Archive of Our Own

I. October

It was calm in the dining room, the only sounds being the scrape of cutlery over china and the occasional hum or swallow. 

“I like him.” 

Uther didn’t look up from his dinner. “I never said I didn’t.” 

“You didn’t have to.” 

His hands stilled over his plate and he sighed. He raised his eyes to find Ygraine’s already on him, intelligent as ever and cataloguing his every move. So, they were doing this now. 

“He seems like a very nice boy,” Ygraine started before Uther could draw a full breath.  

“I’m sure he is.” 

Silence pulled taut between the two ends of the mahogany table.  

“But…?” 

“But,” Uther paused for a beat, “surely there are others Arthur could be spending his time with.” 

Ygraine raised a delicate eyebrow and folded her fingers beneath her chin. “Like whom?”  

Uther eyed her as he took one last bite of his roast. He chewed slowly, then washed it down with a swallow of wine.  

“He’s reading law,” Ygraine argued. Just like you did, went pointedly unsaid.  

“And I can admit I admire his ambition to do so, however misplaced it may be.” 

“He seemed far more passionate about his studies than Arthur did about his. How is that ‘misplaced’?” 

“Passion does not equate success. And I’ve known several men whose notable ‘passion’ led to their downfall.”  

Ygraine’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I don’t recall those ‘passions’ being entirely focused on their law careers. Quite the opposite, really.”  

Uther raised his wine glass, silently conceding her that point. He sipped shallowly, carefully gathering what he wanted to say next.  

“Still, he’ll never be in the same sphere as Arthur. He’s too much of a bleeding heart to succeed in corporate law or politics, and he has no money or connections to speak of.” 

“And that’s all someone is to you?” The amusement in Ygraine’s voice masked her disappointment. "Do you think the fathers of the boys in Arthur’s ‘sphere’ belittle him in the same way?” 

Uther dropped his eyes to his wine, watched it swirl for a moment. “I’d expect nothing less.” His tone brooked no argument, but he was too cowardly to say it to his wife's face. Not that she needed to lock eyes with him to see straight through his façade.  

“Hmm,” Ygraine hummed, a clear dismissal of Uther’s entire argument. “I think he’ll be good for Arthur.” 

Uther knew better than to counter that point and went on to finish his wine.  

II. February

Uther was fuming. Spittle sat precariously in the corner of his mouth. He tore at his bowtie and cufflinks, alternating between which accessory was suffocating him more and hopelessly failing at removing both. 

“Darling,” Ygraine reached up to settle him.  

“Who the hell does that council brat think he is?!” 

“Darling.” Her lithe fingers undid the knotted silk around his neck, then moved down to release the buttons of his shirt.  

“Did you see what he did to Lord Falwell’s son? You couldn’t tell where the wine ended and the blood began!” 

“Darling.” She grabbed at his flailing hands to unclasp the cufflinks, letting the sleeves flap about once his hands were free again.  

“I can’t possibly show my face in Parliament again. And with the magic legislation being debated...” He slumped on the edge of the bed and absently took the glass of water being offered. “If Arthur had just listened to me and brought Rodor’s daughter like I told him to, instead of that insolent, barbaric bastard—” 

“Uther!” Ygraine’s voice sliced through his tirade, but Uther was too worked up to stop now. 

“No, Ygraine, you cannot possibly think that was acceptable behavior! I don’t ever want to see him in my house or around my son again. He’s been nothing but trouble, just like I tried to tell you before. A good-for-nothing charity case, who’s now gone and bollocksed Arthur’s career before it’s even begun!” 

“A charity case?” Ygraine gasped, affronted. Her eyes burned with a fury Uther only saw when he’d truly overstepped. “Do you have any idea what was happening to your son out there? While you were smirking and chortling with your lords, your son was being openly harassed by Lord Falwell’s bully of a boy, which he has always done without an ounce of remorse afterwards. Had Merlin not stepped in to shut him up, I very well would have.”  

“Oh, that’s just brilliant. So, not only is Arthur incapable of making the right friends, but he can’t even defend himself!”  

“That’s what you got out of that?” Ygraine’s eyes were wide with exasperation. “What do you want from him?”  

“I want him to be successful!” 

“He can be that without being your spitting image!” 

Uther panted, matching his wife’s wide-eyed gaze. He took one deep, composing breath, held it, and exhaled slowly. “I’ve never said that.” 

