Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sir Mordred is caught in the middle of it all. Morgana and Gwen end their vacation early, and Merlin is… Polite? This doesn’t bode well.

Merlin had been grumbling under his breath all morning. It had gotten to a point where it was mildly alarming. He would walk down the curving hallways, a black thundercloud of anger following closely behind him.

Poor Mordred had been caught unawares one too many times. He looked at the retreating back of the man in question. He shook himself and looked down at his clothes.

The worst part was that every time Mordred had stumbled into Emrys he had left the encounter feeling slightly soggy as if he had walked into a storm. Mordred shuddered. He wasn’t even wet.

It had been a week.

Mordred had taken to sidling along the walls, where he would peek around the corners, and ninja roll across any open spaces.

He leaned against the wall, took a deep breath, and stood straight. He bounced on his toes and then, in a running leap, he dove across the corridor.

Someone had had the same idea. They collided painfully.

Mordred groaned and rubbed his head. He opened his eyes. Across from him lay Sir Leon. He blinked sheepishly at Mordred before he cleared his throat uncomfortably, “Ah, Sir Mordred-”

Lightning cracked angrily somewhere behind them. Mordred yelped and grabbed Leon’s arm. He dragged them both hurriedly out of sight.

A moment later, Merlin stormed by. Leon pressed his hand to his chest in a suppressed gasp. He shut his eyes and let his head fall back. It hit the wall, but Leon seemed far from caring.

“Thank you.” Leon shuddered.

“You too?” Mordred wanted to know. Leon just nodded. That made sense; Mordred hadn’t seen Leon in a while. He tried to smile. He couldn’t. He grimaced instead. “The other knights?” Mordred asked after a moment.

Leon nodded again, “Them too.” He confirmed.

Mordred ran through the castle, heart pounding, his breaths in gasps. He slammed the armory door open and hurried inside.

He looked around in confusion. The room was empty save for a singular chest plate that wobbled in lonely circles.

Sir Leon was supposed to meet him here, and yet here Mordred stood, alone. Sir Leon was never late, but if anything, he was always early.

The tip of a shoe stuck out from behind an armor stand. A shock of dark curls peeked out from under a bench. Mordred bent over and looked underneath it. Gwaine gave him a shaky smile, “Sorry mate, we thought you were Merlin for a moment.”

He rolled out and dusted himself off.

Several other knights came out of hiding. Percival’s hulking frame loomed out from behind Mordred, his large hand clapped down on Mordred’s shoulders. Mordred nearly toppled over.

Lancelot stepped out. He frowned and steadied Mordred, who blinked in confusion, “Where are Sir Leon and Sir Elyan?” He asked.

Lancelot turned and ripped a curtain off of the now-revealed Elyan.

Elyan’s eyes were pressed tightly closed, he stood very still. When he realized his hiding location had been revealed he made a desperate attempt to pull the curtain back on. Lancelot just tugged it away from him.

Elyan looked so sad and defeated that Percival couldn’t help himself, so, he gave him a reassuring pat. Elyan disappeared from view with a yelp.

Leon slipped out, his hands resting on his hips. He looked irritated, “This had been going on for far too long. We can’t hide every time we think Merlin is going to come our way!”

There was murmured of assent from the knights. They then stood there in silence. The awkward glances showed that no one else wanted to step up and deal with the problem.

They were interrupted when there came a knock on the door, “Sir Mordred?” A voice called out, “Merlin wants you.”

In a blinding panic, Mordred spun around in a desperate attempt to hide himself. Someone behind him shoved a helmet onto his head.

He stumbled and then tripped. One of the knights quickly caught him and dragged him behind a bench.

Suddenly, pieces of armor rained down on him, and Mordred was encased in a large metal cocoon. Seconds later, the sound of scuffling quieted, and when the servant opened the door, the armory sat empty. Not a knight in sight.

Mordred went to tell Sir Lancelot that he had sent the letter that he had asked him to.

After he hunted around and somehow caught Sir Elyan in tow they found Lancelot in Sir Gwaine’s chambers.

Lancelot sat on Gwaine’s bed, where he grimly rubbed circles into Gwaine’s back as an act of comfort.

Gwaine’s eyes were distant. In his hands was clutched a steaming cup. He looked wilted.

Mordred caught Lancelot’s eye and mouthed a question. Lancelot winced, “He had an encounter with Merlin.”

Gwaine flinched, his empty eyes met Mordred’s own. They were blank, tired, listless.

“The words!” Gwaine rasped out, “I didn’t even know Merlin had it in him.” Then to Mordred horror, he started giggling hysterically.

“I mean, I only knew half of the things that he said!” Gwaine continued maniacally, his laughter rising in force until he was bent double. He gasped for breath.

As Mordred was escorted away, as the door slammed shut, he heard Gwaine’s laughter turn into sobs.

Elyan clapped a hand on Mordred’s back and said cheerfully, “It’s just a mental breakdown, Mordred. Sir Gwaine will be fine by morning.”

The fact that it was morning did nothing to dissuade Elyan from his optimistic attitude. Mordred himself was too depressed to say anything anyway.

Arthur was furious.

Just when his manservant starts acting irritatingly like a servant, his pointed politeness grating against Arthur’s gritted teeth, his knights start glaring at him resentfully.

Arthur sat back in his chair with a groan, quill, and proclamation forgotten on his desk. He rubbed his eyes. At least his knights were being obvious in their irritation. Not that subtle anger that Merlin exhibited.

He hadn’t the least idea as to why though.

Arthur couldn’t wait for Gwen to come back from her little excursion with Morgana. Those two had enough advice between them to help Arthur, at least while Merlin wasn’t speaking to him.

A king, Arthur thought, should not be so dependent on someone like Merlin.

“Ah, Sir Mordred, just who I was looking for!”

Mordred flinched when a strong, heavily armored hand fell from the heavens and landed on Mordred.

Mordred let out a startled squeak and tried to scamper away, but the arm holding him down had scruffed him, and now there was no escape.

Arthur spun him around as Mordred swung helplessly in his grip.

“Hello, sire!” Mordred flushed with embarrassment, “I was just-” He started and then stopped again. Mordred’s mouth opened and shut as he tried to come up with something fairly reasonable.

Arthur just watched him struggle with an unimpressed scowl. “Why were you rolling on the floor in full armor, Sir Mordred?”

Mordred gulped, “I was just-” he gestured vaguely.

Arthur groaned. He shook his hands in exasperation “Sir Mordred,” He said, “I want an actual explanation, not some half-hearted excuse.”

Mordred was dragged along with Arthur’s gesticulations.

“I was practicing for stealth missions, My Lord!” Mordred was doing no such thing, “I want to be prepared no matter the situation.” Mordred was hiding from Merlin, and admittedly, Arthur as well.

Arthur dropped Mordred, much to his relief, and looked pleased. “Have all the knights been doing this exercise?” He demanded.

Mordred assented hurriedly.

Arthur looked mollified, he nodded as if it made sense. “Well then, continue your good work, Sir Mordred.”

Mordred tried to slip away again, but his arm was caught by Arthur again as quickly as it had been released. “You wouldn’t happen to know where Sir Leon is would you?” Arthur questioned.

He waited expectantly.

Mordred fell into a deep and dark despair as he watched Arthur walk away; Leon’s sacred Arthur-free zone was about to be desecrated, and it was all Mordred’s fault.

Mordred winced, he could already feel Leon’s wrath.

He flopped onto the ground and slid towards the corridor’s corner, poking his head out he checked to see that it was empty. That done he propped himself up and skittered across the open space on his hands and feet.

Mordred remembered with some considerable pain that that move was something that Leon had taught him. He cursed himself. He would now give both Arthur and Leon a wide berth in addition to avoiding the angry god known as Merlin.

Morgana had been riding for several pleasant hours. She had been enjoying her day quite well. Even her entire week had been quite enjoyable, which was something of an extraordinary event if you lived the way she did, with the people she did.

She and Gwen had visited the druid camps to the east on a kingdom-wide tour. They were now currently on their way to the next camp. She sighed happily.

It was less of a tour and more of a vacation.

A little bit ahead Gwen was riding with such grace and form that Morgana couldn’t help but admire her.

As if sensing her thoughts Gwen turned and shone a blinding smile on Morgana’s way. Morgana flushed and blew a kiss at Gwen’s. She smiled to herself, Yes, it had been quite enjoyable.

Gwen, as if sensing her thoughts, threw her head back and laughed.

They had gone unaccompanied; Arthur had insisted that some of his best knights go with them, but Morgana was far from incompetent, and Gwen could be quite vicious with a sword when she wanted to be.

So they had opted to slip away in the early morning, leaving their assigned knights behind and Arthur just had to deal with it.

Suddenly from above a small black bird cawed and dive-bombed Morgana.

She startled and held out her arm to let it land.

Once it had it held its leg out. Morgana sighed in relief when she realized it was a messenger and not a random bird that had attacked her; she still had to get used to this new method of communication.

She offered it a treat, and as it accepted the snack, she took the small capsule tied to its leg and pulled out the letter.

Gwen glanced back with a concerned frown when she realized Morgana was no longer riding with her.

Morgana barely noticed when Gwen slowed her horse down until Morgana was riding right beside her. She scanned the page rapidly.

“What does it say?” Gwen asked.

She handed the letter to Gwen and watched her look it over. “It’s from Mordred.”

Gwen offered it back. Morgana took the letter and crumpled it before she dropped it on the ground. She watched with some satisfaction when it fell into a puddle of mud.

“Merlin has been unerringly polite to Arthur from all accounts.” Morgana smiled grimly.

Gwen turned to Morgana, her eyes widened, and she gasped, “Morgana, I think Arthur pissed off Merlin.”

She reached out and clutched Morgana’s sleeve. Morgana clasped Gwen’s hands and stared gravely at their fingers.

Gwen squeezed gently, “I can’t imagine Merlin was pleased at all.”

Morgana sighed, “Darling, I’m sorry but I think we need to go back home, fast.”

Gwen nodded reluctantly.

Morgana swung off her horse and offered her hand to Gwen. She gave a little pat on the crow’s head and then sent it off. She turned to Gwen and, grasping her hand, muttered a few quiet words in the old tongue.

Around them leaves picked up off the ground and spun into the air.

They disappeared in a crack of lighting and in a swirl of wind.

Chapter Text

Percival had hunted high and low for any sign of his fellow knights. He needed help desperately. For the last couple of days, he had wandered around the castle trying to find someone, really just anyone. He was starting to feel like this was a big joke, just at him.

He couldn’t see any servants, the kitchens were surprisingly empty, and the King was nowhere to be found. Percival had the creeping suspicion that his need to find someone was because he was lonely.

He ducked down another corridor.

In the very beginning, he hadn’t realized anything was amiss. It was odd, he had realized, that he couldn’t find anyone but he had stumbled into Elyan and occasionally Lancelot. They had hurriedly muttered an unintelligible warning and then slipped under various pieces of furniture.

Percival had also seen Gwaine, or at least, a piece of him.

He didn’t approach Gwaine's nose; he just walked past and continued his search for someone intelligent to talk to. There were brisk steps just behind Percival.

He spun around. It was Merlin. What a relief.

Merlin carried a large basket of laundry clutched in his arms; he had a scowl on his face. Percival raised his hand in greeting, but Merlin just walked past him.

Percival watched Merlin’s retreating.

He waved his hand in front of his face a couple of times. He didn’t look invisible. That didn’t mean it wasn’t a possibility. Percival frowned.

Gwaine crept out from behind his banner and tip-toed away. When Percival turned, he was alone in the corridor.

Percival's strange day continued; after his encounter with Merlin that morning he had seen Mordred run out of the citadel. He had been lurking behind a pillar when Percival had noticed him. Mordred had lurched out and swung down the steps, the large green cloak that he wore flared out with every stride.

If Percival were any other man, he would’ve thought Mordred's actions looked mighty suspicious. A knight hiding in incognito. Acting skittish. Especially considering the strange ritual Percival had seen Mordred doing the other day.

Percival had just watched Mordred leave. He didn't feel particularly inclined to follow.

Percival scratched his chin, something was going on around here and he had no real idea as to what.

He wondered if the ritual he had seen Mordred doing had anything to do with magic, though he couldn’t imagine how Mordred’s attempted rolls played into it.

He didn’t see the appeal in crawling through the dirt.

He shrugged to himself. To each his own.

Percival walked off by himself.

Mordred was waiting for them in a clearing just outside Camelot’s gates at their predesignated meeting ground. He wasn’t phased at all when they appeared out of nowhere; he just ran toward them with open arms.

Morgana gently extracted herself out of his arms, “Mordred,” She tutted, “We’re a little woozy right now, give us a minute.” She looked pointedly at Gwen whose cheeks were pale and tinged with green. Mordred withdrew with an apology.

Morgana steadied Gwen and then turned to Mordred, “So, what’s this about Merlin?”

The first thing Gwen noticed was how Mordred constantly shifted his weight. His head kept turning warily, almost like he was expecting Merlin to jump out from behind a bush and smite him. Gwen knew that, not long ago something like that wouldn’t seem so improbable.

