Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Merlin has to work for the third time in the last hour to keep his horse, Deorwine from spooking. “Wren, please mind the ponies. They are spooked by your wings!” He cries again, trying to convince his unruly child to calm her wild heart. But part of him is proud of her. Look at her- only just before a year old and flapping about and almost nearly fully flying! She isn’t as graceful as Aithusa was at her age. Not by a landshot- even with her wings as stunted as they'd been by being trapped in the well. 

Kilgharrah assured him at his last visit that it’s normal for Wyverns, which was what apparently the half dragon half human dragonlord young were called. Merlin had asked why they weren’t called something like ‘drumans’ and Kilgharrah had looked ready to murder his dragon lord on the spot if he were able to.  

Kilgharrah had explained to Merlin that Wren’s development wouldn’t entirely mirror a human’s nor a dragon’s. For example, she hasn’t yet spoken her first word at almost a year, but is flapping and soaring about for short distances on her winged arms and toddling as well. Though her toddling admittedly consists of a lot of hopping about on all fours. But it is done more gracefully and less awkwardly than a human would have managed due to the way her legs bend in a way more akin to a bird or a dragon than a human. Her scaled arms, back, and legs shimmer in the sunlight, a radiant deep and dark blue against pale white skin. Her mane of black curls reach around her neck and her draconic face. She wears a small tunic and pair of trousers that reach the backward knees of her dragon legs, much to the horror of some of the court. A princess in pants? Never mind the fact that she is a wyvern with the dragon hybrid body of an ancient Egyptian goddess. Pants on a girl are the outlier, sure. 

Wren gives a few hearty flaps, balancing herself where she perches on Saoirse in front of Arthur before allowing herself to slump backwards into him, wrapping her arms in such a way to blanket herself with her wings. Arthur places a steadying hand at her chest, preventing her from slipping off in either direction. Sometimes he wishes their daughter were a tad less fearless. 

“We’re almost home Wrenkalrenth. Feel free to sleep. Your father has you,” Arthur tells her and Merlin smiles seeing the two of them together, so tender. Wren snuggles back into Arthur’s embrace and they ride on. They’re returning from helping set up Sir Leon in his new holdings at the edges of Camelot. When Arthur was faced with the decision of who to appoint the newly vacant Lordship over Lord Bohun’s territory, he could think of no one else more trustworthy. Sir Leon’s been in Camelot’s knighthood longer than anyone, and it was an opportunity to give a Lord’s third son holdings in his own right. Sure Arthur hadn’t had to personally travel out to set him up himself, but he’d wanted to see a dear friend off. 

Merlin had wanted to go as well, but he couldn’t bring himself to visit the aftermath of… that place. But that was about six months ago. This visit, they were simply visiting a friend in his new home. And Wren had seemed oddly insistent to go along. But Sir (now Lord) Leon is one of her favorite uncles, so Merlin supposes that shouldn’t be so surprising. 

Merlin had been hesitant to visit, returning to… that place, but with time passed and changes made to the holdings itself following the decimation of that half of the building, it was actually healing. None of that castle looked the same as it once had and it felt right that even the place it had happened had been laid to rest and changed forever. Merlin had slept a bit more soundly that night, closure closer in reach. He has struggled with semi regular nightmares of his rape since. His rescue had been so swift that it often didn’t feel real that Lord Bohun was dead and gone at all, so fast he had burned in Kilgharrah’s fire. 

The thought of it sends a shiver up Merlin’s spine, but no more. No panic attack, no flashback. Just a shudder. Merlin relaxes. Great progress indeed. 

But apparently not enough for his fiancé. Arthur, riding beside him, doesn’t fail to take notice of the shudder. 

“Are you warm enough? It isn’t particularly cold out….”

“Quit your mother henning, prat. I’m fine.” Arthur raises a skeptical brow. 

“Alright Alright- I’m well, happy?” Arthur huffs in reluctant acceptance but a corner of a smile creeps his lips anyways. “Fine” has become a hated word in their family, as it’s one Merlin regularly uses when he isn’t really. So Arthur’s grown a strong distrust for the use of that word in particular. Still, Merlin understands and loves that he cares so much, even if Merlin isn’t wanting to deal with his demons at that moment. 

For right now he really is fine. He’s marrying the love of his life at the end of the month, his daughter is thriving and healthy, and all in his life feels bright and healthy and thriving for the first time in a while. It’s the happiest he’s been in some time. 

And at the thought, Merlin panics a little. Oh no. He’d had similar thoughts before becoming pregnant with Wrenkalrenth. Hmm, think depressing thoughts. Sick puppies. The plague. Oh Freya’s grave. 

Oh that one works, but fills Merlin with a bit of a feeling of guilt. When was the last time he visited her lake grave? He’ll have to plan a trip soon. 

Shaking his head from distracting thoughts, he looks up ahead at their castle. They’re home! Happiness immediately floods Merlin’s heart again and he has to summon the thoughts again. 

He loves Wrenkalrenth and he would maybe even love another child, but he doesn’t want to do that all over again so soon! Dead puppies. Plague. Arthur with the plague. Okay, happiness managed. He chuckles a bit to himself at his silliness. 

“Care to share with the class?”

Merlin chuckles more earnestly now, in anticipation for the face he knows Arthur’s going to make when he says:

“Dead puppies.”

“Dead puppies have you chuckling???” And Merlin bursts into laughter anew at the absolutely gobsmacked expression on his love’s face before promising to explain later. He doesn’t want to explain around young ears. Sure, the way he conceived Wren wasn’t… explicit in nature… but Merlin doesn’t want Wrenkalrenth growing up frightened of being happy. She won’t become dragonlord until after his passing and who’s to say if she’ll even have to worry about that herself. Perhaps Kilgharrah, Aithusa, and Wrenkalrenth are enough for the world. Or perhaps if/when Merlin has another Wyvern child that’ll be enough. The old religion will find it’s balance with dragonkind and its population somehow. Merlin just hopes it doesn’t require too much of his own body. Especially now that he really feels he’s reclaimed his bodily independence again with enough time since Wrenkalrenth’s birth.

More questions for Kilgharrah the next time they meet. Merlin feels a bit poorly that their relationship lately has mainly consisted of Merlin asking question after question about Wren’s development and biology, but he has no one else to ask. 

