**The girl's name is Syra, pronounced: Si (like the Spanish way of saying "yes") and rah (rolling the 'r' and saying the –ah like at the end of Sarah). Altogether, it's Si-rah.**

This story isn't only about Merlin/Syra, though that relationship is dominate. (However, there is also Arwen.) There's a A BIT OF SEX at the end of this chapter, but since it's not explicit, I see no reason to have this be anything but rated T. If anyone feels that this gets too mature as the chapters continue (which I highly doubt), feel free to tell me and I'll change it if the reasoning is valid enough.

I'm not entirely sure when this takes place. Definitely season 5 is thrown out, but it's after Arthur and Gwen are married. So… After season 4, before season 5? Yeah, that sounds good. So Arthur is 27 and Merlin is 24 in this.

This will be a reveal story! Hope you all enjoy :)

The image of her jaw that I'm trying to describe can be found on my profile.


A Moonlit Night

The young warlock was facing the lake, his pale skin seemingly glowing in the moonlight. He was watching the waters with such intensity that had it not been for his smile, one would think him to be scared or angry. Cool water lapped at both his bare feet and the rock he was currently standing on while a light breeze danced across his skin, causing the man to shiver ever so slightly. All he had on was plain, brown trousers, rolled up to the knee. On the shore, a blue peasant's shirt was hanging loosely across a tree branch with a pair of worn-out boots placed under. Something red was tied to the tree branch. The man glanced behind him, scouring the shoreline for any sign of life. The waves continued undulating, occasionally covering the rocks which formed a makeshift path between the shoreline and the place in which the man was standing, about a fourth of the way to the center of the lake.

Abrupt laughter caused the man to nearly slip off the already-wet rock. The sound was sharp and sweet, clear as crystal yet confusing; the cachinnation surrounded the man –overpowering his whispered shite form his almost-slip– making him unable to decipher where exactly the person was.

"If you come into the water, you'll be warmer."

Her voice sounded soft and trusting as she sang her promise out to the man. It flowed over him like the finest silk. An overwhelming desire to oblige her wish almost overpowered the all-powerful warlock. However, he knew the voice and he knew its owner, and he wasn't going fall for her seduction. Not this night.

"Oh no you don't!" The man called out sternly. "You are not going to trick me like that again. I'm staying right up here, out of the water."

"Trick you?" A head emerged from the center of the lake, but her voice was as audible as if she were whispering in his ear. "Now why would I want to trick you?" the girl asked, her voice betraying the fact that she knew exactly why she would trick the warlock into the water. She sounded like she would do anything to get the man to enter the lake's beckoning waves.

"You know why, Syra." The man raised an eyebrow, knowing full-well the girl could see his expression.

The head bobbed up and down before disappearing under the surface, reappearing in front of the man seconds later. A young woman of about twenty or twenty-one emerged from the dark waters. Syra. She was pouting; her long, wet ebony hair floated around her, fanning out on the water's surface only added to her innocent effect. The warlock avoided looking directly into Syra's eyes. They were the complete opposite of his own –her irises were so dark they were nearly as black as her pupils– but the man knew he could get lost in them nonetheless. He knew if he looked into Syra's eyes for too long, his resolve would crumble and he'd lower his body into the waters.

(He actually really wanted to get in with her, he really did, but they were on a tight schedule.)

Syra pushed herself up onto a rock a few feet away from the warlock. She put all her weight onto her hands, knowing full-well how it emphasized her breasts. The man studied her, carefully avoiding her chest area. He loved the way she looked, especially in this form. Her skin was like porcelain – she was the only person in the whole kingdom to have skin paler than the warlock's own flesh. Her lips were full and red, always tempting. Syra's face was delicate and innocent; her eyes were always wide, as if she were constantly surprised or in awe. She was beautiful, and to the warlock, she looked perfect.

Of course, Syra wasn't perfect; nothing is ever perfect. There was one tiny flaw that presented itself whenever Syra opened her mouth a little too widely. Her tiny teeth would elongate, growing into a row of sharp, jagged daggers, strong enough to tear the flesh and bone of animals. As Syra's mandible unhinged, her face would become marred; the skin was stretched so tightly across her cheeks, it ripped, only held together by bits of ligaments. Other than that, she was practically perfect. Flawless. She's the perfect lure; always seeming so innocent. However, Syra is far from innocent; she's a predator.

