A/N: Warning-THIS IS VERY MUCH NOT WHAT I USUALLY WRITE. THIS IS AN MPREG FIC. IF THAT IS NOT WHAT YOU LIKE TO READ, THEN YOU PROBABLY SHOULD NOT READ THIS STORY. It's okay if you don't like mpreg. I don't particularly like mpreg, I usually give those fics a pass, so I don't blame you if you stop reading here. But this is the third of my three giveaway fics, prompted by tumblr user timelesswhisper. She wanted Merthur mpreg, and damn it when I say I'm gonna write something I commit. So here is a much-longer-than-I-anticipated mpreg fic for timelesswhisper.


Merlin woke late, sunlight pouring through half-opened curtains to fall across his face. He turned away, burying his face into a pillow that he only vaguely recognized wasn't his own. It took him several long, comfortable minutes to make the connection between "not his" and "Arthur's." That brought a sleepy smile to his face. He stretched a bit, feeling the ache in muscles he hadn't had much opportunity to use of late, and rolled over to face the other side of the bed.

It was empty. He frowned at it. The sheets were cold when he reached out to touch them, which meant it had been a while since Arthur had been there. Merlin sat up, wincing, and put a hand to his head. It wasn't that bad a hangover, as far as hangovers went, and he could still remember everything that happened last night—boy, could he remember—so he hadn't been that sloshed. Well, he'd been drunk enough to actually let himself fall into bed with Arthur, so he'd had a bit, but it could have been much worse. And the night itself had been pretty fantastic, if his only-slightly-fuzzy memory served.

But Arthur had left. It was midmorning, perhaps, but without Merlin to drag him out of bed Arthur was rarely awake by then, much less up and out of his chambers. And if Merlin had had a few drinks, Arthur had likely made several more if he'd forgone all his princely self-control and actually initiated things, and Merlin had never encountered a hungover-Arthur that he hadn't had to pour water on to get out of bed at a reasonable time. Merlin looked around, seeing that his clothes were still strewn across the floor but Arthur's were gone, and that there was no evidence of breakfast having been brought up by another servant. Maybe Arthur had been called out to dine with his father and hadn't wanted to wake Merlin. It was possible, but Merlin had a heavy, slightly queasy feeling in his stomach that made him doubt it.

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and shook his head to wake himself up, ignoring the way it made his headache worse. He climbed out of Arthur's ridiculously comfortable bed and scrambled into his clothes, hoping the hitch in his step wouldn't be obvious to everyone he passed in the corridors. He'd only been had that way a few times before, and a good long while ago at that. He'd thoroughly enjoyed it, of course, but he wasn't used to it and was now most definitely sore. He tied his neckerchief on last, blushing as he checked in Arthur's mirror to make sure he completely covered up the trail of love bites Arthur had left on his neck.

Without Arthur there to give him orders for the day, Merlin fell back on experience. He did the chores he thought most likely to need doing: first and foremost, the bedding. Merlin had a bit of a difficult time keeping focused as he stripped the blankets and sheets from the bed, especially when he came across evidence of exactly what had happened on those sheets a few hours earlier, but he got them bundled into a basket and headed down for the laundry in a few minutes. He dropped them off to be washed and headed for the armory to get some polishing done. Polishing was always a reliable fallback chore.

He didn't run into Arthur all day. He didn't even see him on the training field, and he could almost always find him there. It almost felt like Arthur was avoiding him and Merlin's queasy feeling got worse. He side-stepped Gaius's inquiries as to his whereabouts the previous night and delivered some potions for want of anything else to do. Finally it came dinner time and Merlin picked up the usual platter from the kitchens. For once he didn't go barging straight into Arthur's chambers. Instead he stood outside the door for a long moment, prancing back and forth like an agitated horse and dithering over whether or not he should knock. He'd never bothered to knock before, he reasoned. He entered without.

"We've already had the conversation about knocking, Merlin," Arthur said. Merlin shut the door behind him without saying anything, feeling legitimately a bit sick now. Arthur hadn't even looked up from his paperwork. He still didn't look up as Merlin came forward to nudge rolls of parchment out of the way until he could set down his dinner. Usually when Arthur was up to his eyeballs in work, he welcomed Merlin's arrival as an excuse to take a break, if only to tease him or shout at him depending on his stress level, but there was something very cold about Arthur's single-minded focus now.

