Door 21: Boys

They were stuck, apparently.

It was snowing in the mountains, Sir Ector had said, making the Ridge of Ascetir impassable. They would have to wait until it settled, perhaps even until it melted, which meant they might be caught on the wrong side of the border for days, or weeks.

Arthur didn't understand why they couldn't just move further north or south and go around the mountains instead, even if it meant a detour, but Sir Ector had only shaken his head at the suggestion, even though it came from the Prince.

But then, Arthur had been enjoying this trip for exactly that reason: not being the Prince, at least not primarily.

It had been his first time squiring for someone other than his father, who hardly ever trained with the knights these days, and certainly didn't fight in tournaments. When Sir Ector had offered to bring him to the autumn jousting in Escetir, held in honour of Prince Cenred's coming-of-age, Arthur had jumped at the idea, beseeching Father until at last, he had caved and allowed him to go.

It had turned out to be hard work, squiring away from court. They had brought no servants on the journey, which meant Arthur had done all the same work as the other two squires, Leon and Pellinore: grooming the knights' horses, building the fire, even cooking. In the beginning, he had tried to order the other two to do his chores for him, but Sir Ector wouldn't hear of it.

Arthur had resented him for it at first, but now, weeks later, he found he was glad for it. There had grown a camaraderie with the other two squires, developed under the illusion that they were equals, at least while on this journey. They weren't exactly friends – Arthur doubted he could ever have that – but their interactions had lost most of the stiffness which was so prevalent at Father's court.

Now, on their journey back to Camelot, though, Arthur had started to wonder if that camaraderie would last. Could it last, with the King's ever-judging eyes on them?

On second thought, perhaps getting stuck in this village below the foothills of the Ridge wasn't so bad after all.

Sir Ector had won third place in the jousting, which meant they had plenty of funds journeying back. The villager they had approached had been all too eager to give up his hut and move in with a neighbour when he had seen the gold, so at least, they had a warm place to stay as they waited for the pass across the Ridge to clear.

Still, the squires were sleeping on their bedrolls on the hard floor, and Arthur was starting to miss his featherbed in earnest. As much as he hated being the Prince sometimes, he certainly enjoyed the perks and privileges that came with it.

Perhaps it was the uncomfortable sleeping arrangement that woke him early that morning, right at dawn. The knights and other squires were still fast asleep, with Sir Oldof snoring so loudly Arthur wondered how he had slept a wink at all.

He got up quietly, careful not to jostle Leon as he slipped past him, grabbing his cloak and sword on the way out the door.

Outside, it was freezing. What was more, it had snowed – just a thin layer, descended from some outliers of the thick, grey clouds obscuring the Ridge beyond, but enough to make Arthur think that there was little chance of the mountains becoming passable in the next few days.

Suppose they really were stuck, then, unless they made that detour.

Arthur made for the little field beyond the hut, then drew his sword to go through some basic drills on his own, his back popping as his muscles warmed from the exercise. He was careful not to work up too much of a sweat, unwilling to catch a cold on the journey, but lost himself enough in his exercise that he didn't notice his audience until it spoke.

"You look right silly doing that, did you know?"

Arthur swirled around in surprise, finding a boy had come to sit on the fence at the edge of the field. He was wrapped in a lumpy woollen coat, a knitted red scarf wrapped around his neck. It went almost all the way up to his nose, hiding half of his face, though he was lacking a cap, which meant his ears were bright red in the cold, sticking out a little from his dark, unkempt hair.

A peasant boy. Some farmer's son, no doubt, perhaps two or three years younger than Arthur, though it was hard to judge, scrawny and wrapped up as he was.

Arthur lowered his sword, frowning at the disrespect. "You can't talk to me like that," he told the boy off, mustering all of his princely authority.

The boy shrugged. "You're not Escetir knights. Wrong colours. We donʼt have to listen to your orders."

Arthur's frown deepened into a scowl. "We might not be your lords, but we are still your betters," he retorted. "You had better show reverence. Your King wouldn't stand for you disrespecting his guests, I'm sure."

