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“Merlin.” Arthur muttered.
Merlin’s breath paused, and he shuffled around a bit where he lay under the pretext of trying to get comfortable in the snow. Arthur kept his breathing even as if he were still in sleep. The slavers were behind him which meant if he didn’t give it away, they wouldn’t suspect anything...unfortunately, it also meant he couldn’t see them, either. He felt a grim pride when Merlin cracked his eye a sliver to check the huddle around the fire before turning his head so his ear was closer to Arthur’s mouth. Not close enough, as Arthur would have to change his breathing to whisper if he was to be heard, and then the frequent and unpredictable guards would notice neither of them were truly sleeping.
“On me.” Arthur hoped Merlin understood the tactic. He heard a guard stand up from the fire and begin the rounds. Even breaths. Don’t tense. Pray Merlin does the same. He did, and they both remained still until the man was back at the huddle of slavers.
Merlin’s trembling shivers created the perfect cover for his shuffling and snuffling towards Arthur, where his icy hair finally brushed the prince’s cheek.
“Knife. In the belt.” Arthur’s breath ghosted across Merlin’s temple, the words no more than an exhale.
There was the slightest nod that could be mistaken for a shiver. Arthur checked his steady breathing and cracked an eye open to take in his huddled servant. Merlin wasn’t faking the shivers, and the ear that Arthur could see was darkening slightly with the frost.
“Here. Share heat.” To be fair, chainmail wasn’t any warmer than the icy tundra they lay on, but Merlin only hesitated for a moment before curling into himself and towards Arthur, pressing his legs to Arthur’s woolen-trousered ones and his face nearly into Arthur’s neck. Arthur pressed their arms together and had barely to whisper “hand” for Merlin to tuck his bound fists, shaking and concerningly white, into the cuff of Arthur’s gambeson. There was a commotion behind them, at the fire, and Merlin’s freezing fingers tensed briefly around Arthur’s wrist. At least, Merlin thought distantly, he had had the foresight to cut Arthur’s under tunic for hand wraps when he did, or they both would’ve frozen fingers off.
“Knife...?”
Arthur almost missed the prompt, he was straining for any sign of another guard. But the shaky whisper brought him back to the plan.
“If I fall over,” one exhale. Slow inhale. “I’ll get the knife,” in the next breath out. Slow inhale, keep up the pretense. “undo the rope.”
“Arthur...” Merlin’s exhale this time. He breathed in, following Arthur’s lead, and Arthur felt a grim sort of gratitude for the extra training he had had as a prince, that position an awful thin line between powerful and vulnerable when abduction was nearly inevitable at some point in his life. Ironic that it had only come now he was king.
“I’ll fall in- not you.” Another inhale. Instead? In your place? “He’ll - you.” Kill you. Arthur’s own inhale had a slight hitch of pride as Merlin avoided the more audible “k” and “s” sounds in his few words. Then the actual words caught up.
“No.” Arthur’s next exhale. Inhale. “I will. Final.”
A bigger commotion and two shadows showed up on the snow over Merlin’s shoulder. Fighting all instincts, Arthur shut his eyes and relaxed his face. He felt Merlin’s fingers go limp around his wrist as the servant followed his lead again, trusting.
“Arthur?” The guards were gone, not wanting to linger overlong away from the fire.
“Then you pull,” Breathe in. “The...” boxes, bags “Load off.” Breathe in. “Hit them. Run.” Breathe in.
Breathe out. Breathe in...
Merlin slipped his now-warm hands from Arthur’s sleeve and slowly, with each inhale, moved them up his wrists to cover the rag-bound hands, giving back the same heat. Arthur had trained to withstand the harshest temperatures, to keep secrets under torture, and to endure complete isolation, but in this moment at least, he offered up a prayer of thanks to whatever deity had given him this particular companion for the icy desert. He tried to move his fingers in what he hoped was a comforting squeeze, but couldn't feel them quite yet. Merlin gave a tiny sigh and shifted so his hair was under his cheek on the snowy ground and Arthur opened his eyes the tiniest bit to check his servant wasn't going to actually freeze to death before morning.
"I'm alright, Arthur."
They stayed curled close, sharing heat while Arthur's mind worked on what weapons they would need from the carts, and Merlin blew his warm breath softly on their trembling cold hands with every exhale.