Author's Notes:

When I set out to write this calendar, the plan was to write 24 drabbles or at least very short one-shots, under 1k. You can all see how well I stuck to that plan. 😅

I want to thank everyone who has been following this calendar, be it right from the start or from a later point. Your daily feedback was what kept me motivated to continue writing these and I was absolutely blown away by all your kind, thoughtful, enthusiastic comments. 💖

A special shout-out goes to my husband for indulging my early-in-the-morning writing frenzies and feeding my muses, to Nat for being the most supportive friend anyone could hope for as well as to the people on the LoM server for their consistent cheerleading. 💖 Also, thank you to everyone who provided prompts/ideas!

I must say, I really love how these stories turned out. I like some of them so much that I am considering extending and republishing them as stand-alone fics. (No promises or definite plans, though.)

I wish you all happy holidays, no matter which fest you might be celebrating this time of year, and hope you enjoy this final story! 💖

(And no, I'm not killing Arthur on Christmas. I did think about it, though.)

Door 24: Midwinter

The silence was stifling, only disturbed by the occasional sound of Arthur's cutlery scraping against the silver plate before him.

It had been an excellent dinner – potage first, then a roast, then cheese, now followed by dessert – though Arthur had already struggled by the end of the soup. He had never had much of an appetite when eating alone and the dining hall felt especially empty tonight, even though the staff had made sure to decorate the table lavishly with candles, evergreen garlands and artfully arranged folds of fabric, making up for the fact that there was only one person dining in a room far too large and pompous.

On any other day, Arthur would have happily left the rest of his food to Merlin, knowing his manservant would appreciate the treat. Tonight, he might even have invited Merlin to sit down and eat with him.

But Merlin wasn't here. Arthur had given him the rare evening off, as he deserved. It was Midwinter, after all. People were supposed to be with their families. With Hunith residing in Ealdor, that meant Merlin would be spending the night with Gaius, as it should be. He would be back in Arthur's chambers come morning, to unceremoniously pull him from his bed while rattling off the busy diary of a Prince Regent.

It wasn't the fact that he missed Merlin which made Arthur think of him, gods no. It was only that the dining hall was so awfully quiet without him. Merlin always kept up some chatter when he served Arthur, relaying the latest servant gossip or offering his opinions on all manner of things a peasant had no place commenting on, like the latest visiting lord and lady, or a treaty he had spotted on Arthur's desk and shamelessly stuck his nose into.

The servant boy who had taken over for him was almost eerily quiet in comparison. Three times already, Arthur had forgotten he was standing in the corner, only to startle when the boy had shifted on his feet, sniffed or cleared his throat.

Once more reminded of his presence, Arthur glanced at the boy as he scraped up the last of his dessert, finding him looking at the window. It had long gone dark out, yet the boy kept staring into the black with a longing gaze, his lips turned ever so slightly downwards.

Arthur wondered what the poor boy had done wrong to be given Merlin's job and forced to work when everyone else was happily celebrating. He looked awfully young, younger even than Merlin had on his earliest days in Arthur's service. Really, it was probably that he had simply been too timid or too far down the pecking order to say no to the steward when the task had been given to him.

"Gareth, was it?"

The boy jumped, his head snapping around as he looked away from the window and towards Arthur. "Ho–how may I help you, Your Highness?" he stammered, hastily stepping forward, perhaps thinking he had missed his cue and Arthur needed his chalice refilled or his napkin replaced.

"It is Gareth, then?" Arthur prodded, holding up his hand to signal to the boy that he could stay put.

"Oh, um. Gavin, sire," the boy dared to correct him, though it was immediately followed by, "but if you prefer Gareth, Your Highness, I—"

"Gavin," Arthur intercepted. It was a gentle interruption and yet, Gavin flinched, already bobbing his head in a misplaced apology, clearly hoping to appease his master.

