A/N: Some content is based on the Merlin novelizations by James Mallory. The ending segment is based on my own family gatherings.
Thanks to Himiko (CiderDrinker) at The Chambers of Merlin for creating the 20th Anniversary Challenge. Thanks also to Bellatrix Lepus, Halewyn's Lady, Arwen17Evenstar, Maellowyn, Blurred Memories, Rosaria Marie and all other Merlin fans for being such kind and talented people.
~o~
The fire within the cottage spread shadows over Elissa's face. The wavering light and darkness were the same as the thoughts that drifted behind her eyes, and she was in them tinted rose, orange and shifting shades of gray.
Ambrosia's back was to the girl, and the older woman spoke thoughtfully as she put together their evening meal. Tendrils of steam played about her fingers as she lowered vegetables into the broth of the cauldron.
"When Spring comes, I'll have you with me. We'll comb over all of Barnstable Forest. I'll show you where to find herbs, which places to avoid. It'll take some time, but I dare say you might even grow to enjoy the work after a while."
Ambrosia's words filled Elissa with a sense of forlorn and of doubt. She couldn't envision the future Ambrosia saw, not for herself or her child; a peaceful life as aide to a former priestess. She could see nothing beyond birthing the being that had as a splinter been placed within her womb. No matter how many times she daydreamed about her child it too was enshrouded in shadow. She had more than once seen a hand clutching an infant's but that hand was never her own. Despite her unease, she hoped that what she was experiencing was something that all expectant mothers faced at one time or another. She could not ask her mother.
"The babe can come along, no need to worry. I'll make a carrier, so that it may be close to you. You'll get to know these woods like the back of your hand. It's best to get the child used to the forest early on. Let all of this good green earth sink into its bones and blood. It'll be just the thing for it." Ambrosia spirited herself back to her area of crookery, clucking her tongue as she remembered a neglected ingredient.
The girl lowered the cup of tea from her lips and looked to the smoke rising to exit through the roof. She thought of the onyx fog that had descended upon her while she was allowed the honor of guarding the Holy Grail. The smoke that created within her a life which had lead her to be cast from Avalon Abbey.
Her dreams were lost to her, those of becoming a holy sister, living out her days at the abbey surrounded by friends and the holiness of the grail.
The child, she knew, for good or ill would be great and formidable. And she did not know how to feel about such a being growing inside of her.
~o~
Turning away from the sun, Morgan awoke to find her paramour just as she'd left him in the night. She rose to her knees, smoothed down the bunched fabric of her white sleeping gown, and reached over his form to a beside table. Once she had in her hand her comb and mirror, she settled ungracefully back into the bed, the sheets loose around her ankles and legs. Mordred was asleep in his cradle a few feet away.
She began to comb through her hair, pulling at the strands that had overnight become entangled or lax. Gems and beads fell into her palm as pomegranate seeds. Frik stirred beside her, awakened by the careless flight of Morgan's limbs. Tired, he moved languidly. A hand reached out to softly stroke and trace her back.
"My mothew used to bwush hew haiw like this evewy night befowe bed." She paused and lowered the comb, clutching it. "I've been thinking of hew a lot lately. I miss hew."
Mordred began to cry, and Frik placed a kiss on a bare shoulder before springing from the bed and to the cradle, scooping the boy up and into his arms and rocking him gently. The baby's wails increased until the gnome forwent any further attempts to soothe the child and promptly placed him on his mother's lap, as she'd urged. She wrapped her arms around Mordred, pressing her face into his crown of red hair, warming him with her breath and body; all with the hope that through such warmth her love would be transferred.
Frik crawled into the bed behind her and began to weave the gems and trinkets back into her hair. He could have simply practiced magic to accomplish the task, but he found it more fun to do it the old-fashioned way. She had such soft hair.
Morgan did what she could to calm her ill-tempered son.
"Mowdwed, Mowdwed. Hush now. Mummy's hewe. Mummy won't let anything huwt you. Thewe's no weason to cwy." She rocked the little boy and reached for some of the toys his Auntie Mab had given him a few nights before. Turning a cloth doll over in his hands, pulling at its face and feet, he began to quiet.
"Thewe's a good boy." She picked up the brush she'd set aside and gently began to run it through Mordred's short curls. "My mothew would have loved you, Mowdwed. And I think you would have liked hew, too. Auntie Mab and Uncle Fwik, well, they'we not at all the same as hew... I'm not even like hew."
Morgan sighed and looked to the distance, to the sunlight on a wall. "I wondew what she would think of me now..."
~o~
A small hand weakly grasped at the feather quills of the wizard's cloak. Merlin smiled looking down at the sweet, newly born face. To think so small a creature held in that same fragile hand the fate of England.
Being near Arthur, stealing him away from the darkness of Tintagel, Merlin felt happier than he had in years. Goodness would prosper from this day on. The land and its people would be reborn.
"Arthur," he said the name aloud to reaffirm the truth to himself, to feel wash over him the pride in knowing this was the first time he would say Arthur's name for the rest of his life. He already felt as though Arthur was almost the same as his son, though he wouldn't raise him.
No, he couldn't raise him, not with Mab always interfering. What had happened to his mother, Ambrosia, Nimue... All the people he came to love were at risk.
He'd seen in a vision the couple who would raise Arthur, and though it pained him, he knew he must part with the child. It would be in the best interests of all those involved. It was for the sake of the people of Britain.
He recalled the visions he'd had of Arthur as a man, a head of wild blond hair and equally unruly beard. He'd seen him sitting behind a great round table, surrounded on all sides by his loyal knights and friends.
