Chapter 5: Without Arthur

I had never had a father. Sometimes I think about the things that would be different if he were here.

I had uncles who would do fatherly things, though. Three of them, to be precise.

If Father were here, he would not only be my father, but also king of Camelot. There are four people who have taken up the mantle of leadership in his absence.

Uncle Leon is the one who has taught me almost everything I know about fighting. He started training me at a young age, commenting that he had been there when Father learned to fight too. He is a good teacher, patient and thorough and steady, and he said with a smile that he will make me the best fighter in the land like Father was.

When he says, "Well done," or that he is proud of me, he says it in exactly the same tone he uses for his son, Kay.

It is almost like having a father tell me he was proud of me.

Uncle Leon is also Mother's right-hand man. He is the First Knight and the man she trusts most to advise her correctly and to lead the army. He has always been there for her, his loyalty unquestionable and unshakeable. He is Mother's rock, the man she can always depend on.

Uncle Percival is the biggest man I have ever seen, but he is also incredibly gentle. He gave the best piggy back rides; when I was young, my greatest delight was to ride his shoulders around the castle, towering over everybody we saw. He doesn't say much, but I learned over the years that when he speaks, he is well worth listening to, and he is the only person whose advice I will follow without protest.

I convinced him to spar with me once. I came away from that experience pitying any man who tried taking on Percival in a fight.

Mother relies on Uncle Percival's advice too. He is second to Uncle Leon in the army, and when Leon is busy, he will take over training me – typically along with Kay and Galahad. The three of us are around the same age and skill level, and we often train together. If both Mother and Uncle Merlin were busy, Uncle Percival was the man I usually sought out when I was young, for he always had time for me and listened to me with the same attention he gave anyone else.

Mother is the one on whom most of the ruling has fallen, of course, and she has shouldered it with grace, dignity, and a leadership almost everyone will willingly follow. She has always been one of the people, listening to them and trying to be the best queen she can be for them. There are a few stuffy lords who still say because she was a servant she shouldn't be queen, but their viewpoint is very unpopular.

Somehow Mother has managed to win over the people and lead them well while also being there for me every time I have needed her. She has brought me along with her almost everywhere she goes, being a mother and training me at the same time, but she also spends time alone with me and is an excellent listener and playmate. Breakfasts have always been our time; only Uncle Merlin can intrude every once in a while.

Uncle Merlin is Court Sorcerer, of course, and the one who advises Mother on everything magical, although I think she listens to his advice on more than that. He helps her rule the druids, who usually listen only to him, and he is a brother to Mother. I thought they were actually siblings by blood until I was around six.

Uncle Merlin has also been there for me through the years, teaching me about magic and so much more, there for me alongside Mother every step of the way. Still, there have been days when despite the fact that I have had three wonderful uncles, I feel alone and fatherless, and Uncle Merlin is the only one I have dared talk to about this.

There was one day when I stormed into his quarters, having stewed on the matter until I was furious. "Why did Father leave?" I demanded without stopping for a hello.

Merlin looked up from the parchment he was writing on, looking confused. "That wasn't really his choice," he said after a minute.

I slammed the door and threw myself into a chair. "He shouldn't have left," I nearly shouted. "Everyone else has fathers to take care of them and play with them! Why don't I? Why did he leave me?"

Uncle Merlin watched me thoughtfully till I had finished with my rant; then he leaned back and studied the ceiling. "Did I ever tell you," he said quietly, "that I never knew my father growing up?"

"No," I said, interested in spite of myself; he had never told me much of anything about his father.

"I wondered what you wonder at times," Merlin told me quietly. "Why he would have left my mother and me, if he cared for me at all. My mother never told me anything about him; I didn't learn until I was older than you who he was, even."

I was absorbed in the story; Uncle Merlin shifted forward, though he didn't meet my eyes. "Eventually I learned that he was a Dragonlord – you know the story. Camelot needed him, so Arthur and I went to find him. I'd never been told who he was because he was a hunted fugitive, and he hadn't even known he had a son."

