![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wrennetteTitle: The Green Man: The Horned God (4/6)
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Arthur x Merlin, Merlin x Morgana, Merlin x OFC, Merlin x OFC x OFC (non-explicit)
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Merlin is the property of the BBC. The author in no way profits from this fiction.
Summary: AU - In the legends, Merlin is always a boy without a father. He's also the wild man of the woods. What if his mother died when he was just a boy and he raised himself, half feral in the forest?
Notes: Arthur and Merlin are in their early twenties, and Arthur is newly crowned King of Camelot. I'm also bringing in some of the other Merlin legends, i.e., that he's a bit of a womanizer. Links are to previous chapters at my fic-journal, which is f/o, but all chapters are posted on![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
merlinxarthur
Part 1: The Wild Boy
Part 2: The Hunter
Part 3: Jack of the Green
Part 4:
Last Time:
Arthur stopped short, staring. He knew who it was. There was no question in his mind. But he had not expected to ever see Merlin again. But there the wild boy was, more man than boy now, shoulders broad beneath his deerskin cloak. The hood of the cloak was pulled up, and Merlin looked like the scratched out depictions of the old Horned God, crowned in oak and antlers.
"Hold," Arthur ordered his Knights, and they looked at him quizzically.
"My Liege?" one of the braver ones ventured, but he waved the man silent.
"Hello Merlin," he called, voice ringing richly across the clearing, and a blood stained hand reached up, pushing back the antlered hood. Merlin's eyes were gold as a cat's, and a new scar ran from his left temple down the side of his face, pulling down one corner of his generous mouth. The scar did not alter Merlin's viciously joyful grin however, and Arthur could not help but grin in response. Merlin reached down, fondly rubbing the ears of the wolf that stood at his side, then shed his cloak altogether and loped lazily over to the band of steel armed men. It amused Arthur somewhat, the juxtaposition of Merlin, ever the wild card, and his loyal Knights. He was certain that although the wild man was slighter than any of the Knights and armed only with that ivory white blade of stag horn, Merlin could easily best any two of his Knights.
"Hello Arthur," Merlin said, and his voice was rough with disuse, creaky and dry. Arthur unstrapped his waterskin and handed it to Merlin, and golden eyes glittered with mirth before falling closed as Merlin drank deeply. While Merlin took long greedy pulls from the skin, Arthur watched the motion of his elegant throat, transfixed by the bobbing of his Adam's apple as he swallowed. Unbidden his mind raced back to their sunlit idyll in the forest, Merlin's mouth hot and berry stained against his skin. He glanced at Merlin's hands, saw the stains of dirt and blood under his short nails. Long scratches ran silver pale up Merlin's forearms, and again Arthur's mind was sent spinning down paths of memory, to long nights of tracing Merlin's scars by the light of the silvery moon, trying to determine what had caused the marks on his slender form. Merlin handed the waterskin back without a single word of thanks, looking up at Arthur evenly, perfectly at ease in his own skin.
"What brings you to this part of Camelot?" Arthur asked, and his tone was not so imperious as he would have liked. Merlin shrugged noncommittally.
"They say there is a Cockatrice in the woods," Merlin said. "Guarding a cave where the Mortaeus grows. I need Mortaeus, so I must find the Cockatrice." One of the Knights snorted with soft derision.
"A Cockatrice," Arthur asked skeptically, raising his eyebrow, and Merlin shrugged again.
"So they say," Merlin said, and Arthur could not tell if the raven haired man believed in the mythical beast or not. The wolf yipped from across the clearing, impatient, and Merlin half turned, yipping back at it, as if he could actually speak with the beast. Arthur smiled indulgently. He was unsure if Merlin truly understood the creature or not, but he had seen the wild man with the beasts of the forest enough to know that Merlin had a way with animals, that he was really more animal than man himself at times.
"I should like to see this Cockatrice," Arthur decided, and his Knights shifted in their saddles, their armour creaking and clanking in unvoiced disapproval. Merlin just smiled though, that vicious smile that made Arthur think of blood and sex. Without waiting for him to make any further declarations, Merlin sauntered away again, whistling sharply. The wolf bolted to Merlin's side, and a massive red deer eased out from beneath the eaves of the wood. Merlin rubbed the stag's nose gently, as a lady would rub the nose of her palfrey, and then, taking one massive antler in his hand, swung gracefully up onto the hart's back. Arthur could not help but stare as the stag ducked back under the trees, Merlin reaching up to pull down an unstrung yew bow and hide quiver full of arrows, then a large hide pack. As they went deeper into the shadowy forest, Arthur heard his Knights begin to murmur amongst themselves, not sure what to make of their guide. Arthur smiled to himself at their fussing, content to watch the gentle bunch and slide of the muscles in Merlin's tan back as he rode.
The cave itself was like an open wound in the surface of the earth, gaping open like a hungry maw. The horses pranced nervously, obviously uncomfortable in the deep forest. A blood curdling scream was their only warning before the Cockatrice was amongst them, tearing the throats from two of the chargers, then ripping the leg from one of the Knights. The others dismounted hurriedly, fumbling for their swords, but Merlin was already on the ground, hide cloak wound protectively around his off arm, bone knife clutched in his dominant hand. Arthur dismounted as well, shoving through the clustered Knights to get a good view. The Cockatrice screamed and hissed, and Arthur realized that Merlin had already drawn blood. A raw gash ran across the beast's face, dark ichor seeping into one eye and half blinding it. It was a large beast, but not as large as Arthur would have imagined, only the size of a large donkey or yearling colt. Still, it was fast, and judging from the moans emanating from Yvain, armed with sharp and venomous teeth.
Watching Merlin fight was rather like watching a single wolf try to take down an ox. He relied on footwork, circling the Cockatrice. He relied on speed, lashing out quickly with the bone blade, leaving gashes in the Cockatrice's flesh. The Cockatrice was not helpless though. It lashed out as well, using its heavy tail to knock Merlin back and sweep him off his feet. Merlin was agile though, regaining his feet with feline grace and striking in the same motion, again slashing through armoured skin. Slowly Merlin bled the strength from the Cockatrice, until it was hamstrung, spitting helplessly in blind hatred. Merlin put it out of its misery quickly, the bone blade easily parting the soft skin beneath the creature's jaw, spilling dark lifes-blood on the forest floor. Arthur took an unconscious step back as Merlin looked over to him, eyes flashing with golden danger. Then Merlin smiled that wolf smile, all sharp teeth and danger, and Arthur could taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth, and it made him almost painfully hard.
