fest fic: Whim of the Winter Wind (Pt 1)

[merlinmpreg_mod]

Title: Whim of the Winter Wind
Author: k_nightfox
Prompt: Self-Prompt -Merlin comforts Arthur on what should have been his wedding night and winds up pregnant for his efforts.
Pairing(s): Arthur/Merlin
Word Count: 11,000
Rating: R
Contains (Highlight to view): *Um, none really. A bit of manhandling?*
Disclaimer: Merlin characters are the property of Shine and BBC. No profit is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Thanks to nymfayaredflare for the beta! Any remaining mistakes are all mine.
Summary: After one disastrous night together all Arthur wants to do is pretend it never happened. Merlin tries to go along with that but soon it’s apparent that it won’t be so easy to forget. After all, a baby will prove to be just a bit of a reminder!


Whim of the Winter Wind

Clouds were gathering in deep dark banks on the horizon as Merlin and Gwaine hurried from the castle. They were intent on making it through the main gates of the city before they shut for the night. It wasn’t that either of them was incapable of escaping Camelot once those gates were shut, but time was of the essence and it would be safer to get lost in the evening crowd than it would be to try to slip out a side gate once the sun had gone down. It usually took magical subterfuge for Merlin to move about unseen and right now, he was minimizing his magic use as per Gaius’s advice.

Apparently it could be bad for the baby. The only magic he’d performed since finding out he was pregnant was the very low-level glamour he’d been employing to keep his growing belly hidden. Now he wasn’t even bothering with the glamour. Arthur knew about it now and Gwaine had just found out. A baggy tunic and an enveloping cloak were all he really needed to hide his improbably swollen tummy from the casual perusal of strangers.

They made the gate with time to spare, strolling through with an insouciant air that they didn’t feel. At least, Merlin didn’t feel quite so breezy about their departure. He suspected Gwaine didn’t either but there was no guessing it from the man’s relaxed demeanor. He looked the way he always did, cool, calm and collected. This was the same man who’d inquired leisurely after Merlin’s name in the midst of a vicious and potentially deadly barroom brawl, the same man who’d stood up and declared that a mission to rescue a captive king had no chance, whatsoever, of succeeding but that he’d not miss it for the world. That same man now ambled casually by his side as if they were out for a leisurely walk rather than fleeing for Merlin’s life.

Under other circumstances, Merlin wouldn’t have fled Arthur’s discovery of his powers, even knowing the King’s stance on magic. He’d have stubbornly faced whatever punishment Arthur would have seen fit to impose on him, well, anything short of death. (He’d never have let Arthur actually kill him, he wasn’t quite that far gone.) However, things had changed in the last seven months and he was no longer concerned for his life alone. Now he had his unborn son to consider. That the child was in danger from his own father was probably the biggest irony of all. Arthur hadn’t known what the far-reaching consequences of one ill-advised night would be and Merlin had been as unable to tell him as he had been unwilling to refuse him.

It should have been Arthur’s wedding night, the linens of the bed should have been the specially prepared ones Merlin had personally overseen the making of and it should have been Gwen sharing those special sheets with Arthur. Instead, the bedding was the same as the day before, and Gwen was gone from Camelot having trudged out the Southern gate in the weak light of dawn that very morning. Merlin had returned from Avalon still smelling of the flowers he’d used to bedeck Lancelot’s funeral barque. As he set about readying the King for bed, his heart was battered from the loss of his two best friends. The ache was only amplified when he’d seen the hell of pain in Arthur’s eyes. When he’d reached for Merlin with desperate hands, Merlin had reached back with a matching desperation born from his deep and abiding love for the man he’d gladly die for.

Merlin had known the risks of taking Arthur’s seed but the small, quiet voice of caution went unheeded in the face of Arthur’s hungry demands on his body. Arthur had filled him no less than four times before the sun rose and broke the hold his grief had on him. When Merlin awoke that morning, it was to find that Arthur had already risen, dressed and called for breakfast. He’d fumbled into his own clothing under Arthur’s considering gaze before joining him at the table as he was bidden.

He could still hear the words Arthur’d spoken, as clear as if it had happened only minutes instead of months ago.

“I want to apologize to you, Merlin. What I did…what happened last night...I never should have put you in that position. It was wrong of me to take advantage of you like that.”

