Ordinarily, the guests on the training grounds wouldn't garner much attention. It wouldn't be unusual for visitors to Camelot and locals alike to spend a few idle moments watching Camelot's finest train. In fact, when the pair did show up at the edges of the ground, they were able to–at least momentarily–mingle among the rest of the sparse group watching the king and his knights train.
They're really not much to look at, after all. The man is older–perhaps just transitioning from middle aged to an elder–with dirty blonde hair shot through with silver streaks and light brown eyes. The most noticeable thing about him is his size: even though he is not quite as toned as Percival, the man could still tower half a head above the tallest knight and looks as though he could split a boulder with a single pat of his hand.
The other noticeable thing about the man is that he has a child on his hip. From this distance, the babe looks to be just leaving toddlerhood. Her white-blonde hair is curly and falls into huge, blue eyes, and two large ears stick out from beneath the curls. She looks somewhat intimidated by the clashing of swords and the movement of the knights, and clings to the man's chest. He looks slightly uncomfortable at her proximity.
It's only when the knights take a break from their sparring that they notice the pair watching them. It's not because the man raises a hand in the air, a gesture of greeting between himself and the manservant on the edges of the training field, waiting to help with the transition from swords to maces. It's not because Merlin's entire body stiffens, eyes going wide before narrowing dangerously.
It's because the older man sets the now-squirming child on the ground, and said child takes off full-pelt across the training grounds to crash into Merlin's legs.
"Papa!" the child coos, looking up with wide eyes at Merlin.
Arthur barks out a laugh. His knights seem just as charmed at the child's innocent mistake, each of them grinning widely at the blonde little girl.
The laughter dies quickly in their throats when they take in Merlin's reaction.
"Aithusa?" Merlin whispers, looking down at the little girl whose chubby arms still wrap around both his legs. His own eyes are large with disbelief and recognition.
Arthur and the knights look between to two, faces caught between fond laughter and incipient confusion.
"I'm here!" Aithusa chirps, a joyous smile breaking her face in two. She looks up at him and blinks once, then twice, her cheerful countenance crumbling beneath sudden and terrible uncertainty when faced with the manservan't expression. "Aren't you happy to see me, papa?"
"Of course, sweet girl," Merlin says slowly. Though he still seems dumbfounded by her presence, the words are nonetheless genuine and soft, audible only for the ceasing of movement and chatter across the training grounds.
He bends down and picks up the cherubic girl, swinging her onto his hip and into his arms. She flings her own spindly arms around his neck, burying her face into his shoulder. Merlin presses her against him tightly, then raises his gaze to rake over the assembled audience.
Though his eyes falter when they pass the confused and shocked expressions of his friends, still panting and sweaty from the exertion of training, they do not stop until they land on the older man standing at the opposite end of the training grounds.
The knights watch as his face hardens into a mask they only normally see before a great battle or a tough discussion.
Merlin presses his face into Aithusa's hair, murmuring something for only her to hear. She nods energetically, peeling herself away slightly from his body and turning to look at their audience.
The manservant takes a few steps toward Lancelot, whose eyes are guarded and curious.
"Take her for a moment, would you?" Merlin asks, voice low.
Lancelot fully drops his training sword on the ground, having not been afforded the opportunity to sheath it before he finds himself with an armful of toddler. Aithusa immediately squirms to get a better view of Merlin as he pauses before the two.
"Aithusa, this is Lancelot," Merlin says briefly, eyes never leaving the man at the edge of the training field. "Lancelot, Aithusa."
"Papa's friend," Aithusa says happily.
"Yes," Lancelot replies slowly, looking at the little girl in his arms with no small amount of wonder. He finally tears his gaze away to look back at his friend. "Merlin, is everything… okay?"
Merlin huffs out a sharp exhale. "It will be. I need to go have a difficult conversation."
"Uncle," Aithusa says, placing a chubby hand against Lancelot's face.