"Stay," Merlin commanded, as imperious as every, and laughter bubbled up out of Arthur's throat before he could quite help it, because no one had dared order him do anything since his father had been killed.
"I would rather not," Arthur said, laughter still colouring his voice, and Merlin just shrugged and turned his back, loping towards the dark maw of the cavern. Arthur turned to his Knights, bid them stay in turn, and Gawain made some attempt at argument, but an icy look from Arthur had his hot tempered cousin sinking back in futile, silent, annoyance. Arthur checked that his sword was loose in its sheathe on instinct, then ducked into the cave. A shimmering globe of blue white witch-fire bobbed in the distance, and as he approached he saw that it floated over Merlin's head. The deer cloak was once more about Merlin's shoulders, and Arthur resisted the urge to run his hands over the soft short fur.
"So the Mortaeus," Arthur asked, and Merlin gave him a sideways glance, golden eyes luminous in the half dark.
"The blossom is deadly poison," Merlin said. "The leaves the only antidote. When prepared by one such as myself, the poison is especially lethal." Arthur nodded, wondering who Merlin meant to poison. He did not ask though, mostly because he did not wish to know. The glimmering witch-light led them through the labyrinthine caverns, until Arthur could see tiny golden flowers clinging to the rock face.
"Start heading for the surface," Merlin suggested. "Unless you like spiders?" Arthur shivered slightly, wrinkling his nose in displeasure.
"How?" he asked, and Merlin pointed up the nearly sheer wall of the cavern.
"I will send the light with you," Merlin said. "I have no need of it." Arthur nodded, crossing the natural stone bridge that led to the flowers. The orb of silvery light traveled with him, then began ascending the wall. He paused, gauging handholds and footholds, then followed. Vaguely he could hear Merlin moving in the darkness below, but his focus was on the wall, on finding holds to pull himself up out of the earth. When he pulled himself up into the gathering darkness of the shadowy forest, his Knights were around him within moments, talking over one another, asking questions on how he knew the strange man in the deer cloak. Arthur silenced them with another icy look, then stalked back to his horse, tension bunching in his shoulders.
Yvain lay still and pale in a bed of dead leaves, breath but a death rattle in his chest. The space where his leg should have been was a sloppy mess of dark venal blood, mangled meat and shards of shattered bone, and Arthur knew the Knight would not live. He knelt, smoothing his hands through the older man's sweat soaked hair.
"My Liege," Yvain managed weakly, and Arthur shushed him gently.
"Hush," Arthur urged softly. "It's over." Yvain nodded weakly, then gasped and went still as Arthur's dagger found the weak spot in his armour beneath the arm opening. Lifes-blood again stained the forest floor, and Yvain was nothing more than soft flesh wrapped in cool steel. Deftly Arthur cleaned and re-sheathed his blade, then stood, silently daring the other Knights to remark on his actions. They looked away ashamedly, none meeting his eyes. Arthur turned, smoothing his hand over his charger's muzzle, ignoring his Knights.
If Merlin were a wolf, a comparison Arthur found apt at the moment, his Knights were obedient, well meaning, if slightly clumsy and overly affectionate dogs, looking to their pack leader when faced with a foe they did not quite understand. Merlin appeared not too long later, the Knights all hurriedly fumbling for their swords, as if they could have actually harmed Merlin. Arthur could not help his smile, and Merlin smile in response. For the first time, Arthur noticed the new wounds, half healed hurts and the still oozing marks left by the Cockatrice.
"Return with me," Arthur offered on impulse. "Come to Camelot proper." Merlin cocked his head to the side, that thinking gesture Arthur remembered so well, and Arthur felt his stomach clench in anticipation. After a moment, Merlin nodded, a single succinct motion of his dark head, and warmth blossomed in Arthur's gut. Merlin knelt, speaking softly to the wolf, and it panted, tongue lolling, then bounded away, yipping. The hart seemed to nod in agreement, then it melted into the shadows of the forest. Arthur grinned and mounted, his charger dancing under him as it caught his excitement. He extended his arm down to Merlin, and the slender young man gripped his forearm tightly and allowed himself to be pulled up. Deceptively slender arms wrapped around Arthur's waist, and Merlin's breath ghosted warmly against the side of his neck.
"Bors, Geraint," Arthur called, picking out the two most inexperienced Knights. "Build a litter, carry Yvain's body back to Camelot. I will expect you within the week." They bowed, mail covered fists thumping hollowly against their chests, and then the other Knights were mounting, wheeling their chargers and heading out of the forest. They camped on the plain, and in the morning Arthur woke to Merlin's wet kisses. He groaned softly in pleasure, reaching down to tangle his fingers in Merlin's raven tresses. Merlin smiled up at him, eyes gold sparked grey, then ducked down to run his tongue along the tender join between Arthur's torso and thigh. Arthur groaned deeply, then clenched his jaw to keep from crying out as Merlin's tongue teased up his cock.
"Merlin," he gasped, tightening his grip on the other man's hair, wondering vaguely where the wild man had learned this before the sensation of Merlin's breath on his wet cock drove all thought from Arthur's head. Merlin's throat contracted around Arthur's dick, and Arthur's entire world narrowed to that hot, wet cavern and the rough feeling of Merlin's matted hair beneath his hands. The intensity of being buried balls-deep in Merlin again drove Arthur over the edge with embarrassing speed, but it didn't really matter, because a moment after he came, Merlin's mouth was pressed against his, the taste of his seed sharp and bitter and salty on his tongue.
It tasted nothing like the copper tang of blood, but then Merlin's sharp teeth were pulling at his lips, and the familiar metallic taste flooded Arthur's mouth, flooded his mind with the memory of a hundred other bloody kisses. Merlin kissed like he fought, sharp and deadly, hands everywhere at once, short-bitten nails raising pink weals on Arthur's golden skin. Arthur groaned into the kiss, breath hitching as Merlin's erection slicked pre-come across his belly. Merlin shifted, changed the angle, and his cock slipped into the cleft of Arthur's ass, the swollen head slicking insistently over Arthur's entrance.
Again Arthur's mind spiraled back, this time to Merlin screaming and thrashing under him, to how violently he had taken the other boy those years before. His body tensed in nervous anticipation, but he didn't have the strength this time, to push Merlin away. Merlin pulled away slightly, mouth red with Arthur's blood, and his touch gentled, hands ghosting over Arthur's form, calming him, soothing him with soft murmurs. Slowly Arthur relaxed a bit, and then the head of Merlin's cock was easing into him, hot and hard, and he arched his back, biting his lip bloody to keep from screaming. Merlin shushed him gently, eyes sparking gold, and Arthur whimpered as his muscles were forcibly relaxed. Merlin's lips moved over his chest, leaving a trail of blood and saliva as Merlin sucked at his nipples and raised mouth shaped bruises. "Merlin," he gasped, unable to bear the feeling of being filled, and Merlin grinned ferally, undulating his hips and making Arthur see stars.