Merlin had tried to refute him, protesting that he’d been perfectly willing and that Arthur had most certainly not taken advantage of him. Arthur’d shaken his head and, as usual, heeded not a single word Merlin had to say. He had declared that they weren’t to speak of it again and he’d gone on to serve Merlin breakfast which they’d eaten in uncharacteristic silence.

In the wake of that disastrous morning, it had seemed that Merlin had lost Arthur as surely as he’d lost Gwen and Lancelot. The King was stiff and distant with him for months. He’d only softened when Merlin had fallen ill. About three months after Gwen’s departure, Merlin began to sicken.

He’d been unable to hold down a meal, sicking up almost everything he swallowed. Never having much weight to spare, it hadn’t taken long for him to start looking bony and for Arthur to start looking alarmed. He’d stared at his reflection in Arthur’s mirror and realized he hadn’t been this thin since his final growth spurt at the age of seventeen, the second year he’d been in service to the Prince. However, back then he’d been skinny but in perfectly rude health. This time, it was clear to anyone with eyes that he was far from healthy. His skin, pale at the best of times, had taken on an ashen hue and the only hint of colour in his face came from the black smudges shadowing the deepened hollows beneath dulled eyes.

It took Merlin a while to connect his ill health to the night he’d spent with Arthur. It simply hadn’t occurred to him that anyone’s “morning sickness” could be so violent and all-consuming. Of course as Gaius’s apprentice, he’d seen a few dire and dangerous pregnancies but the mothers in those cases had usually been sick or malnourished before they ever conceived. He’d yet to actually quicken so the idea that his illness was pregnancy related hadn’t even crossed his mind.

Not having told Gaius about the night he spent in Arthur’s bed, it wasn’t a leap the old physician made either. He ruled out all the more common and recognizable intestinal disorders before diving into his books for a more obscure cause for Merlin’s sudden inability to digest food. Weeks passed and Merlin continued to weaken. He had discovered something about his mysterious illness during those first weeks; using magic seemed to make it worse. Food or no, his belly heaved whenever he tried to perform even the most mundane of spells. He quickly stopped trying and quietly reported this strange phenomenon to his mentor.

In the meantime, Arthur had taken note of his servant’s illness, it would have been hard to miss Merlin’s frequent noisy bouts of vomiting, and he’d begun to hound Gaius as to its cause. When Gaius suggested it might be intestinal worms, Arthur had begun to feed Merlin from his own tray, reasoning that food from the royal kitchens was far less likely to be tainted than whatever Gaius managed to obtain for him. After Gaius ruled out the worms, Arthur had insisted on feeding Merlin regardless. Merlin found it very touching though it made little difference to the state of his health. There wasn’t anything wrong with the food he’d been eating and his body continued to reject almost everything he put in it.

Another two months passed before the key to Merlin’s prolonged illness presented itself. A strange, insistent fluttering in his belly alarmed him quite badly and he’d gone to Gaius immediately, convinced that somehow the old man must have misdiagnosed him when he’d declared Merlin free of parasites. If he could actually feel them squirming in his belly they must be terribly advanced indeed! Gaius examined him thoroughly and eyed him strangely when he was done.

“Merlin, I know we discussed this after your father died so you should have told me by now if it was a possibility but…is there any chance you could be pregnant?”

Merlin’s jaw dropped and he groaned aloud. How could he have been so stupid? Of course there was every chance he could be pregnant. Gaius’s eyebrow rose to its full height when Merlin bit his lip and refused to meet his eyes. After several agonizing moments all Merlin could manage was a feeble nod of affirmation. He followed it a few seconds later with a breathless, “Yes.”

The light smack to the back of his head was thoroughly deserved and Merlin hadn’t protested when he’d felt it. He’d been too consumed with a mixture of embarrassment, shame and fear. He was embarrassed that he hadn’t thought a pregnancy could be the cause of his illness though he knew full well that as a Dragonlord he could easily conceive a child. He was ashamed of the circumstances under which he’d lain with the King, feeling very much as if he’d been the one taking advantage no matter what Arthur had said the following morning. And he was scared, terrified really, of what Arthur would do if he found out…when he found out. At best he’d have to reveal his parentage to Arthur and at worst it meant telling his magic hating sovereign that he’d been harbouring a powerful sorcerer right under his nose for almost six years. He had trembled just thinking about it.

