Entry tags:

fic: merlin

Merlin fic: slán sábháilte
Title: slán sábháilte
Author: dotfic
Rating: PG-13, Arthur/Merlin
W/C: 6,400
Disclaimer: Property of the BBC.

a/n: Starts not long after 1x13, no major spoilers for any particular episode. Thank you to luzdeestrellas and pheebs1 for their superb beta-reading and Brit-picking skills and to smidirini and amchara for the help with the Irish (and to everyone who answered my post about language).

Summary: Arthur and Merlin keep saving each other. Eventually they may even admit it.





Well, this was just sodding stupid.

He was Arthur Pendragon, son of Uther Pendragon; he was future king of Camelot and he absolutely, positively was not lost in the forests of Glywysing. It was impossible, he being a brilliant tracker with a keen sense of direction. Nor was he some boil-brained git who would wander off alone because he'd heard strange voices calling to him through the trees and the swirl of white snow.

It hadn't been snowing when they'd broken camp that morning. In fact, the sun had been shining, and no one could say he'd been fool enough to lead his men into a fearsome blizzard.

Perhaps he should have listened to Morgana. Or to Merlin, who'd kept going on and on at him about Morgana's warning, saying maybe they should turn back, start off the next sunrise. Finally Arthur had snatched a cluster of pinecones off a tree as he rode past and thrown it at Merlin to shut him up. The twat had ducked and stuck out his tongue.

Merlin never acted the way a proper servant should.

The whistle of wind and swirl of snow pressed at him, and above the wind, a high, thin sound so beautiful it made his chest ache. Or maybe it was just the cold. He jerked his head again, and the wind swept away the voices--if they had ever really been there at all. They hadn't, of course. Arthur was not the sort to hear strange voices. He left that nonsense to Morgana.

Arthur shook his head hard, once, and paused to rest, his gloved hands finding the roughness of a tree trunk. It was strange how swiftly the snow had come upon them, blotting out the sun.

The lower half of his face felt numb with cold and his armor seemed to have doubled its weight as he pushed himself away from the tree and took a step onward.

Time seemed to grow as formless and elusive as steam curling up from his bathwater. In the blizzard it was impossible to tell the angle of the sun and his limbs ached.

Somehow, he found himself leaning against a boulder, the snow a sharp taste on his tongue, stinging his eyes. He clenched his jaw to still his chattering teeth.

He'd rest, only for a moment. Arthur was fairly certain he knew his way back to camp.

The voices...

Arthur ignored them. He'd only rest a moment.

With his back against the boulder, Arthur slid to the ground and drew up his knees as best he could in his armor. He clenched and unclenched his fists in his gloves, trying to work life into his numb fingers.

It was very, very cold.

Arthur had perhaps miscalculated.

Perhaps.

He leaned his forehead down against his knees, the chainmail gathered at his neck ice-cold where it touched his skin. He'd only rest for a moment, only a moment. Arthur closed his eyes and thought of a fire in the hearth in his room. The feel of his feather bed. Warmth began to sink through him, pulling him down.

Arthur! A familiar voice sounded sharply in his mind. Don't go to sleep, you idiot.

He began to stir awake and the return of the cold sucked the breath from his body. This wouldn't do at all; he had to get up and keep walking, too bad if his chest ached and every breath was like a dagger.

Arthur began to drift again, letting the warmth return as the high, thin voices grew in intensity with their singing. It was a comfort, like a lullaby his mother might have sung to him, had he known her.

Arthur! The irritating voice, edged with a note of desperation rather than annoyance now, cut through the singing. Stay awake. Stay awake. Stay awake.

"Stay awake," Arthur mumbled, then sensed a light against his closed eyelids.

He opened his eyes and saw a blue glow that retreated quickly to the corner of his vision.

Perhaps he'd imagined it--except it was there still, tinting the snow. A hallucination, brought on by the punishing cold.

Then there were new colors, red and yellow that flickered, cutting through the white. He heard shouts that the wind couldn't quite drown.

Hands gripped him, wool-covered fingers against his face, lifting his head. He felt warm breath against his cheeks.

