Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The two years following the Battle of Camlann were joyful and chaotic in ways Merlin never imagined possible.

Preceding the defeat of Morgana and her army left the kingdom of Camelot in a state of security and peace Merlin wasn’t sure he’d ever get the privilege of experiencing with the ones he held so dear. Arthur had survived, thanks to the Great Dragon and Gaius. Lancelot had been saved from the veil; Gwaine, Percival, Elyan, Leon- all spared and allowed to live their lives however they saw fit. Gaius was still going strong, Guinevere had pursued her love for Lancelot and now the two had a beautiful two week old baby girl, Maeve, who Merlin just absolutely adored and due to Arthur’s reign of peace many neighboring, far away kingdoms sought alliances with Camelot. This brought many new people to the land, all different backgrounds and cultures, coming together in Camelot and integrating in what Merlin could only assume was the true making of Albion.

Northmen met with Arthur early on, opening new trade routes and offering goods and new lives for the people of Camelot- Arthur’s knights not excluded. Elyan and Percival both had been quick to fall for a pair of Northwomen who had agreed to stay in Camelot for the sake of their new loves. Hasina was a strong, skilled warrior who had been brought to the north by slave traders when she was a girl. Her skin was a smooth ebony but her hands bore the calleouses of a knight and Merlin was sure when she had overpowered Elyan in a duel in the street, the Camelot knight was instantly smitten.

The other Northwoman, though skilled with a sword, was not as brazen as her friend. Fryda was a quiet sort, her pale skin and bright blonde hair such a contrast to Hasina yet the two blended together as well as honey and tea. She had been born into the Northpeople’s culture yet her soft spoken words and delicate hands seemed entirely out of place. Her and Percival didn’t quite fall in love as quickly or as hard as Elyan and Hasina; it was a slow, steady tumble of quiet words and soft touches. But eventually, they were inseparable. It wasn’t surprising to hear at the start of the second year of peace, that both Hasina and Fryda had become pregnant. A month before the birth of Gwen and Lancelot’s daughter, Hasina had given life to not one, but two babies for her husband. Elyan had nearly fainted as he held his daughter, Rohesia, when the midwife claimed another was on its way.

A boy. Respectfully named Thomas.

Frida gave birth a week after Gwen. A girl, Ceridwen.

Elyan and Percival were not the only knights of Arthur’s to have fallen in love and settled down. Leon’s almost three year old son, his birth before the Battle of Camlann and thus being a great surprise to his father upon his safe return, was already the most dutiful little knight in training. His mother, Lady Elenor, had been a visiting noble from the Kingdom of Gawant who had spent a night with Leon after the both had a bit too much wine. When she realized she was pregnant, she was already back in her own homeland and was far too embarrassed to admit she carried the child of a foreign knight, unwed.

Eventually, after the boy’s birth, Elenor knew she couldn’t keep a son away from his father, nor a father away from his son. Leon deserved to know of the boy’s existence, at the very least.

With a new beginning, under a new and fair reign of King Arthur, Leon and Elenor married, raising their son, Aeron, together in Camelot. No shame, only love.

Even Gwaine, though not quite on board with being a husband, found himself knee high in fatherhood. His one year old son he shared with a feisty little peasant girl, Lilith, was almost as much as a handful as Gwaine himself- and he couldn’t even walk yet. Branwen was a cheerful, always giggling little boy who spent half his time with his father in the castle and the other half with his mother in the village. Gwaine made sure Lilith was well taken care of, a fine yet humble home and while other knights pressured Gwaine to keep the boy in the castle, raised like the nobility they felt he should be, Gwaine took pride that his son would know life from both sides- just like he had.

Merlin grew accustomed to a new generation toddling and wailing around the place. It felt right, like destiny had been fulfilled and looking back on all the turmoil and hardships he and Arthur had faced all made sense if it led up to this.

But no matter how great the outcome for all those around him, he couldn’t help but think of where Arthur’s fate lay. Surely a king as powerful and prophesied as Arthur himself would have to bear an heir. And yet, Arthur rarely gave heed to the enticing looks of lady prospects who often sought his hand. No one prodded or asked questions but the concern for the future of Camelot hung in the air like a heavy blanket. Most put their faith in the prophecy, figuring the gods or fates or whoever hadn’t let them down thus far. Few put their faith in Merlin, knowing that if anyone could piece together what was going inside Arthur’s head and heart, it’d be him.

Merlin just wished they wouldn’t.

When he enters the King’s chambers early in the morning, a cup of steaming hot tea in his hands, he doesn’t expect to find Arthur already up, sitting topless on his bed and staring towards his window. He must be in deep thought for he doesn’t even turn his head at the sound of Merlin entering, closing the door louder than probably necessary. Merlin only makes it about halfway across the room before the King speaks.

“Just leave breakfast on the table, George. I can dress myself this morning.”

Merlin smirks, the heat from the cup turning his palms red as he shifts it in his hands, “I didn’t bring you breakfast. And don’t call me George.”

Arthur’s head whips around, his face breaking into an almost relieved looking grin as he turns around on his bed, “what are you doing here?”

Merlin scoffs, “that’s the good morning I get?” He comes around the bed, Arthur following his every move as he hands the steaming mug over to him. The King accepts it gratefully. “Haven’t seen ya in what feels like forever, thought you’d be at least a bit more elated at my presence.”

Arthur takes a sip of the hot drink, eyes closed and when the liquid hits his tongue he quickly brings the cup away from his mouth. He makes a disgruntled face, “goodness. Fresh is it?”

“Look, at least it’s not cold. You’re welcome.”

Arthur takes another careful sip, humming, “thank you. It’s much appreciated. Now what are you doing here? You didn’t chase George off again, did you? You can’t be my servant and the Court Sorcerer, Merlin, we’ve had this discuss-”

“Alright, alright,” Merlin cuts him off, “I may have intercepted George on his way but I did not chase him off.”

Arthur takes another drink, eyes watching the warlock over the brim of his cup as he waits for further explanation. Merlin does not disappoint.

He pulls a sealed letter out from his jacket pocket, the royal emblem of a far away kingdom pressed to the front and when Merlin hands it to Arthur, the king can smell a faint perfume wafting off of it. Arthur frowns at the offered parcel.

“Princess Karine again.”

“Who?” Arthur asks, hesitantly taking the letter, brows pinched. Merlin rolls his eyes as he begins tidying up the room purely out of habit.

“Princess Karine, remember? From the east? Far, far east.” Merlin says the last bit in a way he hopes emphasizes just how far the young princess really is. Merlin still struggled to grasp a kingdom that far could travel to Camelot like Karine and her family had. The habitants of Camelot hadn’t even realized people, let alone royals, came from that way. But they’re a kingdom of ritual Magic and had stayed away for a long time under Uther’s rule. Now, with the ban of magic lifted, they felt it safe to branch out.

And however far they might’ve traveled, Princess Karine made it very clear she’d rather have stayed in Camelot, with Arthur. But for all her advances and flirtatious behavior, the young king had ignored it all in favor of treating her like a formal friend.

She was not deterred.

Arthur grunts in acknowledgment, fingers peeling the seal open and unfolding the delicate letter inside. It’s worse than he suspected, she’s clearly taken to him, and after only a minute's read he tosses the letter aside with a grumble as he falls back into his sheets.

Merlin smirks, “oh c’mon,” he teases taking the letter and envelope, “surely it’s not that bad. I thought dark beauties were your type.”

Arthur can hardly remember what Karine had looked like but he does remember pale skin and dark hair. He turns his head to watch Merlin place the letter on his desk, a stack of what looks like other letters already gathered there.

“Not her, I’m afraid,” Arthur says, seemingly to himself as he watches Merlin who finally chances a glance at him, a blinding smile and twinkling blue eyes as he waves the other letters.

“Well you might want to tell her then, she’s absolutely besotted with you.”

“Mmm,” Arthur hums, clearly not pleased and a moment of silence passes between them as Merlin organizes Arthur’s desk. The king watches with affection.

“Merlin.”

“What?” Merlin replies, not even looking up.

“That’s not your job anymore.”

Merlin sighs, hands planted on the desk as he cocks a foot and gives the king an exasperated glare, “clearly it’s not George’s either. How do you find anything in this mess?”

Arthur shrugs, looking away and he hears the shuffle of Merlin’s feet before the warlock is all but leaning over him, arms crossed and lips tight as he studies the king below him.

“What’s the matter with you?”

Arthur looks offended, “what do you mean?”

“How come you don’t return Princess Karine’s affections? She’s a nice enough girl. Pretty. Magical.” Merlin wiggles his brows at that and Arthur rolls his eyes.

“If I wanted someone nice, pretty and magical I’d just marry you.”

Merlin steps back, out of Arthur’s view and the king sits up to see the warlock blushing and looking perturbed, clearly at a loss as he flounders for the right words. Arthur takes pity on him.

“Don’t worry, Merlin,” he says almost dejectedly, a sigh mingled in his words, “I’m only joking.”

That doesn’t seem to put the warlock at any ease, in fact Merlin looks even more concerned and a little deflated as he regards Arthur carefully.

“I know you want to marry for love, I get that, but…”

“Don’t.”

“Camelot needs an heir. People are starting to worry.”

Arthur pins him with a critical eye, “And you? Are you worried, Merlin?”

The warlock softens, eyes fluttering as a gentle smile takes hold, “no. I suppose not yet.”

“It’s settled then,” Arthur huffs out, throwing his legs out of bed as he stands and stretches, his back popping and a groan escaping his lips, “if the greatest… Sorcerer or what is it, to ever… stumble the earth… isn’t worried about my love life, then the rest of Camelot shouldn’t be either.”

Arthur walks past him, knocking the warlock’s shoulder with his own as he goes while Merlin muses over the king’s words. Merlin figures this discussion is a dead end, it appears even Arthur doesn’t understand what’s going on. Or, at least, doesn’t want to talk about it and the topic is changed when Arthur’s voice demands Merlin’s attention from where the king stands by his changing screen.

“Dress me, will you? Since you scared off my servant and didn’t bring up breakfast I suppose I’ll have to go fetch it myself.”

“I thought you said you’d dress yourself?” Merlin teases but gets to work digging out Arthur’s good tunics anyways. Arthur grunts in response and the warlock snickers at his grumpy expression as he begins to dress the king for the day.

For the next few days, Princess Karine’s letters lay untouched at the desk, lonesome and unopened as another arrives by the following week. Merlin doesn’t speak anymore of it and neither does Arthur but the warlock is impressed by the Princess’s determination to win the affection of Camelot’s king.

The night the latest letter arrives, Arthur’s alone. The past year he has found himself in his own company more and more. Ever since Merlin had been appointed the Court Sorcerer of Camelot Arthur had been reacquainted with the peaceful quietness he had known before Merlin had ever been his servant to begin with all those years ago. George was a fine servant, truly. But that’s all he was, a servant. Merlin had been so much more. Is still so much more. But duties have pulled them apart, sadly, and George did little to stick around after his tasks for Arthur were completed.

He missed Merlin.

He still saw him every day. But it wasn’t the same and as time went on his lonesomeness grew. He wondered if Merlin felt the same way.

He falls into bed, fully clothed and not even under the covers, eyes glued to the stack of love letters he never intended to open. He fooled himself, wondering why when he already knew the answer deep down.

When he finally fell asleep it was into a dreamlike world that felt so real, so enticing.

Merlin was there.

But so wasn’t someone else. Someone Arthur never met yet felt like he knew. It was a child, an infant, swaddled in white and crying and for some reason Arthur felt those cries were for him. They embedded themselves into his mind, tugging at his chest and pulling him in the direction of the child that always seemed to stay just out of his reach. He tried, he did, he searched and ran and called out and-

He woke in a cold sweat.

He didn’t know why but he knew he had to find Merlin.

+

On the other side of the castle, where Merlin still resided with Gaius, the warlock slept uneasily. His skin was clammy as he twisted and turned in his sheets. His heart thumped wildly in his chest and his face was screwed up in discomfort. He mumbled in his sleep, desperate pleas and silent cries as he begged, prayed.

When he wakes it’s with a jolt and a guttal cry of a resounding, “No!”

His breathing is ragged, his chest expanding at a concerning rate as he touches his lips and his face, searching for anything that might be real. He’s exhausted even though he has just woken up but by the darkness of the room he knows it’s barely morning. He has to get a hold of himself, regain his barings, but all he can think about is the surreal dream he just had. Or perhaps nightmare would’ve been more appropriate. But a part of him, a large part, tells him it was more than a dream. It was more like a.. Vision? A warning?

Freya was there. He hadn’t dreamt of her in years. She was dry as she came to him from the lake, hair perfectly done and white robes giving her an eternal appearance. She came to him eagerly and for a moment Merlin thought she was going to embrace him. Instead, she had grasped his face gently in her cold hands, pulling him to her until their cheeks nearly touched and her lips brushed against the shell of his ear. And what she whispered to him was enough for the ground to feel as though it had shifted under his feet, like he was suddenly falling and couldn’t stop.

A gift. From the gods.

A boy; who would someday grow to be king.

His child.

As prophesied as the Once and Future King himself, a part of Merlin and a part of Arthur magically combined into one small, precious being.

When Merlin blinked he had suddenly found himself in the Crystal Caves, the glimmering shine around him almost blinding. Freya had seemingly vanished as he attempted to search for her through the light. What he found instead was a rock creation, modeled to look like a cradle, placed perfectly in the middle of the cave. Merlin already knew what lay inside but he took tentative steps anyways as he drew near. When he was close enough to peer over the edge his breath was nearly taken from his lungs.

Inside lay a child. A newborn with wispy hair on his head and pale skin that glistened like the crystals around him. He wasn’t asleep but he was at ease as though he could’ve been. When the infant tilts his chin up to look at the man that hovered over his cradle his blue eyes struck a familiarity inside of Merlin almost instantly.

“Arthur,” Merlin whispers in awe.

“Merlin?”

Merlin’s head whips up. On the other side of the cradle is Arthur, dressed in a simple tunic and looking just as lost and confused as Merlin felt. His eyes fell to the baby and back to Merlin in dismay. It was the most uncertain Merlin thought he had ever seen the king. Arthur takes a step back, shaking his head and Merlin wants to reach for him.

Before Arthur can disappear, Merlin is shouting for him.

And that’s when he woke up.

He had to get to the Crystal Caves.

Chapter Text

Adrenaline is the only excuse Arthur can give as to why he’s riding out in the pre-dawn hours of the morning after Merlin. They had met each other halfway in the still sleepy corridors of the castle, hardly dressed for the quest that both were about to go on. They were nearly out of breath, frenzied and panicked as Arthur gripped Merlin’s forearms so hard the warlock was sure there would be bruises. But at least in reality Arthur wasn’t running away from him.

They had had similar dreams, that much Merlin had already known but Arthur was surprised to hear it.

“Is it magic, Merlin?” he asked desperately, “is it your magic? What’s going on?”

Merlin struggled to explain that yes, it was magic but no, it wasn’t necessarily his magic and Arthur was befuddled all over again as he sputtered, “but aren’t you magic itself?!”

There was no time for explanation. They had to get to the Crystal Caves and at Arthur’s readiness to agree Merlin was beginning to think the caves had an invisible pull on them both.

So they leave with very little, too much in a haste to get to where they need to be to pack or even tell a soul that they were leaving to begin with. They don’t even leave a note and the thought hits Arthur halfway to the Crystal Caves how worried Camelot will be to discover he has all but disappeared. His only hope that a full scale search party won’t commence is that he and Merlin can return almost as quickly as they left.

