[fic] High Tide, 1/1
Oct. 4th, 2010 06:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
da_ya_riTitle: High Tide
Fandom: Merlin BBC
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: mentions of past attempted suicides (by nameless, faceless minor characters); past (minor) character death; underage (Merlin is 15, Arthur is 17)
Word Count: 5,254
Summary: Originally posted here at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
kinkme_merlin, in response to this prompt: Arthur/Merlin, AU, merman!Arthur. Merlin stumbles and falls down a cliff. A blonde "man" comes to his rescue.
A/N: Some of you probably saw this on KMM already, but I thought I'd finally put my name to it. *still nervous* ^^; I wrote this in a feverish haze of "I love this fandom so much that I want to contribute to it" at the beginning of my semester break, which is why it's all youthfully exuberant with how good it felt to have passed all of my exams. Um, I hope you like it!~ ♥
The first thing Merlin hears, after the roaring in his ears has subsided a bit and his lungs aren't spasming too hard for him to draw even a single breath anymore, is someone cursing a blue streak right next to his ear.
"Of all the moronic, stupid, half-witted idiots—," the stranger is shouting, somehow sounding both livid and exasperated all at once. Merlin just coughs weakly in response, still too far gone to care about the insult, and spits out another mouthful of salt water. He knows his eyes are open because they sting from the spume of the crashing waves, but he can't really see anything save for the endless stretch of the navy blue sea, and a blurry patch of gold right in front of him.
Wait, he thinks to himself, struggling to get his mind back into working order after nearly drowning, gold? He blinks, trying to clear the haze from his vision, and suddenly becomes aware of the jagged rock he's lying on, clothes thoroughly drenched and clinging to his shivering body. It's summer all right, but the wind that chases the waves down here is chilly and cutting, and Merlin tries to huddle into himself to ward off the cold but succeeds only in making himself cough again. The back of his throat feels scraped raw with the force of his retching, but he can't suppress it, not when his chest still feels leaden and heavy with water. Salt has scorched a burning trail up his nose, and his ribs are aching like the waves flung him against the cliffs once or twice, until—
He suddenly remembers the grip of strong arms encircling him just when he'd felt the muddy seabed against the bare soles of his feet for the first time. He had flailed wildly, fighting the embrace in instinctive panic, and there had been a distinct air of irritation in the way the stranger had trapped Merlin's hands at his sides with muscled forearms. Then they had rushed up, and up, and although Merlin's lungs had been screaming for air all the while, they must have temporarily forgotten how to breathe, because as soon as his head broke the surface he blacked out.
When he opens his eyes again, he meets a gaze that's just as blue as his own, if not more so—and then Merlin temporarily forgets all the half-formed thoughts that had been tumbling through his mind just a second ago, because the stranger is beautiful. His eyes are the exact same shade as the sea, mirroring the sky in their intensity, and his golden hair is sticking up where it's not plastered to his skull by water, as if he's been at it with his hands in sheer exasperation. He's still waist-deep in the sea, holding himself up on Merlin's rock, and the water really isn't that warm for this time of the year—Merlin thinks dumbly that he should be pale with cold, but he isn't. The man's skin looks as tanned as if he spent the better part of the day sunbathing, flushed a healthy, angry red where it stretches over his cheekbones.
For just a moment, the man looks relieved to see awareness return to Merlin's eyes, but then he continues gesturing heatedly—Merlin's gaze immediately follows the motion, and he realizes that there are thin, nearly translucent webs between the man's fingers.
"Seriously," he rages on, apparently oblivious to Merlin's dumbfounded stare, "what is it about this cliff? I've had to pull two of you jumpers out this month—do you think I have nothing better to do than rescuing suicidal morons from their own brainlessness? Can't you people just figure out how to live with whatever horrible tragedy has befallen you, or at least pick a different cliff to leap from?!"
"I w'sn," Merlin manages, his voice as rough and scratchy as if he'd just screamed for an hour, and he winces at the pain in his throat.
The man glares at him, but rolls his eyes and helps Merlin into a vaguely more upright position when his pathetic attempt at talking makes him cough again. Then he waits, rather patiently, until Merlin is done hacking up his lungs once more—he only opens his mouth again when the painful retching has subsided, but Merlin intercepts him this time.
"I wasn't," he repeats, more clearly this time, "trying to kill myself, I mean," and feels his face color under the stranger's disbelieving gaze.
"Really," he replies, sarcastically, leaning forward and folding his arms on the rock. Merlin notices dimly that he is rather well-built, heavy, lean muscles tensing and relaxing in his shoulders as he keeps afloat and adjusts to the sway of the waves. "And why, pray tell, did you get the sudden urge to jump off this cliff at high tide, then?"
Merlin doesn't answer right away, momentarily distracted by the droplets of water sliding down the man's throat when he speaks, and— he blinks slowly to make sure his vision isn't fooling him, but the slits on the sides of his neck must be gills.
"It was a dare," he replies, when the man impatiently raises his eyebrows, and adds, rather dumbly, "You're a merman."
The stranger actually rolls his eyes at that, looking like he almost regrets having saved someone this stupid. There's a splash and a spray of foam, and Merlin refocuses his gaze just in time to see the ends of a water-slick fishtail sink back into the waves. "Your observational skills astound me," he says, sarcasm evident in his tone again, but there's also a tiny smirk tucked away in the corner of his mouth, like he's secretly enjoying Merlin's astonishment. "A dare? You jump off of the highest cliff on this shore because of a dare? How old are you, five?"
"Fifteen, actually," Merlin snaps back, feeling irritation seep into his bones, and tries to sit up a little straighter although the strain makes his ribs sting anew. "And I— Cedric said—"
The dizziness is beginning to recede, and he suddenly remembers the fall, how the air had screamed past his ears as if trying to warn him of the impending impact. He hadn't really had a choice, not with the older boy's taunts igniting a reckless anger in him that had caused him to toe off his boots and march towards the cliff although his breath had started to hitch in his chest when he'd looked down for a single second before jumping, with the thundering of the tide below rattling his very bones.
The stranger—the merman—looks a little less angry now, like something in Merlin's tone has appeased him somewhat. "What did he say?" he asks, still slightly irritated but no longer harsh, and Merlin struggles to swallow against the scratchy, humiliated pain in his throat.
"That I was a coward," Merlin says roughly, his glare daring the man to agree with Cedric, "because— because I can't swim, and because I haven't gone anywhere near the shore since Will—"
His throat closes up, mercifully cutting off the incoherent stream of words, but the merman seems to have caught on to what he was about to say all the same. "Drowned," he finishes for him, quietly now. "One year ago. I remember."
