Fic 1: link
Snowed In
Prompt: Cold December Night
Guinevere turns at the sound of a soft knock at the door. “Oh,” she says, seeing it is only Merlin’s prat friend Arthur. “He’s sleeping, finally,” she says.
Arthur steps in. “Guinevere,” he greets her coolly, used to her standoffish demeanor. She notices melting snowflakes on the shoulders of his black greatcoat and on the crown of his blonde hair.
“Is it still snowing?” she asks, fussing over Merlin’s pale thin frame in the hospital bed, tucking his blankets up under his chin.
“Getting worse. I almost skidded off the road, actually.”
“You shouldn’t have come out.”
Arthur sighs. “He’s my friend, too, Guinevere.”
“It’s also Christmas Eve and you have family.”
He stubbornly peels his coat from his broad shoulders, revealing a snug-fitting grey sweater that outlines his shape perfectly, as if the sheep volunteered their fleece willingly because they knew it was for Arthur Pendragon.
Gwen frowns slightly, irked at the fact that she has always found him physically attractive despite his superior attitude.
“What about you?” he counters, sitting regally in a chair on the other side of Merlin’s bed.
“You know Merlin is the only family I have left, Arthur,” she answers softly.
“Oh. Right. Sorry,” he answers, then looks up at her. “Sorry about Elyan, by the way.” She looks tired, and Arthur finds himself wondering when she last got any sleep. She is wearing yoga pants and a hoodie, dressed for comfort.
“Thank you. I did get your card. I haven’t gotten around to sending out the official ‘thank-yous’ yet…”
“Don’t send me one. Really. I don’t need it,” he tells her, though not unkindly.
“It was too much, Arthur. You didn’t need to send that much money.”
“I know.”
“I donated it to the Policemen’s Widows’ Fund. They need it more than me.”
He nods. “How is he?” he asks, indicating Merlin now.
“Fair. He’s in a lot of pain. So sleep is good.”
The nurse comes in now, and Arthur and Gwen both move to the far side of the room while she checks Merlin’s chart, consults the various machines, adjusts the flow of his IV, and takes his temperature.
“Weather’s turned into a full-blown blizzard,” she says conversationally. “I hope you two are comfortable, because the roads are impassible.”
“Oh,” Gwen says. “Well, I wasn’t planning on going anywhere tonight anyway.”
“Visiting hours are technically over, but seeing as how no one is going anywhere, I don’t see the harm in letting you stay with your friend.” The nurse leaves them in the dim light of Merlin’s hospital room.
“Thank you,” Gwen answers, glancing up at Arthur. He is sending a text, and she leans over to see.
Won’t be home. Am snowed in at the hospital. Merlin OK but not good.
“Who are you texting?”
“Father.”
“He doesn’t care about Merlin,” Gwen blurts unthinkingly.
“He does in his way.”
“Throwing money at the hospital again?”
“Guinevere, that’s unfair.”
“Merlin dying here in a hospital bed is what’s unfair, Arthur,” she says, tired of his high-handed nature with everyone. “I’m sorry, but your family’s vast wealth doesn’t impress me.”
Arthur sighs. “My father doesn’t know how any other way to help. He doesn’t know how to deal with emotions, how to… give support to people he cares about in non-monetary ways.”
“So him throwing money at the hospital, paying Merlin’s bills, that’s how he shows how much he cares,” Gwen adds, starting to understand. She is also starting to grow confused. Arthur seems different tonight. Almost human.
“Yes. At least I hope so.”
Gwen moves away from him and sits on a chair, hugging her arms around her. “You’d think they’d heat this place,” she comments.
“You’re always cold,” he says. She looks at him, surprised. “What? You are.”
“I guess I’m surprised you noticed.”
Arthur says nothing, biting back the fact that he always noticed her, always noticed how she would sometimes wear her gloves or scarf inside. Or how her soft brown eyes light up when Merlin is feeling well. Or how she has a weakness for peanut butter. Or how her laugh seems to make the sun shine.
Arthur starts looking inside cupboards and in drawers now, rummaging.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
He doesn’t answer, heading out into the hallway. She hears him talking to someone at the nurses’ station, and he returns a moment later with a blanket.
“Here,” he says softly, opening it up and placing it around her shoulders.
“Thank you,” Gwen says, mystified, wondering who this thoughtful person is. She brings her feet up onto the chair, curling into a ball, wrapped completely in the blanket now. It is a large chair, wide enough for perhaps one and a half people, upholstered, and she looks almost childlike there.
Arthur sits back down in the smaller, less comfortable chair on the opposite side. “He was never exactly healthy-looking, but this is beyond…”
“Beyond the pale?” Gwen quips, cutting him off. Arthur blinks his surprise at her, and she immediately regrets her flippancy. “Sorry. That was in poor taste,” she says, huddling into herself more.
