Swimming with the Sidhe - Chapter 1
Title: Swimming with the Sidhe
Author: gwylliondream
Artist: patria_mori - Art Masterpost
Genre: Canon era
Pairings/characters: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 53,589
Warnings: Implied marital infidelity, brief contemplation of suicide
Summary: No one likes a story that ends with a hero’s death and broken promises. As Merlin watches the wooden boat drift away with Arthur, he regrets that he ever believed a word that Kilgharrah told him about the bright future Arthur would bring to Albion. Fortunately, he is greeted by a new mythical advisor, the Calming Manatee of the Calming Manatee meme. Only this docile sea creature can help Merlin through this difficult stage in his life so he learns to love himself and gets his happy ending with Arthur.
Author's notes: Thanks to the_muppet for running Paperlegends and making it look so easy, to my fantastic and talented artist patria_mori, to lawgoddess for her excellent beta work, to gilli_ann the best cheerleader ever, to the charming Human Typist of the Calming Manatee meme whose words of encouragement and hope I have borrowed extensively here, also to my team of special helpers on whose support I confidently rely: stagarden, archaeologist_d, sandscrit, and bronctastic, and of course to the amazing anon prompter who had the foresight to leave this incredible prompt-Hey girl, you got this!
Swimming with the Sidhe was written for paperlegends and as a kinkme_merlin fill for this prompt.
Artist's notes: I’m rubbish at blurbs!
Disclaimer: All Arthurian characters are the property of BBC/Shine and their creators. The Calming Manatee and most of its words belong to HT (the Human Typist) of the Calming Manatee meme.
Comments: Comments are welcome anytime! Thanks so much for reading!
Read on LJ: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5| Chapter 6| Chapter 7
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Three days had passed before Merlin felt the pangs of hunger. An ache throbbed deep in his gut, surpassing the pain in his heart for the first time. He lay curled on the shore beside the lake, where Percival had left him a satchel containing a half loaf of bread, two apples, and some strips of dried venison. He welcomed the needling intrusion in his belly, glad that it directed his sorrowful thoughts away from the expanse of empty waves that stretched toward the tower.
For the first time in three days, he took his eyes off the water.
The dirt had stained black the space beneath Merlin’s fingernails. In his grief, he had sought to inflict punishment upon the earth, clawing through the soil dampened by his tears while he wailed. His clothing reeked of sweat borne in battle and blood that ran from the deep wounds of those he once considered friends. He reached into the bag and grabbed the first food his fingers touched. Without looking, he tore off a hunk of bread with his teeth and returned his gaze to the lake.
A misty fog obscured the sun, making this morning as miserable as the last. The meadow had been silent, as if in respect for what had transpired there only three days earlier. No bird sang its morning song, no insect buzzed as it flitted from flower to flower, no breeze ruffled the treetops. The silence that prevailed added to the emptiness Merlin felt in his chest, the horrible failure that could never be rectified, the lifeless hollow that could never be filled.
The damp air hung over the lake, a mist shielding the tower from Merlin’s view, rain threatening. Shadows among the waves played tricks on Merlin’s mind. They caught his eyes, making them dart from side to side, making him see things that were not there, no matter how hard he wished for them to be. What he wouldn’t give for the sight of a wooden boat carrying Arthur whole again back to the shore.
Merlin chewed the mouthful of bread and swallowed with a throat scraped raw from weeping.
Everyone in the kingdom would know the news by now. The king was dead. Percival had begged Merlin to go with him back to Camelot. He tugged Merlin’s arm, insisting that his horse wouldn’t be affected by the addition of Merlin’s slight frame to his load. But Merlin refused, becoming incensed by the thought of returning to the court of the kingdom he called home for ten years. How could he leave, when somewhere in the mist Arthur lay still on his bier? How could Merlin abandon the man whose destiny relied on Merlin’s success in keeping him from harm-whose destiny would unify the lands and bring peace to Albion?
He couldn’t yet bring himself to believe that Kilgharrah’s words had all been lies.
Merlin forgot the pain of hunger. He sat and wrapped his arms around his knees.
“I swore to protect you with my life, or die at your side,” he sobbed to the silent lake.
He had promised Arthur this more than once, when the day’s battle had beaten a path to their doorstep. Yet Merlin lived while Arthur lay still, his eyes rolled back into his head. Merlin wanted nothing more than for the Sidhe to heal Arthur’s wounds, to breathe life back into the lungs that had taken their last breath. Gaius promised there was a chance, but they had been too late.
Merlin had re-lived that horrible moment a thousand times in the hours and days that had passed, yet nothing had changed. He ached for the sunlight to stream through his window, waking him from the horrible nightmare where his worst fears had come true. But no bright sun welcomed him awake, only the bitter breeze that brought the sting of cold from the lake to his tear-stained cheeks.
The waves lapped the shoreline, teasing Merlin with their liveliness.
If only Arthur had been granted a chance to live. Arthur, who had always been so brave in battle. Arthur, whose love for Camelot and for his subjects outweighed his concerns for his own safety and his own life. Arthur, who Merlin had always saved from doom. Why not now? What harsh fates would decree that Arthur’s hard-fought and newly-won compassion toward Merlin and his magic should go so unrewarded?
Merlin’s throat ached from trying to hold back the fit of sobbing once it began. He supposed he should have more control over himself, but what did it matter? Three days had passed with no one to hear him, no one to listen to his tears as he examined each memory of the things Arthur had said to him during their journey to the lake at Avalon where he should have been healed.
He cherished each remembered phrase as if it were the most precious thing Arthur had ever said to him.
“You told me that you wanted me to always be me,” Merlin whispered through dry cracked lips, remembering aloud more of Arthur’s words to keep them from melting into the haze of his memory.
He let out a gasp at the irony. How could he even begin to be himself, when everything he had done from the time he left Ealdor had been for the purpose of keeping Arthur safe-to ensure that Arthur ascended the throne and became the greatest king that Albion had ever known? How could he be himself when he had futilely given Arthur’s mortal body over to the care of the Sidhe whose source of power lay somewhere in this wretched lake?
He would stay. Merlin could not bear to leave his king, whether dead or alive.
If it meant that Merlin would rot in the dirt on the shore like a withered apple, cast off and forgotten by everyone, so be it.
Merlin dropped his hand to the cool water, touching the surface with his fingertips.
He’d miss Arthur for each of the hours of waiting that he had ahead of him. He’d miss their foolish banter that made an outsider wonder which man was the servant and which was truly the king. He’d miss the stolen glances that seemed to become even more furtive after Arthur married Gwen, the brush of his fingers against Arthur’s skin when he dressed him for the day, Arthur’s eyes that always greeted him with a gaze that seemed to come from the bluest ocean, welcoming, calming, enveloping him in something that was like a kind of love, only more keen, more permanent. Two sides of the same coin.
What Merlin wouldn’t give to be called an idiot again by the voice of the man he loved best.
He mustered a tiny tendril of powerful magic from within his veins and sent it upon the water in hopes that Arthur might be able to feel the pull of Merlin’s longing for his return, to know the heaviness of his heart.
The beads of golden magicglow skittered beneath the undulating waves.
“Arthur,” Merlin pleaded, the name falling from his lips like a prayer to the gods.
Merlin let his magic flow from his fingertips into the water. He choked back a sob as he watched the liquid magic flare gold on the surface of the lake, the swirls and sparkles of his power dancing in a pattern that was not unlike the finest jewellery carved by the most skilled craftsmen.
