"Shit"

What more was there to say? Merlin's heart was still galloping like a runaway horse and his lungs were still wanting more air than he could take in. The fight with Garret hadn't been particularly grueling except for the fact that he kept finding himself in physically taxing situations, one after the other, without fully recovering in between. Him and the prince were still bound together at the wrists and only had one functional weapon between them. The only reason they bested a knight like Garret was that his inexperience led him to panic and they caught him off guard. Bors had radiated nothing but calm competence since their sleepy introduction. Sure they had weapons and less limited mobility now but Merlin's weapon was compromised and they had to rely on teamwork to accomplish anything as basic as walking. Their track record with even that had not been stellar so far.

"Put the sword down!" Bors yelled approaching slowly with his own sword glinting in the firelight.

"We didn't hurt anyone, they're just sleeping" Arthur said retreating just as slowly, his own sword in raised arms and reverse grip to keep his demeaner non threatening.

"I heard fighting" Bors stated.

"Garret attacked us!" Merlin called out, "We were protecting ourselves."

"He thought everyone was dead and started attacking" Arthur supplied.

Bors continued with his trajectory towards the not so captive captives, "It doesn't matter! Just put the blades down!"

"We didn't kill anyone! They just went to sleep and wouldn't wake up! Same with Garret; if you check him now you'll see he's asleep like the others!" Merlin's breathiness made him sound more desperate than he wanted to.

"Stand down and we can talk about it." Bors was just as calm as ever but sounded much less guarded and tense.

"You believe us?" Merlin asked surprised. Perhaps sounding surprised made him sound like a liar. He didn't feel like a liar. Garret had fallen asleep like the others, he just took some convincing and he had attacked them. The attack wasn't fully unprovoked but Garret couldn't have known that, at least he hadn't known that for sure, highly suspected it though.

"Just put the blades down" That was a 'no' then.

Arthur gave his acomplice a look that couldn't be interpreted as anything but 'Shut up. Now.' and stood in front of him to further push him out of the conversation.

"I mean you no harm and I understand the same is true for you. Just let us go and I swear to you, that my father will not hear a word of this." The blonde prince sounded sincere. It was a weird juxtaposition, the prat with the temper of a child Merlin had met earlier and this sympathetic diplomat.

"I'm sorry, your highness, I can't do that," Bors sounded equally sincere as he raised his sword back into it's offensive position, "I have orders, so put the sword down."

"I'm sorry too" Arthur sighed.

Bors nodded and an understanding passed between enemies. There was no time wasted asking any more questions or making any more demands, Bors most likely had some but he certainly wasn't speaking as he charged the two chained escapees. Merlin held up his wrecked dagger and tried another bout of magic to trip the incoming attacker. Bors fumbled a step but paid it no mind and continued his approach.

Arthur dropped into a defensive stance and felt Merlin's presence tug at his right wrist. He groaned. With this idiot weighing him down, Arthur was stuck in one spot. It would do no good to trip and meet the rush on the ground. Better to wait for the attack, upright.

The two swords clashed first. The Esseterian's focus was solely on his Camelot counterpart. The young noble was forced to parry the inaugural blow single-handedly, with his non dominate hand. The impact almost jarred the hilt out of his hand. Arthur directed the sword sideways across his body and along his own blade. This maneuver left Bors up close and the prince's upper half unguarded. Bors didn't even need to move any closer to elbow the prince's exposed stomach, then throat. He opened his mouth and heaved his chest but no air passed his lips. His lungs felt like they were folding inside out and ripping apart at the seams. Arthur was vaguely aware that maybe he should focus on not dying one second into the fight, but he couldn't do anything except choke on air.

As his vision and senses started to return, Arthur witnessed Merlin, who had was suddenly in front of him now, lunge at Bors. The man jumped back to avoid the stabbing and it looked like a near miss, until a pin prick of blood started blooming on his tunic. Merlin deflected the next swing with his own pitiful dagger, performed single-handedly as well. As predicted the blade splintered into three pieces leaving a short jagged metal shard and the handle as the only pieces left in Merlin's hand.

Only then did Arthur realize that he was no longer where he had been standing. Merlin must have pulled him out of the way, saving him. With a returning awareness, Arthur jumped back into the fray swinging his sword. It staggered through the air because he hadn't regained enough sense to use one hand.

