So, it would seem by 'play with the puppy' I actually meant start a new story, have a sleep over and work for eight hours. Oops. Apologies for the later than usual update. I did warn you all they would slow down soon enough. Still though. Sorry. I shall do my best to ensure the next chapter doesn't take as long. If it helps, this one is uber long. Like, almost 3000 words long. Is that too much? Oh well.

I'll admit I'm a bit nervous about this one; I don't know if it quite works. I think that's because it's rather fluffy and I'm not good with that type of thing. So, hopefully it's alright, but any constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated. Thanks so so much to all of you supporting this story in any way. You make writing just that much more fun. I love getting all of your reviews and every single one makes me smile. You're all aces in my book ;)

"Hey, Freya! Catch!" Freya brought her hands out just in time to catch the can of coke that was suddenly flying through the air. She looked down from her perch in the tree to smile at Merlin. "You're getting better," he praised with a smirk, holding a can of his own.

Freya rolled her eyes. "And you're trying to catch me off guard."

"Me? Never."

"What would you have done if I'd lost my balance trying to catch that, hmm?" Freya asked teasingly. "What then?"

"I'd catch you," Merlin replied simply. Freya laughed, leaning back into the tree to hide her blush. Merlin grinned and reached up to the lowest branch, pulling himself up with his drink held under one arm. After a bit of struggling and scrabbling he settled himself next to Freya on the large, sturdy branch that stuck out slightly from the others of the tree. Their legs swung aimlessly in the air as they sat in companionable silence, sipping from their drinks.

It had been a week since the incident at school, and Oswald had left Merlin alone. His brother's group had still been a bit wary, and he hadn't missed the fact that at least one of them nearly always 'had a class near his'. But things had begun to settle down and Merlin was looking forward to moving on. Again. He sighed and dug a hand into the bark. He was over it, he was over it, it didn't bother him anymore, he was okay…

Freya noticed her friend's slight change in behaviour but didn't say anything. He still hadn't told her the full story about what had happened at school, though she'd gotten a good idea through word of mouth. Unfortunately it was hard to separate truth from reality in school gossip and while she highly doubted Oswald had thrown a chair at Merlin, other rumours were harder to sort through. But Merlin didn't want to talk about it, and she wouldn't press. She knew Oswald had a bit of bad history with Merlin's brother and his group, but they had fallen out before she and Merlin had become friends.

Freya thought back to the day she met Merlin. She couldn't believe it had only been late last year. It hadn't even been at school. They'd seen each other in class and in the halls, sure, but they'd never really talked. Not until Merlin stumbled across her on the snowy streets a week before Christmas. Literally.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there," the raven-haired boy says quickly, looking concerned. He looks over the girl in the dirty clothes and unwashed hair and frowns. She cringes, thinking it to be the kind of disapproving look she has been receiving all day, curled up in the doorway of a closed café. But when he speaks next, his voice is kind. "Are you okay?"

Freya nods quickly and averts her eyes from his bright blue ones. There is a slight pause when suddenly a shadow moves in front of her and the boy is crouching so they are face to face. He studies her openly for a moment but Freya's skin doesn't crawl like it does when some people stare. No, with him it feels much more... comfortable. Startling her, he reaches out a gloved hand. "Come with me."

It isn't an order. It isn't threatening, or pleading. It is just an offer, and Freya finds herself unable to refuse. She puts her cold hand in his and allows him to help her up. As she follows him down the street, he does not let go of her hand, and Freya is secretly glad.

They walk in silence for a few minutes, Freya wondering if she should ask where they are going, when the boy speaks up. "I know you, don't I?" He looks back at her in search of a response, and she nods timidly. She recognises him too. "From school, right?" Another nod. "What's your name?"

He has stopped walking and is facing her again, but still their hands remain intertwined. After only a second of hesitation, she murmurs "Freya."

Her companion smiles and she feels like that smile could warm her whole heart. "That's a lovely name. I'm Merlin."

Freya blushes. No one has told her they like her name before. And coming from this boy, Merlin… it makes her feel all fluttery inside. Merlin begins walking again and Freya follows, falling in step with him. Soon they have left the main shopping area and reached a small suburb with large houses and snow covered lawns. It is at this moment that she remembers she has no idea where they are going. She pauses, nervous, but then Merlin looks at her with that smile again, and her hand is warm in his, and she is following him once more.