"What happened after that?" I asked softly. Uncle Merlin had never really explained that well.

"I knew him for two days," he told me quietly, "and he acknowledged me as his son. Then he died defending me."

There was silence for a moment; Merlin was running his fingers along the small carving of a dragon he always kept on his desk. He finally looked up at me.

"I know how it feels," he said gently, "to be fatherless and to be angry at your father for leaving you alone. But your father had no choice, not even as much as mine did. And he would have loved you if he had lived – never doubt that, Little Dragon."

For some reason I had tears in my eyes by the time he finished, and I flew across the room to give him a hug.

In the absence of King Arthur, it is Uncle Merlin who has been a father to me most.

There is a time of year that when I was a small child, I began referring to as the sad time; I've never bothered giving it a more technical title. It is the time of year when all four of the people important in my life become quiet and sorrowful. Mother told me when I was quite young that it is the time of year when my father died.

When I was young, I typically spent most of this time with Uncle Percival. He said even less than usual during this time, but since he's rather quiet anyway, he seemed the least affected. It was only when I got older that I recognized the distant, haunted look he gets around this time and realized that in his own quiet way, he was grieving too.

Uncle Leon tends to disappear from the palace around this time; unless Mother needs him for something he goes home and spends those days with his family. I think being around the people he loves most is necessary to him then.

Mother still grieves Father during this time. The rest of the year, she is strong, always moving forward, often honoring Father in her speeches with a proud gleam in her eye and no hint of tears. This is the time of year she lets herself wander the places she spent time with him, hold the ring he gave her, and remember him as the man she loved and not as a king. This is the time of year she lets herself cry.

I always feel somewhat strange at this time, because though my father's being gone has left a large hole in my life, I never knew him, and I can't grieve the man I lost like those around me can. Grieving the hole in my life he would have filled had he lived feels very selfish when those around me are grieving wounds torn in their lives by his passing. But Mother seems to derive comfort from having me close, being able to hug and touch me and know that I am here, that I am her legacy from Father and I am not leaving. Sometimes during these days I feel like Mother only sees me as her last bit of Father, but she has always tried to make it clear that I am more than that – but that I am all the family she has left, except for Uncle Merlin, and she needs me close.

Mother and Uncle Merlin tend to spend some of these days close to each other, sharing memories at times or just being there for each other, but Uncle Merlin has his own way of grieving. He shines Father's old chambers, deserted for years now, until they gleam with cleanliness; he doesn't smile; and he has a tendency to disappear more than usual.

One year, Aithusa flew in during this time. She tends to disappear from Camelot during these days, but this year I saw her flying toward the roof, which was where she always landed until she got so big Mother was afraid of her shattering the towers if she continued to do that. I was young enough at the time that my thoughts instantly leapt to flying her, so I hurried toward the turrets as fast as my short legs could carry me. Breathless and eager, I emerged to find Uncle Merlin standing by Aithusa, his face so solemn that I stopped short. Aithusa almost seemed to be cringing before him.

"You can stop apologizing every year, Aithusa," he said softly. "I don't blame you."

After a moment in which she clearly replied, he burst out, sounding exasperated, "If I'm to blame you for the mistakes you made, then I have to blame myself ten times more, and Gwen has been trying to get me to stop doing that for years!" He ran a tired hand down his face. "Look, Aithusa," he said more gently, "I failed you when I should have been there for you, and you were lost and broken. I don't blame you for what you did."

She must have said something along the lines that he shouldn't blame himself either, for he sighed tiredly. "I made so many mistakes," he said softly. "There are days when I think that I singlehandedly managed to create both of Arthur's worst enemies. If only I had talked to Morgana, if only I hadn't automatically turned on Mordred – Aithusa, I've spent years blaming myself for everything that happened. I'd really rather not remember it all now. Just – I've forgiven you completely, alright? I don't blame you."