Lancelot's eyes are drawn back to the cherubic smile of the young girl. She has a round face and a soft chin. Her eyes, so large and innocent, are full of the kind of serene solemnity known only to children and Merlin, too, some of the time. Lancelot gives the child a weak smile.
Though the noble knight is no stranger to Merlin's eccentricities and secrets, this is… strange. He finds himself unable to do much but pat Aithusa's little hand with his own and arrange the arm slung around her to allow for a more comfortable and secure grasp on her little body. If it's uncomfortable to be cradled against his armor, she doesn't show it.
Merlin doesn't wait for any forthcoming questions. Instead, he stalks across the training field, ignoring all questioning eyes, toward the older man.
The older man looks right back at Merlin as the younger man approaches, his own expression one of self-righteousness and scorn. But the knights, at least, can see from the shifting of his feet and the tensing of his muscles that he does feel some nerves as the cold, furious form of Merlin storms across the field toward him. Both look ready for some kind of explosive argument. Or a battle. The air hangs still over the training field.
"Merlin–" the man begins, his deep voice bounding across the quiet of the training field despite its low tone.
Merlin doesn't come to a stop. When he's just a pace or two from the older man, he sends a fist flying through the air, stepping into the movement and throwing all his force behind the blow. His knuckles connect with the older man's nose with a loud crunch and a spray of blood. Despite the older man's size, he topples to the ground, finding himself without any warning splayed across the short grass of the field.
Merlin's hand stays clenched in a fist. His chest heaves with every inhale. Behind him, all the knights who had previously been training take a few quick steps closer, ready to intercede at any moment. It's uncharacteristic of them to be caught off-guard enough to not react quickly. But this… not one of them had expected Merlin to punch the older man with enough force to send him to the ground.
Especially not the little girl Merlin had called Aithusa. She wriggles desperately in Lancelot's unsure arms.
"Papa!" Aithusa calls.
"You foolish boy!" the older man roars. His words overpower Aithusa's pitiful call easily. The force of his reprimand sends blood spattering over his fine robes and across Merlin's boots.
Merlin straightens, flexing his hand slightly before allowing it to curl into a fist at his side. His face is set in stone as he looks down at the man on the ground.
"Oh, I'm the foolish one, Kilgharrah?" Merlin hisses. "Really?"
The older man–Kilgarrah, they had heard Merlin call him–raises a hand to his nose in an effort to stop the bleeding. His free hand scrabbles at the ground below him until he's able to lever himself upward to glare at the manservant more meaningfully.
"Merlin," Arthur calls, stalking forward. "What is the meaning of this?"
"I'm wondering the same thing myself," Merlin growls, eyes not once leaving Kilgharrah.
Arthur comes to a stop before his manservant, incredulity and more than a little irritation coloring his expression.
"Who is this man?" Arthur asks finally. To all those who can hear the question, it seems evident that out of the whirlwind of questions that must be floating through Arthur's mind, he grasped one at random and threw it before his manservant.
"Family," Kilgharrah spits, though the response is more a barb directed toward Merlin than an answer to the question. Then, as if remembering just now who he is talking to, he inclines his head and tacks on, "Your highness."
"Don't you dare," Merlin says, voice low, "bring kinship into this, Kilgharrah."
Kilgharrah takes a moment to pick himself up off the ground, giving Merlin a thoroughly disappointed glare. They stand there in a confrontational silence for a moment, as if spinning through a conversation only the two of them can hear.
"Merlin," Arthur says, effectively yanking the younger man out of whatever argument the two have devolved into a staring contest over.
Merlin's eyes flick between Arthur and the man named Kilgharrah. Arthur watches Merlin's expression shift from thunderous anger–such a foreign, unsettling expression on his face–to one of more simple unease.
"This is… my uncle," Merlin says finally. "Kilgharrah. I believe he and I have much to discuss. If I could request–"
"Take the afternoon, Merlin," Arthur says, nodding. His eyes flick from Kilgharrah back to his manservant. A small quirk of the eyebrows–a gesture more like a twitch than anything else–asks the question he really would like to demand of his manservant. Will you be okay?
