So this is the sequel to my other story, Frostbitten. I suggest you read that one first, for there's a rather important matter that effects this one. But it's up to you.

I don't own Merlin—no one owns Merlin. That's like owning Chuck Norris: ain't possible ;)

Feel free to scold me. Tell me if I need to keep myself at my PC or order me to quit writing and take up tiddlywinks.

Enjoy The Knight's Mare!

~1~ The Knight's Challenge

"Come on, Merlin! Keep up!"

Arthur Pendragon couldn't help but laugh with exhilaration as his newest, proudest horse galloped down the forest trail, bent over the beast's neck, his hair plastered back in the wind.

Shaking his head, Merlin sighed, and glanced at the ominous thunderhead building up behind them. He held Balinor's reins in check for a moment, but then his horse, too, was off, hard on the heels of Arthur's. Camelot was far from the prince's favourite hunting valley, but they would try to beat the rain anyway.

For several minutes, Merlin only saw Arthur's cloak flapping around corners and the red tail of his horse. He knew that once they stopped, he would hear nothing but the prince's gloats, as usual...but something this time made Merlin kick his steed faster, and was pleased to see that they began to catch up. Sensing the race, Balinor put on another burst of speed, as though determined to beat the superior horse.

Arthur was almost as surprised as Merlin when the servant was neck to flank, then neck to barrel, and finally level. They raced at that reckless pace until both horses were grunting in protest and their paces lagged. Both riders, laughing with adrenalin, gently slowed the beasts down to a canter, a trot, and then a walk. All four of them breathed heavily.

Arthur glanced at Merlin, eyebrow raised, showing a rarely seen sign that he was impressed. "Wow, you actually kept up. Right on you, Merlin." When the warlock grinned, proud of himself, Arthur's expression vanished. "Now you're officially a man."

The prince ignored Merlin's look of indignant exasperation.

Despite the fast approaching storm, the pair was content to walk side by side, regaining their breath.

"Magnificent creature, isn't he?" Arthur was patting his roan horse on the neck.

Merlin nodded in agreement. "King Olaf spared no expense."

Arthur snorted, and grimaced. "I very much doubt it was Olaf's idea."

The warlock pretended to think for a moment, and said, mockingly sweet, "The Lady Vivian?"

Arthur went very red in the face and turned away, feigning admiration of the scenery.

Balinor whinnied as a fox scampered across the path, barking. Brushing his neck and whispering cool words, Merlin soothed the chestnut horse. Arthur watched him.

"It doesn't look it, but you have a good horse there. What is he called?"

"Balinor."

Arthur blinked. "Is there a reason why you named him after the deceased Dragonlord?"

Because he was my father. "He was the last of a noble race. His name should be remembered."

"So you named a horse after him."

Merlin frowned, looking insulted. "It was one of your horses. You gave it to me, can't you recall? Last—"

"Hold."

The abrupt word silenced the warlock in a heartbeat, and they pulled the horses to a stop. At the end of the road, not thirty paces away, was a man in armour astride a horse of steel coat. A lance stabbed the darkening sky. His mantel was black with a silver, inverted pentagram—neither of the riders recognized it. The knight was silent and still. Not his even his horse moved.

The shock of the appearance and lack of movement from the knight kept Arthur quiet, but only for a moment. "Who goes there?" he called.

"Arthur Pendragon." The voice was deep and foreboding.

Merlin frowned. "Um, I'm pretty sure that isn't you."

"Idiot! He's addressing me."

The dark knight rested his lance in the cradle of his saddle, then reached over with one hand and pulled off a gauntlet. He tossed it underhand at the prince, but said not a word as the metal glove hit the road.

"A challenge," Merlin muttered uneasily.

Face stern, Arthur kneed his horse onward until he was alined with the gauntlet.

"Whoa, Arthur, wait. Maybe this isn't such a good—" But the Pendragon had already dismounted and picked up the hand piece.

"I accept your challenge, knight. Name the place, time, and conditions."

"Here. Now. Joust."

If the prince was surprised, he didn't reveal it. If he was nervous of the ominous voice echoing from the slats of the dark knight's helmet, he refused to show it. Merlin was surprised and nervous, however.

