Fic - Yule and Yours for zephre
Title: Yule and Yours
Author/Artist: cat_77
Recipient: zephre
Rating: PG-13
Character(s)/Pairing(s): OT4, Arthur/Gwen/Merlin/Morgana, with side of Arthur/Gwen and Merlin/Morgana
Word Count: ~6,400 words
Summary: Solstice Eve is a time of family and of sharing stories. Being that this is the Pendragon family, of course things do not go exactly as planned.
Warning(s): None, really.
Notes: AU from roughly the end of Series 2 and ignores certain character aspects from Series 3. This is a future fic, set a fair ways into Arthur’s reign as king.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction - none of this ever happened. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is made from this work. Please observe your local laws with regards to the age-limit and content of this work.
“Do you need anything else, sire? Another cord of wood, perhaps?” Charles asked. He was a good boy, Leon’s eldest, and was always painfully respectful, unlike certain notable people of the past who were not to be named at this time.
Arthur looked to the wood stacked neatly by the door, and then to the fire burning brightly in the hearth. He did not have the heart to tell the boy that his hard work was likely not necessary, so instead he said, “No, we’re fine. Go on and enjoy the night, Charles.”
“Thank you, sire,” the boy said, the barest hint of an anticipatory gleam in his eyes as he closed the door behind him. Now that reminded Arthur of Leon, just the edge of mischief beneath the honour bound façade.
Arthur turned his attentions to the room itself. The table was laden with food, thick red candles placed about any surface deemed safe enough not to set the castle alight, heavy tapestries adorned the walls to keep the chill out, and, of course, the fire burned merrily on. The true celebratory bonfire was far from his chambers, myriads of nobles rambling in and out of its warmth as they kept the vigil throughout the night. Normally he would be there as well, they all would, but he begged off early, wishing to celebrate someplace a little more private, a little more intimate for a change.
No one seemed to mind, not really, and he did not even hear a single remark about the king being lax in his duties, especially as he had been present for the initial feast and lighting of the fire at dusk. What he did hear were murmurs of him being a good father and husband, and the possibilities of a bit more merriment with no ruling presence to tone things down. He advised the guards and knights to be vigilant, but generous, as it was Solstice after all, but he would not be having his kingdom turned into a rubbish heap for others’ amusement.
For himself, there was a much quieter form of merriment to be had. As he heard the stomping of multiple sets of boots and the slamming of the door to the private entrance usually favoured by the chambermaids, he amended that thought to include noise of a different nature instead.
The door swung open once more and, when he did not hear the requisite slam, he turned in time to see a trail of battered silk and lace disappear behind the nearby screen and an unruly mop of blond hair shake from where it had appeared at his elbow.
“Oi!” Willan called to the girl behind the screen. “Were you born in a barn? Close the door, will you?”
A mess of red curls, littered with what appeared to be twigs of all things, peeked out from behind the screen only to dart back again, confirming his suspicions that his eldest had arrived. “Not sure about the barn, Mother and Father have been so vague about the whole thing,” Bo shouted back, her shadow shifting behind the screen. “One of you get over here and fix this for me before Mother finds out,” she ordered imperiously.
Arthur snorted. He loved that he, King of all Albion, was not seen as a threat, but the Great Queen was considered terrifying to his brood. “What did you get into this time, Bo?” he asked, leaning against the wall just out of her view.
“Nothing, Father,” she replied with false innocence. “You know me, always good and proper, never getting into any trouble at all. Not at all like the others.”
Arthur snorted again. She had one thing right, she was not like the others as she was the only one born without a drop of magic in her blood. Not that this fact precluded her from ordering the others around and bending them to her whims. He could only imagine the terror she would be if she had been Gifted as well. “Of course, dear,” he solemnly agreed. “It is just pure chance that these things happen around you, isn’t it?”
“It truly is,” she nodded, poking her head out again for him to catch a glimpse at her destruction. The dress was likely a loss if the tears he could see were anything to go by. Her face was streaked with what looked for all the world to be soot, and he had seen hay bales with more order than her hair currently held.
He turned to find Merlin ushering in the other two children, no sign of Morgana or Gwen just yet. “One of you go sort out your sister so we don’t start the night on the wrong foot,” he sighed, pushing himself off the wall to greet the other adult in the room.
“It’s your turn,” Willan informed Moran.
The smaller boy shook his dark head. “I did it last time,” he insisted. He toyed with the little red triangle of cloth he wore about his pale neck and stuck out his lower lip in a pout.
Arthur tried not to think of how much he looked like someone else, and wonder what kind of terror said someone else was when he was that age. One glance at Merlin and he knew his thoughts were likely written across his face, the other man’s eyes lit up with a knowing twinkle. It was, unfortunately, not a golden glow to the blue though, which meant he would be no help with the task at hand.
“Moran, dear, think of it as a present to her,” he tried. “One that means she owes you an extra sweet for your efforts.”
“Father!” Bo complained. The mop of twig-strewn curls appeared around the screen once more. “Why did you have to promise him that?”
“Because Mum is coming up the stairs and will be here soon enough and what in the world did you do to your hair?” Tamara replied. She fingered her own dark curls protectively, as though they could be contaminated by simply being in the presence of such a sight.
Arthur decided to make the best of the situation and steered one young girl towards the other. “Why don’t you see if you can fix her hair while Moran fixes her dress and Willan sorts out the pillows so everything is ready when Mum and Mother come in, yes?” he suggested.
As three children reluctantly set to task and the fourth darted back behind the screen with a smug look about her dirt streaked features, Merlin offered him a goblet of mulled wine and mused, “What about that whole not using magic for their own personal gain thing we have been trying to teach them?”
Arthur took a hearty swallow and raised his eyebrows. He’d say that was like the court sorcerer calling the court sorceress a witch, but found that joke was only funny once and that roughly three uses ago. “It’s not for their gain, it’s for mine,” he insisted. “They are serving the crown.”
There was a brief flash of gold followed by a string of giggles in the corner that he did not want to know about. Merlin did not look especially concerned, so he assumed the fix up was going as planned. “And just how are they serving the crown?” Merlin asked as he lifted a goblet of his own.
“By insuring we have a pleasant evening free of ranting ladies and queens and hello, Morgana, how long have you been standing there?” Arthur replied with a sweep of his hand towards the court sorceress who was entering arm and arm with the queen.
“Pleasant evening to you as well, Arthur,” she greeted him with a knowing smile. She swept into the room in a blur of flowing silks. She eyed the corner screen and smirked, “And what have the imps been up to this evening?”
“Nothing, Mum!” Moran said just a little too quickly, Tamara nodding just a little too vigorously at his side. Willan looked up from where he was setting the thickly brocaded pillows about the plush rug and rolled his eyes.
Bo stepped out from behind the screen, hair neatly coifed and dress looking as though the tailors had just delivered it moments ago. “I was just trying to look presentable,” she blinked innocently.
Arthur had to give her credit, she did not lie. He did, however, cock his head to the side and whisper to Merlin, “I thought her dress was yellow?”
It was not Merlin who replied, but Moran, who shrugged and walked past them towards the fire and the treats. “I like green better.”
Arthur could not argue with that, but did take note that the shade he chose was nearly identical to the shade of his mother’s eyes, and wondered if that fact was more than a mere coincidence.
