If anyone would actually believe me I would tell them, scratching my head, that this took me two hours to write. Because this has to be the weirdest writing experience I've ever had to date. As soon as I finished watching 5x11 and the preview for 5x12. (I won't give any spoilers but it KILLED ME, KILLED ME I tell you!) I just had the need for some Hurt/Comfort and this came out.

It made me ticklish to place this story under the Hurt/Comfort tag. I've always wanted to write something that is purely centered upon adorable bromance but I've never actually done it. Until now.

If you haven't figured it out yet this is nothing but miserable angst. Yup, I was very surprised, believe me.

Please curl up with a cup of coffee and enjoy! :)

THIS IS A FUTURE! FIC. That means it's set when Merlin's Court Sorcerer and Arthur unites Albion. And, this will be a two-shot.

Beacon In The Night.

Part 1.

Give me your hand, my brother, search my face;
Look in these eyes lest I should think of shame;
For we have made an end of all things base.
We are returning by the road we came.

-To My Brother by Siegfried Sassoon

To curse them in such a way-by striking down those poorer and needier within Albion's borders- was unthinkable. To think that she, once so compassionate and kind, was willing to watch children die and mothers cry so that she could savor her revenge had risen bile on the people's throats.

She opened the gates for the curse to ravage the land, as unmerciful and as unkind as it once had been before heroes who were never named forced it below land and bounded it with ancient power so that it could do no more harm. And after she, with crazed eyes, set her hands upon it, the shrieking nightmare was free once again.

It became known as a fatalistic winter. The wind howled with the voice of a thousand dogs and broke through every defense man placed against it, following its destructive path throughout the fields of wheat and flowers, entering in the fragile, small shacks that farmers called home and blowing away the warm light of a fire that had taken hours to achieve. The curse ravaged through the borders of Albion, broke through the pacific life of those villagers that could do nothing but watch in horror as their life was swept away.

The High King of Albion was not indifferent to his the cry of his stricken people. With the same presence of a reassuring protector, he took it upon him to travel each of the affected areas, kneeling by the side of poor, almost starved children and offering from his own hands various fruits and sacks of grain, a gentle hand on his citizen's shoulders, a soft-spoken promise of better things to come. It became a daily wonder for the outlining villagers to see their golden haired, weary-faced King guide his horse among his brethren, saying one last goodbye as he went on through the affected lands, leaving behind hearts singing with joy and faces whose sorrow had lessened considerably.

He traveled with sacks of grain and food, gave drink from multiple skins of water and provided those without a home with rich blankets and cloaks to stand the harshness of the biting winds, he gave children warm clothing and loafs of delicious bread. But if his kindness was shown through his actions then the High King's empathy with his people's suffering was engraved in each deep line that cursed through his handsome face.

Whenever the people saw this broad-shouldered warrior kneel besides those who called his name, feed those who begged for food and a drop of water and console those mothers who mourned the loss of their homes, they could barely give enough thanks to the gods for such a man. He had, once, shed off his worn Camelot-red cloak so that a weeping child could find comfort on his King's protection and the same red cloth later became that town's greatest possession.

Maybe it was the tired look upon King Arthur's noble face what first started the rumors and when it was noticed that the ever-present white stallion was missing from the High King's trustful horse's side, the simple rumors became true: their King's beloved Court Sorcerer was not there.

When asked- the first time by a woman who swept back her King's sweaty blond hair as he drank greedily from the well- he would explain that he'd sent Merlin ahead so that he could try and calm the ferocious winds and at the same time serve as a healer, for King Arthur knew that the furthest people were from Camelot's protective charms the hardest they were hit by the curse.

It was faith. Faith on his Court Sorcerer's word and might what drove the High King forwards. How could he, as attuned as he was with his people, see the misery that had placed such heavy shadows upon their hearts and not break down but, instead, offer his unbreakable support and the assurance of his eyes?