It had taken a good couple minutes to get a satisfactory answer from Mordred, even longer for him to get comfortable enough to relax his grip on his sword. Morgana stood quietly, contemplating everything she had heard.

“You say,” she began, “that Arthur pissed Merlin off, and now he’s taking out his revenge on you,” She pinched the bridge of her nose and groaned, “For the last week, and you don’t even know why?”

Mordred gave her an innocent smile.

“Gods above, how are you even alive right now,” Morgana shook her head, “what did you even do the entire time? You couldn’t have just hid from both of them?”

Morgana paused when she saw Mordred’s sheepish expression, “You’re knights of Camelot!” She exclaimed.

Percival’s day got even stranger.

He had seen Gwen walk past him with a determined air and a large frying pan. Other than the fact that she was back earlier than expected, he found nothing too odd in that. He had then stumbled into an argument being held between Morgana and Mordred. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop. He was morally against it, in any form. But they blocked his path.

“-we can’t do that My Lady!” Mordred nearly shouted. He quickly lowered his voice to a more conspiratorial manner, “What if Arthur walked in? What would we do? We can’t just-” Mordred made a strangled cry of distress, “-it’s treason!”

Morgana soothed him, “It’s not treason it's just, a little headache.” She grabbed Mordred’s hands, “You trust me, don’t you? I would never hurt Arthur,” She smiled, “Or Merlin. Okay?”

Mordred scowled darkly; he opened his mouth about to object when Morgana nudged him. They both caught sight of Percival. He gave them an awkward wave.

Morgana nodded at Percival, grabbed Mordred’s wrist, and dragged them both away. Percival just stood there at a loss.

The first people who had seen him, for the first time all week, and they had just walked away. At least Lady Morgana acknowledged him. That was nice.

Percival frowned. He gave himself a tentative sniff.

That couldn’t be it.

He sighed and continued on his way.

Mordred had no choice in the matter. He was roped into it by Lady Morgana. What she said, went.

The Plan, as it was dubbed, was simple. It consisted of a lure, an attack, and a kidnapping. Unfortunately, Mordred was the lure.

As Mordred shuffled towards the Physician’s chamber he mentally cursed himself for bringing this about, for even agreeing in the first place. He hesitated at the door. Its entrance is a portal to another world, a world in which Mordred was about to get murdered. He raised his fist to knock on the door, behind him he could hear soft whispers of appreciation. He tried to imagine they were cheering him on in encouragement, that his comrades in arms would be standing there in his support.

All he could see was their shadows, and a bit of Gwaine. Gwaine gave him a thumbs up… or something else. All Mordred could see was a bit of a finger. You could never tell with Gwaine. Mordred hoped it wasn't the latter; he had been previously under the impression that he was favored by the man but after seeing how quickly Gwaine voted for him to be sent into the jaws of death he wasn't quite sure whether he should feel worried or not.

Mordred sucked in a breath and pushed the door open. He could hear the devil's voice.

“-I’m the king and I can tell you what to do, well guess what Sire I can do whatever I want, even if that means saving your life you utter piece of-” Mordred coughed nervously. The rant cut itself off.

Merlin poked his head up, he scowled. “Mordred? What do you want?” Mordred approached nervously, he hadn’t actually gotten this far yet plans-wise.

“Merlin.” Mordred said dumbly. He wanted to smack himself. Merlin’s face softened, taking Mordred’s anger as pain for whatever reason.

Merlin had a bleeding heart, but not for his victims, as Mordred had learned. If you irritated Merlin, your life would never be the same.

“Is something wrong Mordred?” Merlin waited a moment for an answer before he looked worried, “If you’re hurt you should’ve said something. Come here.”

Mordred shook his head, trying to get the words to come out. Merlin appeared right in front of Mordred much too quickly and grabbed Mordred’s face. He peered into Mordred’s eyes and checked his temperature.

“Are you sick? Have you experienced any symptoms such as a sore throat, maybe a difficulty in breathing-” Merlin rattled off.

Mordred drew back. He scratched his neck. Morgana, curse her had told him to wing it of all things. Mordred hesitated. He had had an idea.

“I think I’m growing wings.” he blurted out. Merlin stopped moving. He stared at Mordred.

“What?”

Mordred winced, “Big feathery things?”

Merlin frowned. He opened his mouth when, with a clang, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed in a heap. Gwen stood behind him, frying pan gripped tightly in her clenched hands. She looked satisfied.

“All done!” She called out.

Elyan and Lancelot jogged in and heaved Merlin up, and then they staggered back out the door.

Gwaine stood in the doorway with a large grin, “Well done, Mordred!” he applauded. Gwen glared at Gwaine, and he raised his hands in surrender, “And Gwen, of course, you did the hard work.” Gwaine amended.

Gwen smiled shyly, “Well, I wouldn’t say all the work. It was a team effort.” Gwaine gave her an exaggerated bow.

Mordred’s legs collapsed and sat, heavily on a stool, the adrenaline that pumped through his veins making his hands shake.

“Merlin! Where the hell are you?” Arthur suddenly barged in, “We have to talk about this- What are you doing here?”

Gwen lowered her frying pan sheepishly and waved awkwardly.

Gwaine took control of the situation; he grabbed Arthur’s shoulders and twisted him around, trying to make Arthur look him in the eyes.

Arthur struggled, “Not now Gwaine.” He snapped.

“Arthur. Arthur. Arthur.” Gwaine repeated. Arthur turned irritatedly to shut Gwaine up when he too, collapsed with a clang.

Gwen flipped the pan with a grin. “Two in one day.”

Mordred held in a sob. There was so much treason.

They had knocked out the King! They conspired against him. They kidnapped his most trusted advisor! They kidnapped Emrys!

Mordred couldn’t claim to be innocent.

He knew for a fact that Gwaine would rat him out immediately. It had happened before with the horse and the guy with the thing…
Mordred shuddered.

Gwaine crouched on the floor and poked Arthur, “Princess?”

Mordred was helpless. He didn’t even feel like fighting Gwaine for the king’s honor. He just let Gwaine keep poking him. What kind of knight was he?

One that can do a hell of a ninja roll. The thought cheered him up slightly.

Morgana peeked in moments later, “What are you still doing here, Mordred, you need to go.” She shooed Mordred out.
He left with an exhausted sigh and stumbled out.

Percival was actually rather lucky when he stumbled into Sir Lancelot and Sir Elyan. He had spent the last half an hour trying to figure out the happenings in the castle and if anyone knew it would be them.

They were crouched behind two pillars several feet away from the physician's chambers. Gwen stood by the open door, she nodded her head to an inaudible beat. She counted silently.

Before Percival could enquire as to what exactly she was doing, she swept into the room, and moments later there was a loud clang. “All done!” Gwen shouted from within.

Percival watched in bewilderment as Sir Elyan and Sir Lancelot straightened and disappeared into the chambers. They emerged seconds later, and an unconscious Merlin hung between them.

They staggered away with strangled gasps. Merlin's legs dragged on the ground, and one of his shoes was left alone in the middle of the floor. Percival bent down and picked it up.

He trailed after them, shoe in hand.

Elyan nervous. When he was nervous he got snappy. It really didn’t help that every question that Percival asked was automatically deemed stupid by Elyan’s very worried conscience. Merlin’s head lolled to the side. Percival very helpfully steadied it.

Elyan was usually quite a cheerful guy. What didn’t help was that the man who had exchanged his bath soap with cheese was currently very much incapacitated and whose health and safety fully depended on Elyan's willingness to carry him. Elyan wasn't feeling very charitable at the moment.

Every time he looked at Merlin’s face he felt the melted cheese slipping down through his hair and down his back.
Elyan shuddered violently.

He could still taste soggy cheese.

They finally made it to the courtyard where Morgana waited, a horse stood beside her.

“Put him on, I’ll go get Mordred.” She commanded, and without another word, she slipped away.

Percival had thankfully shut up on their way here. Elyan could finally enjoy some peace and quiet. With Merlin gone on a “holiday” he could-

Percival cleared his throat, he huffed, “I don’t know why you won't tell me what’s going on. No one’s talked to me for weeks.”

Elyan scowled, he was trying to hoist Merlin up onto the horse but it was proving futile. He spun on Percival, “Maybe if you helped out more often we’d be more willing to tell you things.”

Percival shrugged and grabbed Merlin in one easy lift and plopped him over the horse. He turned to Elyan.

"Well?” He asked.

Elyan just stared open-mouthed at him.

Carrying an unconscious man out of Camelot was easier than it should’ve been. No one batted an eye. It may have had something to do with the fact that the unconscious man in question had inadvertently terrorized all of Camelot. Morgana had orchestrated the whole thing. All Mordred had to do was to get Merlin to the end destination, explain the predicament, and then deal with the consequences.

He mounted the horse, and with one last longing glance at the castle he came to call home, he turned and sped off. Merlin’s head bounced against the horse’s side.

Mordred gritted his teeth and kept on.

Percival left Sir Elyan and Sir Lancelot. They were in an argument now. Apparently, Elyan had said some choice words that were not very kind, directed specifically in Percival's direction. Sir Lancelot had disagreed and it had quickly devolved into a duel.

Percival hadn’t minded, he hadn’t even been listening to Elyan in the first place. He found that short people very rarely had worthy opinions. They just wanted to make themselves feel better about their height.

At least, that's what his Ma had told him, and she was nearly twice as tall as his Da. Percival contemplated the thought. His Da was always irritated about something. Ma said he was compensating, for what Percival never really knew. He supposed now that she meant his height.

He meandered through the lonely hallways. Percival was content with himself, and just himself, he didn't really need someone to talk to. Everyone here just proved that intelligence was few and far between. Saving the king of course.

He passed a guilty-looking Gwaine, whose hands were wrapped around the ankle of the king. Percival paused and looked at the prone man.

"God save the king." Percival didn't know what else to say.

Gwaine smiled nervously and leaned innocently against the wall. Percival walked by. He didn’t want to know anymore. Camelot could do its own thing, Percival, his.

Percival looked and breathed in the air. He quite liked it here actually.

Chapter Text

Arthur had woken up with a searing headache. He was propped up in his bed, Morgana sat beside him, and she held his hand. She was also asleep.
Arthur knew because she was snoring.

It wasn’t helping his headache. The last thing Arthur remembered was-

He shot up. What was Morgana doing here? Unless it wasn’t Morgana but an evil sorcerer who was pretending to be her to deceive him into giving up state secrets.

Arthur snatched a pillow up from behind his back and launched himself forward.

He yelled a fearsome battle cry and tackled her. The pillow tore, and they collided on the floor in a shower of feathers. “Arthur!” Morgana yelled indignantly, “Stop screaming.”

Arthur muffled her with his hand. She glared up at him. She then bit him, leaving a perfect line of teeth in a bloody trail on his skin. He yelped and pulled back.

“Arthur, you asshole!” Morgana huffed, “You and your stupid knight reflexes.” She pushed Arthur off of her.

Gwen rushed in, quickly followed by Sir Leon. She fussed over Morgana.

Sir Leon looked uncertainly between the ladies and Arthur. Arthur rolled his eyes, “No, no, it’s fine, I wasn’t hurt. You can stop fussing Sir Leon.”

Morgana scowled at him, “Arthur, Really?” She punched his arm.

Sir Leon looked properly chastised. Arthur rubbed his arm and examined his bite marks, “What are you? Part wolf?” He directed at Morgana.

She smiled smugly, “The only blood in my veins is Pendragon.” She said.

Arthur glanced at her, "You know that's not true," He poked at one of the bloody marks, "Are you absolutely certain you're not half wolf?" He asked.

Gwen let go of Morgana. She shook her head at the mess they had created in their scuffle and started picking up the feathers. Arthur reached out to stop her, “You don’t have to do that Gwen, Merlin can do it later.”

Morgana, Gwen, and Sir Leon shared a Look.

Arthur felt very out of the loop, “What is it?” he demanded.

Morgana held out her hands placatingly, with a strange smile, “About that.” she said.

Arthur stormed out of his chambers, and Morgana followed him, still talking, “Listen, Arthur, you need to let him go, he obviously needs a break from you.”

Arthur snarled, “He just left? He said he wasn’t going to!” He slammed through the another door, “he promised.” Arthur’s throat nearly caught his words back.

Gwen hurried after Morgana, and Sir Leon trailed after them all.

They stumbled after. Arthur broke out into a run. When they caught up with the king, he was already in the physician's chambers. Morgana and Gwen shared a look as Arthur ran up the steps into Merlin’s room, where they could hear him digging around.

Arthur stuck his head out of the doorway, “Did he leave a note?” he asked.

Morgana glanced at Gwen, who shrugged. Morgana turned back to Arthur who was watching the exchange with narrowed eyes, “Sure.”

Arthur’s eyes got impossibly more squinted, “Sure?”

Morgana nearly froze, but she smoothly covered it with a nod, “Yes, he did.”

Arthur crossed his arms, “Where is it?” He asked.

Morgana opened her mouth, but Sir Leon answered for her, “I was entrusted with the duty of carrying it, My Lord, but as we were walking, I must have dropped it.”

Arthur relaxed a little. He obviously trusted the knight's word over Morgana’s which she found mildly insulting, “Well then, we’ll retrace our steps.”

