Chapter Text
Night had settled over Camelot with a thick stillness, the kind that seemed to cradle the entire castle. In the royal bedchamber, the linen curtains barely stirred with the breeze filtering through the half-open window, and the flowers on the sill had timidly closed up, as though they too needed to rest.
Merlin, however, could not sleep.
He had been lying with his eyes wide open for a long while, staring at the ceiling beams, listening to Arthur's even breathing beside him. He was exhausted. His body weighed against the mattress as if the sheets were woven from lead. His eyelids burned, his legs felt numb, and an absurd hunger gnawed at his stomach despite having eaten more than usual at dinner.
"This is ridiculous," he whispered, without moving.
Arthur didn't answer. He was fast asleep, his face relaxed and an arm stretched over Merlin's pillow, as if even in his dreams he needed to be touching him. His breathing was slow, rhythmic, occasionally letting out a low sound, almost a gentle snore.
Merlin turned toward him.
"Do you know you snore?" he murmured. "Not much. Just a little bit. Like an old cat."
Arthur remained silent.
Merlin offered a faint smile and returned his gaze to the ceiling. The hunger grew more insistent. It wasn't a simple craving; it was a primal, almost painful need, as if his body were demanding something specific without knowing how to explain what it was.
"Pears," he told himself softly. "Or bread. Or honey. Or all three."
He ran his tongue over his lips. The thought of getting up to go to the kitchen was tempting, but equally exhausting. He didn't even have the energy to throw off the blankets.
Then he felt it again.
The pulse.
It started in his belly, warm and soft, spreading outward in concentric waves like a stone dropped into a calm pond. It wasn't painful. It wasn't uncomfortable. It was... pleasant. As if something tiny inside him were stretching, yawning, and settling back down.
Merlin held his breath.
"Again."
His hand slipped under the blanket and rested on his abdomen. His palm met the fabric of his nightshirt, warm from his body heat. And beneath it, deep within, his magic throbbing once more.
The flowers by the window bloomed.
Not just one. All at once, unfolding white and blue petals with a barely audible rustle. Merlin turned his head and saw them, silhouetted against the dark, glowing faintly as if lit by the moon.
Tiny lights appeared around the bed.
They were miniscule, golden, drifting through the air with the slowness of seeds on the wind. They moved aimlessly, forming quiet spirals, stopping now and then as if hesitating between drawing closer or fading away.
Merlin watched them, his heart racing.
"What are you doing?" he whispered.
The lights didn't answer, of course. But they drifted a bit closer, tracing a gentle arch above the bed, as if wanting to envelop him without touching him.
Arthur muttered something in his sleep and shifted slightly. Merlin froze, terrified of waking him. The magic, however, did not retreat. It stayed there, floating, warm, protective.
Merlin pressed his lips together.
"This isn't normal," he murmured. "Not even for me."
He pulled his hand away from his abdomen, and the lights flickered as if in protest. The flowers leaned toward the bed, stretching their stems at an impossible speed.
And for the first time, Merlin seriously considered Gaius.
Not as a polite visit. Not as an excuse for a scolding. But as a real, medical, magical necessity.
What if Gaius has to examine me?
The thought made his stomach turn. Not because he feared Gaius; he loved him like a father. But going to see him meant admitting something was wrong, and admitting something was wrong meant acknowledging that this wasn't just a simple magical imbalance.
"Tomorrow," he promised himself in a whisper. "I'll go tomorrow."
The lights went out all at once.
The flowers closed with a soft rustle.
And Merlin was left in the dark, his hand still resting on his belly, the magical pulse beating faintly beneath his palm.
He didn't sleep a wink all night.
The next morning, Merlin walked out into the courtyard with the firm intention of feigning normalcy. He did not succeed.
The moment he set foot on the stone flags, Gwaine materialized beside him like a smiling phantom.
"Good morning, gorgeous," he said, bowing with exaggerated flare. "Did you dream of me?"
"Yes. I dreamed you turned into a frog."
"And was I handsome?"
"You were green."
"Green is a noble color."
Merlin rolled his eyes and kept walking. Gwaine fell into step beside him with the natural ease of someone who had turned cheekiness into an art form.
