Chapter XXIII: For Now

They looked so alike, her dragonlord and their son. Now that she could see them standing together, face to face for the first time, Hunith could see the resemblance more easily than ever. Same sharp features, same long faces, even the same expressions of wary hope.

Merlin was the first to speak. No surprise there—he'd always been a chatty one. "My father?" he repeated, looking from Hunith to Balinor with enormous eyes. "He's really…. You're really my father?"

"So they tell me," Balinor managed. His voice was hoarse, thick, ragged.

"They being Mother and Kilgharrah?"

"Yes."

They fell silent to gaze at one another, probably searching for traits that they shared. Or maybe they were just drinking in the sight, etching it into their memories. Hunith certainly was.

Merlin opened his mouth, closed it, swallowed. "I've never had a father before," he said quietly.

"And I've never had a son," Balinor replied. He flinched. "Not one that I've known, anyways." His shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Merlin was surprised. "For what?"

"Everything." Balinor gave a helpless little shrug. "Not knowing. Not being there. Leaving you and your mother alone."

"Not leading Uther's men to Ealdor," Merlin interjected.

"I lost them years ago," Balinor confessed. "I'd lost them and I knew I'd lost them, but I still didn't go to you."

"You were trying to keep us safe," Hunith reminded him. "Well, me, at least, and you told me that you thought I had married someone else. 'A clean break,' you told me. 'Forget me. I'll cause you naught but pain.' You honestly thought that staying away was the best thing to do." She took his hand, gave it a little squeeze. "How could either of us fault you for doing what you genuinely thought was the right thing?"

"I don't," Merlin assured him. "I, I admit that there were times when it was a bit difficult, growing up without a father, but I always knew that you were trying to keep Mother safe, so I never resented you for it." He paused a moment. "Father." An almost shy smile flitted across his face. "Father. I've never called anyone that."

"You can now, if you want to," Balinor said.

"Why wouldn't I want to?"

Balinor didn't answer, but his expression said volumes.

Hunith's heart nearly broke to see him so sad, so guilty. She pulled him forward, toward their son. He looked at her with a question in his eyes, but she just silently shook her head, gave another tug. Her dragonlord obediently followed as she led him over to Merlin.

Their son had an idea of what his mother intended. He shifted his weight, looked at her as though asking permission. Hunith just smiled a sad sweet smile and pushed Balinor to stand at Merlin's side. Then she wrapped her arms around them both.

Hunith was a small woman. In order to embrace her lover and her son at the same time, she had to draw them together until their sides touched. They leaned into her. Merlin extended his arms, reached for his mother's shoulders. She frowned at him, shook her head. Her son understood. The arm farther from Balinor wrapped around Hunith's slight frame, but the other arm, the one closer to the dragonlord, hovered in midair. He looked at his father, head cocked, eyes beseeching.

And Balinor grabbed them both, crushing the three of them together. He buried his face in Hunith's shoulder; she could feel his hot tears through the fabric of her dress. She rubbed his back, murmured sweet nothings to them both. "It's okay, it's okay…."

"Yes," Merlin agreed. "Yes, it is."

He had a father.

Merlin wanted to shout it from the rooftops, tell everyone he knew and everyone he didn't. He wanted to stay in the forest with Kilgharrah and both his parents—both!—and talk and laugh and cry and get to know the man he'd missed his entire life.

Yet here he was, dragging a recalcitrant princeling out of bed.

The warlock hadn't slept at all last night. His parents (parents! Plural!) had stayed with him until dawn, when Kilgharrah's departure had reminded them that their son had things to do in the day. They had left then, ordering him to get a couple hours of sleep before work, but he hadn't been able to actually do that. Lightning surged through his veins, energizing him, making him twitch.

Now, though, he was beginning to feel the lack of shuteye. Funny how proximity to Arthur seemed to trigger that.

"Will you quit that?" the prince in question demanded.

"Quit what?" Merlin asked, yawning.

Arthur tried to speak, but a yawn escaped his throat instead. He scowled. "Yawning!"

"I'd love to quit yawning, but I don't think it works that way." Merlin yawned again.

Arthur scowled at him, but the effect was rather ruined by another yawn escaping his mouth. "Merlin!"

"Sorry," the servant mumbled.

"Can't you get Gaius to make you something for your blasted insomnia?" he demanded.

Merlin flushed. Insomnia might make a convenient excuse for his nighttime excursions, but he really didn't want to have to scarf down some disgusting concoction just to placate Arthur. "We've tried," he said.

"Try again."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Yes, sire."

"How do you make even that sound insulting?"

"I've had lots of practice." A smirk. "Sire."

Arthur just glared at him. "Go get my breakfast."

"Siiiire." Merlin bowed ridiculously low as he backed out of the room. Just as he turned around, another yawn escaped his throat. No doubt Arthur would yawn in response. The thought made him chuckle, but soon, the laughter faded into a pensive frown, for he had a choice to make.

Arthur or Balinor. Magic or family.

Except, he mused, trotting towards the kitchens, it wasn't a choice he had to make as much as a choice he had to admit to. He knew in his bones what he would do, what he had to do. It was just regret and wistful thinking that deluded him into half-believing that there was a decision to make between two options that he could actually live with. But no.

