"Arthur's been a bit long, don't you think?" Merlin queried Gwaine who'd settled down near the fire just as he'd set the cooking pot to heat.

"Princesses take their time. Everyone knows that." Gwaine's smirk garnered a return grin from Merlin in spite of his worry.

"You don't need to mother hen the prince," Percival laughed across the way, rubbing at sore feet.

"Bet it won't stop him." Merlin caught Elyan's whisper and Lancelot's smile in response.

Leon, on the other hand, stood and retrieved the sheathed sword he'd divested himself of. "If you think he's in trouble, I'll come with you."

Merlin quickly stood. "It's fine. Really. You know, Arthur. It'd embarrass him if both of us show up."

"If you're certain."

"Yeah," Merlin called over his shoulder, already tromping into the woods. If something were amiss, he didn't need a knight tagging along and inhibiting his freedom to use magic. He truly was concerned, though. Arthur had claimed he only wanted a private wash up, which made little sense considering all of them had spent the better part of an hour goofing about as they cooled off in a nearby lake.

The patrol route had taken them far enough away from Camelot to require an overnight camp on the return journey. Some menace had been frightening citizens on their way to the capital, and Arthur had decided to check it out himself after the previous patrols returned without any idea who was harassing his people.

Earlier in the afternoon they had discovered the group of men responsible, homeless mercenaries with no work and a penchant for chasing down travelers for the mischievous fun of terrorizing them. They'd been a little deep on the cider and hadn't even put up a fight, except for one who slashed at Percival and received a good knock on the head for it.

Arthur had ordered several knights in their party to escort the mercenaries over the border once they'd sobered up enough to understand. He'd threatened the miscreants with his own sword at their throats if they ever dared enter his kingdom again. The men, all bedraggled and thin and weary, had elected not to antagonize the gracious prince of Camelot further and agreed to depart his lands.

Arthur and his closest knights had headed back to Camelot, halting as the sun neared the horizon. The summer was hot, the insects peskier than usual, and the lake they'd come upon too tempting. They'd stripped and dove in, the cool water a blessing to their sweat laden skin.

Merlin had enjoyed the activity tremendously. He'd been accepted as one of them for months now, and the fun they'd included him in strengthened their bond of brotherhood. Arthur, too, had been in such good spirits until the end, when he'd splashed ashore to redress. Merlin had thrown his own clothes on, then attempted to aid his master, but Arthur had pushed his hands away and brooded as they made camp.

Merlin peered into the gathering dusk. As he reached the lake, he heard a frantic splashing. He stepped past a cluster of bushes to find Arthur up to his waist in water, digging in with both hands in such frenetic motion it was rather humorous.

"You know Narcissus died of his own vanity."

Arthur jumped, slipping on the lake's pebbly bottom, catching himself before he went under in a most undignified way. He righted himself and glared at the shore. "Merlin!"

"Sire. You do know the legend of Narcissus?"

Arthur growled as he waded towards him. "I don't think I care to."

"Fell in love with his own reflection. Looked and looked at himself in a pool until he starved to death."

"Very funny, Merlin."

"I can't fathom why else you decided on a second wash."

"I wasn't washing, idiot. Help me."

Merlin grabbed Arthur's shirt from a tree branch as the prince dragged on his dry trousers. He aided Arthur into the shirt, neglecting the ties when Arthur shoved him away again.

"What's wrong?" he inquired.

"I'm perfectly fine," Arthur grumbled.

"You're out here when it's almost dark, flailing around like a drowning man. Something's wrong."

Arthur stopped fumbling with the laces of his shirt and picked up his belt, cinching it around his waist with a little too much gusto. "I don't have to explain myself to you."

Merlin chuckled.

Arthur's gaze snapped to him again. "Will you stop that!"

Merlin grinned. "It's just whenever you say that, it means something is definitely wrong."

Arthur picked up his sword in its sheath, plunging into the woods.

"Come on," Merlin cajoled as he paralleled his master. "Maybe I can help."

"Unless you're clairvoyant, I highly doubt it."

Merlin reached out to grasp his shoulder. "Arthur, stop. What's happened? Tell me."

Arthur swallowed, eyes flitting away towards the lake. "I lost something. That's all."

"What?"

"An old trinket. Insignificant thing." He stomped away so angrily, Merlin knew it a very significant thing, but he also couldn't pass up an opportunity to tease.

"A token from one of your many youthful conquests?"

"No," Arthur's hard tone bit back.

"I've heard more than one story about your exploits. Wish I'd been here to watch you work your way with the ladies."

"Shut up."

"Who was it from then? A foreign princess? A kitchen wench? Morgana?"

