Arthur and Artoria lingered in each other's warmth for a moment longer before the reality of their surroundings returned to them. Their embrace—gentle, grounding—slowly loosened until they pulled apart, though not entirely. Even as they parted, their hands remained lightly touching, fingers brushing against one another as if reluctant to fully separate.
They smiled at each other, soft and unspoken emotions lingering between them.
Then—
"Sorry to interrupt," Vivian's voice cut through the quiet, though it lacked any true intrusion. She stood a few steps away, her usual knowing expression tempered with something softer, something almost... reverent.
"However, I wish to give you a gift for your choice."
Artoria turned her attention to her, the warmth of the moment still resting in her chest. Her gaze, however, narrowed slightly in cautious curiosity.
"A gift?" she questioned, brow furrowing ever so slightly.
Vivian's gentle smile did not waver.
"Indeed."
A shimmer of golden light formed between her hands, its radiance neither blinding nor overpowering, but instead carrying an ethereal, otherworldly beauty. Slowly, the glow dimmed, revealing what she held within her grasp—
A scabbard.
Not just any scabbard.
Avalon.
Arthur's expression flickered with recognition, but it was Artoria's breath that hitched.
Vivian stepped forward, extending the artifact toward her. The scabbard's surface gleamed, a deep, rich gold that seemed untouched by time, intricate engravings woven into its form like the threads of fate itself. A relic of myth, of eternity—of a paradise beyond reach.
"This is Avalon, the Ever-Distant Utopia," Vivian stated, her voice carrying a reverence that few had ever heard from her. "It is the scabbard of Excalibur, a sheath not merely for your blade, but for you."
Artoria hesitated.
Her fingers twitched at her sides, her heart tightening at the weight of such an offering.
Vivian continued.
"You chose both paths today—the sword and the spear, the king and the guardian. You are no longer just a ruler bound to fate, nor simply a protector of the world. You are both, and because of that..." she paused, before her gaze softened, "...you will bear a burden heavier than any before you."
Artoria swallowed, her fingers slowly curling into a fist.
She understood.
She had always understood.
But Arthur—
She glanced at him.
He did not look surprised, nor concerned. Instead, he watched her with the same quiet faith he always held in her, as if there was never any doubt that she could carry this weight.
That she could carry herself.
Vivian continued, drawing Artoria's attention back to her.
"Avalon is my final gift to you, Artoria. It will grant you protection beyond mortal comprehension—" her gaze flickered, almost knowing, "—but more than that, it is the proof of eternity."
Artoria's lips parted slightly.
"Eternity?"
Vivian nodded.
"It is a sanctuary, one that exists beyond time itself. As long as you hold it, you will never age, nor will you truly fall to mortal wounds. It is a sheath that guards not just your body, but your very soul."
The unspoken truth hung in the air.
Avalon was not just protection for a king.
It was a promise.
A promise of a future unbound by time, a possibility of a world where neither she nor Arthur would ever be torn apart by fate's cruel design.
Artoria exhaled slowly, the weight of the gift sinking into her.
And yet—
She reached forward, her fingers brushing against the scabbard's surface. It was warm—like sunlight filtering through a distant paradise, like a dream just within reach.
Then, she took it.
The moment her hands fully grasped Avalon, a soft pulse of golden light emanated from it, as if recognizing its true wielder.
Silence filled the chamber.
Then—
"Thank you, Vivian," Artoria finally spoke, her voice quiet but firm.
Vivian merely smiled, tilting her head slightly.
"There is nothing to thank me for, Artoria." She gestured toward Arthur with an almost teasing glint in her eyes. "Perhaps thank him instead. I am only returning something that was always meant to be yours."
Artoria blinked.
Arthur chuckled softly beside her, and before she could question him, he reached out, his fingertips brushing against hers—the same fingers that now held Avalon.
"It belongs to you," he said simply.
Her heart clenched.
Their gazes met.
And in that fleeting moment, she understood what he meant.
This was not just a gift.
This was a future.
A future she would fight for.
—
The cool breeze of the outside world greeted them as Arthur and Artoria stepped beyond the mystical realm of Avalon, the gentle hum of mana dissipating around them like a fading dream. The transition was subtle, but undeniable—a return to reality from a land that felt untouched by time.
Yet, as Arthur glanced at Artoria, he could not help but notice something different about her.
She stood taller, not in stature, but in presence.
There was a stillness to her now, a quiet certainty in the way she held herself. It was as if some invisible weight that had always burdened her had been lifted, even if only slightly. She seemed... at peace.