They arrive at the stables and Merlin hops off of his mount, patting Deorwine before allowing a servant to remove all of her gear and stable her. So odd how that used to be his job for everyone else and now he isn’t even doing his own horse. Merlin isn’t sure quite when that transition happened. The interruption in his duties during his pregnancy has certainly hastened the process. And his engagement to a King didn’t slow it down either. By all rights, he should be demanding breakfast in bed or being hand fed grapes or something stupid. But he’s still a simple person at heart, even if this simple person nowadays wears finer clothes than a year’s pay in his childhood. Hey, he’s allowed some luxuries.

He strides to Arthur’s horse and accepts a very sleepy Wren into his arms. She wraps her winged arms around his shoulders and the leathers of her wings fold around him like a tiny cape or a shawl. Merlin can feel the heat of them even through his own tunic and cloak. Wren buries her snout in Merlin’s collarbone as he carries her back through the castle, one hand on her steadily breathing back and one beneath her rump. Her tail swishes lazily and sleepily. She must be having a good dream. The thought sends a smile to Merlin’s lips. 

But she must be hungry and if Merlin doesn’t feed her now, she’s just going to be horrible cranky right before bed. Before Lord Leon finds them to greet them, Merlin finds a spot to duck away into- a small room or closet of some sort- and looses his tunic at the shoulder, unraveling it enough to tuck Wren’s snout inside. At the smell of him, she rouses a bit, latching onto him and suckling lazily. Merlin allows her to do so, slowly and stilted as she keeps falling asleep. He continues to gently jostle her until he’s content that she’s had enough. As he’s relatching his tunic at its shoulder, a shriek calls around the corner, or perhaps more of a gasped sputtering of air.

“Oh I- I- I am quite sorry Marvin is it?” a Lady with long flowing blond hair, half tied up in intricate braided buns and half spilling over her back and shoulders. Her skin is darkened like Gwen’s and her eyes a deep vibrant amber. Beautiful by any measure of the word. 

“Yes,” Merlin admits, hefting Wren up on his hip, her sleep head lolling over onto his shoulder, “I’d shake to make my acquaintance but my hands are quite full,” he checked nervously, standing. 

“Ah yes… with the… Princess? I’d presume?” Merlin is used to that tone of voice. Hesitant. Unsure. Wary. Wrenkalrenths unique visual appearance took some time for the members of court to get used to, and it’s likely more difficult for outsiders who’d likely heard exaggerated and outlandish tales of Camelot’s wyvern princess. But this woman isn’t outright rude. Perhaps mostly startled if anything. Ever the optimist, Merlin decided to trust her will is good. After all, she’s here in Leon’s home. Surely she must be a friend to him. 

“It’s lovely to meet you…”

“Lady Milanoui,” she says, bowing her head deeply in reverence to what she’s likely gathered is the future King’s consort. Merlin hasn’t quite heard a name of that cadence before. He wonders if she’s from a far off kingdom indeed. 

“I was just on my way to greet you all. I am a guest of Lord Leon. I am to be in attendance at meal this evening,” she explains, gesturing a hand to encourage Merlin to follow her. Which he does. She sways while she walks heavily and Merlin has to wonder if she’s working dutifully to conceal a limp, but he doesn’t pry. It must be his inner Gaius burning to know her diagnosis. If perhaps there’s a remedy that he could…

Before he can blink, it seems they’ve arrived in the main great hall where his beloved and Leon are grasping forearms and pulling each other into a fierce brothers in arms hug. Leon towers above even Arthur’s bulk, though Percival would trump the both of them. Merlin sometimes wonders how he got himself surrounded by so many giants among men. Ah yes. It had been from sassing off a teenaged Arthur years ago. It’s crazy to think how much his life has changed since that day so long ago. He smiles down at Wren at his hip in fondness. 

“Ah and this must be Wrenkalrenth! I almost did not recognize her with how much she has grown!” Leon booms with a sunshine radiating smile. He walks towards Merlin and his daughter with open arms for a hug but Merlin shushes him, slightly turning away. 

“You’ll wake her! She tired herself out something fierce on the travels here,” Merlin explains with an apologetic expression upon his face. Leon maintains some distance and lowers his volume, apologizing. 

“Apologies, I’m just excited to see you both. And you have met my wife, Lady Milanoui,” he gestures to the woman taking residence at his side. Merlin’s eyes widened in surprise, and then narrowed. Why had they not heard of their nuptials? Their engagement?! This is one of Arthur’s closest friends! And then why had she introduced herself as his guest and not his wife? Arthur sputters in a similar state of disbelief, but Merlin can see the hurt twinged expression behind his eyes. One of his best friends got married and didn’t bother to tell him?

“Well, not yet really,” Lady Milanoui says with a shy smile that clashes with the wild and bold coloring of her eyes,” we are merely engaged.” Leon scoffs loudly, a big smile splitting his face. 

“Merely!!! You say it as if I am a consolation prize!” 

“You know I did not mean it. And I did not know if you wanted to announce it yet. It only happened yesterday!” So that explains the introduction as a guest. Merlin can see Arthur’s tension bleed a bit hearing how recent the engagement was. Leon would not have had time to tell him. Would likely be planning to tonight as he just did. But it still doesn’t negate all of that feeling of light betrayal. Merlin moved to Arthur's side, placing himself with a radius of Arthur’s arms so he may put an arm around Merlin’s back to his opposite weight in support, nestling the sleeping wyvern between them. 

Arthur, catching himself and controlling his expression better, soothe his face and says in a cordial tone: “my apologies Lady Milanoui, I was simply surprised. I had not realized Lord Leon had found love so quickly. Let me be amongst the first to congratulate you on your upcoming nuptuals,” he takes one of her hands in his and kisses her knuckle. She chuckles, surprised, retreating her hand when it’s socially acceptable to do so and no later. 

“Thank you,” she says uncertainly. So perhaps where she is from, that is not a common custom? 

“Come! We have much to discuss!!!” Leon booms again, losing track of his volume once more. Wren shifts around at Merlin’s hip between him and his fiancé, whining in protest and the noise with her sensitive hearing. 

“I’ll put her to bed before we take up our sup. She is tired and needs to rest,” Arthur offers to Merlin before transferring the wyvern to his own arms, curling up her body in his arms protectively across his chest. Merlin’s heart warms at the sight. 

Merlin follows Leon and Milanoui to the feast hall as some of their servants finish taking their belongings from their party to the rooms they’ll be staying in, guiding Arthur to the way. Merlin can’t help but wonder if there’s more to Lady Milanoui than meets the eye. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 2: Curioser and Curioser

It doesn’t take long on their catching up upon Arthur’s return from settling Wrenkalrenth in bed guarded by their knights, to take to the conversation of Lady Milanoui. 