Arthur was acutely reminded of how he had used to treat the staff in the castle until Merlin – and Guinevere, too – had taught him the error of his ways. Just a couple of years ago, he would not have deigned to learn the servant's name and certainly not bothered to talk to him, let alone to ask, "Do you have family at Camelot?"

Gavin's eyes widened, but he nodded quickly. "Yes, my lord, I do. My mother and two younger sisters."

"And where are they tonight?"

"At home, in the lower town," Gavin replied, shifting on his feet again.

"Waiting for you to come home for Midwinter?"

"I—I suppose, so, sire, yes."

Arthur leaned back in the chair. "And yet you're stuck here. With me."

Gavin's eyes dropped to the floor, his shoulders hunching. "M–my lord," he stammered, "of course, it's—it's an honour—"

"Please," Arthur interrupted him again, smiling gently, "don't fret. I understand you must have drawn the short straw to have been assigned these duties tonight. As it is, you did an excellent job, certainly a more diligent one than my manservant ever does, and for that I commend you."

"Thank you, sire," breathed Gavin, daring to look up again.

"As it so happens, I am now finished and about to retire," Arthur went on, still smiling. "Take the dishes to the kitchens and then, you may go home."

Gavin's eye flickered towards the window again. "Oh, but—but sire, I was supposed to attend to you in your chambers as well."

Shaking his head, Arthur pushed back the chair and got up. "I can undress and make up the bed myself just this once," he replied, brushing some wayward crumbs off his tunic. "Clear the table and then, you may go. If anyone tries to stop you, tell them the Prince Regent himself ordered it."

When he looked at Gavin again, he was staring at Arthur, disbelief edged into every inch of his childish face.

"Well?" said Arthur, arching an eyebrow at him. "Do hurry up. Your mother is waiting."

As if a spell had been broken, Gavin broke into a brilliant smile. He gave a deep bow, so low that it made Arthur uncomfortable, and his voice was filled with genuine reverence when he exclaimed, "Yes, my lord! Oh, thank you, my lord, thank you! Mum will be so pleased!" When he straightened again, his expression had gone so elated that Arthur had to look away.

"There's some sweetmeats and nuts left," he added on a whim, already making for the door of the dining hall. "Feel free to wrap them in a napkin and take them home. Think of it as a midwinter gift."

Gavin's blubbering gratitude followed him all the way out of the room and into the hallway, and Arthur could not help but smile again at the idea of the boy entering a small house at the edge of the lower town, a bit ramshackle perhaps and sparsely decorated, and reveal the treasures he had brought from the royal table, to much squealing from his sisters. Arthur knew, from Merlin's delighted reactions in his first years here, how precious even a handful of almonds or pistachios could be to a peasant who had never or hardly ever tasted them.

As Arthur walked down the long corridor, however, making his way towards the griffin staircase and up to the royal wing, the smile faded, leaving in its wake a vague frown.

Again, he found himself wondering what Merlin was doing. Were he and Gaius still eating dinner, or had they moved on, perhaps invited to a grateful patient's house for a late-night treat? Guinevere, he knew, was celebrating with Elyan at the smithy. Leon had long ridden to his father's estate in West Camelot before the first snow, whereas Lancelot, Percival and Gwaine, all without family, must have gone to the tavern, if Gwaine's boisterous exclamations at training about drinking mead all night had been anything to go by.

None of them would be alone on Midwinter, it seemed, and Arthur was glad for it.

Still, when he entered his chambers, finding them cold and dark and empty, he couldn't help but let out a sigh, stopping in the doorway.

He knew perfectly well how to build a fire, of course, especially with the faint glow of the coals promising a quick kindling, and yet, the idea of having to stoke it back to life suddenly vexed him, as did the idea of getting changed and slipping into a cold bed.

Arthur turned, stepping back into the hallway. Before he knew it, his feet had carried him to the double doors just down the corridor, where a lonely guard was holding vigil.

When he spotted Arthur, he bowed. "Sire."

Arthur nodded at the door. "Is my father still awake?" he asked.