"Arthur? Arthur!"

He saw Merlin's blue eyes staring at him, close, the torchlight growing brighter beyond him.

"Oh, hello, Merlin," he said, feeling very thick in the head. He realized that Merlin had his long arms around him, had drawn his woolen cloak about them both.

The torchlight was upon them, the heat bringing pain and life. Hands covered in leather gloves grabbed him--his knights, surrounding him and Merlin, pulling them both to their feet.

~ ~ ~

Merlin felt really sodding stupid.

On the opposite bank, Arthur sneered at him, upper lip curling. "What's wrong, Merlin?" He hopped onto the thick trunk that spanned the shallow ravine and jumped up and down. "You afraid of an old log?"

"Not the log," Merlin said, hitching the straps of his leather bag to settle it more comfortably on his back. Cups and plates clinked together. "A bit worried about the water, though."

At the bottom of the ravine ran a deep, swift-flowing creek. Merlin heard the water rushing in his ears mixed with birdsong, and far off, the deeper rush of a waterfall.

Arthur laughed, folded his arms, and hopped backwards off the trunk. The show-off. He wore no armor, and only a light jerkin over his shirt and breeches even though the spring day was chilly with the reminder of the winter just gone. A training day, Arthur had called it.

"Oh, come on." Turning back, Arthur tilted his head to one side and lifted his eyebrows, mocking. "You have to develop a sense of coordination sometime. It's easy."

"Yes, easy for you. You aren't carrying all our gear on your back," Merlin called back across the ravine.

Arthur sighed--a little too melodramatically, Merlin thought--and wandered over to a nearby rock. He plunked himself down on it with the air of someone who had suffered beyond human patience.

"Before I have grey hair?" Arthur waved his hand and leaned back. The sun filtered down through the new leaves and covered Arthur's shoulders and chest with golden-green patches.

"Right." Merlin turned his eyes down to the tree trunk, feeling self-conscious under Arthur's expectant, smug stare.

One foot in front of the other, like he'd seen Arthur do it. Merlin felt himself wobble slightly, but he managed to get to the middle of the log. He stopped to catch his breath.

Still reclined on the rock, his ankles crossed, Arthur clapped. It almost didn't sound sarcastic. "Off to a good start there. That was quite graceful."

Merlin felt a flush starting to warm the back of his neck. "Sod off," he muttered, then took another step, and another.

"What was that?" Arthur cupped a hand over his ear.

"Nothing, your highness," Merlin said. He took another step.

He slipped and fell so suddenly that his mind had only started to grope for the right magic phrase before he hit the water, icy cold with the fresh thaw. Merlin kicked for the surface, feeling the current pulling him too fast. His pack was heavy, holding him down. He wriggled his arms out of the straps and allowed their provisions and the herbs he'd gathered for Gaius to drift away.

As he broke the surface, Merlin sucked in a deep breath and struggled to put his feet down, but the creek was too deep there. In a dizzying moment, he realized how far below the log bridge the water had carried him. The waterfall noise was growing thunderous in his ears.

He spied a tree growing out of the ravine wall up ahead. His lips had started to form a phrase when he saw the blond head in the water nearby. Arthur swam with the strength and ease of a seal.

If he used his magic now, Arthur might see. He was an arm's length away.

The water closed over Merlin's head again. Surrounded by the murk, Merlin decided he had no choice, he'd have to--

Arthur's arm curled around him, hooking across his chest with a powerful grip. They broke the surface together. Up ahead, there was a place where the ravine lowered enough to form a narrow bank.

He could whisper a spell, Merlin thought, as Arthur pulled him towards the bank. Maybe Arthur wouldn't see his lips move, wouldn't connect that with the tree branch falling, or with the sudden odd buoyancy of the water, or the way the creek bed had grown shallow.

But they had reached the bank already. Arthur pulled and shoved him onto the gritty, pebbled sand and they collapsed, gasping for breath, limbs tangled. Arthur left his head resting against Merlin's chest a moment as they shivered.

