In August, when Camelot was hot and drenched in unshed rain, melted into the very air, Merlin said:“Arthur, I need to go back to Ealdor.”Arthur was lying flat on the floor of his quarters, heavy curtains drawn at the windows to block out the sun, pressing as much of his skin as possible to the cold stone floors. It was undignified, and his nannies and nursemaids had condemned that sort of behavior even when he’d had them, but it was either strip down in the privacy of his own room with only Merlin to see or risk his father’s wrath by skivving off to the lake and jumping in naked.“What?” he asked, dreamy with heat. He felt like he’d been running a low-grade fever for days.“Ealdor, Arthur,” Merlin told him, impatient. “I need a few days away—I have to see my mother.”Arthur launched himself upright, eyes clearing. “Is Hunith all right?”Merlin looked puzzled. “I—“ he started.“Have Kanan’s kin come back?” Arthur demanded, his mind whirling through the possibilities already. Ealdor sat at the furthest border between Albion and their neighboring kingdom; it wouldn’t be optimal, but if Merlin’s people were willing, Arthur would be happy to put together a small troop of knights and soldiers to help them move—Uther may be unwilling to start war but Arthur was happy to encourage immigration. Camelot had fertile fields and safe borders, and Arthur could send his guard there with special warnings—Hunith would never fear again.“No!” Merlin said, eyes wide. “It’s just that my mother—““You must take Gaius with you if she needs any sort of medical attention,” Arthur scolded, remembering the last time Merlin had been ill and staggering around the castle until Gaius had conscripted Arthur and they’d collectively ordered Merlin off of his feet.“Arthur!” Merlin finally shouted at him, smiling crazily in that way Merlin had occasionally. It was equal parts fond and indulgent, and Arthur wasn’t exactly sure he liked the implications of that. “She’s fine! Ealdor’s fine! It’s just that it’s her birthday, and I’d like to be there for it.”Blinking twice, Arthur said, “Oh, well.”***“There,” Merlin told him, “is no way,” he said, “I am taking that,” he pointed, “with me.”Arthur frowned at the small tokens he’d asked Merlin to include when he returned to Ealdor.“Why not?” Arthur asked, frowning. “Do you not think she’ll like the color?”Merlin boggled at him for a bit before waving his arms at the gift Arthur had chosen, saying in a manner not at all befitting of a servant to the crown prince, “Arthur! That is—that is neither a ‘token’ nor a ‘simple gift!’ That is sixty pounds of the finest beeswax candles in the castle and a half dozen of the best tapestries—commissioned for your father, by the way—and a violet ermine stole that I could swear belonged to Morgana!”“You’re right,” Arthur agreed. “I’ve completely forgotten the caskets of honey ale.”Merlin clawed at his hair. “Arthur, no.”Crossing his arms over his chest, Arthur said, “Merlin, while you are the most crap servant possibly ever in the history of Camelot, I am still crown prince, and if I feel like sending your mother gifts, then that is my decision—understood?”“Fine,” Merlin snapped. “But I refuse to be responsible for hauling them to Ealdor.”Which was how Arthur ended up leading the trip through the dark, cool mountain forests between Albion and Ealdor, dressed casually in his faded red tunic and hose, his most comfortable and battered boots. Merlin had more or less tackled him into his armor, but Arthur had refused to put on the miserably heavy and hot chainmail and then wrestled a sword away from Merlin.“I’m getting better with the sword,” Merlin sulked.“You’re really not,” Arthur said, “which is kind of a mystery in and of itself.”Behind their horses, Crow, the mule, trotted along with a wagonload of Arthur’s gifts, which Merlin seemed to despair at. Arthur argued that if they were going to be taking a wagon, he might as well take along some supplies for the house, which had made Merlin cover his face and make soft, defeated noises of grief.“Are you sure you can be away from Camelot for so long?” Merlin asked, and he sounded shy about it, a strange new occurrence Arthur had noted of late. Merlin never grew shy at the usual times, when Arthur was resplendent in his court dress or flushed and covered in sweat after practices, after tournaments and gilded in victory—it was always in the quiet, unexpected moments, and Arthur had found himself trying to construct more and more of them just to watch Merlin’s eyes go fuzzy with something the same color as affection.