Merlin - Heather of the Fields
Blackout!
Title: Heather of the Fields
Genre: Genderbender, Girl!Merlin, Gen
Length: Just shy of 7,000 words
Rating: PG-13
Synopsis: Merlin would like things to return to how they were, preferably sooner rather than later.
Author’s Notes: For the cliche_bingo entry “genderswap”
Disclaimer: I do not own this particular interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
~~~~~~~~~~
The only thing Merlin knew for certain when he woke up was that he was still bone tired. His body ached as if he had been on the practice field with Arthur all day, and his head was pounding like one of Gaius’ concoctions gone wrong. The most disturbing bit was that he had absolutely no idea how he got in this condition.
No, he corrected himself, feeling the sun warm against the left side of his body. The most disturbing thing was that he had no idea where here was. The window in his room was on the other side. His bed, while suiting his purpose, was not quite so spongy soft. His pillow most definitely did not smell of grass and hay.
He thought about that for a moment and tried to reconcile his current condition in with his current surroundings. He then realized this may be aided by opening his eyes and figuring out both where he ended up and what state he ended up in.
He slowly blinked awake, wincing against the bright light pouring down on him from above. He let his eyes adjust and his headache recede a bit before he took a good look around. That was when he promptly decided he did not have the foggiest notion as to where he was.
His pillow smelled like grass because it was grass. His bed was spongy as it was not much more than moss and dirt. And the light was coming in from the wrong side because there was no side - he was outside, in the middle of nowhere, feeling as though he had been beaten into unconsciousness.
He brushed his hair out of his eyes and rubbed at his temples. Something tickled against the back of his hand and he brought it before him to see what it was. That was when he decided to hyperventilate.
Hands too slim to be his own were tangled in long black locks of what appeared to be somewhat curly hair. He wiggled his fingers and saw the stranger’s hand move in response. He patted at his face and found it felt mostly the same, save for smooth skin where there should be stubble. He pushed up a sleeve, and yes, it appeared to be his sleeve, to reveal a thin forearm tapering into a delicate wrist.
Unsure as to whether it was proper or not, he patted down his front, finding padding where there should be none, and slimness where it should be broad. It also felt suspiciously like the time he was lucky enough to get his hands inside Millicent’s bodice in Will’s father’s barn before her brother found them and gave him a black eye. A quick look inside the waistband of his trousers showed him more of the female anatomy than he was ever able to get to with Millicent, only it looked far more frightening up close and personal and on himself than it did in any of the books Gaius kept on the second shelf from the top behind a sign that listed them as for physicians’ references only.
He flopped back down and cursed in every language Gaius had taught him. He was a woman. Worse, he was somehow a woman in man’s clothing in the middle of nowhere with no idea how he got there or why he was in the state he was in. Yes, there was the likelihood of magic involved. No, he had no idea what kind.
He cursed again.
He lay there for a bit, contemplating his choices, frightened by the sheer number that ended up with the possibility of being eaten by a wild animal or killed by a marauder. Just as he was beginning to wonder if marauders would feed him to wild animals, he heard a stumbling in the bushes to his right.
He gathered up his courage, ready to take on whatever nastiness awaited him, when who should come stumbling into his little clearing but Gwen? “Found him!” she called over her shoulder. She turned back to face him, paused, blinked, and amended, “I think.”
“Gwen?” he asked. What he had been trying to ask was something more along the lines of, “Gwen, what happened and where am I and why do I feel like some mythical beast just stepped on me?” but he was far too in shock by the higher pitch of his voice to get past the first word.
Instead of her answering or him voicing the rest of his worries, both turned as Morgana gracefully entered the clearing, demanding, “What do you mean ‘you think’? Either you found him or you...” She trailed off upon seeing him, er, her. Much like Gwen, she blinked several times. Unlike Gwen, she then burst into a fit of giggles.
“It’s not funny!” he protested. He tried to cross his arms in front of him but found the slight extra padding on his chest made that awkward. There was no way of doing it without feeling he was doing something improper, so he quickly lowered his hands and resorted to simply glaring.
“No, it really is,” she assured him, stifling another round and putting her fingers to her lips to hide what he knew had to be a grin.
“How would you like to suddenly be something your not?” he challenged with a huff. “Waking up, suddenly changed, having no say over the fact that you are no longer you? Not knowing if you will ever be you again or if you are stuck being the new you and, really, what do I know about being a girl?”
Gwen’s eyes, which had been lit with the beginnings of amusement, now held the shadow of concern. “He, er, she, does have a point, my lady,” she pointed out. “We have no idea how this happened or if whatever did this to her, er, him, is still around. Perhaps we should take our leave and consult Gaius and his books?”
Morgana nodded, slightly more sombre now. “Gaius might be able to help,” she agreed. “Though I do fear this is beyond any of his potions or brews. At the very least, he may know where to begin.”
Merlin flopped back down in the grass. “I’ll just stay here then. Let me know if you find anything?”
He closed his eyes to doze, hoping the lingering soreness would abate, but opened them again as both woman began to pull at his sleeves. “You will do no such thing!” Morgana protested.
“You can’t expect me to just wander back to Camelot looking like this!” he exclaimed, gesturing at his changed form.
Morgana shook her head while Gwen finished pulling him to his feet. “In case it escaped your notice, you are a woman now, Merlin,” she said. Before he could point out that it was hard to ignore this fact, she pressed on, “And a woman should not be left alone in the countryside with night about to fall. It’s not safe, it’s not proper, and it will not be done.”
He raised his eyebrows and even that simple action felt odd. “And just how do you intend to sneak me past the guards you know followed us all and are stationed only a bit down the road? Do you plan on politely explaining to them that I have become bewitched in some manner and then they can politely lead me to my death at the King’s hands for sorcery?”
“Uther does not kill those who are suffering from sorcery, only those who practise it themselves,” Morgana told him dismissively. Her pale eyes narrowed though as she seemed to ponder something. “The guards may be an issue. We will have to come up with a convincing story.”
“And quickly,” Gwen pointed out, eying the sun beginning to dip in the sky. “They will come looking for us soon and wonder why the prince’s personal servant has been replaced by a lady in the prince’s personal servant’s clothing.”
“I’ve, er, gotten lost, I mean wandered off before and they have not been that concerned,” Merlin admitted. He had been picking herbs for Gaius, much like today. Only that time, there was more of the wandering and less of the sorcery and he eventually found his way back as the gates, this time with sorcery of a different kind, as they were closing for the night, sneaking in with a few other stragglers. “In truth, I don’t think they even noticed. You two coming back with a stranger though, that might cause some alarm.”
“I have an idea,” Morgana announced. Merlin winced. If her ideas were anything like Arthur’s, he was not going to like it. She reached and pulled at the scarf around his neck, tangling it in his newly long hair before pulling it off completely. With a sigh, she tugged at a long black strand and directed, “Gwen, can you see if you can do anything with this?”
Gwen immediately set to work, pulling his hair in new and interestingly painful directions, combing it with her fingers before twisting it in some way Merlin was not sure he wanted to know about.
What he did want to know was what Morgana’s idea was and whether or not he was to be privy to it. “Other than pulling all of my hair out, what is the plan?” he asked.
“It’s a simple braid, don’t be such a baby,” Morgana rolled her eyes. If this was simple, he’d hate to find out what one of the more elaborate styles she favoured felt like. Ignoring his distress, she told him, “We make you look like a woman.”
“Don’t I already look like one?” he asked, confused.
“More like one,” she amended. “You are a poor thing that escaped some bandits’ clutches, forced to hide in the forest as you sought aide. We happened upon you and are bringing you to safety.” She beamed, quite proud of herself. She then looked at him disparagingly. “Go roll around in the dirt a bit more to make it more believable.”
Gwen had apparently finished her torture, tying off whatever she had created with his own scarf. “Shall I fetch some brambles?” she suggested.