He knew now that he’d been right to fear Arthur’s reaction. Anger didn’t even begin to cover the scope of violent emotion that seemed to seize hold of Arthur when he’d discovered Merlin’s magic and his hidden pregnancy in one fell swoop. Merlin tried hard not to think about it as he and Gwaine hurried along the southern road. He didn’t dare go north for he knew Ealdor was the first place the King’s soldiers would go to hunt down the fugitive warlock. He only prayed Arthur wouldn’t try to harm his mother in retaliation for his betrayal. He didn’t think Arthur would go that far, but a ghost of anxiety remained over even the possibility. Still, the only means he had of protecting his mother right now would be an utter and complete absence from her life. He wouldn’t try to contact her for even the presence of a strange messenger was news in a village the size of Ealdor.

Instead, they headed for the Southrons’ border knowing that due to its associations with Morgana, it was the last place Arthur would think Merlin likely to head for. At least that’s what Gwaine had suggested and Merlin had agreed. It was quite literally the last place he wanted to go. He’d even take Mercia first and that was saying something. However, clutching his burgeoning belly tight, he’d nodded in acquiescence to Gwaine’s plan, knowing that not only was the reasoning sound but also that he’d do anything and go anywhere to make sure his child was safe.

The storm caught them just before the sun hit the horizon and they were soaked well before they made it to a town large enough to support an inn where they could stay for the night. Money wasn’t a problem and wasn’t likely to become one any time soon. Merlin had never really speculated about Gwaine’s financial status though if he had, he’d have realized that the man probably had at least a bit of cash to put by. As it turned out, Arthur was quite a generous employer…to his knights. Merlin had never received much in the way of remuneration for his own efforts on the King’s behalf and he’d never thought much of the compensation given to anyone else employed by the crown.

It turned out that “playing soldiers” for Arthur was fairly lucrative. Added to that, Gwaine was a very talented gambler, having once made his way in the world mostly on the money garnered from games of chance. When he’d had a steady income, he’d been able to parlay his luck at the table into a rather fat nest egg. As soon as Merlin had told him he was leaving Camelot (and why) Gwaine had grabbed his weighty stash and pledged it toward keeping Merlin and his unborn child safe and healthy.

If it had just been him, he’d never have allowed Gwaine to pay his way. However, desperation and impending parenthood made a man swallow his pride in a way nothing else could. As it stood, he was just grateful for Gwaine’s selfless and enduring loyalty. He hadn’t even blinked an eye before telling Merlin he was coming with him and then he’d placed a hand over Merlin’s mouth and disallowed any protests he might have made to the contrary. There really hadn’t been any time to argue over it anyway.

Settled into a warm bed before a warmer fire that night, Merlin listened to the rain pounding on the slate roof above their heads, and felt extremely grateful to the man who lay curled against his back. He’d have found some way of surviving on his own but he had to concede that having Gwaine with him made this excruciating journey just a bit more bearable than it would have been otherwise.

The following morning saw them heading down the road saddled on newly purchased horses. A week of steady riding brought them across the border as yet another sun was setting leaving them to ride in the gloom of a chilly autumn eve. That night they paid a farmer for the dubious shelter of his hayloft and snugged tight together for warmth and (at least on Merlin’s part) comfort. Another two weeks would see them deep into southron territory and looking for a place to settle in. Both winter and Merlin’s confinement would be upon them in a matter of weeks and neither of them wanted to be out on the open road for the commencement of either.

___________________________________

The month turned, winter arrived, and Merlin ached. It wasn’t just the ache of swollen feet and his overburdened back though they were troublesome as hell. He missed Arthur, felt the loss of him like a severed limb. He could still feel him even though he was gone. All the sensation was pain.

Gwaine did his best to cheer Merlin up. He employed a countless variety of distractions, stretching himself to new heights with his antics. Merlin let him think he was succeeding most of the time, though he really only managed to distract Merlin from his maudlin thoughts for a few minutes at a time. Still, there was no reason to drag Gwaine down with him, especially when he was trying so hard to pull Merlin up into the light. He didn’t seem to understand that for Merlin, there was no light in a world without Arthur. And gods, wasn’t that just pathetic?

They’d found themselves a home for the winter in a sleepy town only slightly off the beaten track of the King’s Highway. Merlin had restored the glamour over his belly the day after they left Camelot, realizing that a heavily pregnant man was likely to linger in the memory of at least a few people who saw him (and he really would rather not make a lasting impression on anyone at the moment). Winterthorn had lost its physician over a year ago and hadn’t had any luck attracting a new one. Upon revealing himself to be a physician, Merlin had been offered the use of the old doctor’s house as compensation for staying on in the town. Merlin downplayed his abilities (because in comparison to someone like Gaius, he was an inexperienced hack at best) but the town elder had been brutally frank with him.

