The Death Song of Uther Pendragon
The throne room doors creaked open and foreboding lanced down Arthur's spine. He still couldn't quite believe it – that his innocent yet desperate desire to see his father one last time could have such consequences. That the man he had looked up to for so long would wreak havoc in his own kingdom, and for what?
Easing open the door further, Arthur took a cautious few steps into the throne room. It was ironic, somehow, that after all this time they had ended up here.
The room appeared empty, but Arthur knew better. Just as Merlin (who was not as much of an idiot as Arthur liked to claim, not that he would ever admit it) had said, he could feel a presence. Cold. Malevolent. It made him shudder to consider his father in those terms, but it was true. There was something about the spirit that made his very soul shriek in its presence. This tormented ghost did not belong in this world.
The doors slammed closed behind him with a resounding crash, the bolts sliding home. Arthur whirled around, but there was still no sign of the perpetrator. Quietly, Arthur said, "I know it's you, Father."
Hesitant at first but heart firm with resolve, he turned around. And there he was. The face he knew and loved so well, his father, again seated on the throne of Camelot. The sight was so familiar that it made some part of him ache deeply, but it was wrong. His father sat stiffly, an unnatural blue tint to his skin, his face set with a coldness that Arthur had seen a hundred times before and yet at the same time had never seen at all.
"Why are you doing this?" he pleaded.
His father's reply was swift and unhesitant. "I did not spend my entire life building this kingdom to see my own son destroy it!"
Arthur swallowed, his voice shaking. "You tried to kill Guinevere."
"For your own good. How can a serving girl understand what it means to be Queen?"
Tears glinted in Arthur's eyes. He had forgotten just how firm, how unyielding his father was. How blind to reason. He loved his father so much… and yet this was something that he could not forget, could not forgive. How he had forgotten how Uther had tried to separate him from Guinevere even back when Arthur was just a prince? How he had tried to banish her just for being seen with him?
A part of him knew that his father would never see sense, but he had to try. One last time. "Guinevere is wise, and strong, and I trust her more than anyone."
"And that is your weakness. You put too much trust in other people. You and you alone must rule Camelot."
Resolve trickled through him, almost but not quite blocking out the hurt at his father's words. "I would rather not rule at all than rule alone."
His father's reprisal was swift and uncompromising. "Your whole life I tried to prepare you for the day you would become King. Did you learn nothing?"
Arthur bit his lip, hating himself for just standing there and taking it. He was not a prince anymore, and his father was no longer King. His words shouldn't still have such power over Arthur.
Now he saw, as he never had before, what Merlin had always tried to tell him. He was not his father. The servant claimed that he was better than Uther ever had been. Arthur wasn't so sure about that, all he knew was that he was different. He could not be his father, no matter how much he had loved him.
Now… now, more than ever, he could see his father's mistakes. Uther had always done what he saw as best for the Kingdom, but since becoming King Arthur had chosen a different path. And it was up to him to defend it.
"I watched you rule. I learned that if you trust no one, you will always live in fear. Your hatred came from fear, not strength."
Uther rose to his feet, seething. "How dare you?"
"I loved and respected you, but I have to rule the kingdom in my own way. I have to do what I believe to be right." Arthur's eyes were filled with silent pleading. Please. Please, understand.
But Uther didn't. Couldn't. There was madness in his eyes as he roared, "I will not allow you to destroy all that I built!"
"Then you'll have to kill me." Arthur said, and his blunt boldness shocked even him. Yet he could not take it back; he had spoken from his heart. Uther gaped at him, and Arthur added gently, "I'm not you, Father. I can't rule the way you did."
"Camelot must come before all else."
Arthur stood firm. He understood that, he truly did. Couldn't his father see that that was why Arthur had to rule differently?
No. He couldn't. His father said quietly, firmly, "Even you."
Before Arthur could comprehend what that meant – the quiet disappointment and the unyielding, blind stubbornness and a harsh coldness that he had forgotten – pain exploded in his head. A shield, he realised dully as it collided with him and then crashed to the floor.
