After a quiet dinner spent in mainly pleasant if stilted conversation, Merlin finally stands to leave, having been encouraged by Gwen to take the little one to a proper bed. He is extremely hesitant to do so at first, for over the past two hours since the child had been deposited in the king's arms, Arthur had slowly relaxed around her and Aithusa into him. Very few times did the king's eyes raise from Aithusa's little face, and not once had her eyes opened since they slipped closed on his lap. His arms had wrapped closer around her, his fingers playing lightly in her hair and over her arms.
Merlin eventually stands and walks until he's stopped next to Arthur's chair. He stands there, somewhat uncertain, shifting his weight between his feet. Arthur finally looks up as if startled to find his manservant there.
"I should bring her home," Merlin says quietly.
Arthur nods and looks down at Aithusa again.
"I don't want to wake her," Arthur whispers.
Merlin gives his king a small smile, then leans down and extricates Aithusa from Arthur's arms. The little girl mumbles something, wiping at her face, but her eyes stay closed and her limbs relaxed. When she is once more in Merlin's arms, she sighs contentedly and leans into him, a hand reaching up even in sleep to clutch at his neckerchief.
As Merlin passes Gwen, she reaches up to touch his arm. He pauses, looking down at her, taking in her soft, earnest smile and shining eyes.
"Will you bring her by tomorrow? I'd like to introduce myself properly, when she's awake enough to remember it."
"Of course," Merlin replies, dipping his head into a facsimile of a bow.
The rest of the knights about the table stand, understanding Merlin's departure to be as good a reason as any to finally exit the king and queen's chambers. They amble after him into the hallway where they gather for a few moments, each of them caught in their own thoughts.
Finally, Gwaine reaches out to pinch gently at Aithusa's cheek. Without opening her eyes, she raises one hand to lazily swat at the offending fingers. Gwaine chuckles.
"She's a precious little thing," Percival offers.
Merlin smiles at the knight. "Yeah."
"Don't get me wrong, Merlin," Gwaine says quietly, "I'm madder than a–"
"Child present," Leon warns, voice stern.
"-wet chicken," Gwaine amends, "that you didn't introduce us to her earlier, no matter how good your reasons. But meeting her now almost makes up for it."
Leon smiles. "Will you bring her to training tomorrow?"
"Around all your sharp weapons and cursing and sweat?" Merlin asks, raising an eyebrow.
"Ah, come on," Elyan says. "We'll use quarterstaffs tomorrow, and you can keep her on the sidelines. Nothing sharp or with range, we promise."
"Please?" Percival asks.
"It's kind of the least you can do after keeping her from us all these years," Gwaine says.
Lancelot raises an eyebrow at the roguish knight, but chooses not to comment. Merlin sighs and ducks his head in submission.
"Great. We'll see the both of you then. Night, Merlin," Percival says as quietly as he can manage, and uses a giant hand to gently pat at Aithusa's curls. Her lips turn upward softly in her sleep and Percival whispers, "Sweet dreams, little lady."
The rest of the knights similarly take their leave, with Gwaine casting one last semi-suspicious and hurt glare at Merlin, until it's just the manservant, his little dragon, and Lancelot left in the room.
"Why don't you bunk with me for the night?" Lance asks quietly. "I wouldn't have you sleeping on your own floor."
Merlin gives him a wan smile. "Thanks. That would be great. I'll drop her off, then come and meet you."
Lancelot gives him a nod and goes off down the corridor. Merlin looks down at Aithusa, brushing a curl out of her face, and begins the walk back down to the physician's chambers.
But when Merlin goes to carefully put her to bed next to a sleeping Gaius on the patient's cot, Aithusa wakes. She turns sleep-heavy blue eyes on the dragonlord. He kisses her head and says goodnight, but is stopped in his effort to leave by a little hand darting out to grab his sleeve.
"Stay," Aithusa whispers.
Merlin shakes his head. "I'll be here when you wake up, little dragon. But I need sleep, too."
