Archive of Our Own

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Merlin stepped into the dim, crumbling ruins of an ancient chamber – ringed by half-tumbled stone, stained green with lichen, under the remnants a long-rotted roof – with his hands spread wide before him.

“Perhaps you’re not,” came the fiery retort, echoing out from behind a shattered pillar layered thick with dust and cobwebs, “but those knights you’re with won’t say the same, will they?”

Merlin sighed. “Brighid, if you come with me, I can promise no harm will come to you.”

That prompted a wry snort. “Who are you to make such promises?”

“I am the personal manservant to King Arthur.”

There was a long pause, and then a young girl of no more than fifteen or sixteen summers stepped out from the shadows of her hiding spot and into the light. Her long, reddish-blonde hair was tangled and knotted and there were smudges of dirt on her hollow-cheeked face, cut through by pale streaks left in the wake of tears. Her mouth was pressed tight, and her red-rimmed green eyes narrowed. She had the overlong sleeves of a stolen, ill-fitting dress bunched up in her fists.

For all her bravado, she looked like little more than a scared child. Still, her chin lifted, and she canted her head, eyeing Merlin with an odd expression. “Iseldir told you my name, didn’t he? And how to find me?”

Seeing no reason to lie, Merlin nodded. “Yes. He also said that you’re very… passionate about your beliefs.”

She sniffed again. “That’s just his nice way of saying I’m a troublemaker.”

Despite himself, Merlin grinned. “Well, I suppose that’s a gentle way of putting it. But, Brighid, you know you can’t keep this up. The townsfolk have already petitioned the King on several occasions about your acts of vandalism and theft. You’re unsettling the peace that King Arthur has made with the Druids.”

Brighid’s face twisted into a scowl. “You call what we’ve got now ‘peace’? We’re still forced to live in the woods, in caves or hovels. Or we’re constantly on the move, unable to settle. We’re no more welcome into your city than we were in Uther’s day. And worst of all, our magic is still outlawed.” She shook her head, tendrils and coils of ropy hair twisting wildly. “That’s no peace.”

Merlin bit back a sigh. The sad thing was that he didn’t entirely disagree with her. But even her own people had declared Brighid a pariah, and while her acts of rebellion had started off small – souring milk still in the pail, stealing washing from the line, loosing piglets from their pens – she’d escalated over the last weeks. She’d stricken many of the men of the outer villages with a plague of warts and boils, blatantly used magic to start a fire in a grain bin – one that spread out of control and decimated a crop field and nearly took down a barn and outbuilding before it was contained – and had been witnessed using more druid spellcraft to charm livestock into aggression.

There were more than a dozen farmers who’d come together to petition King Arthur for something to be done; he’d given his word he’d handle it. Arthur had tried talking to the druids, even going so far as to pay a visit to Iseldir, but even the druid leader was at a loss how to rein in the rebellious girl.  

“Her rage is born of sorrow,” Iseldir explained. “Her father was caught up in one of King Uther’s many searches to rid Camelot of our people. He was executed. Her mother managed to smuggle her out of the city but died of fever shortly after. Despite all the counsel provided by my people, she cannot see past her own heartache.”

“And I am sorry for that, truly,” Arthur replied, genuinely meaning it. “But this cannot continue. Sooner or later, someone will be hurt. Perhaps killed. And if that happens, I cannot say that my people won’t see it as the action of all druids, instead of just a troubled girl.”

“Much as it pains me, I agree. Alas, I do not think she will turn away from this path. And I acknowledge that you need to act, King Arthur. You will hear no objection from us on whatever action you must take.” Iseldir’s nod of approbation had been heavy and his eyes dark with regret.

As Merlin trailed after Arthur, leaving the druid camp, a voice had spoken in his mind, “You will find her as I told your king, in the ruins of Caredyn keep, Emrys. She shelters in the eastern most room. Though I fear she will not hear you, please, try one last time to speak to her.”  

Even knowing that Iseldir considered his efforts likely futile, Merlin couldn’t help but try. He’d urged Arthur and the others to the western corridors of the ruins, giving himself at least a little time to make the attempt to reason with her.

“Your actions aren’t going to have the effect you intend,” Merlin explained, fruitlessly he knew. “People have gotten hurt. This is only going to sour them towards the druids and towards magic.” He lowered his voice slightly, knowing that Arthur and the others would finish their search soon enough, and would make their way to this section of the long-fallen, overgrown fortress.

Unsurprisingly, Brighid scoffed again. “They’re already soured towards us. And they hate magic and all its’ ilk. Nothing I do will change anything.”

“Then why do it?” Merlin asked, pleading now. “Why not try to set an example of the good that can come of magic?”

She sneered. “The same way that you set an example, Emrys?”

Damn. He’d hoped she hadn’t realized who he was.

Merlin swallowed but stood firm. “But I do, Brighid. Every day I work to change the perception of magic in Camelot. And I know that, in time, King Arthur will see magic for good and we will see the time of Albion come to fruition.”

For a moment, Brighid’s scowl softened, and she looked… thoughtful.

“Merlin!”

Damn. That was Arthur.

“Brighid,” Merlin spoke low and urgent, knowing his time was almost out, “please, don’t try to flee. Just stay calm. I promise you I will speak to Arthur and you won’t be harmed. Just come along with me.”

But Brighid had gone tense again, her eyes flinty. She lifted both arms, splaying fingers on each hand.

“Brighid!” Merlin hissed. “Don’t do this.”

“There you are!” Arthur’s voice called out from just behind the crumbled stack of stones that had once been a doorway.

As he stepped up to Merlin, he caught sight of the girl. “You found her?” he bit out as he shouldered past, putting himself in front of Merlin. “Why didn’t you shout for us?” he muttered in an aside. Not waiting for a reply, Arthur lifted his sword, gesturing with it. “Brighid of the druids. You’ve been accused of crimes against the people of Camelot. You must come with us.”

“Crimes against the people of Camelot?” Brighid echoed, tone mocking. “Shall we just ignore the crimes you’ve committed against the druid people for years?” Despite her bravado, Merlin could see that her lower lip trembled. She was caught, cornered, and she knew it.

It made her dangerous.

Merlin sidestepped from behind Arthur’s body, hands spread, pleading once again. “Brighid, please. No one will harm you.”

“He speaks the truth,” Arthur added. He even went so far as to lower his sword. “No one will hurt you, if you give yourself up.” He gestured behind him, pushing a palm toward the ground and Merlin glanced over his shoulder to see Leon, Percival, Gwaine and Elyan all gathered behind Arthur with their weapons drawn, but lowering at his signal.

Though she hesitated, and looked between them warily, Brighid didn’t let her arms drop. “No.” She shook her head and backed a step. “That’s not true. I know what happens to those who use magic in Camelot.”

“I give you my word, as King of Camelot, no harm will come to you.”

“Please, Brighid,” Merlin said gently. “Trust him. You can believe what he says.”

For a moment, Merlin was sure they’d gotten through. Her shoulders slumped and her chin dropped, and she let out a long, heavy sigh.

Then her gaze flicked up at him, a blazing glare, and she shouted, “The same way that you trust him, Emrys?” Her hands shot up, a glowing bolt of blue-white magic sizzling between them and arching outward.

“Arthur!” Merlin dove forward, the motion instinctual, and felt the unknown magic strike the center of his chest.

“Merlin!” Arthur’s cry echoed strangely in Merlin’s ears… and then everything went dark.

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

“… I didn’t mean… I’m sorry. No…no…Oh, gods, I’m so sorry…”

“… Merlin!”

“No! He can’t be gone…”

“…where is he, girl? What’ve you done to him…”

“… Sire, we should…”

Echoing and overlapping words wove themselves into a muddled tapestry in Merlin’s mind, and he struggled to make sense of them even as he struggled to open his eyes. The latter happened first: light seeping past as he managed to pry his eyelids open, driving into his brain with flares and spikes of agony. He blinked and blinked and then blinked a third time for good measure. The pain lessened and his vision improved, but he worried his mind wasn’t so fortunate.

He lay prone on the forest floor, and right in front of him, dominating his field of vision, was the largest leaf he’d ever seen. From the shape and golden-brown color, it appeared to be nothing more than a common beech leaf, shed in the autumn, but it was massive. Larger than his entire body.

Sure he must be hallucinating, Merlin reached out to touch it.

His arm didn’t seem to want to cooperate. He tried again, stretching out as far as he could. He could feel himself reaching, but… where was his hand? He craned his head downward – neck feeling strangely flexible – and caught sight of motion. Instead of fingers, however, a small brown paw wriggled and flexed. Covered in fur and tipped with claws, the appendage certainly seemed to be moving in concert with Merlin’s own attempts to grab at the oversized leaf.

No… not oversized.

Merlin was simply undersized.

And a weasel, apparently.

He realized that once he took a good look at the rest of his body. Sleek and slender, his legs and arms were short while his body felt weirdly elongated. He could twist his head around far enough to look down the length of his own spine! Most of his body was covered in a ruddy fur, while his underbelly was snowy white.

He had a tail as well.

“What did you do to him?”

The voice, so wretched with pain and anger, drew Merlin’s attention back to the voices.

He squirmed and rolled until he managed to right himself, and he could see that he wasn’t far from the ruined chamber. Brighid’s spell must’ve flung him away when he transformed.

And he couldn’t have been unconscious long, because Brighid was still there; on her knees now, with her head in her hands and Arthur’s sword levered at her neck.

Arthur looked…

Merlin couldn’t even find the words to describe how he looked. He’d never seen such an expression on Arthur’s face before. Thunderous and agonized, raged and broken all at once. It was awful.

Elyan and Leon had their hand’s on Arthur’s shoulders and even across his chest, like they were holding him back. Percival and Gwaine, meanwhile, were on either side of the girl, standing over her. Whether they stood as guards or protectors from Arthur’s wrath, he wasn’t sure.

