TWO
Being late summer most of the villagers would be out around the fields. It was harvest time and things needed doing. Crops needed threshing, vegetables digging up and the fields preparing for the next planting. There was a feeling of emptiness around the houses and sheds, but it did not take away from the village's warmth and welcoming atmosphere. In the wonderful, warm sun, how could it?
Merlin breathed deep, enjoying the rich, earthy scent of drying grass and wild flowers. The scent of home. It had been some time since he had been back, and it was never until he walked the warm paths and meandered around the edges of the small gardens that he realised just how much he had missed it. Maybe he never really had fit in, and maybe he had been away for a long time, but it was no less home. So was Camelot, now, with its bustling streets and friendly faces who knew him by sight and name, but so was Ealdor, with its nature and sleepy way of life. It felt good to be back.
Arthur wandered along behind him, silently wondering where everyone was. He knew that Ealdor was quiet, but this was almost ghostly. The silence felt oppressive. It cloyed around him, making him fidget in discomfort. He didn't much like it – had to say something to break it. Anything.
Shuddering in the early evening sun, he cleared his throat. "So, the paths through the woods?"
A few paces ahead of him, Merlin gave a light shrug. "Will and I used to play in those woods all the time." He answered casually, covertly swallowing the lump that formed in his throat at the thought of his childhood friend. "You know. Building dens, and playing pretend."
Arthur nodded. "Ah! War."
Merlin shook his head. "Nah. Farming."
"... Farming?"
"And making places for animals. Birds, bunnies. That sort of thing."
Incredulous, Arthur didn't know whether to laugh or cry hearing that. "You really are a girl, Merlin."
"Better a girl than an arrogant, pompous toad."
Arthur grinned, but he didn't say anything to that. He did wonder if maybe Merlin's childhood activities had contributed in any way to his dislike of hunting.
"Anyway," Merlin went on, "Didn't play war. We're raised to be farmers here, not warriors."
"I know." Arthur did know. He hadn't forgotten how hard it had been to train the village's men to wield even the simplest of weapons to any degree of competency. He still hadn't gotten Merlin properly trained with a sword to the level he would like, despite his best efforts.
"So you do what you know." Merlin continued in his explanation, plucking an extra long piece of grass from over a garden wall and twiddling it back and forth between his fingers as he walked. "Pretend to tend your patch, and look out for the wildlife. That's how Will and I found the badger sett. There was a whole clan of them in there. We used to watch them and their young ones for hours. Once it collapsed, they left and we dug it out to use as a den."
"Sounds like fun."
And it did.
Arthur found himself slightly envious. As a prince he had not been allowed to go off and play unsupervised. He was always watched by a nurse or a minder, and when allowed to play with another child it was always somebody approved by his father. They never wanted to do anything fun, or exciting. It was all sitting in the castle reading books, or practising instruments. Thinking back, it led him to a rather uncomfortable conclusion. Noble children were extremely boring. Realising that, it made him feel a little like he had when Merlin had implied that knights were idiots. He was a nobleman, and a knight...
It was true about noble children, though. He remembered that he had once got into trouble with his father for poking Lord Roderick's son, Robin in the eye with a wooden sword Gaius had given him as a present. Sometimes he had been allowed to play with Leon, but their games had never lasted long. Leon was always that bit older than him physically, and far too mature mentally. His parents, Lord Harold and Lady Margaret had used to say that Leon was born an old man. As a result he was far too sensible to allow Arthur to have any real fun.
Though he had let him get covered in mud a few times. Something Arthur was well aware that he had since grown out of as he remembered how slimy and uncomfortable he felt now, after his encounter with the bog.
He almost made a cutting remark about it to Merlin, how it was all his fault etcetera, but decided against it. He wanted to see if his friend/servant was going to say anything further about his childhood. Secretly, Arthur was enjoying it and wanted to hear about it. There was something quieting and calming in the images that came with hearing about life in simpler times. From the silence it appeared that Merlin was done, and that disappointed Arthur somewhat.
They wandered on, Arthur following Merlin past the pig pen and down the path by the well towards the edge of the village. After their mad dash away from the enemy, both of them felt a little the worse for wear in the energy department. Rest sounded like a wonderful idea.