But what use was it to have such magic now? His father told him that he was a son of the earth, the sea, the sky, that he was born of magic, and that he was magic itself. What good was it to possess the power to control the winds, the tides, the earth, when he had no purpose for his magic to fulfil?
A tear escaped the corner of his eye and splashed into the lake. He sniffled, surprised that he still had tears that were left unshed. Three days. He marvelled at this with a sharp exhale. His breath carried across the water and was joined by another breath that danced on the rippling waves.
“Some days, all you can do is breathe,” a whisper rose from the glittering magic that skimmed the lake.
Merlin drew his hand back from the water, sprinkling himself with the droplets that flew from his fingers.
“And that’s okay.” the voice said.
“Who’s there?” Merlin cried, leaping to his feet. “Arthur, is it you?”
In an instant, he remembered the time when Freya appeared to him in the scry of the waters given to him by the Fisher King. Like a freshly lit torch, the hope surged through him that Arthur would return to him as well.
“Where are you?” he asked as he gazed onto the water, still as murky and colourless as the day when he set Arthur adrift to his final rest.
Seeing nothing, Merlin knelt on the muddy shore. With his dirty fingertips dipped into the water, the magic seemed to calm the waves that crossed the lake, from the obscure tower to the shore where Merlin watched. Just beneath the surface of the water, the golden light of Merlin’s magic glowed and leaped, spraying splashes of cold water into the air on this misty autumn day.
“Show yourself,” Merlin demanded harshly, before thinking better of it. What if it wasn’t Arthur? In his excitement, Merlin had no idea who he was ordering so decisively. If it was the Sidhe, Merlin hoped that the lake spirits had forgotten about how he prevented them from gaining the throne of Camelot many years earlier when Elena and Arthur had been promised to each other. He didn’t know if the Sidhe would have any respect for the Emrys who the Druids embraced, or whether he should be falling over himself in reverence for the Sidhe’s healing abilities that they might use to help restore Arthur to life-if such a thing was still possible. Perhaps the Sidhe could forgive him for killing Sophia and Aulfric. He scolded himself for risking Arthur’s future by speaking so sternly to the lake creatures from whom he might need mercy.
Merlin shifted forward, plunging both hands into the chilly water. With the surface stilled by magic, Merlin finally caught a glimpse of something that moved slowly beneath the gentled waves.
It wasn’t Arthur.
At first, he thought that he saw a fish of some sort, swimming just below the surface, but he had never seen a fish as large as this one. The creature was nearly as wide as it was long. A bright glow the colour of summer bluebells followed its movements as it swam languorously through the water, illuminated by the golden sparks from Merlin’s fingertips that seemed to turn the water green like the reeds that grew here after the winter’s ice had melted.
“You’re not the Sidhe,” Merlin said, a new wave of disappointment crashing through him, extinguishing the spark of hope that had flared for a moment.
The creature’s head broke the surface of the water, but its body remained beneath it, bobbing up and down almost imperceptibly in the murky depths.
“No, I am not the Sidhe. I am a manatee and I love you,” the creature replied calmly. Its voice rose above the lake and softly reached Merlin’s ears.
Merlin snorted. His boots sunk into the mud at the shoreline. He had communicated with the great dragon and all manner of faerie folk, but never such a ridiculously presumptuous creature from the depths. What could possibly have gotten into this creature’s head to have him declare that he loved Merlin?
It was absurd.
Merlin became sceptical about the days he spent collapsed at the lakeside. Perhaps he had lost the power to think rationally and his imagination had taken over to compensate for his grief at Arthur’s loss. He wasn’t going to stand for it.
“Another mythic creature is the last thing I need,” Merlin said with a huff, taking in the whiskered face and the dark eyes that gazed at him imploringly. If he was a less peaceful man, he’d search the shore for a rock to throw at the creature in hopes of driving it away. He had no patience for anything that would distract him from grieving for his king, least of all this fat and foolish blob from the depths.
“I’m going to stay right here,” the manatee said. It leaned to the side and let one of its two paddle-like arms rise out of the water. “If you change your mind, I’ll be here to listen. You look like you could use a friend.”
“I don’t need you to listen,” Merlin shouted, his brow furrowed. “And I’ve brought death to my only friend.”
The manatee seemed to sigh before it used its fat hind flipper to manoeuvre closer to the shore.
“I wish I could tell you that everything will be all right Merlin, but I know that it won’t be for a long time,” the manatee said placidly.
“What’s this? How do you know my name?” Merlin asked, although he couldn’t care less about the answer.
“I know many things about you,” the manatee said. “But the only thing I have to offer you is my companionship. If you ever need my smile, my hug, my shoulder to cry on, it’s yours. I know it doesn’t help much, but I hope it helps a little.”
“Well, it doesn’t,” Merlin said.
The creature’s patronizing tone grated on Merlin’s nerves. If he had to listen to it for one more instant, he’d go mad. He dug a toe into the mud and kicked a clump of dirt into the water. “Go away and leave me to my sorrow. I’ve had enough of listening to advice from beasts of the sky and I’ll heed the advice from a beast of the sea even less,” he shouted.
Merlin watched the creature dip its head beneath the waves and swim toward the tower.
“Haven’t I borne enough grief for one span of days?” Merlin muttered to himself.
Merlin stepped back toward the patch of mud that had become his bed for the past three nights and snatched the parcel of food from the ground. He was grateful that Percival had thought to leave him something to fill his belly. After all, what if the Sidhe could use their powers to help restore Arthur’s life, even though the time had passed when he still breathed with life? And what if the Sidhe required Merlin to remain waiting by the lake while they did their work? What if some unspoken covenant determined that Merlin should remain near, the one side of the coin could not be separated from its other half?
He reached into the bag and pulled out an apple and looked at it thoughtfully.
Perhaps the manatee served as some kind of messenger from the Sidhe. Maybe he shouldn’t have scolded it so harshly.
Merlin took a bite.
Percival had remained with Merlin for the first night by the lake. He told Merlin the news of Gwaine’s death. Merlin thought it would be impossible for his heart to twist and suffer any more than it already had on that day. Despite his own grief, Percival accepted the task of informing the court that Arthur was dead, that the magic Merlin had hoped would save the king had not been secured in time. Gwen would rule over Camelot in her husband’s place. Merlin had seen Arthur bestow his seal upon Gwen, pressing the delicate piece of metal into Gaius’s hands when he thought Merlin wasn’t looking.
“Arthur,” Merlin breathed. Had it already been three whole days since he had been alive?
The fresh wound of Merlin’s loss opened again with the memory of Arthur making his final request of Gaius, the man who had tended to him in sickness and in injury since he was a boy. It was a wise decision, for who knew what disarray Camelot would fall into without the guidance of a strong ruler? If anyone would know how to gain the support of Camelot’s people and its army of knights, it would be Gwen. Although Merlin was pleased with Arthur’s decision, he knew it meant that he could never return to Camelot. Gwen would be able to rely on the knights’ loyalty to her, just as they respected Arthur, but they’d hate Merlin for his failure to save him.
He couldn’t blame them. It was his fault that Arthur was dead. Even if Merlin did return to Camelot, he’d only do so to bid Gaius goodbye. He wouldn’t dare stay for long. Everyone would blame him for the loss of their beloved king. Merlin wouldn’t be welcome in Camelot again, even if he could stave off his sorrow long enough to glimpse for one last time the castle’s gleaming turrets and crimson flags as they reached for a blue sky.
Merlin found a dry patch of grass by the lakeside and sat, laying the satchel of food between his knees.