“And how did you meet?” Merlin dared to ask amongst the chatter. He does not miss the subtlest of a darting glance about the room Leon makes before answering, as if surveying who is in the room. It is only the four of them, some of the Camelot guards that attended their journey, and some of Lord Leon’s own guards he inherited with the estate. 

“It is a fascinating tale,” Lord Leon begins. But his tone seems somewhat rehearsed, perhaps only to those who might know him very well. Merlin shares a subtle sidelong look with Arthur who matches it. Okay so he is also onto these subtle changes in their friend. Merlin wonders if Arthur’s mind is immediately jumping to suspecting magic like the late king always did, but he knows even if Arthur does that he will be rational about it, waiting to gather proof and determine an actual solution. 

Merlin hopes it is not magic. He despises that others use it for evil so often. And besides some very small but odd changes in character, Lord Leon doesn’t seem mind controlled. This is nothing like when Uther fell in love with a troll or magic besotted Arthur to Princess Viviane. Lady Milanoui places a hand on Leon’s over the table, looking up at him. The structure of love is settled over her face but it is strained. She’s clearly hiding something as well. She removes her hand after a few seconds. Merlin cannot sense any magic outright, but depending on the method of enchantment it’s possible he may not. His eyes narrow slightly and he fights to keep a huff of smoke from exiting his nostrils. Ever since his pregnancy with Wrenkalrenth, he is much more innately in tune with his Dragonlord side. 

“I stumbled upon Lady Milanoui in the forests surrounding the estate. Dress torn in all places and hair askew. She was fleeing bandits and in need of protection. She’d traveled a long way from her homeland and was separated from her company in the mugging. You know how prevalent bandits are in my region, my King.” Okay now Merlin’s certain alarm bells must be flaring in Arthur’s mind. Since when has Sir Leon ever referred to Arthur so formally?

“It was quite frightening. I miss my family very dearly as well.” Lady Milanoui’s fear seems genuine but there seems to still be a glimmer of anxiety in her words. At the memory of it? Or perhaps she is lying? Merlin cannot tell. 

“But Merlin,” she says somewhat abruptly, turning her attention to him, “you are a gifted healer? A sorcerer? I wonder if perhaps you could-”

But Lord Leon coughs, covering up her sentence and barely-subtly forbidding her from finishing her sentence as he hands her a sweet meat. She sighs forlornly at it before taking a bite. Merlin scans the room. The only others present are still some Camelot guards and Leon’s own. Is he worried about spies? Arthur’s own hand resting atop Merlin’s on his thigh tightens. Merlin knows they’re thinking the same thing. They must get Lord Leon alone to speak. 

They finish supping somewhat awkwardly. Before they part, Lord Leon rises and grasps Lady Milanoui’s arm supportively, her own forearm braced atop his ending in clasped hands parallel to the floor in court fashion. She seems to be leaning on it as if for support and Merlin’s reminded of her odd gait he observed earlier. 

“I am sure you are rather tired from your journey. We must retire as well. It has been a trying several days since the Lady’s arrival to me and she must rest as well.” Days? It has been only days since Milanoui arrived and their engagement? Merlin tenses a bit with the new knowledge. All of this isn’t very like Leon. Even the delivery of such news as vague and cryptic as he’s been. Still, he forces himself to part to their guest chambers, Wrenkalrenth already slumbering away inside. They change into their bedclothes, and step away from the sleeping wyvern on the bed, standing quite a ways off to the side in the sitting area of the massive room, which is partially sectioned off by decorative folding panels. 

“Tell me you aren’t suspicious as hell of all of this,” Arthur hisses in a whisper, taking care to try and not rouse their daughter. 

“At least we’re on the same page. Do you think she’s trying to bewitch him for his riches?”

“Do you think that Merlin?” Arthur asks, in the habit of leaning heavily on Merlin for magic related advice. There’ve been times in his time as King when malevolent magic has come up and every time, Arthur does not want to be blind to it, but also fears jumping to wrong conclusions too quickly like Uther once did. Merlin assures him again and again: he is not his father. And then proceeds to help guide him the best he can. 

“I don’t know. I didn’t sense anything, but if external factors are at play like enchanted items or poultices, I might not. I don’t sense any magic from Milanoui herself, but she could be cloaking it somehow.”

“Do you not feel that rather reaching? Perhaps we are jumping to poor conclusions too quickly. Maybe he has found love suddenly and unexpectedly?”

“I hope so, but Arthur he called you my King. Something isn’t right here. Perhaps we should have left Wrenkalrenth at home.” Arthur startled at that, looking back to their sleeping daughter and back to Merlin. Instinctually, Merlin had been vastly overprotective of Wren. Kilgharrah had explained that was normal for dragonlords with their young. Perhaps particularly in this case with dragon kind’s population so low. They’d considered leaving Wrenkalrenth at home, but she’d insisted that she’d wanted to see her favorite uncle by chittering excitedly whenever his name came up in conversation. All while bouncing about pouncing back and fourth on all fours and then clumsily flapping until she momentarily gained balance on two legs before toddling a step and falling over, only for Merlin to catch her with his magic before she hit the ground entirely. It didn’t matter that she doesn’t really know Leon or have memories of him. He left for his holdings when she was too young. But apparently in bedtime stories Arthur tells her of his past adventures, the ones with Leon in them are often her favorite. 

“For you to suggest separating yourself from Wren…. Do you really think something that dangerous is at play here?” Arthur’s been helping Merlin with his overprotectiveness of his daughter. Merlin doesn’t want her to grow up unhealthily attached to him, but he can’t help the anxious knot that pulls in the out of his stomach when they are apart too long. His ability to send her off with Arthur to be put to bed earlier was quite a bit of progress compared to when she was first born. Especially when at first, Camelot’s court had no warmth for her inhumane body and odd conception. 

To this day, even though the court has greatly settled about her in daily life, many of the council members still try to ask Arthur if she is truly his. He has managed to be vague so far. Arthur explained to Merlin that part of what protects Wren is that many believe her to be his somehow. He fears she may be targeted if it’s widely known she isn’t. Merlin wonders if she’ll be a target for those that believe she is. But that could also just be his overprotective dragonlord heart talking. Merlin’s just glad that everything with Wrenkalrenth has distracted the court enough to stop pestering Arthur about finding a proper wife to scion heirs with. 

Suddenly, Arthur’s ducked across the room, retrieved his sword, and stood at the ready, sword pointed to…. A blank wall. If he had hackles, they’d be raised. 

“Arthur, what-” but then Merlin hears it too. A faint scratching coming from the empty wall. Then, a near invisible panel disguised by the mural on the wall creaks open. Before Arthur can shout the intruder to stay where they stand, a recognizable voice rings out. 