"Apologies, my lord," said the guard, grimacing underneath his helmet. "I'm afraid the King has long retired." He cleared his throat. "And if I may, sire, His Majesty's manservant has told me it would be best not to have him disturbed, unless it absolutely must be done."

"Of course," said Arthur, his eyes flickering to the door.

Another bad day, then. Ever since Morgana's betrayal, Uther's health had rapidly declined. These days, he was hardly strong enough to leave his chambers, though Arthur had foolishly hoped until this morning he might be able to dine with him tonight, at least.

Abruptly, he pulled his eyes away from the door, looking back at the guard. "Thank you for keeping watch, tonight of all nights," Arthur told him, offering a small smile. "I'm sure you'd prefer spending it with friends or family."

The guard straightened on the spot. "My duty here honours me, my lord," he said with conviction, sounding like he truly meant it.

Arthur gave him a nod. "Don't hesitate to come and fetch me if anything's amiss," he replied and walked off.

It took him a moment to notice he had gone into the wrong direction, his heart skipping a beat when he realised his mistake would take him past a door he had been avoiding for some weeks. Now that he was heading there, however, Arthur found he could not turn around, pulled forward almost against his will until he stopped before the wood.

There were no guards here, the rooms now abandoned and locked. Still, Arthur ended up trying the handle anyway, not knowing what he hoped to find in there in the first place. Some old gowns, a dusty dressing table…

Arthur closed his eyes, his stomach suddenly clenching so fiercely he was momentarily convinced something must have been off about his dinner, before admitting to himself it was merely the memory of Morgana as she once had been – headstrong but kind, fierce but compassionate – that was causing the ache.

Sucking in a sharp breath, Arthur forced himself to walk on, ending up at the wrong end of the hallway. There was only a narrow stairway here, used by the servants, though Arthur knew it led directly to the lower levels, where the laundry and kitchens were located. He had loved to use the hidden network of corridors as a child, always keen on hiding from his Latin tutors and nannies.

On a whim, he stepped onto the creaking stairway, then made his way down the gloomy corridor, illuminated only by a single, flickering oil lamp hanging from the ceiling. He wasn't surprised when he didn't meet anybody on his way. The castle was near-abandoned tonight, it seemed, with everyone huddling around their hearth at home, as it should be.

Arthur was almost all the way downstairs when he heard them – voices, quite a lot of them. Slowing down, he strained his ears, realising they were merry voices. There was laughter there, too, and some clattering.

It sounded like a large gathering.

Curious, Arthur stepped into the hallway, just a few paces away from the kitchens, where the smell of the very dinner Arthur had eaten earlier lingered in the air. The large door leading into the kitchens stood slightly ajar. The noise was coming from there.

Before he could think better of it, Arthur had walked forward, pushing the door open to reveal a room filled to the brim with people. The workbenches had been pushed aside, making space for an assortment of tables and stools, which formed a long dining table, not unlike the ones they set up in the banquet halls for feasts. The table was decorated with candles and juniper wreaths, and absolutely overflowing with baskets and bowls of food as well as cups over cups of what had to be mulled wine and cider and mead, judging by the smell.

The servants, Arthur realised at last, had gathered for a Midwinter celebration, away from their masters and mistresses.

Surprised, Arthur did not hold onto the door as well as he should have, and it banged into the wall with the force of his push, to a resounding noise. A few heads swivelled, curious eyes searching for the source of the sound – and finding their Prince.

What followed was a flurry of activity that drove heat into Arthur's cheeks. As soon as he was recognised, a ripple seemed to travel through the crowd and then, before he could say or do anything to prevent it, everyone nearby was jumping up from their stools and chairs, exclaiming Your Highness and sire and my lord, only to curtsy and bow and duck their heads.

Then came a silence, descending upon the kitchens like a heavy cloak, as everyone seemed to brace themselves for his reaction. From the look of the few faces he could see, they were fearing consequences, or at least a dressing down.

Arthur had to clear his throat. Twice. "I apologise," he said into the silence – too slowly, too stiffly. "I did not come to disturb your celebration. Please, resume your well-earned feast." He paused. "Merry Midwinter."

