#magical object

"For your own good. How can a serving girl understand what it means to be Queen?"

Even in death, dismissive. Cutting. Even in death, it spurs my tongue before I've thought it through carefully. The rush of injustice tastes just as bitter as it ever did.

"Guinevere is wise, and strong. And I trust her more than anyone."

I should feel proud, my words don't bow to him. My voice is steel. But instead, it's a cold indifference. He's never approved, I've never been enough, my Queen will never be enough.

"And that is your weakness." that hateful voice, so smug, so sneering, so... is that how I sound? When Merlin says I'm being a prat, is that how I sound? A sobering thought. "You put too much trust in other people. You, and you alone, must rule Camelot."

"I would rather not rule at all, than rule alone."

Defiance chills me to the bone, but yet... it's bright, and growing.

"Your whole life I tried to prepare you for the day you would become King. Did you learn nothing?"

And there it is, the needle, the blade. I swallow down the shame of the wound as best I can, because to fall apart will mean losing even the pretense of a conversation of equals.

"I watched you rule." I say lowly, and perhaps he can hear the ire in it, for the sneer on his face deepens, "I learned that if you trust noone, you'll always live in fear-" he moves to speak but the words have to come now, before my courage flags, "-your hatred came from fear, not strength."

I've enraged him now, I know it. It quivers like a bowstring under my skin. My- Uther's ghost gets to his feet, and I've know the hate upon that face all my life. It's terrifying, and freeing, and nauseating all at once to kindle his fury willingly.

"How dare you."

"I loved and respected you, but I have to rule the kingdom in my own way. I have to do what I believe to be right."

"I will not allow you to destroy all that I built!"

No. No longer will I fear him. He is dead, his time is gone, and Camelot is mine to rule, mine and Gwen's, and Merlin's, and Leon's and-

"Then you'll have to kill me." The flippancy comes surging up at the thought of Merlin, his seemingly abundant insolence. What a place to find guidance from, in this of all things. "I'm not you, Father. I can't rule the way you did."

It hurts, still, to admit. But it's the truest thing I have said in too long a time.

"Camelot must come before all else."

It's too great to absorb, the level surety in his tone. It dawns, horrifically slowly, like a lake monster emerging from the shadows below the surface. All else.

"Even you."

No.

The impact resonates, like an echo, coming much later than the darkness. My ears ring, my mouth tastes of copper and salt. My every muscle is weighted and impossibly heavy. Am I... drowning?

Get.

       Away.

                    from Him,

                                                              Uther.

The air feels heavy with heat, the sounds around me are confused, swirling together, watery in my ears, then flitting away in fragments like fish from a lure.

                                          -enough harm.

-don't                                                                  -here                                                    -caused

                     -belong -

I breathe in, and it feels like shadows. I am tired of shadows. Of the shadows of men who would tear down my kingdom, my reign, and inflict upon my people more of the pain he poisoned Camelot with when he was alive. Things are changing. Things will change. They must.

                                                                                                                                   -return

-other world-                                       -serving boy!                                                                                  -drive me from it?

                                                                                    -nothing but-

                                        -MY Kingdom-                                           -more than that.

And for them to change, for the brave new days of prosperity to come upon us, I too must brave the dark.

     I am-                                                                -you!

                            -Magic!                                                                                                                 -much more-

                                                                                         -don't belong-

I rise from the murk slowly, the stone beneath my aching head cool and solid. A steady tether as my mind spins and my stomach heaves. He's out there, I can hear it, he's come across some poor-

  I WAS

              BORN

                         WITH IT!

Merlin.

I'm straining against the clutches of that space between awake and not, but it drags me down no matter how I try. Merlin. Uther has Merlin in his sights and if he- if anything happens to- I'll kill him. Dead or ghost or- I'll kill him over. The swampy murk sinks further into my ears and blurs the sounds of life further but-

    - I made you-                                                    -wrong!-                         -were King-                              -about so much-

                     -Arthur's-              -heart-                                                                         -poison my-

 -Camelot                                                         -sorceror-                      -will not allow-                                      -wrong!-

                     -your kind-                                                              -Magic-

It's too hard to hold on, the voices, the words, they swim around and around like water down a drain and I cannot grasp anything to hold onto to stop myself from being dragged down with them.

