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Myfanwy 2

December 2017

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Myfanwy 2

A Mother's Love - Chapter Five

A Mother's Love - Chapter Five
Author: Milady Dragon
Series: Dragon-Verse
Rating: PG-13
Pairing(s): JackHarkness/Ianto Jones, Rowena Harkness-Jones/Henry Morgan, Phil Coulson/Clint Barton, Arthur/Merlin
Warnings: A little angst, a lot of fluff
Spoilers:  Mostly for S2, E12 and E13 of Torchwood
Disclaimer: I don't own Torchwood, I would have treated it better. Neither do I own Merlin, or anything here except for the concept and the OC's
Author's Note: This is the first story in the "Samara Wells Trilogy", and follows Jack's mother as she discovers a family she didn't even know she had.  This takes place in the Future-Verse, between the stories "Time Trap" and "Lost and Found"

AN/2:  And here's the second one.  :)

Summary:  Doctor Samara Wells really hadn't been prepared for the two people who dropped into her life, ostensibly to hire her boat out for a trip to the Boeshane reefs...



1 April 5115 (Earth Standard Date)

Boeshane Peninsula, Planet Maker’s World

 

Anwyn must have felt her reaction, because she exclaimed, “This isn’t a Vortex Manipulator!”  She glanced at Samara, blue eyes sad yet curious.  “I’m not sure I want to know what caused that flinch, but I promise you I’m not a Time Agent or anything like that. The Time Agency’s been disbanded, and this,” she indicated the strap on her wrist, “is a personal computer.  I keep my personal codes and other files on it…including the family pictures.”  She grinned.  “I think your question is best answered by a bit of show and tell.”

Samara relaxed.  “Sorry about that,” she murmured.  “It brought back memories, that’s all.”

“You said your oldest son was a Time Agent?  That he was dead, right?”  Anwyn was sympathetic; she’d have to have lost so many people over the centuries, so Samara knew this wasn’t pity or anything like that.

Samara nodded.  “Please, show me your family.”  This was most likely going to be painful, to be faced with a family so happy, but she wanted to see. 

“Alright.”  Anwyn shifted slightly, giving Samara a better view of her wrist.  Pressing one of the tiny controls brought up a holographic display, one that was clearer than anything the scientist had ever seen.  “My son’s mate fiddled with it, so it’s got much better resolution than a lot of larger scale holograms out there.” 

“You have a son?” Samara was stunned, and yet she knew she shouldn’t be.  Anwyn was much older than she appeared. 

The Star Dragon smiled proudly.  “My only boy, Arthur.” She spoke into the wrist computer.  “Show latest of Arthur.”

On the display, a video appeared.  The man who appeared was blond, with the same blue eyes as his mother.  He was handsome and well built, and was smiling fondly at the recording device.  “Happy birthday, Mother,” he spoke, his accent slightly different from Anwyn’s.  He glanced off screen, his face changing from fond to somewhat exasperated.  “Merlin!” he shouted. 

“Coming!” a second voice responded.  Suddenly another man appeared beside Arthur; this one with a head of curly black hair and eyes just a bit deeper blue than Arthur’s; there was a thin band of gold around his irises.  He was thin and lanky, and had cheekbones that Samara would have killed for, although his ears were a little unfortunate.

But what really made Samara smile was the baby dragon in his arms.

“This is Merlin, my son’s mate,” Anwyn said quietly, “and my grandson, Rory.”

The creature was a mixture of gold and red, curled up against the blue of the man’s – Merlin’s – shirt.  Blue eyes blinked sleepily into the recorder, and a wide yawn revealed tiny, baby-sharp teeth.  The tail was curled around his father’s bicep, holding on even though the child was mostly asleep.

“Sorry,” Merlin said around a large grin, “I needed to get Rory up from his nap, but your prat of a son couldn’t wait for us.”

Arthur rolled his eyes good-naturedly.  “I’m not the one who’s always late.”  