Aithusa's eyes well with tears. Merlin stifles a sigh.
"Aith," Merlin says gently, "don't cry–"
"I just found you," Aithusa says fiercely. She keeps her voice quiet, but it holds all the fire a little dragon should possess. "Uncle 'Garrah said we could spend all our time together now, and we couldn't before because I was different. But now I'm not different, we're the same, and I want to be with you. Why won't you stay?"
Merlin looks down at her, all righteous indignation and hurt and confusion, and finds he cannot deny her request. It's not that he wants to leave her here–in fact, just the thought of being away from her is somewhat painful. Even just allowing her to be in someone else's arms for a time, he felt pangs of jealousy and the sting of her absence. But he hadn't wanted to sleep on the floor.
"It will be uncomfortable for me to sleep on the floor," Merlin says slowly.
"I want to sleep with you," Aithusa insists. "Like we used to. Right?"
"Yes. Okay," Merlin sighs. "I can't refuse you, little dragon. That's something we'll need to keep an eye on."
Aithusa simply shakes her head at him and scrunches her nose.
Merlin chuckles, then picks Aithusa up and sets her gently on the bench next to the work table. Then–as quietly as he can manage–he picks up the patient's cot and moves it to allow for a little more room between it and Gaius's. Then, he kicks off his boots, takes off his jacket, and picks up Aithusa again. He sets her down and lies on his side. Aithusa curls up next to him, her button nose pressed into his shirt, and tucks her head just beneath his chin. Merlin pulls up the threadbare blanket over all of them and, finally, falls asleep.
The next morning, he wakes up to something slapping his cheek repeatedly. He forces his eyes open into a squint, and watches as a blurry green-and-blue image comes into focus above him.
"Papa," Aithusa says, all seriousness. "Papa, wake up."
"Aith?" Merlin groans.
"No wonder you get so little done, young warlock," Kilgharrah booms.
Merlin winces against the brassy voice and levers himself up on an elbow, scrubbing at his eyes. Aithusa sits back on her heels, giving the warlock a pleased grin.
"Grandpa made breakfast," Aithusa says, pleased.
"Grandpa?" Merlin mutters, casting his gaze about the room.
Gaius stands at the table, doling out porridge into four bowls. He raises an eyebrow at Merlin, then gives Aithusa an indulgent smile.
"Ah. You've really got everyone you meet wrapped around your little finger, don't you?" Merlin asks, turning back to Aithusa.
Aithusa furrows her brow, then looks down at her hands and says, "My fingers are too small for even one person."
Merlin laughs.
"So, little dragon, will you rest before you forcefully adopt everyone in the castle?" he asks, swinging his legs off the bed.
"I've had too much rest," Aithusa complains. "I want to do things. Can we play?"
"After breakfast," Merlin says. "And then probably after training. Around lunch."
"When's lunch?" Aithusa asks, furrowing her delicate, white-blonde brows.
"A little after training," Merlin says. "Which is after breakfast."
Aithusa sticks her bottom lip out in a pout as she watches Merlin stand and stretch. He turns, gets a glimpse of her, and gives her a broad smile. He stretches his arms out, then swoops toward her to pick her up. He holds her beneath one arm and sticks his fingers into her ribs, eliciting bright peals of laughter from the little girl. It is followed by a wide smile by Merlin and two small smiles from both elders at the table.
Aithusa squirms and shrieks and Merlin digs in more. Then he finally relents and swings her through the air from the bed and onto the bench at the table. He plops her down carefully on the bench. When she makes a plaintive whine, he turns to her and observes how her nose barely clears the edge of the pock-marked table.
Merlin casts his eyes about and then grabs a modest armful of books from the shelves and deposits them in a pile next to Aithusa. He picks her up beneath her arms and lifts her onto the table. Aithusa smiles happily.
"So," Merlin says, taking a bite of porridge. "How long are you in Camelot for, Kilgharrah?"