They eventually stop outside a gate that guards an especially impressive house, and Merlin is trying to lead her up the path. This time she is more hesitant. "Where..?" she asks uncomfortably, drinking in the luxurious place before her.

"Don't worry, my family's nice. I thought you might just want to stay for dinner."

Freya's eyes land on Merlin and go as round as saucers. "What?" her voice is soft but the shock is clear.

Merlin frowns again, but again, it isn't the one of disapproval she fears. "I'm sorry. Did - did you not want to?" He asks as if the idea simply hasn't occurred to him. As if bringing strangers home to meet the family and share a meal is generally accepted in society.

But… does she want to? She doesn't want to go back to the café, and she doesn't want to let go of Merlin's hand. Still, though, surely his parents wouldn't appreciate him bringing home someone they've never met before, someone who is grimy and so clearly not in the same level of society. Surely it cannot end well. Freya looks Merlin in those strong, worried blue eyes, and slowly, hesitantly, she nods her head. "I would like to. Please."

The grin she receives in return is worth every butterfly in her stomach. "Excellent!"

Dinner turns into dinner and a hot shower, Merlin's kind mother Hunith (who really doesn't look anything like him) promising to be right outside if she needs anything. Freya exits the shower feeling so clean, so warm and refreshed, she doesn't want to get back into her dirty clothes. But there lies another surprise - a light blue dress draped over the towel rack waiting for her. Seeing it, Freya has to fight back tears.

When Freya knocks on the frame of the open doorway to Merlin's room, the look he gives her makes her feel lighter than she has in a long time. "Feeling better?" he asks.

She nods, hoping she can convey her gratefulness through her eyes, for she certainly can never do it with words. Still, she tries. "Thank you," she says, "for everything."

Merlin waves it away. "Just helping out a friend." As if today isn't the very first time they have talked. As if he hadn't invited a relative stranger off the streets and into his home. She watches him through her lashes from the doorway until finally Merlin says "you can come in, you know." He sounds amused, but gentle, and Freya finds herself walking in to sit down on the edge of the bed next to him. There is a moment of silence where Merlin quietly studies Freya and Freya quietly studies the floor. Finally, he says what she has been dreading. "Do you mind if I ask… what you were doing there?" And still there is that kindness, that gentleness that drew her to him, made her want to hold him and feel safe in his arms. But instead she shakes her head and shifts further away from him.

"I can't."

"Why?"

"I… it… scares off most people." Freya risks a glance in Merlin's direction to see him smiling at her, a twinkle in his eye.

"I'm not most people."

Freya had ended up telling him everything. About her cruel uncle, who had been forced to look after her over the Christmas break. Who had drunk and yelled and swore and thrown things, and threatened her to never come back. She could still remember the way Merlin had tried and failed to hide the rage within him, how he had hugged her before quickly letting go and apologising, and how she had hugged him back because she had never felt safer in anyone's embrace.

She remembered staying with them for the next week, meeting Merlin's older siblings, having the whole guest room to herself, and how she and Merlin had quickly bonded over long talks in the backyard, and BBC reruns on TV. She stayed with them until her parents came home. They had lectured her for leaving her uncle's, for staying with someone they didn't know, for not telling anyone where she had gone. They had grounded her for a month. She hadn't told them about why she had left in the first place, for her uncle had been there, steaming with anger right behind them.

She hadn't had to stay with her uncle since. But still Merlin would ask, about how she was doing, if she had seen him, how her parents were treating her, if she had changed her mind about telling someone. He always asked, was always concerned, always wanted to know about her and her life.

Freya so wanted to repay the favour. She did, as much as she could. Whenever Merlin was upset or tired or sick, she would be there for him. It wasn't just out of some sense of duty or favour. She genuinely wanted to be a part of his life, as he did with her.

But still there were things she did not know. She didn't know how he came to be living with the Pendragons, nor did she know his history with Oswald, the older boy. Occasionally Merlin would get quiet, and she would ask him about it, and he would brush it off. It wasn't often. But it did happen, and Freya couldn't deny it hurt. She just hoped one day he could break down those last few barriers and talk to her. She would be patient until then. For him.

"Oi, Merlin!" Arthur called up from the base of the tree, car keys in hand. Merlin was pleased to see Lancelot with him and Leon. Arthur hadn't explained why he'd suddenly stopped talking his friend so soon after finally accepting him, but was glad whatever it was had been resolved. "We're meeting the others at the movies. Won't be back until late. Can you let mom know when she gets home?"

