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Hunith considered herself a plain and hardworking woman. Unaccustomed to idleness or the lengthy shopping sprees of the noble ladies -- to Hunith, silks and satins were a waste of good money. She purchased a dress that she thought pretty enough for one royal dinner but would endure Ealdor’s annual harvest dance, for years to come. After an hour of shopping and just past midday, she searched for work to occupy her idle hands.
Maybe Merlin could use some help with his servant’s chores, she hoped and she left her chambers, retracing the corridors that her son had so gaily given her tour. However, the farther she walked the more ill at ease she became. The castle’s guards, nobles and servants, alike, were casting suspicious or haughty glances at the lowly peasant woman roaming the halls unaccompanied. The moment she made up her mind to return to her chambers, she found herself standing in the prince’s hallway.
A tired looking and grumpy old man eventually answered her knock. Glaring down his nose through narrowed eyes, he asked, “Can I help you,” with a suspicious air for her, as well.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I thought that my son might be here.”
“Your son,” he voiced incredible doubt, being it the Prince of Camelot’s chamber door that the lowly peasant woman knocked.
“Yes. My son, Merlin,” she explained but was anxious to leave the snobby old fellow. “I thought that I might help,”
The man's eyes abruptly widened and he bowed his head, apologizing, himself. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I should have realized. Do, forgive me. Please, come in. Have a seat," he offered and with a gracious beckon of his hand toward the prince’s dinner table. “Would you care for refreshments while I fetch you your son?”
Hunith stepped back in hesitation. She felt more anxious to leave. The man’s earlier demeanor, though snobby, she thought understandable. Not his royal kowtowing. His strange behavior made her yearn for her son’s familiar face, even more. Considering the man had offered to fetch him, she decided to stay. As she moved toward the table that he gestured, she gazed about the magnificent but messy chambers. It was then that she noticed the man's hobble. “Are you injured,” she asked, concerned.
Her genuine interest in his welfare lifted his tired face and he gladly introduced himself. “I’m Oswald. Prince Arthur’s manservant,” he said, while hobbling faster to pull out a chair for her. “I’m afraid, it’s the kings’ disease, my la,” he stopped, unsure of just how to address his majesty’s peasant guest.
“Hunith,” she lent solution while sitting but with her face furrowed in confusion.
“Such a lovely name. Hunith,” Oswald repeated as he gazed upon her with an alluring smile. Despite his pain, he tried to flirt. However, his efforts resembled more a grimace. “I believe, in the countryside the king’s disease is referred to as, the gout.”
“Oh, how painful,” she encouraged him, letting the old man revisit his long lost youth. No harm, she thought that he could have passed for Gaius’ older brother.
Oswald was thrilled that she allowed. He smiled again, more alluringly. Few held her sensibility and common reason, he concluded, since she obviously knew that his age and health now rendered him virtually harmless. Still, he enjoyed the effort. Such a lovely and amicable woman, he considered her and he proceeded to share his woes. “I fear, Prince Arthur will be beside himself when he returns.”
“Oh,” she asked, now very curious.
“No disrespect intended but as you’ve already noted, the man is slovenly,” he criticized while gazing about the shambled rooms. “Three days without a manservant, I’ve only begun to put things to order. Your young son can handle his needs quite well. With my affliction, I’ve managed to tend only his armor and bedding. I do pray, he doesn’t return from hunting, tonight. Still, his clothes need washing, his furniture polished, his floors scoured,” he stopped and sighed, wearily shaking his head. “Perhaps, I’m simply too old, now.”
Hunith smiled that his woe was her good fortune. She found what she had come looking for, after all. “Oswald, where do you keep your cleaning supplies,” she asked, rolling up her sleeves. “I’ll gather his clothes for laundry and start with the furniture while you find Merlin. The three of us can have this accomplished and long before nightfall.”
An amicable woman, indeed, he declared, “The heavens have sent me an angel. This way, my lovely Hunith.” He led her through the curtains into the servant’s quarters, where the cleaning cabinet stood.
***
Morgana pretended to defend. “...But I have no intentions of dismissing Gwen, my lord,” she said, but her true intent ensured that Uther could add one plus one: Arthur and Guinevere absent, at the same time. “It’s unlike her to miss work. I’m sure that it’s just a mild illness and she’ll return in a day or so.”
Uther solved her petty complaint while fully knowing her sly intent. “Since you find her substitute so inadequate, seek more help from the castle staff until she returns,” he recommended, seated at his strategy table, and he resumed reading Eland's outrageous compensation demands for his dead people -- bandits, killed and burned on the Plains of Greenwich. Thanks to her sly intent, he saw no need, now, to send the warlock after his son. Somewhat relieved, he knew that Arthur would not dare go deeper into Cenred’s kingdom with the maidservant tagging along.