"Speaking seriously," Gwaine said, lowering his tone slightly, "did you sleep?"
Merlin shot him a side-eye.
"Why do you care?"
"I care about your beauty. A lack of sleep brings dark circles."
"I don't have dark circles."
"You do. And yet you're still ridiculously handsome. It's unfair."
"Are you going to keep going with the 'unfairly gorgeous' routine?"
"It's my new favorite topic."
"Well, change the topic. It's too big for you."
Gwaine smiled, but his gaze lingered on Merlin's face a second longer than usual. It wasn't his usual lighthearted grin. There was something underneath, a flicker of concern he was trying to disguise as flattery.
"Have you eaten?" he asked casually.
"Yes."
"Really?"
"Yes, Gwaine."
"And did you sleep?"
"You already asked me that."
"And you didn't answer me."
"I slept enough."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting."
Percival and Elyan crossed the courtyard toward them, already in their training doublets with swords strapped to their waists. Percival was drying his face with a towel, and Elyan was yawning wide enough to unhinge his jaw.
"Gwaine, leave Merlin alone," Percival said half-heartedly. "You're going to smother him."
"I'm not smothering him. I'm taking care of him."
"I'm not sure which of those two is worse."
"I am an excellent caretaker."
"You're a nuisance."
"An excellent nuisance."
Elyan let out a short laugh.
"Have you seen Arthur?" he asked. "We need to review the formations."
"He's in the council chamber," Merlin replied. "He'll be down in a bit."
"And you?" Elyan pressed. "Are you staying to watch training?"
"Maybe."
"Maybe not," Gwaine interjected. "Merlin needs to rest."
"I don't need to rest."
"Yes, you do."
"Gwaine."
"Merlin."
They locked eyes in a silent standoff. Percival and Elyan watched the scene with raised eyebrows.
"You two are like a pair of old biddies," Percival remarked.
"I am a charming old biddy," Gwaine countered.
"I won't argue with that."
Lancelot arrived at that moment, carrying his usual calm, his sword hanging from his belt. He greeted Merlin with a nod and took a spot beside him—silent, yet with the steady posture of a quiet guardian that didn't go unnoticed.
"Lancelot, are you here to keep watch over Merlin too?" Gwaine asked teasingly.
"No. I just came to train."
"Well, it looks like you're here to protect him."
"Merlin doesn't need me to protect him."
"My point exactly," Merlin said.
Gwaine grinned.
"Then why do you always end up by his side?"
"Because he's my friend."
"And I'm his friend too."
"You're his admirer."
"I am his admirer and his friend. Both."
Percival chuckled.
"Gwaine, stop flirting with the royal consort. The king is going to chop your head off."
"The king has tried to chop my head off several times already. It's still attached."
"Because Merlin saves you."
"Because Merlin loves me."
"Merlin tolerates you."
"Same thing."
Merlin shook his head, but a faint smile softened his face. For a moment, the courtyard filled with that familiar, light banter made of recycled jokes and old affection. The knights moved around him with the easy warmth of men who had shared too many battles, and Merlin let himself be wrapped in it, grateful for the sense of routine.
Arthur finally appeared, crossing the courtyard with a firm stride. His red cloak draped over his shoulders and the crown rested upon his hair, his mere presence enough to hush the surrounding chatter.
"Are you lot warming up or just gossiping?" he asked, coming to a stop before the group.
"Warming up our quick wit, Your Majesty," Gwaine said with a theatrical bow.
"Your quick wit isn't going to win you a battle."
"No, but it makes us look better."
"Debatable."
"Let Merlin be the judge of that."
Gwaine turned his head toward Merlin with a provocative smirk. Arthur followed his gaze, raising an eyebrow.
"Merlin isn't going to say a thing to you."
"Why? Because he finds me irresistible?"
"Because he has better things to do."
"How do you know what Merlin finds irresistible?"
"I'm his husband."
"And I'm his most loyal fan."
"You're a headache."
"An irresistible headache."
