Set the year after the Battle at Camlann in my AU where Arthur and Gwaine survived

Merlin didn't like Samhain anymore. He hadn't since Lancelot died. It used to be his favorite time of the year, one of feasting and revelry, while at the same time one of contemplation and reverence. Now all he could think of was watching Lancelot walk into the tear between worlds with that fey expression on his face. The turn of the wheel was an inexorable one, the world not caring about whether or not Merlin had lost a friend. Children were still born. Old people still died. The plants sprouted and grew from the ground. Water rushed from the mountains to fill the streams and rivers as they moved toward the lakes and seas. People fell in and out of love. Life moved on. Samhain still remained a time of feast and contemplation; revelry and reverence. It was still a beautiful time of year, the last leaves clinging desperately to the trees, staving off the winter winds starting to blow.

Merlin stood on the battlements, watching the countryside and the wagons moving along the road toward Camelot. He hunched his shoulders a bit against the bitter wind cutting from the mountains he could just see in the distance and sighed. So complete was his attention to the land outside the walls that he didn't hear his voice being called.

"Merlin? I asked if you were alright." Gwen's voice finally penetrated his misery. She was standing at his side, a concerned look on her face.

"I'm sorry, Gwen, what?"

She smiled a little. "I said, 'I asked if you were alright.' What has you so far from here?"

Merlin looked out from the battlements again, toward the Isle of the Blessed. He pursed his lips and shook his head. Gwen was the last person he wanted to talk to about this. She and Arthur were getting on so well. Of course, she'd also be the best person, but for Percival, to talk to. Gwen reached out and covered his hand with hers. "It's Samhain, isn't it? Lancelot?"

A rueful grin on his face, Merlin turned to her. "How do you do that?"

She shrugged. "I miss him, too. It wasn't fair that he was taken from us like that." Gwen leaned into Merlin and he put his arm around his best friend, holding her loosely while they stood on the wall, watching the sun go down. They both kept their thoughts close but they both knew what the other was feeling. Gwen may not have realized precisely why Merlin had valued Lancelot so much, but she knew that he had been Merlin's best friend, except for her. In a way, he had been closer to Lancelot than he had to Arthur and the two of them were more like a pair of rowdy brothers than master and servant. Merlin had been there when she had fallen in love with Lancelot, then fallen in love with Arthur. He knew that she felt blessed to have been given two good men to capture her heart and spend time with. He also knew she regretted that Lancelot hadn't found anyone else after they had parted ways.

Neither spoke as the light left the day and the lanterns, torches, and candles became the only light that could be seen. Gwen gave a little sigh and pulled away from him. "I guess we should go inside."

Merlin nodded, "Your husband is going to need me to do something, I'm sure."

Gwen laughed, just a little snort and a chuckle. "You go to your own room. I'll take care of my husband tonight, Merlin. I'll even tell him I told him so." She turned and the two of them started walking toward the door at the end of the battlements. "No, you know what? Queen's orders, go find Gwaine and Perce. Drag Leon with you, as well. Go to The Rising Sun and have an ale in his memory."

"Arthur hates it when I go to the tavern."

"Not if it gets you out from underfoot when his wife is around." Gwen grinned.

Merlin grinned back at her, knowing she needed the care of her husband to bring her from her melancholy mood. "I'll try to remember to knock tomorrow morning, shall I?"

"Probably for the best. Now go." Gwen shooed the tall man in the direction of the knights' quarters and turned in the direction of her own.

No, Merlin was probably never going to like Samhain again, but at least he still had friends he could depend upon; friends who knew what he needed to take care of and take of him. It was going to take a long time before he was truly over what had happened at the Isle of the Blessed. Maybe he never would be, but at the moment, a mug of ale lifted in honor of one of the best knights he had ever known sounded pretty good.


I know I didn't mention Lancelot's Shade, but it didn't seem to fit with this story, which was about his real death.