Chapter Text
Six years have passed since the treaty of Caerleon, and a much less composed Lancelot is hiding in a bush.
“Is something the matter?” a voice asks behind him, and Lancelot recognises Morgana’s amused drawl.
“Hide and seek,” Lancelot says, his thighs straining at the effort of well over an hour of squatting. He may not be as young as he once was, but he’s not going to let a child’s game defeat him. “Evaine’s not going to find me this time.”
“No, she definitely isn’t,” Morgana says. “Especially since she’s playing dice with Merlin.”
“Damn it all!” Lancelot says, popping out of his bush and startling a servant girl picking flowers. He smiles at her, and she blushes, wandering back towards the bushes. “And Ban?”
“She found him nearly two hours ago. He’s sparring with Tom Jr.” Morgana hands him a brush, and he swats at the mud on his trouser legs. This close to Samhain, the air is brisk, and Lancelot rubs at his arms to ward off the chill. He grins at Morgana when she warms and dries him with a spell, handing back the now immaculate brush. “Evaine told me to go fetch you. She wants to teach you how.”
Lancelot smiles at the thought. His eldest daughter is now eight, and she relishes in sharing whatever information she learns with Lancelot, who has long since discovered the value of feigning ignorance when it gives her so much joy to share things with him. “Is Merlin cheating again?”
“They both are,” Morgana says with an eye roll. “He taught her the spell.” They enter the castle at a brisk pace, passing a harried looking George as they go. They find Gwen in the laundry room, sowing yet more bright child’s dresses. He still doesn’t see how they’re any different to the bright colours he himself favours, but he’s long since abandoned that fight in the face of Gwen and Morgana’s combined glares. “You don’t need to do them all by hand, Gwen.”
“It’s tradition,” Gwen says. Her hands have retained their worn look, as she takes her duties as steward incredibly seriously even as motherhood has taken much of her time. “My mother made all of my dresses until the day she died.”
“I’m certain the elder Edith wouldn’t want you to be bleeding from your fingers,” Morgana says, lifting a protesting Gwen by her arm. “Evaine is going to teach Lancelot dice.”
Gwen ceases her protests, but still takes care to pack the half-finished blue dress into her sewing basket. She insists on keeping them a surprise, although Lancelot is certain Evaine will find some way to peek as she always does. “Where’s Edith?”
“With Evaine,” Morgana says. “You know how she gets.” Gwen nods, remembering the three-year old’s infatuation with her older sister. The three of them ascend the staircase to Merlin’s chambers, being sure to knock carefully on the door. “Your majesty,” they say, at the sight of Queen Mithian.
She smiles at them. “Come in, I was just leaving.” They bow lightly as she goes, before Lancelot can’t help a burst of laughter at the sight of his friend.
“Daddy!” Evaine says, running up to him. “I made Merlin a hat!”
“I can see that, my dear,” Lancelot says, holding in a smirk. “It’s beautiful.” Merlin glares at him, the pointy conical hat making him look entirely comical, and Lancelot continues. “I dare say he should make it part of his official uniform! I’m sure the King would agree.”
Merlin all but gnashes his teeth at Lancelot, but as Evaine turns to face him, he quickly adopts a smile. “That sounds like a great idea!” he says through gritted but smiling teeth, looking almost deranged.
“I summoned it,” Evaine says, carefully sounding out the word. She drags Lancelot by his hand to the table, and Gwen follows sedately behind. “Merlin taught me a game!”
“Yes, I can see that.” Lancelot says.
“Daddy was hiding in the bush for two hours waiting for you, Evaine. What do you say to that?” Morgana asks. Evaine shrugs.
“Perhaps that daddy’s an idiot?” Merlin says grumpily. His hair turns blue, and Lancelot bites his lip at Evaine’s glare. “Are you going to roll?” he prompts Evaine.
“Merlin!” the King shouts, bursting through the door. “I need to- what on earth is wrong with your hair?”
“It’s a hat,” Merlin says immediately.
“Not the- you know what, I don’t care. Just be in the Hall in an hour, there’s a Round Table meeting.” He looks to the remainder of the assembled adults. “Spread the word.” He departs just as quickly as he arrived, and Lancelot looks down at his eldest with a smile.
“So tell me,” he says, smiling as Gwen sits beside him to ‘learn’ the game herself. “What do the dice do?”
fin