Hello! So it's been months since I posted anything new, and I know that I really need to update 'Paranoia', but I was struck with a little inspiration today, and this is what came from it. I apologise for being absent so long. I'm five months into a tricky pregnancy, which has been both stressful and extremely exhausting for the most part. I'm likely to still be scarce for another seven or eight weeks, but hopefully I can spend some time writing when I start my maternity leave in March. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this little story. I'm a little rusty as it's been so long since I wrote anything, but I'm fairly pleased with it regardless.

Thank you to everyone who has left messages for me, or reviews on my story threads. As always, I read and appreciate every single one. *hugs*

E x

Summary: "Slightly Magicky" - Arthur suspects that someone is practising magic in the very heart of Camelot. The only question is, who?

Arthur had long ago come to the conclusion that magic was tricky, and not just because of the actual tricks that were usually involved in the using of it. Actually, it wasn't so much the magic itself that was tricky, but the sorcerers who used it. Sorcerers were wily, sneaky, and tended to use underhand methods when employing their skills. Of course, what with magic being outlawed and punishable by death, this was not much of a surprise, but nevertheless, Arthur was convinced that outlawed or not, sorcerers were just generally tricky by nature.

Arthur had also long ago come to the conclusion that in order to be wily, sneaky, and tricky by nature, a sorcerer needed to have a goodly number of wits about them, or their magic would be discovered in less than a blink of an eye.

The final thing that Arthur was convinced was needed for a sorcerer to go about their daily business was a fair bit of acting talent, for a sorcerer would surely need to act normal around others, and be able to hide any signs of sorcerish tendencies.

Armed with these conclusions, Arthur found himself in something of a quandary. He'd had some niggling suspicions prodding at him for some time now, but having had no evidence to back up any of his nagging concerns, he'd brushed them aside. The problem was, after having inexplicably triumphed once again against a magical threat to Camelot, he could no longer ignore the little voice at the back of his mind that told him there was someone magical in the very heart of Camelot.

This posed a huge problem; or actually, two huge problems. One, whoever this magical person was, they appeared to be working for the good of Camelot. After all, without this suspected magical intervention, Arthur was convinced that Camelot would not still be standing. So it stood to reason that whoever was doing the sorcery – no matter how sneaky, wily, and underhand it was – was not an evil person driven to destroy the Pendragons. So that meant that sorcery itself was not necessarily the pure evil that Uther had preached it was for the last twenty or so years.

Which meant that Arthur was probably going to have to have a somewhat uncomfortable conversation with his father at some point, which did not bode well for their father/son relationship.

To put it mildly.

Problem number two was no less tricky. Despite gaps in his memory from several bouts of unconsciousness over the years, Arthur had enough fragments of recollection to understand that whoever this magical person was, Arthur was familiar enough with them to know them quite well, for it had to be someone who he spent a lot of time with.

Which meant that it was most likely someone he saw every day; and someone who also went on patrols and quests and whatnot.

No, Arthur could no longer ignore the little voice at the back of his mind. One of his knights was a sorcerer. He just had to figure out which one it was.

ooOoo

"Merlin."

"Yes, Sire?"

"I have a job for you."

Arthur bit back a smirk when his servant failed to hide the look of dismay on his face.

"Would that be before, or after I have finished cleaning your chambers, polishing your armour, mucking out your horses, finishing your speech, and sharpening your sword? Oh," he paused to wave a belt in the air, "and getting you dressed."

"Before," said Arthur, not batting an eye. "George can take over your usual duties for a while; I have something else that I need you to do."

"George."

"Yes, George," said Arthur irritably.

"Mucking out the horses. Writing your speech."

"Do you have a problem with that, Merlin?"

"No, no, of course not."

"Good."

"What did you want me to do, Sire?"

"I need you to keep an eye on the knights for me."

"You need me to... what?"

"Watch the knights. Look for any suspicious activity, and look especially for things that might seem to be a little bit out of the ordinary."

