Summary
Kilgharrah and Merlin wrestle with difficult choices while devastating news tests long-held beliefs.
Chapter 63 When Destinies Collide
When Morgana broke the connection and fell into slumber a few days ago, Aithusa's powers dimmed, severing their link to the female dragon's mind. Victory and loss danced within Kilgharrah's ancient soul like opposing winds. His kin were alive – thriving somewhere very distant.
All thanks to the high priestess, whose patient guidance had awakened depths in Aithusa that his millennia of knowledge could not reach—even with her magic bound and powerless. She'd sacrificed herself for their cause, he realized too late, now lying unconscious while fever and infection took hold. Though healing mortal flesh lay beyond his power, he'd channeled what dragon-magic he could to sustain her life force, to keep her spirit tethered to this realm. But such magic could only delay the inevitable.
Aithusa remained vigilant at Morgana's side, her grief too profound to attempt reaching across the aether again. Without both her power and Morgana's guidance intertwined, the connection to their distant kin remained beyond his grasp.
From his perch, he gazed skyward, yearning to soar into the aether and search again for whispers of dragon-song, the hope of finding them hovering tantalizingly close. He turned toward the cave mouth, its stone walls now cold and dark without Morgana's fire. If she dies, their newfound hope might slip away like mist before dawn.
Remain here with Morgana, he dragon-spoke to Aithusa. I shall return as soon as I can. His wings unfurled as he launched from the shelf toward Camelot, trusting in Aithusa's devotion.
Merlin…? he reached through the aether, sending his thoughts across the vastness.
Kilgharrah! The reply came swift as lightning, an urgency in Merlin's voice that made his scales prickle. I have grave news. I must speak with you.
As do I. Dragon Mount in the Darkling Wood – I'll await you there."
He didn't wait for Merlin's response. The aether seized him, ancient magic wrapping around his form like a second skin, pulling him through unseen realms. Between one wing-beat and the next, the dense forest materialized beneath him, far north of Camelot's walls.
I am here, he announced, landing on the perch similar to his mountain keep and settling near it.
"So am I," Merlin said, traces of his enhanced white magic dissolving around him as he approached with purposeful steps, his expression caught between confidence and unease.
"Morgana is ill," Kilgharrah declared, centuries of wisdom lending steel to his voice. "You must see to her care – cure her."
His dragonlord did not reply, Merlin's eyes drifting down.
Merlin! he thundered, his dragon-speak echoing through the connection as Merlin's defiance sparked his temper. "If she dies, the rise of Albion is at jeopardy!"
His met his gaze, sorrow etching his features. "Something never imagined has happened."
"I am aware: magic now flows freely through Camelot, Emrys walks unveiled—"
"My news is more grave!" Power rippled through Merlin's voice, his outburst carrying echoes of the magic surging within him. His dragonlord swallowed, his face twisting into pure grief and regret. "I failed to protect Arthur. He was abducted yesterday and we fear the worse. We've searched since dawn – scrying pools, tracking runes, every spell I know. Even now, knights comb the forests with torches, but nightfall forces us to regroup."
Kilgharrah's ancient bones seemed to turn to ice, his neck arching back as prophecy's threads threatened to unravel before him. "It appears, young warlock," he said, each word steeped in remorse, "Camelot crumbles before its foundation even sets."
"As much faith as I have in Queen Guinevere and the knights, Camelot stands vulnerable without Arthur. War gathers at our borders while magic surges through the kingdom beyond anything I expected." Merlin's voice faltered, his eyes distant with fresh guilt. "I also tried to help someone today—to free magic that was bound since childhood. But my haste outpaced my wisdom. She lies unconscious now, overwhelmed by powers she never knew she had." His hands clenched at his sides. "Arthur is missing, another innocent suffers from my impetuousness, and if war comes..." He met Kilgharrah's gaze, desperation burning into something ancient and instinctual. "You must help us find him." His voice transformed from desperation to command, wielding the authority of his dragonlord blood.
"We must help one before the other – which first?" Kilgharrah studied the young sorcerer closely, watching prophecy and duty war across his features.