They make good time as they push their horses nearly the whole way. Not a word is said between them though there’s plenty to say. Merlin isn’t sure how much Arthur knows or understands. He knows they had similar dreams, that much was determined when they both met in the halls searching for each other, but did Arthur see the baby? The boy that was to grow to be king? Did he understand that this baby was made from a part of him as well as Merlin? That the gods had crafted this tiny being from magic as a gift to Camelot and her people?

Merlin knows this. Freya had told him. But even he isn’t sure he quite understands. He wrestles with the idea of a child that was made from him, without his consent, and then gifted to him whether he wanted the baby or not. What were their plans once they got to the caves? Bring the infant home? To Camelot? Raise him? Care for him? Would Arthur even be on board? How can a child created like this be considered a true heir to Camelot? What if the people didn’t accept him?

Merlin felt nauseous at all the thoughts and questions swirling in his head. It made him dizzy and he wondered what this would mean for him and Arthur, for their destiny.

When they get to the Valley of the Fallen Kings and dismount their horses, Arthur makes it very clear Merlin is in charge. He looks unsure and nervous, so very unlike him, as he draws his sword and turns to Merlin expectantly. The warlock frowns as he gives the king a gentle nod and begins the trek through narrow passageways and between ancient stone structures from a time long gone.

It’s the same as before for Merlin- the irrevocable feeling of push and pull all at once. It’s a heaviness that settles upon his chest, as though there’s someone sitting on it and a crippling fear grips his throat as he stumbles over the moss covered steps. The Valley of the Fallen Kings have always had an unwelcoming force grab hold of him, invisible yet palpable as it nearly choked him and he began to sweat.

Eventually the feeling becomes too much, too intense, and Merlin knows this isn’t like before. Something’s not right and he’s quick to stop, thrusting an arm out to halt Arthur as he does so. The king turns to him, appalled, but before he can say anything an arrow whooshes by his head, soaring between the two of them before embedding itself into the tree behind them.

Their heads had followed the arrow before they turned to each other, eyes wide and expressions grim. A feral cry from ahead captures their attention and what appears is a man swaddled in black. His face is covered but something about him doesn’t quite scream bandit as he drops his bow in favor of raising his hand, a familiar gesture Merlin is all too prepared for.

“Arthur, look out!” he shouts as he grabs the king by the shoulders and hauls him out of the way just as some rocks from the cliffs above begin to tumble from their perch. They fall together, tripping over their own feet in a haste to take cover and Arthur whips his head from the rocks to Merlin.

“He has magic?!”

Merlin turns over onto his backside, glancing up as he catches his breath to see a group of similar men had now surrounded them from the cliffs above. Merlin frowns, “they.”

“What?”

Merlin nudges him and they both look up, Arthur sagging in disbelief as he grumbles, “great. Just great.”

More gods forsaken shouts fill the once quiet forest as a variety of arrows begin to rain down on them. They shoot into the soft ground beside them, Arthur hurrying onto his bum to scoot out of the way but Merlin’s already raised his hand, eyes flashing gold as he calls a fierce wind to whirl around them, effectively gathering the flying arrows in a tornado like grasp before redirecting them back the way they came. A few men take a direct hit, groans and cries replacing their battle calls as some collapse while others fall to their death from the cliffs.

“C’mon!” Merlin exclaims, wanting to take advantage of the men’s distraction. He hauls Arthur to his feet and the two begin to run in the direction of the caves. There’s a voice from somewhere behind them that yells,

“Hurry! We have to get the child before they do!”

Arrows abandoned, the men take to the swords at their hips, chasing the king and the warlock from above before the cliffs lessen until eventually they were on the same path as Arthur and Merlin. Arthur looks over his shoulder, there’s probably a dozen or so left but it’s hard to tell as he and Merlin twist and dart through the curvy path of the forest.

“Merlin,” Arthur huffs out as he runs behind the sorcerer, “we have to stop them. They're gaining on us.”

Merlin’s eyes dart around as they run before he sees the trees thicken at the trunks and the brush grows wild. He waits until they round the bend, effectively cutting their view of the men off before he stops and pushes Arthur to the other tree. The king doesn’t need further explanation as he plants his back against the trunk of the tree, Merlin doing the same at the other adjacent to him and they both take a simultaneous step into the brush right as the men begin to rush past them, in their haste missing the pair as they hurry on.

The last to pass manages to catch sight of Arthur from the corner of his eye. He immediately stops, whipping around and calling out for his comrades. Arthur wastes no time as he steps forward with his sword, slashing at the man who defends himself on impact. Metal clashes as Arthur twirls and swings his weapon. The other men had turned but before they could rush back to offer help Merlin had already squatted and placed a powerful hand to the forest floor, eyes glowing and lips parted in a silent request as he called upon the vines of the forest to come alive. They do so almost instantly, dancing and swishing as they uncurl from the trees and the structures and lash out at the men deemed the enemy. Some vines whip the weapons from the men’s grasp while others wrap the men up like a snake and strangle them until they’re lifeless heaps on the ground.

Arthur manages a fatal blow to the man he’s dueling, elegantly and efficiently wielding his weapon upon another opponent who stood little to no chance.

Merlin speaks again, a language Arthur still doesn’t understand, and the king catches sight of the large tree he had been hiding under begin to shake and quiver, convulsing in a way that had the king looking at the ground, just to make sure it wasn’t a quake of the earth. The remaining men, all three of them, feel the magic in the air, one attempting to use his against Merlin in an attempt to save themselves but before he can barely lift his hand a large branch breaks, the crack echoing out above and they all look up before the branch lands on the three of them, crushing them into the ground with an abundance of force.

All is suddenly quiet, dead men littered around them. Some bloodied and others simply lifeless. Merlin stands, his eyes returning to his usual, docile blue and the vines retract, slithering across the ground and around his and Arthur’s feet and back to their resting place. The king steps over to dodge them, watching them go in astonishment. Once they are still, Arthur looks to Merlin with a relieved, proud grin.

“Impressive.”

Merlin takes a couple deep breaths, shrugging nonchalant. Arthur cocks his head.

“They had magic. Why didn’t they use it?”

“I don’t think they were very good. Perhaps bandits who picked it up upon the revoked ban. They seemed hesitant with it.”

Arthur nods, “they didn’t seem like just bandits.”

“No,” Merlin confirms, face molding into something far more serious, “they knew why we were here.”

Something falls over Arthur’s face. A shadow of doubt perhaps. His lip twitches as he sheaths his sword and turns away from Merlin, a gesture that doesn’t go unnoticed by the warlock.

Merlin waits, he feels there’s something Arthur wants to say but isn’t quite sure how. Or maybe even what. After a moment, they lock eyes again and Arthur manages to shield his apprehension though his nerves have him shifting on his feet.

“Why are we here, Merlin?”

It’s crafted like a question but Merlin knows Arthur isn’t asking. They’ve discussed this before they left, though be it briefly.

“The child,” Merlin reiterates, “we’ve got to get the child.”

For some reason, Merlin’s miffed and he stalks by Arthur as he heads for the Crystal Caves. He realizes he may not want to have this conversation now. Not when there was an innocent life on the line. Clearly they weren’t the only ones on a quest to receive the baby.

He hears Arthur striding behind him, feet heavy upon the earth like Merlin’s, “we need to talk about this. Actually talk about it. What’s the plan?”

It seems as though the dream they had that morning had an enchantment over them, like a veil of need and want. But the fight with the bandits has stripped that veil from Arthur. He’s alert now, not necessarily hurried or frantic. But Merlin still feels the calling to be here deep within his bones.

“Let’s get the child first,” Merlin suggests, “we can talk once we know he’s safe.”

“Merlin.”

Nothing.

“Mer-lin!”

Arthur’s hand grips his shoulder and spins him around midstep. Merlin glares, ripping his shoulder from the king’s grasp, “what?!”

“Talk to me!”

“What’s there to say?!” Merlin shouts and the escalation in volume has Arthur reeling back. Rarely did Merlin yell, especially at him.

Merlin continues, “we both had the same dream. There’s a child, made by magic and the gods and a part of us and I can’t explain it to you, I can’t explain it to myself. There’ve been many times this prophecy, this destiny, has left me with many questions but nothing like this. I don’t have a plan, I don’t know what to do beyond getting the child and ensuring he’s safe. I just know I have to be here.”

It was as if every word Merlin spoke had weight, like stone, and was being placed on top of Arthur until his legs shook and knees buckled. He lets out a puff of air through thin lips as he runs a gloved hand through his hair. “So… it’s… this child, he’s… he’s yours?”

Merlin blinks, “and yours.”

“How is that possible?!”

“I don’t know!” Merlin exclaims, “magic. With magic nothing is impossible. Look, if you’re freaking out and can’t go on I understand. But we can’t waste anymore time with questions. We can talk when I come back.”

Merlin turns and begins the journey to the caves, seemingly with or without Arthur and the king is left flabbergasted in his wake as he fumbles to make up his mind. Of course he’s not leaving Merlin, the idiot is strong sure but he’s still just that- an idiot. Arthur could never leave him, even when he wanted to.

And despite his moment of clarity, something still wiggled inside of him, grasping and reaching for whatever it is that lay inside those caves.

He catches up to the warlock in a few steps.

Merlin’s only sign of relief is the silent escape of air through his nose.

The Crystal Caves are just how Merlin remembers them. Like the dream, they’re glimmering in the dark, illuminated by their own bright lights. They sparkle and shimmer and have Arthur humorously turning every which way, his hand gripped at his sword. Merlin watches him with a hint of glee- the king had never been here before and it showed.

“What is this place?” Arthur asks, voice caught somewhere between fear and awe. He searches high and low as he follows behind the warlock, the crystals twinkling at him in response.

“This is where magic began.” Merlin explains as he climbs over ledges and rock forms. Arthur hums.

“All magic?” The king asks, skeptical.

Merlin nods, “yes.”

“So….” Arthur trails off and it’s so familiar to Merlin. The warlock can take a guess at where this is going. It had been two years since Merlin’s magic had been revealed to him and about the same since the prophecy and destiny and all the likes were explained. But, for all his quick mindedness and intelligence it seemed Arthur could never quite grasp what any of it truly meant. He often looked at Merlin when the warlock was explaining himself in the same way he's looking at the crystals right now- awed and maybe even fearful.

“Yes?” Merlin prompts.

“So you’re magic… itself.”

“Yes. We’ve been over this.”

“Sod off, Merlin. This isn’t actually easy for anyone to understand so let me finish.”

“Right.”

“So you’re magic itself… Does that mean you were created… here? Like the baby?”

Merlin looks at him over his shoulder, face amused as he says, “Arthur you’ve met my mother.”

Even in the low light Merlin can see Arthur’s cheeks pinking slightly. The warlock smirks as Arthur sighs.

“You’re not making this any easier.”

“No,” Merlin relents, feeling a little bad, “I’ve only ever been here twice before in my life and both times I had already met you.”

“So you weren’t born here, even though you’re magic and magic began here, but you have been here. Because of me?”

Merlin looks away, continuing on as he shrugs, “once to heal you. The other was to kind of heal myself.”

Arthur has so many more questions but it seems every one he asks he gets a dozen more added to his mental inventory and he can’t keep track of them all. So, instead, the king goes for the one that he feels means the most at the moment.

“This child… will he be like you?”

Merlin stops and for a moment Arthur wonders if he’s said the wrong thing. He didn’t mean to offend and he’s ready to voice that when suddenly Merlin turns around.

“He has magic. I can feel it. But not just any magic. It’s… a part of my magic.”

Arthur just stares, clearly at a loss and Merlin tilts his chin at him.

“He will be like you too.”

Another reminder Arthur is just as deeply involved in this as Merlin. He still can’t wrap his head around the idea of the two of them having a child. Together but not together.

Arthur already has a pounding headache.

They continue on in relative silence, only the occasional huff and grunt as they climb over rock ruins and stumble along a barely cleared path. Eventually the path they walk begins to widen until it gives way to a central-like opening. There the walls surround them, the crystals having multiplied tens fold and in the middle of the opening lies the rock formed cradle from their dream.

Merlin gasps, as if seeing it in person was entirely unpredicted. Arthur glares at him subtly; where was this surprise when Arthur had been asking questions?

Their attention is brought away from the cradle when a figure emerges from the dark off to the side. Out walks a man, cloaked in dark clothing. He’s of old age but walks with a strong back. His hair and white beard shimmer under the crystals and his eyes are pinned to Merlin as he makes his way around the rock cradle, hand gently grazing the side as he says softly,

“You came.”

“Taliesin.” Merlin breathes as Arthur’s eyes dart back and forth, his fingers gripped tightly to his hilt. This man doesn’t look like the others but something about him still screams to be weary.

“Merlin,” the man, Taliesin, replies back and Arthur curls a lip.

“You two know each other?”

Merlin flicks his eyes to him before returning to the man, “sort of.”

The man smiles, almost tiredly as his head tilts and his fingers run along the ridge of the cradle. They still can’t see the baby inside, if he’s even there at all, but something almost possessive grips Arthur’s chest. He draws his sword slowly.

“Put it away,” Merlin chastises him from the corner of his mouth but Arthur finds it hard to heed to his words with the man so close to the cradle.

“Who are you?” Arthur questions loudly, his voice far too booming for the otherwise peaceful cave and a sign of life finally rings from inside the cradle.

A whimper.

Both Merlin and he perk up, eyes falling to the cradle in wide anticipation. Merlin takes a step forward before looking back up at Taliesin hesitantly.

The old man smiles yet again, “it’s good to finally meet you, Arthur Pendragon.” He turns to Merlin, “and good to see you again, Emrys.”

Merlin nods while Arthur frowns; how the old guy knew his name was beyond him.

Merlin speaks up, “what do you know, Taliesin? What’s going on?”

“I only know what you already know,” Taliesin says ominously as he slowly comes around the cradle, his fingers never leaving the edge as they glide along its rough surface. “You’ve come to collect your son.”

Son. It’s the first time the child had been referred to in such a context. The word rangs heavier than any other and Merlin catches a glimpse of Arthur faltering from his peripheral vision.

“So it’s true…” Merlin murmurs and the old man gives him an odd look.

“You doubt the gods?”

Merlin doesn’t say anything, ashamed to have had any doubt no matter how small. The truth had come from Freya herself. She would never lie to him. Especially about this. But it still seems so unbelievable.

Arthur’s not quite as quiet, “how can this be? How can the gods or the prophecy or whatever else want this? It doesn’t make sense. Merlin and I can’t have a son together it’s… it’s-“

“Complicated?” Taliesin suggests and Arthur shrugs.

“More than that I’d say.”

Taliesin nods though he seems to lack any real understanding as he gazes down at the child once more, a gentle smile upon his face.

“Seldom are life’s greatest wonders ever simple,” he explains, “but when the gods grant you a gift, who are you question it? Have faith in what’s to come.”

Both men are quiet at that, Arthur shaking his head in disbelief.

“And what are we to do?” The king demands and Taliesin looks up at him knowingly.

“Fatherhood is a quest all on its own. One even I do not have answers for. But, my suggestion would be to take your son home. And you can start by choosing love.”

“Love?” Arthur repeats, as if the word is as foreign as this whole debacle. Taliesin waves them over as eagerly as an aging man can.

There’s a moment of hesitation, Merlin and Arthur sharing a look of uncertainty as the old man waits for one of them to make the first move. It’s Merlin who eventually steps forward and Arthur almost wants to reach out and stop him.

The warlock crosses the cave to the center with careful steps, much like one would approach a spooked horse. The cradle begins to reveal more and more of the little bundle it encases and Merlin can feel his heart beating faster and harder, his breathing growing labored as a little, pale white arm comes into view. Once he stands before the cradle he peers over and what he sees nearly takes his breath away.