Merlin hovered for a moment, waiting to be acknowledged at the very least, but Arthur picked at the food without ever taking his eyes from the reports on the desk before him. Eventually Merlin took a deep breath and turned to find something to tidy. There wasn't much to be done, though, and he was at loose ends within a few minutes. The silence wore at him. It was never this quiet when they were both in the room, at least not uncomfortably so. One of them always had something to talk about, whether it was Arthur complaining about his duties or Merlin filling Arthur in on all the servants' best gossip, but now Arthur obviously had nothing to say to him and Merlin couldn't think of anything that wouldn't end in him humiliating himself.

"Will there be anything else? Sire?" There was nothing left for him to clean or rearrange. Arthur hadn't finished his dinner yet, but he hadn't told Merlin to take it away either. Somehow Merlin doubted that Arthur would allow Merlin to ready him for bed as he had practically every night for the last two years.

"You may go," Arthur said, curt and indifferent. Merlin swallowed.

"Right." He walked to the door and hesitated, hoping that Arthur would call him back and knowing that he wouldn't. After another deep breath that sounded far too loud in the unnaturally quiet room, Merlin left.


Arthur didn't speak to him the next day either, aside from some perfunctory orders in the morning that were given without so much as a glance in his direction. Arthur was out the door and down the corridor before Merlin could formulate a response, before he could say something in his defense. He wasn't sure what he should be defending himself against, though. It wasn't as though Arthur was attacking him or being cruel. He was just absent. But after two years of constant interaction, that was perhaps the cruelest that Arthur could be.

Merlin kept his head down despite the ache it caused in him. If Arthur didn't want to speak to him, then fine. If Arthur wanted to pretend that it never happened—that Merlin didn't even exist—then fine. He wouldn't force his company on Arthur if it wasn't wanted. He took Arthur's list of chores, which was considerably shorter than it had ever been before simply, it seemed, because Arthur didn't want to speak to him for any length of time, and did what was expected of him. He no longer dressed Arthur, no longer tagged along after him on his patrols, and was no longer called upon to keep his cup full during council meetings.

Being at odds with Arthur didn't sit well with him, apparently. Barely a week had passed since that night, since the last time they had had a normal conversation or even made eye contact, and Merlin felt like he was struggling to walk through sand. He was just tired, a seemingly causeless fatigue dogging his steps and dragging him down. His daily workload was lighter than it had ever been and yet he fell into bed exhausted at the end of the day. He had overslept three days in a row and Arthur hadn't even shouted at him about it.

The constant worry and overthinking left him with a headache more often than not. At least, he was pretty sure the headaches were from the worrying. The cause of the dizzy spells was a little more obscure. He thought at first that maybe he'd neglected to eat; it would hardly be the first time he'd been so caught up in his personal concerns that he'd forgotten a meal. But he realized by the end of the next day that he'd actually had four meals over the course of the day, far more food than he usually bothered with, and he was still hungry. So it wasn't a loss of appetite that was making him feel so faint. He shrugged it off, angry with himself for being so damned weak as to let Arthur's blatant rejection cause him so much upset.

The tiredness persisted, even as he got full night after full night of uninterrupted sleep. He found himself having to stop and take breaks, leaning against a wall to get his breath back or stop himself from tipping over as his vision spun for no apparent reason. He went to the stables, intending to do the mucking he'd been neglecting for days—another oversight that Arthur hadn't commented on, despite pointing out Merlin's failures being one of his favorite pastimes—even though he knew that he'd likely give out halfway through the job. As soon as he opened the stable doors, though, the stench of manure hit him like a brick wall and he doubled over to retch into a nearby barrel of something or other.

He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, feeling shaky and decidedly unwell. There was something wrong with him. He had never had a problem with horses and all the unpleasant smells that accompanied them before, and certainly never to this degree. But then, he'd never had dizzy spells or the urge to eat three times his body weight in one afternoon either, but there he was. He spit into the barrel, trying to clear his mouth and pitying the poor stable hand who would have to clean up his mess. As soon as he felt steady enough on his feet, Merlin left the stables behind and made a beeline for the physician's chambers.

The flu was Gaius final word on the matter, though his lips were pursed and his brow furrowed in a way that Merlin took to mean he doubted his own diagnosis. That expression did nothing to lessen Merlin's uneasiness, but Gaius's orders to stay in bed for a few days were welcome. Gaius gave him a potion for the nausea and told him it would pass in a few days.

Only it didn't. Merlin's queasiness persisted, particularly strong in the mornings and triggered throughout the day by the most random of things, scents that had never bothered him before. Merlin gave up on the stables entirely, not wanting to risk sicking up again and knowing that he wouldn't have the stamina to actually finish the job anymore anyway. He was only grateful that Arthur wasn't using him as a training dummy anymore, as he was sure he would have collapsed under the first blow if he had. Arthur wasn't using him for anything anymore. It had been three weeks and Arthur hadn't said a word about that night, or hardly anything else.

