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chaletianTitle: Brave New World
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
chaletian
Fandom: Merlin
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Up to Beauty & the Beast pt 2.
Summary: In another lifetime, it may be that in Uther Pendragon’s enchantment by the troll, the Great Dragon saw destiny’s chance to unfold, and denied any knowledge about breaking the spell. AU for Beauty & the Beast. Uther Pendragon wakes up, and everything has changed. Part One || Part Two
“Well, it’s up to you, isn’t it?” says Merlin.
“I should act as my father would act,” says Arthur. He stands by his window, staring out blindly. “I am only his regent. I’m not the king, Merlin.”
“Execute them, then,” says Merlin. “I mean, they haven’t done any harm to anyone, and actually they saved Gwen and Morgana’s lives, but still, sorcerers.”
Arthur slaps at the stone embrasure. “How can I? They’ve been living here peaceably for years! The only reason they used their magic was to save someone!”
“You know what I think?” offers Merlin. Arthur sighs.
“No, and I don’t really care.”
“I think,” Merlin continues blithely, “that you respect your father, but you often haven’t agreed with him. And I don’t think your conscience will let you make the decisions he’s made. And… well, there’s something I need to tell you.” He takes a deep breath. “Arthur, I’m a sorcerer.”
Arthur looks at him and raises one elegant eyebrow. “Yes?”
“I mean it! Honestly! I can do all sorts of stuff!” He begins to enumerate his magical victories, only stopping when Arthur tips back his head and groans.
“For God’s sake, Merlin, shut up! Of course you’re a sorcerer! I’ve known for ages. Or did you think I was a complete idiot?”
Merlin stares at him, open-mouthed. “Um… well… that is, sort of. Yes.”
Arthur scowls. “Well, if anyone’s the idiot, it’s you. And I’ll release those witches.”
Merlin smiles sunnily, and Arthur throws a jerkin at his head.
oOo
The hall was still recognisable, but only barely. The thick oak table still ran down the middle, but more chairs were clustered around it, and the thick tapestries that had hung from the walls were replaced by large canvas maps. In one corner, Uther recognised Geoffrey of Monmouth scolding a pair of young scribes who kept dropping one roll of parchment after another. Arthur was already in situ at the head of the table, and knights – some who were familiar to Uther, and others who weren’t – clustered around him, listening as the messenger passed on the messages from Edmund, the king of Sussex. Arthur paid no attention as Uther entered the room, and, teeth clenched, Uther sat down at the foot of the table and watched as messages were disseminated.
“Take a look,” said Leon, reaching half-way across the table to hand a letter to Arthur, and Arthur scrambled to reach it.
“We really need to do something about this table,” he grumbled, as he read over Edmund’s missive.
Merlin rolled his eyes. “Yes, because that’s really a priority at this point.”
“Shut up, Merlin,” said Arthur, without bothering to look up. “Well, Edmund seems pretty clear on how the Franks plan to proceed.”
“Right,” replied Merlin, apparently not one whit abashed by the rebuke. He went over to one of the maps, and pointed out a route between France and the south coast of England. “From what Edmund says, it seems they’re coming in this way.”
“Aye,” agreed the messenger. “And with the weather as it was, likely they’re close to landing now, if they haven’t already.”
“Will Edmund fight with us?” asked Gawain, and the messenger nodded.
Arthur tossed the letter into the middle of the table. “Of course Edmund will join with us,” he pointed out. “They’re sailing into his kingdom! No, it’s the others we have to convince.”
“Bayard?” asked Merlin, sitting back down.
Arthur sighed. “Maybe. They all like the idea well enough, especially with the Franks on our doorstep, but getting them to actually sign a treaty – that’s a different matter.”
“The Franks will be enough of a threat,” said Percy.
“For Sussex and Kent,” agreed Arthur. “And probably Essex and Wessex.”
“Maybe East Anglia,” added Merlin, then cocked his head at the clattering of armour outside. “It sounds like the others are back from their hunt.”
The door swung open to admit several more knights, with a stranger in a blue cloak behind them, and Uther stared at him blankly for several seconds before realising who - what - he was. His mouth was already opening in angry protest as he rose from his seat, only to be cut off by a heavy hand like iron on his shoulder and his son’s voice in his ear.
“If you would see Camelot survive what is to come, you will keep your peace, sire,” said Arthur quietly. “I respect your position as king, but I will not risk the alliance I am trying to forge. Say one word about the Druid – about anything that might contradict me - and I will have you removed from the hall.”
Uther wanted to protest that Arthur had run mad. He wanted to say that his was the final authority in Camelot and he could have his son arrested at his whim, executed, even, if he wanted. Alliances were his to make and break. He was king. He was absolute.
But he wasn’t stupid. Of all the shortcomings of which he had been accused, stupidity was not one of them, and he could see, plain as day, that Camelot’s loyalty had shifted to Arthur in the past four years. If he ordered the guards to arrest him, they would not. Not now. Not yet.
