Chapter Text
The boy helped Arthur up to his feet, the only remnants of what had happened being the cobwebs gracing the prince’s shoulders and the knife sticking out of the chair he’d been in.
The relief that ran through his veins was hot and cold; he’d been so close to losing his son, but there he was, breathing. He immediately gave the boy—a scrawny thing with unruly hair, an elvish face, and unremarkable clothing—a job in the royal household as his son’s manservant.
As soon as the words escaped his mouth, the two whipped towards him with twin expressions of hot fury and incredulousness. He blinked and…
Ygraine huffed quietly from her place at his left side. Their tumble to the ground had left her platinum hair knotted and with bits of leaves and soil.
It was her fault, of course.
“I can’t believe I’m stuck here with you of all people. I could’ve been having a nice stroll right about now!”
He rolled his eyes. “As if I would ever be in your presence willingly.”
“I’m sure you could find a way to get me out of your hair.”
“For both our sakes, I hope you are correct.”
He blinked again, and the image was gone. And staring back at him were his son and his manservant.
————
He could hear the distinct sound of his son storming through the halls. Although it was for an entirely different reason than usual.
“I can save him. Let me take some men.” His voice rang out; it was desperate, like clinging onto a cliff, and the only thing to fall back on was a couple hundred swords.
“I can save her! Let me call upon Nimueh.” His voice rang out, scared and unsure, and he felt so small, as though his life could be squashed with a single misstep. His fingers gripped Ygraine’s smaller ones like she was the only thing anchoring him to reality.
Gaius shook his head. “I fear it may be too late. She is losing blood quickly, and the wound on her head is almost impossible to fully heal.”
“Magic…it can bring her back, can it not?”
“You play a dangerous game, sire.”
“It does not matter. I shall win.”
The boy is saved in the end. The joy that floods his son’s face is almost too much to ignore.
————
His son is displeased. There is a slight glare on his face, and his lips are thinned like he was trying to stop himself from making a fool of himself.
Arthur sat next to that new knight he’d appointed not even two hours before. Every time the poor fellow opened his mouth, Arthur turned his head away and grimaced before looking his manservant’s way.
The boy was standing to the side with Morgana’s maid, laughing about one thing or the other.
“Do you find him… beautiful?” The words spilled out of Arthur’s mouth, just loud enough for the king to hear from his place next to Gaius right by a pillar.
The question was directed towards the new knight and was asked in a way that suggested he hadn’t meant to ask anything at all.
She was laughing with some of her friends, fellow noblemen’s daughters. Her lips were stained red from the wine she’d been drinking.
Ygraine looked his way and smiled. He forgot that he’d been drinking wine as well, and when he went to smile back, he’d drenched himself in the thing.
She laughed so hard, she had to clutch on to a pillar to stop herself from falling over, and Uther thought she was the most alluring creature he’d ever seen.
“Ygraine is quite beautiful, is she not, my lord?” One of his fellow knights questioned. The knight eyed her as though she were a piece of venison.
It made bile rise up in his throat.
“…Yes. I guess she is.”
“Yes.” The knight said.
“I suppose he is.” His son replied, oh so quiet. Barely a murmur.
A quiet admission.
————
The boy’s face is pinched, and he licks his lips constantly as though there is a vile taste on his tongue that he cannot escape. It does not stop him from completing his duty, which in this case was helping the king into his armor.
The boy is not pleased to be serving him. He keeps insisting on getting him a different sword.
“No, Sire. You don't understand. That one was made specifically for Arthur.”
“Who made it?”
“Tom the blacksmith, sire.”
“I’m surprised Arthur went to him. He isn’t the royal blacksmith.”
“Oh, that was me. I felt he needed a better one.”
Ygraine smiled at him, warm and sun-bright. “I felt you needed a better one.” She handed him a sword with rubies that glinted and winked at him as she did, decorating its hilt.
He stared back at her and could only breathe out, “Thank you.”
She grinned impossibly wider, her dimples on full display, and he had to restrain himself from kissing her soft, pink lips.
“You show me such extraordinary loyalty. I’m not sure what I did to deserve it.”
“I enjoy your company, is all. And our…connection as well. It would be such a shame if your pretty head were sliced off.”
“You show him such… extraordinary loyalty.”
“…You could say…there is a bond between us.”
“I’m glad. Look after him.”
———-
He had refused to help the boy’s mother. He was not proud to admit it, but it wasn’t just a matter of sending a few men; it was a matter of breaking alliances for a small farming village. A farming village that was held in the tight fist of a stubborn, unforgiving king.
He had seen the disappointment shining in Arthur’s eyes, though his face didn’t budge into anything beyond stoicism. He could also see the frustration, the anger at being unable to provide his loyal companion with help or support to alleviate his distress.
He turned away, but the memories caught up to him anyway.
Ygraine’s shoulders shook as she placed a small, white flower in the hands of her now deceased father. She had picked the flower herself.
He would know. He was there.
He placed a hand on her shoulder—anything to make the sobbing stop—but it did nothing.
“I’m sorry I cannot do more.”
She pursed her lips. “I have to go back to my father’s lands.“ Ygraine nodded more to herself than to him. “I have to look after them…for him.”
She was leaving. He wasn’t sure when she would return to his side.
He didn’t want to consider that she wouldn’t.
The boy and his mother left Camelot together. His son had followed.
When they came back, they rode side-by-side.