Arthur rolled away, spat out creek water. "You idiot," he shouted, or would have shouted if he hadn't been so out of breath. He got to his feet and shook himself like a large dog, sending droplets of water out in every direction.

Merlin lay on his back, looking up towards the blue spring sky through the trees at the top of the ravine. He'd never get the sound of water from his ears, and he felt dizzy like he was still swept along in the current.

Reaching down, Arthur grasped his lower arm, and helped him to his feet.

~ ~ ~

Arthur had learned long ago not to allow the harshness or gentling of his father's gaze to shake him. Still, he'd never quite been able to avoid the twist of dread in his stomach when the king looked like that, and Arthur swallowed, curling his hand into a fist. This wasn't going nearly as smoothly as Arthur had expected it would.

It had been Merlin's idea to say that he'd forgotten to convey the message to the king that Arthur had gone hunting. At least Arthur was fairly sure it had been Merlin's idea. The prank on the particularly obnoxious lordling of a neighboring kingdom had gone off well (except for a few complications, which is why they'd needed Merlin along). It wouldn't do for King Uther to find out that Arthur, Sir Tristan, or Sir Kay had been involved. Or Merlin, for that matter.

"This is simply unacceptable." King Uther gripped the arms of his throne chair, his stare growing cold as pebbles.

"Of course, sire." Inclining his head, Arthur shot an apologetic glance at Merlin, who tightened his lips and nodded to show his understanding. He coughed and shifted in place.

"And I have had firm words with Merlin already," Arthur continued. "I can assure you it won't happen again."

"Which is what you said the last six times." The king was on his feet, hands clasped behind his back. He stepped towards them and stopped. Arthur sensed the restrained power; he wondered if he'd ever carry that kind of presence himself. "The one he serves, the duties he often performs in that capacity, are simply too important. I have been too lenient. You seem..." The king waved his arm dismissively, "...to think highly of the boy and he has shown character and courage from time to time, so I will not be so cruel as to remove him. But he must learn to be more responsible."

"I understand, your highness," Merlin said, a small crack in his voice.

It was all Arthur could do not to stamp down hard on the toes of his boot with his heel. He gave Merlin another look, teeth clenched, willing him to stay silent.

"Good," said Uther. "I think the stocks won't do this time."

Arthur felt a chill prickle down the back of his neck while Merlin's head went up sharply.

"You will report immediately to the dungeon to be flogged. Fifteen lashes," said the king. "Be grateful I am so lenient."

Merlin had gone pale, swallowing several times. But he kept his back straight and looked right at the king. "Y-yes, sire," he said, in a voice that he seemed to have borrowed from someone else.

"No," Arthur said.

"Arthur, it's all right," Merlin said.

The stupid git would of course take it and then cover up the wincing afterwards, Arthur thought, with a flash of--well, it wasn't rage exactly, but very close.

"No. Father, it was my doing. I put him up to this. He's covering for me--"

"Arthur, enough!" Uther's voice rose, his tone reminding Arthur that the man commanded armies. "I will not have you making excuses for this servant. Now both of you, out of my sight."

"Father--" Arthur stayed as Merlin turned and started for the door. "Merlin, stop." Merlin hesitated. He looked more unhappy than Arthur had seen him look in months. "And stop looking like someone kicked your puppy," Arthur snapped.

"This discussion is over," the king said and turned his back on Arthur.

That was that.

Behind him Arthur heard Merlin's footsteps, then the door to the throne room banging shut. He bit his tongue so he wouldn't start to plead with his father.

He remained in the room for a few moments, watching his father's implacable back until the king finally turned and settled back down onto his throne. He picked up the scroll he had been reading when he'd first summoned Arthur and Merlin.

It was like Arthur wasn't even in the room.

Bowing, Arthur took his leave without words. Only the smallest movement of the king's head acknowledged his departure.

It was cooler in the hall outside the throne room, the fresher air a blessing in his lungs. Arthur quickly made his way down through the castle and to the dungeons where he found Merlin dutifully untying the laces of his shirt, standing before the dungeon guard, who reached for the flogger hanging on the wall.

"There is to be no flogging," Arthur said.

