The fever made sense; after all, Emrys had been dousing him in frigid water every night and practically leaving him on the cold and muddy floors afterward before putting him to grueling work the following day. Combine that with the stress of being captured, held against his will, and sodomized, it was no wonder that his body gave in to weakness. Arthur's entire body ached as the fever raged for the better part of two days, although he was barely cognizant of the pain due to the exhaustion pulling his mind into blackness almost constantly. He knew Hunith visited, bringing him broth to drink and sitting beside him, regaling him with stories of her home and her son in his youth. Her voice lulled him, staying with him even as he slept. Arthur wondered who her son was and if he had accompanied her to the druid camp. She never mentioned his name. At one point, he awoke to Hunith cleaning the sweat from his brow with a damp cloth, the look on her face one of motherly concern. Mordred also visited, bringing fresh warmed milk spiked with honey to soothe him. Arthur was aware enough to joke about his friend being a handmaid, lulled by Mordred's chuckle before he fell once more to sleep. He didn't dream. His consciousness floated in a black void, the sounds of the waking world permeating the darkness around him like mania, causing him confusion.
Once, a familiar and pleasing voice pulled him from himself, and he opened his eyes to see a sea of stormy blue. Merlin crouched over him, dabbing at his damp forehead just as Hunith had. His face was haunted, his sharp cheekbones appearing almost gaunt, and his eyes rimmed by dark circles. Arthur tried to murmur his name, but Merlin hushed him.
"Sleep, Arthur. You haven't visited in a while so I found you myself. This is nothing but a dream. Rest and get better and come bother me once more."
His voice was quiet, almost a whisper. He stopped mopping away Arthur's sweat, and Arthur found the strength to gently grasp his wrist as the other man began to move away.
"Stay," he said hoarsely.
Merlin nodded and allowed a small, pained smile to grace his face. "I'll stay with you until you wake."
He gently brushed his fingers along Arthur's jaw, and Arthur turned his face into the contact. Merlin swept the damp hair from his face. His hands were cool against Arthur's fevered skin, and he shivered. Arthur fell asleep to the caresses and the soothing sound of Merlin's even breathing.
He groaned awake, his throat dry and his mouth and head full of cotton. He rubbed his eyes none too gently, trying to expel the feeling of sand from them.
"Welcome back, Princess," Will said from beside him. He smiled and offered Arthur a bowl of what smelled like a hearty barley stew. "Take this down slow, yeah? You've had nothin' but boiled broth and goat milk for two days, don't want to upset your weak stomach."
Arthur thanked him, sitting up and grasping the bowl, and tipping some contents into his mouth. The warm broth slid down his throat, coating the strained chords and allowing him some relief. The meal itself was comforting, and once Arthur had finished the bowl, he disappointedly set it aside.
"What happened?" he asked the brunette.
Will shrugged. "Fever. Hunith suspects it was from stress, but Emrys is adamant he isn't to blame. They've been fighting non-stop since Mordred dragged you into bed."
Arthur frowned. "I never meant to-"
"O' course you didn't, mate!" Will interrupted him, slapping him gently on the back. "Hunith has a soft spot for ye, and she isn't one to keep quiet about her opinions. She told Emrys he's been running you into the ground. He doesn't take too kindly to criticism, especially about how he's handling you. Their rows have always been a bit rough, but this one was downright terrifying! He's been in a sour mood ever since, but if anyone can change that man's mind, it's his mum."
Wait, what? Arthur couldn't believe his ears. "Hunith is Emrys' mother?"
Will noticed the disbelief on his face and reflected it with one of his own. "You didn't know?"
"Why would I have known?"
"Sorry," Will shrugged. "It's such common knowledge 'round here that I'm surprised it didn't come up."
"I'm surprised he didn't forbid the information from being discussed around me," Arthur grumbled, much to Will's amusement. Although it does explain his previous statement, Arthur thought.
"You've caught the affections of my mother…"
Arthur remembered Emrys saying those words, but he'd been too preoccupied with other matters - namely the man's mouth and hands - to dwell on it. He tried to recall the stories Hunith had told him while he'd been under the fever's influence, desperate to memorise the details of Emrys' childhood, but all he could grasp were fragments that slipped through his mind like smoke.
"Anyway," Will's voice roused him from his pondering, "We're all glad you're out of the thick of it. I'll let them 'em know you're up for visitors."
