Chapter Text
Merlin had had bad days before. He had been kidnapped, poisoned, imprisoned, and tortured, although that last bit was due to Arthur’s limited intelligence. But currently, being locked in a massive room, alone and confused, ranked rather high on his list of days that were so bad he wanted to bang his head into a wall.
Speaking of which, it felt like he had already done that.
Merlin growled in frustration. It came out slightly more animalistic than he had expected.
See Merlin thought irritably, That’s what happens when you trap a sorcerer. They turn into animals.
He huffed. His limbs were heavy, and his breath came in small wheezing gasps. He stumbled upright and shuffled out of the tangled blankets that surrounded him. If Merlin were to guess, he would say that he might've been in a nest of some monstrous beast.
When the druids had taken him in, tried their ridiculous spell of switching, and then abandoned him when it didn’t work, well, they must’ve lost the rest of their brain cells. It was probably due to forced proximity with the king of single brain cells. King Arthur himself.
The Once and Future King.
The Lord of the Prats.
The Prince of the Clotepoles.
Merlin continued his mental tirade while stumbling on his fawn legs around the room.
Someone, somewhere outside of the room, fiddled with the lock. Merlin was startled and in a panic, he yelped and wobbled into a corner of the room.
The door clicked, and it swung slowly open. All Merlin could see from his vantage point was a pair of large, angry boots. Giants. Merlin swallowed nervously. His mind raced. He could bolt for the door, slip out and run back to the druids, and then beat their heads with some good old-fashioned common sense.
Like maybe, not leaving their lord and savior to the mercy of giant morons. He thought dryly.
But no, his legs were much too weak to make a break for it, although seemed more likely that his legs would topple him before he could even smell freedom, taste it on his tongue, feel it on his skin-
Merlin had no hope, for the giant reached out and snagged him. Merlin was raised up, the arms supporting him surprisingly gentle.
Oh.
I was right. Merlin thought in disbelief, as he stared at the face of his king, It's a giant moron
Arthur had to leave. He had spent too much time here. Derek wheezed on him.
With a sigh, Arthur gently slid the sleepy dog off his lap and nudged Derek towards his warm bed. Derek looked at him with an unreadable expression. Arthur patted the dog’s head and stood, stretching tiredly.
Arthur made his way toward the door, he pushed it open, and stepped out. He missed the ferocious, albeit, quiet growl that Derek threw at him. Arthur missed the wobbly jog that had the dog barreling towards him. What he didn’t miss was the thunk that came from Derek slamming into the now-shut door. Arthur gasped, he spun around hurriedly and fumbled with the handle. He knelt by the door and gently slid it open.
Derek collapsed on the other side, he panted loudly, tongue lolling. Arthur didn’t know how to check for concussions, especially not in dogs. It wasn’t helping that the dog in question was paying him exactly no attention. Which was worrying in itself. Arthur, in a panic, held up three fingers. He cursed himself and scooped up the stunned dog.
He ran in great bounding leaps, passed the kennels of hunting hounds, passed the hoards of serving servants, and through the winding passages towards someone who could help. Anyone who could help.
Morgana was not only a very irritating companion but a very irritating person in general. Sir Leon had concluded this through a thorough list of compiled evidence. It had started with the title: The Pendragons.
It was something that was filled with hundreds of thousands of state secrets.
Sir Leon had gone into a frenzy of fear and mild nausea when it had gone missing. He had, thankfully, found it; moments before he, resolved to do right by the kingdom, had prepared to ask King Uther to execute him because of his absolute failure as a first knight. He was greatly relieved.
The Pendragons had had information about the prince’s training, location, and time. It also contained a selection of information about King Uther’s habits, about his favorite dessert, how it was to be served, and the tiny, nearly unnoticeable fact that he didn’t have it tested for poison before he ate it. He said that the testing ruined the taste.
The king died a little less than a week later. It was declared food poisoning by Gaius. No one knew how the assassin had known where and how to kill the king. But Leon knew. The Pendragons title had been added to.
Some absolutely hilarious funny bone of an assassin had scribbled on the cover. The Pendragons it read, butchers to a fault
When Sir Leon had read it he had broke out into hysterical laughter... It wasn’t that funny.
Sir Leon, however, still used the book. He used it to cite and accurately in an argument. He currently had it perched open, glasses on the tip of his nose.
“Here!” He exclaimed, slamming his finger down to illustrate his point, “You said you would rather die than be caught consorting with the druids!”
Morgana groaned. “Leon, " She sighed, “You can’t be serious.”
Sir Leon shook his head, “It’s all in order.” He frowned, “I checked.”
Morgana looked almost murderous. She had been there a long time.
“When did I say that?” She demanded.
Sir Leon peered at the page, “It’s recorded as nearly-” He trailed off, counting on his fingers, “three years ago, which was when-”
“-When Uther was still alive.” Morgana pointed out, “Anything I said there, in front of him doesn’t count, we all said what he wanted us to say. You know that.”
Sir Leon slipped a quill from out of his sleeve and scribbled hastily, he bit the tip of the feather, “Anything? Does that mean everything?” He asked. Morgana smacked Sir Leon in the back of the head.
Sir Leon tutted at her, he flipped his book open again, “My Lady, just here you swore to never hurt me, and that you loved me forever.”
