Things That Merlin Isn't Allowed To Do (According to Prince Arthur)
23: Bath In Open Rivers/Lakes Without A Prince To Guard Him

Gentle sunrays from the red-hued setting sun seek their way through the foliage, landing in a mossy clearing: six men in armour and red cloaks are gathered in the centre. There's also a youth with dark hair, stirring the stew that's boiling over the campfire. They're all happy: the journey to the neighboring kingdom was long and rainy, but they were welcomed well and the negotiations were successful, gaining Camelot another strong ally. The whole way back to the city has been uneventful with good weather, not a drop of rain in sight.

"It's been a successful week," says Leon while taking a bite off his bread and cheese. "But stressful as well. It'll be good to come back to Camelot and get some proper rest."

The other knights hum in agreement.

"Yeah. And visit the tavern!"

Lancelot elbows Gwaine in the stomach playfully. "Sometimes I wonder if you ever think of anything else."

"Of course I do!" Gwaine sounds affronted. "Like sword-skills. Beer. Fighting. Ale. Women - pretty women. And apples of course. And beautiful young men (for example one or two Camelot's royal manservants) when they pass by. Mmm..." Sighing dreamily, his eyes glaze over, and he smiles happily caught in some day-dream.

Lancelot shakes his head. "I don't think I want to know the rest."

The servant smiles watching their behaviour out of the corner of his eye. Some things never change. The smile lingering, he spoons up some stew into the bowls, presenting it to the knights in turn, starting with the prince. Arthur flashes him a grateful, loving look, but quickly covers it up since the knights are there: "It seems we've finally found something you can do without making a complete idiot of yourself."

"Prat," Merlin retorts, but smiling because he knows that tone of voice: it means Arthur honestly thanks and compliments him, and the words are merely a layer for Arthur's prattish protection, he won't admit stuff like that out loud - though when in private, just the two of them, there's no hindering him from telling Merlin how wonderful he is, how much he appreciates him; words that warms Merlin's spine and heart.

"That smells lovely, Merlin," Leon says, thankful. "I'm famished! We're lucky to have one of the best cooks of the kingdom with us, men."

The warlock blushes faintly. He's not used to getting openly praised like that, though it is very nice.

"Me too. Thank you." Gwaine accepts a bowl, greedily starting to eat. "It tastes great! There wouldn't happen to be any beer, by any chance?"

"No," Elyan says, rolling his eyes at his companion. "You emptied all the bottles on the way here, remember?"

"Oh." Realization dawning, the knight frowns. "Yeah. Now I do. Pity."

"And I'm extremely relieved," Arthur says from across the fire; "having to stand another night with drunken Gwaine would've been hell."

"What! I like to sing that song."

"Sing it again and I'll cut off something precious of yours," is the prince's darkly muttered reply. The men laughs good-heartedly, ignoring the knight's protest ("I'm a great singer! I've been asked to perform in taverns far and wide, I'll have you know!")

While this commonplace conversation was taking place, Merlin has wolfed down his meal and has got an idea. They passed by a stream some ten minutes before making camp, not far west from here, and when he strains his ears he can hear the faint rush of water; riding for hours under heavy sunlight has made his skin itching to get clean. So he quietly gathers his pack, where he's put some spare clothes, and glances over his shoulder at the fire. The sun isn't fully down yet, and there are no dangerous animals or bandits around for miles. It'll be OK, and Arthur and the knights seem busy anyway, joking about Gwaine's last tavern encounter.

But Arthur notices, of course, head twisting to look at him. "Where are you going?" he asks suspiciously.

"I'm going to go down the river and bathe. If that's all right."

Immediately, Gwaine jumps to his feet, full of enthusiasm and completely forgetting about the story he was in the middle of telling. He grins, stepping up to Merlin with a wink. "I can accompany you! I need to take a wash anyway, I'm all dirty and sweaty."

"NO!"

Everyone turns to look at Arthur. Who blushes slightly, and lowers his voice from a roar of anger to a firm order. "No. You're going to gather firewood eastward with Leon." (Insert icy glare here.) "Elyan, Percival, Lancelot – you're staying here guarding camp."

