Chapter Text
The sun rose over Camelot, and with it, the city seemed to wake wrapped in a warm breeze that didn't quite come from the sky. Along the ramparts, tiny white and yellow flowers peeked out from the cracks in the stone, as if the rock itself had decided to embroider its own surface. Around the oldest tower, a vine that no one remembered planting climbed with insolent vitality, blanketing the gray wall in green leaves and the promise of future blooms. The horses in the stables neighed with an unusual calm, neither kicking at their stall doors nor startling at the clatter of carts. And down in the kitchen, the apprentices swore under their breath that the herbs in the pantry lasted longer ever since Merlin had stopped hiding his magic.
Merlin strolled through the castle as if absolutely none of it had anything to do with him.
He wore a dark blue tunic with silver embroidery along the sleeves—the attire of a royal consort—yet moved with the same carefree ease he always had. He greeted a servant girl with a absentminded wave, let a shaft of sunlight hit him full in the face as he passed a arched window, and paused for a second upon spotting a minuscule flower sprouting between two floor paving stones.
"Good morning," he murmured to the flower, as though the plant might answer back.
The flower leaned slightly toward him.
Merlin smiled and went on his way.
In the breakfast room, Arthur was attempting to eat. Set before him was a tray of bread, cheese, and honey, alongside a scroll he couldn't quite bring himself to finish reading. Yet even before the door opened, he knew. Merlin's magic arrived a few seconds ahead of him: a lukewarm tingle at the nape of his neck, the scent of fresh grass and rain, and that unmistakable feeling that something in the room had just grown slightly wilder.
The door swung open without anyone touching it.
Merlin stepped inside, his hair still slightly rumpled and an expression of innocence on his face that Arthur found deeply suspicious.
"Good morning," Merlin said, shutting the door with a soft snap of his fingers.
Arthur didn't look up from his scroll.
"You're making the flowers on the window grow again."
Merlin blinked, as if the accusation were completely novel to him.
"I'm not doing anything."
"Merlin."
"Maybe they just have a mind of their own."
Arthur finally raised his eyes. On the windowsill, a small cluster of blue flowers was leaning into the room with an almost unsettling stubbornness. One of them had stretched overnight and now grazed the wooden frame, as if trying to sneak inside.
"One of them is trying to break into my room," Arthur noted.
Merlin walked over to the table and snatched a piece of bread right off the king's plate.
"It has good taste."
Arthur sighed and returned to his scroll, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward ever so slightly. It was hard to feign annoyance when Merlin's magic filled the room with that strange warmth, as if the very air was glad he was there.
"You're late," Arthur added, lacking any real conviction.
"I'm not late. Breakfast was waiting for me."
"Breakfast doesn't wait. I was waiting."
"Well, not anymore. I'm here."
Merlin sat across from him without asking, bit into the bread, and stretched his legs under the table until his boots brushed against Arthur's. Arthur didn't move away.
That was how most of their mornings began: Camelot waking up among blooming flowers, and two husbands bickering over things neither of them truly cared about.
After breakfast, Merlin walked alongside Arthur through the castle hallways. He was no longer the servant rushing three paces behind the prince with a tray in hand. Now he was the royal consort of Camelot, and every soul in the castle knew it.
The guards snapped to attention as he passed. It wasn't the rigid salute they reserved for the king; it was something warmer, paired with a nod of the head and a restrained smile. The servant girls curtsied as they crossed paths in the gallery, and one even dared to whisper that the flowers in the chapel had bloomed more beautifully than ever that morning.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Merlin replied with absolute gravity.
The girl smiled and walked away with a faint blush.
The knights teased him mercilessly. Sir Leon clapped him on the shoulder as he passed, asking if he planned to attend the afternoon's training session.
"Depends," Merlin answered. "Are you going to do anything interesting?"
"We plan on not falling off our horses."
"Then I probably won't go."
Leon laughed and went on his way.
Gwen walked in unannounced, as she always did, and sat beside him on a stone bench without asking permission. She carried a basket of thread and fabrics, her hair tied back with a blue ribbon.
"Have you two eaten breakfast?" she asked.
"Arthur has. I have too, even if it wasn't technically mine," Merlin said.