The child. The baby. His son. Lying there not quite yet asleep but dark, tiny lashes fluttering softly against milky, round cheeks. The babe appears to be peaceful as his tired little eyes become more and more encased by his lids. He looks just as he had in Merlin’s dream- wispy little hairs on top of his head and he’s swaddled in what looks like the finest and softest linen in all the land. He doesn’t seem to notice Merlin peering above him, too bogged down by his sleepy eyes, but when the warlock lets out a little gasp the babe’s eyes flutter open. They’re suddenly wide and alert and so, so big as he tilts his little chin and stares up at Merlin, his little lips parted and for a moment he seems just as enthralled with Merlin as Merlin is with him.

For a moment, Merlin thinks the baby has got to have the bluest eyes he’s ever seen but the thought is short lived. Those irses, so deep and innocent, so familiar- they belong to Arthur and to see them duplicated onto the little boy has tears springing to Merlin’s own eyes for reasons he can’t quite figure. A shaky hand covers his mouth and Merlin takes one large step back, away from the child until he’s out of view.

Merlin is quick to swipe at his eyes, looking at Taliesin for something, anything, but all the old man can offer is a gentle smile.

“Fatherhood can be scary,” the ominous man tells him in understanding, “but a challenge I know you can take.”

There are no words. Merlin swallows hard before turning to look at Arthur who’s still standing far away, looking as pale as a ghost and like he has just seen one all at once. He won’t come take a look and Merlin won’t make him. He understands the hesitation.

“You must go,” Taliesin suddenly says and everything about him has changed. He’s not smiling any longer, his face has morphed into something serious, dire even, as he gestures to the baby. “The boy is powerful, as I’m sure you’ve already gathered, but his great fate is not set in stone. It will be up to you two to make sure he becomes the man he’s prophesied to be. There will be many who wish to garner his power for themselves, and many who will wish to see him fall. Your duties as fathers have already started. You can not fail. All of Albion relies on your success and on the boy’s survival. I have faith but I wish you good luck. You must take him to Camelot, raise him where he will be safe, and teach him. And you must go now. The boy’s existence is already known to many.”

Merlin feels that sickening sensation again. He’s never felt so lost before, so unsure of what’s to come, but Taliesin’s booming voice rocks him into reality.

“Go!” The man shouts, his volume stirring all the crystals in the caves and the baby who wails at the disturbance. The child’s cry startles Merlin even more than Taliesin’s shout and he quickly steps back up to the cradle. He goes to gather the child up when he suddenly realizes… he’s never held a child before. How does he… where do his hands… how should he….

“C’mon!” Arthur goads, suddenly right beside Merlin, grabbing his shoulder in a harsh grip. The caves are shaking under their feet and when Merlin looks around he realizes Taliesin is gone. The crystals are shaking, trembling from above and all around and it feels like the whole earth is quaking as debris and rock shards start to fall.

“Merlin!” Arthur yells over the baby’s cries, “grab him! We have to get out of here!”

Fueled by possible death by crushed rock, Merlin quickly swoops the baby up in his arms. It feels weird, holding something so small and wiggly. But Merlin presses the crying child to his chest, wrapping the white linen all around him as small pieces of rock and crystal begin to fall on them like solid rain.

“Hurry!” Arthur commands, hauling Merlin behind him as they run back the way they had come. The caves rumble like thunder, the rock shifting and Merlin can barely hear the child’s cries from the loud booms and cracks. Arthur’s still gripping his elbow, as if afraid to lose him in the chaos and Merlin’s grateful for it because between a crying child and holding the baby in an embrace that he hopes isn't crushing him is unnerving to say the least.

Arthur suddenly stops, halting so quickly Merlin bumps into him which causes the child to let out an ungrateful squeal.

“What are you doing?!” Merlin chides, pulling the linen up over the child’s head and trying to support his neck. If he’d just stop moving!

“Which way?!” Arthur yells back and Merlin sees they’re at a fork in the path.

“Shit.”

“Yeah, shit.”

Merlin’s eyes suddenly burn gold and tendrils of what Arthur can only assume is magic start to fall all around them before connecting at their feet and swirling into a golden lightened path that chooses one of the pathways to the right.

“That way, go!”

Arthur rushes down the lightened path with Merlin at his heels as they bend and twist and step over fallen rocks. The debris gets bigger as the rumble grows louder and by the time they’re close to the mouth of the cave Arthur turns to see Merlin has fallen behind, if only a little, as he tries to reposition the baby more comfortably in his arms.

“Merlin!” Arthur yells as he watches a particularly large rock tremble from above the two, Merlin unknowingly hurrying right under it and Arthur is quick to run back, grabbing Merlin by the arms and hauling him and the baby out of the way just as the large rock falls and shatters.

Arthur doesn’t even realize he’s got Merlin and the child shielded in his arms until he feels something wiggly and wailing against his chest. He tears his astonished eyes away from the shattered rock that almost just killed the both of them before looking down at the baby who has broken free from his linen confinement. Arthur locks eyes with the little baby whose head lays against Merlin’s collarbone and the instant shock of realization jolts him away, putting a good distance between him and the duo.

Arthur is distracted by the closeness he had had with the child but Merlin thinks he can worry about it later, they’re almost at the opening, he can see the light, and the cave is still ready to topple on the three of them. He grabs Arthur’s sleeve.

“Snap out of it! We gotta go!”

It works. Arthur’s running after Merlin as if the moment before hadn’t happened and the three manage to make it out of the Crystal Caves just as a large boulder, from seemingly nowhere, falls in a massive rumble at the opening. It effectively cuts off everything. The chaos, the thunder-like noise, the falling rock and trembling crystals- it all stops and Merlin and Arthur are left gasping for breath a little ways from the entrance, staring at the large boulder with wide eyes.

Arthur’s still gripping Merlin’s bicep, heaving and listening to the peaceful sounds of the forest around them. There’s a sweet sing songy tune from the birds above and a little chittering from some nearby squirrels and a gentle breeze welcomes them as it sweeps across their heated cheeks.

But the sudden peacefulness is abruptly interrupted by a dramatic wail and both Merlin, Arthur and the critters of the forest jump at the sound. It’s the baby, of course, still pressed into Merlin’s chest. Arthur quickly steps away, eyes avoiding and grip gone from the warlock’s arm as he turns the other way. Merlin frowns as he attempts to shush the child but again- he’s clueless on this stuff.

“What the hell kind of friend was that, Merlin?” Arthur questions, tone huffy and brows knitted in frustration as he looks back at the warlock.

Merlin shakes his head, nervously attempting to calm the irritant child in his arms as he bounces the baby in what he hopes is a soothing manner, “I-I don’t know. Erm…” Merlin tries cradling the child in his arms but the little boy merely wails louder, his little face scrunched and red as real tears begin to cascade down his cheeks. Arthur is watching skeptically as Merlin struggles.

“Arthur,” Merlin groans, looking to the king for assistance as he takes a step closer, “can you help me?”

Arthur responds by taking a single step back, his lips shut tight and eyes looking everywhere but and for some reason the action hurts Merlin worse than the warlock can explain. It feels sort of like a rejection and the sting burns in his chest as well as his cheeks. He tries not to be angry, this is a lot to take in and Arthur clearly needs time. But Merlin’s starting to feel the prickle of panic rise in his chest as the baby cries, miraculously, even louder.

He could use some time too.

“Hey,” Merlin tries, looking down at the unhappy bundle in his arms as he presses the linen away from the child’s face, “I hear you, I really do, but I… I’m not sure how to help you.”

“Maybe he’s hungry.” Arthur offers, voice indifferent and Merlin rolls his eyes.

“I can’t really fix that, can you?”

Arthur glares at the warlock’s back, “gross. No.”

“It’s not gross.”

“It is when you suggest such things. How is this going to work, Merlin? We can’t even feed the kid properly!”

“First of all,” Merlin says, turning quickly with one, halting finger in the air. Even the baby seems to fall quiet, “it was a joke. Second of all, he’ll obviously need a wetnurse. Don’t act stupid.”

“Don’t call me stupid,” Arthur retorts, grumpily and clearly not in the mood for any of Merlin’s attitude but quite frankly neither is Merlin and he makes it clear by sending the king a glare of his own.

The baby cries pitifully from his arms.

“Can’t you use… a calming spell or whatever?”

Merlin looks down at the unhappy child, heartbreakingly fat tears staining his cheeks. “I.. could. But it feels wrong to manipulate his emotions.”

“Seriously?” Arthur deadpans, “what about that time you made me laugh hysterically in front of the whole council? I couldn’t stop it and everyone thought I went mad.”

“To be fair, that was a spell gone wrong,” Merlin explains, “I didn’t intend to give you uncontrollable giggles.”

“Well you did and it happened to be right after Sir Safir announced his father had fallen ill. So I looked crazy. And like a prat. A crazy prat.”

“I apologized to you. And the whole council. I thought we were past this?”

“We are! But the point is if you can manipulate my emotions why not the baby’s!”

“Cause he’s him and you’re you.”

Arthur scoffs, “what the hell does that mean?”

Merlin shrugs, turning back to the baby and Arthur has to hold himself back from whacking the warlock right upside the head. He could be so irritating sometimes it hurt.

The child had lowered his volume amongst their arguing, almost like he was taking the moment to listen in on their voices, but the second they stopped he started crying again and Merlin sighed before relenting, opting to calm the child with his magic if only to sedate him until they got to Camelot and could actually tend to his needs.

“Let’s go,” Arthur mumbles, clearly agitated as he saunters by Merlin, never even giving the now quieted child a glance. Merlin is still glaring at him as he goes.

Once they find their horses, Arthur is forced to hold the child while Merlin mounts up but it looks like the king is holding the decapitated head of an enemy rather than his infant child. He appears clearly uncomfortable, even distraught and when Merlin offers to take the baby back Arthur practically pushes the bundle into his arms.

“Hell, Arthur,” Merlin scolds, holding the little boy close as the king hurries to his horse, “it’s just a baby, he won’t bite.”

Arthur doesn’t even indulge, just mounts up and spurs his horse forward.

Merlin follows behind, fire in his eyes and aimed at the king’s back. They ride all the way back to Camelot in total and utter silence.

And yet, the whole way is deafening.

Chapter Text

“The king is back!”

The young squire at the doors to the council room is panting, face bright red and eyes wide as he points to where he had just run from, “the king is back!” he repeats, “he rides into the courtyard now!”

The knights of the Round Table jump up at once, including Gwen as they rush after the boy. After nearby searches that had taken place all day had been fruitless they had just been discussing who would go with what search party as they began to map out the outer areas to search for the king and court sorcerer. It had been since dawn and the whole of Camelot was growing more and more worried. But when the knights and Gwen get to the steps in front of the castle, they see villagers and nobles alike surrounding the king on top of his horse, celebrating and cheering as he rides into the courtyard. But Arthur isn’t smiling.

He halts his horse in front of a knight standing by and dismounts before handing over the reins and walking away, ignoring the gathered crowd’s shouts and questions.

“Good to see you, Sire!”

“The king is back!”

“Where’s Merlin?”

Gwen’s eyes scan the crowd but she can’t find the sorcerer anywhere and by the time Arthur’s before them the whole lot is looking worried all over again.

“Arthur!” Gwen exclaims, “where have you been? Where is Merlin?”

Arthur looks at her, face stony and closed off as he says, “he rode round back. Probably with Gaius by now.”

That’s all he’s willing to say as he goes to push by them all, nearly knocking against Gwaine as he passes by and the knight looks to the others, clearly confused.

It’s Leon who braves it and reaches out to stop the king by grabbing his arm, “Arthur…”

Arthur turns to him, taking his arm back, “you want answers, go find Merlin. He’s not alone.”

He turns to leave again and this time, no one stops him.

Creeping into the castle with a tiny infant isn’t as easy as it might sound. Merlin and Arthur had decided before approaching Camelot it’d be best to sneak the baby in, to avoid unnecessary questions and speculation because, to be quite honest, neither he nor Arthur knew what to tell anyone. They hardly knew what to tell themselves.

So Merlin had opted to take the baby in through the back, tying his horse to a lonely post and praying he remembered to come back for her as he snuck in through a very much unused door that was just south of Gaius’s chambers. The baby, thankfully, is quiet the whole way. The spell had seemed to have worn off though since the child wasn’t quite calm. He was wiggly and restless and would let out gentle, unsuspecting coos that had someone like Merlin looking around for a dove or pigeon. He hadn’t realized babies made such adorable sounds and despite trying to go unnoticed the little noises made him chuckle softly at the boy.

Once he gets to Gaius’s, he opens the door quietly, slipping in and shutting it with nothing more than a click of the lock in place. He doesn’t expect Gaius to be there, standing in the middle of the room and looking very much displeased with his hands on his hips.

“Goodness, Gaius!” Merlin exclaims, one hand on his heart as the other cradles the child in his arm, “say something next time.”

“I could very well say the same to you, my boy,” Gaius says and his tone tells Merlin all he needs to know.

He’s in trouble.

“Where in good heavens have you been, Merlin? Is Arthur with you? Both of you have been missing since before sun up!”

“I know,” Merlin relents softly, “Arthur and I… had uh… something to take care of.”

“Take care of? Without telling anyone? This is ridiculous Merlin, even for you. I thought we were beyond this sneaking and-”

Another coo cuts Gaius off and the old man quickly looks around, confused, “what was that?”

Merlin has the bundle covered up in his arms, and he bites his lip as he looks down to see the little baby attempting to uncover himself. When he looks back up, Gaius is pinning him with critical eyes.

“What is that, Merlin? What did you bring back? This better not be another baby owl, I can’t take any more bird brains in this room other than yours.”
Merlin swallows, he really doesn’t know where to start. He doesn’t think any way he puts this will make very much sense, Gaius will want answers and Merlin’s not sure he has enough to even soothe himself. So, instead of any real explanation, he simply takes a few steps forward, uncovers the boy, and says simply, “how about just a baby?”

Gaius looks down. Silent and unmoving. The baby coos again, little muffled noises coming out of tiny pink lips followed by a bubble that pops almost as soon as it was created. The child’s blue eyes find Gaius's; the little boy stops fussing around immediately, staring at the old man unblinking.

Gaius whips his head up, “what in the gods names did you do?”

“Well, speaking of the gods-”

“Did you kidnap someone’s child?”

“What? No, why would I-”

“Is it an orphan?”

“No-”

“Then you have to bring it back-”

“Him.”

“Bring him back. To his parents. For gods sakes, Merlin. What is it with you bringing animals and children to my chambers?”

“I can’t bring him back to his parents.”

“Why not?”

“Cause I am the parents.”

Silence.

“Well, one of them.”

More silence. Gaius looks much like a wall. Nothing going in and nothing coming out and Merlin holds his breath as he waits for a response. The lack of one starts to eat at him and apparently the baby who shifts uncomfortably in his arms.

“I think….” Gaius starts, a little breathlessly as he turns slowly and waddles over to the nearby chair, “I think I need to sit down.”

Merlin jostles the child a bit, he’s been holding the baby for hours. He spots Gaius’s cot to the side and briskly walks over to settle the baby down gently. The child whines a bit but soft shushing from Merlin has him calming considerably.

When that’s taken care of, Merlin turns to find Gaius sitting a little shell shocked in his chair, watching Merlin like he doesn’t quite recognize him and the warlock’s cheeks pink a bit. He walks over slowly, never taking his eyes off of Gaius as he grabs the other chair and sinks down into it. He kind of feels like a child ready to admit all his sins to his father and a little, intrusive thought of wondering if someday this will be him and the baby as a grown child comes knocking at the door of his mind.

He gets a sinking feeling if someday he’ll be finding himself in Gaius’s chair more and more as the baby takes his. Gods, he prays the baby isn’t quite the headache for him like he can be for Gaius. Gaius always claims meeting Merlin instantly took 10 years off his life. He hopes the baby doesn’t do the same but it would be poetic justice if so.

