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The first time was in early spring. After months of sullen refusal, he allowed Arthur to carry him to the secret garden where his stumbles went unobserved and his falls were broken by wildflowers.
The second time, Arthur supported Merlin’s arms as he sightlessly traced the infant's features. In a voice weak from disuse, Merlin croaked, “What’s his name?” He heard the smile in Gwen’s voice as she and Lancelot answered together: “Will”.
The third time, he knew he wasn’t mistaken. Head nestled on Arthur’s chest, sunlight across his cheek, Merlin dozed and listened to his husband’s heartbeat. It was only later he realized he had passed the long hours without a single nightmare. “Can you hear it too?”
Arthur nodded against Merlin’s neck. “It’s getting stronger.”
“How long can your heart beat for both of us?”
“As long as you need. Forever.”
The dam broke. Eventually the sobbing quieted and Merlin slept.
“Beloved,” Arthur whispered, “Welcome home.”