Summary

Merlin and Galahad spend time in the royal library researching dragons and dragonlore.

Chapter 28 Dragon Diaries: Sniffles and Scales Part I

Visits to the royal library had become much more pleasant of late for Merlin – the scent of beeswax and herb-infused oils replacing musty dust, gleaming mahogany shelves tidily arranged and devoid of cobwebs, and plush velvet armchairs inviting leisurely reading. Although more patrons now frequented the repository and could potentially interfere with clandestine missions that might lead him here – such as now – it was still a welcoming sight to see.

He and Galahad nodded to Geoffrey, who was hunched over parchment near the main aisle. They wove equally between towering rows of leather-bound tomes and shorter shelving for easy visibility, the soft swish of their garments evident in the book-laden sanctuary. Reaching another nondescript wall of shelving and books, they glanced around before Merlin whispered, "Aliese."

With a low groan, the secret shelf swung inward, torches in sconces flaring to life with a soft whoosh, bathing the chamber in a warm, flickering glow. The dancing light revealed rows of shelves covered in cobwebs draped like gossamer curtains, the intricate patterns of the webs cast into sharp relief by the shifting shadows. Ancient grimoires and other rare tomes graced these dusty shelves, their worn spines and faded covers beckoning to be explored. Motes of dust swirled lazily in the torchlight, glinting like tiny specks of gold in the otherwise stale air. Galahad sneezed in the stifling silence, the sound startling in the enclosed space as puffs of dust billowed around them, tickling Merlin's nose and threatening to trigger a sneeze of his own.

"Really, Merlin. You know how much I enjoy coming here," Galahad sniffled, waving a hand through the stale air, the other covering his nose, "but can't we magic this place clean?"

Running a finger along a dust-encrusted shelf, Merlin quirked a half-smile. "We could," he replied, scanning the jumbled titles. "But I like the disorder – it feels... appropriate, for a room untouched by time – unlike the library on the other side." He glanced at Galahad, who was stifling another sneeze. "I don't understand why you don't just cast a protection spell around yourself, though. It would make these visits much more bearable for you."

Galahad shrugged, a sheepish grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I suppose I enjoy the challenge," he said, his eyes sparkling with mirth despite the slight pink blossoming on the tip of his nose. "Besides, a little discomfort is a small price to pay for the knowledge we seek." He glanced around the room, his expression shifting to one of wide-eyed anticipation. "And if there's any place that would have something on dragons, it'll be here," he added, punctuating his words with a quick swipe of his nose on the cuff of his sleeve.

Merlin hummed in agreement, the sound muffled by the cloying air. "Dragons were plentiful before the purge. Let's hope we find something on them that could help me… figure out what I'm supposed to do."

Galahad sighed, the exhalation stirring more dust motes into a lazy dance. "All right. I'll start down on the other end." He stepped gingerly around a haphazard stack of tomes, their leather covers cracked with age. "Whatever we find, let's just gather it quickly so that I can get out–" He broke off with an explosive sneeze, the sound ricocheting off the crowded shelves.

Merlin smirked as he began his own search, fingertips skimming over rough vellum bindings and embossed titles worn to illegibility. The musty scent of aging parchment enveloped him, carrying whispers of the forgotten knowledge sequestered here. A tingle raced up his spine despite the close atmosphere – the sheer magical potential thrumming through these texts was almost palpable.

But which of these numberless volumes held the key to his dragonlord destiny? Merlin bit his lip, the task suddenly looming as vast as the endless rows of shelves that stretched before him. He sighed, the stale air thick on his tongue as he smacked his lips. "Maybe we can use magic—somehow identify anything on dragons…"

Galahad, sounding slightly nasally, called out, "It's worth a try. Be right there."

Merlin nodded, mind racing. "What do you think," he asked, turning to Galahad as he approached. "A spell to draw forth any mention of the word dragon, erm, drakon, draca, or wyrm…?"

Galahad's brow furrowed as he pondered, the torch light casting shadows across his face. "I don't know," he replied slowly, his watery eyes glistening. He rubbed at his reddening nose. "That might summon every book in the castle if you're not precise."

Merlin stepped back, boots scuffing against the dusty floor. He surveyed the looming shelves – a dozen towering bookcases, each one laden with ancient and weighty tomes, scroll caches, and brittle parchments. The sheer number of texts was staggering, a veritable ocean of knowledge that threatened to drown him in its depths.

"All right then," he said, squaring his shoulders. "All at once, centering only on this chamber."

