-XXX-

One second, Arthur was on his knees in a cave, preparing for the inevitable. He and his friends had walked right into Morgause's trap, and they were going to pay the price for that mistake. If there truly was some sort of afterlife, Arthur had no doubt that Merlin would spend the rest of eternity shouting I told you so! and Arthur would have no choice but to agree with the sentiment. Merlin had warned him, and now not only were the three children going to be crushed underneath tons of rock, but his loyal warlock and knights would die as well. With that knowledge at the forefront of his mind, all he could do was hold onto Merlin and take comfort in the fact that even if he was to die, he'd have his best friend at his side when it happened.

Then he saw the look in Merlin's eyes, and all his fears about dying scattered away, because he knew that look well, too well. It was the same one Merlin wore right before doing something utterly stupid in an effort to save Arthur's life.

Arthur hated that look.

"Merlin…" Don't you dare…

Merlin's answering smile filled him with dread.

"It's okay, Arthur. Everything will be okay."

The words didn't even have time to register in his brain before bright light and warmth overcame his senses, and suddenly his body was being flung across dead grass, his ears ringing and his vision whitening out. His stomach lurched at the abrupt change, and his chest heaved for the breath that had been punched out of him as he blinked furiously in an effort to regain his sight. He'd ended up on his back, staring up at…the sky?

He panted, squinting in disbelief as the spots in his vision finally faded to confirm that yes, he was indeed looking up at the dark blue sky and not a ceiling of rock. For a few seconds he just lay there, struggling to catch up with the fact that he'd traveled to a completely different location in the blink of an eye. His body felt a bit tingly, but he remained unharmed; he patted himself down absentmindedly to make sure, tearing off his gloves so he could feel everything properly.

When Arthur finally gathered his senses enough to sit up, he did so slowly, his muscles still tense with anxiety. He noticed all of his knights spread out at various points around him, all looking like they'd had similar landings. They were all warily standing to their feet, a few stumbling slightly like their legs would give out any moment. Leon automatically staggered over to Arthur, helping the king to his feet. All of them were trading bewildered glances, and Elyan looked a little green.

Percival pressed a hand to his head, wincing when he drew it back and the sight of a bloody palm greeted him. He must've hit it against a rock when he landed.

"What on earth just happened?" He grumbled, but his eyes were wide with shock. The big man had never looked so shaken.

The three children were still laid out on the ground, wiping away their tears as they took notice of their new surroundings. They were confused, but thankfully no longer afraid and crying now that they were out of danger.

Arthur nodded at Leon to let him know he was alright to stand, and the knight hesitantly backed off a step. He needed to find Merlin. Lancelot was already scouring the area with a panicked gaze. Arthur started towards him, but stopped short when he realized where they were.

"We're back at the village," he stated with surprise, recognizing the burnt, crumbling huts they'd left behind not too long ago. They were far enough out that no one had seen them yet, but he could see people in the distance running toward the center of the village, shouting and waving for their neighbors to follow. His eyes narrowed, and he marched in that direction instead, ordering over his shoulder at Leon, "Take the children back to their parents." He knew without looking that his First Knight was dutifully following orders, and wasn't surprised in the least when Lancelot and Gwaine caught up to him as he made his way closer to the commotion. None of them spoke, too concerned for Merlin's well-being to discuss what had just happened.

Please don't be dead. Please don't be dead, he thought desperately, eventually taking off at a run when the fear began to twist at his insides. His knights followed a step behind.

There was a huge crowd of villagers in the town square, and he had to shove several people out of his way. They were indignant at first, but quickly yielded as soon as they recognized him, muttering apologies. He ignored all of them, determined to reach the source of their attention.

When he finally broke through, his body seized up and he halted in his tracks. Merlin was lying on his back in the middle of the well-trodden clearing, unconscious and oblivious to the crowd surrounding him. His skin was sickly pale and covered in a light sheen of sweat, blood was leaking from his nose and ears, and dark shadows encircled his sunken eyes. If it wasn't for the slight rise and fall of his chest, Arthur would have thought him dead.

