In Which the Necessity of Legalities is Undertaken: The TV show 'Merlin' is not owned by me. I based this chapter off of Season 2 Episode 8 "The Sins of the Father" and take several conversations between characters directly from that episode.
Chapter Twenty-One: In Which Magic Strikes at the Heart of Camelot
Gaius looked at the king. Uther looked at the court physician and royal adviser. It was always so awkward to apologize. But the king was adamant that he would do so and stubbornness begets its own kind of bravery. Besides, unappealing as the prince's accusations were, Uther could not deny that they were just. He'd been blinded to many things, one of which was when precisely his son had become a man who was respectful and yet rational. Uther compared the arguments of the prince who had protested, with a puerile pout, an arranged marriage and the one yesterday who, with a vindicated rationality, had calmly stated his disagreement.
But the two old men were still staring at each other. Uther lowered himself onto the bench opposite Gaius.
"I was wrong," Uther said baldly. As he anticipated, his old friend's eyebrow rose in surprise. "About trusting Aredian over you. And I am grateful that you confessed in an effort to save Morgana, and Merlin, from his attentions."
Gaius was surprised at this sign of humility, and though this latest example of Uther turning unreasonable at the slightest mention of sorcery had strained their relationship, especially with Gaius agreeing even less over many of Uther's dictates than he had even a few years ago, Gaius was a loyal man and Uther and he had long had something that resembled friendship. So with a little more conversation and apology, Gaius was able to put this past behind him.
For his part, Uther found himself suddenly desirous of a confidant to ponder over his childrens' behavior lately. So though both would have been appalled by the description, the two men fell to gossiping like fish wives.
"You mean to tell me," Uther said at one point, "that had it been Arthur being questioned Merlin would have barged in and demanded Aredian stop?" Gaius nodded. "This is the same soft-spoken lady who has been reported ill with a frequency that borders on alarming?" Uther tried to imagine his daughter-in-law behaving so rashly. He couldn't imagine anyone being so disrespectful towards his own person. Well, maybe Arthur's old manservant. That odd, impertinent one who seemed to have no sense of self-preservation.
"I've gotten to know Merlin quite well while she's been under the effects of these illnesses, and I assure you, she is exceedingly loyal to Arthur."
"Well," Uther murmured deep in thought. "You think it has been a good match?" Could Arthur's newfound maturity actually be the byproduct of marriage? At Gaius' positive answer a small measure of confidence in his own abilities (an amount Uther had not consciously noticed as having diminished due to Arthur's rebuke) returned. He'd been right to insist on this marriage then. At least some of his kingly dictates had been completely justified then.
"There is only one thing to do," the king decreed. Really there were two, but Uther wasn't planning on letting any but the recipients know about his assorted apologies. "I must get to know my daughter-in-law. She appears to have hidden depths."
Merlin was surprised, a few days later, at the invitation to dine with the king, especially as the invitation rather specifically did not include Arthur. Uther had intimated that there was something he had wished to talk to her about, a matter which worried Arthur greatly when he was informed of where his wife would be.
"He wishes to talk to you? About how he was recently well on the way to condemning you to the flames?"
As could be expected, Merlin answered with great levity. "I think it rather polite for him to personally interview people before he accuses them. And he's even providing food. I think it is extremely generous."
"Merlin, this is serious. The king's paranoia about magic—,"
"Arthur, please. I'm sure he just wants to get to know his daughter-in-law better. He's never seen anything suspicious about my behavior before."
Arthur looked up from where his head had been hidden in his hands, looking at her with an expression of horror. "You've done magic in the presence of the king? This king?" Merlin merely smiled at him. "Be serious," he snapped. "That is a matter of life and death!"
"Yes it was, which is why I did magic. You may thank me for saving your life at your earliest convenience."
Arthur started pacing in agitation. "You can't go. It's too dangerous."
"I hardly think that there is going to be a reason to use magic at dinner tonight."
"Merlin, you've used magic at dinner every night this week. First it was because the potatoes were too cold. Then it was when you passed me the salt. Then you used magic to clean up the salt you spilt. Then-"
Merlin curtailed Arthur in his agitation. "I was teasing you, you prat. And hoping that if you became more relaxed around magic you would be more comfortable around me." After Aredian's remains had been taken care of, Arthur had showed up and suddenly wanted a magic show. Merlin had been pleased and had indeed taken to using magic for everything from passing the salt to making her napkin dance while she ate. All of that in a subtle probe at Arthur's sensitivities. All in the hopes that Arthur recognizing she lived and breathed magic could still make for a comfortable status quo. Arthur had been remarkably cool in the face of her magic tricks and Merlin had had great hopes that this meant that the magical crisis of their marriage was safely traversed.
Arthur stopped predicting doom, taking the time to look soundly at his wife. "I do accept you Merlin. Completely. I just don't want anything to happen to you. What if you let something slip?" He wrapped his arms securely around her, giving as much comfort as he sought.
"It will be fine. There are many innocuous topics of conversation. We just won't talk about magic. Or capital punishment."
"Or the witchfinder."
"Or the nature of the many times I've been 'ill'."
"Or Myrddin."
"Or any of our servants."
"Or why you finally decided to marry me."
"Or what a prat you are."
"Or," Arthur paused. "I can't think of a single safe subject. Why do we have so many secrets?"
Merlin laughed and kissed him on the cheek before pulling away to head to dinner with a parting conversation suggestion. "One can always safely discuss the texture of food."
Uther stared at Lady Merlin under the guise of taking another sip of wine. She was very daintily eating her piece of meat, and beyond the polite civilities at the start of the meal, had had very little to say. This behavior was about par for how Uther thought of his daughter-in-law, but given Arthur's vehement objection to Merlin's being questioned by Aredian, Uther was analyzing ever detail. Perhaps her reticence was not custom but rather resentment. At any rate, it seemed another apology was required of him.
"I am sorry that you were so rigorously interrogated by the witchfinder. It was an unforgivable lapse of courtesy. I ought to have been more vigilant in the protection of those in my household."
Merlin's fork had stilled in its progress at Uther's somewhat abrupt sentences and her silence was a smidgeon too long to be as innocently reassuring as it was. But after a few seconds of weighty pause, she smiled, and though she didn't look directly at him, she resumed her meal, saying lightly,
"It's quite alright. Being accused of sorcery at least once is part of the whole Camelot experience. Now that I've had my turn I feel much more at home, like I'm a native born Camelotian."
Uther stared at her, unsure of whether she was merely insipid, not grasping the gravity of the situation, or if she was actually being inadvisedly humorous.
