Title: Never Stop Choosing You
Author: brickroad16/inafadinglight
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Merlin/Morgana, noticeable Gwen/Arthur
Summary: Sequel to Beautiful Unfolding. When the future Morgana Saw comes to pass, she and Merlin learn to navigate it their doubts and fears in order to carve out a new life for themselves. M/M. AU.
Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin. BBC/Shine do.
A/N: This has been a long time coming! I actually wrote 90% of this last summer but never got around to finishing it, because I was always slightly unhappy with the ending. Now it's here, so I hope you enjoy it.

Reviews are love, so if you've got a few free moments, please let me know what you think!

I will never stop choosing you, babe
I will never get used to you
– "Never Stop," Safetysuit

The day Merlin up and disappears in the middle of a visit from neighboring royals, the king of Camelot decides that something significant is going on with his former manservant and current advisor, and he is determined to get to the bottom of it.

Arthur, arms crossed against his chest, scowls as Merlin comes cantering in on horseback and stops just outside the stables. He no longer wears his old servant attire, the tattered trousers, the oversized jacket. Instead, when Arthur became king a few months before, he forced him into more suitable apparel befitting the king's advisor. He now wears proper black trousers, a tan shirt that actually fits his slender frame, a black leather vest.

Arthur has to admit, even as a frown creases his brow, that Merlin looks quite impressive in his new outfit and astride the dappled grey he likes to ride. It's almost like he has a proper servant for once.

But that doesn't mean the king can forgive his advisor for abandoning him in the middle of Nemeth's royal visit, especially when they both know how much Princess Mithian enjoys Merlin's company.

"And where the hell have you been, Merlin, might I ask?" Arthur bellows as the slighter man springs lightly to the ground.

He's wearing that ridiculous lopsided grin of his, can't seem to wipe it off his face even when faced with his king's anger.

"Sorry, sire," he says, and his smile grows broader, dimpling his cheeks, if Arthur had even thought that was possible.

"That's all you've got to say for yourself?" Arthur glares in disbelief as he follows Merlin into the stables. "How on earth am I supposed to entertain visiting royalty when my chief advisor decides to disappear for two days?"

"Uh, shut up and let Gwen do the talking?" he suggests, shaking his head and chuckling to himself as if it were the funniest thing he's heard in the longest time.

Arthur, brows narrowed in scrutiny, relaxes a bit, feels the smirk tugging at his lips. "All right, Merlin, want to tell me what's going on?"

Merlin busies himself with removing the grey's saddle and getting her settled into the stall. "What are you talking about? I don't know what you're talking about."

Arthur helps him heave off the saddle blanket. "You ran off without a word. The Merlin I know wouldn't do that without a very good reason. So are you going to tell me, or aren't you?"

Merlin pauses, his arms folded over the mare's back, that goofy grin still lighting his face. "Yes," he finally says.

"Yes, you're going to tell me?"

"Yes, it was a very good reason."

Arthur purses his lips. "So you're not going to tell me?"

"Uh . . . no," Merlin decides, clapping the mare gently and striding out of the stables.

"That's it?" Arthur calls skeptically. He can't help but laugh as he follows Merlin out into the fading sunlight. Strolling back toward the castle, he prods, "You're really not going to tell me? Come on. What was so important that you had to leave Camelot for two whole days without telling anyone?"

Merlin stops walking, bouncing rather, and turns around, the fiery rays of the setting sun lighting up his joyful countenance. "You really want to know?" he queries.

"I really want to know," Arthur confirms solemnly.

Spreading his arms wide as if taking in all the goodness and happiness the world has to offer, he says, "The birth of my daughter, that's what was so important."

And the king of Camelot's mouth drops open in shock.

"Okay, sit," Gwen commands firmly but with a hint of gentleness in her voice. She pushes Merlin down into a chair and slides a cup of wine toward him. "Explain."

Even faced with his king and queen, Merlin feels as if his heart is full to the bursting, as if his utter delight is going to radiate right out through his fingertips.

Gwen seems calm enough, though a bit hurt at not being told until now. Arthur, though, is fit to be tied.

