Disclaimer.
So, Arthur meets his son for the first (second) time. Things do not go as planned. If there even was a plan.
Also, chapters will be sporadic at best. I make no apologies (lies).
###
Arthur clenched his fists as the knock came from the door. He had a son. He couldn't quite wrap his head around that yet.
(He had a son.)
What was he like? Was he-did he-what did he look like?
His skin felt stretched over his bones, like it was suddenly too tight. His pulse thrummed in his veins and he had to actually fight to keep his composure. He wasn't sure what would happen if he lost it.
He wouldn't break down and cry, or laugh hysterically like he'd at times seen his Knights do after a scuffle with bandits or anything that involved bloodshed. New recruits were usually little better than wilting flowers.
(He had a son.)
The door opened slowly, why was it moving so slowly? A woman, a peasant woman in a homespun dress that was obviously worn stepped into the room as his father bid and dropped into a low curtsy, bowing her head in deference.
Arthur had seen actual royalty with less regal grace than the woman in front of him. As she pulled herself straight from the curtsy Arthur noted little else of import. She was average. Almost disappointingly so, had his son grown up with her? Brown hair, brown eyes, brown dress...drab.
Arthur resisted the urge to snap at the woman to move, to shift aside so he could get a good look at the child who stood behind her, the only evidence of his presence the small hand the woman held in her own.
"Your Grace," The woman murmured, her voice wasn't lilting like he imagined his mother's to be, or sharply enthralling like Morgana's. It wasn't low or high...it was non-confrontational.
What was his son's voice like? Would it be like his when he grew? Or more like his father's? Or perhaps he would take after his mother's side of the family. A family Arthur knew nothing of.
"Show us the boy." Uther demanded, taking a sip of rich red wine from his goblet. The woman murmured something, too low for Arthur to catch and gently pulled her hand forward along with a smaller one not her own and a pale arm.
Arthur leaned forward where he stood, eyes fixed on the appendage, greedily drinking in all the details as they were slowly revealed.
The boy-
(He had a son.)
-stepped to the side, into view, with evident reluctance. His face set stony and dark brows furrowed over bright blue eyes, such a piercing shade that Arthur doubted had ever set foot on the earth before. In the sky maybe, but surely not on earth, not a colour that vibrant.
He drank in the features and couldn't prevent a shocked inhale as he recognised the child. Recognised the bruise just beginning to darken the lads pale cheek, the split lip a marring the picture of childish innocence.
Uther leaned forward in his seat.
Under the intense scrutiny from the two royals the boy squared his small chin, straightened his already tense shoulders and stared just as piercingly back.
Arthur had the brief, completely illogical, desire to laugh.
"Come here." His father ordered, beckoning as one would to a dog. The boy glanced to the woman and took a single step forwards. The woman gently nudged him closer to the King.
"I wish to see your face, come here." Uther demanded again, this time with more impatience. The child's gaze flickered over Gaius, washing over Arthur with an all too short amount of time that left him near thrumming with the need to say something, to acknowledge his child in some way.
A name came to him instead.
"Merlin!?"
Of all things it was one of the last he wanted to voice. The boy – Merlin – jerked a little but didn't glance over, too chained by the King's stare. Uther, however, was not so transfixed.
"You know the boy?"
Arthur swallowed. "I had a chance encounter earlier this day." He answered but his father didn't seem to care much.
The King's hand shot out and Merlin wasn't quite quick enough in his movements to jerk out the way. Not that he didn't try.
"Stop squirming. I only want to look at you." Uther demanded, coolly but not unkindly. Merlin stopped trying to escape and only winced as fingers brushed against the blossoming bruise while Uther gripped his chin in one hand turning the boy's head this way and that, looking at his face from different angles.
Merlin wasn't panicking, not that Arthur could see anyway, but there was something trapped about his gaze, something about the way his eyes darted, about the white knuckled grip the child had on his own tunic...something about the whole picture brought to mind a rabbit in a trap, knowing it was caught but still trying to escape.