“Thank you, my lord,” she added, smiling while unaware that her sly intent to expose Arthur and Guinevere had actually eased Uther's mind. As she exited, her smile collapsed. She was struck dumbfounded. Passing her to enter was Merlin. She assumed that his mother would still be dragging him, kicking and screaming, to parts unknown. With clenched jaws and evil eyes, she glared at him as she continued out.
Merlin ignored her glare. He entered but kept safe distance while waiting and watching the king read his correspondence. Finally, he cleared his throat. Pretending to be innocent, he spoke up, “You wish to see me, sire?”
No sooner had Uther dismissed the warlock from his thoughts, there he stood, bringing to mind his recent humiliation. Uther jumped to his feet, shouting, “Guards! Close my doors!” He then seized upon Merlin with almost lethal eyes. “If not for your mother’s perception, I'd have the last inches of hide lashed from that narrow backside," he threatened. "What is the meaning of that, that, obscene, display in my chambers," he demanded.
“Well, um, you see, sire, um…” Merlin cowered. By the time he finished explaining, Uther stood shaking his head at the bizarre tale with its more bizarre outcome. Himself in a dress, wig and makeup but his son loving him all the more for wearing them. Maybe the boy was starting to grow into his wisdom, Uther conceded but instead he demanded, “That outlandish charade had better be destroyed before I retire, tonight!”
“Yes, my lord. It will be, sire,” he promised while cowering again and easing backward to exit. “I assure you, sire. Before night, my lord…” Once allowed to leave, he paced the piazza, seeking to check on his mother when something tugged at his senses and steered his eyes toward the courtyard. Suddenly, his face lit and he whispered, “Arthur.”
At the same time, Arthur saw him but withheld emotion in front of the guard taking his rein. “Have him fed extra oats,” he commanded. As he ascended the steps, Guinevere crossed his mind. She would be at the stables by now, he assumed, after they parted company near the river. He had made her no promises. Nor, had she. The future would decide, he justified, but for now, he had more time.
Merlin waited for him on the steps' landing. Although Arthur tried, he could not help but note his goofy smile with open emotions like a little puppy eager for a pet. Passing Merlin with barely a glance, he ordered, “My chambers,” while pacing ahead.
*
Oswald searched for Merlin in his room, the kitchens and the armory before his gout got the better of him. He hobbled to his own quarters, heated a foot soak along with some cider and settled back, content to let his ‘angel’ save the day.
Hunith felt grateful that the old man had stayed away. She could do without him hobbling about and issuing instructions. In fact, she had the chambers sparkling and she was putting the cleaning supplies back in the servant’s quarters when she heard him finally enter. She opened the curtains ready to exit but nearly panicked, instead. Not Oswald. She eased the curtains closed while wondering just how to explain her lone presence in his chambers to the Prince of Camelot, himself.
After a moment, she heard the prince bark words at someone. “How long have you been back,” Arthur demanded and a second voice hesitantly replied, “Oh, ah, about three days.”
Hunith exhaled. Merlin was with him. Hoping that he could help explain her presence, she started to exit, again, when an absolute shout stopped her.
“Days," Arthur yelled. "I’m out searching, high and low, and you’re here lazing around the entire time!”
“Sorry, sire,” Merlin apologized in a low voice, seeking to quell his yells.
The fiend, Hunith thought. After a moment, she heard more disparaging words from the prince's lips. "At least, you’ve finally managed to do something right," he said. "I’ve never seen my chambers so clean.”
She heard Merlin give a confused, “um,” followed by more silence. To Hunith, the prince’s arrogant tantrum seemed over and she started to exit once more but the next words bolted her feet to the floor.
“Lock the door,” came Arthur’s unmistakable order, along with the unmistakable sounds of heavy breathing.
Hunith grew enraged. Respect and sentiments, she thought. Hog's slop! And fed regally to her by a dress-wearing king seeking to protect his abusive son. But there was no protecting him, now. Whatever her fate, she would make good her vow and kill the bastard while doing his dastardly deed. Her eyes searched hastily for a weapon of some sort. She spied a stoking iron propped in the corner, feet from her hand. Perfect, to bludgeon the bastard to death. She then peered through the curtains again to see how far his abuse had gone.
The brute already had her son upon the bed straddling him while pinning his wrists and of all things, laughing down at him. Hunith reached slowly for the iron, her slender fingers curving around the cold metal, when suddenly, she heard Merlin’s laughter mingle with that of his abuser. Now unsure of just what to think, she eased from the curtains, listening, while trying to decide.
For a brief moment no sounds came and then she heard Arthur’s low and serious words. “I was afraid that I had lost you, forever,” he said. The statement accompanied more heavy breathing.
Then came a sound that she had never heard her son make. Surprised by how manly, Merlin laughed in a deep, husky and breathy tone. “You should know, by now, that you can’t get rid of me that easily,” he boasted.
Arthur spoke, again, intermittent with loud sucking noises. “But what of your mother," he asked. "How did you convince her to let you come back?”