"Merlin," Arthur groaned again, and then Merlin's strong, slender hands were cupping his ass, lifting him, and Merlin's cock again bumped against that place deep in Arthur's center and made him arch and swear and beg like a common whore.
It was not quite violent, not quite brutal, but Arthur knew he wouldn't be walking quite right that day with the pounding Merlin was giving him. But he didn't want it to stop, didn't want Merlin to gentle his taking. If anything, he wanted Merlin to be rougher, harder. He wanted to feel Merlin's full strength pounding into him, wanted to see if his body could handle that. He wanted Merlin to possess him as no other lover of his ever had, had ever even tried to. Pleasure sparked behind Arthur's eyes, made him grunt and gasp and moan, and then he let out a long low keening from the depths of his being, unable to voice his complete undoing in any other way. His cock twitched to life, hardening rapidly as Merlin pounded into him over and again.
"Merlin," he gasped throatily, and Merlin's teeth closed on his Adam's apple, worrying the stubble of his three day beard, and he groaned wordlessly. "Please," he choked out, and Merlin's hands gripped his hips so hard there would be bruises, and the wild man slammed his hips up into Arthur's, and Arthur keened again, then collapsed bonelessly in orgasm. A few violent snaps of the hips later, Merlin let out a similar keening cry, and Arthur whimpered as he felt hot seed fill him.
Merlin rose from their tangled bed a few moments later, mouth smeared with the blood of their violent kisses, cum smeared on his pale thighs. Arthur groaned softly, reaching for a cloth to clean up with as he watched Merlin stretch. Tiny lancets of light streaked through the walls of the tent, limning Merlin's form with the pale gold of early morning.
"What are you?" Arthur asked softly, more to himself than Merlin, but Merlin turned to him nonetheless, smiling that vicious bloodstained smile.
"You know what I am," Merlin answered, and his voice was almost kind, as if Arthur were either slow or stupid. Arthur shook his head, because the only thing he was really certain of regarding Merlin was that he was an enigma. Merlin smiled though, then took the cloth from Arthur and wiped himself clean. Arthur lay abed, watching Merlin explore the tent. It didn't take long for Merlin to find Arthur's small pack of spare clothes, and without regard for things like personal property, Merlin pulled out a pair of hide breeches and a soft linen shirt and dressed, then found a comb and began working the tangles out of his matted hair. Arthur stared in fascination as the natural, innate nobility of the wild man he had known was transformed before his eyes into the sort of nobility most men recognized.
Their remaining journey to Camelot was without incident, and soon Arthur's mount was clattering into the bailey, Merlin riding double with the young King. As Arthur passed under the fortified gate, the crimson dragon that was his standard was run up the flag pole, replacing the ivy garland of Lady Morgana, who ruled in his absences. Morgana met them in the audience hall, standing to one side of the empty throne. She smiled gently at Arthur, and then froze like a rabbit and went pale as death when her eyes came to rest on Merlin.
"My Lady," Merlin said, and she managed to blanche further, but bobbed a polite if rather stiff curtsey in response to Merlin's deep bow.
"This is Merlin," Arthur said, looking back and forth between the two of them. "We met some years ago near the border," he explained by way of introduction, and Morgana nodded, regaining her composure, schooling her face to placidity.
"Who are your people?" the Lady asked, and Merlin smiled his wolf smile.
"I have no people," he said, and she blanched again, but gave no other sign of her discomfort.
Dinner was a slightly strained affair, Arthur unable to settle the feeling that somehow he was missing something to do with Merlin and Morgana both. When the dancing started after the chargers had been cleared away and the tables pushed to the sides of the hall, Arthur was a little surprised when Merlin was the first to rise. The raven haired man laughed at his expression, offering a hand to Morgana.
"I have spent time in towns before," Merlin said, as though Arthur were being rather stupid. "I simply prefer to be out in the wild for the most part." Arthur nodded, and Morgana tentatively placed her hand in Merlin's. The dance that followed was like nothing Arthur had ever seen. For the most part, partners chose or were chosen based on political alliances, not actual favour, and it made for slightly cold, mechanical steps. But Merlin's arm circled Morgana's waist with a hint of possessiveness, and he pulled her body against his without regard for who watched, without regard for the crimson flush that soon warmed Morgana's face. Everyone in the hall could see from the first turn of the dance that Merlin meant to have Morgana in his bed, and that she would not struggle against him overly much. Arthur left before too much longer, unable to bear the sight of the only man to ever touch him holding his foster-sister so intimately.
For the next few weeks, Arthur felt he could not go anywhere without seeing Merlin and Morgana together. They were quite a lovely pair, a matched set in some ways, with their proud features and raven locks, the strange knowing look they both got in their blue eyes. Every time he saw them though, a sharp pang ran through Arthur, and it got so he was loathe to leave his room. He did of course, he was King after all, and had a nation to run. But he restricted his movements for the most part to those parts of the castle and keep that he was less likely to see Merlin and Morgana in, the training grounds and stables, armoury and mews. Still, he saw them, walking out in the gardens together, dark heads bowed as they spoke softly into one another's ears. He saw them leaving the archives or circumnavigating the duck pond, riding out with Morgana's handmaiden as their only attendant. It bothered Arthur immensely, but it went against no law, broke no rule. It was unseemly, ruined Morgana's reputation, but she had never been one for propriety for propriety's sake.
Even so, after a few weeks, Arthur decided that enough was enough. The only decision was which of them he ought to speak to first. So late one night, after he was certain Merlin would have returned to his chambers, Arthur went next door, pushing to door open without bothering to knock. He was the King after all, and no door was closed to him. What he saw though, made him rather wish he had knocked. Merlin and Morgana knelt in front of the fireplace, both of them naked as babes. The fire cast them both in warm golden light and thick black shadow. Their hands were joined between them, and Merlin's eyes had gone that gold Arthur remembered from when they first met. He gasped sharply in surprise, and Morgana's head whipped around in surprise. She started away from him, breaking her connection to Merlin as she covered herself with her hands.
"What is the meaning of this?" Arthur asked gruffly, and Merlin stood, enveloping Morgana in his arms, shielding her from Arthur's view.
