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The great hall blazed with warmth and light, a stark contrast to the snow falling thick beyond the windows. Camelot's winter banquet was in full swing; nobles laughed too loudly over spiced wine, musicians played cheerful melodies that barely rose above the din, and the long tables groaned under the weight of roasted meats and honeyed pastries.
Merlin stood near the servants' entrance, balancing a pitcher of wine and trying not to get trampled by the revelers. He'd already refilled Lord Agravaine's goblet three times and dodged Lady Vivian's attempts to engage him in conversation about the proper temperature for mulled cider. His feet ached, his formal jacket felt too tight across his shoulders, and all he wanted was to slip away to his chambers and sleep until spring.
A hand closed around his wrist.
"Come with me," Arthur murmured, his voice barely audible above the noise. The prince was dressed in deep crimson and gold, his circlet glinting in the firelight, and there was something bright and mischievous in his eyes that Merlin hadn't seen in weeks.
"Arthur, I'm working—"
"I'm ordering you, then. As your prince." Arthur's lips quirked into that infuriating half-smile that always made Merlin's protests die in his throat.
Before he could argue, Arthur was pulling him through the crowd with practiced ease, nodding at nobles who tried to engage him in conversation but never slowing his pace. They slipped through a side door that led to the lesser corridors, and suddenly the noise of the feast became muffled and distant.
Arthur led them up a narrow staircase Merlin had never noticed before, their footsteps echoing on the stone. Higher and higher they climbed, until Arthur pushed open a heavy wooden door and cold air rushed in to greet them.
They emerged onto one of the castle's smaller towers, a lookout point that offered a sweeping view of Camelot's snow-covered rooftops and the forest beyond. Fresh snow sparkled under the moonlight, and the stars hung close and bright in the clear winter sky.
"Arthur, it's freezing up here," Merlin protested, though he couldn't help but smile at the sight before them. The city looked like something from a fairytale, peaceful and perfect.
"Then you should have worn a warmer jacket." Arthur was already shrugging out of his fur-lined cloak and draping it over Merlin's shoulders before he could protest. The fabric was heavy and warm, and it smelled like Arthur; leather and pine and something uniquely him.
Arthur produced a bottle of wine from seemingly nowhere and two goblets. "I stole these from my father's private reserves," he said, looking far too pleased with himself as he poured. "He won't notice. He's had enough to drink already."
"You brought me up here to steal the king's wine?" Merlin asked, accepting the goblet and trying to ignore how their fingers brushed.
"I brought you up here," Arthur said, suddenly serious, "because I've barely seen you all week. You're always rushing about, doing a hundred tasks for everyone else, and down there..." He gestured vaguely toward the door. "Down there, we can't even talk without someone needing something."
Merlin's chest tightened. Arthur was right; between the preparations for the winter feast, Gaius's increased need for assistance with the seasonal illnesses sweeping through the lower town, and his secret work protecting Arthur from magical threats the prince didn't even know about, they'd hardly exchanged more than a few words in days.
"I know I'm just a servant," Merlin said quietly. "You should be down there, celebrating with—"
"Don't." Arthur's voice was sharp, almost angry. "Don't do that. You're not just anything, Merlin."
They stood in silence for a moment, the snow beginning to fall again in lazy spirals around them.
Arthur raised his goblet. "To surviving another year of putting up with each other?"
Merlin laughed despite himself and raised his own cup. "To your incredible humility and modesty?"
"To your endless cheek and complete inability to follow orders."
They drank, and the wine was rich and sweet, warming Merlin from the inside out. Arthur stepped closer, close enough that Merlin could see the snowflakes catching in his hair, melting on his cheeks.
"I got you something," Arthur said, and now he sounded nervous, which was strange because Arthur was never nervous. He pulled a small bundle from his pocket and held it out.
Merlin unwrapped the cloth to find a pair of fine leather gloves, soft and well-made, lined with wool. They must have cost a small fortune.
"Your hands are always cold," Arthur said, not meeting his eyes. "You're always complaining about it, so I thought—"
"Arthur." Merlin's voice cracked slightly. "Thank you. I didn't get you anything, I—"
"You give me something every day," Arthur interrupted. "Your loyalty. Your friendship. Your honesty, even when I don't want to hear it. Especially then." He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was barely a whisper. "Your presence. That's all I wanted tonight. Just this. Just you."
Merlin looked up and found Arthur watching him with an expression so open, so vulnerable, that it made his breath catch. The prince who wore armor like a second skin, who faced down bandits and beasts without flinching, looked terrified in this moment.
"Arthur," Merlin said again, and it came out like a question, like a prayer.
"Tell me I'm not imagining this," Arthur breathed. "Tell me you feel it too."
Instead of answering with words, Merlin closed the distance between them. He reached up, one hand curling into the front of Arthur's fine jacket, and kissed him.
For a heartbeat, Arthur went perfectly still. Then he was kissing back, his hands coming up to cup Merlin's face with a gentleness that contradicted his warrior's strength. He kissed like he fought; with passion and certainty and complete commitment, and Merlin felt his knees go weak.
They broke apart only when breathing became necessary, foreheads resting together, breath misting white in the cold air between them.
"I've wanted to do that for so long," Arthur confessed, his thumb tracing Merlin's cheekbone. "So long, Merlin. I thought I was going mad."
"You're not mad," Merlin assured him, unable to stop smiling. "Or if you are, then so am I."
Arthur kissed him again, softer this time, sweeter. The snow fell around them, muffling the world, making it feel as though they were the only two people in existence. Down below, the feast continued, but up here in their stolen moment, there was only the two of them, the starlight, and the truth they'd both been too afraid to speak.
When they finally pulled apart, Arthur kept his arms wrapped around Merlin, as if afraid he might disappear. "We should probably go back before someone notices we're both gone."
"Probably," Merlin agreed, but neither of them moved.
"Though if my father asks, you were helping me with urgent princely business."
"Is that what we're calling this?"
Arthur's laugh was warm against his temple. "Very urgent. Extremely princely."
Merlin rolled his eyes, but he was grinning. "You're an idiot."
"Your idiot," Arthur corrected, and kissed him once more before stepping back reluctantly. "Come on. Let's go back before we freeze to death and Gaius gives me a lecture about proper winter safety protocols."
They made their way back down the stairs, hands linked in the darkness where no one could see. Before they reached the door to the great hall, Arthur pulled Merlin into a shadowed alcove for one more kiss, quick and desperate and full of promise.
"Tomorrow?" Arthur asked.
"Tomorrow," Merlin agreed.
They slipped back into the feast separately, playing their roles perfectly; the prince and his servant, nothing more. But when their eyes met across the crowded hall, when Arthur's lips curved in that secret smile meant only for him, Merlin felt warmer than any fire could make him.
The winter holiday might be the season of tradition and duty, but it was also the season of quiet magic, of transformations that happened in the dark, of impossible things becoming real.
And as Merlin watched Arthur laugh at something his father said, catching his eye once more with that look that promised stolen moments and whispered confessions, he thought that perhaps this was the greatest gift of all; not what they'd shared in the past, but everything that lay ahead of them, waiting to be discovered.
Written by a human in Ellipsus.