File:Nodawn.jpg

Merlin couldn’t stop the smile that crept onto his face, nor the tears that trickled down his cheeks, cool compared to the now scorching heat. He was certain the smoke obscured them, and so he let them fall freely as he thought of his prince. Arthur. The man he’d thought a complete ass, the first time they’d met. The man who sometimes still was. The prince who could be the biggest prat in the kingdom one moment, then shine with all the grace, wisdom and dignity of any king. The man who could in the blink of an eye go from an annoying, spoiled brat tormenting the servants, to a brave, shining knight, ready to ride into battle against impossible odds to defend his kingdom and all those within it. [...]

The heat was nearly unbearable now, and the air harder to breathe. He felt white-hot pain in his calf as a spark suddenly jumped ahead of the rest of the flames, catching his trouser leg and scorching the flesh beneath. He bit his lip, fighting the urge to cry out in pain. From everything he knew about death at the stake, chances were he would suffocate before the flames got much closer to him.

It wasn’t a terribly comforting thought.

He turned his thoughts forcibly away from his fast-approaching fate, letting them return to Arthur. He wondered how the prince would react to his death. Arthur had risked his life for Merlin before, true, but Arthur was a man of honor. He would never allow anyone to suffer on his behalf. It was just who he was.

Still, Merlin suspected Arthur wouldn’t take his death easily. He would have a lot to deal with, when he awoke: learning of his own near-death, of Merlin’s magic, of his execution. Would he be sad? Angry? Would he believe Uther’s accusations, that Merlin was a traitor? Arthur had seen magic used for good, and Merlin had begun to hope the prince’s beliefs about it could be changed. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t believe Uther’s story, and Merlin wouldn’t exactly be around to explain his side.

A harsh, wracking cough shook him from his thoughts. He opened his eyes, barely able to see through the haze of heat and ash. Each breath yielded less air and more noxious smoke, and he was beginning to feel light headed. The flames at his legs burned the fabric of his trousers, and the hair on his legs beginning to singe.

Yet pain and fear remained thankfully distant. As his lungs began to scorch from the heat, Merlin knew the end was only moments away. He closed his eyes, and involuntarily, his body arched, fighting its own death.

Arthur, he thought desperately, as though even now, his prince could somehow save him. Arthur!

But Arthur did not answer. As a flash of white-hot agony tore through him, Merlin felt his soul cry out, and with a final sob, his body gave up its desperate fight for life. He saw a blinding light that faded to gold, then deep crimson, before the world went black. The flames consumed him, and he knew no more.