Chapter Text
Year 1
When Merlin had been in Camelot almost six months, one of Gaius’ patients died. The man had been cutting down trees for firewood when a falling tree crushed him underneath. The internal injuries were severe and there was nothing anyone could do, not even someone of Gaius’ vast knowledge and experience.
He was certainly not the first of Gaius’ patients to die during the time Merlin had been in Camelot, nor was he the first man Merlin had seen perish from injuries such as these; back in Ealdor the people didn’t even have the luxury of Gaius’ pain-relieving tonics to help sooth their passing.
So, the death of this poor man shouldn’t have stuck in Merlin’s memory such as it did. But when Gaius had pulled back from the man, having checked his life forces one last time and pronounced him gone, a little form had rushed past Merlin’s legs. Merlin was barely sixteen summers himself at that point, but the little boy curled up sobbing at the dead man’s side couldn’t even have been half of that.
“The mother died in childbirth,” Gaius had whispered to him solemnly as Merlin watched the heart-breaking sight. “Poor boy is all alone in this world now.”
They had left the house quietly, leaving the boy to his grief and gone back to their lives.
A few weeks later Merlin had seen the boy sleeping in an alley outside the baker’s shop. He had bought a spare loaf and left it by the sleeping boy’s feet.
Later that year Merlin found the boy sheltering in an alcove during a heavy thunderstorm. The boy was shivering, staring at Merlin with wide eyes at being caught in the royal courtyard. They had stared at each other for a moment before the sound of approaching guards pulled Merlin’s attention away. When he turned back the boy was gone.
Just before Samhain the boy was caught stealing an apple from a visiting vendor. Uther had his hand cut off in punishment. The boy’s body was found later that week. He had died from infection.
Merlin never even learnt the boy’s name.
-
The drought and famine brought on by Arthur’s slaying of the Unicorn had been broken thanks to the Prince’s completion of the quest, but that didn’t fix the damage starvation had caused to the already malnourished population of the lower classes.
An illness rapidly took hold and swept through the populous quickly, swiftly and ruthlessly. No one was safe. No one was spared. Morgana moved Gwen into her chambers and the castle’s occupants, including the servants, were barred from visiting the lower town.
Peter was the Quarter Master’s nephew. That was the only reason he was afforded the luxury of Gaius’ treatment. But by the time Gaius had received permission from the King to treat the man, Peter’s wife had already succumbed and Peter himself had fallen into a deep slumber.
Even Gaius’ skill couldn’t save him at that point.
The rattling that echoed through the wooden hut with each of Peter’s breaths was heart breaking enough, the pallor of his skin and the sweat that dripped from his brow showed the pain the man was in. But what made it even worse was the three small children huddled in the corner of the room, watching Gaius and Merlin with wide, terrified eyes.
Gaius, the professional that he was, ignored their audience and focused on the patient, doing everything in his power to ease the man’s passing. But Merlin could feel the small eyes on his back with every movement, every poultice made, every potion brewed. It made him twitch.
Peter passed in the night whilst Gaius and the children were sleeping. Merlin was the only witness to the man’s final breaths; weak and rattling and painful. Merlin gripped his hand and willed some of his magic into the man’s body, easing the passing as much as he could.
When morning came Gaius woke, took one look at Merlin and pronounced the man dead. He then turned, and began to pack up his things, ready to go back to the castle and their lives.
But Merlin couldn’t move. He looked at the huddle of small bodies in the corner, each gripping at each other in comfort.
“We can’t just leave them Gaius,” Merlin whispered in protest, halting Gaius’ steps.
“My boy,” Gaius sighed, tired and weary. “I cannot take in every orphaned child that graces my services. What would you have me do?”
Merlin stared helplessly back at the trio of children huddled in the corner. The eldest, a girl, was trying to be stoic but Merlin could see the wobble in her jaw and the glossy sheen to her eyes. He had seen that look before.
“Surely there is someone that can take them in,” Merlin said, turning back to Gaius with pleading eyes.
Gaius sighed again and looked upon Merlin with pity. “You are free to try. But I would not hold out much hope. Everyone’s purse is tight. Taking on three growing children is no small ask.”
But Merlin had to at least try.
-
The sun was already dipping down below the castle walls when Merlin sighed, rubbing at his itching eyes. His day had been long. The usual chores for Arthur and Gaius were enough to make anyone tired, but the added strain of trying to find a family to take in three orphaned children… Merlin looked out of the front hatch of the seamstress’s shop, watching the rush of people going to and fro.
Gaius had been right. All day he had asked at every shop he stopped in, had enquired with every friendly face he knew within the castle walls, no one had the space to take in three additional mouths to feed.
