Work Text:
Fandom: Merlin (BBC)
Prompt: Oh god the parallels were so amazingly painful. Please I'm begging you don't leave us like this. - lilou0922
Maybe, if you want, we could have a talk between Merlin, Arthur and Morgana? After magic is legalized, Arthur and Merlin can go and look for her, try to convince her she's not a monster and deserves to be loved and to came back to Camelot (probably the town's people won't like it at first, but she's going to win their hearts again). I don't mean a happy ever after, just a little light at the end of the tunnel would be nice for her. - GhostN27
(MonAlice babe ily but I can’t put your whole comment here it’s so long and so good I would feel bad chopping it up)
There is an old saying about a dragon’s trust. A dragon’s trust is the hardest to gain and the hardest to lose. If one has it, one now has a dragon.
Dragons are creatures that are firmly embedded in old magic, old ways, where the rules are nowhere near as…finicky as mortal rules. Trying to ask what this means serves almost no purpose. Dragons aren’t exactly known for their clear and concise answers, after all.
A dragon will answer a call from old magic, the only call it will answer. Not the same way it obeys the call of a Dragonlord, no, but the same way sadness seeks out relief, or misery seeks out hope.
One dragon will answer two calls: one from a light that bathes the kingdom in gold, and one from a hand that stretches up trembling from darkness.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Morgana cracks one eye open, wincing at the dried salt crusted into the corners. It’s still overcast, the sky a white blob far above the destroyed roof. It’s bright. Too bright. She doesn’t like it. She hates the light. It hurts.
She closes her eyes again.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Oh, that’s right. That’s why she moved.
Morgana winces, trying to sit up, her muscles crying out in protest from the hours they’ve spent horribly contorted. But if there’s something here, even if it’s just a stupid bandit, she should be prepared, shouldn’t she?
Lest she be slaughtered like a monster in the dark.
Oh.
Morgana groans. She collapses back to the ground. No, she can stay here a while longer. She knows her magic will do something, it always does. It…it wants to live.
Regardless of what she wants.
Something’s coming inside. Something’s coming—
She can’t find the strength to move. It’s too much. It’s too late.
It takes all she has not to flinch and hurt herself when something nudges her arm. A boot? The tip of a sword? It nudges again, persistent.
A…was that a growl?
Did some animal find her?
Another growl, but this one sounds…worried?
What is happening?
Morgana opens her eyes and immediately scrambles away, ignoring the screaming in her muscles.
A dragon. The dragon. The white dragon. How…how did it find her? Why is it here? What…what does it want?
She’s too startled to realize the dragon is just as startled as she is, pulling away a small bit and pulling its wings close to its sides. The dragon lets out another concerned noise, tentatively reaching its head forward and nudging Morgana’s arm.
It’s…worried?
Shaking, Morgana carefully reaches out and lets the dragon sniff her hand. That’s what she’s supposed to do, right? It’s…is this what worked before?
“Easy,” she finds herself saying, despite her wrecked voice, “easy…it’s…it’s okay.”
The dragon gently headbutts her hand. That’s…good, right?
She swallows, watching the dragon carefully sniff her and her surroundings, her fear slowly turning to curiosity. What is it after? Is something wrong? She never thought she’d see the white dragon again.
The dragon roots around in the rubble, sniffing determinedly.
“Are…are you hungry?” Morgana swallows through her dry throat. “I…I don’t have much, but I can see if I can find something for you?”
The dragon doesn’t seem to notice.
“I’m sorry it’s such a mess.” Morgana frowns at herself. Why is the presence of the dragon suddenly making her so ashamed?
Well, actually, no. She’s been feeling ashamed already, the dragon’s just amplifying it.
She frowns more when she notices the dragon hunting through one specific pile of rubble in the corner. “Are…are you looking for something?”
She receives an annoyed huff as an answer. The dragon buries its head under part of what used to be Morgana’s roof and grabs something. When it retracts its head, it trots back over to Morgana, dropping the object in her lap.
Morgana shudders when the bracelet hits her lap. No, no, get it away—
She lets out a frightened keen and shoves the bracelet away, not wanting it to sink its horrible sweetly soured tendrils into her again. It reeks, it oozes with awful magic, now that she’s attuned to it, and every fiber of her being never wants to see it again. She’s too busy trying to calm herself from seeing it again to notice how the dragon’s looking at her.
