The knights of Lord Sundre quickly rushed to Sir . . . whatever his miserable name had been. It became quite clear, as they checked over his breath and tried to rouse him, that Arthur had dealt a killing blow. Not exactly against the code of first blood—but definitely not encouraged. Nor common, considering they were supposed to be using blunt blades.

With how Sir Quite-stupid had swung his sword back, ready to kill, Merlin doubted Arthur was the only one to ignore that detail.

They both watched as the body was carried away.

Merlin was shaking. He didn't realize it, not until Arthur had one arm around him and started pulling him to his feet, only for Merlin's legs to nearly crumble under him. His ribs were still bruised, his lungs were still on fire, but he survived (barely). Thanks to Arthur.

Well, there's a first (second? third?) time for everything.

He could still hardly move without hurting once they reached the inside of the training tent, but that didn't stop him from saying, "Arthur, I'm sorry—"

Arthur shut him up, this time by putting two very firm but careful arms around him. Merlin blinked, completely thrown off, before his head finally knew what was happening.

Eventually he said, "Uhh, Arthur? you do realize this is a—"

"No it isn't," Arthur said, and immediately retracted his arms, face nonchalant.

"Yes, that was a—"

"No."

Gaius appeared, immediately fussing over Merlin and effectively ending the subject.

Dawn had brightened to mourning—and Uther had a lot to say about Arthur killing one of Lord Sundre's best knights, duel or no.

Luckily Merlin did not have to hear it firsthand. He was confined to his chambers, and so was Arthur apparently until long after Lord Sundre left. The jovial festivities took an unpleasant turn for hostile, according to Gaius, but Uther profusely apologized on his son's behalf and cited it as a 'training accident.' Who knows what happened next. Gaius was literally Merlin's only source for information in the weeks that followed as he recovered in the natural, gradual (horrible) way of not using magic.

When he finally got back a few of his duties, three weeks later, Arthur was packing to leave.

"My father is sending another search party to look in the south, for Morgana," he explained when Merlin entered with breakfast. "He wants me leading it."

"Oh. Well, I can pack quick," Merlin shrugged, putting the food down and snitching a sausage. He waited for the verbal (or physical) reprimand, but after a moment looked up to see Arthur wasn't even watching.

"You're not packing anything," he said instead, buckling his belt. Merlin raised an eyebrow, incredulous.

"I have to pack something. I'm definitely not sharing a bed roll with you—do you know how loud you snore?"

"Merlin." Arthur finally rounded to him, face exasperated but not amused. "You're not packing anything, because you're not going."

"I'm perfectly fine—"

"Yes, you're fine, and you're staying here. Help Gaius for a few weeks. Try not to make another knight thirsty for your blood."

"Arthur." Merlin stepped in the prince's way when he made for the door, folding his arms in front of him. "I want to go. I can handle it! I've gone on missions with you a dozen times and come back without so much as a scratch."

"Yes, Merlin, maybe you can handle it," Arthur said, neutrally at first. "But I don't want you there."

His expression was hard, unyielding, the face of a prince who would be obeyed. Merlin swallowed and stepped to the side, letting Arthur pass by without another word.

But his eyes. They held that same fear from weeks ago. From the duel.

Merlin didn't see Arthur until a month later. In the meantime he'd mostly been bored. Maybe missing annoying the prince, or stealing his food (or just missing him . . . maybe) but mostly just having something to do besides run Gaius's errands. Even if that included mucking out the stables.

He tried to take advantage of his free time. He worked a bit on his magic, read a few books, spent time with his few friends. After visiting Gwen one evening, Merlin walked past the tavern only to freeze in his tracks.

They were singing it. The knights of Camelot, with Leon singing loudest, were all belting Merlin's rude little song for Sir Quite-stupid. Merlin wasn't sure whether to be proud or ashamed, especially when he heard the added lyrics:

"Sally hey, olde lady have you heard of the song?
Of a knight with a burlish, snoutish face, gone wrong?
His breath was of rot, his odor of goat,
Known as Sir Quite-stupid 'fore his name was too long!

Sally hey, olde lady did you hear of the man?
That challenged the noblest, bravest prince in the land?
They dueled through day, they battled through night
Till 'Quite-stupid' challenged his weak servant to fight!

Sally hey, olde lady did you hear of the duel?
As the great prince's servant joined in to play fool?
But he sang him this song and he laughed at his name,
Till the knight called 'Quite-Stupid' died from the shame!"

The man laughed heartily, drinking down their mead. Considering the man was dead, if not thanks to Merlin than at least directly in relation to him making up the song (as the new lyrics said), Merlin decidedly refused to ever join in whenever a few knights passed his way and began singing it.

He decidedly did not hum the tune when it got stuck in his head afterwards. Not once.