Arthur smiles, and something flips inside Gwen’s belly. “I’m sure he’d be the first to laugh at it,” he say. “His already-dark sense of humor has gone positively black over this past month.”
“I noticed,” she says, resting her head back on the chair.
“You should close your eyes, Guinevere. You look exhausted.”
“I am. But…”
“If anything happens I promise I’ll wake you up.”
She eyes him suspiciously.
“I will.”
Gwen closes her eyes, trying to let herself doze. But there is too much noise. Machines. Nurses. Alarms coming from the hallway. The knowledge that her best friend may well be dead by morning. And Arthur.
To his credit, he is being as silent as a church mouse. But he’s there, and she knows he’s there.
And she cannot get warm. It’s as if her fear and grief have banished any warmth from her body. She shivers a bit and sighs heavily.
“Still cold?” Arthur asks quietly.
“Mmm-hmm. I can’t warm up. And it’s too noisy in this hospital. You’d think a building full of sick people would have the decency to at least be bloody quiet.”
Arthur laughs.
“And now you’re laughing at me,” she grumbles. “Thanks.”
“I’m not laughing at you, Guinevere,” Arthur protests. “I’m laughing because what you said was funny.”
Gwen shivers again, hugging herself tighter.
Arthur stands and walks around to her. “Here,” he says, holding his hand out to her.
Puzzled, she takes his invitingly warm hand and allows him to pull her to her feet. He bends and starts pulling and pushing at the chair, reclining it, turning it into a makeshift bed.
“These chairs turn into beds for overnight guests,” he says, bending to remove his shoes. He then stretches out on the bed, over to one side. Then he gingerly pats the space in front of him. “You won’t get warm standing there gawking.”
Gwen bites her lower lip, then pulls her feet out of her fur-lined suede boots and delicately joins him. He arranges the blanket over them both.
“I’m going to put my arm around you,” he declares unceremoniously, and a moment later she feels his warm arm around her waist, the heat from his body seeping into her back.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
They lie together, awkwardly, neither knowing what to say. Finally Arthur hears himself asking, “Why don’t you like me, Guinevere?”
Gwen hesitates before answering, embarrassed. “It’s not that I don’t like you, Arthur,” she starts.
“But?”
“But you’re usually so… superior. Like you think you’re better than everyone.”
“My father raised me to think this way,” he admits to the back of her head, noting that her hair smells like vanilla. “I’ve been trying to stop it, actually. I know it’s not right. Merlin…”
“Merlin’s illness helped you see this,” she finishes for him, and she feels him nod behind her.
“You’ve been very kind tonight, Arthur. Sweet, actually,” she admits.
“And you haven’t been as, um, acidic with me as you usually are,” he ventures.
“Acidic?”
“You prefer ‘bitchy?’” he asks.
Gwen laughs now. “I’m sorry. My father raised me to be this way,” she says, paraphrasing his earlier words. “Not to be bitchy, mind, but to appreciate things other than money. And, quite honestly, to be distrustful of people with means who think they are better than me. And I know that’s not right either.”
“Are you getting warmer?” he asks, and she nods.
“Good,” he says. “And since we’re being honest, I… I actually quite like you, Guinevere.”
“You do?” she asks, her voice a shocked whisper.
“I do,” he answers, his voice quiet, and she notices that he holds her just a tad tighter.
“Well, you’re not entirely unattractive,” she admits, ducking her head. “When you’re not being a prat.”
Arthur actually laughs, and Gwen relaxes a little.
“Guinevere.”
Her name on his lips makes Gwen’s belly flip again.
“Turn around.”
It doesn’t even occur to Gwen that he has just given her an order until she is gazing up into his blue eyes, noticing the flecks of grey that make them so unique and beautiful.
“Arthur?” she whispers, afraid of and excited by what she suspects is happening between them.
His fingers touch her chin, gently, lifting her face to his, and he kisses her once, softly.
Gwen is sufficiently warm now. Almost too.
Hours later, Merlin’s eyes blink slowly open. He feels like a hedgehog has died inside his mouth and trying to lift his head turns out to be laughable. Yet he feels slightly better. More than slightly. The sun is shining, and the world outside his window is shimmering with icicles and newly-fallen snow.
He hears the soft sounds of breathing coming from his right and he allows his heavy head to flop in that direction.
Gwen is tucked in Arthur’s arms on the narrow convertible bed, a blanket over them. The tiniest smile is touching the corners of Arthur’s lips, and Merlin doesn’t think he’s ever seen two people look more blissful together, more right together.
Finally. I almost had to die, but finally, he thinks.
“Merry Christmas, guys,” he croaks softly.
