Disclaimer: I do not own Angel the Series or Merlin (BBC). Whoever it is that is doing the owning, it is most definitely not me.

Thanks to my beta dietclast

The Ruins of My Kingdom To Come

By Alkeni

Chapter 7: Prelude to a Nightmare

Merlin went down into the depths underneath the castle once more, the second time in as many nights on a trip he'd once sworn to never again take.

The Great Dragon was a wise and knowing being. This much was indisputable. And yes, a powerful being, the last of a once mighty and proud race...Merlin knew he had no idea what it was that the Dragon felt, thought...and he could even grant that the Dragon could put paramount importance on the completion of its precious prophecy...the prophecy would see to the Dragon itself being freed...chained to the earth in a cavern for as long as it had...it was not unreasonable to want freedom.

But it was selfish in its pursuit of that goal, putting its prophecy, its freedom, before anything else. Nothing else mattered to it...no one else mattered. The Dragon could not be trusted...and it had extracted a promise of freedom from Merlin...holding all of Camelot hostage to its own selfishness...

But... Merlin sighed a moment, as he thoughts took him to the next inevitable conclusion, the reason why he was down here in the first place. He needed to speak to the Dragon. When he'd been down the night before...bringing up Illyria hadn't been high on the list of urgent things to deal with. But now...

He reached the last step with that thought, exiting out into the cavern. The Dragon was there, waiting for him.

"Young warlock. You are back sooner than I expected of you."

"You know why I'm here?"

"You seek my wisdom, of course."

"No." Merlin shook his head firmly. "I'm not here for your selfish words of 'wisdom'. I've been down that route before. I'm here for what you know. Information that I can't find elsewhere."

"You speak of the demon that arrived at Camelot a month ago." It wasn't a question.

"Illyria is a demon?" She didn't act like a being of 'pure malevolence and destruction', as Gaius had described them. She had showed a casual disregard for Cedric's life, which certainly spoke to her being evil...but...

"If that is what the creature is calling itself, then yes. It is a demon. There hasn't been one in this part of the world...for centuries. None of any power, none worth noting, more correctly. With the passing of my kind from this land, though...we may expect more."

"What do you mean?" Merlin was sidetracked form his intent by the Dragon's words...the tone...almost wistful, for just a moment.

"Demons are the enemy of Dragons – of true Dragons. Long ago, there was great conflict between my kind and demons. They were defeated. Since that time, very rarely have demons been in the land of Albion. The magic of this land runs deep – and has never been friendly to their ilk." The dragon paused a moment. "As to this specific demon...this...Illyria...I know nothing directly. Only what I can sense. But you come to me for knowledge I do not have. You do not want to be here – that much is clear – but yet here you are, regardless. Why?"

"I don't know what to do about her. She's shown no signs of being a threat...barely leaves her chamber. But...she claims – and her traveling companion also says this – to have designs of conquest...she has the strength to simply cave a man's skull in with a single blow. And her...bearing. She has a casual disregard for human life." Merlin smirked a moment, finding amusement even in this. "She's like you, actually, on that note." The Dragon's responding blast of flame was almost inevitable in its expectation. Merlin held out his arm, sweat trickling down his brow as heat seeped past his magic.

"Do not compare me to anything of demonic origin, young warlock. You can try my patience so much, and no more."

"You aren't any different – you put yourself and your own concerns before anyone else's life...and so, clearly, does she. Which leads me to this: the spell you gave me to trap Cornelius Sigan's spirit back into the gem...would there have been anything left of the original person whose body Sigan possessed?"

"I cannot say for sure." The Dragon admitted. "The magic of Sigan has always been a mystery. But it is unlikely. This mortal who Sigan assumed the body of would almost certainly have died, for all purposes, the moment he was possessed. As for this demon...its presence here is unnatural, a threat to the prophecy, and one that grates on my mind with every waking second...were I free, I'd seek to eliminate it in a heartbeat. But its power is not to be trifled with, that much my senses can tell you. If it acts in no manner of threat...no designs on Camelot in the now...it would be better, in some ways, to not seek trouble where none exists." The Dragon changed topic completely: "The traveling companion you mentioned tell me of this one."

