Chapter 12: All's Well That… Doesn't End

The weather on the day of Arthur and Guinevere's wedding ceremony was just as beautiful as that the day they'd attended another, in a rowboat.

Clear skies, warm sun – though Arthur had to be content with those rays streaming in the windows of colored glass that formed much of the outer wall of the grand hall. He didn't think his father would welcome the suggestion to move the proceedings out-of-doors, either, though it made him smile to remember what he and Merlin had said about the attendance of such functions. The whole kingdom is coming, and you haven't got a room big enough…

Here and now, the guests were packed like salt fish in a barrel. Arthur stood near the steps of the dais, appreciating the breathing space he was afforded at the front of the room.

He amused himself glancing over the heads of the milling, waiting crowd, toward the vaulted ceiling high overhead, trying to calculate how many more could have fit, were his people able to move through their air the way Merlin's people moved through the water. Merlin himself, Arthur was amused to see, was on the edge of the aisle opened down the center of the crowd to admit the bride. The blue of his new jacket went well with the darker pair of fine trousers Arthur had made sure the knights would procure for their friend. The sea-prince stood anonymous but unique, weight on one leg – and two knights and a physician beside and behind him to make sure no weakness or pain caused an incident. Although, if the younger man had combed his hair this time, Arthur could not tell.

Merlin turned from watching the closed doors – those not engrossed in conversation with a neighbor watched either Arthur or the doors – at that moment, to meet Arthur's gaze. His grin spread wide and unmistakable, even at half the length of the hall, and he gave Arthur a firm nod.

And in spite of the myriad gazes upon him, Arthur returned it. Almost he laughed out loud at the thought of minor lords' daughters and merchants' wives floating about in their fashionable gowns and elaborate hair-dressing. The royalty at the front of the crowd had a bit more elbow-room than anyone else, as much for concern for Vivian's complaints about crushed gown-fabric, as for their various-liveried guards' protection, Arthur thought.

It occurred to him that he'd forgotten to ask if either Mithian or Elena had entered talks of betrothals – Olaf would keep Vivian from such as long as possible, and Baldyr had no interest in shackling himself, as he put it. Guinevere would probably know about the two princesses, though…

Maybe it was nerves. But he didn't feel nervous, only confident and satisfied. They'd only be repeating the promises they'd agreed to, months ago at a smaller, quieter betrothal. There would be no ribald jokes or sly insinuation, nudges and winks when he and Guinevere retired early and together, no morning-after speculation to dread. They could drink as much or as little as they wanted tonight – and when they finally came together, in several months' time, it would be worth the wait.

He was already planning it to be as private as possible. No one else would know, no one but him and –

The doors opened, and there she was, and his heart was pounding though he'd only seen her a few hours ago, and it wasn't nerves. Gorgeous in red velvet to symbolize the house of Pendragon that this marriage joined her to, her hair in ringlets and white flowers, natural as though she'd fallen asleep in a field of daisies, and a dozen of the tiny blossoms had contrived to remain with her when she rose. His lady entered the sudden hush of the room on her father's arm with her head bowed demurely…

Lord Thomas had elected to tell her the traitor's identity himself, the previous evening. It was a relief to Arthur to recognize the wisdom in that – both Thomas and Guinevere had longer familiarity with Gosyn in Summarlynd than he did, and maybe Thomas felt as though he carried some blame to apologize for, also. Probably Guinevere had found it easier to express shock-disbelief-grief with her father, then calm to it's-all-right with Arthur as her intended and one of the agents of her rescue, this morning in the clear light of day. The traitor himself, Arthur understood, would leave Camelot's dungeon in Lord Thomas' custody, and whatever happened after they reached Summarlynd again… good riddance.

Five steps into the room, Guinevere lifted her head, and he forget every one of his other thoughts.

Solemn, regal, beautiful. By heaven and earth, a queen. He could not have chosen better, for himself or for his kingdom, and he had never been more certain of anything in his life. Even so, he found it hard to breathe normally.

Maybe, because he knew he wasn't worthy of her. And why was she still walking towards him? Didn't she know how flawed he was, the mistakes he'd made –

Father and daughter reached the dais. Guinevere lingered, her cheeks touched with pink and her eyes shy of his, as Lord Thomas stepped forward to clasp Arthur's hand.

"Endeavor to deserve her," the older man said, the dark eyes which his daughter had inherited serious but kind.

