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Uther should have remembered that a feast was a surefire way to nearly get assassinated. He’d been having a good day, for the most part. He dressed in his most kingly, resplendent regalia, striking a few dramatic poses in the mirror along the way.
Then, as he strode down the hall, he made sure to step in such a way so as to make his cloak billow out behind him. As he passed the prince’s chambers, he didn’t chance a glance through the crack in the door, didn’t see his son’s room cleaning itself while a certain manservant lay sprawled upon the bed, a lovesick, soppy smile on his face. No. That would be absurd.
The feast, too, was going well. Music and laughter filled the air, the food was delicious as always, the visiting lords and ladies were all pleased, and the performer was more on the comedic side.
Of course, because of Uther’s careless inaction of not rooting through all of the possessions of everyone who had so much as looked at the doors of the room, there was trouble. In the midst of one of his flashier tricks, the performer had somehow whipped out a knife and flung it across the room without anyone noticing. That is, of course, until the knife stopped mere inches from Uther’s chest.
Everything froze. The king spent a few too-long moments looking between the knife and the performer, going a bit cross-eyed as he did so. When the blade finally dropped, harmless, to the table, Uther pointed at the man on the platform across the table.
“Guards!” he shouted, “Arrest him!”
Some of the men stepped forward and did so at once, leaving Uther to repress a sigh and turn to his left, where the boy-- Marvin?-- was still lowering his arm, a slightly stunned expression on his face. Arthur had leapt up, dragging his servant behind him and giving Uther a strange look. Defiant, yes, but also afraid and even a little- was that surprise? Or even betrayal? No matter.
The king glanced around the room, finding everyone staring at him a little apprehensively. A few of the visitors were glaring at Melvin, distrust and disgust in their eyes, but everyone who lived in or near the citadel had a tinge of treasonous loyalty in their expressions. Loyalty to a servant, a sorcerer, enough to potentially outweigh that to their king, but even Uther had to admit he knew why that would be.
He turned back to his son, who was still trying to hide Marlin behind him, and the sorcerer, who was shaking but trying to step around Arthur, gaze fierce in front of the fear. Uther squinted at the two of them for a second, eyes zeroing in on where Arthur’s hand hovered suspiciously close to his servant’s. Sighing, the king turned back to his drink, near-forgotten in his hand.
“Oh no,” he muttered, grimacing down at the wine, “My son’s idiot sorcerer boyfriend has just saved my life with magic. What horror.” He lifted the goblet to his lips and drained it in one gulp. Slamming it back to the table, he called, “Geoffrey!” He held out a hand as the librarian shuffled over and dropped a scroll into his hands. The entirety of the hall was still silent, everyone blinking at him, clearly bewildered.
Uther unrolled the scroll and flattened it against the table, resting the quill that came with it on top. He read through the first few lines, making sure it was the right thing and also picking out the boy’s name.
“Merlin,” he said, almost pleasantly, except that King Uther Pendragon did not speak pleasantly to servants. Especially sorcerous servants.
“Yes, sire?” He had to commend the boy for keeping a steady voice, despite the fact he was clearly still trembling like a leaf in Uther’s periphery.
“Come here and sign this.” He considered a moment, then groaned. “If you don’t know how to write, get Arthur over here to sign this. Then both of you go spend the night in the dungeons, for being a sorcerer and actively harboring one respectively.”
Merlin shuffled forward. Ah, good, so he could write. That meant he would also be able to at least read the premise of the pardon and understand its terms.
It was only Arthur’s spluttering that brought it to his attention that something was amiss. He turned back to his son, who cried, betrayal and surprise coloring his voice, “Actively harboring…? I don’t- I didn’t- I wouldn’t!”
Uther blinked at him for a moment until realization dawned, and then he blinked some more. He scrubbed a hand down his face.
“Nevermind,” he sighed, “Merlin, take my son to the dungeons for being an oblivious idiot. Then the both of you reflect on the virtues of locking the damn doors behind you.”
Both boys rolled their eyes and strode away, mumbling to each other. It was only when they reached the door that something finally seemed to register in Arthur’s head. The prince whirled around, eyes wide.
“Boyfriend?” he screeched.
Uther smirked into a fresh goblet of wine.