Arthur started for the door, but Sir Leon stopped him, “Ah, well Sire, I don’t think we can get it back.”

He tilted his head, “And why is that, sir knight?”

Gwen interrupted, “It fell in a puddle of water.”

Sir Leon shot her a grateful look, “A big puddle, Sire.” he said, “I severely doubt that it could be recovered.”

Arthur sighed and sat down, then he looked up at them, “Why do I feel like there is something you’re not telling me?" Sir Leon smiled innocently.

Arthur rubbed his face, “Where’s Gaius? Maybe he will know what Merlin’s plans are.” Gwen frowned, and she looked questioningly at Morgana.

“I haven’t seen Gaius in a while.” Morgana hesitated, “Actually, I can't remember the last time I saw him.”

She looked around and saw the others nodding.

“Great,” Arthur groaned, “Another person we need to find.” They stood in silence.

Arthur heard someone mutter something, and he looked up, “Sir Leon? Did you have something to add?”

Sir Leon just looked at him. “I didn’t say anything, Sire.”

Arthur frowned, “I could have sworn I heard-” It came again, accompanied by a wheeze.

Arthur shot up, and craned his head, “Morgana, Gwen, go stand over there, tell me if you hear anyone. Sir Leon, stand by the door and listen.” he ordered.

They complied, although slightly confused.

Suddenly Arthur shouted, he cut through the silence and sprang over to a book-covered desk.

The others watched worriedly as Arthur crouched down and looked underneath it. “Gaius?” Arthur asked, “What are you doing down there?”

It had taken some time to help Gaius stand up. Sir Leon had taken a hold of Gaius’s ankles and had tried to drag him out. Morgana quickly put a stop to that.

Gaius had to have help backing up.

Now they all sat around the table. Gaius had a large blanket wrapped around himself and a plate of food, although they had had to regulate his intake. When they had first set it down Gaius had snarled at them, and it had taken Sir Leon a while, just to use his sword to carefully pull the plate away. They were still a little uncertain as they watched Gaius eat like a starving man.

“Gaius, what happened?” He hesitantly asked.

Gaius, without looking up from his food, laughed bitterly, “Oh Sire, to be an old man, at my age.” He shook his head, “I was preparing our dinner when a roll of bread slipped out of my hands and rolled under the desk.” He shuddered, “Little was I to know that it would be the last time I would be able to stand straight and tall in a long, long while.”

Arthur paled, “Gaius,” he reached out to pat his arm, but thought better of it, “How long were you under there?”

Gaius turned to Arthur, and his eyes were clouded with pain, “Three weeks.”

“Good God man! How did you even survive?”

Gaius laughed, a low dark guttural choking laugh, “Cheese.”

Arthur stared, “What?” he said.

Gaius shrugged, “I ate the bread roll,” he closed his eyes, “I starved, I nearly ate the dust on the floor. I even nibbled on a clump of dirt, that’s how I found small pieces of cheese, and I ate every last piece.”

Morgana looked horrified, “How old was the cheese Gaius, It couldn’t have been safe to eat!” she exclaimed.

Gaius gave her a sad smile. He blinked, “If I had to guess, I would say that I was eating the same cheese that my grandfather ate when he was a boy.”

Arthur stood angrily, “How did no one realize you were missing?” He took a deep breath, “I need time alone. No one,” he glared at them, “No one is to disturb me.”

He left with a slam of the door.

Sir Leon cleared his throat, and he pointed to a piece of fabric sticking through a crack on the side of the heavy door. Gwen sighed, “I’ll get it.”

She opened the door, and Arthur, released, walked away, head held high.

Morgana rubbed Gaius’s shoulders, “You don’t have to tell us more if you don’t want to.” She murmured.

It seemed like his whole system was falling apart. Arthur had done his best, and he had legalized magic; he had offered a free therapy service to all the people who had suffered under his father’s reign, and he had set up schools all across his kingdom. All of which, he might add, had been pushed forward by Merlin.

The last couple of days, Arthur had seen his knights slipping around corners, dodging and rolling. He hadn’t taken Sir Mordred’s excuse, but when he had hunted down Sir Leon and questioned him, it seemed like Sir Mordred wasn’t lying.

They had thankfully gotten significantly better at their “training” although Arthur was still struck with embarrassment every time he stumbled into one of them. Which happened fairly often.

Arthur had taken to ignoring them to save everyone the trouble. He didn’t know how many sheepish smiles he had seen, but it was enough to last a lifetime.

When Merlin wasn’t there to advise him, and the only thing Arthur could do was ignore Morgana’s advice because it rarely ended well when he did listen to her, well, he would seek his little private sanctuary.

No one yet had found it. Arthur would like to keep it that way. Not even Merlin knew where Arthur spent his difficult days unwinding.

If Merlin was allowed secrets, then so was Arthur, and he was king after all.

It was time to visit Derek the Third.

Mordred had been sat down by Iseldir after the ceremony. Iseldir smiled at him from where he sat, a pot of soothing tea steamed between them.

Mordred wasn’t sure if he had heard right.

“You want me,” He asked, “To watch over Merlin?”

Iseldir nodded, “Only while he is separated from his body.” He smiled kindly, “Emrys is more than capable of taking care of himself, but for now, he will need help.” He sighed, “You know that we had to adjust the spell, and once it was started it could not be stopped.” Iseldir continued, “With the adjustment that we made it has put both the bodies and the souls of the switched to be endangered. Should someone get their hands on Merlin, his mind or body, and hurt him, then both he and his host will be killed.”

Mordred understood. It couldn’t be that hard. He would watch Merlin, protect Merlin, and then, once the experiment was over, they would all be happy and safe.

Mordred felt lighter than he had in days.

“And that is why we have decided that Emrys, or at least his body, should return to Camelot.” Iseldir clapped his hand on Mordred’s back, oblivious to Mordred’s dawning horror, “It is up to you to guide him and protect him. You will start on your journey tomorrow evening."

With that, Iseldir kindly offered Mordred a cup of tea and stood to leave.

Mordred drank his tea like a shot of alcohol. He stared at his empty cup, willing it to refill.

He would very much like to be drunk. If he had anything to look forward to tomorrow, doing the whole thing with a hangover sounded like the best way to go.

It was a shame it was only tea.

Arthur furtively slipped down the corridors, and he passed several guards before he finally allowed himself to relax. He let himself into the dog kennels.

The dogs were whining at him for attention, with wagging tails and lolling tongues they greeted him. Arthur paused occasionally to distribute pats and to skillfully dodge some of the more excited animals.

Arthur had always been a dog person, and would happily spend hours surrounded by them but right now he had a mission in mind.

In a little back room, behind all the other bigger kennels, in a secluded corner, lay Arthur’s sanctuary.

Arthur unlocked the door and stepped inside.

The small candle-lit room had a soft round bed, and two small bowls sat on the side, filled with pieces of dried meat, and fresh water. Arthur looked around contentedly.

Ah, there’s his darling

Arthur reached out with open arms and a wide smile. He picked up his Derek.

“How is my baby today?” Arthur asked. The dog gave him a confused look.

Arthur set him down carefully, “Sorry, Daddy forgot that Derek doesn’t like being picked up.”

Derek the Third, for so it was, stared up at him without the smallest wag of his tail.

Arthur got down on his knees and reached out his hand, “Is something wrong, baby? Are you not feeling well?”

The dog seemed to stare at him in disbelief before it barked. It then waddled unsteadily forward and wagged its tail a little uncertainly. Derek’s fur was long, and it hung in thick strands. His body is close to the ground, and his face is small and flat. He was, as Arthur had been assured, a highly sought-after kind of dog.

Arthur started petting him absently, which Derek appreciated because he came and lay panting next to Arthur’s leg.

Arthur had always talked to Derek. It was their little ritual, but never had he thought Derek actually listened to him.

He looked down at the animal, and it looked up at him.

He thought Derek looked strangely human in that moment, with his big eyes staring up at Arthur’s own.

Arthur continued his rant, hand stroking Derek’s soft fur, “And Merlin just left out of the blue, and we found Gaius under the table, half-starved.” Derek whined. Arthur sighed, “I know, and worst of all, I don’t know what to do.”

Arthur patted Derek’s head, “You’ve always been there for me, and I just wish that I could understand you as you understand me.” He said sadly.

Derek looked at him with big blue eyes and barked, almost in reassurance. Arthur paused, and he looked back down at the dog.

He had always thought that Derek had dark brown chocolate eyes, the kind that gazed into your soul and could read you like a book.

Derek eye’s still saw into Arthur’s soul. It was just that they were, in fact, blue. A startling, shining blue that came from the sky.

Arthur felt guilty.

How could he miss such an important detail in someone he cared so deeply about?

He scoffed bitterly. It seemed to be a running theme.

Derek looked up at him and smiled. At least he had Derek.

He just really missed Merlin. He said as much to the dog. Derek just winked at him.

Chapter Text

When Mordred was a child, he spent his many aimless days on walks through the woods near his camp. He could never get too far. But once, when he strayed much farther than he ever had been, and he had stumbled into a small village. He always remembered staring out into the large grassy fields where he could see farmers digging up the earth, sowing their seeds, and harvesting their grain. One day, when he was nearly nine years of age, he had foolishly approached.

That day, the village had reported miraculous growth in crops. He had thought that they appreciated his work. He wanted to help them more. Mordred also remembered being chased out by the villagers. He had returned to the camp to lick his wounds, although he was fairly sure, he wasn’t a cat.

Mordred also remembered when he first confided with Emrys; the man of legend who had kindly protected him when he was a child. He had sat on the edge of Emrys’s cot and cried because; no matter how old he was, the villagers with eyes of fire haunted him. The next day, Emrys had hauled him out of the room with a secretive grin.

Mordred remembered Emrys’s, or Merlin, as he insisted Mordred call him, sparkling eyes and mischievous smile. Mordred hadn’t known what Emrys’s, no. Merlin’s plan was, but he had gone along willingly.

Only when they arrived at the outskirts of a vaguely familiar village did Mordred realize. They had left that day with smiles on their faces. Mordred had never had so much fun, not in a long while. The village reported, nearly twelve years after its first magical attack, a plague of rainbow-colored hair.

Mordred owed Merlin. He loved Merlin, and he would do anything Merlin asked for. Within reason. But Mordred had had enough.

He looked down at the flopping body of Emrys.

Merlin groaned. He was draped across Mordred’s horse. The last thing Mordred wanted was an awake Merlin.

Mordred did what he thought was best to get Merlin away from Camelot, so either he would have to hit Merlin over the head to keep him knocked out, or he could drop him in the middle of nowhere and ride away like his life depended on it.

Mordred knew that his connection with Merlin would keep him safe for a little while. But after today’s events, he didn’t want to risk it.

Merlin twitched a little bit, and Mordred panicked. He fumbled for the closest solid object and brought it down on Merlin’s head. Merlin stayed limp.

Mordred sighed in relief, he looked at the weapon he used, and much to his realized horror, was a book on life-saving medical remedies. He flipped it open and the first page he saw was about concussions.

Mordred wanted to cry.

When Mordred finally saw the fringes of the druid camp. He laughed with relief. He was glad he hadn’t left Merlin in the forest. Though he had, several times admittedly, had to restrain himself and his traitorous body from flinching and shoving Merlin off the horse.

Every druid he passed dropped what they were holding, and ceased their tasks. They stood and stared.
Several young children screamed and fled. Mordred winced. He had gotten used to the utter power that seeped from Emrys, the electricity that crackled through his veins.

The children and, now that Mordred truly looked, most of the adults were looking rather wretched. He was amazed that many of them were still standing.

When Merlin had fallen out with the king, Mordred was, quite thankfully, on a patrol. When he had first stepped foot in Camelot, he had felt Merlin’s anger roaring around him. He had nearly passed out.

Sir Percival, who had been Mordred’s companion, had quickly hauled Mordred’s listing form off of his horse and dragged him to see Gaius. Percival had been certain that Mordred had hidden some deadly injury because he was young and foolish. Mordred had almost fought him there and then. If he hadn't felt so sick.

Unfortunately, getting close to the overflowing well of furious power sickened Mordred even more. It was even more unfortunate that Merlin was the only one in attendance. Mordred had thrown up on Percival.

Merlin, even now, while unconscious, had such a light hold on himself that he exuded power as to give Mordred a mild headache. Mordred shuddered.

At least, when Merlin had realized how he was affecting Mordred, he had toned it down, but he was unable to completely wrestle it under control. Mordred couldn’t stop himself. His hands reached out, without his will, and gave Merlin’s body a little push. He watched in horror as Merlin toppled over the side and landed with a painful thump as his breath was knocked out of him.

Mordred’s heart skipped when Merlin’s breathing stopped momentarily, and then with relief, he heard Merlin emit a rasping wheeze. Someone cleared their throat. Mordred looked up guiltily to find the displeased frown of Iseldir. He raised his eyebrow questioningly.

“I don’t exactly understand. What do you want us to do about this?” Iseldir looked down at the still body of Merlin.

Mordred looked helplessly at him, “Please, just fix him.”