He stepped forward and offered both Morgana and Gwen a kiss on the cheek, and then stood aside so Merlin could do the same. Morgana and Merlin wasted no time filling small plates of sweets and meats for themselves, having worked up an appetite with the spells they cast around the fire and supposedly around their borders for the night as well, and Gwen took the opportunity to grant him another kiss on his temple and whisper, “The dress was yellow, I chose it myself. How bad was it?”
“You really do not want to know,” he told her honestly. She did not seem upset that their child had destroyed it, or even that it was obviously fixed by means other than a seamstress, only resigned.
“They get another lecture on the misuse of magic in the morning,” she declared as she stepped away to fill a plate for herself.
“Why wait until morning?” he asked, louder, so all the adults could hear. “Why not tell them some of the tales of misdeeds and adventures and show them the dangers instead?”
“We have all night,” Merlin shrugged, reminding them of the vigil they would be keeping until sunrise.
“Hmm,” Gwen said thoughtfully. Or it could be that she had just popped a bit of honey cake into her mouth. “Just so long as the stories steer more towards why it can be dangerous and not why it can be wicked fun,” she agreed.
Merlin snuck up behind her, long fingers tickling against the laces of her gown. “But it can be wicked fun,” he protested gamely. His eyes flashed gold and one of the cakes left her plate to reappear on his own.
Gwen had opened her mouth with some retort, and had a finger pointing accusingly in Merlin’s direction, but was interrupted by Willan’s petulant, “Why does Da get to use magic for fun but we’re not supposed to?”
“Because your Da is the official court sorcerer and you are not,” Morgana told him primly. She then picked up the cake Merlin had just stolen and took a large bite out of it herself, grinning wolfishly. “And the only one who is allowed to show him up is the official court sorceress, which is, oh, me.” She finished the last of the cake and dramatically sashayed over to the gathered pillows, twittering lightly with laughter by the time she settled herself down upon them.
That seemed to be enough of a signal for the urchins, who all grabbed far more sweets than was strictly healthy and arranged themselves on the pillows between their parents. Arthur had to bite back a chuckle at how they always seemed to end up in the same circle: he sat next to Willan, who sat next to Merlin, then came Moran and Morgana, and Tamara and Gwen, with Bo settling herself in between Gwen and Arthur and completing the ring. He wondered if it was a want to be by their respective parents so much as wanting to keep the lot separated so no one group, urchins or adults, could effectively team up against each other.
Eventually, they would figure out that the adults had been through far too much together over the years for the ploy to work. Then again, he feared eventually the children would sort out on their own ways to work together with nary a word shared between them as well. He feared for that day, and not just for the kitchen stores.
Once everyone looked to be settled into place, Arthur shifted a bit on his own pile of pillows and began, “The problem with magic is...”
There was a chorus of people of various ages clearing their throats and he knew instantly that he had misspoke. Again. He was really missing the days when no one would think to even hint that the king was capable of such a task but, looking around his gathered family, he knew that if he did not acknowledge the issue, it would become a far larger matter sooner rather than later. He turned to what he thought to be the one to give him the least amount of trouble given her inherent sweetness, and asked, “Tam, did you have something to add?”
A little head of dark curls nodded as Tamara clearly enunciated, “Father, to state that there is a problem with magic is to imply that magic itself is a problem, that it is a bad thing to be looked down upon. Seeing how many of us have magic within us, and others are rumoured to be born of magic, perhaps there is a better way to state the issue.”
Arthur sighed as Tamara’s Mum and Mother preened. He should have learned by now that one born of strong-minded women would not be the one to back down or dance around an issue. A glance at Merlin showed him he had no help there, but at least the other man had managed not to laugh outright at his predicament this time.
“Perhaps it would be best to say that there are often issues associated with magic, and some can prove to be problematic?” Morgana suggested diplomatically. Well, diplomatic for her, which meant that, based upon the smirk she wore, he was likely to find another toad in his pillowcase. He just hoped it did not sing this time. He had been unable to sleep for a week after that incident while Gwen, Merlin, and Morgana all managed just fine thanks to a little addition to the enchantment.
“Yes, indeed,” he said with a forced smile. “Anyway,” he began again, already hearing croaking at the back of his mind. “Many years ago, King Ellyard hosted a banquet for the visiting nobles of Camelot. His cooks made a truly divine desert of apples coated in a rare spice that a certain court magician who was only a certain court servant at the time apparently desired. He attempted to use his magic to call forth another platter of this desert, and ended up flooding the room with plates and pots of every food item imaginable. There were pies dripping from the ceiling by the time he was done, and all because he had requested something for personal gain, and the oft times problematic magic chose that moment to be one of those times.”
He thought it was a prime example and nothing too frightening for the children who were currently giggling at the imagery of food pouring from every surface available. Gwen was smiling along, but Morgana wore her standard raised eyebrow and Merlin wore the expression that only made an appearance when he was hiding something.
A gesture and Merlin bit his lip, looking for a moment like the young servant he had been at the time. A blink and that was replaced by the shrewd sorcerer once more. “Actually, that’s not quite what happened,” Merlin offered.
“Of course that is how it happened, I was there!” Arthur protested, but he saw Morgana already shaking her head as well.
It was apparently Merlin’s story to tell though, so he continued, “The apple treat was brilliant, but it was also enchanted. Those who ate it became incredibly susceptible to suggestions, and King Ellyard was hoping to use this to his advantage during the treaty negotiations.” He took a sip of what Arthur knew to only be a strong tea and licked his lips before expanding, “The ‘simple servant’ was not allowed this treat at the dinner, and so he noticed the effects sooner than most. The king’s ward had also declined the sweet as she was suffering from a minor ailment and it was easy to convince her of the effects. Her duty was to distract as the servant attempted to magically call upon every tainted item offered in the castle. When the room flooded with food, it was clear nothing was safe and the negotiations were called off.”
Arthur crossed his arms in front of him and determinedly did not pout. “That is not what happened, I would have remembered that,” he insisted. At the doubting looks he received, his confidence faded and he asked in a far smaller voice, “Why wouldn’t I have remembered that?”
Morgana reached across and consolingly patted him on the knee. “You did not remember as we did not want you to,” she explained. Before he could get upset, she elaborated, “Neither of us were certain how you would take to us having magic, and you already had enough of the potion in your system to make you... suggestible, so we left it at that. You thought I had a taken ill and we returned home.”
“What happened to the sorceress?” Willan asked excitedly. At Arthur’s look, he did a fair impression of the king’s own sigh and said, “Someone had to poison the food and usually the cooks helpers are girls, so the bad magic user must have been a she.”
While Arthur tried to figure out how one so young could have figured that out, Morgana replied, “This time it was a he, and he was the king’s personal servant who oversaw all the preparations for the feast.”
“Well, what happened to him?” Bo demanded. Arthur noted she already had berry stains on her newly repaired and dyed frock.
Rather than using words, Merlin exchanged a look with Morgana and then held up his hand. A tiny flame erupted atop his palm though no skin was scorched. The flame surged and then extinguished itself when Merlin closed his fingers over it with a shrug.
“Fireball!” Bo exclaimed happily. It was one of her favourite tricks.