Arthur wasn't given to metaphors and the comparison unsettled him.
He watched the bob of the child's throat as he swallowed.
Eventually his father let go, examining Merlin with less intensity and more thoughtfulness as he leaned back in his chair and took another sip from his goblet.
Merlin shifted on his feet but didn't dare take a step backwards.
"You said you saw Arthur, Gaius. I disagree. I see Ygraine."
Arthur blinked, surprised and a little confused at what his father had said. Merlin shifted again. Gaius made a small sound that might have been agreement.
Where did his mother come into this?
"How old are you?" Uther asked, this time directing his question to the child standing in front of him like he'd been caught in the middle of some wrong doing.
"Eight." The boy answered promptly, with all the pride of a child believing themselves to be all grown up. "Sire." He attached on the end after a small prompt from the peasant woman.
"And do you know your letters? Numbers?"
Arthur resisted the urge to but in. If Merlin had been living as a peasant then there was little to no hope he could even recite the alphabet or count past twenty. The child frowned.
"I can read and write if that's what you're asking. Sire." The sire was again tagged on as an afterthought. Arthur was rather surprised his father let it go.
The child was rather cheeky.
No doubt the boy was bluffing. He was eight, Arthur had hardly been fluent in reading when he was that age and his writing was best not thought about. Probably because he had despised his lessons and tutors, much preferring to be out under the sun doing something active.
"Here. Read this aloud." Uther shoved a piece of parchment left over from the council meeting at the boy who nearly dropped it, jumping at the sudden movement.
"To det-er-mine the pre-cise stone to cut for the new repairs down in the lower town, Lord Belgraft will seek council on tomorrows morn from the stone masons before con-ferr-ing the matter further with the council the next time it con-ve-nes. The works shall commence at-"
"Enough." Uther plucked the parchment from unresisting fingers. The child barely flinched this time at the King's abrupt movement.
Arthur was surprised. For a child of ten he would have said they were bright. A boy of eight, a boy from peasant background (no matter his origins)...well, he was surprised. The reading was clear, even if the boy stumbled uncertainly over some of the larger more complex words he sounded them out coherently.
"If I wanted three hundred blocks of stone and each block cost two gold coins how many coins would I need?"
"Six hundred gold coins." Merlin answered promptly, less than ten seconds after Arthur worked out the answer too.
"Who taught him?" This question was not directed at Merlin but at the peasant woman and Gaius.
"I did, Your Grace." The peasant woman answered quietly.
"Any other topics?"
"Just a little history, Sire."
"Hmmm. Very well. Gaius, organise some tutors for the boy, the full works. And get a tailor too. He can have a set of rooms in the East Wing."
Arthur blinked at his father's commands, a little thrown. His rooms were in the West Wing of the castle, his father had some in the North Wing and Morgana had the South.
"You. What do you want in return for your services these past eight years?" Uther asked the peasant woman, directly. "Speak up, name your reward." The King prompted when she didn't open her mouth fast enough.
"Nothing, Sire, it's been a joy having Merlin." The woman said slowly. Merlin looked confused but edged just a bit closer to the woman.
Uther's eyes narrowed but he nodded.
"As you wish." The King stated, getting to his feet and sweeping out the room.
Arthur couldn't miss the slight relaxation of tense muscles from the child once the King was out of sight.
"Would you like to meet the boy?" Gaius whispered. Arthur nearly jumped; it was testament to how much the news that he had a son had thrown him, that Gaius could walk over to him unnoticed.
Arthur nodded slowly, not entirely sure he did now the moment came. He straightened his shoulders, he was a Knight of Camelot, Prince in fact, he was not too scared to speak to his own son.
"Are you planning on claiming him?" Gaius pressed, hesitation on his aged face. That stumped Arthur, was he going to acknowledge the boy as his own?
