Author's note: Thank you everyone who've read and added to favorites/alerts. Thanks also to my reviewers Slashie and silveralipox!
I've now decided how long this story will be (and not continue aimlessly). I aim at longer chapters, though, spanning over a long time each so despite maybe few chapters the story won't actually be short.
()()()
II.
APRIL
The painting still stayed covered when he cleaned the studio, shielded from the sunlight.
After a while, the laundry load grew slightly lighter. However, Gwen saw it fit he'd begin caring more for the children when she was busy and lady Ygraine all too tired. The babe was only a month away now. "She usually stays abed all the time now," Gwen had said about her mistress' habits; "propped up amongst all her plush pillows."
His days were full. Especially Morgause, the littlest one, craved understandable attention. He was glad that he had taken care of Freya when she was younger and knew how to deal with such a young one's temper. Luckily Morgause was easily pleased and not very prone to screaming. Mordred refused to sit still, but Morgana was very firm and stubborn, like steel – much like her parents – and helpful to keep an eye on him. That left Sophia. She'd never really tried anything, but he could never relax when her small heated eyes bore into his back.
He had spent a whole afternoon bent over the hot steaming water of the large washing barrel, and his hair was plastered to his forehead by sweat and soapy vapor. Then a dismayed cry rang out from the hall and Gwen stepped into the workroom, looking at him, frowning.
"Yes?" he asked, pausing in his work. "What is it, Gwen?"
"Dry yourself, try and look presentable, quickly now. Master Uther wants to see you in his study right away."
Merlin gulped. What? Gingerly he toweled his face and damp hair, tried to make it look all right and comb through it with his fingers, before moving out of the kitchen area. Never before had he been called by Uther like this. He'd never been to the lord's study, or the gentlefolk's chambers – Gwen did all the cleaning there. The door was half-open as he arrived.
Sophie sat on a stood beside a bookshelf, tears gleaming in her eyes, while the lord's face was dark, where he stood behind a large desk. Merlin tried to look as small as possible. "You sent for me, sir?"
"It was him, Father!" the girl cried, "He stole them."
"What? I haven't stolen anything!" slipped past Merlin's lips before he could stop the words. The accusation stung, as it implied more than that he might be a thief, but he should have expected it from the girl someday.
"So you deny stealing my daughter's jewelry? Though this was found among your possessions?" Uther demanded, his face was intimidating and Merlin had no time to feel humiliated about having his tiny bit of privacy ruined without him knowing, when the man showed a pearl necklace and a beautiful bracelet, glinting in the light falling through the uncovered windows.
"Yes," he said, voice wobbling a bit. Louder, stronger, he said: "Yes. I haven't stolen anything from your family or your house, sir. Ever. I swear it. I have never laid eyes on those pieces of jewelry before, sir."
The man looked at him thoroughly for a long while, trying to discern if the boy was lying. Merlin kept his hands pressed tightly together and held the man's gaze as long as he could, not to show disobedience but to tell the man he wasn't lying – he wouldn't lie into his face, looking into his eyes.
"If something like this happens again there will be no second chance, understood? I will have you fired," was the warning, and it felt like someone had lifted a stone from Merlin's chest, making him able to breathe again.
"Yes, sir."
"Go, continue with your chores."
He'd never been so thankful of walking through a doorway before.
()()()
The next day both began and ended with hanging up the linen to dry and pale in the sun. It hadn't rained for days. If just a short quick shower were to fall down, Merlin would be happy; rain always was cooling and nowadays he always felt overheated and sweaty, no matter that the time of year was rather cold. Sometimes he would, after finishing the chores, bring a small tub to the cellar so that he could wash off, privately, but he always felt uncomfortable doing it, afraid that anyone might come down and see him.
He went to the market again, the sun not yet at its highest peak in the sky. When Merlin arrived, Will was in his father's place, and at seeing the servant his face lit up.
"Merlin," the butcher's son said with a smile.
"Hello." He ordered what lady Ygraine had wanted to eat today, and waited as Will prepared it. All the blood and sharp smells and buzzing flies drawn to it were a little dizzying; Merlin still hadn't gotten used to it and would've liked to sit down.
"You haven't come visited for awhile, I started to get worried," Will said, and Merlin was uncertain if he was teasing or not. The young man winked at him, asking, "When do I get to see you again?"
"The Pendragons ask for meat every second day," Merlin murmured though Will knew that already. Why was he looking at him like that? Unconsciously he brought his free hand up and fastened his neckerchief, making sure it was in place, and tugged at the hem of his jacket. "I'll come back at Thursday."
"I shall be looking forward to it." The butcher's son dropped the parcel in the pail and awkwardly Merlin thanked him. On his way from the market, he kept glancing over his shoulder, aware of the brown eyes on his back. Will didn't look away.
()()()
"Merlin," Gwen said walking over to the fireplace where he was sitting, doing the mending, "You have to go to the apothecary today on the market rounds. We need yarrow and elderflower. And as you're at it, buy some onion and turnip as well if they're to be found at a good price."
