It was among the oddest ways Gwaine had ever waken. Of course, taking into account the incident a few years back with the juggler, the miller's daughter, and the ferrets, he supposed he couldn't say it was the oddest. Top three, definitely. Although, there was the time he and Percival found that barrel of mead in the woods. They had thought it was mead, anyway… Still, this was at least among the five oddest ways he'd ever waken. Probably.

He blinked the sleep from his eyes and levered himself up to glare at the white dragon, who was calmly and casually licking Gwaine's feet.

"Stop that," he said.

The reptile stopped, examining him with dark, intelligent eyes.

It cocked its head.

Then it looked down and continued licking his feet.

"Ugh," he said, pulling his legs away. "Look, I know there's probably a tasty bit of build-up there, and they could probably do with scrub, but I'll find a stream, if it's all the same to you."

The dragon examined him for a moment longer, then stretched its long neck forward and began snuffing at his feet again.

"Oi!" he said, pushing the scaly snout away. "You might be a creature of myth and magic, but that doesn't mean you can do whatever you like. Now, go on, go bother someone else."

The dragon made a dissatisfied noise. Then, it stood and circled in place-once, twice-to lie down with its back facing him, sighing dejectedly. Gwaine rolled his eyes and stood, stretching his stiff back. He made a quick to-do list in his head—get boots, get breakfast, find Merlin—and surveyed his surroundings. They were still in the small, sandy cave they had all collapsed in just before dawn the previous night. Now, bright, warm sunlight cascaded down from the cave's entrance.

Gwaine soon spotted his boots nearby. Crossing an item off of his mental list, he fished inside for his socks. He came up one short.

Odd.

Quickly scanning the immediate area, he spotted the missing article a few feet away. Snatching it up, he shook it out and briskly pulled it on-

-only to have his foot slip all the way through a jagged hole that had been chewed in the end.

Gwaine sat frozen for a moment. Then, his eyes slid to other occupant of the cave. The dragon was lying very still, eyes fixed on the man. Gwaine glared. The creature made small keening noise, ears flattened on its head and eyes wide; the picture of remorse.

"Why is it always me?" Gwaine sighed.

The dragon's tail wagged slightly.

"Alright," said Gwaine, pulling off the ruined sock and tossing it to the creature. "If you've gotten a taste for me, I suppose I'd rather you take a bite of this than something more tender."

The beast quickly sprang to its feet, catching the discarded clothing and shaking it. It paraded around as Gwaine pulled his boots onto his bare feet and stood. He turned to make his way outside, but found the dragon, sock dangling from its large maw, crouched before him. Its tail whipped back and forth through the air behind it.

"Oh, I see how it is," Gwaine said, grinning. Quick as he could, he grabbed for the sock. The dragon danced just out of his reach. Again, he lunged forward and again the beast dodged to the side, tail now stirring up a cloud of dust.

"Well," Gwaine sighed dramatically, walking past the beast. "You're just too fast for me. I admit defeat. I am bested."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the tail slow to a stop.

Then, he spun and leapt, both hands latching securely onto the sock.

"Ha ha! Got ya!" He cried.

Then, he locked eyes with the dragon.

Before he could do anything else, the beast sprang toward the entrance of the cave. It burst into the sunlight of the forest, with Gwaine flapping behind it like a broken buckle. Through the trees they wove, sending showers of leaves and twigs to the forest floor in their wake. Gwaine held on for dear life. Suddenly, their wild flight was interrupted as the dragon's head jerked around, and it abruptly changed course. In moments, they had landed, and Gwaine wasted no time in letting go of the sock and collapsing to the ground with a thud. After a moment, a soggy and tattered scrap of fabric appeared in his lap. The sock. He glanced up to smile at the playful dragon before him, but froze as his eyes settled on something behind his new friend.

A dragon.

A SECOND dragon.

A second, much larger, much meaner looking dragon.

Who seemed to be talking to Merlin.

Who, apparently, was a dragonlord.

And a warlock.

Overall, it was the oddest morning Gwaine had ever had.

The magic was strange, yet familiar. It rustled like the leaves of autumn as it curled around him, tendrils of orange wrapping his very being in a tickling, glowing warmth. His own magic basked in the contact like a serpent on a sunlit rock. Its icy blue waves sang as they flowed over radiant coals of ancient power. The magics curiously explored one another, each enfolding the other's substance in its own. Soon, he felt the other presence withdraw. Pulling his magic back into himself, Merlin opened his eyes.

The sun was filtering down through the trees, flickering across the forest floor in ever-changing patterns as the wind danced through the branches. Stretching his stiff back, Merlin glanced around. Kilgarrah still crouched before him, blinking solemnly as he pulled his magic back from Merlin's. Glancing around, Merlin spotted Gwaine and Aithusa in an nearby clearing… playing fetch? Honestly, Gwaine could wake up, find himself on the moon, think, I wonder what kind of ale they have here?9 and try and skip moonstones back to the earth. The man was unflappable. Show him a dragon, tell him his friend was a sorcerer, he hardly batted on eye. What had been his exact words?

"Well, that explains more than it doesn't."

If only everyone was so understanding. If only Arthur…

Merlin pushed the thought aside and turned his attention back to the matter at hand.

"Well?" He asked, trying not to fidget.

"Your magic is indeed damaged, young warlock," Kilgarrah said solemnly. "But not beyond repair. Have patience. The time of Albion is close at hand, and your part in this story is far from over."

"How can you say that?" Merlin's nose scrunched as his eyes began to sting. The sunlight was getting to him. "Arthur wants nothing to do with me, I can't go back to Camelot, and even if I could, what use am I without my magic?"

