Chapter Text
It was early november in Camelot, and so by all means, not horrendously cold. No, not compared to the later months, say January or Febuary. Not even the knights were allowed to take overnight patrols then, not unless they were sent with piles upon piles of mittens.
So no. It was not frost-bite-fear cold. The down side of November was that it was warm enough in the day to enjoy the idea of galavanting through the woods and sitting by a fire late at night. Unfortunately all meanings of joy disappeared after the sun went down. It was then that the cold sunk in.
Arthur, with his regrettable lack of mittens, was sitting as close to the fire as possible. His hands practically touched the embers while Merlin sat close to him. In fact, though Arthur would never admit it, over an hour or so he had been schooching closer to his manservant, and he had been so very cold that one time Merlin got up to fetch more firewood.
It was just that Merlin was always so warm. Even now as Merlin shivered next to him he still radiated heat, and he definitely didn’t look as miserable as Arthur felt.
“I can’t feel my bones,” Arthur complained while he rubbed his knuckles together, hoping to bring some life back into them.
“Well a hunting trip certainly wasn’t my idea,” Merlin grumbled as he tugged his scarf over the bridge of his nose. A scarf would have been smart. Why hadn’t he told Merlin to pack him a scarf?
“It wasn’t my idea either,” Arthur reminded him sharply, even if he hadn’t exactly protested the plan, “My father wants a deer for the feast.”
“Right, of course, and you volunteered for the hunt,” Merlin huffed, “ It’ll be fine Merlin , You said. Stop being a little girl about it, You said.”
“Yeah Merlin, stop being a little girl about it,” Arthur grumbled, even as he rushed to put his hands back into the fire.
Again Merlin huffed, but this time he kept his mouth shut. Probably trying to conserve any warm air he had left. Unlike Arthur, his teeth weren’t chattering, and a second later he got up again, searching for some sizable rocks he could heat up with the embers.
Arthur didn’t know how Merlin could bear to move around so much. All he wanted to do was curl up into a little ball and dream about his bed. It just wasn’t fair. Merlin was practically skin and bones; for all rightful purposes he should be even colder than Arthur. Even the horses were cold, and they were huddled together with just about half of the packed blankets on top of them.
Merlin plopped back down next to Arthur. He placed three foot sized rocks down close to the fire, practically pushing them into the embers. Then he pulled a half blanket over Arthurs shoulder, the other half over himself.
“Where’d you get this from?” Arthur asked, looking at the material of the blanket. It was brown, and made of a thick fiber he couldn’t identify. It almost looked like it should make a crackling noise.
“I packed a spare.” Merlin said, and offered no other explanation.
“And you left it in the bags the whole time?” Arthur asked, even if he hadn’t thought to pull out his own blankets and use them either. They hadn’t even set up his bed roll yet.
Goddess how he was dreading laying down. Maybe he’d just sit here by the fire though the whole night. Maybe he’d actually just lay in the fire, that would be nice.
The thought had come as a natural sarcasm, to deflect the cold that he was feeling, but somehow Arthur found that he was feeling quite warmer than he had been a minute ago. He supposed that that was probably what blankets were meant to do- that, and Merlin was again pressed close to his side. Speaking of Merlin, his manservant was glaring at him, his lips were pressed together into a thin line.
“Are you even listening to me?” He asked. His voice didn’t sound as mad as his face did, so Arthur just shrugged it off, feeling a bit more lively now that his back was sheltered from the cold.
“Merlin, when do I ever listen to you?” Arthur meant it to be nonchalant, or a note to his nobility perhaps. Merlin seemed to think it was hilarious, and he laughed so hard he almost bent over into the fire.
“It’s hardly that funny, Mer lin,” Arthur said, which only made Merlin laugh harder. When he was finally done he whipped a tear away from his eye. Arthur couldn’t tell if the tear had been real or if Merlin was just being dramatic, but he rolled his eyes regardless. Then he pulled the edge of the blanket tighter around his side. That material really was something else. He couldn’t figure out what it was made from, but it worked wonders.
“Really Merlin, where did you get this blanket from? I’ve never seen a thread like this.”
Merlin stared blankly at him for a second, before his eyes flitted away, and he squinted at the fire.
“...Not sure?” He offered finally, and Athur gave him a deadpan stare.
“You’re not sure. ” He said. Merlin shrugged.
“It was a gift from my mother. She got it from traveling merchants. I didn’t think to ask.” At the end of his sentence Merlin bared his teeth in what could have been a grin, but was too horribly awkward to be anything resembling. Really, if Arthur could think of a better explanation he would think that Merlin was lying. And then it hit him.
“Merlin…” He said, furrowing his brow, “Have you been stealing from Morgana?”
Merlin blinked. And then he blinked again. That was all the answer he needed.
