My first Merlin fic! Thank you to all the fandom members who have been so kind to me and welcomed me into your community. This is just a light, spur of the moment piece I put together during a moment of deep Merlin/Arthur bromance and Merlin!whump craving. Set shortly after 4x06. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. All feedback is appreciated, I love reading reviews! Part 2 coming very soon. Cheers!

I do not own Merlin.

Even with his eyes closed, Merlin could tell it was a glorious morning. Snuggled deep under his covers, his whole body (save for the tip of his nose) felt warm despite the crisp air in his bedroom, winter sunlight streaming through the window and touching his sharp cheeks. The sun had only just risen, and were it a regular work day, he would be rising right about now, sleepily shrugging on his threadbare jacket and ratty neckerchief in the frosty air and heading out to awaken his Royal Pratness. But today was no regular workday. The kingdom was preparing for its famous annual night joust, a tournament to span the week and take place only by torchlight at night. It was always a huge success, with knights from all over the land traveling to participate. Seeing as Arthur was the King as well as a participant in the tournament, he had been trailed day and night by a multitude of servants, all eager to prepare him for the event, much to the King's annoyance. After hours, days, months! of subtly begging Arthur for a day off, the stupid clotpole had finally dismissed him for the day, claiming to be sick of all servant's, especially Merlin's, idiotic faces and having nothing for him to do. And that was exactly what Merlin planned on accomplishing that day: nothing. Despite his dedication to the exhausting task of protecting Arthur day in and day out, Merlin simply couldn't resist the opportunity for a day of rest. It was just too tempting, and he couldn't imagine that Arthur would be able to get himself killed during the span of a mere 24 hours with so many of Camelot's best surrounding him constantly. Hell, Merlin had even convinced Gaius to relieve him of his chores, an unheard of circumstance which the boy refused to not take advantage of.

With a contented smile on his face and his eyes still closed, ruffled hair just peeking out from the covers, Merlin sighed pleasurably and prepared to do something he hadn't done since the day he had entered this world: sleep in. Slowly, gently, magnificently he sank deep, deep, deeper into the depths of ideal sleep, dreams of lovely maidens gradually beginning to form in his mind when suddenly-

Splash!

Merlin shot up in his bed as ice cold water came crashing down upon his unruly mop, gasping in shock and eventually fury as he wiped the liquid out of his eyes and stared straight into the smug, smirking, bucket-wielding face of the devil himself, Arthur Pendragon.

"Quit dreaming about me and get your scrawny arse out of bed, you lazy idiot. We've got work to do."

Please let this be a nightmare, Merlin groaned to himself. He caught a glimpse of Gaius peeking around the doorframe with a slight sympathetic half-smile on his lips.

"Sorry, m'boy", he said.

Gaius felt for his ward, he truly did. Despite being a great warlock, perhaps the greatest to ever live, one whose loyalty to the future king was unmatched by any other, Merlin was, after all, just a boy. And he was exhausted. He could see it etched into the dark circles under his eyes when he dragged himself through the door and to the dinner table each evening. The boy lived to serve, and he needed rest. At the end of the day, however, it was Arthur who had the final say, and who was Gaius to deny the king of Camelot?

Merlin sank back beneath his covers, taking in a mouth full of pillow and kicking his legs like an insolent child while he screamed.

"What. About. My. Day. OFFFF!"

Arthur, dressed in full chain mail and armor, found himself enjoying this tantrum far too much. Sure, the manservant was stubborn and spoke out of turn nearly every single day, but he had never seen him lose control like this. Usually Arthur was the one resisting his wake up call.

"God, it's bad enough that you're already such a girl, Merlin, don't be a toddler too. We haven't got the materials to spare a petticoat and a diaper. Meet me in the courtyard in ten minutes, and not a minute later, or I'll make sure every tomato in Camelot lands upon your head."

With an evil laugh he was out the door, and Merlin begrudgingly rose from his bed. Would it really be so bad if he failed his destiny? At least he would be able to sleep.

11 minutes later (today was a day of disobedience, Merlin had decided), and the young warlock rounded the corner into the courtyard to find Arthur standing between his and Merlin's horses.

