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Arthur hated the Winter Solstice because it was a cold, cursed day that heralded tragedy. His father had hated it too, and said it was a magical day. While Arthur no longer scorned magic in his kingdom, thanks to his lovely court sorcerer, he still loathed the Winter Solstice like an old habit. Freezing, and the darkest day of the year, Arthur usually found himself feeling trapped in his castle walls. Surrounded by cold memories, haunted by old ghosts.
Merlin hated the Winter Solstice because it was his birthday. Moving to Camelot as a young man, he’d learned quickly that he was resolutely not permitted to celebrate, certainly not publicly. Uther believed children born on the Solstice were touched by witchcraft—which, in Merlin’s case, was far too true. Even now though, years after Uther’s death and a year into being Camelot’s court sorcerer, Merlin still could not observe the day, because Arthur hated it just as much.
Merlin lost little sleep over it. True, a selfish piece of his heart wanted to hear Name Day salutations, maybe celebrate with friends, but after a while, Merlin had grown used to it. Some years, the Winter Solstice came around and Merlin would completely forget that the frigid day had any significance.
Everyone knew to avoid the king on the Solstice, for he would be angry and irritable. It was typically the day of the year that Arthur was at his most prattish, which stung like a slap to Merlin, who was forced to weather the king’s inclement mood. It was an unspoken law, especially among the residents of the castle, that no one was to be happy on the Winter Solstice since the king couldn’t be.
Even so, every year on his Name Day, Merlin would blow out a candle and make a wish. Usually, he’d wish for Arthur to stay safe, happy, and alive for one more year.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Merlin kept his birthday a secret for a decade, which was not an easy task. But it was actually a hot, humid evening when he was found out, far closer to the Summer Solstice than Merlin’s Name Day. Merlin, the knights, and Arthur, sat around a clearing, enjoying a day in the woods, a brief respite from castle woes and court sorcerer duties.
It was Gwaine’s fault, of course, that the subject was breached. “I’m telling you all,” he’d said some time into their night spent by a fire, “we should do this more often!”
Arthur snorted. “What, skive off work? I disagree.”
Gwaine shook his head. “Hear me out! Next time we need a break–”
“That would probably be tomorrow, for you.”
“Shut up, Elyan! Next time we need a break, we should just lock ourselves in the wine cellars.”
The group laughed, and Gwaine sputtered to defend his idea. Merlin patted his arm sympathetically, and said, “maybe for your birthday, Gwaine.”
The group howled with laughter at this, enjoying their shared pastime of making fun of Gwaine’s drinking. But Merlin was now stock still next to his friend, realizing what he’d just said. Please don't think about it, he mentally pleaded with Gwaine as the group continued to laugh. The knight was laughing too, but there was a pinch in his eyebrows. It was creeping up on him, Merlin could tell.
He was usually so careful. Keeping one’s birthday a secret is easy for a year or two, but the longer Merlin knew people, the harder it became to avoid scenarios where they discussed Name Day plans. Merlin was, ironically, very good at throwing Name Day parties, so the threat of it being turned around on him was constant.
Then, after many years of successful birthday subterfuge, the problem became less about his Name Day coming up in conversation, and more about keeping his friends from realizing they'd never actually celebrated it.
Merlin had been clever. Whenever he could see that it was dawning on someone, he was quick to distract them immediately with dire news. It always worked—even if Merlin had to make up some stuff and send knights on one or two wild goose chases for a faux creature-of-the-week.
But when Gwaine heard the word "birthday" leave Merlin's mouth, he knew it was over. Just the one tiny trigger had set the realization in motion, and now it was happening in front of everyone. Merlin considered, just briefly, using his magic to make it pour rain, or project a monstrous screech from the woods–
“Merlin, I've just realized something.”
The words he loathed to hear. Merlin was already grimacing as Gwaine went on, oblivious and still drawing everyone else's attention. “I am a horrible mate! I've never once celebrated your birthday!”
There it was. At last, Merlin had to enact the second plan he'd prepared in contingency. Everyone was staring now, each of them appalled. They'd realized simultaneously that they all had the same experience, and that based on wordless communication, none of them knew Merlin's Name Day. This was the worst case scenario.
“That's not your fault,” Merlin tried to sound casual, keeping the tension at bay. “I don't have one.”
Gwaine rolled his eyes. He hadn't looked away from Merlin all this time, and was the only one not to see the gravity of the situation. “Of course you have one! You're alive, aren't you?”
“We didn't keep track of dates in Ealdor. Hardly anyone was learned in my village.”
Gwaine looked at him, pondering it, and Merlin began to unclench his shoulders as it seemed the knights and Arthur settled down at this. But then Gwaine, stubborn man he is, said, “that's not true. You have a Name Day, I know you have a Name Day. A long time ago, the tavernkeep told me the only time he'd ever seen you drink was on your twentieth birthday. I didn't think much about it until now.” The knight leaned forward, curious and a little offended. “Why don't you want to tell me your birthday?”
The group had a renewed suspicion now, and Merlin struggled to find a good answer. Damn that tavernkeep, and Merlin's own drunken mouth!
