I shouldn't have let it happen. I was such a fool... such a fool... I should have never have expected him to care for himself, just for once to care for himself. The damned idiot, that stupid idiot... I should have saved him. I should have saved him... And I didn't...

The day was warm. The kingdom of Camelot had been strangely at ease for the past two weeks, leaving the knights, the King, and the Prince with a lot of free time. It slipped through their fingers, slowly and painfully, to a point where sleep, which could once have been seen as a nuisance, came welcomely. The knights found themselves spending most of their time in the practice fields, but they'd seemed to have become lazed even when it came to that. Nor were they the only ones; Prince Arthur found it exceedingly hard to focus on the down-stroke of his sword when it was all he'd focused on for weeks.

"Sire," came Leon's voice after practice had ended that day. It was the midday of the 16th day of unexpected peace. Arthur was sitting on a bench and loosening his chest plate, wishing Merlin were there to assist him, but knowing that the servant was helping Guias while there weren't too many sick to worry about and supplies could be gathered.

"Hm?" he grunted, fighting to haul his mail over his shoulders.

"It has come to the attention of Lancelot and I that we can only spar so many times a day." The well-respected knight stood a little taller, looked a little more alert, probably from long nights of rest. Too many nights of it, if you were to ask the crown prince.

"Agreed," said the blonde-haired boy, looking up at him as he put aside the last of his armor, feeling at least ten pounds lighter. "What did you have in mind?"

That was how the Prince, his knights, and his manservant wound up in the Tavern. There were many men there, toasting the past few weeks of prosper. The knights burst into rounds of laughter as Gwaine stood on a chair to toast, only to topple over onto the floor, tankard and all. After assurance that he hadn't harmed himself came in the form of Gwaine's drunken singing, the Prince joined in on the laughter.

Merlin was sat beside him, laughing along, though not taking up more than a miniscule amount of space on the bench. Arthur noticed how tense he looked, how nervous, and he suddenly felt a flush of guilt tint his ears. Merlin had probably never even been to a tavern. Though he was roughly the same age as Arthur, Merlin hadn't grown up on fine wine brought in offering from other kingdoms, been offered glasses of specially made mead since he was a child. Hell, he wasn't sure Merlin had ever had a drink in his life.

Elyan seemed to notice Merlin's discomfort as well, for the boy threw an arm around him and pulled him closer to himself on the bench.

"C'mon, Merlin," the young knight said in a brotherly manner. "You've been working for Guias all day. A little fun will do you good."

"Yes, have a drink, Merlin," Geraint urged, sliding a tankard across the table to him. Merlin was wide-eyed as he took the cup in his hands, glancing wildly around at the knights, until his gaze rested on Arthur. The Prince smiled, holding his own tankard up and nodding to him, encouraging him. His blue eyes returned back to the liquid in his glass, and tentatively, he took a sip. He made a bitter face- it was quite hilarious, really- but that soon melted away and his expression lit up. Elyan laughed, clapping him gently on the back.

"That a boy!" he laughed as Merlin took eager gulps from the metal cup now, as if he couldn't get enough. Within moments, he had finished it, seeking out another. Arthur presumed he was correct in it being Merlin's first time out drinking when the servant downed his third beverage.

"Slow down, Merlin," Leon chuckled, taking the tankard from the boy. The Prince was laughing with Gwaine and Lancelot, too invested in his own drink to be paying mind to the two.

"But I wan' more," Merlin protested, reaching for the cup. When the knight wouldn't return it to him, he resolved to get it from him forcefully. Leon found himself accidentally yelping as the mead zipped out of his hand, coming to a sloshing stop into the hands of Merlin. Merlin, who had gold eyes. All the knights stared at Arthur's manservant, and Arthur was gaping. He'd suspected it (more like known), and he'd kind of expected him to- he didn't think he'd just-

"Oi! Sorcerer!" The knights exchanged glances; none of them had said it. Before they could get their bearings in this mad situation, the King's guards had seized not only Merlin, but an irate Lancelot, an infuriated Percival, and the Prince, who looked as if he were about to be sick. All the way to the centre of Camelot Lancelot thrashed between two different guards, howling for them to let him go and rambling about how if any harm came to Merlin... Percival gave up fighting about half way to the castle, and the way the honest knight's feet dragged paths in the dust as the guards carried him only added to Arthur's nausea. He couldn't catch a glimpse of Merlin; he wouldn't see him until sunrise the next morning...

