Archive of Our Own ^beta

Merlin hated Arthur Pendragon. He really, really did.

Arthur was the reason they were both sitting in the principal’s office at the moment, Merlin with an ice pack pressed to his left eye to keep it from getting any more swollen. His nose had finally stopped gushing blood but his t-shirt and jeans were splattered with dark red – no amount of expert laundering on his mother’s part was going to get those stains out. His only solace was that Arthur was currently contending with his own split and bloody lip as well as red and sore knuckles from where his fist had made contact with Merlin’s face. Ha.

It seemed that Arthur was always the reason for Merlin’s woes and it had started when they were eight years old. Merlin could remember it vividly. They had been young boys in Mrs. Collins’ class and each student had had to present a medieval studies project. Arthur, in that cocky, arrogant way he had had even as a boy, had crafted an elaborate stone castle complete with a complement of sword-wielding knights ready to defend their kingdom. Of course, Merlin would admit only under thumb screw torture that he had been impressed by Arthur’s project at the time, even if everyone had known that Arthur’s family butler had probably helped him with most of it. With his own mum’s limited help, Merlin had crafted a magnificent dragon which “breathed” paper fire when its tail was pulled that had managed to wow most of Merlin’s classmates.

But not Arthur Pendragon. Arthur had scoffed and had called Merlin’s dragon “stupid”, claiming it had nothing to do with the medieval period, even as Merlin had vociferously explained that both magic and mythical creatures featured prominently during medieval times (at least that was what his mother had told him). Arthur had stubbornly maintained the stupidity of Merlin’s dragon and Merlin had had no choice but to respond in kind by telling Arthur that his dragon would smite all of Arthur’s knights in a millisecond and had then proceeded to follow it up with an effective demonstration.

Shoving had ensued then more forceful pushing about, and when the smoke had finally cleared, both Merlin’s and Arthur’s projects had been totalled along with a couple of classmates’ projects that had unfortunately gotten caught up in the “battle”. Merlin and Arthur had been sent to the principal’s office, the principal had summoned their respective parents, and each of the boys had gotten a stern lecture from said parents in the car ride home and for at least an hour afterward. Merlin had never forgiven Arthur for his disparaging words about his dragon or for ruining his project and he strongly suspected that Arthur felt the same, though Merlin would continue to insist that Arthur had started it.

Now nearly ten years later, the fight had started when Merlin had said something – he couldn’t even remember what now but he was sure it had been brilliant – that Arthur had apparently not taken very kindly to, which was really nothing new as far as their interactions generally went. There had been indignant shouts, verbal insults and initial pushing and shoving. Firsts had then gone a-flying, Arthur’s connecting with Merlin’s nose and eye and Merlin’s somehow managing to land on Arthur’s stupid pouty boy lips.

Mr. Gaius, Avalon High’s school principal, was sitting at his desk across from them, his hands steepled in front of him, his eyebrow raised a notch, as he regarded the two of them sternly.

Merlin shifted the ice pack and squirmed in his seat. He knew this was not going to bode well for them. Both of their school records were littered with three to five day suspensions – every blasted one of Merlin’s could be blamed on Arthur – and Merlin was sure that this time, despite having only a week left in their final school year, they would be expelled. A heavy sigh escaped from his lips at this thought, causing Mr. Gaius’ eyebrow to raise another notch. His mum was going to kill him. And it was all stupid Arthur Pendragon’s fault. Again. Fuck.

“Your father and mother will be joining us shortly,” Mr. Gaius finally said and both of the boys understood that this meant Arthur’s father and Merlin’s mother - each of them were being raised by single parents - had been called and were on their way to the school. “And I dare say I am finding myself at a loss as to what to tell them.” He gave the boys a look that was meant to convey displeasure and exasperation and Merlin couldn’t help squirming again. He really didn’t like disappointing Mr. Gaius.

“You boys have a long history together,” the principal continued. “A history that seems to be comprised mostly of fist-fights and earned suspensions. With the school year near end, I do not really see the point in suspending you.”

Fuck. They were going to be expelled.

Mr. Gaius relaxed his hands and leaned back in his chair. “At the same time, expelling you does not seem to be a sensible option either. I fear something more radical is required.”

More radical than being expelled? thought Merlin.

“Since I doubt neither of your parents would agree that sending you to military school would be beneficial,” said Mr. Gaius and Merlin gulped. “I am forced to suggest a situation in which cooperation and compromise is going to be needed.” Huh? “But I will explain that once your parents get here.”

As if on cue, the voice of Uther Pendragon could be heard coming from the outer office.

“This is the third incident this year, Hunith. It would seem that you need to get a better handle on your son.”

“I need to get a better handle on my son?” came Hunith Emrys’ indignant retort.

Merlin slid a glance at Arthur. Arthur’s head was down, his eyes boring a hole in the floor of the principal’s office. He didn’t bother to look up when his father and Merlin’s mother finally came through the door. Typical, Merlin thought.

“Oh Merlin!” his mother gushed as soon as she saw the ice pack pressed to his eye. She pulled it away gently, assessing the damage, and frowned. Hunith Emrys shot a glare at Arthur as she took the seat next to Merlin, placing a comforting hand on his arm.

Uther Pendragon sat down in the chair next to his son, pointedly ignoring the tsks and glares from Merlin’s mother. He looked at Mr. Gaius and said, “I demand to know what this hooligan has done this time to coax Arthur into behaving dishonourably.”

The grip his mother had on his arm tightened. “Oh, you did not just call my son a hooligan, Uther Pendragon.”

Merlin smirked inwardly. His mother, despite her small frame and generally unassuming demeanour, was a force to be reckoned with. Surely, Uther Pendragon would have learned that over the span of ten years. This was not the first time Arthur’s father and Merlin’s mother had had some kind of face-off. Besides, the nerve of the man to suggest that Merlin had coaxed Arthur into anything, dishonourable or otherwise. It was generally Arthur who started all things that eventually went south.

“If the glove fits,” Uther commented dryly and was saved from Hunith’s further fuming by a wise interjection from Gaius.

“Hunith, Uther,” he refereed, demanding their attention. “I have a proposal that I want to outline to all of you.”

The four of them listened as Gaius outlined his proposal: that Arthur and Merlin spend three weeks of their last summer before going to university as cooperative leaders at some summer youth camp called Camp Kilgharrah. The idea was for them to present themselves as role models to a group of ten and eleven year old boys and work together to encourage positive social interaction and teamwork.

“So what do you think?” Gaius asked brightly when he was finished.

Hunith, Uther, Arthur and Merlin all stared at him. Uther was the first to break the silence.

“Are you mad, Gaius?” he asked, and really they were all thinking the same thing. “I do not see how this is a rational solution to the problem. Why should Arthur team up with this--” Hunith shot him a glare “—Merlin to babysit some snotty kids at summer camp?”

Gaius gave a wry smile. “Because if the boys choose not to,” Mr. Gaius explained patiently, “I will have no recourse but to press charges against them for the latest trouble they’ve caused in my school.”

Hunith Emrys gasped. Merlin tried to stave off hyperventilation. Arthur remained stoic but there was a catch in his breath that belied inner panic. It was left to Uther Pendragon to calmly appeal to reason.

“Surely, you would not--”

“Surely, I would,” Gaius replied, meeting Uther Pendragon’s firm gaze.

Merlin had to admire old Gaius. Not many people challenged Uther Pendragon (his mother notwithstanding, of course) who was known for his stubborn persistence and cut-throat business tactics. Even if Merlin did agree with Uther that the principal was probably mad, he had to give old Gaius credit. The man clearly had balls.

Uther seemed to roll this around in his mind some then said, “Very well. You can expect Arthur’s full cooperation. Please have the details sent to me via my executive assistant.” He extracted a card from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and placed it on the principal’s desk.

It seemed to Merlin that Arthur’s cooperation was less than ‘full’, if the sour look on his face was any indication, but like a good son, he nodded at Mr. Gaius indicating his cooperation and consent. Arthur then rose from his seat after his father and the two Pendragon men left the office, leaving Merlin and Hunith still gaping like fish.

“Are you sure about this, Gaius?” Hunith finally asked. The principal and his mother were old friends.

Gaius rested folded hands on his desk. “Hunith, the boys have been at this since they were children,” he said. “They’re almost eighteen and grown up now. It’s gone past ridiculous. They’ve got to learn to put this feud, or whatever it is, behind them.” He gave Merlin a stern look but Merlin could see the underlying kindness in his eyes. He understood that Gaius was trying to help him – help both Merlin and Arthur. “So, Merlin, I am hoping you’ll give this a try?”

Merlin nodded, albeit reluctantly. It would definitely be a challenge. Merlin and Arthur did not play well together – that was a proven fact. How they would make it through the summer without killing each other was anybody’s guess, but if Arthur was going to go through with it (so what if Uther was making him?) then he would. Merlin wasn’t about to let Arthur Pendragon get one up on him.

Besides, Merlin really did not want to go to jail.

**

Merlin and Arthur had two weeks after graduation all to themselves before they had to pack up and go to Camp Kilgharrah (really, what kind of name was that?) where they would spend the next three agonizing weeks as camp co-leaders or whatever the hell it was they were supposed to be.