But even looking as terrible as he did, Merlin's unhealthy appearance wasn't the most alarming part, and it was clear why the villagers were all gathering around for the spectacle. Arthur could only stand there and gape like the rest of them as he watched his servant.

Thin threads of golden light seeped out from under Merlin's fingertips like branches of a tree, spreading outward from his body along the ground. They pulsed with the rhythm of a heartbeat, growing farther with each passing second. Wherever they touched, the dead grass beneath regained its lush color and flowers began to rise from the dirt and bloom instantaneously.

Arthur looked on with a sort of morbid fascination, astounded for the second time that day by the depth of Merlin's power, but achingly afraid for his friend as well. After all, it almost looked as if the land was draining the life from Merlin's body in an effort to heal itself, but he didn't know enough about magic to say for sure.

The crowd started murmuring warily to each other when the tendrils of light reached them, but no one ran. Curiosity stilled their feet, as well as Arthur's. He stared stiffly down at the ground as the magic drew closer, but it merely passed underneath him harmlessly, continuing to revitalize the land as it went.

"I'll be damned," Gwaine muttered incredulously, observing the wondrous magic as it extended beyond the gathering of villagers to the rest of the affected land.

Arthur's attention was already back on Merlin, and he slowly made his way over to his servant, falling to his knees beside him and placing a delicate hand over his chest. Merlin's heartbeat was unsteady and not at all reassuring, but it was proof that he was alive.

The light seemed to grow brighter in his presence, and he shuddered as his entire body was filled with warmth, the same as when he'd been transported from the cave to the village. It dawned on him then that it was Merlin's magic that made him feel this way, and he involuntarily closed his eyes, soaking it in. His fears eased, and the minor aches and pains he'd sustained during the rough landing faded away, his strength returning tenfold. He felt capable of fighting an entire army without breaking a sweat.

His eyes snapped open, and he bent low over Merlin, scrunching his tunic in his fist. "Don't waste your energy on me, you idiot," he whispered fiercely, his voice cracking slightly on the last word. Merlin was motionless and unresponsive beneath him, the complete opposite of his magic. Arthur pulled back enough to see his face clearly, blinking wetness out of his eyes. For a few moments he simply stared at the unconscious man, unsettled by the lack of life in his features. Merlin was a creature of movement—he barreled into his chambers every morning like a wild horse; he tripped over absolutely nothing, whirling his arms in an attempt to keep from face-planting; he gestured dramatically whenever he spoke, all smiles and dimples and crinkled eyes. He was never meant to be lying like a statue.

"Sire…" Lancelot's soft voice made him startle, and he tightened his grip on Merlin instinctively. The knight put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We can't help Merlin here," he pointed out regretfully.

"What exactly are we supposed to do?" Gwaine cut in, his tone brisk. He crouched down on Merlin's other side, running a hand gently through the servant's hair. "Look at him," he whispered sorrowfully. Arthur looked; his jaw clenched. "Whatever this is, it's no ordinary illness," Gwaine insisted bitterly. "We all saw what he did. He stopped time. That shouldn't even be possible, but here we are, perfectly alive, and here he is, possibly dying, and there's nothing we can do."

"So you're just gonna give up without even looking for a solution?" Lancelot snapped, standing up straight and towering over the knight. Gwaine's head jerked up with a scowl.

"I'd never give up on Merlin. Not ever," he vowed, exuding none of his usual joviality. "I'm just saying a run-of-the-mill physician isn't what he needs, and there are three days of travel between here and Gaius. So unless you can pull a magical healer out of your ass…" Gwaine trailed off with a harsh shrug, resuming his attentive petting.

"The Druids—" Lancelot tried, but Arthur cut him off swiftly.

"We have no way to find them or contact them." Even as he said it, his mind was flashing back to last night. How had the Druids found their camp? Or had Merlin reached out to them first? What if they were still somewhere nearby?