The boy squinted at him. "Gods, you really are silly, aren't you?"

Arthur glared at him, raising his sword in a vague threat. "And you are soft in the head, for provoking a man with a blade."

At that, the boy grinned, the scarf slipping down to his chin. "You're not a man, you're a boy," he said. "And I'm not scared of swords. They can't hurt me."

The confidence with which the boy said those words, stupid though they were, took Arthur aback. They made him wonder if the boy didn't actually suffer from some sort of mental affliction. Perhaps he had been speaking to the village idiot without knowing it.

Really, why was he arguing with a peasant in the first place? He should see if Pellinore or Leon were awake, get some breakfast started.

With a last huff in the boy's direction, Arthur sheathed the sword and made back for the hut.

To his surprise, the boy hopped off the fence and stepped in his path, revealing that he was, in fact, almost as tall as Arthur, for all that he was so skinny. "I'm Merlin," he introduced himself. "And you?"

"None of your business," Arthur brushed him off, moving past him.

Merlin followed. "Why are you being such a prat?" he asked. "I was trying to make friends."

Arthur couldn't help but let out a short, dry laugh at that, incredulity getting the better of him. "That's how you make friends?" he replied, slowing his steps. "By insulting them?"

"I never insulted you," Merlin replied.

"You called me silly."

"I called your sword swinging silly."

"At first. But then—" Arthur stopped, mortified to realise he was bickering with a peasant boy.

Merlin flashed him a grin. "I've called Will much worse," he said. "Friends tease each other, don't you know?"

Arthur looked away, quickening his steps again, the fresh snow crunching underneath his boots.

No, he didn't know that, not that he would tell Merlin as much. Leon and Pellinore certainly hadn't teased him. The closest they had come on their journey had been a faint snicker when Arthur had dropped a helmet on his foot, nearly breaking his toe, though they had promptly shut up when Arthur had glared at them.

Camaraderie, perhaps, only went so far.

"We're not friends," Arthur stressed, approaching the door to the hut. "Now shoo!"

"Fine," said Merlin. "But if you change your mind, I live at the eastern edge of the village. Right next to Will's house."

Arthur entered the hut without a reply, leaving Merlin behind in the cold.

Inside, the knights were just starting to rouse, the squires up and about.

"Sire." Leon nodded at him from the hearth, where he was stoking the fire. Arthur walked right over, handing him some logs from the basket to feed it. "Who were you talking to, if I may ask?" Leon added as he accepted the wood.

"I was accosted by some village boy," Arthur replied. "A simpleton, I think, from the way he was talking to me. Utterly disrespectful."

Leon raised one eyebrow. "Did he not realise you were a nobleman?"

"He didn't seem to care about that," Arthur replied.

Leon let out a thoughtful hum, then hung a cauldron over the fire to cook some breakfast gruel.

Being stuck in a village in early winter, as it turned out, was a dreadfully boring affair. There was only so much talking to do about the recent tournament, and playing dice got tiresome when you did it for more than an hour a day. Around noon, Sir Ector had them do some more drills in the field, but an icy gale had picked up, driving them back into the hut only half an hour later.

Soon, Arthur was sitting by the only window, unable to find rest. Pellinore was taking a nap in the corner while Leon was polishing Sir Bertram's armour, but Arthur didn't feel like following either example.

"I'm going out," he said eventually. "To check on the horses."

Sir Ector nodded in acknowledgment from where he was sitting at the only table with the other knights.

Outside, the gale was raising the snow from the ground, sending it flying in little swirls. Arthur shivered, but a glance at the Ridge beyond told him that the wind might yet have its upsides, too. The dark-grey clouds seemed to be lifting from the peaks. Perhaps the snow would let up sooner than he had thought.

Wrapping himself tightly into his cloak, Arthur walked down the road leading through the village, making for the stable they had placed their horses in. The mounts were resting between some cows, warm and relaxed. Someone had already watered them, along with the cattle.