Merlin gives his king the slightest nod in return. Arthur presses his lips into a firm line, indicating his assent, but the slightly quirked eyebrow promising a lengthy discussion that evening. Merlin looks back and ducks his head slightly to indicate his understanding before he allows his gaze to ice over once more and looks back to his uncle. The man called Kilgharrah had been watching the entire exchange with calm and almost clinical interest, despite the blood still dripping from his nose and between his fingers.
"Let's discuss this in private," Merlin says to his uncle, words clipped. Then, as if grinding out an unwilling apology, he adds on, "Perhaps Gaius can take a look at your nose."
Kilgharrah removes the large hand from his face to spit blood on the ground at his feet.
"I want nothing to do with that tra–" Kilgharrah begins.
Merlin's fist flies through the air and connects with the man's jaw, cutting him off quite effectively. Arthur hadn't seen the movement coming, as fast and thoroughly unexpected as it was from his typically clumsy and pacifistic manservant. The king quickly maneuvers himself between Merlin and his uncle, who, despite his bulk, once again finds himself laid out on the ground with a single blow from his nephew.
Behind them, the group of knights all take a few steps closer, their gazes alternating between suspicion as they look at the man on the ground, and surprise mingled with genuine pride as they take in Merlin.
"Papa!" Aithusa calls again, more distressed this time.
"I've been wanting to do that for years," Merlin spits over Arthur's shoulder, a strange, almost manic smile spreading across his face. "And right now you're testing the limits of my patience, Kilgharrah."
"Merlin," Arthur snaps, placing a hand on his manservant's shoulder.
"I'm fine," Merlin barks, eyes still trained on the man on the ground in front of them. "He had it coming. He's had it coming for more than five years."
"If you had half as much surety of mind," Kilgharrah grumbles, hefting himself to his feet once more, "and quickness to action on matters I have advised you on in the past, we may not be here."
"Oh, shut up you violent old lizard," Merlin seethes. He tries to take a step forward, but is blocked by Arthur once again, who forces him backward. "You have no right to speak to me in such a way."
"I have every right," Kilgharrah thunders. "You have been derelict in your duties–"
"Derelict in my duties?" Merlin repeats. His voice is low, impossibly quiet against the effortless volume and indignance that had been his uncle's accusation, and yet it cuts across his uncle's words like a blade cutting thread. "You should watch your language when you speak to me."
Something about the way Merlin throws out the warning–the sudden power, ferocity, and depth to his voice, or perhaps just the lethal quiet with which he had spoken–has even some of the more veteran knights watching the scene swallowing a flinch.
"You are coming dangerously close," Merlin continues, "to disobeying the terms of the agreement we came to at our last meeting."
Even Kilgharrah seems somewhat thrown by the danger in Merlin's voice. He blinks a few times before, ultimately, his wrinkled face hardens.
"And you are coming dangerously close to following directly in your foolish father's footsteps."
"My father–"
"Was an idiot and a coward," Kilgharrah spits. "Brother of mine or not. I had hoped that you would prove to be different."
Once again, Merlin moves too quickly for Arthur to be able to properly stop him. Kilgharrah is on the ground, shielding himself with thick arms from a rain of blows coming from Merlin. It takes both Arthur, wrapping his arms around Merlin's torso, and Leon, grabbing Merlin's legs, to successfully drag the manservant away from his uncle.
They take him a few feet away and dump him unceremoniously on the ground. Merlin leaps to his feet, chest heaving. Kilgharrah groans and levers himself upward again to glare at Merlin.
Arthur stands staring at Merlin with wide eyes. His hands rest in balls on his hips, and he finds himself slightly breathless from the exertion of breaking up the fight.
Though, now that he thinks about it, it had been more of a beating than anything else. Kilgharrah had not truly tried to lash out against the younger man, nor even displace him from his person. Perhaps it had just been the surprise of the whole thing, but even with Arthur and Leon's quick reflexes, Merlin had managed to get in a few fair blows.