Arthur set his jaw. It wasn't jealousy, not exactly; it was that familiar, fond irritation Gwaine knew how to summon without effort. Yet behind the bravado, Arthur also picked up on the shift in Gwaine. He wasn't flirting with his usual throwaway lightness. There was a keener edge of attention in his eyes—a subtle vigilance masked as banter, but not lost on the king.
"Train, Gwaine," Arthur ordered, stepping seamlessly into his commanding tone. "And stop staring at my husband."
"As you command, Your Majesty."
Gwaine flashed Merlin a wink and sauntered off toward the field, Percival and Elyan close on his heels. Lancelot lingered for a second longer.
"Arthur, are you coming to training?"
"Right away."
Lancelot nodded and departed. Arthur turned toward Merlin.
"Have you eaten?"
Merlin blinked.
"You too?"
"What do you mean?"
"Gwaine asked me the exact same thing."
"Well, there must be a reason for it."
"I've eaten, I've slept, and I'm perfectly fine."
"You don't look perfectly fine."
"I look hungry."
"You look it."
"And handsome."
"I won't confirm that."
Merlin smiled.
"Go train, Your Majesty. Your knights are waiting for you."
"Don't move from here."
"I wasn't planning on moving."
"And if you feel unwell..."
"Arthur, go."
Arthur looked at him a moment longer, with that blend of authority and tenderness that only Merlin knew how to read. Then he nodded and headed toward the field, though not without casting one last look over his shoulder.
Merlin was left alone in the courtyard.
And for a second, he felt the magic stir in his belly, as if answering Arthur's fading presence.
I have to go see Gaius, he thought.
And this time, the thought didn't terrify him quite as much.
Gaius's chambers smelled of dried herbs, smoke, and something vaguely medicinal that Merlin had never quite been able to identify. The fire in the hearth crackled softly, while jars, mortars, and parchment scribbled with notes piled high on the workbench. It was a cluttered, familiar place, and it had always offered Merlin a sense of sanctuary.
That day, however, he didn't go there merely for refuge.
Gaius greeted him with a raised eyebrow.
"I didn't expect to see you so soon."
"Neither did I."
"Did you come of your own accord, or did Arthur force you?"
"I came of my own accord."
"That's a first."
"And terrifying."
Gaius set down the jar he was cleaning and walked over.
"Sit down."
Merlin obeyed. He sat in his usual chair beside the table and let out a sigh that seemed to draw from the very depths of his chest. He was exhausted. Beyond exhausted. And he could no longer hide it.
"What is wrong with you?" Gaius asked bluntly.
"I don't know. That's why I'm here."
"Symptoms?"
"Fatigue. Terrible fatigue. As if I haven't slept in days."
"Have you slept?"
"Yes, but it does no good. I wake up just as drained."
"And eating?"
"I can't stop. I'm hungry all the time. Even now."
"Dizziness?"
Merlin hesitated.
"I had a severe spell yesterday. In the armory. Leon caught me."
Gaius fixed him with a stern look.
"And you didn't tell me?"
"I didn't want to worry you."
"Merlin, I am your physician."
"And my friend."
"Which is precisely why you should have told me."
"I know. I'm sorry."
Gaius huffed and sat opposite him. He checked his pulse with practiced fingers, inspecting his eyes, skin, and temperature.
"Anything else?" he asked.
"My magic feels... different."
"Different how?"
"Warmer. More protective. And it's gathering in one place."
"Where?"
Merlin unconsciously touched his abdomen.
"Here."
Gaius froze. His gaze dropped to Merlin's hand before shifting back to his face.
"Since when?"
"I don't know. A few days. Maybe longer."
"And you said nothing to me?"
"I thought it was a temporary imbalance."
"Your magic doesn't suffer from 'imbalances'."
"That's what you told me."
"And I stand by it."
Gaius stood up and retrieved something from a shelf. He returned with a small crystal set in a silver hoop—an instrument Merlin had seen him use on only a handful of occasions. It was a magical conduit, capable of revealing energy frequencies invisible to the human eye.
"I want to examine you with this," Gaius said.
"What are you looking for?"
"I'll know when I see it."
Merlin nodded. He held still as Gaius brought the crystal close to his chest, then his forehead, then his hands. The device emitted a gentle humming, like a distant insect.