"Idiot!" Merlin hissed at the fumble and heaved on the heavy chains pulling the prince away, saving him from Bors again. Arthur finally got over the last of his disorientation. He pushed Merlin behind him trading places. He was the only one with a weapon. Now that he had air in his lungs he was able to think properly and strategize the fight. Arthur couldn't rely on his usual footwork with Merlin weighing him down. He couldn't risk tripping. Several fast glancing blows were exchanged. Redirecting and deflecting strikes with one hand was barely feasible and getting less so as the scuffle went on.

Bors had the upper hand in every conceivable way. What Arthur did have was a deserter behind him who had nothing to lose and was fighting like a time Bors was close enough, Merlin would slash him with his pointless dagger and hammer him with various kicks and punches. Arthur had noticed they were directed at the eyes, groin and knees. Only a few met the target.

Rocks and insults were thrown interchangeably, "Hey, dollaphead!" "You look like you lick chamber pots clean!" "Sheep shagger!" "Girl's petticoat!" Merlin would be the first to admit that they were some of his weaker insults. It's not like he actually meant to insult Bors. He rather respected him. The taunts were multipurpose, to distract Bors from his the fight and to misdirect Arthur's attention from his words. He was cycling through spells as well as insults. It was preferred that Arthur thought he was just mumbling some more of the verbal projectiles he had been hurling the entire fight. Maybe his tactics weren't 'fighting fair' but he wasn't a knight and had no such limitations as 'an honorable fight'.

Bors was growing wise to Merlin's tricks and used the reach his sword afforded him to keep out of striking range. Soon the supply of stones around him was depleted and it was getting increasingly difficult to find a chance to arm himself with more because of the speed of the knight's latest offensive. He feared that if he reached for a more ammo, he would pull the prince into the enemy's sword. Merlin resorted to throwing the dagger handle. It whacked Bors in the head. It caused a trickle of blood flowing from his hairline and a raging glare, even an incredulous double take from the prince. It seemed as he grew more physically exhausted the less he was able to hold onto his magic. Incantations that had worked just hours earlier had barely any effect. Another unwelcome novelty in his life.

Arthur's counters were weakening too. He was solely on the defensive now. Merlin seemed to be running out of steam behind him as well. The constant stream of shouting had deflated into a broken, trickling mummer. This was it. He couldn't hold him off for much longer. His wrist was numb from all the repeated impacts and he was consistently scrambling one step behind. He was considering surrender when Bors's sword stuttered midair. He completed the maneuver but it was lacking the expected, efficient fluidity. Bors's eyes kept darting behind him. Arthur refused to follow his gaze. It could be a trick to distract him. Even if it wasn't, the knight was Arthur's biggest priority.

There was no one behind his opponent that Arthur could see. The moment of split attention was seized. Arthur ran Bors clean through his center mass. A wet gasp was expelled from the knight. The prince was not prepared for Bors to keep fighting and retaliate with powerful blows as though nothing had happened. Arthur was almost struck down. The Essetirian blade was routed to meet the the young Pendragon's when he collapsed like a felled tree, and his sword like a branch of that tree.

It was over? It didn't feel over. Arthur was still poised to intercept another strike of the sword. His eyes still scanned for the danger Bors had seemed to sense earlier. His pulse hadn't slowed at all and Merlin was still mumbling insults behind him. Arthur was not one to strike a man when he was down. He waited for Bors to get up. It was both reliving and dreadful when the man remained unmoving, except for the loud pained breathing. No, no, no! He hadn't meant to kill Bors, well he had, but he didn't want to have to mean to. It wasn't fair. Bors was destined to be killed by Arthur or Arthur was destined to be killed by Bors. He was just the lucky winner and it was luck. If Merlin hadn't pulled him out of the way or Bors hadn't gotten distracted, he would be dead instead of Bors. He needed to calm down. He didn't know Bors and he wasn't dead yet. Unlike Peter, Arthur had the ability to help this man.

Merlin was focused on nothing but his catalogue of spells. He felt the prickle of magic wash over his skin as one of the spells finally worked and so he kept repeating it. His thoughts were interrupted by the thud of a body dropping to the ground. Like a puppet with the strings cut. Merlin hadn't seen a finishing blow. His eyes searched the knight but he looked just as awake as his companions. Perhaps it was a trick. Play dead and take advantage of their lowered guard. Merlin continued mumbling his curses but Bors was doing nothing... nothing but painting the ground red. He was too tired for this. He let his head drop and braced himself hands on his knees. He needed a break.