The startled guard frowned. "At whose orders, sir?"

"The king's." Arthur put authority into his voice, trying to do it the way his father would.

Merlin's mouth was hanging open; he looked ridiculous, like a fish.

"Let's go, Merlin," Arthur said.

Lacing his shirt back up, Merlin scrambled after Arthur as they climbed the steps out of the dungeon. "But Arthur," he said as they stepped out into the hot summer day. "Your father. Did he really?"

"Don't worry about it." Arthur strode ahead more quickly, heard Merlin's steps come to a halt behind him on the flagstones.

"You lied to the guard? Arthur, that's...what's your father going to say if he finds out?"

"I no longer care what my father will say," Arthur said, without slowing his steps. Then he stopped and jabbed his finger against Merlin's chest. They were close enough he could feel the heat radiating off Merlin's body; the coarse fabric of the shirt felt slightly damp. "And he won't find out."

"Well, I certainly won't tell him. I just don't..." Merlin bit his lower lip. "Why?"

"What do you mean, why?" His hand was still resting against Merlin's chest because he hadn't realized he'd left it there. Arthur pulled his hand away

"Nothing," Merlin muttered.

"Did you actually think I'd allow you to be flogged?"

"Um...No?"

In Arthur's opinion, Merlin sounded far too uncertain. He resisted the urge to grip Merlin by the shoulders and shake him vigorously.

"Well, I wouldn't." Arthur turned and walked off, calling back over his shoulder, "Don't expect me to stick my neck out for you like this all the time."

~ ~ ~

Seething with frustration that he couldn't do more all at once, Merlin raised his hand again to put out another row of flames. The longer this took, the more crops were lost. He should douse all of it and be done with it, whatever the consequences.

A week of dry summer storms, where the bright snap of lightning lit the sky every night and there was very little rain, had brought fire. The people of Camelot, knights, farmers, and household servants, were all in the fields, beating at the flames with wet cloth. Merlin heard Gwen's shouts as she and Morgana organized a bucket line from the stream, their faces shining with sweat.

Merlin held out his hand. Múch, he tried, but that wasn't right. Téigh ó sholas, he murmured under his breath instead, and another row of flames died, leaving smoke rising into the oppressive air.

"Merlin!" Fingers clenched around his arm. He turned to see Gaius, face weirdly shadowed in the flickering light.

At first he thought it was a warning not to use his powers too obviously.

Then he saw where Gaius pointed, saw Arthur forging ahead as he beat at the flames, a broad-shouldered silhouette against the fire. Everyone else was being sensible and staying close together, waiting for the water before advancing. Arthur was alone where the fire was fiercest, facing it down as if it were a dragon come to attack his home and his people. The flames would have him soon.

"That idiot!" Merlin broke into a run, barely hearing whatever it was Gaius called after him.

He would've tried to spell-cast from his place in the shadows beneath the trees, but he wasn't sure he had the range to reach the flames near Arthur. Merlin started across the burning field, the heat of the flames too close and too bright. Dall, he whispered, which dimmed the fire and eased the heat to make it a little more bearable.

When he was closer to Arthur, he put out his hand again, murmured the words that had worked before, and got the inflection wrong. The flames drew around Arthur, cutting him off, and maybe Merlin really was utterly useless.

Instead of making a run for it, Arthur started to stamp on the flames as well as beat at them with his dampened cloak.

Merlin took a breath to calm himself. Téigh ó sholas, he murmured, with more force this time--and this time, it worked. The flames surrounding Arthur went out, leaving the dried, blackened stalks.

Arthur turned and looked at Merlin.

He'd heard; he'd seen Merlin lower his hand. Arthur stared, eyes wide with shock, his face streaked with ashes and sweat. The sound of shouts, the hiss of doused flames, and the press of heat seemed to fade. When Arthur very deliberately turned his back on Merlin and strode off, Merlin felt like all the air had gone out of the world.

~ ~ ~

It was a month before Arthur spoke to Merlin again, but he kept his promise not to tell King Uther.

