Fylgia
Title: Fylgia
Author: castmeaway
Pairing: A/M
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 3.2k
Summary: Based on the idea of the Norse Fylgia, a supernatural being or creature which accompanies a person in connection to their fate or fortune.
A/N: This is something that has been tossing around in the back of my mind for a while, and was originally written and posted for the lovely lolafeist over at the thestabbedboy.
Arthur cursed. The wind whipped ice cold around him, caught at the back of his neck and sent violent shivers down his spine. He was still a days ride from Camelot and he kicked himself for so badly misjudging the weather. He could ill afford such mistakes, nor were they like him. For all that he seemed a coddled and courtly prince, he had ever been proud of his deeply honed and nearly unparalleled abilities in judging the fickle weather.
His horse nickered low in the fading light, clearly not pleased either, for Arthur had promised the beast only hours ago the delights of a warm stable, fresh hay, and perhaps a stolen sugar cube or two for its infinite patience with him. But it was not to be, and Hengroen was anxious beneath him, pounding his impatience in hard stomping steps upon the ground that jarred Arthur's teeth, and decided him upon dismounting and making camp amidst the small clearing they had just entered.
He set to work quickly then, and cast only the barest of remorseful and half envious thoughts to the knights he had sent on ahead of him, so that he might set chase to the hart he had glimpsed, fleet and lovely, through the trees. The hunting trip had been long and hard, and he knew his companions did not quite share his fierce delight in the chase of wild game. They enjoyed it, for sure, but they were also just as happy to be amidst the warm walls of their homes, within the embrace of a loved one, so deep into the season. They had not Arthur's desperate need for the freedom of fresh air, or the exhilaration that chased duty and perpetual disappointment from his veins the way one of Gaius' remedies might chase poison from the blood. So when he had seen their wearied and chilled expressions he had smiled at them and sent them home, and to only minimal dispute. There was no contesting that he was the best of them, and had not the weather turned so foul, he would have been less than half a day behind them at most, successful in his hunt of the hart or not.
But alas, here he was, his chilled and gloved hands clumsy as he set upon the construction of his solitary tent, and sought also to find wood enough to make a fire to warm himself by. The snow that fell around him was light and dry and was not yet so thick upon the ground that he hoped he might still find dry wood for the task.
Only.
Arthur stopped and stared in muted surprise as he stepped but a handful of paces back into the surrounding forest. Laying prone upon the ground there was a figure, all sharp contrasts and angles upon the softly fallen blanket of white. A boy of skin so pale that were it not for the shock of midnight hair and strangely hypnotizing swirls of deep blue ink that traced upon his back and around his hips, he might have blended into near invisibility amidst the snow.
Arthur was a prince of course, and had long learned to be wary of the world. Of magic and the deep and old things that stirred in the heart of all woods, and he forced himself into a hard won and long learned state of watchfulness, his father's words a ringing warning in his ears. But for all that he ever held his head high in pride, was arrogant in his abilities, he had a true heart and he could not leave someone in peril if it be in his ability to offer aid. And clearly, naked and unconscious youths fell into that category, despite what misgiving might yet gnaw at him.
He walked slowly to the boy, knelt and removed his thick gloves so he could place bare fingers to the long line of a pale throat, and true as a drum he found a sluggish pulse there, and was glad. Though the feeling came from a place he could not name, even were he pressed to do so.
He centered his weight then, knelt low and brought the youth into his arms, his deep and rooted discipline preserving the boy's modesty from his eyes, where any other might have faltered. He had always favored the notions of chivalry, and would practice it in every aspect of his life. He was determined to give the boy what dignity and privacy he could, despite the unusual situation.
Though he couldn't help but wonder how this state of affairs had come to pass at all.
Why would anyone be willingly about in such weather?
The thought nagged at his mind, made all the more curious at how anyone could then survive with no clothing, and amidst the growing storm and cold around them. Even bundled tightly in the finest of leather and fur Camelot had to offer, the chill had long worked into his own bones and frozen his fingers, toes and joints into uncomfortable stiffness. The conclusion that he needed to get them sheltered and soonest was an easy one.
~~~
Arthur woke slowly, reluctantly.
A strange and searing warmth had finally infused life back into his veins, pumped hardness into the flesh between his thighs. He shifted, welcomed heat made sharp by the cold that was kept only just at bay by a heavy fur blanket, the shelter of a tent, and the carefully tended fire set as close as he dared.
