A/N: Eight reveal short-stories, none of which are connected to each other, but all begin in-canon and are organized in 'chronological order'. For instance, this first one begins during episode 1.1 "The Dragon's Call", and the last ones will deal with episode 5.13 time frame…

Also, several of them begin with a 'villain' pov…

The Pendragon's Command

Uther prided himself on maintaining a working knowledge of many disparate interests, pursuits, and occupations common to each of the classes of people in his kingdom. An uninformed ruler, after all, was forced to rely on the instruction and counsel of others, and it had been decades since Uther had rid himself of the weakness of needing anyone.

Except Arthur. Of course. That was a fact of life not to be got around: A king needed an heir.

However, music was not one of those things that the king claimed to have any knowledge of. Or particularly much enjoyment in, usually. Except Lady Helen of Mora, and her accomplished voice.

Which he was, surprisingly, not enjoying tonight. He didn't know anything about music, but it shouldn't make him – everyone – feel… sleepy…

A woman in red folded her arms right on the table and pillowed her head on them. Shocking manners for a lady… but no one else minded – and a few more joined her in her outrageous position…

Uther felt his own head tip sideways, and his gloved fist felt like the best thing he'd ever rested his cheek on… Bad manners be damned. Was he king, or wasn't…

Abruptly the song ended – in an almighty crash of metal on stone.

Uther blinked away the cobwebs – inexplicably palpable cobwebs – and rose to his feet amid the gasps of his guests. Webbing covered the room – tables and cold candles and startled courtiers plucking at their filmy white bonds before they noticed what captured his attention immediately.

Lady Helen, crumpled. Oh, dear heaven. Under the chandelier – which had never fallen before.

Beside him, Arthur was on his feet in speechless shock – neither of them had a chance to speak – Lady Helen was stirring.

Not Lady Helen.

The woman whose legs were trapped by the heavy iron spikes of the chandelier was old – straggly gray hair and pale fleshy wrinkles visible as she lifted herself on her arms. The look in her eyes, all over her face, was pained, venomous… vengeful, and Uther remembered – I promise you, before these celebrations are over, you will share my tears. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a son for a son.

Yes… It's certainly too late for Arthur. Shrieking, she made a throwing motion.

Uther began to inhale a gasp as pale light flickered from a thrown blade. No time – too late for Arthur –

Someone else gasped. Because suddenly there was another figure between Arthur and the woman on the floor – a slender young man with black hair and a peasant's brown jacket, hand held out as if in aborted entreaty -

The figure jerked backwards, almost falling across the table, catching himself on its edge – and the knife was nowhere in sight. Had not clattered to the floor, loud in the stillness of astonishment.

"Merlin!" Arthur said, his voice a reprimand of exasperation and concern.

Uther felt distant surprise – so his son knew this young stranger? – immediately eclipsed by the relief that there was no sign of pain or injury, as he turned his head to view his heir.

Both reactions were brief, however, because the sorceress was neither dead nor done. She spat another word, lifting her hand. Her eyes flickered with that unnatural gleam of sorcery – and as she collapsed, so did the second light fixture –

With a snap! of broken chain.

Uther had only time to flinch, looking up into the falling spiked iron, larger than a wagon wheel and heavy as two men, above himself and Arthur both –

dammit –

And it caught, jerking like the peasant boy's body, suspended in midair. Close enough to touch.

Arthur swore.

Uther acted, knocking his chair over backwards, shoving Arthur to the side and out from under before the chain – which surely had caught on something – snapped free again.

But. He turned his head the very second they were clear, and saw the boy again for the first time.

His outstretched hand. Empty. But his eyes were rich with the gold of magic.

Uther had seen hundreds like him. But this time, holding the deadly spiked iron til he and his son were safe.

Shocked, he looked closer. And saw the witch's knife-hilt stuck in the blue homespun shirt, inches to the left of center, already darkened and dampened with blood where the blade pinned torn fabric to torn flesh.

The boy – Merlin – wavered, and his hand dropped.

The chandelier dropped, with a horrendous crash over table and chairs, breaking crockery. Drawing screams and cries from his guests, still awakening to find themselves blanketed in enchanted cobwebs when they were supposed to be celebrating twenty years of ridding Camelot of magic.

"What the hell just happened here?" Uther thundered rhetorically, as a way of gaining even a semblance of control over the situation; he was the only one who had the right to speak or make demands.

The witch had challenged him in the courtyard and escaped. She'd surely killed Lady Helen to steal her face and figure – Sir Gregory sent to escort the singer – she'd masqueraded through his halls and reached his dining chamber. And had his son, his only son, right in her grasp.

And she was only one of the magic-users present in the room tonight!