"How the hell do you have a daughter?" he asks, eyes wide and incredulous. "I've never even seen you look a woman!"

"Hush, Arthur," Gwen chastises. "Obviously we know now why he hasn't."

"So where is this woman of yours?" Arthur asks. "Where are you hiding her away? Why don't you bring her to court?"

Merlin's smile fades a bit as he realizes how much he's hidden from his closest friends. They've accepted him for his magic, accepted why he had to hide so much before. But this is different. This is different because this is someone they care about deeply, someone they've missed for close to three years now.

He takes a sip of the wine to steel his nerves and finally gasps out, "I couldn't."

"You know you can tell us anything, Merlin," Gwen assures him softly as she takes a seat across from him at the dining table.

"I know that, but . . . Before I tell you anything," he gulps, "you have to understand, first, how hard a decision this was. Believe me, I never wanted to keep this from you."

"So she wanted to keep you a secret?" Arthur snorts. "Well, that makes more sense."

He receives a smack on the shoulder from his wife, who encourages, "Go on, then, Merlin. We're listening."

Merlin, lips pursed, leans back in his chair and takes another gulp of wine. Hesitantly, he begins, "After Morgause took Morgana away, a few months later, I saw her, just outside the city walls."

Arthur stands abruptly, agitated. "What do you mean you saw her? And you never said anything?"

"Arthur," Gwen censures with infinite patience, "let him speak."

Merlin raises his gaze to his friends, silently pleading with them to understand. "She didn't want to come back, not as long as Uther sat on the throne."

A frown darkens Arthur's face. He's not as obtuse as he acts sometimes, and Merlin knows that, before her disappearance, he could discern just how deep the rift between Uther and Morgana was beginning to run.

Gwen turns to him. "So all those times you vanished mysteriously," she queries, "you were with her?"

He nods, and a smile breaks over her face.

"And all this time, you've been in love?" she asks with genuine happiness.

"Well, not all this time," he laughs, his grin returning. "But we've been married since last summer."

"And you didn't tell us? We would have loved to be there."

"I know, I know," he nods. "I wanted to, but . . ." He trails off, knowing any excuse can never be enough. "I wanted to tell you so badly."

Quietly, Arthur says, "I've been on the throne since winter. Why hasn't she come back?"

Merlin's mirth fades and gives way to rushing guilt. "We've talked about it. But we've built a life there. We're close to her sister. And we're in Cenred's kingdom, close to Ealdor, so we're close to my mother –"

"She has a sister?" Arthur's eyebrows shoot up in astonishment.

"Well, a half-sister, yeah. Morgause."

"Morgause is her sister?"

He sinks into a chair. Gwen, a gentle smile on her face, pats her husband's hand. To Merlin, she suggests, "Maybe he's had enough revelations for one night."

The day after the king of Camelot finds out about his newborn niece, he announces to his wife that he means to give his sincere regrets to his guests and set off for Cenred's kingdom, queen and advisor by his side. Luckily, his wife has more sense than he, and persuades him to wait a few weeks until mother and daughter are healthy and ready to receive visitors. Merlin disappears a lot during these weeks, never with more than a hurried 'goodbye,' but Arthur finds that he can no longer be angry with him, and when three and a half weeks have passed, he decides that he can wait no longer.

Although traveling by magic would be infinitely easier and faster, they've decided to go the old-fashioned way – on horseback. After six months of being king, he finds that it's exceptionally nice to be able to spend time alone with his wife and his friend, although he'd had a tough time convincing his knights to let them go on this trip alone.

They stop for the night in an appealing little valley near a small, calm stream.

"Do you think she wants to see us?" he asks as he bends down to stoke the fire.

There's a part of him that thinks she doesn't. Because it's been almost three years, and if she did, she would have revealed herself sooner. Maybe she loathes him as much as she loathed his father. Maybe she can't even stand the sight of him now.

"Of course she does," Merlin assures him. "It's just hard for her, you know, coming back to Camelot."

Arthur sits back with a frown, hands on his knees. "But why? I don't understand. We're her family."

Merlin fixes him with a gaze so intense he feels a great wave of shame at his lack of understanding. He looks to Gwen for help, but she appears just as confused as he.

