Fic: Night and Light and the Half Light 1/2 [Merlin/Arthur, PG]
Finished, hurrah :)
Title: Night and Light and the Half Light
Author: The Moonmoth
Rating: PG
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur, pre-slash
Words: ~13,000
Spoilers: general for season 1, set during and after 1.13 “Le Morte d’Arthur”
Summary: “Arthur doesn’t know,” Morgana said, too quickly, and for some reason Arthur felt as though the bottom had just dropped out of his stomach.
A/N: My first Merlin fic, and also the first thing I’ve written in a couple of years (wibble wibble), inspired by wondering how Merlin was going to explain his absences from Camelot in “Le Morte d’Arthur”. The scenery towards the end is based on Bradgate Park, in Leicestershire. All feedback is appreciated, and concrit is welcome. Many, many thanks to rivier for magnificent beta work, and for inspiring the title.
Night and Light and the Half Light
by The Moonmoth
*
Arthur stared into the fire and considered Merlin. So many people had been in and out of his chambers since the previous evening that he’d only really realised that Merlin hadn’t been one of them when his manservant had slipped through the door like a quiet apology a few moments ago. He supposed he’d just assumed that Merlin was helping Gaius, but thinking about it now, it did seem a little odd. Not that Merlin and the word ‘normal’ ever seemed to be in company, but there had been something about him this evening. Arthur was exhausted and sore and more than a little woolly-headed from the mixture of medicines and wine that Gaius had given him to dull the pain, but he realised now that he couldn’t remember who had dressed him that morning. He’d just assumed Merlin would be there to take care of him in his clumsy, half-witted way, but maybe he hadn’t been, after all.
Arthur frowned and picked up his wine again.
Merlin had said... he had seemed... he’d been subdued, upset about something, it seemed. And yet it wasn’t so much what Merlin had said that had unsettled him which, yes, had been somewhat unexpected but certainly not beyond the usual bounds of Merlin’s impertinence. Rather, it was the look on his face, as though, as though...
Arthur yawned and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his good hand. Glancing over his shoulder he winced both at the sharp pain this caused to shoot down his chest and arm, and at how far away the bed seemed to be. Forget Merlin for now - he was pretty upset about a few things himself, like not being able to move from bed to chair and back again without assistance. On balance, yes, he was rather glad that he hadn’t died; he just wasn’t sure whether he fully qualified as ‘alive’ yet.
He was contemplating whether it would take more energy to shout for someone to drag Merlin back or to just attempt to propel himself the distance when his father appeared at the door and, to Arthur’s very great surprise, supported Arthur across the room and helped him get ready for bed.
*
Arthur dreamed of Merlin, wearing Bishop’s robes and placing a crown on Arthur’s head. He said, you must learn to listen as well as you fight, and the words rang out through the great hall, echoes merging like pealing bells.
*
The next day Arthur awoke late to an empty room. A boy from the kitchens brought Arthur his breakfast, and when Merlin still hadn’t appeared by the time the dishes were being cleared away, Arthur sighed and instructed the boy to go and find him. It was close to midday when Sir Kay’s manservant appeared to help him bathe and dress, apologising that the kitchen boy had been unable to find Arthur’s own manservant. A growing sense of unease sat in the pit of his stomach throughout the afternoon, filled again with visits from his father and the well-wishers of the court, and an assortment of servants, but no Merlin. Arthur considered whether he had the energy to work up a good stink about it.
It was only when the light was fading from the sky and he was sitting watching a maid make up the fire that he realised he also had not seen Gaius today. The servants had kept him supplied with various potions, but the wound continued to bleed a little and the dressing needed to be changed. Well, he was sure Gaius would be along before too long, and then he could ask him about Merlin, as well. And if it turned out the idiot had simply got lost looking for herbs for the physician, or something stupid like that... Arthur drifted in a pleasantly hazy state as the fire began to get going, imagining the many and creative ways to make Merlin regret his negligence.
*
He woke up in his bed to pain in his shoulder and a soft voice soothing his groans as gentle hands bathed his wound.
“Guinevere?” he asked, eyelids too heavy to lift.
“Yes, Sire.”
“What happened to Gaius?” There was no reply and Arthur forced his eyes to open, squinting against the candlelight. Gwen was frowning slightly as she wrung out a cloth.
“He sends his apologies,” she replied a moment later.
Arthur let his head fall back onto the pillow, disgruntled. “What, if I may ask, is more important than the health of the Crown Prince who, if anyone remembers, nearly died quite recently? And while we’re at it, where the hell is Merlin?” he meant to say, but the sharp words died on his tongue as he squinted up at Gwen because, well, she was Gwen, and whatever had happened, it wasn’t her fault.
“What time is it?” he asked instead.
“Past midnight.”
“Then you should get some rest.”
“Oh, don’t worry about me,” she said, smiling for the first time, and pulled the knot in his bandages tight. “All done. Sleep well, Sire.”
Almost against his will, he did.
*
Arthur awoke with a start, his heart hammering from a dream that skittered away as he tried to remember it, the only image remaining that of Merlin’s face, pale and drawn and eyes bright as he told Arthur, Just... don’t be a prat.
It wasn’t yet morning, the sky outside the window barely beginning to turn darkest blue from black, but Arthur swung his legs out of the bed and pulled on britches, boots, a long coat. Enough was enough - lighting a candle from the fire’s embers, he forced his legs to carry him towards Gaius’s chambers.
*
He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, exactly - a squad of his knights grievously wounded, perhaps, or a pox in the lower town. He was certain, however, that what he had not expected to see was Gwen asleep in a chair by Merlin’s bed, and Merlin’s mother, moaning softly in her sleep, breath rattling and looking horribly, horribly ill.
“Hunith!”
Gwen startled awake, looking confused for a moment before hurriedly tucking something into her pocket and standing to curtsey.
“What are you doing here, Sire?”
Arthur looked between Gwen, dark rings under her eyes, and the terrible welts marring Hunith’s skin, and felt the sense of unease unfurl a little further in his stomach.
“Tell me,” he said, “what is going on. Where are Merlin and Gaius?”
Gwen looked for a moment like she might want to cry, but her voice was steady when she replied, “I don’t know, Sire. Hunith arrived the morning after you recovered, like this. I’ve been helping Merlin and Gaius care for her, but then I got a letter yesterday from Gaius, saying he had had to leave Camelot urgently. He left me instructions for your care because he said Merlin would be too preoccupied looking after his mother, but I haven’t seen him either, not since Gaius left.”
“Where have they gone?” Arthur demanded.
Gwen’s eyes flicked to his face and then quickly away. “I don’t know,” she said.
“Gwen, what is it?”
For a moment, she looked troubled, then she brushed a strand of hair from her forehead and seemed to deflate a little. “Nothing, Sire. I’m sure, I’m sure it’s important, whatever it is.”
“Guinevere,” Arthur said, more gently this time, taking her shoulder in his good hand. “Go and get some sleep, in your bed,” he added, when she looked like she might protest. “I’ve had enough rest the last few days, I can look after Hunith for a few hours.”
“Are you sure?” Gwen asked doubtfully, eyes going to his arm in the sling, under his coat.
“I can make it an order, if you like.”
Gwen smiled slightly, “No need, I’ll go.” Stopping at the door to Merlin’s bedroom she turned back. “Arthur? Thank you.”