Merlin’s mum drove him to the camp the third weekend of July for ‘orientation’ which basically meant meeting the other camp leaders and going over basic rules and whatnot. Merlin was disconcerted to find Arthur Pendragon had already arrived before him and had had the chance to make nice with the other leaders. He hoped Arthur hadn’t run his mouth off about anything.
Lance du Lac, who turned out to be Head Camp Leader, was the first to greet him.

“Hi, Merlin,” Lance welcomed. “Let’s get you settled in your cabin first and then you can meet everyone.”

Merlin knew Lance somewhat. Lance had graduated from Avalon two years before him and was now at uni. He and Merlin hadn’t exactly hung out in the same crowd but Lance had started dating one of Merlin’s friends, Gwen Thomas, in his last year at Avalon High – they were still dating – and so Merlin had had occasion to interact with him. Lance was a nice guy who took responsibility easily and seriously and Merlin was not surprised that he had been appointed leader of the leaders.

Merlin’s cabin turned out to be a communal cabin – Cabin Four – that was to be the living space for six campers and their two assigned camp leaders for the next three weeks. He saw Arthur’s duffle bag (he recognized the familiar monogrammed logo) claiming one of the bottom bunks of a set of four on one side of the cabin. Merlin threw his own bag on a bottom bunk on the opposite side, wishing that there was more space between the bunk sets. It seemed way too easy from him to be able to choke Arthur in his sleep.

Resolving to unpack later, Merlin followed Lance to the camp pavilion where the other camp leaders were hanging out.

“Hey everybody, this is Merlin,” Lance said by way of introduction, leaving the others to welcome Merlin on their own.

There was Leon and Percy, who had just graduated from Mercia High School and would be going to Camelot University in the fall. They were best friends and camp co-leaders who would be supervising the campers in Cabin Five. Both were tall and friendly; they reminded Merlin of big, happy, tail-wagging dogs – a St. Bernard (Leon) and a Great Dane (Percy). There was Gwaine, who had just finished his first year at Albion University and was apparently a part-time model (Merlin’s interest piqued), paired with Lance in Cabin One. Gwaine gave him what could only be described as a smouldering look and smile and Merlin found himself blushing.

He knew Gwen and Freya, of course, from school. Gwen had just graduated along with Merlin while Freya would be going into her final year come September. This was Gwen and Freya’s second year as leaders at the camp and were assigned to their requested cabin, Cabin Two (which was conveniently next to Lance’s cabin, Merlin thought). There was also Elena and Isolde, who were friends and going into their final year at Mercia. Merlin thought they made an interesting pair. Isolde was tanned and athletic-looking, her hair pulled into a long neat braid that hung down her back. Elena was - for the lack of a better term – a mess, gangly and ungraceful, tripping over her feet as she welcomed Merlin with an exuberant ‘hello’. Mithian and Sophia were first years at Camelot University and Merlin guessed that they had probably been very popular in high school and were most likely just as popular at uni. Both were pretty and appeared friendly enough, even if their smiles didn’t quite reach their eyes, and they seemed to be catching the attention of Leon and Percy, whom Merlin supposed would likely be spending a lot of time at Cabin Six.

And then there was Arthur, of course.

Arthur gave him a stiff nod and Merlin returned it in similar fashion. They would be spending three weeks together. Merlin didn’t feel the need to bond just yet.

Lance clapped his hands together to get everyone’s attention and announced, “Okay, now that we’re all here, let’s get our welcoming campfire started.”

**

With Lance’s expert guidance, they managed to get a roaring campfire going in the pit area just off the pavilion that was designed especially for such events, where there were log benches and tree-stump seats set up around the fire for campers.

Percy produced a big bag of marshmallows and handed around some metal roasting sticks. Merlin took a stick and sat down on the end of a log bench. When the bag of marshmallows was passed around, he took two and speared them onto his stick. He shoved the white pillows into a flame.

“Welcome to Camp Kilgharrah!” Lance told them in a mock-official voice. “Where marshmallow-roasting is considered the number one camp sport.”

This produced a healthy round of laughs and giggles. Then Arthur said, “Merlin doesn’t roast his marshmallows. He sets them on fire.”

“I like them well-roasted,” Merlin snapped in defence, pulling his marshmallows out of the fire to blow out the flames. He flipped them over and returned them to the campfire.

“I guess burnt qualifies as well-roasted,” Arthur quipped back, making Leon and Percy laugh.

“I like ‘em that way too,” said Gwaine, giving Merlin a grin and settling down next to him, spearing a marshmallow onto a stick. He poked his marshmallow into the campfire next to Merlin’s.

Merlin smiled shyly, thankful for Gwaine’s support. He looked up across the camp fire and found Arthur glaring at him. Merlin glared back.

Oh hell, it was going to be a long three weeks.

**

The young campers had arrived and were gathered in the pavilion - thirty-six ten and eleven year olds, eighteen girls and eighteen boys.

Lance was going through the camp roster, telling the boys and girls which of the camp leaders they had been assigned to and instructing the camp leaders to guide their campers to their assigned cabin.

Mordred, Edwin, Gilli, Tristan, Owain, and Gareth were assigned to Merlin and Arthur’s group. Almost right away, the boys seemed to gravitate to one or the other - Gilli, Edwin and Mordred seemed pulled toward Merlin while Owain, Gareth and Tristan seemed drawn to Arthur. Merlin tried not to think too much about why that was – or the fact that Arthur actually looked smug over it - and, instead, guided ‘his’ boys to Cabin Four, letting Arthur follow with the other three.

The boys chose their bunks – not surprisingly, Owain, Gareth and Tristan choosing Arthur’s side and Mordred, Gilli and Edwin choosing Merlin’s side. They unpacked their belongings, putting them into the drawers and cupboards on the back wall of the cabin. Once settled in, Merlin made the suggestion that the boys in their group get to know each other. He was more than uneasy with how the kids seemed to have divided their alliances.

“They’ll be plenty of time for that,” Arthur said. “Let’s go check out the lake. Who’s with me?”

Of course, Tristan, Owain and Gareth were with Arthur, who was conveniently avoiding Merlin’s glare, and the four headed out the cabin to the lake, leaving Merlin and ‘his’ three boys behind to get to know each other.

“So you and Arthur,” said Edwin, an eleven-year old with a mop of dirty-blonde hair and bright, perceptive eyes. “You’re friends?”

“Not exactly,” Merlin replied. He took a drink from his water bottle, trying to think of a way he could explain his relationship with Arthur that did not include the words “fuck”, “bastard”, or “jackass”.

“So boyfriends then?” guessed Gilli, a chubby, excitable ten-year old.

Merlin spat out water. “What?” he spluttered. “No!”

Gilli looked nonplussed. “Oh. Sorry.”

“Maybe Merlin wants to be boyfriends with Arthur,” ten-year old little Mordred wondered and despite his attempt not to, Merlin blushed.

“No, Merlin does not,” he stated, giving the boys a stern look. How did getting-to-know-each-other turn into Merlin-wants-to-be-boyfriends-with-Arthur? How about Merlin-wants-to-strangle-Arthur-in-his-sleep? Was that on the table for consideration too?

The boys all chuckled knowingly – smartasses, Merlin thought – but they dropped the subject and each started telling something about themselves. They learned that Edwin was the oldest and the only boy in a family of five children, that Gilli was an only child whose mother spoiled him rotten and that he was prone to eating when nervous, and that Mordred, who was rather small for being ten and sometimes bullied because of it, had been adopted by a hipster couple who couldn’t have children of their own. In turn, Merlin told them that he was an only child like Gilli, that his mother was a fierce and fearsome feminist, and that he was slightly prone to accidents.

“What kind of accidents?” Gilli wanted to know.

“The kind that sometimes end up with a trip to Emergency,” Merlin replied wryly.

“What about Arthur?” Edwin queried. “What’s his deal?”

Merlin saw Gilli and Mordred’s attentions pique. He decided to keep the information straightforward and neutral. “Arthur is also an only child whose father is a wealthy businessman,” he told them, “though I haven’t the foggiest idea what the man does.” Uther Pendragon had always been a bit of a puzzle to Merlin. “Let’s see, Arthur is a star athlete and does okay in school. I guess you can say he’s pretty popular.” And he likes to kick kittens in his spare time, Merlin mentally added.

“Are you popular?” asked Mordred, his blue eyes wide.

Merlin shrugged then grinned. “I’m not unpopular,” he replied. And that was mostly true. Merlin didn’t have a huge group of friends but then neither did Arthur.

“I’m never gonna be popular,” Gilli lamented.

“Me neither,” Mordred said.

“Yeah,” echoed Edwin.

The boys looked forlorn and Merlin couldn’t help but empathize what it was like to be ten and eleven years old – awkward and ridiculous. Of course, Merlin had had Arthur Pendragon while growing up to constantly remind him – and still remind him – of how awkward and ridiculous he was, which had made Merlin that much more determined to grow out of his awkward and ridiculous phase, but he hoped these boys would understand and learn to like themselves for who they were. Still, he knew it was hard at that age.

