The Payment Required
By Alone Dreaming
Rating: PG or K+ for angst and mild (but necessary) violence
Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin. If I did, this would not be under fan fiction.
Warnings: Possibly offensive behavior from a father to a son. I warn against it but feel it appropriate as the father is also the king and the son, a prince. Otherwise, this is a tag to 2.08 and will not make sense without seeing the episode.
Author's Note: I initially wrote this with the intention of fluff and then it came out as an angst-fest. However, I still like it for what it's worth, and feel it wraps up a few issues (though not all of them) brought up in the episode. This is a one shot, unbeta'd except for a read through on my part. Please enjoy.
Merlin had never watched the life drain from someone in this manner before. He had watched injuries sap strength, poison force surrender, illness deprive breath but he had never seen someone collapse from emotional upheaval. Even seconds after Arthur sank to his knees by his father and Uther pressed a kiss upon his head, whispering more love in a few sentences than Merlin had ever seen him express even when Arthur lay dying, he witnessed the light fading from Arthur's red-rimmed eyes and his skin acquiring a deathly pallor. Every tear that traced a track down the normally pompous prince's face took a bit of health with it until Arthur easily looked ill.
He could not be the only one seeing the prince and military leader die but no one else felt the rising panic. In fact, the few people entering merely kept a respectful distance as the king bent over his fallen child in a rare sign of affection. Perhaps they all stood in shock of Uther's blatant display, Merlin reasoned, his heart racing in his chest with adrenaline, with the fact that he lied to protect a hypocrite king; a king who would, without a thought, slay him if he ever learned of Merlin's magical talent. But Gaius hovered behind him, an accomplice in lying to the future king, a trusted advisor, a healer of ills, and even he did not react to Arthur's slow slide against the chair until only the wood and the king kept him from the ground. Merlin reached forward subconsciously, feeling as though he ought to do something but Uther took care of the situation for him by taking Arthur by the shoulders.
With one tug, he brought Arthur back to his feet, the gentleness of his features washed away by the duty of a king under scrutiny. If even he, standing less than a foot away, could not sense the sudden changes in Arthur's physical appearance, then surely Merlin must have hallucinated it all. Maybe Arthur looked this way the entire time, the strain of travel to Morgause's palace and back, the strain of the spell, the strain of the knowledge, having warped him over the course of their journey; but somehow he doubted that as he saw the sweat building at Arthur's temples, on his neck, mixing with the tears under his eyes. Uther turned to the knights peering in the room, peered at he and Gaius, then at the single servant watching the events unfold.
"Father," Arthur whispered, his voice hoarser than Merlin has ever heard it. Despite Uther's supporting hands, he dropped to one knee. "Sire, whatever punishment you deem necessary," the tears still dripped from his eyes, "I accept readily. I have slandered your name, questioned your honor, threatened your life, disobeyed your orders. Whatever payment you require will be too little."
Never once had Merlin witnessed Uther showing mercy in the face of the public. As king, his duty required strength and consistency; and Uther took that duty so seriously that often Merlin wondered what lurked beneath that stern mask. When the Questing Beast nearly took Arthur's life and he watched the King attempt to carry his ailing son to his rooms, he thought he had seen concern for Arthur's life. Since then, he had questioned whether Uther wept for the possible loss of his child or the possible loss for the heir he sacrificed his wife's life for. This will answer it, he thought, wondering why his heart still pounded in his ears and why Arthur looked all the more pale.
"You have done all of these things," Uther agreed, his features stony. "And for those things, you ought to be put to death. But," Merlin felt a sigh escape, "I recognize that most of this behavior stemmed from the lies told to you by the sorceress. As such, I believe that magic has tainted your choices and I forgive the slander, the questions and the threats. However, the disobeyed orders which led to this situation cannot be overlooked."
The Arthur he knew not so long ago would've argued that he acted in the name of his honor. His life, should he have broken his oath, would have been forfeit and his word, ruined for all he made promises to in the future. But this Arthur, sweaty, pale, face so damp that he could have bathed, said nothing at all, merely hung his head as though he has done something wrong. And Merlin felt, not for the first time, that he could truly hate Uther for his coldness.
The servant let out a soft gasp and Merlin started as a loud crack followed simultaneously by another loud crack echoed through the room. Uther's hand hovered by Arthur's head, raised as though to strike, and Merlin immediately realized what happened. Arthur's cheeks glowed darkly with the promise of bruising by the next day, but he kept his head down in acceptance. The hatred in Merlin bubbled and roared his chest and it took a great deal of control to not similarly knock some sense into the king. Whatever Arthur had done wrong, it barely shined a light on Uther's sins. Watching Arthur receive punishment for actions—while Merlin did not agree with them completely—that were fully justified, rubbed an already open wound formed by the constant secret keeping.
"You will not disobey me like this again," Uther informed Arthur. "And you will prove to me your loyalty."
"You will never have reason to doubt me," Arthur whispered, his voice even weaker than before, slurred by his swelling face.
Uther, once again, offered Arthur a hand. "The halls will be emptied so the prince and I may retire. I think we have both had enough excitement without the disturbance of spectators!" The servant immediately bolted away while the guards moved to clear the hall. In this time, Arthur did not take his father's hand. He merely stared at it as though he did not quite understand its purpose, his eyes glazed, red and tearing.
"My lord," Gaius began.
"Gaius, fetch a sleeping drought and poultice for my son so he may rest. He has had a trying time," Uther commanded, his hand still stretched out before him. "Arthur."
Arthur's voice sounded childish, a whine not at all akin to his fussing while sick or annoyed. "She looked so real. She sounded so real."
"Arthur, you will go to your chambers," Uther withdrew his hand as he spoke. "And you will rise tomorrow to train and lead your men."
His skin seemed grey to Merlin, grey to the point of competing with the stone walls, grey like the man who died from the raven's piercing dart, grey like the clouds outside. He raised his gaze to catch his father's, his throat bobbing up and down, all pretense of calm, collected, apologetic prince lost under the sadness of a confused little boy. "I no longer know what to believe."
This was Uther's last chance in Merlin's mind, his last moment to prove himself a father as well as a ruler. A father would see his child's pain, embrace it, try to shoulder part of the burden. His own mother, at the more difficult parts of his life, would gently take him into her arms and rock him. While he did not envision the stalwart king doing this, he had to believe that the paternal side of Uther, the side that was forced to raise a child singlehandedly, would recognize the soft words as a plea for comfort. Arthur never begged for his father's affection, never crawled to him seeking approval or love; even now, he did not ask for a kind word, only guidance, only one simple assurance that he was choosing the right path.
Uther did nothing for so long that Merlin nearly took his place, intent on nothing else than helping Arthur away from this. At least then, he could grieve in private in his own rooms. He even took a step forward to begin his rescue only to feel a hand upon his shoulder. Gaius stood next to him, having not departed as Uther requested; his face warned against interruption even as Merlin craved to do just that.
Uther used both his hands to pull Arthur up and then staggered as Arthur's knees folded up under him. Together, father and son, they fell to a heap on the ground and Gaius, probably out of shock more than anything, released his grip so that Merlin could start forward. But now, he found he had no need for the king pulled his son close and tight, pressing his lips upon his forehead once again, tears dripping down his face.
"I am so sorry," he heard Uther whisper. "I am so sorry."