"Er, you might need to be a bit more specific, Arthur."

"I have reason to believe that one of the knights might be ... doing something illegal," he said carefully. He was wary about mentioning magic, mostly because Merlin was Merlin, after all, and was likely to panic at the very least, or faint like the girl he was if he thought danger might be involved.

Merlin frowned, opened his mouth, shut it again, and frowned some more.

"So you're asking me to spy on the knights?" he asked slowly.

"Yes, Merlin."

"Any knight in particular? Because Arthur, you do realise that there are over a thousand knights in your army, and while I'm flattered that you think me capable of watching so many soldiers all at once, frankly, that's physically impossible."

Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Just my inner circle. The usual crowd; Gwaine, Lancelot, Elyan, Percival..." The ones who accompanied Arthur on all of his most important journeys. The ones who were present when a good number of unexplainable things happened.

"Not Leon?" asked Merlin.

Arthur blinked. Leon was one of his longest-standing knights, and had been serving Camelot since long before any of the magical attacks had begun again in earnest. Surely he would have noticed anything suspicious about the knight years ago if he had any magical ability. Still, it couldn't hurt...

"Yes," he said suddenly. "Leon, too."

Merlin blinked, pursed his lips as though to speak, then apparently thought better of it. He looked at Arthur expectantly.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" asked Arthur impatiently.

"You want me to go now?"

"No, Merlin. I want you to wait until winter settles upon us. Of course I want you to go now."

"Oh. Right then. Er, I'll just be off then."

Arthur watched his servant shuffle towards the door, the boy sending a confused look at the prince over his shoulders.

"Merlin."

"Yes, Sire?"

"My belt."

"Oh."

Arthur caught the item neatly in his hands, despite the haphazard way that Merlin threw it, and rolled his eyes at his servant's retreating back. Wrapping the garment around his waist, he noticed the unmistakably new hole that had been notched into the sturdy leather.

"Sneaky bugger," he muttered.

ooOoo

Two weeks later, and Arthur was no nearer to being certain whether his suspicions were anything more than suspicions, and no closer to discovering which – if any – of the knights might be responsible for the strange-and-possibly-magical doings in and around Camelot.

What he was certain of, was that if Merlin didn't come up with answers soon, someone was going to be sacked. Either Merlin himself, who was clearly as inept a spy as he was a servant; or George, who was too bloody competent for his own good.

The sound of the door opening brought Arthur out of his thoughts, and he glared at his manservant.

"Please tell me you have something to report today, Merlin, other than Percival working on his biceps, Gwaine and Elyan pranking each other, and Lancelot diligently polishing his armour."

Merlin's face scrunched up for a few seconds, then he brightened.

"And don't tell me that Leon is perfecting an improved routine for training sessions."

His servant's shoulders slumped.

"Ye Gods," muttered Arthur, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You've been following these men for two bloody weeks, and yet you still haven't discovered anything."

"Probably because there isn't anything to discover," mumbled the idiot.

Arthur glared.

"Arthur, it might help if you gave me some sort of clue as to what I was looking for. Though honestly, I don't see how it would help, even if you did. They're all acting as they should be acting."

"There must be something."

"But there isn't!"

Arthur dismissed the man with a wave of his hand, and brooded. It seemed that if he wanted to find answers, he'd have to do it himself. He immediately decided that he could not possibly spend more time than was usual amongst his knights, for his very presence alone would most likely be a deterrent to anything magical being performed or discussed. But what he could do was keep a close eye on Merlin. He was not at all certain that Merlin was being as thorough as he should with his current task; it was no secret that the boy was friendly with the knights, and while this meant that nobody's suspicions would be aroused by the boy spending more time with them, it also meant that perhaps Merlin may have discovered something after all, and was covering for them.

