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Sunrise paints the sky a beautiful red, stretching over Camelot's rooftops, a luminous crown.The bright shine of fire meets it halfway, blazing pyres reaching up, roaring.On the balcony over the courtyard, Merlin shudders at the delinquents' screams.Arthur's gaze is steel, his reprimand sword-sharp; all dissent is treason.“They should've thought twice before laying hands on their queen.”A lowborn queen, ill-received by some, victim of conspirators.“They are not all guilty, please, just listen-”“Would you like to join them, Merlin?”This rancour, is this Merlin's destiny?“You are your father's son.”The screams die down.The smoke dissolves.Arthur smiles.”Maybe.”