There weren't many things Merlin was good at. Arthur had long since accepted this as fact and had stopped being surprised when he found something else that the boy was bad at. He couldn't arrive on time worth his life. He tripped over nothing and his skill with any weapon put in his hands was almost humiliating. Merlin was bad at pretty much everything, Arthur decided, except maybe always being there when it counts.

It was another fact that Arthur had accepted into his life. The manservant had practically become his second shadow in the years that they have known each other and although servants were supposed to be that way in the first place, Merlin was different. He didn't trail behind Arthur like a shadow should but rather walked at his side. He rarely stayed silently in the background and insisted on giving random bouts of wisdom and unwavering loyalty. He was nothing like what a shadow should be like, but he was always there, a constant in the turbulent life of the prince, something he could always count. He was his shadow, his friend.

And maybe that was why Arthur was always so exasperated whenever the boy failed yet again at wielding a weapon. Merlin was always there and he always insisted in following him even if he was unwanted. The problem with that was that Arthur seemed to have the bad habit of falling into trouble no matter where he went. Heck, he couldn't even count the amount of times they went out on a simple hunting trip only to be attacked by bandits or end up on some perilous quest or other. Yet, despite all this, Merlin never even thought to bring a weapon, let alone wear something to protect himself. He always managed to come back safe, yes, but that luck had to run out someday and Arthur wasn't about to let his friend suffer because of it.

Thus, Arthur's struggle to find a way for his friend to protect himself began.

The boy was hopeless with swords. Every time Arthur attempted to get him in the basic starting stance, his left arm would swing behind him, hand grappling at thin air. What he was searching for, Arthur didn't even begin to have a clue.

Maces proved more dangerous to Merlin himself than they did to any other person. He was more likely to hit himself in the head while trying to swing that thing around before he did any damage to whatever foe they were currently facing. It was almost sad how much the mace didn't suit his servant.

Bows and crossbows were better but not good enough. Merlin proved to be a remarkably good shot but it took him time to be able to get to that point, time they did not have in the heat of battle. Besides, those weapons wouldn't be much help close range which is what they mainly end up fighting.

Daggers were also better but didn't satisfy Arthur in any way, shape, or form. They just didn't fit Merlin. They didn't.

And so the list went on. Some weapons were better than others but never good enough. Others were downright failures when put in the hands of the boy. It was actually impressive how many weapons they had gone through to only find nothing.

Maybe this was why he was only mildly shocked to find that out of all the weapons Merlin could be good at, it was a glorified stick.

Merlin proved to be almost deadly with the staff.

Arthur had discovered this little fact after watching an exchange with his servant and a passing farmer while coming back from training. The aging farmer had carried his own staff with him as if it was only an extension of himself, holding himself with the air of someone that had seen too much of this world. An almost wicked grin had come upon his face when he saw the servant sweeping the steps in preparation for cleaning. Merlin didn't notice.

The farmer set his bags down and gripped his weapon, advancing on the servant. Arthur had half the mind to call out to Merlin but the playful smile of the newcomer spoke a familiarity and a past that Arthur didn't know. He would let this go on and see what was in store.

Just as the farmer made his first move, a broom handle was there to meet the blow, shuddering from unbalance. Merlin's eyes were alight with an excited playfulness as they backed away from each other. He pulled off the end of the broom just leaving him with the pole and his hands found the center of balance. With a subtle nod, the two were upon each other.

Arthur had never seen the likes of it before. The movements were smooth and the staffs moved as if water. He almost couldn't keep up with the pace. A crowd began to grow, drawn by the clacking of wood. Neither male seemed to notice this as they kept at their deadly dance.

Merlin was clearly outclassed, if only by his current weapon. A broom handle was not meant for such roughhousing and from the looks of several short strikes, it was probably shorter than what Merlin was used to. The other man however had a much sturdier and proper weapon and it wasn't long before the broom handle snapped, and Merlin was swept off his feet by a blow to the legs. The bout was over, the winner decided. Merlin laughed and took the outstretched hand as the farmer heaved him to his feet.

