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Gwen leaned her head against Merlin's shoulder and closed her eyes. His hand was steady on her shoulder as he laid his cheek against her hair. The wind rustled through the trees, the whistle of it mixing with the crashing waves of Lake Avalon.
Gwen took Merlin’s free hand in her own. She knew this was a difficult day for both of them, the pain still all too fresh even after a decade.
Their wedding rings clinked together, the sound all but lost in the cacophony of noise.
For a while, Gwen thought she had lost her best friend along with her husband.
When Percival came back – alone, so alone – he brought news that would have sent Gwen to her knees had she not known that her people needed her to be strong. Sir Gwaine, a loyal knight and someone she had come to know as a dear friend – dead. Morgana, who she still remembered gossiping and laughing along with in the castle halls, even though she had been hurt so irreversibly by her – dead. Arthur, the golden king who shone brighter than the sun itself, her husband whom she loved with all her heart – dead. And Merlin; friendly, sarcastic, wonderful, loyal to a fault, magical Merlin – sitting in silence on the shores of Lake Avalon, all alone, unmovable.
Not even a day had passed after her coronation when she set out on a journey, with Leon and Percival at her side.
Merlin was still there, sitting on the grass, looking out into the water like he wanted nothing more than to jump in and be taken by the waves, right after his king.
Gwen sat down next to him and laid her hand on his shoulder. He didn’t flinch, didn’t move at all. She sat beside him until her legs turned numb.
“Come home,” she said to him finally.
Merlin shook his head ever so slightly. “I’m not sure if I can.”
“I know you can.” She knew Merlin was far stronger than he ever gave himself credit for. “You must be tired; you’ve been away for nearly a sennight.”
A teary laugh escaped Merlin’s lips. “Exhausted.”
Gwen enveloped him in an embrace, and his arms wrapped around her in return. They held onto each other, for they had nothing else to hold onto. Gwen’s tears were soaked up by Merlin’s neckerchief.
Merlin lived as a shadow of his former self, and it broke Gwen’s heart to see him so hollow and lifeless when he had only been anything but before. Sometimes she would see him wandering the halls aimlessly, like he couldn’t find what he was looking for.
They frequently spent their evenings together, drafting laws about magic in her chambers. It was in these moments that Merlin seemed most alive. And yet, Gwen still never saw him smile.
“Mum, can you tell me a bedtime story?” Beatrice asked, her sleepy, hazel eyes sparkling with curiosity.
Gwen brushed a hand through her daughter’s light brown curls and smiled. “Alright, but just one. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
Beatrice beamed brightly. “I know! I can’t believe I can watch the knights spar from so close!”
Gwen pressed a kiss against her forehead. “If you’re well-behaved, they might even let you hold one of their training swords.”
Beatrice’s eyes widened. “Oh, will they? Will they really?”
Gwen’s chest constricted painfully at her daughter’s enthusiasm for swordfighting. “Yes, but first, you have to sleep for a little while. You don’t want to fall asleep while you’re watching the knights, do you?”
Beatrice shook her head enthusiastically. “I don’t!”
“You know, there was a time when everyone in Camelot was cursed to fall asleep. Do you want to know the story of how your Papa saved everyone from it?”
Beatrice grinned excitedly. “Of course I do!”
And so, Gwen told it.
When Gwen found out her bouts of faintness and queasiness were not just manifestations of her grief, she cried with joy and sadness equally.
The first time Merlin smiled ever since Arthur passed was when she told him. It was as if the knowledge that Arthur had left some part of his soul behind restored the tiniest sliver of his older self.
He seemed to find purpose again in taking care of Gwen and the life blossoming inside of her.
“You’re not a servant anymore,” she would remind him whenever he would offer to do a chore for her.
He would just smile, bittersweet, and keep on offering his help.
