A/N: Thank you to everyone reading, and to those who have put this story on their favorites or alert list! An extra thank you to Sailor Dragonball 87 for the review!
Chapter 27: Hail and Farewell
Two days after Morgana's arrival, Camelot's troops arrived home from the border. The people lined the streets of the city to welcome them, but, despite their victory, their return was not a triumphal one. They had won the battle, it was true, but at a cost that left no one in a mood to celebrate.
There were a few scattered cheers among the crowds as the knights at the front of the procession rode in. It was easy to see who had been in the first wave, and who had been in the second. The knights of the second wave looked, for the most part, relatively unscathed, their armor only somewhat scuffed, their eyes clear and their movements vigorous. Those who had rode out with the first wave, who had fought for too many days without reinforcements, seemed weary, as if they might fall from their horses with exhaustion. Many of the men sported carefully bandaged wounds.
The meager attempts at applause quickly died out altogether, as the procession of living knights was followed by carts carrying the dead. Of these, there were far too many, the bodies wrapped carefully and laid neatly side by side, anonymous in death.
Gorlois' body was set apart from the rest only by the crest of his house laid over his chest. There had been talk at the battlefield of laying their commander in his own cart, apart, honored, but those who knew Gorlois' best had pointed out that that was not how he lived. He had fought side-by-side with his men to the last, and he would want to be carried home alongside them as well.
The procession made its somber way through the streets until it came at last to the castle. As the troops filed into the courtyard, Uther stood on the balcony looking down at them, the scene a dark mirror of their departure some weeks before. Hunith was by his side.
Below them in the courtyard, facing the returning knights, stood a crowd, strangely silent for a group of that size. These were the families of the returning knights- some would welcome their loved ones home with hugs and smiles. Others were here only to take home a body for burial. It was easy enough to see which was which, who scanned the faces of the troops eagerly, and who stood with heads down, or whose eyes were drawn almost against their will to the carts behind the procession.
Uther addressed the returning knights- the survivors- first, welcoming them home and thanking them for their service. Exhausted as they were, the men held their heads high. Uther spoke of their victory, of how because of them Camelot was safe and their borders strong.
Then he turned his gaze from the knights to their families, and his tone became somber and heavy.
"But that victory did not come without cost," he said, and though his words were for all to hear, his gaze sought out one member of the crowd in particular. Morgana stood near the front, Arthur and Merlin by her side. The boys had been meant to stand on the balcony behind Uther and Hunith, a show of unity in the royal family. Morgana had been invited to stand with them as well, but she had refused, saying she would stand with the other families. Hunith had expressed concern at the idea of her standing out there all alone (a concern Uther shared but hadn't voiced) and that was when Merlin had offered to stand with her.
Then, this morning, just as Uther had been preparing to walk out onto the balcony, Arthur had quietly asked permission to go stand with Morgana as well. Now the boys stood on either side of her, and from the balcony, Uther could see that she and Merlin were holding hands.
"As we acknowledge our returning troops, we must also acknowledge those that laid down their lives," Uther continued, "Many good men were lost in this battle, and they will be remembered and honored for their sacrifice. We must take comfort in the knowledge that they did not die in vain. This victory belongs no less to the fallen than to those who have returned to us. Tonight we will feast in their honor, even as we celebrate the safe return of others."
From the crowd below, came the sound of applause, in the silence of the courtyard, the sound echoed in a strangely somber way, unaccompanied by the cheers and shouts that had hailed other less costly victories. At the front of the crowd, Uther noticed Morgana standing quite still, and though it was hard to tell from this distance, she seemed to be staring up at him.
He turned away from the crowd and made his way to the balcony doors. As he entered the privacy of an empty castle hallway, he allowed his shoulders to slump just a little. Never before had he given a victory speech that had come with quite such difficulty. His own words had felt hollow to him. It was all very well to proclaim that the deaths of Camelot's men had not been in vain. It was another matter to remind himself that the Mercian border was important when the loss had struck so close to home.
He had nearly forgotten that Hunith was still by his side until she took his hand.
