Arthur vividly remembered attending his first ever trial.
Like most trials held in Camelot, it had not ended in acquittal. It had been a young man, a sorcerer, condemned for some spell or another, and it bothered Arthur now that he could not recall what the charges had been. It hadn't been the crime that mattered, really. It had just been the fact that a man possessing magic had dared to come to Camelot. "A precedent must be set, Arthur," his father had told him as they'd strode to court, the king's hand like a vice on Arthur's shoulder. "Sorcerers must know they are not welcome here within our walls. I have witnessed first-hand the devastation that magic can bring if left unchecked, and we mustn't let them think they can defy us. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Father," Arthur had answered, because that was what he was supposed to say in situations like this. He'd learnt that fast as a child. Nod, and say "yes, Father." There would be no speaking out of turn if he didn't want to get put in his place later, and especially as trials were not akin to feasts or knighting ceremonies. They were not meant to be enjoyed, and they did not leave Arthur with a sense of peace or joy when they concluded.
This trial would be no exception, and Arthur steeled himself as he reached the set of doors leading to the throne room. He was no longer ten years old, but the oak paneling of the twin doors still stretched high above him, nearly touching the ceiling. The decorative dragon sparkled in the light shining through the windows, and the guards posted there reacted at his arrival, bowing in reverence as they drew the doors open for him.
When the doors parted, the splendor of the throne room revealed itself to Arthur, leaving him to join the crowd of Camelot's court. He entered the hall feeling as if he were the one condemned—all eyes on him as he arrived to court late and as he spotted his father across the room. The king was standing near his throne, his red cape draped over his broad shoulders and his crown sitting prominently on his head. He was an impossible sight to miss, with the circlet glittering in the rays filtering through the stained glass. Arthur swallowed at the sight of it. One day soon, he too would wear a crown like that, and he could already feel himself collapsing under the weight of it. The thought made him want to retreat back to his chambers and never emerge, but he had to do this. Had to face this.
The king didn't notice Arthur's approach at first, but Morgana did, already sitting on her chair to Uther's left. She shot him a smile from her perch there, and it was a sad smile—a silent apology for putting him in this position, but Arthur didn't really have the emotional capacity to send her a smile back. Instead, he stalked the length of the hall to his own seat: a chair situated to the right of the throne. It was a chair that signified the king's heir, but Arthur did not sit upon it. Instead, he elected to stand in front of it, his arms crossed as he observed the lords and ladies of the court milling about the room.
The hall was alive with soft chatter, and even Uther was talking away with one of the guards, a rare smile on his often stoic face. There were smiles on nearly everyone's faces it seemed as the nobles settled in to their places, all acting as if they were gathered for some sort of celebration, and not a murder trial. Their audacity made Arthur's blood boil, and it took a few minutes for Uther to actually notice his son's arrival.
But when he did, his smile instantly faded.
"Arthur," Uther said disapprovingly, his tone harsh on his son's name, and for not the first time, it took all of Arthur's strength to not squirm under his father's critical gaze. "Glad to see you finally join us. I must say, I find it distressing that I heard your report from Morgana, and not from your own mouth following your return."
"I'm sorry, Father," Arthur apologised, and he was relieved to hear that his voice sounded normal. He laced his hands behind his back to look a tad more diplomatic, but also to keep them from visibly shaking. He'd rehearsed his speech, but it still came out stilted. "I was… indisposed. The ambush took its toll on me, as well as the loss of a good knight and dear friend."
His practiced excuse seemed to work. Uther's expression softened somewhat, and his eyes grew distant. "Yes," the king muttered softly, and the death of a good knight seemed to make him temporarily forget his disapproval of Arthur. "I was sorry to hear of Roldan's passing. He was a great warrior. A good man, and a loyal friend, but am I to believe what Morgana tells me? That Merlin is the one to blame?"
Arthur's lip quivered at that, but he nodded in confirmation. "Yes," he confirmed, and he didn't know why speaking the truth was so difficult. "He is."
Uther's expression darkened, and Arthur did not like what that looked entailed. "I am surprised to hear that he is a sorcerer," Uther said, and he grew closer to Arthur, studying his son carefully. His green gaze seemed to pierce right through Arthur and Arthur struggled to keep his face impassive. "And you never suspected Merlin of magic, despite all this time? If I remember correctly, he has been your manservant for many years now."
"I didn't suspect him, no," Arthur replied defensively, and he sensed an accusation hidden within his father's words. "It was a failure of mine that I didn't spy it sooner. He has managed to deceive us all these past few years, it seems. It's been a shock to me that he was capable of such lies."
"Yes, either that, or he has been enchanting you," Uther said with a slight hiss, and his eyes narrowed. Arthur cringed at the assumption, but he wasn't surprised that his father would conclude it. "And to think, it was I who granted him his position as your servant. How foolish I was then, and how lucky we are that Roldan bore the brunt of his attack. His heroic actions have spared your life."
He patted Arthur's shoulder at this, an attempt at affection, but Arthur barely stopped himself from recoiling. His father said it as if it were a good thing, Roldan's death. A blessing to them both, and Arthur squirmed at that line of thinking. He didn't like that the king was making out the whole thing to be a necessary sacrifice. In his mind, it was nothing of the sort, but like a coward, he merely nodded and said, "Yes, I am very lucky."
Uther sighed heavily then, and Arthur got the impression he was already looking forward to this trial being over. The king glanced at his throne for a moment and his next words only confirmed what Arthur feared. "Well then, how would you like me to do it, Arthur?"
Arthur blinked at the question. "Pardon?"
"Merlin's execution," Uther said simply, and he sounded surprised that Arthur needed to ask. He met Arthur's gaze and there was no sadness in the king's eyes, merely emptiness. "I know this must be difficult for you, Arthur, condemning a friend. It is one of the worst feelings in the world. Believe me, I know it well, and yet today may not be the last time that someone turns against you. When you are king, you must grow accustomed to taking necessary measures when betrayal rears its ugly head."
He said it more like an order than an observation, and as he did, Uther's gloved hands traveled to his gilded crown—lifting it off his head and studying it for imperfections. Arthur watched him do this with a critical look of his own, observing as his father found a speck of dust on the crown and flicked it off. Nothing short of perfection for the King of Camelot.
"I do understand that this is your first time experiencing a betrayal like this, my son," Uther continued, and he placed the crown back on his head. A symbol returned to its proper pedestal. "So tell me, what would be easiest for you? I'd like to be sensitive to your feelings in this matter. Hanging him may be less upsetting to witness, but the pyre or the axe are options if you'd prefer to extract revenge in Roldan's name."
He said it very matter-of-factly. Casually, and as if he were discussing what floral centrepieces to purchase for a feast and not execution methods. Arthur immediately balked at the question, scrambling to find the words to reply. The trial had not yet started. Merlin had not yet even been summoned, and yet here his father was asking what form of murder would help Arthur sleep better at night.
The thought triggered a revulsion inside Arthur that was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. He struggled not to let it show on his face, but he needed to answer his father. Against his better instincts, he opened his mouth, forcing himself to speak.
"A hanging is more merciful," he managed to say, barely able to form the words. "I would prefer that."