"Merlin," the dragon growled. "You are more than your magic. You have always been more. It was not your magic that faced monsters and demons, but your bravery. Magic did not bring together the knights of the round table; your loyalty and friendship did. And it did not change the young and arrogant Prince Arthur into the Once and Future King. You did, with your compassion and wisdom. Your power comes not from your skill with spells, but from the strength of your spirit."

Merlin ducked his head, letting out a sheepish laugh.

"Se efcharistó fíle mou," he said, meeting the dragon's eyes warmly.

"When the time is right, your path will be revealed. Until then, keep hope. And—" a loud crash sounded. Merlin looked up in time to see Gwaine and Aithusa rolling out from some shrubbery, wrestling over what looked to be an old sock. Kilgarrah sighed. "And try not to let your knight corrupt the youngling more than he already has."

"No promises," Merlin grinned.

The day passed uneventfully. Merlin led, and Gwaine followed unquestioningly. He had no idea what Merlin's plan was, if there was a plan. But he trusted Merlin. And, he had learned a long time ago not to borrow trouble from the future. Today, they were walking. Tomorrow could take care of itself. In the meantime, Gwaine was learning loads about his new friend. In addition to socks, she had a taste for squirrels and rabbits, while birds held no interest for her. She could catch and carry things with her front claws, but almost always preferred to use her mouth. And she let out a high, chiming sound, like singing crystal, when he scratched her neck right behind her head. He had used that knowledge often enough throughout the day that he was fairly certain he was her new favorite.

As the sun began to dip toward the horizon, they came to a rise overlooking a distant town. Gwaine could already hear the inviting ruckus of the local tavern.

"Thirsty, Merlin?" He grinned.

Merlin rolled his eyes, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Do never think of anything else?" The warlock chuckled. "It's actually not a bad idea, though."

Gwaine turned in surprise..

"Wait a minute," he said, regarding Merlin with a cautious glare. "Why do I get the feeling you're not really interested in ale?"

"I need to find out what Mordred is up to," Merlin answered, taking Gwaine's elbow and leaning in. "Place like this, maybe someone's heard something."

"Merlin," Gwaine said levelly. "It hasn't been a full day since we were trapped in a burning castle by Mordred and his lot. We just got back in the frying pan and you want to dive into the fire again?!"

Merlin pursed his lips, shrugging.

"Well, if you don't want to come—"

"—I didn't say that," Gwaine sighed. "When have you ever known me to turn down a losing battle, eh?"

He really ought to smack that cheeky grin off Merlin's face.

"The question is," Gwaine continued. "What do we do with Daisy while we're down there?"

"Who's Dais—no, Gwaine. No. Her name is Aithusa."

"That's a ridiculous name," Gwaine scoffed. "Besides, she likes Daisy better."

"She does not—" Merlin stopped abruptly, head whipping to stare at the beautiful dragon as she cooed. He dropped his head, shoulders slumping. "Gwaine, you're a bad influence."

"Now Merlin," Gwaine grinned. "Don't be a poor sport. Tell Daisy to hide in a cave or something. Ale, lasses, and pickled eggs await!"

The pub was warm and cheerful, but Merlin took little pleasure in it. He felt out of place, uncomfortable. He kept trying to convince himself that he and Gwaine were on a quest, secretly tracking Arthur to stop him doing something stupid. But this time, he wasn't following Arthur. The king was far away, in Camelot. Merlin had chosen to leave him behind. Everything he had worked for, his friends, his home, all of that was behind him, and for what? For magic? For the demands of a dead religion that required sacrifice again and again? For the promise that someday things would be better? He slammed his mug of ale down. Why? Why did he keep doing this?

"Merlin," Gwaine said, plopping into the seat across from him. "You are sad-drinking. I need you to be happy-drinking."

Merlin sighed.

"No one here knows anything," he said, staring moodily into his drink.

"I dunno," Gwaine smirked. "I was just talking to a fascinating lady over there I'm convinced could teach me a thing or two. She might even have a friend for you."

"This is a waste of time," Merlin said, standing, jaw set. "Stay if you like, but I'm going."

Not bothering to hear Gwaine's answer, Merlin made his way out of the pub and into the cool spring evening. He cut through the twisting streets of the small town, trying to lose himself in the deepening shadows. As he rounded one of the last buildings between him and the forest, he heard Gwaine's footsteps overtaking him.

"Look, Merlin," his friend called. "I don't know—"

Gwaine's voice cut off abruptly. Merlin turned in time to see him crash to the ground, completely unconscious.

As he turned, Merlin felt an all too familiar prick in his neck. Fumbling with already numb fingers, he felt the shaft of a dart sticking out from his neck. The names of four or five spells he could use ran through his head, but the letters collided and spilled in a kaleidoscope of meaningless syllables. The ground bent, flexed, and rolled like a wave on the ocean, crashing first into his knees, then his shoulders and head. Black curtains fell across his vision, narrowing the world into shadowy slits.

Then there was nothing.

Arthur surged up in bed, breathing heavily as the nightmare—vision? clung to his slowly clearing mind. His fists clenched as he thought back over the events of the dream—the dragon, the pub, the dart—and what it likely meant.

"Dammit, Merlin!"

(Finally clawed my way out of a pit of creative exhaustion, got this whole series outlined, and am writing again. I promise I will finish it. I'll be writing any time I have the time, space, and creative energy to do so. I am changing the summary of the story to include a WIP disclaimer. I really want this to be good, so I'm not going to rush it. It will take time. But I will finish. Thanks so much for sticking with it. Your reviews helped pull me out of the quagmire of non-inspiration.)