I used the deadwood to make the fire rise,
The blood of innocence burning in the skies.

Arthur could see when the flames were lit. From his vantage point on the balcony, he could see everything. The sudden lunge for the fire made by the weeping mother; the shaking hand that held her back belonging to the Court Physician.
He could see how many faces watched in horror, and more than one glistened with freshly shed tears. He hadn't realised just how liked his fr- the sorcerer had become with the people of Camelot.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Guinevere was crying as well, her sobs covered up by the crackling of the fire that was slowly eating away at the wood by his ex-manservant's feet. He longed to take her in his arms and tell her everything was going to be okay.
But he knew, deep down inside, that things were never going to be okay again.

I'm swimming in the smoke,
Of bridges I have burned.
So don't apologize,
I'm losing what I don't deserve.

Through the smoke that was starting to billow from the pyre, he could see the sorcerer's face clearly. His jaw was clenched, and his mouth was set in a firm line. To the majority of people watching, it would seem as if fear held no power over his emotions. But to someone who had known him for years, the slight tremor of his arms gave away just how scared he really was. Suddenly, the sorcerer turned his gaze towards Arthur. His blue eyes pierced Arthur's own, and he heard a sharp intake of breath that he vaguely registered had come from his own mouth. For what he had seen in those blue depths was not anger, or despair. Nor hatred, or sorrow. The look Arthur had seen was almost… apologetic.
He couldn't help remembering when he had glimpsed that same look before, back when everything changed.

We held our breath when the clouds began to form
But you were lost in the beating of the storm.

He had thought he was going to die, there and then. Whilst hunting with his knights, they had found themselves surrounded and outnumbered by a large group of bandits. Wanting to preserve his honour, he had decided to go down fighting, and just when he thought that moment was drawing near, it happened.
Out of nowhere a violent wind had whipped through the trees, the sky had started to blacken, and lightning had struck down his enemies. As he looked on in a horrified fascination at the scene, he had suddenly caught a glimpse of something that nearly made his heart stop. A figure, surrounded by smoke and bits of flying trees, with his hand outstretched. And his eyes. Eyes that burned brighter than a thousand suns, filled with liquid gold.
Eyes that belonged to someone so familiar, he was sure he was seeing things.
Except he wasn't.

And in the end we were made to be apart,
Like separate chambers of the human heart.

Arthur had stood there, his mind reeling, until the slow lowering of Mer- the traitor's hand brought him back to his senses. The look he had seen in the now-blue eyes mirrored that of the one he had just seen. Three words had followed that look, three words that bought his world crashing down.
I'm sorry Arthur.
The sense of betrayal had overwhelmed every other emotion at that point. He realised that he wasn't angry at the fact that magic was used in front of him; it was the realisation that for all those years of friendship he still hadn't gained a certain manservant's trust. This betrayal hurt far more than the time he had been almost killed by the Questing Beast. It made that feel like a mere scratch.
That's why, with a cold voice and an even colder heart, Arthur had ordered his Knights to arrest the sorcerer.

The blame is mine alone,
For bridges I have burned.
So don't apologize,
I'm losing what I don't deserve.

Suddenly, a sharp scream broke his train of thought. Arthur looked down to see that the flames had risen to cover the lower half of the sorcerer's body. But it wasn't he who had called out; Arthur could make out Hunith struggling against Gaius' grip, crying out in vain for her son. At this, Athur focused his attention back to the face of the tortured sorcerer and for the second time in minutes, he felt his heart constrict as he beheld the sight before him. The sorcerer had closed his eyes in an attempt to block out the vision of his mother, and steady streams of tears were flowing down his face. He was mouthing the same words over and over, his face filled with such pain that Arthur almost had to look away.
I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
Those two words, repeated, their meaning only too clear.
I'm sorry you have to see this. I'm sorry this is causing you pain. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner.
Stupid Merlin. Idiotic Merlin. Always thinking of others before himself.
At least I have the ability to think.
The retort that normally would have been made by his manservant sprung instantly to mind, and it was then that the realisation hit. Merlin, his friend, his stupidly loyal friend, was burning alive because he, Arthur Pendragon, was too headstrong to forgive him. He couldn't see past the betrayal, to the reasons why it was kept secret for so long.
In the words of Merlin, he was being a prat. And a royal one at that.
Before he knew what he was doing, Arthur found himself stepping forward towards the edge of the balcony with his hand outstretched. His desperate cry of Merlin! echoed round the courtyard. Dimly, he realised that his arm were being pulled back, and he was being pulled back away from the edge.
But all that faded into the background when an agonised scream pierced the air.
Merlin had finally given into the pain.

I used the dead wood to make the fire rise,
The blood of innocence burning in the skies.

That scream of torment galvanised Arthur's body into movement. He twisted in the guards grasp, trying to escape so he could somehow right the wrong he had caused. All the time, he was screaming Merlin's name, his throat already sounding hoarse from the ferocity of the shouts. But no matter how much he struggled, he couldn't break free. Despair started to seep into his very core, as he realised that the screams coming from the great mountain of flames had stopped. He tried to search for any sign that Merlin was still alive, but all that was visible was the blurred outline of his body and a mass of orange and yellow. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't focus on anything. Then he became conscious of a strange wetness on his cheeks and around his eyes, and found himself struggling to stand on his feet. His knees buckled, and if it weren't for the guards restraining him he would have fallen to the unforgiving floor. It was over. He had failed. Failed Merlin, failed Gauis, failed Hunith, failed Gwen. Failed anyone who thought he would become a better King than his father.
Through his tears, Arthur looked at the rising smoke and thought three words.

I'm sorry Merlin.

This is my first ever fanfic of any sort. If you'd be kind enough to review, and tell me what you liked / I could do to improve, I'll be forever grateful. :]