(A/N: Hello, everyone! I hope you all had a happy Christmas/happy holidays! Here's another chapter before the end of the year :) I've been toying with it for some time, and it's another long one that could probablyyy be split into two chapters. But c'est la vie. God, I've had this chapter in my head for so long. It feels great to finally get it posted. I'll get you the epilogue in the new year! Here's hoping 2022 is a good one. Thank you all for your sweet comments and thoughts! They mean so much!)

Arthur had the balcony to himself as he arrived at Merlin's execution, already dreading his perfect view of the gallows from up on high. Many a dreary day Arthur had stood up here, watching a sorcerer breathe his last below him, and today… today he would do the same.

Unless Merlin listened to him. Unless Arthur could get through to him.

It surprised Arthur to find that the king was not yet present. In his experience, his father was very hands-on when it came to public executions, wanting to stand in full view of the people as they filed into his courtyard. It was a display of power, standing up high and bearing down on the people, and it bothered Arthur more than he cared to admit, his father's lateness. It was clear to him now that this was just another day for Uther—another sorcerer to hang—but for Arthur, the stress of waiting was eating him alive. He paced the balcony like a vengeful ghost, studying the packs of commoners gathering in the courtyard below him. The atmosphere wasn't all that different than back in the throne room, but the difference here was that the crowd was not composed of nobles or servants. No, instead, these were the common people of Camelot—the people that Arthur worried about daily, and the people Arthur would eventually serve as sovereign.

And what are they all thinking about, I wonder? Arthur pondered darkly as he perched high above them, his arms spread wide on the parapet and peering down at everyone like a gargoyle. Occasionally, a peasant's eyes would stray up at him and they'd quickly glance away again—terrified as they saw the prince staring back at them. And what do they think of me, their prince?

It was not a new fear of Arthur's, what the population of Camelot may think of him. The kingdom was huge, a sprawling land of different lifestyles. Of course there were people that disapproved of him, but Arthur still feared their resentment. Did the people here secretly dislike him as their prince? Did they imagine he'd act the same as his father once he took the throne? Did they expect him to continue drawing them out for executions like this one in the future?

Probably. It wasn't like Arthur had indicated he'd rule any differently, and with each peasant that met his gaze, Arthur spotted their fear of him before they looked away. It wasn't that far off from the fear Arthur had observed in Merlin, or even briefly in Gwen—a commoner's terror that they may be next to face the noose, or worse. It was something that Arthur would never fully experience due to his birth status, but he was beginning to understand it as he was overwhelmed with deep, dark dread at the arrival of the executioner.

Arthur had only ever exchanged a few words with castle garroter. Gogan was his name, but Arthur always got the creeps just looking at him, and mostly due to the fact that Gogan's whole body was riddled with scars. It was a widely known fact amongst the knights that Gogan's injuries were the result of a nasty run-in with a sorcerer. The experience had left the man jaded against sorcery in general, and that made him the perfect knight for the job of sorcerer-killer. Any vendetta against magic was useful in Uther's eyes, and it only served to show Arthur just how much opposition people like Merlin truly faced. In more ways than one, it was not just the king that was rooted against magic. Thousands of citizens of the realm despised sorcery for any number of personal reasons, and those people may not be easily won over to Merlin's cause… just like Arthur himself had not been easily convinced.

But my opinion is the only one that really matters, Arthur thought to himself, and he felt arrogant for even thinking it, although he now knew that Merlin shared his logic. When Arthur became king, he could attempt to change the flow of public opinion. It was a challenge he had been prepping to face, capturing the hearts of his people as their monarch. He still feared he would fail, and that any citizen that disapproved of him would be beyond his influence… but then again, Merlin had probably thought the same thing about him and yet here Arthur was, trying to save the magical bastard. If anything had become clear to Arthur over these past few days, it was that no one, no matter how entrenched in their ways, was beyond the capability of change.

But Arthur couldn't focus on that now. That was the bigger picture, and at this moment, Arthur needed to concentrate on a far more immediate political issue: rescuing Merlin from the long coil of rope clutched in Gogan's gloved hands. The executioner was busy stringing the rope up over the crossbar of the gallows, and the image of the noose seemed to quiet the crowds, a mist rolling in from the forest and drenching them all in a dreary fog. A chill ran through Arthur, and he had a bad feeling that for every horrible moment Merlin's trial had brought upon him, this execution would be even worse.

Unfortunately, he was correct. Watching Merlin being dragged into the throne room had been one thing, but witnessing the guards shove the gangly manservant out into the courtyard was even more horrifying. The prisoner arrived at the courtyard from the back of the stairs, and the lead guard forced Merlin's lanky form out into the open like he was a parcel—propelling the sorcerer out into the misty, foggy air.

The boos and jeers started almost immediately. The townspeople knew the drill when it came to executions and the public sentiment against sorcery was obvious. Drummed up over the past twenty or so years and now Merlin was receiving the brunt of it. It was hard to ignore the screeches calling for his friend's murder, but Arthur tried to drown them out as best he could. He kept his eyes glued to Merlin, willing him silently to look at him despite the fog. To just glance in his direction long enough for Arthur to give him their signal. If he didn't, there was no hope for him.

But to Arthur's dismay, Merlin's gaze was not focused on the balcony above him. Instead, his eyes were trained on the gallows before him, the noose swinging loosely in the wind and the worn wood creaking. He looked terrified, his pale face even more ghostly white than usual, and he stumbled a bit on the cobblestones. The crowd immediately erupted in laughter, beginning to throw food at the condemned, and the guard pushed Merlin onward, making him stumble further. The cruel laughter made Arthur's blood curdle just like it had when Uther had struck Merlin in front of the court. It solidified within him that this was wrong. That it had always been wrong, despite what he'd been taught. It must be stopped.

"Come on, you idiot, look up…" Arthur whispered to himself, and he hoped his father hadn't heard him as the king finally joined him up on the balcony, fashionably late with his red cape swishing in the growing breeze. The king's black gloves came to rest next to Arthur's on the parapet, and it was hard not to notice his right hand was still stained with Merlin's blood.

"I was sorry to see you leave court in such a hurry, Arthur," Uther mused, his tone dangerous, and he waved to his subjects, smiling like he was in a parade. Arthur couldn't help but cringe. "Perhaps I'd underestimated how difficult this whole situation would be for you. I did not expect such an incident with the likes of Merlin."

