A/N: Hope you all had a great Thanksgiving! Thank you for the reviews, they are very much appreciated!

It turns out to be impossible to find anything in the library, mainly because Geoffrey is so surprised to see the prince appear in his sanctuary that he hovers by his shoulder the entire time wondering if-.

'Milord is quite sure I can't help you find anything?'

'Yes Geoffrey, I am just taking a look around. Why don't you sit back down?'

'But this is such a big place Sire, perhaps I can direct you in some way? I can't begin to tell you how pleased I am to see you take an interest in the true literary treasures this castle holds. Or perhaps you are more inclined to learn about Camelot's past? There is a very interesting thirty two volume chronicle I am more than happy to…'

And with that Merlin leaves, barely escaping, he is convinced, an afternoon of mind numbing boredom.

When he returns to Gaius's quarters, he finds a very disgruntled Arthur staring at a congealed bowl of porridge. Wisely, for once, he decides not to ask the prince if he isn't hungry.

'I couldn't find anything,' he tells him, while closing the door behind him. 'Geoffrey wouldn't leave my side. But Gaius has some books here, maybe we can…'

'There's no time for that now.' Arthur jumps to his feet, a grim look on his face. 'We have to go to the practice field. I think it's important we appear to act as normal.'

'But Arthur,' Merlin starts to protest. 'You don't seriously want me to go to this training do you?'

'Yes I do, I've been thinking about it. Fighting is all about reflexes and less about using your brain.'

'That explains a lot,' Merlin murmurs, fingering the hem of his shirt.

'What?'

'Nothing! Nothing, you were saying…?'

'Yes. Reflexes. So once you pick up a sword, my body should know what to do. Come on, you have to go and put my armor on.'

'I really think this is a bad idea. We should be looking for a solution for this…'

'Yes I know, I'm not happy about it either but if I don't show up people will be coming to look for me and asking questions, and the last thing we want is to have you talk to people as me.'

'What? I'm much better at the whole prince thing, than you are at the servant thing. Look at that bowl for instance, don't you know porridge practically turns to rock if you don't wash it out straight away?'

Arthur grimaces at Merlin. 'It tasted like rock to begin with. Armory.' He puts his hands on Merlin's shoulders, turns him around and steers him to the door. 'Go!'

Merlin doesn't point out how Arthur always makes him drag the armor all the way to his bedroom to then walk down to the armory anyway, but precedes the prince in silence.

'Now,' Arthur claps him on the shoulder when he has everything in place apart from the helmet. 'Just go out there, tell them to start with the basic warm up. Swing the sword around a bit so you get a feel for it, then after about fifteen minutes, tell them to pair up. Usually Sir Leon will start out with me, then every fifteen minutes you swap partners. You understand that?'

'I understand you'll have a fair few bruises by the time you get your body back,' Merlin complains while taking the helmet our of Arthur's hands and turns toward the training field.

'Ow, not afraid of a bit of pain are we Merlin?' Arthur goads him.

'Not as afraid as you are of humiliation,' Merlin responds. He rolls his shoulders under the weight of the chain mail, always having imagined it would be heavier. But then, Merlin thinks, if he had to wear it himself, it probably would be. Arthur is just used to it, having practically grown up in armor.

When they reach the edge of the field, the knights are already there, talking in small groups, their swords catching the midday sun and reflecting it across the castle walls.

'Now remember, close your mind and let the body take over. It will know what to do.' Arthur pushes the sword into Merlin's hands. He is briefly surprised at how familiar the weight of it feels in his hands, but then swallows hard when he starts to walk toward the others. When he reaches them, they greet him one by one and Merlin has to swallow again, his mouth suddenly dry when he sees all their eyes on him, waiting for instruction.

'Eh- basic warm up,' he says, only it sounds like a question. If the knights notice anything strange, they don't show it when they go to stand in formation, four rows of five, all facing the same way. When they are lined up, Sir Leon shouts 'On guard', followed by things like 'riposte from left' and 'guard head' and 'grapple from right'. All the knights move in unison, the distinct sounds of swords slicing through nothing filling the air. Merlin moves behind them, gingerly trying out a swing himself. When the weapon moves fluently and without hesitation as if he has nothing to do with it, Merlin is so shocked he loses his grip, and the sword flops awkwardly to the grass. He quickly grabs the weapon, checking everyone still has their backs to him and then gives Arthur, who stands by the sidelines with his right hand clasped against his forehead, a silly shrug. Arthur shakes his head slowly, dragging the hand over his face.

