Chapter 10- Winter, Blossom, Beauty, Wisdom

Author's Note: Thank you all for your amazing patience! I know it has been almost a year since I last updated but I've had a mixture of work, real life stuff and a lack of muse on this fic, especially when it comes to joining plot points to get to the next arc. I have written some other fics in the mean time, if you're a Star Wars fan and wanted something a little different for the ending of Rogue One, or if you're a Thrones fan and want something festive, I have "My End and My Beginning" or "Winterfell Solstice" for you.

Just to recap: Merlin and Freya have escaped Camelot and the clutches of Euron Greyjoy and have met Lancelot in Westeros, who is a cavalryman of Lord Tallhart. Maester Luwin asked Merlin to go and get a healing herb from the forest to treat Metros' wounds. However they are attacked by a pack of shadowcats, who shouldn't really be south of the Wall.

This is a filler chapter to be honest, but we need this for the next story arc which will involve a sickness. The title is a little obscure but refers to something Masanori is writing. Would you call the chapter something different?

Please let me know what you think. :)

MERLIN

For a long moment, the shadowcat just stared and growled at Freya, before hissing and making a steady retreat, as if it had sensed some danger.

Merlin clenched his fist and loosened; he had to do something fast, maybe the others would be too preoccupied to see this. He emitted a red glow from his hand, which singed into the flesh of the shadowcat that hissed again and turned it's attention towards him now.

Before he could fire another spell, the shadowcat had darted at him and Merlin could only parry the claws of the beast. He gasped as the left paw battered against his shoulder, tearing away the cloth and skin. Merlin found himself spitting in fury, his eyes turned gold, both man and beast stared down one another, daring their opponent to make the next move.

An arrow flew from behind him and pierced the shadowcat through the ear and shoulder, causing it gasp.

"Move!" demanded Ser Royland Degore, dashing with a spear in his hands, he thrust it at the shadowcat, which attempted to pounce him but the spear impaled it through it's neck, causing it to yelp and gasp for air.

To Merlin's surprise, it was Freya who screamed and sunk her dagger into the shadowcat's skull, killing it instantly.

Royland yanked his spear out and grunted towards Lancelot, Jory, Gwaine and Percival who had cornered the second shadowcat, but were too cautious to get close.

"Tuttle, loosen another one!" the knight with the scarred face said to a newcomer with a brown beard, who wore a blue surcoat. Tuttle notched another arrow into his longbow and jogged closer to the shadowcat that growled. He shot at the beast, which hissed in rage and fear, it whimpered and made a dash at Lancelot, who was pulled to the side by Gwaine- the shadowcat did not linger but made a hasty retreat, only for Royland's spear to perforate its skull, like a harpoon to a whale.

Merlin looked at him with a mixture of shock and anger.

"Don't give me that look. It had to be done!" Royland said. "For the creature's sake, as well as our own and everyone else's."

"I hate to admit it, but Royland is right," Tuttle assented. "Those things are dangerous and it's only a matter of time until this one would have come across another human."

"Why are they even here?" Jory asked, running a finger through the fur of the carcass. "They should be North of the Wall."

"If these were hunting this far South, there could be more of them," Lancelot added, he turned to Freya and Merlin. "Are you two OK?"

"Fine," Freya mumbled, pushing herself to her feet before Merlin could give his hand.

They quickly and wordlessly resumed their search for the Reyashn plant and found it soon enough. The rest of the search was concluded without any event, other than the archer, who introduced himself as Duncan Tuttle- Castellan of Ironrath, calling on each of the men to uproot a plant and to keep count of how many they took.

"Each apothecary is required by the Warden's Law to keep count of how many Reyashn flowers they harvest, so that enough can be replanted." Duncan explained to Merlin. "Most households tend to do so as well, just out of good habit."

In the end, they had taken twelve Reyashn flowers.

