“You've been sat there without speaking for quite some time now. Do I assume you've died and start making arrangements for my coronation? Oh, how the people will rejoice.”

Uther took a breath and looked at the others in the chamber. Arthur had requested to deliver his urgent news in private - but in ‘private’ for the King meant there were any number of guards, servants and hangers-on that had just heard that Britain was, for the first time in generations, without a wizard.

“You’re sure he’s dead?”

“Am I sure he’s dead?”

“Yes. He’s Merlin. It's not like it would be wholly unheard of for him to be able to bounce back from grievous injury. Did you, I don't know, poke him with a stick, or something?”

“He’s a rotting cadaver. I'm as optimistic as the next guy, but he’s not shaking this one off. Not without limbs flying everywhere, anyway.”

The crown on Uther’s head was suddenly feeling heavier than it had in decades. When Merlin had made his prophecies regarding Arthur and the future of the war against the Anglo-Saxon invaders, they'd been exactly what he needed to give his life purpose.

Instead of being just another ageing Warlord slowly losing territory to a seemingly never-ending swarm from across the sea, he was given a vision of a British destiny where he played a crucial role in the survival of his culture.

Of his people.

With just a few words - and, of course, a series of devastating military successes - Merlin had given him a clear path to success and told him to walk it without fear or favour.

Merlin’s overwhelming power would supply the stick and his job was to sire an heir and to prepare the ground, via the carrot of diplomacy, for Arthur to become the great man the realm needed.

As far as Uther could see - give or take Arthur’s inability to impregnate his wife - he’d more than fulfilled his part of the deal. Come this campaign season, his son would finally have the spears he needed to push back on the invasion, maybe even as far as some of the lost Roman cities near the Thames.

With the Saxons broken, and with Merlin at his side, there would be a chance for his son to rule over a world that genuinely knew peace. What greater gift could a father ever hope to offer his child?

But now, all that was suddenly up in the air. Who could have expected that the old goat would up and die on them before any of the really meaty stuff could come to pass?

The critical question now was, did Merlin know he wouldn't be around to help Arthur’s rise to power or had something gone, catastrophically, wrong?

Uther’s key worry was that, having spent many a long evening discussing the kingdom's future with the wizard and making elaborate plans which had that Qi-botherer at their centre, he couldn't help but feel the topic of him not being there might have come up...

That left the rather distressing possibility that a plan had been put in place to, six months ago, to take out the most powerful individual in this, or any other, land.

And he was only just finding out about it now.

That was more terrifying than any rampaging Saxon horde. The question is, did they have the capacity or the capability to do anything about it?

“Who else knows?”

“Bors was with me when I found the body. But he’s pretty tight-lipped about most things. Considering he didn't mention a sucking chest wound for weeks after a skirmish because ‘he doesn’t like to make a fuss’, I can’t imagine this will slip out in idle conversation.”

“Other than that?”

“Father, there’s ten people in this room. There were twelve when I arrived, but two slipped away as soon as I gave you the news. I imagine the guards I stationed outside will have intercepted them and, even now, will be exploring which master they serve.”

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Arthur took the time to make eye contact with the remaining ten. “Some of those here I know, some I don't. I’m not wild about executing them because you don't understand that ‘private’ means ‘for your ears only.’ But if you think we have a shot at keeping this under wraps, my soul can stand the stain.”

There was a tense silence. Then Uther exhaled a weary sigh. “No. It's hard enough to find reliable help without murdering the ones we have.” He raised his voice so that all could hear him. “But, if any of you leak what you've heard tonight, please be assured that it will not be Prince Arthur that comes after you. He is far too merciful and honourable about such things. It will be Uther Pendragon that will visit you, your families, and anyone else I think might help make a constructive example as to the necessity for discretion in my court. Now, begone.”

They watched the fastest exodus from a room occur since Guinevere placed a pair of women’s undergarments on the table at a banquet and asked Arthur, “Which of your latest bitches do these belong to?”

“So, we are without our greatest asset on the eve of our most important push against the Saxons. What do you advise we do?” Uther’s voice was low, the strain of an uncertain future weighing heavily on it.

Arthur went to answer, then paused. When he spoke, there was an authority to his voice that Uther rarely heard - though he knew it was the side of his son his men saw regularly.

“Merlin’s not been a feature of court life for six months: there's no immediate issue for us in him not being about. There would obviously be a colossal hit to morale should his loss become known, but no one is expecting to see him until he makes his ‘breakthrough’, so we don't need to worry his absence is suspicious. We keep his Tower locked up and bemoan the strange and mysterious ways of cultivators should anyone question it.”

Uther nodded. “Agreed.”

“However, that does not change the fact that we can no longer call on him. For far too long, he’s been critical to all of military strategy - even if just as a fallback option. No real need for a Plan B when he can swoop in and pull us out of the fire. We are going to need to make immediate changes to our military doctrine to avoid that being an issue. But that’ll make us look less ambitious, less aggressive. That could be a problem.”

Arthur paused, stood and began pacing the chamber. “But, we can play it as my growing maturity as a commander. Less concerned with dick measuring and more with sound planning and redundancy in the system. We can let it be known I’m trying to come out from your and Merlin’s shadow. That I don't want to have to have you watching over me all the time.”

Uther smiled as his son paced. He wondered if he even needed to be here for this conversation. “But there’s more than just the day-to-day support he’s given us. Fear of Merlin has kept most of the other surrounding kingdoms in line, but we now know - even if they don't - that there's no longer immediate doom coming their way if they step out of line. So, we need to bolster our conventional forces. Not just more spears, but grow the horse contingent. Maybe throw in some mobile siege weaponry. We make our army the biggest swinging dick in the room, rather than wangling Merlin’s around all the time.”

“Sound thinking. With the unnecessarily phallic metaphor, of course.”

“Of course. Have dick will quip. Then we need to subtly put the feelers out for any other cultivators in the realm; I know Merlin always said he sucked up all the Qi there was available, but you never know. We’ve got used to having his power for all manner of things, so its going to be a loss in ways we've not thought of yet. Of course, we’re not going to find anyone like him, but there might be a group we can put together that can fill some of the gap.”

Arthur paused and shared a look with his father. “I’m sorry your friend is dead, by the way. I hadn't said that before. But we cannot overlook the fact”, Arthur continued, “that there is likely to have been foul play here. If anyone is powerful enough to get rid of Merlin, we will be in for a rough time of it. We need to prepare for being on the receiving end of something nasty. I suggest pulling everything back from the borders - salt the fields, kill the oxen, and go for a full-on scorched earth approach. If the death of Merlin is the precursor for a Saxon push, let’s give them nothing on the land for their troops.”

Neither of them gave voice to the unspoken truth that gnawed at them that if the death of Merlin was the beginning of a Saxon push, they'd had a good six months to prepare.

As they discussed the possible direction of the coming campaign, Uther found himself repeatedly nodding at his son’s words. There were times, he thought, he could see the future Merlin had sketched out so many years ago. When there was less of a focus on what he could bed, he could see the shape forming of a fine young man.

They spoke long into the evening, toasting their absent friend many times, and when the two men finally stood and clasped hands, each had a myriad of tasks to put into place.

Uther hesitated just before leaving. “I don't say this often enough, Arthur. But I can see what Merlin meant when he said you would be the man to bring order to the world.”

Arthur, for once, was lost for words. He knew, intellectually, his father cared for him, but expressions of that love had not been regular in their relationship.

“Oh, and you’ve totally arranged for those ten servants to be executed, right?”

“Of course,” Arthur nodded. “Surprised we didn't hear the screams.”