It was the child he'd covered with Camelot red- (one who never let go of his precious gift and, when he was older, would raise it as an emblem for the late Golden King.) -who noticed it first.

He had seen with curious eyes as the King sat on a wooden bench and wrote a few sentences by candlelight. Smiling as he did so, almost as if in writing he was recalling happier times.

"What are you doing?" the child had asked.

Those blue eyes of his King had pierced right through his little body, as if they were lighting coming down from the open skies. But their intensity was contrasted by the lightheartedness and affection of his smile.

"I am writing a letter to an old friend." The High King answered and there was a twinkle upon his eyes that had been gone for a while. "He wants to know how I'm doing and I-" he reached out to ruffle the child's hair with his tanned, calloused hand. "-am telling him about your mother's delicious stew."

"Oh." the boy said and then, with the simplicity of children, he added. "You must miss him then."

The High King's eyes softened and he laid a hand upon his brow as he sought with his kind gaze that of the child. It was nothing more than a whisper, and although it was strong and did not quiver, the boy could still hear all that was unsaid behind it.

"Yes." was all King Arthur said. And the shadows flickered upon them both as the candlelight trembled and the wind howled outside." Terribly."

And then the High King waited, with blood-shot eyes that spoke of his sleepless nights, for that owl who'd become a wonder on its own.

Because, where it day or night, no matter where he was at, the people always saw a tawny owl land besides their King and, to their astonishment, bring with it a piece of parchment that King Arthur would later explain were letters from Merlin. The tawny owl would screech affectionately before departing.

The animal was named Archimedes and Merlin had taught the office of a messenger dove. "Only Merlin-" King Arthur had said, chuckling. "…would think in such a way. It comes in handy though I don't think anyone else will ever do it."

Then, along came the day in which no owl came to greet the King with words his beloved advisor had scrambled down in a hurry. Deep into the night and almost until first light, the High King stood, looking over the snowy fields, waiting.

The owl did not come and King Arthur, although paler, took comfort on the fact that, had something happen to Merlin, he would've known.

Seeing the absence of the owl that had become almost a constant, the people's anxiety was almost palpable but all King Arthur did was frown and continue his repartition of supplies with that distinctive warm timbre of his.

Later, sitting down around a bonfire with sufficient food and clothing, King Arthur would tell stories about his youth, about a clumsy manservant who was his best friend and a beautiful maidservant named Guinevere, about brave knights that would later become part of his Round Table and a wise physician named Gaius. And with these stories that could very well be fairytales, the people forgot the hunger and cold they were suffering and hung on to each and every word that came from King Arthur's mouth.

That's how the High King became one with his people and was soon a part of them all, as if his noble heart had won a place inside each of their chests. They dreaded the moment they would see him depart towards another needy village and wondered how they could ever repay their Golden King or 'Arthur' as he was affectionately called amongst them, all that he had done and brought with his dazzling smile and kind eyes.

"Please, none of that." he would say whenever one approached him with gifts and riches. "I want nothing but your happiness in return. All I want is for you to live in peace."

It brought tears to the eyes of many and wondrous joy to the hearts of them all.

Then, out of nowhere, after the night had enveloped them all with its warmth, it occurred. The howling winds died down and the earth was no longer cold and empty under its blanket of ashes, the freezing air became easier to breathe and the light of the bonfire did not waver, not once.

King Arthur stopped in the middle of his tale about a legion of noble knights and looked up with eyes as brilliant as the stars that could now be seen above them.

He then doubled over and clutched his heart and the lazy ambience was suddenly over when the people reacted to their pained King. Multiple hands were placed upon his brow and his cheek, some called for a healer or a physician and others just tried to bring back their King's clouded gaze from whatever mysterious visions they were seeing.

But then, as sudden as it had been, it was over.

A horse's nigh broke the stillness of the night. Before the wide eyes of those who had crowed around him the High King rose to his feet and stumbled blindly towards the sound, his clumsy race through the frozen ground growing more urgent with each passing moment.