"Healers attend the noblewoman now," Merlin replied, his voice steady with resolve. "They understand unbound magic far better than I do. All we can do for her now is wait. But Arthur..." His tone hardened with purpose. "We cannot delay."
Kilgharrah considered his next words carefully, knowing they would pierce Merlin's certainty. Before him stood the mighty Emrys facing an impossible choice between his king and one whose destiny had become unexpectedly crucial, of one he'd once named enemy. Lives hung in the balance of either path – Arthur's capture could spell doom for Camelot, while Morgana's death would sever more than their newfound connection to lost dragon-kin. Her loss, Kilgharrah sensed, would ripple through destiny's tapestry in ways he could not yet foresee. The choice he offered would test Merlin's wisdom as much as his power.
"You may not find Arthur for many days," Kilgharrah replied, tempering knowledge with compassion, "but Morgana will surely die sooner. She too has a vital role left to play, Merlin. I will search the aether for signs of Arthur's presence and share what insights the ancient ways reveal. You must aid Morgana now."
Merlin dragged fingers through his hair, his expression shifting as he accepted the truth of Kilgharrah's words. "I know," he murmured, his duties multiplying like stones in an avalanche. "Tell me of her. Did she use magic?"
"She has achieved something that humbled my pride," Kilgharrah said, memories of their shared triumph still fresh. "Together with Aithusa, we breached barriers I thought impenetrable. For one brief, glorious moment, our minds touched dragons I believed lost forever."
Merlin's lips parted, his eyes brightening with the first hope since speaking of Arthur's capture. "I know. I heard. That's great news in these dark times," he said, voice caught between joy and sorrow. "Do you know where they are? Will they return to Camelot's skies?"
"No," Kilgharrah said, grief deepening his voice. "The vastness of the aether yields no whisper of their presence, no trace of their song."
He watched Merlin close his eyes, each lost opportunity carving new hollows into his spirit. Emrys, Destiny's chosen, yet even his vast powers could not bridge every chasm fate had carved.
"For Morgana, forging that connection exacted a devastating toll," Kilgharrah continued. "Hades' Grip claimed its vengeance upon her. Despite my attempts to sustain her with dragon-magic, she has lain unconscious these past two days, fever burning through her veins."
Merlin's eyes snapped open, color draining from his face. "Two days?" The words emerged sharp with horror. Tension seized his frame, a palm pressed across his mouth, struggling to master his emotions. "I was... so consumed… I should have..."
"Even I did not realize its toll on her, Merlin," Kilgharrah offered, regret lacing his admission.
"I'd promised to visit after your contact with the dragons happened." Self-recrimination strained Merlin's voice. "But when Arthur—" His jaw tightened. "No excuses. The failure is mine alone." Resolution hardened his features as he squared his shoulders. "I'll make this right. I swear it, Kilgharrah. Take me to her now."
Kilgharrah curved his neck against the stone, a motion as old as the seasons' turning. Merlin ascended the scaled path with the surety born from years of shared flight. He settled behind one of the great horns and Kilgharrah pushed off. One thought to the aether, and they vanished.
The aether released them atop his mountain sanctuary, dragon-magic bending time and space to its will. Merlin leapt from his back before Kilgharrah's claws fully touched stone, his purposeful stride carrying him into the cave. His arm swept toward the fire pit. "Forbaernum arisan!" he commanded without slowing, eyes igniting gold. Flames erupted without fuel, their savage hunger filling the chamber as living shadows danced across the stone walls. Kilgharrah watched from the entrance, constrained by his size to remain outside.
Aithusa bounded to meet them, her dragon-speech rippling with harmonies that sang through Kilgharrah's age-old bones – joy at Merlin's presence entwined with distress over Morgana's condition. Merlin knelt to embrace her, his expression softening as if he sensed the depth of her conflicted heart.
"Hello, Aithusa." The words had barely left his lips when his head jerked sharply, as if struck by an unseen force.
"What is it, Merlin?" asked Kilgharrah, straining to see past the cave's threshold. In all his centuries, he'd never witnessed such direct sharing of dragon-knowledge with a mortal, not even a dragonlord.
"An image in my mind," Merlin said, wonderment tinging his confusion. "And with it came a name: Evanescen." His gaze remained fixed on Aithusa, searching for understanding. "What is this place you've shown me?"
