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Winter solstices in Camelot are very different to the solstice in Ealdor, Merlin can't help but think as he watches the kitchen staff ready for the big feast.
In Camelot, the solstice is celebrated with a hunt the day before, and then a big feast the following day. Plenty of meat, vegetables that have lasted, bread, cheese, and overflowing goblets of wine and mead, fill the Great Hall. It's a boisterous celebration to mark the beginning of the end of winter. It's a time of much, of excess, of plenty for the nobility in Camelot.
It's so different to the solstice in Ealdor. In Ealdor, food stores are running low, most of the game has disappeared for the winter, and the nights are bitterly cold, and dangerous. They lose the most people around these days. The young, the old, the sick. In years when there's snow, it's worse.
In Ealdor, the solstice passes unnoticed, except for a candle in the occasional window most years. If the harvest was particularly good that year, the village may have enough food to put together a small feast. Nothing the size of Camelot's feast, merely a meeting of dishes, of food. They'll light a fire in the centre of the village and gather before it gets cold and dark, but ultimately retire to their homes to sleep, huddled together.
In Camelot, the great hall may be filled till sun-up the next day. The fires will go all night long, keeping the chill at bay.
Despite that, the solstice is the one night Arthur never makes Merlin work. It's the one night he can guarantee having free to himself. He's never been able to figure out why Arthur lets him have off each year. He still remembers the very first time he asked, practically quaking in his boots.
Normally, you couldn't pay Merlin to be scared of Arthur, he's a prat. Being scared for Arthur is a whole other matter, though.
But for some reason, he’d stood outside the servant's entrance to Arthur's chambers that day, unwilling to open the door and step through.
It's just that - normally, when he asks for time off, it's because he's tired, or sick, or he just doesn't bother to ask for time off and leaves anyway. But there are stakes in this. It's not just that he doesn't want to work that night; it's that doing so, will feel like he's - well, betraying his mother and everyone else from Ealdor. Everyone else whose food's been stolen by Kanen, and who will be spending the night cold and hungry. If Merlin's in the great hall, his belly may be empty, but he'll be warm, entertained. And worse than that, he'll be around Uther, and the nobility and everyone else who could never understand what it means to be hungry and cold on the longest night of the year.
So he's nervous.
But that won't get him the night off.
He pushes the door open, and finds Arthur scribbling away at parchment on his desk. Probably the grain reports, judging by the rows of numbers. Either way, it's nothing Merlin has any interest in knowing about.
Merlin stops in front of Arthur's desk, head bowed, in a subservient position he would normally only assume in court, or in public; never in Arthur's chambers. They've always been themselves here.
"Arthur," Merlin starts, unwilling to give let his nerves dictate how he talks to Arthur.
"Merlin," Arthur says, not looking up from his reports.
"Um," he trails off, wishing he'd practised. Maybe that would make this easier, if he had a speech he could recite.
"Spit it out," Arthur says, still not looking up from his reports. Somehow that makes it worse.
"I was hoping I could have the evening of the solstice off," Merlin says all in a rush, blurting it out inelegantly.
Finally, Arthur looks up from his reports, frowning at Merlin. He's searching for something in Merlin, but Merlin's refusing to meet his gaze, his eyes locked firmly on the corner of Arthur's desk. "You're serious about this?" Arthur asks after a long while.
Merlin snaps his head up, not expecting the question or the contemplative tone in Arthur's voice. His brows are pulled together, as he studies Merlin. He feels like Arthur is trying to find something Merlin keeps hidden deep down. Like he's being pulled apart, layer by layer, by Arthur's gaze. It’s unnerving, and Merlin can hold it for a moment, before he has to look away.
"I suppose, yeah," Merlin mumbles.
"Alright," Arthur says. "You've caught me in a giving mood, I suppose I can manage without you for the feast. If I hear you've been up to any trouble, though…" He leaves the end dangling between them.
Merlin finishes the sentence for him. "Stocks?"
With a nod, Arthur had waved him from the room, and that had been that. Every year since, Arthur has given Merlin the night off without needing to ask.
Merlin's in his room, donning his warmest clothes. The thick woolen gloves Arthur had gifted him a couple of years ago, two pairs of trousers, his blue shirt, a little bit newer and thicker than the others, his jacket, neckerchief, and his cloak, before leaving.
Ever since that first year, he's gone to the same place each solstice.
He'd found it wandering through the less-walked corridors of Camelot in the early hours of the afternoon. He'd been looking for a place to curl up for the night, not wanting to sit in his small room, missing his mother.
