When Arthur and Merlin had set out that morning they had been mounted on separate horses and Arthur had thought that it would be a good idea to give his latest half-wild destrier, Hector, some badly-needed training under the saddle. It was only to be a short ride, after all, and Merlin could carry any necessities in the saddlebags on the well-trained mare he was accustomed to riding. A few hours later, the picture was entirely different.
Uther had taken a new mistress not long before, a doe-eyed girl from Brittany named Marie who complained that the local food was not to her liking. When he heard that Lord Lucien - living not three hours' ride away - kept poultry from Marie's home-town, Uther had decided that they would make the perfect gift for Twelfth Night. Naturally he couldn't send a servant upon such a personal mission, so Arthur had been drafted.
If you had asked him, Arthur would have said that he thought the girl would probably have preferred jewellery, but naturally Uther had not asked him.
And bloody Lord Lucien hadn't been at all interested in the purse of gold that Arthur had brought, but had eyed Merlin's well-bred mare with a great deal of interest, having a daughter who needed a Twelfth Night present herself.
As a result, Arthur's half-trained mount, strong and skittish with a mean streak a mile wide, was currently laden with one Prince, one servant, two sets of saddlery and five clucking members of the poultry family (in a basket). Disaster hovered at every corner, finally overtaking them some five miles short of Camelot in the unmistakeable form of Morgana.
* * *
Morgana stepped out of the woods practically under Hector's feet, sending him rearing, front legs kicking out wildly. Everything but Arthur and the tack actually in use went flying. Merlin landed in a bush, the extra saddle on his head, and by the time he struggled upright and out of the shrubbery it was too late for him to be of much use.
"Catch the bloody chickens!" Arthur shouted at him, clearly straining to get Hector under control. The basket had broken open, and the chickens were making for the woods. Luckily their wings had been clipped, but they were still making fair progress – all except the crumpled heap of feathers under Hector's feet. Morgana's mouth showed a mixture of irritation and amusement, but to do her justice she stooped swiftly to pick up one hen when it skittered over her feet.
Merlin pounced on another, which seemed dazed, and stuffed it quickly back into the basket, which was warped but still serviceable. That left two, and the dead one, which he decided to ignore for the present. Morgana's hen went into the basket, and then a third one was heard clucking from a low branch on the side of the road, so Merlin collected it by shaking it off the branch. By the time that was done he turned around to see Arthur standing in the middle of the road holding Hector's bridle. He looked absolutely furious.
"WHAT in Heaven's name did you think you were doing!" he yelled, bearing down on Morgana, who had dusted off her feathery hands and was standing regally by the side of the road. "You could have killed us both, and what are you doing unescorted this far from Camelot anyway?"
Merlin sidled around Hector to pick up the spare saddlebags, which had landed near the dead cockerel, and collected the carcass as well. Waste not, want not. It seemed cruel to put it in with its live companions, but there really wasn't anywhere else for it, so he slipped it in and took Hector's reins from Arthur. Best to get him off the road in case a cart came over the rise and startled him again.
Arthur and Morgana were going at it hammer and tongs as Gwen limped painfully out of the shadows. "You alright?" Merlin asked her, securing Hector to a tree.
She compressed her lips and shook her head awkwardly. "I had a fall. Morgana said we should wait by the side of the road until someone trustworthy came by, but then it turned out to be Arthur." She looked pale and shaken. Actually she was shivering, and although it was certainly cold out of the sun Merlin thought it was more likely to be shock.
"Did Morgana make a fire?"
"We didn't bring anything like that with us. We were only looking for greenery for the Twelfth Night decorations, and we went too far, and then I fell."
"Arthur!" Merlin called. Arthur turned, his fury still clear upon his face, but even to Arthur it was clear that Gwen was ill, and he closed his mouth and strode across to Merlin's side.
"She needs to be warm. We have to make her a fire or get her back to Camelot," Merlin said.
"That's what I've been telling him!" added Morgana's exasperated voice. "But he won't take her!"
"It's not that simple!" Arthur gritted out. "Neither of you could ride Hector with Gwen perched in front of you, and I can't abandon you here overnight!"