FIc 3: link
Snowed In
Prompt: Cold December Night
Guinevere turns at the sound of a soft knock at the door. “Oh,” she says, seeing it is only Merlin’s prat friend Arthur. “He’s sleeping, finally,” she says.
Arthur steps in. “Guinevere,” he greets her coolly, used to her standoffish demeanor. She notices melting snowflakes on the shoulders of his black greatcoat and on the crown of his blonde hair.
“Is it still snowing?” she asks, fussing over Merlin’s pale thin frame in the hospital bed, tucking his blankets up under his chin.
“Getting worse. I almost skidded off the road, actually.”
“You shouldn’t have come out.”
Arthur sighs. “He’s my friend, too, Guinevere.”
“It’s also Christmas Eve and you have family.”
He stubbornly peels his coat from his broad shoulders, revealing a snug-fitting grey sweater that outlines his shape perfectly, as if the sheep volunteered their fleece willingly because they knew it was for Arthur Pendragon.
Gwen frowns slightly, irked at the fact that she has always found him physically attractive despite his superior attitude.
“What about you?” he counters, sitting regally in a chair on the other side of Merlin’s bed.
“You know Merlin is the only family I have left, Arthur,” she answers softly.
“Oh. Right. Sorry,” he answers, then looks up at her. “Sorry about Elyan, by the way.” She looks tired, and Arthur finds himself wondering when she last got any sleep. She is wearing yoga pants and a hoodie, dressed for comfort.
“Thank you. I did get your card. I haven’t gotten around to sending out the official ‘thank-yous’ yet…”
“Don’t send me one. Really. I don’t need it,” he tells her, though not unkindly.
“It was too much, Arthur. You didn’t need to send that much money.”
“I know.”
“I donated it to the Policemen’s Widows’ Fund. They need it more than me.”
He nods. “How is he?” he asks, indicating Merlin now.
“Fair. He’s in a lot of pain. So sleep is good.”
The nurse comes in now, and Arthur and Gwen both move to the far side of the room while she checks Merlin’s chart, consults the various machines, adjusts the flow of his IV, and takes his temperature.
“Weather’s turned into a full-blown blizzard,” she says conversationally. “I hope you two are comfortable, because the roads are impassible.”
“Oh,” Gwen says. “Well, I wasn’t planning on going anywhere tonight anyway.”
“Visiting hours are technically over, but seeing as how no one is going anywhere, I don’t see the harm in letting you stay with your friend.” The nurse leaves them in the dim light of Merlin’s hospital room.
“Thank you,” Gwen answers, glancing up at Arthur. He is sending a text, and she leans over to see.
Won’t be home. Am snowed in at the hospital. Merlin OK but not good.
“Who are you texting?”
“Father.”
“He doesn’t care about Merlin,” Gwen blurts unthinkingly.
“He does in his way.”
“Throwing money at the hospital again?”
“Guinevere, that’s unfair.”
“Merlin dying here in a hospital bed is what’s unfair, Arthur,” she says, tired of his high-handed nature with everyone. “I’m sorry, but your family’s vast wealth doesn’t impress me.”
Arthur sighs. “My father doesn’t know how any other way to help. He doesn’t know how to deal with emotions, how to… give support to people he cares about in non-monetary ways.”
“So him throwing money at the hospital, paying Merlin’s bills, that’s how he shows how much he cares,” Gwen adds, starting to understand. She is also starting to grow confused. Arthur seems different tonight. Almost human.
“Yes. At least I hope so.”
Gwen moves away from him and sits on a chair, hugging her arms around her. “You’d think they’d heat this place,” she comments.
“You’re always cold,” he says. She looks at him, surprised. “What? You are.”
“I guess I’m surprised you noticed.”
Arthur says nothing, biting back the fact that he always noticed her, always noticed how she would sometimes wear her gloves or scarf inside. Or how her soft brown eyes light up when Merlin is feeling well. Or how she has a weakness for peanut butter. Or how her laugh seems to make the sun shine.
Arthur starts looking inside cupboards and in drawers now, rummaging.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
He doesn’t answer, heading out into the hallway. She hears him talking to someone at the nurses’ station, and he returns a moment later with a blanket.
“Here,” he says softly, opening it up and placing it around her shoulders.
“Thank you,” Gwen says, mystified, wondering who this thoughtful person is. She brings her feet up onto the chair, curling into a ball, wrapped completely in the blanket now. It is a large chair, wide enough for perhaps one and a half people, upholstered, and she looks almost childlike there.
Arthur sits back down in the smaller, less comfortable chair on the opposite side. “He was never exactly healthy-looking, but this is beyond…”
“Beyond the pale?” Gwen quips, cutting him off. Arthur blinks his surprise at her, and she immediately regrets her flippancy. “Sorry. That was in poor taste,” she says, huddling into herself more.