Despite Arthur’s asking over and over, Brighid seemed too lost in her own confusion and sorrow to hear him or see him for the threat he was. She was rocking back and forth, heedless of the sharp-edged blade that had to be scraping along her neck with the motion, and sobbing out an ongoing litany of, “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt him. He was Emrys. I didn’t mean to do it. I’m so sorry…”  

“Arthur,” Leon said gently, but firm, despite the break in his voice. “He…He’s gone. We should go.”

“I’m not gone!” Merlin shouted.

Or tried to. The sound that scraped along his throat and managed to eek out of his diminutive muzzle was little more than the tiniest of pipping squeaks.

“Damn,” Merlin muttered, the curse a slightly lower pitched chirrup.

Well, if he couldn’t talk, then he could get their attention another way. And he had to hurry, because it looked like Leon had finally convinced Arthur to leave. He and Elyan were turning him away, while Gwaine and Percival lifted Brighid to her feet. She collapsed against Percival, like her legs refused to carry her, so he hoisted her up, cradling her as he might a child.

Merlin tried to take a step forward, to follow, but his arms and legs – well, all legs really – got tangled beneath him.

“Dammit,” he squeaked again. His body and his brain were at war with themselves and he didn’t quite know how to get all four of his legs to cooperate. By the time he managed to get them all in step enough run, Arthur and the others were well beyond the ruins. The horses waited only a few dozen yards further.

If they made the horses, Merlin would never catch up.

It was a struggle to keep them in view – the detritus of the forest floor kept getting in the way – but at least his vision was keen. He scurried through the underbrush, clumsily scrambling over logs and darting beneath low twigs.

Eventually, he got the hang of running in his new – hopefully temporary – body, and he scampered as fast as his legs could carry him. As he neared the clearing where they’d left the mounts picketed – gods, was that not even the half of an hour ago? – Merlin let out a pip of despair: Arthur and the others were already on horseback.

They’d put Brighid on his horse, tying her hands to the pommel, but from the way she slumped over, dejected and curled in on herself, it didn’t look like she’d trouble them with trying to escape. Once Percival took up the reins to lead the horse, Arthur barked out a short, curt word and then he drove his heels into his stallion’s barrel.  The horse was off like he’d had the whip to his haunches – a reckless speed for the closeness of the woods – and the others moved to follow.

Merlin neared the clearing and desperately leapt into the air, shouting out – in his limited range of yipping barks and trilling squeaks – as loud as he could. Surely the sight of a madly capering weasel would give them pause?

Although Gwaine glanced over his shoulder and frowned, none of the others looked back and Merlin watched as his friend shook his head sadly and then turned resolutely forward, urging his horse after the rest with a press of his bootheels.

“No! Dammit!” Merlin growled and hissed, even as red cloaks and horse haunches were lost to distance.

What was he to do now?  Camelot was a half a day’s ride, at least, and he had no idea how far a weasel could run. Even now he could feel his tiny heart thrumming against his breast, and it felt like the natural thing to do to sit with his jaw slack, panting rapidly to get his breath back. It would take him ages to reach the castle at this rate; if he could even find his way. He was realizing, as the world loomed so large around him, that without the horses to follow, his sense of direction was awry and nothing looked familiar from this close to the earth.

Weasels hunted though, he reminded himself. They were canny little predators. He sniffed deeply, taking in myriad scents with just a simple breath. His sense of smell was far better than a human’s, but the miasma of new and different odors surrounding him were too muddled and confusing to sort through, overwhelming him.  He tried to focus on one familiar scent memory: that peculiar warm combination of sweet oats and dry hay and the salt-tang of sweat that he’d spent long hours immersed in when cleaning the stables.

Eventually he was able to separate just such a smell and he scurried through the leaf litter, following it urgently. It was slow-going though, as the trail was often interrupted or overpowered by other scents – more than once he caught a sharp, musky odor that he suspected might be other weasels – and he had to hunt and snuffle around to discover the scent path once again.

He was clambering up and over a felled tree, wriggling through a small gap between branches and mentally cursing himself, and the druid girl and fate, when he grumbled in his squeaky weaselly voice, “Why couldn’t she have turned me into a bird.”

Suddenly, he lost his grip on the bark; Merlin flailed for purchased but the coarse wood slipped from his paws. He toppled then, falling to the leaf litter with a ‘whump’. He lay sprawled there, supine and limbs akimbo, momentarily stunned. He stared up at the canopy of trees as he caught his breath. Something about the flickering, flashing multi-hued leaves in their autumnal glory caught Merlin’s gaze. The colors – brown-gold amber and carmine and coppery-green – were more intense than he’d ever seen.

He tried to roll, but once again he was overcome by that sense of unfamiliarity with his own body. Gone were the slender neck, long narrow abdomen and the tiny limbs. "Now what the hell happened?" he wondered aloud, and instead of the high-pitched chirruping squeaks, his voice came out in a series of screeching notes. He stretched out his arms, trying to bring fingers into view, and as he rolled his head from side to side, he realized that in place of the stubby little forelegs, his fingertips now stretched out into elegant feathered pinions.

"I can change!" he realized with a triumphant screech. "I'm not stuck as a weasel." And it had been easy! He’d merely thought about being a bird and suddenly he'd become one.

But could he change back?

Merlin focused on the form of the weasel once more and felt a strange, fluid sort of sensation rush through his entire body, coursing beneath his skin. In its wake, he could feel himself settle into the slender, sleek body of the small mammal once again.

If he could change shape at will, did that me he could become human once again?

He tried for many minutes to force his body into the shape he was most familiar with, to no avail. Whatever magic that had turned him in the first place seemed intent on keeping him in animal form.

Immediately he shifted the image in his mind back to the bird and it was the oddest thing to feel his fingertips stretch outward into the long bones that formed his wings. The bird was small, but speedy and this body would get him home much faster.

It took him less time to figure out the mechanics of moving in this new form. Flipping off his back was the worst struggle, as his arms/wings were so much longer than he was used to, but eventually he got himself upright. His legs were strangely slender, ending in four large toes, each capped with an impressive looking claw. Talons, he supposed, which meant he was a predatory bird, although he didn't feel too much larger than he'd been as a weasel.  Looking down at his feathered body, he studied the mottled brown and white markings covering his chest and wings and recognized that he was a type of falcon.

Walking on those spindly legs didn't feel comfortable or natural, but hopping forward seemed to come easier, and once he stretched out the wings and gave an experimental flap, he knew that he'd feel even better after he got in the air. Of course, flying was its own unique struggle, but after he stopped trying to make his arms flex constantly, he realized that he could soar and use the most minute adjustments in the angle of his wings to change direction or bank or even tuck them in close to dive.

Gaining altitude above the treetops, he realized that his vision was sharper than before. Some miles in the distance he could even spy the dark outlines of Camelot. With powerful beats of his wings he swam through the air and then let the mistrals carrying him through the streaming and eddying air currents.

After a while, flying started to lose its’ charm, and Merlin just longed to find Arthur. Seeing that look on his face and knowing that Arthur thought him dead…

He couldn’t even begin to imagine how he’d feel in Arthur’s place. He’d come close to losing him on more than one occasion and it had been… devastating.

Amplifying the urgency was the fact that in the last few months, after they’d won back Camelot from Morgana and Agravaine’s treachery, his and Arthur’s friendship had seemed to change, and grow. Part of that, he knew, was due to Gwen and Arthur making the mutual decision to end their romantic relationship. She’d come back to Camelot, and they were friends still, but that look of adoration in Arthur’s eyes had faded to something fond but slightly distant.

Though it seemed like an impossibility – and he was sure his own long-buried feelings for Arthur likely colored his perception – recently Merlin had caught Arthur staring at him, or standing too close, or waiting an overlong time to dismiss Merlin from his chamber at night. He tried – so very hard – not to read into it, but it felt like something new, something hopeful.

Of course, he was probably just seeing what he’d wanted for so long. He’d championed Arthur and Gwen’s relationship as a friend to them both, but deep down, he’d been envious of it. And, with Gwen no longer a factor – his consideration of her forcing him to tamp down that attraction – he knew that his long-held desire had been getting out of hand.

Still, no matter Arthur’s feelings, they were certainly friends who cared about one another, and Arthur couldn’t be dealing well with thinking he’d witnessed Merlin’s demise.

The sun was just starting to set, casting all of Camelot in deep, purple shadows that were outlined by ruddy-gold, by the time Merlin reached the city. It was fascinating and beautiful, and Merlin wished he had more time to appreciate just how amazing the castle, the keep and the city sprawling around it looked from this high vantage point. But he'd not caught up to Arthur and the others on the road; his efforts scurrying along as a small mammal had taken too much time, giving Arthur a generous head start.

He swooped and dove over the lower town, settling into an effortless glide as he debated which direction to go. He knew he needed to let Arthur know, somehow, that he was alive. Unable to speak in this form, would he be able to convince Arthur who he really was? Better to find Gaius, he decided. Gaius would find it much easier to put Merlin and a strangely friendly forest creature together in his mind. And, he was the best resource to begin working toward a solution.

Merlin angled his wings to cut low around the sides of the castle, swooping down toward the little window in his room. He splayed feathers as he approached, to catch the wind and slow his approach, and he caught the edge of the windowsill in his scrabbling talons. It wasn't, perhaps, the most graceful of landings, but he managed to stay upright and secure. He was fortunate the weather hadn't turned yet, necessitating the window glass in its' frame, which left just the rickety wooden shutter keeping him out. Tucking his wings to his side, he realized there was no way a bird of his size was slipping through the space in the shutters.

A smaller creature however, would have no trouble squeezing through. Settling further onto the ledge, Merlin thought 'rodent' and that strange sense of his body stretching and changing slipped over him. Soon enough he realized he'd take the shape of a common grey rat. He squirmed easily through the gap between stone and wood, but carefully, the last thing he wanted to do was slip off the window ledge (no matter how easy the transformation came, he had no urge to learn if he could shift from four-legged to winged in enough time to catch himself). Luckily, rodents were just as squirmy and flexible as weasels and he managed to wriggle his way into the room.

