Part 1:

Of Rivers, Confusion, and Non-Saxon-Speaking Barbarians

Merlin should have been back by now.

Arthur couldn't pinpoint the exact location of the river in his head, but he knew that it was less than an hour away. He shuddered to think of the trouble Merlin could have gotten into in that hour's time; thus the reason he paced now, debating whether or not he should go after the idiot.

Just as the Prince decided that he needed to go after his manservant, said manservant came crashing out of the forest, carrying their now full waterskins. Every inch of his body was soaked through with water and beginning to form a fine coating of ice.

"Found the river," he slurred upon seeing Arthur, sounding highly sedated. A harsh tremor wracked his thin body. "Water's cold."

Arthur gaped. Even in the pale firelight he could see the blue in Merlin's lips, and the fact that the younger man was staggering as though he'd just not only drank an entire barrel of mead, but also spent the night on the tavern floor left the Prince wondering just how much of an idiot his manservant really was.

"Oh, you little fool," Arthur snapped, striding forward and grabbing Merlin wrist, yanking him sharply towards the fire. "What the hell did you do?"

Merlin blinked at the Prince sluggishly, stumbling along behind him. "Water's cold," he repeated, unable to comprehend the question through the haze in his mind.

Arthur swore. It was worse than he'd thought.

When they neared the fire, he pushed Merlin into a sitting position before lifting the younger man's tunic off of the pale chest and throwing it over a tree branch.

"I can only imagine," Arthur said hotly, undoing the laces of Merlin's trousers, "that you fell in while filling the waterskins. How did you manage to do that?"

"Water's cold," Merlin said for the third time.

"Yes, Merlin, I'm sure that it was quite cold," Arthur growled. "Only you would decide to go swimming in the dead of winter."

The servant licked his lips. "What're you doing?" he asked, watching Arthur in hazy bewilderment as the Prince tugged his trousers roughly down his legs.

"Trying to keep your sorry arse from freezing to death," Arthur bit back. The fact that Merlin wasn't shivering save the occasional tremble made his stomach clench in something like worry.

Deciding to leave the younger man's breeches on, the Prince pulled his cloak off and wrapped it around his manservant's thin form. He lifted Merlin and settled him onto his bedroll, tucking the blankets in around him and placing the bedroll as close to the fire as physically possible.

"Arthur, d'you get the water?" Merlin asked, struggling to sit upright only to be pushed back down. "'S cold, you should drink some. Why 'm I in your bed?"

"Merlin, I am quite aware that the water is cold," Arthur replied softly. "You are in my bed because if you were not, you would most likely die a most painful and icy death."

The servant blinked slowly at him, and Arthur wondered if his eyelids were still trying to freeze together or if he was just so far gone that he couldn't understand a word out of Arthur's mouth. He hoped it was the former.

"'Kay," the servant said after a minute.

Arthur was glad to hear that some of the sense had returned to his manservant. Maybe it wasn't as bad as he'd feared. But then —

"'M not cold."

Arthur's head snapped up. "What?"

Merlin blinked at him. "'M not cold. Jus' the water."

"Oh, for the love of — " Could this get any worse? No, Arthur thought bitterly as he stood and took off his own tunic, trying to ignore the sharp worry in his gut, it doesn't get any more serious than this. Only Merlin. "Move over."

But Merlin just blinked at him in his own slow, uncomprehending way and so Arthur had to kneel and physically make him move over before lying down next to him. The Prince jolted as Merlin's frozen flesh touched his own. He pulled the servant flush against his chest, ignoring the cold. He tugged the blanket up around his and Merlin's shoulders before rubbing the smaller man's back and arms in an attempt to create friction.

"What're you doing?" Merlin asked again, looking at the Prince in hazy surprise.

"Trying to get you warm," Arthur replied gruffly.

"But I 'm warm," the servant protested. "Not 's much 's before, but still."

"Are you getting colder?"

"Yeah," Merlin replied, shivering slightly. "Getting really cold."

"Good," Arthur sighed, relief evident in his tone.

Soon enough, Merlin was shaking fit to come apart and Arthur was still attempting to rub some warmth back into his body.