It wasn’t exactly unwelcome, no matter how guilty Gwen would feel. Her pregnancy was difficult, almost as if the babe could feel that something was missing. Gwen would feel ill for days on end, bedbound and miserable. But Merlin would stay by her side for it all, just talking or reading to her or sitting in companionable silence, whichever she needed most. More and more often, she would feel her heart squeeze fondly at the sight of him, an echo of something she felt so very long ago.
Of course, Merlin’s support was also welcome when the more tradition-inclined council members questioned the legitimacy of Gwen’s pregnancy.
The child’s birth was quick to dismiss any such concerns, though. Princess Beatrice may have shared Gwen’s hair and complexion, but her features unmistakably matched Arthur’s, everything from the shape of her eyes to her royal, aquiline nose and plump, pouty lips. She won the hearts of the court with her very first breath.
The knight fell down with a loud clang of metal and chain, the tip of the blade nearly grazing his throat. His opponent removed her helmet, long braid flopping down against her back. “Do you yield, Sir Percival?”
“I yield,” he concurred, and Beatrice drew her blade back. She extended a hand to the knight, helping him up.
“You promise you weren’t going easy on me, right?” she asked.
Percival removed his own helm. “I’ve got no reason to do that now. You beat me fair and square, Your Highness.”
Beatrice rolled her eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you it’s just ‘Beatrice’ on the training grounds?”
Gwen watched the exchange fondly from the battlements. Her daughter really was a talented swordsman, already capable of beating a fully trained knight – even if Percival was on the older side now – at the young age of sixteen winters. Another way she took after her father.
She felt a pair of arms wrap around her middle and relaxed into the touch, leaning her head against the crook of her husband’s neck. “There’s hardly anything of me in her, huh?” she joked.
Merlin hummed. “I wouldn’t say that. She’s never been as rude as Arthur, so she definitely got that from you.”
Gwen found herself chuckling at that. Yes, perhaps Merlin was right in that regard.
“Hey Mum, Papa! Did you see that?” she heard from the training grounds suddenly.
She looked down to see Beatrice waving at her enthusiastically. “We did!” she called down to her daughter. “You did wonderful, Cub!”
Beatrice scoffed. “Ugh, I told you to stop calling me that,” she said, crossing her arms in annoyance.
Gwen looked over her shoulder to meet Merlin’s gaze, seeing her own fond smile mirrored back at her. Beatrice would always be their little Cub.
Gwen refused outright to entrust Beatrice to a wetnurse. Yes, she may have had her queenly duties to attend to, but that didn’t mean she was willing to give up the chance to raise her daughter herself. It may not have been traditional, but well, Gwen herself wasn’t very traditional either.
It wasn’t easy, by any means. Her heart ached each time she had to leave Beatrice behind even for just a few candle marks, but she had a kingdom to rule. She knew the young Princess couldn’t be in better hands in her absence, but she still missed her daughter dearly.
Merlin took care of Beatrice diligently in those times. He never complained, not even once, not about the crying, the changing of swaddling clothes, or the late nights.
He was wonderful with her, kind and gentle and patient. Often, it was only his presence that could calm her crying.
Beatrice was what finally convinced him to move out from his room in Gaius’ chambers. He was the soon-to-be Court Sorcerer, and Gwen had told him many times that he deserved a place more fitting of his status, but he had refused every time. But with a young Princess to take care of, he was much less reluctant to move closer to Gwen’s chambers.
It was not uncommon for Gwen to pay him a visit in the darkest times of the night, unable to calm Beatrice on her own. He would come without complaint, and Gwen would often struggle to hold back her tears as she watched her daughter fall asleep in his arms.
But sometimes, even that wouldn’t be enough to ease the Princess’ cries. On those rare nights, the two of them would cry along with Beatrice, mourning all they had lost and all they had never had.
Amongst all her duties as queen, Gwen always worried that she would miss the first milestones of her daughter’s life. It was not unfounded; while she’d had the privilege to experience a lot of them, council meetings stopped her from seeing many.
And though Gwen was lucky enough to hear her daughter’s first words, after the fact, she thought it perhaps would have been better if she hadn’t.
