It's only when he reaches the gates to the garden of Morgana's childhood home that Merlin realises how ridiculous an idea this is; Arthur would laugh so hard he'd probably wet himself if he knew what Merlin was planning, and Morgana…Morgana would be either amused or offended, maybe equal parts of both. They wouldn't understand, and Merlin doesn't quite get it himself, but the gates are opening and it's too late to turn around and go back now.
He presses his left foot to the clutch, then tries a second time because his car rivals the Pendragons for stubbornness sometimes, finally managing to jam it into first and set off down the stupidly long private road Uther considers an appropriate length for a driveway.
Geoffrey meets him at the front door, wearing the same expression he usually does when Merlin shows up here; Uther might not hold too much of a grudge for the time Merlin and Arthur rearranged all the books in the library by colour rather than alphabetically by author, but the butler still doesn't think Merlin should be allowed inside unless accompanied by a responsible adult (and no, Arthur and Morgana don't count).
"The children aren't here, Mr Emrys," Geoffrey says, his face the perfect picture of a woman who smells something foul but is too polite to mention it, if in a slightly overweight, bearded and balding fashion.
"I know," Merlin says; since Morgana lives with him and everyone knows Arthur always works late on Thursdays before going back to his flat, it would be a little unusual for him not to. "I was hoping to see Uth- Mr Pendragon. I called ahead to check he'd be home."
Geoffrey sniffs but steps aside, glaring at Merlin's car like its mere presence outside the house is devaluing the entire county. Merlin makes a point of locking it, purely because, as Arthur has said for years, he can be an obnoxious brat when it suits him.
"Mr Pendragon is in his office," Geoffrey says, his shiny shoes making no noise at all on the genuine wooden floorboards, even as Merlin's beaten-down converse slip-slap their way across the threshold. "If you would wait here, I shall inform him of your presence."
Merlin smiles, too familiar with the ways of the house to fall for that again; the last time he agreed to wait downstairs for Geoffrey to get someone, he was sixteen and coming over to play video games with Arthur, only to be left abandoned in the hall for almost an hour before Arthur came to investigate why he was even later than usual. "It's no trouble, Geoff," he says, enjoying the way the crease between Geoffrey's brows deepens slightly, the old man too polite to correct a guest (be it a self-invited one like Merlin) even if he wants to. "I remember where it is."
He's off before the butler can object, taking the stairs two at a time, faster than he knows Geoffrey will be able to follow him. "Thanks," he calls from the top, leaning over the banister just to be sure he's getting the full effect of the glare Geoffrey's shooting at him.
The house has always been far too large for three people, even more so now that it's only Uther living here, and it takes Merlin far too long to reach Uther's office, way off in that part of the house they were never allowed in as kids. Noisy children with sticky fingers had no place there, he'd been told more than once, and even now, definitely not a child anymore, Merlin has trouble shaking the feeling that he's out of bounds.
Still, he's come this far, and there's no prize for chickening out at this point; Morgana would be even less impressed by that than his being there in the first place, Uther would be furious at him for arranging to see him and then not showing up, and Arthur…Arthur's laughter would probably go from pissing himself to killing himself, the bastard, and then who would Merlin ask to be his best man?
Merlin taps a slightly shaky hand on Uther's office door, waiting for an answer from the voice that doomed far too many childhood games.
And there it is, with a soft and slightly stormy, "Come in."
Merlin does, hovering in the doorway as Uther stares at the papers scattered across the desk before him, and he'd forgotten how dark this room is. It's no surprise Uther is such an irritable git, really, when he spends most of his life surrounded by dark wood panelling and leather-bound books so dull Merlin doesn't think anyone has actually read them in decades. Even the sunlight seems to stop short at the window, blocked by the thick velvet curtains even when they're open.
"Is the irritating Emrys boy here already?" Uther asks, not looking up, and Merlin fights down a nervous giggle. "Send him through, please, Geoffrey."
"I thought you'd say that," Merlin answers, relishing the way the expression on Uther's face is probably the closest thing the old bastard can get to looking embarrassed. "So I figured I'd save Geoffrey's legs the trip up here and back again."
Uther recovers quickly, stacking his papers into a single pile and fixing a not-quite smile on his face. "I see," he says, the same way he used to after Merlin, Arthur and Morgana garbled out an explanation for breaking yet another unspeakably expensive family heirloom (usually Merlin's fault, if he's honest, but Morgana was willing to share the blame from time to time). "Sit, then, Mr Emrys."
