Disclaimer: IDOM

A/N: Hello, all! It's been awhile, I know. :D I don't have much to say, but I certainly hope you guys enjoy!

Part I

"I still don't understand why you're so excited about this, Arthur."

This wasn't the first time Merlin had voiced this opinion. In fact, he made a point to voice it whenever possible, if only to gain further amusement from any debate that followed. Arthur seemed to think that rehashing the same argument over and over again would magically make Merlin excited, too, and seeing Arthur get overly-passionate about anything was far more entertaining than it should have been.

Therefore, he really was unsurprised when his friend's expression twisted into an offended pout in response. Merlin was all but immune to that pout, and Arthur, on some unconscious level, knew that. It wasn't long before his grin returned in full force. "Well, of course it's exciting, Merlin!"

"It…really isn't, Arthur. This has happened at least three times since I've become your—"

"Not my servant anymore," Arthur corrected absentmindedly. The king, still smiling, decided to speed up his pace as they crossed the grounds, and a disoriented Merlin fell swiftly behind.

It had been nearly a full year, and it still caught Merlin off guard. In his defense, a lot had changed in the past year. With Morgana dead and Mordred's whereabouts still unaccounted for, his world lost its grey hue and had become…magical. It was rather cliché to say it that way, especially when Arthur lifted the ban on magic and promoted Merlin to Court Sorcerer, but it was true, nonetheless. Everything had fallen into place, and Merlin could not remember being happier. He had become more than a high-ranking member of Camelot's court, more than just a name to be respected. Camelot had accepted him and his kind, and he had finally found himself, the person he had always wanted to be…for his kingdom, for his friends, and…for his wife.

Mithian's brilliant smile came to the forefront of his mind, and he felt a twinge of guilt and lingering panic. Banishing the memory of their last conversation—or rather, lack thereof—Merlin instead mused, How odd, that I'm still not used to saying it. Any of it.

"Oi, pick up the pace, Merlin!" Arthur suddenly called from over his shoulder. Several men training in the fields nearby faltered at the sound of their king's voice. Given their reactions to Arthur's presence, Merlin could only assume they were new recruits. The young men's mentors quickly reclaimed their attention with a swift smack from a quarterstaff.

"Alright, alright," Merlin said, jogging to catch up.

"Keep up. It's not every day you see this!"

And Merlin thought that Arthur'd been excited two months prior, when Halwyn told him the news. His amusement returned, and he laughed. "Honestly, Arthur, I haven't seen you this ecstatic since—"

Merlin nearly swallowed his tongue as a firm, thoughtful expression replaced the bright smile on Arthur's face. "You know, Merlin…"

The warlock's stomach churned, and he turned his gaze forward. "Oh, no," he grunted, shaking his head. "We're not going there."

"Oh, yes. Yes, we are. You can't get out of it this time."

"Why now?"

"You're the one who brought it up. Just now, in case you've 'forgotten.'"

"I did not bring it up. You just started giving me that look!"

"I think you're imagining things."

Merlin made a distressed noise in the back of his throat. "We're talking about your damn hound's new litter, not…!"

Arthur looked incredibly offended. "Merlin, Cabal is not a 'damn hound.' He's the finest hunting dog Camelot has ever seen and should be treated as such."

Of course Arthur would say that: he spoiled that dog rotten. Cabal could do no wrong. Cabal was an angel and the most perfect, well-behaved dog in Albion. Cabal could track the stealthiest stag in the land and help bring it down, too.

Yes, Merlin did indeed still hold a grudge—multiple grudges—and he was convinced the feeling was mutual. Cabal was a little hellion, sent to torment Merlin whenever Arthur wasn't watching, and no one could convince him otherwise.

"And he's already sired three litters since I've been in Camelot. Hell, I've helped deliver some of those pups."

"But the mother of those litters wasn't Halwyn's prized bitch, Merlin," Arthur explained. "And you're completely avoiding the important topic of conversation now. You've been doing that a lot lately, and I know it's all connected."