So it was with no small relief that they turned off the path towards the small house with the low bench just outside the door.
Inside, Hunith had been making bread, kneading it on the kitchen table. Spying movement outside the window, she looked up. A dark head of messy hair bimbled past in a familiar loping motion that sometimes passed for a walk and her heart skipped a beat in recognition.
She threw the dough down on the tabletop and hurried to the door, wiping her floury hands on her smock.
Before Merlin could reach for the door it was wrenched open and Hunith stood there, staring up at him almost in disbelief.
"... Merlin."
He smiled, "Mother" and laughed softly as she rushed forward and threw her arms around his neck.
"Oh, Merlin."
"Sorry we're unannounced."
Hunith shook her head against his shoulder, and held him even tighter.
Arthur looked on, perhaps a little jealously. He had never envied Merlin much, but he had always envied him this. Seeing Merlin and Hunith together always reminded him of what he had missed, not having his own mother in his life.
After a moment, Hunith drew back a little from Merlin and looked up into his face. "My Merlin. It's been a while since you were here last."
"I'm sorry." He apologised, hanging his head as though he had somehow failed her. "I meant to come sooner."
"Shhh." She rubbed a thumb over his cheekbone, a smile still on her face. "I understand. I do get your letters, you know."
Seeing her smile, Merlin found one of his own and pulled her back into his embrace.
Once they parted, Hunith patted his arm lovingly and turned to the King. "Arthur."
To his surprise, she stepped forward and threw her arms around his neck also. Unsure of what to do, he raised his arms shakily and returned her embrace. The longer she held him, the more of his uncertainty drained away. He let his eyes slip closed, and tightened his arms around her, his chin dropping to rest on her shoulder. "It's good to see you again, Hunith."
"And you." She murmured beside his ear. "Tell me. Has he been looking after you?"
Arthur opened his eyes and looked briefly at Merlin to see his friend looking back at him with both eyebrows raised, prompting a good answer. "Yes."
"Why are you muddy?"
"... He dropped me in a bog."
She breathed a sigh that trembled suspiciously like barely contained laughter, and shook her head lightly beside his.
Too soon for Arthur, Hunith released him. She looked up at him and smiled, touching her hand to his cheek in much the same way she had Merlin's, leaving a floury hand print there.
He really was in a state. She noticed the full extent of the filth and pieces of woodland detritus that had become lodged and mashed into his chainmail, and shot a glance over her shoulder at Merlin, noting the small bramble scratches up his neck, and the tear in the knee of his trousers. "What have you two been up to?"
She did not wait for an answer, taking Arthur's gloved hand and reaching for Merlin's. "Come on. Both of you inside and sorted out. There's fresh honey cake on the table, and milk in the jug."
Arthur's stomach growled ferociously at the thought of cake. He allowed Hunith to tow him inside, very much looking forward to getting cleaned up, fed and rested. Maybe he hadn't been the greatest fan of Hunith's porridge before, but just then he wouldn't say no if honey cake had not been available. He was just glad to be able to rest.
Immediately they had stepped inside, Hunith had directed Merlin towards the buckets of water near the grate and instructed him to warm one for Arthur while she searched out a towel.
It wasn't long before Merlin returned with the bucket and set up a sheet that the king may have somewhere private to wash and change.
'Strange...' Arthur found himself thinking as he splashed water on his face and through his lank hair, 'Hunith always makes us feel so welcome. She welcomed Guinevere in her time of need. She cares for us all so unconditionally.' he knew both why it was that she offered such hospitality, and why it seemed so strange. It had nothing to do with his status – she likely couldn't care less that he was a king – and everything to do with Merlin. She reminded him of Merlin in his less surly moments. Or should he say that Merlin reminded him of Hunith? It was easy to see that she had raised him.
Once he was cleaned up, and a towel wrapped around his waist, he reached for the blanket discarded on the back of a nearby chair and draped it around his shoulders. He flumped down hard in the chair and sighed, glad to be off his feet. They needed a rest It had been a long time since he had last needed to run like that. Unconscious of his actions, he glanced down at his waist, examining its size absently.
