Warning: Major character death, temporary character death, reveal, Canon AU, fire and burns.
Disclaimer: I do not own the BBC version of Merlin; It and Shine do. I am very respectfully borrowing them with no intent to profit. No money has changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended.
The smell of smoke, the shouts behind him of horror and bewilderment, the jangle of chainmail and hissed sound of swords being drawn as the guards shifted toward the crowds, hit him with the full force of the impossible.
Merlin was standing on the pyre, crying out Arthur's name, begging him for help, and Arthur powerless to do anything. And yet he had to try. It made Arthur's gut tighten in terror that he'd be too late, that Uther's obsession with magic would win in the end, and Merlin burn.
The day seemed to shiver before his eyes. Arthur knew what would happen next.
He tried to yank his father back, to try and talk some sense into him, but it was useless. Instead, Uther's fist crashed into him, sharp and fast, an impossible spike of pain surprising in its intensity. Momentary grey haze threatened unconsciousness as Arthur fell back, then as he sprawled onto the cobblestones, he blinked up at his father in shock.
Laying there a moment, he fought off the growing darkness. Merlin needed him and Arthur would never let him die for Arthur's own weakness.
Merlin cried out again, worry in his voice as he roared out Arthur's name. By the pyre, stunned and confused, Arthur struggled to get up. Above him, Uther was shouting some nonsense about Merlin using magic, emphasizing his paranoia with a swing of the flaming torch, too close to the wood for comfort.
Then before Arthur could say anything, Uther sent Arthur another blow to the head, and with a swift turn, thrust the torch into the tinder-dry wood.
It was almost as if the pyre was touched with magic. Before Arthur could take a breath, a blaze flared up, hot and greedy, licking at Merlin's feet, then swirled across him, clothes already smoking as the pyre turned inferno-red.
Arthur was too late.
Merlin was screaming in pain, his voice burnt and agony-rough, and Arthur shouted for him, struggling even now to get to him, trying to scramble up through the blaze, but Uther held him back, the king's grip implacable. All he could do was watch in dread as the flames, a firestorm of heat and horror, twisted around Merlin, his mouth open in wild-agony, everything smoking, crisping before Merlin disappeared behind a sheet of flame. There was one final broken cry before the roar of the fire drowned out everything else.
Uther let him go then, turned away, satisfied and smug, talking about how sorcery was defeated once more. But Arthur heard none of it, just watched, numb and unbelieving as smoke billowing, the pyre flared up, impossibly high, then burned down to ash.
Soon after, the rains came. Too late, too late.
Arthur hated the days after.
He couldn't face Gaius who had been imprisoned while Merlin burned, couldn't bear Gwen's accusing face or the pity in Morgana's eyes.
Avoiding his father, because he was afraid of what he might do if he faced him again, Arthur instead trained and trained and trained, until his arms were numb and he couldn't feel anything anymore.
It didn't really work. The nights were filled with terrors, Merlin's death ever-present in his nightmares. And sometimes, thinking that he'd heard Merlin calling him, shaking him awake, Arthur would be ready with a mocking insult as he turned toward the voice. But there was never any one there.
At least, during the day, he could function – minimally - for the people of Camelot.
He tried to be kinder, to be the man Merlin had always said Arthur could be. It was harder than anything he'd ever done, but slowly, slowly, it seemed to work. People began to come to him with their concerns, began to treat him as someone they respected rather than feared. And things got better.
In time, taking his courage in his hands, Arthur faced the king, trying not to hate him but never loving him as he had once done. He could see how fear and paranoia moved Uther, that the king would never understand his people as Arthur now did, knowing, too, that he would have to protect Camelot from his own father if needs be, as he had not been able to protect Merlin.
Hating it but knowing it necessary, he learned to flatter and cajole the king, to manipulate him through sheer will and lies, though it cost Arthur sleepless nights and pain to do so. But at least Camelot would be safe from Uther's worst excesses.
Still, the nights were hard, Merlin's murder ever-fresh. And there were times in the deep dark, when Arthur thought he could hear Merlin calling him.
That was the worst part. There were insults and laughter and soft apologies, so typically Merlin that Arthur began to think himself insane.
He learned to ignore it, or tried to, anyway, and he didn't dare bring it up to Gaius. The old man had aged years in a matter of months, had grown silent and sullen, and there was no one else.
But sometimes, in the dead of night, Arthur would follow the insults, would try to catch whoever was tormenting him. Down corridors, into high towers, out into the wood beyond the gates of the citadel. Sometimes, it would lead him to quiet meadows, or a brook babbling nearby, or a grove of trees sighing in the wind. He would lie down and listen and watch the wheel of stars overhead, and in the morning, he would feel a little calmer, a little less guilty.
Knowing that it couldn't go on, that if someone caught him, it might start rumours of his fitness to rule, Arthur was determined to ignore the voice. But one night, it was just too much.
His shoulders covered by the cloak he used when sneaking out alone, he crept through the castle, following the voice. He was angry and frustrated and so lonely that he couldn't bear it and this haunting, this whatever it might be, had to stop. Unfortunately, there was only one person he knew who could help.
Pushing Gaius's door open, he spotted the old man dozing at the bench, his head pillowed on his arms. But as he closed the door, privacy imperative, Gaius opened his eyes, and seeing who had entered, began to rise. "Sire, is something wrong?"
Gesturing for him to sit back down, Arthur went over to him and sat next to him. Gaius frowned at that. "Sire?"
Swallowing hard, not wanting to voice his fears, still he had to know the truth. "I may be going mad." When Gaius looked alarmed, Arthur said, "Since Merlin… died, I've been hearing things, a voice. Never threatening but it… it sounds like Merlin. He…."
"Merlin is dead." Gaius's voice was sharp and so definitive that Arthur flinched back.
"I know that. I watched him die. It haunts me every day and every night, Gaius. I should have done something more, I should have." Arthur must have sounded as desolate as he felt because Gaius's face softened.
"Gwen told me that you tried to crawl up into the flames to rescue him."
"It didn't make any difference. He's still gone. But I… I hear him." Arthur gave a little laugh, half-sob. "He keeps insulting me. Calling me idiot and dollophead and prat. But there is no one there."
"Are you sure?" Gaius frowned. "The senses can be tricky things. Sometimes we hear things that sound odd but have a perfectly innocent explanation. The wind or floorboards creaking or an echo of someone talking farther down the hall. It is common enough."
"The voice is very distinctive and only Merlin ever used those insults. He was… very inventive."
"That he was." Gaius looked unhappy for a moment, but then his face cleared as if given a puzzle could keep Gaius's grief at bay. "It could be a curse or a spell."
It might be something more. A spell he could deal with or a curse, but if Merlin was trying to contact him from beyond the grave, he wanted to know. "Or a haunting?"
"Sire," Gaius started to shake his head but when he saw how much Arthur was hurting, his voice gentled. "Yes, or a haunting." When Arthur nodded, Gaius said, "I will need to know everything that has happened and… sire, it could be that magic was used, and if that is so, only magic can undo it. Arthur, the king would never allow it."
With that, Arthur's face turned to stone. "The king doesn't need to know."