Thank you so much to those who have already reviewed. It means a lot! This is my first time publishing fanfiction so I'm still learning. Your comments are very helpful and greatly appreciated. Enjoy the next chapter!

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Arthur felt like an utter buffoon. He had been on so many missions, patrols and hunting trips, defeated hundreds of adversaries and saved his kingdom more times than he cared to count. Yet, for the life of him, he simply could not get a fire started. It was always Merlin who did it. Arthur obviously knew how to build and start a fire—he wasn't an idiot—but actually doing it? That was a different story. It had been years since Arthur had needed to start his own fire. He had only managed to creat useless sparks that refused to catch the kindling.

What a great king I am. Unable to command even firewood, Arthur thought dryly.

Arthur didn't feel like himself. Ever since he learned of Merlin's power, it made him realize just how much he needed the warlock. It was comforting to finally know, but it made Arthur wonder if maybe he had only achieved so much only because Merlin had always been there for him. Arthur's gaze returned to the servant in question, who was looking paler by the second and his body now racked with shivers.

He would give anything to have the warlock wake, even if just to mutter a quick spell to get the fire going. At least then, maybe Merlin wouldn't freeze to death. Arthur hadn't been bothered by the temperature—which showed that Merlin was somehow getting worse—the wind picked up and the night got even cooler. Letting out a grunt of frustration, Arthur struck the rocks he held with renewed energy. He was getting desperate. If he didn't get the fire started soon—

"Allow me to help with that," a voice boomed from somewhere above the king and manservant.

Arthur sprang to his feet, unsheathing his sword and pointing it at the sky. His breath left him as his eyes caught sight of a horrible, giant, familiar winged creature swooping down to the clearing next to Arthur and the fallen warlock. The king dove to the side as a wall of fire erupted from the foul dragon's mouth and ignited the sad little pile of sticks next to Merlin, who remained peacefully oblivious. Arthur would have laughed if he wasn't shaking in his boots. He had killed this dragon years ago…

The golden beast had settled in the grass in front of Arthur, who was returning to his feet and clumsily raising his sword.

"Arthur Pendragon. So long it's been."

The king shuddered as the soft, cunning voice reached his ears. It was eerily calming, but Arthur knew better than to trust a creature of magic.

"You can speak." Arthur finally said. It wasn't a question, really.

"I can do more than you can imagine. But, better not to dwell on me. I came here for Merlin."

Arthur advanced with his sword, prepared to run him through again. "If you touch him, I'll make sure to finish the job this time."

The king didn't know what to expect, but it definitely wasn't laughter.

"Oh, young king, I am certain you would try your best. But you misunderstand me. I only wish to help."

"Like you helped Camelot all those years ago? I don't think so. How are you even alive?"

Suddenly all the humor dissipated from the beast's eyes and Arthur unwillingly felt a shudder crawl through him. When the dragon spoke again, it was as if his voice was laced with ice.

"I was foolish. I wanted revenge for my kind, as I am one of the last of my kin. I have the young warlock," the dragon gestured (can a dragon gesture?) with its snout towards Merlin, "to thank for sparing my life after I acted so violently." The creature paused, and Arthur could've sworn he saw a twinge of deep sadness in its eyes. "I do regret making that choice."

"Hang on," Arthur finally spit out, his head reeling. "Merlin spared you? He said—he said that I dealt you a fatal blow."

"There is much you have yet to understand, young king. But time is a luxury we do not have, if I am correct about your predicament. I can try to heal Merlin, but if what I fear is true, he will be beyond my help."

"You know what happened?" Arthur asked hopefully, despite himself.

The dragon nodded, a sad smile twisting his features. "I believe so. You see, Merlin has great power. But even he can overextend himself. What he accomplished was no simple magic trick. You were dead, Arthur Pendragon, and he reached in and pulled you back to the land of the living."

The king suddenly felt a desperate need to hold on to something, and settled for stabbing Excalibur into the ground and leaning on it. He figured that Merlin had done something foolish, he just didn't realize the extent of it.

What were you thinking, you idiot? You couldn't have just let it be? Arthur thought, gazing at his friend with incomprehensible fondness. What had Arthur done to deserve such unwavering loyalty?

Arthur regained his composure and raised his gaze back to the dragon. "How is magic like that even possible? I thought only items like the Cup of Life could accomplish such a thing."

"In most cases, yes, you are correct. But Merlin… Merlin is unlike anything I have ever seen in my thousands of years. You see, he and I are connected through a bond of kinship. I felt his very soul calling out to me when he performed the spell, and it made me wonder…"

"Kinship?"

The dragon paused, seeming unsure for a moment if he should continue. But the moment passed quickly and Arthur thought maybe he had imagined it.

"Merlin is the last Dragonlord, and the closest to family I have left."

"No, that's not possible. Balinor was—"

A sinking feeling hit Arthur's gut and he plopped to the ground, despite his efforts to keep leaning on his sword. He remembered that day, seeing Merlin weeping over the lifeless Dragonlord. He remembered finding Merlin's behavior strange since they had only just met Balinor... With a tight feeling in his chest, Arthur remembered his own words after: No man is worth your tears. Oh hell…

"I am sorry, Arthur. I hope you can understand why he couldn't tell you. But we don't have time for this right now. Merlin needs help."

Everything in Arthur's mind screamed at him not to trust the beast. In fact, Arthur could've sworn the voice in his brain sounded an awful lot like Uther. But as the king turned towards his dear friend, the one person who had sacrificed all he had for Arthur, he felt his resolve soften. Uther had embedded such a hatred for all forms of magic in Arthur's mind. Yet, all it took to unravel years of brainwashing was one look at his kind, caring servant. And said servant needed his help.

Arthur gathered his strength to stand again, and with a look he hoped conveyed his protectiveness over his friend, he stepped aside. The dragon dipped his head in gratitude, and lumbered over to the unconscious warlock. Arthur watched with a mix of wariness and fascination as the dragon breathed warm air over Merlin's limp form. The king moved to Merlin's side then, gripping the warlock's shoulder in anticipation.

The dragon let out a sigh. "I have done this many times in the past," —Arthur flinched, wondering just how many times it had been necessary—"and there should already be a noticeable change. I'm afraid this is beyond my power to heal."

"What do you mean? What's wrong with him?" Arthur took a deep breath when he realized how frantic he sounded. He tried again to sound calmer. "Please, what can I do?"

"We must speak to Gaius. Come along, we have no time to waste."

Arthur stared as the dragon lowered himself, beckoning.

"You—you want us to ride on you?" Arthur stuttered.

"Merlin has done it many times. I assure you, he enjoys it very much." The dragon replied with a glint of amusement in his eyes.

Arthur grunted. Of course he would. He would certainly be having a talk with Merlin and this dragon business when the dollophead finally woke. Before Arthur could change his mind, he bent over and gingerly lifted Merlin's worryingly light body onto the dragon's back before settling in himself. He hoped the ride back to Camelot would be quick—not because he was scared, but because he was worried for his friend and he missed his home and his wife. The king had a sudden jolt of excitement to return home; a place he thought he'd never see again. So when the dragon gave a mighty bellow and rose swiftly into the sky, Arthur blamed his girlish scream on his readiness to reach home.