It wasn't long after Will took his leave that Mordred poked his head into the tent, shooting him a large dopey smile. "Alright there, Arthur?"
"I feel like I've been on the wrong end of a horse stampede," Arthur replied as the man strode in and sat beside him.
Mordred made himself comfortable next to him and handed over a small parcel. Arthur eyed him with confusion before tugging the threads holding it closed and carefully unwrapping the paper. Inside was a set of needles hewn from bone, sharpened to the finest point in varying sizes. Several scraps of materials, ranging from thick wools, thinner dyed cotton, and tough leather, tumbled into Arthur's lap along with two large spools of thread. One was a plain ivory color and the other a rich black. Arthur's lips curled up into a smile. He glanced at Mordred expectantly.
"A gift from Forridel," the dark-haired man said with a shrug of his broad shoulders. "She claims she didn't want you to get rusty now that you know your way around a needle and thread."
Arthur's eyes widened a fraction and his smile wavered. "I may keep these?"
Mordred could have laughed at the poorly hidden surprise on his new friend's face, but the sadness he felt at the notion of Arthur's genuine belief that he was allowed nothing whilst in the company of the druids tempered his smile. "She's soft on you, you know. I think we all are.
Arthur frowned. "Not Emrys. He treats me with venom and ice and then blames me for it, as though it's my fault he cannot be kind to me."
"You've made him question his own judgment; he isn't used to that. You're not what we expected."
"I've gotten that statement a lot recently," Arthur said grudgingly. He set the sewing supplies aside. "I know you all anticipated me to be my father. I was always taught magic and those who wield it are inherently evil. We both had our assumptions about each other, and both of our parties were wrong."
He took a breath, clearly hesitant to speak the following statement. Mordred nodded his agreement, encouraging Arthur to continue.
"Please understand that either way this situation ends will be a failure on my part. Either I remain here as a prisoner and ignore my duties to my kingdom as the sole heir to the throne, or I return to Camelot where I can choose to condemn you all to Uther's wrath or lie to my King where I would be tried for treason and put to death if I was ever found out. None of those options are appealing to me. Camelot is my home and my birthright - I cannot forsake her for my own selfish desires, but do you honestly believe I could go back after everything I've seen here? So what am I to do?"
Mordred opened his mouth as if to respond but quickly closed it and shook his head. He sincerely didn't know what advice he could offer in good conscience. He could not hope to understand the burden of destiny weighing on Arthur's shoulders. He knew it had been the Prince's only constant and his heart ached dearly for his friend. Arthur didn't seem aware of Mordred's sad eyes upon him, too lost in his own remorseful ponderings.
They sat in silence, the time passing by without notice or care until Arthur's eyes began to droop and his head lolled gently to the side. Exhaustion crept over him, and the next thing he knew was the dark and quiet of unconsciousness.
He was awoken by a coldness against his forehead, and he bolted upright in his make-shift bed. The darkness in the tent seemed to swallow him and Arthur reached for his sword, crying out in dismay when his hand closed around nothing but hard earth before hands grasped his shoulders firmly.
"Arthur!"
"Merlin?" he whispered in disbelief. His heart beat wildly and he felt out of sorts from the sudden return to reality, like he was trapped halfway between the dream realm and the waking one. A loud sigh escaped the other man and Arthur realized the mistake at once.
"I'm afraid not." Emrys released Arthur's shoulders and stood. "Come with me," was all he said before pulling Arthur to his feet, the blanket of furs slipping from his body and leaving him shivering in the coldness of the night air. Once he was standing, Emrys fastened a cloak around his shoulders before taking his hand again.
Despite his tone, Emrys' hands were almost gentle on Arthur's own as he led him through the encampment and out into the forest. They walked for what felt like an eternity, neither of them uttering a sound. Emrys seemed determined to make the trip in silence and Arthur was overwhelmed by the strangeness of the situation and too frightened about the possible answer to ask where they were going. Arthur had half a mind that Emrys intended to get him so thoroughly lost that he'd never find his way back to the camp or Camelot, instead leaving him to die in the wilderness with no way of defending himself.