Along with the thundering hooves of a white horse came the shriek of an owl and it was then when the High King let out all that he had known since the moment his heart had been shaken so violently inside his chest. And what came from his lips was but a whisper that chilled the blood of those who saw the terror flare in his pale eyes. "…Merlin…"

The thickness of the snow proved to be no match for the High King of Albion, running through it and making his way to the stark-white horse that bore in its back a half-slumped rider.

The villagers watched as their beloved King reached the horse's side and immediately wrapped his gloved fingers on the reigns, as if to guide the animal and it's rider to more secure grounds. He reached out with his other hand to the cloaked man's shoulder, calling a name once, twice, until two bleary eyes blinked at him from below the hood.

Those who were close enough to their King could see the relieved grins that engulfed both of the man's faces when their eyes connected over the huffing horse and the dying coldness of the night. Then, after a few whispered questions from Arthur and muttered answers from his Court Sorcerer, Arthur's light blue eyes brightened with something no one knew was missing.

Then, as sharp as Excalibur's hilt, the High King's profound voice resounded through the snowy plains with uncovered panic, calling out Merlin's name as the thin man on the horse arched and clutched his chest in the same way Arthur had done a few moments ago.

The King's slightly hysteric scream rose over them all and spurned them into action as he, no longer frozen in extreme fright, reached out for The Emrys and tugged on that bony wrist as he called Merlin's name once again.

Merlin, complacent for once, did not argue but fell into his King's awaiting arms and Arthur held upright this thin, cloaked man that was his best friend, trembling with fever and something deeper that had shaken the core of his being. There were a few moments of silence in which King Arthur realized his red cape was gone and he could give his friend nothing more than his body heat to warm him and, with the thought striking, a cry rose up from his throat, one so full of naked fear and worry that he would've found it embarrassing were he the young arrogant prince Merlin had found so many years ago.

But he was that prince no longer and he felt nothing but the rush of panic growing in his blood when his fingers touched Merlin's ice cold skin and he looked right into the blue eyes that held within them such wisdom, now gazing weakly up at him from drooping eyelids. And as it all came together and old concerns danced beneath his eyelids, Arthur's heart sped up as if it's sole purpose was to escape his chest.

His voice, at times so commanding and always dripping with assurance, cried out with a desperate timbre that not one of his subjects had ever heard before.

"Help!"

And even if the frailty on the call was disheartening. (Their King had always been the unbreakable epitome of strength and in the direst of circumstances he was always the faithful, fearless warrior that never cowered.) not a breath went by before those thankful villagers raced over where their King was kneeling, the women whispering assurances and covering the warlock with their thick cloaks, the men trying to pry Arthur's arms away from his freezing best friend, a task that was impossible since through it all they both clung to each other as if there was nothing else on earth and through their eyes they held a silent communication that was underlined by the King swiping back the sorcerer's fringe from time to time and muttering curses beneath his breath.

Merlin, as pale as the snow below them, had closed his tired eyes after a while although his hand sought Arthur's and clutched onto it as if it was a lifeline. And it was true, for both of them.

Finally, in a cocoon of blankets and warm cloaks, the Court Sorcerer of Albion was gently placed in a makeshift stretcher and the men, who owed the stricken King their lives, gingerly carried him towards the physician's home.

Not once did the King let go of his old friend's pale hand.

The King's eyes were glinting in the flickering torch light as they reached the humble shack. He immediately rounded the bed that was kept for overnight patients and sat there on his knees, guiding his warlock's head gently so that it would rest on his lap, brushing back unruly black hair as he did so.

"Sire, is there- is there anything we can do?"

Arthur, almost unwillingly, raised his gaze from Merlin and looked up at a young woman whom he'd defended from the cruelty of the biting winter and whose children had showered him with kisses when he'd calmed down their hunger with blessed loafs of bread.

