Pick up the Pieces

In which Merlin discovers that the past isn't for living in.

Kitty O

Merlin put his head back as he walked down the road, breathing in as the sun beat down. It was the best kind of morning; the sun was bright and warming, but the air wasn't oppressive. Not yet, anyway. It was still pretty early. It made his whole body feel freer; it made walking easier.

It made him feel nice.

Last night he'd been too exhausted to even walk any further, and he'd caught a ride with a farmer on a cart until they had to part ways. Merlin then staggered off into the trees to sleep. Before he dropped to the ground, he cast a protective spell around himself to hide him from view—he didn't want a repeat of a few days ago, when the bandits had found him.

He hadn't been in the mood for theatrics then, and he'd only just stopped crying after Gwen's goodbye, so he'd just left the bandits unconscious. All the same, he didn't want to go through it again.

So then he'd slept, and as he thought, everything looked better in the morning.

He kept walking, eyes closed despite the dangers this posed for a clumsy man surrounded by trees. He was almost to Ealdor now.

Perhaps not the most original place he could have thought of going, but he had a desire to be home. He missed home, and was still currently emotionally exhausted, and Ealdor seemed like the best option.

Also, Merlin hadn't seen his mother since Agravaine attacked his village, and he wanted to make sure everyone – the entire town – was okay, as well as tell his mother all about the wedding and coronation, since she hadn't been able to attend despite Gwen's invitation.

Moving back to Ealdor. He had to laugh as he saw it before him, growing larger. When he'd left almost seven and a half years ago (a better part of a decade!), all aglow with excitement because he was leaving home for the first time and going to see the great, exciting Camelot and Mother's old friend…

He could just see himself, with long hair, pack slung over his shoulders…

Merlin had no pack this time. His hair was shorter. He had less going back than he had leaving. He didn't even have his friends anymore. But somehow, he didn't feel all that deprived.

He walked into the town and towards his own house, spotting his mother at once.

"Mother!" he called, waving enthusiastically.

She looked up and beamed, rushing forward and throwing her arms around him. "Merlin!" she cried joyfully, her arms warm and comforting.

She'd always been a skinny woman, but somehow she still seemed to encompass him entirely as a mother should, even though he was now larger than she was. He put his head on her shoulder and didn't let go.

Eventually she pushed him back, though, looking curious. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming for a visit?"

He swallowed. He'd tell her. In a bit. "You know me," he said. "I'm always leaving in a hurry."

"It's one disaster after another with you, isn't it, Merlin?" she asked with a sigh, gesturing towards her house. "Come on, come in. I hope everything's okay."

He looked a little nervous. "Well, it's not life-threatening."

She still looked overjoyed, and didn't seem to notice that he didn't look so happy. "How long are you staying?" she asked, bustling about the house and picking things up, clearing them off. She'd gotten rid of Merlin's old cot, he noticed.

"Um, indefinitely," he answered.

And she noticed.

She turned around and looked at him with concern in her eyes. "What happened?" she asked. He tried to look innocent, but she wasn't buying it. "What happened? What was it? Why are you here?"

"Oh," Merlin said, licking his lips. "Arthur… Arthur knows."

She held a blanket in her arms, and she clutched it tightly at the news, her face going a bit paler. "And?" she asked breathlessly.

"He had me leave," Merlin said. "That's why I'm here."

"Then… this isn't a visit?"

Merlin shrugged. "I don't know. I don't know anything." He hung his head. He'd been lost for days now. "It's… I don't really know what I'm doing now." Arthur had been his only mission for much too long. He was starting from zero. Arthur didn't his help now…

He hadn't been not-needed since before he was friends with Will.

Hunith looked sympathetic, like she understood, but she didn't. Not really. All the same, she came forward and hugged him close. "Well," she said. "You can stay here as long as you want."

"Thanks, Mother."

"Maybe you'll take to being a farmer this time," Hunith said with a shrug. "Farming is a good life."

Farming was a good life. Merlin knew many farmers who were happy. So why did it sounds so small to him now?

He was home, he told himself. He was. But he missed Camelot already.

"Do you need any help?" he asked his mother.


Ealdor had always been a nice little village. Once upon a time he would have said it was a nice little village with a puffed-out chest, proud of his home. But now he had to admit that it was nothing more than a nice little village.

People woke up. They ate, they worked, and they talked. They greeted Merlin kindly enough, though most of them gave him a bit of a wide berth more out of habit than dislike. Not getting too close to some criminal's illegitimate child was something that they were so used to they didn't notice it. And still, in their own way, most of them were fond of Merlin.

Merlin had never noticed that they tended to step back when he walked up before. He'd gotten used to everyone loving to see him at Camelot. But many of his friends in Camelot didn't know. Gwaine had probably figured it out, as well as Gwen and Morgana, and Arthur knew. But Gwen was too sweet to hold it against him, Arthur knew him too well to care (and yes, he still did, despite their fight, they still knew each other like the backs of their hands), Morgana hated him anyway, and Gwaine… Gwaine had no room to judge anyone.

It bugged him now. It was probably because Will was gone.

For a while, he convinced himself that was the cause of all his discomfort. Will was gone.

It became harder and harder to believe. But he didn't tell his mother. He didn't even tell himself. He had no where else to go.

Yes, he thought, leaning back against the wall of the house, Ealdor was a nice little village. Nothing happened. No one got attacked by a monster, and no one came running into the throne room screaming, "Sorcery!"

Merlin rolled his eyes at himself. He missed panicked cries of magic being afoot; he couldn't believe it.

"Merlin?" his mother asked, coming outside, holding a loaf of bread in her hand. "Could you take this down to old Widow Rivers?"