~ ~ ~

It was only after King Uther fell ill that Arthur broke the silence between them.

"The Saxons are wearing away at us," Arthur said, his voice scratchy. It sounded older than Merlin remembered it the last time Arthur had directly addressed him, at dawn after the fire in the fields, when Arthur had sworn to keep the secret, then told Merlin to get out of his sight. "Two more of my knights are dead."

The flat, authoritative tone of Arthur's voice only thinly covered the lost, hollowed-out note beneath. Merlin looked at Arthur's face carefully, saw the dark shadows under his eyes. Still in his armor, Arthur moved stiffly. He put his palm flat against the wall of his chamber. Merlin went to remove his vambraces, but Arthur roughly shook off his touch.

"They have a sorcerer. We can't get near him." Arthur pushed himself away from the wall and sank into a chair, shoulders slumping. Then he looked up at Merlin, his face gone young again, stark and pleading. "I need your help."

"Of course," Merlin said immediately, barely able to get his own voice above a whisper.

It was terrifying to see Arthur like this. Merlin swallowed hard, fingers twitching. He gathered up all his courage, put his hands on Arthur's arm. When Arthur didn't pull away, he unbuckled the breastplate, removed the vambraces, and started tugging off the hauberk.

He found a long, shallow wound, still faintly bleeding under the cloth, along Arthur's back, and a mottling of bruises on his shoulder. Beneath his touch Arthur's skin felt feverish, too warm as Merlin worked, cleaning the wound and putting a wet, cold cloth over the bruises. He wished Arthur would grumble about clumsy servants or insist on doing it himself the way he sometimes did, snatching the cloth irritably from Merlin's hand, instead of wearing this air of defeated exhaustion.

Merlin let his fingers linger too long at Arthur's shoulder, allowed himself to smooth back the yellow hair that had fallen into his eyes. Arthur leaned forward to rest his forehead against Merlin's chest. Merlin felt the tension go out of him as he leaned his whole weight against Merlin.

He wrapped his arms around Arthur and held on.

~ ~ ~

The battle unfolded just after dawn, mist still rising from the field. It felt surreal--Merlin remembered it afterward in disjointed snatches of memory.

Had he been able to do magic openly, Merlin could've done a lot better. As it was he felt hobbled and clumsy. But what Arthur could accept, his knights might not. Merlin did what he could, turning the Saxons' blades at the last minute before they could land a blow, throwing off their balance, creating wind to stir up dirt and leaves to confuse their senses. The Saxon sorcerer did the same, which added to the confusion.

Merlin caught a glimpse through the mist of Arthur on horseback, face twisted in a battle yell and streaked with blood that might or might not have been his own.

Camelot was winning, driving the Saxons back.

His armor was really quite heavy; he didn't remember it being this bad sparring with Arthur. Merlin concentrated on working magic without anyone noticing, and on wearing his armor and not falling off his horse. He was no warrior. So really, he couldn't be faulted for not noticing the Saxon bearing down upon him from behind.

Brilliant. Just brilliant--his first battle and of course he bollocksed it. Merlin felt the impact, felt himself falling, and thudded to the ground. He blinked and gasped for breath, the flash of a sword raised above him.

He put out his hand. Lig amach do ghreim, Merlin muttered, and the Saxon's hand opened, causing the sword to fall from his grasp. Merlin rolled and scrambled away, only to find the sorcerer standing in his path. He looked up, met the man's hard stare that seemed to go through him--he knew. The man pointed at him.

Merlin felt his chest tightening. He coughed, struggling for breath as his vision started to darken around the edges.

The man jerked in place and the weight lifted from Merlin's chest. He breathed in deep, his vision clearing as the sorcerer sank to his knees, blood dripping from his mouth, eyes gone vacant.

Above him, Merlin saw Arthur's sword sweep to the top of its arc before Arthur turned his horse's head and plunged back towards the battle.

Ardaítear an gaoth! Merlin called the wind, no mistakes now, and cleared a path for him.

