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The cuffs were on his wrists before he realized what was happening.
By the time he processed the guards holding him by his arms, Merlin couldn’t find the wits to break himself free, too stunned. When he was dragged in, Uther stood in the far side of the throne room, a wicked look of fury in his eyes that was only reserved for those who burned.
Merlin wondered who told him.
The guards dragged him to the center of the room, a safe distance from the King, and shoved him roughly to his knees. He clenched his jaw. Careless brutes.
Ah, but why would they care about a sorcerer?
Merlin kept his eyes on the floor, trying to calm himself. Irritated. He wasn’t frightened—no, he knew nothing could happen to him. He had no reason to worry.
After all, as he’d discovered the previous night… He couldn’t die.
He had nothing to lose—least of all his life.
“I’m not going to run,” he finally bit out when the left guard's grip tightened on him.
The knight just huffed.
“You’re a sorcerer.” Uther said at last—not asking, declaring. As he did all fair trials. Merlin nearly scoffed. “Do you deny it?”
This time, Merlin did scoff. He raised his head and fixed Uther with a scathing glare. “And be burned anyway? Everyone in this court knows you’ve made your mind up already, Uther. I deny it, I’m guilty. I admit it, I’m guilty. Once you enter the court of Uther Pendragon, you do not leave without a death sentence.”
“Though, I should tell you,” Merlin continued before Uther could even think to respond, “sentencing me to death wouldn’t be your most favoured option in my case. You see—last evening, I made the wonderful discovery that I can’t die! Pesky thing immortality is—and I seem to have been cursed with it!”
Uther stared at him like he had lost his mind. Merlin wondered if he had. He felt almost hysterical, a manic grin on his face as he stared at the King—still forcibly kneeling before him. Maybe he had lost his mind.
When Uther failed to reply, Merlin babbled on. "You could run me through right now with your own blade, and my heart would still beat. Go on, try it!"
"Father, you mustn't listen to him," Arthur abruptly spoke up, voice strained. "This is Merlin! He's delusional!"
Narrowing his eyes at Merlin, Uther held up a hand to silence his son. Merlin held his head high, grin fading slowly as his expression fell blank. Void of care or fear. He saw more than heard Uther swallow hard and huffed out a silent laugh at the idea that his fearlessness was actually getting to the King.
“So, you do not deny the accusation against you?” Uther asked, clasping his hands in front of him.
“For what purpose would I?” Merlin retorted, “draw out my inevitable sentence? That’s just cruel to my beloveds. No matter what I say I’ll be guilty!”
“Stop deflecting!” Uther snapped, loud and angry. “Do you practice magic in my court?”
“Yes!” Merlin exclaimed, matching his volume. His heart raced, adrenaline coursing through him, a challenge sparkling in his eyes. "What are you going to do about it, Uther?” he asked, eyes wide and wild. “Kill me?"
He let out a harsh laugh, looking around the room, before his eyes fell back on Uther and his voice grew dull and joyless, almost daring the King. "You can certainly try."
"Merlin!"
"What? It's not like it'll work," Merlin muttered at the horrified look Arthur was giving him. His horror seemed to shift to concern at his words. Merlin would have laughed in any other situation.
"I will banish you from Camelot," Uther said through grit teeth, glaring at the sorcerer. Merlin just stared at him, looked to Arthur, then back to Uther. A wry grin twisted his lips.
"You couldn't keep me away if you tried."
Uther's glare darkened. "You will leave Camelot and never return. Monsters are not welcome in my borders."
"I am only what you've made me, and you've made me a man condemned for my birth...” Merlin paused, tilting his head to the side as he eyed Uther curiously.
“Doesn't that make you the monster?"
Merlin waited a moment for him to answer, and when he only sputtered wordlessly, he sighed. “Anyway, I’m not going anywhere. I don’t take orders from you.”
“I am your King!” Uther gritted his teeth, staring furiously at Merlin. Merlin snorted softly, shaking his head.