Perhaps… perhaps, had Balinor arrived before his sojourn in the druid camp, perhaps then he would—could—do something different. Perhaps not, for Edwin Muirden had died months ago and Merlin had made a promise then, a promise he would keep if it killed him.

He had to stay in Camelot.

Part of him—not all of him, but a huge part—wanted to go back home, to get to know his father, to see his mother smile. He wanted to leave the fear behind (except that was impossible, wasn't it?) and see Will and explore the caves and visit the familiar sites of his childhood. He wanted a way of supporting himself that didn't involve emptying chamber pots.

But he wanted to free magic even more, and he couldn't do that from Ealdor.

Back in the village where he had grown up, he would be just another farm boy. An odd one, yes, and a bastard at that, but still another face in the crowd, another life that, while it would affect those around him, wouldn't change the world. In the long run, his existence would be interchangeable with that of any other farmer or villager: different in its details, yes, but exactly the same in terms of what he had accomplished, the footprints he left behind.

The problem was, Merlin had just essentially promised to leave behind some pretty big footprints. The magical counterattack (for lack of a better term) was his idea, and people were doing it on his orders. They were doing it for him. How could he go back to Ealdor and abandon them?

And that wasn't even taking any other factors into consideration. Arthur and Gwen and even Morgana were his friends, and they were here in Camelot as well. Arthur was in pretty much constant danger and needed Merlin's protection, even if he refused to admit it. Even Nimueh was a reason to stay behind, for she would kill every innocent in Camelot if it would hurt Uther.

So he had to stay, simply because Ealdor didn't need him like Camelot did.

But how was he supposed to tell this to his parents?

The question haunted him as the day went on. He ran through a thousand different scenarios, wishing with all his heart that he knew his father better, that he could actually predict Balinor's reaction. His mother would understand, he knew, for she had always been gifted with a rare clarity of vision. It would break her heart, but she would understand. Perhaps she already knew that Merlin would choose to stay in Camelot. Balinor, though….

Arthur noticed his manservant's turmoil, and he tried to help in the only way he knew how: by putting a wooden practice sword in Merlin's hand and making him thwack a training dummy until his arms were numb. Supposedly, it would let him work out his frustrations. It really just gave him blisters and more time to think.

"Have you considered using a different weapon for him?"

Leon's voice startled Merlin out of his reverie. The servant paused, lowered his wooden blade.

"I didn't say you could stop, Merlin," Arthur said.

"You didn't say I couldn't," Merlin retorted. By now, the backtalk was automatic. "What do you mean, Leon?"

"I mean that you could probably become a decent swordsman, given enough time and practice—"

"Which I'm not going to get, because I serve a filthy pig-man."

Leon's lips twitched. "—but you're probably much better suited for something else."

Arthur tilted his head as though sizing his manservant up. "He's too scrawny for a hammer, axe, or mace," the prince noted.

"I'm also right here, you know."

"Did you use any weapons back in your village?"

"Just my fists, when people decided to beat me up."

"That's not true," Arthur corrected, a somewhat terrifying gleam entering his eyes. "Didn't you use sticks as well?"

"The quarterstaff?" Leon asked.

"No, just sticks," Merlin told him.

"He means for in the future, you dolt," Arthur said.

"Oh." Merlin thought of the staff he'd taken from Aulfric. He didn't think that it was meant for something so…physical.

Leon was grinning now. "Yes, let's try out the quarterstaff, shall we? People always underestimate staves, and they underestimate servants as well."

Arthur was horrified. "Are you implying that I need this idiot to protect me?"

"You do," Merlin told him.

Leon's grin faded. "I think," he said, dead serious, "that you shouldn't let Merlin's loyalty go to waste. If he's going to accompany you on your quests, then maybe it's best to make him your secret weapon."

"Don't be ridiculous. Merlin can't keep secrets."

"Or maybe I'm just so good at keeping them that you haven't realized that I have any."

Arthur laughed. "I suppose a stave will make him stop complaining about pointy things."

"Only if you put your pointy things away."

"Shall we give it a try?" Leon cut in, nipping the banter in the bud. Enjoyable as it was to listen to them, they did tend to take up a great deal of time once they got started.

Merlin shrugged. "I suppose." The knights looked at him expectantly. The servant frowned. "What? I just said I'll give it a try."

"Merlin," Arthur said, speaking slowly and clearly, "do you see any quarterstaffs?"

"Well, no."

"Then perhaps you would like to get one, as you are the servant and fetching things is part of your job."

"Really? And here I thought that I was a fencing—er, staving—student."

Arthur glared.

"Fine, fine," Merlin sighed, trotting away to fetch a quarterstaff.

They spent the rest of the day in the training field, forcing Merlin's exhausted body through maneuvers and feints and parries. Much to his own surprise, he wasn't half-bad with the stave. It was certainly a better fit than, say, a mace. Even Arthur had declared him 'tolerable enough, for an idiot with no experience.'

Merlin had responded by brandishing his staff at him.