Gwen had noticed the rift between them. She had been seeking Merlin out frequently, offering to help him with his duties. With Morgana gone, she had little else to do but pick up odd jobs around the castle and try to keep herself occupied. It hadn't taken long for her to start eyeing him sidelong, biting her lip to keep from prying. She commented on his lethargy first, asking if he was eating properly. He said he was and that he was fine, and that was enough to keep her from asking further for a few days. Then she asked about Arthur, if they'd had a fight. And Merlin had snapped at her that Arthur wasn't the center of his world and it wasn't any of her business anyway. He'd left her looking hurt and offended and infinitely more worried than she had been before.

He'd kicked himself for it after, of course. There was no reason for him to be so rude to Gwen, not when she was only looking out for him and trying to be a good friend. She was always such a good friend and what was wrong with him for reacting like that? It was wholly out of character for him. Maybe it was just the exhaustion making him moody, on a hair trigger. He'd snapped at Gaius as well, when Gaius had asked if his symptoms were still ongoing. He didn't know why he was bothering to hide that he was still ill. Maybe it was just contrariness, or maybe he was hoping to get sick enough for Arthur to notice.

Merlin didn't take sick days. He hadn't had a day off in the entire time he'd worked for Arthur. Even when he had been poisoned, he'd been back to work by the next morning. But whenever he had been injured, Arthur had always shown some kind of concern, even if it was hidden behind bluster and insults. Merlin had just taken two days off in a row without even informing Arthur about it and Arthur hadn't come to see him or ask after his health. King Uther was pleased with Arthur's sudden disinterest. He'd long been of the opinion that Arthur was unwisely attached to Merlin and had gone to great lengths to punish Merlin for daring to make Arthur care about him. Now, though, Merlin saw him clap Arthur on the shoulder and congratulate him on finally putting his insolent servant in his place.

Arthur simply nodded over his wine, choosing not to comment on the hows or whys of his and Merlin's falling out. Tears pricked at Merlin's eyes and he had to set down his serving platter and duck around a corner to hide how hurt he was. This was ridiculous, he thought as he wiped away the tears. There was no reason for him to be so upset. So Arthur had turned his back on him, so what? It didn't call for blubbering and snapping and being so woefully emotional about it all. He should just get over it. He had a job to do in protecting Arthur and that was all that really mattered in the long run. He didn't need Arthur to like him in order to keep him safe.

He tried to pull himself together, but he couldn't seem to manage it. Instead, he passed off his wine jug to a frustrated and concerned Gwen and snuck out of the hall without being dismissed. He knew Uther wouldn't notice, and he doubted Arthur would either. He could only be grateful for that, even if it stung. Gaius was just laying dinner out on the table, ready for when Merlin finished serving the prince. Merlin hurriedly wiped his face on his sleeves, trying to make himself look less of a mess before Gaius could notice his distress.

"You're back early," Gaius commented as he fetched the water jug.

"Wasn't needed," Merlin said. He sat down and prayed Gaius wouldn't question him further. It seemed Gaius had learned his lesson from the last time he'd asked because he sat down opposite Merlin with little more than a raised eyebrow that Merlin ignored. Gaius gave up trying to pressure Merlin with his stare when he realized his ward wasn't going to look at him, and he turned to his meal with a sigh. Merlin nibbled on bread, hating that his issues with Arthur were making everyone around him uncomfortable. Gwen was fretting over him, Gaius was disappointed that he wasn't be forthcoming, everyone seemed to be giving him a wide berth these days. He was tired and miserable and hurt and lonely and—

"Ugh, Gaius! How old is this ham?" Merlin spat out his mouthful into a napkin, his stomach roiling. He wiped his tongue on his sleeve, wanting the awful taste out of his mouth, and looked up to see Gaius giving him a baffled look.

"It's fresh," he said.

"No, it can't be," Merlin insisted. "That is disgusting. That can't possibly be good."

"I promise you, Merlin, that it's fresh. It tastes perfectly fine to me."

Merlin clutched at his stomach, that damned nausea rearing its head with a vengeance. He gulped down half his cup of water but it didn't do much good. Gaius proffered up more bread instead and Merlin wolfed it down, hoping it would do something toward settling his stomach. Gaius was watching him with wide eyes, a very odd expression on his face that Merlin didn't know how to interpret. Merlin scowled at him, immediately irritated.

"What?" he snapped.

"Are you still feeling ill?" Gaius asked. Merlin's sudden anger died, guilt for lying taking its place instead.

