Camelot had welcomed them with open arms, showering them in praise and admiration. Songs of their triumph echoed through the halls, knights recounted their valor in battle, and the people celebrated the return of their King. Yet, as the initial festivities died down, whispers spread—Where was the King? And where was his most loyal knight?
Away from the prying eyes of the court, Artoria made her way to Arthur's chambers. The moment she stepped inside, she found him seated, engrossed in a book, his golden hair illuminated by the dim candlelight. There was something peaceful about the way he sat, relaxed yet still composed, a stark contrast to the weight he carried just days prior.
"Arthur," she called softly, walking toward him.
He looked up at her, his green eyes meeting her own. Once, her gaze had been distant, almost detached, as if the burdens of her duty had stripped her of all emotion. But now, those same green eyes were alive—filled with warmth, with affection, with something deeper than she had ever dared to show before.
She stepped closer, then, with a natural ease, settled herself onto his lap.
Arthur blinked at the sudden gesture but didn't resist. A slow smile formed on his lips as one arm wrapped around her back while his other hand placed the book aside. His fingers brushed against her stomach, rubbing gently, as if assuring himself of what lay within.
"Hey, love," he murmured, his voice low and fond.
Artoria leaned into him, resting her forehead against his. "Everyone is busy," she said, a rare, playful smile gracing her lips. "Why don't we go on a date? I'll ask Merlin to remove the illusion."
Arthur sighed, amusement flickering in his gaze. "I don't know… the knights—specifically Kay—will question why I'm going out with his sister."
Artoria chuckled, shaking her head. "Kay will be fine. He may huff and grumble, but he will approve in his own way. Besides, do you not think we deserve a moment to ourselves?"
Arthur exhaled, leaning back slightly. "You have a way of making things sound so simple."
"Because they should be simple," she replied, intertwining her fingers with his. "We should allow ourselves that."
He studied her for a moment before nodding. "Alright then. Let's go on that date."
Arthur leaned back slightly, his smile laced with amusement. "I'll call Merlin. He's probably at a pub or a brothel. I suppose we'll see."
Artoria let out a soft sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Of course, he is," she muttered. "Run back quick, the sun is still in the sky, baring its fruit. I don't wish for our day to be squandered before we even set out."
Arthur chuckled, watching as she gracefully stood from his lap. There was an effortless regality to her movements, but her tone carried an unusual impatience—an eagerness he wasn't quite used to seeing in her.
"If you say so," he said, his amusement still evident as he rose to his feet. He stretched slightly before making his way toward the door.
Just as he reached it, he glanced back at her. "I'll be right back," he promised, a small, knowing smile playing at his lips.
Artoria folded her arms, raising an eyebrow. "I expect nothing less. If you get distracted, I will drag you back myself, Arthur."
Arthur laughed, shaking his head. "Noted, my queen."
And with that, he stepped out, leaving Artoria standing there, watching the door with a small, exasperated smile of her own.
as Arthur stepped out of his chambers and into the heart of Camelot's festivities. Even after days of celebration, the city still pulsed with life, unwilling to let the victory fade into memory just yet.
Bards stood on makeshift stages, strumming their lutes and singing tales of their King and his trusted knights. Children ran through the streets, playing at being warriors, waving wooden swords as they reenacted the battles they had only heard about in stories. The scent of roasted meats and freshly baked bread drifted through the air, mingling with the faint bitterness of ale spilling from overfilled mugs as knights and commoners alike indulged in the revelry.
Arthur strode through the celebration with a composed grace, offering nods and smiles to those who called out to him, but he did not linger. He had a mission, and he had a rather good idea of where to find the one man who could help him.
Merlin.
It was no secret where the court mage liked to spend his time. If he wasn't meddling in affairs beyond his station, he was indulging in other distractions—usually of the more hedonistic variety.
Arthur passed by one of the grand banquet halls, peering inside to see knights deep in their cups, singing off-key songs of war and brotherhood. He spotted Gawain and Lancelot seated at a long table, both engaged in conversation, though Lancelot seemed more interested in his wine than the discussion.
