Merlin fic: Got Your Tongue
The one where Arthur gets turned into a cat. No, rilly!
Yes, I am crazy. But this is surprisingly serious.
Title: Got Your Tongue
Rating: PG
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Word Count: 6447
Summary: Merlin stares at the cat for a few seconds. The cat stares back.
Notes: What a way to join a fandom. I resisted this as valiantly as I could, but it beat me down in the end. Thanks to snglesrvngfrend for listening to me complain, complain, make noises of victory, and then providing beta.
The sun is shining, the wind is right, and the woodland creatures are ripe for killing. It’s a glorious day for Arthur’s favourite pastime. For Merlin, it’s just a nice day.
“Where shall we go?” Merlin asks. A nice day to go where the Prince wants.
Arthur squints against the sun and leans forward to rub his knuckles over his horse’s neck. He surveys the land, taking in the fields and the twisting river of forest.
“Let’s go someplace new,” Arthur says, pointing towards forest Merlin can barely see. He looks to Merlin for confirmation, daring for a yes.
“Prince Arthur, always after the next best thing,” Merlin teases, which is his way of saying yes. Arthur rolls his eyes and nudges his horse into a canter.
“You like venison, don’t you?” Arthur calls back over his shoulder.
“What?” Merlin picks up the reins for his horse and tries to get her to catch up. She’s a little reluctant. “Oh! Yes. Yes I do.”
“Well, come on then, before all the deer get bored and move!”
“Coming!” Merlin yells.
*
This is further than Merlin’s ever been before. He can’t see any part of Camelot any more and his thighs ache from all this time on a horse, but Arthur still hasn’t decided where he wants to go hunting.
Merlin is valiantly resisting the urge to whine about wanting to go home. He doesn’t like venison that much.
“What about there?” Merlin asks, pointing at a section of forest. Any section of forest. If Arthur had wanted to just go riding he could have said, and Merlin could have been saved the trouble of carrying all of Arthur’s hunting gear.
Arthur rests his hands on his thighs and gives Merlin’s point a cursory glance. He scans the horizon and then glances at Merlin. There’s a secret in Arthur’s eyes, but Merlin’s not sure he wants to know.
It could be something good (amusing, titillating) or something bad (evil scheme) and Merlin doesn’t much like his odds.
But, he’s Merlin, so he lets his curiosity lead. “Arthur?”
“Hmm?” Arthur’s receded back into himself again, his eyes fixed far away.
“Are you alright?”
Arthur looks at him, his eyes sharp, and then he suddenly dismounts. Standing between the two horses Arthur beckons Merlin down and then prompt turns away. His fingers tuck into fists at his side and then relax.
Seeing Arthur so tense puts Merlin on edge. There isn’t any reason for Arthur to act like this, not when it’s just the two of them out in the middle of nowhere.
“Arthur?” His voice comes out strange, confused and pitched low. He touches Arthur’s shoulder, and Arthur bristles. Merlin’s anxiety climbs another notch.
“This is very wrong,” Arthur says suddenly, not turning. His voice is also low, filled with desperation and that same secret from before. “We shouldn’t be here.”
“I don’t understand,” Merlin insists. It’s not like Arthur to talk around problems. Some Uther-related issues aside, he is usually in such good control and willing to confront anything.
“Of course you don’t!” Arthur whirls around to face Merlin. Merlin can feel the heat from his eyes all over his face, searching for something. He takes a savage step forward into Merlin’s space, his hands coming up to grab. Merlin flinches and Arthur’s hands drop. The fire in his eyes goes out and he turns his face away.
Arthur’s mouth is a bitter line and his voice is strangely hurt when he says, “No, you don’t. Merlin, it’s…Never mind, alright? Just forge-”
A frantic, angry barking fills the air and out of the corner of his eye Merlin can see a black blur racing for them. Arthur shoves him back and he stumbles over his own feet, falling down. With ease born of practice Arthur draws his sword and turns to face the dog.
It’s huge, jet-black except for its gleaming white chest, and snarling. Merlin’s never seen a dog like it. It must have smelled them and come out of the forest. Which means it probably wants to eat them. Merlin makes a squeaky, shameful noise that he’ll deny if he makes it out alive.
“Come on!” Arthur yells. The dog howls and Arthur’s sword flashes. He misses and the dog slides around his reach, snapping at the back of Arthur’s calves. Arthur curses richly, trying to turn and strike at the same time. The dog evades him again, growling.
Merlin looks for blood, but he doesn’t see any.
Arthur and the dog lunge and dodge each other a few more times. When he’s facing Merlin, Arthur’s cheeks are pink with anger and exertion. The dog is fast and low to the ground, not at all like a man, and Arthur’s keeping up, but barely.
He finally nicks the beast on its shoulder. It’s probably not more than a scratch, but the dog yelps. It reels to the left, and Arthur lifts his sword to finish the job.
For some reason, Merlin finds his voice.
“Arthur!”
He doesn’t know what compels him to yell, whether it’s some concern for the dog or concern for Arthur. But he does yell, and Arthur twists to see him.
The dog must know an opportunity when it sees one, because it launches itself at Arthur’s sword arm and clamps its jaws down on his wrist.
“Bastard!” Arthur hollers, shaking his arm, his sword falling to the grass. He’s wearing his leather coat so he’s mostly protected but the shock of it must be terrible. “Get off!”
The dog falls back, its teeth and Arthur’s arm glistening with saliva. It snaps out one last bark before turning on its heels and charging back towards the forest.
Before Merlin can even move Arthur has picked his sword back up and is racing after the dog.
The trees swallow the dog, Arthur and Merlin’s yell all at the same time.
*
For it being the middle of the afternoon, the forest is quite dark. It’s also eerily quiet, no birds, no rustling, and no Arthur noises. Merlin needs to find Arthur and get out of here. Quickly.
“Arthur? Arthur, where are you?” Merlin winds through the trees, trying to follow the trail of crushed grass that must be from the dog and Arthur.
There’s no response. Merlin keeps calling, growing more and more apprehensive by the moment. He tries to convince himself that there’s no way that dog could kill Arthur, but the continuing silence makes that hard.
Up ahead there’s a clearing. Merlin moves towards it, hoping to find something there-but, please, please not Arthur’s body. He breaks the tree line and immediately sees Arthur’s sword in the grass.
His heart skips a beat.
Looking around frantically, Merlin can’t see Arthur anywhere-
His clothes are in a heap in the centre of the clearing.
Confusion and Honest-to-God fear crash over Merlin. He scrambles forward, his fingers against Arthur’s shirt and the soft fabric of his breeches. They’re still warm from Arthur’s body.
“Arthur!” The word shakes, and almost breaks in the centre. Merlin has to find him. “Arthur!”
At the edge of the clearing, the grass rustles. Merlin almost breaks his neck he looks up so sharply. His breath catches. Is Arthur injured? Fists clenched in Arthur’s shirt, Merlin is once again struck still.
The grass parts to let a handsome orange cat through. It pads toward Merlin, calm and inquisitive and settles just beyond Arthur’s discarded boots and meows loudly.
Merlin stares at the cat for a few seconds. The cat stares back.
“Arthur?”
The cat meows again, his eyes friendly.
*
This is horrible. He will never, ever be forgiven for this, even if it’s not really his fault. It’ll be like that time Arthur almost broke his neck falling off his horse. Merlin didn’t make Arthur run into that tree branch, and he certainly didn’t make the girls gathering berries so comely. But he also hadn’t warned Arthur about the upcoming tree when Arthur trotted along, his jaw open and his attention on women instead of where he was going. So it was his fault.
It’ll be like that. Except this time Merlin will probably get executed instead of just put in the stocks to make Arthur’s pride feel better.
His only two hopes are that he can fix this before Uther finds out and that Arthur won’t remember this experience. But, knowing Merlin’s luck, he should start kissing his head goodbye.
“Hey, Arthur,” he whispers, his hand held out and shaking faintly, “come here, please.”
The cat stares at him, tantalizingly out of reach, tail curled around him and his eyes slitted in vindictive cat pleasure. Merlin’s afraid to move in case Arthur makes a break for it.
If the heir to Camelot gets stuck up a tree, Merlin doesn’t know what he’ll do.
“Please,” Merlin wiggles his fingers. “Sire.”