"I— Cedric was just trying to rile me up, I know that, but—," Merlin blurts out, nearly talking over the stranger, and stops short when his words register with him. "Wait, you remember?"
A shadow crosses the merman's face; his jaw clenches with the darkening of his eyes, and he looks down at his hands for a moment, idly spreading his fingers on the rock. "We do our best to protect the sailors from the fishing villages," he says stiffly, although not even the wooden quality in his voice can distinguish the guilt suddenly roiling beneath. "But there was a massive storm blocking our passage that day, we couldn't reach his boat although my father sent all of his men—"
"Oh," Merlin says faintly, but can't think of anything else to say and falls silent again. He remembers the look on Will's mother's face when the fishermen dragged him ashore, remembers how she shouted at them that it was so cruelly unfair that her son should die while not a single sailor from their village had drowned in more than fifty years, and how Merlin's mother had held her until she stopped screaming.
The crashing of the waves is the only sound breaking the silence between them for a while, and after blinking furiously for a moment, Merlin finds that breathing has gotten a lot easier. There have always been rumors, spun into the gold of fairytales that tell the story of a sea king whose people are protecting their sailors, and it's oddly reassuring to find how much truth they hold. None of the seafarers have ever seen the mermen, but despite the jagged cliffs and deep tideways, the village's shores are considered the safest all along the coast. Will's mother had been right; people who venture out into the sea usually return, no matter how harsh the weather is or how quickly the tide comes in.
The merman clears his throat after a moment, sounding slightly uncomfortable. It's only then that Merlin can see the tense set of his shoulders relax a bit, and he realizes that he'd been bracing himself for being accused of being responsible for Will's death.
"So," the stranger ventures, looking back up at him with the hesitant beginnings of a smirk tugging at his mouth. "You can't swim?"
Merlin splutters, completely caught off guard by the question. "None of your business," he snaps, trying not to look as ashamed as he suddenly is, because, well, even Will had teased him for his irrational fear of the sea when he'd been still alive, and it is sort of pathetic to live in a fishing village and not be able to swim. He tries to come up with some sort of retaliating barb, feeling his face heat up again, but in the end he just manages a rather pathetic, "Are you five, by any chance?"
"I'm seventeen," the merman replies blankly, before catching on to the fact that Merlin was trying to insult him; then he rolls his eyes. "I didn't mean it like that," he says, looking slightly annoyed at having been misunderstood. "It's just, well, I could teach you, if you like."
At that, Merlin can feel the color drain out of his face again; the pull of his wet clothes is still heavy on his limbs, and he still remembers the feeling of sinking irrevocably, tugged under by relentless gallons of water. But it seems like the reckless energy that filled him before the jump has not abated yet, because suddenly, he finds himself actually considering the offer. His gaze flickers to the waves; as if on cue, the merman splashes his fin again in impatience, but this time Merlin catches a glimpse of a long, lean tail covered in sleek scales.
When Merlin looks back into the stranger's eyes, he finds his silence misinterpreted. "Well," the merman says, rather defensively, "as much as I enjoyed fishing out your sorry carcass, I'd rather not have to do it again in the near future. Gets repetitive, you know, and I wouldn't want to be stuck with you while I could be heroically saving all those pretty, heartbroken girls who throw themselves off of cliffs around here."
He probably didn't mean for that to sound reassuring, but to Merlin, it did, and he's rather surprised to find himself nodding, almost against his will. "Okay," he says, feeling his heart beat out a frantic staccato in alarm but also not really caring. He can still taste the sharp tang of fear at the back of his mouth, and his movements are slightly shaky when he crawls to the edge of the rock, ready to let himself slide into the roiling, foam-topped water. But it's about time, he thinks in sudden, youthful recklessness, the mocking tilt to Cedric's mouth still present in his mind; and, well, who better to learn swimming from than a merman?
A hand on his wrist stops him, and Merlin's breath hitches in surprise at the warmth of the stranger's skin. "I won't let anything happen to you," he says, suddenly looking more serious than ever before. His eyes are so impossibly blue that Merlin has to hold his gaze, helpless to look away from the unexpected earnestness he finds there. They've never met before, and the man is just a little older than he is, but in that moment, Merlin realizes, without the shot of a doubt, that he can trust him.
He swallows dryly, and wonders at how light his stomach suddenly feels, like it's preparing for a somersault, and replies without even thinking about what he's saying. "I know."
The merman smiles for the first time, and the expression lights up his whole face, making him look boyish and as young as he actually is. "I'm Arthur, by the way."
"Merlin," Merlin replies breathlessly, and when the stranger—Arthur—tugs on his wrist, he follows.
The sun is starting to sink, creeping closer to the horizon with every minute and covering the waves in a coat of gold, but oddly enough, the sea doesn't seem to get colder—or maybe Merlin is just getting used to the temperature. His clothes are heavy with water, but he doesn't want to take them off, feeling a bit self-conscious in the face of Arthur's chiseled perfection, the smooth ripple of muscles under his skin as he effortlessly cuts a path through the waves for both of them. He's pulling Merlin towards the deeper waters, where the waves are gentler than near the cliff, his hands locked tightly and securely around Merlin's waist.
At first, Arthur keeps them there, telling Merlin to try floating on his front and splaying his webbed fingers on his stomach. It's sort of reassuring, Merlin thinks as he cranes his neck to keep his head above the water, that he does know the basics of what he's supposed to do, because his inability to swim is not for a lack of trying. He spent countless hours of his childhood in the forest splashing through a small, relatively shallow lake while Will yelled instructions from the water's edge, without much success; and although he just gave up at some point, he still technically knows what do to.
"Move," Arthur tells him calmly, when he has Merlin spread out on his stomach with only his hand on his belly for support, and Merlin makes a pathetic sort of flopping motion, muscles locking tight in alarm. A wave approaches them, lazily towering before bursting into a shower of spume that makes him squeeze his eyes shut and cough.
"No, not like that," Arthur says, not seeming to catch on to Merlin's mounting fear just yet, "now you just look like a stranded fish. You have to sort of— kick them, your—," he makes a vague motion towards Merlin's lower half, "those ridiculous appendages you call feet."
Merlin tries to glare at him, but now the current drawn in by the wave is racing towards the shore, catching them in an almost gentle sort of rocking motion. He feels Arthur sway with it, effortlessly, but Merlin can't follow the movements of the sea in the same way, and doesn't even have presence of mind to hold his breath before he is dunked under.
Not even a second has passed when Arthur yanks him to the surface again, but Merlin still managed to swallow a mouthful of water and wind himself up into a full-fledged panic. He flails wildly, coughing and gasping for air although he just ends up swallowing even more water in his frenzy, and diverts all of his energy into clinging to Arthur, who has one muscled arm locked securely around his shoulders, the distant sound of his voice telling him to calm down, easy, easy, Merlin, what the hell?
