Merthur - The Blue Butterfly

Chapter 16 - Forget-Me-Not

A/N - This'll be the last chapter to The Blue Butterfly. I was planning on splitting this chapter in two but I think we can all agree there's been enough cliffhangers lately and you'll all be mad if I put another one so I finished up the story in this longer chapter. 

I want to thank you all for sticking with this story this long and I hope you'll enjoy the end! 

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Merlin stops as soon as the stand comes into view. There's the executioner, axe up in the air as he hovers over his latest victim and then there's Arthur, the shamed prince who now kneels before his people, head atop the chopping block like a traitor. He notices the prince look up, spotting him amongst the crowd and even from this distance Merlin can see the regret in his eyes. The look that seems to tell him I'm sorry for everything. The warlock forces himself to take a step forward as tears form in Arthur's eyes, as they stream down his cheeks and drip down off his chin. He wants to reach out, to hold him tight and bring him into an embrace to tell him that it's alright. That he's forgiven. That he has done all he needs.

But he can't. He can't move. Can't feel his arms or legs as he stands there by the gate, shocked into stillness. The headsman shifts and the axe beings to sway, yet the numbness continues to plague him. He lifts a trembling hand up with much effort, trying in vain to channel his magic towards the stand, but his powers continue to allude him. He grabs at the wisps, pulling at them only for them to disappear and reappear elsewhere that he can't reach. They feel chaotic inside him, like a wild deer that has just spotted the hunter. They run from his grasp, refusing to obey him. Refusing to do as he wishes. The more his magic runs the more his frustration grows, and the more it grows the more hectic his magic becomes. It's a never-ending cycle. One that grows worse and worse the more he tries. And so, he stops. He stops chasing his magic. Stops trying to grab something that isn't there. Instead he runs forward, weaving his way through the crowd just as the executioner prepares to swing.

He won't make it. He's not going to make it.

But while the warlock had been struggling with his magic the people had been struggling too. Their minds fought within itself. Two sides wrestling one another for dominance. They had been left with a choice that rivalled no other and they had been left with little time to pick the right one. On one side was their prince, the man who they had watched learn and grow, the one who presented a new hope, who held the potential to make a greater Camelot. But on the other was their king. The king who held the most powerful weapon of all, the power known as fear. And the people did fear him. They cowered against the glare of their king. Cowered at the cruelty which allowed his conscience to execute his own son. They feared him and were reluctant to disobey. Yet, when they looked to the prince before them all they could see was the same fear reflected in his eyes. Their prince was afraid and despite it he had done what should have been done. He had kept his morals, his beliefs, and his values. He fought for what he thought was right and was willing to die for it. A man like that did not deserve to die. A man like that deserved to be king. And the people should follow the king's example.

As the executioner prepares to swing the crowd's gaze hardens. They surge forward all at once, pushing and shoving against the guards who for a moment are too stunned to do anything. They are pushed back against the force, stumbling before regaining their footing and holding their position firm with weapons brandished, but as the crowd continues to push, shouting for their prince they look to one another then back towards Arthur and realize that they too do not wish the prince to die. So, they let the spears drop to the ground, let the people push past them as they wish and charge up to the stands.

When the people near the stand they find the executioner swinging his axe downwards. Many stop in their tracks, gasping in horror or covering their eyes at the gruesome show that is to come, but a few press on. They are determined to keep going until either they have saved their prince or the head of Arthur Pendragon rolls across the ground. Merlin charges ahead of the rest, having been spurred on after seeing the love that all the kingdom shares for the prince, and races towards the stand. He grabs onto the edge, lifting himself up until he's face to face with the man he loves. Arthur smiles at him and Merlin returns the grin, but the happiness is short lived. The warlock looks up to see the axe come down, the eyes of the headsman staring into his as the loud thunk of the blade hitting its mark echoes across the courtyard.