“I have so got to learn how to do that,” Moran mumbled, staring at his palm as if to wish it into being.
Arthur quickly placed another honey cake in it instead, the sticky sweetness dripping from his fingers and across the edge of the boy’s sleeve as he very emphatically said, “No, you really do not.”
“So,” Willan mused at his side. “Was Da’s magic really a problem? Because he served the crown and you said it was okay to use magic to serve the crown and...”
“When did he say that?” Morgana jumped in to ask.
“Earl-, er, never?” Willan tried when he saw his father’s glare.
He was a good boy. Arthur should really think about finally letting him use more than a safety sword. Then again, there was that incident with his first dagger, and Tamara’s hair did just grow out again.
“Perhaps another example is in order?” Gwen suggested, successfully changing the subject, if only slightly. Arthur could kiss her, but the children usually added their own commentary to that, so he settled for a smile full of promises instead.
He pondered it for only a moment before he thought of another example, possibly even more appropriate than the first. “There was another incident and, yes, Willan, it involved a sorceress,” he began. “My father, then the king, was gifted with a superb specimen of a dagger. This sorceress decided to use this enchanted dagger to try to kill the king. Instead, she managed to send every last piece of cutlery in the room flying after her. So, you can see, magic can be quite finicky and choose to turn on you of its own accord.”
He was quite proud of his example, even though it was a bit more frightening than the first. He trusted his children could handle the imagery of flying weaponry, and was about to verify as much when he noticed Morgana smirking and Merlin clearing his throat pointedly.
“That’s not how it happened, was it, Mum?” Moran guessed.
“Not quite,” Morgana agreed. She wiped a tiny spot of honey from her lips with her napkin and, at Arthur’s irritated look, explained, “The dagger was a truly beautiful piece, I will give you that. It was, however, not enchanted in the least. She used magic to send the blade towards Uther, and I used magic to send it back. She deflected it and she nearly escaped, so Merlin and I sent everything we had back at her to try to stop her from leaving the castle grounds.”
“Aw, our family worked together even back then!” Tamara exclaimed, quite happy with the prospect. She clapped her hands together and the brightness of her smile encouraged similar reactions from the others.
Arthur did not begrudge her enthusiasm, but would have liked to know these pesky little details in advance to better prepare his examples. “Fine,” he huffed. If he petulantly grabbed a sweetbread, that was no one’s business but his own. “One of you give an example then.”
“Morgause!” Gwen declared, and Arthur had to resist the urge to check the room for the woman. He was pleased to see he was in good company though as both Merlin and Morgana flinched at the name.
“Why would you want to inflict that on our children?” Merlin asked dourly. Arthur noticed his eyes flash gold for the briefest of moments, and his cup suddenly be filled with something far stronger than tea.
“Tamara mentioned family, and Morgause played that aspect against us,” Gwen said reasonably. To the children, she explained, “Morgause came to court claiming to be the Lady Morgana’s sister. She was a very powerful sorceress, and a very valiant fighter.”
“She was also a liar,” Arthur groused. He poked Merlin and obtained a cup of not-tea of his own.
“She was my sister,” Morgana corrected. “She also helped me come to terms with the magic within me, and I must respect her for that.”
“Yeah, but...” Merlin started, but trailed off at the glare he received for his efforts.
“But she was mistaken in many things, and had to pay the price for that,” Morgana declared with far more diplomacy than Arthur would have given her credit for.
Amongst the “mistakes” made were the declarations that Arthur’s father should die slowly and painfully in as humiliating a way as possible and that Morgana was Arthur’s own sister and should have a claim to the throne. Well, half-sister, to be accurate to the false declaration.
Morgause had her histories wrong, however, and Morgana was a child of Gorlois, just as Morgause herself was. It was their half-sister Vivane that was a child of Uther and therefore Arthur’s sibling. Gaius had corrected the error, and had the documentation and witnesses to prove it, and, after an exhaustive search, they had found Vivane living with a small tribe of Druids, wanting as much to do with the crown of Camelot as she did her power hungry sister.
She declared Morgause corrupt, Uther bitter, and that both were poor examples of the people they attempted to represent. She eventually bonded with Morgana and Merlin of all people, and became a reluctant envoy between the people of Camelot and the Druid camps. It was Vivane who stood beside Morgana and Merlin at the lighting of the Yule fire that evening, and Vivane who promised to keep a magical eye on things throughout the long night as well.
“Just what story do you wish to tell about the... mistaken woman?” Arthur asked. He had wanted to use far hasher words to describe her, but managed to stop himself for the sake of the children.
Gwen appeared to think about it for only a moment before she replied, “What about the time that Morgana refused her? When she asked Morgana to use her magic against you to remove you as a successor to the throne and take her supposed rightful place instead?”
Arthur remembered that time. He had thought Morgana to be under the witch’s thrall, right up to the point that the blade intended for him ended up embedded in the wall beside Morgause instead.
“What happened, Mum?” Tamara asked with wide eyes. Even Moran seemed a bit leery of being so close to his own mother at the time and edged almost imperceptibly closer to his father.
The words did not come easy to Morgana and Arthur could tell it was as painful a memory for her as it was to all involved. “My sister requested that I harm the prince. She told me she saw the same thread of evil in him as she did in King Uther. She told me it was the curse of the Pendragons and only new blood could erase the stain put upon the land during Uther’s grief.” She played with the edge of a cake for a moment, sharp nail splitting it in two, before she looked back up and declared, “It was this assertion that proved to be her undoing.”
“But if Pendragons were evil, and you were a Pendragon, why would she let you rule?” Bo asked, sharp mind analyzing the situation as usual. She cocked her head to the side, curls bouncing a bit as they freed themselves from whatever style Tamara had given her, and said thoughtfully, “Unless she was going to kill you and take the throne for herself as your last remaining relative.”
Arthur flinched at his child mentioning death so casually, a sign of her age and experience thus far he supposed, but Morgana only nodded. “I do believe that was her intent,” she admitted. “Or at least that is what my dreams told me. They also told me that Arthur would and should grow to be a great and fair king and that magic would no longer lurk in the shadows during his reign, but come to see the brilliant light of day.”
Gwen seemed to sense that continuing was becoming a bit difficult for Morgana, the memories still too raw after all these years. She continued, “Morgana refused to harm Arthur and Morgause attempted some very dark magic to drive all Pendragons to insanity. The spell backfired on her, and she was driven insane in their stead.”
The room was silent save for the crackling of the fire for a moment, right up until Merlin coughed and offered, “Er, not quite.”
Arthur threw his head back and lightly smacked it against the wall. Though it was reassuring that he was not the only one getting the histories wrong, he really did wish once again that they had the stories straight before inflicting them upon the children. To the ceiling more than to the man at his side, he requested, “Pray tell just what happened this time.”
“The spell did work, but slowly,” Merlin explained. “When it was clear that Morgana was not affected, it was clear she was not actually your sister. A bit of research and a bit of bribing Gaius later, and we discovered that she was not actually a Pendragon but Gorlois’ child just as everyone had always assumed. Around this time, there were rumours of a young woman in one of the nearby Druid camps suffering from the same growing insanity. We put two and two together and discovered your mutual sister Vivane.”
