Fic: Though it may look like a disaster 2/2 (Merlin/Arthur)
See Part 1 for header information
+
A flurry of white, whirling downward as the skies break open, with the express intent-Merlin is certain-to bury them. 'I don't believe this,' Merlin says, even as Arthur springs to his feet and tugs at Merlin's hand until he's on his feet as well. 'We have to find shelter,' Arthur says. 'Come on.'
There's only one place nearby that would offer adequate shelter.
'Arthur, that cave-' Merlin tries to protest weakly, but he can't find the words. The snowflakes melt where they touch his bare skin.
'Do you have a better shelter in mind?' Arthur says, impatient.
Merlin can't.
'Then don't be an idiot,' Arthur says. 'Come on.'
The cave isn't very far away from where they are, but even the small distance feels interminably long as he dashes after Arthur, heart hammering in his chest. The snow crunches underneath his feet, soaks through his clothes and sticks to his eyelashes.
Once they're safely inside the cave, Merlin places his hands on his knees and gasps like a fish out of water. He's soaked to the bone. His fingertips are numb. It hurts to breathe.
It takes him a while to regain his breath. When he does, Arthur says, 'Are you all right?'
'Yeah,' Merlin says, and promptly forgets to breathe as he takes in the sight before him: Arthur, bare-chested, tugging his boots open. His discarded shirt lies in a pool of water on the floor of the cave, along with his sword and assorted weaponry.
'Good,' Arthur says. 'Now hurry up and make the fire.'
'Yeah,' Merlin says again, trying to clear his head. He's seen Arthur's bare chest countless times before this, there's no earthly reason why he should stare at him so, like a besotted fool. Whatever enchantment they stumbled into on that fateful day is long gone. Merlin can feel its absence, just as he had felt its presence that day, watching, probing, underneath his skin.
Merlin isn't certain why he finds it disappointing. It's not something he wants to think about. Such thoughts are madness.
He focuses on casting spells instead, but that poses another problem. His hands are icy, fingers cold and without sensation. The chill seems to spread all over, creeping through his veins until his limbs are heavy, weighed down by ice. It's a simple spell, but Merlin finds himself fumbling, hands shaking with the effort.
'What's wrong?' Arthur says, frowning.
'A little cold,' Merlin says. 'M-my hands.'
Arthur steps forward and takes hold of his hands in one swift motion, gathering them between his own. His hands are surprisingly warm for someone who has just made his escape from a magical snowstorm. An evil, magical snowstorm, designed by someone-something, perhaps the island itself-with a truly twisted sense of humour.
Arthur rubs his palms against Merlin's own, gently at first and then a little more vigorous; dips his head and breathes hotly on Merlin's hands.
'Better?' he tells Merlin, whose expression must be giving away some of the astonishment he feels, because Arthur snatches his hands away, saying, 'I had a nurse who did this to me when I was small,' appearing, Merlin thinks, somewhat defensive. 'It helps.' His eyelashes stick together in a way that draws attention to his eyes, and Merlin cannot help but stare, like a besotted idiot, before he forces himself to look away and says, 'I know. Thank you.'
His hands are warmer now, and so are certain other parts of his body, despite the chill of the soaked clothing.
Magic or no, there is something about this miserable cave that makes him ache and want. Perhaps it's just the proximity, the two of them in a small, confined space. Perhaps it's the memory of everything that transpired between them the last time they were here.
The spells come easier this time, and in a matter of few moments, their clothes are blissfully dry, and the fire is made. Merlin settles down in front of the fire, drawing his knees up to his chest.
'Are you still cold?' Arthur says.
'A little,' Merlin says.
This time, Merlin does not even attempt to hide his surprise as Arthur comes to kneel right behind him, thighs bookending either side of his hips. He places his hands on Merlin's on his shoulders, thumbs drawing small circles on his shoulder blades. 'Sit still,' Arthur says, breath hot on Merlin's ear. Merlin can't think of doing anything but.
Arthur's hands are deliberate, spellbinding in the way they move over Merlin's back. He can feel a flush creep up his chest, spreading to his face, his ears, which, no doubt, are very red right now. If he was a little cold before, he's very, very warm now.
Merlin nearly starts when a hand slides underneath his shirt, tracing the length of his spine. 'I-Arthur,' he says. It comes out as a squeak.
'What is it?' Arthur says.
'I'm warm now,' Merlin says. 'You don't have to-' He can't quite bring himself to finish the sentence.
Arthur's hands pause, but he doesn't pull away altogether. 'I'm not going to do anything you don't want, Merlin,' he says, his voice low and even. 'I'm not in the habit of taking advantage of my friends.'