“No, but you act like it. Constantly.” Ygraine’s voice was leveled and steely. “Determining his studies. Who his ‘right’ friends should be, based, of course, on who you’re already friendly with. Throwing girl after girl at him when he’s so clearly uninterested.”  

“Mithian would be perfect, if he’d only give her a chance.” 

“Maybe she’s not as perfect as you think she is.” 

“She’s beautiful, intelligent, well-educated—” 

“Maybe he’s looking for someone else.” 

“Who else is there? Mithian is far above Elena and Vivian, and you saw how well those attempts went.” 

“Maybe,” Ygraine said a little louder and with a little more emphasis, “it’s not a woman he’s interested in.” 

Uther stared blankly at Ygraine. Ygraine stared meaningfully back. 

“What are you saying?” 

Ygraine threw her hands and her head heavenward. “Really, darling, I know you have your moments, but you’re not that thick.” She turned toward her vanity to start removing her jewelry. 

Uther took the minute that she removed her earrings, necklace, and bracelet to gather what she was implying. Then, uncertainly, “He’s not gay.” 

“No?” At least Ygraine’s irritation had given way to amusement. “When was the last time he brought a girl home? When was the last time he even mentioned a girl?” 

“There was that Smith girl, Gwyneth or something.” Uther felt like he was spiraling. He’d instilled in Arthur the importance of being sociable without being overly flirtatious, and especially being cautious of sex. Not only regarding illegitimate children and childcare payouts, but maintaining a gentlemanly reputation.  

Ygraine caught Uther’s eye through her mirror’s reflection. The amusement was alight in her eyes, but it was sympathetic and gentle to his epiphany at the same time.  

“He told you this?” Something painful fluttered in Uther’s chest.  

Ygraine’s eyes gentled more. “No. But a mother can tell these things.” 

Uther looked down at his hands, which were rubbing each other absentmindedly over his lap. Was he really so blind to his own son’s interests that he couldn’t pick up on this aspect of his life? Worse, what did Arthur think of his father that he couldn’t trust this sort of thing with him? Would he have ever told Uther, or would he have perpetually thrown off every woman Uther set him up with? 

He looked up again to catch his wife’s eyes in the mirror, and they shared a silent but comforting moment of understanding.  

Then, he took in the rest of her appearance. Ygraine still looked so strong, so beautiful. But there was an air of exhaustion hovering about her, made even heavier by the party they just hosted and the spat they just finished.  

Uther stood and crossed the room to her chair. He placed his hand on her delicate shoulder, squeezing through the thin fabric of her evening gown.  

“What time is your appointment tomorrow?” 

She raised her hand to lay on top of his, those graceful fingers giving a light squeeze in return. “Gaius said he’d fit me in around 10.” 

“‘Fit you in,’” Uther muttered, unimpressed.  

“Yes, ‘fit me in.’ He’s the best specialist when it comes to my symptoms.” Ygraine only barely stumbled over the s-word. “I’m lucky he’s able to see me at all.” 

Uther watched in quiet amazement at how Ygraine seemed to gather her strength once more. They were just symptoms, not much to worry about. Nothing dire. Yet, Uther couldn’t help feeling a little lost in that moment, a feeling he was unfamiliar with but worried wouldn’t stay that way for long. He leant down to kiss his wife’s temple.  

They readied for bed, in tandem and without words. Uther pushed any thoughts of the appointment away, replacing them with all that happened earlier in the evening. He’d need to apologize to Lord Falwell, offer to dry clean or, more likely, buy his son a new shirt. He’d need to speak with Arthur, though perhaps it could be more of a quick talk than a dressing down. He wouldn’t mention anything about the possibly-being-gay thing, though he could stop reprimanding Arthur for not showing interest in the eligible ladies at the next necessary function.  

Uther was settled comfortably under the sheets, and Ygraine had just clicked off her bedside lamp.  

“Wait, Arthur’s not in love with Merlin, is he?” 

“Good night, darling.” 

III. April 

The air of the study shimmered with tension. Words buzzed in and around Uther’s head, but they’d lost all meaning. This was worse than the Falwell fiasco. Worse than Arthur telling Uther he’d changed his studies to Literature, without consulting him first. Uther grabbed for the scotch on the second shelf, but nearly dropped the decanter at the sight of the amber liquid, so similar to the glowing gold that lit up that boy’s eyes. 

Magic. Merlin had magic.  

