AN: OH MY GOSH GUYS I AM SO SORRY! I have been gone for five months. FIVE MONTHS! I think I'm going to be sick. As sad as I am to say this, I have had some good reasons for the delay. I'm so sorry. I promise I have not given up on this story.

...Off topic, I think I've apologized every single chapter now.

Anyway, for those of you who do not remember and/or have not reread this story, here is a rough summary:

-Arthur has been cursed to transform into a magical creature. (Dragon, of course) He and Merlin set out to find Emrys, who can supposedly find a cure.

-On their way, Arthur starts transforming.

-They get to the shack. Merlin disguises himself as Dragoon and tells Arthur he can't cure him.

-They are now on their way to the druids. Merlin the clumsy manservant has disappeared, Cranky Sorcerer Extraordinaire activated.

I think that about wraps it up. As always: IDOM

Smoke filled his senses, heat tickling pleasantly at the bare skin where his burden had once rested. His wings beat powerfully, once, twice, lifting him above the flames. The air stirred as he rose, high-pitched screams of terror heard when the mortals saw him, master of the air. They were right to fear him. Foolish mortals, running to their King for help while the tyrant had caused the trouble himself. Uther, the King everyone loved and everyone hated. Uther, heart cold as stone. Such stupidity, to capture the last of the majestic Drakes and not expect revenge. Dragons did not forget.

Oh, he remembered. The cold metal cutting into his flesh, preventing any scales from growing to protect the injury. How well he remembered the sleepless nights in that dark, damp cave, knowing his salvation was only right above him. How he had reached out to the warlock, his dragon lord, offered him friendship and advice. Only asking for freedom in return. Freedom that was already rightfully his. And yet he was denied even that, chains cut only after he reminded his dragon lord countless times of his promise.

But now he was free. And Camelot burned.

Arthur's eyes flew open, breath catching in his throat as he breathed in sharply. Making a strained, wheezing sound, he coughed weakly. Wrong. It felt all wrong. Wrong time, wrong place, wrong body, he thought, but he didn't have the faintest why. It had something to do with that dream, he knew.

He opened his jaws wide, his sharp teeth only adding to the terror he had already caused. They thought he was attacking. No, he was only a predator playing with his prey before striking. They were like mice, the insolent creatures, fleeing at the faintest hint of a fang. But now the time for stalling was over. He growled, feeling the venom of his hate rushing through his body and being accepted into the earth. The ground started shaking, cracks spreading as he roared to the night sky. This was his declaration of war, of revenge.

Uther would die.

Arthur closed his eyes, trying to grasp the sliver of memory. Closing his grip on it, he felt a tug, strong but not impossible to withstand. This dream had come to him for a reason, and he was determined to figure out why. One image appeared in the front of his mind, an experience. It was of Camelot, smoke curling from her towers, red and orange patches of flames seen in the lower town. The once white walls were blackened, the night studded with stars barely seen through the cloud of smoke. The feelings that accompanied it was so strong, so impossibly strong. One of them was of absolute hate, not toward himself for what he obviously had done (Arthur could easily pick out the sense of accomplishment) but towards Uther. Arthur wanted to hate this being who the memory belonged to, as it had hated his father. He wanted to hate it for almost destroying Camelot, for killing his people. And he certainly would have, had it not been for the terrible grief he suddenly became aware of. Grief for thousands of lives, so terribly strong the hate paled in comparison. This creature had lost so much, had gone through so much, Arthur couldn't bring himself to despise it.

The tug became harder to resist, easing the memory out of his grip. There was one yank, as if someone was pulling a rope, and then it was gone, taking the memory with it. Arthur was left only with the emotions and a brief flash of Camelot burning.

Merlin was getting sick of his old body. It groaned and protested at every movement, heavy and useless like rusty chain mail. His back refused to straighten, fingers shook uncontrollably and there wasn't as much power in his legs as there used to be. Not to mention that the aging spell was sapping at his energy relentlessly. He would sleep and wake up just as tired.

