The Low Road

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October 5, 1934

It was obviously a fake photograph, almost ridiculously so, yet still he went. How could he not? He had thought his little Aithusa dead since that terrible year of 1918 when a fellow flyer in his squadron had surprised the white dragon hiding behind a cloud and fired at him without thinking. While the flyer had crashed his kite* and gone onto a life of being labelled a malingerer by half the people he met and completely doolally by the other, Merlin had chased after his dragon as the poor creature had flown off, screeching in agony. Merlin had desperately followed him as far as he could, but he hadn't had enough fuel to catch up to the insensible Aithusa.

For weeks and months after, Merlin had frantically cried out in his mind, reaching for any sign of their mental connection, teleporting himself to any place he could think of where Aithusa might go, but there had been nothing.

Until now.

The "Surgeon's Photograph" as it was called, had initially appeared back in April. It had been in the Daily Mail, which had provided yet another reason for Merlin to dismiss it, but he couldn't shake the feeling (born of wishful thinking, no doubt) that there could, just possibly, be something to it. As all sorts of dubious expeditions mounted to search for the elusive monster, Merlin vacillated, wanting to go but with the potential for further heartbreak holding him back.

But finally he was here. It was a dreary afternoon, but the loch still possessed a captivating beauty - the trees a soft brown with their fall colours reflected in the burnished pewter of the still water, occasionally bathed by bursts of pale gold whenever the sun broke briefly through the clouds. Finding a spot in an isolated crevice between two peaks, he sat looking down upon the water.

Aithusa.

No answer. He closed his eyes and, searching deep within himself, remembered the night of the dragon's hatching well over a millennium ago. His mind reached out further and deeper.

AAAITHUUUUSSAAAA.

THERE! A weak chuckle sounded within his head.

I am here, Merlin.

-x-

They spoke for hours. Aithusa told of how he had come to the loch, when, maddened by the pain the bullets and the burns from a spark from the flyer's synchronized machine gun had inflicted to his eye, he had plunged into the gloomy depths, staying there until he could breath no longer and was forced to surface. For hours he had repeated the motions, diving further and further down, trying to soothe the throbbing wounds by finding colder and colder water. Luckily it had been at night and none of the nearby villagers had seen him, though some lanterns had come to shine in the windows of the cottages at the odd commotion.

But why did you never answer my calls? Merlin asked. Surely you must have heard me?

Aithusa did not immediately answer, but Merlin gleaned some of the dragon's memories of fury and hopelessness.

I couldn't… This is not a world for me any longer, Aithusa finally replied. Humans have multiplied so fast, they crowd me wherever I go. And now these "aeroplane" monstrosities have invaded my sky. Add to that the fact that for all but the first few years of my life, I have lived without the hope of seeing any others of my own kind, and I…I couldn't face things for awhile. Not even you.

Merlin sighed. There was nothing he could say, but his sorrow and understanding were palpable. If there was any being on this Earth more lonely than himself, it was his Aithusa. As he had retreated from the world at times, so had his dragon.

So you have been here all this time? he asked, moving on in hopes of sparing Aithusa from picking up memories of his own grief through their connection.

Not all the time, no. For awhile I wandered over the Arctic and parts of Siberia, wishing to be alone. But I liked it here, so I returned.

The Arctic? Wasn't it cold?

Aithusa laughed. I am a creature of fire. I am always warm.

I would think that a creature of fire would prefer the heat.

Both are good. Dragons are far more adaptable than you such fragile humans.

You smug little bugger, I'm not as fragile as all that!

Neither are you entirely human, Merlin.

Merlin huffed with mock annoyance, but despite centuries of facing his own non-human-ness (for lack of a better term), it still pained him occasionally. You know someone took a picture of you, you silly creature, he said, changing the subject.

Doubtful, Aithusa scoffed.

