OK I KNOW YOU ALL HATE ME BUT SERIOUSLY I'VE BEEN SO BUSY I THINK I DIED TWICE

Basically, I've just finished high school and am now doing exams, at the same time as trying to get everything sorted for university, so my brain is a little frazzled. Plus, just because life hates me, I've had a bit of writer's block with this chapter... But it's here now (please don't hurt me)

It was the waiting that was the worst. He had already come to terms with his death, but to wait for it all to play out? That was the hardest thing. Especially when his mind kept wandering to scenarios where Arthur would waltz along to his cell, declare he'd changed his mind, and set Merlin free. But as the night had drifted through today, and the pyre grew taller, Merlin felt the sinking finality of his impending death set in.

It wasn't like he hadn't known the risks in staying. From day one Gaius had warned him of the consequences should he be found out. It was just; Merlin had never taken it seriously. He'd never expected Arthur to react this way. Maybe it was blind hope that Arthur would accept him for who he is. Maybe that's why he'd never really thought about dying at Arthur's hand.

Sure, he thought about death all the time. Every time he fought, images of his death would flash across his imagination. But he never did just see his own death. He would see the deaths of all the men fighting, whether they were fighting with or against him. He would imagine the final moments of every sorcerer that had died by his hand. But most of all, he would see Arthur's last moments. Arthur impaled by a sword, cast down by some spell, any imaginable death Merlin had at one point pictured.

That was the main reason why he hadn't seriously thought about his own death. He was far too busy worrying about Arthur to even begin to worry about himself. He realised that some tiny part of him had always assumed that Arthur would die first. That he'd slip up, and he wouldn't be able to save the prince. He'd always imagined that he would be the one that would have to live with the grief, the guilt; the one that would have to live on. In fact, he welcomed the idea. Because as much as it would hurt, he would be the one hurting, not Arthur. But now Arthur would live on without Merlin. And though he hated Merlin with his whole being at this moment, Merlin was sure that there would come a day in the future when Arthur decided to once again view Merlin as a friend. And then he'd feel the hurt and pain.

Though there was no point dwelling on these thought, because there was nothing Merlin could do to stop it, at least, nothing he was willing to do.

Merlin was dragged out of his thought by the sounds of metal scraping against stone, and looked up to see a sorrowful guard waiting at his cell door, binding ropes at the ready. Merlin heaved himself up, his bones and muscles protesting at the movement after being still so long. The walk to the courtyard seemed infinitely long and impossibly short, the final moments of Merlin's life a whirlwind of long drawn out seconds. He could hear the shuffling of Morgana's feet behind him, and somehow couldn't help but feel responsible for her death also. As he stood in front of his death sentence, he took a deep breath, one last smell of the fresh, untainted air before the stench of burning flesh filled his senses.

Merlin was the first up on the pyre, Morgana shortly behind. As they were tied to the soon to be burning wood, Merlin looked across the crowd, his gaze unwavering. Despite having befriending many of the common folk that stood before him, they now regarded him with the same disgust they showed to the rats beneath their feet. At least they granted the rats a quick death.

The knights and palace workers were a different matter altogether. They knew the truth behind his execution. They had seen him fight on the battlefield, had seen him throw himself in danger's path to save those who once persecuted his kind. They had seen him nearly sacrifice his own life to save the merciless Uther, and they knew that his heart could not be black. And deep down, they all knew Arthur knew it too.

Finally, Merlin couldn't stop himself any longer, and he looked to Arthur. The steely blue eyes that met his own were so harshly different to the bright, expressive ones he was used to that it felt wrong to see them on Arthur's face. In fact, Arthur had never looked more like Uther than in this moment, his cold, expressionless face so similar to the previous monarch. This was a man who could kill his best friend, this was a man who would rule the kingdom with fear, this was a man who was not Arthur. And it was all Merlin's fault. He was to blame for destroying his own destiny, for how could the man before him ever hope to unite Albion and bring about the return of magic. Merlin could only hope that Arthur would keep his promise to the other magic folk, that this execution was more to do with betrayal than magic.

In his right hand Arthur held an unlit torch. Something so harmless, used to guide a wanderer in the dark, would be his undoing. It was almost laughable, the great druid Emrys, more powerful than armies of sorcerers, killed by a burning torch. He never had expected to live up to the name; though he never asked what it meant, he was sure it would be something along the lines of 'all powerful' or even just the word 'magic'. A name that grand was not fit for the unimpressive serving boy.

Arthur started moving slowly forward, causing the bustling crowd to quite until the air was stiff with silence, with only the thud of Arthur's boots and the crackling of fire to break it. Arthur lowered his torch into the flames until the fire licked the wood in his hands. He then once more moved towards the pyre, as if he were a predator stalking his prey, all the while keeping his gaze locked with Merlin's. It was as if it were a test of wills, as if the first to look away would be the first to admit guilt, to take the blame for the situation they were in now.

