Summary
An imprisoned Morgana warily builds fledgling bonds with her captor Kilgharrah.
Chapter 38 Glimmer in the Gloom
Morgana absently scratched at her matted raven locks, her gaze fixed on Kilgharrah as the great golden dragon instructed the young Aithusa on mastering her fire-breathing abilities. From the shadowed mouth of the cave, she looked upon them with envious eyes, their powerful scaled forms basking in the brilliant morning sunlight just out of reach for her.
She had lost all sense of the relentless passage of time in this dismal prison, though Kilgharrah had grumbled just yesterday that only a month had passed since her arrival – it seemed an eternity of deprivation and despair. Her future stretched before her, bleak as the craggy mountain walls encircling her new home, if this dank cave were truly to be her final destination in life.
Kilgharrah inhaled deeply, his massive chest expanding with an orange incandescence, then exhaled a concentrated stream of golden flames that danced and flickered in the crisp air. What she wouldn't give to feel the searing heat of true fire coursing through her veins once more, to have even a sliver of the dragon's indomitable spirit and primal power. The fire roared with extreme heat as Aithusa watched, her eyes entranced with wonder before dissipating, leaving behind faint tendrils of smoke.
"Now try once more, young one," Kilgharrah said, his deep voice encouraging. "Focus on the expansion of the fuel sacs. Allow your inner energy to ignite the gas within."
Aithusa puffed out her chest, her white scales glistening like pearls in the morning light. Her miniature throat flickered with an orange glow, and a brief plume of flame escaped her maw before diminishing into wafting vapors. Though small, the burst carried a potency that hinted at the formidable power simmering within the young dragon's tiny form.
Kilgharrah chuckled, smoke still wisping between his sharp teeth and from his nostrils. "Well done. You're getting stronger. With practice, you will produce an inferno to make armies cower. Our fire comes not by magic, Aithusa, but from a wellspring of vital energy we dragons channel into flame."
Morgana smiled despite herself while idly running her fingers over one of her itching arms. A stinging sensation of isolation gripped her as she marveled at Aithusa's eager attempts, each burst gaining in intensity under Kilgharrah's patient tutelage. While the bond between her and Aithusa had grown stronger over the past few days with Morgana increasing their mental connections, her relationship with the older dragon had thawed only marginally, and they still kept to respectable distances.
After yielding several more impressive bursts of flame, Aithusa's fuel sacs seemed to finally deplete, signaling the conclusion of their lesson for the day. The young dragon immediately turned and scampered over to Morgana, squawking eagerly for her attention and approval without so much as a backwards glance at her mentor.
Kilgharrah's eyes narrowed briefly at the slight before he turned his enigmatic gaze to Morgana, a hint of displeasure still in those ancient depths. Yet Morgana smiled, not to goad the great dragon further, but to offer deserved praise to the youngling for her efforts during training.
"Well done, my friend," she said affectionately as she scratched the smooth scales under Aithusa's chin and petted the space between her pointed ears. The baby dragon nuzzled against her side, cooing softly, the little one's embrace providing Morgana a sense of being needed, of receiving unconditional affection.
She turned to Kilgharrah, still caressing Aithusa's head. "I would like a bath," she said, a measured calmness to her voice. Though she tried her best to maintain her hygiene with the meager fresh water supply, she had only managed to keep her face and hands relatively clean by splashing water sparingly. "Would it be too much to ask to be taken to a nearby lake or stream or pond?"
"It would be," he quickly replied, shifting his massive form to lie down, scales scraping against rock as he rested his head upon his forearms. "Aithusa and I must continue with her training. She requires a short respite, and so do I."
His crusty dismissal stung deeply as Morgana's hopeful expression faltered. Her lips thinned, frustration simmering beneath the surface. But before casting a biting remark at him, she rallied her composure once more, and released a controlled breath. Bridges, not chasms, she reminded herself. She must try to close the rift between them.
"Great dragon," she said, her poise returning like a silk veil settling into place, "behold my state." She motioned to unkempt and matted hair clinging to her skull. Opening her cloak, the simple linen dress was streaked with soot and cave dust from the ever-present smoke and winds of their wings. And after enduring the monthly troubles inherent to her sex in these deprived conditions, she longed desperately for a thorough cleansing. "As you can see, I and my clothing, are in need of washing."