“My lord,” the Druid was saying.
Arthur moved further forward and held out his hand. “Branagh. Thank you for coming. You have heard the news?”
“Aye. You want our support for your alliance.”
“I do.”
“And Camelot’s promises, to cease the persecution of my people?”
Arthur’s expression firmed. “Have I not kept those promises?”
Branagh spared a glance for Uther, sitting, clench-fisted, on the edge of his seat. “And in the future?”
Arthur hesitated for the barest split-second, a scarcely perceptible flicker towards Uther. “Camelot will honour its promises,” he said. “You have my word on it.”
Branagh stared at him, pale eyes uncanny. Finally, he bowed his head. “That is enough.”
oOo
The quick patter of feet has Arthur looking up, and he smiles involuntarily as Gwen hurries closer.
“Everyone’s settled in,” she says. “I thought maybe you could have some men assess the houses once the water goes down.”
Arthur sits back, lifting a knowing eyebrow. “You mean you’ve already told them I will.”
She flushes slightly, but her smile is mischievous. “I apologise if I have presumed, your Majesty.” She dips a curtsy and turns to leave, but Arthur catches her hand and pulls her down to him. The smell, the feel of her is intoxicating, and he bends his head towards her.
“There’s no reason to wait any more, Guinevere,” he says.
oOo
He left the meeting abruptly halfway through. They spoke of things Uther had no memory of, events he had not witnessed, agreements he had not ratified. Messengers came and went, and the quartermaster summoned. The solarium seemed blissfully empty, and Uther was sinking into a chair when he realised he was not, after all alone. Morgana’s maid – Gwen, her name was – had been hidden in the window. Dressed more finely than he remembered. One of Morgana’s gowns, he thought, even as he knew it wasn’t.
“Shouldn’t you be seeing to your mistress?” he asked.
The maid looked at him, almost puzzled, but not timid, not how he remembered her. Like everyone else, she had changed. “No-one’s told you, have they?” she said, and Uther flung his gloves onto the table beside him.
“No-one’s told me anything!” he exclaimed. “I am their king, and yet they dare treat me like a nuisance to be brushed out of their way!” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The Franks have never bothered us before now,” he said.
The girl sat down next to him, but for the moment he didn’t have the energy to order her to stand in his presence. “The old king died,” she said, her voice making it clear she was aware of the irony. “And the new one is a lot more acquisitive. Their country has been united for generations; we should count ourselves fortunate they didn’t think to try and invade before now.” She leant forward eagerly. “Do you see? That’s why this alliance is so important! Arthur knows that if the kings unite, the Franks cannot possibly win.” Her enthusiasm was appealing, but in his mind’s eye, Uther could see her laundering and scrubbing, and this was not her place.
“What I see,” said Uther heavily, “is that my son has allowed my court to be over-run by sorcerers and servants!”
She stared at him for a moment, her expression growing cold. She pushed back her chair abruptly, and stood up. The sun shone behind her, catching her yellow gown and warm skin and jewelled hair, and gilding the curves of her curls as she looked down at Uther, and it was as if he was looking at a stranger, not the blacksmith’s daughter whom he’d seen grow up in Camelot.
“You have been insane these past four years,” she said, each word precise. “You can’t really have thought you could step back into being king as if nothing had changed.” She rested her hand on the back of her chair, and her voice softened. “Everything has changed, sire. The question is whether you can change with it.”
She walked towards the doors, only to pause as he called after her. “Gwen!” She didn’t turn, but stood still. “You’ve changed too.”
Her face was only in a quarter profile, but he could see her lips curve into a smile. “Yes.”
“You’re married to my son.”
“Yes.” She turned more fully, so that she looked him in the face.
He sighed. “I had always cherished higher hopes of him.”
Her smile was gentle, but her words were not. “And he of you.”
oOo
“So, Morgana does magic too,” observes Arthur, kicking at the singed remains of a bed curtain.
“Um. Yes,” agrees Merlin. “Oh, and she has this prophecy thing too.”
“Well, that’s just brilliant.”
oOo
From the solarium window, Uther could see Arthur’s golden head in the courtyard below, sending soldiers hither and thither. Knights were mounted and sent on their way, with Arthur always on attendance, joined a while later by the dark curls that signified Gwen’s presence. He was thus engaged when the door opened again, and Morgana entered, the doors swinging closed again behind her.
“Sire,” she said, and he smiled, because his love for Morgana had always been free of the duty to make her great.
“Morgana!” He crossed the room, and embraced her again.
“I hear you’ve been catching up,” she said, pulling him down to sit beside the fire – had that always been there?
“You should have told me about Arthur and your maid,” he chastised.
Morgana just shrugged. “I forgot you wouldn’t know,” she lied easily. “Do you disapprove?”
