The Passing of Uther

Uther's dead. What now? Destinies have got to be fulfilled, but Arthur's not ready, Merlin's scared, Lancelot's back, Gwen's trying to keep the dream alive, Morgana's out of her depth, the Saxons are coming and Mordred is stronger than ever. It's in the same universe as my other stories Broceliande and Joyous Garde but can stand alone. Merlin/Arthur friendship. If you want to look at it slashily, feel free to try but you'll have to squint. Sorry bout that.

I don't own the characters, the BBC does, I make no profit and only write this because I'm snowed in and bored, and desperate to avoid work. I've also borrowed from Robert de Boron, Geoffrey of Monmouth and Tennyson, but I reckon I can take them in a fight.

Chapter One

It was a particular cruelty that the last morning was a happy one. Or was it a blessing? Afterwards Merlin was never sure. He, Gwen, Gaius and Prince Arthur sat around Gaius' rough table with a humble lunch spread on it, and the jars vibrated with laughter.

"...And there were these three weirdos –" Arthur was saying.

"By weirdos," interrupted Merlin, "he means 'three very heavily armed knights'."

"Weirdos calling themselves Morning-Star and Noon-Sun and Evening-Star, all in different coloured armour...it was completely bizarre. Merlin ran like a little girl."

"I did not!" Merlin was indignant as Gwen laughed, "I did not! I was getting out of your way –you're going to take my eye out with Excalibur one day, you wave it around like a lunatic."

"What happened then?" asked Gwen, leaning on Arthur's shoulder. Everyone around the table knew Arthur had to leave – had to have left already, in fact. She was doing what she always did – trying to stop him. She hated him going, as much as he loved charging off for Camelot.

Arthur was looking outside at the sun, regretfully. "Then? Oh, I beat them all, of course, one by one and rescued the girl." He gently moved Gwen away.

"What girl?" demanded Gwen, playfully put-out, trying to keep his attention from the time.

"The pretty girl we were there to rescue, of course. Don't worry, she's Gareth's girl – I didn't stand a chance."

Gwen kicked him under the table.

"All right," Arthur stretched. "Time for me to go. Father will be waiting."

"I'm coming." Merlin jumped to his feet.

"No, you're not."

"Yes. I am."

"Merlin. We're going down to Emione for all of a day, so my father can say hello and I can apologise for beating Torre at jousting last month, basically. There might be other diplomatic things going on, but essentially those are the crucial points as far as I can make out. You stay here. Torre hates magic as much as my father does, stay out of it." He became aware that both Merlin and Gaius were glaring at him, as much as Gwen was looking confused, so carried on swiftly. "Basically," he attempted a rescue, "basically I'm saying he's not a nice chap, so isn't worth the journey. I'll be back tomorrow."

"Wear your scabbard, then."

"No."

"Yes. There have been rumours of Saxons around the Mercian borders. What if they're between here and Emione? What then?" He held out the scabbard, which Arthur refused to have in his own rooms. Arthur batted it away. Now both Gwen and Gaius were looking confused.

"Let me know when there aren't rumours of Saxons around our borders. I'm sick to death of rumours of Saxons! No, Merlin. Not against Saxons."

Merlin followed him to the corner where he was putting on his cloak. "If not against Saxons," he hissed, "then when?"

"Against magic. I won't use an unfair advantage, Merlin. It isn't honourable."

"It doesn't stop you getting killed. It stops you bleeding. It just rules out one of many ways you can die in battle. You can still be beaten the death and bashed on the head and I don't know what else, but I'm sure you do. Think of it as extra armour."

Arthur lay a hand on Merlin's shoulder, his favoured technique for attempting to convince Merlin he was taking something seriously. "I won't. But thank you. Make sure you look after it, I dare say it will come in handy, but not today. It's a day trip to Emione, not an expedition to the wastelands."

He moved back in to the centre of the room and kissed Gwen lightly, waved at Gaius and bashed Merlin's shoulder. "Goodbye, ladies!" he called over his shoulder, popping a lump of cheese into his mouth as he left.

Had any of them known it was the last time they would ever see Prince Arthur, they might have looked at him closer, or gone to the window and watch him and the knights clatter out of the courtyard, to get a final glimpse. But they didn't know.

******

They weren't even late back. No one was worried. It was not even three the next afternoon. Gwen was at the workbench grinding herbs, while Merlin sat on the workbench, legs swinging, one of Gaius' books on his lap, peeling a peach and testing Gwen.

"External painkiller?"

"Comfrey, Arnica, Marigold, Chervil."

"Feverfew?"

"Headaches."

"And?"

But at that point the shout went up that the Emione party had been spotted on the approach, and both Gwen and Merlin cheerfully abandoned their work.

Later, Merlin remembered them both standing subtly back in the courtyard, in one of the deep shadows that contrasted with the dazzling brightness of the area in the sun, and Gwen saying happily "that was quick", and him agreeing. He would have thought he would have sensed something. But he had no idea.

His stomach first turned when he saw Sir Leon's face, leading the group in, just in front of Uther. Lifting his visor, he looked ashen and shocked. He was so busy looking in alarm at Leon that he didn't know at first why Gwen gripped his arm, so tightly it was painful, with fingers that were suddenly freezing cold. "Merlin," she said, almost faint. "Merlin." And then he saw. There was no Arthur. The group was still entering in the courtyard, but his armour wasn't there, and...he counted. No, there were three missing. And Arthur wasn't there. He'd know the armour from miles away and it wasn't there. Uther's was there, Leon's, Kay's, Tristan's...but Arthur's armour wasn't there. "Where is he?" Gwen didn't even care she was shouting now. "Merlin, where is he?"

Merlin looked again, he didn't believe his own eyes. But...this wasn't possible. "No..." he said. "No...don't worry..." but then he stopped because he thought if he opened his mouth again he would surely be sick.

Sir Leon wheeled his horse around to face the more curious-minded citizens of Camelot, who had come out to greet the returning party. He raised his sword. "The king!" he took a breath, and then shouted loud enough for his voice to ring across the sunny yard and into the open windows of the castle. "The king is dead! Long live the king!"

Uther took his helmet off and the crowd gasped, because it wasn't Uther, but Arthur, in his father's armour, on his father's charger. He looked around the yard, his hair slick from sweat, pale-faced, a small cut trickling blood under his eye, exhausted and narrow-lipped, a warrior-king.

"Long live King Arthur!" shouted Sir Leon, and the crowd roared in echo, slamming pots together and stamping feet, and banging anything they could find until the shout rang across not just the citadel but the whole town, and in the middle, King Arthur sat on his father's horse, holding Excalibur high above his head, it shining like a beacon in the summer sunlight; acknowledging the applause.

Only in the shadowy corner next to the steps was there silence. Gwen had her hand over her mouth, and Merlin sank to sit on the lowest step, hand resting on the statue of a dog he had once, many years ago now, turned into an actual dog. Back when Valiant had seemed the biggest problem he would ever face.

Gwen turned to him, her eyes wide with horror and filled with tears, hand still on mouth.

"That's that, then," was all he could think to say in reply.