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Chapter 19: Clearing the Air
After the boys had left, Hunith got up and picked up Merlin's plate. She wasn't sure if anyone would come in to clean this room, so she decided to take it back to the dining room and see if they had cleared away the dishes in there yet.
She expected the dining room to be empty by now, but when she got there, she was surprised to see Uther still sitting at the table. He was slumped in his chair with his head in his hands, looking so weary and sorrowful that any lingering traces of anger Hunith might have felt over the scene earlier faded away.
He didn't seem to have even noticed her presence in the room. She hesitated, wondering if she should just put the plate down and go, but she couldn't bring herself to leave him in this state.
"Uther?" she asked quietly, setting the plate down on the table as she approached him. He jumped in surprise, his head shooting up quickly, then straightened his shoulders and attempted to regain his composure.
"Hunith," he said, slightly stiffly, but otherwise with a passable attempt at sounding normal.
"Arthur told me what today is," she said gently, "That it was Ygraine's birthday."
Uther looked away from her, "Yes. That is correct. I didn't realize Arthur knew."
"He says Gaius told him," Hunith answered, then hesitated, "When he asked why you always acted… differently around this time of year."
Uther was startled into looking back at her. "I didn't realize Arthur had noticed that either," he said gruffly.
Hunith pulled out the chair beside him and sat down, "Children notice more than we give them credit for. He came to find Merlin and I to explain."
"It isn't Arthur's job to make explanations for me," Uther said gruffly, and Hunith wasn't sure if he was upset with Arthur or himself.
I think he was worried about me being angry with you," she responded, "He was trying to keep the peace, in his own way."
Uther grunted. He was silent for a long moment before he looked at Hunith again.
"I… apologize for my behavior earlier," he said stiffly, "I overreacted when your boy pulled the tablecloth. I should not have lost my temper like that." He cleared his throat, "With him or with you."
The apology took Hunith by surprise. Uther was a stubborn man, and she had rarely heard him admit he was wrong, let alone apologize. "I appreciate the apology," she replied, "And I understand now why you've been… short-tempered today. If I had known earlier, I might have been a little more patient myself."
"She would have reacted the same way you did," Uther said suddenly, catching Hunith off guard for a second time.
"Who would have?" Hunith wasn't quite sure what Uther was talking about.
"Ygraine," he looked down, "She wouldn't have tolerated me shouting at a child like that either, least of all her son… our son."
He stared down at the plate that still sat in front of him on the table, but Hunith had the feeling that he wasn't really seeing it, that he was seeing something else entirely.
"I remember the first time we had an argument," his voice had lost its usual gruff edge and taken on a softer tone, "I wasn't used to people telling me I was wrong. I said something like 'Are you contradicting me?' and she looked right into my eyes and said "Yes I am. And you had better get used to it, because it won't be the last time."
Hunith couldn't help but laugh, "I think I would have liked her."
She thought she saw a hint of a smile on Uther's face, "I think she would have liked you too."
"How did you react when she said that?" Hunith asked, remembering his earlier fury at her own admonition, though of course, how he had acted then was not an accurate measure of how he might have reacted at a different time.
"I was astounded," Uther's voice sounded rueful, "No one dared talk to me like that, not since I had become king. Except Gorlois, perhaps. I was too surprised to remain angry. She won that first argument, and it wasn't the last time either," his tone was fond, wistful, something she had never heard from him before.
He lifted his gaze from the plate, meeting Hunith's eyes for the first time since he had started talking about Ygraine, "The truth is, it was one of the things I loved most about her. How she stood up for what she believed was right, that she was never afraid to tell me when I was wrong. Even before I loved her, it was that honesty that first drew me to her, that made me choose her. There were other women who I considered, who would have made eligible matches, but when I spoke to them, it was very clear that they were telling me what they thought I wanted to hear. Ygraine was different. She didn't just give me whatever answers she thought would make her queen. She simply told me that truth. And it was that very honesty that I needed in a queen," a touch of amusement entered his voice, "Even if I wasn't fully prepared for the extent of that honesty."