"You stole his bread, didn't you?"
"I didn't steal it. I liberated it."
Gwen let out a soft laugh and shook her head.
Shortly after, Mordred appeared in the courtyard, already wearing his training uniform. He was Camelot's first omega knight, carrying the title with a natural grace that filled Merlin with an almost paternal pride. The young man approached with a brisk stride, his hair loosely tied back and his sword at his hip.
"Merlin, are you coming to training?" he asked point-blank.
Merlin raised an eyebrow.
"Are you inviting me or challenging me?"
"I'm warning you," Mordred replied with a subtle smile. "If you don't come, you'll complain later that we don't tell you anything."
"I have no intention of losing sight of my favorite knights."
"I'm your favorite knight."
"Don't tell the others that."
"I won't."
Mordred headed toward the training grounds with the same energetic pace he'd arrived with. Merlin watched him walk away with a blend of pride and affection he didn't bother to hide.
Meanwhile, Arthur was trying to discuss kingdom affairs over a pile of scrolls laid out across an oak table.
"Merlin, I need you to sign this."
Merlin, who was sitting on the edge of the table eating a honey pastry he probably shouldn't have taken from the kitchen, looked at him with absolute composure.
"No."
"You haven't even read it."
"Precisely."
Arthur took a deep breath.
"It's an authorization to repair the eastern bridge."
"And why does that need my signature?"
"Because you are the royal consort."
"That sounds like work."
"Merlin."
"Arthur."
They stared at each other for a moment. From the bench, Gwen pretended to be deeply focused on her sewing.
"Sign the bloody scroll," Arthur said, shoving it toward him.
"Only because you asked so sweetly."
Merlin grabbed the quill, scribbled his name without reading a single line, and popped another pastry into his mouth. Arthur snatched the scroll back with a sigh, though he couldn't stop a smile from breaking through.
And that was Camelot's other truth: Merlin was not merely tolerated because he was the king's husband. Camelot loved him.
He was loved by the servant girls who found fresh flowers in their quarters without knowing how they got there. He was loved by the guards whose backaches disappeared after long night shifts. He was loved by the cooks who noticed a fuller pantry and fluffier bread. He was loved by the knights who sought him out to mend their bruises and to hear ridiculous stories about Arthur.
And Arthur loved him—even if, at times, it felt more like a sentence than a blessing.
Hours later, Mordred returned from training.
Merlin was in one of the east tower rooms, looking over an herbalism book Gaius had left open on the table for him. He wasn't actually reading it—he was using it as a coaster for his cup of tea. But when the door opened, he looked up and everything else ceased to matter.
Mordred walked in with his uniform filthy, hair plastered to his forehead, and his breathing slightly rapid. He was tired, but fatigue wasn't what Merlin noticed first.
It was the blood.
A tiny cut on his right cheek, fine as a miscalculated sword scratch.
Merlin stood up immediately.
"You're bleeding."
Mordred touched his cheek with indifference.
"It's just a scratch."
"There's blood on your face."
"That tends to happen when you get cut."
Merlin turned his head toward Arthur, who was sitting by the window holding a report.
"Arthur."
Arthur didn't even bother looking up.
"Leave me out of this."
Merlin let out a huff and stepped up to Mordred. He raised a hand without asking permission. A thread of golden light erupted from his fingers, wrapping around the wound with an almost maternal softness. The cut sealed in an instant, leaving no scar behind. The blood vanished as though it had never been there at all.
"Thank you," Mordred said.
"You're welcome. And next time, protect your face."
"I'm trying."
"Try harder."
Merlin nudged him gently toward a chair. Mordred sank into it with a sigh, stretching his legs out.
"Are you coming to the afternoon session?" the knight asked. "The others want to know if you'll be there to spar."
Merlin shook his head.
"Probably not. I have to head into the woods to gather some herbs for Gaius."
"Gaius can wait."
"Gaius doesn't wait. He's more patient than Arthur, but he doesn't wait."
"I'm challenging you, not asking."
Merlin gave him an amused look.
"It's not every day I see Camelot's first omega knight so eager to get knocked down."
Mordred laughed.
"You barely manage to knock me down, and you know it."
"I don't know about that. I never try for real."