True, at this time of year the dusk closed in early, and night was almost upon them.
"Merlin can stay with me," Morgana argued.
From Arthur's expression they had already covered this ground. "Merlin is not related to you and you can NOT spend the night alone with him, Morgana. You know this."
Merlin looked dubiously at Hector. "I could try to ride him."
"With Gwen in front of you?"
No, that really wasn't practical, Merlin knew. "I could ride for help and come back for you?"
Arthur's mouth was set in that 'I know better than God' expression he got. "We are all staying," he decreed. "I will ride for help in the morning, when there will be no question of impropriety and plenty of time for a rescue party to collect you." And for all Morgana's nagging and hissing Merlin knew that that was what was going to happen.
They never did find the fifth chicken. Sometimes Merlin wondered if it was still living in the woods with some British chickens raising baby chicks with a British sire.
* * *
In a clearing far enough away from the road not to attract attention from passers-by Arthur and Merlin gave their cloaks to Gwen. Morgana fussed over her, sharing body warmth under the cloaks as Merlin started a fire and plucked the dead chicken, and Arthur built a small lean-to. By the time the women's shelter was finished and a second, less elaborate screen against the wind made for the men out of piled brushwood, full dark had closed in and the cockerel was roasting on a makeshift spit. Arthur looked around with an assessing eye and stalked off into the woods again, returning with a number of medium-sized stones which he arranged on the edge of the fire.
"They'll hold the heat and we can put some around Gwen overnight to help keep her warm," he explained. Merlin nodded, impressed, and even Morgana looked a bit less frostily in Arthur's direction. They pulled up logs close to the fire, Morgana cuddled up under two cloaks with Gwen, and Arthur and Merlin on the other side of the fire, under their own cloaks. If it hadn't been so hellishly cold it might even have been fun by the time everyone was munching on roast chicken. Merlin did an imitation of Lord Lucien haggling with Arthur for the mare, making them all laugh, and as the moon rose the women retired to see what sleep they could get on a bed of hastily gathered winter-bleached rushes, with heated stones in makeshift wrappings - including Merlin's neckerchief and Arthur's handkerchief - at their feet and backs.
There was a brief squabble when Arthur insisted on the poultry basket going into the shelter with them, but Arthur said that if the chickens died after all the trouble they'd caused he'd make Morgana go back and haggle with Lucien, at which she saw the funny side and agreed to let them in.
Arthur and Merlin sat by the fire much longer as the moon sailed slowly across the sky. Merlin talked of childhood days with Will, and Arthur talked of campaigns he had fought in as a squire, when his father's position had been less secure, and every Summer had bought a new challenge from his neighbours. The chill deepened and eventually Merlin could stay awake no longer. All the rushes had been used in the shelter, but sleeping on the ground in this season would kill them, so he uncomfortably arranged himself on a bed of scratchy bushes, trusting the cloak for a modicum of comfort, then remembered to go back for the heated stones. They'd run out of wrappings, but his cloak would prevent them from burning him if he rolled into them before they cooled.
He couldn't sleep. The chill seeped into his bones and he gazed enviously at Morgana and Gwen, curled up together under their cloaks. Then he started to shiver.
Behind him, Arthur spoke. Merlin hadn't even been aware that he was awake.
"On cold nights on campaign it is customary for my knights to share beds with their squires and servants for body-warmth."
It could be an invitation. Merlin didn't miss the implication that Arthur had never shared a bed this way – probably Uther would have considered that below his princely dignity – but he was going to take it as an invitation anyway, because otherwise he was going to freeze to death.
"Yes please," he said with relief, and wriggled around until he was under Arthur's cloak, poking a brief arm out into the frost to lay his own cloak over the top of them both. The warmth closed around him like a taste of summer and he laid his head into Arthur's armpit and fell asleep at last.
He dreamed of Will. Will was cold and dead – so cold. And then he was burning in his funeral pyre, but his eyes snapped open as he looked at Merlin. 'You would choose a princeling over me?' he said incredulously, burning, burning...