If this is a hunting trip, I'm gouging my own eyes out, Merlin thought to himself as he approached. Suddenly, a gleam caught his eye, and Merlin watched bewildered, as another manservant, small and grim-looking whom Merlin barely recognized stepped into view from behind Merlin's horse. He was carrying a second, slightly smaller set of armor that matched Arthur's exactly, save for the royal red cloak.

"Arthur, what in god's name is this? And why has it required me to rise before dawn on my day off?"

"You really are the laziest moron in this kingdom, aren't you Merlin? If you would quit moaning for two seconds you might see that I'm trying to do you a favor. Knights don't complain about waking up early."

"Yes, well, it's a good thing I'm not a knight, then."

"Right, but you are going to finally learn how to fight like one. Suit up, Merlin."

Merlin gawked. The armor was for him? Arthur had never allowed him to put on chain mail before, let alone carry any sort of weapon. And now he was standing there in the middle of the empty courtyard as the manservant fastened a gleaming, beautiful sword to his waist.

"Well, this is certainly strange", Merlin said aloud as Arthur watched the process, smirking.

"What? You looking like a man?"

The manservant tightened the final strap on his armor and stepped away, relinquishing his support. Merlin immediately felt his knees buckle beneath him. He tottered to the side, nearly falling to the ground as the weight of the heavy clothing pressed upon his slight frame. In the back of his mind he felt a niggling of respect for Arthur and his ability to stoically wear this mammoth thing day in and day out.

"I take that back, then," Arthur cracked up as he watched his skinny manservant struggle to stay upright.

"It's interesting that you accuse me of being female on a daily basis and yet you have no problem allowing a servant to dress you in your pretentious garments every morning!" Merlin shouted.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Yes, good one Merlin. Your dignity has been restored."

Merlin clumsily flopped about as he struggled to mount his horse. Arthur, on the other hand, gracefully swung himself up into his saddle with ease.

"What I meant is it's strange to have someone dressing me, rather than the other way around, clotpole. Arthur, what is the meaning of this? What are we doing?" Merlin sputtered between labored breaths, having finally gotten himself upright in his saddle. His annoyance had subsided into something akin to curiosity, and deeper down, apprehension. Had Arthur said he was going to be...fighting? Without his magic, Merlin was the first to admit that he was far from handy with a sword, as evidenced by the multiple brawls during which Merlin had opted to assist from the sidelines with his magic. That certainly wasn't going to be an option with Arthur in tow.

As they took off at a steady trot down the middle of the cobblestone courtyard side by side, Arthur began to explain.

"After your previous display of inadequacy at the hands of our enemies and the distress it caused to poor old Gaius, not to mention the fact that you nearly got the crowned king of Camelot killed in the process, I've decided it's time for you to learn some proper fighting skills. It's only logical, if you're going to continue to harass me with your presence. For God's sake, Guinevere's got more gall in her sword than you."

Merlin cringed, recalling the feel of the mace as it had stricken his chest during the attack in the forest. It had been the greatest pain he had ever been in, made even worse by the fact that he thought he was going to die and fail his destiny, only to be entrapped under the influence of Morgana and forced to try and assassinate Arthur. It had been an unfortunate day, maybe even worse than this one. Perhaps he could see where Arthur was coming from...

Suddenly, a cheeky grin spread across his face."Aw, come now, don't tell me you're concerned for my well-being. I always knew you had a soft spot for me," Merlin teased.

