Hey y'all :):):)
So this is the first time I've written a Merlin fic :O. I've loved the show since it first came out but I wasn't sure where to go with an actual story. Unfortunately, this is a tragedy which has been explored by countless other fantastic writers in which Merlin's secret is discovered and Uther sentences him to death. As such, it isn't particularly original (probably just over the top symbolic), but I think you may still enjoy it :).
Summary:- The magic is no longer kept secret. With the pyre about to be lit, Merlin is resigned to his fate. He knows that, after everything, this is his destiny. If only he could make him understand that...
This fic is pure bromance, not slash - I'm an absolute bromantic at heart :P.
Oh and I know Gwen's name changes from 'Gwen' to 'Guinevere' throughout the story - I hope you kind of understand why as you read it :).
"We killed a lot of innocent civilians.
To us every civilian in Baghdad was a terrorist.
They said 'they are now in civilian clothes' that makes everybody free game,
But if they came in our perimeter, we lit 'em up.
And when we would pull the body out, and when we would search the car, we would find nothing.
This took place time and time again. No harm, no foul, that's OK, don't worry about it,
Because this is a new type of war, this is an eradication."
- Lamb Of God - Ashes Of The Wake
So, thanks to the beautiful duo - Colin Morgan and Bradley James - for all the muse to keep writing. I hope you all enjoy it! :D
The warlock was content. The past few years at Camelot had been full of challenges and threats that had loomed threateningly over him and his destiny. From trolls, to other sorcerers, to infuriated dragons, he had managed to overcome them all. Arthur Pendragon was still alive and still promised to be the future King; he could ask for no more.
But he knew he had been walking a fine line. Ever since arriving in the magnificent kingdom, he had been in danger of plummeting from the precarious thread he walked along - the only thing preventing him from being devoured the hungry flames below.
Alas, the tightrope act could not persist forever. He knew that one day his secret would rise up and claim him. But he was not afraid. He took solace in the fact that as opposed to slipping up, he had quite willingly revealed himself and his powers to the world. Saving Arthur's life was worth the price he would have to pay he reasoned. And so he had leapt, rather spectacularly, from the thread and into the ravenous flames that awaited him below.
A small smile rose onto the boy's lips at the memory of the Prince's face – stunned, apprehensive and, most amazingly of all, grateful. He hadn't had to explain his actions, allowing them to speak for themselves, but Arthur had still been a loyal friend to him. Upon his immediate arrest, Arthur had defended him and tried, in vain, to plead his case to the tyrannical Uther Pendragon.
Merlin scoffed to himself. It was a futile effort, but touching all the same.
Sapphire eyes lowered to his feet and he stared at the pyre surrounding him with a curious expression. It was a peculiar thing to stare at the place where you would die, all too aware that you are cursed with the knowledge what would soon pass.
He sighed, head thumping back against the vertical length of wood that pinned him there. His wrists ached slightly from their uncomfortable position tied behind his back. He knew that with a single thought, he could break the bonds that held him there, but something stronger than rope restrained him. Blinking slowly, the warlock watched the crowd around him, resigned to his fate.
He saw some villagers shaking their heads in disbelief, fear in their expressions as they stared up at him. Momentarily, he flinched at the thought of them being scared of him until he realised: they weren't afraid of him, they were afraid for him. The grief surrounded him as clear as day, suffocating all around him with sobs. It was as though he was already dead.
Pausing, Merlin searched the crowd for his friends, frowning as he was unable to locate any of them. He wouldn't blame them if they didn't appear – who would honestly want to stand and watch as someone they had previously cared for was burned alive?
Choosing to look away from the people, finding himself to be weighed down by their emotions, he gazed to the sky. Immediately, the tightness that had built in his chest was alleviated as he was enveloped in endless blue. He smiled weakly, eyes twinkling when the sun strained forth and tenderly soothed him with her golden touch.
The sound of a fanfare, symbolic of his approaching demise, made him tense. However, he kept his gaze skyward, not allowing his fear of death to overwhelm the contentedness he had come to recognise since his arrest. He had done much and fulfilled a great deal of his destiny. There was little more he could hope for.