Sorcery faded from the boy's eyes, as he dropped his head slightly to look at the knife in his chest. He made as if to reach for it – then looked back up at Uther, agony and fear shining in his eyes. Looked at Arthur beside him, and Uther.

"I…" he said. "I didn't…"

He had to know, everyone had witnessed his use of magic, punishable by death.

No matter the use? Uther asked himself. The answer before now had been a resounding yes, but no sorcerer had used magic in his defense since… since…

Another skinny young man with coal-black hair and facial features made prominent by his leanness. What was the name… what was the name… He remembered well the feeling of guilt, suppressed and self-justified, but never quite forgotten, at the look of betrayal on that young man's face.

I thought you said you wanted to make peace with them!

What was his –

"Merlin!" Arthur exclaimed again. Exasperation gone, leaving only concern. He put his hand on the table to round the corner of it, presumably to go to the young peasant who'd taken the thrown dagger meant for him.

But the fear on the boy's face – surely he knew his fate already – became absolute terror, at the first hint of action from his audience. His chin lifted and his eyes flashed golden light –

Uther cringed, expecting Death – and Arthur froze in place. "What the –"

The cobwebs on Uther, too, had gone rock-solid, preventing movement and freedom, anchoring him in place – and everyone else in the hall, he saw at a glance.

"Boy," he rumbled warningly. "You best end your enchantment now, or I'll have your head."

The young man went sheet-white. And stumbled back two steps. Blood seeped relentlessly and slicked his shirt halfway to his belt. His arm was bent and tucked tight to his body, like a bird with a broken wing.

"Father!" Arthur said. The exasperation was back – and directed at Uther, now.

Which was irritating. And interesting.

And the solid cobweb-fetters held, against Uther's surreptitious tugging and pulling – and Arthur's more obvious attempts. None of their guests – their guards – were free, either.

The young sorcerer turned as if seeking an exit, and tripped to one knee – putting down a hand to catch himself and letting out a pained cry, that might have struck at Uther's heart if he ever admitted he had one, anymore.

The faces of his people held consternation… but also sympathy?

"Merlin!" Arthur called out again. "Let me go! I swear I won't -"

The boy turned, staggering up again – eyes blank and mouth slightly open in a way Uther recognized for slipping consciousness. He leaned against the cobwebs – wouldn't be long now til the enchantment ended, and then he could… then he could…

Any other young peasant who'd managed to thwart an assassination attempt and save the life of both king and heir, he'd reward. Gold if he wanted it, position if he needed it.

Merlin continued to back away, and stumbled on the witch's hand, falling over with another tumble that echoed too loudly in the breathless hall – and another gasp and groan of agony that sounded worse. He rocked backward, tried to roll to the side, panting in pained whimpers.

Another voice spoke insistently, hissed through the tension of uncertainty. "Merlin!"

Gaius. Of course. The old man would think of treating an injured magic-user; he'd treated enemies captured in battle, before.

What of an enemy not yet captured. And in the battle, evidently on their side. Even now, weakened and only able to crawl, trying to escape. Not to strike out, even though he was losing his one advantage of mobility. Steadily, and quickly.

There was blood on the stone floor, now, smearing through the thin material of the homespun shirt. And the boy only dragging himself. While the court observed in helpless silence. And pity.

"No," the boy moaned. "Please. I was only… trying to… help. Please…"

The skinny body failed by inches, and silently they all watched it happen. An elbow down. The head rested on the floor. The hips settled – one foot arrested in a feeble kick of protest. The softest of sobs, and the collapse of shoulder tension sent one hand flopping over as the boy lost his grip on consciousness, ending mostly on his back.

Cobwebs dissipated like mist in sunlight, and Arthur moved quickly. Uther managed three steps, to come out from behind the table.

But Gaius, old man that he was, proved faster than either of them, sweeping his long robes between Arthur and the fallen boy as if out of sight, out of mind could be made literal.

"Sire, I beg you," the physician pleaded swiftly, extending hands that shook – and couldn't help a backward, downward glance. "Please. Allow me to see to his wound. He can be – imprisoned. Til he is able to… stand trial."

With the other in mind, Uther could not help recalling, Gaius had said something similar then, also. And the injured young dragonlord had escaped Camelot's holding cells before judgment could be rendered, effectually vanishing as far as Uther was aware, or concerned.

Which made him wonder. And reconsider.

"Slowly, Arthur," he said, making his voice iron as he usually remembered to, in speaking to the son who must someday take his throne, and who must be ready always to do so at a moment's notice, life was so uncertain. And, who was not ready yet. "Keep your distance, that's an order."