"What do you mean?" Uther demanded.
"Everybody knows that Camelot is zealous in executing sorcerers. Perhaps too zealous. I did try to point out your propensity for accusation to my father before he insisted I marry your son, but he did not think that my risk of being burned at the stake was quite so high as I portrayed."
She looked at the king then, and while there was a genial smile on her face, there was a hint of accusation in her deep blue eyes that made the king feel the faint desire to squirm in his throne like seat. Could she possibly be serious? She had been obstinate about marrying Arthur because she thought that he, King Uther, would burn her at the stake?
"And does Arthur share your assessment of Camelot?"
Merlin set down all her utensils and turned her whole body to look the king firmly in the face. "I think Arthur was shocked at how easily those closest to you, those who are loyal to you, can be removed from your favor. One merely has to accuse them of sorcery. Though I entirely agree with his horror, Arthur came to this conclusion quite on his own."
Uther nodded, deep in thought and so for several minutes the only sounds were of the clinking of silverware against the plates and the soft sounds of servants refilling glasses and alternating courses. Musing on her little speech, he wondered if the reference to Cyngen was a threat, and then he wondered if he had seriously been underestimating Merlin's capabilities at strategy and intrigue. If he had then Uther had better carefully embark on this very delicate dance of politics. Courtesy, above all else, was required.
"And what will your father say now that you have been so indecorously questioned?"
"Well, I imagine that if he were to hear of it he might be alarmed, but since I am still among the breathing, and didn't even make it to a dungeon cell, I feel there should be no more said about the matter."
"You aren't going to tell him." It was almost a question, but not quite a statement because Uther wasn't yet sure what he would be agreeing to in exchange for her silence.
"Telling him seems rather counterproductive to the peace treaty that is less than a month old. It would be a shame for all our efforts to go astray because you acted with admittedly ill-advised impetuosity."
The king nodded, having the sense that he had just entered into an agreement of some kind, though whether it was merely an agreement to not tell King Cyngen or to not question his daughter about sorcery was a little vague. Searching around for a less volatile topic, Uther segued into safer subjects.
"So you and my son talk about these things?" Merlin concurred that they did. "And you are both happy that your fathers insisted upon your marriage?" Merlin smiled widely, almost enough to be considered a grin, though with her being a lady, Uther did not label it as such.
"Yes, Arthur and I are very happy. Sometimes it almost feels like destiny."
"Destiny?" Uther questioned. "What an odd notion." Indeed, destiny might be construable with some sort of old religion belief and Uther didn't relish any sort of connection to his marriage alliance being part of some superstitious notion, however tangential. "That seems most cloyingly romantic for my son."
"I assure you, your son can be quite romantic."
"Really?" Uther asked, curious but not wanting to seem overly sentimental.
"Oh yes. His idea of wooing me was to give me a sturdy dagger." Uther couldn't contain the laugh, and Merlin joined in. She continued with the merry tone, but her reference to Arthur instructing her in various matters of the blade made Uther take notice. It seemed he had seriously underestimated the capabilities of the princess. He didn't think she was dangerous, not yet, but between Arthur's indignation the day before and Merlin's collaborating statements, Uther had the fleeting sensation that Merlin might have won a little coup over Arthur's ultimate loyalties.
Merlin was back in her room after the strangely polite dinner with the king. She had a sense she was missing some more significant undertones in both the unusual invitation and the even more unexpected apology. Combined with Arthur's worry about her relative safety while eating pork and his completely unusual request for a magic show a few nights previously, Merlin was wondering if it was time for her to start snooping, to check if there was something unusual in Camelot's water supply. Again.
And speaking of Arthur, her husband was walking in the door right now. Merlin dismissed Sevryn, saying she could deal with the rest of her bedtime ritual. It was relief to pick out of her hair all the accoutrements Sevryn had pressed upon her earlier without the maid's usual merciless tuggings.
"Merlin, have you seen my candle holder?" Arthur asked. Merlin looked at him through the mirror, her smile showing her amusement. That was a rather transparent excuse to check up on her. In retaliation, Merlin nodded over to the bedside table where the aforementioned candle holder was collecting dust. With a gentle nudge of magic, the metal base floated over to Arthur.
"Now you're just showing off," he complained as he grabbed it and set it on the table. Merlin merely grinned.
"You can show off too," she said. "I am in need of your manly assistance." Arthur looked eager for the task. "I simply can't undo this necklace. Will you help me?"
With a long-suffering sigh Arthur came to her aid. Looking down at the tangled knot she had managed to make, Arthur started the expected interrogation in an almost nonchalant voice.
"What did my father have to say?"
"Nothing much. I thanked him for letting me get the full experience of living in Camelot, what with my being suspected of sorcery and we discussed the implications my death would have had on the five kingdom treaty. Just casual dinner fair." Arthur laughed at her response and Merlin had some satisfaction that he accepted everything so easily.
"I suppose it was dreadfully dull small talk sort of things without my presence," Arthur said. Merlin gave a faint hum which might be construed as concurring with his statement. At least she wasn't lying to Arthur. If he chose not to believe her, then the issue was out of her hands.
By this point in time the necklace had been disposed of and Arthur had idly started rubbing her shoulders. Merlin yawned; it had been a long day and dining with Uther was no picnic. With a discreet wave of her hands the doors locked and the covers on the bed flew down. Arthur's eyes zeroed in on the motion and standing up, Merlin grinned at him.
"Sorry, I couldn't help showing off a bit more."
And with that life in Camelot's castle resumed the routine it maintained whenever there were no suspicious attacks on people or equanimity. But the halcyon atmosphere was also excessively conducive to contemplation. Normally this sort of self-reflection isn't a bad thing. But this time, in this moderately bleak midwinter, the next bout of misadventure and mishap was hatched out of the various individuals who indulged in this activity a bit too well to be wise.
Arthur and Merlin were not of this party, being principally occupied with being in love, teasing each other, and using the cold weather as added inducement for such amorous activities as cuddling and spending the evenings lazing by the fire. So we must turn our attention to the individuals who, with the sort of hazy plots born from too much self-contained analyzing, were to collectively turn idle thoughts into an adventure of far reaching consequences.
Within the palace, the two chief loners were Uther and Morgana. Aredian's mishap left them both brooding. Uther brooded about what to do with Merlin and Arthur if he never managed to understand them. Morgana spent the hours fearing magic in Camelot and yet yearning for the laughter and fun Merlin had managed to inject into the informal magic lessons.
