I am SO SORRY you guys had to go through this terrible wait. Long story short, my boss decided to relocate me on another site and in two weeks time I had to adjust to new colleagues, new public transports, new instructions. Anyway. It should be fine now. By the way, it's still my birthday (for at least 10 more minutes), today. And this chapter is my gift to YOU whom I love deeply. Your support is the joy and the strenght of my life!
ONE HUNDRED AND ONE LETTERS
For almost a week, the Court physician's chambers are off-limits for them.
Gaius grimly said Merlin's chances were very thin and that he would not accept to be cluttered with useless people as he worked to save his grandson.
Guinevere is the only one he lets in and out. The servants besiege her with questions, but she just bites her lips, shaking her head, silent tears streaming down her cheeks: Merlin has not woken up yet. The fever is not breaking. They do not know if he will keep his leg, the risk of infection is still too high.
The evening of the day they came back to Camelot with their precious cargo, Gwaine went to the tavern and Sir Leon had to go fish him out of it after four days. The commanding officer put the knight in the dungeons to sober him up and Daegal begged the guards to put him in a cell as distant as possible from the drunk's wrath.
Number Four and Percival returned to Daobeth to be part of the ambush. Odin never came, however - probably warned by a spy. They joined the patrols scouring the country between the ruined castle and Cornwall's borders.
Every day, George gives a cup of milk to the crippled kitten.
Arthur beats training dummies under the rain that keeps pouring. He barely sleeps and eats nothing. He has never been so stern during the councils. He mops around the castle when night falls and always finds his steps leading him to the same place, behind the wooden door he is not allowed to open.
They are waiting, waiting, waiting.
They do not dare to hope.
Do they have the right to?
They did not save Merlin. If he is in this state, hanging by a thread to life, it is their fault.
Whilst the little princess sleeps, the Dolma leaves her with Guinevere and sneaks up to the court physician's chambers. She settles on a stool next to the bed and strokes Merlin's black hair, changes the wet cloth on his forehead, and sings Hunith's lullaby tirelessly. His face as white as the pillow turned to her as if he could hear her in his troubled slumber, the young man rests a bit better. The nightmares recede, the fever gives him some respite.
At night, when Gaius is alone to take care of his grand-son, the old man struggles to hold in his emotion. The fire crackles in the hearth, warm and comforting, but Merlin is shivering, mumbling unconsciously, moaning and calling Arthur, muttering that he is sorry, that he regrets what he said, that he will be good ...
The burn marks turn into smooth pink blisters, the scabs give way to white scars, the bruises fade in yellow shadows then disappear. But ointments, poultices and potions can not heal the wounds caused by words and anguish.
Every time Gaius changes the bandages of his grandson's knee, anxiously watching for signs of the infection he fears, he can not help thinking that even if he does recover, something might remain broken forever.
How do you patch up a shattered heart?
After a week, the rain stops. The weather warms up, a blue sky unfolds above the tiles crowning the towers, the sun like a golden coin dries the thatched roofs of the lower town. In the terrace gardens, the first roses of the year are blooming. The grass is tender and bright green. Swallows nest in the royal stables, chirruping blithely.
On an afternoon the weather permits it, Guinevere opens the windows of the court physician's chambers and welcomes the pristine breeze and the warm sunrays into the room where the stale air is strained by the heavy and stuffy smell of suffering and soiled linens. She collects the dirty sheets and shirts and puts them in a basket to wash later, then goes back to sit on the stool with her knitting.
- "He's breathing better", she says with satisfaction, tucking up the soft blanket under Merlin's chin. "The fever is clearly dropping."
Standing behind the table, Gaius puckers his brows while grinding leaves in a bowl.
- "Make sure he's not cold."
- "He's got two of these nice blankets, he'll be fine", assures the young woman. "I'm sure it's good for him to breathe in the spring air."
She takes up her needles – a plain stitch, a purl mesh - then rests the scarf on her lap.
- "Will he soon wake up, Gaius? The king was able to talk to him on the night they saved him. Why has he not regained consciousness since then? I mean ... it's better, no doubt, with his leg in this state and all these terrible injuries that needed to be dressed, but ..."
The old man heaves a sigh.
