Chapter 5

Arthur lingered in the doorway of his father's chambers. Neither Uther nor Gwen had noticed him yet. As he was most days, his father was slumped in the chair by the window as Gwen attended him. She was a much better sight; hair tied up in a charmingly messy bun and her pale blue dress swirling lightly around her as she moved.

It was difficult some days, seeing his father like this. It went against everything he'd come to associate with the man: strength, authority, absolute order. Arthur wondered if he would have been strong enough to make regular visits without Gwen's encouragement. She really was too good to him.

The serving girl finally spotted him lurking by the door. She gave him a gentle smile, one he knew was reserved for him, and wasn't he a lucky man for it. She came to join him after straightening the blanket over Uther's legs one more time.

"He's better today," she whispered, "much more present. I think talking to you will help a great deal."

"Thank you, Gwen," Arthur said quietly, skating a hand up and down her arm. He dared not do more than that here, not even with his father in his current state. Nevertheless, Gwen understood his intentions. For just a second she brushed a rough-worn hand that was still impossibly tender across his cheek before taking her leave.

Uther actually looked up when Arthur seated himself across from the defeated king. "Good morning, father," Arthur said respectfully. Cheerfulness never did anything, and was much harder to manage. "You look better today."

Uther gave no reply.

Soldiering forward despite the bite of disappointment, Arthur said, "I've come to report the proceedings of the most recent counsel. I know you like to keep informed, make sure that the kingdom is running smoothly. We discussed the annual levy this morning. The counsel suggested we raise it, but I feel the people are already overburdened."

He was unexpectedly cut off. "We should not talk of matters of court today."

Arthur stared, eyes wide and hope flaring inside. "Father?" he asked.

"You think I would ever forget that today is the anniversary of your birth?" For the first time in weeks, Uther looked up at his son.

A smile barely made it onto Arthur's lips, the greater flood of joy hidden behind it. It was the most his father had said at one time in months.

"I take it there are plans for suitable celebrations this evening?" Uther asked as he attempted to sit up straighter.

"A feast and, um…some entertainment." Arthur didn't quite know what to do with himself, caught between remaining proper and hugging his father. All he knew was that at this moment he felt happier than he had been in a while. "I'll tell you all about it tomorrow," he promised. If it could bring some of his old father back, he would tell him about it all day.

"Nonsense." Now Uther looked up, and some of that old fire was back, and a great deal of affection. Arthur's smile grew unrestrained. That look that was a mix of pride, care, and even a little teasing was all he ever sought from the man, half the reason he strove to not just be a good prince, but an excellent one. It could be so rare that every earning of it felt like a gift on its own. "You think I would miss my son's anniversary?"

Arthur, releasing a breath of laughter, shook his head. "Well, of course not. I'll see to it that some of your finer things are laid out for the feast. It'll be good for the men too, to see you at the head table again."

He kept talking, babbling about nothing as long as his father's energy seemed to hold. Arthur doubted Uther was even taking in half of what was being said, but he seemed content to just have Arthur there. Even looking over to see that the older man had nodded off as Arthur was telling him about the Samhain feast could not dampen the prince's spirits. He rose tentatively from his chair and crept from the room.

Upon exiting, Arthur caught voices chatting around the corner, and recognized them for Merlin and Gwen. His servant must have tracked him down to begin preparing for the celebrations. Normally Merlin's gabbing leading up to events like these was something to be avoided, but with Uther talking again and his birthday to look forward to, things almost seemed back to normal. He was more than willing to accept the chatter if he could keep that going.

The crowd of tumblers, fire breathers, and jugglers went about their business, unpacking their tools of trade and chattering excitedly about performing before royalty. They took no notice of a servant who appeared to just be watching with curiosity from the doorway.

Merlin peered around at the merry madness, at the performers as they practiced their acts and at the house servants doing their best to set up decorations while ducking around the entertainment.

It was the knife thrower, if he remembered correctly, that was involved in the assassination plot. He stared at the man's back. His magic was snarling beneath his skin again, angered by even the idea that someone within Merlin's line of sight meant Arthur harm. Calm down, he internally hissed at himself. Like an unconscious warning, the back of his neck twinged sharply.

He pushed off the doorframe and walked away. He had things to take care of anyway. For example, getting Arthur's freshly laundered ceremonial cloak delivered to him.

When he didn't find the prince in his chambers he made instead down the corridor toward the king's side of the royal wing. When he turned a corner, he spotted Gwen leaning up against the wall.

She jumped a bit when he crept up behind her, whispering a slight "boo" in her ear. He allowed a genuine grin when she turned on him, trying to look irate but failing. He had missed the easily-flustered friend he'd known; they had both become too serious in their later days together.

"Merlin," she scolded lightly. "I thought you had better manners."