Merlin slips out of Arthur's grasp and turns around to face him. 'That's not what I meant.'
Arthur says nothing, and Merlin says, 'We need to talk,' urgency creeping into his voice.
'So talk,' Arthur says stiffly.
'The enchantment,' Merlin says. 'That night.'
'What about it?' Arthur says.
'When we first walked into the cave,' Merlin says, 'I could feel its magic, inside me. Watching me.' The words, bottled up for so long, spill out in a rush now. 'Magic like this, it's very powerful. It can look into the darkest depths your soul and take the shape of what you want most. It can drive a person to madness.'
'What you want most?' Arthur says sharply. 'You mean-'
Merlin turns his gaze to the floor, unable to meet Arthur's eyes.
He knows all about keeping secrets, and this is a secret he's held onto for a long time, a secret he's held very close to his heart. And now Arthur has brought it out in the open, and Merlin doesn't know what to do with that.
It's an eternity before Arthur clears his throat and says, 'I felt it too.'
'You what?' Merlin says, staring at Arthur in disbelief.
'I said, I felt it too,' Arthur says. 'The enchantment. I didn't know how it worked, but I felt it.'
Merlin can't help but gape at him, mouth falling open in a rather undignified manner. 'We were both in the cave, Merlin,' Arthur continues, appearing somewhat annoyed. 'Why would you assume you were the only one affected?'
'You, you, you're-' Words are hard to come by, so Merlin has to settle for shaking his head instead. He's thought about it a thousand times, played out the events in excruciating detail, until they are etched in his memory, indelible. This is an option that dared not cross his mind. Some things, Merlin knows, do not bear contemplation.
In response, Arthur cups Merlin's cheek and kisses him, hard and fierce and desperate. The kiss feels like a culmination of every look, of every small touch and all the unspoken words hanging between them ever since that fateful night.
'But how-' Merlin begins to say when their lips finally part, but Arthur cuts him short, 'I'm going to order you to shut up now.'
So Merlin does.
+
Merlin wakes up with his arms around Arthur, warm and absolutely sated. He unwraps himself slowly, careful not to rouse Arthur.
It's a beautiful morning, bright and golden, not a single trace of snowfall anywhere. It's as though nothing happened. Merlin can't say he is surprised.
He makes his way to the stream, feeling inordinately cheerful. He washes his hands and his face, splashes water down the back of his neck. He will, perhaps, feel less cheerful later, when they undertake an entirely fruitless trip around the forest, only to make their way back to this place again. Perhaps he won't mind-he's grown fond of that cave.
And that is when he spots the lion, lounging regally on the other bank, looking, Merlin thinks, bored out of its mind.
4.
'I don't like this,' Merlin says. 'The last time we tried tracking that lion, we ended up completely lost. We have to try and get back to the seashore.'
'No,' Arthur says.
They've gone over this many times now, but Arthur has chosen this very moment to rival his father in sheer pig-headedness. Perhaps there's a reason why Gaius has grey hair. At the moment, Merlin certainly feels like tearing out his own.
'We can set up a trap,' Merlin wheedles. 'We can set up a trap right here, if you wish.'
Arthur merely shakes his head, stubborn. There's something about his countenance that makes Merlin try one last time. 'What's this about?' he says, lowering his voice. He touches Arthur's hand with his own. 'Why are you so obsessed with this?'
Arthur looks almost embarrassed when he says, 'It'll lead us to something. I just have a feeling.'
+
Later that day, Merlin finds himself wishing they had followed his initial proposal to find their way back to the beach-or failing that, spend another night in the cave-instead of paying heed to Arthur's feeling about the creature leading them to something, which ended up being rather accurate. That something, of course, was a lot of trouble, but by the time Merlin is able to figure that out, he's pinned to a giant tree-one of the many imposing ones that surround the small clearing they found themselves in, while on the creature's trail-and rendered immobile, by magic more powerful than he's able to counter. He really hates the foliage in this island.
And then the lion begins to speak.
Merlin is used to conversing with a giant, scaly lizard, so he's only moderately surprised. Arthur, however, appears somewhat shaken. To his credit, he doesn't drop his sword when the lion says, in a low, gravelly voice, 'You're a brave man, Arthur Pendragon. But you should lower your weapon. Your sword cannot harm me.'
'What are you?' Arthur demands, 'Did you do this to Merlin?'
'I did,' the lion says, 'but I have no intention of killing him. In fact, you should thank me for saving your lives.' The lion sounds extremely smug, much like the dragon does when it thinks it's being very clever. Merlin does not like smug magical creatures which can speak.