"It was very unexpected," Arthur agreed, his voice flat and hollow. He did not turn to look at his father, keeping his gaze entirely on Merlin, but it was hard to remain stoic as the king continued to preach at him.

"It will be painful to watch him swing, but this is a necessary trial for you, Arthur," Uther said, and Arthur's breathing grew shallow at the terrible image. "I believe that even more after witnessing his sorcery for myself. Following your act of insolence back at court, I'd worried you may abstain from watching this execution. That you may be too emotionally weak to handle such a thing, and yet, here you stand!"

The king punched Arthur's arm lightly at that, a congratulatory gesture, but Arthur reeled at the tap. "You're conquering your weaknesses and you're standing here as the future king," Uther complimented, his disappointment waning to be replaced by pride. "This is a necessary journey for you, Arthur. It's imperative that we weed the traitors of Camelot out, and you've learnt that today. I forgive you for your earlier effrontery, and I hope you know I am proud of you. It will be good for the subjects to see you up on this balcony as you are now. The people of Camelot mustn't think you fragile, or that you would ever hesitate to execute a traitor."

"Of… of course, Father," Arthur managed to say, tripping over his words, and he prayed his father didn't hear any insincerity as he spoke. Below the surface of his impartial mask, his insides were screaming. It was terrible to recognise his own past thoughts in his father's words. Thoughts that had been trained into him from the moment he was old enough to hold a sword, and just days ago, Arthur had been worried that Merlin was controlling him. He'd been terrified that Merlin may be magically implanting ideas into his mind, but now he wondered if it was the opposite. After all, who had put more thoughts in his head, Merlin or his father?

It's imperative that we weed the traitors of Camelot out... That was what his father had said, but what marked a traitor as a traitor, exactly? Was a traitor a person that kept himself locked up on his own free will? Facing the gallows on his own accord? If it was one thing traitors didn't often do, it was willingly perform penance, but that was what Merlin was doing today, and just as he always had done. Even during Merlin's early days at Camelot, the manservant had always been willing to spend a day in the stocks to aid Arthur in his antics—always been willing to take the fall in the end and even when he didn't deserve to.

That isn't a traitor, Arthur thought, and this time when he realised it, he felt sure of his conclusion. The manservant was not disloyal to Camelot despite his magic, and he could not afford to let his father distract him from rectifying Merlin's unfair sentence.

Please look up, Arthur willed silently at Merlin once more, and in a thought that surprised even him, he suddenly wished he had magic himself so that he could reach out and prevent this without his father knowing. In many ways, was that not what Merlin had been doing all this time? Running around and helping Arthur in secret under his father's nose? For the first time since learning of Merlin's true nature, Arthur thought he might understand what that was like and why Merlin had done it despite the dangers. He also began to wonder how many times Merlin may have saved his life in secret, and all without taking any credit.

Please, please look up, Arthur willed again, and this time, Merlin actually did. Standing at the edge of the gallows as the executioner seized him, pulling him up the steps to the noose, Merlin's gaze lifted in Arthur's direction—

And in that moment, Arthur moved, hardly daring to breathe as he did. His eyes locked with Merlin's from up on the balcony and he raised his pointer finger, brushing it against his nose twice. Get out. Run. The signal they had created together, several years ago now.

He hoped Merlin had seen it. Prayed he'd seen it. But from so high up and swaddled in fog, Arthur couldn't make out Merlin's expression enough to tell for sure. So he did it again, just in case. One finger brushed against his nose twice. But that was all he could do. The only action he could make to try and rectify his horrible mistake. He'd never felt so powerless, and all the power now lay within Merlin himself. It was up to him to get out of this using the very magic Arthur should eradicate and all Arthur could do now was watch with his knuckles white on the parapet, praying for a miracle.

Merlin was standing on the platform of the gallows now, his magical hands chained before him while the executioner grasped the swinging noose. For a moment, Merlin looked up at Arthur once again and Arthur hoped that meant he was about to do it. About to blast the executioner away like he'd done the dungeon bars, sending him flying and leaving Merlin a path for escape.

But then Gogan placed the noose over Merlin's head and Merlin didn't resist it.

Arthur's nails scratched at the stone of the balcony. "Come on…" he whispered under his breath, still praying his father didn't hear, but the king had his gaze focused entirely on the noose. His gloved hand was already itching to give the dreaded order. A simple rise and fall of his fingers would be all it took to kill Merlin.

The executioner secured the deadly loop tight to Merlin's neck, checking the knot before stepping away, and a familiar horror settled itself in Arthur's stomach—like a cold, dark storm drenching him. He'd witnessed so many executions before this, and whether by axe or noose, he always felt that same feeling right at this moment. A dark, cold stab to his gut when the final preparations were complete and all that was left was anticipation of the order. It was a feeling he had encountered even when there were strangers standing upon the gallows, but this time it was all the worse for it being Merlin. It was a miracle Arthur didn't throw up as he stood on unsteady feet, unsure of what to look at—his father's hand or Merlin's.

But Merlin's hand didn't move.

His father's did.

It was a motion Arthur had witnessed countless times before. A raise of the king's black glove before it was brought down sharply to the parapet, clear and precise. It was a simple movement, but not a simple command, and Arthur stopped breathing as he watched the executioner pull the lever to the gallows. No, his mind screamed at him, and the whole event appeared to him in slow motion—a nightmare sprung to life.

He shut his eyes. He hadn't meant to, but perhaps it was instinct. Self-preservation.

The gasps of horror were terrible. A familiar sound of disgust from the people of Camelot, and the reality of it hit Arthur like a blunt strike from a shield. He'd failed. Merlin hadn't listened—or hadn't seen—and Arthur could feel bile rising in his throat. His whole body slumped, curling into himself as he turned away, battling with the immediate wave of guilt, horror, and revulsion that overtook him. His legs wobbled and he wondered if he could sneak away back to his chambers and collapse without his father noticing. The last thing he wanted was the king shaming him for feeling grief, but he couldn't even begin to hide it.

He didn't open his eyes right away, keeping them squeezed shut as he regained his breath long enough to turn away from the courtyard. Only then did he manage to pry his eyes open again…

Only to see a whole row of his knights staring at him, open mouthed.

Arthur blinked, confusion overtaking him. For a moment, his mind raced to figure out what he could've done to have them staring at him like that.

Then he realised they weren't staring at him.

And that's when his father started shouting.