What he'd hoped for was a fairly large, unlocked room, but what he found instead was so unexpected, he'd had to come back the next day to make sure he hadn't gone a bit barmy in the cold.
A beautiful courtyard, sheltered from the elements on all sides by the walls of the castle, but full of the most wonderful array of plants. Four torches, bathed the garden in a gentle light, each one lit, but there was nobody in sight. He'd never heard any mention of the courtyard before, but here it was. A bench for sitting, under an awning covered in vines. In spring or summer, it would bloom with roses.
Private, and lovely.
Merlin had hesitantly sat down that first night, right in the dirt. His back to one of the walls, close to a door, but hidden behind a bush, so he could make a quick escape if anybody entered.
No one had, though.
Merlin has come back each year, and this year, the first year of Arthur's reign as King, is no different.
After that first year, he had taken to settling under the awning, but behind the bench in the centre of the courtyard. it was always cold, but not unreasonably so. There was no wind, no rain, no snow, no ice. Only the garden, the plants and Merlin.
He settles there now, sitting cross-legged behind the bench, the awning above his head. He'll sit here for the whole night.
It felt like the appropriate thing to do that first time, and since then it has become a tradition. He would sit, close his eyes and think. About the year past, about his mother, about Camelot, about Arthur. He would think about his actions, his place in the world. Who he is as a person, who he wants to be, and who he can never be again.
This year he's quite ready to get into who he is. It's been a tough year full of hard choices, and maybe that means he should pay more attention to them, but certainly not so early in the night. That can be done later.
For now, he sits. He hadn't seen his mother in too long. It had been years, and while their visit wasn't under good circumstances, just being able to see her was enough. To know that she's well, healthy and being looked after. To know that her bonds to the village are still strong, and that they'll watch over her for him.
Merlin's not yet at the point where he'll ask her to join him in Camelot, so he can watch over her, and make sure she's well cared for in her oldest years. He knows she won't come yet. Not Hunith. But soon. In the next few years maybe, if Camelot settles down; if he can convince her to come.
Until then, he'll have to ask for more time off to see her from Arthur. Four years was much too long, even if Camelot has become his home.
He could never go back to Ealdor. Not any more. He's been changed by his experiences in Camelot, his bonds to the people here, his destiny, by magic. Even if it would be simpler there. He could plough fields, plant seeds, cook and clean. He could be the village healer: bandage wounds, treat infections, that sort of thing. Maybe more of the village would live with the knowledge Gaius has given to him. It would be a different life. No less physically demanding, but simpler. Pushed by the seasons, rather than by Arthur, the castle, magic and all its demands.
Thinking of magic, Merlin extends his hands down, into the soil beneath his buttocks. This, he also started in that first year. The very soil he sits upon feels imbued with magic.
The first time he'd come, it had been faint, as if merely a distant memory of magic. But since then, each year, Merlin places his hands down into the soil, and allows his magic to permeate the ground. It spreads out, and as it does, it's like another sense comes to life, and Merlin can feel all the life in it. He'd been floored that first time, learning about all the life within the soil. So small it can't be seen by his eyes, or even Gaius' glass, but here, mingled within his magic, he could feel it.
This year, when he lets his magic sink into the ground, he can feel his own magic. It's not merely a whisper, or a hint, but as if Merlin is part of the soil.
His hands dig deep, and he spreads out, feeling his way past the garden, past the walls surrounding him, until he follows the magic he left in the ground the previous year out to training fields in one direction, and out into the lower town in another. This year he hopes to make it all the way out to the outer walls of Camelot and envelop the whole of the lower town.
As he does, he can feel every life touched by his magic. He can feel the great hall, a light with warmth. Arthur and Gwen's familiar warmth sits together at the head of the table, and he can feel Gaius, Gwaine, Lancelot, Elyan and Percival all arranged at different places across the room. Further away, he can feel the horses in the stables, the dogs in their kennel, the servants filling the kitchens, bustling from place to place. The lower town is no less boisterous. The taverns are full, and each house has at least one light, many of them huddled together.
He uses these lights, to follow his magic ever outward, spreading outwards further and further.
But then something catches his attention.
Movement, heading in the direction of the courtyard, the one he sits in now.
With a quick probe, Merlin realises who it is.
Leon. Coming this way. Turning the corner, possibly drawn to the torches lit on the walls.
"Merlin?" the knight calls, turning the final corner to the courtyard and poking his head around the corner.
Merlin struggles to return to himself. He struggles to open his eyes, say hello, acknowledge Leon in some way. It’s difficult, being so spread out like this, but after a long silent moment, his eyes peel open, and he looks up at Leon, trying not to look like he just got caught stealing from the vaults.