"Offer no resistance," Gaius murmured. "Just let your magic flow."
"I don't know how."
"Yes, you do."
Merlin closed his eyes. He focused on the warmth within his body, on the pulse now beating faintly in his belly. The magic responded with a gentle heat that spread through his limbs, filling the room with the scent of fresh grass and honey.
The crystal illuminated.
Gaius drew in a sharp breath.
Merlin opened his eyes.
"What is it?"
"I don't know yet."
Gaius moved the crystal slowly, tracing the flow of magic. The glow intensified near Merlin's chest, drifted down toward his hands, and finally concentrated at his abdomen—where the light grew brighter, more vibrant, as if a tiny second sun burned within.
The old man went completely still.
"Gaius," Merlin called, his voice barely a thread. "What do you see?"
Gaius did not answer immediately. He set the crystal aside with a slow, deliberate gravity and sat down, his face pale and his hands trembling.
"There is something inside you," he said at last, his eyes fixed on Merlin's abdomen. "Something that isn't just your magic."
Merlin felt the air leave his lungs.
"What do you mean?"
"There is a second magical frequency. A distinct energy nested within your own magic... like a flame inside another flame."
"And what is it?"
"I cannot say for certain."
"Gaius."
"I need more time. I need to research."
"Is it dangerous?"
Gaius looked at him with an expression Merlin couldn't quite decipher. It wasn't fear. It wasn't alarm. It was awe, laced with an ancient tenderness.
"I don't believe it is dangerous," the old man said, with an uncharacteristic softness. "But it is profound."
"How profound?"
"As profound as life itself."
Merlin blinked.
"I don't understand."
Gaius leaned forward and took his hands with unexpected gentleness.
"There is magic here that does not belong solely to you," he repeated. "And yet, it is so intertwined with you that I cannot separate the two."
Merlin felt the world stop.
"What are you telling me?"
"I don't know yet. But I will find out."
"Gaius, you're scaring me."
"I don't mean to scare you."
"Well, it's not working."
Gaius squeezed his hands.
"Merlin, listen to me. Whatever is happening, it is not evil. I can feel it. I cannot explain it, but I feel it. Your magic is protecting something. Something new. And that something... shouldn't exist, and yet there it is."
Merlin looked down.
"Inside me?"
"Yes."
"And you don't know what it is?"
"Not yet."
Silence fell over them. On the table, the crystal flickered one last time before going dark. The fire crackled, and a bundle of herbs hanging from the ceiling swayed without a breeze.
Merlin drew his hands away from Gaius and placed both palms over his abdomen.
"What if it's something I can't control?" he asked.
"Then we will discover it together."
"And Arthur?"
"Don't tell him anything yet."
Merlin looked up.
"Why?"
"Because we know nothing for certain yet. And Arthur does not need to carry an uncertainty that neither you nor I can explain."
"I don't want to keep things from him."
"It isn't keeping things from him. It's waiting."
"It feels like the same thing."
"It isn't."
Gaius stood up and moved to the table, shuffling through his parchments with nervous gestures.
"I need to consult my books. There are ancient diagnostic spells that might tell me more."
"How long will it take?"
"I don't know. A few hours. Perhaps a day."
"And in the meantime?"
"You rest. Eat. Do not strain yourself."
"Gaius..."
"Merlin, please."
The old man turned to face him, and for the first time, Merlin saw a mixture of hope and fear in his eyes that he didn't know how to interpret.
"You must trust me," Gaius said. "And you must trust your magic."
"What if I can't?"
"You can. You always have."
Merlin didn't answer. He remained seated, hands over his belly, the magic pulsing softly beneath his palms as if reminding him he was not alone.
And for the first time in a long while, he wished Arthur were there with him.
Arthur did not usually go up to Gaius's chambers without a specific reason. Normally, it was a training injury, a persistent headache, or the need to drag Merlin back to his duties. But that afternoon, as the sun painted the castle corridors in shades of orange, Arthur climbed the steps of the west tower with an uneasiness gnawing at his chest.
He had just seen Merlin leave the room.
