11. Freya
"My lord, we've received word from King Bayard."
Absent-mindedly, Arthur commanded the messenger, "Proceed."
He stood near the grand windows of the throne room looking out into the castle bailey, where Merlin had just crossed through the gatehouse, Aithusa casually slung across his shoulders. It had become a sort of ritual between them to go out on daily picnics, exclusive only to them. Merlin had been very firm about this when the others had attempted to join in on the fun. Not that Arthur would ever admit to it, but knowing that every single one of the knights had been rejected as well lessened a bit of his own hurt.
When the messenger had completed his report, Arthur said, "Inform Sirs Gwaine and Elyan to make preparations. We will depart at first light."
"Yes, my lord."
"And send word to Merlin," Arthur decided, watching as Merlin disappeared from the courtyard below and into one of the exterior corridors, keenly chatting up one of the serving girls. "Tell him to prepare my hunting gear for the evening."
"Understood, my lord."
With the messenger off and Merlin now out of sight, Arthur finally turned and began heading down to the main square. It wouldn't do for Merlin to slack off, after all.
"What is the rush?" Merlin complained, as they rode out of the city. "I didn't even get around to packing any food. And half your hunting weapons are still back in your chambers."
Arthur dismissed his concerns with a wave of his hand. "I'm the one who decides what we need, Merlin, so quit your bellyaching."
In truth, Arthur's plans for hunting had been a mere ruse to get away from the castle. It had been a week now since he'd accidentally uncovered Aithusa's magic, and in those following days he'd returned to Gaius' chambers, had learned about Morgana, about her sister Morgause, about their mother, Vivienne. Of the three, only Vivienne had willingly renounced her magic. The way he described it, it was as though she had given up her very breath; a most vulnerable and innate part of her. It had eventually lead to a premature death, when Morgana was still but a child.
It was all Gaius had been willing to divulge; to share the truth of the people Arthur had once known. He refused to speak of the countless friends he'd tragically lost in the purge; could hardly bear to remember them. And Arthur would not force his hand. He remembered Lady Vivienne, even as a distant, childhood memory; her memory, and that of Morgana's, was all Arthur needed, to perceive the severe weight of his father's transgressions; to know that, even today, it was he who continued to perpetuate his father's sins.
Tomorrow, they would depart for Amata. But tonight, Arthur had to make amends. Already, he had put it off for far too long.
The sun was low at their backs when they reached the cover of the Darkling Woods, long shadows falling over them, horses slowing their trot to walk over the well-worn trails.
"What is the real reason we're out here?" Merlin finally asked, picking up on Arthur's somber mood.
Arthur worked his jaw, eyes trained firmly ahead. "I wanted to…apologize."
"Apologize," Merlin repeated flatly, voice layered with bewilderment. "You want to…apologize."
Merlin treated it as though it were a foreign word, tongue awkwardly wrapping around it. Finally, "I did not realize you knew the meaning of the word."
"Merlin!" Arthur bit the inside of his cheek before a followup insult could escape this mouth.
"Oh," he said. "You're serious."
"Of course I am, you dolt."
"This apology is off to a great start. Any more insults you wish to add, sire?"
Arthur heaved a sharp sigh. "You're impossible."
"Alright, I'm sorry," Merlin said, still with an edge of disbelief. "It's just…it's you we're speaking of. Forgive me if I suspect sorcery at work."
Arthur grimaced. "Believe me, it's not."
Silence fell once more, except this time, it held the weight of expectation. And suddenly, Arthur couldn't find the words. They caught painfully in his diaphragm, a mixture of shame and regret balling up in his chest.
But then, the memory of Gwen's words echoed between the spaces of his heart, "Whether Freya is Aithusa's mother or not, and I have the sense that she is, Merlin has not forgotten her. I think that if you were to acknowledge her, acknowledge her death, that it would mean a lot to him."
At his command, their horses stilled beneath them.
"I know this is too many years too late," Arthur finally said, voice strangely loud and piercing in the quiet forest. "Gwen told me about Freya." Finally, he turned and caught Merlin's stunned gaze. And with all the weight of remorse in his voice, he said, "I am sorry that you lost her, Merlin. And I am sorry that I was not there for you."
His heart clenched painfully in his chest at the sudden tears trailing down Merlin's cheeks.
"Oh." Merlin's head bowed forward, face hidden in the sleeve of his arm. "Thank you, Arthur."
Arthur reached out and firmly gripped his shoulder in support.
He would never fully understand the far-reaching consequences of his father's actions, but he did not need to; not while Merlin wept openly before him, shoulders trembling. And though Arthur did not entirely understand what he would do in regards to the laws prohibiting the practice of magic, he knew he could not continue to enforce a law which had hurt an entire people; a law which had hurt Merlin.
When Merlin lifted his head at last, his eyes were rimmed red, a stark contrast against his pallid face. "And you werethere, Arthur," he said. "Even if you did not realize it."
The assurance settled warmly in his chest. But still, there was more to be said.
"And if it is true that Freya was Aithusa's mother―"
"What?" Merlin said, startled. "I already told you―"
"We do not…" Arthur dropped his hand, fingers clenching into a fist. "If you do not wish to speak of it, I will respect that. But do not lie to me."
Merlin flinched so sharply, Arthur suddenly felt as though he'd kicked a wounded dog. But before he could say anything more, Merlin sighed dejectedly and turned to redirect his horse. "Follow me."
"What? Merlin!" Arthur quickly gripped the reins and hurried after him. "Where are you going?!"
But Merlin did not hear him or, more likely, ignored him as he guided Hengroen northwest of the woods at quick trot. Fortunately, they did not have to travel far before he finally slowed to a halt and dismounted, hooking the reins over a nearby branch. Arthur rushed to do likewise and caught up as they fought to move through the thick shrubbery.
At last, they broke past a curtain of low-hanging branches and Arthur's breath caught in his lungs.
The dying sunlight was nearly obscured by the mountains in the distance now, the last halcyon rays dancing across the sparkling Lake of Avalon. It painted the waters in shimmering myriads of golds, blues, and pinks.
Merlin stretched his arm forward and gestured towards a spot on the opposite side of the lake. "That was the place I last saw Freya," he said, voice rough with emotion, "before she died in my arms."
His words were a punch to the gut; Arthur felt as though he'd lost all ability to breathe. "Merlin―"
"And I only knew her for a short time before then," Merlin whispered, arm falling back to his side. "So even if I wanted it to be true, she could not possibly be Aithusa's mother. Do you understand now?"
But the truth was, Arthur understood even less. Because if Aithusa had not inherited her magic from Freya, a Druid girl, then who had she inherited it from?
"If Freya wasn't Aithusa's mother," Arthur hedged, "who was?"
Merlin gazed grimly into the darkening horizon, the shadow of nightfall casting sharply upon his features. "I've already told you. Aithusa does not have a mother."
Arthur wanted to scoff, wanted to shake the answer out of him, but the air between them remained fragile. A single misstep and he feared he would shatter it irreparably. And so, Arthur said not another word.
A/N: Bestie drove me out to the mountains to make me write this chapter.
