A Different Destiny / Merthur

Night

It had been hours since night had descended. Stars filled the sky, glittering like tiny jewels in a tapestry: sewn into the very fabric of darkness.

And it was quiet.

Not just quiet, but peaceful. There was something calming about knowing everyone else was asleep. It made being awake mean something. During the day, awake wasn't something you were, it was something you did: you woke up and you were busy.

But to be awake at night was something else entirely.

It was freeing.

At night, Arthur was free from being a Prince. He was free from responsibilities and expectations and pressure. He could breathe easily. He could relax.

He was cold.

Sat on the windowsill, gazing out into the night, Arthur could feel himself shivering. He'd been sat still for too long. His limbs were stiff and numbed with the cold that crept up from the stone surface below him. He didn't think to get a blanket. Instead, he found himself staring at the darkened fire hearth: packed with logs Merlin had forgotten to light.

And it was odd.

It was odd because, rather than being annoyed, or frustrated, or even mildly amused at the extent of Merlin's incompetence, Arthur felt something entirely different.

He felt sad.

And the sadness was consuming. It was a dull ache that kept growing. And it was heavy. Crushing, almost. And it didn't make sense. It didn't make sense at all, and it was ridiculous because—

Arthur jumped up as the chamber door creaked open. "Who's there?"

"Me."

"Who the hell—" Arthur sighed, "for gods sakes Merlin, that's you isn't it?"

There was a familiar light laugh. "Why's it so dark in here? Did you run out of candles?"

"No, Merlin. I happen to like the dark."

"Are you alone?"

"Stop asking stupid questions."

There was another creak as the door was closed, and then a brief flash of gold: the candles leapt into life. It was only then that Arthur could see Merlin's face; bathed under the soft, flickering glow, and smiling widely, he looked nothing short of beautiful.

Arthur felt himself redden. "Can I ask why you're here, Merlin?"

"I thought you might be lonely."

"It's the middle of the night. Of course I'd be alone."

"Being alone and being lonely aren't the same thing," Merlin shrugged, "but if you'd rather I went—"

"No! I mean," Arthur coughed, "you can stay, if you must. I suppose it would be rude of me to kick you out."

"It would."

Arthur slid off the windowsill and took several, slow steps towards Merlin. "You know what I think?"

"Probably not a lot."

"Oi!"

Merlin tried to suppress a grin.

"I think," Arthur paused, leaning against the bed post, "that it's rude that no one lit the fire in here — after all, I could've frozen to death — but I'm sure you wouldn't know anything about that, would you Merlin?"

Stood in a jacket that was far too big for him, with sleeves that fell low enough to hide his hands, Merlin managed to look the picture of innocence. "I got distracted, I'm sorry. I'm sure you could have lit it yourself though, it's not that difficult, in fact I could do it now if—" Merlin frowned, "why are you smiling?"