Author's Note:Before we begin- Obviously both Merlin and Arthur (or rather, Colin and Bradley) are from the UK, so I've written them as such (or at least I tried to. My phrasing might be off. Feel free to correct me on my butchering of British slang). HOWEVER, I'm American, living in (currently very cold) New England (far-North-eastern USA... think New York City and Boston). So, that being said, don't ask me where this story takes place. My descriptions of the weather are based on my experience living in one of the colder parts of the US, where the average December temperature is 25 degrees Fahrenheit, or -4 degrees Celsius. My particular area can drop far, far below that. I'm also aware that it does not take more than a full day to traverse the entire UK by train. But in the US, it can take multiple days.

So I guess we find our heroes in some kind of hybrid territory, where the weather is distinctly USA, New-England-y, and the speaking/references/settings are more UK-oriented. Where it takes more than a full day of constant travel to get from one place to another, but the characters can recognize which parts of Ireland or the UK in general the other is from solely by listening to their accents.

Just wanted to clear that up before someone gets confused that the climate, tone, and geography of this story don't exactly match up. I know they don't. But I figure if we can suspend our disbelief long enough to enjoy a show about a magical warlock and a talking dragon, then we are more than capable of accepting the bending of certain geological/cultural concepts.

Happy Holidays, everybody!

(Stay tuned for additions to this story throughout the month of December!)

Enjoy!

It was not Arthur's day.

Squirming in his metal chair with his ticket clutched in his hand, he glanced at his watch again.

Of course the train was late.

He drummed his fingers along the edge of the seat, letting out a breath of surprise when he made contact with something soft and sticky on the underside of the chair. He pulled his hand back and wiped it on his pants, groaning.

Scratch the day. This had not been Arthur's month.

He didn't need any more proof: Arthur was cursed, and just in time for the holidays. It hadn't been enough that his business had shipped him off to this middle-of-nowhere town for a month just as winter had started. It wasn't enough that there had been no plane tickets to get home. It wasn't even enough that he had to take a bloody train halfway across the country in order to get home on Christmas Eve, or that once he got home the only person there would be Morgana, because their father had decided to go on holiday somewhere warm and tropical and not bloody freezing. No, now the train needed to be late, and Arthur needed to sit on a busy, cold platform next to some scrawny fellow who kept sneezing into his gloves and moaning to himself.

He shivered and checked the time again. Nearly four-thirty in the afternoon, and the train was supposed to arrive at four-fifteen. Arthur groaned. At this rate he could just walk to his house. It would be an interesting way to spend a Christmas eve, no doubt. But then Morgana would worry about him, and despite her prickly exterior, he didn't particularly feel like dealing with a worried Morgana when he got back. If he got back. He sighed and leaned back into his chair.

The man next to him sneezed again.

Arthur rolled his eyes and turned further away from him in his seat. No. This was certainly not Arthur's day.

It was not Merlin's day.

The only upside to anything was that Christmas Eve was tomorrow, and that it was going to be a white one. But then he sneezed into his hands and moaned.

On second thought, maybe the snow wasn't all that great.

And maybe the sneezing would be bearable if the train wasn't now twenty-five minutes late, and maybe even that would be bearable if the man sitting next to him would just stop checking his watch every five minutes and fidgeting. They were all on the same bloody platform, they were all freezing, and they were all waiting for the same late train. He didn't have to keep checking the time. The train would come when the train came. That was that.

He sneezed again. His cold had been getting worse all week, and Merlin took a moment to lament the fact that he hadn't packed any full gloves, just some patchy fingerless ones. His mum was going to have a fit when he got home tomorrow, if he even ended up getting home by tomorrow. He wasn't looking forward to spending two nights on a train, even if he had paid for the cross-country ticket and sleeping car.

He shivered and looked down the tracks. There was no train in sight, and the large clock on the platform glowed a blazing four-forty-five. Merlin glanced down at his lap, then at his very-cold fingertips, and groaned again. And to think he'd thought he would be able to get a little shopping done tomorrow before his mum's Christmas party… He hoped Will and Freya didn't get to his mum's before he did. Sure, she loved them both, Will in particular, but Merlin really preferred to be present when his friends were at the house, even if he was present-less.

He glanced down the track.

Nope. This was not even his week.

At five, Arthur had had enough. Couldn't the company have at least informed its customers that the train wasn't going to show up? As it was, more than half of the people on the platform had already left, off to find more reliable ways to their destinations, he supposed. Did the train operators simply assume everybody lived close to their loved ones? Was it too much of a stretch to believe that some people had to make it halfway across the country in order to see their families on Christmas? He ran his hand through his hair and looked at the platform. There were a few people with bags, some men with long-cold coffees and scarves. A few children napped on the benches with their parents hovering above them.