He was about to give them a pep-talk when Arthur returned with his three boys.

“Lance is setting up the campfire,” Arthur told them. “Let’s go grab a log and Merlin here can show you how to torch some hot dogs and marshmallows.”

Arthur’s smirk was so wide Merlin was certain –and desperately hoped – his face would crack.

**

Merlin shut off the water and reached around the stall for the towel he had left on the bench.

The bloody towel was gone. And so were his clothes. The only thing that had been left behind were his flip-flops.

Fucking Arthur Pendragon.

Merlin shook the water from his hair and body and grabbed the flimsy footwear, a steady stream of curses flowing freely from his lips.

“Not funny,” he said, storming into Cabin Four, the flip-flops held to his groin in an effort to shield his privates. Merlin wasn’t about to flash his boy bits to a bunch of ten-year olds.

The boys all stared at him. Arthur, who was sitting on his bunk fully dressed, had the nerve to tip his head back and laugh. Gareth and Tristan followed.

Merlin glared at him. “You are such a pri--”

“Uh-uh-uh,” Arthur cautioned, his grin smug. “Language, Merlin.

Merlin rolled his eyes. He held his tongue but finished the word off in his head for the satisfaction and may have added an expletive adjective.

Mordred held out Merlin’s boxers. “They wanted to hide all your undershorts,” he said as Merlin dropped the flops and quickly slipped on the boxers. “But I got to them first and stuck them away.”

At least Mordred had some sense of decency.

Merlin plotted his revenge as he pulled on shorts and a t-shirt while resolving to bring his clothes and towel with him into the shower stall next time.

**

It had rained the entire morning and there was no sign of it letting up in the afternoon. The campers and their leaders were gathered in the pavilion, trying to think of something fun to do that didn’t involve getting drenched by the rain. They had spent the morning doing crafts but pretty much everyone had had their fill of that – except Gwen and Freya’s group. In fact the girls from Cabin Two had started eyeing Gwaine’s hair with a gleam in their eyes, murmuring something about ribbons and glitter.

“How about creating a time capsule?” Merlin suggested. Elena nodded excitedly.

“That’s stupid,” Arthur remarked, rolling his eyes.

Merlin crossed his arms and glared at Arthur. “It’s just stupid because I said it,” Merlin returned, annoyed.

It might have been the rain, but the two of them had been at each other since that morning. Merlin had reproached Arthur again for having to take his clothes and towel into the shower stall with him because he couldn’t trust Arthur not to coax the boys into taking them. Arthur had gone on for at least five minutes about how Merlin couldn’t take a joke. This had prompted Merlin to leave the cabin and stomp to the showers only to realize that he had forgotten his towel and his clean clothes. Not wanting to go back to the cabin to retrieve them, he had simply decided to shake himself dry and re-dress in the clothes he was wearing – which he had found missing again when he had turned off the water and reached around to get them. After some choice swear words had been uttered and Arthur – who had taken his clothes and had been waiting just outside with them, planning to give them back right away – had scolded him for using said choice swear words while boys were present, Merlin had yanked his clothes out of Arthur’s grasp, unmindful of being stark naked, had hurriedly slipped on the sleep pants, had called Arthur several unsavoury names then had stomped back to the cabin, the drizzling rain turning into a downpour halfway back.

Arthur raised a cocky eyebrow. “Well, if the glove fits...”

“Oh, that’s original,” Merlin scoffed, his anger building. Like father, like son. “And it’s shoe, Arthur. Shoe. Your dad never gets it right!”

Arthur’s eyes darkened. “My father has nothing to do with this,” he said. He took a step forward into Merlin’s personal space and glowered, his nostrils flaring. Merlin knew that look. It was Arthur’s arrogant, challenging “what are you going to do about it, Merlin?” look and Merlin hated it. It made him want to punch Arthur in the face.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Lance interjected, stepping between them, attempting to stem the tide. “You guys need to just chill.”

The two continued to glare at each other. Merlin was aware that the others were watching them, leaders and campers both, wondering how this was going to play out. He really didn’t want to showcase their drama in front of everyone, especially the kids, so Merlin decided he would be the bigger person and stepped back.

There was a glint in Arthur’s eyes that suggested he felt he had won the battle but then Lance said, “I think a time capsule is a great idea.”

Everyone nodded and murmured in agreement and Arthur’s smug expression turned to one of mild defeat. Merlin allowed himself to celebrate inwardly. For once, he had actually achieved victory – okay, it was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless – over Arthur Pendragon. He supposed it almost made up for his shitty morning and having not yet been able to find a way to strangle Arthur in his sleep without notice.

**

It was a bright, sunny day and they were heading down to the lake toward the canoes when Gilli suddenly stopped in his tracks, causing Merlin to bump into him.

“I’m not going,” Gilli announced, crossing his arms and planting his feet firmly to the ground.

“It’s all right,” Merlin tried to soothe the boy. “There are life jackets. You’ll be safe.”

Merlin really wasn’t too keen himself on going canoeing and he wondered who he was trying to convince. But Lance had said they’d be wearing life jackets and had reassured Merlin that the canoes did not tip easily so...

“Don’t care. Not going,” Gilli insisted stubbornly and Merlin sighed.

It had apparently come to Arthur’s attention that Gilli and Merlin had not followed them down to the lake and Merlin saw him, accompanied by Gwaine, jogging back up toward them.

“What’s up?” Arthur asked sharply, giving Gilli then Merlin a look.

“Gilli doesn’t want to go canoeing,” Merlin answered.

“Why not?”

“I just don’t,” Gilli said and Merlin could see the blush creeping over the kids chubby cheeks. He understood that Gilli was afraid and he really hoped Arthur wouldn’t make a big deal of it.

Arthur scrutinized Gilli for a moment, trying to read the kid. Merlin started working himself up, fully prepared to defend the boy and his fears but then Arthur said, “Fine. You don’t have to come.” He tossed Merlin a brief look. “But Merlin’s gonna have to stay behind with you.”

This happened to suit Merlin just fine, but he gave Gwaine a shrug nonetheless when he tossed Merlin a look of sympathy as he and Arthur trotted back down to the lake.

“I’m sorry,” Gilli said and Merlin could see his lips twitching as though he were about to cry.

Merlin put an arm around the boy’s shoulder. “That’s okay,” he said. “I really don’t like canoeing much anyway.”

“Honest?”

Merlin smiled, leading Gilli back to their cabin. “Honest.”

**

The camp cook was off two evenings during the week, which meant that one of the groups had to fill in on kitchen duty for the evening meal on those days. Lance had devised a schedule and Cabin Four was on kitchen duty the first week on the second day the camp cook was off. Arthur and Merlin and the six boys stood in the mess hall kitchen, none of them looking like they had a clue as to what to do.

Merlin poked his head into the large refrigerator and looked at its contents. There were all kinds of vegetables and several heads of lettuce for a fresh salad. There was a large bag of what looked like ground up beef and there was a big block of cheese. He found penne pasta and cans of tomato sauce in the pantry and there were bags of fresh rolls.

He gathered the various ingredients onto the island counter, feeling quite proud of himself. The boys stared at the food items while Arthur gaped at him.

“So what are we supposed to do with that?” Arthur asked.

Merlin rolled his eyes. He thought it was pretty obvious. “We’re going to make cheesy pasta,” he said, pointing at the penne, beef, cheese and cans of sauce. “And a salad,” he added, gesturing at the vegetables.

Arthur nodded. “Okay. Have you ever done this before?”

“You mean cook? Yes.”

Arthur cocked an eyebrow in disbelief.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve cooked more than you,” Merlin said. “I don’t have butler at home who does everything for me.”

The mention of a butler, of course, got the boys going and asking Arthur all kinds of questions which Arthur probably didn’t want to answer. Merlin knew it irritated Arthur whenever someone goaded him about having a butler and being pampered but, really, it was time Merlin got something over on Arthur Pendragon.

Merlin delegated everyone to a duty. Arthur was in charge of cooking the ground beef and penne pasta with help from Tristan and Owain. Gareth and Edwin were in charge of washing the heads of lettuce and helping to cut vegetables with Merlin, while Mordred and Gilli were in charge of grating the cheese. Merlin thought Arthur looked rather smug about ‘cooking’ even though Merlin had gotten out the pans and had carefully instructed him on what to do. Seriously, if Arthur didn’t have Geoffrey (the butler), Merlin was sure he would have expired long ago.

Merlin was slicing cucumbers for the salad and keeping an eye on Mordred as the kid ran a chunk of cheese across the grater. He was just about to tell Mordred to watch his fingers as the grater was sharp when his own knife slipped, slicing across his middle finger.

Merlin stared at the blood gushing from the cut (he had felt it cut pretty deep) and felt the blood drain from his face. He blinked, trying to focus, but his head felt light and there were black dots dancing in front of his eyes.

“Whoa...” he heard Arthur saying as his body slid to the floor.

The next thing he saw was Arthur’s fingers being snapped in front of his face and Arthur asking, “You with us?”

