Chapter Fifteen

The first thing Arthur became aware of was a dull throbbing in his head. His eyelids were heavy but he fought to open them, only to wince at the assault of the light and quickly shade his eyes. His fingers brushed against a large raised bump on his forehead, sending a jagged flash of pain through his skull. He groaned.

Already regretting his return to consciousness, Arthur was tempted to pass out again but something was nagging at him. It buzzed in the back of his head, somewhere past the fog of pain, an urgent sense that he was missing something important.

He rolled upright, ignoring the sickening lurch in his stomach. A wave of dizziness briefly overwhelmed him but he fought it stubbornly and stood to his feet.

When his vision cleared he stared at his surroundings in bewilderment. He had been lying on the cold stone floor of his chambers, but he had no idea how he had ended up there. The last thing he remembered was talking to the dragon and coming to the realisation that the traitor in Camelot was none other than-

"Agravaine!"

His hand went for his sword but it was absent from his hip. He was kitted out in full armour – a feeble defence against a dragon but one he had been unwilling to go without – so why was his sword missing?

He had ridden back to Camelot at full speed with every intention of arresting Agravaine on sight. His uncle had met him at the gates-

With a full contingent of knights that had seized him before he had the chance to expose Agravaine's treachery.

No – he had tried. The knights would not listen. Just as Arthur had not listened when Merlin had tried to warn him.

They thought – they thought Arthur was enchanted. They thought Merlin had enchanted him!

The new laws on magic were not yet in effect. Sorcery was still punishable by death. Agravaine had threatened to-

He was going to kill Merlin.

"No!" Arthur ran for the door, intending to burst through it. He was brought to a sudden halt as his shoulder slammed against hard wood that refused to yield.

He shook the handles vigorously but the door wouldn't budge. It was locked.

"Hello? Hello! Guards! Someone! Let me out of here!" Arthur slammed his weight against the doors, once, twice, again and again. He drew back to deliver a powerful kick but the shock of impact reverberated up his leg and still the doors would not give. He stumbled and swore, cursing the workmanship of the ancient castle builders, cursing Agravaine, cursing himself for his idiocy. This was his fault. He couldn't believe he had trusted that snake!

He spun, trying desperately to rack his brains for a solution, and light slanted into his eyes through a gap in the curtains. Dawn had arrived and with it, the sound of drums.

Arthur had watched his father preside over enough executions to know what that meant.

He sprinted to the window, cast the curtains aside and shoved the glass pane out of his way. He looked out into the courtyard and what he saw chilled him to the bone.

Guards were binding Merlin to a stake. Wood was stacked high around him and the executioner stood off to the side with a burning torch in hand.

Agravaine stood on the balcony, gazing down in judgement. His hand was raised.

They were going to kill him.

"No! No you can't! Merlin! Merlin!"

No one could hear him. There was some sort of commotion in the square; people were yelling, waving fists – demanding his death? They were traitors, all of them, how could they betray Merlin like this after everything he had done, everything he had sacrificed? He was a hero, a friend! He might have lied and he might have used magic when it was forbidden, he might have lost control of his power and maybe he was so far gone that nothing could save him, but none of that mattered! All Arthur wanted was Merlin by his side. He couldn't die, Arthur wouldn't allow it!

"Fight, damn it, Merlin, that's an order!"

But Merlin made no attempt to escape from men who could not have hoped to contain him if he brought his magic to bear. He just stood there passively and let them wrench his arms behind his back. He let them bind his wrists excessively tight. He let them spit on him and kick at his ankle as they passed. He didn't try to defend himself. He didn't try to break free.

How could Merlin let this happen? How could he let himself be led to the slaughter and do nothing? He had power enough to level the entire city of Camelot so why didn't he use it?

"Merlin you idiot!" he seethed.

Arthur was ready to kick and scream and pull his hair out in frustration but none of that would save Merlin. He had to get out of here.

He looked down at the long drop to the courtyard below and considered making a leap for it. Without some sort of rope it was suicide but at least then he wouldn't have to watch his best friend be burned alive.

