Chapter Text
Ages: Birth - 3 years
Arthur had lost his mother Freya during childbirth, a tragedy that had left an indelible mark on Merlin's heart. Despite the pain of losing his beloved wife, Merlin found renewed purpose in raising their son. He poured all his love and energy into Arthur, determined to give him a childhood filled with joy and affection.
From the moment Arthur was born, 32-year-old Merlin showered him with attention and care. He read to Arthur every night, sang lullabies (often off-key), and spent hours playing on the floor with colorful blocks and stuffed animals. As Arthur grew, so did Merlin's devotion.
By the time Arthur was a toddler, it was clear that Merlin had a tendency to spoil him rotten. Their modest home—Merlin's first with his late wife Freya—was filled with toys, many handmade by Merlin himself during late nights after Arthur had gone to bed. There were wooden swords, cardboard shields painted with bright colors, and a play castle that took up half of Arthur's room.
Every morning, Merlin woke Arthur with a tickle and a smile. "Who's my strong little knight?" he cooed, voice soft and playful. It was their daily ritual, a moment of connection that started each day with laughter and love.
Arthur, with his golden curls and chubby cheeks, always giggled uncontrollably. His sapphire eyes, so like Merlin’s, lit up with unbridled delight. "Me! Me!" he cried, clapping his tiny hands together in excitement. The sound of his laughter, bright and clear, filled the room like a burst of sunshine.
Merlin scooped Arthur up, peppering his face with kisses as he carried him to the kitchen for breakfast. Their mornings were filled with pancakes shaped like dragons, oatmeal with faces made of fruit, and toast cut into the shapes of swords and shields.
Throughout the day, Merlin found every opportunity to praise and encourage Arthur. Whether stacking blocks or scribbling with crayons, each of Arthur's accomplishments was celebrated as if he had just pulled Excalibur from the stone.
"Look at that tower, Arthur! You're as strong as Sir Percival!" Merlin exclaimed, referencing characters from the stories he told Arthur each night.
In the park, Merlin often pushed Arthur on the baby swings as Arthur pretended he was flying on a dragon. "Higher, Daddy! Higher!" Arthur shouted, and Merlin always obliged (to an extent). His heart soared with each of his precious son's delighted squeals.
At bedtime, as Merlin tucked Arthur in, surrounded by stuffed animals and glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, he often felt a pang of sadness that Freya couldn't be there to see their beautiful boy grow. But then Arthur always smiled up at him, arms reaching for a goodnight hug, and Merlin was filled anew with gratitude and love.
"Daddy," Arthur said each night as he drifted off to sleep, "you da bestest daddy in da whole wide world!"
And Merlin, brushing a soft kiss on Arthur's forehead, always whispered, "And you, my little knight, are the best son in all the realms."
As he watched Arthur sleep, Merlin sometimes talked to Freya in his mind, promising her that their son would grow up knowing he was loved beyond measure. He would love Arthur enough for the both of them. In Arthur's face, Merlin saw echoes of Freya's kindness and his own determination. He knew that with love and guidance, Arthur would grow to be a man they both would be proud of.
. . . . .
Age: 4
Little Arthur had always seen his father, Merlin Emrys, as a larger-than-life figure. Merlin's presence filled his life with wonder and warmth. They lived in a cozy home in the quiet town of Ealdor, their days filled with laughter, love, and shared stories of a fantastical past that never was.
Arthur was a bundle of energy and curiosity. His bright eyes sparkled with excitement as he bounced around their warm living room, toy sword in hand. "Daddy! Daddy! Tell me again about the knights and the round table!" he exclaimed, climbing onto Merlin's lap.
Merlin, a slender man with kind eyes and a perpetual five o'clock shadow, chuckled softly. He had earned his Masters degree in college and now made a more than decent wage working as the small town's sole librarian, but to Arthur, he was a wizard of words and keeper of legends. "Alright, my little king," Merlin said, ruffling Arthur's golden hair.
As Merlin began to weave tales of brave knights, magical quests, and a young king who united a land, Arthur listened with rapt attention. In his mind, the stories came to life, and he imagined himself as the noble King Arthur, with his father Merlin as the wise wizard by his side.
Their home, though small, was filled with books of all kinds. Shelves lined the walls, and stacks of novels created miniature towers on end tables. Arthur's room was a treasure trove of picture books about medieval times, dragons, and heroic adventures.
On weekends, Merlin took Arthur to the local park. There, amidst the green expanse, they had picnics and pretended the playground was their castle. Other children often joined in their roleplaying games, drawn by Merlin's infectious storytelling and Arthur's enthusiastic leadership.
