Left. Ducking under a branch, peeking out from behind the tree trunk.

There. Danger. Hot panic of not having seen it before.

Stumbling over the words to get them in the right order and decently pronounced - he'd only learned the spell three days ago and hadn't really had the time to practice -

- and the soldier behind Arthur, who had raised his sword to strike, unseen by the prince, fell to one knee as if something had pushed him hard in the ribs, making him lose his balance.

Arthur turned around at the huffing sound the soldier made, his own eyes widened in surprise (and fear?) and swung his sword by instinct.

The soldier slumped to the ground.

Arthur raised his arm again just in time to parry the next sword.

Merlin shakily let go of the breath he'd been holding.

"...and I didn't want to disappoint the old lady, you know," Merlin shrugged modestly for artistic effect, "so I told her that well yes, I was the prince's manservant and had been for over a year, and so she asked me well then you must be the one to draw the prince his baths wouldn't you and I couldn't very well lie to the poor woman so I said that yes indeed, I -"

"Merlin, shut up," Arthur hissed.

"- was indeed - what? It's true, sire, even if -"

"I said silence."

And Merlin fell silent, not due to the words themselves (they were uttered at least twice a day and had lost most of their meaning by now, Arthur seldom meant them entirely) but because of the urgency with which Arthur said them.

Arthur seemed to listen intensely for something, his eyes scanning the forest to the right of the path, and Merlin followed his lead.

"Did you hear something, sire?" Sir Owain sounded dubious but had lowered his voice and drawn his sword nevertheless.

"Yes," was all Arthur said, apparently still listening for something.

"We're almost back at Camelot," Owain continued in hushed tones. "I don't think they've followed us this -"

But then Merlin heard it too and he and Arthur both said "Be quiet" at almost the same time, and Owain trailed off.

Voices.

Owain and Arthur looked at each other. Merlin knew they were exhausted. He was exhausted.

"We could run for it?" he suggested, realising while he talked that they probably wouldn't make it. Their horses were exhausted too and Camelot weren't far, but it wasn't a short sprint away either. But if he could hinder them in some way, to make sure they wouldn't follow… "Hide somewhere, let them run past us, let them think we'd reached Camelot…?"

The voices were closer now.

"It's a gamble." Arthur sounded surprised. It was unclear whether he was impressed with the plan or thought it reckless.

"It's not a bad idea." Owain looked at Merlin as if he'd never suspected him of having a brain in the first place.

"Arthur," Merlin urged, ignoring Owain's eyes. They would be here soon.

Arthur swallowed.

"We'll do it. Follow my lead."

Merlin made sure he made up the rear when they stormed off on the small path towards Camelot.

The followers never saw the falling branches coming, nor the roots that suddenly rose from the ground to trip up their horses.

They did see the leaves rustle on the other side of the path, though, when Merlin wanted them to - panting with his hand over his mouth to keep the noise in as he, Arthur and Owain hid behind some large boulders close to the path.

His eyes gleamed in the dark.

This was why he was here.

To protect.

To serve in ways no one else could.

Merlin cursed himself and Arthur especially as he rushed forward, his hands already fumbling for bandages and poultrices in his bag. Stupid slow how could he not have seen -

He'd been only a second too late but a second was all it took.

He'd done something he'd promised himself never to do, too, and forced Arthur's hand up to block the second strike. He hadn't been able to come up with something better that wouldn't expose there was a magic user in the fight - Arthur had looked surprised at how his shield arm had moved, but seemed to have attributed it to instinct in the end, which was what Merlin had counted on.

The third strike had come from Arthur, effectively felling his enemy.

The first strike, though, had caught Arthur's side, and now, when the battle was over, he seemed to slowly become aware of the fact. Merlin saw Arthur drop his sword and gingerly touch his side. His chainmail was split and the padded jacket underneath was slowly getting wet.

So stupid how could he have been so slow he should have seen it coming he could have stopped it

"Sit down, Arthur, before you fall," Merlin said with a shakier voice than he had planned for, and took his prince's arm.

