Once the two men had made it out of the castle, they realized that they had no provisions, no maps, and no idea of where they were.

     Merlin looked up to the tops of the enormous trees surrounding them. "Does anything look familiar to you?"

     "No. I think I would have remebered a huge, ominous fortress in the middle of the woods."

     The warlock crossed his arms to cover his torso as best as he could. "What time of the year is it?"

     Arthur tilted his head. "Autumn; October."

     "Maybe I could start a fire?" Merlin inquired, his arms still crossed.

     "No, we should start moving. We've got to find people, eventually."

     The servant looked at the sky, where the sun was just beginning to rise. "I could, um -- if it's okay with you -- I could use my magic to find the nearest village."

     "Okay."

     Merlin looked at Arthur in shock. "Really?"

     The king nodded blankly. "I'm not happy about this, but the chances of survival are better if we know where we are going."

     The warlock blinked. "Right." His eyes went golden, and he stared straight ahead.

     Arthur stared at the warlock. "What are you doing?" He waved his hand in front of the boy's face, but Merlin didn't react.

     The boy's eyes faded back to their normal, vibrant blue. "There's a village about a day's walk north from here. It's the closest I could find."

     "How-? Never mind." Arthur clenched his jaw. "I guess we had better start walking."

     "Or," Merlin began tentatively, "we could fly."

     "You can fly?" Arthur felt lightheaded.

     "No! Not at all. I know a dragon."

     The king regarded Merlin cautiously. "Merlin, we killed the last dragon, remember?"

     The warlock looked at the ground. "Yes, I remember. You don't though."

     "You said that the dragon knocked me on my head after I stabbed it."

     "You didn't stab him."

     "You lied to me about this, too?" Arthur shook his head. "God, Merlin, what truths have you told me?"

     "Arthur-" The warlock looked at the king's face, begging him to return his gaze.

     "If he isn't dead, then how are we alive?"

     "I told him to leave," Merlin said sheepishly.

     "And he left?"

     "Yes."

     "Why would he listen to you."

     "Arthur-"

     "Merlin."

     "I'm a dragonlord."

     The king closed his eyes. "This is ridiculous." He paused. "What else have you lied about?"

     Merlin met Arthur's eyes with contriteness. "Enough."

     The king broke his gaze. "Call your dragon. We both need rest."

     The warlock began chanting in a language that only he understood. "O drakon, e male so ftengometta tesd'hup'anankes!"

     Arthur had no clue what Merlin was doing, but, apparently, it worked. After a minute or so, Arthur heard a steady beating of wings, that seemed to grow louder by the second.

     The Great Dragon landed next to the castle, his wingspan brushing both the trees and the towers of the castle. "Hello, Merlin. Young Pendragon." Kilgharrah nodded to acknowledge Arthur's presence. "How can I assist you?"

     "Could you give us a ride to the nearest village? The one to the North."

     "Of course, young warlock." The dragon lowered himself to the ground, allowing Arthur and Merlin to climb onto his back.

     Merlin was extremely thankful; it is a great honor for a dragon to willingly allow one to ride it.

     Kilgharrah took off, leaving the ground far behind them.

     Arthur felt the wind in his hair. He had to hold on to Merlin's torso in order to remain on the dragon.

     Kilgharrah dropped the pair off about a kilometer from the town: Aldea.

     Aldea was bordered by evergreens, creating a greenish hue around the buildings.

     The men walked into Aldea's inn, and asked for one room with two beds. Their appearances warranted some stares.

     They walked to their room, and upon entering it, Merlin collapsed on the nearest bed to the door. It had probably been a while since he had been anywhere near furniture. The warlock was asleep within a few seconds.

     Arthur looked at Merlin. In the excitement of everything, Arthur had failed to notice how horrible Merlin looked. He was so thin, the king could almost see every bone in his body. He was covered in cuts, bruises, and burns. Some of them were recent, but most of them were older; they were probably caused by magical battles Merlin got into when he was supposed to be doing his chores.

     Merlin was magic. Wasn't magic evil? Arthur's father had said that it was. His father had said many things. Did Merlin really think Arthur would have hurt him? These questions swirled in Arthur's head, as he lied down on the scratchy bed, in a village in the middle of nowhere.

     The king awoke before Merlin. He decided to go to the town pub to get a drink.

     Arthur had just grasped the handle of the door, when the unconscious Merlin inhaled sharply.

     The king doubled back, staring at Merlin.

     The boy was calm and still.

     Brushing it off, Arthur walked back to the door. As soon as Arthur's hand touched the handle, the warlock shifted jerkily, as if he was having a seizure.

     Arthur quickly removed himself from the door, but, this time, the servant didn't stop. He was frantically shaking, now, muttering in his sleep.

     The king rushed to Merlin's bed, trying to wake him up. "Merlin!"

     Merlin's muttering grew louder, turning into screams. "No!" He pleaded. "Not again!"

     Arthur was panicking. "Merlin!" He cried. "Merlin, wake up!"

     It was of no use. Merlin kept thrashing around, and screaming, only growing louder. "Please," he cried, "No. No!"

     With Merlin's last scream, a great surge of force erupted from the boy, causing the very earth to shake, as if with fear.

     Arthur flew back with great acceleration, but, luckily, he landed on his bed.

     Merlin was now conscious and was trying to get up, but he was entangled in the bedsheet. He fell face down in the floor, squirming like a newborn kitten.

     Suddenly, the innkeeper who had checked the men in, burst in to the room. "Burglary!" He shouted, brandishing a raw chicken leg in his hands. "Daylight robbery! Noontime thieves in my inn!"

     It was quite a sight to see; the large, bald man, wearing an apron, holding raw chicken in hand. Once he saw Merlin, rolled-up on the ground, and Arthur, sprawled on the bed, and slightly dazed, he grew extremely confused. "Where- where are the burglars?"

     Arthur sat up and grimaced. "There are no burglars."

     "Oh," the Innkeeper said, rather quietly. "I'm so sorry for bothering you, sires. But," he continued, as Merlin untangled himself from the sheet, and Arthur tried to help. "If I may, what were those noises?"

     The warlock looked down. "I had a bad dream," he said. "And I fell out of the bed. I'm sorry for alarming you."

     The innkeeper looked at Merlin, who was very pale. "No, no," the man gave a hearty laugh. "I'm the one who came at you two with poultry. I don't have any weapons, and we were just preparing the chicken for lunch." The innkeeper looked over Merlin, frowning, slightly. "Speaking of lunch, would you like to join us?"

     The young men were flustered.

     "Oh, no," Merlin began, "we really couldn't-"

     The innkeeper smiled, kindly. "Please, I insist."

     As Merlin was starting to, once again, protest the offer, Arthur grabbed his shoulder tightly. Merlin flinched, and Arthur immediately realized his mistake. He had touched a long, open cut on the boy's back.

     "We will be glad to take your offer," Arthur said to the large man, "but first, my friend has some wounds that need to be taken care of. Is there a physician in this town?"

     The man looked concerned. "Sadly, no," he said, "but, my wife is excellent at treating wounds. Maybe she could help?"

     Arthur nodded and smiled. "That would be great," he said, "thank you. Does there happen to be a taylor?"

     "Yep, right down the street." The innkeeper smiled, then left them to do some of his chores before the meal.

     "Once his wife has taken care of you, we'll go to the taylor and get you a shirt," Arthur declared.

     "Arthur," said Merlin. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for that to happen. Are you hurt? I'm sorry."

     "I'm fine." The king hesitated. "What was that?"

     "I had a bad dream."

     Arthur looked at the ceiling. Merlin had done that all on accident. How could he be evil for having a nightmare?