But Merlin only feels the push and pull of the tide around him, the water slopping lazily around his upper arms, and is grabbed by the mindless, heedless fear of going under again—his hands move to clutch at Arthur on their own accord, scrabbling for purchase on his slippery skin and grasping for something to hold on to. Which happens to be his neck, and Arthur twists away from his touch, a pained noise escaping his throat, and Merlin realizes that he's been all but clawing at his gills.
"Sorry," he gasps, accidentally spitting water all over Arthur's back, and relocates his grip to Arthur's shoulder instead, which proves to be reassuringly solid. "Sorry," he repeats when he can breathe again, just for good measure, and opens previously clenched-shut eyes just in time to see the answering eyeroll.
Arthur coughs. "It's fine," he says, shifting his own grip on Merlin's waist; suddenly Merlin is held aloft, and doesn't even need to kick water anymore to keep his head above the surface. He coughs one last time to free his windpipe from the last drops of water, and inhales the salty air in deep, gulping breaths, feeling his galloping heart gradually slow and calm down again.
The receding panic leaves him feeling dizzy and wrung out; but Arthur doesn't speak, seeming perfectly content to let Merlin ride out the last vestiges of fear in his arms, and Merlin allows his temple to rest on Arthur's shoulder. Drowsily, without thinking, he brings up a hand to touch the gills again, gently this time in apology, running hesitant fingers along the lipped slits. The skin is feathery soft to the touch, and although Arthur twitches, he doesn't pull away when Merlin traces his thumb over the warm, wet space where they smooth out into his collarbone.
"That tickles," Arthur deadpans after a moment, and Merlin snatches his hand away, feeling himself blush into full awareness again. Arthur shifts his grip, just as Merlin straightens up and clears his throat, suddenly embarrassed—and well, it could be just the fading light tricking his eyes, but Merlin is fairly sure that for once Arthur's cheeks are coloring too.
"I guess this is what's meant by 'sink or swim'," Merlin says eventually, feeling humiliated all over again—it was just a wave sweeping past them, not even a big one at that, and it still made him panic as if he'd been drowning. He ducks his head a little, squinting to stare into the sinking sun in favor of
"You won't sink, Merlin," Arthur scoffs, sounding scandalized at the mere suggestion, but he doesn't let go, and the hand that he hesitantly smooths down Merlin's back is gentle. "Are you really that afraid?" he asks, voice hushed now as if in secrecy, all traces of teasing gone from his tone, like he genuinely wants Merlin to be honest about this.
"I— I have no idea," Merlin blurts out, tightening his own grip in sheer frustration. "I know how to swim, I've been trying to learn for my whole life, and I'm not scared, not really, but— it's just so deep," he finishes lamely, just barely resisting the urge to hide his flushed face in Arthur's shoulder again although Arthur is not even looking at him, fixing his gaze on something near the shore instead as if to grant him some privacy.
"Hmm," Arthur hums, the sound vibrating through Merlin's bones where their chests are pressed together. "Well, this won't do," he says, placing his hands once again on Merlin's waist once again and shifting backwards, dragging them towards the open sea at a languid pace. "You just do what you've learned to, then," he orders, "and don't worry about keeping afloat, I'll take care of that."
Merlin swallows but nods, oddly buoyed by the glint in Arthur's eyes although his heartbeat stumbles through a series of alarmed beats in his throat. It's almost as if Arthur sees a provocation in Merlin's fear, a challenge that he is determined to help Merlin rise to, even if it takes all evening.
During the next half-hour, Merlin swallows more salt water than ever before, and fights both the push of the tide and the relentless pull of fear in his veins with a vigor that startles him. He grits his teeth whenever his head gets submerged in a wave, beats down on the instinctive panic until his nerves don't feel like they're on fire anymore, and tries to smooth out the jerkiness of his movements. Arthur seems to be all around him, his hands never relinquishing their secure grasp around Merlin's waist—at first he swims along next to Merlin, but then he starts circling him in order not to get in the way of Merlin's increasingly bold attempts at moving his arms and legs like he was taught to.
It's sort of odd, Merlin thinks, to see Arthur go under and not be scared for him—but every sinuous twist of his fishtail tells an entire story of how at home he is, pushing through foamy waves by Merlin's side, seeming not to notice the water splashing into his face and slicking his hair. He never needs to gasp for breath, even when he's just emerged from a spray of spume, and curves his body into alignment with the towering waves with an ease that Merlin finds himself admiring, with a pure, simple awe that isn't diminished by jealousy.
He doesn't notice when Arthur's hands loosen their grip, and remains unaware of their pressure disappearing altogether when the sea in front of them swells, rolling up and up into the beginnings of another wave, and he takes a deep breath, readying himself to be dunked under once again. But the water just lifts him, cradling instead of tumbling, and he instinctively relaxes, allows his muscles to go limp and pliant, and is rewarded with the slow pull of water flowing around him. It splashes against his chest, but this time, Merlin doesn't even have to struggle to keep floating—he just waits for it to pass by, and only throws his body forward and back into motion when the wave crashes behind him.
"You've got it!" Arthur exclaims, clapping Merlin on the shoulder in excitement, and it's only then that Merlin notices the absence of his support. He's smiling like Merlin has done something truly extraordinary, unabashed pride sparkling in his eyes as he shakes some excess water out of his hair, sending the sodden ends of his golden fringe into wild disarray, and the honest joy in his features makes Merlin's breath stop altogether.
"What?" he shouts over the sudden roar of another wave breaking all around them, blinking the sting of foam from his eyes and craning his neck to stare at Arthur incredulously. "Am I— swimming?"
"Yes!" Arthur yells back, exhilaration evident in his voice, a wide, triumphant grin still stretching across his face, and Merlin promptly goes under.
Arthur is laughing when he pulls Merlin back up by the collar of his tunic, and Merlin is surprised to find himself joining in, as soon as he's spit out a mouthful of water. "I can't believe it!" he cries, too loudly because Arthur is right next to him and the thunder of the waves already sounds weaker, anticipating the falling tide.
Arthur's hand is still on his shoulder, but now it's resting instead of grasping, and Merlin realizes that he's kicking water to stay afloat without even consciously thinking about the movements. "Congratulations," Arthur says, without any teasing undercurrent although his eyes are still sparkling with amusement, and Merlin finds himself blinking at the honest approval in his tone. They've only known each other for an hour, and Arthur can't possibly know how much this means to Merlin, finally being able to swim after so many failed attempts at learning it—but judging by his slow, oddly meaningful smile, Arthur does.
