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Year two
The snow has settled in as a thick blanket over the forest, muffling light and sounds alike. The skies are light grey, and there’s a white smear where the sun is, far, far above this winter landscape. The only color besides the snow and the sky is the brown of the barren trees, leafless and stark in their nature. There are green pine trees, but those are farther away from Camelot.
There are no animals. All are asleep in their dens, content for the time being. They need not disturb this timeless peace.
The only sound, the only sensation besides the cold that ties this landscape to reality, is the sound of Arthur’s boots crunching in the snow in front of Merlin, who steps gingerly inside the other man’s footprints. They are alone, the sole witnesses to this winter. Both are draped in cloaks and furs, Arthur is a study in golds and reds, Merlin shrouded with greys and blacks and blues.
In an odd way, they balance one another out perfectly in the stark whiteness that is the forest.
The pair has only been out for an hour, the horses are tied back in the meadow. Their cheeks and noses are pink with the chill, breath puffing out in front of them like steam from a kettle.
Arthur stops, turning back slightly to raise an eyebrow at Merlin. Merlin takes the cue and steps in front, effectively taking the lead.
He walks, sure of foot and right of way, through the snow and into the forest. The trees loom up like gargantuan, twisted beings out of a nightmare, trunks in stark contrast with the blindingly muted snow.
They walk for what could have been just a few minutes or an hour, not stopping. The snow thins as they enter the forest, the air clear and crisp.
Finally, they round a corner and it comes into view.
Arthur feels his breath catch in his throat.
In front of them, the world drops away, leaving a view of the unblemished countryside before them, draped in a thick layer of snow. The river curls through like a dropped ribbon, threading through the forests and valleys. The river moves slowly, not yet frozen by the chill. The color of it is different from the rest of the landscape, sort of a grey-green that complements the grey sky perfectly.
Arthur moves to stand beside Merlin, the furs on their shoulders brushing, as they take in the landscape together. Nothing moves. All is quiet.
They do not know how long they stand there at the edge of the world, watching it move at a complete standstill.
“It’s like everything is waiting, isn’t it?” Arthur asks, softly, like he’s afraid to break the peace.
Merlin smiles gently, and laces his gloved fingers with Arthur’s. “Come on,” he says, pulling him away from the cliff. “I have one more thing I want to show you.”
Arthur lets himself be led away from the beauty, and back into the barren forest. Merlin doesn’t take him far, just to a small brook, frozen solid by the cold. They step down onto the shallow banks. He instructs Arthur to kneel in front of it and take off his gloves.
Arthur knows enough to know to follow his advice.
Merlin does likewise, facing the young prince. He holds out his hands, palms up. Arthur carefully places his hands in Merlin’s. The contact, while innocent enough, sends a shiver down Arthur’s spine.
Merlin carefully places Arthur’s hand on the ground, fingertips brushing the edge of the creek. He flattens that hand on top, while rotating his hands so that he and Arthur are palm to palm.
“Now, you feel this…waiting, yes?” he asks.
Arthur nods, feeling his pulse in his fingertips.
“See if you can feel it differently now.” Merlin says, eyes fluttering closed.
Carefully, he sends a tendril of magic to Arthur, just enough to wipe away the mundane fog that clouds the minds of all non-magic people. Arthur gasps as he feels his mind expand, his senses spreading to fill the entire forest.
He feels the waiting, just as strong, but he also feels what’s underneath. He can feel the river, a pulsing, sentient entity, just beyond, he can feel the creek, just a trickle of life, he can feel every single animal in the forest, asleep and sound. He can feel the horses, pressed together for warmth, back in the meadow.
And finally, he can feel Merlin. The boy, scrawny in his cloak and furs, is suddenly god-like. An aura surrounds him, one that is pure, shimmering gold. Arthur looks down and realizes he can see one around himself, one that is scarlet red. It throws him off, and he looks up to see Merlin’s face.
It is one of pure awe, admiration, and love. It throws Arthur off completely, and in his state, he jerks his hands back to himself, sending a shock through his body at the absence of that sense.
He is breathing fast, faster perhaps, than he should be, but Merlin is still looking at him in that way, and Arthur feels like he should ask something, anything. He opens his mouth to say something, what, he doesn’t know, but Merlin senses what he feels and leans forward, cupping his hands on Arthur’s jaw. His hands are warm against the cold of Arthur’s skin.
“Oh, Arthur,” he says, taking on a sadder tone. “it’s like one of those tragic stories; you are so, so magnificent, and you can’t even see it for yourself.”
“Thank you, Merlin.” Arthur says, feeling tears prick at his eyes. “I truly thank you for this experience.” He looks around in splendor at the forest, feeling the echoes of the waiting, and hearing the absolute absence of noise that winter draws in.
Year 5
The knights are back, far fewer than those who left, cloaks stained and torn. Some are leading rider-less horses, while others look forcefully propped in their seats. At the front is Arthur, who, even from a distance, looks pale and worn.
Merlin leaves the window, winding down and through the stone castle, to get to the prince.