Arthur nodded and watched her go, then sank heavily into Gwen’s chair, letting out a shaky breath, his whole body trembling from the exertion. A cup of water stood by the bedside, and Arthur made a final effort to reach over and take it, gulping down its contents before sagging back into the chair.
For a few minutes, he just concentrated on breathing regularly, forcing his muscles to relax and stop shaking. It was warm in here, a fire going strong in the small grate, and that helped. Arthur drifted for a while, watching Hunith’s pained sleep, thinking that, even though this was terrible, at least things made more sense now.
*
Oh I know who you are, Merlin said, arise, King Prat, and placed the crown on Arthur’s head, but it was too heavy, making his neck ache. He reached up to massage his tight muscles but the movement brought him into wakefulness, leaving the crown behind but sadly not the ache. He sat up and stretched, looking around him - right, Merlin’s room.
Morning light streamed through Merlin’s tiny window high in the wall and Arthur rubbed his grainy eyes, struggling both to sit up and to be fully awake. His mind suddenly took him back to the banquet, months ago now, when a witch had cast a sleeping spell over the court and Arthur had fought to reawaken afterwards, a dusty-fine covering of cobwebs on his shoulders and a dagger flying for his heart. Merlin had saved his life, that day, and Arthur still remembered his very great indignation at finding his saviour to be the disrespectful fool he had had thrown in the cells the day before.
“Your son is an idiot,” Arthur told Hunith, smiling to himself.
It was funny, though - before now he had never thought to wonder just how that witch had ended up under the chandelier, when everyone had been unconscious. Blind luck, he supposed. It hadn’t escaped his notice that he did seem to have been born with a larger than average share.
Tentatively, Arthur pushed himself to his feet. His legs ached but he felt stronger. Picking up Hunith’s empty cup, he took it down to Gaius’s workroom to re-fill it with water, and grab some bread and an apple for breakfast.
Hunith seemed to have moved when he returned, fitful again and whimpering in what Arthur hoped was only semi-consciousness. Putting his things down he sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand as he had seen Gwen do earlier. Hunith sighed and turned her face towards him, though her eyes remained closed.
“Merlin?” she asked, voice cracked and weak.
Arthur hesitated, wondering what to do. He was not, he knew (largely thanks to Morgana), the most sensitive soul in the castle, but he liked Hunith an awful lot. She had made him feel welcome in her home in a way that was more than simply deferential, that same open, unquestioning warmth as her son. She had integrity and fight and he hated the way she was in so much pain that he could see it in every line of her body.
Hunith moaned softly, sounding almost too exhausted even for that. “Merlin?” she whispered again.
Arthur had never known his mother, and seeing Merlin and Hunith together had made him feel... not jealous, really, but somewhat bewildered, that parents could act like that with their children. He tried now to picture Merlin, natural and affectionate with Hunith in Ealdor, and gently squeezed Hunith’s hand, and replied, “Yes, mother.”
She smiled. “Thought you’d gone.”
“Well... now I’m back again.”
“We said goodbye,” Hunith breathed, “we said...”
She looked pained, and Arthur couldn’t tell if it was from the illness or from what she was trying to say, but after a few seconds her breath evened out a little and she seemed to be sleeping again. Arthur stayed seated on the bed for some time, absently holding on to Hunith’s hand, breakfast forgotten, as he tried to think where on earth Merlin could have gone.
*
Gwen returned mid-morning with a small posy of flowers for Hunith’s bedside, and Lady Morgana.
“Gwen said you’d be here, but I had to see it for myself,” Morgana smiled, not unkindly.
“Yes, well, one does what one can. I don’t suppose you know where Merlin’s got to? The dreadful shirker.”
“Not a clue,” Morgana said, shaking her head, but Arthur didn’t miss the quick look she shot at Gwen. “He’s your manservant, Arthur,” she continued blithely, “perhaps you ought to keep better care of him.”
“I’m glad to see you’re back to your normal self, anyway,” Arthur muttered, as they left Gwen to tend to Hunith. Morgana didn’t reply, and Arthur waited until he was closing the door to his quarters behind him before he turned on her. “You know something,” he hissed, “don’t you, Morgana.”
The tightening of her jaw was the only move Morgana made, and Arthur realised that, really, she didn’t look any better than the morning before he had been bitten, running down the castle steps in her night clothes, pale and wild-eyed and frightened.
Eventually, she said in a small voice, “I have a bad feeling.”
“Like the questing beast, and the black knight, and, and bloody Sophia?” he wanted to ask, but somehow the words failed to form. They stared at each other in tense silence until a knock at the door brought Morris in.
“You sent for me, Sire?” he asked, after Arthur stared at him pointedly, eyebrows raised.
“No,” Arthur said.
“Yes,” Morgana smiled and, seeming to snap back to herself, brushed past them both with airy instructions to tend to his majesty while Merlin was on leave.
*
Arthur met his father and Morgana for lunch in the early afternoon. Uther was in a rare mood to praise Arthur, speaking of the progress his knights were making, the heart they took in their prince’s strength.
“To know that we have not only banished magic from Camelot, but have conquered the Old Religion so thoroughly - our people take pride in you, Arthur. It gives them strength.”
Uther ate and drank and gestured expansively with his goblet, all the time smiling paternally, and Arthur couldn’t fully enjoy it because Morgana sat cutting her food into ever-smaller pieces and ate nothing.
After the meal, Arthur walked her back to her chambers and attempted to prop himself against the cool stone wall without looking like he needed to.
“You should get some rest,” he started. “You don’t look well.”
“You know, you don’t look so good yourself,” she replied, sitting at her dressing table. “I wonder why that is.”
Arthur let his head fall back and stared up at the ceiling. “What happened, in your dream?” he asked eventually.
Taking out an earring, Morgana seemed to freeze, her reflection staring hard at him in her mirror. “What are you talking about?”
“The morning I went out to slay the questing beast. You had a bad dream - you begged me not to go. You remember? In your nightclothes?”
Morgana was silent, then, voice flat, “I dreamed you were going to die.”
Arthur nodded to himself and pushed off the wall. “Well, you were wrong, weren’t you.” He walked over until he was standing just behind her, their eyes meeting in the mirror’s reflection. “Merlin’ll be fine,” he said firmly. “At the very least, whatever he’s up to, if he’s with Gaius he’s not at the mercy of his own stupidity.”
Morgana’s painted mouth lifted into a half-hearted smile and she looked away. “Go and get some rest, Prince Charming, before you fall over,” she instructed, but her voice sounded distant and almost sad.
*
Arthur sat at the high table, watching the rest of the court at the feast. Merlin stood before him, wearing his ridiculous servants’ livery and the even more ridiculous hat. Is there anything I can get for you, Sire?
An actual manservant would be nice, Arthur replied irritably.
Merlin stared back, painfully earnest, and said I’m happy to be your servant, until the day I die. And then he was lifting the poisoned Mercian chalice to his lips and Arthur was glued to his seat unable to move or speak or do anything.
“No!” Arthur shouted, sitting bolt upright, cursing Morgana for putting these thoughts in his head.
It was dark outside, but Arthur was still fully clothed, his afternoon nap having gone on for rather longer than intended. Breathing deeply, he tried to calm down, but the dream had been vivid and clung to him, his heart pounding every time he remembered Merlin falling to the ground.
