Chapter Text
Arthur
The King of Camelot rubbed his eyes in an attempt to stay awake. While Thean had had the good fortune of being able to sleep the day before without falling off his horse, Arthur did not want to take any chances. He wanted to display a sense of strength for the former slaves who had trusted him and his knights to lead them to the safe haven of Camelot, where they could rest and recover before beginning their new lives. He could not afford to show tiredness, not until they had reached the citadel and he was out of view of his newfound subjects.
Soft whistling came from Arthur’s left side. Due to the numerous complaints of the Knights of the Round Table concerning Gwaine’s incessant chatting on long expeditions, he had acquired the habit of whistling when he had nothing in particular to say. The whistling proved eventually to be just as annoying as his chatter. At that moment, the knight was carrying the tune of a typical bar song concerning a lady’s short dress. Had the knight recited the lyrics, Arthur would have ordered Gwaine to cover Thean’s ears.
The boy was always just at the edge of Arthur’s vision as he rode once again on Arrow with Gwaine seated behind him, securing him to the tall horse. His concern for Thean’s situation was partially why Arthur had struggled to sleep the night before. Merlin’s son currently existed in a state of limbo, and the King of Camelot was very aware that it was his duty to guide Thean through what must be a very strange time in his life.
The worry that had nagged Arthur the previous night was similar to what he had felt when his son, Anselm, had been born. Though his boy thankfully suffered from few illnesses during the 12 years since his birth, Arthur found he worried even when he knew his son was happy and thriving. He worried for the vast uncertainty of his future, and for all the dangers and sorrows in Anselm’s life that he could not predict. Arthur had hoped that the perpetual anxiety may decrease with the birth of his now 7 year old daughter, Eloise. She would not carry the same burden of having to one day inherit Camelot. And yet, Arthur still found himself running over the countless possibilities of misfortune that could befall his daughter as frequently as he did for his son.
He had used to never worry for his loved ones when they were not in immediate danger. Sudden threats had occurred so often when he was a prince, as well as in the early days of his reign, that he would have lost his mind had he worried during the short periods of peace in between. During the first year after Morgana’s downfall at the Battle of Camlann, Arthur had lulled himself into the false belief that he would never again have to fear so desperately for the safety of those he cared about.
Then Merlin had been captured in an area that should have been relatively safe, and suddenly the entire world seemed filled with unseen dangers. It was meant to be a routine two-day hunting trip at the western edge of Camelot, where the rabbit population was plentiful in early spring. Arthur had taken only a handful of knights, wishing to remain as quiet as possible so as not to startle the prey. Merlin had of course grumbled throughout the long trek, but seemed relatively good-natured despite himself.
Good fortune had filled the kingdom in that first year. Anselm had only just been born a month before, and while Arthur had been more than happy to spend most of his time with his newborn son and Guinevere, he had begun to feel stir-crazy by the end of the month. He craved the sense of his feet pounding the earth and the unique thrill of chasing prey. After hearing from Merlin of how Guinevere had once been enchanted into a deer Arthur had nearly killed in a hunt, the King of Camelot had lost his taste for deer hunting, but had no qualms with hunting rabbits.
By the second day, not much prey had been caught. Arthur led his knights somewhat deeper into the forest than he originally intended in the hopes of finding more rabbits. He did not want to return to Camelot looking as though he and his knights had just pranced through the forest for two days without hunting. Merlin had stayed behind to prepare the horses for the upcoming ride back to the citadel. While a considerable amount of Merlin’s time had been taken up by his new duties in delegating the laws of magic, he still insisted on attending to as much of his prior role as Arthur’s servant as possible. Arthur had been concerned that his friend would burden himself with too many tasks, but Merlin had taken the change with grace, allowing for other servants to take over his duties when he was too immersed in meetings pertaining to his role as Court Sorcerer.
Arthur had half-expected to see another servant preparing his horses on the first day of the hunting trip, but had been pleasantly surprised to spot Merlin performing the task in the courtyard. To some extent, the King believed Merlin’s wish to remain acting as a servant to be from the sorcerer’s residual fear of being pushed away for his magic. It seemed Merlin had never fully forgotten the initial disgust Arthur had reacted with upon learning of his friend’s secret. While the King of Camelot made clear his plans to work towards freeing Camelot from the prejudice against the use of magic, Merlin seemed to fear that Arthur still had a personal contempt for magic that ran deep.
“Merlin, why are you still doing this?” Arthur had asked as Merlin helped him dress one morning, several months after the Battle of Camlann. Merlin had remained silent as he fastened the cloak around Arthur’s neck, pulling a little tighter than normal, as he often did when nervous.
“Did you fall on your head this morning? Because I’m your servant, that’s why,” Merlin had replied, the lightness in his voice sounding forced.
“And you’re Court Sorcerer, and you help out Gaius,” Arthur remarked, turning around to face Merlin now that he was fully dressed. “You’re really telling me there aren’t any herbs he wants you to go collect?”
Merlin had ducked his chin slightly. “Would you prefer I do that?” he said softly, with less jest in his voice.
Arthur’s eyebrows had knitted at the sudden serious look on his friend’s face. “That’s not what I meant,” he said, perturbed. “You know that’s not what I meant.” Merlin seemed to suddenly be very interested in the hardwood floors he had scrubbed the previous night. “Merlin?”