Someone calling his name pulled Merlin from his thoughts. He turned from his blank stare into the street to see the kindly eyes of town’s seamstress looking back at him with worry.
“What’s wrong with you today Blue Eyes? Grown tired of old Mary?” she asked, her hands running through the last stitches on Arthur’s doublet by memory.
“Sorry Mary,” Merlin sighed, running a tired hand through his hair. “Just had a long night… followed by a long day.”
“That Prince causing you trouble again?” she tutted good naturedly, looking down to inspect her stiches.
“No, no. Peter died last.”
It was a mark on how well-liked Peter had been to see the startled impact of grief of Mary’s face. Ducking her head, she whispered an ancient prayer.
“Those poor children,” she muttered when she raised her head back up. “First their mother now this not a week later… And such lovely children as well.”
“I know,” Merlin sighed. “I’ve been looking for a family to take them in all day.”
“You’ve a good soul Merlin. That is a task not taken by many.”
Merlin shrugged. He didn’t think what he was doing was that special. All children deserved a home. “I don’t suppose you’ve space for them?” he asked wearily, not really expecting anything other than the immediate ‘no’ he had received all day.
“If only I could my boy,” Mary said, her eyes filling with regret. “But I barely make enough to feed myself and keep this house. Let alone take in three children.”
Merlin nodded sadly. It had been the same story he had heard from everyone he had asked in the lower town. And he couldn’t blame them. With Uther’s raise in taxes and the bad harvest from last season the entire town was affected. Now the people had the backlash of the magical famine to contend with. It seemed as if the castle occupants were the only ones with full bellies these days.
Coming from Ealdor Merlin had balked at the amount of food the servants were given in the castle, not to mention the multi course meals enjoyed by the nobles. But outside of the castle walls you got what you could scavenge, kill or grow. And if you couldn’t do any of those things… well, you went hungry. On more than one occasion Merlin had wandered through the town, his full purse hanging heavy with guilt by his side as he saw the children and mothers attempting just to survive. Merlin would go back to his small, warm home to a full meal on the table at the end of the day and feel his stomach grow heavy.
It just wasn’t fair. Why did someone like Merlin deserve more or less than someone like Mary, or Peter; people who grafted and sweat for their earnings just the same as Merlin, just because Merlin was lucky enough to work in the castle. His earnings as the Prince’s manservant were more than enough to feed five. If he could he would take the children in. He had more than enough to sustain and clothe them. He just didn’t have the time. What with his duties to Arthur, and Gaius, and saving the kingdom every other week…
Suddenly a thought started festering in Merlin’s mind. He looked up at Mary slowly. She was still engrossed in her task.
“What if money wasn’t an issue?” Merlin asked deliberately, quickly doing the calculations in his head.
Mary huffed a small laugh and rolled her eyes. “You’ve been spending too much time with you Prince if you think money isn’t an issue in everything.”
“But if it wasn’t,” he pushed eagerly.
Mary gave Merlin a hard look. “Then those children would be spoilt rotten the rest of their days. But-“
“Then you will have everything you could need. I’ll make sure of it.” Merlin grinned for the first time since Peter had taken ill. It was so easy. So simple. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it before! “If you take the children in, I will provide the money for their food, clothing, board, whatever you need. Say you’ll agree?”
Mary widened her eyes in surprise. “You’re young Merlin. Barely out of being a boy yourself-“
But Merlin interrupted her again, shaking his head. “I earn more than a fair wage from the castle. And my room and board are free if I continue to act as Gaius’ apprentice. I have more money than I know what to do with. Please, let me use it for something good.”
The woman looked back at Merlin, her eyes wide with disbelief and incredulity. Merlin took a step closer, grasping the woman’s hand.
“Please Mary,” he whispered. “I need… I need to do some good. For someone.”
Mary looked at him for a long moment, her grey eyes boring into his own. He wasn’t sure what was showing on his face, maybe some of his desperation to do good, maybe it was his sincerity but at whatever it was she saw Mary turned her hand over in Merlin’s giving it a strong grip and a nod in agreement.
-
Merlin practically skipped back to the castle and after depositing Arthur’s fixed clothes in his wardrobe, he ran back into the town, back to Peter’s old house.
The wooden house was dark and seemed empty as he arrived. He slowed his steps, approaching the door with caution and care.
“Hello?” he called as he pushed the door open slightly.
The first thing he saw was Peter’s body still lain on the small bed. It had been wrapped in white cloths, obviously awaiting his burial rights.