It was true that a noose was the least violent of his options, but Arthur did not feel merciful for choosing it. His father didn't seem bothered, however, simply nodding in acceptance of Arthur's decision.
"A merciful hanging for a traitor it is," Uther agreed, and despite saying the word 'merciful,' his voice was devoid of any such mercy. "I must say, though, Arthur, if you are to encounter treachery such as this again, I would advise you not to be so lenient. It is… understandable, this inclination towards clemency you have. It is your mother's soul living within you, I suspect, but something she never understood is that mercy can often be foolish. Employed incorrectly and leniency can be your downfall. Don't ever let mercy be your weakness. Do you understand me, Arthur?"
"Yes, Father," Arthur said on automatic, and just like that, their conversation was over. The king had abandoned his son for the glory of his throne, sitting gracefully upon it and letting his cloak drape across the armrests. He perched there with such confidence—his back straight, his face stoic. All the markings of a king who ruled with certainty, and all the things Arthur wasn't sure he was capable of as he stood beside him, restless and burdened with the knowledge that this trial was nothing more than a formality. The verdict was already decided, the method of execution sorted. Arthur's secret trial had been the only one that really mattered and Merlin had failed it.
"Bring him in already, will you?" Uther muttered to his guard with a sigh, and Arthur twitched at his flippancy. "I would like to get this over with as soon as possible. We have other more important matters to attend to today."
"Yes, sire," replied the knight, and he left his position at the throne to approach the guards at the hall entrance. Together, the knights heaved open the double doors and a hush fell over the crowd—a dark apprehension settling over them all like a shadow. It was an eerie silence, and almost as if all the nobles of the court had turned to stone, lying in wait for the commencement of the trial.
But the silence was soon broken by the distinct noise of clinking chains.
The sound skipped around the castle walls, reverberating in Arthur's ears, and it was all the announcement the court of Camelot needed of Merlin's arrival. It was the sound of a prisoner being escorted to his doom, and Arthur sucked in his breath, trying to prepare himself for what was to come.
But nothing could have prepared him for it.
It was a terrible sight to see, watching a former friend walk through those oak doors. Merlin's wrists were clamped tightly in handcuffs as he was practically dragged into the hall, flanked by two guards that dwarfed him in size. The accused sorcerer moved as if he were already condemned, his buckled boots unsteady on the throne room floor and his head hanging low, not looking at anyone. It was the march of a dead man, but as Merlin neared the throne and the king, he did look up just the tiniest bit, his eyes finding Arthur's.
Arthur struggled to not look away. He felt he owed Merlin at least that much, but it was difficult to look at him. It was distressing to witness how different his friend appeared in this moment. Only hours before, Merlin had stood before Arthur as an equal—separated by bars, yes, but standing his ground, arguing with Arthur and pleading his case with a righteous determination. But now…
Now Merlin looked pale. Weak. Scared. It was hard to imagine him as a murderous sorcerer with his hands restrained in black cuffs and his whole body curled in on itself, pulled along by the guards like a sack of potatoes. It was almost as if they were two different people, the man in the dungeon and the man at the trial. In many ways, the man the Druids called Emrys was merely a battle persona and this was the real Merlin, looking up at Arthur now with his blue eyes welling with fear and defeat. The contrast was not so different from how Arthur often acted himself, really. Bold and confident in the heat of battle only to be saddled with doubts and fears the moment the fighting ceased.
So perhaps we aren't that different after all, Arthur thought to himself, and he cringed at the implications of his own mind. It was all too little, too late. His father was already standing up from the throne and Merlin was already being shoved to his knees, forced to grovel at his king's feet on the cold, dark floor. Merlin's eyes shifted from Arthur's face to the scratched wood of the hall's floorboards, keeping his gaze downcast and not looking at anyone as the king towered over him like a shadow of death.
The throne room remained silent save for the slight clinking and clanking of Merlin's chains. It was a pensive silence, almost as if the hall itself was holding its breath in apprehension.
But then the king spoke and the trial had officially begun.
"Merlin," Uther boomed, and his powerful voice echoed off the walls. He pronounced the name with an air of contempt, and for some reason that made Arthur irrationally angry. "Or should I be calling you Emrys now? I have, after all, been informed that is your true name."
He phrased his words as a question, but Arthur figured his father hadn't really expected any answer. However, Merlin lifted his head up from his red scarf just a little, finally looking the king in the eye. "I prefer Merlin," he answered softly, and his small request felt like a dagger twisting its way into Arthur's heart. Merlin did not speak in the voice of a smug sorcerer. He sounded remorseful, resigned, and Arthur didn't like what that implied.
"Well then, Merlin," Uther sniffed, and this time when he spoke Merlin's name, he said it like an insult. "You stand here accused of sorcery, first and foremost. Am I correct in saying this?"
Merlin swallowed. "Yes," he answered hoarsely.
"And you admit to that?"
"Yes," Merlin replied, but this time, he raised his chin in the tiniest hint of defiance, his eyes sparkling with spite. "Although I do not apologise for it."
Arthur's heart skipped a beat at that, a slight murmur traveling through the crowd at Merlin's words, but Uther clicked his tongue, unsurprised. "Naturally you do not," he huffed, and he threw a dismissive wave of his hand, quieting his court. "Is there ever remorse to be had in the voice of a sorcerer? And to think I allowed you into my royal household. To think I trusted you as a member of this castle court. I suppose this is a lesson to us that no one can ever be truly trusted, and that no man ever truly knows who is their enemy. Am I right, Arthur?"
He turned to Arthur at this, and Arthur fidgeted. "Yes, Father," he mumbled, but he could not meet Merlin's eyes.
"You also stand accused of murdering a Camelot knight, Merlin," Uther continued smoothly, and he moved forward now. His boots passed slowly around the accused like a wolf circling its prey, his royal cape drawing a blood-red circle around Merlin's kneeling form. "Am I correct in that?"
"Yes," Merlin croaked.
"And you admit to that, too?"
"I do," Merlin managed, but tears welled in his eyes at the mention. "But for that I do apologise. It was an accide—"
"Silence!" Uther roared, and both Arthur and Merlin flinched at that. The king's hand flew from him as he spoke, and for one terrible moment, Arthur thought he might strike Merlin. But the king merely continued on his tirade. "I will not entertain false banalities from your wicked mouth. I've heard enough of them from your kind over the years. You can claim morality all you'd like, but I know the truth of the matter. There are no redeeming qualities in magic. Only death and destruction, and you have proven that beyond a shadow of a doubt today."
"Proven?" Merlin echoed, his tone incredulous, and Arthur winced to hear him speak that way. He silently willed Merlin not to fight back—to not make this worse on himself, but Merlin charged on anyway, his posture taut and poised despite the chains weighing him down. "Proven what, exactly, Uther? That after all the death and destruction you have caused, somehow I am the only one guilty of it? That I am the only one to blame? There is blood on both sides of this story and you know it, Uther Pendragon. So let's not pretend."
There was a dark challenge in Merlin's words, and Arthur saw what was about to happen before it happened. Merlin's head was raised in defiance and this time when Uther moved, he attacked with lightning speed, the back of his black gloved hand whipping across Merlin's face with power behind the blow.