“W-what happened?” Merlin asked, his vision slowly coming into focus.

“You cut yourself,” Arthur said.

Merlin took stock of his surroundings. He was in the kitchen of the camp mess hall. On the floor. A kitchen towel was wrapped around his hand and he could see blood seeping through. Arthur was crouched on the floor in front of him, his face showing a mixture of annoyance and worry? – no, it couldn’t be worry, Merlin thought - and there were six pairs of anxious eyes trained on him.

“Owain, go get Lance,” Arthur instructed. “Looks like Merlin’s gonna have to take a trip to Emergency.”

“I do?”

Arthur nodded. “Pretty sure you need stitches, mate.”

Damn. He must have a cut it deep.

“Wow,” Gilli suddenly commented. “You were sure right when you said you were accident-prone!”

Arthur burst out laughing and the boys quickly joined in. Even Merlin had to laugh, if only to take his mind off the fact that his finger was gushing blood, making him light-headed.

They were all still laughing when Owain returned with Lance, who looked at the group of them like they were insane. Arthur somehow managed to contain himself just long enough to hand off an hysterically giggling Merlin into Lance’s care before getting caught up once again in laughter.

**

Three hours and four stitches in his finger later, Merlin returned with Lance to the camp. The camp leaders were around the campfire, the young campers having already settled into their cabins for the evening.

“Been here four days and already Merlin has taken his first trip to Emergency,” Arthur commented when Lance and Merlin appeared. “Must be a record.”

“First trip?” Elena queried.

“Oh, they’ll probably be more,” Arthur told her, rolling his eyes skyward. “Merlin is a bit accident-prone.”

Elena tilted her head as if to say she understood and Merlin fully believed Elena and he were kindred spirits as far as proneness to accidents were concerned. Still, he gave Arthur a look that conveyed he was less than pleased with his goading. His finger hurt and the stitches were already itching.

He planned to head to the cabin for bed so he could put the slightly disastrous day behind him. He turned and Arthur called out, “Oh, by the way? Dinner was awesome. The boys and I are brilliant!”

Arthur barked out a laugh, and was joined by Leon and Percy, when Merlin flipped him off with his newly stitched and bandaged middle finger.

**

Mordred’s big blue eyes trailed up the twenty-five foot climbing wall and Merlin heard the kid audibly gulp. “You’re coming up with me, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Merlin said as Lance gave his safety harness a final tug. “It’ll be fine,” he soothed, trying to get his own nerves under control. He figured it would not be good to freak out in front of Mordred who was counting on him for support. “Just one step at a time.”

Up the centre wall section they went, Merlin focused on guiding and encouraging Mordred who seemed to be gaining confidence with each step.

“This is great!” Mordred expressed excitedly when they reached the top. Apparently, he had gotten over his fear of climbing.

Merlin gripped the top of the wall and mumbled a response. He could see the expanse of woods over the top of the wall and quickly closed his eyes. He would not look down, he would not look down, he would not look down.

He heard movement beside him. “Gonna climb down now,” Mordred said. “Coming?”

Merlin nodded. But he kept his lips pressed together and his eyes shut. He tried to move but found he couldn’t.

Bloody hell.

“Merlin?” he heard Gwaine call up. “You coming down?”

“No,” Merlin called back. He wanted to. He really, really wanted to, but his feet refused to budge.

A pause. “No?”

“No.”

“Oh, for crying out loud!” he heard Arthur exclaim from the ground. Merlin could hear the exasperation in his tone from twenty-five feet up. “Suppose we’re gonna have to go up and rescue the idiot.”

Merlin imagined that the boys from his group and Lance and Gwaine’s group, along with Arthur, Lance, and Gwaine – thankfully, it was only their two groups at the climbing wall at the moment – were all staring up at him and thinking he was a right idiot but Merlin did not care to open his eyes to find out. Instead, he clung to the wall and waited as he heard the sounds of harnesses being snapped into place and then hands and feet scrabbling for purchase on the wall, climbing.

Gwaine reached the top first, coming up on Merlin’s right side, Arthur following on his left.

“Alright mate?”

Merlin peeked an eye open and saw Gwaine grinning at him.

“No,” Merlin said and heard Arthur huff out a laugh on the other side of him.

“Well, don’t worry,” Gwaine said gallantly, giving Merlin a wink. “We’re gonna get you down.”

“Okay.” Merlin opened his other eye and kept his gaze firmly set on Gwaine’s grinning face. He knew he’d be taking the piss from Arthur later on for getting stuck up on the wall and needing to be rescued but right at the moment all Merlin wanted was for his feet to touch ground. So much for being brave for little Mordred.

Gwaine put a reassuring hand on the small of his back and encouraged him to begin the climb down. Merlin willed his feet to move and it took him three tries before he tentatively placed a foot in the first hole, Gwaine offering continuous encouragement while Arthur huffed impatiently and with exasperation.

Merlin took another tentative three-tries step down then found his feet suddenly knocked out from under him by a swift kick-sweep.

“What the hell, Pendragon!” he heard Gwaine yell as Merlin slipped down the twenty-five foot wall supported by his safety harness.

“Quickest way to get him down,” he heard Arthur reply dryly.

Lance grabbed him as soon as Merlin reached the ground and began unbuckling his safety harness. “Moment of panic,” Lance said, seeing that Merlin was shaking. “Happens to everyone.”

Maybe so, Merlin thought, but not everyone had to deal with a maniacal mad man whose goal in life was to terrorize and torment Merlin by doing things like purposely making him fall off a climbing wall!

Mordred was at his side, looking worried. Merlin attempted to shrug it off like it was no big deal for the kid’s sake but he didn’t think it came off looking very convincing, especially since he was still shaking badly.

Gwaine and Arthur had reached the ground and were unhooking their safety harnesses. Merlin turned to Gwaine. “Thanks,” he said sincerely. It had been really gallant of Gwaine to have come to his rescue. Merlin then turned to Arthur and said, “I hate you.”

He stormed past a smirking Arthur, the urge to punch him so strong that Merlin had to shove his hands in his shorts pockets to stop himself from striking out at the prat.

Fucking Arthur Pendragon.

**

They were playing a game of Truth or Dare. All the young campers were in their cabins, though probably not asleep, while the camp leaders were relaxing around the campfire.

“Merlin’s turn,” said Gwaine. “Truth or Dare?”

“Truth,” Merlin said automatically. Something about the way Gwaine was looking at him made choosing Dare seem unwise.

Arthur rolled his eyes or at least Merlin assumed he did, as he wasn’t actually able to see the eye roll with only the light of the campfire. “Of course, you’d pick Truth,” he scoffed at Merlin. “You’re too much of a girl to take a risk. No offence,” he directed at Gwen and the other girls.

Merlin gave Gwen what he hoped was a look of apology then said to Arthur, “I’m not a girl, you prat. Besides, Truth is taking a risk.”

“Oh, you’ve got some deep, dark secret to tell us, do you?” Arthur niggled. He rolled his eyes – again mostly in Merlin’s imagination but he was ninety-nine percent certain that it actually happened. Arthur Pendragon was nothing if predictable. “Yeah, I bet your Truth is gonna end up being lame and boring.”

Merlin stewed. Why did Arthur always have to turn something fun into something confrontational? They couldn’t even play Truth or Dare without the bastard niggling Merlin before he even got to tell a damn Truth!

“Gwen picked Truth,” Merlin pointed out. “And I didn’t hear you giving her a hard time about it.”

“Yeah, because Gwen isn’t lame and boring,” Arthur returned with a smirk and Merlin had the sudden urge to smack Arthur upside the head. In fact, it was a recurring urge that was getting harder and harder to ignore.

“Arthur,” Gwen cautioned, shooting Merlin a sympathetic look. “Merlin can choose whatever he wants.”

Arthur shrugged to concede but Merlin could see the challenge in his eyes.

“Fine,” Merlin said. “I’ll pick Dare.” He tossed Arthur a steely look to return his challenge. “Happy?”

The two stared each other down until Gwaine said, “Okay. Dare it is then.” He rubbed his hands together, grinning mischievously.

“You have to choose one of us guys and kiss him – with tongue,” Leon piped up unexpectedly.

They all turned to stare at Leon.

“What? Perce had to bench press Arthur and I had to run around cabin six with my boxer shorts on my head,” Leon immediately defended.

Everyone seemed to consider this for a moment. Then Lance said, “Fair enough.”

So Merlin’s dare was to pick one of the guys here and French kiss him basically. Great. He looked around the campfire, purposely by-passing Arthur with his gaze. There was no way Merlin was going to kiss Arthur. He’d kiss a donkey with bad breath first.

“Pick me,” Gwaine said under the cover of a cough, which made everybody but Arthur laugh. It seemed to Merlin that Arthur looked a tad constipated – not that he was looking, mind you, because he wasn’t.

Merlin grinned and let his gaze come to rest on Gwaine. Kissing Gwaine – with tongue - would not be much of a hardship really. Gwaine was good-looking. And hot. And he had been flirting with Merlin since they had arrived at the camp. Hell, he was flirting with Merlin now.