“ Mer lin, is this one of the blankets Lord Benshir sent to her? I can’t believe you, this is more expensive than you yearly pay- and it’s a royal gift! You can’t just snatch it-”
“Morgana said I could!” Merlin protested, “I told Gwen my chambers were cold, and Morgana practically chucked it at me- do you know how many blankets she’s been gifted in the last three weeks alone? She certainly doesn’t need them, and it’s getting better use than it would in a chest somewhere-”
“Alright, Alright fine.” Arthur conceded. “Suppose I am glad it’s here now.”
Merlin let out a sigh of relief, and settled back into a more relaxed position. It wasn’t an entirely false story, it was one that he wished he had thought of three minutes ago when Arthur first asked. What Arthur really didn't need to know was that the real blanket Morgana had shoved on him was laid neatly across his bed back in his chambers.
They stared at the fire again. The silence was again wrapped around them, only this time they weren’t completely freezing their butts off.
Arthur still wasn’t convinced that he wanted to sleep, but Merlin looked up at the moon and sighed.
“I’ll start unrolling the bed rolls,” he said, “we’d better get an early start unless you want to be spending two nights out here.” That was a matter that Arthur readily agreed on. He did not want to spend another night out here. Even if Merlin had smuggled along a royal blanket.
Merlin stood, and Arthur was instantly cold again, even though Merlin left the blanket with him as he stood to unroll the mats and the blankets. He was muttering to himself, and his back was turned to Arthur.
Arthur held his hands close to the fire, savoring the heat before he would have to crawl into his bed, which would undoubtedly be freezing. The fact that Merlin would probably want his blanket back was also sticking heavily into his brain. Arthur could just claim the blanket from himself… but Merlin really was all skin and bones, and he didn’t know if he had the heart.
When Merlin came back into Arthur’s line of sight he was holding strips of fabric which he used to wrap around the rocks he had gathered previously. Arthur turned his head to the side to watch as Merlin shoved the heated rocks into each of their blankets, and belated he noticed that their sleeping mats were practically on top of each other. They were squarely side by side.
It wasn’t unusual for them to sleep next to each other on camping trips, but never that close. But then again, it was also almost never this cold. So. Whatever. At least he would be warm. He realized that Merlin was giving him an odd look, and it hit him that Merlin thought he was going to protest.
“Really Merlin?” He asked as he chucked another log on fire, then he sat and started burying himself under the blankets.
“I’m not moving my bed roll,” Merlin said, crossing his arms.
“No, idiot. Stop glaring at me and get in your bed.”
Merlin blinked, and then for once, he did as he was told and he climbed right in next to Arthur. He only sat up to wrap his blankets carefully at his toes, and to nudge the rocks to the side when they proved a bit too hot to be comfortable. Arthur lay Merlin’s royal blanket over top of their bed and it settled over them like a permanent block against the cold. Arthur pulled the blanket over his head and closed his eyes.
With Merlin so close it was hard to figure out where he should put his arms. Or what to do with his knees. There never seemed to be enough space. And so he slept with one arm bent underneath his pillow, and the other pinned to his side.
It wasn’t perfect, but at least he wasn’t freezing.
----
When Arthur woke up he felt as if he had been asleep for a hundred moons, and for at least three minutes he could not bear to open his eyes, even as the birds around him were loud and singing of the mourning.
There was always that one nest outside of his window in the castle. He told Merlin to get rid of it every year in the spring, and every year Merlin ignored him. Some days it was annoying, but sometimes they made his chambers look a little less lonesome.
Come to think of it though, these were not the chirps of his birds. There were far too many birds. And the sunlight wasn’t right either. He had imagined that he had been on a hunt with Merlin- but there was no imaginable way that he could be this warm, or this comfortable on a hunt. Ever. Especially not in November, when the ground was beginning to freeze, and the air was colder than anything; though not colder than it would be in December. Or January. Alright so it wasn’t as cold as it could get, but it was nowhere near pleasant.
Still, the more awake he was the more sure he was that the hunt hadn’t been a dream, nor the cold of the night, which meant that laying beside him should be Merlin.
Arthur's eyes popped open to find that he was staring at the skin on the back of Merlin’s neck, that his forehead had been resting a gainst Merlin’s neck- and that that one pesky arm he couldn’t figure out what to do with had somehow wound up around Merlins waist.
Good lord he was spooning Merlin.
Merlin.
He was aghast for a moment, and then he blinked, and wondered if he actually cared that much. Obviously when asked he would deflect, or better yet, he and Merlin would never talk about his ever again-
But for the moment-
It was kind of pitiful, honestly, but this was the most comfortable he had felt in ages. He had that thick blanket holding him down on his back, and Merlin breathing softly, and held against him. Even the sleeping mat felt like heaven, which was abismolly wrong because no sleeping mat he’s had had ever even resembled pleasant for a good night’s sleep. And on that note- Arthur couldn’t even remember the last time he had had a good night's sleep.