Stirring the stew, Merlin asks, "You never figured it out, then?"

"Figured what out?"

He sets down the spoon, a serious expression shadowing his face. "Morgana's nightmares, they were born of magic. She's a seeress. She was terrified of Uther finding out."

"That's why she hated him," Arthur sighs, "because he persecuted her kind."

Merlin nods.

Worry floods into Arthur's chest. "Does she hate me, too?"

Merlin looks up with sharp concern. "Why would she? You're not your father, Arthur. She knows that you have a more tolerant attitude toward magic." He twitches his shoulder in a shrug. "Besides, she's . . . calmed down a little now. She has better things to think about than hatred."

Gwen, long silent as she listens to the boys, pipes up. "Do you think we could convince her to come back? Eventually, I mean."

"I think we can try," Merlin smiles.

Gwen, smiling now, too, bumps his shoulder. "Will you tell me about her? About your daughter?"

And Merlin beams.

The day Gwen sees her best friend for the first time in nearly three years, she's not wearing her crown, and she's glad of it. This is a personal visit, one she's longed for but never had the courage to speak of.

They stand at the edge of the forest, just concealed from sight, Arthur lightly grasping her hand, his palm moist from nerves. There's a cottage a hundred or so yards away, small and modest, but rather delightful and obviously cared for. Three women toil in the garden just outside the cottage, the midday sun glaring down upon them but the spring breeze cooling them. One is blonde, her hair rippling in the light wind. The other two have dark hair – one the color of chocolate, the other the color of a raven. A wooden bassinette sits at the edge of the vegetable plot, its occupant sleeping soundly as her kin go about their work.

Merlin strides toward them, leading his horse, that grin still lighting up his face. Morgana stops working, straightens, and lifts a hand to her brow to shield the sun as she watches his approach. A smile grows slowly on her lips the closer he gets. When he reaches her, she throws her arms around his neck, and he lifts her off the ground and twirls her around in an ecstatic embrace.

As he touches her back down to the ground, she drags him down for a soft kiss. Gwen's never seen them like this, so intimate, so obviously in love and lost in each other, and her heart swells with happiness at the sight.

Morgana smiles cheekily as Merlin leans down to say something.

"What do you think he's saying to her?" Arthur asks quietly, entranced by the scene.

"Probably chastising her for working so soon after the baby," she guesses.

Arthur chuckles and adds, "And she's having none of it. Same old Morgana, huh?"

"Yeah," Gwen smiles, watching Merlin greet his mother and sister before kneeling down beside the cradle, a wondrous look on his face, "same old Morgana."

For the first time in two days, Arthur's uneasiness dissipates and he allows himself a wide, toothy smile. "If Vivien takes at all after her mother, Merlin's going to have his work cut out for him."

"She's absolutely lovely, Morgana," Gwen coos, rocking the baby in her arms.

Entranced by Gwen's curls, Vivien reaches up a tiny fist still too heavy for her arm to waggle her fingers at the black tresses. She's got wide blue eyes, a shock of jet black hair, a bubbly little laugh that makes you laugh right along with her. She's too young for anyone to really know which parent she resembles, but that doesn't stop Morgana and Merlin from bickering over it while she sleeps.

"Thank you, Gwen," Morgana replies, her eyes shining. "She likes you."

Merlin stands by the fire, looking over the chicken that Arthur shot this morning, and watches his family. They're all crowded together around the tiny table, king beside mother, and queen nestled between sister and wife. After years of keeping secrets, he's finding it difficult to rein in his sheer happiness at the turn his life has taken. Arthur is on the throne, Gwen beside him; their destinies have begun at last. And he, who never believed himself lucky enough to find love, has a wife and a daughter and a mother and a sister.

Arthur, nose wrinkled in scrutiny, observes, "She's quite lively for a four-week old, isn't she?"

Hunith chuckles softly, eyebrows raised at her new daughters sitting across the table. "She gets that from her mother's side of the family, I believe."

"Good luck with that, Merlin," smirks Arthur. "You're going to have your hands full for the next twenty years."