“What does it matter? I hardly ever celebrate it, and it’s always cold, so I might as well not have one,” Merlin tried once more to brush it off. “You know, Gwen’s Name Day is actually next–”
“You’re changing the subject!” Gwaine sounded appalled. Finally, he turned to the other knights, looking for backup. “Do any of you know Merlin’s birthday?”
The silence that came over the group was uncomfortable, and Merlin’s eyes became glued to his boots. No one could say they knew, and Gwaine was left speechless by that revelation, and Merlin just knew he had to cut it off.
Standing abruptly, Merlin announced he was going to get more firewood. Considering his magic, they all knew it was a flimsy excuse, but no one protested when Merlin marched into the woods.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
No one brought Merlin’s birthday up again, and stupidly, the warlock assumed they’d forgotten. Or maybe chosen to respect his wishes, though that was less likely. The year passed in a blur, and Merlin forgot all about that summer evening in the woods.
By the time winter rolled around, Merlin’s position as court sorcerer seemed to be best utilized when the weather grew cold. He had spells to protect crops, keep warmth in the castle’s usually cold halls, and use his magic to clear away snowfall on the roads and paths.
When Merlin’s birthday arrived, he hardly noticed. It was past the turning of midnight and officially the Solstice when he re-entered the castle, shaking the snow from his cape. It had been a grueling night and all he wanted was to get some sleep.
He had promised Arthur that he would check in when he returned, but considering the late hour, he wasn’t sure it was a good idea. Sighing, he figured he would lightly knock on the king’s door, as to not disturb him if he was asleep.
Merlin nodded to the guards on either side of Arthur’s chambers, who perked up when they saw him. “Is he sleeping?” Merlin whispered.
“No, he’s been waiting for you,” replied one guard. Merlin groaned. Arthur would, no doubt, blame his lack of sleep on Merlin’s tardiness even though he was a grown man who could have just gone to bed.
So Merlin pushed his way in as usual, waiting to be reamed out for the late hour. What he saw, however, made his jaw drop.
There was a veritable feast on the table, candles lit all around, and even a bath that had likely gone cold. Merlin’s face was pinched as he examined it all—had Arthur summoned all of this hours ago? And not touched it?
“Arthur?” Merlin spoke, waking the king who had been nodding off at his desk.
“Merlin! You’re back!”
“Uh, yes. Sorry, I didn’t want to bother you so late, but you said you wanted–”
Arthur stood up, somewhat nervous. “I did! I do. I . . . I figured that you wouldn’t be back until pretty late. The night has officially passed into the Winter Solstice.”
Merlin jumped. “The Solstice? Today?” he remarked, his mind going a mile a minute. It was less about his birthday, and more about preparing for Arthur’s foul mood. Except, it was technically the Solstice right now, and Arthur seemed in surprisingly high spirits for the middle of the night on his least favorite day of the year.
“Yes,” Arthur replied awkwardly, hands restless in front of him.
Merlin, for lack of anything better to say, decided on, “I’m sorry, Arthur. I’ll see to it you’re not disturbed tomorrow.”
“No! I mean . . .” Arthur struggled to find the words, before sighing in defeat. “Merlin, I owe you an apology.”
Merlin quirked an eyebrow. That couldn’t be good. “What did you do? I swear to the Goddess, Arthur, if you annoyed George into quitting again–”
“No! At least, I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so?!”
Arthur threw his hands in the air, exasperated. “It’s your birthday!”
Merlin was rendered speechless. While yes, it was indeed his birthday, Arthur had never acknowledged as such. In fact, it was so surprising that Merlin narrowed his eyes at him. “What did you do, write my mother?!”
Arthur sighed and sat on the edge of his bed in a defeated manner. “I figured it out on my own,” he defended. “Do you remember a night this past summer where Gwaine figured out that none of us knew when your Name Day was?” Merlin nodded. “Well, you gave us a couple of hints. You said it was cold, and you said that hardly anyone in your village kept dates. It made me think about what days your mother would be able to remember, so I knew it had to be Yule or the Winter Solstice.” Merlin opened his mouth to interrupt, but Arthur held up a hand to stop him. “Then, I thought about it. What day would you want to keep a secret? I saw no reason for it to be Yule, but the Solstice . . . well, my father hated it. No one was allowed to celebrate. I hated it.”
“But I understand,” Merlin hurried to interject. “It’s just a day; my birthday doesn’t mean anything.”
Arthur let out a wounded noise. “It does. It means something. It means a lot.”
Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose. “To who? Look, Arthur, it’s very considerate of you to celebrate my birthday, but I never wanted you to feel like you have to.” He glanced down at his feet, suddenly shy. “I know how the Solstice is for you, and you don’t have to change that.”
“But I do,” Arthur insisted, something desperate in his voice that drew Merlin’s gaze again. “I have to. I want to. I hated the Winter Solstice, yes, but that was partially because there was nothing worth celebrating. Now there is.”
Merlin looked into Arthur’s eyes, searching for a lie or a trick. But Arthur seemed far more vulnerable than he was oft seen. Though he’d imagined a scenario where his friends would want to celebrate his Name Day, he’d always thought Arthur would be the exception. Yet here he was, heart on his sleeve, something pleading in his eyes.