Aithusa nuzzled into him, looking both pitiful and relieved, and I turned away from the tower. Clearly this was not the time for a flight, but I tried to put the conversation from my mind. I really didn't want to know what either Aithusa or Uncle Merlin blamed themselves for.

This time of year doesn't particularly affect anyone but the five of us, though. The ways my mother and uncles grieve my father are subtle enough that only if you're me do you really see them. They go on running the kingdom as usual, and if they take a little more time to be by themselves than a typical week, I don't think anyone else notices, though I'm guessing the people of the lower town know that Mother only goes back to the house that used to be hers one week in the year.

The last time this season of grieving happened, I was old enough to be very curious and adventuresome, so when Uncle Merlin disappeared in the late afternoon as he has every year, I followed him.

He rode through the woods to a lake, arriving there shortly before twilight. I'd never been to the lake before, but it was a lovely spot, the lake ranged by mountains and trees and a dense bed of strawberry bushes, the ripples across the surface shimmering in the dusky light. Uncle Merlin dismounted, tied his horse, and walked to stand on the shore.

"You can come out, Amhar," he said suddenly, startling me. "I know you're there."

Sheepishly I dismounted and emerged from the trees. "How did you know I was there?" I asked petulantly.

Merlin chuckled and sat down by the water's edge. "I could tell I was being followed," he said, "and your Camelot red cloak isn't really made for concealment. It wasn't hard to catch a glimpse of you."

I felt very foolish, and the way Uncle Merlin was looking at the water, as if I had intruded on something sacred. "Do – do you want me to go?" I faltered.

He did not bother looking at me. "I don't mind if you stay," he said.

I could tell by his tone that he actually wanted me there, so I sat down cross-legged beside him. We sat in silence for a long time as the dusk deepened toward night; Uncle Merlin ran his fingertips through the waves. The longer I sat there, the more I felt that the lake was very peaceful and heartbreakingly sad all at once.

"I laid Arthur to rest here," Uncle Merlin said suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice made me jump, but he didn't seem to notice, and I listened attentively; he had told me very little of my father's last days. "I'd tried everything I could to reach this place when he was still alive so the Sidhe could save him." His words were slow and quiet, and he scarcely seemed to be talking to me at all. "I could only send him into the lake and say goodbye. Like I buried Freya, and Lancelot. But that time it seemed to me that I buried every dream and hope I'd ever had with Arthur."

I wanted to say something, to say that Father's death hadn't been the end and we were still happy, but Merlin was lost in his memories, his eyes dark with pain, and I couldn't say anything that trite to him. I hugged my legs to me, shivering.

The lake was nearly dark by the time Uncle Merlin spoke again; this time he turned a bit and directed his words to me. "Excalibur rests here too," he said softly. "It was meant to be Arthur's sword all along, and no one else should use it now. I put it here after it was first forged."

I knew that story – the one of the undead knight and Uncle Merlin making a sword so Father could fight him until Grandfather took his place instead. It was one of the stories where I could acknowledge the grandfather I often nearly hated for his blindness had acted nobly.

"Freya gave it back to me," Merlin whispered, more to the lake than me. "And after that I placed it in the stone. I wonder if Arthur will bring it with him when he returns, or if I'll have to find another way. I really don't want to have to swim out and find it."

I knew by now that Uncle Merlin was really lost in his memories, because he had mentioned Freya twice when usually he didn't speak of her at all. I knew she was the girl he had loved and lost and that she was now the Lady of the Lake, but that was all. A part of me felt that I had no right to be here, listening to Uncle Merlin's quiet memories, but another part of me felt that it was right to be here, remembering Father with the man who had known him best, honoring him quietly in the dusk of the day by the lake where he had been laid to rest.

The comment about swimming had evidently made Uncle Merlin remember something else; he chuckled just a bit and shifted to face me.

"The first time I ever saw this lake was when Arthur was getting enchanted by the Sidhe girl Sophia," he remarked.