Iseldir looked at Mordred calmly, “You know well, young knight, that we cannot fix what is not broken.” He gently smiled, “Anger is perfectly natural.”

Mordred needed to convince Iseldir. The man didn’t know, not like Mordred did, the absolute terror that Emrys’s anger invoked in Mordred’s soul. In the soul of Camelot. Of the knights.

Mordred looked around furtively and then motioned Iseldir closer. The only way to convince was to pull out the big guns. A ballista should do it.

Mordred whispered into Iseldir’s ear, as the other druids looked on curiously. One brave, fearless, stupid child tentatively poked Merlin with a stick.

Iseldir’s face whitened, and he hurriedly snatched the child away from Merlin’s unconscious form. He stared at Mordred in disbelief, “He said all of that?”

Mordred just nodded. He didn’t need words anymore. Iseldir's paled haunted eyes showed that he understood. He started calling orders. All around them, druids got to work.

Iseldir turned to Mordred and said gravely, “We will do the best of our ability to help him.”

Merlin had a raging headache, his chest hurt and he felt like he had been poked by a hundred sticks. He blinked his eyes open.

He was inside a tent. Light shone through the fabric walls, leaving faint shadows of leaves on the inside wall. Merlin’s head pounded painfully. He raised his hand and felt his head gently. He groaned. The flaps of the tent parted, and Mordred stepped inside. He was holding a bowl of what smelled invitingly of warm porridge.

“Ah, you’re awake,” Mordred said and hesitated before he offered the bowl to Merlin. He took it gratefully.

“What happened?” Merlin asked, “I feel like I was in the head by a mallet.”

Mordred winced, “You’re not actually that far off.” He muttered.

“Pardon?” Merlin paused, spoon halfway to his mouth, he looked disbelievingly at Mordred.

Mordred looked away nervously, “I said, you should eat up.” He stuttered.

Merlin just hummed and kept eating. Mordred settled down on the floor. When Merlin finished his meal, he wiped his hands and turned to Mordred, “What are we doing at Iseldir’s camp?”

Mordred jumped, “How did you know where we were?” He asked.

A new voice joined them, “That would be because of me, I've been told I tend to lurk.” Iseldir stepped into the tent, and he loomed over them, “Hello, Emrys.”

Merlin sat frozen. “You,” he hesitated, “Know about all that.” He had it in himself to be slightly embarrassed. Mordred watched, he felt awkward. Iseldir reached out and grabbed Mordred’s head, his hands fully encompassing Mordred’s ears. Everything was muffled for a moment before Mordred was let go.

He shook his head like a dog, “Was that really necessary?” he asked.

Merlin looked fully embarrassed now, “I didn’t mean for anyone to hear that.” He played with his tunic, “Did he also hear what I said about-”

Mordred batted at Iseldir’s hands, “I’m a grown man.” he huffed. They ignored him.

Iseldir nodded gravely, “Even that.” He confirmed.

Merlin groaned. Iseldir looked on knowingly, and he sighed “And that is why Mordred will be going through mandatory therapy.”

Merlin looked relieved, “Thank you.”

He said it at the same time that Mordred turned red and exclaimed, “No, thank you!”

Merlin just cut him off, looking directly at Iseldir, “What will you do now?”

Merlin listened carefully, according to Iseldir, he had no choice in the matter. They would perform a ritual, a completely harmless one. It would change his perspective, to show him who Arthur really was. As if Merlin needed to know Arthur even more.

Iseldir had left several moments ago. He was, apparently, off to set up the ritual circle. Which boded well for Merlin's sanity. Merlin was mentally fine, he was in control of his anger, and he was in charge of himself.He could make responsible decisions. He would start right now. With his friends health and safety as a top priority. But... He looked longingly at the tent’s exit.

Mordred was led away from the tent, by a kindly woman, with a smile that crinkled her face like the ripples on a pond. She patted his back and set him down, with an order to wait for her return. She shuffled about, when she came back she dropped a large tome with the title: How to deal with trauma.

He flipped through it half-heartedly and waited. Iseldir walked out and started talking to the other druids. Ten minutes later a shadow slipped out of Emrys’s tent.

Mordred didn’t think, he just lunged. He had probably spent too much time around Arthur and his knights. He and the figure tumbled to the ground.

Merlin gasped up at him, “Mordred, do you know what they’re going to do to me?”

Mordred looked down at him, he reached for his reserves of pity, but he found none.

“Mordred.” Merlin begged, “They’re going to switch my body,” he shuddered, “My mind!”

Mordred laughed, “Oh, I know. You’re going to change bodies with Arthur’s most trusted, his most loved.” Mordred looked down at Merlin, “It will do you good Emrys. You must try.”

Merlin wiggled, trying to dislodge Mordred from his chest, “Please, I really don’t fancy being Gwen for a week.”

Mordred tilted his head up and whispered a prayer, “I am not sorry Emrys.” With that said he dropped the heavy book on Merlin’s head. When Mordred dragged Merlin back into his tent, Iseldir was there. He looked despairingly at the godling before he turned to Mordred.

“We will do it tonight.” He said.

Mordred nodded. What else could he do?

When Merlin awoke, it was the middle of the night. He was laid in the center of a large circle, stones and paint wound around him in mystic symbols. He was surrounded by druids, they watched him mournfully. Merlin was lying in the center of a large circle, signs drawn around him. Iseldir stood across from him, arms raised, he chanted with the others, and all the druids spoke in unison.

Before Merlin could get his bearings, a bright white flash lit up the world, and it blinded him momentarily. The world shifted and changed. Everything swam around Merlin, and he was like a fish. Merlin coughed and waved away the thick white smoke. He summoned a gust of wind. The druids peered at him. They whispered to each other nervously.

Iseldir raised his hands again, “Emrys, We have decided that you need a change of perspective. Especially after some,” He noticeably shuddered, “graphic descriptions of your actions.”

A druid sidled up to him and whispered in his ear.

Iseldir straightened, “We will transform you into the King’s confidant. There, you will see the world from a new lens.” He coughed uncomfortably, “It didn’t quite work. We just needed to adjust the spell a little bit.”

Mordred’s ears popped when the crackling electricity of magic swelled and overwhelmed him. He was caught in the rise of the power. When the incantation was finished, Mordred collapsed on the ground panting.

He raised his head and saw the inert form of Emrys on the burnt grass. Mordred’s head fell back against the earth. He groaned. Mordred really hoped that this wasn’t a bad idea. Merlin would never forgive him. At least he could point Merlin in Morgana’s direction and laugh while she burned.

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.

Chapter Text

Sir Lancelot was getting worried. At least, more worried than usual. Merlin was gone, which was a relief. Hopefully, his impromptu holiday would clear his head. But that wasn’t it. Sir Lancelot sniffed the air. He hummed to himself, yes he thought decisively, it smelled like fear, or at least he corrected himself, it smelled like apprehension.

Arthur had disappeared, which wasn’t that unusual. He tended to slip away on the odd afternoon. Lancelot hadn’t seen the king for a day or two, also not unusual. Lancelot was a knight, and Arthur was a king. It was only natural that Arthur had important meetings, counsels, and other such events that Sir Lancelot wouldn’t be privy to. However, when Sir Lancelot ambushed a reluctant Sir Leon and questioned him to the point, to which Sir Leon nearly punched him from exasperation Lancelot got his answer. Sir Lancelot rubbed his chin, and he nodded thoughtfully to himself.

Yes, King Arthur was a dog… He didn’t quite get the relevance to his question, but even hard-pressed Sir Leon was as stubborn as a mule.

The mystery continued. Sir Lancelot rubbed his chin again. This time he smiled.

Well, Sir Lancelot was a stolid man on the battlefield. He could face all and take all, his mistakes included. One of them being his obvious misinterpretation of what should have been a plainly stated and plainly answered question. There were many facts, many- things that Sir Lancelot wished he could take back, undo, reset… Fix! Yet here he stood, with his ears filled with a vicious scolding. Lancelot was getting a headache, he tried to suppress the urge to close his eyes and shut out the angry red face of the king, the fat little dog under the king’s arm, and the irritated tap-tapping of Sir Leon’s foot, as he watched on in a grim appreciation.

“I can’t believe that you,” Arthur pointed accusingly, “One of my most trusted knights spread rumors about me being a-” he spluttered, losing his words in his rage.

“A dog?” Sir Leon added helpfully.

“Yes!” Arthur shouted, each exaggerated movement jostled the round piece of fat with a wrinkled face that seemed to sneer at Sir Lancelot. Arthur continued, “Everyone in all of Camelot thinks that I’m a dog in the-”

As the king stumbled over his words, his face grew an increasingly strong shade of red. Sir Leon stepped forward again, “In the bedroom?” he asked innocently.

King Arthur reddened further. He almost absentmindedly secured the now squirming animal under his arm and angrily pushed into Sir Lancelot’s space.

“You have no idea what that does to my reputation, apparently,” Arthur’s rose a pitch higher, “I’ve been with every single man-”

“and woman.” Sir Leon put in.

“And woman in some sort of sexual campaign,” Arthur added angrily, “Now every father-”

“and mother.” Sir Leon added.

“And mother-” Arthur continued, “Are out for my head. Not only is it humiliating to duck out of the way every time a servant approaches-”

“Or maid.” Sir Leon said.

King Arthur spun wildly, he turned his accusing finger on Sir Leon, “That is quite enough from you!”

Sir Leon raised his hands in surrender, “Maids are the more dangerous.” He pointed out.

The King’s hand rose, subconsciously to feel the back of his head, he blinked, “Granted.”

They all stood in silence. Sir Lancelot took a small, shuffled step towards the exit, hopefully to freedom. The ridiculous animal gave him away that the king had clutched in his arms. Alerted by the strange growl the thing gave out, Arthur remembered his purpose and once again cornered Lancelot. Sir Lancelot realized immediately that now was not the time to be anything but a knight of Camelot. He straightened up and took a deep breath in. He prepared himself for his speech. Sir Leon recognized it, and from some pocket on the man’s person, he slipped out that infernal book and licked his pen. It was held poised over the page.

Sir Lancelot sighed, “I was drunk.” He admitted. King Arthur raised an eyebrow. Well, that certainly means he had to talk more. “With Gwaine.” Sir Lancelot gulps guiltily.

Arthur tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling Lancelot took that as a signal for him to continue, “And, I was told from an untrustworthy source-” Sir Lancelot looked pointedly at Sir Leon. Leon looked affronted, “That you were a dog, not that you had-” He gestured helplessly, “a dog.”

Arthur pinched his nose with a groan, “Right.” he said, “That’s all I need. Come, Leon.” Sir Leon looked disgruntled, but he silently slipped his feathered pen and leather-bound book back into the dark mysterious spot that hid them from sight and trudged after his king.

King Arthur stopped, just in the doorway, causing Sir Leon to nearly walk into him. He turned to Sir Lancelot, whose shoulders had just relaxed in relief, and the regal image he gave was so powerful Lancelot had to fight the urge to bow to him. “You haven’t seen Gwaine around have you?” He asked slowly

Lancelot winced at the lack of title. He pointed out the door to where Sir Gwaine sat on the training field, clearly in view, his boisterous laugh loudly ringing out. Arthur nodded slowly before he swept out of the room. Sir Leon followed behind him nervously. Lancelot watched them disappear… speaking of which, he needed to get out of there. He would be damned before he made it easier for them to catch him. Sir Lancelot slipped furtively out of the back door and bounded from column to column, his cloak sweeping out elegantly behind him as he dodged in absolute silence and grace.

Sir Percival had had a relatively uneventful evening. Although a highlight had been when turning a corner, he had been given the perfect viewing point of Sir Lancelot; the knight had been hopping forward that, in an unfortunate misstep his foot was caught on the back of his cloak, and it pulled him back. With a strangled yell, he tumbled over himself and collapsed in a tangled heap of cloak and limbs.

Sir Percival had laughed and then wandered off again.

The rumors sweeping over the castle of the kings, and enormous insatiable love were incredibly amusing even though he had been involved, accidentally, he would add, but involved all the same in its spreading. Sir Elyan was just hoping that his service would be recognized as he swiftly hit one of their favorite cooks over the head. He frowned. Elyan understood their anger, and love for their children. The protective streak that had all sorts coming into the King’s private bed chamber demanding that he relinquish whichever poor soul they thought he was conquering that night. It was really quite sad. Elyan thought contemplating as he disarmed a furious young girl who was wielding a rather large butcher’s knife.

A palace guard came up and dragged the sobbing girl away. Sir Leon tilted the knife, with a careful look. It was strange, now that he thought about it.

Either way, everyone he took down was being taken to the Therapy Chamber. It worked well enough but- Sir Elyan sidestepped an arrow and tackled the attacker. He huffed angrily as the man he had pinned bit into his hand. He wasn’t paid enough for it. He even had to spend the night stopping the marriage proposals that were coming left and right. It was quite ridiculous, everyone knew who the king had his heart set on.

Speaking of… Sir Elyan lost his train of thought as he was forced to backflip over a barrage of books thrown at him. He landed and dusted himself off.

That’s why he’s the best knight in the kingdom! He winked at the attacker and they collapsed in a heap of giggles and blushes.

