I know it has been awhile since I had updated, but here is the second chapter! I must thank my brilliant beta, Adeliade for helping me make this chapter better for you! To all of you who reviewed, favorited, or followed my story, THANK YOU SO MUCH! I think you guys are amazing!

I do not own Merlin, for if I did, the ending of the series would not be that stupid.

Merlin had long ago learned the ancient laws that the water lapping at his near-bare feet can take who the earth wants and needs. Or it can safely let them be. And that is why the aged warlock was so deftly afraid of that bottomless blue water standing in front of him. Though he knew that Freya was the Lady of this lake, he hated that it took so many of his friends and family on their journey to the realm of the spirits. Life could be restored here, but just as easily it could be taken away.

After the boat carrying the gifts he sent to his friends beyond in the spirit world, after the ashes had blown away and scattered across the glassy water, the old sorcerer could no longer look at that translucent surface. Too many times he had sent those he loved and cherished to its depths, knowing that they may never rise again. And it had weighed heavy upon his old and frail heart. Merlin knew that he could've saved every one of those beneath Avalon. Yet his destiny had forbidden him to be happy. For every time he finally felt like he was wanted, or even loved, always someone had to die. The first had been Freya...

"What is it that I've done wrong?!" Merlin shouted as unwanted tears kept dropping one by one into the Lake. He hated his destiny. Loathed it. Despised it from the very pit of his soul. He had never hated a thing in his life. Not even Morgana when she and Mordred had killed Arthur. That is because I had part in the monster she had become.

Rage filled in the holes of his heart that had been torn open time and time again almost mercilessly, the openings where his family and friends once resided. He raised his hand, which had grown shaky over the many millenia, and slammed it down into the lake bed. The water gave way easily despite the weakness of Merlin's fist. It made his reflection waver unsteadily in the water.

Merlin fell to his knees, weakness blossoming in his legs. The energy that led him to that tirade was gone. He couldn't stop staring at the water that swallowed many of his friends into its endless depths, deeper than even the Sidhe could ever reach.

"Why is it that my family must suffer under the burden of my destiny?" he whispered harshly. No matter how many times Merlin had given up his happiness to help Arthur, fate had decided to be ever the cruel mistress. Lancelot had given up his life because of it. Freya was tempting Merlin to neglect his duties as Arthur's protector, so she had been taken as well.

Names upon names circled his thoughts like how a buzzard circles the dead. He wiped the tears from his blue orbs. He knew that of amount of sadness could ever be enough to bring them back. Yet the grief clung to him, feeding off his sadness and loneliness like a tick. It had turned that bright, happy young warlock into a bitter old man. Grief had stolen his good nature, and made him cry unwanted tears for the past friends who were gone.

So Merlin left the Lake of Avalon soon after. Arthur had told him one thing that kept running through his mind several times over. It was to never cry over any man. Even though that man had been his brother...

The lake lapped its waves upon the shores in a fevered intensity. They greedily licked up the dirt and sand and left sparkling shells in their place. But even as it trades ugly things for beautiful ones, there were some secrets that it kept hidden for a reason. And those were the ones that kept others intrigued with the Lake of Avalon. The legends enticed them, sparked their taste buds with adventure. But many who had found the Lake had wanted to take the treasures, or destroy the precious waterbed. So the water had taken more lives, to keep the haunting secrets safe.

At those muddy, dirty depths held many of the treasures of those past ages. They were captured from the time of knights and chivalry. It also kept those safe from the tides of time. One of which was the Once and Future King of Camelot. And one day, of Albion.

His body was youthful, shielded from the strains and hardships of the centuries that had eluded him. Arthur's mind remained sentiment, but did not know of the amount of time that he had escaped from. Nor of the costs of the battle of Camlann or that his own heart had stopped beating.

Life had yet to pulse from his long dead fingers, but it soon will once again. As Albion's time was fast approaching and she couldn't survive without the command of her king. Tyranny and sorrow would've ran through the streets, brother verses brother at each others' throats. But that will never happen. The Once and Future king will prevent it. And that king would soon rise from Avalon's depths and regain the throne that he had lost...

It seemed he had reached the end of his time as king of Camelot. Either that or he was heavily drunk upon entering another contest with Gwaine. Arthur would've rolled his eyes at his own stupidity and once again having his servant being correct about ale consumption. Prat, Merlin would always say. Then the king would've thrown the nearest thing in range at his smug little face. Ah memories are such a sweet thing.

He felt chilled to the bone, even though the King felt furs draped over his shoulders. Arthur wanted to change position, to get warmth to seep back into his lifeless body. Instead his limbs wouldn't respond to his wishes, making him just lie there like a corpse prepared for the journey to death. It was as if his own body was waiting for something, though he had no idea what it might be.