"I will," Arthur said, as much a promise as the one he intended to speak to Guinevere.

Lord Thomas stepped back, gesturing permission, and Arthur reached for her, aware of Lord Geoffrey moving forward from the other side of the room, Uther ascending the dais to take his throne where he'd oversee the ceremony.

And she came to him.

Geoffrey began, "Friends and allies, we come together on this day to witness the union of Prince Arthur Pendragon and Lady Guinevere of Summarlynd by the ancient and sacred rite of handfasting…"

Her hand in his was small and warm and strong, and it didn't matter to her that his was hard and calloused; he never wanted to let it go. She glanced up at him, shy and uncertain – then with confident love blooming and budding and he almost kissed her right there, before it was time.

That urge didn't leave him, all night. And he indulged it, as often as she let him.

Though it did give way, after the sit-down meal part of the banquet, to an entirely different urge, centered on a different person.

Good food and better wine and Guinevere's hand in his and her voice in his ear. Vivian – irritated that she was not the center of attention – had already retired; Baldyr, Mithian, and Elena entertained themselves with the various knights, for various reasons. Uther and the other kings had withdrawn slightly to converse with only vague supervisory care for the other guests.

And the one unacknowledged royal. Gaius had given up his seat for Merlin - the only indication Arthur had gathered, that the young man was less than completely hale.

There had been toasts. Many, to him and Guinevere. To their guests, the bride's father, the knights that had rescued her.

Arthur wanted to rise in his place at the head table, call for everyone's attention, and toast Merlin. Ladies and gentlemen, one of my best friends. A prince I hold in the highest regard – wise and compassionate and brave – he saved not only my life, but the life of the woman I love, my wife the Lady Guinevere – with no thought of reward or benefit or advantage or accolade… I drink to Merlin Emrys, crown prince and heir of Aetlantys.

He shifted in his seat, wondering whether he could get away with toasting Gaius, instead. Speaking broadly enough about that years-old sea-voyage and Gaius' tending of Guinevere this week, to arouse no suspicions, but his closest knights – and Merlin himself – would know exactly what he was saying. Care and concern and aid and friendship have been invaluable… wouldn't be here today without you… though probably Gaius would not appreciate the surprise and attention, and the possibility that someone might see through the subterfuge might make Merlin nervous, after all.

Arthur lifted his goblet, paused deliberately, then drank.

Because he couldn't. Because Merlin wanted – needed – the secrecy. And Arthur had to quell his own inclination to give tribute to the pride of accomplishment, glory of achievement, display of skill and prowess – to render the honor deserved, though it wasn't his own… He had to be humble, as well.

Guinevere leaned closer, evidently catching the direction of his thoughts, or at least his gaze. "He looks like he's doing well – he looks happy."

Arthur hummed in agreement. It really was too bad Merlin couldn't have his own wife seated next to him… but it wouldn't be long til he was back in the sea again, with her, where he belonged. "Come with me."

Others were standing, moving about. Though Arthur and Guinevere as the bridal pair gathered a good bit of attention to rise and leave the table, it wouldn't be thought odd or inappropriate. Slowly – greeting those they met along the way, returning expressions of gratitude for their well-wishes – Arthur led his lady around the room til they reached the table where the court physician had ceded his place to his nephew, a straight-backed, clear-eyed – tousle-headed - peasant clad in royal blue velvet.

Merlin was on his feet, turning carefully to face them, grinning in the purest pleasure – as if the slights and wounds and fear and illness and exhaustion of the past week had been puppies and ladybugs, rather. Gaius glanced over his shoulder with concern that faded, on seeing Arthur, and shifted to give them a bit of privacy, without the appearance of exclusivity that might be curious, under the circumstances and given the rumors.

"How's your leg?" Arthur said.

"Can't wait to get rid of it," Merlin returned impishly, then grabbed Guinevere's hand. This time he kissed it with enthusiasm, rather than shaking it, to her amused surprise. "Congratulations, my lady. May every happiness be yours. Even though you're stuck with him, now."

"Merlin," Arthur warned, though he couldn't stop his own grin, and pushed Merlin's shoulder with the goblet he still carried in his right hand.

"Hey, be careful," Merlin protested, brushing down the soft material. "I was told not to get this dirty – it was a gift from a very good friend."