Merlin screamed Will's name and woke up to find himself three feet off the ground in a haze of smoke, with Arthur's eyes burning gimlets at him from the disarranged bedding below. He dropped like a stone onto the brush. For a long moment he stared at Arthur, who was rising to his feet, hand on his sword, then he choked out, "Sorry!" and ran.
Which was rather pointless, given that he had no cloak, and nowhere to go, but it didn't matter anyway since Arthur caught him within a matter of yards, tackling him to the ground and bracing his sword firmly at Merlin's throat.
"Who are you?" he said fiercely.
There was no hope. Morgana and Gwen had emerged from the shelter and were making their way across to them.
"Stay back!" Arthur ordered. Even Morgana didn't disobey that voice. She halted, and Gwen grabbed her arm, looking frightened.
Merlin didn't move. "Just me," he said through lips frozen with the knowledge that he had run his race and lost. "Merlin."
Arthur's face was intent, puzzled. "You're a sorcerer," he said. "Merlin's not..."
He broke off. His eyes momentarily unfocussed and then returned to Merlin's with dawning horror. "Will wasn't the sorcerer. You were."
Merlin bit his lip. "I'm sorry." He closed his eyes against the knowledge that the sword at his throat would have to move so little to end his life.
"Why?" Arthur asked blankly. Merlin didn't answer. Why what? And did it matter anyway?
But Arthur spoke again, his voice hoarse and furious. "Why did you come to Camelot? Why serve me?"
Merlin had rehearsed this moment in a thousand ways before, but none of the words he had prepared sounded sufficient to match the betrayal in Arthur's voice. "To protect you," he finally said shakily. Arthur's face, bleached of gold in the moonlight, showed no softening, but Gwen gasped and Merlin turned his eyes to meet hers.
"You really did put the charm in my father's bed!"
Merlin would have nodded, but it didn't feel like a good idea. "I never meant for you to be accused," he said apologetically.
"We can rather guess that from the fact that you tried to confess at the time," Morgana's acerbic voice put in. "What did you intend then, Merlin?" She was looking at Arthur, not Merlin, and Merlin's gaze slipped between all three of them, searching for some kind of understanding.
"I couldn't let Gwen's father die when I could save him!" he said hotly. "I wanted to save all of them... but I... couldn't." The failure still rankled.
"And that's why you saved the druid boy," Morgana said softly, as if to herself.
"He called to me with his magic," Merlin explained. The rush of fear had settled to an ache, and the cold was creeping back into his bones as he lay pinned to the ground. A gust of wind whistled through the clearing and Merlin noticed Arthur's bare wrists prickle with gooseflesh.
"Put a cloak on, Arthur. You'll catch cold," he found himself saying helplessly.
Arthur shook his head, something twisting reluctantly behind his eyes, and shortened his sword. Merlin's breath caught in his throat as he waited for the thrust, but instead Arthur took one step back.
"Stand up," he ordered, his shield hand fumbling at his throat as he pulled out the lacing from his shirt. "Morgana – tie his hands behind his back, and tie them tight because I will check. This is no time for foolish notions."
Slowly, Merlin stood, shivering in the wind, as Morgana tied his hands behind his back. Arthur checked her work and frog-marched him back to the fire, pushing him roughly onto the log he had used last. Gwen was limping painfully and Merlin thought her ankle had worsened overnight.
"You should go back to bed, Gwen," he said. "It's freezing and there's nothing you can do."
"I'll get you your cloak," she said, her warm eyes distressed, and he watched her limp over to the brushwood and bring back both cloaks for him and Arthur. She had to reach up to position Arthur's cloak around his shoulders, and she fastened Merlin's cloak for him. The relief from the wind was immense.
Arthur fastened his clasp in silence and they all sat unspeaking while the situation sank in and the first pale light of pre-dawn illuminated the eastern sky.
"You should let him go," Morgana said.
"Because you like him." Arthur responded flatly.
Morgana was never short of an opinion and her voice rose passionately as she began to hit her stride, "Because he has never done any of us any harm, and I don't believe he ever would. We know he's saved your life at least three times, as well as Gwen's father's and what happened in Ealdor..."
