Title: Stoned
Rating: T - This one's pretty dark: character deaths, blood, angst, reveal, various character!whump. It has all of the same warnings that OSKaS had
Timeframe/Info About This Fic: Takes place between Season 3 and 4; directly after the events in OSKaS; I HIGHLY SUGGEST YOU READ "ON STONE KNIVES AND SILENCE" BEFORE READING THIS - but it isn't required that you do. It'll just basically explain everything. So, no big deal.
Disclaimer: If I owned Merlin... But I don't. You're welcome.
Authors Note: READ "OSKAS" FIRST
Anyway, I've decided to continue this into a full story. Beware.
If you didn't read OSKaS, here's a brief recap. Merlin was sacrificed by Morgana, Morgause, and Mordred. Since they killed him, they have an infinite supply of awesome magic. Arthur and his band of knights have to save Camelot. Oh, and Merlin's dead. Just to let you know xD

The dull sun hesitantly poked its head up from the forest, warming Arthur's severely chilled bones. He had refused to move from that spot, cradling the freezing body of his broken friend all night long. Arthur knew he too probably felt and looked like death, but his heart was still beating, although every pound ached as he remembered the night's events. Merlin, dead. Merlin, a magician. Morgause, Morgana, and Mordred, infinitely powerful. The only person who had a sliver of a chance of stopping them was as pale as snow, his blood now flowing through those monsters' veins, powering them with the boy's stolen life and magic. Morgana finally got what she wanted—it was only a matter of time before Camelot would fall. His spirit was broken, and so was Emrys.

This revelation, that his friend was once the most powerful sorcerer to have ever walked the Earth, shocked Arthur beyond belief. It also made him feel betrayed, but Arthur knew Merlin would feel betrayed if he allowed himself to curse the boy magician's name so soon after his death.

It took a great deal of effort, but Arthur ripped himself away from the thoughts of his fallen manservant. They had been friends for over a third of Arthur's life. Arthur knew he should mourn the boy as a friend and ally, but he also had a duty to Camelot as Prince Arthur. Crying any longer over the dead would only buy Morgana the time she needed to completely take Camelot without any resistance. If Arthur hurried, though he knew he was horribly lost in this cursed forest, he might be able to warn his home kingdom before the invasion. Or at least he could let his people know what cruel thing was to happen. Perhaps they could escape with their families and live somewhere safer, although Arthur knew the lives of he and his knights were soon to be limited.

Arthur knew it would be easier to leave Merlin's body in the clearing, but he was unable to part with his friend. Knowing all that the boy did for him in the past, it was the least Arthur could do by taking his body back to Gaius, Gwen, and his other friends. Arthur stifled a groan as he struggled to his feet. His bones were stiff, and his body was weary. Suppressing more pained moans, Arthur bent down to pick up the cold body of his friend. He grunted in shock as he hefted the boy into the air; he knew Merlin was always skinny, but he seemed impossibly light now. Arthur nearly dropped the boy when his hand brushed a bloody patch on his manservant's back. The sticky, cool liquid made bile rise in Arthur's throat, but he forced it back down. Arthur was just about to leave when something caught in the corner of his eye.

The stone knife. One of the glassy jewels on the hilt glinted in the pale morning sun. Still holding Merlin in the crooks of his elbows, he reached out slowly for the knife. He poked at it, jerking his hand away as if it had burned him. In a way, it had. That's the blade they butchered Merlin with. I ought to leave it there to rust for eternity. Even though that's what Arthur really wanted to do, he knew that blade was their only hope for destroying Morgana and her magical posse. It gave her the power—and Arthur was fairly sure there was a way it could take it away. He didn't know how it would help, seeing he was as magically inclined as the closest tree, but he was praying someone knew enough about magic to find a solution. Swallowing more bile in his throat, he grabbed the still bloody knife with trembling hands and forced it in a pocket. The hilt stuck out ostentatiously, and the blade would occasionally push into his skin, but he didn't care.

Arthur only cared about stopping Morgana.

He didn't know how long he was walking. The sun was now high in the sky, beating on the boy mercilessly with its burning rays. He half wondered if Morgana was behind it, determined to manipulate weather itself to make him suffer more. His stomach was growling so loudly he was sure he'd attract some random beast or a traveling vagabond. The last time he had eaten was early the day before—just before they had set out on their fateful journey. The events of the night before had taken away his appetite, but now he couldn't deny his stomach. His mouthand throat were also burning from thirst. Each swallow felt like he was swallowing glass, and his tongue felt like it was made of sandpaper.

A sound caused him to freeze. It sounded like an inhuman groan. Arthur listened closely, and then his parched mouth broke into a smile for the first time in a long time.

That's the river. The one we traveled by. Arthur was sure of it. Putting an extra stride to his step, the young prince quickly followed the sound. After a minute of searching, he finally found the tiny spring.