“With the help of the Druids at the camp, we were able to break the spell and return it to its source, namely Morgause,” Morgana added, a bit quieter than before. She tossed a dark curl over her shoulder and did not even pretend that her goblet held tea as she took a deep drought and licked the red stain from her lips. “Merlin and I exposed ourselves as magic users to the Druid camp to convince them to help us and the crown of Camelot over a known and powerful sorceress attempting to overthrow what they thought was a corrupt king. It took a lot of work, and a lot of meditating with their own seers, but eventually it worked out and they came to our aid, forging one of the first partnerships between Druid and Camelot for decades.”
“You can imagine that this did not please Morgause,” Merlin pointed out to the wide-eyed group of children. “Add in her being insane, and she tried to go after both your Mum and myself. Unfortunately, she did so in front of the Druids, and tried to kill Vivane for not siding with her, which did not make the most sense but, again, insane, so there’s that. We stopped her and saved several Druid elders that she then tried to turn her wrath upon for daring to house us at the time, and together with those same elders, we were able to trap her in a safe place where she could do no harm.”
Arthur guessed that this meant that the stories of an insane witch living in an enchanted cave were actually true. He also guessed that he and the others would be having a long discussion on hiding important things from each other as soon as the children were safely out of earshot.
For now though, he was focused on Bo, who was demanding to know how they managed their spectacular feat and making guesses of fireballs while Willan suggested the use of blades and Moran and Tamara wisely assumed the use of both.
“Do we have any other stories about magic and its dangers or shall we just assume bad people keep trying to use it against us and the good court sorcerers keep saving us all?” he asked with more than a hint of exasperation to his tone.
“I can think of one very important story that I believe the children are old enough to know about,” Merlin offered. He shared a look with Morgana, who shared a look with Gwen, and when three pairs of eyes set upon him, he knew he was outnumbered and that, yes, it was probably time.
“If they can handle tales of death threats, insanity, and everything else, I suppose they can probably handle the story of how two of the four of them came into being,” he relented. He had hoped for a happy, pleasant Solstice, not one marred with stories of death and destruction and evil. He should have known better by now. This was his family, for better or worse, and he could only hope that their experiences with darkness could be replaced with those of light, and sooner rather than later.
The children perched upon their pillows, curious looks on every sweet-smeared face, plates of treats and meats forgotten at the chance for actual information.
Merlin took a sip of his not-tea and began, “Several years after Prince Arthur became King Arthur, the gods had gifted the king and his queen, Guinevere, with a curly haired miscreant named Bo. The gods had also gifted the two people who meant so very much to them with son named Moran.” He paused to wink at his eldest and add in a loud whisper as if revealing some secret truth for all those gathered, “Those two people would be your Mum and me.”
Moran gifted the group with a shy smile that once again reminded Arthur of the child’s father. That memory was reinforced with the less than shy comment of, “I kind of figured that part out, Da.”
Merlin ruffled his dark hair and continued, “Well, the king and queen and their little one and the sorcerer and sorceress and their little one went out for a ride. Many knights insisted on coming along, even though it was just to be a quick trip, and it turned out to be a very good thing when very powerful warlock appeared just as the two families settled down for a picnic. The warlock and his friends were angry at the king for not stopping his father years before and swore that he should not find happiness with his children the way the warlock was denied with his own due to Uther’s persecutions.”
“But Father was not Grandfather, so that does not make sense!” Willan insisted.
“Hush, don’t interrupt,” Tamara chided.
“No, it did not make sense,” Gwen agreed. “But a person whose heart is stained with anger rarely thinks things through.”
Arthur was fairly certain she was talking about far more than just the warlock at that point, but Merlin had moved on to the next part of the story, so he focused on the words and the memory of that day.
“The warlock attacked, and the knights of Camelot attacked back. There was a lot of fighting and clashing of swords and everyone circled around the royal family and the children, but a single man broke through. He did not attack with a sword or knife, but with words. Those words were intended to curse the king and queen to never create another child, so confident the man was that the group would kill the children already present, and the sorcerers that dared to side with the king.”
Merlin stopped, eyes darting between Moran and Bo, and it was not clear if he would be able to continue. Gwen took up the tale though, and finished, “But the sorcerers with the king were very powerful and managed to change the spell. They thought they reversed it completely, but later found they had only managed to alter the very most important parts. The warlock was very angry about this and tried to attack them directly. The warlock, however, forgot one very important thing: the queen was armed and he was standing right next to her.”
“You killed a warlock?” Bo asked, thoroughly impressed. She reached over, sticky hands and all, and hugged Gwen, whispering, “I love you, Mother.”
Willan interrupted the moment with a confused, “But how did we get born from that?”
Morgana answered that one, smiling softly as she explained, “The spell left a lot of energy in the air. The spell itself had been about creation and birth and death and the cycle of it all. When your Da and I tried to stop it, we were also hit with that energy, and it manifested in the most peculiar of ways.”
Arthur knew this part and, after having it explained to him so very many times, was fairly certain no one would correct him as he finished, “Morgana and Guinevere’s energies merged to create Tamara, and Merlin’s and my own merged to create you, Willan.”
The children seemed happy enough with that explanation, and he was glad for it. He did not want to go into detail of the bloodshed of that day, of how Leon threw himself atop the children to protect them and he and Gwen threw themselves atop Merlin and Morgana to prevent them from being hit by the arrows aimed for them in their distraction. Of how they lay there, panting and gasping and verifying their lovers were still alive while the now golden mist descended upon them and the warlock’s blood dripped still fresh upon Gwen’s sword. Of how they celebrated quite enthusiastically upon their return or of how quickly the new life took form, of pale stomachs glowing brightly the morning after, and most definitely of how they were never positive if the children were born of only two parents, or of all four of them together.
Instead, he thought of how wondrous it had been to see that life grow within the people he cared so deeply about, of the ways Morgana and Merlin looked so radiant as they tried to hide away from public attention, and of how protective Gwen and Arthur grew of their court sorcerers, likely obsessively so, as they made certain no harm would come to their children, any of them, for so long as they had any say in it. And, quite frankly, with the king and queen fighting for the same thing, no usurpers had even the faintest chance of succeeding.
Though the memory of both commiserating over morning sickness and magically assisted labours and debating which child would be more naturally affluent while munching on the most interesting combinations of foods always did bring a smile to his face and even now, after everything else they discussed, was no exception.
As he returned his attentions to the family in front of him, he heard Bo ask, “So, Da, just how many fireballs did you use against those idiots?”
Gwen chided her, Merlin gave her an outrageous number that may or may not have been true giving the amount of damage found when the smoke cleared that day, and Morgana had to deal with a little Tamara who was determined not to let go of her Mum, even if it meant she had to apparate more treats from the table to her for the rest of the night. Arthur had Willan snuggled into his own side, and really could see no problem with any of this at all.
His favourites appeared on his plate, and his goblet filled with mulled wine, and he was fairly certain they did not succeed in explaining the dangers of using magic for personal gain. They did, however, appear to succeed in explaining the importance of family and protecting those you love, so he was determined to count the night as a victory. Looking around the room and watching the people he cared about most, he was fairly certain this made him right at least twice that night, and that was something to be proud of. He caught the eyes of the other adults in the room, and saw their subtle nods, and gave up the count to focus on the celebration instead.