Arthur wasn't even sure what words his father was saying because he was already diving back to the parapet, his hands slamming against the stone as he hardly dared to hope what his whole body was trying to will into existence.

But for once, Arthur's hopes had come true and he had to stop himself from laughing with wonder and joy.

The platform of the gallows had swung open beneath Merlin's feet, just as Arthur's father had ordered—

But Merlin himself hadn't dropped. The noose hadn't moved in for the kill around his neck.

Instead, Merlin was standing on nothing but air.

He's floating was all Arthur's brain could say, as if it was having a hard time digesting what he was seeing. But sure enough, Merlin was hovering in midair, his arms still chained before him but his fingers spread out, his eyes conspicuously glowing gold. The smallest of smiles graced Merlin's face as he looked to Arthur, and it was as if he was saying, "Well, I did actually listen this time."

"You dare!" Uther screamed, and for a moment, Arthur had completely forgotten his father was still standing next to him. "You dare attempt to challenge my authority, sorcerer? This hanging was chosen as a mercy for you. I will have your head for this!"

The king waved his hands, signaling the knights into motion, but they were already moving into place without orders, crossbows all aimed squarely at Merlin's head. Arthur's whole body tensed, but Merlin didn't seem particularly bothered.

"I do dare," Merlin called to them, and as he did, he snapped his fingers, sending the shackles around his wrists clattering to the ground. The dark metal slipped off of his skin like water, and Merlin rubbed at the raw wrists for a moment, taking his time as the knights deployed their first round of crossbow bolts at him. Arthur flinched as they arced through the air, but Merlin deflected them all with a wave of his hand—magically redirecting all the bolts into a neat pile at the base of the gallows.

"I do dare to challenge your authority," Merlin continued smoothly, as if the king hadn't just tried to fire-squad him, and he moved his right arm again, his fingers grazing the noose around his throat. In a burst of golden magic, the entire length of rope exploded into a million butterflies—cascading up into the balcony and obscuring the vision of the shooters with an avalanche of blue wings. Shouts sounded from the bombarded knights, but Arthur and Uther were spared from the attack, leaving them to witness Merlin snapping his fingers again. In a burst of wind, the trapdoor of the gallows flew back up into a platform for him to stand on, his buckled boots returning to solid ground.

All the breath left Arthur's lungs at the display. His mind was still racing to catch up—still processing the fact that Merlin was even alive—but this was all so much more than Merlin's magic back in the forest and the dungeons, or even the throne room. It was so… effortless. Mesmerizing, in its own way. The dreaded noose was gone as if it had never existed, and the chains and crossbow bolts now lay useless on the courtyard stone. Next to Arthur, his father was foaming at the mouth. Arthur had never seen him look so furious, and that was truly saying something.

"Surrender yourself, sorcerer!" Uther thundered, struggling to make himself heard over the growing noise of the crowd as the people began to panic. The circle of townspeople had retreated from the gallows at Merlin's demonstration, murmuring with fear and awe, but they hadn't sprinted out of the courtyard either. Instead, they remained to watch the growing spectacle, their gazes flickering between the sorcerer and the king in anticipation of what would happen next.

Arthur was just as much on tenterhooks as they were. He was powerless to do much else without challenging his father's authority, and thus he was left as a spectator. Merlin's eyes were still glowing gold, visible even through the mist as he faced off with the king of Camelot from below. It was horrifying and thrilling to witness at the same time.

"My apologies, your majesty," Merlin announced, and a bit of a growl had come into his voice—not unlike the chant he had used to summon the dragon. "I am afraid I will not be taking orders from you any longer. You've lost that privilege, and I am done watching the execution of my kind take place in this courtyard."

He said it almost in declaration, and while he spoke, his arms moved once again, making both Arthur and Uther flinch. They were only now becoming accustomed to just what that motion entailed, but Arthur could never have predicted what spell Merlin would conjure. Beside him, his father's sharp inhale was evidence enough that he hadn't predicted it either.

In the centre of the courtyard, the gallows themselves began to rumble. The wood of the platform splintered, breaking apart, and then before Arthur's very eyes it sprung magically to life—the timber of the beams snaking back into their twisting, forest form at Merlin's command. Much to the crowd's awe and horror, long branches swooped into existence from the crossbeam's wood and powerful roots shot forth from the bottom of the gallows platform, slicing through the thick stone of the courtyard and burying themselves in the soil beneath it.

Panic immediately broke out in the courtyard's crowd. The townspeople devolved into chaos, the spectators properly fleeing the courtyard, and to both Arthur's right and left, the knights of Camelot recovered from the butterfly attack just long enough to be slammed by the incoming branches of a growing tree. Merlin's fingers moved with fluid grace as he directed the tree to his will, the elegant branches acting like extensions of his own body as he lifted knights off the ground, holding them hostage with powerful boughs encircling their limbs. Before Uther could do so much as scream another useless threat, Merlin had systematically captured each of the guards within his ever-growing tree, creating an interlocking system of branches that matched the height of the castle itself.

It was both terrifying and beautiful to behold. Where once the castle balcony had offered no shade, the enchanted tree now grew its own leaves, forming a lush green canopy that drowned Arthur in its shadow. Below him, the gallows had completely disappeared, the wood of it entirely transformed back into what it had been originally—a magnificent, mossy oak tree. Most powerful sorcerer to ever be born, Arthur recalled. That is what the traveler had spoken of in court, and now all of Camelot had witnessed it.

At a loss, Arthur waited for his father to scream more orders at his disabled knights. Waited for him to draw his own sword and attack, but he didn't, and Arthur glanced at his father only to find the king was speechless himself. The king stood frozen, his right hand still raised to give an order, but he was clearly stunned into a stupor. His own hand motions were useless in the face of Merlin's. Together, father and son both simply stared down at Merlin in shock.

They didn't have to look down on him for very long, however, because Merlin was rising—lifted up in the air by the largest branch the enchanted tree had to offer. In an elegant display, Merlin elevated himself to the height of the balcony, his lanky form draped over the branch with one boot dangling off the edge. He no longer appeared pale or scared, but rather confident and assured with his left hand braced against the tree's trunk and the other directing the branch with a single finger. His eyes were still glittering with magic as his gaze met Arthur's.