"It sounded so much bigger than that," he murmured, glancing down at the dead weight in his arms. It was less painful to pretend that Merlin was merely sleeping. It also made Arthur feel better about his sanity when he addressed the dead boy. His arms ached from holding the lifeless magician. Although Merlin was light, Arthur was weakening quickly, his strength and determination failing him for one of the first times in his life. The prince feared that if he set Merlin down, he wouldn't have the will to pick him back up. However, Arthur needed water and decided to trust himself to keep his promise to not let the boy down. He lowered his former manservant gently to the ground with a grunt.

Once the boy was resting peacefully on the soft grass, Arthur straightened up and stretched his sore and cramped limbs with relieved sighs. Next, he squatted by the bubbling spring, taking huge handfuls of water, nearly choking himself once or twice. A youthful and teasing voice played through his mind, saying what Merlin would have said if he was still alive. Arthur smiled ruefully as he splashed his dirty face with the cool water. After his throat was soothed, the prince began to watch the blood off of his hands. He knew that the stains would never come out in his memories, but it made him feel better to see no crimson on his skin. Then he washed off the stone blade, careful not to cut himself again on the horrid knife. Not quite wanting to leave yet, Arthur decided to wash out his friend's wounds. It was pointless, since the memories would scar him for the rest of his life, however short it would be, but Arthur needed something to do, else he would begin to think again.

Arthur gently pulled off the blood stained scarf and the extra layer he had provided, leaving behind a brown, crusted mess. Holding back enraged screams, Arthur dipped the brittle scarf in the cool stream. He watched numbly as tiny mahogany and crimson streams mingled with the cool, slightly blue brook. Bringing out the dripping rag, he lightly dabbed off the crusted blood from the sorcerer's wounds. It was extremely painful when he had to clean the wound over the boy's heart, but Arthur swallowed his distress, pretending that it was a random soldier he was fixing, not his best friend. The future king of Camelot wanted to stop soon after he started, but he forced himself to finish cleaning out the wounds. Afterwards, he ripped off shreds from his own priceless clothing and wrapped them around the boy's exposed neck and chest. Merlin's shirt was a lost cause, and it would remain as a puzzling marker to visitors to the stream. However, he was unable to part with the scarf, tucking it away in his pocket to be buried with the boy later.

Arthur decided that it was time to resume his journey back to Camelot. He took one last gulp of the cool water, stood up stiffly, and stretched with a small sigh. He bent down to pick up his manservant, his arms screaming with protest as he lifted him into the air. Arthur ignored the dull pain of sore muscles as he continued down the road. If he followed the babbling brook beside him, he would be in Camelot within a day. He couldn't afford to waste time when any second, Morgana could release her rage and newly stolen powers on the kingdom.

Sir Leon had been a member of the party that was attacked by the magically possessed bandits. Somehow he had been able to escape with barely a scratch, but others were not so lucky. Two men had died in the attack, and many more were injured, some worse than others. Strangely enough, Sir Leon thought they had gotten off relatively easy. Only five minutes into the battle, after hearing someone scream (the knight had a sick feeling he knew who it was, but he couldn't say for sure since he wasn't among the casualties), the rest of the enchanted forces seemed to pull back. They dropped their cursed weapons and melded back into the trees. They disappeared as quickly as they had appeared, leaving behind the tattered knights of Camelot to put themselves back together again.

Five people were unaccounted for. Normally, Leon would not be as worried as he currently was. Since Arthur gave the order to retreat, it was very possible that they would regroup with the other men eventually on the way back home. However, it was unsettling to Leon that the man who gave the order was one of the missing men. The knight knew his future king; although Arthur would have called a retreat, it wasn't like him to follow his own order. Coupled with the fact that a certain manservant was also among the missing, it did not look good for those two. Sir Leon's gut twisted as he thought of possible scenarios that would lead to a missing prince. He half hoped that Prince Arthur had been kidnapped (and Merlin taken along as well as an unlucky bystander), since that would mean that the prince and his servant would most likely still be alive. It was pointless to try to ransom off a body, even if it was royal.

Since their prince and leader was missing in action, responsibility fell to Sir Leon to lead the battered remains of the once most feared knights of the Five Kingdoms. His first order was to set up camp in that same bloody clearing. Although they ran the risk of the bandits coming back, there were too many factors that demanded they remained there. Multiple knights had sustained serious wounds that were stabilized at the moment, but it was very likely those wounds could be reopened if they traveled. Sir Elyan in particular had taken a deep slice to the thigh, while Percival just had a crossbow bolt removed successfully from his shoulder. Gwaine was also nursing a blow to the head, although the courageous knight often remarked that it was nothing compared to his typical hangovers.

Sir Leon also wanted to stay in the same place for the faint hope that one of the missing men would return to that clearing. Although Leon trusted his future king to be more than capable of finding the way back to Camelot, if he was injured, they would be there to aid him.

At the moment, Sir Leon was on guard duty in front of the fire. Seeing as he was the least wounded, something that he and his fellow knights still had trouble understanding, he volunteered to watch over their makeshift campsite for the night. Leon sat silently by the fire, keeping his own personal vigil for the dead and their missing prince. Suddenly a branch snapped behind him; it was too big of a sound to be an animal. Sir Leon surged to his feet, sword drawn and ready.

