“Come out and fight, Vortigern!” Aurelius yelled, Merlin using magic to amplify his voice so it echoed up to the castle towers. “Face the consequences of your actions! Face your own karma as if you actually had honor!”

Damn, if Merlin didn’t know better, he would’ve thought Aurelius had actually gotten more than four hours of sleep last night with a speech like that.

Beside him, Uther bounced on his heels impatiently, clad entirely in armor. Merlin just stared in fear and wonder at the grand city of Camelot. Vortigern presumably hadn’t taken good care of it, for the stories of grandeur Aurelius and Uther had told him were vastly different than the run down, spike-laden walls he saw now, but the majesty was still there. With a little work, it wouldn’t take much to restore it to its former glory. That is, if they survived the day. It had taken so long to get to this point, so many deaths, but now, the final battle was at their feet.

The response to Aurelius’s challenge was a barrage of arrows, which Merlin had to guard against as the army rushed forward, with battering rams and weapons and fury. Even though he knew it was all in his head, the stench of fresh blood already filled his nostrils, making him gag.

A hand grabbed his and started to pull him toward the fighting. He looked up with wide, scared eyes into excited blue ones. “Come on! It’s finally time!” The expression on Uther’s face was almost manic, to the point where Merlin felt a little relief when he turned around to see where he was running to. That feeling managed to scare him more than the battle, if he was being honest.

It didn’t take long to break down the gates. Vortigern’s forces were scattered across the land, dealing with peasant revolts as the common folk realized that the time had come where they didn’t have to deal with his shit anymore. The ones that were here had been consolidated inside the city rather than meeting Aurelius’s forces on a proper battlefield, thus putting the populous at risk. Aurelius had given the order that no civilians were to be harmed, but in the heat of battle, such an order could be hard to follow, or ignored by some completely. Merlin trusted that Ulfius would obey, and he hoped Uther would as well, but honestly, he wasn’t entirely sure. Uther could get a little ruthless in combat.

Case in point, Merlin thought as a splatter of blood coated his front as Uther decapitated an enemy soldier. The manic laughing of the prince rang out across the screams and anguished final yells as soldiers fell to the ground, dead seconds after their bodies hit the dirt. The dust that was kicked up in the chaos seemed to have a slight red hue to it and so many awful smells surrounded the fighting. Rank sweat, metallic blood, grainy dust swirled around the air, stabbing into his nostrils, pooling into his lungs, even worse than how he had imagined it.

Uther just kept pulling him along and if it wasn’t for the warmth of his blood-soaked hand, Merlin would’ve broken down, covering his ears, right then and there to drown out all the commotion, all the death, all the destruction.

Anytime a blade lashed out at them, Merlin shielded them from the attack while Uther retaliated. They ran up to the castle, doors shut tight. Uther slammed at it with a closed fist, then turned to Merlin, eyes cold and deadly. “Destroy it.”

For once, Merlin had no objection to this request. Lightning crackling at his fingertips, he held out both hands and let the power flow through him, blasting down the door and sending it rocketing inside. The heavy wood mowed down many guards stationed inside, and the rest were quickly taken care of by Uther. His viciousness, his blade slicing through the enemy, all of it seemed more ruthless, more angry than usual. He was so close, so close to having Vortigern on his knees before him, one of his greatest desires. Merlin knew all of this, but the sight of Uther no longer smiling, his face hardened into something primal, hateful, scared him infinitely more than when the prince had been maniacally laughing while cutting down his enemies.

Uther stormed over and grabbed Merlin’s hand. “Come on, I know where he’d be.” Without waiting, he pulled the wizard behind him, climbing stairs and taking advantage of Merlin’s shields to kill without fear any soldiers that got in their way. Merlin wanted to tell Uther to stop, to let him use some magic to incapacitate rather than decapitate, but something stopped him. He could feel his hands shaking and tried to tell himself he was only afraid of the battle, not his friend. Uther wouldn’t hurt him, Uther would never hurt him. But it didn’t stop the fear from creeping into his veins. He blasted down a door at the top of the staircase when Uther ordered him to, despite wanting his friend to wait and think for a second.

Merlin’s first impression of Vortigern was… anticlimactic. He wasn’t big, muscled, or brawny. He was actually quite thin, as if he hadn’t been eating well. He had bright blond hair, stringy and slightly graying. He didn’t look like a personification of evil, but when he turned to face them, his eyes told a different story. Merlin saw spite, cruelty, cowardice, and everything in him said that this man was a lowdown rat. He smiled when he saw Uther, actually smiled, a crescent-moon shaped lecherous grin, that froze the prince in place. “Is that little Uther all grown up? You and your brother are hard to pin down. And who’s this? A servant? One of your vassals? A friend?”

His voice was surprisingly amicable, throwing Merlin off for a second, but he knew this was all a ruse. No one was this genuinely friendly when faced with the boy whose father they killed and paraded in front of his children. Uther gritted his teeth. “You’re going to die, you son of a bitch.”