After all, Merlin was, when all was said and done, not a bad little actor if the occasion called for it. He'd lied to the King on more than one occasion at Arthur's behest, and had gotten away with it. Who was to say that he wasn't now lying to Arthur?

ooOoo

Two weeks later, and Arthur was struggling to stay awake in the middle of a feast. He didn't think he had ever been so tired in his entire life. He'd followed his manservant for fourteen solid days (and most of the nights, too), and had come to the conclusion that Merlin couldn't possibly be human. In fact, Arthur was surprised that the boy was still breathing, human or not. How one person could run about for around twenty hours out of every twenty four without collapsing was completely beyond him.

Arthur already knew that Merlin led a busy life, what with catering not only to the prince's needs, but also to Gaius's. What he didn't know was that Merlin did little favours for anyone and everyone throughout the course of a normal day. And a normal day generally finished in the middle of the night as far as Arthur could tell, for Merlin rarely retired to his chambers until several hours after midnight, and usually emerged from them bleary-eyed not long after the first light of dawn had begun to colour the sky.

Quite what Merlin did in the small hours of the night, Arthur couldn't say, for as far as he could tell, roaming the silent corridors of the castle and prowling through the forest like a deranged hunter served no purpose at all, except to irritate the prince to the point of exasperation, which, as Merlin was completely unaware of being followed, was obviously not the reason.

Aside from Merlin's strange nocturnal habits, Arthur had also come to realise that his servant, while friendly with the knights, was definitely not covering for them. In his daily reports – which were still necessary in order for Arthur to successfully hide his own spying activity – Merlin had dutifully recited everything that the knights had done during the day. Everything. The boy was right, there really was nothing to discover; it was clear that Arthur had been wrong to suspect his knights.

What was also clear, was that while absolving the knights of all doubts over any suspicious behaviour, Arthur had noted one or two (or possibly ten) reasons to suspect that Merlin himself was the one who was acting ever so slightly magicky.

Not that Arthur had noted anything overtly sorcerish in his servant's behaviour, but in observing Merlin over the past fortnight, the prince had noted several things that made the little voice in the back of his mind speak up just that little bit louder.

Well, it was more of a shout, actually. A shout that said Merlin was possibly the person Arthur had been seeking all along.

It was ironic, it really was; sending someone on a mission to discover a sorcerer when in fact the person he sent was a sorcerer himself.

If indeed Merlin was, in fact, a sorcerer. Which seemed perfectly ridiculous... but at the same time... not.

Wily. Sneaky. Tricky by nature. And a good actor.

If Arthur wasn't so sure that he definitely wasn't stupid, he would call himself, well, stupid. For Merlin embodied almost every single one of the attributes that Arthur was so certain a sorcerer would possess (well, apart from the intelligence bit), and – even more incriminating – had been present during every single instance of suspected magical intervention over the past few years.

Still, he didn't have any real proof.

Sighing tiredly, Arthur resigned himself to suffering from lack of sleep for the foreseeable future, for clearly he would have to keep up his self-appointed task of spying on his manservant.

ooOoo

Two months. Eight and a half weeks. Or sixty-one days, to be precise. That's how long it took for Arthur to finally catch Merlin in the act of slipping up. Well, if he was going to be honest with himself, it wasn't really a slip-up, more a chance accident, and it wasn't really Merlin who slipped up, it was Arthur.

But that was beside the point.

The point was, it had been two months. Eight and a half weeks of skulking about in the shadows as he watched Merlin... skulking about in the shadows. Sixty-one days of wandering around in a sleep-deprived haze as he tried to catch Merlin doing something that would give Arthur the proof that he needed.

It was the sleep deprivation that did it. After Merlin had finally entered Gaius's chamber's that night, Arthur had slumped against the wall around the corner, telling himself that he was only going to rest his eyes for a moment or two. He awoke to the sound of the clicking of a door being closed, hurried footsteps, and muttered whisperings about a nosy prat of a prince.

Cursing under his breath, Arthur jumped to his feet and once again began his skulking in the shadows, only this time he was even more careful than he usually was (the 'nosy prat of a prince' comment alerting him of the fact that Merlin had been fully aware of Arthur's presence thus far).