“So… from the beginning?”

Gaius almost looks frightened, “that would be best, I think.”

So Merlin does. He tries his best to keep it straightforward but the more he explains everything to Gaius the quicker his ‘explanation’ begins to turn more into a rant. But he tells Gaius everything; from the dreams, to Freya, to the Crystal Caves and Taliesin. He tells about the prophecy and destiny and the fate of the boy currently napping on Gaius’s cot and how Arthur won’t look at either Merlin or the baby. But most of all, he tells Gaius how scared he is.

“What am I going to do, Gaius?” Merlin pleads, leaning forward onto his knees as he looks up at the old physician with wide eyes, “I can’t… I mean, you know me. How am I supposed to be… be a…-”

“Father?” Gaius supplies helpfully but the word only brings water to Merlin’s eyes and he feels like a fool for being so emotional.

“I can’t, Gaius. Especially not alone. Arthur can’t even look at the baby. I thought- I thought maybe he’d just need some time but the more I think about it and say it out loud the crazier it sounds. Bastard children can’t take the throne and is that not what he is? The people of Camelot will never accept him. And I can’t raise him. I can’t-”

“Can’t?” Gaius cuts in, voice thundering in Merlin’s veins as his heartbeat quickens, “or won’t?”

A tear escapes down his cheek but Merlin can’t find the will to hide it. He opens and closes his mouth, breaths coming short and labored as he rings his sweaty hands together, “I-... won’t. Won’t. I won’t do that to an innocent child. I’m no good for fatherhood, I’ve accepted that after.. After Freya.. And I just-” Merlin stops to drop his face into his hands, rubbing away the tears and stress as best he can.

“You just what?” Gaius encourages softly and Merlin is a bit surprised at how docile the old man is being. Merlin half-expected him to still be angry about him and Arthur taking off this morning.

The warlock should probably be grateful for it but in reality he just can’t help but feel anything but weighed down. And it wasn’t the baby’s fault, Merlin had already decided the child was the most innocent one in this whole debacle, but weight certainly came from the idea of the little bundle sleeping peacefully while one of his father’s felt like his whole world was crashing down. And Merlin is suddenly struck with the words Taliesin had spoken to him and Arthur back in the caves.

Your duties as fathers have already started. You can not fail.

Merlin makes up his mind.

“I just have to make sure he’s safe. That’s the goal. And he can’t be safe if he’s with me.”

“Merlin,” Gauis says a little breathlessly, “what are you saying?”

Merlin licks his lip nervously, “I’m saying.. That I think I have to… give him up-”

He never finishes. There’s a loud, impatient knock at Gaius’s door and both the physician and warlock snap their attention to the entrance. Merlin’s eyes grow comically large as he quickly shoots up from his seat, the chair nearly knocking over in his haste, and hurrying to the cot where the baby lay.

“Gaius!” a familiar shout comes from the otherside of the door. It’s Lancelot.

“Coming!” Gaius calls back, trying his best to be quick as he struggles to stand and hurry over to the door. The guests come in before he can reach it and Merlin quickly grabs a blanket folded at the end of the cot before tossing it lightly over the baby.

He already explained everything once and couldn’t get through it without almost having a breakdown, he’s not sure he can explain it again and remain sane.

In pours Lancelot, Gwen closely behind, and Gwaine nudges his way through. There’s others behind the door, Merlin can hear them shuffling, but they don’t plow through like Gwaine does.

“Merlin!” Gwaine shouts and the warlock winces as he glances down at the crumpled sheets and what they hide.

“Gwaine?” Merlin questions back, taking a big, shaky breath as the knight crosses the room in only a few strides, his hands laying heavily on the warlock’s shoulders as he takes him in.

Gwaine gives a relieved grin, a sigh falling from his lips as he pulls Merlin in for too tight of a hug. Merlin frowns but pats his back.

“Alright?”

“Alright?” Gwaine repeats, pulling away again and holding him by his shoulders, “are you alright? What were you and the princess thinking just waltzing off like that for! You had the whole castle in a tizzy ya know.”

Merlin tries to look apologetic but his eyes keep glancing back at the cot. He’s so bad at this.

“Oh- yeah- that was-.. That was stupid. When do I ever think, you know? Can’t be too surprised.”

Gwaine cocks his head, his smile fading into a grimace as he nods slowly, “uh huh. So… care to tell us where you guys ran off to?”

The rest finally came in. Elyan, Percival, Leon. They’re all there, standing and staring and clearly wanting answers. The last two years have been relatively peaceful for all of Camelot. Maybe before everything, it wouldn’t have been so unusual for Merlin and Arthur to run off to do gods know what and fight off gods know who. But there had been no real enemies since the fall of Morgana and the lifting of the ban on magic. No real battles, wars, or slaughters. No quests or death defying journeys. Merlin wasn’t sure how to explain himself and he’s a little irritated that Arthur didn’t try his best to subdue them. It’s the least he could’ve done.

Merlin takes a deep, steadying breath and decides he’s gotta do something he hasn’t done in awhile.

He’s gotta lie.

“Arthur didn’t say anything?”

“No,” Gwen speaks up, concerned and troubled as she grips Lancelot’s hand, “he said if we wanted answers to find you.”

Merlin’s jaw tightens as his hands fall to his hips, “ooh, did he?” he scoffs, “typical.”

“Merlin,” Gwen says again, “what’s going on? Should we be worried?”

Merlin takes pity, “no. No. Everything’s fine. It was just… a misunderstanding. We had a dream. They were sorta the same, things happened, predictions were made-”

“A dream?” Gwen gasps, “like the ones Morgana used to have?”

“No. No, nothing like that. This was a good dream. I had to go find someone, to get answers.”

A moment of silence passes between them before Elyan shrugs, “and did you?”

“Hm?”

“Did you get answers?”

Merlin clears his throat, “oh, yes. Plenty. Like I said, everything’s fine.”

They all seem to share skeptical looks and Merlin wishes he could just retreat to his room and crawl under his bed for… eternity. He quickly glances at Gaius who brings his fist up at his waist to give him a concealed thumbs up. Merlin nods, thankful for the attempt at making him feel better.

“Why are you being so mysterious?” Gwaine asks suddenly and Merlin realizes the knight is kind of in his space, eyes in slits as he studies Merlin like a specimen.

“I just….” Merlin can feel his resolve melting under Gwaine’s intense stare, “just trust me, yeah? It’s been a long, weird day. But I promise, everything. Is. Fine.”

Gwaine continues to study him for a moment longer, debating whether to push or to back off. Luckily for Merlin he chooses the latter.

“Fine,” Gwaine gives in, taking a couple steps back to the cot and bending to take a seat, “I believe you.”

“Good- NO!” Merlin’s quick, his eyes lighting up that burning gold as his magic pushes the cot back and out of Gwaine’s reach. The knight falls to his arse, not having enough time to catch himself and the land is hard enough to shake the nearby table.

He lets out an undignified, ‘omph,’ followed by a groan and Merlin quickly covers his mouth at what he’s done. He notices everyone else staring at him incredulously while Gaius merely looks disappointed, his head down and fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Gods, Gwaine, I’m so sorry,” Merlin apologizes quickly, reaching out to grab the knight’s arm and help haul him to his feet. Gwaine looks frazzled.

“I’ll say! What the hell, Merlin?!”

“I know, I know.. The bed is broken, I’m supposed to fix it. I just didn’t want you to fall through-”

“So you had me fall anyways? That hurt!”

“I know, I wasn’t thinking- it’s a trend today. Here, sit here.” Merlin grabs a chair and whirls it around for him but Gwaine waves it off, still recovering from his tumble.

“No thanks, my arse is gonna need some mending before I take a seat again.”

Merlin scratches the back of his neck nervously, “alright.”

“I think, my friend,” Gwaine starts, slapping a hardy hand to his back, “you need to get some sleep. You look beat. And clearly your brain is.”

“Alright,” Merlin says again and Gwaine pats his shoulder with a pitiful look before he hobbles off, his hand rubbing his backside as he makes his way back to the door, the lot parting for him as he goes.

“Damn, I’m gonna feel that in the morning.”

“Honestly,” Elyan says, “I got a kick out of it.”

“Shut up.”

Him, Percival, Leon and Elyan follow each other out, bidding goodbye as they go. Lancelot and Guinever linger behind until the door shuts and it’s just them and Gaius and Merlin.

No one says anything at first, Gwen is merely watching Merlin with those eyes of hers. She’s too smart and too determined. She knows something is up and Merlin figures she’ll be the first to either put it together herself or wriggle the information from one of them.

Lancelot is a lot the same way- they go good together like that. Quiet and decisive as they both study Merlin but not like Gwaine. Where Gwaine watches one like a wolf watches its prey Gwen and Lancelot are far more soft. They get you to talk because you want to, not because you feel you have to and after only another moment more Merlin sags, walking over to the cot and grasping the sheet.

“Merlin,” Gaius warns but it’s too late. The warlock rips the sheet off and the bundled mess underneath isn’t quite a mess at all. The baby blinks rapidly at the sudden assault of light, wiggling and looking all around. Merlin hadn’t even realized he was awake and he thinks he probably owes the kid for staying so quiet that whole time.

Gwen gasps, hands covering her mouth before she approaches quickly, peering down at the baby in awe. “Merlin,” she nearly coos, looking at him before back at the child, “who’s baby? Is this where you and Arthur had run off to? He said you weren’t alone… is this what he meant?”

Merlin makes a mental note to knock Arthur upside the head for that one to; what an absolute prat. So much for keeping the child a secret.

But Merlin nods, arms crossed as he watches the baby watch Gwen. “Yes, this is what he meant.”

“Aww,” Gwen melts, a true mother as she squats at the side of the cot and takes the baby’s tiny feet peeking out of the white linen and squeezes them gently in her hands. The baby squirms, almost appearing ticklish and Merlin’s lips quirk upward.

“Look at you,” Gwen coos at him, smiling so brightly it nearly lights up the room. The baby coos back and Gwen giggles.

“So beautiful,” she says gently, eyes never leaving the baby and Lancelot is beside her then, smiling softly as he bends at the waist to get a better look.

“Boy? Girl?” he asks and Merlin shifts his weight on his feet.

“Uh- boy.”

“Oh, handsome. My bad, boy,” she corrects jokingly and the baby nibbles on his fist, his eyes never leaving Gwen as his little, dusty eyebrows jump at her facial expressions.

“Who’s baby, Merlin?” Lancelot asks gently, making a silly face when the baby catches his eye and Merlin thinks they’re just too good at this- clearly they got practice in the last couple weeks with Maeve.

Merlin makes brief eye contact with Gaius before he sighs, “mine.”

Any and all baby talk stops abruptly and both husband and wife look at him so quickly he thinks it's a miracle their heads stayed on.

He can’t go back now.

“What?” Lancelot asks bluntly, standing up and looking at Merlin with concern. Merlin puts his hands up.

“It’s not what you think. It’s a very long, very confusing story. But I can explain.”

And for a second time in the span of an hour, explain he does. Gwen and Lancelot aren’t as reactionless as Gaius who’s basically just come to accept all things when it comes to Merlin. They have a ton of questions that fuel more questions and Merlin does his best to give them answers.

“So the baby is yours… and Arthur’s?” Gwen.

“Made… from you both, by magic? To someday be king?” Lancelot.

“He’s prophesied to be king,” Merlin explains, “to be the future of Albion and all that. So long as Arthur and I can get him there in one piece and so far I’ve made him cry a bunch and almost let Gwaine sit on him so I’m not sure how promising that is.”

“This is a miracle,” Gwen says in disbelief and she’s smiling. No worry, no fear, just pure bliss as she turns back to the baby and beams down at him, “he’s a miracle, Merlin! Like you said, a gift from the gods! Camelot’s been blessed. The future for all our children will be the peace and prosperity that you said destiny had promised!”

Merlin hasn’t looked at it quite like that, he feels a bit guilty to think that he's selfishly only been thinking of himself- not necessarily Camelot and it’s future generations or even really the baby. He’s been too busy crying over the fears of being a father to, as Gwen had so wonderfully put it, this little miracle child that already had a fate far greater than the kings before him. He had sort of forgotten the man this baby was supposed to grow into and what that man would someday be- a king. To Camelot. The continuation of Arthur and Merlin and all they had and were meant to build together. A promised land for all- non magic and magic users alike to live peacefully under one reign. A reign as powerful as the Greatest Warlock to ever walk the Earth and as foretold as the Once and Future King themselves.

The guilt of what Merlin had originally told Gaius before anyone had come into the room weighs heavier in his stomach than anything before.

For the first time since this whole thing began, he feels ashamed.

The baby begins to fuss again. He’s squirming in his linen and his little face scrunches up before a tiny cry escapes his lips and Merlin knew his good luck would run out soon. Gwen is all over it, shushing the babe and cooing sweet things over and over again as she picks him up and cradles him in her arms. The baby is clearly still unhappy but being swaddled by someone comforting helps a little.

“Has he eaten?” Gwen asks, quite concerned and Merlin feels that shame again.

“No? I’m not really-… he didn’t exactly come with instructions. I'm not sure what to do other than find a wet nurse.”

Gwen looks exasperated, “Don’t worry. I was helping Hasina feed the twins before she was plentiful, I can help.”

Merlin frowns, clearly confused and Lancelot smacks him lightly on the shoulder, looking with fond concern as he mocks a gesture that appears like breastfeeding.

“How was I supposed to know?!”

All he gets is that look from Lance and Merlin gets it, he really does, he’s the clueless idiot here but give him a break, yeah? It’s not like he’s studied up on women feeding young children. Magic and Arthur is basically all he knows so forgive him for being a little out of the loop here.

Gwen gets right to it, taking a seat on the cot and undoing the lace at her shoulder. Merlin quickly looks away, appalled but trying to be as calm and collected as Lancelot is who’s watching him with amusement.

Gwen tilts her head at him though he can’t see it with his back turned, “Merlin don’t be such a child. It’s just a feeding.”

“Uh-huh,” Merlin mumbles and yes, he knows he’s being childish, but Gwen is one of his best friends and for some reason glancing at her so exposed just felt wrong.

Gwen coaxes the baby to latch and after a moment of gentle encouragement, he does. Gwen praises him, as if the little baby had done something really spectacular like walk or something. Her praises grab Merlin’s attention for a brief second but when he sees her feeding the baby so contently he awkwardly turns back around, ignoring Lancelot’s amusement as he passes by to walk up to Gaius who had taken a seat again a little bit aways, looking far too tired and worn for any of this but watching the child with a fond expression.

“I need to go find Arthur,” Merlin says and Gaius’s grin falls. He looks up at Merlin like he’s mad.

“And leave the baby here?”

“I can’t very well take him through the castle with me,” Merlin explains apologetically, “will you watch him? I won’t be long.”

“We’ll watch him,” Lancelot offers quietly from behind, having left Gwen to give her some privacy with the little babe while he gets his fill. He comes up behind Merlin with a hand gripping the warlock’s shoulder, a small yet comforting smile on his lips as he nods. “Don’t worry, we know what we’re doing.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Merlin admits, “but what about Maeve? Surely you have to get back to her soon.”

“She’s in good hands. Let us help you.”

Merlin bites back a sigh, not wanting to seem unappreciative of their help. They’ve only been here a few minutes and they’ve already done more for him then he could have ever hoped. But he didn’t want to be a burden, especially now where they were parents. Doting parents at that. They already had a newborn of their own and Merlin didn’t want to take them away from her.

Lancelot seems to notice his hesitation but mistakes it for something entirely different as the hand on his shoulder squeezes and his eyes soften, “how’s Arthur taking it?”

Merlin stiffens at that, chewing the inside of his cheek as he crosses his arms over his middle. The sting from earlier still lingers.