Sir Elyan frowned, looking a the corridor strewn with materials, and various motionless bodies. It was a shame he always seemed to mess up in front of the others. He’d just need to work on timing.

Morgana was getting worried. After it was brought up, several times, by various knights and nobles she was forced to admit that it was strange, Arthur’s new habit of carrying around a lap dog. She had, therefore, cheerfully placed her darling Gwen’s heavy-duty frying pan in her hands and directed her towards the target- Arthur. It hadn’t taken much convincing, as Gwen had rarely gotten to use the gift since her first time. Ah, the maiden voyage

Morgana smiled to herself. She could still hear Gwen’s echoing footsteps fading into the distance, tapping lightly against the cold cobblestone. After much consideration, she realized the cause of Arthur’s strange actions throughout the castle. She should have known, yet-Perhaps, she thought with a slight frown, When Gwen had first taken the pan to Arthur’s thick skull she had- perhaps a bit too much strength was used…The solution was obvious, if a hit on the head caused Arthur’s mental problems then a hit on the head should fix it all up again. It was purely logical.

Besides, executing it would be so much fun. Morgana repressed a smile. She hid it perfectly.

Sir Leon was running down the corridors as fast as his legs could carry him, he dodged and wove with ease. His heart raced, not only from the exertion but from fear. He had been on his way to have a “talk over tea” with Morgana, just a code word for report on every movement or action Arthur does but if he finds out that you spying on him I will slit your throat with this knife After the rumors that had been going around, Leon had been on a triple alert, the order for a double one was called out a day or two earlier but was deemed ineffective. It was a great insult, but not much could be helped so Sir Leon had simply sighed and sent it out to his spies. Mary had been confused, as had Leon, but as said before, it couldn’t be helped.

Sir Leon had spent a relatively long ten minutes explaining it to his spy network, (see above) when out of the corner of his eye he had seen the Lady Morgana herself. She was stood in a shadowy hall, and on her face glinted a cruel smile. She was so absorbed in her evil-shadow-mastermind-puppet ruler mindset that she was completely oblivious to Sir Leon’s shock and horror. Nor did she notice him turn tail and sprint away from her. Sir Leon needed to go “enjoy a game of chess” with the King. The enjoyment did not factor in, and, come to think of it, it never had.

With a final burst from his already exhausted body, he turned a corner only to see to his dismay, the lady Guinevere, arms raised, pan clutched between white-tipped fingers, and a grin that was evil in every aspect standing just behind the King. The king was entirely unaware. Sir Leon opened his mouth to shout out a warning, but all he could do was wheeze and gasp. Suddenly from the shadows, a great, incredible figure leaped out and tackled the woman and with a war cry took her down.

Whoever Sir Leon was expecting to see from that glorious tackle, Sir Elyan was the last person he thought of. Even as an afterthought, or an afterthought of an afterthought.

The man in question rose, dusted his jacket, and stared wide-eyed at Sir Leon. They watched each other warily. Your sister?” Sir Leon feebly asked.

“Down for the count.” Sir Elyan sounded rather pleased at the fact. Sir Leon nudged her with his boot, she simply lay there.

“You know, Morgana probably set her on him like that, all the violence, not a normal Gwen trait,” Leon said.

Sir Elyan picked Gwen up and handed her to a guard. The last Sir Leon saw of her was her feet being dragged out of sight. “I know.” Sir Elyan said, he hefted the frying pan up and examined it, “It was for last April, specifically.” He smiled wickedly at Sir Leon, “I know how to hold a grudge.” This was a side Sir Leon had never seen before, this vicious ruthless aspect. They stood in an awkward silence.

“You’ve been able to do that all along?” Sir Leon asked. He was talking about his extraordinary tackle. Sir Elyan nodded.

“Only-” Sir Leon cut himself off, there was no need to point out, to a dangerous man, mind, that he had failed in the past. Also, the way Sir Elyan held the heavy frying pan with an easy air did nothing to drive away the unsettled feeling Sir Leon now sported.

Sir Leon tried to get some matter of normalcy back. He reached out to pat the king on the back, when, “I wouldn’t do that!” Began Sir Elyan.

The moment Leon’s hand made contact, King Arthur collapsed into a pile of metal. Sir Leon looked from the pile of armor to the knight.

“It’s because of all the assassination attempts lately.” Sir Elyan said. He scratched his neck.

“Brilliant.” Sir Leon said, he nudged the pile and looked back up, “And no one noticed?” He asked.

Sir Elyan shook his head.

"Come!" Sir Leon jumped up, "I need one of those."

As Sir Elyan hurried away, Sir Leon couldn't remove his gaze from the pile of metal and cloak, "Absolutely Brilliant." Sir Leon breathed, and then he spun out of the room.

Chapter Text

Sir Mordred’s life was difficult. His birth had been a complicated one, and no doubt so would be his death. His unsteady wobbling path wandered in strange spirals. Now, as Mordred looked back, he could very easily say that his life’s path had been confused with a drunkard's. There was no way, he would reason, that he could have started out the way he did and ended up where he was now. He sighed. The small bowl of gruel dribbled down the side of his charge's mouth, and he carefully scraped it away with the spoon.

Oh, that this was where he was destined to end. The last hour had been a struggle. His charge resisted all attempts at feeding and had been distracted through the whole process. Mordred had tried several different approaches, this final one being the one that stuck.

“Here comes the dragon.” He flew the spoon down, with a growl. It was his best impression, which was also quite embarrassing.The spoon was accepted and then the whole process had to be repeated. Mordred had been watching Merlin for the last several days; helping him, or at least, the animal in him, to readjust itself. He knew it was an animal. Another human would talk a lot more, maybe know how to use a spoon, clean up after itself, and be, in other words, more human.

It wasn’t a completely thankless job. The elders had praised him for his diligence. It wasn’t much, but it would do. Mordred sighed again. He would need to walk “Merlin” again soon. He couldn’t let the last time repeat itself. He shuddered before taking another scoop of gruel and wiggling it in a vaguely dragon-shaped flight path. He couldn’t wait to go home.

Morgana had received a raven. Several hours ago, to be exact. It cawed at her, each grating sound growing all the more irritated. With a sigh, she gave it a brief pat and attempted, once more to slip the piece of parchment tied around its leg. It hopped away, with a tilt of the head. This stalemate had been going on for a while.

Morgana locked eyes with the beast, she would not lose to this beady-eyed feather duster, but she could not. It knew, somehow, her deep internal struggles. It goaded her on, taunted her. Morgana lunged. Perhaps her deep internal struggles weren’t so deep. After several minutes the fight was resolved. The bird was held, wings pinned, pecking fiercely at her hands. Morgana blew a few strands of stray hair out of her face and plucked a feather off of her dress. At least, she tried to, with her hands otherwise occupied it proved rather difficult.

She hated that bird. It was a long-time rivalry that started when the raven, dubbed “that demon,” had been a hatchling. How cute it had seemed then, so scraggly and ugly, just in the way young Morgana had liked. She had desperately wanted to feed it, and pet it and, in a roundabout way, love it.She was sorely disappointed when it had snubbed her, refusing her offerings, and shying away from her. Funny how, after all these years, it only wanted her to feed it. It refused any other to give it its meals, and with the same obstinateness born and bred in both, Morgana had refused to cave to its demands.

Now they were in an eternal tug of war, a constant tipping of the balance. The creature, now hatefully dubbed, “Morgana’s demon” refused to let her take parchments, or any other messages or packages unless she offered it it's just deserving. As she looked down at it now, she was satisfied with the help of “just deserving” that she gave it. The pecks were worth it.

Morgana stormed out of her room, careless of the mess of fallen papers, torn fabrics, and floating feathers that she swept in her wake. She had a mission in mind.

Sir Leon lay in wait. Across from him crouched Sir Elyan. They had come to a reasonable decision. Since they would spend several hours just protecting King Arthur and, quite possibly, from being incredibly bored and, incredibly hungry, they had thought through an exquisite plan. So here they lay, at the end of the lengthy hallway, for those who successfully passed down the walk of horror. So far, none had made it to the end. They may have Sir Leon thought, as he heaved a heavy sigh, instead of cutting down on the boredom, quite possibly increased it.

So far, all of the Victims- Visitors (he had to mentally remind himself) had only made it a couple of steps before they inevitably retreated or collapsed from fear or… other variables. Sir Elyan had started dozing, his head leaning against the cold wall. Perhaps Sir Leon would join him eventually. Leon stretched and paced for a couple of minutes before he settled down again. The peace was short-lived.

Down the end of the hall, someone screeched, and metal clanged along the floor. Both knights stood suddenly, or at least, one of them did. Sir Elyan tilted off the wall and wildly waved his arms to try and stay balanced. Sir Leon pressed a finger to his lips to mime silence at the prone Elyan. He looked down the hall. The clangs continued, and there was more yelling and cursing. Distinctly a female’s voice.

Something creaked, and there was a snap and a crackling sound of gravel, though Sir Leon knew it wasn’t that. He listened in amazement. None had managed to make it That far. This was getting all the more interesting. There was a thump of a body hitting the floor, and Sir Leon felt slightly disappointed. Sir Elyan’s expression read the same as how Sir Leon felt. Then came a wet squelch and then deathly silence.

Sir Leon peered around the corner he was currently pressed into and saw- he saw the Lady Morgana, and by all above she looked furious. Her dress was tattered and soaked in a strange-colored liquid. Her usually styled hair was disarrayed and had feathers poking out of it. Her eyes glowed a deathly molten gold. Her arm had a small cut, and she wasn’t wearing any boots.

What had Arthur done now?! Sir Leon cursed, his thoughts panicked. Before he could react Morgana tumbled over, and there stood hearty, brave Sir Elyan. Morgana’s fall was surprisingly Graceful, she tumbled onto her back, her arms held above her. There between her fingers comfortably sat The Demon. Sir Leon pried the bird out of her grip.

“Hello there you little devil.” He cooed, “What were you doing with the Lady Morgana?” The bird pecked him.

Sir Elyan watched him, slightly horrified by his actions, no one got away with baby-talking The Devil. Then Sir Leon did the unthinkable, he kissed the bird on the head, and patted it, before he then released it. No one released The Destroyer of All That Was Good and Holy and expected to get away with their life. Wasn't the saying, "Keep your friends close, your enemies at arm's length so that they don't peck you to death?" Or something to that effect...

Sir Elyan watched the bird, muscles tense for flight, metaphorically, all he wanted to do was run. Instead, the bird settled on Sir Leon’s shoulders and gently pecked him before holding out his leg to the knight. Sir Leon accepted it gracefully.

He read the note and nodded to himself. “Good news!” He announced, “The Lady Morgana was not after the king in any violence, she was in fact after us.” Sir Elyan paled dramatically. He looked from the downed woman to the knight then back down again. He had taken her out! He had- And without another word, or thought he fled.

Sir Leon didn’t notice his companion's untimely flight, he was too busy talking to the bird.

Sir Mordred had left the druid camp several hours ago, after sending The Devil with a warning of his impending arrival to the Lady Morgana. He was quite contented with the way his mission had gone. After thanking Iseldir and the many other helpful friends around him he mounted his horse and left, the body of Merlin following him quite willingly. Speaking of which…

Mordred turned in his saddle. Merlin had been rather excited by the prospect of a journey, his tongue was lolling and he panted heavily, jogging just behind the horse. Occasionally he would smell something and disappear into the woods for a couple minutes before reappearing and then running back to Mordred. It had taken several days, and many hours of constant patience before Merlin had learned how to use two legs as efficiently as four. At least, that was what Sir Mordred had assumed, by the way that Merlin had behaved he would say that the great warlock was now simply the shell for some sort of dog. A dog unused to the freedoms of the outdoors. Sometimes Mordred still had to prompt Merlin to use his feet.

Mordred really couldn’t wait to get home.

It was night, and Camelot’s glowing fires burned brightly in the blanket of darkness. Mordred had expected some sort of party to greet him but was met with an empty courtyard. When he asked around he learned that the king was in an important meeting. the angry looks and clutched assortment of objects between the gentlemen he had met meant nothing to him so he thanked them and continued with “Merlin” in his tow.

He wandered down the many corridors, cautiously searching for some sign of the Lady Morgana. One corridor caught his attention. In the flickering torchlight, the walls reflected the light. It dripped with blood, the floor was slippery with it, and maces hung from the ceiling where several swords and large axes were leaning against the walls. Cabinets were toppled and there was a trail of feathers down the sticky bloody path. The hallway was completely dark, and from where Sir Mordred stood he could see no sign of a living soul. Sir Mordred sighed and snagged his charge before he- it could wander too far down the hall.He kept a tight grip on “Merlin’s” shirt, and as he dragged him away from the scene.

If Mordred thought tiredly, they didn’t want Merlin back here they could have said so. He stopped suddenly, causing “Merlin” to bump into him. All over the walls was painted in dripping white letters: “King Arthur This Way!” and, “Follow the arrows to the king!” followed by a haphazard painting of a finger pointing in the direction from which Mordred had come.

Mordred started walking again, and behind him, loped “Merlin.”