'How about letting me go, then?' he says, at the same time as Arthur says, 'I have no idea what you're talking about.'
The lion opens its mouth as if to answer, but then it shakes its head and says, 'Forgive me. This form is so inconvenient for conversations.' And then it transforms into a person-a man, tall and fair, somewhat familiar-looking. 'The lion's brain. It interferes,' he says, apologetic, as though that explains everything, and extends a hand to Arthur, 'You can call me Llew.'
A sorcerer, then. A very powerful one at that. On second thoughts, Merlin thinks he would have preferred it if he were a smug talking lion instead.
'So arrogant,' Merlin's captor-Llew-says when Arthur refuses to lower his sword and grasp the proffered hand. 'You're a brave man, Pendragon, but your arrogance will be your ruin.' Merlin thinks he sounds rather arrogant himself. 'Your arrogance offended my brother and nearly led to your death. I trust you'll be more careful when you speak with me.'
'Your brother?' Arthur says, incredulous.
'Yes, yes, my brother, Dylan,' Llew says, waving an impatient hand. 'You met in Devil's Gate. Apparently he took a fancy to your ship, and you insulted him.'
'That drunken sot was a sorcerer?' Arthur exclaims. Merlin thinks back on the altercation in Devil's Gate-how like a simple, drunken fool he seemed, and how they all dismissed him as a man of no consequence.
'A god, actually. The waves in these seas are his domain,' Llew says. Merlin cannot even find it in himself to be shocked anymore. It was only a matter of time before they went up against a divine being. 'Your sorcerer was very impressive against his waves,' he continues, smiling, 'so I asked my dear brother not to drown you and brought you here instead.'
'What do you mean?' Merlin says, struggling against his invisible restraints. It's no avail. 'Why?'
'You're a powerful sorcerer, Merlin. More powerful than you realise. I've been watching you all these days,' Llew says, still smiling. 'I could use someone with your strengths by my side.'
'That's not going to happen,' Merlin says.
'I was afraid you were going to say that,' says his captor. 'That's why I've decided that only one of you may leave this island. Come with me, and Pendragon will leave unharmed.'
'No,' Arthur says, before Merlin even has the opportunity to open his mouth. He takes a step closer to Llew, jaw clenched, gripping the Excalibur tightly in his hands.
'No? But I'm quite determined to have him,' Llew says.
'No,' Arthur says, drawing even closer. 'You can take me instead.'
'What would I do with you, Pendragon?' he says, sounding highly amused. 'Brave as you are.'
'Merlin's a bumbling idiot,' Arthur says. 'He'll be of no use to you.'
'You are Camelot's future. Your people look up to you,' Llew says. 'You would abandon them to serve a god, all for the sake of a friend?'
'He won't,' Merlin says. 'Let him go. Let him go.' Llew's restraints are exceedingly powerful, but they're not inviolable. Merlin can feel them begin to give way-slowly, almost imperceptibly-against his will. They faced one brother and lived to tell the tale-he's not going to succumb to the whims of this one, either.
'Merlin's right,' Arthur says, inching closer. 'I won't.' He aims the sword at Llew's throat, steady. 'You'll let us both go.'
Merlin concentrates harder, nearly shaking with the effort. This time, the restraints begin to weaken at a considerable pace, and then it seems as though the tree itself is fighting his attempts to break free, drawing him closer, strengthening its embrace.
'Lower your weapon, Pendragon,' Llew says. He appears a little baffled at Arthur's non-compliance, as if he's not quite accustomed to mortals disobeying him. Which is a good thing, Merlin thinks, because he doesn't know just how pig-headed Arthur can be, or how dangerous he is when he's in a mood like this. 'Your mortal instruments have no effect on me.'
'A good thing it isn't fully mortal, then,' Arthur says. 'A dragon breathed on it.'
A number of things happen after that, in rapid succession.
Arthur lunges forward, his blade catching Llew's shoulder, drawing blood. Llew lets out a horrible scream, and in the next moment Arthur is being thrown backwards onto the ground, as though by an invisible force. 'You hurt me,' Llew says, as he stands clutching his bloody shoulder. He appears stunned, as though the possibility had never crossed his mind. 'It really hurt.'
It occurs to Merlin that he might not have ever been hurt. Even divine beings have weaknesses. Which they're now going to use against him.
'I'm going to hurt you again,' Arthur says, struggling back to his feet and springing at him again. 'It will hurt even more.' This time the blade pierces his side, making him shriek.
