Until The World Gives In (Merlin/Arthur)

Until The World Gives In

sometimes it seems like love
is just a fancy word for compromise
you gotta read between the years
you gotta write between the lines
you gotta try to understand
the grandness of the man behind the petty crimes
and let him off easy sometimes

: : :

The snow started to fall two days into the hunt. It began without any real conviction, dusting the treetops and teasing the whiskers of their horses, but a week out winter suddenly develops a grudge against the hunting party. They are trapped against a hillside, forced to huddle together until the storm breaks. The squires erect the tents and the cots, unloading bear-furs and the extra clothing needed to withstand the cold. The camp converges around a large bonfire at the middle, extending hands for much-needed warmth.

When they left Camelot, Merlin rode beside him, more talkative than he has been in months. After the battle, after Arthur rode back into Camelot with his Knights of the Round Table, after he kissed Guinevere right there in the courtyard, Merlin made himself scarce and hardly uttered a word outside of whatever was absolutely necessary. He even stopped talking back, which honestly worried Arthur for a while, but then Arthur was suddenly distracted with the fact that his future queen apparently fell in love not only with him, but with one of his beloved knights as well.

Arthur took it pretty well. He hasn't beheaded anyone, at least. He may have averted his eyes every time Guinevere tried to speak with him after the fact, may have all but shunned Lancelot for months, but he did it with the grace expected of one in his position. Besides, not a week after Guinevere came to him, tears clouding her eyes and apologies spilling from her lips, Merlin snapped out of whatever black depression he'd been hiding in and reappeared at his prince's side, as loud and obnoxious as ever.

It was a welcome distraction, and Arthur has a suspicion that Merlin knew exactly what happened (he and Gwen were friends, after all) and was making an effort on purpose. Arthur didn't want pity (as Gwen had offered) or apologetic guilt (as Lancelot was desperately trying to contain), but Merlin did not offer any of those things. He was just himself, a familiar and comfortable combination of vulgarity and insubordination and exaggerated gesticulations. Whenever Arthur happened to have time to dwell on the stupidity of the entire situation, he was always shortly interrupted by too-big ears and a face-splitting smile.

It helps that Arthur's still incredibly busy. He's officially been acting king for four months now, dividing his time between rebuilding the damage left from the immortal army, listening to the disputes of his subjects and hovering by his father's bed. He's only agreed to take over in lieu of his father's recovery, because his father will recover. Has to. Arthur isn't ready for the throne, isn't ready to step up and be the king and all that comes with it.

He's taken their newest recruits out on a midwinter hunt with his seasoned knights, unable to stay trapped within the cold walls of the citadel and his own mind full of worries with the promise of migrating deer so nearby. They found a few fresh bucks over the first three days, but by the fourth Arthur caught the trail of a seasoned bull and followed it in for the kill. It's a magnificent beast, fourteen points and weighing at least thirty stone; it'll feed them for a week, easily.

"Your father'll be beside himself," Sir Leon says, giving him a congratulatory slap on the back.

Uther would be, Arthur thinks, if his father wasn't currently holed inside of his chambers back in the castle, reduced to a mute, catatonic figure over a broken heart.

Arthur can tell at once Leon's had too much to drink, because the excessive force of the friendly slap nearly sends Arthur sprawling to ground. He stumbles a bit, not quite drunk but well on his way if he isn't careful. They really shouldn't indulge in this while still out in the woods, but he's made sure his knights are taking the celebrations in turns, so someone's always on alert. Thick snowflakes swirl around them in a relentless feathery downpour, causing everything to appear a little blurry around the edges. They'll be trapped here until another day, at least, with this weather.