He could tear up a sheet and fashion a rope that way but it would take too long, Merlin didn't have that kind of time.

"Damn it!"

"-sire! Sire? Your Highness? King Arthur, are you in there?"

Arthur spun to the door. "Who's there?"

"A friend. Wait, let me-" There was the sound of a key turning in the lock and then the doors creaked open to reveal a red-faced boy, dripping with sweat and panting from exertion. Arthur wasn't sure he recognised him but thought he might have seen him around the market once or twice. "Sire, Merlin is-"

"I know!"

"You have to hurry!"

But Arthur was way ahead of him, already out the door and sprinting down the corridor. He hurtled around corners and pounded down stairs. He was moving at a reckless speed – if he tripped he was liable to break his neck – but he forced himself to run faster. He had been too late to rescue Merlin once, he could not fail again.

He burst out of the main doors of the castle. "Stop!" he yelled. His feet barely touched the stairs as he raced for the pyre. The torch was being lowered towards the kindling. "I order you to stop! Release him immediately!"

The crowd parted for him but there was a wall of knights barring his way. Arthur's hand went for his sword again, only to close on empty air. He was unarmed.

"I am your king and I am ordering you to move aside!"

The knights did not budge. "We're sorry, sire, but we are under oath to protect you. This sorcerer has bewitched your mind. When he is dead you will be free, don't worry."

"That's a lie! Agravaine is lying to you! He is a traitor!"

"You are confused. It is Merlin who has betrayed you. He is a sorcerer."

"I know! I know and I don't care! He is the bravest, most loyal friend I have ever had and I will not let you harm a single hair on his head, do you hear me? Now let him go!"

"We cannot do that, sire."

Arthur lunged forward, intending to shove his way through the blockade.

"Restrain him," Agravaine called.

The knights surrounded him, bristling with steel.

A sword was pointed directly at his chest; incredulous, Arthur stared down the blade at the young knight he had trained personally. "This is treason!"

"We're only doing our jobs, sire, do not find fault with us for that."

Arthur wanted to fight them, a part of him even wanted to kill them for their role in this, but they didn't know what they were doing. They didn't know what sort of a man his uncle truly was. "Agravaine you bastard!"

There was the slightest hint of a smug smile on Agravaine's face; an expression Arthur had seen many times but failed to recognise. "Bring him to me."

The knights were gentle but firm as they seized his arms and guided him to the balcony. When they reached Agravaine he nodded to them and they obediently stepped back, leaving Arthur at his mercy.

Agravaine levelled his sword at Arthur's throat. "This is for your own good, Arthur," he lied. "When Merlin is dead you will be well again. And if you are not… rest assured that your kingdom will be in safe hands."

Arthur could read between the lines. Agravaine knew he was not enchanted; Merlin's death would not 'cure' him, it would only serve to enrage him more. But if he continued his accusations against Agravaine and his support of Merlin and magic, Agravaine would convince everyone that the 'spell' was irreversible and Arthur was lost. He would force Arthur to relinquish the crown, or perhaps even go so far as to have him killed so he could not endanger the kingdom.

Arthur was trapped.

A slow smile spread across Agravaine's face. "You see? I am only acting in Camelot's best interests. Somewhere beneath Merlin's foul magic, you know I speak the truth. You won't stop me because you know this has to happen."

In other words, there was nothing Arthur could do. Agravaine assumed he had already won… and Arthur feared he was right.

Agravaine leaned close. He pressed the tip of the blade into the skin of Arthur's neck; any more pressure and the skin would break. Arthur hardly dared to breathe.

"This," Agravaine whispered into his ear, "is for Morgana."

He raised his hand again; a signal to the executioner. "Let justice be served here this day. And let this be a lesson to all – magic will not be tolerated here in Camelot. Not now, not ever."

Arthur looked down into the courtyard, frantically seeking his friend.

Golden eyes met his gaze. They were filled with great sorrow and unspeakable grief. But they communicated something more than that. In a frozen moment that seemed to stretch into eternity, Arthur knew what his friend was trying to say.