“Yes, please do,” Morgana agreed, adding yet another layer of fear for what was to happen to him. She turned back to him and looked at him expectantly. “Well? Go on then!”
He blinked. “You want me to roll in the dirt?” he verified.
She sighed as if she were talking to a particularly dense nobleman or, possibly, Arthur. “You have to look like you ran away and have been hiding,” she said with insulting slowness.
“But... my clothing...” he protested. “My other trousers are still with the laundress and...”
“Please,” she interrupted, cutting him off. She then said something more frightening than the though of what Gwen intended to do with the brambles: “You won’t be needing them.” She followed this up with a not so gentle push in the direction of a grassy hillock.
He did as told, not knowing what else to do, and silently tried to figure out how to steal a tunic and pants from Arthur’s wardrobe without him noticing. Realizing the best bet was magic, he then nearly slapped himself for not thinking of trying a spell or three to turn himself back. He whispered a few made up combinations under his breath, but only succeeded in making his fingernails grow a bit longer, one of which he promptly broke.
He cursed at both the action and the ridiculousness of it all and nearly missed Morgana crouching down beside him. “Happy?” he asked petulantly.
The look she gave him was of pure glee. “Ecstatic,” she replied. She looked at his torn nail and added, “Nice touch. It’s the details, really that will make the difference.” She then promptly grabbed a handful of dirt and smeared it on his face.
~~~
If waking up as a woman was horrifying, then the trip back to the castle was just plain humiliating. Gwen sacrificed one of her underskirts and, after a fight, he was allowed to keep his original shirt with his trousers rolled up beneath the hemline. Morgana draped her cloak over him, allowing only a bit of the skirt and his head to show beneath the heavy velvet, and she and Gwen walked beside him the entire way, patting him and cooing such inane things as, “Shh, it will be okay,” until they were past the main gates.
He headed towards his room, only to be dragged in the completely opposite direction. “What are you doing?” he hissed as Morgana pushed him into one of the guest rooms. “You agreed we need to go to Gaius. That’s where I was going!” Which, okay, was not the complete truth. He had planned on going through Gaius’ workroom to his own, crawling beneath the covers, and not coming back out until this was over, but that was a minor detail.
Morgana pulled her cloak off of him and handed it to Gwen. “You are a stranger here, remember?” she hissed back. “There is no reason for you to know Gaius’ name, let alone where his room is. Proper protocol would have you set up in a room and the physician called for and that is what we are going to do.”
When she put it that way, it actually made sense.
He wandered around the room a bit, taking in the fine, yet bland, furnishings and noticing how much nicer it was than the little den of his own room. It was also far less personable, did not look like anyone actually lived there or spent time there. He was not quite sure he liked it, even if the bed was twice the size of the one he was used to and probably had one of the softer mattresses as well.
He was about to test out that theory, wandering closer to the four-poster thing and shifting his skirt to try to get comfortable, when there was a knock on the door. He barely had time to turn around before Gaius hustled in, gear at the ready. He set his pouch down and turned to begin his usual introductions, pitying look upon his face, but only got as far as “Now, what do we have here?”
Merlin ran up to him and begged, “Gaius, you have to fix this!” He twitched his skirt again, as if that alone was the worst of his problems.
The healer gave him a puzzling look, looking his ward up and down without a hint of recognition. “Do I...?” he started to ask.
“It’s me, Merlin!” he insisted, making sure his back was to the women in the room and allowing just enough of his magic to surface to make his eyes glow gold.
“But... how?” Gaius stumbled.
“That’s what we were hoping you could tell us,” Morgana spoke up.
Gaius got to work immediately, though “work” in this case involved asking very many questions and providing very few answers. Merlin caught him randomly staring and shaking his head before focusing back on the task at hand. He couldn’t blame him, not really. He supposed he looked rather odd, at the very least: a young man with long hair shoved into a servant’s dress with branches and brambles attached and wasn’t that interesting to answer why they were there?
While Gaius questioned Gwen and Morgana, Merlin wandered over to the mirror at the side of the room, wanting to see just how hideous he really looked. He closed his eyes, preparing himself, and stepped forward. When he opened them, he was a bit surprised. Reflected back at him was not a man in a dress, but a young woman who could have been any one of dozens from the village, rather plain in looks but far from grotesque. He had kept his height and slight frame, though his hips had spread slightly and he seemed to have just a tad bit more padding there and in other places. His jaw had rounded, his shoulders narrowed, but his huge ears still stood out for all to see, barely hidden by a few strands of his new longer hair that had somehow escaped Gwen’s wrath.
“Huh,” he commented, tugging his shirt down a bit more and resisting the urge to toss the skirt to the side.
He had missed what Gaius had been saying, but Morgana and Gwen were headed towards the door, terrifying threats of finding more clothing upon their lips. The way Gaius stood there, arms crossed and a less than amused expression on his face, Merlin suspected it was time for the real questioning to begin.
Far longer than he thought was strictly necessary later, he flopped back on the bed with a sigh. On the one hand, he had been correct, it was incredibly comfortable. On the other, he was fairly certain Gaius did not believe him that he had not somehow mucked up a spell and done this to himself. Every herb in the basket was gone through, every pocket checked for charms, all to no avail. Gaius himself was going to venture out to the area to see if there was something in the land or the area around it that was to blame, but highly doubted it at this point.
Just as Merlin thought he’d sleep on it and maybe, possibly, miraculously turn back to a man by morning, there was a knock on the door. Gwen and Morgana hustled in, lengths of cloth that he feared were actually dresses draped over their arms and they each carried something that looked suspiciously like a bodice. The matching looks of anticipation in their eyes frightened him to the pit of his nearly empty stomach, and all he could manage was a meek, “Help me,” before they descended upon him like extremely well-dressed vultures.
He was dressed and primped and prodded and his hair brushed in such a way he swore it was getting ripped out by the roots. His complaints that this was not strictly necessary went unheeded. A cloth scented with something suspiciously floral-like was run over his skin, washing away the very dirt Morgana had insisted he douse himself with in the first place.
The women were still debating whether the dress they had wrangled him into was best, or another, even more feminine one was better, when he was saved by a knock at the door. He was desperately hoping Gaius was back with a cure already, but those hopes were dashed when possibly the person he wished to see least in the world stood waiting for him.
Arthur cleared his throat and did something that looked oddly like look him up and down in an assessing manner before introducing himself. “My name is Arthur, prince of Camelot. I was advised you were the victim of bandits and have come to address this matter with you personally.”
Merlin hung his head, letting the long strands hide his face, and resisted the urge to run and hide. It was very tempting, but Arthur was still blocking the door and Morgana and Gwen would likely dig him out from under the bed and force the pink thing on him out of spite.
He gestured for Arthur to enter, closing the door behind him as the prince greeted the others. Merlin tried to glare over his shoulder and mouthed unpleasantries in hopes that the two women would find a way to either stall or have Arthur leave outright, but to no avail. Defeated, he flounced over to a chair and slouched down in a decidedly unladylike manner.
Arthur looked at him curiously. “Was she injured?” He gestured to Merlin’s current posture. “Did they hurt her?” He took one hesitant step forward and Merlin flinched back, really and truly not wanting to deal with this right now. Arthur turned to Morgana, and Merlin could only imagine the questioning look he was giving her.
“It has been a very trying time for the poor dear,” Morgana answered, completely straight faced. Gwen, however, had to turn away.
Arthur turned back to him, this time a look of pity upon his face. “I know it’s hard, but I need to you to tell me what you can about the men who took you.” He knelt down beside the chair. “This is a safe place. I am here to see to that. You can trust me, I promise.”
Merlin looked down to where Arthur’s hand had somehow ended up on his own silken-bedecked knee. He tried very hard to look the man in the eyes, but found they were busy looking him up and down again, focusing everywhere but on his face. Rolling his eyes, Merlin pushed himself up from the chair and out of the prince’s grasp, muttering, “You really are a prat, you know that, right?”