Still avoiding his gaze, his servant said, “If you’re uneasy with having me as your servant, just tell me. I’ll understand.”
Arthur nearly stepped back in shock. “That’s what you thought I meant?” He scrambled for words of reassurance, but all he managed to say was, “You really are an idiot then, Merlin.” Shaking his head in mock contempt and turning away from his servant, Arthur had picked up his nightclothes and tossed them over his shoulder. “I want those washed by tonight, or you’ll be in the stocks tomorrow,” he ordered, and heard a soft chuckle behind him. He did not need to turn around to know that Merlin had smiled then.
Slowly, his friend grew more accustomed to using magic without expecting a shocked response from any onlookers. The first time Merlin had used magic openly to stop a mug in midair from falling to the ground during a patrol, Percival had spit out a mouthful of stew in surprise. Merlin had quickly grabbed the mug from where it floated and glanced around sheepishly at the Knights of the Round Table. Gwaine was the first to laugh, quickly followed by all the other knights. Merlin’s shoulders had sagged in relief as he grinned at their amusement.
During that last hunting trip, Merlin had used magic countless times for small tasks, and Arthur marveled at the comfort his friend finally displayed in doing so in front of the knights. As the King had stalked quietly through the thick forest, he pictured Merlin back at their temporary camp using magic even more liberally without the presence of any others watching. The thought made him smile before he turned back to focusing on the rabbit he spotted up ahead. Arthur managed to get close enough to see the whiskers on the rabbit twitch as the creature sniffed the air. That moment was almost serene, with the rabbit as the unknowing prey, and the King as the knowing predator. He hadn’t been aware of it then, but it would be one of the last moments of peace Arthur would feel for many years.
In unison, the rabbit and the King startled at the sound of a pained wail that quickly faded out. The rabbit fled, but Arthur scarcely noticed before turning around to run back towards the direction of the wail. He knew that voice, and while he had never heard it sound so agonized before, it was undeniably Merlin’s.
His knights quickly fell in line and began racing beside him. Arthur arrived at where they had set up camp but spotted no sign of Merlin, until his eyes turned to a bucket on its side next to the nearby stream. Scrambling down the path, he nearly slipped, only able to stand upright from the support of the knight behind him. Arthur glanced down at his feet and felt his stomach lurch at the sight of a thick pool of scarlet. Following the trail of blood, his eyes landed on a groaning figure of an unfamiliar man slumped against a tree.
The King of Camelot raced towards the man and dragged him up by the collar of his shirt, only then noticing the profuse bleeding beneath the man’s cap. “Where is he?” he growled. The man’s eyes rolled back and forth, unable to focus. Arthur slammed him against the tree in a fit of rage, realizing only after that it wouldn’t help the man’s dim grasp of consciousness.
“Doesn’t matter,” the man drawled, and seemed to be laughing in shock. “You won’t be seeing him again.”
His eyelids drifted shut, and he sagged with a weight Arthur was all too familiar with from his battle experiences. He dropped him down gracelessly, and hurried to search the rest of the surrounding area of the stream. His knights followed suit. No footprints or horse prints could be seen; Arthur pondered that perhaps whoever had done this had used magic to cover their tracks. He had witnessed Merlin perform the trick countless times before. A tense silence ensued until one knight called out for the others to come forward.
The knight pulled out an arrow from beneath a shrub. The tip was dripping with a mixture of a thick yellow substance, and what Arthur realized with fear to be more blood. A fresh scarlet puddle lay beneath the bush, along with a now sodden piece of fabric from a blue tunic Merlin often wore. Arthur picked up the piece gently and stared at it blankly.
“This is Amatinth,” the knight who had picked up the arrow said, and there was a woeful tone to his voice. “The slave traders use it to knock their victims unconscious.”
Arthur nodded; the knight only confirmed what he had begun to fear. He thought they’d be safe here, that they were still close enough to Camelot’s borders to avoid trouble. “Well, he has magic, so he’ll be fine, right?” One of the newer recruits piped up. Arthur only stared at him coldly, causing the young knight to shrink back from the King’s gaze.
“We’ll search the area on horseback,” Arthur said, stuffing the bloodied blue fabric into his pocket. “Stay close to me.”
They had searched the forest aimlessly for several hours, and Arthur felt a mounting panic take hold of him. Merlin would be fine, he kept telling himself. He was always fine, had to be fine. He had magic, after all. What if they have magic too? Arthur had thought as he frantically scoured the ground for any trail. He knew Merlin was apparently quite powerful, as had been evident at the Battle of Camlann. Yet no man, not even a sorcerer, was infallible. There had certainly been times where Merlin had been hurt before Arthur knew of his magic, and his powers had been available then as well.
“Sire, there’s no sign of him,” an older knight had piped up when the moon hung high in the sky. “It would be wise to head back to Camelot and recruit more knights to search in the morning.”
Arthur only gazed out at the dark forest in response, hoping to see a lanky figure walk out, laughing as he talked about his escapade. When no such figure emerged, the King turned his horse back in the direction of Camelot wordlessly. They rode until dawn without rest. Arthur ordered out a patrol to the border as soon as the bells signaled his return to the citadel.
