*Sees you still reading* *nails up sign and walks away* Abandon hope, ye who enter here.
~4~ Playing with the Big Boys
Two days after the strange spouts of oblivious trances and the monstrous appetites (although the latter never really came to heel), things had returned to normal – as normal as they could become, anyway, given the circumstances. There was still a wild beast roaming the near countryside, and Arthur's wound occasionally troubled him to the point when he couldn't sleep; otherwise, all was well. A troubling thing was when Gaius would come back from hours at the library, looking tired and years older than he was, and he was quite aged now (Merlin didn't like to think about that, but he couldn't help but notice when the old man had difficulty standing up or getting around without grunting in pain). Though the servant asked him about his sudden interest of the archives, Gaius said he was simply recalling the faded information of his profession. Merlin wasn't appeased, nor his curiosity sated.
On the fifth day since the raid of the Blackhand Order, Merlin watched Arthur spar with his knights on the training field. Seemingly numbed completely to his wounded side, the king fought with the strength and courage to do the stories about him justice. At first the knights had avoided attacking with their full skill and speed, because of his wound, but as they saw Arthur hold his own against two of them at once, they had at him as they would one of their own status.
Arthur seemed to relish the challenge, and his blade was a blur as he fought Percival and Leon at the same time. He claims to have been taught the ways of the sword since birth, and now he was proving it. Excalibur was like an extension of his arm, and it dashed through the air with the grace and deadliness of a hawk on the hunt. Percival and Leon had to withhold grunts of pain and surprise again and again as their defences were breached, and they had no choice but to make hasty retreats across the field.
Finally, as the two knights' attacks grew desperate and their attempts to parry failed, they surrendered and backed away, breathing heavier than dogs and sweating like pigs. They weren't put down or angered. In fact, they were thrilled with Arthur's success. Merlin smiled lightly as the knights commented sincerely, not to a king, not to a friend, but to a superior swordsman.
"Your turn, Merlin."
Then his smile faded as Arthur stepped from the parting crowd of bemused knights, pulling his gloves back on and unbuckling Excalibur's sheath from his side.
"What?" Merlin asked, blinking owlishly.
"I said, your turn. Grab your sword." As Arthur spoke, he placed his best blade on the weapon rack and instead selected a modest hand-and-a-half sword; it was wise to have a broad range of weapon types under one's knowledge – one could never tell when the need shall arise which will call for a different sword.
Merlin made to argue, but there were enthusiastic encouragements from the men, and the servant had grown a sense of honour and competition he'd once thought pointless before Arthur had begun teaching him to fight in earnest the year prior. He was still far, far outmatched by even the lowest of swordsmen, but he could hold his own in the confusion of battle, at least when no one was pressuring him with the weight and expectation of their gaze, as proven in the Blackhand raid. And he only got about two thirds the amount of bruises and welts as he did eight months ago, with armour and the king going easy on him. Besides, Merlin was already wearing a shirt of light chain mail, greaves, and bracers. It would make him more comfortable to wear a gardbrace as well, to protect his neck from a right-bound horizontal swing, but he rejected the desire as it would add extra weight, and instead moved only to put on a helmet.
The knights cheered good-humorously and made a wide circle around where the servant and king were to duel. Arthur had removed his helm, but Merlin kept his, not foolish or cocky enough to believe he could fully defend himself from a more seasoned warrior. It restricted his vision but it would keep him from being brained if—when—he grew slow or got too tired to dodge or parry. They both had shields.
"Come on, Merlin! Show us what you got!"
"Don't hurt him, sire! He'll need to be able to move to polish our boots tomorrow!"
"Five crowns says Merlin gets first blood!"
As always, the knights were fooling around, but Merlin couldn't help but feel a foreboding sense of trepidation creep up from his belly as Arthur smiled wolfishly and began to circle.
The warlock could tell he was trying to manoeuvre him so that his face was in the sun, but he had no choice but to keep Arthur in his direct line of view, lest he miss an attack from the side.
When the sun was warm on his left shoulder, Merlin lunged forward, hoping to catch Arthur mid-step and surprise him. The king was unfazed and not fooled – he met Merlin's arming sword with his hand-and-a-half, sending the distinct ring of metal on metal clashing through the afternoon air, much to the joy of the knights. The servant's arm rang from the blow, but he swiftly recovered, pleased that he had at least managed to make Arthur stop his circling.