Seemingly at random, Emrys halted. He began speaking in a strange garbled language, his voice taking on a breathless quality as he shouted into the night. Arthur recognised the language as some form of magic as he felt the familiar tingling sensation throughout his entire body. The power Emrys radiated while performing magic was staggering and Arthur caught a flash of blue-to-gold in his mind's eye. The static of his magic charged the air, clinging to everything in its radius, including Arthur. He felt small standing next to the force of Emrys' abilities, and he was ashamed when he felt his hand tremble in the man's grasp. Just as the surge of magic became too much to bear, it dissipated, shooting outwards and leaving Arthur breathless and clinging to Emry's arm to tether himself. His ears rang viciously, the noise of bells slowly receding to a moderate humm until, at the edge of the impending silence, Arthur could hear what sounded like the beating of wings.
They grew closer, the sound gaining volume until it was thunderous all around him and Arthur could feel the beat in his stomach. The wind picked up, whipping through his hair and over his face like the force of a small hurricane, threatening to knock him off his feet. Emrys stood firm, like the eye of the storm, the calm within the chaos all around them. Slowly, the torrent of sound and wind died down and Arthur knew without a doubt what stood before them.
"Emrys," the dragon spoke in a throaty, booming way that sounded like several voices speaking together. It was the most peculiar voice Arthur had ever heard, and it sent chills down his spine. He felt the warm breath of the beast tickle across his skin like a summer's breeze and wondered just how big this dragon was, what it looked like. He had never gazed upon one before and he felt slighted now that the chance had presented itself and Emrys kept him blinded.
"And Pendragon, the Younger. How curious you have become to me as of late. I am honored to make your acquaintance at last, for your destiny is of great importance to me."
Startled that the animal addressed him, Arthur stared unseeingly with his mouth hanging open.
"Kilgharrah," Emrys responded in his stead. He dropped Arthur's hand and stepped forward. "Did you know he would be a dream walker?"
"It was not certain, young warlock, but it was always a possibility."
"It makes him too dangerous to himself and my there is some way to reverse it, to block the power at least!"
The dragon, Kilgharrah, chuckled. "Arthur Pendragon was born of magic. It has woven itself into every fiber of his being, his very life force is tied to it, much like your own. To remove it would be to remove his soul."
Their conversation tumbled inside Arthur's head, and before he could think better of it he said, "I do not want it removed!"
Emrys whirled around. "Be silent," he snarled, but now that he had spoken, Arthur knew he had said the truth.
"I hardly think you brought me out here to be quiet," he replied indignantly. "And I refuse to be spoken of as though I am not beside you. The fact of the matter is this is my power and I will not allow you to take it from me just because it suits you. You have taken enough already."
Emrys flinched at his last statement, even though Arthur did not mean it maliciously. It seemed to Arthur that the man may feel more guilty about his treatment of him than he let anyone believe. Brushing his hand against the other man's as he walked towards the dragon, Arthur tried to convey himself subtly. When he stood before Kilgharrah, he raised his face to speak more clearly.
"I do not wish to be separated from being a dream walker. It is the only inheritance I have from my mother, and it is precious to me."
"You didn't even know what it was," Emrys hissed at him.
"And yet now he does," Kilgharrah voiced. "It seems to me, young warlock, that you are being guided by selfishness. In order for Arthur to help bring about the land of Albion he will need his own magic. Without it, you will never fulfill your destiny."
Emrys spoke again in his magic tongue, but Kilgharrah responded so that Arthur could understand. "You cannot hide from your destiny, Emrys, just as you cannot hide from him. You are two halves of the same coin, light and shadow, forever intertwined. You orbit each other like the sun and the moon; without each other, the world would turn to chaos."
"What do you mean?" Arthur interrupted. "All of this has been an accident, we cannot share a destiny. We were never meant to meet!"
"You are each other's destiny. Fate always intended for you to meet," Kilgharah explained gently.
"I refuse him!" Emrys practically screamed.
The words hurt Arthur more than he cared to admit and it caused the anger he'd been carrying to boil over. "Stop acting like a spoiled child," he snapped. "You could have let me go at any point, how dare you say you refuse me now! You're the one keeping me here, so if you refuse me so vehemently, let me go. Everything is back and forth with you and I'm exhausted from trying to figure out what you want."
"The spoiled child bit is rich coming from the likes of you, Pendragon," Emrys seethed. "And what I want is to never have taken you in in the first place. In fact, you could leave right now for all I care!"