Arthur exhaled with frustration, dragging his free hand over his face. None of this would be a problem if magic was free in Camelot. There would probably be healers well-versed in the art of sorcery around every corner. The Druids wouldn't be in hiding, so they'd be easy to find. There might have even been one in this very village.

Instead, they had a major problem and no quick way to fix it.

"We'll take him back to Camelot," he decided, seeing no better options.

Gwaine and Lancelot clearly weren't content with the idea, but they had no other suggestions, so they quietly nodded their agreement with the plan.

"I'll ask the villagers if they have a cart we can pull him in," Gwaine told them, brushing his hand once more over Merlin's head before hauling himself to his feet and pushing past the crowd. Arthur had nearly forgotten about the onlookers, though they were more focused on the stunning display of magic than the man on the ground. Surprisingly, none of them seemed to fear it, and Arthur tucked that observation away for later consideration, preferably when his best friend wasn't on death's doorstep.

"I'll go update the others so they'll be ready to ride as soon as possible," Lancelot mumbled, giving Merlin one last pained look before taking his leave.

Arthur's gaze remained steadfastly on Merlin the entire time, never once removing his hand from his chest. He was terrified that the moment he lost contact, Merlin's heart would stop altogether.

"You are not allowed to die, you hear me?" He bit out quietly, making sure no one would overhear. "I know you're lousy at following orders, but this is one you have to follow," he commanded. He tried to maintain a glare, but his expression collapsed further the longer the heavy silence stretched on. "I need you by my side, Merlin. You're the one who's always talking about the great future of Albion. What do you think will happen to that great future if you leave me now, huh?" He demanded. "You've seen the kind of king a grieving man makes. You've told me plenty of times that I'm not my father, but that's because I've had you at my side all these years to guide me along a better path," he admitted, smoothing out Merlin's tunic where he'd been clutching at it with too much force. He leaned over, speaking next to his ear. "I want you to see magic return to Camelot. I want you to know true freedom," he murmured, brushing Merlin's raven locks off his forehead. His hair was growing longer with each passing day, longer than Arthur had ever seen it. Soon enough his bangs would reach his eyes.

"You care for him," a woman's voice spoke up behind him, causing him to flinch and turn just enough to put her in his line of sight.

She was older, probably around the age his mother would be if she were alive, with dark brown hair that was graying at the roots and wrinkles beginning to form around her mouth and eyes. She wore a plain, burlap-colored dress, but had an apron around her waist that was darkened with dried blood. Despite her grisly appearance, her expression was kind as she knelt down next to Merlin in the same spot Gwaine had abandoned and pulled out a clean rag, wiping away the blood tracks around Merlin's nose and ears. Arthur watched her every movement carefully, uneasy with a stranger covered in blood being so close to his defenseless friend. When she noticed his narrowed gaze, she waved him off sheepishly.

"I'm sorry, Sire, it's been a long day. I seem to have forgotten my manners," she apologized. "I'm Dreda, the village's midwife." She glanced down at her attire, pursing her lips. "And part-time physician, I suppose," she added, fiddling with the now-dirty piece of cloth in her hands.

Arthur relaxed minutely. "You're the one Merlin was helping earlier," he stated.

She laughed softly, turning her attention back to the man in question. Arthur almost snorted at the blatant affection she held for his manservant. Merlin always did have a way of wrapping everyone around his finger in the barest amount of time.

"I'd venture to say I was the one helping him," she corrected fondly. "He's a very talented physician himself." She paused, flicking her gaze back up at Arthur, seeming to hesitate before speaking her next words. "I…can't help but notice, Sire, but…you don't seem to be angry that Merlin has magic," she noted carefully.

Arthur nodded absentmindedly, his eyes trailing from the glow under Merlin's hand, past the crowd of villagers, and to the forest beyond. His magic had reached far enough now to affect the trees. The earth had come alive at its touch; the greenery was vibrant and thriving, and colorful flowers decorated the landscape. If he weren't so worried for Merlin's safety, he'd be unable to look away from the miracle unfolding before him. As it was, he shifted his gaze back to the minute rise and fall of the servant's chest, willing it to continue.