His father had attacked him.
Dizzy with pain and disbelief, Arthur crumpled to the ground. Even with everything the spirit had done he had not considered it to be a threat to him, because Uther was his father. Arthur could never have believed that he would hurt him.
The spirit approached, footsteps echoing loudly, inexorably. Arthur tried, but he could not move. Even twitching his fingers sent a wave of blackness washing through him, but he stubbornly clung to consciousness. Father! No…
There was nothing he could do. Hopelessness flooded through him as he lay there, helpless, able only to listen and watch through cracked eyelids.
After everything he faced… was his father truly going to be the one to bring him down? Arthur could not believe it. This was impossible.
Yet he had to face it. Uther had attacked his own son, was ruthless enough to dispatch his own heir in order to… what? Protect his legacy? What did he expect to do now? A spirit could not be king.
Gods, his father had attacked him. Tried to kill him, and Guinevere, and Percival. Agony ripped through him at the thought. As a child, as a knight, as a prince, he had always craved his father's approval. Now he was King and this was beyond a nightmare. Privately, Arthur despaired. Was he truly so unworthy as to be killed by his own dead father?
He had to fight. Somehow, he had to fight. Because as much as he looked up to his father… like this Uther would destroy Camelot. Arthur knew it as certainly as he knew his own name. Camelot had changed, and his father's spirit had no place in it.
But what could he do? He was utterly helpless, utterly alone. It was just him and his father, standing over him with no trace of warmth on his face. And Arthur was going to die.
Then the impossible happened. "Get away from him, Uther," said a fiercely protective voice.
Half of Arthur rejoiced. He would recognise that voice anywhere, even if he had never heard that tone before. It was dark, almost dangerous.
Merlin! He wanted to cry his servant – his friend – 's name. Merlin was here, and it was almost enough to convince him that everything would be alright.
But he also wanted to scream. Uther was dangerous, had already proved that. Arthur couldn't lose Merlin too. Merlin, his clumsy, foolish, ridiculously loyal servant. What could he do against a spirit when even Arthur had been caught terribly off guard?
Merlin spoke quietly but firmly, a resolve in his voice Arthur had never heard before. He sounded… strong. Capable. And yet under all of it was a familiar love and loyalty, the traces of a friendship that was anchored right at the core of who Merlin was. "You've caused enough harm. You don't belong here. You must return to the other world."
There was a strange confidence in Merlin's voice. No trace of fear of any kind, even though Merlin knew what Uther was capable of, even though Merlin was normally afraid of his own shadow. Arthur's heart warmed at Merlin's familiar heartfelt devotion to him even as the rest of him went cold with fear for his friend.
"This is my Kingdom!" Uther hissed. He turned around slowly, contempt in his voice. "You think you can drive me from it? You are nothing but a serving boy!"
Arthur flinched. He knew what many nobles thought of servants but he had never heard such loathing in anyone's voice. Nothing but a serving boy… surely Merlin didn't believe that? He was far, far more than that, even if Arthur had never explicitly told him so. He was a servant, yes, but more than that he was Arthur's friend.
For the first time, Arthur acknowledged to himself that he should have promoted Merlin long ago. He should be an advisor at the very least. Because even if he ignored it more than he should, Arthur did value Merlin's counsel; no matter how much he might claim otherwise Arthur knew very well that his servant was not an idiot.
Yet the thought had never crossed his mind before, not seriously. As his manservant Merlin was always at his side, every day, no matter what, sometimes in situations where it would be grossly inappropriate for anyone else to be so. The thought of not having him there… Arthur could not stand it. And Merlin had never given him any hint that he wanted more from Arthur, had wanted nothing except his friendship. He took whatever Arthur gave him and offered unflinching loyalty in return.
Lying there helpless and at the mercy of the spirit of his father, Arthur regretted that he had never told Merlin how much he meant to him. As much as he despised talking about feelings, to hear those words in such a callous tone struck a knife into his heart. Nothing but a serving boy. It was wrong. So wrong.
