A/N: Okay, sorry about the length of time in posting, but this chapter was a LOT harder to write than I thought. The mace fight between Arthur and Merlin is SO iconic to the show. I just didn't want to re-write just what we saw in the episode. That's when the plot bunnies started running ramped, demanding I chase them. Hopefully, I didn't fall into their trap and the chapter below makes as much sense to you as it does to me.
After a lot of rewrites, a lot of editing, and a little bit of jumping around in time (which is ironic as I'm writing a Merlin/Doctor Who crossover concurrently with this story called Once Upon a Midnight Dreary -plug plug), I give to you my next chapter in this ever evolving story.
Enjoy :)
Scop Out
PS: the two knight with Arthur were never named. I just gave them these names to give them a background.
A Slight Misunderstanding
Chapter 4 – A Night at the Tavern
Posted Sept 24, 2012
Well... That was unexpected.
More than that, it had been fun. About a minute fifteen worth of fun Arthur estimated. Definitely, more than a minute he allowed his knight candidates for their test. And it had been ...fun! He wouldn't have expected a fight like that from a peasant. Especially one built like a twig like Merlin was.
If he could get half that determination, that much focus in the eyes of the candidates for the knights he'd seen lately, he wouldn't be as worried as he was for the future of Camelot's defense. The vast majority of the Cream of Camelot, the noble men who would have been the fathers of a vast pool from which to pick the current generation of knights, had perished during bringing about the Great Purge, either through fighting magic or being accused of it.
With the rash of magical creatures that had turned up as of late, Camelot was finding it's forces slowly diminished. One here, two there. Each attack and been thwarted, but not without the loss of a man or two each time. They were the older men, who had seen their share of magic in their youth, but had slowed with age at the moment when it mattered, their knowledge and skill lost forever. They were the younger men, full of promise and pride, but not yet seasoned enough to know the true dangers that they faced, their strength and their promise laid waste.
Maybe there was an untapped resource out there of good men who'd make good knights, despite the position of their birth. Why not grant a commoner knighthood if he were just as loyal, just as strong, just as brave as any knight born of noble blood. But Arthur knew such things were wishful thinking. His father would never repeal the First Code of Camelot. Uther had gained his kingdom by honoring the First Code. It has seen him through the Great Purge. On many things, Uther was still living in the past. Arthur's responsibility was for the future. And he wasn't liking the future he was begining to see,.. unless something changed.
~`0\~/0'~
"I can't believe I missed this!" Leon said after nearly spitting out a mouthful of mead.
A proper night had finally set upon Camelot and Arthur and a few of the knights were spending it in Camelot's premier tavern, the Rising Sun, where they met with Sir Leon, fresh from evening patrol. The discussion of the fight didn't come up til they were well into their forth round and beyond any fear or care that Arthur might take offense at the tale's retelling.
Leon shook his blond locks in disbelief. "We are talking that scrawny kid who was in the stocks earlier today? He had you down and was asking you to yield?"
"With not even landing a blow, I might add," Sir Owain added. "Which, technically would be less than one." A quick glance at Arthur, the Prince's blue eyes staring back at him told the youngster of the group that he may have overstepped decorum with that last comment. He slunk back in his chair and hid behind a quick sip from his mug. He only breathed again when Sir Dennis ruffled his hair. Being the youngest of their ranks had made Owain the sort of mascot to the other knights.
"Which just goes to show I wasn't seriously fighting him," Arthur lied.
"I thought," Leon continued with a slight slur "your father wanted you to end things with the physician's ward."
"Exactly," Arthur raised his mug in toast and took a big slug of the smooth honey ambrosia. "And they are."
"How does having a full drawn out brawl-with mace's I might add-end things?"
Even in his inebriated state, Arthur could tell Leon's questions were taking on a more accusative tone. Normally, as Prince, Arthur wouldn't put up with such things from a subordinate but Arthur wasn't feeling "normal" as of late. Besides, from a strictly military standpoint, Leon wasn't a subordinate. He was a member of the King's Patrol. As such reported directly to Uther and was one of his lesser advisers. In some ways, Leon had a better relationship with his father than Arthur did. If asked, Leon would tell his father exactly what was said here tonight... What he remembered of it anyway. Drunk or not, Arthur knew he was going to have to choose his next words carefully.
"That is where brilliant strategy and a quick mind come into play."
"I'm still lost," Leon said. "You're going to have to start over from the beginning."