The cruel crack of the slap reverberated throughout the throne room. It was worse than the sound of the chains as it echoed around the walls, and it was followed by a cry of pain from Merlin as he reeled from the blow. Blood seeped at the corner of his mouth, and the sorcerer brought his chained hands to his face gingerly, cradling a now reddened left cheek.
Small gasps flew around the throne room at the strike, wafting through the court, although they were quickly stifled. No one wished to appear in contempt of the king, and Arthur found himself a foot out of line, having nearly jumped to Merlin's aid. He quickly stepped back in position, praying that no one had spotted him almost springing into action, but he glanced out at the court long enough to catch sight of Guinevere in the crowd. Her hand was covering her mouth to shield her horror, and Arthur felt the invisible dagger in his heart twist further.
It was not the first time the King of Camelot had struck someone in court. It would not be the last.
"Don't you dare speak to me in that way, you vermin!" Uther thundered at Merlin, and his armoured arm was still raised, threatening another blow. "How dare you pretend that you are the victim here, and in my court of all places. A knight is dead by your murderous hand. A good man, and with a family now left uncared for, so do not pretend you are anything but an assassin and a traitor. You are guilty of all you are accused of, and you deserve to die for it!"
"And so the answer to violence is more violence, is it?" Merlin wheezed, and Arthur sucked in his breath to hear him still arguing. There was contempt shining in the servant's eyes now, and Merlin let his chained hands fall back to his lap. Dark blood flowed from his swelling lip, but he continued to stare Uther down, unfettered. "An eye for an eye? A tooth for a tooth? Is that your grand plan in this, Uther? We will get nowhere with that mindset and you know it!"
Merlin practically yelled the words, righteous fury shining in his every feature, but there was a rage within the king that far surpassed anything Merlin could hope to conjure. Uther's every muscle was coiled at Merlin's audacity, and this time when Arthur's father primed his arm to strike, Arthur did more than just step a toe out of line.
His legs moved without thought or care. The world seemed to cascade into slow motion and Arthur's whole body reacted without him meaning to, his limbs jumping into action before he could comprehend his own movements. It was a blip in time, a second at most, but Arthur shot forth on instinct, catching his father's arm before it reached Merlin. His hand immediately tightened around his father's elbow, holding the king at bay, and the rage in Arthur's father's eyes quickly melted into surprise.
"Stop," Arthur whispered to him, and he had no idea what he was doing. For the first time in days, he'd moved on pure impulse, and it was not lost on him that this reaction was no different than Merlin's in the Druid cave. He'd thrown himself between a knight and a sorcerer, moving in a clear act of treason, but to his own shock he felt no regret for his actions. His grip was firm on his father's arm, shielding Merlin from another blow, and everyone present knew that the prince was the superior man in strength. Uther would not be able to break free from him unless Arthur allowed it.
The king's dark green eyes were a cauldron of shock and fury as he stared Arthur down, questions brimming in his face that Arthur didn't have the answers for. Beyond them, murmurs broke out amongst the court once more. "What are you doing, Arthur?" Uther hissed at him, and Arthur wished he had a decent reply, but he didn't. He had no words. Only actions, and this was the decision his body had made.
The standoff continued for a few seconds—Arthur with his hand tight on his father's arm and Uther with his expression growing more furious by the second, perhaps even considering striking his heir in lieu of Merlin. In many ways, Arthur would have liked to see how it may have played out, but thankfully, he was spared from facing his father's wrath by a new arrival to the throne room. The voice of Gaius echoed across the hall, and immediately the court descended into chaos.
"Uther!" Gaius roared, and the bang of the throne room doors being thrown wide open was enough to break Arthur and his father from their vice-like confrontation. They both whirled around in surprise only to witness the physician storming into the chambers with his brown robes swirling like a tempest, his expression twice as angry as when Arthur had seen him last. Arthur hadn't even realised that Gaius hadn't been present when the trial began, but Merlin stirred at his arrival.
"Gaius, don't!" Merlin exclaimed, rocketing to his feet, but the physician ignored him, cutting between his ward and the king just as Arthur had done. The energy in the room instantly shifted and in the confusion, Arthur managed to break away from the confrontation, retreating back to his spot. His breathing was heavy, his body shaking as if he'd just come from battle, but he was unsure what to do now as the king stared down Gaius instead.
"It was me who killed him, sire," Gaius announced to the court, and Arthur's heart sank as he realised just what the old man planned to do. "I am the one to blame for Roldan's death. I am the sorcerer who has killed him once he was brought to my chambers. Merlin has been entirely under my control, I confess it—"
"No!" Merlin cried, and this time he tried to launch himself in front of Gaius, but the guards immediately seized him, pinning him back. "No, that isn't true. It's not true! It was me, Uther. I killed him. It was entirely my fault. I am the sorcerer here, he isn't—"
"No," Gaius cut him off, and Arthur could see a dark defensiveness in Gaius' eyes as he ground out the single word. It was the sureness of a father protecting his child. A parent's will that would not be easily denied. "No, it was me, sire, you must see that—"
"It was me!" Merlin howled, but this time as he screamed it there was a roar behind his words and Arthur recoiled, having learnt exactly what that deep roar meant. Merlin's hands twitched despite the iron cuffs and his eyes burned a bright gold for all the court to see, a shock wave emanating from him. Beneath Arthur's feet, the ground began to shake, cracks appearing in the wooden beams and dust raining from the ceiling in great clumps.
Fear rippled amongst the court, startled yelps breaking out among the people. The guards all drew their swords and within seconds, Merlin had a blade to his throat. The shaking immediately stopped and Merlin's eyes shifted back to blue.
"It was me," Merlin said again, quieter now, and more carefully this time to avoid getting his throat slit. His eyes were still somewhat glowing in defiance. "As you can see, Uther, I'm the sorcerer here. It has always been me. I have been a spy in your castle for years now, and Gaius has been completely under my mind control. I am the man they called Emrys. I am the sorcerer that you have been told to fear, and you should fear me. You should dread the likes of me, Uther Pendragon, because I alone represent magic returning to this kingdom one day and there is nothing you can do to stop me!"
And with that, Merlin let his eyes flash a brilliant gold again and he grabbed the sword at his throat with his chained hands, ripping it away from his face. Arthur cried out at the motion, rushing forwards as he expected Merlin to be cut—but instead the sword melted in Merlin's grip, red-hot globs of metal dripping on the guard. The guard screamed in pain, jumping away from Merlin and leaving him free.
Horror overtook the crowd, the trial descending from chaos into a full-on battle. In a flash of steel, Uther unsheathed his sword and out of habit, Arthur did the same. The cold grip of his weapon felt right in his hands, cradled in his fists, but for once in his life, he didn't plan on using it.
"Restrain him!" Uther screamed at his knights, fury taut in his every feature as he watched a sorcerer defy him in his own throne room. But the Camelot guards all wavered despite the king's order, hesitant to advance. Every eye in the room was on the twisted, melted sword still sizzling on the wooden floor and the dangerous sorcerer standing over it, his eyes still conspicuously alight with sorcery.