So Merlin got up from his tree stump and crossed over to Gwaine, who was still grinning and waiting. There were deep breaths of anticipation as he leaned forward and touched his mouth to Gwaine’s, his lips parted slightly to allow Gwaine’s tongue to snake into his mouth and slide against his own in a tango.

He heard Leon hoot and Percy holler while Lance let out a low whistle. Gwen, Freya and Elena all squealed in delight and Merlin heard Isolde give an impressive wolf whistle. Even Mithian and Sophia seemed entertained and Merlin had to wonder what it was with girls and boys kissing boys as Gwaine plunged his tongue further down Merlin’s throat. For once, Arthur was silent, and if it looked like he was scowling and pouting, Merlin was sure it was only the trick of the light from the campfire.

“Wow. I think I need a cigarette,” Elena expressed when Merlin was finally able to disengage his tongue and mouth from Gwaine’s. This made the girls giggle and Percy tease, “Me too.”

Gwaine licked his lips, his predatory gaze following Merlin back to his tree stump seat. Merlin felt the blush settle on his cheekbones and hoped it wasn’t too visible in the firelight. As far as kisses went, that one had been pretty fucking awesome. He picked up a stick and poked at the fire, aware that Gwaine was still staring and grinning at him.

“Okay, Athur’s turn now,” Gwen said gleefully, still high from boy-on-boy liplock. “Truth or Dare?”

Attentions were turned toward Arthur who appeared to be considering seriously. He then looked Merlin straight in the eye and cocked a half-grin. “Truth,” he said very deliberately and very smugly.

Later, Merlin would contemplate whether he could get away with smothering Arthur with a pillow in his sleep.

**
Merlin didn’t much like paintball battles. Something about running around and shooting other people with paint didn’t appeal to him. He especially didn’t like paintball battles when they involved being on a team with Arthur Pendragon.

Arthur was highly competitive and incredibly bossy. Every time Merlin moved, he would hiss and say, “Stay down, Merlin!” or “Don’t move, you make an easy target!” And when Merlin stayed put, not doing anything but breathing, Arthur would say, “Don’t just sit there! We gotta take the other teams out!”

It was an exhausting no-win battle and Merlin wanted to call it quits less than an hour into the game. Arthur managed to take the fun out of everything and frankly Merlin had had enough.

So when Arthur made a dart out from under cover with the intent to offensively strike, Merlin stood, directed his gun at Arthur and open splattered him with paint.

“Ugh!” Arthur yelled, his eyes practically bugging out of his head. “Merlinnnn....!”

“Red Team Leader down!” Gwaine shouted out.

“Doesn’t count,” Arthur protested, staring down at his colourfully painted vest as though he couldn’t believe Merlin had just shot him. Repeatedly.

“Counts,” Isolde asserted from behind tree cover. Her team was the only girl team left in the game, although Elena had been painted ‘dead’ early on.

Merlin didn’t care if it counted or not. He was done.

He could hear Arthur vociferously arguing about his live-or-die status as Merlin stomped away from the battlefield, Mordred, Gilli, and Edwin following behind him.

**

It didn’t take a genius to figure out Arthur was pissed when he returned to the cabin with Tristan, Owain and Gareth a half hour later. The scowl on his face and the heavy stomping about pretty much gave it away.

“They decided it counted,” Owain announced and Arthur’s scowl deepened.

“It was just a game, Arthur,” Merlin said tiredly from his bunk. Arthur really had to stop being so competitive.

“You shot me.”

“You were criticizing me!” Merlin returned in defence.

“I was giving you constructive guidance,” Arthur countered.

Merlin rolled his eyes. “No, you weren’t. You were being a prick.” He saw Arthur round on him and quickly deflected, “Oh, and don’t give me a language warning. I’ve heard this lot” - he gestured at the boys - “say much worse.”

Arthur huffed, his face red and angry. He looked like he was about to give a retort but then he threw up his hands, huffed again, and then left, presumably heading to the showers.

The boys and Merlin were silent until Tristan said, “He’s really pissed at you.”

Merlin huffed out a bitter laugh. “He’s always pissed at me.”

“How come?” Gilli wanted to know, and the boys all turned their attentions to Merlin.

Merlin shrugged. “We don’t get along, okay? Arthur hates me. It’s just the way it is.”

The boys, especially Gareth, Tristan, and Owain, looked surprised.

“I thought you were friends,” said Tristan.

“Not really,” Merlin told him, something feeling like hurt starting to settle in his chest. Which was stupid because the last thing Merlin felt about not being friends with Arthur Pendragon was hurt.

“Arthur doesn’t hate you,” Owain piped in, the other boys murmuring and nodding, obviously trying to cheer Merlin up.

But Merlin didn’t need cheering up. He was perfectly okay with Arthur not liking him, he told himself. It was okay because Merlin really wasn’t too fond of Arthur either. He really wasn’t. “Well, pretty close anyway,” Merlin mumbled.

“Arthur said you guys had to come here because he punched you just before school let out,” Gareth revealed. Mordred and Gilli gasped.

Merlin had to admit he was surprised. He didn’t think Arthur was big enough to admit he may have been responsible for their last fight. “Yeah, well, to be fair, I may have punched him back but my fist didn’t exactly land where I wanted it to.”

This made the boys laugh. And soon Merlin found himself laughing along with them. He knew he and Arthur had a crazy relationship but it was what it was.

And if Merlin tried not to aggravate Arthur any further when he returned to the cabin an hour or so later, it was because he didn’t want to get into another argument in front of the boys and not because he felt a little bit bad about having shot his entire load of paintballs at Arthur which had put him out of the game.

**

Lance had sent Merlin and Arthur into the woods to look for good kindling, which he had insisted would be found on the lake side of the woods. Arthur had muttered something about getting it quick because the sky was looking dark and had barely waited for Merlin before tramping into the woods. Merlin was pretty sure Arthur was still sore about Merlin having shot him in the paintball battle but, seriously, it was just a game and Arthur really needed to get over it.

Merlin tried to keep up as Arthur stalked through the woods with purpose, not wanting to anger him further. Still, the silent treatment was getting a little old and was childish so Merlin thought he’d attempt to at least make casual conversation. He decided that talking about going to uni soon should be a relatively neutral topic.

“Can’t wait to go to Albion U in the fall,” Merlin said, trailing after a focused Arthur. “What about you? You excited about going to Camelot?”

“Sure,” Arthur said unenthusiastically, not bothering to slow down his pace. Arthur was apparently more pissed at him than Merlin had realized.

“Well, Leon and Percy are headed there so at least you’ll know someone,” Merlin said for lack of anything better. Arthur gave no response, so Merlin continued his one-way conversation. “Gwaine he said he’d show me around campus at Albion U.”

“Yeah, I bet he did,” Arthur muttered, surprising Merlin with his response.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Are you really that dense, Merlin?” Arthur asked over his shoulder. “Gwaine’s got the hots for you.”

“I’m not dense, you jerk,” Merlin defended on reflex. Then, “Wait. Gwaine’s got the hots for me?”

Arthur stopped on the path in front of him and whirled around, rolling his eyes heavenward. “God, you’re stupid.”

Merlin huffed. “Oh, now I’m stupid because Gwaine’s got the hots for me?”

“No. You’re stupid because--”

There was a loud crack of thunder and the dark sky suddenly opened up, rain pouring down on them.

“Great. Just great,” Arthur complained, looking skyward. “I should have known you’d manage to get us caught in a thunderstorm--”

“How is this my fault?” Merlin wanted to know. Arthur was being ridiculous. Merlin couldn’t control the weather, for fuck sakes. If he could, he would have arranged for Arthur to have been struck by lightning already.

“It just is,” Arthur growled back nonsensically. He was clearly annoyed. And, really, Merlin couldn’t understand it. It was Lance who had sent them into the woods to gather kindling with a thunderstorm looming.

“That makes no sense!” Merlin shouted, partly because he was angry and partly so he could be heard over the sound of the rain pouring down.

Arthur moved toward him. He grabbed a hold of Merlin’s shirt and jerked him roughly, his fist clenching. Merlin closed his eyes and steeled himself for the punch.

But the punch never came. Instead, he felt warm, wet lips on his. Shock soon gave way to surprised pleasure as he realized Arthur was kissing him.

Then just as suddenly, Arthur shoved at his chest, pushing him away with force. “Fuck off!” he yelled, his look dark and dangerous, but there was something else in Arthur’s eyes Merlin couldn’t quite get a handle on. Arthur shot a glare at him then marched forward, knocking Merlin’s shoulder hard as he stalked past him back to camp.

Merlin was left standing in the pouring rain, wondering first: what the bloody fucking hell was that all about? and second: how was he supposed to collect and carry all the kindling by himself?

**

Around the campfire later – they had been treated to a ten-minute thunder shower which, of course, had somehow been Merlin’s fault – Merlin noticed that Arthur was doing his best to ignore him, which was fine by Merlin. When Merlin had returned to their cabin – after dropping a pile of kindling in the pavilion and pointedly ignoring Lance’s raised eyebrow - to change out of his wet clothes into dry ones, Arthur had not been there. He had gone to the showers, the boys had told him. Merlin had wanted to have a shower as well – the rain had left him with a chill – but he did not want to have another row with Arthur or, worse, to have to deal with any awkwardness that was bound to arise because of The Kiss.