"Okay, okay. But I just want you to know. I didn't start it." Arthur put his tankard down and took a breath to begin the tale. This was going to take some quick thinking. He couldn't exactly tell Leon the truth, now, could he...
"He was asking for it!" Owain jumped in. "He just came barging through-" Dennis shoved another tankard of mead in Owain's direction to silence him.
"I think Arthur can take it from here, Owain!"
Arthur continued. "We were in the market place, trying to find something for that clumsy oaf of as servant of mine -did you know he was getting married?"
"That's all Morgana and Gwen and the other servants have been talking about for the last two months, yeah." Leon said matter of factually, as if it were common knowledge.
"Right," Arthur said, pretending he knew all along as well. Leon knew, the servants knew, as did most of the merchants when he told them what he was looking for and why. Even Morgana knew. He saw Thomas for the better part of every day. So why didn't I know? It still frustrated him.
~`0\~/0'~
Arthur had spent the previous hour before the epic battle in the market, under the pretense of finding a departing gift for Thomas, but really, he just wanted to get his mind off his thoughts. He could have easily have given Thomas a couple of extra gold coins with his final pay and the man would have been ecstatic, but then he remembered that little flirtation he had witnessed between Gwen and Gaius's ward... while he was still in the stocks!
What would Morgana do if it were Gwen getting married? Arthur wondered. She wouldn't send her off with just an extra bit of pay. Morgana would have agonized for month over the appropriate send off gift as a token of their... well... friendship. Those two were inseparable. Arthur didn't have that sort of time, nor that sort of relationship with Thomas. But a small token of ... something... was called for, he supposed. Appreciation was a stronger sentiment than he actually wanted to convey-it would be embarrassing for both of them-but Arthur figured an appropriately sized gift would send the right message. And such a gift would prove that the opinion of a certain foreign peasant whom I've never even met before about resemblances to a certain beast with long ears was way off the mark!
He dragged Sir Dennis and Sir Owain along to help him with the task. They were always good for a laugh. Unfortunately, they weren't so good at helping him pick out a gift. Everything Arthur even glanced at was met with a chorus of how wonderful and thoughtful of a gift it would make.
"You've excellent taste, Sire. Shall we make the purchase so we can get on?" Sir Dennis asked.
Perhaps it had been a bad idea to have promised them a trip to the tavern after the gift had been sorted. Arthur started picking out nonsense gifts until the two of them figured out what he was doing, and then they all did have a good laugh.
"How about a quill?" Arthur said as they passed through the ink sellers section of the market. "He could use it to keep his ledgers or something."
"Oh, get him one of those big ostrich feathers." Sir Owain suggested. "I can just see it bouncing around while he's trying to be all business-like taking inventory."
"Definitely something he wouldn't get himself," Arthur agreed with a snicker. The idea of Thomas owning his own business still struck him as funny.
"Does he even know how to write?" Sir Dennis asked.
"I'm not sure," Arthur said. "The matter never came up."
Sir Owain shook his head. "He doesn't need to know how to write to keep a ledger. Just make a few marks on some paper to keep track of the stock and the day's take. It can't be that hard to run a tavern."
"Yeah, not like running you lot," the Prince of Camelot joked. Owain was too young ever to have been in charge of anything yet. No idea of the responsibility. Even on his father's estate he had three older brothers handling affairs. That would have to change soon. Arthur made a mental note to assign Owain in the morning to keeping the inventory of Camelot's weaponry.
"I've got a better idea," Sir Dennis said. "Come on!" He took off running to one of the further stalls. Arthur and Owain ran after him. It didn't take them long to figure out Sir Dennis was heading for the weapons vendors.
They lost themselves, looking at all the pretty sharp and pounding things for awhile. Most of them were useless for a knight as the Royal Blacksmith could make just about any weapon balanced exactly to the body and style of the wielder. But there were some smaller items, things that could come in handy in a fist fight or in defense from an assassination attempt. The sort of things you might not want others knowing you had on your person. Arthur also found a couple of mace's he liked. They had a larger swing radius than Camelot's standard issue. He wanted to try them out in practice a few times to see if the feature was actually useful or if it slowed the striking speed of the weapon. Slow still meant dead, even if your weapon did have a stronger striking force.
"We still have to find something for suitable for a servant." Arthur said as he gave Owain the honor of carrying the pair of maces for him.
"Why don't you just get him a dagger," Dennis suggested.
"Be serious. You've seen Thomas around weapons. I don't want him accidentally killing himself before the wedding."
"I said a dagger, not a sword. Anyone who can wield a kitchen knife can wield a dagger."