"Right. That's why you ended up on the ground the other day."
"That was a strategy."
"Falling flat on your back isn't a strategy."
"It's an advanced strategy."
From the window, Arthur turned a page with deliberate slowness.
"Could you two bicker in silence?"
"No," they answered in unison.
Mordred leaned forward with a satisfied smirk. And then he froze.
Merlin watched him knit his brow slightly. Not as if he were in pain, but as though he were tuning into something invisible.
"What is it?" Merlin asked.
Mordred tilted his head.
"You smell different."
Merlin went dead still.
"Different how?"
"I don't know. Stronger."
Merlin took an absentminded sniff of his own sleeve. He didn't pick up on anything out of the ordinary, but he knew an omega's sense of smell was sharper when it came to certain things. And he knew his magic carried a scent that sometimes slipped beyond his control.
"It's the magic," he said, brushing it off. "It's just been more active lately."
Mordred studied him for a moment longer with that quiet attentiveness so typical of him. Then he nodded.
"I suppose so."
He didn't ask anything else.
Merlin turned back to the table and picked up his teacup with a composure he didn't entirely feel. He didn't give it any weight—not at that moment. It was just his magic, he thought. Just his magic behaving strangely again.
The seed was planted, though he didn't know it yet.
Shortly after, Arthur received a visit from some nobles from the northern lands. It was a matter of boundaries and tributes—the kind of business that always left Arthur with a headache and the urge to tell everyone to go herd sheep. But before locking himself away with them, he appeared in the corridor where Merlin was getting ready to leave.
"Where are you going?"
Merlin, who had already slung a leather bag over his shoulder, turned around with an eyebrow raised.
"To the forest. I need to gather some herbs for Gaius."
Arthur crossed his arms.
"Lancelot will go with you."
Merlin rolled his eyes.
"I can walk by myself."
"No."
"Arthur."
"You are the king's consort."
"I am also the most powerful sorcerer in Albion."
"That doesn't change protocol."
Merlin looked at him with a mix of exasperation and affection.
"I could turn all the guards into frogs."
Arthur didn't even blink.
"Precisely why I need to know where you are."
Merlin opened his mouth to protest, but Arthur raised a hand.
"It's not because I think you're weak. You know that."
"I know," Merlin admitted with a sigh. "It's because you're a pain."
"Among other things."
"An emotionally dependent tyrant."
"Merlin."
"An overprotective husband."
"Merlin."
"Who won't let me walk in the forest without a babysitter."
"Lancelot is not a babysitter. He's a knight."
"He's a babysitter with a sword."
Arthur shook his head, but his eyes gleamed with that blend of exasperation and tenderness Merlin knew all too well.
"If you don't like it, you can stay in the castle and send someone else for the herbs."
Merlin glared at him.
"Herbs aren't collected to order. You have to find them. Feel them. Talk to them."
"Talk to them?"
"Some are shy."
Arthur blinked.
"I am not going to ask."
"Good."
They looked at each other in silence. Finally, Merlin huffed and adjusted the bag on his shoulder.
"Fine. Lancelot."
"Lancelot," Arthur repeated, satisfied.
"But don't think this means I agree with it."
"I didn't expect you to."
"I'm only doing it because you have a boring meeting and I don't want you fainting from worry while I'm away."
"You're all heart."
"I am."
Arthur took a step toward him. He gently caught his chin and kissed his forehead. Merlin's magic stirred around him for a brief second, warm and radiant, as though answering the touch with a simple, ancient happiness.
"Lancelot will be waiting for you at the east gate," Arthur whispered against his skin.
"I know."
"And don't be long."
"I'll try."
"Don't try. Just do it."
Merlin smiled.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Arthur shot him one last look before heading off toward the audience hall. Merlin stood motionless for a moment, feeling the warmth of the kiss on his forehead and his magic humming beneath his skin with an intensity he didn't recall ever feeling before.
"It's definitely the magic," he muttered to himself under his breath. "Just the magic."
Without overthinking it any further, he made his way toward the east gate, where Lancelot was already waiting with the midday sun resting on his shoulders.