He had watched him from the window of the audience hall, without Merlin knowing. His husband walked with his head down, hands tucked into the sleeves of his tunic, and there was a fragility in his shoulders that Arthur did not remember seeing since the dark days of the war. He wasn't stumbling. He didn't look injured. But something in the way he moved, in the curve of his back, in the slowness of his steps, had turned Arthur's blood cold.
Arthur pushed open the chamber door without announcing himself.
Gaius was sitting at his workbench, surrounded by open parchments, uncorked jars, and half-burnt candles. The old man held a leather-bound book in his hands, his fingers tracing the pages with feverish concentration. He did not hear him enter right away.
"Gaius."
The physician looked up with a start.
"Your Majesty."
Arthur closed the door behind him and took a few steps forward. The fire in the hearth crackled softly, and the air smelled of dried herbs and old ink. On the table, a crystal set in silver flickered one last time before going out, as if it had just been used.
"Merlin just left here," Arthur said, his voice more controlled than he felt. "What did you tell him?"
Gaius set the book down with a sigh. He took off his magnifying glasses and rubbed his eyes, looking as though he hadn't rested in hours.
"I asked him a few questions. I examined him."
"And?"
"Your Majesty, it's complicated."
"I didn't come here for you to beat around the bush, Gaius. I saw Merlin leave this room looking like he didn't know whether to run or collapse. I want to know what's wrong with him."
Gaius looked at him in silence. There was an ancient gravity in his eyes, tempered by years of secrets and loyalties. Arthur knew it well. He had seen it before every battle, before every difficult diagnosis, before every uncomfortable truth.
"Please, sit down," Gaius said, gesturing toward a chair.
Arthur obeyed, though his posture remained rigid. He sat on the edge of the seat, hands resting on his knees, his jaw set.
"Merlin has been feeling unwell for days," Gaius began. "Extreme fatigue, dizziness, constant hunger. His magic has changed. It's more concentrated, more protective. And today, when I examined him, I detected something... unusual."
"Unusual how?"
"A second magical frequency. An energy that isn't just his own."
Arthur frowned.
"What does that mean?"
"I'm not entirely certain. Not yet."
"And what are you going to do to find out?"
"Consult my books. There are ancient diagnostic spells that might give me more information. But I need time."
"How much time?"
"I don't know. Perhaps a few hours. Perhaps a day."
Arthur passed a hand over his face in frustration.
"Gaius, don't ask me to just wait. That man is everything to me. If something is happening to him..."
"I don't believe it's anything bad."
Arthur raised his head.
"Why?"
Gaius looked at him with a strange, almost tender expression. There was a spark of wonder in his eyes that didn't fit the gravity of the situation.
"Because Merlin's magic isn't reacting with fear. It's reacting with protection. With warmth. As if it's guarding something. It isn't the reaction of an illness. It's the reaction of... life."
Arthur froze.
"Life?"
Gaius didn't answer right away. He held Arthur's gaze for a moment, as though measuring how much he could say without being mistaken.
"Your Majesty, I believe we must wait before drawing conclusions."
"Gaius."
"I need to confirm it."
Arthur understood immediately that there was something significant here. Something Gaius didn't want to voice aloud, perhaps for fear of being wrong, perhaps for fear of offering hope that might prove groundless. But his words echoed through the chamber with unexpected weight: life.
"Does Merlin know what you've told me?" he asked.
"He knows what I've told him. Nothing more."
"And did you tell him there's a second magic?"
"Yes."
"And how did he take it?"
Gaius hesitated.
"Confused. Scared, perhaps. But not entirely."
Arthur stood up from the chair. The anxiety that had brought him there had transformed into something deeper, more urgent. He needed to see Merlin. He needed to touch him, to make sure he was still whole.
"I have to go see him."
"Your Majesty, let him rest."
"I'm not leaving him alone."
"Merlin is strong."
"I don't doubt that. But I'm not strong when he's unwell."
Gaius didn't answer. Arthur headed for the door, but before leaving, he paused with his hand on the latch.
"Gaius."
"Yes?"
"Whatever it is you're investigating... don't hide anything from me. Not anymore."
The old man nodded slowly.
"I won't, Your Majesty."