"Sir Arthur!" Gawain called, catching sight of him. "Come, join us! A toast to our King's return is overdue!"
Arthur raised a hand in refusal. "Another time, Gawain. I'm looking for Merlin."
Lancelot chuckled, swirling his drink. "If you're looking for him, I doubt you'll find him among knights and sober men."
That only confirmed Arthur's suspicions.
Leaving the hall behind, he made his way toward the lower quarters of Camelot, where the more questionable establishments were located. The laughter here was different—lower, more suggestive. The scent of perfume and spiced wine clung to the air, mixing with the occasional waft of pipe smoke.
Arthur didn't have to search long. The second he neared the entrance of a lavish-looking brothel, a familiar voice rang out.
"—and then I told him, 'If you think THAT was magic, you should see what I can do with a deck of cards!'"
Laughter erupted from inside, and Arthur sighed.
Stepping into the establishment, he found Merlin lounging on a plush seat, a goblet of wine in one hand, his other arm draped over the shoulders of a woman who was laughing at whatever ridiculous tale he had just finished telling. A few other women surrounded him, some intrigued, others clearly entertained by his charm.
Arthur crossed his arms. "Enjoying yourself?"
Merlin glanced up, blinking before a slow, knowing smile stretched across his lips. "Arthur! What a pleasant surprise. Come to join the fun?"
Arthur exhaled, unamused. "Not quite."
The women looked between them before one of them—a particularly bold brunette—leaned into Merlin. "Do you know him, my lord?"
Merlin smirked. "Oh, intimately. He's my greatest headache and occasional source of amusement."
Arthur rolled his eyes. "I need you to remove an illusion."
Merlin arched a brow, finally seeming interested. He leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm. "Oh? And what illusion might that be?"
"Artoria's."
Merlin's amusement faltered slightly, replaced by curiosity. "Ah. I see. So she's ready to make herself known in full, is she?"
Arthur gave a short nod. "Something like that."
Merlin took a slow sip of his wine before standing. "Well then, I suppose I should see to it." He turned to the women around him, flashing a grin. "Duty calls, my dear ladies. But don't worry—I'll return before the night is through."
Arthur muttered under his breath, "Not if I have anything to say about it."
Merlin laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Oh, Arthur. You wound me."
Arthur merely shook his head, leading the way out of the establishment as the festivities continued to rage around them.
Arthur and Merlin made their way through the dimly lit corridors of Camelot, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone floors. The distant sound of music and revelry still drifted through the halls, but here, in the heart of the castle, all was quiet.
As they reached Arthur's chambers, Arthur pushed open the door to find Artoria reclining on the grand bed, her eyes closed as though she were meditating. The soft glow of candlelight illuminated her features, casting a faint golden hue over her skin. She looked calm, composed—though Arthur knew better.
The moment the door creaked open, her eyes fluttered open, their bright green depths locking onto him first before shifting to Merlin.
Arthur took a step forward, then hesitated when he noticed the brief flicker of surprise cross Merlin's face. It was gone just as quickly as it had come, replaced by his usual smirk.
"You said you want the illusion gone, Artoria?" Merlin asked, his voice carrying its usual playful lilt.
Artoria sat up fully, her expression serene but firm. "Yes, Merlin. Good, you came back quickly."
Merlin chuckled, stepping further into the room. "I didn't really have a choice. Arthur here was very insistent." He cast a glance toward the King, who merely crossed his arms in response.
Merlin turned his gaze back to Artoria, studying her with amusement. "So, why exactly do you want it gone now?"
Artoria met his gaze steadily. "Because I am going on a date" she said simply.
Merlin hummed, his expression unreadable. "And the King doesn't want to be seen dating a man?"
A pause.
Artoria did not immediately answer, and Arthur could see the flicker of emotion in her eyes—resolve, certainty, but also something deeper.