Once he reached the pyre, Arthur took a deep breath, seeming to be mentally preparing himself for what he was about to do. As he looked at Merlin, his cold gaze broke down and a flurry of emotions flickered in his eyes. Merlin could only assume the enormity of lighting the pyre was beginning to affect him, as if he only truly realised how permanent his decision would be. Finally, he looked away from Merlin, and down to his torch hovering above the stack of wood. Merlin watched as Arthur slowly lowered the torch, counting the seconds until the flames took over. Suddenly, Arthur let go of the torch, and Merlin, unable to watch it hit the pyre, closed his eyes.

Gasps rang throughout the courtyard. That fact, along with the absence of heat enticed Merlin to open his eyes. Arthur was on his knees staring into the distance with wide eyes. The burning torch was on the ground, barely a foot away from the pyre, still close enough for a rogue spark to finish the job. Arthur seemed to realise this, for he picked up the torch once more, only to throw it away.

"I can't." the whisper seemed to fall almost involuntarily from Arthur's lips, "I can't do it."

Murmurs started throughout the crowd, all unsure as of what to make of the scene before them. A king, unable to follow through with his own commands was not what Camelot needed or wanted. Seeing the unease beginning to take over the crowd one of the guards placed at the pyre to prevent any rescue attempts stepped towards the torch, "I can light the wood sire, if you want. We all understand that it is difficult for you to end your friend's life, but if its what you want-"

"No!" Arthur roared as he rose and turned towards the guard, broken out of his self-inflicted stupor, "No-one is lighting that pyre. Not today, or any day after."

Merlin could do nothing but stare at Arthur in shock. What had happened to the man who seconds ago appeared to want nothing more than his death? For the first time since his sentencing, Merlin allowed hope to creep into his thoughts. He turned to Morgana and saw the same wary emotion cross her features. Maybe they would both make it out of this alive.

Arthur swept his gaze across the shocked crowd, "I know you've all been taught to hate magic by my father for the past twenty years. I know that many of you view magic as pure evil. But I'm asking you to open your minds. The only magic you have seen in the past twenty years has been driven by hate, because only those who wanted the destruction of Camelot dared to enter this city. The simple truth is that ever since magic was outlawed in Camelot war was declared on all those with magic. Yesterday was just the climax of that war. In all honesty, if it weren't for Merlin and Morgana then Camelot would have fallen. Magic has never been the enemy."

Arthur then turned towards the pyre and climbed up to where Merlin and Morgana were bound. Producing a knife from his belt he cut the ropes that kept them prisoner and began to descend the pile of wood, gesturing for the two sorcerers to follow.

Once they reached the solid ground the crowd parted, from both fear and awe. Arthur led Morgana and Merlin towards the castle, avoiding people's questioning looks. They would have to learn to accepts magic sooner or later, he had over two thousand magic users in his castle waiting to become citizens of Camelot (though where they would find space for them he didn't know).

Merlin, still shocked over the turn of events, hadn't even thought of his friends or Gaius, but as the father figure flashed to mind, he searched the crowd for him. He quickly spotted him standing with Gwen and his friends, all sporting looks of relief.

He grinned at Gaius, letting his own joy finally show through. However, as he looked at the physician he saw the relief fall from Gaius' face and something more akin to horror took over as he began to mouth something to Merlin. Before the young man could make out what he was saying, Merlin felt a sharp burst of pain spark in his abdomen as his breath left his body. He could hear people shouting his name, but it was all muffled. As if they were speaking through a wooden door rather than standing next to him. Looking down he saw the sword sticking out of his stomach, slick with his own blood, before his attacker slid it back out, presumably to fight the guards coming to arrest him.

Merlin felt a trickle of blood seep out of his mouth as his knees gave way. However, he did not hit the ground as expected, but ended up in Arthur's arms. Arthur was shouting and screaming, at whom Merlin did not know, however it was nice that for once Arthur's anger was not directed at him/ Tears streamed down the prince's face as he looked at his dying friend. As the prickling of unconscious entered his vision, Merlin only wished that he could have thanked Arthur for everything one last time.

I feel a bit like Steven Moffat – I actually cackled writing this! Sorry! I know you must hate me but hey ho, it had to be done.

On a more positive(?) note, there's only a couple more chapters and an epilogue to go, and I've actually written a lot of them already, so expect this to be finished in the next two weeks! (that's actually quite sad for me…)

Feel free to review with your tears as they are what fuel my soul! Also, if you have any suggestions for this chapter or would like more description (I'm so bad at describing things! I'm always just racing away to get the major plot points told :P) then let me know.

P.s I keep forgetting to tell you guys this, but I have a tumblr: superwholockintheimpala - follow for more of my awesomeness (seriously my blog is a mess I don't tag anything beware all who enter)