Merlin; Arthur/Merlin
20 November 2008 03:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wrennetteTitle: Home
Fandom: Merlin (BBC)
Pairing: Arthur x Merlin
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: The characters belong to the BBC, not the author. The author makes no profit.
Summary: Arthur is still suffering from his battle with the Erl-King, and Merlin must find a way to cure him.
Notes: Sequel to Red Skies. Title taken from the poem Requiem by Robert Lewis Stevenson. Mythology adapted from the Fisher King and Irish legends.
Arthur woke with a shout dying on his lips, a cry of terror that would never carry into the world. His arm tingled painfully, and he rubbed absently at his hand and fingers. Since his return to Camelot, he had maintained a facade of normalcy, but he knew it couldn't possibly last much longer. He was exhausted, unable to rest properly because of the terrifying nightmares that he could never quite remember. There were flashes, little snippets of time he is able to hold onto. His mother's face, the solid presence of the Sun King, Merlin smiling at him, the soft warmth of the cat curled against his stomach. But he still could not remember the fight itself, although the general impression of his wanderings in the Between had filtered back to him.
His distress must have made more noise than he thought though, because Merlin was there, gently urging him to lay back down, smoothing his hair from his face. With the fire behind him, casting golden light over him, Arthur couldn't help but see his mother's face superimposed over Merlin's. The hallucination lasted only a moment though, because Merlin's hands, while slender and delicate, were also roughened by work and far larger than a woman's. They were warm, capable hands, and Arthur was soon calmed by them. "Bad dreams again?" Merlin asked softly, and Arthur nodded sleepily, wanting badly to rest but not trusting himself.
"Perhaps I will stay with you," Merlin mused softly, and Arthur knew that the first few nights after they returned, Merlin had not left his side, had sat in the chair by his bed. Those nights had been the closest Arthur had gotten to proper rest since his return. So he didn't fight it. He just lay back, and Merlin slid onto the bed beside him, leaning against the carved headboard and threaded his fingers into Arthur's sweat darkened hair. "Rest," Merlin said gently. "I will not let him take you again." Arthur could not resist the command, didn't really want to. His eyes were so heavy, and so he let them fall closed, leaning slightly into Merlin's caress as he dozed off.
Arthur had been too tired for too long for a few hours of dreamless sleep to make much difference. But Merlin sat with him through the following nights as well, and when Merlin sat at the head of the bed, the cat curled in his lap, Arthur was not troubled by dreams. Slowly, between the nights of proper rest and getting enough to eat, Arthur regained his strength and the weight he had dropped during his ordeal. Sometimes, when he half woke at night, he heard Merlin singing softly, solemn tunes in ancient tongues that Arthur did not know or understand. But the sound of Merlin's voice soothed the half formed terrors from his mind, and he dropped back to sleep quickly, dreaming of wide sunlit meadows and dappled glades, rushing brooks and the cheerful calling of songbirds in spring.
Even as he otherwise returned to health though, Arthur's arm refused to gain strength. The muscle melted away, until he could not lift his sword at all. Gaius tried every remedy he knew, and at night, while Arthur slept, Merlin would try spells from the book. Nothing worked though. The skin dried until it was like old leather, and Arthur took to wearing a long sleeve and heavy gauntlet over the useless arm. Pain thrummed through the limb at strange times, stronger at night and the new moon. Over time, Arthur was able to distinguish between different sorts of pangs in his arm. There was one that meant it would rain, another that meant it would storm. There was one pang that forewarned of nightmares that even Merlin couldn't keep at bay.
As Arthur's arm withered, he withdrew from the public eye. Parts of it couldn't really be help. With no arm strength, there was no way for him to practice and train with his Knights. There was no patrolling, no competing in tournaments. But it was more than that. People looked at Arthur strangely when he went down into the city. Women and children shied from him, fear in their eyes. He grew to hate the fearful stares, the wave of hushed whispers that followed in his wake. So he withdrew to the castle. Even there though, he was not free from scrutiny. It seemed, after a time, that Merlin, Morgana and Gaius were the only ones who treated him the same as before his abduction. Even his own father spoke to him differently, as if he were untrustworthy, touched by magic as he was.
"Merlin," he asked softly one night, watching his servant manipulate his arm to keep it from atrophying completely. "Is there any way? To cure me?" Merlin looked up, and Arthur couldn't quite read his expression, but he thought he saw a brief flash of guilt. Merlin shrugged silently, eyes falling away again, and Arthur was certain then that the high color that spotted Merlin's cheeks meant the raven haired youth was keeping something from him. "What is it?" Arthur demanded. "You know something, don't you? Some way that I might be cured?" Merlin sighed softly, scrubbing a hand through his messy hair, then looked up warily.
"I have heard...a rumour," Merlin said softly, eyes flicking about the otherwise empty room as if afraid of being overheard. "They say - the Erl-King, he hurt you through magic, and they say only an equal and opposite magic can cure you." Arthur sucked his breath in sharply at the mention of magic, sagging back against the chair.
"I cannot," he said weakly, and Merlin nodded silently, saying no more.
