Title: Duelling
Summary: He's always wanted to tell her but never has. It's just that...when she's watching him...he's watching him too.
Disclaimer: Don't know, don't own, don't sue.
A/N: I wrote a sort of two part parallel fic, with similar storylines but one part original fiction, the other fanfiction, so if this is a bit weird it's because it's matching the original fiction storyline (basically, I'm lazy and reuse my ideas, but hey). Again, it was late and I was writing and this happened and I really am not sure about it so yaah :)
He really is a master at swordplay, a connoisseur at swift, expert movements. It's the training he's had since before he could hold a sword, but truthfully that alone would only make him better than most. He's quick and steady and even through bursts of non-thinking, when the logical part of his skill shuts down and he's driving on instinct, balance and wits, it's pure talent that gets him through. He's a natural, a rarity, hidden behind armour but still clearly him through his movements and actions.
Merlin watches him through his wide eyes, noticing everything and missing nothing. His whole being, mind, soul and magic is focussed on him, his aggressive progression and nimble manoeuvres. He sees him, Arthur, deflect a blow and swing round to counter it with rapid slashes of his own sword. His opponent nearly catches him in this second of momentary defensiveness that makes Arthur vulnerable but, using that talent he has, he manages to sheer it off with a swerve and twist that almost unfoots his challenger. Throughout this Merlin has held his breath, catching it in his throat until he lets it out in a choked relief. The worry could kill him, he's sure, even though he knows it's a friendly duel and Arthur's experienced, it still gnaws at him, always there. And also a kind of exasperation, he notes satirically, at exactly how many times he's saved the prat from much worse situations and here he is, willingly putting himself in a dangerous one.
He lets a wry smile quirk the corners of his mouth as he contemplates this. When he first met Arthur, this anxiety wouldn't be here, churning inside his stomach. Perhaps a slight disbelief at why anyone would want to put on heavy metal plates and fight, and a little concern for his friend, but nothing on this scale. This emotion is rooted from something else, something Merlin tries not to think about.
Someone catches his eye from the edge of his vision and for a second he turns his attention to her. He sees the love in her eyes, knows the same look from Arthur when he looks at her, and it conjures a burning inside, directed towards himself, that he has to try hard to control. He loves Gwen, he really does and he knows she truly cares for Arthur, and that just makes it worse. She's beautiful, radiant eyes, honest face, open and trusting and wise and it hurts how much better she is. And she's cheering Arthur on while Merlin is there taking all the agonising worry, which seems so unfair that he could scream. The smile drops again and he turns back to observe Arthur.
There he is, brave and strong and free, all the things Merlin feels he is not. He sees Arthur dive forwards, striking hard at his opponents armour and sending him sprawling backwards. The resounding cheer announces that he has won and amidst the flurry of standing people, claps, liveliness and yelling, he loses sight of him and turns briefly to look back at Gwen. He's always wanted to tell her how he feels but never has.
Because when she's watching Arthur, well.
Merlin's watching him too.