He couldn’t go back. Besides, he’d be better off if he stayed here and waited by the lake in case Arthur returned as Kilgharrah had promised. The mighty dragon had prophesized so many things in the years since Merlin arrived at Camelot and freed the beast from its imprisonment beneath the citadel. Merlin had believed him each time he promised that a bright future would come to Albion. The promise of glory was etched more firmly in the stone of history each time Merlin saved Arthur’s life so that the kingdom prospered in peace, its allies strong and its enemies respectful of Arthur’s rule.
Kilgharrah said so.
But lately, the dragon had grown tired. Merlin noticed weeks earlier when Kilgharrah could barely fly with his weakened wings, wracked with age. Since that day, he had come to think of him as dead. It was only when he was out of his mind with despair that he called him out of habit, never thinking that the dragon would be able to fly to his aid. In horror, Merlin realized his error. The discovery that Kilgharrah was still alive and capable of flying only added to the guilt that Merlin heaped across his own shoulders.
Arthur would still be alive, if he had acted sooner.
“I think you would like to have seen more of what magic can do,” Merlin whispered toward the water.
He had finally dared to show Arthur the magic that he had kept secret for all his life. And to Merlin’s surprise, Arthur hadn’t threatened to banish him to the ends of the earth or ordered him to dangle from the hangman’s noose. No, in the few hours of his life that remained, he learned to appreciate Merlin for his magic, for all the things he did for Camelot, for Arthur. He thanked him for it with his dying breath.
If only Arthur could have experienced more of Merlin’s magic while he was alive. Now that Merlin could be assured of Arthur’s acceptance of his special talent, it hurt to think of all the times he could have used his magic to make life easier, not only for himself, but for Arthur and the people of his realm. He could have healed the sick, protected the crops from drought, and soothed away Arthur’s worries for his knights and their readiness for battle. He needed more time than the two short days he had to show Arthur all the things that magic could do. Much more time.
And what would Arthur have thought if he had known he had been flown to the lake on Kilgharrah’s back? Would he have been terrified, if he were conscious? Would he have been thrilled?
Merlin’s eyes scanned the water for a sign of acknowledgement from the waves.
He trusted Arthur. He trusted him to return. He had finally been able to tell him, to show him the magic he was made of-the truth that had so deeply been hidden, not for fear of being burned at the pyre, but for the fear of failing to protect Arthur, ensuring his path as the leader of a kingdom steeped in peace and nobility.
But they only shared a few moments of this truth together. How would that suffice to fill Merlin’s days with satisfaction while he waited for Arthur’s return? What of the great kingdom the two of them were to build? He had believed in Arthur and he had believed in the dragon’s words. His stupidity made his heart ache as he looked upon the empty water.
“Kilgharrah said a white dragon would bode well for the future of Camelot…” Merlin muttered, catching his words at the last moment when he remembered that this too must have been a lie. Had the dragon ever spoken the truth about anything?
Aithusa could have killed Arthur and his men at Camlann had Merlin not arrived in time to call him off.
Merlin had always tried his best to keep Arthur safe, but now the king was dead.
Worse still was Kilgharrah’s assertion that Merlin’s destiny had been fulfilled. His job was finished. There was no more to his story besides that.
Merlin took the last bite of the apple and tossed the core into the bushes beside the lake.
Now it seemed like everything the dragon had told him was some fabrication invented to deceive Merlin and make him feel worse. Why did he lie to Merlin about the great destiny that was to come?
And what about the people who gave their lives so that Merlin could ensure that Arthur’s destiny was fulfilled? What about Finna, who ran herself through, rather than give up Merlin’s identity to Morgana? What about Alator? And Merlin’s best friend, Will, who died protecting his secret? And Gilli? Merlin promised him that he would someday live in a world where those who used magic could be free. Merlin had been so convinced that Albion would see its golden age where he could finally be as the gods had made him. How could he have been so wrong? So many had died. Was it all for naught, the lives that were sacrificed so he could lead Arthur to the throne, sure that he would restore magic to the land?
Merlin refused to believe that their lives had gone to waste. There had to be a way for Arthur to return. There had to be a way to set this right. He had one idea, but it seemed so dangerous that he didn’t dare try, lest he be met with the same results as the last time he and Arthur used dark magic to conjure the dead.
“No,” Merlin said, still gazing on the water. He couldn’t bear it if Arthur returned and acted the same way that Uther had. “It’s hopeless.”
A ripple of waves spread across the water nearby.
“There’s always hope,” the manatee said, his whiskered face emerging from the water beside the shore.
“You again?” Merlin asked without needing an answer. “Why can’t you just let me be?”
The manatee swam closer, lumbering toward the muddy beachfront, using his flippers to drag himself across the sandy lake bottom. “I know you feel bad right now. You’re only asking me to leave you alone because you think you don’t need my help. You’re big and strong, but even the biggest and the strongest of us needs help sometimes,” the manatee said.
“I don’t need anyone’s help,” Merlin said in exasperation. He wished the manatee would swim away and leave him alone. “Why won’t you listen to me? You’re as stupid as you are ugly.”
“I’ll have you know some people mistake me for a mermaid, a beautiful princess of the sea,” the manatee said, using his tail to splash Merlin with a spray of water.
Merlin closed his eyes against the onslaught of dank lake water. “They’d be fools then. We’re miles from the sea,” Merlin said.
“I was happy to see you eating that apple,” the manatee said gleefully. “You’re so skinny, it makes me worry about you.”
“You needn’t worry about me,” Merlin said with a sigh. “I have enough worries for both of us.”
“The man in the boat made you sad,” the manatee said, its head now bobbing gently above the surface of the lake.
“You saw what happened. You know what became of him,” Merlin sniffled. It was clear that the manatee wasn’t going to drop his meddling into Merlin’s affairs. Merlin figured he had little to lose by sharing his thoughts with the manatee. Besides, he wanted to find out if it knew anything about the Sidhe or whether they even existed in this lake where they might be able to help Arthur return to him.
“I know lots of things. I’ve been here for a long time,” the manatee said. “Watching and waiting.”
“Do you know of the Sidhe?” Merlin asked. He felt apologetic for trying to befriend the manatee after only treating it with insolence before. He closed his eyes and remembered his king’s face, pale with death as Merlin let his magic sweep his boat across the waves.
The manatee nodded. “I have seen them swimming in these waters before and flitting through the air above the lake. When I first came here, they tried to help me. They seem to like me well enough. With them, it’s always Morforwyn, can you trim these reeds? Morforwyn, can you move this rock? Morforwyn, can you keep those Saxons from pissing in the lake?”
Merlin snorted out a laugh. “I thought the Sidhe were all powerful? Why do they need your help?” he asked.
“They are very powerful,” Morforwyn said. “I think they just like to make me feel useful.”
It seemed to Merlin that the Sidhe were just using Morforwyn for their own amusement. He caught himself and stopped his smile when he realized that their need for entertainment was not much different than Kilgharrah’s need for an audience to hear the story he had spun-an audience consisting of one unfortunate sorcerer. He closed his eyes against his sorrow.
Morforwyn apparently sensed Merlin’s return to sadness and tried to cheer him. “The amazing thing about the lake is that it always provides everything I need. I love swimming in the water,” he said, dunking his head in deep and then exhaling when he emerged again, the droplets sailing across to where Merlin sat, the water dripping from Morforwyn’s whiskers.
Merlin opened his eyes to see that the creature had beached himself partway out of the water. The manatee stretched his upper body halfway onto the shore. A front flipper touched Merlin’s arm soothingly. He could feel its weight, curiously slippery from the water and brine. Merlin looked into Morforwyn’s eyes and saw only reassurance and compassion there. He supposed if he needed to have a friend beside him, this animal would do. He couldn’t be much worse than the dragon who lied about everything he had told Merlin from the moment they met.