“Merlin, stop worrying about stupid things,” Arthur counseled him, although privately he knew he ought to have stayed in Camelot. Merlin, with enough bullying, would have taken Crow and Arthur’s gifts along eventually, and Arthur would have no problem dispatching a knight or two to look after him along the way, but the court was suffocating with summer heat and associated lasciviousness, and he tired of escaping the clutches of determined countesses and barons, the daughters of his father’s most-loved knights. What was more, Arthur found he missed Ealdor, and wondered how Hunith fared. She had had Merlin’s same blue eyes and banked fire, his funny, nervous smile, but a fearless affection Arthur had never known before.“Do you think she’ll like the gifts?” Arthur asked, sounding a little shy himself, and when he dared a glance to his right, Merlin was beaming at him as he said:“I think she’ll like seeing you best of all.”Arthur felt his chest puff up. “Of course,” he said. “Naturally.”Merlin rolled his eyes, still smiling. “Although only the gods know why.”***By the time they reached Ealdor, they were both sore and a bit grouchy from when Merlin had demanded they stop to spare his delicate backside the bruising and Arthur had complained they were only another four hours’ ride away, and Merlin had cried, “Four hours, are you mad?” and Arthur had said, “You are the worst manservant in history,” and they’d ended up fuming at one another for the last leg of the trip. The enmity had been hard to hold onto when they’d crested the hill and seen Ealdor, the village windows warm with candlelight and flickering orange with fires, the distant sound of pigs and chickens bedding down for the night growing louder as they drew closer, and Arthur stole secret, sideways glances at Merlin, watched his eyes grow sleepy with happiness, and felt something tighten sweetly in his chest. He thumped at it, twice, where it itched beneath his clothes, and made a note to see Gaius when they returned.“The village looks well,” Arthur said, voice soft, admiring the fields, the new-made fences and the well-thatched roofs. Ealdor was filled with small, meaningful lives, and Arthur only wished he could fold them into Camelot’s care.“Thanks to you,” Merlin answered in a hush, and added, blushing, “Come on—let’s go before it gets any darker.”Hunith’s face, when she opened the door to find Merlin and Arthur, was brighter than all the torchlight and all the full moons Arthur had ever known. She squeezed her son and kissed him on his forehead, dragging him down to her height, and before Arthur could tease him for it or feel a sting, she turned her attentions to him, wrapping her arms around him and cupping his cheeks with her rough hands, smiling at him widely.“It is good to see you both,” she told them, kissing Arthur on the cheek before trying to drag them into the cottage. “Have you put away the horses for the night?”“Er,” Arthur said.Merlin made a face. “The horses,” he sighed, “are not the problem, mother.”It took all three of them an hour to unload the cart, and by the time they were finished, Arthur and Merlin’s bickering had reached such a fever pitch most of the village had come out to see what the commotion was about, which of course had led to an impromptu celebration to welcome Arthur Pendragon back to Ealdor. Arthur made a royal command for one of the casks of honey ale to be tapped and sent a trio of village boys off to search for the biggest knife they could find to cut one of the wheels of fine, Albion cheese he’d rolled into the wagon that morning, hidden beneath a large package of linen—Merlin shot him a dirty look when he saw it, and Arthur only blinked innocently—and found a dozen of the good, crusty rounds of Camelot’s bread himself. The villagers were hesitant at first, but the shine on Arthur’s invisible crown must have worn off a bit once they noticed what an enormous sodding fishwife Merlin was being about the whole “hidden compartments in the cart filled with soap and dried meats” thing, and by the time the moon was high they were all taking turns teaching Arthur the foulest drinking songs they knew.“I,” Arthur declared, after most of the villager men had been hauled off by their wives and all the children put to bed, “did not even know one could do that with a sheep.”Merlin unlooped Arthur’s arm from his shoulder and set him down gently on the ground, where he’d laid out their bedding. “Yes, well, you have lived a life of deprivation after all,” he said sympathetically, reaching for Arthur’s boots and sighing, “Arthur—I thought I put those away to be donated to the poor in the lower village.”“They’re my favorite boots,” Arthur told the ceiling thatch before sitting up, resting his weight on his elbows and saying, “You know, they all called me Arthur.”Tugging at Arthur’s tunic, Merlin caught his eye and asked, “Yes?”“No one calls me Arthur,” Arthur answered, and paused to say, “Well, you do.”Merlin smiled at him, teasing. “I could stop.”“No, no,” Arthur said. “If you stopped being insubordinate how would I even recognize you?”And the sound of Merlin laughing, the soft alto of Hunith’s voice, round with smiles, were the sounds that bore Arthur off to sleep, b