Merlin smiled ever so slightly at their fear. It was an evil smile, and Arthur had never seen Merlin look quite so much like an enemy. "Scared are you, Uther?" Merlin asked, and his voice was suddenly threatening. He didn't sound like Merlin anymore, and his words were now mocking, his posture cocky. It was as if he was putting on an act—becoming what Uther feared him to be for the sake of the crowd.
But it was not for the sake of the crowd, was it?
No, for the sake of Gaius. It took Arthur a second to realise it, but the truth soon became clear to him. He could see it in Gaius' face as the man watched on helplessly from the sidelines—powerless now that there was no denying Merlin's magic any longer. In his attempt to protect Merlin, Gaius had forced his hand and now Emrys would play the part of the evil, plotting sorcerer. He would do it if meant Uther believing in Gaius' innocence and a clearing of the physician's good name.
"Restrain him!" Uther screeched again, and this time, the guards did move, pushing in on Merlin in a circular formation. Arthur kept his sword raised, but he didn't stray from his spot, his eyes glued to Merlin as he expected this to be the moment. The moment, where Merlin blasted everyone away in a powerful gust of magic and made his escape. Surely everyone in the court now knew he was capable of it and Arthur waited for Merlin's hands to move—waited for his manservant's eyes to burn once again and for him to leave everyone in the dust as he made his grand escape.
But, to Arthur's surprise, Merlin didn't do anything of the sort. There had been a supernatural wind kicking up all around them—a magical attack of Merlin's just waiting to happen—but as the knights began to surround him, the magical gusts died back down to still air. As Arthur watched on, horrified, Merlin let the glow of magic drain from his eyes, his chained hands falling limp. His shoulders slumped in defeat, and before Arthur's eyes, Merlin gave up entirely. He simply stood still, allowing the guards to seize him from behind and for a sword to be brought to his throat once more.
"No…" Arthur heard Gaius whisper, and the physician said what Arthur was thinking. What the hell was he playing at? Even Uther looked surprised at Merlin's actions, but he quickly regained his composure, his expression hardening.
"Take him away!" the king roared, and his motions were wild—even delirious as he gave the order with a mad swing of his sword. "I will not entertain this madness any further! I will not entertain the sin of sorcery within these sacred walls!"
His voice cracked as he spoke, and Arthur was surprised to see fear cross his father's face. The panic was only present for a moment before the king banished the emotion, and he made up for it by leveling his sword with Merlin's chest. "I would slay you here where you stand myself, sorcerer," the king seethed, and Arthur hardly recognised his father underneath all the unhinged ferocity. "But I want the public to see you die properly. I want you and your ilk to witness what becomes of anyone who dares enter my court as they watch the life drain from your wicked eyes!"
"Then do it," Merlin replied, and this time when he spoke, Arthur could hear the authentic Merlin returned to his voice. Not mocking nor threatening, but rather sad. Resigned. Even tired. "Do what you want with me, Uther, but know this—there are so many more people like me. So many more sorcerers who are just people looking for a home and a family. Camelot could be so much greater than it is if you'd let those sorcerers find their way here. I have served you for a long time, and I could have served you all the better with my magic if you'd just let me."
"Get him out!" Uther howled, and he hardly even entertained Merlin's heartfelt plea before he whirled back around to face Arthur. His expression was a storm of murderous rage and Arthur balked to have his father's eyes trained on him again. He'd half forgotten that he was a knight himself—a crowned prince and not just another spectator, watching on as the third act of the tragedy came to a close.
"Arthur, see to it that the gallows are raised this instant," Uther commanded, and he waved his sword again—this time in Arthur's direction. "I want this evil sorcerer dead and gone before sundown! Do you hear me?"
"Y-yes, Father," Arthur managed to say, and as he said it, he realised that this meant it was over. Ten minutes had hardly passed and Merlin's fate was now sealed in the worst way. There would be no sympathy in the court for him following such a destructive demonstration of magic, and the guards surrounding Merlin took action, hauling the sorcerer out of the throne room at sword point.
It all happened so fast. The guards dragged Merlin out in a vicious pack, prepared now for any counteract of sorcery, but Merlin's eyes found Arthur's one last time before the oak doors snapped shut. His expression was unreadable, perhaps a bit melancholy, but there was no explanation there—no justification as to why he hadn't battled his way out like Arthur had expected him to do. Like Arthur had wanted him to do. Everything within him told him to call out to Merlin—to yell at him and ask what the hell he was playing at, but he couldn't, not here, and the doors of the throne room swung shut for good. Merlin was gone, and this time there would be no more second chances.
None of it should've felt wrong to Arthur. None of it should've shocked him, and yet it did feel horribly wrong. The whole mess of a day made his skin crawl and made his blood curdle in a way he could not explain. He could still see the man from his first ever trial kneeling there at the base of the throne, begging for his life, and Arthur would not soon forget the image of his father striking Merlin. All that, and Merlin had allowed the guards to restrain him. He'd let himself be recaptured, and for what? What was he trying to prove? He'd had the perfect moment to make his escape and he hadn't even made an attempt. Why?
It didn't make sense to him. It didn't make sense at all, but Arthur didn't have any time to contemplate it before his father approached him properly, the fury he had directed at Merlin now directed towards his son as he bore down on Arthur like some sort of crazed animal.
"I don't know what sort of demon possessed you to get in my way like that, Arthur," the king hissed in Arthur's face, practically spitting on him, and Arthur struggled to keep his expression passive in the face of his father's frenzy. "But whatever sort of misplaced sympathy you have for that boy, I suggest you rid yourself of it. Now. For Camelot's sake. You know what you must do. So do it. I will not stand for this blatant defiance of my authority in my court. He dies tonight and then you will ride out and kill those Druids you have spared. This madness ends tonight, do you hear me?"
And with that order given, Uther stalked back to his throne, not even waiting for Arthur's response as he sat down upon it in a fervor—almost as if reminding himself that he owned it. That he was the king, and that he was in charge, not any sorcerer. The oft unshakeable façade of Uther Pendragon looked a bit shaken up by Merlin's magic, and he should be. He should be shaken, Arthur realised, because Merlin could have absolutely murdered him in that moment. Merlin had simply chosen not to, and Arthur wasn't sure why he hadn't. After all, if Arthur had been in Merlin's position… fighting for his life against a man who had hunted his kind for years…
He would absolutely have killed the king. It felt strange to admit that to himself, but Arthur knew it to be true. If he'd been in Merlin's shoes, he would not have surrendered, and that realisation shook Arthur to his very core.
It was time for him to leave the hall. Arthur could feel his body beginning to scream at him in panic again, the walls of the throne room starting to close in on him, swallowing him, and the eyes of the court were too much for him to bear. The prying eyes of Gaius, Morgana, Guinevere—all looking to him now, as it was his turn to take action. It was his turn to take charge and order the knights to raise the gallows for execution, as was his duty.
But Arthur did not give the order. Instead, he ignored the king's wishes and simply abandoned the room entirely, stalking out and making a determined break for his chambers once again. He heard his father calling his name behind him but he pretended not to hear. It wouldn't matter that he ignored the king's order. It wouldn't matter that he never said the words "raise the noose" or that he looked weak for fleeing the scene. The knights would begin the preparations anyway and everything was out of Arthur's hands. All he could do was retreat to his chambers to wallow in confusion and grief once more, slamming his door shut and locking himself inside.