Merlin looks at Aithusa, who is currently using her hands to shovel the gruel in her mouth. He hastily picks up a spoon and begins feeding her, gently but firmly pushing her hands away from the bowl. She pouts at him again, but seems to arrive at the decision that Papa is at least somewhat paying attention to her, and she gets to eat anyway.
Gaius and Kilgharrah watch them carefully, expressions of exasperated fondness and exasperated distaste decorating their faces respectively.
"I'm leaving later this afternoon," Kilgharrah says finally.
"So soon?" Merlin asks.
He scoops another spoonful of porridge in Aithua's mouth, who bites and snaps at it a bit too eagerly. He expertly pulls the spoon back to avoid choking her with the implement. Aithusa nonetheless manages a bite, and mouths at it curiously, marveling in the taste and texture.
"Do you really want me here, young warlock?" the old dragon asks. His eyebrow raise is almost as impressive as Gaius's.
Merlin's mouth falls into a disappointed line. Aithusa tugs at his sleeve, and he offers her another spoonful of breakfast. He uses the same spoon to then take a bite of his own breakfast.
"I'll have you as long as you'll stay," Merlin says finally. "I do not agree with you much of the time, but I respect you, Kilgharrah."
"Yesterday's events would have me believe otherwise," the dragon replies with a sniff.
Merlin shrugs a shoulder. Aithusa once again tugs at his sleeve, and he once again gives her a bite. "You can't say you didn't have it coming."
"We all have our natures, young warlock," Kilgharrah intones. "And mine is not a human one."
Merlin gives him a nod. "Mine is, however. For however long your stay, Kilgharrah, hatever you need of me, I will give it. I thank you for bringing Aithusa and looking after her welfare as long as you have, and I will repay you in what ways I am able."
"Able and amendable," Kilgharrah corrects, staring Merlin down.
Merlin nods and wipes at Aithusa's mouth with a napkin. She snaps at this as if to eat it, too, and Merlin expertly dodges the movement without so much as looking at his little dragon. They've played this game before, and even as a dragon, she had not been quick enough to nip at Merlin nor the various treats and treasures he brought her.
"No," Merlin replies simply. "I will repay you in what ways I am able–and in what ways are reasonable."
Kilgharrah looks at Merlin carefully. Then, he bows his head.
"Very well. Thank you," Kilgharrah says diplomatically.
They fall into a stilted, yet comfortable conversation, mostly concerning the more mundane goings-on in Camelot. Merlin himself could almost believe the little group to be that of a man, his daughter, his uncle on his father's side, and his great-uncle on his mother's side.
Despite the conversation, however, Merlin largely spends the next hour trying–and largely failing–to get Aithusa to eat in a way that did not ruin her dress.
"We should do something for him," Guinevere says, looking through the wall ahead of her.
"Who?" Arthur asks, running his hands through his hair.
They had changed into their bedclothes not long before, following a delicate yet deep conversation about all the revelations that night. Arthur is exhausted, and his queen much the same. Yet she stays up, at the table, even as her husband is ready to fall into bed.
Arthur glances at Guinevere, his face falling into a smile. The weak champagne light of the waning moon outside streams through the windows and plays off her hair. Though not as strong as the shining mirror-light of a full moon, it nevertheless makes her skin seem to glow from within. Her warm brown eyes twinkle with the light of the candles on the table despite the seriousness of her expression.
"Merlin, of course," Guinevere says.
Arthur groans. His hands run once more through his hair, then over his face before resting in fists on his thighs. "Merlin."
"We need to talk about it, Arthur," Gwen says quietly.
"We've talked about it, Guinevere," Arthur responds, getting up from the bed to pad toward the table. "Haven't we? We talked about it for hours last night, and hours after that. I can't talk about it any more."
Gwen sighs and says, "She isn't going anywhere, Arthur."
