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Moonlight poured through the circular window high up on the wall and pooled on the black marble floor. After ten minutes, the pool of moonlight filled the entire floor of the room, which was the width of an ordinary house.
The centre of the pool began to ripple outwards, as though a stone had been dropped into it, then it humped upwards and after a moment the tip of a scaly snout pushed up from within the pool of moonlight. Wide nostrils and an even wider mouth came first, then an elongated snout, then the rest of a reptilian face, until it was quite clear that a large dragon was pulling itself from the pool.
The dragon could have been any shade as the only light came from the pool of moonlight on the floor, which had leeched the colour from the room, painting the dragon’s scaly form in shades of grey.
Eventually, the dragon entirely hauled itself out of the pool of moonlight and lay on the black marble floor, its sides heaving as it panted from the effort of dragging itself into this realm of reality.
As it stirred a crackle of warmth and energy started to build up in the room and as it increased, the pool of moonlight beside which it lay gradually evaporated, until finally there was nothing on the floor except a fifteen metre long dragon.
The tall, oaken doors at the far end of the room, opposite the wall where the high window was letting in the pale light of the dawn of a new day, creaked slowly open and a stooped figure which propped itself upright on an ebony cane came slowly into the room.
“Finally,” breathed the figure, its voice cracked with either age or disuse, or perhaps both. “You’re here.”
I am here, agreed the dragon, its voice soundless in the still air of the room, but its words heavy and clear in the figure’s mind.It has been a long journey. And a hard one.
“Yes,” agreed the mage, for such they were. “For both of us. Will you come forth and eat with me?”
I will. The dragon lifted itself onto its feet, its movement as lithe as any cat’s, and padded lightly after the mage, through the double doors and into a large courtyard at the rear of the Hall in which it had appeared.
In the centre of the courtyard a huge bonfire blazed, its heat warming the bitter chill in the winter dawn air. The dragon glanced sideways at the mage, who gave a swift, sharp nod, then it plunged its face into the centre of the bonfire for several long minutes before lifting its head, flames licking over its scales and down the length of its neck. Crunching sounds issued from the direction of the dragon’s head and golden sparks shot into the air, lighting up the still gloomy courtyard.
The mage sank down onto a sawn off tree stump and pulled open a pouch at their waist to remove thick slices of bread spread with butter and golden honey. They ate heartily, watching the dragon, then drank from a flagon of mead with the absentmindedness of a mage contemplating the successful completion of a long and complicated magical working.
“How are you feeling, friend?” asked the mage once they had eaten their simple repast.
“Stronger,” answered the dragon, its voice like a low rumble of thunder in the quiet air.
“Good,” said the mage with evident satisfaction in their voice.
The dragon settled back on its haunches, its head tilted up to the sky. “And what would you have me do now, Draca Rǣran?”
“Do?” repeated the mage, seeming startled by the question, or perhaps by the title bestowed on them by the dragon, though Dragon Rearer was an accurate title for the mage.
“Why have you raised me up here in this place?” asked the dragon. “You must have done so for a reason.”
“I did it to prove that I could,” answered the mage. “And because I didn’t think it was right for the Witenagemot to banish you and your kind as they did over a century ago.” The mage shook their head. “I’m only sorry no one tried to bring you back sooner.”
“They did,” the dragon said. “They died for it, however. As did those of my kind who were brought forth until only I remained there.”
The mage made a shocked sound of dismay. “You’re the last of your kind?” they asked angrily.
“I am. And are you not the last of yours?”
The mage didn’t bother to ask how the dragon knew that; their minds had been linked for many decades, ever since the mage had first discovered the place known as Black Monster Hall. They had been all of seventeen then, much too young, and inexperienced in the Old High Magic that was needed to bring forth the Last of the Dragons. In the years since their discovery of the Hall, the mage had outlived all their contemporaries, or else they had given up the Art in order to find better paying work, and the Elders of the Art had died long ago, leaving them as the last practitioner of a mostly forgotten Art.
“So you rescued me because you could,” the dragon observed.
The mage snorted. “I rescued you to prove I could. You must have realised by now that Mages are vain and arrogant creatures, proud of their Mastery of the Art?”
“True,” agreed the dragon.
“But I also rescued you because the banishment of the entire race of dragons because of the evils of one of them was an unjust punishment and I do not tolerate injustice to any.”
The dragon rumbled its agreement about the punishment. “What do you intend to do now then, Draca Rǣran? Your people will not thank you for bringing dragons back, even if there is only one of me and I am no hatchling.”
“I’m staying here,” the mage said. “This is the only home I have had for the last forty three years.”
“Do you intend to tell others what you have achieved?”
“No. I have kept a journal recording all of the many spells which I used to bring you back, but since I’m the only one with the knowledge to use those spells and since there are no more dragons in Dracorewme, then no one will be able to do anything with the knowledge in the journal.” They sighed. “It would have been nice to have someone to tell –”
“To boast to?” suggested the dragon in a sly tone.
The mage snorted again. “Very well, yes. It would have been nice to have someone to boast to of my success, but as they’re all long gone, I shall simply remain here, living out the remainder of my days in peace and quiet. It will be good to rest from my years of labour.”
“Perhaps you will permit me to remain with you?” asked the dragon, and the mage wondered a little at the diffidence they heard in the dragon’s voice.
“Gladly,” they said firmly.
And so it was that they lived out the rest of their lives together in amicable companionship.
After the passing of the mage and the dragon the Hall fell into ruin, and though none had known of the dragon which had lived there, the hill where the Hall had stood came to be known as Drakelow, or Dragon’s Mound, in later years.