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O drakon, e male so ftengometta tesd'hup'anankes!
Leagues away, Kilgharrah heard the Dragonlord’s call with such clarity it was as though the words had been whispered directly into his mind. As a fellow creature of the Old Religion, the connection he held with the young warlock was like a tether wound fiercely around his soul. They were one with each other. Forever kin, parted only in death.
There was no denying it. No resisting it. A call of such power, there was no choice but to answer.
He blinked open his eyes from where they had been closed in sleep and lifted his head high to get a bearing of where the call had originated. His claws forced grooves into the dirt below as he pushed himself up and into the night sky and the moon lit his path with a soft white glow as he covered miles of landscape in mere seconds, his impressive wingspan allowing him to answer his summons in no time at all.
And just in time too it seemed.
As he approached the clearing, an echo of immense pain washed over him, thrumming within his veins in a detached sort of manner. It was not an unfamiliar sensation – after all, Merlin was not the first Dragonlord he had known and many of the young warlock’s predecessors had the same knack for getting themselves into trouble. But it was a feeling he took no pleasure in. Merlin was hurting— no, he was dying.
And the dark shapes crawling ever closer to the fallen boy answered the question he had been asking himself of just why Merlin had called for him in the first place.
Serkets were deadly creatures with spindly legs and a stinger primed to attack any unsuspecting fool who got close enough. Its large shape was likely intimidating to anyone of Merlin’s size and its venom was fatal if left untreated — but only after it put its prey through a world of pain first.
They skittered around the clearing, observing their quarry with beady eyes, and Kilgharrah had no qualms about halting any further attacks. His fiery breath coated the earth surrounding the warlock, frying the creatures where they stood. Those that remained intact skurried away in an instant, leaving their injured brothers to writhe on the ground as they released a horribly high-pitched whine.
Kilgharrah paid them no heed as he lowered himself amongst the trees to gently scoop up the worryingly still body. So preoccupied with the serkets, he hadn’t noticed the chains before, but he felt them now against his claws. The magically bound metal was wrapped tightly around Merlin’s torso and legs and Kilgharrah could feel the strain it was putting on the boy.
His wings pushed through the air with haste as he carried his charge to safety, his claws gripping tight enough to hold him securely without causing any further hurt. It was too dangerous to approach Camelot directly, what with him being a creature of magic – as well as the remaining structural damage of the western wall still serving as a reminder of his fairly recent attack. He couldn’t imagine he would receive a very warm welcome.
Instead, he flew towards an area he knew would be safe from prying eyes and carefully laid Merlin down on the small ledge that had long ago formed in the rock face. Merlin rolled out of his grip with no resistance, resting silently on the cold stone floor.
Kilgharrah frowned at the ashen pallor that had settled on his features during the short journey as well as the disconcerting quickness of his breaths. The fast-acting poison had already taken hold and it wouldn’t be long before it finished him off.
He raised a clawed foot and tapped the glistening metal still wrapped tightly around its target. The sorcery used on the chain was no match for a dragon’s touch and it fell away in an instant, Merlin’s stuttering chest easing immediately. Placing his foot back on the ground, he allowed his claws to scratch at the earth as he closed his eyes and focused on the magic swirling within him. Taking a deep breath, he released the enchantment on an easy exhale, sensing as it washed over the young warlock.
Merlin’s face remained tense, brow furrowed in what Kilgharrah could only assume was immense discomfort. The dragon’s magic was strong, but so too was the venom ravaging the boy’s body. No matter how powerful Merlin had proven himself to be, it would be many hours before the dragon’s spell could fully take effect.
Beads of sweat were forming along his brow and small shivers wracked his fragile frame every few minutes, as if he was attempting to shake the poison out of his system. With such a great destiny resting on his small shoulders he was always going to be tested, always going to endure too much, too needlessly. But that in no way made it fair. And Kilgharrah was dismayed at how many times Merlin had been put in a situation that he needed saving from. Tonight was just the latest in a long line.
It was bad enough when Merlin was just the naive young warlock who came to him for advice. Merely a source of entertainment for the dragon during his endless days in the caverns of Camelot. But the link between them was stronger now. The ability to peek into the boy’s very soul meant feeling the good as well as the bad, and the torment he was currently experiencing was a difficult thing to witness.
The cruelty of the binding spell— he couldn’t be sure, but it had all the markings of the witch being involved. Even now, even after all the proof she had exhibited of her true nature, Merlin still refused to heed his words about Morgana. Maybe now he would listen. Maybe now he would do something about it.
Though of course there was little he could do until he made it through the night and was well enough to return to Camelot. The sun had not yet crept into the sky, but Kilgharrah no longer felt the burden of tiredness. He stretched out his wings before settling in and making himself comfortable. It would be a long while before he would be content with Merlin’s condition and until he awoke, the Great Dragon was ready to keep watch over his young Dragonlord.