The cat blinks at him, once, twice, and then he stretches. The relief Merlin feels when Arthur comes forward and bumps his sleek head against Merlin’s fingertips is so great he has to close his eyes. Arthur ducks his head so it fits in Merlin’s palm and Merlin obliges him by scratching behind his ears and between his shoulders.
“You terrible, fickle beast,” Merlin says, trying to be calm. Arthur seems to like the abuse (or the tone of it, at least), and he sends up a round of purring. Merlin scratches him more, lulling them both.
When Arthur seems inclined to stay, kept busy by rubbing his chin on Merlin’s knee in a rather possessive fashion, Merlin lays Arthur’s long leather coat down across the green grass. When he flutters his fingers over it, Arthur follows the motion and flops down.
His purring is interrupted by a loud growl as Merlin gathers up the sides of Arthur’s coat, trapping Arthur inside.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” Merlin binds the bundle with a leather thong off his belt, gathering the squirming, hissing coat and Arthur’s other clothes to his chest as he stands. “We need to get back to the castle and I can’t trust you not to run off.”
He almost drops Arthur when he picks up the sword, but he’s apparently got just enough servant skills to juggle the weight.
Once he gets out of the forest, he can see that Arthur’s horse and his own are not very far off, their noses deep in the grass. Merlin’s not sure he can ride a horse and keep hold of Arthur, so he tucks the Arthur-bundle in the crook of one elbow, stuffs Arthur’s things in the satchel attached to his own horse and grabs the reins of both with his free hand.
Arthur howls. Merlin can hear him scratching.
“Stop that,” he hisses. “You like that coat. And you’ll forgive me later, once I figure this out.”
“Rroowrr!” Arthur says.
Perhaps not.
*
He ends up putting Arthur in his own room. A cat can’t be seen wandering the castle, and Merlin isn’t quite sure how he’ll tell Gaius about this. So he plops the bundle down on his bed and pulls the knot on the thong from as far away as he can.
Not that it matters. Arthur springs out from his prison as soon as he’s able to and sinks his teeth into Merlin’s wrist, holding on with his front paws and kicking with his back ones. Merlin lets him, wincing and listening to Arthur’s growling.
Arthur finally lets go in order to turn his back on Merlin, washing his face like Merlin’s not there.
Merlin adjusts his cuff, and resists the urge to smooth his fingers down Arthur’s spine.
“I suppose I deserved that. But hopefully now you’ll cooperate until I can get you back to the way you’re supposed to be.”
Arthur doesn’t look at him. Merlin gives in and lets his fingers drift down Arthur’s back. Arthur tolerates the touch but moves away as soon as Merlin lifts his fingers. He curls up on Merlin’s pillow and goes to work shedding everywhere.
“I’ll get you something to eat, shall I?” Merlin asks.
*
Surprisingly enough, no one’s around to ask any questions. Merlin doesn’t even run into Gwen on his way to and from the kitchens, which is nice because Merlin doesn’t really want to try and explain why his pocket is full of roast chicken.
Gaius is on his rounds, so Merlin hauls a handful of books on magic into his room. Arthur is still sulking, but he opens an eye when Merlin sits down.
“Here.” Merlin drops the chicken scraps on the sheets and picks up the first book.
He reads and Arthur eats his dinner. It’s quite companionable, in its own special, completely wrong way.
Merlin gets kind of wrapped up in what he’s doing. Usually he’s too busy doing the thousands of things Arthur “needs” him to do to read, as much as he knows Gaius would like him to. But having the time and freedom to do it makes going through Gaius’ well-worn and well-loved books that much better, feline princes notwithstanding.
Not that he finds anything helpful. It might help if he knew what he was looking for. Looking up ‘cat’ yields articles about the connection of cats to sin and the Devil and ‘forest, magical’ covers hundreds of pages which Merlin would like to avoid reading if at all possible.
He’s just settling in to a chapter regarding black dogs when a plaintive meow makes him look up. Arthur’s sat in front of the closed door, staring at the latch like he could wish it open.
“What?”
Arthur looks over his shoulder at Merlin, his small orange face the picture of feline sadness. He meows again and then looks back at the latch.
“You want to go out? Why-oh. Of course.” Merlin sets his book aside and goes to Arthur. He looks around for something to put Arthur in - the coat bundle clearly won’t do again, his herb basket is too small-and ends up investigating the space between his side and his coat.
“Sire,” he says gently, tucking his hand under Arthur’s belly and lifting him. Arthur fits cozily inside of his coat and it’s easy to prop him up if he keeps his arm close to his side. Surprisingly enough, Arthur doesn’t protest, a fact which Merlin is grateful for (he prefers it when Arthur’s claws are not literal).
Gaius is still gone, which must mean someone is dying, and no one else cares about the servant boy going out the doors past the armory. They go out to a semi-hidden corner and Merlin deposits Arthur on the grass. He dutifully turns his back.
“Go on,” he murmurs, “I won’t look.”
He hums to himself and looks up into the fading twilight, trying to recall any detail of the day that can help them, but it’s so blurred by excitement and fear.
In the very least, he should be able to count on no one missing Arthur until at least midday tomorrow. Merlin touches the back of his neck, where the blade would land, and then he blinks hard.
Claws catch in the fabric of his breeches and pull gently. He looks down at Arthur, sitting so calmly in the grass. The rising moonlight catches the yellow-green of Arthur’s eyes and makes them glow.
Arthur is warm against his chest, small but alive. Not that something like that will matter to Uther. Merlin blinks again, trying to think calm thoughts to end this long day. He takes Arthur back to the room, pausing to drop a log on the fire for when Gaius returns. Arthur settles on the end of the bed, all his paws tucked into his body and Merlin picks up his book.
Predictably enough, he falls asleep on it.
*
Merlin dreams of an Arthur who is trying desperately to tell him something, but he cannot speak. He holds Merlin’s hand tightly and his eyes beg, Can’t you see?
*
He wakes up sure he’s being choked by his own kerchief. Fumbling for his throat he runs into fur instead of cotton and his brain complains that that’s not how things go. Dragging his head up he tries to see what’s going on. Merlin feels like he slept in his clothes, but he doesn’t remember owning anything that shade of white-orange, unless Gwen’s been gifting him clothes at night…
“Arthur? Izzat you?”
It is Arthur, but all he does is stretch, sigh, and then go loose over Merlin’s throat again. Merlin blinks sleepily up at the ceiling and takes a moment to ignore any panicky thoughts of exactly why he’s wearing Arthur like a living scarf and instead enjoy the feeling.
That works until he inhales and gets a lot of Arthur’s fur up his nose. Then he lets reality sink in and he pulls Arthur off, setting him down on the bed. Arthur, the lazy thing, just lolls in the warm spot Merlin leaves behind.
He changes his shirt and makes his usual half-hearted attempt to smooth his hair, listening to the faint sounds of Gaius moving in the next room. His stomach lets him know what he should be doing. Quite loudly.
Well, it is a new day, and if Merlin is going to fix Arthur he can’t do so on an empty stomach. He also thinks that today he’ll be positive, because that might work better than panicking.
Arthur makes short work of that idea by zooming out the door as soon as Merlin opens it. Merlin makes a choked noise as Arthur ducks under Gaius’ work table.
“Ah, good morning, Merlin,” Gaius says cheerfully, apparently mistaking Merlin’s stricken face for one of sleepiness. “Come. Sit and eat.”
Merlin does so, trying to catch a glimpse of Arthur, but he’s well-hidden. Gaius joins him and they eat quietly, Gaius flipping through an anatomy book and Merlin tries not to look obvious while he looks for Arthur (of which there is no sign).
Gaius starts telling Merlin about the patient from last night. Her death had been long, but quiet, fortunately quite dignified. Nothing overtly suspicious, but Gaius might do some reading into it. Merlin nods, stuffing bread into his mouth.
Gaius stands to exchange the anatomy book for another and gasps quietly behind Merlin’s back.
“Infernal beast! How did you get in here?”
That’ll be Arthur then.
Merlin gulps down the bread and turns. Gaius is prodding at Arthur with a ladle, cursing him and trying to shoo him off the work table. Arthur hisses, and swipes at the ladle, every creamy orange inch of him indignant.
“Um, Gaius?” Merlin holds up one finger.
“What, Merlin? Get out of here, cat!”
Merlin tries to think of the best way to tell Gaius that he’s trying to remove the Prince from his work table. With a ladle.
“You might not want to do that.”
