probably just go to make sure Arthur doesn't do anything stupid," he said after a while.

Galahad's eyes suddenly became wide as though he had just realized something.

"Could taking your sword have anything to do with doing something stupid?"

Merlin was fully alerted now.

"He took my sword?" he asked.

"He said he was going to put it away," retorted Galahad defensively, "but I checked and it isn't there so he must have taken it somewhere… Wait! Merlin! Where are you going?"

But the young warlock did not slow his descend. He was going down the stairs two by two. He pushed open every door that he met with a wave of magic. He even used the help of magic to mount his horse.

Stupid Arthur, he kept thinking. It was such an Arthur thing to do: courageous, hopeless and completely stupid. What was Arthur thinking, taking his sword and going out there to face the creatures of evil on his own? Surely, he didn't think that he could single-handedly break the curse?

Suddenly, Merlin pulled the reins and turned his horse around. He didn't need to go to the inn. That was not Arthur's plan at all. He was going to the Black Lake. Could he really be that stupid?

Yep, thought Merlin. He is.