Apparently, though, Arthur did not need to state it explicitly. Even as he worried what Merlin thought of him, that he might take the former king's words to heart, the servant straightened and declared quietly, "I am much more than that."
Then it happened. Uther's face went white with fury. The temperature in the room dropped several degrees, and then a bench was flying straight for Merlin's head, just as the shield had attacked Arthur. And Merlin…
Merlin…
An unholy gold aura flared in Merlin's eyes. With only a single glance, the bench hit an invisible wall and clattered to the floor, leaving Merlin completely unharmed. All thought went out of Arthur's head, a disbelieving numbness creeping through him. No.
Shoulders heaving with a whirlwind of different emotions – fear, adrenaline, relief, all tangled up together and yet clear for Arthur to read – the sorcerer slowly turned back to face the orchestrator of the Great Purge. Gradually his shaking eased as he composed himself, stubbornness setting in across his face as he eyed Uther not with fear but with a quiet kind of determination.
"You have magic!" Uther's voice was flat with utter shock, eyes wide and staring.
In a voice that was choked with emotion, Merlin declared furiously, "I was born with it!"
No. That wasn't possible. All this time, Merlin had been lying to him? All this time, Merlin had been a sorcerer? All this time… he had been practicing evil?
Then the true implications of that sentence hit him. Born with it…
Born with it…
Was it possible to be born evil?
Arthur looked again at Merlin. His manservant. His friend. He remembered a dozen threats to Camelot, a hundred memories, a thousand jokes. Always with Merlin by his side. Bumbling, clumsy, witty Merlin. Grinning Merlin. Happy Merlin.
Gods, if there was anyone who could prove magic was not evil it would be Merlin. Arthur wanted to snort at the thought; Merlin was practically the antithesis of evil.
He looked again, and for the first time he saw the hard lines on his friend's face. The weariness, the desperation, the fear.
Born with it.
The terror he must have carried, all this time…
Arthur couldn't process it. And neither, it seemed, could his father. Still in that shocked tone, Uther whispered, "I made you Arthur's servant. You are a sorcerer." As if he could not reconcile the two.
Merlin did not smile, deadly serious, as he stated, "Even while you were king, there was magic at the heart of Camelot."
Yet Camelot still stood. And Merlin… at Arthur's side, Merlin had defended it. Time and time again. Merlin had always been there, a steadfast support, apparently with magic all the time. The way he had deflected that bench… memories raced through Arthur's mind. Falling tree branches, conveniently dropped swords, impeccably timed clumsiness. A dozen different declarations.
You don't know how many times I've saved your life.
Holy gods. Merlin had been telling the truth, he had to have been. It was the only thing that made sense. All this time, Merlin had defended Camelot. And Arthur had never known.
His father clearly had a different interpretation of those words. Fanatical hatred blazed across his face as he snarled, "I will not allow you and your kind to poison my kingdom!"
Uther charged towards Merlin, and despite the revelation of all the lies Arthur flinched. Even if Merlin was a sorcerer… Arthur could not bear to see him in danger, let alone get hurt. Oh, Merlin…
Merlin was shaking his head. "You're wrong," he stated, and Uther paused in shock. "About so much. Arthur is a better and more worthy king than you ever were."
Warmth crept back into Arthur's veins. The utter belief, the utter loyalty in those words… it was all Merlin. Exactly the same as he always was.
The statement meant so much to Arthur. Merlin, who was always at his side, who knew him better than anyone. All the doubts his father had installed in him fell away in that single statement, because the truth shone from every word.
And he had said it to Uther. Uther, who had started the Great Purge. Uther, with his bone-deep hatred of magic. Uther, who must have haunted Merlin's nightmares as a child.
It hurt Arthur to think those things, but he could read them on Merlin's face. The face of someone facing up to the demons of his childhood. Again, Arthur remembered that shaking statement. I was born with it. Born with a gift he could not help, could not deny, living every moment of his life in fear… Uther was the face of those fears, yet Merlin was willing to stand up to him.