“This is stupid,” he muttered, and gulped down some wine and put on his boots and headed for Gaius’s rooms. By the time he got there he’d almost convinced himself that Merlin and Gaius would be back, preparing a treatment and caring for Hunith. He swore silently at himself for his disappointment when he found Gwen instead.
But when he walked in, she turned to him and smiled broadly, and said, “I think she’s starting to get better.”
Arthur stopped, a little taken aback at the wave of relief that rushed through him, and said, “That’s good news.”
“Yes,” Gwen agreed, and reached down to lay a hand gently on Hunith’s shoulder. “Hunith,” she said softly, “Prince Arthur has come to see you.” She stood up and gestured for Arthur to take her seat. “I’m going to go and see if I can get some broth from the kitchens.”
“Sire,” Hunith smiled as he sat down, her voice still cracked, but sounding stronger.
“How do you feel? Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you, I’m well cared-for.” She frowned, noticing his arm, “You’re injured.”
Arthur’s hand went impulsively to his shoulder. “Yes, I... had a little run in on a hunting trip. It seems to be healing well, though.” Hunith continued to look concerned, however, and Arthur remembered that he had wondered before at how easily her features seemed to settle into that expression.
“Gwen said that Merlin isn’t here,” she said after a moment.
“No. He and Gaius have gone...” he trailed off, struck by a thought. Arthur had assumed that Merlin and Gaius had gone looking for a cure for Hunith, but she appeared to be getting better by herself. Presumably they hadn’t known that would happen, but then, why risk both of them going, and only Gwen to care for her, in amongst her other duties? “In fact, Hunith, we’re not entirely sure where they’ve gone, or why. I don’t suppose you can shed any light on the matter?”
She seemed to think for a moment or two. “I remember Merlin saying goodbye to me, but I felt close to death, I thought... but I’m healing,” she said, pensive, as though it was hard for her to believe. “It’s a miracle.”
“Funny,” Arthur said, “I’ve heard that somewhere else, recently.” He could feel his brain latching on to something, but just then Gwen returned with Morgana and two servants, carrying a miniature feast for the four of them.
Morgana went immediately to Hunith’s other side, kneeling down beside her. “Hunith. How are you feeling?”
Hunith had a Merlin-esque gleam in her eye when she replied, “All of a sudden, hungry, my lady.”
*
The amazing thing was, Hunith really did seem to be recovering miraculously - it was hard to believe that a few hours ago she had been struggling to breathe. By the time they’d all finished eating, she spoke with more energy, able to sit propped up by pillows, and even the lumps and swellings on her face and hands appeared reduced.
“I’m so glad to see you getting better,” Morgana said as she took her leave, Gwen promising to return after helping her to bed.
When they had gone, Hunith turned to Arthur. “You aren’t tired?”
“I’m keeping my leisure these days,” he said wryly, gesturing to his shoulder with his good hand. “I slept the afternoon away, and my penance will be a restless night if I go to bed now. But if you’d prefer me to leave?”
“Yesterday I thought I was dying,” she murmured, “so I’m a little loath to give today up just yet.”
Arthur nodded acknowledgement. They fell into silence, the fire popping and crackling in the grate, Arthur watching as Hunith’s features fell into the familiar expression of worry, and he wondered again what kind of life she had led for such an expression to be so at home on her face.
“You’re thinking about Merlin,” he said.
“Yes.” She turned to him then, “You really have no idea where he’s gone?”
“No. I only saw him once after waking up - the bite was poisoned, I was unconscious for a few days,” he explained, “but we only spoke for a couple of minutes and then he left again. I haven’t seen him since.”
Hunith watched him, small hands restless in her lap. “What did he say?”
Arthur thought back. “It was strange, actually. There were several insults about my general character, some advice about kingship - a little unusual, even for Merlin.”
“You don’t mind that he speaks his mind to you?” Hunith asked with a small smile.
“I don’t think Merlin knows any other way to speak.”
“You care about him.” It wasn’t a question. Hunith’s eyes were warm, and Arthur felt something tighten in his chest.
“I suppose,” he replied airily, allowing one corner of his mouth to twitch up, “in some of his less annoying moments.”
Hunith chuckled softly. “He’s lucky to have a friend like you, Prince Arthur.” Arthur didn’t quite know what to say to that, but it was alright because Hunith continued. “It was hard for Merlin, growing up in a place like Ealdor. He always had big dreams, far beyond our small lives.”
“He didn’t fit in,” Arthur nodded, remembering their hushed conversation that night on Hunith’s floor.
“No,” and she was wistful now, almost sad.
“But he had Will,” Arthur prompted. It didn’t have the intended effect.
“William wasn’t good for Merlin,” Hunith said stiffly, and there was enough tension in her voice that Arthur knew not to push for more, though curious. He wondered if Hunith had known about Will’s magic.
“How do you know Gaius?” he asked instead.
“Well, I was a maid here.”
“What! Why didn’t I know that?”
“It was a long time ago,” she said, laughing at Arthur’s surprise. “Twenty years or more - shortly before you were born, in fact. I was living with my cousin in the lower town at that time.”
“Why did you leave?”
Hunith’s smile turned a little secretive. “Merlin,” she said simply, and sighed. “If only all my moments of youthful foolishness had brought me such joy.”
Through his embarrassment, Arthur’s mind latched onto something Hunith had said earlier. “Wait, if you were here before my birth...” but he didn’t quite know how to finish that sentence, how to ask what he had desperately always wanted to know.
Hunith waited, watching him patiently. “My mother,” he finally managed.
“Queen Igraine,” Hunith said, voice gone soft. “You must have heard this before, but you look so much like her.”
Suddenly it was hard to breath in the small room, the walls too close, the fire too hot, and Arthur muttered an excuse and stumbled from the room, not stopping until he reached the cool air of the courtyard. He stopped, leaning against the wall of the castle, taking deep, steadying breaths.
Then, running a hand down his face, he realised what an idiot he must have looked like to Hunith. He mentally shook himself, and went back up to Gaius’s rooms.
“I’m sorry, Hunith,” Arthur said, stepping just inside the doorway. “That was very rude of me. Please accept my apology.”
She just looked at him, concern and understanding lighting her eyes. “There’s nothing to apologise for, Sire.”
“I do, however, think it’s time I left you in peace. Thank you for your company this evening.” And wishing her good night, he left for the safety of his chambers.
*
Sleep didn’t come easily, though. Thoughts of his mother and Merlin, Hunith and Will, tangled up like Morgana’s embroidery yarn in his head.
When he finally slept, he dreamed of his mother, a faceless, golden presence in the great hall, tapping a sword to his right shoulder, then his left. You're a great warrior, she said, one day you'll be a great king. But somehow he knew, in the way of dreams, that it wasn’t really his mother speaking, but Merlin, and there he was, by Arthur’s side, and Arthur knew that he’d been there all along.
*
Arthur woke early, restless. A grey dawn was creeping up in the east as he dressed and left the castle. He didn’t think his shoulder would be able to take a ride yet, but he could certainly walk, and he suddenly felt he needed to be outside with nothing over his head but sky.
The exercise was pleasant enough, the earth damp and smelling alive from rain overnight. Winter was coming - the cool air had a definite bite at this time of the morning - and perhaps that was it, or perhaps it was his troubled dreams, but Arthur couldn’t shake the feeling of foreboding he had woken with.