“And why not?”
“Because. That, ah, that’s Arthur.”
Gaius pokes Arthur a few more times before he realizes what Merlin’s just said. Then he turns very slowly, ladle still out-held, to look at Merlin.
“Please tell me you mean you’ve taken in this badly tempered creature and named it after the Prince as a show of goodwill.”
“Sorry,” Merlin says.
Gaius covers his eyes with one hand. Behind him, Merlin can see Arthur settle down on the edge of the table, contorting himself so he can start grooming one of his back legs. Merlin smiles, but holds his hand up to cover it.
“What happened?” Gaius asks, finally.
Merlin tells the story as best he can. The dog, the silent forest Merlin’s never been in before, finding the clearing, and eventually Arthur himself. Gaius listens intently, but Merlin’s disappointed to see his face doesn’t light up with recognition at any point in the story.
“Oh, dear,” is the best Gaius seems able to do.
“Will you help?”
“Of course I will, Merlin.”
“We can fix it, right?”
Gaius is starting to look determined, which does some measure of good for Merlin.
“I should certainly hope so.”
Merlin nods. Gaius moves to a pile of books and runs his fingertips over them, considering.
On the table, Arthur growls happily, chewing on his own toes.
*
Merlin gets summoned to see the King, and leaves Arthur in Gaius’ care. Uther is pacing impatiently in front of his throne when Merlin enters the hall.
“Where is my son?” He booms as soon as the doors close behind Merlin.
“Hunting,” Merlin says, although it’s almost a question. He tries to school his face into seriousness to make up for it.
“If I recall correctly, that is what you were doing yesterday. The both of you.” Uther turns on his heels and finally sits, steepling his fingers, gazing at Merlin calmly and coldly.
“Well, uh, as you know, Sire, the Prince has had much weighing on his mind as of late.” Merlin shifts, but Uther just nods, conceding the point. “He bade me leave him to his thoughts. He said he would stay in one of the outer villages.”
“And when will he return?”
Merlin scrabbles for an answer. He had figured that Uther would have started yelling by now. “He said…He said he would be back in Camelot by tomorrow evening, most likely.”
Uther looks at him, most likely searching for a lie. Merlin dips his head so Uther won’t see his eyes.
He barely breathes until Uther finally says, “Very well then. I await his return.”
“Yes, Sire,” Merlin murmurs, bowing.
*
When he makes his hurried entrance into his and Gaius’ quarters Gaius is waiting for him, his hands on his hips, looking most displeased.
“What is it?” Merlin asks, his hands held out in front of him. Gaius should be happy. Merlin managed to have an encounter with Uther and the King didn’t mention the stocks once.
“Do something with him,” Gaius says, pointing to Arthur, who is sat right on the open pages of a book, presumably one Gaius was just reading. He leans in and lowers his voice, “He’s insufferable. Growls if I try to move him.”
Despite himself, Merlin smiles. “And you’re always lecturing me on having patience with him.”
Gaius huffs and points again. “Take him, and that green book there. Try to look for something useful.”
Merlin does as he’s told. Arthur tolerates the lift until they get into Merlin’s room, and then he squirms out of Merlin’s arm and sets to sniffing around. Merlin leaves him to it, and instead removes his boots and lies down, cracking the book open.
It’s concerned mostly with herbs and potions, and what they might do to someone. He doesn’t think Arthur would be stupid enough to eat anything in the forest, but he could have fallen into a patch of something.
He reads about frogwort and sickle’s ivy, dampshade and poor root, trying to remember the leafy grey-green of the forest, each individual shape. None of them seem familiar. None of them tell of turning men into animals.
He reads, on and on, hearing the occasional mutter from Gaius and the clap of a book shutting.
Still nothing.
*
Arthur starts head butting him while he’s trying to read about Elorias flowers. Merlin tries to push him away but Arthur’s having none of that. On the next push Arthur just slides across Merlin’s palm, effectively petting himself. Merlin gets one swipe from a rough tongue as his reward for staying still.
Well, the flowers didn’t match anyway. He abandons the book in favour of rubbing one thumb behind Arthur’s right ear, earning a burst of deep purring and most of Arthur’s weight slumping against his arm.
“That’s nice, isn’t it,” Merlin murmurs. Arthur ratchets the purring up a notch and tilts his head back so Merlin can see the close-eyed bliss on his face.
He can bet that’s a face Arthur wouldn’t usually make. Certainly not lately, at least. It’s impossible to tell, looking at this Arthur, but true nonetheless. Something’s been living inside Arthur, pulling him away. He’s not angry, and Merlin can’t feel any magic clouding the air around Arthur when he helps him into his armor. There doesn’t seem to be a problem, except Merlin knows that somehow Arthur has changed in the past months.
He misses his Arthur. Not just the man, but the man who was witty, sharp, brave and there.
Merlin would do just about anything to get him back.
*
Since Merlin’s magic is not strong enough, and this is the son of Uther they’re dealing with, he can’t fix Arthur like that. But books are so slow. Merlin isn’t much help in that regard, so he spends the day with Arthur.
Gaius works steadily, and Merlin keeps Arthur from shredding anything or lighting his tail on fire. It’s fun, in that same completely wrong way that has flavoured this past day. Even Gaius thinks so, tempering his exasperation at Arthur’s beef broth footprints across his map of Camelot with a secret fond look at the sight of Merlin carefully wiping off Arthur’s paws, scolding him.
Despite the fun, it’s also exhausting chasing around a creature so wiggly and used to his own way. After he’s taken Arthur outside for any after-supper business he might have, kept Arthur from eating any grass, and dodged both Gwen and Morgana on the way back in, Merlin’s ready to collapse.
“I sincerely hope this isn’t what having children is like,” Merlin groans, closing the door. Arthur practically vaults out of his coat to see if anything’s different since they left.
Gaius’ mouth quirks. “I imagine it’s quite similar.”
Merlin flops facedown on the cot for patients, pressing his face into the thin pillow that smells of the sweat of all the patients who have lain here. He barely gets a minute of peace before paws track up his spine and Arthur settles between his shoulder blades. Merlin can feel the rumble of his purring.
He swats in Arthur’s general direction and mumbles, “Insufferable.”
“Patience,” Gaius says.
*
It must be after midnight when Gaius shakes Merlin awake. Merlin starts, drowsy and unsure of where he is, but then he remembers. His first real thought is for Arthur, but he’s curled up by the low light of the fire, his fur shining.
Gaius’ hand is warm on Merlin’s shoulder, and his voice is bright. “Merlin, come and look at this.”
At the work table Gaius has spread out a huge tome Merlin’s not sure he’s ever seen before. The paper is covered in minute wrinkles and it smells like dust.
“Here,” Gaius points, “is this the creature Arthur fought?”
On the page is a sketch of a dog, tall and proud, its fangs showing and the white chest pronounced. It is positioned on the edge of a forest, its lines blurring into the underbrush.
Merlin knows that dog. He can remember the impact as he hit the ground, the snarling, the rush of Arthur’s breath and the snap of its jaws, trapping his wrist.
“Yes,” he breathes, lost for a moment. Then he shakes his head and finds his voice. “What is it?”
“They’re a very rare animal called Luporae. Some believe that black dogs guard Hell, but these dogs are different. They’re guardians of magical forests. They patrol and protect the trees and creatures from any harm that might come to them.”
“Arthur wanted to hunt in that forest,” Merlin says softly, touching the edge of the book. He looks up at Gaius. “But why transform him into an animal if he was a threat?”
“Luporae are magical creatures, protective and aggressive, but not bloodthirsty. If they can lure their opponent deep enough into the forest, then they can use magic to make the threat harmless without resorting to killing.”
“Oh,” Merlin says. He looks over at Arthur, where his small heart is still pumping because of the mercy of a mythical creature, and feels a strange gratitude tighten chest. After it eases he asks, “Can he be cured?”
“Possibly.” Gaius looks at Merlin, careful and concerned. “In the forest, there will be a brook running through it. Only the water from this brook can reverse what has been done to Arthur.”
“Okay,” Merlin says, feeling a tickle of unease at the thought of the cool, quiet inside of that forest.
Gaius gently closes the book before turning to Merlin. “There is one other thing. Only the Lupora knows the way to the brook. It must guide you.”
The click of the dog’s teeth, the barking, the rattle of his bones, Arthur--
Arthur. This is for Arthur, to bring him back.
