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Merlin - The Old Ways
I still blame the fleet. Really I do.
Title: The Old Ways
Rating: R
Genre: Merlin/Uther, past Uther/Other
Length: 1,630 words
Spoilers: Everything including 2.13 (The Last Dragonlord)
Prompt: Sort of a combo of #190 (Merlin/Uther, Concern for a loved one) and #192 (Merlin/Uther, Canon!verse sleeping with the enemy)
Synopsis: Uther must give in to the demands of the Old Religion, or risk losing his only son.
Author’s Notes: I totally and completely blame![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
camelot_fleet for this one.
Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Absolutely not!” Uther roared. He whipped around and began to pace the length of flooring between his bed and the table, refusing to look either one of them in the eye. That they insisted the message be delivered here, away from prying eyes, should have been a sign that it was something he would not like. That they insisted that the message be delivered here, in this room, was a sign they were still hoping to convince him.
“Sire,” Gaius tried. He dutifully stopped when Uther raised a hand. He could not hear this. Yes, he had already heard a version of it but, really, he need not do so again.
Merlin, of course, was a different matter all together. He never listened, never had the sense to do what he was told. The boy, for he truly was not much more than that as far as Uther was concerned, stepped forward, head hung as if bashful yet voice strong and sure as he said, “Is it truly that horrible of a thing to consider? Even for the life of your son?”
And that was the crux of it, wasn’t it? His refusal could mean Arthur’s death. His acceptance would simply cost him pride. This should not be a difficult decision, should it be a decision at all.
He sighed. He hated magic, despised it for this very reason. It gave him choices that were not really, and options that would cost no matter what.
The sorceress had been killed. The details were vague at best, but it sounded as though her enchantment had an unintended effect and lashed back out at her. The only thing the knights saw of the whole affair was a ball of golden light consuming her upon their arrival. And then Arthur collapsed. And then Merlin could barely stand. And then they were brought back to the castle were this farce of a spell was determined.
The sorceress was apparently enraged that the king of the land was no longer tied to the magic of the land, or some such thing. She intended to bind Arthur to the land and he was to die as the magic died out. The fact he was failing so quickly was a sign that Uther’s quest had proved to be quite successful over these past years. Merlin had either distracted her, as the boy was good at that, or stepped forward, or rushed to Arthur’s side when the magic still flowed around him, or something inane yet drastic in its consequences and the result was that he was caught up in the spell as well, albeit in a different way.
He was the key to undoing it.
Well, technically, Arthur was as well, but Uther could not bring himself to even consider that possibility. There was warped and inappropriate magic, and then there was that. Laying with one he considered not much more than a child was one thing; laying with his own dying son was something else entirely.
Merlin stepped forward, head raised now, not a hint of fear nor lingering weakness on his open face, and declared, “We can save him.” He looked pained only as he glanced towards the door, towards where Arthur lay dying only a few rooms away. “Wouldn’t that be worth a bit of awkwardness?”
Uther looked away. It was not that it would be uncomfortable that he feared. Unfortunately, he had turned towards Gaius, who knew him in his youth, knew his indiscretions, and his tastes even then. Knew he would covet Merlin in a way far too unbecoming for a king and servant.
Merlin, with his fine pale skin and youthful innocence. Merlin, with his tradition for talking his way out of things so quickly that Uther could only wonder what else that mouth was good for. Merlin, who looked so much like Balinor, the one accursed man Uther let escape because he could not bear to see a lover on the chopping block. Merlin, who was so willing it physically hurt.
Something in the back of his mind twinged at that. Made him wonder if Merlin had a thread of magic that ran through him, kept him safe and blessed him with his incredible luck. Made him wonder if that thread of magic was to replace the sorceress in the bond, if that was the secret behind how he was affected and not just his nearness to Arthur during the debacle.
It was nonsense, of course. Merlin had served in the castle for far too long to be able to hide that sort of enchantment, that sort of ability, especially considering his ineptitude in everything else. It was simply Uther’s desire to have a piece of Balinor back pressed upon one who happened to be similar in appearance, nothing more.
He closed his eyes to block out the memory, only for a moment, but when he opened them again, Gaius had an air about him. His friend had sensed his capitulation, whether Uther could voice it or not. “Arthur does not have long,” was all the man said before he left in a flutter of robes. He left behind a damning bottle of oil and a final glance at the carefully made bed.
Uther stared at the bottle a moment, unable to face the possibility before him. He, a man who despised magic and everything it stood for, was essentially to complete a magical rite for the safety of his land and the safety of his son. It was wrong; he knew that to the core of his very being. An act of love and passion should not be tainted with such things. He had promised himself long ago that it would never be that way again.
Merlin had stepped forward once more, now a mere breath away from him. “If we are to do this, we need to do it now,” he whispered, pleaded.
“We should not need to do this at all,” Uther sighed, even as he nodded, even as his gloved hand reached to cup the boy’s cheek.
Merlin leaned in to the touch, comforting and comforted. “It won’t be that bad,” he promised.