He nodded once more. Technically the decision had already been made for him, the truth would circulate the court rumours in no time at all, especially since the King had ordered tutors for the child and a set of rooms fit for a noble.
Gaius sighed and stepped towards Merlin who was standing beside the peasant woman talking quietly. The court physician murmured something in the woman's ear then took a seat at the table, rubbing his face wearily.
The brown haired woman knelt to the ground in front of the boy, heedless of her dress and looked at the child solemnly.
"Merlin, you remember that conversation we had a few days ago?" She prompted softly.
"The one about 'Will not being right about everything'?" The child asked doubtfully, after a frown of thought. A smile curved the woman's lips but the amusement was dampened with seriousness.
"No, dear, the one about your parentage."
Merlin's face cleared. He nodded.
"Well, we came to Camelot because your father lives here." She continued.
Arthur blinked; he'd thought the boy knew why they had gathered. Surely at least Gaius would have told him?
"Really?" Was that wariness in the boys voice or eagerness. Arthur couldn't tell.
"That's what this meeting was about."
"Wait-it's not the King is it?" Merlin's face was a picture of horror; he looked practically ready to flee if anyone gave even a twitch.
Arthur felt a little indignant on his father's behalf, what was wrong with being the son of Uther Pendragon? There was no need for the kid to look so terrified by the prospect. Awed maybe, not scared.
"No," Merlin's face relaxed in relief. "It's his son," There was that look of horror again. "Prince Arthur." The woman finished.
Arthur stepped forward; Merlin jumped at the movement, staring up at him, those thin shoulders tense once more.
Arthur cleared his throat.
"I'll show you to your rooms." Arthur frowned. That wasn't what he'd meant to say at all.
#
The walk to the East Wing was uncomfortable. Silent. Awkward.
Arthur had no idea what to say, or even if he should breach the hushed atmosphere broken only by their footsteps on the stone.
Merlin spent the walk beside the peasant woman, shooting him confused looks when he wasn't staring at the walls.
Gaius had excused himself to return to his duties; apparently he had to deliver some medications.
Once the woman seemed to realise that he wasn't going to talk (what on earth could he say?) she tried to draw them into conversation.
After a couple of failed attempts she seemed to give it up as a bad job.
"Merlin, where did you get that bruise from? You didn't trip over again, did you?" The woman asked, her eyes flickering from the child to Arthur. Okay, maybe she hadn't given up yet.
His stomach sank slightly and he quickened his step unnoticeably.
Arthur glanced at the bruise, the dark mark seemed to dominate the small face, the split lip an adornment to draw the eye.
"Yes." The boy answered without a bat of an eyelash, holding up his grazed palms as proof. Arthur stumbled slightly over his own feet. Merlin didn't even look at him.
A barefaced lie told with such innocence.
Arthur was used to lies, the courtly kind, the one nobles insisted on displaying, the (rare) nice ones – doesn't that hat look nice (it didn't) – but he detested the ruse and he was utterly rubbish at fabrication. According to Morgana. (He didn't like to agree with her but facts seemed to be in her favour.)
That was his son. Should he feel like scolding the lad or proud at the ability?
"You should remember to look before you leap." The woman chastised gently, the fondness in her tone belying the amount of times she must have repeated the same thing.
Arthur made his excuses when they reached the set of rooms, leaving the peasant woman and his son to deal with the flurry of servants dusting, airing and generally making the room fit for a prince.
He didn't lie; he did have some important duties to get back to.
But...
He felt eyes on his back until he turned the corner.
#
"Ah, Arthur." His father greeted as he entered the relatively small room a sheaf of reports in his arms.
"Father." Arthur returned with respectful tilt of the head. He placed the parchment on the small space left on the large desk that Uther motioned towards.
"Your son..." Uther trailed off looking mildly discomfited. "What are your...thoughts on him?"
Arthur blinked. Was his father...checking on his mental state?