The east gate opened onto a dirt path that gently sloped down toward the edge of the woods. Midday sun filtered through the canopy, painting golden speckles across the trail, and the air smelled of moss, sap, and that sweet dampness that precedes summer. Lancelot stood waiting, leaning against the stone frame with his sword at his belt and a calm expression Merlin had known for years. He didn't look like a guard. He looked like a friend who just happened to handle a sword better than anyone else.
"I knew you'd be late," Lancelot said, stepping away from the gate to walk beside him.
"I wasn't late. Arthur took forever to let me leave."
"Protocol argument?"
"Always."
"Thought as much."
Merlin slung his leather bag over his shoulder and set off down the path. He didn't look back, though he felt the presence of the guards watching them from the wall. He had grown used to that quiet vigilance by now. At first it annoyed him; now, after years as royal consort, it felt like the distant hum of bees: present, constant, and to a certain degree, irrelevant.
Camelot's forest had changed ever since his magic was set free. The trees grew with greater vigor, bushes thickened in the clearings, and in a few hidden spots, wildflowers bloomed in colors that hadn't existed before. Deer no longer bolted at the sound of human footsteps; they stood still among the ferns, observing with ancient curiosity. Even the streams seemed to run with a clearer babble, as if the water were singing.
Lancelot walked beside him without rushing. He wasn't one to fill the silence with useless chatter, yet he never shied away from conversation either. Between them lay an easy comfort woven over years of trust, shared battles, and kept secrets.
"How is Gwen?" Merlin asked, brushing aside a low branch dipping over the path.
"Good. She asked me to tell you that the flowers in the armory courtyard are blooming again."
"And why doesn't she tell me herself?"
"Because she says you put on that face pretending you don't know what she's talking about."
"Because I don't know what she's talking about."
Lancelot shot him a sidelong glance with a smile.
"Of course you don't."
"I'm not responsible for every single plant growing in Camelot."
"The flowers bloomed the very night you were fixing the armory door."
"That was a coincidence."
"And the ivy on the fountain, too?"
"Another coincidence."
"And the tree currently bearing fruit in the south courtyard?"
Merlin let out an exaggerated sigh.
"Trees bear fruit. It's what they do."
"Not all at the exact same time."
"That tree is just extremely enthusiastic."
Lancelot chuckled softly. It was a clean, harmless laugh that made the forest feel even brighter.
They carried on down a secondary path winding through oaks and hazels. The ground was carpeted with dry leaves, and every so often a gentle breeze rustled the high branches, making the light quiver like liquid gold. Merlin breathed in deeply, letting the scent of the forest mingle with his own. His magic, unbound for years now, expanded around him like an invisible field—brushing the bark of the trees, caressing the leaves, greeting the creatures hiding in the underbrush. He was so accustomed to the sensation that he sometimes forgot others didn't feel it the same way.
"Arthur has gotten worse since we got married," Merlin murmured, picking back up a topic Lancelot hadn't pushed.
"Worse?"
"Before, he only worried about me. Now he worries about me and thinks he has the right to tell me what to do."
"Because he's married to you."
"That's not an argument."
Lancelot raised an eyebrow.
"I think that's precisely the argument."
Merlin gave him a reproachful look.
"You're not on my side."
"I'm on the side of truth."
"The truth is that Arthur is an overprotective tyrant with a guardian complex."
"The truth is that Arthur loves you and can't stand not knowing where you are."
"You call it love. I call it obsession."
"They're the exact same thing in your case."
Merlin didn't answer right away. They walked a stretch in silence, dodging roots and loose stones. Lancelot had a way of speaking that wasn't judgmental, just observational. And in a way, that was far more irritating than any scolding could ever be.
"You're taking Arthur's side because you're an insufferable romantic too," Merlin said at last.
"Quite possibly."
"Gwen has tamed you."
"Gwen has taught me that there's nothing wrong with loving someone enough to care."
"Caring isn't monitoring."
"No. But in your case, it's a very fine line."
Merlin huffed.
"You're worse than Arthur."
"Don't say that."
"I do say it."
"I'll tell Arthur you said I'm worse than him."
"You wouldn't dare."
"I'm a knight. I have honor."
"And a terrible sense of humor."
"That too."