Galahad nodded, determination glinting in his eyes too. "Now the right spell."

Merlin considered for a moment, then lifted his hands toward a bookcase, fingers splayed. "Draca andwist!" His voice rang out, the words thrumming with power as his eyes flashed golden.

Several books glowed with an eerie blue light and shook slightly, ancient pages whispering, but did not move.

Galahad raised an eyebrow, the gesture barely visible in the gloom. "Well, that didn't work. The books can sense your uncertainty, Merlin. You must focus your intention."

Merlin frowned, frustration prickling under his skin. "My intention is clear – I want the books on dragons!" He tried again, gold swirling in his eyes and voice ringing out with renewed force. "Wyrmes gewritu!"

This time a few books shot off the shelves like startled birds, causing Merlin and Galahad to duck, the whoosh of fluttering pages loud in the enclosed space, their leather covers thudding dully as they hit the floor, sending up puffs of dust that danced in the light.

Galahad coughed as he retrieved one of the stray books, thrumming through it with a furrowed brow. He scoffed, the sound harsh in the quiet room. "See! A book on the mating habits of giant earthworms and wilddeoren, not dragons," he grumbled, snapping the book shut with a definitive thud. "You're forcing it without precision. Here..." He lifted his own hand, brow creased in concentration. "Ætíew drakon gewrit." The words were soft but clear in the thick air.

A single scroll lifted off a high shelf, quivering like a leaf in the breeze, then halted and drifted back into place with a soft rustle, as if it had merely been disturbed by a wayward gust of wind.

Merlin chuckled, a hearty sound aimed at his mentor, one where usually Galahad did the laughing at him. "Oh yes, much more precise!" he said, his voice dripping with good-natured sarcasm.

Galahad shrugged, grinning ruefully, shadows playing across his face like a mischievous dance. "All right, well, you're the wizard extraordinaire. Let's see you do better." His tone was light, but the challenge was given, a gauntlet thrown down in the name of friendly competition.

They studied the shelves again, eyes roving over the ancient spines, seeking any clue. The musty scent of old parchment and leather filled their nostrils, the aroma of centuries-old knowledge waiting to be uncovered. Merlin wandered down an aisle, ran his fingers along the worn bindings, feeling the texture of cracked leather and frayed cloth beneath his fingertips, as if he could absorb the secrets they held through touch alone. In the next aisle, Galahad's muffled sneezes punctuated the silence, followed by his sniffling in the dusty air. The stillness in between was broken only by the soft shuffling of boots and the occasional creak of a shifting floorboard.

"Of course!" Galahad's voice echoed in the hushed space, his excitement palpable even from a distance. Merlin's head snapped up, his view of him blocked by the stuffed shelves that separated them. He hurried to the end of the aisle, his footsteps echoing in counterpoint to Galahad's hurried clicks. As they met, Galahad's eyes were alight with sudden understanding, his gaze locking with Merlin's.

"It's not just a search, but a request. We must convince them to yield their knowledge willingly." His words were barely above a whisper, but they carried the weight of profound insight, reverberating through the room like a bell tolling the truth. The realization seemed to crackle in the air between them, a spark of inspiration that chased away the oppressive stillness, the very dust motes seeming to dance with newfound energy.

Merlin nodded, closed his eyes, visualizing the many tomes and scrolls on dragons lying dormant on the shelves, their secrets slumbering within weathered pages. Reaching out with his magic, he sought to establish a connection, a gentle plea for the books to share their wisdom. "Findan draca ond wyrm gewrit!" His voice was a whisper, infusing the words with his desire to learn and understand the noble creatures.

At first nothing happened, the library holding its breath. They exchanged a glance, the defeat in Galahad's eyes mirroring his. Then a low rumble began emanating from the shelves, gentle at first but growing louder, like the stirring of some ancient beast. Suddenly books, scrolls, and stone tablets alike began glowing with a soft blue light, as if lit from within. They trembled slightly, dust motes dancing in the ethereal glow, as if shaking off centuries of undisturbed slumber.

With purpose, the dragon lore works slid forward, a symphony of rustling pages, unfurling scrolls, and crackling parchment. Books opened of their own accord, their pages fluttering like leathery wings, while ancient scrolls unrolled, their edges frayed and yellowed with age. Delicate sheets of parchment, covered in faded ink and intricate diagrams, wove between the larger tomes, their fragile surfaces shimmering in the magical light. The entire collection danced before Merlin and Galahad, a wealth of knowledge spanning centuries, all focused on the majestic creatures they sought to understand.

