Chapter Text
••••••••••GUINEVERE••••••••••
Guinevere's life was perfect.
She had the most beautiful gowns in the kingdom, more precious jewellery than she knew that to do with, and a castle full of servants that were hers to command if she chose.
She had a place at the Round Table, and her opinions mattered - in a way that few women's opinions did.
And, most importantly, she was lucky enough to find herself married to Arthur Pendragon; her best friend, the King of Camelot.
Guinevere the Queen had everything which Gwen the Servant Girl would never even have permitted herself to dream of, back when her nights were spent in her father's smithy and her nightclothes were made of scratchy wool, not the finest silk in all of Albion.
Back then, she had looked up at her golden prince with the same awed reverence as all her peers, and had been content to serve in demure silence; loyal to a fault and instantly deferential to anyone whose rank commanded her respect.
These traits, incidentally, were what a lot of people attributed to her ability to serve Camelot and its King not as a fine handmaiden, but as a great Queen.
Holding this title, when at birth she had held nothing, and proving every day how capable she was as a co-ruler of the kingdom, Gwen was slowly making a difference. She knew this, saw the subtle changes in the ways in which servants were now being treated by their masters. And humble as she was, this was one of the few parts about her life which she allowed herself to revel in. She was making a difference, just by being Queen and being good at it, and she was content that this would be her legacy.
However, it was no secret that Guinevere was also hoping to leave Camelot a different kind of legacy; a far more substantial proof of her existence, and of her and Arthur's star-crossed romance.
Ever since she and her King had wed three years ago, Guinevere had dreamed of a child. A beautiful child with Arthur's smile and her eyes, and Arthur's nose and her hair; the picture in her mind was so clear that she could almost imagine it to be real.
But Gwen was not Morgana, and her dreams were not destined to come to pass.
During the three years that had passed since they had become man and wife, she had waited and she had hoped. And Arthur, too, had begun smiling more fondly at the children playing in the market square, and regarding her hopefully whenever he saw her hand stray towards her stomach.
Although he had been understandably preoccupied with his new and overwhelming responsibilities since taking the throne - often having to depart the castle to negotiate peace treaties with other kingdoms for weeks at a time, and spending most of his time when at home working to diplomatically move away from his father's ways - Arthur had kept up his visits to her chambers, too, even after the initial thrill of being newlyweds had passed.
When they had just been married, of course, Arthur and Gwen's individual chambers had been left unused, the pair spending every night together in their shared rooms. They had reveled in the freedom of finally being able to be together, and she still shivered at the memories of the ways in which Arthur had worshiped her body, unlocking new and unfathomable realms of pleasure within her.
But it quickly became apparent that Arthur's duties and routines required him to wake early and sleep late, and he had insisted that it would be easier on her, really, if he did not disturb her sleep by crawling in and out of bed with her at all hours. Plus, he had joked, poor Merlin never knew where to look when he arrived with breakfast in the mornings.
So, after it became apparent that Arthur was insistent on this act of chivalry, Gwen had acquiesced with a fond roll of her eyes. And while they had eventually moved most of their belongings into their individual private rooms, Arthur had promised to visit her in their joint chambers as often as he could.
Gwen did not subscribe to court gossip, especially not about such private matters as what happened between a husband and his wife in the bedchambers, so she did not know how often married couples would usually come together in this way, after three years of being together. But, even if she spent more nights than not missing the feel of holding her husband in her arms, Guinevere thought she and Arthur had a wonderful, comfortable bond - and she would not trade that for any amount of passion or excitement. And even during the months when Arthur only visited her bed a couple of times, Gwen never felt her love for him waver.
But still she was beginning to worry, because even if their couplings were not as frequent as a small part of her may secretly have wanted them to be, she knew how this was supposed to work. By all accounts, she should have found a quickening in her belly already within their first year of marriage. And with every moon cycle that passed, she grew more concerned when the quickening did not come.
Then, on one otherwise unremarkable day, Guinevere woke up in her bed (alone, of course) after yet another dream of holding a child in her arms. And as her hand fell automatically on her flat stomach like it had done every morning for the past several months, a strange feeling came over her.
Because, without being able to explain to herself how of why, in that moment she just knew that she was not able to bear Arthur a child.
Guinevere got out of bed, quite calmly, and went to Gaius's chambers - trying not to feel as if she were walking to the gallows.
A few hours later, it was with a grave expression that Gaius confirmed the heartbreaking news: that Guinevere could indeed not have children. But even as he patted her shoulder (a little awkwardly, but she appreciated the sentiment), Gwen did not cry - because really, she had suspected for a long time that she could not bear children, even if she had not let herself believe it until now.
If she had looked towards Merlin's room at that moment, she would have seen her old friend watching them silently, mournfully; standing frozen in the doorway after having unwittingly intruded on a very private moment and being unable to think of a way to make his escape without being noticed.
And had she watched him very closely, Guinevere would have noticed the myriad of conflicted emotions dancing across Merlin's face, as an old memory of a story he had once been told about another King and his barren Queen resurfaced in his mind, and the shadow of an idea began to form there.
••••••••••••••••••••
In an uncharacteristic act of selfishness, Guinevere did not tell Arthur about any of this, and she made Gaius promise that he wouldn't, either. She had never doubted her husband's love for her, but she worried that his duties – which were already keeping him from her for so many nights – would begin to take precedence over her completely, now that there was no longer the same shared goal between them of ensuring that the Pendragon line would live on after they were gone.
