2. ASHES OF CAMELOT

Warnings: A very dark, angsty and gore fic I wrote for the sake of my inner demons.

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin

The castle of Camelot was richly decorated to the special occasion and no effort had been spared on this glorious day of Queen Morgana's rule, in which she was to be united in matrimony with prince Annhar of Greytower, the youngest son of Witch King Ironed. This grand day was to be remembered, Morgana had sworn to herself, and as such all diligences were made that the favor of all the noblemen and the wealthy inhabitants of Camelot's Upper Town would be won for the ceremony. Not that that had proven hard, they were far from difficult to please and their allegiance was not one particularly hard to bend.

Servants had begun running errands around the castle hurrying with the last preparations since the break of dawn. On top of that, countless guests kept arriving and there was a general buzzing and a vibe of unrest that, joyous as they may have been, were making Morgana feel unsettled.

She now stood in her chambers, in front of a large mirror, glancing absently at her own reflection. Her maids were busy arranging the folds of her snow white wedding gown, which was made of the finest of silk and embroidered with the whitest pearls, so as to fall perfectly around her body. A high degree of artistry had been employed in the doing of her hair and on her make-up. But while she possessed that type of porcelain beauty that was the envy of all maidens and her skin was usually flawless, today there was a slight crease on her forehead which, however inconspicuous may have been to the eyes of the unadvised, kept drawing her attention. But it was not the mark on her skin as much as it was the feeling in her gut that bothered her. Morgana had not slept well. She'd had a dream that was too vague to be a prophecy, but frightening enough to be ominous.

"What is it, sister? What have you dreamed about?" Morgause asked, placing a comforting hand on her bare shoulder.

"Oh Morgause!" her sister suddenly cried out, turning to face her. "It was so dark and hazy, I could barely see anything. And then there were flames, high flames, and from those flames a figure emerged. A tall, menacing figure" She paused and visibly shuddered. "It was a warrior, holding an axe and a sword. There were red banners everywhere around him, and wild soldiers howling like beasts! It was terrible, I was so frightened! And he was covered in blood!"

Morgause frowned, lost in thought for a moment. "Could you not get a glimpse of his face?"

"No! There was too much blood on him, on his face too! And on his armor and his weapons, dripping! Oh, so much blood! "

"Did he speak?"

"Not a word. But I could tell he was an enemy" Morgana whispered, pressing her hands against her chest in an attempt to slower her breathing.

"Oh, Morgana! There are always enemies, many have come upon Camelot in the past and probably many have yet to rise. But we are together, sister, strong, united. They'll never break us. We will overcome whatever problems may come, I promise"

Morgana sighed, closing her eyes for a brief moment. She had been very naïve to think that 'a long and happy rule' was more than a word in the wind. There was no such thing. Uther had fought long and hard to keep Camelot and she would have to as well. She instantly cursed herself for thinking of Uther and remembering that she'd visited him that morning. But on the brighter side, her revenge had worked just wonderfully and she was pleased with the devastation she'd read upon his features. Thus concluding, she decided to dismiss such time wasting thoughts altogether.

"Come, sister" Morgause spoke in a gentle tone. "It's time"

With Morgause by her side, Queen Morgana walked proudly into the throne room, where a rather impressive and elitist crowd had gathered to witness the ceremony. She could feel a mixture of admiration and envy in the many eyes that watched her. And fear in some - that brought her undeniable satisfaction.

Prince Annhar of Greytower, which was to be crowned Prince Consort on the same occasion, waited patiently for her arrival at the base of the throne steps, with his head bowed respectfully. From time to time he did peak though, stealing fugitive glances of his magnificent bride and slightly blushing. Morgana smiled benevolently in his direction, somewhat amused of his obvious timidity. His father must have prepared him well for the occasion, or at least must have struggled in this purpose for quite a while. Prince Annhar was very young, younger than Morgana, and quite a clumsy boy, by all accounts. He had a rather plain look, brown haired and pale faced, with plenty of freckles, and the ceremonial garments of exquisite purple silk and velvet, decorated with intricate golden embroideries and gems, gave him a clear discomfort which he wasn't very successfully concealing. A golden crown on the top of his head was probably the last thing he needed. Apart from that, he was said to share nothing of his father's spirited wickedness and abilities. He was a good match though, Morgana thought. The Prince Consort Annhar of Greytower would be no more than a puppet in her hands, or maybe not even that, a ragged doll, yes, that was the word best suited to describe him. She would have her will in everything while he would just sit there, beside her, gazing at her with dreamy and adoring eyes.

As she graciously took her place in front of her throne and of her future husband, Queen Morgana casually remembered that there had been a time when she had dreamed of a fairytale wedding that would consequently result in a 'happily ever after', a time when she had dreamed of love, of true love, of a love so sweet and so powerful that would sweep her off her feet and carry her away to a perfect happiness. And there had been a time when she had secretly dreamed that Arthur was the one with whom she was meant to have all that, a time before knowing that he was her brother and before she had grown to hate him. Well, she pondered, as a disdainful smile played on her lips for a brief moment, none of them was to find that love now, since he was condemned to a life of bitter suffering and humiliation and she was past and above such silly things, such girly fantasies. No, Morgana had discovered something far sweeter, far stronger, and far more ecstatic than love could ever be, and that was power.