Arthur rolled his eyes. "You'd think."
"I don't see why you're fretting so much over this." Owain said, carefully slipping the maces into his belt "Whatever you give him, it would be a Royal Gift. A person of that standing? It will be a family treasure for generations. Even if you gave him a rock, it would be a royally gifted rock."
Great, Arthur thought. Everything I touch turns to gold. He remembered an old bedtime story Gaius used to tell him when he was a child, about a king with a similar problem. That was supposed to be a curse, wasn't it? Maybe the tale didn't need such a literal interpretation after all.
"Why don't you just give him one of those daggers you were throwing at the target he was carrying yesterday?" Owain suggested. "That would give him something to remember you by."
"That's not the point!" an exasperated Dennis chided his younger companion. "We don't want the imp stabbing his master with his own present now do we?"
In many way's Owain reminded Arthur of a younger version of himself. A bit cocky, with a gift of saying exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time. And in a year or two, when he reached his full build, he was going to be a force to be reckoned with on the tournament field.
"Sorry," Sir Owain said seriously... and then started giggling. "Can you imagine Arthur in a fight with Thomas? It would be more ludicrous than that tussle you had with the physician's ward."
They all burst into laughter on that image. Arthur was glad he could finally put the incident into perspective. He felt kind of foolish now, thinking back about how much he'd let the comments of a peasant disrupt his life.
"Speak of the devil." Sir Dennis bumped Arthur on his shoulder to get his attention and pointed towards the city gate.
Arthur looked up saw a dark tuft of hair on a tall, thin waif of a boy walking towards them.
"My, my, my," Owain said. "Got his head in the clouds, that one."
Arthur froze as the boy approached. Suddenly, all thought of the day's contemplations being foolish vanished.
"He's a peasant. I doubt he could rub two thoughts together." Sir Dennis joked.
"Unless it's about a girl," Sir Owain speculated.
Both knights looked at each other and smirked. "Gwen"
Arthur paid not attention to his companions' banter. Sure, his father wanted him to calm the waters with the physician's ward. But Arthur saw a far greater opportunity approaching that had to be handled quite delicately. He couldn't count on fate throwing him this lush of an opportunity again.
"She took quite a fancy to him yesterday, didn't she."
"Well, the stocks did make him look like he had shoulders."
"Or maybe it's the Lady Helen. She's quite a hansom woman. Did you see her riding in last night?"
"He best be careful there. The King has his eye on her."
"You really think so?"
"They are having a private dinner tonight, aren't they?"
"Must be nice to be king."
Uther had not been born to be king. He had to fight for that right. Through his fight for the crown, Uther had honed his existence, smoothed away his flaws and burrs until what was left was fit to be a king. It was why his father demanded his son be the best of all the Knights of Camelot, why he sent him against all the fearsome dark that threatened Camelot instead of sending some lesser knight more expendable than his only heir. That Arthur, too, could be polished by the brush with Death.
"He's coming this way," Dennis said.
"Not even looking where he's walking, is he?"
But there was still something missing, Uther hadn't been treated to a youth with everyone knowing that everything he touched had a royal import to it. Instead, Uther had grown up with a form of honesty Arthur couldn't buy with all the gold in Camelot.
"Careful, my lord, he might try to knock you down with the wind from his mighty fists." Owain said.
"This is just too pathetic."
It was just too perfect, Arthur thought. Everything Gaius said in the Council Chambers about the boy not understanding the concept of the Nobility being his betters raced through his mind. It collided with what he had heard his father say about his friend Gorlois, how he had always cherished the honesty of the man's fortitude, holding fast, even when his King had stubbornly clung to his own opinions until Gorlois finally made him see truth.
"Shh, shh." Sir Dennis cautioned the younger knight. "Let's see if he notices where he's heading."
"Oh, he wouldn't dare!"
Death would come to every man in it's own time. Truth was far more elusive, promising a much more abrasive and finer polish. Arthur had experienced it's brush only once. He wanted more. And just now, the only person blind enough to have used it on Uther's son in all of Camelot had walked right past him.
"Oh my God!" Owain nearly laughed himself to the ground. "I mean, I know he's new and all, but he does have to learn sometimes, doesn't he?"
Sir Dennis looked at his prince. "Tell me you really aren't going to let him get away with that"
"Oh, I really, really can't," Arthur said, a dangerous twinkle in his eyes. He had to know if the boy was up to the task, if he wouldn't back down. Through brilliant strategy and a quick mind, Arthur summed up his opponent. He knew exactly what to say to get exactly what he wanted.