There was a pause, a moment of blessed silence, and when Merlin dared to look behind him, he found Arthur still crouched on the floor, frozen in place. Slowly the blond head turned and finally blue eyes raised to meet his own. “Merlin?” Arthur breathed in disbelief.
Everyone started talking at once then, Merlin defending himself as Morgana and Gwen told their version of the tale and Arthur demanded answers. Finally, all fell silent as Arthur shook his head and held up a single finger. “Do say Gaius is attempting to find a way to reverse this?” he pleaded.
“Yes, but he claims to have no point of reference, so it may take a while,” Merlin winced. He shifted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable way to stand in the tiny little slippers that had been forced upon his feet.
Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose in a manner Merlin was most familiar with. It usually involved the brewing of a special tea and the removal of multiple wine flasks in the morning. “And you have no idea how this happened?” Arthur confirmed, not bothering to look up.
“None at all,” Merlin promised. “ I woke up like this and would greatly appreciate changing back any time now.”
Arthur sighed, hand finally drifting down to his side. “Well, let’s hope it’s not before the end of the evening as father would like you to dine with him,” he said in a less than gleeful manner.
Merlin balked, barely finding the edge of the bed before he sat down. Morgana disproved her earlier words of protection by nearly shouting, “He will have him killed if he finds out!”
Arthur turned on her instead. “No, he will have him killed for an act of deception,” he said bitterly. “Had Merlin been forthright about the problem, he may have simply had Gaius devote time to finding a cure. Now, after the business with bandits of all things and a supposed damsel in distress, he will believe the worst.”
Merlin flopped backwards on the bed, knowing full well that he most likely earned himself more torture of the brushing kind by doing so. “You said it was the only way,” he wailed, and really, he’d be ashamed of the tone, but figured he had earned it at this point.
Arthur looked down at him with a sigh. “Just make a believable woman and it shouldn’t be a problem,” he grinned without humor. “You’re close enough to one already, after all.”
Merlin pulled a hand over his eyes and swore, “Prat.” He shifted uncomfortably on the soft mattress, his body making other needs known.
“What’s wrong?” Arthur asked, possibly from knowing him for far too long at this point. Even a change in body could not prevent certain traits from shining through.
“I have to use the privy,” Merlin admitted sheepishly.
“Then use it, you know where it is,” Arthur said as if to a particularly slow child.
Merlin blushed and muttered, “My mother taught me I am not to touch a woman in that manner until we are betrothed.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” Arthur muttered, looking to the ceiling as it held all the answers. Merlin glanced upwards as well on the off chance it truly did. Gaze levelled back on his former manservant, Arthur sighed, “I’m fairly certain it does not count if the woman in question is yourself.”
“I’ll show him,” Gwen said, stepping forward and giving Merlin a hand in getting to his feet and not tripping over the length of fabric wrapped around them.
Arthur waited until he was standing to offer, “Just be sure not to get your pretty little frock dirty.”
Merlin narrowed his eyes and resisted the urge to call up a particularly nasty spell that would leave him itching in odd places. “I hate you,” he ground out instead.
Arthur wagged a finger at him, laughing, “Now, now, that surely will get you in trouble, my dear.” He headed for the door, pausing long enough only to call over his shoulder, “And Morgana? Please note that you are never allowed to borrow my servant again.”
~~~
Dinner that night was a test of all of Merlin’s wills and patience. He was certain it was a fine setting, the meal certainly smelled delightful as he approached, but the thought that a single wrong word would send him to his death hung like a pallor over him and made even the lightest pastry sit heavy in his stomach.
“Are you certain she is well, she has barely eaten a thing,” he heard Uther comment. He tried to smile politely and take another spoonful of stew, choking it down with some effort.
Morgana slid in effortlessly as she had all evening. “It’s been a very trying time,” she repeated. “The stress of all the day’s events surely weighs heavily on her mind. Perhaps she is not yet ready for such finery after the devastation she had faced?”
Uther nodded and chewed on his mutton thoughtfully.
Merlin once again made a silent promise to find someway to repay Morgana. Yes, large portions of tonight’s events were her fault, but she had accepted it as such and stepped up grandly. She had already explained to the king that the poor, frightened woman, that being Merlin, had barely gotten her voice back and was wary of talking at all, let alone to a man of his stature. Any fault with proper protocol had been explained away by an apparent lack of memory that was returning slowly but surely and perhaps in a few days time she would be able to describe the events that led her to the woods in more detail.
Arthur had kept shooting glances his way, but had yet to give the game away. He had even proposed a search of the surrounding woods to discover if there were any evidence as to what had happened, and to the whereabouts of the supposed bandits. He had also managed not to mention his missing manservant even once, which was showing quite a bit of restraint on his part.
“Heather, I assure you that Camelot is a safe haven for as long as necessary,” Uther promised, an almost fatherly look to his eyes.
It took Merlin a moment, and a swift kick under the table by Arthur, to realize the king was addressing him by the name Morgana had chosen on the journey back to the castle. They were debating what to call him and he was adamantly fighting Mathilde, when they passed a patch of the bluish-purple flowers. He should have known it would be used against him as the gown he wore was made of the nearly an identical shade.
Remembering his manners, and his life at stake, he attempted to look demure as he whispered, “Thank you, sire.”
The look to the king’s eyes softened even further as he said, “I’m sure the day has been extremely difficult for you and you must be tired. Please feel free to retire to your room and take the rest you need.”
Merlin took it for the out it was, nearly tripping over himself as he stood. “Thank you, sire,” he repeated, letting Gwen lead him from the dining hall and back to safety.
Gwen was kind enough to help him out of the monstrosity of a dress, offering him a soft shift to sleep in instead. She tucked some fruit and bread from her pockets into the small bowl on the table and bid him a goodnight, leaving him alone for the first time since this all began.
He fell asleep nearly as soon as hit head hit the pillow, waking hours later when the dreams of corsets chasing after him through the woods trying to strangle him with their laces got to be a bit too much. He munched on the fruit and found that some kind soul had taken pity on him and had left a flask of wine while he slept. He drank just enough for his eyes to feel heavy, and crawled back under the covers to pass out once more.
~~~
The next day he was mostly left blissfully alone. Gwen brought him breakfast and helped him brush the worst of the knots out of his hair. He wasn’t sure if he was getting used to it, or just numb to it, as his scalp hurt noticeably less this time around. She tried to get him into another dress, but he flat out refused until she left him with the spare set of his own trousers and a tunic that he knew for a fact was not his own. She belted it around his waist and called it a compromise, but had hidden his boots so he was left with the little slippers from the night before.
She had work to do, so he was left with nothing to do but sit in his room and while the time away. A simple spell had the magic book in his hands, and he spent the morning reading through it to either find a cure for himself or at least a method of conjuring something that might hold the key. He was about to sneak out and ask the dragon for help when there was a soft knock on the door.
Gaius entered and told him about his findings thus far, which was not much. There was nothing in the area where he had been found to denote any magical presence, and he had yet to find a talisman or other spell in his books that was capable of doing such a thing. He promised to continue looking, but recommended Merlin stay away from the king until a cure was found. Not exactly appreciating Gaius’ lack of faith in his ability to pass for something everyone already thought he was, Merlin reluctantly agreed.
He read through both his own book and one his mentor left for him until lunch arrived. A very nice kitchen maid by the name of Marie pointedly ignored “Heather’s” current attire, and offered up leftovers of the meal from the night before. Merlin waited politely for her to dismiss herself, and then descended upon it like a starving man. He licked his fingers clean and could not help but think how wonderful it truly tasted without the fear of death as an appetizer.
It did not take him long before he was bored once more, and he eventually ended up staring out the window, watching the other servants go about their duties and the knights come and go as they pleased. He sighed, wondering how much trouble he would get into if he wandered around the castle. Not wanting to risk it quite yet, he promised himself a short trip the following day if he was still stuck like this.