He wondered if Uther would actually try to kill him. He wouldn’t mind seeing the look on the old man’s face when he came back to life… Damned immortality may do him some good.
“You’re no king of mine,” Merlin said, his eyes instinctively drifting to Arthur as he continued, his voice softening, “I serve only one man. I have only one king.”
“This is treason!”
“No, this is tyranny.”
Gasps echoed through the hall at Merlin’s harsh toned words. Arthur looked about ready to faint, as he met Merlin’s gaze—pleading silently for him to shut up. Merlin only smiled apologetically at his lover, before looking back to Uther.
“I want to make you a deal,” Merlin abruptly told him, “Since, you know, you can’t really…get rid of me…like how you got rid of my kin?”
Uther stared him down, a fire burning in his eyes. Merlin almost thought he would have him executed on the spot. Then, to everyone’s surprise, he addressed the hall.
“Everyone out.” He commanded, voice bellowing through the throne room. “Now!”
The observers scattered out of the room in an instant at his furious tone. Gaius was the only one to retreat slowly, worried eyes glued to Merlin as he exited the throne room. The knights holding Merlin in place hesitated, looking to their King.
“Leave us,” Uther ordered them, “he’s bound.”
“But sire—”
“I said leave us.”
The knights released Merlin in a rush and hurried out. The doors slammed shut behind them, leaving the only ones in the room Merlin, Uther, Arthur, and Morgana—the last of whom looked deathly pale, standing back in the shadows behind Uther.
“If you should try anything, the knights are right on the other side of the door and I will not hesitate to run you through myself,” Uther threatened.
Merlin could only laugh. “If you were going to kill me, you would have already. I find it strange you’ve not tried…could it be because of my attachment to Arthur? Even stranger—normally, you don’t care how much you hurt him so long as your precious, outdated, vile laws are upheld.”
Uther’s hand fell to his belt, resting where his sword hung as he glared at Merlin. His jaw was clenched so tight, Merlin couldn’t help but pity his poor teeth. His eyes flitted to Arthur, to see the man staring at his father’s hand with dangerous eyes. Oh, dear, he needed to end this soon before things took a turn.
“Like I said, I wish to make a deal with you,” Merlin said, pushing himself up to his feet. It was slightly difficult, since his hands were cuffed behind his back, but once he was on his feet, he held himself with pride and confidence.
Uther gripped the hilt of his sword. “Why should I make a deal with a sorcerer like you?”
“Oh, please, like you haven’t before.” When Uther paled, Merlin’s lips pulled into a humourless smile. “That’s right, I know all about that. I know all about your deal with Nimueh—Arthur does as well, don’t worry, I told him. See, I don’t keep things from him like you do. I also informed him that he has a sister—yes, I know about that as well, poor Morgana… Unclaimed by her father—it’s curious how far your cruelty goes.”
“You speak hearsay,” Uther snapped, “that’s not—none of that—how dare you!”
Merlin couldn’t help the small burst of pride that ran through him at the way he’d managed to get under Uther’s skin.
“Father.” Merlin’s eyes snapped to Arthur upon hearing his voice, cautious and slow, “perhaps you should hear him out… He may—”
“Quiet!” Uther cut him off harshly, voice venomous as he turned his glare on his son. “You… I should have known—you always have been much too close to your servant… My own son, consorting with a sorcerer. I raised you better than this, Arthur.”
A fire burned inside Merlin when Arthur stepped back, hurt flashing in his eyes before a mask covered his face and he looked away deferentially. His jaw clenched. His magic soared beneath his skin.
“If it weren’t for Arthur, Camelot would not be on its feet,” Merlin bit out, “if it weren’t for Arthur the people would be starving. If it weren’t for Arthur, Camelot would be in ruins. Burned to the ground by dragonfire. Struck down by vengeful sorcerers. If it weren’t for Arthur, those countless assassination attempts I stopped on his behalf would have succeeded. Do not think so little of your son, and do not speak down to him so.”