“Happy birthday, Mam,” Merlin said, ignoring his mate.  He held up one of Rory’s arms, waving it toward the recorder.  “Say hello to your Gran, Rory…”

“We wish we could be with you,” Arthur took his turn in ignoring his mate’s antics, “but we’re on the other side of the Fourth Galaxy at the moment.  We did send you a gift; we hope you like it.”

“She will,” Merlin butted in confidently.  “I picked it out, after all.”

“Yes yes, Merlin… we all know what great taste you have.  I don’t have to remind you of that sculpture you got Grandfather…”

“Recording off,” Anwyn ordered, and the picture faded away.  Samara was almost sad to see it go.  “That’s my Arthur,” she reiterated.  “He and Merlin ran Torchwood for a long time, but then Arthur got pregnant and they decided to retire…”

Something clicked in Samara’s mind, and her mouth dropped open.  “You’re the mother of the Once and Future King of Torchwood?” Of course she’d heard of Arthur Pendragon and his mate and Second, Merlin Williams-Song, the son of the Last of the Time Lords and the greatest magic user in the Twelve Galaxies.  They were practically legends themselves, and it had been Director Pendragon who had been responsible for the greater number of peacekeepers patrolling the fringes.  It was too bad that it had been too little, too late, to save her family.

“I was called Anwyn Pendragon back then,” the Star Dragon confirmed.  “I went back to Harkness-Jones not that long ago.”

“Is it true that they’re reincarnations of the original King Arthur and Merlin?”  Samara wasn’t certain she believed in reincarnation, but she’d heard the rumours and knew the old stories. 

“Oh yes,” Anwyn confirmed.  She spoke into her wrist computer again.  “Show Clint,” and then looked back at Samara as a still picture appeared.  “My brother, Clint, is also a reincarnation.  From what I understand, he came back because of his mate.” 

The young man in the picture had dirty blond, almost brown hair, his eyes a different blue as everyone else it seemed in the family.  He wasn’t traditionally handsome; his face instead looked well lived-in, as if he’d seen quite a lot in his life.  “Clint has the memories of this person who worked with Dad and Tad, back in the early days of Torchwood.  His mate, Phillip, is immortal…but not in the same way Dad is.”  She called up another picture, this one of Clint with a man who had thinning brown hair and…well, Samara had to wonder what it was with blue eyes in this family, because even the ones not related by blood had them.  Phillip had a kind face, with laugh lines and a gentle gaze.  And yet, besides that, there was something about him that looked dangerous, as if he was hiding his true self behind a friendly façade, and she said so before she realised it.   

Anwyn barked a laugh.  “That’s our Phillip., alright.  He was the Grand Master of the Imperial Shieldsmen before he became Torchwood’s latest Director.  He’s possibly one of the most dangerous men I’ve ever met…and that’s not even counting his magic.”

Of course Samara knew of the Imperial Shieldsmen.  “Is everyone in your family famous?” she asked.

“You have no idea…” Anwyn called up another still picture, this one of both Clint and Phillip, and two young people who obviously had alien in them; if Samara had to guess, she would have said Margath or Draconian genes.  “Here are Nathan and Nicole…they’re Clint’s biological children, and Phillip adopted them when he and Clint were mated.  Nathan’s a bit of an oddity in our family, since he was born with his dragon form…that’s another subject entirely…”

Anwyn continued with the show, bringing up pictures of the other members of her family.  She was proud of each and every one of them, even her younger sister, Cadi, who was some sort of criminal if Anwyn could be believed.  Samara couldn’t keep her eyes away from the holographic photos that she was being shown; it was obvious just how much this family loved each other, and it gave her a warm feeling in her chest at the thought of so much happiness.

The Star Dragon cycled through what must have been dozens of images and videos, introducing to Samara each and every member of her family.  There was an Adjudicator, a medical doctor, a history professor and her mate – yet another immortal, although Anwyn claimed this man, Henry Morgan, was yet another different version of one…and judging from the expression on her face, this man’s type of immortality was fairly humourous. 

