Merlin felt numb. He was shivering, too, soaked by lake water as he was, but that wasn't the reason for the lack of feeling that had spread throughout his entire body.

His whole life had been based on a misunderstanding, a misreading of destiny. His mother had not revealed the whole prophecy. Merlin wasn't the Great Dragon. He had never been born to be a great leader. He was born to serve one. Emrys, that was his prophesied name.

He looked down at the palm of his hand, burnt by his attempt to retrieve Excalibur. He had been punished for his audacity to even touch the blade. It wasn't meant to be his.

If his father could see him now, cowering pathetically at the edge of the lake, a soaked, trembling mess… Lancelot had pulled him out of the water and wrapped a cloak around his shoulders. Merlin didn't have the strength to look at him, at any of them. Instead, he was staring at the ground that was still humming with the eerie magic of the Crystal Cave.

He couldn't even wield dragonfyre here. Everything was just so wrong.

"What happened?" Percival finally dared to ask.

He sounded tense and confused. Hadn't they seen Arthur pull Excalibur from the stone? They must have watched the fight with the monster from the shore, but Merlin doubted they could have heard what had been spoken on the island afterwards.

"Merlin couldn't get the sword," Gwaine explained hesitantly. "But the dragonslayer could."

"That can't be right," Percival said.

"He's holding it right now, isn't he?" Gwaine retorted. "He slayed that monster with one blow, just like the legends say."

Merlin raised his eyes just enough to get a good look at Excalibur. The sword was exquisitely made, its blade polished and covered in ancient runes – dragontongue in its written form. He was holding the famed dragonblade of legends, no doubt about it.

"But… he's Arthur Pendragon," Percival argued weakly.

"Merlin." This was Lancelot, sounding uncharacteristically impatient. "Can you explain?"

Merlin didn't want to explain. He wanted to curl up into a tight ball and disappear into nothingness. He didn't want to repeat what he had learned, didn't want to explain any of this, least of all to Arthur.

Arthur Pendragon, the Great Dragon. Now that Merlin thought of it, it was laughably obvious. His line had carried the name for at least two centuries: pen dragon, leader of dragons. His ancestors had been commanding dragonlords for generations. Of course, the prophecies were referring to him, a future king, not the son of some dragonlord, born to serve at his court and pledge his fealty.

"Apparently the prophecy was wrong," Gwaine ventured.

"Not wrong." Merlin had spoken before he knew he would do it. "Incomplete."

"Incomplete how?" prodded Lancelot.

Merlin exhaled and finally raised his eyes, pointedly avoiding Arthur. They were looking down at him expectantly, friend and foe alike. Merlin pulled the cloak closer around his cold frame and decided to focus on a spot on the wall behind Lancelot. He recited the whole prophecy without any meaningful inflection, then repeated what the Lady of the Lake had revealed.

"So there you have it," Merlin wrapped up his story. He was surprised at the steadiness of his own voice. "The beginning and the end refer to both of us, the rest is equally divided. He shall command all dragons, he is a great warrior, he shall unite the lands, none of that refers to me. All I was born to do is harness dragonfyre and serve the king."

"Let me see if I'm getting this right," Percival said lamely. "You're not the Great Dragon?"

"Never was." Gods, but he started to sound bitter now, didn't he? "Just the Crown's loyal servant, who is called Emrys, apparently. Born to bow to the king."

"You mean to tell us that he is our saviour?" Lancelot asked, pointing at Arthur as he spoke. "He shall command all dragons? Merlin, he kills dragons!"

"I know. But it's him."

"I refuse to accept this," Lancelot said. Merlin had never heard him speak in such a stubborn, almost petulant tone before, but these were unprecedented circumstances. "It just can't be!"

