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There had been nothing he could do.
He'd barely had a moment to think before guards and knights were storming past him, nearly knocking him over in their flurry. Even now, after the dust had settled, he had trouble getting thoughts to form.
Gaius had come to see him, but he wasn't sick. He was just there , staring at the dark littered courtyard below, mind blank and ears ringing. He could still hear his heartbeat in his head, feel it rabbiting in his chest.
They had just grabbed him, his father spitting fire as they took him away, eyes big and blue and pleading.
But there was nothing he could have done.
He was made to watch as the fires were lit, as they crept loudly up the piled wood and licked at his feet. Before the flames even reached him, Merlin had started screaming, kicking his legs and gagging on the smoke as his skin rippled. Arthur couldn't tear his gaze away; he just watched. Watched as Merlin turned red and sharp as he transformed into meager kindling, his voice piercing the air far longer than he felt his lungs would be intact for.
At the end, only ash was left; a thick, black and grey beach of foul smelling sand. Uther had placed his hand on his shoulder in comfort of some twisted sort, and left him to digest the betrayal, the treachery, the secret uncovered.
The life saved.
Bile rose in his throat as his solitude finally allowed his mind to think, to realize what had occurred. Merlin had been executed, for saving Arthur from an assassination attempt in the court, using magic.
"Merlin," he gasped, breath coming quickly all of a sudden. He panted, his chest clenching with an awful pain. He looked back and forth, as though he would find his servant standing somewhere just out of view. Surely he was dreaming, surely he hadn't stood and watched.
There was nothing he could have done.
"God." He dropped to his knees, lungs burning as he failed to catch his breath. He gripped his hair, choking out a growl before biting his mouth shut to try and keep quiet and respect the night.
Tears fell down his nose and balled on the ashes, swimming in his vision as a silent sob ripped out of him. How long had he been out here with the remnants of this tragedy? How long had Merlin been dead?
He forced himself to look up at the remains, at the dust that coated the cobblestone streets. How much of it was wood and sticks? How much of it his clothes? His skin? His eyes? In the morning servants would come along with brooms and sweep him away like crumbs.
His breath caught in his throat as the wind stirred them around, the ashes skittering across the stones and making an almost beautiful twinkling sound.
"No," he mouthed, voice gone from him. He felt as though the sky was taking him away, out of his reach. Surely if he stayed, Merlin would wake him from this dream.
But then he noticed the strange ways in which the ashes danced, the wind was pulling them in, shifting the mounds of dark soot towards the middle, where the pire had stood. Arthur realized then that there was no breeze in the air, and that only some of the ash were swayed by this strange force.
He staggered to his feet, unsteady, as the layer of ash rolled inward as some of the remains seemed to be drawn in. The ground pulsated there, up and down in the center, almost like the slow expand of a breathing lung.
The sun burst from the horizon and he shut his eyes against the burning glare as the sky was cast in reds and golds. He squinted against the brightness, shielding his eyes, and saw a bare chest rising from the ashes.
Trembling hands pulled themselves out of the dirt, pale and covered in black smudges and streaks. The body sat up, hands groping at the air before coming to feel at his breast and face.
"Merlin!" Arthur fell forward, crawling toward him with such desperation that he felt that time had stopped. He grabbed at him, stared into his wide, unseeing eyes as they gazed out at nothing in horror. He took him by the shoulders, holding him up as his knees poked through the ashes as well, body shaking as though tired beyond all limits.
A painful, echoing gasp ripped its way down Merlin's throat as he took his first breath. Then, he moaned, long and aching, as his hands found Arthur's sleeves and he gripped onto them impossibly tight.
"Merlin?" Arthur asked, not knowing what he was doing. A man had just been put back together from grains of sand! He held Merlin's head with one hand as he watched him struggle to find himself.
His eyes suddenly deepened and he saw Arthur for the first time. He winced against his palm, breath hitching. Merlin's mouth hung open in a wide grimace as he tried and failed to say his prince's name.
Arthur shushed him, becoming aware of the fact that this should not be happening. He glanced up at their surroundings, finding miraculously that the yard was still empty.
Merlin was still naked and shaking in his arms, and they were both exposed in the open area. Feeling vulnerable and guilty, Arthur adjusted his hold on Merlin and hoisted him into the air.
