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The room Merlin had chosen was in the east corridor, close to the royal chambers — near enough that he could hear any movement his babies made, but far enough not to wake the others in the royal wing who might be sleeping. It was a spacious area, originally used as a storage room, but now transforming under Merlin's magical touch.
Leon stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching the scene with a mixture of fascination and growing concern. Merlin moved through the room like a force of nature — his hands glowed with a soft golden light as he gestured, and with each movement, something new materialized.
A wooden plank floated in the air, cutting itself into precise boards under Merlin's command. A cradle began to take shape in the corner, its sides carved with tiny dragons that seemed to dance in the candlelight. In the center of the room, needles and threads moved on their own, sewing soft wool blankets in shades of red, green, blue, and yellow.
"Wow," said Leon, finally breaking the silence. "You seem very organized, Merlin. How do you know what needs to be done in advance?"
Merlin didn't stop working. His right hand rose, and a piece of blue fabric began to fold into tiny clothes, while his left guided a wooden plank to fit into the cradle.
"I suffer."
Leon blinked. "Huh?!"
"I suffer in advance and it helps me solve my problems!" Merlin finally turned his head to face him, and Leon saw the exhaustion in his eyes — not the physical tiredness of someone who had worked too much, but the deep weariness of a mind that never stops. "My head is like a disaster advertisement — it warns of the bad part before it even begins. The problem hasn't even happened yet and I'm already suffering!"
Leon felt a pang of concern. "Merlin..."
But Merlin had already returned to work. A cloud of magical dust swept across the floor, cleaning every grain of dirt before it could settle on the delicate fabrics.
"They say time heals everything," Merlin continued, gesturing with one hand while the other guided more wood toward the second cradle, "but my anxiety has already scheduled all the misfortunes for the next 10 years!"
Leon stepped into the room. "You need to relax, Merlin."
"Relax?!" Merlin let out a laugh that was half hysteria, half exhaustion. "I even tried yoga, but my mind won't stop! While everyone else is in 'Om,' I'm in 'Oh no!'"
A red velvet curtain materialized around the first cradle, and Merlin adjusted it with a precise gesture, ensuring no direct light would reach the interior.
"Sometimes it feels like everyone is in the present and only I'm in the future!" he continued, now sewing a yellow blanket with patterns of little golden dragons. "My head is an encyclopedia of bad scenarios that haven't even happened yet."
Leon frowned, trying to follow his friend's reasoning. "Merlin..."
"The problem hasn't even happened and my head is already like, 'Hmm, what if one of your babies is born with wings and horns, huh?'"
Leon felt his blood run cold. "Why horns and wings? What reason do you have to imagine that the king will give birth to a little dragon? Can that happen?!"
Merlin paused for a moment, his eyes meeting Leon's. There was something there — a spark of genuine doubt, of real fear.
"It was just an example," he said, but his voice wasn't entirely convincing. "But an example I'm not going to risk. I suffer in advance to save time later." He resumed his work, his hands glowing as more fabrics were sewn together. "I have disaster management working in my favor. That way I get the suffering out of the way and suffer less in the near future!"
Leon opened his mouth. Closed it. He had no words.
Merlin continued, oblivious to his friend's silence. "You know how it is, practicality is important! But worse is when I suffer over something that doesn't even end up happening — I destroy myself so much in advance to avoid suffering that when things work out, I suffer for having suffered for nothing!"
The third wooden plank floated in the air, and Merlin began carving dragons in relief on the sides of the third cradle. Small ruby eyes fitted into the creatures' heads, glowing like contained fire.
Leon watched for a long moment. He saw the tremor in Merlin's hands as he adjusted the curtains, the way his eyes examined every detail for imperfections. He saw the anxiety, yes — but he also saw the love.
"Merlin," Leon said, his voice softer. "You're doing all of this for them. For Arthur and the babies."
Merlin stopped. His hands fell, and he finally turned to face Leon.
