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The afternoon sun struggled to penetrate the heavy velvet curtains of King Uther Pendragon’s chambers. The air was saturated with the scent of medicinal herbs, an aroma that normally brought a sense of sobriety, but which today only seemed to highlight the singular state of its patient.
Gaius, seated in a high-backed chair beside the monumental bed, sipped his chamomile tea with the ritualistic slowness of a man prepared to wait for many hours. His face was a mask of professional patience, but his eyes watched Uther with the sharp attention of a hawk. The king sat propped up against a mountain of goose-feather pillows, his usually severe features relaxed into an oddly contemplative expression. The analgesic potion for his back pain—a particularly strong formula Gaius had improvised for a discomfort Uther had described as “a sword driven into my kidneys”—clearly had side effects that went far beyond pain relief.
“Gaius,” Uther said, his voice a little slurred, as if his words were made of honey. “You know, sometimes I find myself thinking… thinking a lot…”
“Here we go,” Gaius murmured into his tea, lifting the cup to his lips.
“I should give thanks to the Gods,” Uther continued, raising an index finger toward the ornate ceiling. “Daily thanks. Songs of gratitude. For the Gods having made Arthur… well, you know.” He made a vague gesture with his hand.
“Brave?” Gaius suggested, keeping his tone neutral.
“No, no. More like… well, more inclined toward men than toward reckless procreation.”
Gaius nearly choked, but recovered with a careful sip. “Your Majesty, I believe the potion is speaking louder than it should.”
“Absolutely not!” Uther protested, shaking his head with exaggerated emphasis. “I am perfectly lucid. Look: Arthur, gay. Morgana, lesbian. It’s a blessing, Gaius! A divine gift! I am a man without fears, without worries! I thank the Gods every day—every day—because I will never, ever wake up to discover I’m a grandfather to bastard grandchildren! No unexpected heirs! No paternity scandals! It’s perfect peace!” He smiled, a broad, carefree expression that transformed his face completely, making him look almost… jovial.
Gaius stared at him for a long moment, his cup frozen midair.
“I see,” the physician said at last, hesitating, unwilling to provoke the king. “Well, it must be… difficult for a father to discover his son is gay, isn’t it? A shock, perhaps…”
“Nonsense!” Uther sliced the air with his hand, nearly knocking over a water jug on the bedside table. “At first, maybe. A little. When he was a teenager and only wanted to chase after Sir Leon… but then you realize. You realize he’s never going to bring home a girl pregnant from some neighboring county. Never marry out of obligation and make us all miserable. It’s wonderful, Gaius! Wonderful, I tell you!”
Gaius slowly raised an eyebrow, taking a deliberate sip. “Ah. Right. I see.”
“It’s good to know, really,” Uther went on, his gaze growing sharper, more intentional despite his altered state. “So when Merlin comes out of the closet, you’ll already be used to it.” He tilted his head, a mischievous smile touching his lips.
The sound that escaped Gaius was a mix between a grunt and a choke. He slammed the cup down, hot tea splashing onto his fingers. “What Merlin?! My Merlin?! But he isn’t gay!”
Uther rolled his eyes, a gesture so dramatic it would have made Morgana proud. “Oh, ‘he isn’t gay,’ Gaius. Gay as can be. I’d bet my best horse he’s already slept with half my knights. Lancelot, for sure. Percival, maybe. Gwaine… ah, Gwaine’s a lost cause—he’s probably slept with my son too.”
Indignation turned Gaius’s face into a mask of righteous fury in defense of his apprentice’s modesty. “That is complete nonsense, sir! A slander against a young man of impeccable character—that is what Merlin is!”
Uther shook his head with a condescending patience that was even more irritating. “Gaius, Gaius… Merlin—you look at him standing still and you already know. The way he straightens Arthur’s shoulders, always touching my son. The way he sighs when the prince walks by in shining armor. The look he gives Arthur when he sees him smile… it’s a look of love, Gaius. Accept it.”
“My nephew,” Gaius said, each word punctuated by a deep breath, “was raised by his mother, a single woman, in an isolated village! He is simply… more sensitive. More gentle. He has a kind nature! That does not make him gay!”
