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The moon’s pull eventually led Merlin to a grave.
The silvery light illuminated the dull, moss-covered stone with an ethereal glow. Obscured by time and nature, the name was illegible, but Merlin placed a hand where he imagined it would be.
It could have been there since the beginning of time, for all Merlin knew, its weather-worn edges sloping down into the undergrowth where it lay. Merlin wondered whose bones rested beneath it, as he traced its outline in the ground with his hand, pushing leaves and debris from its surface.
The moon’s light lapped at him, and Merlin decided to sit. Carefully folding his legs beneath him, he sat at the grave’s foot, peering around into the forest. It was alive with sound: scurrying nocturnal creatures, hooting owls, rustling breezes, a voice.
“You’ve come.”
Merlin whipped round to find the owner of the voice. Standing behind him, a little way off, was a person.
Or rather, a person-shaped creature.
Their hair, long and green, was bobbing about them as it caught the breeze. Also green was their skin, which shimmered - whether from the moonlight or some internal glow, Merlin couldn’t tell. Their face was very feminine, but their body straight and flat, and their feet seemed to be growing from the ground like tree roots.
Almost without looking, Merlin could tell they were as ancient as the forest.
“Who are you?” he asked in a whisper.
The creature took several steps forward, their root-feet dragging the leaf-litter along.
“My name is Sítheach.”
Sítheach reached a hand out towards Merlin, and opened their palm. A flower started to grow from the skin, blooming and withering in a few heartbeats.
“You have magic,” said Merlin.
“Yes. As do you, Emrys.”
Merlin offered his own hand, a small flame dancing between his fingers. Sítheach smiled, their face bright in the firelight.
“How did you know I would be here?” Merlin asked, extinguishing the flame and dropping his hand back to the gravestone.
“The forest whispered it to me. It likes me to know who is here, and with what intentions.”
“What intentions do you sense from me, Sítheach?”
“Curious ones. Do you mind if I join you?”
“Not at all.”
Sítheach sank gracefully to the floor beside Merlin, smoothing their hand over the cold gravestone.
“She was a witch, you know,” Sítheach said, their tone wistful.
Merlin had to tilt his head back to look up at their face. “Is it she who drew me here?”
“Perhaps.”
They sat together in silence for a little while, before Merlin started to feel overcome with the urge to do magic. He began to weave a picture in the air with smoke, which changed colour as the story he was telling in his mind changed direction. Sítheach watched, fascinated.
Then all of a sudden, Sítheach the forest spirit sprang up and started to dance. Leaves swirled about them, the forest joining in in its way.
Merlin laughed aloud at the strangeness of it. He started to clap a rhythm, his smoke vanishing into the moonlit night. Sítheach gestured for him to join them in the dance, and swept up by the moment he scrambled to his feet, almost tripping, and took their hands. The two of them danced madly for what felt like hours. Eventually, birds started to shout the morning’s arrival and Merlin knew he had to leave.
Sítheach’s face creased with sadness, their plump mouth downturned. Merlin apologised.
“I’ll come and seek you another time, if you’ll be around,” he told them.
“I’ll be here when the time is right,” replied Sítheach, stooping to kiss him gently on the forehead. “There is much we have to discuss.”
“I’d love to hear more about you, meet your friends,” said Merlin, as he turned to the path that would take him back to Camelot.
“When the time is right,” was all Sítheach said. “Don’t look back until you reach Camelot.”
And Merlin didn’t dare to.
He slept a short while, until the sun started to peek over the horizon. He wondered if it had been a strange dream, but the ache in his body and the dirt on his feet old him it had been true. He spent the day in a daze, much to King Arthur’s annoyance.
When night fell he knew, without knowing how, that Sítheach would not be waiting for him. It was not the right time.
In fact, it wasn’t until the next full moon that he felt the indescribable tug of magic. The forest, bathed in moonlight, appeared in his mind’s eye and he knew he had to go and meet the spirit again.
His heart pounded, stomach twisted in anticipation as he snuck from Camelot. Instinct led him back to the grave of the long-dead witch, which he’d tried to find in the daylight more than once over the last month with no success.
Sítheach wasn’t waiting for him, and with a pang of disappointment Merlin sat at the foot of the witch’s grave. Using his magic, he started to clean the stone, carefully removing the moss and sweeping leaves away from the edges. He began growing flowers along the stone’s border, in every colour he could manage.
Soon, a rustle nearby alerted him to the fact he was no longer alone.
Quickly he rose to his feet and twisted round, but with another jolt of disappointment, he saw that his visitor wasn’t Sítheach.
It was another forest spirit, who watched Merlin wordlessly. After a long moment, the spirit turned and disappeared into the undergrowth. Merlin frowned at the spot the spirit had occupied, then suddenly jumped back as another figure took their place.
“Sítheach!”
“Emrys, how I’ve missed you,” smiled Sítheach, sweeping forward to embrace him. Merlin kissed them on the cheek. They were even more enchanting than he’d remembered, and for a minute he was lost for words.
It was Sítheach who broke the silence.
“I apologise for my friend. I must have spoken of you a thousand times since the last moon, and they absolutely had to catch a glimpse.”
“Can I meet them?” asked Merlin, blushing a little.