Uther shifted impatiently. “She’s a servant!” he exclaimed. “Of course I disapprove!”
She shrugged again. “Ah well, it’s done,” she said, leaving unsaid, and there’s not a thing you can do about it. But Uther understood her well enough.
“Is there anything else I should know?” he asked, with forced jocularity. “I see Arthur’s been making allies of the Druids.”
“Yes,” Morgana said simply, and Uther frowned.
“That doesn’t anger you? They kidnapped you!”
Morgana looked blank for a moment, then smiled. “I’d forgotten about that.” She reached to touch his cheek briefly and the fire sparked in the stone grate. “Oh, Uther, you never did understand. They didn’t take me. I sought them out. And don’t ask why,” she added, forestalling him. “You know why.”
He shook his head in denial, but Morgana ignored it.
“I was saddened by what happened to you, it’s true. But I find myself wishing they hadn’t caught that troll.” She sighed, and smiled brightly at him, and he found the juxtaposition disconcerting. “Still, we’ll all just have to find a way out of this muddle, won’t we?” She jumped up, and the doors banged open. She went gaily through them, and Uther watched as they banged closed again, then buried his head in his hands. Dear God, what else had changed?
oOo
“I thought you’d gone to bed,” says Merlin, surprised, a pile of chainmail clutched to his chest. Arthur looks up, a letter in his hand.
“Just reading this again,” he says. “It’s a message from Eldred.”
“Eldred of Kent?” asks Merlin, dumping the mail on the table. “What does he want?”
“Nothing,” says Arthur, “yet. Ships have been sighted on the horizon. Eldred says they’ve been there for weeks, now. He thinks the Frankish king may be contemplating an invasion.”
“I thought their king just died,” says Merlin, confused, and Arthur casts him a withering glance.
“They’ve got a new one, Merlin. That’s how it works.”
“Right. I knew that.”
Arthur sighs, and rubs his chin. “He writes that he has notified all the kingdoms of Britain, as a courtesy.”
“That’s nice,” says Merlin inanely.
“It’s short-sighted!” Arthur retorts sharply. “What if the Franks do invade? What then? They take Kent, then Sussex, then Wessex… one by one, we all fall.” He leans forward, eyes gleaming. “But together - Merlin, together, they would have no chance against us.”
oOo
Once again, the solarium doors opened, this time to reveal Arthur himself, with Merlin following behind him.
“We’re riding out to the east now,” he said perfunctorily.
“To defend Sussex.”
Arthur looked at him. “To defend us all,” he corrected.
“And you expect the others to join you.”
“Yes. We meet at Winchester and ride on from there,” said Arthur.
Uther shook his head. “I had not thought you so naïve,” he said, and Arthur’s expression hardened.
“This is not a vain hope, Father,” he said sharply. “This plan has been in motion for three years. All it took was a final threat from France. They will join me, and they will sign the treaty that will unite us.”
“You think Mercia cares for such things? Northumbria?”
Arthur shook his head and turned away. “You know nothing of how the land now lies, Father, and I wish I could make you understand, but there’s no time. We ride in an hour.” He glanced back, his gaze defiant. “And I must see my wife.” He stalked out of the room, and Merlin went to follow him.
“Boy!” Merlin paused.
“Sire?”
“What would your master have me do now? Sit at home?”
Merlin looked wary. “If that is your will.”
Uther smiled without any evidence sign of pleasure. “And if I overturn Arthur’s changes; return Camelot to its proper state?”
Merlin grinned, as if he couldn’t help it. “Well,” he said, “I don’t say you couldn’t try…”
“Really,” said Uther acerbically, “it would have been so much easier had I died, would it not?” He looked Merlin up and down from head to toe. “And where do you stand in all this, young Merlin? I’m not a fool; I can tell you’re more than Arthur’s servant.”
“My loyalty is to Arthur,” said Merlin. He wasn’t nervous or stuttering any more, just looking at Uther with sharp, intent eyes. “It would grieve him to see you dead. But not as much as it would grieve him to see all that he has achieved these four years undone by a man whose bigotry blinds him to the future.”
“Now, you listen to me, boy,” Uther began, but Merlin was coming closer, and Uther, unbelievably, found himself feeling threatened.
“Are you really so blind, Uther?” Merlin asked conversationally, eyes still intent. “Do you really not see? Arthur will unite this country and reign over all of Albion. It’s his destiny.” He grinned suddenly, for a moment the young lad Uther had casually handed into Arthur’s service. “I should know, after all. The dragon told me about it enough times.”
The smile disappeared and Merlin stepped back, watching Uther as Gaius might watch an interesting specimen. “You were a decent king, Uther, for all your faults. But Arthur will be a great one, perhaps the greatest that will ever live. And I can’t let you get in the way of that.”
He walked out then, and Uther was left, once more, alone in the solarium. He wasn’t frightened of Merlin, or of Arthur, or of the future. Maybe he could adapt to new ways. Uther shook his head. No, he couldn’t carry on as Arthur had done. But if the new ways were not his, perhaps the old ones were.
