Chapter Text
That morning, there was no cheery “rise and shine” to greet Arthur as the morning sun spilled across his chambers. There never was on mornings like these.
“How long?”
“Twenty minutes. I left it as long as I could.”
“Thank you, Merlin.”
As much as either of them hated it, this was a day they knew well. When the usually busy town was ever so quiet, and the guards hustled about in the courtyard below with the other townspeople to gather around the pyre in the square. In silence, Arthur rose for the day without complaint. He allowed himself to be prepared for the day by Merlin, donning his chainmail and armour, then his cloak deep red as Merlin fastened it around his neck. It was a solemn, silent moment, as if Merlin was preparing him for battle. In a way, he was. He stood still as Merlin backed away before both of them started moving towards the table. Arthur sat down and pushed the plate away as Merlin looked towards where the Prince’s food lay untouched.
“You should eat something, you know.”
“I can’t, Merlin. Not today.”
“You know sire, for someone quite content with standing by and watching innocent people burn, you do seem awfully upset about it.” Arthur stopped what he had been doing, fidgeting with his mother’s ring, and turned to Merlin with a fire in his eye.
“Treason, Merlin,” Arthur warned. “They’re not innocent people, they’re sorcerers. They know the law, the penalty for their crimes.”
“But you don’t deny being upset about it? I mean seriously Arthur, you fast for days before every execution. You’re telling me you would do that for people you so dislike?”
“I don’t do it for them, Mer lin,” Arthur paused and turned his attention back to his mother’s ring. “Ever since I was old enough to be one of the pages, my father would take me aside before every execution. He’d remind me of the evils of magic. Remind me of the pain that it causes, the way that it corrupts a person’s very soul, the way it spills so many people’s blood. And he’d remind me that if a sorcerer was found within Camelot’s borders, then I as an heir had failed because I had put my people’s lives in danger at the hands of magic. That’s why I don’t eat. Not for the sake of some sorcerer ,” Arthur spat the word, “but because what sort of leader puts the lives of innocent people at stake, only to continue on with their daily pleasures.”
“Arthur, that’s completely ridi-” Merlin bit back the rest of his retort, as his eyes widened in realisation. “Arthur,” he started again, softer this time. “Most of the pages in Camelot are seven, maybe eight summers old.”
“Well it’s good to see you’ve been doing your homework, Merlin,” Arthur said with a chuckle, rising to his feet. He turned to move towards the doors, only to be blocked by the younger man.
“Uther’s an ass! How could he blame you?! There is no way a seven-year-old — let alone any child — should, or could, bear that responsibility.”
“Treason, Merlin. He is your king, it would do well to remember that, or I will send you to the stocks. And as touching as your concern is, he helped me become the man I am today. There’s no room for error in my judgement. I had to learn about the evils of sorcery from a young age if I were to be able to protect my people and become a great king. He knew that.”
Before Merlin could say anything else, Arthur pushed past him and out into the corridor, making his way towards the balcony where he would stand beside his father.
As Arthur took his place, the mutterings from the crowd below drifted up to him on the wind. Both in support and criticism of his father’s rule. In front of the royals, the Pendragon crest was up for all to see, spread over the edge of the balcony as a clear warning to those who called Camelot home. Magic would not be tolerated here. And if you were found guilty, there was only one punishment suitable.
“This woman before you today, Margaret Holway, has been found guilty of conspiring to use magic and enchantments. In accordance with the laws of Camelot, there is but one sentence I can pass.”
“You are burning an innocent woman, please my king. Reconsider your sentence.”
He recognised her from his walks through the lower town and knew she was well-liked as a part of the community. She’d been loyal to the crown for some time, or so everyone had thought. But Arthur threw up his walls, knowing better than to listen to her cries.
Uther ignored her pleas and continued. “As punishment for her Crimes, the witch is to be burnt at the stake. May the flames cleanse her soul of her sins.”
“If you will not reconsider then you give me no choice, Uther Pendragon. If you will not see the truth then that burden must fall to your son.” At her words, Arthur turned his attention to the woman, meeting her eyes. The fear in them was replaced with something much stronger, something much more powerful as the guards brought forwards the flaming torch.
The witch’s eyes burned gold, and Arthur’s heart breath hitched in his throat. He could do nothing but stand in shock as he found it harder and harder to breathe. The world around him fading into the background, almost as if time were slowing down around him. He couldn’t move, his gaze focused solely on the woman in front of him. Eyes still a blazing gold.
Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Uther drop his arm, and the flames started to rise.
It is time you see the truth, Arthur Pendragon. And with my death, it shall begin.
The breath rushed back into Arthur’s body as her eyes regained their natural blue. The world around him speeding up, and filling with sound once more. He felt strangely light-headed as he stumbled backwards and towards his own chambers, listening out for screams that never came.
Only once he was in the safety of his own chambers did Arthur allow his mind to roam.
The sorcerer had to have done something to him, didn't she? Her eyes had been golden, glowing like firelight before the pyre had even been lit. The world around him had felt alien then, as though he were a part of something so much more. But he didn't feel any different now, aside from the headache that had been forming in the back of his mind since. That had to be it. But a headache? He was perfectly capable of gaining one from a grain report, there was no need for sorcery to be involved.
With my death, it shall begin . That’s what the witch had said. But what would begin? Arthur paced the length of his room as his mind raced and his headache pounded against the inside of his skull. They had to be the mad last words of a witch filled with hatred. Trying to scare him, get in his head. Which, he thought glumly, if getting in his head had indeed been her motive then she had definitely succeeded.
Unless… no. He shut down that line of thought immediately. There was no way that anything she did would have actual consequence. Besides, any enchantment she may have cast on him would be destroyed as she took her last breath, wouldn’t it?
The pain in Arthur’s head spiked, and he dropped to the ground, holding his head in his hands.
How long did it take someone to die on the pyre? Ten, twenty minutes? How long had he been here? How long had it been since the pyre was lit? Questions flew around the young prince’s mind as his breath hitched, and the world turned slow once more and faded to black as the witch’s voice filled his head once again.
Mark my words, it shall begin.