Merlin entered Arthur's chambers, ready for another round of orders. Instead he found Arthur pulling on a boot.

"Going out?" he asked causing Arthur to jump; he hadn't heard Merlin come in.

"Yes." He said. "I mean, no."

"It's really quite simple Arthur. If you're leaving, you're going out, so it's a yes. You're getting your boots on, so I'm guessing…it's a yes."

"Right." Arthur muttered distractedly. He put on a belt and didn't look at Merlin.

"So…shall I prepare a dinner for when you get back?"

"No, I'm going to eat with my father. I haven't eaten with him in almost a week."

"Ah," Merlin nodded understandingly. "I understand."

Arthur looked at his servant confusedly.

"Don't take it so personally, Merlin, you can come with me if you like. You almost always do."

"What? Oh, no, I don't care who you eat with."

Arthur picked up his sword and accidently knocked over the water jug—the same jug that had flown up in the air when he was sick.

"You alright?" Merlin asked as Arthur picked up the now twice-dented metal jug. "You seem…distracted."

Arthur didn't answer; he fiddled with the edge of the water jug before placing it back on the table.

"I don't know what you mean." he said.

"Well, I mean you aren't telling me what to do and you look like you've just stepped in horse dung and haven't got a clue what to do about it."

He looked at Arthur and how nervous he looked. He, Merlin, leaned closer and looked at the other man sincerely.

"You know you can tell me anything. Right? You know you can trust me."

"I know…and…maybe soon, I will tell you…but not right now."

Merlin nodded, slightly hurt but not arguing.

He watched concernedly as Arthur left the room alone.

…

"You seem quiet." Uther said eating his food.

"Anything wrong?"

Arthur cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. His breath hitched and his throat contracted. He was having trouble breathing, his throat was so dry—perhaps he was getting sick again.

"There's something I'd like to discuss with you." He said.

"Oh? And what's that?"

Arthur took a deep, quiet breath through his nose.

"I think," he said. "I think I have magic."

Uther laughed.

"Of course you don't have magic." He scoffed. "What on Earth gave you that idea?"

Arthur quickly told him of the things that had happened and then held his breath as his father looked at him and thought.

"I'm disappointed in you Arthur. The evidence is…disturbing."

"You—you can't blame me for having magic; I can't help it." Arthur pleaded helplessly.

"I can and I have."

"So…what do you want me to do then?"

"Well I can't execute my own son; think what the people would say…it'll have to look like an accident or an assassination."

"What?"

"Or I suppose you could do it yourself, show how brave you are. After that, I'll work something out; make it look like something else."

"You…you want me to kill myself."

"Yes."

"…Is this really what you want?"

"Show one last act of bravery; show me I wasn't wrong to have the small amount of pride for you that I did."

"If that is what you wish…I'll do it."

"Good." Uther replied with a smile.

"I can hang myself tonight."

"No, I want to make sure you are not a coward. I have to see it."

"You…you want to see it?"

"You could run away otherwise."

"You think I would do that?"

"I know not what to think; after all, you have magic."

Arthur sucked in a sharp breath through his nose but forced himself to relax. The words stung but what was he to do? Run, be a coward in his father's sight?

He pulled out his sword; oversized for what he had planned but he didn't have his knife with him. He brought his arm up. He lifted the blade. Skin made contact with metal and the smell of blood filled the air as he dragged the sword along the inside of his arm.

"I'm proud of you, Arthur." Uther said as he, Arthur, began to cut his other arm. ""You are not as much of a coward as I thought."

He made no sound as pain spread through his split skin and blood pushed its way out. He would be dead soon. He would see his mother again. He supposed he should have been excited. But he wasn't. Instead he was scared. What if he didn't join his mother in Heaven? What if he was trapped on Earth as a wandering spirit or worse, went to Hell to join his enemies?

His heart pounded, his vision blurred, his father smiled. Nothing made sense anymore.

…

Keep in mind; everything is not what it seems

Also, I'm sorry for the wait; computer problems. All the tear droplets, man, all the tear droplets