He left the solarium, left the formal chambers of the castle, and made his way down to the armoury. And there, in a chest covered by the detritus of four years’ sweat and work, was his armour, his shield, his sword and his helmet.
If Camelot was going to battle, then by God Uther Pendragon would go with them. And if he triumphed, then Arthur would yield to him. Arthur would have to yield to him. It was the way of things. He commandeered a horse from the stables, and rode into the courtyard, up to Arthur, who acknowledged his arrival with a nod.
“I’m leaving you a garrison of castle guards,” he was telling Gwen. “They’re small in number, but well trained. I doubt an attack would come from the surrounding kingdoms, not at the moment, and the Druids will parlay with the Welsh if need be.”
Gwen reached up and clasped his hand. “I know. Don’t worry, we’ll see to things here.”
“If more volunteers are found, send them on after us, but only if you get a decent number. There’s no point having farmers stumbling round the countryside by themselves.”
Gwen nodded, and Arthur glanced quickly to the stone steps where Morgana stood. “And you’ll keep an eye…”
“Of course,” Gwen said quickly. “You know I will.”
Arthur’s smile was quick and sharp, and he bent down to kiss her. “I know. Camelot is safe in your hands.” He held one of them still in his, and rubbed her palm with his thumb. “Take care of yourself, Guinevere.”
“And you, my lord,” she replied, then nodded formally towards Uther. “Sire.”
“M’lady,” responded Uther, then rode out by his son’s side.
oOo
It’s barely dawn when Camelot’s gates are heaved open, and a weary cavalcade makes their way into the town. People are already up and about, though; the day starts early, and people gather to watch and cheer as Camelot’s soldiers return home. Several messengers have been sent back and forth, and the English victory is old news, but no victory comes without the expense of lives, and no-one yet knows who lives and who died. They recognise the man at the head of the procession, though, and that’s a relief. They watch with patient enjoyment as the Lady Guinevere comes running down the stone steps of the castle, and as Prince Arthur swings off his horse to meet her, then gather as he addresses them.
“United with the other kingdoms of England,” he says, “we saw off the Frankish invaders, and have hopefully seen the last of them!” There’s a cheer at this point, but they can tell something more needs saying, and Arthur looks down for a second, squeezing his wife’s hand.
“I regret to tell you that my father, Uther Pendragon, King of Camelot, was slain whilst fighting. He died bravely and nobly. I believe he would have asked for no more.” Someone applauds and is hastily silenced as people start falling to their knees, and Gwen and Merlin exchange quick, amused glances as Arthur actually looks a little uncomfortable.
“Oh, that’s… Thank you.” He looks around and waves his hand sheepishly.
“God save King Arthur!” someone shouts, and the crowd takes up the chant. Arthur’s going a little pink now, which Gwen thinks is quite funny given how confident he’d always been that this was his rightful place. Sir Leon clears his throat meaningfully, and Arthur gestures for the crowd to be quiet.
“Sir Leon,” he says, pointing, like they don’t all know who Sir Leon is.
“Thank you, sire,” says Sir Leon, then raised his voice. “Everyone will be anxious to hear of those who didn’t come back with us. Some of the wounded remain at Winchester, and will follow on later. Now, I’ll read out a list…” He continues, but Arthur and Gwen slip away, Merlin on their tail. Morgana awaits them at the top of the steps, and she flings her arms first round Arthur, then Merlin.
“I knew you’d be safe,” she says, and Arthur cocks an eyebrow.
“You could have said!”
She smiles sweetly. “Oh, Arthur, you know that spoils the fun!”
“Hm,” says Arthur and, his arm round Gwen’s waist, heads into the castle, leaving Merlin and Morgana alone.
“So,” says Morgana, “Uther’s dead.”
“Yep,” says Merlin, then his eyes widen. “Did you…?”
Morgana looks back at him. “Did you?”
They stare at each other for a second, then look away uneasily, neither truly wanting an answer.
oOo
Uther is mourned, truthfully, by Arthur, Morgana and Gaius alone. But he ruled with respect and fear and would not really have expected anything more. The day soon comes for Arthur’s coronation, and he stands in state with Gwen and Merlin as they see to his robes.
“You’ll be a great king, Arthur,” says Gwen, and kisses him on the cheek, before leaving for her own dressing.
“I knew this day would come,” says Merlin, dropping Arthur’s gloves, his chain and his cloak in quick succession. “It’s destiny.”
Arthur looks at him suspiciously. “I’m warning you, Merlin, if you make me go through that sword and stone routine again, I’m going to be very unhappy.”
Merlin grins. “Oh, I think everyone knows who’s really king now,” he says, and Arthur nods.