"I am teaching her," Merlin said simply, and Arthur felt his brow furrow in confusion.
"I am a sorceress," Morgana confessed in a tiny voice. "I dreamed of Merlin's coming before he arrived. Arthur, since before I came to Camelot I have dreamed things, things that have always come to pass. When - when your father was King, I lived in terror. Since, I have tried to teach myself, but I - Merlin has more magic than I could ever hope to." Arthur stared for a long moment, taking in the way Merlin's hands protected Morgana, the way he held her as if she belonged to him.
"There is more to it than that," Arthur growled, and Merlin's grasp on Morgana changed slightly, became yet more possessive. Morgana let out a soft little gasp of pleasure, her cream skin pinking as she leaned back against Merlin. Merlin smiled at Arthur, that most dangerous of smiles, and then his mouth was on Morgana's neck, her shoulder. His hand cupped her full breast, and Morgana was crimson, but Arthur couldn't tell if it was desire or shame that coloured her cheeks. She whimpered softly, and Arthur's eyes followed the strong line of Merlin's arm to where he cupped her sex.
"You will remove yourself to Tintagel Castle," Arthur ordered thickly, then turned on his heel and swept out, pausing at the door to look back and catch Merlin's golden eyes. "You will stay here with me." Three days later Morgana was gone, and Merlin was once more in Arthur's bed.
"You know I do not love her," Merlin told Arthur one morning, tracing meaningless patterns on Arthur's smooth chest, and Arthur glared at the warlock narrowly.
"She is lovely, I will not deny that, and she reminded me powerfully of my sister, who I did love, more than any other in the world. But I do not love the Lady Morgana Arthur, and she knows that as well as I do." Arthur didn't respond, just pinned Merlin back into the bed and kissed him silent, then slowly made love to him, trying to get across with every deep thrust of his hips what he could not bring himself to say yet. For the next few months, Camelot was peaceful, and Arthur quickly became somewhat dependent upon Merlin's advice. It was not so much Merlin's knowledge, but his faith in Arthur, and his belief in Arthur's inherent goodness that the young King needed. When it came time for him to make tough decisions, he found himself thinking, but what would Merlin expect me to do? and not once when he had followed what he thought Merlin would expect did he make the wrong decision.
The idyll was shattered when the Picts began encroaching over the norther border, running raids in the night, stealing food and livestock, killing the men who dared to fight, raping the womenfolk and kidnapping the children. As on every other campaign since arriving, Merlin rode out with Arthur at the head of the column of Knights. In this foray though, he wore for the first time the official robes of Court Mage, a position that had not existed in Camelot in decades. The Picts were at first easy to drive back, their raiding bands no match for Arthur's well trained Knights. But that was before their Queen Militant arrived, resplendent in her gold tooled leather armour.
Her raven hair was plaited back from her exquisite face, eyes a hard steel grey that flashed with pride. Her grey charger split through the lines of the rag tag Pictish army, a plain white standard borne by her attendant. Merlin gave Arthur a single nod. She came in honest parley. They rode out side by side, and as they approached, magic sang across Merlin's skins.
"She is a sorceress," he warned quietly, and Arthur nodded, but did not halt.
"My Lady," Arthur said with a small bow when he dismounted, and she did not return the courtesy, but rather had her servant speak for her.
"My Lady Niniane, the Queen of Northingales desires you leave the field of battle. She asserts the right of rule over the lands to the stone bridge in the south, through the lineage of the King in the North. She also bids you send your pet sorcerer back to your encampment, that she might treat with you, peer to noble peer." Merlin snorted loudly in response, and the servant looked up, startled to silence.
"I am no one's pet," Merlin spat out. "And just for that, I will have you in a collar." There was no chance for anyone to argue or respond, because in a single flash of his golden eyes, Merlin had thrown the servant to the ground more than ten paces back, and had the Queen of Northingales on her knees in the dirt, his hand in her hair. Her armour dissolved from her form like so much mist, and she choked back a sob of shame as Merlin hauled her to her feet by the hair. He traced a single finger around the delicate skin of her neck, and a thick collar of gold settled on her shoulders. Arthur stared as Merlin's fingers spun a delicate leash of gold, and tears seeped silver and silent down the Queen's face. "You will perform fealty to King Arthur," Merlin ordered, and she hesitated, but only for a moment, because then Merlin's hand was on her shoulder, forcing her back to her knees.
The oath was nearly indecipherable through the Lady's sobbing, but Arthur was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and so the Pictish Kingdom of Northingales was absorbed into the Kingdom of Camelot. They rode back to Camelot proper with Queen Niniane of Northingales thrown over the withers of Merlin's charger like a sack of so much loot, not a single stitch on her to preserve what remained of her dignity. Once back in the palace, Merlin had the former Queen installed as his personal servant. He had her dressed as a Queen despite her new status, shimmering silks and heavy satins, thick furs and richly embroidered velvets. But the only jewelry she wears is that heavy gold necklace, and everyone knows that she belongs to Merlin.
Three weeks after their return, a party arrived from the Wastelands Kingdom, headed by Queen Vivian, sister to Niniane of Northingales. Vivian was just as lovely as Niniane. She was also just as powerful a sorceress and just as arrogant a bargainer. Within three days of her arrival, she had likewise been stripped of her Kingdom, collared and chained for insulting Merlin. It was not quite the proper protocol, but Merlin's vengeful anger would not be denied, not even by Arthur's command, and so there was really nothing that could be done.
At first, it amused Arthur, the silent sorceresses that trailed in Merlin's wake. They never spoke that Arthur can hear, just lurked two steps behind Merlin, sullen looks on their pretty faces. They were the best dressed women in the entire court, covered head to toe in expensive deeply dyed fabrics. Their collars alone could feed the entire city for over a year. Arthur stopped being amused however, when he went to summon Merlin early one morning and found his Sorcerer in bed with both former Queens, their mouths crimson with Merlin's bloody kisses.
"You just can't help yourself, can you?" Arthur asked with a shake of his head, and Merlin grinned at him. Bound by their oaths of fealty, Arthur sent the sister Queens back to their former Kingdoms. They rode out in magnificent gowns, but they were still wearing Merlin's chains around their necks. Despite his jealousy though, Arthur could not bring himself to send Merlin away. He made excuses for his sorcerer, and some of them even rang true. After all, Merlin had been, to use a worn expression, raised by wolves. How could anyone expect him to know the strictures of courtly etiquette, let alone follow them?
Part Five: The Summer King
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Arthur x Merlin, Merlin x Morgana, Merlin x OFC, Merlin x OFC x OFC (non-explicit)
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Merlin is the property of the BBC. The author in no way profits from this fiction.