Now that he thought himself safe from prying eyes, Merlin's steps were hurried and purposeful, with not so much of a hint of his previous stealth. Oh, he was still careful, of course, but he walked with confidence, his usual awkward gait replaced with a straight back and a lifted head.

He was heading to the forest again, though this time he was taking a different path, one that led to an area that was less densely populated by trees. Arthur had to stop several times in strategic places so as to avoid being seen, and even had to take several detours during his pursuit so as not to expose himself.

After a third such detour, Arthur was finding it hard to get his bearings. That is to say, he had a rough idea where he was, but not much of a clue as to where he should head next. He'd lost sight of Merlin almost ten minutes previously, and was currently struggling to find any trace of the servant's footsteps. He was hampered by the weather, which was damp and miserable, and making a mess of any tracks that Merlin may have left, and the storm clouds in the sky were drifting into the moon's path, so the already poor visibility was becoming practically non-existent.

Eventually, it was the rumble of conversation that alerted Arthur to the whereabouts of his manservant. Turning around slowly, Arthur determined the direction of where the sound was coming from, and crept carefully towards it.

"He's driving me mad, I don't know how much longer I can keep this up. Following me around all day and night... sneaking up on me when I least expect it, and waiting for me to accuse one of the knights of bloody sorcery. I almost would if I thought it wouldn't cause any trouble, just to get a bit of peace!"

"Calm down, Merlin. Arthur will soon give up when he realises he has no grounds for suspicion."

"You don't know Arthur," said Merlin darkly. "The most stubborn man I have ever known; he's like a dog with a bone."

There was a shuffling of feet, and Arthur could just about make out the form of his manservant as he settled down on the ground, his legs crossed, and his hands cradling his face gloomily. Arthur carefully shifted his position, but he couldn't make out who the other voice belonged to.

"I'm not entirely sure what it is that you summoned me for, young warlock." Arthur's ears pricked up. Warlock? "I don't see how I can be of any help to you with this."

"You can't, not really," replied Merlin. "But like I said, he's driving me mad, and I needed to vent my spleen."

"Merlin, I am not your personal whipping boy."

"I know."

"And there are far more important things for us to worry about than the fact that the Pendragon has suddenly taken it into his head to follow you around like a puppy."

Arthur stiffened. First a dog, and now a puppy?

"He suspects me of having magic!"

"I thought you said he suspected one of the knights of having magic?"

"Well he did. At least at first. But Arthur's not stupid; he knows I'm reporting truthfully to him, so he knows the knights haven't done anything more magical than resisting the urge to throttle Gwaine for messing up the training sessions so much. He suspects me, I'm sure of it. Why else would he be following me at night?"

"You've given him no cause to be suspicious?"

"Of course I haven't! Well, except for the fact that he probably thinks I'm even more of an idiot than he originally thought. Honestly, I only started prowling the castle to tire him out. I thought that after a week or two, he'd give up. But no, not Arthur Pendragon. Stubborn prat. Honestly, I'm bloody exhausted. I can't remember when I last had more than a couple of hours of sleep."

"Well the solution to that is simple; just stop the prowling."

"I can't! If I stop now, he'll wonder why."

"Well surely not wandering through the castle throughout the night is less suspicious than actually wandering through the castle at night?" came the sensible reply.

"No, no... it would just make Arthur more suspicious."

"Well, you seem have got yourself into a spot of trouble, then, don't you?"

"You think?"

"You could, of course, simply tell him."

"What?" Merlin squeaked.

"You've been his servant – no, his friend – for a good number of years now. Perhaps the time is right."

"And perhaps Morgana has seen the error of her ways, and wishes to let bygones be bygones," Merlin said scathingly. "Yeah, right."

Arthur's jaw dropped. To hear Merlin speak so bitterly was akin to having been bludgeoned over the head with a club. He felt dizzied, but even the buzzing in his head couldn't stop him from edging closer to the scene before him.

Only for his jaw to drop even further, and for his eyes to blink stupidly.

