Author's Note: This is a short, one-shot fic set in the BBC's wonderfully amusing 'Merlin' series. Wrote this as a warm-up to work on a coauthored fic with my dear friend, writing partner, and beta reader, fuzzytomato. Cheers to her.
The few of King Uther's most trusted nobles and warriors file out of his candle lit sleeping chamber, ashen faced but accepting the harsh reality of their lordship's fate. Among them, Prince Arthur, face grim but emotion unreadable as he hurries from his father's presence.
Uther Pendragon, first king of Camelot, lies mortally wounded upon his bed, alive but fading. He had been rushed back to the palace by his loyal soldiers from the field of his victorious battle against King Octa of Kent and his Saxon barbarians. It was, however, won at a heavy price.
"Gaius, surely there's something we can do!" Merlin whispers in a hushed frenzy to his friend and mentor, "A cure, a poultice, magic--"
"Shush!" the wizened man retorts, placing an arm around his young apprentice, looking over his shoulder to make sure the king hadn't heard before ducking away and saying, "You should know better than to mention...that...in the King's presence!"
Gaius can see it in the boy's eyes; he knows Merlin isn't particularly fond of Uther but also knows that his compassion for life doesn't make this easy for him. Uther is Arthur's father and Merlin will do anything to spare the prince this kind of pain.
"Merlin," Gaius says, his severity deflating, "Sometimes you just have to accept the natural order of things."
"That's not good enough, he's the king," Merlin states, shaking his head, "Surely we can do something."
"Gaius."
Uther's strained voice brings both Gaius and Merlin up from their private huddle off to the the side of the room. Gaius turns and approaches the bed. Morgana is kneeling on the other side of her guardian's bed and the old physician can see the dried tears staining her cheeks as she looks up mournfully.
"Gaius," Uther says again, raising his hand weakly.
"I'm here, sire," Gaius, taking the king's hand.
Even in death, his grip is strong.
"The battle is won, and it's my time to die."
The elder looks over at Merlin and the boy meets his gaze before Gaius returns to the king.
"You've treated my family in all of their ills and your council has always been a blessing," Uther says, head propped up on a pillow and managing to smile, "thank you, old friend."
"It has been my honor to serve you and will be my honor to serve your son."
Uther's grip tightens and he tugs the physician lower, demanding, "Watch over him, Gaius. Advise him as you would me. I've taught him all I can, but he is still young. Watch him."
"I will, sire."
Uther relaxes his grip, coughs harshly before his head turns slightly and he calls out, "You. Merlin."
Merlin snaps upright and stands at the king's bedside awkwardly. "Mi'lord?"
"Swear to me that as Arthur's servant you will serve and defend him...to the best of your ability...with absolute loyalty, and that whatever mental afflictions you may suffer will never bring a danger to him or to Camelot."
Merlins swallows hard, but doesn't blink as he answers, "I swear it, mi'lord."
Again, Uther smiles, a shred of typical smugness present on the crease of his lips.
"You are faithful. Perhaps Arthur was right to save your life. Lucky for both of you that you pulled through anyhow."
"Uh, yes, lucky," Merlin manages, avoiding the king's eyes.
Again, the elder Pendragon coughs, and a number of wracking wheezes shake his body.
"Milord," Morgana says in worry, wiping the king's brow. He settles then, his head turning and smiling at his beloved ward.
"Morgana," he says simply.
She takes his hand in hers and allows him to place it on her cheek and tears spring anew as he does.
"My dearest Morgana," Uther says softly, " I'm sorry I must pass the same way as your real father."
"Don't speak so," Morgana says, forcing a weak smile, "You have yet to go, you have many years ahead."
Uther smiles, half chuckling half coughing, "I'm only happy we could resolve our differences before now. A pity to be at odds with my only daughter"
A quiet sob slips past Morgana lips as she buries her face against his arm, whispering, "And you, my father."
The king stirs then, turning his head, calling out, "Arthur? Where is my son? Where is Arthur?
Gaius turns to Merlin, "Go and fetch the king's son immediately."
Merlin's practically running down the corridor to Arthur's chambers, barely stopping outside and restraining himself from barging in, as he's accustomed to. This is a delicate situation and he should be careful.
"Arthur, your father's dying," he blurts as he swings the door open.
The prince doesn't respond, remaining seated and facing his bed, posture slouched, almost broodingly, his hands folded a few inches from his chin, elbows rested on the chair's arms. He doesn't even blink at the intrusion or given any sign that he's noticed.
"Do you hear what I'm saying?" Merlin asks with astonishment at his friend's inaction, "Your father has called for you, he doesn't have much time left."
