The Witch's Son || Child!England x Mother!Reader

The young boy stood there, emerald eyes wide and body slack. Just a few seconds ago, he had been struggling against the large arms that held him back, a rough grip bruising his tiny arms. He'd been so desperate, so eager to go ahead, to run and run until he could reach you... It didn't work, of course it didn't. You didn't want it to as well, not really. You didn't want your little boy hurt, be it from the people surrounding you or the hot embers currently burning your flesh.

There was a time you had hoped this wouldn't happen. There was a time you had wished and hoped and prayed that if this had to happen, your son would not be there to bare witness to it. You didn't want your ten year old son to see his own mother's death, you didn't want him to see anyone's death! But it would seem nobody cared, and why would they? You were nothing but a nasty, horrible witch who threw curse after curse at anybody you didn't like, and even those you did. As far as they were concerned, you needed to die, and your son would soon follow.

Ha, you thought bitterly, they can try. Oh, can they try, but it won't work. You made sure of that. You knew this would eventually happen, no amount of wising and praying could change this destiny. So you made precautions. You made sure no matter what, your son would be safe from harm.

"Burn!" They all screamed, watching with gleeful eyes as you, a woman who was once a fellow villager, the daughter of a good baker, burned at the stake built specifically to end your kind. This stake was built right in the middle of the town, so anyone from anywhere could see as the town burned yet another witch.

Oh, how you hated these people. All those fake beings, pretending they had cared, only to be all too eager to shove you to the council, testing as little trials as possible, though it was not like they really needed to. They had all seen the magic that had flown into the air in the shape of a roaring dragon, the white flow a stark contrast against the midnight sky, you accidentally forgetting about possible viewers in a bid to entertain your bored child. They had all seen the 'nasty' ability that had been performed from your hands, your own hands, and they all wanted you dead, viewing you as 'the Devil's Wife' because you could use magic.

You had once longed to cry, longed for them all to realise that you and your son were just ordinary people, who just happened to use a little bit of magic. It did not mean you were in cahoots with the Devil, but they would not believe that, they had no reason to. The council had said you were the Devil's wife, which meant you were the Devil's wife.

You closed your eyes against the flames and sighed because despite the pain, despite the fire burning rapidly around you, the wind swishing it this way and that, you were tired. Yes, you wanted to stay strong for your child, and yes you wanted to stay alive for your child but you've just been so very tired lately, emotionally and physically. Death was not one of the first things you had thought of; the thought of running away with your son had been though. Maybe running away would be easy, you had thought, only to quickly realise it wasn't. In fact, running only seemed to make the predators more happy. It was after all the reason they eagerly went into action to capture you two...

The shrill cry of a child in pain could be heard over the roaring flames, and your eyes snapped open, instantly in search for your young child. You were met with the sight of the man who had been holding him back before, dragging your child away, and your son, struggling and crying. Eyes suddenly wide, you instinctively thrashed against your tight bindings, not caring if it hurt (you were dying anyway). "Arthur!" You called, hoping somebody, anybody, would go and save your little boy. He had nothing to do with this! None of this is his fault, so why were they punishing him like it was? You continued to thrash, even as the flames got closer and closer, even as the flames began to burn brighter and brighter as your eyes became dimmer and dimmer.

After thrashing seemed to get you no where, you realised it would end soon, everything of this life would end. You needed to act quickly if you wanted safety for your son; and so, as you slowly slumped forward, the embers quickly eating away at your tired, numb form, you muttered a quick incarnation;

"Terra, luna, sol et anima
duco meus filius ut an immortalis pax.
duco meus angelus ut a perfectus tranqualitatis.
sinere meus filius perpetuum existentia sicut alter cum suus terrae,
sinere meus proles formae sicut suus own rusticus figurae
et duco et versatus sum imperium per suus locus populus"

With each word, the wind seemed to pick up higher and higher until the flames blew everywhere, women's hair slapping their faces as men's coat jackets slammed against their sides. It almost felt like they would take off themselves, had everyone not held onto something or somebody. Though you neither cared nor saw; the image of your beautiful, beloved baby boy struggling against a man twice his size filled your vision, and as you took your final breath before slumping lifelessly forwards, the bindings the only thing keeping you up away from the flames, a couple tears slid down your cheeks, forever staining dirtied skin.

You weren't aware of the change that happened a few seconds later. In fact, nobody but Arthur himself was aware of it, this odd...feeling in his stomach which didn't seem to disappear. This odd feeling was so strong that it made him pause in his struggling, giving the man holding him enough time to drag the boy other to the stake across from (Y/N)'s.

Arthur was only half-aware of the man tying the ropes too-tightly, he was only half-aware of the biting grip the ropes had on his wrists, the way they seemed to restrict everything, including his blood from flowing. Not that it matters now, you're going to die, a voice in his head reminded him absently, but he ignored it in favour of staring ahead. It hurt him to see his once-so bright mother, his beloved mother, beautiful and wonderful and so very, very...dead. But though it hurt him to even think that, though it brought tears to his eyes and blurred his vision from the quickly-forming flames, he couldn't help but wonder what exactly she had done.

What had Mother done when she had uttered those powerful words? Arthur wondered silently before shaking his head. It didn't matter anyway now, he would die and follow his mother to Heaven because he knew his Mother would be there. How could she not? She was so very lovely, always thinking of him before herself.

As the flames licked at his heated skin, and tears silently rolled down his face, he knew he was dying but couldn't help notice the contrast between his exterior form to his interior. While on the outside he seemed so upset, on the inside he felt...well, nothing. He felt empty, he didn't feel like he was actually there, he felt...dead.

The young boy sighed, and as his skin fizzled and his breathing became more and more laboured, he just closed his eyes and let it happen. Nothing could stop this, no matter how much he wants it to. So, he welcomed his death with open arms, he welcomed the possibility that he'd meet his Mother once more, and he smiled.

Despite the burnings and the failed trials, despite the horrible accusations, Arthur (Y/L/N) would be happy, even if it was in his afterlife. He died with a smile on his face, as his skin burned and melted, his body turning to a crisp.

But of course, he should have realised it wouldn't be that simple. Arthur (Y/L/N) was the son of a Witch, a powerful one too, and he'd been taught everything she knew. So, really he should have known one muttered spell would change everything, and that it would involve him.