What had happened within the trials?
Arthur's gaze briefly flickered to Rhongomyniad, now resting dormant at her side, before shifting to Excalibur gleaming in her grip. And, of course, Avalon—the scabbard, the key to eternity—securely strapped to her back.
She had walked away with all three.
She had chosen everything.
A gentle laugh pulled him from his thoughts.
"Remember to visit me more often, you two!"
Vivian's voice carried through the air, warm and teasing, her figure still standing at the edge of Avalon's boundary. She was smiling, a genuine, radiant expression filled with kindness—a rare sight, even from her.
Artoria turned to her, an amused glint in her eyes.
"Of course," she replied, her voice lighter than before. Then, after a pause, she added, "I shall bring Arthur more."
Arthur blinked, mildly caught off guard by the remark.
Vivian chuckled, clearly entertained by the statement, while Arthur raised an eyebrow at Artoria.
"Oh?" he mused, tilting his head slightly. "And here I thought I was the one bringing you."
Artoria didn't look at him, but he caught the faintest trace of a smirk on her lips.
"Consider it repayment."
"For what?"
Finally, she turned to him, and for a moment—just a moment—he saw something in her expression that made his breath still. A softness, an ease, an emotion that ran deeper than words could express.
"For being here," she said simply.
Arthur stilled.
There was no need for further explanation.
He understood.
They stood there, bathed in the fading glow of Avalon, the weight of the past, the present, and the future lingering between them. And yet, despite the uncertainties ahead, despite the burdens they both bore—
For now, in this fleeting moment—
They were at peace.
The rhythmic clatter of hooves against the dirt road accompanied Arthur and Artoria's journey back to Camelot. The golden hues of the afternoon sun stretched over the horizon, casting a warm glow upon the world—an illusion of peace that neither of them could afford to embrace.
Their minds were set on one goal.
Vortigern had to fall.
His monstrous army, the corruption that threatened their land, the darkness that sought to consume all they held dear—it would all be eradicated. The battle ahead would be unlike any they had faced before, but there was no hesitation in their resolve.
Yet, as determined as they were, something was wrong.
Arthur noticed it first—the way Artoria's grip on the reins tightened ever so slightly, the faint tremble in her fingers, the rigid set of her shoulders despite the deceptively calm expression she always wore.
Then came the sudden halt.
Artoria barely had time to dismount before she stumbled forward, clutching at her stomach. Arthur moved in an instant, catching her just as her knees buckled.
"Artoria?" His voice was sharp with concern, his arms steady as he supported her.
She didn't answer, her breaths shallow and strained as she turned away from him—just in time to retch.
Arthur held her without hesitation, his hand rubbing slow, soothing circles against her back. His frown deepened as he watched her, his mind racing.
This wasn't normal.
She was a conceptual dragon, a warrior of unparalleled endurance—illness was not something that should afflict her. And yet, here she was, pale and trembling, the strong and steadfast King of Knights reduced to something vulnerable.
Something human.
Artoria exhaled shakily, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
"It is nothing," she said, her voice quieter than usual, but no less stubborn.
Arthur's brow furrowed. "Nothing?" He glanced at her closely. Too pale. Breathing uneven. A cold sweat on her forehead. His grip on her tightened slightly. "This has happened before, hasn't it?"
She hesitated.
Just for a second.
But it was enough.
Arthur sighed through his nose, his expression softening despite his worry. He brought a gloved hand to her cheek, brushing back a few stray strands of her golden hair.
"Artoria," he murmured, "what is going on?"
She met his gaze then—clear, unwavering.
Her fingers briefly hovered over her stomach before clenching into a fist.
"Arthur... I do not know." A pause. "But I think... I think something is different."
He had seen the signs.
The faint pallor to Artoria's skin, the subtle tension in her posture, the brief flicker of discomfort she tried to hide whenever she thought he wasn't looking. And then, her sudden sickness—proof that something was wrong.
Yet, even now, she refused to waver.
"I see." Arthur's frown deepened as he studied her. "Shall we slow our pace?"
Artoria shook her head immediately. "We need to continue. This illness shall have to wait until Vortigern is defeated."
Arthur exhaled through his nose. He had expected that answer, but it did nothing to ease the unease settling in his chest.
"Artoria..." His voice was softer this time, a quiet plea rather than an order.
She turned to look at him then, her emerald eyes unwavering. "This war is bigger than my well-being."
Arthur clenched his jaw. "And yet, your well-being is not something I can simply cast aside."
The words hung between them, heavy yet unspoken for far too long.