Arthur is-

That. I will hold tight to that, my name, Merlin's- Merlin's voice. As solid a handhold as any I've known-

- a better and more worthy King-

It's slipping again. And the darkness is here.

-ever were.

I don't remember waking, it's a blur of movement, the driving need to stand, to seek, to hunt. Dread and knowledge, time running out and-

"Father!"

Merlin, locked to the wood with spears, and Uther. Sword in hand, he looks every inch the man- No.

"Arthur."

Merlin... Merlin looks wretched. His eyes fly straight like true arrows to find me, and incredibly, he looks more heartbroken than I am.

"No. Please."

I hold the horn up like a shield, no more will I waver in the face of this- this Shadow. I cling tightly to my reserve, damn the burning in my eyes.

"Whatever I've done, I've done for Camelot."

No. That isn't true. I hold tighter to that knowledge. Merlin meets my eyes, and suddenly, I understand. And yet, I know, as surely as I know myself, that his unshed tears are not for himself. That handhold, again, against the swirling tide.

"You've had your turn."

My breath has run dry, but it has to last. Just long enough, it has to last.

"Now it's mine."

And it doesn't matter that my voice is breaking. It doesn't matter that my eyes are leaking and my heart is pounding. It matters that Merlin will not face that blade, that Camelot will remain mine. Remain ours.

"Merlin has-"

The horn sings with what feels like the very last of my breath, and Uther is gone.

The moment hangs, horrible, glorious, sickening. My arms move instinctively, yanking the embedded spears, freeing him. He has no words, that's how strange this moment is, no words. He stares, and I cannot meet his eye. Not yet, not while this awful, gushing mess of fear, of freedom, of the earth shifting beneath me still rushes through my blood.

"A close call." he whispers eventually, when we're almost to my chambers once more, and "Thank you."

The words are in my throat, I need only let them free. And yet at this moment, the need to know has fled me. I swallow.

"I heard."

I cannot see him, a pace behind me, but I feel the shift. Tension in the air, the minute hitch as he stops breathing. I'm correct. That mire of sound, those snatched, fractured pieces. Dare I? The shadows have been lifted, and yet trepidation quells my courage.

"Arthur, I-"

"A better King?"

His confusion is loud. Tentative relief apparent when he speaks again.

"My lord?"

And I look at him, wretched, teary-eyed still, almost afraid, and there's so much that I cannot voice. But there is a familiar, easy path I can choose, and easy sounds wonderful right now. My mouth twitches.

"More worthy?"

His pale face reddens, and his eyes drop, but there's something, something playing along the edge of his mouth. It is decided. The rest is a conversation for tomorrow. Today has been enough already.

"Surely my ears deceived me, for a 'Prat of a Prince' couldn't possibly do better than-"

"He can." he breathes softly, and when I glance back he's looking once more, and his face is soft and his eyes almost glow with conviction, "You can. You have, already."

The retort dies swiftly on my tongue, and heat burns abruptly in my chest, chasing away the pain of my Father's visage.

"Thank you." comes out instead, painting bemusement on Merlin's brow, "For... Well."

His answering expression is too gentle for a grin, too fragile for a smirk. Our shoulders bump as he draws level with me, and I feel instantly more at peace than I have since summoning the spectre of a dead King.

"Anytime." he answers, and there's almost a trace of his usual cheer in it.

I clear the emotion from my throat, dispersing it.

"Remind me never to call upon Uther again. He is as unpleasant as I remember."

Merlin's startled snort is pleasant in the silence around us. I smile, and it is real.

"Never again, entirely unpleasant."

Not even my warning glance can stop his grin, and my courage is renewed, in part.

Tomorrow.