That both of these issues would have been resolved if they had stopped sulking and sought out Merlin (and Arthur) is worth noting, if only to frustrate any readers that this was the moment when communication becomes essential in curtailing compounding repercussions. But since both Pendragons decided to brood, and brooding is essentially a solitary activity, they never sought companionship and hence the stage was set.
And thus enters the story's second evil high priestess. Like Nimueh, Morgause was fond of setting up scrying basins in obscure and yet aesthetically interesting caves, and using this time to focus in on Camelot, revenge, and complex schemes of a flimsy success rate.
Morgause was focused on Morgana, because, a few weeks previously, Morgause had caught sight of her long separated half-sister doing some magic. Further investigations proved that the girl was a seer, one who was receiving no guidance from anyone and was jumpy and scared in the nighttime.
Morgause could most definitely work with this. A seer would be invaluable in her eventual quest for Camelot. Furthermore Morgana appeared to be lonely, which could only make her more malleable. Morgause began tallying up assets the girl would bring. Firstly was the magic. Morgause suspected that in her hands Morgana would be quite valuable. She was quite attractive as well, which Morgause only counted as a bonus. Attractive people had a much easier time gaining allies, particularly when one was seeking alliances from the outcasts who possessed brute force and inflated egos.
Idly Morgause wondered if she should also seek out her son. Mordred had been the result of a liaison with a handsome and powerful druid, but Morgause hadn't been interested in an infant. Until Mordred would be useful she simply didn't have time for him. But if he had started coming into his power….
With a shake of her blonde hair, Morgause dismissed the thought. Nomads were notoriously difficult to scry for. In every way, Morgana was the more viable target for the moment. But she was as skittish as a young colt. Morgause would have to approach her gently, almost tangentially. This took some thinking.
And that was when all this collective scheming and dreaming became destructive. Quite literally. Morgause decided to make her grand entrance by killing a few guards, ruffling Uther's pompous feathers, and challenging Arthur to a duel. The boy was as pigheaded as his father, but Morgause wasn't about to complain. She was now established in Camelot, at least for the night. She'd have time to scour the castle in preparation for future hostile takeovers, connect with Morgana and begin seducing her into alliance, and by the time she'd crossed shields with Arthur hopefully she would have peaked his interest in a more scruple-less version of the past.
Merlin sometimes wished Arthur's ego was a tangible thing so that she could bash it with something, like a hammer, at times like this. Despite Arthur's affronted assumptions that she had no respect for the honor of a knight, Merlin did in fact like Arthur's sense of honor. She just didn't see what made a person who had completely unprovoked stabbed several guards and then dropped a glove, someone honorable. Or why this mysteriously begot honor threatened Arthur's own unless he fought a duel to the death.
Merlin knocked on Morgause's door still working on how to flip Arthur's imperious and condescending demands that Morgause withdraw from the impending fight into something reasonably non-insulting and enticing enough to sway the strange woman complying with when the door opened.
"Hello," Merlin said cheerfully. Morgause looked blankly at her and Merlin found herself babbling the way she always had as Myrddin. Normally she was able to collect more poise while dressed elegantly but there was something about Morgause that discomfited Merlin. Maybe it was the way that this woman had also donned masculine garb and yet made sure that she still looked extremely feminine in it, something which certainly couldn't be said for Myrddin's apparel. All in all it was a sense of being similar but not with the woman that most alarmed Merlin.
"I'm Merlin. I'm married to Arthur. He's the prince, well of course you know who Arthur is, you challenged him." Merlin wanted to cringe at this speech and wondered why she hadn't thought of having Morgana talk to the woman. But standing up straighter, Merlin continued. "The thing is, Arthur doesn't want to fight you tomorrow. He's convinced that the only way that the fight can be called off is if you decide to call it off."
The woman scanned over her again, not moving any closer, keeping this interview at spear's length, not encouraging the slightest bit of friendliness. "And why would I want to do that?"
"Why would you want to fight. It pains me to bolster up Arthur's opinion of himself, but he is a skilled swordsman. There is every risk on your side of being outmatched."
"And Arthur is of the opinion that he will easily beat me because I am a woman?" Morgause questioned, almost sounding righteously incensed at the notion. Though Merlin was sure that that was part of Arthur's instance on not fighting, his idea that he'd automatically win a fight against a female (and when Arthur had expressed this sentiment in their room only minutes earlier, Merlin had delighted in sweeping his chair out from under him and muttering loudly enough that he couldn't help but overhear that he'd been easily enough felled by a woman), Merlin took refuge in his well-known arrogance.
"Arthur is of the opinion that he'd beat any opponent. Of course my own lack of coordination does give him some fuel for his claim that he'd beat a woman. Then again it is a well known secret that in past years Morgana has beat Arthur with a sword."
"Morgana?" Morgause said, emoting the first glimmer of human interest. "The king's ward knows the art of the blade?"
"Yes," Merlin said with a smile, though she felt uneasy. Morgana had not been the same easy girl to talk to in the month since the witchfinder. Despite Merlin's pleas for her to try casting a spell again, saying that doing magic was like riding a horse (in that if one falls of the horse it is essential that one get right back on, not letting fear build up mental blocks), Morgana had shirked any magical lessons. The only thing that Merlin could do for her friend was watch her back. Subtly the princess continued, "She is a woman of many talents. Ones even Arthur recognizes. Therefore Arthur is not seeking to curtail this fight on issues of gender. Merely on issues of practicality. You seem like an able and pragmatic woman. Won't you reconsider?"
"No," Morgause said. "I have my reasons for this fight and it must go forth."
It was incredibly discouraging. All Merlin could do was gripe with Gaius about how much she hated tournaments. But if Merlin had been hoping that Gaius would be his usual gruffly cheering commiserater, then Merlin was disappointed that the physician seemed much distracted, even cutting off her worries by saying he needed to talk to the king.
After the fight had been won by Morgause, who had refrained from the killing blow on account of a promise extracted from the prince, Camelot's court was ready to forget about the whole incident except for as a slightly incredulous story for taverns and such. But some were more personally affected. Gaius worried about Morgause's reappearance, wondering if any good would come of it. Morgana found herself sleeping more easily than she ever recalled, and began to wonder if there were others besides Merlin who could help her tame her magic. But important as those questions would eventually be when they were answered, for Merlin, Arthur, and Uther, the distant future was dismissed in favor of arguing about whether Arthur should go on this unspecified task to the unspecified location.
