Things Merlin Isn't Allowed To Do (According to Prince Arthur)
13: Get Into Fights Without Proper Protection

His breaths comes in short gasps, his footsteps falling at an increasing pace: hurrying, running over the hill and down the western side and next to a brook; an arrow whizzes by barely missing him and his heartbeat speeds up, and he wonders wildly why he agreed to this plan in the first place.

To begin with Merlin couldn't believe they were serious. Honestly. He's managed them in the worst moments: during training when they're in awful moods and swears a lot he still makes sure they've got water and towels and other necessary things nearby.

Like when Gwaine's on another drunken escapade and needs Merlin's help to get out, or when they're walking and/or riding on pointless quests in heavy blasted rain through unmapped territory, Merlin tags along without turning back. When they're demanding more of soup when there's barely anything left, he obediently makes more. When they're arrogant and forget that half of them aren't noble-born and have no right to act as dollopheads, he reminds them of that and they apologize at once. When they're out hunting and stalking deer for hours without actually finding any, he goes with the,. When there are long boring council meetings and they for some reason wants him, the prince's manservant, to attend, he stands there obediently for hours ignoring his hurting feet …

The list could go on forever. All of these moments and alot more has he endured. And we're not even mentioning the things he does for Prince Prat alone here.

But seriously. They're mad now, those bloody knights. Yes, indeed they are. "We need to lure them out somehow..." they'd said when hearing about the large group of Very Dangerous Strangely Smart Outlaws they're failed to catch for a month might be hiding in a cave near the boarder. And someone had gotten a brilliant idea and meant for their brilliant plan to work they need someone as bait: someone fast on his feet, brave, loyal and - what did they say again? Oh yeah - a bit foolish.

Which was how Merlin had found himself ordered to dress in a knight's tunic, chainmail, a pair of fine boots and a long brilliantly red cape. He feels rather ridiculous and the chainmail's heavy (how was he supposed to run in that?), and though he dislikes admitting it, he's a bit uneasy. He's faced down evil sorcerers and beasts and tricky enchantments countless times but to be sent out there alone without weapon other than a short sword (just in case: nobody thinks he could really wield it though, but it's got to look realistic) and a too-big chainmail to protect him, it's not very nice. Yes, he's got his magic, but let's not speak too loud about that, it's not like he's proclaimed it to everyone in Camelot with a particular desire to be beheaded.

And Arthur has agreed to the stupid plan. A pat on the arm and a 'Good luck' can't make up to it. No way. How come Arthur never promotes him when he does things like this for the prat? Arthur's lucky Merlin likes him or he'd surely be a toad by a now. Definitely.

Then, Arthur had left half a mile northwest where he and his men would be waiting to ambush the Very Dangerous Strangely Smart Outlaws.

Very dangerous, screaming, sword-and-other-deadly-weapons-wielding outlaws that are now running behind him and gaining on him. Merlin forces himself to move faster. He's always been rather good at running, but the chainmail is wearing him down and the short sword keeps bumping into his thigh uncomfortably. The landscape rushes past in green and blue, no details: he can't focus on it. He can almost feel a rush of breath down his neck and he inhales sharply, almost afraid, and briefly his eyes glow gold making his steps a bit lighter, a bit faster, by a subtle rush of magic. Across the small brook, over the top of another hill, the grass long and dancing in the wind, the long red cloak fluttering behind him; he risks a glance over his shoulder.

The men are in hot pursuit and they're shouting and have weapons raised high. Their armours and clothes are dirty and patched, like they're almost out of resources, and their faces twisted in fury. They clearly think that he's a lone defenseless Camelot knight and if they catch him, they'll gladly shred him to little pieces.

It's not something Merlin looks forward to, to be honest.

The edge of the forest is nearing. He breaks into the foliage, jumps over a fallen log; just a couple of hundred meters left. His breath is heavier now, his steps shorter, blood rushing fast and hot through his veins. He reaches the creek between two high, mossy rocks with the men's angry cries almost right into his ear, another arrow is shot and buries in a tree right next to him, and he dashes up a short slope to stop. It's a dead-end.

And there's no sign of the knights. They can't have forgotten or be late can they? Can they? Where are they?

Panic starts to rise. He turns around, eyes widening, and fumbles for the sword. The men are closing in and slow down at seeing that he's stopped running. The leader, a burly tall man with a gray beard and small dark eyes, smirks. There's a tooth missing. "Trapped."

Merlin takes half a step back and unsheathes the sword hanging at his side, breathing deeply. Okay. They're a dozen-something and he's just one. With the help of his magic, maybe he could …

It won't be easy to explain to the knights if they arrive and see he's somehow defeated all of the outlaws by himself (and without breaking a sweat either), but he rather likes living. The sword feels unfamiliar in his hand, a bit unsteady and strangely heavy, but he raises it in a defensive position.

"Up for a fight now, eh, boy?"

The three men at the front rushes up to him and Merlin readies his sword like he's watched Arthur do countless times and swallows hard - but when the men are mere inches away, there's a ringing sound like an arrow leaving the string and a shout of pain.