"One less person you have to save from drowning, then," Merlin states eventually, if only to dispel the sudden tension in the air between them—it's not uncomfortable by a long shot, but it makes Merlin's face heat in an all too familiar way.
Predictably, Arthur laughs, his grin showing white, slightly crooked teeth. "Now if only we could do something about all those lovesick girls."
"They probably just throw themselves off of this cliff because they've heard rumors about the impossibly handsome merman waiting to save them—"
Merlin doesn't realize what he's said until Arthur snorts, giving his shoulder a friendly shove. "Impossibly handsome, am I?" he says, and now he's definitely teasing, although it does nothing to dispel Merlin's embarrassment. His stomach flutters in that odd way again, and he swallows against the sensation as he keeps opening and closing his mouth rather stupidly, trying to come up with something to reply (which isn't "yes, you really are," at that).
Arthur shakes his head at him, taking great care to give him a suitably exasperated look, but he also seems... flattered, almost. "You're a bit of an odd one," he states, after clearing his throat imperiously. "Come on, let's get you back to the shore before you get tired."
It's only then that Merlin notices the heaviness in his limbs—although Arthur probably just wanted to change the topic—and nods gratefully, following without second thought when Arthur seizes his shoulder again and steers him towards the shore. The rush of fear and elation from before probably left him immune to the temperature, but now he starts to feel the coolness seeping into his body more and more. It's not unbearably cold by far, but Merlin suddenly longs to be wrapped in a warm, dry blanket in the small cottage at the village's outskirts, where his mother is probably waiting for him with a steaming cup of broth for dinner.
The thought of his mother stirs up something else in Merlin's mind, and he frowns, focusing on pushing his arms through the water and letting the waves carry him forward. He hopes that no one saw him jump—they'd have run to Hunith immediately, and he just hates the thought that she's probably worrying herself sick right now, memories of Will's death replaying themselves over and over in her head.
They stop when Merlin's feet first touch the seabed. Arthur has swum along silently, looking pensive and almost disappointed that the setting sun is putting an end to their little adventure, but now he stops, hovering just out of reach and allowing the waves to gently rock him up and down. The sun is in his back now, and Merlin can just stare stupidly for a second at the way it glows in his hair and bronzes his skin, darkening his eyes to a deeper, oddly secretive shade of blue.
"Well, you'd better get going," Arthur ventures, when neither of them has said anything for several long moments. He still looks a bit sad, but is obviously doing his best to hide it; Merlin suddenly remembers what he said earlier about his father's men, and it occurs to him that Arthur probably has no one around his age to swim with like the two of them just did.
"I'll come back," he hears himself say, before he's had the time to think about the words, but even as they resonate between them, he knows they're true. He can't not return to Arthur, now that he's shown him a whole new world by teaching him how to swim—and the surprised delight on Arthur's face just makes his smile grow even wider, relieved to see the shadow chased out of his eyes. "I mean," Merlin adds hastily, not wanting to seem too eager, "I'll probably need more swimming lessons, and all that."
"Obviously," Arthur replies haughtily, after taking a second to collect himself. "There's still room for improvement. A lot of room, in fact."
Merlin grins, feeling happiness begin to glow in his chest like a secret sun, for once not minding the thinly-veiled insult. "See you tomorrow, then."
"So long," Arthur says, attempting to sound casual, but even his crooked smile can't hide the anticipation crackling in his gaze, or the coltish splash of his tail right next to Merlin, making him sputter through the sudden shower of foam. Arthur just laughs, and lets himself sink into the receding tide, pushing back into the deeper waters; Merlin watches him retreat with a sudden, fluttering feeling in his stomach, and hears his heartbeat clamor in his ears until he darts forward as if to follow.
Arthur's cheek is smooth and salty under his lips, slick with water and very, very warm, growing even warmer with Arthur's surprised intake of breath, and Merlin lingers for just a second longer before pulling away from the impulsive, chaste kiss he's pressed right into the dip under Arthur's cheekbone. He takes a deep, steadying breath, aware that his face has probably ignored any and all shades of crimson and has skipped straight ahead to purple, but he forces himself not to look away when Arthur's eyes find his own.
He looks completely taken aback, but not unpleasantly so, if the deep flush on his cheeks is anything to go by. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, but his eyes don't dart away either, and they hold each other's gazes for a long moment, until Merlin smiles, shyly.
Confusion mingles with a sort of dawning realization on Arthur's face—a realization he seems to approve of, because he smiles back, hesitant but with something new and untouched shining in his eyes; "So long," Merlin replies, voice only slightly unsteady, and watches Arthur dive straight into the glittering crest of a wave, tail splashing as the sea welcomes him back.
Merlin meets Cedric when he reaches the village, and the part of him that had seethed in anger at the older boy earlier crows with victory at the sight of his utterly dumbfounded expression. That Cedric probably expected him to drown suddenly doesn't bother Merlin anymore at all, and so he just gives him a sunny smile as he walks by, because he can still feel the imprint of Arthur's steadying hands on his waist, all the more solid and real for the softness of his cheek.
He starts to run when he sees the thatched roof of the cottage, heart thundering madly in his chest, and almost collides with the front door, not caring about the elated, slightly mad smile that feels permanently etched onto his features. He feels a bit like he's ten again, when the entire world was a never-ending, glorious adventure that he hated to leave even for the sake of sleeping—because even as he feels tiredness seep into his bones, he can only think of the surprise on Arthur's face, the promise in his eyes, and feels his heart soar at the thought of what tomorrow might bring.
"Mum!" he shouts, almost falling over the threshold in his haste to get inside, not caring that his wet clothes drip water all over the floor, and grins even more widely when he spots his mother kneeling next to the stove, igniting a fire and looking up in surprise at Merlin's arrival. "Mum, I can swim!"
Fandom: Merlin BBC
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: mentions of past attempted suicides (by nameless, faceless minor characters); past (minor) character death; underage (Merlin is 15, Arthur is 17)
Word Count: 5,254
Summary: Originally posted here at
kinkme_merlin, in response to this prompt: Arthur/Merlin, AU, merman!Arthur. Merlin stumbles and falls down a cliff. A blonde "man" comes to his rescue.A/N: Some of you probably saw this on KMM already, but I thought I'd finally put my name to it. *still nervous* ^^; I wrote this in a feverish haze of "I love this fandom so much that I want to contribute to it" at the beginning of my semester break, which is why it's all youthfully exuberant with how good it felt to have passed all of my exams. Um, I hope you like it!~ ♥
The first thing Merlin hears, after the roaring in his ears has subsided a bit and his lungs aren't spasming too hard for him to draw even a single breath anymore, is someone cursing a blue streak right next to his ear.