"How's your knee walking coming along."
"Oh, you really, really didn't," Leon said, wondering if he should quit drinking now. He was going to need his whits about him tomorrow once Uthur got wind of this.
"Oh, I really really did," Arthur smiled. Just keep thinking I'm an idiot, Leon. It was a far easier explanation than the truth would have been.
"A night in the dungeon, an afternoon in the stocks, and he still doesn't know who Arthur is!" Owain chimed in. After a disproving glare from Dennis, Owain shut himself up with the last dregs from his mug.
"I know, he's from some border town where they aren't used to having anyone important around," Arthur said, "But what if that had been my father and his entourage? What if it had been a visiting noble? What if, heaven forbid, it was me and a bunch of my friends? I couldn't let that pass, for the boy's own good, of course."
"Of course." Dennis agreed.
"Off coursh." Owain tried to add before being pushed to lean back in his chair by Dennis
"Of course," Arthur continued. "Now, here's where the brilliant bit comes in. I couldn't just arrest him again. Father would have a fit, That's when it came to me. How do we normally settle our differences?"
Leon rested his head on the base of his palm and sighed. "Field of combat."
"Precisely." Arthur beamed at his own brilliance. Leon hadn't even expected a secondary motive to Arthur's actions. "You get all the aggression out in the open, test each others metal, and when it's all over, you walk away with a new found respect for each other. Truce established."
"But... the boy's not a knight."
"Try telling that to Merlin." Denis said louder than he meant to.
"He's a peasant," Leon tried to explain. "They don't think the same way-"
"That's why I couldn't outright challenge him to a duel on the tournament grounds at dawn, now could I?"
"So you goaded him into fighting you in the market?"
"I haven't been participating in tournaments since I was five years old without knowing how to get someone's damper up."
At first, Arthur thought Merlin was just going to walk away. After the taunt he'd just given, that would have been a disaster. The plan was to get the boy into a small skirmish then win graciously, much like the fights he used when evaluating the knight's candidates to see if they were ready for their final test Everyone watching would know he was conveying the boy an honor... unless the boy didn't take the bait...
If Merlin walked away all Arthur's good intentions would be left undone. It would seem that the Prince was bullying Gaius's ward again. Arthur couldn't have that. In for a penny, in for a pound, as it were.
"Awe, don't run away," Arthur said in his most patronizing voice.
Merlin stopped. A moment's indecision before the boy decided to commit himself to Arthur's lure. .
"From You?"
"Thank God!" Arthur said emphatically, and he meant it too. Finally there was someone in town who hadn't been brought up to grovel at his every word-well, other than Morgana, but she didn't count, she was a girl. He was afraid the punishment from their confrontation the other day, and what must have been a constant berating from Gaius, had badgered the boy into silence. "I thought you were deaf as well as dumb."
Merlin turned around with more confidence than someone of his ilk should have possessed. "Look, I've told you you're an ass. I just didn't realize you were a royal one."
Ah, to be sixteen again, Arthur thought. Boys were full of pride and overconfidence at that age. Arthur could feel the tension build in his companions behind him, the threat of weapons readied to be drawn if the boy didn't back down. Damn, they could spoil everything. But Merlin wasn't backing down. Or maybe not.
"Oh, what are you going to do? Get your daddy's men to protect you?"
Good, Arthur thought. He's played this game before. No one had a mouth on them like that without getting into a few scraps in their lifetime. And Merlin was still alive and fit, so he obviously had been successful at defending himself. This could get interesting. He'd still have to take it easy on the boy, though. There wasn't that much to the lad but bone and sinew. It wasn't his fighting skills Arthur was testing.
Arthur laughed, and managed to convey to the others that he planned to handle this situation himself. "I could take you apart with one blow."
"I could take you apart with less than that."
"Are you sure?" Arthur had him on the hook now. Wait, less than one blow? How was that supposed to work? Never mind, the boy probably just got carried away with the banter and didn't realize what he had just said. It didn't matter.
Dennis and Owain finally caught on to Arthur's apparent intentions to teach the boy a lesson and were egging on the battle. Merlin obliged them by taking off his jacket and throwing it to the ground. The peasant equivalent to throwing a gauntlet, Arthur supposed. Arthur had no plans for this to be a simple peasant brawl. Without the jacket, Merlin may have gained some speed and agility, but he'd just thrown away the closest thing to armor he possessed. He'd regret that.