It was not long after the first anniversary of Beatrice’s birth that it happened. It was late into the afternoon, and the three of them, Gwen, Beatrice, and Merlin, were enjoying the last candle marks of sunlight in the castle gardens. Merlin was reading a spell book. Not one with dangerous incantations, but instead a collection of small charms and tricks, for entertainment. It was strange to think about that not very long ago, Gwen wouldn’t have believed such uses for magic even existed.
When he finally found something he thought was worth trying, he placed the book face down on the blanket they were sitting on. With a whisper and a quick, golden shine in his eyes, a handful of small, star-like sparks appeared in front of him. They danced around each other as Merlin’s fingers moved.
Beatrice’s attention was instantly drawn to them, and she laughed as the sparks formed different shapes at Merlin’s will.
Gwen smiled fondly as she watched the two of them, something sweet yet painful tugging at her heart. She loved these two people more than anything in the world, and she wished for nothing more than for the only other person whom she had ever loved as much to be there too.
When the sparks fell away, Beatrice clapped clumsily, as she had likely seen the nobles at court do frequently after such displays of magic. Merlin gave an exaggerated bow.
That was when Beatrice reached her hand toward him and said “Papa!”
The air seemed to freeze suddenly, and Merlin blinked a few times, lips parting. Gwen watched her daughter with wide eyes, heart plummeting in her chest.
“Papa, papa!” Beatrice repeated again in excitement.
Merlin shook his head ever so slightly. “No, no, that’s not—” His voice broke, and he cleared his throat to recover. “That’s not who I am.”
Beatrice blinked her brown, innocent eyes up at him. Swallowing past the lump in her throat, Gwen picked up her daughter’s favourite toy, a knight figurine that Gwen’s father had carved so very long ago for Elyan. She wiggled the toy around to catch Beatrice’s attention. It seemed to be successful, as the young Princess finally turned her gaze away from Merlin, and onto the small, wooden knight. She reached for it and Gwen let her take it, thankful for the easy distraction.
When she looked at Merlin, she saw that he had turned his face away. She could still see the tear tracks on his cheek anyway. She shuffled closer, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It’s not your fault,” she said quietly.
He sniffled. “ He should be the one living through all these things, not me.”
Gwen allowed a few of her tears to escape. “As much as I wish he could be here, I would want you here as well regardless. I know you sometimes pretend that you don’t, but you do matter, Merlin. You matter to Camelot. And to me as well.”
Finally, he turned to look at her, eyes red-rimmed and glistening. “It’s just… I don’t want all this to overshadow what he did, what he was.”
Gwen shook her head. “It won’t. If there is anything that I can promise you, it’s that Arthur will be remembered.” She glanced at her daughter briefly. “Maybe she has no physical memory of him, but she will know him once she is older. He is part of her , in many ways.”
Merlin swallowed heavily, throat bobbing. “I hope you’re right.” He took a deep breath. “But it still felt wrong to hear Beatrice call me that. It made me feel like I was intruding on your lives.”
Gwen felt her chest constrict. “Oh, Merlin. You could never be intruding.”
Merlin smiled bitterly. “That’s sweet of you to say, Gwen, but we both know I’m not really her father.”
“Maybe not by blood, no,” Gwen said, meeting his gaze. “But you’re raising her as a father would.” And how thankful she was for it. Any time she couldn’t spend with her daughter, she knew she was in the hands of the person she trusted most. To have such security was invaluable. “You’ve helped me tremendously. I couldn’t have done this without you.”
He looked down sheepishly. “You would have managed without me.”
Gwen reached out to cup his jaw in her hand, urging him to meet her eyes. “No. I wouldn’t have.”
For a few moments, they just looked at each other in silence. Gwen was close enough to see the flecks of gold in Merlin’s sapphire irises. And just like that, overtaken by a sudden urge, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his.
The kiss was brief and gentle, and yet, it awakened something warm and powerful inside Gwen’s ribcage. Her heart fluttered wildly in a way it hadn’t in nearly two winters.