"Of all the moronic, stupid, half-witted idiots—," the stranger is shouting, somehow sounding both livid and exasperated all at once. Merlin just coughs weakly in response, still too far gone to care about the insult, and spits out another mouthful of salt water. He knows his eyes are open because they sting from the spume of the crashing waves, but he can't really see anything save for the endless stretch of the navy blue sea, and a blurry patch of gold right in front of him.
Wait, he thinks to himself, struggling to get his mind back into working order after nearly drowning, gold? He blinks, trying to clear the haze from his vision, and suddenly becomes aware of the jagged rock he's lying on, clothes thoroughly drenched and clinging to his shivering body. It's summer all right, but the wind that chases the waves down here is chilly and cutting, and Merlin tries to huddle into himself to ward off the cold but succeeds only in making himself cough again. The back of his throat feels scraped raw with the force of his retching, but he can't suppress it, not when his chest still feels leaden and heavy with water. Salt has scorched a burning trail up his nose, and his ribs are aching like the waves flung him against the cliffs once or twice, until—
He suddenly remembers the grip of strong arms encircling him just when he'd felt the muddy seabed against the bare soles of his feet for the first time. He had flailed wildly, fighting the embrace in instinctive panic, and there had been a distinct air of irritation in the way the stranger had trapped Merlin's hands at his sides with muscled forearms. Then they had rushed up, and up, and although Merlin's lungs had been screaming for air all the while, they must have temporarily forgotten how to breathe, because as soon as his head broke the surface he blacked out.
When he opens his eyes again, he meets a gaze that's just as blue as his own, if not more so—and then Merlin temporarily forgets all the half-formed thoughts that had been tumbling through his mind just a second ago, because the stranger is beautiful. His eyes are the exact same shade as the sea, mirroring the sky in their intensity, and his golden hair is sticking up where it's not plastered to his skull by water, as if he's been at it with his hands in sheer exasperation. He's still waist-deep in the sea, holding himself up on Merlin's rock, and the water really isn't that warm for this time of the year—Merlin thinks dumbly that he should be pale with cold, but he isn't. The man's skin looks as tanned as if he spent the better part of the day sunbathing, flushed a healthy, angry red where it stretches over his cheekbones.
For just a moment, the man looks relieved to see awareness return to Merlin's eyes, but then he continues gesturing heatedly—Merlin's gaze immediately follows the motion, and he realizes that there are thin, nearly translucent webs between the man's fingers.
"Seriously," he rages on, apparently oblivious to Merlin's dumbfounded stare, "what is it about this cliff? I've had to pull two of you jumpers out this month—do you think I have nothing better to do than rescuing suicidal morons from their own brainlessness? Can't you people just figure out how to live with whatever horrible tragedy has befallen you, or at least pick a different cliff to leap from?!"
"I w'sn," Merlin manages, his voice as rough and scratchy as if he'd just screamed for an hour, and he winces at the pain in his throat.
The man glares at him, but rolls his eyes and helps Merlin into a vaguely more upright position when his pathetic attempt at talking makes him cough again. Then he waits, rather patiently, until Merlin is done hacking up his lungs once more—he only opens his mouth again when the painful retching has subsided, but Merlin intercepts him this time.
"I wasn't," he repeats, more clearly this time, "trying to kill myself, I mean," and feels his face color under the stranger's disbelieving gaze.
"Really," he replies, sarcastically, leaning forward and folding his arms on the rock. Merlin notices dimly that he is rather well-built, heavy, lean muscles tensing and relaxing in his shoulders as he keeps afloat and adjusts to the sway of the waves. "And why, pray tell, did you get the sudden urge to jump off this cliff at high tide, then?"
Merlin doesn't answer right away, momentarily distracted by the droplets of water sliding down the man's throat when he speaks, and— he blinks slowly to make sure his vision isn't fooling him, but the slits on the sides of his neck must be gills.
"It was a dare," he replies, when the man impatiently raises his eyebrows, and adds, rather dumbly, "You're a merman."
The stranger actually rolls his eyes at that, looking like he almost regrets having saved someone this stupid. There's a splash and a spray of foam, and Merlin refocuses his gaze just in time to see the ends of a water-slick fishtail sink back into the waves. "Your observational skills astound me," he says, sarcasm evident in his tone again, but there's also a tiny smirk tucked away in the corner of his mouth, like he's secretly enjoying Merlin's astonishment. "A dare? You jump off of the highest cliff on this shore because of a dare? How old are you, five?"
"Fifteen, actually," Merlin snaps back, feeling irritation seep into his bones, and tries to sit up a little straighter although the strain makes his ribs sting anew. "And I— Cedric said—"
The dizziness is beginning to recede, and he suddenly remembers the fall, how the air had screamed past his ears as if trying to warn him of the impending impact. He hadn't really had a choice, not with the older boy's taunts igniting a reckless anger in him that had caused him to toe off his boots and march towards the cliff although his breath had started to hitch in his chest when he'd looked down for a single second before jumping, with the thundering of the tide below rattling his very bones.
The stranger—the merman—looks a little less angry now, like something in Merlin's tone has appeased him somewhat. "What did he say?" he asks, still slightly irritated but no longer harsh, and Merlin struggles to swallow against the scratchy, humiliated pain in his throat.
"That I was a coward," Merlin says roughly, his glare daring the man to agree with Cedric, "because— because I can't swim, and because I haven't gone anywhere near the shore since Will—"
His throat closes up, mercifully cutting off the incoherent stream of words, but the merman seems to have caught on to what he was about to say all the same. "Drowned," he finishes for him, quietly now. "One year ago. I remember."
"I— Cedric was just trying to rile me up, I know that, but—," Merlin blurts out, nearly talking over the stranger, and stops short when his words register with him. "Wait, you remember?"
A shadow crosses the merman's face; his jaw clenches with the darkening of his eyes, and he looks down at his hands for a moment, idly spreading his fingers on the rock. "We do our best to protect the sailors from the fishing villages," he says stiffly, although not even the wooden quality in his voice can distinguish the guilt suddenly roiling beneath. "But there was a massive storm blocking our passage that day, we couldn't reach his boat although my father sent all of his men—"
"Oh," Merlin says faintly, but can't think of anything else to say and falls silent again. He remembers the look on Will's mother's face when the fishermen dragged him ashore, remembers how she shouted at them that it was so cruelly unfair that her son should die while not a single sailor from their village had drowned in more than fifty years, and how Merlin's mother had held her until she stopped screaming.