Uther noticed he had not bothered with the honorific, that he had not since any of this began. “That’s what I am afraid of,” he whispered. He lowered his mouth to press a chaste kiss to the corner of Merlin’s lips, but Merlin turned his head at the last moment and claimed him whole and true.
Uther gave in to that even as he knew he gave in to something more. He could feel it the moment it started: the thread of the Old Religion now weaving around and through him. It was prosaic, loving, and despised. It was so familiar it ached.
He looked to Merlin, saw the soft glow that began to coalesce around him, eyes lit from within. Ygraine’s eyes had shone gold on that faithful night, as had Balinor’s far more than once. Now this boy, this young man with so much of his life ahead of him would be cursed just like they had, risked losing everything just like they had.
“No,” Uther promised himself. He would not let the Old Religion cost him yet another. He would not let pride and vengeance rule and tear apart Merlin’s life as it had his own. Whatever was done here on this night, whatever magic was borne of this, he would forgive and let go, just this once, just like he should have so very long ago.
Merlin looked up at him questioningly, eyes limed in light, and it was then that Uther realised he had spoken aloud. Merlin glanced to the door, and then back to his king as he asked, “Sire?” There was so much to that one word. It was a question of time and death and the chance for life, of a sacrifice far too severe to contemplate and consequences far too brutal to refuse.
Uther swallowed his pride, forced back the hatred that always welled with the mere thought of magic entering his kingdom. “Whatever happens this night,” he began, choked on the words. He shook his head and willed himself to continue. “You are not to blame. Magic is unruly and not to be trusted. It may grant you a gift or take from you something very dear for daring to participate in this rite. It is not your fault.”
“I understand,” Merlin promised him, though there was no way one so young could.
Uther looked away, lost in the memory of someone else saying those very same words. When he forced himself to meet Merlin’s gaze, he saw the gold circling around him, swirling and dipping and ready to claim him as its own; the light that poured from him made him question if it already had. Uther himself was certain of the price it was to extract: the boy would be damned to live with it in his blood, be cursed to be the very thing outlawed and despised in this land. By Uther’s own laws, he would be put to death immediately.
He could not allow that. Would not allow that. Merlin should not be forced to pay such a price simply for saving his son’s life yet again. “You will be safe,” Uther promised him. “Whatever happens, whatever fate the Old Religion chooses for your loyalty, you will be safe and protected, by my own hand if need be.”
It was not much, but it was all he could offer the damned man. It was more than he had dared to do so in the past, and he only prayed it was enough. With that decided, he stepped into the welcoming embrace, and let the magic consume him once more.
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.
Title: The Old Ways
Rating: R
Genre: Merlin/Uther, past Uther/Other
Length: 1,630 words
Spoilers: Everything including 2.13 (The Last Dragonlord)
Prompt: Sort of a combo of #190 (Merlin/Uther, Concern for a loved one) and #192 (Merlin/Uther, Canon!verse sleeping with the enemy)
Synopsis: Uther must give in to the demands of the Old Religion, or risk losing his only son.
Author’s Notes: I totally and completely blame
camelot_fleet for this one. Disclaimer: I do not own this interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Absolutely not!” Uther roared. He whipped around and began to pace the length of flooring between his bed and the table, refusing to look either one of them in the eye. That they insisted the message be delivered here, away from prying eyes, should have been a sign that it was something he would not like. That they insisted that the message be delivered here, in this room, was a sign they were still hoping to convince him.
“Sire,” Gaius tried. He dutifully stopped when Uther raised a hand. He could not hear this. Yes, he had already heard a version of it but, really, he need not do so again.
Merlin, of course, was a different matter all together. He never listened, never had the sense to do what he was told. The boy, for he truly was not much more than that as far as Uther was concerned, stepped forward, head hung as if bashful yet voice strong and sure as he said, “Is it truly that horrible of a thing to consider? Even for the life of your son?”
And that was the crux of it, wasn’t it? His refusal could mean Arthur’s death. His acceptance would simply cost him pride. This should not be a difficult decision, should it be a decision at all.
He sighed. He hated magic, despised it for this very reason. It gave him choices that were not really, and options that would cost no matter what.
The sorceress had been killed. The details were vague at best, but it sounded as though her enchantment had an unintended effect and lashed back out at her. The only thing the knights saw of the whole affair was a ball of golden light consuming her upon their arrival. And then Arthur collapsed. And then Merlin could barely stand. And then they were brought back to the castle were this farce of a spell was determined.
The sorceress was apparently enraged that the king of the land was no longer tied to the magic of the land, or some such thing. She intended to bind Arthur to the land and he was to die as the magic died out. The fact he was failing so quickly was a sign that Uther’s quest had proved to be quite successful over these past years. Merlin had either distracted her, as the boy was good at that, or stepped forward, or rushed to Arthur’s side when the magic still flowed around him, or something inane yet drastic in its consequences and the result was that he was caught up in the spell as well, albeit in a different way.
He was the key to undoing it.