She also felt deeply, helplessly ashamed, as though she had let Arthur down on purpose. It was irrational, Gwen was level-headed enough to understand this, but it didn't make her self-loathing any less substantial. Arthur had married her, a lowly servant girl; he had defied his father and denied himself all the tactical advantages that would have come with marrying a noble woman, and for what?
Nothing, she thought bitterly. Less than nothing: the destruction of the Pendragon line, all because of her and her lowly, unworthy body.
This, she thought with growing despair, as the weeks grew into months and she found herself slipping further and further into apathy, more often than not denying Arthur's advances even when they did come, this is what they will remember me for. History would not record her as Guinevere, the baseborn Queen who flowered from withered earth and helped unite all the peoples of Albion, no, but rather as Gwen the peasant girl who selfishly ensnared the noble King and knowingly led his line into ruin.
Slowly but surely, Gwen began to truly hate herself. And noble and brave and dutiful to her King as she was, Gwen couldn't help but hate Arthur a little bit, too, for putting this burden on her; this pressure which her body was unable to live up to.
Guinevere lived in this bubble of numbing despair for a long time. Everything began to feel hopeless, pointless; talks of peace and the daily tasks of the knights lost their meaning for her, and she found herself drifting away from everything and everyone she had once taken pleasure from.
But then came the fateful day (which to her had been as ordinary and as despairing as any other), when Morgana sent a spy to Camelot to assassinate Arthur. Only, Merlin saved the King's life – with magic – and was promptly thrown in the dungeons.
And Gwen, who despite her own pain still instinctively put the suffering of those she loved above her own, had gone straight to Arthur's rooms to demand that Merlin at least be given a fair trial – only to find Merlin already there, sobbing into Arthur's shoulder that he should have told him sooner, would have, but he couldn't bear for Arthur to not trust him, couldn't bear for Arthur to think that he had ever meant him or Camelot any harm; that he couldn't help what he was, that he had only ever wanted to serve his King.
The two men had been too wrapped up in each other to even notice her arrival, and Gwen had watched unseen from the doorway as Arthur ran his hand hesitantly up and down Merlin's back and reassured him that he knew why Merlin had done it, that he understood, and that he only wished Merlin had trusted him with this sooner.
And Gwen had felt a deep kinship with Merlin at that moment, mixed with a by now familiar pang of bitterness that it was not her in Arthur's arms being promised forgiveness and loyalty and love, despite what she had come to consider as heinous of a crime against Camelot as sorcery.
••••••••••••••••••••
A month later, with very little fanfare, Merlin was appointed Court Sorcerer (much to the outrage of the members of Arthur's council who had sat in his father's court too - following which Arthur had politely informed them that they could shut up or leave, with the promise of Merlin making the door hit them in their backsides on their way out). And the very next day, her old friend came to visit Guinevere in her private chambers.
These days, Gwen was hardly seen at official events. She took her meals in her room, she usually begged ill if requested at the Round Table meetings, and visiting nobles often found themselves leaving disappointed, having not caught as much as a glimpse of the fair Queen they had heard so much about.
Arthur had noticed her behaviour of course, but had wrongly attributed it to an illness of the body rather than the mind. He would now come to her chambers in the evenings much more frequently than he ever did before, but only to sit and talk with her. Sometimes he would lie with his head in her lap as she stroked his hair and he told her of the goings-on at court, and other times he would just come and sit with her in silence, busying himself with maps and scrolls.
Staying with her, she knew, was meant to be a reminder of his unwavering love for and devotion to her, and showed how deeply worried he must be. And it only made her hate herself a little bit more, because how had she ever thought herself worthy of Arthur Pendragon?
Even after Gwen had called for him to enter, Merlin stayed in the doorway, smiling hesitantly at her. She found herself smiling back; it was not as warm as it once would have been, but it seemed to be enough encouragement for Merlin to move into the room, looking relieved.
"Gwen," he said, seeming shy and not at all like the man who had proudly, defiantly stood up last night at the Round Table and taken his place at Arthur's right-hand side, accepting his rightful place after all these years.
"Merlin," she replied, keeping her voice calm and pleasant, "to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"
It was a sad truth, Gwen reflected, that the appearance of Merlin in her chambers really was a rare occurrence these days. The two of them used to be so close, once – but ever since she had married Arthur and become Queen, Merlin had treated her differently, even though she had done her best to discourage him from doing so.
At the time it had bothered and confused her, because he never seemed to have a problem being familiar with Arthur, despite him always having been royalty. But over time she had come to regard it as just another one of the inevitable changes which her alleviated status had brought with it. Guinevere had few enough friends amongst the servants these days, and there were even fewer noblewomen who were willing to accept her as one of their own.
And that Merlin only came to her now, after his own status had been raised, too – when their positions at the Round Table was at the right and left hand of the King, respectively – did not go unnoticed by her. But Gwen was too polite and unassuming to say anything about it.
Merlin was still regarding her hesitantly but he moved closer to her still, coming to sit in the adjacent chair by the large window overlooking the forest and the far-off mountainside.
