Man of Ice

Part One

Merlin doesn't know why they are out on a hunt in the middle of the forest during, what is quite possibly, the coldest day of winter yet . Powdery white blankets the forest floor, icicles hanging from the tree branches above them as the horses trudge along, snorting breath crystallizing in the air. Arthur rides at his left, cheeks pink with the cold as his red cloak billows in the breeze, blond hair shining in the overbright world, sun glinting off the snow. The knights ride behind them, laughing at one of Gwaine's tavern tales.

The breeze stings on Merlin's cheeks, prickling fiercely in his eyes as he blinks against the wintery onslaught.

Merlin shivers, pulling his thin, weather worn leather jacket closer over his chest, trying, ineffectively, to get warmer in the freezing weather. Why were they even on a hunt anyway? All the stores of grain were full, provisions were going to last well into spring. Even the meathouses were to capacity; the castle Camelot was going to have a prosperous winter, even if bounds of snow fell to the earth.

"It'll be fun, Merlin." Arthur says as the first rays of light climb over the horizon, glinting off snow and ice, while Merlin saddles their horses glumly; Arthur himself eager like a child for sweets. The chilly, early morning air seeps into Merlin's clothing, and already he knows that this hunt is going to be a long one, tedious, horrid. Arthur will love it, and make fun of him, while he, himself, freezes to death. What joy.

Merlin grumbles about the cold, and more snow coming, but Arthur ignores him and they set out with the Knights, billows of red bright against the white world. Visions of Camelot's power and might riding forth into the frozen landscape, following their golden leader like moths to the brightest flame.

In the end Merlin knows that, even if given the choice, he wouldn't have stayed in Camelot while the rest of them went along with Arthur. Deep down he knows that he needs to be close to Arthur, always. Arthur is...Arthur is his everything. Destiny, Prince, his King. Above all, however, he's just Arthur. The same Arthur that grumbles when the first morning light crashes on his face as Merlin pulls the curtains back. The same Arthur that is a prat half the time, throwing insults and light jabs, but he's always noble, always just, always has the best of his people at heart, even over himself. Princely and pratly, and always...Arthur.

So, yes, Merlin follows right beside Arthur, knights behind the two of them...with only minimal complaining of sore bums and cold ears.

He sniffs, nose and ears hurting from cold. His hair is plastered to his skull from the snow which has been falling since they took down camp this morning. " Mer lin, stop pouting."

Merlin glares, "I'm not pouting, I'm trying to figure out why you decided that hunting in the snow was a sound idea."

"Don't strain yourself."Arthur shot back haughtily, smirking at Merlin, "I wouldn't expect someone like you to understand the fine art of hunting anyway."

"Oh yes, it's quite artful to freeze your arse off, sire ."

"Oh, is your little bottom cold?"

Merlin goes silent, mumbling a 'prat' through chattering teeth. They ride on, already over a day's ride from the castle, the snow still falling, which would make the trip home that much more difficult. Deep drifts of snow are gathering against the rough bark of tree trunks, pillow soft puffs of white to the abrasive roughness of brown bark. It comes up past the horses hooves, reaching steadily towards the first joint of their long, powerful legs. Merlin feels the large flakes catching and rooting in his hair, crystals of white contrasting against thick, rich, curling ebony.

The weight of Arthur's crossbow on his back is solid, the metal curve poking into his shoulder with each step of the horse. Merlin swore he could feel a bruise forming. The cold made the metal icy to the touch, each step sent the feeling through Merlin's thin layers, straight to his skin.