"Why?"

"I sensed only one demon's arrival in Camelot. Which means that if one traveled with it, it was a human, a mortal. It is a rare mortal that knowingly accompanies a demon anywhere. So I would know more of the one who would."

"His name – at least, so he says – is Wesley Wyndam-Pryce..."

ATS-Merlin-ATS-Merlin-ATS-Merlin-ATS-Merlin-ATS-Me rlin-ATS-Merlin

When Gaius set to work on making the medicines he gave his patients, he had a tendency towards intense focus. Such was true this time, not even registering the knock on the door, nor the 'enter' he supplied until several seconds after the fact.

What did draw his attention was the voice of who it was that had come in. 'Lady' Illyria's voice was, to put it mildly, jarring...as if affected. There was little feeling behind the words, the voice...indeed, none, really.

"My Qwa'ha Xahn told you the truth. Of our arrival in this part of the world. Of my nature. Of what your limited minds could understand of such."

"If you mean, by 'Qwa'ha Xahn', Wesley, then yes, he did." Gaius conceded. "What of it?" He paused a moment, his inner scholar warring with his instincts. "What exactly does 'Qwa'ha Xahn' mean? Is it some sort of title that you have ascribed to Wesley? What language is it?"

"It is the language of my people, one beyond the grasp of your simple mind." Illyria answered. "You are curious...you ask not for any gain, but simply for curiosity itself. Knowledge for its own sake."

"I am." Gaius gestured to his books. "I am a doctor, yes, but first and foremost I am a man of science. Of knowledge. I appreciate its value. If your voice was anything but flat, I'd expect to here surprise, from your words."

"Surprise, no. But it is a rare thing. When faced with the limitations of your perceptions and abilities, your kind is wont to create answers, than search for them, or attack itself in a rabid cannibalism. Memories tell me that Wesley was once such as that, seeking knowledge for its own sake. He retains only some of that now." Illyria pondered a small, empty vial for a moment. She picked it up, then turned her gaze back to Gaius. "Qwa'ha Xahn is a title. There is no way to translate its meanings, its forms, fully into any language of your kind – even saying it using speech such as this is an incorrect way to truly say it. But the best time you could use to grasp the outer edges of it would be 'guide'."

"What exactly does that mean, though. Is he in your service, a sworn man? He behaved as such before the King. But he doesn't seem to be particular subservient to you. I don't understand the either of you, and your relation to one another most of all."

"Wesley is my Qwa'ha Xahn." Illyria said by way of answer. "I have claimed him as mine, and so it is. Understanding is not required of you" She cocked her head a few degrees, considering Gaius. "Enough of your questions. I will take my leave." She turned for the door.

"Wesley spoke of your plans of conquest. Is he correct?"

"I plan for the rule which is rightfully mine, yes. But as long as my Qwa'ha Xahn lives and breathes, I shall engage in no conquest. Your concern for your prince and your charge is worthy loyalty from one such as you. They represent superior samples of your species, despite their inferiority in the face of all else. Less so is your loyalty to a man such as Uther Pendragon. Even for your kind, he is a particularly deficient specimen. Your prince is little better than a crawling insect. Your king is the muck beneath my feet."

"Uther is the King, and one who, despite his flaws, has led Camelot ably and well. My loyalty is my own business."

"Your loyalty is the business of all those affected by it. If you cannot grasp the larger picture of such, it is to be expected. Though I will grant you that your King, inexplicably enough, has one of the most important quality of the true ruler. One I would never have thought to see among humans." She opened the door.

"And what would that be?" Gaius asked. What would a woman – or perhaps just 'being' – such as her consider as an important quality of rulership.

"He is as moral as a hurricane – empty, but for the force of his gale." She closed the door behind her.

Sounds like exactly the kind of thing one might expect from her.

ATS-Merlin-ATS-Merlin-ATS-Merlin-ATS-Merlin-ATS-Me rlin-ATS-Merlin

Morgana couldn't sleep.