But pulling back was a sharp wake-up call, being faced with Merlin’s surprised expression. Her stomach constricted with guilt. Though Merlin had kissed her back, she knew this would be too much to ask of him. Gwen herself wasn’t even sure if she wanted this either. She knew Arthur would want her to be happy, but nonetheless, she couldn’t help but feel like she was betraying him.
She cleared her throat and shuffled away. “It’s best if we go inside. The sun will set soon.”
Merlin pursed his lips and nodded. “Right.”
Queen Annis took a liking to Beatrice very quickly. Hardly two days into her visit, she followed along with Gwen to watch the young Princess learn the basics of sword fighting.
“It’s miraculous. She has all the good traits of the Pendragons, and none of the negative ones,” she told Gwen as Beatrice fiddled with her vambrace.
Gwen laughed fondly. “I wouldn’t go as far as to say that. She’s just as stubborn as her father.” Though Gwen had not wanted her to begin training yet, Beatrice insisted with all her might that she was ready, and she would not let the matter go in spite of Gwen’s many attempts. “She’s only seven winters and already iron-willed.”
Annis hummed, smiling. “Fierce as a bear cub, is she?”
Gwen’s heart ached at the comparison. Yes, Beatrice was her little Cub indeed. “She certainly is.”
“You manage her well. Both you and that husband of yours do.” Annis gave her a meaningful look. “He’s quite different to how I remember him. I was made to believe he was a fool.”
Gwen shrugged, smirking. “He likes to make people believe that, yes. He’s a lot more complicated than he first seems. But there is no one I trust more.”
“Papa!” Beatrice cried out suddenly, dropping her training sword and running towards an approaching Merlin. He’d been stuck in magic-related negotiations all day and was looking a little worn-down, but his face lit up as he crouched down and let Beatrice crash into his arms.
Annis watched the exchange thoughtfully. “Yes. I can see why.”
It wasn’t until seasons later that Gwen brought up the thought lingering in the back of her mind since that kiss. Beatrice was already asleep, and they were both trying not to mention that Merlin had no real reason to stay in Gwen’s chambers this late.
The candlelight flickered warmly between them, and Gwen found she couldn’t hold the words inside her any longer.
“Be my consort,” she blurted out before she could think it over too many times.
Merlin stared at her for a few moments, lips parted. Then, he shook his head. “I can’t.”
Gwen huffed out a small laugh. “You hardly seem surprised that I asked.”
“I’ve been wondering about it. Since…” He trailed off with a shrug.
“Since we kissed in the gardens? Yes, so have I.” She pursed her lips. “Why can’t you?”
He gave her a meaningful look. “You know why.”
She reached for his hand, taking it between both of her own. “I loved Arthur more than I could ever put into words.” She caressed his calloused palm with her thumb. “As I know you did too. I understand what this all feels like. We both know that nothing will be as grand, as momentous as what we felt for him. But Merlin, it doesn’t have to be.”
Merlin placed his other hand atop Gwen’s. “I’m sorry, Gwen. I understand what you’re saying, but it would still feel like betrayal.”
She hummed. “I have to admit, that thought worried me for quite a long time as well. But I have to believe he would want us both to be happy. He knew we loved him. There’s no doubt about it. And he would never wish to take the shreds of happiness we’ve found, because he loved us back as well.”
Merlin sighed, looking down at their connected hands. “I love you, Gwen. I really do. But I can’t accept your offer. Not yet.”
Gwen smiled, hope flickering in her heart at Merlin’s last words. “Alright. If you ever change your mind, I will be waiting for you.” She huffed out a sad little laugh. “I’m quite good at that sort of thing.”
Gwen was surprised to find Merlin examining his own reflection when she entered their room. He was standing close to the mirror, calculating eyes examining the sight.
She stepped closer to him, amused. “What? Did you find a grey hair?”
He shook his head. “No. The opposite.” When he turned to face her, there was something in the glint of his eyes that chased away Gwen’s light mood.
She drew her eyebrows together, confused. “What do you mean?”
