Merlin really did try to leave Aithusa with Gaius and face his friends on his own. But the moment he had laid her down on the patient's cot, thoughtfully shoved directly next to Gaius's to provide some semblance of security on the rickety thing, she had woken up and had turned large, tearful eyes on him.
So the warlock tried to explain that he had to attend to the king and queen, and that he would be back later. And Aithusa blinked slowly, and her tears cascaded down her rosy cheeks, and Lancelot and Merlin's hearts broke.
"What if I stay with you, little one?" Lancelot had asked Aithusa, glancing at Merlin's crumpled face. "We can wait for Merlin together."
Aithusa took a breath, then hiccuped, then wailed and threw her little arms around Merlin's neck. Merlin patted her back soothingly, allowing the little girl to climb off the bed and as much into his lap as she could manage with him kneeling on the stone floor.
"I think she's going with me," Merlin said finally, looking at his friend helplessly over the haze of Aithusa's curls.
Aithusa snuffled and buried her face into his neck. Lancelot nodded slowly.
"As am I, my friend," the knight pledged.
And so the strange trio left Gaius's apartments to the kitchens. Once there, the cook Amanda and all her tittering and stressed hands took time to coo over the little girl and pepper Merlin with questions, most of which he managed to deftly avoid. They ducked out in record time, with most somehow believing the little girl to have been lost or belonging to a noble or otherwise entirely unrelated to the king's manservant, and the three made their way through the less-crowded servant halls toward the king's chambers.
Merlin comes to a stop outside, balancing Aithusa on his hip and a plate in his free hand. Lancelot lingers a step behind him, every bit the supportive friend and dutiful helper.
Soft voices emanate from within the king and queen's rooms. It's obvious from their number and diversity that at least a few extra people wait behind the door. Merlin's eyes flick from the door to Aithusa and back again. His muscles are tensed, posture stiff, face stony even as his eyes betray an uncharacteristic uncertainty.
Poised for either fighting or fleeing. Lancelot knows the posture and tension well, not from observing Merlin, but by watching knights on the battlefield.
"It's now or never," Lancelot says softly. "I'll support you no matter your choice."
Merlin nods, forcing breath in a huff through his nostrils.
The voices inside quiet slightly.
"Fine," Merlin says.
He nods curtly at the door, then adjusts his arm around Aithusa so it's beneath her instead of looped about her waist, providing a secure perch rather than a sure hold. He transfers the plate to the hand that had held her and uses the now-free one to open the door.
Sitting around Arthur and Gwen's dining table are the monarchs themselves and all the knights of the Round Table who had been in attendance at the training grounds earlier: Percival, Gwaine, Leon, Elyan.
They all look at Merlin, then see Aithusa in his arms.
The events of the day seem to have exhausted her. She slumps against his body, one hand fisted in the cloth of his neckerchief, the other twirling a white-blond curl around a small, chubby finger. Merlin feels he can relate. Somehow, however, despite the dissecting stares piercing through his own exhaustion, a feeling of fierce protectiveness wells within him.
He would do anything for this child. His friends, his bonds, his beliefs and destiny, his very life is forfeit for this little and entirely too vulnerable creature in his arms.
"I didn't bring enough food," Merlin says, looking nervously at his audience.
For the first time in a long time, he truly assesses the men and woman before him. They become, momentarily, not the friends he knows but threats to his kin–his daughter.
He is ashamed at what he thinks. Arthur swings too heavily at first. Dodge and let his own momentum take him into a stumble. Leon is deft and sure, you must surprise him genuinely to miss his blade. But he acts with economy and training, so it does not take much to surprise him. Percival relies too much on strength and not enough on speed, Elyan will be too aggressive to think through Merlin's moves clearly. Gwaine will be hurt and angry and react unpredictably, watch for him.
Gwen would not stand to see a child hurt, and it would be the worst of it all–more hurtful even than Arthur's unflinching violence–to see her eyes tearful and pleading and scared for a child, while still distrustful and hateful toward Merlin.
Then Guinevere stands and smooths out her skirts. She fixes Merlin with a serious stare, one that makes him gulp. It's one usually reserved for recalcitrant courtiers and poor patients. It's at once serious, exasperated, and patient.
"This is Aithusa?" Gwen asks quietly.
Merlin nods. He moves forward a few steps, puts the plate on the table near Arthur, and shifts his arms. One wraps beneath Aithusa's legs, the other supports her back, until she is cradled against his chest. She hums and rubs her cheek against his chest, then turns sleepy eyes on their audience.
