Time passed. A week, then two. A month. Two months. Before Arthur realized, it had been 6 months since he lost his best friend. His birthday was approaching. Reluctantly, he prepared the celebrations. His father's spirit seemed to take strength from the opportunity to celebrate. Perhaps, Arthur hoped, perhaps all was not lost.

Arthur tried to not drink in excess, the last time it had happened, nearly a month after Merlin's death, Gwen had caught him talking to the empty air as if Merlin was still there. Strangely enough, the hallucination Merlin was just as annoying as the real one had been. And equally witty. Which Arthur thought strange when he considered it, so he didn't.

Arthur was sitting at his desk when he heard cheers from the open window behind him. It took him a moment to figure out why they would be there. When he did, he allowed the voice in the back of his head that sounded like Merlin to entertain him for a moment.

Whoa! Did you see that? Arthur's fake Merlin supplied. Reluctantly, Arthur got up to peek out the window.

"It's a man throwing sticks in the air," he replied dismissively before turning back to his desk. His new servant, George, had already left so it was safe to speak to his fake Merlin aloud.

What's wrong? It's your birthday. Arthur's imagination supplied. A huge feast is being held in your honour. You've got dancers, jugglers, and acrobats to entertain you.

Arthur sighed. That comment wasn't worth acknowledging with a real response. Now Merlin had to ask what was actually bothering him. How would he have done it?

It must be a terrible burden, the Fake Merlin supplied without much effort on Arthur's part. He could practically hear the servant padding after him, speaking right over his shoulder.

"Perhaps I'm less easily impressed than you," Arthur replied stoically.

I'm really looking forward to it. And he would have been. Arthur doubted such entertainers had passed through Merlin's village when he was growing up, but that was no reason to admit that Arthur had also been enthralled when he had first seen them.

"Because you have the mind of a child," he stated firmly, continuing to walk off.

And yet I'm still more intelligent than you, Arthur's mind supplied softly.

"I heard that," were the words he had intended to say, but what came out instead was, "And now you're dead." Instantly the spell was broken, the fake Merlin silenced by this heavy reminder of what Arthur considered his greatest failure. Arthur sighed and left to attend the council before relating its events to his father.

His father had something different in mind. While the King rarely spoke when Arthur delivered council reports, this time he was interrupted. Arthur hadn't realized that Uther was even aware of the season, much less that today was his birthday. It thrilled Arthur that Uther was responding to him, and even more so that it was over himself and not over grain counts as it had been the last time.

Uther insisted on attending the feast, something he had not done since Morgana had fled. Arthur decided this was a good sign. Perhaps he could have his father back. As such, he relaxed and drank more than he had intended at the feast. He was just leaning over to speak with his father when the acrobats' leader caught his attention.

"I require a volunteer," the man said loudly, turning to the head table. "Prince Arthur, what better or more fitting occasion for you to demonstrate your legendary bravery? Do you accept the challenge?"

It took Arthur a moment to respond as he had been caught off guard, but he set down his goblet after a brief pause. "Of course," he replied and stood. He passed his cloak to George, but it wasn't George he was seeing in his mind.

Is this safe? Merlin asked.

It's knife throwing, Merlin, Arthur replied silently, still in enough control of his wits to not speak the comment aloud in front of the entire court. Of course, it's not safe, but I could hardly refuse his challenge. He approached the wheel that had been brought out and allowed the assistants to tie him in place, smiling the whole time. He could see Gwen standing in the background, chewing on her nail in nerves. He hadn't seen her do that in a long time. Then he spotted Fake Merlin off to her left. He looked unusually solid, no doubt a result of the wine.

"Do not fear, my lord," the man said, distracting him. "I never miss my target."

"Good. Glad to hear it," Arthur replied, speaking loudly to the crowd, his eyes again searching for his servant who had managed to disappear while he was distracted.

"May I?"

Arthur looked down at him again in confusion, not sure what else was to be done, until an apple was shoved in his mouth. He felt briefly like a stuffed boar and hoped that Fake Merlin wouldn't catch on to that fact. He would no doubt inform his master the first chance he got and never let him forget it.

Arthur hadn't realized that he would not only be a target, but a moving target, until the two assistants started spinning the wheel. He stared at the knife thrower with a mix of resentment, concern, and ironic frustration at the situation he had allowed himself to be placed in. He was also mildly concerned that the spinning coupled with the wine he'd already had would make for a very embarrassing moment and chose to focus on not throwing up.

The man drew back his arm swiftly and threw. The knife thunked into the wood of the wheel by Arthur's left ear. He turned to look at the quivering blade middy horrified. He thought the man would aim for the outer edges, not the space between his head and arm! On the next round, the knife landed by Arthur's right ear, which was all well and good unless, until a very unhelpful part of his brain insisted, the man missed. There were cheers, then curious murmurs as he displayed the final knife. Arthur wasn't sure where this was heading and as the man drew back and then let the blade fly.

Arthur flinched, closing his eyes.

