Wings

"He saved me! He saves me, Father! He is guiltless." The Prince's eyes are bloodshot and wild as he stands in front of the King, his father; begging for the life of his friend, his lover. His Father's eyes are cold and calculating as he stares at his son.

"They are all guilty, Arthur. You will do well to remember that."

Uther stills as he sees his heir fall to his knees, sobs racking his body. The King has never seen his son cry before, not like this. He has seen him cry for the loss of his mother, the loss of something that could have been; but now the young Pendragon cries for what will come and for what he has to lose.

For what Uther will take away from him.

"Please, sire. Please. We will leave Camelot, Merlin and I. You will never see our faces again!" Uther hardens his heart to his sons cries and orders the guards to take the struggling prince away. "The execution is at dawn." He says firmly even as he hears his son's cry of pain pierce the air. He reaches down to stroke Arthur's cheek.

"The enchantment will soon be lifted, my son. You need not worry. Soon, you will be back at my side." Arthur's tears streak down his face, fast and unrelenting; the pieces inside of him who have grown up reading Uther and his moods tell him to leave it well alone; and try again later.

But he knows there will be no later.

Not for Merlin.

And certainly not for them together.

Arthur screams the only thing he can think of to catch the tyrant's attention. The one last card that he had hidden inside his sleeve.

"I relinquish my rights to the throne!"

Uther stills before a sound of thunder breaking on the earth fills the air. The guards still, shock registered in their faces. In the dungeons a lover's scream fills the air as he feels pain sear through his heart. Below the castle a dragon laughs; it is ironic that in an attempt to keep the one thing he cares for by his side, Uther could not have driven it further away.

The Prince's cheek is red and bruised, the crimson of his cracked lip trickling down his cheek as he panted from the pain. But he is relentless, screaming it over and over again; the one chance he had left to save his love. The blows kept falling, the lover kept screaming, each new flash of pain brought a new wave of rage. His voice echoed with raw power, the castle shook; it's foundation of loyalty and lies falls upon it self as eyes flashed a brilliant gold.

And for once the dragon is silent; speechless. He certainly didn't see that one coming.

The once and future King of Camelot stands and he can almost feel his lovers smile against his ear as he whispers that he can do it; that he will always stand behind him and at his side. His knights' hands slack and loose, no longer holding him back. His lip bleeds, his face is dark and bruised, but he wears the expression of one who knows his true power and worth, of one who knows that his love's heart lays with his his, forever healing. Forever strengthening.

His predecessor trembles, his arm still raised in mid air. It is silent as Arthur walks towards Uther. The screaming has ceased, but still the castle rumbles softly, there are guards in dungeons yelling out orders as the flames grew larger and threatened to drown them all. But it seems that all held their breath as the young Pendragon who has lived far more than his predecessor, speaks.

"Your time of blood and carnage is over, Uther Pendragon. It is time for a new Camelot, a new Albion. It is time for a new king."

Uther gasps, his hands scrambling for his sword. "You speak of high treason! Guards! Arrest him!"

The King's men stand still, their heads raised high and their eyes track their ruler's movement as they watch for instruction. Arthur does not reach for his sword, he does not threaten or plead. He does nothing while the former King rages, and that alone brings awe to the people's hearts as they watch him. Their King.

"I am Uther Pendragon! I am King of Camelot! You will do as you're told!"

He is desperate now, his fingers sweating as he grips at the cold ring of metal around his head, afraid that his son would try to wrench it from him. He is stricken with fear and awe when it dawns on him that Arthur needed no crown to rule.

"I am Arthur Pendragon," Arthur responds to his false title with the arrogance of no title at all; he needed none. He turns to leave, his knights following him; but he pauses at the door for one last blow intended to shatter.

"When the time comes, when I will it to; you will abdicate, Uther Pendragon."

The crown is broken and useless as it sat on the cold throne in the empty room. When had it lost all it's power?

The minute Arthur is out the doors his calm demeanor cracks as does his voice as he races down the steps to the dungeon where the flames were high and licking the castle walls, scorching and burning away the blood and pain these stone walls have seen and spilt. He shouts orders at his knights to try and put out the fire, but he knows that it will eventually die; though it will take along with it parts of the castle.

His castle. Arthur feels no pain at the thought of his house burning, being destroyed by the flames as he prays and searches. Searches for his home.

"Merlin." And that is all he truly has to say, all he can say as he pulls his love into his arms. He is limp, his breath shallow from over exerting himself with his magic (the idiot) and the smoke that no doubt filled his lungs.

His eyes are heavily lidded as he stares up at his king through dark lashes. Arthur carries his world in his arms right out of the castle doors and into the square, where rain splashed gently onto the ground and onto the lovers. It felt as though the earth was giving them their blessing.

"You saved me."

Merlin's voice is soft and quiet, but there nonetheless as he strokes his King's tear stained cheek with his gentle fingers.

The prat laughs, pressing his lips onto his love's forehead.

"Of course I did, you idiot!"

They both laugh, full of relief, happiness and maybe a little bit of fear of the things that are to come. But the fear does not stay long, warm arms are wrapped around each other, as the Kings of Camelot bend to kiss each other; hard and soft, warm and cold, lips and teeth.

Arthur whispers his secret into his lover's lips.

"No, Merlin. You save me. Always."

And arms hold each other tighter still.

But with the color of flames dancing behind them and the onslaught of rain, one could swear they were wings.