"I received it as well," Kilgharrah admitted, humbled once again by Aithusa's evolving abilities. "It must be the sanctuary of our lost kin. Her connection to them must have reached deeper than mine during our brief contact."
"Or she maintains some thread of that connection still." Merlin studied Aithusa thoughtfully, his hand gentle against her scales. The name Evanescen stirred ancient memories in Kilgharrah's mind – echoes of whispered legends, fragments of lore lost to time. That Aithusa could access such knowledge, could perceive paths beyond his own vast understanding, spoke of powers evolving beyond the boundaries of traditional dragon-wisdom.
Merlin inhaled. "We'll speak more of this later, Aithusa. Now, I must help Morgana."
He rose from kneeling to approach the bed where Morgana lay still as stone. For a moment, Merlin stared down at her changed form, while Aithusa settled on the opposite side, watchful and near. Dark strands of longer hair clung damp with fever-sweat to her ashen skin, her once-defiant lips now cracked and parched from days without water. Sitting beside her, he placed a hand on her brow, confirming what Kilgharrah had told him.
Time's tapestry unfolded in Kilgharrah's mind to another time Morgana had hovered near death's threshold, when Merlin had first wielded his dragonlord power – not with today's unconscious authority, but with desperate command, forcing him to provide the cure despite his own warnings. Now, years later, he sat at her bedside again, his familiar compassion for her emerging—tentative yet unchanged in its essence.
His palm pressed more firmly on her forehead. "Morgana." Merlin's gentle call went unanswered, not even a flutter of response. This stillness seemed unnatural in one whose spirit had always burned so fierce, whether in loyalty or betrayal. Aithusa trilled softly, her head tilting as if sensing their dragonlord's concern, but Kilgharrah witnessed steel entering Merlin's eyes, sorrow hardening to resolve.
When he lifted her arm to examine the wounds, Kilgharrah narrowed his focus to her wrist, his own dismay mirroring Merlin's sharp intake of breath. The delicate flesh bore cruel evidence of the binding magic's price—dried blood staining pale skin, infection festering where metal had pierced flesh.
"Hold on," Merlin whispered, his eyes sweeping the cave. Aithusa chirped, her luminous eyes fixed on his movements, her tail betraying her anxiety with each subtle shift. "I'm here now. You're not alone."
Those words resonated through Kilgharrah's being. Though he and Aithusa spent many hours training away, since her collapse, they'd remained steadfast at her side. Yet somehow, Merlin's presence filled an absence he hadn't recognized until this moment—bringing something beyond mere healing power to their wounded ward—empathy.
Merlin moved quickly to the small collection of her possessions—the few articles of clothing, a brush, a hand mirror arranged with careful dignity on the cot. Selecting her cleanest shift and retrieving a clay cup, his movements remained decisive despite his urgency. Back at Morgana's side, a hand hovered over the cup.
"Blóstmá," he whispered, eyes narrowing to golden slits. Pure water gurgled to the brim, cascading droplets catching the fire's glow. Within the cup, liquid swirled with an ethereal azure gleam, a display of magic that flowed from his fingers like a mountain spring—natural, purposeful, unhesitating. Kilgharrah observed in quiet amazement as his young warlock demonstrated mastery born not from his own ancient teachings, but from the wisdom of others and forged from his own trials.
He tore the shift in two, folding each half into squares and soaking one in the enchanted water. Every touch to Morgana's mouth showed deliberate care, letting moisture seep between cracked lips, ensuring the life-giving liquid reached her parched throat. Then, sliding the bracelet aside as gently as possible, he grimaced, the true extent of injury and infection revealed.
"I'm so sorry, Morgana," he whispered. Guiding her arm to rest across his lap, Merlin used the second square to clean her wounds with droplets from the cup. "Why didn't I come sooner?" he berated, dragging the back of a hand across his brow. "She's been suffering two days despite your efforts. And I never returned as I'd promised. I had no idea…"
Kilgharrah remained silent – they both understood the harsh truth behind recent events. Though Morgana often slumbered long hours in her isolation, something more should have alerted him after such a profound and jarring experience with the dragon link.