For the next few weeks though, magic was all Arthur thought of. His nightmares intensified as he battled the Erl-King again and again in the darkness. The memories came to him thick and fast, until he remembered everything but that last desperate battle. Even parts of that flashed behind his eyes, the solid crunch of the Erl-King's ribs beneath the Oak spear, Merlin standing in the center of the greensward, a luminous sphere of silver and blue floating overhead like the full moon drawn down to earth.
"The Sun King," Arthur ventured one morning as Merlin gently laced the sleeve over his withered arm. "He could cure me. He is an equal and opposite force to the Erl-King." Merlin shook his head, not looking up.
"The Sun King cannot leave the Between," Merlin said softly. "When you killed the Erl-King, the Sun King took his place there. He will chose the next Sun King at Mid-winter's Eve, but there is no Sun King until then. Besides - another trip into the Between - Arthur, I have no idea what that would do to you. This - this sickness, what if the Between worsened it? What if it spread?" Arthur looked up sharply at that, meeting Merlin's pleading eyes.
"You know more than you're telling me," Arthur accused, narrowing his eyes. Merlin looked away sharply, shoulders tensing up.
"Your arm," Merlin said. "You're becoming something like the servants of the Erl-King. If you went back to the Between - it might take you entirely from this world." Arthur felt his knees threaten to give way at that, and he grasped Merlin's shoulder firmly with his good hand. Merlin looked up, and his eyes were haunted with the knowledge he carried. "They say, they say the Three Sisters may be able to help. Or rather, that Lady Brigit the Healer is the only one who might be able to cure you." Arthur nodded.
"So we must go to Kildare on the Western Isle," he said, and Merlin nodded in affirmation. "Does the Lady truly live there?" Arthur asked softly. "The Great Goddess of old herself?" Merlin looked up again, then shrugged.
"No one knows," Merlin admitted. "But that is where her priestesses are, and they are the greatest healers in all the world. It is worth trying at least." With a slight smile, Arthur nodded.
"Make the arrangements," Arthur ordered. "Have it put out that I'm making a pilgrimage to the shrine of St. Brigit to pray for a miracle. Don't let anyone know we mean to find the priestesses, not the nuns." Merlin nodded, and within a week everything was ready. Uther didn't really approve of Arthur going to pray for a miracle, but the King had no better suggestion. As things stood, Arthur was unfit to rule, and that was Uther's primary concern - leaving his kingdom in capable hands. They left in the chill grey of predawn, the world muffled all around them. The hoofbeats of their horses were soft and indistinct in the thickness of the fog, and Merlin rode ahead, Arthur's mount trailing behind his on a lead, Arthur gripping at the pommel of his saddle with his good hand. The mist burned away slowly, the grey of morning melting into a slick hot day with a sky the color of milk.
When the shadows reached their shortest point, Merlin stopped their horses and helped Arthur dismount. They ate quickly, and Merlin undid the bindings on Arthur's arm to rub it and apply fresh poultice. The afternoon was much the same as the morning, and it was dusk when they reached the shore. The lonely crying of the gulls made Merlin's gut clench in nameless anxiety. They stayed the night in a small inn, Merlin sitting watch at the head of the narrow cot, one hand in Arthur's golden hair to ease his sleep. Long before dawn the gulls again began to cry, and Merlin woke Arthur as gently as possible. He dressed the Crown Prince and tended to the withered arm, then shouldered their packs and led Arthur down to the shore. A long jetty extended out into the Western Sea, fishing boats bobbing alongside. Men clambered about in the boats, working with silent efficiency to order their nets and gear before the tide.
At the far end of the long dock rode a larger boat, large enough for a small lean-to to be constructed in the stern. Merlin wordlessly cast their bags into the belly of the boat, and the bearded man looked up at them evenly, waiting with arms crossed over his chest. Merlin held out his hand, and the man held out his, palm up. Arthur heard the muffled clink of metal against metal, but the man palmed the coins before he could see how much Merlin was gave over for their voyage. The man offered his hand again, and this time Merlin's pale slender hand was engulfed in the stranger's and the servant clambered gracelessly over the side. Merlin offered his hand in turn to Arthur, and the Prince climbed into the boat as well. The waves washed gently at the hull, and the wood and lines creaked softly. The pale disk of the winter sun eased over the horizon, and then the boatman was in motion, casting off lines and barking orders at the oarsmen that Arthur had not yet noticed in the shadows.
On the morning tide and muffled oars the slender boat cut through the breakers and into the narrow band of sea between the coasts of Albion and Eire. By the time the sun was fully over the horizon, Eire was a thick emerald ribbon before them. The oarsmen rotated on and off their benches, the square rigged sail taking some of the burden when the wind blew right. The crossing itself took them all day and into the night, the captain navigating by the crown of stars beyond the north wind. Once they reached the coast of the Western Isle, their progress slowed. Navigation became more difficult as they picked their way up the coast, listening for the tell tale hiss and scrape of waves on knife toothed shoals that could rip the bottom out of a boat. Three days later, they eased into the harbour at Dubh Linn.