"We missed you today, My Lady," he said, in that soft, careful tone everyone had been using around her lately. "At the meeting."
Ah yes, there had been another Round Table meeting today. She had gone yesterday for Merlin's sake, of course, after Arthur had practically begged for her support when he was about to break down the last, most important part of what his father had stood for (and how could she deny her beloved King anything, especially now?), but watching all of Camelot's court regard her with such respect and adoration which she now knew she did not deserve had exhausted her, and it was not something she was anticipating doing again anytime soon.
"Yes, I was sorry to miss it," she said gracefully, "sadly I was feeling rather too unwell to leave my chambers today."
There was an unreadable expression in Merlin's eyes as he said, "You seem to be feeling unwell a lot these days, Gwen."
Gwen gave him a tight smile, which she hoped communicated her unwillingness to discuss the subject without her having to speak the dismissive words on the tip of her tongue.
But Merlin, being Merlin, of course didn't take the hint. "Will you not tell me what is ailing you, Guinevere?" he asked quietly, searching her eyes.
He looked so kind then, so open and trustworthy, and for a moment she let herself imagine what a relief it would be to finally tell someone, to have someone know, and maybe not even judge her that much. Because Merlin himself, after all, had been keeping a deep, painful secret for so long...
But no. She couldn't. No one could know the truth of her condition, or they would see her for the fraud she was. Gwen broke Merlin's gaze and turned her head slightly to regard the mountains in the distance, knowing that she was being rude now but no longer finding the energy to care.
"Gwen," came the sad, yet insistent voice, "please. Look at me."
And she did, of course she did, because it was Merlin, and they had been friends for too long for her to be able to shut him out now.
"I think..." and there was that hesitant tone of voice again, which despite herself had Gwen vaguely intrigued. "I think I know what has been on your mind, what it is that causes you so much distress. And I think... I think I can help."
••••••••••MERLIN••••••••••
Merlin had thought long and hard about his decision, and still he had hesitated before approaching Gwen.
He had felt his heart break for her, that morning in Gaius' chambers when he had heard her voice and come out of his room to greet her, only to find her sitting on the bed reserved for their patients with a shuttered expression on her face as the old physician conveyed the tragic news that he was not meant to hear.
And Merlin's heart had broken for Arthur, too, and maybe a little bit for himself. Guinevere could not bear Arthur a child. Not only did this mean that she would not be able to give Arthur the one thing which Merlin knew Arthur secretly wanted more than anything else in the world, but it also meant that everything which Merlin and his King had been destined to build together, whatever peace and prosperity they would bring to Albion, it would all end with them. Who knew what the next King or Queen would do with Camelot, once the Pendragon line had ended?
Merlin didn't even know who would take the throne, he realised, once Arthur and Gwen were gone. Morgana would certainly try, if she were still alive, but he was confident that Camelot's knights and subjects would never allow it – and that he would never allow her to tarnish Arthur's legacy.
He thought that some long-lost family members of Uther's would probably make themselves known, conveniently, after the Pendragon line was broken. He didn't really care. It wouldn't be Arthur; they wouldn't know Arthur or share his vision for a peaceful, united Albion, and their reign would once again lead Camelot astray. It was a crippling thought.
And as he grappled with this knowledge over the coming weeks, Merlin realised two things: one was that Guinevere had come to all the same conclusions that he had, and that the knowledge was destroying her. The second thing was that Arthur was being way too optimistic and cheerful, and could therefore have no idea of what his wife had learned.
If this had been the old Gwen, the servant girl who had been Merlin's friend and accomplice, who had stood beside him watching with poorly contained awe as Arthur moved with that unearthly grace that only the ruler of the kingdom could possess, then Merlin would not have hesitated in going to her, admitting what he knew and doing everything in his power to alleviate her misplaced guilt.
But this was Guinevere the Queen, Arthur's wife, who now moved with the same air of regality around her as her King, and Merlin was now left alone to watch both of them from afar. And so he hadn't approached her, because this Gwen was half a stranger to him, and he no longer felt like he was in a place to question or confront her with something as personal as this.
And even standing before her now, as Court Sorcerer, free to pose his solution to her without fear of retribution... Merlin still hesitated to broach the subject. Yes, Arthur had discovered and accepted his magic – a fact which Merlin almost couldn't let himself believe, but he knew it was true, because some part of him had always known that Arthur would react this way – and he was at Arthur's side where he belonged. But Gwen was still a Queen, and more importantly, she was Arthur's wife.
But his reservations had only kept him away for a day, because the knowledge that his old friend was hurting so deeply, that her suffering had gone on for so long and was causing Arthur so much worry and so many sleepless nights as well, was threatening to suffocate him. Especially because since the moment when he learned that Gwen couldn't bear children, Merlin had been quietly researching, reading, searching out whispers in the woods and, without even really realising what he was doing, begun to come up with a plan.
It was with this knowledge that he went to Gwen at last; when he was finally able to approach her and Arthur freely about matters involving his magic, and when he knew that his plan was substantial enough that there was a good chance that it would actually work.
"I heard you, that day, with Gaius," he confessed to her now, shameful but keeping his eyes level with her shocked ones, ignoring the flash of anger and betrayal he saw there. "I know that your body cannot give Arthur an heir, as much as you want it to," he said, and he felt his voice waver when Gwen's eyes filled with tears that began silently rolling down her cheeks as she stared at him in frozen panic. Like the deer she had once been, he mused distractedly. "But there is a way... Gwen, I think there is a way that I can help you, both of you. Help you give Arthur a child. With my magic."