"That should be enough for Metros and half the camp!" Gwaine declared cheerfully, as if they hadn't been attacked by shadowcats half an hour ago. His words were like a blunt knife on the stone of silence. The adrenaline that still remained in Merlin's veins constricted his desire to smile or laugh, or even chuckle. His body stood to attention, weary and cold, almost expecting another attack from man or beast.

Luckily, there was no such incident, and they had delivered their harvest to Maester Luwin, as Merlin saw from the opposite end of the courtyard the carcasses of cattle that were flanked by Lord Stark, and two other men, who Lancelot introduced as Lords Tallhart and Forrester- the results of the hunt.

"I had to kill her," Freya said abruptly.

"Huh?" Merlin said.

"I had to kill the shadowcat… she was suffering…." Freya faced him with a heavy weight on her soul. "Sometimes killing can be an act of mercy, you know."

"Freya," Merlin said hoarsely, shaking his head. The Druid just looked away. He moved to comfort her, but she shook him off.

"Freya!"

"I need to be alone, please," she murmured facing away from him.

Merlin nodded, unsure of what to do and react. "OK…. OK, sure." He watched as Freya slipped away into the compound, through a door.

"Women trouble, eh?" the voice of Jory Cassel prevented Merlin from falling into a stunned reverie.

"Yeah, something like that," Merlin replied, uncertainly.

"Can't live with them, can't live without them," Jory remarked. Merlin simply gaped at him.

"Forgive me, I..."

"Papa!" a young dark haired boy of about ten or eleven years came running. "Can you ask him?"

Jory caught the boy by the shoulders, ruffled his hair and said: "Seoman, that's rude, run along now, we'll talk later." The boy turned on his heel and darted away to a group of boys who were kicking a small ball around.

"Have you met my son: Seoman, he's a good lad, very energetic, it kind of rubs on you."

"Can't say I have," Merlin said quietly.

"Yeah, we all need that, listen, Merlin, he was asking about that other boy Milton, he really wants to make him feel at home. I mean, you all must have had it really rough at sea, especially the kid. Is he all right?"

"Well, he was an orphan, who lost his older brother and then mother figure right in front of him, how well do you think he is?" Merlin snapped, harsher than he intended. He sighed deeply. "Jory, I'm sorry, I…..."

"It's all right, my friend," Jory touched his shoulder, very like what Arthur used to do. "I was there this morning, I'm just trying to be light about the whole thing, you have to be in this frigid part of the world, you know." His eyes glinted with a quiet smile and Merlin wished it didn't remind him of the friend that he had left behind in Camelot.

I'm sorry Arthur, I hope you're OK. I hope you don't hate me too much.

"Look, Jory, just tell your son not to be too pushy, but hold the door open for Milton," Merlin responded.

"Will do," Jory said.

"So, I take it you're….. is Seoman's mother still around?" Merlin probed.

"For all my sins, and virtues, yes," Jory gave a smile. "Jemyma and I knew each other as kids, she was the daughter of a Herbert Brownwell, a retainer of House Ryswell- and a fine horsegroom herself."

The wind whistled like a jousting tournament horn. "Listen, Merlin, how about a hot drink inside, that should pass the time so your woman can gather her emotions and the herbs can get to work on your friend, then you can see him and Robert's your nuncle!"

"What?" Merlin gaped at him.

"Just be quiet and have a drink with me, will you?"

Merlin let out a chuckle. Minutes later they were inside a tavern, sipping mead and a hot soup, while a local bard strummed his guitar to a song about Bear and the Maiden Fair, which Merlin found quite contagious. He had just met other members of the Stark household- there was Harwin, a stocky man; Hallis Mollin, who was broad shouldered and clean shaven; and Hullen, an older man who was Harwin's father. Merlin spent the evening listening to stories of their adventures during the Greyjoy and Bear Island Crises.