Arthur and Merlin slipped from the ship under cover of darkness, skulking into the city proper just before the watch was set. In the morning they slipped away before dawn, on the road to Kildare. It was not a difficult ride. Merlin had provided more than adequately for them, and they had plenty food, water and wine in their packs. On the third day out of Dubh Linn, they reached the town of Kildare, where the shrine to the saint and nunnery were.
Merlin led them straight to the convent itself, and spoke quietly with the guard at the door. Arthur was not certain what was said, but the gate creaked open, and they were allowed to pass within. They ate in the convent's kitchen that night, and slept in a guest room that was little better than a hermit's cell. Arthur did not notice the quality of their lodging though. He was exhausted from their long days in the saddle, his body weakened with inactivity. Merlin woke Arthur before dawn came, and led him silently from the convent.
"I'm not quite certain where we shall find the Lady's Temple," Merlin admitted. "But it is close. They say no many may enter the shrine proper in any case. Keep your eyes open for any hedges that look out of place. Probably a thorn hedge." Arthur nodded, and they set out at a comfortable walk, eyes scanning constantly along the curve of the horizon. They had not found the shrine of Bride by the time nones pealed out at the church back in Kildare proper, and so Merlin turned their mounts, and they slowly worked their way back to the town. Supper was simple fare at the convent, and again they spent the night amongst the nuns of St. Brigit. The next day was the same, but for the hedge they spotted at sunset. It was too late, and the light was rapidly fading, but Merlin promised he would be able to find his way back in the morning, and so when Arthur curled around his servant on the hay pallet, sleep came easily.
As promised, Merlin led them directly back to the thorn hedge in the morning. They followed it along slowly, until they came to a simple opening. Beyond lay a deep pool, the surface dark and glassy despite the brilliantly blue sky overhead. Merlin dismounted, then helped Arthur down, but kept a hand on the Prince's good arm, not letting him cross the line of the hedge. Carefully Merlin tossed a handful of glittering coins into the pool, and from the hedge beyond emerged a maiden in a simple undyed shift. Her hair was loose to her waist, cascading in copper curls woven with oak leaves and golden flax.
"We come to beg for the healing hand of Lady Bride," Merlin said surely, holding out his hand, a golden solidus glittering in his palm. The priestess nodded silently, turning and disappearing back into the hedge opposite.
The priestess returned with two of her sisters, all three of them dressed identically. Two of the priestesses stood to either side of the opening in the hedge, lifting their joined hands overhead. Merlin twined his fingers with Arthur's, then led the Prince under the arch of their arms. He felt the thrum of magic as they stepped over the threshold, and knew that they were once again in a land like the Between. The redheaded priestess motioned them to approach, and when they reached the edge of the pool, Merlin gently unbound the sleeve from Arthur's withered arm. The priestesses did not wince, nor give any sign that they were surprised by the injury, just joined hands around Arthur, leaving Merlin standing outside. He watched as they slowly walked around Arthur, their bare feet whispering over the soft grass.
What started as a slow, stately promenade gradually built in energy until the three girls were cavorting wildly around Arthur, their hands barely joined. Their voices rose in shrill song, the ancient keening language of the Druids of Eire. The sound of it set the hairs on the back of Merlin's neck standing on end, and it was all he could do to hold still and not grab hold of Arthur and run. Arthur looked similarly flighty, eyes wide, shoulders tense with nerves and anticipation. All of a sudden, the three priestesses stopped, falling as one to their knees. The sudden silence crashed around them, and then Arthur was screaming bloody murder, grabbing at his withered hand as he went to his knees. Merlin took a single hurried step forward before he stopped himself. The priestesses were back on their feet, singing and dancing again, their indecipherable words piercing and otherworldly as they whirled around and around.
Merlin bounced on the balls of his feet, every muscle drawn tight in anticipation. Finally the priestesses slowed and stopped, their throats sung raw. They dropped one another's hands, and Merlin lurched to Arthur's side, cradling his head. The Prince was unconscious, dried tears flaking off his pale cheeks. Gently Merlin brushed away the last of the tears, then hurled the solidus into the dark pool. One of the priestesses knelt at his side, a bowl of sacred water in her sun browned hands.
She reached out, taking Arthur's withered hand, and slowly washed it with the sweet scented water and oak leaves. Merlin watched, transfixed, as the colour and vigor was returned to the limb. Another of the priestesses knelt by Arthur's head, and she carefully poured fragrant wine into his slack mouth. Arthur woke sputtering and groaning, and the priestesses soothed him. He was fed more wine, and then soft honey-scented flax cakes. The colour returned to his cheeks, and when the oak leaves tickled over his forearm, Arthur twitched his fingers in response.
The priestesses smiled sweetly and stood, leaving Merlin staring at the childish wonder on Arthur's face, and Arthur staring in amazement as his fully cured hand and arm. After a moment, Arthur looked up, to thank the priestesses, but they had slipped silently away, leaving Arthur and Merlin alone in the enclosing circle of the thorn hedge. Merlin smiled somewhat shyly when Arthur turned the look of wonder on him, and Arthur laughed, so overwhelmed with joy he had nothing to say. He reached up with both hands, framing Merlin's face and pulling him down for a deep kiss.