Arthur came just as the sun was beginning to set, leather travelling coat still on and a steaming platter of food in hand. “Figured you did not want to risk it with father again tonight,” he said, setting the food upon the table. He turned and looked to where Merlin was currently sprawled in a chair, book flipped open in his lap. He motioned to the pants, and the less than ladylike posture, and commented, “Oh good, I see you’re perfecting the farce. Very believable, I must commend you.”
Merlin rolled his eyes and set the book to the side. “Please tell me you found something, an evil witch hiding in the bushes, anything,” he pleaded, knowing that Arthur had spent the day supposedly looking for the evil “bandits” but actually looking for any sign of what had happened.
“No luck, I’m afraid,” Arthur admitted. He helped himself to one of the small breads and busied himself poking at the fire.
Merlin found it amusing that he was proving he was perfectly capable of doing such things when in the presence of a supposed lady, but was incapable of even tying his own cloak on any other day without Merlin’s assistance. He wisely kept this revelation to himself for fear the delicious smelling foods would be taken away. Besides, it could be something to hold against him later if need be.
Merlin slouched down at the table, lifting the lid off a bowl of thick soup. He spun the spoon in it idly as he commented, “Gaius hasn’t found anything yet either.”
Arthur had finished the bread and was now flipping some stone from his pocket in his hand, catching it with barely a glance as he watched Merlin poke at his soup. “Not even a clue?” he verified.
Merlin shook his head and did not even try to pretend to eat as Arthur began to pace. “His best guess is a spell of some sort, obviously, but he has no idea how it was done,” he explained. “He said there’s usually a physical manifestation, like a talisman or idol or something similar, that can be tied back to the source. So far, we’ve found nothing.”
“It’s funny,” Arthur chuckled without humour as he paused in front of the window. “Just the other day I was thinking how much of a girl you truly are, what with your fear of the most ridiculous things, dislike of getting mucked up, and even your undying love for all of nature’s furry little creations. Now that you are one, it’s really not nearly as much fun.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” Merlin said bitterly.
“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that and you know it,” Arthur protested, turning around. “Just all the rules and regulations we’d be breaking if you truly were a woman. If not for the story Morgana came up with and the fact I lead the guard, it could be scandalous for me to be alone with you right now. Even with that, there’s probably someone somewhere in the castle convinced I am taking advantage of your virtue at this very moment, and will be looking for signs of illegitimate children in the near future.”
Merlin was glad he was not eating, as he surely would have choked at that. “Like I couldn’t do better than you?” he protested.
“Crown prince,” Arthur pointed out, and really, he did have a point. “You can’t quite top that, though father would be upset should I stoop to someone of unknown station for relations, even if marriage was not on the table at the time.”
He turned back to the window while Merlin fumed silently, not having a comeback for that one. Arthur started flipping his little stone once more and commented, “If I could, I would turn you back to a man. Well, boy, really. You’re much more fun that way.”
This time, Merlin had the perfect retort to the boy comment, but was stopped as pain racked his body. His breath came in harsh gasps and he watched as the bones of his hands shifted and shaped before him, turning into something he recognized as his own.
“But, alas, you’re still a girl, sorry,” Arthur was saying, still gazing out the window.
The hands shifted back, once again delicate and small and Merlin managed to catch his breath enough to shout, “Arthur!”
Arthur turned and must have caught the end of the transformation as he dropped his stone and demanded, “What just happened?” He rushed to Merlin’s side as he started to list to the left, propping him up and waving a hand in front of his face to get his attention. “Heather, I mean, Merlin, are you alright?”
Merlin shook his head, fighting the urge to pass out. “That rock, that stone you were playing with, bring it here,” he directed.
Arthur paused only a moment as if to say Merlin had no right to order a prince around, but the moment passed as Merlin slumped against the table, barely able to hold his head up. He dutifully fetched the stone and pressed it into Merlin’s hands.
Merlin could feel the etchings with his fingertips even as he could feel the magic within his blood. He forced his eyes open long enough to trace the symbols, vaguely recognizing them from the book he had been reading. “You arse,” he breathed, letting his eyes drift close. He could feel unconsciousness quickly approaching. “It was you all along.” He was out before Arthur could respond.
~~~
He awoke in the incredibly soft bed, embarrassed to realize Arthur had most likely carried him there. His body ached just like it did in the field when he had first found himself in this state and his heart raced in anticipation that he had been cured, only to sigh in defeat when he looked down to discover he was still a she, at least for now.
He groaned, and the action brought the room’s other occupants to his side. “How do you feel?” Gaius asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed.
“Like a girl,” he bit out, glaring at Arthur’s sheepish form. He tried to stretch, but his muscles protested the action. “Also, being a girl apparently hurts a lot,” he added, flopping back down against the pillow.
“I’ve been saying that for years,” Morgana commented. She sat on his other side and patted him in sympathy.
Merlin smirked at her, but glared once again when Arthur tried to approach. “Why didn’t you turn me back again?” he demanded.
Arthur held up his hands defensively. “I wasn’t certain I was the one to turn you in the first place,” he insisted. “You were mostly a girl again when I turned around and then you passed out. I was afraid to try anything in case it killed you.”
“I doubt it would kill him, just make him uncomfortable for a while,” Gaius consoled them both. Merlin gave him a look which he promptly ignored. “The stone is, unsurprisingly, enchanted. Arthur’s careless comments must have activated it. It is my assumption that only he can successfully turn you back again.”
“Then do it!” Merlin demanded. He crossed his arms in front of him in a huff, but was quickly reminded as to how uncomfortable that was.
“Is it even safe?” Arthur hedged.
“Sure, now he’s worried,” Merlin muttered, rolling his eyes.
Gaius gave him a look that quieted him down. He turned to Arthur and offered, “No less safe than leaving Merlin as he is for your father to discover.” Both men had to admit he had a point.
“Then do it,” Merlin repeated, with far less force this time.
Gwen chose that moment to step forward. “Er, sire, if I may? He may be more comfortable returning as a man without these,” she offered. She quickly removed the rather feminine belt and slippers, and action for which Merlin was eternally grateful.
Arthur looked to the stone in his hand, and then down at Merlin. A glance over to Gaius and he asked, “Now what?”
“Now you make your wish,” came the reply.
~~~
Merlin was never more happy to be at work once again in Arthur’s rooms. His body still felt slightly used and slightly bruised, but the sensation was fading with the help of Gauis’ tinctures and the knowledge that things could be much, much worse.
He set one of the gauntlets on the table and took out the small tub of polish, setting to work as Arthur returned. “How’d it go?” he asked, looking up from his work.
“Father is pleased that ‘Heather’s’ family came to claim her, but distressed he was in a council meeting at the time and could not greet them properly,” Arthur told him, removing his outer jacket and tossing it on the table.
“Too bad,” Merlin said in mock sympathy.
“Almost as sad as the fact those dresses of Morgana’s disappeared without a trace,” Arthur said with mock seriousness. There was a hint of a grin though when he added, “Too bad as you looked quite smashing in that purple frock.”
Merlin tossed the rag at him, picking up another to finish his work. “Prat,” he offered, though there was no heat to his tone.
Arthur sat down across from him and started playing with the corner of the rag. He looked up after a bit and offered, “I am sorry, you know.”
“I know,” Merlin replied, setting aside the gauntlet and reaching for the other.
“But you’re still going to make me pay for it, aren’t you,” Arthur guessed.
Merlin nodded. “Oh yes, for quite some time.”
Arthur grinned and shook his head. “So things are back to normal then,” he supposed.
Merlin smiled and leaned back in the chair he had chosen for his task. “Not quite,” he admitted. He reached into his pocket and held up the small stone he had taken from Gaius’ workroom. “I don’t think things are quite fair just yet.”
The look on Arthur’s face was priceless.
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.