Arthur threw him a look that held unhappiness and rebellion – but though he sidestepped to be able to see the boy on the floor past Gaius' robe, he didn't go any closer. "Father, he saved our lives. Surely that merits some consideration."

Yes, it did. Especially when weighted by the sympathy on the faces of their audience.

"Gaius," Uther said, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning to show his displeasure. Occasionally the old physician's loyalty was misplaced. "Is that Balinor's son?"

Probably no one else in the room knew that name anymore. And Gaius probably should have affected the same. But the old man blanched, and glanced back and down again.

"Who's Balinor?" Arthur demanded, sounding scornful in his ignorance. Almost like a king should – if I don't know him, he's not worth knowing. But Arthur didn't know everything yet.

"It is clear that his actions and intentions were to defend us," Uther said, well aware of the eyes and ears of the startled court. "For that, Gaius, you will be allowed to try to save his life. But." He measured his steps til his few inches height advantage over his physician was marked. "If he is caught in lawlessness again. In possession of an item of magic; even speaking to a sorcerer. Anything. His life is forfeit. Do you understand."

Gaius held his gaze a moment – then bowed acquiescence. The boy was to have the same conditional freedom as Uther had granted the old physician, years ago. "Yes, my lord."

Uther turned away as Gaius spun and knelt stiffly beside his young patient.

"Arthur," he said, and waited til his heir had dragged his gaze up from the injured peasant. "You have some familiarity with him."

"Yes, I – in the marketplace, I…" Arthur drew himself up. "Yes, Father. Some."

"He is your charge, then. Watch him closely; sorcerers are a canny and deceitful lot. His instinct to protect, whatever his motivation, might shift in an instant without warning, and you must be ready to strike him down when it does."

"If it does." Arthur gave him a nod of sober obedience, his eyes finding the limp form of Gaius' patient again as if he did not even notice the slight qualification he'd made to his father's order.

Well, it was a gamble. Uther watched Gaius call the guards to help him transport the unconscious boy. Watched Arthur step forward and bend to pick up the bloodstained dagger, handling it with a curious look on his face, and an even more curious glace to the corpse of the old witch cooling under the canted chandelier.

It was a rare magic-user who'd stop one of his own kind killing a Pendragon. Perhaps young Merlin might be of some use in the future, if this war was not nearly so won as Uther liked to tell himself and his citizens. And if he proved traitor like Balinor – Uther stamped down on the reaction of guilt he felt at that memory, that Balinor should feel the one betrayed.

Well, then. Who better to hunt the boy down than Arthur.

…..*….. …..*….. …..*…..

Three days in a row, Arthur had skipped the open court sessions. When he'd been younger, and Uther feeling less mortal, he hadn't minded so much. But Arthur was nearing the age when he could take the oath of inheritance, and his Quest lay in the foreseeable future as well. It wasn't the fact of Arthur's skipping, however, that occupied Uther's thoughts, so much as the suspicion of where he'd been instead of court.

When Uther reached the physician's chambers, the door was several inches ajar, and he paused outside; it suited his purposes to observe unseen.

"Ah," Arthur said, inside, in a condescending tone. "There we are. Lazybones is finally awake."

The muffled reply sounded far more disgruntled than respectful, and Uther used two fingers to push the door open a few more inches. It relieved him to see the sorcerer lying motionless on Gaius' patient-bed, the head of which was raised to the shoulder-height of the prince seated in the chair just next. The boy was shirtless, half his chest and one shoulder covered with bandages that seemed to match his skin for color; he didn't appear capable of causing harm – or even of lifting his head from the pillow - and Uther relaxed slightly.

"Now, then," Arthur returned cheerfully, "is that any way for you to address your crown prince, after I've just –"

Out of sight behind the door, Gaius at his work-table in the corner cleared his throat as if to say, Excuse me, what?

"Fine, Gaius saved your life," Arthur said.

Another murmur.

Then, "No, of course not, you idiot. That's what saved your life means."

"His Majesty commanded…" The corner of Gaius' robe and his arm came into view, as he offered a potion-vial to the boy's colorless lips. Merlin swallowed obediently and grimaced. "That you weren't to be caught doing magic again, and to that end he furthermore decreed –"

"No – Gaius," the boy protested, twisting on the bed toward the old man and wincing. "I can't. I can't do that. You know I can't."

Gaius' best tone of stern advice-giving. "You're going to have to, my boy."

"No, but… I…" The sorcerer twisted again, seeking another avenue for his objection, and finding Arthur.

Behind the door, Uther stiffened involuntarily, ready to step in if need be. Ready to render a different judgment.