"I know that wasn't easy for you," she said, "But you did well. Your men needed to hear from you. It's easy to be caught up in grief for the fallen, but those who made it back deserved to be acknowledged as well. And the families of the fallen needed to hear their grief acknowledged.
Uther was silent for several seconds before he answered, "I've given such speeches before," he said at last, "Both victory speeches and speeches intended to provide comfort to the grieving. I should be used to it. But this time, it feels different."
"Of course it does," Hunith's voice was gentle, "You are not accustomed to being one of the grieving. You can rally and bolster your people, but who's there to do the same for you?"
He met her gaze, and the answer seemed obvious enough to him. She had been there at his side from the moment he'd gotten this news. But some remnants of stubborn pride kept him from saying so aloud; to acknowledge the way she had given him strength over these past few days would be to acknowledge that he had lacked that strength in the first place. And despite everything, that was still something he found himself unable to do.
Instead he said simply, "I am not concerned for myself. I will be fine. But I am concerned for Morgana." Since her arrival in Camelot, the girl had barely come out of her room. She had taken all her meals there, though Uther had sent a servant to invite her to join the royal family in their private dining room. Uther had wondered if he should have made the invitation in person, and so he had gone to her room himself to ask her to join them on the balcony today. Her refusal had been polite, but firm, in a way most 10-year-olds wouldn't have known how to be. Uther had wanted to say so much more to her, but had found himself unable to put voice to all that was in his heart.
"I am worried about her too," Hunith admitted, "She is so very young to lose a parent like this. Especially with her mother not around. I think all we can do now is be there for her, the way the boys were today."
"They did well," Uther acknowledged. He had been a bit hesitant when Arthur had asked for permission to join Morgana and Merlin in the crowd. It wasn't the proper way of things. But he was glad Morgana hadn't been alone. Surely that was more important than propriety.
"I want to do what you said," he added, "Be there for Morgana, but I'm not entirely sure how. Comfort has… never quite been my propensity. I don't know what to say.." And Morgana had barely even looked at him since she arrived.
By now, they had reached the doors that would lead out into the courtyard, where families would be claiming the bodies of their fallen loved ones and preparing to take them home.
"Sometimes, you don't have to say anything at all," Hunith told him, "Just your presence can be enough. Like now. She'll know we're there, and that will mean something."
Uther nodded, hoping she was right, "Let's go find the children, then."
The feast was held that night. The last thing Uther felt like doing was celebrating, but it was his duty to be a good host, so he put his own feelings aside. At least very little was really expected of him; he sat up at the head table, gave a brief speech at the beginning of the feast (mostly reiterating what he had said that afternoon) and the servants took care of the rest, keeping the food and wine flowing.
The evening started out unusually quiet. It seemed that the guests, for the most part, shared Uther's less than celebratory mood. But by the third course, wine had begun to loosen their tongues. After a long, hard battle, the soldiers desperately needed to let off some steam. Eventually, the hall rang with voices and even laughter.
Up at the head table, it was a different story. Though Uther was tempted to drown his sorrows in wine, he remembered the scene on Ygraine's birthday and he didn't want to repeat his mistakes of that night. Especially not when Morgana was sitting at the table with them, the first meal she had joined them for since she had arrived in Camelot.
When he and Hunith had arrived in the courtyard that afternoon, they had found Morgana and the boys already with Gorlois' body. Merlin and Arthur were standing back a few feet, looking anxious, like they weren't sure what to do with themselves. They had looked relieved when their parents approached. (Merlin had promptly thrown his arms around Hunith's waist, while Arthur had simply given Uther a nervous nod, which he had responded to by patting his son's shoulder.)
Morgana didn't seem to have noticed their approach at all. She was staring down at her father's body, as still as if she had been turned to stone. Gorlois' face had been uncovered, and Uther could see that someone had taken care to clean him up and close his eyes, as if he were sleeping peacefully.
Remembering Hunith's words about being there for Morgana, Uther had approached her and laid a hand on her shoulder. She had startled at the touch, and wrenched her gaze away from her father.