In August, when Camelot was hot and drenched in unshed rain, melted into the very air, Merlin said:“Arthur, I need to go back to Ealdor.”Arthur was lying flat on the floor of his quarters, heavy curtains drawn at the windows to block out the sun, pressing as much of his skin as possible to the cold stone floors. It was undignified, and his nannies and nursemaids had condemned that sort of behavior even when he’d had them, but it was either strip down in the privacy of his own room with only Merlin to see or risk his father’s wrath by skivving off to the lake and jumping in naked.“What?” he asked, dreamy with heat. He felt like he’d been running a low-grade fever for days.“Ealdor, Arthur,” Merlin told him, impatient. “I need a few days away—I have to see my mother.”Arthur launched himself upright, eyes clearing. “Is Hunith all right?”Merlin looked puzzled. “I—“ he started.“Have Kanan’s kin come back?” Arthur demanded, his mind whirling through the possibilities already. Ealdor sat at the furthest border between Albion and their neighboring kingdom; it wouldn’t be optimal, but if Merlin’s people were willing, Arthur would be happy to put together a small troop of knights and soldiers to help them move—Uther may be unwilling to start war but Arthur was happy to encourage immigration. Camelot had fertile fields and safe borders, and Arthur could send his guard there with special warnings—Hunith would never fear again.“No!” Merlin said, eyes wide. “It’s just that my mother—““You must take Gaius with you if she needs any sort of medical attention,” Arthur scolded, remembering the last time Merlin had been ill and staggering around the castle until Gaius had conscripted Arthur and they’d collectively ordered Merlin off of his feet.“Arthur!” Merlin finally shouted at him, smiling crazily in that way Merlin had occasionally. It was equal parts fond and indulgent, and Arthur wasn’t exactly sure he liked the implications of that. “She’s fine! Ealdor’s fine! It’s just that it’s her birthday, and I’d like to be there for it.”Blinking twice, Arthur said, “Oh, well.”***“There,” Merlin told him, “is no way,” he said, “I am taking that,” he pointed, “with me.”Arthur frowned at the small tokens he’d asked Merlin to include when he returned to Ealdor.“Why not?” Arthur asked, frowning. “Do you not think she’ll like the color?”Merlin boggled at him for a bit before waving his arms at the gift Arthur had chosen, saying in a manner not at all befitting of a servant to the crown prince, “Arthur! That is—that is neither a ‘token’ nor a ‘simple gift!’ That is sixty pounds of the finest beeswax candles in the castle and a half dozen of the best tapestries—commissioned for your father, by the way—and a violet ermine stole that I could swear belonged to Morgana!”“You’re right,” Arthur agreed. “I’ve completely forgotten the caskets of honey ale.”Merlin clawed at his hair. “Arthur, no.”Crossing his arms over his chest, Arthur said, “Merlin, while you are the most crap servant possibly ever in the history of Camelot, I am still crown prince, and if I feel like sending your mother gifts, then that is my decision—understood?”“Fine,” Merlin snapped. “But I refuse to be responsible for hauling them to Ealdor.”Which was how Arthur ended up leading the trip through the dark, cool mountain forests between Albion and Ealdor, dressed casually in his faded red tunic and hose, his most comfortable and battered boots. Merlin had more or less tackled him into his armor, but Arthur had refused to put on the miserably heavy and hot chainmail and then wrestled a sword away from Merlin.“I’m getting better with the sword,” Merlin sulked.“You’re really not,” Arthur said, “which is kind of a mystery in and of itself.”Behind their horses, Crow, the mule, trotted along with a wagonload of Arthur’s gifts, which Merlin seemed to despair at. Arthur argued that if they were going to be taking a wagon, he might as well take along some supplies for the house, which had made Merlin cover his face and make soft, defeated noises of grief.“Are you sure you can be away from Camelot for so long?” Merlin asked, and he sounded shy about it, a strange new occurrence Arthur had noted of late. Merlin never grew shy at the usual times, when Arthur was resplendent in his court dress or flushed and covered in sweat after practices, after tournaments and gilded in victory—it was always in the quiet, unexpected moments, and Arthur had found himself trying to construct more and more of them just to watch Merlin’s eyes go fuzzy with something the same color as affection.“Merlin, stop worrying about stupid things,” Arthur counseled him, although privately he knew he ought to have stayed in Camelot. Merlin, with enough bullying, would have taken Crow and Arthur’s gifts along eventually, and Arthur would have no problem dispatching a knight or two to look after him along the way, but the court was suffocating with summer heat and associated lasciviousness, and he tired of escaping the clutches of determined countesses and barons, the daughters of his father’s most-loved knights. What was more, Arthur found he missed Ealdor, and wondered how Hunith fared. She had had Merlin’s same blue eyes and banked fire, his funny, nervous smile, but a fearless affection Arthur had never known before.