"Maybe," he muttered, head down.

"The nausea? Tiredness, dizzy spells, increased appetite?"

"Yes, all of it."

"And the nausea. It's triggered by things like this?" Gaius pressed.

"What do you mean?" Merlin asked.

"There are foods that you have always enjoyed that now make you feel ill? Tastes or odors that used to pass unnoticed but which you can no longer abide?"

Like ham, Merlin thought. Or the stables. Or the spiced wine Arthur liked to take in the evenings that Merlin had used to feel lightheaded just smelling but which had nearly sent him running two nights before. He'd almost sent it back to the kitchens, convinced it had gone bad somehow, but Arthur hadn't mentioned anything out of the ordinary before he sent Merlin away so he'd figured it must have been fine. Merlin nodded.

"Have you had any cravings? Urges for specific, perhaps uncommon, foods?"

"Um. I really wanted fish a few days ago," Merlin said, shrugging. "And I spent two hours last night trying to perfect that spell that lets you grow strawberries in your hand because I really wanted some and they're out of season so I couldn't get any from the kitchens."

"Strange," Gaius murmured.

"What's strange?" Merlin asked, a bit alarmed by Gaius's tone.

"Have you developed any sensitivity to touch in unusual places?" he asked, instead of answering Merlin's question. "Swelling or tenderness that you've never experienced before?"

Merlin shifted in his seat, uncomfortably aware that he had been wearing his softest tunic for several days in a row now. He'd even taking to sleeping topless, as the coarseness of his nightshirt had begun to chafe terribly against nipples that had never been sensitive before. He didn't answer, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but Gaius seemed to take that response as confirmation of whatever suspicions he held.

"Strange," he repeated, with more feeling this time. "Very strange."

"What?" Merlin demanded, angry.

"Mood swings as well, I presume," Gaius said. "Rapid emotional changes, easily angered or saddened."

"Gaius, what is this? What's wrong with me and why is it strange?" Merlin's anxiety bumped up another notch when Gaius didn't answer immediately, looking both disbelieving and intrigued in that way he did when he encountered something he'd never seen before. It didn't bode well. "Gaius?" he asked, his voice trembling now.

"Merlin, all of these symptoms. When seen together like this, they are usually early indications that a woman is with child."

Merlin stared at him. "I'm not a woman," he said eventually, feeling like he really shouldn't have to point that out.

"And that is why I call it strange," Gaius said. "I have occasionally seen a reflection of a few of a woman's symptoms in her husband, a sympathetic mimicry of her ordeal, but you are not in such a position. Some of your symptoms could be explained by other afflictions—"

"Like the flu, or simple exhaustion," Merlin inserted.

"Yes. But it is highly unlikely that a number of sicknesses would come together at the same time and in the same individual to present like this. And some of the symptoms don't often appear in any other circumstances, at least not ones that would present in a male."

"Such as?"

"Well, swelling and tenderness of the breasts is common at some points in a woman's monthly cycle, but I don't believe that particular explanation is available to you."

"No. No, it certainly isn't."

"Which leaves us with a very peculiar diagnosis."

"I can't be pregnant."

"No, by all natural laws with which I am familiar, I would say that you cannot. And yet the evidence before me says otherwise.

"Gaius, I cannot be pregnant," Merlin said again. "I am not a girl, no matter how many times Arthur calls me one. Aside from how ludicrous that sounds, it's just not possible. There has to be some other explanation."

"I will look through my books for other possibilities," Gaius conceded, but he looked skeptical. "Perhaps—" He hesitated. "Perhaps it would be wise for you to consult with the dragon."

"The dragon?" Merlin asked, dumbstruck. It had been less than two months since the dragon had ravished the city and killed dozens of people. They were still in the process of rebuilding the west wall. Merlin had had to force the dragon into submission, using powers inherited from the father he'd never known and had watched die, and now Gaius wanted him to seek him out? "Why the hell would I go to him?"

"Because he is vastly more knowledgeable than we mere humans. He may have information or insight that I cannot give you with my limited realm of experience."

"He tried to burn down the entire kingdom and kill us all, Gaius. He's been manipulating me since the start," Merlin reminded him.

"And yet he is the only resource we have. Unless you wish to simply ignore the possibility and wait to be proven right or wrong."

The consequences of the latter option made Merlin pale. The mere possibility that he could be wrong and Gaius right was staggering and terrifying. He gulped down the panic trying to force its way up his throat and nodded.

"Fine. I'll call him tonight."