Uther smiled, an expression of infinite, drug-induced wisdom. He leaned forward, placing a heavy hand on his friend’s shoulder. The gesture was almost paternal. “Gaius, let me tell you something. A truth between friends. Our children… are gay.”
Gaius froze.
“It’s all gay, Gaius,” Uther whispered, as if sharing the kingdom’s deepest secret. “It’s genetic.”
Gaius’s patience finally cracked. “Genetic my foot! What insanity is this?! Who in your family, Your Majesty, is gay? Hmm? Give me one example!”
Uther leaned back, wearing the look of a man who had just made a masterful move. “Agravaine.”
The silence that followed was so thick it could have been cut with one of Gaius’s surgical knives. The old physician opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again.
“What?! Are you mad?! Agravaine?!”
“Exactly.”
“Your brother-in-law is the most depraved, most womanizing man ever to walk through the gates of Camelot! He flirts with every maiden, lady, and servant who crosses his path!”
Uther nodded serenely. “Yes. To hide that he’s gay. It’s classic, Gaius. A gay man who didn’t develop properly. All that show, all that lust—it’s a smokescreen. Inside, he just wants a good man to take care of his horses and listen to him talk about taxes.”
Gaius raised his hands in despair. “And what about my family, then? Where is the gay in my lineage for Merlin to have this so-called ‘homosexual genetics,’ huh?”
The answer came quickly and smoothly. “Your sister. Obviously.”
Gaius felt the intellectual ground collapse beneath his feet. “Hunith?! Hunith likes men! She had a child!”
Uther made a dismissive sound. “She doesn’t like them at all. Strong women like her, Gaius—women who raise a child alone, who keep a farm running, who have that resolute light in their eyes—they don’t care for men. They’re too smart for that. What they want is true companionship, intelligent conversation, another strong woman to share life with. They tolerate men, at best. Your brother-in-law—the father of Merlin—must have been a meteorological accident or a very persistent misunderstanding.”
Gaius sat there, staring at the king with his mouth open. The twisted logic, the unshakable confidence, the complete conviction in his own delusion—it was too much. It was like arguing with a philosophical whirlwind wrapped in a silk robe.
He looked at the teacup, now lukewarm and unappealing. Looked back at Uther, who reclined against the pillows with a self-satisfied smile, as though he had solved all the mysteries of the universe and found them all, deep down, quite gay.
A deep, deep weariness settled over Gaius. Not physical exhaustion from the vigil, but a metaphysical fatigue from trying to navigate this conversation.
Slowly, with the dignity of a man who had faced witches, plagues, and Uther’s sober wrath, Gaius lifted the cup and took the last sip of cold tea.
I give up, he thought.
He simply gave up.
He set the cup down on the tray with a soft clink. “Your Majesty,” he said, his voice flat and resigned. “I believe the potion’s effects are wearing off. You should rest.”
Uther yawned, suddenly looking exhausted. “Yes, perhaps. But think about what I said, Gaius. Our boys… are a blessing. And they’re gay. All gay.” His eyes began to close. “All queer… it’s beautiful…”
Before he could further elaborate on the supposed homosexuality of the royal council or the blacksmiths’ guild, a soft snore escaped his lips. Uther Pendragon, King of Camelot, Defender of the Realm, had succumbed to sleep, a small, beatific smile still on his face—probably dreaming of a future without bastard grandchildren and full of perfectly arranged diplomatic alliances between his favorite knights.
Gaius remained seated in the dim light, watching the king sleep. After a long moment, a deep, tired sigh escaped him. He picked up the tray and stood, his bones creaking in protest.
In the silent corridor, he encountered Merlin, approaching with a jug of fresh water and his habitual look of concern.
“Is he better, Gaius?”
Gaius looked at the young man—his open face, his blue eyes full of stubborn, innocent kindness. He remembered Uther’s accusations—the sigh over Leon, the loving look at the swords…
“Merlin,” Gaius said, his voice grave.
“Yes?”
“…Nothing. Just… nothing.” Gaius walked past him, shaking his head. Some battles, he decided, simply weren’t worth fighting. Some revelations were better left for the Gods—or for particularly strong painkilling potions—to deal with.