"Sorcery!" Uther Pendragon yelled, a vein over his left temple throbbing in disgusting anger. "I won't have it in Camelot! Not in my kingdom!"
"Well, to be fair, Your Highness, we can't prove for certain it was sorcery," Arthur replied, rubbing a hand over his forehead in frustration. The two were arguing in the Great Hall alone, all others dismissed on account of Uther's inability to talk about magic calmly and Arthur's inability to accept his decision without discussion.
"Sorcery! Clearly, it was the work of a sorcerer! Four of your Knights and two other servants saw the knife fly away without the boy moving so much as a finger!" Uther hollered, his commanding voice booming against the stone walls. "His eyes even glowed like the demon Azazel!"
"I already told you, I saw no yellow eyes!" Arthur swore.
"Really, Arthur, when will you accept you're blind to colors? We've had this discussion—"
"I don't care whether the robes of Camelot are 'red' or 'blue!' This is a serious discussion. Merlin's life is in question."
"Arthur, he's a serving boy. One capable of sorcery! He probably has plans to dethrone the Pendragons and return Camelot to its former chaos."
Arthur stared at his father for a moment, silent. Then, as if tasting something sour, he exclaimed, "Merlin? Merlin? I've known the boy for a week and already I know he's a fool. He couldn't hold a sword, let alone dethrone a great king."
"He doesn't need to hold a sword if he's a sorcerer," Uther replied. Arthur sighed.
"Sire—" he said.
"My decision is final! The boy is convicted of the crime of being a sorcerer. He'll hang at tomorrow's dawn." Uther turned away from Arthur with a flourish, as if emphasizing his right to decide who lives or who dies.
"Father, please," Arthur begged. Without facing his son, Uther gripped the throne's armrest.
"Why?" he asked. "You challenge me over so few things. I thought of all things you would always agree with me on sorcerers and their treachery. Why, when they've taken so much from us, would you challenge me on this?"
Arthur stared at his father, unsure of how to respond right away. The king had a point; even Arthur himself wasn't completely sure why he felt the need to challenge his father. He hadn't lied earlier—he had only known Merlin a week and had thus far only been able to deduce for sure that the serving boy was a fool. And probably not nearly as much of a fool as I thought, Arthur conceded. He supposed in some respect he was helping Morgana please her serving girl Guinevere (and it had absolutely nothing to do with how beautiful he thought the serving girl was, Arthur was just being chivalrous, helping a distressed woman, as any good prince must).
"Well?" Uther prodded, his voice toned with something like… contempt? Did his father think Arthur's concerns were a joke? Arthur bristled involuntarily while the king continued, "Really, Arthur, you still have so much to learn."
"Do I?" the prince asked immediately. Uther shot him a bemused look.
"Yes, you do. You can't even recognize when it's inappropriate to confront your king."
"Maybe that's because you think it's always inappropriate!" Arthur argued, trying, but failing to bite his tongue.
"Excuse me?"
"Do you think it's easy for me to question your decisions? You're the king—my father," Arthur explained, knowing it was pointless now to hold back. "I admire you, look up to you. I've always believed you were a just, fair king. But if you're so easily willing to kill a lowly serving boy that's saved my life who knows how many times, simply because he can do a magic trick, then maybe you aren't. And that's something I need to know—"
"I am a fair king, Arthur," Uther spat, his eyes flaring. "But sorcery is not something to be tolerated. It is evil, and it must be destroyed. Those that practice it must die with it, or there will never be peace."
"You can't kill everyone that has magic. You'll be killing innocent people, good people!"
"Innocent? Sorcery is a crime, and those that use it are guilty of—"
"Of what? Saving my life?" Arthur knew it was no use arguing, and so he said one final thing, even if it would be too much: "I don't think... Magic doesn't make a person evil, Father. People are… they have to be so much more than that."
"Arthur," Uther said, turning to face his son. The young prince was surprised to see sadness in his father's eyes. "Soon you will learn. The world is complicated, but people are terribly, terribly simple."
Two hours before, Merlin had been pacing the floor of the cell impatiently. There were patches of the hay that had been kicked up in frustration, and the young boy's hands and face were covered in rusty dust were he'd gripped the bars and leaned his forehead against them, sighing.
Now, Merlin sat at the back wall, leaning against the damp stones. His head was back and his eyes were closed. He wanted so badly to just fall asleep. Last time he'd been tossed in the dungeons, it had taken Gaius all night to get him out. This time, Merlin only had until dawn. This really couldn't be how his life was supposed to go, he told himself. Just a week ago, the Great Dragon had foretold that he would help Arthur unite Albion—he had to live until Arthur was at least king, then, didn't he?
He lifted his head from the wall, opening his eyes, and kicked the hay again in anger. It was a lie anyways; there were no such thing as prophecies or purposes. Merlin knew better than anyone that living was an uncharted mess and that his existence in particular was a cruel joke. All his life he'd tried so hard to fit in, to be more than just the strange boy with magic, capable of learning sorcery. Whether people loved him or hated him for what he could do, it made little difference; they always fixated on the one part of him he had no control over. The one part of him that was unique and extraordinary, the one part of him that was therefore powerful, therefore important.
It was simple. Merlin was his magic; that's what he had always been in life and that's what he would be in death. He'd given up trying to believe otherwise.
"Merlin," someone whispered. The boy looked up to see the pretty Guinevere standing just beyond the bars, a plate of bread in her hand. Smiling, Merlin stood up. "I thought you might be hungry," Gwen said. Merlin took the bread gratefully.
"I guess they figured why waste food on a dead man, huh?" Merlin said with a smile that was more of a grimace. He tore off a piece and shoved it in his cheek as Gwen soured.
"Don't say that!" she scolded. "Arthur will get you out." At that, Merlin let out a full laugh, made rounder by the bread in his cheek.
"Arthur?" he echoed. "Arthur's the one that tossed me in here."
"No, Uther ordered that. The prince is in there right now asking for leniency."
"Leniency for a sorcerer? Maybe I'll get some soup before they hang me." The serving girl shot him a look; Merlin's humor was only earning glares from Gwen today, it seemed.
"Well, you're not really a sorcerer, are you?" she said. Merlin swallowed the bread in his mouth.
"'Course I am! Why would you say that? I have magic, it's out there for everyone to see."
Gwen shrugged. "Well, it's just that I always thought sorcerers had to learn their magic. Hearsay is yours looked as natural as swatting a fly."
"Well, maybe I'm just naturally gifted," Merlin offered, his expression smug. This time, Gwen laughed.
"Maybe," she said, "you're just something more." Merlin just looked at her, not sure how to respond. Under his bright blue gaze, Gwen turned sheepish. "Not— not that magic isn't already really, really ne—"
"Oi!" the guard suddenly called, leaning around the corner to look at Gwen and Merlin. "Come on. Out."
Gwen smiled at Merlin before turning to go. "Have faith," she said.
And then Merlin was alone again.