GD

Arthur learnt that ghosts did help expell the effect of wine from the blood. He never returned to his room, yet his mind was cleared off all the merry briskness and he had no trouble standing up and mainting his balance.

Come morning, and he was woken up by Owaine, who'd laugh at him for sleeping on a bench in the hall before hearing the story about the woman.

"You must not tell anybody 'bout it," he insisted as Arthur was following him to the pool. "You've brought enough troubles to the council of Nemeton. The last thing we need is to tell 'em the Cailleach came to one of their rooms."

"The what?"

"The Cailleach," Owaine said, dropping his clothes on the floor before jumping into the pool, happy to dive in the waters that would not cool.

The wine, almost gone, still clouded his vision, but Arthur was sure there was something more than wine that made him look at Owaine's body in the new light. Our hair are of similar colours. And he can have my shoulders in a few years.

"Owaine," Arthur said before he fell into the pool with a loud splash, hurting his belly. "Aren't we brothers somehow?"

"My father is your mother's cousin. What does it makes us?" the lad laughed. "Some cousins twice removed or so? I don't know."

Geoffrey taught me lineage of most houses... And he told most great houses are interrelated.

"Has your father ever shared any... stories about your...origins with you?"

"Shared?" Owaine splashed water on his face; his shoulders were glistening, two mountain peak rising out of the pool. "What could he share, Arthur? He was eight years when it all happened. Doubt he understood what had happened. He was little prince of the Seaside Kingdom, promised to rule after his father, King Reginald. From what my mother whispered into my ear rather carefully in the wagons when nobody could overhear us, I got a notion the story was a bit different..."

"That's the part of the family history I find most interesting," Arthur smiled. "I'd pay a good price to learn what people were telling each other about my father when they were sure nobody would overhear them."

Pink sun of the morning was sewn into the sheets of blue water as Arthur and Owaine were floating, trying to savor the great bath before departing the castle of Nemeton.

"So?" Arthur inquired. "How different was the story?"

"Everything changed after the Battle of Ashes. King Reginald was mad with grief and nobody could understand why. The dragonlords slain by Uther and his priestess were friends of our kingdom, especially prince Darian, but the court was surprised their death provoked such deep emotions with our kingdom. They said it wasn't just grief. Some said he wanted vengeance."

"Vengeance for the slain dragonlords?" Arthur peeked at the wall where the wrath of dragonflames was painted in all the terrible glory these creatures had. "What relations did King Reginald had to the slain dragonlords?"

"I don't know. From what I read in Geoffrey's books, prince Darian was the only dragonlord to travel to Gedref, but those visits looked like official routine, althought Reginald would always welcome him with feasts and hunting trips. Anyway, what really mattered was that Reginald started preparing for war. Harboring plans to kill the Usurper, as he would call your father. Not everybody at court was happy about it."

People are never happy to prepare for war, Arthur thought, writhing as he suddenly felt the red fish try and nubble at his skin down there. And then war catches them unawares and their unhappiness often turns to grief and sorrow.

"Who precisely wasn't happy?"

"Kign's sister Nudda."

"Grandma!" Arthur smiled, remembering the fat old lady with strange sickness that was making veins on her legs turn violet and even purple. She loved to sit in her special chair and eat berries.

"King Reginald's sister misliked the prospects of war. Small wonder. She was married to some rogue merchant, an exiled lord from Nemeth, and war's often bad for trade. Nuda had three children: Agrovaine, Tristan and Ygraine. Nobody knows what exactly happened. One day King Gedref fell out of the window, or so they want us to believe. My father was meant to succeed King Gedref, but instead he was put under guard and it was the king's nephew who climbed the throne."

"Agrovane."

"Agrovane the Unlasting, as he's remembered in Gedref. The main achievement of his reign was marrying his sister Ygraine to Uther. After that marriage, the Seaside Kingdom was no more - we joined Camelot. My father was sent to the castle of Camelot to be fostered at court, and King Gedref's wife somehow fled, although nobody ever found out where to."

"You have more royal blood than me," Arthur said. Will it help Owaine make Gedref rise, though? "Where's Modron?"

"Sleeping. Stewards say he got so drunk he sneaked out of his chambers to bed Lady Datharia's daughter. I call it gibberish. When Modron gets drunk, he can't lift a finger. Doubt he'd be able to lift some other parts."

"You think he will come to bid goodbye to us?"

