Author's Note: I think after a finale like that, we all need something to cheer ourselves up. I know writing this helped me. Enjoy, my lovelies. I hope it makes you laugh, as I did.

Merlin gasped dramatically, clutching his heart as Arthur drooped pathetically against a tree trunk in the background.

"Two days? Gaius, two days? On horseback, with a dying man in tow while attempting to evade any remaining Saxons? Oh God, we'll never make it!"

Gaius raised his signature eyebrow. "Merlin."

"He's going to die a horrible, slow, painful death…"

"Merlin…"

"Avalon is so far dude. Like, really far. He's a goner. Totally a goner!"

There was an indignant 'humph' from behind them. "I can hear you!"

"Shut up, Arthur, can't you see we're busy discussing your impending doom?"

Arthur gave a long suffering groan in response.

"Gaius, how could this happen? Why doesn't anything I ever do work? Why didn't I just fucking kill Mordred the second I saw him if I was so worried? I guess I'm just doomed to make the same mistakes over and over and over a fucking 'gain, aren't I? I can't even count the number of times disaster could have been averted if the writing in this show didn't suck so much. I suppose this is another of those instances. I'll overlook the obvious solution that's sitting right in front of my gorgeous facial structure, and Arthur will be dead as a fucking doornail because of it. Why? Why? Why-"

"Merlin, aren't you forgetting something?" Gaius dead-panned, gaze steady on the young warlock, eyebrow still raised and never wavering.

"…uh, no. No, I think I've figured out how thoroughly my life sucks all by myself, thanks."

Gaius sighed and rolled his eyes. "Merlin. You have a dragon."

Merlin placed both hands on his hips, offended. "I resent that! Kilgarrah doesn't belong to me, he's an independent, sentient-"

"Merlin." Gaius repeated. "You have a dragon. Dragons. Bend. To. Your. Will. A dragon is your friend and he has to listen to you. A dragon. Who can fucking fly."

Silence stretched between them for a beat. Two. Three. Finally, Merlin narrowed his eyes, pensive. "What exactly are you trying to say here?"

Gaius' reaction could only be described as, 'facepalm.' "Oh my God. Merlin, call Kilgarrah. He can fly you to Avalon."

"Oh. Oh. Of course! Why didn't you just say that before? Thanks, Gaius! You're brilliant, I owe you one!"

Without further ado, Merlin skipped over to Arthur, slung him over his shoulder and spirited him away to a convenient clearing that just happened to be seconds away from where they were before, speaking his crazy dragon gibberish and tossing his screeching King unceremoniously onto Kilgarrah's back.

Then they managed to get to Avalon in record time and Merlin pushed Arthur into the magical lake, which sparkled ominously (if sparkling ominously was possible, that is) healed his horrid wound, and ejected him back onto the ground, covered in algae and inexplicably shirtless.

Arthur stood, holding his arms far out to his sides with a disgusted look on his face. "Ugh. The magical lake is this dirty? And where the bloody hell did my armor go?"

Merlin shrugged, frowning. "I dunno. You haven't been shirtless in a while?"

"Hmm. That must be it."