Ever wondered how Stonehenge was erected? And what for and why? Well, here's a theory … Reference: Geoffrey of Monmouth Historia Regum Brittaniae. And my own wicked imagination.

Disclaimers: Partly Geoffrey's, partly BBC's. Certainly not mine.

A/N: The average "oh, so that's what you have been doing in your spare time, Merlin"-story with an authentic twist. No slash. Bromance and lots of POWER! (May the Force be with you). ;)

I'm into descriptions, so bear with me, please – the story will unfold eventually. Time frame is set immediately after S3.

I have no beta-reader, so pardon all the grammatical cock-ups and typos. The title, however, is a n intended pun.

UNHENGED

– by MediEvil Ways

"Ástendeaþ stánas fram éar!"
The diction was clear and hard and echoed at an increasing frequency as majestic giant stones rose from the earth shaking ground to form a semicircle of banter. The surface trembled as the unyielding and massive monuments ploughed their way through Earth and burst into the open at the lanky figure's command. The man stopped momentarily, taking in a whiff of the cool night air to steel himself for the next feat. These stones were heavy and he felt their weight keenly in and on his mind. He idly wondered how long he had been at it; he had started at dusk, and now the moon was almost full which allowed him to see clearly in the dampness despite the small, low set misty clouds that floated right above the ground. A peer would say that he had "awoken the dragon", a Viking would claim that "the bog witch was brewing", yet this young warlock knew that it was merely due to the difference without warmth and coldness that this mist was rising. He looked down, frowning, inhaled sharply and started chanting again; an intense gleam peeked out of his tightly closed eyes.

"Ástendeaþ stánas fram éar!"

Another giant stone shot through the surface with an impressive tremolo, ripping up turves in the process, and another was instantly on its way through the ground, fuelled by the command of the two elements, Fire and Earth.

The sorcerer took a moment to rest. His slim features glistened with sweat in the pale light as he slid down on the damp grass. Tired, he looked up and beheld the tall, slim stones that now towered above him and he nodded in mute satisfaction.

This was good work. This would do just nicely. The distances between each stone was perfect and the the mathematics of the proportions made sense. And then all of a sudden, he started giggling girlishly. He wondered what the future would get out of this? Almost invariably, people would draw the wrong conclusions when setting eyes upon this imposing monument.

This stone … henge.

Three months earlier.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Bed sheets and linen rustled in shock as the lanky form sat up abruptly, spine rigid as a pole. The scream was quickly replaced by a fast panting and small hyperventilating huffs. The huffs had barely stilled when Merlin's bedroom door was pushed open with a vengeance. An old man, shoulder length hair all ruffled and the night cap awray, stumbled through the door frame, concern etched into his wrinkled old face.

"What? What is it, Merlin? What has happened?"

The young man whiplashed his head to look at the intruder, still not quite sure if he was awake or asleep.

"I … I … - nightmare. I think."

Gaius stopped in his motion and sighed in both relief and slight annoyance.

"My goodness, young man. That lung capacity of yours made me fear you were being attacked by wildren."

The unpleasant memory of giant rats with a dental problem and a yearning for human flesh made the warlock shiver with cold and he drew the blanket more tightly round his impossibly thin shoulders. "Would you like some warm milk?" Gaius suggested softly, reading the sighs correctly.

"No," Merlin said, "I'm … fine."

"You don't look fine," Gaius argued, but turned to leave the room, "try to get some sleep, Merlin. With Morgana on the loose and countless of other enemies of Camelot knocking on the door, you're going to need it."

A deep felt sigh left the young sorcerer's lips as he laid down on his cot in another attempt to fall asleep. The moon was full and peered at him through the window with its round, golden eye as if it, too, had magic and was trying to keep him awake on purpose. Its strong light made everything in the room look ghostly and magical and he could almost swear that he saw the tiny dust specks come alive and perform a little dance on the surfaces. The thought made him smile crookedly. Perhaps he should simply dust down the place more often.

With another sigh, he turned to lie on his side, trying to empty his mind and forget the terrible dream he had just had.

The dream in which Morgana was burying him alive.

Forever.

Merlin shivered again.

"You look terrible." The crown prince sounded almost disgusted. Prince Arthur being disgusted with his manservant was nothing new, yet it was usually a viewpoint he took when referring to Merlin's servant skills or lack thereof. Very rarely did it apply to the same servant's state of mind.

Merlin was opening the windows in the prince's bedroom and immediately it was like somebody had boosted the sound of the singing birds. The blazing sun made its way through the window and seemed equally positive and jolly, thus belying Merlin's dark state of mind. Merlin pushed the window further open and strangled an involuntary hiss of shock as he caught a glimpse of something in the reflection of the glass. Morgana, beautiful, magnificent and terrible, standing over his own lifeless body that was being encapsulated and showered with unbreakable spells. The young man quickly looked away and his eyes were caught by the permeating sun. He squinted; why was it so light? Merlin shivered despite the warmth of the pushy and eager sun rays. This did not go unnoticed.

"You're kidding me – you're actually cold? Honestly, Merlin – could you be any frailer?"

Merlin turned and showed Arthur such a face that the prince instantly changed his tune. The abrupt transition was almost comical to watch.

"Merlin," the tone was now softer, "what on earth is the matter? At this point, you're usually 5-10 insults ahead of me."

"I know," Merlin said, silently, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Arthur said, irritably and impatiently, "just tell me what's wrong!"

"Bad night, bad dreams," Merlin supplied willingly.

"Yeah? What about?"

Merlin fed him a complete cock-and-bull story without hesitating. The point was not to worry the prince, who had enough on his mind – and to keep his magic a secret … still. Arthur swallowed it hook, line and sinker and reached out to pat Merlin on his shoulder.

"I'm sure those wildren were double their real size in your dream, Merlin. However, we're out of those tunnels – and chances are we're never going back." His tall manservant shook his shoulders tentatively, trying to get rid of the feeling rather than the hand.

"There!" he said decisively, "It's gone. I shall try to display more mirth, Sire," he attempted cheerfully. "That's better," Arthur murmured, "besides – if you thought those beasties were big, you should see the ones that crawl around in some of the dungeons; they're, like,..." he let go of Merlin to use both his hands as a descriptively tool, "THIS huge … and they usually come up by night, when people are fast asleep and ..."

For once it was the servant throwing things at the prince.

The round table stood silently in the middle. The rest of the room was interesting, beautiful with its tapestries and protruding architectural décor; however, as soon as one had entered far enough to see the table in detail, this piece of furniture was what the spectator focused on. It wasn't magnificent or even clad in silver and gold, it was simply … the ambience of the place, the way it was positioned, perhaps – its air.

There was no doubt about it.

This table was important.

This table hosted important debates; this table was the basis for writing history. This table was the very foundation on which the country rested during these troubled times.

Merlin felt it as keenly as everyone else and it was therefore with a certain trepidation that he entered and approached though no one else was present. He stopped in front of it, looking intently at it for a while and then leaned over it:

"Tell me what to do," he urged.

Its surface was polished to the extent that he could see his own reflection in it and he knew and understood with a certain amount of bitterness that the reflection that peered back at him was also the only being able to tell him what to do. The lanky form straightened and sighed. Nothing came easy, did it?

Merlin straightened his red neckerchief self-consciously, still pinning himself in the reflection and then turned to leave …

… and that's when he heard it.

The faintest whisper, but with clear words of such a vileness that it made his hair rise in his neck...

More to come when I have the time. You like? You don't like? Either way, tell me what you think, please. That is the only way I can get better. :)