Merlin nods, his mind made up. “I’ll go tomorrow.”
Gaius almost protests. Merlin can see his moment of hesitation. But then he also nods and comes forward to clasp his hand on the curve of Merlin’s shoulder. “Get some rest. I’ll wake you early.”
Merlin doesn’t go immediately. For a few minutes he watches the fire. The light stretches long across the room, flickering over the pages of the book Gaius has sat back down at and the instruments scattered across the table. Arthur, too, warm and limp when Merlin picks him up.
The light doesn’t reach into his room. In there it is dark but familiar. This is not a quiet dark. The fire crackles and snaps, there is the scuff of Gaius’ shoes and the scrape of paper filling the space between the rooms. And even closer, the sound of Merlin’s own breaths, and Arthur’s snuffling inhales. He undresses and slips into bed, close enough to feel Arthur’s presence, almost close enough to hear his heart.
*
Merlin dreams of Arthur as a god of the sun, the most important thing he’ll ever know.
*
He rides out at dawn, feeling that familiar prickle of destiny under his skin. As he moves out, one of Arthur’s old swords bumping his thigh and You only need a bit, Merlin on the surface of his mind, the sun brings Camelot to life in a golden wash.
It’s beautiful, and Merlin lets himself hope, just a bit.
The ride is very quiet, and not as long as the previous one. Merlin keeps his eyes fixed on that patch of forest, watching it grow larger and more detailed with every step. As he crests the last hill, he can see the dark form of the Lupora sitting at the edge of the forest.
It is not watching Merlin. Its eyes are half-closed, taking in the sweep of sunlight over the grass and the swirl of clouds across the sky as dawn brightens into day.
Merlin dismounts a safe distance away, tying the reins to a half-dead tree. He fumbles in untying the water skin he has brought, and when he looks again the Lupora is watching him.
Merlin looks back. They stare at one another and everything is very still until Merlin removes Arthur’s sword from his belt and drops it, sheath and all, into the grass. His approach is slow, and he tries to remember his calm.
Aggressive and protective, but not bloodthirsty.
The Lupora does not move, except for the faint motion of its thick fur ruffling in the breeze. Merlin isn’t sure how to address this creature. He half-bows, his fingers clutching the bag so tight his knuckles ache.
“I need your help,” he whispers.
The creature blinks at him.
“I need you to take me to the water.”
He swallows harshly, unsure if this creature is even hearing him. The wind and the thud of his heart is a roar to cover the silence of the Lupora. His head dips, and he thinks, Please, desperately.
Young one.
The words come growling into Merlin’s mind, calm and echoing like a stone dropped into water. Merlin takes a step backwards, even though the black dog still has not moved. He had never considered that any creature, magical or not, would be capable of speech. Merlin steps back before the Lupora, nodding his acknowledgement.
Its head tilts to the side, considering him. It looks at the water skin in Merlin’s shaking hands, and up at his face, and then out on the field, the place where it and Arthur fought, the hills beyond. Blinking into the sun, it resettles first one front paw, and then the other, toes just at the end of the underbrush.
Finally it looks back on Merlin, meeting his eyes.
Do you love?
Merlin doesn’t even have to think about it.
Yes.
The Lupora stands to its full height, shaking out the black and white fur before turning into the shadows of the trees. It only goes a few feet before it half-turns to locate Merlin. Tossing its large head towards the trees, it indicates Merlin should follow.
He takes a deep breath, holding onto his water skin, and steps forward.
*
The creature does not speak again, and does not check to ensure Merlin is following. It leads him so deep into the forest Merlin knows it must not be sunlight keeping away the dark. There are no other creatures, and there is silence until Merlin can hear the rush of the brook.
The flow of magic over his hands as he fills the water skin is bright and startling. He must gasp at the feeling, but the Lupora does not seem to notice his awe. It sits calmly on the bank, one ear tilted towards the treetops, perhaps listening to something Merlin will never hear.
When the Lupora leaves him at the mouth of the forest, Merlin stands there, his hands still damp, looking at the blurry sun, thinking the most grateful thoughts he can.
*
When he returns, it’s almost midday. Gaius is brewing draughts for patients, but he leaves that to come to Merlin.
“Did you-”
“I got it!” Merlin holds up the bulging skin. He can’t keep the smile off his face.
Gaius takes the skin, and cradles it in his arm. “Are you harmed?”
Merlin shakes his head. “Where’s Arthur?”
Gaius points towards Merlin’s room and Merlin leaves him to it. Arthur emerges out from under his bed as he enters. They meet in the middle of the room, Merlin crouching down and Arthur putting his front paws on Merlin’s knee.
“I did it, Arthur,” Merlin says, using both hands to ruffle the soft fur behind Arthur’s ears. “You’ll be fixed soon.”
He gives Arthur a few more minutes of dedicated scratching and then scoops him up and brings him to the main room. Gaius is dragging out the ancient tub he uses to bathe patients, and the giant black cauldron is already on the fire.
“What are you doing?” Merlin asks, setting Arthur down on the work table.
Gaius pulls the tub to its customary place in the middle of the room and then turns to Merlin. He looks amused, but he’s almost trying to mask it.
“I’m not doing anything, my boy. You are.”
“And what am I doing?”
Gaius goes to the fire and, wrapping his robe around his hands, hefts the cauldron off the fire.
“It’s the cure. To transform Arthur back he will need to be washed with the water from the forest.”
“Oh,” Merlin says, glancing at Arthur, who is already washing his face.
“Oh, indeed. Now help me empty this into the tub, and then we’ll add the water from the forest.”
*
Merlin is left on his own, with the fire crackling, the sun streaming in, a tub full of warm-semi-magical water, and Arthur, who has know idea what is coming to him.
But, a cure is a cure, so Merlin takes off his kerchief and rolls up his sleeves.
“Sire,” he says gently, picking up Arthur. If Arthur were smart, and not a cat, he would likely realize that the honorific is a trick. But because he is a cat he just chirps happily.
If Merlin didn’t want the real Arthur back so much it hurts, he might feel bad.
Arthur’s fine until Merlin starts lowering him towards the water. Then Arthur is not fine at all. He squirms and mewls, digging his claws into the soft inner flesh of Merlin’s left arm.
“Shh, you’re fine,” Merlin soothes, ignoring the blood welling on his arm. Arthur’s back feet touch the water and he howls like Merlin is putting him to his death. By the time he’s up to his neck, Arthur is quaking, his eyes big and betrayed.
Merlin mutters quiet bits of praise and calm, holding on Arthur with one hand while he scoops palmfuls of water over Arthur’s head, trying to keep it out of his eyes. Arthur makes a mournful noise and flicks his ears.
“Just wait,” Merlin says. He lifts Arthur up and starts rubbing water into his sides. Arthur squeaks, and then makes a choked noise. Beneath his hands Arthur’s body suddenly swells, so heavy he slips out of Merlin’s grasp. Merlin falls back from the tub, soaked and clutching a small handful of wet, orange fur.
“Arthur!” He scrabbles up to his knees and plunges his hand into the water. He can’t find a small body to grasp, only a slick human hip. Arthur, fully human, bursts out of the water, dislodging Merlin’s hand and sloshing water everywhere.
Arthur’s gasp is huge, and it sounds so good Merlin can’t help but grin. Taking a few more shuddering breaths Arthur shakes his head, throwing his hair into disarray. He finally looks at Merlin, his mouth open and his eyes wide, like he’s never seen Merlin before.
Merlin’s grin gets even wider, if that’s possible. “Welcome back,” he says, joy making his voice hoarse.
Arthur surges halfway out of the tub and kisses him. His mouth is half-open against Merlin’s, hard pressure, but Merlin barely has any time to respond or even close his eyes before Arthur slides back down into the tub and away.
Now they’re both breathing hard. Arthur sighs heavily and closes his eyes, both his hands under the water. Merlin looks at his profile, his forehead, his nose, his mouth. He remembers Arthur the sun god, and how that felt.
Merlin reaches out, and with a steady hand he carefully rubs his thumb behind Arthur’s right ear, gentle and light. Arthur’s eyes open and he looks at Merlin, wondering.
Merlin smiles at him, his thumb still stroking and his fingers in Arthur’s wet hair. Whether he knows it or not, Arthur presses into the touch.
“I understand,” he tells Arthur and watches as his face warms like light filtering out from behind the clouds.