A shuffling from the corner drew Merlin’s attention and he turned to see the small form of Peter’s oldest daughter looking back at him warily.
“Hello,” Merlin said kindly, crouching slightly to look into the girl’s eyes. “It is Tilda right?”
The little girl nodded but didn’t move any further forward.
“Have you eaten today?”
“My uncle brought us some bread,” the girl said quietly. Her voice was gravely and raw. Merlin didn’t know if it was from disuse or tears of grief. His heart lurched anew in his chest.
Fumbling slightly Merlin grappled with his satchel, pulling from it a bushel of apples.
“I brought you these.” He offered them forward, but the girl didn’t move. Pushing through the awkward tension Merlin walked forward and placed the fruit on a nearby table. “You should make sure you and your brothers eat fruit. It is good for the body.”
Again, the girl nodded but didn’t move or speak. Merlin had the distinct impression she wanted him to leave. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t leave a child to fend for themselves. Not again.
“I wondered if I could talk to you? About what you are going to do now that your father is…”
“My father is dead,” the girl said bluntly. “So is my mother.”
“Yes they are,” Merlin said kindly. He only hesitated for a moment before he took another step forward and sat on the floor in front of the girl. “I have spoken with Mary, the seamstress in town. She is willing to take you and your brothers in. To give you a home and look after you until you are old enough to look after yourself.”
At that the girl drew up indignantly. “I can look after my family.”
“I know you can. You are a big girl. And you love your brothers. But Mary will just help you.”
“Til,” a small tired voice called from the back of the house. “Til, who’s here? Has daddy woken up?”
Tilda looked back over her shoulder at one of her brothers, the youngest by the look of him, stood standing in the doorway to the back room. His eyes were wide with growing hope within them. Merlin knew that soon that hope would be dashed. His daddy was never waking up.
When Tilda looked back her face was awash with hopelessness. Merlin reached forward, gripping the little girl’s hand tightly.
“Let me help you.”
-
Merlin had bustled the children across town, their arms laden with every item they wished to take from their old house. When they reached the door Mary had greeted them all, her face wide and welcoming.
The two youngest boys were given the small back room and then Mary showed Tilda upstairs to a small room with a window and a pallet already laid out on the floor.
“I figured the lady of the family should have her own room,” Mary said kindly as Tilda just stood there in the doorway. When there was no response Mary sent Merlin a sad smile and retreated back downstairs, leaving Merlin and the young girl alone.
Tilda looked around the room, her small bundle of possessions still clutched tightly in her arms.
“I’ll come by whenever I can,” Merlin said quietly. “And if there is anything that you want, or need, you just tell Mary and I will get it for you.”
She nodded, still not looking at him.
“I could get you a new doll, or a dress.” Seeing no reaction Merlin thought back to what other children in his village had wanted when he had been a child. “Perhaps some pencils. A book?”
“You can read?” the young girl asked with interest, finally meeting Merlin’s eyes.
“Yes,” Merlin said with a nod. “I could teach you, if you wanted?”
“Really?” Her eyes, which had been so dull and tired in every occasion Merlin had seen her, suddenly lit up with awe.
“Of course,” he said as sincerely and resolutely as he could.
When she smiled the room seemed just that little but lighter and Merlin couldn’t help that feel that he had finally done something good.
-
Merlin was as surprised as Mary when their little arrangement worked.
Mary and the children stayed in the rooms above her shop and Merlin gave Mary a weekly stipend from his wages to pay for the extra food and expenses that came from growing children. Mary was true to her word; those three children knew nothing but love and kindness from the moment they entered her care. Merlin stopped by whenever he could between cleaning Arthur’s socks and stopping the next magical attack on the King.
And he stuck to his word too.
By the end of Tilda’s first year with Mary she was a fluent reader and had even taken it upon herself to teach her brothers too. That didn’t mean she didn’t harangue Merlin into reading to her every evening he visited.
-
Year 2
In the wake of Morgana’s apparent kidnapping by Druids, Uther’s rein of terror over the magic users reached a peak. It seemed that the pyre was permanently erected in the courtyard and it gave Merlin a sick jolt every time he had to walk past it.
Every other day some poor soul was dragged before the King. Accusations of sorcery came from something as minor as a wound that healed quicker than expected to winning a bet in the tavern.
Merlin had been getting Arthur ready for bed one evening when Leon knocked on the door, his face drawn and grave. A young woman had been accused of sorcery and she was to be brought in immediately.
“Arthur, there is no evidence she has done any wrong!” Merlin tried to argue as the Prince strapped his sword belt on himself.
“Then my father will hear her case and she will be found innocent.”