"It looks wonderful on you, Merlin," Guinevere told him with sweet sincerity, and added, over his repeated thanks, "It really is your color."

"I'll have to come back so I can wear it again, then," Merlin said lightly.

"Merlin," Arthur said, to recapture his attention and insert a bit of seriousness into the banter, "Emrys. My lord." That did it; Merlin's blue eyes widened. "Thank you, my friend. For coming, for joining us, for helping to make this possible. For your courage and your sacrifice –"

Gaius, who'd probably heard every word they said, hovering on the edge of the conversation, understood. The old man immediately bent to retrieve Merlin's goblet from the table, and thrust it into his hand. And maybe the mer-people never did this sort of thing, but Merlin had heard and drunk half a dozen toasts that night.

"To friends," he suggested, without hesitation.

In the same heartbeat, Arthur added, "And allies."

"Now and always." Merlin grinned, and lifted the cup to his lips as Arthur –and Guinevere - did, sealing their vow.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

The blue velvet jacket hung in the wardrobe in Arthur's room, awaiting next time.

The memory of parting hung in Merlin's mind – Arthur gripping him tight, slapping his back, then stepping back to twine his arm around the lady Gwen. Oh - princess now, as Freya was, though Merlin rather thought she'd resist the pomp of the title and position as Freya did.

It made him long for his own wife as they traveled, even more than the cool dim wet of the sea.

"Tell me when you're coming," Merlin had said in the courtyard yesterday morning, unwilling to say goodbye and wonder. "The hot springs, yes? Tell me when."

"Six months?" Arthur suggested, and there was a twinkle in his eyes that Merlin didn't understand. Gwen seemed to; it widened her eyes and pinked her cheeks.

"Perfect," Merlin said. That would give him and his people time to organize accommodations for human guests. "It's fantastic there in winter."

Horses, but not saddles, he remembered, on the ride to the coast.

"Care to race?" Gwaine had asked.

"Only if it's with my own legs," Merlin groaned, shifting in his seat.

Percival grinned over one wide shoulder, remembering as they all did the condition of Merlin's right leg, specifically. "Next time?"

Finally on the dock, Merlin could hardly concentrate on keeping his balance on the narrow boards – not easy when his leg was still stiff and sore - for the damp salt breeze that was so much better than the air around Havallach or the lake. Lancelot stood waiting on the end, the longboat and two rowers Merlin recognized as long-time crewers bobbing on the water below him.

As he neared them, Merlin turned to look back at the two knights – one very large, the other with long dark hair – and no one else even close, on the shore below the town. They each raised a hand, and Merlin waved back.

Then balanced himself with a hand on Lancelot's shoulder, to work his feet free of his boots. "Hope I haven't kept you from a trip," he said to the captain.

"Not at all," Lancelot said. "You had a good time?"

"I will have stories to tell," Merlin told him, loosening the laces at the neck of his shirt, "all year. Or – six months at least, til I see Arthur again. Keep these for me, will you?" Easing the material past the shoulder-harness and knife-sheath beneath his left arm, he shoved his shirt into Lancelot's uncomprehending hands, and began to let down his trousers.

"Can't you wait til – what are you doing, I thought we were sailing you back?" The two crewers turned their heads away, snickering; Lancelot accepted Merlin's trousers, as he began unwinding the bandage around his thigh. "What happened to your – hells, Merlin!"

"It's fine," he reassured his friend, ignoring the reddened puckering of the wound, himself.

Merlin couldn't wait a second longer – not diving, so much as just leaning off the dock. He relished the feel of cool salty water cleaving around his body. Flash – and he was himself again. He laughed out loud, bubbles tickling his face, tail whole and strong and scaled. One flick sent him to the bottom, where he slid along the sand, digging his fingers in and releasing his hands-full. Lifting his face to the wide spreading sea, he called in his own language – though he rather hoped no one was close enough to hear – "I'm back! I'm back!"

A hundred ripples brought as many messages, shivering down his nerves, dancing and calling and – he surfaced, tossing his head to fling water and hair away from his face.

"Merlin," Lancelot said from above him, amused consternation.

"Sorry," he said breathlessly, thrilled at the feel of the sea and the comfort of being back in his own form. "Couldn't wait. I'll sail with you another time, yeah?"

"As your majesty desires," Lancelot said, mildly facetious.