“Mister, anything’s better than nothing. If you only ever save a single life, we’re one life better off than we were this last year. Just don’t go experimenting on us or anything and we’re sure to cobble along.”

They’d also made him the offer that if he stayed for a year, the house and the property attached to it would be his in fact as well as practice. Merlin’s first patient had shown up an hour after they arrived at the small, neat cottage and they’d continued in a steady stream over the following week. It had been an awfully long time since they’d had anyone to look after their ills. Merlin was quite happy to find that while he might not have Gaius’s rare abilities, he was far from useless as a physician and healer. Gaius had been right after all, Merlin had known more than he thought he did. Life quickly settled into a comfortable routine once the initial flood of patients ebbed.

Now that they’d found a place to settle, Merlin was sincerely looking forward to offloading his little passenger, and not just to ease the ache in his back and the pressure on his bladder. (Not that he’d miss them.) For the first time since he’d realized he was with child, Merlin was looking forward to becoming a father. He knew his child would be a boy, Dragonlords couldn’t produce anything else whether or not they carried the child themselves.

After his father died, Gaius took Merlin aside and explained his newfound heritage to him. There was more to being a Dragonlord than just the ability to speak with and control dragons. Right down on a biological level, Merlin was different. His internal anatomy was unlike other men. Gaius informed him that any children he might have would always be boys, or rather they’d all be Dragonlords which wasn’t entirely the same thing. It meant that they, like Merlin and all the Dragonlords before him, would have the outward appearance of the average human male. However, tucked away where no one could ever see it, they too would have another set of reproductive organs, the organs needed to mother another generation of Dragonlords. It was the Old Religion’s way of making sure that the Dragonlords never died out, no matter what their opportunities for procreation might be.

He was sorry for his son; he would come into this world and already be different from any other person he’d ever know. Then he’d have to cope with having only one parent while most of the children he’d know would have two. Both Merlin and Arthur were living proof of how the lack of a parent could twist a child. Arthur had spent his whole life thinking he’d killed his mother. He’d also grown to a man believing he would never be good enough to please his father. Merlin had grown up without a man on which to model himself and he’d spent a lifetime floundering to find his place in the world. He still hadn’t succeeded in that quest and he was starting to feel it was a lost cause. Merlin wanted better for his son. Perhaps Gwaine could help, though it was hardly fair of Merlin to expect the man to raise someone else’s son.

However, while Gwaine had grown up without a father, he’d not been isolated the way Merlin had. By virtue of the gifts he was born with, it wasn’t safe for Merlin to have a father figure growing up. But Gwaine had been raised in his uncle’s household in Mercia and though the man hadn’t been his father and apparently they’d clashed on almost every front, Gwaine still gave the man credit for raising him. Judging by the results, Merlin couldn’t find it in him to fault the man his methods. His friend was far from perfect and he hid his true depths under the careless façade of a drunken rogue but he’d let Merlin see the man he was inside and that was a fine man indeed. Much like Arthur he was seriously flawed, but at heart where it counted most, he was everything a man should be and seldom was.

Merlin had become aware over the last month that Gwaine was in love with him. Away from Camelot, Gwaine had let it show in his actions in a way he never had before. He took care of Merlin like a lover would, constantly fussing over him, his anxiety over Merlin’s questionable health apparent. His worried gaze followed Merlin wherever he went and he was quickly on hand to offer a steady support whenever a weakened Merlin stumbled.

Merlin only wished he could return the feeling. He loved Gwaine but not the way he loved Arthur He didn’t think it was fair to string him along so he’d told him. His friend hadn’t been surprised and he hadn’t faulted Merlin for his confession. He hadn’t withdrawn his own feelings either. He loved Merlin and he didn’t seem to expect Merlin to love him back. Gwaine said he was just grateful to have Merlin in his life, to be able to count him as a friend.

“But you gave up all your other friends just for me.”

“Merlin, I’d never have had those friends if it wasn’t for you.”

He’d tried to protest but his friend wouldn’t let him.