Merlin obeys, largely out of habit; he knows from more than a decade of being summoned in here with Arthur for a scolding that the chairs Uther keeps for guests in his office are not at all comfortable, but he also knows from experience that opposing Uther on something as small as this will only lead to misery later on. "Thank you," he says, again from habit, although this time it's one encouraged by his mother. Unfortunately, Hunith's lessons on manners never touched on how to ask his girlfriend's father for her hand in marriage, and all the things Merlin had planned on his way up here suddenly sound pretty ridiculous.
"Why did you come here?" Uther asks eventually, storming through the awkward silence as he storms through everything else. "One assumes you have a reason for interrupting my rather busy schedule."
In answer, Merlin pulls a blue velvet ring box from his pocket. It's a little battered, one of the corners indented slightly, the velvet scuffed from where generations of Emrys men have passed it from hand to hand, terrified of being refused. "I want to ask Morgana to marry me," he says, opening the box to show Uther the ring that came to him from his mother. Nothing fancy, not really, nothing like the beautiful heirlooms Morgana and Arthur grew up with, things too precious for children to touch.
"It was my mother's," he says, "And my grandmother's before that. I know it's not much, but I could save every spare penny I earn for the rest of my life and I still wouldn't have enough to buy anything half as good as what you probably think she deserves."
Uther frowns his Pest, why do I humour your foolish desire to breathe? frown, and Merlin feels the need to continue before his hopefully-soon-to-be father-in-law (and oh, god, he's only just realising that if Morgana doesn't turn him down flat he's going to be related to this man) decides to act on his threat.
"It's not much," he says a second time, "And you probably think Morgana deserves better than this – hell, you probably think that she deserves better than me, too, but I love her, and I have to hope that means more to you than how much money I earn or who my family is."
For a long time, Uther continues his stare, strict and severe and, really, Merlin isn't a whole lot less scared of him now than he was as a kid. It's stupid, because it's a ridiculously archaic tradition to ask a man for his daughter's hand before proposing to her, and it's not like Uther's refusal is going to stop him. It's not going to stop Morgana, either, he doesn't think, and some tiny part of him argues that, actually, the fact that her father disapproves of him might end up working in his favour, but he squashes it quickly; if Morgana marries him, he doesn't want it to just be because it'll piss off her father. He wants it to be because she loves him, because she feels – as he does – that this is the only possible future that makes sense.
"I love her," Merlin repeats, as if that'll help anything. "I love her more than pretty much anything, and I would like very much if you were okay with me marrying her."
"Have you spoken to Arthur about this?" Uther asks, and Merlin really wasn't expecting that. It's not a no, which is great, but at least that would have made sense.
"Nuh-ohhh," he says, confusion dragging the word into two syllables. Arthur has nothing to do with he and Morgana, has no place in this conversation, and whatever Merlin once thought was between them, whatever future he wondered about them having together, it is nothing but that; a thought, a moment of folly, and Merlin has long put it behind him. "Do you think I should ask his permission?"
Uther doesn't answer, but then when his expression conveys perfectly well how stupid he thinks Merlin is, he doesn't really need to. Of course, Merlin doesn't actually know why he's stupid on this particular occasion (he's not the one who brought up Arthur, after all), but it's still pretty damn obvious how little Uther thinks of his intelligence.
Eventually, Uther seems to tire of wordlessly calling Merlin a whole variety of synonyms for idiot. "Mr Emrys," he says, then rolls his eyes and actually seems to relax a little, dropping his shoulders and massaging his left temple. "Merlin, I'm not a young man anymore. I'd quite like grandchildren before I die."
"Um," Merlin says, because it's about the only thing he can say to that.
"You have my permission," Uther says. "I cannot say whether that will help or hinder your case, but you have it. I trust that you will do all you can to make my children happy."
"Um," Merlin says again, confusion over that last sentence temporarily supplanting his gratitude.
"You have my permission," Uther repeats, looking back down at his paper-covered desk. "That will be all, Mr Emrys."
Dismissed and still so very confused, Merlin stands up, heading back through the maze of hallways to the front door and his car.
Pendragons, he thinks. He's never going to understand them.