“The water makes me feel so free. It’s a lot like love, Merlin,” Morforwyn said.
“Love?” Merlin asked sullenly. He wasn’t sure what the manatee was getting at.
“Maybe if I see the Sidhe again, I can get word to them for you. I know how much you miss your friend.”
“If you haven’t seen the Sidhe lately, you can’t help me because they can’t help him,” Merlin said.
“Your friend?” asked the manatee.
“My friend,” Merlin said, burying his face in the crook of his arm.
Morforwyn rested his head on Merlin’s knee.
“Aren’t you supposed to stay in the water?” Merlin asked, drawing away.
“No, I’ll be fine for a little while, thanks so very much for asking,” Morforwyn said, settling his head on Merlin’s knee again.
Merlin relaxed under the weight of the creature’s head, resting as it did.
Morforwyn took a long breath and said, “Grief is one of those really terrible things, Merlin. I wish there was something I could say that would make this okay, but there isn’t. Losing a friend is horrible, and I’m afraid it never gets any easier.”
Merlin wasn’t sure whether he felt better or worse for Morforwyn’s claim that it wouldn’t get any easier. “It’s all my fault that he’s gone,” he said resting a hand on the manatee’s head.
“No, of course it’s not your fault,” Morforwyn said gently. “I know it’s hard now, but it’s important to focus on the good things. You got to spend time with a wonderful man who chose you as a friend and companion. He enriched your life, and you were special and important to him. It made you both better, and it made the world better too.”
“No, that’s just it,” Merlin said. “We were supposed to make the world better, but now everyone we loved is dead and the kingdom needs to carry on without him. Who knows what will happen to Camelot now that he’s gone?”
“Oh, Merlin, the people we love, they never leave us. Not really. Because we remember them, and we were changed by them. That kind of love creates ripples in the world,” Morforwyn said.
“The only kind of ripples I can make are those of my tears splashing in the water,” Merlin sniffled. He used the sleeve of his jacket to wipe the drip from his nose.
Morforwyn sighed and nuzzled his head on Merlin’s shoulder. The feel of the manatee, alive and breathing, comforted Merlin. It seemed to sooth away some of the sorrow so he could speak with reason.
“I have an idea,” Merlin whispered, lifting his head. “But I’m not sure if it will work.”
Morforwyn nodded. “Sometimes, you just need to try,” he said soothingly… calmingly.
“I don’t know. I listened to a creature like you before, and it only brought me lies and sorrow,” Merlin said.
“You trusted the dragon, Merlin. You did what you thought was right. You can’t be blamed for that,” Morforwyn said. “Please don’t beat yourself up over it.”
Merlin considered the manatee’s words. He doubted that he could follow his advice, but it made him think of how much blame he had put on himself and how difficult it was to bear it alone.
“I think I could do something to get Arthur back, but it would be dangerous,” Merlin said, biting his lip.
“You’re very smart Merlin. I’m sure you’ve found ways to escape harm many times in your young life, no matter how dangerous it seemed. You know how to avoid trouble, I know you can do it now,” Morforwyn said.
Merlin looked sideways at the manatee. He wondered how the creature knew so much.
“Hey, you got this!” Morforwyn said with a splash of his tail. “It doesn’t matter what I think. At the end of the day, the only person to trust is yourself. You have to do what you feel is right in your heart. Never mind what some bullying dragon or land-locked manatee has to say about it. It’s only up to you.”
Merlin felt the corner of his mouth tug into a smile, but then he remembered how badly this very same plan had ended the last time he tried it. Arthur was alive then. It was Arthur’s plan to resurrect his father to begin with, but now Merlin wasn’t so sure whether he wanted to risk the same outcome. “What if it doesn’t work? Merlin asked. “I’ll have to leave Arthur here to get what I need. I’m not sure I want to leave him. He’s my friend... he’s more than my friend.”
“You’ll never know if it can work, unless you try,” Morforwyn said. “You wouldn’t have thought of the idea you have if you didn’t believe just a little bit that it would work.”
“I’m not sure,” Merlin said. “I’ve always been so stupid when it comes to the important things. It’s as if acting ridiculously and pretending I didn’t have magic has rubbed off on me and I’ve forgotten how to make proper sense of things. It’s gone on for so long.”
“No, Merlin,” the manatee said. “You’re smarter than you know. I think you should give your plan a try.”
“But nothing ever turns out the way it’s supposed to,” Merlin said. “Do you know that I only told Arthur I had magic just days ago, when it was too late to defeat the prophecy. Why did I wait so long? How could I have been such an idiot? He was right to call me that, you know. I am an idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot. You just did what you thought was right. You shouldn’t feel bad because of that,” the manatee said. “You’re a good person, even if things don’t always turn out the way you’d like them to. You tried, and you did it with the best of intentions. And that’s what matters.”
Merlin gazed out over the misty water. The weight of the manatee’s head on his shoulder grounded him, soothing him with its heavy assurance.
“There’s a horn,” Merlin began with a sniffle. “An old woman that Arthur saved from death gave it to him... gave it to us.”
The sun’s rays warmed the air, making the fog swirl slow and bright around the distant tower.
“Go ahead, tell me more,” Morforwyn said.
“The horn of Cathbhadh,” Merlin said. “It has magical powers.”
“I’ve never heard of it before,” Morforwyn said, shaking his head. “Is it some kind of musical instrument or a horn that the man-at-arms uses to announce the arrival of the king to the throne room?”
“No,” Merlin said, stroking the manatee’s slick head. “It is used to call the dead back to life.”
“That sounds like powerful magic,” Morforwyn said. “I can see where it would make you worry about using it on your friend.”
“Arthur,” Merlin said with a nod. “His name was Arthur.”
“Arthur,” the manatee repeated.
“He was to be the greatest ruler the realm has ever known,” Merlin said, “only it’s my fault that I couldn’t save him in time so that he could be king long enough… it wasn’t supposed to be like this.” Merlin’s hand left Morforwyn’s head as he used his filthy neckerchief to wipe the tears that he thought were finished falling. When he opened his eyes, Morforwyn was watching him.
“If there’s a chance that you could help bring him back to life, would you take it?” Morforwyn asked.
Merlin chewed his lip. He’d do anything to have Arthur back. “I don’t want to leave him here alone. I want to stay here beside the water, in case he returns to me… in case he returns to Camelot,” Merlin said.
The silent lake he had watched over for three days showed no signs of the Sidhe’s presence, no glimpse of Arthur’s golden hair rising above the waves as he returned to Merlin’s side. Merlin tugged his jacket around him tightly, trying to stave off the chilly air that washed over him from the lake. He shivered with hunger for warmth in his belly, but there was only emptiness there, like the vacant expanse of rippling water.
“What more do I have to lose?” Merlin asked, his voice a whisper.
“You can do it,” Morforwyn said. “If there’s a chance you can bring him back. You can do it, Merlin!”
With Arthur gone, there was nothing else that could be taken from Merlin. Everything he loved had been stripped away from him time and again. What was another loss to him? His mother, his home, his friends, his magic… his king… there was nothing left for him to lose. He gave up everything he had, and it was all for nothing-just some stupid story that a dragon made up mostly of riddles.
The horn of Cathbhadh could bring Arthur back from the dead.
Another tear fell into the lake. Merlin agreed with the manatee. He couldn’t sit here by the lake waiting for Arthur. He had to try to get Arthur back.