His relief was short-lived as the king pressed the attack, forcing Merlin back several paces across the circle. He dodged beneath an overhand swing and bashed Arthur's shield with his own to try to unbalance him, but his insufficient weight failed him and he might as well have hit a wall. He stepped back instead and had to parry an angled attack that succeeded a feint.
Arthur was grinning still, like a cat had caught a mouse and was just figuring out how to play with it. Merlin felt unnerved, for he was that mouse and by nature, the mouse always loses in a fight...And then he realized something: he realized that this was pretty much the only part of the day when Arthur didn't have to be king, or a prince, or any man of importance. Out here, on the training field, he was a man just like every other, with the same views, same thoughts, same desires to prove himself. Though the exercises trialed his body, they soothed his heart and mind, keeping him from closing off from the normal world completely. It made Merlin understand the true reason for the king's insistence that the servant join them on the field – not for the amusement of himself and his knights, not even so that Merlin had the skills to defend himself; no, it was so that every man could be considered equal for at least one hour in a whole day of tedious social status expectations.
Suddenly, Arthur's enthusiasm spread Merlin's own, expanding it like a man coaxes a fire from a spark. He focused his attention solely on the opponent before him, balancing on the balls of his feet, conscious of the sword in his hand and the shield on his arm. He anticipated Arthur's next feint and parried an attack that would have staggered him any other day. A flicker of surprise was replaced with fresh vigour in Arthur's eye, and a smile split Merlin's own face.
He bashed his sword against his shield three times, edging the king on. The knights roared their approval. The servant led the next attack and Arthur had to concentrate to match Merlin's speed. As the warlock broke his stream of strikes and retreated, not even tired, he saw the king's eyebrow rise, as though he were pleasantly surprised by the onslaught. Then that expression became cunningly feral, and he slashed with the clumsiness of a swan and the mercy of an avalanche – which is to say, none at all. Merlin had to work extra hard to avoid getting hit, finding himself strangely determined to help Gwaine win his bet and get first blood.
Finally, Arthur's chain ended and he retreated to gain ground. He, too, wasn't seeming to tire, though the sun was hot and their armour heavy. By now, Merlin should be struggling to keep his shield up, but it was as though it were not but a sheet of foil on his arm, and his sword felt like a light-weight twig. By the way Arthur made extra motions with his parries and dodges and attacks, he was also full of energy, despite his previous engagements with the knights not ten minutes past.
What's happening to me? Merlin asked himself. Is it some unknown adrenaline? Am I dreaming this? This isn't normal!
Their mini battle raged for another five minutes, the knights, by now, mostly staring in unrestrained astonishment as neither king nor servant gained the upper hand or even managed to hit the other a single blow. They must be thinking that Arthur was just playing with Merlin, but the warlock could tell that Arthur wasn't fooling around. He was genuinely struggling to get any strikes past Merlin's defences just as Merlin was struggling to get past his.
As a long sequence of parries and attacks whirled like a typhoon between the pair, Arthur began to laugh. It was loud and boisterous, of amusement, of exhilaration and of joy. Hoping that it was distracting him, Merlin dodged low and made a sweep for Arthur's legs, but unbeknownst to him, the king made a powerful downward swing at the same time as when the warlock ducked.
Merlin's sword hit Arthur's knee just as Arthur's sword clanged down on Merlin's back. No one quite recalled how it happened, but both the king and the servant were suddenly lying flat on the ground from each others' strike, Merlin on his front, Arthur on his back, in the end.
The warlock's whole body rang from the blow, and he thought air would never enter his lungs again. He could see Arthur clutching his leg, though, which gave him the grim satisfaction of knowing that he finally managed to strike the king a hit that would have meant the end of him in a battle. Then he coughed and shook his head, chest sucking in air greedily as he pushed himself to his feet. Despite the abuse he was treating his body with, he felt like he could move a mountain.