“Well, they’d better. Now, where’s my cloak? Honestly, Merlin, I don’t know what I did to end up with someone as useless as you…”
THE END
Author:
chaletianFandom: Merlin
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Up to Beauty & the Beast pt 2.
Summary: In another lifetime, it may be that in Uther Pendragon’s enchantment by the troll, the Great Dragon saw destiny’s chance to unfold, and denied any knowledge about breaking the spell. AU for Beauty & the Beast. Uther Pendragon wakes up, and everything has changed. Part One || Part Two
“Well, it’s up to you, isn’t it?” says Merlin.
“I should act as my father would act,” says Arthur. He stands by his window, staring out blindly. “I am only his regent. I’m not the king, Merlin.”
“Execute them, then,” says Merlin. “I mean, they haven’t done any harm to anyone, and actually they saved Gwen and Morgana’s lives, but still, sorcerers.”
Arthur slaps at the stone embrasure. “How can I? They’ve been living here peaceably for years! The only reason they used their magic was to save someone!”
“You know what I think?” offers Merlin. Arthur sighs.
“No, and I don’t really care.”
“I think,” Merlin continues blithely, “that you respect your father, but you often haven’t agreed with him. And I don’t think your conscience will let you make the decisions he’s made. And… well, there’s something I need to tell you.” He takes a deep breath. “Arthur, I’m a sorcerer.”
Arthur looks at him and raises one elegant eyebrow. “Yes?”
“I mean it! Honestly! I can do all sorts of stuff!” He begins to enumerate his magical victories, only stopping when Arthur tips back his head and groans.
“For God’s sake, Merlin, shut up! Of course you’re a sorcerer! I’ve known for ages. Or did you think I was a complete idiot?”
Merlin stares at him, open-mouthed. “Um… well… that is, sort of. Yes.”
Arthur scowls. “Well, if anyone’s the idiot, it’s you. And I’ll release those witches.”
Merlin smiles sunnily, and Arthur throws a jerkin at his head.
The hall was still recognisable, but only barely. The thick oak table still ran down the middle, but more chairs were clustered around it, and the thick tapestries that had hung from the walls were replaced by large canvas maps. In one corner, Uther recognised Geoffrey of Monmouth scolding a pair of young scribes who kept dropping one roll of parchment after another. Arthur was already in situ at the head of the table, and knights – some who were familiar to Uther, and others who weren’t – clustered around him, listening as the messenger passed on the messages from Edmund, the king of Sussex. Arthur paid no attention as Uther entered the room, and, teeth clenched, Uther sat down at the foot of the table and watched as messages were disseminated.
“Take a look,” said Leon, reaching half-way across the table to hand a letter to Arthur, and Arthur scrambled to reach it.
“We really need to do something about this table,” he grumbled, as he read over Edmund’s missive.
Merlin rolled his eyes. “Yes, because that’s really a priority at this point.”
“Shut up, Merlin,” said Arthur, without bothering to look up. “Well, Edmund seems pretty clear on how the Franks plan to proceed.”
“Right,” replied Merlin, apparently not one whit abashed by the rebuke. He went over to one of the maps, and pointed out a route between France and the south coast of England. “From what Edmund says, it seems they’re coming in this way.”
“Aye,” agreed the messenger. “And with the weather as it was, likely they’re close to landing now, if they haven’t already.”
“Will Edmund fight with us?” asked Gawain, and the messenger nodded.
Arthur tossed the letter into the middle of the table. “Of course Edmund will join with us,” he pointed out. “They’re sailing into his kingdom! No, it’s the others we have to convince.”
“Bayard?” asked Merlin, sitting back down.
Arthur sighed. “Maybe. They all like the idea well enough, especially with the Franks on our doorstep, but getting them to actually sign a treaty – that’s a different matter.”
“The Franks will be enough of a threat,” said Percy.
“For Sussex and Kent,” agreed Arthur. “And probably Essex and Wessex.”
“Maybe East Anglia,” added Merlin, then cocked his head at the clattering of armour outside. “It sounds like the others are back from their hunt.”
The door swung open to admit several more knights, with a stranger in a blue cloak behind them, and Uther stared at him blankly for several seconds before realising who - what - he was. His mouth was already opening in angry protest as he rose from his seat, only to be cut off by a heavy hand like iron on his shoulder and his son’s voice in his ear.
“If you would see Camelot survive what is to come, you will keep your peace, sire,” said Arthur quietly. “I respect your position as king, but I will not risk the alliance I am trying to forge. Say one word about the Druid – about anything that might contradict me - and I will have you removed from the hall.”
Uther wanted to protest that Arthur had run mad. He wanted to say that his was the final authority in Camelot and he could have his son arrested at his whim, executed, even, if he wanted. Alliances were his to make and break. He was king. He was absolute.
But he wasn’t stupid. Of all the shortcomings of which he had been accused, stupidity was not one of them, and he could see, plain as day, that Camelot’s loyalty had shifted to Arthur in the past four years. If he ordered the guards to arrest him, they would not. Not now. Not yet.