Merlin stood up at once, glad to be of assistance. "Of course," he said. "Why?"

"Her eyesight's pretty nearly gone now, poor thing," Hunith said, staring at the bread forlornly. "I make her bread to make things easier."

Merlin came over and took the bread in his hands, kissing his mother's cheeks. "That's good," he said. "I'm sure she appreciates it. I don't mind bringing it over. I'll be back soon."

"Don't be in a hurry," Hunith called as he started down the street. "You've been standing listlessly all week!"

He laughed, but it was true. The Widow didn't live too far away, and with a strange sense that making rounds to nearly blind people should sound familiar (would he find a blond with throwing knives around here somewhere?), he knocked on her door.

"Come in," said the quiet voice from inside.

He pushed the door open. The hut was run down but well built; her husband had been good with his hands. She was sitting in the rocking chair he'd invented for her several years before he died, gray hair pinned up behind her head and a long shawl wrapped around herself. She was staring at the door, not really seeing it.

"Hello?" she called.

"Hello," Merlin said cheerfully, stepping forward and putting the bread in her hands. "My mother sent me with this loaf for you." He let her feel it. "Do you want me to put it somewhere?"

"No," she said, her voice containing a bit of a croak. "I will hold it. You're Merlin, aren't you?"

"Yes," he said agreeably. "I'm Merlin. I came to see my mother a few days ago."

"You left, didn't you?"

"I went to Camelot about seven years ago."

"I remember now!" she cackled suddenly, looking energetic enough to spring up. "Merlin! You and Will broke my door down back when John was alive."

He coughed. "Yes. That was an accident. Sorry."

"Will was terribly upset when you left him. I bet he's glad your back. Where is he? You're always together."

Merlin's smile turned sad. But she was honestly curious. She didn't remember. "He died several years back," Merlin responded. "You remember that?"

"Ah. Yes. Yes, I do. Good boy. He was a good boy. And not so inseparable at the end, after all. You've changed."

"I've gotten a bit older."

"No. You are very different," she said, pointing at him, despite the fact that she could not see him. "You aren't the same Merlin who hailed from Ealdor, are you? You don't even sound the same. How long are you staying to visit, Merlin?" she asked, changing the subject and leaning back. "Doesn't your new home need you like Ealdor used to?"

Merlin didn't answer. He was too busy staring at her.

"Merlin, did you leave?"

"No," he answered slowly, looking around her house. "I had to leave my new home," he told her at last. "I guess they don't need me anymore. So I came back to my old home."

"Well," she sniffed, ripping off a piece of her bread. "You're too big for this place now. I hope you find a new home soon." She offered a handful. "Would you like a bite?"

"No, thank you," Merlin said. "I'd better be going. Thank you for talking."

"Come back and see me sometime," she answered, chomping on the bread herself. Her teeth weren't what they used to be, so her mouth stayed open for most of the chewing. Merlin winced, surprised to find that poor table manners actually bothered him a bit now.

Camelot rubbing off.

Thinking about that, he turned and left the house, closing the door. Then he marched back down the street and to his house—but he didn't stop there. He kept walking.

"Where are you going?" his mother called from the house, wiping her hands on her dirty apron.

"To the woods; I'll be back," he responded, his boots soft against the ground as he headed for the trees, a plan forming as he went.


Three days later, Hunith found him sitting by himself in the woods, the wood of the new bow he'd made on his lap.

There was silence as she sat next to him on the log, she looking at him and he staring at nothing in particular.

At last she spoke. "You're leaving, aren't you?" she said.

He looked at her. "Is that wrong?" he asked, hushed. "I came back and tried to fit in," he said. "But… everything's so different now. So quiet. It's nice to visit, but how can I live here anymore?"

"I knew you wouldn't stay, Merlin," she said, running a hand through his dark hair. "It's not wrong. You've outgrown us."

"I missed Ealdor in Camelot," Merlin replied. "But I can't come back here for good, though I wish I could. I'm not a kid anymore."

"Do you have a plan, then?" she asked.

He hefted the bow. "I think so. It's sketchy, and it involves wandering around looking at nature and fighting evil where I find it, hunting what I need unless I can find odd jobs. It sounds pretty foolhardy, I know…"

"But you feel happier about your plan than you have since you left Camelot," Hunith said. "I always knew I was doomed to have a son who so soaked in greatness he couldn't live any other kind of way." She leaned forward and kissed his forehead.

"You can come with me," he said, blue eyes lighting up hopefully as he looked at his mother, judging her ability to do all that walking.

She laughed. "Merlin, I'm hardly destined for greatness. I like things quiet. I don't like wandering and adventures. That's what you need right now, though."

"It doesn't sound very permanent. Wandering spirit. That's what the servant girls in Camelot are always trying to heal men from."

She patted his head. "It's just until you can go back to Camelot."

"I can't ever go back. Arthur said so."

Hunith raised an eyebrow. "Camelot needs you like you need it," she said. "That's your home. You'll be back someday. Until then…" She stood up and took his hand like he was five again. She wished that he were.

He was leaving her again. She smiled as her heart cracked.

"Until then," she said, pulling him back towards the house. "I'm going to pack you some food and clothes. Let it never be said that Hunith doesn't do right by her son."

"No one would ever say that," he told her, grinning and letting himself be dragged along. He was leaving, and now that he knew, it felt like he could breathe again for the first time in days.

Wandering wasn't Camelot. It wasn't the adventure of serving the king and his wife or having the knights for friends. But right now, it was the best option.


A/N: Okay. Well, I thought this one was okay. I'm sort of looking forward to next chapter, though. It should be about Arthur. By the way, if you are worried there won't be much action, there should be some later.