His Majesty strained to get some control over his tormented thoughts. The last thing that Arthur could remember was that Merlin was crying after the Battle of Camlann. Tears of his servant had fallen, and Arthur could only know of one other time he had seen his servant this upset. Balinor's death. The King had told his servant afterword that no man deserved his tears. And even when Arthur had lay paralyzed in Merlin's tight grasp, his Majesty wanted to remind the young warlock of what he had said back then. But his lips could not form the words, his mouth seemed sewn shut. Then the King had been sentenced to this terrible confinement of blackness. Nothing ahead, nor behind like it was the end of time. Or the end of the world.

But Merlin would have never said, or even thought about a subject so dark like that. He would've said something like "Soon enough there'll be a light at the end of this tunnel."

Idiot. If Arthur's string of bad luck was upon him now, then there was a chance he'll be frozen in this shadow until the sun had died.

Oh god almighty, Arthur prayed with fear striking his heart, please don't let me pass in a place like this. Don't let me die in Hell.

But none could hear his pleas, so it seemed. Didn't everyone want him to complete a destiny? To unite Albion? Then how was he, only a King of his people, be able to be the Once and Future King everyone expected him to be if he was trapped in this unrecognizable wasteland. And to be completely honest with himself, his supposed fate had terrified Arthur a great deal. Even his manservant has put his own life into this cause.

Then the King's mind jumped to Merlin's secret that had been revealed before the darkness. A warlock? Merlin?

The daft, clumsy oaf (who happens to be his most trusted friend) had been keeping that big of a lie since the moment he was born? It still seemed like a cruel and stupid joke. It still was, one played by the universe.

And yet it was the undeniable truth, no matter how unbelievable.

Not for the first time, Arthur reflected on how powerful his servant must be. To control dragons? Maybe. Certainly. To take over Camelot? With great ease. He was even more powerful than his half-sister Morgana.

And yet, Merlin hasn't abused the power given to him. He has not gone off to take the Pendragon throne and rule Camelot with an iron fist. Uther had told his son about the many crimes magic users have wrought against the kingdom since the beginning of time, and in his own rule. That every person that owned magic was, is, and always will be evil and corrupt.

Then why is Merlin so loyal? Instead of being a king, he chooses to muck out stables and shine Arthur's boots.

Faithful, loyal, brave, and courageous...

The things so different from sorcerers, from Morgana but things to describe his manservant (though The King would never admit it). Was it possible that magic didn't define your person, but its just an extension of yourself?

Intricate thinking had taken Arthur's interest quickly. It was thoughts like that was all that kept Arthur from tumbling down into the endless nothingness known as madness. It was distracting him from the horrible darkness that was keeping him captive. A King held captive by death, yet not in the spirit world or in the realm of the living.

Little did the King know, as his mind had gone fuzzy for those hundreds of decades, that a spark sputtered near the back of his field of vision. And that little flicker of light grew bigger by each passing moment. The power of it also intensified tenfold. Finally Arthur noticed, and when he saw the now filling tunnel of silvery-gold light, a tiny smile formed upon his features. He blinked and slowly his limbs woke from their long slumber in the depths of Avalon Lake.

A solid object solidified in his aged hands, cool, hard, and metallic. At once without a glance, the King knew it was his sword forged in a dragon's fire. Excalibur had been awoken as well as its master.

Just as he gripped his loyal sword, Arthur felt himself rise from the position he'd been at for this long millennia. Bubbles escaped from his nose and mouth, and yet there was an endless supply of oxygen. He felt giddy, like that first swig of ale. In the words of Gwaine of course.

Sunlight trailed and snaked its relentless way through the murky water of Lake Avalon, reaching his eyes.

Calm, warmth, and hope.

Those were the only things his spirit felt, and Arthur was glad. He would finally escape his inner hell at long last. Teetering on the small edge of insanity. But alive nonetheless.

The King also started to regain the control of other parts of his body. His fingers twitched, moving sluggish and slow at first, but then the warmth returned to them. He started to claw and kick his way to the world, fully prepared to fight for it. But of course, there was no trouble.

Just as his face broke the glass-like surface, Arthur Pendragon thought about himself, but also about his manservant.

Merlin, my faithful, loyal idiot. You were right for once, in your rare spouts of wisdom. The light at the end of the tunnel, it's right there.

You were right, old friend.

I hope the ending wasn't bad! Please R&R!

Review Question: What did the chapter's name mean to you?

Dragon Out!

Oh, and before I go, I must wish my dear best friend Midnight1234, a very happy early birthday!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MIDNIGHT-CHAN!