Arthur didn't know where he was going, only that he had to move.

Before he could get very far, he heard someone calling his name.

"Arthur!"

He turned.

Purposefully, Morgana strode towards him, a piece of paper clutched in her hand and a frown etched on her face.

"Arthur," she repeated as she came upon him. "Have you heard?"

"Heard what?" he snapped. He didn't have time to indulge whatever injustice she'd stumbled upon today. If Gaius wasn't going to tell him where Merlin was, he was going to have to find him by himself.

"Uther's sent a missive to Lord Agraivaine inviting him to spend a season at the castle. I say invited. Gwen tells me a rumor is flying around the kitchen and other servants' quarters that Uther is furious with him and that it was practically an order. Do you know what it's about?" Her eyes searched his.

Morgana always knew when he was lying.

"Yes."

Uther was going to confront Lord Agravaine. But Arthur's gut told him that Lord Agravaine would not take the blame for whatever part he played in the situation with Hunith.

Oh, he would come to Camelot, of course, but not before dealing with his dirty business.

"I have to go," he murmured.

As he turned, she caught his bicep. "Not before you tell me what's going on!"

"I can't, Morgana." He wrenched his arm out of her grasp. "I have to go."

"Arthur!"

Despite the fury in her voice, he didn't stop.

…

If Arthur were in Merlin's shoes, he would be on the back of a horse headed in the direction of home - and his mother.

That meant Arthur and the knights were on the back of horses headed in the direction of Merlin's home - and his mother.

He was fortunate he already knew where Merlin's mother lived because of the incident with the sorcerer and the raiders.

Unfortunately, Lord Agravaine probably knew where Hunith lived as well if Arthur's memory of the man served him correctly. But Arthur had the factor of time on his side. Although he didn't know when Uther had sent it over the past few days, he had the advantage for the moment.

For the moment.

And then Arthur could be wrong.

He could be entirely wrong about all of it.

He could have misinterpreted his father's anger (although that wasn't likely because he knew his father's tempers well).

He could have misinterpreted the original statement that had started this whole fiasco.

If only he hadn't gotten drunk and blabbered it all to Merlin.

And he thought Merlin couldn't keep a secret if his life depended on it.

For him, all it took was a few drinks.

Desperately, he hoped he was wrong.

Not that he didn't want to be related to Merlin - that was a whole different matter to puzzle through, possibly over another pint or two of ale - but he wanted to show up on Hunith's farm and find everything well.

That this was all a mistake.

Hunith would have explained the whole thing away to Merlin, and he would return to Camelot with Arthur.

At least, Arthur hoped

…

"Arthur," Leon started, but Arthur's eyes were already fixed on the horizon, where a patch of smoke was clinging.

…

Although Arthur's mind conjured up horrible images, the scene that greeted them was horribly simplistic.

From two heaping mounds of ash, where a house and a barn might have stood, smoke wafted up into the air, putrid.

In front of it stood a lone figure, hands at his sides, his back to them even though he must have heard the pounding of the horses' hooves.

Between the house and Merlin, another body was lying on the ground, but as Arthur drew nearer, he saw that it was a man.

Hunith was nowhere in sight.

A light breeze picked up, sending the smoke swirling, and Arthur's eyes stung.

"Merlin," Percival called softly.

At his name, Merlin turned.

His face was streaked with soot and tears.

Before his horse stopped moving, Arthur swung down, his boots hitting the earth with a light thud.

"I couldn't save her. I-"

Merlin's voice was wrought with anguish and confusion. Bringing a hand to his head, he turned away.

Arthur clenched his fist.

If only he had not said anything to his father and let Lord Harold's stupid comments die.

This would not have happened.

A dark shape moved in the corner of his eye - Lancelot was there, going past Arthur to embrace Merlin while the others gathered behind Arthur.

As Merlin cried, anger welled within Arthur.

During the time Arthur had spent with her, she had shown him nothing but kindness.

She didn't know him. She wasn't even one of his subjects.

He wanted to kill Lord Agravaine.

…

As Arthur stared at the dead man, Leon came up behind him.

"Do you recognize him?" Arthur asked, wrinkling his nose.

Something about the man's face was familiar, but he couldn't identify what.

He must have been lying there for at least a few hours because his body was already starting to contort.

Just another man.

"Yes," Leon said. "He looks like one of the castle servants. I can't remember his name."

Ah. Neither could Arthur. He didn't usually bother with that sort of thing unless they were important like Gwen or Merlin.

How was this person connected to Agravaine? He'd half-expected to find his uncle there instead of…whoever it was.

"Do we bury him?" Leon asked.

"No." Arthur lingered for a moment, his hand tracing the hilt of his sword in its sheath, before he turned his back on the body.

