It is said that the land of Camelot itself mourned Arthur's passing. The wind dropped, water stilled and the forests ceased their whispering. Perhaps the fulfilment of a prophecy as old as the nation had caused the silence, as if the land's purpose had been lost and it now didn't know what to do with itself. Or perhaps it was that the land itself was made from magic, and the grief of magic incarnate, Emrys, was strong enough to shake the very earth.

Camelot stopped. But only for a second. Its populace had their lives to continue with, families to care for, food to get, a job to work at. They had to get on with their lives, and time had to keep ticking on, no man was important enough to stop that. Farmers wiped their brows, muttered a short 'Strange turn that was,' or something alike, and mothers hushed their crying babes. A bare-armed knight shuddered, and continued scanning the ground for hoofprints, and swiftly snuck along the witch's trail.

A rustling of leaves made him draw his sword, preparing himself for the death that would inevitably come in his fight against the witch, but he had to do it, for Gwaine. He might be able to buy Merlin and Arthur enough time to reach Avalon. The rustling continued, making no attempt to disguise itself. Percival crept closer, hiding behind the foliage, but he gradually grew less cautious as it dawned on him that the sound seemed ever less like a sorceress … and ever more like munching. Parting the rough leaves with his hand, he saw a black horse biting at a bush, reins dangling the mud. It was still wearing all its tack. Percival silenced the no's that rose to the head, and ran, heart in his mouth towards the elaborately dressed horse. It startled when it saw him, but he caught the hanging reins, and confirmed that yes, this was the King's horse, it had the ornate bridle with engraved circles, golden studs along the collar and even a dragon carved into the leather saddle. There was nothing there to suggest why it had been abandoned. He noticed another black horse a few metres off, and from its worn green blanket he presumed it to be Merlin's. There was a saddle bag on this one, but upon opening it he could see nothing but some rations and some kind of leaf, which he assumed was a medicinal herb. He did not have the time to stay, wondering. Percival mounted Merlin's horse, squeezed it on, and headed in the direction of the hoofprints.

Not a few minutes later, he saw a dark shape against the ground, and kicked the horse into a canter, praying that it wasn't a body. It was. But not the one he was dreading. Morgana Pendragon was lying face up on the sod, her green eyes open, her tangled hair spread out around her face. Percival shivered in spite of himself. She hadn't moved, but must have heard him, this must be another trick, he would come closer, bend over, and then one of those still, white hands would thrust a fireball into his face. He came closer. She didn't appear to be moving. Was there a spell to make one appear dead? After Camlann, he could believe anything. It would be foolhardy to draw even nearer, but when had a knight of Camelot ever put stock in behaving cautiously. He knelt beside Morgana, who definitely wasn't breathing. He stared into her eyes, but they gazed at nothing, and every passing second made him more unsure. He drew his eyes down, looking for evidence of any injury, but it was so hard to tell against the dirtied black dress, and he resorted to pressing his hands down it, searching for wet blood, or anything that could help him. There was a rip through her stomach, and behind it a gaping wound, red, surrounded by white skin robed in black. Morgana was cold and impossibly pale. She was dead. Otherwise he would have been. Scanning the ground, he found two pairs of footprints, each print close together, one pair barely leaving the floor. One pair had been dragged. He ran along with them, they were easily visible, no attempt at concealment. Left behind him on the forest floor, unseeing green eyes gazed at the sky still, no anger burning in them now.

Percival had reached a clearing, and there was flat grass where Merlin and Arthur must have sat, but no footprints leading elsewhere. Instead there was the largest trace he had ever seen, with a clawed footprint as large as a forearm clearly visible in the mud. It must have been the white dragon - it had attacked them. There was no sign of a struggle, no blood, and certainly no bodies. Could it have eaten them both? It seemed unlikely, there was no burnt or even singed grass, and the dragons of legend always cooked their repasts before consuming them. Besides, examining the prints further, they were too large even for the white dragon. He would have assumed it to be another, adult dragon, but knew there were none left. Then again, he had thought all dragons eradicated before.

There were so many questions! Arthur, Merlin, Morgana, a dragon… He had been so close, but now he was completely mystified. Except, down the hill he could see Avalon, just a tower on a small island in a lake, which apparently had the power to prevent death. Percival sprinted down, allowing himself to hope.

There was no one there. Reeds waved in the wind, and there were ripples on the water. Yet it was silent. There was no birdsong, no whispering trees. He had forgotten what silence sounded like. Percival gazed out over the water, wondering if Merlin and Arthur were on the island, preparing himself to swim. He flexed his shoulders and -

'The King is gone.'

'What?' Percival turned immediately, hand on his sword hilt, and - there, directly behind him, white hair and beard, floor length red robe, staff - there was the sorcerer from Camlann, repeating 'The King is dead, tell your Queen.'