"Thank you," Arthur breathed against Merlin's slack mouth. "Thank you a thousand times, a hundred thousand times." Merlin nodded dumbly, and then Arthur was kissing him again. He went with it, melted into Arthur's arms, and then Arthur was rolling him into the sweet green grass, kissing every inch of his face.
When they returned to the convent that night, the corridors whispered with the rumours of the unseen nuns. Merlin and Arthur ignored the hushed voices beyond the walls of their room though. Arthur made good use of his cured hand, slowly undressing Merlin by candle light, tracing the sloping planes of his chest and belly, carding his fingers through the dusting of dark hair that trailed from Merlin's navel down below the waist of his breeches. For his part, Merlin for once held still and silent, head tipped back in silent supplication as Arthur worshipped at the altar of his body. Arthur's mouth was like a brand against his flesh, his hands flickering like living flame. Arthur's knees thumped softly, one-two against their thin mattress. and then he was pulling Merlin down as well, their mouths sliding together slickly. Merlin whimpered softly, bringing his hands up to rest on Arthur's smoothly muscled shoulders.
One of Arthur's hands spread warmth across Merlin's lower back, the other tracing fire up and down his slender ribcage. They kissed there on their knees until Merlin was nearly faint with lack of air, and then Merlin slumped down on the pallet, pulling Arthur's solid form down on top of himself. Arthur went willingly, kissing and touching Merlin everywhere, fingertips and tongue delineating every muscle and joint until Merlin was quivering with unspoken need, eyes huge and dark in the shadowy night.
"Have you ever," Arthur breathed against Merlin's chest, and Merlin nodded, eyes fluttering closed, mouth falling open in a silent, wordless cry of pleasure as Arthur's fingers skimmed over his entrance. Arthur's eyes flashed, desire and jealously, and then he was kneeling up, pulling Merlin to sitting and kissing him breathless again.
Merlin assumed the position without being asked, thighs quivering with want, head pillowed on slender forearms. Arthur smoothed his hands over Merlin's flanks, leaning close to press kisses into the hollow of Merlin's back. Merlin shivered with desire, gooseflesh creeping up his spine, and then Arthur was pressing even closer, using his hands to press open Merlin's cleft and his mouth to slick Merlin's entrance. Merlin let out a gusting breath, arms trembling and nearly giving way. He whimpered softly as Arthur licked and sucked at his hole, want rapidly coalescing into need.
"Please," Merlin breathed out, and Arthur persisted a little longer, then pulled away. Merlin let out a relieved sigh, then bit back a yelp as Arthur sank his teeth lightly into the curve of Merlin's buttock. It didn't hurt so much as surprise him, but even that was forgotten a moment later as the slick head of Arthur's cock pressed inexorably into him. The slow burn of penetration made Merlin arch his back and hang his head, trembling and gritting his teeth. When Arthur was in to the hilt, he draped himself over Merlin, wrapping both arms around his servant's slender chest.
"Thank you," Arthur breathed against the shell of Merlin's ear. "I will earn this gift Merlin. I will earn your devotion." Merlin didn't have a response, because loyalty was the last thing on his mind at that moment. He just whimpered, and then Arthur was moving slowly inside him, the head of his cock stroking perfectly against the bundle of nerves at his center, and he felt like he was on fire, as if Brigit's flame were burning in his belly.
"Arthur," he gasped, and then he was shaking apart in the Prince's hands, trembling and gasping for air as he came, the world melting around him. Arthur groaned deeply as Merlin's body, already unbearably hot and tight, got even hotter and tighter. He felt Merlin's white hot release, and then he was coming as well, murmuring nonsensical devotion into Merlin's hair before slumping to the mattress. For once, Merlin woke after Arthur the next morning. He found Arthur sitting under the slit window of their tiny room, turning his hand over and over, staring at it in the clear morning light.
"I mean it," Arthur said as Merlin shuffled sleepily into his clothes. "I will earn your devotion Merlin. I will be the man you deserve." Merlin's cheeks spotted with colour, but he nodded, then tentatively leaned into Arthur's space and pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. Arthur gasped, reaching immediately for the dark haired boy, pulling Merlin onto his lap. Merlin perched there happily, despite the precariousness of the situation, content to kiss the breath out of his Prince. "Let's go home," Arthur breathed when they parted, resting his forehead against Merlin's, one hand on Merlin's waist, the other tangled in his wild black hair. Merlin smiled prettily, cheeks still spotted with high colour.
When they returned to Camelot, no one mentioned their absences. More than that, no one mentioned that Arthur had been out of training for some months, or that he had been miraculously cured from a wound that could only be called cursed. For the most part, it was as if the entire episode with the Erl-King had never taken place. But every once in a while, Arthur would look up and see a wary look in his father's eyes, or catch a pitying glance from Morgana. It was infuriating at times, that people would not even mention his illness, not even Morgana or Gaius, who had been the few people who hadn't treated him like a leper. The only person willing to mention it at all was Merlin, and if Arthur had not already been set on earning the full measure of his servant's devotion, that bit of normalcy would have earned his undying gratitude. And so despite Arthur's recovery, Merlin did not return to the quarters of the court physician, but remained in the Prince's chambers.