"How does…? You know I really want nothing to do with your mud-ridden, Hall-ruining beast of a dog, Arthur."

"No, not Cabal! You seem more willing to talk about Cabal and his litter than I am, and from what my wife has been telling me, that is quite a feat!" Arthur exclaimed.

Merlin snickered. "At least you're aware of your unhealthy obsession."

"That's enough." Arthur's tone became stern. "I will take Ságol and whack it over your head myself (1). You know exactly what I'm talking about."

They locked eyes, and the stupid anxiety Merlin felt over the course of the week flared again. He ran his hands over the shaft of his staff, the runes etched into it familiar and comforting. "Yes," Merlin admitted, "Fine. I'm a mess, I know, but I'd appreciate it if you dropped it."

"What is wrong with you?" Arthur asked impatiently. "I'm getting sick of it. You've been walking on thin ice around everyone, acting as though a ghost is stalking your every move, now that Gwen's just begun—"

Eyes widening, Merlin reached over to grab his friend by the shoulder, stopping him so that he could look him in the eye. In this, he couldn't have his friend thinking anything but the truth. "I am happy for you, Arthur. You know that, right? I couldn't be more happy for you."

"It isn't that, Merlin," Arthur assured, astute blue eyes searching Merlin's face. "I know you are. Guinevere knows you are, too, but can't you see that whatever's going on with this, whatever's been going on with you and Mithian this past week...it's really troubling Gwen? It's not bad…but it's not normal."

The warlock swallowed. He really hadn't noticed he was upsetting the queen, and shame rushed over him. "I—this is hardly the place to be talking about it, Arthur," he muttered weakly. He thought he'd been a little more discreet about it. His heartbeat quickened. "Mith is fine. We're fine."

Gods, he was a coward. He was the most cowardly of cowards.

Arthur regarded him for a moment. "Are you fine?"

Merlin avoided his friend's eyes. Definitely not as discreet as he had hoped. "Did Mithian put you up to this?" He almost regretted the words the moment they came out of his mouth, and he dragged his hand across his stubbly face.

"No," Arthur admitted, "this is between you and me. You really don't look well, Merlin, and since you're obviously not talking to Mithian, for whatever reason, I needed to intercede. I'm just trying to help."

That surprised Merlin, and without thinking, he looked down at himself. His clothes weren't that rumpled, were they? Not anymore more than usual, anyway? He didn't look unkempt from this perspective, but when was the last time he'd looked at his reflection? He strained to remember.

The week was a bit of a blur. He couldn't remember the last meaningful conversation he'd had with his wife. He couldn't remember the last time he'd given her the chance to speak her mind without chattering away about everything and nothing important, and that, too, unsettled him.

He really was a coward. A miserable coward.

"Besides, you've been acting weird, and nothing ever good ever comes when you act weird."

That elicited a small chuckle from Merlin, and he decided to hell with it. Salvaging what remained of his pride and dignity wasn't worth being this miserable. "You're going to think it's ridiculous. It is ridiculous. So stupid. I am so stupid, and now—"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I always find you ridiculous, Merlin. Nothing you say will change that."

Merlin sighed and took the plunge. "I…Have you seen how Mithian looks at Gwen? I mean, Gwen is positively glowing—everyone is bound to be looking at her—but I mean…"

Arthur quirked a brow as Merlin's expression faltered. "She wants a baby," Merlin murmured bluntly. "I see it in her face every time I see her and Gwen together. Every time they go off to do whatever it is they do. I don't think it really became all that clear to me until Gwen began showing."

"…I'm failing to see how this is a problem. I thought…"

"I haven't given her the chance to actually say it," Merlin said, now desperately aware of how awful he was. He was the worst husband in the history of Albion. "I just…"

Arthur's eyes softened as realization dawned upon him. "You're afraid."