Arthur rose with him, laughing no more, a mixture of bemusement, admiration, and a new desire to defeat his weakling servant in his aura. Merlin feigned exhaustion in his shield arm, and Arthur fell for it. Lunging forward, the king made as though to bash the defensive plate aside and leave the servant's chest exposed for a crippling blow, but Merlin sprung his trap, and pinned Arthur blade between his shield and his own sword. Throwing his weight to the right, he shouldered the king as hard as he could, hoping to force him to relinquish his grip on his weapon and be stuck on the defence. But Arthur managed to foil his plans, and instead of retreating, he held his ground, solid as the citadel's outer walls. Before Merlin could do anything else, the king shook free of his shield and wrapped his arm around the servant's back in a rough embrace, pinning both of their swords and Merlin's shield between them. The warlock realized what he was about to do, but was too late to counter Arthur's move as he dragged his own weight sideways and wrestled the warlock to the ground.
Merlin squirmed to get away, sacrificing his previous attempt to disarm Arthur in his urgency to escape. The king pulled his sword free but put his elbow on Merlin's shield, holding it to the grass. The servant abandoned it, yanking his arm loose of the two bands, and rolled away as he scrambled to his feet.
Now he was feeling a tight strain on his limbs, but was utterly bewildered about how he managed to get even this far. It shouldn't be possible. By the fierce concentration and determination on Arthur's face, if he was ever playing with Merlin before, he was definitely not playing now.
It was strange, but the servant had an awful feeling that he was going to lose. He had held his own until then, aye, but that was mostly because of the inexplicable strength and speed he had gotten that afternoon, probably granted by the really good sleep he'd had the night before. But Arthur was skilled by years and years of practice, and he, too, was having the odd jolts of adrenalin. Not only that, but Merlin just wanted the 'exercise' to be over, to hell with the outcome. Arthur may want it done as well, but he also wanted to win. Merlin was thinking about screwing up on purpose bad enough to force the king to stop, when his own reflexes blocked Arthur's incoming blade. He tried to take control of his body then, but that caused his downfall.
As he threw Arthur's sword aside with his own, his body was left undefended, and the king lunged forward with an upward hook into the servant's midriff, driving the breath from his chest and sending him staggering back several paces.
He gasped like a fish, eyes wide in shock as he retreated further, until ten paces stood between them. The king's fist was not hindered by Merlin's mail hauberk – the punch had come as hard and powerful as it would had he been devoid of armour. Arthur's gaze flickered from his clenched hand to Merlin's abdomen as though thinking the same thing. Now he, too, lost the triumphant fire in his eye and looked almost worried, even afraid.
This speed, this power...It's in both of us. What is it? Where did it come from?
Now a deep throbbing pain filled his midsection, a result of the punch, and he grew angry. He growled, a sound that should have surprised himself but didn't, and crouched in preparation. Arthur followed suit, and at once, they both charged across the small space between them.
Time seemed to slow as Merlin raised his sword to block the overhand swing Arthur was already performing. Their blades met above their heads as they ran past each other—
—And shattered.
All stared in incredulous disbelief as the large shards of Arthur's hand-and-a-half and Merlin's arming sword exploded in a dazzling silver rain, the pieces hitting the grass as the two combatants turned to face each other, equally dumbfounded with their now useless sword hilts still in hand. Somewhere, Gwaine began to roar with laughter.
"Ha ha! You only went and broke 'em!"
Merlin looked down at the sword remains in his hand, his helmet preventing him from seeing Arthur approach. Then the next three seconds passed in a blur as the king punched him in the stomach, kneed him in the head as he doubled over, and then swept his feet right from under him, making him crash onto his back, once more fighting for air.
Three seconds of silence were succeed by a thunderous applause, and the warlock groaned as he realized that their audience was no longer just the handful of knights, but now included soldiers, squires, pages, courtiers, peasants – basically anyone who had been in range since the fight commenced and had felt obliged to watch. Merlin cursed them all.
Arthur came into view through the slits of his confining helmet, a mixture of amusement, triumph, and concern on his sweating features.
"Are you all right?" he asked, and grinned as Merlin growled at him. He reached down to help his manservant stand, and the warlock considered for a moment before accepting the proffered help gratefully. More cheering rang out as he got back to his feet, and Arthur gave him a brotherly half-embrace with one arm, as he often did with his knights.
"Well done. There's hope for you yet."
Oh, this chapter was so much fun to write! ;)
"If you want to know what a man's like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals." ~ Sirius Black (Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire)
