Merlin looked over the darkening town. In six years he'd never tired of the view. It was quiet, though clouds were gathering.
Summer had been quiet. The risks had been few, perhaps because Arthur preferred spending days with Gwen over venturing into monster-infested woods. Merlin had scrubbed many floors. He'd patched many shirts. He felt... threadbare. He wondered if he would quietly slave for the rest of his life, then die full of buried secrets and false hopes.
An almost-cold wind began, stirring long-still branches and refreshing stuffy rooms. Suddenly, Merlin felt relief. Change was coming.
He would welcome it.