Aithusa breaks the momentary silence with another cry of, "Papa!"
Merlin jerks his head around to look at the little girl, and the knights follow suit. She has kept up in her desperate writhing and wriggling to the point where half her little body dangles out of Lancelot's unpracticed grip and sways dangerously toward the ground. He finally makes the decision that keeping a hold of her in such a way is counterproductive to her safety, and sets her on the ground.
Aithusa immediately slips from his grasp and once more breaks into an unsure run, gathering as much speed as her little body could muster. Her blonde curls bounce as she goes, large tears threatening to spill over her round, rosy cheeks.
Halfway to Merlin, she trips on her own feet and tumbles spectacularly to the ground.
That action–more than the presence of too-large ears, and huge, serious eyes, more than that beaming smile, more so even than the fact that the little girl immediately identified Merlin as 'Papa,'–confirms for Arthur and the rest of the assorted onlookers that Merlin is indeed this young girl's father. She shares not just some facial features, but a nearly inhuman clumsiness.
Aithusa lands on her hands and knees, skidding across the grass. She is still for a moment, then her large eyes look up at Merlin and the tears start to come.
"Oh, no," Merlin says lowly.
In a few short strides he has reached the little girl and lowered himself to one knee. It seems the anger has largely flown from him as he crouches in front of her and gathers her little body into his arms. His movements are slow and tender. Paternal.
Unbeknownst to him, the knights again migrate toward him. They strain to hear the soft conversation between the manservant and the child.
"Are you okay, light of my sun?" Merlin asks.
"I–I scraped my hands," the little girl answers between heaving breaths and hiccups.
"Let me see," Merlin says gently.
He places the little girl so she sits on his knee, her back against her chest. His arms wrap around her, elbows tucked in on either side of her little body to keep her secure on his knee. With great care, he takes one of her hands in his and spreads it out over his upturned palm. He looks at the back of her hands, then flips it over so her palm is also toward the sky, cradled in and matching his own. Her little fingers barely reach to the edge of his palm. They're streaked with red and green where the grass had scraped them.
"Ah," Merlin says.
He sounds much like Gaius when he has finally determined a diagnosis. The manservant lifts his empty hand up so Aithusa can place her other hand in it, mimicking what he had done with the other. He quickly shifts so his face is peering over her other slight shoulder to see the tiny hand more closely.
"Mmhmm," Merlin says gravely. "I see. Well, I know just the treatment, my little lady."
"You do?" Aithusa asks, sniffling.
"Of course," Merlin says. He quickly takes up her hand and presses a kiss to her palm, then does the same with her other hand.
The smile that appears on her face looks to the viewing knights and locals just like the first light of dawn breaking through rain clouds.
"I think I hurt my head, too, Papa," Aithusa says.
"Where?" Merlin asks, brows furrowing, completely serious. He picks up Aithusa to rearrange her on his knee. This time, instead of facing forward, he presses one of her arms into his chest.
"Here?" Merlin asks, pecking at her forehead. Aithusa's grin widens and she shakes her head, curls bouncing wildly.
"Oh. Here?" Merlin presses a quick kiss to her cheek, eliciting a giggle. Again, Aithusa shakes her head.
"Ah. Here?" Merlin pecks at her nose. Aithusa shakes her head again. Merlin places a kiss on top of her wild curls and asks, "There?"
Aithusa laughs then. It's a wild, happy little thing, taking off with bird's wings to soar above the training ground.
Even Arthur, despite his confusion and suspicion–and more than a bit of bitterness–smiles at the noise.
"All better?" Merlin asks.
Aithusa nods her head and flings her arms around her father's neck. Merlin takes the opportunity to stand, picking up Aithusa and slinging one of his arms beneath her so she can perch on his bony hip.
Aithusa takes a moment to remember that they are being watched and peers over Merlin's shoulder. Her eyes are serious once more as she takes in the men behind them.
"Papa?" Aithusa whispers. She tugs on the worn fabric of his jacket to get his attention.
"Yes, darling?" Merlin answers, turning around to face their audience again.