Returning to the castle he breakfasted and then paced around his chambers, fully aware he was avoiding going to see Hunith, and feeling wretched for it.
Sir Kay dropped by mid-morning to collect instructions for the knights’ training, and Arthur even considered attending his father’s council meeting before finally pulling himself together some time around midday, and walking over to Gaius’s chambers.
Quiet voices drifted down from Merlin’s room and as he got nearer, Arthur could hear Morgana speaking.
“...we didn’t want to worry you.”
“Did you know, before this?” Hunith. Something in her tone, both sharp and anxious, made Arthur pause with his hand on the door latch.
There was an uncomfortable silence and then Gwen’s voice, reluctant, “We suspected.”
“Arthur doesn’t know,” Morgana said, too quickly, and for some reason Arthur felt as though the bottom had just dropped out of his stomach.
“Doesn’t know what?” he asked quietly, stepping into the room, suddenly furious.
Gwen flinched and quickly moved to hide something she was holding in her pocket; Hunith stood by the bed, a strange, trapped look on her face; Morgana stared him down, defiant expression a little too late to completely conceal the flash of guilt.
“Eavesdropping, Arthur? How chivalrous.”
“What’s going on?” he demanded, ignoring the barb.
“Nothing that concerns-”
“Morgana,” he warned, almost at the same time as Hunith said, “My lady, please.”
Morgana looked mulish for a second, staring daggers at Arthur, then backed down, inclining her head towards Hunith, who nodded and drew in a breath.
“Gwen found a letter,” Hunith began. “Gaius left it for Merlin the morning he left Camelot. It seems he-” she stopped, looking somewhere between bewildered and quietly distraught, and sat down on the edge of the bed. Before he could think about it, Arthur knelt in front of her, taking her hand.
“Please,” he asked, and to his ears it sounded like desperation. Hunith looked up, eyes shining and shockingly blue, and Arthur missed Merlin with a sudden sharp pang that felt like a blow to the chest.
“You’re a good boy,” she said softly, reaching to touch his cheek, and it felt like trust. “Merlin was planning to try to find a priestess, a sorceress, to bargain with for my life. Gaius thought it would be too dangerous, so he went in Merlin’s place. When he realised what Gaius had done, he must have gone straight after him.”
“And what price,” Arthur asked, voice low and dangerous, “does a sorceress put on the life of another?”
“In the letter,” Gwen said quietly, “Gaius said he would gladly die in Merlin’s place.”
“We think Merlin went after Gaius to stop him,” Morgana added. “And now, Hunith has been cured...”
“You think one of them...?” Arthur began to ask, but found he couldn’t finish, the words lost somewhere between disgust and horror. “How long have you known about this?” Morgana looked away. “I cannot believe,” he hissed at her, “that you kept this from me.”
“And what could you have done?” she snapped back. “Arthur!” But he was already down the stairs and heading for the door.
*
Arthur ignored the wash of pain as he heaved the saddle onto his horse. Idiot, he thought savagely, idiot, idiot, idiot. Only Merlin would think something like that was a good idea, trading his life in like an old belt. Seeking out magic, of all things!
What had he been thinking? Hunith had barely been in Camelot a day before Merlin disappeared on his fool’s errand - nowhere near enough time to diagnose and attempt to treat her illness. How on earth could he have possibly known none of Gaius’s treatments would work? How could he just throw himself onto the chopping block like that? And without even telling... Wait.
“Idiot,” he shouted, startling his horse, and this time he didn’t know whether it was directed at Merlin or himself. That evening, when Merlin had come to see him - he hadn’t been trying to leave his job, he’d been saying goodbye, and Arthur had been too drugged up to realise it.
Getting in a tangle with the girth, he growled in frustration and stopped to fight his sling off.
“Here,” Morgana said, coming up behind him and putting a hand on his shoulder, “let me.”
Arthur gritted his teeth and waited impatiently for her to free his arm, back stiff, staring straight ahead.
“Which direction will you ride in?” Morgana asked conversationally as she slipped the linen from his shoulder. Arthur didn’t reply, reaching back down for the girth. “It’s obvious he’s nowhere in Camelot - Uther would take special pains to hunt down a sorceress as powerful as that,” she continued. “I suppose the Mercian border would be the best place to start, only a day and a half’s ride. King Bayard would be sure to give you a warm welcome.”
“What’s your point, Morgana?” Arthur ground out, finishing with the girth and adjusting the stirrups.
“Arthur, you’ve barely any supplies, you’ve no support, you don’t even know where to start looking, not mention you’re still-”
“Shh!”
“I will not-”
“Quiet, Morgana.”
Arthur listened. Coming through the gates and into the courtyard was the familiar sound of horses’ hooves on the flagstones. He ran outside, blood roaring in his ears, heart in his throat. For a moment, the bright sunlight dazzled him, then as he shielded his eyes he could see the two riders coming towards the stables. He breathed in a deep, shaky breath, unaware until now that he’d been holding it. Two, he thought, two.
“Merlin!” he bellowed across the courtyard. Bedraggled, dirty, looking exhausted, Merlin looked up and grinned. Arthur marched over and punched him hard on the thigh.
“Ow!”
“Where the hell have you been?”
Merlin looked down at him, a ridiculously sheepish expression on his face. “I didn’t think you’d notice?”
Arthur stared at him for long seconds, incredulous beyond his facility with language. In the end, all he could do was shake his head and lead Merlin’s horse into the stables. It seemed safer than speaking.
*
“Merlin!” Morgana exclaimed. In the relative gloom of the stables she seemed to turn pale, a strange expression on her face like she’d seen a ghost. Then she strode over to where Merlin was sliding from his horse and very firmly wrapped her arms around Arthur’s manservant.
Speechless, Arthur wasn’t sure what to object to first. He half expected Merlin to look over at him with that helpless expression he sometimes got around women, but instead, after a moment’s hesitation, he returned Morgana’s embrace, whispering something in reply to her muffled words. Arthur turned away, suddenly uncomfortable, and helped Gaius down from his saddle.
The old physician looked tired and grumpier than usual, but he glanced at Arthur with a sharp eye, and then called, “Morgana my dear, I must request your help, I seem to have hurt my hip with all this riding.”
“Gaius, of course,” she said, coming over, and Arthur was a little horrified to see that she looked as though she had been crying. Offering him her arm, she helped him limp out of the stables.
Allowing the stable hands to deal with Gaius and Merlin’s horses, Arthur returned to his own horse, Merlin trailing after him.
“How’s your arm?” Merlin asked tentatively after a moment.
“Fine,” he muttered, just as bright hot fire stabbed through his shoulder as he attempted to haul the saddle back off.
“Let me do that.” Merlin took the saddle from him, carrying it back to its pummel. “Where were you going?”
“On a fool’s errand,” he replied, “to find a fool.”
“I really am sorry, Arthur.”
Ignoring him, Arthur said pointedly, “Your mother’s better.”
“Oh, right, good - that’s great!” Merlin said brightly, and Arthur realised that he already knew.
“You knew that already, didn’t you?”
“No,” he said, eyeing Arthur carefully now, “I mean - how could I?”
“You’re going to go and see Hunith,” Arthur told him, “Then you’re going to get cleaned up, and then you’re going to come to my chambers and we’re going to have a little chat about sorceresses, is that understood, Merlin?”
Merlin’s face seemed to still, his expression suddenly unreadable, and his voice was faint when he said, “Yes, Sire.”