"Fine!" Arthur snarled back. He turned to go.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"Leaving. I thought you didn't care if I did."
"Don't you dare take another step!"
Arthur faced him again, desperate fury pulling his muscles taught with stress. "You just can't make up your sodding mind, can you? Come, don't come, leave, don't leave. With one hand you hold me captive and with the other you throw me away. Which is it you want?"
Emrys growled but Arthur ignored him, stomping away from the sound of his voice. He heard Emrys hiss something at Kilgharrah who hummed back in response before Arthur was followed.
"Stop, you arse! You'll end up getting yourself killed!"
Arthur rolled his sightless eyes even as he stumbled over a fallen branch. "Another thing you can deny responsibility for too much for you, sorcerer?" He spat the word like a curse, mouth full of venom and hurt.
Emrys grasped his arm but Arthur was stronger. He wrenched himself away and dodged to the left. A whoosh of air let him know he'd made the right move to avoid the other man's advance. Spinning around, he grabbed Emrys' arms and pulled them behind his back. Emrys cried out in shock and Arthur forced his knee in the man's back, sending him to his knees with his face in the dirt.
"This isn't a game!" he said lowly. "I've been trained in combat since birth. I could knock you out with one punch."
Emrys struggled against his hold, causing something warm to bloom in Arthur's stomach. It wasn't uncommon for knights to become aroused during or after combat, but the stirrings in his trousers surprised him. He realized he wanted Emrys to fight back, he wanted to be beaten and humiliated. He wanted to feel something.
"I could knock you out with less than that," the druid said breathlessly from beneath Arthur.
Yes, you could, he thought. So why haven't you?
"Then do it."
"I'm warning you, Pendragon!"
"Don't warn me, just do it!" Arthur screamed, pressing the man's face into the ground more harshly.
Arthur felt the air around him thin, surging with electricity and magic before he went weak and his body fell on top of Emrys, who groaned at the additional weight. The warlock was taller, but frail under Arthur's bulky frame, the thought exciting the knight further. He was torn between the hope that Emrys would feel his member pressing along his back, and hoping he'd be killed on the spot and spared the embarrassment of being caught out. Hair tickled Arthur's nose and he breathed in the heady scent of the man before Emrys managed to roll them both over. He straddled Arthur's hips, his thighs bracketing his ribcage, and Arthur felt delightfully trapped. He could feel Emrys' labored breaths and he relished the flavor of them as they puffed against his own mouth before the man kissed him harshly.
He didn't even try to fight. Letting himself loose from his own tight control was the most freeing thing Arthur had ever felt, and he gave himself over to Emrys' demanding teeth and tongue. His arms were held above his head, and Arthur would have kept them there even if he could move. Hips ground down against him, and Emrys swallowed his moans. They rutted against each other through their trousers and Arthur knew he wasn't going to last long. Emrys made little breathy uh uh uh noises as he chased his pleasure along Arthur's.
"I hate you," Emrys panted in his ear, his pace unfaltering.
"Hate me more," Arthur replied, kissing and biting what he hoped would be a vivid mark into his strong jaw. "Hate me harder."
He felt the man shudder against him as he rolled his hips before they stuttered in rhythm as he orgasmed, the wetness seeping through his linens and dampening Arthur's against the head of his cock. He thrusted himself against Emrys even as the man trembled through the aftershocks and made the breathiest noises in his ear.
He could feel it building to a crescendo, his body was right on the edge of release when Emrys palmed him through his pants and whispered, "I want to feel you when you release, just like last time, my prince."
Arthur came with a cry, coating the insides of his trousers with his seed as Emrys rubbed him through it, smearing the liquid into a sticky mess. When their breathing evened out, Emrys released the spell holding Arthur's limbs hostage and clambered off of him on shaky legs like a newborn colt. Arthur lay there in his own filth as the thoughts swarmed in his head. This didn't go how I intended it to... he thought, as he ran his fingers through his sweaty fringe. Emrys stopped rearranging himself and helped Arthur to his feet. They were as silent on the way back to camp as they had been leaving it, and this time Arthur was even more confused. In his tent, he let Emrys remove his trousers and wash the seed from his stomach and thighs before he was ushered into his nest of furs.
He barely had the energy to keep his eyes open, and had none to spare for emotions when Emrys said, "Tomorrow, I'll send you back. We won't be here when you return with your knights."