Winter patrols were the worst thing known to man or beast. If this was just two years ago, Gwaine would be happily ensconced in some warm tavern somewhere with a big tankard of ale in hand while he flirted with the most beautiful woman in the room. Instead he was huddled with a bunch of dusty, tired men around a tiny fire, just hoping his cloak, mittens, and a bowl of Merlin's stew would be warm enough to stave off freezing to death in the cold.
Gwaine took a bite of the stew and listened to Arthur bicker with his servant while Percival and Lance discussed something quietly. Elyan was already asleep, having finished his dinner quickly to get some sleep early since he'd pulled dogwatch. Gwaine smiled into the bowl. He was the happiest he'd ever been in his life.
This is my entry for Camelot Drabble #342, Cold.