Tonight he and Merlin would rest. Tomorrow they would go out searching for Bryn and Spumador, find them, and hopefully be able to head back to Camelot. Guinevere would be furious with him for going off the way he had, of course. For endangering himself so.
His lips quirked. She would give him the 'Camelot needs its king' speech. While she was right, he couldn't just sit in the citadel and send everyone else off to fight his battles and protect his lands for him. He couldn't be a lethargic ruler in that respect. It didn't suit him, and it didn't feel right. A king should lead by example, and serve his people. Not just sit there and expect everyone else to run his kingdom and attend to his every whim.
Frowning, he glanced at the small gap in the sheet where it met the wall. He was starving. Merlin had better be getting a move on with that cake.
Likely not, if he was hearing correctly.
Beyond the curtain he could hear Hunith talking to Merlin.
Curious, Arthur turned his head to see them through the small gap in the sheet. The moment he laid eyes on them, all murderous thoughts of flying goblets and Merlin's thick, empty head fled.
They sat at the kitchen table, Merlin slumped back in his chair as though completely exhausted, his head tilted far to one side as his mother gently cleaned the red scratches on his neck with a damp cloth. Hunith appeared to be concentrating very hard on her work, and on not hurting her son judging by the light, gentle strokes of the cloth over his raw skin.
"You need to be more careful." Arthur heard her say, only a soft undertone of reprimand to her voice.
"I don't mean to be clumsy." Merlin murmured in reply, a little defensive but more genuine in apology. Hunith chuckled softly.
"I know you don't, Merlin. It's just how you're made."
She worked at his neck a few moments longer, before laying aside the wet cloth and reaching for a dry one. Gently, she began to dab away the dampness. "You don't get it from me, that much is certain."
Arthur saw Merlin's eyebrows rise, his friend's face the picture of astonishment. "Really?"
Hunith nodded, a fond smile on her face. "Yes. He's all to blame for that one."
From the table she picked up a jar of salve and carefully began to apply it to each scratch with gentle fingertips. "He didn't really fit in here, either. Always trying to help everyone out, and always making things worse." She sighed wistfully, and shook her head at her own words.
Beside her, Merlin snorted, though there was no mirth behind it. "Sounds familiar."
Frowning, Arthur turned in his chair to face the gap and rest his chin in one hand. He couldn't help wondering, and he couldn't be sure, but … were they talking about Merlin's father? He shouldn't be listening, Arthur knew, but he couldn't help it. He was intrigued.
"I can't imagine him being... unsteady." Merlin remarked, his voice low and a little strained as he struggled to think of a way to put it that wouldn't sound insulting. Both to himself and to Balinor.
"Believe me, when he wasn't concentrating." Hunith chuckled, "You are positively graceful compared."
Merlin appeared to be thinking, his eyes narrowed as though staring at something in the far distance. After a moment he shook his head. "I really can't picture it."
"Hmm." She applied a little more salve to a particularly nasty mark that had begun to come up like a cat scratch, pausing as Merlin winced. "You know Old Man Simmons' chestnut fence?"
"The one with the big hole in it?" Merlin nodded. "What about it?"
Hunith bit back a smile, endeavouring to swallow it, before speaking. "Picking up a stray log after gathering firewood." She murmured, a silly smile on her face. "Tripped over his own feet."
A wide grin of expectation cracked Merlin's face. "And into the fence?"
"Pitched sideways right through it, onto the vegetable patch." She reached for more salve, her smile remaining. "That's why he grew the beard. To hide the scar on his cheek from a splinter of wood."
"Explains why Old man Simmons didn't like me very much. Even before the... incident."
Hunith laughed lightly at that, and regarded her grinning son fondly. With a light sigh, she met his eyes, and laid a hand on his cheek. "You look so much like him, Merlin. The two of you have more in common than you could ever know."
Merlin didn't say anything to that. He merely closed his eyes and relaxed into his mother's touch.
After a moment, Hunith applied the last of the salve to a graze on Merlin's cheek with her free hand, and smeared a blob onto the end of his nose with a smile. "There now. All done."
Merlin blinked, and leant back in his chair, stifling a yawn. Idly, he reached up to his neck and brushed his fingers over his 'wounds'. "Thank you, Mother."