The stale air of his room felt cold to him now and his red pillows were still stained with tears as he collapsed on them, burying his face in their comforting silk once again. Merlin was no doubt being shoved back into his cell right now, letting the iron bars swing shut on him despite having blasted them off their hinges just hours before. Of all the baffling things Merlin had done these past few days, this was truly the most confusing to Arthur. What in God's forsaken earth was Merlin playing at? What was he trying to prove? Why wouldn't he just leave?
Arthur couldn't fathom it, but it didn't matter anymore. None of it mattered anymore. The trial was over, the verdict reached. Merlin would die in a few hours' time, and all Arthur could do was lie there and wait, hoping against hope that no one would dare bother him.
But of course someone did, and Arthur's blood ran cold at the sound of a soft knock at his door. He wasn't sure how long he'd been lying there, just clutching his pillow in a stupor, but he sat up regardless. "Who is it?" he called, and he hoped against hope that this time it was actually Guinevere. If he was honest with himself, she may be the only person he could bear to talk to right now without lashing out, and for once, his prayers were actually answered.
"It's just me, Arthur," Gwen said, her soft voice filtering through the door, and Arthur already relaxed a bit at the sound of it. He sat up straighter, but didn't bother to wipe away his tears. There would be no point in hiding them from her. Guinevere would see right through him anyway. She always could read him like an open book.
"Come in," he called to her, and the serving girl entered his chambers tentatively, holding on to the door with unsteady fingers. She looked unsure of herself, as if she'd made a mistake by daring to come here, but Arthur smiled at the sight of her and that helped her soften up. She closed the door behind her and crossed the room to meet him, playing with her curls as if she didn't quite know what to do with her hands.
"Just thought you might need to talk," she said as she stopped just short of Arthur's bed, choosing to lean against the bedpost instead. She glanced out Arthur's window for a moment, but only to see that the knights were working on the gallows. She quickly looked away again, wincing. "And I don't suppose there's anything you can do to stop all that?"
"Stop it?" Arthur repeated listlessly, and he allowed himself to look out his window for the first time since returning to his room. Sure enough, the knights were beginning their construction down in the courtyard—a large wooden crossbeam of nails and rope that would strangle his friend before sundown. "And how do you propose I put a stop to it, Gwen. After all, I am the one that put it in motion."
There was a pause from Guinevere at that. "Yes, I suppose you are," she said quietly, and Arthur suddenly felt bad for putting her in such a bad position. It was easy to forget that she was Merlin's friend as well. This was just as painful for her as it was for him. "I did hear a little bit about that from Gaius."
Arthur stiffened at the mention of the physician. "You spoke to him?"
"Briefly," Gwen answered, and she was searching for something else to look at besides the window. She settled for Arthur's desk, zeroing in on his inkwell. "He's a bit of a mess, really. He was very set on taking the sentence for Merlin. I don't think he can bear to watch the execution."
Arthur bit at his lip at that, and his mind flashed unwillingly back to the distress on Gaius' face back at the trial. The complete and utter brokenness of a father shining in his eyes when his last-ditch attempt to save Merlin had failed.
"Yes, it would be best if he didn't attend," Arthur murmured, and mostly because he wasn't sure what else to say. He rubbed at his temples, still trying to rid himself of a headache that wouldn't fade. "Merlin has always been like a son to him. If anything, I should have arrested him, too. But I couldn't quite bring myself to do it."
It was a weird thing to admit aloud. He'd chosen not to arrest Gaius, and he didn't regret that decision, but it still felt like treason to say it.
Beside him, Gwen didn't look surprised by that. If anything, she appeared a bit frustrated. "And what would you have arrested Gaius for?" she asked, her tone bordering on defensive as she moved from the bedpost to plop down at the edge of the bed. It was a bolder move than she had attempted recently, but she didn't move any closer, simply resting her hands in the folds of her skirt. "Would you really have arrested Gaius for sheltering Merlin?"
Arthur grimaced, fiddling with the fringe on his pillow idly as he clutched the silk to his chest, contemplating. "I should have done that, yes," he answered, although he could hear his own lack of confidence in the answer. "He was complicit in all this, wasn't he? Hiding Merlin's sorcery from me. From us all. He was furious when I suggested Merlin may have coerced him into it somehow. Claims he wasn't."
Gwen frowned at that, and Arthur could see it out of the corner of his eye. "You don't really think Merlin enchanted him, though, do you? Despite what he said back there."
It was a pointed question and Arthur paused to think on it, rewinding back to Merlin's display in the throne room. How he had taken on the role of the evil sorcerer as if it were a performance, protecting Gaius.
"No, I don't believe Gaius was enchanted," Arthur admitted quietly, and he sighed heavily, lying back on his bedspread. "I believe Gaius was acting on his own free will, stupid as it was. I think Merlin was just trying to protect him. And so was I."
"Well, that's not surprising," Gwen said, and Arthur jolted at the slight mirth in her tone. "You and Merlin are not really as different as you may think. As much as you squabble, and as much as this is all a shock. You and him often have the same instincts. You are both cut from the same cloth, as they say."
Arthur bristled a little at that. "What are you implying?" he said, and he sat back up, peering at Gwen. "Are you suggesting that I'm not that different from a sorcerer that murdered one of my best knights? Because I don't think that's a very fair comparison."
He'd meant to say it with more accusation, but it was hard to truly get angry at Guinevere. She just looked at him with her sad, soft brown eyes, and Arthur knew that it was something he thought himself. That he and Merlin were not so different.
"You know that's not what I meant, Arthur," Gwen said, and her voice was even, calm. She still came off as reassuring, even as she called him out with a barbed tongue. How she managed to do that, Arthur would never know, but Gwen was fidgeting a bit. Almost as if she were weighing whether or not to speak her next words, but she spoke them anyway. "If anything, you really should arrest me, too, you know."
She said it so nonchalantly. As if she was admitting to something of far less importance than treason, and Arthur's eyes widened at her words. "What do you mean?" he stammered, and his heart rate rocketed in his ears, his thoughts racing to figure out what she could possibly be referring to. "You didn't… did you know about this, Gwen? About Merlin's sorcery?"
Gwen brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, avoiding his eyes, but she did nod—a small confirmation that sent a jolt through Arthur's system. "I had my suspicions," she admitted, and Arthur could not contain his shock. "I didn't know anything for sure. There were just a few things that didn't add up. I decided not to pursue it. I trusted Gaius, and I didn't think it was as serious as all this. I thought… I don't know, that maybe Gaius and Merlin were experimenting with healing potions. I didn't think it was anything large or nefarious, or that Merlin was…well." She cut off for a moment, as if searching for the right word. "Powerful," she said finally.
Arthur simply gaped at her, unsure of how to respond and Gwen exhaled, looking back out the window. She frowned as she studied the knights working on the gallows. "I do suppose not reporting my suspicions would be a crime in the king's eyes, though, wouldn't it?" she mused, and she glanced back at Arthur worriedly.