~ ~ ~
Author: gwylliondream
Artist: patria_mori - Art Masterpost
Genre: Canon era
Pairings/characters: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 53,589
Warnings: Implied marital infidelity, brief contemplation of suicide
Summary: No one likes a story that ends with a hero’s death and broken promises. As Merlin watches the wooden boat drift away with Arthur, he regrets that he ever believed a word that Kilgharrah told him about the bright future Arthur would bring to Albion. Fortunately, he is greeted by a new mythical advisor, the Calming Manatee of the Calming Manatee meme. Only this docile sea creature can help Merlin through this difficult stage in his life so he learns to love himself and gets his happy ending with Arthur.
Author's notes: Thanks to the_muppet for running Paperlegends and making it look so easy, to my fantastic and talented artist patria_mori, to lawgoddess for her excellent beta work, to gilli_ann the best cheerleader ever, to the charming Human Typist of the Calming Manatee meme whose words of encouragement and hope I have borrowed extensively here, also to my team of special helpers on whose support I confidently rely: stagarden, archaeologist_d, sandscrit, and bronctastic, and of course to the amazing anon prompter who had the foresight to leave this incredible prompt-Hey girl, you got this!
Swimming with the Sidhe was written for paperlegends and as a kinkme_merlin fill for this prompt.
Artist's notes: I’m rubbish at blurbs!
Disclaimer: All Arthurian characters are the property of BBC/Shine and their creators. The Calming Manatee and most of its words belong to HT (the Human Typist) of the Calming Manatee meme.
Comments: Comments are welcome anytime! Thanks so much for reading!
Read on LJ: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5| Chapter 6| Chapter 7
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Three days had passed before Merlin felt the pangs of hunger. An ache throbbed deep in his gut, surpassing the pain in his heart for the first time. He lay curled on the shore beside the lake, where Percival had left him a satchel containing a half loaf of bread, two apples, and some strips of dried venison. He welcomed the needling intrusion in his belly, glad that it directed his sorrowful thoughts away from the expanse of empty waves that stretched toward the tower.
For the first time in three days, he took his eyes off the water.
The dirt had stained black the space beneath Merlin’s fingernails. In his grief, he had sought to inflict punishment upon the earth, clawing through the soil dampened by his tears while he wailed. His clothing reeked of sweat borne in battle and blood that ran from the deep wounds of those he once considered friends. He reached into the bag and grabbed the first food his fingers touched. Without looking, he tore off a hunk of bread with his teeth and returned his gaze to the lake.
A misty fog obscured the sun, making this morning as miserable as the last. The meadow had been silent, as if in respect for what had transpired there only three days earlier. No bird sang its morning song, no insect buzzed as it flitted from flower to flower, no breeze ruffled the treetops. The silence that prevailed added to the emptiness Merlin felt in his chest, the horrible failure that could never be rectified, the lifeless hollow that could never be filled.
The damp air hung over the lake, a mist shielding the tower from Merlin’s view, rain threatening. Shadows among the waves played tricks on Merlin’s mind. They caught his eyes, making them dart from side to side, making him see things that were not there, no matter how hard he wished for them to be. What he wouldn’t give for the sight of a wooden boat carrying Arthur whole again back to the shore.
Merlin chewed the mouthful of bread and swallowed with a throat scraped raw from weeping.
Everyone in the kingdom would know the news by now. The king was dead. Percival had begged Merlin to go with him back to Camelot. He tugged Merlin’s arm, insisting that his horse wouldn’t be affected by the addition of Merlin’s slight frame to his load. But Merlin refused, becoming incensed by the thought of returning to the court of the kingdom he called home for ten years. How could he leave, when somewhere in the mist Arthur lay still on his bier? How could Merlin abandon the man whose destiny relied on Merlin’s success in keeping him from harm-whose destiny would unify the lands and bring peace to Albion?
He couldn’t yet bring himself to believe that Kilgharrah’s words had all been lies.
Merlin forgot the pain of hunger. He sat and wrapped his arms around his knees.
“I swore to protect you with my life, or die at your side,” he sobbed to the silent lake.
He had promised Arthur this more than once, when the day’s battle had beaten a path to their doorstep. Yet Merlin lived while Arthur lay still, his eyes rolled back into his head. Merlin wanted nothing more than for the Sidhe to heal Arthur’s wounds, to breathe life back into the lungs that had taken their last breath. Gaius promised there was a chance, but they had been too late.
Merlin had re-lived that horrible moment a thousand times in the hours and days that had passed, yet nothing had changed. He ached for the sunlight to stream through his window, waking him from the horrible nightmare where his worst fears had come true. But no bright sun welcomed him awake, only the bitter breeze that brought the sting of cold from the lake to his tear-stained cheeks.
The waves lapped the shoreline, teasing Merlin with their liveliness.
If only Arthur had been granted a chance to live. Arthur, who had always been so brave in battle. Arthur, whose love for Camelot and for his subjects outweighed his concerns for his own safety and his own life. Arthur, who Merlin had always saved from doom. Why not now? What harsh fates would decree that Arthur’s hard-fought and newly-won compassion toward Merlin and his magic should go so unrewarded?
Merlin’s throat ached from trying to hold back the fit of sobbing once it began. He supposed he should have more control over himself, but what did it matter? Three days had passed with no one to hear him, no one to listen to his tears as he examined each memory of the things Arthur had said to him during their journey to the lake at Avalon where he should have been healed.
He cherished each remembered phrase as if it were the most precious thing Arthur had ever said to him.
“You told me that you wanted me to always be me,” Merlin whispered through dry cracked lips, remembering aloud more of Arthur’s words to keep them from melting into the haze of his memory.
He let out a gasp at the irony. How could he even begin to be himself, when everything he had done from the time he left Ealdor had been for the purpose of keeping Arthur safe-to ensure that Arthur ascended the throne and became the greatest king that Albion had ever known? How could he be himself when he had futilely given Arthur’s mortal body over to the care of the Sidhe whose source of power lay somewhere in this wretched lake?
He would stay. Merlin could not bear to leave his king, whether dead or alive.
If it meant that Merlin would rot in the dirt on the shore like a withered apple, cast off and forgotten by everyone, so be it.
Merlin dropped his hand to the cool water, touching the surface with his fingertips.
He’d miss Arthur for each of the hours of waiting that he had ahead of him. He’d miss their foolish banter that made an outsider wonder which man was the servant and which was truly the king. He’d miss the stolen glances that seemed to become even more furtive after Arthur married Gwen, the brush of his fingers against Arthur’s skin when he dressed him for the day, Arthur’s eyes that always greeted him with a gaze that seemed to come from the bluest ocean, welcoming, calming, enveloping him in something that was like a kind of love, only more keen, more permanent. Two sides of the same coin.
What Merlin wouldn’t give to be called an idiot again by the voice of the man he loved best.
He mustered a tiny tendril of powerful magic from within his veins and sent it upon the water in hopes that Arthur might be able to feel the pull of Merlin’s longing for his return, to know the heaviness of his heart.
The beads of golden magicglow skittered beneath the undulating waves.
“Arthur,” Merlin pleaded, the name falling from his lips like a prayer to the gods.
Merlin let his magic flow from his fingertips into the water. He choked back a sob as he watched the liquid magic flare gold on the surface of the lake, the swirls and sparkles of his power dancing in a pattern that was not unlike the finest jewellery carved by the most skilled craftsmen.
But what use was it to have such magic now? His father told him that he was a son of the earth, the sea, the sky, that he was born of magic, and that he was magic itself. What good was it to possess the power to control the winds, the tides, the earth, when he had no purpose for his magic to fulfil?