"People of Camelot, I, Uther Pendragon, have decreed that sorcery be banned on pain of death," began the booming voice that cried authority. "And yet, there are those who still choose to defy me. I will not rest until this great kingdom is purged of magic and free from its evil grasp."
Merlin narrowed his eyes at the words, but otherwise remained stoic. Despite the hypocritical reasons for Uther's actions, Merlin found himself sympathising, even now, for the King's plight. The tragic death of his wife due to magical circumstances had poisoned Uther's once just heart, until hatred was all that remained. In the warlock's eyes, Uther was not to be hated, but pitied.
"Merlin."
As the dominating voice called his name, Merlin lowered his eyes regretfully from the sky. He blinked lethargically before his eyes found the ruler standing proudly on the balcony, surveying all below.
Uther met his gaze, both unrelenting and powerful in their own ways, before adding, "You have been accused of practising sorcery. You have broken the law of Camelot and as such, there is only one sentence that I can pass."
Saying nothing, Merlin bowed his head in acceptance. He knew that Uther's announcement was merely for show as he had learnt long ago how his death would be brought about: "To purge your body of magic, you will be burned at the stake until dead." Those words could not be easily forgotten.
"Merlin?" The much softer and closer voice grabbed Merlin's attention and he glanced downwards, lips curling at the corners. Before the pyre, Gaius and Gwen stood side-by-side, the latter clinging tightly to the old physician's arm while tears flowed heavily from her eyes. Gaius', although not yet crying, eyes were swimming with unshed tears, his lower lip trembling violently.
Noticing their distress, Merlin shook his head softly. "You don't have to be here. You can go if you want and I wouldn't blame you." He met and held Gaius' gaze, conveying his love and gratitude for all that the man had done for him in one look.
"No, Merlin," Gwen whispered brokenly, causing the warlock to drag his stare over to her. She sniffed loudly, an endless torrent of tears showing no sign of ceasing any time soon. "You're our friend. We can't just a-abandon you."
The young man smiled gently, raven dark hair flittering around his ears as a light breeze swept past him. He sighed as the wind soothed his spirit, ignoring the fact that it would no doubt increase the speed of the flames. He held his friend's tear-filled stares for a moment longer before lowering his gaze fully to his feet.
"I'm sorry Gaius," he whispered, barely audible enough for the old physician to hear.
"For what, my boy?"
Merlin shook his head, wiggling his toes lightly in his boots. He knew they would be the first to go, disintegrating into nothing more than ashes in minutes. He wondered how much it would hurt. The other day he had stubbed his toes in Gaius' chambers and spent ages whimpering, hopping up and down on one foot until the pain subsided. The physician had entered and upon Merlin's rather strained explanation, rolled his eyes and strolled off. The comment about 'being a baby' was not missed.
How much more will it hurt? He asked himself, thinking about times he had clumsily burned himself in the past. Ten times more? Twenty? It was terrifying to even consider.
"Merlin." The startled blue eyes shot up at the cracking tone in Gaius' voice. "What are you sorry for?"
The warlock swallowed, fighting back tears at his friend's distraught expressions. He knew that he could deal with what was about to come on his own, but he had never expected such pure devastation to envelope those that he would be leaving behind. "For what I'm about to put you through."
Sorrowfully, Gaius hiccupped as a sob struggled its way into his throat. A tear rolled hesitantly from his eye, carving a path of grief down his worn face, "Oh, Merlin."
"Prepare to light it."
Merlin drew back at the words, hitting his head back against the stake holding him upright. His eyes twinkled at the muffled sobs he heard coming from Gwen who, by this point, had no doubt buried her face in Gaius' shoulder. He wanted to tell her that it was okay, that everything was going to be fine, but he just couldn't.
He couldn't lie to her like that.