Being eye-level with Merlin was not something Arthur had been prepared for, but Merlin brought the tree branch in close, pulling himself up to the parapet almost as if he'd added an extra chair to the Pendragon dinner table. Uther immediately drew his sword, letting out a war cry, but Merlin merely blinked, sending the king's broadsword flying out of his hands with a strike from the tree. Colourful blossoms rained down from the offending branch and decorated the stone of the balcony, curling themselves into Arthur's hair.

"Sorry," Merlin said dryly, although he didn't sound very sorry. "I'm a bit tired of all this violence. And aren't you tired of it by now, Uther? The endless cycle of killing? Or has it just become habitual for you at this point?"

"You deserve death, you demon spawn," Uther managed to hiss, his eyes bloodshot, but the declaration carried no weight anymore. Merlin was no longer allowing him that sort of power.

"Right," Merlin said with a sigh, and he mostly just looked tired now. As if he'd run out of energy to deal with the king and his threats, and he rubbed at his face a little. His lip was still bleeding from Uther's slap. "I won't bother arguing with you, Uther. I said my piece back at court, and as I told you then, I apologise for what has happened with Sir Roldan. I hope I can make it right one day. Perhaps under new management."

He looked at Arthur at this, and Arthur had never felt so tongue-tied. There were a million things he wanted to say, but none that he could say in this moment. Not in the courtyard. Not in front of his father.

The tiniest of smiles flashed across Merlin's lips. As if to say, I know. It's fine.

And then Merlin threw his head back and emitted a dragon's roar.

It was a call that Arthur was now familiar with. A chant of words in a dragon tongue, deep in Merlin's throat, but this time, the magic in them seemed to shake the entire castle.

Silence fell across the courtyard as Merlin finished uttering the words. A terrible, pensive silence, as if they were all waiting to see what exactly Merlin had planned for them next.

And then came the true dragon's roar.

"No," was all Uther seemed capable of saying as he stared in horror above him, the wings of his old enemy dominating Camelot's sky.

"Yes," Merlin countered, and he couldn't seem to mask his smile as the Great Dragon descended upon them. "You really shouldn't lock us magical creatures up, Uther. We seem to have developed a bad habit of breaking out."

A hint of sass had leaked into Merlin's voice now, and he smiled as he summoned his branch once more, ordering it to lift him up to the dragon and deposit him on its scaly back. The tree billowed into action, leaves filling the air as Merlin plopped onto the dragon as easily as he would mount a horse.

"I don't really wish to leave, you know," Merlin shouted to them, speaking above the wind generated by the dragon's wings. "I consider Camelot my home, and I know many sorcerers wish they could call it home as well. Sorcerers that could make excellent citizens or knights if you'd let them. Your worst enemies are the ones you create, Uther. So, please. Stop that cycle. Both of you. I'm only your enemy if you force me to be one, but until then…"

Merlin trailed off, letting his words switch to dragon language, and at his command, the Great Dragon rose a little higher in the air. Primed to leave.

"...I'll be around," Merlin finished with one final touch of sass, and Arthur couldn't quite hide a smile at the sound of it. "Have a pleasant evening, your majesties."

And with that declaration, the dragon beat its massive wings and took to the open air, leaving the courtyard behind it. "Shoot it!" Uther screeched, scrambling to recover his fallen sword, but the few crossbow bolts the knights managed to deploy simply bounced off the dragon's impenetrable scales. One bolt flew directly at Merlin and they all watched as he magically deflected it—as if the bolt was nothing more than a fly. Arthur was never going to grow accustomed to seeing him do something like that, was he?

Probably not, but this was the future Arthur had to look forward to. A sorcerer Merlin, flying free around the countryside on a dragon. It seemed crazy to imagine it, but he didn't need to imagine it. It was reality now. Everything has changed now, hasn't it? Arthur realised, and he could feel the truth of that deep within his bones. Just as Gwen had said, he was being pulled apart at the seams and remade in this very moment.

It was majestic, in an odd way, to see a dragon silhouetted against the backdrop of Camelot's purple-pink sky. With a strange sense of calm, Arthur stood perfectly still, just watching as his friend disappeared into the clouds. Calm was a surprising thing to experience, as it was not the emotion Arthur should be feeling. He should be feeling outraged and fearful. Frustrated, confused, vengeful—all the things that a good, obedient prince should feel when a sorcerer escapes punishment. But all those feelings had evaporated after many days of battling with them. If anything, Arthur had just barely stopped himself from cheering when Merlin had escaped. He couldn't imagine how that would've gone over with his father.

In fact, Uther was screaming battle directions at Arthur now, and Arthur was barely listening to them. His father's mouth was moving as he shouted, a righteous fury etched in his every feature, and for the first time in his life, Arthur saw what most sorcerers must see in his father's face. What Merlin must see. A pure, murderous hatred as the king hollered orders at Arthur to execute actions on his behalf. Kill your best friend for me, Arthur! Organise this massacre for me, Arthur! It's fine that your knights murdered a bunch of Druid children in cold blood, Arthur! They would have grown up to be threats to Camelot anyway!

So much shouting. So much death. Hours ago, Arthur had struggled to face Merlin in the dungeon, but facing his father was so much worse. It was painful to look the king of Camelot in the eye and realise how much he loved the man while he simultaneously understood everything wrong within him. It was a tyranny he had identified within the king for some time now, if he was being honest with himself. A dark, consuming brokenness festering deep inside his last living family member and inside himself that he'd just been ignoring. He had not wished to entertain it. Even contemplating such a thing felt like treason.

But he couldn't put off wrestling with it any longer. Guinevere was right. Merlin was right. Gaius, Morgana—they were all right. Arthur's rule didn't start when he was crowned king. The people of Camelot were looking up to him in the here and now and wondering what direction he'd be leading them. For better or worse, Arthur needed to decide what sort of direction that would be.

Like a tidal wave, words from recent days began to flood Arthur's mind, reverberating in his head like echoes in a cave. "You are not your father," Gwen said, and her calm voice took over Arthur's head, drowning out Uther's screeching in the present. "Just because you are his son does not mean you have to be completely like him. You can take some and leave some. Take the good. Leave the bad. We're all a mix of good and bad in the end. Not everything has to be black and white, and you can love someone and still recognise their faults…"

"You know I care for your father, but I'd hoped you may see things differently than him," Gaius' voice spoke, chiding Arthur just hours before at the top of the dungeon steps. "Do what you will, sire, but I'd advise thinking long and carefully about your decisions. One day, you will be king, and it's about time you start deciding what kind of king you will be for your subjects. All of your subjects."