Title: Heather of the Fields
Genre: Genderbender, Girl!Merlin, Gen
Length: Just shy of 7,000 words
Rating: PG-13
Synopsis: Merlin would like things to return to how they were, preferably sooner rather than later.
Author’s Notes: For the cliche_bingo entry “genderswap”
Disclaimer: I do not own this particular interpretation of the myths and am making no profit from this.
~~~~~~~~~~
The only thing Merlin knew for certain when he woke up was that he was still bone tired. His body ached as if he had been on the practice field with Arthur all day, and his head was pounding like one of Gaius’ concoctions gone wrong. The most disturbing bit was that he had absolutely no idea how he got in this condition.
No, he corrected himself, feeling the sun warm against the left side of his body. The most disturbing thing was that he had no idea where here was. The window in his room was on the other side. His bed, while suiting his purpose, was not quite so spongy soft. His pillow most definitely did not smell of grass and hay.
He thought about that for a moment and tried to reconcile his current condition in with his current surroundings. He then realized this may be aided by opening his eyes and figuring out both where he ended up and what state he ended up in.
He slowly blinked awake, wincing against the bright light pouring down on him from above. He let his eyes adjust and his headache recede a bit before he took a good look around. That was when he promptly decided he did not have the foggiest notion as to where he was.
His pillow smelled like grass because it was grass. His bed was spongy as it was not much more than moss and dirt. And the light was coming in from the wrong side because there was no side - he was outside, in the middle of nowhere, feeling as though he had been beaten into unconsciousness.
He brushed his hair out of his eyes and rubbed at his temples. Something tickled against the back of his hand and he brought it before him to see what it was. That was when he decided to hyperventilate.
Hands too slim to be his own were tangled in long black locks of what appeared to be somewhat curly hair. He wiggled his fingers and saw the stranger’s hand move in response. He patted at his face and found it felt mostly the same, save for smooth skin where there should be stubble. He pushed up a sleeve, and yes, it appeared to be his sleeve, to reveal a thin forearm tapering into a delicate wrist.
Unsure as to whether it was proper or not, he patted down his front, finding padding where there should be none, and slimness where it should be broad. It also felt suspiciously like the time he was lucky enough to get his hands inside Millicent’s bodice in Will’s father’s barn before her brother found them and gave him a black eye. A quick look inside the waistband of his trousers showed him more of the female anatomy than he was ever able to get to with Millicent, only it looked far more frightening up close and personal and on himself than it did in any of the books Gaius kept on the second shelf from the top behind a sign that listed them as for physicians’ references only.
He flopped back down and cursed in every language Gaius had taught him. He was a woman. Worse, he was somehow a woman in man’s clothing in the middle of nowhere with no idea how he got there or why he was in the state he was in. Yes, there was the likelihood of magic involved. No, he had no idea what kind.
He cursed again.
He lay there for a bit, contemplating his choices, frightened by the sheer number that ended up with the possibility of being eaten by a wild animal or killed by a marauder. Just as he was beginning to wonder if marauders would feed him to wild animals, he heard a stumbling in the bushes to his right.
He gathered up his courage, ready to take on whatever nastiness awaited him, when who should come stumbling into his little clearing but Gwen? “Found him!” she called over her shoulder. She turned back to face him, paused, blinked, and amended, “I think.”
“Gwen?” he asked. What he had been trying to ask was something more along the lines of, “Gwen, what happened and where am I and why do I feel like some mythical beast just stepped on me?” but he was far too in shock by the higher pitch of his voice to get past the first word.
Instead of her answering or him voicing the rest of his worries, both turned as Morgana gracefully entered the clearing, demanding, “What do you mean ‘you think’? Either you found him or you...” She trailed off upon seeing him, er, her. Much like Gwen, she blinked several times. Unlike Gwen, she then burst into a fit of giggles.
“It’s not funny!” he protested. He tried to cross his arms in front of him but found the slight extra padding on his chest made that awkward. There was no way of doing it without feeling he was doing something improper, so he quickly lowered his hands and resorted to simply glaring.
“No, it really is,” she assured him, stifling another round and putting her fingers to her lips to hide what he knew had to be a grin.
“How would you like to suddenly be something your not?” he challenged with a huff. “Waking up, suddenly changed, having no say over the fact that you are no longer you? Not knowing if you will ever be you again or if you are stuck being the new you and, really, what do I know about being a girl?”
Gwen’s eyes, which had been lit with the beginnings of amusement, now held the shadow of concern. “He, er, she, does have a point, my lady,” she pointed out. “We have no idea how this happened or if whatever did this to her, er, him, is still around. Perhaps we should take our leave and consult Gaius and his books?”
Morgana nodded, slightly more sombre now. “Gaius might be able to help,” she agreed. “Though I do fear this is beyond any of his potions or brews. At the very least, he may know where to begin.”
Merlin flopped back down in the grass. “I’ll just stay here then. Let me know if you find anything?”
He closed his eyes to doze, hoping the lingering soreness would abate, but opened them again as both woman began to pull at his sleeves. “You will do no such thing!” Morgana protested.
“You can’t expect me to just wander back to Camelot looking like this!” he exclaimed, gesturing at his changed form.
Morgana shook her head while Gwen finished pulling him to his feet. “In case it escaped your notice, you are a woman now, Merlin,” she said. Before he could point out that it was hard to ignore this fact, she pressed on, “And a woman should not be left alone in the countryside with night about to fall. It’s not safe, it’s not proper, and it will not be done.”
He raised his eyebrows and even that simple action felt odd. “And just how do you intend to sneak me past the guards you know followed us all and are stationed only a bit down the road? Do you plan on politely explaining to them that I have become bewitched in some manner and then they can politely lead me to my death at the King’s hands for sorcery?”
“Uther does not kill those who are suffering from sorcery, only those who practise it themselves,” Morgana told him dismissively. Her pale eyes narrowed though as she seemed to ponder something. “The guards may be an issue. We will have to come up with a convincing story.”
“And quickly,” Gwen pointed out, eying the sun beginning to dip in the sky. “They will come looking for us soon and wonder why the prince’s personal servant has been replaced by a lady in the prince’s personal servant’s clothing.”
“I’ve, er, gotten lost, I mean wandered off before and they have not been that concerned,” Merlin admitted. He had been picking herbs for Gaius, much like today. Only that time, there was more of the wandering and less of the sorcery and he eventually found his way back as the gates, this time with sorcery of a different kind, as they were closing for the night, sneaking in with a few other stragglers. “In truth, I don’t think they even noticed. You two coming back with a stranger though, that might cause some alarm.”
“I have an idea,” Morgana announced. Merlin winced. If her ideas were anything like Arthur’s, he was not going to like it. She reached and pulled at the scarf around his neck, tangling it in his newly long hair before pulling it off completely. With a sigh, she tugged at a long black strand and directed, “Gwen, can you see if you can do anything with this?”
Gwen immediately set to work, pulling his hair in new and interestingly painful directions, combing it with her fingers before twisting it in some way Merlin was not sure he wanted to know about.
What he did want to know was what Morgana’s idea was and whether or not he was to be privy to it. “Other than pulling all of my hair out, what is the plan?” he asked.
“It’s a simple braid, don’t be such a baby,” Morgana rolled her eyes. If this was simple, he’d hate to find out what one of the more elaborate styles she favoured felt like. Ignoring his distress, she told him, “We make you look like a woman.”
“Don’t I already look like one?” he asked, confused.
“More like one,” she amended. “You are a poor thing that escaped some bandits’ clutches, forced to hide in the forest as you sought aide. We happened upon you and are bringing you to safety.” She beamed, quite proud of herself. She then looked at him disparagingly. “Go roll around in the dirt a bit more to make it more believable.”
Gwen had apparently finished her torture, tying off whatever she had created with his own scarf. “Shall I fetch some brambles?” she suggested.