He rutted slowly in his laze, relished the slow burn of pleasure that was easy and unhurried and...
His eyes snapped open and Arthur gaped at the youth curled around him. Brilliant and strange blue eyes were an alluring regard in the twilight of the moment, and he met them in frozen bewilderment.
He tried to hurriedly extricate himself then, mortified apology threatening upon his tongue. But the boy held tight to him, wrapped a possessive leg about Arthur's hip and held him in place, even as a curious hand reached forward and found him where he still ached with desires too long left untended.
"You should not," He hissed into the quite, and though his voice sounded pleading even unto to his own ears, he could not tell if that plea was one for reprieve or one of 'by the gods-more'.
His strange foundling had much recovered over the course of the night it seemed, and Arthur only briefly recalled his notions of chivalry, before he consciously damned the consequences and pulled the boy astride him. The boy smiled at him, bright and pleased and curious like a child, before he leaned forward, framed in the blanket Arthur had wrapped around them both the night before, and licked curiously at the hollow of Arthur's throat. He drew back quickly though, a perplexed look on his face, before he did so again, then dove upward, just a bit further, and caught Arthur's mouth in a kiss sweet as honey and innocent as a child.
"By the gods," Arthur groaned, body splayed upon the hard ground in open invitation for the youth to continue his careful touches. He had taken lovers aplenty over the years, as was his due, and in a continuing search for whatever small rebellion he could stomach against his father. Had even taken a fair few men to his bed for that same reason. But none stirred such feeling, such intense lust as lashed through him now, as clearly inexperienced hands traced over him in their relentless explorations.
Until finally...finally... Arthur clenched his jaw, marshaled his body in strictest discipline and flipped them easily around, so that the boy was the one to find himself sprawled upon the ground, wide eyed and exposed.
"What are you?" he whispered, a half question nuzzled into the sharp cut of a collarbone, though he could not be certain he truly wished an answer. The boy's smile had faded, but he spoke then, a strange string of syllables that shivered like the ice winds down his spine, tugged like heartbreak at his soul. They stared at each other for a long time, the desire, the melting lust between them something new and changed now, though no less potent.
"Merlin" the boy finally replied, a single crystal note in the silence. He placed a hand over his heart, and then the hesitant smile returned to his face, open in invitation, waiting for an answer.
"Merlin." Arthur repeated slowly, but he understood, "Your name." it wasn't a question. He repeated the gesture Merlin had used a bare moment ago and offered his own name into the ritual growing around them.
"Arthur."
He leaned down even as he made the offering of his name, and was met in the middle by warm lips and a honey sweet kiss that tasted like all his most treasured memories, all the best things in his life. Like safety. And then Merlin said something else, into their heated kiss, something foreign that set Arthur's blood aflame as he had never known, but something he yet understood. He translated the words.
"I need you."
In answer Merlin smiled, arched his back in invitation of pleasure he clearly did not know how to ask for, would not have had the words to do so, even if he did. There was trust in his deep eyes though, and need, and his hand moved to Arthur's wanting shaft in brazen desire that contrasted intoxicatingly with the obvious innocence of the touch itself.
He groaned, as he let the boy play with him, stroke him into a frenzy once more, that it took the very last ounce of his willpower to stave off the tidal wave of his release. "I would release inside of you!" he gasped as he drew Merlin's reluctant hands away, even as his own took hold of slim thighs and opened the boy up before him, to return the pleasure. And he paused at that, could do naught but stare and admire the pale from laid out beneath him.
Merlin, this strange dreamlike creature, writhed so fetchingly for him. He opened his legs invitation wide as Arthur traced the path, with the pads of sword callused fingers, of strange blue ink where it wound around the base of the boys handsome cock, already hard and flushed, and still more so when he brought his own hand there to test the steel of it.
Merlin's eyes fetched wide at that, were very nearly black in the low light, and yet they took up an electric current that sizzled around them, had Arthur frantically searching, clumsy and hot-cold, through his traveling pack. He finally yelled in triumph when he questing fingers produced the small pot of healing grease he used for aches and blisters, that was thick and cool and wetted so nicely at the tight flesh he hoped to pierce.
"Merlin." The sound was a breathy whisper at odds with the slick and near unbearably obscene sounds he drew forth in tandem. Merlin was a mess for him now, slick and loose and easy-pliant where he writhed upon Arthur's demanding fingers. Confident fingers, where he might otherwise be hesitant, here in the desperation of the moment.