“You know it’s the truth. I didn’t have a friend in the world before I had you. I’d never have come to Camelot if it wasn’t for you. I’d never have been made a knight if it wasn’t for you and I’d never have had the friends I have now if it wasn’t for you. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me so don’t you dare feel guilty for what you can’t give me. I’ll be eternally grateful for everything you already have given me.”

He flushed but he didn’t protest again. If Gwaine was content with things the way they were then Merlin would be an ungrateful sod indeed to reject the gift of his friendship. It was a sad fact but even though Merlin wanted more for Gwaine, knew his friend deserved more, Merlin needed him. If Gwaine were to leave him, Merlin wasn’t sure how he’d cope. He needed Gwaine’s help and support more and more each day as their time flew by and his baby’s time drew near.

Caressing the invisible lump in his belly, Merlin wondered what his son would be like. Would he have magic? Would he inherit the power to speak to dragons or simply pass on the potential to his own sons? As Balinor had indicated, Gaius had confirmed that not all Dragonlords had the power to tame dragons but they could all pass the gift along to the next generation. Merlin wondered what his boy would look like. Would he have dark hair or light? He would have blue eyes, that was almost assured, but what shade of blue? Would they be a dense ultramarine like Arthur’s or the more subdued blue that Merlin had gotten from his own mother? Would he grow up broad and strong? Tall and skinny? Or would he look anything like either of his fathers at all?

Of course, speculative thoughts about his child always brought him back to maudlin thoughts about Arthur. What was he doing now? Did he still hate Merlin, desire his death? Would he try to hunt them down or would he exercise the same mercy he’d once shown to Gaius when he thought his old friend had betrayed him? One thing was certain, as soon as Merlin could, he would use his magic to conceal their whereabouts. It wouldn’t be too difficult; he had an excess of experience in going unnoticed. It might be a bit harder for Gwaine to deal with being forgettable but Merlin was still more comfortable in the shadows that had shrouded him his whole life.

For now, he had to hope that they’d gone far enough, fast enough that if Arthur was looking for them, he wouldn’t find them before Merlin had the ability to properly hide or, if need be, defend his new family from his former master.

___________________________________

A pounding on the door roused Merlin from his mid-morning nap. When the racket continued unabated, Merlin recalled that Gwaine was gone for the morning, away to the neighboring town to obtain herbs for Merlin’s practice. He’d have to answer the door himself. Heaving his ever increasing bulk up onto aching feet, he reflected that it wouldn’t be long before he’d have to come up with a plausible excuse not to see any patients at all for several weeks. Each day it got more difficult to perform even the most basic of his duties. He was constantly tired and though he could hold his food most of the time, his appetite still wasn’t what it used to be. He was constantly exhausted and remained ash-pale and worryingly thin.

As he waddled a few steps forward, desperately trying to straighten his back enough to answer to door with some dignity, Merlin speculated that a contagious disease would probably keep the townsfolk away for a while. He and Gwaine had already decided that the baby would be “abandoned” on their doorstep by some desperate mother. Who better to leave an infant with than the local physician? Goodness knows it had happened to Gaius more than once in his career. Of course Gaius had never kept any of those children but no one here should really be any the wiser.

However, all that was in the future, albeit the near future. Right now he was still able to get around, only if just, and if the persistent pounding on the door was any indication, this might just be an urgent case indeed. He hurried his shuffling step to answer. When he saw who was on the other side of the door, he immediately tried to slam it shut.

Arthur!

He didn’t manage to close the door before Arthur wedged his foot in the opening. Merlin’s feet slid on the rushes covering the floor when he tried to brace the wood portal against the steady shove that came from the other side. Inexorably he was pushed aside and Arthur strode authoritatively into the house. He looked around briefly before turning to glare at Merlin.

“Right, start packing, we leave within the hour.”

“What?”

“You heard me, Merlin. Get moving unless you want to leave everything behind.”

Merlin knew he was gaping like a stunned fish but he was rather helpless to stop gawping. Whatever fantasies he may or may not have entertained about this moment had not played out like this! Arthur wasn’t raging, he wasn’t swinging a sword, he wasn’t threatening Merlin with grave bodily harm, a stint in the cells or a date with the headsman. Nor was he sweeping Merlin up into his arms and declaring his undying love. (Not that Merlin had ever daydreamed about any such scenario!)

Arthur was uncharacteristically…cold. The expression on his face was impassive and implacable all at once. He’d crossed his arms and was staring at Merlin as if ready to refute any protest Merlin might offer. And damn right too! Merlin was most certainly going to protest…just as soon as he could stop staring at the prat’s beautiful face.