He stepped back slightly and gestured at his face with his hand. “Look at me, Gwen. I’m supposed to be forty winters now.”
Gwen pursed her lips. It was true, Merlin did look quite youthful for his age, but it wasn’t so out of the ordinary, was it? She told him as much. “Perhaps you just age gracefully by nature.”
He shook his head, a little frantic. “No, that’s exactly it, I haven’t aged. I have seen this face in the mirror for many winters and it has stayed identical for the last twelve. I’ve been thinking recently, and I’ve realised. In the Crystal Cave, back when…” He trailed off, voice failing him. They’d both struggled to talk of those handful of days, even after so long. He cleared his throat. “There’s something I was told, and I’d thought it was symbolic, that it was supposed to mean that my powers were part of me innately, but I think I know their true meaning now.” He took a deep breath. “‘Always will be.’” There was a faraway look in his eyes as he recited the words.
And oh, Gwen understood. The thought should have been mad, impossible, but it made far too much sense. “Oh, Merlin,” she said, pulling him into her arms. She couldn’t imagine the burden of this newfound knowledge.
He held on tight for a few moments, then pulled away, hands still on Gwen’s waist. “It’s alright. Now that I know, I can age my body as needed with magic. No one will have to know of it, not the court, not Beatrice.”
She cupped his jaw with both her hands, caressing over the stubble. “But what about you?”
He leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. “I don’t know. But I do know that we still have many years together. And you’ve taught me that that’s what really matters. I can spend the rest of that time fearing what’s to come, or I can spend it happy with you and Beatrice. And yes, it will break my heart to lose you, but you told me once that hearts were made to be broken, that it was inevitable. And that it was my choice whether I learned to put mine back together knowing it will happen again or closed it away only to have it broken anyway. So here I am now, and I am not building that wall up ever again.”
Gwen wiped away the tear escaping from his eye with her thumb, her own sight blurred. She swallowed heavily. There was nothing more she could say. She just had to believe him.
Beatrice was every bit a Pendragon when she was angry. She fumed and shouted and fought viciously, and nothing could stop the destructive whirlwind of her fury.
“This is so unfair!” she exclaimed, stomping angrily.
Gwen just sighed. “I’m sorry, Beatrice, but you’re too young. You’re only fifteen winters, and I know you want to go with the knights, but I can’t in good conscience let you.”
Beatrice huffed, crossing her arms. “But I’m ready! I’ve beaten some of the same knights you’re sending out many times before.”
“It’s not your skill we’re calling into question,” Merlin tried to reason. “But you don’t have enough experience to fight a beast like the basilisk. They’re vicious creatures.”
Beatrice threw her arms up in frustration. “How am I supposed to get experience if you never allow me to go on any quests?!”
Gwen took a deep breath. “We’re only trying to protect you. I know it’s difficult to accept, but our decision is final. Remember, your father had never been sent on such missions until past his sixteenth winter either.”
“Yeah, alright,” Beatrice said with a scoff. “Lot of good he must’ve been, dying on the battlefield. I’m bloody tired of being compared to someone who barely has anything to do with me!” she yelled, then stormed away without another word.
Gwen was left standing there in shock. She wasn’t… she hadn’t meant to compare them; she’d only brought it up as an example. Had she been doing that often? She couldn’t recall, but perhaps it affected her daughter more than she could have anticipated.
And to have Beatrice dismiss Arthur’s part in her life so flippantly hurt deeply. Merlin seemed similarly shaken when she looked at him. She could practically hear the buzzing of his thoughts inside his head, old regrets and guilt brought to the surface so suddenly.
She reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together. “Merlin? Are you with me?”
Merlin squeezed her hand and blinked glistening eyes at her. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “Yeah, I’m here.”
Gwen breathed out in relief. She still remembered the time when it was much more difficult to break Merlin out of his thoughts.
Merlin wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him. “Even in this, she’s so much like him, isn’t she?”
Gwen let out a pained chuckle. “Yes, she is.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “Have we been too hard on her?”