He jerked back with a gasp. Merlin was ready for him now. So very ready. Hot and incoherent with it, and Arthur had to press at him, fold him nearly in two to still him.
"Easy," he crooned. "Settle for me. Easy," he said, so that that the words became a strange chant. Magic almost, as he took hold of himself, rubbed into the shadowed space between the boy's thighs. He didn't press in immediately though, instead brought his fingers down to once more spread Merlin greedy wide and hold him like that, ready.
He paused there, caught up in the moment and hesitant for the first time since he came across his strange foundling, but he could not hold out for long. With a low sigh he finally sheathed himself deep inside the scorching yield of Merlin's body, where his thrusting was frantic and needy at first, a mindless stroking of his hips driving him toward some explosive end.
Except it was too wet, and there was not enough friction, not enough something, to quite tumble him over.
He growled, pulled Merlin's legs wider and settled them on his shoulders, looked down to where the strange boy was a long line beneath him, his hands thrown above his head and clenched into white knuckled fists. His hips canted up to meet the jarring stab of Arthur's cock, and his shaft jerked up and down with their fierce movements, streaked sticky fluid across both their bellies. Strange noises slipped out of his mouth too, words maybe, or a prayer, or obscenities for all that Arthur knew or cared. The sound of them lit hot fire behind his eyes and in his gut though, enticed him into chasing them back to their source with lips and tongue.
They moved like that for a long time, tied together in the sharp and intimate undulation of their dueling bodies. For this rang with all the trappings of a battle, though his brain was so addled with his pleasure, riding low in his spine now, that he could not comprehend why this was so. And even as his own orgasm was now an imminent threat upon the horizon, he judged that Merlin was close as well, by the tightly screwed clench of his mouth, the taughtness in his fluttering belly.
If this was a battle, then, he thought half dazedly, he had no qualms for underhandedness, and he reached out in determined focus and took hold of the rosy flesh of the boy's cock. He reveled in the bone jarring shudder that ran through him and traced into Arthur's own flesh where they were bound, so he held his grip firm where he stroked swift and sure at the boy, until finally, without warning Merlin seized up around him. Thick seed furled onto their bellies, sticky and warm, and tremors reverberated into Arthur so powerfully that whatever had held him in check before finally, finally unlocked itself.
He managed to lodge himself back inside only once more, before his own wracking orgasm shocked blindingly through him.
He collapsed in exhaustion afterwards, content to leave his softening flesh to work its own way free, and allowed himself to fall into slumber.
~~~
"My lord!" a frantic voice called out to him. Strong arms curried half frantically at his shoulders and Arthur woke only enough to swat at whoever was disturbing him in irritation. He was warm here, near hot, and his body still tingled from the intensity of his pleasure.
He woke a little more then, when whoever was trying to get his attention hauled him away from his blankets and into warm arms, but lucidity failed him again quickly.
"Merlin" he groaned lowly as he relaxed back into unconsciousness.
~~~
"He is lucky he did not freeze to death. As it is, I have serious concerns regarding hypothermia." A grim voice said in the dark.
Arthur floated, as if upon a cloud. Voices whispered around him but he could not bring himself to care, could not bring himself to wonder at the strange words and worried sounds of- Gaius for sure, and...his father?
He slipped off to sleep again, grateful for the softness of his bed beneath him.
~~~
When Arthur next awoke he frowned. He was in his bed, which he remembered the warmth of, from his brief forays into wakefulness.
But how had he gotten here?
He remembered the forest and his little camp and the snow and...
"Merlin!" he called out, frantic suddenly, as he looked around for the strange tattooed boy with bright eyes and a silvery language.
"My lord?" And then it was Gaius at his side, and cool and wizened hands checked carefully at his forehead, though the old man looked only relieved as he examined Arthur's body. "How do you feel?"
"Fine. I'm fine. But where is Merlin?"
"Merlin?" Gaius questioned curiously, "I know of no such person. Is he a servant I can have fetched for you?" The old man looked at him in compassionate confusion.
"No. He was with me in the forest. Where is he?"
"I know not sire. No others were brought to be treated. I can ask Sir Leon though, if there was sign of anyone else when you were found."
Arthur frowned. he could feel himself getting frustrated and angry, emotions he knew he could ill handle even on the best of days. Something was not right, though, and he could not quite figure out what had happened that he was back in Camelot with no recollection of the journey..
