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Merlin watched with a mixture of amusement and awe as Aithusa crept bat-like up Kilgharrah’s great, arching neck. The hatchling chuffed as he buried needle-sharp claws into Kilgharrah’s armoured underside and though he might well have been a mouse climbing the highest peak of the White Mountains, the newborn was a game one and he made steady work of it.
The tears were still damp on Merlin’s cheeks but he couldn’t help teasing. “He thinks you’re his mother.”
Kilgharrah’s gaze narrowed dangerously but the effect was ruined by the unfortunate fact that observing Aithusa’s progress had rendered him quite cross-eyed. “He knows I’m his mentor.”
Merlin shrugged. “Mentor, mother. Same difference.”
“I’ll be certain to inform Gaius of your opinion should I have reason to meet with him.” Kilgharrah twisted about and nosed at Aithusa’s rump, boosting him up over the more slippery scales. Aithusa flapped his wings, protesting his independence crossly, but upon achieving a firm grasp of one of the spines behind Kilgharrah’s crest he soon forgot his indignation. The view from atop a dragon’s back was wonderful, as Merlin well knew, and Aithusa had been given the world.
Kilgharrah looked just as exultant, all dragonly dignity forgotten as he sat high upon his hind legs and stretched towards the sky. He breathed forth a burst of fire to put even the stars to shame and Aithusa crowed with excitement, sucking in the cool night air as his small chest worked harder than a blacksmith’s bellows to emulate his elder. Merlin greeted the resulting puff of smoke with a rousing cheer and Kilgharrah preened like the proudest of mums. Aithusa gave a high-pitched hiccough, then flopped over Kilgharrah’s head with an exhausted grin, kneading his front paws into Kilgharrah’s normally stern brow. Merlin wasn’t certain how he was ever to regard Kilgharrah with gravity again.
“So you’ll be off then?” Merlin asked at last, feeling strangely bereft.
“I must begin this young one’s education. I can only hope he pays closer attention than you to my counsel, Merlin.” Kilgharrah was sniffing at the air, scenting out the ways of the wind, and Aithusa was doing much the same even if his wings weren’t yet strong enough to carry him. Merlin almost wished he could scramble up behind Aithusa and join them in the coming adventure.
But then Arthur would be alone, and Merlin would miss him terribly, and it was just as simple as that. “Well, make sure you put some fresh bedding down for him. I’ve seen the state of your cave, you’ve been living by yourself too long. And for goodness’ sake, don’t forget to feed him.”
“Youngsters are not inclined to let one forget such vital matters,” said Kilgharrah, and Aithusa peeped his agreement.
“Nor kings,” said Merlin. He stooped to gather the forgotten eggshell fragments that Aithusa had kicked about in his eagerness to be free. The shell -- brittle now that its work was done -- was a beautiful sky blue like Aithusa’s eyes. Merlin wondered if they would turn gold as Aithusa grew older, as magic grew stronger within him. Merlin was reluctant to leave the shell behind but it seemed a chancy item to keep within the confines of Camelot.
“You should take the pieces with you,” said Kilgharrah, as if he’d read Merlin’s mind. “You may have use of them some day.”
“Oh?”
“A dragon’s shell can have beneficial qualities particular to a dragonlord. I advise you to grind those pieces down to fine dust and keep it safe.” He was obviously trying to appear as inscrutable as usual, but it was impossible with a baby dragon bobbing about on his head.
Merlin laughed at the little one’s antics. “I’ll do as you instruct this time, I promise.”
“Why do I doubt that?” said Kilgharrah. He heaved a sigh, then heaved an even heavier one as the tip of Aithusa’s slashing tail caught him in one eye, but Merlin had never seen such an expression of joy as Kilgharrah’s as he bore off his precious charge into the night sky.
&&&
Merlin was eager to tell Gaius about the hatchling, but when he returned to their chamber he found Gaius snoring beneath his blankets.
"It's like he doesn't appreciate that something amazing has happened," Merlin told the empty eggshell in a confiding manner. "Still, I suppose it is the middle of the night, and he did expend a good deal of energy chasing Percival over half the castle. You wouldn't think a man with an arrow in his thigh could run so fast."
For a moment Merlin considered seeking his own bed, but he was humming with exhilaration and sleep was the last thing he wanted. If only he could share this experience with Arthur. But Uther's death had changed little; if anything, the muzzle on Merlin's mouth felt tighter by the day.
Merlin's shoulders slumped as his elation faded.
He set a small bubble of light above his head and cleared off Gaius' cluttered work table as quietly as possible. The stone mortar and pestle were still tacky with the makings of a salve for Percival's wound, and Merlin scrubbed them thoroughly. When the implements were clean and their sweet scent of yarrow and calendula dissipated, he snapped several pieces of Aithusa's shell into the bowl and started grinding.
The work was calming. The roll of his shoulder, the twist of his wrist, even the clench of his fist -- it was his mother who had had first set him the task of crushing herbs when he was just a young boy, and the familiarity soothed him now. The dragonshell crumbled under his patient turns and taps of the pestle, and he added more and more shards to the bowl until a small mound of chalky blue powder formed within. The fine substance captured the light like glass, but when he touched it with one curious fingertip it felt soft as down.
He couldn't resist taking a cautious sniff -- it seemed to Merlin that a dragon's egg ought to reek of sulphur -- but his nose caught something else entirely, something --
He crouched over the bowl for a stronger whiff and promptly sneezed.
The dust blew everywhere: it covered his face and hands, caked in the corners of his eyes and coated his tongue. He rubbed his eyes in reflex and smacked his lips against the spicy, almost stinging flavour, but already it seemed to settle into his belly and his lungs like the stuff of life itself. He'd never tasted anything so extraordinary, and he wanted --
"Don't do it, you idiot," he groaned to himself, even as he licked his fingers clean. "It could be poisonous. What would Gaius say?"
But Gaius slept on and Merlin had never felt so insatiable for anything in his entire existence. He dipped his hand into the bowl and scraped up more, hardly knowing whether to swallow the stuff or inhale. He settled for doing both, again and again, until his head lolled about his shoulders and his skin tingled and his mouth watered for more.
"Beneficial. Kilgharrah definitely said 'beneficial'," Merlin assured himself, stuttering for breath between urgent mouthfuls. It was nearly gone. How could he have polished off the lot? It was so good, so deliciously beneficial. He needed it, all of it.
"Gaius'll kill me," he moaned, as he swept up the last handful and poured it down his gullet. Then he stuck his head in Gaius’ best mortar and licked it spotless.
Surely his belly was a safe place?
&&&
Arthur had grown largely accustomed to his manservant’s peculiar habits, so waking to find Merlin perched tailor-style at the end of his bed was not as disconcerting as it may have once been. Indeed, if Arthur were honest with himself he rather liked the way Merlin made himself so at home in Arthur’s quarters. Sometimes he even thought it a shame Merlin had such a comfortable room at Gaius’, because if not for that Arthur might set up a pallet for him here. In the winter season -- or any time at all, really, Arthur wasn’t choosy -- Merlin could join him in this bed to ward off the chill and they could be cosy together, and --
Well, he could embarrass himself in the privacy of his own daydreams but it wasn’t likely Merlin could ever be entirely domesticated; right now Merlin’s eerie stillness, clenched fists and vigilant, fixed stare presented a wilder picture.
Arthur propped himself on his elbows and stared right back. “Merlin, I thought I gave you the morning off.”
Merlin blinked, slow and heavy-lidded as if shaking off a dream, then licked his lips. “I’m sorry, Arthur. I forgot.”
“Don’t be sorry, just take your grubby boots off my bed and go away,” Arthur groaned. “I wanted a lie-in myself.”
“You can stay there.” Merlin raised his fists to his brow and pressed them in hard; when his hands lowered his grimace softened into a smile of strange, sudden sweetness. “I don’t mind.”
“Well, I mind you looming at the end of my bed like a damned buzzard.” Arthur shivered as Merlin’s fingers flexed and relaxed like talons in his bedding, pulling at the blanket inch by inch. “Have you even slept, or did you spend the night at the Rising Sun? You certainly look stewed.”