- "Maybe he's afraid to come back to the world of the living, Guinevere. Perhaps he believes that if he opens his eyes, he'll still be prisoner in the hellish castle. Or in the hallway with ... when ... what the Dolma told us. Or on the training ground, the day ... the words of the King went beyond his thought."
- "Oh, Merlin ..." breathes the young woman, tears welling up in her eyes. "It's over, I promise. It won't happen ever again ... we are so, so sorry ... please, come back to us ..."
She leans over and kisses the manservant's forehead.
- "We love you, Merlin ..." she croons, her fingertips tracing his angular features, the hollow cheeks, the parched skin, the brow beaded with sweat. "We love you so much ... don't leave us..."
Gaius feels his throat tighten and focuses on his crushed leaves.
Someone knocks discretely on the door.
- "Come in", calls the court physician, thinking it is the Dolma.
The king opens hesitantly.
- "Oh", gasps Guinevere, nibbling her lower lip.
- "I saw the open window", Arthur mutters, not daring to step in the room. "I thought ... maybe ..."
Gaius shakes his head.
The king does not retreat, his eyes riveted to the bed. His gaze burns as he takes in the state of extreme emaciation of his manservant, the leg elevated with pillows and imprisoned in a wooden device that looks like a torture instrument, the broken ribs painfully rising and falling with every intake of breath.
Guinevere puts her knitting in the basket next to the bed and gets up slowly, as to not startle a bird. Her dress rustles on the floor when she comes to the king and gently takes his arm, after sharing a glance with Gaius.
- "Come, Sire", she prompts gently. "Sit down next to him."
Arthur obeys mechanically.
- "Tell him something."
- "But he's asleep", blunders the king.
- "N'no", a small voice whispers.
Guinevere stifles a cry, putting her hands over her mouth, Gaius rushes to the bed as fast as his robes and his paunchy belly let him, Arthur freezes.
The cobalt orbs are looking at them under the fringe of dark lashes.
- "My boy", stammers the old man.
- "Merlin", the King chokes.
It requires a big effort to keep his eyes open, but he is awake. He does not stir, too exhausted, but his lips curl in a faint smile.
Guinevere chuckles, wiping a tear.
The young man drifts back to sleep shortly after, but it is enough to give them wild hopes. The news spread quickly. Camelot shakes up like a bear after a long winter, the castle starts bustling with animation.
Finally sober, Gwaine resumes to his duties. Percival and Number Four come back from patrol; it's as if everyone was picking up on living again, now that Merlin is back to his place among them.
It takes time, but step by step, they move towards healing together.
At first he lacks the strength to stay awake longer than a few minutes, barely enough time to make him swallow some soup. It is a blessing more than anything else, because with consciousness also returns the sensation of pain and he often sobs for it to stop, especially at night.
Guinevere keeps spending her days beside him, never complaining to have to change the soiled sheets or when he leaves scratches in her palm when she holds his hand while they change his bandages or check on the wooden knee-brace.
Gaius has dragged his bed close to his grandson's so that Merlin can touch him when he wakes up in the middle of the night and feels alone, terrified, abandoned.
Sir Leon brought a blond lock from his eldest daughter who just had her hair cut for the very first time and told the manservant how his youngest, who is barely older than the princess bursts in trills every time he mimics a duck.
Number Four crouched beside the bed so that Merlin could touch his throat and feel the solicitous purr, while his black eyes conveyed deep affection.
Percival sat on a chair too small for him and said that passing through the forest they glimpsed a doe with her two fawns and counted an unreasonable amount of rather cheeky rabbits with fluffy tails.
When Gwaine leaned to him remorsefully, Merlin just tied his arms around his neck and hugged him. The knight struggled to hide the tears dripping into his beard as he held his friend close.
This is the hardest thing.
Knowing that he does not resent them, only cares that they came to save him, has forgotten how they neglected him, simply rejoices to have them around him again, as if it were all that mattered, as if there was no need for excuses or regrets.
They feel so unworthy of his friendship.
They know they can never match it.
So they try to move forward with this weight, both encouraged and humbled.
Arthur saw in Merlin's eyes the look Gaius had spoken of. That look filled with sadness and incomprehension, impossible to withstand.
He saw it when Daegal was brought into the court physician's chambers, before the prisoner was to be taken beyond the borders of Cantia and sent to exile.
