Merlin One Shots

Secret (Part 1)

Arthur stood at his father's side, as he stared down at the courtyard. Yet another execution was taking place, and he was entirely focused on pushing down the contents of his stomach. His face remained a mask of indifference, betraying none of the arrant turmoil in his mind.

He had sent Merlin to help Gaius for the day, hoping that the physician had set him tasks outside the castle walls. He knew his manservant despised these events almost as much, if not more, than him. At least Merlin would be spared the sight and smell of burning flesh, and the sound of unholy screams. He, on the other hand, had no such privilege.

He carefully avoided glancing at his father, in fear of his eyes displaying the absolute disgust and anger that swirled in his chest. Mostly, at himself. It was in these moments, that he truly felt ashamed of himself. Here he stood, watching on as a most likely innocent person - sorcerer or not - met a gruesome end; all the while the very thing that had condemned them burned through his veins like acid, branding him as the utter hypocrite he knew he was.

But what could he do? He couldn't openly defy his father, as it would end in a level of conflict that Camelot was currently not prepared for. If he was being completely honest, he was afraid. Afraid of the look in his father's eyes when he discovered that his son was one of them. That the heir to the throne of Camelot possessed the one thing the king so vehemently despised. Arthur wasn't stupid. He knew his father wouldn't think twice about condemning him, son or not. Perhaps he wouldn't die for his crimes, but would undoubtedly be disinherited or banished or something equally severe.

He also didn't know how the people of Camelot would react to his treasonous secret. If they knew that he had stood by for years, letting people burn for the crimes he was committing simply by existing. Would they hate him for it? Would they understand that realistically there was very little he could do? Was their hatred towards sorcery so deep-rooted, that they would shun and reject him for the magic that ran through his blood? Maybe they would go so far as to demand his execution. After all, just because he was the prince, it didn't automatically give him the right to clemency; that would be an injustice in the eyes of the kingdom. He wouldn't blame them.

Nonetheless, he tried. For years he'd done everything he could to help the innocent people who had been sentenced to such a cruel fate. And for the most part, he'd succeeded. He had helped many condemned magic users escape the dungeons, in the cover of night. He had watched with a warm feeling of triumph in his chest, as they disappeared into the dark forest with the promise of staying far out of Camelot and his father's reach. Men, women and children who had all expressed their immense gratitude for his kindness. If only they knew. Had they known the truth about what he was hiding, about his cowardice, would their trust turn into hatred?

It wasn't all success, of course. Sometimes he failed; he was too late, and people burned, while he watched. These were the days that parts of him broke. The well-crafted façade cracked, and he hid away in his room and grieved; loathing how truly pathetic he was. But of course, he didn't show any of this weakness in front of his father. Never in front of the king.

The roar of the crowd below, snapped him out of his disturbing thoughts. He never paid enough attention to figure out, whether the people were truly happy at death of sorcerers, or if it was all just a well-practiced act, in front of the king. He was too occupied with the blood rushing in his ears, and his heart thumping violently in his chest, as he dug his fingernails into his palms. His eyes were fixed on the sorcerer that was tied to the mast, and the guard that stood dangerously close to the pyre with a flaming torch; awaiting the dreaded command.

His father was speaking. The words sounded sluggish and distant. He didn't care for what was being said; he had heard it all a hundred times before. Instead, he focused on the man, who faced his death without so much as a tear in his eye, or a curse on his lips. The druid fixed Uther with guarded and cold eyes, while his head was held high in fiery defiance. Despite the harsh look in them, Arthur saw that deep down they were eyes of a man who was wise, compassionate and peaceful. There was no evil in the druid's soul, even now when he was moments away from execution, his gaze displayed only something akin to pity.

Suddenly, the druid glanced away from Uther and the prince froze as the man met his stare. The clear and scathing disappointment aimed at him, caused him to wince, but he couldn't tear his eyes away.

'I'm sorry'

He mentally pushed the words towards the man. A flicker of surprise, followed by a small confused frown appeared on the man's face, and Arthur felt as if he was staring into his soul.

'I'm sorry', he repeated, pouring in all the sincerity he possibly could into that one thought, as he braced himself for the onslaught of hateful words and well-deserved accusations of betrayal.

But they never came. Arthur searched the druid's expression in confusion, but was shocked to see his earlier intense glare soften ever so slightly and a flash of something like understanding in his eyes. No. That can't be right.

Uther raised his hand, preparing to give the signal. Arthur had grudgingly chalked up the change in the druid's demeanour to simply his imagination, until he heard a sudden clear voice in his head.

'Do not let fear and uncertainty control you child', Arthur heard in his mind.

His eyes widened, and he barely managed to maintain his calm composure, as the other man's final words softly echoed in his head.

'I forgive you, brenin ifanc'

The last thing Arthur saw was the druid give him the slightest nod, before the king lowered his hand sharply, and the guard pushed the torch into the large pile of wood at the base of the pyre. The prince fought the urge to hurl over the balcony as he watched the flames rapidly engulf the entire structure with unnatural speed. The dying scream of the druid, the rising cloud of smoke and the putrid smell of burning flesh in the air, caused a wave of nausea to wash over him and brought tears to his eyes. He forced them back down, and clenched his fists tighter to prevent himself from covering his ears.

Arthur stared in horror, as flickers of disturbing images flashed through his mind. Suddenly, it wasn't the druid burning to death anymore. Instead, he saw himself tied to the pyre, throat raw and skin scorching as he held the king's unfazed and unfeeling glare. He blinked, and the nightmarish scene retreated to the back of his mind.

Soon, it was over. There had only been one raw and piercing shriek, before the sorcerer had fallen silent. Dead. All that remained was the steadily burning fire, that was slowly charring and melting the body beyond recognition. Arthur risked a glance at his father, who's eyes gleamed with grim satisfaction. The king then turned on his heel, and stalked back into the castle, his cloak bellowing behind him.

Soon after he was out of sight, Arthur all but ran from the balcony, swiftly making his way to his chambers, as he teetered on the edge of an emotional breakdown. He slammed the door behind him, bolted it for good measure, and lasted all of two seconds before his knees gave out and he collapsed in a heap on the cold floor. Heart-wrenching sobs wracked through his body and uncontrollable tears poured from his eyes. His lips were tightly pressed together, desperately holding back a scream of anguish. He screwed his eyes shut in a vain effort to block out images burning flesh that seemed to be engraved into his brain.

Minutes passed. Or was it hours? Days? Arthur didn't know; he didn't care. His knees were drawn up to his chest and his back pressed uncomfortably against the door, and the endless tears still ran down his cheeks. His skin tingled with a light aura of magic, as if it was almost trying to comfort him. Under different circumstances, it may have succeeded. Now, his magic felt foreign and cold and served as a painful reminder of his continued failure.

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A/N- Omg I've wanted to write Arthur having magic for ages!! Also I rly shouldn't be starting so many new stuff when I have a shit ton of others to finish....but whatever:)👍

I'm sry for not updating tho, it's cuz I have GCSEs in like 2 weeks and I should be revising....😭💀💀⚰

There'll prob be a second part posted right after this one as well cuz initially it was just one long chapter but I decided to split it cuz why not??😁

Hope you guys like it!! Pls vote and comment!🥰🥰

Thx💜💜💜