"Merlin has shown me the beauty of magic, even before today," he replied quietly. "He shows it everyday just by being himself. Because if someone as good as Merlin can have magic, then magic in itself cannot be evil."

Dreda blinked at him in surprise for a few moments. "Wise words, King Arthur," she murmured. "Forgive me for saying, but you are not at all what I expected," she confessed.

Arthur's lips quirked up in wry amusement. "Let me guess. You expected a carbon copy of my father?"

She considered his words with a contemplative expression. "I think…it can be quite difficult to grow up in the shadow of such a prominent man, and still manage to make your own legacy and follow your own ideals. A king who puts his pride aside to observe and listen to those around him is a king worth the title," she opined.

Warmth bloomed in Arthur's chest at the praise, and he sent the midwife a grateful smile. "I hope I succeed in that regard. Luckily, I have a manservant who isn't afraid to tell me when I'm being an idiot," he commented with an amused eye roll, and Dreda snickered behind her hand.

"Oh dear, I can only imagine what it's like to be in his company on a daily basis," she teased.

"He's a terrible servant," Arthur quipped back naturally, sharing the light mood for only a few seconds before reality struck once again as he gave Merlin another once-over. If possible, his skin had seemed to grow even paler. His dark lashes rested in stark contrast against his cheeks. Arthur swallowed down his despair. "And the best friend I could ask for," he tacked on in barely more than a whisper.

"Then you are a lucky man, indeed," Dreda responded just as softly. After a few minutes of silence, she stood to her feet, dusting off the back of her dress and clearing her throat. The bloodied rag hung limply between her fingers. "If you'll excuse me, Sire, I need to check on my patients," she said formally, offering him a quick curtsy.

He nodded in acknowledgement, but Dreda remained in place, staring down at Merlin with a concerned wrinkle between her brows.

"Just…take care of him. Gods know I would help if I could, but…" She huffed out a frustrated breath. "He's in good hands. You'll get him the help he needs, Sire," she declared firmly, but Arthur wasn't sure which of them she was trying to convince. Dreda turned and strode off toward one of the few huts left standing without waiting for his reply, not that he had one prepared in the first place.

Arthur shifted around so he could gently raise Merlin's head and set it in his lap, running calloused fingers through his black fringe.

"Stay with me, Merlin," he murmured, unsure whether it was a command or a prayer.

-XXX-

-XXX-

Arthur ordered Percival, Elyan, and Gwaine to head to the next village over and meet up with the other knights. He wanted them to take care of the bandit problem, but his main goal was to learn of Morgause's plans. One of her henchmen was bound to know something, and Arthur wanted every little detail they could provide. She'd implied she'd laid the trap for Emrys, but it was unclear why she'd lure the warlock in just to disappear to gods know where. Whatever her purposes, they undoubtedly spelled bad news for Camelot.

Gwaine protested at first, of course, insisting on staying by his friend's side until he was sure Merlin would live, but Arthur wasn't taking no for an answer. Gwaine had a special way of making reluctant people talk, and he would be more valuable handling the bandits than worrying over Merlin without being able to help him in any way. Gwaine had to concede the point after that, but the glare he sent Arthur promised retribution if anything were to happen to the servant while he was away chasing bandits.

The three Knights left to complete their task with a promise to send word if anything went wrong, leaving Leon, Lancelot, and Arthur to focus on saving Merlin's life.

By the time they finally got on the road, laying Merlin's motionless form on top of a pile of straw and furs in the horse cart with Lancelot sitting at his side to keep him company, the scenery of the village had transformed drastically. The only signs there had been an attack at all were the destroyed homes and the weary-faced villagers that waved farewell as the King and his Knights departed the town.

Merlin might've been unconscious, but it seemed his magic still carried out his will. The golden vines of light had receded as soon as they'd lifted him off the ground, but that hadn't been the end of the strange occurrences.