Gaius seemed to understand his conflicting emotions though, for he was quick to speak. "Fear not my lord, considering the way you were found, some confusion is to be expected. You nearly died out in the cold, you should have really, considering how long you were exposed. I can't explain it." Gaius looked genuinely perplexed at that, though also clearly relieved. "Sir Leon grew anxious when you did not return and set off looking for you. You are lucky he found you at all, and only the fact that he returned you to my care so quickly saved your life."
And Arthur was grateful, truly, but worry gnawed at him. If he had been in such dire straits, what did that mean for his little foundling, so slender and unclothed as he had been, out in the cold?
~~~
"Sire," Leon spoke slowly, "There was no one with you when I found you there in that clearing. Nor was there any sigh that someone had ever been there but you." Leon looked at him curiously as he said this, confused himself.
What could Arthur say to that though? Leon was the very best of his trackers and would not have missed the obvious signs of another person. It was inconceivable. But what did that mean? What did that make Merlin?
Not some phantom surely, for his fingers still tingled with touches, his body still remembered its possession of the fey boy.
~~~
Arthur stared for a long time at the clearing. He had ridden out that morning on his covert mission. The weather had finally settled, and though snow had fallen in a blanket that reached near his knees in some places, it was no longer such a desolate and dangerous thing to be out and about.
Which didn't mean he hadn't had to sneak away for this. The knights were a protective bunch and had been unwilling to authorize such an expedition.
But he had to know. Had to understand.
And he thought, standing there, that finally he did.
The skeleton of the camp he had made was still there, made his heart clench as he truly understood for the first time the danger he had been in.
"I should have died out here," he whispered. But he hadn't.
He had been kept warm by his foundling. By Merlin.
Merlin had saved his life. Somehow.
He turned Hengroen back to the castle then, content with his understanding. His heart told him he had the truth of things at last.
~~~
"Fylgia, sire, if I were to guess." Gaius told him that evening, as he served Arthur a rough hewn mug filled with steaming tea. "They are guardian spirits. If, indeed, that is what you encountered out there in the woods, then you are a lucky man."
Arthur smiled at the old man, nodded, and suddenly knew that he had not seen the last of his Merlin.
Author: castmeaway
Pairing: A/M
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 3.2k
Summary: Based on the idea of the Norse Fylgia, a supernatural being or creature which accompanies a person in connection to their fate or fortune.
A/N: This is something that has been tossing around in the back of my mind for a while, and was originally written and posted for the lovely lolafeist over at the thestabbedboy.
Arthur cursed. The wind whipped ice cold around him, caught at the back of his neck and sent violent shivers down his spine. He was still a days ride from Camelot and he kicked himself for so badly misjudging the weather. He could ill afford such mistakes, nor were they like him. For all that he seemed a coddled and courtly prince, he had ever been proud of his deeply honed and nearly unparalleled abilities in judging the fickle weather.
His horse nickered low in the fading light, clearly not pleased either, for Arthur had promised the beast only hours ago the delights of a warm stable, fresh hay, and perhaps a stolen sugar cube or two for its infinite patience with him. But it was not to be, and Hengroen was anxious beneath him, pounding his impatience in hard stomping steps upon the ground that jarred Arthur's teeth, and decided him upon dismounting and making camp amidst the small clearing they had just entered.
He set to work quickly then, and cast only the barest of remorseful and half envious thoughts to the knights he had sent on ahead of him, so that he might set chase to the hart he had glimpsed, fleet and lovely, through the trees. The hunting trip had been long and hard, and he knew his companions did not quite share his fierce delight in the chase of wild game. They enjoyed it, for sure, but they were also just as happy to be amidst the warm walls of their homes, within the embrace of a loved one, so deep into the season. They had not Arthur's desperate need for the freedom of fresh air, or the exhilaration that chased duty and perpetual disappointment from his veins the way one of Gaius' remedies might chase poison from the blood. So when he had seen their wearied and chilled expressions he had smiled at them and sent them home, and to only minimal dispute. There was no contesting that he was the best of them, and had not the weather turned so foul, he would have been less than half a day behind them at most, successful in his hunt of the hart or not.
But alas, here he was, his chilled and gloved hands clumsy as he set upon the construction of his solitary tent, and sought also to find wood enough to make a fire to warm himself by. The snow that fell around him was light and dry and was not yet so thick upon the ground that he hoped he might still find dry wood for the task.