But Arthur wouldn’t look up at Merlin and Merlin could tell Arthur didn’t believe it any more than he did.
“Arthur, please-” he tried again but Arthur raised his hand.
“Merlin enough,” he snapped. “What would you have me do? My father is the King and has issued me an order. I am duty bound to carry it out.”
‘I would have you stand up for your people’ Merlin wanted to argue. ‘Tell your father he is wrong. Refuse to see an innocent woman killed’. But he knew it would do no good.
So instead, as soon as Arthur left his chambers with a swish of his red cloak, Merlin ran.
He dodged the guards and thanked the gods for his frequent late-night wanderings as he took the quickest possible route down to the town and the woman’s residence. If he could just get to her first he could help her; offer her shelter or help her escape, whatever he could to see her free from the pyre.
Merlin didn’t knock as he hurtled through the woman’s front door and swiftly came to an abrupt stop.
The woman stood in the centre of the room, tears streaming down her face, and a short dagger in her hand.
“Stay back!” she called shakily at Merlin’s arrival. But the dagger wasn’t aimed at Merlin, it was pointing at herself, directly over her heart.
Merlin’s eyes widened, and he held his hands aloft in surrender. “I’m not here to hurt you,” he said, talking a gentle step forward. “I’ve come to help. Come with me. You will be safe.”
“No,” she sniffed shaking her head frantically. “I’ll never be safe now. The king will hunt me. I will live running until he tracks me down like a dog. I won’t…” she shook her head again, taking a step away from Merlin. “I don’t want to burn!”
“You won’t!” Merlin said frantically, watching the way the dagger pressed more firmly against her chest. “I promise. I can protect you!”
The sounds of armoured bodies marching down the street outside had the woman’s eyes widening in fear. Merlin turned, only briefly to see how much time he had, but when he turned back the woman’s eyes had turned to steely determination.
“Please just protect him,” she said cryptically and before Merlin could even so much as utter a plea, she drove the dagger into her own chest.
Merlin watched helplessly as the woman gasped and her blood spilled onto the stone floor.
A rustling from the corner drew Merlin’s attention away. A small box sat tucked away against the wall, a blanket spilling over its side. Then the rustle sounded again, and the blanket moved.
Merlin’s feet moved forward almost without permission. He looked down into the small wooden box and looking back up at him was the small smiling face of a cherub faced baby.
A loud knock sounded on the front door. “Open up. It is Prince Arthur!”
Merlin didn’t even think about it before he picked up the babe, blankets and all, and fled through the back door and into the night.
-
Merlin turned up on Mary’s doorstep later that night with a plea in his eyes and the baby in his arms.
-
Mary and Tilda called the boy Thomas after a character in Tilda’s favourite book. They set a small cot up for him in the corner of Tilda’s room and the young girl declared herself in charge of his care.
“But you are still young yourself,” Mary tried to argue as they all watched the young babe sleeping.
“I’m almost thirteen summers,” Tilda replied as indignantly as only a child could. Merlin had to bite back a laugh. “And I used to look after my brothers all the time when they were this age. And I was younger then too.”
One thing that Merlin had learnt about Tilda in the year or so he had known her was that she was a very stubborn child. Knowing there was nothing to be done Merlin shared a resigned look with Mary and pushed to standing.
“I’ll stop by the pasture tomorrow morning and try and get some milk.”
-
Merlin didn’t mean to keep Mary and the children a secret. It was just that Arthur never asked him anything about his life outside of polishing Arthur’s armour. He didn’t ask what Merlin did when he wasn’t serving and Merlin didn’t offer the information up.
-
The night after the dragon attack, once Merlin had made sure Arthur was safely tucked in bed and his wounds rebandaged, he escaped down to Mary’s house.
He had already been to check on them earlier, after he and Arthur returned from the battle. His heart had been pounding in his chest as he rushed up the cobbled street, looking at ruined house after ruined house and praying to all the Gods he knew that the children had been spared.
His knees had nearly gone from under him with relief when he saw the house almost undamaged and Mary sweeping ash and dust away from the doorstep.
This time his steps were smaller, quieter and laden with exhaustion and grief.
The house was dark and quiet, as if its occupants had all already retired for the night but he pushed the door open none the less, he knew Mary wouldn’t mind.
He walked quietly up the small staircase at the back of the shop and peered into the first room he found. The light from the moon shone through the window, clearly illuminating Mary and all four children curled together and asleep on Mary’s small cot.
A lump formed in Merlin’s throat, and he backed away silently and back down the stairs.
When he reached the bottom, he let his legs go and dropped ungracefully to the dirty shop floor.