"Nothing you couldn't have done yourself." Hunith stood and began collecting up her cloths, and carried to the bowl to the door to empty it. "Gaius tells me your talents have improved."
"Yeah. Quite a lot." Merlin stood and headed over to the fire and one of the buckets stood beside it to wash his hands. "I can do more now than I ever imagined before I left home."
"It's strange." Hunith tipped out the water and came back into the house. She closed the door behind her, hand pausing on the latch as she sent a cautious glance towards the sheet, where she knew that Arthur could hear them. "My little Merlin, being able to do all that. Being able to heal people."
"... Not very well." He murmured, quietly enough that neither his mother nor Arthur could hear him, and a little louder "I'm not really little any more."
"No." Hunith placed the bowl down beside the buckets ready for washing, and nudged her son playfully with her hip. "You're a great, tall beanpole."
"Oi." He chastised her with a laugh. "I'm great, but I'm not that tall."
"Well you're taller than me."
"That's not hard." He hopped away before she could flick water at him from the buckets, and settled in at the table to begin slicing the honey cake. "I'll finish off the bread in a minute, then fetch some more water for the morning."
"What are you doing now?" Hunith queried, observing the thick and thin slices of cake he cut and laid out on separate dishes. "Is one of those for you?"
"Yeah. Guess which one."
"Have another. There's nothing of you."
"Not really that hungry. You know me."
Arthur saw Hunith's smile, and shake of her head. "You always were cheap to feed."
"Do you want some?"
She shook her head. "No, no. The bread won't take long. That's for you boys. There's the last of the old loaf left as well, if you'd like to finish it off."
"To be fair, this is for me." He indicated the thin slice. "That's for the royal ass." He waved a hand over the rest of the cake.
Arthur couldn't contain it. "Merlin!"
"He can see us." Merlin warned his mother in a mock whisper, loud enough that Arthur could hear. "Watch your manners" and raised his voice to call across the room, "Sorry, Sire. Just being considerate!"
Hunith mentally shook her head, and brushed Merlin's arm as she passed. She knew that she ought to reprimand him, but just then, seeing that impish grin on his face, she couldn't bring herself to. "I'll look out some clothes for him, and wash his."
"I'll do that." Merlin volunteered hurriedly, but was stopped by a stern look from his mother.
"You'll sit down for a few minutes." She told him firmly. "No wonder there's nothing of you."
Abashed, Merlin went back to preparing Arthur's meal, casting chastised looks at his mother.
Hunith left him to it, and headed outside, only to poke her head back through the door as she left, "Make sure you have something to drink, too" before leaving them alone.
The small house descended into silence, only the sounds of Merlin preparing the meal to be heard.
Arthur sat in his chair, one leg drawn up to rest across his knee. He couldn't help but feel a little out of place. It wasn't that he didn't feel welcome in Hunith's house. Really, how could he not? He felt welcome, relaxed. Just not content. Listening to Merlin and his mother he felt a little like an intruder. What it was to have such an easy relationship with a parent escaped him. Yet it seemed to be something that everyone around him seemed to have.
Merlin didn't need to strive every waking moment to make his mother proud. She was proud of him for just being him. The fallible, clumsy idiot. That was enough for her.
The way Guinevere spoke about Tom, she had never had to try desperately to win his approval, He loved her and cherished her simply because she was his daughter. The same was true of Percival, and Leon. Gwaine... Gwaine likely didn't have parents. He never spoke about his family. He more than likely just fell out of a tree one day and started wandering around wooing anything with two legs and a skirt. Even Elyan, though he had had a difficult relationship with Tom, it had it's good times. Lancelot had no one, and didn't often speak of his family. When he did, it was with fondness.
Uther had never been that affectionate towards him. Not openly, at least. Every day was a constant battle for approval. To make the king proud, and prove himself worthy as the Pendragon heir. At the time it hadn't seemed unusual. Now, with the benefit of hindsight and the views of those closest to him – many of whom, as a prince, he would never normally have associated with – and being able to see how Merlin and Hunith were with one another, the way it had been for him felt... wrong. That was difficult to take in.
He swallowed, and glanced down into his lap. His father loved him, he knew. It just seemed wrong that he had felt that he had to work for it.