"Small." Arthur answered promptly. Uther looked torn between laughter and despair. "Quiet, I suppose. Cheeky." He murmured, remembering just a few hours earlier when the child attempted to scold him over his behaviour.
"And the peasant woman?" Uther asked, glancing at the reports.
"What?"
"What do you think of her? Considering she has had the last eight years to brainwash the boy."
"Bland. She seems to hold sway over the child." Arthur answered uncertainly, caught in the loop. Was there really some sinister design in bringing his son to him? He recalled the times Merlin had looked towards the brown haired woman whenever he was uncertain.
"Is is a good idea to let her see him? Surely better companions could be found?" Arthur asked.
"Yes, but best not to destabilise the child so soon. He's only just arrived after all. Let him keep a bit of security for a short while longer. He won't need it soon and he'll easily discard her."
"Yes, father."
"Keep an eye on her."
And he was dismissed.
#
He glanced at the boy dressed in some clothes of Arthur's as a child that had been hastily fitted to Merlin's slenderer frame. Were children supposed to be that small? Had he ever looked that breakable? Surely not, he'd been sturdier of build, solid. Merlin looked like a strong breeze would whisk him away.
His hand clenched around the silver fork and he had to focus on placing it back down onto the table and relax his fingers enough to let go.
His gaze went back to the child without his consent. Did all children look so frail?
The boy grinned, darting across the hall to speak with Morgana's maidservant.
The candlelight flickered oddly over the child's elfin face, pitch black hair contrasting with the pale skin.
Skin too fine for a commoner, Uther had said.
It wasn't long before Merlin made his way back to his seat, close enough to acknowledge his importance but not close enough to the King and Prince for them to talk without shouting.
Arthur cursed that fact all the while recognising he would have no idea what to say if they could talk.
"He's sweet. Nothing like you, thank goodness." Morgana said, a teasing smile on her painted lips.
His lips pursed. When had Morgana spent enough time with the child to start forming opinions on his nature? Actually, scratch that, when had she been told that Merlin was his son?
"The poor boy." She murmured, almost to herself.
"Poor? He's anything but poor now he's come to Camelot. Father's been more generous than I expected." Arthur protested. Morgana shot him a glare that could peel the flesh off a living man. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, he was used to her.
"Yes, he's been uprooted from his previous lifestyle, brought to a foreign place under the scrutiny of a harsh king," Her lip curled and Arthur wondered what his father had done to displease her this time. "Brought in front of a man who claims to be his father yet doesn't even speak to him, a man whose Knights physically accosted him. He's been brought into the very vipers nest of court. A royal bastard, the highest irony. I shan't be surprised if he runs off into the night one day." Morgana said in hushed tones, the venom in her voice no less potent for all that she was careful to let only he hear her.
Arthur blinked, leaning back in his chair and mulling over her words.
"It's hardly that bad. The food at least is sure to be better." He returned lightly. Maybe a better diet would make Merlin seem less...flimsy.
Morgana huffed at his unconcern, probably angrier he dismissed her pretty speech than anything else.
Still, her words nagged at him.
He'd take over the boy's combat training, once he was trained up that would offer Merlin some measure of protection.
The chatter in the hall quietened and Arthur realised Lady Helen had risen to sing. He waited expectantly, he wasn't particularly enamoured by her singing but his father wouldn't be pleased if he openly showed his boredom.
It wouldn't do to isolate such a celebrated performer after all.
The first few notes drifted over him, the hairs on his neck tingled, his eyelids suddenly felt so very heavy. He could feel a yawn bubbling up. His head drooped onto the table, he was just so tired. He couldn't even muster up enough energy to lift his eyelids.
It seemed he had just closed his eyes when he was blinking awake, sitting up and looking round in confusion.
Cobwebs?
He wasn't the only one who had fallen asleep.
What had-
A weight shoved into him, hard. Knocking him to the ground and landing on his chest with enough force to drive the air from his lungs. A familiar 'thunk' sounded. Arthur glanced up, still trying to return the air to his lungs and shoving the weight off of him.