For Arthur.
As Merlin's words sunk in – Arthur is a better and more worthy king than you ever were – Uther's face contorted into a snarl, a feral beast that replaced the father Arthur had loved so dearly. He looked as if he was about to rip Merlin apart with his bare hands and Arthur strained, trying his hardest to get up, to help, because sorcerer or not Merlin was his friend and the thought of losing him sent terror shrieking through him.
Arthur could not move, but Merlin needed no help. Even as Merlin flinched at the utter hate on the former king's face, he threw up a hand. Uther was seized by a phantom wind and thrown away, blown clear through the locked double doors at the other end of the hall as if he wasn't even there.
A spirit. Arthur had almost forgotten. It was ironic that Uther was so furious with Merlin for his magic (and it was ridiculous how natural that sounded already) when he was only present because of magic himself.
Despite its power, the wind never touched Arthur. Instead, it felt like a wave of warmth, familiar, comforting, almost playful. In that moment Arthur knew that he had felt it before. Many, many times. The thought caused no fear, because the magic felt like the essence of Merlin himself. Warm, strong, loyal, fiercely protective, like safety given physical form. How could he ever have missed it?
Taking a deep breath, Merlin steadied himself. For just a moment his face crumpled, showing his fear. To have revealed himself to Uther, even just the spirit of Uther… Arthur knew he could never comprehend just what that confrontation must have done to Merlin. But he had done it, not for himself but for Arthur.
How many times had his servant done that? Denied his own needs, his own fears, for his friend? And what had Arthur given him in return?
Merlin hadn't trusted him with his deepest secret. He knew all of Arthur's, knew the king so well that he sometimes knew what he was thinking before Arthur himself did. Yet the king could not blame him for not sharing this, not really.
It hurt that Merlin had not trusted him, but at the same time Arthur knew why he had not. It was written in the fear in Merlin's eyes when he had confronted Uther, the pain he had always hidden so carefully that Arthur had never thought on before. How many times had he preached the evils of sorcery in front of his friend? How much had it hurt Merlin, who Arthur now knew had been born with magic? Arthur had basically claimed that his friend was born evil, never to be trusted. He had spewed his father's poison so vehemently so many times, and yet Merlin had remained loyal to him. It was astounding.
Vaguely, Arthur acknowledged that he probably should have felt betrayed. Merlin had committed treason, after all, blatantly broken the laws of the land and on top of that had probably lied to him hundreds if not thousands of times. But at the same time, what choice had he had? How would Arthur have reacted if Merlin had told him?
Probably not well. His instinctual reaction had been fury, after all, before Uther's statements had brought all of Arthur's beliefs crashing down.
If Merlin had had magic all this time – Merlin who was practically the antithesis of evil – then magic couldn't be corrupting. Magic couldn't be evil, not if someone as good as Merlin could have been born with it.
Besides, after everything that had happened today… Arthur had come to more than a few realisations since using the Horn of Cathbadh. He was not and never would be his father. He ruled differently, and would make different decisions. Including, it now appeared, about magic.
He had meant what he had said to his father. He could not follow in Uther's footsteps, not when he had finally realised just how wrong his father had been. Uther had ruled with fear, but Arthur wasn't that kind of ruler.
Merlin had been right. The people loved Arthur as they never had Uther. The two were fundamentally different, and even if it meant never gaining his father's approval Arthur would not change that. Would not want to.
Camelot was different now. It was his turn to rule, his turn to make the decisions, and he firmly believed that he could make the kingdom a better place for it. Just as Merlin had always claimed.
Merlin…
When compared with his father's utter disapproval of every action Arthur had taken after and even before his death, when compared with the fact that his father, the man he loved and respected, had come back as a vengeful spirit and tried to kill him… the revelation of Merlin's magic could not really compete. Not when Merlin remained the same steadfast, unswervingly loyal friend that Arthur had always known, defending him from his father even when the man was probably the embodiment of Merlin's worst fears.
