A/N: This is set between Season 2 and Season 3, just a fun side project amidst the huge one I've been working on. I'll be updating every other day. Read, follow, and give any and all feedback! Hope you enjoy :)

It all started with something so minuscule.

Another visiting noble, another legion of knights, another sparring match to watch from the sidelines. Arthur seemed in an almost excitable mood, though, grinning as he approached Merlin halfway through the match. They'd finally paused, for water. Hot summer sun beat down on Merlin's own dark head, and his neck was damp with sweat. He couldn't imagine fighting in the hot, itchy metal prisons the knights wore.

The prince had been doing extremely well all morning, of course; it was almost boring to watch. At least the knight he faced this round, Sir Kite-something, was about an even match with Arthur. They'd lasted for nearly an hour, back and forth scoping the other out before clashing for a few minutes, (rinse, repeat) until the knight begged a moment. Arthur graciously complied.

Now he sauntered over, helmet under one arm and sword flipping absently in the other (a very Arthur-prone action). Merlin shook his head at him as he offered the prince a ladle, who answered with a look before he swallowed all the water in one go.

"What?" Arthur said shortly, wiping his mouth and attempting a glare at his servant. It didn't quite win over his face from its previous smugness.

"What are you so cheerful about?" Merlin couldn't help but ask, amusement leaking into his voice. Arthur shrugged. "Don't tell me you actually like sweating hours on end in that thing while you fight," he tapped the armor on the prince's shoulder, taking a mental note simultaneously that the right strap needed some tightening. (The metal ringed in agreement.)

"It's called stamina, Merlin," Arthur rolled his eyes as he put the ladle back in the bucket. "Which Sir Kytstulbet most certainly has, even if he's also got the charm of a goat."

"A goat," Merlin repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Why, a goat, exactly?"

"Dunno. He sort of smells like one," Arthur grinned and wrinkled his nose, staying still as Merlin moved to tighten the strap. He was really in quite the pleasant mood. "Have you been watching the whole match?"

"Not entirely. Pretty sure I fell asleep on my feet somewhere near the end," Merlin said flippantly, and instead of answering with his usual scowl the prince chuckled. (A very, very pleasant mood then. No, scratch that—he was under another spell, Merlin probably needed to look into this.)

"Well, pay attention to this last bit," Arthur raised a gloved finger as Merlin stepped back, tugging lightly at each piece to survey his work. The prince then poked Merlin in the shoulder with the same finger, adding, "Even you might learn from it."

Merlin snorted. But still he found himself beginning to watch with the slightest bit more interest, as the grueling battle resumed. A smattering of applause scattered at the edges as the two met up in the middle of the training field, nodding to one another. They both raised their swords, returning to the poise of warriors. Arthur looked intolerably smug.

Then with the first clang of steel, the mock battle resumed.

Sir Kite-what's-his-name began his attack with refreshed vigor, immediately slashing out at the prince's middle. Arthur parried with his sword and ducked away, blocking another swipe with his shield. It kept on like that—clang, clash, parry, block. Nothing offensive on Arthur's end. In fact, he seemed weary, like the break instead of reviving him had tired him further. He was off his focus, parrying off the knight's blows and little else.

This seemed to only increase his opponent's confidence. The man swung his sword in a great strike, and then another, with almost exaggerated strength. His fellow knights cheered and looked on with excitement; most of them had been defeated brutally by Arthur previously that morning and were all eager to see their superior fall. Even in Merlin's opinion, it appeared the prince would finally be bested.

Arthur could hardly keep his attacker at bay. Despite himself, Merlin felt an anxious knot form in his stomach (and a concerned pang in his chest . . . just a little one, though). It tightened when the next blow sent Arthur stumbling back, the knight rushing forward and raising his sword above his head.

But as it came down, fast as a whip, Arthur's sword seemed to shoot up of its own accord. He parried off the blow to his left, his opponent's sword sticking fast in the dirt, and with a kick to the knight's armored shoulder (the man, crouched, could not seem to get his sword out of the ground in time) Sir Kite-something hit the ground. Arthur's sword tip pointed at his chest, and the knight held his hands up in surrender.

A stunned silence ensued, nearly everyone staring at Arthur. Eventually the Knights of Camelot burst into cheers and the others clapped begrudgingly. Merlin, realizing he'd started holding his breath, released it with a relieved smile as Arthur relaxed his sword and held out a hand for the knight to take. Instead, the man pulled himself up quickly and spit at his feet, turning his back on Arthur and sauntering off angrily without a word.

The prince seemed pretty put-off by this as he approached—not nearly so elated and friendly as Merlin took his helmet and sword from him. "Have it sharpened by the morning," Arthur ordered in a distracted tone, brow drawn as he looked across the field over his servant's shoulder. At Sir What's-His-Name, Merlin assumed.

"Right. So . . . what exactly was I supposed to have learned from that?" Merlin inquired. "Hope in the chance that I'm losing horribly—"

Arthur scoffs. "—I wouldn't call it chance, I'd call it certainty—"

"—I manage to get in a lucky swing?" Merlin ignored the clear insult, heading towards the armory. Arthur followed, the force of his gaze no longer distracted by the visiting knights and instead falling directly on Merlin.

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised that's all you saw," he said patronizingly, managing to ruffle Merlin's hair a bit before Merlin could successfully bat his arm away. "If you had the battle experience and strategic mind it requires to be a knight, you'd notice that Sir Kytstulbet was overconfident. When it appeared he was winning, he forgot any stratagem of defense and instead used all of his force in every blow."

"And how did you know that he'd do that?" Merlin asked, suddenly a little interested.

Arthur let out a short, amused breath. "I spent an hour against him, Merlin, learning of him through and through with each and every strike. If a knight can't learn the other's fighting technique, another's weakness by then, he never will. "

"Hmm," Merlin raised his eyebrows as they entered the door to the armory. "Guess the man just didn't realize yours was your arrogant, annoying know-it-all-ness."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I don't have any weaknesses, Merlin," he replied breezily, sitting on a bench and grabbing a towel. Merlin gave a laugh that the prince ignored, wiping the moisture off his brow.

"Sure you don't," Merlin agreed easily, grinning in a cheeky manner when the prince narrowed his eyes at him.

Arthur was still sopping up the sweat on his neck (he really needed to give up on that towel, it had to have reached its maximum sweat-capacity by now) when Sir Leon entered, bowing slightly at him. "Sire," he said with a respectful nod and a slightly amused face before walking quickly past them both with his squire. Merlin gave him a questioning look, but the knight just shook his head, smile growing a little wider as he unbuckled his belt.

Arthur seemed to notice the knight's badly-hidden expression as well. "Leon," he said in a slightly curious, slightly annoyed tone. "What's the matter?"

The knight turned back to him, face straight. "Lord Sundre's knights aren't exactly pleased, sire," he said, in a business-like tone. ". . . All things considered."

"Sore losers are they?" Arthur asked mildly, and the smile broke through Leon's composed expression again.

"Indeed, sire. Sir Kytstulbet is . . . in a state, so to speak."

Judging by Sir Leon's face, Merlin would wager it was a particularly amusing state.

"Perhaps I should speak with him," Arthur rose, but Sir Leon shook his head quickly.

"He'll calm down soon enough, sire, quicker if he doesn't see you again." Leon let out a short laugh, mouth twisted in amusement. "He was—well, he was doing a number of things, my lord, ripping up grass and kicking water buckets and the like—but mostly shouting about cheating, that you'd wronged him somehow. That you had to have some kind of flaw to your fight, and he'd figure it out or die trying."

Arthur smiled. "If he wants a rematch, I'd be more than willing to beat him again."