A/N: Hello, good readers! This is my first foray into the fandom (as I have recently started watching Merlin) and I would like you to know that this will (hopefully) be a collection of oneshots all about the very unhappy (and rather realistic) endings of various tv shows. I aim to do this for most of my fandoms, but I wanted to start it off with Merlin. Anyway, this first chapter is about what would happen (in my strange mind) if Merlin was caught out before he had a chance to save Arthur and win a menial piece of the king's favour. Anyway, enough chat, there's a story to get on with!

Warning: Major character death! Lots of angst. I might even add a trigger warning, just in case. Also, I've probably got a few technical things wrong (but in the name of fic, we shall ignore it).

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin. I'm just playing in the sandbox.

There Are No Happy Endings Here: Merlin

Story One: It Never Began

Exactly one hour after dawn, Merlin would be dead. The pyre in the courtyard had been prepared the night before and now it waited. Soon it would be lit and the fire would consume flesh and bone until there was but ash left. Uther Pendragon was content that another threat had been quickly dealt with. His son, Arthur, was unfazed. The warlock was no one important, just a lowly peasant, who would burn for the crime of existing. Morgana pitied the boy, though only to the extent that she complained to her servant. Said servant too felt the punishment unjust, but fear held her tongue still. There was nothing to gain and everything to lose in making an enemy of the king. The court physician sat in his workshop, unmoving, waiting for the bell that would announce the boy's demise. Silently, he prayed for divine intervention, for mercy, but knew it was useless. Merlin's fate was sealed. And the lead resting in his gut reminded him that he would have to tell the boy's mother that her child, her baby, was dead.

Merlin sat in his cold cell, his hands and feet bound tightly, waiting for the moment he feared most: his death. He wasn't ready, he couldn't be. It couldn't end like this. He had magic! There had to be a way he could use it to escape. Desperation clawed at his heart as he stared at his chains, begging them to fall apart. Sudden pain shot up his spine, coursing through his nerves and dancing into his flesh, lasting only a few eternal seconds. When he could finally move without the sensation of a thousand knives piercing his skin, Merlin sat up and began to sob. They had bound his magic. There was no escape.

All too quickly, the bells began. Merlin was hauled to his feet and out of the cell. His guards were grim, unspeaking, and their hands held him impossibly tight. As he was dragged into the courtyard, Merlin became very aware of how exposed he was, having been stripped of his clothing (apart from a pair of pants) upon his imprisonment. People stared at him, muttered about him to their companions. Someone began a chant of, "Burn him! Burn him!" and it raced from person to person, growing louder and louder.

Merlin was chained to the pyre and the guards retreated to the edge of the gathering crowd. He was crying again, straining against his bindings, begging someone to help him. The tension was electric, crackling in the air, waiting for a vessel to channel itself into. The torch was brought out, and the king, plus his entourage, appeared on the balcony of the castle.

"We are here to condemn the wizard Merlin to death for the crime of using magic." Uther glanced to Merlin, contempt rife in his eyes. "Any final words?"

"Please, I was only trying to help! Please! I would never harm-"

"No matter your intentions, the fact is you broke the law, and this is your punishment." Uther nodded to the torchbearer, who threw into the pyre.

The fire roared, feasting on the abundant wood. Smoke began to pour skyward. Merlin screamed in terror, backing as far away as his bonds would allow. When the fire touched his skin, he howled. It licked its way up his legs like a sadistic lover, intent on domination and destruction. As he began to burn, the young wizard could not help but let out a strangled plea, "Please! Please, help me!"

The crowd continued their booing and catcalling, getting as close to the heat as they dared. The meeker, gentler civilians hung back, or left altogether, the screams of the youth echoing in their ears. On the balcony, Uther watched as the boy began to choke, the smoke strangling him from the inside. Merlin's body threw itself this way and that, heaving in vain, desperate to escape the flames.

Before the fire rose too high, before he lost the chance to see the sky one last time, Merlin looked up. His eyes raked across cold stone and banners hanging limply in the windless morning, and finally came to rest on the face of an angel. Or as close to it as he was going to get, at the very least. He closed his eyes, wanting that heavenly image to be the last thing he ever saw, and let the fire take him completely.

The moment their eyes had connected, Arthur felt a loss he could not explain. Deep in his heart like a knife, it slashed at him, overwhelmed him with pain and grief. The boy had looked at him, had smiled at him, in his final moments. The boy was lost behind the smoke and the flames, but he was ingrained on the prince's eyelids. When he retreated to his chamber, he cried. He didn't understand why he was crying over a boy he never knew, would never know, but something inside him screamed it was wrong. He would spend the rest of the night replaying it in his mind, and all of the next day he examined and re-examined the boy's every feature. When the songstress sang him that accursed lullaby, Arthur dreamed of a smiling boy bathed in light, caressing his cheek and whispering sweet nothings in his ear. And it was a dream he would never wake up from.