Uther was emphatically against it, Arthur obstinately for it. Merlin dithered about expressing an opinion, simply urging caution. She thought Gaius would be proud that this was her stance, considering it a nice change from her usual whole-hearted commitment to equally spurious schemes. In the end, the king was unmoved by Arthur's logic that he was honor-bound to follow Morgause and fulfill whatever duty she asked of him. Indeed, Uther was so unmoved by his son's exhortations that he set a guard outside Arthur's rooms and insisted the prince face a sort of polite house arrest until this asinine notion was abandoned. In theory, Merlin was completely behind the king on this, especially since the father taking a strong stance on the issue meant that the wife wouldn't have to and could thus focus her wifely energies on insincerely commiserating with Arthur. Merlin didn't realize that the house arrest extended to both her and her room until she tried to leave her chambers.
"Sorry, my lady, but by order of the king neither you nor the prince may leave these chambers within the next two days." And no amount of protesting, cajoling or wheedling had any effect on the guards. Finally admitting defeat, Merlin decided to look upon this as an unexpected holiday with Arthur. Now that there were no more loud noises coming from Arthur's room (she had heard a crash that sounded very like furniture upheaval earlier), indicating that Arthur had resolved to accept the state of things, Merlin found that she could be quite cheerful at the prospect of uninterrupted hours with the prince. In that mindset she entered the adjoining room.
Only to find a rope leading out the window, which combined with the absence of the prince left only one conclusion. The sheer idiocy of the action left Merlin quite enraged. It only took half a glance out to the window for the girl to realize the rope was several lengths short of the ground. Only the fact that there was no broken body lying on the cobblestones below tempered any wifely concern. Instead all of Merlin's being was full of indignation. She would go after her husband and tell him in explicitly candid terms what she thought of his behavior.
So furious was she that Merlin hardly noted that time had stopped around her, allowing her to fulfill her unspoken wish of catching up with her impetuous husband before he did something particularly ill advised and idiotic. At the very least he could have confided his escape plans to her, since she was also stuck under armed guards. After all, Arthur could have caught her at the bottom of the rope. She presumed he had enough supplies for the journey (he had better at any rate, she thought, feeling very much like a stereotypical nagging wife, albeit one who was willing to nag while accompanying him on the foolhardy quest), so she only bothered with changing into a sturdy traveling gown and cloak. Storming to her bookshelf, she pulled out the spell book and frantically flipped through it, looking for a teleportation spell. She had never attempted it before and worried that she'd need an exact location to be effective. But as she looked she came across something which might help her get past the guards. An invisibility spell.
And with hardly a second thought, she cast it. Fortunately for her, her clothes disappeared with her. Realizing then that she had stopped time all around her Merlin slipped passed the guards. Merlin had oft ruminated that Myrddin was so perfect for the feeling of invisibility, of not being constantly scrutinized for judgments on her lack of regal beauty of the times when she'd made royal solecisms. Certainly at the confrontation with Morgause, Merlin had craved the guise of boyish impudence that would have made her stumbling manners then unremarkable.
But it was only now that Merlin understood true invisibility. Now that she was traveling on undetected limbs through timeless corridors Merlin felt empowered in her loneliness. For the moment to be unseen was exhilaratingly free.
Since time was standing still, Merlin didn't know how long it took her to reach her husband. It seemed George (or whatever other hapless servant had facilitated the planned defenestration) had not accompanied the prince, who was riding a solitary horse just to the point of the city gates. Merlin climbed on the half prancing horse, situating herself comfortably behind Arthur before wrapping a hand over his mouth and hissing, once time resumed, "Don't turn, don't speak until we get out of the city."
Despite her instructions, a muffled sound which might have been her name (or a blasphemed curse) came out, but upon realizing his ability to communicate was hampered, Arthur complied until out on the open road. Free of those who could overhear, Merlin removed her hands.
"Merlin?" Arthur asked in complete confusion. "What are you doing here?" he had swiveled in his seat to look for her and ended up looking right through her. "Merlin? Where are you?"
"Right behind you," she answered in exasperation. "Where else would I be on this horse?"
"But I can't see you," Arthur said dumbly.
"Yes, I'm invisible," Merlin answered.
"I didn't know you could do that."
"Neither did I." There was silence for a few seconds as Merlin shifted to become more comfortable, wrapping her arms around Arthur's torso. She could feel him stiffen in his seat and supposed from his perspective it was rather eerie that he could feel but not see her.
"Is this absolutely necessary?" Arthur said a moment later when she remained unseen.
"Well if you hadn't insisted on sneaking out after a woman who seems intent on killing you—,"
"We don't know that," Arthur interrupted. As they had already had this argument ad nauseaum, Merlin ignored this interruption.
"—then there wouldn't be guards outside our rooms, keeping us prisoner, and I wouldn't have had to sneak out after you."
"Right," Arthur said, which was as close to an apology as she was going to get. "But do you have to be invisible right now, while we're riding along?"
Merlin was silent for a few moments, because she realized she hadn't bothered to memorize the counterspell before she dashed out of her chambers and across the town. Frantically she tried to remember any words of the old tongue that could feasibly be used to make herself visible. And she was coming up with nothing.
"Merlin?" Arthur asked in consternation. "Are you still there?"
"Yes," Merlin said. "I think for the time being it would be best that I stay this way."
This answer was enough for Arthur until they stopped to eat. "This is rather unnerving," Arthur commented part way through the meal as she snatched yet another bit of food from his pile.
"I don't see why it should be," Merlin replied carelessly. "It isn't as if I don't normally steal your food."
"Yes," Arthur said in annoyance. "Except normally I can see you. It's just weird now. Could you please remove the spell?"
Merlin tried to deflect his attention by asking again where Arthur thought Morgause was taking them. But at her hurried inquiries Arthur picked up on her verbal sidestepping.
"There really is no reason for you to stay in this way," Arthur trailed off in a leading voice. "Unless of course you don't know how to fix it."
"Arthur," Merlin tried to interrupt. "I hardly think this is the time—,"
"You really don't know!" Arthur crowed. After he finished laughing at her, and after she had finished retaliating by throwing a clumpful of grass at him, he turned serious. "Is it really wise to cast a spell on yourself that you have no idea how to lift?"
"Is it really wise to climb down a window on a rope that is patently too short to safely get you to the ground?"
"I was thinking that we must be getting close to our destination," Arthur said with an abrupt change of subjects. "Morgause said to expect me within today and darkness falls in a few short hours."
In situations such as these a truce was the only way to get out of mutual embarrassment and Merlin was only too happy to let the subject go. Of course it didn't stop her retaliating by taking advantage of her invisibility to drop a large wad of grass down the back of Arthur's shirt.