"It sounds as if she was your perfect match," Hunith said quietly. It was an unexpected revelation, in a way. If you had asked her before what she thought Uther would expect of a wife, she would have said he would want someone who would never argue with his decisions, who would agree with him no matter what. But what he had just told her was the complete opposite, and though it was surprising, it made sense too, that a man as stubborn as he would find his match in a woman who wasn't afraid to challenge him. It may not be what he thought he wanted, but it had been what he needed.
"She was," Uther answered, and she could hear the heaviness in his voice, the grief, "She made me a better king. And challenged me to be a better man."
He bowed his head, "I still feel lost without her sometimes. Especially on days like today. It's as if, in losing her, I lost part of myself, perhaps the best part of myself."
There was a vulnerability in his voice that Hunith had never heard there before. Before she quite knew what she was doing, she had reached out and covered his gloved hand with her own.
For a moment, Uther looked down at her hand covering his in surprise, then he pulled away, as she had fully expected him to do, even as she had acted.
She could almost see his walls going back up, see him retreating behind his mask, as if suddenly realizing he was showing vulnerability.
"You need to talk about it," she said, "Your grief. I know you think you shouldn't, that doing so makes you weak, but you're wrong. Grief isn't weakness, it's just human."
"Being human is a luxury a king can't afford," Uther answered. He shifted in his chair and she could tell he was preparing to rise and leave.
"You're wrong about that too," Hunith put her hand on his arm, this time intending to prevent him from rising. Of course, he could have simply brushed her off, but the touch made him hesitate.
"I know you must appear strong for your people," she said, taking the chance his hesitation had given her, "But no one else is here now, it's just you and me, and I promise, I am not going to think any less of you because you show emotion. Your grief isn't a sign of weakness, it is a sign of the deep love you and Ygraine shared. And that is nothing to be ashamed of."
She could see him wavering, not fully convinced, but considering her words.
"Nothing that you say will ever leave this room," she promised him, "Tonight of all nights, you need someone to talk to; let me be that someone." She raised her eyebrows at him, and let an almost teasing note enter her tone, "Besides, it has to be a better way to deal with your feelings than shouting at everyone all day."
At that, Uther gave a rueful sigh, and slumped back into his chair. "I did apologize for that," he pointed out.
"And I accepted your apology," Hunith responded, "But my point still stands."
He was quiet for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his gaze was fixed somewhere on the far wall, as if he couldn't bring himself to look at Hunith and speak at the same time,
"I feel Ygraine's loss everyday. Most days it is manageable, barely noticeable after so long. But some days… her birthday, our anniversary, the anniversary of… of the day she died. I can't ignore it on those days. It is all I can do to keep it from overwhelming me completely."
Hunith reached out and put her hand over his once more, and this time, he didn't pull away.
"I understand," she said, "I have those days too, days where the loss seems to hit me out of nowhere. Milestones are always difficult, though those days are different for me. Merlin's father and I didn't have an anniversary, of course, and he never told me his birthday. For me, it's often Merlin's milestones. He'll learn something brand-new, and in the midst of my happiness and pride, I'll think 'I wish his father was here to see this.' I'm sure you must have those moments with Arthur too."
Uther still wasn't looking at her, but she saw him nod. "Ygraine wanted to be a mother so badly," he said, "And I know she would have made a wonderful one. She was so… happy when she found out she was with child, so excited. The fact that she never had a chance to raise that child seems the cruelest trick of all."
"It is unfair," Hunith agreed, "For her, for Arthur, and for you." The thought of Arthur led her to recall the conversation she had had with the boy earlier that night. She hesitated. The last thing she wanted right now was to burden Uther more when he was already so clearly struggling, but this was something he needed to be aware of.
She chose her next words carefully, "When Arthur told me that today was his mother's birthday, he said something else, something that concerned me,"
Uther sat up straighter, and now he turned to face her, "Concerned you how?"
Hunith drew in a deep breath, "He said that if he hadn't been born, his mother would still be here. That…. maybe then you would be happy, instead of sad and angry."
Uther looked stricken, and his face seemed to grow a shade paler in the torchlight, "Arthur said that?"
Hunith nodded, "I'm afraid that part of him feels like he bears responsibility for his mother's death. I told him that it wasn't his fault, of course, that no one would ever blame him, but I'm not certain if I fully got through to him."