"Sorcery is illegal in Camelot. And besides..." Arthur's eyes were on the fire, "All sorcerers are evil. It's just a matter of time." His eyes flicked sideways to Merlin's stricken eyes, and there was something painful lurking in the set of his mouth.
"It's not true, Arthur," Merlin's low protest cut through Morgana's objections. "I am loyal to you and Camelot and nothing can change that!"
"Not even when they light the fire at your feet or place your head on the block for the axe?" Morgana asked grimly.
"Arthur said it: I came to Camelot knowing that magic is illegal here. I've always known what would happen if King Uther found out."
"You should have stayed away," Arthur said bitterly. "You are such an idiot, Merlin!" Both men flinched a little at the words. How often had Arthur said them over the past few months? Never had they held more raw truth.
"Can I trust you?" Arthur muttered, as if to himself. Merlin met his eyes squarely, and he knew when Arthur had made his decision.
"Morgana, you can untie Merlin, and then I need to talk to him in private for a moment."
Morgana opened her mouth as if to speak, but then bent to Merlin's frozen, cramped wrists. "I trust you, Merlin," she muttered low, as she removed the tie. "Run if you need to. I'll help if I can." Merlin could see her eyes fixed on him as she and Gwen settled themselves onto the bedding in the shelter again, not lying down but giving comfort to each other as they watched and waited.
Arthur drew Merlin with him by one wrist to the other side of the clearing.
"Do you know why my knights swear fealty to the king, Merlin?" Arthur asked, apropos of nothing that Merlin could track. Merlin was rubbing the feeling back into his wrists. The one Arthur had touched was warmer than the other.
"Um. Because they are loyal to him?"
"Because they have power, Merlin. The knights are nobles, with land and men and fighting skills. They are potential rivals to the throne and the king cannot trust them at his back without some surety that they will not use that opportunity to stab him and seize the kingdom."
Merlin thought about that. "But he has only their word."
"Not such an idiot." Arthur sounded surprised. "Yes. But our system is set up so that their word is their honour. They make the commitment publicly, for all to see, so that if they break it they had better have a damn good reason or no-one will ever trust them again.
"It is not a foolproof system, obviously, but it has mostly worked for Camelot, and for our neighbours. The king has surety of good faith, and the most dangerous men have a secure position within the system.
"That's what I need from you, Merlin. I need a commitment, here and now, that I can trust you at my back."
Merlin was drowning in Arthur's eyes. "Anything, Arthur," he said, the faintest tendrils of hope springing out of thin air to compress his chest.
"Right." Arthur nodded decisively. "You won't let me down, Merlin?"
Merlin shook his head helplessly. "Never," he whispered. "Never."
Arthur nodded again.
"We're ready!" he called to Morgana and Gwen. They came picking their way across the clearing, looking as mystified as Merlin felt.
"Kneel at my feet, Merlin," Arthur directed, and Merlin did. Morgana stood behind him on his left, Gwen on the right as Arthur drew his sword.
Merlin swallowed a little, setting his jaw, but Arthur merely held the sword resting before him, upright like a cross.
"Will you swear loyalty to me, Merlin of Ealdor?"
Merlin had seen the fealty ceremony only last month. "I will," he answered earnestly.
"Then speak these words after me... Here do I swear..."
"Here do I swear..." Merlin repeated fervently, "fealty and service... to Arthur, Crown Prince of Camelot,... to speak and to be silent, to do and to let be, to come and to go, in need or plenty, in peace or war, in living or dying, from this hour henceforth, until my lord release me, or death take me, or the world end."
Arthur's gaze on him was a promise that Merlin had not looked for as he gave the liege-lord's response.
"And this do I hear... I will not forget it, nor fail to reward that which is given: fealty with love, valour with honour, oath-breaking with vengeance."
Tears sprang to Merlin's eyes as he kissed the sword and rose into Arthur's formal embrace.
Behind him Morgana and Gwen let out exclamations of joy, and in the east, the golden light of dawn began to wash the sky.