Merlin cowered instinctively on seeing the boy. He nodded while Daegal was sniveling and asking him for forgiveness, but his blue eyes were dilated with retrospective terror and unformulated questions.
Arthur shuddered, picturing the desperate look in the eyes of his manservant hanging from the ceiling in a dark cell, as the door closed behind the friend who had betrayed him.
He knows he deserves that look, too.
This is why he agreed to let Daegal speak.
Because he wishes to tell Merlin how sorry he is but does not know where to start ...
He wakes up drenched in sweat in the middle of the night and the echoes of his nightmares are pounding in his ears.
Merlin is crying for help and he is the one who slams the door.
The guilt follows him under the oak tree where he gives his audiences as spring blooms under the warm bright sun. People ask news of Merlin, want to know when he will come with his master again to visit the village, cook pies for him, have so many stories to share with him.
Arthur envies their ease to find a topic of conversation, him who never knows what to say while his servant babbles softly, lying on his bed, his fingers clinging to the edge of the king's shirt, as if to make sure he is there.
Merlin talks more and more as his strength builds and smiles at his friends, but shadows of fear are still lurking somewhere deep in his eyes.
The Dolma comes every day and brings Albion with her. The little princess, who does not like to be seated, strongly pushes on her small legs, holds high her chubby neck and totes her fingers in her mouth, chirping gleefully. The nurse's visits, in late afternoon, coincide with those of the king as if on purpose and, in time, he comes to enjoy this moment. Merlin kisses the baby girl's forehead when it is time to go to bed and he does the same, takes his daughter in his arms and makes faces to see if she will giggle like Sir Leon's youngest, and for the pleasure of hearing Merlin chortle with the same spontaneity as before.
Without realizing it, Arthur's grief and guilt fade away, gradually, as he tries to bring back the lopsided grin on the angular features of his servant.
He involves himself in the training sessions and describes to Merlin the epic falls of the knights and the new moves they learned.
He listens with renewed interest to the grievances of the people to be able to give news of the peasants who are like family to his manservant.
He captures butterflies in his big calloused hands because he never tires of seeing the spark of wonder in the blue eyes when he sets them free in the court physician's chambers.
It is when he sees Geoffrey of Monmouth bringing Merlin one of the books he and Mithian have read and reread in the royal library, that Arthur finds his best idea.
The next day, just before leaving, he slips into Gaius' hand a folded paper and oozes off before the old man can ask anything.
This is the first letter.
It contains only a few trite lines - the king was never very comfortable with prose - but the beaming gaze that welcomes him the next night is worth all the gold in the world.
Merlin says nothing, does not even mention the letter, but when Arthur takes his leave after gently tousling his manservant's dark hair, Gaius walks him to the door and hands him a tiny scroll of parchment. The old man's eyes are moist with emotion and gratitude.
The king does not wait to be in his room, he sits on a windowsill in the spiral staircase to untie the small blue ribbon and unfold the paper.
"Helo Sire,
Aw are yo doimq?
Hofe you triep Kook's new dumqlinqs? Gwaine likemed them to freshely lain frogsipawn wraqqed in o piq snat.
Thamk you becoze you comto sea me every day.
Merlin"
Arthur laughs as he deciphers the heartfelt scrawl, but a tear trickles down his jaw.
He writes again the next day.
"Hello Dollophead,
Gwaine is right, these dumplings are absolutely disgusting. George himself struggled to swallow a spoonful. Thanks for telling me, I had him taste them before I tried them.
Yesterday I saw one of the swallows nesting in the stables. The fledglings will be born when you will be up, so prepare to watch your cats: the big one sleeping in your gelding's stall has an eye on them.
Listen carefully to your grandfather and hurry to get better.
Arthur"
Weeks are going by, spring gives way to early summer, and the letters stack up, filled with nonsense and deep friendship, serious questions and stupid puns, little and great things.
Merlin's ribs are healing well, he eats with more appetite, has less nightmares and he is eager to go back to work - Arthur too, there are limits to the number of jokes on brass a man can put up with.
But when the manservant is finally allowed to put his feet on the ground and carefully stand up with the help of Number Four and Percival, what Gaius kept buried inside his heart until then becomes obvious to all.
Merlin's leg will never be back to normal.