Rodent vision certainly wasn't up to par with the weasel, he realized as he hopped down off the sill and onto his night table. The final rays of sunset still splayed through the cracks, sending thin slivered beams into the room, but everything was dim and nearly colorless to his eyes. His sense of smell was strong again, though, as was his hearing. There were voices coming in from the other room; three of them. He recognized Gaius first, and then Arthur and with a squeak of urgency he hurried to leap down to his bed, scurry across the covers and jump down to the floor.

His bedroom door was shut, and it was a tight fit squirming in the small space between it and the floor, but he discovered that if he could get his head through, the rest of his body followed easily enough. He scampered down the steps and across the floor and hid himself behind a stack of books on the floor, peeking out to see what was going on.

Gaius was standing with his back to Merlin, facing Arthur. Gwen stood somewhat between them, but closer to Gaius, and her hand was on his shoulder, while the other rested on his forearm. Her face was pale, her cheeks wet.

"Here, Gaius," Arthur was saying, presenting a stack of neatly folded clothing on his upheld palms. "I think you should take this. It's all that was..."

That was his clothing, Merlin realized. It must've been left behind when the spell transformed him.

"And you say there was nothing else?" Gaius asked, sounding stricken.

Arthur, on the other hand, was as cold and dispassionate as Merlin had ever seen him. "Nothing. Just this." He lifted the stack of Merlin's things briefly. "I'm sorry, Gaius."

"No," Gaius shook his head again. "It's just not possible. What... what was this spell you say? This druid girl, perhaps she…?"

"Gaius," Arthur said firmly. He turned and set the small bundle of Merlin’s things aside and then stepped forward to put his hands on Gaius' shoulders. "I don't want to believe it either. Trust me." Some emotion broke through the impassive mask then; a tremor in Arthur's voice, like a crack just starting below the surface of a sheet of ice.

Gwen seemed torn between the both of them. She kept her hand on Gaius' forearm, but took a step toward Arthur and reached for him.

He gave a curt little head-shake. "Stay with him," he instructed.

Even from his spot on the floor and with his slightly blurry rodents' vision, Merlin could see that Gwen was biting her lip and that the tears continued to stream down her checks.  Still, she nodded at Arthur's guidance and moved close to Gaius again. She leaned her head against him, sniffling.

"The girl," Gaius said urgently. "What have you done with her."

Stepping back, Arthur let his hands fall back to his sides, where they clenched into fists. "She's in the dungeons. She's to be executed tomorrow."

The lack of any emotion, that simple absence of regret or pain... it was worse, somehow than rage or agony.

"Arthur," Gaius tried one more time, even as Arthur was turning away. "It may be possible –"

"It's not, Gaius," Arthur barked out, the words clipped and sharp. "I saw what happened. Merlin is..." Again, that little slip, that smallest fracture beneath the frozen wall of his control, as he stumbled over saying it. He inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring, and then continued with re-firmed resolve, "Merlin's gone."

He turned and strode out of the room, nearly slamming the door behind him.

Gwen clutched at Gaius and he tucked her against his chest, hiccuping soft sobs, and he patted at her back consolingly. "Oh, Gaius," she cried. "It can't be true."

Gaius shook his head. "I can't believe it, my dear. I mean, Merlin is..."

Merlin knew there were things Gaius couldn't say about him, and especially about his magic, but he also knew Gaius was thinking them. Now, it seemed, would be a very good time to make his furry presence known.

He darted out from behind his hiding place and scampered across the room, coming to stop only a few feet from them. He let out a loud squeak.

"Oh!" Gwen gasped, her hand flying up to cover her mouth, and she danced a few steps back while Gaius turned to find the cause of her reaction.

"Damned vermin," he muttered. And he kicked at Merlin!

"Gaius," Merlin protested, which of course came out as nothing more than a high-pitched squeal. Although, maybe a rat wasn't the best creature to make his reveal as. Before Gaius could take aim again, Merlin hurried to think of some other - less controversial – animal to become, settling on the first that came to mind.

"Gaius, is that...?"

"What in the world?"

"It was a rat," Gwen went on, shaking her head in confusion. "Now it's a rabbit?"

Merlin took a tentative step forward, finding that adjusting to each new body type was getting progressively easier. He had quick control of his limbs, but the sudden volume of everything left him somewhat off-kilter. Sounds assaulted him and he winced.

And, oh! His ears. He could move them independently! Experimenting, he flipped them both forward and then back, and then swiveled the right straight up, leaving the left flat against his skull.

"What in the world is it doing?"

Realizing himself, Merlin looked up to see that Gaius was kneeling a few feet away. He gave a little hop and turned, looking up into Gaius' eyes. Though they were glimmering with tears at the corners, they also sparkled with a different kind of light, and Gaius stared down at him in wonderment.

"Merlin?" The question was hesitant, disbelieving.

Merlin laughed out, "Yes! Yes, it's me!" Which unfortunately came out as an odd sort of grunt and squeal vocalization. (He'd never quite realized what rabbits sounded like). He raised himself up, balancing on his over-large rear feet and lifted his forepaws into the air, reaching for Gaius.

"Oh, Merlin. Is that really you?"

He could nod, but he also flipped his floppy ears forward and back. Gaius took it for the affirmation it was.

"What happened to you? Was it the Druid girl? The spell Arthur spoke of?"

He bobbed his head and gave the ear flick again.

Gaius hummed thoughtfully. "Well, we're going to need to figure out a way to turn you back, aren't we?" That said, he carefully hooked his hands beneath Merlin's armpits and lifted him.

Merlin tried very hard not to kick. It felt strange being raised in the air when most of his weight was in his back end, almost like he'd slip from Gaius' grasp any moment. But then Gwen was there cupping a hand under his haunches.

"This is Merlin?" she was asking, even as she helped to cradle him more securely against Gaius' chest.

"Yes, I'm quite sure it is," Gaius said with a nod.

Merlin turned to her and flicked his ears and then twitched his nose.

Though Gwen's eyes were wide, she blinked and let out a startled giggle. Then she swallowed it and shook her head. "Oh god. Arthur. He thinks..." Her hand flew up to her mouth again, pressing the backs of her knuckles against her lips. "Arthur still thinks he's lost you."

"Well, this isn't going to be easy to convince him of," Gaius muttered.

"But he'll see," Gwen argued. "If we take Merlin to him. He'll see the way he changes. The way he responds."

"Right, yes. I suppose he couldn't deny the evidence in front of his very eyes, now could he?" He shifted Merlin, pushing him into Gwen's arms. "You take him to Arthur. I need to consult my books and see if I can figure out a way to reverse what's been done to him!"

"What about the girl?" Gwen asked, even as she hefted Merlin higher on her breast, practically tucking his head under her chin and cuddling him close. "The one in the dungeons. Arthur said she was the one who did this." She gave Merlin a little jostle.

"Yes, of course. When you speak with Arthur, tell him I must be allowed to visit the girl."

"Right," Gwen nodded. "I'll be back soon."

Gaius dismissed her with a muttered, “Yes, yes,” already scanning through the books stacked on the nearest table.

Merlin wondered if she realized she was absently stroking a thumb over the fur between his ears. Not that he minded. The soft, sweeping repetition was soothing.

Being carried was certainly a much better way of getting around the castle, despite how strange it was (for the both of them). Gwen ignored the strange looks and occasional comment thrown her way that her carrying a rabbit through the halls invited. She stopped though, when she spotted Leon and then hurried up to him.

"Leon," she called. "Where is Arthur?"

Leon blinked down at her, looking glassy-eyed and distant, and didn't even seem to see Merlin in her arms. He gestured vaguely. "The dungeons. The druid girl. He's down there." He swallowed hard enough that Merlin could see the line of his throat ripple with it. "Gwen, I.. I don't know if you've heard. It's... Merlin."

Merlin might have been flattered by just how stricken the normally calm and taciturn Sir Leon appeared at his apparent demise, but the news that Arthur was down with Brighid troubled him.

"No, I know. I do," Gwen hurried to tell him. "It's just he's not." She was babbling, and Leon only frowned in confusion. Blowing at several flyaway curls in frustration, she lifted Merlin. "He's right here."

That didn't help; Leon continued to stare at her with sadness pulling his whole face into a hangdog expression. "Gwen," he said, speaking slowly and overly gentle, like he might to a child. "That's... a rabbit."

Gwen repeated the forceful exhale and Merlin felt ringlets whirl around his ears. "I know that, Leon. I'm not an idiot. But this isn't just any rabbit. This is Merlin."

"What?"

"I don't have time to explain," Gwen hurried on.

Merlin didn't have time for that either.

"What are you talking about?" Another voice joined the conversation. Merlin stretched up to look over Gwen's shoulder and saw Elyan approaching.

Dammit, this was going to get complicated before it got easier.

With an apologetic wriggle, Merlin leapt from Gwen's arms and when he landed, he changed form once again, opting for another member of the weasel family. This time a slightly larger martin, as it was speedier and darker bodied and a skilled climber.

"Merlin," Gwen chided even as Leon and Elyan took up shouts of alarm about magic. Gwen turned her attention from him, to the knights, urging them to, "Shut up, will you. And listen."

Though he was leaving chaos behind, he trusted that Gwen could bring her brother and one of her oldest friends around. Merlin had one objective: he needed to get to Arthur. Preferably before anything Brighid might say that could trigger Arthur to step-up his plans for her execution. He feared she might be the only one who could change him back.

He darted down the halls, slinking in the shadows and creeping up and around obstacles when it was called for, keeping out of sight of guards and maids and servants. The larger size had another benefit: he could see where he was going much easier. Although his perception was still skewed, at least he recognized where he was heading.

Avoiding the circles of torchlight on the curving stairway that led down into the dungeon, Merlin paused in the darkened crevice between a barrel and the stone wall. The guards were too busy with their dinner to notice a furry intruder, and he managed to skulk along the edge of the floor until he reached the corridor to the cells. He scampered toward the back, his sharp hearing picking up Arthur's voice already.