Merlin hummed. “I don’t know. I want to believe we haven’t. But we shouldn’t blame her for not understanding; she’s only a child and it’s not as if she knows what Arthur was really like.”
“I know.” Gwen nodded, burying her face in the crook of Merlin’s neck. “I wish she did.”
Merlin pressed a kiss into her hair. “Yeah. Me too.”
But then, there was another part to a Pendragon’s anger – the aftermath. Their fury burned bright and fast, but once the flame was out, the ashes would rebuild themselves again.
Not two candle marks later, Beatrice entered their chambers again without knocking – a bad habit she had picked up from Merlin. Her eyes were slightly red-rimmed and guilty. She stopped in the centre of the room, shuffling her feet. “I’m sorry for what I said. I shouldn’t have been that insensitive.”
Gwen shared a look with Merlin, and they both approached their daughter, enveloping her in a hug. “We’re sorry too,” she said. “We hadn’t realised we gave you the impression that we were comparing you to your father.”
Beatrice sniffled. “It’s just… sometimes I feel like you’re looking at me, but seeing him instead.”
They let go of each other. “I’m sorry we made you feel that way,” Gwen said. “You do remind us of him, but we love you for who you are, not who you’re like.”
Beatrice’s lips stretched into an unsteady smile. “I know that, Mum. And I know my father must have meant a lot to you.”
“He did,” Merlin said, brushing a curl of hair away from Beatrice’s face. “But so do you.”
Without any more words, Beatrice pulled them into an embrace once again. They stayed like that for a very long time.
Gwen knew she would likely never hear the exact details of the last few days before her husband’s death. Merlin avoided the matter entirely. Not that Gwen could blame him for it; it was still far too fresh a memory.
She knew he was working through it in his own way. He was quiet and withdrawn, but he seemed to be doing fine. As fine as he could be, after all they had been through.
In hindsight, she should have realised that this was Merlin , and he could hide parts of himself better than anyone else.
The first time she knew there had to be something more to his state is when she woke up in the middle of the night, only to see his form standing at the foot of her bed. She bolted upright in fright before she registered who the figure was. She breathed a sigh of relief. “Merlin? Is something wrong?”
As if suddenly awoken from a deep slumber, Merlin’s eyes snapped to her. “No, no, I’m… sorry, I’m sorry Gwen, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He stepped back. “Sorry, I… I should go.”
Even in the darkness, Gwen could see his hands trembling. She pushed her legs over the edge of the bed, the stone floor cold against her feet.
She stood up and approached him carefully. As soon as she was within close enough distance to touch him, she took Merlin’s hand in her own. “What is it?”
Quietly, Merlin began to cry. His tears streamed down his face soundlessly. “I can’t let it happen again…” he choked out.
Gwen drew her brows together, concerned. “Let what happen?”
Merlin shook his head. “I can’t… I won’t allow it.”
Not wanting to worsen whatever spiral Merlin was falling into, Gwen guided him to her bed, and the two of them sat down on the edge. It would have been considered wildly inappropriate had anyone seen, but Gwen didn’t care. Merlin was her best friend, and she wasn’t going to send him away in this state.
They sat in silence for a long time, long enough that from her window, Gwen could see the Sun begin to stain the darkened horizon with shades of orange and gold.
Merlin squeezed her hand lightly before he spoke. “It may sound silly, but I had a nightmare.”
Gwen shook her head. “It’s not silly at all. It clearly affected you deeply so whatever it was, it must have been quite serious.”
Merlin sighed. “It was… I was by the lake again. And it was like with him , all over again, but it was you in my arms instead.”
“Oh, Merlin…” Gwen caressed the back of his hand with her thumb. “That will never happen. We live in times of peace now.”
He nodded. “I know. Rationally, I know it, but the thought is still there, in the back of my mind. I can’t help it.” His gaze met hers. “I can’t lose you, Gwen. Not you too.”
She pulled him into a sideways hug. “I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”
Merlin just buried his face into her hair, and said nothing more.