"Good one, Rale," Merlin commented, only slightly winded from the fight. He shifted on his legs that were no doubt sporting a bruise.

The farmer laughed and drew the boy into a hug. "Long time, no see Merlin."

Claps and cheers erupted as the two pulled apart. The servant ducked his head embarrassed while the man, Rale, only chuckled. Clapping the boy on the shoulder, Rale picked up his abandoned bags and made to ruffle Merlin's hair. Merlin laughed and swatted the hand away.

The two dissolved into mindless chatter as they caught up and Merlin picked up the broken remains of his impromptu weapon. This Rale seemed to be in town to sell some small wares that his wife made while he picked of seed apparently, nothing Arthur deemed worthy of remembering, and Merlin inquired of the man's family and asked if he could send a message back for when the man passed through Ealdor. And so they continued in the easy air of old acquaintances while the crowd around them finally began to disperse upon seeing that they weren't going to get anything more from the pair.

Arthur leaned against a nearby wall, expression thoughtful. It seemed he would have to make a personal stop at the carpenter's… Then maybe the blacksmith's as small ideas bubbled up in his mind. He spared another glance at his servant before pushing himself from the wall and disappearing into the market.

"Think fast."

Merlin, for all his clumsy faults and problem with following certain orders, had gotten a lot better at responding to that single command. The boy dropped the cleaning rag he was holding just in time to catch the sturdy stretch of hickory that Arthur had so kindly tossed him in the middle of his chores. He glared at Arthur, a witty retort on his tongue no doubt, before he finally seemed to register what he was holding.

The staff was nothing short of the best Arthur could get his hands on in a decent amount of time. The polished hickory wood was carved to perfection. A thin wrap of leather bound the middle in form of a grip without throwing off the balance of the weapon which Arthur could say was almost perfect from testing it out himself earlier. He was no avid staff user himself, but he knew the basics and he was fairly sure Merlin wouldn't mind the heavier weight after seeing him with the broom handle.

Arthur smirked as Merlin's mind did a very visible backtrack. "Wha…?"

He pretended not to notice the confusion as he moved towards his table and snatched an apple from a platter. "We needed to find you a suitable weapon." He took a bite and arched an eyebrow in a manner that would make Gaius proud and continued nonchalantly, "Well, I found one." Though "found" was definitely not the right word for this, there was no way he would ever let Merlin know the lengths he went to to find him a proper staff. He had his pride after all.

Merlin ran his hands almost reverently along the smooth wood. "But how did you know?"

Arthur actually scoffed in response to that. "As if I wouldn't know when my own servant decides to have a training bout in the middle of the courtyard. Of course, you would have to choose an overrated stick as your weapon."

Merlin had the decency to look sheepish before mild offense replaced it. "Well, of course, you wouldn't fully appreciate the essence of a staff after running around with that pointy metal of yours," he retorted without missing a beat.

With a roll of his eyes and a smile that was most definitely not fond, Arthur walked over and lightly cuffed his servants head, leading them towards the door. Merlin protested, gesturing towards the abandoned wash bucket and rag on the floor, and was told for probably the millionth time how Arthur did not take orders from servants, Merlin. Besides, they needed to see just how proficient Merlin proved with his newfound stick.

And when Merlin of all people managed to knock one of the new knights off his feet during a practice bout and turned back to the prince with all the proud excitement of a puppy, Arthur was definitely not grinning with pride, stop looking at him like that Leon.

Inwardly though, relief settled in his chest, because finally, his friend had his weapon.

Merlin had been with him for so long and done so much for him that it was time that Arthur was finally able to return the favor. And if that favor also meant he no longer had to fully worry about Merlin getting injured when he stupidly decides to follow his master and friend into battle, well, that was just an added bonus.

Now if he could just manage to find the boy some chainmail or something that would be great.