He stilled, looking up at the knife that was seated hilt deep into the chair he had been sitting in not moments before turning to the boy lying at his side propped up on his elbow looking just as surprised.
"You're heavier than you look." The stupid comment was out of his mouth before he could think.
Merlin blinked at him then his expression warred between amused and affronted.
He got to his feet and opened his mouth, this time to thank the child, as much as he hated to utter those words but his father spoke before he could.
"A reward for saving my son's life. Name the treat you want."
The child hesitated.
"Don't be so modest." Uther chided.
"Can moth-Hunith stay with me?" The child asked hopefully.
"Of course. I'll see some honey cakes are sent over your way so you can have first pick." Uther added. Arthur couldn't quite decide if his father was being patronising or attempting to spoil the child in his own way.
It was difficult to tell.
There was relief on that small face, and happiness.
"Thank you!" Merlin exclaimed and Arthur knew it wasn't for the honey cakes or what the recognition him being served before everyone else, even the King, meant.
He ran his fingers over the wooden grain of the chair armrest. Clearly the peasant woman meant far more to the child than he'd suspected. Probably far more than his father thought too.
He ran his eyes over the dagger then to the woman lying on the ground, the chandelier on top of her like some obscure wreath.
Merlin followed his gaze and the spark of happiness that had suffused his face with an inner light extinguished faster than a snuffed out candle. Those achingly blue eyes locked and widened on the prone form.
Not quite sure why he did it Arthur stepped into Merlin's line of sight, blocking the dead body from view.
Merlin sucked in a startled breath.
"Is-is she d-dead?" He asked in a whisper.
"...Yes." Arthur answered, completely out of his depth. What was he supposed to do?
Merlin's face fell and his small hands shook.
This wasn't too far out of his realm, his Knights – when they were new – occasionally acted in such a way. Before death became a natural part of their lives.
He pressed his palm firmly on the lad's shoulder. It didn't quite have the calming effect Arthur had hoped for. Merlin jumped, twisting out of his loose grip, backing up just a step and looking at him with the same wariness he had shown through all their encounters.
In fact, he had been less wary when he hadn't known Arthur was his father.
Had the boy not seen a dead body before? Almost as if he could hear Arthur's thoughts the young boy scowled.
"I've seen bodies before." The boy muttered as though daring anyone to disagree. His eyes flickered in the direction of what had been Lady Helen but Arthur was still in the way.
Merlin's hands were still shaking, he was trembling almost. Again Arthur felt lost. What was he supposed to do? Tell the boy to buck up and get over it?
The words seemed to stick in his throat every time he tried.
"Merlin," A soft voice called and Arthur was almost relieved as the peasant woman stepped into view. Scratch that, he was relieved when she knelt on the floor and clasped the child in an embrace. The shudders seemed to fall away as Merlin sagged into her arms, pressing his face into her dress.
"Come on Merlin, it's been a long day. Why don't we get you to bed?" The woman prompted after a couple of minutes were neither moved. The child shook his head stubbornly and she sighed before straightening up the boy in her arms, face still pressed into her neck.
"Sire." She nodded before turning away and with light steps unobtrusively leaving the hall with his son.
Arthur watched them go, a curious mix of emotions swelling inside. A small part of him was relieved that the responsibility of sorting out Merlin had been taken from his shoulders. An even smaller part of him was envious that the woman, a peasant woman no less, knew how to deal with the situation with evident ease.
Neither of those...feelings explained the sense of loss he felt at watching that tuft of black hair recede.
A small part of Morgana's words dismissed from earlier resounded in his mind. He was a father.
Somehow, that was entirely different to having a son.
#
Arthur stifled a yawn as he wandered through the castle halls.
Maybe it was all the excitement from earlier but he was far too keyed up to sleep and lying in his chambers had just made him increasingly restless. So he was pacing through the castle like a man demented.