Well, technically, Arthur was as well, but Uther could not bring himself to even consider that possibility. There was warped and inappropriate magic, and then there was that. Laying with one he considered not much more than a child was one thing; laying with his own dying son was something else entirely.
Merlin stepped forward, head raised now, not a hint of fear nor lingering weakness on his open face, and declared, “We can save him.” He looked pained only as he glanced towards the door, towards where Arthur lay dying only a few rooms away. “Wouldn’t that be worth a bit of awkwardness?”
Uther looked away. It was not that it would be uncomfortable that he feared. Unfortunately, he had turned towards Gaius, who knew him in his youth, knew his indiscretions, and his tastes even then. Knew he would covet Merlin in a way far too unbecoming for a king and servant.
Merlin, with his fine pale skin and youthful innocence. Merlin, with his tradition for talking his way out of things so quickly that Uther could only wonder what else that mouth was good for. Merlin, who looked so much like Balinor, the one accursed man Uther let escape because he could not bear to see a lover on the chopping block. Merlin, who was so willing it physically hurt.
Something in the back of his mind twinged at that. Made him wonder if Merlin had a thread of magic that ran through him, kept him safe and blessed him with his incredible luck. Made him wonder if that thread of magic was to replace the sorceress in the bond, if that was the secret behind how he was affected and not just his nearness to Arthur during the debacle.
It was nonsense, of course. Merlin had served in the castle for far too long to be able to hide that sort of enchantment, that sort of ability, especially considering his ineptitude in everything else. It was simply Uther’s desire to have a piece of Balinor back pressed upon one who happened to be similar in appearance, nothing more.
He closed his eyes to block out the memory, only for a moment, but when he opened them again, Gaius had an air about him. His friend had sensed his capitulation, whether Uther could voice it or not. “Arthur does not have long,” was all the man said before he left in a flutter of robes. He left behind a damning bottle of oil and a final glance at the carefully made bed.
Uther stared at the bottle a moment, unable to face the possibility before him. He, a man who despised magic and everything it stood for, was essentially to complete a magical rite for the safety of his land and the safety of his son. It was wrong; he knew that to the core of his very being. An act of love and passion should not be tainted with such things. He had promised himself long ago that it would never be that way again.
Merlin had stepped forward once more, now a mere breath away from him. “If we are to do this, we need to do it now,” he whispered, pleaded.
“We should not need to do this at all,” Uther sighed, even as he nodded, even as his gloved hand reached to cup the boy’s cheek.
Merlin leaned in to the touch, comforting and comforted. “It won’t be that bad,” he promised.
Uther noticed he had not bothered with the honorific, that he had not since any of this began. “That’s what I am afraid of,” he whispered. He lowered his mouth to press a chaste kiss to the corner of Merlin’s lips, but Merlin turned his head at the last moment and claimed him whole and true.
Uther gave in to that even as he knew he gave in to something more. He could feel it the moment it started: the thread of the Old Religion now weaving around and through him. It was prosaic, loving, and despised. It was so familiar it ached.
He looked to Merlin, saw the soft glow that began to coalesce around him, eyes lit from within. Ygraine’s eyes had shone gold on that faithful night, as had Balinor’s far more than once. Now this boy, this young man with so much of his life ahead of him would be cursed just like they had, risked losing everything just like they had.
“No,” Uther promised himself. He would not let the Old Religion cost him yet another. He would not let pride and vengeance rule and tear apart Merlin’s life as it had his own. Whatever was done here on this night, whatever magic was borne of this, he would forgive and let go, just this once, just like he should have so very long ago.
Merlin looked up at him questioningly, eyes limed in light, and it was then that Uther realised he had spoken aloud. Merlin glanced to the door, and then back to his king as he asked, “Sire?” There was so much to that one word. It was a question of time and death and the chance for life, of a sacrifice far too severe to contemplate and consequences far too brutal to refuse.
Uther swallowed his pride, forced back the hatred that always welled with the mere thought of magic entering his kingdom. “Whatever happens this night,” he began, choked on the words. He shook his head and willed himself to continue. “You are not to blame. Magic is unruly and not to be trusted. It may grant you a gift or take from you something very dear for daring to participate in this rite. It is not your fault.”
“I understand,” Merlin promised him, though there was no way one so young could.
Uther looked away, lost in the memory of someone else saying those very same words. When he forced himself to meet Merlin’s gaze, he saw the gold circling around him, swirling and dipping and ready to claim him as its own; the light that poured from him made him question if it already had. Uther himself was certain of the price it was to extract: the boy would be damned to live with it in his blood, be cursed to be the very thing outlawed and despised in this land. By Uther’s own laws, he would be put to death immediately.
He could not allow that. Would not allow that. Merlin should not be forced to pay such a price simply for saving his son’s life yet again. “You will be safe,” Uther promised him. “Whatever happens, whatever fate the Old Religion chooses for your loyalty, you will be safe and protected, by my own hand if need be.”
It was not much, but it was all he could offer the damned man. It was more than he had dared to do so in the past, and he only prayed it was enough. With that decided, he stepped into the welcoming embrace, and let the magic consume him once more.
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.
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