He could hear Brighid as well. Though, instead of cursing at Arthur or fighting against him, she was softly weeping. Confused, Merlin made his way into the empty cell next to hers, positioning himself so that he could see Brighid and Arthur both.

"This isn't right," Brighid was uttering between wet sniffles. She was slumped against the low bench, only the cushion of drab yellow straw beneath her and the damp, chilly stone. Someone had tossed in a blanket, at least, and her over-sized dress puddled around her. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

"Why?" Arthur asked, and the word had the despair of repetition in its' fraught tone. He had his forehead pressed against the bars, resting on his fist that gripped tight to the cold metal. "Please, just tell me why. Why would you do something like this?"

This certainly wasn't the conversation Merlin expected.

Arthur's plaintive, "Why him?" was almost too silent to hear.

Brighid seemed not to hear. She simply muttered, "I never meant for this.”

"You keep saying that," Arthur bit out. "What do you mean?"

"He was Emrys," Brighid cried, finally reacting to him. "I shouldn't have been able to harm him. He's so powerful. It... makes no sense."

Another growl of aggravation slipped out between Arthur's bared teeth. "Who is this Emrys you keep talking about. Speak plainly, girl. I’m talking about... about Merlin."

Brighid shot a glare up at him and scrubbed the back of her arm across her eyes. "So am I," she retorted hotly. "Merlin is Emrys."

Damn.

Things just got much more complicated.

He was tempted to run into the cell, to distract them both, but he worried what Arthur might do. Would he accuse the girl of summoning him, using more magic in blatant defiance of the law, perhaps decide she needed to be dealt with then and there?

It chafed at him, but he decided to wait.

"I don't understand," Arthur said, almost pleading. "What does that even mean?"

"Emrys is..." Brighid spread her hands helplessly. "He is all-powerful. He is a legend among the druids and will someday be our savior. He is destined to bring magic back to the world."

"So, he's some kind of druid?"

Brighid scowled and shook her head. "No, no. He's just..."

"Emrys, right." Arthur sighed, weary. "But what does that have to do with Merlin. Are you saying Merlin was some kind of... sorcerer?" His hesitation on the word was marked.

She snorted. "Not just a sorcerer. You could never understand what he was. What he meant to the world."

Still, Arthur frowned. "But you're talking about... Merlin." He clearly couldn't parse the two people in his own mind. And there was no mistaking the little hitch in Arthur's voice every time he said Merlin's name.

"Yes, but no. Merlin was Emrys. But Emrys was more than just... Merlin."

Arthur scrubbed a gloved hand over his face and shoved his fingers through his already mussed hair. "How am I to believe this? To believe any of this. If Merlin was this renowned Emrys, then why would you harm him?"

"I didn't mean to hurt him," Brighid shot back, defiant and petulant. "I was intending that spell for you."

"So, you admit you were attempting to kill me? You're admitting your guilt?"

Brighid made another throaty sound of disgust. "It was never meant to kill you. It was only to teach you a lesson."

"Well, whatever you meant, a man is dead." Arthur's retort was equally acid. "Call him this Emrys or what have you, he's gone and that is on you." He spat out the last, venomously adding just before he turned to stalk away, "And you will pay for that crime, with your life."

Arthur strode down the corridor without another word.

Merlin crept through the shadows to follow, trying resolutely to ignore Brighid's softly hiccupping cries, muffled behind the press of her hands. He was almost out of the cell when he realized he could hear a voice in his head murmuring, "Emrys, please. Please come back."

It was Brighid, reaching out with her mind.

"I'm right here," he thought back viciously.

It was rather satisfying to see her startled jerk. She cast about, "Emrys?"

He burrowed through the straw, rustling it ominously, and then popped out only a few feet away. She gasped and let out squeal.

Merlin chirruped out loud and then thought, "You deserved that."

"My lord, Emrys," she said aloud. "I'm so sorry. I never meant to do this."

Witness to the horrible grief on Arthur's face, Merlin wasn't feeling sympathetic. "But you did. And you meant to hurt Arthur."

"It wasn't," she splayed her fingers at him, "this. The spell shouldn't have done this. I didn't intend to hurt him."

"Change me back, now." He slapped a paw against the stone.

Brighid shrugged helplessly. "I can't. It's a curse. It was meant for Arthur. It was meant to steal his voice, his ability to communicate, until he came to an understanding about magic."

Merlin flicked his tail in agitation. He had to admit, having an extra appendage was certainly beneficial in expression his outrage. "But the spell hit me. And, well, obviously I can't communicate properly. But I already have a very definitive understanding of magic." He raised a paw again and sort of managed to gesture at himself.

It must've looked quite strange though, because Brighid's mouth quirked like she was trying to fight a smile.

"Focus," he mentally snapped.

She swallowed the grin with a noisy gulp. "Well, the spell was targeted at Arthur. My guess is that he's still the recipient. He's still the one who needs to come to terms with his feelings on magic, I suppose." She shrugged again and reluctantly admitted, "I don't know for sure, Emrys. Your magic changed the curse somehow. I don't know for certain what it will take to change you back."

"Wonderful," Merlin huffed and snapped his teeth. He'd get no answers here, and Arthur still thought he was dead. He needed to leave.

"Emrys, I truly am sorry."

"Hey! Who you talkin' to back there?"

Damn, that was one of the guards.

Merlin dove back under the cover of the straw, and Brighid shifted to hide him further. "No one, sir," she replied softly, sounding meek. "Just the birds."

"Yeah, well keep it quiet," the man barked gruffly. Fortunately, he didn't come any closer and his footsteps faded as he returned to the guardroom.

"I'm going now," Merlin told Brighid. "And you'd best hope we can find a way to change me back. Otherwise, I'm not sure what Arthur is going to do with you. I can't promise to keep you from the headsman's block."

She sniffled and nodded.

He felt the slightest modicum of guilt, but he was still furious that she'd turned him into a shape-shifting creature, after all. He'd not even acknowledged the truth she'd given Arthur, about his biggest secret. Would he take it to heart? Believe it? Or treat it as the rambling of a distraught and angry young girl?

If the former, where would Arthur go?

Gaius. It made sense. If Arthur truly wanted to find out the veracity of Brighid's words, Gaius was his likely destination.

The quickest way from here to Gaius' chamber – to save himself the frustration of sneaking through the halls and past the guards and knights and servants – was through the window. He thought through the transformation again, considering the darkness, and this time focused on something that would fly well at night, settling on a tiny, pipistrelle bat. After settling into the shape, feeling the way his limbs flowed and stretched and compressed, he gave a few practice flutters, getting an understanding of how this winged form was different from the larger, feathered falcon. Flight came easier this time, although it did involve more flapping, and after circling the cell twice, he darted up to the window near the ceiling, and slipped between the bars.

Merlin pushed himself higher and higher into the night sky. For a few minutes he was utterly distracted by his unique senses; the way that his shrill little pips echoed off the surrounding buildings and painted a picture of them in his mind. That proved a harder adjustment than the leathery wings, and he got turned around more than once trying to find his way up to the tower.

Eventually, though, he managed to alight on the ledge once again. The pipistrelle was small enough that he could squeeze through the gap in the windowpane and the shutter without needing to shift, but he decided it wouldn't do to greet Arthur as a bat, especially considering the scope of the conversation he was likely having. The rat wasn't a good idea either. Gaius might recognize him, but if Arthur - or anyone else – was there, they may not take so kindly to vermin.

He chose another four-legged creature, settling on the form of a tabby cat, much like the mousers that roamed the stables. Though longer legged than anything he'd tried so for, Merlin was getting used to the process, so his leap down to the bed was only slightly off-kilter, and he stayed upright upon landing. The nearly prehensile tail took the longest to get used to; he hadn't had quite the same control over his previous rear appendages. It amazed him how simply walking was made easier by the balancing force of his slender tail. The door only provided the smallest obstacle - he stretched up on his hind legs and pawed at the handle - and he slipped out as soon as it slid open a few inches.

Arthur was already there - apparently just arrived – and Gaius crossed over from his worktable to greet him.

Merlin hesitated. Perhaps he'd be better of letting Gaius explain the situation first. He tucked himself in the shadow of the same pile of books he'd used for cover earlier.

"Gaius," Arthur gestured to the nearest table, "take a seat."

"Arthur! There you are. I need too–"

Arthur held up a hand, interrupting, and there was something chilling about his expression – or the odd lack thereof. "Gaius, please. Sit down." It wasn't a request.

"Of course, sire." Dutifully, Gaius settled onto the bench of the small table where the two usually took their meals. His brows dipped in warily as Arthur took a seat opposite, his whole body rigid, spine stiff.

"Sire," Gaius tried again, urgently. "I need to talk with you about Merlin–"

Again, Arthur cut him off. "Yes. You do," he agreed in that passionless, colder than river-ice voice. "You see, I was speaking with our prisoner, and although I'm not entirely certain of everything she told me, there was one thing she was rather adamant of." He paused, canting his head like he was the bird-of-prey, toying with its' victim. "It was that Merlin was also someone called Emrys." He drew the name out on a sibilant exhale.

Merlin hissed softly, tail lashing because Gaius startled visibly, before attempting to compose himself. Gaius tried to school his face into something nonchalant. "Oh? Emrys? What does that mean?"

Arthur's lips pressed thin and he shook his head minutely. "Gaius, enough. You know what I'm talking about, don't you?” His tone brooked no argument or cagey wordplay.

Gaius swallowed and then gave a short, jerky nod. "Yes, sire," he admitted.

"And this Emrys is some kind of all-powerful sorcerer?"

This time, Gaius clamped his mouth shut, lips squeezing so tight they nearly vanished into paler skin. Although his fervent silence was answer enough.