He shrugged a shoulder. "Sorry. Couldn't resist." He nodded toward the next hallway. "Is Arthur in there?"

"Yes, he's in with his father. They're talking."

Merlin's eyebrows rose with false surprise. "Oh. Wow. That's good."

Gwen nodded. She glanced back toward the king's chambers, but not before Merlin caught the tender expression on her face. "I'm so glad for Arthur. He's been needing this," she said softly.

Merlin huffed a faint laugh, shaking his head. "You still amaze me, Gwen."

She turned to him again, an expression of both amusement and confusion lighting her lovely face. "Not that I'm not flattered, but wherever is this coming from?"

"It's coming from nowhere, I've always found you amazing," he said, laughing a little louder at her faint blush. The woman was all modesty — and maybe some lingering embarrassment about that crush she'd had on him at the beginning. "I just could never understand your kindness," he admitted. "Uther's been cruel to you in the past. How can you care for him like this?"

Gwen glanced down, her fingers threading together in thought. "I don't do it for the king's sake, I do it for Arthur's. No matter what Uther's done in the past, I know what it's like to lose a father. I love Arthur and I don't want to have him suffer that."

Merlin maintained his smile, but internally he felt a harsh bite of shame. It remained unseen, though, and he swept the serving girl a theatrical bow. "Truly you are the best of us. Can't say that if I was in your position, I wouldn't have pushed his chair over once or twice."

She gasped and swatted his arm. "Merlin! What if someone heard you?"

"Arthur would throw me in the stocks for a few days?"

"I think that would be the least of your worries," she warned.

Merlin gave a nod of agreement. "Maybe, but that's why I'm friends with the knights, in case I ever need a rescue. Why else do you think I help Gwaine and Percival filch food from the kitchens?"

"So that's how they've been doing it." Arthur had unexpectedly joined the conversation, turning the corner and sauntering up to them. "Very sneaky of you, Merlin. Perhaps I should report this to the kitchen matron?"

Putting on a look of worry, Merlin shook his head rapidly. "I'm sure that's not necessary, Arthur. Not very fitting of a prince to be tattling, and anyway I have your cloak. We should probably see to that before anything else, don't you think?"

"Oh, stop rambling, Merlin."

Gwen glanced between the two of them, poorly concealing a giggle behind a ladylike cough. "Does he need anything else, Arthur?"

"As a matter of fact," Arthur said, his pointed look dissolving into happiness, "the king will be attending the feast. If you bring some fitting clothes for him that would be perfect."

"Of course." Gwen curtsied, adhering to propriety in order to hide how pleased she looked as she left. Merlin wasn't fooled; she was overjoyed to see Arthur so uplifted. Merlin was more grateful than ever for her steadfast loyalty and care, because it would be sorely needed.

Arthur thumped him on the back, pushing him down the hallway in the opposite direction. "Come on, might as well get ready and get it over with."

"Now you're just complaining for the sake of it," Merlin said flatly as they walked.

Arthur shrugged. "Maybe. It's relaxing. But…I'm glad my father will be there. He hasn't been this aware in months." He turned to Merlin. His face was open and questioning, vulnerable in a way the prince had only ever been with Merlin and perhaps Gwen. Sometimes Merlin wondered if even Arthur knew how much he let his guard down. "Do you think this means he's getting better? It's certainly a good sign, right?"

Merlin shook his head. "I couldn't say. You never really know with that kind of trauma."

Arthur pursed his lips, his brows furrowing. "He's always been strong. He'll get over it," he said assuredly.

Merlin's fingers trembled just a bit. He shoved them into his jacket pockets. The knuckles of his left hand scraped painfully along the rune stone, which he had finished early that morning. "Let's hope," he said quietly.

"Do stop dragging your feet, Merlin. Not very seemly for the Crown Prince to be late to his own party."

The guests in the grand dining hall thundered applause as an acrobat flipped through the air, propelled from the shoulders of his fellow. The floor was a mass of bright colors and movement, and both knights and nobles were loving it. Arthur clapped loudly as one man shot a gout of fire from his mouth. Despite all of his complaining to Merlin, he was quite enjoying himself. Maybe that was because for the first time in months, his father was at his side, a little grayer of hair and lined of face, but looking just as excited as everyone else in the room.

The prince felt a tap on his shoulder and then Uther was leaning in towards his ear. "I remember when you were just a lad, the first time you were old enough to attend your birthday feast. You were so entranced with the performers your mouth was hanging open the entire night. I kept telling you it wasn't befitting a prince, but it didn't help. It was quite amusing," he chuckled.

Arthur grinned. His father hardly ever told stories like that. In fact, he could probably count the times Uther had been sentimental on one hand, if he excluded the whole troll incident.