Arthur signaled to Owain to give him back the maces he'd purchased earlier. Now was as good a time to test them out as any. The younger knight smiled, expecting some sort of minor carnage. Time to see if the physician's ward was all mouth. Mace's were scary looking things. Would the idea of fighting with one frighten the boy off? Arthur was betting no.
"Here you go." Arthur tossed him one of the maces. Merlin jumped away from the flying projectile. That was disappointing. But he didn't leave the weapon lying in the dirt and take tail and run either. Merlin bent over and picked it up. The game was on.
Arthur twirled his mace menacingly above his head and slowly approached his opponent.
Merlin didn't making any move to defend himself. He was still trying to figure out what to do with the odd weapon.
"Come on, then," Arthur taunted. He wanted to see how fast the boy could think under pressure. "I warn you, I've been trained to kill since birth." There was a hint in that statement if the boy was smart enough to pick up on it. When facing a more skilled opponent, take the opportunity to learn from him-quickly if you want to live. Watch me, this is how you use a mace.
"Wow," Merlin blinked. "How long have you been training to be a prat?"
Arthur lowered his mace and tried to keep from laughing. It wasn't the response he was expecting, but it was exactly what he was looking for. The boy wasn't going to back down, even with a mace threatening him.
"You can't address me like that." At least not in public, Arthur thought. Arthur didn't want everyone thinking it was okay to call him a prat... which he wasn't in the first place. He was being menacing with his mace, not pratish. This was all just pre-fight banter. Arthur had to be careful. Words like prat where the kind of things that could stick.
"I'm sorry. How long have you been training to be a prat, My Lord?" Merlin gave a long, low, mocking bow. Oh yes, the physicians ward had played this game before. Apparently the boy had learned something, but it was from their encounter yesterday. Merlin wasn't going to make the first move, let himself get tangled up and arrested again without doing some damage by making a few choice comments first. He was trying to goad Arthur into taking the first swing. Fine, if that's the way he wanted it. Arthur smiled, then obliged. It was his game, after all.
~`0\~/0'~
"And you thought the mace would be an appropriate weapon of choice for clearing the air?" Leon asked.
"What were we supposed to fight with, swords?" Arthur asked. "I doubt if he could lift one, let alone not get pulled in circles by his first swing. I had no intention of killing him-"
"And the mace is such a non lethal weapon."
"-Killing or humiliating him," Arthur continued. "It's an easy weapon to get the hang of. All you need is the proper stance and to be able to feel the rhythm of the swing. It has a short, visible spin radius, so unless the wielder lets go in mid swing, anyone in the vicinity knows how far they've got to stay back, and if it does connect, you know exactly how far the puncture's went. It's a lot easier to treat than a stab wound."
Sir Leon stared at his prince in disbelief.
"Tell him about the fight!" Sir Dennis insisted.
Arthur shook his head. Somehow his little skirmish with Merlin had morphed into epic proportions, taking on the air of a great battle, as if he had been up against a dragon or some great, all powerful sorcerer instead of a cocky peasant lad from across the boarder. Fine, if that's what they wanted. Arthur went into his best story telling mode, It wasn't as if he could really tell them what was crossing through his mind during that fight.
"There, the braggart stood before me. Lashing wildly with it's sharp pointed words. For the honor of Camelot, I approached, undaunted, my weapon held high. The fearsome twig backed away, but still, he would not yield the day."
The whole table burst into laughter. Sir Leon nearly choked on his mead. "Seriously," the elder knight asked when he could speak again. "Just how drunk are you?"
~`0\~/0'~
Arthur backed Merlin across the open ground. Merlin wasn't doing so well under pressure, Arthur thought, which was disappointing, considering the bravado he'd shown during the banter portion of the fight. He still was trying to figure out how to use the mace to protect himself, but he wasn't giving up or turning tail and running either, so that was something. Merlin may have looked like a frightened rabbit, but at least he was still in the game. If this had been a real fight, though, the boy'd be dead several times over by now.
By the time Merlin did get up the confidence to take his first swing-a whole six seconds into the fight-Merlin had let himself be pushed into the stalls. Time wasted is something you can never regain in a fight. What would have been a clear swing in open ground just a second or two earlier, got tangled up in a hanging basket and Merlin managed to loose his weapon trying to free it. Second strike against him. The boy wasn't aware of his surroundings at all... or so Arthur thought at the time.