With that, he turned on the spot, chiding himself for not thinking before entering the room. He should have known the staff had gathered here, perhaps those who had no family or whose families lived too far away, like Merlin's. As Prince – and now Prince Regent – it was his right, of course, to go wherever he pleased in his own castle, but there was a silent understanding that there were times and spaces where servants would be left alone lest there was an emergency, like their personal quarters between late evening and early morning, or – as Arthur had just discovered – the kitchens at Midwinter.

So busy was Arthur calling himself a fool and fighting his embarrassment that he didn't hear the footfalls until they were almost upon him. When he turned his head, he found Merlin was following him down the hallway.

"Arthur!" he called out. "Wait!"

Arthur stopped, quickly rubbing at his prickling cheeks before turning around. "Merlin," he said, pleased to find his voice sounded normal, and not like something large was stuck in his throat. "I thought you were with Gaius."

"I am," Merlin said, coming to a halt before him. "He's in the kitchens, too. Talking to Audrey, last time I checked."

Arthur glanced down the hallway, where the kitchen door stood ajar again. From the sound of it, the festivities had already picked up again after the disturbance. "I see," he drawled, crossing his arms. So it was not only the servants who were celebrating in the kitchens, but other commoners, too.

"Were you looking for me?" Merlin asked. "Did you need anything? I saw Gavin leave for the lower town earlier… If you want me to help you retire…?"

"I sent him home," said Arthur and started turning away. "And no, I don't need anything from you, either. You have the evening off. Goodnight, Merlin."

A hand curling around his shoulder stopped him from leaving. Merlin was holding him back. "Why were you down here, then?"

"How is that any of your business?" Arthur said and glared at him. "Let go of me!"

Merlin did. But he was looking at Arthur in that way now that always managed to unnerve Arthur – that knowing, affectionate gaze that had the potential to strip down all of his defences, were he a lesser, weaker man. He was smiling, too, ever so kindly. "Would you like to come?" he asked. "To the party?"

Arthur had never felt more shocked by an invitation, though he managed to cover his surprise with a sardonic huff and a pointedly incredulous look. "To a servants' gathering? Hardly."

"It's not only the servants," Merlin explained. "It's almost everyone who's still at the castle. The stablemaster, the laundry mistress, Gaius… some of the knights, too."

Despite himself, Arthur found himself asking, "Knights? Really?"

Merlin nodded. "The ones you promoted recently, anyway," he amended. "Lancelot and the others. They're commoners at heart still, I reckon."

"I see," Arthur said again, dismissively waving one hand . "Well, it is their prerogative, I suppose, to choose what sort of company they want to keep, knighthood or not." Once more, he turned away. "Have a nice night, Merlin."

He was already three paces down the hallway when Merlin added, "Guinevere is there, did you know? She just came by, with Elyan."

Arthur stopped.

"You could come, too, really. I mean it," Merlin added. "Nobody would mind."

A harsh laugh bubbled up Arthur's throat and despite his intention to leave, he turned around again, if only to throw Merlin a scathing look. "Please," he said, "they don't want their future King there. They couldn't speak freely, or behave in the way they do with their friends, knowing he is watching."

"I'm not inviting the future King," Merlin replied. "I'm inviting Arthur."

"They're the same person," Arthur scoffed.

"They don't have to be, tonight," Merlin shot back. His mouth, Arthur saw, had adopted that stubborn twist it got sometimes, meaning he was not about to let this go or back down without a fight.

Arthur glanced back down the hallway. Someone had started singing a Yule song, with more voices joining by the second, until the tune was echoing merrily through the hallway, along with some clapping. Everyone was having a great time, it seemed.

Still… the Prince Regent, joining the peasants in the kitchens for their celebration?

Unthinkable!

"No," he said. "I can't."

"Oh, come on!" Merlin insisted, gesturing towards the kitchens. "Join us! I promise, it'll be fun!"