Author/Artist: cat_77
Recipient: zephre
Rating: PG-13
Character(s)/Pairing(s): OT4, Arthur/Gwen/Merlin/Morgana, with side of Arthur/Gwen and Merlin/Morgana
Word Count: ~6,400 words
Summary: Solstice Eve is a time of family and of sharing stories. Being that this is the Pendragon family, of course things do not go exactly as planned.
Warning(s): None, really.
Notes: AU from roughly the end of Series 2 and ignores certain character aspects from Series 3. This is a future fic, set a fair ways into Arthur’s reign as king.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction - none of this ever happened. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is made from this work. Please observe your local laws with regards to the age-limit and content of this work.
“Do you need anything else, sire? Another cord of wood, perhaps?” Charles asked. He was a good boy, Leon’s eldest, and was always painfully respectful, unlike certain notable people of the past who were not to be named at this time.
Arthur looked to the wood stacked neatly by the door, and then to the fire burning brightly in the hearth. He did not have the heart to tell the boy that his hard work was likely not necessary, so instead he said, “No, we’re fine. Go on and enjoy the night, Charles.”
“Thank you, sire,” the boy said, the barest hint of an anticipatory gleam in his eyes as he closed the door behind him. Now that reminded Arthur of Leon, just the edge of mischief beneath the honour bound façade.
Arthur turned his attentions to the room itself. The table was laden with food, thick red candles placed about any surface deemed safe enough not to set the castle alight, heavy tapestries adorned the walls to keep the chill out, and, of course, the fire burned merrily on. The true celebratory bonfire was far from his chambers, myriads of nobles rambling in and out of its warmth as they kept the vigil throughout the night. Normally he would be there as well, they all would, but he begged off early, wishing to celebrate someplace a little more private, a little more intimate for a change.
No one seemed to mind, not really, and he did not even hear a single remark about the king being lax in his duties, especially as he had been present for the initial feast and lighting of the fire at dusk. What he did hear were murmurs of him being a good father and husband, and the possibilities of a bit more merriment with no ruling presence to tone things down. He advised the guards and knights to be vigilant, but generous, as it was Solstice after all, but he would not be having his kingdom turned into a rubbish heap for others’ amusement.
For himself, there was a much quieter form of merriment to be had. As he heard the stomping of multiple sets of boots and the slamming of the door to the private entrance usually favoured by the chambermaids, he amended that thought to include noise of a different nature instead.
The door swung open once more and, when he did not hear the requisite slam, he turned in time to see a trail of battered silk and lace disappear behind the nearby screen and an unruly mop of blond hair shake from where it had appeared at his elbow.
“Oi!” Willan called to the girl behind the screen. “Were you born in a barn? Close the door, will you?”
A mess of red curls, littered with what appeared to be twigs of all things, peeked out from behind the screen only to dart back again, confirming his suspicions that his eldest had arrived. “Not sure about the barn, Mother and Father have been so vague about the whole thing,” Bo shouted back, her shadow shifting behind the screen. “One of you get over here and fix this for me before Mother finds out,” she ordered imperiously.
Arthur snorted. He loved that he, King of all Albion, was not seen as a threat, but the Great Queen was considered terrifying to his brood. “What did you get into this time, Bo?” he asked, leaning against the wall just out of her view.
“Nothing, Father,” she replied with false innocence. “You know me, always good and proper, never getting into any trouble at all. Not at all like the others.”
Arthur snorted again. She had one thing right, she was not like the others as she was the only one born without a drop of magic in her blood. Not that this fact precluded her from ordering the others around and bending them to her whims. He could only imagine the terror she would be if she had been Gifted as well. “Of course, dear,” he solemnly agreed. “It is just pure chance that these things happen around you, isn’t it?”
“It truly is,” she nodded, poking her head out again for him to catch a glimpse at her destruction. The dress was likely a loss if the tears he could see were anything to go by. Her face was streaked with what looked for all the world to be soot, and he had seen hay bales with more order than her hair currently held.
He turned to find Merlin ushering in the other two children, no sign of Morgana or Gwen just yet. “One of you go sort out your sister so we don’t start the night on the wrong foot,” he sighed, pushing himself off the wall to greet the other adult in the room.
“It’s your turn,” Willan informed Moran.
The smaller boy shook his dark head. “I did it last time,” he insisted. He toyed with the little red triangle of cloth he wore about his pale neck and stuck out his lower lip in a pout.
Arthur tried not to think of how much he looked like someone else, and wonder what kind of terror said someone else was when he was that age. One glance at Merlin and he knew his thoughts were likely written across his face, the other man’s eyes lit up with a knowing twinkle. It was, unfortunately, not a golden glow to the blue though, which meant he would be no help with the task at hand.
“Moran, dear, think of it as a present to her,” he tried. “One that means she owes you an extra sweet for your efforts.”
“Father!” Bo complained. The mop of twig-strewn curls appeared around the screen once more. “Why did you have to promise him that?”
“Because Mum is coming up the stairs and will be here soon enough and what in the world did you do to your hair?” Tamara replied. She fingered her own dark curls protectively, as though they could be contaminated by simply being in the presence of such a sight.
Arthur decided to make the best of the situation and steered one young girl towards the other. “Why don’t you see if you can fix her hair while Moran fixes her dress and Willan sorts out the pillows so everything is ready when Mum and Mother come in, yes?” he suggested.
As three children reluctantly set to task and the fourth darted back behind the screen with a smug look about her dirt streaked features, Merlin offered him a goblet of mulled wine and mused, “What about that whole not using magic for their own personal gain thing we have been trying to teach them?”
Arthur took a hearty swallow and raised his eyebrows. He’d say that was like the court sorcerer calling the court sorceress a witch, but found that joke was only funny once and that roughly three uses ago. “It’s not for their gain, it’s for mine,” he insisted. “They are serving the crown.”
There was a brief flash of gold followed by a string of giggles in the corner that he did not want to know about. Merlin did not look especially concerned, so he assumed the fix up was going as planned. “And just how are they serving the crown?” Merlin asked as he lifted a goblet of his own.
“By insuring we have a pleasant evening free of ranting ladies and queens and hello, Morgana, how long have you been standing there?” Arthur replied with a sweep of his hand towards the court sorceress who was entering arm and arm with the queen.
“Pleasant evening to you as well, Arthur,” she greeted him with a knowing smile. She swept into the room in a blur of flowing silks. She eyed the corner screen and smirked, “And what have the imps been up to this evening?”
“Nothing, Mum!” Moran said just a little too quickly, Tamara nodding just a little too vigorously at his side. Willan looked up from where he was setting the thickly brocaded pillows about the plush rug and rolled his eyes.
Bo stepped out from behind the screen, hair neatly coifed and dress looking as though the tailors had just delivered it moments ago. “I was just trying to look presentable,” she blinked innocently.
Arthur had to give her credit, she did not lie. He did, however, cock his head to the side and whisper to Merlin, “I thought her dress was yellow?”
It was not Merlin who replied, but Moran, who shrugged and walked past them towards the fire and the treats. “I like green better.”
Arthur could not argue with that, but did take note that the shade he chose was nearly identical to the shade of his mother’s eyes, and wondered if that fact was more than a mere coincidence.