He will be able to walk on his own after some time, maybe even run, but he will always limp.
That night, Merlin's letter is speckled with transparent wet stars, even if it is a promise to Arthur that he will be fine.
The king is devastated, overtaken by the guilt he had almost managed to get rid of. He carefully chooses his words, then folds the paper and stamps the red wax with his royal seal.
"There will always be a place for you in Camelot, Merlin, no matter what.
I don't need you to be perfect.
You were always by my side, and I don't want anyone else but you."
On the parchment Gaius hands him the next day, there is only one word.
"Thank you."
There is a drawing, too, though. A dragon spreading his wings and a knight in armor wearing a crown.
Arthur looks at it for a very long time, then puts it with the other letters in the wooden case on his nightstand.
oOoOoOo
When Merlin begins to walk with crutches, he receives an invitation in due form for a picnic in the woods. Arthur has decided that fresh air would do good to his servant whom is pale and weakened from the long months he was bedridden.
The fact the chosen date is also the anniversary of his wedding to Mithian prevents anybody from making comments about that day of recreation.
Gaius has approved and watches fondly his grandson who is twittering excitedly while Percival hoists him on the back of his horse. Number Four helps the Dolma to get on her mare. The nurse blushes and coos when the silent giant slides her foot in the stirrup before suddenly scolding like a harpy Gwaine who is checking the straps attaching the wicker cradle of the little princess on the back of a white donkey.
- "He's not in her good graces anymore", chuckles Sir Leon to Arthur who looks at them amusedly.
The small party leaves the castle with baskets laden with food and damask blankets to head to the crooked old oak near the river where the Prince used to meet his friends to fish, hunt and watch the stars.
After the meal, while the Dolma dips her toes in the deliciously cool water, Gwaine takes care of the horses and Gaius explores the undergrowth in search of rare herbs.
Arthur and Merlin are sprawled under the thick foliage of the tree, golden flies of light flickering on their faces, but they do not nap.
The nurse left after setting the princess on the broad chest of her father. The little girl is now eight months. She is sitting proudly and her small bare feet wiggle enthusiastically. Her chubby hands are fiddling with the nose of her father and his chin, she tweets, trying to catch the dragonflies and insects fluttering around them.
Arthur holds her by the waist and tries to avoid losing an eye. He hears Merlin giggling somewhere close to his head and wonders if they look like a strange flag when you see them from the sky, him wearing a simple red shirt, Merlin a blue tunic and Albion a white lace dress.
The emerald grass gives off a smell of dark earth and freshness. The creek glistens in the sun seeping through the canopy of lush greenery. Above their heads, the leaves rustle in the breeze.
- "Call up your men, dilly dilly, send them to work" ...
The deep voice of Arthur is a bit off-key, but the little princess seems to enjoy the song and claps, wriggling cheerfully.
- "May I say something, sire?"
Arthur arches an eyebrow while gently pushing away the tiny fingers wanting to explore the inside of his nostrils.
- "Merlin. You never wait for permission to say anything. So when you ask a question like this, it gives people the creeps."
Albion warbles and drools happily as her father makes her bounce up and down in his arms.
- "Very well, then", says Merlin in a very serious tone, crossing his hands on his belly. "I think you should stick to the sword. Singing does not befit you."
Arthur needs a few seconds to get that he should feel insulted, then a wave of gratitude overwhelms him.
This is the first time since Daobeth that his manservant is teasing him.
- "Merlin."
- "Yes, sire?"
- "One of these days, I'll have you juggle before the entire Court. We'll count the number of eggs you'll break. I'm sure there will be enough to scramble a hearty breakfast."
Merlin chortles.
- "Still it'll be more pleasant for those who will attend it than a recital performed by you, Sire."
Albion fidgets, wanting to be put down and Arthur chooses to focus on her rather than keeping up with the friendly banter. Once on the grass, the little girl crawls to Merlin, grabs handfuls of black locks and chirps uninterruptedly until she sees her nurse coming back.
The Dolma bends down and picks up the child lifting her arms towards her. She steps away in the woods to breast-feed the baby. Gaius comes back and settles under the oak tree. He soon dozes off, his hoary head dropping on his chest. Gwaine goes to the river to fill up his wineskin, whistling as he keeps an eye on the surroundings.