Syra is a siren.

(Well, sort of.)

It was even more obvious when she was in the water. Syra's pupils changed from round to diamond-shaped. The more prominent clue to Syra's inhumanity would be her tail. Whenever water –salt, fresh, or just plain, pure water– touched her skin, Syra would endure a painful process where her legs would fuse together from just above her hipbones down all the way to her toes. That whole section of her body would undergo an enormous molecular change until the human anatomy would become drastically different. (However, after many years –Syra would never say exactly how many years– of transforming, the siren can now shift without so much as a gasp. That didn't mean it still didn't hurt, but she figured out how to ignore and divert the pain.)

The warlock loved watching Syra's tail move. It was long, longer that her legs, and silver, practically camouflaged in the midnight waters. Her tail functioned like that of an octopus tentacle –the man remembered seeing a few octopi from the traveling merchant that passed through Camelot during his first few months there– bending and twisting in any direction Syra choose. At the end of the tail was a flipper. According to Syra, it helped her glide though water at incredible speeds with just a tiny flick of her powerful tail. The flipper was similar to that of a fan that the Ladies of nobility would use as flirtation devices; however, Syra's tail was spikier at the end rather than rounded, and any flirtation would be used with her upper body, not her lower. On her tail were also tiny fins, much like what a regular fish would have. A thin, silver membrane covered her breasts, and only just barely at that. The rest of Syra was bare, and that stirred a lustful want within the man. He tried to swallow, reigning in the raging desire.

Syra wasn't just a siren. No, had she only been a siren, she and the warlock would never have met – or at least, never have met in the circumstances that they did. The fact was, Syra had been cursed by a sorceress (for reasons still frustratingly unknown to the warlock) to have a human form, and, much to Syra's infuriation, she could no longer feast on human flesh without feeling disastrously ill.

The warlock was not-so-secretly very grateful for that part of the curse.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Syra said softly. She licked her red lips and batted her eyelashes in a seductive manner, one that could always work on the warlock. It almost did. Almost.

"We can't stay out here too long," he insisted, avoiding her hypnotizing eyes just in time. It was more difficult to ignore the throbbing in his pants. "We need to get back to the castle before anyone notices we're gone."

"But it's the middle of the night!" Syra protested. "No one is going to miss us."

The man was able to counter her argument easily. "It is the middle of the night, but the villager came to us shortly before sun down. Arthur still might take the knights out to the lake –to this lake– to see if he was right about-"

"The village is on the other side of the lake," Syra mumbled tartly. "There's no reason for them to come over here. The lake is nearly a mile wide, you know."

"But if there's some sort of creature here, Arthur might take the time to walk around to the other side –this side– to see if it's actually in the lake or not." The man paused. "…Is it?" he asked Syra. "Is there some sort of creature here?"

Sighing, Syra sank down until the lake lapped at her chin since it was apparent the man wouldn't take her bait. She muttered again that there was no reason to worry since they were alone, so they could do anything they wanted.

If there was one thing the warlock could change about Syra –not that he would actually tell her– it would be her persistent insistence to be intimate at nearly every second of every day. Not that he really minded all the time of course because he was a man after all and it really was very, very pleasant, but there comes a point when one would rather go for walks or riding or simply talk to each other rather than have constant amazing, fulfilling, intense sex with the love of their lives.

(Actually, that's very much a lie. The reality is that the warlock really hates getting caught in extremely compromising positions by the knights, citizens, and nobles of Camelot. One day, it might be the King himself who finds them and that is not an embarrassment he never wants to experience. Ever.)

Finally Syra answered. "Yes."

"What?" For a moment, the warlock had forgotten the subject of their discussion, his mind straying as he had looked upon the girl, but then, as quickly as he had forgotten, he remembered. "What?!" The man looked around nervously, wondering where exactly the creature was and how safe he and Syra were, especially Syra since she's actually in the water and-

"But I don't know what it is," Syra continued, interrupting the man's nervous mind-rambles. "Whatever it is, I think it can sense me, just like I can sense it. It's staying clear away from me."

"Great," the man groaned. "That's just great. Another thing to worry about."

"Merlin?"