Surprisingly, he did. Whatever adventures Modron's night encompassed, the heir of Nemeton turned up for the farewell gathering at the gates of Nemeton that were wide open for them. Lady Pellinore had written twenty five letters, all bearing her seal, providing safe conduct for Arthur and his twenty-four guards across Nemeton. She had written three extra letters, too: for the guards at the border with Nemeth, for the King of Nemeth, and a secret one for Arthur to present to King Rodor himself.

Arthur felt he had changed the catle life forever - the celebrations of Modron's unexpected revival would last long. Let's hope Ryence doesn't learn about these celebration before he allows Bors Pellinore to travel home. There's small chance Bors's departure from the castle of Camelot will look suspicious. After all, Bors is believed to have a wife in the castle of Nemeton who must be tearing her own hair from the grief over lost son.

"I wish you good luck and save travel, Arthur Pendragon," Lady Pellinore said, the smile on her face outshining the deep blue bruises beneath her eyes. The justice of your cause is recognized by my house, I promise to you. Once my husband returns to the castle, he will be able to raise banners without asking for the council's leave."

"I thank you for your hospitality again, my lady. And for the feast. And for raising such a brave and dutiful son," Arthur said, and he could swear he noticed Owaine grimace at Modron when he heard "brave and dutiful."

"Whatever my father decides, I shall come to Gedref as soon as possible," Modron whispered into Arthur's ear as the prince came to gift an embrace to his knight-to-be. "With banners or without."

Best come with banners. Modron's breath, spiced with wine and hot on Arthur's ear, as well as the lad's curly black hair reminded of Merlin so much Arthur had to turn away quick and to start marching and ban the visions of that wanton out of his mind for some time.

The circumstances of Arthur's arrival at Nemeton had made him understimate the grandeur of the castle, the prince realized as he was walking along the stone bridge stretched between two mountains. The Lesser Mountain, as they called her, didn't served just as an entrance to the Watching Mountain. The wide road up the Lesser Mountain ran along gentle slopes and housed many a building, villages, stables, markets, smithies - everything Arthur hadn't noticed the night he had come to the castle. At one of the stables, his party climbed horses prepared specially for them, and rode down the road.

From the base of the Lesser Mountain, Owaine and Modron had to take their own roads. Owaine was to ride west, to the castle of Gedref through the city of Burnwood. Arthur was to travel south, to the kingdom of Nemeth through the cities of Mountville and Stoneroad.

As the guards were checking their horses, the saddles, briddles, and the bags piled with food and waterskins, Arthur approached Owaine in the father corner of the stables.

"Tell me about this Cailleach," Arthur was thankful enough Owaine didn't take his story for the gibberish of drunkard.

"She came to Merlin. In the forest of Brechfa. One night, I remember, he tried to fool me and tell he wasn't talking to anybody... Arthur, he's terrible at lying, how could he keep his magic secret for so long?"

He just didn't want to lie to you. If he wanted, you wouldn't be able to tell.

"And what did this Cailleach do to him?"

"Nothing. We would not have had Merlin if the Cailleach had done something to him. She is the Gatekeeper of the Spirit world. She usually comes for the dead."

And who did she come for in Brechfa? Me or Merlin?

"This night, she told me she couldn't have me even though I belonged with the spirit world," Arthur remembered, frowning. "She said there was powerful magic courting me."

"Which means Merlin is alive," Owaine concluded with a smile. "Believe me, Arthur, he is far more capable than you give him credit for."

They parted on promises to meet in Gedref, and Arthur felt strange weekness in his arms when Owaine rode away, accompanied by just five guards.

Arthur's chief guard was a stout man of forty with a florid face and a walrous moustache, a man from the personal guards of Lady Pellinore who went by the name of Sir Illorn. He was the one to keep Arthur company and talk to the prince during their journey south.

They rode through the stirring city of Mountville soon enough. Its building were a lot shorter than in the Lower Town, seldom surpsassing one storey. As a result, it had a lot more streets than the Lower Town, and those streets would sprout in all direction, lacking planning and order, often slithering and writhing like snakes. The whickers of horses from Arthur's party were the only sources of noise in the morning streets, and Arthur was happy to pay attention to what he saw. It was a lot more fun, traveling through Nemeton unbothered and unafraid, under official protection of the Lady of Nemeton herself. Gone was the need to staying well clear of towns and holfasts. Not that there were many towns and holdfasts in the southern Essetir.

Mountville lay at the crossing of river Gethwick and the trade road that connected the marble mines of Isgaard with the merchants of Nemeth.