A tear escaped the corner of his eye and splashed into the lake. He sniffled, surprised that he still had tears that were left unshed. Three days. He marvelled at this with a sharp exhale. His breath carried across the water and was joined by another breath that danced on the rippling waves.
“Some days, all you can do is breathe,” a whisper rose from the glittering magic that skimmed the lake.
Merlin drew his hand back from the water, sprinkling himself with the droplets that flew from his fingers.
“And that’s okay.” the voice said.
“Who’s there?” Merlin cried, leaping to his feet. “Arthur, is it you?”
In an instant, he remembered the time when Freya appeared to him in the scry of the waters given to him by the Fisher King. Like a freshly lit torch, the hope surged through him that Arthur would return to him as well.
“Where are you?” he asked as he gazed onto the water, still as murky and colourless as the day when he set Arthur adrift to his final rest.
Seeing nothing, Merlin knelt on the muddy shore. With his dirty fingertips dipped into the water, the magic seemed to calm the waves that crossed the lake, from the obscure tower to the shore where Merlin watched. Just beneath the surface of the water, the golden light of Merlin’s magic glowed and leaped, spraying splashes of cold water into the air on this misty autumn day.
“Show yourself,” Merlin demanded harshly, before thinking better of it. What if it wasn’t Arthur? In his excitement, Merlin had no idea who he was ordering so decisively. If it was the Sidhe, Merlin hoped that the lake spirits had forgotten about how he prevented them from gaining the throne of Camelot many years earlier when Elena and Arthur had been promised to each other. He didn’t know if the Sidhe would have any respect for the Emrys who the Druids embraced, or whether he should be falling over himself in reverence for the Sidhe’s healing abilities that they might use to help restore Arthur to life-if such a thing was still possible. Perhaps the Sidhe could forgive him for killing Sophia and Aulfric. He scolded himself for risking Arthur’s future by speaking so sternly to the lake creatures from whom he might need mercy.
Merlin shifted forward, plunging both hands into the chilly water. With the surface stilled by magic, Merlin finally caught a glimpse of something that moved slowly beneath the gentled waves.
It wasn’t Arthur.
At first, he thought that he saw a fish of some sort, swimming just below the surface, but he had never seen a fish as large as this one. The creature was nearly as wide as it was long. A bright glow the colour of summer bluebells followed its movements as it swam languorously through the water, illuminated by the golden sparks from Merlin’s fingertips that seemed to turn the water green like the reeds that grew here after the winter’s ice had melted.
“You’re not the Sidhe,” Merlin said, a new wave of disappointment crashing through him, extinguishing the spark of hope that had flared for a moment.
The creature’s head broke the surface of the water, but its body remained beneath it, bobbing up and down almost imperceptibly in the murky depths.
“No, I am not the Sidhe. I am a manatee and I love you,” the creature replied calmly. Its voice rose above the lake and softly reached Merlin’s ears.
Merlin snorted. His boots sunk into the mud at the shoreline. He had communicated with the great dragon and all manner of faerie folk, but never such a ridiculously presumptuous creature from the depths. What could possibly have gotten into this creature’s head to have him declare that he loved Merlin?
It was absurd.
Merlin became sceptical about the days he spent collapsed at the lakeside. Perhaps he had lost the power to think rationally and his imagination had taken over to compensate for his grief at Arthur’s loss. He wasn’t going to stand for it.
“Another mythic creature is the last thing I need,” Merlin said with a huff, taking in the whiskered face and the dark eyes that gazed at him imploringly. If he was a less peaceful man, he’d search the shore for a rock to throw at the creature in hopes of driving it away. He had no patience for anything that would distract him from grieving for his king, least of all this fat and foolish blob from the depths.
“I’m going to stay right here,” the manatee said. It leaned to the side and let one of its two paddle-like arms rise out of the water. “If you change your mind, I’ll be here to listen. You look like you could use a friend.”
“I don’t need you to listen,” Merlin shouted, his brow furrowed. “And I’ve brought death to my only friend.”
The manatee seemed to sigh before it used its fat hind flipper to manoeuvre closer to the shore.
“I wish I could tell you that everything will be all right Merlin, but I know that it won’t be for a long time,” the manatee said placidly.
“What’s this? How do you know my name?” Merlin asked, although he couldn’t care less about the answer.
“I know many things about you,” the manatee said. “But the only thing I have to offer you is my companionship. If you ever need my smile, my hug, my shoulder to cry on, it’s yours. I know it doesn’t help much, but I hope it helps a little.”
“Well, it doesn’t,” Merlin said.
The creature’s patronizing tone grated on Merlin’s nerves. If he had to listen to it for one more instant, he’d go mad. He dug a toe into the mud and kicked a clump of dirt into the water. “Go away and leave me to my sorrow. I’ve had enough of listening to advice from beasts of the sky and I’ll heed the advice from a beast of the sea even less,” he shouted.
Merlin watched the creature dip its head beneath the waves and swim toward the tower.
“Haven’t I borne enough grief for one span of days?” Merlin muttered to himself.
Merlin stepped back toward the patch of mud that had become his bed for the past three nights and snatched the parcel of food from the ground. He was grateful that Percival had thought to leave him something to fill his belly. After all, what if the Sidhe could use their powers to help restore Arthur’s life, even though the time had passed when he still breathed with life? And what if the Sidhe required Merlin to remain waiting by the lake while they did their work? What if some unspoken covenant determined that Merlin should remain near, the one side of the coin could not be separated from its other half?
He reached into the bag and pulled out an apple and looked at it thoughtfully.
Perhaps the manatee served as some kind of messenger from the Sidhe. Maybe he shouldn’t have scolded it so harshly.
Merlin took a bite.
Percival had remained with Merlin for the first night by the lake. He told Merlin the news of Gwaine’s death. Merlin thought it would be impossible for his heart to twist and suffer any more than it already had on that day. Despite his own grief, Percival accepted the task of informing the court that Arthur was dead, that the magic Merlin had hoped would save the king had not been secured in time. Gwen would rule over Camelot in her husband’s place. Merlin had seen Arthur bestow his seal upon Gwen, pressing the delicate piece of metal into Gaius’s hands when he thought Merlin wasn’t looking.
“Arthur,” Merlin breathed. Had it already been three whole days since he had been alive?
The fresh wound of Merlin’s loss opened again with the memory of Arthur making his final request of Gaius, the man who had tended to him in sickness and in injury since he was a boy. It was a wise decision, for who knew what disarray Camelot would fall into without the guidance of a strong ruler? If anyone would know how to gain the support of Camelot’s people and its army of knights, it would be Gwen. Although Merlin was pleased with Arthur’s decision, he knew it meant that he could never return to Camelot. Gwen would be able to rely on the knights’ loyalty to her, just as they respected Arthur, but they’d hate Merlin for his failure to save him.
He couldn’t blame them. It was his fault that Arthur was dead. Even if Merlin did return to Camelot, he’d only do so to bid Gaius goodbye. He wouldn’t dare stay for long. Everyone would blame him for the loss of their beloved king. Merlin wouldn’t be welcome in Camelot again, even if he could stave off his sorrow long enough to glimpse for one last time the castle’s gleaming turrets and crimson flags as they reached for a blue sky.
Merlin found a dry patch of grass by the lakeside and sat, laying the satchel of food between his knees.