Two of them Samara actually recognised: Emlyn Jones, the model; and Morgan Jones, the singing sensation.  She had to be honest; she loved Morgan’s music, and had once hoped to attend an actual concert.  Alas, life had a way to putting such plans aside; Samara wouldn’t leave Boeshane unless she had a very good reason for doing so, and seeing a fantastic musician in concert just wasn’t that strong a one.

“Dragons have an almost genetic imperative to sing,” Anwym commented, as if noticing Samara’s interest in the still photograph of her sister, Morgan.  “We all have it, but Morgan was the one that believed it needed to be shared with the rest of the Universe.  Tad is immensely proud of her for doing it,” and then she chuckled, “even if he’s not all that fond of her singing style.”

Samara wondered where such an imperative would come from, but when she asked about it, Anwyn simply shrugged.  “Tad says it goes all the way to the beginning of dragon civilisation.  But so much has been lost, and he never asked about it when he had the chance.  To him, it’s just the way things are.”

That was a shame, in Samara’s opinion.  There was so much she wanted to ask, about where dragons had come from and how they’d evolved; how long their civilisation had lasted before Ifan Jones had become the last of his species.  No one really knew much about the Star Dragons, although it wasn’t from any sort of need to keep secrets as far as she knew…it was just that no one seemed to have ever asked, and it had become far too late when the notion had struck anyone to actually discover such things.

It was sad.  However, it hadn’t been the only time a race had practically died out without leaving their history behind for those who came after to learn, and Samara seriously doubted it would be the last.

As they sat together on the deck, Anwyn pulled up other pictures and videos of her family, telling stories behind each one.  As much as Samara was enjoying the show, she also felt such a stab of loneliness, knowing that this family had each other and that she had no one anymore.  A small part of her thought it wasn’t fair, that Anwyn had something that Samara never would, but then that wasn’t fair.  Samara’s family was lost to her; two through no one’s fault, and the third because she’d blamed a child for something beyond his control.  She would have given anything to tell her precious son that she was wrong, that he hadn’t done anything wrong, but she wouldn’t get that chance.

As the picture show came to a close, Samara realised there was one person she hadn’t met vicariously through Anwyn’s stories, and she mentioned it.

The Star Dragon’s eyes went wide.  “Goddess, I didn’t even think about that.”  She shook her head and then spoke into her wrist computer.  “Show Dad and Tad at the hellion’s birthday party.”

Another video came up, this one with the five littlest dragons on it.  Anwyn had explained how they’d been discovered, and Samara hadn’t been able to keep from smiling at the knowledge that, somewhere out there, there had been other dragons that had just been waiting for someone to find them.  She was actually able to recognise them: red James, brown William, green Oswyn, gold Robyn, and black Lisa.  They were practically swarming two men: one of them Ifan Jones – whom she’d learned from Anwyn was actually named Ianto, Ifan being just one of his many identities over the centuries – and the other…

He was a very handsome man, with brown hair and blue eyes, a dimple in his chin and strong jawline.  He was laughing and wrestling with William and Oswyn, all the while holding another child, a human-looking child, in one arm.  That had to have been Alyce; she had the same combination of features from her fathers that the other blood Star Dragons had. 

“Give it a rest,” he chuckled, “or else your Tad won’t serve the cake.”

That seemed to settle the babies down, and Samara noticed that even dragons could give those sad expressions that were often called puppy dog eyes. 

“Don’t tease them, Jack,” Jones chided, his own laughter barely contained.  “Cake is always for birthdays.”

That comment caused a renewal of activity, and someone else – just a pair of arms off camera – plucked James away, and the little red dragon wriggled.  “You’re tickling me!” he squealed.

“Like that’s even possible, hellion,” whoever it was answered happily.  It was a pleasant male voice, with an almost Boeshane accent yet missing certain tonal values to it for it to be true Boe.  “The day I figure out how to actually tickle a full dragon you’ll know about it.”

There was more, but Samara suddenly felt the air slammed from her lungs as she recognised the man who Anwyn called Dad.

It was impossible.




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