“M’not stewed!” The affront seemed to nudge Merlin into action, but instead of leaping off the bed in dudgeon he crept on hands and knees up the length of Arthur’s body and sank down across his hips.
“Merlin!” he shouted -- or at least he tried to shout, only the name slipped out in a shaky gasp -- and he began to wonder if he was still asleep. Except the heat mounting in his cheeks, the pressure on his lap and the queer blaze in Merlin’s eyes seemed all too real. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Taste me,” said Merlin. He scooped a warm hand beneath Arthur’s nape and drew him close, bringing their mouths together; and it turned out that what Merlin wanted and what Arthur wanted were the same: the press of Merlin’s lips, the flash of his insolent pink tongue, Arthur’s head cradled in Merlin’s hands as if it belonged there for good and always, as if they had kissed countless times before and would keep on until the very end.
It felt too right; Arthur was wary. This was strange even by Merlin's ridiculously barefaced and wayward standards, and Arthur didn't like being taken off his guard. It was one thing to entertain the odd wistful fancy about Merlin -- with whom he had nothing in common -- but the probability of Merlin not only sharing such fancies but acting upon them in this brazen (if remarkably agreeable) way was remote. Either Arthur was dreaming or Merlin had snapped.
“You are drunk!” Arthur accused. He pulled away like the noble fool he was, because King he might be but a good man didn’t take advantage of his manservant, especially when he was intoxicated, and he wanted very much to be a good man, almost as much as he wanted Merlin’s wonderful mouth back.
“I’m really, honestly not,” Merlin said. He choked out a little laugh, breaking the strain on his face -- it’s a joke, Arthur realised with hurtful certainty, he’s pranking me, the knights put him up to this -- and then Merlin followed Arthur’s retreat until Arthur was pressed into the pillows and licked into Arthur’s shocked, open mouth. “See? Are you satisfied now, you idiot? I’m all too sober, I promise.”
“But you -- you kissed me!”
“Mm-yes?”
“And you expect me to believe you’re not drunk?”
“With this reaction, I almost wish I were,” said Merlin, sounding grumpy.
“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur muttered, taking a pinch of comfort in the familiarity of the put-down, if not the likelihood of its efficacy. Perhaps it wasn’t wine on Merlin’s tongue but he did taste unusual, like scorched honey on Arthur’s lips. “If you’re not inebriated, then you must be ill. We should fetch Gaius.”
“Not drunk. Not ill.” His brow touched Arthur’s, rocked over it gently. “No fever, see? And Gaius is the last person I want to see right now.”
Arthur couldn’t focus, not with Merlin all over him. “You kissed me,” he repeated slowly.
“I’ll do it again if you’ll let me,” said Merlin. The tip of his nose nudged encouragement at Arthur’s.
“And if I don’t?” he countered, because he just had to put up some sort of fight even in his confusion and naked vulnerability, because he couldn’t believe there wasn’t a catch.
“I might just have to kiss you anyhow,” said Merlin. His teeth bit into his provocative, plum-like bottom lip, crushing it the way Arthur wanted to. “Is it really so hard to believe? I didn’t think conceit was something you were exactly short of.”
“Well, I --” Arthur could barely speak. It was hard to believe because no one, perhaps not even Guinevere, ever had wanted him for himself. For ambition perhaps, or magic, or for the good of the kingdom, but Arthur was always a means to some damned end, noble or otherwise, and that knowledge had diminished him to this sad, sorry point.
“Oh god.” Merlin’s face seemed to reflect Arthur’s own piercing doubt; he looked thwarted, almost injured. “Do you, um -- do you dislike it? I mean me? Kissing me, I mean?”
“Are you mad?”
“You’ve occasionally implied as much.”
“You’re ridiculous.” Clearly Merlin required even more reassurance than his king. “Quite aside from the fact that I haven’t yet murdered you for your presumption, you are currently seated upon my exceedingly eager cock. Surely that speaks for itself.”
“I’ve seen your cock before, Arthur,” said Merlin. He moved his hips into Arthur’s, making the clothes between them twist and crumple. “It’s often like this first thing of a morning.”
“That’s because of you, you idiot!” Arthur couldn’t think what to do with his shaking hands, so he cupped them over Merlin’s unreasonably appealing ears and drew him down.
“Forget your cock for just a moment,” Merlin whispered against Arthur’s lips, “and tell me I haven’t ruined everything.”
“You tell me this is everything,” said Arthur, his voice as urgent, as anxious as Merlin’s. “Not one morning. Not some friendly lay we forget tomorrow. If you know anything at all about me, Merlin, you know I can’t do that.”
“Of course I know you, stupid,” said Merlin. “Why do you think I’m here?”
“You swear --”
“I swear by your mother’s name -- and my mother’s too -- that I’ll be at your side today and tomorrow and every day after. I’ll never stop wanting to be here. You have to know by now there’s no other place, no other life for me, and I don’t want one.” Merlin laughed, a rough, ragged sound. “I probably sound pitiable but I honestly can’t help it. This is what you do to me.”
“Well, you bloody well do it to me too, you know,” said Arthur. The burn in his cheeks, the knots in his belly, the horrific ache in his chest -- surely none of these things were good for a man, but there was no way out. “So we’re agreed, then. We’re smitten.”
“Yes, Arthur,” said Merlin, as his laughter gentled to Arthur’s relief, “we’re smitten.”
&&&
Pressure pounded beneath Merlin’s skull and there was an ache in his spine, prodding him to some urgent purpose.
He couldn’t let Arthur up. He pulled Arthur’s trousers off, mouthing at the sharp edges of his hips and raking teeth against the soft white skin of his inner thighs where the hair was worn away. His eyes and his hands knew this skin well; he had dressed this body, and then undressed it again, and he had stroked the cramp from these muscles and rubbed the soreness from the bones. He had fooled himself that it was enough -- it would have to be enough -- but his mouth was always wanting, starved for Arthur’s taste.
“Am I to be breakfast?” Arthur murmured. His expression was drowsy as he watched Merlin work him over.
Merlin bit into the arch of Arthur’s foot in reply, and Arthur’s toes curled against Merlin’s hair.
He shoved a plump cushion beneath Arthur’s arse, raising Arthur's knees higher and canting his hips to Merlin’s liking. He crouched between Arthur’s legs, splaying the strong thighs wide and flat with his stroking, devoted hands, and when he told Arthur to keep them like that, Arthur obeyed.
But still he fussed and begged, “Don’t -- you shouldn’t -- Merlin, Merlin, please,” not so drowsy anymore when Merlin buried his nose beneath his balls and circled his quivering arsehole with the tip of his tongue. Each protest only wrought a freshly sucked bruise on Arthur’s upturned rump and an ever-narrowing spiral of licks. Merlin hardened his tongue, tapping a hungry, persuasive beat at Arthur’s arsehole until Arthur quit his bleating and relaxed for him. There was no sense from Arthur after that, just a helpless, animal lowing while Merlin softened him up, ate him inside out and adored him.
A firm grip around the base of Arthur’s cock kept him coming before Merlin was ready. Once Arthur’s arsehole felt ripe and wet Merlin replaced his restless tongue with two fingers. Arthur took them without complaint and Merlin grinned, rewarding his king’s compliance with a reckless whisper of magic to coat his fingers with oil. He teased at the trembling rim with the barest scrape of nail, then rubbed his fingers inside Arthur, stroking careful fingertips against his hot inner walls, quicker and deeper, and longing to go further still.
Arthur mewled as Merlin crooked his fingers, and his thighs spread even wider as he arched off the bed. “Merlin,” he breathed.
“Hm?”
“Merlin,” Arthur repeated, sounding more like his peremptory self.
The familiar tone broke Merlin’s trance and he laughed wildly. When he dragged his gaze from the place where his fingers were buried inside Arthur’s body he found Arthur watching him, pleading. No one in all of Camelot could pull faces quite like Arthur but the cast of arousal was Merlin’s favourite yet: furrowed brow, twisted mouth, flushed cheeks, glassy eyes -- and somehow imperious for all that.