Eyelids closed over teary eyes and Merlin waited. He listened carefully, the steady footsteps of his approaching doom thumping in his ears. Thump. Thump. The pyre burner stepped closer, each step perfectly timed and calculated to match the warlock's heartbeat. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Was the fire already burning in his hand? Merlin wondered to himself, too scared to open his eyes just yet. He wondered if the bright orange flames were straining towards him, impatiently preparing to lick at his skin and devour his flesh. The mental image made bile rise in his throat and he forced it back down. He had to face this. He had to.
With tremendous difficulty, Merlin peeled back his lids, breathing hitching as his vision zeroed in on the flames. It was beautifully tragic he realised. The fire twisted endlessly around itself, a magnificent blend of the most vibrant colours to grace the world. He was mesmerised by its splendour, drawn to the flames as they were inevitably drawn to him.
The sounds of grief, the crowds of people surrounding him and his looming demise crushed down on him overwhelmingly. He wanted this last moment to capture the world again, one final time. And so, exhaling slowly, his sapphire eyes flashed a brilliant gold.
Everything slowed down. The pyre burner was still moving at a laboured rate, the ominous thump of his feet reduced to a bearable level. Merlin eyed the flames again, taking in each one as they whipped outwards before returning to embrace their nearest sibling. The cycle continued and the warlock watched the smooth blend of colour: from crimson, to light ochre and finally, sunshine yellow.
His drew his gaze away, passing it over the endless faces. He was surprised at how many people had come to truly care for him during his time at Camelot. Women were crying, hands pressed over their mouths in abject horror while men hovered beside them, offering comfort where they could. One maid was buried within another servant's chest, clearly in the throes of hysterical tears. His hand rested squarely in the small of her back, lips whispering into her long hair.
Merlin felt something warm nestle in his stomach. It felt a little like hope; not for himself, but for the world he was soon to be leaving behind.
Sweeping eyes moved again, unwittingly finding Gaius and Gwen ahead of him once more. Even with time moving slowly, Merlin could see the violence of Gwen's sobs as she hung desperately onto the physician. Her dark hair fell from its neatly pinned bun, curled strands attempting to shield her from the horror that was soon to pass. Gaius, however, did not shy away, his wizened face close to shattering in sorrow as he watched his apprentice: the son he'd never had.
Unable to stare at them any longer, Merlin continued his study of the crowd, his vision blurred terribly by his welling tears. Some of the people he recognised, others he did not, but their expressions of anguish united them all as one.
The courtyard appeared grim as it held the crying people and Merlin struggled to remember how it had once appeared to him. It was still a glorious sight, but even the stones had drawn shadows over them as they became weighed down by such heartache.
A dark bird swooped down into Merlin's sight, dragging it away from the courtyard. He watched in slow motion as it beat its wings effortlessly, dipping down towards the pyre before altering its course. It stayed purely within his vision, twisting skilfully in the open air. A tentative smile rose on the young warlock's face at the display, absorbing every delicate feature of the animal before him. Eventually, the falcon ascended once more over the courtyard walls and to a place that Merlin could not follow.
He stared at the eternal sky for a moment longer, the peaceful look still on his face. Then, the bright eyes blinked; lowering back to the people he was still amongst. A sensation, almost like a sixth sense, forced his gaze to swivel to the right where a strikingly familiar head of blonde hair greeted him.
Delicate eyebrows rose in surprise, the magic fading and returning the world to its normal pace. Merlin had assumed that he wouldn't be coming; after all, he could not be there out of pure compassion. Perhaps by now Arthur had agreed with his father's reasoning: Merlin had lied to him, had betrayed his trust knowingly for years. There was no cause for the prince to be there as his friend. However, the warlock knew that Arthur would never be sadistic enough to watch someone burn and actually find pleasure in it.
He just wasn't supposed to be there.
And yet, despite these reasons, the blonde prince was walking towards him with a steely expression on his face. The tearful crowd parted respectfully for him as he marched by, blue eyes sparking fiercely. Merlin met the glare with a solemn acceptance, conveying that he understood it was time for the fighting to end.
Arthur, it seemed, did not.
The royal crimson cape flittered behind him when he moved, somehow managing to billow outwards with pure authority. His chainmail shone brightly in the morning sun, stinging Merlin's eyes as he stared at his approaching master. Within seconds, Arthur was before the pyre, hand grasping the wrist of the man who held the lit torch. The pyre burner appeared to protest, but quickly thought better of it and bowed his head, retreating back a step.