Everything is peaceful and in harmony with the distant melody of the running water.
- "Are you there, Merlin?" the king asks almost in a whisper, without turning his head.
- "I'm here, Arthur", answers his manservant, staring at the blue sky reflected in his orbs.
Silence itself holds its breath.
- "Will you always be here?"
- "I will never leave you, sire."
Arthur nods.
He does not know that Merlin is looking at him.
That night, on the parchment the king opens in his eerily empty and cold chambers after the hot July day, there is a list of ridiculous and glorious reasons to stay with him.
Among others, for his mouse teeth and his inability to pick up flowers properly.
Arthur chuckles and weeps at once, and he drinks to his dead wife, to memories, to the past that should no longer hinder him, but must become a reason to move forward.
oOoOoOo
Late in August, Gaius deems Merlin fine enough to go back to work.
On the eve of his manservant's return, Arthur writes to him for the last time and realizes it is the one hundred and first letter that went back and forth between them.
He ponders for so long the candle is almost consumed when he finally decides what he is going to write, and Merlin is already fast asleep when he slips into the court physician's chambers.
He silently greets Gaius, sits on the stool as it is his habit and remains silent for a moment, watching the so young face. Then he puts down the letter on the nightstand and leaves.
The moon glints on the Pendragon wax seal.
There are only four words inside the neatly folded sheet of parchment.
"Please forgive me, Merlin."
The next day, when Arthur opens his eyes, blinking because the sun floods the room through the pulled curtains, he sees Merlin who is tilting his head to the side, grinning.
The young man is squatting next to the bed, his elbows on the mattress, his chin in his hands.
- "I brought you a gift", he whispers, cobalt orbs bright from anticipation.
The king yawns, looking around… and sure enough, there is a white kitten squirming sheepishly on the scarlet quilt.
Arthur chuckles and frowns at the same time and he knows he's been wholly – utterly - forgiven.
Merlin gets up with the help of the bedpost and reaches out to the king to pull him out of his blankets. Then he limps up to the wardrobe to choose the clothes, listing in his usual chipper tone what the king will have to do in the day. Arthur follows him, adapting his pace to the slower and more hesitant steps of his gangly manservant, and plays his part in the gentle banter.
Everything is as before and everything is different.
oOoOoOo
The clouds whizz in the big blue sky of autumn, the sun shimmers on the golden crimson of the leaves, the rain goes and comes back, then gives way to fluffy snowflakes.
The crippled cat has become a dreaded rat hunter and lodges in the third cellar where George smuggles her ham rinds.
Rodor's nephew ascended the throne after the death of the King of Nemeth and renewed the alliances with Camelot.
In January, Albion takes her first steps, letting go of Merlin's hands to waddle to Arthur's arms, cheered on by Guinevere and the Dolma.
The king is no longer the last fan of the little girl's development. His days are packed with meetings, audiences, public hearings and reports to read, but he never fails to attend training at dawn and always makes time in his busy schedule to be with the child for at least an hour.
In June, Geoffrey of Monmouth retires from the Council to devote himself to the writing of the kingdom's history and Arthur finds himself overwhelmed by the paperwork that was managed by him. He begins to spend endless hours in his chambers, which worries Merlin a lot.
Gaius has an idea of the solution to this problem, but says nothing and simply sends Guinevere to bring a tonic to the king while Merlin is busy polishing his master's armor in the courtyard where Percival and Derian are having a contest of arm wrestling in a big crowd of laughing knights.
Carrying her knitting basket, the young woman knocks on the door of the royal chambers and slips inside after hearing a grunt.
Arthur lifts his eyes shortly.
- "Ah, Guinevere. Good timing. Are you going to the nursery? Wait for me, I'll go there with you. I want to ask something to the Dolma."
She nods and sits on a chair.
After half an hour, she figures he has forgotten all about her and takes out her knitting, amused.
The quiet clacking of the needles mingles with the grating of the quill on the parchment in the comfortable, peaceful, simple silence.
The young woman raises her chin from time to time, glancing toward the table where the King works. The tawny sun of late afternoon haloes him in a golden mist and, for a moment, the scene blurs.
Leaning over the desk, she sees Lancelot, like when he filled his reports at the time, in the room in the West Wing that was their home.
