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The first snowfall of the season began unnoticed. Soft, thin flakes fell uninterrupted except by the swirling wind. Camelot lay still beneath a thickening blanket of snow so powder fine it melted against the hard stone of the castle. Candles had long been extinguished and dawn lay far on the horizon, not yet ready to break the peace.
Guinevere stirred. At first, she thought it was possibly the wind rattling the doors, or the dogs waking from their own dreams with low whimper. Her mind caught up with the rest of her when a chill slid up her back where it was exposed to the night air and Arthur's aching wheezes echoed in the silence. She shuddered, clawing at the blankets and sheets that rested in a twisted mess. Only when fully covered did she settle.
Beside her Arthur blazed hotter than any fire. She shuffled closer, burying her frozen nose into his soft, blond hair.
"You're cold," Arthur groused as he emerged from the mound of covers. His arm slipped about her waist and he tucked her half beneath him, wiggling his toes against her bare feet. "Very cold," he muttered. He moved in sluggish bursts, voice drugged by sleep and body lulled by the dying crackle of the previous night's fire.
She stroked her fingers down the side of his face, watching the play of firelight across his brow. She smiled at his curious glance.
"Where's Lancelot?"
A throaty chuckle met her question and she gave a light tug to Arthur's hair in warning. His eyes danced merrily, not in the least repentant. "He's by the window."
Gwen could not come up with a proper retort for that. "What?" She tried to roll away from Arthur but got caught in the sheets.
"Quietly, Guinevere," Arthur whispered, stilling her with a hand to her shoulder as he sat up on the bed, stretching toward the twisted covers to free her feet. "He refused my invitation." Arthur's lips quirked in a wry smile. "He insisted on waiting for 'the Lady' to awaken to give permission, as is proper. Obviously."
"Obviously," Gwen agreed and her cheeks burned hot. She grazed Arthur's cheek with her lips, fleeting affection for everything she never voiced to him. He had taken Lancelot into their bed a month prior, claiming he was tired of both of them fretting, but to this day Guinevere remained unconvinced that he hadn't wanted this as well. She caught the glances exchanged between the two across the breakfast table; she saw the length of time they would spend, heads bent in quiet conversation that never quite seemed to be about anything judging from the snippets she heard.
Merlin's absence was a heavy burden upon the three of them. His disappearance had come at the worst time. The end of the harvest season brought poor news from the outer reaches of the kingdom, and the blow from Merlin’s absence had been especially hard on Arthur. His anxieties manifested in rougher tones taken with his knights and often during the quiet moments when faced with a tough riddle on his own. Even Lancelot had been left at odds on how to distract him and Gwen was more lost than ever for ways to ease him. It was in moments like these, when Arthur’s eyes were warm and tired, that she began to hope he would soon move past it.
"Look at him." Arthur nudged her chin and she twisted on the bed, missing the warm heat of his palm against her skin.
"Is he -? Arthur," Gwen reached back and gripped Arthur by the nightshirt, one hand flying to her mouth in shock. She lowered her voice and glanced back at her husband. "Is he asleep like that?"
"Unless he died."
Gwen blew out a sigh and relaxed her hold on his shirt, rolling her eyes. "Arthur."
"He might freeze yet if we leave him as he is. And now that the lady is awake, perhaps we can resolve this quickly?" By the end, Arthur's words took on an edge of whining. Gwen shook her head, overwhelmed by the horribly endearing way Arthur begged for these things. She bussed his cheek a second time and withdrew from his side, rolling off the bed and hitting the floor with a muffled squeak. The stone was like ice beneath her bare feet and the urge to dive back into the safety and warmth of the bed nearly drove away her good will.
"Is it cold?" Arthur teased from behind her, which she paid no mind to, hugging her arms across her chest as she tip-toed across the bedroom to shut the window and wake Lancelot from his sleep. She startled at the thickening flakes of snow that gathered on the sill and coated the panes. Her breath caught as she watched the storm beyond the window, entranced by the way it would pass swirl past fire-lit windows.
"Arthur, it's snowing," she said, breathless and awed. Carefully, she pushed the window out a scant few lengths to stick her fingers out into the night. Snow weaved between her fingers in a taunting dance meant to lure her out further, but was soon melting away by the heat of her own skin.
Lancelot staggered next to her when he jerked awake at the squeak of the hinges. "Guinevere, what are you doing awake and out of bed?"
He leaned around her to shut the window and she let him, catching his hand and bringing it to her lips before he could withdraw.
"You don't need my permission to join us every night. Not that it isn't nice of you to ask, of course," she added, flustered by Arthur's guffaw and the way Lancelot curled his fingers around hers. "But you really should know by now, we want you here with us, beside us. On top of us. Near us. The bed's a little too big without you in it."
The bed creaked under Arthur's weight as he rolled out and padded across the floor. A flash of pain crossed his face at the first step but soon his gait was as self-assured, if not a little tired, as ever. He slid up behind Lancelot, curling a possessive hand over his hip and pulling him back flush to him. The way Lancelot's eyes widened caused her to giggle and lift a hand to his jaw, rubbing along new stubble.
"Trust us," Arthur murmured in such a way that it sounded like 'trust me'. Gwen brushed her fingers through Lancelot's curling hair and back against Arthur's nose.
"Trust us," she repeated, nuzzling her lips across Lancelot's jaw in the path her fingers had taken. Indecision took Lancelot's normally calm features and made them vulnerable, and she pressed forward, trapping him between her body and Arthur’s.
He softened between them as they guided him back to bed, pushing him into the cooling sheets and smothering him with arms and legs, mouths and words. He wound his arms around her shoulders and kissed the skin where her nightdress fell over her shoulder. She knew they had won this round, and that they would keep fighting until he understood his importance. Only then would they all be able to declare peace.