"Arthur," the enraged voice of the King echoed portentously throughout the courtyard. "What do you think you are doing?"
The prince turned, feet spread wide apart as he glanced up towards Uther. "Father, this is madness. Merlin has been a loyal and faithful servant to me for years. He would never cause harm to a single person in this kingdom."
"He publically used sorcery in Camelot and you claim he causes no harm? Arthur, you know as well as I do that magic is evil. Any who practise it have chosen a path that can lead to only one punishment."
"But he used magic to save me!" Arthur cried, arms rising to his sides in exasperation. Merlin stared at his back sadly, already knowing where this argument would lead them. He wished that his friend would accept that nothing could be done and save himself any more heartache. "Explain to me the evil in that."
The warlock's sapphire orbs flicked up to Uther and he could already see the furious storm brewing in the older man's face. The King leant forward on to the ledge of the balcony, his eyes darkening as they stared down his son's. "Cease this nonsense at once."
"I will not, father. Not until you see reason."
Arthur pivoted on one foot, away from his father's livid bellows and suddenly, Merlin was met with a pair of cold eyes. Immediately, he wondered if Arthur was angry at him for being a warlock in the first place and was blaming him entirely. Not that Merlin could see the fault in that. Had he not been born with magic, this circumstance would never have come to pass and he and Arthur would probably never have even met.
Was it selfish to be glad that he had ended up in this circumstance?
The prince stared him down impassively for another moment before his posture completely slumped. Bright blue eyes softened with affection and Merlin managed a shaky grin at the change in expression.
"Hey," he whispered, wishing that he'd been able to crack a joke or something to lighten the situation. As it was, his knees were shaking to the point of collapse and, no matter how certain he was that this event had to come to pass, it didn't mean that he wasn't terrified of it.
However, Arthur's lips twitched upwards lightly and he stepped closer to the pyre. "Hello Merlin."
The Crown Prince's hands reached up, as though to strain impossibly far forward and grab hold of his servant. But, thinking better of the action, Arthur instead gripped at the wood of the pyre, grasping onto it so tightly that his knuckles turned white. The two said nothing for a time; they had long since passed conveying feelings through words alone.
Suddenly, Arthur stiffened, unsheathing his sword and swinging it from left to right. Merlin's eyes widened, until he noticed five men approaching with fiery torches from every side. He gulped at their proximity, no longer mentally prepared for what was to come with Arthur standing directly in front of him. Please, Arthur. Turn and walk away. It's over; I don't want you to see this.
"Stay back!" Arthur snarled like a primal creature. His eyes were ablaze with fury and something akin to fear. The blade point glinted with the promise of bloodshed and, to the prince's relief, the men nervously stopped approaching. Arthur vaguely heard his father yelling at him in outrage, but he paid him no heed. "Come any closer and I won't hesitate to strike you down."
The threat was chillingly terrifying because, as with most things the Pendragons said, it wasn't idle.
"Arthur."
The sound of a familiar, gentle voice addressing him caused his guard to lower slightly and his head snapped back up towards the pyre. The young warlock's sapphire eyes stared at him with obvious compassion and sadness. "Arthur, stop. There's nothing more you can do."
"No. I refuse to accept that."
The smallest of smiles crept onto Merlin's face at the tenacious statement. He could sense the pyre burners itching to approach, on edge at their King's furious exclamations but held back by their prince's obvious and unrestrained skill with a blade. Their uncertainty would buy them a few more minutes… simply to say goodbye.
"I didn't think you would. You've always been a stubborn prat."
The blonde's lips definitely quirked at the comment, his sword still poised out to his side as a warning. "Well if you weren't such an unbearable idiot, we wouldn't even be in this situation."
Their banter, Merlin realised, would be one of the things he missed most. Despite their constant arguments and insults, the two had grown close over the years, exceeding the relationship of master and servant and becoming good friends. Because truly, he did care about the royal prat and he imagined that he always would.