Merlin snuck out of the castle shortly after dark fell, dismissed early from Arthur's chambers as he had been every night for the last three weeks. The few guards he passed on the way through the corridors didn't look twice at him, recognizing him as a regular fixture and not a threat. He used magic to distract the guards overlooking the gates to the city and struck out into the woods, heading for the clearing in which he and the dragon had had their last encounter, where he had forced the dragon to bow and ordered him never to harm them again. It took Merlin twice as long as he'd expected to reach the spot, his fatigue dragging him to a halt every few minutes and making him rest. By the time he got there, the moon was high in the sky and he was already dreading the walk back.

He stood in the middle of the field, long since cleared of the bodies of the knights Kilgharrah had killed there. Merlin tilted his head back to the sky, feeling foolish. He knew it was possible for a dragonlord to call upon a dragon, but he had never seen it done and his father had not had the time to explain it to him. He chewed on his lip for a moment and then closed his eyes, trying to remember the words that had come so readily to him when he'd last spoken to Kilgharrah. It wasn't a language that he'd ever heard before, nor one he understood, but it was there somewhere in his mind, in his soul. He just had to look deep enough to find it.

"O drakon, e male so ftengometta tesd'hup'anankes!" The hoarse sound that forced its way out of his throat took him by surprise. He couldn't have translated the words he'd spoken, but he knew somehow that they were the summons he'd wished for, and he knew that Kilgharrah would obey it. Merlin settled onto the ground to await the dragon's arrival, wrapping his arms around his knees and resting his head on them. He'd nearly fallen asleep when he heard the great swooping of wings above him. The dragon's weight shook the ground as it alighted and made Merlin stumble as he climbed back to his feet. Kilgharrah loomed over him, peering down through narrowed eyes, and then he sat back on his haunches, something of a draconian smile playing around his sharp teeth.

"You are with child, young warlock."

Merlin's mouth dropped open. "That's not possible," he shouted, as if insisting one more time would make it more true and stop the genuine panic that was rising up to clog his throat now. "I may not have every page of every medical text memorized like Gaius but I know enough about human anatomy to know that!"

"You forget, Merlin, that you are no mere human. You are a dragonlord," Kilgharrah said simply.

"And what exactly does that have to do with this?"

"Do you know nothing of your heritage?" the dragon sneered, and Merlin's temper flared hot and bright and almost enough to make his eyes flash.

"Perhaps if someone had seen fit to inform me that my father was alive, he would've had the time to teach me all about it," Merlin growled. "As it is, the only thing he had the opportunity to teach me was how to kill you. I suggest you keep that in mind." Kilgharrah let out a long breath that sent smoke furling from his nostrils into the cool night air.

"Dragonlords have always been a rare breed," he said, ignoring Merlin's pointed comment and his not-very-veiled threat as though he hadn't heard them. "Rarer even than the dragons they call kin. Since the ability is passed from father to son, should a dragonlord die childless, his lineage would die with him. It is of the utmost importance for a dragonlord to pass on his gift."

"Meaning?"

"A dragonlord must produce a child, whether he sire his offspring by another or bear them himself."

"What, so just because I let a man fuck me, my body decided that I would rather be pregnant than have a kid by someone else?" Merlin demanded, far beyond filtering the words that came out of his mouth at this point.

"Your body cares not. It is of no consequence how you produce your young so long as the line of dragonlords remains unbroken."

"There are certainly consequences for me, Kilgharrah!" he shouted. "I'm going to have to leave Camelot! This is blatantly magical, and there's no hiding it. How am I supposed to protect Arthur from half a kingdom away and with a damn baby to take care of? How am I supposed to fulfill my destiny now?"

"Your destiny is manifold, young warlock," Kilgharrah said with that infuriatingly patronizing patience, as though Merlin were a small child incapable of understanding the vast scope of a dragon's knowledge and foresight. "For your and Arthur's bloodlines to mix is the best hope for—"

"You know about that too?" Merlin didn't know why he was surprised, but he thought the indignation was perfectly reasonable. "Arthur getting me pregnant is part of our destinies?"

"The union of your lines is the culmination of all you will accomplish together," the dragon intoned. "Your descendants will shepherd this kingdom into an era which even I cannot imagine. It is your destiny to—"

"Fuck destiny," Merlin said, which seemed to shock Kilgharrah enough to shut him up for once. "Fuck it. Destiny doesn't have any say in my sex life, nor does it get to dictate the nature of my relationship with Arthur. And if destiny thinks that making me into some sort of he-she freak is going to make Arthur like magic, then I have a feeling it's going to be sorely disappointed."