A wave of Llew's hands, and Arthur lands on his back again, this time with a loud thud. 'Tear him apart,' Llew yells, sounding positively deranged. 'Let him feel pain.'
Merlin feels the ground shake. And then the trees-including the one that's currently trying to swallow him whole-begin to move, branches extending forth like fearsome weapons, reaching for Arthur. Merlin really, really hates the foliage on this island.
He can feel himself sink further and further into the tree's embrace, his limbs slowly being crushed and his chest feeling the strain. It hurts to breathe. A little more of this, and this tree will be his tomb, while Arthur is trampled to death by a host of its compatriots. Merlin is not going to let that happen.
In his desperation, Merlin closes his eyes and concentrates on the tree that holds him captive; on the source of its sustenance, its magic-the earth itself. He lets his magic reach out and spread itself through the tree, mingling with sap and tangling with roots, reaching into the earth, drinking its magic in, in, until he can feel it in his veins, humming with energy.
A moment. Two. And then he lets it all out, pulling out of the tree's grasp with all his strength. He lands on all fours with a painful thump, and immediately springs to his feet, removing one large branch swiping at Arthur-who is on his back, sword in hand and still fighting, valiant-with a blast of fire, and then another one. He moves Arthur out of the way of the a third branch by throwing himself on Arthur and then shielding him with his body, while his palm touches the ground and reaches out again, drawing strength from the earth.
He releases the magic in a desperate discharge, and the branches pause mid-motion. The trees return to their normal immobile selves.
Llew is nowhere to be seen. Merlin has a feeling he won't be returning anytime soon.
'Get off me,' Arthur says after a while.
'I just saved your life,' Merlin points out, making no effort to obey.
'You don't have to be so smug about it,' Arthur says.
In response, Merlin kisses him, cupping his face with his hands. 'We just defeated a god,' he says when they break apart, grinning.
'So we did,' Arthur says.
5.
They slowly limp their way back to the stream. After a while, Merlin slips under Arthur's left arm and takes some of his weight.
'We should try and get back to the beach,' Arthur says, once they've drunk water to their fill and washed their cuts.
Merlin agrees. 'We still have to figure out a way to get off this island.'
'Light another beacon,' Arthur says. 'A bigger one this time.'
As it turns out, getting back to the beach, now that Llew's enchantment has been lifted, is no longer a problem. Neither is finding a way to get off the island, in fact, because as soon as they step onto the beach they're treated to the curious sight of half the Pridwen's crew lounging about in the sand, as if on a vacation. There's Lancelot, sparring with Kay, wearing his shirt about his waist and laughing. There's Percival, stretched out on the ground, his eyes closed. And there's Gwaine, sitting in the sand, playing cards with-of all people-Morgana.
Lancelot drops his sword when he spots them, rushing forward to give Arthur-now limping heavily-a hand. 'How did you get here?' Merlin says, trying very hard not to gape.
'We've been camping here for the past week,' Lancelot says. 'We were assisted by, ah, the Lady Morgana. I was worried I'd never see you again.'
'The pirate Morgana, you mean,' Arthur says, glaring at Morgana. 'What is she doing here?'
'I told you to stay out of trouble,' Morgana says with a matching glare. 'Do you know how many favours I had to pull to get them out safely?'
'Since when do you save Camelot's ships?' Arthur says. 'I thought you took great pleasure in drowning them.'
'I'm a pirate,' Morgana says. 'I do as I please.'
'We've been sending out search parties every day, to no use,' Lancelot says. 'Where were you?'
'It's a long story,' Merlin says. 'But we just defeated a god.'
+
They set sail when the wind is favourable. Lancelot demands he stay in bed, but Merlin ignores him, slowly making his way to his favourite spot on the ropes. He's exhausted, and sore all over. He's never been gladder to be on a ship. Sea voyages are not so bad.
Morgana departed a little while ago on her own ship-the Magnificent, once the pride and glory of Uther's fleet and now a pirate ship, with black sails-with a rather evil smirk and a grudging admission from Arthur that he did owe her a favour, even if he did no favour to pirates, ever. He did, however, stare at her departing ship in a rather forlorn fashion.
He's less forlorn now as he takes a seat beside Merlin, their shoulders touching. 'What are you thinking?' Arthur says.
'I think I'm getting a hang of this,' Merlin says. 'Ships.'
'Do you think you'd mind being on one every now and then?' Arthur says, nudging him with his shoulder. He appears hopeful, and Merlin thinks, really absurdly beautiful.
'No,' Merlin says. 'I don't think I would.'
+
Notes
1. Dylan and Llew. Needless to say, their relationship to their counterparts in this story is more tenuous than the show's relationship to history.