"W-w-what did you do, A-Arthur?" Merlin demanded, his tone annoyed. "I th-though you were trying to make me w-w-w-warmer, not c-c-colder."

"You were obviously suffering from a very severe case of hypothermia," Arthur snapped, "seeing as you couldn't form a coherent sentence or understand what I was saying or walk in a straight line, and considering the fact that you weren't shivering even after you'd just fallen into a lake that was nearly frozen over."

"I d-d-d-d-di-d-d-d—" Arthur sighed at his manservant's attempts to form words and shushed him. "I know that you didn't mean to, Merlin. All the same, I do wish you would be more careful. If you must die for me, I'd rather it not be while fetching my water."

"S-s-s-s-sorry," Merlin managed.

"Yes, well." Arthur shifted slightly so that the manservant's bare chest was touching his own. "By now I've gotten used to your incompetence."

"P-p-p-prat."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Go to sleep."

Arthur awoke to find Merlin fully dressed and stoking the fire. The servant grinned at him.

"Well, look who finally decided to join the world of the living," he said loudly. "Breakfast is just about ready."

Arthur huffed and sat up. Obviously nearly freezing to death did nothing to improve Merlin's mannerism. "A good morning to you too, Merlin. Yes, I would love some breakfast. There's no need to thank me for saving your life last night. It wasn't any trouble at all, really."

"Good, then," Merlin laughed. "Maybe someday we'll finally be even with the whole saving-one-another's-life thing."

"Quite," the Prince muttered, glaring at the younger man before moving to take some of the porridge that was bubbling over the fire.

"So," Merlin prompted after a while, "are we going actually going to try to find out where we are today, or are we going to go hunting again and stay lost forever?"

"I know where we are, Merlin," Arthur snapped, scowling at Merlin over his porridge. "We are not lost."

The servant snorted. "And that's precisely the reason every person we've met out here speaks in a language that we've never heard before."

"I know what language their speaking."

"Really?" Merlin asked, looking at his master in amusement. "And what language are they speaking, then, might I ask?"

"This is ridiculous!" Arthur exclaimed, red-faced. "I don't have to answer to you!" He threw his now empty waterskin at the younger man. "Go fill this up, and if you fall into the river again, I'm going to leave you behind!"

Merlin snickered as he traipsed across the frozen ground to the riverbank. It was rather humorous how Arthur needed to be right all the time, even when he knew he was wrong. The fact that they were lost and couldn't understand a word out of anyone's mouths but their own probably didn't sit well with him.

The young warlock couldn't help but wonder how they'd managed to get themselves this lost in only three days, without horses no less. Arthur had decided to go hunting in a new realm of the wood, and somehow they'd ended up… Here. And so they were Here, with no idea where Here was or how they'd gotten there or how to get back. Merlin made a mental note never to let Arthur convince him to go hunting somewhere new ever again.

He had just knelt and pushed the waterskin into the frigid river when there came loud, crashing footsteps — that weren't Arthur's, — and even louder, rumbling voices — that definitely wasn't Arthur's. Merlin's head snapped up to find three large, burly men with long, greasy, matted hair, dirty, torn clothes, stupid expressions on their faces, and weapons.

Great, Merlin sighed internally, just what I need to deal with right now. Armed morons.

"Hug, féach ar an buachailll le ears mór! " one of them boomed as they spotted him. "Cad atá á dhéanamh aige leis an rud sin san uisce?"

"Plotting a mharú linn, gan amhras!" another one grunted.

"Mharú dó!" the last exclaimed.

Now, whatever strange language these men were speaking was lost on Merlin. He got the gist of their conversation, however, when they all raised their swords and charged at him, yelling like enraged bears.

Waterskin forgotten, Merlin scrambled up and dodged the slice of a blade through the air. He ducked under one of the mens' arms and knocked the wrist so that the sword fell into the dirt. Grunting angrily, the barbarian spun around and attempted to grab Merlin while the other two stood by and egged him on with shouts of "A fháil dó!" and "Is féidir leat é a dhéanamh!" Merlin rolled between the barbarian's spread legs, wondering where on Earth Arthur was and why he wasn't coming to Merlin's aid since all the noise they were making could probably be heard all the way from Camelot. The barbarian blinked stupidly at the empty space in front of him before lumbering round in confusion, roaring, "Cá ndeachaigh sé?" while his friends shouted, "Tá sé ceart taobh thiar duit!"

