Summary
Morgana reflects on Merlin's visit yesterday, while Kilgharrah considers unexpected connections between former enemies and to the lost dragons.
Chapter 66 The Light Yet Flickers
In the cave's quietude, Morgana sat beside Aithusa, her fingers tracing the baby dragon's scales, drawing comfort from their silken texture. Reclined against the cave wall, she watched Merlin's conjured flames paint the walls in ethereal blues, their mysterious radiance an echo of his own magic that breathed with a life of its own. His visit had kindled something in her world of stone and shadow, warming spaces long grown cold.
For two days, her consciousness flickered between agony and ecstasy. In her fever dreams, she soared alongside Aithusa through auroral skies, their wings cutting pristine paths through clouds tinged with lavender light. Other dragons joined their dance, their scales catching the ethereal glow like constellations in the heavens. But each sublime moment shattered as pain lanced through her body, drawing her back to the confines of flesh and bone.
In those dark intervals, Kilgharrah's ancient magic would find her, wrapping around her essence like silver threads in a tapestry, securing her to life when death beckoned. She sensed his growing strain as hours became days, felt the tremor in his power as he channeled more of his strength into preserving her fading spirit.
His vigil over her revealed layers she'd never perceived in the great dragon – not merely vast power, but wisdom born from decades of solitude, and depths of compassion he'd forgotten he possessed. As the last of his kind, he surely understood what it meant to stand sentinel at the edges of existence, watching as time swept away all that was familiar and cherished. Perhaps this shared understanding had fueled his determination to preserve her life, recognizing in her isolation a mirror of his own. Perhaps their mutual yearning to reach the lost dragons demanded she live.
Through it all, the young dragon's physical presence provided an anchor more vital than Kilgharrah's mystical tethers, Aithusa's scaled form pressed close even as fever raged through Morgana's body. Deep in delirium, Morgana sensed Aithusa's fear vibrating through their connection, yet the dragon responded not with retreat but with gift after gift of vision – magnificent dragons wheeling through crystal-speared skies, their forms painting stories of hope across her mind's eye. Each image carried its own silent plea: Stay with us. The wonders are not yet done. You are needed here.
She recalled surfacing from darkness to find Merlin's face illuminated by azure light, his features softened by an expression she hadn't seen in years. "Welcome back," he'd said, his voice carrying notes of the friendship they'd once shared in Camelot's halls. Her response was barely more than breath – "Noble Merlin... you came" – yet in those simple words, something long-dormant began to stir.
When he moved to leave after bidding her rest, her hand sought his, the gesture startling them both. "Will you stay? For a while?" The words emerged soft and unfamiliar, like a secret she hadn't meant to share. He settled beside her without hesitation as Aithusa joined them, claiming her place at Morgana's side – a position she maintained even now.
Merlin's kindness flowed as steady and natural as a spring-fed stream, wearing smooth paths through her fortress of defenses. Each gentle act – comforts he'd increased for her over time, the quiet companionship last night – carved deeper channels through barriers she'd believed unassailable. As her protection eroded and his kindness expanded, she found herself exposed, like new skin emerging after a long winter's healing. This raw vulnerability set her adrift between competing currents – gratitude pulling her toward trust while fear urged retreat, her heart following the tide of his presence.
"How does it feel," she asked softly, seeking safer ground, "to be Emrys, to use your magic so freely?"
Merlin's eyes found hers, deep blue depths penetrating at the unexpected question. "It feels... natural," he said, his voice rich with newfound freedom. "Like I'm finally breathing with both lungs, no longer forcing part of myself into shadow." A soft laugh escaped him as he ducked his head. "Though I've barely begun to grasp what my magic can truly become."
"I see something greater in you now," she said, her smile gentle, her eyes taking in his new black attire. "You've become who you were meant to be. Your magic, your wisdom and compassion growing with each passing day." A quiet yearning stirred within her as she watched him inhabit his power with such grace – this freedom she'd sought but never found. "The change suits you, Merlin. I'm happy for you."
Merlin's face flushed, but his gaze held hers with unwavering intensity. "That strength lives in you too, Morgana," he said, his conviction resonating in every word. In that moment, the shadows of their past receded, leaving space for something new to bloom between. She felt tears rise at his certainty, at this belief he held in her despite everything, but she forced them back and diverted her eyes away from his.