Maybe losing Morgana had triggered the nostalgia. Arthur's jaw clenched and he gave his head a slight shake. No, he wouldn't dwell on that tonight. He already spent enough of his nights wondering what had gone wrong, what had propelled his friend and half-sister down the path of magic and evil. Tonight his father was aware, his people were happy, and there was something to celebrate. He forcefully turned his attention back to the performers. A juggler had just completed an act that Arthur had totally missed, but he applauded vigorously anyway. Damn all his worries, just for tonight.

The crowd of entertainers suddenly stopped all activities and parted, leaving the floor clear for their knife-thrower and leader. "I require a volunteer," the man cried with perfect theatricality. His narrow eyes fixed on Arthur, the challenge in them as obvious as if he'd shouted it. "Prince Arthur, what better or more fitting occasion for you to demonstrate your legendary bravery?" he questioned, practically sneering it. "Do you accept the challenge?"

If he was being perfectly honest, Arthur wasn't keen on the idea of spinning on a wheel after the few goblets of wine he'd had, much less doing it while having knives thrown at him. However, there was no way he was going to let a puffed-up gleeman back the prince of Camelot down from a challenge. And when he looked sideways at Uther, he saw his father smiling widely with genuine excitement.

Standing up, he spread his arms in a show of absolute nonchalance. After all, he was damning all worries tonight. Why should this be an exception?

He accepted the challenge.

Arthur was already flagging. What Merlin had put down to tipsiness the first time was clearly a sedative taking hold. As he followed the stumbling prince into his chambers and watched him bounce off a pillar, he was almost compelled to not allow Arthur out of his room. He would be utterly defenseless like this, and letting him go anywhere near danger in that state defied every last one of his instincts. Almost compelled were the key words, though. Arthur had gone through this night unscathed once before, so there was no reason that would not be the case a second time.

"It was good to see my father enjoying himself," Arthur said blearily, slumping against the bed. "He looked a little quiet towards the end there." The prince's face scrunched in thought before he popped up to his feet again. "Perhaps I should go see him."

"Are you sure?" Merlin asked. He was playing his part to script now. "You're not exactly steady on your feet."

"Are you saying I'm drunk?"

Merlin leaned up against the pillar, crossing his arms. "No, just that maybe it's not the best idea to be wandering around the palace."

Arthur swayed toward the door, addled mind already made up. "And why is that?"

Merlin smirked to himself, shaking his head slightly. "Because you're not wearing any trousers."

A beat of silence went by, before Arthur replied with a sulky "Good point." Merlin looked over his shoulder just in time to catch the prince yanking up said trousers and stumbling out the door.

A wave of sudden affection, sadness, and something close to nausea rolled over the warlock. Like everything else, it was so easy to focus so completely on the job at hand that he would forget that he was really talking to Arthur again, not reliving memories. Sometimes he thought his mind had exaggerated his friend's qualities—good, bad, and ridiculous—for remembrance's sake, but here they were in all their strange honesty: his pigheadedness, his sometimes childish attitude, the endless care he held for everyone he loved, his determination to be a good ruler to all his people, his fear of failure and losing what meant most to him.

Merlin swallowed. One didn't go through a life as long as his without making difficult decisions, ones that made him feel like an utter bastard. He'd had his share, but they never got easier, especially when it involved a friend. It was rare, though, that he ever found those decisions unnecessary in hindsight. Regrettable, but not unnecessary.

What he allowed to happen tonight, no matter its benefits, felt like a betrayal, but it was a betrayal he could live with.

I'm sorry, old friend.

Arthur had been on the edge of blissful sleep, slumped in a chair across from his dozing father when he caught the reflection in the silver pitcher. He only had to register the raised sword before he was leaping to his feet, hand grabbing for his father's ceremonial blade laid out on the table. "Guards!" he cried weakly, holding his weapon up in defense.

Only his mind couldn't shake the bleariness. His ears felt stuffed with down and even as his attacker came at him again, his eyelids were still trying to close, to drag him into sleep. "Guards!" he yelled more desperately. The attacker swung at him again, and it felt like his arms were made of lead as he clumsily blocked the blow. Why couldn't he wake up?

He lasted only a few seconds before his unsteadiness and an especially strong strike sent him sprawling to the floor. Even as his head spun and the room rocked around him, Arthur knew that his opponent was looming over him. What was happening? What had gone wrong? Someone help me.

"Goodbye, Arthur Pendragon," a familiar, sneering voice said. He turned his head just enough to see his attacker, which he finally registered as the knife thrower, raising his sword for a killing blow. The room was still tilting, and there was nothing Arthur could do.

But then his father was there, the sword Arthur had dropped deflecting the strike that would have ended Arthur's life. "It will take more than a coward like you to kill my son," the king snarled. Then Uther attacked.