Now Uther looked like he might be sick, "Do you think Arthur believes I blame him? Surely he knows that isn't true. I have never… I would never lead him to believe that it is his fault."
"Children don't always see things clearly," Hunith said, "I don't think it's anything you said or did that gave him that perception, but I do think hearing that he isn't to blame from you would have a great deal more weight than hearing it from me."
Uther shook his head, not as if disagreeing with Hunith, rather, the motion seemed to be one of pure shock, "He has never said anything like that to me. I never knew, never imagined…"
He cleared his throat, making a visible effort to pull himself together, "I will talk to him first thing in the morning. I will make it clear that he bears no responsibility for this."
"I think that would help him a lot," Hunith replied.
"Thank you for bringing this to my attention," Uther said, meeting Hunith's gaze again. He hesitated, "Did… did Arthur say anything else regarding his mother? Or me?"
"Just that you had never really spoken about her to him," Hunith replied.
Uther frowned, looking away again, "It is… difficult for me to speak of Ygraine. Particularly to Arthur. I do not know what to say, or how to say it. And, it…"
He trailed off, but Hunith finished his sentence for him, "It hurts too much. I struggled with that too, with Merlin, with telling him about his father. But he asked me about him one day, and I knew he deserved to know."
Uther gave a heavy sigh, "If she were here, if I were the one who had died, I am sure Ygraine would do a much better job at all of this. She would know how to speak to him, she always seemed to know the right thing to say. She would never have let him believe for a moment that any of it was his fault."
"You can't blame yourself for that," Hunith said gently, tightening her hand over his briefly, "You didn't know, you couldn't have predicted the way a child's mind would reason."
"But I should have known," Uther answered heavily, "Arthur never came to me. He has only known you for a few months and he told you, but he never confided in me. I still would have no idea, if you hadn't told me."
"You can't change the past," Hunith reminded him, "And dwelling on it won't do you or Arthur any good. The only thing you can change is the future. Now you do know, and so you can do something about it."
Uther nodded slowly. "Thank you," he said, "For telling me about Arthur. And… for everything else, tonight. I wouldn't have thought you would even want to talk to me after the way I behaved earlier"
Hunith smiled. "Well, I am very gracious," she teased, and saw Uther roll his eyes.
"Truly though," she said more seriously, "I am here to listen if you would like to talk more."
Uther shook his head, "Thank you, but no. I've already talked about Ygraine more tonight than I have in years. I don't think I have anymore in me."
He hesitated, and she could see in his face that there was some kind of battle going on in his head, whether to be open, or whether to withdraw.
"But… perhaps, you could just… sit with me," he said at last, once again looking at the wall instead of her, "I find that I don't wish to be alone tonight, not yet, at least."
Hunith settled back in her chair, leaving her hand on his, "That I can certainly do."
Uther got very little sleep that night. He wasn't sure how long he sat in the empty dining room with Hunith, neither of them talking. When they finally did part ways and he went to bed, his mind was filled with thoughts of what she had told him about Arthur. Did his son really blame himself for Ygraine's death? Did he truly imagine Uther would be happier if he had never been born?
Uther could barely stand the thought. How long had Arthur felt this way? Why had he never come to him? The weight of the guilt and the feeling that he had failed his son was as crushing as the grief that he had carried with him all day.
He thought of what Hunith had said, about how he couldn't change the past, only the future. He had told her he would talk to Arthur in the morning. He knew he must, knew it was crucial to make it abundantly clear to his son that he had never and would never blame him for his mother's death. But when the time came, would he be able to find the right words to reassure Arthur? For the hundredth time that day, Uther wished that Ygraine were here. She would have known what to say. But of course, if she were here, nothing would need to have been said.
He rose at dawn after a restless night. When his manservant brought his breakfast, he ate quickly, then ordered the man to cancel all his meetings for today and ready his horse. The servant looked surprised, but he did not question his king. He never had, in all the years he had served Uther.
Uther still had no clear idea of what he was going to say to his son, but he knew he could not delay. He hoped taking Arthur for a ride might make things easier. Emotions had never been his forte, but having something else to occupy them might make this conversation less difficult, or so he hoped.
He walked down the hall toward Arthur's room, knowing his son would be up by now, and hoping to catch him before he left for lessons, or training, or whatever else he might have planned for the day.