It wasn’t unlawful anymore to practice it, but it was still highly taboo. Particularly for political figures who’d had a hand in writing the dissenting agreement to magic’s legalization.  

It didn’t matter that magic was as much a part of nature as a spring in a forest, or whatever analogies those freaks spouted. There was still something about it that felt unnatural to Uther. It sent fearful shivers down his spine to see a witch’s eyes glow like a flame, to watch sparks fly from a sorcerer’s hands. Hands and eyes that appeared like anyone else’s, until that fateful moment when someone with power used their “gift” against someone incapable of defending themself.  

And Merlin was one of them.  

Uther replaced the scotch on the shelf and reached for the gin instead. He barely registered the swish of fabric as Ygraine stepping just over the threshold, but he met her incendiary gaze as he finished pouring three fingers. He knocked it back, not breaking eye contact. 

They watched each other. Ygraine vibrated where she stood, arms tightly crossed over her chest, cheeks burning beneath her pinkish rouge, and lips pursed to the point of bloodlessness. Uther gripped the cold glass in his tightening fist. He could shatter it; whip is across the room and watch it explode against the opposite wall. But the silence would need to break first.  

Wife and husband stared each other down. The tension stretched, tensed, crackled as though it would splinter any moment. Then Uther took a sudden breath and loosened his grip on the glass, just enough. 

“I don’t want to hear it,” he growled. 

Ygraine didn’t move.  

“There’s nothing you can say that will make this all right.”  

Ygraine didn’t speak.  

Uther looked away to the bottle of gin, then poured himself another three fingers and swallowed it in one go. It burned going down his throat and settled in a hot splash in his belly. But it relaxed his grip on the glass marginally, and a wave of heat spread through his veins, overwhelming the fire of his fury and tempering it degree by degree.  

As Uther mellowed, Ygraine simmered. Her heels were muffled by the rug covering most of Uther’s study floor, but the precision of her steps was enough to echo their cold, sharp clacking. She reached the back of her armchair, the only object allowed in the space that wasn’t meticulously approved by Uther nor purposed for his business, and sank her nails into the velvet upholstery.  

The small clock on Uther’s bookshelf ticked away the seconds. Uther poured himself one more glass, steeling himself for what needed to be said, and hissed a sip through clenched teeth.  

“I told you he was trouble. I told you nothing good would come of Arthur befriending that—” 

“If you say one slur against him, I am going to bed and locking the door.” 

Uther swallowed his ill words with another mouthful of gin. 

“How can you be okay with this?” he said instead, waving his glass in the general direction of the dining room and the disastrous dinner they’d just concluded. “What if he has Arthur under a spell? That would explain a lot, you know.” 

“Don’t you dare,” Ygraine spit at her husband. Uther flinched back just a fraction. “Don’t you dare insinuate the only way our son could love another man is because of a stupid love potion.” 

“That’s not—” 

“He’s not asking your permission; lord knows he’ll never get that. All he wants from you is civility. How is that so hard?” 

“It wouldn’t have to be if he was with someone better!” 

“Who could be better for him than Merlin? You look me in the eye and tell me this isn’t the happiest you’ve ever seen our son.” 

“MAGIC! The boy has magic, and he’s damn powerful, by the sound of it. He’s been by Arthur’s side for months. He’s been in our home, at our parties, met our friends. He’s had magic all this time, and not once—NOT ONCE—did he ever do anything to help you!” 

Just like that, the tension in the air evaporated. Uther’s shoulders dropped, and he found himself suddenly bone-tired. Ygraine looked just as weary. Worse, the mask she so carefully cultivated throughout her day, that belied strength she was rapidly losing since her diagnosis and treatment began two months ago, slipped. It fell away completely as she lowered herself into her chair. 

“Oh, my love,” she sighed with her whole body. It cut Uther at the knees.  

She looked so vulnerable then, like he knew she was and like she refused to act, even in their private moments together. He wanted to rush to her side, hold her together and feel her breath on his face, her heartbeat between his fingers. But, coward he was, he stayed behind his desk and finished his gin. It was so purely selfish, he could feel it slicing his soul like paper cuts. But if he ran to her now, if he acknowledged her fragility, even for a moment, it would be the beginning of the end.  

“There’s nothing he can do,” Ygraine continued. 

“I don’t care what Gaius says. Can’t we try?” Uther was horrified at the desperation in his own voice.  

