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Mouthful of Soap
10 - 7 Kalends of December

Gwaine had pulled the short stick.

This was an endless cause of amusement for Percival, largely because the Prank War had begun to reach epic poem stature. Gwaine's recent ingenious plot had split the seams at the rear of every pair of breeches Percival owned, and earned him the hopefully non-permanent nickname of the Enormous Kracken. In retribution, he'd replaced Elyan's boots with a lifted pair, and then subtly remarked on Gwaine's diminutive stature. Getting his friend to think he was the shortest of the group had taken a poker face the likes of which had not been seen in a tavern this side of the Tamesis River.

Even greater, Gwaine hadn't realized Percival had retaliated, and could constantly be found double-checking for dead spiders in his boots, or salt in his beer, or dye in the soap, etc.

So really, this prank was the gift that kept on giving. Gwen had decided with the rush of cold this winter that they'd be delivering quickly made quilts to the residents of the Lower Town, and as he'd mentioned before, Gwaine had pulled the short stick. This saddled him with all of the blankets in overladen arms while Percival and Elyan handed them out. Percival had made certain the pile balanced precariously against Gwaine's forehead, solely so he could say: "Are you alright there, Gwaine? We could help you carry those if you can't see."

Gwaine had turned scarlet, and ah, small victories.

The trio crunched over the dirtied snow in this lower edge of the city, the sun setting halfway through their job. The glow of fires lit every hut from here to the castle, and while that just made the desire for a warm bed harder to ignore, every villager welcomed them in with genuine smiles. It was pleasant to catch up with people they'd run into on the streets, and link together the families they'd only previously known as individuals.

By then they were only too happy to gift a blanket, and the villagers were always trying to push another cup of hot tea into their hands. Though, that might explain why it was taking them so long to hand these quilts out, and why Gwaine was shifting about like a pregnant mare.

They were crossing the distance between one end of town and the other, empty shopfronts looming large on their left, when Elyan decided to bring it up. He elbowed Gwaine and smirked, "Need a bathroom break?" His grin widened, "No need to be embarrassed - your bladder is just in proportion to your height."

Percival chuckled, looks like he found the lifts, but Elyan had been on the receiving end of enough pranks to forsake all thoughts of mercy at this golden opportunity. Gwaine fought back with this absurdity: "You're just standing on a hill!"

Percival suppressed a grin. This might be his worst joke yet, but he couldn't help it. "Go ahead. Or are you worried the cold has affected it too much? If we're taking proportion into account…." His eyes flicked downward as Gwaine made a sound somewhere between strangled and outrage.

It was, perhaps, the perfect payback. A moment later Gwaine had shoved the blankets into his arms, shaking his fist and shouting about how "He'd get him for this!" while stomping stroppily away, presumably to find a hidden corner to take a leak.

Percival had to stuff his face into the cloth to avoid being too loud as he and Elyan shared a laugh at Gwaine's expense. They made their way through two more huts, a cup of tea, and Elyan's ninety-tooth smile. They were nearing the third and just discussing how Gwaine had probably ditched them for a woman when the man himself returned, looking a mite pale.

"Did you see that?" He asked when he stood close enough.

Percival and Elyan exchanged curious looks, but agreed they'd seen nothing. Gwaine's hand wasn't itching for his sword, and he took the proffered blankets readily enough, and so Percival took that as proof that this was Gwaine's idea of vengeance. "Why?" Percival followed up. "What did you see?"

Gwaine looked a bit embarrassed. "A woman in white."

Elyan hadn't seen his face, so immediately he was rolling his eyes while knocking on the next door. "Did she proposition you?"

"No," Gwaine said as the door opened to reveal an old couple with gummy smiles. He muttered lowly as Elyan started chatting to them about the wonderful smells of supper. "She was just wandering around."

"We'll keep a lookout," Percival replied to the badly formed tall tale. The accidental pun made him grin. "That is, if you can see anything from down there."

So, Gwaine did understand that there was cause to call him crazy. (There was less cause to call him small, but that really was not the point.)

For example, what kind of person drops their easy-going lifestyle to go on a death-defying adventure to the Perilous Lands? What kind willingly signs up for a lifetime of Merlin's careening mind-exploding revelations?

Apparently, the type that was endlessly accused of day-drinking just for claiming to see - what supposedly was - a figment of his ale-addled mind. (Also, evidently, the kind that in a bout of insanity sent money to a family he'd claimed to have long abandoned. But that was even more beside the point because he'd definitely burned their 'response'.)