Goodbye.

ooOOoo

The traitor's arm dropped.

The moment of connection between Merlin and his King was broken as Merlin's focus drew sharply to the burning torch that arced towards the pyre. To his magic it appeared to move in slow motion.

He could snuff the flame or knock the torch off course. It would take but a flicker of thought.

But the traitor had a sword to Arthur's throat.

His magic lacked finesse. It didn't know friend from foe. If he let it loose there would be a bloodbath and there was no guarantee Arthur would make it out alive.

The traitor needed only to twitch and his blade would slice clean through Arthur's neck.

There was only one way to ensure Arthur's safety.

Resigned to his fate, Merlin let the torch fall.

The wood was dry. It caught alight instantly.

"No!" Arthur yelled.

Merlin stared at the flames as they shot skyward. He felt a wave of heat wash over him.

"Merlin, no! Defend yourself!"

Merlin remembered. He remembered Arthur shouting those words at him once before.

Arthur had intended to execute him for his magic. He had assumed Merlin was a liar, a traitor, a danger to Camelot. Nothing Merlin said could change his mind.

But those words had been the tipping point.

Arthur had attacked him, and Merlin had refused to fight back.

"I will not risk your life for the sake of my own."

He had meant it then, and he meant it now. He was willing to lay down his life for Arthur.

It wasn't just about destiny, or magic, or Albion.

Arthur was a great man, and a great king. But he was also the man who had risked his life to retrieve an antidote when Merlin had been poisoned. He was the man who had drunk a drugged goblet in order to see Merlin spared. He was the man who had pulled Merlin out of harm's way more times than he could count. He was the man who had chosen to forgive Merlin for his secrecy. He was the man who had accepted him for who and what he was. He was the man who intended to go against every prejudice his father had taught him to welcome Merlin and his magic into the kingdom. He was the man who had gone up against a powerful witch to save Merlin from her clutches. He was the man who had tried everything to bring Merlin back to himself.

He was a friend. Merlin could not bear to see him hurt.

Here, at the end, he remembered who he was. What Arthur meant to him.

Merlin drew in a slow breath; his last taste of clean air before the smoke would engulf him. He glanced up at Arthur one final time.

His blue eyes were wild with desperation and frantic with grief. Despite the situation, Merlin took some comfort in the sight. It was nice to know that the bond they shared went both ways. Merlin would be missed and he would be remembered. That was as much as he could hope for.

He breathed a gentle sigh and closed his eyes.

His next breath was choked. The smoke entered his lungs and he began coughing violently in a vain attempt to expel it. The heat was closing in around him, pressing in from all sides.

He could feel the flames licking at his feet.

This was – okay. He could – he could do this.

But he couldn't breathe. He struggled and gasped, instinctively struggling against the ropes that bound him. His chest heaved in desperation.

Magic awoke.

No.

The hem of his trousers caught alight. He could feel his skin burning. He could taste the poison in the air.

The magic rose up within him, wild and ferocious, roaring to his defence.

No!

It hurt. Oh god it hurt. His lungs seared, the heat was unbearable. He felt like his insides were turning to liquid and the flames were scorching his skin.

The magic struggled mightily to escape his control but he wouldn't let go.

He begged death to come quickly.

The magic bucked against him. It shoved the pain aside and for a moment Merlin experienced blissful relief. But the magic didn't stop there. It bubbled to the surface and the pressure built exponentially.

He tried to push it back down, suppress it, but his life was in imminent danger. The magic would not let him die so easily.

No!

He could hear people yelling. The people of Camelot. He had expected them to bay for his blood but instead they had… defended him.

If he let go, if he let his magic save him, it would not stop there. His power was immense and with every second that passed it only grew stronger. It was building towards an explosion that would take out half the city. Thousands of people would die.

He couldn't let that happen.

The flames leapt higher; the pain reached a crescendo.

The magic had reached a point of no return.

For an instant his eyes burned hotter than the brightest flame.

Then Merlin screamed and everything went black.

ooOOoo