The conversation dissolved into a comfortable silence. They reached a clearing where the sun beat down directly onto a bed of clover and tiny daisies. Merlin paused for a second, lifting his face toward the light. Something deep within him stirred—like a distinct pulse, a musical note he couldn't quite place. He blinked. The clovers bent toward him, as though trying to reach out and touch him.
"Merlin?" Lancelot called out, a few steps ahead.
"Coming."
He kept walking. The pulse faded away.
It happened without warning.
Merlin was about to cross a small stream via a stone bridge half-draped in moss when the world shifted slightly. It wasn't a stumble: it felt as if the ground itself were breathing. As if the air had grown denser, heavier, and everything around him tilted just a fraction to the left.
He froze.
At first, he thought he had simply stood up too fast. But they were walking. It made no sense.
"Merlin."
Lancelot's voice reached him from far away, though he was standing a mere two paces off. Merlin raised a hand to signal he was fine, but his hand trembled without his consent.
The world tilted again.
The leaves on the trees shivered despite the absence of a breeze. A bird took flight from a high branch, its wings beating in an unnatural panic. Merlin's magic reacted before he did: a warm surge beneath his skin, a soft humming in his ears, and the scent of flowers and fresh-cut grass that radiated through the clearing like an invisible wave.
"Merlin," Lancelot repeated, and this time he was right beside him, steady, placing a firm hand on his arm. "What's wrong?"
"I'm fine."
"I didn't ask you that."
Merlin tried to walk. He took a step, maybe two, and then the dizziness returned—stronger this time. His knees buckled, forcing him to grip Lancelot's arm to keep from falling. The knight held him up effortlessly, his calm strength standing in sharp contrast to the alarm beginning to surface in his eyes.
"Merlin, sit down."
"I don't need to..."
"Sit down."
He guided him toward a flat rock by the stream. Merlin sank down without a fight. He was pale, a fine sheen of sweat coating his forehead. He rested his elbows on his knees and breathed in deeply, trying to regain his balance. But there was something else. A strange sensation in his stomach—not quite nausea, but a sort of warm bubbling, as though something tiny and luminous had settled inside him without his permission.
And his magic...
His magic was happy.
That was what bewildered him most. It wasn't out of control. It wasn't reacting to danger. There was none of the tense, sharp edge that usually preceded a magical storm. It was as if all his energy had turned soft, rounded, welcoming. As though something within him had awakened, and his magic, far from being startled, was cradling it.
As if it were protecting something.
Merlin blinked, confused. Without realizing it, he brought a hand up to his abdomen, letting it rest over the fabric of his tunic. He didn't know why. It just felt like the right place for it to be.
Lancelot observed him in silence, keeping his hand on Merlin's shoulder as if terrified he might vanish at any moment. His face, usually so serene, was lined with a shadow of concern.
"What was that?" he finally asked under his breath.
"Nothing."
"Merlin."
"I just need to sit."
"Don't get up."
"I'm not going to get up."
They remained like that for a moment. The stream's water babbled at their feet, oblivious to everything. The leaves stopped shivering. The bird didn't return. And Merlin's magic remained right there, pulsing with a strange warmth, as if it had coiled back into his belly and were... watching over him.
Lancelot dropped to one knee before him, searching his gaze.
"Has this happened to you before?"
Merlin shook his head.
"No."
"Have you eaten today?"
"Yes."
"Have you slept?"
"Arthur snores, but not that much."
Lancelot didn't smile. He was entirely too serious.
"And have you been using a lot of magic lately?"
Merlin thought about it. Not particularly. Little things. Flowers, fire, healing spells. Nothing exhausting. Nothing that could account for such a sudden dizzy spell.
"No more than usual."
"Then this isn't normal."
"I don't know."
"Merlin, you need to go back."
"No."
"Gaius should examine you."
"No."
"Arthur needs to know."
Merlin looked up. For a split second, the air between them shifted. There was no anger in his eyes, no stubborn teenage rebellion. There was something far more fragile, far deeper—a protective instinct he himself didn't fully comprehend.
"Don't tell him."
Lancelot frowned.
"Merlin..."
"Please."
"Why?"
"Because it's probably nothing."
"You don't know that."
"And neither do you."