They'd been traveling for nearly a day, only stopping to let the horses rest and to refill their waterskins, and already they'd seen gathering storm clouds dissipate after a burst of sparkling magic shot straight out from Merlin's chest and up into the sky, a tree laying across their path turned to dust, and a pack of wolves rush at them only to stop mid-attack and flee for the cover of the forest. To say the group was unsettled was a drastic understatement.

Still, Arthur ordered them to push on, unwilling to stop and speculate about the abilities of his manservant when they already had days before they would reach Camelot.

When Lancelot shouted out in alarm, shaking Merlin roughly by the shoulders and pleading with him to "Breathe, damn it, breathe!" and sent all of them into an outright panic before the servant finally acquiesced with a wheezily-drawn intake of air that had them sagging in their saddles, they decided to call it a night and set up camp in a nearby clearing. Arthur didn't dare leave Merlin's side after that, and gladly allowed Leon and Lancelot to carry out all the necessary duties while he cradled his friend to his chest with an unrelenting grip, sitting close to the fire in hopes of Merlin soaking in some of its heat. His skin was ice cold to the touch, and Arthur morbidly noted that if Merlin were normal, he'd probably be dead already.

Darkness enveloped the camp as Lancelot cooked up their dinner, the only light coming from the blazing fire and the shining stars above. Arthur took off his cloak and threw it over Merlin, tucking it in around his shoulders, then leaned against the log at his back with a tired sigh, keeping the servant pressed to his chest. Arthur rested his chin on top of Merlin's head, the soft strands of hair tickling his skin as he stared blankly into the fire.

He didn't react when Leon flopped down onto the ground beside him, nearly close enough to touch shoulders, but he could feel the knight's sympathetic gaze. Arthur was expecting to hear the usual platitudes about how Merlin would be just fine and they were going to get him the help he needed, but Leon had a different topic in mind.

"Sire, I know this might not be the best moment to bring this up," he began hesitantly, pulling one knee up to his chest and slowly resting his forearm upon it, letting his hand dangle. "But I think we should discuss what happened back in the cave," he finished, tensing like he expected the king to lash out at him for making the suggestion.

Arthur's expression remained impassive. "The others will tell us if they find out anything about Morgause," he muttered, lifting his head just enough so his chin wasn't digging into Merlin's skull as he spoke.

"I'm not talking about Morgause," Leon objected gently. "I'm talking about Merlin."

Arthur's gaze snapped over to him. "What about him?" He questioned defensively.

Leon was unperturbed by the glare leveled at him, or he at least was a great actor. "Did you know he could do that? Stop time?" He asked.

Arthur thought back to the moment he'd realized all movement in the cave had ceased, his utter disbelief at what his eyes were telling him was true—that Merlin had somehow stopped the earth in its tracks, saving them all once again. He remembered the determination in the warlock's expression, the way his knees buckled and his nose dripped blood. He remembered how Merlin's muscles shook with the strain, and how his irises flared golden like the sun. He'd looked like something otherworldly and so terrifyingly powerful, and Arthur had been half-convinced that his servant was a god in disguise.

"He told me the Druids believe him to be the greatest sorcerer to walk the earth, but I didn't realize what that actually meant until…" He trailed off, and Leon swallowed thickly.

"I would've found that impossible to believe a couple days ago," he admitted, shaking his head. "Does it…make you afraid? Knowing that he could kill us all so easily if he wanted to?" Leon wondered, casting a wary glance down at the servant.

Arthur couldn't help the brief smile that curled his lips. "Merlin would never turn against us, Leon. He cried when I killed the unicorn for gods' sakes. He doesn't have an evil bone in his body," he answered bluntly. He'd been nervous at first that learning about Merlin's magic would reveal a completely new person, that his lovable servant didn't actually exist, but he needn't have worried. Merlin had a dark side, as every person did, but at his core he was unfalteringly good, and that would never change.