When she looked up at Uther's face, he saw the surprise in her eyes change to something else, something like anger. The look had startled him into dropping his hand, and Morgana had taken a deliberate step away from him, her eyes returning to her father. The moment had been so brief, that Uther wondered if he had imagined the anger in her eyes, or misinterpreted it.
Whether Morgana's anger (if that was what he had seen) was directed at him or just the world in general, she had made it clear enough how she felt about him touching her, so Uther didn't try to put his hand on Morgana's shoulder again. Instead he stepped closer to pay his respects to his best friend.
Gorlois' arms had been folded over his chest. The shroud wrapping his body covered up the wounds that had killed him, and his sword rested in its sheath. Even his hair and beard had been neatly groomed, rather more neatly than he had kept them in life, except on formal occasions.
Someone looking down at him now could nearly have mistaken him for being asleep, at least someone who did not know him as well as Uther did. He had been on enough hunting trips and overnight patrols with Gorlois to know that his friend snored. He had teased him about it often enough, threatening to throw something at Gorlois' head if he woke him (Gorlois had always insisted that Uther snored too, and that this threat was unfair, since if he made the same threat it would be treason.)
What Uther would give to hear that snoring now, to have Gorlois sit up and laugh, telling him that, as always, he looked far too serious. But there was no life in the empty shell that had once been his friend.
As Uther had bowed his head over the body, he had felt Hunith's arm brush against his. He hadn't looked up to acknowledge her presence, but he had found himself reaching out until he found her hand, and interwove his fingers with hers.
They had stood silently for several minutes. There was so much Uther wished he could say to Gorlois, but what was the point of saying it here? This body wasn't Gorlois, not really. It couldn't hear him. The spirit, the soul, whatever it was that had made his friend Gorlois, was gone.
After a few minutes of silence, Hunith had moved away. He missed her presence, her warmth, almost instantly and raised his head to see that she had approached Morgana. She murmured something quietly and then put her arm around the girl. Unlike when Uther had touched her, Morgana didn't jerk away, instead she seemed to lean into Hunith, all without saying a word.
Watching them, Uther found a strange mix of emotions rising in him. He was glad to see Morgana accept the comfort, she had looked so very alone standing over her father's body… But at the same time, he felt a sense of loss, almost of jealousy. Why had she rejected comfort from him, but accepted it from Hunith? He pushed the feeling away, telling himself firmly that it didn't matter. It only mattered that Morgana knew she wasn't alone, not who stood by her side. Perhaps she simply needed a woman's touch.
Now, sitting at the feast, Uther found himself watching Morgana again. She had chosen a seat next to Merlin, placing her as far away from Uther as was possible without there being a noticeable gap in the table. Remembering the anger in her eyes earlier, he wondered if that had been the intention behind the choice. Then he told himself that he was being ridiculous. Morgana probably simply wanted to sit next to Merlin. The two of them seemed to get along well, not arguing as Morgana and Arthur often did.
Morgana hadn't said a word the entire meal, nor did Uther think she had eaten a single bite of food. As Merlin chattered at her side, she was slowly ripping a hunk of bread into shreds, each piece dropping into a growing mountain on her plate.
As laughter rose from a nearby table, Morgana's mutilation of the bread grew more vigorous, going from precise, steady tears, to aggressively ripping off chunks.
Quite suddenly, she clenched her fist around the remainder of the bread, crushing it into a ball, which she threw down onto her plate as she leapt to her feet. There was no mistaking the fury in her face now.
The table went silent (though none of the guests at the other tables seemed to notice.) Merlin stared up at Morgana with wide eyes.
Uther rose to his own feet more slowly, "Morgana-"
"How can they?" the young girl's voice, low and furious, cut him off, "How can they drink and eat and… and laugh as if everything is all right?"
"I know it seems wrong," Uther began, intending to explain how the men needed this release, how their laughter wasn't meant as disrespect for their fallen comrades, but instead a way of reminding themselves that they were alive. But before he could say any of that, Morgana cut him off again (something he never would have tolerated under different circumstances), turning her furious gaze directly on him.