There was no way around it. Merlin finally forced himself to look at Arthur to see his reaction to all of this. To Merlin's surprise, the prince didn't look smug, nor particularly thrilled. He was just as soaked as Merlin, though like a proper warrior, he wasn't shaking like a leaf. He was still clutching Excalibur. He had placed himself between his two men and at least three steps apart from Merlin's. His face was tense, his eyes alert as he quietly met Lancelot's challenging gaze.

"The prophecy is pretty clear on that," Merlin said, still watching Arthur's face. "We're to follow Arthur Pendragon. He will lead us to peace."

Arthur turned to look at him and Merlin tensed. "Actually," Arthur objected, "you're still the peace bringer. Protection and peace, that's your part."

For some reason, his words – as true and as reasonable as they were – shook something in Merlin. The numbness that had wrapped around him like a heavy, stifling blanket receded, clearing the way for a surge of hot anger. With a sudden burst of energy, Merlin sprung to his feet, the cloak fluttering to the floor.

"Thanks for the lecture on destiny, oh Great One!" Merlin snapped. "Our mighty king's legendary wisdom is truly beyond compare!"

Arthur narrowed his eyes and Merlin saw him tighten his grip on Excalibur. "I don't deserve your anger, nor your disrespect," he snapped right back. "I didn't even hear the prophecy until a few minutes ago. I didn't want any of this."

Merlin balled his hands to tight fists. "You went and pulled that sword out of the stone! You had a direct hand in all of this!"

"I saved your life! We were about to get killed by a monster and I needed a weapon!" Arthur retorted.

"Yes, you're a great killer!" Merlin shot back. "A great dragonslayer! You had no scruples murdering our kind, your kind, when all the while you were destined to lead us!"

"How should I have known about any of that?" Arthur shouted. "And how should I have done it in the first place? Get it into your thick head, we're at war, Merlin!"

"Which you are destined to end!"

"How on Earth am I supposed to do that?"

"I don't know, but you're definitely failing at it!"

Arthur took an angry step forward. "Are you jealous?" he hissed. "Is that why you're throwing a fit over this? I snatched away your sword! Your dreams of being some mighty warrior have come crumbling down, and now you're lashing out at me!"

The audacity of this man! How dearly Merlin wished at this moment that he could use his dragonfyre to teach him another lesson. His fingers were itching with the familiar burn of surging power, but he knew if he used it, we would be in excruciating pain.

"You think this is about jealousy?" he asked. "You're even more arrogant than I ever thought! I am not jealous!"

"Oh, really?" Arthur spoke with an unattractive sneer. "All those years, listening to your father harping on and on and on about your great, magical destiny, and now you find out it was never about you in the first place, that it was about me, Arthur Pendragon, the hated dragonslayer! And you mean to tell me that's not what has you upset?"

A part of Merlin knew Arthur's words made sense. Maybe that ugly feeling churning in his stomach had started as some form of envy or jealousy. But if so, it was quickly morphing into something else, feeding on that ever-present pool of doubt at the back of Merlin's mind. It was bubbling to the surface and spilling out of Merlin's mouth before he could help himself.

"I am glad I'm not the Great Dragon!" he shouted, and this shut Arthur right up. Merlin looked at his baffled face and couldn't supress a harsh laugh. "Surprise! You said you never wanted this? Well, neither did I! I never wanted to be some mighty warrior! I always knew I wasn't good at it, and now I know why. I was never destined to lead or fight. I am nothing but a pawn in your destiny!"

Merlin's voice cracked on those last words and he found he could no longer look Arthur in the face. He turned away and stared out onto the lake instead, breathing heavily. He looked towards the island, the place where it had all started to fall apart. His anger dissipated as suddenly as it had overmanned him, making space for a heavy sense of defeat and despair.

"Of course I'm upset. I'm devastated," Merlin eventually continued, his voice now barely above a whisper. "Because fate could have picked any of my people, but it chose you. A man who cares nothing for dragons. A man who doesn't seek peace, but war and death. Who would see all my siblings rounded up and slain, and my people murdered in cold blood. Prophecy has a dragonslayer stand here before us, wielding a legendary dragonblade." Merlin paused to catch his breath, then added, "I knew destiny could be a burden, but I never thought it could be so cruel."