He couldn’t go back. Besides, he’d be better off if he stayed here and waited by the lake in case Arthur returned as Kilgharrah had promised. The mighty dragon had prophesized so many things in the years since Merlin arrived at Camelot and freed the beast from its imprisonment beneath the citadel. Merlin had believed him each time he promised that a bright future would come to Albion. The promise of glory was etched more firmly in the stone of history each time Merlin saved Arthur’s life so that the kingdom prospered in peace, its allies strong and its enemies respectful of Arthur’s rule.
Kilgharrah said so.
But lately, the dragon had grown tired. Merlin noticed weeks earlier when Kilgharrah could barely fly with his weakened wings, wracked with age. Since that day, he had come to think of him as dead. It was only when he was out of his mind with despair that he called him out of habit, never thinking that the dragon would be able to fly to his aid. In horror, Merlin realized his error. The discovery that Kilgharrah was still alive and capable of flying only added to the guilt that Merlin heaped across his own shoulders.
Arthur would still be alive, if he had acted sooner.
“I think you would like to have seen more of what magic can do,” Merlin whispered toward the water.
He had finally dared to show Arthur the magic that he had kept secret for all his life. And to Merlin’s surprise, Arthur hadn’t threatened to banish him to the ends of the earth or ordered him to dangle from the hangman’s noose. No, in the few hours of his life that remained, he learned to appreciate Merlin for his magic, for all the things he did for Camelot, for Arthur. He thanked him for it with his dying breath.
If only Arthur could have experienced more of Merlin’s magic while he was alive. Now that Merlin could be assured of Arthur’s acceptance of his special talent, it hurt to think of all the times he could have used his magic to make life easier, not only for himself, but for Arthur and the people of his realm. He could have healed the sick, protected the crops from drought, and soothed away Arthur’s worries for his knights and their readiness for battle. He needed more time than the two short days he had to show Arthur all the things that magic could do. Much more time.
And what would Arthur have thought if he had known he had been flown to the lake on Kilgharrah’s back? Would he have been terrified, if he were conscious? Would he have been thrilled?
Merlin’s eyes scanned the water for a sign of acknowledgement from the waves.
He trusted Arthur. He trusted him to return. He had finally been able to tell him, to show him the magic he was made of-the truth that had so deeply been hidden, not for fear of being burned at the pyre, but for the fear of failing to protect Arthur, ensuring his path as the leader of a kingdom steeped in peace and nobility.
But they only shared a few moments of this truth together. How would that suffice to fill Merlin’s days with satisfaction while he waited for Arthur’s return? What of the great kingdom the two of them were to build? He had believed in Arthur and he had believed in the dragon’s words. His stupidity made his heart ache as he looked upon the empty water.
“Kilgharrah said a white dragon would bode well for the future of Camelot…” Merlin muttered, catching his words at the last moment when he remembered that this too must have been a lie. Had the dragon ever spoken the truth about anything?
Aithusa could have killed Arthur and his men at Camlann had Merlin not arrived in time to call him off.
Merlin had always tried his best to keep Arthur safe, but now the king was dead.
Worse still was Kilgharrah’s assertion that Merlin’s destiny had been fulfilled. His job was finished. There was no more to his story besides that.
Merlin took the last bite of the apple and tossed the core into the bushes beside the lake.
Now it seemed like everything the dragon had told him was some fabrication invented to deceive Merlin and make him feel worse. Why did he lie to Merlin about the great destiny that was to come?
And what about the people who gave their lives so that Merlin could ensure that Arthur’s destiny was fulfilled? What about Finna, who ran herself through, rather than give up Merlin’s identity to Morgana? What about Alator? And Merlin’s best friend, Will, who died protecting his secret? And Gilli? Merlin promised him that he would someday live in a world where those who used magic could be free. Merlin had been so convinced that Albion would see its golden age where he could finally be as the gods had made him. How could he have been so wrong? So many had died. Was it all for naught, the lives that were sacrificed so he could lead Arthur to the throne, sure that he would restore magic to the land?
Merlin refused to believe that their lives had gone to waste. There had to be a way for Arthur to return. There had to be a way to set this right. He had one idea, but it seemed so dangerous that he didn’t dare try, lest he be met with the same results as the last time he and Arthur used dark magic to conjure the dead.
“No,” Merlin said, still gazing on the water. He couldn’t bear it if Arthur returned and acted the same way that Uther had. “It’s hopeless.”
A ripple of waves spread across the water nearby.
“There’s always hope,” the manatee said, his whiskered face emerging from the water beside the shore.
“You again?” Merlin asked without needing an answer. “Why can’t you just let me be?”
The manatee swam closer, lumbering toward the muddy beachfront, using his flippers to drag himself across the sandy lake bottom. “I know you feel bad right now. You’re only asking me to leave you alone because you think you don’t need my help. You’re big and strong, but even the biggest and the strongest of us needs help sometimes,” the manatee said.
“I don’t need anyone’s help,” Merlin said in exasperation. He wished the manatee would swim away and leave him alone. “Why won’t you listen to me? You’re as stupid as you are ugly.”
“I’ll have you know some people mistake me for a mermaid, a beautiful princess of the sea,” the manatee said, using his tail to splash Merlin with a spray of water.
Merlin closed his eyes against the onslaught of dank lake water. “They’d be fools then. We’re miles from the sea,” Merlin said.
“I was happy to see you eating that apple,” the manatee said gleefully. “You’re so skinny, it makes me worry about you.”
“You needn’t worry about me,” Merlin said with a sigh. “I have enough worries for both of us.”
“The man in the boat made you sad,” the manatee said, its head now bobbing gently above the surface of the lake.
“You saw what happened. You know what became of him,” Merlin sniffled. It was clear that the manatee wasn’t going to drop his meddling into Merlin’s affairs. Merlin figured he had little to lose by sharing his thoughts with the manatee. Besides, he wanted to find out if it knew anything about the Sidhe or whether they even existed in this lake where they might be able to help Arthur return to him.
“I know lots of things. I’ve been here for a long time,” the manatee said. “Watching and waiting.”
“Do you know of the Sidhe?” Merlin asked. He felt apologetic for trying to befriend the manatee after only treating it with insolence before. He closed his eyes and remembered his king’s face, pale with death as Merlin let his magic sweep his boat across the waves.
The manatee nodded. “I have seen them swimming in these waters before and flitting through the air above the lake. When I first came here, they tried to help me. They seem to like me well enough. With them, it’s always Morforwyn, can you trim these reeds? Morforwyn, can you move this rock? Morforwyn, can you keep those Saxons from pissing in the lake?”
Merlin snorted out a laugh. “I thought the Sidhe were all powerful? Why do they need your help?” he asked.
“They are very powerful,” Morforwyn said. “I think they just like to make me feel useful.”
It seemed to Merlin that the Sidhe were just using Morforwyn for their own amusement. He caught himself and stopped his smile when he realized that their need for entertainment was not much different than Kilgharrah’s need for an audience to hear the story he had spun-an audience consisting of one unfortunate sorcerer. He closed his eyes against his sorrow.
Morforwyn apparently sensed Merlin’s return to sadness and tried to cheer him. “The amazing thing about the lake is that it always provides everything I need. I love swimming in the water,” he said, dunking his head in deep and then exhaling when he emerged again, the droplets sailing across to where Merlin sat, the water dripping from Morforwyn’s whiskers.
Merlin opened his eyes to see that the creature had beached himself partway out of the water. The manatee stretched his upper body halfway onto the shore. A front flipper touched Merlin’s arm soothingly. He could feel its weight, curiously slippery from the water and brine. Merlin looked into Morforwyn’s eyes and saw only reassurance and compassion there. He supposed if he needed to have a friend beside him, this animal would do. He couldn’t be much worse than the dragon who lied about everything he had told Merlin from the moment they met.
