Arthur's eyelids are like lead, but a voice - the voice of his beloved - urges him to open them.
"Arthur, please." A desperate whisper broken by a watery sniff. "Please wake up. He needs you. Please."
With all his might, he struggles towards consciousness, and, as he does so, his memories start to coalesce.
It is his birthday feast. Despite a dangerous trick involving daggers and a spinning wheel, Arthur is enjoying himself. Even his father attends, in unusually good spirits and utterly enraptured by the acrobatic entertainment.
The King has been ill for some time now, mind and spirit broken by the betrayal of his ward Morgana, but this is the most animated Arthur has seen him in months. He cannot deny his heart warms at the sight, but the feeling is quickly tempered. The last year or so has brought with it several earth-shattering revelations courtesy of his now not-so-secretly magical manservant Merlin, including Uther's culpability in the unfair persecution of countless innocent magic users. Is it wrong, Arthur questions himself as Uther claps his hands in amazement at an acrobat's tumbling, to rejoice in his father's improved health?
He does not want to think of the answer to that now. As the night wears on, he thrusts himself into the revelry, throwing back goblet after goblet of wine with his knights. By the time the feast ends he is more than a little unsteady on his feet.
He does not want to return to his bedchamber. Merlin will be waiting there to prepare him for bed and Arthur cannot face him. He goes instead to his father's room.
The old king is long since asleep, the night having taken its toll. Arthur pulls up a chair, wincing when one of its legs scrapes harshly against the stone floor, but Uther does not stir. His breaths are heavy, even, and Arthur wonders if Merlin has ever found himself in this position. Watching Uther's every breath, knowing that if they were to cease it might finally mean freedom.
Arthur's eyes are drooping. Perhaps he overindulged a little too much at the feast...
As he is on the very precipice of sleep, someone bursts into the room with a loud clatter. Arthur jerks into awareness, but his body feels strange and distant. It takes him a few moments longer than it should to process the sight before him - one of the acrobats from earlier, sword in hand ready to strike. He pulls his own sword to defend himself, but his grip is weak.
Drugged, he realises with dawning panic as the assassin disarms him easily. Arthur drops to the floor, mind clouded. Dark spots encroach on his vision.
"Hleap on bec!"
Arthur blinks. The assassin is gone and Merlin has taken his place. He looks concerned, repeating Arthur's name urgently.
Arthur tries to answer, but his mouth won't cooperate. When he catches a movement at Merlin's shoulder he cannot even cry out a warning, and can only watch helplessly as Uther, forgotten in the chaos of the attack, slams the hilt of Arthur's discarded sword hard against Merlin's skull. The warlock staggers, completely blindsided by the attack.
"It will take more than a cowardly sorcerer like you to kill my son," Uther hisses, hitting Merlin over and over until the servant has stopped moving altogether. The last thing Arthur sees before the darkness finally takes him is his Merlin's blood pooling across the floor.
He forces his eyes open. He is on his father's bed, the first ray of sunlight creeping in at the window. Gwen's face, tearstained and pinched with worry, hovers above him.
"Arthur!"
He sits up, blinking frantically through his lingering grogginess. "Merlin? Where is he?"
Gwen pulls him to his feet and pushes him to the door. "Your father has ordered that he be burnt at the stake!"
Arthur's heart plummets when he sees the pyre in the courtyard, and nearly stutters to a halt when one of the palace guards lights a torch.
"Stop this insanity now!"
The torch is swiftly extinguished and Arthur strides forward. As he approaches he can see the pyre more clearly, Merlin lashed to a stake in the centre. His face is caked in dried blood and he is unnervingly still.
"Sire," a guard greets Arthur nervously. "King Uther has ordered your manservant's execution. He told us you had been enchanted."
"The king is unwell," Arthur replies shortly. "My manservant has committed no crime. Get him down from there at once."
The guards hurry to do as ordered. When Merlin falls free of his bonds, Arthur is there to take his weight.
"I know you don't like doing what you're told," Arthur murmurs into Merlin's ear as he lowers him to the ground. "But I am going to have to insist you wake up now."
Pale eyelids twitch, almost as if Merlin has heard the command. He murmurs something too quiet to hear, then twists onto his side and retches miserably onto the floor.