Before the silence deepened, Merlin spoke of Arthur's capture and Gwen's assault. As she shared what she knew of Dodd – his ruthless nature, his shape-shifting powers, his unwavering loyalty to her cause – she felt like she was describing someone else's life, a story told by a stranger.
Silent tears traced paths down her cheeks now. The yearning for connection, for redemption, gnawed at her bones, yet the barriers built from years of hatred forced a reckoning, standing firm as fortress walls. Her thoughts of Arthur and Gwen, of the devastation she had sown across their lives crashed into her. Even if she found courage to walk a different path, would they ever see beyond the witch who had tried to destroy them?
Morgana eased Aithusa's sleeping form aside with careful movements, the young dragon barely stirring. Rising from the bed demanded patience, her body still remembering its brush with death. She made her way to the fire pit with measured steps, refusing to let weakness claim her again. The mystical flames beckoned, their sapphire radiance spilling across her as she drew near.
"The flames, Kilgharrah," she murmured into the cave's hushed air, her thoughts drifting to Merlin. The strange fire danced before her, its cool brilliance masking the profound warmth that permeated the chamber. "They exist beyond nature's laws, cool and hot at the same time, pure and endless. Like him... like Merlin has become."
"You perceive him in a new light," Kilgharrah said from his post at the entrance.
She offered no contradiction. Merlin's power manifested with crystalline clarity now, thrumming through him as though magic had become as much a part of him as sinew and bone. He was indeed something new.
She'd observed him with Aithusa too, noticed how his touch whispered across her scales with a parent's devotion. His face had brightened at each of the young dragon's joyful sounds, their silent exchanges flowing through subtle shifts of expression, in the quiet harmony of their movements. Though their dragon-speech remained private, their bond spoke through every gentle gesture.
"The young warlock believes in you," Kilgharrah said, ancient wisdom tempering his words. "As does Aithusa."
Morgana turned to the great dragon, reading the changes in his demeanor. "And what of you, Kilgharrah? What truth do you see?"
"That Destiny's paths branch in ways I had not foreseen." He settled his ancient form at the threshold, scales rustling against stone. "You bridged a chasm my centuries of wisdom could not cross, Morgana."
Memories of their shared achievement rippled through her mind, along with remembered pain from Hades' Grip. "I wanted to help," she said softly. "Not for dominion or revenge. Simply to help."
"A choice that almost claimed your life."
"Yet I live, because Merlin chose to heal me." Her gaze lingered on the otherworldly flames, drawn to their impossible nature. "He offered kindness – a few moments of companionship where none was required..." Her voice grew soft with remembrance. She glanced at her wrists, which held no trace of injury. "Gifts I thought forever lost to me." On the bed, Aithusa shifted atop the blankets with a soft whisper of wings.
"Time has reshaped you both, Morgana." Kilgharrah's ancient gaze rested upon her, considering.
"Perhaps," she murmured. Weariness pulled at her limbs, yet she remained before the flames, these thoughts demanding voice. "But transformation cannot unmake what was done. Arthur's kingdom still carries the wounds of my vengeance. Gwen..." She faltered, searching for the fury that once blazed at thoughts of her former friend. In its place lay only silence. "I find no emotion for them now. Neither hatred nor love. Only emptiness."
"Are you certain it is emptiness you discover?" Kilgharrah pressed. "Or does the absence of hatred finally allow buried truths to rise?"
Morgana's eyes narrowed. "You presume to read my heart regarding Merlin?"
"I merely observe," Kilgharrah replied, a rumble of mirth in his gruff voice. "How your pulse races whenever his name crosses your lips." Aithusa raised her head from the bed, her luminous eyes studying Morgana with unmistakable curiosity as she released a trill.
"I respond to compassion as any soul might," Morgana said, the cobalt light of Merlin's flames spilling across the cave walls. "Nothing beyond that." Yet memory betrayed her words – the catch in her throat when his eyes had found hers, the whisper of awareness that had bloomed beneath his healing touch.
"He perceives the truth of you," Kilgharrah said gently. "Beyond the shadow of vengeance, past the mantle of priestess. He sees Lady Morgana as she was meant to be."
She turned from the flames, her eyes closing at his words piercing as a blade. Making her way back to where Aithusa lay watching, each step cautious against her body's protest, she settled beside the young dragon. "What difference can that make? The Goddess's decree binds me here, confined to this cave. Merlin's perception cannot alter these stone walls." Yet even as she spoke, she found herself wondering when he might return – not merely the question itself, but the unspoken yearning that accompanied it, taking her unaware.