It was little wonder that he hadn't been able to make out the owner of the other voice in the conversation, for he had been looking for another man. The darkness had effectively hidden the form of what was plainly a dragon – a dragon! – from his sight. The bulk of the creature was so huge that it seemed to merge with the scenery around it. It was only the torch-like glow of its eyes that gave it away.

"Merlin, you've told me yourself, Arthur is not Uther. He will not condemn you for this."

"I wish I could be sure of that," sighed Merlin. "In any case, I won't be telling him in the immediate future, so the point is moot. And I should probably go, it'll be light soon, and I need to grab an hour or two of sleep or I'll be fit for nothing tomorrow."

"I'm sorry I could be of no more help, young warlock."

"That's alright, thanks anyway. You'll look into that other matter for me?"

"Of course," the dragon bowed its head. "Though I don't think you have anything to worry about. Morgana is many leagues from Camelot at present."

"Still, you can't be too careful with her," said Merlin darkly. "I've definitely sensed something magical in the forest in the past week or so. I don't like it."

"I will keep my eyes open, and report back to you two nights from now."

"Thank you."

Merlin stood up, brushed some leaves from his trousers, and nodded respectfully at the dragon.

"Until then," he said, and watched the dragon fly off into the distance.

Realising that Merlin was about to turn around and catch Arthur snooping, the prince stepped hastily behind a tree and allowed the other man to pass him, and also to give Merlin a few minutes' head start back to the castle. While part of him wanted to confront Merlin with his newfound knowledge, he knew he needed a few moments to compose himself.

There still hadn't been anything concrete to prove that Merlin had magic – Arthur had witnessed no spells or strange activity – but the fact that Merlin could converse with a dragon spoke volumes. As did the conversation itself, what with Merlin admitting he could sense magic, and his apparent ability to command a dragon to investigate said magic, and have it report back to him its findings.

Arthur snorted. Really, who was he trying to fool? He may not have flashed golden eyes or incanted any spells, but short of shooting balls of fire from his fingers, there wasn't really anything else Merlin needed to do to demonstrate that he had magic.

And now Arthur was really in a quandary, for he never truly expected to discover that his suspicions were correct. He'd fully believed that Merlin would provide a simple – and most likely idiotic – reason for his oddball behaviour.

Of course, he wasn't going to go to his father about this any time soon. Or at all, in fact. The truth was, if Merlin was responsible for deflecting the magical attacks against Camelot in recent years, Arthur would be foolish to report his magical capabilities to Uther. The boy would end up dead, and Camelot would be without its magical protection.

Not to mention that Merlin was a friend. A lying, sneaky, underhand friend, yes, but still a friend nonetheless.

But Arthur was still in a quandary, for however much he wanted to confront Merlin about his secret life as Protector of Camelot, he wasn't sure if he could do so without getting his words mixed in a knot, and his temper whipped into a frenzy.

Because Merlin was going to deny it. That much was obvious. Not that Arthur could blame him, but still, it posed a bit of a problem. Even if Arthur admitted to seeing the dragon, and to hearing Merlin's conversation with it, the idiot would still no doubt deny any involvement with sorcery. He'd probably say he was a Dragon Lord, or some such nonsense, in order to deflect attention from the subject at hand.

Though, now that he thought about it, Merlin being a Dragon Lord was not so very far-fetched. And Arthur was positive that the clearing where Merlin had just met with a dragon was the same clearing that had been the final battleground between The Great Dragon and the knights several years previously.

Hmm, bit of a coincidence, that was.

Arthur shook his head. Clearly his brain had been addled from lack of sleep. Merlin. A Dragon Lord. Really, that bypassed ridiculous and went straight to lunacy.

ooOoo

Three weeks later, and Arthur still hadn't confronted his manservant, thought he had ceased his nocturnal spying activity the day after he'd witnessed Merlin's conversation with the dragon, and Merlin had resumed his normal daily activities after Arthur calmly informed him that he had no need to be suspicious of his knights any more.