Merlin leant down and Arthur glared. “Don’t you kiss me with that tongue.”
“I will too.”
“You will not.” Arthur turned his head into his pillow with a pout so Merlin went for his ear instead, mouthing at the intricate shell and working the plump pink lobe between his lips to make Arthur wriggle and squirm. He whispered such fond filth in Arthur’s ear that Arthur’s cock jumped in his grasp; he gave Arthur’s earlobe a last friendly nip and then crouched lower.
There were streaks of pre-come across Arthur’s belly and Merlin rubbed his nose and cheek into the wetness, marking himself with it, memorising Arthur’s scent. He swirled his tongue beneath Arthur’s foreskin where it rucked around the head of his cock, teasing at the sensitive bridle of skin beneath to catch more.
The salt was soon gone and Merlin still felt ravenous. He loosened his grip on the base of Arthur’s cock and it smacked back against Arthur’s belly, leaving a fresh, wet stamp. Taking it in a gentler hand, Merlin drew the head inside his mouth, running the flat of his tongue all over it. He twisted his grip and bobbed his head, searching for the rhythm that made Arthur’s arsehole clench at his fingers, and when he found it -- when Arthur batted clumsily at his head in warning -- he tightened his lips and sucked harder until Arthur’s seed skidded across his tongue and coated the back of his throat, a luscious hot mess. Still it wasn’t enough; he pushed the heel of his hand low into Arthur’s belly and tucked his sheathed fingers even higher, milking out more and swallowing it all down until Arthur’s cock jolted from the aftershocks. Merlin petted it in tender gratitude as he licked driblets of come from the corners of his mouth, whispering a wondering, “So good.”
&&&
The guard knocked at the king’s door, his sense of duty aroused. “Is everything all right, sire?”
“Quite all right,” called out the king.
The guard frowned. “Are you sure, sire? I thought I heard something funny.”
“Go away!” the king shouted, sounding sufficiently alive (if not entirely lucid) and the guard subsided. He wasn’t going be booted back down to prison duty, no fear.
&&&
Merlin wrenched three climaxes from Arthur by morning’s end and swallowed every one. Arthur was worn down, overwhelmed and wanting; his balls felt sore and empty, and Merlin had not come once.
“Enough,” Arthur pleaded. Merlin’s gluttonous mouth was sackcloth on his fever-hot skin.
“Maybe you’re right,” said Merlin. He sat up and looked about himself, as if uncertain where he was. His clothing had gradually scattered over the morning hours; he was uninhibited and frank in his pale nudity, mottled as it was with Arthur’s fingerprints, and Arthur’s cock was a timid, yielding thing cupped in his palm with almost casual possessiveness.
“I’m always right,” Arthur said. He watched Merlin’s gaze drift from window to window, then to the ceiling, his head thrown straight back and his breathing hard, and despite Arthur’s exhaustion he found energy enough for indignation that Merlin’s eyes should be anywhere but on him. “D’you hear me, Merlin?”
“Yes.” Merlin’s chin dropped and his eyelids lifted, and there was something curious about the midday light, the way it filled Merlin’s eyes with amber fire. “Just right.”
Merlin leant into Arthur, radiant with heat as he pinned Arthur down. He held the tip of his cock to Arthur’s slick arsehole, waiting for Arthur’s permission, and when Arthur relaxed Merlin fed it inside, splitting Arthur open. The air sucked from Arthur’s chest as Merlin sank into him; he clutched at Merlin’s hair until Merlin held him close and returned his breath.
Merlin crooned into Arthur’s mouth as he rocked himself balls deep, gently insistent, but Arthur wanted more than that. He scrabbled at Merlin’s sides, toeing at Merlin’s hips to make them snap faster, harder, until Merlin’s pace grew frantic, his cock punching inside Arthur. Merlin took Arthur behind the knees and hoisted him higher. Arthur slipped over again, coming dry as Merlin drenched him in pleasure.
&&&
Merlin fell into a deep slumber afterwards, his cheek upon Arthur’s chest.
“Take the afternoon off, Merlin,” said Arthur. He brushed a hand through Merlin’s bedraggled hair; Merlin only snuffled and clung closer. “No, really, Merlin, I insist.”
Arthur extricated himself with reluctance. As much as he wanted to remain in bed with Merlin, there was a meeting of the council that afternoon. Arthur was bruised, parched, filthy and quite desperate for a piss (if his poor cock even recalled its other purpose), and a king’s duties knew no end.
He did find his feet somehow, but walking was not so simple. “You do bring new meaning to the word smitten,” he said as he pressed a kiss to Merlin’s blameless brow.
&&&
Merlin woke eventually, his headache gone and his heart full.
He pushed aside the drawn bed curtains -- very decorous of Arthur, Merlin thought, and likely useless given the racket they’d made -- to find that Arthur had left behind a mess of discarded clothing, dirty plates and bath water sloshed everywhere.
Merlin didn’t mind a bit.
&&&
Weeks passed in a bewildering haze of pleasure punctuated by tedious royal engagements. Arthur hosted banquets, listened to dull speeches, gave even duller ones of his own, knighted poor brave fools, adjudicated trials and tourneys, visited the poor and inspected the summer crops with every semblance of deep interest. Merlin spent his nights in Arthur’s bed and his days by Arthur’s side, and for all that Camelot was beset by monsters, assassins and a dodgy batch of ale that had Arthur vomiting for five days straight -- Gaius insisted it was fine but Arthur ordered its immediate disposal and pretended not to know the servants were guzzling it down in the kitchen -- Arthur had never been happier.
The sickness didn’t pass entirely, and some mornings found him head down in a bucket while Merlin stroked his bent back. As unlovely as it was, Arthur was somehow fondest of these moments most of all -- Merlin stared at him as if he’d gone stark raving when he said as much, the unfeeling clod -- because it was then that his responsibilities felt lightest, when he was safe (if sick) within Merlin’s arms.
He didn’t recover his appetite for ale, but he did develop a taste for Merlin’s chamomile and lemon tea and went so far as to swill Gaius’ entire stock. Gaius shooed them both out into summer air to gather fresh chamomile. They walked past fields filled with swaying golden wheat -- the harvest would be plentiful this year, another cause for gladness -- and then wandered into the cooler green of the woodland beyond. They shoved each other about like a pair of duffers and stopped every now and again to fill their baskets. Arthur couldn’t tell chamomile from daisies or feverfew, so Merlin just told him to pick anything that looked useful. Naturally Arthur made a grab for Merlin, then Merlin emptied a basketful of flowers over his head, and they both ended up kissing under a weeping willow for hours. Merlin made Arthur a crown of sweet-scented honeysuckle and Arthur poked fun in return; but once they returned to the castle he lay the crown across the bed they now shared.
&&&
Merlin felt shy around Gwen at first, but then she chased him across the courtyard with a set of thumbscrews and they were friends again.
“Did your dad make these?” asked Merlin. Turned out she’d scored some early hazelnuts in a shrewd bargain with a tinker, and the thumbscrews were in fact a nutcracker. He tightened the toothed jaws and another shell cracked. “They’re fantastic!”
“I made them, I’ll have you know! Scared you, didn’t I?” said Gwen. They sat down on the courtyard stairs by Merlin’s favourite sculpture -- a winged bull protecting a snail -- and shared a smile of perfect understanding until Gwen pointed out a bit of hazelnut stuck between his teeth. “I’ve been doing a lot of work in the forge now that I’ve got more time. I’ve got so many ideas, all sorts of useful gadgets to make. The orders are starting to come in too. It’s exciting!”
“I'm an awful friend,” said Merlin, shaking his head. He felt he'd hardly seen her since Lancelot's sacrifice, since Arthur's about-turn -- he'd been so caught up in his own tumultuous feelings he'd been almost oblivious to everything around him -- but Gwen seemed much the person she'd always been, except perhaps stronger for her grief. "I had no idea."