Lancelot shuffles a few steps forward, deposits his own plate, and returns to stand behind Merlin. The door shuts quietly behind them.
Gwen takes a few steps forward. A soft smile graces her face as she looks at the little girl. Aithusa looks back seriously, taking in the queen as if seeing something no one else can.
"Hello, dear," Gwen says. "I'm–"
"Auntie Gwen," Aithusa responds, scrubbing at her eyes. "You're a queen. Papa talks about you."
Gwen's smile grows.
"That's right," she says, her voice trembling with either a laugh or tears. Merlin would wager it's due to both.
"'M tired, Auntie," Aithusa says softly.
Gwen hums. "Of course you are, darling. You've had a big day, haven't you?"
Aithusa nods.
"Do you want to sit with me a while, Aithusa?" Gwen asks hesitantly. "Give Merlin a break?"
Aithusa huddles, impossibly, closer to Merlin. She shakes her head, looking at Guinevere shyly from beneath white lashes.
"She's been stuck to Merlin like glue," Lancelot says.
"Papa," Aithusa says, gripping the manservant's neckerchief tighter.
Gwen nods, her smile softening into a line, her expression melting into something a little more severe and sad as she looks at Merlin. Merlin's eyebrows quirk, his eyes creasing at the sides.
Forgive me, he begs.
Gwen looks at the little girl, then inclines her head slightly and moves back to her seat. It is not yet forgiveness, but acknowledgement.
Merlin decides that he will take what he can get.
"Do you want to sit down, Merlin?" Gwen asks. She moves back to her seat and pulls out the chair next to her.
Merlin nods and sits, arranging Aithusa so she can sit in his lap and lean against his chest. Her eyes rove over the assembled party, all of whom try valiantly to disguise their curious stares. She does not attempt something similar. Instead, she looks back at each of them with such solemnity and open interest that they find themselves–each of them, save the king–giving her large, goofy grins despite their mixed feelings.
"I'm happy to finally meet you, little princess," Gwaine says finally, breaking the uneasy silence.
Aithusa's stare turns to him. Gwaine gives the little girl a jaunty salute, which makes her giggle. She stays silent, however, until Merlin jostles her slightly. He looks down at her with an unmistakable fondness.
"That's Sir Gwaine, little one," Merlin says. "Say hello."
"Strength," Aithusa says. At Gwaine's poorly-disguised expression of disbelief, she wriggles further into Merlin and adds, "Hello."
Gwaine can only summon the mental capacity to reply with, "Huh."
"And that's Sir Leon," Merlin says, deftly pulling attention away from the strange remark by pointing out the red-haired knight.
"Hello, Aithusa," Leon says politely. He gives her a gentle smile.
"Leon," Aithusa says, as if tasting the name. She scrutinizes him openly, which makes him shift in his seat despite the genuine smile on his face. "You received a gift, once. And it stays with you."
Merlin furrows his brow, then looks at Leon. The head knight's eyes widen slightly and he leans back in his chair. His smile dissolves somewhat into an expression Merlin would call a gape on anyone else.
"How did you know that?" Leon asks wonderingly.
Aithusa shrugs and looks up at Merlin. Merlin gives Sir Leon a helpless shrug of his own, then points out Percival.
"That's Sir Percival," Merlin says.
Percival smiles and reaches a long, muscled arm across the table. Aithusa looks at it as if it's a strange animal, then glances up at Merlin for help. He smiles at her, extends his own hand, and gives Percival's offered hand a strong shake.
"Like that, darling," Merlin tells her.
Aithusa nods and studies Percival's hand. She finally reaches out her own and places it in Percival's hand, which envelops hers easily. She moves her arm up and down a few times. Percival groans, then takes his hand back and flexes his fingers.
"Ow," he says, giving her a grin. "Strong grip you've got there."
Aithusa giggles. It's as if she sent light and color into the air between them, lightening the tension effortlessly. All of them smile at the sound.
"And Sir Elyan," Merlin says, pointing out the knight.
Elyan gives Aithusa a big smile.
"Hi there," he says gently. "It's an honor to finally make your acquaintance."
Aithusa shifts slightly in Merlin's arms, then nods at the knight.
"Hi," she says, her shyness coming back in full force.
"And this, my dear," Merlin says, finally glancing at the person whose reaction he had been dreading all day, "is King Arthur."