So, maybe he even starts to believe the claims that he's finally cracking up, but he refuses to say anything further about the mystery woman in front of Percival or Elyan. (He really dislikes the knight recently - no particular reason.) In fact, he keeps the information largely to himself until the following afternoon when he hears Sir Caradoc mention her in passing to Sir Geraint. All he catches is that the freshly falling snow had 'hid' her footprints before he turns on his heel and heads for Arthur's chambers.

(Not to look for the king, obviously. He just knows that today is laundry day.)

Within those chambers, while unknowingly awaiting a dramatic entrance, Merlin stabbed himself with a needle.

Not on purpose, of course. He wasn't masochistic. He even stuck his thumb into his mouth and bit at the spot of blood, thinking Arthur might be onto something with all that 'clumsiest servant in Camelot' prattle. When his finger stopped stinging he groused, "Why don't you get Gwen to do this? She's the seamstress."

"She's the queen," Arthur replied haughtily. "How many times were you dropped on your head, again?"

Merlin grumbled and went back to the moth-eaten doublet he'd been tasked with salvaging. He had half a mind to magic the thread pink, but Arthur would probably make him redo every painful stitch under supervision once he inevitably noticed. Merlin had just worked the needle back through the thick fabric, and was troubling himself trying to get the needle to poke back through the right spot so that the sew-job didn't look like he'd pawned it off to a one-eyed duck, when Gwaine finally banged on the door.

Of course, that meant he stabbed himself again.

Merlin cursed, shaking his hand in a small spasm, and Arthur found it so funny he opened the door himself. Gwaine burst in with barely a glance in his direction, even after Arthur's very clear "Ahem."

The knight deliberated for a split second before tilting his head back towards the king. "What would you say if I said there have been sightings of a spirit woman?"

Arthur debated the question seriously. "Who's seen it?" Gwaine answered, and then they had the pleasure of watching Arthur's expression melt into sarcasm. "Ass-Kisser and you? That's it? You've both been in the cider again." This was very difficult to refute, largely because Caradoc had earned that nickname from a night spent so drunk that he'd quite publicly mistaken a donkey for his wife.

(Sard it, why hadn't he remembered that before busting in here?)

"This is why Merlin is my friend; he believes me, don't you Merlin?"

Gwaine looked to his friend, sitting at the main table with his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth. The expression on his face made it look like the hole in Arthur's shirt was on par with a trade deal with Caerleon, but he looked up when he noticed both men staring expectantly at him. His blue eyes shifted back and forth as he ran the previous conversation quickly through his head, then grinned cheekily. "I get a vote?"

Arthur cleared his throat and held out a hand. "Hold that thought." He strode pompously away and clomped up the stairs for the Solar above them.

Gwaine took the opportunity to fall dramatically into the seat opposite Merlin's stitching. "No one believes me. Just a tiny hint of the unnatural and suddenly everyone's head is in the dirt." He huffed, crossing his arms. "I mean would it physically hurt them to have a little faith in my opinion? I have eyes that work just as well as everyone else's—" He broke off when he saw Merlin struggling not to laugh. The shoe dropped then, and Gwaine grinned sheepishly. "I don't suppose this has happened to you at all, has it?"

"Me?" Merlin replied with good-natured sarcasm.

Gwaine squinted his eyes while thinking of the times they'd ignored Merlin's advice. It must be rare, and even then, if it was important, they always believed him. Well, he supposed there was that time when Arthur had called Gaius a spy… and Agravaine's machinations in general… and the Lamia….

The chastened expression stealing across his face must have tipped Merlin off, because the servant snarked, "Feel free to pay my tab at the tavern."

Gwaine tried to look apologetic and innocent, and Arthur's heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs. "If I promise to never doubt you again, will you believe me now?"

Merlin's gaze twinkled. "I'm not sure you've learned your lesson yet," but Arthur was nearly in the room again so he quickly added, "meet me at the library after evening bell."

Arthur was holding a bundle of wrinkled shirts and, when he was near enough, dropped them unceremoniously in Merlin's lap. "Don't think for one minute I don't know what 'spirit woman' is a euphemism for." He looked suspiciously at Gwaine - so uncalled for! - and then back to Merlin. "I am not oblivious to the two of your…." He didn't seem to have a word for it, instead choosing to make a strange gesture with his hands.

Gwaine sucked in a breath of air so sharply that he choked on his snort. And then Merlin, with a perfect level of aghast:

"Oblivious, Arthur, you?"

Geoffrey felt he was getting old. His leg had developed a dull ache nearly two years ago, one that acted up now with the weather, and his eyesight had worsened from all the decades spent squinting at texts in these dark halls.