"I am sorry this causes you such distress," Kilgharrah said, sounding more wrong-footed than Merlin had ever heard. "You must have faith that all will be resolved for the best."

"Right. For the best, of course. But for who's best? Because it's certainly not for mine." Merlin turned away from the dragon, ducking his head as if that would make the tears on his cheeks less real. He didn't wipe them away until he was out the clearing, stumbling through the woods toward the castle in the dark. The first time he had to stop to regain his breath, he was so angry and frustrated with his own weakness that he slammed his fist into a tree. He clutched it to his chest, the pain ripping apart what little was left of his self-control, and then he sat down on the ground and cried until he couldn't anymore.


Gaius was waiting up for him by the time Merlin made it back to the palace, even though it was well into the small hours of the morning. Merlin didn't even have to say the words for his guardian to understand. One look at his face was all it took for Gaius to pull Merlin into his arms, holding him tightly and patting his hair. Merlin didn't cry again, but he clung on fiercely and tried to stop himself from trembling.

Once he'd gotten hold of himself again, Gaius sat him down at the table and placed a steaming cup of what Merlin suspected was one of the calming draughts often made for trauma victims. He was sadly grateful for it, thinking that traumatic was probably a very good way to describe this entire day. He sipped at it slowly, wanting nothing more than to sleep and sleep and wake up to find this was nothing but a nightmare. Gaius puttered around the room in a facsimile of his usual routine even though it was the middle of the night and there was nothing for him to actually do, and the illusion of normalcy soothed Merlin more than anything else, if only for a moment.

"Did the dragon have an explanation?" Gaius asked at length, when Merlin's shaking had subsided and he had run out of things to shift about on his many tables. Merlin nodded, putting down his cup so that he could clench his hands in fists.

"It's a dragonlord thing," he said, his voice hoarse from shouting at the dragon earlier. "A dragonlord must produce offspring, one way or another. Apparently passing on the gift is more important than all the known laws of nature."

"Fascinating," Gaius breathed as he sank into his chair across the table, but he looked thoroughly chastised when Merlin shot him a dark look. "Did he have anything else to say on the matter?"

Merlin picked up his drink again, gripping it tightly. He didn't answer with anything more than a shake of the head. It wasn't that he didn't want to tell Gaius—Gaius was the only person to know of his great destiny and all that it entailed, and he was the only person Merlin had to lean on—but the prospect of his intimate relationship with Arthur becoming a topic for discussion over the dinner table was less than appealing.

"What of the father?"

Merlin looked up sharply. He swallowed hard, hoping his thoughts couldn't be seen on his face. "What of him?"

"Do you trust him?" Gaius asked. Merlin gaped at him.

"It doesn't matter if I trust him, Gaius," he said. "There's no one in this entire kingdom that I trust enough to confess this to."

"I just think it's something you should consider," Gaius said diplomatically. "Having a child is a momentous and wonderful thing, not to mention a difficult one. Depriving this man—and I won't ask who it is—of his chance to know his child if you don't absolutely have to—"

"And what exactly would I tell, him, Gaius?" Merlin snapped. "Just walk up to him in the street and blurt out that I'm a magical hermaphroditic freak who's carrying his baby? Yeah, I'm sure that'll go over really well."

"Merlin!" Gaius sounded both chastising and taken aback, shocked that Merlin would say such a thing at all. Merlin didn't back down from his look.

"And you're the one always advocating caution wherever magic is concerned," he pointed out. "This is most definitely magic—very obvious, unnatural, get-me-killed sort of magic. Why the hell are you even considering telling anyone?"

"Merlin," Gaius said, much more gently, and Merlin was taken aback to see such a tender expression on his face. "I never had a child of my own. But if it's anything like what having you in my life has been, then I would never take that away from anyone."

All Merlin's horror and affront dissipated in an instant and tears pricked at his eyes. "Gaius," he said, his voice choked. "You know that you've been everything I could ever have hoped for in a father, and you mean more to me than I could ever properly express." Merlin wiped at his wet cheeks, remembering long nights as a little boy looking out the window and wondering why he didn't have a father like all the other boys did, when his father was coming back for him, what he'd done to make him leave. "I know what it's like to grow up without that," he said. "And I wouldn't wish that on any child, but I don't have a choice here, Gaius. Trust me on that, please."

Gaius looked at him for a long time, his eyes sad and old. Then he reached out to clasp Merlin's hand tightly. "I understand. I only wish you wouldn't have to do this alone. Where will you go? Back to Ealdor?" Merlin scoffed.

