TITLE: Solus et Fidelis

AUTHOR: Inukshuk

SPOILERS: None

DISCLAIMER: The characters and situations of the television program "Merlin" are the creations and property of Others, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended.

FEEDBACK: yes please … writers need food. Suggestions, comments constructive criticism always welcome.

Chapter 8

Goodbye #2

"Arthur."

"Father."

It was as awkward as it sounded.

The two of them stood standing opposite each other in the great hall. It was supposed to be farewell; a private moment between them both to connect in the final hours before Arthur set off into battle and an unknown fate. It was the same sadness that played out across Camelot this day. Or should have been. But the King had critical duties to attend and so did the First Knight. Each subsumed their personal needs in the name of responsibility.

In the end, it was almost accidental the way in which they met. Both could hardly spare the time – their relationship less important than their other obligations to kingdom and soldiers and so sacrificed their private goodbyes to serve others. Arthur wondered yet again if it had been an excuse to mask their mutual reluctance. Both of them were adverse to demonstrative emotion; perhaps they were just avoiding each other.

For Arthur's part, he had been late. As he turned down the hall – walking with enough purpose that others who approached him had simply retreated without speaking - Arthur watched his father. The King had his head bowed and was slowly pacing as he read. Arthur's arrival could hardly have been secret but Uther did not look up immediately. Standing in front of his father, Arthur was relegated to wait while his father took the extra moments to finish the letter and re-fold the vellum before turning his attention to his son.

After a pause, Uther turned to him and tucked his hands under his cloak and rested them behind his back. "I trust you have everything you need."

"Yes, Father." Arthur felt compelled to provide a list. "The knights are readied. The horses are saddled. Supply wagons have been filled; there is food, medicine and servants have been given their orders."

"Fine. Fine." Uther nodded. The moment drew on. In the distance they could hear voices and footsteps. In the courtyard below, the sounds of hoof steps over cobblestones echoed.

Arthur did not know what to say next. This war was sudden and unexpected. There was support, of course, but the swiftness of arrival had unnerved many; including the soldiers. It seemed to breed a confusion that had a particular momentum Arthur had never seen before. Twice it had nearly overtaken him and it was a fight to remain calm. Rumours surfaced and were spread like disease. The enemy had grown tenfold in size and ferocity. Genuine information morphed and distorted from repetition. This high keyed energy if left unchecked would hurt them all. They needed reassurance. Arthur took a deep breath and decided to seek his father's advice.

"Everyone seems overwrought."

"You can expect that when going to war."

The first volley failed. His father had not understood. Arthur tried again. "The men are anxious. Moreso than usual."

"Everyone is well-prepared. It is natural to be in high spirits and uncertain about the unknown." Their eyes met. His father's gaze pierced him. "And you?"

"Me?" Arthur had not expected the question. "I am fine. I am confident we will do well." The words felt like dust in his mouth. It was more than a lie; it was an expression given by rote to a father who would hear nothing else and by a son who wanted nothing more that to make his father proud.

"Arthur." His father spoke abruptly. "This war will be dangerous and you can be headstrong. Can I have your word that you will consider Geraint's council?"

Geraint? This was about Geraint? In a flash, Arthur's temper flared. Gone were any feelings of fondness and filial affection. Uther had not wanted to meet to say goodbye. He had wanted to meet to solidify the military campaign. "Is that all you have to say to me? No good luck? No godspeed? Do you trust me so little you have to take these final minutes to tutor me?"

Uther winced noticeably – perhaps regret but more likely in irritation, "No, Arthur. That is not what I meant." He turned away from his son and walked away a pace. Arthur followed in his wake.

"Then why did you say it?" Arthur felt another surge of anger. His feelings of anxiety about going to war fed the fury. He had been to battle before and knew it would be harsh; frightening; gory. A series of memories flashed before his eyes – deepening his unease. The only vent for it were these few moments. His show of temper expanded, seeming to satisfy his base need to express rage, no matter how it came about.

"I am merely making a suggestion, Arthur." Uther turned on his heel and came back from his momentary lapse with an anger that instantly met his own. "You need not be so headstrong in battle as to ignore sound advice. Regardless of your view of Geraint, he is a good soldier. His counsel will be of great value to you."

"Headstrong? I am First Knight. I've proven myself in battle."

"Yes." His father shot back. "And you've also proven you can be wilfully defiant and unthinking if you chose. Your feelings about Geraint are quite obvious to me. I do not want you to ignore him for petty reasons of your ego. Geraint deserves your respect."

Arthur felt his throat go tight. Words stuck unuttered. This was not at all goodbye. It was a dressing down by a King; by a father; by the man Arthur most wanted to please. "Why don't you just have Geraint for a son, then?"

"Arthur. That is not fair. I am trying to - "

"But true, isn't it?" Arthur cut him off, wanting to push his father to react - to animate passion and anger and reaffirm that Arthur mattered. He wanted to bully his father into saying the things he was desperate to hear; that he mattered, that he was loved; that his father was afraid for him. "You'd rather have Geraint for a son." He repeated it, wanting to reproduce the fire that the flared in his father's eyes.

Uther turned to face his son and put his hands on his hips. "Arthur. You are my son. My only son. However, Geraint is a better strategist that you. He deserves your attention. He has no quarrel with you, Arthur. Do not ignore his advice simply because you have picked a quarrel with him."

"I have picked a quarrel? Only because you cannot treat me like a son! I am the Crown Prince! The First Knight! Your only son!"

"Then act like it, Arthur! Quit being so infernally childish!" Uther went on. "He is a soldier. A good one. I have yet to find any man in this court that has half his abilities of strategy and planning. We are going to war. You are leading troops into battle where men will die. Do not let any more men die that necessary. You would do well to heed his advice from time to time." Uther paused, but did not seem able or willing to stop the sarcasm filling his final words. "In the event the battles do not go quite as your Royal Highness has planned."

They were striking hard blows on each other – harder than if they wielded swords.

"That will not be a problem, father. I intend to win – with minimal losses. Despite what you think – I too am a good soldier. Goodbye, father. I will return anon." He turned on his heel and marched out. He left to the sound of his own footsteps echoing along the corridor.

There was no other word from his father. The silence rang out in the halls as he left and fuelled his anger for hours afterwards.