"He will not be here forever, Arthur," Morgana had said, speaking of Uther in her forever assured tone. Forever confident in her own decisions. "Perhaps in the future, things can be different…"

"I'm not unraveling everything," Merlin whispered, his words from the night of Arthur's discovery returning to haunt him. "I'm just trying to turn around the parts that need change. The hatred of magic. The needless bloodshed and conflict. The distrust. But that can't be done with magic. It's diplomacy. That's what the other sorcerers don't understand. Turning Camelot around is something only Arthur can do."

Yes. Only something he could do, and for once in his life, Arthur could admit Merlin was right. This was something only he had the power to do and it was long overdue on his part, but as Arthur finally opened his mouth to address his father, he could hear the combined voices of Gwen, Merlin, Morgana, and Gaius speaking through him.

"No," he said simply, and Arthur had never seen his father look quite so stunned.

"No?" the king repeated, and whatever orders he'd been shouting died on the vine. "No to what?"

"No to whatever you're telling me to do," Arthur said, and it felt foreign to him to hear disgust unleashed in his tone. "It's useless, Father. You know it. I know it. Merlin is long gone. We can't outpace a dragon, and even if we could, we wouldn't stand a chance against it."

Uther's expression darkened, once again inconvenienced by Arthur's insolence. "Arthur, I don't have time for your childish games," he growled. "I've forgiven you for your impertinence at court, but I will not stand for it again. You will ride out immediately, you will kill this dragon and Merlin—"

"No," Arthur interrupted him, and he suddenly couldn't bear to hear another word out of his father's mouth. He turned away, beginning to retreat back to the castle. To leave the courtyard and all its chaos just as he'd done the throne room. "I won't. Do it yourself."

"This is not a request, Arthur!" Uther fumed, and he seized Arthur's arm, preventing him from running away. "It is an order. As your king and your father—"

"You'll what?" Arthur countered, and he tore his arm from his father's grip, whirling back around to face him and surprising the king with his vitriol. "Tell me, then, in your perfect wisdom—what will you do to me if I disobey you, Father? Will you hang me in the courtyard as an example? Have Gogan sever my head from my neck with an axe? Is that the only solution you know?"

Arthur practically spit the words in Uther's face, and shock radiated across the king's expression. For a moment, his father's hand twitched. He stopped himself immediately, but it was too late to disguise the motion. Uther's right hand was somewhat raised, and Arthur quickly realised he'd almost been slapped. The king had almost struck him, just as he'd struck Merlin.

"Go on, then," Arthur challenged, and he stared down his father just as Merlin had. "Do it. Strike me. I know you want to. Let the people see what you think of me. Let them witness the fact that even the heir to the throne isn't safe from your temper!"

The words were coming hot and heavy from him now, flowing without thought from Arthur's mouth, and Arthur knew this was always when he was at his most dangerous. When he was acting on instinct—emotional, and not logical. His father had trained him to reign in such emotions, and perhaps to prevent confrontations such as this. Any other person speaking this way would be detained, but Arthur held more privilege than any other person in Camelot. He would not let that privilege go to waste any longer.

Uther slowly let his arm fall back to his side. "I will not strike you, Arthur," he declared, but there was a nervousness to him now that Arthur couldn't help but notice. The king was eyeing him now like he was some sort of demon, only just now crawling its way into the light. "You are my son. A future king. I should not be required to discipline you at this age, and especially not in public."

"How merciful of you to pull back," Arthur taunted, and there would be no preventing his anger now. It had been unleashed from him, pouring out of the deepest deaths of his heart. "And here I thought you detested clemency. I guess you're just as much of a hypocrite as I feared you were."

Uther's eyes widened, surprised to find his own advice thrown back at his face. "What has gotten into you?" the king cried, and there was a brokenness to his tone now. He was hurt, Arthur realised. Offended that his son would attack him in this way. "What has happened to root you against me in this way?"

"What has gotten into me?" Arthur echoed, bristling, and it was not lost on him how much he was beginning to sound like Merlin—shouting at his father just as Merlin had shouted at him in the dungeons. "What has gotten into you, father? Do you enjoy standing up here, watching your own people staring up at you in fear? Is that the type of ruler you've worked to become? I used to think you performed these executions out of necessity—that you took no pleasure in them. But now I see you revel in it. You exhibit your twisted idea of strength on the people so that you don't appear soft, inspiring their fear instead of their love, and—"

"Soft?" Uther bellowed, cutting Arthur off, and any remnant of hurt was quickly replaced by a flash of anger. "Is that your issue, here, Arthur? Is that your grievance with me as your king? You think I am simply hiding my weaknesses? Gilding them with varnish, instead of fixing them? That I am making this kingdom weak instead of strong?"

"No, Father, I think you are doing the very opposite!" Arthur hollered, and he was unsurprised to see the king enraged at the mere suggestion of weakness on his part. "And that is the issue! Do you not see that? You have no trust in the people! In the madness of your crusade against sorcery, your own citizens have grown to fear you instead of love you, and that's not even including any sorcerers! You've created nothing but mistrust, and is it so bad that I want to be loved by my people? All my people? I want to be a ruler that they can rely on, one they can look up to—"

"And that's a softness that'll get you killed one day, Arthur!" Uther exploded, and he moved to cup Arthur's face with both hands—just as Guinevere had. It was a tender motion, one of love, but it didn't have the same calming effect. Arthur reeled at the king's touch, worried he'd been going in for a strike, not a caress. "That is my greatest fear for you, Arthur. It is my greatest fear that one day, you will look an enemy in the eye and hesitate due to your misplaced trust. And it will be the end of you."

"Then let it be!" Arthur barked, and he ripped himself from his father's grasp, pushing away from him and watching as horror grew on his father's face. He vaguely wondered if this was how Merlin had felt, trying to get through to Arthur in the dungeon. Arguing with a brick wall too dense to hear any echo but its own. "Then let it be the end of me, Father! At least I'll die knowing I ruled as a king who chose reconciliation and mercy. A ruler that sought out peace when it could be found and cared for my subjects—all my subjects. And that's a legacy I'd be very happy to leave behind. I hope one day you can come to that same conclusion, but perhaps that is a foolish hope to hold."

