Arthur waits in his cell, staring down at the flower that Merlin had returned to him before he left. The red chrysanthemum continues to bloom brightly, seeming to light up the dim cell despite all the shadows that surround him. The prince clutches it tight in his hands, the flower reminding him of times long gone. Of better days where nothing seemed to matter. Where his most difficult problem was finding a way into the cell beyond the grate. Now he sits in a cell of his own, waiting for the time when the drums sound and the guards arrive at the gate. Ready to bring him out and face the executioner. He wonders if his father will watch. If the man has lost all sense and has now learned to find pleasure in killing his own loved ones. Then again, who's to say his father ever loved him?

Noon comes and the rhythmic pounding of the drums resound across the castle. The guards appear at the gate, looking sullen and nervous as they unlock the door, reach in, and pull out their prince. Their grip is loose as they guide him through the halls, as though hoping that perhaps, just maybe, he'll try and escape. That he'll shake off the guards and run as most prisoners try to do. And then when he runs they'll pretend he was too strong. That he knocked them down and they couldn't give chase. But, true to the prince they all know he continues on, even stopping once to scold them on their lack of caution around a prisoner. About how dangerous that could be and the risk they take with their lives with such negligence. He is indeed a most kind prince. A man that truly deserves to be king. So why are they bringing him to the executioner now? As though he is nothing more than a common criminal?

When prince Arthur appears from the doors of the dungeon the people gathered around the raised platform in the courtyard let out a collective gasp. The crowd parts for him and some even bow as he passes through, seeming to forget for a moment that it is he that is to be killed. That it is he who is the criminal today. As he's pushed to his knees before his people a strange sense of wrongness emanates through the crowd. After all, is it not them that should kneel before their prince? Especially before one as fair and just as their own prince Arthur?

As the executioner steps up onto the stand, axe hoisted upon his shoulder, a sense of guilt begins to bear him down like he's been forced to carry Atlas' burden of the sky. He's brought down justice on dozens of men and women. Has killed all sorts with the very axe he holds in his hands and has never felt a shred of guilt. It's because he has always trusted in his king. He trusted that whomever approached him on his stand deserved to die. That those men that stepped up were no good criminals who would only hurt more if they were allowed to live. And yet, here comes a man that he trusts too. The prince who he swore he would devote his life to once the king had passed. Why did he kneel here now? Why must he bring down his axe on the prince he trusts as much as his king?

-------

Merlin rubs at his eyes, feeling the tiredness begin to settle in after a whole night of tossing and turning. His mind had been filled with Arthur the entire time, having felt both worried and angry at the prince. After everything they had done together he would have thought that Arthur trusted him enough to confide in him with his problems. But still the man kept it to himself and that worried the warlock to no end. He wants to know what's wrong. Wants to help and at the very least be by his side. Yet what does Arthur decide to do instead? He chooses to send him away. Send him somewhere where he can't help.

Merlin glances at his surroundings. There's a row of wooden houses, much larger than the ones he remembers from home, lining his left and right. People flood the streets around him, crowding him against Morgana and Gwen who walk along side him. They all seem busy with their own respective tasks, most paying them no mind as they squeeze through the crowd in order to reach a market stall or a shop. Compared to the eerie quiet of his cell the bustling atmosphere is refreshing. Yet, even though he has finally escaped from his cell he finds no happiness from the sights and smells of the town. It doesn't feel right. It doesn't feel right because Arthur isn't here beside him.

They stop by the edge of town, waiting by the gates for the Druid who had been sent to meet them. Gwen clings to Morgana, crying as she tells her how much she'll miss her while the latter comforts her the best she can. Merlin keeps to himself, leaning against one of the fence posts as he stares off into the distance at the castle. He wonders where Arthur is. Wonders if the prince is safe and unharmed. He wants to see him again already and it hasn't even been more than half a day. How is he going to last months - even years - without him? He never realized how much he needed the prince's company until he's gone.

"Where's everybody going?" Gwen suddenly asks, looking towards the path to the castle where large crowds are streaming towards the gates. "Is there something happening in the courtyard today?" she asks, turning to Morgana who is squinting into the distance with a look of worry.

"Another execution perhaps? A few criminals had been put on trial recently," she says, turning away to search for the Druid and the subject drops.

A few minutes later the Druid appears, green cloak over his shoulders as he approaches with a warm smile. The man has a kindly face and white, curly hair. He seems to radiate an aura of gentleness as he nods at the three. "Ah, you must be Morgana and Merlin. It's a pleasure to meet you. I am Iseldir," the man says with a slight bow.

Merlin hides behind Morgana, feeling nervous at the presence of the new stranger. His mind clouds, obscuring his thinking as he looks the man up and down. What does he say? Should he bow too? Is he supposed to greet him or what? He doesn't know what to do! He's only ever spoken to Arthur, Morgana, or Gwen! He hides a little further behind Morgana, which doesn't work too well due to his height, but he's still grateful to having at least something to disappear partially behind. Gwen puts a hand on his shoulder, whispering into his ear that it'll be alright while Morgana speaks with the man.

"You're the... Druid," she says the last word quietly, "that Arthur sent for?"

"Indeed I am. We all owe the prince a favour after he spared our lives," he says, "we will keep you hidden and help you master your talents until he deems it safe for you both to return."

Merlin smiles a little at the words. So these are the Druids that Arthur had saved. He feels a bit of pride stirring in his chest. He had placed his trust in the right man after all.

"Now come," the man says, gesturing to them, "we must go now. The longer we dwell here the more dangerous it is."