Arthur fed the horses some oats from his saddlebag, smiling when Llamrei headbutted him for more. He lingered for a while, soaking up the warmth as much as the horse's easy affection, though eventually, he grew restless again, leaving the stable behind to brave the cold once more.

He hadn't really planned on walking all the way to the end of the village, certainly not to the eastern edge of it, but he must have, seeing as he ended up spotting a familiar figure, chopping wood in the cold.

For all that Merlin looked scrawny, he was making short work of the logs, splitting them with the axe with seemingly little effort. It was eerie, really, how a boy so skinny could wield a tool so large without any issue.

Arthur came to stand by the fence to watch, not really knowing why he did, and was certainly not prepared for the words that slipped out of his mouth next: "You look rather silly doing that, did you know?"

Merlin halted his movement, looking up and blinking at Arthur. His surprise made him look every bit the village idiot, though he broke into a wide smile just a moment later. "You came," he said, putting down the axe. "I wasn't sure you would."

Arthur shrugged, suddenly feeling self-conscious – a rare occurrence for him. "Someone needs to keep an eye on you," he said dismissively. "Who on earth thought it wise to let you wield an axe?"

"My mother needs the wood," Merlin replied. "She's baking bread."

"Can't your father do it?"

Merlin's grin vanished. "Never had one," he said and looked away, driving the axe into the chopping block with force.

Arthur caught his meaning well enough, though he had never heard someone admit to being a bastard quite so openly. At court, nobody would be caught dead admitting to such a thing, not even a servant, though he supposed in a village such as this, a secret like that could hardly be kept.

Perhaps it was pity that made him reply, "I never knew my mother, either. She died at my birth."

Merlin looked up from where he had started gathering the split wood in a basket. "I'm sorry. That's... thatʼs terrible." It was said with earnest compassion, though not in a way that made Arthur's skin crawl. Strange, that. It usually made him vastly uncomfortable when people offered their condolences.

"It's just you and your mother, then?" Arthur asked after a pause. "No siblings?"

"Just us," Merlin confirmed. "How about you?"

"None," Arthur replied, not sure why he was speaking to Merlin of such personal matters. He should leave, return to the hut before Sir Ector and the others came looking for him.

"I thought the other blond might be your older brother," Merlin replied, straightening at last, the filled wood basket now propped against his left hip. "The one with the curls?"

"Leon?" Arthur asked. "No. He's just another squire."

"Is that what you are, then? I thought you were a knight."

Arthur smirked. "No. Not for a long while, I'm afraid."

Merlin flashed him another mischievous grin. "You'll have to look less silly swinging that sword first, I reckon."

Arthur rolled his eyes at him, though didn't tell him off this time.

"You never told me your name," Merlin added, after a moment of silence.

Arthur hesitated, the smirk slipping from his lips.

"If we're to be friends, I should know it, no?" Merlin prodded.

"We're not friends, Merlin," Arthur replied, bristling at the suggestion, and quickly pulled away from the fence. He really should stop indulging this idiot boy and get going.

"We could be friends," Merlin insisted.

"We really couldn't," Arthur scoffed, and turned away.

"I don't care that you're a lord, or whatever," Merlin called after him.

Despite himself, Arthur stopped, glancing over his shoulder.

"Besides, you looked rather lonely out on that field," Merlin added. "I just thought—"

"Mind your own business!" Arthur snapped and stomped off, fuming.

The audacity of that boy!

Though Arthur supposed he had invited his insolence this time, by being the one to approach him. He really shouldnʼt have.

Grumbling to himself, Arthur kicked at the snow as he walked.

Lonely, he had said. Why would Arthur be lonely? He was surrounded by a whole party of his own people, wasn't he?

No, he did not need company. Certainly not that of a commoner, and such a rude one at that.

When he entered the hut again, Pellinore was still asleep on his bedroll, while Leon had moved onto sharpening and polishing Sir Oldof's sword. "Your Highness," he said when Arthur entered, dipping his head.

Arthur had to suppress a grimace as he nodded back. He glanced at the table where the knights were still conversing quietly, then at the pile of Sir Ector's armour in the corner, yet unpolished.