Arthur wanted nothing more than to leap up and fight beside his father, protect him, because Uther had been practically bedridden for almost a year and was nowhere close to his former fighting prowess, but no matter how hard he tried, Arthur could not fight past the weight in his limbs and the fog in his head. The clanging of metal against metal faded in and out.

Damn it, come on! With all the strength he had, he heaved upward onto hands and knees, almost toppling headfirst into the bed frame. Footsteps were coming closer. "Have you anything to say to your son before I kill him?" the assassin asked. Arthur raised his head just in time to see his father rescue him again, shoving the knife thrower away before knocking him to the ground. Uther raised his sword to strike, the clear victor.

But before Arthur could let a childish feeling of relief and safety overwhelm him, Uther plunged the sword downward. The assassin plunged a dagger upward.

Arthur stared helplessly from the floor. The assassin went limp. His father stumbled back.

"Father?"

Uther began to fall. Mustering up everything he had, Arthur scrambled forward on hands and knees, reaching up to catch his father before he could collide with the hard floor. Fear, like an icy hand clenching around his insides, flooded through the prince when his eyes found the steadily widening patch of blood blooming on his father's nightshirt.

No. Why was this happening? His mind still couldn't process; all he knew was that things had been better today. So why had this happened? It wasn't supposed to happen. "No," he choked out. "Guards." His voice was traitorously weak. There was no way they would hear him. Why hadn't they come? "I'll go get help," Arthur muttered, desperation overriding logic. He could barely stand up in this state.

"Stay with me." Uther's voice was hushed and unafraid.

"I'm here, father." That calmness eluded Arthur, and he let out the loudest yell he could manage. "Guards!"

Nothing. No one. No one coming.

"Someone," he almost whimpered. "We need help."

Uther's unsteady breaths drew his attention. "It's my time," he whispered, still without fear.

Arthur shook his head. "No. You can't die." He cradled his father closer, as if proximity would deny death its due.

"I know you will make me proud, as you always have." The king's breaths were becoming shallower. "You will be a great king," he said, as his green eyes met Arthur's blue ones.

"I'm not ready," Arthur pleaded.

"You—You have been ready for some time, Arthur."

"No," he denied again, stubbornly, because it didn't matter really, if he was ready or not. He didn't want to let go. He wouldn't. "I need you."

But Uther did not seem to hear. "I know I've not been a good father," he said distantly. "I put my duty to Camelot first. I'm sorry."

"Don't say that."

"But know this, Arthur. I've always loved you."

Whatever Arthur might have said, if he'd had the words, was denied as sobs strangled him. The king's eyes flickered closed, and Arthur held his father close. His father had once told him that no man was worth his tears, but Arthur was confused, alone, and grief was much stronger than him. So he let the tears fall.

Merlin backed away from the king's antechamber door, heart heavy at the sight of the prince and his fallen father glimpsed through a crack in the frame, and retreated back down the halls toward Arthur's rooms.

"Someone. We need help."

He had wanted to. So much. Unfortunately, what was wanted and what was needed could be very different things. Arthur would survive, and he would be a great king. Even if magic wouldn't yet be legal, Merlin's people and the innocently accused would be free from Uther's tyrannical fear of it. Arthur would be free to be with Gwen. Camelot would flourish. In the end, it would be worth it.

Merlin shut the door firmly behind him. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly. Then he put a hand into his pocket and pulled out the runestone. A small comfort, perhaps, but a valuable one. Even if Arthur would have to suffer through the loss in his waking hours, the stone would ensure that the sleeping ones would be free of nightmares or grief.

"Yfel onlêon mîn ðrymm oð sê tælcircul," he whispered. The etchings on the stone glowed pale blue for a moment before fading back to normalcy. With another murmured word, the stone floated up from his palm to place itself atop the canopy of Arthur's bed, likely to never be found. Then Merlin leaned up against the wall, and waited.

It wasn't a long wait. Hardly five minutes later, the alarm bells began to ring, clear and harsh through every hallway of the citadel. Merlin straightened, prepared himself, and went to his master.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed, followed, or added the story to favorites last chapter. It was also the most reviews I've gotten for a chapter so far; made me quite happy :) As always, props to the beta NightsAnger.

To catherine10: Since I can't reply directly to you, I'll address your review here. I'm actually in agreement with you on Morgana's character, and in an ideal fix-it fic, Merlin would be trying to help her more. However, he's been through a lot in his long life, and he's had a long time to build up a bitterness against her for her part in all that happened. Not total hate, but not all that forgiving either. Their relationship going forward is going to be "Complicated", if I can write to do the ideas in my head justice. As for the Lancelot incident, that will be answered in the next chapter. Hope you continue reading and enjoying!