Arthur has just dismounted his horse when Merlin slips out of the door and comes hurrying softly through the slush on the courtyard. He has new lines around his mouth and eyes, faint but still there, and Merlin feels something twist in his gut when he sees the carefully blank, hollow look on Arthur’s face.
It was two weeks ago that Uther sent the group to Maeldin to investigate an attack on the townspeople there.
Merlin had expected them to come back shaken, but he didn’t expect anything close to this. Young Owain looks like he’s been crying, and Sir Kay and Sir Bedivere lean heavily on one another, Kay’s leg bandaged and Bedivere’s arm cradled gingerly at his side. They give Merlin a nod and a matching pair of pained, tight smiles as they hobble off, presumably to Gaius.
Merlin gets closer and can see that Arthur had been crying as well. “Arthur,” Merlin breathes, feeling a twinge of hurt for the other man slew through him. He reaches out and grasps Arthur’s arm, and is surprised to see that Arthur’s hands are shaking.
Arthur’s face twists, and some of the ugly truth that he’s seen slips through, and he says, voice rough and almost breaking, “There were so many people, Merlin, that we had to put out of their own misery. Women, children, men, elders, it-“ He chokes, sniffing, and glances away, but Merlin moves closer. “It didn’t even matter, Merlin.” He whispers, eyes flooding with tears. “They would have all died anyway.”
“Oh, Arthur,” Merlin says, surging forward and throwing his arms around Arthur’s neck. Arthur is a little slow, a little hesitant, but he hugs Merlin back, hard, burying his face in the junction between neck and shoulder. Merlin rubs circles into his lower back, petting his hair with his other hand.
Around them, castle life bustles at a snail’s pace. The sky is dark gray and heavy, the promise of an early rain not far off. Arthur’s chest contracts and heaves, sobs wracking his body as he clings to Merlin. Merlin murmurs meaningless words of comfort into his hair, standing tall and firm like the rock he is in Arthur’s storm.
Eventually, Merlin leads Arthur out of the cold, and back to his room, where a hot bath and the privacy to break down wait.
And Merlin knows that he will stay by Arthur’s side the entire time.
Year 6
Merlin and Arthur stand, Merlin’s chin resting on Arthur’s shoulder, bodies pressed together from chest to knee. They watch the odd, segmented party walk out Camelot’s front gate and into the fog. They are silent, ethereal figures, shrouded in mist and furs. Merlin slips his arms around Arthur’s waist, simply hanging there.
“It’s interesting,” he hums, shifting his weight solely on one foot, “how empty the castle already feels.” Arthur hums in agreement, tipping his head so it rests against Merlin’s.
“I’ll miss the troupe.” Merlin continues, enjoying the warmth shared between them.
“So will I.” Arthur agrees, bringing a hand up to affectionately ruffle Merlin’s hair. “It felt different this year, without my father. They left us alone last year, to give us time to grieve, but I’m glad they came back this year.”
Down below, the last figure slips off into the gray, and the castle is left, shrouded, an island among the winter that surrounds them.
After a beat of silence, Arthur admits, “I personally like it when the castle feels empty like this, so long as you’re here, Merlin. Without you it feels truly empty.”
Merlin feels satisfaction curl through his body and he smiles, pressing a kiss to Arthur’s temple.
“The thing is,” Merlin begins, “The castle is never truly empty. There are servants and knights and you and everyone in between.”
Arthur hums, thinking, before voicing his agreement. “You know, you’re more philosophical than you look, Mer.” He says, carding a hand through Merlin’s hair. He turns and wraps his arms around Merlin, simply enjoying the proximity and emotional closeness, as the fog swirls outside, content to sit and watch.
Year 8
“Merlin, Arthur’s here.” Gaius says, gently opening the door to Merlin’s bedroom. Merlin sits on the bed, blanket under one arm, pillow under another. He rises, sending a quick farewell to Gaius, who simply smiles knowingly and shoos him out.
Merlin smiles when he sees Arthur leaning in the doorway, dressed in the white shirt he knows is Merlin’s favorite. He is carrying a blanket as well.
He greets Merlin with a quick hug, even though the last time they saw one another was only four hours earlier.
“Ready?” he asks, holding out his hand. Merlin nods and takes his hand, lacing their fingers together.
Arthur leads him up and up, to the guard post, some 5 stories higher than the tower. It is open to the night sky, which is crisp and clear and filled with stars. In the middle is a blanket and pillows spread out, but Merlin and Arthur have brought more, so they will be plenty warm. They stretch out, huddled together under the blanket.
The first shooting star streaks across the sky minutes later, and after that, Merlin and Arthur take turns pointing out the constellations to one another.
“That one,” says Merlin, pointing to a thin strip of stars, “is the king’s crown.”
Arthur grins wryly at the stars, and points to a small one, at his left. “That is the North Star.” He says. “And if you ever get lost-“
“Just look for it.” Merlin finishes, reciting one of the first things Arthur teaches his new knights.
They grin, happy to simply enjoy one another’s company in their small bubble of peace. It’s been years since the two have met, and they’re more somber and mature than they were, but they’re still the foolhardy warlock and the one-in-a-million king.
Outside, the winter simply watches them, and is content to let them enjoy a hard-earned moment of peace and solitude.