Artoria hesitated—just for a moment. It was barely noticeable, but Arthur saw it.
She was tired. More than that, she was beginning to understand that something was different.
Yet still, she was Artoria Pendragon—the King of Knights. She would not allow herself to falter.
"If you believe that is what we should do, then very well." Arthur's tone was resigned but not defeated. He stepped closer, his hand warm and steady as he helped her back onto her horse.
Artoria exhaled, adjusting her grip on the reins, but before she could spur the horse forward, Arthur's fingers briefly brushed against her wrist.
Artoria's pale face, though beautiful, had an unsettling hue to it—faint, but unmistakable. Fatigue clung to her like an uninvited guest, and the subtle nausea she had endured throughout the day was becoming harder to ignore.
Just as she prepared to continue her ride, surprising her as he effortlessly mounted her horse behind her.
"What—?" Artoria's voice wavered, caught off guard by his sudden move.
Arthur's face softened with a reassuring smile, his hand reaching around her to take the reins, guiding their horses with ease. His presence, though steady and regal, had a softness to it now—an intimacy.
"You can rest," Arthur said gently, his voice calm and steady. "I won't let you stay restless."
Artoria, for a moment, simply stared at him. Then she leaned back against him, feeling the warmth of his chest against her back. The tension in her body loosened, but her mind still swirled with the weight of the upcoming battle. Yet, for this moment, with Arthur's arms holding her steady, she allowed herself to simply breathe.
"Very well." Artoria's voice was soft, almost inaudible as she closed her eyes, trusting him completely. She was not used to relying on others, especially not in such a vulnerable way, but with Arthur... she felt safe.
As she relaxed against him, Arthur shifted slightly, guiding both their horses at the same time. He held the reins loosely, his grip firm yet tender, as though he could protect her from everything, even if she didn't ask for it.
A comfortable silence settled between them. Artoria could feel the steady rhythm of Arthur's breathing, the strength of his heart—a constant reminder of his presence. It was strange, how something so simple could provide her with such peace.
But beneath the surface, something stirred.
She had been ignoring it for days now—the tightness in her chest, the slight dizziness, the unfamiliar pangs of hunger. Her body was telling her something she didn't quite understand yet. But it was becoming more apparent. This was not just exhaustion- or illness.
Her fingers brushed against her abdomen absentmindedly, as though instinctively she could will the unease away. But even in the quiet of their ride, there was a strange warmth spreading within her, one that didn't feel entirely from the long journey or the cool evening air.
Arthur, sensing the subtle change in her demeanor, adjusted his posture, moving just a little closer, offering her a silent reassurance that was more powerful than any words.
"Artoria," he murmured, his voice quiet but full of concern. "If you need rest, we can stop. You don't have to push yourself."
She smiled faintly, though it was more of a soft acknowledgment than a full expression of reassurance. "We are close now... I can manage."
But in truth, she wasn't sure. The growing sense of unease gnawed at her, pulling her focus away from the battlefield ahead. She didn't want to admit it, but she couldn't escape it any longer.
Arthur felt the shift in her energy, the change in the way her body stiffened for just a moment, as if something had changed within her that she hadn't fully grasped. Her fatigue was no longer just from the ride; it was something deeper, more significant.
Without saying a word, Arthur wrapped his arms more securely around her, pulling her gently but firmly against him. The gesture wasn't just one of care—it was one of protection, as though he were silently telling her that whatever lay ahead, she would not have to face it alone.
She sighed softly, leaning more fully against him, her head resting on his shoulder now, feeling the rhythmic beat of his heart beneath her ear. She trusted him more than she trusted herself in this moment.
They rode together in silence, the night drawing closer as Camelot's gates grew nearer. There was still much to be done, but for now, they simply existed together in the moment.
And as they moved through the open fields, Artoria allowed herself a rare moment of vulnerability, knowing that, in Arthur's arms, she could be more than just a king. She could be herself, however uncertain that self was in the present.
Her thoughts scattered briefly as she felt the warmth between them, and for the first time in a long while, Artoria allowed herself to feel a sense of belonging, of being cherished in ways she had never imagined possible.
Artoria, resting in his arms, was anything but the sturdy, resolute king that she usually was. Her pale face, once radiating the confidence of a leader, now reflected the subtle signs of something else. Her breathing was shallow, her chest rising and falling slowly, and her hand was lightly clutching his tunic, as if needing the contact.
Arthur could feel it—the growing change in her. His brow furrowed slightly as he carefully held her against him, her body languid and tired, clearly worn from the day's travel and perhaps something more.
