By Letters and Love

Hello again! This story is a little idea that I've always wanted to write—Hunith's reaction to Merlin's reveal!

If you haven't read any of my other stories, that's fine, you can read this story by itself. But, I do refer a bit to what happens after Camlann—my interpretation of which is found in my story, Of Destiny and Friendship. There is also a brief reference to my two-shot To Heart and Home, as well. But no worries, they are not required.

If you are reading this story after reading Of Destiny and Friendship and Of Enemies and Allies, then this is a companion story, set in between the two.

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin

"All that I am or ever hope to be, I owe to my angel mother." —Abraham Lincoln

A deliberate cough pulled Hunith from the mindless chore of tending to her garden.

She ceased humming, and quickly pulled her hands from the dirt, bringing a stubborn weed up with the motion. Then, shielding her eyes from the bright sunlight, she looked up towards the sound. Her head swiveled for a few moments before her gaze latched on to a human-sized shadow, a figure illuminated against the summer sun's rays.

"Hello," Hunith stood as she called the greeting, wiping her dirty hands on the apron that hung from around her waist, "Can I help you?"

Greeted with silence, Hunith decided it was best to move closer to the visitor. She glanced down and meandered around a few vegetable plants, carefully avoiding the produce as she moved towards the fence. As she got closer, Hunith could make out the Pendragon crest on the man's uniform. Her anxiousness bubbled up to a lump in her throat, what would an official page of Camelot be doing in Essetir?

Hunith's thoughts immediately traveled to her son Merlin, bringing to mind an image of his kind smile, and the bright eyes that never failed to light up his elfin features and high cheekbones. Her heart clenched, thinking of the last letter Merlin had sent—delivered by messenger bird, as her son did not have the ability to make use of the Camelot pages. It had been over a week ago; Hunith had been hanging the wash on the line as the bird flew towards her, dropping the letter in her quickly outstretched palm.

She rushed to unfold the piece of parchment, somehow feeling that this message from her son would not bring good news.

And she was right.

Merlin had written a hasty letter—beginning by apologizing for his lack of writing as of late—and described the situation Camelot had found itself in. He was nervous, Hunith could tell by the way he slanted his penmanship, but he did not write about himself; instead, he spoke of the king, of the plans the Pendragon and his knights had made for a battle at Camlann. The name of the place meant nothing to Hunith, as she had never ventured far from Ealdor, but Merlin had went on to write about prophecies, endings, and Destiny.

These were the parts of her son's letters that Hunith never particularly understood. While she had come to realize the important role that Merlin played in the magical community, she could never quite grasp the hold Destiny had on her son. Arthur was key to this Destiny—that she understood—but she couldn't help but get lost in the feelings that transferred themselves to Hunith through the paper in her hand. Her son's loyalty to the Pendragon king went beyond a depth she could fathom.

Sometimes it pained her, knowing that her young boy was frequently put in danger—either from protecting King Arthur, or just because his job demanded he be close to the man. Other times, she couldn't help but smile at the obvious rapport and bond that Merlin and Arthur shared. In truth though, she had only met Arthur a handful of times; first when the prince had followed Merlin to Ealdor, only to end up aiding the villagers against Kanen and his men; then, she had conversed with him briefly when she had come to Camelot ill and Arthur was healing from the effects of a Questing Beast wound. Hunith had only ever seen him twice after that—twice as crowned king—although "king" might not have been the ideal title, as Arthur and Merlin had come to Ealdor for shelter, after they were forced to flee from Morgana and a fallen Camelot. And then there was the second encounter, which was for entirely different reasons.

It had been a cold winter, one in which nearly all of Ealdor had taken sick from a terrible virus. As last resort, message had been sent to Camelot for help, and Merlin, in place of Gaius, had answered, returning to Ealdor to use his skills as a physician. For just over a full week he had done what he could, but the plague that had stricken them was of a strain with which he was inexperienced. Unable to stomach the pain and death afflicting his hometown any longer, he had secretly used his magic to cure the villagers… by taking the entirety of the disease upon himself. Only she was privy to that fact, as Hunith had helped Merlin concoct an 'antidote' to give the people while her son had concentrated on creating his spell. When her son failed to return to Camelot, the worried king had come in search of his missing servant.

That was the last time she had seen Arthur.

It was also the last time she had seen her son.

And so, she was brought back to where her thought process had started: the page. Letters sent in such a way were more official, more important. Hunith felt the nerves returning—nerves for the magical son of hers who lived in a land that would be all too quick to condemn him for what he was.

"Can I help you?" She tried again, now standing directly across from the page.

The young man had a slight frown on his face, probably due to the heat of the sun and the fact that he had no doubt called her name quite a few times before trying the cough she had ultimately heard.