She was named Clarisse although Arthur did not know that. She would be forever grateful to her golden King for providing her and her children with protection, food and kindness, would forever give thanks to the gods for giving the land of Albion such a compassionate man to be its ruler.

And her heart broke at the sight of the High King, hunched over his friend's face, whispering things that she could not begin to comprehend.

"Anything?" she asked gently, boring with her kind gaze that of her golden King.

"He's freezing." The King said in a murmur. His placed his hand again, with the softest of touches, in the sorcerer's pale brow and the pained expression upon his warlock's face lessened, as if the presence of his king was enough to alleviate the blinding pain inside his body.

Merlin opened his eyes, two slits of soft, clouded blue, and met his soul-brother's gaze, forcing his hand upon Arthur's own as if to reassure and comfort him, letting his King hold it inside his own with studied care. Then he opened his mouth, maybe to speak. But before he could another wave of agony hit him, and his whole body arched once again as a scream, resembling a wounded dragon, erupted from his throat.

Two lonely tears slipped from the High King's blood-shot eyes and trailed down his unshaven cheeks.

"It's my entire fault." Arthur told him as he tightened the grasp he had on his dearest friend's shaking hand and bit back the unbearable agony at seeing Merlin in such pain.

"Don't you dare blame yourself." Merlin managed through his dry throat and it was as if his voice soothed Arthur's very soul. "This is all Morgana's doing."

Nonetheless the King's eyes were still clouded with heartbreaking guilt when Merlin sought his gaze once again and at the sight – for he knew Arthur's soul better than his own- he let one of his impish smiles fill his lips.

"Arthur-" The warlock placed aside all of the heart-eating torment inside his veins and offered his sorrowful King a soft gaze filled with warmth. "-it will pass. Trust me."

However the promise could very well be empty. Was the comfort in knowing that such pain would be over within a few hours enough to erase the ones filled of blinding pain ahead of him?

Arthur's incredulous gaze told Merlin his King did not believe it but he said nothing. And perhaps it was the pain that stormed in Merlin's blue eyes what urged Arthur to squeeze that hand between his own and look for anything- anything that could make this right.

"We'll get through this together." The High King assured his warlock and Merlin was grateful for the fire that his eyes now held which fueled his own bravery and inflamed his weary heart with deep trust for his King and friend. "We will. I promise you."

"I wouldn't have it any other way." Merlin breathed with a soft smile. "Thank you, my King."

Another wave of torment struck him then, and Merlin looked away so that Arthur could not see the agony reflected in his eyes. But yet, the High King felt it and it was, if anything, worse.

"Merlin-"

"We both knew this would be a possibility Arthur." Merlin interrupted him with a soft whisper; one that echoed in the silence of the empty shack, though the people had gathered outside and became incensed with a newborn respect and love for their High King.

Arthur let go of his friend's shaking hand so that he could place it upon Merlin's heart and, with his eyes closed, thanked the gods on high for giving his friend such power. For giving The Emrys to the Once and Future King so selflessly, even though he did not deserve- nor would he ever- that extraordinary man whom he called brother.

"I should've looked for an alternative."

Merlin placed his own hand over Arthur's and looked up at those brimming eyes, shaking his head softly.

"No." he whispered resolutely, feeling his King swipe back the messy fringe of dark hair and thinking, on a deep and long forgotten part of his conscience, how much Arthur's touch resembled that of his mother. "You were running out of time Arthur. It was the only way."

Now the light of the candlelight half-hid Arthur's face with dark shadows and Merlin could only see one tearful sky-blue eye when he spoke. "It shouldn't have been you."

"You would've put another one through this, even sacrificed an innocent life?" Merlin said, his voice full of sympathy. "Arthur, not even the greatest of Camelot's enemies deserve this-"

His voice died down when he perceived Arthur was clenching his jaw so tight that one muscle jumped and his eyes swelled with some deep emotion that preceded a tremulous and constricted whisper. "That thing is eating you from the inside."