Merlin winced. "I—I'm not ready for that, Arthur. I really don't think—I've never had a father, I don't know how to be a father, and I'm not all that great with children. I could hardly care for my mother's goat without being reminded to feed and milk it—"

"That's a great comfort," Arthur deadpanned, "considering you're going to be my firstborn's godfather."

Every other time Arthur had said something like that, Merlin had been full of pride and joy. The knights were still teasing him about how surprised he was when Arthur casually mentioned it the first time. This time, however, he couldn't appreciate the joke associated with his future godchild, and his self-doubt increased. "Exactly! This is serious, Arthur!"

Now that he started to speak, it was spewing from him like vomit, and laughing somewhat hysterically, he raked his hands through his hair. "Gods. I'm not ready. I'm not ready, and I have no idea how to tell Mith because she wants a child, and I want to make her happy, and I really don't want to disappoint her, but her husband's cowardice is certainly going to be a disappointment, and I—I don't know…"

Arthur was staring at him. "I've changed my mind," he said as Merlin trailed off.
"This is definitely the most ridiculous thing you've ever been anxious about." When Merlin scowled and felt his feet begin to surge forward, Arthur took hold of his shoulders and held him in place. "Merlin, listen to me. You're overreacting, and you're anything but a coward."

When Merlin's face twisted into a look of disbelief, Arthur smirked. "Maybe a little cowardly. You can't know she's going to ask to begin a family if you haven't given her the chance to do so."

She didn't have to ask for him to already know she wanted to begin a family. "You haven't seen how she smiles whenever she rushes to help Gwen," he tried to explain. "I don't think I can…"

"If she does—" Arthur shrugged "—tell her the truth. She really isn't about to go biting your head off. She loves you, you idiot. You'll work this out together."

Merlin stared at his friend, feeling more an idiot than he ever had. Was he really that afraid? No, no that wasn't it. He'd never been afraid to tell Mithian anything. He was more afraid of seeing her face crumple, of seeing her resigned brown eyes and hearing her soft, "Okay, Merlin. We will wait."

He didn't want that.

"I'm being stupid," Merlin muttered. "I'm being really stupid."

Arthur's grin returned. "And you obviously are just as clueless about women as you ever were. If she really wanted to tell you something," he added in a conspiratorial whisper, "she'd find a way to tell you, regardless of whether you wanted to hear it or not."

Inwardly, Merlin began flicking through his memories, looking for any subtle hints or clues that Mithian might have left him. There were some things, little things. Little touches and smiles and brushes against his forearm, all emphasizing what he already knew. "And since when have you become the expert?"

Arthur smirked. "I started to pay attention."

They continued for a few footsteps in silence before Arthur spoke again. "You're not alone, Merlin. I'm nervous, too. Happy and proud, of course, but nervous too."

"You?" Merlin asked incredulously. Somehow, the revelation helped ease Merlin's troubled heart more than anything else Arthur had said. The king had done nothing but strut around the castle and take everything in stride since he and Gwen made the announcement. "You'd hardly believe it."

The king nodded. "It's kept me up a few nights. I don't want to be the father mine was to me." Arthur stared straight ahead, and a soft smile touched his lips. "But then I finally accepted the fact that I will make mistakes—every father's bound to—and I know I have a great group of friends ready to kick my arse if necessary. When your time comes, we'll be there for you, too."

Merlin's heart warmed, and weary, he rubbed his eyes. He needed to talk to Mithian. Apologize, mostly, for his behavior. He really was an idiot. "Thank you, my friend." Sensing the conversation was beginning to get a little too sappy for Arthur, he smirked. "I personally don't think you'll need any help from us, Arthur. You're going to spoil that child rotten, if your dog is anything to go by."

(1) For those of you who haven't read Holly Leaves (or for those of you who have read it and don't remember), Ságol is the name of Merlin's staff. Nickname, anyway. The real name is unknown to everyone but Merlin and Arthur. Ságol means "stick," as that is what Arthur had taken to calling it in jest.