With age came a settling of his ways, and anything out of the ordinary attracted his attention, partially because it was slightly aggravating to have to deal with. Gaius' boy had been one such aggravation, but he'd gotten used to him now. Merlin had a habit of knocking over stacks of books right when the dusty fumes of scrolls had lulled him into sleep, but he always had a funny story to tell, and that made him good company.

Geoffrey was well into the fourth chapter of an old tome he'd tasked himself with transcribing, mind humming over a conversation he'd had a thousand times with himself - something about the viscosity of ink and the sharpness of quills and how they must relate exactly - when he was distracted by a loud sneeze.

He looked up and saw Sir Gwaine rubbing at his nose. The knight looked lost and a little scared, and Geoffrey would have likened it to a baby bird if he had been in a poetic mood. Instead, he was rather aggravated to be interrupted in the middle of his task, and he couldn't quickly puzzle out what this knight was doing in the Hall of Records at this hour, and that bothered him more. He may even have said something if he hadn't heard Merlin's recognizable lope a few moments later.

The taller man came grinning around a dark shelf piled high with botany books and flashed a smile in Geoffrey's direction. He said something to the knight that Geoffrey's old ears didn't catch, and then both men moved off into the recesses of the room. Merlin's presence was ordinary, and that was reason enough for Geoffrey to put his head back into his tome and test the ink on his quill. It needed the perfect consistency and he had no patience for errors.

If Geoffrey had stopped to think about it, he would have found it odd that he could not see them between the shelves. He would have found it troubling that they had never passed him while leaving, and he would have found it impossible for the voices of two men to disappear in a whisper of wind and the flutter of pages.

For one brief, disorientating moment Gwaine was squeezed into a tunnel. In that split second he completely lost his body, was just a mind spinning without eyes to see where he was going, or an inner-ear to tell him which way was up. There was no space to wonder where he was, or to panic, or to even realize what had happened. Then he was standing on stone, and all that spinning hit him in one felling swoop, and Merlin was handing him his stomach back all too early.

When his traitorous organ was back under control (read: he needed to wash his mouth out, badly) he fixed Merlin with a steely glare. "Did I deserve that?"

"A little," Merlin grinned.

Yeah, true, he thought, though glowering. "What is this place? And how in the bloody sard did we get here?" Now that he had the wherewithal to look around, Gwaine noticed he was in some sort of cave. It was mostly dark except for some glowy lights Merlin must have put up, but he had heard the telltale rush of a river far below them while he'd been puking towards it.

"This is a cavern beneath the castle. I used to come down here a lot when I first got to Camelot." Merlin set the books he'd brought on the ground, and sat cross legged as he spread them out into a semicircle. "Normally I walk, but this time I had an urge to teleport."

"Teleport." Gwaine said with disgust. "That's standing in one place, dying, then coming back to life somewhere else?"

"So melodramatic," Merlin said cheekily, still quite pleased with himself over his evil prank.

"You really are powerful, aren't you?" Gwaine said woodenly, dropping down into his own seated position across from him. At Merlin's deflecting half-shrug, Gwaine gestured to the floating lights and let his arm trail off as if it were also pointing out the myriad of other spells he'd seen Merlin perform without effort. "What is the most you could do?"

Merlin hedged, replied "Lightning," then muttered after, "It's the most energy-based spell I've tried, so far."

Gwaine left off the 'so far' and stuck with the lightning - that had been aweing enough. Merlin must have misread something on his face, because he had stilled while reaching to use a spell over the books. Instead his hand stuttered midair and then dove down towards one brown book. He brought it carefully into his lap and cracked it open to a random spot in the middle.

He's probably over there thinking he freaked me out. Gwaine mulled over his feelings and knew that wasn't the case, something else entirely was bothering him. He mind jogged through a few jokes he could toss out to break the tension, but when he opened his mouth, the truth just blurted out. (How did that keep happening?) "Thanks for believing me."

"Thanks for believing me," Merlin echoed.

Gwaine nodded seriously. There was a lot about Merlin that was hard to believe, and after you accepted it, it was still difficult to believe everything you used to know about him was true. "I was just thinking," Gwaine said as he picked up a book himself, trying to make out the words in the low light. (Was this another language?) "I'm not helpful."

"What?" Merlin said in surprise as Gwaine put the book back.

"Spirit woman is out there, and I can't do anything except tell you. You're the only one who can research her, and fight her if needed. I'd just be a tagalong, like with the dragons."

Merlin had this thing he did when he was completely baffled. His eyebrows would squish together and he'd tilt his head just slightly. If he spoke, his words would be slow and methodical. "But you have your sword."