"Do not despair so," Kilgharrah rumbled, deep-rooted regret coloring his voice. "My knowledge of human frailties has proven inadequate. Perhaps..." Centuries of certainty crumbled like ancient stone within him. "Perhaps I am not the guardian she truly needs."
Merlin glanced at him, as if his words had struck some hidden chord. After a weighted moment, his attention returned to Morgana. Cupping her damaged flesh between his palms, Merlin drew a steadying breath and whispered "Iacháu Bendithio. Let no traces linger of death's decay. Let the light of renewal cleanse your flesh."
Golden light poured from his hands, ancient magic mending flesh and purging corruption. Kilgharrah saw color bloom across her cheeks as the fever retreated, like winter giving way to spring. Aithusa crooned softly, her neck stretching forward to better observe them.
Morgana stirred from her deathlike stillness, her first sign of life a reflexive attempt to swallow. Merlin slid a gentle hand beneath her neck, lifting her head slightly to trickle enchanted liquid into her mouth. Her eyelashes fluttered against pink cheeks as consciousness slowly returned.
At last, her eyes opened, finding Merlin's face in the firelight. His smile held no trace of their former enmity, but warmed with quiet joy at seeing her awaken. "Welcome back," he said, gentleness replacing years of distrust as he folded her arm across her stomach.
Morgana blinked once more, clarity returning to her gaze like morning light breaking through mist. "Noble Merlin," she rasped, voice fragile with disuse. "You came."
Merlin cheeks flushed, exchanging a glance that needed no voice. "Rest, now."
Merlin rose to his feet, but her fingers sought his with unexpected urgency. "Will you stay? For a while?" The words barely carried beyond her lips.
He sank back down beside her. "All right," he agreed softly. "For a while..." His hand steadied her head as he offered more water. Aithusa then joined them on the bed, her scaled form curling naturally against Morgana's side. A faint smile touched Morgana's lips as she traced her fingers along the dragon's neck, the gesture slow and familiar.
"Are you hungry?" Merlin asked after a moment.
"Yes, a little," she whispered. Their gazes lingered upon each other before Merlin rose and crossed the cave to survey her meager rations.
Kilgharrah drew back from the cave mouth, witnessing more than just Morgana's recovery. In their quiet exchange, he saw ancient prophecies shifting like sand in the wind. The scene before him—Emrys tending to Morgana with such care, Aithusa curled trustingly with them— challenged ages of his beliefs. A connection formed in the space where enmity had ruled, as tenuous as the first green shoots of spring yet holding the same promise of renewal. He glanced at the cave, Merlin's eternal fire now glowing across warm stone, transforming the cold prison into something else entirely.
And he'd proven his inadequacy in caring for such delicate humans. With her near death, perhaps an appeal to the queen might secure a more suitable guardian for Morgana—if indeed a mortal queen held authority to override the goddess's decree.
Settling onto the perch shaped by time's own hand, Kilgharrah listened as their voices drifted from the cave—Merlin's questions about Mordred and his mysterious ally piercing through his contemplation. Even as one wound began to heal, it seemed darker threats loomed on their horizon.
Mention of the druid boy stirred ancient dread, but Kilgharrah found his tenets crumbling. If prophecy could bend for Morgana, perhaps Destiny's path for Mordred was not carved in stone either. For a millennium, he'd stood as a pillar of dragon-kind, his wisdom unquestioned. Before the purge, his word carried the authority of ages. Had twenty years chained in darkness sculpted him into something rigid and unyielding? With two souls entrusted to his care – each carrying their own distinct power – he wondered if now was time to remember what other ancient truths lay dormant in his memories.
Merlin's mention of war drew Kilgharrah back to present dangers, primal instincts stirring beneath his scales. As he spoke of Camelot preparing for conflict without their king, Kilgharrah saw how change swept through their world like a great storm—touching dragon and human alike, transforming enemies into allies, reshaping destinies thought fixed as stone. Even an untested queen now readied herself to lead a kingdom through its darkest hours. Perhaps that was the deeper truth Destiny had waited to reveal—that none of them could remain unchanged.
Iacháu Bendithio – Healing Blessing