Morgana glanced away as she secured her cloak about her, feeling a flush creeping into her face, struggling with how to broach the more delicate issue of feminine cleanliness with – a male dragon. Tense silence stretched between them as she forced herself to meet Kilgharrah's inscrutable gaze. Finally, her words emerged, tinged with a faint note of deference.
"I only request the opportunity to properly attend to my needs, as befits a noblewoman's virtues." Her eyes dropped momentarily before finding renewed resolve. "I simply would like to bathe, clean my few belongings. It will not take long."
Kilgharrah slowly rose, staring at her with an expression of disbelief that seemed directed not at her request itself, but rather at the regal humility with which she made her petition. His nostrils flared almost imperceptibly, his heightened senses no doubt picking up on the evidence of her feminine cycle. Then his features transformed back into his familiar, reproachful self.
"The stench of this cave clings heavily to you indeed," he rumbled bluntly. "You do reek, Lady Morgana."
Morgana's cheeks burned with embarrassment, hot like embers this time. The insufferable lizard wasn't making the appeal any easier. Still, he was the jailer – she was at his mercy.
"I won't try to escape, Kilgharrah. You have my word." Her plea remained measured, but the weariness of her condition showed through the cracks – made worse by the misery of nature's monthly calling in these surroundings.
Kilgharrah held her gaze for a long moment, as if his ancient eyes were piercing straight through to her core, assessing the truth of her words. Finally, he said, "There is a hot spring not far. We will go at dusk."
His gravelly voice, so often foreboding, echoed through the cavern like the rich tolling of a great bell, bringing a rare swell of joy to Morgana's heart. Aside from Aithusa's cherished company, it was the happiest she'd felt in what seemed an eternity. She would be out of the cave for a time, breathing fresh, untamed air, even if under watchful guard. It was a start, a small step toward cooperation – maybe trust, but a glimmer of hope for her amidst the oppressive darkness, the first faint rays of light breaking through her perpetual night.
"Thank you," she said softly.
Kilgharrah dipped his neck in acknowledgment, the graceful movement reminding her of how he bowed in acquiescence to his dragonlord. Returning to the cave's depths, she gathered her other garments, equally soiled, and a soap stone. Placing them into a wooden bucket, she set them next to the opening, anticipation bubbling within her like a hot spring itself.
Throughout the day, the dragons continued their training – master and student. At least observing them eased the stagnant passage of time. They were beautiful creatures, the old and the new – wisdom and innocence intertwined, battle-scarred scales shining alongside the pristine, unblemished hide of youth. What would it be like if they did find more of their kind, she wondered? Would more noble beasts soaring the skies bring hope of freedom or hasten her end, forgotten and abandoned?
New kindred might compel young Aithusa toward her true draconic destiny someday. And that ponderous reptile regarded her barely higher than dung in his path... how readily would he dismiss her should mythic horns sound the call of his kin?
Morgana pulled her cloak tighter and watched the dragons soar gracefully around the mountain peaks, an effortless ballet dancing on wind and will. No newly found dragons needed for fate to abandon her here in solitary confinement, she realized, each sunrise might herald that dawn Aithusa flew solo, leaving her sole company to silent stones. At least pondering the arrival of winged allies provided a welcome distraction from the specter of darkness looming to envelope the rest of her life.
Daylight finally dwindled, the last fading rays disappearing behind jagged peaks, and the first glimmers of evening stars began to blink into the twilit sky. Kilgharrah lowered himself to allow her to climb upon him, her wooden bucket of laundry nestled in the crook of her elbow.
As she hesitantly hoisted herself up, the evening's blues slowly shifted to starry firmament above. Her fingers found purchase rough scale after rough scale, the thrill of anticipation coursing through her – though tempered by fearful memories of being clutched in his talons. Still, nervous excitement fluttered within as the great dragon waited patiently. When Morgana settled behind one great horn, he powerfully pushed off from the ledge.