Merlin opens his mouth to retort, but Morgana interjects with a smirk of her own, "Like he doesn't already have his hands full taking care of your royal pratness, Arthur."

Arthur merely throws back his head in a hearty laugh. Merlin grins as he removes the chicken from the fire, because he doesn't recall anyone making Arthur laugh that hard since his father died.

"Supper," Merlin announces, bringing the meal to the table.

"Ah, thank you again for your generosity," Arthur says to Morgana in particular, slipping back into his kingly manners.

She tilts her head in curiosity. "Did you really think I wouldn't be glad to see you?"

"You weren't happy in Camelot," he says.

A brief, tense silence reigns before Morgana answers, "It doesn't mean I wasn't happy to have you as a brother."

Vivien gurgles loudly, intent on alerting everyone to her presence again. Gwen looks down at her with an apologetic murmur and then a sudden brilliance lights her countenance. "You haven't met your Uncle Arthur yet, have you?"

Arthur's eyes widen in astonishment and he immediately holds up his hands, palms in front of him, in protest. Before he can get a word out, though, Morgana lets out a delighted laugh.

"Yes," she agrees, gently scooping her daughter from Gwen's arms and depositing her in Arthur's, "Viv wants to meet you."

"I – I – ," he stammers, but then the weight dropped in his arms babbles at him, a bit of drool running from the side of her mouth, and the king of Camelot is suddenly speechless for a much different reason.

Merlin marvels at how rapidly he goes from awkward king to doting uncle, tickling Vivien under the chin and cooing ridiculously. He glances over at Morgana, but their shared look nearly makes both of them burst out in laughter, which would only make Arthur clam up again, so they stifle it. And Merlin, watching his daughter bounce around in the arms of his king and best friend, sits down to dinner with his family.

"What are they talking about, do you think?" Arthur asks in a pensive murmur.

Merlin looks up from washing the dishes to gaze out the window into the darkening yard. The stars are just poking out, and the moon is just bright enough for him to distinguish the figures outside. Morgana stands at the far end of the yard, arms folded in the chilly spring night. Gwen and Hunith hover nearby while Morgause paces slowly behind them, twirling a piece of dry grass in her fingers.

He shrugs a shoulder. "Convincing her to return to Camelot, I suppose."

Arthur takes the plate Merlin hands him to dry, a frown furrowing his brow. "Even Morgause?"

"She's a good woman, Arthur," Merlin assures him. "She cares for Morgana more than anything in the world. Now that she no longer has to worry about . . . the fight for magic, she cares only for Morgana. She will do the right thing."

Arthur contemplates that, rubbing the cloth in endless circles on a single plate. "Will they come back with you then, Morgause and your mother?"

"My mother, maybe," replies Merlin with a shrug. "There's more for her in Camelot than in Ealdor now. Morgause isn't a woman to stay in one place for very long though. She'll often come to visit, I suspect." He sets a washed plate down beside Arthur. They're beginning to pile up, and Arthur's gaze is still directed out the window. "What will you tell the people?"

Arthur, lips pursed, concentrates on drying the same plate. Merlin prods him and hands him another. After another minute, Arthur says, "I don't know. I haven't had that much time to think about it, you know. The people . . . they know she left on bad terms with my father. We . . . we can just tell the truth, that she's been biding her time until I inherited the crown. And now she's finally ready to come home."

Merlin nods, a small smile on his lips. He flicks a gaze out the window, where the women are still talking. "That's good. I think that's good."

The day Morgana returns to Camelot, she comes with her husband and daughter. She'd left with her half-sister, left in a whirl of magic, left in a scandal, left running from a growing rift with the man who used to rule the hatred within her. And she returns with her family.

The people watch in stunned curiosity as they ride through the town in the early morning light. Vivien is strapped to Merlin's chest, a bizarre sight for the citizens as their king's chief advisor cradles a baby in one arm and clops steadily toward the castle. Morgana squints against the sun, feels the clatter of the horse's hooves on the cobblestones as they pass through the town and ride through the castle gate.

