Merlyn's Fate

The Last Dragonlord P1

The dragon had been attacking Camelot for days. Arthur didn't know where it had come from, nor why it had chosen this time to make its move. All he could think about was the billowing smoke smothering any hope of oxygen, fire licking at the remnants of homes in the lower town, reducing everything to ash. Behind him, a few brave souls were attempting to salvage what they could, but it was utterly hopeless. If this was to continue, the entire city would be burnt, blackened until all that was left was a dark scorch on the ground.

"I know you're tired, but make one last effort for me. Every shot must count!" he shouted to his warriors, racing through the broken streets towards the roars of the creature causing such utter destruction with absolutely no sign of mercy. It were scenes like these that reminded him of the evils of magic, how it could be twisted to form such terrifying shapes. He vaguely thought of Merlyn, who had spent her time divided between the infirmary and fighting alongside the knights, but he'd barely said a word to her in two days. He hoped she wasn't hurt, but between the smoke and firelight, it was hard to know anything anymore.

His questions were answered when he met her on the battlements, a bow strapped to her back, her face covered in a mixture of ash and mud. She spotted him through the crowd of sweaty knights, expertly weaving her way between them until she was at his side.

"I'm sorry you're having to do this." she muttered, wiping a few strands of matted hair from her face. She was the epitome of despair, wincing at a long, shallow cut tearing the skin of his arm.

Arthur eyed her curiously. "Why? You're not to blame." he stated, a loud growl filling the night air. The sky was cloudy, the smoke hanging in the air merging with water vapour, creating a thick fog. Pinpricks of light penetrated the greyness, almost beautiful if it wasn't for the fact that the flames were from burning houses rather than thousands of sparkling candles. Above them, the moon shone brightly, illuminating the shadow of a large, winged creature, flying high, heading straight to the citadel.

"Flame up!" The Prince ordered, watching as fifty knights lit their arrows, aiming through the turrets in the direction of the great beast. Merlyn stayed beside him, making no move to follow his instructions, knowing his need for emotional support was more than any chance she had at killing the dragon with an arrow. He was fairly certain that it would take more than fire and wood to break the creature, but he had to try.

"Stay strong! Tonight is not the night you die, I'll make sure of that." Arthur's words were empty, but he was reassured by Merlyn's presence behind him, the crossbow in his hands almost weightless as his heart thudded quickly in his chest. The ghostly expressions on his men's faces were terrified: this wasn't the first time they'd tried to at least mame the dragon. Nothing seemed to work, no mortal weapon able to make a dent in its scales. But they couldn't accept defeat, not when the lives of so many rested on them.

"Hold firm!" He watched the dragon swoop closer, its menacing teeth glinting in the firelight. Snarling into its golden eyes, the Prince waited for it to come even closer, ignoring the fear running through his veins.

"Now!" he roared, letting his arrow fly, despairing as he watched it bounce off its scales. For a moment, he thought the bolt had glowed blue, but he dismissed the notion, focusing more on the ball of fire aimed at him and his knights. Dragging Merlyn down by the hem of her tunic, he felt the flames singe the hair on the back of his neck, glad to see that his men, although petrified, had at least survived. That was more than could be said for most of those who had fought in the last couple of days.

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There were many things that Merlyn considered Gwen to be. A good friend, wise, at times, and brave. She'd never thought her stupid, not, at least, until she watched the woman fetching water from the well in the middle of a dragon attack.