All those people. All those people dead because of him. Because he let the dragon loose.
Merlin leant back against the slatted wooden wall behind him, feeling its rough grain through his tunic.
Mothers, children, fathers… all dead. Houses gone. Livelihoods gone up in smoke. The castle was a state and the lower town had almost been obliterated. All because Merlin hadn’t been strong enough. Hadn’t been fast enough.
And his father…
A sob tore at the back of Merlin’s throat. He stifled it quickly, swallowing down any sound lest he wake Mary and the children.
His father, the man he had wished all his life to meet. He had met him. He had loved him straight away. And then he had got his father killed. All because he wasn’t fast enough. Wasn’t strong enough.
The tears were following freely from his eyes now. He pushed his face into the crook of his arm, trying to muffle the wracking sobs.
“Merlin?” a small voice called.
Quickly Merlin wiped at his face, trying to get his breathing under control and eliminate the tear tracks down his cheeks. He looked up and saw Tilda standing at the bottom of the stairs.
Her face still showed signs of the dragon’s attack. Ash and dust streaked her cheeks and she had a small graze on her forehead. She looked back at him with worry, a small frown creasing her brow.
“Are you alright?” she asked carefully.
“I’m fine,” Merlin was quick to assure. But his voice came out weak and choked.
Tilda frowned at him and came forward. Merlin wanted to shout at her to stop, to stay away. He was dangerous. He couldn’t be trusted.
The little girl didn’t look away from him as she got closer. “You’ve been crying,” she said, almost in wonder.
It wasn’t a question and Merlin wasn’t really in a place to deny it so he said nothing, swallowing back the fresh wave of tears that wanted to spring forward.
Tilda crouched down, and in a move like that which she used when Merlin read her a bedtime story, ducked quickly into his side and under his arm.
They stayed like that for the rest of the night.
-
Later that week Mary found a young boy and girl scavenging for food in the bins behind the butchers.
That night, after Merlin had acquired two pallets for the children to sleep on, Mary grumbled that Merlin’s altruism was catching. Merlin smiled but didn’t say anything.
At the end of the week he gave her double his usual contribution.
-
Merlin didn’t drink down the tavern. He didn’t have a habit for the dice. He didn’t fancy expensive silks or sweets like some of the other servants did. He was quite happy for every single penny he could spare to go to Mary and the children.
So maybe his clothes became a little rattier than they should have. And maybe he went without some creature comforts like thick blankets or winter cloaks.
But when he turned up at Mary’s house in an evening and the children’s grinning faces greeted him and Tilda proudly showed off the latest garment she had been sewing and George read Merlin a whole passage from a book without stuttering…. Well Merlin couldn’t help but think it was all worth it.
-
Year 3
Merlin shifted his aching shoulders and dragged his feet up the small stone steps from the Royal Stables to the castle kitchen. He had spent the entire morning mucking out the horses (punishment for being late to wake the prince that morning) and now he had to slog through an entire council session serving Arthur, Uther and Morgana. The very thought of having to sit through an afternoon with Morgana’s piercing stare and smug face made him want to curl up and go to sleep.
But he couldn’t. Arthur had been pissed enough about missing the beginning of training this morning as it was. Merlin wouldn’t be able to get out of serving today, no matter how hard he might try.
A mouth-watering smell hit his nose as soon as he entered the back door of the kitchen. There on the side was a steaming meat pie. Merlin knew this was for the feast to celebrate Arthur completing his quest for the Trident of the Fisher King. The entire castle was in high spirits. It seemed only Merlin who couldn’t join their cheer.
Gwaine was gone again, Merlin had ended the life of an ancient king, he still didn’t know what to do about Morgana and had been given yet another load of cryptic advice from an old magic being.
Was it too much to ask for a quiet week for once?
“Merlin,” a stern voice called from behind him. Merlin whipped around quickly, his eyes widening to see the formidable figure of Cook baring down on him.
“I didn’t touch it I swear!” he said quickly, memories of the stinging strike of her ladle against his head speeding his response.
But she didn’t reprimand him and her ladle remained down at her side. She was looking at him with a calculating frown, almost as if she was seeing him for the first time.
Hastily Merlin swiped at his face, fearing he had dirt from the stables still on his cheeks and was about to get a telling off for bringing filth into the castle kitchen.
“You took in young Piper,” she said lowly.
It took Merlin a moment to realise she was talking about the young boy Merlin had found begging on the streets not three days ago. The sickly colour to his face and the deep cough in his chest had immediately told Merlin the boy needed help. After helping him back to Mary’s house and plying him with tonics for his chest Merlin had put Piper to bed in the boy’s room and… well he just hadn’t left yet.