Sir Elyan had run into Sir Gwaine on his panicked escape from his scene of treason. Naturally, Sir Gwaine had taken one look at Sir Elyan’s fearful expression and had turned and headed straight back to the source. He had been disappointed to find Sir Leon and a bird. Soon he had been introduced to the raven and was now enjoying its company. He didn’t question the inert form of who could possibly be the Lady Morgana. Sir Leon was talking in hushed tones. The story he told was quite obviously something of fear. He was very into it. Sir Gwaine would be too if he could hear it.

It was very quiet aside from the occasional drips of unidentifiable liquid that covered the ceiling of Sir Leon’s hall of pain. There was a faint snuffling. Sir Gwaine raised his hand, effectively silencing Sir Leon’s hushed words. He stood and unsheathed his sword.The sound got closer and both the knights tensed.

“Oh, there you guys are. I thought I was unwelcome.” Sir Mordred frowned, he pointed at Morgana, “What happened to her?”

Sir Gwaine shrieked. His scream mixed with Sir Leon’s, becoming indistinguishable. Mordred opened his mouth, quite possibly to say something intelligent, quite possibly not, when from behind him came- Merlin. The man crawled on all fours, his eyes blank, his tongue out. Sir Gwaine screamed again and then passed out. The last he saw was Sir Mordred scolding Merlin, something about using his feet. Sir Leon followed him soon after. And that was how Sir Mordred was found alone, by a corridor that looked like several serial killers had had a party, surrounded by the three collapsed bodies of notable courtiers… and the king's missing manservant.

Chapter Text

For everything in the world, Arthur never thought he would seek comfort from Derek the Third. It had been several years since Derk, as Arthur had lovingly dubbed the animal, had lost his full physical capacity. He was old and wrinkled now, none of the spring of youth was left. He was admittedly rather fat, perhaps Arthur had overfed him a bit. In defence, he always looked starved so he may have been slipped the occasional odd treat.

Derek had slowed with age, no longer able to bound through the grass or run the woods. So he had been shut into the castle. Uther had deemed him a momentary distraction when Arthur was a boy but as the years went by he realized how much the animal meant to the prince. The dog was accompanied by guards to prevent optimistic kidnappings or other such nonsense. But as an old thing, Derk was no longer a top priority. It had always been a subject of guilt over the years as Derk’s place by Arthur’s side was quickly replaced by Merlin. Now that Merlin was gone however Arthur was lonely.

He looked down at Derek. It was rather strange. Perhaps the dog had gone through a slump? Maybe a midlife crisis? Derek was jogging, occasionally he broke into a sprint. Arthur was currently trapped in the castle in an important meeting, but as he stood by the window looking out he was entranced by the sight of an old dog learning new tricks. It was strange, no doubt about it. Derek who had rarely ever jogged never mind sprinted in his early life was now rolling over on command and shaking hands. One of the pages who had been minding him had sworn that Derek had drawn a written message on the ground.

Yet when Arthur had gotten there the words had been smudged out, something with an M, an E, and the beginning of an R. Arthur quickly dismissed it, as it made perfect sense that the word his mind jumped to was- One of the courtiers cleared their throats, “My lord,” she said, “It would benefit the kingdom more if your attention was on the meeting than if it were outside.” Arthur didn’t apologize. He was king now. His father didn’t apologize. Well, okay, bad example, but Arthur kept his head high and returned to the table.

“Let’s continue with the meeting.” was all he said.

Outside there was happy barking. At a motion from one of the nobles, a servant quickly shut the window, muffling the sounds. Unhappy people, Arthur mentally cursed. He supposed that he would have to sit through this meeting and discuss political arrangements and that be his life for the end of time. Gods above he was bored.

Arthur’s boredom was cured! Halfway through that meeting that would probably never end the captain of the guards had burst in. He was out of breath, and his footsteps left behind a perfect imprint of his shoe. It was then that Arthur was informed that they had found Merlin. He quickly ended the meeting, or at least put it on hold. And marched out of the room. As he ran from the room he happened to step on the glistening footprint on the floor, but when he tried to lift his foot again it stuck. He fell with a dignified yelp.

It was a scene of horror. Not that Arthur could fully focus on it. His tailbone hadn’t quite recovered from his earlier accident; it was an accident, and there was no way he could pass it off as anything else. He groaned again. The guards around him looked moments away from bolting, though they kept glancing at their king. It gave Arthur a small feeling of satisfaction. At least they hated being here just as much as he did. Being led here Arthur had been dragged down several corridors that could easily have been called a shortcut, of sorts. Except they took far longer. Whenever he had tried to question the reasoning for this ridiculous walk in circles and roundabouts they had given him scared looks and a nervous ramble about safety and the like.

Arthur didn’t give a damn about safety, he just wanted to stop walking around so much. He resisted rubbing his wounded tailbone again and tried to figure out what was happening.

“So you heard shouting,” The king pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh, “and you came running?” The guard by the name Gerald- no, Joshua? Nodded hurriedly as he nervously wrung his hands on his spear.

“Did you touch them?” Arthur asked, “Give them a little nudge to see if they were alive?”

Jacob, the guard, looked stricken, “Well sire,” he cleared his throat and only for a moment did Arthur think that maybe his voice would deepen but no- “When I came in as I did, I had stepped in that stuff,” to which he gestured to the floor, ceiling and walls, all coated in that strange substance that was so damn sticky. Arthur tapped his foot impatiently through this stuttered report.

“Yes, sire! I mean to say sire, I fell. Couldn’t get it off me if you catch my Meaning sire.” Jasper ducked his head, trying to impart the Meaning of the thing. Arthur wished he didn’t get it. Shame was that his bones ached at him knowingly. Johnny caught a glimpse of Arthur’s growing irritation, mistaking the look to be at him he stumbled all the more, “Well Sire, when I had poked them and ascertained their well being I did look up Sire and there I saw him.” And that was where the conversation seemed to end.

Arthur waited for the boy to continue. The boy showed no sign of continuing.

“Well?”

Jack jumped to attention. “He ran away Sire.” Arthur nodded thoughtfully. He looked around. Several guards were stuck from where they had inadvertently touched the surface of the wall, floor and even in the case of one very unfortunate man, the ceiling. The king absently watched the dangling man before he shook himself and snapped his fingers at the kid.

“Okay, Kid-”

The boy shifted uneasily, “Harold, Sire.” He corrected.

“Yes, that.” Arthur tried to brush off his momentary embarrassment, “Well, I need you to inform the Captain of the Guard that I want him to deal with all of this” he gestured to all around them, “While I-”

His words trailed off. Harold was brushed aside as his King strode passed him and crouched on the floor. He reached out to nudge it with his finger before quickly thinking better of it and instead, he stood up, unsheathed his sword and from a distance poked it. When the object was pushed by the pressure he quickly dropped his sword with a clatter and snatched it from the floor. It was a small piece of cloth.

In the darkness of the room, only lit by torchlight, the red of the fabric bled orange. It also had some blood on it. Or what he thought might have been blood. The lighting was very dim. Whatever it was, it was reddish and sticky. Jarold watched in amazement as his King held the cloth reverently and examined it closely. He seemed to find it genuine and priceless, though he did not seem to find it disgusting, even though it dripped in slow lazy globs of discolored liquid down his hands. King Arthur pressed it to his cheek. When he turned around Arnold could only stare in disbelief at the large dark smear it left on his face. He watched in amazement as Arthur, his king, spun his head wildly around. His eyes wide and searching. Without a second thought, he ran from the room, his steps stumbling and halted by either eagerness or from the blood-like glue that coated the floor, walls, and ceilings.

Barney let out a sigh of relief. He wasn’t actually that high up in the rankings of the Guards. But if the king wanted something done, and you happened to be there, well… and so he got to work.He took a critical look around the room. The fainted royalty had to be woken up, he decided. Then the knights. But most importantly, the captain of the guard needed to be weighed down and with any luck they might just pull him from the ceiling. In a moment Donald took charge and started barking orders.

Mordred wasn’t a very proud man. That is to say, everyone else thought him very humble. He wouldn’t argue with that image of things because then it would also take the man part of it out. Humble seemed synonymous with Guy-You-Can-Trust-To-Do-Anything. And although Mordred did take pride in his many achievements in life, he also took pride in his incredible ability to slide out of existence if anything remotely dangerous seemed on the horizon of Things-That-Are-Gonna-Happen. He always Wasn’t there, the moment he was Supposed to be. Currently Mordred was crouched behind a bush on the back lawns of Camelot’s gardens.

He had, many years ago, heard the saying: A guilty man never stays at the scene of a crime, an innocent one does. But if you’re Mordred you need to get out of there. Which parts were added later by both experience and more experience is hard to say. At any rate, bolting the moment he had been discovered seemed like a pretty good idea at the time. If he didn’t look guilty then he definitely looked guilty now.

Which is fine Mordred soothed himself, I always look guilty, it's just my default state of being

Mordred hunched more, his face expressing the one thing that would most likely get him into trouble: guilt. Truth be told, he wasn’t actually guilty. Perhaps he had been there, standing over the unmoving bodies of loved royalty and esteemed knights… Easily explained: Wrong Place, Wrong time. However, there are only so many times you can use that as an excuse. And Mordred had a sneaking suspicion that he had used it one too many times.

Merlin looked dazed, or happy. It was hard to tell. He was just lying in the grass, eyes open staring blankly at the open clear sky. Mordred was hoping that, best case scenario, Morgana would wake up relatively soon so that they could have a big long discussion about Merlin. And also set the record straight on Mordred’s innocence in the matter, or lack thereof.

They hid in the foliage. They hid quietly. The peace was undisturbed. Mordred was really starting to believe that he could, and indeed, would get out of this when- A small, round, wrinkled, ugly little mole appeared behind Mordred. He didn’t actually notice it until it choked. Mordred spun around. The thing choked again, and then it gagged. He shushed it hurriedly. It growled him and coughed.

No matter what the knight did the little beast hacked and gargled. The longer it went on the more Mordred started to have the suspicion that the thing was in fact, barking. He looked closer and… Yes, it did have a tail. And maybe, perhaps, if one squinted you could see the outline of a canine body, but only barely. The wrinkles of fat covered up most of the body of the thing.

Mordred felt his anxiety spike, “Shhh, it's okay, I’m not going to hurt you. Please just-” His cloud of despair darkened the sky when the gritty creature continued to squeak. When the sun was blotted out he looked up to see a man standing behind him. The man’s face was bloody and his teeth showed. His eyes were wild. Mordred shrieked and tumbled backwards, narrowly missed by the charging form of the man who- who ran right past Mordred and- and pulled up the bewildered body of Merlin and pulled him into a hug. The first words out were lost into an intelligible babble. Mordred caught bits of it, a mumbled apology and then a short scolding and then some more talking.

Mordred fell then. He had been knocked off balance by his fear and stumbled back into the pudgy dog and the rest was history.

If you are wondering what Mordred thought about this, how he felt about the strange dog, the man, and Merlin well… All I can tell you is that his last thoughts were panicked and unintelligible. And then he hit the rock, and it all went dark.

Chapter Text

If Mordred had pulled aside one of the many soothsaying druids at the camp- well, he most certainly wouldn’t be here now.

Well, wherever here was. His head was covered in a burlap sack that told him, with every inhaled breath, that it was previously used for grain. Very old, possibly moldy grain. He knew that because he accidentally got some of it in his mouth. Well, this was a pretty picture. Or it would be if he could see something, anything, other than suffocating hazy brown.

Mordred had already tried to wiggle free, but the only fruit borne from his labor was a rough fall to the floor. His wrists and arms, from his legs to his neck, tangled in rope. A bit overdone, if you asked his opinion. Not that anyone had, or ever would. He had a splitting headache. To be expected. There are only so many times you can hit your head on something before there are consequences. Of course, Mordred didn’t doubt that he had been dropped as a baby, so if there was a maximum number he was nearing it quickly.

And that’s another thing, there was only so much knocking out one could do before it got tiring or in any case, boring.

Mordred had been bored for the last twenty minutes. Twenty minutes being a subjective statement, seeing as he couldn’t tell time and the fact that telling time in itself was hardly ever reliable. Emrys could know. Emrys always knew the time of the day even if he was locked underground for a fortnight. And Mordred knew because they had done that once and Emrys had been rather matter of fact about it. He had also been matter-of-fact about how stupid he thought everyone was.

With a sigh, Mordred started to wriggle again. Try your hardest or- well, you’d probably die.

Oh gods above, why didn’t he train himself before by practicing escaping drills, or something of the sort? em>

Arthur rubbed his hands together. His palms stung wildly. It turns out that even when you train with a sword rope burns still get you. Whatever small stings there were had nothing on how giddy he felt. He had Derek by his side. Derek who had watched past events with a touch of approval and even more smugness. Arthur glanced down at the pudgy creature. It was odd, almost like Derek’s personality had changed, expanded in some way. He shook his head and focused back on his subjects.

They were all in the meeting room. The most important of his subjects was not that Arthur liked to separate his people, not like his father had. No, these were the ones who had betrayed him. Had broken his trust and were about to learn how much they should fear their king. It had taken him a while, admittedly, but it was worth it. There, stationed in their usual seats were Lady Morgana, Lady Gwen, Sir Lancelot, Sir Gwaine, Sir Leon, Sir Elyan, and lastly Sir Mordred.