He stepped forward and offered both Morgana and Gwen a kiss on the cheek, and then stood aside so Merlin could do the same. Morgana and Merlin wasted no time filling small plates of sweets and meats for themselves, having worked up an appetite with the spells they cast around the fire and supposedly around their borders for the night as well, and Gwen took the opportunity to grant him another kiss on his temple and whisper, “The dress was yellow, I chose it myself. How bad was it?”
“You really do not want to know,” he told her honestly. She did not seem upset that their child had destroyed it, or even that it was obviously fixed by means other than a seamstress, only resigned.
“They get another lecture on the misuse of magic in the morning,” she declared as she stepped away to fill a plate for herself.
“Why wait until morning?” he asked, louder, so all the adults could hear. “Why not tell them some of the tales of misdeeds and adventures and show them the dangers instead?”
“We have all night,” Merlin shrugged, reminding them of the vigil they would be keeping until sunrise.
“Hmm,” Gwen said thoughtfully. Or it could be that she had just popped a bit of honey cake into her mouth. “Just so long as the stories steer more towards why it can be dangerous and not why it can be wicked fun,” she agreed.
Merlin snuck up behind her, long fingers tickling against the laces of her gown. “But it can be wicked fun,” he protested gamely. His eyes flashed gold and one of the cakes left her plate to reappear on his own.
Gwen had opened her mouth with some retort, and had a finger pointing accusingly in Merlin’s direction, but was interrupted by Willan’s petulant, “Why does Da get to use magic for fun but we’re not supposed to?”
“Because your Da is the official court sorcerer and you are not,” Morgana told him primly. She then picked up the cake Merlin had just stolen and took a large bite out of it herself, grinning wolfishly. “And the only one who is allowed to show him up is the official court sorceress, which is, oh, me.” She finished the last of the cake and dramatically sashayed over to the gathered pillows, twittering lightly with laughter by the time she settled herself down upon them.
That seemed to be enough of a signal for the urchins, who all grabbed far more sweets than was strictly healthy and arranged themselves on the pillows between their parents. Arthur had to bite back a chuckle at how they always seemed to end up in the same circle: he sat next to Willan, who sat next to Merlin, then came Moran and Morgana, and Tamara and Gwen, with Bo settling herself in between Gwen and Arthur and completing the ring. He wondered if it was a want to be by their respective parents so much as wanting to keep the lot separated so no one group, urchins or adults, could effectively team up against each other.
Eventually, they would figure out that the adults had been through far too much together over the years for the ploy to work. Then again, he feared eventually the children would sort out on their own ways to work together with nary a word shared between them as well. He feared for that day, and not just for the kitchen stores.
Once everyone looked to be settled into place, Arthur shifted a bit on his own pile of pillows and began, “The problem with magic is...”
There was a chorus of people of various ages clearing their throats and he knew instantly that he had misspoke. Again. He was really missing the days when no one would think to even hint that the king was capable of such a task but, looking around his gathered family, he knew that if he did not acknowledge the issue, it would become a far larger matter sooner rather than later. He turned to what he thought to be the one to give him the least amount of trouble given her inherent sweetness, and asked, “Tam, did you have something to add?”
A little head of dark curls nodded as Tamara clearly enunciated, “Father, to state that there is a problem with magic is to imply that magic itself is a problem, that it is a bad thing to be looked down upon. Seeing how many of us have magic within us, and others are rumoured to be born of magic, perhaps there is a better way to state the issue.”
Arthur sighed as Tamara’s Mum and Mother preened. He should have learned by now that one born of strong-minded women would not be the one to back down or dance around an issue. A glance at Merlin showed him he had no help there, but at least the other man had managed not to laugh outright at his predicament this time.
“Perhaps it would be best to say that there are often issues associated with magic, and some can prove to be problematic?” Morgana suggested diplomatically. Well, diplomatic for her, which meant that, based upon the smirk she wore, he was likely to find another toad in his pillowcase. He just hoped it did not sing this time. He had been unable to sleep for a week after that incident while Gwen, Merlin, and Morgana all managed just fine thanks to a little addition to the enchantment.
“Yes, indeed,” he said with a forced smile. “Anyway,” he began again, already hearing croaking at the back of his mind. “Many years ago, King Ellyard hosted a banquet for the visiting nobles of Camelot. His cooks made a truly divine desert of apples coated in a rare spice that a certain court magician who was only a certain court servant at the time apparently desired. He attempted to use his magic to call forth another platter of this desert, and ended up flooding the room with plates and pots of every food item imaginable. There were pies dripping from the ceiling by the time he was done, and all because he had requested something for personal gain, and the oft times problematic magic chose that moment to be one of those times.”
He thought it was a prime example and nothing too frightening for the children who were currently giggling at the imagery of food pouring from every surface available. Gwen was smiling along, but Morgana wore her standard raised eyebrow and Merlin wore the expression that only made an appearance when he was hiding something.
A gesture and Merlin bit his lip, looking for a moment like the young servant he had been at the time. A blink and that was replaced by the shrewd sorcerer once more. “Actually, that’s not quite what happened,” Merlin offered.
“Of course that is how it happened, I was there!” Arthur protested, but he saw Morgana already shaking her head as well.
It was apparently Merlin’s story to tell though, so he continued, “The apple treat was brilliant, but it was also enchanted. Those who ate it became incredibly susceptible to suggestions, and King Ellyard was hoping to use this to his advantage during the treaty negotiations.” He took a sip of what Arthur knew to only be a strong tea and licked his lips before expanding, “The ‘simple servant’ was not allowed this treat at the dinner, and so he noticed the effects sooner than most. The king’s ward had also declined the sweet as she was suffering from a minor ailment and it was easy to convince her of the effects. Her duty was to distract as the servant attempted to magically call upon every tainted item offered in the castle. When the room flooded with food, it was clear nothing was safe and the negotiations were called off.”
Arthur crossed his arms in front of him and determinedly did not pout. “That is not what happened, I would have remembered that,” he insisted. At the doubting looks he received, his confidence faded and he asked in a far smaller voice, “Why wouldn’t I have remembered that?”
Morgana reached across and consolingly patted him on the knee. “You did not remember as we did not want you to,” she explained. Before he could get upset, she elaborated, “Neither of us were certain how you would take to us having magic, and you already had enough of the potion in your system to make you... suggestible, so we left it at that. You thought I had a taken ill and we returned home.”
“What happened to the sorceress?” Willan asked excitedly. At Arthur’s look, he did a fair impression of the king’s own sigh and said, “Someone had to poison the food and usually the cooks helpers are girls, so the bad magic user must have been a she.”
While Arthur tried to figure out how one so young could have figured that out, Morgana replied, “This time it was a he, and he was the king’s personal servant who oversaw all the preparations for the feast.”
“Well, what happened to him?” Bo demanded. Arthur noted she already had berry stains on her newly repaired and dyed frock.
Rather than using words, Merlin exchanged a look with Morgana and then held up his hand. A tiny flame erupted atop his palm though no skin was scorched. The flame surged and then extinguished itself when Merlin closed his fingers over it with a shrug.
“Fireball!” Bo exclaimed happily. It was one of her favourite tricks.