“He’s… I don’t know. It’s… hard, for him. It’s hard for both of us but it-.. it might be harder for him to take. He’s still getting used to the idea of magic and now he’s got a supposed child created by it. I need to talk to him, alone. Without the baby.”

Lancelot nods readily, his hand slipping down to pat Merlin between the shoulder blades encouragingly, “go. We’ve got the baby.”

Merlin finally grins, thankful, “thank you.”

He shares a quick glance with Gaius before looking back to where Gwen still sits, happily feeding the child who stares up at her like she’s his whole world. Her smile is as loving as when she’s looking at Maeve and for a moment Merlin feels a little choked up.

Before he goes, Gwen stops him.

“Merlin?”

“Yeah?” He replies at the door, meeting her gentle gaze from across the room.

“What is his name?”

Oh.

Merlin falters considerably, eyes wide as they dart from side to side and Gwen can’t help but scoff a bit.

“A child like this and he’s got no name?”

“I’m sorry if it wasn’t at the top of my priority list,” Merlin says sarcastically. He’s not even sure if the child is to be named or how to be named. Taliesin never mentioned one and neither did Freya. Was the naming of such a child really left up to him and Arthur? The only other things Merlin has ever named on his own was a dragon and a horse. The horse he got a lot of shit for since he had chosen the lousy name of simply, ‘Mare.’

Not his finest moment but creativity of such things wasn’t exactly his strong suit.

He ponders for a moment but the more he thinks the more pressure he begins to feel. This child wasn’t just any boy, he would someday, according to the prophecy, be a king. One who was destined for great things. He couldn’t exactly be called ‘Boy’ or ‘Baby’ for the rest of his life now could he?

In his haste and nervousness, Merlin ends up blurting out, “Tobi.”

Gwen’s face falls as well as Lanceot’s and even Gaius makes the effort to turn in his chair to look at his ward incredulously.

“Tobi?” Gwen repeats, the disdain clear on her face and weaved in her voice. Merlin shrugs. It was the first thing that came to mind. He once had rescued a little raven when he was a boy in Ealdor and had raised it from a fledgling to an adult with Will. They had fondly called the bird Tobi.

But he realizes this is clearly not the same thing. His son and a baby raven don’t exactly share much more in common other than being cute. And helpless. But again, he isn’t exactly creative when it comes to such tasks. Even with the raven, Will had named it.

He blushes, wishing he could take it back but he’s got bigger issues to deal with right now, the baby’s name can be refined later.

“It’s all I’ve got for right now, if you come up with anything better feel free. I gotta find Arthur.”

He’s out the door before they can say anymore.

+

Word spreads that the King and Court Sorcerer have arrived back to Camelot unharmed and in one piece faster than Arthur could make it to his chambers. He’s stopped multiple times by knights and other nobles alike but their questions of concern are quickly relinquished upon the very obvious sour mood the King appears to be in.

It never took a genius to spot the storm cloud that hung over Arthur’s head when he was in a mood and much like his father his stone-like, emotionless expression could clear a room faster than a plague. This reaction by most was habitual from the prior reign, Arthur hadn’t condemned anyone based on his bad mood alone in years. But old ways persisted out of fear alone and usually Arthur could feel a wave of remorse for it.

But at this moment he can’t be bothered to feel anything.

It’s a numbing sensation, like when Gaius applies one of his many balms for burns or rashes. Except the balm has been applied all over this time, it feels like, and despite his drawn brows and tight jaw Arthur isn’t angry. He wants to be, he presents to be, but the terrifying notion is that he isn’t.

But he feels he has every right to be.

Who were the gods or magic friends or whoever else Merlin apparently knew or had a connection with to have a right to meddle in his life like this? The dream he had had called the child a gift and so hadn’t that strange man in the caves but Arthur could’ve sworn gifts were meant to be wanted.

A pang of guilt shoots through his chest as he enters his chambers and lets the door shut heavily behind him. That seemed harsh and, the more he thinks about it, untrue. It’s not that the child is unwanted; after all he had rushed headlong into the Valley of the Fallen Kings for the baby. There was a pull factor there, something that had stirred his innards and tugged at his heartstrings until he found himself near the rock cradle. Little by little reality had seeped its way back in though, its long, dark claws gripping at his flesh and dragging him down until eventually Arthur found himself in a chasm of doubt.

Because how? How could this be? He understands with magic all things are possible. His own existence was one conceived by magic. And certainly Merlin’s very existence was entwined with magic. The gods were all powerful, he’d known this since he was a boy. So maybe it wasn’t necessarily how this child came to be but more of how he was supposed to be? Supposed to be prince, eventually king of Camelot.

Supposed to be his son…

And most importantly, why?

Gifts were usually given for events, maybe tokens of affection, but Arthur struggled to see how this child was either. He understood Camelot needed an heir and he clearly hadn’t made any steps towards getting one. Were the gods punishing him for not producing an heir sooner? No, that still didn’t make any sense. He was young, plenty young, younger than his father was when he had him. There was time, Arthur was sure of it.

But then again… maybe the gods knew.

Knew he had no real interest in any lady prospects that came knocking at his door, literally and figuratively. As he walks across his room his eyes find the still untouched pile of letters that gather upon his desk. They taunt him now more than ever.

He takes a shaky breath as another dreadful thought tests the waters in the forefront of his mind. What if the gods knew his affections had been lingering elsewhere? Somewhere they shouldn’t. Couldn’t. Because where his heart had been falling in the last few years wasn’t anywhere that could lead to a fruitful and protected Camelot. The thoughts that had been swirling in his mind as of late, around one person, one particular person, simply would not do for a man like himself. For a King.

He had been foolish to even toy with the idea, to put off any respectful partnerships in favor of harboring a love interest that could never be. He was stupid, utterly dimwitted. And now the gods were teaching him a lesson, surely.

Because what other reason was there?

Two men could not raise a child, especially a child as important as this one. The court would never accept it, the people of Camelot themselves may never accept it. An heir to the throne should come from a king and a queen, not a king and a sorcerer.

Arthur could never explain this fully, he would never have the words to assure his people when he couldn’t even assure himself. With his back pressed against the hardwood of his door he allows himself, in a moment of frustration, to knock the back of his head against the wood, his hands raking through his hair and tugging mercilessly as he drowns internally with thoughts of how, how, how and why, why, why

Suddenly, there’s a knock on his door. Three raps and only for a second does his heart skip a beat at the possibility of it being Merlin. But Merlin doesn’t knock, he barges, so the thought is quickly subdued as he turns around and pulls the door open to reveal George.

The servant is standing ramrod straight but his face falters at Arthur’s disheveled appearance. He gives the king a not so subtle once over, perhaps checking for injury, before he conceals himself again.

“What?” Arthur grits out, not meaning to sound harsh but forgive him for feeling a little off.

George doesn’t even blink, of course, “I’ve come to help prepare you for bed, Sire and forgive me, but make a request.”

That gets Arthur’s attention. George never asks for favors, he wouldn’t dare. While many servants had relaxed considerably under Arthur’s rule George still acted like he was a servant in Uther’s house. He rarely spoke out of turn, always did exactly what was expected of him and never attempted to make small talk- favors included.

“A request?” Arthur asks, clearly surprised, “what kind of request?”

It had to have been important. Arthur had been missing all day and his grumpy return no doubt has reached George’s ears. No, George wouldn’t ask for anything on a good day, for him to ask now…

George doesn’t skip a beat though he does suddenly appear less than sure of himself, “after I bring you your dinner,” he starts, almost emphasizing this point, “I was wondering if you’d be so gracious as to permit me the night and perhaps, at the least morning, of tomorrow off. I can arrange another servant for you.”

Arthur wants to know what realm he has stepped into that has him and Merlin having a son together and George requesting time off.

If he were alone he might’ve pinched himself.

“Time off?” Arthur repeats, his disbelief instantly mistaken for offense as George hurried to explain.

“I promise Sire never would I ever request such a thing under any other circumstances,” he rushes out, “but my wife, she’s-“

“Wife?” Arthur intercepts, disbelief once more apparent. What is going on? “You’re married?!”

George pauses to frown, “yes?”

“Since when?!”

“Last summer… Sire, you were there.”

Arthur reels back from the doorframe, pondering. He remembers a few servant ceremonies but he doesn’t quite remember seeing George at any of them.

“Sire?” George quips, voice tentative, “she’s in labor and I’d like to be there if possi-“

“Labor?!” Arthur cuts him off again. How many more revelations are there in one setting? “As in you’re going to be a father?”

“Yes,” George affirms and he seems a little peeved, surprisingly.

“Does anyone know this?”

“Yes,” George says again, “the whole castle knows.”

“I don’t think they do,” Arthur will not believe he’s the only resident, the king at that, that doesn’t know George, his servant, is having a baby. Merlin says he’s clueless when it comes to castle gossip, is this what he means?

“They do… Sire.” George tells him tiredly, “if you’d permit the time-“

“Y-yes,” the king replies quickly, “don’t worry about tonight. Or tomorrow. Take the week. I-… don’t worry about me. Be with your family.”

Arthur will put it in the books. George lights up like a candle and it’s the only time he’s ever seen the servant so lively. He thanks Arthur from the bottom of his heart, so overjoyed it brings a small smile to Arthur’s face as the servant hurried away to be with his apparent wife.

George married, and soon to be a father.

If he hadn’t heard it from George himself, Arthur would’ve never believed it.

As he shuts the door and aimlessly walks around his room he begins to think of George’s soon to be child. He can imagine a little George following his father around, a picture perfect servant just like his father only pint sized. Arthur thinks about the other children that have sprung up over the years. Elyan and Hasina’s twins- what a surprise. Gwaine and Leon’s little lads toddling around, Aeron was already such a dedicated child, wielding a wooden sword at his father and sometimes Arthur’s shins. And Gwaine’s boy was such a brute, Arthur knew Gwaine was in for his payback with that one. Percival was a doting father to a little girl he hadn’t been able to put down for weeks. And then of course Gwen and Lancelot’s daughter. Arthur saw the most of her but she was very tiny and so far he refused to hold her.

How could something so little be so terrifying?

He thinks of the baby he and Merlin had rescued from the caves as he sinks down into his chair, his eyes unseeing at the wall as he absentmindedly glides a hand across his stubble.

So little.

And yet so terrifying.

+

Arthur should start tallying all the miraculous things happening today.

The next set of knocks at the door is, in fact, Merlin. He knows this even if he can’t see him entering his room from his seat in his chair. Merlin never knocks, Arthur finds it stupid he even attempted. He comes in without Arthur saying anything anyways.

Arthur can hear him in the room, feet quiet yet the loudest thing in the whole chamber. The king hadn’t moved since George had left and he had no plans to. Not even when Merlin snakes around the back of his chair to appear in his peripheral vision.

“Arthur?” He questions quietly, as if Arthur is sleeping with his eyes open. The king gives him a brief glance but has to look away. He can’t really bear to see Merlin right now- not after everything that’s been revealed. But he also can’t help but feel ashamed and that shame is only magnified under Merlin’s gaze.

He also feels guilty at Merlin’s expression. The warlock looks so unsure, eyes wide and lips bitten. To see him like that just reminds Arthur of that little voice in the back of his mind that tells him he might be wrong.

It’s one of the rare times that Merlin clearly doesn’t know what to say. He keeps opening and closing his mouth and is fidgety on his feet. His palms are flattened together, rubbing and twisting and his eyes keep looking fleetingly back at the door.

Arthur breaks the uncomfortable silence.

“Did you know George is having a baby?”

It clearly wasn’t what Merlin thought he was going to say, “uh- what?”

“George,” Arthur repeats, sitting up in his chair, “his wife is in labor.”

“Oh, really? Right now?” Merlin looks around as if George will suddenly appear and confirm it. “She wasn’t due for another week.”

Arthur flashes him a hard stare, “you knew?”

“Of course,” Merlin tells him and the nerves seem to drain away for a moment, “everyone knew.”

“No,” Arthur replies huffily, arms crossed, “not everyone.”

“You knew, Arthur, I told you.”

“You did not!”

“I did too, you just never listen.”

For a moment, everything feels normal. Right. As if their whole lives weren’t turned upside down by the presence of a little babe somewhere in the castle. Merlin’s sass almost instantly ignites a warm, welcoming flame in the pit of his stomach and the corners of Arthur’s lips threaten to quiver upward.

“We need to talk.”

Four words that pour cold water on the flame and an icy wash of dread is placed in its wake.

He looks away.

There’s scraping of what sounds like a chair being dragged across the floor but Merlin hasn’t moved and Arthur can only assume he’s summoned the chair with magic. It’s a rarity for Merlin to use his power for such a mundane task even in these times where Arthur has not only permitted but encouraged him to do so. Merlin claims it’s out of habit. Arthur wondered if it really was because he was shy. There was always a bashfulness that overcame Merlin when he used magic so openly and without instinct. Arthur wasn’t sure if it was the years he spent hiding it that caused the blush on his cheeks or if it was the awe in the spectators that watched.

Arthur would never say it out loud, but he always enjoyed watching Merlin use magic more than the actual magic itself. A hundred others could marvel at Merlin’s magic but Arthur was the fool to marvel at Merlin.

The warlock takes a seat, just to Arthur’s right, and the king notices their knees are centimeters away from touching. Merlin leans in.

“Gwen and Lancelot know.”

That gets Arthur’s attention. A fleeting, sidelong glance before he’s back to staring pensively at the floor.

“Where is he?”

Merlin doesn’t need explanation, “with them. In Gaius’s.”

“Didn’t take them long to find out.”

Merlin blinks at him, “well it certainly didn’t help that you sent everyone to Gaius’s right off. And told them I wasn’t alone? What happened to keeping the baby a secret?”

“We never agreed to that. You said you’d sneak him around back.”

“People don’t usually sneak around unless they have something to hide- I didn’t think you were that dense.”

Arthur’s brows furrow as he plays with the ring on his right hand- something he usually only did when he was nervous or worried. Merlin took notice.

“Shut up, Merlin,” he mumbles but there’s no real malice behind it. It’s an automatic response and nothing more.

Merlin doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he leans in even closer, forcing himself to be in Arthur’s view whether the King wanted it or not, and says, “why won’t you look at me? I know this is a lot. But you can’t just ignore me- or the child. You can’t leave me alone with this. I need you.”

Arthur bristles in his chair, avoiding direct eye contact as he shakes his head.

Merlin grows impatient. “Arthur…. What are you thinking? I-… please?”

It’s such a desperate, pitiful attempt. Rarely does Merlin beg and the last time Arthur’s heard anything remotely similar was when he was dying in the warlock’s arms. Arthur can’t bear the look on Merlin’s face, he can only imagine and right now he feels he’s teetering. One look at Merlin may release whatever it is that he’s trying so desperately to keep inside.

But his lack of response causes a transition, one so drastic it nearly makes the king jump when Merlin bolts up from his seat, the chair scraping backwards before he’s slapped his hands on the arms of Arthur’s chair, trapping the King in a barrier and forcing him to lock eyes with the warlock.

“Don’t you dare shut me out,” He scolds and his usual docile, fair blue eyes are burning. “I’m the only one who could possibly understand what you’re feeling right now so don’t turn me away. I know you’re confused and afraid-“

“-M’ not afraid-“

“-I am too. That’s why you can’t just brush this all off to me and pretend neither I or the baby exists until you figure this out. I don’t know what to do, I need your help.”

Arthur finally looks at him, really looks at him, eyes narrowed, “you’re the Court Sorcerer aren’t you? All things magic are your problem. This is a magic problem.”

Merlin stands up abruptly, almost as though Arthur had pushed him away and maybe his words had had that effect.