“Who said that I convinced her,” he joked through another deep and breathy laugh. “She’s standing behind the curtains this very moment with one of your swords in hand, ready to pounce out and geld you.”
Hunith stiffened. She then heard panting laughter from both along with Arthur's reply. “Well, if she does," he snipped, "I won’t have to endure your surly bedtime manners any longer.”
“As The Eunuch Prince of Camelot, I wager, no one else, either.”
“Shut up, Merlin.”
“ow.”
The battle was on.
Hunith's mind was now clear. She thought to politely excuse herself but so embarrassed, she eased farther from the curtains, sat on the servant’s cot and tried to block out the scuffles, pants and groans, escalating toward an inevitable conclusion. She thanked the heavens when their noises settled back into simple uneven breathing. She then heard Arthur speak, again. “Father has been made aware, by now, that I’ve returned," he said. "I should present myself or risk offending him.”
Merlin spoke, too. “I’m sure mother feels that I’ve abandoned her, as well.”
“We should go.”
Hunith waited for what seemed forever, anxious to make her escape. She started to wonder if they had drifted to sleep when she heard a much more serious tone in Arthur’s voice. “If your mother still believes that I am her enemy, then why did you come back,” he asked.
“Obviously, to kill you.”
“Merlin.”
“Well, not before letting you present your defense.”
“My defense?”
“That you’re not a cruel, evil, immoral, sadistic, abusive, tyrannical,”
“Merlin! I get the point.”
“Tomato head,” he happily completed his sentence.
Silence made Hunith wait, again. However, she was not so anxious to leave, just now. She wanted to hear from Arthur’s own lips his feelings toward her son.
He finally spoke. “My defense is simple enough,” he said. “And yet, I wonder if she will believe it.”
Somewhat hesitant, Merlin gnawed on his bottom lip in anticipation. “Believe what, Arthur,” he asked.
The words were slow to come but more convincing in their delay. “That… I love you.”
Merlin’s response was even slower. He knew that tough battle-tested men destined to rule a kingdom never verbalized such emotions. Especially, to another man. When he finally found words, a quiver threatened to steal them from his throat. “If presented with the same honesty, I think that mother will believe you.”
“Then, that’s what I’ll say,” Arthur replied.
“And hope that she doesn’t kill you, anyway, for saying it,” Merlin joked, again.
She heard their strained, uncomfortable laughter and she knew that both now ventured to a foreign horizon.
“Arthur,” he uttered.
“Now, don’t get mushy on me, Merlin,” he snapped, gruff, again. “We should go, now, or father will have me in the stocks.”
“Oh, it’s not so bad," he said. "Unless they throw potatoes.”
“Are you out of your mind,” Arthur asked in disbelief.
“No, but I soon hope to be," he said, and in another deep and breathy tone. "When I learned of your trip to Ealdor, I assumed that you’d be returning today. So, I prepared myself, a bit earlier.”
Hunith knew his little white sorcerous lies when she heard them.
Silence, again, then came Arthur’s loud, honest and preposterous laugh. Immediately following, she heard what sounded like the thud of boots and swooshing garments hitting the floor. “You know, Merlin," he said, "you’ll be the death of me, yet.”
Again, he joked, “I believe, this is not the method that mother had in mind.” More laughter, accompanied by louder sucking noises.
Hunith covered her mouth. She cringed that she had reduced herself to an unintended eavesdropper. While she sat, self-deprecating, she endured a lengthy period comprised predominately of muttered, “…ow… not so hard… relax… I’m trying… still too tight… use more oil,” when a voice, a bit more coherent finally said, “Awww, you feel so good.“
A second voice laced with discomfort that bordered on pain, grunted, “I hope you realize that this is payment in advance, for later tonight."
The reply was far more sensual. "Are you trying to buy your way with me," he asked.
The answer sounded strained almost beyond recognition. “I suggest that you make the most of my generous purse.”
“Let's forget leaving, entirely. I could remain here, forever.” The tone seemed incredibly relaxed and even sleepy.
Distressful shouting under breath. “Damn it, Arthur! Move!”
“Yes, sire. Sorry, sire.”
*
Hunith scurried through the corridors and back to her chambers. She drew haughty or suspicious glances from the castle’s guard, nobles and servants, alike. However, she gave them no mind. She had none left. Other thoughts consumed it including her own moral convictions, a lack of grandchildren, secret magic, sovereign-servant impropriety, however, one thought loomed apex, glowing like a beacon upon her face.
She reasoned that a mother’s deepest fear and greatest wish was if her child held the capacity to love and to be loved. She had just discovered that her son commanded both and to the fullest extent. The letter that brought her to Camelot was but a misunderstanding, a twisted perception of truths, lies and nasty rumors. Tomorrow, she would go home while knowing that Merlin was not abused but was in fact truly loved, and by all people, the Crowned Prince of Camelot.