“I have so got to learn how to do that,” Moran mumbled, staring at his palm as if to wish it into being.
Arthur quickly placed another honey cake in it instead, the sticky sweetness dripping from his fingers and across the edge of the boy’s sleeve as he very emphatically said, “No, you really do not.”
“So,” Willan mused at his side. “Was Da’s magic really a problem? Because he served the crown and you said it was okay to use magic to serve the crown and...”
“When did he say that?” Morgana jumped in to ask.
“Earl-, er, never?” Willan tried when he saw his father’s glare.
He was a good boy. Arthur should really think about finally letting him use more than a safety sword. Then again, there was that incident with his first dagger, and Tamara’s hair did just grow out again.
“Perhaps another example is in order?” Gwen suggested, successfully changing the subject, if only slightly. Arthur could kiss her, but the children usually added their own commentary to that, so he settled for a smile full of promises instead.
He pondered it for only a moment before he thought of another example, possibly even more appropriate than the first. “There was another incident and, yes, Willan, it involved a sorceress,” he began. “My father, then the king, was gifted with a superb specimen of a dagger. This sorceress decided to use this enchanted dagger to try to kill the king. Instead, she managed to send every last piece of cutlery in the room flying after her. So, you can see, magic can be quite finicky and choose to turn on you of its own accord.”
He was quite proud of his example, even though it was a bit more frightening than the first. He trusted his children could handle the imagery of flying weaponry, and was about to verify as much when he noticed Morgana smirking and Merlin clearing his throat pointedly.
“That’s not how it happened, was it, Mum?” Moran guessed.
“Not quite,” Morgana agreed. She wiped a tiny spot of honey from her lips with her napkin and, at Arthur’s irritated look, explained, “The dagger was a truly beautiful piece, I will give you that. It was, however, not enchanted in the least. She used magic to send the blade towards Uther, and I used magic to send it back. She deflected it and she nearly escaped, so Merlin and I sent everything we had back at her to try to stop her from leaving the castle grounds.”
“Aw, our family worked together even back then!” Tamara exclaimed, quite happy with the prospect. She clapped her hands together and the brightness of her smile encouraged similar reactions from the others.
Arthur did not begrudge her enthusiasm, but would have liked to know these pesky little details in advance to better prepare his examples. “Fine,” he huffed. If he petulantly grabbed a sweetbread, that was no one’s business but his own. “One of you give an example then.”
“Morgause!” Gwen declared, and Arthur had to resist the urge to check the room for the woman. He was pleased to see he was in good company though as both Merlin and Morgana flinched at the name.
“Why would you want to inflict that on our children?” Merlin asked dourly. Arthur noticed his eyes flash gold for the briefest of moments, and his cup suddenly be filled with something far stronger than tea.
“Tamara mentioned family, and Morgause played that aspect against us,” Gwen said reasonably. To the children, she explained, “Morgause came to court claiming to be the Lady Morgana’s sister. She was a very powerful sorceress, and a very valiant fighter.”
“She was also a liar,” Arthur groused. He poked Merlin and obtained a cup of not-tea of his own.
“She was my sister,” Morgana corrected. “She also helped me come to terms with the magic within me, and I must respect her for that.”
“Yeah, but...” Merlin started, but trailed off at the glare he received for his efforts.
“But she was mistaken in many things, and had to pay the price for that,” Morgana declared with far more diplomacy than Arthur would have given her credit for.
Amongst the “mistakes” made were the declarations that Arthur’s father should die slowly and painfully in as humiliating a way as possible and that Morgana was Arthur’s own sister and should have a claim to the throne. Well, half-sister, to be accurate to the false declaration.
Morgause had her histories wrong, however, and Morgana was a child of Gorlois, just as Morgause herself was. It was their half-sister Vivane that was a child of Uther and therefore Arthur’s sibling. Gaius had corrected the error, and had the documentation and witnesses to prove it, and, after an exhaustive search, they had found Vivane living with a small tribe of Druids, wanting as much to do with the crown of Camelot as she did her power hungry sister.
She declared Morgause corrupt, Uther bitter, and that both were poor examples of the people they attempted to represent. She eventually bonded with Morgana and Merlin of all people, and became a reluctant envoy between the people of Camelot and the Druid camps. It was Vivane who stood beside Morgana and Merlin at the lighting of the Yule fire that evening, and Vivane who promised to keep a magical eye on things throughout the long night as well.
“Just what story do you wish to tell about the... mistaken woman?” Arthur asked. He had wanted to use far hasher words to describe her, but managed to stop himself for the sake of the children.
Gwen appeared to think about it for only a moment before she replied, “What about the time that Morgana refused her? When she asked Morgana to use her magic against you to remove you as a successor to the throne and take her supposed rightful place instead?”
Arthur remembered that time. He had thought Morgana to be under the witch’s thrall, right up to the point that the blade intended for him ended up embedded in the wall beside Morgause instead.
“What happened, Mum?” Tamara asked with wide eyes. Even Moran seemed a bit leery of being so close to his own mother at the time and edged almost imperceptibly closer to his father.
The words did not come easy to Morgana and Arthur could tell it was as painful a memory for her as it was to all involved. “My sister requested that I harm the prince. She told me she saw the same thread of evil in him as she did in King Uther. She told me it was the curse of the Pendragons and only new blood could erase the stain put upon the land during Uther’s grief.” She played with the edge of a cake for a moment, sharp nail splitting it in two, before she looked back up and declared, “It was this assertion that proved to be her undoing.”
“But if Pendragons were evil, and you were a Pendragon, why would she let you rule?” Bo asked, sharp mind analyzing the situation as usual. She cocked her head to the side, curls bouncing a bit as they freed themselves from whatever style Tamara had given her, and said thoughtfully, “Unless she was going to kill you and take the throne for herself as your last remaining relative.”
Arthur flinched at his child mentioning death so casually, a sign of her age and experience thus far he supposed, but Morgana only nodded. “I do believe that was her intent,” she admitted. “Or at least that is what my dreams told me. They also told me that Arthur would and should grow to be a great and fair king and that magic would no longer lurk in the shadows during his reign, but come to see the brilliant light of day.”
Gwen seemed to sense that continuing was becoming a bit difficult for Morgana, the memories still too raw after all these years. She continued, “Morgana refused to harm Arthur and Morgause attempted some very dark magic to drive all Pendragons to insanity. The spell backfired on her, and she was driven insane in their stead.”
The room was silent save for the crackling of the fire for a moment, right up until Merlin coughed and offered, “Er, not quite.”
Arthur threw his head back and lightly smacked it against the wall. Though it was reassuring that he was not the only one getting the histories wrong, he really did wish once again that they had the stories straight before inflicting them upon the children. To the ceiling more than to the man at his side, he requested, “Pray tell just what happened this time.”
“The spell did work, but slowly,” Merlin explained. “When it was clear that Morgana was not affected, it was clear she was not actually your sister. A bit of research and a bit of bribing Gaius later, and we discovered that she was not actually a Pendragon but Gorlois’ child just as everyone had always assumed. Around this time, there were rumours of a young woman in one of the nearby Druid camps suffering from the same growing insanity. We put two and two together and discovered your mutual sister Vivane.”