~ ~ ~

The king was feeling better, and the celebrations of Harvest Home were under way when the stranger arrived in Camelot, Sir Somebody-or-other from the far North. In Arthur's opinion, the stranger was far too thin and pale and tall. He had dark hair that curled down over his shoulders and dark eyes. Really, Arthur didn't see why everyone should make such a fuss over him, not when they had Arthur around.

"Jealous?" Morgana said, with an arch to her eyebrows as they stood watching the dancers in the great hall.

"Hardly," Arthur said, and let out a snort.

Even the knights liked him, gathered around along with the women as he wove stories of sea monsters and ships and lost loves.

Arthur spied Merlin in among the knights, holding a tray with a pitcher on it, listening when he should be keeping Arthur's goblet filled. His ears seemed to stick out more than usual as if he were straining to hear with his whole being, his eyes bright. Idiot. As if he hadn't had enough adventure in Camelot.

When he asked Gwen about the man, she frowned, a crease forming between her eyes. "He seems very nice..." she began.

"What?" Arthur prompted.

"There's something odd about him." She shook her head.

"Odd?" Arthur folded his arms and tried not to look at all interested as Sir Much-too-pale danced with Morgana. She had her head tilted back to look up into his face and seemed to have lost much of her reserved wit--she laughed at every other sentence out of the man's mouth. Arthur wondered if she'd taken leave of her senses.

"Oh, I don't know. Just. Odd." Gwen twitched her shoulders.

Later, he saw the stranger talking with Merlin, alone over by the wall, and Merlin listened with the same rapt attention Morgana had offered. If there was something odd about the man, as Gwen had said, Arthur would've thought that Merlin with his magic might have noticed, and stayed away.

Arthur didn't like the way the stranger leaned, his palm against the wall with his arm inches above Merlin's shoulder. It was--he didn't know what word he wanted and it was ridiculous that he should be spending all this effort thinking about it. He couldn't care a fig about how Sir Much-too-pale sat or stood or talked.

Possessive. It looked possessive.

That night, Arthur dreamt he was still in the great hall among the celebrations and the brightly clad nobility, jostled by dancers. There were too many people; they were wedged into every available space and he kept thinking he saw Merlin just a few steps ahead of him, or off to the side, but every time he turned, it was someone else instead.

Then he did find Merlin, only they were in the woods, the pillars turned into trees. Merlin's eyes flared to their golden color as he looked at Arthur, giving him that ancient and unfamiliar look, but Arthur didn't find it at all frightening.

Come back, Arthur said, only it was one of those dreams where he struggled to make a sound and couldn't. But Merlin must have heard him because his eyes went to blue again and he turned, smiling at Arthur like Arthur'd just told him the funniest thing.

Some sort of bird made a knocking sound off in the trees. The knocking grew louder.

Arthur started awake, found he was sweating in his own bed in the darkness and someone was knocking on his door.

He pulled on a robe and opened the door to find Gwen in her night clothes, her hand steady as she held a torch but her voice with a waver in it.

"Morgana had a nightmare," she said. "A bad one." Gwen paused to draw in a breath. "It was about Merlin. She said--she said he was under the ocean, he was changed. She said to tell you immediately, she insisted."

The sweat on the back of his neck went cold. He didn't particularly want to think about how Morgana knew things. He'd learned that it might be for the best to listen to her and her nightmares.

He sent Gwen to see if the stranger was in his chambers, while he raced up to Gaius's quarters. There was no need to knock; Gaius seldom kept his chambers locked, in case of emergency, and Arthur ran past the sleeping physician up the steps to Merlin's door.

Arthur opened it and saw the bed empty just as Gaius started to stir out in the main room, mumbling to himself in confusion.

Then Gwen ran in, her hair looking more disheveled than it had before her run through the castle. Arthur came down the steps.

"He's not there." Her eyes went past Arthur and spied the empty bed. "Merlin?"

"Also gone," Arthur said, and kicked at a chair.

Gaius was now fully awake. "Will you two tell me what is going on?" He snapped. "Where is Merlin?" Gaius went over to the steps, looked inside, and froze. He turned, looking older than Arthur had ever seen him.