“Darling,” Ygraine pleaded. Uther met her eyes. They were clear, and that made it all the easier to read the resignation in them. “There’s nothing Merlin can do.” 

Realization dawned on Uther slowly. “You already knew.”  

Ygraine nodded toward the armchair next to hers, and Uther numbly stumbled into it.  

“How long?” 

“A few weeks. Arthur stopped in. It was a couple days after we told him. He didn’t ring ahead, but he must have known you were away. He was all worked up into a frenzy. Told me Merlin has magic, and how he’s more powerful than any living sorcerer, apparently, and how he could probably help me since he’s, also apparently, been saving Arthur’s life the entire time they’ve known each other, all in one breath.” 

Ygraine seemed to find something humorous in that by the grin on her face. Uther’s lips twitched somewhere between a smile and a grimace.  

“He brought Merlin back the next day, but the poor thing didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t stop apologizing for choosing to read law instead of medicine. He tried some things, but it was all temporary. Eventually, I gave him Gaius’s number, and they talked for a while. But it’s all so complicated, what with ‘the balance’ and all that entails.” 

Ygraine paused for a fortifying breath. “If Merlin were to use his magic to cure me, it would be just another treatment: a way to lengthen my life, with a negligible chance of survival and an unforetold number of consequences. Magical side effects are much harder to predict than medical ones, so I’ve been told.” 

Uther couldn’t move or speak. He stared at the patch of rug between his shoes, barely blinking. For one frantic moment, there was a chance. He could have Ygraine for the rest of their natural lives. Arthur would have his mother. Damn any consequences lying in their way when they could still be a family. He couldn’t let that bubble of hope in his chest bloom and burst so quickly.  

“I’ll talk to him. I’ll make him understand what’s at stake. He must be able to do it, if he’s really that powerful. Everything we’ve seen of magic users, every life they’ve destroyed, surely they can save one instead?”  

“It’s too great a risk.” 

“How can you say that?” Uther’s head shot up to stare at his wife. The fire sparked in his veins once again. “This is your life, Ygraine! Everything you’ve done, everything we have, how can you throw it away like that? I won’t let you. I won’t—I can’t—” 

Uther didn’t realize he was crying until he was choking on the tears. How could Ygraine give up so easily? Didn’t she see what this was doing to him? She made it sound like Arthur was panicking when he came to her; didn’t she feel his fear? The bubble of hope exploded and sent shockwaves through Uther’s body. He was adrift. He couldn’t feel the ground beneath his feet. There wasn’t enough air, in his lungs, in his head, in the room.  

Then, amidst the tempest, a frail yet firm hand gripped his shoulder and held on with all its might. It eased him out of that dangerously narrowing space. It took all his strength to reach his own hand up and grip it. Sobs wracked his body, but her hand stayed.  

He nearly lost it again when a premonition flashed in his mind, what he might become without Ygraine to steady him, but her fingers clutched him tighter, as if that alone could fend off the nightmarish future. It worked for now.  

Ygraine couldn’t stand on her own for long periods anymore, so she moved her armchair closer to Uther’s and slid her hand into the cradle of his. They sat together all night, and together, they grieved.  

IV. August

Ygraine let out a sigh, looking in awe out the window of their bedroom down to the gardens below. “What a perfect day for a wedding.” 

Uther grunted from the other side of the room. Ygraine soundly ignored him and continued watching the guests queue up.  

It really was a perfect day; the sun was shining warmly across the rustic little set up, a light breeze rustled the trees, blue butterflies flitted from flower to flower, all of which were in their peak bloom. Too perfect, Uther wanted to comment, but he’d grown very practiced at biting his tongue over the last few months.  

It wasn’t that Arthur was marrying a man. It was a little to do with the magic, though Uther could overlook that now that Merlin made it a habit of routinely using it to help Ygraine—never enough to throw the world out of balance, but to ease her pain, help her sleep better, strengthen her regular treatments, and the like.  

It was that not even a year had passed that Merlin wormed his way into Arthur’s life, and here they were, ready to declare their love for all and sundry.  

It wasn’t a secret why they were rushing everything. Even now, Uther could barely comprehend how quickly Ygraine’s health was deteriorating. She always had a slender figure, but Uther never thought to memorize her full cheeks, her shapely arms, the sway of her hips, until they were all sharp, brittle lines protruding from her translucent skin. Her hair was gone, first as strands, then handfuls, then clumps when she couldn’t take it anymore and shaved it off.  