Arthur had kept his eyes trained on Merlin until the introduction was made. At Merlin's words, his blue eyes jolt down to the little girl. To many others–courtiers, nobles, peasants–it would seem an entirely bland expression decorating his face, displaying only polite interest and mild warmth. But to Merlin and Gwen, and somewhat to the rest of the assembled knights, Arthur is decidedly uncomfortable.
When his eyes travel back to his manservant, hard-won from the child's gaze, his eyes are wider than normal, the serious set of his mouth quirked downward at the edges. His eyes shine more than they typically do–not with tears, but with some emotion larger than what could be put into words. Merlin sees there a profound sadness. Betrayal. Confusion.
"My king," Aithusa says quietly.
"Yeah," Merlin breathes, his eyes not leaving Arthur. "That's right, baby."
Arthur's eyes tear away from Merlin's to again take in the little girl.
Aithusa's drooping eyes look Arthur up and down. Then, ever so slowly, she extends her arms toward him, an entreating look decorating her little face.
Merlin has not had the opportunity to see that expression many times on his human dragon's face so far, but enough that he knows it to be nearly impossible to deny. The warlock looks uncertainly at the king, who shares with him an uneasy and questioning glance.
"Do you want to go to Arthur?" Merlin asks quietly, tapping Aithusa's cheek.
Aithusa nods, her gaze never leaving the king. Merlin looks back at Arthur, a doubtful look on his face.
Arthur looks at Aithusa: her large blue eyes, her too-big ears, her white curls and round face. It seems that the king's arms raise without his mind bidding them do so, a silent answer to the child's unasked question.
Merlin picks up Aithusa and hands her to Gwen, who scrunches her face pleasantly at the little girl before handing her off to the king. Arthur takes her with unsure hands, holding her out slightly from his body. Aithusa makes herself comfortable in the king's lap and sticks a thumb in her mouth, eyes shutting contentedly.
Things are quiet for a few minutes. Aithusa relaxes in Arthur's arm, her thumb eventually and slowly falling from her mouth, the finger that had trapped a curl around it since Merlin's entrance falling finally stilling near her forehead. Arthur looks down at her and allows his arms to contract slightly to a more secure and natural grip. She has fallen asleep contentedly in the king's arms, and everyone takes the few minutes it takes her to do so to rearrange their thoughts.
"She really is something special," Gwen says quietly, eyes trained on the little girl.
"Yeah," Merlin sighs. "She is."
Gwen nods as if coming to a decision. "We will send for more food, and talk until it's time for her to get to a proper bed."
Merlin sighs again, thinking about the patient's cot waiting for the girl back at the physician's chambers. He gives the queen a nod and Gwen stands again. She moves with effortless grace to the door, sticks her head out, and murmurs instructions to the guards outside. She closes the door once more and turns back to the table.
"We should talk," Gwen says.
"Of course," Merlin agrees. He shifts in his seat, looking at everyone else.
Leon's expression is, as normal, indecipherable. The head knight splits his attention between the monarchs, Merlin, and the little girl.
Gwaine stares at the child with undisguised interest, but every so often casts Merlin a disbelieving look. It's as if he must continually remind himself that Merlin and Aithusa are, somehow, related. That the child in Arthur's arms is real and present, and that everyone else sees her as well.
Percival simply smiles at the little girl sleeping gently in the king's arms, his eyes soft and expression fond. Elyan's eyes remain trained on his sister, waiting for her true reaction. He is, so far, incredibly calm and patient.
Gwen goes back to her seat and looks at Merlin pointedly.
"I think you owe all of us several explanations," she says.
Merlin's head droops downward, toward the table.
"I think I do," he agrees.
Gwen nods magnanimously and looks at the little girl, then the assembled audience in general. Her face and the tension that leaks into her expression leave two impressions: one a genuine entreaty toward patience, listening, and understanding; the other, a stern caution–nay, warning–against interruption and judgment. Then, she looks again diplomatically stern and expectant at Merlin.
Arthur does not glance at her to see the expressions and warning held in his wife's face. Instead, he stares intently at Aithusa, sharp blue eyes studying her gentle, sleeping face, his posture stiffly held around her comfortably limp body.
"Where should I start?" Merlin asks the table.
"Where else, you dolt?" Arthur replies woodenly. He barely allows his chest to expand with breath. As if afraid that any little movement could wake the slumbering child in his arms. "At the beginning."
Merlin stares at the two, then offers, "She's a sound sleeper, Arthur. You're fine."
Arthur finally, with great effort, whips his gaze away from the child and toward his manservant. Merlin watches as if time has slowed down, clocking the near-immediate shift from awkwardly and grudgingly fond to diplomatically incensed.