And Merlin explained to her what he knew of Arthur's conception, what Nimueh had done to get the barren Ygraine with child and what he believed she had done wrong, why he believed that he could do the same for Arthur and Gwen now, without taking the same risks and making the same horrific sacrifice which Nimueh had done.
It was a testament to Gwen's lingering trust in her old friend that she did not stop him once, did not even question his plan – or maybe, Merlin thought with a pang of sympathy, she was just desperate enough not to care, not to even really listen past the point of, "help you give Arthur a child." Her eyes were shining with a fervent desperation he had never before seen on her usually so mild and collected face, but he thought it looked a little bit like hope, and chose to see it as an improvement.
••••••••••GUINEVERE••••••••••
Gwen was not surprised when Arthur came to her room that night – their evenings had become a safe, trusted routine that even in her diminished state she had come to look forward to. She knew it had been selfish of her, to come to expect this comfort from Arthur even when she was keeping such a hurtful secret from him, but in those hours when they would sit together and she would feel his love for her fill the room she had willed herself not to care.
She was, however, surprised when the first words out of his mouth were, "Merlin told me to come see you."
Of course, leave it to Merlin to be too eager to want to wait another moment, Gwen mused, but she was in too good spirits to let that put her off. She merely rolled her eyes fondly, a gesture which felt oddly foreign on her face after having been lost in despair for so long.
"Are you feeling better?" Arthur said hopefully, cautiously moving towards her as if she were a wild animal easily frightened away, and she felt her heart break a little as a fresh wave of guilt filled her – how much more pain had she caused him, letting herself slip further and further away from him? Still, this new guilt was easy to handle now that she knew what she could offer him. What Merlin had given her to offer.
Merlin had presented his plan to her, and while she knew that she honestly would not have hesitated in giving up her own life for her future child as Ygraine had done, Gwen also knew Merlin, and she knew that he would not have come to her without being sure that his plan would work. But Merlin had made one request, which he had presented as a non-negotiable factor before he would proceed: that she tell Arthur, tell him everything, because he would never go behind his King's back again like when he had hid his magic. And as much as she would rather have kept her own body's shortcomings from her husband forever, Gwen had acquiesced, because no price was too big to pay for Merlin's help.
Gwen smiled at Arthur then, and rose to meet him halfway, threading her hands through his hair and kissing him softly. Arthur wrapped his arms around her tentatively, staying cautious, careful.
"Yes, Arthur," she said, pulling away from him. "I am now."
And she told Arthur everything. From when she had first learned of her predicament (which had made Arthur sag down on the bed, his face a study of unhappiness, and Gwen had to keep telling herself that it was okay, that it would be okay, she just had to get through the story), to her own growing despair and guilt.
Arthur had taken her hands at that point, and she thought that just maybe he would have managed to love her anyway, even without Merlin's solution – but that didn't matter now, anyway, because she had finally reached Merlin's proposition.
As he listened to her relay Merlin's plan, a shadow crossed over Arthur's face, but he only nodded his understanding, ensuring her of his love for her and that he never wanted her to do anything she did not want to do, that he would need time to think about it, and that he wished she'd come to him with this sooner.
They stayed sitting together for a while longer, and Gwen had perhaps hoped that it might lead to something more this time, knowing what they now both knew – but suddenly Arthur was getting up, still looking vaguely distracted and murmuring about having things to do. But he kissed her hairline tenderly and told her once again how happy he was that she had confided in him at last, and that he hoped to see her the following day for a walk along the battlements.
When he left her, Gwen felt a little bit disappointed. She had expected more... joy, from Arthur, somehow, being assured that Camelot's future was ensured after all. But then again, Arthur hadn't been struggling with the same knowledge that she had for the past months, so she reasoned that he probably just needed some time to process and accept it all. She went to bed feeling lighter than she had in months, with a hand on her belly, full of the promise of the life that would soon be growing within.
••••••••••MERLIN••••••••••
When Arthur stormed into Merlin's new chambers, slamming the door shut behind him so loudly the whole castle must surely have heard, Merlin was not altogether surprised.
He merely looked up from the heavy tome he had been studying and steeled himself for the anger he knew was coming.
And sure enough, Arthur had him by his collar, slammed up against the wall so fast that Merlin wouldn't even have had time to utter a defensive spell if he had wanted to.
"What ideas," Arthur snarled into Merlin's face, his eyes stormy and inches from Merlin's own, "have you been filling my wife's head with, Merlin?"
Merlin, feeling a little dizzy from the motion and the close proximity of Arthur, merely kept his gaze steady as he looked into Arthur's dark blue eyes, trying to convey all of his trust and devotion. Arthur just needed a moment to remember this, what he himself had promised Merlin about mutual trust and friendship.
And Arthur did relent, after a few more seconds, loosening his hold on Merlin a little. And when Merlin saw his eyes soften minutely, he knew that nothing had changed between them after all. Arthur knew that Merlin would never hurt Gwen. He let out a relieved breath he didn't realise he'd been holding in.
"You spoke to Gwen." It wasn't a question.
