Dawn is nearly upon Camelot as Merlin tightens the last strap on the brown mare that Arthur will be riding. Its taken him hours, but finally, everything is ready. He turns to leave the stables and catch an hour or two of rest, but when he walks out he is met by the grey dawn slowly bleeding into the darkness of the sky. He growls in frustration and kicks a nearby post, but only recieves a sore toe for his efforts.

Disgruntled and tired, he sets off to the kitchens to fetch the kings breakfast.

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They've been riding for nearly four hours when Merlin's eyes seem to develop a gravitational pull of their own, and it becomes harder to reopen his eyes each time he blinks. He's distantly aware of Arthur rambling about some hunting trip he went on with Gwaine and Percival, but he can no longer hold any concentration on it.

"-and then I said, 'no Gwaine you can't drink that! It would knock out a boar!' next thing I know he's drunk it and can barely walk two steps without-" Arthur trails off when he looks back to see Merlin's reaction, only to find him slumped over his horse.

Arthur's first instict is to shout at him to wake up, or spur his horse so it goes galloping with a very confused Merlin on its back. But then he notices how dark the shadows under his eyes are, and how pale his skin is in contrast. If Arthur didn't know better, he would think Merlin was horribly sick. He decides to be merciful and let the boy sleep.

He takes the opportunity to observe him. He seems to have gotten thinner, his clothes are stained at the knees and elbows from work on the training fields, and his ever-present brown jacket seems to have developed some new marks that look like burns. He just seems weary, in the same way that an old man is weary, tired from the burden of life. It's strange to see that in someone so young. The only thing that hasn't changed is the presence of his bright red neckercheif. Arthur never understood its function, but Merlin never seemed to go anywhere without it.

It's a bit worrying to see the state that Merlin has gotten into without Arthur noticing. He claimed Merlin was his closest friend, but sometimes it seems like he barely knows him. Arthur resolves to keep a closer eye on him, he's suicidally loyal and he'll work himself to death if someone doesn't stop him. At least Arthur knew that for certain.

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It's nearly noon when Arthur decides to finally wake Merlin. He stops his horse and walks up to the raven-haired boy.

"Merlin." He says quietly.

No reaction.

"Mer-lin!" he says, louder this time.

Still, he doesn't stir.

"MERLIN!" he nearly shouts.

Merlin jolts awake so agressively that he falls off his horse. He lays on the ground in a confused heap as Arthur simply observes with a smirk on his face.

"What'd you do that for?" he asks while massaging a lump that was forming in the back of his head.

Arthur simply laughs in response and walks to a flat grassy area to see if it will do for a quick rest.

They have a cold lunch and let the horses graze on the sparse yellow grass that peaks up between snow patches. Once they've repacked everything they keep going until the sun has set. The chill of the day turns into a biting cold as darkness overtakes the land. The terrain has become rockier and more mountainous as they've continued. They set up camp in a small clearing and Merlin starts a small fire to ward off some of the cold and begins to cook some soup. When it's done he ladles the king a bowl first, and goes to unpack their bedrolls. He packed extra blankets for Arthur and lays them, neatly folded, on top of the bedroll. When he returns he sees Arthur getting himself a second helping and smiles to himself, this is why he had to add extra holes to his belt. He shakes his head in amusement and returns to the horses to unpack his own bedroll. He realizes that, in his exhausted state, he had forgotten to pack extra blankets for himself. He sighs in frustration and sets up his bedroll out of sight of Arthur's. He ties up the horses and feeds them before returning to the fire to find Arthur asleep under a mound of blankets and snoring soundly. Merlin eats a bowl of the soup (or as much as he could get out) and cleans the pot with snow before turning in for the night.

He curls up under his single woolen blanket and begins to nod off. Despite the cold, sleep calls him, and he sinks into its comforting embrace.