His father, who was still on the loose.
Merlin, who had gone after him.
Even if Merlin had magic, Gaius had said that only the one who summoned the spirit could banish it. His father was incorporeal, intangible. How long could Merlin hold out against something like that? Arthur snapped back to himself with a jolt.
He could worry over Merlin's magic later. First, he had to deal with his father.
Cursing the time that he had wasted deliberating about magic, Arthur let out a low groan and peeled himself off the floor. His head throbbed, though at least moving didn't threaten to knock him unconscious anymore.
Gingerly, Arthur felt the lump on his head. There was no blood, but there was a thick lump that was too sore to apply any pressure to. He winced.
Perhaps he was starting to get an immunity to being knocked out. It certainly happened often enough, and from his servant's reaction to his prone form Merlin probably always took advantage of those opportunities to use his magic to take care of the threat.
Now that he thought about it (though thinking made his brain ache, which was totally because of the head wound), there were a half dozen occasions he remembered off the top of his head where someone had knocked him out and he had awakened to find his servant fussing over him, modestly declaring the threat taken care of. Usually by Arthur, in a way that the king did not remember. It was stunning. Humbling. Did Merlin have no pride at all? How many things had Arthur taken credit for that were really Merlin's achievements?
Almost immediately, though, a hot flush of shame crept its way up Arthur's neck as he recognised that it wasn't about pride, or lack of it. If those achievements involved magic then no matter how he felt about it Merlin literally couldn't take credit. Not without risking his own life.
Though Merlin had never betrayed any hint of resentment Arthur winced to remember all the comments he'd made in the past. He'd been the cabbage-headed prat his servant had always claimed he was, bragging of his own prowess and his servant's uselessness. I'm sorry, Merlin.
Well, Arthur knew now. He'd do what he could to make up for it. Starting by sending his father's spirit back where it belonged – because Merlin had warned him about that, too, and, as usual, Arthur hadn't listened.
Moving carefully as the room stabilised around him, Arthur scooped up the Horn of Cathbadh and left the throne room. The corridor outside was deserted and a pang of fear lanced Arthur's heart. Where had they gone?
With dread he noted that the door to the armoury was cracked open. Surely Merlin wouldn't be stupid enough to enter a room with that many weapons for the spirit to use?
Arthur snorted. This was Merlin he was talking about. Of course he would.
Sure enough, as he got closer, he heard his father talking. There was a dark kind of glee in his voice as he gloated, "It will give me great pleasure killing you."
Arthur's heart nearly stopped. No. Not Merlin!
It had been Uther's attempt to kill Guinevere that had convinced Arthur that he had to be stopped, that had made him willing to confront the father he still loved. But Merlin… just the thought of Merlin being gone made deathly coldness lance through his chest. Merlin had always been there, his best friend, seeing Arthur the man instead of Arthur the prince. Merlin had always been by his side, with undying loyalty, more so than any knight, more so even than his Queen.
Losing Guinevere would break Arthur's heart, but losing Merlin would shatter him completely. Magic or not, servant or not, Merlin was his brother and Arthur couldn't imagine life without him. It would be a cold, empty, meaningless place.
For Guinevere, Arthur had confronted the spirit. For Merlin, he could banish his father.
He had thought that it would be easier if he could sneak up behind him but that plan went out of the window the second that he heard the rasp of cold steel. Merlin was in danger.
Without conscious thought he hurled himself at the door, racing into the room with his heart pounding and his hands sticky with sweat. "Father!"
It took him only a heartbeat to take in the scene. The braziers had been lit and in the fickle firelight Merlin and Uther faced off. Merlin had been pinned to the door on the opposite side of the room by a pair of spears that had narrowly missed skewering him and Uther's sword – the blade a ghostly, unnatural blue, just as his skin was – hovered just over his heart. Merlin stared at Uther, stubborn, defiant, loyal. The answering murderous rage on Uther's face was like an arrow to Arthur's heart.