"What if you died, Arthur?" Leon pressed, pain filling his voice at the mere idea. "What would he do then?"

Arthur's jaw twitched. "Merlin is familiar with grief, Leon. It hasn't sent him off the deep end."

"Yet," Leon retorted, then cringed. "Sire," he added sheepishly.

"Don't fear the what ifs," Arthur told him firmly. "You know who Merlin is. He's our friend, and he doesn't need any of us tiptoeing around him. He's powerful, yes, but he's chosen to stand by Camelot and that's all that matters."

Leon bowed his head, biting his lip with chagrin at the king's tone. "You're right, Sire." He sighed, tilting his head back to stare at the starry sky. "You're right." Rather than sounding defeated, he sounded relieved, and Arthur was immensely grateful he had the First Knight's understanding and support and that Merlin did as well. Leon wasn't as close with Merlin as Gwaine or Lancelot, but he cared for the servant as a brother would, just like the rest of them.

Lancelot, who had respectfully given them time and space to talk while he was out of earshot, noticed their discussion had come to an end and casually took the pot off the fire, spooning out portions into separate bowls before making his way over to sit next to Leon. He handed out their dinner before settling back against the log to eat his own. The three of them ate in companionable silence; Arthur had to do a bit of extra maneuvering with Merlin lying against him, but he managed to not spill any stew on his unwitting servant.

It was just as they had set aside their bowls to prepare for sleep when they heard the wingbeats pierce the night air. Leon and Arthur immediately froze, recognizing the sound with a startling sense of muscle memory. The First Knight wasted no time in snatching up his sword and taking up a protective stance in front of the small group, while Lancelot more hesitantly climbed to his feet, searching for the source of the noise in confusion. Arthur was conflicted about letting go of Merlin, but eventually his instincts overcame his concern and he gently scooted out from under his servant, settling Merlin's head against the log so he wouldn't fall over. When he drew his sword and spun around to face the oncoming threat, the Great Dragon was already landing in the clearing in front of them with a thud that shook the ground beneath their feet.

Lancelot blinked up in shock at the new arrival, too distracted to even reach for his weapon. Leon cursed under his breath, holding out his sword defensively like there was any chance it would be useful against the mighty beast.

The dragon—Kilgharrah, if Arthur remembered correctly—peered down at them with a calculating, golden gaze, then slowly drew his lips back over his razor-sharp teeth, jerking his head back like he'd smelled something particularly awful.

"King Arthur Pendragon. I have to say, I did not expect to find you here," Kilgharrah remarked, the words rumbling forth like thunder, full of ancient power.

Arthur flinched at being addressed, having forgotten that the dragon could speak. He steeled his nerves and his grip, holding out his sword in clear warning. The dragon eyed his movements with a derisive snort, whipping his tail to the side and sending a blast of air their direction, nearly unbalancing them.

"Please do not presume to attack me with those harmless sticks you call weapons," he boomed, half amused and half indignant. "It did not go well for you the last time, if you recall," he commented offhandedly. Arthur bristled at the reminder of the lives lost during the dragon's slaughter, and marched forward, ignoring Leon's attempt to keep him in place.

"I remember perfectly well how you decimated my city!" He shouted furiously. "You have a lot of nerve showing up anywhere near me!" He claimed, thrusting his sword into the dirt. It's not like it would help him in this situation.

Kilgharrah flashed his teeth with a hiss, lowering his head until it hovered directly in front of the king and blowing out hot air through his nostrils. Arthur stubbornly stood his ground, but couldn't help the trickle of fear that licked up his spine. Perhaps antagonizing the giant dragon wasn't the best course of action.

"I have a lot of nerve?" Kilgharrah exclaimed, his pupils narrowing to slits. "Your tyrannical father locks me up in chains for twenty years like I'm some animal, and you believe you have the moral high ground?"

Arthur ground his teeth together, clenching his fists. "You killed innocents," he snapped.