“Stand down, Arthur, it’s me,” Leon says. Merlin relaxes at the way he addresses him, more casual like usual. Lady Milanoui is not present.

“Leon, what’s-”

“Please, follow me to Lady Milanoui’s chambers. They’re connected via this secret passage. Feel free to bring my niece if you so wish. We have much to discuss.”

“But Leon, if she is bewitching you…” Arthur trails off, not finishing his sentence as Leon displays a level of humor in his eyes. 

“Come now, you’re not becoming Uther are you?” Arthur tenses at the light hearted tease; it strikes a personal insecurity Merlin’s sure Leon isn’t entirely privy too. Not in the way Merlin is. But after a moment, he relaxes. This is clearly Leon, uninfluenced by anything. 

Arthur and Merlin lock eyes before Merlin looks back at Wrenkalrenth, an expression of apology in his face when he looks back to Arthur, who surely knows Merlin isn’t going to be able to leave her, even though she’s safe in the room. 

“It’s perfectly alright, Merlin. Bring her with us. Just try not to wake her if you can help it. She’s awfully tired.” Merlin nods gratefully. He often worries his overprotection and clinginess to his daughter is grating on those around him, his beloved included. But Arthur adores her and never minds her presence. Most of the time actively encouraging it. 

Merlin crosses back to Wrenkalrenth, curled up in the sheets with a small section of it in her mouth. Suckling on it and kneading with little claws. Merlin’s heart aches at the sight. She’s painfully cute! Gently, he jostles her away from her entanglement of sheets and holds her close to his chest. She’s so warm. He wraps one of the blankets around the two of them like a cape to help keep her toasty. When she stirs a little, whining at being moved, Merlin shushes her, brushing a hand over her dark curls. She nestles into his neck and settles back into sleep with an annoyed huff. They follow Leon through the passage. 

“Apologies I could not speak so candidly earlier. I do not know which of my men I can trust freely. When I inherited this estate, I discovered a series of secret passageways through many of the guest chambers. This is truthfully not Milanoui’s chambers. Or rather what the rest of my staff believe to be. We will be unwatched here. It is meant to be uninhabited.” They pass through the other side of the tunnel into what must be Milanoui’s true rooms. 

“But why all the secrecy? Does someone plot against your union?” Arthur asks. They enter to find Milanoui seated at a table away from her bed. She wears drastically different clothing. Her arms and shoulders are bare as she wears a type of shift dress, but the fabric is not anything akin to sleep clothing. Arthur averts his eyes a bit. The style is immodest by Camelot standards for a woman. Merlin cannot help but notice that her skirts lay unevenly across her legs the way she is positioned.

“There is no union,” Leon states. 

“Please, man, tell us what is going on! We are quite confused,” Arthur implores. Merlin adjusts Wren against his chest, a hand at the back of her head and nods. 

“I know you have not yet become quite so acquainted, but may Milanoui tell her own story for once?” Well that was an interesting statement. Merlin doesn’t miss the fact that Leon’s been calling her Milanoui, not Lady Milanoui. Is she not noble? Is that a ruse? He thinks back to Lancelot and passing him off as noble to become a knight. Is this something similar?

Milanoui sighs, exhausted but seemingly grateful for Leon. Merlin notices the rings beneath her eyes. She looks exhausted indeed. Completely spent. How had she held herself together so well at dinner just earlier this eve?

“Might you listen, though I am a stranger and have had to lie to you since we met earlier today?” Merlin can sense her earnestness and apparently so can Arthur. Because they share a look of determination and nod. 

Chapter Text

“I hail from the northern African Continent in a Queendom called Praith,” Milanoui started, “I was… cursed… as a child and it has only grown as time has moved on.” Arthur doesn’t miss the pause in her sentence. He can’t help some burble of suspicion rising up in his mind because of it. “I traveled here towards Camelot because I’d heard a rumor of a most talented sorcerer and healer. That’s you, Merlin,” Milanoui pauses and looks to Merlin with awe in her tired eyes before continuing, “I was so close. I reached these forests on my journey, at the edge of Camelot, when I was discovered by bandits and taken against my will. I was…. not kept kindly… and eventually discovered that it was not bandits that I was held by, but Lord Bohun’s own men.”

The name sets Arthur’s jaw tight and he steps a hair closer to Merlin so that their shoulders touch in silent support. 

“I was held for quite a long time. I do not know how long. Days and weeks and perhaps more bled together for some time. It was only when Lord Leon,”

“Leon- just Leon please,” Leon offers, interrupting gently. 

“Yes. Well it was only when Leon took over these lands that he discovered me in the dungeons. There were other girls. I do not know where they were moved or why them but not I. But it was perhaps…. Because I was a favorite… among the men.” Merlin was going to be sick. Absolutely sick. 

“There was some sort of human trade going on here, to put it very lightly Arthur. When you appointed me Lord of these lands, I came to oversee reconstruction.”

“Somehow in the moving and demolition and rebuilding, the wall to my cell was torn down and in the confusion, I was able to scramble away. I did not make it far before my jailers caught up to me. But by that point, I’d luckily happened to stumble across Leon astride his horse on a ride. He saw me running from his own men, and thought quickly. I did not know what he meant at first. He told me to ‘play along’. He told his own men that he’s just discovered me and I’d told him I’d been running from bandits and ordered them to help him get me safety back to his castle.”

“Why would they…” Arthur starts, but Leon stops him to explain. 

“They did not know I saw them pursuing her. And they did not know I had discovered the secret trade. They could not contradict Milanoui’s ‘story’ I’d concocted without incriminating themselves. I have pretended she is my guest and a foreign lady since to keep her safe as I weed out which of my men were aware and involved in this trade and which were not. I know two of them, the ones who’d been pursuing Milanoui, and have been keeping a close eye on them. I’m hoping they’ll slip up and reveal some form of proof so I can sentence them. Alas, any proof has been mostly destroyed in reconstruction efforts which leads me to believe some of the men involved in those tasks are working to cover it up as well. I do not know how to track down. I figured by pretending we were betrothed, it could be a good excuse to take her to the capital with me to your upcoming nuptials at the end of the month and get her to safety with you all. And see if you can heal her, Merlin, as has been her goal all along.”