Only.
Arthur stopped and stared in muted surprise as he stepped but a handful of paces back into the surrounding forest. Laying prone upon the ground there was a figure, all sharp contrasts and angles upon the softly fallen blanket of white. A boy of skin so pale that were it not for the shock of midnight hair and strangely hypnotizing swirls of deep blue ink that traced upon his back and around his hips, he might have blended into near invisibility amidst the snow.
Arthur was a prince of course, and had long learned to be wary of the world. Of magic and the deep and old things that stirred in the heart of all woods, and he forced himself into a hard won and long learned state of watchfulness, his father's words a ringing warning in his ears. But for all that he ever held his head high in pride, was arrogant in his abilities, he had a true heart and he could not leave someone in peril if it be in his ability to offer aid. And clearly, naked and unconscious youths fell into that category, despite what misgiving might yet gnaw at him.
He walked slowly to the boy, knelt and removed his thick gloves so he could place bare fingers to the long line of a pale throat, and true as a drum he found a sluggish pulse there, and was glad. Though the feeling came from a place he could not name, even were he pressed to do so.
He centered his weight then, knelt low and brought the youth into his arms, his deep and rooted discipline preserving the boy's modesty from his eyes, where any other might have faltered. He had always favored the notions of chivalry, and would practice it in every aspect of his life. He was determined to give the boy what dignity and privacy he could, despite the unusual situation.
Though he couldn't help but wonder how this state of affairs had come to pass at all.
Why would anyone be willingly about in such weather?
The thought nagged at his mind, made all the more curious at how anyone could then survive with no clothing, and amidst the growing storm and cold around them. Even bundled tightly in the finest of leather and fur Camelot had to offer, the chill had long worked into his own bones and frozen his fingers, toes and joints into uncomfortable stiffness. The conclusion that he needed to get them sheltered and soonest was an easy one.
~~~
Arthur woke slowly, reluctantly.
A strange and searing warmth had finally infused life back into his veins, pumped hardness into the flesh between his thighs. He shifted, welcomed heat made sharp by the cold that was kept only just at bay by a heavy fur blanket, the shelter of a tent, and the carefully tended fire set as close as he dared.
He rutted slowly in his laze, relished the slow burn of pleasure that was easy and unhurried and...
His eyes snapped open and Arthur gaped at the youth curled around him. Brilliant and strange blue eyes were an alluring regard in the twilight of the moment, and he met them in frozen bewilderment.
He tried to hurriedly extricate himself then, mortified apology threatening upon his tongue. But the boy held tight to him, wrapped a possessive leg about Arthur's hip and held him in place, even as a curious hand reached forward and found him where he still ached with desires too long left untended.
"You should not," He hissed into the quite, and though his voice sounded pleading even unto to his own ears, he could not tell if that plea was one for reprieve or one of 'by the gods-more'.
His strange foundling had much recovered over the course of the night it seemed, and Arthur only briefly recalled his notions of chivalry, before he consciously damned the consequences and pulled the boy astride him. The boy smiled at him, bright and pleased and curious like a child, before he leaned forward, framed in the blanket Arthur had wrapped around them both the night before, and licked curiously at the hollow of Arthur's throat. He drew back quickly though, a perplexed look on his face, before he did so again, then dove upward, just a bit further, and caught Arthur's mouth in a kiss sweet as honey and innocent as a child.
"By the gods," Arthur groaned, body splayed upon the hard ground in open invitation for the youth to continue his careful touches. He had taken lovers aplenty over the years, as was his due, and in a continuing search for whatever small rebellion he could stomach against his father. Had even taken a fair few men to his bed for that same reason. But none stirred such feeling, such intense lust as lashed through him now, as clearly inexperienced hands traced over him in their relentless explorations.
Until finally...finally... Arthur clenched his jaw, marshaled his body in strictest discipline and flipped them easily around, so that the boy was the one to find himself sprawled upon the ground, wide eyed and exposed.
"What are you?" he whispered, a half question nuzzled into the sharp cut of a collarbone, though he could not be certain he truly wished an answer. The boy's smile had faded, but he spoke then, a strange string of syllables that shivered like the ice winds down his spine, tugged like heartbreak at his soul. They stared at each other for a long time, the desire, the melting lust between them something new and changed now, though no less potent.