Without his consent, Merlin's eyes began to well up as he gazed down at his friend and he silently cursed his own weakness. Struggling for any form of resilience, he spoke softly, "It's over, Arthur. It's time to stop fighting."
"No."
"This is my destiny," the warlock whispered softly, lips quivering into a weak smile. "It took me a while to understand it, but I know this is what I have to do. What was always expected of me..."
Arthur shook his head furiously, "Destiny? Merlin, you were never destined for this. You are not going to die here!"
"Don't do this to yourself," Merlin tried, hating the stern set to the prince's face; a clear indication that he was never going to stop. "I should have trusted you with my secret, I know that now. But I was always walking a fine line in Camelot. I've always understood that and I…" he swallowed past the lump in his throat, "I think I'm ready."
By this time, Merlin's body was trembling, his face scrambling for a neutral expression to shield his own trepidation. The blonde's eyes drew colder at the words and the sword wavered in his hand, spinning so that it was aimed at the warlock accusingly. "Don't."
Since when did Merlin ever really listen to what Arthur told him?
"You'll go on to be a great King, Arthur: one that Camelot can truly be proud of. And if I've helped, even if only a little, in allowing you to achieve that then I can die happy," the raven-haired boy finished, feeling a cool tear break free and carve a delicate line down his cheekbone. "But first, you have to let me go."
Silence fell across the courtyard, not even broken by Uther's incensed ranting. Blue eyes locked upon another matching pair of blue and both glinted with clear grief at what had befallen them.
Then, without a sound, Arthur Pendragon broke.
The sword clattered to the ground from a lax hand, the blonde's handsome face crumpling instantly as the full hopelessness of Merlin's situation hit him head on. He held his body upright as strongly as possible, even while the rest of him persisted in falling apart. Merlin…
"I'm sorry." It came out as no more than a whisper.
The idiot – that clumsy, brave, tardy, loyal, annoying, compassionate idiot – just shook his head in answer. It wasn't Arthur's fault and they both knew it. The prince had tried his hardest to get Uther to listen, to see some kind of reason in his disillusioned mind, but it was a futile effort.
"There has to…" Arthur broke off; choking on sentences that he knew would never present a solution for his friend, "I wish that… I can't just…"
"I know. It's okay."
It was a lie, and a blatant one. But, whereas Merlin knew that Gwen could not live with such an obvious falsehood, Arthur could. He needed to know that his friend wouldn't suffer, that he wasn't scared. Arthur needed to know that somehow, somewhere, Merlin would be okay.
The pyre burners were stepping closer again, torches held high as they prepared to light a fire that would kill the young warlock. The prince watched them with an apprehensive expression and Merlin realised that he had rarely ever seen such a look on his friend's face before. It was a realisation that he found he was immensely grateful for.
Swallowing, Merlin spoke again, relieved at being able to momentarily distract Arthur from the approaching flames. "I am sorry that I never told you, Arthur. I didn't want to put you in a position between your duty to your father and…" he paused, as though wondering if his next words held true, "and your duty as my friend."
The prince remained silent, the word 'friend' washing over him steadily. He had never openly declared that Merlin had been more than just his manservant, but he couldn't deny the truth in Merlin's words. Over the years, despite an instant dislike to one another, they had learned to rely on and enjoy one another's company. Whereas all of Arthur's other acquaintances laughed at his jokes and agreed with his every word, Merlin never held back in disagreeing with or openly insulting the older man.
In truth, the prince couldn't have asked for a better companion.
"Merlin," Arthur finally replied, speaking as though a bitter taste had lodged itself at the back of his throat. He blinked upwards, steeling himself against the raging emotions he saw in the warlock's eyes. "There's nothing to forgive. Even if I had grievances before, I couldn't…"
But the message was clear and well received. I don't care about you keeping secrets from me so long as I don't have to watch you die today.
The prince's gaze dropped and Merlin felt unbearable sorrow rise in his chest. He had been so certain that accepting his demise would prompt Arthur towards becoming a noble King. Over time, he was sure that the young Pendragon would look back on this time and realise that magic could be used for good. But now, seeing the despair etched so deeply into the older boy's face, Merlin began to doubt this decision.