Ages: 5 to 8
Once he started school, Arthur's teachers often remarked on his vivid imagination and natural ability to bring others together. He would organize games of "Knights and Dragons" during recess with his six best friends Lance, Gwaine, Leon, Elyan, Percy, and Mordred, assigning roles to his friends with the authority of a true leader. Some of them he'd met at the park prior to starting school, such as Lance and Leon.
Merlin always found ways to make their lives magical. The backyard pool became the Lake of Avalon, where toy boats sailed on grand quests. Merlin created scavenger hunts around the house and yard, leaving clues written in "secret codes" for Arthur and his friends to decipher. Arthur loved going on these mini-quests with his friends, whom he affectionately called "his knights." His friends utterly adored him and didn’t mind one bit. Due to his inherent leadership qualities, they all looked up to Arthur and gladly allowed him to take the role of their King in make-believe quests. And when it was just Arthur and Merlin, bedtime stories transformed his small bedroom into vast, enchanted forests.
As a single father, Merlin worked hard to provide for Arthur. But he never let the struggles of daily life dim the light in his son's eyes. He taught Arthur about kindness, bravery, and the importance of standing up for what's right—lessons straight from the legends they both loved.
In quiet moments, Merlin sometimes looked at Arthur with a mix of pride and wistfulness. He saw in his son the makings of a truly good person—someone who could indeed change the world one day, not with a mythical sword, but with compassion and strong leadership. Arthur was not only academically and athletically far ahead of his classmates, but he was also warmhearted with a strong moral code.
On the playground, Merlin took note of what a good sport Arthur was. He never cheated and always made sure everything was fair, not equal. His school playmates naturally looked up to him and followed his lead, drawn to his abundant charisma. Merlin couldn't wait to see all the accomplishments his son would achieve in his adult life. He knew Arthur would go far.
. . . . .
Age: 9
Arthur was only nine when the first signs appeared. It started innocently enough, with occasional stomach aches that Arthur would mention in passing. At first, Merlin chalked it up to typical childhood ailments—too much running around, a bit too much candy. But despite Merlin's efforts to ensure Arthur had a nutritious diet and ample sleep, the troubling symptoms continued unabated.
Over the next few weeks, Merlin noticed a troubling pattern. Arthur, usually so full of energy and mischief, began to slow down. He would come home from school and collapse on the couch, his little face pale and drawn. The spark in his bright blue eyes seemed to dim, replaced by a weariness far beyond his years.
One evening, Arthur pushed his plate away after barely touching his dinner. “I’m not hungry, Daddy,” he said softly, his voice lacking its usual vigor. Merlin frowned, concern gnawing at him. Arthur had always been a hearty eater, his appetite a testament to his boundless energy. This change was unsettling.
Then Arthur began complaining more and more about stomach aches and now nausea. Merlin tried to keep a brave face, but the worry was eating him up inside. He made sure Arthur rested, ran him warm baths to soothe his pain, and read him his favorite stories to distract him. But nothing seemed to help.
Merlin made Arthur stay home from school on days his pain was especially strong, although he preferred to be at school with all his friends.
Arthur’s decline soon became more apparent. His skin took on a sickly yellowish hue, and Merlin noticed dark circles forming under his eyes. Arthur's once baby-fat cheeks began to hollow, his small frame steadily losing weight as his previously robust figure grew increasingly gaunt. He'd been fatiguing constantly.
Merlin had been desperately trying to convince himself that it was just a very persistent stomach bug, but after the second time Arthur awoke in the night, clutching his abdomen and whimpering in pain, Merlin bundled Arthur into the car the next morning and sped to the doctor’s office, mind racing with fear and worry.
As they sat in the pediatrician's waiting room, Arthur leaned heavily against Merlin's side, his eyes half-closed. Merlin stroked his son's golden hair, noticing how sallow Arthur's pale skin had become.
"Daddy?" Arthur's voice was small.
"Yes, my little knight?"
"Am I sick?"
Merlin's heart clenched. He wanted to reassure Arthur, to tell him everything was fine. But he couldn't bring himself to lie. "I'm not sure, Arthur. That's why we're here. To find out what's making you feel poorly and fix it."
Arthur nodded, seeming older than his nine years. "Okay. But you'll stay with me, right?"
"Always," Merlin promised, pulling Arthur closer. "I'll always be right here with you."
As they waited for the doctor to call them in, Merlin's mind raced with possibilities. He thought of Freya, wishing desperately she was here to help, to share this burden. But as he looked down at Arthur, brave even in his fatigue, Merlin steeled himself. Whatever they were facing, he would not let his young son see his fear. He would be strong for Arthur.