That was not Syra's voice. Yet it sounded familiar. Too familiar. Merlin would always be able to recognize that voice. (He saw Syra submerge fully under the water, most likely swimming as far away as she can so she wouldn't be caught. Too bad Merlin couldn't do the same.) He turned around quickly, to face the man who called his name, but the rocks were too wet and Merlin found himself slipping. With a yelp, he fell into the lake's chilly waters. There was a mind-numbing cold –why couldn't Syra have stayed? she could've warmed up the waters– but then, as the bubbles cleared away, something else made itself known.

A pulse.

No, more like a presence.

Syra was right, Merlin realized. There was something in this lake. It definitely had magical origins (being the one and only warlock certainly had its perks), but was it a creature of the Old Religion, or did someone cast a spell? Curse the village? Enchant the water? Hex some poor sea creature? What was it?

The warlock decided to stay under –just a bit longer, he told himself– to see if he could identify it, or maybe even communicate with it. A few seconds passed, when a sudden shift occurred. As Merlin felt Syra leave the water (most likely to dry herself off), he also felt the presence lurch forward, rushing toward him. He might not know what it was, but Merlin's had far too many experiences with creature's trying to kill him to misunderstand what this presence's intent was.

Merlin tried to move, tried to reach the surface, but he found he was petrified. Confusion (and a small amount of fear) rose up within the warlock. He's never been frightened like this before. Just a second ago, he'd been able to move, but now his body was frozen. Merlin's mind raced, trying to understand what was going on. From the back of his mind, he realized he heard music – which had to have been impossible because he was underwater, but apparently that didn't matter because someone was definitely singing. As he started to realize that he was truly trapped, that the voice was the cause of his immobility, that the presence was about to engulf him, that he was about to…to…have gods-only-know be done to him, just as all that manifested in his mind, Merlin felt two pairs of strong hands wrap around his forearms, yanking him upward, towards the surface.

It was a relief to be able to breathe again.

x~X~x

"Merlin!" Arthur yelled as he saw his manservant fall backwards into the lake. The lake which contained a supposed monster. He didn't resurfaced. Oh gods… Did Merlin even know how to swim?

Feeling his knights close at his heels, Arthur surged forward, hoping that the creature –if it was real that is– didn't get to Merlin first. (He also hoped his friend wouldn't crack his skull. Knowing his clumsy friend, it was an equally-freighting probability.)

Just what was Merlin doing out here anyways? No shirt, no shoes; his pants rolled to his knees. What was Merlin doing? Was he trying to discover the lake creature's existence? Under his breath, Arthur cursed the idiot. He had been there! He heard the man from the village! If there really was something in this lake, Arthur was going to have a long discussion with his manservant about what listening is and how he needs to acquire an important ability called common sense. Even if Merlin wanted to investigate the monster, he shouldn't have done it alone for gods' sake! Arthur would've let him come had he only asked – if only because Merlin was a stubborn man and wouldn't take "No" for an answer. However, since Merlin was a complete dollophead, he decided to come alone to explore a lake that possibly is the home to some monster and to top it all off, it was well-past midnight, but still late enough to be dark, on a full moon. Bad things always tend to happen during a full moon (even if Arthur had no idea as to why they happened on a full moon).

Yes, Arthur was going to have strong words with his idiot friend that may or may not involve shaking some sense into him. Or throwing enough goblets to knock common sense into him. (…Or is that the reason he doesn't have any?)

Reaching the rock path first, Arthur and Gwaine scrambled across, trying to reach Merlin in time without falling into the lake themselves.

Arthur remembered his nursemaid Helena taking him out to this lake during his younger years. This was where he learned to skip rocks and swim (again, Arthur wondered desperately whether or not Merlin knew), and it had always amazed him to see the stone path nature formed. It wasn't a perfect bridge, but there were clusters of rocks here and there, close enough to be able to jump across, to quite a distance into the lake's center, which was what Arthur and Gwaine were doing at that moment; jumping from rock to rock, heading toward the end of the path, where Merlin had slipped.

Without even looking at each other, Arthur and Gwaine squatted down (there wasn't enough room for two grown men to kneel on the rock they were perched on), reached into the water, and pulled out a completely drenched manservant. Using their strength, and the added bonus of adrenalin, the two were able to pull Merlin straight to his feet. Both knights helped steady the tittering and coughing man standing between them.

Arthur, still gripping Merlin's forearm, glanced down at the spot where his friend had just previously been. For a split second, Arthur could've sworn he saw a face glaring at him, but then he blinked at the face was gone. The king's attention was forced away from the water as Merlin's knees began to buckle, causing him to fall backward yet again.