But her bright blue eyes had yet to dim. They were as lively, inquisitive, perceptive, and adoring as when they first pierced Uther’s heart. Every day, Uther silently offered thanks for this small mercy. He knew the magic had something to do with it, but it gave him the illusion she was still fighting. When her breaths shuddered and her steps faltered, her eyes would alight with her resilient spirit, and they could make it through another harrowing night.  

He looked up from fitting the fabric of his bowtie under his collar to find those very eyes catching his. For the first time in weeks, they were crinkled into luminous half-moons over a genuine smile. His heart gave an involuntary, happy little jolt.  

Ygraine took careful steps over to her vanity to finish with her make up and jewelry. Uther had taken the habit of watching her gait like a hawk in case she stumbled, but everyone else would think she was floating from the way her dress waved in her wake.  

She settled before the mirror and seemed to make a show of examining her earrings. (Uther knew her better than that—she'd had her outfit planned since the engagement announcement.) Her fingers waved over the little boxes, more like she was conducting a melody than deliberating gems, and then that little melody escaped from between her lips and drifted over to Uther. He couldn’t even fight the smile cracking across his face if he tried. He found himself humming their wedding song along with her. 

Ygraine’s attention was set in front of her, but Uther knew she was aware of the effect she was weaving on him. He stood and walked on beat until he was behind her. Hands on her shoulders, he rocked them side to side. His eyes closed of their own accord when she crooned the bridge: 

“Lonely rivers flow to the sea, to the sea  

To the open arms of the sea  

Lonely rivers sigh, “Wait for me, wait for me,  

I’ll be coming home, wait for me’”  

Ygraine was determined to be part of the festivities, as much as she could be. It was planned she would walk down the aisle, one arm in Arthur’s and the other in Uther’s, back up the aisle with Merlin’s mother in Arthur’s place, and the mother-son dance. Even that, Uther, Arthur, Merlin, and Gaius thought, would be pushing it.  

With that in mind, Uther made a point to remember this one dance he would have with his wife on their son’s wedding day. He made a memory of her voice, sweet and clear and sultry. Her perfume, lemon and lilies and clove and sandalwood. The feel of her shoulders, birdwing-thin and cavernous collarbones, but in motion with his hands, moving as one.  

Ygraine punctuated the end of the song with a kiss to Uther’s hand, and he stepped out of the new memory. They stared love into each other’s reflections.  

“Almost ready,” Ygraine broke the silence.  

She was ready, certainly, Uther thought. A vision of ivory and midnight, she would put the moon to shame if it was an evening ceremony. He was only in a tux.  

“Come here, my love,” she beckoned. 

Something of a sentimental air washed over Uther then, and he got down on one knee in front of his wife so she could tie his bowtie. His knee cracked, and he couldn’t hold back an old man groan, but it tickled a giggle from Ygraine. Her hands fell back to her lap, but Uther snatched them and brought them to his lips. With another old man groan, he rose and brought her with him.  

 Arthur met them at the foot of the stairs, in an uncharacteristic cornflower blue suit with red accents, his hair styled meticulously to look windswept. He kissed his mum and tried to play off wiping away a tear as scratching his cheek. The damn sentimentality got to Uther again, and he pulled his son into a hug before Arthur could offer a handshake.  

“My boys,” Ygraine beamed at them, then took their arms and led them into the gardens.  

“And now, ladies and gentlepeople, I present to you, Mr and Mr Emrys-Pendragon!” 

Uther’s polite clapping was drowned out by the whooping and hollering of every other guest. The newlyweds walked out onto the reception floor, hand in hand, with matching rings and matching smiles. Ygraine let loose a shrill whistle Uther never heard her make before.  

Arthur wrapped his hands around Merlin’s waist. (Uther nearly rolled his eyes at the plum velvet jacket, but at least the boy was sensible enough to wear black slacks.) They stepped immediately into their first dance, and Uther really did roll his eyes as the band launched into “This Magic Moment.” But then Merlin kissed Arthur in time with the lyrics, setting off tiny fireworks over their heads, and everyone cheered, and Uther let his grievances slip away.  

Merlin’s and Hunith’s mother-son dance followed, featuring a faithful rendition of Van Morrison’s “Days Like This.” They clung to each other and stumbled almost drunkenly to the rhythm, but it spoke of years learning each other’s steps rather than clumsy half-choreography. Mostly. 

