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Mermul has an interesting time in the land of Nod

Icon art from the Mermul reference by Billie/FeatheryFlukes

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Chapter 14 - Dreams

Fardon had the wyvern dream again. This time he had two heads, the other one had a similar but longer name, and they argued bitterly over which of them was the true owner of his body. Glancing back at his strangely-shaped tail, Fardon had to admit that he was probably the imposter, but he had no idea how to solve their problem.
Eventually, a passing healer offered help, but their solution involved chopping off one of his heads. There was a coin toss and the other dragon lost, wailing in terror that they didn't want to die and hadn't done anything to deserve it. Leaving aside that this amputation would cause him to bleed out too, Fardon had to agree that murdering the other head did seem to be overkill.

Neither of these facts stopped the healer from trying to decapitate the other head, but the enchanted amulet they wore deflected the axe stroke, and neither he nor Fardon would allow it to be removed. In the end, the healer cast a mighty spell, and Fardon was back in his normal, four-legged body with the wyvern stood in front of him, eyeing each other curiously.

It was still night when he awoke, and briefly he wondered if, in some other reality, a wyvern called Fardon-Mul had just had a similar nightmare. Then his thoughts clouded and he sank back into an untroubled sleep.

* * *

Curled up around a pile of brightly-coloured marbles, Mermul dreamed of the villa his late aunt had inadvertently left him.

He stood in the secret dungeon, wearing a shiny black dragon-coat and contemplated the guillotine in the centre of the room. Thinking back on the dragons and members of the small races he had slain in Lord Thurr's service, he found himself curiously drawn to it.
As the guilt washed over him, he rested his neck in the lunette, shut his eyes and imagined the punishment he felt he deserved.

"Perhaps that was what Fercia used to do..." he murmured to himself, pulling his head away and shaking himself.

"Pretty much," said a voice behind him.

Mermul spun around, tail lashing as he jumped.

The teal green frost-dragoness stood before him, a shiny black collar around her neck, and gloves on her hands and feet like the ones Fardon had found. Mermul blinked rapidly, unsure whether to run or fight.

"Oh, Mirmjolnar!" she smiled. "I thought that was you at the execution. It's been a while, dear."

"At my execution, or yours?" Mermul asked dumbly.

"I meant mine," the dragoness said, looking a little surprised. "Though since you are still alive... Well, nevermind. You were always lucky, now that I think about it. Talking of which, I see you have been given my house! I am glad to know that. The rubber outfit does look good on you, by the way."

"Uh, thanks," the frost-dragon said, looking embarrassed. "The villa is very nice. Apart from the murder room," he added pointedly, gesturing at the door.

Fercia sighed and sat down like a dog.

"Addiction can take many forms," she said sadly. "Some overeat. Some gamble, or fall prey to substance abuse. Do you wonder that a dragoness might get addicted to killing members of the small races, knowing all the while that it was a self-destructive habit, like a kid picking their scales?
"Knowing that each kill was bringing you one step closer to the head-basket, yet being unable to give up that instinctive thrill of conquest?
"Remember, that like you, I was brought up on Lord Thurr's diet of meat and dragon supremacy rhetoric... Not that it's an excuse," she said sadly. "There are no excuses for what I've done."

"Why are you here?" Mermul demanded suspiciously. "You're dead, and they've seized the villa to investigate your crimes. I'm a whole city away from the place, lying on a heap of marbles, so this is clearly a dream. And I'll probably wake up now I've realised that.
"Besides, you were one of Lord Thurr's faithful. Why would you want to talk to a heretic like me, even if this is somehow real...?"

"You are still my nephew," Fercia said. "Before you turned, you were my favourite... Even if you didn't know it. Perhaps I should have been clearer about it, but... Lord Thurr always saw love as a weakness..."

"I saw parts of your diary," Mermul reminded her. "You wrote about wanting to watch me kick in the noose until I messed myself, about scooping out my dead brains! If that's your idea of love, you can keep it!"

Fercia threw back her head and made a keening noise, just as Mermul had done on occasion. He leapt back in surprise, the black outfit making an irritating squeaky sound as he moved.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." she wailed. "That was then, and I was a fool!
"Being dead... Being punished for the awful things you did in life, that gives you a change in perspective. I'm not supposed to give you spoilers, but Hell isn't being thrown in a pit of fire, Mirm... It's being shown a bigger part of the picture, and being shown how badly wrong you got things. Coming to terms with with that... That's part of the punishment.
"You have walked this road yourself, so perhaps you understand... Lord Thurr twisted our minds, our beliefs. I, too, have seen the stupidity of my Lord's ways, just like you did. Only for me, that revelation came too late.
"Even if I had seen the light while I was still alive, it would still have been too late. I would still have faced the blade for the murders I perpetrated!"