Merlin's footsteps on the dirt floor drew him from his thoughts and back into a haughty air in time for his manservant's entrance through the sheet.
"You're looking very regal tonight, Sire." Merlin grinned, holding a wooden bowl in one hand and a flagon in the other.
"Get lost, merlin." Arthur reached for the bowl, snatching it so hard that he nearly lost a green thing over the side. Starving, he looked over his meal in anticipation. A frown developed on his face at the interesting pickings awaiting him in the dish. "Merlin, what is this?"
"Dinner." His servant answered innocently.
"I see." The honey cake looked good. It smelled good, too The other offerings, however... "What is this?" He jabbed a finger at the thin slice of partially stale bread beside the cake.
"Bread."
"Old bread. It's got grit in it."
"They're seeds."
"What are they doing in my bread ?"
"Eat them. They're good for you."
"And these things?"
Merlin made a show of examining the green things Arthur was frowning at so hard that they may combust and disappear in a puff of smoke at any moment. "From here they look like broad beans."
"There's nothing broad about them. They're tiny."
"Must be the runts of the litter."
"Where's the meat?"
"Meat?" Merlin was blinking at him. It was irritating.
"Yes!" Arthur exclaimed, nodding readily. "Last time we were here I remember there being meat. So where is it this time?"
"Outside. Running around the pig pen."
"What?"
"And before you ask, no, I'm not going to go out and slaughter a pig for your enjoyment."
To his credit Arthur let that one slide. Even he wasn't about to demand that. Though he had seen some chickens running about on their way in...
No. This would have to do. Hunith didn't have much, he knew. Just... he had thought that she had a little more.
"Will that be all, Sire?"
What? Arthur glanced up at Merlin and nodded. "Yes. This will do fine."
Without even a bow, or an inclination of the head, Merlin turned on his heel and left the king to his meal.
Once he was gone and banging pots about beyond the sheet, Arthur picked up a bean between his fingertips and scrutinised it in distaste. He never had been a fan of beans. They were deceptive. The vegetable equivalent of Morgana. Most were vile, and thoroughly unappealing to look at. This specific strain looked particularly suspect. He dropped it back in the bowl and threw a curious glance at the gap in the sheet.
Call it suspicion, but he did wonder what Merlin had for his dinner. It was not beyond his sneaky manservant to abduct the nicer components of Arthur's meals, and while Arthur did trust Merlin with many things – his life included – his meals were not one of them. Merlin had form on food theft. Though from where he sat Arthur could not see the contents of the unguarded bowl on the table, that Merlin did not at present appear to be eating.
He wasn't about to stand up. That seemed like a lot of work.
Huffing loudly, he turned his attention back to his own dinner and began to pick at the bread. While it was hardly a meal fit for a king, he ought not complain. It was the best Hunith had to offer. It had been drummed into him by Guinevere some long time ago, in this very village in fact that he should be grateful for what he had, as there were many who had so much less. Merlin's mother was one of them. So long as there was enough left for her.
Merlin would not allow her to go without. Arthur knew that for a fact. Just like he knew that half of Merlin's meagre wage made its way to Ealdor, and Hunith whenever he remembered to pay his servant. The rest went to the tavern keepers of Camelot, so at least half of it went on something sensible. The half that Hunith received. Not the half that Evoric enjoyed.
Arthur tapped his foot and glanced at the gap again. He could just see Merlin's back where his servant knelt by the fire, stoking up the embers. Why didn't the idiot have his dinner and then do that? Surely he must be hungry? No man could be that thin and not be hungry.
Merlin turned his head suddenly, and looked up out of the window. It was gloaming outside, and the air beginning to get a little chill as autumn approached. The longest day had passed some time ago, and the year was marching on. Winter would soon be upon them, and Arthur hoped that the harvests around Camelot were really as good as the reports he received in dreary council meetings.
He considered Merlin a moment, something about the expression on his friend's face holding his eye. Merlin looked happy. Really, truly happy. Something about that made Arthur uncomfortable.
How often had he seen Merlin happy of late? Granted, there was always a stupid smile on his face, but in contrast to the one Merlin currently wore, the difference between what was real and what was not suddenly seemed very clear.