The upside of this was that Arthur was now getting a solid eight hours of sleep every night, and judging by the lack of dark circles under his eyes, so was Merlin (notwithstanding any further meetings with dragons, that was, which Arthur pointedly refused to consider). A well-rested Arthur was an observant Arthur, and he was able to watch his servant closely when he performed his many tasks around the prince's chambers, and took part in the daily training sessions with the knights.

One thing was abundantly clear; whatever magical ability Merlin had, he did not use it for his general daily tasks. Merlin painstakingly polished Arthur's armour for hours at a time, and took no action to prevent himself from receiving any of the scrapes and bruises that befell him whenever he was pretending to be a enemy on the training field. It became very obvious to Arthur that Merlin would probably only use his magic if he had to protect someone.

Arthur invariably found himself creating excuses to go out on patrol far more often than was strictly necessary, but despite his efforts, there seemed to be a dearth of bandits in the area, not to mention a distinct lack of crazy sorcerers intending to bring Camelot to its knees.

It was all very frustrating, if truth be told.

ooOoo

Summer began to wane, and autumn was fast approaching. The harvest was promising to be a good one, the people of Camelot were prospering, and the knights were in danger of becoming idle. There hadn't been any serious attacks in months, and even small squirmishes were becoming scarce. Uther was delighted. Arthur was annoyed.

Really, was it too much to ask for a bit of magical trickery? Clearly Arthur needed to do something. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

ooOoo

"Merlin?"

"Yes, Sire?"

"Gather enough supplies for a few days, and meet me in the courtyard in an hour."

"Are we going somewhere?"

"No, Merlin. We're having a picnic. Of course we're bloody going somewhere."

"Right you are, Sire."

ooOoo

"Where are we going?"

"Hunting trip."

"Lovely. My favourite."

"What was that?"

"Nothing, Sire."

Arthur hid a smirk, and steered his horse to the left. They were just about to enter an area notorious for being a hotbed of bandit activity, and Arthur had heard whispers of there being a group holed up there right at this very moment. Of course, strictly speaking, he should have gathered his knights to patrol the area, but that would defeat Arthur's purpose for coming here. A half dozen knights would make short work of a group of renegades, and anything Merlin might do would be hard to see amongst the fighting. A lone knight, on the other hand... Arthur could confidently hold his own against three or four men at a time, but he doubted that Merlin would see it that way.

They rode for another half hour or so before they encountered anything, but events quickly unfolded, and soon Arthur had knocked out two burly louts, and was presently engaged in a half-fist and half-sword fight against another rogue. The grubby bandit was strong, but he was weakening under the steady stream of nicks and punches that Arthur threw his way. Which was just as well, because Merlin was absolutely bloody nowhere to be seen.

Typical.

"Arthur!"

Arthur whipped his head around at the warning cry, and spotted a bony arm pointing out from behind a tree. He followed the direction of Merlin's arm and saw another bandit perched on a branch several feet away, a crossbow poised ready for shooting in his hands. One of the hands went back, and Arthur had a fleeting glimpse of an arrow shooting directly towards his chest before he swiftly jumped out of the way.

Which was just as well, because an ominous crack from above his head was the only warning he had of a rather large branch detaching itself from its home and plunging to the ground, oh-so-conveniently knocking the grubby bandit into unconsciousness.

As if that wasn't enough, another crack sounded in the distance, and Arthur turned just in time to see Crossbow Bandit yelp as the branch he was perched on collapsed beneath him, and sent him tumbling to the floor, and knocking him (of bloody course) into unconsciousness too.

"Merlin!" he bellowed.

"Yes, Sire?"

"Come out of your hiding place, you big girl's petticoat!"

Merlin poked his head around the tree, and looked around. Spotting the four unmoving men on the ground, he grinned idiotically as he came bounding over to the prince.

"Well done, Sire!"

Arthur glared.

"No really, well done! Four bandits! Four! And so quickly, too!"

Arthur folded his arms across his chest, and glared some more.

