Arthur held Merlin on his bed as the smell of burning flesh and a man's dieing screams filtered through the closed window. The man's crime? Trying to assist his wilting crops with a bit of green magic. But Uther wanted an example, and what Uther wanted Uther got.

So here they lay, wrapped up together and pathetically shaking as each desperately held on to their destiny. The idea of being separated too horrific to even consider. So instead Arthur held Merlin tight and murmured to him about how, when he was King, things could be different; how they wouldn't have to hide and how they wouldn't live in fear as the smaller boy huddled closer and tried to muffle his choked sobs in Arthur's tunic.

"It's ok" muttered Arthur, as much to himself as to Merlin, "I'm here, it's ok, nothing's going to get you, don't worry, you're safe, I'm here."

Over and over like a desperate prayer, a mantra that may be believed if repeated enough times.

We forget in Myths that heroes are humans and even great Kings and sorcerers men. History does not record the small times like these, the greatest struggles of all forgotten by most.