“You wouldn’t, would you?” she said, giving him a nudge with her elbow. “You’ve been preoccupied. You’re in love.”
“Gwen, I’m so sorr--”
“Merlin, be quiet,” she said, stuffing another nut in his mouth. “If you think I’m desolate and weepy, you’re wrong. Well, actually, you’re right. But still wrong. Urgh, I don’t know, to be honest. I do miss Arthur, but it’s funny. Weird funny, I should say, not the giggly sort. Although Arthur is very funny. Anyway! Nothing’s really changed, except we don’t kiss anymore. And the kisses were fine -- don’t get me wrong -- but now it’s done I remember I had more fun playing football or, I don’t know, pelting him with cowpats when we were little. There’s been too much waiting, too much mooning. I’m no good at it. I’d rather keep myself busy, make something of myself now. Romance gets a bit boring after a few years when the person’s not the right one.”
“And Arthur’s not the right one,” said Merlin.
“He’s really not,” said Gwen. Her eyes glistened as she stared across the noisy, bustling courtyard, but she didn’t let the tears fall.
“I cannot believe how off-hand you are about Arthur’s kisses.” He wrapped his arm across her shoulders and wept for her, and for Lancelot.
&&&
Arthur’s stomach still wasn’t quite right, although he tried to hide it from Merlin. Merlin just rolled his eyes. “I’m the one who slops out your bucket, Arthur, remember?”
Arthur frowned at the reminder. It didn’t seem right that Merlin should continue to perform such lowly tasks when the entire castle was aware that he was Arthur’s lover, but Merlin was jealous of anyone’s attempts to take over his customary duties, disgusting though they might sometimes be.
As for Arthur, he hated for anyone but Merlin to see him so vulnerable. He slumped on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. “Why the hell am I so tired when I’ve been sitting on my arse all day?”
Merlin knelt behind him and placed a cool wet towel across his neck. ”Um, let’s see. You’ve got your Uncle Aggravation plotting himself into a deeper hole every day, Geoffrey on your case about the succession and Cook serving up cockentrice when she knows very well how much you loathe it.”
“She might as well spit roast a wilddeoren and put me out of misery for good,” said Arthur with a shudder. “The frumenty was all right, I suppose.”
“Only because I sneaked in plenty of currants when she wasn’t looking. The woman’s got it in for you, I swear.”
“She hates me because I killed my mother.” Arthur didn’t know why he’d never realised it before, but suddenly it was clear to him. Cook used to make her special ginger bread for Ygraine -- she’d told him so herself, when he was just a small boy -- and she’d never made ginger bread for him, and Ygraine was gone, and Cook was trying to poison him, and it was all Arthur’s fault.
Merlin’s arms crept around Arthur’s middle. “Cook’s cross with you because you won’t finish her meals. She loved your mother, she adores you, and if she can’t keep your stomach happy she feels like a failure. Oh, and you didn’t kill your mother and if Cook heard you talking like that she’d smack you over the head with a saucepan lid.”
Arthur pulled the towel from his neck and pressed it to his stinging eyes. “I’m not fit to be king.”
“You’re the only king I want,” Merlin whispered in his ear, “you silly sausage.”
Arthur’s stomach somersaulted, and he groaned. “Don’t mention sausage.”
&&&
Merlin was more concerned about Arthur’s health than he liked to admit.
Gwen forged Merlin a small set of wafer irons with the Pendragon emblem, and Merlin learnt how to make Arthur a thin, tasteless snack to nibble on when everything else turned his belly. If he fed Arthur a wafer as soon as he woke, Arthur had far less need of the bucket and far more desire for kissing.
But Arthur grew tired too easily, and his stomach was bloated. Gaius recommended bogbean extract but Arthur turned up his nose at the bitter taste, so Merlin pinched Arthur’s nose and forced it down his throat anyhow.
Arthur’s appetite slowly increased, and then it took a labyrinthine turn. One day he ate nothing but figgy, the next he wanted candied horseradish. He continued to consume Merlin’s wafers, but now he preferred to lick the batter instead, until there was hardly enough to pour on the iron.
Merlin found Arthur in the kitchen late one night working his way through an enormous pot of pickled lampreys. Merlin explained carefully that he could not possibly make love to a man whose lips touched lampreys. Arthur put the eel down and followed Merlin back upstairs, but Merlin could tell from Arthur’s wistful expression that he was regretting the lamprey’s loss.
By the time Merlin discovered Arthur kneeling before their fireplace licking soot from his fingers, he was getting scared.
&&&
“It’s just intestinal worms, sire,” said Gaius, once Merlin dragged him to Arthur’s quarters. Arthur lay on the bed, stiff with impatience while Gaius palpated his abdomen and counted his pulse. “Nothing to be too concerned about. Have you been taking the bogbean?”
“Yes, Gaius,” he replied slowly, as if speaking to a simpleton, “I’ve been taking the bogbean.”
“Take that tone with me, sire, and I’ll be prescribing castor oil next,” said Gaius, his brow raised.
Arthur backed down with a weary sigh. “My apologies, Gaius.”
Gaius patted his shoulder. “There, there, sire, we’ll soon have you set to rights. How is the nausea lately? If you can stomach it, I would strongly recommend you eat two tomatoes first thing in the morning to throw out the worms.”
“I’d rather throw tomatoes at Merlin’s head.”
“Hey!”
“I’ve often felt a similar impulse, sire,” said Gaius, smiling thinly at Merlin. “I’ll leave you with this packet of ground fenugreek seeds. Take one drachm with a cup of water, once every day, and do try not to eat anything that‘s likely to produce a costive state of the bowels. Merlin? Make certain Arthur eats plenty of vegetables -- a simple salad of watercress and fennel with a splash of olive oil and vinegar each day will keep the bowels moving, and some garlic and pumpkin seeds should help treat the worms.”
“Sounds delicious,” said Merlin brightly as Arthur’s cheeks turned a dull red.
“And Merlin?” Gaius shook his head in reproach as he stood to leave. “These bed sheets really ought to be cleaner. It’s no wonder Arthur’s suffering.”
“But -- but --” Merlin spluttered, finally shaking an accusatory finger in Arthur’s direction. “It’s Arthur’s fault. He was eating cherry pudding in bed!”
But Gaius was gone. Arthur laced his hands behind his head and gave Merlin a smug smile.
Merlin’s eyes narrowed. “Two words, Arthur: castor oil.”
&&&
Fenugreek succeeded where bogbean failed: Arthur soon felt something like his usual self. He scrounged time amongst his many engagements to rejoin his knights on the training fields and felt blessed to sweat like an honest man beneath the sun.
“You’ve grown soft, princess,” said Gwaine in his sly way.
Leon smacked Gwaine upside the head and assured Arthur that he looked as fit as ever, but Arthur wasn’t so certain. Bed exercise was one thing -- he licked his lips as he recalled Merlin’s send-off that morning, the way he’d held Arthur’s shoulders down and ground him into the mattress until he’d wailed for release -- but Merlin had had the care and filling of Arthur’s sensitive stomach for too long and now handfed him like a motherless pup at any hour of the night or day. Or, Arthur admitted, at the first hint of a royal tantrum. The bowel distention had finally subsided and Arthur’s stomach was flat again, but his flesh was increasing elsewhere; Gwaine’s heated gaze said he’d noticed.
Arthur crossed his arms. Gwaine’s smile widened. Leon called the next drill and Arthur could only pray he didn’t bounce.
&&&
Merlin hustled Arthur into an empty stall in the stables and shoved him down into the hay, straddling his thighs. Arthur’s face glistened with perspiration and his shirt stuck to his skin; Merlin grabbed the shirt by the collar and ripped it wide open.
He splayed his fingers across Arthur’s hitching chest. The hair was ruffled, the nipples dark and ripe; he made Merlin’s mouth water.
“I see him watching you,” Merlin said. He dipped his head and suckled Arthur’s at left breast until the nipple was pebbled and wet. Arthur bucked his hips; Merlin tightened his thighs, forcing him still. “I see them all watching you.”