"Of course I am," he said, his voice lower. "I want them to be safe. I want them to have everything. I want them to never need anything, never feel fear, never suffer."
"You can't protect them from everything."
"I know." Merlin looked away, his eyes fixed on the cradles. "But I can try."
The room was almost ready now. Four cradles lined against the wall, each with their colorful curtains — red, green, blue, yellow — and soft blankets folded inside. Tiny clothes were arranged in a dresser Merlin had carved with his own hands, each piece embroidered with each baby's initials.
Merlin had even created toys — small stuffed animals, cloth stars, a wooden sword. Each was carefully positioned, as if Merlin were setting up a perfect scene for the children's arrival, even though it would still be a few years before they could play with any of those toys.
Leon took a deep breath. He knew he couldn't convince Merlin to stop — he never could. But maybe he could help him see that he didn't have to do everything alone.
"Merlin," he called, his voice firm.
Merlin turned, his eyes still glowing with magic.
"You don't have to do all of this alone." Leon stepped forward. "We're here. Arthur, me, Gwaine, Percival, Elyan, Gwen, Gaius, your mother. All of us. You don't have to carry this weight alone."
Merlin frowned, as if the idea were strange.
"But I want to do this," he said. "I want them to know that I did this for them. I want them to see the room their father prepared with so much care..."
"They will see it," said Leon, with a smile. "And they'll know you love them. But they'll also know that you have friends who love you and that it's okay to ask others for help."
Merlin didn't respond. Instead, he looked around, at the cradles, at the blankets, at the toys. His eyes were teary.
"I just want them to feel loved... Arthur didn't have a good example of father figures, and I, as much as I love my mother, always missed having a father. I just want to do everything right," he whispered.
"They will be so loved, my friend." Leon placed his hand on Merlin's shoulder. "Because they have you and they have Arthur — a loving and noble couple. You will be heroes to these children. They will never lack love or safety."
Merlin sighed — a deep, tired sound. His shoulders relaxed slightly.
"Thank you, Leon."
"You're welcome."
The silence that followed was different — no longer charged with anxiety, but with a calm Merlin hadn't felt in days.
And then, the door opened.
Arthur stood in the doorway, his enormous belly and an expression of exhaustion on his face. He looked at the cradles, at the blankets, at the toys, and his eyes widened.
"Merlin," he said, his voice soft. "You did all of this?"
Merlin felt his heart tighten seeing how his king seemed on the verge of tears. "Yes, my king."
Arthur walked slowly through the room, his hand touching each cradle, each blanket, each toy. His eyes were shining.
"I wanted them to have the best."
Arthur turned to face him.
Merlin felt his eyes burn. He couldn't speak.
Arthur stepped forward and pulled Merlin into an embrace.
"You're an idiot," Arthur murmured, his voice muffled against Merlin's shoulder. "I can't believe you're going to make me cry over a room."
Merlin laughed — a low, genuine laugh.
Leon, who was still at the door, smiled. He turned to leave, leaving the two alone in the babies' room.
"Should I apologize, sire?" he teased, also feeling tears well up in his eyes. He thought he should have gotten used to the strong emotions he and Arthur had been showing since discovering the king's pregnancy.
Arthur shook his head against his sorcerer's neck.
"I hate crying over everything."
Merlin laughed without letting go of his king.
"Don't even mention it — I feel ridiculous every time I look at you and imagine you holding a baby..." His voice trembled. The two pulled back to look into each other's eyes and began to laugh.
"We're such idiots," Arthur sobbed, seeming undecided about what to do — cry or laugh. So he did both.
"We're going to be two sappy parents, aren't we?" Merlin asked, unable to stop laughing, but also crying with emotion.
"Oh, absolutely. These babies are going to have us wrapped around their little fingers."
And they both stood there, laughing like fools, imagining the future that was drawing ever closer — where they would soon be holding their children in their arms and spending sleepless nights with their babies' cries echoing throughout the castle.