“Right, so you’re leaving everything then? Good, makes things easier.”

That’s when he did sweep Merlin up into his arms, though it was far from the embrace of Merlin’s dreams. Arthur simply grabbed Merlin by the shoulders and started shoving him toward the still open door.

“Hey, hang on! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Taking you back to Camelot, what do you think? Really Merlin, your pregnancy has clearly done nothing to help your mental affliction. Move!”

Again, Merlin tried to dig his heels in only to find that they slid in the loose rushes. He did manage to trip and almost fall on his face and that’s when Arthur grunted in annoyance and finally swept Merlin off his feet entirely. He then proceeded to carry him out the door caveman style as Merlin shrieked in protest.

Sirs Leon, Elyan and Percival were waiting outside with Merlin’s mare saddled and ready to go.

“Put me down. Arthur, put me down! Damn it!”

“Shut it Merlin or I’ll gag you and tie you to the damned horse.”

All the threats Merlin had been expecting to hear earlier were contained in Arthur’s voice at that moment. He was in deadly earnest. He wasn’t playing and Merlin knew he’d have no compunctions about following through on the threat. Then, to make his situation that much clearer to him, Sir Leon produced a coil of rope and Percival held up a length of cloth that would make a suitable gag. Merlin went limp and sullen in Arthur’s arms and allowed himself to be manhandled into the saddle with ill grace.

“What about Gwaine?”

Arthur’s jaw tensed and his eyes flared with something Merlin couldn’t identify…it wasn’t anger but it was something like it.

“He’s not coming with us.”

“What? No, absolutely not. I’m not going.”

Merlin tried to climb back down from the horse only to be shoved back in place.

“I’ll tie you to the gods’ damned saddle, Merlin, I swear it!”

“We can’t leave him behind, he’ll be worried sick!”

“Good, he deserves it. Turn-about is only fair.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Shut up Merlin, just shut up now if you know what’s good for you.”

He shut up. Something he didn’t quite understand was driving Arthur and Merlin wouldn’t admit it out loud, but it frightened him. This is what Arthur had looked like when he’d discovered Merlin’s secret. This is what drove Merlin to run. He was being dragged back to face the wrath he’d already tried to flee and he was scared.

It was the stupidest thing, really. Merlin had passed out and Arthur had found him sprawled out, face down on the pile of bedding he’d been lugging into the King’s chambers. The glamour hiding his all too obvious baby bump had been lost along with consciousness and even Arthur wasn’t unobservant enough to miss the enormous lump under Merlin’s tunic.

Waking to find himself in Arthur’s lap with Arthur’s hands firmly sealed to his belly had almost sent him right back into the pit he’d just climbed out of. The baby kicked and Merlin could see the stark shock of comprehension in Arthur’s eyes. His heart fell and he tried to think of a coherent explanation for well…everything. Swallowing hard, Merlin had realized that there was no way to talk his way out of this one. He was well and truly caught.

“That’s a baby.”

“Yes.”

“How-how did you-I mean-how are you-how’d it get in there?”

Merlin almost laughed, probably would have if Arthur’s face hadn’t twisted at that moment, wincing over the gobsmacked stupidity of his own question. For a moment, his hands tightened painfully on Merlin’s abdomen but he eased up when Merlin whimpered softly.

“Merlin, what the hell?”

Looking up at the man he loved more than he loved his own life, a lump rose in Merlin’s throat. He managed to choke out a minimal response.

“I’m pregnant?”

“I can see that, you idiot! How the hell did it happen?”

Arthur’s voice was harsh and hoarse but the sound of his irritation was familiar and strangely soothing to Merlin’s ears.

“I’m-I’m a Dragonlord.”

“What?”

“I’m a Dragonlord, Arthur.”

The King scowled, his face scrunched with frustration.

“What the hell does that have to do with-wait, you’re a what?”

Swallowing hard, Merlin repeated himself a third time.

“I’m a Dragonlord. That means I-I can-can get-pregnant.”

“Who?”

Brow wrinkling in confusion, Merlin asked,

“What?”

It was Arthur’s turn to repeat himself.

“Who, Merlin? Tell me who?’’

“I-uh-what? What do you mean?”

Merlin could see the muscle ticking in Arthur’s face.