"There are two guilds in Nemeton," Sir Illorn told him when their horses entered the most curious of all streets, where pleasure houses were situated, with daring images on the doors and walls, the images that make Arthur's senses stir and the guards exchange those jokes. "There are hunters and merchants. Hunters deal with skins, meat, berries, timber... While merchants are busy with trading marble and iron and purchasing southern grain and wine in return. We lack good fields. Forests are everywhere if you take a few steps off the road."

"If you purchase grain from Nemeth, how can you hate them so much?" Arthur tried to make his inquiry sound casual.

"We don't hate them, my lord. We remember. They hate us more. They call us spineless for submitting to the will of Ashkanar, and they call us many other things. Nemetonians do not tolerate such insults."

I bet Nemethians suffer no less insults in return.

The most memorable sight of the city was the bridge over Gethwick: it wasn't exactly a bridge. It was so long and so broad, with buildings rising on both sides of the bridge: shops beyond count, taverns that could house many a guest, inns for poor small folk and rich merchants alike, parlours and, to Arthur's surprise, brothels. The bridge was the only place where building were at least three stories tall.

"They are all here, my lord," Sir Illorn enjoyed Arthur's bewilderment. "It's where merchants reside. Lacemakers and eavers and candlemakers love to trade here. You understand the castle of Nemeton is nothing without candles, right?"

Arthur looked back to glimpse at the Watching Mountain wrapped in the walls and towers of castle of Nemeton. He then preferred to keep his look between the shops, where the broad grey ribbon of Gethwick river shimmered. Mountville must have no less than four thousand people.

"How many villages are there in Nemeton, Sir Illorn?" Arthur asked when they got to the southern part of the bridge, where the street was barely wide enough for two carts to pass side by side.

"Villages? The official count is thirty, my lord."

Thirty-seven. Well, the castle of Camelot has forty-seven villages that bow to the autority of Councilor of Camelot. Good Goddess, Brechfa alone counted ninety-seven villages last year. Ryence has hundred and forty-four villages against thirty in Nemeton. What am I to do with that? Any seasoned commander would've called my rebellion plan a folly. Green dreams at best.

As they strode out of Mountville to follow the trading road, Arthur smiled at the sun nesting in his hair and the wind blowing softly in his face. Merlin is alive. This crone couldn't take me because his magic is working. Yet what if he... Best not think about it. Merlin, if only you could let me know somehow... that you're fine. Please. Arthur wondered how long he'd have to wear the moonstone. He already felt strong, stronger than he could recall in two weeks.

By nightfall they had arrived at Stoneroad - a peculiar city on the border between the Kingdom of Camelot and the Kingdom of Nemeth. There were whole streets that were separated by the borderline, with guards of both kingdoms positioned on both sides, and long lines awaiting those wishing to cross the border - unless they wished to accelerate passage with bribe.

"The Smuggler's city," Sir Illinor told Arthur as they passed through the gates, avoiding inspections due to the letters of Lady Pellinore. "Make no mistake, my lord, half the carpets, mirrors, blankets and lace found in the city got through the border bypassing taxes and duties. If you hope to be king, my lord, please know that the crown and the Councilor of Trade had long been blind to the problem of smugglers."

Father did want to put all smugglers in the kingdom to sword, though. However, when lord Cynric explained to father that his campaign against smugglers would be more costly than the losses we suffered at their hands, the smugglers were left alone.

They found a good inn to spend the night at - Sir Illorn suggested crossing the border in the darkness of the night was stupid. "The night's dark, and we best sleep in the safety of the Nemeton inn, rather than risk being robbed in a Nemethian cesspool." As they were riding the steets, Sir Illorn kept shouting "Make way! Make way for the envoys of Lady Pellinore!" even though the trafic was not too thick.

Roars of merriment greeted them as two dozen men shoved into the inn's common room. It was a rich one, with merchants and members of their household sipping wine at big round wooden table. Some people were still supping, even though the fire in the common room had burned down to embers, and the aroma of pork pies and baked apples was in the air.

Arthur refused his dinner - they had stopped three times on their way to Stoneroad, and he still felt he hadn't washed down the feast. He was escorted to special bedchambers and had two guards positioned at his door.