The nurse called Arthur's name, and Merlin stood, taking Arthur's hand. As he walked towards the examination room, Merlin whispered a silent prayer to whoever might be listening. Please, he thought, let it be something simple, something fixable. Please let my little boy be okay.
What he thought might be a simple explanation turned into a barrage of tests and anxious waiting. The pediatrician's initial examination led to furrowed brows and concerned glances, setting off alarm bells in Merlin's mind.
"Mr. Emrys," Dr. Kilgharrah said, his voice gentle but serious, "I'd like to run some tests on Arthur. Given his symptoms, we need to rule out a few things."
Merlin nodded, trying to keep his composure for Arthur's sake. "Of course, whatever you need to do."
What followed was a whirlwind of activity. Blood draws that made Arthur whimper and cling to Merlin's hand. Imaging tests where Arthur lay still in large, intimidating machines, his brave face occasionally cracking to reveal his fear.
"You're doing great, my little knight," Merlin would encourage, his heart breaking a little each time Arthur's lower lip trembled.
Days turned into weeks of appointments and procedures. Their cozy home, once filled with laughter and play, became a waiting room of sorts. The refrigerator door, previously adorned with Arthur's colorful artwork, now held a calendar crowded with medical appointments. For the time being, as they awaited his diagnosis, Arthur, who was suffering from jaundice, intense pain, and significant weight loss, stayed in the hospital as they tended to his mysterious symptoms.
"Daddy," Arthur asked one evening, as Merlin had to help him into his pajamas, "are the doctors going to make me better?"
Merlin paused, searching for the right words. "They're trying their very best, Arthur. And you know what? You're helping them by being so brave."
Arthur nodded solemnly. "Like a knight on a quest?"
"Exactly like that," Merlin agreed, his voice thick with emotion.
The waiting was excruciating. Each phone call made Merlin's heart race, hoping for answers but dreading what they might be. He found himself bargaining with the universe—he'd give anything, everything, just to see Arthur healthy and carefree again.
Their two remaining family members rallied around them. Granny Hunith came to stay overnights at the hospital with Merlin most nights to keep Arthur company, as did Arthur's great-uncle Gaius occasionally. Uncle Gaius was a busy physician at the hospital where Arthur was being tested, his expertise providing both reassurance and added concern.
Arthur's teacher sent home care packages filled with get-well cards from his classmates, each one a reminder of the normal life that now felt so distant. But the daily visits from his close-knit group of friends truly did wonders to brighten his days.
Lance often brought in new books for Arthur about brave knights and magical quests. "So you can have adventures even when you're resting," he'd say, his kind eyes full of concern for his friend.
Gwaine, the class clown, never failed to make Arthur laugh with his silly jokes and exaggerated stories. He'd dramatically recount their playground adventures, turning simple games of tag into epic tales of daring escapes.
Leon, the most serious of his little gang of riffraffs, would bring Arthur his missed schoolwork, determined to help his friend keep up. "When you come back to school, you won't have fallen behind," he'd assure Arthur with a solemn nod.
Elyan brought card games and taught Arthur new tricks. "This way, you'll be unbeatable when you come back to school," he'd grin, dealing out another hand.
Percy, gentle giant that he was, simply sat with Arthur, his quiet presence a comfort. He shared his snacks of fresh berries (one of the few foods Arthur could usually keep down) and listened attentively as Arthur talked about his treatments, never showing fear or pity.
Mordred, the youngest and quietest, often brought Arthur small treasures he'd found—interesting rocks, unusual leaves, or handmade bracelets. "For luck," he'd whisper, pressing them into Arthur's hand.
Through it all, Merlin tried to maintain a sense of normalcy for Arthur, basically moving himself into the hospital. They still had their bedtime stories, and as they played board games during long waits for test results, Merlin marveled at Arthur's ability to find joy even in these sterile, anxious environments. Arthur's friends often joined in after school, turning the hospital room into a lively hub of childish chatter and laughter.
But there were moments when the facade cracked. Like when Arthur, tired after another round of tests and a visit from his friends, looked up at Merlin with tears in his eyes and asked, "Daddy, why can't I just be like other kids? Like my friends?"
Merlin's heart clenched at the question. He sat on the edge of Arthur's bed, gently stroking his son's hair. "Oh, my little knight," he said softly, "you are like your friends in all the ways that truly matter. You're brave like Lance, funny like Gwaine, smart like Leon, clever like Elyan, kind like Percy, and thoughtful like Mordred."
Arthur sniffled, leaning into his father's touch. "But they don't have to be in the hospital all the time. They can play and go to school."