Lancelot had previously told him briefly about the latter, but Merlin came to realise about how Balon Greyjoy styled himself King of the Iron Islands and declared war on the Seven Kingdoms. Of how he had been brought to submission, of how Victarion Greyjoy had burned the Westland fleet in Lannisport and how King Robert Baratheon's brother, Stannis, had smashed Victarion's fleet. He learned of how the Iron Islands had been conquered and how Balon was brought in chains and bargained his life by swearing allegiance to the Seven Kingdoms and giving up custody of his only surviving son: Theon Greyjoy.

Is he a prisoner or a ward? Merlin pondered, recalling Morgana, the ward of King Uther in Camelot.

"He's a good lad really," Jory commented. "He will one day rule the Iron Islands, I hope he has enough good sense in him by then."

"You think Lord Stark would let him go?" Hullen said.

"Hullen," Jory gave him a reproachful look.

"What is the deal with Theon?" Merlin probed.

Jory sighed. "Techically, he came to us a prisoner to ensure his father's obedience, but if you observe when you come back to Winterfell, you'll see that Lord Stark treats him like a ward and squire."

Merlin just nodded thoughtfully and they resumed their chatter of adventure, tournaments and campaigns.

When the stories had been told, Merlin had barely enough energy left stumble to his dormitory and crash his head onto his pillow.

"How are you, big man?" Jory enquired.

"Cold, but much better than how I felt a few hours ago," Metros replied. "Like I was starving for days and I've finally eaten!"

They were in Maester Luwin's study the next day, while Metros was getting a check up on his symptoms, which had massively improved. He was still wearing a long cloak made of fur, yet the colour had returned to his face, only for it to fade a little.

"Fenech, he used to become very grumpy when he was hungry, yet he wouldn't realise it- you had to remind him to eat," the Red Priest recalled, with a heavy heart.

"I know, but you have to focus on the fact that we're alive and breathing now," Merlin said quietly.

"Aye," Metros nodded, solemnly.

"He is right, you know," Maester Luwin advised. "For the Reyashn to work to full capacity, the patient must try to get better."

"All right, doctor," Metros relented, although half heartedly.

"Splendid," Luwin said. "Merlin, may I have a word?"

"Of course." The Warlock and the maester stepped outside into the corridor.

"Merlin, what are your plans for after this hunting trip ends?" Luwin queried.

"I'm not sure." Merlin hadn't really discussed this with Freya, he was minded to stay with Lancelot at Torrhen's Square, but part of him was hesitant at the idea of how much Lancelot would find out about their true circumstances.

"You said that you were a physician's apprentice?"

"I was, Gaius was his name."

"I see, I hear that you were looking for work, is that right?" Luwin asked.

Merlin nodded. "Did Lancelot tell you?"

Luwin gave a small chuckle. "He might have mentioned something to someone." The Maester lowered his voice. "If you don't mind me saying, Maester Patric is a little… he specialises in the lower rear region, and not just medically." It took Merlin a moment to realise what he meant, causing him to burst into a surprised chuckle.

"Seriously?"

"I shouldn't say this, though, so do not repeat it to anyone; I don't know what you were used to, maybe your endurance is better than mine. But seriously, I was impressed with your help, I could have a word with Lord Stark and offer you a place as my apprentice, on a trial basis of course, should you want it, Merlin."

Merlin was stumped, not expecting this at all.

"I know, think about it all you like, let me know when we leave this hunt." Luwin gave twinkling smile and patted Merlin on the shoulder.

The Warlock slipped outside with a spring in his step, he certainly had not been expecting that. A torrent of thoughts hit him: hope, relief and nervous energy. Nobody could replace Gaius, Arthur, Gwen, or even Morgana, but here he was at a crossroad to new era.

He trekked for several minutes, searching for one person, with whom he needed to talk this through. His walk took him to a small pond guarded by a circle of trees, like sentries cloaking a maiden's modesty as she bathed. As Merlin's eyes fell on the Napponi warrior who was knelt in front of the pond, he felt he was intruding on something very personal and private.

