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"Stop doing that," Arthur said, his eyebrows furrowed, looking slightly irritated as he took the bowl just handed to him by Mordred.
"Doing what?" asked the youngest knight, still crouching, confused by the laughter of his fellow knights. His innocent appearance matched the way he expressed himself, fought, and was always ready to offer help.
The smell of the soup filled everyone’s noses as they chatted. They were all scattered yet somehow gathered around the campfire, the pot hot with the meal prepared by Merlin, who was also handing out the day’s food.
As Mordred wondered how these men couldn’t fill their own bowls except for an eager refill, how they could managed to sit and chat while only one of them worked.
Meanwhile, Merlin continued serving them, though attentive to the bubbling laughter.
"Behaving like a servant. That’s not your job," replied Leon calmly, exchanging whispered, tense words with Elyan, who seemed to care little but still carried a smile.
"Leave him," Lancelot retorted, already holding a bowl, one of the few who were less interested in the joke.
Mordred briefly stood up to grab another bowl and fill it.
"He’s playing the conquest game, Lance," Gwaine said, already on his feet, too eager to wait to refill his own bowl. "Just look at those beautiful green eyes, ready to help!"
Then, before filling it, he tousled the druid’s curls, who looked at him with contained irritation. Gwaine stared at his own hand in surprise, a bit too astonished.
"Oh," a daze openly crossing his features, "so that’s why Arthur is always touching you. So soft! Like a baby."
"I don’t fight like a baby. Last time I remember, I almoust beat you in a fight," Mordred replied, sitting on the ground near Lancelot, his words contained but still fierce. His cheeks flushed as he faced the standing knight.
"He is biting today, isn't he?" Asked Percy, a little too loud.
The knights nodded.
Gwaine already had a full bowl when he responded, pointing at him animatedly.
"Almoust isn’t winning, princess."
Arthur threw a piece of twig at the standing man.
"I am the king. So he is not a princess, but a royal maiden!" Arthur laughs.
"I am referring to him as your daughter. "
"Oh, that fits."
Merlin also sat down, too irritated to stay close to them, his disgruntled frown deepening as he angrily ate.
"I didn’t ask for help," Merlin muttered, low but still echoing across the camp, making everyone look at him. Mordred lowered his eyes to his bowl. "I can do my job alone."
"See," Arthur pointed out, "that’s the price of helping, my sweet Mordred."
Elyan turned to the fire, his lips smiling. Just like Percival, who was merely watching, eyes blinking as he followed the indirect argument, trying to see if he could or couldn’t laugh as he wanted.
"I just offered myself," said the druid, receiving a pat on the back from Lancelot.
Merlin seemed even more irritated by this. How dare Lancelot, his best friend, touch or stand by Mordred’s side?
But Lance was growing so fond of him that Merlin was almost jealous - that touching stuff is just... unbearable.
"Every time?" Lance said in the druid’s ear. "You’re choosing a difficult path to walk, my young one."
But Merlin couldn’t help but appreciate the druid’s almost futile efforts, even though he didn’t want to. The soup in his hand seemed even more seasoned, a bit tastier than usual, as he eats it, still irritated by the laughter and belittling of the dark-haired one.
"Please, accept this young man’s friendship request, Merlin!" said Elyan, finally showing some indication of his thoughts on the matter. "It’s painful to watch this all the time."
But Merlin stared at Mordred, who remained firm against the teasing of his comrades, raising his eyes full of hope in his direction once again.
And Merlin could agree that being part of this was also physically painful, as his insides twisted in delicious shivers that made his body tremble.
But he averted his eyes to the bowl and responded almost immediately.
"No."
And the whole camp let out an "oh" in resignation, giving up on them.