Arthur's eyes narrowed at the mention of his wife's name, and he stepped back a few steps now, letting go of Merlin's collar completely and shifting his gaze, nodding once.
"This time it wasn't my secret to tell, Arthur," Merlin said quietly, staying where he was even though he wanted to follow Arthur, reach out and bridge that gap with softer, more reassuring touches. After so many years of being master and servant, he and Arthur were used to being up in each other's personal space, but at this particular moment he thought it best to keep his distance, as Arthur took in all of this (to him) new and unsettling information.
"This isn't about the secret, you idiot," Arthur grumbled, but there was no heat to his words. He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair and sitting down at the foot of Merlin's bed, looking so defeated that Merlin really wanted to do something then, lay a hand on his shoulder, or... something. He didn't really know how this whole thing worked, touching-wise, now that it wasn't his job to dress the King anymore. And even though he'd never admit it out loud, he found himself strangely lost without the comfort of that routine.
"I know," Merlin said instead, leaning back against the wall. Arthur's eyes shot up to meet his again, and the pain reflected there was evident, heartbreaking. "Look, Arthur..."
Arthur shook his head, raising his hand and Merlin clamped up at once. "Under no circumstances are you to lay a hand on Gwen, do you understand? It is too dangerous."
This surprised Merlin. "What? Arthur, I already told Gwen, I can help-"
"No!" Arthur's face was still pained, but the tone was commanding, every bit the King now. "I will not risk Gwen's life, Merlin, you must know this." Only the hint of a plea in Arthur's voice gave him away.
"I know," Merlin said again. And then he did move closer to Arthur, slowly, and Arthur steadily followed his progress across the room as Merlin came to stand in front of him, looking down at his friend. "And you know that I would never do anything that would put Gwen at risk either. But... this, what I can do? You know that my powers are nothing like Nimueh's." He paused, but Arthur only continued to look up at him brokenly, saying nothing. After a moment, Merlin added quietly, "don't you trust me?"
Of course that was a low blow, Merlin knew this, and by the way Arthur's eyes narrowed he knew it too. But he only nodded again, if a little grudgingly.
"Gwen explained it to you, didn't she?" Another nod, and Arthur was pouting now, which Merlin knew to take as a good sign, showing that he was seeing sense even if he would never admit it. "What Nimueh did, with your mother..." he ignored Arthur's look, because the time had long passed for Merlin to need to check himself in front of his King and they both knew it. "It was dark magic. Nimueh created life where there was nothing, out of nothing. That life, your life, it was never meant to exist. You know it's true. There was an imbalance then, an imbalance which needed to be restored, and it cost your mother her life."
Arthur knew all of this already of course, the truth of his birth having been a painful but necessary revelation after Arthur had learned of Merlin's magic. But still Merlin saw the unguarded expression of pain which stole over Arthur's features, and more than ever he felt the desire to just reach out, just this once, and it was so strong that he found the need to close his eyes for a moment to escape Arthur's intense gaze. And he hoped that Arthur would take Merlin's expression for one of shared pain at his friend's suffering.
When he felt Arthur's hand covering his own, Merlin opened his eyes to find Arthur's gaze softer but no less pained, and he allowed himself to pretend for a moment that they were talking about something very different.
"My mother died, Merlin," Arthur whispered after a beat, breaking the moment. And Merlin smiled sadly, letting his hand slip out of the other man's.
"Yes, she did. But Gwen won't." It was a promise. Merlin was no longer a scared child unsure of his powers, not after everything he had been through.
"How can you be so sure?" And that was really the crux of the issue, Merlin realised. Arthur trusted him so implicitly, with his life, with everything, of that there could be no doubt anymore. But as much as he had tried to, ever since finding out about it a month ago, Arthur still did not completely understand Merlin's magic – whatever he would tell anyone who dared to question him about it. And how could he, after having lived in ignorance of it for all his life and only ever seeing it bring death and corruption, before Merlin had entered his life?
"Because I am not creating this child out of nothing, Arthur," Merlin said, and if his smile was a little sad, then so be it. "There is a love between you and Gwen which never could be between Uther and Ygraine-"
"My mother and father loved each other," Arthur interrupted, the defensive words coming almost automatically.
"Yes, they did," Merlin assured Arthur, "as much as any lucky couple brought together by politics but finding themselves growing fond of each other ever could. But you and Gwen... you are something else. You defied everything you had ever been taught for her, Arthur, your bond was forged despite all reason and convention, not because of it. And that makes it stronger than any magic. I see it in your eyes, every day. And nothing less will work for this spell."
Arthur was watching him so intently now, so completely focused on him, an odd expression on his face. And Merlin had to swallow and take another deep breath before continuing. "Even with the love of Ygraine in his heart... Uther still strayed, Arthur, and that was their undoing. Your life was formed by magic alone, whereas the life I will help you create with Gwen... in the case of a love so strong, there is life already there, within you both, waiting and wishing with all that you are to be joined. All it needs is a little push, but it is the love between you which will create it, in the end, not magic."
Arthur kept his eyes trained on Merlin, his face displaying a mix of growing conviction and something else which Merlin couldn't identify. "It is true, I have never loved another woman," Arthur said finally, slowly, looking at Merlin closely as if trying to judge his reaction. "And Guinevere... well, I fully believe that I am the only man alive whom she truly loves. Now." He shot Merlin a significant look.