He opened them to loud cheers. He hadn't heard a thunk. Was he dead and no one had realized yet. He glanced down to find the final knife had landed in the apple. In his mouth! The applause was thunderous. Even his father was impressed.

Arthur grinned as he was helped down, grateful for the years of knight training that kept his knees from shaking. He passed the knife back to the performer and tossed the apple in the air, catching it before George hurried to help him put his coat back on.

See, Merlin? Arthur silently told the missing young man. Nothing to worry about.

The king retired shortly after the entertainment. His stamina wasn't what it had once been, but he had seemed to really enjoy himself, a fact Arthur stated later to his Fake Merlin in the privacy of his own rooms.

You're telling me you weren't even a little bit scared? The imaginary, but surprisingly solid, Fake Merlin asked in disbelief as George closed the door to Arthur's room. Arthur had dismissed the man at the door, not wanting two servants in the room at the same time, even if one of them was dead.

"Of course, I wasn't. I am a warrior," Arthur replied, his speech only the slightest bit slurred. "You learn to control your fear, to channel it." Arthur's shoulder knocked into the pillar in his room and he turned to steady it before realizing it didn't need it. He continued on to sit on the end of his bed.

You looked scared, Fake Merlin replied, clearly amused. This, Arthur ignored, his mind going back to the feast and his father.

"It was good to see my father enjoying himself. He looked a little quiet towards the end there," Arthur said softly, then brightened. "Perhaps I should go and see him," he added and stood, starting to make his way to the door, passing Fake Merlin who was leaning on the pillar that had tried to knock Arthur down earlier.

Are you sure that's a good idea? Fake Merlin asked, a laugh in his voice. You can barely stand up.

"Are you saying I'm drunk?" Arthur asked in mock offense as he stumbled past the table toward the door.

No. I'm just saying I don't think you should be wandering around the palace. Fake Merlin's volume increased as if he could keep Arthur there with the force of his voice alone. Well, it sort of worked as Arthur stopped and turned to look at the ghost servant, who was still leaning on the pillar, not facing the Prince.

"And why is that?" Arthur asked.

You're not wearing any trousers. Arthur looked down and was surprised to find that Fake Merlin was right. Though he supposed even Fake Merlin had to be right once in his life.

"Good point," Arthur murmured before pulling up his pants and continuing on his way.

Arthur yawned as he passed the guards to his father's room and entered. The King had fallen asleep in his chair, his goblet still hanging from his fingers. Arthur placed it on the table and adjusted the blanket on his father's lap before taking the chair next to him. He was just settling in for a nap when he saw the dark shadow of a man reflected in the decanter on the table.

He turned with a start, grabbing the sword that was always by the chair to block the fatal blow.

"Guards!" he called, but there was something wrong with his voice. "Guards!" he tried again, but that call hadn't been much better.

Arthur was dizzy and the world was spinning in a strange way that drink had never done to him before. Perhaps he had been drugged, he thought, as he recognized the knife thrower. Even in this addled state he was able to piece together the challenge, the apple, this man, and his current inability to keep a grasp on the sword as he hit the ground and the sword spun out of his hand.

"Good-bye, Arthur Pendragon," the man sneered as he raised the sword for a killing blow. Arthur's eyes spun around the room, though whether that was his own attempt to find rescue or a side effect of the drug, he wasn't sure. His eyes were drawn back by a ringing clash above him.

"It will take more than a coward like you to kill my son," Uther stated. The sword was in his hand now and he threw his opponent back. Arthur had always known his father to be an excellent swordsman, if a bit slow with his footwork as he'd aged, but Uther hadn't kept up any kind of training since Morgana. The fight wasn't easy for him and the knife thrower easily pushed Uther back.

Uther fell back onto the bed, only one of the posts of the four-poster saving him as he scrambled up, keeping his face toward the enemy as he backed up. He passed the column near the bed and nearly tripped on the small step down to his private dining room. His right hand left the sword to catch himself and to shove a candelabra at the advancing man in an attempt to get a moment to get his feet beneath him properly. Instead, he backed into the table and had to duck and spin as another overhead strike was aimed at him.

At last, he got his back to a wall and used this to catch the next blow, locking the blades at the hilt. He was safe in this position. His opponent would lose precious time pulling back and that would give the King the chance he needed to strike, but he hadn't counted on the knife throwers dirty tactics. He doubled over as the man kneed him in the gut and he stumbled back, losing the steadying force behind him. He reached out and grabbed a curtain in hopes of saving himself a fall but there was a mighty ripping sound and instead Uther found himself mixed up in the fabric.

"Have you anything to say to your son before I kill him?" the man asked, walking past Uther to Arthur who still hadn't managed to stand as the room continued to spin.

Uther stood and attacked. This time he was on the offensive. Since the enemy had no qualms using fists and feet to fight, Uther used both hands to deliver a crushing punch with the pommel of the sword to the man's face. He fell back and Uther took a stance over him.