"This has to be some kind of mistake, Gaius," Arthur continued, losing some of that eerie, brittle stoicism. It seemed give way to genuine, pained confusion. "This can't be the same Merlin. Not my Mer..." he stopped himself. "I mean, the Merlin we knew."

"Sire, please let me–"

Arthur was obviously in no mood to listen. He held up a hand again. "No, Gaius. I know. He's..." he lifted his chin, seeming to need to steady himself to say it. "I know he's... gone. But, I just... I need to know if all that time my fr..." His gaze dropped, chin falling to his chest and his shoulders slumped forward like every bit of reserve abandoned him, leaving him curled in on himself, looking weak and fragile.

Were it not for his sharp, feline ears, Merlin would've missed it when Arthur asked, "Was my friend a sorcerer this whole time?"

Gaius reached over to pat Arthur gently on the shoulder. "Arthur, my boy, you really need to know something."

But Arthur still wasn’t listening. "Why did he never tell me, Gaius?" Arthur's eyes shot up then, pleading. "Why?"

"You can ask him yourself," Gaius blurted and then seemed to realize himself and his mouth clapped shut.

"What?” Arthur’s brow furrowed and he frowned. “What does that mean?"

There was nothing else to do. Damn all the consequences, he couldn't let Arthur continue to suffer under the disillusion that he was dead. Merlin padded out from behind the books and came to a stop only a few feet from the table. "Hello, Arthur," he said. Which came out as a plaintive 'mrowr'.

Arthur looked down at him. "I didn't know you had a cat," he said absently.

Gaius shook his head. "That's not a cat, sire. That is Merlin."

The reaction that explanation got wasn't the one Merlin expected. Instead of laughter or disbelief, Arthur's head snapped back to glare at Gaius.

"How could you, Gaius. Don't toy with me. Not about this. About... him."

"I'm telling you the truth, sire. The curse that was meant for you struck Merlin instead. And that," he gestured, "is Merlin. He's been transformed into that shape. I wouldn't mislead you about this, Arthur."

Arthur's face went through a whole plethora of emotions. He turned to look at Merlin again. He stared for what seemed a very long time into Merlin's eyes, and Merlin stared back. Eventually recognition lit the steely blue. "Merlin?" he asked softly.

"Yes, it's me." Merlin answered, in a chirruping mew.

"Merlin," Arthur repeated, and he reached a hand out, but let it hover a few inches away.

Merlin closed the distance, bumping the crown of his head into Arthur's palm. He meowed again, as Arthur's fingers curled into his fur.

"He's been turned into a cat?"

"Well, not just a cat. Show him, Merlin."

Reluctantly, he backed away from Arthur's touch and thought a moment. He settled on a falcon again, though a slightly larger gyrfalcon.

He heard Arthur's soft gasp as the change flowed over him, and Arthur recoiled slightly, eyes wide. "What the hell?"

"He seems to be stuck, sire. As some kind of creature."

"Well... well," Arthur stuttered. "Fix this. Change him back."

"I'm afraid I don't know how. And, if Merlin can't change himself…” He let that trail off, obviously not wanting to focus too hard on the subject of Merlin's magic.

"The druid girl!" Arthur said abruptly. "She'll know–"

Merlin shook his head, giving a mournful screech.

"No?" Arthur hesitated. "You're saying she can't fix you?"

"No," Merlin peeped and Arthur frowned.

"Did you already go see her?" Gaius seemed to understand what he was getting at.

He bobbed his head rapidly.

"Go back to the cat," Arthur instructed. "It's easier to understand you like that." He blew out a sigh, like he couldn't believe he was making that suggestion.

Merlin did as asked. He sat down on his haunches and wrapped his tail around his paws. It certainly was easier communicating affirmations and denials in this form.

"So, the druid girl can't change you back?"

He sniffed and shook his head again.

"Well, I'm going to go talk to her, right this instant." Arthur surged to his feet. He pointed down at Merlin. "You, stay right here."

Merlin knew it was pointless, but he also recognized there was no stopping Arthur like this. Arthur was just about to the door when Gwen pushed in. Leon and Elyan on her heels.

"Oh! Arthur, um." She stumbled over her words, but then she looked past him and saw Merlin in the middle of the floor. "There you are!" she barked out in accusation. "Merlin."

Merlin ducked his head and flattened his ears. They weren't quite as mobile as they'd been in rabbit form, but he assumed managed contrite well enough because Gwen softened immediately.

"You're saying this is really Merlin?" Elyan asked.

"Yes," Arthur was the one to answer. "And I'm going down to have words with our guest, once again. Leon, you're with me."

Although he looked just as perplexed as everyone else, Leon followed Arthur out the door.

Gwen, meanwhile, came further into the room and went down to a knee at Merlin's side. "Well, I forgive you for running away. I know this is probably quite overwhelming." She stroked a hand over his head and scritched behind an ear. Which... well, felt rather nice. He butted up into her hand, as an odd sort of rumbling sensation echoed through his chest. Gwen giggled. "You're purring."

"Gwen," Elyan dragged her name out, sounding disgusted. "That's still Merlin. He's not going to want you petting him."

"Oh, right." She gave him a last stroke and then pulled away. "Sorry, Merlin."

Merlin mewed. He didn't know how to let her know that he really didn't mind. When she settled onto the floor next to him, knees tucked under her, Merlin stepped over and bumped his cheek into her arm.

"So, can you become any animal?" Elyan asked. "Like, what about a fish."

"Don't be daft, boy," Gaius scoffed. "There's no water in here. It would kill him if he turned into a fish right now."

It was a good thing Gaius said something; Merlin had been about to try it.

"What about something larger?" Gwen wondered. "Like... a fox. Or a dog."

Those were all good suggestions. He thought of the sleek red foxes that hunted in the fields and woods outside the lower town and flowed into that shape.

"Ohh," Gwen cooed. She studied him, looking impressed, but seemed hesitant to reach out to touch this form.

Elyan laughed. "Brilliant. Ugh, wait until Percival and Gwaine..." He stopped himself, eyes widening. "Oh, damn. Gwaine doesn't know you're alive, Merlin. Neither of them do."

Gwen frowned, "Where is he? And where's Percival?"

"Tavern, I suspect," Elyan shrugged. "At least, that's likely where Gwaine went. I expect Percival went along to keep an eye on him. Gwaine wasn't.... well, he wasn't dealing with it." The siblings shared a look. Merlin knew they were both remembering how Gwaine had 'coped' after the loss of Lancelot. He'd barely survived a three-day binge and spent a week abed afterward, at Gaius' insistence. "I'd better go find them."

"I'll go with you," Gwen offered. She stood and dusted her hands off on her skirt. "It's been a few hours since you all got back. You may need some help."

Merlin stood up too.

"Merlin," Gaius cautioned. "Arthur told you to wait right here."

He sat back down. Gaius was right; much as he wanted to reassure his friends that he was alive... if not exactly 'well', he also didn't want to upset Arthur further.

"We'll be back," Gwen said. She leaned down, reaching like she'd thought of petting him quickly, then stopped herself. Merlin had no such compunctions, so he stood and pushed his muzzle into her hand. She stroked his head and scratched under his chin, and Merlin's fluffy, black-tipped tail swooped from side-to-side.

"Eugh, Gwen." Elyan made his displeasure known. "It's just creepy."

With a final pat, Gwen said, "We'll see you soon, Merlin."

After they left, Gaius tapped the top of the table. "Come on up here, Merlin. All this looking down at you is starting to play havoc with my aching neck."

Merlin traded forms, going back to the tabby cat; he liked the way it moved and its excellent senses were surprisingly easy to adjust to. Leaping right up to the weathered table top proved a simple feat. He settled once again with his tail curled around his toes while Gauis sat down opposite him.

"You make for quite a handsome feline, Merlin," Gaius remarked. His fingers twitched but he managed to keep them folded in front of him. It seemed even Gaius wasn't immune to his fuzzy charms.

He looked down at himself, studying what he could see of his fur. Although his vision was strong, his ability to perceive color was somewhat dampened. He could differentiate the brindled striping that marked his legs and body, and clearly see the white patch on his chest that almost chased down to his belly, but everything he saw was in shades of gray, down to the near-black tip of his tail. He looked up at Gaius and blinked. He'd have to take Gaius' word for it.

Expression going serious, Gaius asked, "You overheard what Arthur asked me, didn't you? About the things the druid girl told him?"

Merlin nodded.

"He knows the truth now, Merlin. I don't think he's quite taken it all in, what with," Gaius gestured at him, "all this. But, sooner or later he's going to have to consider what he's learned. Are you prepared to deal with all of that?"

Flipping his tail, Merlin let out a soft mew. He didn't really know the answer to that question. He supposed he'd been avoiding thinking about it and hoping Arthur would too.

"I'm sorry, my boy. I should've kept better control of myself. I'm afraid I reacted rather badly when he brought up the name of Emrys."

Merlin didn't like the guilt on Gaius' face. He reached out and patted the back of Gaius' hand with his softly cushioned paw pads.

Gaius smiled feebly. "Thank you, Merlin."

He was a little more hesitant than Gwen, but eventually even Gaius gave into the urge to give Merlin a little scratch on his chin. Merlin lifted his head and stretched his neck, so Gaius could get at the itchy spot under his jaw, and he let out another of those rumbling purrs.

"Well," Gaius finally said a few minutes later, reluctantly drawing his hand away. "I think I'm going to get back to my research then. I'm still not clear on the nature of the magic that's done this to you." He looked over at his books, squinting. "Perhaps something in the bestiary?"

Merlin wanted to help but wasn't sure how to communicate what he'd learned from speaking to Brighid. He needed to direct Gaius to studying curses, instead of any random type of magic. He brushed past Gaius and leapt off the table, landing neatly, and then padded over to a stack of books. Reading the names on the spines and covers was incredibly strange, because he could see the words and he knew what they meant, but they came across oddly in his mind, like he was reading another language. Still, he managed to identify one of the many tomes on curses and he pawed at the spine and hooked his claws into it, dragging it apart from the others.