Arthur winced, beginning to think about his father and how he would respond. It certainly wouldn't be pretty. "It would be a crime, yes," he confirmed, and he squirmed, unsure what to do with this new information. Any suspicion of sorcery was meant to be reported to the king immediately, and to avoid doing so was treason. Gwen knew this, and yet she'd kept her suspicions to herself. Why?
But Arthur already knew that answer. To protect Merlin. Just like Gaius had attempted to do, and just like Arthur himself had done. He had waited days to report Merlin's sorcery, and technically that was treason, too. He was merely protected from it, unlike Guinevere.
"You wouldn't arrest me, though, would you?" Gwen asked, and a bit of fear leaked into her voice, causing the invisible dagger in Arthur's chest to twist ever deeper. If there was one thing Arthur didn't want, it was for Gwen to fear him.
"Of course not," Arthur answered in a rush, and he fought the urge to move over to her and envelope her in his arms. To assure her everything would be alright. "I would never do anything to harm you, Guinevere. You know that."
"I do," Gwen said, and Arthur was relieved to hear her trust in him. "You have a good heart, Arthur, and a protective instinct. I saw what you did there. You moved between your father and Merlin. You protected him."
Arthur grimaced at that. "I shouldn't have."
"Then why did you?"
"I don't know." Arthur swallowed hoarsely, and he thought back to that moment. How he'd moved without thinking, grabbing his father's arm. Defying the king and protecting Merlin, a proven sorcerer and a murderer. It sounded stupid in his head, but it made sense in his heart. A useless display in the long run. An empty gesture. Merlin would still hang. "I don't—he shouldn't have even come to Camelot, Gwen. Sorcerers are not welcome here. He knew this, and yet he came here anyway, forcing me to consider him my enemy. He made his choice and he forced my hand."
"But did he, Arthur?" Gwen argued, and Arthur really hadn't expected her to fight him in this way. He looked to her only to see her brown eyes on him, intense and sure of herself in a way that surprised him. "I can't say I've ever seen Merlin successfully force you to do anything you didn't want to do. He would not come to Camelot without reason. He would not risk his life over nothing, and that is speaking as someone who has faced execution just as he has."
Arthur clenched involuntarily at her mention of execution, thinking about what Merlin said—about how Gwen was never safe from mistakes in Camelot. He wasn't wrong. Gwen had faced her own unfair trial at the king's feet, and all because Arthur had been unable to hide his feelings for her. She'd almost died. And for what? So that Arthur would marry someone more politically useful instead?
"You're right," he muttered, and he let the tension in his body uncoil, his shoulders drooping. He rubbed at his temples again, feeling like his head was going to explode. "I-I apologise, Guinevere, I should not be so insensitive to what you have been through. We were lucky that I was able to prove your innocence, but Merlin will not receive that same stroke of luck. He is a sorcerer, and he has now shown the court as much. What I don't understand is why he hasn't tried to escape. You saw what he did to that sword in the throne room, and then in the dungeons I saw him blast the bars off and put them back together like they were nothing. He's powerful, Gwen. We all know that now. So why hasn't he tried to escape?"
Gwen blinked at the mention of the dungeon bars, surprise crossing her face. So she hadn't heard of that story. Perhaps Gaius hadn't told her of it. "He put the bars back? Why?"
"I don't know," Arthur muttered, and his mind whirled once more trying to make sense of it all. "That's what baffles me. Perhaps he didn't want to fight me."
"Or perhaps he was trying to tell you something."
"Tell me what?"
"That he isn't someone you need to fight."
Arthur cringed at that. It was truly amazing how much her words were beginning to sound like Merlin's. He had not expected it from her. "So you're on his side with this," he grumbled. "I see."
"I don't see it as taking sides, Arthur," Gwen countered, and she was right of course. This wasn't about taking sides. "Perhaps I simply have a different perspective from you, having been right where Merlin is now. Facing execution."
Her voice took on a hard edge at that, almost accusatory, and Arthur scowled at it. "But you're not a sorcerer, Gwen. It's very different. Completely different, actually."
"Is it?" Gwen asked, and Arthur had never seen her quite so defensive. "My sentence was for sorcery too, and all because I was not a part of the king's will for this kingdom. So not that different, really, in the long run. Am I correct?"
There was an edge to Gwen's tone now that Arthur was not familiar with. She sounded angry, even hurt, and Arthur suddenly wondered if Gwen's time in the dungeon had been more traumatic for her than she'd let on. He often had to remind himself that his father had executed her father. This would never not be a touchy subject for her.
"You haven't killed anyone, Gwen," Arthur reminded her. "You haven't murdered a knight."
"No, I haven't," Gwen agreed. "But perhaps that's why he's still down there, Arthur. Perhaps that is why Merlin has chosen not to escape. Perhaps he feels he deserves to hang."
The word "hang" came out like a sob from Gwen's mouth and Arthur flinched at it. "What are you on about?" he asked, and he leaned in to Gwen, struggling to understand what she was trying to tell him. "Are you saying that Merlin wants to die?"
"I'm saying that Merlin may see all this as atoning," Gwen explained, and there was an urgency in her voice now. Urgency, and also a deep sadness. "Or at least, that seems to be what Gaius thinks he's doing. He told me he begged Merlin to escape, Arthur. As you said, he seems more than capable of doing it, but… he won't. Gaius is worried he believes his sentence is warranted."
Arthur sucked in his breath at that, processing, and his mind buzzed with the implications of what Gwen was telling him. Did Merlin think he deserved this? Was that the reason why he hadn't attempted an escape? Had Arthur's argument with him down in the dungeons convinced him that he deserved to swing for Roldan's death?
Arthur's stomach curdled at the thought, and he suddenly felt like he was going to hurl. He bent over a little, clutching his chest, and Gwen scooted closer to him, her eyes alight with concern. "You don't wish to see Merlin executed, do you?" she asked, and it was a question he knew she'd been waiting for the right moment to ask. "Because I know you, Arthur, and I can see in your eyes that you don't. You don't believe he deserves this."
"I… it doesn't matter what I believe," Arthur managed to choke out, avoiding her question, but the sad thing was that he knew it was true. His father was the king and not him. This was all out of his hands now, but Gwen seemed to disagree.
"It does matter," Gwen insisted, and she moved even closer to him, putting her hands on his shoulders to steady him. "What you believe does matter, Arthur. Don't you see that? You are the future king of Camelot, and you need to decide how you want to rule, even now. You might not be king yet, but your subjects still look to you. Merlin still looks to you, and don't tell me you want to rule without him by your side because I'd just call you a liar."
Arthur exhaled slowly through his nose at that, closing his eyes. She was right, of course. As always, Guinevere read him like the open book he was. He did not want Merlin to die. If Arthur was honest with himself, he could not imagine a Camelot without Merlin and his stupid face. But it was far too late for that.
"It's beyond me now, Guinevere," Arthur whispered, and he could hear his own brokenness in his voice as he spoke. "I was the one who arrested him. When Roldan died, I made a decision, and when I did that, this whole situation left my hands. It's up to my father now, and it—he—"
He couldn't form the words, and Gwen leaned in closer. "What?" she pried. "What about your father?"
