(no subject)
"I have magic, Merlin. Uther hates me and everyone like me. Why should I feel any differently about him?"
It's a fair question, especially when you've come down to these vaults to beg her to consider women and children, innocents just like so many that the king put to death. But still you try to reason, tell her that she, as the king's ward, could change his mind. That using magic to make kingdom fall is wrong.
"You don't have magic, Merlin." She even laughs a little when she says it. It's ridiculous, right? Awkward, clumsy Merlin who goes around smelling like hay and Arthur's laundry soap. A servant, and not even a good one. But you still try to convince her that you do understand. And when she tilts her head at you, you find yourself tempted once again to tell her, like you were when she first realized it.
If I had your gifts...
If.
"You don't know what it's like to be an outsider. To be ashamed of how you were born, to have to hide who you are."
Something in your stomach twists when she says that. That's all you've ever known. Sometimes you think it's all you'll ever know.
"Do you think I deserve to be executed because of who I am?"
At least that's something you can be honest about.
It doesn't have to be like this. We can find another way.
There must be another way.
"There is no other way."
Her voice is bitter, a little sad. But more than anything, it's unwavering. She's accepted this, and now you must as well. Her sword barely grazes your cheek when she swings it at you, but the sweat quickly washes the thin line of your blood away. She disarms you of your weapon more than once, because you're not even very talented with a broom, much less a blade. But there is one thing you can do. There's one thing you're good at:
Feoll bu brand!
The magic surges through your body like an inferno, turning your eyes from blue to gold. It's better for a ceiling to fall than Camelot. Either way, you've lost a friend.
And gained an enemy.