He found Arthur still eating his breakfast. The boy looked up in surprise when Uther entered the room, "Father? What are you doing here?"
"I thought you might like to go for a ride today," Uther answered carefully.
"Now?" Arthur asked, surprised.
"When you've finished your breakfast," Uther responded.
"But what about my lessons?" Arthur asked, "I'm supposed to go to my tutor today."
"You may skip your lessons today," Uther responded.
"Really?" Arthur looked amazed now. Uther had always been firm with him about the importance of attending his lessons, but today he knew that talking to Arthur was more important.
"Really," Uther responded, "When you are done eating, find someone to pass the message along to your tutor, and then meet me at the stables."
"Yes, Father," Arthur still looked confused, but he didn't ask any more questions, perhaps worried that if he did, Uther would change his mind.
Half an hour or so later, they were riding out of the city gates. Arthur was boisterous, giddy about getting to skip his lessons to go on this unexpected ride. Uther was glad to see him in a good mood, but it only made the prospect of what he had to discuss with Arthur even more unpleasant. Briefly, he wondered to himself if it was necessary. Arthur seemed happy; perhaps Hunith had misinterpreted what he had said to her the night before. Or maybe her reassurances had been enough to set his mind at ease. Why bring up something that might upset him?
But what if it hadn't been enough? Arthur was happy now, but what if his doubts still lingered under the surface? Uther knew that he couldn't let the matter rest until he knew for certain that his son was okay.
He had been letting Arthur ride ahead of him, watching his son spur his horse into short bursts of speed, shouting with exhilaration, while he kept his own steed going at a steady rate.
Now however, he called to Arthur, some distance ahead, to slow down, while at the same time spurring his own horse on a little faster to keep up.
Arthur looked at him curiously when he had caught up and brought his horse in to ride side by side with his son's.
"Is it time to go back already?" the boy asked, looking slightly crestfallen.
Uther shook his head, "No." He braced himself, reminding himself that he was a king, a warrior; he had faced far worse than a conversation with his son.
"There is something that I need to speak to you about," he explained.
"Is that why you took me riding today?" Arthur asked, and Uther could almost see the realization dawning on his face, "And let me skip my lessons?"
"It is," Uther confessed, "I thought it might be… easier to talk out here." He wasn't sure how to explain that he had felt the need to be doing something, instead of just talking.
Arthur looked slightly worried now, "What do you need to talk to me about, Father?" Uther could almost see his mind working, "Last time you said that, you told me you were getting married. Is Hunith going to have a baby or something?"
Uther shook his head, "No, it is nothing like that." He glanced at his son, wondering if the answer would make him relieved or disappointed. It might give him a clue as to how Arthur would react if Hunith did become pregnant. But he couldn't tell from Arthur's expression how he felt about the notion of a baby, the boy merely looked curious.
"What is it then, Father?" he asked, but Uther found that he couldn't answer right away.
They rode on in silence for a few minutes. Uther could feel Arthur almost vibrating with curiosity next to him, but the boy didn't ask again, perhaps concerned Uther would get cross if he pressed. Uther felt a pang of guilt, wondering if his temper yesterday had scared his son.
"Hunith and I spoke last night," he said finally.
Arthur looked up at him, "You mean… after… after supper?" he asked hesitantly.
Uther nodded once, "Yes. She told me that she had had a talk with you about your mother."
Arthur looked worried, "Are you angry that I told her it was my mother's birthday? Was that wrong? I'm sorry, Father, I just… I thought if she understood what yesterday was, then she wouldn't be so angry with you."
Uther held up a hand, "Arthur, stop. I'm not angry about you telling Hunith yesterday was your mother's birthday," he paused, "Though in the future, if Hunith and I argue, I do not want you to take it upon yourself to make peace. We will sort things out among ourselves."
"Yes, Father," Arthur said quietly, and Uther could tell that despite his words, he was still worried Uther was angry. He felt another stab of guilt.
"That isn't what I wanted to talk to you about, however," he continued, "Hunith told me about your conversation. She said that you said-" he broke off, finding himself unable to repeat the words, as he looked down into his son's anxious, confused face.