“Oh,” he said in surprise, not realising that people had known about that. “Well it is really Mary who-”
“I spoke to Mary,” Cook interrupted. “She told me what you have been doing. What you have done.”
An awkward silence hung between them for a moment.
“Here,” she said abruptly, placing a sack in Merlin’s hands. It was unexpectedly light considering its size and when Merlin opened it he saw that it was filled almost to the brim with rolls. He looked back up at Mary with a question in his eyes.
“I always bake too many,” she said with a shrug. “Come back every week and I will see you have enough to feed your brood.”
Merlin looked from the rolls to Cook and back again, his mouth open with a need to say something. But he couldn’t find the words.
He had been worried that the latest addition to the house would be too much. Finances were already tight even with Mary’s and his own wages. Merlin had only this morning looked into a third job at the tavern to raise some extra coin.
This offering of food… well it was more than he could have hoped for.
“I don’t know what to say,” he said weakly in the end.
“Say nothing,” the woman said gruffly. “Just keep looking after those kids. Gods know they deserve some good after all they have endured.”
“I will.”
Cook nodded back at him then her face morphed back into the stern grisly face Merlin had come to know. “Now get away from my pie and get your filthy paws out of my kitchen. Don’t let me catch you in here again until you’ve had a good wash!”
Merlin let her usher him out of the kitchen. Her ladle was raised high above her head, but it never once came down upon Merlin. When he turned back around on the threshold of the kitchen she was looking at him. She nodded and closed the door, leaving Merlin in the corridor with an entire weeks’ worth of bread in his arms.
-
Merlin trudged up the long stone steps to Gaius’s chambers, every step laboured and slow. He was just so tired. If claiming Camelot back from Morgana and Morgause hadn’t been hard enough, the clean-up was looking to be just as hard. Merlin had spent the day organising the castle servants, overseeing clearing of the chambers, serving Arthur, helping Gaius with the injured, and of course helping Mary with the children.
Thankfully the people in the lower town had come out of their recent occupation relatively unscathed. Apparently, it was Merlin that they had all been more worried about. Little George had all but thrown himself at Merlin’s legs when he appeared at the house earlier that morning.
But now it was late, and Merlin was tired. All he wanted to do was sleep. He pushed the door to Gaius’ chambers open revelling in the quiet peace.
The sharp pain in his side flared as a kind reminder that he himself had not come out of the skirmish unscathed. Discarding his tunic he let out a quiet groan, conscious of Lancelot sleeping in his room as he unwound the bandages binding his ribs. The skin beneath it was mottled with blue and purple and he knew his back was in a similar way, if not worse by the looks Lancelot had been sending him as he helped Merlin with the bandage.
He inspected the flesh, prodding and manipulating the muscles to detect any further injury. Cracked he diagnosed for himself. He had suspected as much earlier but now that he had a moment to check properly, he was sure. He reapplied his bandages, dotted some poultice on the deepest of his cuts and redressed.
Tired, in pain and totally spent Merlin let himself drop onto one of the wooden benches by the table. He wanted to sleep. But Lancelot would be sleeping soundly in Merlin’s bed by now and the knight needed his rest after his injury.
Just when he thought about commandeering Gaius’ cot for the night a quiet knock sounded at the door. Merlin almost dropped his head to the table in sorrow. But with a deep breath he pushed up and hobbled as quickly as he could over to the door.
When he opened it there wasn’t a guard summoning him to Arthur’s side, nor another patient in need of treatment… it wasn’t even Gwaine stumbling home from that tavern having forgotten where his chambers were again. It was Ella, one of the royal maids.
“My brother is dead,” she said in greeting.
Merlin opened the door and ushered Ella in, one comforting hand between her shoulder blades. She let herself be led and sat down on the same wooden pew Merlin had just vacated.
“I’m so sorry,” Merlin said in a whisper. He didn’t know Ella well. She was new to the castle. But he knew her brother. He had been a guard on one of the gates to town and was always ready with a smile or cheery greeting as Merlin went about his day.
Ella smiled brokenly and looked up at Merlin with wide eyes.
“I heard… well I heard you took in children that needed a home.”
Comprehension filled Merlin’s being along with a large dose of guilt. “Ella-” he started to say but she cut him off quickly.
“I can’t look after four children,” she said at a rush, her desperation colouring her tone. “I have only just been offered a job in the royal household. It’s what I have been working for my whole life. I heard that I might even be given the role as Guinevere’s maid if the King begins to court her. They’re my brother’s children. I love them but… please. I can’t.”