Summary: AU - In the legends, Merlin is always a boy without a father. He's also the wild man of the woods. What if his mother died when he was just a boy and he raised himself, half feral in the forest?
Notes: Arthur and Merlin are in their early twenties, and Arthur is newly crowned King of Camelot. I'm also bringing in some of the other Merlin legends, i.e., that he's a bit of a womanizer. Links are to previous chapters at my fic-journal, which is f/o, but all chapters are posted on
merlinxarthurPart 1: The Wild Boy
Part 2: The Hunter
Part 3: Jack of the Green
Part 4:
Last Time:
He dressed slowly, hand only a little stiff, and when he climbed down, his horse was tied to the lower branches of a nearby tree, packets of dried fish and smoked coney wrapped in fresh leaves and packed into his saddle bags. He rode away slowly, looking back every few paces. He didn't see Merlin, but he could feel those storm grey eyes on his form.
Arthur stopped short, staring. He knew who it was. There was no question in his mind. But he had not expected to ever see Merlin again. But there the wild boy was, more man than boy now, shoulders broad beneath his deerskin cloak. The hood of the cloak was pulled up, and Merlin looked like the scratched out depictions of the old Horned God, crowned in oak and antlers.
"Hold," Arthur ordered his Knights, and they looked at him quizzically.
"My Liege?" one of the braver ones ventured, but he waved the man silent.
"Hello Merlin," he called, voice ringing richly across the clearing, and a blood stained hand reached up, pushing back the antlered hood. Merlin's eyes were gold as a cat's, and a new scar ran from his left temple down the side of his face, pulling down one corner of his generous mouth. The scar did not alter Merlin's viciously joyful grin however, and Arthur could not help but grin in response. Merlin reached down, fondly rubbing the ears of the wolf that stood at his side, then shed his cloak altogether and loped lazily over to the band of steel armed men. It amused Arthur somewhat, the juxtaposition of Merlin, ever the wild card, and his loyal Knights. He was certain that although the wild man was slighter than any of the Knights and armed only with that ivory white blade of stag horn, Merlin could easily best any two of his Knights.
"Hello Arthur," Merlin said, and his voice was rough with disuse, creaky and dry. Arthur unstrapped his waterskin and handed it to Merlin, and golden eyes glittered with mirth before falling closed as Merlin drank deeply. While Merlin took long greedy pulls from the skin, Arthur watched the motion of his elegant throat, transfixed by the bobbing of his Adam's apple as he swallowed. Unbidden his mind raced back to their sunlit idyll in the forest, Merlin's mouth hot and berry stained against his skin. He glanced at Merlin's hands, saw the stains of dirt and blood under his short nails. Long scratches ran silver pale up Merlin's forearms, and again Arthur's mind was sent spinning down paths of memory, to long nights of tracing Merlin's scars by the light of the silvery moon, trying to determine what had caused the marks on his slender form. Merlin handed the waterskin back without a single word of thanks, looking up at Arthur evenly, perfectly at ease in his own skin.
"What brings you to this part of Camelot?" Arthur asked, and his tone was not so imperious as he would have liked. Merlin shrugged noncommittally.
"They say there is a Cockatrice in the woods," Merlin said. "Guarding a cave where the Mortaeus grows. I need Mortaeus, so I must find the Cockatrice." One of the Knights snorted with soft derision.
"A Cockatrice," Arthur asked skeptically, raising his eyebrow, and Merlin shrugged again.
"So they say," Merlin said, and Arthur could not tell if the raven haired man believed in the mythical beast or not. The wolf yipped from across the clearing, impatient, and Merlin half turned, yipping back at it, as if he could actually speak with the beast. Arthur smiled indulgently. He was unsure if Merlin truly understood the creature or not, but he had seen the wild man with the beasts of the forest enough to know that Merlin had a way with animals, that he was really more animal than man himself at times.
"I should like to see this Cockatrice," Arthur decided, and his Knights shifted in their saddles, their armour creaking and clanking in unvoiced disapproval. Merlin just smiled though, that vicious smile that made Arthur think of blood and sex. Without waiting for him to make any further declarations, Merlin sauntered away again, whistling sharply. The wolf bolted to Merlin's side, and a massive red deer eased out from beneath the eaves of the wood. Merlin rubbed the stag's nose gently, as a lady would rub the nose of her palfrey, and then, taking one massive antler in his hand, swung gracefully up onto the hart's back. Arthur could not help but stare as the stag ducked back under the trees, Merlin reaching up to pull down an unstrung yew bow and hide quiver full of arrows, then a large hide pack. As they went deeper into the shadowy forest, Arthur heard his Knights begin to murmur amongst themselves, not sure what to make of their guide. Arthur smiled to himself at their fussing, content to watch the gentle bunch and slide of the muscles in Merlin's tan back as he rode.
The cave itself was like an open wound in the surface of the earth, gaping open like a hungry maw. The horses pranced nervously, obviously uncomfortable in the deep forest. A blood curdling scream was their only warning before the Cockatrice was amongst them, tearing the throats from two of the chargers, then ripping the leg from one of the Knights. The others dismounted hurriedly, fumbling for their swords, but Merlin was already on the ground, hide cloak wound protectively around his off arm, bone knife clutched in his dominant hand. Arthur dismounted as well, shoving through the clustered Knights to get a good view. The Cockatrice screamed and hissed, and Arthur realized that Merlin had already drawn blood. A raw gash ran across the beast's face, dark ichor seeping into one eye and half blinding it. It was a large beast, but not as large as Arthur would have imagined, only the size of a large donkey or yearling colt. Still, it was fast, and judging from the moans emanating from Yvain, armed with sharp and venomous teeth.
Watching Merlin fight was rather like watching a single wolf try to take down an ox. He relied on footwork, circling the Cockatrice. He relied on speed, lashing out quickly with the bone blade, leaving gashes in the Cockatrice's flesh. The Cockatrice was not helpless though. It lashed out as well, using its heavy tail to knock Merlin back and sweep him off his feet. Merlin was agile though, regaining his feet with feline grace and striking in the same motion, again slashing through armoured skin. Slowly Merlin bled the strength from the Cockatrice, until it was hamstrung, spitting helplessly in blind hatred. Merlin put it out of its misery quickly, the bone blade easily parting the soft skin beneath the creature's jaw, spilling dark lifes-blood on the forest floor. Arthur took an unconscious step back as Merlin looked over to him, eyes flashing with golden danger. Then Merlin smiled that wolf smile, all sharp teeth and danger, and Arthur could taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth, and it made him almost painfully hard.