Arthur stepped out of the chamber, his heart in his throat and his mind full of unanswered questions. Something in Gaius's words had lodged itself firmly in his chest: a reaction of life. What could Merlin's magic be guarding with such devotion? And why did that single word—life—make him tremble inside as if the ground were shifting beneath his feet?
He didn't know.
But he was determined to find out.
The royal garden was draped in the golden light of late afternoon. Rosebushes climbed the stone walls, and the air smelled of damp earth, jasmine, and freshly cut grass. It was the one place in Camelot where Merlin could be alone without anyone disturbing him, if only for a little while.
He sat beneath the old apple tree growing at the center of the garden, his back resting against the rough trunk and his legs stretched out over the grass. The sun warmed his face, and for a moment he closed his eyes, letting the silence wrap around him.
A minute hadn't even passed when his magic began to awaken.
It started as a soft tingling in his fingertips, then a warmth spreading up his arms, and finally a surge of energy that enveloped him completely, like an invisible cloak. The nearby plants reacted instantly. The blades of grass grew taller, the flower stems straightened, and a vine resting in a corner began to climb with astonishing vitality.
Merlin opened his eyes.
"What are you doing?" he whispered, watching a small daisy sprout between two nearby stones, unfolding its white petals with a hypnotic slowness.
The magic didn't answer with words. It answered with sensations. Protection. Warmth. Life.
Merlin reached out a hand and touched the daisy with the tip of his fingers. The petal was soft, real. And as he touched it, he felt a pulse that didn't come from the plant, but from his own belly. A small, steady beat, separate from him yet deeply his own.
"What are you?" he murmured.
The flower leaned toward him.
Merlin held his breath. It wasn't the flower responding to him. It was the magic—his magic—curling around him, speaking to him in a wordless language. It spoke of care, of shelter, of a primal love that required no names.
"I don't understand," he said, his voice barely a thread. "I don't know what's happening to me."
The garden flowers bloomed all at once, as if trying to comfort him. Petals drifted free from the rosebushes and floated in the air, creating a slow shower of color. The apple tree dropped a single leaf onto Merlin's shoulder, and he gathered it up gently.
"Life," he repeated, holding onto the sensation. "I feel life."
Yet he didn't dare say anything more.
He remained there, back against the tree and leaf between his fingers, feeling his magic cradle him with a tenderness he couldn't remember ever experiencing before. It wasn't the power of battle or the fury of a storm. It was something far more intimate, more vulnerable. Something connecting him to the earth, to the plants, to the very air.
Something connecting him to a life he still did not understand.
And for a second, he felt like crying.
Not out of sadness.
Out of wonder.
He placed his hand over his abdomen and left it there, feeling the warmth radiating from within. The magic deepened as if in answer to the gesture, and for a brief moment, the entire garden seemed to glow.
"I have to talk to Kilgharrah," he said softly. "He knows. He always knows."
He stood up carefully, and as he did, one final flower bloomed right where he had been sitting. It was white, with flawless petals, leaning toward him as if wanting to keep him company.
Merlin looked down at it.
"Thank you," he whispered.
And he stepped out of the garden, resolved to seek out the dragon.
The sun was beginning to set when Merlin passed through the gates of Camelot. This time he didn't bother asking for permission or looking for a companion. He walked with a firm stride toward the woods, leaving behind the ramparts and the guards, and he didn't stop until the trees completely enveloped him.
He didn't need to call Kilgharrah. The dragon was already waiting for him.
He found him in a clearing he didn't recall ever visiting before, an open space where the twilight light filtered through the canopy of the oaks. Kilgharrah was lying on the grass, wings folded and golden eyes fixed on him.
"I knew you would come," the dragon said, in that deep voice that echoed in his chest.
Merlin stopped a few yards away.
"Why?"
"Because your magic brought you."
"My magic didn't bring me. I came myself."
"Your magic and you are one and the same, Emrys."
Merlin didn't reply. He stood staring at the dragon, his chest heaving and his hands clenched into fists. He had crossed half the forest without resting, and now that he was standing before him, all the words he had rehearsed stuck in his throat.
"You told me my magic had someone else to protect," he said at last, with a firmness he didn't entirely feel. "Now tell me who."