“My lord,” the Druid was saying.
Arthur moved further forward and held out his hand. “Branagh. Thank you for coming. You have heard the news?”
“Aye. You want our support for your alliance.”
“I do.”
“And Camelot’s promises, to cease the persecution of my people?”
Arthur’s expression firmed. “Have I not kept those promises?”
Branagh spared a glance for Uther, sitting, clench-fisted, on the edge of his seat. “And in the future?”
Arthur hesitated for the barest split-second, a scarcely perceptible flicker towards Uther. “Camelot will honour its promises,” he said. “You have my word on it.”
Branagh stared at him, pale eyes uncanny. Finally, he bowed his head. “That is enough.”
The quick patter of feet has Arthur looking up, and he smiles involuntarily as Gwen hurries closer.
“Everyone’s settled in,” she says. “I thought maybe you could have some men assess the houses once the water goes down.”
Arthur sits back, lifting a knowing eyebrow. “You mean you’ve already told them I will.”
She flushes slightly, but her smile is mischievous. “I apologise if I have presumed, your Majesty.” She dips a curtsy and turns to leave, but Arthur catches her hand and pulls her down to him. The smell, the feel of her is intoxicating, and he bends his head towards her.
“There’s no reason to wait any more, Guinevere,” he says.
He left the meeting abruptly halfway through. They spoke of things Uther had no memory of, events he had not witnessed, agreements he had not ratified. Messengers came and went, and the quartermaster summoned. The solarium seemed blissfully empty, and Uther was sinking into a chair when he realised he was not, after all alone. Morgana’s maid – Gwen, her name was – had been hidden in the window. Dressed more finely than he remembered. One of Morgana’s gowns, he thought, even as he knew it wasn’t.
“Shouldn’t you be seeing to your mistress?” he asked.
The maid looked at him, almost puzzled, but not timid, not how he remembered her. Like everyone else, she had changed. “No-one’s told you, have they?” she said, and Uther flung his gloves onto the table beside him.
“No-one’s told me anything!” he exclaimed. “I am their king, and yet they dare treat me like a nuisance to be brushed out of their way!” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The Franks have never bothered us before now,” he said.
The girl sat down next to him, but for the moment he didn’t have the energy to order her to stand in his presence. “The old king died,” she said, her voice making it clear she was aware of the irony. “And the new one is a lot more acquisitive. Their country has been united for generations; we should count ourselves fortunate they didn’t think to try and invade before now.” She leant forward eagerly. “Do you see? That’s why this alliance is so important! Arthur knows that if the kings unite, the Franks cannot possibly win.” Her enthusiasm was appealing, but in his mind’s eye, Uther could see her laundering and scrubbing, and this was not her place.
“What I see,” said Uther heavily, “is that my son has allowed my court to be over-run by sorcerers and servants!”
She stared at him for a moment, her expression growing cold. She pushed back her chair abruptly, and stood up. The sun shone behind her, catching her yellow gown and warm skin and jewelled hair, and gilding the curves of her curls as she looked down at Uther, and it was as if he was looking at a stranger, not the blacksmith’s daughter whom he’d seen grow up in Camelot.
“You have been insane these past four years,” she said, each word precise. “You can’t really have thought you could step back into being king as if nothing had changed.” She rested her hand on the back of her chair, and her voice softened. “Everything has changed, sire. The question is whether you can change with it.”
She walked towards the doors, only to pause as he called after her. “Gwen!” She didn’t turn, but stood still. “You’ve changed too.”
Her face was only in a quarter profile, but he could see her lips curve into a smile. “Yes.”
“You’re married to my son.”
“Yes.” She turned more fully, so that she looked him in the face.
He sighed. “I had always cherished higher hopes of him.”
Her smile was gentle, but her words were not. “And he of you.”
“So, Morgana does magic too,” observes Arthur, kicking at the singed remains of a bed curtain.
“Um. Yes,” agrees Merlin. “Oh, and she has this prophecy thing too.”
“Well, that’s just brilliant.”
From the solarium window, Uther could see Arthur’s golden head in the courtyard below, sending soldiers hither and thither. Knights were mounted and sent on their way, with Arthur always on attendance, joined a while later by the dark curls that signified Gwen’s presence. He was thus engaged when the door opened again, and Morgana entered, the doors swinging closed again behind her.
“Sire,” she said, and he smiled, because his love for Morgana had always been free of the duty to make her great.
“Morgana!” He crossed the room, and embraced her again.
“I hear you’ve been catching up,” she said, pulling him down to sit beside the fire – had that always been there?
“You should have told me about Arthur and your maid,” he chastised.
Morgana just shrugged. “I forgot you wouldn’t know,” she lied easily. “Do you disapprove?”
Uther shifted impatiently. “She’s a servant!” he exclaimed. “Of course I disapprove!”