"Merlin-san, stay a while if you will," Masanori said, without opening his eyes.

Merlin hesitated. The Eastern warrior had discarded his turban, his hair was a flop of jet black hair, a small beard grew on his chin and a wisp of a moustache was forming under his nose. He turned to Merlin and opened his eyes, that smiled faintly for the first time in many days. He motioned for Merlin to sit next to him; the latter obliged.

"You meditate?" Merlin asked.

Masanori nodded.

"The same way that Tamara used to?" Merlin enquired.

Masanori gave a reserved chuckle. "How is Metros?"

"He's recovering, you can ask him yourself you know?" Merlin replied.

Masanori nodded again. "I see." He took a deep breath, like he was afraid and wading into unchartered territory. "And how about yourself and Freya?"

Merlin debated on whether or not to tell him about Luwin's offer, the Napponi must have seen the excitement on his face and smiled weakly.

"You seem in high spirits," Masanori commented, seeming genuinely happy.

Merlin's heart froze, recalling what had happened with Masanori's whole retinue- including his Master and Megumi; Merlin dared not ask too much or show too much joy.

"I've been meaning to say, that I'm sorry about your people," Merlin began.

"I appreciate that, Merlin-san. But I wanted to thank you for all that you did for us on the Winter Winds, I want you to know that I trust you and your judgement."

"Thank you, Masanori-san," Merlin replied, pleasantly surprised.

"In my culture, we write poems for sad times, happy times, bad times and times of reflection," Masanori explained, smiling in a way that juxtaposed him from a proud warrior to a youth just like Merlin. He produced a grey tablet and a sharp stone, before scraping out some words on his slate. "I am having trouble writing, I would be honoured if you could help me."

"Sure," Merlin assented. "What are you writing exactly?"

"I am keen not to make the poem too dark and depressing, nor do I want it idealistic and childlike. The structure is that each poem has five syllables, then seven, followed by five.

"The bite of winter,

the singeing ash, bitter steel," Masanori recited.

"The taste of our blood," Merlin continued. "And then there is life."

Masanori nodded. "There is blossom and beauty,

Wisdom understood."

"I'm glad you thought of that," the Napponi said. "Thank you, Merlin, we'll make a bard out of you yet!" He rose to his feet and bowed.

Merlin returned the gesture. "No, thank you! I need to find Freya now, take care, Masanori."

He found Freya fifteen minutes later helping Sefa with hanging out clothes in the relatively fierce wind to dry. The garments fluttered like banners on a ship, while two other washerwomen relentlessly clamped them in place.

Freya turned to him and gave her smile. Sefa nodded towards Merlin and withdrew to the other women.

"Merlin, how are you?" Freya asked, taking his arm- a stark contrast from the passive and withdrawn soul she had been the night before while laying away from him in their bed.

"I'm very well, actually, and someone seems to be in better spirits," Merlin replied.

"There's something-" both of them began.

"Go on," Freya beckoned.

"No, no, you first," Merlin nudged. Both sighed deeply and chuckled softly, as if the warmth had returned to their faces.

"I want to apologise for the way I've been and explain what I did what I did," Freya began. "I just wanted to end her suffering, I could feel it, so that's why I did what I did."

"Freya, I understand, it's OK," Merlin assured her.

"You don't think me as cold or cruel?"

Merlin pulled her in for an embrace, his lips found her forehead and then his chin nestled into her raven hair, allowing her to inhale her scent. He could feel her arms around his back and her pretty face nuzzling into his shoulder.

"I could never find you cold or cruel."

Freya thanked him. "And I'm sorry for the way I acted after-"

"Don't worry about it, my wildflower," Merlin said cheekily.

Their bodies pulled apart, yet their hearts seemed more intimate than they were a moment ago.

"So, what did you want to tell me, my fielder?" Freya replied saucily.