"What good is that against a magical ghost?" Gwaine said.

"I modified it," Merlin replied, still confused. "Before Uther. Remember?"

Gwaine's eyes flicked to the sword trapped at his hip, and he had to contort himself to remove it while seated. He knew Merlin had thrown some spell at it before they'd faced Uther, and it had helped him fight the king, but he'd sort of thought it had been temporary. "Is this my version of Arthur's halfpenny?" he lightly asked once he held the weapon in his hands. (It hadn't looked or felt different in all these weeks, but obviously he had missed something.)

Merlin grinned a bit contritely. "More like your version of Arthur's Excalibur." Gwaine's brows rose and his silence pushed Merlin into spilling another secret. He'd had no idea Merlin had anything to do with Arthur's stone-sword, though it made sense now that he thought about the details.

"Long story, but I borrowed one of Gwen's swords and bathed it in dragon flame," he cleared his throat as Gwaine's face did something funny which he could not interpret, "and that gave it magical abilities, like the ability to kill undead soldiers…." Gwaine's eyes were bugging now, and so Merlin finished quickly. "I couldn't copy the spell exactly, but I was able to redo some of it."

He held a hand out for the weapon, and the knight handed it over silently. Merlin had spent enough time looking at Excalibur on the many armour-upkeep days, that he had admired and internalized the crystalline magic Kilgharrah had wrapped the blade in. The shapes were organic - always shifting before his eyes, as if they were constantly adapting to their environment. It was beautiful magic, and something that was still very far beyond him.

Merlin had cheated in his own recreation of the spell. He'd chosen one configuration of the pattern he'd remembered and shoved that around this metal. Looking at it closer, he could recognize it for the shoddy job it was. While he tweaked some of the more intricate structures he said, "It's not much, but this spirit woman is going to be pretty upset when she feels your sword sticking through her."

"Usually women are pleased when we get that far," Gwaine immediately retorted without much thought, accepting the sword back.

Merlin chuckled while watching Gwaine admire the blade with new eyes. It didn't look like the knight had realized he'd said anything at all. "You've got a wicked tongue, Gwaine."

Gwaine smiled widely. "And now I've got some wicked metal to go with it." He slashed the sword experimentally, standing up now. It still didn't feel different, but he fancied it had a bit of glow to it. (It didn't.) "Wicked Metal," he added after a beat. "It's a nice name."

"In the old tongue," Merlin smiled, "that translates to Galatine."

"Galatine," that fit. It felt right. He let the name roll around on his tongue and watched Merlin's blue lights reflect along the well-shined blade. Gwaine grinned, a mix of grateful, honoured, and proud. "Galatine…" he said, now very pleased, "you and I are going to be skewering a lot of women."

Behind the castle, well above Kilgharrah's old prison, an orchard took up a large portion of the Royal Gardens. It was a good orchard; well trimmed and pleasing to the eye. In the growing seasons a gardener was always present to maintain the trees' health and shoo away animals, and in the fall it provided a bounty of fruit for all the nobles. But this night the orchard was abandoned, and clumps of snow clumped onto thick, leafless branches.

Bordering the orchard was a wide path that followed Camelot's outer walls, and here Sir Caradoc followed also. The branches of the orchard creaked under their load as he patrolled, cloak flapping and toes going numb within his boots. He was thinking about the woman he had seen last night. She had barely had enough clothing on to be warm on a summer's eve, and she surely hadn't survived the night unless she had retreated indoors.

They had locked eyes, he nearing closer in slow steps while her snow-white hair blew in the wind. But a guard had distracted him, and by the time he'd turned back, she'd been gone. No tracks, no sign she'd ever been there.

Wind sighed through the trees and Caradoc looked up, his attention snared by the flickering shadows in the orchard. With snow so thick, the moonlight reflected from the ground and gave the scene an ethereal glow, and in the midst of it stood the woman again. She looked thin, lost, and now that he had crunched over the snow towards her - scared.

Chivalry won out over instincts and he asked, "Are you cold, my lady? Allow me to escort you indoors."

She was silent, blue lips frozen in place, but her eyes stared at him earnestly. He held out a gauntleted hand and her eyes flickered towards it. He had a breadth of time to admire her beauty, but he had no intention of acting on it. He had a beautiful wife waiting for him at home.

"You have nothing to fear," he said while her delicate hand tentatively reached out for his. As it landed on his palm he gave an involuntary shout. It felt like ice even through the layer of leather, and it laced up his arm in trails of trembling cold.

