Title: The Deep Well of Desire
Category: Multi (Canon)
Characters/Pairings: Merlin, Various Characters
Rating/Warnings: M
Summary: Druid lore speaks of an ancient spring that lies deep within the recesses of the Darkling Wood, where any man or woman who drinks from its waters will be granted a vision of their heart's deepest desire. The memory itself never lingers upon awakening, it is said, only a feeling of solace for any lost soul that finds itself in need of comfort.

Merlin's Unspoken Grief

Hot, salty tears poured down Merlin's cheeks as he ran blindly through the silent forest. His heart beat frantically as he fled, somehow believing that if he just kept moving, he could escape the reality of Freya's death.

His exhausted muscles screamed in protest at the unaccustomed exertion, as ragged, gulping breaths burned his parched throat, already raw and aching from the grief he'd spent on the shores of the lake of Avalon. Rough branches left bloodied scratches on his tender skin, and his feet began to blister as they pounded in endless repetition against the hard, unforgiving ground.

The pain didn't matter; Merlin welcomed the physical discomfort, especially when it became so overwhelming that it suppressed any thought of the hollow anguish he wasn't prepared to acknowledge. Run, run, he must keep running. He didn't care where he was going, or what he might encounter along the way. All he knew was that he had to keep running.

He tripped and fell once, twice, a dozen times, rising quickly to press on even harder. It was only when his fatigued body had nothing left to give that he collapsed for a final time and lay panting in the dirt.

The forest that surrounded him was black and forbidding, without a familiar landmark to be seen. Night was falling quickly, and the distant, ominous sound of a feral howl echoed through the towering trees. Merlin was alone, perhaps more so than he'd ever been in his life, but he managed to hold his fears at bay with a firm reminder that his own powerful magic would be a force to be reckoned with against any foe he might encounter.

Still, a bracing fire surely couldn't do any harm.

"Forbearnan," he whispered, raising his head slightly as he extended a shaky hand over a pile of decaying leaves that transformed instantly into a cheery blaze.

It was only after his harsh, ragged breathing had settled into a quieter and more natural rhythm that the soft sound of gurgling water reached his ears. He was desperately thirsty, he realized then, his body parched by the endless onslaught of weeping that had only ended when he'd had no more tears left to shed. Water, he needed water, and with a pressing urgency he could ignore no longer.

Merlin struggled to his aching feet, hissing at the pain as several blisters came open, rubbed raw under the renewed pressure. He shuffled across the clearing on shaky legs, bending down to peer through the brush to locate the source of the tantalizing sound.

Reflected by moonlight, the crystal clear water shone like a beacon, urging him forward with a fresh burst of energy. He fell to his knees and drank greedily from the depths of the tiny spring, gulping in huge mouthfuls of cool, refreshing liquid and nearly sobbing in relief as it slid down to soothe the raw flesh of his burning throat.

Sated at last, he fell upon the grassy bank and lay still. His body felt heavy, languid, as if he could sleep for years and it still wouldn't be enough. Painful reminders of Freya still pricked at the edge of his consciousness, but so much more powerful even than those was the urge to simply close his eyes and drift away. Just a few minutes of rest, and he'd...

Freya was nestled in his arms, blinking at him sleepily with her large, dark eyes as her lips curled into a drowsy smile. They were both buried beneath the blankets in a warm, soft bed, arms and legs entangled in a comfortable embrace.

Morning sunlight shone through the windows of their cozy cottage, accompanied by the gentle lapping of the lake that lay just beyond their door. Merlin inhaled deeply, releasing the breath in a soft sigh of contentment as the familiar scent of fragrant herbs filled his nostrils. His gaze traveled lazily around the room, and he smiled at the hopeless clutter that made up the simple, yet infinitely fulfilling life they'd built together.

Tiny vials littered the kitchen table, proof of Freya's determination to learn the arts of healing that had captured her interest during her time with the Druids. A pile of books lay haphazardly on a nearby chair, threatening to topple over at even the smallest disturbance; his tomes of lore and incantations were nestled between her instructional manuals on brewing potions and the treatments for any number of common maladies.

The pale green dress Freya had worn the previous night lay crumpled on the floor, along with the trousers he'd removed in all due haste when he'd discovered her lying naked in bed, staring at him longingly as she'd waited for him to join her.

They had made love there in the darkness, with only the flickering of a lone candle to illuminate the beautiful features of the woman he adored. Merlin's body flooded with heat at the memory and he turned in her arms, relishing the velvety texture of her soft skin as he caressed her bare back.

She smiled at him playfully as their lips met in a tender, leisurely kiss, sliding a leg up to curl around his naked hip as she pressed herself against him with a soft sound of encouragement.

There were times when she preferred to have her body lavished beforehand, and others when she simply wanted to feel him inside her without any need for the ministrations that usually led up to that point. Merlin had memorized all her signals by then, responding to her by instinct when he sought to give her the type of pleasure she craved in that particular moment.

