A/N: This story takes place between 'Nightingale' and 'What's a Heaven For?'.


"What was she like?"

Lancelot's voice startled Arthur from his idle maunderings. "What?"

"Merlin's mother. I never had the chance to meet her. What was she like?" the knight repeated.

Arthur looked away to where the sorcerer knelt with his head bowed, both hands pressed to the ground at his sides. On his left, there was a grassy mound with a slender young oak tree growing at one end. To his right, a freshly dug grave sent the dusty odor of old leaves into the early spring morning. "She was the kindest person I've ever met," Arthur said softly. "We went to Ealdor once, to drive away some bandits. Hunith offered us everything she had- food, shelter. The best spot by the fire at night." 'Her only child…' "After we chased the bandits off, Merlin wanted to stay to protect her. I could see it in his eyes. But she talked him out of it. I can't imagine why. She had every reason to hate me, hate everything about Camelot. But when we left he was at my side. Where's he's been ever since."

"Why would she hate you?"

"Because knights from Camelot drove Merlin's father away." Arthur swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "Because of my father's hatred, Merlin grew up a bastard. And Balinor never knew he had a son until it was almost too late." Hunith had watched her family be torn apart by men of Camelot, and then she had sent her magic-wielding son into the heart of Uther Pendragon's realm. For Arthur's sake. Her selflessness had been astounding. "And for her kindness, a Pendragon repaid her with fear and death."

"Morgana has much to answer for." Lancelot turned his attention back to Merlin knelt alone in the little clearing. They had ridden out the day before and made a quiet camp half a mile off, rising before the clouded dawn to dig the grave for the box holding the delicate tumble of Hunith's bones. Gaius intoned all the proper funeral rites, then they had all backed away, giving Merlin the time and space to mourn in his own way.

"You do realize," Lancelot said, "That for a long time, the fate of Camelot rested on the shoulders of an obscure peasant woman."

Arthur gave the knight a questioning look.

"You said Hunith was the kindest person you'd ever met. Well, who taught that quality to Merlin? If she had raised him to hate Camelot, things would be very different right now. If she had given in to a moment's bitterness, what would that have done to Merlin? And where would we be without him?" Lancelot asked.

Arthur gave him a sidelong look. "You're not wrong, and I know that."

"As long as you do." He smiled and looked back at Merlin. His head tilted, expression perplexed. Arthur turned to see what the matter was.

Nothing was wrong. Merlin hadn't collapsed, wasn't huddled over weeping, or anything of the sort. He had straightened, shoulders back, and his chin up. Through the rustling of leaves in the morning breeze, they heard him murmuring, soft words Arthur couldn't hear well enough to decipher. The others silenced their whispering.

A silvery light began to shine in the clearing. Pale motes appearing all around like evening will o' the wisp. Merlin lifted his hands above the graves, his fingers stretching wide over the soil. More light shone around him, the little motes gathering from everywhere, falling out of the trees and lifting out of the early grass to collect over the two little oak trees- the one marking Balinor's grave, and the smaller sapling Guinevere planted when they had dug Hunith's. The little lights spun around the two trees, whirling about like a flock of starlings, seeming to do nothing. Then Arthur looked closer. The smaller tree was growing. Slowly at first, then faster as the lights spun tighter around the slender trunk. Buds grew into twigs grew into thin branches sprouting vivid green leaves as the tree grew before their eyes. The lights whirled about the other tree, its branches stretching out to the other, even as the little sapling reached for it, first leaves and then branches twisting around each other's. The lights dispersed, spreading across the clearing and landing among the grasses and other trees, shimmering in the morning gloom until they winked out, one by one.

The oak saplings, finished with their rapid growth, stood tall and straight, their branches intertwined. In time they would grow together completely, joining the two lovers in death they way they were never allowed to in life, a memorial that would endure for centuries. Perhaps they would outlast the cold, stone monuments of kings in the catacombs of Camelot.

Guinevere rested her head against Arthur's shoulder. Her eyes were bright with tears, though a watery smile tugged at her lips. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pressed a kiss against her hair.

As the last of the lights winked out, Merlin bowed his head. Lancelot shifted, as though he were about to rush to the sorcerer's aide when Merlin stood. He kept his back to them, just breathing as the last wisps of fog drifted through the trees. For a moment, he looked like a forest spirit who might walk away into the old trees and disappear forever. Then he turned, and gold flashed in his eyes. He looked up at them- through them- with a weary smile before walking back, his steps marked with a faint limp. This time, Lancelot did move forward to help. "Well?" the knight asked.

Merlin's blind gaze turned back toward the clearing and its two trees. One mote of light remained, caught in the twining branches. "The Druids say that where there is love, there is only light. Now they'll have both sunlight and starlight." He closed his eyes, his expression crumbling before he drew in a long breath to calm himself.

"They'll have all the light they could have wanted," Arthur said. Merlin nodded and stood quietly for a time. Arthur wondered if he could feel everyone's eyes on him- his own and Guinevere's, the knights' and Gaius's. "And now?"

"Now?" Merlin's eyes opened. They were red, but his face was dry. "We've said all we needed to say, done all we needed to do. I think now… now we should give them peace and quiet. I think it's time to go home."

"All right." Arthur nodded to the others, motioning for them to go back and break camp.

After they'd gone, Guinevere took Merlin's hands between her own. "Are you going to be all right?"

"Aren't I always, eventually?" He smiled sadly. "I just wish . . . I wish."

"So do I," she said. The three of them stood together a while under the trees, listening to the whispering leaves and the brightening birdsong. A rock dove cooed above them and far away, a nightingale trilled.

Time passed. How much of it had gone was hard to guess under the clouds and forest eaves. The rattle of tack and armor announced the knights' return. "Are you ready?" Arthur asked. Merlin nodded, and he helped the sorcerer climb into the saddle. "Let's go then," he called to the others. His voice was loud enough to carry, but not enough to disturb the peace of the forest. Arthur let Lancelot lead the way home, waiting until Guinevere and Merlin had gone on before urging Canrith forward. He looked back at the graves one last time.

Where the last light had been, a vivid blue butterfly was perched in the entwined branches between the two trees.