A niggling feeling of discomfort settled itself in the pit of Arthur's stomach alongside the nibbles of stale bread and grit. How long had this been going on, he wondered? Why had he not realised it? There was a lot on his own mind at present. Though Camelot was currently at peace; thriving and without a peep from Morgana for some long time, he still had many duties and responsibilities as king. Far more than he had as a prince. Merlin had likened his roles as King as almost having to work once, and it was something that he was still adjusting to.
Even so, how had he not noticed the change in his friend? Because that's what Merlin was. Though he could never say it out loud and let it lie, (especially to Merlin of all people) Merlin was the closest, and certainly most enduring friend he had ever had. Certainly the most real.
With a small measure of embarrassment he cast his mind back to the guffawing morons he had kept around himself when Merlin had first blundered into his path all those years ago. Bootlickers, who strove to please him and be seen with him, as part of his inner circle because of his title, rather than because of who he was. Where half of them even were now, he didn't know. He didn't particularly care, in fact. A few had managed to pass the test and become knights, but not many. That was hardly a surprise. They weren't the type of people he would choose as knights of Camelot now.
Really, what kind of idiot had he been: how arrogant, and jumped up, to throw knives at a poor servant carting a shield, purely for amusement? He used to be an absolute git!
That reminded him. He did need to practice his mace. His mace arm was a tad rusty. A few hours bashing a shield would work out any problems. Merlin wouldn't mind. It would do him good. Toughen him up.
He didn't deny the small smile that curved his lips at the thought. Perhaps he was catching Merlin's humour? He had long suspected that his manservant was contagious. If anybody could be infectious, then it would be his friend.
The smile dropped away. Merlin was his friend. His best friend, in fact. What did that say about the quality of available friends for royalty in Camelot? In all seriousness, Arthur felt low for not realising that there was something not quite right with Merlin. Whatever it was, it had been going on for quite some time, now that he thought about it. As Merlin's friend, it was his duty to find out what it was, and help if he could.
Not that he could just walk up and ask of course. No, no. The very thought made Arthur scoff internally. He didn't do feelings. As a woman, that was Merlin's thing. Phrases like 'how are you feeling', and 'do you want to talk about it' could not be built from his personal lexicon, nor from that of any self-respecting man. If he wanted to find out what was wrong, he would have to trick merlin into it. That shouldn't be too hard. There were things floating in the moat with a higher mental capacity than Merlin, so it wasn't going to be much of a challenge. As his friend, Arthur thought that perhaps it was his duty just to make the effort. Just, once he did know, no arm punches or back slaps to cheer him up. Merlin would only complain and whine about how slapping people didn't cheer them up. Idiot. It wasn't Arthur's fault that he didn't know how to relate to girls of Merlin's type. Perhaps book him in for a hair-braiding session with Guinevere and Sefa?
… Merlin had been giving Guinevere's maid 'the eyes' of late. Maybe he would like a hair-braiding session with her? Would that qualify as doing something nice for him? There was a fine line to be walked here, and it wouldn't do to be seen to be doing something soft and fluffy for a servant. Even one as awful as Merlin, whose standards of service barely qualified him as a servant at all, but more of an animated broom that didn't work very well.
No, he had to be careful. It wouldn't do to be showing preference to any one servant. George may well explode in a fireball of dissatisfaction if that were to happen. While that would be rather entertaining, and more so impressive to witness, it may impede George's abilities to serve, and that would be a fate worse than death for the man. Arthur liked to think himself a fair king, and causing combustive fits of jealousy among the servile population of Camelot was something that ought to be avoided.
Ah. He had gone off on a mental meander. Better not let that happen too often.
Dragging himself back to the present, and ignoring Merlin where he was now clanging about under the workbench in what constituted the kitchen, and Hunith's bedroom, Arthur focused himself back on his meagre meal.
