a kingdom or this
Author: schweet_heart
Title: a kingdom or this
Rating: Teen and Up
Pairing/s: Merlin/Arthur
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur, Uther, Gwen
Summary: They take him from his cell just after dawn, when a pale streak of pink is barely visible above the eastern gate.
Warnings: Canon Typical Violence.
Word Count: 800w
Prompt: 583 (Dawn)
Author's Notes: I actually started this one a while ago, but I thought it fitted well with the prompt so finally managed to finish it \o/
They take him from his cell just after dawn, when a pale streak of pink is barely visible above the eastern gate. At least the weather is clear. At least the air is cool and crisp, on the verge of an autumn he will never see, and he’s walking and not dragged as he mounts the steps to the pyre, going towards his death with his head held high.
“Merlin of Ealdor,” Uther intones from the balcony. Merlin squints up at him, only realising that he is searching for Arthur when he doesn’t find him: the space beside Uther is empty, absent of prince or ward, and the king stands glaring down at him alone, hatred twisting his face. “You are hereby sentenced to death for the crime of sorcery. Have you any last words?”
“Not really.” This is some kind of nightmare, probably. And if not-nothing he can say will change Uther’s mind; nothing he can say will change the way Arthur had looked at him, as though watching someone he loved turn into a monster. “I don’t suppose you’ll let me off for good behaviour?”
A titter runs through the crowd, quickly smothered. Uther’s mouth contorts. “Burn him,” he says, flicking one hand. Like magic, the guardsmen appear, holding their torches aloft to do his bidding. Arthur is nowhere in the crowd, nor Gaius. Gwen has her head turned away, hand over her mouth as if she can’t bear to watch, and it strikes Merlin forcibly that there is no escape. No one will stand up for him and risk Uther’s wrath; they can’t afford to. He’s stood in their place before himself, so many times, choking on black smoke and his own conscience. Perhaps this is justice, after all.
“Stay where you are.”
Arthur’s voice, low and commanding, comes out of nowhere, and there he is: standing between the guards and the pyre with his weapon drawn. Merlin recognises the recklessness in his expression from that day on the beach when Arthur had drunk poison for him, and from a dozen other times that Arthur had placed, fearlessly, his own body between Merlin and death.
“What are you doing here?” he hisses, because this isn’t how destiny is supposed to go, this isn’t what he came to Camelot for, but Arthur ignores him utterly, his head turned up to the king.
“Father. This has gone on long enough.” His sword is so steady, casual as anything, voice pitched to carry above the noise of the crowd. “Merlin saved my life yesterday. Surely that merits some form of reward, not punishment.”
“He saved your life by means of magic,” Uther says loudly, as if anyone who had been there might have overlooked it. “He deserves to die.”
“Then you’ll have to burn me, too.”
Gasps from the crowd. Merlin is barely breathing, already tasting smoke and ash. Arthur lays down his sword with all due ceremony, setting it at his feet like an offering and shedding pieces of his armour one by one. His eyes never leave his father’s face.
“Don’t be stupid, Arthur.” Uther looks irritated now, unease sliding beneath the royal confidence like a shadow. “You’ll find another serving boy, one more suited to your station. It’s not worth sacrificing your title over, much less your life.”
Arthur ignores him. He’s climbing up the pyre, steady and certain, arms outstretched to balance himself. Damn him, he almost looks like he’s having fun, his cheeks flushed with daring and exertion, and Merlin wonders if this is the first time he’s ever truly defied his father. Wonders if it will also be his last.
“Go back,” he says, pleading, but Arthur ignores him. The guards are converging on them, torches upraised, glancing at each other to see who will be the first to set their prince alight. Below him, the sound of horses-loose in the square, eyes rolling, driving back the crowd as their hooves flash across the cobbles. One of them is wearing a bridle, and Merlin understands what is happening almost at the same time that Uther does.
“Don’t just stand there!” he shouts. “Stop him!”
There’s a surge of movement, but too late. Arthur’s reached the platform and is free of them, is standing with his arms around Merlin, shocking and real in this nightmare dreamscape. His proximity distracts Merlin from his hands, clasping Merlin’s wrists, slicing him free the ropes with a dagger that he couldn’t have been carrying a moment before.
“Arthur,” Merlin gasps, staggering forward, and then there are hands cupping his shoulders, his cheeks, a fierce kiss pressed to the top of his head like a benediction.
“Merlin, you idiot.” Breath warm in his ear before they run. “Did you really think I’d leave you here to die alone?”