Or, as they would soon be known, Morgana, Gwen, Lancelot, Gwaine, Leon, Elyan, and Mordred, the bastard. Gaius was also seated, but he had a plate of food- crumbs and so he hardly counted. He hadn’t wanted to go after Sir Percival…And conveniently neither did Sir Percival for he was nowhere to be found. Arthur had been quite relieved. Not even after five minutes of calculating his trajectory for a successful tackle had he attempted to find the man. He checked under the table. No Percival. Well, that was done and over with. Now onto the matter at hand: his knights.

The knights, oh the knights. This would give Arthur all the answers he had ever wanted. Why? Why? What the- One of the knights, Sir Mordred possibly, screamed and knocked his chair over. Ah, it was nice to see his ropes holding.

If only Merlin were in a better state of mind to help with the interrogation. As it was the manservant was sleeping peacefully in the corner, completely and utterly oblivious to Arthur’s machinations. Derek on the other hand had been alert and active. He even helped Arthur on some of the more complicated knots- no, that couldn’t be right.

Arthur stood a moment contemplating the dog before he turned to the Round Table. He had been quite proud of himself when he had first thought of it. Considering the circumstances it was a rather good idea. Equality. What a word. What a meaning. Equality. He had said it so many times that Merlin had told him to shut up. No matter, there wouldn’t be equality here anymore. Not after all the stunts pulled. Most of the bagged heads had started moving. Arthur finally started and clapped his hands together, it was time to start. He stepped into position, hunched his back, and lowered his voice.

“I see ye have all been awakened.” He croaked out, then in the pause he laughed for good effect. As one their heads turned towards his voice.

“I have captured thee all for-”

“Arthur? Is that you?” One of his knights spoke up. Which one he couldn’t tell, seeing as they all looked the same right now. Their bags flopped ridiculously around their heads with every minute movement.

Arthur coughed and tried to find the perfect spot for his voice, he needed more, “Who theese Artuor?”

Morgana huffed, “If you think you can use your crone voice to do whatever the hell you want without devastating consequences you’re absolutely daft.”

He tried a little higher, “I will-”

One of the bags closest to him tilted its head, “I don’t think that’s-”

Gaius looked up, “It's Arthur.”

“-Yeah, that- that makes sense. Arthur, listen-”

“I be no Arthur, I am the- the-” Arthur hesitated. Far be it from him to say something offensive such as calling himself a witch, a wizard, or even a badger. Morgana tended to be offended about something, and no matter what Arthur said she would rally to whatever it was and defend it.

Arthur tried again, “I be the- of the frog people…?”

Morgana shrieked in anger, “How many times do I have to hit you before you learn that it's socially unacceptable to say that-”

Arthur sighed and tugged off her burlap bag. As expected she was foaming at the mouth.

“-They’ve been under a hundred years of suppression and” her voice took on a much threatening tone, “if you don’t let me out right now I will haunt you ‘till the end of days!”

Arthur gave up on his facade and glared at his sister, “Don’t you have to be dead to haunt someone?”

“I will kill myself.”

He ignored her and circumnavigated the Round Table of Equality and pulled off all the bags. Each knight blinked into the light. Arthur dropped the sacks on the sleeping Merlin. He returned to the head of the table, as much as possible, considering it was round.

“I was prepared,” He announced, “to approach this situation with forgiveness. To hear your reasoning behind your actions. To be equals with you, and discuss this as equals. But-” He looked at each of them in their eyes, “seeing as I was excluded from some very important conversations and treated as someone less than equal I’ve decided to close the table and do it my way.”

Sir Elyan frowned at him, “What do you mean by close the table?”

Ah, the moment he had been waiting for. Arthur smiled sweetly and clapped his hands together twice, “Derek?”

The dog set off at a trot to the other end of the table. Several minutes later, when Derek arrived at his destination, minimal breaks involved he yapped.

Good boy.

Arthur stepped up, maintaining eye contact with Sir Elyan reached under the table, and felt. He frowned after a moment and knelt. With some fumbling, he pulled. Nothing happened. He stood and brushed himself off. Walking to the other side of the table, all the way around he found Derek panting sadly at one of the table legs. Arthur scooped him up and pulled on the latch that the creature had miserably failed to pull. The table shuddered and with a loud bang parts of it collapsed. Everyone jumped, wincing and flinching from the woosh of air and the rapidly disappearing table.

When the dust cleared Arthur saw, with some smugness, that it had gone to plan. The Round Table of Equality was Round no more. The wooden flaps were collapsed to the floor, drooping pathetically giving the table the appearance of a downed bat.

But it wasn’t round anymore, and that was what mattered. Arthur strode proudly to the head of the table because there was one now. He raised his arms up, Derek plummeted to the floor, and said loudly, “Welcome to the Rectangle Table of Unequality.”

The room was silent, all eyes were wide, and it was perfect-

“And?”

Arthur groaned in frustration and turned to Sir- No, just Elyan, “And what? He asked, irritation mounting.

“What does it mean? That can't actually be a real word.”

“It means, Elyan, that I am your king, and I will do what I want.”

Elyan paled at his name and he was far from the only one affected. Despite the shivers of fear that passed through knight after knight someone distinctly lack of knightliness snorted. And Arthur should know, he taught his knights better than to snort in polite company.

It was Gwen. Ah, well, that figures.

She saw him turn to her and she lowered her eyes “Of course, you’re the king.”

Arthur took this well, he nodded more than a little appeased, “I order that all take Guinevere’s example, it is a good one.”

He missed the glance of amusement that sparked between Morgana and Gwen until-

“Why of course, Uther.”

Sir- Gwaine burst into a fit of giggles. He was half hysterical.

Well, clearly this wasn’t working.

And with that simple disobedient action, the room burst into noise. Neighbors turned to neighbors and acquainted themselves cheerfully, the talking turned incessant and loud. Arthur stared in disbelief as Leon cracked a joke and Lancelot laughed. And it wasn’t just them with their lively conversations. Gwen and Gaius seemed to be halfway through a long and deep conversation about the habits of baking and how it wasn’t like how it used to be.

“Be quiet!” he shouted. He was ignored. He tried again, “I order you to be quiet.”

Morgana, who hadn’t looked away from him since the moment of her unveiling, eyes flashing, turned up her nose at him, “Who do you think you are?”

Arther groaned and turned away, hands pushing against his eyes to stave off the forerunners to a headache. All of a sudden there was a chilling howl, and lightning crackled outside the castle. The room fell silent. A distant booming roll of thunder echoed through the halls. He glanced down and saw Derek looking satisfied.

“Well,” Arthur said after a moment, shaking off his mild confusion and fear, “Where should we begin?”

There was a faint muffled whimper and a wobbly voice rose up, “I don’t suppose we could start by putting me right side up, could we, Sire?”

Arthur smiled, suddenly feeling like everything was going to be alright, “Of course we can,” he paused for effect, “Mordred.”

“Could we do it now? I think my arms fell asleep thirty minutes ago.”

With another sigh, Arthur yielded, “Alright, alright. But first…Let’s talk about Merlin.”

Everyone in the room gave a collective groan. Derek looked up at him panting, he wore the same grin that Arthur did.

Oh, this would be fun.

Chapter Text

Arthur stormed off twenty minutes ago. This was an approximation of time because there was no telling how much of it had passed, but to avoid insanity, they did their best to count the seconds. The result was that several arguments had broken out, particularly between Sir Gwaine and Sir Elyan.

“You can’t count seconds like that you idiot!” Yes. They were both rather high-strung at the moment, now that they weren’t Sir- anything anymore. To correct the statement: Several arguments had broken out between Gwaine and Elyan, and they were both idiots.

“I’ll show you counting!” Elyan snarled. His chair shook with his restrained rage. The chair that restrained him, not his rage. That being said Leon was nearly completely 100% sure that if Elyan were to escape right now and Gwaine remained strapped down there would be two deaths that day. Because Leon would kill both of them.

With a loud crash, Gwaine toppled over. He had been attempting to scoot closer to Elyan, possibly to fight him. Now there were two knights lying on the floor and no one to help them up. However, if there were someone able-bodied and sane enough Leon would insist that they free him before he do something drastic like strangle himself.

Gwaine’s legs kicked in the air while his mouth ran on and on. Most of the words that came out weren’t even ones that Leon knew about it.

Though Merlin would know. Oh, he would know.

What a dreadful thought.

Morgana and Gwen’s hair curtained them away from the chaos, heads bent together discussing something quietly but emphatically.

Leon could see their heads bobbing, nodding along to one thing or another. He stared at them across the felled table. He cleared his throat.

There was no reaction. He was paid little to no attention, though that was normal. What wasn’t was that he couldn’t even pull out his Book of Notes On Certain Knights (Though Not Naming Names Here) for Acting UnKnightly. He had several books with such titles. It was fairly easy to fill volume after volume out. They were a huge success. No one was more scared of him than when he took notes on their behavior.

That was until Merlin had his Tantrum- Bad day.

Leon was quick to correct himself. Though the thoughts were in the confines of his mind one could never be too careful. Or Leon couldn’t until he got better with his poker face.

Nine out of ten times Merlin would win the game. The tenth time Leon usually cheated by making a different knight stand behind his opponent. Unfortunately, they hadn’t figured out a standard system of communication so Leon also usually lost or ended the game with a bang (the table hitting the floor) or a good old-fashioned storm off (the door slamming behind him.)

Leon still prickled with anger on remembering their last game. Gwaine really should’ve been able to show him the card number, especially a single digit, with only one hand.

That absolute failure as a man and as a knight!-

Oh, Leon liked the sound of that. If only he could write it down…

Mordred was very, very alone. Or he was. He had never been so happy to see Gwaine’s red-purple angry complexion before in his life. He would calm himself eventually, the floor tended to do that to a person. It was so cold. The side of Mordred’s face that was pressed flat to the floor ached. He would give anything for a little fire right now. But for now, he could content himself with conversation. “It’s a lovely time of year, this time of year.” He remarked.

“-then I’m going to take all of your socks-” Gwaine shouted.

“-If only it weren’t so cold or, you know, stony-”

“-and when I’m done with that I’m going to-”

“-I can appreciate the damp if it comes down to it-”

“You’ll never have a matching pair for the rest of your life-”

The almost rabid noises being emitted from both Gwaine and Elyan drowned out any and all other conversations. When they finally ran out of breath they breathed heavily for a moment, their panting filling the room.

Mordred paused, deep in thought, “I wonder what the sun looks like.”

Gwaine turns to him for the first time as if registering that he was there, “Sorry, what?”

“The sun. I’ve never looked directly at it, have you?”

Gwaine shook his head or did his best. He groaned when his skull hit the floor, defeated, “How long ago did you get here?” He asked.

“What do you mean? I’ve been here the whole time.” Gwaine peered at him, “Huh, alright.”

The room was quiet but for the scraping of Elyan’s chair as he tried to get the jump on Gwaine. When Lancelot spoke up he immediately garnered everyone’s attention, “So, now what? We couldn’t give Arthur the information that he wanted-”

Morgana snorted, “What information? I don’t think he asked a single question.”

Gwen nodded in agreement. Lancelot exchanged a glance with Leon, “But that first question, about Merlin-”

“If you recall, he then started yelling at us. He came in less for answers, more for punishment.”

Everyone gave that a good long thought. Gwen nodded again. Morgana, when she deemed that everyone had given it sufficiently enough time, continued, “I think he got overwhelmed, that’s why he left.”

“Exactly!” Gwen exclaimed.

They all turned to her, but when she failed to continue attention refocused on Morgana. “What’re you all looking at me for?” She asked.

Leon sighed, “Well, we thought you had more, but I guess not-”

“I have plenty more where that came from!” She said hotly. Quite literally. Because Leon felt heat creeping up in the otherwise freezing room. Her eyes flashed.

Leon yelped. Fire erupted against his wrists, and he shot up out of his seat as if he had been set on fire. Which he had. He rubbed his hands on his singed wrists, glaring at Morgana, “Surely you could’ve done that before, and with less fire?” He asked irately.

“That’s what she said.” Gwen chimed in.

“Really Gwen?”

Morgana sounded far too fond to be threatening. Her eyes flashed and immediately Guinevere’s ropes fell gently to the floor, allowing her to rise gracefully and cut through Morgana’s own bindings. Morgana pecked Gwen’s cheek in thanks. Then did it again, the insatiable witch. Now one of them stood. Two made out and two more of them sprawled out on the floor. Elyan and Lancelot remained tied to their seats, still standing tall.

Gwaine and Elyan could remain tied down, for now. The last thing they needed right now was them at each other’s throats. Or Morgana and Gwen. Leon cleared his throat politely and looked the other way pointedly. When the girls separated, hair distinctly far more askew than it had been a few minutes ago, he decided to get on with it. Once Lancelot was freed they worked together to pull Mordred up. They were about to cut him out when Morgana, eyes flashing, raised her hand to halt them. She was standing behind them so they couldn’t see it, but yelling at them to “stop” worked well enough.