The room was dark and still, and would've been silent as well had it not been for the faint sighs of wind against the shutters. Arthur fell on the bed, tangling the sheet about him. He had been on the road for so long that he had forgotten what it meant - to sleep in his own bed, beneath his own sheets, with someone special nestling against him. Merlin. They were still to share a bed. They dared not sleep in a single bed in Camelot, for the risk of being caught was too high. And in Hunith's house, we would sleep on the floor. He would nestle against me, though. I'd love to have him nestle against me every night. There's so much I can teach him in bed. He is a nimble little thing with a hungry mouth.

Arthur had an odd feeling. He remembered this place from somewhere, yet the more he tried to recall his last visit to this strange garden, the more it was eluding him.

It is a garden, Arthur thought, as he kept walking along the hedges besieged by flowers. What are these? Why are there so many flowers? But they look like they are not alive. Like they are sleeping.

The whole place felt asleep when Arthur approached the center of the garden, where a massive stone table was sheltered by green hedges on many sides. Nobody else was there, and the blue sky seemed strangely desolate. I shall call my guards. Guards.

Arthur looked around in panic. There are no guards. There's nobody here. It's my dream. It's this crone again, this witch, the keeper of the bloody gates to the spirit world. Arthur didn't feel ashamed for the fright that made his breathing feverish. This is a dream. I am defenseless here.

A dream it was, but a strange one - a dream where Arthur had control over his senses, over the moves he made, and, most importantly, over the things he saw, for he could look wherever he wanted to. If I can move, I will run, Arthur thought, and run he did. Running felt so different - there was no wind, yet it seemed as though the air was resisting Arthur's flight, it seemed he was battling through masses of dense substance, slow as water. But Arthur refused to surrender, refused to subside to the laws of magic he neither understood nor had any wish to understand. All he wanted was to get out of there.

However, every time Arthur reached a spot where the hedge would make a turn left or right, he would appear back at the same place he wanted to flee - at the giant stone table and stone benches. After a couple of unsuccessfull attempts, Arthur took a seat and tried to think. There are means to wake up. What if I try to hold my breath?

Suddenly, he noticed the flowers blossom and shine, and before long, the hedges turned into a storm of red, blue, violet, green and yellow, and the sky were painted with rainbows, multiple rainbows, all emitting striped blissful glow.

"Arthur?"

Arthur's head jerked, and he rose to his feet, taking some steps back. He knew this voice, he would recognize it anywhere and anytime, and as he glanced at the source of this voice, his worst fears came true. Her again. Now instead of taking the form of my father, she tries to look like Merlin. Even sound like him. Without weapons at his disposal, Arthur was ready to fight with his bare hands.

"Arthur!" the witch shouted, approaching hin. "Arthur, it's me!"

She does sound like Merlin. Like my Merlin.

"I know who you are," Arthur assured her, betting against himself in his desire to strangle the crone. "I know what you're capable of. I've seen it!"

"Arthur?" suddenly, the pretender stopped, and Arthur watched his arms shake and his voice change to weak and... "Arthur, is that... is that really you? Like...er... you?"

Goddess.

"Arthur, how did you get into my dream?"

Arthur could smell fear in his own every move. I must not show. Must not look weak. This is a test.

"Your dream? Is that another trick you'll use to kill me?"

"Arthur, I've never tried to kill you," he saw tears float the eyes that looked just like Merlin's. "I love you."

His eyes do look like Merlin's. Merlin always has different colours. They change from grey and pale-satin, and seem dark when he's about to cry. Suddenly, a flock of butterflies flew over Arthur's head, and Arthur noticed their wings had the deep crystal-blue color. Like in the ridge of Ascetir.

"If you're Merlin, tell me one thing," he said, bracing himself. "What is the most humiliating thing I ever made you do?"

"You made me wear that awful hat with feathers! So that I looked like a court fool!" M

He remembers. He knows. Arthur's lips started twitching.

"And what's the best thing I ever done to you?"

"When we were together in the ridges of Ascetir, we made love and after that you told me you that you couldn't just believe that I arrived at the castle by accident. You told me I've landed in your hands because of some design," Merlin said, crying for some reason.

The ridges of Ascetir. The butterfly colors. His eyes. That is Merlin.

"That's really you," Arthur whispered.

"Arthur!"

Arthur ran, and this time, the air was not resisting the moves of his body. It took mere steps and he did what he wanted to do so many times at the training field - to jsut seize Merlin and raise him and whirl him around and watch the most beautiful smile on his face. You're in my arms. You're mine. A pity I can't smell you or feel the soothness of your skin, but I can hold you in my dream. Merlin did shine with some special heat that reached the core of Arthur's being.

"Arthur..."