Then her vision clears and Guinevere shakes her head fondly.
They are so different, even though their love for their country is the same.
Lancelot would sit very straight, evenly wreathing his long regular writing on the parchment, salting occasionally with a measured gesture. She would suddenly feel his beautiful black eyes resting on her with love and they would share a smile, saying nothing, because they understood each other without words.
As for Arthur, he scribbles furiously. Then he stops, ruffles his blond hair considering the blots of ink. Sighs, crumples a ball of paper, throws it away, frowning. Starts to write again and bites his lips, his quill in mid-air, racking his brain for the correct phrasing.
He would clearly be more at ease and happier on the training ground, a sword in his hand instead of a quill.
Guinevere chuckles quietly.
- "Is there anything I can do to help, sire?"
He hesitates, opens his mouth, then closes it. Scratches his neck in embarrassment.
- "Uh ... yes. If ... if you can."
Oh yes, she can.
Lancelot used to read his reports to her and explain why he wrote this or that, and she was eager to learn.
She leaves the knitting on her seat and comes to the table in a rustle of her silk dress, bends over the draft.
The sun frills her long curly hair as she speaks, pointing at the mistakes on the parchment, and Arthur nods approvingly.
Everything suddenly makes much more sense.
Just like when he had just been crowned and Lancelot leaned over his shoulder to reread the treaties.
It takes the king only a few weeks to figure out the young woman will be much more useful to the kingdom than the boring scribe who had been recruited and that her fresh ideas and down-to-earth logic will help bring comfort and peace to the subjects of Camelot more than the hollow and pompous speeches of his advisors.
From then, he assigns a seat to Guinevere at the Round Table, to the chagrin of the Council and the greatest pride of Merlin.
Gaius smirks, folding his bushy eyebrow. He is getting old, sits by the fireplace and keeps his feet warm under a blanket, drinking herbal tea in small sips and claiming it is time for him to retire too.
The physician who helps Gaius and will eventually takes over after him has his chambers in the east wing and often complains that it does not occur to the knights to come to him when they are injured in training or during a skirmish with bandits.
Number Four - whom more and more people call Derian now – accompanies Merlin to the woods when he goes to fetch herbs and sometimes has to carry him on the way back, when the young man reluctantly admits his leg hurts. The former White Shadow's sturdy strides do not slow down under the feather weight of the crippled body and his black eyes sparkle with life while listening to the songs and the naïve yet full of good sense chatting of his young friend.
Gwaine resumed giving Merlin fencing lessons and Sir Leon monitors this closely. It is also them who show him how to shave when a dark stubble is finally starting to grow on his chin - Arthur finds highly ridiculous that two bearded men teach his almost hairless servant how to handle the blade.
Dead leaves whirl in the wind again and Samhain is at the doorstep with its procession of pumpkins and memories. Winter follows and hems the roofs with small crystal beads, brushing frost drawings on the windows glass.
Percival has carved a small wooden cart in which you can load a couple apples and little Albion, dressed in red and white fur like a leprechaun, pulls it with a string. Merlin's cats chase after her when she toddles around and it makes her burst in giggles.
She has a lot of character and her favorite word is the same as all children of her age: "no." Arthur believes she copies his manservant, but the Dolma is not fooled. The nurse is probably the only one who understands the child's gibberish, but Merlin and Guinevere are convinced they do not need translation.
The King never tires of hearing the two syllables that are clear enough to avoid triggering controversy.
"Pa-pa."
That summer, the Camelot stonemasons begin the construction of a huge dragon-shaped horn, which will resound throughout the whole country if they are attacked. Arthur also plans on digging under the castle to make room enough for all the population of the surrounding lands to gather in a safe place in case of war threat or siege.
On the third birthday of the princess, the king gives her a pony and spends the next winter to teach her to ride in the courtyard carpeted with a thick layer of snow. The sunbeams play in their blonde hair, sparkling on the silver buckles of their blue cloaks, and everyone agrees that they have the same pout.
When spring is back, gifts come flocking from everywhere and marriage proposals for father and daughter arrive like swarms of flies. Arthur ignores them all, despite the pressure from his advisors.
There is no way he will betrothed his only heiress ten or twenty years in advance with princes he hardly knows – even if it is the right thing to do – and he has not forgotten Mithian. Besides, Albion is at the age of questions. She plays a lot with Sir Leon's girls and does not understand why they have a mummy and she does not.