Arthur whirled around, striking out with a hand. Merlin narrowly avoided the slap, stumbling back a couple paces. They stared at each other for a moment, Arthur's eyes smoldering.

"If you dare…" Arthur's flat palm had morphed into one finger jabbed in Merlin's direction.

Merlin held up both hands, taken aback, his heart in his throat. "Arthur, I didn't mean anything."

Arthur blinked a couple times and Merlin could have sworn a translucent film wet his eyes. "It was a brooch," he spat out, as if the words vindicated him. "My mother's."

Silence reigned the rest of the hike back to camp, Merlin following meekly, and guiltily, behind Arthur. Arthur threw things at him and smacked him now and again, but none of it had ever been meant in a serious way. Arthur's ferocity when he'd turned, his hand whisking through the air, had chilled Merlin to the bone. He'd overstepped a boundary, joking about something that meant a great deal to his friend.

They hadn't shared much about their parents. Merlin recalled only once really, when Morgause had shown up and tempted Arthur with his mother. They had discussed their lost parents then, experiencing a rare moment of empathy on account of the commonality.

When they returned, Merlin quietly went about distributing bowls of stew, handing Arthur his with some trepidation. The knights must have noticed the tense mood as they didn't chat as much as they usually did and cast surreptitious glances at their silent prince.

"What did you do this time?" Lancelot queried in a whisper when Merlin collected his empty bowl.

Merlin sighed. "Pushed him too far."

Lancelot's brow rose quizzically, but Merlin shook his head, moving along and gathering the other bowls. He set them in the pot and hefted the lot, heading back towards the lake to rinse them.

Arthur had laid out his bedroll, but sat with his back propped against a tree, unable to wipe the scowl from his face. He'd announced he'd take the first watch, and no one dared challenge him. The others curled up in their own pallets and blankets, nodding off earlier than usual.

Arthur started when booted footsteps sounded behind him, leaping to his feet and drawing his sword. A figure appeared, and he made to slash out until an accusing voice halted his movement.

"You're going to gut me instead?"

Arthur lowered his weapon. "Merlin," he hissed. In his distress, he'd completely forgotten his manservant had slunk off to clean their dishes. He stood now with the pot grasped between both hands, raised in front of his chest as if to ward off Arthur's blow.

Merlin passed him without a backwards glance. Arthur's jaw tensed and an unwelcome heat crept up the back of his neck, then spread to his ears. He hated the sensation that occurred every time he felt well and truly conscience-stricken. Merlin's reaction to his sword reminded him of the attempted slap. He hadn't been himself then, letting anger cloud his thinking, a trait he'd tried to drill out of his own men.

He returned to his bed roll, scanning the woods watchfully, looking away from the clatter that was Merlin storing their dishes. After a time, the camp fell quiet once more, except for a muted shuffling. Merlin's boots appeared before him. He swallowed hard and looked up. "What?"

Merlin lowered a closed fist, then gradually opened it in front of his eyes. Arthur couldn't prevent a slight gasp. He reached out a tentative hand, reverently retrieving the object Merlin offered him—a round brooch marked with a saltire and a dove at its center.

"How did you…" he lost his words, staring at Merlin who took a seat next to him, knees drawn up into his chest, arms wrapped around them. He observed then that Merlin's hair was damp.

Merlin shrugged. "I remembered where you got in. Took a while to find it, though. You didn't say it was in a pouch." Merlin dangled the pouch Arthur kept the brooch protected in. He took it, setting it aside.

Arthur turned the brooch round and round in his fingers. "It's my mother's sigil," he explained quietly.

"I guessed," Merlin mirrored his hushed tone.

"My father gave it to me the week I came of age, after he defeated the black knight. Told me I was…"

"…Yes?" Merlin prompted.

Arthur inhaled deeply. "A gift from my mother too precious to lose." He looked at Merlin, expecting to catch a mocking smile, but his manservant was somber. "You must think I'm a sentimental girl," he grumbled, anticipating the jibes he'd suffer for being so open.

Merlin cocked his head. "Why would I think that?"

Arthur chuckled at himself, considering the brooch. "I carry around a piece of metal like it means something."

"It makes you want to be a man she'd be proud of."

Arthur's gaze shot back to Merlin and his suddenly disconcerting know-it-all expression. It was true. That's exactly what it meant.

Merlin pulled back his right sleeve and held up his arm. "My mother gave this to me."

Arthur studied the bracelet adorning his servant's wrist, a simple braided leather not near as impressive as the brooch in his hand, yet perhaps just as valuable. He'd observed it before, but never thought to ask after its meaning.