Percival was about to open his mouth and reply when the old man chimed in with 'Percival, You've grown again!'

All Percival could do was say, again 'What?'

'Are you a fool, or dull of wits, Sir Knight? Have your ears finally have enough of your endless workouts and eloped with your hair? King Arthur Pendragon is dead, now leave me be.' The sorcerer wrinkled his nose, made a face, and slammed his stick on the ground for good measure.

It was hard to equate this man, with the one who had silently slain hundreds of Saxon warriors not three days ago. It was all Percival could do not to reply with another 'What?' Not wanting to be used as a staircase, again, he managed a 'Where is he?'

'Good, now we are making some progress! You've managed a full sentence now, Sir Knight. Perhaps we shall soon make an elocutionist out of you, now that Camelot is at peace. Stop shaving your head for a bit, and flexing left, right and centre, who knows, someday you'll be able to pass as "not particularly ridiculous".'

'Arthur?'

'Don't interrupt me you whippersnapper! And you've regressed back to one word now, my hopes were too high… Ah, such is the world! Full of disappointment, and bragsters and useless lords, and cantankerous old warlocks who won't answer your questions, no? Fine. Arthur lies in Avalon, and shall awaken at a time of great peril - don't look at me like that - because he is the Once and Future King, blah blah blah. Get some druid to tell you the prophecy. I can't help you.'

'B-But Morgana's dead and Merlin's disappeared and it looked like there was a dragon.' Percival did his best to give the old man a defiant stare.

'There was a dragon, I summoned it to carry us here. Don't look so surprised, I'm a Dragonlord, was it not obvious from how I commanded the white one at the battle. Ignorant knight. I did well to use you lot as a staircase.' He leered at Percival, making him start and blink, but not lose his composure completely.

'And, finally, everyone forgets the loyal manservant, worth ten of you bumbling terrified little knights. He stabbed Morgana with Arthur's sword, so she won't be bothering you any longer.' He folded his arms and looked decidedly smug.

'Where is he now, back on his way to Camelot?'

'Ha! As if Merlin would ever leave Arthur's side, when he could help it! No, he's far more loyal than all you knights of the Round Table with your fancy cloaks and fealty oaths. I'd like to see you, gym buff, or curly hair or the big-nosed drunkard do something like that.'

'Gwaine… Gwaine's dead.'

The sorcerer, turned his head away, seeming to stare at the lake. 'What, speak up, boy!' he said, but it sounded less forceful than before.

'Gwaine - the one you called a 'big-nosed drunkard', has died.'

'Gaius didn't tell me…' The sorcerer said it softly, almost to himself.

'It was only a few hours ago. Gwaine rescued a girl from Fort Stowell, Eira, and they … grew close. Yet, we discovered that she was a spy, so tricked her into sending Morgana in the opposite direction to Arthur, and then hanged her. Gwaine, didn't take her betrayal very calmly. We headed to meet Morgana, just the two of us, and I stabbed her, but it didn't harm her. She knocked us out with her magic, and when I woke up I was tied to stakes in the ground and could hear him screaming. She - - tortured him for information. I broke the ropes, and reached him, but it was too late and she'd gone and Gwaine died, in my arms, believing that he had failed.' Percival broke into sobs.

The old wizard was looking away again, and shaking slightly, as if he were crying, too.

Percival tentatively asked 'Um, are you okay?'

The sorcerer snapped his head around, eyes gold but expressing nothing. 'Of course, I am. Why wouldn't I be? Unlike you, who should be getting back to your Fair Queen Gwen and your new era, that I can't be a part of. I have two days off! Leave me be! Scram!'

He leered at Percival, screwing up his face and baring his teeth.

Percival stared at him.

He stared at Percival.

'Hocus pocus alacazam mismy morphy…'

He started to chant and Percival, well, scrammed. He untied and mounted the horse, and galloped towards Camelot and away from Avalon, wiping the tears from his eyes. He had to help the friends he had left. He galloped on. Percival didn't look back.

Both had just had one best friend die in their arms. Both had just heard of the death of another best friend.

Lying in the grass before the lake, a young man was curled in a ball, sobbing.

Authoress' note! I'm still new to this, so I welcome all comments and feedback, even if it's just a word. Please? The idea for this is that we have Merlin, throughout the last millenium and a half of history! And it's canon! Right now, the story is still within the time frame of the last episode, because of its blaring gap. We see Percival tracking Morgana, and then he's back in Camelot where the Arthur is being declared dead. I suppose they could have just assumed the King was dead, but it seems far more likely that Percival spoke with Merlin, or since he's feeling rather fragile at the moment, Dragoon.