“Do you think she’ll like the gifts?” Arthur asked, sounding a little shy himself, and when he dared a glance to his right, Merlin was beaming at him as he said:“I think she’ll like seeing you best of all.”Arthur felt his chest puff up. “Of course,” he said. “Naturally.”Merlin rolled his eyes, still smiling. “Although only the gods know why.”***By the time they reached Ealdor, they were both sore and a bit grouchy from when Merlin had demanded they stop to spare his delicate backside the bruising and Arthur had complained they were only another four hours’ ride away, and Merlin had cried, “Four hours, are you mad?” and Arthur had said, “You are the worst manservant in history,” and they’d ended up fuming at one another for the last leg of the trip. The enmity had been hard to hold onto when they’d crested the hill and seen Ealdor, the village windows warm with candlelight and flickering orange with fires, the distant sound of pigs and chickens bedding down for the night growing louder as they drew closer, and Arthur stole secret, sideways glances at Merlin, watched his eyes grow sleepy with happiness, and felt something tighten sweetly in his chest. He thumped at it, twice, where it itched beneath his clothes, and made a note to see Gaius when they returned.“The village looks well,” Arthur said, voice soft, admiring the fields, the new-made fences and the well-thatched roofs. Ealdor was filled with small, meaningful lives, and Arthur only wished he could fold them into Camelot’s care.“Thanks to you,” Merlin answered in a hush, and added, blushing, “Come on—let’s go before it gets any darker.”Hunith’s face, when she opened the door to find Merlin and Arthur, was brighter than all the torchlight and all the full moons Arthur had ever known. She squeezed her son and kissed him on his forehead, dragging him down to her height, and before Arthur could tease him for it or feel a sting, she turned her attentions to him, wrapping her arms around him and cupping his cheeks with her rough hands, smiling at him widely.“It is good to see you both,” she told them, kissing Arthur on the cheek before trying to drag them into the cottage. “Have you put away the horses for the night?”“Er,” Arthur said.Merlin made a face. “The horses,” he sighed, “are not the problem, mother.”It took all three of them an hour to unload the cart, and by the time they were finished, Arthur and Merlin’s bickering had reached such a fever pitch most of the village had come out to see what the commotion was about, which of course had led to an impromptu celebration to welcome Arthur Pendragon back to Ealdor. Arthur made a royal command for one of the casks of honey ale to be tapped and sent a trio of village boys off to search for the biggest knife they could find to cut one of the wheels of fine, Albion cheese he’d rolled into the wagon that morning, hidden beneath a large package of linen—Merlin shot him a dirty look when he saw it, and Arthur only blinked innocently—and found a dozen of the good, crusty rounds of Camelot’s bread himself. The villagers were hesitant at first, but the shine on Arthur’s invisible crown must have worn off a bit once they noticed what an enormous sodding fishwife Merlin was being about the whole “hidden compartments in the cart filled with soap and dried meats” thing, and by the time the moon was high they were all taking turns teaching Arthur the foulest drinking songs they knew.“I,” Arthur declared, after most of the villager men had been hauled off by their wives and all the children put to bed, “did not even know one could do that with a sheep.”Merlin unlooped Arthur’s arm from his shoulder and set him down gently on the ground, where he’d laid out their bedding. “Yes, well, you have lived a life of deprivation after all,” he said sympathetically, reaching for Arthur’s boots and sighing, “Arthur—I thought I put those away to be donated to the poor in the lower village.”“They’re my favorite boots,” Arthur told the ceiling thatch before sitting up, resting his weight on his elbows and saying, “You know, they all called me Arthur.”Tugging at Arthur’s tunic, Merlin caught his eye and asked, “Yes?”“No one calls me Arthur,” Arthur answered, and paused to say, “Well, you do.”Merlin smiled at him, teasing. “I could stop.”“No, no,” Arthur said. “If you stopped being insubordinate how would I even recognize you?”And the sound of Merlin laughing, the soft alto of Hunith’s voice, round with smiles, were the sounds that bore Arthur off to sleep, b
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