Merlin switched nipples and Arthur mewled, a helpless, hurting sound. Anyone could walk in and find them writhing like animals in rut, but Merlin didn’t care. Arthur belonged to him. Let them watch.
&&&
There was talk, of course.
Most of the gossip was harmless, although Agravaine managed to infect the lines of communication with his own brand of bile. Arthur let him spin. His end would come.
There had long been whispers of Arthur’s supposed impotence -- Arthur, like his father before him, had ever talked a lusty game, but there was little activity to back it up, much to the courtiers’ mingled amusement and disappointment. Nor had the servants ever spied any evidence of Arthur dipping his wick. Take that prime one, Gwen, for an instance; she was by all accounts untapped after a studied courtship of years; to be sure Arthur was of a strange kidney. And here he was now, fooling around with his manservant and getting buggered in every corner of the castle. The dead king had been but a bobtail that needed (rumour said) dark magic to prime his prick; the new king, on the other hand, needed a man. The prospects for the Pendragon line looked dimmer by the minute.
Outside the citadel (and the taverns) the people heard little such talk and cared less; they adored their fair king and would support him in all.
&&&
Arthur might not care what the court thought of his manly vigour but when they started in on his paunch, he scowled.
“It’s just a bit of winter condition,” he assured Merlin, who was seated before the fire and performing arcane rites involving needle and thread and a teetering pile of Arthur’s trousers.
“It’s autumn,” said Merlin.
“Shut up, Merlin.” Arthur stalked bare-legged to the window and stared down at the scuffle and bustle of the courtyard. Laden carts lumbered by, stacked to overflowing with ripe apples, and giggling children chased after them, trying to catch any fruit that might fall. One frail old fellow staggered about beneath the weight of a pumpkin only to slip on a fresh heap of horse droppings, but another man leapt his turnip-filled trestle to come to the gentleman’s aid. There were at least six chestnut vendors that Arthur could see, poking at their crackling, coal-roasted wares, and one woman served cups of steaming mulled wine from an enormous cauldron to an appreciative line of customers.
Everywhere Arthur looked, there were all the signs of a healthy harvest, a healthy people. Some youngsters were even trying to get up a game of football, Arthur noticed wistfully, but one harassed mother went after them with a broom and they scattered. Then a red-cloaked patrol clattered into the courtyard and the children stopped to stare, no doubt dreaming of the day when they too might be knights of Camelot.
“Elyan’s back from the north,” he announced.
“Gwen will be pleased,” said Merlin. “Is he well?”
“Very well,” said Arthur, regarding his men with satisfaction. “He looks fat. They all do.”
“It’s just the way their chainmail pouches on horseback.”
Arthur bridled with irritation. “You’re not even looking, Merlin. How would you know?”
“Oh, I know.”
Arthur turned away from the window and gave Merlin a filthy glare. “Made a close study of my knights, have you?”
“They are very attractive men, Arthur,” Merlin pointed out. “But I like you best. Especially when you have no pants on.”
“Then why are you letting them all out?” Arthur asked in misery.
“You’re right. This is pointless.” Merlin put down his needle and pushed his work to one side, then rose to take Arthur in his arms. He was warm from the fire and his fingers felt both covetous and comforting as they slipped beneath the tail of Arthur’s shirt and splayed across his bare bum. “You should remain without pants for my delectation from this day forth.”
“As much as I’d like to, I can’t,” Arthur said. He buried his face in the crook of Merlin’s neck, trying to catch Merlin’s well-loved scent, but his nose had been stuffed up for an entire week. “I think I’m getting a cold for winter.”
“Still autumn,” Merlin reminded him once more, a teasing whisper in his ear.
Instead of telling Merlin to shut up again, Arthur claimed his mouth. It was a far more effective stratagem.
&&&
“But, Gaius, don’t you think it’s weird?” asked Merlin. He knelt before a troop of field mushrooms growing beneath an old oak tree and started filling his basket. The recent rains had produced astonishing white outs the likes of which Merlin had never seen; there were enough mushrooms to feed the entire kingdom for years.
He couldn’t help but remember Kilgharrah’s words: The white dragon bodes well for Albion.
Gaius followed him through the fields, watching like a hawk. Merlin had the uncanny knack of tripping over poisonous fungi, and Gaius was keen to replenish his stores of death cap. Merlin hadn’t asked why, but he hoped it had something to do with Agravaine. “Merlin, the plain fact is: men carry fat around the waist. Arthur probably just takes after his father.”
“But he looks like he’s swallowed a pig’s bladder!” said Merlin, shaking his head in bafflement. “And I swear it’s getting bigger every time I look. For goodness’ sake don’t tell him this, but I’ve had to let out his trousers three times now and they’re still a tight squeeze.”
“Arthur’s a new king with many responsibilities and precious little time for physical activity,” said Gaius, with just a hint of acerbity. “A touch of corpulence is to be expected.”
“Oh, Gaius, don’t use that word around Arthur,” Merlin said, a shudder quaking across his shoulders. “He’s been training with the others as much as possible, and when he’s not waving his sword at decoys or destroying his punching bag, he’s pacing the length of the castle ten times a day or dashing about on important kingly missions or visiting every village in the kingdom.” Merlin threw up his hands in exasperation, then paused in thought. “He has been gorging himself on blackberry fool, I suppose -- the blackberries are so juicy this year! -- but then I’ve been gorging too, and I’m the same stick as always.”
“Your time will come, Merlin.” Gaius gave him a decidedly patronising pat on the head. “Just you wait.”
&&&
Samhain brought the return of Lancelot, right in the middle of the great feast.
It had been a peaceful event by Camelot’s standards. Arthur had gone crown in hand to the kitchen to beg that cockentrice be banished from the royal table, and Cook had reluctantly agreed. Emboldened by the unexpected success, he suggested a fire-breathing peacock in the place of the dread rooster-pig; the faces of the kitchenhands had thrilled to the possibilities.
Quite how an incendiary peacock could tear the veil between the worlds Arthur could not guess, but he suspected it had something to do with the potent mixture of feathers, camphor, gold leaf and great lashings of aqua vita. Merlin dropped the platter, naturally, and all hell broke loose.
It was just a small rip, enough to allow passage of one bedraggled knight and a host of Dorocha. Thanks to the burning coverts discharged by the unfortunate peafowl in all directions, no one in the dining hall fell prey to the spirits’ shrieks -- although there were some singed garments amongst the guests. They huddled back against the walls, gathering with the servants in safety beneath the torches; two ladies even took a dazed Merlin by the ankles and dragged him closer to the light.
Arthur shouted orders for the guards to disperse throughout the castle and into the lower town with lighted torches, and the knights swiftly followed. All of Camelot was awake with merriment and bright with the bonfires of Samhain, but Arthur would take no chances with the lives of his people; the guards must march door to door to alert and protect the populace. “Send out riders to the outlying villages -- they must be warned!” he called, and Leon nodded grimly. It was going to be a long night.
Gwen snatched a torch from the wall and dropped to her knees in tears beside Lancelot, who lay stupefied upon the flagstones; she raised him up in one arm and pulled his brow to her breast. Arthur stepped between them and the black rent in the air. He stared at Merlin in anguish, but he knew what he must do.
“Arthur, no!” Merlin screamed, trying to shake off his rescuers. Gwen tossed her torch aside and made a grab for the sweep of Arthur’s cloak, holding it tight, but it was the Cailleach herself who checked him with the barrier of her great staff.
“This is not the Isle of the Blessed. What is your purpose here?” said Arthur, impatient to have the sacrifice done with now that his decision was made.
She smiled, baring her teeth. “I’m waiting.”
“What for?” he asked, and then there was outcry as Agravaine ran forward and kicked Gwen down. All gaped in astonishment and disgust as he took up Gwen’s torch, brandished the flame at his nephew -- his King -- and shoved him towards the torn veil.
“This cur will do,” said the Cailleach. She shrugged Arthur aside and took Agravaine by the hair, hurling him with effortless strength through the tear. “He is of a darkness better suited to the land of the dead.”