By the time the training session was done, dinner was eaten, and Arthur had been put to bed, Merln's eyelids were rebelling against him. He very badly wanted to indulge them, go to bed and actually sleep, but his parents (two of them!) were waiting in the woods, and he had to have a thoroughly unpleasant discussion with them.

That was another reason that sleep sounded so tempting.

But no. He trudged through Kilgharrah's old cave, made his way over to his family. Hunith immediately pulled him into a hug, kissed the top of his head. Balinor remained where he stood, watching with a fond smile. Merlin smiled back, but his smile degenerated into a yawn. Hunith and Balinor yawned in response.

"Sorry about that," their son mumbled. "It's been a long day babysitting the prat, and I haven't had a chance to sleep yet."

"Perhaps you can catch up later," Balinor suggested.

Merlin swallowed, looked away. He wasn't tired anymore, just nervous. "It will take awhile, though, because I'm staying in Camelot."

Balinor blinked at him.

"I'm staying," Merlin repeated, forcing the words past the lump in his throat. "In Camelot, I mean. I'm staying here."

Balinor said nothing, just stared.

Merlin couldn't look at him anymore. He lowered his gaze to stare at his shuffling feet. "I told you about the druids, about what they're going to do with me. For me, even. I can't just let them… and Arthur, I think I'm getting through to Arthur, and he's going to be king one day and maybe he'll set us free, but I don't know if he will unless I'm here to guide him and keep him alive, because there's been a truly ridiculous amount of attempts on his life just since I've gotten here and I'm not sure how he's survived this long. But this is something I have to do, Father, Mother, and I'm sorry, but I just can't—"

"I understand," Balinor said quietly.

"What?"

"I understand," the dragonlord repeated, soft and sad and something else, something Merlin couldn't name. "You're a fighter. A dragon." He forced a smile. "You will… you'll write, yes?"

"Of course," Merlin choked out. "I write to Mother all the time."

"Good, good."

"It isn't you," the warlock blurted. "I wish I could, because I want to get to know you and have a father and see you and Mother together, but—but this is something I have to do. It just is."

"We understand, Merlin," his mother said, gathering her boy into her arms. Merlin buried his face in her kerchief and tried to pretend that he wasn't crying. "Do you have any idea how proud of you I am?"

That just made his tears flow faster, his shoulders start to shake. Tiny choking noises escaped his throat.

"As am I," Balinor agreed. Hesitant, uncertain, he closed in on his love and their son. Strong arms wrapped around them. "I'm very proud of you, Merlin."

The warlock lost it completely. He was sobbing now, his tears soaking Hunith's kerchief and the hair beneath it, trembling like a leaf in the wind. Neither parent commented, perhaps because their eyes were also filled with liquid sorrow.

They made the most of the night, talking and talking and talking some more, but Merlin's lack of sleep took its toll. He found it harder and harder to stay awake, resorted to pacing and standing just to keep his eyes open. But though he put up a good fight, he couldn't remain awake forever.

One moment, or so it seemed, he was yawning in the forest, listening to Balinor talk about his cave. The next, Gaius was shaking him awake.

"Huh?" Merlin asked, blinking grime from his eyes. "Gaius?"

"Your father brought you back," the physician explained. "He asked me to wake you about an hour before you need to go get Arthur."

"Why'd he do that?" the warlock asked, his head still fuzzy.

Gaius's eyes were sad. "Because he and Hunith have to leave today, and they wanted to say goodbye."

Merlin was out the door almost before his mentor had finished.

Sure enough, Hunith and Balinor were waiting for him at the mouth of the cave. Merlin embraced them, then said, "Sorry for falling asleep on you."

"You were exhausted," his mother reminded him. "You probably still are."

"I wanted to see you again."

"And so you have." Hunith's eyes gleamed.

"So you're both going to Ealdor?"

"Yes," Balinor confirmed. "Like I should have long ago."

"Good," Merlin said, ignoring his father's self-recrimination. "That way it'll be easier to stay in touch. Which I will," he hastened to add. "I think that a letter every week is reasonable, right? And remember how I told you that the druids have left me a tutor? As soon as I can, I'm going to ask Blaise to teach me that whirlwind spell where you disappear and show up someplace else."

"Teleportation is difficult, but I have no doubt that you'll master it quickly," Balinor told him. "You have a gift, Merlin. Use it well."

"I'll try, Father."

They lingered in silence, for there was nothing else to say. They'd spent the last night talking, not to mention the night before that, and for now, at least, their words were all used up.

"I suppose this is goodbye," Hunith finally sighed. She looked up, eyes hardening. "No. It is goodbye for now."

Merlin smiled. "For now."

So, technically, it's still April 16 in my time zone. That means I'm not late, right? Just almost late.

Hopefully the end doesn't feel rushed. It probably does, but... I had some trouble writing this, and wanted to get it up on time. Maybe I'll edit it one day, fill it out a bit, though I won't make any changes to plot or anything.

Next chapter: We meet Blaise, an unpleasant character arrives in Camelot, and Morgana starts getting worried. See you on May 7!

Alternative chapter title: "Wherein Yawning is Obnoxiously Contagious"

-Antares