And then Arthur guided Ygraine out of her chair to the center of the floor. He wrapped one hand closely around her back, and she entwined her fingers in his other. The piano gracefully played out a curlicue of notes, joined quickly by lush strings. Arthur and Ygraine began swaying in a tight circle. The piano pushed on into the melody, but there was something obviously missing: the words. Uther whipped his head to the band, and the singer was panicking looking through his music. He had half a mind to march up to the stage and demand they start over (the other half of his mind was rescinding the deposit), but then sharp laughter brought his attention back to the dance floor. Arthur and Ygraine both had their heads thrown back and joy was clear on their faces.  

Ygraine brought her head back to rest on Arthur’s shoulder, and he pressed his cheek to her headscarf.  

“So I was the one with all the glory  

While you were the one with all the strength”  

Arthur’s voice wavered, meant just for the two of them, but grew steadier.  

“A beautiful face without a name for so long  

A beautiful smile to hide the pain”  

Ygraine looked to take a breath as though to jump in, but instead, Uther watched her lip tremble and her eyebrows pinch. She buried her face in Arthur’s jacket, and he held her all the closer.  

“Did you ever know that you’re my hero  

And everything I would like to be?  

I can fly higher than any eagle  

If you are the wind beneath my wings”  

There wasn’t a dry eye in the garden.  

V. December, two years later

Uther sat in the armchair in his study, next to Ygraine’s. A cup of tea was balanced in one hand while the other flicked through the post. He’d already gone through it in the kitchen, filtering the junk from the letters worth keeping. A paper with a main article criticizing his dedication to the anti-magic cause accompanied by photos from the wedding (the absolute scandal of his gay son marrying a warlock-barrister-promising young politician was too much for many of his former supporters) was the first to go in the bin. 

Most of the letters were the same as the day before: mass-produced Christmas cards from Albion’s most affluent, thank-yous from Ygraine’s charities for the yearly contribution, some Happy Christmas/Happy Retirement cards, and on it went. Some of them he read aloud, but most he opened and placed back in their envelopes.  

He read Gaius’s card aloud, congratulating Uther on his step back from politics and not-so-subtly ordering him to take it easy, at least for a few months. Of course, Uther wasn’t planning a full retirement; he’d be too bored.  

He didn’t read Morgana Gorlois’s postcard from Portugal aloud. There were too many revelations he was still grappling with from that fiasco. All at once, he met a daughter he never knew he had from a regrettable tryst almost 30 years ago, she had magic and was a Seer, and, most nightmare-worthy, she almost came to the wedding. Evidently, the magical activism crowd was a small one, and she was good friends with Merlin, thereby friends with Arthur. Despite months of dishonesty from his half-sister, it was Uther who Arthur was barely speaking to. Still, the postcard was a kind gesture. 

The last letter in his post pile was a forest green envelope addressed in smooth gold ink. Uther carefully slipped it open with a letter opener and pulled out a glossy Christmas card from the Emrys-Pendragons. Uther stared at the picture in silence.  

It must have been taken at the dragon sanctuary. Snow covered every surface in the background, nearly erasing the white dragon leaning into Merlin’s side. She was almost up to his shoulder now, and it looked like she was seconds away from attacking the pom-pom on Merlin’s hat. It still made Uther uneasy to think Arthur allowed it in their home as a welp.  

Merlin was snuggled into Arthur side (probably pushed there by the dragon). Both boys’ faces were wide with smiles and flushed rosy with cold. And there was a third rosy face, bundled like a pink marshmallow in Arthur’s arms, staring at the camera with wide, inquisitive eyes flecked with gold.  

“Wishing you and yours a Happy Christmas and Blessed New Year. Love, Aithusa, Merlin, Arthur, & Maggie Emrys-Pendragon,” Uther said to the armchair.  

A wave of anguish overcame him from head to toe.  

“You would love this,” he forced passed the lump in his throat. “Even the dragon, you would adore her.” 

Uther's thumb rubbed absentmindedly across one of Maggie’s plump red cheeks. It was one of the few pictures he’d seen of his granddaughter since Arthur and Merlin adopted her. On the infrequent occasions Arthur spoke to him, it was by phone or text. Arthur was at least courteous enough to let him know of their decision to grow their family, and finally when they officially adopted Maggie and brought her home. But it was made painfully clear Uther didn’t have a part to play in that process.  

