Man of Ice

Part Three

They've been riding for hours, the sun just beginning its afternoon descent, creating spots of dancing light through the treetops, sparkling in the snow. Thankfully, the sky has not opened up and released any more snowfall throughout their return journey, Arthur doesn't want to think of what could happen to Merlin if they were stuck this far from Camelot, with no way of seeking help. Merlin's body is warm along his front, the steady pace of the horse creating a rocking motion, as Arthur guides it along. The journey has been relatively quiet, peaceful, with Merlin wrapped in his arms. Even Gwaine's tavern tales have been kept at a low volume to whichever knight he's pestering at the moment, a fact of which Arthur is beyond grateful.

He didn't know the knight knew what the word quiet meant.

Lancelot steers his horse closer to Arthur's, their boots knocking into each other as they fall into pace together. "How is he, sire?" Lancelot speaks it softly, but Arthur can hear the concern plain in his voice, can see it in the other man's dark eyes.

Merlin had gone uncharacteristically quiet some time ago, his rattling hitches of breath leaving a maddening damp spot against the curve of Arthur's neck. He shifts, slightly, in the saddle, peaking down at Merlin's cloak-covered face. "He's asleep," Arthur returns, his breath puffing in the cold winter air. He's not sure if he should feel worried, or relieved that Merlin has finally succumbed to slumber. Judging by Merlin's rattling breaths, and his earlier pain, Arthur decides upon a mix of the two.

What he would give to have Merlin healthy and whole, prattling on about nonsense as they ride through the forest...he wouldn't mind continuing to share a horse, however, as that is a delightfully wonderful experience. The lower portion of his front half is dangerously close to being pressed tightly against Merlin's backside, and it's all Arthur can do to keep them riding, forcing himself to keep those thoughts at bay. The friction he's experiencing, however, is not helping the matter, though neither is having Merlin's body plastered to his chest.

"Good," Lancelot states, breaking Arthur from his wayward thoughts. He feels a blush rise to his cheeks, and hopes that if the knight notices, he thinks it is from the cold. "We should cover as much ground as possible before he awakes." Arthur nods at the knight, who steers his horse away, quickening its pace to catch up to Leon, no doubt informing him of the news.

Within moments the party of knights has quickened their gate, not so fast that they might wake Merlin, but at a steady enough clip that they are making good ground, even in the snow. Arthur pull's Merlin tighter against himself, mindful of his injuries, to dampen most of the horse's jostling. He can just make out a pleased hum from Merlin, and can't help the small smile that tugs at his lips.

They carry on that way, steadily moving through the frozen world, following Leon's path through the snow. Arthur catches sight of a grouping of deer, a few does and a brilliant stag, antler's climbing into the sky, but doesn't spare them a second glance, solely focused on the feeling of Merlin, of his sleeping form against him. To hell with hunting, the biggest prize is already in my arms.

To have , and to hold , Merlin, however, were two very different things. Sure, he was holding Merlin, keeping him safe and warmed by his body, but to have Merlin... that is what he desired most. To hold him close on cold winter's nights, lounging by the fire and sharing heated kisses, warm embraces. To cherish him in every sense of the word... that would be his dream.

He thinks back to early this morning as they lay in the tent, to the look in Merlin's eye as Arthur had moved to within a breath of his lips. Merlin had looked at him with such warmth... such wonder, and something else that Arthur can't begin to describe... Maybe, just maybe everything would work out. Maybe he could both have and hold . He would just have to make sure that Merlin recovered.