"My father had his mind made up about this trial before it began, Gwen!" Arthur snapped, and he hadn't realised how much it bothered him until he said it out loud. How the trials of Camelot were nothing more than ceremony. How Merlin's verdict had been set in stone long before he'd even had a chance to present his case. "Don't you see that? Merlin is already dead. He was dead the moment he stepped foot in Camelot."
"But he's not dead," Gwen insisted, and she had a hope shining within her eyes that Arthur did not share. "He's still breathing, Arthur, just as I was when I was down there in that dungeon not months ago. You saved me then. You can save him now. You are not your father, and just because you are his son does not mean you have to be completely like him. You can take some and leave some. Take the good. Leave the bad. We're all a mix of good and bad in the end. Not everything has to be black and white, and you can love someone and still recognise their faults. You know that, don't you?"
Her voice cracked at this, her plea for Merlin's clemency delivered. It was a good speech, well-reasoned, and Arthur just looked at her with a resigned sort of appreciation. "You're very wise, Guinevere," he whispered. "Has anyone ever told you that?"
"I'm not wise," Gwen said, down-playing the compliment as Arthur knew she would. She closed her eyes, sitting back and putting space between them again. "I'm just speaking aloud something you already know, I think. Deep down you believe the same. If you didn't, you wouldn't have put yourself between your father and Merlin like that. If you truly believed this was out of your hands, you would not have acted."
Arthur hesitated at that, wondering if she was right. The image of his father striking Merlin played on repeat in his mind, having never really left him. Back at court, he'd moved without thinking to prevent a second strike, and it was in those involuntary moments that a person's true nature was revealed. Arthur knew this. That was why he had chosen to test Merlin in that way back in the Druid cave. And now here he was, proving his own theory.
Deep down, Arthur did not want Merlin to die. He wanted for him to live, but the problem was Arthur wasn't sure if he held the power to make that call anymore.
"If I forgive him…" Arthur said, speaking tentatively, and he saw something light up in Gwen at his words. "If I somehow found a way to grant Merlin reprieve, would that not be betraying Roldan's widow and son? Letting his murderer walk free, whether it was a mistake or not?"
"Well, isn't that for Hannah and James to decide?" Gwen asked, answering his question with another question, and it was not something that Arthur had considered. "They are his family, aren't they? Not you. It is between them and Merlin if he receives forgiveness for his mistake. And haven't you been in the same position Merlin is now? After you killed Magnus, Odin's son? If I remember right, you didn't want to kill him, but he put you in a bad position and it's something you regret."
Arthur jolted violently at the mention of Magnus. A terrible memory returned to him at the name—a young boy, strong and confident as he challenged Arthur to a duel. A duel that the boy could not win, and a duel that Arthur could not refuse. How sickening the sound of his own sword had been to his ears as it sliced into the young boy's chest, striking him down. How terrible the cries of the boy's father, as the king cradled his only heir's dead body, swearing revenge on Arthur for what he'd done. Arthur had not wished to kill him, but killing him had been a mistake, and one he regretted deeply to this day.
Beside him, Gwen witnessed his distress with regret of her own, and she touched Arthur's hand gently. "I'm sorry," she apologised, and Arthur could hear the sincerity there. "I shouldn't have brought it up. I'm merely saying we all deserve a little forgiveness now and then. A chance to do better. Otherwise, we are just continuing a violent cycle of… of legacies based on murder. Let Merlin handle approaching Hannah and James for forgiveness. That's his responsibility to take on. Not yours."
"But it is my responsibility, Guinevere," Arthur whispered, and the haunting, lifeless face of Magnus floated by in his mind's eye, followed swiftly by the face of Roldan. "It is my responsibility because I… because I ordered Roldan to spy on Merlin."
It felt terrible to admit it, and next to him, Gwen's eyes widened. "You what?"
"I… I was testing him," Arthur gushed, and the explanation flowed from his lips like a confession. "I knew my father wouldn't ever give Merlin a fair trial, so I devised one of my own. Since Merlin would never dare perform magic in front of me, I sent Roldan to spy on him for me, but I suppose... Merlin thought Roldan was an enemy knight, and that's why he attacked him. Roldan wasn't wearing his Camelot cape because I took it from him and I… perhaps I…"
The words jumbled in Arthur's mouth, the deceased faces of Magnus and Roldan both turned to look at him. Blaming him. Crying out soundlessly, their mouths forming the words your fault, your fault. And was it?
"Am I at fault, too?" Arthur whispered out loud, and it felt both wrong and right to say it aloud. "Is all this my mistake, just as much as it is Merlin's?"
He looked to Gwen at this, praying that she would acquit him. Pleading with her to tell him that it wasn't his fault, and that the blood of Roldan was not on his hands like it had been with Magnus.
But Gwen's eyes were stony. "Perhaps it is on you a little," she said, and Arthur shuddered at her answer.
It was a terrible thing to hear her confirm it. To hear her agree with what Merlin had been screaming at him earlier in the dungeons. When Gwen had first come in, Arthur had naively thought she would take his side of things. That she would defend Camelot's laws in this, and assure him that he was making the right decision based on what they'd heard of Emrys, just as Morgana had.
But instead, Arthur heard the echo of Merlin in Gwen's words. Perhaps Merlin had been right when he had brought Gwen into the conversation earlier—that she understood where Merlin was coming from despite not being a sorcerer like him. Gwen, after all, did not hold the same level of privilege Arthur and Morgana possessed. She was much more like Merlin in this regard, but unlike Merlin, one thing Arthur knew about Guinevere was that she'd be honest with him.
"I've made a horrible mistake, haven't I, Guinevere?" Arthur whimpered, and he clawed at his own face in derangement. He suddenly felt like a madman, clutching at his tear-stained cheeks and willing his memories to leave him. He'd never felt so unfit to be king. "Or do I only feel like I've made the wrong decision? I've made the right decision in the eyes of the law, after all. I've made the right decision in the eyes of my father, and even Morgana. But at the same time, I can feel you and Gaius and Merlin all steering me in the opposite direction. Like you are all telling me I've crossed a line that I can't come back from. I don't know what to think. I feel like I'm being pulled apart at the seams."
"And what's so wrong with that, Arthur?" Gwen asked, and she took his hands in hers, preventing him from hurting himself. "You're speaking to a seamstress, after all. When you pull something apart at the seams, all that means is that you're turning it into something new. Maybe it's time for you to turn into someone new, Arthur, but only you can make that decision for yourself. None of the rest of us hold that power. We can only speak our minds while we wait for you to decide what you believe. You can't let your father decide your every move for you. It's time you started thinking for yourself, and I know you already are. You just need to decide."
Decide, decide, decide… The word seemed to echo through Arthur's mind like a chant, and once again, he could hear Merlin's words mirrored in Guinevere's. "I can't decide that for you." That is what Merlin had told Arthur back during Arthur's first test, and Merlin had passed it with those very words. Somewhere deep within Arthur, he knew what his friends were telling him was nothing short of the truth. He needed to decide.