He shouted again as he wrenched his arm away, clutching at his painfully frozen hand. Shocked, he looked at the woman, who wilted before him. She was so wretchedly sad that he instantly forgave her. Peripherally he heard an answering call, but was unable to move as she disintegrated into air.

The voices met him in the orchard, gaping and still cringing over his arm. Someone tugged at his gauntlet and inspected his skin - red with a deathly pale outline of her fingers. Caradoc felt the blood drain from his face - what had she done to him?

"It's just frostnip. Nothing sitting by the fire won't fix." He turned, still shaky at the encounter, to a man it took him a few blinks to recognize as Arthur's manservant. Physician's Assistant too, if he remembered correctly.

To his right was Sir Gwaine, hand on his sword and seriousness etched into every bit of his stance. "Who was she?" He asked authoritatively, "I want the truth."

The truth, Sir Caradoc thought numbly, is that I have no idea.

The moon was setting by the time Caradoc left Gaius' chambers, and Merlin rubbed at his eyes blearily. Gwaine had needed to replace the knight on his patrol - partially out of duty, but partially due to a desire to see more of this snow woman.

"What do you think of this?" Merlin asked his mentor as they cleared up the warm water and rags they'd used.

Gaius shook his head. "She's not like any faerie or creature I've heard of. She may be a woman cursed." He finished hanging a rag to dry then puttered into a corner to tap his fingers over his old books. He finally tugged one down from the shelf, then held it out for Merlin. "Perhaps this will help."

The books from the library hadn't been much use, but then again, he and Gwaine had very little to go off of at the time. It couldn't hurt to try again.

(It could hurt, an hour later his back ached and his neck had gained a crick.)

This time he used magic to simultaneously flip through the pages of both his spellbook and Gaius' encyclopedia of curse remedies, and he was getting frustrated. She hadn't been in the book of monsters, and he hadn't found a spell that could turn someone into a spirit that could freeze a man with a touch. If she really was cursed, he was far from finding the counter. He flipped through a few more pages, being obstinate now. In his fatigue, he wished he could just make another cursebreaker like —

He stilled, pages settling back into rest. Consciously, he went back over that thought then sprung to his feet. Of course. The answer was so simple.

His eyes flicked to Gaius who had dozed off at his desk. With a burn of gold, Merlin sent the many books back to their respective places and tugged the blanket from Gaius' bed. He wrapped it around his guardian's shoulders, making sure to tuck the tails into the old man's lap to ensure his chest wouldn't get cold. He had been just as near to sleep a moment ago, but his idea had given him a rush of adrenaline.

What was riskier? Sneaking down into the vaults and putting the pair of guards to sleep, or teleporting straight there? While he dithered, he glanced out at the sky through their small window. The stars were in a position he hadn't seen in awhile, and he groaned quietly to himself. The lack of time before dawn decided for him - the quickest way into the vaults would be the best way, otherwise he risked running into a few early-birds.

He closed his eyes and formed the golden tunnel, burrowing it from this high chamber to the vaults beneath the castle. He aimed for a dark corner that he knew would be empty and felt the familiar headlong rush as he was sucked into the spell.

He blinked his eyes open, adjusting to the new scenery and listening for the nearby guards. He heard them shuffle and clink, and their sounds meant they hadn't heard anything to put them on the alert. Without moving he cast his eyes about the small room built like a prison cell. The red cushion that had once held the Crystal of Neahtid lay empty, and the shelves that stored magical texts full of darker spells stood undisturbed. Countless other artifacts were locked away amidst jeweled chests, expensive necklaces, and gold ornaments.

He was lucky; he knew exactly where Arthur had put it because he'd tagged along with him. He drew in a long, careful breath, and then let his eyes flash gold. A small metal chest clicked open to reveal an intricate glass ring in a pile of jewelry, and he very slowly tilted the lid back until it rested on its latches.

The guards went silent and he winced. They'd heard the click. Knowing they were already approaching, he held out his palm and rocketed the ring into it, teleporting away the moment he felt the glass land on his skin.

He landed in his room, stumbling back onto his bed. Teleporting on little sleep was always tiring. In fact, he wanted to put his head on the pillow and be dead to the world immediately, but he searched for a leather chord instead. He found one in his mending pile - leftover bits from Arthur's summer clothes - and slipped the makeshift necklace over his head. The ring hung warm over his sternum, and his heart did a little flip.

He sighed a bit sadly. Even after all this time, thoughts of Freya could do that to him. He toed his boots off and lay down into bed, unable to resist pulling the ring back out to look at it closely. This was the cursebreaker he'd been told to bring during the druidic peace-talks, and it had ended up as a token of goodwill to Camelot from Iseldir. What none of them knew, though, was exactly how much it meant to him.