As soon as the sun was above the horizon, all were gathered in the Square. All, that is, aside from Arthur's knights, who, between the time the Prince had been locked in his quarters and the morning, had somehow gotten themselves locked in the prison cells. He felt it deep down that Gwaine and Percival had been the ones to lead the mayhem, whatever that had been. The young Prince felt the nausea from the previous night return as he was situated behind the executioner's stage, a pyre set with a stake in the centre. He tried his very best not to remember that Merlin would be mounted upon that very stake in moments, a fire ablaze beneath him...

Trumpets sounded, and out on the balcony above appeared Uther, looking more irritated than grim about putting his son's manservant to death. Arthur couldn't look at him... He closed his eyes and ducked his head down to the side, biting together his teeth as he heard the grand doors of the castle open. Chains rattled, the crowd silent aside from the sound of tears out to the far left. Guias, thought Arthur, though he dare not open his eyes and allow this nightmare to become his reality.

"A sorcerer," bellowed Uthur, his voice reflecting off the buildings and stinging the Prince's ears. "The servant of my son..."

Arthur heard chains being moved, either being changed out for rope or being tied, but he heard nothing from Merlin. The King continued: "Last night he used charms without words, without anything magical," said he. "Is this not true, Arthur?"

Arthur opened his eyes, the sun now harsher than he ever remembered, the silence that greeted him as the citizens awaited his response deafening. He looked up at his father, his chest heaving not with physical pain, but with emotion. He tried his best not to look at the tuft of black hair in the corner of his eye, tied to the wooden pole, but it was of no use. He turned his head to find Merlin there, his arms and torso held in the pyre by rope, chains discarded only a metre or so away. The servant's head fell limp against his chest, and though Arthur could not completely see his face, his skin was much more pale than he'd ever seen it. Tears fell from the tip of his nose, his lip shook, and every so often a small, terrified whimper would break the silence, and the servant would squeeze shut his eyes.

Arthur couldn't say a word; all the moisture in his mouth was gone. He felt stinging at the backs of his eyes, but he held it in. He daren't cry now, not in front of his people, nor his father.

"Arthur?" repeated Uther. "Is this not true?"

When his son would neither look at him nor speak a word, when he would do nothing but stare at the vermin held to the wooden pyre, the King sighed and waved a hand at the guards on standby with torches and oil in hand. They nodded once, then moved to the stacked logs; they'd performed this task many times over, but this time they found themselves hesitating. They knew Merlin, they knew what he did for not only Arthur, but the entire kingdom. They could see the dam about to burst behind the Prince's eyes... and so they hesitated, for as long as they could.

In the short time the guards' procrastination allowed, Arthur got Merlin to look at him. His eyes were red and puffy, a brokenness held in their depths. And yet, somehow... he smiled. The blonde couldn't hold it in anymore, and a few tears forced their way from his eyes as he tried to tear away from the guards that held him back.

"No, please!" The guards with the torch and oil were startled by his outburst; he had been silent up until now. "Please, let Merlin go... Father, please..."

"Arthur, enough." Uther sounded deflated, and though Arthur didn't look at him he could hear him pinching the bridge of his nose. The guards holding the Prince would not let up, and as new tears refreshed in Merlin's eyes and Uther reissued the command to set the sorcerer ablaze, Arthur fell to his knees. He looked up at his friend as the one guard began spreading oil on the pyre; he took in everything about him, every detail. What if this was the last time...?

"Goodbye, Arthur," Merlin said, his voice cracking. Arthur's breath caught, and he didn't have time to say goodbye before the orange flames sprang to life and he cringed away, screwing his eyes shut once more. All the things he wanted to say, everything he needed Merlin to know... he would never hear...

Merlin's cries would embed themselves into his dreams for fortnights to come. It didn't matter how hard he shut together his eyelids, nor how stubbournly he ignored the heat of the fire; this nightmare was his reality... and Merlin was dead...