With a quiet sigh, he settled down next to Leon, making a half-hearted attempt at polishing. Every once in a while, he glanced at the other squire to see if he would strike up a conversation, though nothing came of it. He tried himself, then, to get some small talk started, speaking of the tournament and Prince Cenred's odious attitude when he had won it, though all Leon had to offer were polite observations, his eyes focused on his work.

Arthur wondered, then, if he had imagined the sense of camaraderie, or if it was simply waning, just a two days' ride away from the citadel.

"I'm going back out," he said eventually, though Sir Ector's armour was half-finished at best.

Leon inclined his head. "Sire."

Arthur was heading east before he knew it, chiding himself for his stupidity when Merlin's house came into view, though he didn't turn around.

The boy himself, at least, was nowhere in sight, which should have been a relief. Instead, Arthur found himself slowing down at the fence, craning his neck.

"Hello."

Arthur jumped and turned around, finding Merlin behind him. How the boy had managed to sneak up on him, Arthur had no idea. Clearly, he would have to work on that during training, lest he wanted to get stabbed in the back in battle. A blindfold might do the trick, to sharpen his senses.

"Lost something?" Merlin asked, smirking.

"My mind, perhaps," Arthur muttered, wondering how on earth he had ended up here again.

"What was that?"

Arthur shook his head. "Done with your chores, are you?" he asked instead.

"Mum kicked me out of the house," Merlin replied, with a small sigh. "Says I'm driving her nuts with my ma—" He cleared his throat. "Well, she wanted me gone."

Arthur huffed out a laugh. "A wise woman. She must be a saint to put up with such a nuisance of a son."

"Not enough of a nuisance to chase you off, am I?" Merlin retorted, grinning at him. He must have recently lost a tooth, Arthur saw. His left canine was missing. Somehow, it made him look even more insolent.

Arthur crossed his arms. "I was just passing by."

"Sure," Merlin replied. More softly, he added, "The offer still stands, about being friends."

"I don't have friends," Arthur replied, then winced. He had wanted the words to come out superior and aloof, but found that he had sounded rather a bit pathetic instead.

"Why not?" Merlin asked.

Arthur shrugged and looked away.

"Perhaps it would help if you acted less like a prat," Merlin offered.

"I honestly don't know why I even bother talking to you," Arthur said and turned away.

Merlin's hand curling around his wrist stopped him. His fingers were ice-cold. He didn't seem to own any gloves. "Hey," he said. "I'm only teasing again. Do you really not know how that works?"

"People don't tease me," Arthur replied. "They usually don't dare."

"That important a lord, are you?"

Arthur let out another huff. "If only you knew..."

"Well, I don't know," Merlin said, letting go of Arthur's wrist. "I meant what I said, too. I don't care that you're a lord. I do care that the snow might melt tomorrow, though, so we might as well make use of it now." He gestured at the field beyond. "Ever had a snowball fight?"

Arthur gave him an incredulous look. "A snowball fight? What are you, seven?"

"Ten, actually," Merlin replied and made for the field. After a few steps, he turned around, "Are you coming or what?" When Arthur didn't move, he added, "Afraid you'll lose?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Afraid? Of you?" he demanded. "How dare you!"

Merlin gave a mocking bow, then scarpered off into the field.

Somehow, it was the false deference that did it. Bristling, Arthur made right after him, only to duck when a snowball came flying his way, sailing just past his left ear.

"Oh, it's on!" Arthur growled and dipped his hands into the snow.

But he was grinning, too, for no reason he could fathom.

Merlin turned out to have unnaturally good aim. He hit Arthur several times, on the chest and even in the neck, and from the most impossible angles, too. At the same time, he was skinny enough to dodge most of Arthur's own attacks, always managing to duck or dive.

Eventually, Arthur gave up and simply tackled him to the ground, using the bulk of a well-fed body to his advantage. Laughing, he pinned a squirming Merlin into place, rubbing a snowball right into his face, then started stuffing more snow down his woollen coat.