2. The animated trees are derived from here.
+
A flurry of white, whirling downward as the skies break open, with the express intent-Merlin is certain-to bury them. 'I don't believe this,' Merlin says, even as Arthur springs to his feet and tugs at Merlin's hand until he's on his feet as well. 'We have to find shelter,' Arthur says. 'Come on.'
There's only one place nearby that would offer adequate shelter.
'Arthur, that cave-' Merlin tries to protest weakly, but he can't find the words. The snowflakes melt where they touch his bare skin.
'Do you have a better shelter in mind?' Arthur says, impatient.
Merlin can't.
'Then don't be an idiot,' Arthur says. 'Come on.'
The cave isn't very far away from where they are, but even the small distance feels interminably long as he dashes after Arthur, heart hammering in his chest. The snow crunches underneath his feet, soaks through his clothes and sticks to his eyelashes.
Once they're safely inside the cave, Merlin places his hands on his knees and gasps like a fish out of water. He's soaked to the bone. His fingertips are numb. It hurts to breathe.
It takes him a while to regain his breath. When he does, Arthur says, 'Are you all right?'
'Yeah,' Merlin says, and promptly forgets to breathe as he takes in the sight before him: Arthur, bare-chested, tugging his boots open. His discarded shirt lies in a pool of water on the floor of the cave, along with his sword and assorted weaponry.
'Good,' Arthur says. 'Now hurry up and make the fire.'
'Yeah,' Merlin says again, trying to clear his head. He's seen Arthur's bare chest countless times before this, there's no earthly reason why he should stare at him so, like a besotted fool. Whatever enchantment they stumbled into on that fateful day is long gone. Merlin can feel its absence, just as he had felt its presence that day, watching, probing, underneath his skin.
Merlin isn't certain why he finds it disappointing. It's not something he wants to think about. Such thoughts are madness.
He focuses on casting spells instead, but that poses another problem. His hands are icy, fingers cold and without sensation. The chill seems to spread all over, creeping through his veins until his limbs are heavy, weighed down by ice. It's a simple spell, but Merlin finds himself fumbling, hands shaking with the effort.
'What's wrong?' Arthur says, frowning.
'A little cold,' Merlin says. 'M-my hands.'
Arthur steps forward and takes hold of his hands in one swift motion, gathering them between his own. His hands are surprisingly warm for someone who has just made his escape from a magical snowstorm. An evil, magical snowstorm, designed by someone-something, perhaps the island itself-with a truly twisted sense of humour.
Arthur rubs his palms against Merlin's own, gently at first and then a little more vigorous; dips his head and breathes hotly on Merlin's hands.
'Better?' he tells Merlin, whose expression must be giving away some of the astonishment he feels, because Arthur snatches his hands away, saying, 'I had a nurse who did this to me when I was small,' appearing, Merlin thinks, somewhat defensive. 'It helps.' His eyelashes stick together in a way that draws attention to his eyes, and Merlin cannot help but stare, like a besotted idiot, before he forces himself to look away and says, 'I know. Thank you.'
His hands are warmer now, and so are certain other parts of his body, despite the chill of the soaked clothing.
Magic or no, there is something about this miserable cave that makes him ache and want. Perhaps it's just the proximity, the two of them in a small, confined space. Perhaps it's the memory of everything that transpired between them the last time they were here.
The spells come easier this time, and in a matter of few moments, their clothes are blissfully dry, and the fire is made. Merlin settles down in front of the fire, drawing his knees up to his chest.
'Are you still cold?' Arthur says.
'A little,' Merlin says.
This time, Merlin does not even attempt to hide his surprise as Arthur comes to kneel right behind him, thighs bookending either side of his hips. He places his hands on Merlin's on his shoulders, thumbs drawing small circles on his shoulder blades. 'Sit still,' Arthur says, breath hot on Merlin's ear. Merlin can't think of doing anything but.
Arthur's hands are deliberate, spellbinding in the way they move over Merlin's back. He can feel a flush creep up his chest, spreading to his face, his ears, which, no doubt, are very red right now. If he was a little cold before, he's very, very warm now.
Merlin nearly starts when a hand slides underneath his shirt, tracing the length of his spine. 'I-Arthur,' he says. It comes out as a squeak.
'What is it?' Arthur says.
'I'm warm now,' Merlin says. 'You don't have to-' He can't quite bring himself to finish the sentence.
Arthur's hands pause, but he doesn't pull away altogether. 'I'm not going to do anything you don't want, Merlin,' he says, his voice low and even. 'I'm not in the habit of taking advantage of my friends.'