He picked himself up and, when Gwen went back to the kitchen, allowed the tear in the dress to sew itself together neatly. Quailing slightly – partly unsure as of why – at the thought of already going back to the marketplace, he tied another blue neckerchief around his neck. He pulled at the hem of his shirt, smoothing out any crevices, making sure that the collar stayed in place, before walking out.
The apothecary was an elderly man, Gaius, who constantly squinted and mumbled as he sorted through his bottles, shelves and yellowed parchments. At first sight the pharmacy seemed cluttered and messy, and smells of all kinds of herbs assaulted his nostrils dizzyingly, but then Merlin noticed how the old man could turn at his heel to find exactly what he was looking for and there was, in a way, order. He was kind, if a bit odd, and very surprised when Merlin explained he was working for the Pendragon household (they hadn't hired a new servant for years – a few had worked for up a week for them, but the family was displeased and the poor servants were fired before they could say hello).
The old man had grinned, muttering half-loudly about 'Those most cosset folks!' making Merlin laugh, and then wonder how come he still had his job left, if the Pendragons were so picky. Merlin always tried to do his best, but he was sometimes clumsy and accident prone, walking into furniture, dropping things, stumbling when walking up the stairs. He certainly wasn't the most perfect servant one could wish for, but didn't dare ponder on why he still had his job; if he did he'd probably lose it by thought alone.
Next he went to the vegetable and fruit booths. It was the most colourful part of the whole market, and Merlin hungrily eyed some unfamiliar round darkly yellow fruit which he'd loved to try; it looked lovely, but he doubted his meager pay could afford a single one. He had to wait awhile to buy what Gwen had ordered, for the place was full of people in queue: merchants, apprentices, servants, maids, mistresses, masters. Voices were littered everywhere among the wares.
When done, he was on his way back to the house when a small fist tugged at his jacket and startled he almost dropped the basket.
"Freya! What are you doing here?"
The girl beamed, bouncing on her heels. "I'm here with mother. We're going to have pork tonight!"
Merlin returned the smile. "That sounds lovely. Where is she?"
The girl pointed across the street, where their usual butcher was standing. Merlin scanned the area and recognized the bun of his mother's knotted hair. "Are you having free time now?" Freya asked as she ran about him in circles, following his steps. "Can you come with us home and eat? It's boring without you there. The other children aren't as fun as you. "
"I'm afraid not, I'm out running errands and if Gwen finds out I'm late I'll be in trouble." The girl nodded very seriously in understanding. "But I want to talk with mother first."
"Then hurry!" Freya began tugging at his brown jacket again, and continued to speak with the wisdom of a child: "Mother wants to see you, a lot, she's very worried sometimes. She thinks I can't hear it, but sometimes she's complained when chopping the turnips. She's scared something's going to happen to you."
A painful wheel turned in Merlin's stomach, his face falling, chest aching. His mother never used to complain, never, not even when Merlin's father died leaving her penniless. She was so strong: always, forever unyielding. He had thought she would be strong and unyielding forever, anyway.
"Are you all right, mother?"
"I'm fine. It's wonderful to see you again," Hunith said.
"I come here almost every day," Merlin said with a genuinely happy smile. "Maybe we'll meet again soon."
()()()
MAY
The weeks came and went, and the days grew warmer. The workroom was dank and dark and his back and knees ached constantly from leaning over the hot steam, stirring the linen and cleaning the kitchen and scrubbing the floors. He continued visiting his mother and Freya every Sunday for a few hours, and got more used to the butcher and his son's kind but teasing nature. William had begun looking at him twice, saying those passing-by small words sometimes which made Merlin blush, though even as he didn't always answer William was persistent and wouldn't be deterred.
Mordred began following his father and brother to the outskirts of the city now that he'd turned fourteen, and was at home less and less: lady Ygraine retired to her chambers to rest almost immediately after breakfast. The house was quiet but for the pottery clanks when Gwen bustled about and the creaking of the stairs now and then in the evenings. The children weren't allowed to be inside and disturb the lady, and Merlin found it difficult to concentrate with Sophia's close disdainful stare on his back. More than once he'd discovered the white sheets hanging to dry to be covered with muddy handprints.
(Had Gwen struggled this much with her before he came? Had the girl always been this way? Sometimes Merlin wondered if the girl simply felt lonely and craved attention and did what she could to gain it. After all, it's a child's way, much like adults sometimes, to cry before the cause.)
When the lady's pains started by midday the physician was already called for, and Gwen ushered Merlin and the girls out of the house. "Take them with you to the market. I know my mistress, she's like made for childbirth. It'll be safe to come back in two or three hours."
Merlin didn't hesitate, hearing pained screams echo coldly through the hallway, through the floors. He didn't want to listen to the woman's struggle.