He looked away, hoping focusing on the trail ahead would make it easier to say what he needed to say. "Arthur, you know that your mother's death was not your fault, don't you?"
Arthur didn't answer right away, and when the silence had stretched for such a length that Uther couldn't stand it anymore, he looked at his son. Arthur was the one avoiding his gaze now, staring at his horse's neck.
"That's what Hunith told me," he answered, his voice very quiet. It wasn't the affirmation Uther had hoped to hear, and he felt his heart squeeze.
"Hunith is right." When Arthur didn't respond, Uther pulled back on his horse's reins to bring it to a stop. It seemed to take a moment for Arthur to register that Uther wasn't riding beside him anymore and then he did the same, glancing back questioningly.
Uther nudged his horse forward to close the tiny distance, so they were side by side once again. Arthur had returned his gaze to the horse's neck.
"Arthur, look at me," Uther said firmly.
Arthur raised his eyes slowly, and the expression on his face was enough to clamp a vice around Uther's heart once again. He could see the confusion there, the doubt, and most crushingly of all, the guilt, a guilt that should never have been his to feel.
"She died because of me," he whispered, before Uther could speak again, "Because I was born. It's all right, Father. I know that it's true."
For a moment, Uther couldn't speak. He felt as if something large was caught in his throat, the weight of his own grief and guilt bearing down on him. Arthur dropped his gaze, as if taking Uther's silence as confirmation, and that was enough to loosen Uther''s tongue.
"No, Arthur," he said, putting all the conviction that he could muster into his voice, "It is not true." His tone came out sharper than he had intended, and Arthur was startled into looking up at him again.
Uther made an effort to soften his voice. He needed Arthur to know he wasn't angry with him- no, any anger Uther felt was reserved for himself.
"It is not true," he repeated again, more gently, "You are not to blame. Your mother's death was-"
For a moment, he struggled with what to say next. It was the result of magic, he had been about to say, but if he did so, Arthur would ask questions. Questions Uther wasn't prepared to answer, now or ever. Your mother's death was my fault, some tiny part of him whispered, but Uther couldn't bring himself to say that either.
"It was a tragedy," he said at last, "But it was not your fault. And if I ever once made you feel as if it was, then I am truly sorry."
He swung himself down off his horse, dropping the reigns without bothering to secure them to a tree, and approached Arthur. He lifted the boy down from the horse and set him on the ground, so he could put his hands on his son's shoulders, "You are not the reason she is gone," he said, unable to keep the emotion from thickening his voice, "You are all that I have left of her. You are the one thing that matters to me in this world, Arthur."
Arthur drew in a breath, and Uther could hear the shakiness in it. "Really?" his voice trembled with unshed tears.
Ordinarily, Uther would have scolded his son for crying, reminded him that as a prince he must learn to avoid such displays of emotion, but it was the last thing he would dream of doing now. How could he expect Arthur to contain his emotion when he himself could not?
"Really," he answered firmly, "there is nothing more important to me than you are, my son."
Arthur's arms latched around Uther, and he buried his face in his father's chest, shoulders shaking. Uther couldn't remember the last time his son had done such a thing, if he ever had at all. He wrapped his own arms around his son and held him, not speaking. Now was not a time for words.
At last, Arthur pulled back. His face was tearstained, but his eyes were clear. The look of guilt and doubt had vanished, and Uther felt the tightness in his own chest loosen. It was as if he could breathe again for the first time since Hunith had told him of Arthur's words the night before.
"Am I really like her?" he asked quietly, "Hunith said you told her that… you saw my mother in me every day."
"And so I do," Uther said quietly, looking down into those familiar blue eyes, "A piece of your mother lives on in you."
Arthur smiled tentatively. "I think… I like the idea of that," he said slowly.
Uther squeezed his shoulder briefly. Now that Arthur was okay, he could feel his own usual discomfort with displays of emotion returning. He remembered what Hunith had said about Arthur telling her he never talked about Ygraine. Perhaps someday he could find the words to tell his son about his mother, about who she had been, to detail how Arthur was like her. But not today; he didn't think he had the energy for such a conversation in him today.
"Come," he said, picking up the reins of his horse again and mounting in one motion, "We have time to ride for a bit longer before we go back to the castle."
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