"Mercy! " Merlin cried at last, still squirming wildly, but he was laughing too, his cheeks bright red. "Mercy, my lord, please! I beg you."

"Respect at last," Arthur said, with considerable satisfaction, and let off him, coming to kneel next to him in the snow.

They were both panting, their clothes soaked, their hair a wild mess.

Arthur had hardly ever felt more exhilarated in his life.

Just because he could, he let out another laugh, his chest warming in spite of the insistent winds.

"Brilliant, isn't it?" Merlin said, his whole face dimpling as he grinned back at Arthur. "Having a friend?"

Just like that, Arthur's amusement vanished.

Suddenly, he realised how undignified he had to look, squatting in a turnip field in some godsforsaken village in Escetir, dripping with melted snow and grinning at a boy far, far below his own station. In fact, there was probably no one less appropriate to wrestle with than a peasant bastard.

Arthur got to his feet in one abrupt motion. "I'm leaving," he said and stormed off.

"What? Wait!" Merlin called after him. "We can go and warm up at my house! My mother made hot cider! And the bread is done, too!"

Arthur didn't look back.

When he entered the hut, all the knights and both squires turned to stare at him, clearly shocked by his messy appearance. But nobody asked – dared to ask, perhaps – and Arthur didn't bother explaining, stripping himself of his wet clothes and hanging them near the hearth before slipping into something dry from his pack.

Without speaking a word, he settled down to finish polishing the armour, only to find Leon must have done it for him. At the hearth, Pellinore was already cooking dinner.

Arthur was served first that night, sitting at the table with the knights, while the squires hunkered down in a corner.

The next morning, the clouds around the Ridge had cleared fully and the winds grown milder. The snow in the valley had melted overnight.

"There'll still be some up on the pass," said Sir Ector as they led their horses from the stable. "But it shouldn't be deep enough to slow us down too much. We'll be back in Camelot in no time."

Arthur was already settled on Llamrei when he spotted Merlin. He was lingering at the side of the road, perhaps ten paces away. He was looking at Arthur, though for all the bite and bravado he had displayed yesterday, it was clear he didn't dare approach a whole group of armed noblemen.

Arthur knew he should have ridden off there and then, never looking back.

But there was something about Merlin that had drawn him in from the start, he could admit that much to himself, and so he bid the others to wait and slipped off the saddle again.

"You were going to leave without ever saying goodbye, weren't you?" Merlin pouted at him, as soon as he had approached.

"Why would you be entitled to a goodbye?"

"You really are such a prat," Merlin replied, but he was smiling. "May I know your name before you leave?"

Arthur looked him over for a long moment. "Arthur," he said at last.

Merlin's smile brightened. "Arthur. It was nice to meet you. Will you be back to Ealdor?"

"I don't think so."

"Shame," said Merlin and looked at his feet. "I don't have so many friends here. Only Will, really, and he's been terribly busy lately."

Lonely, Arthur thought, with sudden clarity.

He made a show of looking around and smirking. "Is he even real, this Will? I never saw a glimpse of him."

"Course he's real, you clod." Merlin stuck out his tongue at him.

Arthur wondered if the others had heard, or saw. They had to be watching, certainly, wondering why the Prince was accepting such insolence from a random village boy.

Arthur found he didn't care.

"If you ever come to Camelot…" he started, then trailed off, feeling like a silly clod indeed. He could hardly tell Merlin to knock at the castle door and demand to see the Prince.

Merlin's bright grin, however, immediately eased his embarrassment. "I might, actually," he said. "I have a great-uncle there. He works at the castle."

"Does he?"

Merlin gave a nod. "I always wanted to go to Camelot, too. Except…" He trailed off, his smile faltering a little.

"I've got to leave now," Arthur said into the following pause, wondering why it came out so regretful.

Merlin gave him an awkward wave and another dimpling smile. "Have a safe journey, Arthur."

He was still waving at Arthur when their party was riding out of the village. "The simpleton you spoke of, sire?" Leon enquired as they slowly made up into the mountains.

"No," Arthur said and looked on ahead. "A new friend."