Arthur paused to catch his breath then, a speech he had never written for himself now delivered. He felt alive all of a sudden, his every muscle twitching, and in a rush, Arthur realised this was what righteous fury felt like. He hadn't had the strength of will to kill Merlin, and he also hadn't been able to execute Gaius or the Druid boy. He had proven himself weak in that category multiple times, and then there were the countless other sorcerers he had passively watched die at his father's hands. The king had always regarded mercy as a sign of weakness, and so had Arthur, but he was done pretending that mercy and compassion were qualities he had to cut out like a disease. It was tearing him up inside to do so and he couldn't fight his own nature anymore.

"What has he done to you?" Uther whispered in horror, and it took Arthur a moment to realise that his father was referencing Merlin. "Emrys, that wicked warlock—what mystic poison has he put in your mind?"

"No poison, Father," Arthur said, but he was unsurprised that his father would place the blame anywhere but himself. After all, hadn't Arthur done the same? Blamed Merlin, blamed the Druids, blamed Gaius—anything but his own heart and actions, even though he had known all along that the blame rested with him the most. "The only thing he has given me is the truth, and when I'm king, I'll be deciding just what to do with that. This kingdom does not belong to us. It belongs to the people, no matter who or what they are, and we have lost sight of that. We have lost sight of it from the very beginning, and I aim to change that!"

Arthur practically screamed his last few words, breathless, and before he knew it, his feet were moving. He was aiming for the stairs, desperate to abandon the conversation and leave the balcony. If he didn't, he knew this would end in drawn swords. The fog around the courtyard had turned to rain, pellets of water beginning to cascade down on them, causing the stone to grow slippery beneath Arthur's boots. It forced him to slow down.

That was unfortunate, as with his slowed pace, Arthur saw the motion clearly out of the corner of his eye. A deadly movement of the king's arm, and Arthur reacted as he was trained, drawing his sword and swirling around, his body dropping into a fighting stance.

He'd expected to be met with his father's sword. Anticipated the glint of a blade in the glittering rain, but he was pleasantly surprised to find no weapon drawn. The king's hands were merely resting on the hilt. He'd chosen not to unsheathe his sword.

But he'd considered it.

"Going to kill me, were you?" Arthur whispered, his eyes entirely on his father's hands. He couldn't believe he was doing this. Speaking this way, or drawing a weapon on his father. But it felt right somehow. Inevitable. "Or were you going to simply arrest me? Send me to the dungeons for a few nights to cool off? You'd just be proving Merlin right. You keep turning friends into enemies. One day, you won't have any friends left to turn to, and perhaps we have already reached that bleak day."

Arthur's words were like venom, and Uther had never looked so caught off guard. "I cannot believe what I'm hearing, Arthur," the king snapped, and he pulled his hands away from his sword, moving them up almost in surrender. He'd chosen not to attack, but Arthur did not relax. "I cannot believe that I have my own son standing here, threatening me and agreeing with a sorcerer. A sorcerer that killed a good knight, murdered Roldan—"

"—on accident!" Arthur snarled, and for once, he was prepared to admit his own fault in the situation. "He was defending himself in battle, as any warrior would do. He was unable to tell if the knight was an enemy or not, and it was a misstep I may have been able to prevent. Instead, I played his game and went behind his back. Testing him. Keeping secrets. All things that you have done to me to see if I am fit for the throne, but I'm finished dealing in secrets and lies. I've learnt my lesson now. Secrets bring about nothing but pain and death."

"You are defending him!" Uther cried, and it was clear that all of Arthur's words had flown right over his head. "Him! A proven sorcerer! And one that has attacked our kingdom! Do you not hear yourself, Arthur? Has madness overtaken your better senses?"

"Attacked?" Arthur echoed, and he emitted a bitter laugh, waving his sword at the oak tree now stretching over the whole of the castle. "You call this an attack, father? Merlin has hardly left a scratch on anyone! He mobbed us with butterflies! He could have killed us all in an instant if he'd wanted, but he chose not to. Unlike you, it seems he doesn't need to prove his points to the people of Camelot through sensationalist murder!"

Arthur's voice cracked as he shouted, and Uther's expression darkened. "You're beginning to sound like Morgana," Uther realised, and he said it like it was a bad thing. "Has she put you up to this? Did she write up this little speech of yours? I know she has always disapproved of execution, but I've always thought it was her more womanly nature come to the surface. It's understandable that she would find such unpleasant things upsetting, but you—"

"What would mother think of this?"

Uther blinked at him. Rain was streaking down his face now, drenching them both as Arthur brought up something he knew he was forbidden to speak of. An indicator that this was not at all a speech Morgana had written up for him. "What did you say?"

"You heard me," Arthur ground out, and he wasn't about to back down now. His sword felt correct in his hands. Pointed at an enemy. "My mother. Ygraine. Remember her? What would she think of all this? I wouldn't know, as I never knew her. But you would know. How would she feel if she could see us now? If she saw what you've done? What would she think of your carefully crafted crusade against magic?"

"Don't you dare bring her name into this!" Uther thundered, and Arthur could hear himself in his father once again. Reacting the same as Arthur had when Merlin had drawn Guinevere's name into their argument.

"I do dare!" Arthur yelled back, and this time, he heard Merlin's voice alive within him—screaming the same three words the sorcerer had spoken from the gallows. It was long overdue, but he did dare. "You never talk of her, Father! I know nothing about her, and do I not have a right to know? Back at court, you spoke of her for the first time in nearly a year. You told me that my inclination towards mercy was her nature inside of me. Her soul within me. So is it? Were you saying that she'd disapprove of your methods? Are you saying that she was weak, as you say that I am weak?"

"You know nothing of which you speak, Arthur," Uther seethed, and a darkness overcame his features like a shadow. His fingers had found the hilt of his sword again. "Your mother was everything to me. Everything, and her death was a blow I will never recover from. Her death at the hands of sorcery!"

The king's voice was shrill now, and Arthur's heart skipped a beat. This was new information, or at least from his father's mouth. "Whose hands?" Arthur demanded. "What sorcery?"

Terror flickered across Uther's face. He hadn't meant to say that. "What?"

"Whose hands, Father?" Arthur roared, stepping forward. His sword hovered ever closer to the king, and that was enough for Uther to finally pull his weapon as well. Two knights, father and son, just inches from battle. "How did she die, in truth? What sorcery? You never told me sorcery was involved. You denied sorcery was involved. Is this why you banned it? What is the truth?"