“This isn’t just a magic problem, Arthur. That child is just as much a part of you as he is me and you can’t-“

“Don’t say that!” Arthur barks, standing from his chair and turning away from Merlin but before he can actually walk away the warlock has his arm in a vice-like grip.

“Why not? It’s true isn’t it? You had the same dream I had, you heard Taliesin just like I had. Don’t pretend your role in this is less than mine just because Magic’s involved.”

“What do you want me to say, Merlin? What do you want me to do?” Arthur wrenches his arm free before turning to the warlock to point an accusatory finger at him, “like it or not this is a magic problem and I appointed you Court Sorcerer to handle these things. I have no answers for you.”

“Horseshit,” Merlin exclaims and rarely does the warlock swear. It makes Arthur blink in surprise as he continues, “you made me Court Sorcerer because you’re afraid to deal with magic. Just like you’re afraid to deal with the baby. But you’re not the only one and quite frankly magic be damned, I don’t know what to do about this. I-I’m lost, I’ve never- I mean- If it weren’t for Gwen he’d still be hungry right now-“

“Good. You’ve got Gwen. See? You’re not alone.”

Merlin glares, “are you serious right now? Why are you being such a prat? I get you’re confused-“

“I’m more than just confused, Merlin,” Arthur says and his tone is as rigid as he is, “confused doesn’t even begin to cover it. I’m flabbergasted, I can’t wrap my head around this. I can’t see how this is going to work. Two men can’t raise a child, especially one that’s supposed to be King of Camelot. The people, the court, they won’t see him as the heir to the throne, they won’t accept him-“

“How do you know that?”

“Because I can’t even see him as such!”

It’s another rejection and Merlin feels it like a punch to the gut on the baby’s behalf. It’s such a harsh reality; a father not wanting his son and Merlin thinks back to his childhood in the days when he didn’t understand why his father was never around. At least, as he grew older and ultimately met his father, he learned to understand. It wasn’t personal, it wasn’t him, but it’s not like this for the baby. The baby who never asked to be born of magic to two of the most powerful and unfortunately idiotic men in the land. And yet he pays the price like he had. All because Arthur is choosing to not even want to try.

Merlin’s eyes grow stormy and his jaw tight as he unknowingly tells Arthur what Gaius had asked him earlier.

“Can’t or won’t?”

Arthur falters. His resolve melts but he doesn’t give in. He simply crosses his arms and looks away. A dismissal. Merlin feels like he could toss the king right out the window and not feel bad about it. He can’t remember the last time he was this angry with Arthur. This disappointed.

He turns to leave, stalking across the room angrily as he heads to the door. He grabs the handle, ready to storm out before he suddenly turns around, eyes glaring at Arthur’s back.

“This isn’t who I thought you were.”

Arthur’s shoulders are squared, hands now on his hips but at Merlin’s words his head tilts to the side just a little and even from all the way across the room Merlin can see the turmoil on what little of his face is shown.

“But I’ve been wrong before.”

And with that he’s gone.

+

Gwen and Lancelot stay well into the night, thank the gods. Upon his return back to Gaius’s chambers he’s barely keeping it together and his anger gets the better of him. It’s his first night as a father and he hates that he’s steaming with frustration.

He tells them everything, he’s too mad to even want to try to protect Arthur and the husband and wife duo listen while Gaius holds the baby who had fallen asleep after another feeding. Little baby Maeve is collected by Lancelot eventually while Gwen stays and listens to Merlin and the warlock thinks he’s never felt more ridiculous.

“You have every right to be hurt,” Gwen assured him, a gentle hand on his forearm as they sat at the little dining table. Her words are kind but they only make him feel more like a fool.

“I’m not hurt I just-…” he stops. Who’s he kidding? Of course he’s hurt. He’s hurt for the baby, for himself, he’s even hurt for Arthur. Despite everything said and done Merlin was too entwined with the king to not feel empathy for him along with his anger. He wishes he could make this easier for them both but the only way to do that would be to most likely give the child up and Merlin’s already decided he isn’t doing that. He feels guilty for even suggesting it before to Gaius.

Gwen, ever the optimist, tells him to just give Arthur some time, even if it’s unfair. It hasn’t even been a day. Perhaps tomorrow he would come around enough to at least have a rational discussion with Merlin.

Merlin is too tired to voice his doubt but his lack of argument says it all and Gwen can only offer a sad smile and a soothing hand to his bicep.

Lancelot comes back, a little bundle swaddled in a soft red and very much awake in his arms. There’s some soft whines emitting from the blankets, Lancelot shushing his daughter gently as they sway over to the table. Merlin can’t help a grin. Lancelot had fallen into the role of fatherhood almost too well. His face adorns the softest look, his smile so fond and loving.

It suited him.

Gwen takes her daughter from him, looking very much the same she had when she had seen the baby earlier. She greets little Maeve quietly.

“Hello my darling.”

The little girl coos, not so much unlike the baby, and Gwen tilts her daughter in her arms so the girl is facing Merlin. Her little, tan chubby cheeks are rosy red, her bow shaped lips parted and soft brown eyes, so much like her mother, wide with curiosity.

Merlin gives the baby a large smile and sits up in his chair to wave despite the girl being only a few days shy of a month.

“Say hi to your uncle Merlin,” Gwen giggles and Merlin’s cheeks pink as he scoffs lightly.

The little girl imitates what seems like an ‘o’ sound and Merlin replies back, “ooh.”

She wiggles in her mother’s arms and both he and Gwen laugh.

Lancelot speaks up, “she loves watching you Merlin.”

Merlin shrugs, “most do.”

Gwen smacks him playfully.

Gaius hobbles over then, the baby boy cradled in his arms before he nudges Merlin, “he woke up.”

Merlin doesn’t have much time to respond before Gaius is plopping the little bundle in his own arms. Merlin gathers the baby up the best he can, still very unsure. Gaius pats his shoulder encouragingly and Merlin catches the old man giving the child a smile he doesn’t think he’s ever quite seen before. Gaius pinches the baby’s chin softly before giving him space with Merlin.

The little boy is wide awake, much like Maeve, and his blue eyes are searching around, almost desperately, before they land on Merlin’s and the warlock feels a warmth in his chest. He reaches into the linen, a slender finger tracing the roundness of his cheek and the baby responds by batting his little lashes, seeming content by his father’s touch.

“Merlin,” Gwen nearly whispers, a giddy grin on her lips as she tilts her daughter up, “we have children together.”

Merlin chuckles. He supposes they do. Merlin adjusts the boy so he’s facing Maeve, the two babies staring at each other with the same, curious expression.

“Maeve,” Gwen begins, jostling her baby a bit, “meet Tobi.”

Merlin frowns, “what?”

“Tobi. That’s what you said his name was when you left.”

Merlin blushes, “oh right. I’ll come up with something better eventually.”

Lancelot nods, “good.”

The four adults and two infants spend the next few hours socializing, Gwen taking the time to gather some of Maeve’s stuff and gifting it to Merlin. She teaches him how to wrap the cloth around the baby’s lower half; Merlin hadn’t even thought of that. She teaches him to properly swaddle him, hold him, and rock him.

It’s a lot and Merlin appears very much overwhelmed before Gwen gives him his saving grace.

“I’ll take him tonight.”

Merlin frowns, “what?”

“He’ll need feedings throughout the night anyways. He can stay in Maeve’s chambers where Miriam and I can both take care of him.”

Merlin begins to shake his head, “I can’t ask that of you Gwen, you’ve already got your own baby to look after.”

Gwen squeezes his arm again, looking at him with pleading eyes, “I want to. Whatever happens between you and Arthur, I know this child will be great. It's an honor to care for him now. I want to help you.”

Merlin seems uncomfortable as he ponders it.

“How are you going to feed, Merlin? Surely even your magic has its boundaries.”

He blushes again but relents, “fine. If you’re sure.”

“I won’t be alone; like I said Miriam will help.”

Merlin nods and Lancelot steps up, offering to take the little boy from Merlin’s arms. He does so quite efficiently, such a professional, and clicks his tongue at the child playfully.

“Say goodnight to your papa?” Lancelot teases the baby and the words don’t catch up to Merlin right off until both Gwen and Lancelot look at him expectantly.

“Oh, gods, right. That’s me isn’t it.”

Lancelot nods and Merlin awkwardly waves at his…. son. This whole baby interaction was much more Lance and Gwen’s thing. He just feels like a fool.

“Goodnight… Tobi.”

The baby mewls, looking tired all over again as the husband and wife duo promise to take good care of him before they finally leave. It’s a weird feeling, Merlin thinks, as they take his son away from him and even though he knows with every fiber of his being that the baby is in good hands there’s a weird pang of worry that startled him in his core.

Gaius assured him it’s common with parenthood, that he’d get used to it and to relax and focus on getting himself taken care of so he’d be well rested for his son tomorrow.

It’s such an odd concept still and after Merlin’s eaten, freshened up, and finally gotten to his own bed does the events of the day bombard him again. He can’t stop thinking about the baby, about Arthur and what the future might hold for them. He realizes he doesn’t actually like being away from the child. He can’t believe he ever thought earlier he could entertain the idea of giving him up. And he hates that Arthur is being so stubborn, so cruel. He can only hope that destiny and the gods know what they're doing because Merlin’s never felt more lost.

He closes his eyes but, unsurprisingly, sleep evades him.

Chapter Text

Three days pass without a word from Arthur. Merlin tries not to think about it.

Fatherhood isn’t so bad once you get the hang of it, believe it or not. He and Gwen workout a routine. She does all the feeding and he basically does everything else. Which, really, isn’t much. All newborns tend to really do is eat, sleep, and make a mess. So when the little boy, jokingly called Tobi, isn’t eating, all Merlin really does is rock him to sleep. Or change his cloth which the warlock is learning to tolerate.

The baby and Maeve share Maeve’s nursery room that’s joined with Gwen and Lancelot’s and the wet nurse, Miriam, is a saint when it comes to relieving the burden of feeding two children for Gwen. Overall, it’s a busy yet somewhat manageable three days.

If only Arthur would come around.

Miriam is the first one out of the small group to learn the boy’s parentage and her reaction is similar to Gwen’s much to Merlin’s surprise. On day three, Gwaine gets told. To be fair, the tricky knight sort of, kind of figured it out. And by that, he merely assumed Merlin had had a wild one nighter and got a kid out of it- much like Gwaine’s own self. Merlin can’t bear the jokes or highly inappropriate teasing and ends up breaking down and telling Gwaine the truth.

Surprisingly, Gwaine is quite serious about it. He has no questions, no qualms, or jokes. Until Merlin tells him about Arthur.

Gwaine offers to go speak to the king himself, ‘set him straight’ as he says in his words but Merlin all but begs him not to. Arthur can’t be forced into this. It’s something he has to want and clearly, right now, he doesn’t.

By the end of day three, all of Arthur’s inner circle of confidants know. Leon, Percival, Elyan- even their lovers, and while they all seem surprised and perhaps befuddled by the revelation, none react in any way less than delighted. Much like Gwen, they see the baby as a miracle.

And the more Merlin hears it, sees the awe and hopefulness upon the faces of those who gawk and speak so gently to the baby, the more Merlin believes it too. He starts to find himself quite comfortable when it comes to caring for his son. The nervousness and uncertainty starts to fade with every gentle rocking and sweet spoken words between the two.

For Merlin, being a father starts to feel more and more like using magic. Instinctual.

It’s almost the daybreak of ‘Day Four No Arthur,’ and Merlin is sitting in the rocking chair by the window, his son in his arms as the baby fights to sleep. Maeve is still sleeping peacefully in her cradle. She’s such a good baby, Merlin thinks. Gwen said newborns have a hard time adjusting to sleeping outside the womb but Maeve will sleep pretty much anywhere, anytime. He looks down at the boy in his arms with raised brows.

“Wish you were like that,” he whispers to the baby who merely blinks at him, looking far from tired much unlike his father.

Merlin rocks steadily, hoping the motion will encourage the little baby’s eyelids to flutter shut like it’s done before but this little lad is a fighter. He will not budge.

Merlin smiles, despite himself, “I know you’re tired. You’ve been up for hours. You’ve eaten, you’re clean. What else is there for you to do but sleep?”

The baby’s little dust brows pull downward, almost in a scowl, and Merlin chuckles. He reminded him of Arthur looking like such a little grump.

“No attitude, young man,” Merlin teases. He can vaguely recall Gaius telling him something similar all those years back when he was barely a man and more of a child.

The blanket the baby is wrapped in starts to unravel around the child’s face as tiny fingers begin to peek through. The boy is restless, freeing himself from his confinement and Merlin sighs as he adjusts the swaddling. This child is set in his ways.

“You’re already a trouble maker,” Merlin scolds him gently but his eyes are soft and there’s a grin upon his lips, “what am I going to do with you?”

The babe coos and Merlin coos back, his pointer finger resting upon his cheek as he draws little circles over the pink, smooth skin. The boy’s expression softens, his little brows poking upwards and his lips parting before they tilt into a barely there smile. It’s his first, Merlin’s sure of it, and the sight of such a simple action causes the warlock to let out a silent gasp.

He didn’t even realize babies so young could smile. It’s gummy, small, and lasts perhaps only a second but Merlin saw it and he thinks he may just treasure it in his heart forever. He’s not sure if it’s the emotional turmoil of the past few days or that he’s running on very little sleep but he can feel his eyes sting as he chokes out a quiet laugh.

“You’re a good boy,” he tells the baby softly, stroking his cheek tenderly, “my boy.”

It’s then Merlin decides that if Arthur chooses not to want this then it’s his loss, not theirs.

+

Come day five, Merlin has made up his mind.

Gwen’s panic rises when she enters the babies’ room that morning to find only her daughter present. Her fear is subdued when Miriam appears, telling her Merlin had taken the boy earlier with him back to Gaius’s.

That’s odd- Merlin hasn’t taken the baby out of the room since they first brought him here.

She asks Miriam to tend to her daughter while she goes to check in on them and the maid agrees to readily.

Gaius’s chambers are empty when Gwen enters, having knocked and gotten no response. Merlin’s bedroom door is shut, another oddity, and as she approaches she can hear a muffled, one sided conversation from the other side of the door. She waits a moment, leaning in closer to get a better listen and a small smile is formed when she realizes it’s Merlin talking to his son. She gives the door a gentle knock.

The conversation stops before a soft, “come in,” is emitted. She enters to find Merlin at his bed, folding tunics and other articles of clothing around the baby who’s laid on the bed, propped up on one of Merlin’s pillows and watching his father intently.

Gwen’s smile falls when she notices the rucksack at Merlin’s feet, half full of clothes and other items alike.

“Merlin,” she breathes, taking a tentative step forward, “what are you doing?”

The warlock slowly lays down a tunic and takes a deep breath, “Gwen I… I was going to tell you but-“

“Merlin,” Gwen repeats, crossing the room and grasping his arms rather tightly, “what are you doing? What is all this?”

“I’m packing.”

“What on earth for?” But Merlin feels she already knows.

“I’m leaving,” Merlin says. He figures being blunt is the only option, there's no other way around this.

Gwen’s eyes are full of concern and her jaw hangs open a bit as she shakes her head, “no. Merlin that’s not- you can’t.”

“I have to,” Merlin tells her as he flips his hands to grasp hers in his, “I can’t let Tobi grow up here with Arthur ignoring him like this. It’s not right. I won’t let him be exposed to such rejection.”

“Does Arthur know?”

“No. I’ve only made up my mind this morning. But he doesn’t have to know. Clearly he doesn’t care about the baby.” He leaves the ‘or me’ unsaid but Gwen knows it’s there. Merlin and Arthur haven’t gone this long without talking or seeing each other in a long while and she wondered how much longer it would go before one of them cracked.

“Maybe you should tell him, talk to him again.”