As a silent observer (merely out of necessity as Merlin wasn't going to reveal her presence or abilities to someone she had no reason to rely on and several impulses not to trust), Merlin was tense and keenly aware that all her resolve to let Arthur handle this would be dissipated in an instant if she thought there was the slightest chance of his being harmed.
But when Morgause did make her move, towards emotionally manipulating Arthur, taunting him with his mother's image, Merlin didn't know whether she risk running interference or whether she should wait for them to be alone before trying to comfort her increasingly agitated spouse.
Merlin dithered long enough for the decision to be made for her. As Arthur stormed out in a righteous fury after tearfully saying goodbye to the mother he had never known, Merlin was running to keep up and barely made it onto the horse in time.
Conversation was impossible at the speed Arthur was riding and so all Merlin could do was squeeze Arthur tightly at periodic intervals and hope that by the time Camelot's turrets came into view that he'd have calmed down.
There was no such luck. Arthur was still murderously angry at his father and Merlin was invisible. She groaned in frustration that she had rendered herself unusable. Running off to the physician's chambers, Merlin was relieved to find Gaius alone.
"Gaius," she cried. The sight of the old man jumping in surprise might have evoked humor had Merlin not been worried about possible fratri-regicide. "It's me, Merlin. I need your help. I'm invisible and I don't know how to fix this and I'm afraid Arthur is about to do something drastic."
Gaius was calm as he started sorting through his books for the proper incantation. "Drastic in what way?"
"Drastic, like he's planning on killing his father in vengeance for his mother."
That certainly got the old man moving, though he couldn't restrain himself from admonishing Merlin on the folly of her magic casting. Merlin agreed with him simply for the sake of time.
A knight, Leon, was standing outside the door to the throne room when they arrived but a forceful command and she managed to get into the room. Arthur hadn't wasted any time in getting to the point with his father. Arthur had drawn his sword, evidence of a fight having been waged already, though given that Uther was at this point unarmed, it seemed that there was nothing to stop the prince from striking if he so desired. Nothing except her. Hastily she tuned into the conversation.
"-and this is what fuels your hatred for magic," he was saying.
…. "This is what fuels your hatred for magic. Rather than blame yourself for what you did, you blame them," Arthur said. And if anything, that sentence hurt worse than what he was already feeling. He thought of his wife, who had lied out of fear, when she had done nothing wrong. She had not sacrificed another so that he could be born.
"You would believe a sorcerer over your own father?" Uther asked. But Arthur was no longer seeing things the same way Uther had painted them. It wasn't a matter of sorcerers, it was a matter of his dead, murdered mother, and his father, who had killed her.
"I can only think that Morgause has enchanted you," Uther continued. And that was breaking point for Arthur. His voice lost the steadiness he had attained, and his emotions started leaking through more. That had always been his father's default response to anything magical. Someone must have enchanted someone. But that couldn't always be true. If a sorcerer could simply enchant you into believing whatever they wanted, then he would not have fought with Merlin for as long as he had. It had been one unalleviated, painful month. And within that time Arthur had been enchanted to love Vivian. The difference between being enchanted and not, while perhaps difficult to differentiate while under a spell, were unmistakable when free from its influence. The complex love he had for Merlin was so vibrantly real in comparison to the enforced, directed lust for Vivian. And so Arthur knew there were limits to even a skilled sorcerer's spelled truths. This pain today was all too sharp, far too real, his emotions too conflicted and poignant for it to be the same kind of falsehood. It was time to stand up for the people like Merlin. And Morgause, he added as an afterthought.
"You have hunted her kind like animals," he said, remembering Merlin and the druid boy, Merlin's determination to save everyone she could when Morgana's room had burst with flame. "How many hundreds have you condemned to death to ease your guilt?"
"Those who practice magic will stop at nothing to destroy us. I have only done what is necessary to protect this kingdom."
"You speak of honor and nobility, but you are nothing more than a hypocrite. And a liar!" Arthur exclaimed angrily. How many times had he pushed aside his own doubts at his father's executions, at his bleak house of morals and codes? But rage made that reticence fade. Even his father's insistence at pulling rank, at demanding respect because he was king, did not quell Arthur's anger.
There was a slight distraction when Arthur belatedly realized that his wife had entered the rooms. He had been so focused on his father that he had been entirely unaware that an audience had arrived.
"Arthur," she was calling to him. Arthur didn't answer her immediately, almost as if by some instinct of anger he knew she meant to calm him down. And his rage did not want to be placated, but rather satiated. "Arthur," she said again.
"You know what he has done, Merlin," he said fiercely, holding the sword to the king's throat. The king had backed away as far as he could, now trapped into the box of his throne. He was still, and silent now that the exchange was between Merlin and Arthur. He was watchful and wary, certainly more cognizant of the tensions than Arthur was. "My own mother," he trailed off.
"Morgause was lying," Merlin said a trifle desperately. "The image wasn't real."
"You don't know that," Arthur snapped back.
"And you don't know that she was telling the truth," Merlin said indignantly before she forcibly restrained her emotion.
"Then why the Purge? Why do my birth and my mother's death correspond to it? Or do you have some fantastic lie to tell me, some reason why I shouldn't kill him for his crimes?" The accusation of lies was still a touchy subject twixt them and angrily Arthur felt no guilt at picking a fight with his wife.
There was silence, silence from the king, guiltily awaiting his indictment, silence from the physician who alone out of all observers was most impartially aware of the truth, silence from Sir Leon and his confused compatriot guard who had followed the princess into the room, and silence from the princess who was hastily trying to calculate the best way to stop the prince.
The only one not exuding silence was Arthur. He could hear the heavy breaths of his exertion, though he didn't know if anyone else heard his breathing preternaturally echoing. Arthur was staring down the length of his sword at his father but he was most aware of his wife. Quietly her voice resolutely broke the stillness.
"I won't let you do this Arthur."
"Do what?" he asked, daring her to say it aloud.
"You know what. I will not allow you to move that sword one fraction nearer your father." A calmer Arthur would have noted the deliberate emphasis of that name as a none too subtle reminder of why this regicide would be particularly ill-advised. His anger was nowhere near that rational though.
But something did percolate through his rage.
"You won't let me?" he asked a bit dubiously. He had sense enough to know that taunting her about how she'd stop him would be foolhardy. And Merlin would likely reciprocate this foolhardiness by answering him candidly.
"You would…," he circumlocuted around the word magic.
"I would," she said steadfastly. "And when you were no longer angry you would thank me."
"How could I thank you if you were dead?" Arthur asked in annoyance.