"Arthur?" Her voice was quiet, almost too soft for him to hear over the distant winds.
Arthur's eyes softened as he glanced down at her. "Yes?" he asked gently, his voice tender, as though he knew she had something to say, even if she couldn't voice it entirely.
Artoria, still too weak to fully sit on her own, shifted slightly. She could feel the nausea that had lingered for days coming back with force, the dizzying sensation spinning in her head. The faint ache in her abdomen was still there—persistent, but she tried to ignore it. She wasn't ready to speak of it yet.
"I... I'm fine, Arthur." The words felt like a lie as they left her lips.
Arthur was not fooled. His sharp gaze didn't waver, and his mouth set into a firm line. He knew better than to let her hide behind such words, but he also knew better than to press her in front of Merlin.
As they approached the gates, Merlin's loud voice broke through the silence. "Hey, Arthur!" Merlin called with a grin on his face, already standing beside the gates.
Arthur's jaw tightened. Not now, he thought, but he maintained his calm composure.
"Quite down, Merlin. The King is sleeping," Arthur said curtly, his voice a touch more annoyed than usual. He shot a glare at Merlin, though it was half-hearted, knowing that Merlin was rarely serious.
Merlin raised an eyebrow but only chuckled. "What? No room for humor in Camelot? Tsk tsk, you're getting all serious now, Arthur."
Ignoring Merlin's antics, Arthur carefully dismounted, still holding Artoria in his arms. He seemed more focused on the subtle shifts in her state than anything else at the moment. The way her body felt limp against his chest, the faint tremor in her hands, the way her lips parted as though she were trying to force air into her lungs.
He tried not to show his worry, though. He could feel that something was wrong. This wasn't just exhaustion. There was something else at play, but he couldn't figure out what.
Merlin, noticing Arthur's serious demeanor, finally dropped his teasing. His eyes softened as he watched Arthur tenderly handle Artoria. "You okay there, Artoria?" Merlin asked, his voice losing its usual levity. He might have been mischievous, but he respected the bond between the two kings.
Artoria's gaze flickered toward Merlin, and though she didn't answer, there was a hint of gratitude in her eyes. Merlin didn't push her further.
"I'll bring him to his chambers," Arthur said, not looking back at Merlin as he carefully walked past him. His voice was quieter now, his focus solely on Artoria.
Merlin, in turn, nodded. "Fine, fine. Don't get too cozy now. When the King wakes, we can speak of our journey."
Arthur didn't respond immediately, but he was not quite hearing Merlin's words. His thoughts were elsewhere—on the weight of what was happening with Artoria. She's not herself, he thought. And the more he observed her, the more he felt the subtle tremor of something else, something not entirely visible.
He walked briskly through the halls of Camelot, Artoria still in his arms. As they passed servants and knights, their faces flickered with quiet respect, but none of them dared approach him too closely—this was the king, and he was in no mood for idle chatter.
The weight of Artoria's body was beginning to feel heavier. Her breaths were shallower with each step, and Arthur could feel the rapid pulse of her heartbeat against his chest. He tried to shake the feeling of unease creeping in, but the signs were there. There was something different—something that could not be ignored.
As they reached the chambers reserved for the King, Arthur gently laid Artoria on the bed, his hands lingering on her arms for a moment longer than necessary. He looked down at her, watching her breathing slow, but her face still looked pale, too pale.
"Arthur..." she murmured, barely audible.
Arthur moved closer, kneeling by her side. He gently brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. "I'm here."
Artoria gave him a faint smile, but it was weak, almost distant. The tiredness in her eyes deepened, but there was something else—something unspoken, as if her body was warning her that it wasn't just exhaustion at play. She couldn't yet tell him what she suspected.
But deep down, she knew. She wasn't just tired. The world was changing for her, and the signs were unmistakable now. The way her body felt... the shift in her center of gravity. She was carrying something with her.
Arthur sat beside her, watching closely, his expression serious. He didn't speak, knowing that right now wasn't the time for questions. He simply sat in silence, keeping his hand lightly on hers. His eyes never left her face.
For the first time in a long while, Artoria allowed herself to close her eyes completely. Arthur's presence was enough to calm the storm inside her, and though she didn't fully understand what was happening.
"I'll be here," Arthur said softly, as if offering her a promise without words.
The room was dim, the firelight casting soft shadows along the stone walls of Camelot's inner chambers. Arthur sat by the bedside, his hand resting gently on Artoria's, watching her sleep, though sleep was the last thing on his mind.