"Shut UP, Merlin. Your lack of experience has nearly gotten us killed on multiple occasions, and it would be foolish to continue to drag you along with your pathetic lack of experience. Besides, I'm desperate for a full day's training. I haven't had nearly enough to prepare me for the tournament these past few weeks, what with all these idiot servants pulling at my clothes and thrusting speeches in my face. That's why we're heading out to the training compound at the crack of dawn, I need every ounce of practice I can get before this evening. This is really much more for my own good than yours, so quit flattering yourself," Arthur replied condescendingly. He cleared his throat, trying to hide his flushed cheeks. Despite trying to instill this statement permanently into his consciousness, Arthur knew deep down it was a lie. The real truth was that the instant Arthur had seen Merlin lying motionless among the leaves in the forest after being struck down had been the instant when Arthur's blood had run cold with fear. And it was in that moment, and the ones that followed, including Merlin's disappearance, that Arthur realized what Merlin had become to him. He wasn't just his manservant anymore. He was his friend, and Arthur simply could not bear to lose him. For God's sake, he cared for the boy, no matter how much he hated to admit it. He loved his teasing, disrespectful banter, and the way he never let Arthur's arrogance grow out of hand, as well as his stubborn loyalty and unnerving bravery. He loved the way he always insisted on tagging along, even when he was unneeded. And he especially loved that he knew Merlin loved him right back. If he were to die in Arthur's presence, it would be as his equal in every sense, and he would know he had died fighting.

As they approached the training grounds, Arthur leapt down from his horse, tying him to a post and turning to do the same for Merlin.

As Merlin dismounted, he took in the scene in front of him. At such an early hour, there wasn't another soul in sight. It was just him, Arthur, the rising sun, the dew covered field, and two swords. It was dead quiet, and it was beautiful. It was exactly what Arthur needed to steady himself before the tournament.

The quiet was soon filled in with the sounds of metal against metal. At first, Merlin struggled greatly. Accustomed to only being used as target practice in these types of training situations, Merlin was unsure of himself. He didn't know how to act, being so used to cowering without resistance. How could he be expected to come at Arthur with vigor when literally his only purpose in life was to keep people from doing that very thing? Arthur taught him the proper way to grip his sword, as well as the correct stance for blocking a blow and counter attacking. Arthur was a good teacher, having trained some of the finest knights in Camelot, but he was unused to teaching a man with as little experience as Merlin. It reminded him of the time he had trained the peasant men and women of Merlin's village, Ealdor, to defend themselves against a band of brutish invaders.

"Quick, turn to your right! Not like that!"

"Defend yourself! Dammit Merlin!"

"Merlin, thrust your body forward! Don't be such a girl!"

Slowly though, the tide began to turn. Arthur was quite shocked to learn that despite his wiry frame, Merlin had a fair amount of stamina. He was also a quick learner, and a scrappy one at that. Soon the sound of Arthur's voice ceased to fill the air, replaced by the melodious clang of sword against sword and strained grunts. Both men fought hard, and hours began to slip by, both locked in a beautiful dance of combat as their hair clung to their sweaty foreheads and their frosty breath slipped heavily into the crisp air. Arthur was clearly the better fighter, but Merlin began to prove his worth. Arthur couldn't help but smile as he realized a bit of his worry could be eased now that Merlin seemed adept at defending himself. A part of the smile also lingered due to the fact that this was turning out to be one of the best days he'd had in a long time.

Merlin, on the other hand, didn't let the prince's smile go unnoticed. He knew why it was there. He himself was sporting one as well. All previous complaints about losing his precious day off evaporated as the hours ticked by, and Merlin allowed himself to revel in the moment.

Finally, after hours of strained fighting, both boys collapsed onto the moist grass with muscles weak and limbs heavy, heaving and gulping in the sweet air. They lay facing opposite directions, heads just barely touching and faces gazing up at the cloudless sky.

"So...can I...be a knight now?" Merlin gasped, still trying to catch his breath.

"If you think you're even remotely close to the skill level of knight, you're an even bigger idiot than I thought," Arthur laughed, hiding his pride with a jab.

"You're a bad liar, Arthur. I know you're impressed by my manliness, I could see it on your face during that last parry."

"I suppose you fancy yourself a warrior now? I was holding back, I didn't want to hurt you during your first lesson. You can thank me now or later, but preferably now." Arthur smirked.

"Well fine, let's have a final round then, and I want you to give it everything. Don't you dare hold back. I'll destroy you," Merlin challenged haughtily. He was feeling abnormally confident. Never before had he felt strong without the aid of his magic, and he was desperate to prove his worth not only to Arthur, but to himself. It was something he had struggled with for a long time. He knew Arthur thought of him as weak, and even though deep down he knew he had proven himself today, he wanted more. He didn't want Arthur to hold back. He wanted Arthur to quit worrying about him. It should be the other way around. Worrying was supposed to be Merlin's job.