He turned the intricate glass in his fingers and let his mind wander back to that night by the lake, when Freya had shown him their alternate future together and then pressed a ghost of a kiss to his forehead. In that reality, this had been the ring he'd given his wife.

Now, he supposed he'd be giving it to a snow spirit.

The daylight hours passed quickly, despite the lack of sleep. For Merlin, the time was filled with physician duties. The usual cold sickness was going around, and there were stacks of potions in need of delivery. Even Arthur was getting the sniffles.

As for Gwaine, recently Leon had shoved a few new recruits at him and told him to build a squad. Gwaine did not consider himself much of a squad-leader, more of a lone-wolf, and so it was always a strange day when the three fresh faces showed up at the barracks eager for orders. (The first he told to flip his left and right boots - "a master-swordsman's trick to better balance." The second he sent in search of apples and the third he told to follow him as he patrolled, but to be sure to always step in his bootprints. There was a lot to be learned from a master-swordsman's gait!)

He got rid of them by the evening since Camelot could always use a few extra guards. "Maybe one of these days they'll band together and challenge me," he was monologuing to Percival (a customary pastime). "But until then, I'll see just how much I can get away with."

The large knight was tugging on a sleep-shirt, and when his blonde head poked from over the cloth, he raised a brow that bade Gwaine continue.

"I think next time I'll blindfold them and tell them to navigate the castle. A proper knight has the halls memorized, right?"

"You have an evil mind," Percival said once he'd gotten the tunic over his broad chest.

"Or," Gwaine said with a finger in the air, "an innovative one."

"Enterprising," Percival corrected, then added just to be spiteful, "shorty." Gwaine looked about to yell something so Percival changed the subject. "Why are you still dressed for duty?"

Gwaine looked down at his chainmail, cloak, and swordbelt. "Things to do; I'm a busy man."

"A wanted man, maybe," Percival joked before lying carefully down onto the bunk. (One time he'd jumped and the thing had split in half. Hilarious - but uncomfortable.) "Going to see the 'woman in white' again? She turning you into an honest bloke?"

Gwaine scoffed. "I'm not Leon." He leapt to his feet and strode away quickly now that Percival had reminded him of his real plans for tonight. "Don't wait up!"

He slid the barrack doors closed behind him and rubbed his hands together, partly in glee and partly because it was cold out. (After a few more minutes, it was mostly because it was cold out.) He and Merlin had decided to meet in the Plaza, near where Gwaine had seen the spirit originally, and then find someplace secluded to wait her out. Gwaine headed there now.

He figured he'd be waiting on Merlin - the guy liked to make an entrance - but as Gwaine clomped into the snow covered area near the front gates, he realized he'd almost missed the party. The spirit was already here, and she was staring at Merlin like he was her salvation.

A chill emanated from the woman, and at only a foot away, Merlin felt it seeping into his clothes. She stood on the ground but her feet left no imprint, and her skin, clothes, and hair were all as white as snow. Though she could not speak, he could hear the plea yelled through the set of her eyes.

Looking at her anguish, he knew he would not regret giving her Freya's ring, and his hand had already circled around the glass hidden beneath his clothes when she drew back a step. Something in her stance was a beckon, and he realized that maybe she wanted him to follow her.

She glided backwards, eyes never leaving his face, and Merlin had to quickly set a temporary sleeping spell on the front guards. He had to be careful to not let her out of his sight, and so he blindly followed her forward, past the walls, off the main road, and into the deep snow.

The frost came easily to his knees at every step, and in seconds his trousers and boots were soaked through. His feet were numb blocks of ice lashed to his legs, but he continued after her retreating form. He had magic to keep him warm, and he used it hover a new ball of flame between his shivering hands.

She led him deeper, further, into the dark beneath the trees where the lights of Camelot and the stars were blocked away. There, the fire gave an eerie glow to both of their faces. Her beauty went waxen. The hollows under her eyes and the gauntness of her cheeks were thrown into contrast, and suddenly he saw her for the skin-clad skeleton she was.

Her jaw unlocked, and he had no time to even freeze in shock.

She launched forward, fingers clawing, eyes raving, and he put the fireball between them and pushed. It launched through her body harmlessly, burning the snow at their feet, and bringing with it the smell of moist earthy fat.

The spirit latched onto the lapels of his jacket and he stumbled back - his mind placing the stench. It was meat with the fog of humanity, and it was a smell that haunted. She leaned forward as if she were going to kiss him, his hand came up - an instinctive spell lacing through his fingers, and then Galatine plunged through her side, impaling her from hip to shoulder.