"You're the worst of them all!" her hands were clenched into fists at her sides, and her face was red, "You sent my father into battle! Him and all the others! You sent them to their deaths while you sat here safe in your castle! And now you sit here eating your feast like nothing happened! It should have been you, not him! I hate you! I hate you!"
Her voice had risen to a shout now. The banquet hall was loud enough that most still took no notice, but those at the nearest tables had stopped eating and were staring up at the head table in shock.
Uther himself could only stare at Morgana, feeling as if he had been struck in the gut. For a moment, he thought she would throw himself at him in her fury, but instead, she turned on her heel and fled the hall, leaving a stunned silence behind her.
Even after she was gone, Uther found himself rooted to the spot, staring after her. It was only when Hunith stood up that he was able to move, and look at her.
Hunith took a step towards the door, then hesitated and looked back at him, stepping back toward him. He could see the worry and indecision in her face, and knew she was wrestling with whether to go after Morgana or stay with him.
"Go," he told her curtly, "She needs someone." And that someone clearly wasn't him. Hunith cast him one last worried look, then hurried after Morgana.
Uther sank back into his seat at the table. He could hear conversation resume at the tables nearby, albeit low and uncomfortable.
At his own table, all was silent. Both Merlin and Arthur were staring at him, Arthur with a bite of food halfway to his mouth.
"You should finish your food before the next course comes," Uther told them curtly, then returned to his own food, hoping that if he pretended nothing had happened, the boys would follow suit.
Hunith didn't return until the final course of the meal had already been served. She slipped into her seat at Uther's side, ruffling Merlin's hair as she sat down.
"Morgana is sleeping now," she said, in answer to Uther's questioning look.
He nodded briskly, "Good." He returned his focus to his plate, as if very interested in the custard tart in front of him. He could feel Hunith's gaze on him, and a moment later, he felt her hand encircle his wrist.
"Morgana is only lashing out because she's hurting," she said quietly.
Uther kept his eyes on his plate, "She hates me. She blames me for Gorlois' death." And perhaps she was right to do so.
"No,," Hunith's grip tightened momentarily on his wrist, "She doesn't hate you. She's looking for someone to blame and you're an easy target, that's all. Try not to take her words to heart. She's young, and she's in too much pain to be rational, right now. Her anger will pass."
"It doesn't matter," Uther said, "All that matters is that she is okay. Whether she is angry at me is irrelevant. She doesn't have to like me. She has you, and the boys." But it did matter, to him. And he wanted more than anything to believe that Hunith was right.
"She'll come around," Hunith murmured, as if she could read his mind, "Just give her time."
Moments later, servants reappeared in the hall to whisk the last remnants of the final course away.
Uther rose heavily to his feet and addressed his guests once more. As people began to trickle out of the hall, it was all he could do not to slump back down in his chair. Today had been a long and terrible day, and he knew tomorrow, the day they laid Gorlois to rest, wouldn't be any better.
He felt a weariness, an exhaustion deep in his bones, and yet, suddenly, the thought of returning to his cold, empty chambers was unbearable.
As Hunith ushered Merlin out of his chair nearby, he turned to her.
"Will you come to my chambers tonight?" he found himself asking, before he had really considered the words.
He could see the surprise in her eyes, and hastened to explain, "I don't mean… I just…. I don't wish to be alone."
Her gaze softened with understanding. "Of course," she murmured, "I just have to tuck Merlin in and get ready for bed, and then I'll join you."
As she walked away, Uther felt the prickling of shame at his own show of weakness. He nearly called her back and told her he had changed his mind. But his loneliness was stronger than his sense of pride.
A/N: Hunith's talk with Morgana will be in the next chapter. I know the last few chapters have been heavy, and the next one will be as well, but I've tried to include some lighter touches here and there, and happier chapters will be coming eventually.
As always, thank you for reading, and I would love to hear your thoughts in a review.