When they reach the courtyard, she manages to descend from her horse gracefully despite the weakness in her knees. She takes a moment to steady herself. She isn't quite certain about this, isn't quite certain about being back in Camelot. But then Merlin hands Vivien to her, and she looks at her daughter's small, beautiful face, and she understands. She understands that a childhood in Camelot, with Arthur as its Once and Future King, will be the best gift she can ever give this tiny being.

Merlin hops down from his mare and, beaming at her, holds open his arms in a welcome.

"Well," he says, his chest heaving in a happy sigh, "Camelot." Vivien opens her eyes blearily and Merlin leans down to take her hand and whisper, "Camelot, Viv."

He's more nervous than he imagined he'd be. He used to envision this day, thought it would be the most incredible of his life. Now, though, he can see only the things she may not like, the things that may drive her away once more, for good this time. He fixates on the new tapestry in the corridor leading to her old room and wonders if she will like it. He fixates on the fact that he's no longer living in Gaius's spare room, but in a new, more sumptuous one in the main part of the castle and wonders if she will think ill of him for the change. He fixates on the new table Arthur's put in the war room, a huge round monstrosity that has eyebrows raising all over the nearby kingdoms, and he wonders if she will understand the future they are trying to build.

He hovers apprehensively in the doorframe, watching Morgana, a placid expression on her face, stroll through his chambers. Fidgeting, he walks through to the bedroom, gestures to the side of the room, and says, "I thought we could put the cradle here. I know you don't want a full-time nurse, but maybe only during the day, when we have duties, and then she can sleep here." When she doesn't respond right away, he asks, "What do you think?"

"Yes," she agrees with a distracted nod of her head, "yes, of course."

"Morgana," he says, and she turns to look at him. There's doubt in those familiar green eyes, enough to send a pang through him. He so much wanted his family together, wanted his political life to merge with his personal one, that maybe he hasn't stopped to really find out how she feels about returning to Camelot. "Do you want to be here?"

She stops walking, her gaze fixed out the window now. Pensively, she murmurs, "Everything is so different."

He isn't sure whether it's a compliment or a criticism. Maybe she hasn't yet decided. He hastens to explain, "Yes, Arthur has changed much. Camelot is not like it was when you left, Morgana. It's a kingdom its people can be proud of. There is less poverty, less hunger. The knights are no longer arrogant oppressors; they are paragons of virtue and civility." He's well-aware of the awe that's creeping into his voice, but he can't bring himself to stop it. "Magic-users are no longer persecuted. This is not Uther's Camelot. This is a kingdom built on tolerance, and justice. Morgana . . ."

He trails off, shrugging his shoulders in amazed futility. She turns, a gentle smile tugging at her lips, the late morning light framing her like a halo. Suddenly, she seems to come back to herself.

"And you, my love," she says, walking toward him, arms outstretched, "you have changed as well."

"No, no, I haven't," he protests, that uncertain anxiety overtaking him again. He grasps her hands and squeezes them tightly. "I'm just the same as I've ever been. You know that."

She smiles tenderly at his unease. "That's not what I meant. I meant . . . the people know what you've done for them now, what you still do. They respect you, love you even." She slides a hand to his cheek. "You're finally getting the glory you deserve."

Shaking his head, he winds his arms about her waist, draws her closer, and rests his forehead against hers. "I never sought glory. The truth is that I'm sick of being torn apart these last few years. I want us to be together, but only if you're happy, Morgana. So if it's here in Camelot or if it's in a tiny cottage tucked away in Cenred's kingdom or if it's in a distant land so far away that no one here has ever heard of it, wherever it is, I don't care. You just have to let me know, Morgana. Do you truly want to be here?"

Softly, she answers, "I want to be with you, Merlin. I want our family to be together."

"Here? In Camelot?"

She lays a hand over his heart. "You belong here, with Arthur. And I belong with you."

Merlin, smiling, leans down to kiss her.

The feast that night is large, bright, sumptuous, the atmosphere cheerful and welcoming. Arthur, Gwen, and Merlin can't stop smiling; she can't stop shaking. She hasn't been in front of this many people since she was twenty-two years old, a young, naïve, outspoken ward of the king. She's grown accustomed to solitude, to the wind in her hair and the sun on her skin. Now, here, before the resplendent court, there's a tension in her chest that won't abate, that she's afraid will grow and grow until it smothers her.