Arthur stiffened also, leaning back slightly and away from the bed. "What do you meant can't?" he demanded. "You don't seem to realize, this is a condition upon which your life rests."

Was the young sorcerer an enemy after all? Had Balinor sent his son, perhaps?... But that wasn't logical, Uther reasoned. The boy had protected them; if he meant harm, he could have simply done nothing, in the banquet hall. And now, if he had other ulterior motives, surely he'd be acting more agreeable, to throw them off-guard

The boy refused to still. "Arthur, I… can't. If I can't do magic, I might as well be dead, because I… can't swear that, not to do magic ever again, because – because if I have to, I will."

Uther couldn't see Arthur's expression, as his son sat with his back mostly to the chamber door that hid the king. "Have to, Merlin?"

"If – if you were in danger, like in the banquet hall. Or if Gaius was –" Uther heard the old man inhale suddenly, as if remembering something – "or someone else, maybe. I couldn't just… stand there and… watch it happen. Watch something bad happen, and not do something, I couldn't, Arthur."

How very odd, Uther thought to himself, that the boy uses no term of respect for his crown prince, and refuses a direct order to his face – and doesn't even seem to realize.

"You are my charge, Merlin," Arthur responded, surprisingly calm; Uther was proud of him for dealing with a magic-user so. "You can't ask me to stand by and watch you burn for not using that half a brain you've got."

Behind the door, Uther watched the sorcerer stare at his son. Surprised or uncertain or – just trying to figure him out. Most days, Uther felt sympathy with that – Arthur revealed startling flashes of his mother, sometimes. Uther tried his best to disapprove, rather than encourage that. Because it hurt too much to allow.

"Sire, if I may." The edge of Gaius' robe swung into view again, and Arthur turned to look up at him, an expression of expectant hope and trust that clutched at Uther's heart; that used to be his son's look for him. "The king's words were – if he is caught in lawlessness again."

A moment of silence, inside the room and out. Uther's breath clogged his throat with an old dread of betrayal… but he didn't push the door open to begin shooting accusations like crossbow bolts.

"Fine," Arthur said. "Fine. Then, Merlin – no one else knows. You understand? No one else sees. You will have to learn to hide –"

Interrupting grumble from the injured sorcerer.

"Shut up, idiot. Obviously I'll do what I can if something like that happens. And Gaius will help, of course."

"Of course," the old physician echoed.

"Then you swear to me." Arthur leaned forward, obscuring Uther's view of the patient bed. "Nothing but complete honesty between you and me, understand? I have to be able to trust you to use your magic in a way I would approve of."

"Then you're going to have to learn more about magic," Gaius interjected.

Uther closed his eyes and half-turned, the ache in his chest like an old battle-wound at the words his court physician had said to him, once upon a very long time ago.

But – Arthur learning about magic. Arthur, who was sometimes very like his mother, very trusting and very soft-hearted where the people of Camelot were concerned. Uther hoped, not soft-headed.

"All right, then," Arthur said, with a sound like he'd slapped his knees. Uther looked back in the room to see that he'd risen to his feet. "As soon as you're healed and strong enough to work, you can take on some of the duties of my manservant. Learn your way around the citadel and the people who live and work here –"

Weak but undeniable negative.

"You need a job, Merlin," Gaius pointed out.

Grumble, grumble. Uther suspected he was going to find the peasant sorcerer extremely annoying, and decided to do his part to ensure their paths didn't cross often. Probably a few threats would suffice to teach the dragonlord's son to do the same.

"And," Arthur continued, "you'll have to learn to ride –"

"What, a horse?" Incredulity raised the boy's voice to audible.

"And the basics of weaponry –"

"Hang on a minute, Arthur, I don't think that –"

"Maybe it's best if you leave the thinking to me, then," Arthur suggested sardonically.

Uther snorted softly to himself and turned to descend the stair. Time would tell. Perhaps, if Merlin remained loyal and discreet, Arthur would grow tolerant of magic not wielded by this strange boy. Perhaps when he was king he would relax Uther's stringent ban and weaken Camelot – and, heaven forbid, lose the kingdom or his life or both. Or perhaps he would suffer a betrayal such as Uther had, trusting a friend with magic, and turn his back on it once again.

There came a time when a parent could teach no more lessons – when they had to be learned by experience. Which could be a very hard taskmaster, indeed. Uther hoped Arthur might be spared the pain he'd known.

But then, young men never knew what fate held in store. Destiny would out, regardless of men's machinations and laws.

A/N: It's not an original idea, that Uther recognizes Merlin for Balinor's son. Or that he decides to allow/use Merlin's magic strategically because of his defensive instinct; I know I've read both these concepts in fanfiction before… Hope you've enjoyed my version!