“I will run you through with my sword,” Uther sneered, turning back to Merlin. “You have no right to speak to me in such a way.”
“I have no right to live in your eyes, so quite frankly, I could not care less what you believe I am permitted to do.” Merlin shot back. A small gasp from behind him caught his attention, and Merlin was reminded of Morgana’s presence. He took a deep breath and dialed it back—if not for his sake, or Arthur’s, then for hers.
She deserved not to live in fear.
She wasn’t immortal as Merlin was.
“Magic is not evil.” Merlin spoke softer this time, urging Uther to listen. “I know Ygraine’s death was wrong, and it pained you in ways unimaginable—if I lost Arthur…” he trailed off, the words catching in his throat. He took another deep breath and closed his eyes to calm himself. “Magic is not evil, man is evil. What happened with the Queen—it was inevitable, and it was not Nimueh’s fault… It wasn’t magics fault.”
“You were told it creating a life would demand one taken in payment,” Merlin continued before Uther could interject, “but perhaps you didn’t realize whose life that meant—I will give you the benefit of the doubt on that one because I, myself, have seen the look in your eyes when her name is mentioned. You would have given your own life to save hers in an instant, would you not?”
“I don’t need to answer to you,” Uther spat, albeit some of the venom had receded from his tone. He was weakening, his guard dropping. Merlin relaxed a touch.
“I know you would—because I would do the same for Arthur,” he said, eyes flicking to the man in question. Arthur stared at him with wide eyes, a look in them that Merlin couldn’t quite name. He quickly looked back to Uther. “My point is—magic is not evil. Magic is balance. It is neutrality. Magic doesn’t see good or bad. If the practice itself were evil—so would be Gaius’ occupation. A sorcerer is much like a physician.”
Uther scoffed, incredulous and irritated. Merlin plowed on, though, “they both have a variety of materials. And it is up to the practitioner to decide how they are put to use. As hemlock can numb a man before he’s cut into for a life-saving procedure, it can also have a man dead in half a candlemark. Magic is…in essence—a physician’s medicine. It can be used to heal, to hurt, to protect… It can be beautiful, but you’ve only allowed yourself to see the dark.”
Merlin glanced back at Morgana, relieved to find her stepping forward, out of the shadows to place herself at Uther’s side. Her eyes seemed to almost glisten, but Merlin pretended it was just the lighting. If she were truly crying, well, she’d have his head if she found out he knew.
“So, I ask you once more…strike a deal with me. I promise you it is your best option currently.”
“Listen to him, father,” Arthur spoke again, not backing down this time as he crossed the throne room to stand beside Merlin. “It is in your best interest to listen to him.”
Merlin watched as Uther’s shoulders slumped, and bit back a victorious grin. He shut his eyes for a moment, hiding them from Uther’s gaze as they flared gold and the shackles around his wrists snapped off. When he opened his eyes again, stretching his arms over his head, Uther looked somewhere between awed and horrified.
“What are your demands?” Uther finally asked, voice strained.
With a small glance to Arthur, who nodded infinitesimally, Merlin straightened up and held his head high.
“Relinquish the throne, Uther. Give your son your crown,” he ordered, his tone firm in expressing he wouldn't hear any argument. "He’s ready—and he’ll be thrice the King you are. Give Arthur your crown, tell the people you're too old to continue ruling with a clear mind, host the coronation, and crown your son king...and I—and magic—will be Camelot's strongest ally.”
Arthur reached over and grabbed his hand as he spoke, lacing their fingers. Merlin couldn’t help but smirk at the way Uther’s eyes locked onto their interlocked fingers. He looked ready to faint. It was delightful.
“Do we have a deal?” Merlin asked, raising an eyebrow.
There was a moment of tense silence as Uther stared incredulously at the pair. Then, a hand came down gently on his shoulder, and Merlin watched as Morgana smiled faintly at the unjust king.