There was no news.
He sent out word of Merlin’s capture to the rulers of the lands Camelot bordered to the west.
There was sympathy, but no news.
Each time Arthur found himself unable to accompany a liberation mission of a slave camp, he took aside Gwaine and needlessly reminded him to search for Merlin, or at least information on Merlin’s whereabouts. The shake of Sir Gwaine’s head each time he arrived back in the citadel told Arthur enough.
There was no news.
Sometimes, Arthur had hoped that Merlin had escaped the slave handlers and found a new home where he lived for himself. He knew that this was only a dim fantasy, that his friend wouldn’t have abandoned his ties to Camelot without notice. The sudden arrival of Thean into Arthur’s life just proved that Merlin had never gotten the chance to live for himself, that he had forcefully been transferred from one servitude to another.
As he eyed the slim figure of his friend’s son, Arthur wondered what thoughts must be racing through the boy’s mind. Thean’s eyes darted back and forth across the horizon ahead; the ramparts of the citadel had just become visible. It occurred then to Arthur that this could perhaps be the first time Thean and many of the freed slaves trailing behind him would enter a city.
The procession entered at the northern gate of the city, as typical for any group bringing newly freed slaves into Camelot. When Arthur had just begun his campaign of freeing Albion from slavery, he realized that those who wished to return to Camelot would need a temporary place to stay where they could rest and recover before deciding what to do with their newfound freedom. To prepare for the increasing influx of displaced people, a long-abandoned chapel was renovated to provide housing and healing for the freed slaves. The building had fallen into disuse during Uther’s reign due to its associations with the Old Religion; his father had not torn it down for fear that there were magical safeguards preventing its destruction.
When renovation had begun, Arthur had dispatched sorcerers to ensure there was no lingering malicious spells in the building. Though he had never had the heart to replace Merlin's Court Sorcerer position with another person, he had recruited many sorcerers into various roles of service to the kingdom during his reign. Although no religious events occurred in the chapel now, those who sought refuge still fondly referred to the place of healing as ‘The Chapel.’ Arthur regularly visited the sanctuary in between liberation missions to check on healing and food supplies, as well as discuss the safe transportation of The Chapel residents to where they wished to move once recovered.
As the gates opened into the citadel and the large group trotted in, the relative silence of the freed slaves swelled into soft murmurs of wonder. The Chapel was immediately to their left, and its current residents had streamed out to welcome the newcomers. Already healers and recovered slaves began to help the travelers from their horses, and hand out portions of water and food. Some natives of the citadel also lined the streets with calm curiosity.
When Arthur turned around, he saw Thean struggling to disembark from Arrow. “And just where do you think you’re going?” he asked the boy. Thean gazed at him in confusion, with one foot still precariously balanced in the stirrup.
“Um… in there?” Thean said hesitantly, gesturing to The Chapel, where already many of the travelers were slowly streaming in.
“No you’re not,” Arthur replied lightly. “You’ll be staying in the castle until we can locate your family.”
Arthur suppressed a laugh at how the boy gaped in shock. The decision was one he had come to after much consideration the night before. While he was hesitant to show any favoritism towards the freed slaves, he was even more reluctant to let Merlin’s son out of his sight. He feared that the boy would simply disappear in the night if he were to stay in The Chapel, as he almost had disappeared from the woodwork camp just two nights before.
“But before then, we’ll be seeing Gaius to get those runes off of you,” Arthur continued. At this, the boy’s jaw dropped even further.
“Gaius? ” Thean repeated in disbelief, clearly recognizing the name. “He’s still alive?”
Gwaine let out a soft chuckle. “Gaius is older than when you’re father knew him, but just as stubborn as ever,” the knight explained. Thean nodded slowly, and with Gwaine’s help was soon seated back atop Arrow.
There was some truth in Gwaine’s words, the King of Camelot reflected, but an unmentioned truth lay as well. Gaius was much more fragile these days, and had gone into semi-retirement due to his gradually weakening state. After Merlin’s disappearance, his strength seemed to diminish, as did his will to keep up with his duties in the castle. Each time Arthur relayed the news of there being no news at all to Gaius, he saw his own fear and disappointment reflected in the old man’s eyes. He knew Merlin was like a son to Gaius, and he saw the way in which Gaius grieved for Merlin’s disappearance as a parent would for their child.
Once a new physician for the castle had been found and trained, Gaius had moved to the middle of the citadel. Arthur suspected he had chosen his new place of residence so that he could readily be available to both the castle in times of need, as well as The Chapel. The old man was often at the sanctuary when Arthur made his routine visits, murmuring words of comfort and using his magic to help remove the runes of the freed people. After a decade of experience, Gaius had become one of the most skilled rune removers, thus why Arthur was determined to seek him out to assist Thean. Of course, he would have brought Thean to see Gaius eventually anyway, but the unique runes of the boy made Arthur determined to have him see Gaius as soon as possible.
After delegating routine tasks to the knights who were to stay behind to guard The Chapel that day, Arthur sent out a portion of the knights to return to the castle to relay word of their return to the citadel. With a few guards remaining to accompany him, and with Gwaine and Thean at his side, he set out towards Gaius’ residence. Along the way, he watched with amusement at Thean’s wide-eyed observation of the citadel. It was mid-afternoon and the city was teeming with life. Merchants called out their wares, and children ran through the streets for play, their parents yelling after them in exasperation to slow down.