She gasped with sheer elation and clutched his rock-hard horn tightly, the wind buffeting her face with a rush of crisp mountain air. With powerful beats of his massive wings, they climbed through cloudbanks, emerging into the brilliant canopy where the cosmic river arced resplendent across the heavens, the moon had yet to crest the horizon. Thousands upon thousands of stars twinkled in that celestial expanse as they soared far above unseen lands.
For long, precious moments, the lingering embers of her former bitterness dimmed, the nocturnal majesty softening all earthly troubles as she breathed deep the cold, clear air. A dreamlike serenity settled over her as they soared aloft. They wheeled through lavender-hued clouds, gliding weightless, before descending through misty veils that gradually revealed a secluded alpine valley far below. Aithusa soared effortlessly at their side, trilling joyfully, her high-pitched voice echoing like tinkling bells.
The flight seemed all too short before they arrived at the large steaming pool of water nestled amongst the lush forest. Morgana's heart leapt with joyous disbelief at the unexpected luxuries – tranquil mists beckoning her parched soul. She barely waited for Kilgharrah to come to a rest before hastily scampering off, dropping the bucket somewhere behind her.
Without inhibition, she peeled off her cloak, her dress and leggings, stripping down to her thin shift. Wading into the warm pool, liquid bliss enveloped each limb as tense muscles slackened willingly. A soft, tremulous sigh escaped Morgana's lips as tears of relief pricked her eyes. She glanced at Kilgharrah – this small comfort prompted rare gratitude, tightening her throat. Her taciturn jailor possessed some mercy after all.
Aithusa splashed happily in the shallows before taking flight once more, soaring in joyful loops and dives over Morgana's head before plunging into the water with a mighty splash. Kilgharrah effortlessly conjured several glowing blue orbs that drifted lazily through the air, casting a soft luminance around them, before settling on the grassy bank to maintain his vigilant guard.
Aithusa suddenly darted out of the water, a shimmering silver streak erupting from the pool's depths. Morgana caught her breath, a tiny sound of delighted surprise escaping her lips at the beautiful, unexpected sight. The young dragon spiraled upwards into the sky before leveling off, gliding gracefully along the surface, dodging the orbs as wingtips trailing delicate ripples across the tranquil pool.
Morgana then submerged fully into the enveloping warmth, allowing it to fill every pore, soothe her chilled bones. If only she could remain here, suspended in this tranquil oasis... forever… Coming up for air after a blissful moment, she treaded water, breathing in the fragrant steam and taking in her mysterious surroundings. The foliage seemed to glow an otherworldly bluish-green under the orbs' ghostly luminance – the scattered wildflowers more vibrant, their petals alien gemstones sparkling like sapphires and amethysts. Even the croak of unseen toads carried a curiously musical, yet haunting quality.
"Do not tarry long," Kilgharrah's rumbling voice warned, intruding into her thoughts. "These lands may not take kindly to a witch and dragons in their midst."
Morgana nodded hesitantly with assent, though longing for more time in the revitalizing water. It was then she realized with dismay that she had left the soap stone inside the overturned bucket she had dropped. A soft curse escaped her lips as her shoulders slumped momentarily.
Her gaze cut over to where Kilgharrah lounged, catching the glint of amusement in his draconian eyes before she looked away and focused her sights on the soap. Need warred with embarrassment until finally, pragmatism won out over pride. With a resigned exhale, she splashed out of the pool and swiftly snatched up the much-needed stone from the upended bucket. While returning to the water's comforting embrace, she heard Kilgharrah's rumbling chuckle echoing mockingly behind her
After thoroughly scrubbing herself and her matted hair clean, ensuring no remnants of dirt lingered, not even beneath the cursed bracelet, Morgana waded back to the grassy shore, her soaked shift clinging to her body. She gathered fallen branches, piling them high, forming a makeshift pyre. Upon Kilgharrah's deep exhale, cheery flames soon crackled invitingly among the kindling.
As the fire cast flickering, golden light across the clearing, Morgana moved closer, allowing the gentle radiance to gradually ease the aches from her muscles and dry her undergarments. The fragrant smoke curled upwards, mingling with the vaporous mists still wafting from the spring's tranquil surface in a mesmerizing dance.