“Take the deal, Uther,” she said, her voice soft but ringing out still through the throne room, “or you lose both your children, and the best ally our Kingdom could ever ask for.”
And with that, she dropped her hand and crossed the room to Merlin, sending him a grateful smile as she stopped at his side. Uther watched in defeat as his daughter joined Merlin and Arthur. She looked so strong, and confident as she stood at Merlin’s right—opposite Arthur. She had chosen the side of magic, and she had chosen the side of peace.
Merlin would have to remind himself to laugh in the dragon’s face next time he saw the old lizard.
“Father?” Arthur prompted, cocking an eyebrow. When Uther didn’t answer, he let out a breath and softened his voice, “Take the deal.”
Uther’s shoulder sagged, and Merlin knew they had won. Slowly, the old King’s hands raised, and he lifted the crown from his head. Merlin didn’t have to look at her to know Morgana was smirking where she stood. And really, he didn’t blame her.
He placed the crown on his throne—the action more symbolic than anything seeing as he would have to go through Geoffrey to officially relinquish the throne to Arthur—before fixing the trio with a sharp gaze.
“The people will riot,” he swore.
“The people will cry with relief,” Arthur retorted without missing a beat. “Your reign of tyranny is over, father. Our people will live in fear no more.”
Uther clenched his jaw tightly, fists balled at his sides. Then, without another word, he stormed out of the throne room.
The moment the doors slammed shut behind him, all three sagged in relief. Merlin looked between the siblings and couldn’t contain his grin. Morgana looked about ready to sob with joy, knowing she would no longer have to hide. Arthur looked mildly conflicted, but more relieved than anything.
“I hope I’m ready to be King,” he joked, letting go of Merlin’s hand only to pull him into a close embrace.
Merlin just smiled brighter, feeling just about ready to cry, himself. For something that had been unplanned, and unexpected, he couldn’t believe how well it had gone. He ducked down and pressed his lips firmly to Arthur’s, humming softly.
“I—I have to go inform Gwen, oh,” Morgana gasped, and Merlin suppressed a chuckle at how flustered she sounded. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen her anything but composed. The receding sound of heels clicking against the floor, followed by the doors opening and shutting, echoed through the otherwise empty room.
Merlin slowly pulled back from Arthur, glancing to where she had exited. “Are you going to crown her your heir?”
“She would throw a fit at being called my heir, but she deserves to be addressed as royalty finally,” Arthur murmured. There was a brief pause, then Arthur dropped his forehead onto Merlin’s shoulder. “I’m so glad you’re okay… When Bedivere and Owain dragged you in here—and the way you were talking—”
“I’m okay, Arthur, I’m better than, even,” he assured his soon-to-be King. “I…was never expecting this outcome, but, gods, this couldn’t have possibly gone better.”
Arthur hummed softly, squeezing him slightly as he pulled him closer.
“I’m exhausted, Arthur…” Merlin muttered after a moment, only just realizing how true it was as he said it. He felt ready to collapse then and there in Arthur’s arms. Arthur rubbed his back slowly, comfortingly.
“It’s been an eventful day—not to mention,” Arthur paused, raising his head to look at Merlin again, “you’re…immortal? You discovered it last night?”
Merlin grimaced slightly. He had known he wouldn’t get away with that admission when he made it, but he had been hoping Arthur would let it go anyway.
“Later?” he asked softly.
Who knew overthrowing a King last minute took so much energy?
Arthur hesitated, before nodding. “Later… I’d quite like to lay down for a bit as well, now.”
“Good, because I think I’m about to pass out,” Merlin snorted.
“Well—please, allow me to carry you back to our chambers,” Arthur hummed, smirking. Before Merlin could protest, he lifted him up bridal style into his arms, and grinned at him. Merlin let out a small huff but wrapped his arms around Arthur’s neck—too drained to fight it. He let his head hang back, eyes on the high ceiling, as a grin stretched out across his lips.
“Back to our chambers, my King.”