“With the help of the Druids at the camp, we were able to break the spell and return it to its source, namely Morgause,” Morgana added, a bit quieter than before. She tossed a dark curl over her shoulder and did not even pretend that her goblet held tea as she took a deep drought and licked the red stain from her lips. “Merlin and I exposed ourselves as magic users to the Druid camp to convince them to help us and the crown of Camelot over a known and powerful sorceress attempting to overthrow what they thought was a corrupt king. It took a lot of work, and a lot of meditating with their own seers, but eventually it worked out and they came to our aid, forging one of the first partnerships between Druid and Camelot for decades.”
“You can imagine that this did not please Morgause,” Merlin pointed out to the wide-eyed group of children. “Add in her being insane, and she tried to go after both your Mum and myself. Unfortunately, she did so in front of the Druids, and tried to kill Vivane for not siding with her, which did not make the most sense but, again, insane, so there’s that. We stopped her and saved several Druid elders that she then tried to turn her wrath upon for daring to house us at the time, and together with those same elders, we were able to trap her in a safe place where she could do no harm.”
Arthur guessed that this meant that the stories of an insane witch living in an enchanted cave were actually true. He also guessed that he and the others would be having a long discussion on hiding important things from each other as soon as the children were safely out of earshot.
For now though, he was focused on Bo, who was demanding to know how they managed their spectacular feat and making guesses of fireballs while Willan suggested the use of blades and Moran and Tamara wisely assumed the use of both.
“Do we have any other stories about magic and its dangers or shall we just assume bad people keep trying to use it against us and the good court sorcerers keep saving us all?” he asked with more than a hint of exasperation to his tone.
“I can think of one very important story that I believe the children are old enough to know about,” Merlin offered. He shared a look with Morgana, who shared a look with Gwen, and when three pairs of eyes set upon him, he knew he was outnumbered and that, yes, it was probably time.
“If they can handle tales of death threats, insanity, and everything else, I suppose they can probably handle the story of how two of the four of them came into being,” he relented. He had hoped for a happy, pleasant Solstice, not one marred with stories of death and destruction and evil. He should have known better by now. This was his family, for better or worse, and he could only hope that their experiences with darkness could be replaced with those of light, and sooner rather than later.
The children perched upon their pillows, curious looks on every sweet-smeared face, plates of treats and meats forgotten at the chance for actual information.
Merlin took a sip of his not-tea and began, “Several years after Prince Arthur became King Arthur, the gods had gifted the king and his queen, Guinevere, with a curly haired miscreant named Bo. The gods had also gifted the two people who meant so very much to them with son named Moran.” He paused to wink at his eldest and add in a loud whisper as if revealing some secret truth for all those gathered, “Those two people would be your Mum and me.”
Moran gifted the group with a shy smile that once again reminded Arthur of the child’s father. That memory was reinforced with the less than shy comment of, “I kind of figured that part out, Da.”
Merlin ruffled his dark hair and continued, “Well, the king and queen and their little one and the sorcerer and sorceress and their little one went out for a ride. Many knights insisted on coming along, even though it was just to be a quick trip, and it turned out to be a very good thing when very powerful warlock appeared just as the two families settled down for a picnic. The warlock and his friends were angry at the king for not stopping his father years before and swore that he should not find happiness with his children the way the warlock was denied with his own due to Uther’s persecutions.”
“But Father was not Grandfather, so that does not make sense!” Willan insisted.
“Hush, don’t interrupt,” Tamara chided.
“No, it did not make sense,” Gwen agreed. “But a person whose heart is stained with anger rarely thinks things through.”
Arthur was fairly certain she was talking about far more than just the warlock at that point, but Merlin had moved on to the next part of the story, so he focused on the words and the memory of that day.
“The warlock attacked, and the knights of Camelot attacked back. There was a lot of fighting and clashing of swords and everyone circled around the royal family and the children, but a single man broke through. He did not attack with a sword or knife, but with words. Those words were intended to curse the king and queen to never create another child, so confident the man was that the group would kill the children already present, and the sorcerers that dared to side with the king.”
Merlin stopped, eyes darting between Moran and Bo, and it was not clear if he would be able to continue. Gwen took up the tale though, and finished, “But the sorcerers with the king were very powerful and managed to change the spell. They thought they reversed it completely, but later found they had only managed to alter the very most important parts. The warlock was very angry about this and tried to attack them directly. The warlock, however, forgot one very important thing: the queen was armed and he was standing right next to her.”
“You killed a warlock?” Bo asked, thoroughly impressed. She reached over, sticky hands and all, and hugged Gwen, whispering, “I love you, Mother.”
Willan interrupted the moment with a confused, “But how did we get born from that?”
Morgana answered that one, smiling softly as she explained, “The spell left a lot of energy in the air. The spell itself had been about creation and birth and death and the cycle of it all. When your Da and I tried to stop it, we were also hit with that energy, and it manifested in the most peculiar of ways.”
Arthur knew this part and, after having it explained to him so very many times, was fairly certain no one would correct him as he finished, “Morgana and Guinevere’s energies merged to create Tamara, and Merlin’s and my own merged to create you, Willan.”
The children seemed happy enough with that explanation, and he was glad for it. He did not want to go into detail of the bloodshed of that day, of how Leon threw himself atop the children to protect them and he and Gwen threw themselves atop Merlin and Morgana to prevent them from being hit by the arrows aimed for them in their distraction. Of how they lay there, panting and gasping and verifying their lovers were still alive while the now golden mist descended upon them and the warlock’s blood dripped still fresh upon Gwen’s sword. Of how they celebrated quite enthusiastically upon their return or of how quickly the new life took form, of pale stomachs glowing brightly the morning after, and most definitely of how they were never positive if the children were born of only two parents, or of all four of them together.
Instead, he thought of how wondrous it had been to see that life grow within the people he cared so deeply about, of the ways Morgana and Merlin looked so radiant as they tried to hide away from public attention, and of how protective Gwen and Arthur grew of their court sorcerers, likely obsessively so, as they made certain no harm would come to their children, any of them, for so long as they had any say in it. And, quite frankly, with the king and queen fighting for the same thing, no usurpers had even the faintest chance of succeeding.
Though the memory of both commiserating over morning sickness and magically assisted labours and debating which child would be more naturally affluent while munching on the most interesting combinations of foods always did bring a smile to his face and even now, after everything else they discussed, was no exception.
As he returned his attentions to the family in front of him, he heard Bo ask, “So, Da, just how many fireballs did you use against those idiots?”
Gwen chided her, Merlin gave her an outrageous number that may or may not have been true giving the amount of damage found when the smoke cleared that day, and Morgana had to deal with a little Tamara who was determined not to let go of her Mum, even if it meant she had to apparate more treats from the table to her for the rest of the night. Arthur had Willan snuggled into his own side, and really could see no problem with any of this at all.
His favourites appeared on his plate, and his goblet filled with mulled wine, and he was fairly certain they did not succeed in explaining the dangers of using magic for personal gain. They did, however, appear to succeed in explaining the importance of family and protecting those you love, so he was determined to count the night as a victory. Looking around the room and watching the people he cared about most, he was fairly certain this made him right at least twice that night, and that was something to be proud of. He caught the eyes of the other adults in the room, and saw their subtle nods, and gave up the count to focus on the celebration instead.