“What good will that do? He’s made up his mind.” Merlin takes his hands back to continue packing, “he told me he can’t see the baby as his son so the people of Camelot wouldn’t either. I can’t change that.”

“But what about Camelot? And the prophecy? He’s the future king whether Arthur acknowledges it or not, what would happen if he’s taken away?” Gwen sounds frightened, obviously fearing a disruption in their two long years of peace would be catastrophic for everything they’ve achieved. But Merlin shakes his head.

“I have to do what’s right for the baby.” Merlin tells her, “he doesn’t deserve to be ignored by Arthur, living in the same castle. He’ll question his worth for the rest of his life if he stays. I don’t know about the prophecy or what will happen to Camelot but I won’t be far. I’m taking him to Ealdor.”

“Your mother’s?”

Merlin shrugs, “for a little while. I guess. Back before I ever came to Camelot it’s where I figured I’d raise a family, if I were going to.”

“But like you he’s meant for so much more. Ealdor is nice but what will he achieve living out there?”

Merlin stops packing, eyes glancing at the baby who’s reclined silently in the pillow, his blue eyes watching the two of them and chin tucked into his neck. When he sees Merlin looking at him he kicks his little legs excitedly, arms flailing and the warlock grins.

“I don’t care about any of that. I just want him to be happy. I’m sorry Gwen. I really am. You must understand it’s not how I want things to be.”

Gwen looks at the boy before back to Merlin and despite her fears a tentative smile tugs at her lips, “I… do. I just wish you didn’t feel like you have to go.”

“Me either.”

She surprises him with a hug then and Merlin stumbles a few steps back. He hugs back, surprise pushed to the side and the embrace makes him realize the severity of his decision.

He’s leaving Camelot and everything he’s worked for over the last ten plus years.

He’s leaving his family.

+

Arthur’s alone in his room at his own request.

He’s hardly left his chambers at all in the last five days and the rumor around the castle is that he and Merlin had gotten into a fight. Bickering amongst the two is not uncommon- in fact it’s a part of the norm around here and has been since the day Uther had made Merlin Arthur’s servant all those years back.

But this was different and everyone’s speculating what they were fighting about.

Arthur so far has avoided meetings with the court and villagers alike though he attended some briefings of dire matters. Other than that, the king has appeared to become a recluse since his return from his unplanned and tight lipped adventure a few days back and no ones done much to urge him otherwise. That was usually Merlin’s job after all.

George came back yesterday, glowing and beaming and telling the king his wife had given them a son. They named him Loic. Arthur thinks it’s fitting.

But other than that, Arthur’s been dismissive of his servant and George doesn’t push. Until today. George insists he must go to the training fields with his knights, like he always does, or the talk around the castle may grow into action.

Arthur doesn’t fight him much on it, he thinks getting outside and blowing off some steam would be good. So he has George help him armor up and then shoos him off to do the rest on his own.

Walking through the castle draws eyes on him he avoids. He doesn’t pass many people, most having tasks and duties to attend to, but the ones he does stare at him for perhaps a bit too long.

When he gets to the training fields, George is there wiping down his weapons for him. His knights are gathered off to one side, adjusting their straps and testing their swords. The murmur of their voices tells Arthur whatever they’re talking about they’re doing so quietly but it comes to an abrupt halt when they spot him approaching.

One look at their emotionless faces tells him all he needs to know and that’s that they know. Everything. Great.

There’s no cheery good mornings or even a ‘hello, Sire,’ from Leon. They just wait and stare. Except for Gwaine who’s glaring and Arthur narrows his eyes in return.

Best to get right to it then.

“Partner up,” he tells them in a low voice and waits for no response as he turns to find George. The servant’s euphoria from the birth of his son has been replaced by something steely thanks to the rather tense atmosphere. He dips as he presents Arthur’s training sword and the king barely even nods in thanks. He takes his sword, examining it for a moment before he turns back around.

Gwaine’s standing there, having been waiting patiently. His sword is at the ready and when Arthur glances around he realizes all others have paired off. Clearly Gwaine has chosen him.

“Have you warmed up?” Arthur asks and the knight nods.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

They find a spot a little ways from the rest and take their positions. It’s common knowledge to start out slow and methodical- to find a rhythm and pace before building up to any real forceful hits or attacks. And Arthur’s fully prepared to take the nice and steady path until Gwaine’s dull blade crashes into his, knocking the sword right from his grasp.

The weapon clatters to the grass and Arthur stumbles back, looking at Gwaine incredulously, “Gwaine!” He scolds but the knight doesn’t even flinch as he nods to the blade.

“Get your sword.”

It’s a demand if Arthur’s ever heard one and the sound of it instantly ignites a flame of frustration within. He glares at Gwaine as he swipes his sword from the ground, flexing it in his gloved hand before getting back into position. This time he’s ready.

Gwaine strikes again, far too hard for a warm up strike but not quite a blow. Arthur deflects it with matched force before taking a step forward to wield Gwaine’s sword towards the ground, leaving the knight’s midline open and jabbing it with his armored elbow.

Gwaine stumbles backward a few steps but isn’t deterred, rearing his sword up and landing another strike to Arthur’s- this time it’s a hard blow.

It escalates from there, the harsh sound of metal clashing with metal disrupts the rest of the field and the knights turn to watch their king and Gwaine go at it, seemingly with little to no restraints. Percival looks around nervously, ready to step in but Elyan stops him with an arm across his chest and a shake of the head.

They watch as the blows become brutal, almost feral like. Both opponents are growing winded but neither show any signs of yielding to the other. Tactics like poise and rhythm are tossed to the wind as both swordsmen begin to grow clumsy in their heated duel before finally Gwaine breaks. When he’s locked blades with Arthur he makes the uncharacteristic decision to strike at the king with the back of his gauntlet.

The cool metal is a harsh blow to Arthur’s left cheek and completely unexpected. He tumbles from the force of it, and perhaps from shock, as he falls to his backside. He instantly tastes blood from the inside of his mouth and reaches up to gingerly touch his lip. It’s also bleeding.

Never in Arthur’s life has a knight ever struck him in the face and when he looks up in disbelief at Gwaine the other man doesn’t even appear the slightest bit remorseful at all as he hisses down at him, “grow up, Arthur.”

Arthur’s not even sure what he’s more mad at- Gwaine striking him across the face or that fact that he had the nerve to make a comment about something he clearly knows nothing about. But none of it mattered as he soared to his feet and charged the bold knight around the waist, grappling him to the ground. It’s a clash of their armor mostly and they hit the grass with a hard thump but Gwaine wastes no time fighting for the upper hand. They wrestle and round on each other like madmen and Arthur manages a punch to Gwaine’s jaw before they’re surrounded and being hauled apart. Leon and Lancelot holding onto Arthur while Percival and Elyan take Gwaine.

With Leon and Lancelot’s restrictive hands on him, pulling him back, Arthur suddenly realizes how unkingly he must look but he’s not sure he really cares. He has half a mind to throw his gauntlet down at Gwaine’s feet or at the very least throw him in the dungeons. He’s not sure where the idiotic knight gets off thinking he can just strike his king in the face like that. But there’s a part of Arthur that tells him it’s wrong- Gwaine is only acting out on Merlin’s behalf no doubt and Arthur should probably be used to it by now. Punishing Gwaine wouldn’t take any of it back and there’s a tiny voice inside Arthur’s head whispering that he might’ve deserved it.

Gwaine’s still fuming in Percival and Elyan’s grasp, glaring daggers at Arthur as he attempts to fight off their hands. Arthur watches with labored breaths, his cheek feeling hot and swollen and a trickle of blood running down his chin. Gwaine’s sporting a mirror injury and Arthur thinks he should feel satisfied but something about it just makes him feel sick. He shrugs Lancelot and Leon off, snapping at them when they hesitate to do so.

“Let me go,” he growls, spitting bloody saliva at his feet as they release him. He sends one last heated glare to Gwaine before he grabs his sword and turns away, stalking off the field, “sessions are over. Get out of here.”

He can hear murmured voices behind him and it sounds like Percival encouraging Gwaine to let it go. It works, or Arthur thinks it does since there’s no sneak attack to his back, and when he glances over his shoulder he sees Gwaine retreating in the opposite direction, shoulders tense and fists balled.

George is dead quiet as Arthur tosses his sword to the table of weapons, the clattering noise causing the servant to flinch before he rushes over to undo some of Arthur’s straps.

“Would you like me to retrieve Gaius for you, Sire?” He asks tentatively. Arthur shakes his head. Gaius meant Merlin and Merlin was the last person he wanted to see right now.

“No. Just get this armor off of me.”

George does so as knights walk pass, their looks of confusion lingering as they try to make sense about what just happened. From their point of view, it looked like Gwaine and Arthur just randomly got into it for no apparent reason. If only they knew.

By the time George got most of his armor off the training fields were bare, minus a few stragglers off in the distance. All of Arthur’s best knights had dispersed except for Leon who appears in front of Arthur as the king sits on the weapon table, undoing his vambrace. Leon blocks the early morning sun which Arthur is momentarily grateful for cause the bright light was beginning to taunt the growing ache in his head.

He looks up at his first knight who offers him a cold cloth. He takes it begrudgingly and slaps it to his bruised cheek.

“Thanks.”

Leon gestures for George to give them some space and the servant doesn’t need any encouragement before he hurries off.

Once they’re alone, Leon takes a seat next to Arthur, their shoulders brushing at the close proximity and Arthur adjusts to give him some space.

Leon allows a moment of weighted silence to pass between them before he asks, “what the hell was that, Arthur?”

Arthur turns to him, incredulously, “you should be asking Gwaine. He hit me first.”

It sounds so childish, Arthur knows this, and so doesn’t Leon if his raised brows say anything about it.

“Gwaine can be hot headed. That’s expected. Why did you attack him?”

Arthur can’t believe he’s hearing this. And from Leon of all people. When they were younger, Leon would scold him regularly since he was so much older. He was always looking out for Arthur back when he was just the prince and a good few feet shorter than the rest. But once Arthur had grown into his position, Leon had been less disciplinary and more subordinate. It was a gradual shift but a shift nonetheless and hearing Leon speak to him now, with that look makes Arthur feel like he’s 12 all over again.

“Because-“ Arthur pauses, struggling to come up with any real purposeful excuse other than ‘he hit me first.’

He can’t and finishes with a pathetic sigh instead as he continues to hold the cloth to his face. Leon gives him a half smile.

“Arthur,” Leon says his name for the second time. It’s odd, he usually only ever refers to the king by formal titles. But it’s not unappreciated. “What is going on?”

Arthur scoffs, “don’t act like you don’t know. I’m sure the whole kingdom knows by now.”

“I want to hear it from you,” Leon urges gently. Arthur flicks his eyes to him, almost suspiciously, before looking away, spatting more blood to the ground as he does.

“To be honest with you… I’m not sure. One minute everything’s fine and well and then the next I’m…. well I’m.."

He can't even say it and that just adds to his frustration. Frustration with the whole situation, with Merlin, with himself. He can remember a time when he rarely found himself at a loss for words and lately it seemed to be the overall theme.

"What?" Leon encourages gently, "you're what?"

"...I'm supposed to be a father?"

It comes out like a question and Arthur shakes his head at his own words, as if hearing it all over again is even more ridiculous than before. He expects that if anyone would agree with him, it’d be Leon. He grew up under Uther’s reign and was taught how bad magic was just like Arthur had been. So the king is a little surprised when Leon asks,

“what’s so wrong with that?”

Arthur turns to him sharply, the cloth forgotten in his hands as his eyes bore into Leon’s almost accusatory. Leon throws his hands up in surrender.

“What? I’m being honest. How is that so different from any other man who becomes a father?”

“You can’t be serious,” Arthur deadpans, irritation laced in his words, “this is very different.”

“How so?”

“For starters, there’s magic-“

“When I was a boy,” Leon interrupts so quickly, Arthur wonders if he had been waiting for this moment, “I remember a barren queen one moment and then the birth of a prince the next.”

Arthur’s breath hitches as he stares at Leon unblinking. He never expected to hear his own birth thrown back in his face at the hands of one his best and most trusted knights.

“I didn’t know it was magic then, no one did. We all thought it was a miracle. And it was. A miracle brought onto us by magic.”

Arthur feels cold and warmed all at once. He’s at a loss for words. He’s thought of his own birth multiple times since he first learned about the baby but hearing it out loud is different, more profound, and the swirl of emotions in his stomach has him taking a shaky breath.

Leon places a hand on his shoulder, “I know how you feel.”

Arthur’s face screws up, looking at Leon so quickly the knight can’t help but chuckle. He nods in the other direction, his eyes softening and smile broad. Arthur follows his gaze to see Leon’s wife, Lady Elenor, walking across the training fields towards them, her hand holding that of their little son who toddles alongside her, his tiny wooden sword slashing out at the air beside him.

Leon continues, “how surprised I was when Elenor came back to Camelot to tell me I was a father. I almost didn’t believe her. Remember?”

Arthur smirks, watching little Aeron trip over his own feet, “yes. But there was no denying it. He looks just like you.”

Leon hums, waiting a moment before asking in a low voice, “remember how scared I was?”

Arthur’s smirk slips, “yes.”

“No one’s ever prepared, Arthur,” Leon tells him softly, the hand on his shoulder squeezing slightly, “I realize now how foolish it was but I was afraid of what people would say. A child out of wedlock… it was unbecoming of a knight. But no one shunned me for it. Not in these times. But-“

Leon’s cut off by the cheery cry of an excited toddler who calls out for his father. The boy lets go of his mother’s hand to race on unsteady legs towards Leon.

Leon hops off the table, ready to catch his son in his arms as the boy reaches for him, wooden sword forgotten in favor of his father’s embrace. Arthur watches quietly, lips tugging upwards as the little boy squeals in delight when Leon picks him up and tosses him in the air before holding him on his hip. The boy’s blonde curls bounce and his chubby cheeks seem forever carved with a grin as he stares at his father with such adoration.

“You fightin?” Aeron asks, his speech quite clear for his age but still garbled. Leon chuckles.

“Not this morning, I’m afraid.”

The boy frowns, “why?”

Leon shrugs, “too hot for the others. Why don’t we go practice your riding instead?”

Aeron perks up at that, nodding energetically and falling into his father’s chest, hugging him around his neck as Leon pats his back.

Elenor approaches them and greets Arthur respectfully, “My Lord.”

Her eyes catch his bruise and bloodied lip but she says nothing on it. “No training then?”

“Not today.” Leon tells her with a smile before he takes her hand, “we will spend the morning together instead.”

Elenor gives him a pretty smile in return and Leon places Aeron on the ground before nudging his shoulder gently.

“What do you say to King Arthur?”

The little boy puts his hands behind his back dutifully before addressing Arthur in a slurred speech, “mornin’ m’Lord.”

Arthur grins, “good morning, Sir Aeron.”

The boy is clearly not a knight yet. But it’s all he babbles about and being addressed as such by the king himself always has him beaming from ear to ear. This time is no different.

Elenor agrees to meet Leon at the stables and when she turns to leave Arthur gives Leon a playful push.

“Don’t worry about me, just go.”

Leon leans in, “I wasn’t finished.”

Arthur waits patiently, lips twisted in anticipation as Leon puts a hand on his shoulder again, “as I was saying… no one judged me Arthur. But even if they had, I know now I wouldn’t have changed a thing.” He pats the king’s armor, “I think you’ll find you won’t either.”

Leon steps away and as he does Arthur finds himself spluttering, “but-but.. A child, with Merlin, it’s- it’s-”

“It’s what?”

Arthur can’t find the words. How does Leon just not know? Is the whole thing not as absurd as Arthur thinks it is? Is he really the only one so floored by all this? Surely someone in this gods forsaken castle sees it the way he does…. Right?