"Merlin" the boy finally replied, a single crystal note in the silence. He placed a hand over his heart, and then the hesitant smile returned to his face, open in invitation, waiting for an answer.
"Merlin." Arthur repeated slowly, but he understood, "Your name." it wasn't a question. He repeated the gesture Merlin had used a bare moment ago and offered his own name into the ritual growing around them.
"Arthur."
He leaned down even as he made the offering of his name, and was met in the middle by warm lips and a honey sweet kiss that tasted like all his most treasured memories, all the best things in his life. Like safety. And then Merlin said something else, into their heated kiss, something foreign that set Arthur's blood aflame as he had never known, but something he yet understood. He translated the words.
"I need you."
In answer Merlin smiled, arched his back in invitation of pleasure he clearly did not know how to ask for, would not have had the words to do so, even if he did. There was trust in his deep eyes though, and need, and his hand moved to Arthur's wanting shaft in brazen desire that contrasted intoxicatingly with the obvious innocence of the touch itself.
He groaned, as he let the boy play with him, stroke him into a frenzy once more, that it took the very last ounce of his willpower to stave off the tidal wave of his release. "I would release inside of you!" he gasped as he drew Merlin's reluctant hands away, even as his own took hold of slim thighs and opened the boy up before him, to return the pleasure. And he paused at that, could do naught but stare and admire the pale from laid out beneath him.
Merlin, this strange dreamlike creature, writhed so fetchingly for him. He opened his legs invitation wide as Arthur traced the path, with the pads of sword callused fingers, of strange blue ink where it wound around the base of the boys handsome cock, already hard and flushed, and still more so when he brought his own hand there to test the steel of it.
Merlin's eyes fetched wide at that, were very nearly black in the low light, and yet they took up an electric current that sizzled around them, had Arthur frantically searching, clumsy and hot-cold, through his traveling pack. He finally yelled in triumph when he questing fingers produced the small pot of healing grease he used for aches and blisters, that was thick and cool and wetted so nicely at the tight flesh he hoped to pierce.
"Merlin." The sound was a breathy whisper at odds with the slick and near unbearably obscene sounds he drew forth in tandem. Merlin was a mess for him now, slick and loose and easy-pliant where he writhed upon Arthur's demanding fingers. Confident fingers, where he might otherwise be hesitant, here in the desperation of the moment.
He jerked back with a gasp. Merlin was ready for him now. So very ready. Hot and incoherent with it, and Arthur had to press at him, fold him nearly in two to still him.
"Easy," he crooned. "Settle for me. Easy," he said, so that that the words became a strange chant. Magic almost, as he took hold of himself, rubbed into the shadowed space between the boy's thighs. He didn't press in immediately though, instead brought his fingers down to once more spread Merlin greedy wide and hold him like that, ready.
He paused there, caught up in the moment and hesitant for the first time since he came across his strange foundling, but he could not hold out for long. With a low sigh he finally sheathed himself deep inside the scorching yield of Merlin's body, where his thrusting was frantic and needy at first, a mindless stroking of his hips driving him toward some explosive end.
Except it was too wet, and there was not enough friction, not enough something, to quite tumble him over.
He growled, pulled Merlin's legs wider and settled them on his shoulders, looked down to where the strange boy was a long line beneath him, his hands thrown above his head and clenched into white knuckled fists. His hips canted up to meet the jarring stab of Arthur's cock, and his shaft jerked up and down with their fierce movements, streaked sticky fluid across both their bellies. Strange noises slipped out of his mouth too, words maybe, or a prayer, or obscenities for all that Arthur knew or cared. The sound of them lit hot fire behind his eyes and in his gut though, enticed him into chasing them back to their source with lips and tongue.
They moved like that for a long time, tied together in the sharp and intimate undulation of their dueling bodies. For this rang with all the trappings of a battle, though his brain was so addled with his pleasure, riding low in his spine now, that he could not comprehend why this was so. And even as his own orgasm was now an imminent threat upon the horizon, he judged that Merlin was close as well, by the tightly screwed clench of his mouth, the taughtness in his fluttering belly.
If this was a battle, then, he thought half dazedly, he had no qualms for underhandedness, and he reached out in determined focus and took hold of the rosy flesh of the boy's cock. He reveled in the bone jarring shudder that ran through him and traced into Arthur's own flesh where they were bound, so he held his grip firm where he stroked swift and sure at the boy, until finally, without warning Merlin seized up around him. Thick seed furled onto their bellies, sticky and warm, and tremors reverberated into Arthur so powerfully that whatever had held him in check before finally, finally unlocked itself.