Carefully, Gwaine and Arthur maneuvered back toward the shore whilst keeping Merlin on his feet, which was mainly Arthur's job since he was last in their three-person line. While they were jumping from rock to rock, Merlin managed to stay relatively steady on his feet, but as soon as the trio reached the shore, the manservant collapsed onto his hands and knees. Leon draped a blanket around his trembling shoulders; Gwaine kneeled in front of his friend and placed his hand on Merlin's shoulder. Secretly, Arthur wished he could share in that open affection for his friends –even for his wife– in front of others without hearing his father's voice whispering in his ears about how public displays of emotion, other than anger, are signs of weakness, and if he must show his feelings, it shouldn't be to someone as pitiful as a servant. Arthur really wished he could ignore that voice, but he's heard it for far too long and if he just suddenly stopped, it would be too much. That was why he was kneeling behind Merlin, not offering a reassuring touch, but still using his eyes to detect any sort of injury his friend might have sustained.

"Something," Merlin stammered, "Something was in there…"

…Perhaps Arthur hadn't imagined the face after all. It wasn't a very comforting thought. Arthur watched as Merlin slowly sat back on his shins, wrapping the blanket around him tighter.

"Merlin, mate," Gwaine began, squeezing his shoulder, "What are you doing out here?"

The pale face turned red very quickly, as Merlin swallowed nervously and cast his gaze on anything other than Gwaine (and Arthur and the other knights).

"Oh. Well… Um…"

Arthur rolled his eyes, "Spit it out, Merlin." The king got to his feet and went to stand in front of his (thankfully unharmed) manservant, his arms crossed over his chest.

"I… I was… Going for a midnight swim," Merlin said in a voice that sounded much more like a question than a statement. His eyes kept glancing to one particular are of the forest, but when Arthur looked, nothing was there, only Merlin's boots and neckerchief. He turned back to Merlin, eyebrows arched.

"Oh, you were going for a swim were you?" Arthur asked in his –as Merlin would put it– 'prat' voice with a touch of thank-gods-you're-all-right and a pinch of how-can-you-be-so-stupid?

Merlin nodded.

"Merlin, you were there, weren't you? When the man came telling us about the lake monster?"

"I, um, believe so…sire."

"Then why are you here?" the king asked, exasperated.

"Uh… I thought it was a different lake?"

Arthur gave Merlin a face. It said "Merlin, what am I going to do with you?"

Gwaine, on the other hand, laughed. "Merlin, my friend, you are a rubbish liar."

The man didn't answer, but he did shiver as a breeze blew past.

Noticing his servant's discomfort, Arthur sighed and said, "Alright knights, we might as well head back."

"Head back?" Rion, a younger knight, echoed in confusion. "But we just got here."

"All we were going to do was confirm the creature's existence," the king explained wearily. It was both a blessing and a curse that the village was the closest one to Camelot. "And since Merlin's already done that," Arthur gave a sharp look to his servant, who tried, and failed, to smile innocently, "We might as well go home and get a good night's sleep."

The knights nodded, it had been a long day and they were ready to go to their beds. Without any hint of complaint or protest, they began to veer their weary bodies back to their horses. If Arthur wanted to go back home, where all their warm, comfortable beds lie in wait for them, who were they to argue with their King? They also knew that their King had his own reasons for wanting to return; the reason's name was Gwen.

"Actually…" After a moment's thought, Arthur turned to two of his knights. "Leon and Rion?" Rion stood at rigid attention while Leon simply regarded his king with respectful eyes. "You two stay here and keep an eye out for anything, the rest of us will return around noon," Arthur commanded. Hopefully with a better idea of what to do, he added silently to himself.

Catching his King's eye, Leon nodded in tacit understanding. "I shall try to uncover anything else about this beast while we wait, sire," he promised. Arthur was always thankful for Leon's perceptiveness regarding whatever his King was thinking at the time, always knowing what needed to be done without being ever told.

Satisfied that the problem was (somewhat) resolved for the time being, the King turned his attention back to his knights. He knew he was forgetting something… What was it? Oh, that's right. "Merlin?"

"Hmm?" The servant looked up at Arthur with a guilty expression the king tried to ignore.

"Find your shirt and head back to the castle." The 'we will talk later' went unsaid.