Arthur's words are a blur in her mind, the successive applause just a buzzing in her ears. Next to her, Merlin stiffens and gives her wrist a furtive squeeze. She smiles dutifully, waiting for the buzzing to die down before reaching for her goblet and draining every drop of wine.

"If you'll excuse me," she murmurs, rising from her place of honor. "I only need some air."

She strides out of the banquet hall, down the corridor, and into the blessedly cool night air. Inhaling deeply, she directs her gaze upward, toward the stars. They shine brightly tonight, the moon hanging low and full over the southeast turret, and a sudden desire to fly up among them fills her. With a slight smile, she recalls the days of her youth, when she'd climb to the very top of the castle in order to avoid her guardian, or escape from Arthur, or simply to think and sulk in peace.

Abruptly, she turns from the steps, gathers her skirts in her fists, and races down the corridor until she reaches the staircase of the northerly tower.

She's breathless when she reaches the top, but she finds that she doesn't care, because the air is cool against her skin and moon shines down on her brightly, almost like a blessing, and the night is so quiet, so thankfully quiet. Resting her arms on the wall, she looks out across the town, across the countryside.

It's only a few moments before she hears the scuffle of footsteps along the stairs, but, as much as she welcomes his company and his alone, she doesn't turn to meet him. She shouldn't be surprised that he's found her so quickly, not because he's her husband, but simply because he's Merlin and she's Morgana and they were crafted to fit together. Indeed, with his familiar presence beside her, she feels that tightness inside her chest begin to subside.

He doesn't say anything for a few moments, but then he sighs deeply and says, "It's a beautiful night."

"It certainly is," she agrees readily.

He tears his gaze away from the stars to look at her. His voice is gentle when he asks, "Is everything all right, Morgana?"

She swallows, her hands clutching the stone tightly. He may be the heart of her heart, but, even with him, she finds it impossible to set words to her feelings. "Being here again . . . There was a time when I was afraid I wouldn't be able to turn from the path I'd chosen, that I was doomed to be . . . angry and hateful and scared all my life."

He slides a hand over hers, and she feels her grip on the wall relax. He moves closer to her, close enough for her to feel the warmth of his body in the cool night. Softly, he says, "You could never be like that. Never."

It's not until she leans into him that he winds an arm around her. "You always, I think, thought more highly of me than I deserved."

His sigh is lost in her hair. "Let us not argue about this tonight. What matters is that you are here with me, and there is peace in the kingdom, and-" He stops, stretching out an arm to point across the courtyard toward the main castle. "-our daughter sleeps just over there, and she is the most perfect thing I have ever encountered."

Morgana, smiling at the thought, nestles a bit closer to him. "I always thought it was common," she murmurs, "getting married, raising a family."

"And now?" he prompts with a slight chuckle.

"And now, it is the most glorious feeling in the world, to wake up and see your face, or to hold Vivien in my arms."

He nods knowingly, reaching up to stroke her hair. "You haven't lived at court for some time. You no longer have Uther to fight against."

"No," she insists with a shake of her head, her hair mussed against his jacket, "it didn't start when I left court, or when Uther died." She turns in his arms, turns to face him. "It began with you. I began with you."

He gazes into her eyes for a very long time, gazes at her as if she is the sun and the moon and the stars all bound together in one, then brings a hand up to her cheek. "I used to hate that I was so tied to destiny, that my life was so tied up in Arthur's ascension to the throne. I hated that all the counsel I received pitted me against you, as if everyone had already written you off as a lost cause, someone to guard ourselves against."

"And now?" she prompts, echoing his earlier words.

"Now," he smiles, "I'm finally smart enough to realize that I don't have to listen to anyone else, that I can make my own decisions,-" He inclines his head, and his mouth slips down to her ear as he whispers, "- that we make our own destinies."

And Morgana, for all her independence and spirit and determination, feels that she is much more with this man beside her than she ever could be alone.

The day Vivien discovers a new passageway between the kitchens and the guest corridor, she races to tell her lord parents of the finding.