Suddenly, Gwen shifted forwards, erasing the space left between her and Arthur and cupping Arthur's head in her hands, looking deep into his eyes with an urgency that startled him. "What is it you want, Arthur?" she whispered, and she shook his head almost as if she were trying to shake some sense into him. "What is your heart telling you?"
"It's telling me that I don't want Merlin to die," Arthur sobbed on instinct, and without even thinking through his response. Just like his limbs had reacted without thought back in the throne room, his words started to take on a life of their own, tumbling out of him from the deepest depths of his heart. "That he's my manservant and my best friend and that you're right, I can't… I can't imagine ruling without him."
Gwen smiled lightly, and her warmth was a comfort to him just like it always was. "Then I think our hearts agree," Gwen said quietly, touching her forehead to his just briefly, and then she let go of him. She pushed away from the bed and stood, dusting off her skirt like her job was done. "Now, if you've decided, we need to go. We'll need to act quickly if you're going to save—"
She didn't get a chance to finish her sentence. The piercing sound of the castle bells enveloped Arthur's chambers, the chimes peeling throughout the corridors and bouncing off the stone walls. Arthur had been dreading their ring, and both he and Gwen recoiled at what they represented. They could only be announcing one thing. The gallows were ready. Sunset was now upon them.
Merlin's execution was set to begin.
Arthur's breath grew shallow in his throat, his eyes widening. "You see?" he breathed, and his voice sounded so weak even to his own ears. "I told you Gwen. It's too late. It's too far out of my hands now."
"No, it isn't!" Gwen snapped, and she leveled Arthur with a glare that he hadn't thought her capable of. "You listen to me, Arthur Pendragon. Are you giving up? Because the Arthur I know doesn't know the meaning of surrender. Is there a way you can give Merlin some sort of a signal? Is there some way you can tell him somehow to… I don't know. To magic himself out?"
"I—how can I tell him to escape?" Arthur spluttered, and he struggled to think of any way he could talk to Merlin. Any possible way he could order Merlin to get himself out without the king knowing. "I'm supposed to be up on the balcony alongside my father! And if Gaius told him to get out and he won't, why would he listen to m—"
"He'll listen to you, Arthur," Gwen said, and her brown eyes shone like steel. She sounded so sure of that fact. Like one word from Arthur was all it would take. "He will listen to you. I know he will."
A sharp knock sounded at the door. Leon. The poor, sorry sod, back at Arthur's doorstep to remind him of his duty once again. Arthur didn't even bother telling him to enter, instead moving from his bed in a flurry and ripping open his chamber doors to face Leon—much to the knight's surprise.
"I'm needed for an execution, am I?" Arthur asked him, and an anger overtook him that surprised even himself.
"I—yes," Leon stumbled, and he glanced through the threshold, catching sight of Gwen there. He quickly looked away out of respect, wisely choosing not to comment. "The king was unsure if you planned on attending, considering you're… er, early exit from the throne room following the trial."
"I will be there," Arthur informed him, and he was unable to hide a growing fury at his father. A rising rage at just what his father had created. Condemning Gwen. Condemning Merlin. Forcing these verdicts upon Arthur. He hadn't meant to take it out on Leon—he was just the messenger, after all—but Arthur could see Leon piecing together where Arthur's allegiances now lay. "I just need a moment."
"Of course," Leon said, and he turned to go only to hesitate. "But I should warn you, Arthur," he added, and his expression was one of caution. "He is not pleased with you, the king."
"Is he ever?" Arthur muttered, and he turned away, shutting the door once more. He pressed his back to it, closing his eyes and rubbing at his face, struggling to think straight.
Hands curled around his wrists, pulling his fingers from his face. Brown eyes stared into his. and Gwen had to stand on her tiptoes to reach his height.
"Don't give up on this, Arthur," she whispered, and her voice was urgent in Arthur's ears. "Look for a way. Find a way, because if you don't get through to him, I fear this is a regret you will not come back from. You may have rescued me, but now it's Merlin's turn. He deserves that much from you."
"I know," Arthur whispered back, and then he was moving. Leaving Gwen behind him as he stalked out of his chambers, out of the castle, and out into the frigid air of the courtyard. Sunset was beginning to befall the kingdom; the sky and the clouds tinged a bloody red above Arthur's head. Crows called out in the distance and Arthur marched to the castle balcony like a man possessed, his mind awhirl with thoughts. He struggled to formulate a plan, but as he did, his brain was once again grasped by a memory. A memory he could perhaps use. Can you give him a signal? Gwen had asked him.
Perhaps he could.
The memory was from a few years back, and Merlin had gotten himself injured once again. He'd tumbled down a shallow ravine after Arthur had very clearly signaled him to go the other way, and the details of that morning rushed back to him as vividly as if it were yesterday.
'You idiot!" Arthur yelled down at Merlin from the grassy ridge above the ravine. "I did try to warn you. Did you not see my signal?"
"Signal?" Merlin cried, and he spat out a slew of leaves from his mouth. He ungracefully pushed himself to his feet, trying to scramble back up the side of the ravine, but he couldn't quite manage it—much to Arthur's amusement. "I didn't see any signal! You were just waving your fingers!"
"They're particular motions," Arthur explained, exasperated, and he offered Merlin a hand, managing to hoist the sorry excuse for a servant back up onto solid ground. "There are different ones for different scenarios. My knights seem to understand them."
"Well, I'm not one of your knights, am I?" Merlin huffed, and he tended to a slight cut he had on his shoulder. "How am I supposed to know all your strange hand motions?"
"Well, what motions would you want, then?" Arthur asked, rolling his eyes. "Because apparently, I need some sort of secret motion to tell you 'Oi, mate, maybe don't trip and fall over there.'"
Merlin responded with an eyeroll of his own before thinking it over. "What about this?" he asked after a moment, and he took his pointer finger and brushed the tip of his nose two times.
Arthur raised an eyebrow at that. "That's the signal you want to go with? Really?"
"Well, it's not any weirder than one of yours," Merlin complained, badly imitating Arthur sending war signals. He looked deranged.
"Alright, alright," Arthur said, holding back a laugh. "We can do that signal. What will it mean?" He executed it in practice—a single finger brushing the tip of his nose twice.
Merlin shrugged. "I don't know. 'Get out of here'? 'Run for your life'? That does seem to be our most common one."
Arthur crossed his arms. "You mean, I usually yell, 'Merlin, get out of here,' or "Merlin, run!' and then you promptly ignore me?"
Merlin smiled a little. "Well, I can't listen to you all the time," he said cheekily. "That would get boring!"
And with that, they had continued on their journey—bickering and bantering as normal, and it was so normal it stung Arthur, even in memory. Gwen, as usual, knew him better than he knew himself. Not only could Arthur not imagine ruling Camelot without Merlin at his side, he realised now that he didn't want to. A Camelot without Merlin didn't feel like Camelot at all.
"Get out of here. Run for your life." That's what their signal meant. Two brushes of the nose with the tip of one's pointer finger, and as Arthur reached the balcony, looking down at the gallows in the courtyard below him, he prayed that Merlin would see it. See it, and perhaps this time, actually listen to it.
But at the end of the day, it was going to be up to Merlin and his magic to determine whether he lived or died.