She hated taking the sleeping drafts. But she didn't the nightmares much more than that. She did her best to walk a fine line...she'd found that if she was truly tired enough when she slept, she avoided the worst of the nightmares. Not all of them...not by any measure. But enough.

Sometimes.

Wandering the castle halls at night held its own appeal. There was enough light coming into the hallways from the moon, the stars to allow her to make her way without a torch. The castle was still and silent at night, interrupted only by guards on their duty patrols, or the occasional servant doing whatever needed to be done at night to keep the castle running smoothly. That stillness, that silence...it was something Morgana found herself appreciating more and more, as the nightmares grew worse and worse. Sometimes they were indistinct, unclear...moving too quickly for her to process the images, understand what was happening.

But more and more of those nightmares involved the Lady Illyria...the blonde woman..sometimes them fighting eachother again, sometimes just one or the other...engaged in combat or destruction...or...she only remembered flashes and bits of most of her nightmares...these were no different. Merlin agreed with her distrust of Illyria, though like her, he didn't have anything concrete that could be brought to Uther. She hadn't told Arthur of her nightmares regarding the woman, not even the one she'd had before she'd even seen her...but Arthur didn't know how to regard the woman. In his own words, she was 'just...off'...

Morgana had enough experience with the castle, its layout and the patrolling guards to evade the hallways they were in at various given times. Not always. But most of the time. Enough.

She entered one of the hallways that overlooked the courtyard, pausing to look out onto the starry night, the quarter moon shining down on the open area. The hallway, such as it was, was all window on one end.

"Admiring the stars, Lady Morgana?" A familiar voice said from behind her. She'd heard no footsteps – Morgana suppressed a noise of surprise and turned. It was indeed Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. Her eyes narrowed. She'd not seen him in any of her nightmares...but his loyalty was clearly to Illyria, by is own admission and his own actions.

"And if I am? What of it?"

"Nothing." Wesley shrugged. "Its why I'm out here after all." He pointed to the night sky. "They say that in the religions that predominated in the days before the rise of Christianity in the Roman Empire, it was believed that the stars could tell the future. By watching their movements, and the movements of the planets, one could determine the course of future events. Others said that that was how Oracles and Seers had their prophetic visions and dreams – from a deep connection to the sky above."

"Is there a point to your ruminations?" Morgana asked, drumming the fingers of her left hand against her leg. Morgana was familiar enough with her history to know what Wesley was talking about.

"Not really." Wesley admitted. Then he looked directly at her. "You don't like the Lady Illyria. And you translate that dislike, by extension, to myself. Why?"

"What makes you think that I dislike your mistress?"

"Please, Lady Morgana, don't treat me like an idiot. Your bearing, your tone, your entire pattern of behavior around the both of us speaks for itself. My question stands, though. Why?"

"I'm not in the habit of explaining myself to people such as yourself." Morgana's mouth was a flat line.

"So you concede there is something to explain?"

"As you say, my 'pattern of behavior' doesn't exactly hide the fact that I'm not altogether fond of your mistress. If you're going to bring it up, I see no reason in denying it."

"But you refuse to answer my question?" Wesley cocked an eyebrow.

"Why does it interest you so much? Does my behavior worry you?"

"Not really." Wesley shrugged. "And besides, I will grant you that Illyria can be...unsettling, at the best of times."

"She does not 'unsettle' me." Morgana replied stiffly.

"So you say." Wesley replied with a smirk. He looked back out onto the stars, his lips pursed in thought once more. "Magic is an interesting thing, it must be admitted. Its allure is easy to understand, as is its threat. Most will focus on the more direct aspects, I suppose, when fearing or using it. But for my money, the ability of the astrologers, the oracles, the seers, to predict the future – or perhaps, just seem to – would have to be the greatest power of magic." He looked at her, the smirk back on his face. "I suppose, though, that such idle thoughts are ill-placed in the Camelot of this day and age. And if it so please you, my Lady, I will leave you to your own ruminations." He bowed, then turned and walked away, whistling a cheery tune, incongruous with his previous behavior.