Gwen stood outside the doors that led down into the dungeon. She could feel the cold air billowing up from the dark place, sending goosebumps all over her skin. Taking a deep breath, the maid began to descend the stairs, holding the tray of food just like she would as if she was delivering rations to any normal prisoner. About halfway down the stairs, a voice stopped her.

"Guinevere," the old physician spoke from behind her, standing a few steps behind her.

Gwen jumped, not having heard Gaius. "H-hello, Gaius," she replied politely, keeping her voice level.

"What are you doing with that food?" His glazed-over eyes glanced at the tray she held in her hands.

"This is for the prisoner," she explained, turning so the food was less visible. "I'm delivering her rations."

Gaius took a step forward. "How thoughtful of you, but that won't be necessary. She's already received her rations for tonight."

"A little more food won't hurt," the maid was growing cautious and took a step backward. Gaius didn't seem himself at all. What was wrong?

"You don't want to go breaking the rules, Gwen," said the physician in a warning tone, "There are consequences for that. You don't want to end up like that witch down there, do you?"

"W-well, no, but—"

"I'll take that tray for you, and you go on back to your duties, alright? Just give it here," he reached for the tray.

Gwen jerked away, and Gaius grabbed her arm roughly. "Give it to me!"

She squealed in alarm as he lunged for the food. He was old, and she had enough strength to move so suddenly that his grip was broken, and his balance was lost. With a shout, he tripped over his robes and took a tumble down the stairs, motionless at the bottom.

Gwen gasped and rushed down to stand beside him. "Gaius? Gaius!"

The old man didn't respond, but he was breathing. Unconscious. Gwen had no idea what just happened, but assumed that it had something to do with the witch, and that served as a reminder to what her current task was. The maid hurried down the long hallway of cells, searching for the one that held the old woman. The sound of talking made her pause and slow her pace, trying to look natural.

A group of guards marched down the hall. In the center of the group was Prince Arthur, er, Merlin, Gwen reminded herself. He looked horribly distraught. Well, of course he did, he was being carried off to be executed. The sight made her heart pound.

As they passed, Merlin turned his head slightly to look at her. It was a desperate look, but his eyes weren't pleading for aid.

It was as if he was saying goodbye to her with a simple passing glance, on the way to his death.

X

The guards weren't at all graceful in escorting Merlin out of the castle. They didn't bother dragging him, but if he slowed his pace at all, he received a sharp jab in the back with one of the guard's weapons. His hands were bound behind him tightly; Even his mouth was gagged with a horrible smelling cloth. The news of the execution had already reached the people of Camelot. It appeared as if the entire city was crowded around the small executioner's block. Some of them cheered for justice, some shouted in protest. But no one dared to directly defy the order of their king, or they should meet the same fate as they believed their Prince would this day.

With a harsh shove, the guards hauled Merlin up to the executioner's block. A basket, as always, was set in front of it to catch the head of whoever was the unlucky soul to place his head down for the blade. This time, the unlucky soul was Merlin himself. He couldn't believe it. He was going to die.

The voice of a man beside him rang out as the warlock was forced to lay his head down onto the block. The man read from a scroll the charges that Arthur Pendragon was accused with. The reason why the Prince of Camelot was going to die today.

Merlin didn't even hear the words the man spoke. There was an unbearable ringing in his ears, and he closed his eyes, praying it wouldn't hurt for long.

The hooded executioner stepped up onto the block, gripping the rope that would release the blade of the dreaded guillotine.

I'm sorry, Arthur.