Sobs oozed from Merlin's lips as he was cradled in the early morning light. Arthur's feet carried them away, not really conscious of where they were headed but needing desperately to get somewhere safe.
He ended up bursting into Gaius's chambers, Merlin having all but passed out by the time he had arrived, but the old man wasn't there. He laid Merlin out on the patient's table and retrieved a blanket to cover him. His head lolled to the side, his eyes half lidded as his breath came slow and deep.
Arthur stood vigil, watching Merlin's chest rise and fall well into the day, until Gaius arrived with red rimmed eyes and a weary posture.
"Gaius." Arthur's voice cracked. "Where have you been?"
Gaius stood shocked in the doorway, frame rigid. He almost appeared scared. "What did you do?" he asked, not taking his eyes off of Merlin.
Arthur whipped his head back around, as though afraid Merlin had vanished when his eyes weren't on him.
"Arthur–"
"Nothing." Arthur ran a dirtied hand down his face. "I did nothing."
Gaius cautiously approached the bed, placing his hands on Arthur's shoulder and pulling him away.
"Gaius, what–"
"Men do not rise from the dead without consequence."
Arthur stared up at him, confused. He had hardly internalized that Merlin had died. He'd been teasing him awake no longer than a day ago. "He just . . ." He waved his hands in front of him, as though trying to conjure an explanation. He found none.
Gaius's gaze was hard and stubborn as he looked down at the body. He closed his eyes, so Arthur wouldn't see, and tried to sense any foreign entity within his ward, but found none, not even a borrowed soul to resurrect him. "It can't be," he said as he reopened his eyes. This was Merlin, alive, no bargain struck.
Arthur barked out a laugh. "Well it is." His voice was high pitched and he felt like he was in the midst of a feverish dream.
But he knew he wasn't.
Merlin's eyes flickered, before finding Arthur's, and he let out a low sigh through his nose.
"Merlin." He leaned over him, hands hovering.
"Ar . . ." The rest of his name came out as a breath and Merlin shut his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, they were glossy with tears. "Why . . ."
Gaius sat beside him, taking up a rag and clearing she ash from his face. "You surprise me every day, my boy."
Merlin's hand wiggled its way out from under the blanket and rested over his own heart, feeling it beat. His vision swirled and voices sounded as though they were coming from another room.
"God," Arthur grabbed at his hair again before gripping the sides of the patient's cot. "Merlin, you . . . died."
A huff blew out of him. "Sorry."
"Sorry? What– how is this possible?"
"The druids call him Emrys," Gaius said, more to himself than Arthur.
"What?"
"I never thought they'd meant it literally."
"Gaius?" Merlin asked, voice crackling like embers.
The trusty physician pressed his mouth into a thin line as he looked down at him with a sorrowful expression. "I'm sorry, Merlin."
Merlin shook his head minutely. "No."
Arthur took a step back. This was all too much. "He . . . You . . ."
Merlin looked at him then, eyes looking older beyond his years. "Why did you . . ."
Arthur shook his head. "I don't know." He didn't know. He just acted through instinct. None of the past day made sense to him. "There was nothing I could have done."
Merlin seemed confused by the answer, but fell more heavily into his pillow.
"How long have you . . . I didn't know."
Merlin closed his eyes against the question, it seeming to pain him. "I was born with magic," he said, his voice but a whisper.
"You've been protecting me," Arthur said without thinking. He hadn't even noticed he'd come to the conclusion, he just knew.
It was what had gotten him caught after all.
Merlin just gave one, small nod and closed his eyes. "Sorry." He laid there in silence for a few moments, before his breath caught in his throat and he sobbed again, covering his eyes with his hand as he wept.
It struck Arthur how painful this all was; mourning someone who wouldn't die.
He felt sick.
"What–" he stopped, swallowed hard to not vomit. "Merlin, why are you here?"
"I can't," Merlin hiccuped, mouth hanging open as he took desperate, wet breaths. His breathing picked up and he gasped on the bed, chest pumping up and down in quick succession.
"Merlin–"
Gaius cut him off. "He's hyperventilating."