After Gaius made Gwen repeat every word Morgana had said about her dream, he paced back and forth for several minutes. Arthur felt like his head wasn't quite attached to his body and wondered why he felt so panicked. After all, if his manservant decided to run off with a lordling from the North, what was that to him?

"Under the sea," Gaius muttered. "And you say everyone was unusually taken with him?" His eyes fixed on Arthur, sharp and almost as full of command for a moment as his father's.

"Quite," Arthur said irritably.

"Yes," said Gwen. "Not everyone...everyone. But most people."

"But he seemed particularly interested in Morgana and Merlin, and they in him?"

Gwen nodded.

Gaius muttered a few more things to himself, then got down a massive dusty tome from his shelves and paged through it quickly. He let out a sigh. "Oh dear. Oh dear."

"What?" Arthur hurried over to look over the old man's shoulder, while Gwen crowded in on the other side.

Amid the text, Arthur made out the illustration of a dark, sinuous body with fins and large dark eyes.

"I believe our guest," Gaius said, tapping the page with his finger, "is a selkie. And Merlin..."

Arthur wanted to slay something but there was nothing convenient he could get his hands on just then, so he instead imagined his fingers throttling the stranger's slender, pale throat.

"Gwen, tell me again about the location Morgana saw in her dream," Gaius said.

"Morgana thinks they were on the Severn--she said she could see the stone bridge, or thought she could."

"I know where that is," said Arthur.

"I should return to milady." Gwen grasped Arthur's hand, her fingers strong. "You bring him back," she said, her voice taut.

He squeezed her hand back, once, and let go. "I promise."

~ ~ ~

Arthur followed the river, riding hard. The waning harvest moon left a thread of silver on the water, a pointing arrow. His charger galloped past the bridge, Arthur barely feeling it as stinging drops of mud splattered up to hit his face.

There, beyond the bridge where the river widened. He smelled the salt of the sea now, even though it was still many miles off. They were on a rocky beach, two skinny shapes, one taller than the other. Arthur felt a rush of relief, grateful that he'd been on the same side of the river.

He pulled his horse up to consider his best approach, drawing his sword slowly so as to make no sound. The selkie reached out to touch Merlin, cupping his hand on the side of Merlin's face while Merlin leaned in.

Merlin took a step into the water. The selkie's hand never left him.

Arthur kicked his horse forward. The selkie looked up at the sound of hoofbeats; Merlin's gaze stayed out towards the broadness of the river. The selkie didn't cry out or show any surprise or even resist when Arthur leapt from his horse, tackling him; he had the edge of his sword to the man's throat in a heartbeat.

The selkie smiled up at him, his eyes bright in the moonlit darkness.

For a moment, Arthur felt oddly lightheaded, warmth filling him, and he thought about what it would be like to strip down and swim out with this stranger into the thread of silver.

He twitched his shoulders, shook his head once, and pressed the blade more firmly against the pale skin.

"Go ahead, then. Kill me," said the selkie. "That won't break the thrall." When Arthur frowned, the selkie's eyes moved towards the water. "Look at him. He is already mine."

Merlin was in the river up to his waist.

"Merlin!" Arthur shouted, but Merlin didn't turn, didn't so much as twitch. Only took another step into the water.

"I've put the wanting in him. He will go all the same if you kill me. Without me, he'll drown. Look at him, so bright with magic." The selkie licked his lips.

Drawing back the sword, Arthur watched as Merlin waded out. He didn't see any magic. He just saw Merlin getting his clothes soaking wet. "Release him."

The selkie laughed. "That's not for me to accomplish."

"What?" Arthur kept his knee digging into the selkie's chest, turned and shouted, "Merlin, stop!"

But Merlin ignored him, taking another step out into the water. That idiot had never followed orders like a proper manservant should, never.

Merlin's fingers trailed along the surface of the water now, head tilted back to look up at the sky, and for a moment, Arthur seemed unable to catch his breath.

"How can he be released?" Arthur said when he could speak. He pressed the edge of the blade back against the selkie's throat, twisted his fingers in the man's shirt.