He immediately shifted positions, rising up on his elbows as she opened her thighs to cradle his slender hips between them. She didn't avert their gaze like she had the first few times they'd lain together, made shy and self-conscious by the unfamiliar intimacy between them. No, she was far beyond that now, gazing deeply into his eyes as he entered her, filling her completely with one sure stroke.

Merlin didn't move at first, relishing the exquisite warmth that enveloped him from head to toe. His eyes drifted closed as he allowed himself to be consumed by every part of her – the soft mouth that opened under his in a deep, lingering kiss, the sweet breath that mingled between them as they shared a contented sigh. He trembled as she pulled him closer, her fingers trailing lazily up and down his back as she waited patiently for him to absorb the initial pleasure and continue.

It was a moment of sheer perfection he always tried to capture, just before the instinctive hunger overpowered his senses, compelling his body to move in a rhythm that was older than time itself.

Slowly, he reminded himself as he finally withdrew, then eased his way back into her sweet warmth. Slowly...

Freya knew this dance as well as he did by then, always anticipating his inner battle to hold himself in check and prolong their lovemaking as long as he could possibly manage. Sometimes she made it easy for him, keeping herself calm and submissive as she adjusted herself to his slow, steady pace. They would continue for hours when she allowed him to maintain control, a gradual build that knew no sense of urgency, only lingering pleasure.

But it wasn't always so easy. Freya was a passionate woman with a devious side he equally adored, and she often went out of her way to drive him so mad with desire that any thought of prolonging anything flew right out of his head. He'd take her swiftly then, fiercely, almost violently if she pushed him that far, while she writhed beneath the onslaught of his straining body, crying out words he no longer needed to encourage his intensity, though he savored them nonetheless.

Faster... harder... deeper...

That had been one of the miraculous discoveries Merlin had made about the woman he'd grown to love with his entire body and soul. Every time they made love was like the first time, for he never quite knew which side of her would be unleashed at any given moment. Sometimes she'd be as playful as a kitten while others, he'd find her as savage as some feral beast, starved for the pleasure she craved and willing to go to any lengths to get it as quickly as possible.

On that morning, she was sweet and gentle, her face still soft from slumber as she gave herself over to him, fully content to allow him to lead the way. And so he took her lovingly, matching every lingering thrust with slow, yet hungry kisses as she moaned softly and ran her fingers through his hair.

It was only when the sun had risen high in the sky that he flipped over, urging her to straddle his hips and take the lead. His heavy lidded eyes devoured every inch of her beautiful, sweat drenched body as she began to move in the intoxicating rhythm that was intimately familiar, yet never failed to inflame his senses beyond all reason.

She threw her head back and moaned, whispering his name on a ragged sob as she suddenly began to tremble beneath the force of a powerful climax. That was all it took; he followed swiftly, letting out a loud gasp as a blinding wave of pleasure pulsed through his body and connected with hers.

His arms encircled her as she fell limply against his chest, holding her close as they both lay dazed in the aftermath of a passion that only seemed to grow more intoxicating with the passing of time, never less so. He felt her breathing slow after a few minutes, then grow deep and even as she drifted off to sleep. Smiling to himself, he cradled her slumbering body and placed a tender kiss to her forehead before his own eyes drifted closed…

Merlin awoke with a start, momentarily disoriented by the blinding sunlight that beat down on his face through the unfamiliar trees. What...? his bewildered mind cast about anxiously. Where am I?

Then he recalled his headlong flight through the forest, followed by fainter memories of slaking his thirst beside a spring that he must have wandered away from afterwards, for it was no longer anywhere to be seen. Finally, there was a dim, distant memory of losing himself to the black oblivion of an exhausted slumber.

After that, he remembered nothing.

He rose to his feet with a heavy sigh, wincing at the pain that radiated from his raw, blistered soles. His muscles still burned with exhaustion; he would've loved nothing better than to lie back down and drift off to sleep for a few more hours.

But he'd been away for too long already, and Gaius would surely be frantic with worry. Despite his own reluctance to deal with the old physician's coddling, and his outright dread at what Arthur would say about him missing a day of work, he knew that prolonging his absence would only make matters worse.

Grief still lay heavy upon his shoulders, but while it was no less painful than it had been the previous day, the awful, mindless impulse to escape was gone. No, there were too many people relying on him, loved ones that needed him to be strong. For their sake, he'd do everything he could to swallow his pain, holding it inside until time began to heal his broken heart.

As he crested a rise and saw the familiar towers of the Citadel in the distance, Merlin remembered the one thing that lent strength to his weary feet, carrying him the rest of the way home with a feeling of bittersweet resignation. No matter how painful it might be to dwell upon what had happened to Freya, he could never bring himself to regret everything that had passed between them during the short time they'd been given.

That, if nothing else, was worth the pain.