Part 2
Title: Night and Light and the Half Light
Author: The Moonmoth
Rating: PG
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur, pre-slash
Words: ~13,000
Spoilers: general for season 1, set during and after 1.13 “Le Morte d’Arthur”
Summary: “Arthur doesn’t know,” Morgana said, too quickly, and for some reason Arthur felt as though the bottom had just dropped out of his stomach.
A/N: My first Merlin fic, and also the first thing I’ve written in a couple of years (wibble wibble), inspired by wondering how Merlin was going to explain his absences from Camelot in “Le Morte d’Arthur”. The scenery towards the end is based on Bradgate Park, in Leicestershire. All feedback is appreciated, and concrit is welcome. Many, many thanks to rivier for magnificent beta work, and for inspiring the title.
Night and Light and the Half Light
by The Moonmoth
*
Arthur stared into the fire and considered Merlin. So many people had been in and out of his chambers since the previous evening that he’d only really realised that Merlin hadn’t been one of them when his manservant had slipped through the door like a quiet apology a few moments ago. He supposed he’d just assumed that Merlin was helping Gaius, but thinking about it now, it did seem a little odd. Not that Merlin and the word ‘normal’ ever seemed to be in company, but there had been something about him this evening. Arthur was exhausted and sore and more than a little woolly-headed from the mixture of medicines and wine that Gaius had given him to dull the pain, but he realised now that he couldn’t remember who had dressed him that morning. He’d just assumed Merlin would be there to take care of him in his clumsy, half-witted way, but maybe he hadn’t been, after all.
Arthur frowned and picked up his wine again.
Merlin had said... he had seemed... he’d been subdued, upset about something, it seemed. And yet it wasn’t so much what Merlin had said that had unsettled him which, yes, had been somewhat unexpected but certainly not beyond the usual bounds of Merlin’s impertinence. Rather, it was the look on his face, as though, as though...
Arthur yawned and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his good hand. Glancing over his shoulder he winced both at the sharp pain this caused to shoot down his chest and arm, and at how far away the bed seemed to be. Forget Merlin for now - he was pretty upset about a few things himself, like not being able to move from bed to chair and back again without assistance. On balance, yes, he was rather glad that he hadn’t died; he just wasn’t sure whether he fully qualified as ‘alive’ yet.
He was contemplating whether it would take more energy to shout for someone to drag Merlin back or to just attempt to propel himself the distance when his father appeared at the door and, to Arthur’s very great surprise, supported Arthur across the room and helped him get ready for bed.
*
Arthur dreamed of Merlin, wearing Bishop’s robes and placing a crown on Arthur’s head. He said, you must learn to listen as well as you fight, and the words rang out through the great hall, echoes merging like pealing bells.
*
The next day Arthur awoke late to an empty room. A boy from the kitchens brought Arthur his breakfast, and when Merlin still hadn’t appeared by the time the dishes were being cleared away, Arthur sighed and instructed the boy to go and find him. It was close to midday when Sir Kay’s manservant appeared to help him bathe and dress, apologising that the kitchen boy had been unable to find Arthur’s own manservant. A growing sense of unease sat in the pit of his stomach throughout the afternoon, filled again with visits from his father and the well-wishers of the court, and an assortment of servants, but no Merlin. Arthur considered whether he had the energy to work up a good stink about it.
It was only when the light was fading from the sky and he was sitting watching a maid make up the fire that he realised he also had not seen Gaius today. The servants had kept him supplied with various potions, but the wound continued to bleed a little and the dressing needed to be changed. Well, he was sure Gaius would be along before too long, and then he could ask him about Merlin, as well. And if it turned out the idiot had simply got lost looking for herbs for the physician, or something stupid like that... Arthur drifted in a pleasantly hazy state as the fire began to get going, imagining the many and creative ways to make Merlin regret his negligence.
*
He woke up in his bed to pain in his shoulder and a soft voice soothing his groans as gentle hands bathed his wound.
“Guinevere?” he asked, eyelids too heavy to lift.
“Yes, Sire.”
“What happened to Gaius?” There was no reply and Arthur forced his eyes to open, squinting against the candlelight. Gwen was frowning slightly as she wrung out a cloth.
“He sends his apologies,” she replied a moment later.
Arthur let his head fall back onto the pillow, disgruntled. “What, if I may ask, is more important than the health of the Crown Prince who, if anyone remembers, nearly died quite recently? And while we’re at it, where the hell is Merlin?” he meant to say, but the sharp words died on his tongue as he squinted up at Gwen because, well, she was Gwen, and whatever had happened, it wasn’t her fault.
“What time is it?” he asked instead.
“Past midnight.”
“Then you should get some rest.”
“Oh, don’t worry about me,” she said, smiling for the first time, and pulled the knot in his bandages tight. “All done. Sleep well, Sire.”
Almost against his will, he did.
*
Arthur awoke with a start, his heart hammering from a dream that skittered away as he tried to remember it, the only image remaining that of Merlin’s face, pale and drawn and eyes bright as he told Arthur, Just... don’t be a prat.
It wasn’t yet morning, the sky outside the window barely beginning to turn darkest blue from black, but Arthur swung his legs out of the bed and pulled on britches, boots, a long coat. Enough was enough - lighting a candle from the fire’s embers, he forced his legs to carry him towards Gaius’s chambers.
*
He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, exactly - a squad of his knights grievously wounded, perhaps, or a pox in the lower town. He was certain, however, that what he had not expected to see was Gwen asleep in a chair by Merlin’s bed, and Merlin’s mother, moaning softly in her sleep, breath rattling and looking horribly, horribly ill.
“Hunith!”
Gwen startled awake, looking confused for a moment before hurriedly tucking something into her pocket and standing to curtsey.
“What are you doing here, Sire?”
Arthur looked between Gwen, dark rings under her eyes, and the terrible welts marring Hunith’s skin, and felt the sense of unease unfurl a little further in his stomach.
“Tell me,” he said, “what is going on. Where are Merlin and Gaius?”
Gwen looked for a moment like she might want to cry, but her voice was steady when she replied, “I don’t know, Sire. Hunith arrived the morning after you recovered, like this. I’ve been helping Merlin and Gaius care for her, but then I got a letter yesterday from Gaius, saying he had had to leave Camelot urgently. He left me instructions for your care because he said Merlin would be too preoccupied looking after his mother, but I haven’t seen him either, not since Gaius left.”
“Where have they gone?” Arthur demanded.
Gwen’s eyes flicked to his face and then quickly away. “I don’t know,” she said.
“Gwen, what is it?”
For a moment, she looked troubled, then she brushed a strand of hair from her forehead and seemed to deflate a little. “Nothing, Sire. I’m sure, I’m sure it’s important, whatever it is.”
“Guinevere,” Arthur said, more gently this time, taking her shoulder in his good hand. “Go and get some sleep, in your bed,” he added, when she looked like she might protest. “I’ve had enough rest the last few days, I can look after Hunith for a few hours.”
“Are you sure?” Gwen asked doubtfully, eyes going to his arm in the sling, under his coat.
“I can make it an order, if you like.”
Gwen smiled slightly, “No need, I’ll go.” Stopping at the door to Merlin’s bedroom she turned back. “Arthur? Thank you.”