Merlin shook his head, dismissing what he believed must be Arthur's worry about Gwen's feelings for Lancelot. "The past is not important, if your hearts are true to each other now."
When Arthur still looked a tiny bit uncertain, even as Merlin knew that he was convinced that Guinevere was not in any danger, Merlin crouched down in front of his King, tentatively placing his hands on Arthur's in a gesture of intimacy which he would never normally risk - but knowing that Arthur needed his complete assurance at that moment. "This will work, Arthur. This spell only works with the truest of loves, and I know that this is what you and Gwen have. I have seen your love for her grow since the moment I met you. This will work."
Arthur visibly swallowed then, glancing down at their joined hands before looking deep into Merlin's eyes. "And if it doesn't? If our love... if it's not enough?"
Merlin shrugged. "It is."
"Merlin."
"Fine. In the recorded instances where a child has not been created from the spell, no harm has come to the mother. Nor the spell-caster," he added with a fond grin, already seeing the question form on Arthur's lips.
After a moment, Arthur tightened his grip on Merlin's hands, and nodded. "I trust you, Merlin."
Merlin's grin widened then, and Arthur only hesitated a second before returning it, as they both began to take in the reality of what they were going to be setting out to do. Ensuring that the Pendragon line would endure, and that all their work would not end with their own deaths. The knowledge made Merlin feel so infinitely small, yet he thought he finally understood his own importance, his destiny and why it was tied to Arthur's.
And it felt a lot like happiness, sitting there with his hands still clasped with Arthur's and knowing that his friend trusted him with something as important as this.
••••••••••GUINEVERE••••••••••
Ever since speaking to Merlin, Gwen had found herself in never-wavering good spirits, even as she learned that Merlin would need time to prepare the ritual, that everything needed to be just right. All that was only helping seal her certainty that this would work, and that she and Arthur would be parents soon. That knowledge stayed with her in every waking moment, her constant companion.
Her nights were filled with dreams of holding her future child in her arms, and Arthur had begun coming to her again, too, whispering about the future they would soon create together as he moved in her; of the love they shared which would create a brand new life. Assuring her over and over again of his devotion to her and his affection, and how much he would love this child, too.
Even if Gwen found his need to constantly remind her of his love for her a little too insistent, she allowed him all of it and more, reaffirming her own affections for him as well as they lost themselves in the slow, comfortable movements of lovemaking.
She found that with the promise of a child resting between them so prominently, so certainly, she had never wanted her husband as much as now, and so she could hardly blame him for feeling that same way about her, too – awed at the power of the love they shared and all it could do, even if that awe perhaps overshadowed the simple act of just loving each other.
She was sure that her abrupt change in mood and behaviour did not go unnoticed by the court, but if anyone noticed, they wisely kept it to themselves. Only Gaius, whom she had been purposefully avoiding even when he had tried to approach her about the true reason for her feigned illness, seemed suspicious of her sudden cheer. She did not realise until he cornered her after a banquet one night and questioned her that he knew nothing of Merlin's plan; that he had been assuming that her good mood had been a front for an even deeper sense of despair, and had been worried that she was thinking of harming herself.
But Gwen had done her best to assure him that she had simply chosen to be optimistic, that she was not above believing in miracles and that she would continue to pray to the gods and ask them to grant her what she so desired. Gaius looked like he wanted to protest – ever the man of science that he was – but thankfully he did not. And as Gwen walked away, she imagined his face when he next examined her to find her with child, and allowed herself a small, private grin.
When she received the summons to Merlin's chambers, and arrived to find Arthur already there, an overwhelming sense of happiness overtook her. She didn't need to see the hope in Arthur's eyes, or the confidence in Merlin's; she knew it without a doubt, every fibre of her being buzzing with anticipation: it was time.
••••••••••MERLIN••••••••••
Merlin had never been so certain of anything in his life.
Not only was he absolutely confident that he would not make Nimueh's mistake, that he was incapable, in fact, of the kind of dark magic which she had forced upon Uther and his wife all those years ago, but he could also feel it, deep within his bones: there was a love here in this room, so true, so complete, and so unlike anything that he knew anyone had a right to expect in life. He'd felt it the moment when Arthur entered the room after Merlin had made everything ready; so all-consuming that he almost staggered, as the magic he had already pored into the circle he had created responded to the power of it. This love would be enough.
And when Gwen had entered the room a little later, that force he had felt had only increased, as the life force that wasn't yet there stirred within the fabric of the universe, straining to be released. Merlin knew without a shadow of a doubt at that moment that he was unbalancing nothing; that a love like this existed for the purpose of creating life, and that he was merely righting a wrong, not upsetting the natural order of anything.
He told himself that this was why he had not consulted Gaius about this. Gaius wouldn't understand, because Gaius didn't feel what he felt. Gaius had been around to see it all fall apart so spectacularly the first time, and he would not be able to understand that this was so very different. And Merlin didn't need Gaius' permission anymore, anyway. He was the Court Sorcerer, Arthur had entrusted him with all affairs of magic, and for the first time in his life Merlin knew without a doubt that he knew best. It wasn't arrogance, no; it was simply acceptance of the fate he had fought against for so long. He was finally accepting that he was so much more than just Merlin: he was Emrys, and he was everything which he had been prophesied to be.
