Since Birth

Chapter Twenty-Four

Merlin was confused. Why must the world test his emotions—to string them on a lyre and pluck each cord in rhythm to his heart? And Morgana—has she planned this? Or was she just playing the game?

Arthur wasn't thinking much different. He remembered the time he and the brunet had first met. A childhood mystery that proceeded to haunt him for the following eight years. Throughout that time he pondered to consider if those same eyes of azure would remain to their true shade. The confidence that had played with Arthur's mind made the blond wonder—how had Merlin's father shaped him? It made the elder grasp the idea that although both their fathers were on the opposite spectrum of the morality on magic, Arthur now believed that they are more alike than what was led on before.

Fear was an excessive understatement for Merlin. He wasn't sure what was more terrifying: the thought of him dying or seeing Arthur's response to his passing.

Arthur was going to kill Uther. 'Father' was now an imaginary word when plastered onto the family tree. He was truly disgusted by the way the King was blinded by magic. His mind knew Merlin had picked up a thought or two from Uther back in Eirdar when he called the man out. "What is the real cause to your hatred towards magic? Is it because it's bad? Or is it because of the past that still haunts you?"

Merlin wanted to kiss Arthur. He wasn't sure exactly why, or how to get the emotion to identify what caused the urge, but he just wanted to. He would grip a palmful of the blond's shirt and pull him in close, and tell him that everything would be okay—although he would be reassuring himself more than his lover.

Arthur knew history would be different if his mother was still alive. But then again, he and Merlin probably would not have met if it weren't for this entire ordeal. The thought left a bittersweet aftertaste.

Emotions swirling about, and Merlin didn't know which one to choose.

And irony bit into Arthur's mind, but he was always too naive to notice it until the action was executed.

Two minds that were at opposite spectrums, but were more alike than earlier predicted. The Gods were tricky, because sworn enemies or soulmates, their minds would function in a similar fashion. So is that what brought them together, or is it what drew them apart?

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Merlin didn't need a reminder from Arthur. He vividly remembered when he asked Arthur to tell him to give the finger to the King. He would, of course, but with his hands forced to rest against his back, Merlin felt unsatisfied. Glaring at Uther would have to do. Another quick swipe with the eyes to Arthur and Merlin could tell the blond was reacting the same way. The brunet let his teeth grind, and he sent a silent prayer for freedom. Gods, how he had been so imbecilic. All those times that Merlin could have been studying magic. Now he was in a cage, and even with his ability, he had no use of it. He was stuck. And he was scared.

"So this is the child of Balinor?" Uther rose from the throne, taking the time to enamor in the sight of his latest catch. "The boy from the market back in Eirdar, eh? My, how I have been oblivious." He took a lap around the young brunet, burning holes using eye-contact.

Arthur shivered, appalled by the thought of Uther considering Merlin as a new toy suitable for imprisonment and death. "He has done no harm! You're the one that's caused all the damage! You're the real monster here, Uther!" Although the last word felt odd to use on his tongue, he had never felt more pumped with adrenaline to fight against him. To fight for his thoughts—his feelings—and everything in between.

He felt a set of eyes on him, and they were surprisingly not Uther's. They were Merlin's, and the expression on his face—the true and utter quintessence of fright ejected on his face reminded Arthur of when they were both back in the cave. When he had betrayed Merlin about his identity. In a way he had betrayed him again. How ironic was it to die to the father of the person you loved.