“Thank you,” Arthur whispers.
Yes, I am crazy. But this is surprisingly serious.
Title: Got Your Tongue
Rating: PG
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Word Count: 6447
Summary: Merlin stares at the cat for a few seconds. The cat stares back.
Notes: What a way to join a fandom. I resisted this as valiantly as I could, but it beat me down in the end. Thanks to snglesrvngfrend for listening to me complain, complain, make noises of victory, and then providing beta.
The sun is shining, the wind is right, and the woodland creatures are ripe for killing. It’s a glorious day for Arthur’s favourite pastime. For Merlin, it’s just a nice day.
“Where shall we go?” Merlin asks. A nice day to go where the Prince wants.
Arthur squints against the sun and leans forward to rub his knuckles over his horse’s neck. He surveys the land, taking in the fields and the twisting river of forest.
“Let’s go someplace new,” Arthur says, pointing towards forest Merlin can barely see. He looks to Merlin for confirmation, daring for a yes.
“Prince Arthur, always after the next best thing,” Merlin teases, which is his way of saying yes. Arthur rolls his eyes and nudges his horse into a canter.
“You like venison, don’t you?” Arthur calls back over his shoulder.
“What?” Merlin picks up the reins for his horse and tries to get her to catch up. She’s a little reluctant. “Oh! Yes. Yes I do.”
“Well, come on then, before all the deer get bored and move!”
“Coming!” Merlin yells.
*
This is further than Merlin’s ever been before. He can’t see any part of Camelot any more and his thighs ache from all this time on a horse, but Arthur still hasn’t decided where he wants to go hunting.
Merlin is valiantly resisting the urge to whine about wanting to go home. He doesn’t like venison that much.
“What about there?” Merlin asks, pointing at a section of forest. Any section of forest. If Arthur had wanted to just go riding he could have said, and Merlin could have been saved the trouble of carrying all of Arthur’s hunting gear.
Arthur rests his hands on his thighs and gives Merlin’s point a cursory glance. He scans the horizon and then glances at Merlin. There’s a secret in Arthur’s eyes, but Merlin’s not sure he wants to know.
It could be something good (amusing, titillating) or something bad (evil scheme) and Merlin doesn’t much like his odds.
But, he’s Merlin, so he lets his curiosity lead. “Arthur?”
“Hmm?” Arthur’s receded back into himself again, his eyes fixed far away.
“Are you alright?”
Arthur looks at him, his eyes sharp, and then he suddenly dismounts. Standing between the two horses Arthur beckons Merlin down and then prompt turns away. His fingers tuck into fists at his side and then relax.
Seeing Arthur so tense puts Merlin on edge. There isn’t any reason for Arthur to act like this, not when it’s just the two of them out in the middle of nowhere.
“Arthur?” His voice comes out strange, confused and pitched low. He touches Arthur’s shoulder, and Arthur bristles. Merlin’s anxiety climbs another notch.
“This is very wrong,” Arthur says suddenly, not turning. His voice is also low, filled with desperation and that same secret from before. “We shouldn’t be here.”
“I don’t understand,” Merlin insists. It’s not like Arthur to talk around problems. Some Uther-related issues aside, he is usually in such good control and willing to confront anything.
“Of course you don’t!” Arthur whirls around to face Merlin. Merlin can feel the heat from his eyes all over his face, searching for something. He takes a savage step forward into Merlin’s space, his hands coming up to grab. Merlin flinches and Arthur’s hands drop. The fire in his eyes goes out and he turns his face away.
Arthur’s mouth is a bitter line and his voice is strangely hurt when he says, “No, you don’t. Merlin, it’s…Never mind, alright? Just forge-”
A frantic, angry barking fills the air and out of the corner of his eye Merlin can see a black blur racing for them. Arthur shoves him back and he stumbles over his own feet, falling down. With ease born of practice Arthur draws his sword and turns to face the dog.
It’s huge, jet-black except for its gleaming white chest, and snarling. Merlin’s never seen a dog like it. It must have smelled them and come out of the forest. Which means it probably wants to eat them. Merlin makes a squeaky, shameful noise that he’ll deny if he makes it out alive.
“Come on!” Arthur yells. The dog howls and Arthur’s sword flashes. He misses and the dog slides around his reach, snapping at the back of Arthur’s calves. Arthur curses richly, trying to turn and strike at the same time. The dog evades him again, growling.
Merlin looks for blood, but he doesn’t see any.
Arthur and the dog lunge and dodge each other a few more times. When he’s facing Merlin, Arthur’s cheeks are pink with anger and exertion. The dog is fast and low to the ground, not at all like a man, and Arthur’s keeping up, but barely.
He finally nicks the beast on its shoulder. It’s probably not more than a scratch, but the dog yelps. It reels to the left, and Arthur lifts his sword to finish the job.
For some reason, Merlin finds his voice.
“Arthur!”
He doesn’t know what compels him to yell, whether it’s some concern for the dog or concern for Arthur. But he does yell, and Arthur twists to see him.
The dog must know an opportunity when it sees one, because it launches itself at Arthur’s sword arm and clamps its jaws down on his wrist.
“Bastard!” Arthur hollers, shaking his arm, his sword falling to the grass. He’s wearing his leather coat so he’s mostly protected but the shock of it must be terrible. “Get off!”
The dog falls back, its teeth and Arthur’s arm glistening with saliva. It snaps out one last bark before turning on its heels and charging back towards the forest.
Before Merlin can even move Arthur has picked his sword back up and is racing after the dog.
The trees swallow the dog, Arthur and Merlin’s yell all at the same time.
*
For it being the middle of the afternoon, the forest is quite dark. It’s also eerily quiet, no birds, no rustling, and no Arthur noises. Merlin needs to find Arthur and get out of here. Quickly.
“Arthur? Arthur, where are you?” Merlin winds through the trees, trying to follow the trail of crushed grass that must be from the dog and Arthur.
There’s no response. Merlin keeps calling, growing more and more apprehensive by the moment. He tries to convince himself that there’s no way that dog could kill Arthur, but the continuing silence makes that hard.
Up ahead there’s a clearing. Merlin moves towards it, hoping to find something there-but, please, please not Arthur’s body. He breaks the tree line and immediately sees Arthur’s sword in the grass.
His heart skips a beat.
Looking around frantically, Merlin can’t see Arthur anywhere-
His clothes are in a heap in the centre of the clearing.
Confusion and Honest-to-God fear crash over Merlin. He scrambles forward, his fingers against Arthur’s shirt and the soft fabric of his breeches. They’re still warm from Arthur’s body.
“Arthur!” The word shakes, and almost breaks in the centre. Merlin has to find him. “Arthur!”
At the edge of the clearing, the grass rustles. Merlin almost breaks his neck he looks up so sharply. His breath catches. Is Arthur injured? Fists clenched in Arthur’s shirt, Merlin is once again struck still.
The grass parts to let a handsome orange cat through. It pads toward Merlin, calm and inquisitive and settles just beyond Arthur’s discarded boots and meows loudly.
Merlin stares at the cat for a few seconds. The cat stares back.
“Arthur?”
The cat meows again, his eyes friendly.
*
This is horrible. He will never, ever be forgiven for this, even if it’s not really his fault. It’ll be like that time Arthur almost broke his neck falling off his horse. Merlin didn’t make Arthur run into that tree branch, and he certainly didn’t make the girls gathering berries so comely. But he also hadn’t warned Arthur about the upcoming tree when Arthur trotted along, his jaw open and his attention on women instead of where he was going. So it was his fault.
It’ll be like that. Except this time Merlin will probably get executed instead of just put in the stocks to make Arthur’s pride feel better.
His only two hopes are that he can fix this before Uther finds out and that Arthur won’t remember this experience. But, knowing Merlin’s luck, he should start kissing his head goodbye.
“Hey, Arthur,” he whispers, his hand held out and shaking faintly, “come here, please.”
The cat stares at him, tantalizingly out of reach, tail curled around him and his eyes slitted in vindictive cat pleasure. Merlin’s afraid to move in case Arthur makes a break for it.
If the heir to Camelot gets stuck up a tree, Merlin doesn’t know what he’ll do.
“Please,” Merlin wiggles his fingers. “Sire.”