"I do not wish to waste this day," she said at last. "Not when it is one of the few moments where we may enjoy ourselves freely. If I am to walk by Arthur's side, I would rather do so as myself."
Arthur exhaled softly at her words. Even now, she spoke with that same quiet determination—unyielding as steel, yet carrying an almost divine grace.
Merlin, of course, was less sentimental. "Ah, how romantic," he mused, rubbing his chin. "So, you want to enjoy a nice little date with Arthur, do you? And for that, you need to shed your disguise?"
Arthur shot him a warning look, but Artoria remained composed.
"Yes," she answered without hesitation.
Merlin raised a brow, clearly enjoying himself. "You do realize this means people will start asking questions, don't you? That our dear Sir Kay, in particular, might have several rather pointed ones?"
Arthur sighed. "I already told her. She doesn't care."
Artoria gave a slight smile. "I have long stopped worrying over Kay's overprotectiveness."
Merlin chuckled. "Oh, he will certainly have a few words for you, Arthur."
Arthur rolled his eyes. "I can handle Kay."
Merlin grinned. "Oh, I have no doubt you can. But fine, fine, I won't tease you too much." He stretched his arms above his head. "I'll dispel the illusion, but don't come crying to me when the court is in an uproar tomorrow."
With that, he stepped forward, raising a hand. A faint shimmer of magic filled the air, gentle and warm, like the lingering glow of dawn. Artoria remained still as the illusion that had masked her true presence began to fade.
The shift was subtle at first. Her already radiant presence seemed to deepen, as though something hidden beneath the surface had finally been unveiled. The air around her grew heavier—not oppressive, but divine, commanding attention even in stillness.
Arthur felt it immediately, that overwhelming sense of existence that came with Artoria's true nature. Even after all this time, it was something he never quite got used to.
Merlin let out a low whistle. "Well, I must say, seeing you like this never gets old."
Artoria stood, adjusting the hem of her gown. "And?" she asked, as though the change meant nothing to her.
Merlin smirked. "Oh, you're definitely going to turn heads."
Arthur stepped forward then, reaching out to take her hand. The warmth of her skin, the way her fingers instinctively curled around his—it was grounding. He could feel the power radiating from her, but beyond that, she was still her.
She met his gaze. "Shall we?"
Arthur smiled, squeezing her hand gently. "Let's."
Merlin made a dramatic show of sighing. "Ah, young love. So reckless, so bold." He smirked. "Well then, don't let me keep you. Enjoy your night, lovebirds."
Artoria rolled her eyes, but Arthur merely shook his head, pulling her toward the door.
The streets of Camelot were alive with celebration, the echoes of joyous laughter and the rhythmic beat of drums filling the night air. Colorful banners adorned the buildings, flickering torches casting warm light over the stone-paved roads. The scent of roasted meat, fresh bread, and spiced wine lingered in the air, mingling with the fragrance of wildflowers strewn across the streets by dancing children.
Amidst the revelry, Artoria and Arthur walked hand in hand, their fingers entwined in a quiet display of intimacy. To the common folk, they must have seemed like a nobleman and his lady, a striking pair moving gracefully through the throng of people. But to those who looked closer, whispers began to spread.
"Who is that woman with the Sword Saint?" murmured a merchant, narrowing his eyes in curiosity.
"They look so beautiful together," a young woman sighed dreamily. "Who knew Sir Arthur had someone?"
Artoria could hear them, but she paid them no mind. Her attention was instead fixed on the festivities—the bright lanterns swaying in the night breeze, the joyous melodies of the musicians, the way the townspeople laughed without care. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she wasn't a king, a warrior, or a ruler burdened by duty. Tonight, she was simply herself.
Arthur, walking beside her, seemed to sense her mood. His grip on her hand tightened slightly, his thumb brushing against her knuckles in a silent reassurance. He, too, ignored the whispers, choosing instead to focus on the moment.
Artoria's gaze drifted toward a small wooden stall decorated with colorful fabric. The vendor, an elderly woman with kind eyes, stood behind a table filled with sweet pastries, honeyed fruits, and warm cider.