"Why did you hit Uncle 'Garrah?"
Merlin sighs, looking toward his uncle.
"Because I was angry, my dear, and acted rashly," Merlin replies. "But violence is not a tenable solution."
"Tenable," Aithusa repeats.
"It means it doesn't last," Merlin explains, glancing down at her. His eyes go back up quickly, however, to throw a contemptuous glare toward his uncle. "Which means that your uncle and I need to have a long and private conversation."
"I don't know," Gwaine says, finally interjecting, "if that's the best idea, Merls."
Aithusa stays firmly pressed to Merlin, but wriggles enough that he has to adjust his hold. She cuddles close to Merlin's chest and looks at the knights and her great uncle with serious eyes. After just a few moments, her gaze falls on Arthur.
The king can only look back at her for a few moments before he must look elsewhere, a knot forming in his throat. Because Merlin's daughter is looking at him, and Arthur hadn't known she existed. He hadn't been trusted with that information.
"I know I'm not usually the voice of caution here, mate," Gwaine continues, "but I don't like the thought of the three of you alone in a room together."
"I'll ask Gaius to watch her," Merlin says.
Kilgharrah snorts. Merlin narrows his eyes.
"Do you have something else to say?" Merlin asks.
"Oh, I have many things I would like to say to you, young man," Kilgharrah returns.
"That's not what I meant," Gwaine interjects. He gives Merlin's uncle a death glare.
"What if," Lancelot interjects, "one of us were to simply wait outside your chambers? That way if we hear any commotion…"
Arthur nods slowly. "That's fine."
"This is a family matter, Arthur," Merlin snaps, eyes blazing again.
"Merlin," Arthur sighs, "it's bad enough that you came to blows with someone on my training grounds and in my presence. I won't have rumors flying about my manservant caught in any more brawls today."
"I thought that's what the training grounds are for," Merlin huffs.
Arthur affixes him with a reprimanding stare. Merlin sighs and gives Arthur a curt nod.
"Fine." He turns his gaze back to Kilgharrah. "You will explain everything, without your usual indecipherable riddles, and then you will leave."
"Wondrous," Kilgharrah replies blandly.
Merlin turns on a heel and stalks away toward his and Gaius's chambers. Aithusa wiggles in his grasp again to look over his shoulders with wide-eyed curiosity and strange solemnity at the knights gathered there.
Kilgharrah follows after, grumbling incoherently and wiping at his nose.
The knights, still stunned, stare after them for a moment. Then Lancelot seems to volunteer himself for guard duty and takes off after the strange trio.
"What the fuck just happened here?" Gwaine asks, voice pitched slightly high.
"It seems," Arthur says slowly, his voice tight, "that Merlin has a daughter."
"And a prick of an uncle," Gwaine adds.
"And he can throw a hell of a punch," Percival tacks on, wincing at the memory of those first few blows.
"None of which he told me about," Arthur finishes quietly.
This forces everyone to lapse into silence.
"If Merlin punched me," Gwaine says eventually, "I'd probably deserve it."
"Yeah," Percival agrees. "Makes me wonder…"
"All of this makes me wonder," Arthur grouses. He turns away from the direction that Merlin had disappeared to and faces his knights. "Did none of you know?"
"Did you know, Princess?" Gwaine asks, turning on Arthur.
"Why the hell would I know?" Arthur replies. He runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up in a bizarre fashion.
"You've known him the longest," Gwaine counters.
"Not as long as–" Arthur begins. A shadow seems to pass over his face, then he takes off at a brisk walk toward the castle.
"Hey!" Gwaine calls after him. "Where are you going?"
Comprehension dawns slowly on Elyan's face. He looks toward Leon, who wears the same expression.
"Gwen," Elyan says, and takes off after Arthur. The rest of the knights follow suit.
If anyone in the castle knew about Merlin's child, it would be Gaius or Gwen. And as the old physician is about to have some surprising visitors of his own, that leaves the queen as the next best possible avenue of information.