"I won't fall," said Arthur indignantly, as his knees seemed to give out as Merlin helped him down.

"Of course not." And if there was sarcasm there was also relief that it hadn't been worse, and Arthur didn't say anything about it for once. Worrying in itself, actually.

There was silence for a little while as Merlin pulled the chainmail away, and aside from becoming very pale and grunting a little as Merlin prodded around the wound, Arthur was quiet. Merlin took that as a good sign. He looked up and saw with relief that Sir Leon had reached them from the other part of the clearing. "He must get back to Camelot. Now."

Sir Leon nodded grimly, watching the wet dark patch spread on Arthur's aketon. "Is it bad?"

"It's nothing," Arthur muttered, having gone from pale to almost green in the face.

"It's definitely not nothing," Merlin said pointedly, stuffing more bandages under the aketon and hoping they would stem the bloodflow at least some while Arthur winced and drew a sharp breath, "but you should be fine. If we get you and your thick head back. Has it ever occurred to you to check behind you during a fight?"

Has it ever occurred to you I might not always be there to do it for you?

"Has it ever occurred to you," said Arthur, obviously trying to sound annoyed but not quite succeeding for lack of breath, "that you might be the last person in Camelot I'd go seeking battle advice from?"

Merlin tied the last bandage over the wound and grinned. "See, maybe that's why you got a sword in the side."

Sir Leon looked amused as he helped Arthur up and to his horse, leaving Merlin to pack up the medical supplies he'd strewn all over the grass in the haste to find more bandages in the bag.

He really, really needed to learn some healing spells for next time.

And next time, he would be faster. He'd see them coming in time.

Arthur had not seen the archers, but Merlin had, so it didn't matter.

Some quick, whispered words, and the bow strings broke one by one as the bandits let their arrows fly. None of them flew very far, all of them thrown off course.

He was quite proud of that, actually, that he'd thought of it even in the middle of a battle. No one would find snapped bowstrings suspicious - or at least, not in a way to suspect magic involvement. He was getting good at this. He had to be more careful now. Falling branches and sudden stumbles shouldn't be his only tricks, or Arthur or one of the knights might wonder why they were so lucky in battles whenever Merlin accompanied them.

Arthur finished the last man off in the clearing below, and Merlin could take a step out from his hiding place, a grin slowly growing on his face before he could think to hide it.

He was getting good at this.

He would never get used to the sensation of his heart pounding in his ears, the blood rushing through his body, his magic tingling at his fingertips ready to protect his king, but he had begun to see a sort of beauty in it nonetheless.

His magic and Arthur's sword. Two halves of a whole.

Left.

Ducking in behind a tree.

Looking out, trying to find any threats, to see what would happen before it did. Battles were always hard, no one ever did anything he expected them to do.

There.

A single word, a small gesture with his hand, and one of the bandits stumbled over a fallen Camelot knight only to be met with the king's sword on the other side.

Arthur swung again, and again.

Merlin whispered another word, and a man in brown leather who had been aiming his crossbow for Arthur got pushed in the side by the wind, his bolt taking off towards the sky.

Arthur killed him before he could reload.

It was almost like a dance, in a way.

Another gleam of Merlin's eyes, and another enemy was hindered on his way to Arthur.

Another swing with the sword, and another enemy had fallen before his king.

Like a dance.

When the battle was over, he knew he would only be able to revel in the sensations for a little while. For a few seconds, the exhilaration of having survived and protected would be all he could feel, all he needed to feel.

Then someone, most likely the king himself, would mock him for hiding, and the sensation would have to go, so that he could get back to smiling sheepishly and protect himself instead of Arthur, pushing down the jubilant sense of victory he wished with all his being sometimes to be able to share openly with Arthur, so that Arthur also could see what they could do together, what they already were doing.

He would let it go, though, as he always did. There would be a next time, to feel these sensations again.

There would always be a next time.