Merlin nodded, choosing his words carefully. "That's true, and I know it's hard. But you know what? Your friends miss you just as much as you miss them. They can't wait for you to get better and join them again. And in the meantime, they love coming to see you and bringing the fun to you."
Arthur seemed to consider this for a moment. "They do make the hospital less scary," he admitted.
"Exactly," Merlin smiled, pulling Arthur into a hug. "And one day, when all this is over, you'll have so many adventures together. For now, we're on a different kind of adventure. One that's testing our bravery and strength. But we're facing it together, just like the Knights of the Round Table in our stories."
As Arthur drifted off to sleep, clutching the latest treasure from Mordred, Merlin felt a surge of gratitude for his friends who had become like family, almost like they were his own children. Their constant support was like a shining light in all the confusion, showing both him and Arthur that they weren’t alone in this fight.
As the days of testing stretched on, Merlin found himself oscillating between hope and despair. He'd catch himself staring at Arthur while he slept, memorizing every feature of his face, terrified of what the future might hold. The sight of Arthur's increasingly emaciated frame, his once hardy body now markedly thinner, filled him with a deep-seated fear for what the future might bring.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Merlin received a call while in Arthur's room. He stepped out to take the call. The doctor wanted to see him in person to discuss the results. As Merlin hung up, a mix of relief and dread washed over him. They would finally have answers, but were they ready for what those answers might be?
"Daddy, where are you going?" Arthur asked, as Merlin grabbed his things preparing to go meet with the doctor.
"You're getting your diagnosis today, my little knight." Merlin was smiling, hoping it conveyed optimism, but deep down he was scared. He was fucking terrified.
"Take me with you?" Arthur asked, nibbling his lower lip.
Merlin hesitated, then patted his son's head. "Okay, love."
Merlin walked into the doctor's office, with Arthur in a hospital wheelchair. Merlin took a deep breath. Whatever news awaited them, he knew one thing for certain—he and Arthur would face it together, with all the strength and courage of the knights in their bedtime stories.
Dr. Kilgharrah's face was etched with deep sadness as he looked at Merlin and his son. "Mr. Emrys," he began, his voice soft but firm, "I've reviewed Arthur's tests and, unfortunately, the diagnosis is stage four pancreatic cancer."
The world seemed to stop. Merlin didn't hear Arthur's sharp intake of breath, nor Arthur's muffled cry. Pancreatic. Cancer. Merlin’s already pale face had gone even paler as Dr. Kilgharrah spoke, his heart feeling like it was going to explode with panic and dread and terror.
No no no, not my son, not my precious baby. This can't be happening. Tears spilled down his cheeks but he quickly wiped them away. He had to keep it together for Arthur.
Arthur's face crumpled in confusion and worry. "What does that mean, Dr. Kilgharrah?" he asked, his voice trembling. "Is there a way to make me better? Can we fix it so I don't have to be sick anymore?" His hopeful eyes filled with tears as he struggled to understand the seriousness of the news.
Taking a deep breath, Dr. Kilgharrah explained gently as he looked into Arthur's eyes, "This particular type of cancer is known for its subtle symptoms in the early stages, Arthur. By the time a person shows symptoms, it's already heavily progressed. In your case, I regret to say that the disease has advanced significantly and is typically considered incurable at this point."
Merlin gasped, and Arthur let out a tiny sob. "Incurable?" Merlin cried, tears rolling down his slender cheeks.
The doctor nodded solemnly. "We are looking at a prognosis of about two to six months. I know this is devastating news, and I want you to know that we will do everything possible to keep Arthur comfortable and to support you both during this time."
Merlin felt as if the ground had been pulled out from under him, as if someone had just sucker punched him in the gut and then ran him over a million times with a bulldozer. He gripped Arthur’s hand tightly, his mind struggling to process the words. Two to six months. His little boy. His brave, beautiful boy. He stared at the ground, his breath coming in shallow gasps.
“Two to six months,” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. His hands trembled as he gripped the edge of the chair for support. He choked out a muted sob, trying not to gasp for breath.
“I… I don’t know how to handle this,” he gasped, gulping for air. His voice cracked with raw emotion. “Arthur’s just a child."
Dr. Kilgharrah’s eyes held a mixture of empathy and concern as he continued, "The cause of this disease in childhood is largely thought to be caused by genetic mutations. There was nothing you could have done, Mr. Emrys. We’ll focus on managing his symptoms and providing the best care we can. Please let us know how we can support you in this difficult time."
