[ there are a lot of feelings that come with hearing that gwen is pregnant. excitement, definitely, first and foremost -- he's going to be a father, why wouldn't that be cause for excitement of the utmost degree? but then there's fear, a sinking sense of dread, of doubt -- what kind of father will he be? will he be like his father? will he be good enough to raise a child? should he? then there's an underlying sadness to it all, somehow, inexplicably, because even after all this time, arthur still misses uther and he still wishes to make him proud. would he be proud? arthur hasn't forgotten the ghost of his father trying to murder gwen, the vitriol he'd spewed about arthur's reign and the decisions he'd made to make camelot better. it's been years since then, but the wound still remains, the insecurity, the feeling that he never will be good enough in the eyes of his father because he chose not to be like his father. ]
[ he wonders, in the quiet hours of the night, with gwen sleeping soundly next to him, if he'll set a good example for their child, if they'll look up to him and come to him for guidance, if they'll trust him, if they'll love him, most of all -- but more than any of that, he wonders if he'll be proud, or if he'll end up like his father, expecting too much and refusing to look change in the face, always afraid of the past coming to haunt him. except arthur has the one thing his father never had -- friends. arthur surrounds himself with people who make him stronger, who make him strive to be better because they are the ones worth fighting for. arthur won't let himself be afraid of the future, not when he has merlin and gwen and the knights at his side. even if arthur doesn't believe in himself or the kind of man he is or the kind of father he will be, he knows they will always believe in him and they will always see the goodness arthur can't always see for himself. ]
[ he expects a son, of course, but he can't say he's disappointed when merlin rushes out of his and gwen's bedchambers to wildly announce it's a girl, arthur, it's a girl! somehow, arthur is less stunned by the gender of his child and more so by the fact that his first reaction is to stop pacing and embrace merlin more enthusiastically than he ever has in his life. (he can count on one hand just how many times this has happened, but he supposes the birth of the next child of a pendragon should be cause enough for a hug, even from a king.) the next few moments are harder for him to remember, if only because they rushed by so fast -- merlin dragging him into see gwen, who still managed to look stunning regardless of the toils of childbirth; tears welling up in his eyes at the sight of his daughter (kings don't cry, except maybe just this once) -- but he could never forget the tiniest squeeze of his finger, the brightness of his daughter's eyes, the smiles that never seemed to leave anyone's faces. how could he not be proud? ]
[ a celebration is to be had all the next day, with grand feasts and a festival in honor of the new princess of camelot -- but for tonight, the entourage of servants and friends alike leaves them be, the king and queen and the tiny life they created together. arthur couldn't be happier. he's not sure he ever could. ]
She's going to need a name. [ arthur has her cradled in his arms, reverently, delicately. she's so small, he feels like she could break at any moment. and yet -- even just her tiny fist grasping his fingers seems like it could rival even percival's grip. for something so small, he knows she must be destined for much bigger, greater things. she's a pendragon, after all. ] Did we ever agree on one?
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[ he wonders, in the quiet hours of the night, with gwen sleeping soundly next to him, if he'll set a good example for their child, if they'll look up to him and come to him for guidance, if they'll trust him, if they'll love him, most of all -- but more than any of that, he wonders if he'll be proud, or if he'll end up like his father, expecting too much and refusing to look change in the face, always afraid of the past coming to haunt him. except arthur has the one thing his father never had -- friends. arthur surrounds himself with people who make him stronger, who make him strive to be better because they are the ones worth fighting for. arthur won't let himself be afraid of the future, not when he has merlin and gwen and the knights at his side. even if arthur doesn't believe in himself or the kind of man he is or the kind of father he will be, he knows they will always believe in him and they will always see the goodness arthur can't always see for himself. ]
[ he expects a son, of course, but he can't say he's disappointed when merlin rushes out of his and gwen's bedchambers to wildly announce it's a girl, arthur, it's a girl! somehow, arthur is less stunned by the gender of his child and more so by the fact that his first reaction is to stop pacing and embrace merlin more enthusiastically than he ever has in his life. (he can count on one hand just how many times this has happened, but he supposes the birth of the next child of a pendragon should be cause enough for a hug, even from a king.) the next few moments are harder for him to remember, if only because they rushed by so fast -- merlin dragging him into see gwen, who still managed to look stunning regardless of the toils of childbirth; tears welling up in his eyes at the sight of his daughter (kings don't cry, except maybe just this once) -- but he could never forget the tiniest squeeze of his finger, the brightness of his daughter's eyes, the smiles that never seemed to leave anyone's faces. how could he not be proud? ]
[ a celebration is to be had all the next day, with grand feasts and a festival in honor of the new princess of camelot -- but for tonight, the entourage of servants and friends alike leaves them be, the king and queen and the tiny life they created together. arthur couldn't be happier. he's not sure he ever could. ]
She's going to need a name. [ arthur has her cradled in his arms, reverently, delicately. she's so small, he feels like she could break at any moment. and yet -- even just her tiny fist grasping his fingers seems like it could rival even percival's grip. for something so small, he knows she must be destined for much bigger, greater things. she's a pendragon, after all. ] Did we ever agree on one?