"Honestly Arthur, I'm really quite impressed. I mean, I knew you were good with a sword, but you're not bad with your fists, either."

"Merlin."

"Yes, Sire?"

"It may have escaped your notice, but I was only responsible for two of the bandits' defeat."

"Be that as it may, there are still four bandits lying on the ground, whereas you are still on your feet," said Merlin reasonably.

"Tell me, Merlin, statistically speaking, what are the odds of a branch snapping off and taking out an enemy?"

"Pretty short, I should imagine, but not entirely impossible, obviously."

"I see. What about two branches?"

"Well, statistics aren't really my strong point, Arthur... but as I just pointed out, it's obviously not impossible."

"Indeed. How about arrows?"

"Sire?"

"How are you on the subject of arrows?"

"I'm not sure I follow, my lord..."

"Are you familiar with how a crossbow works, Merlin?"

Merlin rolled his eyes.

"I'm not completely stupid, Arthur, of course I know how a crossbow works. You fire it, an arrow shoots out, and generally it lands in your target, if you've a good enough aim."

"Precisely. So perhaps you could explain to me how the arrow aimed at me found itself embedded in a tree in practically the opposite direction."

Arthur caught the flare of amusement in Merlin's eyes, and narrowed his own suspiciously.

"Well plainly that bandit wasn't a very good shot, my lord," Merlin replied earnestly, though there was a distinct twitch to his lips as he said it.

"You know," said Arthur flatly.

"Know, Sire?"

"That I know."

"Know what, my lord?"

"You know that I know," Arthur bit out.

"And what is it that I know you know, Sire? Because honestly, I really don't... know."

"Merlin."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Arthur -"

"Merlin."

"And frankly I'm beginning to worry about you. Did you hit your head?"

"MERLIN!"

"Oh, are you talking about my magic?"

Arthur spluttered.

"Because seriously, Arthur, that is old news. Ancient history, really. You've known for months, so I'd quite forgotten all about it."

"Why didn't you tell me you knew?" Arthur demanded.

"What, like you told me you knew?"

"That's different!"

"How is that different?"

"Because I wasn't the one sneaking around Camelot!"

"Ah, technically speaking..."

Damn. Merlin had a valid point there.

"Fine. I was sneaking too, but I definitely wasn't the one lying," said Arthur triumphantly.

Merlin flushed and shifted uncomfortably.

"Well, about that..."

"Not here," said Arthur, holding his hand up. "Let's return to Camelot, where you can get me a warm bath and some hot food. I have a feeling this conversation is going to a very long one."

Merlin nodded, and turned towards their horses. Arthur was about to follow him when he heard a rustle behind him. He groaned. He really didn't feel like another sword fight right now.

"Oh for goodness sake," muttered Merlin irritably, and sliced his arm through the air. "Will you just stay unconscious!"

Judging by the soft thud coming from behind him, Arthur guessed that the bandit would indeed stay unconscious. He squinted at the man ahead, and watched him as they both mounted their horses. Several minutes passed in silence as they rode away from the impromptu battle site, but eventually Arthur couldn't keep his mouth shut any longer.

"Merlin, just how long does it take you to dispatch a bandit?"

"About a second, I should think. I've never really timed it."

"How about two bandits?"

"About the same," came the airy reply.

"How about three, or even four bandits?"

"One, maybe two seconds. Three if I'm feeling sluggish."

"So what you are saying, is that there was really no need for me to fight for several minutes against those louts."

"Well, I suppose not."

"You could have dispatched them immediately, couldn't you?"

"I could have, but I didn't want to spoil your fun."

"My fun?"

"Okay, my fun," conceded the idiot. "Though honestly, I thought you could do with the practice. It's not as if you've seen any real action lately, and truthfully, I don't want you to start getting rusty. Plus all this inactivity is no good for you; there's only so many holes I can add to your belt before it becomes completely useless. Not to mention -"

"Merlin."

"Yes, Sire?"

"Shut up."