Merlin slips out of Arthur's grasp and turns around to face him. 'That's not what I meant.'
Arthur says nothing, and Merlin says, 'We need to talk,' urgency creeping into his voice.
'So talk,' Arthur says stiffly.
'The enchantment,' Merlin says. 'That night.'
'What about it?' Arthur says.
'When we first walked into the cave,' Merlin says, 'I could feel its magic, inside me. Watching me.' The words, bottled up for so long, spill out in a rush now. 'Magic like this, it's very powerful. It can look into the darkest depths your soul and take the shape of what you want most. It can drive a person to madness.'
'What you want most?' Arthur says sharply. 'You mean-'
Merlin turns his gaze to the floor, unable to meet Arthur's eyes.
He knows all about keeping secrets, and this is a secret he's held onto for a long time, a secret he's held very close to his heart. And now Arthur has brought it out in the open, and Merlin doesn't know what to do with that.
It's an eternity before Arthur clears his throat and says, 'I felt it too.'
'You what?' Merlin says, staring at Arthur in disbelief.
'I said, I felt it too,' Arthur says. 'The enchantment. I didn't know how it worked, but I felt it.'
Merlin can't help but gape at him, mouth falling open in a rather undignified manner. 'We were both in the cave, Merlin,' Arthur continues, appearing somewhat annoyed. 'Why would you assume you were the only one affected?'
'You, you, you're-' Words are hard to come by, so Merlin has to settle for shaking his head instead. He's thought about it a thousand times, played out the events in excruciating detail, until they are etched in his memory, indelible. This is an option that dared not cross his mind. Some things, Merlin knows, do not bear contemplation.
In response, Arthur cups Merlin's cheek and kisses him, hard and fierce and desperate. The kiss feels like a culmination of every look, of every small touch and all the unspoken words hanging between them ever since that fateful night.
'But how-' Merlin begins to say when their lips finally part, but Arthur cuts him short, 'I'm going to order you to shut up now.'
So Merlin does.
+
Merlin wakes up with his arms around Arthur, warm and absolutely sated. He unwraps himself slowly, careful not to rouse Arthur.
It's a beautiful morning, bright and golden, not a single trace of snowfall anywhere. It's as though nothing happened. Merlin can't say he is surprised.
He makes his way to the stream, feeling inordinately cheerful. He washes his hands and his face, splashes water down the back of his neck. He will, perhaps, feel less cheerful later, when they undertake an entirely fruitless trip around the forest, only to make their way back to this place again. Perhaps he won't mind-he's grown fond of that cave.
And that is when he spots the lion, lounging regally on the other bank, looking, Merlin thinks, bored out of its mind.
4.
'I don't like this,' Merlin says. 'The last time we tried tracking that lion, we ended up completely lost. We have to try and get back to the seashore.'
'No,' Arthur says.
They've gone over this many times now, but Arthur has chosen this very moment to rival his father in sheer pig-headedness. Perhaps there's a reason why Gaius has grey hair. At the moment, Merlin certainly feels like tearing out his own.
'We can set up a trap,' Merlin wheedles. 'We can set up a trap right here, if you wish.'
Arthur merely shakes his head, stubborn. There's something about his countenance that makes Merlin try one last time. 'What's this about?' he says, lowering his voice. He touches Arthur's hand with his own. 'Why are you so obsessed with this?'
Arthur looks almost embarrassed when he says, 'It'll lead us to something. I just have a feeling.'
+
Later that day, Merlin finds himself wishing they had followed his initial proposal to find their way back to the beach-or failing that, spend another night in the cave-instead of paying heed to Arthur's feeling about the creature leading them to something, which ended up being rather accurate. That something, of course, was a lot of trouble, but by the time Merlin is able to figure that out, he's pinned to a giant tree-one of the many imposing ones that surround the small clearing they found themselves in, while on the creature's trail-and rendered immobile, by magic more powerful than he's able to counter. He really hates the foliage in this island.
And then the lion begins to speak.
Merlin is used to conversing with a giant, scaly lizard, so he's only moderately surprised. Arthur, however, appears somewhat shaken. To his credit, he doesn't drop his sword when the lion says, in a low, gravelly voice, 'You're a brave man, Arthur Pendragon. But you should lower your weapon. Your sword cannot harm me.'
'What are you?' Arthur demands, 'Did you do this to Merlin?'
'I did,' the lion says, 'but I have no intention of killing him. In fact, you should thank me for saving your lives.' The lion sounds extremely smug, much like the dragon does when it thinks it's being very clever. Merlin does not like smug magical creatures which can speak.