"I'm magic Arthur." Merlin corrected softly, reaching up so that he could wipe away a tear that was slowly descending through Arthur's cheek. "No one but me could stand this and stay alive. It will soon stop and I will still have more than enough power to go on."

Silence. Then, almost a childlike whisper,

"It's hurting you."

Merlin did not reply, any answer would've been worse than the truth. So he smiled up at his beloved King with all the reassurance that he could muster as he hid away the pain.

But his High King was not fooled by Merlin's efforts and he could do nothing but bite back the frustrated scream that was rising on his throat and whisper instead, fighting to regain control of that part of his soul that was Merlin's and that was drowning in deep agony with him.

"Merlin…."

Though Arthur had already shed tears this time they were not the silent droplets that had, earlier, cursed through his face. Now, the High King let out all of his impotence and frustration when he bent down to press his forehead with that of his sorcerer as Merlin, pursing his lips, shook with the force of the poison inside his blood.

His sworn protector had saved his kingdom from starvation and even more losses but…at what cost?

"You think too much you dollop head." Merlin's voice whispered, right beside his ear and Arthur knew that, through their bounded soul, Merlin had somehow reached the deepest recess of his heart and read in it his thoughts. "This is nothing, Arthur. Think about all the families we're saving…"

And Arthur did. He let his mind wonder, guided gently by Merlin's soothing words and finding comfort on the warlock's heartbeat, steady below his hand. He found that his warlock's selfless and pure soul was ecstatic with the immediate relief that his magic had brought throughout the land and had actually shed tears of happiness as the cold winds died down and the fields became fertile once more.

Merlin told him in hushed words how he had rushed to his King's side, eager to tell Arthur about the success of the quest and how he wouldn't have to worry about his people starving and dying because of Morgana's hateful actions. But of course his body, weary from the spell and deprived from his life-force -his magic- being corrupted on the inside by the dark curse, had become but a heavy burden to carry.

What as sight it was, the Pendragon's blond hair and Arthur's wide eyes! Never had Merlin been so grateful to see the man he called a brother.

"It's over Arthur." He finally whispered, wincing as another wave of pain hit him but smiling at his King nonetheless. "It's all over. You don't have to fear for your kingdom anymore. It's safe. They are all safe."

As he pulled back and, in a gesture so unlike him that it startled Merlin awake, placed both of his hands on the sides of his sorcerer's face -forcing Merlin to look up at him -Arthur did nothing to hide all the affection that his words held.

"Don't doubt for a second, old friend." He said with a heartfelt though strained tone . "That your own safety is as important to me as that of my kingdom."

His voice slowly turned commanding, the one the High King used to address his subjects and subdue them under his hypnotic gaze. "You keep doing these selfless sacrifices for me, Merlin." He continued. "And take risks that I am not willing to take. As much as it pains me to admit it-" he did not sound pained at all and if there was any pain in his voice it only underlined Merlin's own. "-I cannot do this without you."

"I won't go, Arthur." Merlin whispered with one last, lazy smile directed towards his King. "I won't leave you, I promise."

And so Arthur watched sadly as Merlin's eyelids began to droop, heavy with exhaustion and pain, and not even his warlock's strong desire to stay awake for his King was enough to pull him away from the relief sleep offered.

Throughout the night Arthur remained awake, and with him, the people's hearts.

The title is a reference to Sarah Bareilles and Ingrid Michaelson's song, 'Winter Song.' It's a beautiful, beautiful piece of art.

Now that THAT'S out of the way I will go and fangirl over episode 5x12 ( the preview, that is.) again. And again. And again. Because I can't get enough of it and my heart hurts at the thought of Christmas' Eve.

(Quick shout out to Oz: The poem is titled ' to my brother...' * wipes tears* and it's so perfect...)

P.S.

I couldn't resist writing the owl. *sheepish grin.* Besides, I think letters between these two are something that should be done...*ponders*