Uther caught a tear before it could stain the little family. One picture Arthur texted to him, very early on when they were settling with Maggie, was of Hunith holding her. It lanced his heart every time he thought of it. Would Maggie grow up thinking she had only one grandparent? Would she think she had no grandfather, who wanted nothing more than the chance to give her the world? Would she never learn of her other grandmother, who couldn’t hug or kiss her but would have loved her all the same? 

Uther cradled his head in his hand and let the tears flow.  

“How can I fix this? I need you, Ygraine. I don’t know what I’m doing without you.” 

The study was silent save for his quiet sobs.  

When his cheeks were rubbed raw and his voice raspy, Uther placed the card on the table between the two armchairs. It was the second object allowed in his space not approved by him, repurposed from its home on Ygraine’s side of the bed.  

Later, he’d fit the picture in a frame. For now, he sat next to the empty chair and let his mind wander. He imagined Ygraine’s joy at opening the card, the way she would coo over Maggie in her snowsuit. Maybe Arthur would’ve called in a panic, asking how many layers a baby needs to be wrapped in for winter weather.  

Without thinking, he settled his hand on the velvet arm and gave it a squeeze. Ygraine’s voice in his head begged him for patience, but he was just so lonely.  

V+I. December, seven years later 

“It’s my turn! It’s my turn!” 

“But I’m playing with it!” 

“Da!” 

“Maggie, share with your brother.” 

“But Rhys has pudding on his fingers! He’s going to ruin it! 'Sides, CeCe called dibs after.” 

“Papa!”  

“Maggie, don’t make your brother cry on Christmas.” 

“This is so unfair! Papa, it’s CeCe’s turn after, and I almost beat this level!” 

“Well...” 

“Arthur.” 

“Aw, but the eyes, Merlin!” 

“You’re hopeless. Maggie, finish the level and give it to Rhys before he explodes all the crackers again.” 

“But it’s CeCe’s turn after. Don’t cheat my daughter like that.” 

“Oh, you want to be helpful, Gana? Then do the dishes with me.” 

“Sure. Leon?” 

“Yes?” 

“Do the dishes with Merlin.” 

The Pendragon manor was in utter chaos, and Uther looked like a loon smiling through it all. He couldn’t help it; it was his family. 

“Who wants to open a present from Grandad?” he called loud enough to break through the noise. 

“Me!” 

“I do!” 

“Presents!”  

Uther couldn’t see the slightly exasperated but grateful looks from his children and sons-in-law. He was too focused on the tiny stampede of grandchildren coming to bowl him over.  

Hours later, long after the sugar wore off and goodnights were whispered between the adults, Leon led the bedtime train up the stairs. CeCe was almost asleep against his shoulder, and Morgana shadowed them with CeCe’s new favorite doll in her arms. Arthur carefully lifted Rhys from where he passed out on the sofa, and Merlin made to follow them with Maggie’s hand in his.  

“Merlin,” Uther spoke up, “a word?” He gestured with his head towards the study, then bent to clear some of the wine glasses. He pretended he couldn’t see the nervous and confused looks passed between husband and husband. Maggie’s hand was given to Arthur, and Uther led Merlin away. 

“Please, have a seat,” he said when they entered. Merlin seemed even more dumbfounded at that, since the closest seat offered to him was Ygraine’s armchair. No one besides Uther entered the study, let alone sat in Ygraine’s armchair.  

“Something to drink?” Uther rushed on. The awkwardness was almost unbearable, and he’d lose the courage to say what needed to be said very soon if they didn’t settle down. 

“N-no, sir. I’m good, thank you.” 

“No? Are you sure? It is Christmas, after all. I’m normally a scotch man, myself, but sherry seems to be more of the occasion. Wouldn’t you agree?” He was rambling, and he knew it.  

“Er...okay? I mean, yes, very fitting. I’ll have a glass, if you don’t mind.”  

Uther quickly poured the two glasses, perhaps a little heavy-handed. When he turned around, Merlin was perched on the arm of the chair beside Ygraine’s. Uther didn’t realize how tense he’d grown, thinking he would turn to see Merlin in her chair, and he felt a little silly at the relieved sigh he let out. He gave Merlin his glass and leant back against the desk so they faced each other.  

Merlin sipped his sherry through tight lips and cast anxious looks around the room, anywhere other than his father-in-law. Uther watched him between his own mouthfuls. This was the first time in nearly ten years, since Merlin first stumbled headfirst into Uther’s carefully curated life, that they were alone together.  