Merlin twisted the bracelet with the fingers of his left hand. "She made it herself and gave it to me the morning I left for Camelot." Arthur recalled Merlin's mother, the love she expressed for her son and her bravery facing the brigand Kanen.

Merlin let his sleeve drop as he folded his arms atop his knees. "She's done so much for me. Wants so much for me. It's something to remember her by."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Remember her by? You make it sound like she's going to die."

Merlin's face grew even more solemn.

Arthur feared he'd hit upon a secret. "Is she dying?"

Merlin shook his head. "Not yet, but you don't know how we live. You were only in Ealdor a week. There's starvation and sicknesses and fighting between the lords that cross our lands. Nothing's certain."

Arthur nodded thoughtfully. "You fear losing her."

"Sometimes," Merlin admitted.

"I…may not have a mother, but…mine did die because of me."

Merlin dropped his arms and vehemently objected. "That wasn't your fault."

"It wasn't my fault, but I was the cause."

"Arthur, what I said, teasing you, I'm sor—"

"No, Merlin. I'm sorry. My anger got the better of me. It shouldn't have." They shared another long stare until he spoke once more. "You need sleep. Tomorrow will dawn too early. Get to bed."

Merlin rose to recover his own pallet. He laid it out not too far from his lord and promptly closed his eyes.

"Merlin," Arthur whispered softly after a time, thinking his friend might already be asleep.

"Hm?" He was grateful Merlin chose not to open his eyes.

"Thank you. For finding it…and listening."

"Anytime," Merlin mumbled. Arthur had braced himself, afraid the manservant might suddenly leap up and try for a hug, but in a short time the man was breathing deeply and rhythmically.

Arthur held the brooch for a moment longer, tracing a finger over every facet of the molded sigil, such a peaceful one compared to the Pendragon crest. It reflected his view of his mother—a woman of poise and beauty who would have known how to soothe his warrior soul. He slid the brooch into the drawstring bag.

I love you, mother. He didn't know if she could see him or hear him, but every time he said it, he always felt as if someone embraced him in return. Her hug was one he would never deny.

Morning arrived. The knights went about taking down the camp after a quick breakfast courtesy of their constant shadow who once again returned with rinsed bowls. As he piled them into a bag, Gwaine called out.

"What were you two muttering about all night?"

The knights' eyes laid on Merlin and Arthur, the only ones they'd known hadn't gone to sleep when they did. The prince and servant glanced at one another, then away.

"Nothing," Arthur said.

"Mothers," Merlin stated over him.

The others flicked eyes at each other, small grins on their faces.

"Which is it then?" Gwaine pursued.

Arthur firmed his jaw. "We were talking about…the importance of mothers in Camelot."

Percival guffawed. "You were not. Merlin?"

Merlin nodded. "Yeah. We were."

Leon spoke up. "Mothers, of course, sire, are the foundation of our kingdom." All eyes now swiveled to the oldest knight, expecting for sure a joke, but his blue eyes bore nothing save solemnity. "As you may realize, though, none of us has one at the moment except for Merlin."

Both Arthur and Merlin blinked, the fact becoming glaringly obvious. There was a moment of unease, then Arthur cleared his throat.

"You're right, Sir Leon, but perhaps for all of us, the influence of our mothers still weighs on us."

And just like that, they were sharing, all of them, as they continued to pack—Leon recalling his mother's pride in his knighthood, Lancelot reciting a gentle song he remembered his mother singing over him as a child, Gwaine championing a mother who had sacrificed her own needs to keep him alive, Elyan wistfully wishing he'd listened more to the mother who tamed his restless ways, and Percival describing a petite woman he towered over yet who could instill the fear of God in him with one glare.

As they mounted their horses and took to the path, Gwaine called out. "Perhaps since we are bereft of mothers, Merlin can lend us all his."

Laughter twittered, Arthur's above all. "She has worry enough with Merlin as her son. I don't think she'd appreciate six more uncouth louts."

More laughter. Arthur caught Merlin's eye. "Well, Merlin?"

The manservant's eyes glimmered. "I don't think she could harvest enough to feed this greedy lot, especially with your appetite, sire."

Arthur glowered. The knights chortled.

"But if she could, I'd have you all as brothers." Merlin's tone had gone serious then.

Arthur reached out a gloved hand, not a flat palm, but a cupped one that briefly ruffled the hair at the base of his friend's neck as he passed to take the lead. He glanced over his shoulder, rewarded with Merlin's wide grin. And he didn't care that the knights behind smiled to themselves, well aware that despite being born of two different women, the men in front of them were closer brothers than any they'd ever had the good fortune to befriend.