"I remember that story," I said quietly. "Where the Sidhe wanted to sacrifice him by drowning him and you had to rescue him."

"As usual," Uncle Merlin remarked lightly. "The water is very cold if you decide to take a swim in it." He turned to look over the lake. "I was afraid he would die that day – it was a long time before I found him. In retrospect, though, his announcement to his father that he was going to get married to a girl he'd just met was rather funny. I don't think the king believed him at all."

"I can't picture him with anyone other than Mother," I replied, finding that image disturbing.

"She was the only girl he ever really loved," Uncle Merlin told me quietly. He hesitated a moment, then added, more to himself than me, "That was the first time I realized Morgana was a seer. I still wish . . . " His voice trailed away, and he fell silent.

He never talked about Morgana either. Mother sometimes tells me stories of the days when she was a good and noble lady and Mother served her, but Merlin can never hear her name without looking away.

"Your Uncle Elyan was buried here too," he added after a long moment. "He got an honorable funeral with everyone there in respect – and he deserved it too."

I could only nod. And we sat there in the silence, the soft lapping of the waves on the shore the only sound, as night fell completely and the stars were reflected blurrily in the lake's surface.

Suddenly the sound of a horse's hooves broke the stillness. I leapt to my feet, my hand going to the hilt of the sword I wore whenever I left Camelot, but Uncle Merlin did not seem the least perturbed. He stayed where he was until the horse had come up to us, even as the rider dismounted and tied the new horse with ours. Only when the stranger came out of the trees did I recognize her as the queen.

"Mother!" I exclaimed, shocked.

She gave me a tired hint of a smile and put her arm around me briefly. "I should have known you'd sneak off here," she murmured.

Uncle Merlin had stood up now. With a brief glance at Mother, he held out his hands, and his eyes shone gold in darkness. Three pieces of wood flew out of the forest and shaped themselves into rough, tiny boats in his hands. In complete silence he handed one to Mother and one to me.

As Mother and Merlin moved to the lake shore in quiet synchronization, I realized that this was nowhere near the first time they had done this. They must have had this quiet ceremony on the night of the anniversary of Father's death for years. Now I, who had no memory of him to tell, like diving into the lake to save him, was here at this ritual, and again I felt like an outsider.

But Uncle Merlin glanced at me, and with a quick motion of his head indicated that I should join them. And after all, even if I didn't remember Father, I was his son, and I had the right to honor his memory too. With sudden decision I stepped to the lakeside, knelt by Mother, and set my boat in the water like Mother and Uncle Merlin had.

Mother, I realized suddenly, held two stubs of candles; she held them out, and a quick flash of Uncle Merlin's eyes turned the taller one into two. Silently Mother handed a candle to each of us, and Merlin set them aflame. We set the candles on the boats and pushed them off into the lake. I think Uncle Merlin provided them the momentum to leave the shore even through the waves coming up to us, but I wasn't watching him. Through a sudden blur of tears, I was following the little boats with my eyes as they slipped out into the lake.

We knelt there quietly by the lake's brink and watched the little vessels of fire float further and further away, watched as the wood caught flame, watched as they blazed up and then sank beneath the waves.

We stayed there by the shore of Avalon all night, Mother, Uncle Merlin, and I – Father's wife, closest friend, and son – and kept vigil over the place where he had been laid to rest.

As I rode back to the castle the next day, sore and stiff, but oddly at peace, I felt as though I had grieved my father properly for the first time in my life.

A/N: The first part of this chapter really gave me fits, so my apologies if it wasn't as good. We only have one more chapter before things start picking up and getting really interesting. That will be out on Monday, will be called "Of Grandparents and Smiles," and will be a lot lighter than this one was.

Also, I'd like to say a quick thank-you to all the guests who have commented on this story, since I can't thank them personally. Your reviews are appreciated! Especially "Random Person" - your review really, really made my day!