Thean seemed particularly interested in an entertainer who used magic to juggle three apples without the use of his hands, the performance eliciting polite applause from the small crowd surrounding the sorcerer. He wondered if Merlin’s son had ever used his own magic for anything aside from defense, and the thought saddened the King. So often Merlin had described and demonstrated the various ways in which magic could be used for nonviolent goals; and yet here was his son, who had in all likelihood scarcely gotten the chance to use his own magic for good.
Arthur held up a hand to halt his group once they reached Gaius’ house. It was a small residence, no different from the modest buildings surrounding it. The retired physician could doubtlessly afford a more upstanding residence, but did not seem to care for displaying the material wealth he had acquired from his years spent attending to the royal family. Two guards posted themselves on either side of the door before Arthur had the chance to knock; another two dispersed to patrol the outskirts of the street, and two more still stood behind Arthur, prepared to follow him inside. The King at times grew weary of the constant protection that followed him, but Guinevere had long since given herself the task of deciding the protocol for how he should be protected both inside and outside of the citadel. It seemed that which each year that passed, Gwen demanded more guards to be at his side. Arthur usually bit back his protests in the Queen’s presence, as he knew he worried her enough with his periodic absences from the castle. Consenting to more protection was his way of compromising for the concern he knew she had whenever he wasn’t at home with her.
Before raising the knocker, Arthur checked to make sure Gwaine and Thean were behind him. They had disembarked from Arrow, and Gwaine stood ready with a small excited smile starting on his face. Thean peaked out shyly behind him, as though wanting to shield himself with Gwaine’s cloak. The King thought for a moment that it might have been a better idea to first take the boy back to the castle to rest. Then, he spotted the multitude of runes that still littered Thean’s arms, and felt reassured in his decision to bring him to Gaius. Until those runes were removed, Thean could not truly be free.
A minute passed after knocking with no response, and Arthur worried the physician may not be home. Thankfully, the door did open. Gaius stood there blinking in surprise; the hair on one side of his face was matted, as though he had just woken up from a nap. Arthur couldn’t be sure, but he thought the physician looked thinner than when he last saw him a month ago.
“Sire!” Gaius greeted the King, stepping aside to let him in. “What a pleasant surprise, I didn’t expect…”
His voice trailed off when he laid eyes on Thean. Gaius’ face morphed into shock, and he stared at Arthur, a question already on his lips. He looked as though he had seen a ghost, and it occurred to Arthur that that was how he had felt when he had first laid eyes on Thean as well. With the boy’s flat yet curled black hair, slightly sunken cheekbones, and dark blue eyes, he was the smaller image of his father.
“This is Thean,” Arthur said, beckoning the boy to come forward. He placed a hand on Thean’s shoulder, feeling how the boy slightly shook, from what Arthur was unsure. “Merlin’s son,” he continued, confirming what Gaius seemed to already suspect.
There was an even longer silence as Gaius stared at Thean, and Thean stared at the floor with only a quick glance up at Gaius. “We don’t know for sure where Merlin and his family are, but we have a lead that we’re looking into,” Arthur said, maintaining eye contact with Gaius when Thean seemed unable to. He thought he saw tears starting in the old man’s eyes. “We were hoping you could help remove the runes off of Thean. There’s a particular one that harms him when he uses magic. Helena didn’t recognize it.”
The assignment of a task seemed to break Gaius out of his shocked daze, and he nodded, blinking the water from his eyes. “Come here, my boy,” he said softly to Thean, patting the long table used to observe patients. Thean sat down willingly, glancing around at the vast quantities of potions and herbs that filled the shelves of the large room. Gaius made to study the boy’s runes, and Thean rolled up both of his sleeves. Gaius stifled a noise of surprise at the largest rune on the boy’s upper arm; it glowed red as it had the first night Thean had used magic, but not as brightly.
“I’ve seen this rune only once or twice before,” Gaius said, still staring at the harsh and jagged lines of the red mark. “It’s used for those the handlers suspect have particularly strong magic.”
“Can you remove it?” Gwaine asked, hovering close to the boy’s side.
Gaius nodded, and Arthur felt his shoulders sag in relief. “Yes, I still have some potions left over from when I last removed the rune,” the physician explained. “Are these all the runes you have?” he asked Thean.
The boy swallowed nervously, and shook his head. Glancing around at the onlookers, he slowly took off his shirt, and a collective gasp went about the room at the sight. Even more runes littered the boy’s chest and abdomen, with scarcely any room left for bare skin. Some marks looked like smaller versions of the large jagged rune on Thean’s upper arm. Handlers usually only had runes placed on the arms of their slaves, as this easily allowed them to differentiate the workers from the handlers. It was rare to find runes anywhere else on the body, especially in the extreme amounts present on Thean’s torso.
“And your back?” Gaius asked quietly. Arthur felt further sadness when Thean bent down slightly to reveal the same display of crowded runes on his back.
