It is not until close to tea time that Merlin and Princess Little Dragon find themselves finally lagging to a stop in the middle of the hallway. It had been quite a day for both of them. Merlin would swear up and down to anyone who stopped to listen or ask that he walked twice as far and fast today than normal just chasing after Aithusa and keeping her entertained enough to stay quiet.
Throughout the day and until about a candlemark ago, Aithusa had been a whirlwind. Merlin could barely keep up. She would wiggle and dance and clap during training, she threw a fit and then made a mess at lunch, she toddled between chairs at council meetings and cried at petitioners' stories when she was not listening with wide-eyed solemnity.
To be fair, the little girl had inspired noble and fierce combat among the knights, ate heartily and with abandon, asked strangely difficult and deceptively simple questions during council of the various noblemen, and stoked the fires of sympathy within the hearts of the audience during petitions. Even the king, at one point, found himself affected by Aithusa's unintended interventions. He showed at least a little more than his normal kingly impassivity–no matter how gentle nor just his rulings–by smiling or frowning at the girl's reactions. As much as he used to glance over at his manservant to discern an expression or opinion, he now allows his eyes to dart to the little girl as well.
Her presence, however, had been hard-fought and fairly won. After training, Arthur had tried to gently separate his manservant from his daughter with a light suggestion that the girl be looked after by Gaius for a little while. The suggestion was met by loud wailing on Aithusa's part, accompanied by huge, heartbroken eyes swimming with tears. The reaction was in turn met by annoyance and blame on the knights' part (directed toward Arthur), guilt on Arthur's (due to the catastrophic reaction of the young girl), and heartbreak on Merlin's (also due to the catastrophic reaction of the young girl).
The suggestion was not made again by Arthur or anyone else in their company.
So Merlin was left to try and wrangle both the king and his own daughter, and he decided very quickly that the situation would not be possible to keep up with for very long. Both are entirely too willful, stubborn, and glued to Merlin's side and in need of his assistance and protection. Both, apparently, have a penchant for throwing fits and straying entirely too near sharp objects and open flame.
At just half past three, with the bells of the city tolling time in the distance, Merlin slumps against the stone wall of the castle, eyes half closed. He had been on the way from somewhere and on the way to somewhere else, but cannot for the life of him conjure the memory of what his destination could have been. He notices the absence of laundry or armor in his arms, which are filled only with the warm weight of his little dragon. So he had been on some other quest or chore, then…
Merlin glances down at Aithusa. It seems the day had finally caught up with her, too. She slumps in her father's arms, a thumb in her mouth and her other hand clutching at his neckerchief.
"Big day, huh, little one?" Merlin asks, patting at her back. He yawns and draws her in closer.
"Mhmm," Aithusa murmurs, snuggling into his chest.
"Maybe we should just stay here a minute," Merlin says, sliding to the floor. "Would you stay here if I did?"
Aithusa nods and slips somewhat in his arms, falling onto his lap as he sits down. He opens his jacket slightly and Aithusa digs in a little deeper to be covered by the fabric.
"Just a little while, hm?" Merlin slurs. "Not long enough that anyone will find us."
Merlin closes his eyes. His head falls against the wall with a dull thunk.
"Oh, dear," a voice says down the hall.
Footsteps click closer, bringing with it the smooth rustling of inordinate amounts of fine fabric. Merlin makes a great effort to peel his eyes open. As he does so, a familiar person swims into focus as she approaches.
"I had hoped to intercept you before this," Gwen says kindly, coming to a stop before them.
"'M fine, Gwen. Definitely wasn't sleeping," Merlin responds blearily. He smiles in what he hopes is her direction and stands clumsily, bumping his shoulder several times against the wall before he manages to stand fully. "Wait. Before what?"
"You're dead on your feet," Gwen says. Merlin sways, and she pushes a little on his shoulder to keep him upright.
"'M fine," Merlin says again. "It's Aithusa who's… who's tired."
"Am not," Aithusa mumbles.
Merlin pats her shoulder in a consoling manner.
"Well, we should probably get her to bed for a nap then, hm?" Gwen says.
"Right," Merlin returns.
He looks around, blinking owlishly. The hallways on either side of him are blank, devoid of obvious turns or decor that could hint at his location in the castle. He rubs at one eye, then the other, hoping to clear one or both of them and gain some recognition of his place in the castle. Then, he turns back to the queen and asks, "Where's Gaius's chambers again?"
"Oh," Gwen says softly. "Let's not go there. I know of someplace better."