"Okay," Mermul said. "Perhaps you're learning your lesson in hell or something... But it feels a bit of a cop-out to forgive you for what you did. Besides, I'm pretty sure you're a figment of my imagination and I'm just arguing with myself."

Fercia looked up and fixed him with a stern expression, like the school teacher she had been.

"You know we are magical creatures, Mirmjolnar," she said. "We can breathe frost and fly despite being aerodynamically unsound. We can live indefinitely barring accidents or murder. You know this, and you know there is an afterworld. Is it too much to accept that, when asleep and your mind is idling, you might be able to receive messages from beyond under the right conditions?"

"I've heard of that," Mermul admitted. "Never really believed it, and I'm still not entirely sure that I really met the Great One when I had that near-death experience."

"Please, Mirm," the dragoness said, looking upset again. "This is not easy to do, and the cost of it will be added to my sentence. Yes, I hoped to make peace with you, but that alone isn't enough for them to let me do this. I'm doing it because it's very important."

"I don't know," Mermul said. "You killed people's children! You killed innocent humans and furres!"

"I know, and I regret it. Look... I can't ask for your forgiveness, and it wouldn't count much against my crimes anyway. But this might."

Mermul looked confused. "What might...?"

"What I'm about to tell you. Listen very carefully, Mirm. If you can remember this in the waking world, it might be the proof you need.
"In my villa, in the grounds, there is a secret hideout under the garden. A panic room. It's got the best concealment wards I could get from the black market, and I don't think even Lord Varl's finest will be able to detect them, let alone pierce them.
"There are two statues in the garden. Find the centre-point between them, and face West. Think of your hatchday, Mirm. Have you got that?"

"Stand between the statues, face West, and think of... my hatchday?!"

"The Third of Naruary, 1911. Oh, that's important - I used Thurr's calendar, so it must be 1911, not 1735! You must stand between the statues and think of that date."

Mermul looked at her, a lump forming in his throat. "You used my hatchday as your password...?"

"I told you, you were my favourite," she sighed. "They say you shouldn't do that, but... Even a wretched murderess has her weaknesses. And who here is going to know that...?"

"What's in the room, though?" Mermul asked, looking scared. "Please, auntie... Not more corpses!"

"No," Fercia said, and her eyes gleamed fiercely. "This is different. Like you, Lord Thurr warped me into a psychopath. I see that now. And in death, I know the truth, that I screwed up spectacularly badly. I can't undo that. I can't bring back the people I murdered...
"But I can make Thurr pay. As one of his most trusted spies, he gave me an artifact, Mirmjolnar. It can overthrow him. If you can find it, if you can find a way to use it, or give it to someone else who can, then, at the last, I will have done what is right - after so many centuries of doing what was wrong."

"Aunt Fercia...?" Mermul said, tears welling in his eyes. "I... I did terrible things for Lord Thurr. In Arcaia... they forgave me, and set me back on the path to goodness.
"Earlier I said I couldn't forgive what you've done... but now I think about it... that's hypocritical of me. I can't accept forgiveness for my crimes from others, without offering you the same. I can't promise you that others will forgive you, and they'd be within their rights not to. We both did awful things, and we can't pin all the blame on Lord Thurr. We are still dragons, after all, and the seeds of our crimes were sown in the darkness of our own hearts."

"Yes," Fercia sighed. "None of us are innocent."

"But..." Mermul said, edging closer to the green fluff-dragoness and sitting in front of her. "For my part, I forgive you, auntie..."

"Bless you, my dear," she said, tears welling in her own eyes as the two fluff-dragons embraced each other. "Thank you. This means more than you can know. And please, Mirm... Try and remember... The garden... And tell Vinter... He can have the black trunk. Tell him I'm so very sorry..."

There was a falling sensation, and Mermul woke up with a gasp, causing a brief avalanche of marbles. Fortunately, like a lot of dens, the floor was slightly concave so the hoard would naturally accumulate in the centre, and the wayward spheres quickly rolled back into place.

"The garden," he babbled, "Two statues... 1911... West... Vinter can have the black trunk...?"

Tearing around the room, he found a notepad, and quickly jotted down all he could remember before the dream faded.