She is fifteen months old, still quite a babe, but a lively one, and able to run fast enough to elude Nan, her old nurse. Nan gives a good chase, but she loses her before she even reaches the square. A usual sight around the stronghold, she is able to easily evade the foot traffic in the courtyard and the corridors and soon finds herself in her uncle's counsel room.

Arthur, Merlin, and Gaius are hunched around the table while Gwen stands nearby, a thoughtful expression on her lips, and Morgana paces near the window. They look up when the child tumbles into the room, and a smile grows on Morgana's face.

"What are you doing here, little fey?" she asks, kneeling down to scoop up her daughter in her arms.

Vivien giggles as her mother spins her around. She's still too young for much speech beyond incoherent prattles and gurgles, but that doesn't stop her from happily babbling, "Mama, passage! Passage!"

"Viv," Merlin shakes his head, a small smile touching his lips, "where is Nan? You know your mother and I have business to discuss with your aunt and uncle this afternoon."

He turns his attention back to the plans scattered on the table, but Arthur waves a hand and rises.

"It's all right, Merlin," he says. "This can wait a day. It's a lovely afternoon. Go, spend it with your daughter, both of you."

"Are those orders from my king?" Merlin teases, a twinkle in his eye.

"Get out of here," Arthur laughs, giving his friend a light shove in the shoulder. He turns to his wife. "I have a mind to go for a swim. Care to accompany me, my queen?"

The king and queen disappear as Merlin walks over to his wife, takes Vivien in his arms, and hoists her onto his shoulders.

"Ready, Viv?" he asks with a grin.

"Outside, Papa?" the toddler queries happily.

"Outside," Morgana confirms, laughing, as she reaches up to tweak their daughter's nose.

The family traipses down the hallway and out of the castle, Morgana leading the way to the lake, one of Vivien's favorite places in the entire world, even if her world happens to extend only as far as the edge of town. They go for a swim, Viv mostly splashing around near the bank but occasionally letting Morgana carry her out deeper. Afterward, Merlin and Morgana lie down on the bank, let the sun dry them, and watch Viv's black hair streaming through the wind as she runs through the long grass, giggling as she goes. Unable to resist her chubby smile and the way she squeals in delight, Merlin chases her for a bit, scooping her up and twirling her around in the air. When she's finally tired herself out, she runs over to her mother and throws herself on the grass beside her.

"Mmm, what is this?" Morgana asks, lifting her head to better look at her daughter. Then she quirks a brow at Merlin, who collapses on the ground on her other side and twines an arm around her. "It seems our impossibly energetic child has finally worn herself out." She strokes Vivien's hair, feeling the girl's breathing slow to a calmer rhythm.

"But not before she wore her father out, as well," chuckles Merlin.

She brushes his bangs back from his forehead. Quietly, she asks, "Should we go back inside, love?"

"No. Let's stay. The sunshine is good."

"Mmm."

He feels, rather than hears, her sigh, and his heart nearly swells to the bursting because he knows it's from happiness. He drops a soft kiss to her cheek. That contact, his lips against her skin and the feel of her body pressed to his, never fails to send his heart racing. He will never get used to the sensation she inspires in him, to be better, to love with all he has. And he promises himself that he will never let a day go by without her knowing that.

He snuggles into her and murmurs, "This is good."

A flutter darts through Morgana's heart when he says it, when his chuckle tickles her jaw. She thinks back to the days before this, before their union, before Vivien, and wonders how she could have existed without this full, suffusing contentment inside of her. It seems to her as if life began with his first kiss. She is no longer a hateful, lost child. Rather, he has seen the spark of goodness in her and nurtured it until it was strong enough to banish her hurt. It is in this moment, drenched in sunshine and unadulterated bliss, that she realizes that she is his, completely and for forever.

The proof, if anyone required such, is right beside them, a little girl with her hair and his eyes and her stubbornness and his curiosity. A little girl who sleeps soundly and dreams of dragons and daring deeds and maybe even magic. A little girl who holds the promise of a better world to come.

"I never want this to end," she whispers to her husband.

He smiles against her neck and replies in an undertone, the answer reverberating throughout her chest, "Then we will not let it, my love."