“Yes, please do,” Morgana agreed, adding yet another layer of fear for what was to happen to him. She turned back to him and looked at him expectantly. “Well? Go on then!”
He blinked. “You want me to roll in the dirt?” he verified.
She sighed as if she were talking to a particularly dense nobleman or, possibly, Arthur. “You have to look like you ran away and have been hiding,” she said with insulting slowness.
“But... my clothing...” he protested. “My other trousers are still with the laundress and...”
“Please,” she interrupted, cutting him off. She then said something more frightening than the though of what Gwen intended to do with the brambles: “You won’t be needing them.” She followed this up with a not so gentle push in the direction of a grassy hillock.
He did as told, not knowing what else to do, and silently tried to figure out how to steal a tunic and pants from Arthur’s wardrobe without him noticing. Realizing the best bet was magic, he then nearly slapped himself for not thinking of trying a spell or three to turn himself back. He whispered a few made up combinations under his breath, but only succeeded in making his fingernails grow a bit longer, one of which he promptly broke.
He cursed at both the action and the ridiculousness of it all and nearly missed Morgana crouching down beside him. “Happy?” he asked petulantly.
The look she gave him was of pure glee. “Ecstatic,” she replied. She looked at his torn nail and added, “Nice touch. It’s the details, really that will make the difference.” She then promptly grabbed a handful of dirt and smeared it on his face.
~~~
If waking up as a woman was horrifying, then the trip back to the castle was just plain humiliating. Gwen sacrificed one of her underskirts and, after a fight, he was allowed to keep his original shirt with his trousers rolled up beneath the hemline. Morgana draped her cloak over him, allowing only a bit of the skirt and his head to show beneath the heavy velvet, and she and Gwen walked beside him the entire way, patting him and cooing such inane things as, “Shh, it will be okay,” until they were past the main gates.
He headed towards his room, only to be dragged in the completely opposite direction. “What are you doing?” he hissed as Morgana pushed him into one of the guest rooms. “You agreed we need to go to Gaius. That’s where I was going!” Which, okay, was not the complete truth. He had planned on going through Gaius’ workroom to his own, crawling beneath the covers, and not coming back out until this was over, but that was a minor detail.
Morgana pulled her cloak off of him and handed it to Gwen. “You are a stranger here, remember?” she hissed back. “There is no reason for you to know Gaius’ name, let alone where his room is. Proper protocol would have you set up in a room and the physician called for and that is what we are going to do.”
When she put it that way, it actually made sense.
He wandered around the room a bit, taking in the fine, yet bland, furnishings and noticing how much nicer it was than the little den of his own room. It was also far less personable, did not look like anyone actually lived there or spent time there. He was not quite sure he liked it, even if the bed was twice the size of the one he was used to and probably had one of the softer mattresses as well.
He was about to test out that theory, wandering closer to the four-poster thing and shifting his skirt to try to get comfortable, when there was a knock on the door. He barely had time to turn around before Gaius hustled in, gear at the ready. He set his pouch down and turned to begin his usual introductions, pitying look upon his face, but only got as far as “Now, what do we have here?”
Merlin ran up to him and begged, “Gaius, you have to fix this!” He twitched his skirt again, as if that alone was the worst of his problems.
The healer gave him a puzzling look, looking his ward up and down without a hint of recognition. “Do I...?” he started to ask.
“It’s me, Merlin!” he insisted, making sure his back was to the women in the room and allowing just enough of his magic to surface to make his eyes glow gold.
“But... how?” Gaius stumbled.
“That’s what we were hoping you could tell us,” Morgana spoke up.
Gaius got to work immediately, though “work” in this case involved asking very many questions and providing very few answers. Merlin caught him randomly staring and shaking his head before focusing back on the task at hand. He couldn’t blame him, not really. He supposed he looked rather odd, at the very least: a young man with long hair shoved into a servant’s dress with branches and brambles attached and wasn’t that interesting to answer why they were there?
While Gaius questioned Gwen and Morgana, Merlin wandered over to the mirror at the side of the room, wanting to see just how hideous he really looked. He closed his eyes, preparing himself, and stepped forward. When he opened them, he was a bit surprised. Reflected back at him was not a man in a dress, but a young woman who could have been any one of dozens from the village, rather plain in looks but far from grotesque. He had kept his height and slight frame, though his hips had spread slightly and he seemed to have just a tad bit more padding there and in other places. His jaw had rounded, his shoulders narrowed, but his huge ears still stood out for all to see, barely hidden by a few strands of his new longer hair that had somehow escaped Gwen’s wrath.
“Huh,” he commented, tugging his shirt down a bit more and resisting the urge to toss the skirt to the side.
He had missed what Gaius had been saying, but Morgana and Gwen were headed towards the door, terrifying threats of finding more clothing upon their lips. The way Gaius stood there, arms crossed and a less than amused expression on his face, Merlin suspected it was time for the real questioning to begin.
Far longer than he thought was strictly necessary later, he flopped back on the bed with a sigh. On the one hand, he had been correct, it was incredibly comfortable. On the other, he was fairly certain Gaius did not believe him that he had not somehow mucked up a spell and done this to himself. Every herb in the basket was gone through, every pocket checked for charms, all to no avail. Gaius himself was going to venture out to the area to see if there was something in the land or the area around it that was to blame, but highly doubted it at this point.
Just as Merlin thought he’d sleep on it and maybe, possibly, miraculously turn back to a man by morning, there was a knock on the door. Gwen and Morgana hustled in, lengths of cloth that he feared were actually dresses draped over their arms and they each carried something that looked suspiciously like a bodice. The matching looks of anticipation in their eyes frightened him to the pit of his nearly empty stomach, and all he could manage was a meek, “Help me,” before they descended upon him like extremely well-dressed vultures.
He was dressed and primped and prodded and his hair brushed in such a way he swore it was getting ripped out by the roots. His complaints that this was not strictly necessary went unheeded. A cloth scented with something suspiciously floral-like was run over his skin, washing away the very dirt Morgana had insisted he douse himself with in the first place.
The women were still debating whether the dress they had wrangled him into was best, or another, even more feminine one was better, when he was saved by a knock at the door. He was desperately hoping Gaius was back with a cure already, but those hopes were dashed when possibly the person he wished to see least in the world stood waiting for him.
Arthur cleared his throat and did something that looked oddly like look him up and down in an assessing manner before introducing himself. “My name is Arthur, prince of Camelot. I was advised you were the victim of bandits and have come to address this matter with you personally.”
Merlin hung his head, letting the long strands hide his face, and resisted the urge to run and hide. It was very tempting, but Arthur was still blocking the door and Morgana and Gwen would likely dig him out from under the bed and force the pink thing on him out of spite.
He gestured for Arthur to enter, closing the door behind him as the prince greeted the others. Merlin tried to glare over his shoulder and mouthed unpleasantries in hopes that the two women would find a way to either stall or have Arthur leave outright, but to no avail. Defeated, he flounced over to a chair and slouched down in a decidedly unladylike manner.
Arthur looked at him curiously. “Was she injured?” He gestured to Merlin’s current posture. “Did they hurt her?” He took one hesitant step forward and Merlin flinched back, really and truly not wanting to deal with this right now. Arthur turned to Morgana, and Merlin could only imagine the questioning look he was giving her.
“It has been a very trying time for the poor dear,” Morgana answered, completely straight faced. Gwen, however, had to turn away.
Arthur turned back to him, this time a look of pity upon his face. “I know it’s hard, but I need to you to tell me what you can about the men who took you.” He knelt down beside the chair. “This is a safe place. I am here to see to that. You can trust me, I promise.”
Merlin looked down to where Arthur’s hand had somehow ended up on his own silken-bedecked knee. He tried very hard to look the man in the eyes, but found they were busy looking him up and down again, focusing everywhere but on his face. Rolling his eyes, Merlin pushed himself up from the chair and out of the prince’s grasp, muttering, “You really are a prat, you know that, right?”