"No, of course not. How could I?" he said. "And bring all this down on my mother's shoulders? Besides, the people in that village never liked me much anyway, and they certainly didn't trust me. I was always a bit strange, a bit suspicious. If I show up out of the blue and then lock myself away in the house for months on end without ever setting foot outside, how's that going to look? They'll ask questions that my mother won't be able to answer, and I won't put that on her."

"Then where?"

Merlin took up his cup again, thinking through his very limited options. "I'll go to the druids," he said eventually. "If there's anyone who would be willing to abide something like this, it's them." Gaius nodded.

"Explain your rather distinctive situation to the elders," he suggested. "Some of them may be old enough to remember similar happenings before the dragonlords were wiped out."

"Yeah, maybe," Merlin said, but he didn't hold out too much hope. His life just didn't work out that way most of the time, so there was no point in letting himself expect anything but the worst case scenario. He rubbed his hands over his face, feeling tired down to his very bones and still a tiny bit sick. "I'm just gonna go to bed, Gaius. I guess I'll start packing my things tomorrow."

"I'll ask some of my contacts if they have an exact location for the nearest druid camp," Gaius offered. Merlin nodded and heaved himself to his feet, ready to stumble to bed and forget for a while. Gaius caught him on the way to his room and pulled him into another tight hug. Merlin accepted it gladly, his throat closing up again when he realized he wouldn't have access to hugs like this for a long time after tomorrow.

"Look after Arthur for me, if you can manage it," he said with a sniff. "Don't let him get himself killed while I'm gone."

"I'll certainly do my best to make sure you find him intact upon your return," Gaius said with a small smile which Merlin mirrored, grateful for the reminder that this wasn't necessarily a permanent exile. Just a few months, a year or so at most. Then he'd be back and everything would be fine again.


Merlin slept late the next morning and Gaius didn't wake him. Arthur didn't notice, or if he did then he didn't seem to care because no one came barging in to demand that Merlin attend to him immediately like they used to do when he was late. Merlin spent the time before lunch packing up his belongings, all that he could carry on his back. He took the time to learn a spell to shrink things without damaging them, and its counter-spell, so that he could also pack his Sidhe staff and his magic book without drawing attention. Then he sat on his bed for a while, trying to find the courage and fortitude to do what he had to.

Merlin knocked before entering Arthur's chambers, balancing the laden tray on one hand and waiting for Arthur's call before pushing the door open. He laid the tray down on the table and stepped back, watching as Arthur began eating without looking up or commenting on how late the meal was.

"I need to talk to you," he said eventually.

"I'm a very busy man," Arthur said, eating a leisurely meal at a table for once completely empty of work. Merlin's temper, so close to the surface nowadays, flared.

"Are we really going to keep doing this?" he demanded. Arthur didn't answer and Merlin let out a bitter laugh. "You know what, it doesn't matter anyway. I'm leaving."

"I've not given you leave to—"

"I don't mean I'm taking a trip, Arthur. I mean I'm leaving."

Arthur looked up this time, looked directly at Merlin for what was probably the first time in three weeks. Merlin wanted to be able to enjoy the look of shock on Arthur's face, but he really wasn't in a position to take any pleasure from it.

"What?" Arthur said.

"First thing tomorrow," Merlin said.

"Merlin," Arthur said, and it felt like an arrow to the heart to hear his name in that voice after so long without it, even if it sounded tentative and wrong-footed. Arthur cleared his throat. "If this is about the… incident, then—"

"The incident?" Merlin repeated, dumbstruck. "Good god, Arthur. If you regretted it, you could have just had the decency to say so. We could have blamed it on the ale and pretended it never happened." That wasn't entirely true, not in the circumstances, but Arthur didn't know that and he could have at least tried. "Instead you cut me out, ignore me completely."

"I didn't mean to drive you away," Arthur said.

"Then what exactly were you meaning to do?" Merlin asked, incredulous because Arthur was looking hurt and confused and a little bit afraid, and he had no right to be any of those things. Maybe it was because the confrontation was escalating so quickly, but Merlin's resentment had been festering for weeks and his self-control was already stretched thin and frayed around the edges. "We were friends, Arthur," he said, his voice harsh, and it wasn't until after he'd said it that he realized he'd phrased it in the past tense. "And then I let you fuck me and now suddenly it's like I don't even exist, like I'm nothing."

Arthur stood up then, coming around the desk toward him. "Merlin, I—"

"Do you have any how cheap that made me feel?" Merlin demanded, giving voice to things he hadn't even allowed himself to think. "Like a whore you'd had and gotten tired of. You got what you wanted and were through with me."

"No!" Arthur said sharply, looking horrified. "No, Merlin, god no. I never thought of you like that at all. It was nothing like that."