He took the girls as ordered and they seemed happy to be able to walk around town. They usually only left the house with either parent or Gwen, not Merlin, he wasn't normally trusted with that kind of thing and besides, there was other work to do. He showed them the stocks market which amused them; they liked seeing all the creatures, and the people. Morgana and Sophie were huddled together; chattering endlessly and giggling, and Morgause did her best attempts at walking but ended up crawling across the dirt of the street, almost being trampled by a goose. Her small dress' front was covered up in mud and reluctantly Merlin lifted her up. Getting rid off that dirt would take hours.
"We want to see the river!" Morgana cried and sprinted off, Sophia on her heels. The two engaged in a game, counting the boats and the shapes and colours of them. Merlin would've liked to sit down, his feet were sore, but didn't dare because the girls liked running from one place to another and couldn't be still.
"Do not be so close to the water," he warned them, reluctantly. "You don't want to fall in."
"I can swim," Sophia proudly proclaimed but before she could take the leap into the murky depths, Merlin stepped forward and held her back by the wrist.
"Not today, you won't."
Her eyes narrowed as her face scrunched up in a grimace of disdain, practically screaming. "I want to! Father and Mother would let me."
"I am not your father or your mother and I will not let you swim in the canal," Merlin said firmly. With his luck with her so far, God would probably curse him to make her drown.
Her face turned stormy, and she stomped her foot. "I'll tell Father! I'll tell him, and he'll kick you out of the house! I promise I will!"
For once he let her anger wash over him and away into the muddy street, and steered her and her sister away from the water, ignoring the cries of protest. God, he thought, please let two hours have passed soon. The girl had surprisingly strong fists.
()()()
It was a boy. There were small tuffs of blonde hair atop of his head, and his eyes were a dark misty blue. The other children assembled around the bed along with Uther, who looked proud and strangely kind with that smile, those shining eyes. Arthur, the eldest, drew back, Merlin saw him lean against the wall beside a cupboard as the servant stepped through the door.
He had never been to this chamber before –- it's wide curtained windows, beautiful paintings, heavy decorations were overwhelming, as were the smell of perfume and the distinct tang of blood – and he probably wouldn't return to it, but Lady Ygraine had insisted the whole household were to greet her newborn son. Since the incident with the bracelet, Uther strictly forbade him to clean in any of the sleeping chambers, still suspicious that he'd steal the fine rich jewelry his wife and daughters wore and sell it or whatever devious distrustful servants did. Merlin would never steal, never sink so low; he was no thief, but he never said that out loud. Protests were useless and anyway, it was a relief not having to do more work.
"What's its name?" Morgana asked, cooing at the baby.
"This is your brother Leon. Him, Morgana, not it."
Arthur shifted among the shadows and stepped forth, and Merlin couldn't stop looking at him, not even knowing why. The man was so handsome and mysterious and when Merlin's thoughts finally caught up with him, he lowered his gaze, ashamed of himself. No servant should think of their masters (or their masters' sons) that way. Servants like that only caught the attention of trouble.
The blonde man looked at him briefly, before moving to stand on his father's left side, congratulating his parents, leaving Merlin rigid and his chest helplessly aching almost as if he was being strangled.
()()()
JUNE
It was strange, walking into the studio that morning. It felt incredibly empty and suddenly soulless. The staged corner which he'd so carefully measured and dusted off was suddenly at disarray: the quills put away, the parchment rolled up neatly; the piece of fabric he had been so vigilant to get right in every fold was gone. For a moment, Merlin just stared at the unfamiliar space, feeling…a sharp sense of sadness and something else tugging at the bottom of his stomach. It wouldn't go away.
"He's finished a painting," explained the lady, the keys in her hands jingling. She usually was the one unlocking and locking the door, though she wasn't allowed to step over the threshold. "Everything is to be put away into those boxes, and the table moved to that wall," she said and pointed. "Open the windows, let in some fresh air."
Merlin nodded mutely. When the lady had gone, he lingered in the doorway for a few more minutes, just staring almost confused and helpless at the corner. The easel was put away, no canvas in sight. He had no idea what the painting had looked like, but if felt somehow wrong to put the items away. It took him far longer than it should have to cross the room and pick up the nearest thing on the table, the parchment. Like having been burned by the touch, he quickly put it down again.
Was it supposed to be simple, after making a painting, to get rid of it? he wondered. He knew the painting had been sold to some rich merchant, and probably no one but Arthur had actually seen it; maybe the lord and lady, but he wasn't sure, as they weren't allowed into the studio. Was it Arthur who had started putting away the things? Had he also hesitated; was that why half of the items still rested on the table and the wall behind wasn't empty yet?
"I suppose I could begin with the windows," he murmured to himself. It was a bit easier. He wouldn't have to let go of anything. The air outside was crisp and cool, a wonder on his cheeks, and as he polished the glass he glanced down at the street below, the people who liked small and insignificant from this height. They were so many…so many people in this one town. He wondered how many towns there were out there and how many people occupied them, with their own lives and worries and happiness and dreams. Was there anyone else out there, in the same position as him, unsure of what to do, unable to do anything but abide by given orders and comply and not question?
He tried not to think about it.
It took almost two hours to clean the room, and afterwards, it felt so strange and drained that for once, Merlin was glad when he was let out again.