"Hello," Leon says, stepping into the courtyard. "I was never sure, being stuck in the great hall every solstice before this, but I thought this was where you came each year.”
Merlin blinks, still trying to process this abrupt return to his body, while trying to puzzle out what Leon just said, and what he’s doing here. The only conclusion Merlin feels capable of coming to, isn’t one that bears thought, and so instead, he says, “Leon,” as if that adds anything to the conversation, or is a good excuse for his presence in this lonely little courtyard.
With a small smile, Leon steps further into the courtyard, and instead of… something else, he settles down opposite Merlin. “Hello, Merlin,” he repeats, a funny smile on his face.
Merlin blinks. Then he blinks again. Then finally, he manages to say, “How’d you know I was here?”
“The magic,” Leon replies simply, sending ice, colder than anything he’s experienced on these knights, shooting through his veins. If his limbs weren’t frozen together, he’s sure he would’ve scrambled backwards.
Instead, as Merlin’s still grasping for words, Leon continues.
“When I was a boy, still living with my parents on our land, we used to do as you do on the winter solstice. We would huddle in a group, and anyone with even a lick of magic would send it into the ground. I never had any, but my mother… she was so powerful. She used to be able to cover half the castle alone. I could never add anything myself, but I could always feel it.”
As he speaks, Leon’s gaze turns far away. His voice stays light, reminiscent. No hint of scorn or anger colours his tone. Instead, he is calm, measured. Something Merlin expects from the head knight, but never where magic is involved. Never where breaking the law is involved. Merlin’s familiar with Leon’s anger, just as he’s familiar with his other moods.
Leon should be arresting him as he speaks.
“Uther had her killed,” Leon says afterwards, the phrase a matter of fact. He says it without emotion. “I can only remember her as the kindest person I’ve ever met. I had only seen seven winters at that point.”
Finally, Merlin finds his voice. “Why are you telling me this?”
“So you understand why I’m here.”
Mounting his courage, Merlin lifts his eyes, and looks Leon in the eyes directly. He looks back at the first knight, whose pain seems to reflect Merlin’s own. A loss you can only understand if Uther’s purge has touched your life. One that Merlin has seen in Kilgharrah’s eyes, Gaius’, Morgana’s, Morgause’s, Nimueh’s, and in dozens of other sorcerers, druids and those sympathetic.
It’s this more than anything that keeps Merlin from running, or threatening Leon, or panicking, or doing something other than simply asking. “Why now?”
“Because I am free from Uther’s obligations,” Leon smiles sadly. “Uther expected me to be at the Solstice Feast every year I have been at Camelot. He spared my life as a child, and he has never let me forget that. Every solstice, I would feel his eyes on me, watching as I ate, drank and laughed in the hall like all the other knights, aware that for once, I would rather be cold and hungry. Arthur doesn’t hold me to the same standards.”
He doesn’t know how to reply. It’s an extraordinary amount of trust Leon is putting in his hands. He could tell Arthur, he could cast Leon in suspicion. He could kill him.
Merlin can’t find it within himself to betray that trust. Instead, he chooses to return it.
“Why come here tonight then?” Merlin asks. He believes he knows the answer, but he’d like to hear it from Leon’s own lips.
“Because, I would like to sit with you tonight, and feel your magic infuse the land. I would like to feel the prosperity you fill Camelot with.”
Of their own accord, Merlin’s eyes slip shut. In relief? Resignation? He’s not really sure. But he doesn’t open them again. Instead, he simply says, “I would appreciate the company.”
Neither of them speak for the rest of the night. Merlin’s hands stay planted in the soil, and he spreads himself out across Camelot, encircling the entire city, and moving outside of the wards. He can feel in Leon, that tiniest spark of magic; all that is needed for him to feel Merlin’s own magic.
Partway through the night, Leon shifts, but no words are exchanged.
Merlin basks in this feeling. It’s wonderful that Lancelot has known for so long and Gaius has been a great teacher over the years. But neither of them has ever understood in this way. Lancelot’s pain is for Merlin, and his own knowledge of magic is limited. Gaius’ is greater, but he fears too much.
Maybe, over time, Merlin will find out that Leon’s knowledge of magic and rituals is little. That this is all it is. But that’s a thought for the daylight, when the sun beats down on his skin, and he has to deal with returning to the castle proper and all the people and consequences it entails.
For tonight, Merlin basks in the knowledge that someone else shares his secret, and for now, is prepared to keep it safe. Even if it is Leon. The First Knight of Camelot. A man thought to be against magic.
As the first rays of dawn streak across the land, Merlin is filled with hope for the future.