For the past few days, he had noticed the subtle changes in her—more fatigue than usual, the faintest signs of nausea, and the weariness that seemed to cling to her. He couldn't bring himself to voice it aloud, but he knew, deep down, that something was different.
Artoria had been fighting the battle within herself, and perhaps it was a battle of her own making. She had no intention of letting anyone see weakness, but Arthur had always seen through her defenses. She didn't speak much of it, but Arthur could feel the shift, and he knew it wasn't just the toll of the journey or the weight of the upcoming battle with Vortigern.
Just as he sat in quiet contemplation, trying to make sense of his own thoughts, a sudden noise broke the stillness.
The door creaked open slightly, and Merlin's voice drifted in, a mixture of relief and teasing. "Oh, good, you two aren't doing anything."
Arthur's eyes snapped to the door, and for a moment, his annoyance was palpable. "Merlin," he sighed, irritation clear in his voice, "I thought we agreed to speak tomorrow."
Merlin, never one to heed boundaries, stepped fully into the room, a knowing smile on his face. "I can't wait, Arthur. Look at the King's condition," he gestured at Artoria, who appeared still and fragile, though her eyes were closed as if trying to stave off the world. "Don't act like you don't know what it is."
Arthur's frown deepened, his expression unreadable as he looked back at Merlin, but Merlin wasn't one to let things lie.
"What will you do, Arthur?" Merlin asked, his tone shifting, no longer playful. "You won't ask Artoria to forsake Britain, will you?"
Arthur took a deep breath, his fingers tightening around Artoria's hand as if grounding himself. "No," he said quietly. "I wouldn't ask her to make that choice. She is Britain's king, and she has fought for it for so long. She is not to forsake her birthright."
Merlin raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "Then what will you do?"
Arthur met his gaze, his thoughts weighing heavily on his shoulders, before he spoke again. His voice was softer now, as though sharing a secret only Merlin would understand. "I will help her defeat Vortigern, and then... I will take rule over Dumnonia before the child is born." He paused, his gaze falling to Artoria, who remained still on the bed, her breathing slow but steady. "I will raise the child there, in Dumnonia, where no one will question the legitimacy of her heir. Britain will not know of this pregnancy. I will not allow it."
Merlin's expression softened at the mention of a child. He sat down, the weight of Arthur's words settling between them like a thick fog. "And you'll conquer Dumnonia before Artoria gives birth?" he asked cautiously. "But what of her? What will she do in the meantime?"
Arthur closed his eyes for a moment, fighting the gnawing feeling that he was making decisions too hastily. But he had no choice. He could not let Artoria bear the weight of this alone. "I need you to help me, Merlin," Arthur's voice was low, a touch of vulnerability creeping into his tone. "I need you to help hide her pregnancy from Britain. Only the three of us—you, me, and Artoria—should know. Please."
Merlin stared at him for a long moment, the seriousness of Arthur's request sinking in. This was not the Arthur he had always known. This was a man who was willing to break the very foundation of his duty to protect the woman he loved—and their child.
Merlin sighed, running a hand through his hair, his expression softening with understanding. "Very well," he said at last, his voice carrying the weight of compromise. "I'll do it. I'll use my illusions, and the rest of Camelot will remain in the dark. But you must talk to Artoria about this."
Arthur nodded, relieved yet uncertain. "I will," he said quietly, though the words felt heavy on his tongue. "I just need time to figure out how to say it... how to explain it all."
Merlin gave him a small, knowing smile. "Take your time, Arthur. But don't let the decision weigh too heavily. Artoria has always carried her burdens alone, but this is not one she must bear without you."
Arthur's heart tightened at Merlin's words. He wasn't just speaking of the child—they both knew that. Artoria had always been strong, fierce even, but in that moment, Arthur saw a softness in her, a vulnerability he hadn't seen before. It was the kind of vulnerability that only came with love, with the promise of something greater than just the kingdom.
As the evening wore on, Arthur continued to watch over Artoria. Merlin had given him space, stepping back to allow them time alone. But even in this silence, Arthur felt the weight of the choices before him.
Would Artoria ever understand his decision? Would she be able to accept that he wanted to protect her from the consequences of the world they were bound to lead?
His hand rested gently on her stomach, though he said nothing of it. The child would be their future, but in that moment, the future seemed so far away. There was so much yet to be done.
As the night stretched on, Artoria's breathing grew steady, and her body seemed to relax into the bed. Arthur couldn't help but stay by her side, his heart swelling with a love he had never thought possible.