At that point, the fight should have been over. Merlin was defenseless and should have yielded. Instead, the boy just stood there, staring at him. Arthur brought his mace crashing down, exploding the wares on a nearby display just next to where Merlin was standing. His intention was to startle the boy into speaking his surrender... and yes, he was showing off. Arthur was disappointed. In himself more than anything. What was he doing, thinking a peasant could offer him a challenge? But, now he could be gracious and end the fight proper He'd have to pay the vendor for his wares and any other damages later. This wasn't Arthur's first fight in the market. The vendors knew if their stock was involved, they'd come out ahead at the end of the day.
This wasn't Merlin's first market fight either. Instead of being frightened, Merlin took advantage of the split second Arthur had been carried by the momentum of the weapon and ducked behind him, further into the market. The timing was perfect, it was a skill Arthur hadn't expected the boy to possess. Arthur underestimated his opponent. That rarely happened these days.
In the open area of the square, Arthur had had the advantage, but in the stalls there were too many things for for his mace to get tangled up in, too many things to trip over. A smile spread across the boy's face. He looked more like someone who was going on he offensive instead of someone dodging blows to save his life.
All too late, Arthur understood what was going on. He had made an elementary blunder. He had let Merlin had take control of the fight. Arthur may have had a mace for a weapon, but Merlin had the use of the entire market. He understood the game they were playing now. The game they had been playing right from the beginning. Merlin hadn't retreated into the stalls, he'd lead Arthur right into them.
Arthur smiled. He didn't have to hold back anymore. He wanted to see how fast the rabbit could run.
~`0\~/0'~
"I can't believe you fell for that." Leon said, slapping the table. "The boy's a rabbit, isn't he."
"And a very good one, " Arthur laughed. "Trust me, he was enjoying himself."
"You didn't define that as a one on one fight, he did!"
'Apparently." Arthur took another swallow of mead.
"What's a rabbit?" Owain asked. "I mean, aside from a good dinner."
"The Rabbit and the Wolf? Didn't you ever listen to your bedtime stories?" Dennis teased.
Owain thought for a moment. "Is that the one where the rabbit's being chased by the wolf, and the rabbit leads the wolf right into the wolf trap?"
"That's the one." Leon said. "Merlin's from a small village, right?"
"Right," Owain agreed, still not getting it.
Leon tried to explain it to him. "Small villages don't have much defense. A patrol comes through, or a horde of bandits, they do what their told, or surrender and lick their wounds later."
Dennis picked up the story. "But if only one or two trouble makers comes passing through, thinking he's a big man, then they've got a chance." Denis finished.
"They get their fastest kid-" Leon continued
"-One who's a bit cheeky," Arthur added
"-and they send him out to goad the big man-a.k.a. the wolf-into a fight."
"Hence, the rabbit." The three elder knights said together.
"How is that supposed to even work?" Owain asked, still confused.
Arthur shook his head. "What am I always telling you in weapons training? It doesn't matter how strong your opponent is or how big his weapon. Fast beats slow. It's the first rule of combat."
"And the second rule of combat is never let your opponent take control of the fight." Leon clipped back.
"He didn't have control of the fight!" Arthur lied again. "I knew what game we were playing the whole time."
Leon wasn't buying that. He turned back to Sir Owain. "The rabbit goads the wolf's into taking continuous swings at him, but as long as the rabbit's faster-"
"-All the wolf's doing is swinging at air and wearing himself down." Dennis finished.
Owain was catching on. "Merlin took his coat off, that made him faster."
Leon nodded. "Nothing extra to get caught up in the stalls."
"And he dropped the mace." Dennis said. "The less weight he's carrying the less energy it takes to move."
"Once the rabbit get's the wolf worn down enough, he leads him into a trap to where the rest of the villagers are waiting with their hoe's and pitchforks. Then they give the wolf a good beating and run him out of town."
"Okay, what happened yesterday makes a whole lot more sense now." Owain said. He just realized something. "The boy's used to being one of the defenders of his village." He glanced at Arthur. "And when he mistakenly interpreted our training session with Thomas-"
"-The instincts kicked in." Arthur hadn't made that connection before either, but Owain was right.
"And then you hand him a one on one battle all gift wrapped." Leon smiled at his brilliant prince.
"It worked out better than I'd planned." Arthur said, and it really had for his hidden purposes as well. "Turned out he wasn't completely defenseless and the kid got to show off some of his moves. That's what you want from a truce fight."
"Really?" Leon gave Arthur a look of total disbelief. Arthur swallowed another sip of mead. No telling what the older knight was going to tell his father about all this in the morning.