The cat blinks at him, once, twice, and then he stretches. The relief Merlin feels when Arthur comes forward and bumps his sleek head against Merlin’s fingertips is so great he has to close his eyes. Arthur ducks his head so it fits in Merlin’s palm and Merlin obliges him by scratching behind his ears and between his shoulders.
“You terrible, fickle beast,” Merlin says, trying to be calm. Arthur seems to like the abuse (or the tone of it, at least), and he sends up a round of purring. Merlin scratches him more, lulling them both.
When Arthur seems inclined to stay, kept busy by rubbing his chin on Merlin’s knee in a rather possessive fashion, Merlin lays Arthur’s long leather coat down across the green grass. When he flutters his fingers over it, Arthur follows the motion and flops down.
His purring is interrupted by a loud growl as Merlin gathers up the sides of Arthur’s coat, trapping Arthur inside.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” Merlin binds the bundle with a leather thong off his belt, gathering the squirming, hissing coat and Arthur’s other clothes to his chest as he stands. “We need to get back to the castle and I can’t trust you not to run off.”
He almost drops Arthur when he picks up the sword, but he’s apparently got just enough servant skills to juggle the weight.
Once he gets out of the forest, he can see that Arthur’s horse and his own are not very far off, their noses deep in the grass. Merlin’s not sure he can ride a horse and keep hold of Arthur, so he tucks the Arthur-bundle in the crook of one elbow, stuffs Arthur’s things in the satchel attached to his own horse and grabs the reins of both with his free hand.
Arthur howls. Merlin can hear him scratching.
“Stop that,” he hisses. “You like that coat. And you’ll forgive me later, once I figure this out.”
“Rroowrr!” Arthur says.
Perhaps not.
*
He ends up putting Arthur in his own room. A cat can’t be seen wandering the castle, and Merlin isn’t quite sure how he’ll tell Gaius about this. So he plops the bundle down on his bed and pulls the knot on the thong from as far away as he can.
Not that it matters. Arthur springs out from his prison as soon as he’s able to and sinks his teeth into Merlin’s wrist, holding on with his front paws and kicking with his back ones. Merlin lets him, wincing and listening to Arthur’s growling.
Arthur finally lets go in order to turn his back on Merlin, washing his face like Merlin’s not there.
Merlin adjusts his cuff, and resists the urge to smooth his fingers down Arthur’s spine.
“I suppose I deserved that. But hopefully now you’ll cooperate until I can get you back to the way you’re supposed to be.”
Arthur doesn’t look at him. Merlin gives in and lets his fingers drift down Arthur’s back. Arthur tolerates the touch but moves away as soon as Merlin lifts his fingers. He curls up on Merlin’s pillow and goes to work shedding everywhere.
“I’ll get you something to eat, shall I?” Merlin asks.
*
Surprisingly enough, no one’s around to ask any questions. Merlin doesn’t even run into Gwen on his way to and from the kitchens, which is nice because Merlin doesn’t really want to try and explain why his pocket is full of roast chicken.
Gaius is on his rounds, so Merlin hauls a handful of books on magic into his room. Arthur is still sulking, but he opens an eye when Merlin sits down.
“Here.” Merlin drops the chicken scraps on the sheets and picks up the first book.
He reads and Arthur eats his dinner. It’s quite companionable, in its own special, completely wrong way.
Merlin gets kind of wrapped up in what he’s doing. Usually he’s too busy doing the thousands of things Arthur “needs” him to do to read, as much as he knows Gaius would like him to. But having the time and freedom to do it makes going through Gaius’ well-worn and well-loved books that much better, feline princes notwithstanding.
Not that he finds anything helpful. It might help if he knew what he was looking for. Looking up ‘cat’ yields articles about the connection of cats to sin and the Devil and ‘forest, magical’ covers hundreds of pages which Merlin would like to avoid reading if at all possible.
He’s just settling in to a chapter regarding black dogs when a plaintive meow makes him look up. Arthur’s sat in front of the closed door, staring at the latch like he could wish it open.
“What?”
Arthur looks over his shoulder at Merlin, his small orange face the picture of feline sadness. He meows again and then looks back at the latch.
“You want to go out? Why-oh. Of course.” Merlin sets his book aside and goes to Arthur. He looks around for something to put Arthur in - the coat bundle clearly won’t do again, his herb basket is too small-and ends up investigating the space between his side and his coat.
“Sire,” he says gently, tucking his hand under Arthur’s belly and lifting him. Arthur fits cozily inside of his coat and it’s easy to prop him up if he keeps his arm close to his side. Surprisingly enough, Arthur doesn’t protest, a fact which Merlin is grateful for (he prefers it when Arthur’s claws are not literal).
Gaius is still gone, which must mean someone is dying, and no one else cares about the servant boy going out the doors past the armory. They go out to a semi-hidden corner and Merlin deposits Arthur on the grass. He dutifully turns his back.
“Go on,” he murmurs, “I won’t look.”
He hums to himself and looks up into the fading twilight, trying to recall any detail of the day that can help them, but it’s so blurred by excitement and fear.
In the very least, he should be able to count on no one missing Arthur until at least midday tomorrow. Merlin touches the back of his neck, where the blade would land, and then he blinks hard.
Claws catch in the fabric of his breeches and pull gently. He looks down at Arthur, sitting so calmly in the grass. The rising moonlight catches the yellow-green of Arthur’s eyes and makes them glow.
Arthur is warm against his chest, small but alive. Not that something like that will matter to Uther. Merlin blinks again, trying to think calm thoughts to end this long day. He takes Arthur back to the room, pausing to drop a log on the fire for when Gaius returns. Arthur settles on the end of the bed, all his paws tucked into his body and Merlin picks up his book.
Predictably enough, he falls asleep on it.
*
Merlin dreams of an Arthur who is trying desperately to tell him something, but he cannot speak. He holds Merlin’s hand tightly and his eyes beg, Can’t you see?
*
He wakes up sure he’s being choked by his own kerchief. Fumbling for his throat he runs into fur instead of cotton and his brain complains that that’s not how things go. Dragging his head up he tries to see what’s going on. Merlin feels like he slept in his clothes, but he doesn’t remember owning anything that shade of white-orange, unless Gwen’s been gifting him clothes at night…
“Arthur? Izzat you?”
It is Arthur, but all he does is stretch, sigh, and then go loose over Merlin’s throat again. Merlin blinks sleepily up at the ceiling and takes a moment to ignore any panicky thoughts of exactly why he’s wearing Arthur like a living scarf and instead enjoy the feeling.
That works until he inhales and gets a lot of Arthur’s fur up his nose. Then he lets reality sink in and he pulls Arthur off, setting him down on the bed. Arthur, the lazy thing, just lolls in the warm spot Merlin leaves behind.
He changes his shirt and makes his usual half-hearted attempt to smooth his hair, listening to the faint sounds of Gaius moving in the next room. His stomach lets him know what he should be doing. Quite loudly.
Well, it is a new day, and if Merlin is going to fix Arthur he can’t do so on an empty stomach. He also thinks that today he’ll be positive, because that might work better than panicking.
Arthur makes short work of that idea by zooming out the door as soon as Merlin opens it. Merlin makes a choked noise as Arthur ducks under Gaius’ work table.
“Ah, good morning, Merlin,” Gaius says cheerfully, apparently mistaking Merlin’s stricken face for one of sleepiness. “Come. Sit and eat.”
Merlin does so, trying to catch a glimpse of Arthur, but he’s well-hidden. Gaius joins him and they eat quietly, Gaius flipping through an anatomy book and Merlin tries not to look obvious while he looks for Arthur (of which there is no sign).
Gaius starts telling Merlin about the patient from last night. Her death had been long, but quiet, fortunately quite dignified. Nothing overtly suspicious, but Gaius might do some reading into it. Merlin nods, stuffing bread into his mouth.
Gaius stands to exchange the anatomy book for another and gasps quietly behind Merlin’s back.
“Infernal beast! How did you get in here?”
That’ll be Arthur then.
Merlin gulps down the bread and turns. Gaius is prodding at Arthur with a ladle, cursing him and trying to shoo him off the work table. Arthur hisses, and swipes at the ladle, every creamy orange inch of him indignant.
“Um, Gaius?” Merlin holds up one finger.
“What, Merlin? Get out of here, cat!”
Merlin tries to think of the best way to tell Gaius that he’s trying to remove the Prince from his work table. With a ladle.
“You might not want to do that.”
“And why not?”
“Because. That, ah, that’s Arthur.”