Arthur smiles, and something flips inside Gwen’s belly. “I’m sure he’d be the first to laugh at it,” he say. “His already-dark sense of humor has gone positively black over this past month.”
“I noticed,” she says, resting her head back on the chair.
“You should close your eyes, Guinevere. You look exhausted.”
“I am. But…”
“If anything happens I promise I’ll wake you up.”
She eyes him suspiciously.
“I will.”
Gwen closes her eyes, trying to let herself doze. But there is too much noise. Machines. Nurses. Alarms coming from the hallway. The knowledge that her best friend may well be dead by morning. And Arthur.
To his credit, he is being as silent as a church mouse. But he’s there, and she knows he’s there.
And she cannot get warm. It’s as if her fear and grief have banished any warmth from her body. She shivers a bit and sighs heavily.
“Still cold?” Arthur asks quietly.
“Mmm-hmm. I can’t warm up. And it’s too noisy in this hospital. You’d think a building full of sick people would have the decency to at least be bloody quiet.”
Arthur laughs.
“And now you’re laughing at me,” she grumbles. “Thanks.”
“I’m not laughing at you, Guinevere,” Arthur protests. “I’m laughing because what you said was funny.”
Gwen shivers again, hugging herself tighter.
Arthur stands and walks around to her. “Here,” he says, holding his hand out to her.
Puzzled, she takes his invitingly warm hand and allows him to pull her to her feet. He bends and starts pulling and pushing at the chair, reclining it, turning it into a makeshift bed.
“These chairs turn into beds for overnight guests,” he says, bending to remove his shoes. He then stretches out on the bed, over to one side. Then he gingerly pats the space in front of him. “You won’t get warm standing there gawking.”
Gwen bites her lower lip, then pulls her feet out of her fur-lined suede boots and delicately joins him. He arranges the blanket over them both.
“I’m going to put my arm around you,” he declares unceremoniously, and a moment later she feels his warm arm around her waist, the heat from his body seeping into her back.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
They lie together, awkwardly, neither knowing what to say. Finally Arthur hears himself asking, “Why don’t you like me, Guinevere?”
Gwen hesitates before answering, embarrassed. “It’s not that I don’t like you, Arthur,” she starts.
“But?”
“But you’re usually so… superior. Like you think you’re better than everyone.”
“My father raised me to think this way,” he admits to the back of her head, noting that her hair smells like vanilla. “I’ve been trying to stop it, actually. I know it’s not right. Merlin…”
“Merlin’s illness helped you see this,” she finishes for him, and she feels him nod behind her.
“You’ve been very kind tonight, Arthur. Sweet, actually,” she admits.
“And you haven’t been as, um, acidic with me as you usually are,” he ventures.
“Acidic?”
“You prefer ‘bitchy?’” he asks.
Gwen laughs now. “I’m sorry. My father raised me to be this way,” she says, paraphrasing his earlier words. “Not to be bitchy, mind, but to appreciate things other than money. And, quite honestly, to be distrustful of people with means who think they are better than me. And I know that’s not right either.”
“Are you getting warmer?” he asks, and she nods.
“Good,” he says. “And since we’re being honest, I… I actually quite like you, Guinevere.”
“You do?” she asks, her voice a shocked whisper.
“I do,” he answers, his voice quiet, and she notices that he holds her just a tad tighter.
“Well, you’re not entirely unattractive,” she admits, ducking her head. “When you’re not being a prat.”
Arthur actually laughs, and Gwen relaxes a little.
“Guinevere.”
Her name on his lips makes Gwen’s belly flip again.
“Turn around.”
It doesn’t even occur to Gwen that he has just given her an order until she is gazing up into his blue eyes, noticing the flecks of grey that make them so unique and beautiful.
“Arthur?” she whispers, afraid of and excited by what she suspects is happening between them.
His fingers touch her chin, gently, lifting her face to his, and he kisses her once, softly.
Gwen is sufficiently warm now. Almost too.
Hours later, Merlin’s eyes blink slowly open. He feels like a hedgehog has died inside his mouth and trying to lift his head turns out to be laughable. Yet he feels slightly better. More than slightly. The sun is shining, and the world outside his window is shimmering with icicles and newly-fallen snow.
He hears the soft sounds of breathing coming from his right and he allows his heavy head to flop in that direction.
Gwen is tucked in Arthur’s arms on the narrow convertible bed, a blanket over them. The tiniest smile is touching the corners of Arthur’s lips, and Merlin doesn’t think he’s ever seen two people look more blissful together, more right together.
Finally. I almost had to die, but finally, he thinks.
“Merry Christmas, guys,” he croaks softly.
FIc 3: link
