A Different Destiny / Merthur

C'est La Mort

It was still dark when Merlin woke. He moved about the tent like someone in a dream, his eyelids heavy and shirt pulled tightly around his shivering arms. It was far too early to be awake. Not even the birds had stirred. Yet, as he felt the strap of the messager bag — a gift, from the Druids — he was almost glad to have one final, private moment in the camp. He stood there, holding the bag in the darkness, and let the silence stretch on.

Then he began to pack.

As quietly as he could, he reached for the flask, and the food, and the blanket. There wasn't enough room for a book. Even if there was, he reflected, the books belonged where they were, right in the heart of magical activity; but perhaps, one day, he'd be able to start a book collection of his own. A proper one. Full of spell and myths and potions.

Then, somewhere in the darkness, Merlin heard a rather husky voice whisper his name.

"Did I wake you?"

Arthur merely yawned. "Come back to bed, love."

Come back to bed. That wasn't what he meant. The bed hadn't been big enough for them both. Instead, they'd created a nest of blankets and pillows on the floor. It wasn't as comfortable, but it was cozy, and it was theirs, so it was enough.

Come back to me, was what he meant.

"I can't," Merlin sighed, "we have to leave soon. I'll wake you went it's time." There was a rustling of sheets, and Merlin was dimly aware that Arthur was getting up. "Don't," he warned, "it's freezing."

"I know," he pulled Merlin close, snuggling against him and wrapping them both in the folds of his blanket. "I thought you'd need this."

"Thank you."

"I could fall asleep like this."

"What, standing up?"

"No, with you."

"You've already done that," Merlin laughed.

Yes, Arthur thought, but I could do it again. Again and again and again for the rest of my life. I'd fall asleep next to you forever. And he almost said it, too. He almost reached for Merlin's hand, held it tightly and whispered those words in the hope that he'd understand. He almost said it, but then Merlin moved away — to finish packing or tidying their things — and the moment had gone, fading like snow that had been too much loved by the sun.

~~~

Only Aglain had woken to see them off.  And, as strangely empty as the place felt — with just the three of them, stood beyond the last line of tents — Arthur was relieved at the quiet farewell.  It made leaving easier.

"I wish you both well," Aglain fixed them with a strange sort of stare, "and a safe return."

Arthur smiled.  "Thank you.  And your hospitality won't be forgotten, I promise you.  I hope that in the future our people can once again be friends."

"I have every faith in you, Arthur Pendragon."

The Prince was oddly touched, and turned to Merlin in the half-light as if to smile — but his eyes stopped short of the brunet, and fell instead on an approaching figure, weaving its way through the tents towards them.  Arthur blinked in surprise.  "Mordred?"

The Druid was dressed in a travelling cloak with a bag slung over his shoulder, dagger tucked into his boot, and sword sheathed at his hip.

Arthur hadn't seen him in days.  Not since he announced that they were leaving.  He'd tried — and failed — to find him on several occasions, and had reluctantly accepted the possibility that the boy was simply avoiding him.  Perhaps, Arthur had thought, he just didn't like goodbyes.