Work Text:
It was nighttime, and Merlin had just finished his dinner with Gaius after leaving Arthur for the night. He was changing into his nightclothes, the new ones that Arthur had given him. Even though it had been weeks, Merlin marveled at the quality of his clothing every time he got changed, and sometimes just in the middle of the day as he went about his duties.
Once he was changed, he hung up the clothes that were still wearable back in his large wardrobe. As he was putting them away, his old clothing caught his eye. The were folded neatly at the bottom, and Merlin smiled fondly at them.
He picked up one of his old neckerchiefs and rolled it in his hands, feeling the soft, worn texture. Unable to resist the urge, he lifted it up and rubbed it on his cheek as if he were a cat, closing his eyes from the simple pleasure.
When Arthur had outfitted him with a new wardrobe, he had suggested that Merlin just discard his old one entirely, even turn it all into rags. Merlin wouldn't, couldn't do that. His clothes held such memories of all his time in Camelot, and from Ealdor; he couldn't possibly part with them. Especially his neckerchiefs.
Arthur had always teased him about them, but then again, Arthur didn't know the whole story.
***
Growing up in Ealdor, Merlin was always cold. The food was sparse, and he was hungry more often than not. Without much insulation on his body, he was prone to shivering, and tried as hard as he could to hid it from his mother. He didn't want her to worry and, by his reckoning, there was nothing they could do about it anyway.
But, being a mother, she had noticed anyway. Merlin hadn't known why she was all of sudden weaving so many baskets with such intensity for so many weeks, but when she had finally sold all them at market, she came back home with two bolts of cloth; one red, and one blue. The look she gave Merlin when he opened his mouth to protest the extravagance had him shutting it right up again.
Her intensity shifted, this time focusing on those precious cloths. With them, she made two shirts, one in each color, and several neckerchiefs. One evening, he found them sitting on his bedroll, folded lovingly and with care.
“Mum,” he had said, choking with emotion. “They're beautiful.” He had wrapped his arms around her small frame and squeezed her tight. “Thank you.”
She had hugged him in return, rubbing his back. “You're welcome, my darling boy. I would give the world for you. This is the least I could do, my heart.”
He wished that he could wear them right away but, since it was time for bed, he knew he would have to wait until the next morning. He placed them in one of his mother's baskets, taking care not to let them wrinkle. When he curled up in his blankets on the dirt floor that night, he smiled until he fell asleep.
When he had woken up the next morning, he thought that maybe the night before had been a dream. Had his mother really given him such wonderful gifts? But, when he looked in the basket, there they were. He ran his hands over the fabric. The colors were so bright and vibrant, and the weave was sturdy and strong. They were the first and only new things he had ever had; all of his clothing had always been castoffs from the other children of the village that his mother patched as best as she could.
He washed thoroughly to prepare himself for his new clothing. When he finally held up his blue shirt, it felt like an almost sacred experience. He pulled it over his head and looked down. It was real; this was really his. When he reached for the red piece of cloth, his mother's hand had found it first. He looked down at her, and found her smiling at him. He grinned brightly back.
“Let me, love,” she said, lifting the cloth out of the basket.
He stood still for her as she reached up and wrapped it around his neck, pulling it up so it would protect him from the wind and cold. As she worked on the knot, he watched the tender expression on her face and felt his heart fill with all the love he had for her. His mother, who gave everything for him.
Finally, she finished and stepped back, covering her mouth. Her eyes were smiling, though shiny with unfallen tears.
“Oh, my boy, my darling boy. You are so handsome.” she whispered.
Merlin could not have claimed that his eyes were dry in that moment as he reached up and stroked his new neckerchief. “Thank you, mum. This is finer than any jewels could ever be.” He stepped forward and enveloped her in his arms. “I am so lucky to have you.”
***
Merlin came back to himself, and he found that his cheeks were wet, and that he was smiling. He took the soft, old neckerchief and wiped the dampness from his face. He turned back towards the wardrobe to put it back with his other clothes, then thought better of it, and closed the door.
He held onto it, and got into his new bed, settling under his warm new blankets and furs. He was so fortunate to have all these luxuries now, but he would never forget where he came from. Laying on his side, he clutched the old neckerchief in his hands. With a golden flash of his eyes, the candles snuffed out. He closed them, and had a smile on his face until he fell asleep.