Arthur takes that in. That’s… a lot of information. He looks to Merlin to his right, clutching a sleeping Wrenkalrenth tight, his eyes furrowed in pain and worry and sorrow. Arthur’s heart crumbles at the sight. He’s been doing so well moving on from what happened here about a year ago. Arthur hopes desperately none of this will set him back. But it’s not like Arthur can stand down from helping Leon in this endeavor. Without knowing which of his men are trustworthy or not, he teeters a fine balance of power. They mustn’t learn he’s aware of their misdoings. And there’s no way he can pretend to want in on it. With Leon’s reputation and previous role as a knight of the round table, no one would believe him to be capable of being such a cad. 

“So will you aid me, Your Highness?” Milanoui’s voice is so desperately hopeful, it snaps Arthur from his scheming. 

“Terribly sorry, yes. Certainly, of course,” he says, shaking his head and bringing himself further into the present. A glance Merlin’s way shows him doing the opposite. There’s a glassy quality to his eyes that tells Arthur’s he’s slipping away from them where he stands. That won’t do. 

Arthur takes one of Merlin’s hands with both of his, softly encompassing it with a grounding squeeze. 

“Love, can you heal Milanoui to start?” Maybe if he gives Merlin something productive to do, it’ll help. It seems to do the trick. Merlin’s haze seems to lift a little and he clutches Wren closer upon his hip. She snuffles a little, annoyed at all the jostling while she’s trying to sleep. 

“Yes,” he shakes his head ever so slightly, banishing whatever thoughts had been clouding him over just now, “May I examine your leg my lady?” Merlin turns to Arthur, offering up their daughter who Arthur takes without question. Instead of holding her against a hip with her snout rested upon a shoulder, Arthur cradles her in his arms as if she were still freshly a newborn, letting her head curl up against his chest. She grabs a small fistful of his shirt with one winged claw, somehow tucking her other winged arm tight between her body and his. Raucous as she may be while awake, she’s the deepest sleeping babe Arthur’s ever known. 

Merlin crossed to Milanoui where she sits and with permission, raises Milanoui’s dress up her leg. Merlin doesn’t need to ask which one; the shape beneath her dress and the position she is sitting in makes it quite obvious. Arthur stiffens at the sight in sympathy for the pain it must be causing her. Beneath her dress, her leg is twisted in several paradoxical directions. It’s an amazement she’s been able to put any weight on it at all. It’s mottled with large expanses of greenish white rashing or bruising that sticks out starkly against her dark brown skin in an uncanny and unsettling manner. It reaches all the way up past her knee and looks like upper thigh, but Merlin does not raise the hem of her dress higher than that out of respect. At the unnatural bends of her legs, there are places where the flesh of her leg is bubbled outwards with growths like blown glass. Merlin touches her leg in several places with two fingers in locations. Arthur doesn’t quite know if there’s a medical rhyme or reason or if he’s just inspecting as a whole. He leaves knowledges of such matters to Merlin and Gaius. Arthur’s washed over with appreciation that amongst his duties as a servant and a sorcerer (sorcerer duties originally being secret and now known), that he was able to study under Gaius in the medicinal arts for so many years. Especially now with Gaius getting on in age, it’s important he be able to rest and with Merlin almost as knowledgeable as he is nowadays, Arthur feels they are in good hands.

Still, there’s something about that that strikes a thought within Arthur. Is it truly wise for so much medical knowledge to rest on the hands of one person for Camelot? There are other physicians, truly, but none as knowledgeable and practiced as Gaius and now Merlin.

Breaking Arthur from his thoughts, Merlin shakes his head with a sympathetic frown. “This may be a bit beyond my knowledge, my lady. I may need Gaius’ assistance. It may be best to stick with Leon’s original plan and get you to the castle. What cursed you? How long ago?” Milanoui immediately stiffens at the question and Arthur narrows his eyes. She’d glossed over that earlier too.

“I was very young. Perhaps eight or nine. Those with magic… they are not always treated with the most compassion. Here or elsewhere in the world.” Well that was vague. Arthur opens his mouth to protest- to demand elaboration, but Merlin stands, letting her dress fall back down and grabbing her hand in both of his in one smooth motion. Complete empathy oozes from his face, dripping and drowning in the emotion as he stares back into her startled eyes intently.

“I understand. But it isn’t like that in Camelot any longer! Arthur has made sure of it! Albion will be in the days to come, many Kingdoms united in peace and in magic!” He speaks with such manic excitement about this future. This future he believes in so steadfastly. In Arthur, who he believes in to bring it all about. Arthur swallows down a lump in his throat. He’s used to lofty expectations. Formerly from his father, still from the whole of Camelot, and even from his fiance. But Merlin doesn’t mean to burden him with hope, but to bolster him up to face it.

“We will ensure you make it to the castle, and Gaius and I will help you find a cure!” Milanoui blinks in surprise again, as if she expected to need to convince Merlin to help her. Arthur frowns again. It’s pretty widely known in Camelot: Merlin’s big heart and propensity to heal the sick for the sake of doing it. But looking back into Merlin’s eyes, so filled with sympathy for this woman who’s gone through some of the same strife Merlin has. Those eyes so filled with hope and determination to do something to help her, he can’t help but trust Merlin. He would know if she weren’t to be trusted. Wouldn’t he?

Chapter Text

Arthur wakes from slumber several mornings later with the worst stomachache known to man. Merlin must sense him curl in onto himself, or perhaps hear the pitiful little groan he makes when he does so, because suddenly, he’s curled up around Arthur’s back in bed, resting his head against his neck and rubbing soothing circles on his shoulder. From the other side of Merlin, Arthur can hear Wrenkalrenth yawn throatily in a very dragonlike manner, but with a very cute squeak at the end before settling back down amongst her blankets.

“Are you alright, Arthur?” Merlin’s voice is sleepy. So he must have just woken up then. Arthur hopes it wasn’t him to do so.

“Mm,” Arthur grunts in confirmation. Is he dying? Surely not. He’s been stabbed and survived. Surely this gut pain can’t be any worse than when- but then a tightness in his abdomen rolls around again and his muscles tense. Merlin reaches around to probe Arthur’s stomach, which doesn’t cause any change in the pain. If anything, the pressure is welcome. Arthur grabs Merlin’s wrist when he moves to leave, pressing his hand flat against his abs.

Merlin presses his hand flat against Arthur’s middle. Hmm. Has he gotten a bit softer in recent weeks? Merlin supposes his training regiment has had to take a bit of a backburner lately with all their planning for their wedding at the end of the month. And then their multi day horse trek to Lord Leon’s home. Merlin can’t help but appreciate his softness, even if he is usually fond of Arthur’s fit physique. And to an extent, his abdomen not feeling hard to his probing is a good thing. Arthur’s not randomly had his spleen explode in the night. Something he’s never actively worried about, but with Arthur’s luck it would just be like him to do something so stupid. Still, Merlin can’t help but worry what could be causing his presumed cramping, if his curled position is anything to go by. He spoons his fiance until his body un-tenses, the worst of the rolling cramps seeming to have passed.

