Chapter Text
A Mother's Heart
It was her heart. Its beating was wrong and she would faint because of it. With every fainting spell, it was more and more difficult to wake.
Only in the amount of time it took for Gaius to hand Merlin the letter, and for the younger to read it, did the warlock spirit himself away (not literally, he used a horse) to Ealdor. He’d taken the horse the stablehands had named “Bolt” because the steed had been given the name for a reason. It had been dawn when he’d left. After riding hard without rest all day, he managed to reach his home by nightfall.
Settling the horse by a water trough and praising Bolt for his hard work, Merlin hustled into the cottage he’d called home for nearly fifteen years before coming to Camelot.
He paused before the door, steeling his nerves and bracing himself for what he knew was to come. When he stepped into his childhood home, he saw his mother atop her mattress by the small hearth, propped by a sack of flour and some animal skins. A tattered, worn blanket was pulled up to the woman’s shoulders. Hunith was far too pale and her eyes were rimmed in darkness. Will’s mother, Josephine, was at her side, dabbing her forehead with a damp cloth. Merlin swallowed and knelt down on the opposite side of his mother, whose glazed eyes turned to him, blinking sluggishly.
Merlin held her hand, their entwined fingers resting over her fluttering, dying heart.
“Josie… Time… With my son.” Josephine nodded respectfully and saw herself out. As soon as she was gone, Merlin was alert.
“I can fix this.” He told her, shakily. He couldn’t and knew it. She was so close to the veil, he could smell death. Even were that not so, spells of the heart risked far too much, especially counting for his inexperience with healing magic. He took up the cloth and tenderly brushed it along her sweaty brow. “I know I can fix this.” Hunith only smiled and rubbed her hand along the back of his, comfortingly.
“I wouldn’t ask you to. My mother, too, had a strange beat in her chest which cost her her life-and her mother before her befell the same fate.” Merlin shook his head, tears unwittingly brewing in-then leaving-his eyes.
“Let me fix you, please .”
“I’m not broken, I am dying, and that’s okay.” Hunith’s hand reached up to play with the curls around his right ear. “Want to as you might, my sweet, you cannot fix everything… Bodies wither as we age, sons and daughters bury their mothers and fathers, it is only natural. Death is the only certainty in life.” She was crying, too, smiling at him.
“My Merlin. My sweet, little bird.” Her eyes focused on his and she thumbed along his cheekbone. “Do you remember what I said to you when you left for Camelot?” Merlin tried to smile back at her, both mother and son feigning a contentness felt by neither of them, through their falling tears.
“Don’t be foolish with your magic, use it sparingly and use it well. Always watch your back, um,” he swallowed a lump in his throat before continuing, “utilize the wisdom and guidance of those whom you can trust.” Hunith chuckled and shook her head.
“Before that, when we said our last goodnight.” Merlin tried to recall her exact words but Hunith only smiled wider and pressed her other hand, the one not over her heart, to the side of his face.
“There will come tomorrow, and we won’t be together as we are today but you must promise me to remember…” She paused with a soft gasp, words becoming more difficult, whether due to her condition or emotions was hard to say. “Remember that you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. … Most importantly, my son, remember that even though our paths part here, I will always be with you.”* Her hand weakly squeezed his and Merlin choked back a sob.
“I love you, mum.” Hunith smiled softly, her wet eyes teeming with emotion.
“And I love you, Merlin. Always.”
It was during the quiet hours of early morning when Merlin felt her leave. Like smoke that rises from an extinguished candle, her memory removed itself from her earthly bindings and settled around the room. He felt an invisible force gifting him with a comforting aura as he cried over his mother’s still form.
He closed his eyes and focused on it, her lingering spirit and the remnants of her powerful love, before he sighed shakily, pressing his lips to Hunith’s cooling forehead.
“I-I’ll be alright, mum.” He whispered, sniffling. “I promise.”
Then, she was gone.
In the dark cottage, alone but surrounded by memories of his childhood and of his mother, Merlin wept.