"But I still don't understand." Owain said. "You said the goal of the rabbit was to lead the wolf into a trap where the rest of the village was waiting. He wasn't on home ground. There were no waiting villagers. Why start the game in the first place? How did he figure it was going to end?"
"Yeah, well..." That was something Arthur hadn't thought of at the time either. They weren't exactly playing Rabbit and the Wolf. Merlin had invented a variation to the game. It was more like Badger and the Wolf. Third rule of combat: Never do what your opponent was expecting. Owain was wrong. Merlin did have one villager in waiting. Himself.
~`0\~/0'~
Damn! Arthur thought as his mace crashed through yet another stall. Again, Merlin dodged in a direction Arthur didn't want him to go. This fight was going to cost him a small fortune. Merlin could keep this up all day. He had nothing to weigh him down and he was sixteen! If Arthur wasn't careful, he'd wear out before the boy did. If that happened... the boy could actually... win. Arthur couldn't let that happen. He had to get the boy cornered somehow, before he did something stupid like tripping over a bucket and and dropping his weapon, and Merlin did something stupid like picking it up.
It was then that Arthur realized the second mistake he had made...well, actually, it was the first. He'd made right in the beginning. But then, he never thought things would get this far. Even though he had started the fight, this wasn't a field of combat, Merlin wasn't a knight, and Arthur was no ordinary man. Merlin may have known the first rule of combat-and the second and the third-but he didn't know the laws of Camelot. If Arthur actually lost the fight, if he yielded to Merlin... if the Prince of Camelot actually yielded to a commoner who was threatening him with a swinging mace over his head...
~`0\~/0'~
"Were you trying to get the physician's ward executed for treason?" Leon asked.
"No! Of course not!" Arthur said emphatically. "That never would have happened."
"He asked you to yield, it kind of did."
"Asked, not demanded. And technically, he didn't ask me to yield, he asked me to give up. A minor difference, true, but still not the same thing."
"Arthur..."
"My fight, my rules. Besides, I didn't yield."
"Arthur!"
"I've yielded fights to you before."
"During a tournament. That's not the same thing."
"It is if I say it is. Hence the brilliance of my plan."
Leon slumped onto the table and banged his head on it a few times.
"Why would I yield?" Arthur asked him. "I was never in danger of Merlin hitting me with that mace. He didn't even know how to use it. His swing was slow. That put me on the quick side."
Arthur was lying again. Someone, somewhere had shown Merlin how to use a mace. He wasn't very practiced at it, but that was the beauty of the mace. If you had the right stance, got your swing timed...
~`0\~/0'~
Throughout the fight, Arthur had been attacking with an over hand swing. It was slower, and it telegraphed where the attack would land, but it delivered a harder blow. It was showier, scarier-better if you were trying to drive a normal person who should be afraid of such things in a particular direction.
Merlin was using an underhand attack. The blow, when it came wouldn't be as strong, as Merlin wouldn't be putting the force of his whole body into it. Just his arm and the momentum of the spin. It did mean the Merlin could adjust where he wanted the strike to land mid-swing-if he knew what he was doing and wasn't just imitating something he had seen back home. Arthur did a quick evaluation. Merlin's stance was good, just not solid. Not entirely grounded on his back foot as it should have been as Merlin was holding the mace behind his body. But the lines were perfect... and Merlin had shown some quick, tactical thinking. He couldn't risk underestimating the boy again.
The fact that Merlin wasn't increasing the momentum meant he thought they were still playing a game. But Arthur couldn't be sure it was a game Merlin would actually try to win if his downed man didn't yield. Arthur had a much wider danger zone to avoid if he were going to try his own shot at being the rabbit. In a real fight, Arthur would have charged his opponent, grappling him at his midsection. But if he did that, getting hit by the mace would be unavoidable, even if accidental. The physics of swinging balls would see to that. All it would take was one scratch from Merlin to seal the boy's fate. Physician's ward or not, his father wouldn't tolerate such a thing. From the corner of his eye, Arthur noticed some of the guards were already on the move. This fight definitely was not going to plan.
And then the boy's inexperience played in his favor. Merlin let something in the crowd distract him, only for an instant, but it was enough for Arthur to make a lunge for a nearby broomstick and end the fight decisively before things got out of hand.
When the guards came up to arrest Merlin, it was easily enough to dismiss them. No harm, no fowl. Arthur got to be the gracious winner he intended to be in the first place. He'd even managed to save Merlin's life without the boy knowing... but because he wasn't a prat, he didn't point that out.