“That’s better. How do you feel?”

“Mm. Fine,” Arthur shoos Merlin’s hand from his stomach, shifting to the edge of the bed to rise. He pulls a robe around his shoulders and ties it around himself. Hmm. He usually doesn’t bother with such a thing.

“My King. You wouldn’t happen to be self conscious about your glorious middle, would you?” Arthur’s cheeks and ears pinken beautifully in embarrassment.

“No….” He trails off, while tying the robe a bit tighter around his waist. A cheeky grin splits across Merlin’s face.

“Oh you are, aren’t you? That’s beautifully rich coming from you. You teased me endlessly when I was pregnant with Wrenkalrenth!” At the sound of her name, the Wyvern cracks her eyes open and pads across the bed, over Merlin’s body, and plops down against Merlin’s chest, looking up at him with sleepy hungry eyes.

“Ah, just a minute love,” Merlin agrees, turning and sitting up much to Wren’s dismay to situate himself for a morning feeding. Arthur crosses their guest quarters, popping a head outside momentarily to request to break their fast in their quarters. A guard trots off to retrieve them a tray, presumably of dates and cheeses.

“Request an extra meat tart or two?”

Arthur blushes again before admitting: “Perhaps. But they’re for you and Wrenkalrenth. Not for me.”

“Seeing as Wren won’t eat anything but milk and raw meat, I very much doubt either is for her.”

“Ah but you need extra fuel to feed her, so it’s for her indeed.” Merlin nods with a roll of his eyes, unlatching his shirt to enable Wrenkalrenth to situate herself. Her winged arms flap a little lazily as she balances herself on Merlin’s lap at his breast before Merlin scoops up underneath her rear, allowing her to curl into his arms. She folds her winged arms between her body and Merlin’s chest.

“Come here, prat,” Merlin beckons. Arthur returns to bed, still robed, and settles an arm around the back of Merlin’s shoulders. He rests his head against Arthur’s shoulders as they watch their daughter in bliss.

“Do you truly feel alright? It isn’t like you to wake up with stomach pain. And for you to admit to any type of pain, it must have been quite fierce.”

“I’m fine, Melin. Don’t be such a worrywart.”

“I’m not a worrywart. I’m a physician. It’s my job.”

“You’re a sorcerer, that’s your job.”

“I’m allowed to be a man of many talents,” Merlin shrugs. They laze about for a bit that morning, Merlin allowing his mind to drift a bit.

“What do you feel of Milanoui? Of bringing her back with us to the castle this week?”

“I will feel relieved to get her home with us. You’ve seen the way some of Leon’s men watch her when they think no one is looking.” And it was true. In their several days of visiting since Leon and Milanoui told them their tale, Arthur and Merlin had been paying attention to the men on Leon’s retainer. Many, while very subtle about it, shared looks with one another over or directed towards Milanoui, especially when she wasn’t looking. Merlin suspected they were more obvious about such manners in the absence of their presence. They’d tried to move about the castle quietly so as not to announce their approaching to catch them in the act and help Leon hone his suspicions on whom amongst his men were complicit in the past crimes of this estate. The plan was that after the wedding, Arthur would send an extra company of men back with Leon to ‘help protect against a particularly bad season of bandits in the forests’ as they travel. Trusted men who would be able to support Leon as he ferreted out the rats amongst him in his new estate and establish order that nothing like that would ever happen again in his territories. By then, Merlin and Arthur would be wed and Merlin would have helped Milanoui with her curse and cure and it will have been happy endings all around. Merlin finds himself smiling a bit like an idiot at the thought.

“You have that stupid look on your face,” Arthur points out.

“Hope is not stupid,” Merlin combats, flicking Arthur in his corded neck with a finger. He doesn’t flinch.

“Blind optimism can be. How do we know we can trust her?”

“Trust her with what? She is hardly in a state to betray us. She has no power or sway over any of Leon’s men. If anything, she’s particularly vulnerable in this situation. And besides, she has no motivation to harm us.”

“But what if she is magic?”

“The thought had crossed my mind. But I doubt it. I feel I’d be able to sense it. And Leon seems far from enchanted. He’s merely being the charitable and righteous person we know him to be. He’s simply doing what’s right and helping someone in need. Is that not the Camelot we know? Not the Albion we strive for?”

“You are right. But still, were you not wary of how dodgy she was when we were asking about her curse and its origin?”

Merlin pauses, considering that thought. It hadn’t slipped by him- her hesitation and vagueness when bringing it up. But he’d attributed that to trauma. Perhaps shyness around a stranger, especially one of Merlin’s caliber. She seemed rather flustered by his reputation as a powerful sorcerer and healer. He elaborates as much to Arthur.

“Don’t allow her flattery to butter you up too much.”

“Me? Buttered up? You only wish it were so. But alas, you would not be able to handle my ego if my head were so inflated. But I can leave that to you, you arrogant prat,” Merlin succeeds in teasing a smile out of Arthur’s worried features. He leans over and bends to Kiss Merlin a bit more soundly as he reclasps his shirt, Wrenkalrenth having finished and curling up on his lap, a small plume of smoke huffing out her nostrils in sleepy content. Arthur’s gaze drifts down to her and he winds a hand through her black mane, ruffling her hair affectionately with the motion. She leans into it and emits a small purring noise before following the pressure of the hand and stumbling over their legs into Arthur’s own lap instead.

“Do you ever think of more?”

“Children?” Merlin startles at the question.

“Mm. Yes.”

“Admittedly, often. That’s what that whole ‘dead puppies’ thing was about the other day, remember? While I would not be upset to discover we were expecting another, I’m not quite sure I’m ready for that yet.”

“Fair,” Arthur admits. They’d been toying around with the idea. More children. The light Wrenkalrenth has been in their life has already been so light, so beautiful. And the idea of her running and flapping about with another sibling? The imagining could bring tears to Arthur’s eyes; it would be so beautiful. Though they’d also been playing around with the idea of fully human children.

When they’d first gotten together and then through their engagement, they’d been operating under the assumption that Arthur would likely have to have children with another. With a woman. The thought left both of them uncomfortable, as Arthur didn’t want to be with anyone but Merlin, and Merlin felt the same, but it was the unfortunate duty of a King to produce princes. Heirs.

