Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin
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Merlin stood up at the top of one of Camelot's highest towers and looked out over the city. There was a full moon shining down on the quiet streets and there were no clouds in the night sky. Merlin couldn't help but feel even lonelier.
The stone windowsill that he was leaning on was cold and his hands were starting to freeze up, but he didn't move. Wind whipped at his hair and Merlin angled his face so that his unruly locks wouldn't blow into his eyes.
Something damp was rolling down his cheek and the servant brushed it away roughly. It was three years to the day and yet the figurative gash in his heart still stung and bled. He'd come up here after he'd given Freya a funeral that she'd deserved and stayed there for the rest of the day. The next morning he'd gone back to work and acted as if everything was normal.
But he never felt the same again.
The next year he came back to the tower and looked over Camelot almost unseeingly, trying to find something, but at the same time not knowing what.
It was now a ritual. Every year, Merlin would wake up at dawn, take some bread and strawberries and sit by the window until night fell. The food was always left untouched.
No one knew where he went and only Gaius knew why. Arthur would always give him more chores to do, but after several times of Merlin disappearing for a day at the same time every year, he'd finally realized that the day held some significance to his servant.
Taking a deep breath, Merlin gazed once more over the city and the surrounding forests. He knew that he'd be back here next year and the next year and the next year, as long as nothing happened to him. It gave him some comfort to know that at least this way he would never forget the girl who had changed his life.
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