Easing Merlin up into a sitting position, Gaius tossed a few spare pillows behind his back. Merlin gripped at Gaius's sleeves, vision swimming and lungs burning with the massive gulps of air. His arms and legs twinged with pins and needles and his face was scrunched up in severe woe.
"I need to you to breathe in through your nose for me, Merlin."
Merlin shook his head, breath stuttering as his mouth gaped open. "Ah-ah-ah." He failed to speak, gripping onto Gaius even tighter.
"Close your mouth, Merlin," he said gently. When Merlin couldn't comply, he brought his weathered hand up and placed it over Merlin's mouth gently. Merlin scrunched his eyes shut, breath suctioning against Gaius's hand. "Your nose, Merlin."
Merlin moaned as he finally found enough bearing to inhale through his nostrils, now holding Gaius's hand against his face as he huffed out each breath, gradually getting slower with occasional hiccups.
Arthur stood, stock still at the side of the bed, hands hovering over the scene because he wanted to do something.
But there was nothing he could do.
In the end, Merlin was given a sleeping draft, and left to rest, still dirty and nude on the bed, with plentiful blankets and cushions to swaddle him. Even in sleep, his brow was furrowed and mouth slightly down turned, his breath coming loud but slow through his nostrils.
Arthur just sat there, and watched him.
"Arthur?"
He looked up, and Gaius was standing by the fire, holding two bowls of soup, a wary look on his face. The fear in his eyes hit Arthur like a slap to the face and he shook his head.
"I couldn't eat."
"Still," Gaius said, setting the bowls down. He sat across from Arthur, not touching his own food either. A long silence stretched between them, the crack of the fire and Merlin's rest being the only noise in the room.
"Arthur–"
"I'm not–" Arthur bit his lip, hands clenching into fists on his lap. "I don't understand."
"Merlin came here upon the request of his mother, to learn from me. To control his powers."
"You knew then?" Arthur met his eyes, then sighed before receiving an answer. "Of course you did, I just . . ." He looked back at Merlin, eyes flickering about his face. "I wish I'd known."
A long, tired sigh left Gaius, and he sounded older than he should when he next spoke. "Merlin always wished he could tell you. He always thought you were a good man, Arthur. He trusts you more than you think."
Arthur huffed out a sad laugh. "He's told me before. The idiot."
Gaius smiled down at the table, letting the mirth in Arthur's insult ease his remaining concerns for the prince.
Arthur let his head fall, after a while, rubbing his hand down his face. "My god," he uttered, hands shaking. "He died. I watched him– I let him die, Gaius."
Gaius nodded solemnly, reaching across the bench to rest his hand on Arthur's shoulder.
"There was nothing you could have done, Arthur."
A ringing started in Arthur's ears and he looked at Gaius as though he were mad. Something about hearing someone else say it, made it sound so wrong.
"No," he detested. "I could have . . . I should have said something, done something, and–"
"And risk being stripped of your title?" Gaius asked, thinking it would draw Arthur out of his disgust.
"If that's what it took," he said, frowning down at Merlin's sorry state. "I don't know what you meant, when you called him Emrys, but it seems if he was anyone else, he would have been lost last night. My silence ensured his execution."
Gaius squeezed his shoulder and he looked back up again. "You were in shock." He took his hand back, folding them together on the table. "I know enough to tell from across the room." He smiled coyly. "I don't think your destiny would have let you forgo your throne, Arthur, even if you wanted to.
"Merlin would gladly die if it saw a crown upon your head."
Arthur clenched his fists again, then forced himself to relax. The past few years were recontextualizing themselves in his head and it was all so dizzying. Some things made leagues more sense and others . . . others felt foreign to him now.
"God, Merlin." He laughed, but it came out closer to a sob. "What am I going to do with you?"
When Merlin woke, they would bathe him until his skin was clear and the water was black, let him rest in his own bed for a day or two as he digested his immortality. Arthur would wait for him, mind open and ears listening as he would recount his private adventures; slaying great beasts and acting more a spy than a servant. And then he would hear of mighty winged things with sharp tongues that spoke of legends older than man, and he would promise to keep Merlin hidden, a secret in and of himself now, until the time was right, and Arthur could rise to his rightful place.
And Merlin would live as though he could die tomorrow, despite it all, for his life would end when the king would fall, even if his heart still beat.
Best not waste a second.