“This will take a while,” Gaius confirmed as he began to fiddle about grounding herbs and collecting potions. Perhaps noticing the fear on Thean’s face, he went on, “It won’t hurt, I’ll just have to do it slowly. Your body’s physical and magical nature have grown accustomed to the presence of the runes, and so it’s best to remove them slowly and individually.”
Thean only nodded at the explanation, appearing resigned to the situation. Gaius instructed the boy to lie back, as some slaves became dizzy during the process. Arthur considered leaving the room to give them some privacy, but found himself unwilling to do so. He had once had a similar reaction when Eloise had needed a tooth removed, and he had refused the dentist’s requests for him to leave the room despite being told the procedure would be unpleasant to watch.
Arthur had seen parts of the procedure Gaius was now performing, although he had never watched the process from start to finish. It began with a clear salve applied generously to the areas of the runes. Then, the healer would place a finger on the rune being removed, and recite its respective incantation. The more complex and powerful the rune, the longer the incantation. In Thean’s case, many of the runes required incantations that took over a minute for Gaius to recite fully, indicating the runes on his body were more powerful than typical of a slave. From the largest rune on Thean’s arm, Arthur had surmised that the handlers in the mines of Medora must have known of Thean’s and his family’s magic. However, with each long incantation Gaius spoke, it occurred to Arthur that perhaps the handlers had suspected the truly powerful nature of Merlin’s magic all along.
Arthur’s mind flashed back to the dying man they had found by the stream from which Merlin had been captured. He had been so concerned for his friend’s safety then, that he hadn’t spared a thought as to how the man had been so gravely injured. As time went on, Arthur realized it was likely Merlin who had dealt the man a fatal blow; and knowing his old friend, he had in all probability used magic to do so. Perhaps the others handlers had seen this terrifying display of sorcery, and had promptly covered Merlin soon after his capture in runes akin to the complex ones that covered Thean. Such a conclusion was the only one that could explain why Arthur’s usually crafty friend had been unable to escape slavery all these years.
In the weeks following Merlin’s capture, Arthur had almost hoped to be sent a ransom note. At least then he would have confirmation that his friend was alive, and have a possible lead on where to search for him. Merlin’s reputation as a powerful sorcerer and Arthur’s trusted companion was known in Camelot as well as throughout Albion. Had the handlers known of Merlin’s identity, they likely would have craved the wealth they could be granted for his safe return. Alas, handlers rarely cared to learn the names and past lives of those they captured; this only made them seem like real people instead of workers who deserved to be treated inhumanely. Thus it occurred to Arthur that his friend had not revealed his identity for fear of being used for ransom. Merlin knew Arthur too well to believe the King wouldn’t have paid the fine or followed the lead into inevitable danger to rescue him.
As Gaius worked, Arthur filled the physician in on the sparse information he had learned from his interrogation of the woodwork camp handlers, and described the patrol he had sent to the mines of Medora. Gaius remained mostly silent as the news was recounted. He did not seem overjoyed, and perhaps was still in some shock. Arthur wondered if the physician was hesitant to even hope for the return of his long-lost ward. The potential of having that hope be crushed was painful to consider.
Thean had kept his eyes closed when Gaius began to remove the first of the runes. The boy had raised his head at one point as Gaius murmured an incantation, causing a rune to swirl and disappear. Thean had quickly lowered his head back down, deciding against watching the process. He seemed particularly keen on not watching the removal of the large jagged rune on his upper arm, turning his head to the other side during the process. Perhaps sensing his unease, Gwaine began to recount the story of when he had first met Arthur and Merlin during a bar brawl. Thean laughed at all the appropriate places in the story, although Arthur could sense he was only half-listening to the tale. He had no doubt heard it countless times before from Merlin.
By the time the last rune had been removed from Thean’s back, the orange glow of sunset had begun to filter into Gaius’ house. “You’re all set now,” Gaius said, supporting the boy with a hand on his back as he slowly sat up. “How do you feel?”
Thean was studying his arms in disbelief, and tilting his head to observe his now bare torso. He even looked over his shoulder to glimpse his back. It was as though he was seeing his body for the first time. In a sense, Arthur realized, that was what it must have felt like. With the runes gone, the jutting of Thean’s ribs from malnourishment was more evident. Faint freckles were now visible on his arms as well. “Strange,” was all Thean managed to say. The boy’s response mirrored the look on his face.
Gaius smiled at the vague response. “That’s normal, it’ll take a while for you to adjust,” the physician explained. “You may want to avoid using magic for the next few days. Sometimes, when magic has been suppressed for too long by runes, it comes out stronger than you intend.”
Arthur pondered on how Merlin’s son would soon be able to use his magic more liberally than he ever had before. After seeing the boy topple a tree in the forest even with the oppression from his runes, the King wondered just how powerful the boy’s magic was now that it was uninhibited.
Thean put back on his dirty green tunic, and Arthur made a mental note to find the boy some clean clothes once they were back at the castle. Their impending departure evident, Gaius paused in returning the potions he had used to their shelves. The physician turned to where Thean still sat on the table, and placed a hand caringly on the back of the boy’s neck, running his fingers slightly through his dark hair. Tears were now liberally streaming down the old man’s tired face. “Come back soon,” Gaius said, his voice scarcely higher than a whisper. Gaius could no doubt see another dark-haired young man in Thean’s eyes. Many times Arthur had wondered if the physician had only managed to survive this long due to his determination to see Merlin again.