Knowing their respite was fleeting and her shift dried enough, Morgana reluctantly retrieved the trail of clothing she had hastily discarded and the wooden bucket holding her few other garments to clean. Aithusa continued to frolic in the water as she knelt at the edge and vigorously began scrubbing the soiled dresses, aprons, and undergarments against the smooth rocks. As a noble, such menial tasks would have been unthinkable. But surprisingly, she enjoyed this rare moment of simple domesticity before her inescapable return to the bleak darkness, with nothing else to occupy her mind but the inexorable passage of time.
She rinsed the freshly cleaned clothes thoroughly and draped them on nearby bushes and low-hanging branches to dry. Relaxing in the fire's flickering glow, gentle breezes danced loose strands of damp hair around her face. A hard-won tranquility unmatched for years stole over her tender, clean skin as unbidden visions surfaced – wistful memories of past splendors taken for granted in her bitter pursuit of vengeance.
Visions of Camelot – of rank, privilege, and cherished friendships carelessly squandered in her blind quest to force change. She had only wanted what was best for the kingdom, for her magical kin to be accepted and for the injustices against sorcerers to end. But had her embittered sister Morgause truly enchanted that accursed healing bracelet to slowly warp her honorable objectives and feelings toward her home over time? She shuddered at that thought, that this was truth, and suddenly conscious of the unburdened lightness she felt without that tainted object's suffocating presence.
And could she not have attained her righteous desires for a reformed, enlightened Camelot without so ruthlessly severing those true bonds of loyalty and love, and causing such widespread ruin in the process? Arthur appeared to be succeeding where she had failed, ushering in that new enlightened era without needing to burn all bridges behind him.
A solitary tear slipped free, not born of lingering bitterness but of remorseful mourning for what could have been, for the path her life may have taken without that poisonous seed planted in her mind. Would those all-consuming vengeful passions inevitably return to overwhelm her, like the perpetual cycle of the tides? Or could she chart a new course, heeding the beckoning call toward redemption sounded by the powerful voices in her dreams?
Morgana sighed, the heat of the fire soothing her troubled soul. The cave was her existence now – a fate she deserved. But how she wished this peaceful interlude could linger – even if she did remain in the care of the dragons. Her eyes floated lazily to Kilgharrah across the fire. He had remained a silent, imposing sentinel through it all, allowing her this uninterrupted time of solace, comfort and quiet reflection. Could kindness and newfound connection sustain them past this fleeting, stolen moment of respite? Could understanding bridge the chasm of their divide once they returned to her confinement? She felt unsure. For now though, she allowed herself to bask fully in this haven, pretending for a few precious hours that it was her sole reality.
The gentle night breezes carrying the scents of moss and woodsmoke caressed her face as if already mourning the loss of this tranquil escape. Morgana inhaled deeply, searing every sensory detail into her memory to recollect in the darkness – the crackle of flames, the ethereal glow illuminating the misty poolside flora, the melodic night chorus of unseen creatures coalescing into nature's serenade, the steaming hot spring of rejuvenation.
Morgana's gaze drifted to Aithusa frolicking joyfully in the shallows, nipping at some unseen thing in the water. A small, wistful smile played across her lips before her eyes turned to Kilgharrah once more.
"Thank you," she said softly, gratitude distinctly lacing her words.
The great dragon regarded her contemplatively for a moment before giving a slight incline of his regal head. "There comes a time when wants and needs align, Morgana," he said, a subtle undercurrent of something akin to... compassion in his voice? An eyebrow lifted into hair fallen onto her forehead, surprising from one who so often looked upon her with disdain.
"Such moments are fleeting," he added, his words more measured. "But for this eve, let peace reign. Savor the night's tranquility while you can."
Kilgharrah's deep voice settled over the clearing like a warm blanket as his eyes drifted skyward to trace the unhurried path of the celestial bodies wheeling overhead. An odd sense of serenity stole over Morgana as she studied the ancient beast. For all his blustering disdain, she wondered if he too felt a strange kinship with her – two exiles bound together by circumstance, both at the mercy of powers greater than themselves. For this brief respite at least, the formidable dragon seemed willing to allow a moment's reprieve from the enmity between them, granting her a glimpse of peace amidst her shadowed existence.
