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He heard the beat of drums.
He heard the clinking of chains.
Not a sound from the crowd though – they were completely silent, like stunned.
He felt the warm breeze from the balcony where he stood.
He felt the hard ground under his feet.
He didn’t feel the comfort of the steadfast presence just one step behind him – he was alone.
He could see the stacks of wood.
He could see the man with a torch.
He definitely didn’t look at the man tied to the pyre.
He faintly heard his own speech on the evils of magic, said in a far away voice that sounded so much like his father.
He felt his arm raise – and fall to his side.
He saw the flames rise.
He smelled the smoke. He heard the screams.
He jolted awake with a gasp.
It was just a nightmare.
Just a nightmare.
Merlin was fine.
He was sleeping in Gaius' chambers, same as always.
Wasn’t he?
Arthur resisted the sudden urge to rush to the physician's quarters to check on his manservant. He instead forced himself to stay in bed and tried to let sleep take him again, but his thoughts were all over the place.
He knew he'd seen Merlin use magic. The unmistakable golden glint in his eyes. The bandit flying in the air when no one had touched him.
He knew he'd been furious then, cursing and yelling at the servant who had just saved his life. A few choice words he was now ashamed of. The desire to harm, to lash out, to wound, be it with a word or a sword.
He knew he'd been told how much Merlin had done for Camelot. The sacrifices. The heroic deeds. The pain.
But in his sleep-addled state, freshly woken from a gruesome nightmare of Merlin's death, he couldn't remember whether he'd pardoned him, or sent him to the pyre in his rage. The first felt horrifyingly like wishful thinking, the second was unthinkable.
He tossed and turned in his bed, only managing to find sleep in the quiet hours before dawn.
In the morning, he was roused from a fitful, unsatisfactory sleep by a quiet cough.
"Hello, Sire. Your breakfast," George’s voice announced.
The horror of the nightmare sprang back to him. George? Why George? Why not... Merlin?
He eyed George warily.
“Say, George, why are you waking me up?”
“It is two candlemarks past the seventh bell, sire.”
Of course, George would give him the most appropriate answer, instead of explaining why Merlin wasn't attending him.
Arthur tried to gather his courage in order to ask about his best friend's fate.
In the end, he didn't dare to.