And then there was the scrawny fellow right next to Arthur, who had stubbornly stayed where he was despite the fact that there was now plenty of space on the platform for him to sit and not sneeze on people. Really, the amount of sniffling that had been going on for the last forty-five minutes was downright obnoxious. He sounded like a pathetic child. Not that Arthur could really tell how old he was at all- there was a dark knit cap pulled over his hair and an obnoxiously red scarf wound around his neck, and he seemed to be trying to burrow into his thin brown jacket. He could have been anywhere from eighteen to thirty. He was scrawny enough and tall enough for anything in-between, and sick enough for everyone on the platform put together. He should have really stopped waiting ages ago; he was only going to make himself sicker. Even as he thought it, the man shivered and sneezed again, and Arthur turned away.

Merlin's teeth wouldn't stop chattering. He should have packed a warmer jacket, but he didn't really own one, just a grand amount of hoodies and blankets, which were either on his body or in his bag, shoved under the seat. It was honestly bordering on inconsiderate now, that nobody had come out to tell them the train wasn't coming.

But then again, maybe they should have given up by now. That seemed to be what most people had done, and what Merlin would have done. But no, his landlord believed he was going home for Christmas, as was required by his university, and he knew his flat would be locked until after the New Year. So it was either sleep in the streets or wait for the train, no matter how late it was. He huddled deeper into his jacket as a wind roared through the station and sliced through his layers. He sneezed again and heard the man next to him turn away.

He knew that he probably looked pretty damn pathetic, in his cheap jacket, sneezing, but the man could move if he wanted to. Merlin was really not in the mood for dealing with rude people at a train station, especially posh men who were dressed like they'd stepped out of a millionaire magazine, with their perfect wool coats over their dress pants and shined shoes. Hell, Merlin was surprised he didn't have a briefcase with him. The beaten duffel by his right leg spoke of a man younger than his clothes, but then Merlin hadn't seen his face, sitting the way he was. Just a tuft of carefully-styled blond hair.

He looked at the tracks. It was starting to snow again.

Perfect.

An hour and a half. A whole damn hour and a half went by before the intercom crackled to life above Arthur, making the man next to him jump.

Due to extreme weather conditions, expect delays, the electronic voice announced, and Arthur actually let out a short laugh.

The man next to him shifted and muttered, and Arthur could just make out his muffled words.

"Damn right, expect delays," he was saying, but he sounded slightly amused. Arthur smiled a little, as that had been precisely what he was thinking.

The snow began to come down harder.

Two hours later, and it was too dark to see anything outside of the platform. The snow had blown up from the tracks and settled on everything, a thin layer on Arthur's shoes and Merlin's battered jeans. They were both shivering at this point, both damp and freezing, and by this time nearly all of the other people had left, leaving a few sparse families huddled together on the benches.

Merlin's teeth were chattering up a storm and his fingers had gone numb, even shoved deeply into the pockets of his jacket. He'd also stopped sneezing, which he hoped was a good thing, but knew probably wasn't.

Arthur was bouncing his knee and rubbing his palms together, glancing down the tracks every five minutes or so. The visibility was extremely low, however, and he could really only see a few dozen feet in any direction. His toes were growing numb in his shoes, and even the bloke next to him had stopped sneezing, although his shivering had increased ten-fold.

Arthur vaguely wondered if it were possible that the man might simply keel over from the cold. He then wondered if he would somehow be held accountable for it. But then he shook his head and dismissed the thought. If it got that cold, surely the man would go inside.

Another ten minutes passed. Merlin had hunched so low into his jacket, the scarf nearly covered his beanie-clad ears. Sighing out a breath of frosty air, he felt it condense against the material over his mouth before freezing again. He debated pulling his bag out from under his seat and looking for another set of clothes, but was worried his numb fingers might betray him. Besides, he'd survived this long already-there was no need to open up his carefully packed bag. His mom would call him silly for not thinking of opening it sooner, but Merlin thought maybe he could blame the cold on his slow thinking.

Six-thirty. The platform was officially deserted save for Arthur and the visibly-freezing man next to him, who'd huddled himself deeply enough into his scarf and hat that only his eyes were visible. Arthur kept peeking glances at him, trying to assess whether the man was trying to freeze himself to death, or was just as impossibly stubborn as Arthur was. Or perhaps he had nowhere to go, just as Arthur did. Or…

An idea struck him.

Maybe the man lived here.