There was a pause, a moment of blessed silence, and when Merlin dared to look behind him, he found Arthur still crouched on the floor, frozen in place. Slowly the blond head turned and finally blue eyes raised to meet his own. “Merlin?” Arthur breathed in disbelief.
Everyone started talking at once then, Merlin defending himself as Morgana and Gwen told their version of the tale and Arthur demanded answers. Finally, all fell silent as Arthur shook his head and held up a single finger. “Do say Gaius is attempting to find a way to reverse this?” he pleaded.
“Yes, but he claims to have no point of reference, so it may take a while,” Merlin winced. He shifted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable way to stand in the tiny little slippers that had been forced upon his feet.
Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose in a manner Merlin was most familiar with. It usually involved the brewing of a special tea and the removal of multiple wine flasks in the morning. “And you have no idea how this happened?” Arthur confirmed, not bothering to look up.
“None at all,” Merlin promised. “ I woke up like this and would greatly appreciate changing back any time now.”
Arthur sighed, hand finally drifting down to his side. “Well, let’s hope it’s not before the end of the evening as father would like you to dine with him,” he said in a less than gleeful manner.
Merlin balked, barely finding the edge of the bed before he sat down. Morgana disproved her earlier words of protection by nearly shouting, “He will have him killed if he finds out!”
Arthur turned on her instead. “No, he will have him killed for an act of deception,” he said bitterly. “Had Merlin been forthright about the problem, he may have simply had Gaius devote time to finding a cure. Now, after the business with bandits of all things and a supposed damsel in distress, he will believe the worst.”
Merlin flopped backwards on the bed, knowing full well that he most likely earned himself more torture of the brushing kind by doing so. “You said it was the only way,” he wailed, and really, he’d be ashamed of the tone, but figured he had earned it at this point.
Arthur looked down at him with a sigh. “Just make a believable woman and it shouldn’t be a problem,” he grinned without humor. “You’re close enough to one already, after all.”
Merlin pulled a hand over his eyes and swore, “Prat.” He shifted uncomfortably on the soft mattress, his body making other needs known.
“What’s wrong?” Arthur asked, possibly from knowing him for far too long at this point. Even a change in body could not prevent certain traits from shining through.
“I have to use the privy,” Merlin admitted sheepishly.
“Then use it, you know where it is,” Arthur said as if to a particularly slow child.
Merlin blushed and muttered, “My mother taught me I am not to touch a woman in that manner until we are betrothed.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” Arthur muttered, looking to the ceiling as it held all the answers. Merlin glanced upwards as well on the off chance it truly did. Gaze levelled back on his former manservant, Arthur sighed, “I’m fairly certain it does not count if the woman in question is yourself.”
“I’ll show him,” Gwen said, stepping forward and giving Merlin a hand in getting to his feet and not tripping over the length of fabric wrapped around them.
Arthur waited until he was standing to offer, “Just be sure not to get your pretty little frock dirty.”
Merlin narrowed his eyes and resisted the urge to call up a particularly nasty spell that would leave him itching in odd places. “I hate you,” he ground out instead.
Arthur wagged a finger at him, laughing, “Now, now, that surely will get you in trouble, my dear.” He headed for the door, pausing long enough only to call over his shoulder, “And Morgana? Please note that you are never allowed to borrow my servant again.”
~~~
Dinner that night was a test of all of Merlin’s wills and patience. He was certain it was a fine setting, the meal certainly smelled delightful as he approached, but the thought that a single wrong word would send him to his death hung like a pallor over him and made even the lightest pastry sit heavy in his stomach.
“Are you certain she is well, she has barely eaten a thing,” he heard Uther comment. He tried to smile politely and take another spoonful of stew, choking it down with some effort.
Morgana slid in effortlessly as she had all evening. “It’s been a very trying time,” she repeated. “The stress of all the day’s events surely weighs heavily on her mind. Perhaps she is not yet ready for such finery after the devastation she had faced?”
Uther nodded and chewed on his mutton thoughtfully.
Merlin once again made a silent promise to find someway to repay Morgana. Yes, large portions of tonight’s events were her fault, but she had accepted it as such and stepped up grandly. She had already explained to the king that the poor, frightened woman, that being Merlin, had barely gotten her voice back and was wary of talking at all, let alone to a man of his stature. Any fault with proper protocol had been explained away by an apparent lack of memory that was returning slowly but surely and perhaps in a few days time she would be able to describe the events that led her to the woods in more detail.
Arthur had kept shooting glances his way, but had yet to give the game away. He had even proposed a search of the surrounding woods to discover if there were any evidence as to what had happened, and to the whereabouts of the supposed bandits. He had also managed not to mention his missing manservant even once, which was showing quite a bit of restraint on his part.
“Heather, I assure you that Camelot is a safe haven for as long as necessary,” Uther promised, an almost fatherly look to his eyes.
It took Merlin a moment, and a swift kick under the table by Arthur, to realize the king was addressing him by the name Morgana had chosen on the journey back to the castle. They were debating what to call him and he was adamantly fighting Mathilde, when they passed a patch of the bluish-purple flowers. He should have known it would be used against him as the gown he wore was made of the nearly an identical shade.
Remembering his manners, and his life at stake, he attempted to look demure as he whispered, “Thank you, sire.”
The look to the king’s eyes softened even further as he said, “I’m sure the day has been extremely difficult for you and you must be tired. Please feel free to retire to your room and take the rest you need.”
Merlin took it for the out it was, nearly tripping over himself as he stood. “Thank you, sire,” he repeated, letting Gwen lead him from the dining hall and back to safety.
Gwen was kind enough to help him out of the monstrosity of a dress, offering him a soft shift to sleep in instead. She tucked some fruit and bread from her pockets into the small bowl on the table and bid him a goodnight, leaving him alone for the first time since this all began.
He fell asleep nearly as soon as hit head hit the pillow, waking hours later when the dreams of corsets chasing after him through the woods trying to strangle him with their laces got to be a bit too much. He munched on the fruit and found that some kind soul had taken pity on him and had left a flask of wine while he slept. He drank just enough for his eyes to feel heavy, and crawled back under the covers to pass out once more.
~~~
The next day he was mostly left blissfully alone. Gwen brought him breakfast and helped him brush the worst of the knots out of his hair. He wasn’t sure if he was getting used to it, or just numb to it, as his scalp hurt noticeably less this time around. She tried to get him into another dress, but he flat out refused until she left him with the spare set of his own trousers and a tunic that he knew for a fact was not his own. She belted it around his waist and called it a compromise, but had hidden his boots so he was left with the little slippers from the night before.
She had work to do, so he was left with nothing to do but sit in his room and while the time away. A simple spell had the magic book in his hands, and he spent the morning reading through it to either find a cure for himself or at least a method of conjuring something that might hold the key. He was about to sneak out and ask the dragon for help when there was a soft knock on the door.
Gaius entered and told him about his findings thus far, which was not much. There was nothing in the area where he had been found to denote any magical presence, and he had yet to find a talisman or other spell in his books that was capable of doing such a thing. He promised to continue looking, but recommended Merlin stay away from the king until a cure was found. Not exactly appreciating Gaius’ lack of faith in his ability to pass for something everyone already thought he was, Merlin reluctantly agreed.
He read through both his own book and one his mentor left for him until lunch arrived. A very nice kitchen maid by the name of Marie pointedly ignored “Heather’s” current attire, and offered up leftovers of the meal from the night before. Merlin waited politely for her to dismiss herself, and then descended upon it like a starving man. He licked his fingers clean and could not help but think how wonderful it truly tasted without the fear of death as an appetizer.
It did not take him long before he was bored once more, and he eventually ended up staring out the window, watching the other servants go about their duties and the knights come and go as they pleased. He sighed, wondering how much trouble he would get into if he wandered around the castle. Not wanting to risk it quite yet, he promised himself a short trip the following day if he was still stuck like this.
