They Say
By Oneringtohallowsend
They say the fire of the pyre is a slow and painful death and that those licked by its many tongues are none but the worst offenders. They had told him to be weary...to be careful. He had been arrogant but he'd been informed that all young lads are. He had heeded their warnings like a child heeds the first order of 'no'. He had forfeited his life by not being mindful. He'd done everything his destiny had wanted him to do...he'd protected Arthur, as a prince and a king, but they had caught him in the act and declared him treasonous.
They say that for the prisoner the night before an execution is the hardest as thoughts swirl around in the head. Distant, shattered dreams clog the mind and stifle the heart as panic sets into the bones. All the should have done and would have done's fall like lifeless snowflakes blowing in the wind. No sleep is to be found that night and the food of the morning tastes like ash. As the sun rises though on the cold dawn of judgment day a peace settles over and a weariness takes hold. Panic leaks out as despair floods in. The fight goes out of them on that morning no matter if the prisoner is guilty or not.
They say that it is not the knowing, of the friends and family, that a loved one is to be burned that pains the heart the most. That it is not the walk of death and shame to reach the pyre that cripples the soul. They say that it is the screams a person utters without meaning to as their skin blisters and melts away. That those moments where the curdling shrills fill the air is what sends families to their knees praying to gods for mercy. They say there is a guilt that the family lives with when a loved one stops screaming and they are grateful. Even though they know that means there is no longer life in the one they hold dear. The pyre makes them prefer the silence over the last shrieks of their friend's life.
They say that after a burning there lingers in the air a hollow feeling as if what has been lost has not fully evaporated into the atmosphere. That in the moments of silence whispers can be heard and in moments of turbulent movement a stillness creeps into the hearts of all. They say that sometimes it lingers long after the fumes of burnt flesh have dispersed and with others it leaves like ash on the wind. They said all of this to him before and after he'd been locked up for treason.
He said to them that he understood the laws when they asked him and he was forced to his knees in front of the king. He had not bowed his head even as he stared into the eyes of a man he still called his friend. He had no shame in who and what he was and he knew pleading would get him no where. The king had told him the laws must stand as they could not be changed to protect no man despite how honorable his intentions were when he had broken the laws. He stared up at his king and grinned while nodding his head. He knew how this tale would play out even if they did not.
They were right though panic sets in on the eve of an execution and only washes away with the morning light when despair strolls in. They never mentioned though about the whispers that can be heard while walking to the pyre. The whispers of all those who have burned before. Some are angry, some are sad, and some have been there so long now that they cannot seem to makes themselves care. It is as King Arthur himself sets fire to the wooden pyre, on which his manservant stood, that he saw them. They outnumbered those who had come to watch. The ghosts of the slaughtered stood among the living because they knew what this death would herald. They wanted to see him fall some for spite, others to grieve, but most to mark the passing of an age that would never be.
Arthur is the Once and Future King he knew that and he also knew that he had born to serve his king in all ways. His death would mark both his triumph and failure. He had protected his liege, had guided him into becoming a great king, and now he knew why Arthur's bane would be himself. The flames danced around him and the heat blistered his eyes as he tried not scream. Tried not to seek out comfort in the eyes of Gaius who stood with tears pouring down his face but otherwise expressionless-this was not his first time watching a loved one burn. Instead he focused his attention on his king even as the flames tore screams from his unresisting throat. The king's face was stern but he could read it from a mile away. This was the face of a man so far conflicted that he'd never be able to resurface. He watched that face till the pyre claimed his soul.
This was the death of his king. The death of Albion. The lost hope of ever bringing peace and stability to a land in turmoil. Somehow he knew the songs they would sing years later would have much different endings than they once would have had. They would speak of a young king who'd failed to bring peace to his land by killing his best friend. They would speak of that friend in hushed whispers because anyone daring to speak his name aloud feared it would bring his ghost down upon them. The daringly brave would speak his name and they would shiver not understanding the importance of it. That you can burn the human shell till its ash but to burn the man called Emrys will do nothing more than that. After all they say there is a reason he is called the immortal one.