Hi there! So things have been a little angsty lately so this chapter is a little lighter. Also some tiny hints of Leon/Gwen aka Liam/Jen. Prepare for the UST, because there is a lot in this chapter. Ready... Enjoy!

Chapter Ten: Lighthearted Training

Arthur hadn't felt his arms quiver under a weapon since he was six years old and his father handed him his first crossbow. He remembered looking at it as though at any moment it might turn its aim against him and plunge an arrow into his heart. But this firearm was a new kind of deadly.

The young king heard the deafening cracks of "target practice" going on all around him and, in his discomfort, felt his consciousness reach out for Merlin. The young warlock was there, at his side, as usual. Arthur let out a puff of air and his shoulders relaxed. He even felt a pang of warmth rising in his cheeks as Merlin's fingers fumbled with unusual expertise over the weapon in his grasp. He worked the firearm almost as well as the other men, and Arthur did his best to catch on, but each opportunity found him too timid to squeeze the little curve of metal that he'd heard called a "trigger". His own apprehension was tugging at his temper.

"You're going to have to pull the trigger at some point, mate!" Liam, the head of the soldiers it seemed, walked by and slapped him on the shoulder. Arthur gasped and flinched in surprise. He'd never been so on-edge on the training field in his life.

"It's okay Arthur." Merlin's voice was gentle and sent ripples of warmth high and low through the king's body. The young sorcerer stepped closer, completely unaware, it seemed, of the effect he'd been having on Arthur ever since the incident the previous night.

"I can do this on my own, Merlin!" Arthur jerked away when the young sorcerer tried to reach for Arthur's weapon—a "rifle" apparently.

"I'm just trying to show you how!" Merlin urged. His tone changed from cooing sympathy to irritation. His bright eyes searched Arthur's face.

"I know how!" Arthur objected childishly.

"Stop being such a clotpole and let me—" Merlin ignored Arthur and placed his warm hand on the king's elbow to adjust Arthur's grip. He gently nudged Arthur's hand further up the barrel while the king felt his pulse explode, throbbing in every inch of him. He seized in a sharp breath as his entire body shuddered involuntarily—including his trigger finger.

If the blast right beside his ear wasn't enough to send Arthur leaping out of his skin, the gun kicked like an animal. The burst of energy ripped through Arthur's shoulder and, having not braced himself for anything like that, sent him flying backwards into Merlin. Merlin, who'd also leapt at the sound, lost his footing in harmony with his king, and the two tumbled backwards into an unsuspecting Liam.

Liam, the most level headed man Arthur had known since Sir Leon, simply gave them a look of joking irritation before standing up and brushing the dust from his blue cotton pants.

"I think that's a sign that you two ought to take a break from target practice." He said with eyebrows raised, fighting off a laugh. "You mentioned you've ridden horses?"

"We both have." Merlin answered as the two of them scrambled to their feet.

"Great!" Liam clapped his hands together again, then reached out to cautiously remove Arthur's firearm from his hands. "I'll just, erm, take this from you then. Right—good! Let's go out for a little ride shall we?"

Just as he said it, a voice called from behind them.

"Liam!" A female voice—frighteningly familiar.

Liam turned just as a young woman raced up to him. Arthur's jaw dropped. The woman, with her caramel soft skin and cascades of raven hair, was the spitting image of Guinevere. The king swallowed hard, the kind of swallow that sends sadness down into the pit of your stomach. Heartache consumed him once again when he saw the familiar face of his one-time lover and friend.

"Gwe—" Arthur started to speak but he felt a warm hand on his arm and stopped himself. He turned to see Merlin, who was giving him a glance that said a world of words. Suddenly, standing between Merlin and this Gwen-imposter, Arthur felt the all-too-familiar war of his affections swallow his heartache. The indecision was flustering, as it had always been, though his attractions for a beautiful woman were far easier to admit than those he felt for his manservant—but the time for denial had ended centuries ago.

"Jeniveve?" Liam's voice was low and throaty in a way that made Arthur's ears perk up; and by the way they held themselves, Arthur knew there was something more than comradery between them.

"Liam, Landon is asking for you on the Northern patrol. He says Dean hurt his knee working on the wall and can't ride."

"Right." Liam's eyes didn't leave "Jeniveve's" lips for a moment as she spoke. Arthur narrowed his eyes with curiosity, and then smiled to himself. Even this strange modern day Gwen in tight men's pants had ended up falling for a "knight". Somehow that made Arthur feel a little bit better.

Liam stared after her as she walked away, prompting Arthur to raise an eyebrow.

"Right then!" the curly haired solider turned back toward the two of them, trying to stifle the besotted grin on his face. "Sorry Mates but somebody else is going to have to take you for a ride."

Merlin answered, "oh well that's alri—"

"SHANE!" Liam waved an arm to signal the soldier. Arthur's stomach did an uncomfortable flip when he remembered Dr. Grey's words that morning. The shaggy-haired knight jogged over to the group. "Take these two on a ride, will you? See how they are on a horse?"

"I'm certain these two already know plenty about 'riding'." Shane muttered with a raise of the eyebrow as Liam walked away. If the head soldier had noticed, he didn't react, and then the three of them were alone.