Arthur came just as the sun was beginning to set, leather travelling coat still on and a steaming platter of food in hand. “Figured you did not want to risk it with father again tonight,” he said, setting the food upon the table. He turned and looked to where Merlin was currently sprawled in a chair, book flipped open in his lap. He motioned to the pants, and the less than ladylike posture, and commented, “Oh good, I see you’re perfecting the farce. Very believable, I must commend you.”
Merlin rolled his eyes and set the book to the side. “Please tell me you found something, an evil witch hiding in the bushes, anything,” he pleaded, knowing that Arthur had spent the day supposedly looking for the evil “bandits” but actually looking for any sign of what had happened.
“No luck, I’m afraid,” Arthur admitted. He helped himself to one of the small breads and busied himself poking at the fire.
Merlin found it amusing that he was proving he was perfectly capable of doing such things when in the presence of a supposed lady, but was incapable of even tying his own cloak on any other day without Merlin’s assistance. He wisely kept this revelation to himself for fear the delicious smelling foods would be taken away. Besides, it could be something to hold against him later if need be.
Merlin slouched down at the table, lifting the lid off a bowl of thick soup. He spun the spoon in it idly as he commented, “Gaius hasn’t found anything yet either.”
Arthur had finished the bread and was now flipping some stone from his pocket in his hand, catching it with barely a glance as he watched Merlin poke at his soup. “Not even a clue?” he verified.
Merlin shook his head and did not even try to pretend to eat as Arthur began to pace. “His best guess is a spell of some sort, obviously, but he has no idea how it was done,” he explained. “He said there’s usually a physical manifestation, like a talisman or idol or something similar, that can be tied back to the source. So far, we’ve found nothing.”
“It’s funny,” Arthur chuckled without humour as he paused in front of the window. “Just the other day I was thinking how much of a girl you truly are, what with your fear of the most ridiculous things, dislike of getting mucked up, and even your undying love for all of nature’s furry little creations. Now that you are one, it’s really not nearly as much fun.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” Merlin said bitterly.
“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that and you know it,” Arthur protested, turning around. “Just all the rules and regulations we’d be breaking if you truly were a woman. If not for the story Morgana came up with and the fact I lead the guard, it could be scandalous for me to be alone with you right now. Even with that, there’s probably someone somewhere in the castle convinced I am taking advantage of your virtue at this very moment, and will be looking for signs of illegitimate children in the near future.”
Merlin was glad he was not eating, as he surely would have choked at that. “Like I couldn’t do better than you?” he protested.
“Crown prince,” Arthur pointed out, and really, he did have a point. “You can’t quite top that, though father would be upset should I stoop to someone of unknown station for relations, even if marriage was not on the table at the time.”
He turned back to the window while Merlin fumed silently, not having a comeback for that one. Arthur started flipping his little stone once more and commented, “If I could, I would turn you back to a man. Well, boy, really. You’re much more fun that way.”
This time, Merlin had the perfect retort to the boy comment, but was stopped as pain racked his body. His breath came in harsh gasps and he watched as the bones of his hands shifted and shaped before him, turning into something he recognized as his own.
“But, alas, you’re still a girl, sorry,” Arthur was saying, still gazing out the window.
The hands shifted back, once again delicate and small and Merlin managed to catch his breath enough to shout, “Arthur!”
Arthur turned and must have caught the end of the transformation as he dropped his stone and demanded, “What just happened?” He rushed to Merlin’s side as he started to list to the left, propping him up and waving a hand in front of his face to get his attention. “Heather, I mean, Merlin, are you alright?”
Merlin shook his head, fighting the urge to pass out. “That rock, that stone you were playing with, bring it here,” he directed.
Arthur paused only a moment as if to say Merlin had no right to order a prince around, but the moment passed as Merlin slumped against the table, barely able to hold his head up. He dutifully fetched the stone and pressed it into Merlin’s hands.
Merlin could feel the etchings with his fingertips even as he could feel the magic within his blood. He forced his eyes open long enough to trace the symbols, vaguely recognizing them from the book he had been reading. “You arse,” he breathed, letting his eyes drift close. He could feel unconsciousness quickly approaching. “It was you all along.” He was out before Arthur could respond.
~~~
He awoke in the incredibly soft bed, embarrassed to realize Arthur had most likely carried him there. His body ached just like it did in the field when he had first found himself in this state and his heart raced in anticipation that he had been cured, only to sigh in defeat when he looked down to discover he was still a she, at least for now.
He groaned, and the action brought the room’s other occupants to his side. “How do you feel?” Gaius asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed.
“Like a girl,” he bit out, glaring at Arthur’s sheepish form. He tried to stretch, but his muscles protested the action. “Also, being a girl apparently hurts a lot,” he added, flopping back down against the pillow.
“I’ve been saying that for years,” Morgana commented. She sat on his other side and patted him in sympathy.
Merlin smirked at her, but glared once again when Arthur tried to approach. “Why didn’t you turn me back again?” he demanded.
Arthur held up his hands defensively. “I wasn’t certain I was the one to turn you in the first place,” he insisted. “You were mostly a girl again when I turned around and then you passed out. I was afraid to try anything in case it killed you.”
“I doubt it would kill him, just make him uncomfortable for a while,” Gaius consoled them both. Merlin gave him a look which he promptly ignored. “The stone is, unsurprisingly, enchanted. Arthur’s careless comments must have activated it. It is my assumption that only he can successfully turn you back again.”
“Then do it!” Merlin demanded. He crossed his arms in front of him in a huff, but was quickly reminded as to how uncomfortable that was.
“Is it even safe?” Arthur hedged.
“Sure, now he’s worried,” Merlin muttered, rolling his eyes.
Gaius gave him a look that quieted him down. He turned to Arthur and offered, “No less safe than leaving Merlin as he is for your father to discover.” Both men had to admit he had a point.
“Then do it,” Merlin repeated, with far less force this time.
Gwen chose that moment to step forward. “Er, sire, if I may? He may be more comfortable returning as a man without these,” she offered. She quickly removed the rather feminine belt and slippers, and action for which Merlin was eternally grateful.
Arthur looked to the stone in his hand, and then down at Merlin. A glance over to Gaius and he asked, “Now what?”
“Now you make your wish,” came the reply.
~~~
Merlin was never more happy to be at work once again in Arthur’s rooms. His body still felt slightly used and slightly bruised, but the sensation was fading with the help of Gauis’ tinctures and the knowledge that things could be much, much worse.
He set one of the gauntlets on the table and took out the small tub of polish, setting to work as Arthur returned. “How’d it go?” he asked, looking up from his work.
“Father is pleased that ‘Heather’s’ family came to claim her, but distressed he was in a council meeting at the time and could not greet them properly,” Arthur told him, removing his outer jacket and tossing it on the table.
“Too bad,” Merlin said in mock sympathy.
“Almost as sad as the fact those dresses of Morgana’s disappeared without a trace,” Arthur said with mock seriousness. There was a hint of a grin though when he added, “Too bad as you looked quite smashing in that purple frock.”
Merlin tossed the rag at him, picking up another to finish his work. “Prat,” he offered, though there was no heat to his tone.
Arthur sat down across from him and started playing with the corner of the rag. He looked up after a bit and offered, “I am sorry, you know.”
“I know,” Merlin replied, setting aside the gauntlet and reaching for the other.
“But you’re still going to make me pay for it, aren’t you,” Arthur guessed.
Merlin nodded. “Oh yes, for quite some time.”
Arthur grinned and shook his head. “So things are back to normal then,” he supposed.
Merlin smiled and leaned back in the chair he had chosen for his task. “Not quite,” he admitted. He reached into his pocket and held up the small stone he had taken from Gaius’ workroom. “I don’t think things are quite fair just yet.”
The look on Arthur’s face was priceless.
~~~~~~~~~~
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