It's modern day. Arthur has returned. He hasn't been back very long. He's done being oblivious. He recognizes the bond he has with Merlin and he's ready to step up his efforts to be a better friend. And Merlin? Well, ..Merlin is in need.
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Friend to a Dragonless Dragonlord
The cottage was dark and quiet. Arthur lay awake for a moment before consciousness really registered. Why was he awake? He must be thirsty. He pulled himself from his comfortable bed and padded from the room. Moonlight streamed through a window and lit the carpeting as he made his way down the hall toward the kitchen. A few steps on he noticed that the silvery blue light was joined by a warm golden glow escaping from behind the door to Merlin's study. He stopped. A curious rustling was barely perceptible in the stillness. Arthur noiselessly prodded the door open a couple of inches with his index finger. He peeked inside but didn't see anything besides a warm fire that appeared to be on the verge of dying in the grate. He entered the room fully, glancing around.
"Merlin?"
Sniff. "Arthur? Do you need something?" his friend's voice sounded quietly from behind the desk.
"I was just heading to the kitchen for a glass of water."
Arthur rounded the desk. A mussed, tired looking Merlin sat on the floor amongst scattered pieces of paper. Muted rustling sounds were emanating from a flock of small paper dragons flying about in front of the warlock.
"What are you doing? Why aren't you in bed?"
Merlin looked up from his miniature dragons. "Bad dream. Couldn't sleep. Thought I'd do some origami." He picked up a paper and waved it.
His slumped shoulders and the neutral, mask-like expression on his face bespoke more than simple tiredness. Arthur could read despondency below the surface.
Arthur knew now why he'd awoken, and it wasn't because he was thirsty. It was because he was needed. He scooted some papers to the side and sat down by his friend.
"What was the dream about?"
"Well, it wasn't a bad dream, really. Actually, it's quite a good one. It's just.. I keep having it and ..it's hard."
Arthur waited.
"I dreamt I was a Dragonlord in a time of Dragons. It was amazing. There were so many. They were so beautiful. I was with them. We were so happy." He smiled briefly. "We were soaring, diving, racing each other. There was roaring and freedom and magic and fire…" His eyes closed for a moment and he bit his lip, trying to master his emotions before continuing. "And then I ..woke up." He stopped but struggled to say more. Finally he whispered, "I miss them."
Arthur watched Merlin try to distract himself before the welling tears spilled over. The warlock twirled a finger in an elegant upward spiral and the tiny dragons followed like a colorful jostling whirlwind.
Arthur silently watched Merlin magically play with his creations in the fading glow of the fire for a few minutes, not knowing what to say. He'd been rubbish at comforting his friend in the past, but things could be different now. Now he knew and understood that he needed to be there for Merlin like Merlin had always been there for him. They were two sides of the same coin, after all.
But Merlin was more than just the other side of his coin. His kinship with those majestic creatures of magic also had a place in his remarkable soul. That ancient kinship called out but would remain unanswered now that all the dragons were nothing more than legend. He tried to imagine the emptiness he would suffer were Merlin ever to be lost to him. He couldn't do it. He shied away from the pain at even the bare thought of it. He suspected that Merlin would be grieving this loss for the rest of his immortal life. Arthur could only hope to alleviate some of the heartache.
He reached for a paper. "Show me how?" he asked.
Merlin glanced up, startled. The dragons scattered, dipping and swirling about the room. He studied his friend for a moment before a hint of cheekiness entered his eye.
"Are you sure you've got the patience for this, Pickle Head?"
Arthur snorted. "Pickle Head? Really?" He looked down at the paper he'd selected and swapped it for a red one. "That's new."
"Yeah. I've been waiting for a chance to try it out."
"Well, it's not your best." He shook his head disparagingly, fighting a grin. "You should stick with the classics."
"Dollop Headed Clotpole it is then." Merlin's eyes brightened as he brandished a golden-bronze colored paper at Arthur. "This one'll be Kilgharrah."
The fire in the grate perked up as Arthur clumsily began to mimic Merlin's paper folding.
"Did you ever ride one?" he asked, hoping with all his heart that asking Merlin to share memories would be more healing than wounding.
Merlin's hands stopped. He looked Arthur full in the face, an obviously fond memory lighting up his deep blue eyes.
"Oh, yes. Arthur, there is nothing like it."
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It couldn't have been too long before daybreak that Arthur pried his cheek from the top of Merlin's desk and slowly stood up. He stretched his aching neck, back and limbs and surveyed the chaotically scattered remains of the night's activities. Paper dragons littered the mantle, shelves and floor, two lying perilously close to the ashes in the dark fireplace and the last one he'd been working on lying half folded on the desk. A white dragon was still flitting about, seemingly exploring the room on its own. The golden-bronze one was nosing the window as though searching for a way out into the world beyond the panes of glass.
Arthur looked over at his friend curled up on the sofa. Merlin was breathing deeply, his aura peaceful and contented. The king retrieved a soft throw from the back of the chair and carefully spread it over the sleeping man.
It had been a night he'd never forget. Merlin's eyes had flashed excitement, anger, humor and sorrow as he'd recounted stories that sometimes made Arthur's blood boil in fury and sometimes filled his heart with envy. He'd tried hard to keep his reactions mostly to himself, saying very little aside from prompting his friend with more questions.
He'd actually shed tears when Merlin haltingly related the death of the crippled, white dragon at a dreadfully young age. Aithusa had died almost 300 years ago yet his Dragonlord grieved his passing as strongly as though it were yesterday. It was clear that Merlin's kinship with the dragons would continue to burn powerfully in his heart regardless of whether or not they existed to continue the relationship. Now, Arthur mourned the great beasts as well.
He exhaled long and slow through pursed lips and glanced out the window. Dawn was still a while off.
Cocoa. That's what was needed. A mug of hot chocolate, with those fluffy white bits of sugar Merlin liked floating in it. He'd make two cups and leave one in the study for Merlin and then head back to bed where the soft sheets and warm comforter awaited.
Yes. He had a plan. It felt good to have a plan after blindly fumbling along through uncharted emotional territory. He contemplated the soft look on that deceptively young face one moment longer then resumed his previously interrupted journey down the hall to the kitchen.
Suddenly he detected the now-familiar rustling of enchanted paper behind him. He rolled his eyes and looked back to see his own lumpy little band of dragons bumping and bumbling along like puppies chasing after his heels. His first few creations were rather pathetic, but the later ones were recognizable and could actually fly...a bit.
He smiled and continued on.
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A/N: Sorry if that was a little melancholy. But really, Arthur wasn't the only 'person' with whom Merlin had an intense connection. If you need an emotional pick me up, google the "Hot" magazine interview done with Colin and Bradley years ago. It ended up being all about origami... So clever, those two. No wonder they were able to make Merlin & Arthur's BFF status so believable.