Like a Phoenix

3: silver clouds with grey linings

 Not beta'd. I apologize for any mistakes in advance.

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There was a lot more crying than he'd expected when he told them.

They gathered in the center of camp, where he told— where he used to tell stories by the fire. Amabel had attached herself to Merlin's legs somewhere in the middle of his speech of thanking them for all they'd done, and hadn't let go since.

He went around (with effort, and a child-induced limp) to each member of the little family he'd built here, enveloped them in hugs and wiped their tears. When Morgana insisted it was time to leave, he had to pull a screaming Amabel off of his legs and deposit her in the arms of her parents, who prayed and bowed to Emrys. She had tears in her eyes. Her hair was tangled. Her little chin wobbled.

It was the second hardest thing he'd ever had to do.

***

The first thing Merlin requested as they were mounting the horse (Morgana could only bring one for fear of seeming conspicuous) was to visit Ealdor. At first Morgana had resisted: if they stayed away for too long, she wouldn't be back by her usual time, and then Arthur would surely send out the knights. But Merlin insisted; his mother should be the first to know. Merlin was the only family she had left.

Morgana found she couldn't argue with that.

On the road to Ealdor, he tried to put his mother out of his mind, as he had been doing consistently these past long months. He thought about her, of course, every day— but dwelling in this grief, thinking about how she may or may not be handling it— he wouldn't be able to go on the way he needed to. Today he tried to channel that same perseverance. He would be there soon enough. Worrying about it would do nothing but give him stomach pains.

Besides, it was easy to put Hunith out of his mind, for now. The druids were taking up that space. He hadn't expected his departure to be as hard as it was. He hadn't expected to become part of the family— an honorary druid, as Healer Baldwin liked to say. He would miss all of them dearly. Especially the children.

This journey was a long one to ride in silence, but (despite how he cherished it) his time in the druid camp made him more used to it than he'd ever been— he loved all the druids dearly, but it could be a lonely place when the kids weren't around.

Sometimes, he felt like they were the only ones truly listening.

After several hours of traveling, they finally arrived in Ealdor. Merlin was exhausted and nervous. He wasn't sure what to do now that he was here, amongst the familiar farm-life and villagers. Merlin gasped. The villagers! "Morgana," he said, leaning forward to speak quietly in her ear (and hide behind her petite form), "if they see me, they'll start yelling."

"Alright, Merlin," Morgana breathed, looking at the people crossing between homes and forests, holding bags of grain and logs of wood. "Let's do this."

Morgana guided them to the back of the village, where they wouldn't be seen right away, and dismounted. They didn't want to make such a grand entrance, and Merlin knew from nearly 20 years of living in Ealdor that the quickest way to get noticed in a small town was to walk right in the center of it, so they snuck along the backs and sides of the buildings.

Until they made it to his mother's house. How could I keep this from Mum? What am I going to say? After all that my father put us through... and now I've done the same thing... Oh, gods, he was spiraling. Morgana sent him a questioning glance.

And then they heard...

Was that laughter?

Well... he wasn't going to say he wasn't glad to be hearing the sound come from her, but his pride was the tiniest bit wounded. Just the tiniest bit. I mean, he was her only son, but he appreciated how unfalteringly strong and resilient his mother was. She could get through anything, and this was proof of that.