"Start at the beginning," Arthur snaps.
His voice stays quiet. His chest does not move nor flinch from its precariously held posture. Nonetheless, Merlin reads the impatience and grievance in the words, and nods silently in response, eyes still trained on the table.
"I met a girl once," Merlin says. His voice is distant. Big blue eyes, so similar to the little girl sleeping soundly at the table, bore into the table. "Her name was Freya."
Gwen does not gasp, but nonetheless her next inhale is sharp and pronounced. In most any other setting, the sound would be inaudible. But here, surrounded by silence and tension and awkward and terrible silence and tangible attentiveness, her quick intake of breath is noticeable.
Were anyone looking anywhere but at the young warlock, withering beneath the stares of his friends, they may have noticed Lancelot, the noblest of them all, looking away toward the floor. His brow is furrowed and expression serious. Balanced between stoicism and grief.
Merlin spares a quick glance toward Gwen and Arthur before locking once more on some invisible imperfection in the shining, lacquered oak. Once gaze dismayed and anticipatory, the other severely impassive.
"She was more beautiful than anything I'd ever seen," Merlin continues, a rueful yet wistful smile overtaking his features. "And just as alone in the world as I'd ever felt.
"Freya was… she was special. I could tell just by looking at her. And from her tattoos…" Merlin trails off, his voice and expression pensive and grave.
"Tattoos?" Elyan quietly prompts.
"This was several years ago," Merlin states. He looks through, more than at, the table now.
Percival's gaze is sad and heavy as he looks at Merlin. "Few kinds of people get tattoos."
Merlin nods. His Adam's apple bobs up and down, swallowing around some unseen knot in his throat.
"She arrived in Camelot in chains," Merlin says quietly. "Kept captive beneath the iron and violence of a bounty hunter."
Arthur looks up sharply at Merlin, eyebrows furrowed. "She was a magic user?"
"A Druid," Merlin snaps.
Only Lancelot and Merlin know that the response is an addition, not a correction. Both their hearts sink to the floor.
But Merlin's anger, his indignation, remains.
"A Druid," Gwaine repeats slowly. His face descends into an uncharacteristic seriousness and an all-too-familiar protectiveness.
"Yes," Merlin says to the table. "A druid."
Gwen's eyes widen slightly as she takes in Merlin's stony mien.
"You didn't," Gwen breathes.
"Tell me you didn't," Arthur echoes. His posture is just as stiff, his lips just as impeccably and neutrally downturned.
But his eyes shine more than normal in the torchlight.
"The siege tunnels," Merlin says quietly. "I hid her in the siege tunnels."
Everyone is quiet for a moment, exchanging sympathetic and nonplussed and horrified expressions.
"You hid a fugitive–" Arthur begins.
"I hid a girl whose crime was being different," Merlin snaps. When he meets Arthur's gaze, his eyes are full of an unfamiliar fire and challenge. He looks angry. "I hid her from your father's senseless, indiscriminate violence."
Arthur frowns at him. It is a bland thing, yet still somehow the largest reaction Merlin has yet pulled from his king.
But at the same time, Arthur's arms pull around Aithusa's sleeping body. The girl snuffles and curls into the king's chest. And Merlin watches at Arthur's hand lifts of its own accord to rest on the girl's shoulder. He watches as the king's thumb sweeps long, rhythmic arcs across the girl's green sleeve.
A silent, implicit understanding has been reached. One of mutual disbelief and one of mutual protectiveness.
Merlin holds his king's gaze for a moment, then drops it back to the table. All his friends watch as the fire disseminates from his lean frame.
"I brought her food and drink. And one of Morgana's dresses," Merlin says, a slight smile on his face. "We talked. It was… it was strangely wonderful. And intimate."
Merlin lapses into silence. Gwaine is the next to speak up. His voice is softer than Merlin remembers ever hearing it.
"And then, mate?"
"Then she left. To protect me, as I learned later," Merlin says. Something deep within him twists at the mislead, the twisting of such a precious story.
"Atihusa," Gwen breathes.
Merlin inclines his head, more acknowledging the offered leap between gaps in his story than anything else.
"I saw Aithusa brought into this world," Merlin says. Again, he feels something sharp twist horribly deep within his chest. His words gum in his throat, and he finds himself unable to speak.
His audience waits attentively. Patiently. Sympathetically.
It kills the young warlock. He looks, finally, away from the table and toward the babe held in the king's arms.