Merlin’s voice piped into his brain and wondered aloud if that was why he was such an asshole all of the time.
Merlin .
Suddenly Arthur couldn't remember if he had ever been this close to someone for such a long time. He wouldn’t be caught dead cuddling with one of the nights. He obviously couldn’t stay this close to any of the ladies he courted for fear of a scandal.
Merlin was probably the first person he had been close with since… maybe one of his nursemaids? No- Morgana used to sneak into his chambers when she first arrived in camelot. She was afraid of sleeping on her own and she detested all the adults who looked down on her. Sometimes she would crawl into his bed without a word and he would hold her hand.
That hadn’t lasted very long, but it had been nice.
Morgana was always going on about that. She used to read books about grief, or happy living. Things like that. Apparently the average person is supposed to be hugged at least once a day to be happy. When she tried to give Arther a hug he had sneered a pulled away, saying something snide like Well I’m glad to know you’re average then .
He had been such a jerk then. And if hugging people was this nice, he kind of wished he had taken her up on the offer.
Right. This. That was the key word here. This was where he was right now, and he needed to figure out what to do about it. Absently he realized that he had been rubbing loose fabric through his fingers as he thought. And, suddenly mortified, he realized that that fabric had been Merlin's shirt.
It was a good thing Merlin wasn’t awake because he would never let Arthur forget it. And that left another problem. Presumably Merlin was asleep. Otherwise he undoubtedly would have gotten up, to spare himself and Arthur that embarrassment. Which meant that now that Arthur was awake he should really do the same, before Merlin woke up and they were left with an awkward conversation about how Arthur is apparently a snuggler.
Good lord, this wasn’t what he wanted to be doing this morning. (Except that it kind of was- and Arthur really didn’t want to get up. Or unwrap his arms from Merlin.)
Arthur sat up, and slipped out from under the covers. He immediately regretted the decision.
One,
Because he was cold as fuck,
And two, because now Merlin was staring at him with a bleary frown on his face.
“Why’d you move?” He whined, and Arthur felt his mouth go dry. Merlin grumbled, and pressed his palms to his eyes, rubbing away any remaining sleep. Then he squinted at Arthur, and flopped his head back against the pillow.
“Merlin….” Arthur asked after a moment, “how long have you been awake?”
“Longer than you, I’ll bet.” Merlin mumbled, and then said. “Having fun with my shirt, were you?”
“Absolutely not. I was trying to figure out where they could sell such terrible fabric, it’s the worst weaving I’ve ever seen.”
“What’s with you and fabric?”
“Shut up , Merlin . ” Arthur glowered. And then he did something very petty. He tore Merlin’s fancy donated blanket off of the bed, and off of Merlin, to wrap it around his own shoulders while he dug through the packs for breakfast. Merlin let out a yelp of protest and glared at Arthur some more. Arthur ignored him.
Making breakfast would ordinarily be Merlin’s job, but Athur needed to focus on literally anything else. So he dug out their savings, restarted the fire, and warmed up the bread and meat in a pan. Merlin just sat and watched him. He was awake enough to look amused now.
“Well?” Arthur gestured at the food when it was ready. Merlin raised his eyebrow, and looked at the burnt edges.
“You’re a terrible cook, you know,” Merlin said as he took the bread, looking at it suspiciously.
“You put it in a pan, Merlin. And then you cook it. Not my fault your little girl stomach can’t handle the extra flavor.”
“Ah yes. Flavor. That’s definitely what you call char.”
If Arthur had been in a different mood he might have snapped at Merlin, or threatened to send him to the stocks. Maybe, given a very specific mood, he might have laughed. Instead he just rolled his eyes and ate his bread. They packed up shortly thereafter and they set about to go hunting for the day.
They were lucky. Arthur found a stag wandering through the woods, and that alone would be plenty for his fathers feast. Merlin cheered, thankful to spend the night in his own bed rather than in the cold.
Arthur was glad too, of course. For the horses sake, his own, and Merlin’s. But at the same time he almost felt… disappointed.
This was of course the same feeling that he had whenever a camping trip came to an early end, and for absolutely no other reason. Definitely not because he was starting to suspect that he may be just a tiny bit… how would Morgana say it? Touch starved. Yeah. Definitely not that.
And when finally they made it back to the castle, and Merlin waved his final farewell for the night, Arthur definitely didn’t miss him.
He didn’t pay attention to the wide stone walls, which were almost as cold as the forest.
He didn’t think about how his mattress was too big,
Or that his blankets didn’t seem heavy enough.
He didn’t even think at all.
And yet somehow he was up thinking all night.