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“Up ahead!”

He spurs his horse onward, his band of knights not far behind. It’s the fifth patrol Arthur Pendragon has led himself since his 18th birthday, and he’s quite proud to be doing it without his father’s men looming over him. The back of his neck is hot under the morning sun, his yellow hair sticking to his forehead as he basks in the freedom he’s been granted.

They ride deeper into the forest, past their borders and down a path long since abandoned to travelers and vagrants. It wouldn’t do for him to stray too far off their mapped route, but his curiosity urged him to take advantage of his father’s generosity and explore while he could.

He slows his horse to a trod, listening closely. His keen ears had picked up on the sound of flowing water somewhere and he knew it couldn’t be much further now.

“There!” Sir Leon shouts.

They ride down a small hill and come upon a tall stone archway in the distance. It’s old and weathered, vines twisting wildly through the stone, as if nature had claimed it for its own. At Arthur’s command the knights urge their stallions across its threshold.

Treading past overgrown grass, they find a meadow adorned with wild flowers, sporadic clusters of mushrooms growing like a natural garnish. The stream they’d been searching for comes into view, nestled comfortably nearby, the water flowing softly. The light is noticeably dimmer here, sheltered from the sun’s swelter by the thick-leaved trees that surround it. They dismount gratefully, sighing in relief at the plentiful shade, a small respite from the high noon sun.

The knights tether the horses, chatting amicably as they begin to unpack. The squires start building a fire as Sir Pellinore and Sir Owen unpack rods for fishing, and Arthur is about to commend their foresight when quite suddenly his senses perk up in warning. He takes stock of their surroundings warily, listening for any telltale sounds of danger, but the forest is eerily quiet.

He dismisses his paranoia with a grimace. It was a beautiful day, he ought not spoil it with unfounded worries. He reaches into his pack for an apple, but the crisp sweetness only makes his thirst more pressing. He relinquishes the rest to Hengroen, taking a long drink from his waterskin. He makes his rounds around their impromptu camp, and by that time the knights have caught several sizable fish, enough to feed their small party.

They cook and eat with gusto, and though an hour has passed, the time can’t be read clearly with the daylight covered as it is. His knights are merry, the air jovial as they regale stories around the fire, but Arthur can’t quite shake his earlier unease. His stomach is sated, but trepidation coils deep in his gut, keeping him on edge.

And there it is again, that sharpness to the air that demands his attention as surely as a pack of wolves.

“Everyone, quiet!” he commands, his men falling silent at his tone.

There is no rustling in the trees, he realizes. No birdsong, no animals underfoot, nor insect to be heard. Even the water seems to have gone still.

“Something is wrong,” Arthur declares.

“An ambush?” Sir Leon guesses, eyes roving the trees for hidden bodies.

“I don’t think so,” Arthur whispers.

The once gentle stream swells, shallow waves crashing threateningly against the shoreline, prompting Arthur to stand up before he knows what he’s doing. His men follow his lead, hands reaching for the hilts of their swords reflexively.

“Arthur Pendragon.”

A phantom voice bellows, sounding near and faraway at once, as if submerged. Its displeasure echoes like a ripple around them.

“Reveal yourself!” Arthur shouts.

It rises before them slowly, seeming to materialize before their very eyes with every inch that breaks the surface of the water. The disarming shape of a male youth is revealed to them, his slender frame belying his commanding aura.

He bears all the marks of something inhuman; his coloring isn’t right, and his limbs are too long, an anomalous imitation of man. His skin is pearly white, eyes blue and iridescent like the scales of a deep sea fish. The hair atop his head is a dark green, akin to the moss that grows atop river rocks far from the sun's warmth. He shimmers like a glamour, and Arthur is distantly reminded of the bedtime stories his wet nurse used to tell him, with fables full of faeries donning human faces.

"You and your men have gorged on that which belongs to me. As if your father's actions haven't begrudged this land enough.”

The booming words seem to snap them all out of a trance, spurring them to brandish their swords.

“You would offer me such insult?” it asks.

The glint in its eyes is telling; if they offend this creature it may very well be the last thing that they do.

Arthur waves their weapons away with an impatient hand, not daring to take his eyes off the man in the water.

“We meant no insult. What is it you seek from us?”

“As Emrys, guardian of this river, I demand tribute for what you dared to take without an offering."

Sir Leon starts digging within his sack, drawing out a bag of coin.

"Your mortal currency holds no value here."

“Then how may we repay you?” Arthur asks, body coiled with tension.

The man finally ventures on to land, shedding the dark water around him like a billowy robe as his feet settle on to the soft grass. He’s entirely unclothed, standing without an ounce of shame at his own nakedness. The sight of his immodesty has heat crawling up Arthur’s neck, prompting a stirring deep in the pit of his stomach.

"You were greedy for the life my river held. Tell me, mortal... do you still hunger?"

Emrys stalks towards him, and Arthur’s loyal knights begin to rush to his side only to drop to the ground where they stand, knocked unconsciousness by a swift motion of the creature’s hand.