"Hunith, mother of Merlin of Ealdor, King Arthur Pendragon's manservant?" he asked.

She nodded in the affirmative.

Silently, he reached into the bag at his side and pulled out two sealed letters.

Two.

He held them out over the fence, "I have two missives, one from your son, and another from His Majesty, the King of Camelot."

The king lived, was the first thought to cross her mind, though it was closely followed by another, Merlin did it; a swell of pride overwhelmed her senses until she came to her next thought: why would her son use a page? And for what reason would the King of Camelot be sending her a letter?

Hunith reached out with a trembling hand, and took the parchment from the page's grasp. She tried not to let the worry she felt show on her face, but with the look the young man had fixed on her, Hunith knew she had not succeeded.

His previous frown melted into a slight smile, "Camelot was successful at Camlann."

That was all he said though, before he took three steps backward, towards the horse Hunith had not noticed earlier. On finding the animal's reins, the page lifted himself into the saddle, and, with a curt nod, galloped off towards the east, to Camelot.

Hunith looked down at the two letters tightly held in her firm grip. She slackened her hold on the messages, letting them fall flat into her clasped, cupped hands.

Which should she open first?

Hunith didn't want to jump to any hasty—or terrible—assumptions, but if this formally delivered letter was indeed from the king, she couldn't help but wonder if it could be (and oh, how she hated to think it!) a statement of her son's death sentence.

Hunith knew then, at that moment, that it was the king's letter that would be read first. Merlin always glossed over potentially harmful situations; his words would not be to the point… especially if it was his last message to her—a goodbye. So as much as it pained her, King Arthur's letter needed to be read first.

With shaking hands, Hunith maneuvered Merlin's letter behind the king's, to a hold between her left index and middle fingers, and then broke open the official seal of Camelot's king:

Dear Hunith,

I'm not quite sure what Merlin will tell you about the past week, but I assure you, my letter will not leave room for partial truths.

I have contemplated for hours on what to write—or should I say, how, to write about what has occurred—but I am still just as uncertain as I was in the first few moments I spent staring down at this piece of paper. So I suppose the best way to get it out is to say it in as little words as possible: I know.

I know.

Hunith's heart froze. She felt her knees trembling, too shocked to hold her weight. Hunith sank to the garden dirt slowly, her thoughts in a jumbled array of worries and fears—bringing up anxieties that she had held tight to her heart for the past twenty six years.

Automatically, her mind flashed back to a memory from long ago, a bundle of cloth in her arms, a swaddled newborn with bright blue eyes. She was sitting in a rocking chair, humming a tune her own mother had once sang to her.

The fire in the hearth was getting dimmer, and she could hear the wind howling outside, banging against the wooden door and window shutters.

She remembered thinking about the weakening flames, and how she needed to put another log on the fire or else she and her baby son would freeze.

She remembered all these thoughts as they had once passed through her mind. But most of all, she recalled looking down at the tiny child in her arms, and seeing, for the first time, a sight that took her breath away: the glowing, golden eyes of a sorcerer.

Her Merlin had magic.

Those two golden orbs were emblazoned in her mind's eye, and even as she reopened her eyes, blinking tears away as she sat in the soft earth of her garden, she could see them as clear as that first time: Merlin's bright multi-faceted blue eyes flashing into a different, unnatural, color as they relit the hearth.

But the thought of those precious eyes—and the man who owned them, brought Hunith's gaze down to the letter in her hands.

Arthur knew about Merlin's magic.

The King of magic-condemning Camelot knew about her son's gift.

She stuffed her free fist into her mouth to keep her sobs from reaching the neighbors' ears. This was it; after twenty-six years her worries were finding reality.

Merlin would die by the pyre.

Just as his first act of magic had been to start a fire, his last breath would be taken surrounded by one.

Hot tears dripped from her face and onto the parchment. Part of her wanted to rush to Camelot, hoping to rescue her son from death, while another simply pleaded for the gods to take her—take her so that her own pain would end and she could be there in Avalon, waiting for when Merlin would soon follow.

Another wave of despair flooded her soul, but the tears had slowly trickled to a stop.

She wasn't sure how long she had sat there on the ground, with a fist in her mouth, and another clenching the parchment with her son's sentence, but slowly, the sobs stopped too, and Hunith pulled her puffy eyes from distant memories and back to the paper. She needed to know the date.

She needed to know how long her son had left:

I know, but I don't care.

Hunith's brow furrowed as she read the first line, and then, as her mind came to understand the meaning behind those few simple words, she gasped. Her eyes latched onto a possible hope, and with an erratic heartbeat she continued:

A lot has happened in the past week—my near death, and the revelation of your son's magic being only two of such events—and it is impossible to put it all in writing; however, you need to know that your son is a hero. Camelot owes him a great debt, one that I believe can never be truly repaid.