Gaius pokes Arthur a few more times before he realizes what Merlin’s just said. Then he turns very slowly, ladle still out-held, to look at Merlin.
“Please tell me you mean you’ve taken in this badly tempered creature and named it after the Prince as a show of goodwill.”
“Sorry,” Merlin says.
Gaius covers his eyes with one hand. Behind him, Merlin can see Arthur settle down on the edge of the table, contorting himself so he can start grooming one of his back legs. Merlin smiles, but holds his hand up to cover it.
“What happened?” Gaius asks, finally.
Merlin tells the story as best he can. The dog, the silent forest Merlin’s never been in before, finding the clearing, and eventually Arthur himself. Gaius listens intently, but Merlin’s disappointed to see his face doesn’t light up with recognition at any point in the story.
“Oh, dear,” is the best Gaius seems able to do.
“Will you help?”
“Of course I will, Merlin.”
“We can fix it, right?”
Gaius is starting to look determined, which does some measure of good for Merlin.
“I should certainly hope so.”
Merlin nods. Gaius moves to a pile of books and runs his fingertips over them, considering.
On the table, Arthur growls happily, chewing on his own toes.
*
Merlin gets summoned to see the King, and leaves Arthur in Gaius’ care. Uther is pacing impatiently in front of his throne when Merlin enters the hall.
“Where is my son?” He booms as soon as the doors close behind Merlin.
“Hunting,” Merlin says, although it’s almost a question. He tries to school his face into seriousness to make up for it.
“If I recall correctly, that is what you were doing yesterday. The both of you.” Uther turns on his heels and finally sits, steepling his fingers, gazing at Merlin calmly and coldly.
“Well, uh, as you know, Sire, the Prince has had much weighing on his mind as of late.” Merlin shifts, but Uther just nods, conceding the point. “He bade me leave him to his thoughts. He said he would stay in one of the outer villages.”
“And when will he return?”
Merlin scrabbles for an answer. He had figured that Uther would have started yelling by now. “He said…He said he would be back in Camelot by tomorrow evening, most likely.”
Uther looks at him, most likely searching for a lie. Merlin dips his head so Uther won’t see his eyes.
He barely breathes until Uther finally says, “Very well then. I await his return.”
“Yes, Sire,” Merlin murmurs, bowing.
*
When he makes his hurried entrance into his and Gaius’ quarters Gaius is waiting for him, his hands on his hips, looking most displeased.
“What is it?” Merlin asks, his hands held out in front of him. Gaius should be happy. Merlin managed to have an encounter with Uther and the King didn’t mention the stocks once.
“Do something with him,” Gaius says, pointing to Arthur, who is sat right on the open pages of a book, presumably one Gaius was just reading. He leans in and lowers his voice, “He’s insufferable. Growls if I try to move him.”
Despite himself, Merlin smiles. “And you’re always lecturing me on having patience with him.”
Gaius huffs and points again. “Take him, and that green book there. Try to look for something useful.”
Merlin does as he’s told. Arthur tolerates the lift until they get into Merlin’s room, and then he squirms out of Merlin’s arm and sets to sniffing around. Merlin leaves him to it, and instead removes his boots and lies down, cracking the book open.
It’s concerned mostly with herbs and potions, and what they might do to someone. He doesn’t think Arthur would be stupid enough to eat anything in the forest, but he could have fallen into a patch of something.
He reads about frogwort and sickle’s ivy, dampshade and poor root, trying to remember the leafy grey-green of the forest, each individual shape. None of them seem familiar. None of them tell of turning men into animals.
He reads, on and on, hearing the occasional mutter from Gaius and the clap of a book shutting.
Still nothing.
*
Arthur starts head butting him while he’s trying to read about Elorias flowers. Merlin tries to push him away but Arthur’s having none of that. On the next push Arthur just slides across Merlin’s palm, effectively petting himself. Merlin gets one swipe from a rough tongue as his reward for staying still.
Well, the flowers didn’t match anyway. He abandons the book in favour of rubbing one thumb behind Arthur’s right ear, earning a burst of deep purring and most of Arthur’s weight slumping against his arm.
“That’s nice, isn’t it,” Merlin murmurs. Arthur ratchets the purring up a notch and tilts his head back so Merlin can see the close-eyed bliss on his face.
He can bet that’s a face Arthur wouldn’t usually make. Certainly not lately, at least. It’s impossible to tell, looking at this Arthur, but true nonetheless. Something’s been living inside Arthur, pulling him away. He’s not angry, and Merlin can’t feel any magic clouding the air around Arthur when he helps him into his armor. There doesn’t seem to be a problem, except Merlin knows that somehow Arthur has changed in the past months.
He misses his Arthur. Not just the man, but the man who was witty, sharp, brave and there.
Merlin would do just about anything to get him back.
*
Since Merlin’s magic is not strong enough, and this is the son of Uther they’re dealing with, he can’t fix Arthur like that. But books are so slow. Merlin isn’t much help in that regard, so he spends the day with Arthur.
Gaius works steadily, and Merlin keeps Arthur from shredding anything or lighting his tail on fire. It’s fun, in that same completely wrong way that has flavoured this past day. Even Gaius thinks so, tempering his exasperation at Arthur’s beef broth footprints across his map of Camelot with a secret fond look at the sight of Merlin carefully wiping off Arthur’s paws, scolding him.
Despite the fun, it’s also exhausting chasing around a creature so wiggly and used to his own way. After he’s taken Arthur outside for any after-supper business he might have, kept Arthur from eating any grass, and dodged both Gwen and Morgana on the way back in, Merlin’s ready to collapse.
“I sincerely hope this isn’t what having children is like,” Merlin groans, closing the door. Arthur practically vaults out of his coat to see if anything’s different since they left.
Gaius’ mouth quirks. “I imagine it’s quite similar.”
Merlin flops facedown on the cot for patients, pressing his face into the thin pillow that smells of the sweat of all the patients who have lain here. He barely gets a minute of peace before paws track up his spine and Arthur settles between his shoulder blades. Merlin can feel the rumble of his purring.
He swats in Arthur’s general direction and mumbles, “Insufferable.”
“Patience,” Gaius says.
*
It must be after midnight when Gaius shakes Merlin awake. Merlin starts, drowsy and unsure of where he is, but then he remembers. His first real thought is for Arthur, but he’s curled up by the low light of the fire, his fur shining.
Gaius’ hand is warm on Merlin’s shoulder, and his voice is bright. “Merlin, come and look at this.”
At the work table Gaius has spread out a huge tome Merlin’s not sure he’s ever seen before. The paper is covered in minute wrinkles and it smells like dust.
“Here,” Gaius points, “is this the creature Arthur fought?”
On the page is a sketch of a dog, tall and proud, its fangs showing and the white chest pronounced. It is positioned on the edge of a forest, its lines blurring into the underbrush.
Merlin knows that dog. He can remember the impact as he hit the ground, the snarling, the rush of Arthur’s breath and the snap of its jaws, trapping his wrist.
“Yes,” he breathes, lost for a moment. Then he shakes his head and finds his voice. “What is it?”
“They’re a very rare animal called Luporae. Some believe that black dogs guard Hell, but these dogs are different. They’re guardians of magical forests. They patrol and protect the trees and creatures from any harm that might come to them.”
“Arthur wanted to hunt in that forest,” Merlin says softly, touching the edge of the book. He looks up at Gaius. “But why transform him into an animal if he was a threat?”
“Luporae are magical creatures, protective and aggressive, but not bloodthirsty. If they can lure their opponent deep enough into the forest, then they can use magic to make the threat harmless without resorting to killing.”
“Oh,” Merlin says. He looks over at Arthur, where his small heart is still pumping because of the mercy of a mythical creature, and feels a strange gratitude tighten chest. After it eases he asks, “Can he be cured?”
“Possibly.” Gaius looks at Merlin, careful and concerned. “In the forest, there will be a brook running through it. Only the water from this brook can reverse what has been done to Arthur.”
“Okay,” Merlin says, feeling a tickle of unease at the thought of the cool, quiet inside of that forest.
Gaius gently closes the book before turning to Merlin. “There is one other thing. Only the Lupora knows the way to the brook. It must guide you.”
The click of the dog’s teeth, the barking, the rattle of his bones, Arthur--
Arthur. This is for Arthur, to bring him back.