"Stay," Merlin commanded, as imperious as every, and laughter bubbled up out of Arthur's throat before he could quite help it, because no one had dared order him do anything since his father had been killed.
"I would rather not," Arthur said, laughter still colouring his voice, and Merlin just shrugged and turned his back, loping towards the dark maw of the cavern. Arthur turned to his Knights, bid them stay in turn, and Gawain made some attempt at argument, but an icy look from Arthur had his hot tempered cousin sinking back in futile, silent, annoyance. Arthur checked that his sword was loose in its sheathe on instinct, then ducked into the cave. A shimmering globe of blue white witch-fire bobbed in the distance, and as he approached he saw that it floated over Merlin's head. The deer cloak was once more about Merlin's shoulders, and Arthur resisted the urge to run his hands over the soft short fur.
"So the Mortaeus," Arthur asked, and Merlin gave him a sideways glance, golden eyes luminous in the half dark.
"The blossom is deadly poison," Merlin said. "The leaves the only antidote. When prepared by one such as myself, the poison is especially lethal." Arthur nodded, wondering who Merlin meant to poison. He did not ask though, mostly because he did not wish to know. The glimmering witch-light led them through the labyrinthine caverns, until Arthur could see tiny golden flowers clinging to the rock face.
"Start heading for the surface," Merlin suggested. "Unless you like spiders?" Arthur shivered slightly, wrinkling his nose in displeasure.
"How?" he asked, and Merlin pointed up the nearly sheer wall of the cavern.
"I will send the light with you," Merlin said. "I have no need of it." Arthur nodded, crossing the natural stone bridge that led to the flowers. The orb of silvery light traveled with him, then began ascending the wall. He paused, gauging handholds and footholds, then followed. Vaguely he could hear Merlin moving in the darkness below, but his focus was on the wall, on finding holds to pull himself up out of the earth. When he pulled himself up into the gathering darkness of the shadowy forest, his Knights were around him within moments, talking over one another, asking questions on how he knew the strange man in the deer cloak. Arthur silenced them with another icy look, then stalked back to his horse, tension bunching in his shoulders.
Yvain lay still and pale in a bed of dead leaves, breath but a death rattle in his chest. The space where his leg should have been was a sloppy mess of dark venal blood, mangled meat and shards of shattered bone, and Arthur knew the Knight would not live. He knelt, smoothing his hands through the older man's sweat soaked hair.
"My Liege," Yvain managed weakly, and Arthur shushed him gently.
"Hush," Arthur urged softly. "It's over." Yvain nodded weakly, then gasped and went still as Arthur's dagger found the weak spot in his armour beneath the arm opening. Lifes-blood again stained the forest floor, and Yvain was nothing more than soft flesh wrapped in cool steel. Deftly Arthur cleaned and re-sheathed his blade, then stood, silently daring the other Knights to remark on his actions. They looked away ashamedly, none meeting his eyes. Arthur turned, smoothing his hand over his charger's muzzle, ignoring his Knights.
If Merlin were a wolf, a comparison Arthur found apt at the moment, his Knights were obedient, well meaning, if slightly clumsy and overly affectionate dogs, looking to their pack leader when faced with a foe they did not quite understand. Merlin appeared not too long later, the Knights all hurriedly fumbling for their swords, as if they could have actually harmed Merlin. Arthur could not help his smile, and Merlin smile in response. For the first time, Arthur noticed the new wounds, half healed hurts and the still oozing marks left by the Cockatrice.
"Return with me," Arthur offered on impulse. "Come to Camelot proper." Merlin cocked his head to the side, that thinking gesture Arthur remembered so well, and Arthur felt his stomach clench in anticipation. After a moment, Merlin nodded, a single succinct motion of his dark head, and warmth blossomed in Arthur's gut. Merlin knelt, speaking softly to the wolf, and it panted, tongue lolling, then bounded away, yipping. The hart seemed to nod in agreement, then it melted into the shadows of the forest. Arthur grinned and mounted, his charger dancing under him as it caught his excitement. He extended his arm down to Merlin, and the slender young man gripped his forearm tightly and allowed himself to be pulled up. Deceptively slender arms wrapped around Arthur's waist, and Merlin's breath ghosted warmly against the side of his neck.
"Bors, Geraint," Arthur called, picking out the two most inexperienced Knights. "Build a litter, carry Yvain's body back to Camelot. I will expect you within the week." They bowed, mail covered fists thumping hollowly against their chests, and then the other Knights were mounting, wheeling their chargers and heading out of the forest. They camped on the plain, and in the morning Arthur woke to Merlin's wet kisses. He groaned softly in pleasure, reaching down to tangle his fingers in Merlin's raven tresses. Merlin smiled up at him, eyes gold sparked grey, then ducked down to run his tongue along the tender join between Arthur's torso and thigh. Arthur groaned deeply, then clenched his jaw to keep from crying out as Merlin's tongue teased up his cock.
"Merlin," he gasped, tightening his grip on the other man's hair, wondering vaguely where the wild man had learned this before the sensation of Merlin's breath on his wet cock drove all thought from Arthur's head. Merlin's throat contracted around Arthur's dick, and Arthur's entire world narrowed to that hot, wet cavern and the rough feeling of Merlin's matted hair beneath his hands. The intensity of being buried balls-deep in Merlin again drove Arthur over the edge with embarrassing speed, but it didn't really matter, because a moment after he came, Merlin's mouth was pressed against his, the taste of his seed sharp and bitter and salty on his tongue.
It tasted nothing like the copper tang of blood, but then Merlin's sharp teeth were pulling at his lips, and the familiar metallic taste flooded Arthur's mouth, flooded his mind with the memory of a hundred other bloody kisses. Merlin kissed like he fought, sharp and deadly, hands everywhere at once, short-bitten nails raising pink weals on Arthur's golden skin. Arthur groaned into the kiss, breath hitching as Merlin's erection slicked pre-come across his belly. Merlin shifted, changed the angle, and his cock slipped into the cleft of Arthur's ass, the swollen head slicking insistently over Arthur's entrance.