And who was Merlin to deny him anything?
“So, all of this is for me?” he asked, his way of admitting defeat.
It was worth it, as Arthur’s face lit up, jumping back up from the bed. “Yes! I thought that we could make up for missing your birthday by celebrating it all day—midnight to midnight, you know.”
Merlin felt his face heat as he really took it all in. This gift—the bath, the food, the candles, all in Arthur’s room—felt intimate. And it was implied to just be the beginning. “Well, uh, this is a lot. Thank you, really,” he made sure to add at the end, just so Arthur didn’t mistake his awkwardness for a lack of gratitude.
Arthur had gone a bit pink too, which made Merlin feel a little better. “Well . . . I wanted to make up for the fact that we haven’t celebrated in ten years. So this is just the start.”
Unsure what else to say, Merlin silently sat at the table, looking at the feast before him. Then he looked up at Arthur. “Have you eaten?”
Arthur shook his head, a bit eagerly, and sat opposite Merlin. “I was waiting for you.”
Merlin waved a hand over the table, and the food began to steam again. Arthur stood once more, but this time it was just so he could pour wine from the pitcher into their goblets. When Arthur went to put the pitcher down, Merlin darted out a hand to touch Arthur’s own. “I mean it, Arthur. Thank you.”
The king was red as a tomato when he sat back down, which Merlin graciously did not comment on.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It was the best birthday of Merlin’s life. Granted, it was one of the few birthdays he’d really had, but it beat out drinking himself to sleep in the tavern for his twentieth, certainly!
After the food, Merlin had reheated the bath, and he and Arthur spent the rest of the very late night talking. They talked while he bathed, when he dried off, and then in front of the fire until they dozed off.
When Merlin woke the next morning, he expected his back to hurt from sleeping on the floor, but sometime in the night their positions had changed. Instead of slipping off the armchair like he’d expected, he and Arthur were sleeping in the center of the rug. While the rug was nice, what was nicer was his pillow that was the king’s chest. Merlin had his arm slung across Arthur’s stomach, and his leg draped over his.
Panicking slightly, Merlin tried to shoot up, only to be stopped by Arthur’s arms, which he hadn’t realized were tight around his back. Merlin tried a different tactic, slowly and delicately trying to extricate himself, but this time Arthur’s arms tightened.
“Sl’p, M’rl’n,” Arthur mumbled out in his sleepiness.
“But–”
Arthur shushed him, literally shushed him, and lifted one arm to gently card through Merlin’s hair. “You’re feeling very sleepy,” he muttered, gruff but more awake.
“Are you trying to hypnotize me?”
“A little. Is it working?”
“A little.”
So they slept again, though Merlin made sure to somehow get even closer to the king, who snorted, but didn’t stop running his fingers through his hair.
When they woke again, it was nearly lunch—a meal that they had out in the garden with the rest of the Round Table. They spent the afternoon laughing, sharing stories, and playing silly games.
Of course, with this came presents. All of the knights had come through, and Merlin left the garden that evening with a new jacket, boots, dagger, and a thousand neckerchiefs.
When it came time for dinner again, Arthur stole Merlin away from the group, and they took a ride into the woods. Bundled from head to toe against the cold, as it was a long trek on their horses. But Merlin hardly noticed the time passing, he was having so much fun.
They arrived in a clearing as the sun was setting, where a picnic had been laid out. More impressive still was the décor. Surrounding the blanket and food were bundles and bundles of flowers, so many that it stole Merlin’s breath. So many that it must have been downright awful to find them all in such a cold season.
“Oh, Arthur,” he whispered, a hand to his chest. “It’s beautiful!”
“Not quite as beautiful as you,” the king whispered back. Merlin whipped his head to see Arthur looking down at where he fidgeted with a small wooden box in his hands. “I . . . I know I haven't always treated you the way you truly deserve. I didn’t realize it until Gwaine let us know we’d never celebrated your Name Day. And I’m sorry, Merlin, because the truth is . . .” he trailed off, biting his lip. He looked frustrated, and Merlin understood.
So the warlock closed the small space between them and took Arthur’s unoccupied hand in his. “I love you,” Merlin said, in the way someone else might say the sky is blue.
Arthur gaped, but Merlin grinned at his shock. “I– you– but–”
“You’re the sun, Arthur,” Merlin said like it was simple. “I don’t know anyone else who would have done all of this for me. I love you more every day.”
Arthur, still speechless, thrust the wooden box in his hand against Merlin’s chest. The warlock dipped his head gratefully and took the box, releasing Arthur’s other hand in the process. He gently pried open the lid, and gasped, nearly dropping it.
“Is this . . . your mother’s sigil?”
Arthur nodded. “I love you too. You’re the moon.”
Merlin tackled Arthur to the picnic blanket, kissing him senseless. Arthur didn’t seem to complain, quickly flipping them over so he could snog Merlin into the ground.
When they finally parted for air, Arthur let his forehead fall against Merlin’s. “Happy birthday, my love.”
Merlin giggled. “The happiest,” he replied, content.