A/n: Hello everyone. Thank you for clicking this despite that atrocious summary that needs more help than I can provide. If you read my fluff, this is not that (and I apologize for not updating that yet. See my profile for a better explanation). Please do not read this if you wanted that. This story will likely be rather gory, and will likely depict torture scenes. I will try to indicate the worst of the scenes, but you have been warned.

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin, and I am certainly not profiting off this endeavor. All mistakes are my own.

A Criminal's Burial

Chapter 1

Throat parched, head throbbing, Arthur peeled himself from his sweat-drenched bed sheets and pulled at his clothing as he sat up, cursing whoever decided to leave him clothed during his fevered throes. As he moved to grab the pitcher of water on his nightstand, he realized his entire body was shrouded in a dull ache and found the mere act of juggling the jug well enough to fill its accompanying cup was far more arduous than it should have been. How long was he even out?

After he greedily drank a bit more than he should have, his empty stomach now making nauseous knots, Arthur called out for both Merlin and Gaius. Surely one of them would be able to explain this nonsense. With no immediate reply, the king took to self-inspection. Other than a few now-yellowing bruises across his body and a nicely healing gash on his left temple, he seemed physically fine. He couldn't quite figure out the deep ache he felt. Perhaps he had just been in bed far too long; after all, these bruises were yellow.

As he looked around the room for any signs of others, Arthur froze. Wherever he was, it wasn't home. He wasn't in Camelot's citadel or any other immediately recognizable part of the kingdom. The sickly sweet scent of medicine mingled with stale sweat told him that wherever he was, he wasn't in any present danger, but the lack of any familiar face in the room set him on edge. Surely if he had gone somewhere, he would have left with at least Merlin, if not some of the knights as well. Usually someone would sit with him, especially if they were in an unknown land.

Worry sunk into Arthur's stomach; something was definitely wrong. If any of his usual traveling companions were here, if they were safe, one of them would be here, right? It's possible he had only set out with Merlin, but if Merlin were around, he would insist on staying with him, that mother hen. Perhaps he had been separated and injured? Maybe everyone else was looking for him? Or maybe the whole party had been lost. No, maybe they were just injured. Maybe they were perfectly fine and resting somewhere else around here? Maybe someone had just stepped out for a while?

He tried to focus, to think about the last thing he remembered, but he swore he was just reviewing the wheat harvest yield and making storage and dispersal plans for the winter. Sitting around and trudging about with math and paperwork didn't particularly scream 'wake up in a strange land injured with no one else in sight'. Maybe he had finished that mountain of paperwork and insisted on a hunting trip that went wrong?

Whatever it was, he had to find some answers. Arthur pulled himself onto wobbling knees, grasping at the furniture to aid his ascent. When he was fully upright, he saw his sword sitting on a table near the window and decided that it was worth the short detour. His legs trembled as he slugged the span, and by the time that he had acquired Excalibur, the king broke into a cold sweat.

The door seemed an impossible distance, but Arthur managed, using Excalibur's scabbard for support when there was a lack of conveniently placed furniture. Upon reaching his destination, he took a second to recapture lost breath and ward off nausea.

The door swung open and Arthur jumped. The man on the other side of the door had fared no better, nearly dropping the potion vial he was carrying. "Your Majesty!" the unfamiliar man cried, instantly reaching out to steady him. "You really must get back to bed. You haven't been conscious for the last week and you're still weak."

Mind swimming with questions, the king allowed himself to be steered back to the bed, where he placed Excalibur by his bedside should he need it. Once he was settled enough, Arthur turned towards the willowy man and asked, "Where am I exactly?"

"Oh, don't worry, Sire. You are in Lord Staunton's castle, and I have been taking care of you since you arrived. My name is Lewis, by the way," he explained, sparing a brief glance at the king before he rooted through a medical bag he had left on a previous trip.

Arthur breathed a short sigh of relief. Staunton was one of his earls, and he was still within Camelot's confines. Chances are the court even knew where he was. "Lewis then, thank you. Do you know how I came here?"

Lewis stared at him owlishly with large brown eyes. "You don't remember?"

"No, last I recall I was working on wheat inventorying paperwork. Nothing exciting enough to warrant...well, this," Arthur explained, gesturing to his sore body.

The healer dug in his bag as he replied, "We found you, Sire, in the woods during a hunt. You had been poisoned. Lord Staunton luckily recognized you and rushed you here to me."

"Poisoned?" Arthur parroted, his concern surging. "Was I with anyone? Do you know who did it?"

"Well, Sire," Lewis began, lining up the things he would by administering by this conversation's end, "While I wasn't there myself, Lord Staunton told me that he found you mumbling something about how 'he' betrayed you."

"Who?" Arthur interrupted as he clenched the sheets and worried his lip.

