Merlyn's Last Dream

The Coming of Arthur P2

Arthur didn't really appreciate being shoved through the castle, used to the way servants would bow out of his way as he marched through his corridors. Unsurprisingly, nobody did anything more than jeer at him as he and Gwaine were pushed to the centre of a crowded room, Jarl sitting on what seemed to be the only seat in prime position to watch the fight. The prince watched as he stood, flinching minutely as he put weight on his injured leg, spreading his arms wide as he addressed the two fighters.

"Gentlemen, the rules are simple. One man lives and one man dies." Jarl shouted gruffly, causing the crowd to roar with bloodthirst. Arthur exchanged an uneasy look with Gwaine: he wasn't quite sure how they would get out of this one. He spotted Merlyn on the edge of the room, her arms held tightly behind her back by two guards. She nodded grimly at him when she caught his gaze, signalling that she could free herself if need be. If only he had some idea how to get them out of this mess.

"If you cannot or will not finish off your opponent, I'll kill you both." Jarl snarled, brandishing his own sword rather dangerously. Arthur very much doubted that the man had the swordsmanship to best both himself and Gwaine, especially when injured, but he didn't question it aloud. Judging by the way the savages around them were cheering, they would have no qualms about finishing them off themselves; however good he was with a blade, the prince wasn't foolish enough to believe that he could overpower fourty odd brutes. Not all at once, anyway.

Arthur listened to the sharp sound of swords hitting the ground, staring at the blade at his feet. As much as he wanted a good fight, he would prefer to be battling a few of the thugs around him rather than Gwaine. Merlyn would never forgive him if he were to kill the loveable rogue.

"Let battle commence!" Jarl cried, much to the delight of his brutish men. It didn't take much for the prince to drown out their jeers with his own thoughts, used to ignoring the sound of the crowd during tournaments. Sighing in exasperation, he exchanged another reluctant look with the drunk next to him, bending down to pick up his sword.

As he straightened his back, the prince glanced around the room, trying to find the nearest exit. He saw Gwaine do the same, but, almost at the same time, they both realised that any chance of escape was blocked by a few armed men; there was little chance of battling their way through them, no matter how big their element of surprise. They stared at each other for a long moment, neither of them particularly interested in resigning to their fate. Then, out of nowhere, Gwaine jumped at him, swinging his sword in a graceful arc, forcing Arthur to stumble backwards, barely missing the blow.

For a fight like this, the room was far too small. The prince fell into a number of bodies, the ring of thugs almost closing in on the two fighters in order to get a better look at the action. He was pushed, by strong hands, back towards Gwaine, who was ready for him, cutting the air with sharp, heavy blows. Arthur, slightly shocked, struggled to keep up, glaring daggers at the drunk.

"Take it easy, will you?" he hissed as he deflected yet another jab at his stomach, shuffling his feet so that he could finally begin his offence.

Gwaine smirked at him, but his eyes were oddly serious. "It's gotta look real, hasn't it?"

The drunk shoved Arthur back to the opposite side of the ring, his wild hair blocking his vision for a moment. The prince took the opportunity to look for Merlyn in the crowd, managing a glance of raven hair before he had to turn his attention towards Gwaine again. If he wasn't mistaken, his servant seemed to be spitting on anybody who dared to come close to her, barely paying attention to the battle.

Meanwhile, after another onslaught of Gwaine's merciless blows, Arthur had cracked, sick of taking a battering from the man who, as far as he was concerned, was meant to be helping him.