Greetings Readers! Here's the next oneshot, I hope you enjoy it!

Warning: Spoilers for 4x06 (I loved that episode!), friendship/hurt/humor.

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin or any of its characters. But that would be so sweet!

It was one of the unofficial rules in the knight's code of honor – if one of your brothers fell, it was your responsibility to bring the sad news to his family and friends. Leon had had to bear such sad tidings far too often over his several years, but that never made it any easier.

Standing in front of his king and the council, however, and having to tell them that Merlin had not been found and was likely dead was probably the hardest thing he would ever have to do. More so because he had to appear strong in front of the council when all he really wanted to do was tear something in two and properly grieve with the other knights who knew Merlin best.

He could understand Arthur's need to believe that there was still hope for Merlin – that he had survived. But he knew, without a doubt, that Merlin could not still be alive; the proof was in the pouch around his tunic. He also knew that Arthur could not be allowed to see it, but that option was taken away from him.

Leon could not deny the flash of anger that bolted through him as Agravaine interrupted his gentle but persistent message that Merlin was nowhere to be found by ripping the piece of evidence from his bag. The king's uncle or not, Leon could have willingly strangled the man for striding forward and so callously placing the bloodstained torn piece of coat in front of Arthur.

Arthur stared at the piece for a few seconds, all sorts of emotions swirling through his eyes, even through his mask of regal impassiveness, and Leon had to swallow hard. He could only imagine what Arthur was thinking at the moment. He himself could only shudder at the blood that soaked the worn fragment, and wondered how any of them could have let Merlin go into possible danger without any chainmail. Again.

As Leon was walking back down the corridor after being dismissed, his mind wandered to Merlin. Merlin was no warrior. He made it clear that he preferred peace to war and bloodshed, but also that he was willing to follow his king and friends into whatever battle they got themselves into. And we sent a man like that into a skirmish with bloodthirsty assassins with absolutely no means to protect himself.

It made Leon sick to his stomach. It was part of his duty as a knight to protect those who were unable to protect themselves. It was part of his duty as a friend to keep his friends from as much harm as he possibly could. He had failed utterly on both accounts. Merlin never had even so much as a dagger to defend himself, and he still came along anyway.

The knights never thought much of it. Merlin always seemed to keep himself safe enough, and had even bailed Arthur out of a spot or two. It had never been obvious that he was going into battle after skirmish with no means to protect himself by running or hiding.

Arthur liked to tease and yell at Merlin for ducking and hiding 'like a coward' as he had put it often, but Leon knew, by instinct and by the way Arthur had looked on the ride home, that he would have much rather preferred that Merlin hide than be susceptible to such a wounding.

In their moments of graveyard humor (which sometimes came in handy when dealing with so much death), they used to joke that Merlin's loyalty would be the death of him. And now it really had been.

If only Merlin hadn't been so focused on alerting Arthur to danger that he had missed his own impending doom. If only he had turned around faster, or run when shouting his warning. Instead, he stood still long enough to see that Arthur had heeded his call before turning to stare at the rapidly approaching rider who was swinging his mace with deadly intent. There was no time for him to duck and hide, only to take the full brunt of the assassin's blow without any chainmail to dampen the impact.

Leon had happened to look over and see Merlin collapsed on the ground, his legs jutting out at strange angles, but had been too occupied with two bandits to assist him. He saw Arthur help the younger man up and then rush him out of the fray and to safety, and focused even more on keeping the bandits back and away from the wounded man. But some had slipped past him.

Leon grimaced as he pulled off the jangling, sweaty chainmail back in the armory, the jangling oddly magnified and grating in his ears, reminding him of the protection he'd always had that was denied Merlin. The bandits who had managed to get past him had been able to get Merlin. He had failed his friend. Merlin was gone, and the guilt and grief wore heavier on him than any chainmail in history.

~.~

The chambers felt all too big and empty that night. Arthur unconsciously kept pricking up his ears at every sound, his hopes tricking him into believing that Merlin was about to come barreling in, full of humor and chatter and wit like he always did. But then his better sense, his warrior's sense, took hold again and reminded that it was not Merlin. It would never be Merlin again.

He turned to look through the open window that faced out onto the courtyard, his fingers absentmindedly playing with the piece of worn cloth that he had not been able to bring himself to let go of since the council meeting. Merlin, you idiot, he thought to himself, why did you let this happen? Why didn't you run and hide? I tell you to be braver, but getting yourself wounded is not what I had in mind.