"Better?" Merlin asks. "Where's that?"
Gwen tugs him gently by the arm. He falls into step obediently next to her, threatening to keel over with every move. They don't get very far before Gwen pulls them to a stop and turns to address Merlin.
"Do you want me to carry her for a minute?" Gwen asks.
Merlin nods. "She's unbelievably heavy after a while. Made of pure gold, that one is, I swear to the gods."
Gwen smiles. "Let me take her. You just hold on to my elbow and walk."
Merlin nods tiredly, allowing Gwen to take Aithusa from his arms. Despite the ache in his arms from carrying her around all day, he finds he suddenly misses feeling her chest gently rise and fall with each breath. He feels bereft of her warmth and those little arms around him, that hand curled into a fist around his neckerchief. But nonetheless, the absence of her weight frees his arms and makes them feel as if they're floating, and he can recognize the slight twinge of relief when Aithusa is passed from him to his queen.
Gwen arranges the girl carefully against her. Aithusa wraps her arms around Gwen's neck and her feet around her waist and buries her little face into Gwen's neck. Even half asleep, Merlin recognizes how Gwen melts. Though not at all a cold or icy person, nonetheless Aithusa found something in the queen in need of warmth and provided exactly that.
"My little dragon," Merlin murmurs, patting at Aithusa's hair. He follows Gwen as she takes off down the corridor again, trailing after them slightly so he can keep watching the little girl.
"I heard about that," Gwen says conversationally. She keeps her voice low so as to not wake the child, but conversational enough to hopefully keep Merlin engaged. "Princess Little Dragon."
Merlin nods. "Got your husband to thank for that one."
"I think it's fitting," Gwen says.
"Yeah," Merlin replies. "It is."
They walk quietly for a little while longer. Merlin isn't sure how much time passes before he realizes they have come to a stop. He looks up from Aithusa's face to take in Arthur, who studies him like he's grown a horn from his forehead, and several over-excited knights.
"Hello," Merlin tells all of them. "Are we late for something?"
"A good drink, by the looks of it," Gwaine tells him, digging an elbow into his ribs.
"A nap, more like," Elyan says sympathetically.
"Right," Merlin returns, looking around. "What's this about then?"
"Well, you, of course," Gwen says. Merlin looks at her, his eyes wide with confusion and drowsiness. Gwen immediately backtracks, trying to explain: "Not just you, but also just you, because you're you, and–"
"It's a present, mate," Gwaine says, clapping Merlin on the shoulder.
"Because you–" Lancelot begins.
"-and Aithusa, of course–" Arthur adds.
"Deserve it," Gwen finishes, finally over her unsurety.
Merlin glances at all of them, then at their hands.
"It's a… day off?" Merlin guesses.
Gwaine snorts. Arthur stifles a smile and leans into an exaggerated eye roll. Even Lancelot's lips quirk into a grin, though his is somewhat sad.
"No, you idiot," the king says. He steps forward and presses a shining silver key into Merlin's hand.
"A key. You're giving me a key? What for?" Merlin asks.
"It's not just the key, Merlin," Leon says, lips twitching into a slight smile. "It's what the key goes to."
"If it's another box of goblins–" Merlin begins with a groan.
"No, no," Gwen says. She laughs, then glances down at Aithusa as if terrified the action would wake the little girl. Aithusa simply tightens her arms around Gwen's neck.
"The key goes to the door, Merlin," Arthur explains, gesturing behind him.
Merlin looks up. Between and behind his friends is a large door, one that Merlin recognizes leads to a disused tower in the castle. He squints at it, then turns a distrustful gaze on the king.
"A door with a wildren behind it?"
"For the gods' sakes, Merlin," Arthur grumbles.
The king takes the key back and uses it to unlock the door, then begins pushing Merlin up the steep flight of spiral stairs behind it. Merlin leans back on Arthur's hands slightly and had meant to plant his feet, but Arthur pushes a bit more forcefully. Merlin stumbles forward, pitching as if to fall over, and he feels Arthur's hands grasp at the fabric of his jacket and pull him upright.
"Honestly," Arthur complains, giving Merlin another slight shove so that the manservant begins climbing the stairs properly. "How did you survive eighteen whole years without me?"
"I could ask you the same question," Merlin snipes back.
"Yeah, but your greatest enemies are your own feet," Arthur sniffs. "Mine are actual people."
"And logic," Merlin grumbles, even while a smile spreads over his face. "Reason. Pies."
