doubt||merthur

chapter 4

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Orpheus, you’re shivering. Is it cold or fear?

Just keep singing

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The forest sags under the weight of fresh snowfall. The horses kick flurries up as they canter, exertion turning the cold air into stabs in Merlin’s lungs. Arthur’s horse slows, pulls up ahead on the edge of the forest, where the trees start to clear. Merlin scans the undergrowth, but with everything dipped in white people stand out, and there’s nothing in the trees but a scampering rabbit and a pair of flirting robins. He halts next to Arthur anyway.

‘What?’

‘Here. It’s rude to show up without a gift.’ Arthur reaches into his saddlebag and tosses Merlin a stoppered flagon. Merlin catches it – barely – mouthing surprise. ‘Your sense of direction is appalling, Merlin. Ealdor is roughly five miles that way.’ He gestures to the east, kicks his horse in the gut. ‘I’ll search the rest of the forest alone. Meet me back here at sunset.’

Arthur’s horse trots into the forest before Merlin can protest, and he gestures confusion at the flagon in his hands and laughs at the trees.

Snow drapes over Ealdor like a thick, unruly blanket, renders the houses into toys and the fields into blankness. His mother looks at him with disbelief above the wood she’s collecting, like he’s a dream come strolling in the daylight. She runs and hugs him before he’s even finished dismounting. He breathes into her hair and clutches her to him, tears gnawing in his throat and twigs poking him in the ribs.

‘I tried to come before but – ’

‘It’s good of Arthur to let you come at all.’

She touches his hair and his chin, checking he’s real. Her eyes are frantic but pleased, and if she hates him just a little for what happened with his father, he can’t see it in them.

‘This is for you.’ Merlin holds out the flagon, laughs because her arms are full. ‘It’s honeyed wine.’

‘You shouldn’t spend your wages – ’

‘Didn’t. Arthur gave it to me. I told him about your stories of the winter feasts in Camelot. Maybe he thought you’d like to do more than imagine.’

She smiles, bundles him into the house and next to the fire. She arranges the firewood on the hearth to dry out, gives the flagon pride of place on the shelf and reaches for something out of the basket at the foot of the wall.

‘I was going to send these but as you’re here – ’ She sits next to him on the bench, presses something soft and woollen into his hands. ‘They’ll keep you warm.’

Merlin unfolds them. Mittens. He fingers the thumb and longing stabs at him, longing to be here, listening to her knit as the sky hollows into dark. When he’d sat here before, warming his cold-bitten fingers and toes, sometimes he’d gone over and over the stories of Camelot in his head. He’d imagined a place that was always smiling, always changing, where every day brimmed with new people and new things to try. He remembers the conversation they had here, his mother clutching his fingers – don’t think I want to send you away, Merlin, you are so very precious to me – but you keep drawing attention and sooner or later someone will figure it out. It’s too small for you here. He swallows. He’d asked her, but where will I go? even though the answer was already in his head and wrapped around the idea of berries like jewels and never being cold. I was thinking Camelot, Merlin. There’s someone there – someone I think you need to meet.

He pulls one of the mittens onto his hand, wiggles his fingers.

‘Perfect,’ he says, and kisses her forehead.

‘How’s Gaius?’

‘Same as ever. He’d have sent his regards if he’d known I was coming.’

‘How are you? You look tired, Merlin.’

‘Me? I’m – fine.’ Her fingers coax on his arm, and Merlin frowns. ‘Camelot’s not like it was. Uther’s half-crazed – Arthur’s so exhausted he’s probably going to get himself killed. It’s my fault.’

‘What is?’

‘A lot of things,’ he murmurs. He strokes the inside of the mittens, willing them to warm the bits of him deep inside that are frozen. ‘A lot of things are my fault.’

He looks at his mother. Concern wrinkles her brow and below it her eyes pierce, earnest and troubled.

‘Tell me about here,’ he says. ‘Tell me everything so I can take it back with me?’

The day ends too quickly. Merlin rides to the edge of the forest with tears on his cheeks. He wipes them on his sleeve as he approaches, and Arthur looks away and pretends he didn’t see him do it. Snow starts to fall again, flakes obliterating on Merlin’s eyelashes and turning his nose numb. When they catch sight of the castle, striking out at the indigo sky, Arthur looks over.

‘Do I need to tell you not to say anything?’

‘No. Thank you, Arthur.’

‘You were moping around the place like a suicidal squirrel. It was depressing the statues. Besides, I heard a rumour about bounty hunters in the forest of Ascetir, remember?’ Merlin nods. ‘How’s your mother?’

‘Delusional,’ Merlin says. ‘She thinks you’re a good man.’