Likely you're right, but you must have been seen by enough people for all this fuss to still be going on. You should see the commotion across the bay! That one wearing the Norfolk jacket like it's still 1890 is a proper martinet from what I can tell. If he wasn't so bumbling - oh, look, he's dropped the camera tripod and now he's shouting at his poor assistant! As I was saying, if he wasn't so bumbling, you'd be in a lot of trouble.

Has he got on one of those ridiculous hats?

What sort of hat do you mean by ridiculous?

You know the ones, Aithusa said, and Merlin suddenly had a picture in his head of a Tyrolean hat with a brush on the side.

Yes, he is. And how do you know so much about hats?

I don't know anything about hats. I think the whole custom of wearing them is silly. But I saw these ones once, while in the Alps. Anyway, if he's wearing the hat, it's Herr Richter. He wants to capture me and take me back to his home for the glory of that shouting man everyone worries about so much these days.

HITLER? Merlin practically thundered in his mind as he leapt to his feet, ready to storm the offending German's camp. He wants to take you back to Hitler?!

Be calm, Merlin. Do you really think such a fool is going to succeed in catching me?

Merlin reluctantly sat back down, still simmering. So tell me how you know about the new chancellor of Germany.

There are a few around here with the barest touch of magic to them. So I sometimes "listen in" when they sit around that box with the voices.

Merlin chuckled. You mean the wireless?

If that's what the thing is called, then yes.

A thought occurred to Merlin. Where are you exactly, Aithusa?

Under the water.

WHAT? How is that possible?

Merlin sensed more than a little smugness coming from the dragon. You've learned a few tricks over the centuries, Merlin, so why can't I? Aithusa said and the warlock could practically see the smirk on the creature's face.

And breathing underwater is one of them?

Uh huh.

But why?

I like to swim, Aithusa told him.

Isn't that hard with your wings?

That's another little trick, the dragon crowed mentally.

Merlin simply sat there stunned for a few moments. The warlock didn't know if Aithusa meant he had used some sort of body-shaping spell to shrink or get rid of his wings, or that he'd merely found a way to fold them conveniently to his back, but suddenly Merlin burst into laughter. What did it matter how? His dragon was nothing but a marvel, and that's all that was important!

So why here, then? The water is so murky.

Precisely, Aithusa answered. If they can't see me, then I'm less likely to have them swarming around, bothering me like pesky mosquitoes.

I hate to break it to you, dear one, but the picture in the newspaper points to how little that plan is working.

No, Father.

Aithusa? Merlin didn't like the dragon's sudden serious tone.

I let myself be seen on purpose. I wanted you to come.

No. NO!

Father, I don't have much time left. I am far older than even Kilgharrah ever was.

NO! I will not have it! Not again!

A gentle mind whisper came… Father…

Aithusa, no! a weeping Merlin protested. No! Please!

Father, there is nothing to be done. My time is nearly at it's end.

You are all I have left!

I know. But you believed I was dead until this morning and you survived. You will survive this as well, and go on, and eventually Arthur will return to you.

I don't believe that anymore.

He will, Father.

Aithusa… There's so much… I wish…

I know it already, Father. I have always known it.

I will miss you so terribly, Merlin told him, a raw, savage grief already tearing deep gouges in his heart.

Do you remember that song, Father? The one you sang to me the last time I was able to visit you in peace? 'Oh you take the high road, and I'll take the low, and I'll be in Scotland afore you. For me and my true love will never meet again, on the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond…' It may be the wrong Loch, Father, but it's time for me to take the low road. +

Aithusa…

Sing it with me, Father. Please.

And, as dusk fell and the dark of night came to cover the land, broken only by the warm, glowing lights in a cottage window here and there, a wild and lonely sound came drifting across the water to haunt the dreams of the villagers and visitors alike, as an ancient warlock sang one last time with his dragon.

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*RAF slang for aircraft.

+ "The Bonnie Banks o' Loch Lomond" Original composer unknown. One interpretation of the lyrics concerning the "low road" is that it refers to the route the fairies or little people used to transport the soul of a dead Scot who died far away back to his home so they could rest in peace.