But following the surprise that was Wrenkalrenth and the physical changes that had brought to Merlin’s anatomy, they’d been wondering if human children would be a possibility between the two of them. To which Merlin had suggested they ‘fuck around and find out’, which they’d been doing. Lots of. But they had also been partaking in measures to protect against pregnancy, so it was mostly just flirtatious teasing on the manner. Merlin wasn’t ready to put his body through something like that again, and Arthur didn’t blame him in the slightest. They’d both decided to put Incmaia’s prophecy in the back of their brains and forget about it. If anything, she could have just been messing with them the same way she had when she’d told them they were expecting a male child. Just a prophet trying to keep them on their toes and guessing rather than clued in on the real future. And if they had four children as prophecy foretold? They’d love them all dearly. And if they didn’t? Then they had Wrenkalrenth and she would be their heir, no matter how Arthur’s council may abhor the idea. They had time to come around to the idea and no one had to go announcing that plan any time soon. It was lovely to just live as is.

There had been a particularly silly evening though they’d had together a month or so ago though that Arthur’s mind keeps drifting to….

He’d been teasing Merlin about his breasts and belly. Lovingly so, of course. Merlin could look as ugly as the troll his father had once been spelled under and Arthur would love him all the same. Not that he was ugly with his delectable curves. If anything, he was made all the more beautiful by them. Still, it was fun to tease, as is the nature of their love.

“You are particularly curvaceous this morning. Practically a woman entirely,” Arthur’d teased. Such musings were often welcomed by Merlin, but he’d decided to be contrite that morning, though the mood contrasted with the smile upon his face at the jesting.

“I’ll not have you forgetting my manhood, my King, which you rather tend to enjoy yourself.” Merlin had flirted back, pressing against Arthur in such a way to accentuate that manhood exactly. Arthur’d practically purred in delight, kissing him back deeply and wrapping his hands around Merlin’s rather feminine figure.

“I don’t know, are you not the one of us who fell pregnant? Such things could be easy to forget if I only focus on other areas of your…. Anatomy…” he teased, sliding a hand down between Merlin’s thighs and bypassing his hardened cock to a growing wetness there. Arthur smirked, smug, as he kissed a jokingly offended Merlin.

“Yes, but that wasn’t even of your own doing. You had virtually nothing to do with it!” Merlin laughed, kissing him in return, guiding his hand between his thighs, encouraging him to increase his speed. Arthur laughed in response as he continued, a glorious ringing noise to Merlin’s ears.

“I think I had some large part to play in the happiness and safety that led to Wrenkalrenth in the first place, no? And I rather like to think she has my eyes. It counts,” He kisses again. They’d long been teasing that while Arthur hadn’t mechanically had a part to play in Wrenkalrenth’s conception, that she must get those blue eyes from him, as Merlin’s were a deep brown. Though they knew it wasn’t how that worked, it was fun to jest. And they were nothing if not jesters with one another.

“Mm, if you’d like a larger part in the conception of the next one, that could be arranged.” And the words had barely registered with Arthur before he realized Merlin had pulled back and muttered something, his eyes glowing golden in the dim candled light of their chambers. Arthur had felt his body shift like a tide of warm water lapping up his skin, but continuing up his entire body and not ending at his ankles. In shock, he looked down and realized Merlin had shapeshifted him into the body of a woman.
“Merlin,” he shouted in surprise. Merlin laughed, embodying the mischief of a trickster god.

“What? If you like to claim my first child so much, I’d not be able to deny your claim to my second if you were the one to carry them,” Merlin licked and kissed up Arthur’s neck. The skin beneath his touch shuddered, the feel of his touch so different in Arthur’s changed form. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, but such a foreign one. And it was so bizarre for Merlin to be the largest of the two of them. Arthur was used to hulking over him and now he was slightly shorter it seems, though at this angle in their bed it would be hard to tell explicitly.

“I don’t think you could. I thought you were attracted to men,” Arthur argued just for the sake of arguing at this point as Merlin’s kisses started to trail lower on his body. Arthur gasped as his touch hooked on one of his nipples, a familiar feeling in a foreign body.

“Mm, but I love you first and foremost. And you are still a man, as am I, no?” but Arthur wasn’t able to respond as his mind started to get hazy with need as Merlin trailed lower and lower until his face was buried between Arthur’s thighs. Arthur arched, the warmth of Merlin’s tongue inside him entirely foreign a sensation and captivating all at once. He enjoyed it for a while until it was suddenly not enough.

“ Merlin, ” he cried, arching when the depress of his tongue was no longer enough for him.

“ Arthur ,” Merlin teased back with a low chuckle, “You have to use your words.” Arthur only mewled at him in frustration in return, but Merlin was cruel and wouldn’t cave so easely.

“Words. I know you learned them, however pigheaded and stubbornhearted you are.”

“More, my love,” Arthur whined as Merlin licked inside him again.

“That’ll suffice. But do tell me if you need me to stop, I don’t want to-” But Arthur cut Merlin off, hand grasped tightly on his wrist. 

“For the love of the gods Merlin, do as you’re told for once!” Arthur decreed and Merlin smiled obligingly.

“As you wish…” The sensation of Melin plunging deep into him had been different in that body than their usual lovemaking. Not better per say, but different and that variety made it all the richer. They’d spent that night passionately and longly, but at the end of it, Merlin had shifted Arthur’s body back to his proper self. It’d been fun to play for a while, but it wasn’t how he wanted to stay. And besides, he was a man. He couldn’t get pregnant if he shifted back right after. Could he?

The memory of that night came back to Arthur now and he grew quiet in thought as he lay in bed with his love and their daughter. He thought of his cramping just now not that long ago. He couldn’t…. No, that thought was preposterous. That body had been fun while it had lasted and they may one day revisit it, but he wasn’t a woman now. He had no womb to foster life within. But still they’d thought that of Merlin before Wrenkalrenth as well…

Arthur banished the thought from his mind. That wasn’t possible…. Was it?

Chapter Text

They were riding back to Camelot- Merlin, Arthur, Wrenkalrenth, Leon, Milanoui, and their outfit, when it began. And Arthur had no more chance of denying his suspicions. The third time they had to stop for Arthur to hastily dismount Saoirse, his horse, to empty his stomach, he knew his goose was cooked.

“Merlin,” he breathes, annoyance flooding into his tone. Merlin, unusually bashful and nervous behind him, pipes up in response. 