Gwen gives Morgana and Merlin one last hug before sending them off, a smile on her face as she promises to watch over Arthur for them while they're gone. The pair give one last wave before disappearing beyond the gate, Morgana with tears in her eyes and Merlin with his still trained on the castle in the distance where his prince waits. Neither notice until much later a certain blond, curly haired knight racing towards them with a look of utter fear and terror in his eyes. 

-------

The king steps out onto the balcony that overlooks the courtyard. His eyes scan the crowd, seeing the somewhat horrified and curious faces of his people. A few notice his presence and turn their attention to him, eyes filled with fright as they await their king with dismay. The rest though, appear to have failed to notice the king. Their eyes remain on the prince, the one who waits patiently on the stand, back turned to the king and his head bowed low.

"Let this be a warning to you all," the king begins, his voice echoing off the walls of the castle and making all heads turn in his direction, "that I show no mercy for any crime that involves sorcery. And to show you all the power of corruption which magic holds I want you all to bear witness to today's execution for even my own son, Arthur Pendragon, has become tainted by sorcery." A gasp ripples through the crowd, the noise steadily growing and growing as the people begin to murmur amongst themselves. Questions are thrown across the air. Questions about how, what, and why. The king scans the crowd for a moment before gently raising his hand. The chatter dies down, the voices ceasing as they wait for their king to answer them.  

Uther looks down towards the prince and Arthur shivers at the piercing stare. Even if he can't see his father's face. He can feel it. Feel the hatred that emanates off the man. The hatred that today is directed straight at him. He shifts in his spot, knees already aching from the hard wood. He can sense the headsman standing over him, axe in hand as he waits for the king's orders.

"My son was found conspiring with sorcerers. He has betrayed us all. Committed an act of treason. This is what magic does. It corrupts. It turns friend on friend. Brother on brother. A son on his father. This is why we must remain vigilant. We must continue our fight until the day we can all live without fear of this danger known as magic. Now, Arthur, I give you one last chance. Repent now or face the headsmen's axe."

Arthur keeps his head down, his body shaking now as the time approaches. A part of him wants to repent. To apologize to his father. To save himself. He doesn't want to die. No one wants to die. What does he owe to the sorcerers? They have done nothing for him. He should give this up. Say he's sorry and have everything return to the way things are. Yet, as his eyes train down onto the chopping block where hundreds, maybe even thousands, of sorcerers have died he can't bring himself to say the words. How many had his father sentenced? How old were they? What lives did they used to lead before the king found them? He thinks about Merlin. About what his family must have been like. About the happiness that was ripped away from them because of the senseless crusades of one man.

The prince looks up, eyes meeting those of the people in front of him, of the guards who have turned their heads back to see him, of the executioner who stands just at the corner of his vision. He can see something in all their gazes, a silent question that seems to ask: is this true? The trust that remains in their eyes even as he kneels, now like a common criminal, before the headsman's axe reminds him of what Merlin had said about how he trusted him and believed in him. All these people before him think the same. They have placed their trust in him and it's about time that he does the same.

His body stills as the fear starts to disappear. He feels calmer. More sure of his answer. He straightens his back, keeps his head held high as he looks over his people and they all return his gaze. Their eyes are trained on him, stuck to the golden prince who can still glow with a radiance that none could match even as he kneels before the chopping block. "I stand by my actions," he says, making his voice loud and clear for all to hear for there will be no more mistakes, no more turning back. This is what he stands by and he won't let anyone claim otherwise. "It's true that I consorted with a warlock. I have gone against our laws, but I assure you all that I had done nothing that would endanger the lives of any of you here. I would never willingly harm any citizen of this kingdom, that is something I have long ago sworn to myself, and in my eyes that promise extends to everyone. Sorcerers included. I befriended a warlock and it is thanks to his friendship that I am the man I became today. I continued to speak with him because I knew he would never do ill. He taught me many things that I never would have learned without him and for that I'm grateful. He encouraged me to make my own choices and to base them on the experiences that I had and that is what I've done. I have broken the spell of hatred. I thought for myself and I made my choice. If you still wish to end my life, father, then so be it, continue this senseless purge, but know that your hatred and cruelty will be your end."

He doesn't turn to face the king, instead he remains facing forward, eyes staring off into the far distance. All the way past the lower town and through the gates, all the way to the young warlock who is waiting for him and now will have to forever wait until the end of time for his prince to return. 

The people in the crowd can see the seething hatred setting into the king. His face turns red, his eyes are narrowed into slits as his fists clench beside him. He raises a hand then brings it down. The signal. The end.

The headsman pushes the prince down, positioning his head against the chopping block and readies his axe. Arthur closes his eyes. Taking in a deep breath. Smelling the air. Hearing the sounds. He tries to steady his heart. Tries to prepare himself for the inevitable, but he just can't. After all, how does one prepare for death? His hands still clings onto the flower, clings to the red chrysanthemum that Merlin had given him. It's the one thing that he can't let go. The one thing that he regrets. 

When he hears the executioner raise his axe, hoisting it up over his head as the people begin to shriek, he feels a wetness against his cheeks. He tries to stop the tears. Tries to force them back because he had vowed until the day he died that he would be the prince of this kingdom and a prince should not cry. But as he looks up towards the front gate, towards where Merlin now stands with his eyes wide in horror, he can't stop the tears from flowing. Because to Merlin he isn't just a prince. To Merlin he's Arthur. And as Arthur he's allowed to cry. He's allowed to show his fear.