Gaius hurried over to pull it free and examine it. "Raufald's Examination of All Thine Curses and Maladies," he read and then looked at Merlin. "So, you're saying it's some kind of curse?"

"Yes!" Merlin meowed and nodded just to be doubly sure.

"Well, then. Arthur mentioned earlier, when he first told me of what happened, that you leapt in the way of this curse? That it appeared as a streak of blue flame and struck you, instead of him. So, this was a curse meant for Arthur, correct?"

Merlin nodded again eagerly.

"Hmmm," Gaius hummed. "Was it meant to transform him into some kind of beast?"

Lacking the ability to shrug effectively, Merlin lashed his tail. Brighid had said it wasn’t meant to have the effect on Arthur that it’d had on him, but he didn’t know if ‘stealing Arthur’s voice’ would’ve resulted in him becoming some kind of animal.

"Not exactly, then. Hmmm." He flipped through a few pages, but before he could get caught up in reading, Gaius clapped the book shut. "If he'll permit it, I think I'd like to go down and talk to this girl myself. She may not be able to undo this, but with her help I should be able to narrow down the curse to its' original form and from there, devise a solution for you."

Merlin mrowed loudly at that. He hadn't been thrilled with Brighid's implication that the outcome was dependent on Arthur coming to terms with his outlook on magic. If that were the case, well... Merlin worried he'd be doomed to an all-mice diet for the rest of his days.

As Gaius got to work, Merlin settled back on the tabletop, nestling into the forgotten pile of his own clothes and curling up in a ball. He occasionally nodded or sniffed disagreeably to some of Gaius' observations or remarks, but mostly he just rested. He assumed the urge to nap had as much to do with his current species as it did the exhaustive events of the day.

Eventually, there was a perfunctory knock, followed immediately by Arthur letting himself in.

"Arthur, hello." Gaius looked up from his worktable.

Arthur nodded distractedly and his gaze flitted around the room until it finally settled on Merlin – who’d burrowed into the clothes and was blanketed by his own tunic – and he seemed to relax, blowing out a heavy exhale. "Really, Merlin?" He shook his head, but there was fond amusement pushing into the corners of his mouth.

"Did you learn anything from the girl?" Gaius asked.

"Brighid says this is to do with me," Arthur stated, gritting his teeth as he did so, like the admission rankled him. "That I've some kind of decision to make."

Gaius' face fell. He must've been thinking exactly what Merlin had considered earlier: that if it came down to Arthur's acceptance of magic, who knew how long he was stuck like this. Still, Gaius pressed on. "And what will you do, sire?"

Arthur let out another long sigh. "I need to think. In the meantime, Gaius, please continue your work." He waved a hand, taking in the books and research. "If you find anything..."

Nodding, Gaius replied, "Of course, sire. I'll inform you immediately.  If you don't mind my asking, what are your plans for the girl?"

Mouth slanting down, Arthur didn't answer immediately. "I... don't know, Gaius. It rather depends on when and if we can get Merlin changed back, I guess." He shrugged. "She was more forthcoming about her purpose this time, but also no longer hiding behind that bravado. I think she fears what I may do. I... don't want to have to keep her locked up, but I'm not sure what's to be done with her yet." Lifting a hand, Arthur rubbed his knuckles against his forehead, like the discussion was making his head ache. "Hell, maybe I'll just toss her back to the druid and let Iseldir deal with her. Whatever it is, I'll not make any decisions until Merlin is himself again."

"To aid that, Sire, would you mind if I spoke to the girl myself?"

"Yes, of course," Arthur's agreement was instant. "Whatever you need, Gaius. In the meantime, I'd like Merlin to come with me."

Observing the conversation from his lazy sprawl, tail swishing idly, Merlin perked his head up at that. It took him a moment to parse what Arthur meant, and his tail came to an abrupt halt.

"Not to contradict you sire, but do you think that's for the best in his condition?"

Arms crossing over his chest, Arthur seemed to struggle with what he had to say. "The girl. Brighid, suggested that it would improve the chance for the curse to be broken if I spent time with Merlin while he's like...this." A hand slipped out from being tucked into his opposite elbow and gave a cursory little gesture in Merlin's direction.

"Oh, of course, sire. Very well." It wasn't like Gaius could argue. "Merlin." He inclined his head and then nodded towards Arthur.

Well, this was going to be interesting.

Merlin stood and stretched – and oh did that feel good! – and then he jumped down to the floor and padded up to Arthur's boots, ready to follow him out.

Arthur looked down at him and shook his head. "Only you, Merlin," he muttered, sounding aggrieved but that hint of amusement was back as well. Instead of walking out and letting Merlin trail after, Arthur knelt and scooped Merlin up into his arms. He stood quickly, adjusting so he could cradle Merlin securely with one arm.

Merlin let out a surprised soft, "Mrrp."

"It's easier than explaining to my men why there's a cat following me through the halls," Arthur explained mock-irritably. "You'll let me know the moment you learn something?" he reiterated to Gaius.

"Of course, sire. Merlin."

Being carried by Arthur brought its own unique sensations; he was so firm and warm and the way he held him, one arm under his haunches and a hand splayed over his back, pressed all of Merlin's paws against his chest, and tucked his head into the hollow of Arthur's throat. It felt safe and comforting and Arthur's scent was strong and familiar and one that Merlin was incredibly fond of.

Apparently too fond, because Arthur twitched his head at Merlin's snuffling and said, "Merlin, stop that. Your whiskers, they tickle."

He let out an amused chirrup but turned further into Arthur's grip so that his head was laid over Arthur's shoulder. How ironic that of all the times he would've come to enjoy Arthur's embrace, being held close, it had only finally happened when Merlin was stuck in a body with four legs and fur.

They were almost to Arthur's chambers when he heard a commotion. Arthur stopped, sighed wearily and then turned.

"Is it true?" Gwaine asked. He was stumbling toward Arthur, one arm reaching for the wall to guide him while Percival had a fist in Gwaine's collar, holding him upright. "That' Merlin's not dead."

Arthur blew out a disgusted breath. "How is he this drunk already?" he asked Percival, who just shook his head.

Despite his radiating disapproval, Arthur was gentle with Gwaine when he explained, "Yes, he's alive, Gwaine. This is Merlin right here." He shifted Merlin, but not far. Enough that Gwaine could see him.

Gwaine leaned in, squinting. Then he pursed his lips and blew out a sputter of laughter.

Merlin winced and wrinkled his nose; Gwaine's breath was enough to make him dizzy, redolent with an overwhelming mixture of beery hops and pickling spice and tangy ale and gods only knew what else.

"Yer a wee kitty, Merlin," Gwaine crowed. "But… I… I'd know those eyes anywhere, mate." He leaned closer, so Merlin reached out and tapped Gwaine on the nose with a paw. That started him chortling in sotted amusement and he reared back and elbowed Percival. "Did ya see that, Perc'val? That's our Merlin, there."

Over his shoulder, Merlin heard Arthur say softly to Percival, "Take him back to his chambers and let him sleep it off."

"Of course, sire." Percival nodded. But he spared a moment to reach out and give Merlin's tail a gentle tweak. "Really glad you're okay, Merlin," he said, and it was clear that for all that he was upright, Percival wasn't quite as sober as first assumed. He and Gwaine both were going to be feeling the results of their evening spent mourning.

Arthur left them when Gwaine fell against Percival's chest, somewhere between laughing and howling, while Percival patted his head and tried to soothe him, "He's gonna be okay. You'll see; he's gonna be fine."

Merlin could only hope Percival was right.

They made it to Arthur's chambers without further interruptions and once there, Arthur knelt and carefully eased Merlin down. Though he was reluctant to peel away from Arthur's warmth, Merlin knew he couldn't spend the rest of the night clinging like a limpet. Things were already awkward enough.

Still, that didn't mean he couldn't be comfortable. After slipping from Arthur's gentle hands, Merlin crossed the floor and then pounced onto Arthur's bed. He pawed at the deep red fabric, feeling an urge to push his claws in and to knead the material, and then when he'd created a lovely little divot, he turned in a circle and finally settled into a neat little ball.

Arthur had paused in the middle of pulling his gloves off and was watching him with a frown. "You think being turned into a cat gives you leave to sleep on my bed?" he asked archly, a brow lifted.

Merlin thwaped his tail against the bedcovers.

Shaking his head, Arthur went back to removing his outer layers. "So, is this what you became when the spell hit you? Did we somehow not see a cat in your place?" He untied his cloak and threw it over the back of a chair.

Merlin stood – a bit reluctantly – and shook his head and then shifted into the form of the tiny, lesser weasel he'd first been. He scampered across the bed to the edge and then lifted up, so he was standing on his rear paws.

Arthur approached and dropped to a knee next to the bed.

With Arthur so near, Merlin realized he was even smaller than he'd first suspected in this shape.

"No wonder we didn't see you," Arthur said softly. "Still, I'm sorry we didn't find you then."

Dropping down to all fours, Merlin sniffed and shook his head. He didn’t know how else to tell Arthur that it was all right. He didn't blame them for assuming the worst.

"It's funny how your eyes are always blue," Arthur remarked quietly, seemingly without thought.

Merlin hadn't known that. He blinked and peered into Arthur's eyes, trying to get a glimpse of his reflection in their steely depths.

As if realizing himself, Arthur stood abruptly and crossed the room to his wardrobe in a few quick strides. Watching him, Merlin shifted back into a cat – it seemed the easiest form to maintain – and resettled himself on Arthur's pillow.

When Arthur came out from behind the screen he was dressed for bed in his loose white tunic and sleep trousers. He ignored Merlin and went to the door, and Merlin could hear him call for a servant and request a meal. He also told the guards in the hall that he was not to be disturbed unless it was Gaius who wanted to see him.

After delivering his instructions, Arthur went to his table and turned the chair so it was facing the bed and then sat (Merlin tried not to be disappointed that he was staying so far away). He stared at Merlin silently for a very long time. Were he in another form that didn't seem so given to patience and sitting in quiet contemplation, he expected he might've started to fret at the scrutiny.