Morgana flushed a brilliant red, “Sir Leon,” She gasped, “You can hardly hold that promise, after all, you had just walked in on-”
“Exactly, My Lady.” Sir Leon smirked, “I kept my promise. You didn’t have a furious Uther storm into your room to hang your servant did you?” He asked innocently.
Morgana scowled, red still hinted along her cheeks, she opened her mouth when King Arthur ran passed them. He had a small bundle of fur hooked underneath his arm. He skidded around them and turned the corner hurriedly. Morgana and Sir Leon shared a confused look before Arthur ran back towards them, his breath caught in his throat.
He gasped at them. It took Sir Leon a sorry minute to realize that he was trying to talk. He scribbled a note in his book, a reminder to have the king train a little more, he had gotten out of breath much too quickly. Sir Leon glanced at the king, and then a little further down. He sighed.
Another small note, to remind Merlin, should he return, and be amenable to punch another hole in the king’s belt. Lady Morgana leaned over his shoulder and read his note. The king collapsed down onto his knees, he raised the bundle of bundle of fur. It was a small, long-haired, dust bunny. No, it was a long-haired, snub-nosed, fat little dog. It’s eyes were crossed. Sir Leon was sure that that wasn’t a good sign.
Lady Morgana looked uncertainly at the ugly little beast, “I think,” she turned to Sir Leon, “Arthur’s asking for help?”
Arthur nodded, his breath still coming in heavy pants.
Lady Morgana frowned, “Sir Leon, what experience do you have with little-” she hesitated, “little dogs?”
Ah, yes, a topic Sir Leon was familiar with.
Sir Leon straightened up, his shoulders set, “When I was a lad, my great aunt had a whole kennel of dogs. What magnificent hunting dogs they were,” He sighed, “The breeds, the colors, their prowess in the field.”
King Arthur looked disbelievingly at the knight, as Sir Leon continued, “Ah, yes, those dogs. My Aunt was very fond of them. She was the one who inspired me to become a knight. How could I not, she was quite a fearsome woman.”
King Arthur rose laboriously to his feet and wobbled away silently.
“Although, I could never understand why she never married.” Sir Leon stared into the distance, gaze thoughtful, “She was a maiden aunt, with a scary knowledge of warfare.” Lady Morgana slipped behind a pillar hurriedly, making her escape. Sir Leon paused, “She lived with her maidservant. She lived alone, with her-” He spun around, but he was alone in the hallway.
This is why Aunt Leonettè called me clueless.
Sir Leon huffed and shut his book. He slipped his quill up into his sleeve and trudged down the hallway.
Although, He thought, I always thought it was such a strange response to my questions about her marital status.
Sir Leon stood stock still. Alone in the middle of the path. He gaped. He really was so clueless.
Gaius was staring worriedly at the piece of bread he had clutched in his hand. To be exact, the half of bread. The other half was sitting contentedly underneath his desk. He looked longingly at it.
History repeated. He knew that, Gaius was a scholar after all. He knew what would happen if he were to try and rescue his snack. Gaius glanced furtively around the room before he slowly bent lower. He reached out, fingers spread. The tip of his finger brushed against the edge of the bread. The door banged open, causing Gaius to jump. The bread slipped further under the desk.
The King strode into the room. He stopped when he saw Gaius. Gaius looked guilty, as he straightened up.
“Gaius?” The king asked, “What were-” He paused, and looked down. His empty hands glared back at him.
King Arthur cursed loudly and slammed back through the rickety old door. Gaius shrugged to himself. He turned back to the table, and the bread underneath it. He rubbed his hands together, “Just a minute.” He chuckled to himself. He grabbed a ladle and stuck it under the desk with intent. He was going to get that bread if it was the last thing he did.
Sir Percival ambled along the halls. So far he had met Lady Morgana and Sir Leon. Or more correctly, he had seen them, or at least, the back of them as they walked away. He hadn’t seen Sir Gwaine since their run-in yesterday. It seemed like he had improved. Someone stormed past the alcove in which Sir Percival was currently resting. Wandering through Camelot’s many halls was exhausting. Percival poked his head out.
Ah yes Percival nodded to himself. No one in sight.
A lump of hay on the floor whimpered. A horse must've tracked it in. Although they were two stories up the idea didn't strike Percival as odd until it became an afterthought. He cautiously stepped out and crouched by it. He prodded it gently. He nearly jumped fifty feet in the air when it looked at him.
Someone shouted, and dove out, snatching the dismal, sad creature. Percival just watched in astonishment, as the king ran away, the thing under his arm leaving a trail of tufts of fur and little groans.
Arthur was furious. His dog had run into a door, and to make it better he had, in his haste, dropped said dog. Now, someone who should have been able to help was insisting that he wait for them to finish their snack. Gaius licked his fingers. He was well satisfied. That bread was seasoned with hard labor and dust. Arthur’s foot tapped on the floor. It had been taping for the last five minutes.
The physician took the message. He fumbled for his glasses, “What exactly do you need help with My Lord?”
Arthur laid Derek on the table. Gaius stared at the thing, he turned to Arthur, “Sire, you do realize that I’m a physician, not a botanist?”
Arthur stared at him with a furrowed brow. The lump of weeds jiggled, it gave a sharp yap. Gaius scrambled again for his glasses and peered down at the mass of tangles. The little dog peered back. Gaius needed another piece of bread. This was going to be a long day.