Leon seems to read his mind, cocking his head to the side as he says, “you guys are basically already together, aren’t you?”

Arthur’s cheeks grow red for an entirely different reason than the injury to his face and Leon guffaws as Arthur attempts to deny it, “we are not! How could you-.. Why would you think that?”

“Poetry” Leon replies, shrugging as if it all made sense, eyes laughing and Arthur can’t seem to bring his jaw back up from his chest.

“What’s a child between the two of you at this point? Stranger things have happened.” With that Leon turns, hurrying to catch up to his little family as he leaves the king dumbfounded at his spot on the table, alone with his thoughts and the inner voice in Arthur’s head is growing louder as the whisper turns into a shout of, ’maybe you’re wrong.’

+

Arthur’s left alone for the rest of the day- not even George checks on him until the servant brings his dinner but even then their chit chat is short and to the point. Arthur spends his day and night between paperwork and deciding whether or not he should go find Merlin. He keeps thinking back to the fight he had with Gwaine and the conversation with Leon. He probably owes Gwaine an apology as well as Merlin, even if the knight did strike first. The more and more Arthur thinks about it the more he believes he really did deserve it. He was a prat for saying what he said to Merlin days ago and then leaving the warlock to figure everything out on his own. He thinks he, at the very least, could’ve tried to work with Merlin to figure out what to do rather than leave the whole situation up to him.

Before he goes to bed, he decides he’ll find Merlin in the morning and he tells himself that’ll probably mean seeing the baby again which has his heart fluttering in a way he tries to ignore.

The last couple nights have been relatively sleepless for Arthur but that night, as he lays his head on his pillow, sleep pulls him under like an unexpectant current. He’s thrusted into a dream-like realm, one not so unlike the dream he had nearly a week ago. This time, however, he’s alone in a room he recognizes as the nursery he had when he was a small child. He hadn’t seen the room in a long time, Uther insisted he grew up rather quickly and the room with all its childlike wonders had been dismantled and reassembled into one fit for a young prince. But he had never forgotten it as he took it in. He sees the wooden rocking horse in the corner he used to love, the toy swords on the floor along with wooden knights and horses, and the window is open, a sweet smelling summer breeze wafting through it and making the white curtains dance around the window sill. He feels a touch of nostalgia as he turns to gaze at every corner, every crevice of the room.

That’s when he sees her. A familiar woman sitting in the rocking chair off to the side. Her hair is long and blonde but done up in a beautifully crafted bun, her golden crown fitted perfectly amongst it. Her bejeweled gown twinkles and shimmers in the summer sun that shines through the window, making it look like she wears a thousand tiny stars as she rocks slowly, her arms cradling a bundle cloaked in white linen.

His mother. Ygraine. He hadn’t seen her since she appeared to him after Morgause had used her spell and even though he knew now it might’ve not actually been her, but he pretended otherwise. But this time, in this moment, dream or not, he knew in his heart this was his mother and the sight of her, looking so ethereal and happy, had him choking up.

She turns her head then, a delicate smile upon her lightly painted lips and her bright eyes light up as she sees him. ”Arthur,” she whispers, her voice like a gentle tune to his ears, ”come look.”

He doesn’t hesitate, crossing the room to her and once he’s within arms reach she reaches out to grasp his hand in hers. They’re warm, too warm for the dead, and it’s another reminder he’ll never have this. Not in the real world.

She squeezes his hand, smiling so proud as she looks back down at the little bundle in her arms and Arthur follows. That’s when he realizes. It isn’t him as a baby she’s holding but the baby he and Merlin had rescued from the caves. His breath stops short as he sees two, little blue eyes looking back at him, blinking owlishly yet looking so content in the arms of his mother. They’re staring at each other, neither breaking contact and Ygraine chuckles.

”He looks just like you,” she says giddily, ”how badly I wish I could’ve held you like this.”

Arthur swallows something hard. His mother’s fingers tighten around his as she gazes down at the baby so lovingly it hurts. A tear escapes down her cheek as she lets out a wet laugh, her body rocking as she tightens her arm around the babe. Arthur reaches out with his other hand to soothe her, embracing her in a sideways hug that she leans into.

”You’re going to be such a good father,” she tells him amongst her tears. She turns back to him then, blue eyes rimmed red as she eyes him pleadingly, ”don’t willingly let go of what I couldn’t have with you. You’ll forever regret it.”

His eyes are stinging but he does nothing to conceal his emotions as he looks down at the baby in her arms who’s fallen asleep between the two. His heart is breaking for reasons he can’t bear to think of as he nods swiftly.

”I won’t… I-I won’t, I promise.”

She nods, a sad smile on her face as she reaches out to cup his cheek, he realizes then her hand doesn’t hold the same warmth it had before. It’s growing colder and colder, biting his skin with a harsh reality he’s not ready to go back to and he reaches up to grab hold of her hand, pleading with her as she begins to fade in front of him. ”don’t go. Mother, don’t-”

She shushes him quietly, her cold lips pressing to his cheek and he squeezes his eyes shut to relish it, praying it won’t be just a dream and that when he opens them again she’ll still be there. With him, with the baby. He prays… and prays… and-

His eyes open but they are blurred with tears. There’s sunlight spilling into his room, telling him it’s daybreak. Reminding him he’s no longer dreaming. He sits up slowly, looking around the room but he knows it’s foolish. It was a dream. A vivid dream but a dream nonetheless. He wipes his tears with the back of his hand, pinching the bridge of the nose as he lowers his head in shame. He had had it all wrong. So wrong. But it all seemed clear now.

For the first time, in a long time, Arthur knew exactly what he had to do.

+

Incessant knocking at his door has Arthur sighing in irritation. It’s probably George and he hops on one foot as he finishes pulling his boot on. He calls out that he’ll be there in a moment but the knocking doesn’t stop. In fact, it becomes more like pounding and Arthur’s irritation grows more and more fierce before he rips the door open.

“I said I’d be right there!”

He’s taken back to not see George at his door but instead Guinevere. And boy, does she look mad.

“Guinevere?” Arthur questions, surprised and even more so as she marches into his chambers, the menacing energy rolling off her in waves and almost physically pushing him back as he makes way for her to come in. Not that he had a choice. She grabs his door, slamming it shut behind her, narrowed eyes never leaving him once.

“What is the matter with you, Arthur?”

It’s said in a way that tells Arthur she already knows- he’s an idiot. He puts his hands up in a form of surrender, hoping to calm her down.

“Look, I know why you’re here.”

“Do you?” She asks rhetorically, crossing her arms, “because if you did I would hope you wouldn’t still be standing here right now.”

That… doesn’t make a lot of sense to him but he continues anyways, “Guinevere, I’m going to see Merlin now. To talk this over.”

“It’s too late Arthur,” she tells him and the words make him stammer.

“What do you mean?”

“Merlin’s leaving. Because of you.”

“What? What do you mean leaving?”

“Exactly how it sounds. He’s leaving Camelot.” That can’t be true. Merlin would never leave Camelot, never leave Arthur.

“He can’t!”

“Well he seems to think he can. And he’s taking your son with him because you’re too full of yourself to think of anyone else. He doesn’t want the baby growing up being ignored by you. So he’s taking him to Ealdor.”

Arthur feels like the ground beneath his feet has opened up. This vaguely reminds him of the time Merlin told him he was going back home to defend his village and his mother. Arthur had understood until Merlin said he wouldn’t be coming back and the same dread weighs heavy now as it did then, if not worse.

He can’t let him go.

“No, he can’t. I have to stop him, when did he leave?”

Gwen glares at him, “he hasn’t. He’s still in Gaius’s, packing. But you better hurry. He wanted to leave yesterday but I convinced him to stay one more day.”

“Thank you, Guinevere,” Arthur tells her sincerely, squeezing her shoulders before hurrying past her. She turns to watch him go, her glare softening into something a little more hopeful.

Arthur’s rushing through the castle at a rather unbecoming pace. He’s not quite running but he’s certainly not walking and everyone he passes watches him go, a little panicked. The urgency radiating off him will no doubt start more rumors but he doesn’t care. He’s got to get to Merlin before the warlock takes off.

He can’t believe it’s come to this- that he’s forced Merlin to make this decision. The guilt is magnified now, swallowing him up and his heart is thumping so loudly in his chest he wonders if those he passes can hear it. By the time he gets to Gaius’s, he’s nearly out of breath. He bypasses knocking, pardon him, and swings the door open with more force than probably needed. The sound of the door hitting the wall jumps Gaius who’s standing in the middle of the room.

“My Lord?” Gaius asks as Arthur shuts the door behind and storms into the room, looking all around for Merlin but the chambers appear empty.

“Gaius?”

Gaius’s eyes look pitiful, “I’m sorry, Arthur. You just missed him.”

Arthur visibly deflates but he can’t dwell on it for long. He’ll chase Merlin all the way to Ealdor if he has to. He wastes no time as he turns back, planning to go ready his best mount and gallop off toward Ealdor but when he wrenches Gaius’s door open again he nearly collides with another figure.

Arthur stops up short, a silent gasp falling from his lips as he sees Merlin standing there, looking just as wide eyes as he is, holding the baby in wool blankets and with nothing else.

“Merlin!” Arthur says, relieved and nervous all at once. The warlock blinks.

“Arthur, what are you doing here?”

“I heard you were leaving, I came to stop you. But I.. I was coming before that. We need to talk.”

Merlin’s face falls guarded as he absentmindedly shields the baby away, “I think you said enough.”

“Please, Merlin,” Arthur pleads and he’s not sure if he’s ever sounded so desperate. “I know I don’t deserve it. I know that. But you gotta hear me out.”

Merlin’s never been one to deny Arthur much of anything and this is one of the few times he’s hated it. He adjusts the baby in his arms, Arthur notices the child is fast asleep, before nodding. “Fine.”

Gaius gives them some space, claiming he had some errands to run. He was far too eager to leave them to talk, obviously hoping it would result in Merlin staying. Merlin sets the baby down once more on Gaius’s cot, the little child whining briefly in his sleep but otherwise undisturbed. Arthur watches them closely, admiring the way Merlin’s mastered being so gentle yet so confident with such a tiny being as he shushes the babe quietly. Only once the baby is settled does Merlin join him at the table, taking a seat and shifting his chair so he’s got a good view of the baby. Arthur wonders how Merlin had gone from someone who hadn’t known how to carry an infant to this attentive and caring father in a matter of days. It makes Arthur feel some kind of way, if he’s being honest.

Merlin’s blue eyes find his and they are guarded and unsure as they bore into him. Arthur almost wants to squirm. Almost. Instead he scoots his chair closer, leaning forward on his knees as he entwines his own fingers together.

“I… may have made a mistake.”

“May? Arthur, I don’t have time for this. You either did or you didn’t.”

“I did, Merlin, alright? I did. Don’t… don’t interrupt, I have a lot I want to get out and you interrupting ruins my process of thinking-”

“Can’t ruin what you don’t have-”

“Merlin! I’m trying not to be a prat here,” Arthur sighs, his clasped hands touching his nose as he tries to gather himself, “I just- please. Hear me out.”

Merlin’s face softens, his arms uncrossing and his whole demeanor becomes more welcoming as he takes pity on the king. “I’m listening.”

Arthur blinks up at him, “I made a mistake. I really did. What I said was wrong. And not true. I have no excuse. I was.. Afraid… of what people would say or think, of being a father. It’s not like I had a great example, it’s terrifying to think about raising a child when you’re only reference if less than ideal.”

Merlin scoffs, “well at least you have a ‘what not to do’ to go by. I met my father and then he died. I’m not really sure what else a father is supposed to do.”

Arthur frowns, “that’s… alright, fair. But at least you have Gaius.”

Merlin nods, “Yes. But I fear becoming Gaius. If that baby is anywhere near the headache I’ve been for him…”

Arthur chuckles, nodding, “gods help you.”

Merlin smirks before Arthur corrects himself, “gods help us.”

The warlock’s smile fades as he avoids Arthur’s gaze, “I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this,” he tells the king softly, “it’s not fair to either of you if that's the case.”

Arthur’s quick to shake his head, “that’s not the case. I was a fool and I’m sorry. I want to be there. For you and for the baby. I’m so sorry, Merlin. I should’ve been there the moment we found him.”

“Yes, you should’ve,” Merlin agrees before a little grin breaks through, “you know how many clothes I’ve changed? Babies are messy.”

Arthur huffs out a laugh, “I can only imagine…. Can you forgive me?”

Merlin studies him closely, his eyes seeing through Arthur in a way the king feels no one else can. It’s an intense look, one Arthur should be used to but no matter how many times Merlin looks at him like that, it still feels like the first time. There’s so much unsaid in one little gaze yet Arthur hears it all and he remembers when it used to scare him, he had never had anyone look at him in such a way before. But now it sets him on fire, ignites a warmth somewhere deep within and he can’t find the words, he can hardly think at all, and his breathing feels like it’s caught in his chest and-

A warm hand covers his cheek and he blinks out of his stupor. Merlinhad leaned forward, his rough fingers running ever so gently along the bruise on Arthur’s face and his thumb prodding lightly at the swollen lip. Merlin’s gone physician on him, scrutinizing Arthur’s injury with concerned eyes.

“Is this what Gwaine did then?”

Arthur nods, his hand coming up to cover Merlin’s, “yes. I deserved it.”

Arthur watches as Merlin’s blue eyes are swallowed up by the most beautiful gold he’s ever seen and a tingling feeling tickles his cheek and lip. He lets out a barely there gasp, gripping Merlin’s hand just that much tighter as magic soothes his ache and as quickly as it happened it’s gone, Merlin’s familiar baby blues staring back at him once more. Arthur thinks he could watch them transform all day.

“Feel better?” Merlin asks but Arthur’s not sure how to answer that. He’s not thinking about the injury or even the magic. He’s not thinking at all.

Instead, in response, Arthur reaches out to grasp the back of Merlin’s head, pulling him in not necessarily quick but with enough momentum Merlin can’t think of a way out even if he wanted to. Their lips meet halfway and, for a moment, Arthur's sure time stopped. It’s a gentle caress of their mouths- nothing rushed or forceful or like anything Arthur’s ever experienced. It’s slow, methodic, and the sweetest thing Arthur thinks he’s ever tasted. For all Merlin’s struggles and hardships he’s had to suffer through alone for all those years, his lips are soft and supple, so unlike the calloused hand that grips Arthur’s cheek.

The kiss isn’t demanding yet Arthur can’t pull away. It’s so unlike kissing any woman and Arthur honestly feels like he’s having his first kiss all over again. Yet it’s a kiss he wishes to have for the rest of his life, if Merlin would allow it. He could sit here forever, he thinks, wanting more yet completely and utterly content with the simple press of Merlin’s lips but the warlock pulls away, just enough to leave a little room between their faces, their foreheads nearly knocking together as Merlin breathes, “of course I forgive you.”

Arthur kisses him again.

+

It turns out Arthur owed his good luck of catching Merlin at Gaius’s door to the white linen blanket the baby had first been found swaddled at the caves.

“He loves it,” Merlin explains to him as he demonstrates to Arthur how to wrap the baby up in it properly. They’re in Maeve’s nursery room again, though now it could probably be considered Maeve’s and the baby’s nursery, and Arthur’s watching Merlin intently, face amused.

“Who taught you this? Guinevere?”

Merlin hums, “what? Is it so crazy to think I might’ve already known?”

Arthur snorts, shaking his head, “not a chance. It took you years to learn how to properly fold my bedding and even in the end you were rubbish at it.”

“That was different,” Merlin insists, finishing up the baby’s swaddle as the child wiggles, his eyes glued to Merlin. “Isn’t that right, Tobi?”

Arthur turns to him so fast it’s almost comical, “excuse me?”