"Then what was it like, Arthur? Please tell me, because I don't understand what could make you act like this," Merlin said, feeling the heat in his eyes that signaled the advent of tears. He blinked them back, as angry with himself as he was with Arthur.

"It's just—" Arthur struggled for words, drawing a hand through his hair until it stuck up on his head in tufts that made him look worlds away from the put-together prince he tried to be, more human. It made Merlin's heart ache fiercely and he blinked faster to guard against his own weakness. "It was just easier, alright?" he finally came out with.

"Easier? What was so difficult about it?" Merlin demanded. "If you regretted it, all you had to do was say the word and I'd never have brought it up again. It was that simple."

"But I didn't." Arthur put a hand over his own mouth, his eyes wide and suddenly fearful. Merlin felt like he'd been kicked.

"What?" he said. Arthur turned away for a moment, both hands on his head. When he turned back, his mouth was set in a tight line but he looked determined.

"I didn't regret it," he said. It was just as painful and baffling to hear a second time.

"Then why would you—"

"Because nothing can ever come of it!" Arthur cried. "And it hurts to be around you when I know what you taste like and what you sound like, and to know that I can't have that."

Merlin wondered if he might be sick. It wasn't fair, it just wasn't fair. He almost wrapped his arms around his stomach but he stopped himself just in time, knowing he would be unable to explain the unusual gesture. If the circumstances had been just the slightest bit different, he would have run into Arthur's arms right then, he would've argued and fought for them. But he couldn't. He couldn't because he was leaving, because he had no choice but to go.

It was Merlin who turned away this time, unable to look at the stricken expression on Arthur's face, too open after so long kept shuttered and blank. Merlin took a deep breath, then another, trying to gain control of himself. Then he felt Arthur's heat on his back and an arm snaked around his waist, strong and comforting and far too close to Merlin's newest secret. He jerked away, shoving Arthur back.

"Don't," he said severely, holding up a hand to ward Arthur off. "Don't you dare. You have no right."

"I don't want you to go," Arthur said, the admission sounding ripped from him against his will. But immediately his expression cleared, as if saying it out loud had turned a key. All his doubt and torment fell away and he stepped closer. "I don't want you to leave," he said, more firmly, reaching out. Merlin pushed his hand away.

"My leaving has nothing to do this." It wasn't entirely untrue, in a way. It had more to do with the baby growing impossibly inside him than it did the way Arthur had been acting. He'd have stayed in Camelot for years to come no matter how Arthur treated him, but he didn't have that option anymore.

"Really?" Arthur said, made bold by his new faith in them. "Because it looks like you're running away."

"I'm not the one who ran away, Arthur," Merlin snapped, whip-sharp and angry. "I'm just the one who woke up alone." Arthur flinched but he nodded, accepting the blame.

"Don't go," he said, though it sounded more like a plea than a command. Merlin hastily wiped a stray tear from his face, unable to look Arthur in the eye.

"My mother's ill," he fabricated, pulling out the only thing that was guaranteed to make Arthur let him leave. "It's nothing to do with you," he repeated.

"Hunith?" Arthur asked with genuine worry in his voice and the weight of Merlin's guilt nearly drove him to his knees.

"I'm going back home to tend to her," he said instead.

"You'll—" Arthur broke off, suddenly unsure. "You'll be coming back." It was a statement looking or confirmation, not a question, just like it had been the last time Merlin had left for Ealdor. Merlin bit his lip, sniffing, not trusting his voice. "Merlin?"

"I don't know," Merlin choked out. "I don't—I don't know."

"No, Merlin, you have to come back," Arthur said. He sounded nothing short of devastated and Merlin knew better than to raise his head and risk catching a glimpse of his expression. "You have to," Arthur insisted. "I need you here."

Merlin would've given anything to hear Arthur say that. Just not now. Merlin bit back a sob, unable to keep the tears in any longer. He stepped back out of Arthur's reach once more, then pushed past him toward the door. Arthur caught his arm, said his name, but Merlin pulled out of his grip.

"I can't, Arthur. I can't," Merlin said. "My—my family comes first. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Merlin fled the chamber, ignoring Arthur calling his name again, and took off down the corridor. He ran until he couldn't hear Arthur anymore, until he was sure that Arthur wasn't following him. Then he stopped and threw up into alcove, feeling faint and dizzy and so thoroughly heartsick that he couldn't hold himself upright. He slumped to the ground and pressed a shaking hand against his stomach, imagining he could feel the pulse of life inside it and trying so hard to hate it. And when he couldn't manage that, he cried some more.