No one mentioned that either.
Epilogue: Vigil
Fandom: Merlin (BBC)
Pairing: Arthur x Merlin
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: The characters belong to the BBC, not the author. The author makes no profit.
Summary: Arthur is still suffering from his battle with the Erl-King, and Merlin must find a way to cure him.
Notes: Sequel to Red Skies. Title taken from the poem Requiem by Robert Lewis Stevenson. Mythology adapted from the Fisher King and Irish legends.
Arthur woke with a shout dying on his lips, a cry of terror that would never carry into the world. His arm tingled painfully, and he rubbed absently at his hand and fingers. Since his return to Camelot, he had maintained a facade of normalcy, but he knew it couldn't possibly last much longer. He was exhausted, unable to rest properly because of the terrifying nightmares that he could never quite remember. There were flashes, little snippets of time he is able to hold onto. His mother's face, the solid presence of the Sun King, Merlin smiling at him, the soft warmth of the cat curled against his stomach. But he still could not remember the fight itself, although the general impression of his wanderings in the Between had filtered back to him.
His distress must have made more noise than he thought though, because Merlin was there, gently urging him to lay back down, smoothing his hair from his face. With the fire behind him, casting golden light over him, Arthur couldn't help but see his mother's face superimposed over Merlin's. The hallucination lasted only a moment though, because Merlin's hands, while slender and delicate, were also roughened by work and far larger than a woman's. They were warm, capable hands, and Arthur was soon calmed by them. "Bad dreams again?" Merlin asked softly, and Arthur nodded sleepily, wanting badly to rest but not trusting himself.
"Perhaps I will stay with you," Merlin mused softly, and Arthur knew that the first few nights after they returned, Merlin had not left his side, had sat in the chair by his bed. Those nights had been the closest Arthur had gotten to proper rest since his return. So he didn't fight it. He just lay back, and Merlin slid onto the bed beside him, leaning against the carved headboard and threaded his fingers into Arthur's sweat darkened hair. "Rest," Merlin said gently. "I will not let him take you again." Arthur could not resist the command, didn't really want to. His eyes were so heavy, and so he let them fall closed, leaning slightly into Merlin's caress as he dozed off.
Arthur had been too tired for too long for a few hours of dreamless sleep to make much difference. But Merlin sat with him through the following nights as well, and when Merlin sat at the head of the bed, the cat curled in his lap, Arthur was not troubled by dreams. Slowly, between the nights of proper rest and getting enough to eat, Arthur regained his strength and the weight he had dropped during his ordeal. Sometimes, when he half woke at night, he heard Merlin singing softly, solemn tunes in ancient tongues that Arthur did not know or understand. But the sound of Merlin's voice soothed the half formed terrors from his mind, and he dropped back to sleep quickly, dreaming of wide sunlit meadows and dappled glades, rushing brooks and the cheerful calling of songbirds in spring.
Even as he otherwise returned to health though, Arthur's arm refused to gain strength. The muscle melted away, until he could not lift his sword at all. Gaius tried every remedy he knew, and at night, while Arthur slept, Merlin would try spells from the book. Nothing worked though. The skin dried until it was like old leather, and Arthur took to wearing a long sleeve and heavy gauntlet over the useless arm. Pain thrummed through the limb at strange times, stronger at night and the new moon. Over time, Arthur was able to distinguish between different sorts of pangs in his arm. There was one that meant it would rain, another that meant it would storm. There was one pang that forewarned of nightmares that even Merlin couldn't keep at bay.
As Arthur's arm withered, he withdrew from the public eye. Parts of it couldn't really be help. With no arm strength, there was no way for him to practice and train with his Knights. There was no patrolling, no competing in tournaments. But it was more than that. People looked at Arthur strangely when he went down into the city. Women and children shied from him, fear in their eyes. He grew to hate the fearful stares, the wave of hushed whispers that followed in his wake. So he withdrew to the castle. Even there though, he was not free from scrutiny. It seemed, after a time, that Merlin, Morgana and Gaius were the only ones who treated him the same as before his abduction. Even his own father spoke to him differently, as if he were untrustworthy, touched by magic as he was.
"Merlin," he asked softly one night, watching his servant manipulate his arm to keep it from atrophying completely. "Is there any way? To cure me?" Merlin looked up, and Arthur couldn't quite read his expression, but he thought he saw a brief flash of guilt. Merlin shrugged silently, eyes falling away again, and Arthur was certain then that the high color that spotted Merlin's cheeks meant the raven haired youth was keeping something from him. "What is it?" Arthur demanded. "You know something, don't you? Some way that I might be cured?" Merlin sighed softly, scrubbing a hand through his messy hair, then looked up warily.
"I have heard...a rumour," Merlin said softly, eyes flicking about the otherwise empty room as if afraid of being overheard. "They say - the Erl-King, he hurt you through magic, and they say only an equal and opposite magic can cure you." Arthur sucked his breath in sharply at the mention of magic, sagging back against the chair.
"I cannot," he said weakly, and Merlin nodded silently, saying no more.