"And then Freya died," Merlin chokes out. "She and Aithusa never met. I put Freya to rest in a lake, and I put Aithusa in the care of my uncle. I hoped… I hoped he could keep her safe. And look after her when I couldn't."
"When Uther would still drown Druid children without a thought," Gwaine spits.
Merlin watches Arthur carefully. But the king doesn't go to disagree with the knight as Merlin had been expecting. Arthur doesn't jump to his father's defense. Instead, his arms tighten once more around the child. His Adam's apple bobs. His eyes shine brighter, and this time Merlin knows for a fact that it is from tears and not from some unspoken rage.
One piece of Merlin comes to an uneasy rest. Another withers.
"Yes," Merlin says quietly. "For a long time, things were… okay. Tolerable. But then Kilgharrah heard word that Morgana has been expressing… an interest in… Druid children."
Gwen truly gasps at that. The knight's hands go toward their hips as if reaching for swords. Arthur's eyes harden as he looks at Aithusa, still slumbering peacefully on his lap, resting against his chest.
"So he brought her here," Merlin says finally. "As a last resort."
Once again, an uneasy quiet falls over the group. It seems interminable as Merlin suffers it.
"You…" Arthur starts. Then he stops himself, lips pressing into a line. After a long time, he begins again, "You hid your child from me because she is a Druid?"
Merlin nods once.
"Why?" Arthur finally says. The word is strangled as it escapes from his mouth.
"Why?" Merlin asks again. "When Freya left Camelot, it was at swordpoint."
"I–"
"It was at the point of your sword, Arthur," Merlin finishes.
The words are not angry, nor bitter.
It is simply a statement of fact.
Arthur had thought his heart shattered before. But this, this revelation, this tone that Merlin uses when telling the story as if recounting his order at the herbalist's rather than describing the expulsion of the love of his life from his own home–at the tip of his own king's sword–this breaks him beyond repair.
"No," Arthur says, his voice low and stressed.
Merlin simply nods.
Arthur feels the others' gazes on him. They're hot, accusatory, piercing. But he simply looks at Merlin, who avoids looking back at his king.
"No," Arthur says again, arms curling around Aithusa.
Merlin finally looks up. But instead of looking at his king, his eyes fall on his daughter's round, peaceful face.
"You thought you were doing the right thing," Merlin says quietly. "At the time."
"You never said anything," Arthur says. His tone is more frayed and desperate than he would like, but he can't help it.
Merlin shakes his head. "Admitting my involvement with Freya would have been a death sentence, Arthur. I did what I had to in order to protect the woman I love."
Merlin finally looks at Arthur. "And I will do what I must to protect Aithusa as well. Even if that means leaving my home."
Arthur looks back at Merlin.
Merlin watches Arthur's face crumple. It's as if Merlin is watching a star die. All the radiance, the surety, the indignation and betrayal in Arthur fall to a simple despair. Merlin feels his heart die alongside it.
Nothing Merlin had said had been a lie. And yet, this feels like it is the largest deception Merlin has ever made. It hurts him more to allow his best friends to think what they will rather than give the full truth.
"It may mean that in any event," Merlin says quietly. "Perhaps the safest place for us is far away."
"No," Gwen says forcefully. Her hand darts out to grab Merlin's wrist. "The safest place for her is here in Camelot. With you, and with all of us."
Merlin gives her a sad smile. "I don't know if that's something I can risk, Gwen."
"You'll stay here," Arthur finally says. He looks up from the babe in his arms to fix a steady gaze on his manservant. "You will stay here, Merlin. Both of you."
"She's kind of ours now, mate," Gwaine says softly, breaking his vicious glare toward Arthur in favor of casting a reassuring glance at Merlin.
"You can't really break our hearts by taking her away now, can you?" Percival asks quietly, giving Merlin a small smile.
Merlin twitches with something approximating a laugh.
"I've lied to all of you for so long," Merlin says quietly. He addresses the group at large, but his eyes never leave Arthur.
"Too long," Arthur agrees. He rubs Aithusa's arm, looking up at Merlin fiercely. "No longer, my friend. You are safe here. Both of you. I swear to you on my honor, my life, and my crown."
Merlin swallows. His friends watch as the servant's face crumples beneath an unknown weight. Despite the gratitude on his face, his eyes nonetheless betray a deep unease and immovable sadness.
"I trust you," Merlin says finally.
Aithusa huffs in her sleep and cuddles deeper in Arthur's arms.
Someone knocks at the door, announcing several servants bearing dinner. Arthur declines his own in favor of holding the little girl.