“Do you wish to kill me?” Arthur asks tersely.

The man shakes his head in quiet amusement, peering at the prince from behind inky lashes. “There is little to gain from your death, and everything to lose.”

“Then I do humbly request you make your intentions clear. What is it you want from me?”

“I want what is owed to me. I seek the life you can create.”

Cerulean eyes slide down to Arthur’s trousers, his intentions as stark as the desire written upon his face.

“You want me to-“ Arthur can’t find the words, can only stare in astonishment at the request.

“I wish for you to mate with me, young mortal. Wouldn’t you like a chance to foster life, instead of take it?”

“I’ve remained chaste,” Arthur divulges, cheeks gone red even as his body begins to stand at attention.

Afraid to accidentally sire a bastard and bring shame upon himself, he had kept his virginity intact, choosing his hand to the comforts of others.

“Then our joining will be sweeter still.”

"I won't be able to- to mate with you like this,” Arthur argues. He takes in the man’s features, finding himself impossibly attracted despite the obvious lack of femininity.

Emrys smiles, sharp and alluring. "I believe you'll find this form quite generous. Come."

He takes Arthur’s hand, leading him to a cozy patch of grass with a boulder shaped smooth, as if it were meant to be leaned upon.

Emrys settles in the grass, his back to the warm stone. He beckons Arthur with his gaze, spreading his legs before the Prince.

His plump cock is about the same size Arthur’s own was around his 14th year, though his member -like the soft sack beneath it- is free of the coarse hair he’d already grown by that time. But beneath that, astonishingly, are the flowery folds of a female sex.

Heat pools in Arthur’s groin, the sight of the creature's atypical genitals making his arousal climb ever-higher. His breeches are tented obscenely, a blatant display of interest he cannot deny.

“Go on, Arthur. Taste me.”

Arthur falls to his knees without another thought, settling onto his stomach with his face between Emrys’ pale thighs. His tongue slips against smooth lips tentatively, his breath hot against the man’s skin as he willingly breaks his celibacy. His tongue ventures deeper, pressing at the wetness already present at his core. Emrys’ hands slip into his hair, and Arthur can’t help but groan as those hips grind against his mouth wantonly.

A delicate taste hits his tongue, mild and almost briny, opening his appetite for richer indulgences. He laps at the tiny cunt hungrily, alternating between sucking lightly and delving inside the little hole. He’s rewarded with a breathy moan and gush of slick, his cock jumping at the response.

“Come here, little one,” Emrys calls, pulling him up. He draws Arthur’s tunic over his head, nimble fingers unlacing his trousers and freeing his hardness. He strokes him indulgently, and Arthur’s eyes nearly close as he’s touched for the first time. He’d gladly wager his virtue for this touch, fulfilling a primal need he’s denied himself for far too long. But the pleasure of his hand is not to last, for Emrys has more to offer, and Arthur is prepared to give him everything in return.

Incensed by a baser instinct, he pushes Emrys back, strong hands gripping his thighs and holding them apart. Emrys smirks, sharp teeth gleaming as he reaches for Arthur’s shaft, guiding it to his cunt, rosy and slick with anticipation. The spongy head catches on the rim of his hole, and then he’s penetrating the soft flesh, slowly pushing past the resistance he finds there. He sinks in with a groan, the plush heat around him unlike anything he’s ever felt.

His thighs quake as he seats himself deep, feeling Emrys’ arms wrap around his shoulders. He braces himself with an arm to the stone beside the creature’s head, the other hand taking a firm hold of his waist. His mouth drops open as he gives Emrys his first thrust, a lewd sound that makes his face burn. He’s wholly unable to pace himself in his eagerness, swept up in the intensity, the newness of the sensation. He plunges into the small cunt desperately, his cock heavy inside the hot channel of the Emrys’ body. He has no technique to speak of, can only follow his instinct as he ruts into the wet heat.

His eyes open to survey in the man in front of him, skirting down his heaving chest. Emrys seems to glow before him, a visceral energy radiating from his very pores, mingling with Arthur’s own and enticing it to play. He pushes his pale legs up, bends him nearly in half as he plunders that tight place, watching the hole cling to his cock with every pull back.

He gathers the man in his arms, holding him firm as he thrusts harder, deeper, balls tightening in readiness as Emrys clenches around his shaft. The slickness at their joining froths like sea foam as he picks up speed, thrusting with a single-minded, carnal intent.

"Sow your seed inside me."

"Yes," he groans, all the more desperate for it now that it's been said.

"Together we'll ensure life blooms within my waters."

Emrys stretches one arm out to his side, fingers dipping into the water lapping at the shore, somehow closer to them than it was before, as his other hand strokes his own cock.

A few more thrusts and Arthur’s pleasure crests swiftly, knocking the breath out of him. His eyes clamp shut as he spills in great pulses, filling Emrys to the brim with his seed. He can feel it when Emrys follows suit, clamping down on his shaft hard as his body writhes.

Arthur all but collapses on top of him after, unable to think coherently. He can only pant as Emrys brushes his damp hair away from his face.