Arthur followed her gaze and chuckled. "You always did have a weakness for sweets," he teased.
Artoria turned her head slightly, giving him a small, playful smirk. "I wouldn't call it a weakness—merely an appreciation."
Arthur laughed at that, shaking his head before reaching into his cloak for a few coins. He stepped forward and exchanged them for a small plate of sugared pastries, offering one to Artoria.
"Here," he said, watching her expression carefully.
She accepted it, biting into the treat with an appreciative hum. The warmth of the pastry melted in her mouth, the sugar crisp against her tongue.
"It's good," she admitted.
Arthur grinned. "I knew you'd like it."
They continued walking, moving past dancers twirling in the square and performers juggling fire, their path illuminated by the glow of lanterns. Despite the noise and energy around them, there was something peaceful about this moment—just the two of them, wandering through the city like ordinary people.
Arthur glanced at her, his green eyes softer than usual. "Are you enjoying yourself?"
Artoria looked up at him and smiled, a rare, genuine expression free of the weight of responsibility. "Yes," she said simply. "I am."
Arthur's expression warmed, and for once, he allowed himself to relax.
Arthur glanced at Artoria, noting the curiosity flickering in her emerald eyes as they stopped before a stand where people were tossing small wooden rings onto pegs of varying distances.
"Would you like to try?" Arthur asked, tilting his head toward the game.
Artoria narrowed her eyes slightly, assessing the challenge. "It seems simple enough," she remarked, folding her arms.
The vendor, a jolly, bearded man, noticed them and clapped his hands together. "Ah! A noble couple looking to test their skills? Step right up! The lady and the knight, let's see who has the better aim!"
Arthur smirked. "What do you think, love? Shall we see who is the superior competitor?"
Artoria raised an eyebrow, the corner of her lips twitching upward. "I'd hate to embarrass you in front of your people."
The vendor laughed heartily. "Oh, I like her confidence! Come now, let's see it put to the test." He handed each of them three wooden rings. "The closer the peg, the easier the shot. But if you land it on the farthest one, you'll win the grand prize—a fine silver brooch engraved with a dragon."
Arthur rolled a ring between his fingers, weighing it. "Shall we aim for the grand prize, then?"
"Obviously," Artoria replied, adjusting her grip.
A small crowd had begun to gather around them, sensing the unspoken competition between the two. Murmurs of excitement rippled through the onlookers.
Arthur threw first. The ring spun in the air before landing smoothly on the second-farthest peg. A few claps followed, and he nodded, pleased with himself.
Artoria, unfazed, stepped forward and flicked her wrist with precise control. Her ring sailed through the air before landing perfectly on the farthest peg, dead center.
The crowd gasped, and Arthur let out a chuckle. "Of course," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head with amusement.
The vendor beamed. "A fine throw, milady! A warrior's precision, no doubt."
Arthur took his next shot and managed to land it on the same peg as Artoria's. The crowd erupted into cheers.
"So, we're even," Arthur mused, turning to her. "Last shot decides it."
Artoria's eyes gleamed with determination. She stepped forward, adjusting her grip once more. With a flick of her wrist, the ring soared high and landed precisely where she intended—the farthest peg, unwavering.
The crowd roared in approval.
Arthur sighed in defeat, but a smile played on his lips. "It seems I've lost."
Artoria turned to him with an amused expression. "I told you I'd hate to embarrass you."
Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. "Remind me never to wager against you."
The vendor retrieved the silver dragon brooch and presented it to Artoria. "A well-earned victory, my lady."
Artoria accepted it with a small smile, then turned to Arthur. Without hesitation, she pinned the brooch onto his cloak.
Arthur blinked. "You won it. Shouldn't you keep it?"
She met his gaze, her voice softer. "You're the one they call the Dragon Saint of Camelot. It suits you more than me."
Arthur stared at her for a moment before exhaling a quiet chuckle. "Oh? They do? Since when did that start? I thought you were always the more draconic one between the two of us."
