Close Your Eyes and You See the Flames
Arthur doesn't want to watch.
Somewhere that seems a million miles away, Gwen is crying, and Gaius, deathly pale and shaking, collapses.
Merlin does not look at them.
He looks at Arthur.
I'm not ashamed of who I am, I'm not even ashamed of the things I've done, he'd said.
Merlin's dark blue eyes are glassy, but for a moment they find Arthur.
Because I did them for you.
Now he looks at Arthur, his face open and earnest and filled with something Arthur has never seen. Nobody looked at him that way before.
He's beautiful in the flickering light that starts at his feet and travels up his body.
Arthur doesn't want to watch, but he can't look away.
When Merlin was caught, he went mad, kicking, screaming and sobbing for Arthur. Uther had dragged him away and built his pyre overnight.
The flames died instantly no matter how many times they were lit, and Merlin looked Uther in the eye and told him they always would unless he could talk to Arthur.
One night, he'd said. I just want one night.
Uther had tried for a week. Merlin never tried to escape, never struggled as he was brought to the new, taller pyres. Axes didn't dent him. Poison that was force-fed that could kill in seconds didn't affect him at all.
Finally, Uther had agreed.
Arthur doesn't want to watch because the fires won't die this time.
The guards had brought Merlin to his room and stood outside, because Uther was convinced that Merlin was set on killing Arthur.
Arthur remembers it so clearly. Merlin hadn't asked, just sat down in a chair opposite him, his thin wrists bound with cold iron, and started talking.
He'd told stories so twisted it couldn't be anything but the truth. Arthur could feel the truth, feel it running through his veins like magic ran through Merlin's.
But there was a voice in Arthur's ear that whispered, he lied to you for years. How can you trust him?
I don't have any regrets, Merlin had whispered. Except for one.
He'd looked up for the first time. The fire that had been roaring at the start of the night had died down to embers, framing Merlin's face in shadows.
You.
You're my only regret.
Arthur doesn't need to ask to know what that means.
He didn't say anything at the end. He hasn't said anything since they caught Merlin. He didn't protest, he didn't rage, he didn't say or do anything.
My king, Merlin whispers, even though Arthur isn't king yet, he is merely a prince that has been broken by betrayal and misplaced love.
Merlin ducks his head, his eyes shining with tears, and asks the guards to take him back to the dungeons.
Merlin keeps looking at Arthur, and Arthur wonders if he can read his mind.
It's barely a whisper, but Arthur can hear it over everything, over the roar of the fire and Gwen's sobs and the crowd's mutterings and Gwaine's anguished, somehow soft cries as Percival holds him back.
Everything, always, Merlin says.
And Arthur doesn't need to ask to know what that means either.
Merlin's eyes flash gold for the last time, and the flames leap up to engulf him.
The night before Merlin had been caught, Arthur had kissed him.
He'd come back from a very successful hunting trip and he might have had a bit too much mead on the way back, and he found Merlin waiting in his chambers, flushed with his hair in a disarray, grinning so ridiculously because Arthur was home.
And all Arthur felt like he could've done in that moment was close the distance between them and taste that ridiculous, beautiful smile.
Merlin had stood still for a few seconds before responding so enthusiastically Arthur staggered back a bit. Merlin had wrapped his arms around him and giggled, which should have been very strange and girlish and annoying, but Arthur just found it endearing and kissed him again before burying his face in Merlin's shoulder, taking in his warm, oddly sweet smell and thought he'd never felt more at home.
The foul smell of ashes is marred by a hint of the smell he remembers from that night - the smell of Merlin - and Arthur's blankness is marred with a stab of longing.
He wasn't able to see Merlin, goofy, sweet, clumsy Merlin, as some sorcerer who'd maimed and killed for Arthur. He simply couldn't put them together. Even now, he half expected to see Merlin emerge from some corner with his hands full of something as inane as flowers, saying that Arthur had wanted them so badly after seeing him give some to Morgana that he'd had really no option but to go get them.
Arthur stays near the pyre long after everyone else has left, long after the stars come out, shining as brightly as Merlin's eyes did that night.
He stays there and thinks that he must be too broken to feel anything. He must be too broken to feel anything every again.
Merlin was Arthur's biggest regret too.
This was actually the first fic I wrote in the Merlin fandom (this is the most angst I can write, because I'm unfortunately a big sap).
Thanks for reading, and I'd love it if you reviewed!