One of the men falls, pierced by a crossbow bolt. The sudden attack startles the thugs and they freeze and look around, confused; suddenly, the site is swarmed by red-cloaked knights on both sides of the creek.

"You are surrounded," a powerful, commanding voice rings out; "Lower your weapons!"

The leader growls a curse, certainly not giving up, and lunges forward. Merlin reacts in the nick of time, meeting the blow. The force of the impact travels up his arm like a shock, rattling his elbow, but he sets his jaw in determination and keeps the grip steady. The leader's movement sets the other men into motion: one of them takes aim and tries to shoot down a knight from the cliff, but gets hit in the chest by another bolt. The knights continue shooting at the thugs and begin making it down the creek. The outlaws seem to realize they've got nothing to lose and surges forward, toward Merlin, who's busy with trying to keep the leader's blade away. He mightn't be a good sword fighter but he hasn't forgotten everything Arthur's taught him during those awful hours of training. He remembers the basics of blocking and attacking, knows where to aim.

The opponent has no grace or calculation to the movements, just brute force, and Merlin is backed into a corner within seconds, he's not got the force to match. He's almost hit but moves back and knocks his shoulder on an outcropping rock in the mossy wall, and instead of severing his neck the other man's sword scratches the chainmail with a raspy sound, Merlin's heart lodging in his throat. The man growls and raises his weapon again for another blow; he can't keep this up, the man is just too strong. This isn't how Merlin thought it'd end, at the tip of sword because of the knights and their stupid ideas. His magic bubbles to the surface, ready to attack...

In that moment, something crashes into the burly man from above with a battle-cry, forcing the thug into the ground. The person, who seems to have fallen out of the skies, effectively renders target motionless with the impact and rolls gracefully to his feet, weapon at the ready, and Merlin drops both his magical attack and his sword both in surprise.

"Arthur!" Merlin exclaims at seeing the rescuer's face, heart leaping over a beat in joy, and then a sense of calmness falls over him. Like with Arthur there, at his side, it'll be all right and he doesn't have to worry. The warlock hurriedly picks up the sword again.

Arthur is already focused on the fighting and stands in front of the servant to meet the next opponent, ferociously. No one stands a chance against him. A fire burns in his face, and his face is red with fury.

The battle ends quickly, with the last three surviving outlaws surrendering and putting down their weapons, and Merlin is glad he's not had to kill or even hurt anyone, even though these men were madly chasing him over the hills, trying to kill him. He's never liked battles or killing. The knights cheer and pat each other on the back, including Merlin, who they all call very brave.

When the prisoners are being tied and secured onto horses, Arthur turns to Merlin. He sounds calm now, looks calm, not like the vicious warrior minutes ago. The change is dramatic, yet natural. "You all right?" he asks, sounding concerned.

"Yeah," Merlin says.

"I…I realize now I should not have sent you out there alone," Arthur says quietly, but honestly. As always when it comes to matters like these, he sound rather formal, but it's simply the way Arthur is and Merlin knows he truly means it. "For that I apologize. Will you forgive me?" The prince looks slightly like a kicked puppy and Merlin's hearts melts a little.

"Of course I do. I'm all right," Merlin assures him, because he is, if a bit out of breath and his feet tired. He looks down at his metal attire, not really comfortable in it. "But can I take this off now?"

Arthur's lips quirks upwards as he eyes the servant-come-knight intensely up and down and Merlin sees the gaze, the glint in the blue eyes, and squirms a bit. "Are you certain that's what you want, Merlin? You do look quite catchy, you know."

Fighting a blush Merlin fumbles for a response. "Catchy enough to be followed by a gang of madmen who wanted to tear me apart, yeah."

"That's not what I meant," Arthur mutters and then breaks the gaze. A shadow of apprehension falls over his face. "You better keep it on until we reach Camelot, we might run into trouble."

Merlin starts to follow him up to the place where they've left the horses, grassy meadow not far away. "When don't we run into trouble, please tell," Merlin says with a groan. "But honestly, it's heavy and uncomfortable and I'm not a knight or anything, so why do I have to wear it? I could always make a protective enchantment if you're that worried about me..."

"Get used to it," the prince says, ignoring the protests. "Because you're going to wear it the rest of the journey. It'll ... protect you."

The servant makes an unhappy sound, grimacing. "Hey! That's no fair! I've already run half a mile in it!"

"Well, it's an order." Arthur unties the horses, which neigh happily at their masters' approach, and the prince hands Merlin one of the reins. "Stop pouting. ("I'm not pouting!") Besides, it rather suits you."

()()()

From that day on Arthur won't let the servant leave the city without a chainmail anymore – it sooths the prince's mind and lessen the chance of him getting a heart-attack out of worry; it keeps him, or at least helps to keep him, out of harm's way whenever the fool doesn't care for his own safety, which is almost all the time. And most often, Arthur makes Merlin wear the long cloak, because it's red and has the Pendragon insignia on it and it's a perfect way to claim that Merlin is his servant and no one else's without actually having to say it aloud.