Royal Mistakes

For more than twenty years, he had been the most powerful man of Albion. Every other king in the land, every other army, every other person had bowed before him. He had never imagined he'd come to bow before anyone again, but, in his quest for a world in which he could live without fear, he had raised his own worst nightmare.

It wouldn't be an easy conversation even if he didn't understand her reasons too well. There were too many lies, too many mistakes, too much pain and hurt between them for it to be different. He knew, as he saw her walking inside, that he had failed in both his sacred duties, as a father and as a parent.

"Those people were innocent."

They were loyal. They had stood there and died for his inability to hold his own throne, defeated by an army built out of his own foolishness.

"As were so many that you put to death."

It wasn't hard to know what she was talking about – Morgana had long been clear on how she felt about his moves against those who had magic – her kin, she'd say. And yet, as she stood there, a sorceress, his own child, he couldn't find it in him to regret it. Magic was a danger – and she had made it even more clear, if it could transform someone so fair and compassionate as his daughter had been into the kind of person that had would put common people to death for no fault of their own. Or had that been him, as well? Was it magic that had corrupted her, or his own hatred of it, his hatred of who she was?

"If you must kill someone, kill me."

For Uther, it would be easier to pay his penance with his life than seeing everything he ever feared to become the reality around him. But, it seemed, that Morgana also knew it well enough.

"I will grant your wish. But not yet. First, I want you to suffer as I suffered. I want you to be scared and disgusted by who you are, as I were."

He couldn't even think of a reply, for the accusations were true. He had reigned with terror and a iron hand, he had brought disgrace to Camelot and fear into people's hearts. He had turned his back on magic, and now it had turned back against him, robbing him of everything he had ever cherished and loved – his kingdom, his children.

Another man might have said whatever words he could to try and make it right, but Uther knew some wounds were too deep to heal, and that too was his fault. The king had nothing to say to defend himself, but the father suffered as he asked his child, knowing the answer.

"Do you really hate me so much?"

"There are no words for how much I hate you."

And it hurt, far more than anything he could have imagined, it hurt far more than Ygraine's death or his own lies, more than the friends he lost and the people he failed. It hurt the very core of his soul, breaking it in a million pieces, undoing him from inside, and there was nothing he could do about it.

And as he watched her go, he knew this was his own shortcomings they would all pay for; for a father should be a King to his children, and a King should be a father to his people. He had been neither, and there was no one else to blame but himself.