&&&
She disappeared, and the tear with her.
Arthur yanked off his burning cloak and stamped the fire out. Gaius arrived with his medical bag, but Arthur pointed him in Lancelot’s direction before he could start fussing over Arthur.
“I think he’s all right, Gaius,” said Gwen. She held Lancelot’s head cradled upon her lap as if she would never release him again, and he nuzzled into her softness with a sleepy smile. “He’s really here and he’s all right. I can’t believe it.”
“It’s a miracle, my dear,” Gaius said, passing her a handkerchief to blow her nose. He checked Lancelot’s vitals and examined him for breaks or bruises, but there was nothing ill to be found.
“I’m so glad, Gwen,” said Arthur. He crouched beside her and clasped first her shoulder, then Lancelot’s. “He came back for you.”
“I think so too,” Gwen said, giving him a watery grin, “but I might make some leg shackles just in case.”
“That reminds me,” said Arthur, feeling the blood drain from his face, “where the hell is Merlin?”
&&&
Once he saw Arthur safe, Merlin raced outside and shouted his appeal to the night’s sky.
Kilgharrah strafed the countryside at Merlin’s command, dogging the Dorocha with his fiery breath until every last one was cast back into oblivion.
Those in the citadel remembered the Great Dragon all too well. They watched from the battlements in fearful wonder, and although it wasn’t human meat that he hunted, they quailed at his fury still.
Those in the smaller villages had longer memories. The storytellers sang of the original alliance between dragon and man, and of the true meaning behind the fires of Samhain, when the dragons chased the voices of the dead from the hearts of the living. The children stared at the sky in awe.
Merlin found his way home to Arthur’s side.
&&&
When dawn broke, Kilgharrah landed in the clearing outside Camelot. His sides heaved from exhaustion and his nostrils puffed with smoke; Aithusa was nowhere to be seen.
The knights of Camelot surrounded him warily. At Arthur’s command they kept their swords sheathed and their spears lowered.
Arthur stepped forward, ignoring both the muttered warnings of his men and Merlin’s restraining hand on his arm. “We’ve met here before.”
“We have, King Arthur.”
If the dragon’s erudite tone surprised Arthur, he didn’t show it. “It seems that I did not slay you after all. Why did you return to Camelot?”
“I answered the call.”
“Whose call?”
“The call of my soul’s brother,” Kilgharrah replied, and Merlin’s breath caught. “I think you hear it too, Arthur Pendragon.”
Arthur’s back stiffened. “Who do you answer to? Is it my sister?”
“You know the answer already,” said Kilgharrah. He settled upon his haunches, making the ground beneath them rumble.
“You speak and act in riddles,” said Arthur. “It was not so long ago that you would have seen me and all my people dead, my kingdom in ruins. Now you have saved us all.”
Kilgharrah sighed. “It was ever the way, until your father saw fit to destroy my kind. I was chained too long below your castle, to the point of madness and murder. The delirium has passed now but I will never be Camelot’s friend again.”
“Yet you were our friend tonight.”
Kilgharrah stretched his head down to Arthur’s level. His warm breath wafted over Arthur and his nostrils flared with curiosity. Then he chuckled, making the knights shift in their unease even as Arthur stood firm. “You were never alone, Arthur Pendragon. I see that my brother has been busying himself with things he does not fully understand.”
“Enough,” said Arthur. “Is my father’s debt settled?”
Kilgharrah’s laughter died. “Some acts cannot be undone.”
“Then what of my debt? What is the price for your service this night?” Arthur’s voice rang low and deep with promise. “How shall I repay you?”
Kilgharrah narrowed his eyes. “A dragon’s nature is not mercenary, no matter what lies your father may have told you.”
“I mean no insult, dragon,” said Arthur. “I speak not of mercenary matters, but of balance.”
“Ah. Then we begin to understand one another.” Kilgharrah’s eyelids slid closed in a sign of faith, but Merlin noticed his nostrils still quivered at Arthur’s scent. “For the health of your land and for your own sake, Arthur Pendragon, you must repeal the ban on magic.”
“And if I do not?”
“It is not a threat, but a caution.” Kilgharrah opened his eyes once more, rose to his full height, and regarded Arthur solemnly. “Think on it, young king, but do not wait too long. Time is shorter than you believe, even for the likes of you.”
“Do you leave this place in peace?” Arthur demanded, his tone urgent.
“In peace, and in hope,” Kilgharrah replied, and they all stood frozen as he took off towards the sunrise.
&&&
“Merlin? Where were you tonight?”
Merlin rested his cheek over Arthur’s heart, listening with gratitude to the soft sound it made as Arthur combed his fingers through Merlin’s hair. Outside the king’s quarters the corridors rang with chatter of the night’s events, but in Arthur’s bed it was quiet, the air heavy.
“I can’t say,” he whispered finally, because he didn’t want to lie.
“Merlin -- do you --?” The heartbeat faltered, then accelerated.
“What is it, Arthur?” Merlin felt confused, scared and in dire need of sleep, and Arthur wanted to talk?
“Do you think, if I do as the dragon says, that you’d be able to say?”
Merlin furrowed his brow. “Say what?”
“Merlin. Listen to me.” Arthur’s hand stilled. He spoke very slowly. “Could you say where you were tonight if I, King Arthur Pendragon of Camelot, lifted the ban on magic?”
Fear lanced through Merlin. For a moment he thought he would gag on it.
But he didn’t want to lie.
He sat up and cast his eyes with caution towards Arthur’s, but Arthur’s expression was unreadable. Merlin licked his lips and swallowed the last six years. “I -- could?”
“That -- approximates the correct response, Merlin,” said Arthur, surveying him intently. “Given your various mental afflictions, I suppose it will have to do. Now put your head back down here where it belongs. I’m trying to make some sense of this absurdity you call hair.”
“All right,” said Merlin. He wriggled back down again and snuggled into Arthur’s skin. Arthur’s heart sounded steady beneath his ear. “You should rule as you feel is right, of course. And that dragon lies a lot.”
“So do you, but I trust you anyway.” Arthur swept the broad palm of his hand over Merlin’s head, flattening the curls. “Now tell me more about dragons.”
&&&
By little summer the law was changed. The sky didn’t fall and the people did not revolt. The courtiers didn’t care, the council seemed relieved and Merlin was happy.
The thing inside Arthur quickened.
&&&
He watched the cattle being slaughtered and salted and smoked for winter. Never before in his life had he felt so acutely aware of himself as a slab of raw meat, an animal.
He waited for Merlin to say something about it -- to notice -- but Merlin was a complete idiot, of course.
The knights had been mocking him about the baby for weeks. He wondered what they’d say once they knew it was real.
&&&
“Gaius, do you think it’s possible Arthur’s pregnant?”
Gaius put down his magnifying glass and turned to face Merlin, who was grinding a pile of peppercorns with more than his customary force. “I beg your pardon?”
“You’ve seen the size of him.” Merlin tried to compose his features, but judging by Gaius’ stunned expression, he’d failed. “Gaius, truly, I swear to you: it’s not fat and it’s not worms. Neither of those things kick.”
“Merlin, you know very well some worms grow to an extraordinary size. Don’t you remember what happened when we examined young Borin, he --”
“Would you forget about the damned worms for one moment!” Merlin flung away his pestle and swept the mortar to the floor. “There is something living and growing inside him, and I’m frightened. I don’t know how it got in there or how we’re supposed to get it out. And I don’t know what I’ll do if he dies.”
“Oh, Merlin.”
Merlin slid to the floor, exhausted now that he’d expressed his fears aloud. “I’m very aware how ridiculous it sounds. It’s not just ridiculous, it’s impossible. Well, how many times has something impossible happened around me? How many, Gaius?”
“Too many, I’ll warrant,” said Gaius, as he eased himself down beside Merlin. Merlin put out an automatic hand to help. “Let’s be reasonable. Look at it from the scientific point of view. Arthur is a man. He simply does not have the anatomical features required to support the development of a foetus.”