Arthur's eyes managed to focus as his father drove the blade down into his attacker's chest. Arthur watched confused. Something wasn't quite right. The knife thrower had put his arm up, not to protect himself but in an aggressive manner at the end.

Arthur watched his father stumble back and somehow managed to get enough control of himself to catch the older man before he hit the floor.

"Father?" he asked, confusion and concern in his voice. He didn't see any wounds… wait… he lifted his hand from where it was pressed into his father's side. There was blood there. "No," he muttered softly. "Guards!" he called, his voice slightly more firm than it had been before. He started to shift. "I'll go get help."

"No," Uther's soft voice stopped him. "Stay with me."

"I'm here, Father," Arthur told him, pressing more firmly on the wound. "Guards!" he called again, but if the noise of the fight hadn't gotten their attention, they weren't likely to respond now. "Someone," his voice faded slightly, "We need help."

"It's my time," Uther told his son.

"No. You can't die."

"I know you will make me proud, as you always have," Uther said, being a true father for perhaps the first time in his life. "You will be a great king."

"I'm not ready," Arthur argued. As if that would make a bit of difference in this situation.

"You… you have been ready for some time, Arthur."

"No. I need you," Arthur pleaded. He wasn't ready. He'd already lost Merlin. He couldn't lose his father too. Not now. Not yet.

"I know I've not been a good father. I put my duty to Camelot first," Uther said. He'd often considered what he should have done differently. He should have spent more time with his son. But his son had surprised him, growing into a fine man, a just man. One that he believed would make a truly great king.

"No."

"I'm sorry," Uther whispered, and he meant it. Though even he wasn't sure what he was apologizing for. For leaving, or not being a better father, for not telling his son more often how proud he was of him, or perhaps…

"Don't say that."

"But know this one thing," Uther murmured, knowing he had to say this one last thing. The most important thing. "I always loved you."

Arthur simply stared at his father. He had wondered, on occasion, if his father truly loved him as a father is meant to love a son. Here was the answer he had secretly longed for, though not given in the way or at the time he would have liked it. His musings were interrupted by the door banging open. Leon stood in the doorway, his sword drawn.

"Leon!" Arthur called as the knight rushed forward.

"I was passing by and saw the guards had been knocked out," Leon explained as the sheathed his sword and came to see how best to help. He glanced that the spreading blood stain and grimaced. "I'll fetch Gaius and some help," he told the prince, knowing the slightly younger man wasn't thinking clearly. "Put more pressure on that."

Arthur nodded and allowed his focus to return entirely to his father. He spoke to him softly. Willing him to live, to hold on. Just a little longer. Servants came and a guard, to help lift the King onto his bed. Gaius rushed in with Leon carrying his medicine bag and immediately got to work. Arthur dismissed everyone, though Gwen remained by his side, assisting the Physician and keeping an eye on Arthur.

"Gaius," Arthur murmured when the old man straightened. Arthur led him back from the bed and spoke softly. "Can you treat him?"

"The blade has touched his heart. He is bleeding inside," Gaius explained. Arthur knew what that meant, but he didn't want to believe it.

"There must be something," he started, then tried again even though he knew the answer, "There must be something you can do. Please, Gaius."

"It's only matter of time, I'm afraid," Gaius stated firmly, then his voice softened. "I'm sorry, Arthur."

Arthur shook his head and left. Returning to his room, he found George there ready to help him change. It was nearing morning and Arthur knew he wouldn't be able to sleep just yet. He put on his maille and went to hear reports from his uncle and Leon whom he had tasked with finding out why this attack had happened.

"We traced the assassin to the town of Wenham," Agravaine told him as he stood in the small court. "It's in Odin's land. It seems he hired him to kill you to avenge the death of his son." Arthur grimaced slightly. Odin's son had died at Arthur's hand, but not because Arthur had wanted to kill him. The young knight had given him no choice by challenging him as he had. "Camelot's thoughts are with you, Arthur," his uncle continued, catching his attention again, "But, uh, if there's anything I can do."

"Your support means a great deal to me. Thank you," Arthur said before dismissing the man with a nod. His uncle bowed slightly and left, followed by Leon, who had other duties to fulfill.

Arthur turned away from the door and leaned on the back of his father's chair at the head of the table. He looked up when he felt eyes on him. His ghost servant stood in the corner, watching him in concern.

"Why isn't Gaius doing something?" Arthur asked the raven-haired man angrily.

Because there is nothing he can do, the ghost supplied. And Arthur knew, once again, that he was right. He huffed and turned on his heal, heading for his chambers where he was able to get a little sleep before going to visit his father in the late afternoon.

I tried to have this one be little longer since most of the movement and dialect came directly from season 4, episode 3, "The Wicked Day." I have this basically all written. A few minor tweaks and then we should be good. I am so sorry again for the delay. Classes definitely got the better of me. But I am finished and will post this to the end. I hope you enjoy! Thanks for sticking with me, or joining later as the case may be.

Love and best wishes!