“It’s not that I wouldn’t love to Ella,” Merlin said kindly. “But there simply isn’t any room. The children sleep three to a room already plus Mary has to run her business from the house as well. I can’t ask her to take in another four.”
Ella’s face crumbled, and a fresh wave of tears rolled down her cheeks. Never one to be able to watch someone’s sorrow in silence Merlin quickly sat beside her, placing a comforting hand to her shoulder.
“I’m truly sorry Ella. Perhaps you could find someone else to take them in?”
“There isn’t,” she whispered through her tears. “I’ve already tried.”
Merlin just nodded, remembering clearly his desperate search through the town those years ago when he was looking for some kind soul to take in Tilda, George and Fred. His heart broke for this young girl before him. Until recently she had her whole life ahead of her, a career she aspired to, a future to do with as she wished. Now in the wake of Morgana’s betrayal all that had been stolen from her.
“I’ll pay,” she said, pleading. “I’ll pay their way.”
“It’s not the money Ella. I’d go without food for a week to give a child a home. Mary’s house is just too small for any more children.”
“What about a bigger house?” Merlin looked at her with a questioning look. “My brother’s house,” she explained. “It’s large. In the lower town. Only a few streets away from Mary’s shop. You could have it. If you took them.”
Merlin’s eyes widened in shock. “Ella I can’t take your house.”
“It isn’t mine. It was my brother’s and it is his children’s home. It has more than enough space, plus a hen yard in the back. You could have hens to lay eggs for the children.” Her eyes shone with excitement as the plan formed in her mind. “You would have the space you need and my brother’s children would have a home. I would come by and help whenever I could.”
Merlin faltered. A house. A real house. The children could have a home. They could have room to play. Mary could finally get her rooms back for the storage of fabrics she so desperately needed. But more children… Merlin didn’t know if they could handle it.
“Please,” Ella continued, staring at Merlin beseechingly. “I can’t keep my job and raise them. I’ll do whatever it takes. Please.”
-
A week later Merlin and Ella helped Mary and the children move into their new home with four new family members in their midst.
-
Year 4
Lancelot was the only one of Merlin’s friends that knew about the orphanage. But then Lancelot knew everything about him.
When the knight returned to Camelot and became a ‘Knight of the Round Table’ as Merlin had dubbed them, one of the first things he did was ask after the children and request to meet them.
Merlin had taken the knight down into the lower town one evening after dinner and a council session had concluded. Some more children had joined their growing brood in the wake of Camelot’s latest crisis and Mary was even more grateful for the larger house as the older ones got bigger. The clamour from the house could be heard at the end of the street and Merlin grinned at his friend.
The laughing and playful shouts turned into cries of excitement when the children first saw Merlin enter the house. Then Merlin turned, revealing their guest for the first time.
The sight of a Knight of Camelot in their home was enough to shut even Timmy’s mouth.
“Wonder’s never cease,” Mary said with a titter. “Blessed silence. You are welcome back any time Sir Knight.”
Lancelot took the comment with a blush and a small nod of his head. Then he turned to the raptured audience and gave them his most winning smile. And of course, the children loved him; he was Lancelot after all.
He let the little ones play with his hair, braided flowers with the girls and took it upon himself to teach some of the oldest of the boys the way with swords. As much as the children loved Lancelot, he seemed equally besotted with them.
In the evenings when Arthur and Camelot didn’t need saving and Lancelot wasn’t on patrol, Merlin and Lancelot would wander to the lower town together and visit.
One such evening saw Merlin up on the roof of the small outbuilding they had built to keep their food stores; the harsh storms the week previous had caused the straw roof to begin to leek.
Merlin’s lighter form sat on top of the structure and Lancelot handed bundles of hay, nails and tools up on command.
“You’re doing an amazing thing here,” Lancelot said apropos of nothing as he handed Merlin a nail.
“It’s hardly amazing,” Merlin scoffed, concentrating on fixing the wooden beam in place. “I used to fix my mother’s roof all the time when I was little.”
“I mean here.” Lancelot gestured back to the house. “These children would have nowhere to go if you didn’t take them in.”
“Oh I don’t really do much,” Merlin said with a wave of his hand. “I just pop by every now and then to say hello. Mary does all the work.”
Merlin concentrated back on the roof. Anything not to look into Lancelot’s proud and warm eyes.
He couldn’t explain to wonderful, pure Lancelot why he didn’t deserve any praise. Taking in these children, helping them to grow up safe and fed, it was the least he could do after all the destruction he had caused in Camelot. Morgana, the Dragon, the invasions… they were all his fault. Most of these children’s parents died from his actions. The least he could do was ensure they had someone warm to sleep once their family had been torn asunder.