“I mean who is the father? Hmm? Just who planted the seed that’s growing here?”

He shook the hands still on Merlin’s belly for emphasis.

That was not the question Merlin was expecting.

“Um, you?”

“You don’t sound too sure of that, Merlin.”

Rage was beginning to boil in Arthur’s voice.

“No, I’m sure. He’s yours.”

That seemed to bring Arthur up short.

“He? It’s a boy? How-how can you know that?”

“Because I’m a Dragonlord.”

“Damn it, Merlin! You keep saying that like it’s supposed to mean something to me! What the fuck does that mean?”

“I’m sorry Arthur, it’s just that, well, Dragonlords can only have boys. That-that’s how-how I know.”

Arthur’s mouth opened and his jaw worked and Merlin could see the man trying to rein himself in. His jaw snapped shut again and his next question gritted out between clenched teeth.

“Were you ever planning to tell me?”

Caught off guard once again, Merlin answered without thinking.

“Um, no? Not really, no.”

Merlin cursed his brain to mouth filter. There was coming clean and then there was suicidal stupidity. He’d definitely crossed the line with that one.

“No? NO? That’s my fucking son!”
Those were the last coherent words Merlin could make out for at least twenty minutes.

Arthur snapped and he snapped hard. He grabbed Merlin by the shoulders and shook him as he screeched out a string of half-formed obscenities and other vicious-sounding words Merlin couldn’t identify. His head began to spin again as Arthur shook him relentlessly over and over again. He dragged Merlin off the floor and shoved him across the room and into a high-backed chair by the table. Once there, he continued to rant and rave at full volume into Merlin’s dazed ears. He occasionally grabbed Merlin and shook him again, his face almost purple with rage.

Gradually Merlin was able to make sense of the screaming and he realized Arthur was carrying forth on his being a lying, back-stabbing, sorcerous traitor. Apparently he’d connected the disappearing belly trick to magic and logically concluded that Merlin was a sorcerer. Since all sorcerers were evil and ruthlessly intent on taking over Camelot, Merlin was automatically placed in the same nefarious category.

The seed of fear, planted in Merlin’s belly years before Arthur’s baby had taken root there, bloomed into full, horrific life. Merlin began to shake with it. Bile rose in his throat and ice water rushed through his veins followed by a scorching wave of hot lead. The need to run, to escape, to hide from the lash of Arthur’s rage, overwhelmed him. He sprang to his feet only to be pushed back into the chair.

“Don’t you move, don’t you fucking dare move!”

Merlin curled in on himself and blocked out the threats that were now spewing from Arthur’s wide open mouth. He had to escape, he had to protect his son, he had to get away before Arthur killed them both. He didn’t hear Arthur anymore, couldn’t hear him over the clamour in his own head. Run, run, run! Flee, flee, flee! Hide, hide, hide!

Arthur yelled something that sounded like a command before he whirled and left the room. Seizing his chance, Merlin bolted for the door only moments later. He scanned the corridor and found it empty. He didn’t know where Arthur’d gone and frankly he didn’t care. For whatever reason, the King hadn’t called for the guard to take Merlin away and he wasn’t going to wait for him to rectify that mistake. Merlin ran.

And it now appeared that Arthur had chased. It had taken him long enough to find Merlin that he had begun to think himself safe here, well south of Camelot’s border. He hadn’t thought Arthur would jeopardize the tenuous peace he had with the neighboring kingdom just to hunt down his sorcerous servant, but he’d been wrong.

He wasn’t exactly being brought back in chains but he wouldn’t put it past Arthur to produce some if he tried to leg it even once more. It was clear that Arthur was all out of mercy at the moment.

___________________________________

Merlin sighed despondently as he stared out over the courtyard. He sat in a chair by the window in Arthur’s room. It was the same room in which he’d served Arthur in for years, the same room where his son was conceived and the same room he’d been imprisoned in for the past week. Once again, Arthur had not behaved the way Merlin had anticipated.

Upon their return from Winterthorn, Merlin had half-expected to be thrown in the cells beneath the castle but instead he’d been led to Arthur’s room, shoved inside and left alone. The key turned in the lock from the hall side and he could hear the clanking of armour and the murmur of voices in the hall that indicated more than a single guard at the door.