"I-I misspoke, Arthur!" Uther stuttered, and he was backpedaling now. Trying to rectify his slip up, the dots of his story no longer connecting. "Don't make me relive this again. It's too painful to remember. Sorcerers were attacking Camelot nearly constantly back then. That is what I meant. There were sorcerers threatening your mother, and then she died giving birth to you—"

"You're lying," Arthur accused, and he couldn't bear to hear more flimsy falsehoods leak out his father's mouth. He wanted to know if the vision of his mother Morgause had shown him had been real. If that had been the truth, despite Merlin having convinced him it wasn't. Perhaps Merlin had simply been wrong. "I can see that you're lying. You're lying to me."

"I am not lying," Uther defended, but Arthur could still spot the fear swimming behind the king's rage. Fear and uncertainty—two things Arthur was not accustomed to seeing within his father, and that made them all the more easy to identify. "Was it Merlin that convinced you that I am lying? Has he enchanted you, turning you against me? Your mother died giving birth to you and that is the truth of it. A sorceress cursed her, telling me that would be her fate. I did not believe it, and it was my mistake that I did not kill that witch where she stood. I have since rectified that mistake, and the sorceress is dead. Anything else you may have heard is nothing more than a trap to mislead you and turn you against me. You must believe that, Arthur."

The king spoke with desperation, pleading, but Arthur wasn't buying it. When he'd confronted Merlin back in the dungeons, Merlin had opened up the minute his secret was revealed. The truth had tumbled from him like a flood, but it was not so with Uther. The king was still bottling it up. Still hiding. Still avoiding.

"I wish I believed you, Father," Arthur whispered, and that was true. "I wish I believed that you've told me the whole story. But you're withholding something from me, aren't you? It seems everyone's solution to dealing with me these days is to simply lie to my face. I'm sick of it. Speak to me in truth and truth alone, or I won't be trusting any word out of your mouth ever again. I promise you that."

Curling his fingers even tighter around his sword, Arthur leveled it to his father's face to demonstrate his seriousness. The rain continued to slash down on them, growing in intensity, but neither of them moved for shelter. Their blades were practically touching, with both king and prince fearing that they'd come to blows. Neither of them wanted this, but neither of them would back down if it were to happen.

The king opened his mouth to reply, perhaps to defend himself, or try to defuse the situation. But no sounds came out. Uther seemed at a loss for words—or, at least, at a loss for the truth, and Arthur grimaced, speaking in his father's stead.

"As your only heir, I may be safe from execution at your hands," Arthur said, and adrenaline shot through his veins as he spoke. His arms were shaking, but he felt he was finally doing what Merlin had hoped for. Stepping up and playing with political fire in a way only he, as prince, could do. "However, you are not necessarily safe from execution at mine. This is your trial, Uther Pendragon, king of Camelot. Not that you ever gave anyone else a fair one. This is your final chance. Tell me. What actually happened? Why would a sorceress have cursed my mother? Did you give her a reason to? Because as someone informed me recently, no sorcerer acts without a reason."

Uther's expression was like shattered glass. Broken, and unsure of how to pick up the pieces now that his façade had been fractured. "Arthur—" he began, but before he could get out another word, they were interrupted by a new arrival to the balcony.

"Arthur!" Gaius' voice howled, and Arthur watched the physician approach them out of the corner of his eye. He still kept his sword level with his father's face, but he could see that the rain had already drenched Gaius' grey hair. The physician looked distressed at the sight of their drawn weapons, and that was something Arthur hadn't anticipated. If anything, he'd expected Gaius to be happy by it, and it occurred to him then that whoever remained in the courtyard could probably see them. The prince and the king, swords drawn and at each other's throats. Not exactly a great look, but then again, Uther had just gotten his arse served to him in public by a sorcerer. That hadn't been a great look for the kingdom, either. For better or for worse, the future of Camelot would change on this balcony tonight...

Merlin had put the sand in motion and there was no turning back time now.

"Arthur, think about what you're doing!" Gaius implored, and his hands were grasped together in beseechment—something that angered Arthur. To see Gaius defending the king, when they both knew there was nothing to defend. Hell, it had been Gaius himself that had told Arthur to turn away from the king, and that was exactly what Arthur was doing. Shouldn't he be pleased?

But Gaius merely continued his plea for clemency. "Arthur, marking yourself as patricidal and a kingslayer is no way for you to start off your reign," he argued, and Arthur didn't like how much sense he was making. "Don't you see? I understand your anger, but the alliances the kingdom has forged will not hold if you were to usurp the throne in this way. It will throw Camelot into chaos and war!"

"It's already in chaos and war, Gaius!" Arthur reminded him, his voice strangely even. He could see fear growing ever stronger in his father's eyes. It was the same brand of fear that the king had infused into so many others. A taste of his own dreadful medicine. Once before, Arthur had confronted him at swordpoint for his hypocrisy. It had only been a matter of time before they came to blows again. "He's made sure of that!"

"I know," Gaius said, and Arthur could hear Gaius' own internal war as he spoke. "But you must think politically, Arthur. We are technically at peace with the other kingdoms at this moment. Essetir teeters on the brink of destroying that peace, and Cenred may attack at any hour. If he does, you will need the other kings to rally to your side. If you kill Uther now, they may not come to your aid!"

"Gaius is right, Arthur," Uther said, and Arthur flinched to hear him speak again. The freezing rain had thoroughly drenched them all, leaving Arthur and Uther both shaking a little. "I have spent years forging the alliances Camelot holds. We are in political agreement with all but one of the five kingdoms, but they hold that peace with me, not you. You know this. You are not yet ready to handle the void of power that will come with my death. Our enemies will converge on you, led by Cenred and testing you to see if you are weak and expendable. If you are proven weak, they will take this kingdom for themselves. You want me to speak to you the truth? That is the truth in this, Arthur. You are not ready for the throne, and if you were to take it now, you would lose it and this entire kingdom within weeks. Of that alone I am sure."

He was avoiding Arthur's trial, and that made Arthur's blood boil—witnessing him steer deftly away from the topic of Ygraine's death. He was using Gaius' logic as a weapon, utilizing the looming threat of Cenred as an excuse, but Arthur wavered at the sliver of truth he did hear within his father's words. A dark declaration of Camelot's future under his eventual rule and exhaustion tugged at him at the implications. It was an exhaustion born from too much stress. Too much killing, and too much worry about kingdom politics. Was Arthur ready to be king? No. Could he survive an attack by Cenred? Likely no. Could he handle it with Merlin and a dragon as his army? Maybe. But Arthur would need to consult with Merlin on that one, and unfortunately, that meant both Gaius and his father were right.