They finished fixing the roof together in silence.
Lancelot died not one full moon later.
-
Year 5
Merlin loved all of the children in their own ways. They were all so unique, so alive and so resilient to go through the things they had and come out smiling on the other side. And as the group got bigger it was nearly impossible for Merlin to get to know them all well.
He did keep an extra eye on the children that he had found. Tilda had become a proficient apprentice to Mary. Mary often commented that Tilda’s embroidery skills were the best in the city and that if she kept practicing ladies would come from miles around just for a piece of clothing made by Tilda’s hands. Tilda blushed every time but looked up at Merlin, pleased and proud and Merlin couldn’t help but smile.
Timmy was loud and easily excitable. You couldn’t help but feel your energy rising the moment he bounced into the room. He kept Mary on her toes and never failed to make Merlin laugh with his antics.
George, the youngest of Peter’s children, was quiet and withdrawn. Merlin worried about him constantly, but Mary told him not to fret, that the boy would come into his own soon enough, he was still young after all. Either way Merlin always made sure he spent extra time with little George, telling him tales of his travels with Prince Arthur and the wide world outside the walls of Camelot. Maybe, if the boy couldn’t find his place in the city, at least he would know there was a wide world out there for him, waiting to be discovered.
But Thomas… well Merlin always had a soft spot for Thomas.
Maybe it was because he had come to them when he was a baby. Or maybe it was Merlin’s latent guilt over not being able to save his mother.
His dark hair and pale face often reminded Merlin of Mordred and his failings to protect that young boy, so Merlin made every effort to make sure Thomas was safe and well.
By the time Arthur was made King Thomas was almost five summers and as precarious and mischievous as all young boys were.
Really, he got himself into all sorts of mischief and often had Merlin’s heart leaping out of his chest with worry. One night the boy had managed to climb out onto the roof of the store room, another time he snuck into the Royal stables to pet the horses, one day he and Timmy went to a traveling fair outside the city gates. Thomas had climbed into the back of one of the wagons and it wasn’t until nightfall that they found him again, halfway along the road to Mercia.
But every time the boy returned with wide excited eyes and a smile on his face, eager to tell everyone about the amazing adventure he had had.
His antics were starting to wear a little thin on Mary who now had over twenty children under her care, and a business to run so Merlin took the young boy out with him whenever he could; a good walk around the lower town running chores was a sure-fire way to wear the little tyke out for the rest of the day.
Thomas trotted along dutifully after Merlin as he walked through the lower town, visiting Gaius’ patients and picking up bits for Arthur and his Queen in the many stores they passed.
“Are we going to the armoury?” Thomas asked nearing mid-day.
Merlin smiled and hitched his laden bag further up his shoulder. “Yes, we are. I need to pick up a new hauberk for the King.”
Thomas grinned, and Merlin ruffled the boy’s brown curly hair. Fredrick, the armourer, had a young girl who Thomas was a little soft on.
The armoury was busy but Merlin was happy to wait and chat with Fredrick whilst he saw to his other customers. Thomas spotted little Sally as soon as they had entered and was quickly swept away by the little girl to the small rear courtyard. Fredrick and Merlin shared an amused look and left the children to it.
Fredrick was putting the finishing touches to the hauberk when Merlin heard a frightened yell that sent a dagger of fear through his heart.
Abandoning his bags Merlin ran to the rear courtyard to where he had heard the child’s call.
Thomas and Sally had obviously been climbing. Straw and timber littered the floor where whatever structure they had been scaling had crumpled under the weight. Merlin’s eyes quickly scanned the space and spotted Thomas standing, seemingly unharmed in the mess. But he wasn’t looking at Merlin, he was looking up. Merlin followed the young boys frightened stare upwards to the top of the double storey building next door and gasped.
Sally clung desperately to the ledge, but Merlin could see her little fingers slipping. Before Merlin could even yell in alarm she fell.
Thomas reached out a hand with a cry as Merlin rushed forward, trying to catch the girl. Merlin pushed his legs, but he knew he was too slow, too late. Sally hurtled towards the hard-stone ground, her young face wide with shock and alarm.
And then she just stopped.
Her little body paused in mid air scant inches from the ground and hovered there for a breath, but it was enough. When she finally dropped the last few inches she hit the floor with a no doubt painful but harmless thump.
She began screaming immediately, more out of shock than real pain. Fredrick rushed forward, gathering the girl into his arms and checking her over for injury. But Merlin turned around and looked back over his shoulder with dawning horror at the fading gold in Thomas’ eyes.