The flicker of the flames seemed to roar in his ears and he saw the torches lowering towards him. The fire hungrily lunged, already beginning its steady devour of the pyre and, eventually, Merlin. Staring at Arthur's bowed form once more, realising that time was ticking onwards towards his death, the warlock nodded.
Under his breath, familiar words caressed his tongue, flowing with endless power. The sapphire orbs momentarily flashed golden, mimicking the rising flames that had already begun to warm his toes. A pair of simultaneous cerulean orbs spiralled together out of thin air; one nestled deeply in the warlock's hand whilst the other hovered before his face.
The crowd gasped in surprise, guards stiffening and raising weapons at what they perceived to be a threat. Arthur's head snapped up at the commotion, eyes widening at the blatant act of sorcery. Merlin ignored everything but the prince, allowing the raw magic to use him as a channel.
The hovering orb descended steadily towards Arthur's stunned form and the blonde prince took an uncertain step backwards. Pausing for a brief respite, the sphere began floating again, if not with a little more hesitancy. The swirling azure colours entranced Arthur as they neared him; a miniature ocean in a world that was much too large for it.
"It was you," the prince finally managed, eyes locked solely on the drifting orb. The world seemed to stop around him as he focussed on Merlin and the magnificent display of magic before him. Forcing his eyes past the beautiful sphere, Arthur held the warlock's stare with conviction.
"I remember it, so long ago, when I had ridden out in search of the Morteaus flower. In the cave, I was going to die, I'd known it. I was lost in the dark with no way out and this," he gestured slowly at the hovering orb as it floated closer to his face, "this showed me the way."
As though in a bewildered trance, Arthur raised his hand, fingertips twitched before the display of magic. Swallowing, he tentatively touched the orb and gasped. The orb hadn't felt cool as he had expected; a wave of warmth surged through him, causing the tiny hairs on his arms to stand up. He felt the magic flow through him with ease and, despite the untold power he could sense, it soothed and comforted his soul.
"Merlin," he whispered, closing his eyes as the gentle force continued to glide through him. "This is your magic?"
"Yes," replied the warlock gently, ignoring how the flames had begun hurriedly making their way towards him. He flinched as one struck out, singeing his trousers and charring the flesh beneath. Uther was bellowing furiously, gesturing at the frozen guards in anger. Merlin knew that they were uncertain as to if they should proceed and put an end to such an obvious display of sorcery. However, the fire was rising higher and they knew, as did everyone present, that Merlin's clock was approaching its final tick.
But he still had time; time to make Arthur truly see.
"This is you."
It wasn't a question and Merlin found himself being met with a pair of sincere blue eyes, full of understanding and awe. A small smile worked its way onto his lips – nothing even close to his trademark goofy grins – and he inclined his head in acknowledgement.
Arthur shook his head, unaware of the snapping flames as the orb continued to distract his attention. "I never thought that magic would be so…" he broke off, uncertain of which word would truly do his feelings justice. He moved his hand, instead mirroring Merlin's gesture and cupping the sphere in one hand.
"Magic can be a force for good."
The prince frowned at his friend's proud and yet imploring look. He winced when Merlin did as the flames began to embrace his legs and he found himself wanting to race forward again. However, the orb aptly did its enchanting task by holding him in place, trying to spare him any further suffering.
For a moment, neither spoke, allowing the silence to protect them before the real torture began. The two stood as direct opposites; master and servant, royalty and peasant, prince and warlock, Arthur and his Merlin.
Merlin hissed as he felt the material against his calves beginning to catch fire. His flesh was beginning to peel and as much as he fought it, he knew that the pain could not be staved off for much longer. The identical swirling spheres began to flicker and Arthur's expression swiftly turned horrified as he realised their time was up.
"Arthur, listen to me," he spoke with a heavy heart, forcing the agony from his voice. "My magic is a part of the earth; part of the air you breathe. It is never-ending and will last long after I die. I, I just wanted you to know t-that."
