Merlin hated this time of year.
The food was good, true, and he didn't mind serving it if he could steal the scraps afterwards. It was busy, but he secretly thrived on busy, and it gave him an excuse to use magic.
It was what it stood for that bothered him.
Uther claimed it as the day he had defeated magic.
Unsurprisingly, Merlin had to foil a lot of attacks on that day.
Unsurprisingly, Uther held a lot executions.
Merlin wasn't alone in his hatred. Morgana grew furious, Gwen got quiet, Gaius was tense and drawn, and even Arthur grew reluctant.
Arthur, for his part, assumed he knew why his manservant hated the festival. He did his best to get him out of executions by burying him in chores and tried not to rag on him so much.
A battle prevented the celebration the year Arthur became regent. After that, Arthur simply . . . forgot.
Shut up, Gwaine.
The midwinter's present to Merlin was entirely his wife's idea, of course.
It was. Really.
Come here, Gwaine. I've got a present for you. You're going to love it.