Soon, too soon, the warm up is over and they all turn to their prince again.

'Right,' Merlin tells them, clearing his throat. 'Well done. Really, top notch everyone. Eh - pair up!' As the prince predicted earlier, Sir Leon walks over to Merlin and he feels his throat go dry all over again. He resists the urge to look back at Arthur, knowing it won't do him any good in the slightest.

'Ready when you are Milord,' Leon tells him, clasping his sword in both hands.

'Um, yes. Ready.'

Sir Leon starts to circle him and Merlin follows as he has witnessed Arthur do so often on afternoons just like this one. Afternoons where it was Merlin standing by the sideline and Arthur facing a blade that suddenly looks much larger than his own. Maybe being a servant isn't such a bad-. But then the first blow falls, he is really unprepared and his weapon goes flying.

'Eh, not ready!' Merlin tells a startled Sir Leon with a weak laugh. He scrambles to pick up the sword again, catching sight of Arthur who appears to be chewing on his red scarf, then becoming aware of exactly what he is doing, pulls it out of his mouth in disgust.

'Eh,' Merlin nearly says he is sorry when he remembers; if there is one thing the prince doesn't do, it is apologize. 'Let's try that again shall we,' he says with too loud a chuckle. 'Really Merlin, you know you're not supposed to wax the handle.' Sir Leon and some of the nearby knights laugh a little perfunctory.

Merlin isn't quite sure if Leon is being more careful this time around or if he is just better at it, but he easily parries the strokes and manages to add a few thrusts of his own. It doesn't take long for the rhythm to find itself. His arms rise and fall, his feet follow steps they have taken for years. Then, he almost sees the coordination and suddenly, he notices the flaw in Sir Leon's movement. He charges forward, the sword handle near his face and lets the blade arc down in a sharp thrust. Sir Leon barely manages to evade. Merlin is so pleased with the move he turns toward Arthur with a delighted smile, but then gets whacked on the backside with the flat of Sir Leon's blade.

'Sire!' Leon exclaims, eyes wide, not sure how to continue after that. But Arthur, who is still standing by the sidelines, now gripping his hair yells an affronted; 'Merlin!' at the exact same time. Sir Leon looks from who he thinks is the prince to the servant and back again.

'Why is he yelling his own name?' he asks, frowning slightly.

'No idea. Probably forgot his medication this morning,' Merlin says, before turning around again, suppressing the urge to run a hand over his stinging rump. 'Let's start again from the beginning.'

And it is fantastic after that. Arthur was right, there is no need to think. The sword moves in his hand, his arms following a fluent pattern all of their own, blocking, parrying and thrusting to a rhythm he doesn't quite understand but that feels familiar none the less. Out of the corner of his eye, he sometimes catches Arthur swinging an imaginary sword around in time with his own, and once, after a particularly good move, he hears him whoop. Soon his back is clammy with sweat, the sun beating down on it with the first beginnings of summer heat and the knights have to break for a drink more and more often.

'That will do for today,' Merlin calls in the end, briefly forgetting to be uncomfortable with ordering other people around. 'Excellent work.' The knights lift the helmets off their heads and start to gather round, chatting about the afternoon's session.

Merlin walks over to Arthur, smiling a little foolishly.

'Still think sword fighting is all about acting like a manly man?' Arthur asks him with a smirk.

'Well. Yes. But it's also sort of fun.'

They move off the field toward the armory, Merlin with a newfound swagger to his step, and once there dumps the sword and helmet on the table. He is about to start peeling off the gloves and wrist braces when Arthur steps forward, bats his hands away and begins to do it for him.

'What?' Arthur demands when he sees the baffled look on Merlin's face. 'I know how I feel after a few hours in that thing.'

Merlin keeps his mouth shut as Arthur's hands move deftly over clasps and straps, assisting him out of the chain mail.