Mithian was very clever to have scratched Morgana's name on the stone, Merlin thought. And under such pressure, too. Very clever indeed.
Too bad her cleverness was going to waste, though; he had been foolish to run.
Merlin's thoughts muddied like sand shaken up in water as he felt himself leave the leaf-strewn ground and strike the base of the tree head-first.
Hot blood trickled from a point just above his temple as he turned to face who he now knew to be Morgana. She did not allow him any time to recover. Instead, she flung out a hand and began chanting a dark spell to seal his lungs and choke him. Unable to defend himself without giving his magic away, Merlin flailed for air, wheezing painfully against the solid grip of her spell.
Even Merlin, warlock that he was, could not stave off asphyxiation for long. He heard, as though through water, Hilda-Morgana crying their whereabouts to someone, and then he sprawled, finally unconscious.
Percival and Gwaine got there first. Half-ignoring Hilda's scattered explanation in favor of their injured friend, Percival gently pulled Merlin onto his shoulders and loped after Gwaine back to the camp.
"What happened?" Arthur demanded of them as they set Merlin down and Gaius knelt at once to examine him. The others gathered around in an anxious huddle.
"Hilda found him", Gwaine said vaguely, too preoccupied with holding Merlin's injured head steady.
Hilda took her cue and nasally proffered an explanation: "He was down by the river. He must've fallen."
Arthur turned worried eyes to the healer at Merlin's side. "Gaius?"
"He's taken a heavy blow to the head."
"But he'll be alright?" The king pressed impatiently.
"He should be fine, sire, but there's no telling when he'll regain consciousness," Gaius answered, all his attention on Merlin now.
There was a moment of silence while Arthur weighed the choices left to him. He glanced at Percival and Leon, both of whom looked to him with wide eyes, the question and concern in them as obvious as tears would have been. As much as they teased him and laughed at his expense, they were all of them exceptionally fond of Merlin. His loyalty, bravery, gregarious nature and honest, sometimes brutal wit endeared him to them all, and due to his consistent knack for getting into trouble, they all had developed a fierce protectiveness towards the younger man. They all knew the mission at hand and were prepared to follow Arthur to hell and back, but there Merlin lay, unconscious and injured. They were unquestionably worried, and distinctly torn.
In the end, Arthur, also looking at Merlin with that same deep level of worry, made the difficult call. In a voice singed with burning regret, he said, "we can't wait for him. Not if we're to stand a chance of reaching Rodor before Odin's men. Gwaine, stay here with Merlin and Gaius. The rest of us make for Nemeth."
Arthur, the knights, Hilda and Mithian set out, tramping through the fallen leaves and scattering backward glances like breadcrumbs in their wake, as if leaving a trail for their fallen friend.
When Merlin finally opened his slightly crossed, ocean-colored eyes, it was to Gaius's familiar, comforting face, and Gwaine's relieved yell of his name. Not stopping to worry about himself, though, he called back to Gwaine that Arthur was being lead into a trap, grabbed a sword leaning against the stone wall, and started running.
Later, back in Camelot, when they weren't all in danger of decapitation, stabbings, loss of limbs, fatal chest wounds or otherwise, the knights would be in the armory. Shedding their chainmail and weapons, they would listen as Gwaine told them of Merlin's newest bout of self-sacrifice and heroism. Though none of them would say it outright, their esteem and pride in him would grow even more than they thought possible, and from then on, beneath their constant banter with Merlin would be an ever-increasing layer of respect for the man who was truly more knight then all of them combined.