For the next few weeks though, magic was all Arthur thought of. His nightmares intensified as he battled the Erl-King again and again in the darkness. The memories came to him thick and fast, until he remembered everything but that last desperate battle. Even parts of that flashed behind his eyes, the solid crunch of the Erl-King's ribs beneath the Oak spear, Merlin standing in the center of the greensward, a luminous sphere of silver and blue floating overhead like the full moon drawn down to earth.
"The Sun King," Arthur ventured one morning as Merlin gently laced the sleeve over his withered arm. "He could cure me. He is an equal and opposite force to the Erl-King." Merlin shook his head, not looking up.
"The Sun King cannot leave the Between," Merlin said softly. "When you killed the Erl-King, the Sun King took his place there. He will chose the next Sun King at Mid-winter's Eve, but there is no Sun King until then. Besides - another trip into the Between - Arthur, I have no idea what that would do to you. This - this sickness, what if the Between worsened it? What if it spread?" Arthur looked up sharply at that, meeting Merlin's pleading eyes.
"You know more than you're telling me," Arthur accused, narrowing his eyes. Merlin looked away sharply, shoulders tensing up.
"Your arm," Merlin said. "You're becoming something like the servants of the Erl-King. If you went back to the Between - it might take you entirely from this world." Arthur felt his knees threaten to give way at that, and he grasped Merlin's shoulder firmly with his good hand. Merlin looked up, and his eyes were haunted with the knowledge he carried. "They say, they say the Three Sisters may be able to help. Or rather, that Lady Brigit the Healer is the only one who might be able to cure you." Arthur nodded.
"So we must go to Kildare on the Western Isle," he said, and Merlin nodded in affirmation. "Does the Lady truly live there?" Arthur asked softly. "The Great Goddess of old herself?" Merlin looked up again, then shrugged.
"No one knows," Merlin admitted. "But that is where her priestesses are, and they are the greatest healers in all the world. It is worth trying at least." With a slight smile, Arthur nodded.
"Make the arrangements," Arthur ordered. "Have it put out that I'm making a pilgrimage to the shrine of St. Brigit to pray for a miracle. Don't let anyone know we mean to find the priestesses, not the nuns." Merlin nodded, and within a week everything was ready. Uther didn't really approve of Arthur going to pray for a miracle, but the King had no better suggestion. As things stood, Arthur was unfit to rule, and that was Uther's primary concern - leaving his kingdom in capable hands. They left in the chill grey of predawn, the world muffled all around them. The hoofbeats of their horses were soft and indistinct in the thickness of the fog, and Merlin rode ahead, Arthur's mount trailing behind his on a lead, Arthur gripping at the pommel of his saddle with his good hand. The mist burned away slowly, the grey of morning melting into a slick hot day with a sky the color of milk.
When the shadows reached their shortest point, Merlin stopped their horses and helped Arthur dismount. They ate quickly, and Merlin undid the bindings on Arthur's arm to rub it and apply fresh poultice. The afternoon was much the same as the morning, and it was dusk when they reached the shore. The lonely crying of the gulls made Merlin's gut clench in nameless anxiety. They stayed the night in a small inn, Merlin sitting watch at the head of the narrow cot, one hand in Arthur's golden hair to ease his sleep. Long before dawn the gulls again began to cry, and Merlin woke Arthur as gently as possible. He dressed the Crown Prince and tended to the withered arm, then shouldered their packs and led Arthur down to the shore. A long jetty extended out into the Western Sea, fishing boats bobbing alongside. Men clambered about in the boats, working with silent efficiency to order their nets and gear before the tide.
At the far end of the long dock rode a larger boat, large enough for a small lean-to to be constructed in the stern. Merlin wordlessly cast their bags into the belly of the boat, and the bearded man looked up at them evenly, waiting with arms crossed over his chest. Merlin held out his hand, and the man held out his, palm up. Arthur heard the muffled clink of metal against metal, but the man palmed the coins before he could see how much Merlin was gave over for their voyage. The man offered his hand again, and this time Merlin's pale slender hand was engulfed in the stranger's and the servant clambered gracelessly over the side. Merlin offered his hand in turn to Arthur, and the Prince climbed into the boat as well. The waves washed gently at the hull, and the wood and lines creaked softly. The pale disk of the winter sun eased over the horizon, and then the boatman was in motion, casting off lines and barking orders at the oarsmen that Arthur had not yet noticed in the shadows.
On the morning tide and muffled oars the slender boat cut through the breakers and into the narrow band of sea between the coasts of Albion and Eire. By the time the sun was fully over the horizon, Eire was a thick emerald ribbon before them. The oarsmen rotated on and off their benches, the square rigged sail taking some of the burden when the wind blew right. The crossing itself took them all day and into the night, the captain navigating by the crown of stars beyond the north wind. Once they reached the coast of the Western Isle, their progress slowed. Navigation became more difficult as they picked their way up the coast, listening for the tell tale hiss and scrape of waves on knife toothed shoals that could rip the bottom out of a boat. Three days later, they eased into the harbour at Dubh Linn.
Arthur and Merlin slipped from the ship under cover of darkness, skulking into the city proper just before the watch was set. In the morning they slipped away before dawn, on the road to Kildare. It was not a difficult ride. Merlin had provided more than adequately for them, and they had plenty food, water and wine in their packs. On the third day out of Dubh Linn, they reached the town of Kildare, where the shrine to the saint and nunnery were.