The crashing of the waves is the only sound breaking the silence between them for a while, and after blinking furiously for a moment, Merlin finds that breathing has gotten a lot easier. There have always been rumors, spun into the gold of fairytales that tell the story of a sea king whose people are protecting their sailors, and it's oddly reassuring to find how much truth they hold. None of the seafarers have ever seen the mermen, but despite the jagged cliffs and deep tideways, the village's shores are considered the safest all along the coast. Will's mother had been right; people who venture out into the sea usually return, no matter how harsh the weather is or how quickly the tide comes in.
The merman clears his throat after a moment, sounding slightly uncomfortable. It's only then that Merlin can see the tense set of his shoulders relax a bit, and he realizes that he'd been bracing himself for being accused of being responsible for Will's death.
"So," the stranger ventures, looking back up at him with the hesitant beginnings of a smirk tugging at his mouth. "You can't swim?"
Merlin splutters, completely caught off guard by the question. "None of your business," he snaps, trying not to look as ashamed as he suddenly is, because, well, even Will had teased him for his irrational fear of the sea when he'd been still alive, and it is sort of pathetic to live in a fishing village and not be able to swim. He tries to come up with some sort of retaliating barb, feeling his face heat up again, but in the end he just manages a rather pathetic, "Are you five, by any chance?"
"I'm seventeen," the merman replies blankly, before catching on to the fact that Merlin was trying to insult him; then he rolls his eyes. "I didn't mean it like that," he says, looking slightly annoyed at having been misunderstood. "It's just, well, I could teach you, if you like."
At that, Merlin can feel the color drain out of his face again; the pull of his wet clothes is still heavy on his limbs, and he still remembers the feeling of sinking irrevocably, tugged under by relentless gallons of water. But it seems like the reckless energy that filled him before the jump has not abated yet, because suddenly, he finds himself actually considering the offer. His gaze flickers to the waves; as if on cue, the merman splashes his fin again in impatience, but this time Merlin catches a glimpse of a long, lean tail covered in sleek scales.
When Merlin looks back into the stranger's eyes, he finds his silence misinterpreted. "Well," the merman says, rather defensively, "as much as I enjoyed fishing out your sorry carcass, I'd rather not have to do it again in the near future. Gets repetitive, you know, and I wouldn't want to be stuck with you while I could be heroically saving all those pretty, heartbroken girls who throw themselves off of cliffs around here."
He probably didn't mean for that to sound reassuring, but to Merlin, it did, and he's rather surprised to find himself nodding, almost against his will. "Okay," he says, feeling his heart beat out a frantic staccato in alarm but also not really caring. He can still taste the sharp tang of fear at the back of his mouth, and his movements are slightly shaky when he crawls to the edge of the rock, ready to let himself slide into the roiling, foam-topped water. But it's about time, he thinks in sudden, youthful recklessness, the mocking tilt to Cedric's mouth still present in his mind; and, well, who better to learn swimming from than a merman?
A hand on his wrist stops him, and Merlin's breath hitches in surprise at the warmth of the stranger's skin. "I won't let anything happen to you," he says, suddenly looking more serious than ever before. His eyes are so impossibly blue that Merlin has to hold his gaze, helpless to look away from the unexpected earnestness he finds there. They've never met before, and the man is just a little older than he is, but in that moment, Merlin realizes, without the shot of a doubt, that he can trust him.
He swallows dryly, and wonders at how light his stomach suddenly feels, like it's preparing for a somersault, and replies without even thinking about what he's saying. "I know."
The merman smiles for the first time, and the expression lights up his whole face, making him look boyish and as young as he actually is. "I'm Arthur, by the way."
"Merlin," Merlin replies breathlessly, and when the stranger—Arthur—tugs on his wrist, he follows.
The sun is starting to sink, creeping closer to the horizon with every minute and covering the waves in a coat of gold, but oddly enough, the sea doesn't seem to get colder—or maybe Merlin is just getting used to the temperature. His clothes are heavy with water, but he doesn't want to take them off, feeling a bit self-conscious in the face of Arthur's chiseled perfection, the smooth ripple of muscles under his skin as he effortlessly cuts a path through the waves for both of them. He's pulling Merlin towards the deeper waters, where the waves are gentler than near the cliff, his hands locked tightly and securely around Merlin's waist.
At first, Arthur keeps them there, telling Merlin to try floating on his front and splaying his webbed fingers on his stomach. It's sort of reassuring, Merlin thinks as he cranes his neck to keep his head above the water, that he does know the basics of what he's supposed to do, because his inability to swim is not for a lack of trying. He spent countless hours of his childhood in the forest splashing through a small, relatively shallow lake while Will yelled instructions from the water's edge, without much success; and although he just gave up at some point, he still technically knows what do to.
"Move," Arthur tells him calmly, when he has Merlin spread out on his stomach with only his hand on his belly for support, and Merlin makes a pathetic sort of flopping motion, muscles locking tight in alarm. A wave approaches them, lazily towering before bursting into a shower of spume that makes him squeeze his eyes shut and cough.
"No, not like that," Arthur says, not seeming to catch on to Merlin's mounting fear just yet, "now you just look like a stranded fish. You have to sort of— kick them, your—," he makes a vague motion towards Merlin's lower half, "those ridiculous appendages you call feet."
Merlin tries to glare at him, but now the current drawn in by the wave is racing towards the shore, catching them in an almost gentle sort of rocking motion. He feels Arthur sway with it, effortlessly, but Merlin can't follow the movements of the sea in the same way, and doesn't even have presence of mind to hold his breath before he is dunked under.
Not even a second has passed when Arthur yanks him to the surface again, but Merlin still managed to swallow a mouthful of water and wind himself up into a full-fledged panic. He flails wildly, coughing and gasping for air although he just ends up swallowing even more water in his frenzy, and diverts all of his energy into clinging to Arthur, who has one muscled arm locked securely around his shoulders, the distant sound of his voice telling him to calm down, easy, easy, Merlin, what the hell?
But Merlin only feels the push and pull of the tide around him, the water slopping lazily around his upper arms, and is grabbed by the mindless, heedless fear of going under again—his hands move to clutch at Arthur on their own accord, scrabbling for purchase on his slippery skin and grasping for something to hold on to. Which happens to be his neck, and Arthur twists away from his touch, a pained noise escaping his throat, and Merlin realizes that he's been all but clawing at his gills.
"Sorry," he gasps, accidentally spitting water all over Arthur's back, and relocates his grip to Arthur's shoulder instead, which proves to be reassuringly solid. "Sorry," he repeats when he can breathe again, just for good measure, and opens previously clenched-shut eyes just in time to see the answering eyeroll.
Arthur coughs. "It's fine," he says, shifting his own grip on Merlin's waist; suddenly Merlin is held aloft, and doesn't even need to kick water anymore to keep his head above the surface. He coughs one last time to free his windpipe from the last drops of water, and inhales the salty air in deep, gulping breaths, feeling his galloping heart gradually slow and calm down again.