~`0\~/0'~
"And you really think this is the end of it?"
"I gave the boy a complement and a pat on the back, then sent him on his way. It was an honor to let him fight me in the first place. Trust me, there are no hard feelings."
And Arthur had learned what he wanted to know. Merlin wouldn't back down, even in the face of fearful things. He was capable of giving Arthur the challenge he'd need to make wise decisions, telling him the truth, even if the Prince of Camelot were being stubborn on a matter. But unlike Garlois, Merlin was a peasant. He couldn't be Arthur's friend. Their relationship would have to be crafted carefully to get Merlin to the point where he would be useful. It could take years. At least, he'd cleared the air between them, like his father had wanted. It was a start... and it had been fun.
Finally, everything could get back to normal in Camelot
~`0\~/0'~
MEANWHILE, SOMEWHERE IN A CAVE DEEP BELOW CAMELOT'S DUNGEONS...
"No, no. You've got this wrong!" Merlin argued with the great winged beast in front of him.
"There is no right or wrong," the dragon insisted patiently. "Only what is and what isn't."
"But I'm serious! If anyone wants to go and kill him, they can go ahead. In fact, I'll give them a hand."
The dragon laughed, sending strange echos throughout the vast cavern. "None of us can choose our destiny, Merlin, and none of us can escape it."
"No. No way. No. No." Merlin was going to remain firm on this. "There must be another Arthur because this one's an idiot."
~`0\~/0'~
... AND YET SOMEWHERE ELSE IN THE CITADEL...
Uther Pendragon had expected his evening dinner to be pleasant, but it was turning into something delightful. He hadn't expected the light, flirtatious banter he'd suddenly found himself sharing with Lady Helen.
"Well, perhaps I'll find love again. But I'm afraid it's too late to replace Arthur's mother."
Lady Helen smiled back. "Yes. It's certainly too late for Arthur."
~`0\~/0'~
Getting ready for bed that night felt strange. Thomas entered his chambers as he always had done for the past three years, prim and proper, not saying much. He poured Arthur his nightly goblet of chamomile tea to ease his sleep. Thomas set it on his desk, next to some papers.
"What are these?" Arthur asked, looking at the papers.
"From your father. It's the approved list of possibilities for my replacement." Thomas told his master as he helped him ready for bed. "I'll be leaving in a few days, you'll want the new boy trained proper before then."
Strange thought, that. By next this time next week, someone else would have the job of catering to his pratish princely whims. Absently, he looked through the list, wondering whom it might be. The names meant nothing to him. Someone boring, most probably.
Guiltily, he remembered he hadn't actually gotten Thomas anything in the market as a farewell gift. That's when he was struck with yet another, brilliant idea. Arthur downed the last of his tea and handed the goblet back to Thomas.
"Here," he said. "I want you to keep that, as a token of ... appreciation for your years of service."
Thomas stared at his master wide eyed. The cup Arthur was offering him was part of the royal collection. It was made from solid gold with the royal seal of Camelot etched on the front and embedded with silver.
"Sire, I can't take this."
"Sure you can," Arthur insisted. "You've filled it enough times. You can tell your patrons that they are getting service fit for Royalty, and that will be the proof... or you can have it melted down for the gold if the times get hard."
"But Sire-... Thank you, Sire." Thomas said. He took the cup, though Arthur could tell his servant was worried. Thomas would never tell him the truth- what the mistake was he had just made that made his gift more grief than joy. His servant simply accepted the gift, willing to accept the unknown consequences in silence and let his prince think he was being magnanimous.
What? What am I missing? Arthur thought. What was wrong with giving Thomas the cup? What was wrong with giving a peasant a very expensive cup from his former master's collection to take with him on the road... Arthur, you're an idiot.
"I'll clear it with the staff, no one will thing you've stolen it." Arthur assured his servant. "Wait, give it back. I should have it engraved. Then there can be no question. I'll give you a note and you can take it to the engraver's in the morning."
Thomas handed the cup back. "Thank you, Sire."
"Thank you... and... have a good life."
"We will." Thomas smiled. Arthur couldn't remember seeing the man smile like that before. "Good night, Sire."
"Good night, Thomas."
That felt right. Not only right, it felt ... good. Something warm burned deep inside of him. Somewhere down the line, Arthur was going to have to visit Thomas and Sophie in their little tavern and he'd ask for a drink from this cup again, for old times sake. It would be a night their children, and their whole village would remember. A golden night. Thomas would have stories to tell for years. It was a good gift.
"So much for me being a prat."