Echoes Of The Balance

At the end on series one, we learnt that Igraine, Uther's wife, had died in child birth. We learnt Uther had gone to Nimueh and begged her to save his child, Arthur. Nimueh did so, but Igraine had to die in order to restore 'The Balance' in which it states, in order for there to be a life, there must be a death. Uther then banished Nimueh and magic there after.

This is a one-shot that takes place on Arthur's birthday in which Uther drowns his sorrows and thinks of Igraine and in which Merlin sees the agony Arthur feels for being the cause of his father's hatred and pain.

Inspired by Tornintopieces on my forum.

Pairings: Uther/Igraine and Merlin/Arthur

No warnings, rated T to be safe and this is a very dark fic. Enjoy and don't forget to review x

The king's chambers had to be the biggest, beautifulness, most luxurious chambers in the whole kingdom, perhaps in every kingdom. The furniture was old, yet, it was strong and well-made, as sturdy as the day it was made. The materials were different shades of violet, some light, some dark, but all the same colour. Although the smell had gone so long ago, Uther could still recall it. Dresses and magnificent gowns no longer filled the mighty wardrobes and cupboards anymore; they were soon replaced by tunics and capes, by boots and sword sheaths. The king only wanted to fill the space, even if it were with things he didn't need.

You see, this room was hers. It had always been hers. A gift for her when she first called Camelot castle home. She chose the furniture. Violet was her favourite colour. It was her smell, a mixture of sweet fruit – apples of peaches, the old king thought both – and lavender, of course. It was her dresses and magnificent gowns. It was her space. It was her.

Igraine the beautiful, Queen of Camelot, mother to the brave Prince Arthur and lover to the reigning and just King Uther.

There was a time, long before timeless wars and broken hearts when she lived, his heart keeper. She lived and she laughed, she breathed and she smiled, she walked and danced in that hall, now silenced forever. His Igraine.

True, everyone hated her. The men of the court feared her hold on Uther. How she could change his mind with a single word, her compassion limitless. How she could stop him making mistakes and how she granted freedom, sometimes, to those that didn't deserve it. They feared that the power of Camelot was held by her instead of the king. But Uther didn't care. She was his and that was all that mattered.

Then there was blood. And screaming. And crying. He begged, he wept, and he got on his knees and grabbed that sorceress's dress.

"Please, Nimueh! Please!" the voice was not his own. It wasn't a king's. It was a dying man's, "Save them, Nimueh! Save my child! Don't let me lose my family! Please!"

And she did just that. She saved his son. And she came out, scarlet smeared on her cheek, and she handed him to the shrieking bundle, and she spoke the words he never forgot,

"I'm sorry, Uther. She lives with the Gods now. Her only wish was for you to take your son and raise him with all the love and care of two parents. With her last breath, Uther, she smiled and named his Arthur". Uther was frozen with shock, and Nimueh was disgusted,

"Will not you hold your son?" she shouted and the baby just cried. Louder and louder. Uther pushed her away, pushed away the monster that killed his love. His angel. His Igraine. Falling to his knees in a cry of anguish, Uther died with his wife that night.

That night was in summer. It had been a beautiful summer that year. Igraine loved the sun. But, when they died, time did not. Summer came again after that, and every year there after.

And our tale begins here, where again it is summer, and the eve of Igraine's death. But, with death, there was life. Arthur's birthday was almost coming to an end, the moon now watching over the world as it had been for many an hour. The celebrations were breath-taking. Music and dancing; laughing and drinking. The feasts lasted all day, and everyone was drunk by the end of the last song.

Uther woke up hollow that morn, as he did every morn, and the day passed in a heart-beat. He laughed when other did, ate when other ate and clapped when others clapped. He plastered a smile to his face and pretended he was on top of the world. His son saw this, he always did, but he turned a blind eye. Never had his birthdays been any different.

The prince and the king drowned themselves together, ale being the only way to get through the night. The Lady Morgana watched on, as she did every year, with eyes of sorrow for them both. The servants never dared speak of such things, but, they too weren't blind. Apart from one, for whom, tonight was his first observation of such an event.

Merlin felt pain for his master, and saw Arthur's smile fade and break, his expression shattering for a brief second as he looked to his father when he thought no one else was watching. It seemed to the warlock that the royal family was more messed up then anyone else imagined.

Merlin was there when everyone said there farewells to the king, the prince nodding to them as they wished him a wonderful day one last time. Merlin was there when Arthur chugged his last tankard down. Merlin was there when the prince lay his head down on the table, almost as if he was in pain, and closed his eyes. Merlin was there to kneel next to the prince and wipe his hair off his brow. Merlin was there to pull Arthur from his seat and slowly drag him to his room. Merlin was there to comfort the prince. Merlin was there to love the prince from a far, nothing more then a few glances and words. Merlin was there to be the second side of the coin.