Merlin couldn't help but grin. Though, in an instant, his pride shifted to a form of gladness as he became transfixed by an image of Nimue. He saw her tending to a babe he knew wasn't Arthur. This child was his with Nimue, a daughter born with her mother's kind smile and his eyes.
In seconds he saw the infant age into a child, walking through the forest between himself and Nimue. Then as a young adult he watched as she bundled herbs and tied them to the walls of Ambrosia's cottage. She was clever and beautiful, as most evoked phantoms are. This wasn't a vision from the future, but a dream spun of his own desires.
He closed his eyes. As the world disappeared so too did his fantasy. It vanished with the wind, like so many of his dreams.
If only he and Nimue could lead such a life together, but it wasn't to be, not while Mab still gained strength.
~o~
"Auntie Mab, would you tell me again how you convinced King Vortigern to offer the wizard's woman to the great dragon?"
Mab's eyes narrowed. "I've told you that story many times, Mordred."
"I know. But I do so love how you tell it; I always feel as though I'm there with you, right by your side."
A faint smile appeared on her lips, and she turned her head in such a way to indicate his words had given her a unique energy. She resettled into her chair. "I wish you could have been, my sweet." She gripped his wrist, and he could feel her pulse through their crossed flesh. "But we'll soon make up for all of that you missed. What fun we'll have once you're king."
The boy and his aunt gave as little consideration as possible to the Lady of Cornwall and her miscast lover as they dazedly entered the main hall. They'd apparently slept in the secluded hay loft to the side of the hall. Strands of straw clung to their hair and bodies.
"Without them," she hissed in his ear.
"Yes. What fun." A mischievous spark lit behind Mordred's eyes, and as it was made known to Mab, she willfully took hold of its offered rope and tugged at its frayed end. She moved her own gaze toward the other signs of life, as a means of communicating to Mordred that this game should continue from here on purely in thought. Her hands swam over his shoulder, the ends of his hair. The eyes and face of his aunt glistened in the dim light.
"I see you two awe up alweady," said Morgan.
"Yes, mother. We've been awake for positively ages, haven't we, Auntie Mab?"
"Yes. Ages, my sweet."
"And while you were busy sleeping the day away, Mother, Auntie Mab and I have been having a nice chat about the past - and the future. Planning dear Merlin's downfall." He leaned back and stretched his legs. "How I look forward to making sure he's wasted his entire life."
"That day can't come soon enough," Morgan said. She and Frik were standing beside a brazier, hands outstretched as they warmed themselves. "If only I'd been oldew. If only I'd had magic, I could have stopped Uthew. My mothew and my fathew would still be hewe if it wewen't fow Mewlin."
Mordred sighed loudly. "Really Mother, must you go on about this again?"
"I've a wight to! You've not lost anyone, Mowdwed. You've been lucky. I lost both of my pawents within a yeaw of each otheu. I gwew up alone."
"There, there, my dear." Frik patted and clasped her hand.
The boy turned his face in disgust.
The Fae Queen's voice issued from her corner in the shadows. "This is exactly the sort of thing I've spoken to you about. Merlin behaves as though his cause his just and good. That he's above making such "immoral" decisions, but in the end he's no different. If anything, he's worse!"
"Hear, hear! Well said, Auntie Mab. The fool clearly doesn't think about the repercussions of his actions. No, not while he's too busy thinking of revenge."
"Ow his own gain," added Morgan.
"Yes. Well, I mean, Master Merlin has always been rather stubborn," Frik said. "Once he gets something in his mind... Well, there's just no going back. He had such potential. It's such a shame he didn't develop his abilities to their greatest extent."
"I would have if I'd been him." Morgan examined her nails. "Who wouldn't? I love what magic's done fow me."
"Merlin could have been unstoppable," Mab's voice took on a softer tone. "When he was created, I saw so much power in him."
"That there is something of you in him is his only redeeming quality, Auntie. Though, in all honesty, it's hard to see him being related to you at all."
"My mistake was in letting that woman raise him. She corrupted him."
"It's not any fault of yours," Mordred remarked, "You couldn't have known she would raise him in such ignorance." He returned to his aunt's side after sullenly pacing the main hall.
"As I can recall, I afterwards, on more than one occasion, offered to help raise the lad... He was such an enduring creature in his infancy."
"I happen to think Fwik makes quite a wondewful fathew. He did so well helping me with Mowdwed."
Mab continued, ignoring them. "That woman did everything in her power to defy me! And you can see how much sway she continues to hold over him."
Mordred, always eager to please, chimed in. "From what I've heard of the wizard, he claims to act on behalf of those who have been wronged when in reality he's simply motivated by his own designs. And Arthur, his doting little instrument... Always doing just as he's told. Prey tell, where is the logic in raising a king to do all your bidding when Merlin himself should simply have found a way to take the crown? We all know that no man will ever be as good and pure as the wizard is in his own mind."
"He could have saved us all a lot of heawtache if he'd done just that and become king. But then, we'd have to live with him wuling the land." Morgan's face displayed her displeasure with the idea.
"We live with that as it is," said Mordred. "Arthur is king in name only, as he's been away for years. And we can assume every decision made by the Queen and her plaything is first approved by Merlin."
"If I could have changed his mind, I think he would have made a very good king. It was something I wanted, in the beginning," Mab confessed. "But you can see how that has turned out."
"I'll be twice the king Merlin could have been," Mordred swore. He was forever jealous of the way in which Queen Mab seemed to fixate on her other creation, no matter how often she told Mordred that he was her favorite. To his satisfaction, Mab brought her hand once more to his shoulder, stroking it and his long hair.
"I know you will, my sweet. I can almost taste the blood you will shed in my name."
~o~
