Shroud of the Kingdom

Rated T for trauma, language, violence, and a general dark atmosphere.

Merlin has released the Great Dragon, only for it to go back on its' word and terrorize the city of Camelot. Merlin decides that he has had enough. No more of this 'keep the Old Religion in balance,' game. It's high time he turns the tables in his favor. Dark!Merlin. Slight Merthur.

Merlin stalked menacingly down the empty halls of Camelot, a dark look cast upon his face. His wings brushed the walls on either side of him, making the warlock shiver with their cold touch. A servant turned the corner ahead of him, head down as they carried heavy buckets of well-water. The servant looked up for a moment, saw Merlin, then promptly shrieked and turned back the way they had come. Merlin sighed and quickened his pace; the knights would soon find him, and he needed to be in the right place when they did.

No guards stood guarding the throne room; there was no one inside. Uther was somewhere else inside the castle, no doubt being informed on the sudden turn of events. Merlin knew, for some reason, that they would all come here. This was the room where kings rose and fell. This would be the beginning and the end.

Merlin crossed the long room over to the tall-backed throne, cushioned with red velvet that was supremely soft to the touch. The warlock circled the symbolic chair, hand caressing the finely carved wooden trim. A symbol of leadership. A chair of authority. Whoever sits upon it holds the cards. Merlin smiled to himself and sat down on the throne, awkwardly trying to maneuver his wings over the armrests. Then he waited.

Several minutes later the great double doors banged open and a variety of people stormed in, shouting and cursing. First in were King Uther and Prince Arthur, a furious expression on the monarch's face and an unreadable one on his son's. Next came a horde of knights, following closely at the heels of the two royals. Towards the end of the mass were curious servants, some of the Council members, and a handful of the castle staff, Gaius included. Merlin stood from the throne, stretching his wings to their full potential and gripping his staff in one hand. A hushed silence fell over the crowd; even King Uther was momentarily silenced by the breathtakingly fearsome magician rising from his throne.

"Oh Merlin, what have you done?" Gaius whispered to himself.

The raven-haired warlock flapped his wings once, the people nearest to him pushed back a couple of feet from the sheer power of the wind he produced. Then he folded his wings back against his back.

Uther was the first to speak. Or snarl, more accurately. "You've had magic all this time?! You killed the dragon and now you want my throne, too? I want an explanation for all of this before I see you burned at the stake!"

Merlin grinned a wicked, amused smile at the King, whose own rage began to falter. Then the warlock chuckled darkly.

"I am not an ordinary sorcerer, your majesty," the warlock began. "I carry the lineage of the Dragonlords; it is for that reason and that reason only that the Great Dragon was able to be slain. I have absorbed all of its power and knowledge. I have defeated the sorceress Nimueh, a High Priestess of the Old Religion. By definition, my being able to kill her automatically makes me a High Priest of the Old Religion." Trepidation began to seep in among the crowd. Uther looked on as Merlin continued to rant, rage still written on his face but his eyes betraying an intense wariness.

"I have a great destiny to aid the Once and Future King, who will unite the five kingdoms and restore magic to all of Albion." Merlin narrowed his eyes at the King. "I will not allow you to interfere any longer with my destiny."

Uther's eyes bulged at the warlock's words. "This is utter blasphemy! And who is this Once and Future King?"

Merlin hesitated, breaking eye contact with the fuming monarch.

"It's me," Arthur breathed from beside the King. "Isn't it, Merlin?"

The raven swallowed, and a deep expression entered his golden irises. He nodded. "Yes."

Uther had had enough. "Guards, seize him!" Merlin watched with mild amusement as a dozen or so knights and guards rushed towards him, only to be slammed against the wall and knocked unconscious from a lazy flick of Merlin's wrist. Uther's head snapped back from the unconscious men to Merlin. Uncertainty flickered across his features.

"You have lost, Uther Pendragon. It is time for the era of magic to reign once again." Merlin touched the end of his staff to the floor, and immediately great metal chains began to coil around Uther, restraining his arms and binding his legs. Merlin held out a hand and the King's crown floated to the warlock's outstretched fingers. Uther began to speak again, but was immediately silenced with a quickly uttered spell from the raven.

Merlin pushed the bound King to the wall with the unconscious soldiers with the invisible force of his magic. He twirled the crown around in his hands, before ceasing all movement and locking eyes with Arthur. A thousand emotions swirled behind those cerulean eyes as Merlin approached the prince. 'What are you doing, Merlin?' those eyes seemed to say.

Merlin stopped in front of the blond, only a foot of space separating the warlock and the prince. Merlin suddenly got down on one knee and held the crown with both hands out in front of him. "Rule by my side, Arthur," the raven whispered desperately. Or your father dies, he added, telepathically speaking straight to the prince's mind with his magic.

Arthur's Adam's apple bobbed harshly as he swallowed at the threat only he had heard. Merlin had forced his hand, effectively blackmailing him into what Emrys wanted. He was left with no choice if he wanted to keep his father alive.

"I will."

Merlin beamed and stood up, placing the crown on Arthur's golden head. No one said a word. No one clapped or cheered. The crowd stood in fearful silence as the new king ascended the steps towards the throne, sitting down uneasily upon the velvet. Merlin conjured an identical chair and placed it beside Arthur's, seating himself in it with a flourish of his wings.

"Long live the Kings," he growled.