"I've been offered an apprenticeship with Maester Luwin," Merlin said. "I would be going back to Winterfell."

"So you would be doing whatever you were doing under Gaius?"

Merlin nodded.

"Have you told them you'll take it?" Freya said excitedly.

"Do you think I should?"

Freya gave him a half-reproachful and half-encouraging look. "What kind of question is that? Of course, you would have a similar life to the one you left behind!"

"I know, but I need to know that you'd come with me." Freya began to protest, but Merlin clarified: "That you'd be happy to come with me."

Freya paused for a small moment. "I'd like that more than anything, after everything you've done for me," she said quietly.

"Great that settles it!"

Merlin smiled to himself, pondering their interaction when the moment was interrupted by a fit of hoarse coughing, Merlin turned to see Percival retching into the grass. He quickly pulled himself together and gave a nervous grin. "I'm just singing in a foreign language," he said quickly. They were all riding in collumn through the kingsroad, through the wilderness of the North.

"Percival, isn't it?" Freya asked.

"It is, my lady," the man smiled and sat tall in his saddle. He had broad and muscular shoulders, short blonde hair and blue eyes- he was the epitome of a knight, Merlin was reminded of the kind that would cantour through Camelot and all the ladies would swoon over them.

"I'm not a lady," Freya replied earnestly.

"All the same- you're Lancelot's sister, aren't you?" Percival asked.

"Yes," she replied cordially.

"Well, I'm very happy to meet you- I was with Lancelot in the fighting pits and we both escaped together." He suddenly fell into another bout of coughing.

"Are you quite alright?" Merlin asked abruptly.

"Yeah, I should be," Percival croaked. "I'm not made for cold weather."

"Why not see Maester Luwin?" Merlin asked firmly.

"I really should, you're probably right," Percival admitted.

"Go and see the maester," Merlin commanded. "Or wrap up in something much warm, or ask to ride back where there are more people." Arthur would have scolded him for speaking out of turn to a knight, yet Percival was no knight, even if he was Merlin did not care.

Percival grinned and nodded. "Yes, m'lord!"

"Are you all right?" Freya asked when Percival had fallen back.

"Very good, you?"

"Merlin!" Freya laughed, but then she simply nodded and held back, before riding parallel to him and nudging him with her elbow, smiling at him coyly with her dimples and brown eyes, as if scolding him, though gently.

The rest of the journey passed without much event, but a few times of stopping to rest the horses and change some of the riders.

"Freya, wake up, look!" Merlin said after a few days.

The sky was a clear navy blue and Merlin saw what was a huge stone castle, with a turret pointing like an astronomer's cannon, which stood side by side with a bell that chimed a song at the return of the Lord of Winterfell and his retinue.

Merlin spied for a moment a small figure atop the battlements, no older than a little boy. He recalled how he used to climb every house and every chimney in Ealdor; his mother would always tell him off, but he would forget the lesson the very next day, vowing to climb the tallest tower in Camelot one day. He fell out of his reverie, only to lose sight of the small figure that he had seen.

The yellow moon was nearly complete as it admired the land on its dusky sky. Behind the moon was the faint horns that made the Constellation of the Bull, or so Gaius had taught him once.

Freya gave a short gasp, pulling a hand to her head and winced like she a wound that was being cauterised. Merlin's heart skipped a beat.

"Freya, are you all right?" Lancelot rode up next to her.

"I'm fine," she managed to croak. But Merlin knew she wasn't, he had forgotten to ask Maester Luwin about the timing of the full moon and now it was too late. They were in the middle of Lord Stark's retinue and Freya was about to turn right there and then.

Merlin had no time to think things through properly. He had to act fast and now. He looked to his had and watched it glow red, the colour of a fire about to blaze, of molten rock about to expel itself like a dragon's breath.

Author's Note: That can't be good? How do you think they'll deal with that? Would the Starks mind? Has anyone noticed a hint or foreshadow for what's about to happen?