"You have replenished this sacred place.”

Warmth radiates throughout Arthur’s chest, bringing on a fierce urge to steal a kiss from the fey creature before him. The bow of his lips is enticing, but Arthur isn't sure that such an intimacy would be welcomed, so he settles for leaving hot kisses up his chest and along his neck. Emrys smiles in fond amusement at his affections, and Arthur earnestly hopes he’s endeared himself to him.

"Soon I'll bear the fruits of our labor," Emrys says, voice low and satisfied.

Arthur’s loins stir, his cock twitching at the words, filling slowly. He is young and virile, but he is feverish from more than his own lust. Magic seems to dance and curl around his body, leaving fire in its wake and setting his nerves alight. He grinds his hips against Emrys' body, turgid cock fitting between puffy lips.

“Have you more for me?" Emrys purrs.

He shifts his hips up, Arthur's prick dipping inside him; a single thrust and he's sheathed once more, groaning at the messy fucked-open state of the cunt around him.

He slips out, and before he can push back inside Emrys is crawling languidly to lay on the grass, beckoning Arthur to follow as he settles on to his stomach. He pushes his bottom up happily, the folds of his female sex shiny and deep pink between his legs.

The cleft of his arse is wet from their mating, and Arthur thumbs it curiously, a wicked desire making itself known. He swallows harshly, breathless at the thought.

"Can I take you here?"

Emrys’ back arches enticingly. His expression is smooth save for the slight furrow of his brow, a sign of how hungry he remains.


Arthur pushes his thumb into the hole, dick throbbing at the vice-tight clench of it. He gathers some of his own release dripping from Emrys and pushes it inside his arsehole, fucking it open with his thumb until he deems it pliant enough to take him. He lines his dick up with the hot furl of muscle and presses forward steadily. The hole is almost unyielding, but with a little effort it finally concedes, taking the bulbous head of his cock, and slowly stretching to fit the width of his shaft.

He moves tentatively at first, afraid he might hurt him, but Emrys spreads his legs further in unspoken encouragement, tilting his hips up for deeper penetration. Arthur grips his arse tight, lifting him to meet his every thrust.

His appetite for the man’s body is voracious; he wants to explore every nook, every crevice, dip his fingers into his very core. He’d leave his brand deep inside him, a mark Emrys and he could share, for theirs was a joining beyond flesh, a converging of spirits; the ache of that truth resonated within his very bones.

His heart pounds in his chest as he feels his release drawing nearer. He pushes Emrys down and drapes himself over the long expanse of his back, hips bucking in a frenzy. He’s as wild as an animal, can’t resist biting into the soft skin of Emrys’ shoulder as his hips stutter, ready to spill once more.

"You ought not waste it," Emrys gasps.

He’s loathe to pull out of the tight furnace of his arsehole, but he obliges, lest he displease him. He pulls out just as the first pulse hits him, hastily stuffing himself back into Emrys’ cunt so he can breed him properly.

Impossibly, his release is copious, as if his body had made ready to give Emrys all that he had. His second orgasm is richer than the first, its intensity making his thoughts go blank and his knees go weak as he comes.

He pulls out with a soft noise, gathering Emrys close to him as he lays down by his side. Emrys embraces him as his racing pulse begins to steady, and contentment fills the air around him, the rise and fall of his chest slowly evening out. Arthur opens his eyes, tries to memorize every angle of the lovely face before him. He prays such beauty will always be, as boundless as the sea.

"Arthur Pendragon..."

Emrys strokes the side of his face, the tender touch making his chest seize with happiness, and suddenly the world begins to grow hazy and dreamlike around him. His head starts to spin, vision going blurry as an outside force lulls him towards sleep.

"Should you ever tire of the mortal realm, know that these depths will always welcome you."

The cold, lingering press of wet lips against his own is the last thing he's aware of before his consciousness slips away entirely.


When Arthur finally awakens the land around him is green and vibrant. The sound of the stream flowing drifts to his ears like music, its water gurgling joyfully nearby.

“Are you alright, Sire?”

He runs his fingers through his hair, blinking in confusion as Leon kneels by his side. His mind is fuzzy, disoriented, and he has the feeling that something significant has happened though he cannot seem to recall it. It dances along the edges of his thoughts, just out of reach. And yet somehow, he has no doubt that it is something to be handled delicately, too intimate to be shared. He holds the feeling close to his chest, a secret to be guarded.

“What is it, my Prince?”

Leon’s hand falls to his shoulder, eyes searching, and he wonders if he too can feel the whispers of something arcane lingering in the air.

"Everything is so full of life. Every tree, every leaf, every insect..."

The serenity is almost ethereal, though he’s never felt more grounded in his 18 years; from the soft breeze to the cool soil beneath his feet, he is inexplicably attuned to his surroundings.

"...It's as if the world is vibrating. As if everything is more than itself."

"You feel all that?" Leon asks, eyebrow raised.

Arthur watches the river, in all its beauty and natural splendor.

"Don't you?"