Her musings were interrupted by the Master of Ceremonies, who asked prince Annhar of Greytower to make his vows as Prince of Camelot and his wedding vows. He went through with that quite well, considering the state of his emotions. She was amused again when his freckled cheeks blushed with the kind of sincere emotion that for her belonged to a distant past, when she too had been innocent and harmless. He was trembling slightly when he slipped the ring on her delicate, slender finger and leaned in to seal her lips with a soft kiss.

"I proclaim you - Annhar of Greytower – Prince of Camelot and my Consort!" Queen Morgana declared. She then took the golden crown from its red velvet pillow and weighted it for a moment in her hands. Much too heavy for a boy such as him, she thought fugitively, before carefully placing it on his forehead.

The Court and the guests cheered for the happy pair and they both waved their hand towards the audience, smiling. Then the signal was given and big torches were lit up in the hall of feasts, on the castle grounds and all around the Upper Town. And the celebrations began.

-x-

Lancelot walked in to see Gaius sitting on a small stool at the side of Gwen's bed. The kind old man seemed to have aged a few centuries more past his years. The pain of losing both his prince and his beloved ward weighted heavily upon his heart, but he was bravely keeping it all concealed for the sake of others. Lancelot knew the kind of effort it had to be taking him not to crumple in despair right then and there. But he found it his utmost duty to be strong for Gwen, for him and the other knights, and for his king.

"Will it start soon?" Gaius asked in a low, exhausted voice.

"It's about to. They've brought…" Lancelot's words stopped in his throat at the sight of Gwen. She was sat on the edge of her bed, staring blankly at the wall in front of her, hands twitching uncontrollably in her lap. Her head suddenly snapped up at him and she let out a gasp.

"They can't!" she screamed. "They can't burn him! I won't let them! Gaius!"

Her gaze trailed to Gaius and the old physician could do nothing but to shake his head, sorrowful.

"Gaius, you cannot let them burn him, please!" Tears welled down her cheeks. "Lancelot?" She rose from the bed only to collapse on the floor, desperately hugging the knight's knees. "Lancelot, he is your friend, please! Please!"

"Gwen…"Gaius began in a soft voice "Arthur is dead. I saw when they brought the coffin two days ago" He would have rather spared her of the details, but she had to be made to see reason, however mind shattering it may have been for her to hear and for him to remember. "There's nothing left but his bones. Just a handful of bones, Gwen"

Lancelot had gently lifted Gwen up on her feet and held her tightly in his arms as she now wept bitterly, in silence, the feeling of ultimate defeat upon her. He fought hard to fence out the image and the shudder brought by Gaius's words, but it was all pouring into his mind and his body mercilessly, like venom. They were all broken, all those who had been close to Arthur and Merlin, broken beyond mending.

"The ceremony must be carried on. His soul must be free" the Court physician added. "It's best if I prepare you a sleeping potion and you get some rest. There's no need for you to go through this" he suggested.

"No, Gaius" she barely whispered. "I have to go. I must be with him, or he'll never forgive me. I will never forgive myself"

With all the pain that was tearing him up inside, Leon had worried even more about Uther's condition than anything else. On the great occasion of her wedding day, Morgana had shown the exceptional clemency of allowing the imprisoned former king to attend his son's funeral, under close watch of her guards. Mercy she had cynically named allowing for a torn father to behold his son's funeral pyre. But the usurped king walked upright, not even a bit stumbling, his face a mask of stone. As he advanced, closely escorted by two of Morgana's guards, holding his chin firmly up in the desperate defiance of a man that had nothing to lose anymore, stripped of his very soul, his muted grief spoke all the more loudly.

The small procession eventually reached the square of the Lower Town, where the people had gathered to pay their last homage to the fallen prince of Camelot. In contrast to the joyous sounds coming from the castle and the Upper Town, down here the silence was overwhelming and almost unbearable. The lit candles held by the hundreds of hands cast pale flickers upon the grieving faces of those brought together by pain in the darkest of all nights that had ever fallen upon their kingdom. The simple wooden coffin containing the earthly remains of prince Arthur Pendragon lay on a small pyre built by his former knights. For under Morgana's rule they were knights no more, and in their silent mourning they had dwindled and had become no more than mere wraiths. They were the wraiths of the Once and Future King that was gone, never to return.

They moved forward holding torches ablaze and Gaius advanced to where Uther stood motionless, gently grabbing his arm. Leon came from the other side, full of concern for his lord. It also gave him a reason not to look at the pyre. Sir Leon was undoubtedly a man of great strength, forged in the heat of battle, but such endurance proved too much even for the likes of him.

A joint and mingled prayer, of the new and of the old religion, resounded in a multitude of voices as the flames engulfed the small pyre and people fell on their knees. King Uther alone remained standing, unmoved, staring with an empty gaze into the fire he'd used to end the lives of many guilty and of many innocent, and which was now consuming his only son, the sole purpose of his struggle and of his existence. Sorcery and treachery had stricken a deadly blow into everything he'd held dear and had triumphed. And now the pyre of his sorrow was their bonfire of victory.

It was nearly dawn when the flames eventually died out and people began to leave. Sir Leon and the other knights gathered around their king, where he still stood, seemingly carved in stone. Gaius was also by his side, and of course Queen Morgana's ever vigilant guards.

"Sire?" Gaius asked respectfully, but no answer ever came. The light had left the king's eyes when the last sparkle had burnt out on his son's pyre and his lips had been forever silenced by death's merciful touch. And thus, the wind that blew softly bore away the soul of the once mighty king Uther Pendragon, together with the ashes of Camelot.

Ok, so this was today's piece, hope you enjoyed! Reviews are much appreciated :)