"Do not lecture me about innocent lives lost, Arthur Pendragon!" Kilgharrah retorted scathingly. Arthur sucked in a breath, wondering briefly if the dragon somehow knew of what he'd done to the Druids, and to so many other blameless magic-users.

Arthur's shoulders dropped, and he glanced over to gauge his knights' reactions. They were both staring between the Great Dragon and the king with awed expressions, though Leon still had his sword raised.

Arthur then let his gaze fall to his servant, and all the fight bled out of him. Merlin looked dead from a distance, and he itched to run over and feel his pulse again to make sure the man was still alive. Instead, he forced himself to face the dragon again, who was observing him with unconcealed curiosity.

"Tell me what happened, King Arthur," Kilgharrah implored, tone much more calm even as his tail continued to twitch with agitation.

Arthur frowned. "Do you know how to help him?" He questioned, hoping his desperation wasn't too obvious.

"It is why I am here," the Great Dragon replied solemnly, dipping his head.

Arthur wasn't about to pass up any assistance, even from the dragon that tried to destroy his home. "Morgause had us trapped in a cave and set it to collapse, and Merlin…" Arthur hesitated, shaking his head. "Merlin stopped time. He held it for as long as he could to think of a way out, and then he transported us miles away in the blink of an eye. It was…incredible," he summed up.

Kilgharrah's expression had turned stormy again during his explanation, and he exhaled roughly, digging his talons into the ground like a knife through butter.

"Morgause," he spit, sparks of flame actually exiting the corners of his mouth. "Merlin should've killed her long ago, as well as the witch," he stated bitterly.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "The witch?"

Kilgharrah ignored the question. "The young warlock possesses a power he does not yet understand. In wielding it so recklessly he has put himself and those around him in great danger," he claimed.

Surprisingly, it was Leon who spoke up next. "What do you mean? How does Merlin being ill put the rest of us in danger?" He asked in alarm, reluctantly lowering his sword.

"Merlin is no mere sorcerer. He is magic made flesh, and when the flesh dies, the magic will be set loose to ravage everything in its path," Kilgharrah answered ominously.

Arthur's eyebrows furrowed in bewilderment as he tried to decipher the dragon's words. "'Magic made flesh?'" He echoed. "What does that mean?"

Kilgharrah huffed impatiently. "Exactly as I said. Merlin is not just a creature of magic; he is magic. While a sorcerer or warlock must pull magic from their surroundings in order to cast a spell, Merlin's magic lives within him. It is his lifeblood and his spirit. To lose it would mean to lose himself. Without Merlin to hold back the tide of his power, the magic will run rampant and unchecked. No one could stop it."

Arthur, Lancelot, and Leon all exchanged disturbed glances as they attempted to come to grips with this startling truth. It had been shocking enough to learn Merlin was a sorcerer, then a warlock, then the legendary Emrys. Now there was a dragon telling them their closest friend contained within him the power to destroy entire kingdoms, possibly the world as a whole. How exactly were they supposed to feel about that?

Kilgharrah chuckled dryly at their gobsmacked expressions, seemingly at ease with the rather dire situation.

"As I said, I am here to help. Merlin's body is too weak to hold his magic, which is the mortal equivalent of bleeding out. I can patch the wound, so to speak, so that his magic remains within his body to help it heal, but there are no guarantees. Merlin can still die, and if he does, not even my magic will be strong enough to contain his," the dragon warned.

Arthur rubbed the bridge of his nose, mulling over that information. "What are his chances of getting out of this alive?" He asked.

Kilgharrah regarded him coolly for a moment, as if debating whether to answer or not.

"I'm afraid the outcome is in Merlin's hands, now," he replied unhelpfully, and Arthur suppressed an irritated eye roll. He was beginning to see why Merlin had such trouble when it came to Kilgharrah's cryptic responses.

