"AITHUSA."
Aithusa became aware of a name. Its own name.
Next Aithusa became aware of darkness and confining pressure. A flexing of muscles and talons broke through the shell surrounding the baby dragon, and it took its first breath of cool forest-scented air. There was a deep rumbling from above; an immense dragon loomed large against the night sky. Aithusa didn't understand its words, but the sound of its voice was comforting and reassuring.
Aithusa looked around and spread its tiny wings for the first time. A young human was standing nearby. Aithusa could see the glint of tears on a face in the moonlight, and hear breathy laughter. This was the human who had called them into being, into a world of joy, love, awe. Aithusa laughed too, the creaky gurgling laugh of a baby dragon.
Five years later
The creature was hideous to look upon. Its dull, pale hide looked somehow sickly in the light of the torches. The dragon was about the size of a large horse, but its gangly, knobbly proportions had a sense of wrongness about them. It swung its over-large head from side to side, then lurched forward and roared, fire washing out towards the villagers. They screamed and ran, and the creature screamed too, a discordant sound of pain and anger echoing through the night.
Merlin rode wearily over the ridge and paused to look at the valley spread below him in the grey morning light. He'd spent a miserable damp night on the road. He told himself it was the sensible thing to follow up on reports of dragon sightings, he needed more information. There was still a lot he didn't know about Aithusa, and the dragon hadn't been forthcoming the last time they met. He also knew he was putting off meeting the dragon again. He wondered if he'd even be able to help Aithusa. Merlin sighed and started down towards the village in the distance.
It was a dismal scene on a damp and rainy morning. Some of the buildings were still smoking. The air smelled foul, and black ash was being churned into mud underfoot as the villagers struggled to salvage what they could.
"What happened here?" Merlin asked a woman standing in the shelter of an overhang.
"It is our punishment," she replied. Merlin couldn't tell if it was rain or tears on her cheeks. "Uther warned us what would happen, but once he was gone we got lax. Now we are paying the price."
"Magic did this?" Merlin pressed.
"A fell creature of sorcery. A dragon." Two men walked by carrying tools, and she raised her voice. "I warned them not to traffic with druids, and now look what they've brought down on us." She turned and retreated into the house, closing the door firmly behind her.
Merlin jogged to catch up with the men. "Can I help?" he called.
"Who are you?" the older man asked. He had the weathered look and solid build of a man accustomed to physical labour.
"My name's Merlin. I'm just passing through."
"You picked a bad time for it," the younger man commented. He looked similar enough to the older man to be his son, although his expression was more open and friendly. "I won't say no to an extra pair of hands though. We're trying to get the tavern watertight." He held out a hand to Merlin. "My name's Owen, this is my da, Carda."
"The woman back there said there was a dragon?" Merlin asked.
"Aye." Owen's face clouded over. "It's been haunting the foothills since the Great Battle. A group of men went hunting it and never returned. Last night it attacked the village. We have sent word to Camelot. We can't defeat it ourselves."
"She seemed to think it was because of the druids," Merlin prompted.
Owen turned his head away. "Old Byrda don't know what she's talking about," he muttered. "You mustn't mind her stories." Seeing he wasn't going to get any more out of the men, Merlin let the subject drop.
After years as a servant in Camelot, Merlin found joining the workers easy. He rolled up his sleeves and caught the end of a beam a young man was struggling with, helping him lift it up to the men on the roof. The youth gave him a grateful smile. No-one noticed the flash of gold in Merlin's eyes as they worked, but the work seemed to become a little easier of a sudden. Beams slotted themselves into place more quickly. Loads seemed a little lighter. The mood lifted, and the men began to talk.
"I thought there were no more dragons since the Great Purge," commented one.
"Uther's great dragon escaped a few years back," offered another.
"This was no great dragon. I've never seen a more evil, twisted creature, and I saw the questing beast twenty years ago," said an old man in self-important tones.
"You did not, you liar!" scoffed another, and got a cuff on the head in response.
Merlin fought to keep his manner casual and impassive as his guilt and regret started to eat at him. He had been so wrapped up in Camelot's crises, he hadn't asked about the young dragon once in the years since it had hatched. The weight of his responsibilities, and his failures, was almost too much to bear.
"It's Morgana's foul sorcery that brought this misfortune on us," said Carda gloomily.
"Don't use the witch's name!" hissed a younger man fearfully.
Carda ignored him and carried on. "Her dark sorcerers roam these hills still. We never should have let those foul magic-worshippers through last week."
Merlin pricked up his ears. This was the sort of information he needed.
"Da!" said Owen sharply. "You know full well the druids pass through every year and they've never caused us any problems."
Carda spat on the ground. "I said what I said," he said obstinately, and turned back to his work.
"Maybe the creature's had its vengeance and it'll move on now," one of the villagers said hopefully.
"We need to hunt it down and kill it," another disagreed.
"Like Garth and his band of fools? Those unnatural beasts are not so easy to kill. Better we wait for the knights to come deal with it."
When the work was done, Owen invited Merlin to share a meal in the tavern with the rest of the workers. They took bowls of simple stew and bread, and Merlin sat with Owen and Carda. When Carda got up to sit at the fire with the old folks, Merlin took the opportunity to talk to Owen again.
"These druids that pass through, do you know where they can be found?" he asked.
Owen paused in his eating, looking searchingly at Merlin. "Why do you want to know?" he asked bluntly. "I'll have no part in the king's witch hunts."