He couldn't take power. Not yet. Not now, and not alone. If he did, he'd throw Camelot into an unrest he might not be able to recover from. It was a chilling thing to understand, but he did understand it. Killing his father, right here and in full view of the public, would be a mistake he could not come back from. A mistake that might result in hundreds of deaths if he wasn't careful.

"There you go, my son," Uther said slowly, and Arthur realised he'd subconsciously lowered his sword. Uther did the same, ending their standoff. "I knew you'd make the right decision in the end. I am not your enemy."

"Are you sure about that, Father?" Arthur asked, a dangerous edge to his tone, but he did sheath his sword. His shoulders slumped, just letting the rain swallow him. "Because I'm not, and it looks like I'm just as soft as you feared me to be. I've chosen mercy. For now. You have Gaius to thank for that. Have fun chasing down that dragon and Merlin. I hope you never find him."

"Arthur—" Uther started, but Arthur had already turned his back on the king, and for good this time. He began to make his way out of the rain, only stopping briefly to look Gaius in the eye.

"Tell me honestly," he asked the physician, and he'd never stared down Gaius quite like this. It wasn't all that different from how Gaius had stared him down on the dungeon steps, granting the physician no wiggle room to lie. "Is he responsible? Whatever truly happened with my mother and my birth. Is he to blame?"

He pointed to his father at this, and Gaius faltered. "I—" he blubbered, grappling for a reply. "He—"

"That's all the answer I need," Arthur said definitively, not letting the physician gather his thoughts, and then he was back in the castle—descending the stairs and leaving his father behind him. "Arthur!" Uther screamed after him, but Arthur simply ignored him, knowing that if he turned back again, he'd see red. They would fight, and Arthur would win. Deep down, Uther must know that his son would win, and Arthur hoped that scared him. That would have to be enough for now. Eventually, inevitably, they would clash again…

And when that fateful day occurred, Arthur didn't plan on holding back.

A figure met Arthur half way down the stairs, having been part of the way up when Arthur had taken his leave. "What was all that?" Morgana asked, her eyes wide with surprise at seeing the prince's fury still emanating off him in waves.

"Inevitable," Arthur muttered in answer, and he didn't offer any further insight, merely pushing past Morgana and continuing his way to his chambers. This time when he slammed his door shut, he didn't plan on allowing anyone in to speak to him. Three days of little to no sleep weighed on his every limb, and it was accompanied by overwhelming grief as something Arthur had denied for some time finally came crashing down upon him in full force.

The vision that Morgause had shown him had been true. It had been the truth, hadn't it? It had felt like the truth to Arthur's instincts, unlike the excuses that had poured from his father's mouth. The magically-summoned vestige had felt like his mother come to speak to him from beyond the grave, telling him that his father was keeping secrets from him. Lying to his face, just like everyone else seemed to do, but this was even worse than Merlin's secret. Even worse because it meant that his father had meddled with circumstances beyond his control, causing the accidental death of another—just as Arthur had. Ygraine's death was burning on his father's conscience just as Roldan's death was burning on Arthur's, wasn't it?

He knew deep down that was the truth in all this. History repeated itself if you weren't careful, and what was worse was that Arthur wasn't sure what to do with that knowledge. He'd pushed it down once before, trying to ignore it. To convince himself that his father was innocent in his mother's death and that the laws of Camelot were just. But he couldn't maintain that convenient charade anymore. The very fabric of his daily life had been ripped apart and he wasn't sure how to sew it into something new. The relationship between him and the king felt irreparably damaged, with any last shred of reconciliation between them now abandoned out in the pouring rain. It was a terrible thing to realise, but at least one good thing had come out of this horrible day.

Merlin was alive. He was still breathing, and probably celebrating his victory over Uther up in the sky on his bloody dragon. That was a win for them both, and Arthur had to give himself that. Had to rest in the knowledge that his friend would live to see another sunrise, and one day soon, they would speak again. Speak as equals, and not as enemies or even burdened by their class differences any longer. They could talk. They could plan. They could figure out a battle map for the future, together, and with no secrets between them anymore.

It was a nice thought, albeit a strange one, and Arthur collapsed onto his bed, worn out after several nights of being unable to rest. Lying there, curled up in his blankets, he wondered if tonight he might actually be able to catch some sleep. He needed it, following everything that had just transpired. His heart was still in turmoil with the sun only just now fading from Camelot's sky, fighting against the dark rainclouds and painting Arthur's chambers in its golden glow. With a sigh, he let his face sink into the embrace of his silk pillows, basking in the last tendrils of the sun and letting his half-lidded eyes linger on his window—just gazing out at Merlin's oak tree. Its beautiful boughs swung in the wind and Arthur couldn't help but smile a little at their peaceful image.

It was calming, the presence of the tree in light of Merlin's absence, and a glimmer of hope flickered inside Arthur as he studied it. It was surprising to him, how quickly that little spark of hope replaced his anguish at abandoning his father. There was no doubt in Arthur's mind that Merlin had summoned that tree as a symbol of peace for Camelot. An extended olive branch that he was not an enemy, but rather an ally, and it served as a beacon for the future despite the uncertainty ahead. Part of Arthur wondered if something great could be on the horizon, just out of their reach. His reign had almost come into fruition on that balcony, and Arthur deeply feared that he might not make the right calls when his eventual crowning did come…

But somehow, deep down in his heart, Arthur knew he'd made the right call today. He'd chosen to believe in Merlin's dream, trusting his instincts and putting his faith in the possibility of magic as a force for good. He'd turned against the will of his father, publicly and irreversibly. It was a small step, a scary step, but a decision nonetheless, and Arthur had never felt so assured by his own choices. In more ways than one, it felt like his first step as king, and perhaps his father was right. Perhaps Arthur would get himself killed one day, placing his political trust in the wrong places and consorting with sorcerers…

Or perhaps Uther was wrong. Perhaps today had been the first step of creating a Camelot that only existed in Arthur's dreams. Perhaps placing his trust in the likes of Merlin—with all his unknowable power and unfathomable loyalty—could be the beginning of something Uther could never hope to build. There was no way to know for sure, but for some inexplicable reason, Arthur held more hope in this dream than anything he'd ever encountered before.

And resting in that sweet feeling, Arthur finally drifted off into some much-needed sleep.