She shrugged again. “Ah well, it’s done,” she said, leaving unsaid, and there’s not a thing you can do about it. But Uther understood her well enough.
“Is there anything else I should know?” he asked, with forced jocularity. “I see Arthur’s been making allies of the Druids.”
“Yes,” Morgana said simply, and Uther frowned.
“That doesn’t anger you? They kidnapped you!”
Morgana looked blank for a moment, then smiled. “I’d forgotten about that.” She reached to touch his cheek briefly and the fire sparked in the stone grate. “Oh, Uther, you never did understand. They didn’t take me. I sought them out. And don’t ask why,” she added, forestalling him. “You know why.”
He shook his head in denial, but Morgana ignored it.
“I was saddened by what happened to you, it’s true. But I find myself wishing they hadn’t caught that troll.” She sighed, and smiled brightly at him, and he found the juxtaposition disconcerting. “Still, we’ll all just have to find a way out of this muddle, won’t we?” She jumped up, and the doors banged open. She went gaily through them, and Uther watched as they banged closed again, then buried his head in his hands. Dear God, what else had changed?
“I thought you’d gone to bed,” says Merlin, surprised, a pile of chainmail clutched to his chest. Arthur looks up, a letter in his hand.
“Just reading this again,” he says. “It’s a message from Eldred.”
“Eldred of Kent?” asks Merlin, dumping the mail on the table. “What does he want?”
“Nothing,” says Arthur, “yet. Ships have been sighted on the horizon. Eldred says they’ve been there for weeks, now. He thinks the Frankish king may be contemplating an invasion.”
“I thought their king just died,” says Merlin, confused, and Arthur casts him a withering glance.
“They’ve got a new one, Merlin. That’s how it works.”
“Right. I knew that.”
Arthur sighs, and rubs his chin. “He writes that he has notified all the kingdoms of Britain, as a courtesy.”
“That’s nice,” says Merlin inanely.
“It’s short-sighted!” Arthur retorts sharply. “What if the Franks do invade? What then? They take Kent, then Sussex, then Wessex… one by one, we all fall.” He leans forward, eyes gleaming. “But together - Merlin, together, they would have no chance against us.”
Once again, the solarium doors opened, this time to reveal Arthur himself, with Merlin following behind him.
“We’re riding out to the east now,” he said perfunctorily.
“To defend Sussex.”
Arthur looked at him. “To defend us all,” he corrected.
“And you expect the others to join you.”
“Yes. We meet at Winchester and ride on from there,” said Arthur.
Uther shook his head. “I had not thought you so naïve,” he said, and Arthur’s expression hardened.
“This is not a vain hope, Father,” he said sharply. “This plan has been in motion for three years. All it took was a final threat from France. They will join me, and they will sign the treaty that will unite us.”
“You think Mercia cares for such things? Northumbria?”
Arthur shook his head and turned away. “You know nothing of how the land now lies, Father, and I wish I could make you understand, but there’s no time. We ride in an hour.” He glanced back, his gaze defiant. “And I must see my wife.” He stalked out of the room, and Merlin went to follow him.
“Boy!” Merlin paused.
“Sire?”
“What would your master have me do now? Sit at home?”
Merlin looked wary. “If that is your will.”
Uther smiled without any evidence sign of pleasure. “And if I overturn Arthur’s changes; return Camelot to its proper state?”
Merlin grinned, as if he couldn’t help it. “Well,” he said, “I don’t say you couldn’t try…”
“Really,” said Uther acerbically, “it would have been so much easier had I died, would it not?” He looked Merlin up and down from head to toe. “And where do you stand in all this, young Merlin? I’m not a fool; I can tell you’re more than Arthur’s servant.”
“My loyalty is to Arthur,” said Merlin. He wasn’t nervous or stuttering any more, just looking at Uther with sharp, intent eyes. “It would grieve him to see you dead. But not as much as it would grieve him to see all that he has achieved these four years undone by a man whose bigotry blinds him to the future.”
“Now, you listen to me, boy,” Uther began, but Merlin was coming closer, and Uther, unbelievably, found himself feeling threatened.
“Are you really so blind, Uther?” Merlin asked conversationally, eyes still intent. “Do you really not see? Arthur will unite this country and reign over all of Albion. It’s his destiny.” He grinned suddenly, for a moment the young lad Uther had casually handed into Arthur’s service. “I should know, after all. The dragon told me about it enough times.”
The smile disappeared and Merlin stepped back, watching Uther as Gaius might watch an interesting specimen. “You were a decent king, Uther, for all your faults. But Arthur will be a great one, perhaps the greatest that will ever live. And I can’t let you get in the way of that.”
He walked out then, and Uther was left, once more, alone in the solarium. He wasn’t frightened of Merlin, or of Arthur, or of the future. Maybe he could adapt to new ways. Uther shook his head. No, he couldn’t carry on as Arthur had done. But if the new ways were not his, perhaps the old ones were.