"Merlin…"
"No matter what, I will always be there with you, Arthur Pendragon. Don't ever forget that."
With tears breaking free of his defences and already etching individual tracks of misery, the prince nodded. He never once turned away as the fire rose higher, merely watching with anguished eyes. He shuddered when Merlin's head fell back against the stake, face tight with pain. The sphere he clutched at began to violently shimmer when the warlock was obscured from view by the flames.
But no screams met his ears – it was Merlin's last show of loyalty and love to him.
After what seemed like hours, the cerulean sphere faded away into nothing and Arthur felt his last connection to Merlin disappear forever. His hand dropped limply to his side, eyes bloodshot and filled with utter sorrow as the heat of the flames battered him. But he refused to move, even when hands softly tugged at him in a sign of shared grief.
He knew the torment that Gaius and Guinevere must have been fighting against and he vacantly wondered when he had joined them in their unconditional affection for Merlin. The clumsy idiot, he knew, was one that he would never be able to replace.
The grief that the Crown Prince had shown for his deceased manservant became famous throughout the kingdom. For weeks after the execution, he had refused to exit his room, perhaps in the hope that a bumbling Merlin would enter it as he had in the past. It was well received that Arthur no longer felt the need to persecute sorcerers who had done no apparent wrong and was often discovered in the stocks after disagreeing with his adamant father.
The golden prince became known as a wanderer for the days following the execution. He always seemed to be looking for something, but was completely uncertain of where to find it or what it even was. Women had sighed sadly at Arthur as he passed, clearly searching for Merlin and not even realising it.
The people of Camelot grew to respect the young man who had taken it upon himself to visit his friend's grave each year. On the anniversary of Merlin's death, Arthur travelled to the outskirts of Ealdor to place a single blue flower before the gravestone. As time passed by, the grave was covered in a sea of eloquent plants; an identical colour to the last bit of magic Merlin had ever performed.
And, as some of the servants who worked at the castle often recounted, the prince had often been seen sneaking into the woods at night. The event only occurred one or two nights a month – a fact of which Uther was unaware. No-one made any claims as to why he went there, only that he may have been searching for the spirit of his departed manservant.
Guinevere knew they were wrong. Of course, she would never tell them what she had discovered not long after the execution. Her lips would remain sealed for the secret that was Arthur's and Arthur's alone – one that she herself had only uncovered after following him in concern. Perhaps one day, the prince would willingly tell her what occurred in the mystery of night where only he would be witness to it.
Until then however, she was content with the heart warming memory of Arthur sat beside a mesmerizing lake in the moonlight. His fingers had been burrowed deeply into the soil beside him, eyes closed as he drew in each long breath of oxygen. A breeze had whistled soothingly around him, straightening out pained facial lines that should not have been there in the first place.
Guinevere had watched him in silence, remembering some of Merlin's last words to the prince: My magic is a part of the earth; part of the air you breathe. She had found herself mimicking Arthur's long inhales, longing to feel that final connection to her beloved friend.
Her gaze had been drawn to the centre of the shimmering water and instant understanding had grasped her. The full moon had cast its ethereal reflection down upon the lake to form a swirling orb of light. Her mind had flitted back to the captivating spell Merlin had performed mere minutes before succumbing to the flames.
I will always be with you.
The serving girl had smiled tearfully, backing away and leaving the prince to remember his best friend in solitude. At the time, she had wondered what he was seeking: perhaps absolution or maybe even forgiveness. But she'd known that it was not her place to ask, nor that the young Pendragon would ever give her a straight answer.
He had returned the next day an entirely different man to who he had become after Merlin's death. Arthur had remained by the lake for the entire night, watched over by a radiant sphere from the sky. And, judging by the heavy shadows beneath his eyes and the glowing smile on his lips, the lack of sleep had been worth it: he had found what he had been looking for.
Thanks so much for reading! Please review to let me know what you think - I'd really appreciate it :)
Anyone guess what type of flower Arthur laid on Merlin's grave? (It's ridiculously cliched if that helps lol).
Hugs, Ami-Rose x x x x x ;)