"No," Arthur snaps. "She's not. And so I don't see why we have to–"
"Because it's important," Gwen says, anger making her face flush. She finally looks at Arthur, and her eyes are full of fire. "Because he's our friend, and he didn't feel safe enough to tell us anything. Not even Lancelot knew, Arthur. Not me, not Gwaine, not Lance. No one."
"I know," Arthur says darkly.
"He loved someone, and he lost her. He–he watched her die, Arthur," Gwen says, voice trembling.
"I know," Arthur says again. He grips the back of a chair opposite Gwen. His knuckles turn white.
"He buried her by himself, with a newborn to care for. And then he left her with his alienated uncle–"
"I know, Guinevere," Arthur says quietly. "I–"
Something in Arthur's voice catches. He takes a sharp breath in, then he shakes his head and takes a step backward, leaning onto the chair and ducking his head. The candlelight plays against his golden hair but casts shadows on his down-turned face. His posture is more than stiff, it is tense. Every muscle seems poised to do some useless action, and he trembles with the exertion of not striking out or crying or speaking. Instead, he stands, face and locked arms almost parallel to the floor, back bowed beneath the weight of the entire day and all the secrets it carried with it.
"I didn't see it, Guinevere," Arthur whispers. His words are fragile as glass. Guinevere listens asa they break beneath the force of the words. He strikes a palm against the unforgiving wood of the chair he grasps onto. Once. Then twice. Then three times, in such quick succession and with such force that Gwen flinches bodily.
"Why didn't I see it?" he asks. His voice is low, rough, masked by some heavy and deeply felt, poorly disguised emotion. "I thought… I don't know what I thought, but I didn't think this."
He looks up at his wife then, eyes large and shining and desolate.
"Why didn't I see it?"
Gwen stands and crosses to him. Arthur glances down at the ground, then at her face. He can feel them, the traitorous tears in his eyes, threatening to fall.
Gwen raises a hand to cup Arthur's face. He leans into the touch.
"None of us did," Gwen whispers.
"Why did I have to do it?" Arthur whispers. "Why was it me?"
Guinevere pulls him into her arms. Arthur presses his face into her hair, squeezing his eyes shut against the tears.
"I did this to him, Guinevere," Arthur says, voice broken. "And I'm so… I'm so angry. I'm angry that he lied, and that he didn't say–and more than anything else, Guinevere, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. And I don't know how to make it right."
Tears do fall then, landing in her hair that still shines in the moonlight and still smells like her favorite soap.
"We need to do something for him," Arthur says finally. He pulls away and wipes at his eyes, his face determined. "You're right. As always."
Gwen smiles at him. It's a flimsy, watery thing, but it brings him comfort nonetheless.
"I have a few ideas," Gwen tells him.
Merlin ends up having to send someone else to bring Gwen and Arthur their breakfast and yet another to get Arthur ready for training.
Aithusa made a spectacular mess on her one dress, and had mushed the porridge so far into the fabric that even Merlin's expertise in laundry and laundry-related magic could not fully get the stain out. On top of dealing with that, he had to convince Aithusa herself to submit to being cleaned along with her shirt, which was a long and arduous task filled with many pleas and threats and bribes. By the end of it, Aithusa had been promised a ride on a horsie, a hundred gold pieces, three packages of sweetmeats, and a unicorn.
By the time Merlin wrestles Aithusa into a clean, old shirt of his and proudly tied a ribbon around the sleeves and waist as a way to keep the hems from impeding her limbs, he was already due on the training grounds. He picks up Aithusa and tucks her beneath his arm much as he would carry a log, which elicits a round of giggling for the both of them. He leaves Kilgharrah with a promise to see him off the afternoon and a thousand apologies to Gaius.
They make it to the training grounds in record time. Halfway there, once they've left the confines of the castle halls, Merlin swings Aithusa onto his shoulders, giving her a higher-up view. She extends her arms as if they were her wings and laughs and laughs and laughs.
That is how they make their arrival to the training grounds, with Merlin having been cajoled into a light and light-hearted jog by Aithusa's squeals of "Faster, papa, faster!"