Arthur felt a pang of something in his gut. A mixture of fear-he was alone with a sick, freezing, potentially homeless man- and worry, because this man was obviously not dressed for the weather nor healthy enough to be out in it for this long. He hated to admit it, but the cold was definitely getting to him at this point. Everything seemed far more sinister that it really ought to be. He stole another glance at the man, trying to find any indication of homelessness. Or craziness. Or kill-men-at-a-train-station potential.

It was honestly impossible to tell. The man had a fringe of tangled black hair peeking out the front of his beanie, but that could just be his look. His hands were in his pockets. His shoes were brown and old and made of faux-suede, but in relatively good condition. His jacket was brown and patched neatly at the elbows. His jeans had a hole in one knee, but were well-fitted. Everything was slightly askew, but clean. Arthur decided he wasn't homeless. Not that it changed the man's potential to kill him at all, or that he wasn't crazy. Arthur returned to his position with his back to him and rolled his eyes.

The sneezing had started up again.

Merlin's nose was running. His ears were full of cotton and his feet were full of ice and would that damn posh bloke stop staring at him, please? It was making Merlin wildly more uncomfortable than he already was, being sized up like a potential predator. What was he gonna do, sneeze the guy to death? Merlin had seen the man's face now, seen the sharp jawline and the clear blue eyes. He was obviously young and in very good shape-a direct contradiction to his businessman attire. Merlin wasn't much of a threat against most guys his age on a good day, and this was definitely not one of his good days. Merlin didn't think he could even run the length of the platform without his lungs collapsing, let alone pursue anybody. He doubted he could even gather the energy to outrun an attacker.

He really, really hoped the man didn't turn out to be an attacker. He didn't look like one, exactly, with his carefully-styled hair, but he did look like someone who'd turn up his nose if Merlin called for help. Which got Merlin thinking about what he'd do if someone did come at him at this train station. Probably huddle into his jacket and hope they got bored. Sure, Merlin had a couple of tricks up his sleeve- But no, he'd probably opt to not call any attention to himself. Less questions that way.

Fortunately, the cold seemed to have sent everybody away, and aside from the man next to him, the platform was empty. Merlin could not believe the train had still not arrived. He considered himself a patient man, but this waiting game was enough for even him to get antsy. He'd even started bouncing his left knee at some point, and now he watched the fine dusting of snow on his jeans take off into the air. The powder swirled angrily in the wind. Merlin puffed out his cheeks and blew a cloud of mist from his lips in a dramatic sigh.

And then, as if the freezing temperatures and sickness weren't enough, Merlin's stomach let out a low growl. He groaned inwardly. Nothing was going right today.

The man's stomach was growling. The man's stomach was growling. Seriously? Arthur could hear it from where he was sitting, and it only served to make Arthur painfully aware that he hadn't eaten since his rushed coffee-and-muffin breakfast. Honestly, the man should have given up by now, if only to give Arthur some quiet. It was a snowy winter's night, for goodness sake, it should be dead silent!

The man next to him chuckled. Arthur turned, startled. A pair of clever blue eyes was peering at him from underneath the beanie. At the eye contact, an amused smile spread across the sneezing man's face.

"Yes, seriously," he said, out loud, to Arthur.

Well, shit. He must have spoken his thoughts out loud. He'd really gone and shoved his foot in his mouth this time, hadn't he?

The man laughed at Arthur's expression and looked back across the platform, shaking his head. "Like you're faring any better," he quipped, settling back into his seat. He had a slight accent, Arthur noted. Somewhere in Northern Ireland. It sounded like he was trying to get rid of it, but his voice still tilted up at the end, as if he was uncertain of every statement he made.

It was obvious, however, that the Irishman was not at all uncertain of himself, nor of how to handle the awkward situation Arthur had just thrust them into. Figures Arthur had to wind up next to not only the sickest person he had ever seen in public, but the one person who felt comfortable talking to complete strangers about their minor social infractions.

The only good news was that there was literally nobody else at the station to witness Arthur 's embarrassing moment.

"You'd think they'd have said something by now," the man was saying, looking down the tracks. He coughed into his glove. "I mean, just as common courtesy." He gave Arthur a pointed look as he said it. Arthur felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

"Look, mate-" Arthur started, and it was unnerving, how the other man's eyes seemed to look straight through him. He faltered. "Uh-I didn't mean to-"

"...let on that you're a total prat?" He smirked again, "Guess your cover's blown."

Arthur closed his mouth. The man broke into another sneezing fit as Arthur watched.

"You should really get inside," Arthur pointed out. "This weather can't be good for…" he motioned vaguely to the man, "...all of that."