"Something isn't right about him, Arthur. Can't you tell—?"

"Silence, Merlin!" Arthur snapped impatiently. Then he called to the challenger. "I accept the conditions, sir knight, but I lack a lance."

The warrior said nothing, but turned his head towards the trees. Arthur followed his gaze to see a lance leaning against a trunk. Beside it was a shield. The prince couldn't help but shiver lightly. It was as though the dark knight had been waiting for him. Which he probably had.

Dismounting, Arthur grabbed the spear and hefted it, feeling its weight and balance. As he did so, the knight snorted with laughter, contemptuous. Arthur realized that it may have been...proper to let Merlin take it to him rather than fetching it himself. It was clear, after all, who was lord and who was servant in the duo.

"Merlin," he called, tearing his gaze from the knight, "come take these."

The manservant leaped down from his saddle and threw Balinor's reins onto a bush, before jogging over to hold the lance and shield. "You don't have to, you know."

"Yes, I do," Arthur insisted, remounting the roan. "I've accepted and won't be seen as a coward. Follow me." He turned the beast about and started walking to the bend of the road, leaving a large gap between him and the knight.

After the prince turned around, Merlin passed him the shield. "Being smart is just as important as being brave."

"Yes, and seeing as you can't be either, I suggest you shut up." Arthur snatched away the lance and hoisted it up to show his readiness.

"You're not even wearing proper armour!"

"That's enough!" With that, Arthur dug his heals into his horse's sides and charged.

"Wait—!" But the roan kicked up dust as the prince galloped down the road towards his challenger, a challenger who was already eating up most of the distance between them. "You prat!"

The gap quickly diminished under the horses' hooves, bringing the warriors ever closer. Arthur levelled his lance, and his fist clenched around the shield. His heart pounded in sync with his horse's strides. The rest of the world blurred as his eyes focused only on his enemy, and he gritted his teeth. As the knight's grey steed screamed, his own roan hesitated, throwing his aim off—

The next moment, Arthur felt a great jarring in his arm, and then he was flying through the air with a rain of splinters. His whole body jarred as he flipped back over the saddle and landed on his upper back. He couldn't withhold a cry of pain as he crashed and rolled once onto his front. A throbbing ache indicated that he was struck in the chest. His shield had taken most of the blow, impacted the full power of the charge, but it still hurt.

Not so much as the fact of his failure, however. It was the first thought that ran through his mind when his body hit the dust: defeat.

Face down on the road, the prince waited for his arms to stop shaking before forcing himself to his knees, eyes closed.

"Sir knight, I—" His eyes opened to see his challenger lying in the dirt like he was. The knight sat up and glanced down at a dent in his armour, before turning his gaze on the prince. Laughter echoed from the tinted helmet, cold and dark. They had knocked each other from the saddle. The challenge was not yet over.

Arthur spun on his heels and stood, drawing his sword. The other followed suit, his blade long and intimidating. The warriors started to circle each other, feet brushing through splinters of lance. Neither man blinked, and in a split second, their swords were whirling through the air at impossible speeds.

Arthur felt his arm shake under the blows of the knight. The man was stronger than he looked – and faster. The prince was parrying more than attacking, and this unnerved him. But he didn't let that stop him.

Parry—parry—dodge—strike! Parry—thrust—sweep—dodge—

Arthur met the enemy blow for blow, never letting his concentration slip. His eyes held the dark slats of the knight's helmet. Watch the eyes, not the blade: swords lie, eyes don't, is what every sword master knows and teaches if he was worth his mettle. The problem was, he couldn't see his opponent's eyes. Instinct and two decades of practice must prevail here—

His vision went red.

—But they did not.

The pain drove deep into his thigh, and a soundless scream escaped his lips. And then an armoured fist pounded his ribs, and he cringed away, winded.

Vaguely, he heard someone yell his name, but Arthur kept his concentration steady, swallowing the pain and injured pride. He raised his unharmed leg and kicked the dark knight in the naval. As the enemy stepped back to regain his balance, Arthur took the opportunity to gather his bearings and reach open ground. He then brought the attack to his opponent.