But though he had much to complain about, Arthur had it worse. Scales were steadily covering every inch of skin, his nails becoming dark and tough. His nostrils flared constantly, a hint of smoke rising from them if you looked closely. His hair seemed to mysteriously melt into his scalp, and Merlin could literally see the bones rearranging themselves under his skin. New muscles appeared, adding a certain bulk to his body without making him fat (fatter than he already was, Merlin thought to himself).

This was somewhat disturbing... considering only a day and a half passed.

It had taken longer than it should have to get as far as they had. Being the old man he was, Merlin had to regularly stop for breaks. Trying to kick his mount into a faster gait consumed more energy than you would think. His horse would snort once, twitch the skin under the saddle, which in turn jostled its rider, and walk on as if it was a stroll through the meadow. It annoyed Merlin to no end.

They had paused in a most unpleasant place this time; a small, muddy patch of earth which was apparently the only part of the woods you could see the sky from. It was, however, very small, barely fitting their mounts and their blankets around a tiny fire. They had wanted to go farther, but seeing as it was almost a swamp, it wasn't very wise to do so. Arthur had sent him one mistrustful glare and dragged his blanket over to a tree -as far away as possible- to sleep there. A nauseating feeling had blossomed in Merlin's stomach at his expression. It was almost as if it was... hurt. Yes, that was what it was. It felt so wrong to be looked at in disgust by his best friend. Merlin knew that Arthur saw someone else: the sorcerer who had killed his father. Yet, this did nothing to dampen the hurt that spread through his chest.

Suddenly, Arthur leaped out of his slumped position, breath shallow and eyes darting. He stood for a moment, bewildered, before practically falling back to the ground. "Arthur!" Merlin yelled, momentarily forgetting his role as cranky old sorcerer. He ran toward his friend, wincing as his stiff muscles protested. Leaning over the King, he gripped Arthur's shoulders and shook him lightly. "Oh no. Don't you dare, you bone-idle toad." he growled. Arthur twitched, his eyelids fluttering. For a moment he looked like he might wake, but then he stilled and slumped unconscious. Merlin let go of his shoulders and checked his pulse. The steady beat of Arthur's heart pulsed against his fingers and beat as strongly as it normally would. Merlin briefly considered dropping the king on his head to snap him out of whatever transforming daze he was in now, but set the idea aside when he thought of a safer method. "Arthur," he snapped his fingers next to the other man's ear. "I don't know if you can hear me, but I am going to pull you out. Brace yourself, okay?"

He reached out with his mind, feeling it connect with Arthur's. Immediately, something started nagging at him, a tickling sensation, as if a bug had landed on his nose. It was barely there, just brushing against his awareness, but it was definitely there. Merlin jerked slightly away when he realized what it was. Something had Arthur in its grasp. Something very powerful. Merlin reached out toward it, poking at it with a mental finger. Scram! he told it.

An apologetic noise resonated over the connection. I am sorry, Merlin. I am merely doing my duty.

Kilgarrah! I don't have time for this. Let him go!

I cannot. As a dragon, I am obliged to prepare the King for transformation.

No no no. Merlin felt like pulling his hair out. He is not going to transform! We will be with the druids within a few hours!

The dragon chuckled. Do not fool yourself, young warlock. You will not find a solution with the druids.

Leave him alone! As your dragonlord, I order you to leave him alone!

Merlin felt the grip loosen. Very well. But you have been warned, Merlin. There is a reason he was to be prepared. A very important one.

Merlin opened his eyes with a shuddering gasp, taking a moment to consider his surroundings. It wasn't needed. He was in the exact same position as he was before the mental tug of war. It was strange, it felt as if he was supposed to be in a cave with the King of Newts himself, arguing about the fate of Arthur's sanity. The clotpole in question was currently staring at him with unnerving intensity. "Why did you pull me away?" he asked. He didn't sound grateful at all.

The warlock glared at him and stood up, turning to walk away. "That is a private matter. None of your business."

"I was involved, wasn't I? It's completely my business."

"No. End of discussion."

The king stood up, grabbing the old man's arm. "At least tell me what that was all about."

Merlin turned abruptly, facing the King with fiery determination. "No means no. Now, if you don't mind, I have more private matters to attend to."

He walked off without waiting for a reply.

AN: I can't guarantee the next chapter will be up soon, but I'll try. Love you guys and thank you for being so patient!

-The World Out There