“I’ve drawn lightning from the sky. I’ve slowed time itself,” said Merlin. “Do you really think I couldn’t get Arthur with child and keep him that way?”
Gaius paused for thought. “When you put it like that I --”
“-- knocked Arthur up, exactly!” Merlin buried his face in his hands. “What are we going to do? I don’t know how to reverse this. And I told you, it’s moving. I’m not even certain I should reverse it.”
“Now then, don’t cry,” said Gaius.
“M’not crying, it’s just the pepper,” said Merlin, wiping a miserable nose on his sleeve.
“If you say so.” Gaius rolled his eyes and gave Merlin’s shoulder a consoling pat. “You’ve broken my best mortar I see, so I hope you can reverse that.”
“I’m sorry,” Merlin said with a sigh. “I didn’t mean to lose my temper. I just wish you’d believe me.” He gathered up the cracked stone and ran his fingers over it, deep in contemplation. There was something about it that ate at his memory. Something about -- Aithusa?
There was a brisk knock at the door before Arthur marched in, pulled up a stool and laced his hands across his stomach. “Merlin, Gaius. We need to talk.”
&&&
Upon careful, considered and thoroughly invasive examination, Gaius had to conclude that the king was indeed pregnant.
“No, don’t get up yet, sire, I’m not done,” he said, pressing Arthur back down upon the table and preventing his escape. “Merlin, put down that bestiary, I’ve read it many times and there’s nothing in it about the generative qualities of dragonshell, I assure you, beneficial or otherwise. Just make yourself useful and fetch my atlas of anatomy, would you?”
Arthur rather wished Gaius had consulted the atlas before inserting his greased fingers inside Arthur’s rectum.
“Here it is,” said Merlin, holding the book open for Gaius while Gaius scrubbed his hands once more. “Is this the page you were thinking of?”
“Ah, yes,” Gaius said, peering at the page in question. He gestured at a particularly mysterious blob of red surrounded by several dark purple smudges and a nasty black smear. “I can only surmise that the foetus is implanted here in the abdominal cavity. The question is: how is the placenta attached to Arthur? Something is keeping this child alive and no, Merlin, it’s not simply magic. Judging by my internal examination, I suspect the bowel is involved somehow --”
He muttered on in an increasingly terrifying manner as he palpated Arthur’s abdomen while Merlin held the book upright with one hand and took Arthur’s hand in the other, his eyes filled with silent apology and love.
&&&
There was to be no more sex after that, nor training with the knights. Gaius declared it too dangerous.
Arthur didn’t really feel like it anyhow.
&&&
At least he didn’t feel like it for the first few days, but then he got over his sulks and jumped Merlin at the next opportunity.
The knights still teased, but they refused to play rough. Gwaine leered and groped and Percival seemed inclined to protect Arthur from every passing breeze, but as long as Lancelot stood about billing and cooing with Gwen, he copped more mockery than Arthur.
The council took the news of the royal pregnancy with surprising calm. Most of them had lived a great many years and had seen stranger things than their pregnant king. The problem of the succession was solved, no matter how unusually, and if it kept Arthur’s mad sister and her undead army away from Camelot’s throne, so much the better.
Still, Arthur desired no question mark over his child’s legitimacy, even if he wasn’t yet entirely convinced of the child’s humanity. Geoffrey scoured records dating back hundreds of years and was bemused to report to the council members that he could find no legal impediment to a marriage between two men.
Arthur turned to Merlin, who stood at his left shoulder in an almost respectable padded tunic of royal red; he nearly did Arthur credit. “Well?”
Merlin frowned. “Well what?”
Arthur folded his arms and gave Merlin a dangerous smile. “Were you not paying attention, Merlin? I’m waiting.”
“Waiting for what, sire?”
Arthur’s brow arched. “Get down on your knees, Merlin, and ask nicely. I might not give you a second chance.”
“Oh!” Merlin looked about the council chamber to find all eyes fixed squarely, and rather sternly, on him. He bit his lip and gulped, then lowered himself to the floor before Arthur. It was not an unfamiliar position for him -- indeed he had been there not an hour before while Arthur fed his cock down Merlin’s throat -- but he was not accustomed to the focused disapproval of quite so many greybeards (and Sir Leon) who held his future happiness in their power.
“Er, will you grant me the honour of your hand in marriage, Arthur? Please?” He proffered his hand, shaking just a little, and Arthur lay his own damp palm upon Merlin’s.
“You have my hand, Merlin, and my heart,” Arthur replied. He took his mother’s ring from his finger and slid it onto Merlin’s. “I beg that you will keep both safe.”
“I will endeavour to do so always, my lord.”
“And I will extend the same courtesy to you, Merlin, with all the strength I have within me.”
They shared a foolish grin and there was a suspicious sheen of moisture in Leon’s eyes, but Geoffrey still looked perplexed. “This is not the match I should have chosen for you, sire,” he tutted. “Are you quite sure you don’t wish to reconsider a marital alliance with Queen Annis? And the Princess Elena is yet unwed --”
“Geoffrey, if you say one more word against my betrothed I will have you beheaded.”
“Indeed, sire,” said Geoffrey, before hiding behind the nearest scroll.
&&&
At the handfasting ceremony Geoffrey still had the balls to look hopeful when he asked, “Do any here say nay?”
&&&
“I wish we’d waited a bit longer,” said Merlin wistfully. The dining hall was filled with guests staring at their increasing king with blatant disregard for Arthur’s dignity -- and not one of the faces was the one Merlin most wanted to see. “My mother’ll kill me when she finds out she missed the wedding.”
“Merlin, I’d kill you if the crown prince or princess of Camelot were born out of wedlock,” said Arthur, gnawing with grim determination upon a roast turtledove.
“You’ve got a few more months yet, you know,” said Merlin, regarding Arthur with some doubt. Perhaps Arthur was under the misapprehension that delivery was imminent; he did seem understandably shocky each time Gaius mentioned surgery. “It’s not even Yuletide.”
“A few months?” Arthur dropped his dove and stared at Merlin, his face aghast. “I’m the size of a troll! Define ‘few’.”
“It takes a good nine months to grow a baby, even for you, Arthur, and I know very well you can count,” said Merlin. “This child was conceived at Midsummer --”
“No thanks to you pigging yourself on dragon droppings or some such rubbish,” Arthur grumbled.
“-- which means you’ve got until March to wait this out.”
The musicians chose that propitious moment to break into a jaunty and rather high-pitched tune, and the floor began to fill with revellers. Arthur sighed and wiped his hands, then held them out to Merlin. “In that case, husband, we might as well dance.”
&&&
Later, Merlin spooned up behind Arthur in their bed and stroked his palm over Arthur’s swollen belly. “I wonder, would you have ever made an honest man of me if not for this?”
“Would you have found your way into my bed at all if not for your infernal dragon magic?” Arthur countered. “You can be a bit slow.”
“I think I would have!” He nuzzled at the tender hollow behind Arthur’s ear, the spot that made Arthur tremble. “You are irresistible, after all.”
“So irresistible, in fact, that it took six years of living in one another’s pockets and a Midsummer overdose before you made your move,” said Arthur. He caught Merlin’s wandering fingers and pressed them to his lips. “You are an honest man, even if you do tell blatant fibs, and I would not have another.”
&&&
Hunith did come before the winter snows set in, and they both hugged her hard. She settled into Merlin's old room and before long her herbal preparations rivaled Gaius'; Merlin was never so glad of her midwifery skills.
Arthur was exhausted, bored and increasingly impatient with his growing clumsiness. He scared Merlin almost to death making his unsteady tours about the castle and lower town, and there was a dreadful near miss on the icy courtyard steps that forced Merlin to levitate the king before his awed subjects.
Arthur told him never to make him airborne again -- it was worse than the morning sickness -- and informed Hunith that she had raised an unruly son.
“I’m sure you’ll do much better,” she said, with a pointed but forgiving smile.
