The June morning was hot and humid. Anyone who was daft enough to be out doing something would certainly be burnt by the scorching sun as well as covered in a sticky layer of perspiration. Arthur Pendragon and his most loyal Knights of the Round Table were that daft enough to decide a hunting trip was in order for that day. In fact, every single day for the last six months they had ridden out on a hunting trip, even after the villagers of Camelot began to whisper that their new King was going barmy.

Arthur Pendragon sat atop his usual chestnut stallion. Flanked on either side of him were Elyan, Gwaine, Percival, and Leon. The knights were dressed in their usual chainmail, but they had forgone the breastplate and cape while Arthur dressed in a lightweight tunic and jerkin – there was no chainmail to be seen on this King.

Noticeably absent was Merlin. There was no prattle or banter. They had been successful in hunting because of the quietness and lack of clumsy footsteps. However, Merlin was missed. It just wasn't the same without his presence.

"Sire, do you really think we'll find him," asked Leon as one of his unruly curls bounced into his eyes. With a gloved hand, he brushed the sweat off his brow as well as curls out of his face. A bit of peeling skin from a recent sunburn fell off as he did. "We have looked here a half a dozen times."

"Well, the princess wouldn't be out here if he didn't," grumbled Gwaine. He shot Leon a dirty look and then glanced over at Arthur, who raised his eyebrows at the nickname and the scowl. Gwaine seemed to choose not to respond other than to shrug his rounded shoulders.

"It's been six months. There's been no sign of him anywhere," Elyan pointed out. "What if he is dead? It's not like Merlin to up and leave."

Arthur grabbed the reigns tighter. The man shook his head in defiance. Anyone looking at this man wouldn't be sure if he was red from sunburn or red in the face from anger (it was a little of both)."He is not dead," the King said in a flat tone. "I know it."

Percival raised a hand. This made all the men stop. He then pointed ahead of him as a laky figure in front of them. "What's that," the man asked as all of the Knights and the King dismount. From this distance, it was impossible to tell who or what it was. "Or should I say, who is it?"

"I don't know," Elyan said. He, along with everyone else drew their swords. For a moment, the men stand there watching the dark-haired being and then they slowly creep towards the figure.

None of them speak. They hardly breathe. They didn't want to startle whoever it was from whatever he was doing. When the group was merely a few meters in front of the being, they halt when Arthur raises a hand and then presses one finger against his dry lips.

"It can't be," whispers Arthur.

"It is," breathes Leon.

"It's Merlin," Elyan confirms.

"Let's go to him," Gwaine remarks. He steps forward, but Arthur puts a hand out to halt him. The dark haired and very tanned knight glances over at the sunburned-faced King.

"We wait. We follow him," declares Arthur in a quiet voice, to which Gwaine sighs, but complies.

For over an hour, they track the man. Much of it was in the same place – never moving and hardly taking in air so as to not disturb this Wildman Merlin. With weather-faded and nature stained clothes hanging off his thin shoulders, he was an odd sight to befall within the woodlands. His scratched up and scarred hands worked steadily as he chose wild raspberries to eat. When he found one or two he liked, Merlin plucked them from their spot and popped them in his mouth. Once he seemed to have gotten his fill, he moved on. Arthur and the knights also followed quietly behind him. The servant seemed not to have noticed their presence yet.

"Where's he going?" asked Percival.

"I don't know," Arthur muttered.

"Where's he been?" Elyan inquired.

"I. don't. know," repeated Arthur with a bit of force. Each word and syllable was pronounced clearly and crisply. "All I know is he's got some explaining to do." His tone was disgruntled, but there was a goofy grin on his face. Arthur was looking forward to hearing the story, if only to hear Merlin prattle on and on about every little detail of his six-month long adventure.

When Merlin stopped at a creek, Percival, Elyan, Leon, Gwaine, and Arthur also stopped. Laying on a large boulder was a wet shirt and pants and leaning up against a tree was a spear, which Merlin grabbed. He walked over to the stream and focused on the water. Merlin only moved when he spotted a fish (which he caught).

Arthur thought it was now the best time to approach the wayward servant. As he stepped forward, his foot landed on a twig. As it snapped underfoot, Merlin looked up. He stared directly at Arthur. His blue eyes were wide and wild. There were filled with fright and there was the distinct feral glint of a fevered mad man. Dirt and blood coated his face, matted his hair, and stained his ragged clothes. In a panic, he screamed. His eyes flash golden and a wind began to blow. It pushed the startled men back. In fact, Arthur was knocked over. Gwaine nearly fell to the ground, but Percival caught him. And Elyan hit a tree and slid down, unconscious.

For a few moments, the warlock gawked at the group. His mouth was agape as the gold in his eyes faded to their usual watery blue. Closing his berry-stained lips, Merlin gulped in a large breath of air and then, after dropping the speared fish, he turned on his heel and ran. Yes, Merlin had explaining to do.

Well, what did you think? Where was Merlin? What happened? What would you like to see happen? Oh and the title is in honor of one of my favorite fanfics – Of the Aberration of a Hobbit by Frodo Silverlune