The glow around the works brightened, pulsing with an otherworldly rhythm until Merlin had to squint against the radiance, shielding his eyes with a raised hand. Galahad's face was awash in the ethereal light, his features cast in sharp relief as he gazed upon the spectacle with wonder and trepidation. Then, all at once, the light faded, leaving the suspended stacks waiting obediently for perusal, the air humming with spent magic, a faint sheen of sweat glistening on the brows of the two men as they blinked to focus their vision.

Galahad let out an impressed whistle, the sound startling in the renewed stillness. "Well done, Merlin! Though I fear this is too much to transport to the millhouse." He gestured to the hovering stack, his eyes widening as he took in the sheer number of books, scrolls, and parchments. "We'd need a cart and horse to haul this load, and even then, we'd risk damaging some of the more delicate pieces."

Merlin's heart raced, his body practically vibrating with excitement – the discovery of so much dragon lore had stirred a maelstrom of feelings inside him as he gazed with a mixture of awe and apprehension.

Galahad laughed softly. "Besides," he said, keeping his tone light, "by the looks of you, I worry that your magic might be a bit... unpredictable at the moment. We wouldn't want to accidentally incinerate these precious texts or scatter them across the countryside in a burst of uncontrolled energy." He offered Merlin a reassuring smile, his red-rimmed eyes crinkling at the corners.

Merlin chuckled at the irony, knowing full well that Galahad was the one who looked worse for wear. But with a concerted effort, he reined in his excitement, focusing instead on the incredible opportunity that lay before them.

"Right; I think it's best we remain here and delve into these texts directly," he said, his voice steady. "We can always come back for further study, but let's see what we can discover in the next few hours." He eyed the floating stacks, chewed his bottom lip. "I'll take this one, and you can choose whichever you like. Just be careful not to sneeze on any of the parchment. We don't want to accidentally destroy any valuable information."

Some hours later, Merlin sat across from Galahad at a large reading table, various dragon tomes and parchment spread between them like a hoard of knowledge. There was much about dragon types and anatomy, ideal spawning grounds and other habitats, their mating season and nocturnal habits, the incredible resilience of their scales, the magical properties of their heartstrings, and the awe-inspiring sight of a full-grown dragon in flight. Many were stories written in archaic languages or poems that stirred the imagination. Some were as simple as letters preserved for history's sake. And of course, reminders of the dragon-dragonlord bond were woven throughout, but that was the one bit of information he was aware of.

Merlin scrubbed a hand across his eyes, suppressing a weary sigh, the words blurring before him. Thus far, when it came to younglings, he'd found tantalizingly brief mentions of infant dragons, but the information was frustratingly vague, the fragmented texts offering little in the way of practical advice.

Galahad poured eagerly over his large leather-bound book, his face alight with fascination, nose twitching with irritation. "Incredible," he murmured, fingertips reverently tracing an illustration. "This one has detailed anatomical drawings showing the fire gland development…"

Merlin blinked slowly, his mind feeling sluggish as he pondered if he could somehow extrapolate backward from the maturity expectations outlined in one of the texts. If he could determine the developmental milestones of adult dragons, perhaps he could work backwards to understand the needs and behaviors of hatchlings like Aithusa.

"Listen to this passage!" Galahad interrupted his musings, his nasally voice cutting through the sleepy air. "Did you know that not all dragons breathe fire? Though rare, ancient documents had recorded that some were known to expel ice, poison, lightening, or a caustic mist!" His eyes sparkled with excitement despite the glassy redness, the pages rustling as he leaned closer to the text.

"Yes, yes, wondrous," Merlin said, unable to keep the edge from his tone, the words grating on his frayed nerves. He caught Galahad's surprised look and then rubbed his temple, the beginnings of a headache pulsing beneath his fingers. "Apologies. Just... frustrated at finding no introductory guidance here."

Merlin sighed, the exhaustion evident in the slump of his shoulders. "It's as if they expect me to just instinctively know how to raise a baby dragon..." His voice trailed off as he stared unseeingly at the tome in front of him, the ancient words blurring before his tired eyes. The musty scent of the pages seemed to mock him, a reminder of the hours he'd spent hunched over the texts desperately seeking answers that remained elusive. He felt no closer to solutions than before he'd started, the knowledge he sought remaining just out of reach, taunting him with its absence.

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "I feel like I'm trying to piece together a complete picture from scraps of faded parchment. Surely, the dragonlords of old must have had a more comprehensive understanding of raising younglings. Why didn't they record it for future generations?"