Dyn-emris rolled his eyes and rose slightly to wave again at the two knights, who'd started down the dock, probably concerned at his change of plans. "Tell them I'm all right, I'll see them in six months, maybe, if not before? Tell them, there's no leg injury if there's no leg, right?"

"I will – take care!" The sight of Lancelot at the end of the dock, raising a farewell salute, blurred as Dyn-emris stroked with both hands to submerge himself.

Then twisted and propelled himself forward at top speed. There was absolutely nothing in the human world to compare to this. Cool blue dim sliding swiftly past him, sunlight sparkles breaking on the waves several fathoms above. He felt strong and agile and – invincible, somehow – down here. Free, and clean.

A day and a half it took him, to get back to the grand silent submerged city, though it would have taken longer aboard-ship. He didn't mind a moment of it, exercising muscles he'd missed, resting wonderfully weary on the surface to see all the sky at once.

He thought, the next time he was in Camelot, he'd have to talk to Gaius about the possibility of recreating the transformation spell so that Arthur could join him in his realm – if his courage and his father would allow. One, Dyn-emris was sure of – the other, not so much. But only for a day or so, this business of weeks was right out.

It wasn't Will he met first, stationed at the outermost point of the city as guard. So, good thing he'd gotten all of his childishly ecstatic twists and flips and spirals out of his system before he arrived.

"The prince!" he heard the call go up, echoed by others further into the city. "Dyn-emris has returned!"

And if he'd thought it was a crowd in the hall for Arthur's wedding… He angled his course upward, for the clearer water above the buildings resting on the seafloor. Some of the people ventured closer to cheer and call greetings, but he didn't stop til he met Will. Warned a pair of heartbeats before his friend attempted a broadside, he had to roll to avoid the hit, grappling in the muddy-orange embrace.

"Took your damn time, didn't you?" Will managed, trying to pin his hold to express his affection and delight to see Dyn-emris again. "Here I was thinking I should come and get you – and wondering if you'd decided not to come back."

"Never!" Dyn-emris declared, slipping out of each of Will's attempts, not really focused on besting him. "Long story, though…"

"M!"

Then he was able to break away, and put on a spurt of speed, nearly broadsiding Freya himself, except for the extra flick he gave his tail at the last minute, sending them into a spin that twined their tails and wrapped her hair around the right side of his face and neck. She clung and every one of her scales whispered against his; she was laughing or maybe crying. Both, possibly.

"I missed you," he said, and it was the same time as she told him the same thing.

"I worried," she admitted, her lips brushing his ear, her fingers combing into his hair. He shivered at the subtle scratch of her long purple nails on his scalp.

"I know. I'm sorry – but see, I'm fine."

"My turn?" another voice interrupted, calm and gentle. Dyn-emris had only time to twitch in response, before his mother's arms were around his body and Freya's both.

"Mother," he said, freeing an arm to hug her back. "It was fabulous, you have no idea – the animals, and the plant life – I have so much to tell –"

"Dyn." He swirled from the dual embrace as his mother and wife released him without retreating, and he faced his king. Balinor didn't fight his smile as he joined them, putting his gray-scaled hand on Dyn-emris' shoulder, a weight welcomed the more for having been missed. "Safe and whole?"

He thought his father was probably asking for more than his heir's well-being, though his presence proved much. "Yes, my lord. King Uther Pendragon, the prince's father, knows of me – of us, and our home – but has accepted my alliance with Arthur." Mostly. And Dyn-emris' sheer high spirits couldn't help adding, "At least he won't make waves about it."

Freya's giggle was a stream of bubbles that tickled his neck and gave him ideas. Hunith snorted delicately, and Balinor tightened his grip as he laughed out loud.

"Welcome home, son," he said. "Hope you're planning on staying a good long while."

Freya murmured, her arms creeping about his ribs again, "About the hot springs?"

"Ah," he said. "Yes. Father, about the hot springs – I have a suggestion."

A/N: So this is it for this one! Thanks very much to everyone who favorited/followed – and especially those who reviewed (it helps with motivation, it honestly does!) I'm not saying I won't be doing a third part to this, but… it's way down the list of priorities.

Next, I'm planning on uploading a second chapter to "About Time", a sort of 'Merlin's reaction to Arthur's return', in about a week or so. After that, idk. It might be helpful to know whether the readers would rather see a sequel to "Refined by Fire" (dealing with material from the Aithusa episode, as well as added "Lady of Shalott" elements), or something new… ?