Again Arthur's mind spiraled back, this time to Merlin screaming and thrashing under him, to how violently he had taken the other boy those years before. His body tensed in nervous anticipation, but he didn't have the strength this time, to push Merlin away. Merlin pulled away slightly, mouth red with Arthur's blood, and his touch gentled, hands ghosting over Arthur's form, calming him, soothing him with soft murmurs. Slowly Arthur relaxed a bit, and then the head of Merlin's cock was easing into him, hot and hard, and he arched his back, biting his lip bloody to keep from screaming. Merlin shushed him gently, eyes sparking gold, and Arthur whimpered as his muscles were forcibly relaxed. Merlin's lips moved over his chest, leaving a trail of blood and saliva as Merlin sucked at his nipples and raised mouth shaped bruises. "Merlin," he gasped, unable to bear the feeling of being filled, and Merlin grinned ferally, undulating his hips and making Arthur see stars.
"Merlin," Arthur groaned again, and then Merlin's strong, slender hands were cupping his ass, lifting him, and Merlin's cock again bumped against that place deep in Arthur's center and made him arch and swear and beg like a common whore.
It was not quite violent, not quite brutal, but Arthur knew he wouldn't be walking quite right that day with the pounding Merlin was giving him. But he didn't want it to stop, didn't want Merlin to gentle his taking. If anything, he wanted Merlin to be rougher, harder. He wanted to feel Merlin's full strength pounding into him, wanted to see if his body could handle that. He wanted Merlin to possess him as no other lover of his ever had, had ever even tried to. Pleasure sparked behind Arthur's eyes, made him grunt and gasp and moan, and then he let out a long low keening from the depths of his being, unable to voice his complete undoing in any other way. His cock twitched to life, hardening rapidly as Merlin pounded into him over and again.
"Merlin," he gasped throatily, and Merlin's teeth closed on his Adam's apple, worrying the stubble of his three day beard, and he groaned wordlessly. "Please," he choked out, and Merlin's hands gripped his hips so hard there would be bruises, and the wild man slammed his hips up into Arthur's, and Arthur keened again, then collapsed bonelessly in orgasm. A few violent snaps of the hips later, Merlin let out a similar keening cry, and Arthur whimpered as he felt hot seed fill him.
Merlin rose from their tangled bed a few moments later, mouth smeared with the blood of their violent kisses, cum smeared on his pale thighs. Arthur groaned softly, reaching for a cloth to clean up with as he watched Merlin stretch. Tiny lancets of light streaked through the walls of the tent, limning Merlin's form with the pale gold of early morning.
"What are you?" Arthur asked softly, more to himself than Merlin, but Merlin turned to him nonetheless, smiling that vicious bloodstained smile.
"You know what I am," Merlin answered, and his voice was almost kind, as if Arthur were either slow or stupid. Arthur shook his head, because the only thing he was really certain of regarding Merlin was that he was an enigma. Merlin smiled though, then took the cloth from Arthur and wiped himself clean. Arthur lay abed, watching Merlin explore the tent. It didn't take long for Merlin to find Arthur's small pack of spare clothes, and without regard for things like personal property, Merlin pulled out a pair of hide breeches and a soft linen shirt and dressed, then found a comb and began working the tangles out of his matted hair. Arthur stared in fascination as the natural, innate nobility of the wild man he had known was transformed before his eyes into the sort of nobility most men recognized.
Their remaining journey to Camelot was without incident, and soon Arthur's mount was clattering into the bailey, Merlin riding double with the young King. As Arthur passed under the fortified gate, the crimson dragon that was his standard was run up the flag pole, replacing the ivy garland of Lady Morgana, who ruled in his absences. Morgana met them in the audience hall, standing to one side of the empty throne. She smiled gently at Arthur, and then froze like a rabbit and went pale as death when her eyes came to rest on Merlin.
"My Lady," Merlin said, and she managed to blanche further, but bobbed a polite if rather stiff curtsey in response to Merlin's deep bow.
"This is Merlin," Arthur said, looking back and forth between the two of them. "We met some years ago near the border," he explained by way of introduction, and Morgana nodded, regaining her composure, schooling her face to placidity.
"Who are your people?" the Lady asked, and Merlin smiled his wolf smile.
"I have no people," he said, and she blanched again, but gave no other sign of her discomfort.
Dinner was a slightly strained affair, Arthur unable to settle the feeling that somehow he was missing something to do with Merlin and Morgana both. When the dancing started after the chargers had been cleared away and the tables pushed to the sides of the hall, Arthur was a little surprised when Merlin was the first to rise. The raven haired man laughed at his expression, offering a hand to Morgana.
"I have spent time in towns before," Merlin said, as though Arthur were being rather stupid. "I simply prefer to be out in the wild for the most part." Arthur nodded, and Morgana tentatively placed her hand in Merlin's. The dance that followed was like nothing Arthur had ever seen. For the most part, partners chose or were chosen based on political alliances, not actual favour, and it made for slightly cold, mechanical steps. But Merlin's arm circled Morgana's waist with a hint of possessiveness, and he pulled her body against his without regard for who watched, without regard for the crimson flush that soon warmed Morgana's face. Everyone in the hall could see from the first turn of the dance that Merlin meant to have Morgana in his bed, and that she would not struggle against him overly much. Arthur left before too much longer, unable to bear the sight of the only man to ever touch him holding his foster-sister so intimately.
For the next few weeks, Arthur felt he could not go anywhere without seeing Merlin and Morgana together. They were quite a lovely pair, a matched set in some ways, with their proud features and raven locks, the strange knowing look they both got in their blue eyes. Every time he saw them though, a sharp pang ran through Arthur, and it got so he was loathe to leave his room. He did of course, he was King after all, and had a nation to run. But he restricted his movements for the most part to those parts of the castle and keep that he was less likely to see Merlin and Morgana in, the training grounds and stables, armoury and mews. Still, he saw them, walking out in the gardens together, dark heads bowed as they spoke softly into one another's ears. He saw them leaving the archives or circumnavigating the duck pond, riding out with Morgana's handmaiden as their only attendant. It bothered Arthur immensely, but it went against no law, broke no rule. It was unseemly, ruined Morgana's reputation, but she had never been one for propriety for propriety's sake.
Even so, after a few weeks, Arthur decided that enough was enough. The only decision was which of them he ought to speak to first. So late one night, after he was certain Merlin would have returned to his chambers, Arthur went next door, pushing to door open without bothering to knock. He was the King after all, and no door was closed to him. What he saw though, made him rather wish he had knocked. Merlin and Morgana knelt in front of the fireplace, both of them naked as babes. The fire cast them both in warm golden light and thick black shadow. Their hands were joined between them, and Merlin's eyes had gone that gold Arthur remembered from when they first met. He gasped sharply in surprise, and Morgana's head whipped around in surprise. She started away from him, breaking her connection to Merlin as she covered herself with her hands.