"Yup," Merlin nodded. Arthur and his friends began to walk away, but Merlin had a sudden idea. "Hang on, Arthur!" His brother didn't even get a chance to turn around before he felt an empty can hitting the back of his head. He turned around with a glare that would make lesser men quiver, while Leon sniggered and Lancelot hid a smile. "Can you put that in the bin for me?"

"I'm not picking up after your lazy ass," huffed Arthur, once again turning to walk away.

"But - "

"And have fun explaining to Mom why you're littering on her lawn." The three older boys were soon around the corner of the house and out of sight. Considering Arthur's last words, Merlin sighed and began to carefully climb back down the tree and pick up the can. Freya didn't bother hiding a giggle when he misjudged the last branch and fell on his face near the base of the trunk.

"I feel I'm being a bit unfairly judged," complained Lancelot, walking with Arthur and Leon through the shopping complex to the cinemas.

Arthur shook his head. "Nope. Sorry Lancelot, but you say you've never seen Die Hard and I'm afraid that's treason of the highest order in my books." Leon nodded seriously to emphasise the point. "You're just lucky the cinemas are having a marathon. We can nip this right in the butt."

Lancelot sighed but continued to follow, secretly grateful; he preferred this being Arthur's biggest problem with him. Arthur had acted like nothing had happened the day after he'd blown up (he couldn't help but wonder if Merlin had something to do with that) and Lancelot was quite happy to go along with it. He could see Arthur stiffen whenever they heard some other student talking about the fight - if they could call it that - but it seemed no one really knew exactly what happened or what had started it. It was a mystery Lancelot now knew to leave alone.

Suddenly Arthur groaned and Lancelot came out of his thoughts to see what the problem was. Two girls, probably just slightly older than themselves, were walking up to them with their arms interlocked. One had bleach blonde hair falling over her shoulders in rivulets, the other jet black that came down to her lower back in waves, but they had identical smirks on their faces that was almost creepy.

"Arthur," the darker haired one said upon reaching them, "I see you've added another one to your little posse." Her voice was cold and mocking.

"Morgana," Arthur greeted unhappily. He gave a quick nod to the blonde one. "Morgause." His attention turned back to the first girl, Morgana. As Lancelot studied her, he could see a sort of familiarity to the shape of her eyes, the arch of her nose, but couldn't quite place it. "What are you doing here?"

"Can't two girls go shopping on a Saturday afternoon?" Morgause asked, her eyes glinting.

Arthur barely acknowledged her. "You told Mom you were going camping this weekend." Ah, so that was it. They were siblings. But Morgana seemed to take more after Hunith than Arthur did. In looks, at least.

Morgause laughed and Morgana simply rolled her eyes. "Yes, and I always tell her nothing but the truth. Grow up, Arthur."

"Not sure I'm the one that needs to grow up, Morgana," replied Arthur coolly.

With a sneer Morgana turned to Lancelot. "So who's this? I didn't know you needed another lapdog."

Lancelot watched Arthur's fists clench in frustration, his jaw set. Leon was standing behind him just slightly, looking annoyed, but remaining silent. Instead of answering the question (though it seemed highly unlikely Morgana was actually interested) he mumbled "look, just stop lying to Mom. Please. You know how it hurts her."

A dainty hand with long, pale fingers came up to Morgana's pouty lips in mock upset. Morgause snickered at the movement. "Oh, how I would hate to hurt dear mother," she said, and the way her eyes twinkled made Lancelot feel ever so slightly sick. Without another word she and Morgause pushed through them and continued to walk, whispering to each other with those sickening smirks still in place.

"Ummm… lovely girl," said Lancelot hesitantly. Arthur just snorted.

"I used to actually believe we were related, but now…" he shook his head. "No way do I have the same blood as that witch."

They continued on their way, the mood slightly subdued after the cold meeting, but things soon warmed up when they saw their friends waiting outside the cinemas.

"There they are!" Gwaine called, a ridiculously large bucket of popcorn in his hands. Percival was leaning on his shoulder, occasionally swiping a handful for himself, and Elyan had a half-finished slushie in his hands. "You guys took your sweet time."

"You sure you didn't just get here early to fill up on popcorn?" asked Arthur, nodding to the bucket. Gwaine gave him a look of almost-incredulity.

"You can never 'fill up' on popcorn, mate."

Don't worry, I'm not skimming the Oswald issue or forgetting about it - I just don't want to rush anything by bringing it all out right away. Hope you enjoyed :) Till next time!