Arthur nodded and watched her go, then sank heavily into Gwen’s chair, letting out a shaky breath, his whole body trembling from the exertion. A cup of water stood by the bedside, and Arthur made a final effort to reach over and take it, gulping down its contents before sagging back into the chair.
For a few minutes, he just concentrated on breathing regularly, forcing his muscles to relax and stop shaking. It was warm in here, a fire going strong in the small grate, and that helped. Arthur drifted for a while, watching Hunith’s pained sleep, thinking that, even though this was terrible, at least things made more sense now.
*
Oh I know who you are, Merlin said, arise, King Prat, and placed the crown on Arthur’s head, but it was too heavy, making his neck ache. He reached up to massage his tight muscles but the movement brought him into wakefulness, leaving the crown behind but sadly not the ache. He sat up and stretched, looking around him - right, Merlin’s room.
Morning light streamed through Merlin’s tiny window high in the wall and Arthur rubbed his grainy eyes, struggling both to sit up and to be fully awake. His mind suddenly took him back to the banquet, months ago now, when a witch had cast a sleeping spell over the court and Arthur had fought to reawaken afterwards, a dusty-fine covering of cobwebs on his shoulders and a dagger flying for his heart. Merlin had saved his life, that day, and Arthur still remembered his very great indignation at finding his saviour to be the disrespectful fool he had had thrown in the cells the day before.
“Your son is an idiot,” Arthur told Hunith, smiling to himself.
It was funny, though - before now he had never thought to wonder just how that witch had ended up under the chandelier, when everyone had been unconscious. Blind luck, he supposed. It hadn’t escaped his notice that he did seem to have been born with a larger than average share.
Tentatively, Arthur pushed himself to his feet. His legs ached but he felt stronger. Picking up Hunith’s empty cup, he took it down to Gaius’s workroom to re-fill it with water, and grab some bread and an apple for breakfast.
Hunith seemed to have moved when he returned, fitful again and whimpering in what Arthur hoped was only semi-consciousness. Putting his things down he sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand as he had seen Gwen do earlier. Hunith sighed and turned her face towards him, though her eyes remained closed.
“Merlin?” she asked, voice cracked and weak.
Arthur hesitated, wondering what to do. He was not, he knew (largely thanks to Morgana), the most sensitive soul in the castle, but he liked Hunith an awful lot. She had made him feel welcome in her home in a way that was more than simply deferential, that same open, unquestioning warmth as her son. She had integrity and fight and he hated the way she was in so much pain that he could see it in every line of her body.
Hunith moaned softly, sounding almost too exhausted even for that. “Merlin?” she whispered again.
Arthur had never known his mother, and seeing Merlin and Hunith together had made him feel... not jealous, really, but somewhat bewildered, that parents could act like that with their children. He tried now to picture Merlin, natural and affectionate with Hunith in Ealdor, and gently squeezed Hunith’s hand, and replied, “Yes, mother.”
She smiled. “Thought you’d gone.”
“Well... now I’m back again.”
“We said goodbye,” Hunith breathed, “we said...”
She looked pained, and Arthur couldn’t tell if it was from the illness or from what she was trying to say, but after a few seconds her breath evened out a little and she seemed to be sleeping again. Arthur stayed seated on the bed for some time, absently holding on to Hunith’s hand, breakfast forgotten, as he tried to think where on earth Merlin could have gone.
*
Gwen returned mid-morning with a small posy of flowers for Hunith’s bedside, and Lady Morgana.
“Gwen said you’d be here, but I had to see it for myself,” Morgana smiled, not unkindly.
“Yes, well, one does what one can. I don’t suppose you know where Merlin’s got to? The dreadful shirker.”
“Not a clue,” Morgana said, shaking her head, but Arthur didn’t miss the quick look she shot at Gwen. “He’s your manservant, Arthur,” she continued blithely, “perhaps you ought to keep better care of him.”
“I’m glad to see you’re back to your normal self, anyway,” Arthur muttered, as they left Gwen to tend to Hunith. Morgana didn’t reply, and Arthur waited until he was closing the door to his quarters behind him before he turned on her. “You know something,” he hissed, “don’t you, Morgana.”
The tightening of her jaw was the only move Morgana made, and Arthur realised that, really, she didn’t look any better than the morning before he had been bitten, running down the castle steps in her night clothes, pale and wild-eyed and frightened.
Eventually, she said in a small voice, “I have a bad feeling.”
“Like the questing beast, and the black knight, and, and bloody Sophia?” he wanted to ask, but somehow the words failed to form. They stared at each other in tense silence until a knock at the door brought Morris in.
“You sent for me, Sire?” he asked, after Arthur stared at him pointedly, eyebrows raised.
“No,” Arthur said.
“Yes,” Morgana smiled and, seeming to snap back to herself, brushed past them both with airy instructions to tend to his majesty while Merlin was on leave.
*
Arthur met his father and Morgana for lunch in the early afternoon. Uther was in a rare mood to praise Arthur, speaking of the progress his knights were making, the heart they took in their prince’s strength.
“To know that we have not only banished magic from Camelot, but have conquered the Old Religion so thoroughly - our people take pride in you, Arthur. It gives them strength.”
Uther ate and drank and gestured expansively with his goblet, all the time smiling paternally, and Arthur couldn’t fully enjoy it because Morgana sat cutting her food into ever-smaller pieces and ate nothing.
After the meal, Arthur walked her back to her chambers and attempted to prop himself against the cool stone wall without looking like he needed to.
“You should get some rest,” he started. “You don’t look well.”
“You know, you don’t look so good yourself,” she replied, sitting at her dressing table. “I wonder why that is.”
Arthur let his head fall back and stared up at the ceiling. “What happened, in your dream?” he asked eventually.
Taking out an earring, Morgana seemed to freeze, her reflection staring hard at him in her mirror. “What are you talking about?”
“The morning I went out to slay the questing beast. You had a bad dream - you begged me not to go. You remember? In your nightclothes?”
Morgana was silent, then, voice flat, “I dreamed you were going to die.”
Arthur nodded to himself and pushed off the wall. “Well, you were wrong, weren’t you.” He walked over until he was standing just behind her, their eyes meeting in the mirror’s reflection. “Merlin’ll be fine,” he said firmly. “At the very least, whatever he’s up to, if he’s with Gaius he’s not at the mercy of his own stupidity.”
Morgana’s painted mouth lifted into a half-hearted smile and she looked away. “Go and get some rest, Prince Charming, before you fall over,” she instructed, but her voice sounded distant and almost sad.
*
Arthur sat at the high table, watching the rest of the court at the feast. Merlin stood before him, wearing his ridiculous servants’ livery and the even more ridiculous hat. Is there anything I can get for you, Sire?
An actual manservant would be nice, Arthur replied irritably.
Merlin stared back, painfully earnest, and said I’m happy to be your servant, until the day I die. And then he was lifting the poisoned Mercian chalice to his lips and Arthur was glued to his seat unable to move or speak or do anything.
“No!” Arthur shouted, sitting bolt upright, cursing Morgana for putting these thoughts in his head.
It was dark outside, but Arthur was still fully clothed, his afternoon nap having gone on for rather longer than intended. Breathing deeply, he tried to calm down, but the dream had been vivid and clung to him, his heart pounding every time he remembered Merlin falling to the ground.