"Perhaps not. But it has already changed you."
Aithusa stirred with sudden purpose beside her on the bed, the young dragon's focus sharpening. Morgana recognized the familiar touch of vision pressing against her consciousness – another glimpse of Evanescen seeking form.
The vision bloomed in her mind: beneath lavender-tinged skies, dragons in countless hues wove intricate patterns through the air. Then the scene shifted, revealing towering peaks she hadn't witnessed before, their summits veiled in eternal dusk. Rising from the mountain's core, a citadel of living crystal caught and scattered light in brilliant and strange patterns.
"They come in greater numbers now," Morgana murmured, drawing strength from Aithusa's presence as the vision expanded. "Far more than other glimpses had revealed. More dragons gather in its shadow."
"Yes. It's as if they answer an ancient call." Kilgharrah's voice quickened with intensity. "The citadel's spires pulse with magic – and I sense Aithusa's essence within it."
"Your essence within it?" Morgana turned to the young dragon with renewed curiosity, staring into the depths of her emerald eyes. "What does this mean, Kilgharrah?"
"I am... uncertain," the great dragon admitted. "Perhaps Aithusa calls to them without even knowing it."
Aithusa stirred at his words, her eyes bright with understanding that surpassed her years. But before Morgana could question further, the vision began to fade, and Aithusa sank into her embrace, trilling softly. She cradled the young dragon close, lending her own warmth and strength to comfort.
"These visions from Aithusa aren't like that first contact," Morgana reflected, "when our minds touched the female dragon's consciousness. It transcended anything I'd ever experienced."
"As it did for me," Kilgharrah acknowledged. "Your connection to Aithusa unveiled paths through the aether I had not known existed. In all my long years, such communion was beyond imagining."
"Yet Aithusa's link appears to be constant." She looked up at the great dragon. "My link slipped from our grasp so swiftly. Why?"
"The power may not have been yours to give. It demands too much." Shadows crept into his tone, and Morgana sensed the unexpected regard in his voice. "Its cost too high."
Aithusa stirred against her, releasing another trill. Morgana's fingers traced the young dragon's scales, the familiar motion calming them both. "The cost was worth the risk," she said. "In that single moment, when our minds found theirs... when we knew they survived..."
Kilgharrah remained silent, his gaze turning inward with contemplation. "We lacked a vital piece," he said at last. "And I believe that piece is Merlin."
"What do you mean?" Morgana asked.
"The answer eludes me fully, but as a dragonlord..." Kilgharrah paused with deliberate intent before he glanced at her. "His power might complete what we've begun."
Morgana shook her head, a soft sigh escaping. "Merlin's priority now is finding Arthur," she said, her voice taking on a practical edge. "He won't be easily persuaded to divide his attention."
"I am aware – his devotion to Arthur runs deep," Kilgharrah acknowledged. "But the fate of his kin cannot wait indefinitely."
"Then we must attempt the connection ourselves," Morgana suggested. "Without Merlin."
A low growl rumbled from Kilgharrah's throat. "No. The risk is too great without him."
Her gaze settled on the eternal flames as that first connection surged in memory – the pure exhilaration as their minds found the lost dragons, before Hades' Grip unleashed its vengeance. Common sense warned against such reckless pursuit, yet she ached to bridge that distance again, to touch realms beyond her prison where magic of a different kind flowed free.
"If Merlin's power is what we need," she said carefully, "how would it work? The binding still limits my magic."
"That remains unclear," Kilgharrah admitted, his voice both urgent and cautious. "I must think on this further."
Morgana gazed into the eternal flames, finding herself drawn to thoughts of Merlin's return. Their time together last night had awakened something she thought buried beneath years of darkness – a flicker of connection in every shared look, in every gentle touch that made her question her worth. Would he choose Arthur over helping them reach the dragons? Would he risk her life again so soon after healing her?
Yet such reflections led to nowhere safe. This fragile understanding between them couldn't erase their bitter history, couldn't alter her confinement or his unwavering loyalty to Arthur. Even if Kilgharrah spoke true about requiring Merlin's power, even if they found harmony in working together, she dared not nurture deeper hopes.
Morgana let her head rest against the stone wall, allowing herself to sink into the gentle radiance of Merlin's flames. For this brief interval, she would accept the gift of tranquility – Aithusa's comforting presence beside her, Kilgharrah's watchful wisdom at the threshold, and threading through it all, the lingering echoes of Merlin's tenderness.