Sorrow filled the young king as he raised the horn, showing it to his father. He didn't want to do this – he had never wanted any of this. He should have left his father to the peace of the spirit world. But now he was here, and he was a threat to everything Arthur cared about.
It was horrible to think of. That Uther would willing destroy all that Arthur had worked so hard to build. But Arthur couldn't deny it, not with that blade at Merlin's heart.
Merlin, his best friend, who made Arthur a better person, the first to see the king Arthur wished he could be. Merlin, who scanned Arthur just as intently as he did Merlin, checking him almost subconsciously for any sign of injury. Merlin, whose worry was clear on his face – not for himself but for Arthur, as if he could see just how much this was hurting him. Merlin, who was shaking, actually shaking, and for a moment Arthur saw Uther through his eyes.
It was a terrible insight. A tyrant. A murderer. A monster.
Lowering his sword, Uther took a step towards his son, eyes pinned on the horn. "Arthur, no! Please…"
All Arthur felt was relief as the sword fell away from Merlin. But he remembered how quickly the spirit could move (how he hated to consider it, to think of his father as a threat!), and though it tore at his heart he knew what he had to do.
Increasingly desperate, Uther defended, "Whatever I've done I've done for Camelot!"
Arthur met his father's eyes. He knew that that was true, just as he knew that Uther was not what Camelot needed anymore. No matter how much it hurt him, he had to do what was best for his kingdom. If Uther had been in his right mind, he would have known that. But there was madness in his eyes and coldness in his heart, and Arthur could not be blinded just because he was his father.
"You've had your turn," Arthur choked out, tears in his eyes. "Now it's mine."
I love you, father. Despite all that you've done… But he couldn't say the words, because Uther wouldn't hear him. So, though it hurt him deeply, he brought the horn to his lips.
As he began to blow, a desperate glint shone in his father's eyes as he began to yell, "Merlin has-"
The end of his accusation was lost in the rising bugle, and Arthur felt a foreign power move through him, ringing through the air like a death knell. Uther's familiar voice rose into an inhuman shriek as his spirit seemed to flare and expand, until the light was nearly blinding. It grew and grew until Arthur glimpsed the veil itself, felt its chill in his blood. It enveloped his father, and then they were gone.
Immediately the room warmed. Without the presence of his father's ghost the air itself felt lighter, freer, but Arthur hardly cared. Grief swamped his heart.
Whatever devastation the spirit had wreaked, it had still been his father. Had his father's face, and voice, and memories. And now he was gone again, for good, and Arthur felt indescribably guilty that there was relief mixed in with his sadness.
His damp eyes met Merlin, and a wordless understanding passed between them. Arthur let the turmoil spill across his face, knowing that Merlin would not judge him for it.
His friend was the only one he would ever be so weak in front of. Not even Guinevere had seen him like this, but Merlin had a way of breaking down all of his barriers. A way that had nothing to do with the magic that Arthur now knew – and didn't care – about.
They had both faced demons that day. Arthur was finally free of his father's shadow, he finally understood that he ruled a different way than his father and that that wasn't a bad thing. And Merlin… his servant had faced the instigator of the Great Purge and come out alive.
Then Merlin nodded, a silent dip of his head, and comfort flooded Arthur's heart. No words were needed.
There was no condemnation in Merlin's eyes, only worry and a deep kind of pride. Pride that Arthur had finally stood up to his father, finally claimed the throne as his right not just by birth but because he was Arthur and he was what Camelot needed.
Merlin's nod meant everything to Arthur. It was wordless acceptance and friendship and brotherhood and a promise that, no matter what, Merlin would always be by his side.
They had faced Uther together. And they would be stronger for it.
But for now, freed by the understanding in Merlin's eyes, Arthur bowed his head and let himself grieve. For the man that he had been, and the father he had lost today in more ways than one.
Arthur grieved, and Merlin, a silent, comforting presence, stayed by his side. Where he belonged.