Their eyes locked. Lancelot was a patient man, but he was also unyielding. He wasn't one to be swayed by evasions. And Merlin knew it. That was why, when Lancelot sighed, Merlin knew he wouldn't win this battle with excuses alone.
"I won't tell him," Lancelot said at last. "But only if you promise me this stays between us."
"I'm asking you to keep it to yourself."
"No. You're asking me to cover for you. It's different."
"And what do you want me to do? Go back to Camelot and tell Arthur I got dizzy in the woods? So he can lose his mind and forbid me from leaving the castle for a month?"
"That would be a reasonable reaction."
"It's not reasonable. It's suffocating."
"It's love."
"It's smothering."
Lancelot shook his head, though the ghost of a smile softened his features.
"Arthur isn't going to lock you in a tower."
"You only say that because you don't know him."
"I know him. And I know he'd listen to you."
"Lance, listen to me. I don't want to worry him over a simple spell of dizziness. If it happens again, I'll tell him."
"And if it gets worse?"
"Then you can tell him."
"And if you faint?"
"I'm not going to faint."
"That doesn't answer my question."
Merlin let out a faint laugh.
"Just this once, Lance."
Lancelot studied him for a long moment. Then he averted his gaze toward the stream, as if the water might offer an answer. Finally, he exhaled a weary sigh.
"If it happens again, we go straight to Gaius."
"Deal."
"And if you faint, I won't be held responsible for what I do to Arthur."
"I'm not going to faint."
"I certainly hope not."
Lancelot stood up and extended a hand. Merlin took it, pushing himself up carefully and making sure the ground remained steady under his boots. The dizziness had cleared, but a light echo lingered—a feeling of warm fullness in his belly, as if his magic had curled up to sleep right there.
He stood still for a second, Lancelot's hand still holding his.
"Thank you," Merlin said softly.
"Don't thank me. You're asking me to lie to my king."
"Don't lie. Just say nothing."
"Where I come from, that's called lying by omission."
"And in Camelot, it's called friendship."
Lancelot looked at him and, for the first time in several minutes, offered a true smile.
"You have a very twisted way of looking at friendship."
"It's my greatest talent."
"I don't doubt it."
Lancelot gently released his hand. Then, with a firm motion, he picked up the bag Merlin had dropped and handed it back to him.
"Gather your herbs," he said. "We're going back before sunset."
"Yes, Captain."
"I'm not your captain."
"Then stop giving orders."
"Arthur put me in charge of you."
"Arthur should have put you in charge of someone easier."
"I never chose the easy path."
Merlin offered a weak smile.
And without another word, they ventured deeper into the forest.
They gathered the herbs in a strange, yet not uncomfortable, silence. Lancelot kept a discreet distance, never letting him out of his sight, as if expecting him to collapse at any second. Merlin, for his part, moved deliberately, maintaining a forced calm. His fingers brushed against the leaves of sage and rosemary with far more gentleness than usual, and twice he caught himself smiling for no reason at all.
The magic remained there, deep within his belly, beating like a second heart. It didn't hurt. It didn't bother him. But it was entirely new—and thoroughly bewildering.
Finding a shaded spot beside an oak tree, Lancelot offered him a canteen.
"Drink."
"I'm not thirsty."
"I don't care. Drink."
Merlin complied with a slight grimace. The water was crisp and revitalizing. He drank more than he had intended, and as he pulled the canteen away, color returned to his cheeks. Lancelot watched him intently, standing with his back leaning against the trunk.
"We need to head back," he said.
"I know."
"Gaius should examine you."
"We've already talked about this."
"I know. And I still think the same thing."
Merlin let out a sigh.
"Lancelot, if I find out it's something more, I'll tell Gaius. I promise you."
"When?"
"Soon."
"What is 'soon'?"
"Before Arthur notices anything off."
"Arthur already notices something off."
Merlin looked up at him.
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know. It's just... a feeling. Arthur knows you better than anyone. If your magic is acting strangely, he'll pick up on it. And then he'll ask me."
"Then distract him."
"I am not going to distract my king."
"I'm not asking you to deceive him. Just don't give him any hints."
"It's the same thing."