She screeched, flailing back, and Gwaine shoved himself in between them. "What is that smell?" He yelled as he brandished his sword at the hissing spirit. "Is that her?"

Merlin's eyes flicked down to the hole he'd made in the compacted snow, and her plot fell into place for him. She had died here, frozen when the storm hit, but stealing youth or magic had been her hope to live again. "Hold your breath," he warned.

He held an arm straight out and yelled, "Forbærne!" The ball of fire erupting from his palm was much larger than any paltry heat-warmer he'd summoned in recent weeks, and the small sun dug a trench as wide as a man in the ground. The sizzle of flesh hit their nostrils and in the heat and light they saw the small body blacken and crackle. The spirit shrieked and twisted midair, hair falling from her scalp as her skin melted away.

Below them, tendons warmed and snapped, making the corpse jitter and shake as if still alive. At the peak her screeching became a wail, long and loud and heartbreaking, and then cut into dead silence.

Gwaine gave an involuntary shiver and focused his attention on the rising smoke rather than the charred thing in the ditch below them. "The guards will have heard that."

Merlin nodded unsteadily, then gestured for the snow in driven piles around them. "Help me bury her first."

The worked in silence, the acrid odor ever-present as they toppled piles of snow onto the still heated body. Eventually melted water became slush, which soon became a new plane of snow that one couldn't differentiate from any other trampled portion of the forest.

Shakily, Merlin turned away and covered his face with his hands. He cursed quietly.

"So," Gwaine said, trying to lighten the mood. "I'd say that ranks a little below undead army, and just above wyverns."

Merlin chuckled hoarsely. He removed his hands and tried to hide the distress wrinkling his features. "I just… never wanted to see something like that. It was like she was alive."

"I get it," Gwaine answered honestly. "But it was necessary."

After a beat, Merlin nodded. He held out a palm, though hiding his face. "Let's not slog all the way back through the forest. Do you think you can handle another jump?"

Gwaine looked down at Merlin's arm. "Are you asking for my hand?" He said, trying for a joke again. When Merlin glanced up in unrestrained surprise, Gwaine fluttered his lashes.

Finally, Merlin cracked a smile. "You're insane."

"I try," he replied.

The next day, Merlin had more potions to deliver, an I'm-Not-Coming-Down-With-Something Arthur in need of a lot of soup and carbs, and drapes to beat the dust out of, because apparently they were causing all of the prat's sneezing.

He had kept busy, and it gave him a continuing excuse to not go return Freya's ring. The longer the guards took to notice his theft, the more his wanting to keep it strengthened. If no one could notice it missing, what harm was there in holding it close?

Merlin flapped at the set of curtains in front of him. These were in the upper story of the king's chambers, blocking the balcony and its view of the training fields. While he worked his way up their heavy expanse, he heard the door close downstairs, and then footsteps on the stair. He recognized them as Gwaine, but he didn't turn from his chore until he heard the knight slam something onto Gwen's armoire.

His eyes flicked from the flask to Gwaine, and then back to the flask as the knight raised it to his lips. "Want some?" Gwaine asked, after making a face at the taste. "We've got nefarious plans to make, and this stuff helps."

"I'm just as devious sober," Merlin quipped. "What's the occasion?"

"I found lifts in Elyan's boots," Gwaine all but growled. "They've been calling me short, and now they're going to pay." Before Merlin could make some fuss about staying impartial he continued, "Two against two, it's only fair."

"Yes, but I have magic." Merlin hid a sneeze in his shoulder and then said, "Weren't you going to make a codeword for that?"

(Nice attempt at distraction! He gave it a three out of five.) "That agenda has been pushed for our next cavern meeting." Gwaine found a dainty chair and straddled it. "I was thinking you shrink all of his trousers, so he thinks—"

"Already pulled that one on Arthur," Merlin cut in.

Gwaine blinked, once, twice, thrice… and at Merlin's sheepish grin he tilted his head back and roared with laughter.

In the midst of the cacophony, Arthur made it to the Solar unnoticed. When the uninvited knight stopped giggling, and they could hear him clear his throat, he asked loudly, "What did you pull on me?" He made sure to glower so that it looked more like an order and less like a question.

Merlin, of course, did not take the hint. "Your tunic?" (That was both a horrible answer and pun, and Merlin knew it. Arthur figured it didn't deign a response.)

Gwaine clued him in, though. Good man, that Gwaine. "We're pulling a retaliatory prank on Percival and Elyan. They may have won a battle but there is a long war to come." He shook a small container in the air, so they could hear the liquid slosh within it. "Help us plan. You're good at that sort of stuff, right Princess?"