He has, after much prompting, told me of every magical occurrence he has witnessed in Camelot, and how, in a majority of these stories, he saved my life. I don't think there is anyone in my kingdom that has sacrificed as much as he has. Merlin has risked his own life time and time again in the sake of Destiny and our friendship… and I never knew it; he never once sought any credit. So I will be the first to admit how blind I have been.

I have also been the greatest of fools.

Your son deserves so much more than what he has been dealt the last decade, and deserves even more than what I have given him. I, more than anyone, should and do feel indebted to him, because as I said, my life has been in his hands countless times, and never once, did his loyalty falter.

I'm sure you already know about what he has accomplished for Camelot in the past… I only wish I could repay him for everything; I fear I have not always been the best of friends to him.

But, I hope that repealing the ban on magic is a start.

I want Merlin to be free. He deserves it—and so much more!

In a few days time, your son will be given the title of Lord; furthermore, he will be instated as the Court Sorcerer of Camelot and my First Advisor (the latter title, just as much as the first, being one he has been deserving of for quite a few years now).

I know you cannot travel and make it to Camelot in that time frame, and I suppose by the time this letter reaches you, the ceremonies will have already been conducted, but I hope you would consider coming to the city anyway. He will need all the support he can get these next few weeks.

Hunith, I know this letter is a long one, and I am sorry for worrying you—if I have done so—but I want you to know that I will forever be indebted to Merlin, and forever indebted to you.

Thank you for giving me your son; thank you for raising him to be a courageous, loyal, kind, lionhearted young man; and thank you, for loving him, and accepting his gifts. I know that it is a mother's natural desire to love and instill her life into her child, and, while I never knew my own mother's love, I know that you imparted so much of yourself on Merlin, and that he is who he is because of you.

I want to thank you for that…

But you see, the truth is, I will never be able to thank you enough for your son.

Tears of joy cascaded down her cheeks. Hunith couldn't believe what she had just read. Arthur had just thanked her for her son… her magical son. Suddenly, memories from a long passed childhood rose to her mind. Merlin, a small boy of five, holding her hands as she gently lectured him to keep his magic hidden. Time and time again, Hunith had given such a talk to her dear son, feeling that if she let up just once, Merlin would find himself in trouble. It had been a hard first few years for him as he struggled to develop control over emotion-tied magical outbursts. It had been even harder for her to watch.

Merlin spent many a day cooped up in the house, afraid of hurting people with the 'curse' he had been born with. He was a monster, he would say—and oh how it hurt her to hear those words uttered from her angel's mouth!

Hunith hadn't known what to say to him in response, but with each and every warning to keep his secret, she spoke of magic's beauty, and instilled a purpose into her son. He was given a gift, not a curse—one that he had to find a purpose for.

Some days he would frown, believing his existence to be a danger to those around him; but Hunith treasured the days when Merlin would stare back at her, accepting her words with a flash of golden eyes and a blue butterfly in his hand.

She felt an almost overwhelming sense of bliss envelop her then, warmth that didn't come from the sun crawling over her skin. To be honest, it reminded her of Merlin's magic, and how, each time she held him, the pinpricking feeling of his power ran across her flesh.

The tears ran anew as she realized how this announcement must have made her son feel. An image of her grinning boy reached her mind's eye, making Hunith chuckle to herself in pure happiness; her son was finally free.

Everything her son had ever dreamed about or ever wanted was finally happening. The thought made Hunith want to run to Camelot—to find her son's arms and bury herself in his protective hold. She couldn't stop the beaming smile that found it's way onto her features, and there was no way she would want to.

She released a peal of laughter, and while somewhat subdued by her cry-thickened throat, the noise carried on the breeze as strong as if it could travel to Merlin's very ears in Camelot.

Her eyes then brought themselves back to the letter, scanning the top of page again—the good news that made her son free—before she could continue with the rest of the king's message:

In closing, my dear Hunith, do not fret; your son is alive and well, and will continue to be in such a state for as long as he remains here in Camelot. I give you my word. If you cannot take peace from the assurances in my writing, then please, read it from your own son's hand. You received Merlin's letter with my own, and so I am confident that you are aware of his safety.

As for the future safety of your son, I promise you that Merlin will be safe here in Camelot. He has friends here to protect him against all prejudice and trouble, should it arise… and he has me. I will be here—always and forever—for your son.

With warm regards,

Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot

AN:

So, that's part 1! The final chapter will have Merlin's letter, so stay tuned folks! The second half will be up in the next few days, but in the meantime, feel free to write me a review—I love to hear from you guys!

Until then,

Mirror