"I can't," Arthur repeated, though he found his resolve faltering at Merlin's tone, which had turned from stubborn defiance to a plea.

Merlin took another step forward. "Please, Arthur?" he said, and when did he ever say please, and not you clotpole or royal prat?

It had to be madness that had Arthur crumble. The same madness, perhaps, that now confined his father to his chambers and that had driven Morgana from the castle and into their enemy's arms, leaving Arthur behind, alone and burdened with the weight of a kingdom.

"Fine," he said, knowing fully well it was a mistake. Inappropriate in every way, in fact. "I'll come."

Merlin flashed him a grin as bright as the sun. "Brilliant!" he whooped and before Arthur could stop him, he had taken Arthur's hand, dragging him down the hallway and into the kitchens in a most undignified manner.

"Listen, everyone, and don't get up!" Merlin exclaimed, as soon as they had entered the kitchens, preventing anyone from jumping to their feet and starting another round of bows and curtsies. The crowd obeyed him, disturbingly enough, though the silence that followed was just as thick as before, a hundred eyes turning on them.

Arthur, who was well-used to scrutiny and had endured it bravely all his life, had to fight an urge to look at his feet.

"This," Merlin said, letting go of Arthur's hand to gesture at him, "is my good friend, Arthur. I don't think anyone here knows him, do you?"

A few loaded looks were exchanged, with a couple of servants starting to chuckle awkwardly, though nobody spoke.

"That's what I thought," said Merlin, grinning. "Anyway, he'll be celebrating with us tonight, if you don't mind. He promised he wouldn't ruin our fun." An elbow was pushed into Arthur's side. "Isn't that right, Arthur?"

Arthur threw him a glare. His cheeks, somehow, had started burning again and already, he was regretting having agreed to this utter tomfoolery, though he knew he had to save face now and play along.

"Well?" Merlin prodded.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Yes," he forced out. "Of course."

"Great! Now, as it so happens," Merlin went on, "Arthur's not very good at holding his mead and cider, either. I can, therefore, promise you all that he won't remember a single thing come morning about what you said or did tonight. Isn't that right as well, Arthur?"

Arthur sent him another glower, which only intensified when he heard someone who sounded suspiciously like Gwaine let out a hearty guffaw at his expense. "Yes," he ground out anyway. "That is right."

"Wonderful," sighed Merlin and turned his eyes on the crowd. "Any objections?"

Arthur did not hold his breath, but it was a near thing.

Nobody said a word.

"All right, then," Merlin said and grabbed Arthur's hand again, pulling him towards the far end of the table.

Before he knew it, Arthur was sitting on a wobbly stool, squished in between a blushing Guinevere and a chortling Gwaine, while everyone else around them resumed celebrating, with another song being started up by the kennelmaster on the other side of the table.

Without asking, Merlin shoved a cup of steaming cider in Arthur's hand. "Enjoy!" he said, then scarpered off to pull a girl – a scullery maid, perhaps, or a laundress – into an impromptu dance, who laughed and squealed as he twirled her on the spot.

It took Arthur a moment to acclimatise to the noise, especially after the prolonged silence of the evening. Everyone was making a right ruckus, laughing and joking and singing along, the contrast almost too much to bear. It was hot in the kitchens, too, cooking fumes still hanging in the air and the ovens burning in the corner, already stuffed with tomorrow's bread.

But Guinevere kept sending him such soft smiles, her hand having found his own under the table in the matter of moments, and Gwaine was telling one of his more amusing stories, his arm slung around Percival's neck, and soon, Arthur found he was relaxing on the stool, sipping his cider and smiling along to the songs and tales.

"You look like you're enjoying yourself," Merlin said upon his return, having relinquished the maid's hand to Gwaine and promptly plopping down on his freed-up seat to Arthur's right.

"I am," Arthur admitted, bumping his shoulder into Merlin and squeezing Guinevere's hand.

Merlin smiled. "Good. Nobody should be alone on Midwinter."