"That must be your doing. I believed his heart to be loose in the wind, belonging to no one." The selkie reached up and trailed his fingers down the side of Arthur's face; Arthur wondered why he didn't pull away. "If his heart belongs to you, you must say so, and then I cannot have him."

There was the sound of water lapping on the shore, the faint sloshing noises as Merlin moved farther out into the current, the flap of wings somewhere in the trees behind them.

"Yes," Arthur said, and lowered his sword. "His heart belongs to me."

"That's disappointing." The selkie let out a sigh, breath warm on Arthur's face.

The selkie blinked. Merlin stopped walking into the water. His body twitched. He clutched his head as if suffering from a hang-over before he turned around, mouth open with confusion.

The selkie was out of Arthur's grasp before he could drive the sword blade into that throat. Arthur found himself sprawled on the stones as the dark-haired figure raced for the water. It was perhaps a trick of the moonlight when his form seemed to shift, growing smaller, longer and darker. He slid into the water with a wriggling grace and flash of dark eyes.

Good riddance.

Out in the water, Merlin started to stagger towards the shore. "Arthur?" Merlin tripped and fell face-first into the water.

Throwing down his sword, Arthur waded out to him, the water hindering his speed. "You boil-brained idiot!" Arthur shouted, grabbing Merlin's shoulders, pulling him up.

"What are you doing here?" Merlin asked. He scrubbed his damp palm over his face, as if he had just woken up after a peaceful sleep in his own bed. The way he looked at Arthur after that, though, was alert enough.

Arthur avoided his gaze and let go of Merlin. When Merlin staggered, almost falling into the water again, Arthur grabbed him, hooked his arm across Arthur's shoulders, helping him to shore. As soon as they got above the tide-line, they slumped to the ground. Arthur saw the gleam of his sword blade lying a few paces off, but he left it where it was just then, feeling Merlin's body shivering against him.

"Here. We need to warm you up before we start back to Camelot."

As he got to his feet, he noticed Merlin staring. Arthur concentrated on gathering dry twigs. He put them in a little pile next to Merlin, who sat with his knees drawn up to his chin, his jaw clenched to hide his teeth chattering. Arthur found his horse waiting obediently not far down the shore and retrieved his saddlebag.

Sitting down next to Merlin and the pile of kindling, Arthur rummaged through the bag, then tossed it aside. "Bugger," he said. "I forgot the flint." He suddenly felt shamed and awkward and embarrassed, and began to fiddle with the pile of twigs, rearranging them.

"It doesn't matter," Merlin said, and his hand closed over Arthur's, stilling it. His fingers were cold.

Looking up, Arthur saw the wry, lopsided smile on Merlin's face, right before Merlin looked down at the pile of twigs and spoke sibilant words in that strange language he sometimes used, his eyes flaring dark gold. A curl of flame rose up and caught, devouring the twigs as a thin wisp of smoke rose into the cool autumn air.

Merlin let go of Arthur's hand. They sat side by side, watching the flames as Merlin's hair and clothes began to dry. Gradually, his body stopped shuddering.

A wind picked up, stirring the water, rustling through the grasses.

"Did you mean that?" Merlin said after a very long time.

"Mean what?" Arthur said, knowing exactly what that was.

"You can't lie to a selkie. He'd know if you were lying and he wouldn't have let me go. So you must have, I mean because you. If he. You said--" Merlin's voice abruptly cut off and he poked a stick into the dying fire, a determined frown on his face. A trail of sparks rose towards the sky.

A moment later, Merlin turned, and Arthur felt Merlin's long fingers brushing his chin before Merlin's mouth was warm over his own. Merlin pulled away but Arthur didn't let him. He took Merlin's head between his hands, fingers digging into his hair as he pulled Merlin back towards him and kissed him hard.

Merlin made a small noise deep in his throat, or maybe Arthur did, and everything was just tongues and teeth for a little while, and then Merlin was tugging at Arthur's shirt, his fingers warm now as they slid over Arthur's skin.

"Well, someone had to save you," Arthur murmured. He felt safer and more certain of himself than he had for a long while. "It might as well be me."

~end