Kilgharrah observed him for a long moment.
"Are you certain you want to know?"
"No. But I need to know."
"The truth is not always easy to bear."
"I've been bearing difficult truths for years."
The dragon bowed his head, as if recognizing the bravery in that response.
"Then listen, Emrys. For what I am about to tell you will change your life forever."
Merlin held his breath.
"Your lineage does not end with you," Kilgharrah said. "Inside you exists a tiny magical life, still very young, which your magic is instinctively protecting."
The world stopped.
Merlin felt the ground vanish beneath his feet. The dragon's words echoed in his mind again and again, but refused to arrange themselves into a coherent meaning.
"A... life?" he repeated, his voice barely a thread.
"Yes."
"Inside me?"
"Yes."
"How...?"
"Your omega nature made the conception possible. But the magic within you, the magic of Emrys, has turned that little being into something extraordinary. It is not merely a child. It is a spark of ancient magic, bound to you in a way that even I do not fully comprehend."
Merlin brought a hand to his abdomen. It was not a conscious gesture. It was as if his body had known, from the very beginning, what his mind refused to accept.
"Are you saying that I am...?"
"I am not going to give it a name just yet," Kilgharrah interrupted him, with unusual gentleness. "I am only telling you that there is life. That your magic recognizes it. And that it already loves it."
Merlin felt tears welling in his eyes.
"And Arthur?"
"He will know when the time is right."
"And if I can't...?"
"You are Emrys. The most powerful sorcerer in Albion. There is nothing you cannot do."
"This is different."
"Yes. But you are not alone. You never have been."
Merlin sank to his knees on the grass. He couldn't help it. His legs would not hold him, his chest felt tight, and an immense, indescribable emotion surged right through him. It wasn't fear. It wasn't sadness. It was a blend of wonder, disbelief, and a happiness so fragile he feared he might shatter it if he breathed too deeply.
"I don't understand," he whispered, hands over his belly. "I don't understand how this could have happened."
"Magic does not always follow the laws of men," Kilgharrah said. "And you, more than anyone, know this. Your status as an omega made the miracle possible, but your magic has transformed it into something unique."
Merlin looked up at the dragon.
"Is... is it alright?"
"The little spark is strong. Very strong. And it is growing protected by your magic, which enfolds it like a shield."
"And that's why my magic is behaving like this?"
"Yes. Your magic no longer belongs to you alone. It now has another purpose."
Merlin let out a sob. Not of pain, but of relief, of fear, of everything he didn't know how to name.
"Arthur... Arthur has to know."
"He will. But not now."
"Why not?"
"Because you are still coming to terms with it yourself. And because the news must be shared at the right moment."
Merlin nodded slowly, without taking his hands off his abdomen. Tears rolled down his cheeks and fell onto the grass, where tiny blue flowers bloomed the moment they touched it.
"My lord," Kilgharrah said, lowering his head even further. "You did not come here seeking fear. You came seeking truth. And the truth is that the life within you is a miracle. A miracle that not even I, in all my centuries, have ever witnessed."
Merlin looked at him through his tears.
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"Because you had to feel it yourself first."
"I felt things, but I didn't understand."
"Now you understand."
Merlin fell silent. The sun had set almost completely, and the first stars were beginning to shimmer in the sky. The dragon spread one of his wings, creating a protective shadow over him.
"I must go back," Merlin said at last, his voice barely a whisper.
"Yes."
"Arthur will be waiting for me."
"Yes."
"And what if I don't know how to tell him?"
"You will find a way. You always have."
Merlin stood up slowly. The magic stayed with him, wrapping him in a warmth he now understood better. It was no longer a terrifying mystery. It was a promise.
"Thank you, Kilgharrah."
"Do not thank me, my lord. Just care for what you carry within."
"I will."
"And take care of yourself as well."
Merlin nodded. Then he turned and began walking back toward Camelot, his heart beating in his chest and a hand resting over his belly.
Behind him, Kilgharrah watched him leave.
And when Merlin disappeared among the trees, the dragon closed his eyes and whispered:
"May magic guide you, Emrys."
The forest grew silent.
And in Merlin's belly, the little spark of life shone with a new light.