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It's all adrenaline and instinct — Merlin's eyes flare gold as the axe spins towards his head, and time slows, and he sends the axe whipping back the way it came. There is an awful squelching sound. Edwin crumples, his voluminous robes tangling around his body like cobwebs around an insect, and he does not get up.
The ring of fire around Gaius quiet and dwindles quickly into nothingness, and that is when Merlin knows for sure. A sorcerer's spell broken in the most simple and absolute way — by his death.
Edwin is not the first person Merlin has killed, and it was inarguably self-defense, but dropping a chandelier on Mary Collins never felt like this. Merlin can only stand there, panting shallowly as regret pierces him thick and sudden, twining its thorns through his ribcage and up into his throat. Not that he wishes he hadn't turned the axe around, or hadn't saved Gaius, but there's sorrow that it came to this — another life claimed to quench the fires of revenge, which were lit before Merlin was even alive to witness them.
He makes eye contact with Gaius, who is staring dazedly around the room with his mouth hanging open.
"Are you all right?" Merlin manages to ask — past the choking sensation, past the sadness.
"Yes," Gaius says, breathless. And then, "Thank you, Merlin."
Silence for a few seconds, as they both absorb the enormity of what has happened. And then Merlin's thoughts turn, as they so frequently do, to Arthur — Arthur's desperate plea, and his father's illness.
Merlin dashes to the desk, fumbles for the box of beetles, and wonders if he will know what to do when the time comes to do it.
Merlin cradles Uther's head between his palms, leaning over the bed with one knee on the mattress. He can barely breathe for fear — a multitudinous, clamoring terror of so many things he can only name a few. Uther might wake and see the gleam in Merlin's eyes, and execute him for what he is about to attempt. Uther might live, saved by Merlin's magic, and rule for many years to come. And that rule might be peaceful and just, but it could also be tyranny. Merlin can well believe that Uther would close his iron fist around the heart of Camelot until it stops beating and the kingdom crumbles to ruin.
But this fear twists inside of Merlin as well — if he fails, and Uther dies, he has no doubt that Arthur's own heart would shatter beyond repair.
Merlin closes his eyes and murmurs the words of the incantation, calling to the sliver of magic that animates the beetle. A few stuttering heartbeats pass, Merlin's breath harsh in his chest — and then his magic connects. He can sense the beetle's hunger, ravenous and insatiable. So much malice contained in such a tiny creature.
Gaius told Merlin, in a few half-coherent sentences as they rushed through the castle halls, of Edwin's parents and the secrecy Edwin forced upon Gaius with the threat of revelation. It hurts to hear that the same man who spoke so tenderly of the beauty in Merlin's gift was willing to betray him to ensure Gaius' silence.
It hurts doubly because Merlin can understand why Edwin would have done it, to some degree. He can feel a flicker of Edwin's rage in the magic animating the beetle. An echo, nothing more.
Fear put down its roots inside Merlin on his first day in Camelot, watching Uther execute a man for magic. Doubt has been slower and more insidious, but it lingers in Merlin these days, pervasive, drenching the meat between his ribs in shadow and sorrow. How much longer until all that hurt transforms into fury, or the sharp bite of vengeance?
Merlin, kneeling over the king of Camelot, hesitates. He considers his choices.
Merlin could entreat the beetle to retrace its path, to crawl back out and come to rest in Merlin's sweat-filmed palm. It would be delicate work, requiring a level of concentration and precision with his magic that he has never undertaken before, much less succeeded at.
Or he could wait just a little longer, let the beetle enact Edwin's revenge. Inaction that is an action in itself. Merlin wonders, grimly, if Uther even has a soul for the beetle to devour.
Those few seconds stretch into an eternity. Merlin wishes for ruthlessness, for the absence of compassion. He wishes for the determination to finish what Edwin started, to usher in Arthur's reign and stand beside him as he matures into the king Merlin knows he is capable of becoming.
In the end, Merlin cannot do it. He calls for the beetle and guides it out of Uther's ear canal. He closes his fingers around its fragile carapace, tears stinging his eyes, and cannot shake the conviction he has made something of a mistake.
Gaius congratulates him, and it is enough for Merlin to cling to that joy for a few moments, to bask in his mentor's relief and approval.
Uther's head lolls to one side, eyelids fluttering open. His gaze is distant, dazed — unaware, still, of the magic that has saved his life.
But Merlin knows, and it eats at him long after he has left the king's chambers.