The dragon whines too, pushing forward. It shoves itself between Morgana and the bracelet, almost into her lap. She’s still shaking. It still stings. The dragon nudges at her shaking hands. It leans forward, tucking its head up against her stomach, breathing slow. It…it’s warm. It’s really warm.
The weight of the dragon’s head settles in her lap, trembling just the slightest amount as it breathes. Is…is it upset? Did Morgana do something?
Slowly, oh so slowly, she lays her hand on the dragon’s head, warily petting its scales. They flow smoothly under her touch, slightly warm, slightly cool. Her veins thrum with magic and she pulls away. She’s hurt too many already, what if she hurts the dragon too?
What’s to say she’s any better than that bracelet?
Oh, oh no, she’s not—
A tear hits the crest just above the dragon’s eyes.
She’s crying again.
The dragon feels it. It pulls away, just a little, crouched as it is on all fours with its head in Morgana’s lap, to look up at Morgana’s tear-streaked face. A rush of shame envelops her and she quickly wipes her face angrily, trying to find the words to—
To what? Apologize? Excuse herself? Plead for forgiveness?
Why is the dragon even here?
It opens its mouth and leans forward. Morgana closes her eyes, wincing, is it going to bite her? Eat her? Burn her?
Isn’t that what happens to sorcerers?
Something rough touches her cheek.
There’s a warm weight in her lap.
She opens her eyes and her heart pounds.
The dragon is propping itself up with two legs resting carefully between hers, trying to keep its claws away from her tender flesh. Its wings are spread just the tiniest bit for stability. And it's trying to lick her tears away.
It’s too much.
She bawls, burying her face in the dragon’s scales, unable to reconcile the tenderness it’s showing her with everything else. After…after everything, why—what gives her the right to cry as a dragon dries her tears? What gives her the right to live, to be here, to repent after everything she’s done?
Why is the dragon here?
Why isn’t the dragon off doing dragon things? Why does it have to be here, so light and good in Morgana’s ruined home? Why does it have to be so gentle, can’t it just rip her heart out and be done with it?
Morgana’s throat aches. Clearly, at some point, she’s not quite sure when, she’s begun vocalizing all of this, sobbing and pleading pathetically as the dragon keeps nosing at her cheeks. It hurts. It hurts, everything hurts, because it feels so undeserved, it—it’s too much. It’s being so cold everything turns to ice when she touches it and then suddenly sat in front of a bonfire with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. It’s—
She wails, suddenly and painfully, her throat screeching at her to stop making noise, the dragon letting out another one of the concerned noises that burrows deep into her chest and pries away all the thorns sticking into her heart.
She wants it to be over.
She doesn’t want to fight anymore.
She wants—she wants—
“I want to go home!”
The dragon shuffles its wings as Morgana buries her head in her hands. It moves back off her lap a little, letting her draw her knees up to her chest and hide her face.
“I-I want—I just want—“ Morgana gasps, trying to get around the sobs in her throat— “home where it was s-safe and n-no one h-hated me and—and—and no more—“
The dragon rumbles, resting its face against her shins. It knows this one is truly sorry. It could hear the anguish clear across the skies.
The rumble of the crows was one thing, this…this was another.
It had to find the thing that made it this way, though, before it could do anything. There had always been something dark about this one’s aura, something wrong.
It had found the bracelet, reeking with horrible magic, with agony.
The bracelet…
Giving Morgana one last nudge with its snout, it picked up the bracelet and took to the air. There was another call it had to answer first before this one could have peace.
The dragon could not have come at a worse time.
Merlin was in the middle of finally talking to Arthur about everything—yes, he means literally everything, he’s not leaving anything out anymore—and yeah, alright, they were both crying. They were in a field, far away from anyone else, curled up in each other’s arms because that was a lot, okay, a lot.
Then suddenly there’s a dragon.
Merlin immediately flings himself to his feet and throws his arms out, dragon tongue words on his lips. Then he squints.
“Aithusa?”
“Wait, isn’t this the—“
Merlin falls to his knees as Aithusa pads forward, cupping the dragon’s white cheeks in his trembling hands. He brings her face forward, resting his forehead against hers, panting.
“Oh, oh, what happened to you,” he mutters brokenly, “what happened?”
Aithusa rumbles, tucking her chin over Merlin’s shoulder to let Merlin hug her neck. Merlin buries his head in Aithusa’s white scales and sobs, feeling his magic rush to mingle with hers. She’s here, she’s here—
Arthur watches, still slightly stunned by not only the stories Merlin’s been telling him but by the dragon in front of him. He…he’s no expert on dragons, but he can tell when a creature has been mistreated.