The man finished sneezing. "Gee, thanks, I hadn't thought of that." He wiped his nose on his sleeve. Arthur cringed.

"I'm just saying…"

"Yeah, I know what you're saying. Now kindly shut up about it." He crossed his arms and turned back towards the tracks, signalling he was done with the conversation. Arthur got the hint, mimicking the man's motion and staring into the grey abyss before them.

Merlin knew some higher being was laughing at him the moment his stomach growled loudly enough for the other man to hear. What he wasn't expecting, however, was the posh git to roll his eyes and mutter, "seriously?"

Despite the obvious lack of manners, Merlin had to laugh. "Yes, seriously," he said, because even though he was absolutely miserable, he had to admit that the man's reaction was unexpected. He laughed again when the man's face went from frustrated to horrified that he'd heard.

"Like you're faring any better," he continued. They both knew that wasn't necessarily true, but honestly, who did this man think he was? Did he not expect to get called out? Merlin was not one to sit and listen to the whines of spoiled men. For some strange reason, he seemed to attract pompous jerks wherever he went- high school, university, the supermarket, his workplace… He'd once been cornered at a bookstore by a prissy academic, attempting to insult Merlin's choice in cheap detective novel. ("That rubbish is serial," the man had sniffed, "if you must read mystery, at least read Sir Doyle.") And although he knew that keeping his mouth shut kept him out of trouble, he also knew that it was so much less satisfying. And right now, sneezing and shivering and hungry, Merlin decided he was going to at least have this, if nothing else.

He cleared his throat. In his peripherals, the man next to him seemed to stiffen. Merlin relished his discomfort. "You'd think they'd have said something by now. I mean, just as common courtesy." He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his expression neutral. For such a well-polished man, his face turned so red.

Still flushed, the blond began to stammer out apologies, his facade crumbling. Merlin smirked, sending jibes straight back. He'd nearly forgotten about the entire train-and-snow situation when his cold came roaring to the forefront, and by the time his ears stopped ringing with the latest coughing fit, the blond had recovered from his embarrassment enough to remark that Merlin should get inside, because the weather wasn't good for him. As if Merlin wouldn't love to be inside right now.

And now they were right back where they'd started, staring into the swirling white wall that only hours before had been a set of clearly-defined tracks.

Merlin was sure he was going to die of… something. He couldn't decide which factor would win first. He was thinking boredom, but perhaps the same could be said for hunger. He looked longingly behind him, where he knew there was a road, and a little ways down from that, a shop. He'd grabbed a pastry from there earlier that day, and some tea, and he would give everything to huddle at one of their cherrywood booths and have another of each. It was probably still open- it wasn't yet seven- and a growing part of him wanted to give up on the train arriving entirely and simply spend the night dozing at the coffeeshop.

Arthur was doing his darndest to ignore the growing knot of his hunger in his own belly. If it started growling now, he'd never live it down, he could just tell. The man wouldn't let something like that go. But gods, he was hungry. And not only that, but he was getting worried that his duffel bag wouldn't last much longer in these elements. He had gifts for Morgana and Gwen in there, and his father, and some of his mates-Leon and Elyan, in particular- and most of them were unwrapped and not particularly waterproof.

The intercom above his head spluttered to life again, letting out a series of long beeps before a different voice came through, just as robotic as the first:

Due to extreme weather conditions, the four-fifteen train has been scheduled to arrive at seven-forty-five. We are sorry for the inconvenience.

The dark-haired man snorted into his scarf. "Perfect!" He exclaimed, standing up. He unfolded his long, skinny legs from under his seat and grabbed his bag, slinging one strap over his shoulder. Arthur was startled by how tall he was- he must have been doing some kind of contortionist act to fit his legs beneath the chair. The man yanked the scarf down from his face.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I am going to the shop down the street for a pastry and something warm to drink. Would you fancy it?" He adjusted his bag and pulled the scarf back up.

"Merrlnn," he said, his voice muffled, and Arthur stared at him.

"What?" Arthur was trying to figure out where the character change had come from. The man rolled his eyes and pulled his scarf down again.

"Merlin," he repeated. He stuck his hand out. Arthur hesitantly stood to shake it.

"Uh, Arthur."

The man shoved his hands back into his pockets. He was wearing a pair of fingerless gloves, and his fingertips were an icy pink-blue. Jesus, this man was really not equipped to handle the weather. Arthur looked back at the tracks again, hoping perhaps the train would magically appear anyway. When he looked back, the man -Merlin- was already halfway down the platform.

"Well? You coming?" He called over his shoulder, and Arthur, bewildered, grabbed his own bag and rushed to follow.

More updates to come.