Title: a kingdom or this
Rating: Teen and Up
Pairing/s: Merlin/Arthur
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur, Uther, Gwen
Summary: They take him from his cell just after dawn, when a pale streak of pink is barely visible above the eastern gate.
Warnings: Canon Typical Violence.
Word Count: 800w
Prompt: 583 (Dawn)
Author's Notes: I actually started this one a while ago, but I thought it fitted well with the prompt so finally managed to finish it \o/
They take him from his cell just after dawn, when a pale streak of pink is barely visible above the eastern gate. At least the weather is clear. At least the air is cool and crisp, on the verge of an autumn he will never see, and he’s walking and not dragged as he mounts the steps to the pyre, going towards his death with his head held high.
“Merlin of Ealdor,” Uther intones from the balcony. Merlin squints up at him, only realising that he is searching for Arthur when he doesn’t find him: the space beside Uther is empty, absent of prince or ward, and the king stands glaring down at him alone, hatred twisting his face. “You are hereby sentenced to death for the crime of sorcery. Have you any last words?”
“Not really.” This is some kind of nightmare, probably. And if not-nothing he can say will change Uther’s mind; nothing he can say will change the way Arthur had looked at him, as though watching someone he loved turn into a monster. “I don’t suppose you’ll let me off for good behaviour?”
A titter runs through the crowd, quickly smothered. Uther’s mouth contorts. “Burn him,” he says, flicking one hand. Like magic, the guardsmen appear, holding their torches aloft to do his bidding. Arthur is nowhere in the crowd, nor Gaius. Gwen has her head turned away, hand over her mouth as if she can’t bear to watch, and it strikes Merlin forcibly that there is no escape. No one will stand up for him and risk Uther’s wrath; they can’t afford to. He’s stood in their place before himself, so many times, choking on black smoke and his own conscience. Perhaps this is justice, after all.
“Stay where you are.”
Arthur’s voice, low and commanding, comes out of nowhere, and there he is: standing between the guards and the pyre with his weapon drawn. Merlin recognises the recklessness in his expression from that day on the beach when Arthur had drunk poison for him, and from a dozen other times that Arthur had placed, fearlessly, his own body between Merlin and death.
“What are you doing here?” he hisses, because this isn’t how destiny is supposed to go, this isn’t what he came to Camelot for, but Arthur ignores him utterly, his head turned up to the king.
“Father. This has gone on long enough.” His sword is so steady, casual as anything, voice pitched to carry above the noise of the crowd. “Merlin saved my life yesterday. Surely that merits some form of reward, not punishment.”
“He saved your life by means of magic,” Uther says loudly, as if anyone who had been there might have overlooked it. “He deserves to die.”
“Then you’ll have to burn me, too.”
Gasps from the crowd. Merlin is barely breathing, already tasting smoke and ash. Arthur lays down his sword with all due ceremony, setting it at his feet like an offering and shedding pieces of his armour one by one. His eyes never leave his father’s face.
“Don’t be stupid, Arthur.” Uther looks irritated now, unease sliding beneath the royal confidence like a shadow. “You’ll find another serving boy, one more suited to your station. It’s not worth sacrificing your title over, much less your life.”
Arthur ignores him. He’s climbing up the pyre, steady and certain, arms outstretched to balance himself. Damn him, he almost looks like he’s having fun, his cheeks flushed with daring and exertion, and Merlin wonders if this is the first time he’s ever truly defied his father. Wonders if it will also be his last.
“Go back,” he says, pleading, but Arthur ignores him. The guards are converging on them, torches upraised, glancing at each other to see who will be the first to set their prince alight. Below him, the sound of horses-loose in the square, eyes rolling, driving back the crowd as their hooves flash across the cobbles. One of them is wearing a bridle, and Merlin understands what is happening almost at the same time that Uther does.
“Don’t just stand there!” he shouts. “Stop him!”
There’s a surge of movement, but too late. Arthur’s reached the platform and is free of them, is standing with his arms around Merlin, shocking and real in this nightmare dreamscape. His proximity distracts Merlin from his hands, clasping Merlin’s wrists, slicing him free the ropes with a dagger that he couldn’t have been carrying a moment before.
“Arthur,” Merlin gasps, staggering forward, and then there are hands cupping his shoulders, his cheeks, a fierce kiss pressed to the top of his head like a benediction.
“Merlin, you idiot.” Breath warm in his ear before they run. “Did you really think I’d leave you here to die alone?”