Chapter Two

Arthur spent the day talking to his knights about different fighting styles and techniques before he had to have lunch with his father.

No matter what Arthur couldn't seem to bring his mind back from his dream. The dream had felt so real. He could remember the look in Merlin's eyes when he was first dragged into the throne room. Fear, shame; he could remember the intense feeling of betrayal as it burned through his veins. His heart ached at the feeling of loathing and resentment that he had felt in the dream.

Arthur was dragged out of his thoughts when Merlin was dragged into the room after a particularly quiet lunch with Uther, insisting that the guards had the wrong idea.

When he was dropped in front of Uther, Merlin insisted that he had not, as the guards accused, bewitched a kitchen maid.

Arthur's heart stopped; this couldn't be happening, he thought, not again.

"Take him away, summon the executioner." Uther said, with barely a wave of his hand.

"You have no proof." Arthur shouted as he shot up from his seat.

Even Merlin's eyes were drawn to Arthur this time. Shock was clear on everyone's faces.

"Is there?" He scowled at Sir Owain.

"The maid seems to have fallen unconscious. Gaius is with her now." Owain responded.

"So what leads you to believe she was bewitched?" Uther asked.

"The way she was acting before she fainted showed classic symptoms of an enchantment." The second knight said.

"And you recognized these symptoms?" Arthur asked.

"You've been enchanted a good many times, Sire, we learned to recognize the symptoms." Owain smirked.

"But what makes you think it was Merlin?" Arthur asked.

"It would seem that, out of nowhere, the girl developed an unhealthy fixation with Merlin." Owain said.

"So, because she had a crush, you think he's using magic?" Arthur questioned.

"Did you, or did you not, use magic to enchant the kitchen maid?" Uther asked.

"I did not, my lord." Merlin said.

"Then why would they accuse you?" he asked.

"I…" Merlin fell silent. "Why on Earth would I want a maid pinning after me anyway?" he huffed.

"Do you deny having magic?" Uther asked.

"I already said, I didn't bewitch the girl." Merlin tensed.

"That doesn't answer my question. Are you a sorcerer?" Uther growled.

"I…" Merlin couldn't speak.

"What if we were to bring forth someone who says they've seen Merlin use magic?" Owain said.

"Who?" Arthur bit out.

The second knight waved his hand and the guards at the doors opened them to let in a servant. David walked into the room and bowed before the king.

Speak your piece." Uther said.

"thank you, my lord. At first I thought it was just my imagination, but when Merlin didn't think I was looking, I've seen him start fires in Arthur's fire place, from across the room." David said.

"take him away." Uther said.

"Wait, no, Arthur! You have to believe me, it's not what you think! I swear. You know I would never harm you! Please, listen to me!" Merlin cried as he tried to fight the knights.

The doors slammed shut behind him.

Head spinning round

"You can't do this!" Arthur shouted, as he snapped out of his daze.

"He's a sorcerer." Uther said, as he waved for David to walk forward.

"He's a loyal servant." Arthur's tone took on an icy edge as he scowled up at his father.

"He used magic." Uther snapped, he looked his son in the eyes, aggression and fear burning in his irises.

"To start a fire!" Arthur bit out, refusing to back down.

"To enchant a girl!" Uthers voice rose.

"David, alert the executioner, he's to die tonight." Uther told David, who scurried from the room.

"You can't do this!" Arthur shouted again.

"I am the king!" Uther said.

"I won't let you." Arthur's voice dropped.

"You'd defy your king?" Uther asked.

"Yes." Arthur replied.

"Guards, take my son to the dungeons, keep him away from the other prisoner, I believe him to be enchanted." Uther demanded, as Arthur was forced from the room in the grasp of two knights closer to Percival's build then his own.

No time to sit down

Arthur sat against the wall of his cell as hours seemed to pass at an unbelievably slow pace. Arthur's mind couldn't rest.

This wasn't a dream. Had it been a dream the first time? How could this happen? He couldn't let Merlin die. Arthur owed Merlin his life, he knew he did, he had to help him. But he couldn't, not from this cell, and not with his father thinking he was enchanted. Was he enchanted? Is that why he trusted Merlin so much? Could it be why he seemed to have repeated nearly the same day over again? And yet he still couldn't save him.

Just wanted to run

By the time he forced his mind to stop thinking, it was near sunset and he could hear the people gathering outside his cell window. He was right beside the pavilion where, he knew, they were setting up for Merlin to face the axe.

He was sitting on the ground trying to formulate an escape plan, when he saw a bright light form above him.

He flinched at first, eyes snapping shot at the onslaught of light. Once he was able to look up, he saw a very familiar bright blue orb floating above him. Sudden memories of a poisoned chalice, an unnecessary sacrifice, an evil witch, a small flower, and a blue orb flashed through his head.

It had been Merlin. Even in Merlin's time of need, he had strived to save Arthur, even as Arthur risked his life to save him.

After a couple seconds, the light faded and Merlin's neckerchief fell into Arthur's lap.

The deep blue fabric was course in his hand and felt cold to the touch.

Arthur couldn't hold back the tears that slid silently from his eyes when he saw the words 'I'm sorry' scrawled messily across the fabric. His heart ached with a desperate need to see Merlin, to talk to him, to tell him…to tell him he was the one who should be sorry. He should be sorry for ever doubting Merlin's loyalties, for letting this happen, twice, for locking himself in his room before; he should be apologizing to Merlin, not the other way around.

He knew what Merlin thought; Merlin thought he hated him, that he was angry with him. Merlin would die thinking, believing, that Arthur hated him; just like he must have before, because Arthur had hidden away, refused to speak him, he had hated him in his dream.

No; it couldn't have been a dream. It wasn't accurate enough to be a vision, but it wasn't abstract enough to be a coincidence.

Arthur cried that night; more openly then he had the night before; silent tears flowing down his cheeks. He curled up on the floor with Merlin's neckerchief wrapped tightly within his hand.

And run and run