Arthur and the rest of the party returned weary and empty-handed after four weeks (because Morgana probably didn't want to be found—not that anyone but he and Gaius knew that.) He watched from the side of the court as they led their tired horses in, trying (but failing) not to feel relief at Arthur's relatively unharmed state. Autumn was giving way to winter, but Uther announced later that day that another search party was leaving in a week.

"Any leads?" Merlin asked as he helped Arthur change out of his torn, dirtied clothing.

"Nothing," Arthur shook his head. "Not a whisper of her. We're going to check along the Eastern border next."

Merlin tried not to over-excite himself as he cautiously asked, "'We'?"

Arthur glared at him. "The knights and I. Only."

"Arthur," Merlin protested.

"Why are you so eager to come? Do you like sleeping on rocks and working from dawn to dusk?" Arthur asked rhetorically.

Merlin fought the urge to snort. "Sounds a lot like what I do anyway."

"You're staying here."

"But what if—"

A knock on the door interrupted them. "Enter," Arthur said, pulling a shirt on.

"Sire?" Leon entered. "You wanted to speak with me?"

"Yes, I'd like you to join me with the next party, in a week's time."

"Of course, sire."

Merlin can't help himself. "So you bring your best knight from Camelot, but not your personal servant?"

Arthur glares at him (does he still think that affects Merlin at all?) before replying, "I don't need you there."

"Yes you do. I cook, I do the laundry, I sharpen your sword—"

"You're a distraction!" Arthur interrupts in a shout. Leon's eyebrows raise in alarm, and Merlin stares at him uncomprehending. "You are. If we got ambushed by Morgause, or even a few bandits, you'd just be a distraction, Merlin. I'd be too busy . . . well, saving your worthless hide!"

Oh, this is typical. Merlin should not be surprised. But every time he hears Arthur complain, go on and on about fate and duty and responsibility, he wants to shout YOU HAVE NO IDEA!

Still, he doesn't. Not even now, when Arthur literally just described Merlin's predicament whenever they're both being attacked.

"If I may, sire," Leon said slowly, glancing between him and Merlin. Arthur sighed, nodded. "I watched the entirety of the duel . . . and Merlin was a distraction."

"Exactly." Arthur gave Merlin a look.

"But it's because the knight knew to use him against you, sire," Leon continued, and the smug smile on Arthur's face wiped off. "He knew you'd protect Merlin, so he targeted him. Your 'weak spot.'"

"I am not—" Merlin protests.

"I'm not calling you weak, Merlin," Leon reassured. "I'm saying what Sir Quite-stu—uh, I mean Kytstulbet—thought. But he was wrong."

Merlin stared at the knight, once more uncomprehending, and looked over at Arthur to gage his reaction. Surprisingly, the prince's eyes were wide, open with some kind of realization.

"When he targeted you . . . well, that's how he got defeated, wasn't it?"

"So. You're saying that I—that he. Is my, what? Strength?" Arthur asked slowly, jerking a thumb in Merlin's direction.

Leon shrugged. "Maybe."

"Right. I . . . thank you, Leon," the prince said abruptly, in dismissal. His face was unreadable. Leon simply nodded and, as he turned, gave Merlin a knowing smile before shutting the door. Arthur stayed uncharacteristically quiet for all of three seconds. Then he turned and said, "I suppose you're a half-decent job at sword-sharpening."

"Why? Because I'm your—?"

"Shut up Merlin."

Merlin crossed his arms across his chest, smiling wide. Arthur glared (as always, ineffectually) for a straight minute, but eventually it wavered into exasperation. Maybe even a tad of affection.

"Well. I suppose I can't stop true love."

Merlin's smile wiped clean off. "Sorry?"

"You and Morgana? Come on, Merlin, don't think I forgot those flowers you hid from me, you're just dying to be her hero—"

"I'm your 'strength,' remember? You won't be able to find her without me—"

"You're a thorn in my backside, that's what you are—"

(It went on.)

A/N: Thanks to all for reading! This is a story that's sat in my files for a while, so it's great to have it posted. I've never done a story in-canon, I'd love to hear your thoughts.

UPDATE to my readers of Recruit: I'm having serious troubles with the very beginning of Innate, so Oct 31st sadly was too optimistic. I think I need to completely rewrite at least 5,000 words . . . which should be crazy fun. So, tentative new date is Nov 5th? Maybe? Optimistically. Thanks for your patience.

Guest: Thank you so much! Glad to hear it was satisfactory. I've really appreciated your comments, so thanks for that as well!

Honey: Thanks for saying so! This was a different style for me, so it's great to hear you liked it :) Hope you enjoyed the ending.

Song that inspired this fic: Fighting by Saints of Valory.
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Cheers!
LifeIndeed