Arthur looked queasy at the prospect. Merlin was conscious of a depression on Arthur’s spirits as the time of delivery drew closer. Arthur listened and nodded when Gaius expressed his confidence about the surgery -- Gaius was training both Hunith and Gwen in the ways of cautery and suture should Merlin's magic falter -- but as Merlin watched Arthur meet with his people, pore over legal documents, drill the knights without mercy and hold Merlin with desperation every night, he came to realise that Arthur was preparing to die.
“I won’t let that happen,” said Merlin fiercely. He treated Arthur’s nipples each morning with linen soaked in salted water and drew the brown buds out with his lips. Arthur’s breasts were ripening as they readied to suckle their child, and he accepted Merlin’s care with a meekness that suited him ill. “Arthur, I swear to you, now and always: your mother’s story is not your own.”
&&&
Half the inhabitants of Camelot came down with a cold that winter, keeping both Gaius and Hunith on their toes, and despite Merlin's zealous attentions Arthur's chest grew hot with pain.
"I wish you'd stop running yourself into the ground," said Merlin. He stoked the fire while Arthur crawled into bed. "You wouldn't treat the least of your knights this way. Why are you so hard on yourself?"
"In case it's slipped your mind, I'm still the king," said Arthur, flopping back against the pillows. "I have a great deal to do, and I will not be stopped by this obstruction."
"This protuberance," Merlin interjected agreeably.
"This bloody monstrosity!" Well might Merlin look cheerful; he didn't have to lug the damn thing wherever he went. Arthur had sent the rudest of the courtiers home to their own estates for the winter, but that didn't mean the rest of the castle wasn't thinking what the courtiers weren't afraid to say: the king was an unsightly aberration. And now he had sore teats like an ill-used milch cow.
They'd all be sorry when he was dead, Arthur thought bitterly.
Merlin pressed the back of his hand to Arthur's brow. "Well, until you stop feeling so tired and achy, you're not leaving this bed. You need all the rest you can get, and I don't want you getting sick."
"Merlin, I've been 'achy' for the last eight months and I will remind you: it's all your fault!"
"Magic is evil, yes, I know." Merlin lifted Arthur's shirt, and despite Arthur's vile mood he couldn't help but sigh at the brush of cool air on his skin. He might abhor the uncontrollable changes to his body, but there was something about Merlin's matter-of-fact care that eased Arthur's gnawing revulsion.
"What's that?" he asked, as Merlin placed a warm poultice against his breast.
"Comfrey and calendula," Merlin answered. He sank into the pillows beside Arthur and ran his fingers through Arthur's hair. "How does it feel?"
"It feels hot," Arthur grumbled. "I'm already feverish. Why are you making it worse?"
"This'll draw out the infection." Merlin sounded weary.
Abruptly, Arthur felt remorseful. He knew very well that Merlin was having more than a few nightmares of his own. He turned his head into the crook of Merlin's elbow, nestling in spite of himself; he tried not to let Merlin's poultice slide off. "It's just a bit weird."
"Could be worse," said Merlin. His eyelashes ruffled sleepily against Arthur's cheek. "I'm trying cabbage leaves next."
&&&
Gwen forged delicate surgical instruments to Gaius’ design, Hunith prepared clean needles and thread -- she had a neat stitch and far steadier hands than Merlin’s were ever likely to be -- and Merlin honed his healing spells.
Arthur preferred to remain in his own bed for the final ordeal, but Gaius gainsaid him; confident though he might feel about Arthur’s prospects of survival -- Merlin’s powers were staggering even should his own fail -- Gaius wanted all his medical provisions and books at hand.
He prepared an anaesthetic potion of mandrake and almond oil to allow Arthur to sleep through the operation. Arthur rallied his spirits sufficient to tease the old physician about his doping ways, but for all Merlin’s assurances Arthur’s heart felt leaden. This was one sleep from which he would likely not wake: caesareans were the last recourse of the dying and the dead.
Merlin interrupted these gloomy forebodings by shaving Arthur’s belly, dousing him with apple cider vinegar and passing him the piss pot.
Lancelot and Percival stood ready to hold Arthur still should his body fight off the anaesthetic. The others, even Gwaine, cried off, saying they’d wait in the corridor until it was over. “City boys,” Percival scoffed, flexing his arms, but Lancelot smiled sickly at Gwen, who looked rather peaky herself. Perhaps she was increasing too.
Even Geoffrey was present to record the birth (and guard against changelings) in stern if reluctant fulfillment of his duties as senior member of the royal council. Gaius raised his brow and set him to boiling water, then took up a sharp, shining blade.
“Just look at me,” said Merlin, stroking Arthur’s brow as the potion took its effect. The chamber was radiant with Merlin’s conjured light, and he was the loveliest thing Arthur had ever seen.
&&&
“He looks like a toad,” Arthur said some hours later as he stared in consternation at the creature in Merlin’s arms.
“He’s beautiful,” said Hunith in mild protest, but Merlin gave Arthur a wide-eyed nod and mouthed definitely amphibian. “How do those stitches feel, Arthur dear?”
“Splendid, thank you,” Arthur replied, mouthing hurts like buggery at Merlin. Gaius had made a lower midline incision more gruesome than any wound Arthur had ever taken on the battlefield; right now it was packed with a yarrow poultice and wrapped in soft linen, but he’d have a fine scar to show for himself once he was back on his feet. “Can’t feel a thing.”
Merlin grinned and palmed off the creature on his mother, then poured Arthur a cup of warm caudle. “Gaius is brewing up some willow bark tea, but this’ll do for now. It should cut the taste of the mandrake.“
“Mm, needs more honey,” Arthur complained for form’s sake, but the caudle was like ambrosia to a parched and disembowelled man.
“Honey’s bad for the baby,” Hunith sang out.
Merlin popped a sticky spoonful into Arthur’s mouth anyhow. Arthur knew he kept Merlin for a reason.
&&&
Once Hunith finished swaddling the child to her satisfaction she lay him in his cot, kissed all three of them, shooed Gaius from his own quarters and left them in peace.
“It’s too quiet,” said Arthur. Not that he was objecting, but it wasn’t what he expected. He hadn’t really expected anything at all. “Should I be feeding him?”
“He hasn’t asked yet,” said Merlin. He gave a shrug of almost criminal unconcern. “Do you want to give it a go?”
“Might as well,” said Arthur, attempting to match Merlin’s bravado. No insolent former manservant was going to out-do Arthur, even in matters of domesticity. “Fish him out of there and let’s get him latched on. We can't let him go hungry.”
“If he starts crying, it’s your fault,” said Merlin. He scooped the baby up with all the casual ease of one raised by a country midwife and brought him over to Arthur’s side.
“He really does look very odd,” Arthur said. The baby’s wrinkled floridness seemed exacerbated by the swaddling, and his wandering gaze did not inspire confidence.
“Hey, you’re seeing him when he’s cleaned up.” Merlin tucked a gentle knuckle to the child’s powdery cheek. “He hasn’t passed all his meconium yet, so you’ve that sight to look forward to.”
Arthur didn’t bother asking for more information. He probably didn’t want to know. Merlin lay the child down and rolled Arthur very carefully onto his side -- Arthur refrained nobly from shouting in agony -- then propped a bolster at his back. Arthur eyed the bundle before him in trepidation and wrapped a cautious arm beneath it, drawing it closer. He addressed his son for the first time: “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
His son did not fail him; he rooted at Arthur’s breast like a piglet, and with a queer pang Arthur’s milk soon let down and flowed free.
“So what do you think we should call him?” Merlin asked as he watched in complete absorption. “And don’t say ‘Toad’, because you’ll make my mother sad.”
“Let’s call him Killian,” said Arthur.
“You don’t think it’s premature?” Merlin stroked his fingertips across the baby’s head. “He hasn’t really got any hair yet. It might turn out as dark as mine.”
“I don’t care,” said Arthur, his decision made. “Killian sounds right to me.”
“To me too,” Merlin agreed. “Everything is just right.”
&&&
They returned Killian to his cot eventually and nestled down to some sleep of their own, and then a small white dragon with golden bright eyes fluttered down from the rafters to curl about his newborn brother.