"Are you serious?" Arthur said, apprehensively.

"Yes."

A slight pause. "Merlin, I just...that's probably not a very good idea. The tournament, it starts in a few hours, I don't want to be too exhausted...I-"

"Hey, if you're too scared, I get that..."

"Merlin..."

"You don't have to make excuses, I understand."

"Don't be an idiot."

A long pause.

"I could take you apart with one blow."

Merlin smiled, memories of their first meeting flooding his mind vividly. "And I could take you apart with less than that, remember?"

"And I've been trained to kill since birth, remember?" Arthur replied, playing along.

"And how long have you-"

"Don't say it. Don't you dare say it if you wish to live."

A longer pause.

"And how long have you been training to be a prat?" Merlin whispered.

The air stilled. Neither man spoke a word. The longest moment of silence fell upon them.

Suddenly, simultaneously, both leapt to their feet, facing each other in a challenging stance, and just like that the battle had begun.

"Sure you don't want me to go easy on you?" Arthur yelled over the sound of the clanking swords.

Merlin quickly spun in a circle, effectively blocking a blow.

"Not a chance!" he shouted back, dimpled grin plastered to his sweat slicked face.

Merlin knew Arthur would never really hurt him. Not seriously, at least. But he could tell Arthur was doing what he had asked. He was giving Merlin everything he had, and it was taking its toll on the much less experienced fighter. Still, it was the greatest fun Merlin had had in a long while.

Together they engaged in an intricately choreographed back and forth, and as the time passed and both became more engrossed in the task at hand, Arthur and Merlin swiftly and unconsciously moved away from the training compound. Making their way down the valley, they ended up battling right on a precipice overlooking the vast expanse of Albion. It was on that rocky outcropping where what had begun as fun and games transformed into something much more dire.

Arthur should have seen it coming. He really should have. As the minutes ticked by, it became clearer and clearer that Merlin was losing his stamina. His blows became more sluggish, his blocks laced with fatigue. Arthur was simply humoring him now, fighting lightly until Merlin inevitably surrendered. Arthur could see the sun setting off over the green hills down below the cliff, and he knew they should be heading back soon. The tournament was starting in a few hours.

He was about to drop his sword and call the fight a draw, saving Merlin the embarrassment of having lost when he was clearly so bent on winning. As he slowly lowered his sword, dropping his guard, the young manservant attacked with a renewed fervor, having spotted what he mistook as fatigue rather than surrender on the king's behalf. He thrust himself forward, swinging his weapon, hoping to coax Arthur into surrender and claim his victory.

The movement, however, caught the king off guard. Without thinking, he raised his sword instinctively with razor sharp reflexes, effectively blocking the blow and putting himself on the offense. He swung his arm, pushing Merlin back farther and farther until suddenly, eyes wide and arms flailing, Merlin reached the edge of the cliff. Arthur watched as if they were in slow motion, frozen to his spot with terror as he watched his servant, his companion, his friend, topple over the precipice and out of sight.

There was no sound. Only deadly silence filled the air as Arthur stared at the spot where Merlin had stood only an instant before. After what felt like an eternity later, a loud crack was released into the air, echoing and bouncing off the rocks. It sounded like a woodsman splitting firewood on a bitter winter's day, pungent and sharp followed immediately by silence.

Arthur blinked in confusion, still stuck in a stupor of shock after having witnessed Merlin totter over the edge. Realization burst inside Arthur like a lightning strike, spurring him into action.

Oh god oh god oh god, Arthur repeated inside his head as he ran to the edge of the cliff, kneeling in the spot where Merlin had fallen.

Arthur felt his stomach roil and the blood in his body pound in his ears as he realized where the loud crack had actually come from: Merlin. Merlin was hurt.

Peering over the edge, Arthur looked down, down, down, searching desperately for the source of the sound. His eyes froze simultaneously with his heart, having landed upon his manservant.

Oh my god. What have I done?