Vortigern sighed and shook his head. “I really don’t think I will. Remember? I knew you growing up. I babysat you, and your brother. Aurelius? I suppose he might have it in him to kill me, unarmed and in cold blood, if he had to, but you?” Vortigern shook his head. “You were such a cute kid, running around, catching butterflies, falling into hysterics when you saw a dead bird. It took ages to calm you down and afterward, you insisted on a grand funeral for that little robin.”

He took a fearless step forward and Merlin saw something glinting up his sleeve, but knew Uther didn’t, the prince’s hateful gaze was focused on Vortigern’s face. “Uther, I know you’re a kind boy. You don’t know what hate really is, so I know you can’t, and won’t, kill—” He was cut off mid-word by Uther’s sword running through his chest, a little off from his heart or lungs. The dagger hidden up his sleeve clattered to the floor and Uther only showed a little surprise by its existence.

“Let me explain something to you.” Uther’s voice was cold as he shoved Vortigern to the floor. “You don’t know me. You knew what I was like, but you don’t know how much I want to make you suffer, and how little I give a shit about whether it is ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ to end your pathetic existence. I know you can’t see the literal wagonload of corpses I created to get up here, but know they’re there, so believe me, I’m absolutely killing you, and I’m absolutely making it painful.”

Vortigern was gasping on the floor, holding the stab wound with one hand and shaking, staring up at Uther with wide eyes, shock and fear in them. Uther smiled, then stomped on his twitching hand with an armored boot. The crunch resounded throughout the room and made Merlin cover his ears just in time for Vortigern’s anguished scream to come bursting out of the man’s lungs. The smile on the prince’s face widened, and he proceeded to do the same thing with the other hand, only this time he dug in with his heel for a few seconds, grinding the bones.

“You killed my father. You murdered my mother. You have tried to kill my brother and me for basically our entire. Goddamned. Lives.” As Uther spoke, he callously and oh-so-casually stepped on Vortigern’s wrist, at one point standing on just that foot, then twirled his sword around in a circle. “You really think I give a single shit about your life, other than how painfully I can end it? Speaking of which, Merlin?” Uther glanced over his shoulder, taking the opportunity to stomp on the other wrist. “Got any suggestions?”

“W- what?” Merlin could hardly believe the man in front of him was the same one who had offered him a home, friends, a purpose only a couple years ago.

“Is it possible to boil someone’s blood in their veins? Rip their muscles apart slowly? Make them vomit up their own digestive tract? Anything along those lines,” Uther asked.

“U- Uther, your father wouldn’t want—” Merlin somehow knew that was the exact wrong thing for Vortigern to say even before Uther reacted. The blue eyes flashed with anger before Uther turned around and impaled his sword directly into Vortigern’s knee. The scream this time was even worse than the others, which only increased in pain and volume as Uther wiggled the blade around, dislodging the kneecap beyond repair.

Shaking with fear, but unable to take any more, Merlin whispered, “Uther.” The prince paid no attention, but simply focused his gaze on the other knee. The world spinning from his own fear, the noise, and all the smells, Merlin managed to find his voice. “Uther!”

“Did you remember something?” asked Uther, only sounding vaguely interested, but more annoyed by the interruption.

“Stop. Just stop. You’ve won, he’s suffered, let him die,” Merlin begged.

Uther rounded on him, hand still on his sword. “Did you forget the shit he’s done to you, too? He gave those psychopathic bastards who would make you into nothing more than a breeding cow more power and permission to do whatever the hell they wanted! Why the hell shouldn’t I take my glorious time making sure every second of the life he has left is agony?”

“It- Uther this is wrong!” Merlin had no idea how else to say it, how else to convince him. How on earth could Uther not understand this? “This is torture for the sake of torture! You’re not getting anything out of this! Let him die!”

“I’m getting a deep sense of euphoria from this,” Uther retorted.

“I- I- I…” The words left Merlin and he quickly found himself unable to speak. Uther turned his attention back to Vortigern and continued in the same vein as he had before. Magic tingled at his fingertips, and before he was even aware of what he had done, Merlin sent out a quick, but powerful shock. The lightning hit Vortigern’s body, unnoticed by Uther, and Vortigern’s scream stopped, his body going limp.

Uther took a step back and spat on the floor. “Weak son of a…” His hands shook and he stormed back over to the corpse, grabbing it angrily as he sheathed his sword. He dragged it over to the balcony and kicked open the doors. Merlin quickly put up a shield around him and followed as Uther threw the body over the railing, holding it by one arm. “Your false king is dead!” he yelled. Somehow, even without Merlin doing anything to amplify his voice, the cry rang out across the city. The sounds of fighting slowed and finally almost stopped entirely. A crowd soon started to gather, staring up at the dead, mutilated body hanging from the balcony. “He’s dead like the dog he is! Long live King Aurelius!”

“Long live King Aurelius!”

“Long live King Aurelius!”

The cry started among only their own soldiers, but soon the common townsfolk took up the cheer, and eventually even many of the enemy soldiers, some probably just in a desperate attempt to save their own hides. Merlin couldn’t see Aurelius from here, but knew he had to hear the oath of fealty ringing up to the heavens.

The war was over.