'How about letting me go, then?' he says, at the same time as Arthur says, 'I have no idea what you're talking about.'
The lion opens its mouth as if to answer, but then it shakes its head and says, 'Forgive me. This form is so inconvenient for conversations.' And then it transforms into a person-a man, tall and fair, somewhat familiar-looking. 'The lion's brain. It interferes,' he says, apologetic, as though that explains everything, and extends a hand to Arthur, 'You can call me Llew.'
A sorcerer, then. A very powerful one at that. On second thoughts, Merlin thinks he would have preferred it if he were a smug talking lion instead.
'So arrogant,' Merlin's captor-Llew-says when Arthur refuses to lower his sword and grasp the proffered hand. 'You're a brave man, Pendragon, but your arrogance will be your ruin.' Merlin thinks he sounds rather arrogant himself. 'Your arrogance offended my brother and nearly led to your death. I trust you'll be more careful when you speak with me.'
'Your brother?' Arthur says, incredulous.
'Yes, yes, my brother, Dylan,' Llew says, waving an impatient hand. 'You met in Devil's Gate. Apparently he took a fancy to your ship, and you insulted him.'
'That drunken sot was a sorcerer?' Arthur exclaims. Merlin thinks back on the altercation in Devil's Gate-how like a simple, drunken fool he seemed, and how they all dismissed him as a man of no consequence.
'A god, actually. The waves in these seas are his domain,' Llew says. Merlin cannot even find it in himself to be shocked anymore. It was only a matter of time before they went up against a divine being. 'Your sorcerer was very impressive against his waves,' he continues, smiling, 'so I asked my dear brother not to drown you and brought you here instead.'
'What do you mean?' Merlin says, struggling against his invisible restraints. It's no avail. 'Why?'
'You're a powerful sorcerer, Merlin. More powerful than you realise. I've been watching you all these days,' Llew says, still smiling. 'I could use someone with your strengths by my side.'
'That's not going to happen,' Merlin says.
'I was afraid you were going to say that,' says his captor. 'That's why I've decided that only one of you may leave this island. Come with me, and Pendragon will leave unharmed.'
'No,' Arthur says, before Merlin even has the opportunity to open his mouth. He takes a step closer to Llew, jaw clenched, gripping the Excalibur tightly in his hands.
'No? But I'm quite determined to have him,' Llew says.
'No,' Arthur says, drawing even closer. 'You can take me instead.'
'What would I do with you, Pendragon?' he says, sounding highly amused. 'Brave as you are.'
'Merlin's a bumbling idiot,' Arthur says. 'He'll be of no use to you.'
'You are Camelot's future. Your people look up to you,' Llew says. 'You would abandon them to serve a god, all for the sake of a friend?'
'He won't,' Merlin says. 'Let him go. Let him go.' Llew's restraints are exceedingly powerful, but they're not inviolable. Merlin can feel them begin to give way-slowly, almost imperceptibly-against his will. They faced one brother and lived to tell the tale-he's not going to succumb to the whims of this one, either.
'Merlin's right,' Arthur says, inching closer. 'I won't.' He aims the sword at Llew's throat, steady. 'You'll let us both go.'
Merlin concentrates harder, nearly shaking with the effort. This time, the restraints begin to weaken at a considerable pace, and then it seems as though the tree itself is fighting his attempts to break free, drawing him closer, strengthening its embrace.
'Lower your weapon, Pendragon,' Llew says. He appears a little baffled at Arthur's non-compliance, as if he's not quite accustomed to mortals disobeying him. Which is a good thing, Merlin thinks, because he doesn't know just how pig-headed Arthur can be, or how dangerous he is when he's in a mood like this. 'Your mortal instruments have no effect on me.'
'A good thing it isn't fully mortal, then,' Arthur says. 'A dragon breathed on it.'
A number of things happen after that, in rapid succession.
Arthur lunges forward, his blade catching Llew's shoulder, drawing blood. Llew lets out a horrible scream, and in the next moment Arthur is being thrown backwards onto the ground, as though by an invisible force. 'You hurt me,' Llew says, as he stands clutching his bloody shoulder. He appears stunned, as though the possibility had never crossed his mind. 'It really hurt.'
It occurs to Merlin that he might not have ever been hurt. Even divine beings have weaknesses. Which they're now going to use against him.
'I'm going to hurt you again,' Arthur says, struggling back to his feet and springing at him again. 'It will hurt even more.' This time the blade pierces his side, making him shriek.
A wave of Llew's hands, and Arthur lands on his back again, this time with a loud thud. 'Tear him apart,' Llew yells, sounding positively deranged. 'Let him feel pain.'