The receding panic leaves him feeling dizzy and wrung out; but Arthur doesn't speak, seeming perfectly content to let Merlin ride out the last vestiges of fear in his arms, and Merlin allows his temple to rest on Arthur's shoulder. Drowsily, without thinking, he brings up a hand to touch the gills again, gently this time in apology, running hesitant fingers along the lipped slits. The skin is feathery soft to the touch, and although Arthur twitches, he doesn't pull away when Merlin traces his thumb over the warm, wet space where they smooth out into his collarbone.
"That tickles," Arthur deadpans after a moment, and Merlin snatches his hand away, feeling himself blush into full awareness again. Arthur shifts his grip, just as Merlin straightens up and clears his throat, suddenly embarrassed—and well, it could be just the fading light tricking his eyes, but Merlin is fairly sure that for once Arthur's cheeks are coloring too.
"I guess this is what's meant by 'sink or swim'," Merlin says eventually, feeling humiliated all over again—it was just a wave sweeping past them, not even a big one at that, and it still made him panic as if he'd been drowning. He ducks his head a little, squinting to stare into the sinking sun in favor of
"You won't sink, Merlin," Arthur scoffs, sounding scandalized at the mere suggestion, but he doesn't let go, and the hand that he hesitantly smooths down Merlin's back is gentle. "Are you really that afraid?" he asks, voice hushed now as if in secrecy, all traces of teasing gone from his tone, like he genuinely wants Merlin to be honest about this.
"I— I have no idea," Merlin blurts out, tightening his own grip in sheer frustration. "I know how to swim, I've been trying to learn for my whole life, and I'm not scared, not really, but— it's just so deep," he finishes lamely, just barely resisting the urge to hide his flushed face in Arthur's shoulder again although Arthur is not even looking at him, fixing his gaze on something near the shore instead as if to grant him some privacy.
"Hmm," Arthur hums, the sound vibrating through Merlin's bones where their chests are pressed together. "Well, this won't do," he says, placing his hands once again on Merlin's waist once again and shifting backwards, dragging them towards the open sea at a languid pace. "You just do what you've learned to, then," he orders, "and don't worry about keeping afloat, I'll take care of that."
Merlin swallows but nods, oddly buoyed by the glint in Arthur's eyes although his heartbeat stumbles through a series of alarmed beats in his throat. It's almost as if Arthur sees a provocation in Merlin's fear, a challenge that he is determined to help Merlin rise to, even if it takes all evening.
During the next half-hour, Merlin swallows more salt water than ever before, and fights both the push of the tide and the relentless pull of fear in his veins with a vigor that startles him. He grits his teeth whenever his head gets submerged in a wave, beats down on the instinctive panic until his nerves don't feel like they're on fire anymore, and tries to smooth out the jerkiness of his movements. Arthur seems to be all around him, his hands never relinquishing their secure grasp around Merlin's waist—at first he swims along next to Merlin, but then he starts circling him in order not to get in the way of Merlin's increasingly bold attempts at moving his arms and legs like he was taught to.
It's sort of odd, Merlin thinks, to see Arthur go under and not be scared for him—but every sinuous twist of his fishtail tells an entire story of how at home he is, pushing through foamy waves by Merlin's side, seeming not to notice the water splashing into his face and slicking his hair. He never needs to gasp for breath, even when he's just emerged from a spray of spume, and curves his body into alignment with the towering waves with an ease that Merlin finds himself admiring, with a pure, simple awe that isn't diminished by jealousy.
He doesn't notice when Arthur's hands loosen their grip, and remains unaware of their pressure disappearing altogether when the sea in front of them swells, rolling up and up into the beginnings of another wave, and he takes a deep breath, readying himself to be dunked under once again. But the water just lifts him, cradling instead of tumbling, and he instinctively relaxes, allows his muscles to go limp and pliant, and is rewarded with the slow pull of water flowing around him. It splashes against his chest, but this time, Merlin doesn't even have to struggle to keep floating—he just waits for it to pass by, and only throws his body forward and back into motion when the wave crashes behind him.
"You've got it!" Arthur exclaims, clapping Merlin on the shoulder in excitement, and it's only then that Merlin notices the absence of his support. He's smiling like Merlin has done something truly extraordinary, unabashed pride sparkling in his eyes as he shakes some excess water out of his hair, sending the sodden ends of his golden fringe into wild disarray, and the honest joy in his features makes Merlin's breath stop altogether.
"What?" he shouts over the sudden roar of another wave breaking all around them, blinking the sting of foam from his eyes and craning his neck to stare at Arthur incredulously. "Am I— swimming?"
"Yes!" Arthur yells back, exhilaration evident in his voice, a wide, triumphant grin still stretching across his face, and Merlin promptly goes under.
Arthur is laughing when he pulls Merlin back up by the collar of his tunic, and Merlin is surprised to find himself joining in, as soon as he's spit out a mouthful of water. "I can't believe it!" he cries, too loudly because Arthur is right next to him and the thunder of the waves already sounds weaker, anticipating the falling tide.
Arthur's hand is still on his shoulder, but now it's resting instead of grasping, and Merlin realizes that he's kicking water to stay afloat without even consciously thinking about the movements. "Congratulations," Arthur says, without any teasing undercurrent although his eyes are still sparkling with amusement, and Merlin finds himself blinking at the honest approval in his tone. They've only known each other for an hour, and Arthur can't possibly know how much this means to Merlin, finally being able to swim after so many failed attempts at learning it—but judging by his slow, oddly meaningful smile, Arthur does.
"One less person you have to save from drowning, then," Merlin states eventually, if only to dispel the sudden tension in the air between them—it's not uncomfortable by a long shot, but it makes Merlin's face heat in an all too familiar way.
Predictably, Arthur laughs, his grin showing white, slightly crooked teeth. "Now if only we could do something about all those lovesick girls."
"They probably just throw themselves off of this cliff because they've heard rumors about the impossibly handsome merman waiting to save them—"
Merlin doesn't realize what he's said until Arthur snorts, giving his shoulder a friendly shove. "Impossibly handsome, am I?" he says, and now he's definitely teasing, although it does nothing to dispel Merlin's embarrassment. His stomach flutters in that odd way again, and he swallows against the sensation as he keeps opening and closing his mouth rather stupidly, trying to come up with something to reply (which isn't "yes, you really are," at that).
Arthur shakes his head at him, taking great care to give him a suitably exasperated look, but he also seems... flattered, almost. "You're a bit of an odd one," he states, after clearing his throat imperiously. "Come on, let's get you back to the shore before you get tired."