They began walking once more, their hands still intertwined, moving seamlessly through the festival crowd.
"Apparently not," Artoria mused, amusement lacing her voice. "I've been more associated with lions nowadays."
Arthur hummed in thought. "Really? I should start keeping up with our tales more often, then."
Artoria chuckled softly, shaking her head. "You say that, but you never do."
Arthur sighed dramatically. "True, true. But in my defense, I have a very compelling distraction right now."
Artoria gave him a glance, one brow slightly raised, but before she could respond, Arthur's attention shifted as the sound of familiar voices carried through the air.
"Oh, our sorrows fill the world because Sir Kay is failing to keep his nose out of Arthur's business," Tristan lamented, his voice dripping with exaggerated sorrow.
Beside him, Gawain sighed, clearly resigned to the situation, while Lancelot merely nodded, as if already predicting the outcome. They had only followed to keep Kay from going overboard, but the moment Kay caught sight of Arthur's back, his entire demeanor shifted.
His sharp eyes landed on Arthur, who stood relaxed yet unmistakably close to a woman with striking golden hair and a dress that, while noble, carried a quiet, understated elegance. Kay could see their hands still lightly entwined, fingers brushing together in a manner that felt far too natural to be anything casual.
"Sir Arthur!" Kay called out, his voice carrying a mix of suspicion and curiosity.
Arthur turned to face him, and the expression on his face caught Kay entirely off guard.
His king, who rarely ever let his emotions shine so openly, wore a smile unlike any Kay had ever seen before—one of pure, undisturbed affection.
Kay felt his breath hitch slightly, but before he could even process it, the woman at Arthur's side turned as well, a slight look of confusion on her face.
Kay's world ground to a halt.
"Artoria?" he murmured, stunned, before almost rushing forward, his usual composed demeanor cracking entirely.
The other knights, having yet to recognize her, were now fully confused as they followed after Kay.
Arthur sighed, running a hand through his hair. "How's it going, Kay?"
"Don't you 'how's it going' me, you—" Kay sputtered, his words tripping over themselves as his gaze darted between Arthur and Artoria. His voice dropped into a whisper, as though saying it too loudly would break the illusion. "Really, man? With my sister? And you didn't even tell me?"
Artoria crossed her arms, an amused glint in her eye as she regarded Kay. "You never asked."
"That's beside the point!" Kay shot back before narrowing his eyes at her. "And you—aren't you supposed to be, you know—" He gestured vaguely, clearly struggling to articulate the impossibility of her presence.
"Yes, I have to be Arthur," she said smoothly, her voice unwavering. "If I weren't, I wouldn't be here."
Arthur chuckled, but the meaning in Artoria's words was clear—at least to the two of them. She wasn't simply referring to the impossibility of her being alive or being in Camelot again. No, she meant she wouldn't be anywhere near something as frivolous as a festival if she weren't herself.
"I decided to take a break," Artoria continued, her voice quieter, though no less resolute. "So that Arthur and I could go out, rather than… hiding all the time."
Her words carried weight, but the small, knowing smile she directed at Arthur spoke volumes. It was a silent acknowledgment between them—one only Kay could begin to understand.
Kay stared at them for a long moment before letting out a deep sigh, rubbing his forehead. "You're both impossible," he muttered before shaking his head. "…I hope you know I'm not letting this go."
Arthur only smirked, and Artoria—ever composed—merely met Kay's gaze with an almost playful defiance.
The other knights, still somewhat stunned, exchanged glances as realization dawned upon them. Tristan, ever dramatic, placed a hand over his heart. "Oh, what a tragic revelation. To be left in the dark about such a tale of hidden romance…"
"Tristan," Gawain deadpanned.
Lancelot, for his part, simply smiled. "I suppose tonight will be an interesting one after all."
Kay exhaled sharply. "I need a drink."
Arthur and Artoria shared a look before continuing their walk, leaving the Knights of the Round to scramble after them, their night at the festival taking a far more unexpected turn than any of them had anticipated.