Merlin feels the ground shake. And then the trees-including the one that's currently trying to swallow him whole-begin to move, branches extending forth like fearsome weapons, reaching for Arthur. Merlin really, really hates the foliage on this island.
He can feel himself sink further and further into the tree's embrace, his limbs slowly being crushed and his chest feeling the strain. It hurts to breathe. A little more of this, and this tree will be his tomb, while Arthur is trampled to death by a host of its compatriots. Merlin is not going to let that happen.
In his desperation, Merlin closes his eyes and concentrates on the tree that holds him captive; on the source of its sustenance, its magic-the earth itself. He lets his magic reach out and spread itself through the tree, mingling with sap and tangling with roots, reaching into the earth, drinking its magic in, in, until he can feel it in his veins, humming with energy.
A moment. Two. And then he lets it all out, pulling out of the tree's grasp with all his strength. He lands on all fours with a painful thump, and immediately springs to his feet, removing one large branch swiping at Arthur-who is on his back, sword in hand and still fighting, valiant-with a blast of fire, and then another one. He moves Arthur out of the way of the a third branch by throwing himself on Arthur and then shielding him with his body, while his palm touches the ground and reaches out again, drawing strength from the earth.
He releases the magic in a desperate discharge, and the branches pause mid-motion. The trees return to their normal immobile selves.
Llew is nowhere to be seen. Merlin has a feeling he won't be returning anytime soon.
'Get off me,' Arthur says after a while.
'I just saved your life,' Merlin points out, making no effort to obey.
'You don't have to be so smug about it,' Arthur says.
In response, Merlin kisses him, cupping his face with his hands. 'We just defeated a god,' he says when they break apart, grinning.
'So we did,' Arthur says.
5.
They slowly limp their way back to the stream. After a while, Merlin slips under Arthur's left arm and takes some of his weight.
'We should try and get back to the beach,' Arthur says, once they've drunk water to their fill and washed their cuts.
Merlin agrees. 'We still have to figure out a way to get off this island.'
'Light another beacon,' Arthur says. 'A bigger one this time.'
As it turns out, getting back to the beach, now that Llew's enchantment has been lifted, is no longer a problem. Neither is finding a way to get off the island, in fact, because as soon as they step onto the beach they're treated to the curious sight of half the Pridwen's crew lounging about in the sand, as if on a vacation. There's Lancelot, sparring with Kay, wearing his shirt about his waist and laughing. There's Percival, stretched out on the ground, his eyes closed. And there's Gwaine, sitting in the sand, playing cards with-of all people-Morgana.
Lancelot drops his sword when he spots them, rushing forward to give Arthur-now limping heavily-a hand. 'How did you get here?' Merlin says, trying very hard not to gape.
'We've been camping here for the past week,' Lancelot says. 'We were assisted by, ah, the Lady Morgana. I was worried I'd never see you again.'
'The pirate Morgana, you mean,' Arthur says, glaring at Morgana. 'What is she doing here?'
'I told you to stay out of trouble,' Morgana says with a matching glare. 'Do you know how many favours I had to pull to get them out safely?'
'Since when do you save Camelot's ships?' Arthur says. 'I thought you took great pleasure in drowning them.'
'I'm a pirate,' Morgana says. 'I do as I please.'
'We've been sending out search parties every day, to no use,' Lancelot says. 'Where were you?'
'It's a long story,' Merlin says. 'But we just defeated a god.'
+
They set sail when the wind is favourable. Lancelot demands he stay in bed, but Merlin ignores him, slowly making his way to his favourite spot on the ropes. He's exhausted, and sore all over. He's never been gladder to be on a ship. Sea voyages are not so bad.
Morgana departed a little while ago on her own ship-the Magnificent, once the pride and glory of Uther's fleet and now a pirate ship, with black sails-with a rather evil smirk and a grudging admission from Arthur that he did owe her a favour, even if he did no favour to pirates, ever. He did, however, stare at her departing ship in a rather forlorn fashion.
He's less forlorn now as he takes a seat beside Merlin, their shoulders touching. 'What are you thinking?' Arthur says.
'I think I'm getting a hang of this,' Merlin says. 'Ships.'
'Do you think you'd mind being on one every now and then?' Arthur says, nudging him with his shoulder. He appears hopeful, and Merlin thinks, really absurdly beautiful.
'No,' Merlin says. 'I don't think I would.'
+
Notes
1. Dylan and Llew. Needless to say, their relationship to their counterparts in this story is more tenuous than the show's relationship to history.
2. The animated trees are derived from here.