From then on, Gwen would pay more thorough attention to Merlin’s moods. And whenever she would notice him drifting away into the depths of his mind, she would take his hand and keep him from floating too far away, anchoring him as best as she could. She only hoped it was enough.
As time passed, it only became more and more undeniable that the bond between Gwen and Merlin was something far beyond friendship. Especially since Beatrice was quite vocal, even in front of the court, about who she thought of as her Papa.
Merlin, for his part, just went along with it. In all but blood, Beatrice was his daughter, and with time, he became less and less ashamed to show that.
And so, Gwen waited for what would follow. It was inevitable, she knew it now. Somehow, she felt that it always had been.
Each time Merlin hesitated to speak up about something, her heart would skip a beat. But he never did say the words, no matter how much Gwen anticipated them.
So, one day, Gwen finally decided to take her own fate in her hands.
As the two of them stood in front of Lake Avalon, the setting sun painting the sky gold, she turned to Merlin and took both his hands in hers. “What are you afraid of?” she asked.
He had no need to ask what she’d meant. “Gwen…” He pursed his lips. “If I lost you, I couldn’t bear it.”
She hummed. “So it’s heartbreak you fear?”
“I can’t go through something like that, not again.” He looked out towards the lake, the gentle waves reflecting in his eyes.
Gwen took a deep breath. “Merlin, you can’t close off your heart forever.”
He swallowed, looking down at his feet.
She stepped closer to him, one of her hands reaching for his face. She turned his gaze up to meet hers. “I know how much it hurts. Gods know how many times I have had my heart broken now.” She ran her thumb along his cheekbone. “But that is exactly why I have learned that it’s inevitable. You can put up a wall if you so wish. But your heart will break again. Your choice is how you go about rebuilding it.”
A few tears escaped Merlin’s eyes. “I’m scared, Gwen.”
She smiled sadly. “So am I. But I won’t let my fear take my happiness away.”
Merlin watched her for a few moments before his eyes slid shut. He leaned down, capturing Gwen’s lips in a kiss.
Gwen let her eyes close as well. Warmth spread through her chest as Merlin’s lips moved slowly against hers.
Once they parted, Merlin laid his forehead against hers. “I will be your consort, if you’ll have me.”
Gwen nodded weakly. “Of course I will,” she said, then pulled him down, pressing their mouths together once again.
And as they kissed on the shores of Lake Avalon, Gwen knew she had made the right choice.
Merlin stretched out on the blanket, eyes closed. He inhaled deeply, smelling wildflowers and damp earth.
His rest was disturbed by the tickling of hair against his temple, though. He blinked his eyes open, seeing bright, cornflower blue irises. “What?” he asked.
Plump, slightly chapped lips pressed against his for a moment. Merlin couldn’t help but smile against them.
“I’ve been thinking,” Arthur said, pulling back.
Merlin turned to his side, leaning on one elbow. “Really? You, thinking?” he teased.
Arthur rolled his eyes. “Shut up. It’s about Guinevere.”
Now this, Merlin found intriguing. “What about her?”
Arthur laid down on his back, putting his hands under his head. He watched the clouds for some time before speaking. “Do you think she loved you more than she loved me?”
Merlin couldn’t help but smile at that. “That’s a silly question.”
“It’s a perfectly sensible one,” Arthur said, pouting. “She was married to you a lot longer than she was to me.”
Merlin shrugged. “Think of it this way: you returned only a bit over a year ago. Who do you love more, Gwen or me?”
Arthur seemed to contemplate this for a few moments. “I don’t think I could answer that. I’m really not sure. I just… I love you differently.”
“Well, there you go, then,” Merlin said, raising his eyebrows pointedly. “She didn’t love me more. She just loved me differently. As I do the two of you.”
Arthur hummed. “I suppose that makes sense.” He turned his gaze to Merlin. “Differently, huh?” He smiled softly.
“Differently,” Merlin agreed, then leaned down to capture Arthur’s lips once again.