"There is a kind of magicness about going far away and then coming back all changed."
Kate Douglas Wiggin
Merlin has an undeniable feeling of home fluttering in his stomach, and he can't contain the grin on his face as he follows the bustling crowds through the gates. Camelot is not as big as he remembers, but it is still as impressive and beautiful, full to the brim with traders, villagers and sentries who are beginning their day. They all stop to look twice at the one who dodges their shields, ducks under their freshly cut wood and pushes past their carts, rolling their eyes at his absent grace with which he passes. Some look strangely at the smile which seems etched permanently into his face because they don't understand his joy, and they know not of the sense of pure belonging in which he now revels.
His hands clutch the straps of his backpack, his knuckles white as he excitedly hurries from the lower city and deeper into the citadel. He walks the streets where he helped run errands as a boy and watched people receive the remedies they needed for their illnesses, familiarising himself once more with the tavern and the blacksmith's workshop and the stalls. There are more people in this part, people who know the market, people who can point him in the right direction (although he has a funny feeling that he might not need much help at all; he particularly remembers the courtyards and the way the stairs of the castle twist and sometimes lead nowhere, and he remembers the halls which can bring you somewhere you weren't meant to be if you didn't pay enough attention). The people here are in a hurry and pay him less mind than before, their voices louder and alarming.
Something is happening, something which allows so many people to pass the usually always stoic guards into a huge courtyard. The people line themselves haphazardly on either side of a makeshift podium staged in the middle, where upon a large block of wood has been placed, and suddenly Merlin is aware of the banging of the drums which have been demanding attention on this side of the castle. The sound cuts the crisp morning air as it summons its audience, calling and rallying...
The excitement which has been consuming him fades as guards drag in a pale, beaten man, who looks as if he has been stripped of all he has. The man looks around with wild, desperate eyes, before he understands with sudden clarity underneath his bruises and bloodied nose where it is he is being taken, and it is also Merlin who understands what he has been blindly following the crowds to witness. His father had warned him of this, unable to hide his fear that his son might one day become the prisoner being pulled to the stand.
As Merlin stands on his tiptoes, unable to push his way further into the crowd to get a better look, he remembers Balinor looking slightly forlorn as he walked towards a new life, though Merlin only sees it as returning to his old life. This is the only place where he has ever felt as much at home as he did in Ealdor with his mother and Will.
The drums cease and a voice calls from above.
"Let this serve as a lesson to all—this man, Thomas James Collins, is adjudged guilty of conspiring to use enchantments and magic, and pursuant to the laws of Camelot, I, Uther Pendragon, have decreed that such practices are banned on penalty of death." The King rests a gloved hand on the front of the balcony, as if stretching an arm to his people. It is an exaggerated movement full of purpose. "I pride myself as a fair and just king, but for the crime of sorcery there is but one sentence I can pass."
Uther raises his hand from the balcony and dips his head, and Merlin's eyes snap back to where Thomas James Collins kneels. His head is now forced atop the block and his eyes are closed, yet he looks ready to face his fate. He does not struggle. He does not cry out.
No man should have to prepare for their head to be severed from himself, Merlin thinks, and he can't contain the rage bubbling in his stomach no more than he can help the magic which runs through his veins and keeps him alive, because magic is Merlin and Merlin is magic. He cannot stop himself. Before the executioner can lift his arms in response to the King, the bonds that tie Thomas James Collins' wrists fall in a heap over the back of his feet and Merlin sees the jerk of the man's head. He hopes that Thomas has a mind to move quickly.
The drums once more call for action. The executioner raises his arms high, and Thomas closes his eyes again as Uther lowers his arm, a wordless command.
Merlin lets go.
The axe drops to the floor with a heavy thud, bringing the masked executioner down with it. Merlin had wanted to turn it to stone, but the spell is more complicated and timely than that of one of simple weight, even if Merlin does not have to speak the words.
His eyes are blazing a fierce gold from behind the woman who is acting as his shield. He is not stupid. He knows how easily he could join the sentenced man on top of the block.
Thomas James Collins looks up at the commotion, and Merlin sends one word his way.
'Move.'
Stone begins falling from the balcony where Uther stands overlooking them, and the man stumbles. It may be the King, but Merlin is sickened at the thought of causing somebody to die and he makes the balcony shudder against the castle only once more just before the King's knights begin ushering him inside to safety. Only once the balcony clears and the crowds below have escaped harm, Merlin detaches it from the side of the castle completely. There is an almighty tremor of both ground and air as dust fills the courtyard.
The crowd has been yelling and screaming since the executioner toppled backwards and cried when his shoulder dislocated. They scramble closer together in their hurry, trying to get away from rolling concrete, and Merlin goes with them. He is wary to not be found looking in amazement at the destruction he has caused.
When the courtyard is empty and the dust has settled, both Thomas James Collins and Merlin have vanished.