"Well, we assumed it was the man we found with you, Sire. Gangly thing, no wonder why he'd resort to poison," the healer elaborated while Arthur couldn't shake the thought of Merlin from his head. "We assumed that once you realized his treachery, you ran him through with your sword there. The man was dead when we arrived."

Brow furrowed, Arthur tried to keep himself from jumping to conclusions. "Please," his voice cracked, "Tell me what this man looked like." He swallowed thickly and dreaded the response.

Lewis looked up and rolled his eyes over, trying to remember what it was his master had told him. The light switched on and he answered, "Oh, well, yes. So I already told you he was thin. Dark hair, light eyes and skin. Brown coat, pants, and boots. Blue shirt. Oh, and he had this red scrap of material around his neck or something?" Lewis vaguely waved about his neck.

Each descriptor stabbed at his chest, and Arthur pulled a hand up to assuage the ache. "Merlin," he breathed, face and body physically sinking.

"Sire, are you alright?" Lewis asked, concern wrought in his brow.

Arthur took a deep breath and persisted, "This man...is dead. And I killed him? What happened to the body?" He could picture Merlin bleeding on the forest floor, watching him until his final breath.

"Your sword there was embedded in his abdomen, and you were the only other person there. There was a camp set up for two. We do not believe there was another person, no. As for the body? My Lord decided it would be best to transport you here and leave the body there. Any traitor to the king deserves less than a criminal's burial," Lewis replied, eyeballing the potion in his hand.

The king's mouth fell agape. "You...left him there. To rot. For animals," Arthur said, his voice smaller and thinner than expected. Merlin. Animals picking at his remains, scattering him far across the lands. The two images didn't belong together.

Lewis paused, unsure of how to precisely proceed. "If you wish, I can ask Lord Staunton if he can send some men to retrieve what is...left. It has been a week, Sire, but if you need some sort of confirmation..." the healer trailed off as he watched Arthur captured one hand in the other and breathed grief into them.

"Please do so," the king requested, hiding his face from view entirely, "Leave me."

The healer lifted the potion and protested, "But, Sire, I need to ensure that you're-"

Arthur lifted his head and glared, eyes welling with unshed tears. "You can give me the once-over later. Leave the damn potion and I'll take it later, but as your king I command that you leave. Now," Arthur snapped, seething.

Lewis shied backwards and squeaked, "Okay, Sire. I will ask Lord Staunton. Please take this soon. It should help your body combat the lasting effects of the poison."

"Just leave," Arthur murmured, defeated.

Taking one last look at the lamenting king, Lewis scuttled out of the room.

When the door shut behind the healer, Arthur fully slid into the bed, allowing Lewis's words to wash over him. Of all the things to wake up and hear, it had to be this. Merlin. Incompetent, stupid, lovable, frustratingly loyal Merlin. A traitor. He couldn't be. He just couldn't. At least, not in his right mind he couldn't. What if Merlin had been possessed? And Arthur had killed him instead of saving him. Had he justified it as saving him when he himself was dying? What if Arthur himself had a spurt of madness? What if Merlin had been completely innocent? And Arthur had slain him regardless.

Rolling on his side, the king fixated on that thought, imagining how frightened his servant must have been staring down the blade of his master's sword. Maybe they fought first. That would explain the bruises. What if Merlin begged, pleaded, told Arthur to stop, that this joke had gone too far? He would be defenseless as Arthur impaled him. He pictured Merlin crying, sputtering nonsense, trying to talk his way out of his master's unjust punishment, and Arthur choked a sob. He would never know what had happened. Tears cascading down his cheeks, he pulled a pillow to his damp face and let out a raw wail. Either way, the truth stung. Either Merlin had—after all these years—betrayed his loyalty or Arthur had betrayed his. Either way, Merlin was dead and Arthur had killed him.

Arthur had killed his best friend, a best friend who was currently rotting away in the forest partially eaten by animals, a best friend who deserved better, who deserved a proper burial, who deserved an unambiguous death. He deserved certainty, certainty Arthur just couldn't provide.

Chest constricting, Arthur looked towards the nightstand and caught sight of Excalibur. Without a second thought, he reached over and swiped it off the table, sending it skidding across the floor with the goblet and water jug sloshing and crashing behind it. Lewis's potion fell to the ground and shattered, and Arthur made a pointed effort to ignore it. It didn't matter.

Completely exhausted, the king slipped into a restless sleep, leaving memories and confabulations of Merlin to haunt his feverish dreams.

End of Chapter 1

A/n: That's it for now! I have a chunk of this story written, so I should update relatively frequently in theory (especially if you guys tempt me with those reviews I know you want to give me). So don't forget to do that thing!

Also: I would like to know if you guys would like this to be solely friendship OR slash (I know you haven't seen Merlin yet, but he'll show up first thing next chapter). I'm not quite sure what I prefer, but I am honestly fine with either.

~gecko