"I'm not fat," Arthur insists.
"Right, so just logic and reason then," Merlin chirps.
Arthur's good natured grumbling and their audience's laughter float up the stairs after them, and Merlin's smile widens. This is familiar and good, he and Arthur bickering softly at one another. Since Aithusa's introduction things have been… painful between the two of them.
So the manservant trudges dutifully up the flight of steps, following Arthur's sure hands pushing him upward. He'd like to make this last as long as possible before Arthur starts looking forlorn and betrayed every time Aithusa's eyes are off of him. It takes a fair minute to ascend the stairs, and Merlin crosses the threshold into what should be long-disused chambers.
He comes to a stop.
This tower, he knows, has three levels to its chambers; though skinny and small, they had each been filled with an inordinate amount of broken and outdated furniture. Last Merlin saw it, having been sent on some obscure errand as punishment for being smart toward the king, he could barely make it through into the lower chamber. It had been cramped and choked with furniture and dust and dusty sheets covering furniture, and the upper levels were made completely inaccessible by the clutter.
But no longer. Someone had spent a great deal of time and effort cleaning it out. The small room now houses a comfortable low couch set before a hearth in which a fire burns merrily and bright. A small table, surrounded by six skinny chairs, has been placed in the middle of the room. A few shelves and tapestries adorn the walls, and dried bundles of medicinal herbs have been strung on the ceiling. To one side is a strangely made work table, its outer edge curved to sit flush against the curved stone walls of the room. Instruments common in the physician's chambers sit on top, along with a medium-sized cauldron.
"What…" Merlin says, then trails off.
He finds he cannot form appropriate words to string into sensical questions.
Behind him, Arthur, Gwen and Aithusa, and the rest of the knights come into the room. With all of them there, the chambers are full, but not yet claustrophobic.
Merlin is quiet for a few minutes, processing the scene in front of him.
"Come on," Arthur says gruffly. He grabs Merlin's arm and drags him to the steep set of stairs leading upward. Once again, the king lightly pushes on his manservant's back to encourage him up.
Merlin does so without comment or protest.
This second chamber has been decorated and furnished. A small bed sits below a window, open to let the summer air in. On the bed are several items: a carved wooden horse, a cloth doll, a wooden sword, a red blanket with Gwen's signature gold-flecked embroidery, a shape sewn from disparate strips of fabric and stuffed with sweet-smelling wool.
Merlin walks forward and runs his hands over the blanket, then the toys.
"And in the chest just there," Gwen says.
Merlin turns to look at her. Gwen bites her lip and nods at the small chest at the foot of the bed, one that has been painted with bright colors and a woodland scene. Merlin opens it.
Inside are clothes, lots of clothes, and an assortment of little shoes. Dresses, tunics, trousers, all of fine make and obviously new. Merlin takes out a small pile. On top are two small squares of blue fabric of the same type as the dress below it, one large, the other small. The dress is small and simple, but pretty nonetheless. Its matching squares of fabric also bears some of Gwen's expert stitching.
Merlin looks up at her, eyes brimming with questions.
"It's, um," Gwen says uncertainly. She clears her throat, then continues, "It's a neckerchief. It's two neckerchiefs. So you can match."
Merlin's eyes go wide, then turn back to the clothing. His fingers run carefully over the fabric, tracing the stitching and hems, pinching at the ribbons. The knights and the king and queen look on expectantly, all of them somehow nervous and excited.
"I…" Merlin starts, voice soft.
"That's not everything," Gwaine says, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "You haven't seen the last room yet."
"What?" Merlin asks.
"C'mon, mate," Gwaine says, tugging on Merlin's arm. "There's more of Gwen's handiwork to admire."
Gwaine drags Merlin to the base of the last set of stairs. The knight pulls the manservant along the steep steps behind him and bounds upward. Merlin follows quietly. The rest of the group trod after them, still brimming with strange energy.
Gwaine comes to a grinning stop at the top of the steps. Merlin looks around, blinking owlishly, the matching neckerchiefs still in his hands.
A lovely bed is below the window across from them, and a writing desk below the other. Shelves line the walls, full of his own favorite books and scrolls obviously lifted from Gaius's chambers and selected with the physician's help: a book on anatomy, a grimoire of magical creatures, an illustrated guide to common herbs, ancient maps of Camelot, several histories, Greek and Roman histories and legends, annals of ancient religions and myths. More herbs can be found here hanging from the ceiling and along the walls. A familiar cupboard stands in the corner, slightly ajar to let Merlin get a peek at his own clothes and extra pair of boots nestled inside.