For so long, Merlin had believed that he had been put on this earth to protect Arthur, to ensure that Arthur would live to see Albion united and the world righted again after all the wrongs which Uther had done. But ever since hearing of Guinevere's plight, he had begun to understand his true purpose: yes, to stand at Arthur's side as Arthur fulfilled his destiny – but all that they would do together would mean nothing if not for this child, this legacy which would keep their work going beyond their own passing. This child was his and Arthur's true destiny. And Gwen's, Merlin remembered suddenly, briefly wondering why he'd had to remind himself of her presence in the first place. Wasn't that why he had fought so hard for Arthur and Gwen to be together, because he'd felt the first stirrings of the life that was to be created from them, even then? Yes, of course, that must have been it. Gwen and Arthur would have the child which would have been denied them if not for Merlin. The three of them would set the future right, together.
He took both Gwen and Arthur's hands in his own, and once again felt that inevitable pull of destiny; his knees did buckle, then, and he felt Arthur's hand tighten around his own in response. Merlin smiled at Arthur reassuringly and Arthur smiled back, so trusting, so believing, and he felt his heart clench as he recognised the same certainty he felt reflected in Arthur's eyes.
"Clǽne lufrǽden, cennan feorhlíf. Gást ge ǽt, ǽlíf, gadertang," Merlin chanted, his eyes never leaving Arthur's as he spoke the ancient words. In fact, he didn't think he could have looked away even if he'd tried, and Arthur's eyes seemed locked to his as well. The air felt charged; Merlin thought he saw thin strands of colour floating through the air, a deep gold and a shocking red, weaving together beautifully in his peripheral vision.
Gwen, meanwhile, was looking between Arthur and Merlin in slight confusion, but any misgivings she may have felt were drowned by the feeling that was spreading through her now, more powerful than anything she had ever felt, and she knew that life was growing within her, she felt the force of it.
"Clǽne lufrǽden, cennan feorhlíf!" Merlin shouted beside her. "CENNAN FEORHLIF!"
Gwen felt her knees buckle; she fell to the ground but her hands still clasped Merlin and Arthur's firmly and she gasped. The gasp turned into a moan, and it wasn't in pain; it was pure pleasure unlike anything she had ever felt, and Merlin knew this because he was feeling it too, and it felt like Arthur, within him and all around him, a feeling of love so powerful that Merlin felt like he was going to pass out, except he was still standing strong, the words of the ritual spilling from his lips completely without his knowledge now as he lost himself in Arthur's eyes.
And then, as if waking from a dream, he heard Gwen's surprised intake of breath to his right. And he knew that it was done.
Merlin blinked, once, taking a deep, shaky breath and this seemed to wake Arthur from his trance, too. He shook his head as if to clear it, and Merlin was surprised to find a slight blush gracing his King's cheeks. But he ignored it, letting himself smile tentatively instead and finding Arthur return it, reveling in their shared happiness.
Only then did Merlin let go of Arthur's hand, turning instead to Gwen, who was kneeling on the floor holding her belly with an awed, faraway look in her eyes. Merlin gave her hand a squeeze and knelt in front of her, and after a moment her eyes found his, wonder and gratitude swimming within them. "You did it," she breathed. "I feel the child."
And it was done.
••••••••••ARTHUR••••••••••
It was done.
Arthur had never felt anything like this in his entire life – giving himself over to this magic so completely had not been easy, and once he'd done it, it terrified him how much he regretted having to let it go.
For just one moment in time, Arthur thought he could feel everything. The stones of the castle, the patterns of the wind, and the steady thumping of Merlin's heart in his chest as though it was his own. All of it filled him, consumed him, and when it was gone, Arthur felt strangely empty. He thought now that he finally understood what it truly felt like to lose a limb.
But after a moment, in which Arthur, Gwen and Merlin stared at each other in shocked silence, Arthur realised that he still felt... something. A tingling, an imprint of the magic which still lingered.
The ritual was completed, and Gwen was with child – and Arthur realised with a start that he knew this, because there was something, something real and tangible and alive, and he could feel it as certainly as he could feel himself breathing.
His eyes found Merlin's, even though some small part of him tried to tell him to look at Gwen, instead; after all, she was the one he had been doing the ritual with. Merlin was just... just...
No, Arthur thought, there was nothing just about what Merlin had done. Merlin had done this for him, for them, he had given them a child. There was nothing wrong with being grateful for that.
Only, Arthur had to admit to himself, grateful was perhaps not the right word to describe what he had momentarily let himself feel for his former manservant, as the magic had swept through him and left him defenseless, unable to control his thoughts and feelings the way he had been trained to do all his life.
During the ritual, when Merlin's magic had poured into him, twining into the very essence of Arthur's being – that hadn't been about Gwen at all. Arthur had felt something which he could only describe as golden touch his very essence, and it had been the most perfect sensation he had ever felt.
And he had known that it was Merlin he had felt then. And even more importantly, it hadn't felt wrong.
Arthur tore his eyes away from Merlin with great difficultly to help his wife up, ignoring the emotions he saw playing across the other man's face. It had just been the ritual, he told himself. It must have been. His wife was pregnant. This was what he wanted. Who he wanted.