“When the time is right.”
They swayed together in the moonlight for a little while, taking up another spontaneous dance, slower this time.
“I wonder if you could help me,” Merlin said after they drifted to a stop.
“I wonder if I could,” replied Sítheach in their wistful way.
“I was trying to grow flowers around the witch’s grave but I don’t think I’m doing it right.”
He threw a glance at the grave, and Sítheach’s eyes followed. The flowers were starting to wilt already.
“We can fix that. Come.”
They took Merlin by the hand and gently showed him how to make the flowers really take root, and to make a fuller blossom.
When they finished, Merlin and Sítheach sat amongst the flowers and talked. They talked about magic and Merlin’s life in Camelot, a life where magic had to be hidden away and performed in secret.
They talked about destiny and King Arthur, how he really was behind closed doors and how Merlin loved him. They talked about fate and free will, about the pull of the moon, about the forest. They talked about the witch.
Merlin was lost in Sítheach, in their deep green eyes, pale green smile. He didn’t notice the birds calling in the morning. Only when the dawn’s weak light started to penetrate the canopy of the trees did he realise he was late.
Heart thumping, he pressed a quick kiss to Sítheach’s lips, without ceremony or due thought. Then ran out of the forest, not daring to look back. He’d find the forest spirit again when the time was right.
Merlin paused outside of the King’s room to catch his breath, before slipping through the doors as quietly as he could manage. He let out a sigh; Arthur was still asleep, with Guinevere having risen already as she was wont to do.
Throwing open the curtains, he prayed that Arthur wouldn’t notice the sun was higher in the sky than usual.
“Good morning, Sire.”
Arthur groaned and threw an arm over his face. “Why is it so bright?”
“I … I’m a little late, Sire, I apologise.”
To Merlin’s relief, Arthur only grumbled to himself and didn’t press the matter.
Arthur felt a little off all day, having had to rush to his first meeting. He decided to give Merlin a talking to before bed, but when it came round to it he was too tired to bother. Maybe Merlin had slept badly or something. Benefit of the doubt. Just this once.
He fell asleep with Gwen’s head on his chest and thought of it no more.
Until the next full moon, when he happened to be glancing out the window, having been woken by his wife crying out in her sleep. There was Merlin, dashing across the courtyard as though he was leaving Camelot.
“Gwen, I feel the need for a walk. Go back to sleep, I’ll be back before long.”
“Okay, my love,” Guinevere yawned, frowning in puzzlement but knowing better than to try to dissuade her stubborn Arthur.
Arthur threw on a cloak and some boots then rushed down to the woods’ edge to catch up to Merlin.
He didn’t know why he decided on the spot to follow him, and tried to press his thoughts to the back of his mind as he wound through the forest path, following footprints left in the dew.
Where was Merlin going? Why so late? Why on the full moon? Was there magic involved somewhere in this mystery?
Through the trees he could see that he was approaching a clearing, and from here he could hear a voice that was unmistakably Merlin.
Arthur took care not to make any noise as he crept forward until he could see his friend sitting in the clearing.
Merlin wasn’t alone. Beside him, reclining amongst an odd patch of flowers, was someone strange. Their skin was a luminous green, their hair deep and leafy, with slender branch-like limbs. The strange someone was holding out a hand, which was sparkling as a small plant grew from it.
Magic.
Suspicions confirmed, Arthur felt his pulse quicken. He bit his lip and squinted to try to get a better look.
Merlin was holding out his hand now, waving it over the plant that his friend was conjuring. The plant shot up suddenly, blooming a large bright flower that glowed in the faint light from the moon.
Arthur’s heart started to thump. Hard. He had to force himself to swallow, his mouth suddenly dry. He could barely believe what he was seeing.
Throwing their head back in a twinkling laugh, Merlin’s friend balled up their hand, disappearing the flower. Merlin said something Arthur couldn’t hear, then grinned. His friend leant forward and kissed him.
That was enough for Arthur. He didn’t want to see any more, even felt like he didn’t have the right to be looking. Felt like he was intruding. He turned and crept away, and once he could no longer hear voices from the clearing he straightened up and started to run.
He didn’t look back until he reached Camelot.
In the courtyard, by the door to his castle, he paused to catch his breath and gather his thoughts. The scene he’d witnessed played on a loop in his head, and caught on the forest creature leaning over to kiss Merlin.
Then it played again, and again the moment they kissed stuck. In his mind’s eye, the forest creature looked up, pausing in the moment before pressing lips to Merlin’s. Then it played again, this time Merlin turned to lock eyes with Arthur.
Arthur pressed a hand to his forehead, and it came away damp with sweat. He shook himself.
Without being completely aware of where he was, he made his way back to his bedroom, undressed, and climbed into bed.
Guinevere stirred. She turned and wrapped an arm around Arthur’s waist.
“Arthur, you’re shaking,” she murmured, “What’s the matter?”
Arthur hesitated. The scene from the forest flashed through his mind again. Merlin doing magic with a forest spirit. Sitting amongst flowers under the moonlight. Hands stroking a gravestone.
A kiss being pressed to Merlin’s lips.
“Nothing, my love. Maybe I’m coming down with a cold,” Arthur replied after a moment.