"Gaius said..." Arthur began after that heavy silence had almost gone on too long, but however that statement was meant to conclude, Arthur didn't finish it. Instead he waved Merlin over. "Come here. Please."

Merlin hurried to obey – although he did allow himself another of those luxurious, whole-body stretches after getting to his paws – and he padded over to sit at Arthur's feet.

"Could you always do this?" Arthur asked and the expression on his face was in some distressing place between confused and distraught. "I mean, change like this?"

Merlin shook his head.

"So, this animal thing is new? Because of the druid girls' curse?"

He nodded.

"What else..." he began and then halted himself again, pinching his lips tight a moment. Arthur rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. "Is it any animal?" he finally asked. "Any size?"

Merlin lashed his tail; he didn’t know the answer to that. So far, he'd only tried a handful, the largest being the fox.

"What about a hound?"

Immediately the image of the dog that he'd once conjured out of a statue came to mind and Merlin felt himself stretch and surge into a much larger, heavier shape.

Arthur stared, wide-eyed. "Well," he said after closing his gaping jaw. "That's certainly larger than a cat."

Merlin laughed and it came out a deep, throaty 'woof'; Arthur jerked away, and Merlin scrambled back a step, equally startled by the sound of his own bark.

"Uh, maybe something smaller is better," Arthur suggested. "I don't want the servants being upset."

Only too happy to comply, Merlin shifted to the fox form he'd worn earlier, since Gwen and Elyan had seemed to appreciate that. Arthur did as well, eyeing Merlin almost covetously. He beckoned him over and asked, "Can I?"

Merlin inclined his head, and stepped up to him, rubbing a cheek against Arthur's knee when he felt fingers lightly touch his head and then sweep down the length of his spine.

"You're quite soft," Arthur said absently, continuing to stroke.

The noise that rumbled out of Merlin's chest was akin to a chattering, yippy laugh.

"We know you can be a larger animal, but I wonder how big?" Arthur commented after a while. "It's a bit crowded in here. Probably not the best space to see if you could change into a horse or something like it?" He didn't precisely ask, but there was an eager curiosity in his tone nonetheless.

Although he felt awkward making these transformations in front of Arthur, fearful of how they'd keep the concept of magic at the forefront of Arthur's mind, at the same time he figured they were a distraction from that topic as well. He also didn't want to let Arthur down. He looked around the room and then trotted over to the large open space near the foot of the bed.

A horse might be too large, but something else had already come to mind. The sensation of stretching and growing was even more overpowering than ever, and when he was done, his head felt heavy and his tiny hooves precariously balanced on the slick, stone floor. He turned and the sway of the massive horns sprouting from his head made keeping upright a struggle. But Arthur was eying him with admiration and chuckling ruefully at the same time.

"I don't know if that's such a good idea, Merlin," Arthur finally said. "That is a very impressive rack. I'm afraid I'd be tempted to have you stuffed and mounted." The way he bit off the ends of his words suggested he was only half-teasing. There was something else in his tone that Merlin couldn’t interpret.

Merlin rapidly shifted back to an animal of a much more manageable size; revisiting the small, brown and white falcon. He flapped his wings and pushed off at the floor and flew the short distance to the top of Arthur's bed post, where he landed somewhat clumsily.

Arthur smirked and raised his brows. "Not quite got the hang of it, eh?"

Despite the amusement, Merlin knew this was only temporary. Arthur was letting himself be distracted. Sooner or later the magic was going to come up.

Still he was willing to keep this going while he could. Before he could think of another creature, though, there was a knock at the door. He watched Arthur collect a large, laden tray from a serving girl and carry it over to the table.

"Come down, Merlin."

With a little whistle of acknowledgement, Merlin launched himself from the bedpost and swooped down to land on the back of the chair opposite Arthur's.

Arthur had laid out a platter at his seat – roasted fowl and braised mushrooms and assorted cheeses and fruits – but was setting out a second plate. "I had fish brought for you," Arthur explained. "I was assuming cat, but I guess this works was well?" he shrugged.

Merlin stared down at the waiting meal and felt his chest flush with warmth. His stomach also rumbled in appreciation. He hopped off the chair, shifting back to his feline form as he landed. Arthur had gone to the trouble to appease him in that shape, so he was happy to accommodate. He spent a moment wondering if the food in his stomach would shift with him or stay the same size. He'd hate to eat his fill only to change shape to a mouse or finch and have his stomach distend.

Thinking about the early afternoon, before they'd encountered Brighid, he and Arthur and the knights had stopped at the edge of a stream to rest the horses and have a small meal. It wouldn't have been fully gone from his belly by the time he'd been struck by the curse. Figuring he needed to keep up his strength if nothing else, Merlin decided to risk it. Besides, the perfectly poached greyling smelled delicious!

He picked at the skin with a claw, tearing it easily and bent his head to take a bite.

"If you'd like me to get something else–" Arthur started to say, but when he glanced up from his own food and saw Merlin happily devouring flaky white fish, he grinned briefly. "Never mind then."

Food was something unique to experience as something other than human. Merlin wasn't sure if he'd want to experiment with it in other forms. The fish - although it tasted good - was pungent and the skin oily, and the odors and flavors on his tongue and his nostrils were somewhat overwhelming. Especially how it clung afterwards, to his paws and his whiskers and the fur around his mouth. He licked at his lips and tried to scrub his face with a paw.

"Need a napkin, Merlin?"

He shook his head irritably.

“Some water then?” Arthur asked. He had a shallow, empty bowl on his tray, and he filled it with fresh water from a pitcher and then pushed the bowl across the table.

Drinking was another activity to get used to. He couldn’t slurp and lapping didn’t come naturally to him at first.

Arthur seemed to have forgotten his own dinner in the interest of watching him. When Merlin had supped his fill, Arthur even went so far as to pick some meat off a neglected drumstick and held it out to him.

Merlin hesitated, at first, but the game hen smelled wonderful and Arthur’s fingers were equally tempting. He took the morsel and gulped it down in a few chews, and then licked at Arthur’s finger tips chasing the lingering salt and grease.

“Merlin,” Arthur chided gently, although he let Merlin continue for a few more seconds before he drew his hand back. “Finished?” he asked.

“Yes,” Merlin agreed with a loud mew.

“Good.” Arthur shove the tray aside, although he kept a goblet and a second pitcher – this one filled with pungently spiced wine – and poured himself a glass.

Sensing they were going to be there a while, Merlin laid down on his belly, his back legs tucked beneath him and his forelegs out stretched. He stared up at Arthur expectantly.

“We need to talk about it, Merlin,” Arthur finally said.

Merlin inclined his head.

Arthur looked down at his hands, crossed over each other on the base of his cup. “I’m not sure if this will be harder or easier with you like this.”

Merlin meowed again. He’d have assumed easier, except he’d also be unable to defend himself.

“So, you’re…” Arthur lifted his head up, like he was forcing himself to lock eyes with Merlin as he asked, “You’re a sorcerer?”

Well, they were certainly jumping right into it. Merlin inclined his head slowly, wanting the gesture to be clear and certain.

“And you’ve always been…” he let a flip of his hand finish the question.

Merlin meowed, loudly, and nodded again.

“And you’ve used magic here, in Camelot?”

A fervent nod.

“Probably far more often than I’ve realized,” Arthur added wryly.

Merlin flexed his whiskers as he wrinkled his nose, but he nodded as well.

Arthur’s eyes went wide suddenly. “You’re the old man! The old sorcerer!” He shook his head in disbelief but then his mouth dropped into a sharp slash of a frown. “Merlin, look at me.”

His tone brooked no argument, so Merlin fixed his unblinking eyes on Arthur’s. He knew what was coming.

“Gaius… he told me that the old man, the sorcerer, that he didn’t kill my father. That he truly tried to save his life.” He inhaled sharply. “Is that true? Did you truly try to save him?”

Without letting his gaze drop from Arthur’s, Merlin gave a slow, sure nod.

Arthur stared at him silently for a long moment, as if seeking the truth in Merlin’s eyes. Finally, he dropped his chin and looked away. “Very well. But, when you’re you again, I’ll be told every word of that day.”

Merlin mrowed his sincere agreement.

"Why did you never tell me?" This question was soft, spoken to the backs of his hands and the tabletop."Didn't you trust me?" Arthur glanced up finally, and the pain in his eyes was palpable.

Lashing his tail, Merlin shook his head and let out a mournful yowl. That wasn't it at all, but he couldn't express it and he hated the way he couldn't voice his reassurance.

"Did you think I'd have you arrested? Killed?" There was so much disappointment in tone.

At first, Merlin shook his head rapidly and then considered it; really considered it. He'd never wanted Arthur to have to make the choice, but he also hadn't wanted to lose Arthur. His trust, his affection... any of it. But how to explain that without words?

Arthur, at least, seemed to get the impossibility. He blew out a sighing breath. "Sorry, I guess we'll need to revisit that. I... think I understand. Perhaps? At least I hope I do."

Merlin stretched out a paw, and was relieved when Arthur reached out with a finger to stroke softly over his dusky fur.

“So, Gaius knows, of course,” Arthur went on after a while. As that seemed rhetorical, Merlin just gave a little chuff. “Does anyone else?”

This time, Merlin shook his head, but let his tail lash at the same time. He was conflicted; did Arthur mean anywhere? Or just here in Camelot.

Fortunately, Arthur seemed to understand his dilemma. “I expect your mother knows.”

That was easy to confirm.

“But no one else?” Arthur ventured. “No one else… any longer.” His gaze flicked away again, seeming to focus on the depths of his goblet. “Lancelot knew.”

Arthur wasn’t looking at him, but Merlin nodded anyway. He gave a sad little chirp.