With a nod from their King, the knights walked back to their horses; two riding toward the village, the other four heading back to the castle. Only Gwaine and Arthur remained in the clearing with Merlin, a man both the knights considered a dear friend – though only one would admit to it aloud.

Arthur waited by his horse, wondering what the rugged knight was up to.

"A swim, eh?" Gwaine asked his friend, soft enough so Arthur couldn't hear. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes that made Merlin feel a bit nervous; he had a horrible feeling where his friend was going to take this conversation. "This swim… You weren't really alone, were you Merlin?" Gwaine asked, fully knowing what the answer was.

In answer, Merlin blushed.

Laughing, Gwaine clapped his hand on Merlin's bare shoulder. "I knew it!" Winking, Gwaine said, "Hope my advice helped, mate."

"I- uh, it did. I think. Maybe," Merlin stuttered, avoiding his friend's gaze.

Gwaine stood up, trying to keep his laughter inside of him. "Just be firm Merlin. You're the man; you make the decisions."

"But it's just so hard," Merlin whined. He continued looking stubbornly at the ground. "Whenever she looks at me I just want to do what she says."

"I know exactly what you mean, mate," Gwaine sighed, thinking of a certain barmaid with curly brown hair and soft, warm lips and a bodice that- "Don't worry; you'll get the hang of it. Eventually."

Merlin huffed. "Eventually. Thanks for that bout of confidence." He adjusted the blanket around himself again, trying to keep the cold air out.

A loud and pointed AHEM from Arthur signaled that it was time for the knight to be leaving. Waving at his King, Gwaine looked at his friend one last time. "You really don't have to worry, mate. She's only got eyes for you. Trust me." He ruffled Merlin's hair –the man protested with an indignant 'Hey!' and swatting his friend's hand away– before jogging back toward his horse. As he mounted, Merlin abruptly stood up.

"What do you mean 'trust me'? Gwaine? Gwaine! Answer me!"

But the knight's only answer was silence; whether it was because he hadn't heard or he simply wanted to pester the warlock, Merlin didn't know.

Gwaine's reply to Arthur's confused look was, "It's a long story mate. One involving taverns and barmaids and I'm pretty sure you wouldn't want to hear it."

Arthur didn't answer. After Gwaine's last "long story" involving a tavern and a barmaid, Arthur was positive he didn't want to hear this one. (Really, it would only have one of three endings: Gwaine got into yet another bar fight , Gwaine got laid again, or Gwaine got in a bar fight andgot laid. So really, Arthur already knew how the story could end and he wasn't in the mood to hear it.)

x~X~x

Merlin watched as his two friends rode off towards the castle. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't seething. Trust me. What did that mean? Had Gwaine tried to make a move on Syra? His Syra? It would be just like Gwaine to go after the prettiest girl in Camelot.

"Finally. I thought they'd never leave."

Merlin turned around to find his seething completely evaporated.

Syra was wearing his blue shirt. Syra was only wearing his blue shirt.

The world seemed to freeze as Merlin's eyes raked over Syra's body. She was shorter than Merlin, so the shirt seemed more like a dress – a very short dress, mind you. She was dry and her hair fell completely straight, falling over her shoulders. He longed to brush that ebony hair out of her eyes.

Quickly, Merlin turned away. "We should leave now," he mumbled, his face burning with embarrassment and lust.

A cool hand touched his hot cheek, turning his head to face the opposite direction. Once again, Merlin found himself staring into Syra's dark, doe eyes.

"You're so cute when you're embarrassed," Syra murmured. Bringing his face closer to her own, she began placing light kisses along his jawline.

Merlin made a very intelligent response that sounded something like, "Uh-huh…"

Syra giggled. "Remember a few weeks ago? When Gwaine and that tavern girl walked in, and we were doing this…"

Somehow, Syra managed to bring her lips to Merlin's while at the same time, leading them down to the ground. She was lying on her back, legs wrapped around Merlin's waist, yet somehow, Merlin knew she was the one in charge, even if he was on top. They were kissing and touching and the next thing Merlin knew was that it as morning and he was naked.

Groaning in frustration, Merlin glanced sideways at the peacefully sleeping, also naked, Syra snuggled in his arms. He shook his head.

'Stand your ground, Merlin, mate! You're the man! You only sleep together when you want to!'

If he went according to Gwaine's definition, Merlin was sure that the 'man' in this relationship was certainly not him. He really needs to get better advice.