"Well, maybe you wouldn't thank me," Merlin said with a slight smile. Arthur didn't return it, but at the impending joke he felt the atmosphere lighten. Not a lot, but enough for him to breathe in something other than indignation. "We could always resolve this situation without bloodshed at all," she proposed optimistically. "Please Arthur. Whatever your father did or didn't do more than twenty years ago, he should receive the same treatment as any man and be allowed to defend his actions. As the king he merits his words even more so. Don't let Morgause poison this."
And so Arthur lowered the sword, even though it felt like a little bit of his heart might break at this tacit backing down from the unpalatable message Ygraine's image had passed on. With the crisis passed and the wrath fleeing, the prince felt with inner certainty that he'd not be able to confront his father about this again. This brief explosion of violence was burnt out and done for. As the sword dropped from his hand, a sob dropped from his throat, and from there Arthur dropped to his knees. After a moment Uther stood up straight, dismissing all the onlookers except Merlin, who wouldn't be dismissed. Tentatively the king wrapped his arms around his son, and when he wasn't rejected Uther started speaking, promising the prince that he had loved Ygraine. Arthur listened, desperately trying to numb himself to the hours of emotional turmoil, ever since he had been able to see, for the first time, the image of his mother. He didn't think he could bear the pain any longer. He loved his father and he loved his wife and he loved mother he didn't remember and he didn't know how to reconcile this anymore.
Eventually Arthur pulled himself from his Uther's embrace, moved himself away from where he knelt at the throne of the king, where he sat at his father's feet and listened to him explaining the world. Perhaps it was inevitable that today happened: he had come to question magic's inherent evilness, to accept that it was choice that mattered more than means at times. He had already had the crisis of conscience and separation with Merlin, had thought that this battle over his stance on magic had already been fought out. But now he was forced to look back at the motivations that led to the Purge.
At least he had already started his research. After Arthur had found out about Merlin's magic, he had spent hours reading up laws in the tomes of the library. He'd read about rewarded sorcerers, praised healers, and he'd been confused. Gradually the number of punished wizards increased, until the cataclysmic days of the Purge when suddenly there were no more magical allies, there was only accusations and executions, and a lot of them. Arthur had concluded that there had been legitimate issues with magic being wielded in the kingdom and reconciled himself between his loyalty to his king and to his wife with the idea that perhaps Uther had merely been overzealous in stamping down on sorcery. But Morgause and Ygraine's accusations that something more sinister had happened couldn't be denied.
Haunted by the possible specter of his mother, Arthur returned to these books, even at this late hour of the day. The dates did indeed match: Camelot led a Great Purge at the time of his own birth and his mother's death. It seemed clear that his mother had died by magic, but whether in giving him life or simply a sorcerer's attack, Arthur didn't know. What was Arthur to make of these facts? He loved his father, he loved his wife. He loved his mother he never remembered and he had no idea who was to blame, what the truth was. His father's assertions weren't enough to comfort him. Even Merlin's proffered statement that Morgause had merely lied wouldn't console him. He could trust Merlin, but not necessarily her word, Arthur thought in slight annoyance. Merlin had lied before, and he knew she would again, if she thought it was the right thing to do, if she was convinced that it was the right thing for him.
He couldn't live like this anymore. Merlin's magic based worldview couldn't merely supplant Uther's anti-magic one. Arthur needed to find his own viewpoint, one that he could build his own future kingly policies over. But how he was to get this viewpoint, Arthur didn't know. Even the books were not free from Uther's dictates, especially as the Queen's death was one not to be talked about, not to be written about. Arthur needed someone else that he trusted, someone who understood the motivations of all the key players, knew them all personally. Eventually an answer came to him and Arthur went to the one place he had gone ever since he was a child and he had questions that he couldn't ask Uther.
Merlin was in Gaius' quarters when he arrived, casually engaged in discussion with the physician. Whether her presence by design, suspecting that Arthur would seek answers here, or pure happenstance, Arthur didn't know.
When the prince entered the room, Gaius and Merlin had both looked up, acknowledging him with a nod, but waiting for him to begin the conversation.
"I looked up the dates in the library. They coincide: Mother's death, and magic's attempted eradication." No one said anything, and it seemed that Arthur would have to come out and say it.
"Did you lie, in there, when you suggested that Morgause was less than candid?" Merlin shot a look at Gaius, then turned an inscrutable gaze to him for a silent second, before finally answering with a simple, "Yes."
Arthur felt almost as if he'd been given a physical blow. Having guessed this was no protection for the confirmation's pain. Only with great effort did he not stagger back from the words, instead replying after a stunned second, "My mother died so that I could be born?! I am unnatural, a monster." Arthur didn't know that he was parroting Merlin's own question to Gaius when she had first arrived in Camelot, nor could he know that Gaius spoke with the same manner and level of conviction as he had that day.
"Don't ever say that." The old man, a surrogate father to both of these royals when they lacked guidance at their own father's knees, indicated for both to sit down at the table. The couple did not sit down together, but rather across the table. Gaius sat next to Merlin. She shot a quick spell at the entrance, answering Arthur's questioning look with, "It's for the door. Now we won't be interrupted or overheard." Arthur nodded his acquiescence.
Gaius began his tale, opening his mouth to the forbidden truths of over two decades. "Twenty-two years ago, Uther and Ygraine found to their sorrow that they were heirless. No midwife offered a cure, not even those gifted in magic, for this was before the great purge. Some were beginning to suspect magic as more and more began to use their magic selfishly, but it was only regulated, not forbidden."
Arthur nodded. Rising magical suspicions pre-Purge were nothing that he hadn't read about.
"At last a magical person came forward, a high priestess of the Old Religion. I knew her well, though the information she gave troubled me, for it is serious magic to mirror life and death." Merlin looked startled at this information, though the words meant nothing to Arthur.
"She said she could give Uther his longed for son, and Uther promised many rewards. Accordingly, Nimueh went to the Isle of the Blessed and procured water from the Cup of Life. And indeed, Ygraine conceived. But Uther did not understand the magic of the cup, did not realize that for a life to be given, a life must be taken. But even if Uther knew the price of a life, he did not know that the price would be his wife. I do not know who is to blame more for this ignorance, Nimueh or Uther. But regardless of the blame, your mother died, and faced with overwhelming guilt and grief, Uther outlawed all magic. As he still does."
Arthur didn't doubt Gaius' words, but they were still not comforting. He still felt responsible for his mother's death. Merlin reached across the table and took his hand.
"I don't know if Morgause summoned up a true image, but I do think that the image of your mother spoke truly, that she would gladly have given up her life for yours. I think most mothers would."