To Arthur’s surprise, Thean looked directly back into the emotion-filled eyes of his father’s old mentor. “I will,” he said, his voice ringing with the determination of a promise. Gwaine gently helped him down from the table and guided him out of the house, with Arthur following close behind. Gaius watched from his door as their horses galloped away.
Arthur eyed the castle quickly growing closer on the horizon. Already he was beginning to feel more relaxed, allowing his tiredness to show a little bit more with each street that brought them closer to his home. He longed to see Guinevere and tell her of the journey, and to hold Eloise in his arms while he watched over Anselm’s sword practice. Nearly a week had transpired since he’d departed from Camelot, and while it certainly hadn’t been the longest liberation mission Arthur had been on, it was one of the most eventful. As they reached the gates and began to enter, Arthur stole one last glance at Thean and was seized once more with fear for the boy’s uncertain future. He knew Thean would be physically safe in the castle, but doubted the boy would be truly happy until reunited with his family.
Several of his advisors already lined up the steps of the courtyard to welcome him and hear his reports. As Arthur stepped off his horse, Guinevere hurried past the advisors before they could reach the King, and enveloped him in an embrace. The King took a moment to close his eyes and linger in her warmth, before pulling away. The Queen had a look of confused urgency. “Arthur, I heard- the messenger, he said- I mean, is it really true?” Gwen said, and Arthur realized whom she must be asking about.
Behind him, Gwaine walked forward with Thean at his side. “I believe this may be the little man you’re looking for,” Gwaine said cheerfully.
Thean stepped a bit closer to the Queen, and after a moment of hesitation, bent forward. The movement was awkward and stilted, and it took Arthur a moment to realize the boy was trying to bow.
“Your Majesty,” Thean said, straightening up. “My name’s Thean, not little man,” he added, a nervous smile on his face as he glanced at Gwaine, who put a hand to his own chest in mock affront.
Gwen shook her head in amazement, at a loss for words. She closed the distance between her and Merlin’s son and wrapped him in a tight hug. For a moment, Thean seemed unsure what to do, but he slowly wrapped his arms around the Queen’s waist to reciprocate the hug.
“Thean, it is so good to meet you,” she said into the boy’s shoulder.
From the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Anselm and Eloise being led down the steps by their respective servants. Anselm had golden hair mirroring that of his father, and a freckled face. At that moment, the prince paused on the steps, befuddled by the sight of his mother hugging a boy unknown to him. Eloise ran past him to leap into her father’s arms. She had curly brown hair like her mother, copper-colored skin, and green eyes a shade mixed of Arthur’s and Gwen’s.
“Dad, I made you this!” she said gleefully, holding up a roughly sewn purple and black cloth. There seemed to be a shape in its center that may have been a dog or a heart, but the King wasn’t sure.
“Ah, it’s beautiful!” Arthur said, grinning as he took his daughter’s handiwork. She had recently begun to learn sewing. The skill was one that could be easily be performed by the servants Eloise would have throughout her life, but the little girl had her interest piqued from watching her maids perform the intricate task.
Anselm walked slowly over to Arthur, his gaze still on where Gwen stood softly talking to Thean, her hands still on his shoulders. Arthur affectionately ruffled the hair on his son’s head and pulled him in for a side-hug. Pulling away after a moment, Anselm turned his head towards where Thean stood with the Queen. “Dad, who is he?” the prince asked, suspicion in his voice.
Instead of answering immediately, Arthur placed a hand on each of his children’s shoulders and walked them to where Gwen and Thean stood. The Queen and the boy stopped talking at their approach.
“Anselm, Eloise, this is Thean. He will be staying in the castle with us for the time being. Thean, these are my children.”
At the king’s introduction, Thean stepped forward and bowed in their direction, this time with a little more confidence but just as much stiffness as before. Anselm turned a questioning gaze to his father, clearly having caught the gracelessness of the bow. Guests had stayed in the castle many times before, but only those on business or of royal birth. Thean clearly fit in neither of those categories, what with his awkward bows and unkempt appearance. Arthur merely gave a slight shake of his head in response to Anselm’s stare; he could answer those questions when Merlin’s son did not stand directly in front of them.
Perhaps sensing the confusion of her children, Gwen placed a hand on Thean’s shoulder and said, “Come along, Thean, I’ll show you to your chambers and have a bath run for you before dinner.”
The boy’s eyes widened at this and he only managed to nod his head. The prospect of having his own room, a bath, and another meal must have seemed like a dream to him.
Arthur began to lead his son and daughter down a different hallway than Gwen towards their respective chambers. The Queen would be busy with Thean, so he’d take this time to catch up with his children on the events of the past week and answer the questions they no doubt had. An advisor approached Arthur for a report on the liberation of the woodwork camp, but he held up a hand to stop him.
“I will give my report later this evening. Until then, I will be with my family,” he said, and the advisor gave a surprised nod and turned about face to inform his fellow advisors of the King’s wishes. Arthur had skipped many dinners to sit with his council, but found himself unwilling to do so that night.
“Dad, why is that boy so small?” Eloise asked, her curiosity clearly piqued by Thean as much as Anselm’s had.