Merlin leaned back against the stone, closing his eyes for a moment. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, warming his eyelids. The magic in his belly shifted, much like a cat stretching out. Suddenly, for reasons he couldn't comprehend, he felt an urge to cry. Not out of sadness, but from an overwhelming wave of emotion he couldn't put a name to.
He bit his lip.
"I don't want to frighten him," he whispered.
Lancelot sat down beside him.
"I know."
"I don't want him worrying over something that might be nothing at all."
"I know."
"And I don't want him looking at me like I'm made of glass."
"Merlin, Arthur has never looked at you like that."
"No. But he will if I start swooning in the woods."
"You didn't swoon."
"Not yet."
Lancelot gave him a soft nudge with his elbow.
"You're not going to swoon."
"No. But if I do, I expect you to catch me."
"I've always caught you."
Merlin opened his eyes to look at him, and for a second, the forest grew still around them.
"I know," he said gently. "That's why I trust you."
Lancelot looked away, momentarily uncomfortable with the weight of the emotion, but he didn't move.
"I won't say anything to him," he repeated at last. "On one condition."
"Accepted."
"I haven't stated it yet."
"I accept it anyway."
"Merlin."
"I'm tired and I want to go back."
Lancelot shook his head.
"The condition is that tonight, before you go to sleep, you go see Gaius."
"I can't promise that."
"You can. And you will."
"Why?"
"Because if you don't, I will go to him myself and tell him you had a dizzy spell."
Merlin turned toward him.
"That's blackmail."
"No. It's concern."
"It's blackmail wrapped in a kind face."
"And it works."
Their eyes met. Merlin wanted to argue, but found no leverage. Finally, he let out a long sigh.
"Fine. I'll go see Gaius."
"Do you promise?"
"I promise."
"Good."
"But I won't mention the dizzy spell unless he asks."
"Merlin."
"I'll tell him I went herb gathering and that I feel a bit tired. That isn't a lie."
"It's a half-truth."
"Half-truths are my specialty."
"Your specialty is getting into trouble."
"That too."
Lancelot stood up and offered his hand once more. Merlin took it, rising carefully to his feet. This time, the world remained perfectly steady. Everything was still, bright, and strangely peaceful.
They stood together for a moment, hands joined, like two friends who had just sealed an unwritten pact.
"Lancelot," Merlin said under his breath.
"Yes?"
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. We haven't reached Camelot."
"I could thank you now and get angry with you again later."
"That's the most sensible thing you've said all day."
"I have my moments."
"Rare ones."
"Like the flowers in the armory."
"Those aren't rare. They're invasive."
"They're enthusiastic."
"Arthur is right. You're impossible."
"And yet, here you are putting up with me."
"Someone has to."
Without entirely letting go of his hand, they started on the path back.
They crossed the edge of the forest just as the sun began to paint the castle walls a fiery golden-orange. Merlin had fully regained his color, and his stride was firm, though Lancelot noticed how he occasionally brought a hand to his stomach with an unconscious gesture. He said nothing. He simply kept his silence, just as he had promised.
The gates of Camelot towered before them, and that was when Merlin saw him.
Arthur was standing there.
Right by the east gate, arms crossed and a serious look on his face. He wasn't wearing his crown, only a simple tunic, but his mere presence was enough to make the guards stand a little stiffer. He was waiting.
Merlin straightened his back and adopted a picture-perfect expression of normalcy.
"Smile," he whispered to Lancelot out of the corner of his mouth.
"I don't know how to smile when my king is staring at me like he wants to interrogate me."
"Then learn."
They walked the final stretch of the path at a measured pace. Arthur didn't move until they were only a few paces away.
"Everything alright?" he asked, using that specific voice he reserved for trying—and failing—not to sound worried.
"Perfectly," Merlin replied with a broad smile.
Arthur looked at him. Then he looked at Lancelot.
Lancelot looked at Merlin.
Merlin shot him a stern not-a-word glare.
Lancelot took a deep breath.
"All quiet," he said.
Arthur narrowed his eyes. He knew them far too well. He had seen them lie, evade, and cover things up before. And while he didn't push it, something in his gaze lingered on Lancelot's face, as if weighing the truth of that statement.
"Did you find your herbs?" Arthur asked, turning back to Merlin.
"Yes. All of them."