It's only then that Merlin notices the heaviness in his limbs—although Arthur probably just wanted to change the topic—and nods gratefully, following without second thought when Arthur seizes his shoulder again and steers him towards the shore. The rush of fear and elation from before probably left him immune to the temperature, but now he starts to feel the coolness seeping into his body more and more. It's not unbearably cold by far, but Merlin suddenly longs to be wrapped in a warm, dry blanket in the small cottage at the village's outskirts, where his mother is probably waiting for him with a steaming cup of broth for dinner.
The thought of his mother stirs up something else in Merlin's mind, and he frowns, focusing on pushing his arms through the water and letting the waves carry him forward. He hopes that no one saw him jump—they'd have run to Hunith immediately, and he just hates the thought that she's probably worrying herself sick right now, memories of Will's death replaying themselves over and over in her head.
They stop when Merlin's feet first touch the seabed. Arthur has swum along silently, looking pensive and almost disappointed that the setting sun is putting an end to their little adventure, but now he stops, hovering just out of reach and allowing the waves to gently rock him up and down. The sun is in his back now, and Merlin can just stare stupidly for a second at the way it glows in his hair and bronzes his skin, darkening his eyes to a deeper, oddly secretive shade of blue.
"Well, you'd better get going," Arthur ventures, when neither of them has said anything for several long moments. He still looks a bit sad, but is obviously doing his best to hide it; Merlin suddenly remembers what he said earlier about his father's men, and it occurs to him that Arthur probably has no one around his age to swim with like the two of them just did.
"I'll come back," he hears himself say, before he's had the time to think about the words, but even as they resonate between them, he knows they're true. He can't not return to Arthur, now that he's shown him a whole new world by teaching him how to swim—and the surprised delight on Arthur's face just makes his smile grow even wider, relieved to see the shadow chased out of his eyes. "I mean," Merlin adds hastily, not wanting to seem too eager, "I'll probably need more swimming lessons, and all that."
"Obviously," Arthur replies haughtily, after taking a second to collect himself. "There's still room for improvement. A lot of room, in fact."
Merlin grins, feeling happiness begin to glow in his chest like a secret sun, for once not minding the thinly-veiled insult. "See you tomorrow, then."
"So long," Arthur says, attempting to sound casual, but even his crooked smile can't hide the anticipation crackling in his gaze, or the coltish splash of his tail right next to Merlin, making him sputter through the sudden shower of foam. Arthur just laughs, and lets himself sink into the receding tide, pushing back into the deeper waters; Merlin watches him retreat with a sudden, fluttering feeling in his stomach, and hears his heartbeat clamor in his ears until he darts forward as if to follow.
Arthur's cheek is smooth and salty under his lips, slick with water and very, very warm, growing even warmer with Arthur's surprised intake of breath, and Merlin lingers for just a second longer before pulling away from the impulsive, chaste kiss he's pressed right into the dip under Arthur's cheekbone. He takes a deep, steadying breath, aware that his face has probably ignored any and all shades of crimson and has skipped straight ahead to purple, but he forces himself not to look away when Arthur's eyes find his own.
He looks completely taken aback, but not unpleasantly so, if the deep flush on his cheeks is anything to go by. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, but his eyes don't dart away either, and they hold each other's gazes for a long moment, until Merlin smiles, shyly.
Confusion mingles with a sort of dawning realization on Arthur's face—a realization he seems to approve of, because he smiles back, hesitant but with something new and untouched shining in his eyes; "So long," Merlin replies, voice only slightly unsteady, and watches Arthur dive straight into the glittering crest of a wave, tail splashing as the sea welcomes him back.
Merlin meets Cedric when he reaches the village, and the part of him that had seethed in anger at the older boy earlier crows with victory at the sight of his utterly dumbfounded expression. That Cedric probably expected him to drown suddenly doesn't bother Merlin anymore at all, and so he just gives him a sunny smile as he walks by, because he can still feel the imprint of Arthur's steadying hands on his waist, all the more solid and real for the softness of his cheek.
He starts to run when he sees the thatched roof of the cottage, heart thundering madly in his chest, and almost collides with the front door, not caring about the elated, slightly mad smile that feels permanently etched onto his features. He feels a bit like he's ten again, when the entire world was a never-ending, glorious adventure that he hated to leave even for the sake of sleeping—because even as he feels tiredness seep into his bones, he can only think of the surprise on Arthur's face, the promise in his eyes, and feels his heart soar at the thought of what tomorrow might bring.
"Mum!" he shouts, almost falling over the threshold in his haste to get inside, not caring that his wet clothes drip water all over the floor, and grins even more widely when he spots his mother kneeling next to the stove, igniting a fire and looking up in surprise at Merlin's arrival. "Mum, I can swim!"
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2010-10-04 05:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-04 06:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-04 07:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-04 09:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-04 10:35 pm (UTC)HK
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Date: 2010-10-04 10:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-04 10:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-05 04:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-05 05:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-05 07:58 am (UTC)Thank you, again! ♥♥
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Date: 2010-10-05 08:00 am (UTC)Also, I'm really glad you said that--I thought everyone had already seen it on KMM and would be annoyed if I reposted. xD ♥ Thank you! <3
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Date: 2010-10-05 08:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-05 08:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-05 08:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-05 08:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-05 08:07 am (UTC)A sequel--well, I hope to get the chance to write one in the near future! ;) I'll have to wait and see how stressful my semester will get, but my brain is already plotting away! ^_^
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Date: 2010-10-05 08:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-05 08:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-05 08:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-05 08:15 am (UTC)*laughs* You've got it! :D To be honest, this idea sort of ran away from me and evolved into a whole universe with warring sea kingdoms, random magic that enables Merlin to breathe underwater, assassins from an enemy kingdom being out to kill Arthur, and Arthur having to go into (reluctant) hiding with Merlin in Ealdor (plus more random magic that temporarily transforms Arthur into a human) while Uther sorts that stuff out, blah blah blah, I could go on like this forever. Bwahaha, surprise rant attack, sorry XD I'm determined to return to this 'verse one day, as you can see :P Thank you for your interest! ♥
YOUR ICON IS AWESOME. XD;;
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Date: 2010-10-05 08:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-05 02:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-05 07:13 pm (UTC)The description of Merlin petting Arthur in apology for panicking and grabbing him too harshly was vivid and sensual and though this ends with that chaste kiss, it feels like there's something stronger building. Nice job.
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Date: 2010-10-05 07:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-05 08:15 pm (UTC)I love merman-AUs and this was adorable <3 I'm like Arthur, I want it to be the next day and Merlin coming back (a.k.a. a sequel, like everyone else wants, muharrr xD). Very well done \0/