The knight easily parried the first swing, not even appearing startled by the ferocity of the attack. Irked, Arthur pressed on regardless, feeling the smooth flow of his arm being one with the sword as it sliced through the air.

Every man has his breaking point. I will find his.

But with every attack, he became more and more discouraged. It was time to change tactics.

He shoved down the brute strength and concentrated on speed and agility. The switch of techniques threw the dark knight off for a few seconds, but then he followed suit. Again a blossom of unease filled Arthur's chest.

Then an idea sprung unexpectedly into his head. He had created a special move that he had never shown anyone else, nor attempted on a real opponent. Clearly, he saw the move in his mind's eye, and waited for the knight to perform the cue to begin.

Come on, he thought, ducking beneath a swing. Come on—now!

Endless hours of practice paid off as the dark knight was taken by surprise and at last was affected by the alteration. With a few lightning strikes and a swooping leg, Arthur knocked his opponent to the ground.

The knight lay there for a few moments, stunned. As he did so, the prince noticed the net attached to his belt. It looked like a net that spanned a whole river, and he wondered what it was used for—fishing didn't seem right, for whatever reason.

He had to jump straight up suddenly as the knight swung his blade at his feet. In a second, the challenger was back up and ready to fight. He laughed again, and the sound haunted the prince. He swallowed his uneasiness with a snarl.

"Let's finish this."

The next moments flew past in a blur, almost faster than the swords. With every other attack the knight aimed for Arthur's injured side, but the prince kept his leg back and safe. As part of his vigorous training, he learned to fight with injured limbs such as legs, and this wound wasn't proving too much of an issue—

At least until it was punched.

As stars flashed through his vision, Arthur fell sideways, but automatically curled up and somersaulted back to his feet. He was encouraged: the punch may have been a sign of desperation. He bit back his pain, and lunged.

The manoeuvre caught the knight off-guard, but Arthur was equally astonished when the prince's sword slipped past the challenger's defences and drove into his armoured stomach. Yanking his blade free, the prince dodged a clumsy counter attack and swung at the knight's shoulder. The sword glanced off the gardbrace but knocked the opponent back a step. Arthur held his excitement in check as he attacked again and again, the knight failing to properly deflect the prince's sword aside.

With a final upward angled swing, Arthur dazed the knight with a hit to the head and then disarmed him. The loose sword spun end over end and clattered to the road, useless. Mistily, the prince heard a whooping cheer from Merlin as the dark knight finally fell to one knee, head bowed in surrender. He did not act injured, or even tired.

Arthur, gasping for air and face beaded with sweat, lowered his sword in acceptance to the yield.

"Arthur Pendragon," toned the knight. "You have defeated me in a fair fight. What is mine is yours." He was giving the prince his sword, armour, horse, and very life with those words.

Twirling his blade about, Arthur sheathed it and turned away. "Keep it. I have no use for it."

"You insult me with your refusal, Arthur Pendragon."

The prince halted.

"It is an honour to be defeated by such a great lord and surrender mine own possessions to him. Take the horse, lord prince. Just the horse. Let me retain my honour."

† † †

"It's not bad beast," said Arthur thoughtfully, admiring the prized horse. The creature was a dapple-grey, with dark legs and face. It was a hand taller than his roan, and bulged muscle. It would make a magnificent war horse. "Not really my taste, but..."

Merlin wasn't listening. He was staring over his shoulder at the dark knight standing on the side of the road at attention, cloak gently waving in the wind. It was an eerie sight.

"—Quite spirited, too. I suppose we could...Merlin, are you listening?"

"Nope."

Arthur sighed, and then rubbed his leg, grimacing. It had been hastily bandaged; Merlin thought it better to have Gaius, the court physician, properly take care of it. "I really don't know why I put up with you, Merlin."

"...Because I'm loyal and dependable friend?"

"Mm, nah. You just make life interesting with you inapt prattle."

A moment later, the sky opened, and they became drenched.

Neither of them heard the low chuckle emit from the dark knight's helmet as they turned the bend and disappeared.

What's with that mysterious knight, I wonder. *Cheshire Cat smile*