Next to the bed is a small table, on which sits Merlin's wooden dragon, carved by and gifted from his father; the book he's been reading on Camelot's history; the dagger Arthur had given him two years ago on his Name Day.
He's silent for long enough for everyone with him to become nervous. Finally, fed up with the waiting, Arthur clears his throat.
"Well?"
"This…" Merlin says, turning around finally to face them. "It's for us?"
"Well, yeah," Arthur responds. "Obviously."
"Obviously?" Merlin asks, rounding on him. "This is obviously for us?"
Arthur shifts on his feet, suddenly wary. "Yes, Merlin."
"We thought it might be cramped in Gaius's chambers," Gwen starts, biting her lip.
"And you're the first one of us to have a kid, mate," Gwaine says. "Obviously we're going to spoil the hell out of her."
"And also, you deserve it by your own merit," Lancelot adds kindly, which is affirmed by a round of nods.
"And people will talk if my advisor does not live like a lord," Arthur adds as an afterthought.
Merlin blinks at him once. Then twice.
"Sorry?" Merlin asks.
Arthur again shifts on his feet. His eyes are suddenly guilty, darting between Merlin, his wife, his knights, and the floor. He clears his throat.
"Are you really that dimwitted, Merlin?" Arthur asks. "I said that my advisor shouldn't be living in the physician's storage cupboard. It's unbecoming. People will talk."
"Your advisor," Merlin repeats lowly.
"Yes," Arthur says.
Gwen covers her mouth. Gwaine's smile breaks his face in two, as does Percival's and Elyans. Leon looks satisfied.
Lancelot's eyes flick nervously between Merlin and Arthur.
"Why?" Merlin asks.
Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose. "Well, you can't really get by on a manservant's wages now, can you? You need to give Aithusa the best life possible, so…"
Merlin shakes his head and takes a step toward Arthur. The knights' smiles falter. Arthur finally breaks his gaze away from an interesting spot on the floor to look at Merlin. Really look at him.
The manservant looks as he does on the eve of a battle. But… but worse. Before, when his eyes would become like steel, his expression made of granite, he would still speak with a kind of unbreakable hope, some sense of sureness and rightness and righteousness that Arthur couldn't help but believe in whatever far-flung outcome he and all his people staked their silly little hopes on. And always, with Merlin right there in the thick of it, it would happen. It's one of the reasons Arthur values having Merlin around at such times. It's just one of the many reasons he made this decision while sitting up last night, glaring at the table long after Gwen went to bed.
Merlin is a friend, yes, but strangely wise. Incredibly wise. He has a mind for strategy and statecraft and diplomacy and a keen sense of danger. He's noble and kind and chivalrous, and is one of the few people unafraid to give Arthur a piece of his mind. He's everything Arthur so often lacks: hopeful, certain, discerning, happy.
But now Merlin is devoid of that hope, that sense of sureness and rightness and righteousness. That unerring compass of his that would point Arthur and all their friends in the correct direction is lost.
Merlin stands before him, tall and unbent, and looks broken.
"Merlin?" Arthur asks quietly.
"Why?" Merlin presses.
"Because you're my friend," Arthur says slowly. "Because you point me in the right direction always, no matter my protestations. You're one of the bravest men I know, and one of the most foolish, and one of the most wise. Because you kept a secret from me, but… it was out of fear. Fear of me. And I want to make that right."
Merlin is quiet. His Adam's apple bobs against unseen pressure, gulping for the air he pulls steadily through his nose and pushes out through gritted teeth. As his friends watch, confused and ill at ease, Merlin's eyes begin shining with tears.
"I don't deserve it," Merlin says finally, choking on the words.
"Merlin–" Arthur tries.
"No," Merlin says. "I don't deserve it." A tear falls down his face.
"Of course you do, Merlin," Gwen breathes. "Why on earth would you think you don't?"
The manservant's eyes stay on his king. Arthur does not look away.
"I haven't–" Merlin tries. His voice breaks on the words. He blinks a few times, another tear running down his cheek. Finally, he says, and just to Arthur though it is loud enough to be heard by all, "I haven't been honest."
Arthur's brows furrow. "About what?"
Merlin looks at Arthur carefully. And suddenly he seems to have come to a decision. He holds out his right hand, palm facing upward, fingers splayed.
Somewhere far off in Camelot, the warning bells sound.