“This is stupid,” he muttered, and gulped down some wine and put on his boots and headed for Gaius’s rooms. By the time he got there he’d almost convinced himself that Merlin and Gaius would be back, preparing a treatment and caring for Hunith. He swore silently at himself for his disappointment when he found Gwen instead.
But when he walked in, she turned to him and smiled broadly, and said, “I think she’s starting to get better.”
Arthur stopped, a little taken aback at the wave of relief that rushed through him, and said, “That’s good news.”
“Yes,” Gwen agreed, and reached down to lay a hand gently on Hunith’s shoulder. “Hunith,” she said softly, “Prince Arthur has come to see you.” She stood up and gestured for Arthur to take her seat. “I’m going to go and see if I can get some broth from the kitchens.”
“Sire,” Hunith smiled as he sat down, her voice still cracked, but sounding stronger.
“How do you feel? Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you, I’m well cared-for.” She frowned, noticing his arm, “You’re injured.”
Arthur’s hand went impulsively to his shoulder. “Yes, I... had a little run in on a hunting trip. It seems to be healing well, though.” Hunith continued to look concerned, however, and Arthur remembered that he had wondered before at how easily her features seemed to settle into that expression.
“Gwen said that Merlin isn’t here,” she said after a moment.
“No. He and Gaius have gone...” he trailed off, struck by a thought. Arthur had assumed that Merlin and Gaius had gone looking for a cure for Hunith, but she appeared to be getting better by herself. Presumably they hadn’t known that would happen, but then, why risk both of them going, and only Gwen to care for her, in amongst her other duties? “In fact, Hunith, we’re not entirely sure where they’ve gone, or why. I don’t suppose you can shed any light on the matter?”
She seemed to think for a moment or two. “I remember Merlin saying goodbye to me, but I felt close to death, I thought... but I’m healing,” she said, pensive, as though it was hard for her to believe. “It’s a miracle.”
“Funny,” Arthur said, “I’ve heard that somewhere else, recently.” He could feel his brain latching on to something, but just then Gwen returned with Morgana and two servants, carrying a miniature feast for the four of them.
Morgana went immediately to Hunith’s other side, kneeling down beside her. “Hunith. How are you feeling?”
Hunith had a Merlin-esque gleam in her eye when she replied, “All of a sudden, hungry, my lady.”
*
The amazing thing was, Hunith really did seem to be recovering miraculously - it was hard to believe that a few hours ago she had been struggling to breathe. By the time they’d all finished eating, she spoke with more energy, able to sit propped up by pillows, and even the lumps and swellings on her face and hands appeared reduced.
“I’m so glad to see you getting better,” Morgana said as she took her leave, Gwen promising to return after helping her to bed.
When they had gone, Hunith turned to Arthur. “You aren’t tired?”
“I’m keeping my leisure these days,” he said wryly, gesturing to his shoulder with his good hand. “I slept the afternoon away, and my penance will be a restless night if I go to bed now. But if you’d prefer me to leave?”
“Yesterday I thought I was dying,” she murmured, “so I’m a little loath to give today up just yet.”
Arthur nodded acknowledgement. They fell into silence, the fire popping and crackling in the grate, Arthur watching as Hunith’s features fell into the familiar expression of worry, and he wondered again what kind of life she had led for such an expression to be so at home on her face.
“You’re thinking about Merlin,” he said.
“Yes.” She turned to him then, “You really have no idea where he’s gone?”
“No. I only saw him once after waking up - the bite was poisoned, I was unconscious for a few days,” he explained, “but we only spoke for a couple of minutes and then he left again. I haven’t seen him since.”
Hunith watched him, small hands restless in her lap. “What did he say?”
Arthur thought back. “It was strange, actually. There were several insults about my general character, some advice about kingship - a little unusual, even for Merlin.”
“You don’t mind that he speaks his mind to you?” Hunith asked with a small smile.
“I don’t think Merlin knows any other way to speak.”
“You care about him.” It wasn’t a question. Hunith’s eyes were warm, and Arthur felt something tighten in his chest.
“I suppose,” he replied airily, allowing one corner of his mouth to twitch up, “in some of his less annoying moments.”
Hunith chuckled softly. “He’s lucky to have a friend like you, Prince Arthur.” Arthur didn’t quite know what to say to that, but it was alright because Hunith continued. “It was hard for Merlin, growing up in a place like Ealdor. He always had big dreams, far beyond our small lives.”
“He didn’t fit in,” Arthur nodded, remembering their hushed conversation that night on Hunith’s floor.
“No,” and she was wistful now, almost sad.
“But he had Will,” Arthur prompted. It didn’t have the intended effect.
“William wasn’t good for Merlin,” Hunith said stiffly, and there was enough tension in her voice that Arthur knew not to push for more, though curious. He wondered if Hunith had known about Will’s magic.
“How do you know Gaius?” he asked instead.
“Well, I was a maid here.”
“What! Why didn’t I know that?”
“It was a long time ago,” she said, laughing at Arthur’s surprise. “Twenty years or more - shortly before you were born, in fact. I was living with my cousin in the lower town at that time.”
“Why did you leave?”
Hunith’s smile turned a little secretive. “Merlin,” she said simply, and sighed. “If only all my moments of youthful foolishness had brought me such joy.”
Through his embarrassment, Arthur’s mind latched onto something Hunith had said earlier. “Wait, if you were here before my birth...” but he didn’t quite know how to finish that sentence, how to ask what he had desperately always wanted to know.
Hunith waited, watching him patiently. “My mother,” he finally managed.
“Queen Igraine,” Hunith said, voice gone soft. “You must have heard this before, but you look so much like her.”
Suddenly it was hard to breath in the small room, the walls too close, the fire too hot, and Arthur muttered an excuse and stumbled from the room, not stopping until he reached the cool air of the courtyard. He stopped, leaning against the wall of the castle, taking deep, steadying breaths.
Then, running a hand down his face, he realised what an idiot he must have looked like to Hunith. He mentally shook himself, and went back up to Gaius’s rooms.
“I’m sorry, Hunith,” Arthur said, stepping just inside the doorway. “That was very rude of me. Please accept my apology.”
She just looked at him, concern and understanding lighting her eyes. “There’s nothing to apologise for, Sire.”
“I do, however, think it’s time I left you in peace. Thank you for your company this evening.” And wishing her good night, he left for the safety of his chambers.
*
Sleep didn’t come easily, though. Thoughts of his mother and Merlin, Hunith and Will, tangled up like Morgana’s embroidery yarn in his head.
When he finally slept, he dreamed of his mother, a faceless, golden presence in the great hall, tapping a sword to his right shoulder, then his left. You're a great warrior, she said, one day you'll be a great king. But somehow he knew, in the way of dreams, that it wasn’t really his mother speaking, but Merlin, and there he was, by Arthur’s side, and Arthur knew that he’d been there all along.
*
Arthur woke early, restless. A grey dawn was creeping up in the east as he dressed and left the castle. He didn’t think his shoulder would be able to take a ride yet, but he could certainly walk, and he suddenly felt he needed to be outside with nothing over his head but sky.
The exercise was pleasant enough, the earth damp and smelling alive from rain overnight. Winter was coming - the cool air had a definite bite at this time of the morning - and perhaps that was it, or perhaps it was his troubled dreams, but Arthur couldn’t shake the feeling of foreboding he had woken with.
Returning to the castle he breakfasted and then paced around his chambers, fully aware he was avoiding going to see Hunith, and feeling wretched for it.
