Warnings: Major character death. No slash.
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Numbness.
... that is what Arthur feels. He realises he can't...
The emotions bubble underneath the surface, the cold hard exterior Arthur has built up over the years for a purpose such as this.
The prince rests against the cold stone walls of the catacombs, his blue eyes watching the fire from his torch dance over the stone caskets, now hiding both of his parents.
To the left, his mother... He never knew her, and has only ever mourned the loss of connection with his maternal parent; a disconnection which will never be filled.
And, now
To the right, his father... The cold man whom Arthur had learned could be kind and caring, once you broke the surface. A barrier, the prince had no doubt imitated in design, when he first began constructing his own mental wall all those years ago. Stone by stone, Arthur now realizes, it is an exact replica of his father's. He didn't even doubt, they had used the same ore to bury their emotions.
The Regent sits between them, the light from the torch finally flickering and going out, leaving the royal in the cold darkness with the two corpses. A deathly cold silence encompasses the air, not even the prince's breathing able to cut through the still atmosphere.
And the prince sits there,
and waits for something to happen, all the while knowing it will not. His father will never come back.
Ever.
And he envisions, the full weight of the world, his kingdom and the crown on his shoulders; all the while, his back, his mind and his heart aching from the pressure.
He knows, deep down, that he could never be the ruler his father was, the monarch his people desire.
He doubts, knowing in his heart that he could never rule a kingdom.
He knows that under his tough exterior is just a terrified little boy. Nothing more. No brave prince. No destined ruler.
Just Arthur. That is who he is, and he knows it will never be enough.
And he yearns for his father's affection; words and praises he had never received. He had never grown as close as he always wished to Uther, and now he regrets it.
Now it is too late.
Till, finally, the weight is too much, and the wall breaks, as does Arthur.
He is so consumed in emotion and grief, sorrow and sadness, all that the numbness had kept at bay that he does not notice a torch and equally blue, if not bluer, eyes approach.
Arthur does not see the golden eyes, does not hear the magical words being woven.
All he sees is his father, standing before him, glowing like a god in the darkness.
"Son!" the dead monarch says, placing a gentle hand on Arthur's shoulder. Uther wears a smile, his eyes beaming with pride.
Pride and faith in his son, something Arthur had wished to see all his life.
It is never too late, after all.
And the vision vanishes, into the dark abyss of the catacombs.
Arthur wiping away his tears, rebuilds the wall in his mind with renewed hope, the prince raises himself up, shaking off the last sorrow with a newly found hope.
He slides his hands along his father's stone casket as he walks past, lightly touching it as if to gesture a silent 'Thank you, Father.'
He exits his father's final chamber, a new pride in his step. Weary, but it is there. He ascends the stairs to the castle, the throne room, where his people surely wait with the crown.
All the while, never noticing the lanky figure, who had been with him in the pitch black catacombs, his golden eyes glistening, smiling as the magic from a recently cast spell sizzles in the air.
"Long live Arthur, the once and future king."