The Great Dragon did not wait for permission before slinking over to the unconscious warlock, surprisingly graceful in his movements. Arthur blinked, disconcerted when Kilgharrah nudged Merlin's limp hand with his snout like a dog begging for affection. The show of vulnerability from such a large, fearsome creature was startling, even more so when the dragon complimented the action with a gentle rumble of his throat, not unlike a purr. Leon openly gaped, and Arthur couldn't blame him. Lancelot just smiled softly to himself.

Arthur nearly shouted in alarm when Kilgharrah opened his maw, but he quickly desisted when instead of fire, only a cloud of magical sparks rolled out of his mouth and spread over Merlin's prone form. The warlock didn't react whatsoever, which gave no indication whether Kilgharrah's magic had worked. However, when the dragon pulled away with a sorrowful yet satisfied expression, Arthur figured something had gone right. When Kilgharrah settled down beside Merlin, furling his wings closer to his body, Arthur guessed that he wasn't planning on going anywhere anytime soon.

Kilgharrah noticed his and Leon's unease. "I will stay to watch over the young warlock for the night. The three of you may rest. No harm will befall you," he promised. He sounded perfectly sincere, but Arthur doubted any of them would get any sleep while their friend's life hung in the balance.

Arthur sat down on his bedroll, encouraging the others to do the same. Leon did so reluctantly, but Lancelot chose to sit on Merlin's opposite side, unconcerned with being so close to the dragon. He grabbed the servant's hand, warming it between his palms absentmindedly. If Kilgharrah minded the knight's presence, he didn't show it.

"How did you know Merlin was in trouble?" Arthur wondered curiously.

Kilgharrah's eyes glowed eerily back at him, but they held no hint of threat, only the reflection of the fire. "He is my kin. I felt his distress through our bond." Arthur had thought the connection between a dragon and Dragonlord was similar to a king and his subject, but it was clear that Kilgharrah genuinely cared for the warlock. He could see now why Merlin hadn't had the heart to kill the Great Dragon, and he couldn't even really be upset about it.

"What about the other dragon?" He tilted his head in thought. "Aithusa, right? Didn't she feel it, too?"

Kilgharrah raised a scaly brow. "Merlin told you of Aithusa?" He exclaimed in shock.

Arthur frowned at his reaction. "Of course. Why wouldn't he?"

Kilgharrah hummed thoughtfully. "The bond between a Lord and his hatched is a precious thing. He would feel an urge to protect her like she was his own offspring, and she would protect him just as fiercely, if not more so," he explained.

Arthur figured that meant Merlin trusted him and his intentions, and he couldn't help the small smile that he tried to hide by ducking his head.

"I ordered Aithusa to keep her distance. She is young and does not yet fully comprehend the dangers of entering Camelot's borders. But rest assured, King Arthur, she will not listen to me forever. Her place is by Merlin's side, and she knows it," Kilgharrah cautioned, a hint of amusement in his tone.

Arthur blanched, trying to wrap his mind around the idea of having a dragon in Camelot. Even knowing Merlin could control it didn't put him more at ease, but he didn't say as much aloud, afraid of insulting the dragon lying only a few yards away from him.

"I'm going to repeal the ban on magic," he informed Kilgharrah, wanting him to know that neither Merlin nor Aithusa needed to fear him.

The Great Dragon simply nodded and gave a big, slow blink like a cat, completely unsurprised. "As it is written," he remarked.

Arthur rolled his eyes at the mention of the prophecy, as if that were the only reason he had to give magic-users their freedom. He decided to change the topic, not wanting to start an argument when he was already exhausted.

"Thank you for helping Merlin," he said sincerely, the words not as grating as he expected them to be. He'd never forgive Kilgharrah for the hundreds of lives he snuffed out during his rampage, but that didn't mean he couldn't be cordial. He was a king, after all. Diplomacy was in his blood.

Kilgharrah's chest rumbled in acknowledgement. "I will always come to Merlin's aid. Will you?" He challenged.

Arthur glanced over at the warlock, still and pale and fragile, then imagined him bright and joyful and lively again. There was no consideration needed.

"I will," he vowed, secretly etching the promise into his heart.