As day faded into night, the stars stretched across the sky like scattered fragments of light. The cool night breeze carried the distant hum of festivities, but here, in the quiet openness of the field, it was just the two of them. Arthur and Artoria walked side by side, their fingers interlaced, neither willing to let go.
Artoria glanced up at him with a rare, soft smile. "It has been a great night. Should I thank you for taking me out?"
Arthur huffed a quiet chuckle, his amusement clear. "If I recall correctly, love, I'm pretty sure you're the one who took me out."
She tilted her head slightly in thought before nodding. "Maybe you're right." Her smile lingered, but there was something wistful in the way her gaze swept across the open field around them, the vastness of the night stretching endlessly before them. "If only we could always live like this…"
Arthur's steps slowed at the sadness that touched her voice. He turned his head to look at her fully, watching as that fleeting smile dimmed.
"Do you regret?" he asked quietly.
Artoria immediately shook her head, but the weight of her thoughts didn't fade. "No," she murmured. "But I wish for a better future." Her hand drifted down, resting against her lower abdomen as she whispered, "A future for our child, Arthur."
Arthur inhaled sharply, his grip on her hand tightening as his gaze dropped to where hers lingered. His throat felt tight, his mind catching on the enormity of the life they were bringing into the world.
"A future where our child won't have to be hidden," Artoria continued, her voice laced with quiet determination.
Arthur frowned slightly. "Artoria…" he breathed, but the emotions tangled in his chest were too complex to put into words.
A pause settled between them before Arthur took a deep breath, his decision already made. "I intend to take over Dumnonia."
Artoria's eyes snapped to him, startled. "What?"
Arthur met her gaze unwaveringly. "Dumnonia is in chaos. King Mark isn't leading them properly. If I take control of Dumnonia before you give birth, I can establish stability. And once I return, I'll be king." His grip on her hand tightened. "I could raise our child there. They wouldn't have to be hidden."
Artoria searched his face, her expression unreadable.
"You will be able to visit," Arthur continued, stepping closer, his voice insistent. "No one would know. No one would suspect."
Artoria exhaled, her fingers curling against his. "Arthur…" she said softly, her voice carrying the weight of unspoken worries.
He lifted his free hand to cup her cheek, tilting her face toward him as his thumb brushed against her skin. "I swear to you, I will make a future where our child doesn't have to live in the shadows."
She closed her eyes for a moment, leaning into his touch. "Then I will hold you to that promise," she whispered.
Arthur gently pressed his forehead against hers, his grip tightening around her fingers as if anchoring himself to her presence. His voice, usually filled with the weight of burdens, softened into something far more personal, far more vulnerable.
"Don't worry," he murmured, his tone steady yet brimming with quiet devotion. "I won't forget."
Artoria closed her eyes, her breath hitching just slightly at the warmth of his closeness, at the conviction in his words.
"I won't," Arthur repeated, his voice firmer, as if vowing it to the heavens below. "I love you more than anything, Artoria."
She exhaled softly, a warmth blooming in her chest at his words. Arthur was not a man who expressed love with grand declarations. His love was in the details—the way he shielded her from the wind, the way he always stood beside her, never in front, never behind. And yet, hearing those words, hearing the depth of his devotion spoken aloud, it was enough to make her heart ache.
"You and our child are my everything," Arthur whispered, his hand lifting to cup the side of her face, his thumb brushing against her cheek.
Artoria opened her eyes then, meeting his gaze—earnest, unshakable, full of quiet determination. For a moment, she simply stared, memorizing the way he looked at her, the way he held her as if she were something irreplaceable.
A soft smile graced her lips, small but unmistakably genuine. She lifted a hand to rest over his, pressing it against her cheek. "Then do not make me wait too long," she whispered.
Arthur huffed a quiet chuckle, tilting his head slightly. "I wouldn't dare."
The words were light, teasing, but beneath them lay a promise—one that neither of them would allow to be broken.