“Yes, my love?” Ooh Arthur knows that tone. He is certain Merlin’s of the same suspicions he is. He doesn’t want to have this conversation here. In front of Milanoi, Leon, and their men. Especially because they didn’t know for certain which of Leon’s men had been involved in the human trade and some of them had come along. It would have been suspicious if Leon had not opted to bring any of them alongside Merlin and Arthur’s own. Still, he’d chosen those he feels are the least likely to have been involved for one reason or another. He’ll continue to ferret out culprits and gain evidence with time. And Merlin and Arthur planned to send more of their trusted friends back with him after the wedding to continue the task. Merlin, selfless friend he was, had offered to postpone their wedding or their engagement to aid Leon in the endeavor. But he had insisted that as long as they helped Milanoui with her ailment and sent some of the round table back with him to weed out the criminals, they would be fine.

Once Arthur’s certain that the need to double over and vomit again has ceased, he straightens fully and shoots Merlin a murderous look. Merlin shrinks, a guilty smile crossing his face. Wrenkalrenth pounces on a bug at his feet, distracted and set on being a mighty little hunter, completely oblivious to the tension between her fathers.

“You said you’d changed me back!”

“I had!” Merlin defends with hands raised placatingly, immediately privy to the topic Arthur brings.

“Clearly not!”

“Perhaps not entirely…”

“Perhaps!?” Arthur sputters, pacing a bit. Leon, Milanoui, and their combined men look on in confusion.

“If you are ill do we need to-”

“Ah yes, I am ill. Sick of Merlin!” and this is the point where Arthur reaches back into Saoirse’s saddlebag and grabs a travel goblet to hurtle at Merlin’s head. Ahh just like old times.

“Sick. Of. Your. Stupid. Magic. And. Your. Stupid. Beautiful. Face.”

“Awe, you think I’m beautiful?” Merlin teases, a smile breaking out onto his face. He pauses long enough for a bit of staling bread from Arthur’s pack to hit him square on the forehead. It falls to the ground where it bounces off a little safety shield of Magic Merlin had cast around Wrenkalrenth to protect her from the initial hurled goblet, which she has since picked up and started nibbling on the shiny metal.

But once Arthur’s done with his tantrum, he plops down to the riverbank onto a mound of dirt with a sigh, placing his head in his hands. Wrenkalrenth scrambles over, abandoning her shiny treasure for her father. She warbles a bit in concern. Arthur lifts his head back up and smiles at her wanly. Merlin crosses to them both, an apologetic smile across his face.

“Really, I am sorry. I didn’t know-”

“I know you didn’t,” Arthur admits with a deep sigh. No denying his predicament any longer.

“You know I could probably… reverse it… if you don’t want to-”

“Absolutely not,” Arthur seethes, grabbing Merlin by the wrist.

“Don’t you dare.”

“Of course, love. I was merely offering if you’d wanted to.” And another sheepish smile warms onto Merlin’s facial features as Arthur sighs again and all stress floods from his own body. This is real. This is real. And terrifying. And not something he’d ever trained for or wished or thought was even possible. And it is life. The most intricate way he can experience it at its founding. And somehow, even with how big a surprise this is, he and Merlin find themselves on the same page: startlingly and internally thrilled somehow. Even though less than a few full sentences have been uttered since they’ve both fully realized their circumstance, they’ve fully boarded the journey to come together. Arthur can sense it in his bones. He often wonders often when they synchronize so innately with each other if that’s a magical ability of Merlin’s, or just the way their souls were meant for one another. Ugh it’s a good thing our wedding is so soon before I will be…. showing, he thinks.

“I’m sorry, you are not ill?” Milanoui asks, confused. And before Arthur can decide whether or not he wants to keep this news to himself for now, a voice answers her for him.

“Baby?” Arthur and Merlin freeze, staring down at Wrenkalrenth, who’s managed to scramble into Arthur’s lap and staring down at his stomach. She places an ear against his abdomen and chirps again in question before repeating herself. 

“Baby?” she stares up at Arthur with those striking blue eyes, gold flecks swirled around the iris.

“Were those her first-”

“Yes!” Merlin cries with joy! He scoops Wren into his arms and she flaps her winged arms in excitement as Merlin spins her about before reaching out an arm to help Arthur up. But Arthur is no invalid and he doesn’t need it. He swats away Merlin’s hand perhaps a bit too proudly and rises back up to his feet himself. Merlin chuckles at his stubbornheadedness.

“Wait, I am confused,” Leon admits, “you are pregnant Arthur? Not Merlin? I thought that was possible because Merlin is a dragonlord… Are… How?” Arthur blushes fiercely against his will.

“We’re not discussing that.”

“Ah…Well…. Congratulations then?” Arthur notices some form of expression flutter across Milanoui’s expression before seeming to flood away behind some form of defenses. Is she hiding her surprise for some reason? It is a surprising thing. Several of their party are standing slack jawed, though none of them say anything and several elbow each other to shut their gaping maws. This is their king and they shouldn’t show disrespect, however lenient their ruler may tend to be.

“Congratulations indeed. Thank you. Sorry, I just- I’ve only just learned of… and it’s a large adjustment to come to… er… understanding with,” Arthur stammers a bit, stroking his stubble of beard on his chin. Leon’s startlement melts away to joy for his friend and he steps forward to clap Arthur on the back heartily.

“Of course! Congratulations fully then! Tell me everything! Have you been planning this? Is it magic??” Leon grins widely ear to ear as they mount back up on their steeds.

“Magic, yes. Not planned, no,” Arthur concedes as they begin back on their way, deciding not to elaborate further in not so close company.

“And were those my niece’s first words just now?!?” Leon cries, directing his attention back to Arthur’s daughter. Arthur’s grateful. He is happy about this development on some level, he knows deep down, but there’s just so much surprise and bewilderment and confusion layered atop it that it’s hard to keep from spiraling a bit in the whirlwind. He’s grateful for the attention to be on someone else for once. And as it should be! He lets his mind reorient on the fact that his daughter just spoke her first words! Wrenkalrenth hops/flaps up onto Leon’s lap on his horse, starling the mare a bit in the process as she excitedly peeps up again.

“Baby! Baby!” She cries to Leon.

“Yes, little one,” Leon chuckles warmly, “You’re going to be a big sister!” Arthur smiles deeply at that, turning to stare into Merlin’s face. He’s surprised to find tears lining the edges of Merlin’s eyes, framing a smile matching his own. They stare at one another, no words between them, yet every emotion in harmony, the twin halves of their soul synchronized as always.

“Yes,” Merlin agrees, smiling dopily at Arthur.

“Shut up, you sap,” Arthur flinches as if to fling something at his fiance, but he doesn’t have anything to throw.

“As you wish, my liege,” Merlin mimes bowing, bending at the waist sarcastically atop his horse. The idiot. But Arthur’s all the same.