"What is the meaning of this?" Arthur asked gruffly, and Merlin stood, enveloping Morgana in his arms, shielding her from Arthur's view.
"I am teaching her," Merlin said simply, and Arthur felt his brow furrow in confusion.
"I am a sorceress," Morgana confessed in a tiny voice. "I dreamed of Merlin's coming before he arrived. Arthur, since before I came to Camelot I have dreamed things, things that have always come to pass. When - when your father was King, I lived in terror. Since, I have tried to teach myself, but I - Merlin has more magic than I could ever hope to." Arthur stared for a long moment, taking in the way Merlin's hands protected Morgana, the way he held her as if she belonged to him.
"There is more to it than that," Arthur growled, and Merlin's grasp on Morgana changed slightly, became yet more possessive. Morgana let out a soft little gasp of pleasure, her cream skin pinking as she leaned back against Merlin. Merlin smiled at Arthur, that most dangerous of smiles, and then his mouth was on Morgana's neck, her shoulder. His hand cupped her full breast, and Morgana was crimson, but Arthur couldn't tell if it was desire or shame that coloured her cheeks. She whimpered softly, and Arthur's eyes followed the strong line of Merlin's arm to where he cupped her sex.
"You will remove yourself to Tintagel Castle," Arthur ordered thickly, then turned on his heel and swept out, pausing at the door to look back and catch Merlin's golden eyes. "You will stay here with me." Three days later Morgana was gone, and Merlin was once more in Arthur's bed.
"You know I do not love her," Merlin told Arthur one morning, tracing meaningless patterns on Arthur's smooth chest, and Arthur glared at the warlock narrowly.
"She is lovely, I will not deny that, and she reminded me powerfully of my sister, who I did love, more than any other in the world. But I do not love the Lady Morgana Arthur, and she knows that as well as I do." Arthur didn't respond, just pinned Merlin back into the bed and kissed him silent, then slowly made love to him, trying to get across with every deep thrust of his hips what he could not bring himself to say yet. For the next few months, Camelot was peaceful, and Arthur quickly became somewhat dependent upon Merlin's advice. It was not so much Merlin's knowledge, but his faith in Arthur, and his belief in Arthur's inherent goodness that the young King needed. When it came time for him to make tough decisions, he found himself thinking, but what would Merlin expect me to do? and not once when he had followed what he thought Merlin would expect did he make the wrong decision.
The idyll was shattered when the Picts began encroaching over the norther border, running raids in the night, stealing food and livestock, killing the men who dared to fight, raping the womenfolk and kidnapping the children. As on every other campaign since arriving, Merlin rode out with Arthur at the head of the column of Knights. In this foray though, he wore for the first time the official robes of Court Mage, a position that had not existed in Camelot in decades. The Picts were at first easy to drive back, their raiding bands no match for Arthur's well trained Knights. But that was before their Queen Militant arrived, resplendent in her gold tooled leather armour.
Her raven hair was plaited back from her exquisite face, eyes a hard steel grey that flashed with pride. Her grey charger split through the lines of the rag tag Pictish army, a plain white standard borne by her attendant. Merlin gave Arthur a single nod. She came in honest parley. They rode out side by side, and as they approached, magic sang across Merlin's skins.
"She is a sorceress," he warned quietly, and Arthur nodded, but did not halt.
"My Lady," Arthur said with a small bow when he dismounted, and she did not return the courtesy, but rather had her servant speak for her.
"My Lady Niniane, the Queen of Northingales desires you leave the field of battle. She asserts the right of rule over the lands to the stone bridge in the south, through the lineage of the King in the North. She also bids you send your pet sorcerer back to your encampment, that she might treat with you, peer to noble peer." Merlin snorted loudly in response, and the servant looked up, startled to silence.
"I am no one's pet," Merlin spat out. "And just for that, I will have you in a collar." There was no chance for anyone to argue or respond, because in a single flash of his golden eyes, Merlin had thrown the servant to the ground more than ten paces back, and had the Queen of Northingales on her knees in the dirt, his hand in her hair. Her armour dissolved from her form like so much mist, and she choked back a sob of shame as Merlin hauled her to her feet by the hair. He traced a single finger around the delicate skin of her neck, and a thick collar of gold settled on her shoulders. Arthur stared as Merlin's fingers spun a delicate leash of gold, and tears seeped silver and silent down the Queen's face. "You will perform fealty to King Arthur," Merlin ordered, and she hesitated, but only for a moment, because then Merlin's hand was on her shoulder, forcing her back to her knees.
The oath was nearly indecipherable through the Lady's sobbing, but Arthur was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and so the Pictish Kingdom of Northingales was absorbed into the Kingdom of Camelot. They rode back to Camelot proper with Queen Niniane of Northingales thrown over the withers of Merlin's charger like a sack of so much loot, not a single stitch on her to preserve what remained of her dignity. Once back in the palace, Merlin had the former Queen installed as his personal servant. He had her dressed as a Queen despite her new status, shimmering silks and heavy satins, thick furs and richly embroidered velvets. But the only jewelry she wears is that heavy gold necklace, and everyone knows that she belongs to Merlin.
Three weeks after their return, a party arrived from the Wastelands Kingdom, headed by Queen Vivian, sister to Niniane of Northingales. Vivian was just as lovely as Niniane. She was also just as powerful a sorceress and just as arrogant a bargainer. Within three days of her arrival, she had likewise been stripped of her Kingdom, collared and chained for insulting Merlin. It was not quite the proper protocol, but Merlin's vengeful anger would not be denied, not even by Arthur's command, and so there was really nothing that could be done.
At first, it amused Arthur, the silent sorceresses that trailed in Merlin's wake. They never spoke that Arthur can hear, just lurked two steps behind Merlin, sullen looks on their pretty faces. They were the best dressed women in the entire court, covered head to toe in expensive deeply dyed fabrics. Their collars alone could feed the entire city for over a year. Arthur stopped being amused however, when he went to summon Merlin early one morning and found his Sorcerer in bed with both former Queens, their mouths crimson with Merlin's bloody kisses.
"You just can't help yourself, can you?" Arthur asked with a shake of his head, and Merlin grinned at him. Bound by their oaths of fealty, Arthur sent the sister Queens back to their former Kingdoms. They rode out in magnificent gowns, but they were still wearing Merlin's chains around their necks. Despite his jealousy though, Arthur could not bring himself to send Merlin away. He made excuses for his sorcerer, and some of them even rang true. After all, Merlin had been, to use a worn expression, raised by wolves. How could anyone expect him to know the strictures of courtly etiquette, let alone follow them?
Part Five: The Summer King
