Hunith washed her hands in the bowl at the work table, diligently scrubbing away at her fingernails. It wouldn't do to be unprepared for the Prince's return. He was expected any hour now. She kept looking out of the window and down into the courtyard, trying to see if the tell-tale buzz of servants and stablehands that usually marked the arrival of a bigger group had finally settled in.
"You have certainly been busy."
Hunith turned to smile at Gaius entering the infirmary.
"Yes," she replied, gesturing at the vials and bundles lined up on the bench before her. "There's more wound salve simmering on the fire, but we've got plenty of bandages and sleeping draughts. Nourishment potions, too, though we might soon have to stock up again, depending how many they are actually bringing back to Camelot."
"Whatever would I do without you," Gaius said kindly.
"Find yourself a proper apprentice?" Hunith replied wryly. "Someone younger, and eager to learn."
Gaius only raised an eyebrow at her, then stepped over to the hearth to check on the salve, leaving Hunith to look back out of the window. Soon, the courtyard would be busy, filled with people who would certainly draw more than one curious gaze.
Slaves. They would be a sorry sight, that much Hunith was sure of. And to imagine the Prince, so strong and capable and well-loved by his people, to have suffered such a terrible fate, too, if only for a short amount of time…
But he had come out of it, was likely all the stronger for it, perhaps humbled by the experience.
Hunith sighed, adjusting her headscarf with an agitated hand. On a day such as this, she couldn't help but think of another boy, almost the Prince's age. Bright-eyed, too, like him. Had he suffered the same fate as Prince Arthur? Was he still alive or…?
Oh, how she missed Merlin. Five years, and the pain sometimes was still as fresh as on the day she had woken up in her hut in a raided, near-empty Ealdor, with Gaius tending to the festering wound, realising her son had been taken from her. Merlin, ripped right out of her arms, barely a youth. Gaius had come for an unannounced visit only hours after the raid, finding her amongst the dead and dying, almost faded. Gaius's arrival had been a stroke of fate, ensuring Hunith's survival.
There had been many darks days thereafter, when she had been in pain, different kinds of it, finding herself wishing Gaius hadn't found her and spared her the agony.
But she was content now. Never truly happy, not that, but at peace, in a way, with what her life had become. She liked Camelot, liked assisting Gaius in his duties as court physician. Occasionally, she helped out in the kitchens during a feast or a tournament. She liked to think, despite the issue of his magic, that Merlin might have liked it here, too, might have looked up to the Prince, admired the Lady Morgana, bonded with Gaius…
She blinked. Horses, slowly making their way into the citadel. A cart, too, filled not only with supplies but some cowering figures, wrapped in blankets.
"They're here," she said and turned, quickly fastening her apron before approaching the door. "I'll go, see if anybody needs help right away."
"I'll prepare the extra pallet," Gaius told her. "Just in case."
Hunith nodded and then, she was making her way down the stairs and to the archway leading to the courtyard. The Prince was there, handsome and regal on his white horse, though he was just now dismounting and handing the reins to a stableboy. He made his way to the cart as he called out orders to his men. At the edge of the courtyard, she saw people being led towards the dungeons, shackled and pale. Not the slaves.
Three people had ridden in the wagon, but a couple more had walked behind it. Six, she counted, had come on foot, much too thin and their faces cautious as they snuck glances of the castle.
She let her eyes roam over them, trying to assess if anybody needed her help, then settled on the huddled forms on the cart. More likely that it was them who needed her assistance, too weak to walk from Mercia to Camelot.
Once more, she adjusted her headscarf, then stepped out into the courtyard and approached the cart, where the Prince personally helped a young, skinny man get out of the wagon. A kind, caring gesture, the kind of action that seemed to come natural to him and which had ensured the Prince his people's devotion.
Her heart stopped. The man, the boy, had turned, a red scarf wrapped tightly around his pale neck. He looked exhausted, strained, and familiar.
Could it be—? Surely—
The name almost caught in her throat.
"Merlin?"
A dark head of hair swivelled, blue eyes confused until they widened with recognition.
"Mother?"
It was him. It really was him. The Prince had brought him to her, after five years.
A trembling arm, stretched out towards her, a hesitant step, a quivering lip.
Hunith broke into a run and embraced her son.
notes:
Thank you for reading. Slave!fics are one of my favorite fanfiction genres and I hope you enjoyed my take on it and the hopeful ending. I don't think there can be a sudden happy ending after suffering years of abuse and trauma, but you can at least hope that in time, people will heal enough to live content lives. I would love any comments, however short, because that stuff fuels my muses like nothing else! :)
I know there's potential for a sequel with Merlin not daring to take off the collar just now, but I'm not making any promises on that front, sorry!