“The water makes me feel so free. It’s a lot like love, Merlin,” Morforwyn said.
“Love?” Merlin asked sullenly. He wasn’t sure what the manatee was getting at.
“Maybe if I see the Sidhe again, I can get word to them for you. I know how much you miss your friend.”
“If you haven’t seen the Sidhe lately, you can’t help me because they can’t help him,” Merlin said.
“Your friend?” asked the manatee.
“My friend,” Merlin said, burying his face in the crook of his arm.
Morforwyn rested his head on Merlin’s knee.
“Aren’t you supposed to stay in the water?” Merlin asked, drawing away.
“No, I’ll be fine for a little while, thanks so very much for asking,” Morforwyn said, settling his head on Merlin’s knee again.
Merlin relaxed under the weight of the creature’s head, resting as it did.
Morforwyn took a long breath and said, “Grief is one of those really terrible things, Merlin. I wish there was something I could say that would make this okay, but there isn’t. Losing a friend is horrible, and I’m afraid it never gets any easier.”
Merlin wasn’t sure whether he felt better or worse for Morforwyn’s claim that it wouldn’t get any easier. “It’s all my fault that he’s gone,” he said resting a hand on the manatee’s head.
“No, of course it’s not your fault,” Morforwyn said gently. “I know it’s hard now, but it’s important to focus on the good things. You got to spend time with a wonderful man who chose you as a friend and companion. He enriched your life, and you were special and important to him. It made you both better, and it made the world better too.”
“No, that’s just it,” Merlin said. “We were supposed to make the world better, but now everyone we loved is dead and the kingdom needs to carry on without him. Who knows what will happen to Camelot now that he’s gone?”
“Oh, Merlin, the people we love, they never leave us. Not really. Because we remember them, and we were changed by them. That kind of love creates ripples in the world,” Morforwyn said.
“The only kind of ripples I can make are those of my tears splashing in the water,” Merlin sniffled. He used the sleeve of his jacket to wipe the drip from his nose.
Morforwyn sighed and nuzzled his head on Merlin’s shoulder. The feel of the manatee, alive and breathing, comforted Merlin. It seemed to sooth away some of the sorrow so he could speak with reason.
“I have an idea,” Merlin whispered, lifting his head. “But I’m not sure if it will work.”
Morforwyn nodded. “Sometimes, you just need to try,” he said soothingly… calmingly.
“I don’t know. I listened to a creature like you before, and it only brought me lies and sorrow,” Merlin said.
“You trusted the dragon, Merlin. You did what you thought was right. You can’t be blamed for that,” Morforwyn said. “Please don’t beat yourself up over it.”
Merlin considered the manatee’s words. He doubted that he could follow his advice, but it made him think of how much blame he had put on himself and how difficult it was to bear it alone.
“I think I could do something to get Arthur back, but it would be dangerous,” Merlin said, biting his lip.
“You’re very smart Merlin. I’m sure you’ve found ways to escape harm many times in your young life, no matter how dangerous it seemed. You know how to avoid trouble, I know you can do it now,” Morforwyn said.
Merlin looked sideways at the manatee. He wondered how the creature knew so much.
“Hey, you got this!” Morforwyn said with a splash of his tail. “It doesn’t matter what I think. At the end of the day, the only person to trust is yourself. You have to do what you feel is right in your heart. Never mind what some bullying dragon or land-locked manatee has to say about it. It’s only up to you.”
Merlin felt the corner of his mouth tug into a smile, but then he remembered how badly this very same plan had ended the last time he tried it. Arthur was alive then. It was Arthur’s plan to resurrect his father to begin with, but now Merlin wasn’t so sure whether he wanted to risk the same outcome. “What if it doesn’t work? Merlin asked. “I’ll have to leave Arthur here to get what I need. I’m not sure I want to leave him. He’s my friend... he’s more than my friend.”
“You’ll never know if it can work, unless you try,” Morforwyn said. “You wouldn’t have thought of the idea you have if you didn’t believe just a little bit that it would work.”
“I’m not sure,” Merlin said. “I’ve always been so stupid when it comes to the important things. It’s as if acting ridiculously and pretending I didn’t have magic has rubbed off on me and I’ve forgotten how to make proper sense of things. It’s gone on for so long.”
“No, Merlin,” the manatee said. “You’re smarter than you know. I think you should give your plan a try.”
“But nothing ever turns out the way it’s supposed to,” Merlin said. “Do you know that I only told Arthur I had magic just days ago, when it was too late to defeat the prophecy. Why did I wait so long? How could I have been such an idiot? He was right to call me that, you know. I am an idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot. You just did what you thought was right. You shouldn’t feel bad because of that,” the manatee said. “You’re a good person, even if things don’t always turn out the way you’d like them to. You tried, and you did it with the best of intentions. And that’s what matters.”
Merlin gazed out over the misty water. The weight of the manatee’s head on his shoulder grounded him, soothing him with its heavy assurance.
“There’s a horn,” Merlin began with a sniffle. “An old woman that Arthur saved from death gave it to him... gave it to us.”
The sun’s rays warmed the air, making the fog swirl slow and bright around the distant tower.
“Go ahead, tell me more,” Morforwyn said.
“The horn of Cathbhadh,” Merlin said. “It has magical powers.”
“I’ve never heard of it before,” Morforwyn said, shaking his head. “Is it some kind of musical instrument or a horn that the man-at-arms uses to announce the arrival of the king to the throne room?”
“No,” Merlin said, stroking the manatee’s slick head. “It is used to call the dead back to life.”
“That sounds like powerful magic,” Morforwyn said. “I can see where it would make you worry about using it on your friend.”
“Arthur,” Merlin said with a nod. “His name was Arthur.”
“Arthur,” the manatee repeated.
“He was to be the greatest ruler the realm has ever known,” Merlin said, “only it’s my fault that I couldn’t save him in time so that he could be king long enough… it wasn’t supposed to be like this.” Merlin’s hand left Morforwyn’s head as he used his filthy neckerchief to wipe the tears that he thought were finished falling. When he opened his eyes, Morforwyn was watching him.
“If there’s a chance that you could help bring him back to life, would you take it?” Morforwyn asked.
Merlin chewed his lip. He’d do anything to have Arthur back. “I don’t want to leave him here alone. I want to stay here beside the water, in case he returns to me… in case he returns to Camelot,” Merlin said.
The silent lake he had watched over for three days showed no signs of the Sidhe’s presence, no glimpse of Arthur’s golden hair rising above the waves as he returned to Merlin’s side. Merlin tugged his jacket around him tightly, trying to stave off the chilly air that washed over him from the lake. He shivered with hunger for warmth in his belly, but there was only emptiness there, like the vacant expanse of rippling water.
“What more do I have to lose?” Merlin asked, his voice a whisper.
“You can do it,” Morforwyn said. “If there’s a chance you can bring him back. You can do it, Merlin!”
With Arthur gone, there was nothing else that could be taken from Merlin. Everything he loved had been stripped away from him time and again. What was another loss to him? His mother, his home, his friends, his magic… his king… there was nothing left for him to lose. He gave up everything he had, and it was all for nothing-just some stupid story that a dragon made up mostly of riddles.
The horn of Cathbhadh could bring Arthur back from the dead.
Another tear fell into the lake. Merlin agreed with the manatee. He couldn’t sit here by the lake waiting for Arthur. He had to try to get Arthur back.
~ ~ ~