…

(Arthur didn't stop to think about how the man had died when there were no obvious signs of a wound on him on that Merlin could have inflicted with a weapon. His mind was too caught up in wondering what on earth he was supposed to do to help Merlin.)

…

As they rode back to Camelot, Arthur's mind turned over and over.

What was he supposed to do now?

He still didn't know what course of action his father was going to take. He still didn't know Lord Agravaine's involvement even though he must have been behind Hunith's death somehow.

There was no other explanation for it, no other person who cared enough about a "peasant" from Ealdor, no one who wanted her snuffed out before she could speak.

Perhaps the servant was connected to Lord Agravaine, and instead of waiting for instruction, he took matters into his own hands.

Although the idea explained what happened, it was not satisfying, and it also didn't help Arthur figure out what he was supposed to do with his father.

When he returned, he would be forced to give an accounting for his unexplained and abrupt absence, and he was debating between contriving some hogwash or telling his father the truth.

Since Merlin was at the center of it, Arthur felt that he should ask him, but…

Well, he didn't think Merlin wasn't in any mental state to be asked.

And he shouldn't have had to ask Merlin what to do now. Goodness, a week ago, everything had been fine, and his worst worries were what stunt Merlin was going to pull or who was going to try to kill him next.

And now?

He didn't know what things looked like.

…

The knights started the campfire.

The knights took care of the horses.

The knights cooked the rough meal.

The knights cleaned up the dishes.

Arthur did nothing.

Unless one counted pacing as doing something - then, he was doing quite a lot.

Instead of attending to whatever he normally did, Merlin sat next to the fire, a blanket wrapped around him, a mug clutched in his thin hands, and a miserable look on his face.

As he trampled grass, Arthur tried to think of something to say, but everything he came up with sounded empty and worthless. Gwen was better at this sort of thing. If he could, he would have fetched her for Merlin, but he couldn't.

Somehow, the knights had all disappeared, he noted, leaving a pot of stew on the fire. It was bubbling a little, so he moved to remove it.

Merlin started to stand. "I'll get that."

"No, I've got it," Arthur insisted.

"No-"

"I've got it!" Arthurt snapped.

Merlin sank back down.

Arthur almost burned his hands, but he moved the pot to a rock that he assumed was for that purpose. "I'm sorry," he said, focusing on scraping the bottom of it to see if the rest of it was even close to edible or if a raccoon was going to be wining and dining that evening. "I'm sorry we failed."

"You didn't fail," Merlin responded flatly. "I did. I didn't…I didn't reach her-"

"You wouldn't have had to do anything in the first place if I hadn't gone to my father and asked him!"

"Are you finally going to tell me what it was about?"

Arthur couldn't see what he could explain. "You already know, don't you?"

"I would like to hear it from you."

Like he should have in the first place.

But he wasn't sure what more he could say. "Uther thinks you're his son. My…my brother. I-" Arthur started, then closed his mouth, looking away. He needed to say something, but all the things he thought of fell short.

"I didn't have a chance to ask her."

The words were filled with everything - anger, anguish, a burning hatred and a deep sorrow that Arthur recognized from when he was younger and wondered why his mother wasn't there and why everyone left without saying goodbye.

He ached for Merlin, but there was nothing he could do.

He closed his eyes. If he could turn back time-

(There were a lot of things he would fix.)

…

An owl hooted.

Silhouetted by the glowing coats, Merlin sat in front of the fire, his back hunched and his arms wrapped around himself.

Arthur took a seat next to him. If he leaned over the slightest bit, his shoulder would have touched Merlin's, but he didn't.

For several minutes, they stayed there in a silence that was occasionally broken by an ember in the fire popping or a noise by a creature.

"I want you to know, Merlin, that if you need anything, I'm here." He cleared his throat and crossed his arms, leaning backwards so he didn't have to see Merlin's face.

Although he didn't think Merlin was going to reply, he heard Merlin's soft, "Thank you" before the sounds of the night took over once more.

…

"What's going to happen when we return?"

In surprise, Arthur looked up from checking his horse's girth strap. "What?"

Although he wasn't smiling, Merlin seemed in more control of his emotions than the previous evening, but it still wasn't the sort of question Arthur was expecting from him.

"What's going to happen? With Uther."

"Well…" To give his hands something to do, Arthur began stroking his horse's neck as he thought about it. "I assume Uther will want to claim you as one of his wards."

Merlin's mouth set in a manner Arthur recognized from when he reached for one too many sausages in the morning.

"I don't want it."

"You don't want it? Why not?"

Being claimed as Uther's ward was the best possible position for Merlin at that moment. With his mother dead and Gaius aging, Uther would provide everything Merlin could need in the future. He would be taken care of.

"Because." Clasping his hands behind his back, Merlin looked away.

Grief must have been clouding his mind. "Merlin, there's no reason to turn down this opportunity. You have every right."