Sir Kay dropped by mid-morning to collect instructions for the knights’ training, and Arthur even considered attending his father’s council meeting before finally pulling himself together some time around midday, and walking over to Gaius’s chambers.
Quiet voices drifted down from Merlin’s room and as he got nearer, Arthur could hear Morgana speaking.
“...we didn’t want to worry you.”
“Did you know, before this?” Hunith. Something in her tone, both sharp and anxious, made Arthur pause with his hand on the door latch.
There was an uncomfortable silence and then Gwen’s voice, reluctant, “We suspected.”
“Arthur doesn’t know,” Morgana said, too quickly, and for some reason Arthur felt as though the bottom had just dropped out of his stomach.
“Doesn’t know what?” he asked quietly, stepping into the room, suddenly furious.
Gwen flinched and quickly moved to hide something she was holding in her pocket; Hunith stood by the bed, a strange, trapped look on her face; Morgana stared him down, defiant expression a little too late to completely conceal the flash of guilt.
“Eavesdropping, Arthur? How chivalrous.”
“What’s going on?” he demanded, ignoring the barb.
“Nothing that concerns-”
“Morgana,” he warned, almost at the same time as Hunith said, “My lady, please.”
Morgana looked mulish for a second, staring daggers at Arthur, then backed down, inclining her head towards Hunith, who nodded and drew in a breath.
“Gwen found a letter,” Hunith began. “Gaius left it for Merlin the morning he left Camelot. It seems he-” she stopped, looking somewhere between bewildered and quietly distraught, and sat down on the edge of the bed. Before he could think about it, Arthur knelt in front of her, taking her hand.
“Please,” he asked, and to his ears it sounded like desperation. Hunith looked up, eyes shining and shockingly blue, and Arthur missed Merlin with a sudden sharp pang that felt like a blow to the chest.
“You’re a good boy,” she said softly, reaching to touch his cheek, and it felt like trust. “Merlin was planning to try to find a priestess, a sorceress, to bargain with for my life. Gaius thought it would be too dangerous, so he went in Merlin’s place. When he realised what Gaius had done, he must have gone straight after him.”
“And what price,” Arthur asked, voice low and dangerous, “does a sorceress put on the life of another?”
“In the letter,” Gwen said quietly, “Gaius said he would gladly die in Merlin’s place.”
“We think Merlin went after Gaius to stop him,” Morgana added. “And now, Hunith has been cured...”
“You think one of them...?” Arthur began to ask, but found he couldn’t finish, the words lost somewhere between disgust and horror. “How long have you known about this?” Morgana looked away. “I cannot believe,” he hissed at her, “that you kept this from me.”
“And what could you have done?” she snapped back. “Arthur!” But he was already down the stairs and heading for the door.
*
Arthur ignored the wash of pain as he heaved the saddle onto his horse. Idiot, he thought savagely, idiot, idiot, idiot. Only Merlin would think something like that was a good idea, trading his life in like an old belt. Seeking out magic, of all things!
What had he been thinking? Hunith had barely been in Camelot a day before Merlin disappeared on his fool’s errand - nowhere near enough time to diagnose and attempt to treat her illness. How on earth could he have possibly known none of Gaius’s treatments would work? How could he just throw himself onto the chopping block like that? And without even telling... Wait.
“Idiot,” he shouted, startling his horse, and this time he didn’t know whether it was directed at Merlin or himself. That evening, when Merlin had come to see him - he hadn’t been trying to leave his job, he’d been saying goodbye, and Arthur had been too drugged up to realise it.
Getting in a tangle with the girth, he growled in frustration and stopped to fight his sling off.
“Here,” Morgana said, coming up behind him and putting a hand on his shoulder, “let me.”
Arthur gritted his teeth and waited impatiently for her to free his arm, back stiff, staring straight ahead.
“Which direction will you ride in?” Morgana asked conversationally as she slipped the linen from his shoulder. Arthur didn’t reply, reaching back down for the girth. “It’s obvious he’s nowhere in Camelot - Uther would take special pains to hunt down a sorceress as powerful as that,” she continued. “I suppose the Mercian border would be the best place to start, only a day and a half’s ride. King Bayard would be sure to give you a warm welcome.”
“What’s your point, Morgana?” Arthur ground out, finishing with the girth and adjusting the stirrups.
“Arthur, you’ve barely any supplies, you’ve no support, you don’t even know where to start looking, not mention you’re still-”
“Shh!”
“I will not-”
“Quiet, Morgana.”
Arthur listened. Coming through the gates and into the courtyard was the familiar sound of horses’ hooves on the flagstones. He ran outside, blood roaring in his ears, heart in his throat. For a moment, the bright sunlight dazzled him, then as he shielded his eyes he could see the two riders coming towards the stables. He breathed in a deep, shaky breath, unaware until now that he’d been holding it. Two, he thought, two.
“Merlin!” he bellowed across the courtyard. Bedraggled, dirty, looking exhausted, Merlin looked up and grinned. Arthur marched over and punched him hard on the thigh.
“Ow!”
“Where the hell have you been?”
Merlin looked down at him, a ridiculously sheepish expression on his face. “I didn’t think you’d notice?”
Arthur stared at him for long seconds, incredulous beyond his facility with language. In the end, all he could do was shake his head and lead Merlin’s horse into the stables. It seemed safer than speaking.
*
“Merlin!” Morgana exclaimed. In the relative gloom of the stables she seemed to turn pale, a strange expression on her face like she’d seen a ghost. Then she strode over to where Merlin was sliding from his horse and very firmly wrapped her arms around Arthur’s manservant.
Speechless, Arthur wasn’t sure what to object to first. He half expected Merlin to look over at him with that helpless expression he sometimes got around women, but instead, after a moment’s hesitation, he returned Morgana’s embrace, whispering something in reply to her muffled words. Arthur turned away, suddenly uncomfortable, and helped Gaius down from his saddle.
The old physician looked tired and grumpier than usual, but he glanced at Arthur with a sharp eye, and then called, “Morgana my dear, I must request your help, I seem to have hurt my hip with all this riding.”
“Gaius, of course,” she said, coming over, and Arthur was a little horrified to see that she looked as though she had been crying. Offering him her arm, she helped him limp out of the stables.
Allowing the stable hands to deal with Gaius and Merlin’s horses, Arthur returned to his own horse, Merlin trailing after him.
“How’s your arm?” Merlin asked tentatively after a moment.
“Fine,” he muttered, just as bright hot fire stabbed through his shoulder as he attempted to haul the saddle back off.
“Let me do that.” Merlin took the saddle from him, carrying it back to its pummel. “Where were you going?”
“On a fool’s errand,” he replied, “to find a fool.”
“I really am sorry, Arthur.”
Ignoring him, Arthur said pointedly, “Your mother’s better.”
“Oh, right, good - that’s great!” Merlin said brightly, and Arthur realised that he already knew.
“You knew that already, didn’t you?”
“No,” he said, eyeing Arthur carefully now, “I mean - how could I?”
“You’re going to go and see Hunith,” Arthur told him, “Then you’re going to get cleaned up, and then you’re going to come to my chambers and we’re going to have a little chat about sorceresses, is that understood, Merlin?”
Merlin’s face seemed to still, his expression suddenly unreadable, and his voice was faint when he said, “Yes, Sire.”
Part 2