"I think it's his head," the guard says quietly as Arthur rubs Merlin's back. "He's spoken your name a few times, Sire, but he hasn't really been with it..."
"Where are the knights?" Arthur demands. "Why didn't they stop this?"
"They tried." It is Gwen who speaks up now, hovering anxiously at Arthur's shoulder. "Anyone who spoke out was said to have been enchanted. Elyan, Percival, Leon, Gwaine... they're all in the dungeon. The king even had Gaius sedated, lest he try to use magic to rescue Merlin. I just hoped you'd wake in time..."
Arthur represses a shudder at the thought of what might have happened if he hadn't woken in time. He has seen men burn before, heard their screams, smelt their roasting flesh...
"'Thur?" Merlin has stopped vomiting and rolls onto his back, breathing heavily. "'Wuzz'appened?"
"You're alright Merlin. Just try and stay awake."
Merlin reaches a trembling hand to his cheek, frowning when his fingers come back tinged with red. "'S sticky..."
"Fetch a stretcher, take him to the antechamber in my room," Arthur orders one of the guards. To another, he says, "Have my knights released from the dungeons immediately. See if you can rouse Gaius, otherwise fetch another physician from the Lower Town."
"And the King, Sire?" one of the guards asks tentatively. "He was preparing to address the council."
Gwen, sensing Arthur's thoughts as she so often does, squeezes his shoulder. "Go. I'll look after Merlin."
"Arthur!" His father's face alights as his son walks into the council chamber. "It worked then. The sorcerer is dead and his enchantment on you has been lifted."
Uther is still wearing his clothes from the evening before, hair uncombed and eyes sunken into his face. The assembled lords of the council have clearly noticed his dishevelled appearance, and all look distinctly uncomfortable.
"I was never under any enchantment." Arthur casts a meaningful glance to the council, who start to rise.
"Don't be ridiculous." Uther waves them back to their seats. "Your servant cast a spell right in front of me. Now he is dead, it is undone!"
"You are mistaken," Arthur insists. "Merlin lives still. Not only that, but he saved me from the real assassin, a man from the performance troupe who performed at my feast. I wasn't enchanted - I was drugged."
"He was trying to kill you!"
"Leave us," Arthur instructs the council, who file out as fast as they can.
"I could have sworn it was magic," Uther mutters to himself, starting to pace erratically about the room. "Golden eyes, just like the witch who took your mother."
"Merlin saved me," Arthur repeats calmly. He has been witness to his father's bursts of manic energy many times over the past year. "Just as he did all those years ago when you appointed him as my manservant."
Uther stops pacing. He looks to his son uncertainly. "There really was no magic?"
Arthur cannot bring himself to lie outright, so says only, "I owe Merlin my life. He would never betray me."
"I thought he had killed you." Uther's eyes well with sudden tears, voice hoarse. "When your mother died I swore I would never let you meet the same fate. I know I have not always been a good father, Arthur, but I have loved you. I would do whatever it took to keep you safe from the evils of magic."
A younger version of Arthur would have rejoiced to hear such affirmation of his father's affection. Now he thinks only of all those like Merlin who have died needlessly in the name of Uther's love.
No more, Arthur resolves. He clears his throat.
"I think you should abdicate the throne."
The bold statement echoes around the council chamber. Arthur swallows. He expects a refusal or argument, but Uther has gone perfectly still.
"I know you might not think me ready..." Arthur continues, trying to soften the blow. "But I swear to you-"
"You've been ready for some time."
Arthur's words stutter into silence.
"My mind... I cannot... since Morgana-" Uther swallows and looks away; it is the first time he has said her name since she betrayed Camelot. "I am not fit to rule. And you... you will be a great king."
For just a moment, Arthur lets himself forget Uther's wrongs. He forgets about the ban on sorcery, the weight of responsibility to those who have been wronged in the Pendragon name, the legacy of fear he will inherit when he is crowned king. He forgets it all and stares at the man who raised him, bringing forth other memories instead. He and his father sparring together on a practice field in the middle of summer, Uther teaching him to ride a horse, the look of pride when Arthur had won his first tournament. He is, still, Arthur's father; that can never be erased.
Arthur leans forward to wrap Uther in a gentle hug, marvelling at how small the king feels in his arms. "Thank you."
"Call the council back." Uther murmurs against Arthur's chest. "It is time."