“And why is he so dirty?” Anselm asked, sniffling.
“Thean was one of the slaves from the camp we liberated this week,” Arthur explained. He was hesitant to talk of such awful places in front of Eloise, who was only seven years old, but knew there was no other way he could explain the situation. Besides, the princess was young, but she had ears, and the castle certainly talked. She would have heard of Thean’s past eventually whether or not Arthur told her. “He’s been through a lot, so be nice to him while he’s here.”
“A slave?” Anselm asked, shocked. “Why did you bring him here then?”
Arthur had taken his son to The Chapel only once before, and for the rest of the day, the boy had been in a shocked stupor. The Chapel had just taken in many ill and starved slaves that week, and the horrors had seemed too much to process for the young prince. Arthur realized that his son may have been too young to witness the tragedies inflicted on slaves, but he had wanted to instill the mission of freeing such people in Anselm. If he was unable to completely free Albion of slavery in his reign, he wanted to know that Anselm would continue to carry out his father’s dream.
“Thean is Merlin’s son,” Arthur said, and heard Eloise’s soft gasp.
“Really? Are you sure, Dad?” Anselm asked as they stepped into the prince’s chambers. “I thought Merlin was…”
He didn’t finish his sentence, looking away from his father’s gaze. Arthur felt a pang but didn’t bother to scold his son for what he had been about to say; no doubt, Anselm was only repeating gossip he had heard in the castle. A servant began to take off the prince’s sword practice cloak, but Arthur waved them away. It had been a long time since he had readied the prince for dinner himself. He allowed a maid to braid Eloise’s hair though as she sat at the edge of Anselm’s bed; he had never been quite as good at braiding as Gwen.
“Neither of you knew Merlin when he was here,” Arthur began as he unfastened his son’s cloak. “Thean is his spitting image; when I first saw him, it was almost like seeing Merlin again. And he has magic, too, just like his father.”
Eloise let out a squeal of delight. “Do you think he can show us some tricks?” she asked, nearly wiggling with excitement.
Arthur’s daughter had only been alive during a time when magic was accepted in Camelot. Though she had learned of the history of Morgana’s campaign of terror, to the princess, these stories only sounded like events in a distant and irrelevant part of the past.
“Gaius said he’s not meant to use magic for the next few days. He just had his runes removed, so don’t ask him to do anything like that for a while.” Arthur now gently combed his son’s hair, the knots a result of when he had ruffled it earlier. Anselm clearly didn’t think he was doing a good enough job though, as he took the comb from his father’s hand and began to forcefully pull at his own hair in frustration.
“Do you think he’ll like sword work, then?” Anselm asked hopefully, and it was the first time he seemed to speak of Thean without wariness. Arthur hid a small smile as he thought back to the many times he had Merlin act as a shield for his swordwork, or even as a target for javelin throwing. He did not remember his friend enjoying those activities.
“Maybe, but we should let him rest for at least a day or two. He’s had a long journey,” was all the King replied, not wanting to dash his son’s newfound hope of Thean being a potential playmate. Just as the maid finished braiding Eloise’s hair, another servant alerted the royal family that dinner was ready to be served.
Arthur entered the dining room reserved for casual dinners with Anselm and Eloise following behind. He was pleasantly greeted by the sight of Thean already seated on one side of the table, with Guinevere leaning towards him from her end of the table. The Queen pointed at the cutlery before the young boy, carefully explaining the different purposes of the varying sizes of spoons, forks, and knives. Though Arthur hadn’t specifically asked for Thean to eat with them that night, he was pleased Gwen had taken her own initiative to ensure a place was set for him.
Thean was now dressed in a new white tunic, brown pants and brown boots. The outfit was a simple one, but still much better than the near rags he had worn on the journey to Camelot. With the runes removed from his arms and the thick layer of grime cleaned from his face and hair, Thean could almost pass for someone who had not spent his entire life in captivity until a few days ago. Only the boy’s unfed figure and the nervous way his eyes seemed to constantly study his surroundings gave away that he had not grown up under kind circumstances.
Gwen sat back in her chair, halting whatever cutlery information she had been divulging to Thean. The Queen smiled as her children and husband took their seats at the table. Anselm seemed almost ready to complain about being seated next to Eloise instead of in the seat he usually occupied where Thean now sat, but after a stern glance from his father, the prince decided against it. Once they were all seated, two servants brought in the main dish of the night: a plate of roasted lemon and thyme chicken, whipped potatoes, and shredded brussel sprouts with walnuts. Numerous other side dishes were spread across the table to be sampled by the family and their guest as desired.
Anselm quickly dug into his portions, made hungry by the sword practice he had participated in earlier. Across from him, Thean carefully cut into his chicken, moving the knife hesitantly as if the chicken were still alive and capable of feeling the pain.
“What’s this?” Eloise asked, wrinkling her nose at the purple juice a servant had just poured into her cup.
“Prune juice,” Gwen said in a tightened tone she employed only when anticipating an argument with her children. Eloise and Anselm groaned, all too familiar with the drink. “It’s good for you,” the Queen continued, taking a sip of her own portion of juice.