Merlin nods, his mind made up. “I’ll go tomorrow.”
Gaius almost protests. Merlin can see his moment of hesitation. But then he also nods and comes forward to clasp his hand on the curve of Merlin’s shoulder. “Get some rest. I’ll wake you early.”
Merlin doesn’t go immediately. For a few minutes he watches the fire. The light stretches long across the room, flickering over the pages of the book Gaius has sat back down at and the instruments scattered across the table. Arthur, too, warm and limp when Merlin picks him up.
The light doesn’t reach into his room. In there it is dark but familiar. This is not a quiet dark. The fire crackles and snaps, there is the scuff of Gaius’ shoes and the scrape of paper filling the space between the rooms. And even closer, the sound of Merlin’s own breaths, and Arthur’s snuffling inhales. He undresses and slips into bed, close enough to feel Arthur’s presence, almost close enough to hear his heart.
*
Merlin dreams of Arthur as a god of the sun, the most important thing he’ll ever know.
*
He rides out at dawn, feeling that familiar prickle of destiny under his skin. As he moves out, one of Arthur’s old swords bumping his thigh and You only need a bit, Merlin on the surface of his mind, the sun brings Camelot to life in a golden wash.
It’s beautiful, and Merlin lets himself hope, just a bit.
The ride is very quiet, and not as long as the previous one. Merlin keeps his eyes fixed on that patch of forest, watching it grow larger and more detailed with every step. As he crests the last hill, he can see the dark form of the Lupora sitting at the edge of the forest.
It is not watching Merlin. Its eyes are half-closed, taking in the sweep of sunlight over the grass and the swirl of clouds across the sky as dawn brightens into day.
Merlin dismounts a safe distance away, tying the reins to a half-dead tree. He fumbles in untying the water skin he has brought, and when he looks again the Lupora is watching him.
Merlin looks back. They stare at one another and everything is very still until Merlin removes Arthur’s sword from his belt and drops it, sheath and all, into the grass. His approach is slow, and he tries to remember his calm.
Aggressive and protective, but not bloodthirsty.
The Lupora does not move, except for the faint motion of its thick fur ruffling in the breeze. Merlin isn’t sure how to address this creature. He half-bows, his fingers clutching the bag so tight his knuckles ache.
“I need your help,” he whispers.
The creature blinks at him.
“I need you to take me to the water.”
He swallows harshly, unsure if this creature is even hearing him. The wind and the thud of his heart is a roar to cover the silence of the Lupora. His head dips, and he thinks, Please, desperately.
Young one.
The words come growling into Merlin’s mind, calm and echoing like a stone dropped into water. Merlin takes a step backwards, even though the black dog still has not moved. He had never considered that any creature, magical or not, would be capable of speech. Merlin steps back before the Lupora, nodding his acknowledgement.
Its head tilts to the side, considering him. It looks at the water skin in Merlin’s shaking hands, and up at his face, and then out on the field, the place where it and Arthur fought, the hills beyond. Blinking into the sun, it resettles first one front paw, and then the other, toes just at the end of the underbrush.
Finally it looks back on Merlin, meeting his eyes.
Do you love?
Merlin doesn’t even have to think about it.
Yes.
The Lupora stands to its full height, shaking out the black and white fur before turning into the shadows of the trees. It only goes a few feet before it half-turns to locate Merlin. Tossing its large head towards the trees, it indicates Merlin should follow.
He takes a deep breath, holding onto his water skin, and steps forward.
*
The creature does not speak again, and does not check to ensure Merlin is following. It leads him so deep into the forest Merlin knows it must not be sunlight keeping away the dark. There are no other creatures, and there is silence until Merlin can hear the rush of the brook.
The flow of magic over his hands as he fills the water skin is bright and startling. He must gasp at the feeling, but the Lupora does not seem to notice his awe. It sits calmly on the bank, one ear tilted towards the treetops, perhaps listening to something Merlin will never hear.
When the Lupora leaves him at the mouth of the forest, Merlin stands there, his hands still damp, looking at the blurry sun, thinking the most grateful thoughts he can.
*
When he returns, it’s almost midday. Gaius is brewing draughts for patients, but he leaves that to come to Merlin.
“Did you-”
“I got it!” Merlin holds up the bulging skin. He can’t keep the smile off his face.
Gaius takes the skin, and cradles it in his arm. “Are you harmed?”
Merlin shakes his head. “Where’s Arthur?”
Gaius points towards Merlin’s room and Merlin leaves him to it. Arthur emerges out from under his bed as he enters. They meet in the middle of the room, Merlin crouching down and Arthur putting his front paws on Merlin’s knee.
“I did it, Arthur,” Merlin says, using both hands to ruffle the soft fur behind Arthur’s ears. “You’ll be fixed soon.”
He gives Arthur a few more minutes of dedicated scratching and then scoops him up and brings him to the main room. Gaius is dragging out the ancient tub he uses to bathe patients, and the giant black cauldron is already on the fire.
“What are you doing?” Merlin asks, setting Arthur down on the work table.
Gaius pulls the tub to its customary place in the middle of the room and then turns to Merlin. He looks amused, but he’s almost trying to mask it.
“I’m not doing anything, my boy. You are.”
“And what am I doing?”
Gaius goes to the fire and, wrapping his robe around his hands, hefts the cauldron off the fire.
“It’s the cure. To transform Arthur back he will need to be washed with the water from the forest.”
“Oh,” Merlin says, glancing at Arthur, who is already washing his face.
“Oh, indeed. Now help me empty this into the tub, and then we’ll add the water from the forest.”
*
Merlin is left on his own, with the fire crackling, the sun streaming in, a tub full of warm-semi-magical water, and Arthur, who has know idea what is coming to him.
But, a cure is a cure, so Merlin takes off his kerchief and rolls up his sleeves.
“Sire,” he says gently, picking up Arthur. If Arthur were smart, and not a cat, he would likely realize that the honorific is a trick. But because he is a cat he just chirps happily.
If Merlin didn’t want the real Arthur back so much it hurts, he might feel bad.
Arthur’s fine until Merlin starts lowering him towards the water. Then Arthur is not fine at all. He squirms and mewls, digging his claws into the soft inner flesh of Merlin’s left arm.
“Shh, you’re fine,” Merlin soothes, ignoring the blood welling on his arm. Arthur’s back feet touch the water and he howls like Merlin is putting him to his death. By the time he’s up to his neck, Arthur is quaking, his eyes big and betrayed.
Merlin mutters quiet bits of praise and calm, holding on Arthur with one hand while he scoops palmfuls of water over Arthur’s head, trying to keep it out of his eyes. Arthur makes a mournful noise and flicks his ears.
“Just wait,” Merlin says. He lifts Arthur up and starts rubbing water into his sides. Arthur squeaks, and then makes a choked noise. Beneath his hands Arthur’s body suddenly swells, so heavy he slips out of Merlin’s grasp. Merlin falls back from the tub, soaked and clutching a small handful of wet, orange fur.
“Arthur!” He scrabbles up to his knees and plunges his hand into the water. He can’t find a small body to grasp, only a slick human hip. Arthur, fully human, bursts out of the water, dislodging Merlin’s hand and sloshing water everywhere.
Arthur’s gasp is huge, and it sounds so good Merlin can’t help but grin. Taking a few more shuddering breaths Arthur shakes his head, throwing his hair into disarray. He finally looks at Merlin, his mouth open and his eyes wide, like he’s never seen Merlin before.
Merlin’s grin gets even wider, if that’s possible. “Welcome back,” he says, joy making his voice hoarse.
Arthur surges halfway out of the tub and kisses him. His mouth is half-open against Merlin’s, hard pressure, but Merlin barely has any time to respond or even close his eyes before Arthur slides back down into the tub and away.
Now they’re both breathing hard. Arthur sighs heavily and closes his eyes, both his hands under the water. Merlin looks at his profile, his forehead, his nose, his mouth. He remembers Arthur the sun god, and how that felt.
Merlin reaches out, and with a steady hand he carefully rubs his thumb behind Arthur’s right ear, gentle and light. Arthur’s eyes open and he looks at Merlin, wondering.
Merlin smiles at him, his thumb still stroking and his fingers in Arthur’s wet hair. Whether he knows it or not, Arthur presses into the touch.
“I understand,” he tells Arthur and watches as his face warms like light filtering out from behind the clouds.
“Thank you,” Arthur whispers.