He picked up a 'broad' bean and took a tentative bite. His face screwed up as the offensive thing did not let the side down in the terrible taste stakes. Merlin must be out to torture him. He had given him a good handful of the nasty things. This was revenge, wasn't it? For refusing to go through the woods right off. Still, with a concerted effort, Arthur finished off the dreadful beans and consoled himself with the seedy bread. Even though it was a little stale around the edges, it was rather good. Hunith's honey cake was simply magnificent, so the meal wasn't a dead loss entirely. The whole lot went down a treat with the flagon of ale. While he would have really preferred water, it was unlikely safe out here. Camelot's water was remarkably pure when it didn't have Avancs in it. Thinking of it was making him thirsty.
No longer as hungry as he had been, Arthur settled down in his chair and laced his fingers over his stomach. As soon as the sun rose, he and Merlin had to get out and search for those horses. Then maybe they could get back to Camelot.
The patrol knowing that they were in Essetir more or less ruined the objective of quietly finding out why word had reached Camelot of Lot's forces massing within fifteen leagues of the border.
While anybody could have been sent to find out, truth be told, he desperately needed a few days away. Summer seemed to have an awful lot of competitions and events held by the various guilds that he was expected to judge and attend. Really, churning butter with the guild of dairy maids, or cattle herders, or whatever they were had just been embarrassing. Merlin had hardly explained technique and process clearly enough before he had had to try in front of a crowd. His efforts had just served to make him look silly, which Merlin had of course loved. He was sure that his father had never had to do anything like that. Nor any of the other kings. Lot surely didn't sit there presiding over mane plaiting contests. He was probably to busy sharpening pikes to put the heads of his enemies on. Alined surely never had to participate in annual hay rolls (which were NOT as fun as they sounded). How could he find the time when there was so much scheming and underhandedness to get through?
Annis and Mithian probably enjoyed their fair share of garland competitions, but they were a queen and a princess! While he didn't much fancy whiling away his days whittling head spikes, or plotting, surely he had better things to do than all the useless tiffin that seemed to fill his daily schedule? Why was he more akin to the neighbouring queen, and one of the fairest princesses throughout the five kingdoms than he was the other kings? It didn't seem fair. Gwaine would tear his self esteem to shreds if he knew what was currently going through his head!
At any rate, he had run off on this important excursion to get away from the rubbish summer at Camelot. A few days away from being King Arthur was all he really needed. So he had left the knights behind and just dragged Merlin along, because there was no one else he could better be simple Arthur around than Merlin. He couldn't take Guinevere. She was even less interested in 'man things' than Merlin was, so wouldn't have enjoyed riding around the woods shooting things with arrows and fighting the odd bandit as much as he did.
It was while he pondered what type of activities they could do together in the woods, that he realised the din out in the kitchen had stopped.
Thoughtful, he cast one more glance towards the gap in the sheet. Merlin had stopped mucking about out there, and now sat on one of the chairs beside the table, facing the fire. Still not eating. He was staring at something he turned over and over in his hands. The way his shoulders were slumped, he was unhappy. He was fiddling with a carved length of wood, about the size of a spoon.
Even from so far away Arthur could see the quality of the carving. He thought that maybe he could understand where it came from, and also why Merlin appeared so upset.
Merlin and Hunith's conversation of before came to mind. Not long ago Arthur had stormed into Merlin's room in search of his absent manservant with a view to berating him for being late, and maybe pushing him a little, only to find Merlin seated on the edge of his bed, fiddling absently with a carved figure of a dragon.
Immediately Arthur had realised that something was not right. Much to his own surprise, he had even questioned Merlin on what was wrong, and actually received an answer. It was the anniversary of his father's death, and the dragon was all that Merlin had of him.
Arthur hadn't berated him that day. He had not asked anything of him. He had sat beside Merlin, with a hand on his shoulder until he had to leave and carry out his kingly duties. Arthur understood Merlin's sadness, and he had wanted his friend to know that.
Watching Merlin sitting there now, Arthur felt the same kinship. He understood, but would leave Merlin alone this time. Perhaps Merlin needed time to reconcile his grief and other feelings. It was what he had needed himself, after his own father's death.
So Arthur sighed lightly and let his head fall against the low chair back, not particularly comfortable, but at ease. Tomorrow they would slip by the bandits and find those blasted horses. They would slip off home. Getting back and letting everyone know that they were well suddenly seemed even more important than it had previously. Gwen and Gaius would be worrying about them...
...