All the knights look up from their sparring–with quarterstaffs, as promised–with large grins at their approach. Each of them, previously locked in serious and sweating sparring with one another, slowly come to a stop and lean against their staffs. A few of them wave in greeting at Merlin and Aithusa as Merlin jogs up, Aithusa giggling unendingly on his shoulders, blue eyes shining and white-blonde curls bouncing with every single one of Merlin's steps.
"Oh, who is that?" Gwaine exclaims. He promptly drops his staff and jogs over to meet them.
"I'm a little dragon!" Aithusa exclaims.
Merlin stumbles and glances upward, face growing hot.
Mercifully, Gwaine laughs at the exclamation and extends his arms. Aithusa shouts in response and does the same, leaning so far forward that she threatens to pitch over Merlin's head entirely. Gwaine picks her up, lifting her from the manservant's shoulders and swinging her in a wide circle so her feet fly through the air. Her delighted laughter and surprised squeals echo across the training ground.
"Hello, little dragon!" Gwaine exclaims, setting Aithusa on the ground. He holds each of her hands in her own and lowers himself to one knee. "How are you this fine and fair morning, my lady?"
"Papa's going to get me a unicorn!" Aithusa exclaims. "And I will ride it all around and be friends with it and everybody else, too, because I have a unicorn, and so they'll be friends with me."
Merlin watches as the rest of the knights abandon their own training to join Gwaine on a knee before the little girl. Only Arthur hangs back, watching the entire exchange carefully, as if studying a battle map. His face looks pained, and Merlin can only bear to look at the expression for so long before looking away.
"Oh, a unicorn, hmm?" Percival asks Aithusa, a smile on his face.
"Did you know your papa met a unicorn once?" Leon asks genially.
Aithusa nods excitedly. "That's why–'cuz he's going to get me one, so he knows one."
"Ah, I see," Elyan says, reaching out to chuck at her chin.
"I know," Aithusa says, eyes wide. "And I'm going to be like the queen, but not the queen. But like her."
"Like a princess?" Percival asks, eyebrows raised.
"Yeah," Aithusa says quickly. "Yeah, like a princess because I'll have a unicorn." She turns large blue eyes on Merlin and says eagerly, "Right, papa?"
"Of course, my love," Merlin says with a tired smile.
"I think you'd make a great princess," Gwaine says. "I'm not too fond of the princess we have right now anyway."
Gwaine hooks a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the king. Things get quiet and slightly tense. But Aithusa stands on her tiptoes and spies Arthur. Her face breaks into a large smile.
"King Arthur!" Aithusa calls, waving.
The knights look over their shoulder at their king. Arthur hesitates a split second, then pastes on a smile and approaches.
"Hello, Aithusa," Arthur says pleasantly.
"King Arthur, King Arthur," Aithusa says, moving through the knights toward him. She stumbles on the shirt-turned-dress, and seven pairs of hands shoot out to steady her. She grins and continues toward Arthur until she can tug at the little bit of pant leg showing between his armor.
"Yes?" Arthur says, looking down.
"Papa's going to get me a unicorn, and then I'll be a little dragon and a princess," Aithusa tells him, her eyes wide and serious.
"Well, I think that's lovely," Arthur tells her, just as serious. "But won't you be a little dragon and a little princess?"
Aithusa scrunches her eyebrows and thinks about this. Then, she says, "No. I'll be a little dragon and a real princess."
"Ah," Arthur says. "That makes sense to me."
"And I'll fight with all the knights," Aithusa says, nodding her head. Her little curls bounce as she does so, falling slightly into her eyes. "And then one day, I'll get a second unicorn. Once I'm a good enough knight."
"And then you'll be a little dragon and a queen?" Elyan asks, eyes shining with restrained laughter.
"No," Aithusa says, rolling her eyes. Gwaine, Merlin, and Percival laugh openly, while Leon, Lancelot, Elyan, and Arthur try valiantly to hide smiles. A few of them glance at Merlin, who blushes.