Merlin led them straight to the convent itself, and spoke quietly with the guard at the door. Arthur was not certain what was said, but the gate creaked open, and they were allowed to pass within. They ate in the convent's kitchen that night, and slept in a guest room that was little better than a hermit's cell. Arthur did not notice the quality of their lodging though. He was exhausted from their long days in the saddle, his body weakened with inactivity. Merlin woke Arthur before dawn came, and led him silently from the convent.
"I'm not quite certain where we shall find the Lady's Temple," Merlin admitted. "But it is close. They say no many may enter the shrine proper in any case. Keep your eyes open for any hedges that look out of place. Probably a thorn hedge." Arthur nodded, and they set out at a comfortable walk, eyes scanning constantly along the curve of the horizon. They had not found the shrine of Bride by the time nones pealed out at the church back in Kildare proper, and so Merlin turned their mounts, and they slowly worked their way back to the town. Supper was simple fare at the convent, and again they spent the night amongst the nuns of St. Brigit. The next day was the same, but for the hedge they spotted at sunset. It was too late, and the light was rapidly fading, but Merlin promised he would be able to find his way back in the morning, and so when Arthur curled around his servant on the hay pallet, sleep came easily.
As promised, Merlin led them directly back to the thorn hedge in the morning. They followed it along slowly, until they came to a simple opening. Beyond lay a deep pool, the surface dark and glassy despite the brilliantly blue sky overhead. Merlin dismounted, then helped Arthur down, but kept a hand on the Prince's good arm, not letting him cross the line of the hedge. Carefully Merlin tossed a handful of glittering coins into the pool, and from the hedge beyond emerged a maiden in a simple undyed shift. Her hair was loose to her waist, cascading in copper curls woven with oak leaves and golden flax.
"We come to beg for the healing hand of Lady Bride," Merlin said surely, holding out his hand, a golden solidus glittering in his palm. The priestess nodded silently, turning and disappearing back into the hedge opposite.
The priestess returned with two of her sisters, all three of them dressed identically. Two of the priestesses stood to either side of the opening in the hedge, lifting their joined hands overhead. Merlin twined his fingers with Arthur's, then led the Prince under the arch of their arms. He felt the thrum of magic as they stepped over the threshold, and knew that they were once again in a land like the Between. The redheaded priestess motioned them to approach, and when they reached the edge of the pool, Merlin gently unbound the sleeve from Arthur's withered arm. The priestesses did not wince, nor give any sign that they were surprised by the injury, just joined hands around Arthur, leaving Merlin standing outside. He watched as they slowly walked around Arthur, their bare feet whispering over the soft grass.
What started as a slow, stately promenade gradually built in energy until the three girls were cavorting wildly around Arthur, their hands barely joined. Their voices rose in shrill song, the ancient keening language of the Druids of Eire. The sound of it set the hairs on the back of Merlin's neck standing on end, and it was all he could do to hold still and not grab hold of Arthur and run. Arthur looked similarly flighty, eyes wide, shoulders tense with nerves and anticipation. All of a sudden, the three priestesses stopped, falling as one to their knees. The sudden silence crashed around them, and then Arthur was screaming bloody murder, grabbing at his withered hand as he went to his knees. Merlin took a single hurried step forward before he stopped himself. The priestesses were back on their feet, singing and dancing again, their indecipherable words piercing and otherworldly as they whirled around and around.
Merlin bounced on the balls of his feet, every muscle drawn tight in anticipation. Finally the priestesses slowed and stopped, their throats sung raw. They dropped one another's hands, and Merlin lurched to Arthur's side, cradling his head. The Prince was unconscious, dried tears flaking off his pale cheeks. Gently Merlin brushed away the last of the tears, then hurled the solidus into the dark pool. One of the priestesses knelt at his side, a bowl of sacred water in her sun browned hands.
She reached out, taking Arthur's withered hand, and slowly washed it with the sweet scented water and oak leaves. Merlin watched, transfixed, as the colour and vigor was returned to the limb. Another of the priestesses knelt by Arthur's head, and she carefully poured fragrant wine into his slack mouth. Arthur woke sputtering and groaning, and the priestesses soothed him. He was fed more wine, and then soft honey-scented flax cakes. The colour returned to his cheeks, and when the oak leaves tickled over his forearm, Arthur twitched his fingers in response.
The priestesses smiled sweetly and stood, leaving Merlin staring at the childish wonder on Arthur's face, and Arthur staring in amazement as his fully cured hand and arm. After a moment, Arthur looked up, to thank the priestesses, but they had slipped silently away, leaving Arthur and Merlin alone in the enclosing circle of the thorn hedge. Merlin smiled somewhat shyly when Arthur turned the look of wonder on him, and Arthur laughed, so overwhelmed with joy he had nothing to say. He reached up with both hands, framing Merlin's face and pulling him down for a deep kiss.