Earlier the events had unfolded a little too quickly for Arthur to take them in and so now he was running his mind over them, as was his wont, picking through and noticing things he'd dismissed before.
They were very lucky the chandelier had chosen that moment to break...he should ask his father to get someone to check the fastenings of the other ones, it wouldn't be good at all if more broke and fell on people who were not causing sorcery next time.
Maybe something to do with her singing had loosened the bolts or something. He didn't know how magic worked really.
A shuffling noise came from up ahead and Arthur approached feeling for the comforting weight of the dagger on his hip.
A rustle of clothing, the torches flickered; a shadow approached growing larger and there-
Oh, it was only one of the serving maids. Arthur put back his dagger feeling a little foolish about his jumpiness. He frowned when he noticed her arms were cradling something, a bundle. The woman stepped forward and Arthur recognised the features.
"Hunith? What are you doing?" Arthur asked, trying not to let suspicion enter his voice. She didn't jump at his question nor flee. Arthur wondered if that meant she was a consummate actress or actually doing something innocent.
"Hmmm? Oh, I was just getting some warm milk and honey to help Merlin sleep, Sire." She answered, holding up a cup wrapped in cloth to retain the heat.
"Is he not asleep yet then?" He asked in disapproval. It was closer to the early hours of the morning than night time.
"He gets nightmares sometimes." Hunith answered without offense.
Arthur frowned, he could still remember Morgana's screams as she thrashed about, locked in her mind terrors when they were children and he had been about to play a prank. The screams had startled him at the time, he'd thought she'd woken up, then came the fear when he realised she was still asleep.
What could be so painful as to make Morgana (one of the toughest people Arthur knew) scream until her throat was raw?
He had shaken her awake, unable to listen any longer and received a slap for his efforts from her flailing limbs.
When she had somewhat recovered, she had just looked at him, staring with such haunted eyes that he hadn't been able to bear it. He'd walked away back to his rooms. By the morning, when they'd met for breakfast, nothing had been said on the matter and nothing ever was.
"Gaius could prescribe a sleeping remedy." Arthur suggested. Hunith shook her head with a faint smile.
"Thank you for the kind thought, sire, but these are night terrors Merlin needs to work through himself if he is to be free of them. And probably brought on through the stress of the day."
It took Arthur longer than it should have to realise she wasn't only talking of the events at dinner.
"Ah, well, I should let you-"
"Mother?" A childish piping voice called, small and nearly inaudible footsteps approaching.
Arthur's stomach clenched. 'Mother'. He'd been wrong, Uther was wrong. Hunith meant far more to Merlin than they'd assumed. And it seemed Merlin meant more to Hunith than Arthur had guessed at too.
The little boy stepped around the corner, one hand rubbing his eyes, dressed in loose clothing that made him seem all the smaller.
"Merlin, what are you doing out of bed?" Hunith asked, her voice softening for the child.
"You were gone a long time." The boy answered, stepping closer and leaning into her side.
"Well I got a little lost and had to retrace my steps from the kitchens. You didn't go back to sleep?"
"No. Shadows." The boy answered as though it explained everything. Hunith seemed to understand.
"Hmmm, well let's go back to bed and you can drink your milk and honey while I chase away the big bad shadows."
Merlin frowned sleepily.
"Not 'fraid of the shadows." He protested. Hunith smiled at the childish bravado. Arthur tried to keep his own amusement at bay. "I just don't like what's in them." The child continued.
Hunith's face fell and she looked at the boy worriedly. Arthur didn't see what was so worrisome but then women did tend to fuss over the oddest things.
"Goodnight, Sire." Hunith murmured, leading the sleepy boy back to his chambers.
And Arthur was once again left to his own devices in the hall. He sighed and made his way back to his own rooms. He should try to get to sleep.
After all, he was an adult; he didn't need warm milk to help him drift off.