He looked down now, and saw another guard stationed directly below. Arthur didn’t trust him not to try and climb out the window. This wasn’t just a logical assumption on Merlin’s part; Arthur had told him flat out that was why the guard was there. Every day for the past week there had been the same bizarre routine. Arthur would wake and release Merlin from the cage of his arms before rising to dress. A knock on the door would come about five minutes after the morning bell had rung and an enormous breakfast would arrive carried by no less than two servants.

That first morning, Arthur had ordered Merlin to join him at table and Merlin had mutely turned over and presented Arthur with his back. Not to be deterred, Arthur had stalked to the bed, gathered Merlin into his arms and carried him to the table before dropping him unceremoniously into a chair.

“You will eat!” he’d hissed in Merlin’s ear.

Arthur proceeded to stand over Merlin and glare until he picked up a fork and began eating. Settling into his own chair, Arthur hadn’t said another word. He ate his breakfast in brooding silence, waited until Merlin choked down enough to satisfy him and then swept from the room, not returning until supper time.

Gaius had the lunch shift. The one day he’d been unable to make it, Leon had joined him instead, eyeing Merlin strangely while they ate. He was carefully monitored at meal times but otherwise left entirely to his own devices. Gaius had been most apologetic that first day.

“I am sorry, my boy. I don’t know what he’s thinking. He won’t confide in me. He hasn’t quite forgiven me for keeping your secrets from him.”

His old mentor looked bowed by age and responsibility. He looked significantly older than he had only a month ago. Merlin wondered what kinds of hell Arthur had put the old man through. Gaius denied having been harmed in any way but clearly Arthur had done something to the old man.

“It’s nothing, Merlin, he was just a bit…relentless in his…questioning. It took quite a while to convince him you hadn’t told me where you were going. By the by, where did you go?”

Merlin had filled him in on where he’d gone and what he’d been up to while he was there. Gaius was delighted that Merlin had chosen to take a position as a physician and seemed more pleased than surprised when Merlin had told him with no little degree of astonishment that he’d actually done very well at it.

“It’s like I told you when I sent you to Longstead in the spring. You know more than you think you do.”

That was all lovely but as Gaius didn’t know what Arthur’s true intentions toward Merlin were, he was unable to help settle his mind. He only knew that he’d been charged with making sure Merlin ate and was as healthy as Gaius could make him.

“He wants the baby, doesn’t he, Gaius? That’s why he’s doing all this. He wants his son.”

“It would seem so, my boy.”

“What do you think he’ll do to me after the baby’s born?”

“Best not to dwell on it, Merlin. I don’t think even Arthur has a clear plan for after.”

Merlin was less certain of that. Arthur seemed nothing but calculating to him these days. His eyes were speculative when they rested on Merlin and possessive when they rested on the swell of his belly. It was clear to Merlin that he wanted the baby but it was also pretty clear he didn’t want Merlin as part of the deal. He very much feared that he’d have an appointment with the headsman shortly after he safely delivered the next Pendragon to his father.

“He’s probably hoping I’ll die in childbirth.”

“Merlin! I think Arthur’s the last person who’d wish that on anyone.”

“Well, it would save him the trouble of having me executed, wouldn’t it?”

“Stop it, best not to speak of such things.”

So Merlin stopped speaking of it but he couldn’t stop thinking it. He hadn’t the energy or freedom to do anything but think. He was so tired he found himself sleeping on and off throughout each day. Even when he wasn’t sleeping he was usually resting in bed. Gaius brought him some reading material but he found he didn’t even have the energy to hold a book and turn the pages. He really didn’t have any motivation to do so. There was certainly no point in studying. Not when he was increasingly convinced that Arthur was going to have him executed as soon as the baby was born.

His nights were as predictable as his days. Arthur would join him for dinner then depart for several hours, returning after the midnight bell had rung. He’d drag Merlin off to bed or join him if he’d already retired. He would pull Merlin’s back against his front and wrap his arms around Merlin’s torso, cradling his belly and caging Merlin’s legs with his own. Chin on Merlin’s shoulder his hands would slide under his sleep-shirt and roam over the tautly stretched skin of his abdomen. His hands would still only when he fell asleep and Merlin found that no matter how tired he was, he couldn’t drift off until after Arthur already had.

Arthur didn’t speak more than a dozen words to him in a given day, and only that many if there was some pressing need or Merlin failed to eat enough to satisfy him. He really never touched Merlin, only his belly. He made it very clear that their child was the only thing he was interested in. Merlin was just a rather inconvenient vessel.

Part 2