"We've already got firewood!" Leon and Gwaine points at the rather large pile of wood, its size indicating it could last for the whole night through without a problem.

"What's there to guard here? Shouldn't we help and guard Merlin, sire? I mean - there could be ... bandits by the lake, or...or giant dangerous fish," Percival says doing his best puppy-look.

Merlin's got a certain weakness for cute, adorable things. But he kind of doubts that thing about giant fish ... and even if there are such threats, he's got his magic to defend himself. And even if Percival and the other's willingness to help is nice, bathing is private to him, Merlin isn't used to doing it in someone else's company and well, he knows they'd, umm, stare a lot at him. Which isn't... It's not something he's very comfortable with. So he glances at Arthur almost pleadingly. He'd only meant for a quick dip to get rid of the smell! Not for the knights start arguing who's to go with him.

Arthur catches the look, and even if he hadn't he wouldn't have the knights going anywhere near his Merlin's (naked) vicinity.

So he pins them with a furious blazing gaze. "You. Firewood. Now." He points at the shadowed forest, in the opposite direction of the stream; his voice so stern that Gwaine and Leon automatically jump to their feet and the prince lays a hand on the hint of his sword in warning, so the two grudgingly trudges off. Then, the prince glares at the remaining nights. "Stay!" he barks, the tone making them wince.

"Yes sire!"

The suddenly gloomy knights part ways. Percival sinks down to sit again, throwing a stick into the fire, watching Merlin's retreating back longingly.

"Sire," Lancelot suddenly speaks up, "I need to - uhm, nature calls."

Arthur grimaces, and points eastward.

The knight dashes up and away in the blink of an eye.

()()()

From behind a nice green shrubbery, two voices are whispering back and forth in urgency.

"Ow. Stop stepping on my...Ouch! That's my toe!"

"Shh!"

"This was your idea!"

"You're the one who agreed to it!"

"Move over - here he comes..."

"I was here first, I deserve the better view!"

"OUCH! My-!"

"Quiet!"

Glancing back at the shrubbery he passes on his walk to the stream, to admire how green and strangely nicely trimmed it seems, Merlin pauses moment as he hears a sound, like a whisper or the flutter of leaves. But then it goes totally quiet. He shrugs, and continues on: it's probably just a squirrel.

()()()

Arthur doesn't follow Merlin. Of course. He doesn't. Not the whole way down to the river. Of course not. He's a honorable man, not some peeping tom.

He isn't.

...Seriously.

Okay. So maybe he waits for maybe five, six minutes before turning in Merlin's direction but only to make sure there were no thieves, monsters, lecherous knights or giant fish nearby. Honestly.

()()()

Humming happily, Merlin sinks into the water. The temperature is just right, the heat of the sun lingering making the surface warm. This is really nice. He's not had a quiet moment for himself like this for awhile; nice solitary lakes and meadows are hard to come by when things are busy in Camelot. Slowly he wades out from the shore, testing the water's depth, then dives in. The water is rather clear, whooshing past his ears, and he breaks the surface with a big grin on his face. He's not bathed in open waters for months - he's missed this.

Taking another breath, the plunges beneath the surface again, exploring the bottom of the water, enjoying the almost weight-less feeling - Merlin takes a few firm strokes, before his lungs begins to demand air. So he turns upwards, crossing the watery barrier and exhales, inhales.

And comes face to face with a bush.

A bush with two pair of eyes in it.

()()()

When he hears the shriek, Arthur's heart almost stops, his whole body momentarily freezing up. He knows that voice. Oh god! flashes through his brain, every one of his nerves suddenly on highest danger-alert, Merlin! Merlin's in danger!, and he breaks into a run.

()()()

Arms flailing, Merlin stumbles. Well, as well as one can stumble in water. It takes a moment to regain his footing. He's still unable to tear his gaze away from the bush with the eyes in it.

Then he realizes he recognizes those eyes and then he realizes that those eyes are staring at him quite intensely, and he wraps his arms around his torso trying to shield himself, breathing rather fast.