“I always wondered,” Arthur remarked, and he didn’t seem to be speaking to Merlin directly then. “I thought... There was something between you, some secret. I never...Well, it doesn’t matter what I thought.” He barked out a harsh sounding grunt that didn’t really resemble laughter. “Seems another thing I was wrong about.”

Before Merlin could respond, Arthur raised his cup and downed the contents in a quick, gulping swallow. He wiped his sleeve across his mouth and then reached for the pitcher again.

Merlin stretched out a paw to stop him.

The look Arthur shot in his direction then was so full of emotion – anguish, rage… too many other things to name – that Merlin recoiled with a hiss.

“This isn’t fair, Merlin. It’s not damned fair.” Arthur shot to his feet, letting the goblet clatter on the tabletop and he began to pace. “I thought I lost you this morning. I watched you struck by an attack that was meant for me and I thought it killed you.” His closed fist struck hard against his own chest, right over his heart. “And then, when I’m still reeling with the guilt and the horror of that, some bratty druid girl tells me I’ve been wrong about you in all the years I’ve known you. That in all those years, I never truly knew my best… best friend.” He pushed both hands through his hair, hooking fingers into the mussed, golden strands.

“And now, here you are. Alive. And a damned sorcerer. And… and,” he yanked his hands down and turned a glare on Merlin. “And, I can’t even scream at you for either one of those things because you’re stuck as a damned cat!” He was panting and had his arms thrown wide. His face was blotchy and his hair in disarray.

Merlin couldn’t say anything. Not just literally… he also had no idea to respond to Arthur’s tirade.

Or… maybe he did.

Merlin stood and walked to the edge of the table, and then jumped down. He trotted the few feet to Arthur and then rubbed up against his shin. He pressed his nose and his cheek and then the rest of his body along Arthur’s leg and then weaved a circle between Arthur’s feet to continue his rather pathetic attempt at comfort on the other leg.

Slowly, Arthur’s arms lowered to his sides and his breathing eased. He dragged a forearm over his face, sopping up tears and sweat with a billowy sleeve. And then he began to laugh. Softly, and maybe a little bit wild, but not without affection. He bent down and took hold of Merlin’s middle, lifting him up into a cradling hold.

“When you’re you again, we’re going to argue about this for no less than a fortnight, is that understood?” He didn’t bother with getting a response. “And, when I’m not yelling at you, you’ll be in the stables or cleaning my room or doing my laundry. I may even have you put in the stocks.”

He might’ve taken it to heart, but Arthur was smiling, and he pushed his face into Merlin’s furry neck and squeezed him close. “I’m so damn glad you’re alive, Merlin,” he admitted hoarsely.

Merlin’s whole body thrummed with the force of his purring.

Of course, that was when Arthur turned and tossed him onto the bed, saying, “It’s late. And it’s been too long of a day.”

Fortunately, cats did land on their feet, and Merlin yowled a protest, and then retaliated by claiming a pillow. He curled up into a tight ball, tucking his tail around his body.

Arthur ignored him as he readied for sleep and even after he doused the candles and tugged off his damp shirt, tossing it on the foot of the bed, Merlin could still see him in the dark. “I’m exhausted,” Arthur muttered, pulling back the heavy bedcovers and climbing into the bed. He slid Merlin off his pillow, but then was quick to reposition him so that he was tucked firmly against Arthur’s bare chest.

Merlin continued purring and nestled in even closer.

“We’ll figure it out tomorrow, Merlin. You and me,” Arthur told him, voice already heavy with sleep.

That was certainly something Merlin could agree to. He listened as Arthur’s breathing evened out and felt the way Arthur’s pulse slowed, and let that and his own low rumbling purr, vibrating through his whole body, draw him easily into sleep.

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

Merlin woke to the feeling of hot breath tickling his nape. He twitched and shifted and got a low grumble in response. He flailed a sleep-heavy arm back at Arthur.

… Arthur

He blinked.

Why was Arthur in his bed?

Then another thought occurred to him: he had arms.

Merlin took stock of himself. Arms, legs, human body… all accounted for. He was human again!

Human, naked and in Arthur’s bed.

Not only in his bed but pressed against him; Arthur’s bare chest curled along Merlin’s back, and his knees – thankfully in sleep trousers – were pushed up behind Merlin’s thighs. Merlin was using one of Arthur’s arms as a pillow, and the other one was thrown possessively over his hip. He was in the exact position he’d been in as a cat.

Unlike the cat, however, Merlin was also firmly aroused and growing more so by the second as he registered the heat of Arthur’s body and the feeling of skin-on-skin.

He froze, unsure what to do. If he tried to move away, he risked waking Arthur, but if he stayed… Arthur wouldn’t be happy about waking up tangled in an amorous embrace with his manservant, would he?

“Stop fretting, will you,” Arthur mumbled, his low gravelly voice right next to Merlin’s ear.

“A..Arthur,” Merlin stuttered.

The arm that was curled under Merlin’s cheek shifted, moving to hook over Merlin’s shoulder, palm flattening against his chest and pulling him closer. "It's all right, Merlin," Arthur said softly, a reassurance.

Pressed firmly against Arthur’s body, Merlin could feel that he wasn’t the only one affected by their closeness.

“Merlin?” Arthur said his name again, soft but urgent this time, and clearly there was a question there.

He figured out what Arthur was asking when the hand on his hip slid further inward and down, curving over the soft flesh of Merlin’s abdomen, and Arthur’s lips pressed gently against his nape.

“Oh, Arthur,” Merlin said again, this time in an entirely different – much breathier – tone. His answer was made very clear in the way he canted his hips back into Arthur’s hardness and let out a low, needy moan. Though one arm was wedged against the mattress, he reached back with the other, searching for skin, and got a hand into Arthur’s hair. He threaded his fingers through the thick strands while Arthur licked and nipped at the join of his neck and shoulder.

“Roll over,” Arthur murmured, although he manhandled Merlin into position rather than waiting for him to comply.

Back against the sheets, Merlin felt Arthur move over him, knees straddling his hips, caging him with his body. Merlin reached up, got his fingers tangled in Arthur’s hair again, and then pulled him down for a kiss.

Arthur let out a soft gasp at the first press of their lips and Merlin whimpered just as frantically. It was everything he’d ever imagined… better… more. Arthur kissed urgently, desperately, like he was reminding himself that Merlin was alive by licking into his mouth and biting at his lip and chasing his every breath. He grappled at Merlin’s skin, stroking and touching… petting him, almost, Merlin realized with a soft huff of amusement.

Merlin decided to do some petting of his own and he reached up to touch Arthur, lightly at first, caressing skin he’d craved for so, so long. He swept his fingertips up Arthur’s taut arms, and across his broad chest. When he splayed them over Arthur’s ribs and down to his belly and the points of Arthur’s hips, Arthur exhaled a deep, reedy groan.

Arthur shifted then, bracing on one arm as he shoved at the hem of his own trousers with his other hand, hurriedly working them down his thighs so he could kick them off.

“Touch me” he begged softly, voice cracking.

“Yes,” Merlin agreed, and got greedy fingers wrapped around Arthur’s firm, velvet-soft length so quickly that Arthur let out a startled gasp. Merlin laughed softly and squeezed and stroked, eliciting more of those high whines and throaty grunts.  

Arthur’s hand found him then, tracing lightly over the tip and along the shaft and Merlin bucked up into him.

“Wait” Arthur hissed out, “wait, like this.” He demonstrated his desire, easing his bulk slowly down until their bodies were aligned and all that hot, slick skin pressed together.

Merlin bit at Arthur’s jaw and grappled a hand at his firm rear and rolled his hips up into Arthur’s in a slow undulation.

Arthur sucked at the skin behind Merlin’s ear and caught up his free hand in a tangle of twining fingers, knotting their hands tight, and rocked down in counterpoint to Merlin’s thrusts.

They rutted against each other frantically, panting and moaning and writhing and when Merlin felt Arthur’s release hot against his thigh, and Arthur’s wordless gasp against his throat, he gave a keening cry and spent himself on the soft skin of Arthur’s belly.

Merlin went lax into the sheets, while Arthur slumped down, boneless and spent, on top of him. He knew he should wriggle out from underneath Arthur’s weight – it was difficult to get a full breath – but Merlin couldn’t remember ever being this bone-deep content.

Eventually, Arthur was the one to move, rolling off him, and he grabbed up his discarded night shirt and wiped them both down with it. Then he flopped back down on his back, so close his shoulder knocked into Merlin’s and their arms pressed tight.

As his breathing eased and the sweat started to cool, Merlin came to a realization. “Arthur,” he said slowly.

“Hmm?” Arthur’s reply was little more than a purr of his own.

“If I’m human again… that means.” He paused, swallowing. “Uh, that means that you’ve come to a decision about… me. About magic.”

“Mm hmm,” Arthur agreed.

“Uh, care to share what that decision is?”

Arthur stayed silent an almost alarmingly long time. So long that Merlin began to fret he’d fallen asleep again. He could feel himself starting to panic.

Finally, Arthur broke the silence with an ear-splitting yawn. Then he said, “I decided that I’d rather have you - as a sorcerer, or a cat, or even a clumsy oaf of a manservant - at my side, than not have you at all. We'll figure out the magic, together.”

Merlin wanted to let that be enough. He could tell Arthur thought it was. But he had many long years of guilt built up in his heart. “How can you forgive me,” Merlin asked softly, half-afraid of the answer. “I’ve lied to you all these years.”

Arthur rolled to his side and gathered Merlin against him, arms tightening possessively. “It’s surprisingly easy, Merlin. Because no matter how much it hurt and how betrayed I felt, it was nothing… nothing compared to losing you.”

Merlin’s lips pressed tight and he gave a surreptitious sniffle. Eventually, he managed to say, “You know I–"

“Merlin,” Arthur interrupted, voice a sleepy drawl.

“Yes, Arthur?”

“Be a good little kitty and go to sleep.”

Merlin shimmied even deeper into Arthur’s already clinging embrace, and then he let out a low, rumbling sigh of contentment, not unlike a purr.