Arthur put him on the ground, keeping his hands on Merlin's shoulders, and smiling, after five restless days he had spent without his servant. Merlin looked pale, as pale as Modron, who grew up in the castle of caves, or even more, and Arthur could swear Merlin's cheeks were gone and cheekbones were as visible as never before.

"That's you! That's really you. Merlin."

"That's me!"

"My Merlin..."

"Arthur, what are you doing in my dream?!"

"So that's your dream," Arthur wanted to make a laugh. It's his dream. "Small wonder! With rainbows and flowers everywhere... Such a lovesick girl, Merlin, and..."

Merlin pulled him closer and let the kiss start without any invitation, and not that Arthur needed one: he grabbed Merlin by the waist and let himself enjoy what brought most pleasure to him: Merlin trembling in his arms, his lips - a prey to Arthur's lust.

"Arthur, how did you get here?!" Merlin, too, sounded as though he struggled to believe in what was happening.

"How do I know? Who's got magic here, you or me?" Arthur knocked on the tip of Merlin's nose with his index finger. My curious star.

"I was just seeing dreams, I swear!"

"And I just fell asleep in the inn and turned up here!"

"You were in the inn?! What inn?!"

"On my way to Nemeth," Arthur nodded, unable to resist smiling at Merlin's exclamations and sighs. He’s as worried as ever. He never sound more silly than at times when he’s worried.

"Arthur, you're on the way to Nemeth!" Merlin shouted. "You're safe?"

"I hope so. I'm escorted by Nemeton's guards."

"You've reached Nemeton!"

"Yes, I've reached it, although some witch tried to kill me on the way," Arthur said, looking around to make sure the crone wasn't spying on them.

"Witch? What witch?!"

Arthur giggled at Merlin's manner of expressing his excitement. It's all on his face.

"She didn't tell her name. She tried to take the shape of my father and…" Merlin began to shudder when he heard it. "Oh, Merlin, stop shaking, you little deer, the moonstone on my chest roasted her. I tell you I've got to Nemeton and on my way to Kingdom of Nemeth now."

"How did they receive you in Nemeton?"

"Well enough, but they won't rise for me."

"They won't?! Even though Modron is the heir of Nemeton?"

"That's precisely the point. He is the heir," Arthur reminded him, trying to knock on the tip of Merlin's nose once more. "His father is the Lord of Nemeton, and Lord Pellinore is in Camelot now. The castle of Nemeton held the council and they decided they could not raise banners without Lord Pellinore's leave."

"But how are they supposed to have his leave if he's in Camelot? They must ask Modron's opinion in his absence!"

"They must naught, they are bloody lords and ladies. They obey to nobody but their lord, not his heir. Besides, I've allowed myself to say too much, but I was honest. I can't lie to people if I want them to call me king. Unlike you, it seems."

Arthur hated himself for saying this, but this could not wait any longer. Merlin had to know. I will not pretend that everything is fine. Nothing is fine until he hears, until he lets me speak. Suddenly, the flock of butterflies got dispersed by a gust of wind that echoed with chill and fear.

"Me?"

He doesn't even have the courage to admit it now, now that he knows that I know... Arthur knew his blood was making muscles tensed, and he couldn't let his anger roam within him any longer. I'm about to collapse.

"Merlin, I swear, when you get to Gedref I'm going to spank you bloody for lying to me," he said, frowning.

"Where did I lie to you?" Merlin asked innocently; he tried to grab Arthur's hand and wasa afraid to look in Arthur's eyes.

"You said you needed to go to Camelot because of some weapon! Said you were powerful! I know why you went to Camelot! You're dying! You're dying so that I can stay alive! I know about the sunstone and moonstone and that you put it on so that you could save me!"

Arthur was raining fury on Merlin, all the fury he got, the fury for lying mixed with the grief over the worthless death of Uther, the pain from losing three of his knights-to-be and the frustration from being a prince without a crown. The rainbows' colours went bleak and shallow, and the flowers on the green hedges were beginning to wither.

"Arthur, I..."

"Why didn't you tell me?!"

It was only after this question that Arthur was able to regain his breath.

Merlin tried to turn his look away, but Arthur grabbed him by the shoulders and insisted that they look each other in the eyes, no matter what they were afraid to discover in their depths.

"I was afraid you wouldn't approve!" Merlin cried out.

"Approve?! Merlin, you mean so much to me and yet you can't be sincere with me even when I accepted your magic! Why, Merlin, why?!"