"I don't pull pranks on my people; I'm the king."

Merlin snorted. "You hid a pouch of flour in the curtains just today! It was all over my face! It's probably still—" He stopped himself and rubbed vigorously at his hair.

That only made Arthur snicker, sorry to have missed it. "You don't count as people." Then (and it must have been the flour or dust or peasant-hair-scent that Merlin just sent blowing through the room), as a close to his sentence, (and it definitely wasn't because his nose tickled and his throat itched), he sneezed so violently that he started hacking with a cough immediately afterwards.

When he came up for air, Merlin was a little too close for comfort. Arthur tried to back up, but realized that would send him stumbling down the stairs. "Are you feeling alright?" Merlin asked.

"Stay away from me," he replied forebodingly, shooting a warning glance at the hand Merlin was raising for his forehead. (He was not sick, damnit!) "What are you doing?"

"I'm worried—" Merlin lunged.

He sidestepped. "No, you're not."

"Your ears, Arthur."

Huh?

"I think you're regressing—"

"What?"

"—back into an ass."

Merlin hid a flash of gold, Arthur brayed, and then he froze stock still. He tried to cover it with a cough. Cleared his throat. Avoided the bug-eyed look Gwaine was giving him.

Merlin scratched him behind the ears. "Does that feel better?"

"I'm going to kill you."

Footnotes:

(1) 10-7 Kalends of December is late November.
(2) Tamesis is the ancient name for the River Thames.
(3) Eoin (Gwaine) is one inch taller than Adetomiwa (Elyan) who is the shortest of the Round Table minus Gwen.
(4) Sir Caradoc and Geraint are canon and are seen being knighted by Uther. Caradoc is named for the Caradocs from legend (there is a father and son pair), but the father who was a knight for Uther was tricked by a sorcerer into believing farm animals were his wife. I couldn't help but use that bit of backstory in my own way.
(5) Wicked Metal is an extremely loose translation of Galatine. In fact, it requires serious squinting. Galatine is Gwaine's sword from legend, but some other legends say he was gifted Excalibur. So I kind of mixed the two together.
(6) The Ring of Dispel is canon to the legend (Lady of the Lake gives it to Lancelot). My version of the origin story is in P1: Cinderella.
(7) The vaults are mentioned multiple times in the show, and the library's secret room is shown in explored quite a bit in S3.3 Goblin's Gold. If you don't remember when Arthur was turned into a donkey, shame on you.
(8) The snow spirit is based on the Yuki-onna from Japanese mythos. She's known to be a beautiful woman who leads travelers astray, among other things.

Author's Note:

Remember when Merlin accidentally wakes up Geoffrey in the library, then uses magic and convinces Geoffrey he'd been dreaming? Subliminal messaging. I feel like Geoffrey knows but doesn't KNOW, y'know?

This chapter was a little episode, life-in-Camelot sort of fling. I enjoyed it thoroughly. After Merlin really taking to heart his role in the legend, and all the other angst-coasters, it was nice to just have some Merlin and Gwaine time. We can get back to SNAFUs next chapter.

I want to start off my round of thank yous with Linorien, my beta. Awhile back she gave me the exciting idea of having Merlin gain a proper room to practice magic in, i.e. the cavern. Merlin doesn't know he wants one yet, but he wants one. Plus, she poked me earlier when I didn't give Galatine a proper introduction. She doesn't know, but the naming this chapter was because of her. And of course, quick beta-ing even though Linorien really didn't have free time until tomorrow. Always thankful that she puts up with my random schedule. Jewels and Dara, we had a moment this week. It's very close to my heart. I'll cherish it forever. Jewels in particular is a muse unlike any I could have hoped for. Scenery help? Character analysis? Lightening my mood? Strengthening my resolve? Most of all, she inspires me by always reminding me to love even small things, how to enjoy those bits and pieces in life that are easy to look over. (Btw, the donkey-regression scene was all due to you.)

As for all of you, PMs inbound - maybe tomorrow though since it's late. So honoured every time that you guys are so supportive and interested. Also, I'm going to write another one or two short thank you chapters in Albion's January timeframe. I've been offered one great idea (and a few minor ones in reviews, you may not remember since they were awhile ago), but I want to do/combine more. Seriously, I do want to write a mini thank you. It would make me happy, and it would give me a break which I will direly need before the finales. Just think about it please. Think of this as a drabble request.

Next Time: Alpha Bitch. The Alpha Dog is out of commission, and Gwen teaches the court the meaning of Queen.