By the end of his tirade, Merlin's shoulders were shaking and an unpleasant tingle had started in his eyes. He curled in on himself, hugging his arms close. He felt cold, and he was shivering again.

Silence descended. For a long while, nobody spoke, and not even Lancelot dared approach Merlin.

"We should head back," Merlin finally said and rubbed at his eyes. His hands came back wet and it was not lake water.

"We lost two swords," Gwaine spoke up, his voice rough with some emotion Merlin had no energy to decipher.

"We've got the Great Dragon and Excalibur to protect us," Merlin said tiredly. "What could possibly happen to us?"

He looked up at Arthur, perhaps hoping for a reaction, but the prince's face was unreadable.

"Let's return," he agreed. His voice was confident and authoritative. It was the voice of a born leader and a future king, and it made Merlin's stomach churn.

They left the chamber with Arthur and his knights leading the way. Merlin pulled up the sphere of light once they were past the crystals' influence, then walked silently at the end of the group, his head bowed, feeling cold and strangely nauseous. Perhaps he had swallowed some lake water without realising it.

"Merlin," Lancelot called out for him after a few minutes of silent walking, but Merlin only shook his head. He didn't want to talk.

Lancelot grasped his shoulder anyway, stopping him in his tracks, and lowered his head in an attempt to catch his gaze. "You're still a dragonlord," he urged. "You're still our leader."

"Your leader is walking up ahead, wielding Excalibur," Merlin replied blandly.

"Stop it," Lancelot retorted. "This is not the time to give up!"

Merlin finally looked at him, only to grimace at his earnest face. "Don't I deserve to grief? Aren't you grieving?"

"No," Lancelot replied. "I am not. I'm more determined than ever to win this war. Forget the prophecies! Forget the sword! You are my lord and I will follow you, not him!"

"My father is still alive," Merlin told him tiredly.

"Lord Balinor may be my rightful liege, but you know as well as I do that it is not him who has my true loyalty, nor Gwaine's, nor Percival's."

Merlin started walking again, brushing past Lancelot's shoulder. The man was stronger and broader than him and so he stumbled, but he caught his stride and kept walking. His stomach squeezed.

"Merlin!" Lancelot tried again, but Merlin ignored him.

They made their way back to the entrance without further incident, passing the carcasses of the beasts they had slain not hours ago, when things had still been right. Merlin's nausea only grew worse.

The dragons were waiting for them. They had curled up on the ground in front of the entrance, but unfurled when they heard them approach. By the time they had stepped out into the mid-day sun, Mynur, Vethoas and Aithusa were standing in a half-circle. Their eyes were immediately drawn to Arthur.

The prince was still holding on to Excalibur, lacking a scabbard. His face was calm and serious, his blonde hair shone brightly in the sunlight and in spite of his damp, ill-fitting clothes and overall rumpled state, he was displaying a natural sort of confidence that easily disclosed his royal blood.

Gods, but Merlin hated him.

The dragons looked on for a few seconds. Then, they bowed. Not a slight inclination of the head, not a dip at the neck, but a full bow, with their heads almost all the way to the ground and their forelegs bent.

"Great One," Mynur and Vethoas rumbled, whereas Aithusa let out a strange, submissive noise.

Merlin needed one moment to recover from the horrible sight, then ran over and put himself between the dragons and Arthur, his arms stretched wide. The prince looked stunned and was staring at the drakes as if he had just seen them for the first time.

"Don't bow to him!" Merlin called out, though he was looking at Arthur as he said it. "He doesn't deserve it."

"He is the Great Dragon," Mynur said matter-of-factly.

This had Merlin turn his head at him. "You knew, didn't you?" he accused. "You have known all along! All of you, and you never told me!"

