Since Birth

Chapter Twenty-Five

Arthur was taught that a bond of love was empowered—impossible to defeat. All those fairytales he read as a child, some part of his brain believed that a logical conclusion would be that not all stories had a happy ending. It only took one look at his father for Arthur to realize that. But all of the wealth accompanied with the princes and princesses with dragons didn't even compare to the mark of love the authors would create in their tales. It seemed so odd and so eccentric because he had never experienced the emotion before. Apparently it was a strong force—one not even death could break. So did this point in time strengthen the point of the author's interpretation? Or was Arthur just too scared to love again? Too afraid to be hurt and have his tethered life to be cut away. The blond's father had taught him to learn from his mistakes, but how could Arthur learn from them if his father had been creating them all along? How was he supposed to learn from his mistakes when his teacher couldn't even learn from his own? Did that strip Uther of a teacher's career, then? Or did it make him a controlling father that begged his son of perfection?

Arthur held his head in his hands—caressing it almost—too concerned from the ache it was bringing. He kept hearing Merlin's voice. As if speaking, talking, whispering. Yes, a ghost of a whisper that bled pure misery. And it sounded too real to be his imagination. So vivid in detail, Merlin would touch up on his life. So much information that was too afraid to be brought to life about.

And it hurt Arthur. It hurt him so much that he began to cry. No doubt the guards at the door could hear him. Starved of love, Uther decided killing others' compassions would refill him. Instead, the blond believed it made him even more hungry. And it was terrifying.

________________

The fear did not wash away, but rather crept towards the back of Merlin's brain to allow him to temporarily focus on other emotions. He was curious—would his own death strike a pain to his mind like when Arthur had killed the deer? Even his mother, for her death brought more than a physical flick. Merlin didn't feel flicks in these Camelot dungeons, though. He felt something far much worse. An aching, prolonged buzzing tapped on his mind restlessly as his eyes darted across the cells. When he had went through with the escape plan, the two knew there wasn't any time to register if Merlin's father was there. The brunet didn't want to admit it, but...

Merlin didn't feel a flicker—just a dull sensation that was considered anything but healthy. He was starting to think said sensation was just his blood rushing through his ears, guiding him further through time. He didn't hear the pyre being built throughout the evening. He didn't hear keys fumbling to take him out of the cell. He didn't even register the lifeless faces; he only knew that they weren't Arthur's. What seemed to startle Merlin the most in that small period of time was not the finished pyre, not the crowd of people staring to catch a glimpse of a wanted 'guilty' gaze, not the guards wielding the weapons that could cut him to ribbons, and even in that moment, not even Arthur's face, but the sky. The soft clouds scattered across an atmosphere of azure. Such a beautiful day for such a gruesome event.

He wasn't sure what the elder was thinking right now. He could hear the cuts of his voice. As if yelling at him. All that built up frustration under a thin mask that confused Merlin even more. But now he couldn't even look at him without breaking into a gasp of dried tears. The brunet could never admit something to his parents in the eye, so why should this be any different?

Arthur didn't want Merlin to look at him—to see him peering back down on him as if he were a mere peasant waiting to receive punishment for an unwarranted action. But at the same time, he wanted to see his face. He needed to get another glimpse of those eyes that pulled him forward in the first place. He would sense washed guilt when he would see the orbs, though. That proved Arthur of his consequence too, then. He dared a look to his father. And once he was staring, he couldn't look away.