"Thank you," Arthur breathed against Merlin's slack mouth. "Thank you a thousand times, a hundred thousand times." Merlin nodded dumbly, and then Arthur was kissing him again. He went with it, melted into Arthur's arms, and then Arthur was rolling him into the sweet green grass, kissing every inch of his face.
When they returned to the convent that night, the corridors whispered with the rumours of the unseen nuns. Merlin and Arthur ignored the hushed voices beyond the walls of their room though. Arthur made good use of his cured hand, slowly undressing Merlin by candle light, tracing the sloping planes of his chest and belly, carding his fingers through the dusting of dark hair that trailed from Merlin's navel down below the waist of his breeches. For his part, Merlin for once held still and silent, head tipped back in silent supplication as Arthur worshipped at the altar of his body. Arthur's mouth was like a brand against his flesh, his hands flickering like living flame. Arthur's knees thumped softly, one-two against their thin mattress. and then he was pulling Merlin down as well, their mouths sliding together slickly. Merlin whimpered softly, bringing his hands up to rest on Arthur's smoothly muscled shoulders.
One of Arthur's hands spread warmth across Merlin's lower back, the other tracing fire up and down his slender ribcage. They kissed there on their knees until Merlin was nearly faint with lack of air, and then Merlin slumped down on the pallet, pulling Arthur's solid form down on top of himself. Arthur went willingly, kissing and touching Merlin everywhere, fingertips and tongue delineating every muscle and joint until Merlin was quivering with unspoken need, eyes huge and dark in the shadowy night.
"Have you ever," Arthur breathed against Merlin's chest, and Merlin nodded, eyes fluttering closed, mouth falling open in a silent, wordless cry of pleasure as Arthur's fingers skimmed over his entrance. Arthur's eyes flashed, desire and jealously, and then he was kneeling up, pulling Merlin to sitting and kissing him breathless again.
Merlin assumed the position without being asked, thighs quivering with want, head pillowed on slender forearms. Arthur smoothed his hands over Merlin's flanks, leaning close to press kisses into the hollow of Merlin's back. Merlin shivered with desire, gooseflesh creeping up his spine, and then Arthur was pressing even closer, using his hands to press open Merlin's cleft and his mouth to slick Merlin's entrance. Merlin let out a gusting breath, arms trembling and nearly giving way. He whimpered softly as Arthur licked and sucked at his hole, want rapidly coalescing into need.
"Please," Merlin breathed out, and Arthur persisted a little longer, then pulled away. Merlin let out a relieved sigh, then bit back a yelp as Arthur sank his teeth lightly into the curve of Merlin's buttock. It didn't hurt so much as surprise him, but even that was forgotten a moment later as the slick head of Arthur's cock pressed inexorably into him. The slow burn of penetration made Merlin arch his back and hang his head, trembling and gritting his teeth. When Arthur was in to the hilt, he draped himself over Merlin, wrapping both arms around his servant's slender chest.
"Thank you," Arthur breathed against the shell of Merlin's ear. "I will earn this gift Merlin. I will earn your devotion." Merlin didn't have a response, because loyalty was the last thing on his mind at that moment. He just whimpered, and then Arthur was moving slowly inside him, the head of his cock stroking perfectly against the bundle of nerves at his center, and he felt like he was on fire, as if Brigit's flame were burning in his belly.
"Arthur," he gasped, and then he was shaking apart in the Prince's hands, trembling and gasping for air as he came, the world melting around him. Arthur groaned deeply as Merlin's body, already unbearably hot and tight, got even hotter and tighter. He felt Merlin's white hot release, and then he was coming as well, murmuring nonsensical devotion into Merlin's hair before slumping to the mattress. For once, Merlin woke after Arthur the next morning. He found Arthur sitting under the slit window of their tiny room, turning his hand over and over, staring at it in the clear morning light.
"I mean it," Arthur said as Merlin shuffled sleepily into his clothes. "I will earn your devotion Merlin. I will be the man you deserve." Merlin's cheeks spotted with colour, but he nodded, then tentatively leaned into Arthur's space and pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. Arthur gasped, reaching immediately for the dark haired boy, pulling Merlin onto his lap. Merlin perched there happily, despite the precariousness of the situation, content to kiss the breath out of his Prince. "Let's go home," Arthur breathed when they parted, resting his forehead against Merlin's, one hand on Merlin's waist, the other tangled in his wild black hair. Merlin smiled prettily, cheeks still spotted with high colour.
When they returned to Camelot, no one mentioned their absences. More than that, no one mentioned that Arthur had been out of training for some months, or that he had been miraculously cured from a wound that could only be called cursed. For the most part, it was as if the entire episode with the Erl-King had never taken place. But every once in a while, Arthur would look up and see a wary look in his father's eyes, or catch a pitying glance from Morgana. It was infuriating at times, that people would not even mention his illness, not even Morgana or Gaius, who had been the few people who hadn't treated him like a leper. The only person willing to mention it at all was Merlin, and if Arthur had not already been set on earning the full measure of his servant's devotion, that bit of normalcy would have earned his undying gratitude. And so despite Arthur's recovery, Merlin did not return to the quarters of the court physician, but remained in the Prince's chambers.
No one mentioned that either.
Epilogue: Vigil