So they're as brainless as they look, Merlin had time to think before the barbarian was on him again.

It was with this knowledge that Merlin managed to evade being knocked out by a meaty fist and run back to Arthur's and his camp. Of course, not without falling into the water again.

Upon seeing his manservant, Arthur exclaimed, "Where have you been? And I thought I told you not to fall into the water again!" at the same time Merlin yelled, "W-w-what were you d-doing, A-A-Arthur? I w-w-w-was just a-attacked!"

The Prince frowned. "What do you mean, you were attacked?"

"B-big, stupid b-b-barbarians who d-don't speak S-S-S-Saxon," Merlin replied, tugging on Arthur's arm to get him moving. He was grateful that the older man had already packed up their things.

Then they were running. Merlin was dreadfully cold from falling into the river yet again, and Arthur kept having to keep him upright. It soon became apparent to the two that they weren't being followed (Merlin guessed that the barbarians were too thick to track them), so Arthur halted and refused to move until Merlin explained what had happened.

"Honestly, Merlin," the Prince sighed as his manservant finished the tale, "only you can manage to fall into a river twice and anger a group of non-Saxon-speaking barbarians over the course of two days." Merlin glared at him. Arthur frowned back. "And now that you're wet again, it's only a matter of time before you die of chill." The Prince glanced at the cloudy sky. "And it's only morning, and it looks like it's going to start snowing soon."

"Th-th-this is y-your fault," Merlin gritted through his chattering teeth. "Y-you just had t-t-to go h-hunting somewhere n-n-n-new. And now we're l-l-l-l-lost."

"Oh, shut up," Arthur snapped. "We are not lost."

The younger man wasn't nearly as cold this time, so it only took give or take an hour by the fire to get him warmed back up again. His clothes, however, were a different matter entirely. And so it seemed that Merlin was doomed to walk around all day in his breeches.

"Stop laughing at me!" Merlin shouted finally, throwing down the herbs he'd been gathering and glowering at the Prince. This, of course, only made Arthur laugh harder. The young warlock re-gathered the plants and started grumbling something about pompous prats and search parties.

"Did you fill my waterskin?" Arthur asked suddenly.

"No," Merlin retorted, "I was too busy being attacked."

"Well then," Arthur replied, throwing the spare waterskin at his servant, "hop-to."

"To where, exactly?" the younger man asked, glaring.

"I don't know," the Prince replied, stretching out and laying back with his arms behind his head. "Find somewhere."

"I refuse to go out looking for a water source in only my undergarments!"

Merlin muttered a few choice words under his breath as he stumbled over a tree branch. Only Arthur would force him to look for water in nothing but his breeches. Everything around here looked familiar, though, in a way that unnerved the young warlock slightly. He headed towards the sound of rushing water, only to find himself back at the river that they had just been running from. The three non-Saxon-speaking barbarians were all still sitting by the water's edge, discussing something in not-Saxon.

The servant cursed as they spotted him before he could get away.

"Breathnú, tá sé mór-ears!" the barbarian that Merlin had initially been fighting shouted, pointing.

"Nach bhfuil sé ag caitheamh éadaí!" another one cried. Then they all started laughing. They laughed and laughed and laughed, until they were rolling on the ground with tears running down their faces.

Merlin, who was feeling rather undignified because they were obviously laughing at him, took the chance to escape, and this time, he managed not to fall into the river.

"Alright," the young warlock muttered as he sat down next to Arthur, "I want to know where the hell we are. I just found the exact same river that we started from."

The Prince stared at him. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Nope," Merlin replied, tossing the empty waterskin back to Arthur. "Exact same river, exact same barbaric idiots."

"Did they see you?"

"Yeah, but they were too busy laughing at me to fight," the younger man told him sulkily.

"Why were they laughing at you?" Arthur asked, puzzled.

"Oh, I don't know. It couldn't have had anything to do with the fact that I was walking around in my underwear."

"Could do without the sarcasm, thank you very much," Arthur said.