He managed to lodge himself back inside only once more, before his own wracking orgasm shocked blindingly through him.
He collapsed in exhaustion afterwards, content to leave his softening flesh to work its own way free, and allowed himself to fall into slumber.
~~~
"My lord!" a frantic voice called out to him. Strong arms curried half frantically at his shoulders and Arthur woke only enough to swat at whoever was disturbing him in irritation. He was warm here, near hot, and his body still tingled from the intensity of his pleasure.
He woke a little more then, when whoever was trying to get his attention hauled him away from his blankets and into warm arms, but lucidity failed him again quickly.
"Merlin" he groaned lowly as he relaxed back into unconsciousness.
~~~
"He is lucky he did not freeze to death. As it is, I have serious concerns regarding hypothermia." A grim voice said in the dark.
Arthur floated, as if upon a cloud. Voices whispered around him but he could not bring himself to care, could not bring himself to wonder at the strange words and worried sounds of- Gaius for sure, and...his father?
He slipped off to sleep again, grateful for the softness of his bed beneath him.
~~~
When Arthur next awoke he frowned. He was in his bed, which he remembered the warmth of, from his brief forays into wakefulness.
But how had he gotten here?
He remembered the forest and his little camp and the snow and...
"Merlin!" he called out, frantic suddenly, as he looked around for the strange tattooed boy with bright eyes and a silvery language.
"My lord?" And then it was Gaius at his side, and cool and wizened hands checked carefully at his forehead, though the old man looked only relieved as he examined Arthur's body. "How do you feel?"
"Fine. I'm fine. But where is Merlin?"
"Merlin?" Gaius questioned curiously, "I know of no such person. Is he a servant I can have fetched for you?" The old man looked at him in compassionate confusion.
"No. He was with me in the forest. Where is he?"
"I know not sire. No others were brought to be treated. I can ask Sir Leon though, if there was sign of anyone else when you were found."
Arthur frowned. he could feel himself getting frustrated and angry, emotions he knew he could ill handle even on the best of days. Something was not right, though, and he could not quite figure out what had happened that he was back in Camelot with no recollection of the journey..
Gaius seemed to understand his conflicting emotions though, for he was quick to speak. "Fear not my lord, considering the way you were found, some confusion is to be expected. You nearly died out in the cold, you should have really, considering how long you were exposed. I can't explain it." Gaius looked genuinely perplexed at that, though also clearly relieved. "Sir Leon grew anxious when you did not return and set off looking for you. You are lucky he found you at all, and only the fact that he returned you to my care so quickly saved your life."
And Arthur was grateful, truly, but worry gnawed at him. If he had been in such dire straits, what did that mean for his little foundling, so slender and unclothed as he had been, out in the cold?
~~~
"Sire," Leon spoke slowly, "There was no one with you when I found you there in that clearing. Nor was there any sigh that someone had ever been there but you." Leon looked at him curiously as he said this, confused himself.
What could Arthur say to that though? Leon was the very best of his trackers and would not have missed the obvious signs of another person. It was inconceivable. But what did that mean? What did that make Merlin?
Not some phantom surely, for his fingers still tingled with touches, his body still remembered its possession of the fey boy.
~~~
Arthur stared for a long time at the clearing. He had ridden out that morning on his covert mission. The weather had finally settled, and though snow had fallen in a blanket that reached near his knees in some places, it was no longer such a desolate and dangerous thing to be out and about.
Which didn't mean he hadn't had to sneak away for this. The knights were a protective bunch and had been unwilling to authorize such an expedition.
But he had to know. Had to understand.
And he thought, standing there, that finally he did.
The skeleton of the camp he had made was still there, made his heart clench as he truly understood for the first time the danger he had been in.
"I should have died out here," he whispered. But he hadn't.
He had been kept warm by his foundling. By Merlin.
Merlin had saved his life. Somehow.
He turned Hengroen back to the castle then, content with his understanding. His heart told him he had the truth of things at last.
~~~
"Fylgia, sire, if I were to guess." Gaius told him that evening, as he served Arthur a rough hewn mug filled with steaming tea. "They are guardian spirits. If, indeed, that is what you encountered out there in the woods, then you are a lucky man."
Arthur smiled at the old man, nodded, and suddenly knew that he had not seen the last of his Merlin.