"It was not our place to say," said Vethoas.

Merlin threw up his hands in frustration. "You let me believe I was the Great Dragon! My whole life, my father told me to live up to my destiny, and you knew he was wrong!"

"We never confirmed your father's warped interpretation of prophecy," Mynur replied calmly.

"But you didn't cure him of it, either!" Merlin exclaimed.

He wanted to say more, but Aithusa had brushed past him and approached Arthur, first to push her head against his hand, then to sniffle curiously at Excalibur. Arthur had the audacity to smile faintly at her, as if he were suddenly comfortable with dragons. Merlin realised that Aithusa's odd behaviour, her strange attraction to Arthur, finally made perfect sense. Even she, who was but a child, had recognised him as the great leader of prophecy!

But Merlin was still her dragonlord.

"Aithusa," he exclaimed, "érkheo!"

Aithusa didn't make a move.

Merlin narrowed his eyes. He must have gotten the register wrong, worked-up as he was. "Aithusa, érkheo!" he repeated, louder and with more determination this time.

Aithusa whined and made a very reluctant move towards Merlin.

"Let her be," Arthur replied with a frown. "She clearly doesn't want to come." Aithusa blinked up at Arthur. "Stay," he told her and she snuggled back against his side.

"Aithusa! Érkheo!" Merlin tried again, with an edge of desperation this time.

Aithusa ignored him, purring happily as Arthur started to hesitantly stroke her head.

Merlin's knees went weak as the nausea returned with full force. "What is happening?" he moaned. "Why isn't she listening to me?"

"Oh Merlin," Mynur rumbled from behind him, and he sounded sad. "If the Great Dragon wishes her to stay by his side, she is not obligated to listen to your orders. It is he who commands all dragons."

Merlin stared at Arthur and Aithusa. Then he stumbled forward, away from the group and towards the nearby forest. After a few yards, he reached some bushes. There, he bent over and finally threw up.

He dry-heaved until tears were blurring his vision, then staggered towards a tree to prop himself up. There was a strange feeling in his ears, as if somebody had covered his eardrums with cloth. A faint ringing sound was blurring out the noises around him.

His thoughts were swirling. Arthur Pendragon could command the dragons. The dragons no longer listened to Merlin, a dragonlord. Arthur, as the Great Dragon, now controlled his siblings. He could do anything he liked with them. Capture them. Torture them. Order them to fly to their own death. Make them attack Merlin.

An image swam in front of his eyes: Arthur, draconite harpoon in hand, piercing Aithusa's white scales as she could do nothing to fight back, ordered to stand down by the man that was killing her.

Merlin was abruptly snapped back to reality. He hurriedly wiped his mouth on his sleeve and turned back towards the group.

The picture he was presented with was so like his vision that it froze the blood in his veins. Arthur had Excalibur placed against Aithusa's long throat. Vethoas and Mynur were bowing their heads at him. Arthur's knights were collecting the two left-over swords carried by Percival and Lancelot, who were kneeling on the ground alongside a furious-looking Gwaine.

Merlin started running towards them, his hand raised to draw up dragonfyre, but Arthur noticed and fixed him with a hard look. "Stop, or I will kill Aithusa," he shouted.

Merlin froze to the spot. A dragon wasn't immune to a blade, and Excalibur wasn't just any sword. He had no doubt Arthur, the dragonslayer, would make good on his promise. Merlin slowly lowered his hand, snuffing out every last ember of dragonfyre.

This was his fault. He should have never given them weapons. No, he never should have brought them here in the first place. Arthur wouldn't have come into these powers had Merlin not led him straight to Excalibur. He had brought this upon his own people, his own kin.

He didn't wait for Arthur's orders. His guilt alone brought him to his knees.

"Good." Arthur acknowledged his compliance with a satisfied nod.

"What are you going to do with us?" Lancelot demanded angrily.

Arthur looked at him. "Now, we're all going to fly to Camelot."