He left the solarium, left the formal chambers of the castle, and made his way down to the armoury. And there, in a chest covered by the detritus of four years’ sweat and work, was his armour, his shield, his sword and his helmet.
If Camelot was going to battle, then by God Uther Pendragon would go with them. And if he triumphed, then Arthur would yield to him. Arthur would have to yield to him. It was the way of things. He commandeered a horse from the stables, and rode into the courtyard, up to Arthur, who acknowledged his arrival with a nod.
“I’m leaving you a garrison of castle guards,” he was telling Gwen. “They’re small in number, but well trained. I doubt an attack would come from the surrounding kingdoms, not at the moment, and the Druids will parlay with the Welsh if need be.”
Gwen reached up and clasped his hand. “I know. Don’t worry, we’ll see to things here.”
“If more volunteers are found, send them on after us, but only if you get a decent number. There’s no point having farmers stumbling round the countryside by themselves.”
Gwen nodded, and Arthur glanced quickly to the stone steps where Morgana stood. “And you’ll keep an eye…”
“Of course,” Gwen said quickly. “You know I will.”
Arthur’s smile was quick and sharp, and he bent down to kiss her. “I know. Camelot is safe in your hands.” He held one of them still in his, and rubbed her palm with his thumb. “Take care of yourself, Guinevere.”
“And you, my lord,” she replied, then nodded formally towards Uther. “Sire.”
“M’lady,” responded Uther, then rode out by his son’s side.
It’s barely dawn when Camelot’s gates are heaved open, and a weary cavalcade makes their way into the town. People are already up and about, though; the day starts early, and people gather to watch and cheer as Camelot’s soldiers return home. Several messengers have been sent back and forth, and the English victory is old news, but no victory comes without the expense of lives, and no-one yet knows who lives and who died. They recognise the man at the head of the procession, though, and that’s a relief. They watch with patient enjoyment as the Lady Guinevere comes running down the stone steps of the castle, and as Prince Arthur swings off his horse to meet her, then gather as he addresses them.
“United with the other kingdoms of England,” he says, “we saw off the Frankish invaders, and have hopefully seen the last of them!” There’s a cheer at this point, but they can tell something more needs saying, and Arthur looks down for a second, squeezing his wife’s hand.
“I regret to tell you that my father, Uther Pendragon, King of Camelot, was slain whilst fighting. He died bravely and nobly. I believe he would have asked for no more.” Someone applauds and is hastily silenced as people start falling to their knees, and Gwen and Merlin exchange quick, amused glances as Arthur actually looks a little uncomfortable.
“Oh, that’s… Thank you.” He looks around and waves his hand sheepishly.
“God save King Arthur!” someone shouts, and the crowd takes up the chant. Arthur’s going a little pink now, which Gwen thinks is quite funny given how confident he’d always been that this was his rightful place. Sir Leon clears his throat meaningfully, and Arthur gestures for the crowd to be quiet.
“Sir Leon,” he says, pointing, like they don’t all know who Sir Leon is.
“Thank you, sire,” says Sir Leon, then raised his voice. “Everyone will be anxious to hear of those who didn’t come back with us. Some of the wounded remain at Winchester, and will follow on later. Now, I’ll read out a list…” He continues, but Arthur and Gwen slip away, Merlin on their tail. Morgana awaits them at the top of the steps, and she flings her arms first round Arthur, then Merlin.
“I knew you’d be safe,” she says, and Arthur cocks an eyebrow.
“You could have said!”
She smiles sweetly. “Oh, Arthur, you know that spoils the fun!”
“Hm,” says Arthur and, his arm round Gwen’s waist, heads into the castle, leaving Merlin and Morgana alone.
“So,” says Morgana, “Uther’s dead.”
“Yep,” says Merlin, then his eyes widen. “Did you…?”
Morgana looks back at him. “Did you?”
They stare at each other for a second, then look away uneasily, neither truly wanting an answer.
Uther is mourned, truthfully, by Arthur, Morgana and Gaius alone. But he ruled with respect and fear and would not really have expected anything more. The day soon comes for Arthur’s coronation, and he stands in state with Gwen and Merlin as they see to his robes.
“You’ll be a great king, Arthur,” says Gwen, and kisses him on the cheek, before leaving for her own dressing.
“I knew this day would come,” says Merlin, dropping Arthur’s gloves, his chain and his cloak in quick succession. “It’s destiny.”
Arthur looks at him suspiciously. “I’m warning you, Merlin, if you make me go through that sword and stone routine again, I’m going to be very unhappy.”
Merlin grins. “Oh, I think everyone knows who’s really king now,” he says, and Arthur nods.
“Well, they’d better. Now, where’s my cloak? Honestly, Merlin, I don’t know what I did to end up with someone as useless as you…”
THE END