Following her lead, Thean raised a cup to his lips, only to quickly splutter the drink back into the cup. Eloise burst into gales of laughter as Thean lowered his beverage sheepishly.
“The children will be having water for tonight,” Arthur told the servants, earning him a grateful glance from Thean and a glare of disapproval from his wife.
Anselm and Eloise began their tales of all the happenings in the castle for the past week, at times talking over each other in their eagerness to captivate their father’s attention. Thean remained silent throughout the conversation, still focused on the careful disassembling of his meal.
When conversation lulled, Anselm piped up, “Pass the yams.” The orange starch lay closest to Thean, but the boy continued to eat his meal obliviously. “Pass the yams, please,” the prince repeated pointedly.
Hearing the annoyance in his voice, Thean glanced up to see the entire royal family staring at him. A servant hurried over to correct the unexpected delay in the passing of the yams, but Anselm still stared at Thean as he accepted the helping from the servant.
“Don’t you know what yams are?” Eloise asked softly. Her voice wasn’t accusing, but merely shocked. She had always known a vast variety of foods to be served at each meal; to meet a boy who did not know one of the more common side dishes in Camelot must have shocked her.
“They didn’t have them where Thean came from,” Gwen replied simply as Thean stared at his plate in silence.
Arthur wasn’t sure if the Queen knew that to be factually true, but she seemed intent on stopping the inquisitive stares of her children towards Thean. The remainder of the meal continued in relative silence, with Gwen occasionally remarking on the various banquets and pageants occurring throughout the citadel in the upcoming months. Arthur knew she was only doing so to fill the silence, as Guinevere was never one to revel in excess celebration.
Later that evening, as Arthur exited a meeting with his advisors, he found his feet leading him to where Guinevere had described Thean’s chambers to be. The Queen had remained in the advisor’s meeting for the first half to hear of the recent liberation mission, but had departed to help prepare her children for bed. The King paused to glance into the slightly ajar doorway of Thean’s new room. Thean lay curled atop the freshly made bed, hugging his knees to his chest. He was still dressed in the outfit he had been in for dinner, despite a set of nightclothes resting at the edge of his bed. In the moonlight, Arthur could see that the boy’s eyes were open, staring out through the window as though they were searching for something. The King considered stepping in to check on the boy, but he had never been the best at comforting others, and so he decided against it, instead slowly closing the door to the room so as not to disturb its occupant.
Arthur sighed as he entered his own chambers, his wife turning to greet him. “Are you alright?” she asked, hurrying across the room and placing a hand against his cheek. They shared a quick kiss.
“I’m fine,” Arthur murmured, gently kissing her neck. “Just tired.”
Gwen pulled away, looking into his eyes. “Arthur, I saw the way you looked in the courtyard. You couldn’t have been just tired.” Arthur smiled faintly at this, rubbing his hands up and down her arms, taking in the absolute familiarity of her presence. How many times had he tried to feign being okay, only for her to lead him out of his denial?
“I suppose it has been a rather… confusing week,” he admitted as she gently led him to the edge of their bed. They both sat down, holding each other’s hands loosely as they used to when they had first begun courting.
“Then tell me about it,” Gwen said.
Arthur nodded, but did not respond immediately. While it was easiest to be transparent around Gwen, he sometimes found she was able to make sense of his own emotions better than he was. Nevertheless, he tried to verbalize his current state of mind for her sake. “I know I should be feeling happy, finding Thean and realizing that Merlin could very well be alive,” Arthur began. “Instead, I just feel so very guilty.” His voice hitched slightly at the admission. “Now that I know the truth, I can’t stop thinking about how long he’s spent in such an awful place, and his family, too.”
Sometimes, when Arthur accompanied a liberation mission and spotted the miserable children entrenched in slavery, he saw Anselm and Eloise in their faces and his heart twisted in grief. Merlin, meanwhile, had had to live through that reality of seeing his own children grow up in slavery for the past decade.
“I failed them,” Arthur whispered, and realized with horror that he was crying. He had not truly cried since his admission of the raid on the druid camp to the spirit of that tortured boy, all those years ago. Merlin had been there that night, Arthur remembered; his servant had stood solemnly by, never turning to anger against the crimes of the King. Gwen’s frown deepened in concern, and she lowered her husband’s head into her lap, gently stroking his hair. The royal couple remained in that position for several minutes, the silence broken only by the King’s occasional sniffling and stifled sobs.
Once Arthur’s weeping had quieted, Guinevere raised his head until he could meet her eyes. Her hands cupped his chin, her thumbs stroking away his straying tears. “You did not fail them,” she whispered. “You didn’t even know there were camps in the Medora mountains. If you had, and you had known Merlin was in them, I know you would have saved him sooner.” Arthur stared into her brown eyes, and saw that she too looked tearful. Perhaps she was trying to appear strong for him, as he had so often tried to do for her. “There is still hope, Arthur. There always has been,” she continued. “We have to believe that- for our sakes, and for Thean’s.”
At the mention of the boy’s name, Arthur felt his strength return. He could not let his guilt paralyze him; he had to push forward for the sake of his friend’s son.
As Arthur lay back down into the bed, with Gwen settling into his arms, he sent up a silent prayer to whichever gods dwelled above: Thank you for protecting my family. Now help me protect Merlin’s.