Galahad hummed. "I don't think it's that straight-forward. Perhaps they thought it was knowledge that would always be passed down from father to son," he mused. "Or maybe, in their arrogance, they believed the dragonlords would never fade from the world."

He gazed at Merlin, sympathy etched on his face, knowing that Merlin had never the chance to know his dragonlord father, to gain any knowledge from him. "Just absorb everything else about them that you can – the rest will come as you interact with Aithusa. It'll be a learning experience for you both. But Kilgharrah is right: you must start bonding with her."

Galahad waved the scroll in his hand, the parchment crinkling, and with the swirl of liquid gold in his eyes and a whispered incantation, "Ásendan gewrit," the scroll glowed softly and floated towards Merlin, landing gently in front of him. "Read this one."

Merlin blinked and refocused his eyes as he unrolled it; he cleared his throat and read aloud.

"My dear Amestris, keeper of Albion's wisdom,

"I write to you from a remote cavern, the new home I have found for my most treasured companion, my she-dragon Avaline, for she has grown three-fold since my last letter."

"No jewel nor mountain vista can match the glittering wonder of Avaline's azure scales in the sunlight. And when she looks upon me with eyes swirling green and gold, our hearts resonate as one across our psychic bond. I feel her fiery spirit mingling with mine, her desire for connection, her thirst to roam unfettered through boundless skies...

Merlin's voice caught at the obvious love flowing from the dragonlord's words. He swallowed; continued reading.

"In these early days, our bond grows stronger with each shared moment. A gentle touch, a word of praise, a morsel offered from my own hand – these small gestures forge unbreakable ties. Avaline's trust in me blossoms like a delicate flower, and I must tend it with utmost care.

"Ah, Avaline stirs from her slumber now, so I must be away. We embark at nightfall to harvest starlight on her wings. Know you will remain in my thoughts, dear Amestris. May the wisdom and knowledge you safeguard continue to guide the people of Albion.

Blessings from the Goddess,

Tamarus of House Wyverndale"

Merlin slowly rolled the letter written from a time before Geoffrey and Camelot, the aged parchment crackling softly beneath his fingers. He sat in contemplative silence, his mind swimming with the profound implications of the dragonlord's words. The depth of the writer's connection to Avaline was palpable, a bond that transcended the boundaries of mere friendship or companionship. It was a love as pure and unwavering as the love Balinor had held for his mother, a love that knew no limits and demanded no conditions.

The letter's wisdom resonated within him, echoing through the chambers of his heart like a clarion call and loudly confirming Kilgharrah's urgent demands to imprint with Aithusa. To forge unbreakable ties through shared moments and tender care – this was the simple key to building a lasting and meaningful relationship with the youngling. The thoughtful insight from this long-dead dragonlord, preserved through the ages in ink and parchment, provided the clarity he was lacking and the motivation he needed to fully commit to his dragonlord responsibilities – responsibilities he'd ignored for far too long.

Suddenly, Merlin sat upright, his eyes widening with a sudden realization that sent a jolt of lightning through his veins. Long-dead dragonlord… Descendants… Descendants of dragonlords... Fathers to sons… Could there be others out there? The thought rang in his head, clanging with possibility and promise. There must be, he reasoned, his heart pounding with a newfound sense of purpose. The gift of the dragonlord was a rare and precious thing, but it was not unique to his family alone.

Questions raced through his mind, each one more urgent than the last. How could he find these other descendants? Would any of them even know of their true abilities, the power that lay dormant within their blood? The answers remained elusive, but the very existence of these questions filled Merlin with a sense of excitement and trepidation. The world suddenly seemed much larger, much more filled with potential than it had just moments before.

Galahad's sneeze jolted Merlin from his reverie, and he looked at his companion closely, leaning in. The knight's eyes were swollen, and his nose was a bright pink, resembling peepers round as dough with a strawberry tart in the middle. The comical sight brought a smile to Merlin's face, even as his mind continued to whirl with the implications of his newfound knowledge.

"I think we have enough for now," Merlin said chuckling, certain Galahad should have cast some sort of a protection spell against the onslaught of dust attacking him. "Let's get the sturdiest of these to the millhouse and you to fresher air. Then I have some dragons to make amends."

Draca andwist – Dragon's presence

Wyrmes gewritu – Serpent's writings

Ætíew drakon gewrit – Reveal the dragon's writing

Findan draca ond wyrm gewrit – Find the dragon and serpent's writing

Ásendan gewrit – Send the writing