"I don't want it."

"Is it that you don't want to be related to Uther?" Arthur could understand that his father was not…what one would long for in a parental figure, but that wasn't a reason for Merlin to throw away his claim.

Another thought struck him.

What if Merlin didn't want to be related to Arthur?

"It's nothing like that," Merlin assured him. "But I think I would be better able to serve Camelot if I were not Uther's child." And Arthur's brother.

Arthur couldn't understand. It didn't make sense.

"You would really continue mucking out the stables? Serving food instead of having it served to you?" When Arthur's horse tried to eat his hair, he pushed its nose away.

"Yes."

"We could be brothers."

"I know." Merlin pursed his lips. "And I'm not saying I don't - that I don't -"

That I don't want to share blood with you.

That I don't want to be your brother.

That I don't care for you.

That I wouldn't do anything for you.

"-that I don't appreciate it. Because I do. But I would prefer to remain where I am, serving you."

This time, Arthur let his horse at his hair.

He couldn't understand Merlin.

Anybody else would have jumped at the opportunity to eat at the king's table, to benefit from the royal treasury, to live in comfort for the rest of his life.

But not Merlin.

Never Merlin.

Even though he was being honest, there was something different, something Merlin wasn't willing to share with him.

"Please."

As much as Arthur perhaps wanted Merlin as his brother, he realized that if he tried to force it here, after everything, he would only drive a wedge between himself and Merlin.

Even though it affected Arthur, too, it wasn't his decision to make, in a way. Not really.

"If that is what you want."

Although Merlin's face was still etched with sadness, he straightened a little as though a burden had been lifted from his shoulders. "Thank you."

He turned to his own horse, which was patiently waiting along with the rest of the knights'.

As Arthur swung up onto his own, a heaviness descended upon his shoulders.

He wasn't quite sure what caused it. By all means, he should have been happy - after all, this was what he wanted, wasn't it? Once they returned, everything would revert to what it mostly had been a week ago.

Why did it feel so empty?

…

"I would like an explanation for your actions, Arthur."

Arthur crossed his arms. "I traveled to Ealdor to speak with Hunith, Father."

Almost imperceptibly, Uther's face tightened.

"She told me that the rumors of her interactions with you held no merit no matter what anyone might think happened. Merlin's true father is dead."

"I see." Leaning forward on his desk, Uther looked down at the neat stack of papers underneath his arms.

"Unfortunately, during our stay, a man sent by someone attacked the farm. The knights and I were…unable to protect her. Hunith died."

Sharply, Uther raised his gaze. "Magic?"

"I am uncertain."

"The boy?"

"Merlin returned to Camelot with me."

For a minute, Uther remained motionless, lost in his thoughts and calculations. Eventually, he leaned back in his chair. "Make sure he is provided for."

Arthur nodded. "Yes, Father." His report done, he turned to leave.

"Arthur."

He paused. "Yes?"

"Lord Agravaine is set to arrive within the next few days. Ensure he receives the best rooms."

To himself, Arthur smiled grimly.

Uther had made the same connection as he had. When he arrived - if he arrived - Lord Agravaine would be welcomed with the warmest hospitality but the coldest consequences. He would not get away with Hunith's murder.

"Yes, Father."

Arthur would make certain of it.

…

The door to his father's rooms shut behind him with a soft click.

Outside, Merlin was waiting for him, an unspoken question in the air.

"He bought it," Arthur reported. "He isn't going to press the matter any further." At least, not with Merlin.

(Aggravaine was an entirely different matter.)

Briefly, Merlin ducked his head. "Thank you, Arthur."

Arthur nodded.

For a minute, the two of them stood in the hallway facing each other.

"Well, I'd best be off," Merlin said. "Lots of things to do, you know. Stables to muck. Holes to mend."

"Yes, of course."

"Water to fetch."

"Right."

At the same time as Merlin, Arthur went to go forward, and as the two of them fumbled around each other, they somehow ended up in an awkward embrace.

"Sorry-"

"Sorry-"

"Right-"

"I'll just-"

Once they untangled themselves, Merlin hurried down the corridor.

Arthur straightened his shirt and headed in the opposite direction towards his rooms. There were matters that he needed to attend to, as well, particularly with Lord Agravaine's impending arrival.

And maybe things wouldn't return to normal.

Maybe his and Merlin's relationship would be awkward for a little while.

Maybe Merlin would continue to grieve over the loss of his mother and Arthur would burn with anger because he wasn't able to stop it.

Maybe Merlin would seem fine on some days and distant on others because of the mystery that Arthur couldn't solve (yet).

Maybe they would have to learn to adapt.

But maybe, at the end of it, they would be fine, too, because they had each other's backs.

(After all, that was what brothers were for.)