"Shane." Merlin nodded. He was visibly uncomfortable and Arthur fought back a smile when the young warlock's ears blushed red. He jerked his eyes away, realizing that staring after his manservant like some star-crossed lover was counterproductive to getting Shane to forget his notion that Arthur and Merlin were—whatever he thought they were. Dr. Grey hadn't specified when he mentioned "the nature of your and Merlin's… situation." Arthur knew he should have asked Merlin what exactly Shane had witnessed, but the thought of bringing up last night's incident again made Arthur's heart sink. He couldn't bear the memory of Merlin's eyes looking so relieved as Arthur pretended to shrug off the incident. He wanted Merlin to feel everything he was feeling—the dependence, the lust, the… he didn't even know. He wanted to see something in those blue eyes to validate the desires which were tearing him at the seams.

The rag-tag militia man was looking as sly as ever when he gave Merlin a grin, "Aye mates," he practically slurred, "Looks like we're going on a trail ride."

Arthur heaved a heavy sigh as he lost himself in the gentle rocking of a horse between his thighs again. The saddle was unusual, but a thousand times more comfortable than the leather-covered wood he'd grown up on. He felt he could ride for hundreds of miles before he felt that familiar aching in his muscles.

So far, Shane hadn't mentioned anything to either Arthur or Merlin, rather he and the 4 other soldiers who had come along on the practice-patrol, including Price and Eli, just chattered mindlessly about horses and girls and the world before the "End" (What they called the chaos that had taken over Albion, and apparently the rest of the world.) Arthur listened to Merlin weaving seamless lies about their pretend-lives in this modern world, as though he were speaking a foreign language. The king felt a pang of self-loathing as he listened to the tales on Merlin's tongue. He was still a bit bitter that, for so long, he'd been on the receiving end of those lies. (Maybe Merlin wasn't the idiot.)

If Arthur could have ignored the unusual attire and the guns slung over the soldiers' backs, here in the shade of the ancient forest he could have been lost in a memory. The aroma of earth on the wind; the warmth and the brilliant green light dappling the forest floor; the gentle clopping of horses' hooves over hard dirt and sunbaked rock. Most importantly, Merlin was riding by his side. Though he was dressed strangely and his eyes were older, they were still his eyes. Still his ivory skin set aglow by the afternoon sun. Still his black hair that somehow seemed richer in the shadows than in the light. Arthur's eyes searched lower: Those shoulders, that chest, those long fingers curled up in the reigns. The king's gaze lowered even further. Those hips grinding gently against the leather of the saddle… too slow. He wanted to see Merlin's body work back and forth as the horse cantered—no, galloped. Arthur went numb as his imagination took over. Merlin's hips rubbing against his instead of that saddle—those long, smooth fingers tangled in his damp hair. Both of them breathless, florid, and aching with passion. The feel of those soft lips, his royal tongue across that flawlessly white skin.

Arthur moaned.

"What was that?" All of the soldiers turned around with furrowed brows.

He swallowed, suddenly aware of the discomfort of riding while aroused. Arthur moved his grip on the reigns closer to his groin—secretly dying to give into his desires and rub himself through the fabric of his jeans. Instead he tried with great displeasure to hide the swollen throbbing in his trousers.

"uh…" Arthur stammered, his breath still coming too quick to seem normal. His gaze flickered back to Merlin and he regretted it instantly. The sorcerer was gazing at him with confusion and concern behind wide blue eyes. Merlin's pale vermilion lips parted ever-so-slightly and Arthur thought he might drown in his own wanting. The pleasurable ache below his belt flared.

He swallowed again. Shane fell back and gave Arthur a once-over. He knew exactly what had been going through Arthur's head, whether he actually "saw it" or not. A sly smile crept over his face. Arthur's eyes widened, trying to beg for mercy from the man without actually shouting "no!"

"I get it mate." Shane's voice was barely audible but it sent a rush of relief through the king.

"You hungry?" Shane said louder, slapping Arthur on the back, "because that was a hell of a groan. We'll stop to eat in an hour or so."

He laughed, and everyone followed his lead, dismissing it immediately. Although Merlin was still eyeing him with a hint of suspicion. Heat crawled into Arthur's cheeks as Merlin made some joke that he didn't even catch on to. All he heard was merlin's voice moaning his name.

Arthur was most definitely hungry.

Suddenly, the sound of a stick snapping in the trees erased all thought of anything but the possibility of danger. Arthur whipped around, reaching for the sword in his sheath only to realize that he wasn't back in Camelot. In fact, he was weaponless.

"Quiet! Everybody stop." Arthur ordered. The other men had heard the sound as well, but Shane gave Arthur a strange look.

"You're not in charge here Arthur." Merlin whispered, only so that the king could hear.

"He's right." Shane put up his hand and all of the horses halted.

Like a stampede from the tree line, what must have been three-dozen of the monsters tore from the forest on both sides of the caravan, wielding blades of various and unknown origin. They howled with songs of war.

"AMBUSH!" someone shouted. Suddenly Arthur was deafened by the roar of gunfire. His first instinct was to find Merlin with his gaze. The hoard swarmed the horses which had since defied their masters and begun rearing in the chaos, letting out brays of pain and terror as their legs were slashed at by enemy blades. Arthur's horse lurched violently, knocking its skull against his and stunning him for long enough that he felt the sharp sting of steel dig into his armor-bear shoulder. He let out a cry as gravity and hungry hands tore him from his mount.

As the king fell into the screeching hoard, he heard Merlin cry—

"ARTHUR!"