The dragon’s wings look wrong. They look like they’ve been hurt, badly, and the way it walks…like it’s wary of expanding too much and hurting itself. He can’t deny how Merlin looks with Aithusa—that’s her name, right?—wrapping her neck over his shoulder in an embrace. He smiles a little when the dragon glances up at him.
“Hello,” he says softly, making sure he’s not going to come off as threatening, “my name is Arthur.”
The dragon sniffs lightly at his hand, letting him stroke her snout. He smiles. “You seem nice.”
“She is,” Merlin sobs, “she’s lovely and wonderful and I don’t know what happened to her and she’s hurt and now she can’t speak—“
“Shh,” Arthur says, reaching out his other hand to pat Merlin’s back, “come on, Merlin, breathe.”
Merlin takes in big shuddering breaths, still leaning heavily on Aithusa. The dragon lets herself fall to the ground with a whoompth, the air rushing out from under her body as she lies on the grass. She seems to almost go limp in Merlin’s hold, tucking herself closer to him. If Arthur didn’t know any better, he’d say she almost looks like a frightened pup cuddling up to its mother.
Well, actually.
A small smile comes over his face.
“This is your dragon,” Arthur murmurs softly, crouching so he can pet the both of them at once, “isn’t she? The one you hatched from the egg?”
Merlin nods. “She’s—she was my responsibility and I—I abandoned her. And now she’s hurt.”
He turns his face into her scales.
“I’m so sorry,” he cries and part of Arthur wonders if he should give them a moment, “I’m sorry, Aithusa, I’m sorry I left you alone. I won’t do it again, I promise, I won’t.”
Aithusa rumbles, sending pleasantly warm tingles throughout Merlin’s body. His magic coils around them protectively. It’s not quite forgiveness, not yet, but there’s something there. He should’ve known; he doesn’t think Aithusa has it in her to hate.
“What’s this,” he hears Arthur’s soft voice from behind him. He feels Aithusa’s head move slightly and turns around to see Arthur tugging playfully at something Aithusa’s mouth. “Did you bring something for us?”
Merlin chuckles despite himself at Arthur’s attitude.
“Is she like the dogs,” Arthur says softly, stroking Aithusa’s scales, “bringing things back for you?”
Merlin shrugs. “She’s never done it before.”
“Wait,” Arthur says, frowning, “I’ve seen this before.”
Aithusa opens her mouth and drops the item into Arthur’s palm. His eyes go wide.
It’s a bracelet. More than that though, it’s Morgana’s bracelet.
Merlin’s eyes go wide to and he snatches it away, squinting at it.
“Where did you get this,” he asks in a low voice, “Aithusa, this must’ve hurt so much to carry, are you alright?”
“Why, what’s wrong with it?”
Merlin stares at Arthur. “Arthur, this is a mind manipulation spell.”
“A what?”
“It’s dark magic, really dark magic,” Merlin explains through gritted teeth, “it hurts just to hold onto. My magic wants it gone.”
“Then give it to me,” Arthur demands only for Merlin to yank it away.
“No! What if it hurts you?”
“Then drop it, or something!”
Merlin drops it. They stare at the amber stone glinting up from the grass.
Aithusa rumbles again. Merlin’s attention snaps back to the dragon, whose wings droop sadly as she nudges Merlin’s hand.
“Where did you get this, Aithusa?” Merlin pets her gently. “It must’ve hurt you, why was it so important to bring this to us?”
Arthur swallows the lump in his throat.
“It’s Morgana’s.”
Merlin freezes.
“It’s Morgana’s,” Arthur repeats, a growing suspicion in his heart, and a mounting sense of dread. “She…she got it from—“
“Morgause,” Merlin growls. “Of course. Of course it was Morgause.”
“Wait, but if it’s a mind manipulation—“
Oh.
Oh.
Oh, no.
Merlin buries his hands in his hair, much to Arthur and Aithusa’s distress. It was—how could he have been so stupid?
“Merlin,” Arthur calls, “Merlin, not now. We have to fix this. We have to—“
He’s right. He’s right. He already wanted to find Morgana. He knew he had to, he knew he had to make up for what he’s done. Now he knows they both do.
They have to find Morgana. His eyes land on Aithusa.
“Can you take us to her?”