Merlin tuned the doctor out, staring wordlessly at the floor, as Dr. Kilgharrah droned on about end-of-life counseling the hospital offered for patients and their families, available spiritual services, support groups, and the like. Incurable and Two to six months was all that was running in Merlin's mind on repeat.
Dr. Kilgharrah’s expression softened with empathy as he knelt down to Arthur’s level. “I’m so sorry, Arthur,” he said gently. “It’s a very tough thing to hear, and I wish there were easier words to say.”
MONTH ONE
The days that followed the devastating prognosis were a blur of hospital visits, emotional conversations, and fleeting moments of joy amidst the heavy cloud of impending loss.
Dr. Kilgharrah informed a tearful Merlin that at stage four, surgery to remove it was not possible due to the tumor’s widespread spread to Arthur's other organs. He informed Merlin that since the cancer had progressed to stage 4, treatment options were extremely limited with this particular type of cancer. As stated, and reiterated, all they could do now was make sure the remainder of Arthur's life was as comfortable as possible.
Merlin did his best to provide Arthur with a semblance of normalcy, moving Arthur back home and only going to the hospital when it was absolutely necessary.
With Gaius's professional expertise, Merlin learned how to monitor Arthur’s condition and administer medication. Merlin took Carer’s Leave as soon as Arthur was diagnosed, which enabled him to take paid leave to care for his little boy every day. His 61-year-old mother Hunith immediately moved in to help care for Arthur whenever she could as well. With Merlin's mother's help, the two provided Arthur with at-home hospice, for which Arthur was eternally grateful.
One evening, Merlin sat with Arthur, trying to explain the option of chemotherapy and radiation therapy. Dr. Kilgharrah had gently outlined the potential benefits and side effects earlier in the day.
"Arthur," Merlin began softly, holding his thin hand, "the doctors have a treatment called chemotherapy and radiation therapy. Those might help slow the cancer, but they could also make you feel really sick. At this stage, it won't cure the cancer, but it could give us more time together."
Arthur looked up at his father, blue eyes glistening with the wisdom of a much older person. "Daddy," he said quietly, "I don't want to throw up more. I don't know how that could possibly make me feel better. I have a hard enough time keeping food down as it is. I want to play with Lance, Gwaine, and all the others. I want to watch my favorite movies with you. If they won't make the cancer go away, I don't want those treatments."
Merlin's heart ached at the clarity and strength in his son's voice. "Are you sure, Arthur?" he asked gently, tears welling in his eyes. Desperately Merlin went on, "The therapy can give us more time together, more moments to share."
But Arthur shook his head, anger and despair mixing in his eyes. "What's the point of more time if I'm just going to feel worse? I hate being sick all the time."
Arthur paused, reaching out his arms to his father for a hug, just as he used to do as a tot. Merlin wrapped him up in the warmest hug Arthur could ever recall receiving. Arthur, with tears streaming down his face, sobbed distortedly, "I hate that it hurts you too."
Merlin rubbed circles into Arthur's back, weeping. "I hate it too, my little knight. More than anything. Every moment we have together is precious to me. I want to see you smile, hear your laugh, even if it's just for a little longer."
Arthur squeezed his father tighter, before pulling back to look him in the eyes. "Then make it happy for me, Daddy? I don't want procedures that will make me feel worse if it won't cure me. I want to feel as good as I can for as long as I can. I don't want to spend my remaining time feeling worse. Can we just try to have fun together instead?"
Merlin hugged his son gently, forcing a smile, before kissing his son gently on the cheek. "Of course, Arthur. We'll make the most of every moment, I promise."
MONTH TWO
Some days, Arthur went to the hospital for surgeries. The bile duct bypass surgery helped to reroute the bile flow, easing the painful blockages that caused severe discomfort and jaundice.
Stent placement, another procedure Arthur endured, helped keep his bile ducts open, allowing him to digest food more easily and reducing the sickly yellow tint of his skin.
Each procedure was a temporary reprieve. While surgery was unable to remove the cancer at this stage, it helped relieve symptoms for Arthur, at least for a little while. The relief, though fleeting, provided precious moments of comfort and a semblance of normalcy for the young boy.
Nights were the hardest. After tucking Arthur in, Merlin would lay in his own bed and break down for hours, shaking and sobbing quietly so as not to wake his son in the next room, or his grieving mother in the guest room. He was spiraling. The weight of Arthur's fate pressed down heavily on him, the helplessness of it all making even the simplest tasks feel monumental. He knew life could be unfair, but after the premature deaths of his father, best mate Will, and Freya, his life seemed like one big cosmic joke after another. He wanted more than anything for this to be one horrific nightmare he could wake from.