Still Arthur remains, glowering into space, not a muscle twitching.
Merlin bends over, taking his friend by the shoulders, "Arthur, your father is dying."
The prince moves with a speed Merlin could never see coming, pushing his servant off him, standing, grabbing the other boy in a fit of raw strength and despair.
"My father," Arthur annunciates between clenched teeth, eyes blazing, "is fine."
He flings the door open and shoves Merlin out bodily before slamming it shut once again.
Guenivere, caught off guard on her way down the hall, halts in shock as Merlin sails by and lands in a heap at the wall.
He winces, lips peeled back in pain as he rubs the side of his head, mouthing an excruciating 'ow'.
"Merlin!" Gwen finds her voice, rushing to her friend's side, "Are you alright?"
"Mng," Merlin groans, "I will be. It's Arthur I'm worried about."
Gwen smiles. "I don't think you have to worry about having hurt him. Not that I don't think you could," she suddenly amends, avoiding his eyes, "I'm sure you can do anything if you really wanted. Well not anything, but--"
"Gwen," Merlin tries to interrupt.
"--most things, well, those things you wanted to--"
"Gwen, Uther is dying!"
Her words evaporate and instead she gasps, hands rushing to her mouth, eyes wide.
"I knew, I knew the king was wounded, but...no. No, Merlin, you must be mistaken."
He shakes his head dourly, "Arthur refuses to accept it. Gwen, his father is dying and Arthur needs to be there at his side."
"I'll talk to him," Gwen reassures urgently, rising and hesitating at the door before knocking softly.
No response . She glances at Merlin uncertainly before cracking the door open and slipping inside.
Gwen closes the door behind her, watching Arthur as he leans with his elbow against the wall by the window. He's shaking slightly and he doesn't address her. Gwen's hands cross her midsection to fold nervously at her waist.
"Arthur..." she begins hesitantly.
"Leave," Arthur deadpans without turning.
She bows her head and looks away at his dismissal, finds her courage and speaks up again.
"Arthur, you should be there. Your father wants to say goodbye."
"I wasn't aware he was going anywhere," Arthur replies in a tone full of sarcasm and barely more civil than a snarl.
"Arthur, Uther is dying and soon you will be king! Go to your father, listen to his parting words, receive his blessing!"
"And what if I'm not ready to be king!" Arthur shouts, rounding on the girl who tenses up at his outburst, his sudden approach, the frightening gleam in his eyes, "I'm not ready to lose him. Camelot isn't ready to lose him."
Gwen's brow creases and worry crosses her face as she speaks with distress, "Arthur, hiding here won't change things."
Arthur grunts, glaring and then avoiding her gaze and returning to the window.
"You're not alone," she tries reassuringly, crossing the room to stand next to him, "No one in Camelot wants your father to die."
"Not even you?" Arthur comes back, "He killed your father."
She's taken aback by this, mouth agape before pressing her lips together, closing her eyes.
"I wouldn't wish the same for you."
Arthur turns to look her over, though not out of apology or regret for his biting words. Her eyes open to meet his.
"And what of the kingdom?" he throws out defensively, gesturing nonsensically, "I am not fit to be king and if I cannot, then he must."
"But you are fit to be king!" Gwen responds immediately, hurt that her lord could even suggest himself unable, "You have a just heart, your skill at the sword is unmatched, your--"
"Words, just words," Arthur interrupts, flippant, irrational, ranting, "I can't lead these people like my father has. No. Uther," he looks away, staring at the flickering fire, adding softly, "can't die."
"I've seen you lead," Gwen counters determinedly, "Your friends, your knights, the people of Ealdor."
His face softens slightly and she takes his hand, bringing him to meet her gaze as she says, "You're ready to be king. The people are ready for you to be king. Your father is ready for you to be king."
Arthur brushes by Merlin on his way out. Merlin is startled but doesn't respond as the prince strides toward his destiny, face grim but accepting. He wasn't prepared for it so soon. It shouldn't have happened this way.
But it did, Merlin reflects, as he follows after the prince. He has seen his friend to the throne and now Merlin is ready to stand at the new king's side.
Arthur passes under the door to the king's chambers. Morgana is weeping. Gaius' head is bowed. Uther is dead.
Arthur flinches, halts in the doorway for the briefest moment, before crossing to his father's bedside, kneeling, and crying.
So passes Uther Pendragon. So begins the reign of Arthur Pendragon, the once and future king.
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End Note: If you enjoyed this, please look into reading, "The Inherent Dangers of Shortcuts and Projectiles". The fic is a duel effort by fuzzytomato and I, posted under her name. Hope to read your reviews here and there, and thanks for reading :)