His mind tried to supply the ready retort that Merlin surely would have had had he been able to hear Arthur's words, but it fell far short and only made him slip deeper into guilt and grief. He held up the bloodied cloth so that he could better see it in the waning sunlight. If he hadn't seen the bloody, gaping wound for himself that had stained the jacket, he might have fooled himself into thinking that the stain was something entirely different. Maybe it had come from one of the dinners where Merlin had somehow managed to spill sauce or wine on himself while attempting to serve the king. But it hadn't.

Arthur noted the worn threads of the jacket fragment and scowled. If he didn't know any better, he'd have thought that his was the same jacket that Merlin had worn on the first day they had met. It might have been – Merlin hadn't really changed his wardrobe much in the past four years. The same few shirts and neckerchiefs, and the one jacket. Did Merlin not make enough money to get more clothing?

Then Arthur realized that he was the one who was supposed to be responsible for how much money Merlin was getting, and he nearly smacked himself in the face. He hoped Merlin was getting paid enough – often, he forgot that Merlin had a paying job as his servant. Merlin seemed to forget that, too, or at least he never mentioned the payment or complained about the amount. Arthur would have to look into it and make sure he was paid enough.

And then he remembered that that didn't matter anymore, and his heart sank.

What king am I? He rebuked himself. If I can't even make sure my most trusted servant, my closest friend (he could admit it sometimes in the sanctuary of his own head), has enough to feed and clothe himself, how could I drag him into battles without so much as a scrap of chainmail?

It had been far too easy for the mace to rip into Merlin's skin. It had been far too easy for Arthur to push aside the bloodied shirt material to see the wound. There was no chainmail to block either of them. Merlin had never made a fuss about not being protected enough – although he fussed plenty about other things – so it was easy to forget that he was not untouchable, that he was not invulnerable to violence.

They had more than enough chainmail that they could have given Merlin some to protect himself. He had actually worn some, in fact, when he'd served as decoy to lure Caerleon and his men into a trap. But as soon as the subterfuge was through, Merlin had switched into his familiar clothes and discarded the chainmail. But they had it, and Arthur could have forced him to wear it, should have forced him to wear it. Then he would have been safe.

He wouldn't have been felled by a mace. He wouldn't have had to be hauled away from the fighting in the clearing. He wouldn't have been trapped with all those bandits and separated from Arthur as the rocks fell between them.

Arthur closed his eyes and gripped the stiff, coppery-smelling cloth tighter. He should have forced Merlin to wear the chainmail. He should have listened when Merlin warned them that nothing good had happened in the Valley of the Fallen Kings. He should have been able to save his friend.

Gwen came in to try and comfort Arthur, to give him hope that Merlin would return. He always had before, no matter what strange things to see to happen or when he would mysteriously appear only to return in time to help set things right. But then she saw the bloodied cloth and had to stop, struggling to keep back the tears were forming. She could not ignore the proof in front of her. Arthur couldn't either, no matter how he closed his eyes and tried to ignore the scratchy surface between his fingers. It was there for them both to see. Merlin was gone.

For the want of a chainmail, a friend was lost.

~.~

When Merlin was found safe and well (albeit incredibly muddy), it seemed to good to be true. But he was back and he was safe, and that was what mattered. In future years, just exactly how he'd managed it would be the source of some interesting discussions, but for now it was enough that he was back.

Leon and Arthur were determined not to make the same mistake again.

A week after Merlin's training with George, the knights and Arthur were preparing to leave on a quest, and they had a surprise for Merlin when he arrived after fetching their provisions.

To Merlin's credit, he managed to hold himself in for about half a minute before bursting into fits of laughter. "You want me to wear that?"

Arthur actually looked somewhat affronted. "What's wrong with it?"

"It's chainmail!" Merlin snickered. "I'm not about to wear that, thanks."

Merlin turned to fasten the provisions to his horse's saddle. Arthur followed, hauling the chainmail into his arms. "Merlin, wear it. That's an order."

With a twinkle in his eyes that was both understanding and teasing, Merlin shook his head. "Nah, I've already been there, done that. You realize how hard it is to run in all that mess?" He snorted in amusement. "It's ridiculous. Besides, you'd be taking away my chief defense. All I'm good for in battle is running."

His laughter was infectious and the others joined in as they got on their horses. The chainmail was left behind, and was never mentioned again.

However, he would never manage to talk his way out of taking Leon's dagger.

A/N: And there it is! I really do like that episode, and I really do hate the way Agravaine just plunks that bloody piece of fabric on the table. That's some way to show that a friend has died. I know he's evil, but that's really evil.

Anyway, thanks for reading and please review! I like to know what people think, and they make me happy!