"Did you talk to them?"
"Some were a bit shy."
"And the rest?"
"They told me to tell you to stop pulling them out of the garden."
Arthur rolled his eyes.
"I haven't pulled out a single flower."
"Well, they were very clear about it."
"Merlin."
"Arthur."
They closed the distance between them, and the tension dissolved like sugar in water. Arthur cupped the back of his neck with that possessive, gentle gesture Merlin loved to hate, and pressed a kiss to his forehead.
Merlin's magic stirred softly.
Arthur went stock-still.
Merlin felt the pulse of his magic react to the contact, expanding slightly as though trying to wrap around him. And then Arthur murmured against his skin:
"You smell different."
Merlin froze for half a second.
"Different?"
"A bit stronger."
His heart took a sudden leap into his throat. He remembered Mordred's words. You smell different. Stronger. And now Arthur, who was so accustomed to his scent that he usually paid it no mind, was picking up on it too.
He swallowed hard.
"Must be the magic," he said, injecting a lightness he didn't entirely feel.
Arthur pulled back slightly to look at him.
"Did you do something strange in the woods?"
"Just gathered herbs."
"And did you talk to the trees?"
"I didn't talk to the trees."
"The stream?"
"Arthur."
"It's a valid question."
"No. I did not talk to the stream."
"Well, your magic smells different."
"Like what?"
Arthur thought about it.
"I don't know. Like... summer. Fresh-cut grass. Honey."
"That doesn't sound so bad."
"I didn't say it smelled bad."
They looked at each other. The sun was dipping behind the mountains, bathing their faces in golden light. Lancelot stood off to the side, observing with a carefully neutral expression. He said nothing.
Merlin smiled and lifted the leather bag.
"I'm going to take these herbs to Gaius."
"I'm coming with you."
"No need."
"Merlin."
"Arthur."
"I'm the king. I do as I please."
"That's not an argument."
"It's precisely an argument."
Merlin shook his head, but his eyes sparkled with a blend of amusement and relief. Arthur didn't suspect. Not yet.
"Fine," he conceded. "But I'm not carrying the bag if you insist on tagging along."
"I didn't ask you to carry it."
"Good."
"Though since you mention it, you could show a little gratitude that I didn't make you carry Lancelot."
"Lancelot isn't heavy."
"He's a full-grown knight."
"And yet, I survived."
Lancelot cleared his throat softly.
"May I be dismissed?"
Arthur glanced at him.
"Yes. And thank you."
"Think nothing of it, Your Majesty."
"Everything really quiet out there?"
Lancelot looked at Merlin. Merlin met his gaze with a calm, trusting expression.
"All quiet," Lancelot repeated.
Arthur nodded slowly, keeping his eyes on him for another second. Then, with a quiet sigh, he clapped a hand on Lancelot's shoulder.
"Good. Go on to Gwen. She's waiting for you."
Lancelot bowed his head and made his way toward the inner courtyard. Merlin watched him disappear behind the heavy oak door, feeling a faint prickle of guilt. But the guilt was quickly swallowed by that warm, protective sensation still pulsing gently in his belly.
Arthur wrapped an arm around his shoulders.
"Let's go."
They walked together toward the castle's main entrance. Merlin's magic extended around them like an invisible cloak, brushing against the ancient stones and awakening the faint scent of night-blooming flowers. The guards stepped aside as they approached. The unlit torches flickered ever so slightly as they passed.
And then it happened.
Just as Merlin placed his foot on the very first stone step of the entrance, a small white flower sprouted from between the cracks, right beside the tip of his boot. It wasn't a sudden surge of magic. It was a whisper, a flicker of light—a tiny gift straight from the earth.
Arthur paused.
"Look at that."
Merlin looked down. The flower was pure white with soft, flawless petals, leaning gently toward him as if it had bloomed for the sole purpose of saying hello.
"It's pretty," Merlin said under his breath.
"It's yours."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
Arthur smiled and kissed his temple.
"Of course you don't."
They stepped inside the castle, and the flower remained on the threshold, swaying gently in a breeze that didn't come from the sky.
Deep in Merlin's belly, the magic curled up just a bit tighter—warm, contented, and waiting for the moment to be discovered.