"When I get my second unicorn, I'll be a little dragon and a king," Aithusa says as if that should have been obvious.
"Of course," Arthur says. "But there's still a long way yet to go before you're a king, little princess. All royals must attend important duties if they are to someday wear a crown."
"Right," Aithusa says, looking up at Arthur with all the seriousness she can muster.
Arthur looks back down at her with the perfect passivity and blank benevolence of a king.
"One of the most important duties of any dragon, princess, or king is to ensure that all her knights are fighting fit. Would you do us the honor of watching over training today?"
Aithusa considers this carefully, then nods seriously at Arthur. Arthur gives her a perfunctory nod in return, and his eyes crinkle at the edges despite his blank face when she gives him a large smile.
"Very good," Arthur says. "Go stand with your… go stand with your papa, and make sure we're doing what we're supposed to, my lady."
"Little dragon!" Aithusa corrects, stamping her slippered foot.
"Of course," Arthur says, bending at the waist in a deferent bow. "I apologize for any offense, Princess Little Dragon."
Aithusa gives him a pleased nod, searches his face, then gives him another blinding smile. Arthur returns the favor, then looks around at his knights. They all look at him with a mixture of apprehension and displeasure at having been distracted from Aithusa. Arthur takes in all of their expressions, then turns back to the girl standing before him. Her hands are clasped dutifully behind her, eyes big and searching.
"Princess Little Dragon," Arthur says, his voice strong and bold as if addressing a foreign dignitary.
Atihusa snaps to attention, bringing her shoulders near her ears.
"Yes, my king!" Aithusa shouts.
Arthur, Merlin, and all the knights smile.
"It is tradition that the knights compete for the favor of a princess," Arthur informs her seriously. "Do you have a favor to give?"
Aithusa looks back at Merlin, eyes wide and pleading. He gives her a smile, looks around, and drops into a crouch. He brings his hand up to his mouth and gives her his best stage whisper.
"I would think a flower would do well as a favor, wouldn't you, Princess Little Dragon?" Merlin says. At the use of the silly title, he glances up at Arthur.
Arthur looks back with a distant expression of approval. And there, still hidden in his expression, there is the sadness and bitterness Merlin had seen earlier. The emotions seep back in, unbidden and largely unnoticed, into the king's face. The warlock looks quickly away, focusing once more on the little girl in front of him.
Aithusa glances around the field. Then, she scampers over to the edge of the training field, only tripping twice and each time catching herself before a spectacular tumble.
She drops into a crouch, plucks something from a clump of long grass, then dashes back to the knights, managing an impressive four trips and four miraculous saves. The knights chuckle and again glance toward Merlin, who again blushes.
Aithusa arrives before them and proudly holds up a white daisy.
"Very good, Princess Little Dragon," Arthur says, his voice deep and genuine.
Aithusa beams at him, gathering herself up to stand tall before the king.
Arthur turns back to his knights and tells them, "Today, we will be competing in training to win the favor of the Princess Little Dragon. Fight with honor, men, for you fight for the best among us."
Arthur turns back to Aithusa and nods deeply. She affects a clumsy curtsy, then rushes back to Merlin and lifts her arms, daisy held carefully between her fingers. She does not look at him as she reaches up toward him, instead focusing entirely on the knights. Merlin sighs loudly, then picks her up and arranges her on his hip.
The knights look solemnly at each other. The challenge has been issued, and by the king no less: fight with enough ferocity to win Aithusa's daisy favor, yet not so hard the child would be frightened.
A fine line to tread.
They spend the next two hours fighting with more economy and sure strikes than they had ever displayed before. Arthur decides early on that Merlin's lateness could be forgiven every day if it meant his men fought like that all the time.
All the while, somewhere distant in the castle, Guinevere visits servants and long-disused rooms and provides detailed, complex instructions to various helpers, unnoticed to the manservant and his daughter standing and clapping on the edge of the training fields.