Merlin tries to explain to her that her mother is gone with Freya on a boat to Avalon, but she enquires why they have not yet come back from their journey.
Arthur takes her to the garden of roses and tells her stories about Mithian. The child loves them: the tales of the beautiful and sweet queen are of dream material.
But at the end of the day, when she snuggles in the arms of the Dolma before going to bed, the sleepy little girl sometimes asks if Guinevere could become her mummy.
oOoOoOo
For the thirty-second birthday of the King, Camelot is tinseled with hundreds of flowers which perfume every street corner. Flags and colorful banners are hanged at the windows, lanterns and songs fill the lower town. The nobles dress in bedecked clothing, the peasants braid daisies in their hair, the tiles shine, the kitchens abound with delicious aromas, and laughter is hatching everywhere, mingled with the melody of drums and viols.
The wine flows freely and Gwaine is flirting all over the place, running a careless hand through his wavy brown hair, flashing his charming smile to everything that wears a skirt.
Long tables have been brought to the courtyard, covered with white tablecloths and an abundance of food, and the servants circle around them, passing through the ribbons of dancers intertwining joyfully.
The king is sitting on a chair with a high backrest and claps along the music, laughing at the merriment of his people.
Gaius watches him fondly, while chatting with the Dolma whose foot taps the rhythm under her long black dress until Number Four comes to invite her. The ugly face of the nurse glows radiantly and she lets the man lead her to the dance, leaving the old doctor to sip his wine alone.
Percival beams, red and happy, giving his arm to a blonde damsel so small that if you blink you see a clothespin clipped on an oak branch.
Sir Leon does not dare to dance with his wife who is pregnant again – let's hope it's a boy, this time - and just praises the clumsy steps of their two daughters.
Guinevere, tiny yellow flowers pinned in her long curly dark hair, approaches the king and leans to be heard.
- "Have you seen Merlin, sire?"
- "Over there", says Arthur with a chin gesture. "Courting the princess as usual. Gwaine has a very bad influence on him! And to think that Camelot Knights' reputation rests largely on the shoulders of this tavern pillar..."
Somebody passes by them and shoves accidentally the young woman who catches herself on the armrest of the chair just in time to avoid falling. Her long loose sleeves skim the king's knee, her chin brushes the light golden crown on his forehead. She quickly straightens up, glances in annoyance behind her, then bows apologetically.
- "I'm sorry, Sire."
- "There's no harm", Arthur answers, shooting an exasperated glance at Gwaine who is not far behind and caused the accident in response to the usual teasing.
Guinevere smoothes a crease down the front of her gown embroidered with bees and waves back at the little princess hopping in the round with Merlin.
- "They're so adorable ..." she coos.
Arthur nods, propping his chin on his fist, putting his elbow on the armrest.
The lanky manservant hobbles along the music, cobalt orbs matching his tunic and bright with glee under the mop of black hair, his large ears and angular cheekbones taking off ten years from the twenty-eight winters he celebrated a few months earlier. He is holding the hand of the almost four years old princess who is spinning in a swirl of innocent chortles. Her blue percale dress twirls around her and the torchlight haloes the sandy cotton curls fluttering around her chubby little face, twinkling in her amber eyes.
- "Won't you dance with her?" asks Guinevere who is melting at the cuteness of the scene.
The king chuckles.
- "I fear her partner wouldn't let me take over."
He does not add that he hopes the two will tire at the same time and that Merlin won't have to overdo it with his crippled leg.
He looks up and his lips twitch amusingly as he watches the young woman is jiggling in tempo unconsciously.
- "Guinevere?"
- "Yes, sire?" she says absently.
He stands up and holds out his hand.
- "Come."
She hesitates, casts a glance around her, twisting the folds of her dress. Arthur leans towards her.
- "It's all right to laugh", he whispers. "It was you who taught me that."
She blinks to hold in the tears welling up in her eyes and smiles back at the king.
- "Thank you", she says, curtsying.
They joined in the round and the people do not slow down, grinning at the king they love because he is never afraid to share simple joys with them.