The eyes move, coming closer and two faces come into view. Their expressions are a mix between jaws-slack-in-awe and eyes-wide-in-shock, and there's a streak of guilty as well.

"G-Gwaine! Leon!"

"...I couldn't resist," the knights say in unison, both trying their best to imitate a kicked puppy so that they'll be forgiven but they're kind of unfocused, unable to stop their treacherous gaze from roaming over the servant in all his naked glory.

"Yeah, I mean - you're very ... You look positively edible," Gwaine breathes, coming out further from the tangly bush.

Which is the moment a flash of red and silver crashes through the woods like hell itself was on his tail, sword drawn, yelling at the top of his voice. "STAY AWAY FROM HIM!"

The knights wince and retreat (wisely), and this time Merlin does fall backwards, nearly jumping out of his skin in fright. Spluttering for air he breaks the surface and then someone's grabbed his upper arm, pulling him toward the opposite shore where the knights are: dazes, Merlin looks over his shoulder at Arthur's red, steaming-with-fury face.

"Er," Merlin says, trying to form some kind of comprehensible words.

I thought I'd finally get some peace and quiet.

Arthur continues to glare daggers at the knights, in a manner which should scar them for the rest of their lives, while wrapping his red cloak around Merlin's bare, wet body, to protect it from those damned knights' view.

"What is it," he growls, "about the word 'order' you don't understand?"

"Uh ..." sir Leon is the first to speak. Abruptly he covers his eyes with his hands. "I'm sorry sire, I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry (please don't kill me)!"

Gwaine grins loopsidedly. "Uhm, I'm with him."

"A SIMPLE APOLOGY WON'T DO!" is the angry reply, underlying with the meaning that the journey back to Camelot and the next few weeks will be full of suffering and pain; border patrol and extra duties and restrictions to taverns, and other such terrible, terrible things.

Why did I even think I'd get some peace and quiet? Merlin wonders, incredulous, shaking his head. Arthur is really on the edge, and Merlin has seen him in this kind of mood before to know not to argue with him. Thus, he doesn't complain when the prince lifts him into his strong arms to carry him back to camp bridal-style.

(Not that Merlin would've complained about it in any case.)

()()()

Five minutes later:

They're greeted by a panicked looking Elyan and Percival. Their panic turns to astonishment at seeing the state of the prince, servant and knights however.

"Sire! Merlin! What's happened? We heard a terrible cry, and we feared-"

"We're all right," Merlin hurries to say. "I mean - I'm fine. Just a ... misunderstanding."

"MISUNDERSTANDING? You call it merely a MISUNDERSTANDING? Argh, I'm going to show you MISUNDERSTANDING!"

Awkwardly, as it's quite awkward to pat someone's shoulder when you're lying in their arms while trying to keep your body covered by just a thin piece of fabric, Merlin lays a hand on the prince's upper arm, attempting to calm him. "Arthur, you've been yelling at them for the last five minutes. And saying some quite horrible things too. Just look at them!" He points at the two quivering knights who are trying to take cover behind the bulky Percival. "They're as scared as little hares in front of a hunter! Please leave them be now, Arthur, or they'll never make it back to Camelot whole."

It might hinder the prince from shouting the foulest things known to man or draw his sword, but he continues to grumble a stream of threats under his breath, and Merlin decides it's best to continue pet his arm and murmur sweetly (who knows, he might calm down enough for Gwaine and Leon to return to their wits).

()()()

Seven minutes later:

A knight emerges from the woods and is met by a disbelieving, disapproving stare.

"You were peeing the whole time?"

"... I'm honest, sire!"

()()()

Twenty-eight minutes later:

There are now two fires. One before which the prince is seated, and the other where the knights are huddled (avoiding to glance at the other fire, no matter how much they want to. Or not want to. Arthur death-glares them down every time; it's not a nice experience.)

"Arthur, could you let me up and let me get my clothes now? As nice as it is sitting in your lap, you're wearing cold armour, and I'm still damp and cold, and your chainmail itches. And have I said cold?"

The prince shuffles Merlin closer to his body and them both closer to the fire.

Silence.

Merlin rolls his eyes. "So that's a no, then."