“Merlin,” Uther began. Merlin looked at him warily, and Uther almost stopped there. He took one more swallow of sherry and flicked his eyes to the latest Emrys-Pendragon Christmas card next to her chair. He could do this. 

“Merlin,” he restarted.  

“If it’s career advice you’re about to offer me, I don’t know if I want to hear it,” Merlin cut him off. He said it with a cheeky grin, but his eyes gave away how uneasy he felt.  

“No, no,” Uther chuckled, caught off guard. “Even if I did, I don’t think you need it. You’re doing very well, from what I’ve heard.” Poor Merlin looked lost. "Even if most of it is rewriting my entire legacy,” Uther smirked.  

“You make it sound far too easy,” Merlin matched his dry smile. “I always thought Arthur was a writer after his mother, until I started reading your arguments. Those things are damn airtight.” 

Merlin kept smiling into his drink, but Uther’s fell off his face. He thought of Maggie and CeCe and Rhys. His beautiful, mischievous, magical grandchildren were the brightest points in his life. And he had spent his entire career making it as difficult as possible for their families to provide for them. 

“I’m so sorry,” Uther said to his hands. They were shaking around the glass. “For so many things.” He needed to barrel ahead if he was going to get any words out.  

“I didn’t know what to make of you, when Arthur first brought you here. You were so unlike Arthur’s usual schoolmates, and I thought he’d leave you behind after that year. But he kept bringing you around, and I couldn’t understand why. And then he started changing, and you were the only thing I could blame it on. I said awful things—” 

“I know.” 

Uther winced. “Ygraine tried to make me see that this was always who Arthur was. But it was too much, and with everything we were going through... I hate it, but at the time, I thought it was stress. I thought, once we got through it, Arthur would be the boy I knew again.” 

Uther found the courage to lift his head and meet Merlin’s eyes. “I’ve never been so happy to be so wrong.”  

Merlin held his gaze. Uther watched the shield that came up anytime Merlin was near his father-in-law fall away. Silence settled into the space between them. 

Uther looked away first and took a shaky breath. “This time of year...it never gets easier. I loved her so, so much, Merlin. And after all these years, I still don’t know how she loved me back.” 

His voice broke. 

“I was a stubborn arse on a good day, and a monster on my worst. And she was always there, at every misstep, to guide me back. I couldn’t ask her. Every time I pictured it, it ended with her leaving me because she finally understood how much she didn’t need me. But I asked myself all the time, and I’ve asked myself every day since her last.” 

His eyes jumped to her chair.  

“I’ll never know her answer, if she ever had one. But when I see the way you look at my son, I think I know what she would have said.” 

When he caught Merlin’s eyes this time, they were starting to shine with tears.  

“I’m sorry I never gave you the chance you deserve. But know this: I’m grateful for you, Merlin. You have enough love for my son to rival mine and Ygraine’s. If not for you, I doubt I would ever have known Morgana, or CeCe. And Maggie and Rhys...I’ll always be ashamed for what I may have done to affect their lives. But I can’t imagine my life without them now. 

“Thank you, Merlin. From the bottom of my heart,” Uther finished, sticking out his hand.  

Merlin took all of two seconds to stare at Uther’s hand before reaching across and pulling Uther to him. There was a sniffled mumble about stupid Pendragon men and their stupid repressed emotions, and Uther silently shook with laughter.  

After three pats on the back, Merlin got the memo to let go. He scrubbed away the rest of his tears and gulped down the last of his sherry. Uther thought he heard another round of cursing of the Pendragon line, but the insults weren’t words Uther understood. Merlin then threw away some excuse about letting Arthur know he hadn’t been murdered, wished Uther a good night, and left the study.  

Uther still thought he looked like a loon, but his smile wouldn’t cease. He sank into the armchair beside Ygraine’s.  

“I thought that went well,” he said to her.  

The manor settled all around him. He never realized how hollow it always felt, with just the three of them to occupy it. Even their parties couldn’t fill that unnamable void. But now it was full of family, just the way it was always meant to be.  

There was still a swallow of sherry left in his glass. He tilted it towards her and whispered, “Happy Christmas, my love.” 

As he walked away, he kissed two of his fingers and patted them on her chair, like he’d done for the last several years and would do for the next several more.  

The End.