Guinevere is a bit stiff at first, then she starts to smile, cocking her head, carried away by the dance, losing her hazel eyes in the sapphires depths. Their fingers brush, he laughs as he gets the steps wrong, she scolds him, giddy with the lightness of the moment.
There have known each other for so long, they have been friends for years, they have always supported and protected each other.
Merlin and Albion watch them, holding hands. The little girl admires the silk dress billowing gracefully and the young man scratches his neck, a little intrigued.
When the music stops, Albion sneaks in between the dancers and runs to the young woman who scoops her up.
Arthur contemplates Guinevere who is smiling lovingly at the little girl, nuzzling her chestnut satin skin against the porcelain cheek of the giggling princess.
And suddenly he knows, with certainty, what he must do.
So the next day, when Guinevere comes to his room with the day's paperwork, he makes her sit and explains what conclusion came to his mind.
She ponders for a long time, talks with Gaius and Dolma, and even with Geoffrey of Monmouth who curiously seems immediately convinced the decision is well-founded.
In autumn, she gives her answer to the king and during the festivities of Yule at the end of the year, in the snowy castle adorned with holly wreaths and mistletoe garlands, dressed in a golden gown shimmering in the candlelight, she marries Arthur and becomes Queen of Camelot.
When she sits on the throne and the cheers resound, Albion tiptoes to her with a bouquet of white roses picked from the gardens on the terrace and bows intently. Then she climbs on Guinevere's lap and puts a big kiss on her cheek.
- "I love you, Mummy", she pips.
The young woman breathes in the roses' perfume and smiles back through her tears, hugging the little girl dressed in crimson velvet who is the emblem of their dreams.
On the wedding night, when they find themselves alone in the royal chambers, Arthur and Guinevere both close their eyes and whisper "I'm sorry."
Then their lips seal their alliance.
It will take time for their friendship made of trust and respect to turn into a deep love, as days and years go by, but they are quick to see how effective they are when they work together on equal terms.
Arthur is strength, Guinevere is wisdom. He has the boldness of royalty, she knows how it feels to be the humblest. He is not afraid of stepping forward and she knows how to manage the consequences.
No one can stop them.
The advisors grumbled, some have resigned and a few realms sent letters to complain about this unsuitable union, but all in all Camelot approves of the king's choice.
Merlin has no idea the way he is, and lives, leads most of the royal couple's decisions.
Percival gets married, Sir Leon becomes the father of a third girl and Albion grows up.
Two years pass.
Two long winters spent by the hearth in which burns a large and warm fire, listening to the Dolma theatrically telling fairy tales and legends, while Gaius is dozing in the rocking chair. Snowballs fights with the knights and playing hide and seek in the royal library. Drinking spicy mulled wine in the kitchen until her cheeks flush bright and crunching on crispy honey cakes.
Two summers spent catching frogs with Sir Leon when it's full moon, riding on the roads of Camelot, napping in the fields with Gwaine and waking up with your hair full of hay stalks. Star gazing with Percival and flipping coins in dark, cool wells to make wishes. Hanging cherries on your ears and smuggling locusts and grasshoppers in the council room through the ajar door, risking being discovered by the King.
Two springs spent learning sewing and embroidery with Guinevere in the sunny room while Merlin polishes the armor of Arthur. Searching for medicinal herbs with Derian in the woods that are rustling with insects and dipping the tip of her nose in flowers overflowing with sweet pollen. Practicing to spar during training with a small blunt dagger and going to the hundred-year-old oak tree with Father to attend the audiences.
Two autumns spent picking mushrooms with Georges, making bouquets of leaves in orange shades, wading in puddles, starting to learn how to read with Geoffrey of Monmouth, going with Mother to meet the poor in the lower town and discovering that life is not the same for everyone. Lighting candles throughout the whole castle for Samhain and putting on a black dress for the night of the festivities, squeezing strong the hands of her parents during the toast to those who left us.
Then, the year of Albion's sixth birthday, Arthur takes a big decision.
The kingdom has been at peace for a long time and each new treaty strengthens the alliances.
Odin himself will eventually have to face the facts.
And to show that he is willing to lead the way to reconciliation, the king sends emissaries to the Great Seas of Meredor, to the castle of his uncle Agravaine.
They carry a letter forgiving Morgana and offering her to come back to live in Camelot.
TBC
