A/N: Same AU as yesterday. The first section takes place before "Emrys", all others after.
. . . . .
The first time Arthur saw her, she looked for all the world like the ghost of a drowning victim somehow transported from her pond to one of the city's back alleys. Then again, they were near the docks, and many of the alleys bordered the river. Perhaps she wasn't so far from home after all.
But there was still a chance she was just a pale girl who had taken a dunking and that her dress was in tatters because she was poor and not for any supernatural reasons whatsoever, so Arthur strode forward to help. He could hardly leave her there shivering.
"Arthur," she whispered, and he froze.
"Do I know you?" he asked, already dreading the answer.
"No," she said, and her voice sounded strange, distant and echoing. "But I know Emrys."
That started him forward again automatically, but she stepped back lightly into a puddle of rain water and was gone. A sword clattered down to the cobblestones in her place.
Picking it up was almost certainly a bad idea, but it called to him in ways he couldn't explain.
The moment he touched it, it morphed into a gun, one of those old fancy ones with too many embellishments, but it fit his hand perfectly.
He was never sure what kind of bullets it shot. It killed sidhe assassins and pixie spies like iron, wolves that stalked him through the streets with their glowing eyes as if it held silver, and tattered shadows with reaching hands like the bright light of the sun. It was fortunate it never needed reloading; he wouldn't have known where to begin.
Hesitantly, he showed it to Emrys. Hesitant because he might need to defend himself against the man someday and the weapon was probably his best shot, but necessary, because the weapon was anything but natural, and he wasn't sure what to do.
Emrys had viewed the weapon with radiant delight and demanded to know where he'd found it. The moment he heard of the lady, he was gone in a flash of smoke and shadows.
. . . . .
The second time he saw the lady was after he'd gotten to know Emrys a little better and to trust him more.
The sidhe had animated the very dead to fight against them. Skeletons clattered through the streets, their pale whiteness slowly being obscured in dust, gunpowder, and blood. Only Arthur's gun seemed able to lay them back to rest, and he was hard pressed, his back against a door he'd told the occupants in no uncertain terms to bar. Sparks from the gun fell as he fired it again and again.
A cold hand grabbed his elbow. He whirled and nearly shot before he recognized the lady from before.
"Emrys?" she asked fearfully.
"I don't know!" He'd always been there before but this time, he was nowhere to be found.
The girl disappeared, but not before the stagnant water in the gutters expanded and flared like urban tsunamis, impractical numbers of gallons crashing down on the bones and leaving them scattered.
They started skittering together, desperate to reform, even as Arthur impeded their efforts with well aimed shots. More poured in from neighboring streets, attracted by the magic.
Too many, too many, too many -
A whirlwind of shadows and icy rage filled the center of the street.
Arthur relaxed. Everything would be all right.
And it was, more or less. An undead army stood no chance against Emrys.
A slow, grey dawn eventually replaced the grim night and found the dead quiet once more. It was only then that Arthur realized that Emrys, who had been fighting so furiously not long before, was injured. Dried blood marred one side of his face. He was surprised to see it was the usual, human, tint.
"The skeletons?" he asked.
Emrys smiled. "Your sister. She's not fond of me, I'm afraid. I was . . . delayed. Fortunately, Freya was able to assist us both."
The girl, he realized.
"Is she . . . Like you?"
Emrys smile seemed sad. "There are none like me. Just as there are none like her." He hesitated before apparently reaching a decision. "If ever you are in need of aid, and I cannot come to it, go home to the isle on which you were born and look to the lake. She is the Lady of it. She will help you."
Something in his voice made Arthur tense. "Is that likely?"
Emrys shrugged. "About as likely as you ever remembering my name."
Arthur stared at him in disbelief. "I have never once forgotten your name, Emrys."
"On the contrary," he corrected him, "I can't remember the last time you were in full possession of your faculties and you said it."
He reached out hesitantly as if to grasp Arthur's shoulder, but instead his hand drifted in front of him, and his injuries vanished.
Grey with exhaustion, Emrys saluted him with an ironic smile and disappeared.
. . . . .
The third time he saw her, he was half dragging the man who had single handedly taken out three armies and Arthur's half sister. Unfortunately, he had done it all in one night, and even Emrys had limits. Limits that they couldn't afford with the Queen's stormhounds baying for their blood at their heels.
The lake roiled darkly, and the Lady of it, now more avenging spirit than ghost shrieked an unearthly defiance of their pursuers. Dark tentacles of water pulled the two weary and bloodied men, Emrys only half conscious, into the lake's possessive embrace, even as the stormhounds keened out their own death songs.
Canine bones settled quietly to the lake's bottom. The gun in Arthur's hand seemed to warm as if it recognized the place. The thought was oddly disconnected as Arthur, too, drifted to the bottom, sleepy and warm in his contentment, and vaguely curious as to why.
He awoke in a stone room he didn't recognize, but it seemed to pulse with the reassurance that he was safe. The feeling reminded him of Emrys' magic, but both the fierce protectiveness and the edge of possessiveness were directed elsewhere for once. This magic was cooler, more fluid, water and air instead of fire and shadow.
He slipped out of bed and down the corridor, stopping outside an open door when he heard voices, staying to the side so he could see without being seen.
"Freya," he heard Emrys say hoarsely. "Thank you."
"Don't ever do that to me again," she answered in a hoarse, choked voice.
Emrys flinched. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring trouble to you door - " He sounded vulnerable. Young.
"That's not what I meant, you - you idiot warlock." She threw her arms around him.
He stroked her hair softly, murmuring reassurances. "Sorry, love. I hadn't though Nimueh would get involved. It won't happen again."
"Only because then the universe would get bored," Freya said darkly. "It'll be something worse next time, and you know it."
He kissed her gently. "Arthur's worth it," he told her. "Camelot's worth it."
She kissed him back. "Your worth quite a bit too," she pointed out. "I wish you wouldn't keep forgetting that."
Arthur couldn't help but agree.