Not too unpredictably, Arthur's confusion and pain translated into lashing out in anger. He yanked his hand out of Merlin's even though the touch was comforting, and stood up. "How would you know, Merlin?" Gaius started to protest his outburst, but Merlin stopped him with a wave of her hand, her eyes steadily regarding her husband. Arthur couldn't avoid her gaze, nor could he figure out it was saying.
At last Merlin answered calmly, as she had obviously kept more of a level head about things than he had. Quietly she murmured, "Because Nimueh gave me the same choice, and I chose to trade my life for yours. While I am grateful that things worked out so that we both could live, if the only way to save your life had been for me to die, I would have no regrets." Arthur was shocked. He knew the names Isle of the Blessed and Nimueh sounded familiar, but he had been entirely unable to place them. But when Merlin traced over her dress the outline of what he knew to be the burned scar on her stomach, Arthur remembered the whole incident with the Questing Beast, the untenable proposition Merlin had made to a sorceress while he was lying in his bed, completely unaware.
She recapped the events for him—including a few of the pertinent details she had forgotten to mention the first time—that she had offered for his life, but Nimueh had taken Hunith's, which Gaius had then volunteered himself for to prevent Merlin from sacrificing herself. Gaius had actually just died by the time Merlin caught up with him (a rather large detail Arthur was previously unacquainted with). Merlin had been furious with Nimueh, and they had fought. While Nimueh had gotten one clear fireball hit in (which Arthur was amazed that Merlin had just hopped up from), Merlin had retaliated with lightening. Actual lightening (this particular power of his wife's was rather unfathomable, though Arthur was actually quite curious to see it in action), and killed the priestess. The succeeding rain storm had also been powerful enough that as the water landed on Gaius, he was alive again.
"Wait, you mean, you have the power to give life back?"
Merlin looked down instead of answering. Gaius knew that the power was one Merlin didn't much like to think about, and replied for her. "Yes, Merlin has the power to mirror life and death. But unlike Nimueh, Merlin finds that a burden. I think that this is the biggest difference between the witch who caused your birth, and the one you married. If Merlin had even been willing to entertain the proposition, Merlin would have warned Uther fully of the consequences, and she would have taken the life agreed on between them. So while it is impossible to know what your father thought would happen, it is reasonable to assume that he never intended his wife's death."
The trio fell silent at this, each pondering the story. Arthur had the most to think about, having been given the most startling of information. But Merlin's offer, her strong assertion that mothers, that his mother, would have gladly died for their children, and Merlin's own example of that ultimate sacrificial kind of love, as painful as the reality of it being followed would have been, felt like a bandage on the wound. He knew he couldn't have stopped Merlin from offering her life for his, even if he had been awake, and as she had pointed out when she first told him, he would do the same for her. Knowing this made the pain of his mother's death more bearable. He didn't need to feel guilty over being alive. But with the re-realization that Merlin was always there for him, sacrificing as needed to help him, Arthur felt bad that he'd responded with anger. At times like this he felt such a cad, felt strongly that he didn't deserve her. He wished he had not snapped at his wife, but before he could even formulate an apology, Merlin had reached her own conclusion.
"There is more to the story, isn't there, Gaius?" The man nodded, and Merlin took up the tale of twenty years ago. "Uther had killed so many sorcerers in his purge that the balance of the world was off-"
Arthur interrupted. "Balance of the world? What does that even mean?"
"The Old Religion is most centrally about balance," Gaius explained with the confidence of a man who has long philosophized about the logic of his beliefs. "That is why to save from an otherwise fatal wound or to bring forth a new life, the cost is a life. Magic is a power of the land, and it must maintain its own balance. Usually the death of one with magic is followed shortly by the birth of another with that same power. But so many were killed so rapidly, that there weren't enough magic users born. And so fate, or destiny, or magic itself perhaps, called for another to be born to rectify this balance. A princess, rumored from her earliest days to be a Pendragon bride was born with all the power that had been so abruptly snuffed out, making that girl magic in a way that no one else has ever been before, or will ever be again. Some say that she is the most powerful magical user in the world, but it is clear that this princess was to help bring magic back to the land."
"Wait, you?" Arthur asked Merlin in confusion. He had not fathomed how powerful his wife was, how powerful she must be if she held the sum total of all the magic of the Purged witches. "You're supposed to bring magic back to Camelot?"
"Actually, you are. You are in prophecies as 'the once and future king', and I am supposed to be by your side, protecting you. One birth led to the other, tying us together. Your birth and my birth are linked. I've heard it said that you and I are two sides of the same coin. If that coin is magic, then I guess that is true."
"Two were required to restore what once was, what needed to be again. The delicate ideal of magic and life, a haven for the magical and unmagical alike. One a leader to rule in justice, born of magic, and a protector and helper to that cause, born in magic," Gaius said. "The former was you, of course, but the latter is Merlin."
It was an extraordinary tale to take in, settling in among the extraordinary tale of Arthur and Merlin their lives had already told. Gaius elaborated on some more results of the queen's death, the schism between Uther and the de Bois brothers. The wraith that had challenged Arthur on the day he came of age was Arthur's uncle Tristan, who had never forgiven Uther. The other brother, Agravaine, had never again come to Camelot, and Gaius feared that if he ever did, it would only be to gain revenge, that he wasn't a man to be trusted. At long last, Myrddin and Arthur left Gaius, each walking silently back to their own chambers.
Arthur's head was whirling with this information. But after half an hour had passed and he was quite ready for the night, Arthur began to wish girls took less time to get ready than boys. In exasperation he opened the doors between their rooms. Merlin was already in bed. He could faintly see her outline with his candle, could see that she bolted upright as he approached the bed.
"Really, Merlin, you could have waited for me to get here before you had all the lights turned off. I might have tripped." Merlin was still sitting upright, staring at him. "Well, aren't you going to lay down?" Arthur asked after a few minutes. "You're hogging the covers this way."
Slowly Merlin lay down, though she didn't move into his arms like Arthur expected. "I didn't expect to see you this night," she said quietly. Arthur was rather incredulous at this.
"Why ever not?"
"It's a lot to take in, your supposed destiny, the mess of the great Purge, seeing your mother..." She started listing.
"Yes it is a lot to absorb, but why on earth would I want to do that alone? Isn't that what wives are for, to be completely understanding of these pesky sort of troubles?" Arthur admitted to himself that he wasn't the most sensitive man on the planet, but he'd been quite passionately in love with this woman for months and even in his sort of agonized emotional frenzy, he didn't want his wife to doubt that. Besides he wanted to continue the discussion away from Gaius' revered ears. "Don't be an idiot, Merlin. Of course I need you by my side. Especially now."