Arthur maintained his silent treatment of Merlin for the rest of that night and for the better part of the next day, speaking only to the boys and doing a good job of pretending Merlin didn’t exist. The boys had noticed the tension between them so they tried to behave and to get along in hopes that things would soon smooth over.

Merlin hated to admit it, but he felt rather miserable that Arthur was ignoring and not talking to him. Which was weird because Arthur not talking to him – teasing him, tormenting him, criticizing him, goading him, needling him - should have been a dream come true. And Merlin was further confused about what Arthur kissing him meant. Not that the kiss had been bloody brilliant or anything because it certainly had not been. In fact, as far as kisses went, it was probably the least brilliant one he had ever been given.

Merlin sighed and went looking for Gwen. He had decided that he needed to talk to someone about this whole Arthur thing before he made himself crazy and Gwen seemed the most likely to listen and to offer sympathy.

So while Arthur took their group of boys to the climbing wall – Merlin refused to go near the thing again, especially if Arthur intended to be there – Merlin sought out Gwen and Freya’s group. He found them in the pavilion, excitedly engaged in craft-making.

Once he was able to pull Gwen away out of earshot, Merlin poured all his feelings out about Arthur being the bane of his existence and how it was impossible for them to get along and how it was affecting the boys in their group. He re-hashed all of Arthur’s transgressions against him in the two weeks they had been at camp (leaving out the minor detail of Arthur kissing him, of course) and expressed how childish Arthur was now being by refusing to speak to him and pretending he didn’t exist (without revealing how frustrated and miserable he was about this).

“I just don’t understand why he persists in tormenting me,” Merlin said to finish, giving Gwen a rather forlorn look.

“Have you ever thought, Merlin,” Gwen said in her gentle way, “that maybe that’s just Arthur’s way of pulling your pigtails?”

“I don’t have pigtails,” Merlin pointed out, feeling surlier by the second. He had been expecting Gwen to take his side, not to wax poetic about pigtails.

“It’s just an expression,” Gwen said. “You know what I mean.”

He did and he didn’t. “Yes, but why the hell does Arthur want to pull my non-existent pigtails?” Merlin rolled his eyes. “Except to irritate the hell out of me, that is.”

Gwen smiled kindly. “Oh, Merlin,” she said, practically gushing. “Of course, it’s because Arthur has been crushing on you since forever.”

Merlin could not contain his snort. “Crushing on me?” he managed without spluttering, which was a miracle because he had good reason to splutter. “He hates me, Gwen! It’s no secret. He’s been tormenting me since we were eight.” He saw Gwen frown and added, “He was jealous because everyone liked my dragon better than his knights!”

Merlin knew it was childish to keep harping on something that happened almost ten years ago, but for some reason, he had trouble letting it go. Gwen had witnessed first-hand the incident that had happened between Merlin and Arthur in Mrs. Collins’ class so it wasn’t as though she needed a refresher but Merlin thought it prudent to remind her in order to quash the ridiculous notion she had of Arthur having anything resembling a crush on him.

Gwen tilted her head, her look thoughtful. “Merlin,” she said patiently, using the same tone as the one she used with her young campers, “Arthur doesn’t hate you. He just hates having to compete for your attention.”

Merlin let out another snort. “Well, it isn’t exactly news Arthur Pendragon likes to be the center of attention.”

“You’re not listening, Merlin. I said he doesn’t like having to compete for your attention.”

What the hell did that mean?

Merlin realized he had actually vocalized that thought when Gwen answered, “It means he tends to pull your pigtails really hard when your attention is focused on someone other than him.”

To Merlin, it seemed like Gwen was talking in riddles – she was the one going to be studying psychology at uni, not him – but he tried hard to follow what she was saying. Arthur wanted his attention. And he felt what - threatened? – when Merlin gave it to someone other than Arthur. And when Arthur felt threatened, he pulled Merlin’s pigtails really hard?

Merlin shook his head. Gwen was wrong. Arthur pulled Merlin’s pigtails because he was a dickhead and liked to torment Merlin not because he was harbouring some crush and wanted to get his attention. Plain and simple. Ten years of Arthur Pendragon needling him and smirking at him and occasionally punching him were proof of that.

But still, Arthur had kissed him. Merlin knew Arthur had probably done it out of spite and to punish him, but he couldn’t get over the fact that the kiss, even as brief as it was, had felt quite gentle and almost longing, as though Arthur hadn’t really meant it to be spiteful at all but rather had been to trying to express something else entirely. But what that something else was, Merlin couldn’t imagine.

Merlin blew out a heavy sigh and Gwen patted his arm in a comforting gesture. Somehow, he was even more confused about Arthur than he had been before. And wasn’t that just his bloody luck?

**

Merlin was sitting on the dock, soaking up whatever rays could get past his SPF-60 sunscreen, looking out toward the lake at the group of boys swimming. Mordred, Gilli and Tristan were splashing around and doing handstands to one-up each other while Gareth, Owain and Edwin were engaged in a game of water basketball. Merlin was happy to see the boys intermingling and getting along.

Arthur had gone up to the camp to fetch some towels, leaving Merlin to supervise. So after coating himself with sunscreen, Merlin had stretched out on the dock so he could keep an eye on his group of boys. Arthur was still barely talking to Merlin but they were at least cooperating when it came to carrying out the duties of being camp leaders.

He heard feet pounding on the dock behind him and before he could turn around to discover the source, Percy and Leon scooped him up and pitched his shorts-and-t-shirt-clothed body toward the lake.

In his periphery, Merlin saw Arthur running down the dock toward them. He was yelling.

“Dammit! He can’t....”

Swim, Merlin’s mind finished for him, as he hit the cool lake water and began to sink like a rock. Merlin couldn’t swim. It was one of the things Arthur had always teased him rather meanly about, at least when they were younger. He would say, “Everyone knows how to swim, Merlin. It doesn’t take much skill.” Maybe so, but it didn’t negate the fact that Merlin had never quite gotten the hang of the whole swimming thing. His mother had spent years trying to coax him into learning, but Merlin preferred dry land, thank you very much.

As he sank, all Merlin could think was how ironic it was that Arthur had just been handed the best opportunity for teasing ever presented to him and he was wasting it, showing concern for Merlin’s safety, of all stupid things. The thought made Merlin giddy, hysterical really. Or maybe it was just the lack of oxygen with the water starting to fill his lungs...

Merlin sputtered up water as he came to, aware of blurry shapes huddled around him. He focused on one of the shapes which turned out to be Arthur, dripping wet and hovering over him, a strange look of worry on his face.

“Jesus Christ, Merlin,” Arthur said, now scowling. “Thought you would have finally learned how to swim.” He stretched up and walked a few paces away, his back turned to Merlin, who was sprawled out on his back on the dock, leaving Percy and Leon still hunched over him.

“I’m so sorry, mate,” Percy said. “We had no idea. If Arthur hadn’t jumped in to save you--”

Wait. What?

He must have looked confused because Leon added, “Dove in and pulled you out. Did that mouth-to-mouth stuff to make you cough up water.”

Mouth-to-mouth stuff? Oh bugger.

Gwen and Freya were now running down the dock toward him, followed by Lance and Gwaine. Merlin saw Arthur trying to usher a worried-looking group of boys, their six along with Percy and Leon’s six, back up toward camp. Merlin was grateful. He hated being the centre of attention even if he had almost drowned and had had to be rescued and apparently resuscitated by Arthur Pendragon.

“Oh, Merlin!” Gwen exclaimed, kneeling down on the dock beside him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, feeling a little disoriented and shaky. Percy and Leon helped him sit up. “Yeah. Arthur rescued me. Gave me mouth-to-mouth.” Merlin giggled. “Does that make him my knight in shining armour?” What the hell. He was rambling. About knights. In shining armour. Giving mouth-to-mouth. Arthur’s lips on his. Again. Fuck.

Gwen smiled kindly at him. “I think you’re in shock, Merlin,” she told him. “Lance called for assistance and paramedics should be here soon to help you. Okay?”

Merlin nodded numbly. “Okay.”

**

Merlin had been left to rest in the cabin to counter the effects of mild shock (the paramedics Lance had called to the camp had determined there was no life-threatening physical shock symptoms) and to regain the strength that had been zapped by the experience of having almost drowned. He had slept for a little while and was now awake, contemplating getting up and maybe seeing if he would be allowed to take a hot shower.

The windows on the cabin front were wide open and a nice breeze was flowing in. Merlin suddenly heard voices being carried in with the breeze that sounded like they were coming from the path leading up to the cabin.

“What are you doing?”

“Coming round to see how Merlin’s doing,” he heard Gwaine say.

“He’s resting,” Arthur replied. Merlin’s mind was still a little foggy but was that a note of protectiveness he detected in Arthur’s voice?

“Shouldn’t you be with your campers?” Gwaine asked and Merlin thought it was a good question.

“Shouldn’t you?” Arthur returned snidely.

