Merthur - The Blue Butterfly

Chapter 15 - The Tears of Arthur Pendragon

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?

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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.