Merlin didn't answer. Instead, he let himself cry - and not because Arthur was shouting at him, but because of a flash of remorse in his eyes. He is crying because he knows he's to blame for not telling me the truth. Arthur's heart was hammering in his chest when he saw this Merlin, helpless against his own tears, and looking like the loneliest creature in the wide world.

"Oh, cut it, will you?" there was no more fury in Arthur's tone. He's mine and I will never hurt him. I am to guide him now. Arthur pulled Merlin into an embrace and tried to run his fingers through Merlin's hair. "Merlin, you brave little deer, why d'you always have to put your life at risk for me?"

"Cause I love you. Cause I don't need to live if you're gone."

Arthur was glad Merlin couldn't see his eyes, for he wasn't hure he'd be able to vanquish his own tears. Whatever Merlin said slipped into the depth of Arthur's soul, and now he understood him, understood every move Merlin had made, every time he had put his life at risk for Arthur.

"Stop saying that" he said, stroking Merlin's cheek. "I will die one day, Merlin, though with your help I will be a dreadful old wrinkled cabbage when it happens. You think it's easier for me to imagine the world without you? To imagine what it will be like if you don't find a way to solve this puzzle? To think of the world without you by my side?"

Arthur was happy Merlin wasn't talking; he needed time himself, he didn't want Merlin to see him cry.

"Look at you," Arthur finalyl whispered into Merlin's ear. "You're crying even in the dreamworld. I must not shout at you, I know, but I was furious when I found out..."

"How did you find out?" Merlin murmured.

"Owaine told me."

"Right. I told him to watch over you and to make sure you keep wearing this moonstone."

"Oh, Merlin... My little protective star. What did I do to deserve such a sweet little thing by my side? Stop crying, will you? I command you not to cry! I am your king."

"You're such a dollophead sometimes," Merlin said, laughing.

Their eyes met, and this time, there was no play for either shame or fear in their contact, only affection and an invitation for another kiss. Or something greater.

"I did it to just protect you," Merlin added.

And where would I be without your protection? Next to my father, in a grave.

"And without your courage, I'd be a rotting corpse already, and I appreciate your efforts, but Merlin... My mother died giving birth to me. My father died because of news about me... I don't want to lose you, I wouldn't bear. Silly little sweet overprotective magic star," Athur pressed another kiss on Merlin's cheek, and by the content look of Merlin, he knew the kiss was suggestive enough. "Can I tickle you in the dreamworld?"

"You absolutely can't!" Merlin replied with a sly smile.

"You found a way to solve the riddle?"

"I did. I'm heading to the Perilous Land to meet the Fisher King!"

Bloody hell!

"Perilous Land? Merlin, that's dangerous!"

"I'm having a safer journey than you. So far, no witch tried to kill me. Although I saw Morgause and Morgana."

"What?!"

Morgana is alive and well. I would do well to protect her from Ryence.

"In Greenswood. Morgana recognized me, but I ran away."

"And she?.."

"I don't know where she was going. Probably to the druids. She'll be safe with them. And I'm safe 'cause I'm with Lancelot."

Lancelot? He was supposed to be with Gwaine. How did he come across Lancelot? What does Lancelot want from Merlin?

"I don't like it. I thought you were with Gwaine?"

"Are you jealous even in the dreamworld?"

"Alright. When you come to Gedref, I will not spank you bloody. But I will do unspeakable things to you."

"Like what?" 

Oh, I can't begin to tell you how I yearn you. I will put your mouth to better use than talking.

"I don't know. Throw you in the stocks. And have you in more ways than you dare to imagine," Arthur remembered he had fallen asleep thinking of Merlin nestling against him and things he could teach him in bed and Merlin's hungry mouth. "Goddess, Merlin, you can't imagine how I long to be with you. I'm missing you so much. Your heat and your kisses. The way you moan when I'm inside you. Damn it, Merlin, you think we can fuck in the dreamworld?"

"Arthur," Merlin giggled, but Arthur knew he'd won him. He wants it as badly as I do. "To think that you called me a wanton..."

"You still are," Arthur let his hands grab Merlin's ass. "Merlin, I think I'll be in Gedref in a couple of days. Will you be there, waiting for me?"

"I will," Merlin nodded, and suddenly, Merlin was ablaze with strange glow - as were the sky, the rainbow and the flowers. The light was pouring into the garden. "I think we're waking up..."

Not so soon.

"Damn it, we should've spent more time here! Merlin, I love you!"

Arthur woke up, trying to remember the taste of Merlin's lips.