Merlin took another bite of bread to gather his thoughts. "I mean them no harm," he reassured Owen. "I'm just trying to help a friend. He is ill, and truth be told I think he needs more than a simple physician. I've heard the druids can work healing magic." Merlin wasn't even aware of the skills he'd developed over the years of hiding his powers, skills that had become almost a magic in themselves. His body language was deferential, his face simple and honest, his voice quiet and unassuming. No-one looking at him would guess at the power he held, the deeds he'd accomplished, or the people he'd killed.
Owen nodded. "You seem like a good man. I appreciated your help today. There's a group of druids that stay on the move, but every year they return to their holy island west of Gwnedd to celebrate Beltane with their kin."
"Thank you," Merlin said, and finished his meal without further conversation, deep in thought.
Although he had been offered a room at the tavern for the night, Merlin intended to seek out Aithusa as soon as dusk fell. He lay down for a moment to rest while the tavern quieted. He dreamed.
Fire. The hot, acrid smell of scorched stone. The ground littered with bodies. Searching, searching, knowing in his heart it was already too late. He ran from body to body, scanning faces. So many bodies. "Is this what you wanted, Morgana?" he cried bitterly. Distantly he heard the cries of the men still fighting, the clash of steel, the discordant screech of the dragon.
Merlin woke to dim flickering light. He could still hear the dragon's cry echoing in his ears. He wiped at his damp face. The sound of shouting came to him, and the dragon screamed again. Merlin leapt up and ran through the tavern, slamming open the door to see a nearby building blazing, casting an eerie red glow over the chaos in the village. Some people were trying to save possessions, others to put out the flames, still others had armed themselves with scythes and pitchforks and milled around like cornered animals - angry, confused, and dangerous.
A pale shape appeared in the darkness, arrowing in on the village.
The spearman on the roof went unnoticed until a flash of reflected firelight was followed by a high-pitched screech of pain. The people cheered and whooped. The dragon lurched to one side, faltered, gained height again, then blasted fire towards the people below.
Merlin cried out in the dragon tongue, his resonant tone carrying over the noise in the street. He hoped the villagers would be too distracted to notice, but mostly he was beyond caring. The dragon wheeled and flew off unsteadily, screaming its rage into the night.
Merlin slipped away then, leaving while the villagers were still occupied with putting out fires and treating burns. He'd already waited too long.
Merlin had never called Aithusa to him before. He closed his eyes and took a deep, slow breath. His father's words came back to him. Deep within yourself, you must find the voice that you share, for your soul and his are brothers. He thought about the last time he'd really seen the young dragon, in the mines under the fortress of Ismere. The pain and loss in the dragon's eyes. Merlin lifted his head, the words of the dragon tongue rising from deep within him and roaring into the night sky.
"O drakon, e male so ftengometta tesd'hup'anankes!"
It wasn't long before Aithusa appeared, a pale shape lurching out of the darkness. Merlin had been right, the injured dragon hadn't made it far.
"Aithusa… easy…" he crooned softly to the wounded beast as he slowly approached. When the spear had struck the meaty part of its foreleg the enraged dragon had ripped it out with his teeth, leaving a ragged gash that oozed blood. Merlin continued to murmur soothingly to the dragon as he ran his hands over its pale skin, checking the extent of the damage. Aithusa stood stiffly under Merlin's hands, watching him impassively. Merlin found the dragon's lack of emotion unnerving.
"Will you wait here?" he asked the dragon. He held his breath as Aithusa stood still for a moment. The dragon turned his head away and limped a few steps to the edge of the firelight, then stiffly lowered himself to the ground.
Merlin dug through his pack, pulling out a cloth package and unrolling it. He selected a few different bottles, shaking and tipping their contents into a bowl. He added some hot water and let it steep while he used his knife to tear a blanket into long strips.
Aithusa lay on the edge of the campfire's light, unmoving except for his eyes, which followed Merlin's movements.
Finally Merlin approached the young dragon, using slow, gentle motions. He started talking, his years of experience helping Gaius giving him an easy, practiced manner. "This poultice will help ease the pain and speed healing." Aithusa tensed as the man placed a hand on the dragon's flank, then relaxed as Merlin gently stroked the fever-warm hide. "You should leave it on overnight, and rest for at least two days afterwards," Merlin continued as he spread the mixture onto the wound. He placed both hands over the site, as if bestowing a blessing, and murmured gently. "Ahlúttre þá séocnes. Þurhhæle bræd." Merlin's eyes flared golden for a moment, then he began wrapping the wound in strips of blanket.
When he was done, his hands moved gently further down the limb, to where old injuries had twisted the foot. It looked swollen and painful. Resting his hands on it, Merlin started to speak another spell, but Aithusa gave a pained cry and snatched it out of his grasp.
Merlin held his hands up and backed away. He sat back down by the fire and the two regarded each other silently for a while, the air thick with their unspoken words and emotions.
"I know that you can't speak," Merlin said eventually. He paused. "I don't know everything you've been through, but I've heard about your… captivity. I want to help you. The druids know a lot about healing arts. Maybe they could help us."
Aithusa turned his head away and put it down on his forelegs, curling up like a cat and drawing his tattered wings about himself. His body language clearly broadcast his disinterest in conversation.
Merlin sighed and wrapped himself in his blanket. Perhaps things would look brighter in the morning.