Gwen's smile was shaky and her eyes shone with tears, but she looked better than Arthur had seen her look in months. "We did it," she whispered, hugging him tight, and Arthur hugged her back, trying to feel her, not just the baby inside...
When his eyes began to stray towards Merlin again, who had quietly begun gathering up the candles and seemed to be trying to make himself seem as invisible as possible, Arthur shut his eyes, burying his face in Gwen's hair, trying to shut down all the emotions that were threatening to overpower him.
••••••••••MERLIN••••••••••
Two months had passed, and news of Guinevere's happy condition had spread through Camelot in record time. Merlin could not go anywhere without hearing whispers of the happy news, and the bolder servants even approached him to ask for any news or updates he could offer (forgetting for a moment that Merlin was no longer one of their own but rather an esteemed and still slightly feared sorcerer, a fact which Merlin was secretly thankful for).
No one knew, of course, of the part which Merlin had truly played in the child's conception, and if it was up to him, they would never find out. He had simply, as he had told Arthur, nudged destiny along.
And the child growing in Gwen's belly, he had to keep reminding himself, was for Arthur and Gwen to happily anticipate alone now. Merlin had played his part. He felt a deep sense of relief and as if he had accomplished something truly great... but he had not, he thought, prepared himself for how deeply connected the ritual would make him feel to this child.
Initially Merlin had thought it made sense, really, as he had in some ways done as much to conceive this child as Arthur and Gwen (although that would sound very wrong if he tried to explain it to anyone). But that didn't explain the strange lurch he felt whenever he was in the same room as Gwen these days; the powerful surge of love and protectiveness – and strangely enough possessiveness – which the proximity of the foetus brought out in him.
Merlin was pretty sure it must be his magic, responding to the life it had helped bring about and would forever be tied to... he was pretty sure that explained what he was feeling, anyway.
There was only one person in the castle who did not rejoice at the news of Gwen's pregnancy. Merlin had known that Gaius wouldn't be immediately pleased by the fact that Merlin had kept him out of his plans, but he hadn't expected the looks of crippling disappointment with which his old mentor would regard him now, or the overwhelming concern for Gwen's well-being which he seemed to be displaying.
Merlin had tried to explain, many times, that this was nothing like what Nimueh had done, that he would never have done this if there had been any reason to think he'd be putting Gwen's life in danger as a result. And Gaius had insisted every time that this was not the issue at all, that Merlin was an untested child, and that magic always had consequences, even if he did not yet understand what they were. Merlin would just sigh sadly and watch Gaius walk away, because what could he say to convince his old mentor otherwise?
At least Arthur shared none of Gaius' misgivings about Merlin's abilities, and for that, Merlin was infinitely grateful. He and Arthur had, if possible, grown even closer since the conception of the child; in fact, Merlin found himself drawn to Arthur as much as to Gwen's growing belly these days, and he had noticed a change in Arthur's behaviour as well which made him sure that Arthur was feeling much the same way about him.
As such, the three of them would find themselves together as often as they could, taking all their meals in Arthur and Gwen's chambers and sitting around the fireplace long into the night, none of them seeming willing to depart from the others – until Merlin would dutifully express his desire to retire for the night (even if every part of him was desperate to stay), leaving Arthur and Gwen alone to enjoy some privacy. And he would be lying to himself if he said that he only felt regret for leaving the child; his newfound inability to leave Arthur's presence was just as powerful. But he must, of course. And so he did, every night, ignoring Arthur's pained expression.
It was made even harder by the fact that not only could he feel, somehow, the foetus respond to him leaving its immediate presence, but he could feel Arthur's reaction, too. It was a gradual realisation for Merlin, that the two had somehow been linked by the ritual, and even though they never spoke of it, there was no denying the fact that not only did Merlin yearn for Arthur, but he could feel Arthur's yearning, too. Which only made everything so much harder.
Merlin had long ago come to terms with the fact that he loved Arthur. As a subject loved a King, as a friend loved another... and as much, much more than that. More than anything. But he had long since put aside those feelings, had even helped Arthur find a wife he loved... so why were they resurfacing now, of all times? And they were so much harder to ignore than ever before, because now he was pretty sure he could feel Arthur's yearning, too, and it killed him a little bit every time he had to feel the other man's disappointment as he slipped out of the King and Queen's chambers and made the slow, torturous trip back to his own.
This link between them, when by all rights it should have been between Arthur and Gwen, was the only part of this entire ordeal which Merlin felt a slight, nagging doubt about. And if Gaius had not become so distant and dismissive with him, he would have been tempted to ask the physician about it. As it were, Merlin could only look for the answers in his recently acquired magic books, but two months into Gwen's pregnancy, he was coming up with nothing. By all accounts the ritual had been performed perfectly, and the pregnancy had so far gone without a hitch; both Gwen and the baby were in perfect health.
But the books only spoke of the deep bond which would form between the parents of the child, strengthening the love which had brought the child about in the first place and weaving into its growing life force and presence, connecting all three in a bond more powerful than any spell.
There were no accounts of any lingering bond between the sorcerer involved with either the parents or the foetus, and Merlin had no way of making sense of it, no matter how much he tried. He was only glad that Arthur did not approach him about it, because it was the one question he would not be able to come up with an answer for.