File:Riding kilgharrah by obsidianserpent.jpg

Each beat of the dragon's wings make them pulse upward. He doesn't have to look to know they are getting higher and higher, and further from the solid safety of the cave. "I don't want to. Wait. Stop!"

Merlin's back shakes against him. The sharp, cold wind rushes at Arthur's ears, and it takes a while to hear that Merlin is laughing at him.

Arthur can do nothing but hold on and shiver. They aren't dressed properly, and terror makes him tremble so hard his teeth clack together. When Merlin finally stops laughing, he shivers too. Arthur clings to him, hoping the heat of his body and Kilgharrah's will be enough to keep Merlin warm—and wondering why it concerns him so.

The dragon seems tireless, only resting every so often to soar in long, fast swoops that make Arthur's stomach go hollow. When the cold becomes so much that it numbs his fear, Arthur opens his eyes as best he can in the wind.

"The sun!" he yells, jostling Merlin. "Look!"

Merlin turns his head to look at the horizon in the distance, where the sky is ribboned in vivid blue and orange as bright as fire. A small, tired smile dimples his cheek and he nods and closes his eyes, as if it's perfectly natural to sleep against a dragon's neck while flying as high as the wispy grey clouds.

The sunrise is like nothing Arthur has ever seen, even from the highest towers at Tintagel. He rests his cheek against Merlin's back and forgets how frightened he was as a sliver of fire breaks along the jagged edge of the horizon and makes everything glow. The light chases away the stars and slowly gives depth and colour to the ground below him.

When the awe wears off, and Arthur can plainly see how high they are, he closes his eyes again and hopes, fervently, that they come upon Merlin's village soon. He doesn't care if every witch in the land lives there. He never wants to ride a dragon again.