"Declare yourself," he whispered loudly. He didn't want to alert the camp, but he wanted to still sound forceful.

There was no answer, but a bulky figure crashed into the clearing. Leon squinted to see who it was in the twilight gloom. His mouth fell open slightly as he realized it was Prince Arthur, looking rather distressed, but alive nonetheless.

"Sire!" Leon's gaze traveled down to what the prince was cradling in his arms. The faithful knight felt something drop heavily in his stomach. He rushed to Arthur, looking down at the boy Arthur was holding. He's so pale… And so still… Leon reached out to take the manservant from his future king.

"Here, we can get him help. Let me take him so you can rest," he offered, laying a single hand on Merlin's exposed shoulder. Sir Leon could not suppress the shudder that racked his body. He's so cold…

For the first time, the knight could see the tears brimming in Arthur's eyes, and the telltale stains of blood covering their clothes. Arthur's grip on the boy tightened so greatly that if the boy had been conscious, he would have cried out in pain. He refused to hand the body over to Sir Leon.

"It's no use," Arthur's whisper was hoarse.

Immediately, Leon ushered his future king to the nearest tent. He did not want to wake up any of his fellow knights just so they could see this broken sight. After much persuading, Arthur finally released the battered body of his manservant, lying the boy down on an unused cot. Sir Leon pulled up two chairs, and the future king slowly lowered himself into one of them. Whatever Arthur and Merlin had been through, Leon was certain it was of stuff made from nightmares. He gently asked the prince if he was injured in any way.

Arthur shook his head. "No, I'm fine." His rumbling stomach betrayed him. Sir Leon quickly excused himself to retrieve food for his future king. When he returned with a meal, Sirs Gwaine, Elyan, and Percival came with him. All three refused to look at Merlin, but it was clear that they knew he was dead. Tears were actually glistening in Gwaine's eyes, while even Percival looked completely dejected. Sir Leon handed Arthur the hard bread and salty meat, murmuring apologies for the lack of quality. However, Arthur was too ravenous to care as he tore into the bread and meat with gusto. Within a minute, there was no trace of the poor meal. Elyan offered Arthur a glass of water, which the young man took with a thank you and downed it in one gulp.

An uncomfortable silence settled on the group. The knights were afraid to bring ask the question; Arthur was afraid of answering the question. Finally, Gwaine, who had been staring at his dead best friend for most of the time, broke the silence.

"What the hell happened?!" He burst out angrily. His fury shocked everyone, and Sir Leon was about to chastise the more inexperienced knight.

Instead of looking offended though, Arthur sighed sadly and dove into what had happened. He began with the battle, seeing Merlin being impaled by the strange sword and the boy's abduction. When Arthur mentioned Morgana, Morgause, and Mordred, the knights' faces morphed into various expressions of distaste and rage. Arthur's voice wavered slightly on the part about Merlin being Emrys, but he was able to continue the story. He was forced to pause when he got to the climax of the sacrificial ritual, taking deep breaths to calm his anger and pain. Then, he finished up the story with a flat, emotionless voice, ending with meeting Leon at the edge of the forest.

Silence roared through the tent for the longest time. Each knight had different reactions to Merlin's slaughter and Morgana's greed for power. Sir Leon looked furious, his face taking on a reddish hue. Elyan was speechless, shocked eyes flitting back to Merlin every so often, but never dwelling for long on the body. Percival's face had simply fallen somewhere during the story. The large man had never looked so broken before. Gwaine had the most peculiar expression on his face. He was trembling with rage, but his face was strangely controlled. He jerked to his feet and staggered to Merlin. He ripped the bindings on Merlin's wounds savagely. When his eyes fell on the large slash across the sorcerer's neck and the hole in his chest, an almost animal like cry was nearly pulled from his throat. He was able to suppress it before it came, but it caused him visible pain to swallow the scream.

"She must pay for what she did." Each word was shaking.

After telling what had happened, Arthur had fallen unusually silent. He was picking at the frayed end of Merlin's scarf. Elyan frowned, noticing a bulge in the cloth.

"Is something in there?" he asked, his voice barely breaking above a whisper.

Slowly Arthur unwrapped the hidden package before the knights' wide eyes. He extracted the gleaming, gilded stone knife from its makeshift home. He held it up, not even feeling the need to explain what it was.

"We need to figure out how to stop Morgana, Morgause, and Mordred," he started in a curiously brave voice. "If we don't, Camelot will fall to her."

"For Merlin," Gwaine murmured. Finding out that his best mate was a magician certainly was surprising, but Gwaine had always known there was something special about the young boy. He truly had to have been gifted in some way to be able to stand the royal princess. Never could have Gwaine ever assumed his clumsy little friend had been the most powerful being on Earth though. Still, it felt fitting that they would be fighting for him. For so long, he had saved them—bringing them back from impossible situations, and risking his own life for them more times than Gwaine could count. It was the least they could do for him. Besides, like hell he was going to allow Morgana to take over Camelot through using Merlin's stolen magic.

The other knights agreed with him. They too murmured their assent.

"For Merlin."

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