She laughed at his somewhat tired joke, and moved to wrap her arms around him. He reciprocated, thinking of what Gaius had said earlier (or had it been Merlin?). The phrase, 'two halves of the same whole'. He rather liked that, and with Merlin there beside him it was easy enough to believe. He had never imagined a friend or confidant like her. Losing her really would be rather like losing a physical part of himself. Which reminded him of Merlin's blithe offer to expose her deadly secret earlier that day.
"You would have used magic openly to save Uther." She confirmed what he had already concluded. "Even though that would have been a death sentence for you." Again she affirmed this. "Even after his incredible injustices to those with magic, to his unfair treatment of you and Gaius only a month ago? Why?"
"Would you rather you had killed your father?" Merlin asked quietly. That gave him a peculiar sort of ache. Merlin was so very willing to do everything to save him pain, though she seemed to continually forget that loosing her would bring down a world of grief. But that crisis had been at the very least diverted until later and so Arthur focused on her question, trying to imagine what he would have felt if he would have successfully killed Uther. Even Gaius' stark account of the bloodshed involved in the Purge couldn't wipe out the pain his father's death brought, even just a hypothetical death. Love was a funny thing, wasn't it, Arthur thought.
Merlin took comfort in Arthur's strong arms wrapped around her as they whispered in the dark about the day's revelations.
"I don't know how to reconcile what he has done with my love for him," Arthur stated. Merlin sighed. She really shouldn't have been surprised that one night's discussion proved insufficient for Arthur to lay the matter to rest. Nor was it fair of her to expect him to do so. She might have been less unbalanced by Ygraine's appearance, but this was something Arthur would have to come to terms with himself. She could only give her gentle opinion.
"I believe Uther wanted a son more than anything, but I do not thing he comprehended the full extent of the pain that such a sacrifice would bring. And so he tried to inflict that pain on the world around him." Merlin fell silent for a moment. "I do not agree with his decisions, but I can sympathize with his dilemma. Would you teach your son to blame you or to blame magic for his mother's death? Guilt can make us do terrible things." Arthur remained silent. While Merlin had made a valid point, he still wanted the answer to this latest question. The princess seemed to grasp this, as she continued,
"Months ago there was a plot to kill Uther. I knew of it in advance, and Uther had just executed many innocent men. And I wondered if I should just let him die. But Gaius spoke truth: Uther has been a strong king in the face of many attacking peoples and trying times. And just because some magic users really are innocent, it doesn't mean that all of them are. Or were, when your father outlawed magic.
"But despite the wrongs he has committed, he is the king, and he is your father. When seeing the other side of the story, I think it perhaps best to not completely disregard your original beliefs. I risked what I did in the knowledge that two wrongs never make it right. You will be a good king, Arthur, but only as long as you learn from Uther's mistakes, and remember that you can love him, respect the good he has done, and yet not become him."
Uther was troubled. His son's unbridled anger, while not entirely unexpected if Morgause had indeed summoned an image of Ygraine to taunt him, was still cause for concern. Only Merlin had been able to calm him. On the one hand, Uther was grateful that he had assigned Merlin as Arthur's wife, all those months ago. The girl may be quiet and enigmatic by turns, but it appeared she was unswervingly loyal. On the other hand, it was somewhat alarming that only she had been able to stop Arthur long enough to hear reason.
That night, Uther dreamed again of his wife. They were rarely pleasant dreams about how happy the two of them had been. No, her death played out over and over again, haunting him, mocking him. It was enough to drive a man insane. And throughout this was a disconcerting jealousy that Arthur had been able to gaze upon her lovely form again. Even in his dreams, she was there, and yet so indistinct that after every nightmare, he woke up knowing less and less of her face.
Trying to dispel the aftertaste of dreaming from his mind, Uther walked around the castle, surprised when he ran into his daughter-in-law. As the king asked after Arthur she smiled sadly. It was clear that Arthur had talked to his wife more fully about what had transpired in the throne room the day before. But the smile seemed to hold more than that. For a moment, he wondered if Cyngen had talked to his daughter about the Purge before she came to Camelot. The look of the girl was a bit too knowing.
He had planned to ask Arthur to come to dinner with him that night, and to bring his wife, if only as a buffer for the emotional outbursts of the day before, but to his surprise, Merlin declined her part of the invitation.
"I think you should talk with your son. This has been painful for both of you. Perhaps it is time that you discussed Ygraine a bit." Uther balked at the suggestion, but Merlin had a startling amount of perception.
"I do not pretend to know why Morgause showed Arthur his mother's image. But I do not trust her. But even if the reasons were entirely altruistic, the result is a split between the two of you. If Arthur and you do not talk about the past, you will lose something in the future. I care about my husband a great deal, Sire, and I would not have this come between the two of you. I hope you will entrust Arthur with the truth, and that you will tell him about the traits he shares with his mother, beyond the blonde hair."
She gave him a polite curtsy and a curt 'by-your-leave', and then was gone. He stared after her. It was a good idea. When had been the last time he had talked to Arthur of his mother? Camelot had not known a queen for a very long time, though her new princess appeared to possess the same ability to surprise him with honest truths as its long ago queen. Ygraine had certainly been capable of making him gaze at himself more honestly than the most frank of reflections. With a startled laugh Uther recalled the day he'd entered his chambers to find mirrors placed in abundance all around the room. He could hardly escape his own reflection. Ygraine had laughingly confessed it had been her handiwork since she'd thought he'd started preening too much at his title, accusing him of even looking at his reflection at dinner that night. Uther didn't consider himself an especially vain man, but he'd been trying to get the courage to propose to the vivacious woman visiting him with her two protective brothers. The dinner in question Tristan had glared at him so ferociously that Uther had been convinced there was something on his face.
This memory reminded him of other times Ygraine had made him laugh. By the time he had reached his throne, Uther was decided. Summoning a servant to his side, Uther quickly penned a note, asking Arthur to come to dinner that night. It was time to take some pleasure from the past. Not talking about days long ago certainly hadn't made anything less painful. But maybe it would make things more pleasant.
In Which the Author's Sarcastic Imp Confesses to Dearly Wanting to Title this Chapter: In Which Evil Priestess Number Two is Introduced Into the Show in a Way That Screams Twenty-First Century Girl Power, And the Past Comes to Haunt the Pendragons
And thanks for all the reviews in the time since. Sorry it took me so long to get this chapter out. Any comments would be more than welcome.