The king didn't have anyone to comfort him anymore. The king didn't have someone to love him. The king didn't have Igraine anymore. He dragged himself to his chambers, closing and locking the door behind him. He always did so. He didn't start a fire or light a candle; he went to the two doors in the archway directly in front of him. Throwing them open, he embraced the night like an old friend.

It was cold. It was dark. The stars were out in a clear sky. It was beautiful. He fell into a chair just by the open gateway, and he picked up one of the jugs, full of wine. It was a strong wine, used with only the intention to get drunk. Gaius made it for the king every year, and on the same day, it was brought to Uther's chambers.

He drank straight from the jug, his throat burning in agony as he did so. It was raw alcohol, searing his naked emotions, and turning his melted heart into ice. So solid and cold, pain was beyond it. Again, those memories that haunted him played out before him as they did every year.

Her hair as golden as the day they met, falling instantly in love from across a full room of people they didn't see. Igraine had been married to another man in those days, a terrible yet caring husband who fell ill to a fatal poison from a long-gone enemy and who left her widowed and heartbroken in the rain. Uther had picked her up and, finally, the soul they shared became whole. But that was years ago, they were the ruling couple now.

Her dress was that of deep magenta, and threatening to be too small to her with the bulge of her waist getting bigger everyday. True, it was barely noticeable at the time, but it wouldn't be soon. She was lent over the balcony, one hand on her bump, so close to touching the child that grew in her. Their child.

Uther came towards her from behind, and upon hearing his footsteps, she turned with a gentle smile which he mirrored. She turned around, and their hands found each other. Spinning her around, she laughed in her musical voice, the laughter of a goddess, and she looked beautiful. They came together again, kissing briefly, both still grinning.

They were like love-sick teenagers. They always were. Their gazes then fell to that very bump, and they both touched it, both smiling as that smile never faded when they were together. Uther had wondered about his child at that moment, wondering if it would have his bravery and honour and his mother's compassion and beauty. Would it have blonde hair or brunette? Would it have his deep cobalt eyes or its mother stunning emerald ones? Would it be a king or queen one day?

He got a son. And heir. A future king. Arthur had the bravery, strength, commanding mind and honour of Uther, but, he got his mother's compassion. Her kind, loving heart. He inherited her golden locks, and her smile. Uther's shattered inside every time he looked into his emerald eyes. Igraine's eyes. He was so much like her, it hurt the king. Why did fate curse him so that he had Arthur, Igraine's son, there to haunt him with his mother's looks and lifestyle when he could never have Igraine again?

As he moved onto the next bottle, the memories blurred. He couldn't see her smile, or her face. He couldn't remember her in the sunlight of the balcony. He couldn't remember the bump, the bundle of shrieking rags. He couldn't remember the boy with blonde hair that ran to him when he had a nightmare, and awoke the king. He couldn't remember when he shouted at this boy for waking him and sent him away to a maid for comfort. He couldn't remember the warrior the boy became, deadly and venomous. He couldn't remember his son. He couldn't remember Arthur.

He just saw those eyes in his mind. As he hit his third bottle, his system began to falter, the amount of alcohol suffocating it. Beautiful emeralds. Full of life and love. Not his son's that were cracked at the edges, but his wife's. He smiled at the image in his mind. Igraine's eyes were always the last thing he saw that night every year as he fell into darkness, slumping over the edge of his chair and falling onto the floor with a painless thud. The maids would find him there in the morning. They always did.

……………………………….

Arthur blinked sleepily at Merlin, his eyes boring into the manservant. The prince was barely conscious, his body falling into a dreamless sleep from the ale. Alien emotions crossed the blonde-haired boys face, tinting his skin white as he grew paler. Emotions of regret. And guilt. And, to Merlin's horror, fear. Arthur reached out, as if he were blind, grabbing Merlin sleeve,

"Don't go, father" whispered the prince, his voice so wrong. Merlin almost gasped. If it weren't for the fact that the warlock knew the prince never would, he would have called it begging, "Please".

The manservant smiled sadly, taking the role of the king without a second thought and pulling the prince's grip off his arm. He lay Arthur back, brushing the hair from his eyes and replied,

"I'm here". Arthur only saw Uther in his mind. He needed to be forgiven. He couldn't take this anymore.

"I'm sorry, father. I didn't mean to kill her. Please, forgive me. I didn't mean to…" but the prince's voice didn't seem too able to say anymore. Merlin felt a part of him shred up for Arthur, knowing he could never feel the prince's pain. Never feel the agony that came with being hated by his only family.

"I forgive you, Arthur" was all the warlock could reply, and something in Arthur's eyes seem to calm down. A creature of suffering seemed to be tamed. Closing his eyes, the prince fell asleep as soon as the darkness was there. Merlin brushed Arthur's hair for a moment longer, and felt only pity for the prince.

One day, Arthur wouldn't have to see the hatred in his father every moment he stood by him. One day, Arthur wouldn't be the prince. But, Merlin feared that then, the pain would be greater still.