"So what to we do now?" Merlin inquired, looking up at the ever-darkening clouds. It did, in fact, look like it was going to snow. And hard, at that.

"Well," Arthur responded, "I guess we just… wait."

"Wait for what?" The servant glanced at the sky again. "And what time is it?"

"Oh, I'd say just past noon," Arthur said as he too peered at the rolling clouds.

"Right," Merlin decided, standing and gathering his clothes. "We're not going to get anywhere by sitting here waiting. We need to at least try to get back to Camelot, though I'm sure the search party your father has undoubtedly sent will find us eventually."

"My father hasn't sent a search party," Arthur snapped irritably, standing as well. "And for the last time, we are not lost!"

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Sire," Merlin muttered.

And so began their seemingly endless journey through the seemingly endless woods. They walked in circled, bickering. They began going this way and ended going that way, or the opposite. It started snowing after an hour or so, and within the next hour they were soaked. Arthur, who was wearing mail and armour, didn't get nearly as chilled as Merlin did, and soon enough there was once again the problem of the younger man staying upright through the tremors that wracked his thin body. They seemed to be getting just as far as they would have gotten had they stayed where they were. When they made it to the same river that they had been residing near the previous two times (this time, thankfully, non-Saxon-speaking barbarian free), Arthur decided that he had had enough.

"This is getting us nowhere!" he yelled, throwing his hands up in the air. "And if we don't get a fire going soon, you're going to be turned into a Popsicle!"

"N-n-n-n-n-n-o I'm n-n-n-n-n-n-no-n-n-n —"

"Don't talk, Merlin, don't," Arthur growled, gathering all the sticks and twigs that he could find into a pile and trying in vain to light it.

"F-f-f-f-f-f-f-f," Merlin tried in a quiet whisper, holding his hand out slightly. "F-f-f-forbærnan."

"Hah!" Arthur exclaimed in triumph as the wood caught. The Prince turned to his manservant, his forehead creasing in concern. "Your clothes are soaked through, as are mine and my cloak, it's still snowing hard enough to be a blizzard, it's almost night, and you're turning blue."

"I'm f-f-f-f-f-f —"

"Shut up, Merlin!" The older man ran a hand through his hair, pacing. "Alright. Alright. We just need to… just need to… Alright." He began to clear away the snow from in front of the fire, and when the ground was mostly uncovered, he took both of the bedrolls from the pack and laid them down. "Help me out of my armour," he ordered.

The servant came over and struggled with the leather straps of the armour, his trembling fingers slipping over them a few times before he finally got them undone. As soon as the mail was gone, Arthur pulled his gloves off and set to work on the laces of his tunic and trousers. When the clothing was discarded onto the ground with the armour, Arthur began to undo Merlin's laces, as it was obvious that there was no way that Merlin was going to manage them himself. Then, when the servant was stripped to his breeches as well, Arthur pulled them both to the bedrolls and covered them securely. He laid half on top of the younger man in an attempt to get him warm.

"I d-d-don't think I'll ever r-r-r-really feel w-warm again," Merlin sighed, pressing his face into the crook of Arthur's neck.

Arthur frowned in sympathy and tightened his hold on the younger man. "It's no wonder that you're getting cold so easily," he murmured. "You're skin and bones."

"S-s-so I've been t-t-t-told."

"Don't worry." Arthur wasn't sure whether he was trying to console Merlin or himself. "We'll get out of here eventually."

Translations:

"Hug, féach ar an buachailll le ears mór! " - Hey, look at the boy with the big ears!

"Cad atá á dhéanamh aige leis an rud sin san uisce?" - What's he doing with that thing in the water?

"Plotting a mharú linn, gan amhras!" - Plotting to kill us, no doubt!

"Mharú dó!" - Kill him!

"A fháil dó!" - Come on!

"Is féidir leat é a dhéanamh!" - You can do it!

"Cá ndeachaigh sé?" - Where did he go?

"Tá sé ceart taobh thiar duit!" - He' right behind you!

"Breathnú, tá sé mór-ears!" - Look, it's big-ears!

"Nach bhfuil sé ag caitheamh éadaí!" - He isn't wearing clothes!

Part 2 soon to come =)