Merlin stood close to Arthur in the hastily made tent. His fingers moved deftly over the chainmail and armor as it slotted into place on Arthur's body, but he was slow and deliberate, lest his fingers betray him and start to shake. In contrast, Arthur's muscles were pulled tight, the sinewy tendons taught and prepared to snap into action at any moment. His jaw was set and Merlin could see the pulse beating an erratic rhythm underneath the smooth skin. Arthur glared at a spot of light that filtered through a hole in the tent, his eyes glazing over, only breaking focus when Merlin finished off the tie of his cape and stepped away to fasten his own armor.

It was then that Merlin let himself exhale and drop his defenses, but only minimally, as he was still aware of Arthur's eyes on him, in fact, Arthur was transfixed and tracking every move. Merlin's hands fumbled over the clasp of his gauntlet once, twice, three times before Arthur strode over wordlessly, replacing Merlin's fingers with his own.

A thank you formed on Merlin's lips, but the words fell away into the stale air.

"There," murmured Arthur, and he turned away to exit the tent.

Merlin scrambled for words and finally, "Arthur," he coughed, his voice thick from disuse. "Your sword."

Merlin held out the gleaming scabbard and Arthur took it, nodding firmly in acknowledgment.

Merlin followed Arthur out of the tent, his long legs soon bringing him alongside the other man, their strides falling in tandem as the approached the already gathered army of Camelot.

Arthur's personal fleet stood a bit aside from the larger group, patiently waiting for their prince. Uther had put together a group of men that would train alongside Arthur, but some veteran knights were included, their Camelot red capes only slightly faded in comparison.

The apparent leader of the group was a towering man named Leon. Leon had been Uther's most trusted knight and indeed right-hand man for as long as Arthur could recall, but now he stood by Arthur.

Having left the shaky uncertainty of a boy behind in the tent, Arthur now faced his men.

"Today, I am honored—" Arthur's voice cracked slightly and Merlin winced as small titters fluttered through the group before they were glared into silence.

"I am honored to be fighting with such brave men. I do not fight as your prince or leader, but alongside with each of you, for the love of Camelot. Sir Owain, you will take half of the men around the right flank. The other half will follow Sir Tory into the forest to await my signal. Sir Leon will follow me up the center with ten men to rendez-vous with the other knights."

It was an unspoken agreement that Merlin would stay by Arthur's side during the battle.

The men remained quiet and still, expectant.

"For the love of Camelot!" shouted Arthur, and the cry was echoed joyously in a chorus of voices.

The knights mounted the few horses they were allowed and separated in their respective duties, silently preparing for the coming battle.

Arthur, Merlin, Leon and the ten men rode on for a half mile, and despite his normal chattiness, even Merlin was silent. Something had changed and this battle was different. It held more; it meant more.

Arthur didn't know whether to take it as a blessing or a warning.

When they caught up to the other Camelot troops, they were already engaged with the Umbrian barbarians. The clash of metal swords and maces was distinct and sharp, and there was already the tang in the air that followed bloodshed on the battlefield.

Merlin watched as in slow motion as Arthur charged confidently in to the melee. It may have been Arthur's job to protect Camelot, but it was Merlin's job to protect Arthur, and he would do that to the very best of his ability.

In the midst of a battle, it was easier for Merlin to use his magic without fear of being caught, but the flurry of action distracted him and it was almost impossible for him to ensure both his and Arthur's safety even without consideration of the other men.

Without being overt about his capabilities, there wasn't really a lot that Merlin could do. His eyes flicked frantically over the tangles of men, looking for a man in need of help. To his left he watched as Leon overtook a large, grizzled man who probably weighed more than three Merlins. Swiveling his head back around, Merlin watched as two more soldiers fell under the blade of a knight. Since the charge, Merlin had lost sight of Arthur and could not presently locate the smaller boy among the black and brown clad enemies. He pushed away the bubbles of fear that threatened to rise up and resumed his search with increased vigor.

There. Arthur was engaging three men. It was evident that he had the advantage, but the Umbrian army was seemingly limitless, and more fighters would fill the spots of the fallen until the crown prince himself fell.

A surge of magic rose up uncalled, the energy prickling all over Merlin's skin. A murmured word sent bolts of power rushing at Arthur's assailants, striking them squarely in the chest and leaving them incapacitated.

Just as Merlin was sighing out the breath he didn't know he had been holding, he saw Arthur's face go from one of astonished relief to confused anguish. The soft squelch alerted both of the boys to the cause as a barbarian pulled a dagger from Arthur's chainmail and collapsed, his last living act completed.

Merlin's fear was quickly replaced by something deeper, darker, and he felt he wanted to vomit, even as Arthur's name burst its way out of his lips, the syllables tearing the lining of his throat as the air was ripped from his mouth.

"No, no, no, no, no," came the steady babble as Merlin tripped and stumbled his way over to his prince. "Arthur," he cried as he reached the boy's side, fingers already probing for the wound.

"Merlin, good man, it's just a flesh wound. See—ahhh," Arthur's nonchalant tone was betrayed by the ashen pallor of his face and the sharp intake of breath as the pain moved through his body.

"You're injured, idiot," said Merlin, taking a cue from Arthur.

"And you're going to get us both killed," retorted Arthur haltingly

Merlin was sure that at any moment the enemy would descend upon them and it would be over. He closed his eyes and steeled his will for the inevitable.

And then something else was blocking the light from his eyes and hoisting them onto a horse.

Sir Johan, thought Merlin. But he was supposed to be with Sir Owain.

"Sir Owain," wondered Arthur, echoing Merlin's thoughts

"Doesn't follow orders," finished Johan. "But our priorities were you, sire, and the Umbrians are retreating as we speak."

"In that case…" Arthur trailed off, his head slumping as Johan spurred the horse forward to Camelot and away from the day's shaky victory.