“Lance said he’d take point while I checked on Merlin.”

“Gwen’s looking after our group,” was Arthur’s short reply.

There was a full minute’s silence as though the two were sizing each other up, then Gwaine’s voice again.

“You knew Merlin couldn’t swim. Is that why you didn’t press him to go canoeing last week? Let him stay behind with the kid.”

“He hates the water,” Arthur said. “I didn’t see the point.”

Was that why Arthur had told him to stay behind with Gilli? Because he knew Merlin hated the water and couldn’t swim?

“You know,” said Gwaine, sounding thoughtful. “I really don’t get it. You jump in a lake without a thought, like some big hero, to save a bloke you can’t stand from drowning.”

“I can stand Merlin just fine,” he heard Arthur say which was followed by a snort from Gwaine. Merlin may have snorted himself. “So maybe he gets on my last nerve sometimes but--”

“Gets on your last nerve sometimes? You guys fight all the time,” Gwaine interjected. “And by fight, I mean you throw actual punches at each other. Or so I’ve heard.”

“So? Maybe I just like pulling his pigtails. It’s just kind of how we relate, I guess.”

Again with the pigtails. What the hell was it with these blasted pigtails?

Gwaine huffed out a laugh. “How you relate? Are you serious? You know that’s fucked up, right?”

“Yeah.” Merlin heard Arthur huff out a laugh too.

“Look, I could be reading this all wrong,” said Gwaine, “but I don’t think so.” Then he said something that made Merlin bolt upright in his bed. “Some advice, Pendragon. Maybe you should try relating with your lips instead of your fists.”

“What?” came Arthur’s response.

What? Merlin echoed in his head.

“Lips,” Gwaine repeated.

There was the unmistakable sound of exaggerating kissing noises (Gwaine) followed by fitful coughing (Arthur) then a hearty laugh (Gwaine). Merlin had to restrain himself from going into a coughing fit. He covered his mouth with a hand to stifle any outburst. He did not want Gwaine and Arthur to know he was listening.

But seriously. Kissing?

Merlin’s mind looped back to the argument or whatever that was between them in the woods. Arthur had grabbed him and had kissed him – true. And the kiss had felt warm and gentle and amazing. But then Arthur had given him a shove and had told him to “fuck off”. It hadn’t exactly been the most tender or romantic of moments. As far as Merlin was concerned, it had just been Arthur being Arthur.

And what about all this pigtail pulling? Merlin did have to concede that what Arthur said made some sense. They always did relate best through confrontation, which was sometimes verbal and sometimes physical. As far as physical fights went, they were relatively tame. A split lip here, bloody nose there, an occasional black eye. Their fights never amounted to anything serious. Merlin wouldn’t want to actually hurt Arthur – or wreck his gorgeous face but Merlin really didn’t want to go there right now – and he was pretty sure Arthur wouldn’t want to actually hurt him (though he had almost broken Merlin’s nose with a punch over some stupid argument when they were fourteen). The truth was, of all the people in Merlin’s life, Arthur was the one he actually felt closest to, besides his mother, of course. He knew that probably sounded stupid but Merlin couldn’t imagine Arthur not being in his life. Arthur was like gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe. A solid, strangely comforting, if often annoying, presence. The fact that he and Arthur would be going their separate ways at the end of the summer – Merlin would be going off to Albion U and Arthur to Camelot University – bothered Merlin more than he was willing to admit. Arthur Pendragon might be the boy Merlin wanted to punch in the face most of the time, but he was also – and he was aware this sounded completely ludicrous – the one Merlin considered his...well, probably his best friend.

Which explained why Merlin was confused about everything, but especially confused about his feelings for Arthur Pendragon. Why it made him miserable when Arthur ignored him or didn’t talk to him. Why the thought of Arthur actually hating him made him hurt like crazy. Why Arthur kissing him had made his insides tumble.

Maybe Gwaine was right. Maybe what they needed to do was figure out a way that they could relate to each other that involved their lips pressing against each other’s instead of--

“Hey,” Arthur said suddenly, startling Merlin out of his thoughts. He was leaning against the door frame, his expression looking almost...tender?

“Hey.”

“You doing okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Told Lance I’d check on you.” Arthur crossed his arms and then uncrossed them, looking uncomfortably awkward. Then he said, “Gwaine was by to see how you were doing.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Arthur said. He turned to leave, saying, “I’ll bring you back something to eat if you want to go have a shower.”

“Okay.”

Arthur was then gone and Merlin was left sitting in his bunk, his heart hammering in his chest, certain he would never be capable of coherent (more than one-word, that is) speech around Arthur Pendragon ever again.

**

Merlin recovered quickly from the trauma of almost drowning, though he was finding it difficult to recover from the other trauma – the one that involved feelings for Arthur Pendragon that Merlin was pretty sure had something to do with having a crush on or actually being in love with the prat.

It didn’t help that Arthur was being overly nice to him, carrying on the whole knight in shining armour routine, checking to make sure he was feeling okay, asking him if he needed anything, taking the boys swimming or to the climbing wall and letting Merlin relax and do whatever he wanted. It was strange and awkward – Merlin couldn’t ever remember Arthur being even a tenth this nice to him – but it also warmed his heart and sent his insides a-flutter.

But by the second day, Merlin had had enough of this new nice-as-pie and all-accommodating Arthur. He might have figured out that he was in love with Arthur Pendragon (and probably had been since he was eight years old, if he dared to admit it)and wanted to kiss him instead of fighting with him, but Merlin sort of missed the days where thoughts of strangling Arthur in his sleep predominated. He knew those thoughts, understood them, was strangely comforted by them. These new thoughts, however, and these feelings....they were surely going to be the death of him.

Merlin sat on the step outside the cabin, letting the glow of the moonlight soothe him. The boys had been ‘ordered’ to bed an hour ago and Merlin figured that meant at least three of them were probably asleep. As usual, the camp leaders were relaxing around the campfire but Merlin had elected to stay behind at the cabin tonight, wanting to sift through his own feelings and thoughts.

Somehow it didn’t surprise him to see Arthur coming up the path to their cabin shortly after Merlin had thought he had finally managed to stop thinking about him.

Arthur sat down on the step beside him and slid Merlin a sideways glance. “Watcha doing?” he asked.

“Thinking,” replied Merlin.

“About what?”

You, thought Merlin, but what he said was, “Can I ask you something?”

“Um, sure,” Arthur said.

“Why are you always such a prat to me?” Merlin hadn’t known he was going to ask that question but he supposed it was the question he hoped he’d get an honest answer to. He needed to why Arthur pulled his pigtails, needed to know if Gwen was right.

Arthur didn’t answer right away. Instead, he shifted around some, looking out toward the lake then letting his gaze fall to his feet before settling it back on Merlin – and was Arthur actually blushing? Finally, he said, “Maybe I just want your attention.”

Merlin thought again about what Gwen had said – that Arthur pulled his pigtails to get his attention and pulled them even harder when he felt Merlin was giving too much attention to someone or something else. Like when he shoved Merlin then kissed him after Merlin went on about Gwaine offering to show him around the Albion U campus. Because Merlin’s attention had been on Gwaine, not Arthur. Or like when Arthur had almost broken Merlin’s nose when they were fourteen over some perceived transgression on Arthur’s part that Merlin couldn’t fathom but now remembered might have had something to do with Merlin following around some cute, green-eyed exchange student like a lovesick puppy dog. Or how despicably loathsome Arthur could be when Merlin’s cousin and friend Will was around. Or like how Arthur had punched Merlin in the face after Merlin had made a crack that last week of school about how ecstatic he was that he’d never have to see Arthur’s ugly face again after graduation.

God, Merlin had been so stupid. Gwen had been right. Arthur was crushing on him and pulling Merlin’s pigtails – sometimes really, really hard - was Arthur’s way of trying to get his attention.

“You’re such an idiot,” Merlin told him and watched Arthur’s jaw drop in indignation. Before Arthur could muster up a retort, Merlin continued, “You already have my attention, Arthur. God. You’ve had my attention since we were freakin’ eight years old.”

“You mean when you insulted the honour of my knights then proceeded to smote them?” Arthur replied, but Merlin could see the corner of his mouth tipping up in a half-grin.

“You called my dragon stupid,” Merlin responded. “Besides, your knights were plastic.”

Arthur shrugged. “Yeah. But it was the only project my father ever showed an interest in and helped me with.”

“I didn’t know that.” Merlin was silent for a minute then said, “My dad was a bit of an expert on dragon lore. He left all these books behind so my mom gave them to me to read. I was fascinated with dragons after that.” He looked down at his feet, suddenly feeling embarrassed.

“Oh.” Merlin looked up to find Arthur’s gentle gaze on him. “I didn’t know that.”

“Well, I suppose this may come as a surprise,” Merlin said, “but maybe there’s actually some things we don’t know about each other.”

“Yeah,” Arthur conceded. Then he said, “I’m sorry I called your dragon stupid, Merlin. It was pretty awesome actually.”