Merlin was startled by the prince suddenly dropping his own sword and stumbling towards the bested knight. The warlock grabbed their chains with two hands to stop the prince from getting any closer.

"What are you doing?!" Merlin asked thinking the prince had gone insane.

"He's hurt," Arthur sounded dangerously emotional. Merlin was not sure how to handle that.

"I know, just, make sure to grab the sword and search him for weapons first, in case he comes to" Merlin explained cautiously.

"He's not playing dead, look at him!" Arthur growled.

Merlin bit back his retort, the noble seemed fragile.

Arthur was uncharacteristically quiet as he relented and followed Merlin's instructions without further arguing. They gently loosened his fingers from around the sword hilt and confiscated two utility knives. The patrolman's face and torso were saturated. It seems the dagger handle ripped up the skin on his forehead quite a bit. Nothing too serious but he couldn't afford the extra blood loss of a head wound. He had several other minor scratches, courtesy of Merlin and his broken knife, including a shallow stab wound on his stomach. The most grave injury doubled as a well pump of blood, drenching the forest floor around him and warming the knees of the two chained men knelt at his side. Merlin had seen men survive wounds like it before but not many. He would need a sorcerer.

Arthur looked somber, "I was hoping to avoid this. Peter's death was enough... You were right, he seemed a good man"

Merlin hurriedly cut the prince off before he could continue with his apologetic eulogy, "He might have a chance if he makes it to a physician" sorcerer.

"We'll make sure he makes it to one then."

The two escapees were once again kneeling by the bleeding knight, after ransacking the camp for medical supplies. The blood darkening the ground wasn't warm on their knees anymore. It sapped their warmth instead. Arthur himself insisted on wrapping the wounds they had inflicted, saying, "I wouldn't even trust you to tie my boots let alone tie off a wound." Merlin let it be. He had enough memories of bloodying his hands with friends' blood, he could do without another.

The magic, that just a day ago felt infinite, now felt increasingly finite. The weaker the magician, the more they relied on things like incantations, herbs, totems and whatnot. A sorcerer like Merlin rarely needed words for the less complicated magic but he kept up the pretense as to not stand out among his unit. At Bors's side, he found himself barely capable of any magic, even while speaking the incantations aloud. Healing spell after healing spell tumbled softly from his lips. Those that made Merlin's magic flicker were repeated several times over. None would heal Bors, just improve his chances. If they worked at all, that is.

"What are you saying?" Arthur had heard Merlin muttering to himself for a couple minutes now. At first he assumed that the idiot was just talking to himself. The longer the droning went on Arthur realized it wasn't even a language he understood, it sounded suspicious.

"forbærn- What?" Damn, he hadn't meant to be so loud.

"What did you just say?" The prince demanded, pausing in his administrations of Bors's field dressing in preparation.

"Healing prayers" Merlin lied.

Camelot did not have religion. It was extinguished during The Great Purge, too closely associated with magic. Of course The Old Religion was strictly forbidden but the rest were only highly discouraged. The faiths that were still surviving in Camelot were kept private in the home, never shared. Essetir and Camelot had been tentative allies for years, Arthur was not ignorant of the various thriving religions in their neighboring kingdom. Perhaps he had too little experience with the pious types to make an assessment but Merlin hardly seemed one.

"I didn't take you for the religious type." Arthur accused.

"I'm not." Merlin admitted.

"Then why the prayers?"

The deserter sighed, "He might be a religious type. If he was, I thought it might bring him some peace."

"Carry on then" the prince said nothing else, just resumed wrapping the injury on the patient's forearm. The soft prayers started up again beside him but they no longer put him on edge.

"We've done all we can for him. We should go before anyone else wakes up, the herbs obviously didn't work." Arthur said launching himself to his feet.

Merlin wanted to argue that point, the herbs worked perfectly as expected but couldn't without explaining his magic. Too suddenly, he was dragged behind the prince as he marched around the unconscious forms that cluttered the fire light. He grabbed the nearest two bags, peered inside, then shoved them into Merlin's arms. The nearest sword was also scooped up in the royal's beeline for the horses. Of course, it was also piled onto Merlin, the prince's new personal pack mule.

The sorcerer dug his boots into the ground and grit his teeth, "We should search the bags for the keys first."

The prince spun around, "No!" There it was again, that emotional look, "Better to leave before anyone else dies. We can deal with the cuffs later."

Merlin found himself unable to say anything, so he just nodded.