“Really? Well, apology ten years late but, uh, thanks.” He looked out toward the moonlit lake then peeked over at Arthur. “So are we...are we okay?” Merlin asked him. He really didn’t know where they were supposed to go from here.

Arthur blew out a sigh and surprised him by saying, “Fuck, Merlin, I don’t know. In a few weeks, you go off to Albion U and I go off to Camelot. And I really don’t know if I’m okay with that.”

Merlin was puzzled. What exactly was Arthur not okay with?

Arthur looked like he was debating with himself so Merlin prodded him on with a raise of his eyebrow. Arthur finally let out a resigned breath and said, “I know this is going to sound really stupid. But you’re--” He raked a hand through his hair and blew out another heavy sigh. “Fuck, Merlin. You’re kind of like my...” he paused, seeming to consider his words, “...well, you’re kind of like my best friend,” Arthur conceded.

“I am?”

“Yeah. But don’t let it go to your head,” Arthur warned. He bumped Merlin’s shoulder with his. “You still have ridiculous ears.”

Merlin grinned. “Yeah, but you like my ridiculous ears,” he said without thinking.

Arthur looked down at his feet and may have blushed. “I kinda do, actually,” Arthur admitted, which made Merlin definitely blush.

A few awkward minutes passed. “Look, I’ve been thinking,” Arthur said finally, sliding a shy glance at Merlin. “Maybe we should...try something.”

“Try something?” Merlin had a pretty good idea what Arthur wanted to try but he wanted to hear Arthur say it.

“Yeah,” Arthur replied, and Merlin could see the rosy blush now settling over his cheekbones.

“Like, uh...like kissing.”

“Kissing?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “What are you, a parrot? You keep repeating everything I say. Really, Merlin, you are the most infuria--”

Merlin didn’t let him finish. Instead, he abruptly leaned in and pressed his lips to Arthur’s. Arthur expressed a startled grunt but then started kissing Merlin back, pushing his tongue past Merlin’s lips to explore his mouth. Merlin thought it was the most brilliant thing ever.

“Finally!”

This broke the liplock and tongue tango and Merlin and Arthur turned to see a pyjama-clad Mordred standing in the cabin doorway behind them.

“I gotta pee,” he told them. “I’ve been waiting for the last half hour for you two to snog already so Merlin can bring me to the bathrooms.”

Merlin honestly didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He figured laughing would garner him less embarrassment and far less teasing. “Okay, okay,” he said, still laughing, as Mordred started pulling him toward the bathrooms. Obviously, the kid really had to go.

When they returned from the bathrooms and Mordred had been ushered back into the cabin to bed with a parting, “Go back to kissy-facing with Arthur”, Merlin – now completely embarrassed and wishing a hole would open up so he could jump into it – settled back on the step next to a grinning Arthur.

“Don’t you dare ever say ‘kissy-facing’ in my presence,” Merlin warned him. “Or I will punch you in the face.”

Arthur chuckled and Merlin narrowed his eyes at him. “I won’t, promise,” he said then, “But I do have a proposition for you.” Merlin raised his eyebrows. “Let’s say whenever you have the urge to punch me in the face,” Arthur proposed, “you use your lips and kiss me instead.”

Merlin gave Arthur an incredulous look. Did Arthur realize Merlin thought about punching him at least ten times a day? “You know that means there’s gonna be a lot of kissing.”

Arthur lifted his eyebrows then threw his head back and laughed. Merlin took that to mean that Arthur was okay with that.

**

They spent as much time together as they could the last week of camp, sneaking off into the woods when they were able to snog each other senseless, slipping their hands into each other’s pants to jerk each other off, and sometimes rutting against each other until one or both came. One time, to Merlin’s surprise and utter amazement, Arthur had even gotten down on his knees and had sucked Merlin. Merlin couldn’t help blushing even now, remembering the way he had bucked his hips forward and had come – hot and hard - down Arthur’s throat.

They still argued and fought like cats and dogs. It was, after all, how they best related and Merlin really couldn’t expect Arthur to stop being a prat overnight. On the plus side, their arguments and fights led to really brilliant make-up make-out sessions and Merlin was finally getting close to being able to ignore the smirking and teasing that came from the boys whenever he and Arthur tried to slip away for some ‘alone time’.

**

The day finally came, though, when camp ended and the boys had to go home. Merlin and Arthur helped them pack and the boys all exchanged email addresses with each other and with Merlin and Arthur, and Merlin promised them that he would dutifully reply to all emails he received while Arthur grinned and rolled his eyes at him.

Merlin would not have said it was a tearful goodbye exactly, except that it was – for Merlin at least. He waved and waved until the last car with the last kid pulled away and then he tried to surreptitiously brush the tears that had collected in his eyes away without the other camp leaders noticing, but he was pretty sure Gwen, Lance and Gwaine and probably also Freya, Percy and Leon had caught him at it. Arthur, of course, heckled him mercilessly about it afterward but then he let Merlin sleep in his bunk with him that night to make up for it and they spent pretty much the whole night kissing and groping and kissing some more, so Merlin figured he could forgive him.

Merlin had returned from the showers on leaving day and saw that Arthur had dumped all of Merlin’s stuff out of the cupboards and drawers onto the floor in a heap next to his duffle bag. Merlin goggled. He had asked Arthur to take his clothes out with his own while Merlin went to shower and to set them next to his bag for Merlin to pack, and he clearly remembered hearing Arthur say that he would do this – not throw his clothes out onto the floor into a big, gigantic heap.

“Ugh!” Merlin exclaimed, still goggling. “You are such a--”

“A what?” Arthur asked, a grin playing at his lips.

“Jerk. Pisshead. Arse. Prick. Prat. Jackass. Donkey.”

“You done?” Arthur’s grin grew smugly.

Merlin sniffed. “I guess.”

Arthur cocked an eyebrow and regarded Merlin for a moment. “Donkey? Really?”

Merlin shrugged. “If the tail fits,” he couldn’t help goading.

Arthur narrowed his eyes at him. “Tail? I thought you said it was shoe.”

“Whatev--”

But Arthur fisted Merlin’s t-shirt and yanked him forward, covering his mouth hotly with his own, rendering Merlin incapable of further speech.

“Good to know that shuts you up,” Arthur teased when he finally pulled his mouth away.

Out of habit, Merlin glared at Arthur but couldn’t maintain the glare long. Not when Arthur was looking hot and bothered and staring at Merlin’s lips like he wanted to ravish him some more.

“I can’t believe I’m going to say this,” Merlin said, suddenly feeling a little bit sad now that the reality of camp being over was finally settling in. “But I think I’m really going to miss you.”

Arthur touched his forehead to Merlin’s. “We’ve still got two weeks before we start uni,” he said softly. “And then I’m gonna visit you at Albion and you’re gonna visit me at Camelot. So we’re gonna be together. A lot. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“You’ll probably get sick of me with the amount of together we’re gonna be,” Arthur added for further convincing.

“Yeah, probably.”

Arthur glared at him then burst out laughing.

**

Merlin and Arthur walked to the car park area, their duffle bags swung over one shoulder, the pinkie fingers of their free hands entwined. They could hear their parents bickering even before they saw them.

Hunith Emrys and Uther Pendragon looked over when their sons came into view, their eyes drifting to the boys’ hands, which seemed to stop them in their tracks, all words lost as their mouths fell open.

Arthur grinned at Merlin. “Wow. This might actually be the first time they’ve been rendered speechless.”

Merlin hummed in response and grinned back.

“You know,” Arthur said, “maybe your mom and my dad should hook up.”

Merlin raised an eyebrow. “What? Are you nuts? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Really? Because I’m sure I’ve heard you say stupider.”

Merlin was getting that familiar urge so, keeping in tune with Arthur’s suggestion, he jerked Arthur toward him and planted a kiss on his mouth.

“Oh, if hand-holding made them speechless,” Arthur whispered, “I can only imagine what effect you kissing me just had on them.”

Merlin really didn’t want to know. He let go of Arthur’s hand and approached his mother, her mouth still hanging open, giving her a peck on the cheek as she wrapped him in a hug.

“I take it camp went well,” Hunith said, glancing over at Arthur, who was greeting his father with a handshake.

“Very well,” Merlin said, smiling.

“So I’m guessing you and Arthur aren’t going to be fighting anymore?” his mother said.

“Oh we’ll probably still fight but I think we’ll find a way to make up,” he told her then blushed when he realized what he had just said.

Arthur and his father were coming over to them. Uther Pendragon had a constipated look on his face but Arthur was grinning.

Uther cleared his throat. “Yes, well,” he said uncomfortably. He cleared his throat and tried again, this time addressing Hunith. “My son and I would very much like to invite you and Merlin to dinner.”

Hunith Emrys raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yes,” said Uther, who appeared to be regaining his usual confidence.

“Well,” said Hunith, and was that a blush Merlin saw on her cheeks? “Then we’d very much like to accept.”

Uther smiled and Hunith blushed some more.

“Hook up,” Arthur coughed as they followed their smiling and blushing parents to their respective cars.

Merlin went for a smack upside Arthur’s head and was only mildly disappointed when Arthur was able to deflect his attempt and pulled him in for a kiss instead.

**