“Mordred,” She began, “I hope you have a good explanation as to why you’re here? And why-” She frowned, “Merlin,” For second best friends, his name had never come out of her mouth with such a distasteful curl, “Is here.”

Mordred strained away from her, as any sane man would, “I don’t know-”

“Because if I remember correctly,” Morgana made a strange movement with her hands as if she were-, “Damn,” She cursed, “where are my knives.”

“In the bowl by the door, where they always are.” Gwen reminded gently.

“Thank you, darling”

Mordred, the second-best knight after the second-best, brave though he was, quaked in fear. Leon didn’t blame him. Hell, no one would. Through his fear, he managed to choke out some sort of explanation. It was long-winded, complicated, and gurgling. He may have been choking on his tears, but at least- Well, at least it wasn’t a knife? Who knew what would happen, when Lady Morgana, or heaven forbid, Lady Guinevere was involved. Morgana had a reputation as a witch, but Gwen? She was so much worse. If anything Mordred should be thankful.

“Thank you, Mordred, for confessing your sins,” Morgana said evenly. In a smooth movement, Mordred’s ropes fell away.

When he tried to stand he fell almost immediately, directly on top of the prone Gwaine. He groaned, both or either of them, in pain. “Really Mordred?” Gwaine gasped, “I need my breath if I’m ever going to destroy a certain Knight’s organizational skills.”

Elyan opened his mouth, a certain and harsh rebuttal on his lips when Lancelot smacked him. “There will be no saving the both of you from Leon if you continue this ridiculous and frankly boring fight.” He said, “Besides, we have bigger fish to fry, and by that I mean Mordred, or that blasted dog.”

“I wouldn’t taste very good fried.” Mordred pointed out.

“Nobody said anything about eating you,” Leon said grimly.

That shut them all up.

“Now, apologize.”

“Well,” Lancelot said, “It was quite an apology.”

“If you ignore the almost immediate attack afterwards,” Leon said from where he was perched on Elyan’s back.

Knocking them had been the best option, and it hadn’t changed since the last three times they had woken up. Apparently, this grudge of theirs went back all of an hour ago, and if Leon knew Gwaine at all he knew that if a grudge lasted that long then it would last a lifetime. But he had never encountered a grudge that led to such intense hatred.

“Sexual tension?” Lancelot offered.

Leon shook his head, “What were they arguing about in the beginning, do you remember?”

“Socks?”

“No, before that.”

“Counting?”

Leon, through the dim lighting of the closet that they were stashed in, glanced down at his charge.

“Hmm,” He thought out loud, “You might just be right about that.”

“Counting?” Lancelot asked.

“No, the tension.”

He was desperately hoping that Morgana would return soon. The closet was hot, and very very tightly packed even with Lancelot and Leon sitting on top of Gwaine and Elyan. They had been stationed here to guard them and hide them from Arthur, wherever he prowled. Closets had a deep and traumatic history with Leon. Or he with them. It was complicated.

But perhaps…

“I have an idea,” He said slowly, “But it would require us going against direct orders from Our Lady.”

Lancelot thought for a moment, “Does it involve us leaving the closet?” He asked.

“Well, yes.”

“Then we’re doing it,” Lancelot said firmly.

Lancelot tightened the knot one last time. He and Leon had pulled so tightly on the strings of the bow Lancelot had done that they had collided heads. Don’t ask him how. He still doesn’t quite know. He stood back and stared at it, satisfied.

“It’s beautiful,” Leon said in awe.

“Damn right it is,” Lancelot agreed, “Now let’s go find the rest, and maybe get as far away from the main hall as possible.”

It was hard to lift and carry one unconscious being, let alone two, so they had ended up being pushed into the closet right opposite the meeting room’s door. It was a dangerous position, especially now that it had a big bright bow that said, “Look inside me, you’ll probably find knights in here.”

Heavy footsteps echoed down the hallways.

Ice flooded his veins, and his heart nearly froze in his chest.

“Scatter!” He whispered loudly, “Scatter! Scatter!”

They nearly collided, skittering away from each other in a panic but somehow going in the same direction. The same direction, as in, Away.

The concussion Lancelot was probably sporting gave him a headache, making running difficult. But two concussions (Lancelot had just run into a wall) were far better than anything waiting at the other end of the hallway.

Sir Percival peaked into the main hall.

It looked like- well, he wasn’t quite sure what it looked like.

He waved at Gaius. Gaius didn’t wave back.

The utter destruction inside the room, and the only man in the room, though tied up, seemed to be related. Perhaps it would be best if Percival stayed out of the way for a while Gaius until the Physician had had enough time to calm down. Maybe he would have a good conversation with him, some gossip, and food.

Percival closed the main hall doors and leaned back against the wall to wait. But- there was a ribbon. A very beautiful red one. It practically called to him. Sir Percival reached out.

Gwaine and Elyan stared at him. They sat cross-legged on the floor, talking intently. Or they had been before Percival interrupted them.

Their eyes were wide, startled like a deer, and they froze.

They stared at each other before, with slow carefully telegraphed movements Gwaine sat forward and very gently closed the closet door again.

Percival tilted his head, considering.

Gwaine called out through the door, very muffled, “Re-tie the door would you?”

He did so. Then he returned to the main hall and- Ah, Gaius was asleep, head hanging down.

Well, the old man deserved a nap.

Which, speaking of, was exactly what was on Percival’s list to do today. Yes, He decided, a nap would do him well.

As he lumbered off he completely missed a little malicious fur ball, flattened face, beady-eyed, snub-nosed-

He missed Derek, who watched him pass with a cold calculated look. A cold calculated that turned from the gentle giant to the knotted closet.

Things were about to get interesting.

Chapter Text

For the last hour, two minutes and thirty-three seconds the king of Camelot had been pacing.

Arthur was- He wasn’t angry. He really wouldn’t describe himself as someone ruled or directed by anger, ever. Merlin would disagree with that statement. A disagreement that would usually get a slipper thrown at him, but he wasn’t here so his opinion didn’t matter.

Arthur paused, mid-step, undeniably angry.

Derek had long since stopped pacing with him and was staring contemplatively at Merlin, the cause of all Arthur’s problems and the bane of his existence.

Which he wasn’t, not really. More like, “Light of my life, headache of the century, darling, kill-me-now-” And many more assorted names, most loving, more than that murderous.

But Arthur would never murder Merlin. And that was a sign of true love.

Arthur sighed and shut his eyes tightly to think for a moment.

Derek yapped.

Frowning, he opened his eyes again to stare at the dog. Its tail wagged at him briefly before its attention returned to the unconscious and relaxed form of Merlin.

It was strange, Arthur thought, that Derek’s gaze was so fixed on the exact spot where Merlin’s face would’ve been. If he had been taller, or had the advantage of being held he would be staring face to face with him. As it was Derek continued to stare at the stark and barren wooden boards underneath the bed that held Merlin.

The dog gave another yap, spun abruptly in a circle as if chasing its own tail, and then plopped to the ground panting heavily. He noticed Arthur watching him and another half-hearted yelp sounded out in the quiet room.

Well, that wouldn’t do at all. Arthur needed to think, not be… yowled at. Was there a better word? Perhaps, but in the present moment, it was the only thing that came to mind.

It was a matter of a few seconds, but it seemed to last an eternity of little huffs and growls before the animal was plopped outside of the room’s door and shut out.

Ignoring the whines and pathetic- otherworldly noises coming from the other side of the door Arthur pulled up a chair to Merlin’s bedside and sat, trying to think through his next move.

It would involve a bit of yelling- who was he kidding, a lot of yelling. Fear translated into anger quite well and if he were to maintain his presence and power as a king, respectable or otherwise (none of the things he was accused of had he actually done, but the otherwise remained)-

Arthur often did well on his speeches if he let them, what was the word- ah, marinate. So he did. Alone in the room.

It was a long while before he even thought to think or notice the severe and obvious lack of noise was a certain dog that was not outside his door anymore.

But as said, it was a long while.

It was another hour before Arthur left the confines of the room. He swept down the halls and slammed the door of the Main Hall open.

His glorious and extensive anger and intimidation were met with silence. The room was empty, ropes strewn across the floor.

The table was still collapsed, chairs knocked askew and all that remained was a general air of emptiness. Except-

Gaius. Gaius, the physician, the man who Arthur admired and felt (if to some small degree) that he was respectable. Gaius, the man who was-

“Are you eating sawdust?” Arthur let his incredulity and horror bleed into his words. He had long since given up on trying to remain calm and collected, especially when it came to…well, all of them.

Gaius’s head snapped up from where he was- Licking?- the armrests.

Dear god, since when had he ever gotten that flexible?!

Arthur had to shake his head and force his eyes shut to block out the image. After a few seconds, he opened them again. Gaius was sitting straight, looking up at him, a genial smile gracing his face.

“My Lord,” He greeted amiably.

“I-” it took a moment to get a good start, “Where are the others?”

A frown formed, on Gaius’ brow, cheek, and lips. It quite nearly took over his entire face, the wrinkles forming their own miniature frowns. It was rather disturbing.

I suppose that’s what happens when you’re both old and have to mentor Merlin.

“The others?” Arthur prompted, trying to look anywhere but the old man.

“Ah!” Gaius exclaimed. But he didn’t continue.

“Good dust there?” Arthur asked.

“Absolutely divine.” The physician confirmed.

He wouldn’t be a physician anymore if he continued this- habit? Though Arthur didn’t suppose he could fire someone on a matter of taste, or lack of it. He watched Gaius absently chew on a strand of rope.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

Gaius thought, “Well, of course, My Lord. But I’ll have to start at the beginning-”

“Fine, fine,” Arthur snapped. He took a breath to steady himself before smiling. He was well aware of how strained it looked, though Gaius didn’t, apparently, “Let’s start at the beginning.”

Gwaine and Elyan had been crouched here, in the depths of the closet, for the last- Elyan counted silently on his fingers- well, they’d been in here a long time. And it was exactly what he had hoped for.

They were currently on their sixth match of a swift and vicious patty-cake game, halfway through it, to be exact. The games were violent, and the scuffling that ensued before and after each time was loud enough to rouse Arthur from his sleep. That man was not an easy man to wake.

Thankfully no one had wandered past for the last- Elyan tried counting again but the inside of their shelter was too dark to see anything, even his own fingers- it had been a while, that’s all.

Or it had been.

They paused, mid-movement, when the main hall doors shot open, setting off a rain of dust and a loud bang. And- Ah that’s why Elyan couldn’t count!

Carefully Elyan released his stranglehold on Gwaine’s neck as he did the same for Elyan. The games were, as previously stated, violent.

There was a strange snuffling just outside their enclosed safety space. Gwaine moved forward but Elyan caught him and held him back, “What do you think you’re doing?” He whispered.

“Opening the door,” Gwaine said. Facial expressions were hard to discern but he could’ve been frowning, or he could be doing something much more sinister like smiling

If one were to be as unlucky enough as to see Gwaine smile then- well, you’d be really unlucky because it meant Gwaine had some plan or other that would (if indirectly) utterly wreck and destroy your life for the ever-shortening remainder.

Elyan couldn’t see Gwaine’s smile, (but let me assure you, it was there) so he reluctantly let him go, sliding as far back as he could into the closet space. If he were lucky he could remain unnoticed.

Gwaine opened the door. Opened is a bit of an exaggeration seeing as how they were tied, no, locked inside. Truth be told, the best he could do, if he were trying to escape, would be to let the tip of his finger take a nice refreshing breeze.

He did exactly that.

Gwaine pulled his finger back inside, fully intact.

“Nothing there.” He remarked.

Elyan relaxed a little, “I noticed.”

“Now come on, where were we?” Gwaine settled back down, “I think the third verse?”

Arthur stumbled out of the Main Hall. He couldn’t handle it anymore. As a king, a king of many many subjects no less, he should’ve been able to.

But he couldn’t, he just- Oh, Gaius. He thought a little miserably.

He’d lived in the same castle with the physician for his whole life, watched him perform surgeries on and off of battlefields, even going so far as to assist him sometimes when hands were short (Merlin only had two, after all) but never before had he been so- disgusted- by anything. By Gaius!

He had barely made it out of there with his life. The list had grown, longer and longer and longer- Was there anything that that man wouldn’t eat?

The Main Hall door had slammed open a second time. Elyan slapped his hand over Gwaine’s mouth, silencing the friendly hello that would no doubt follow an invitation into their den.

It was their thirteenth game, and Elyan knew that they should’ve stopped playing exactly three matches ago. He had tried to insist on it in fact. But yet again, as it usually goes, he was ignored.

How? He didn’t know.

Being in a cramped space with almost no breathing room seemed like a place where conversations were bound to happen and ignoring someone would be the forerunner to great and immense violence at your own risk.

Elyan was planning great and immense violence. It could be argued that he has been doing it from the moment he was born, all for one particular suave but infuriating individual.

Gwaine bit him.

Elyan yelped and then slapped his own hand on his face. He held his breath, the air tense (or just Elyan) when slightly unsteady footsteps approached their closet.

He watched and listened in growing horror as the sound of someone untying a knot (don’t ask him how he knows what that sounds like) followed by cursing and a sudden and bright beam of sunlight hitting him exactly in the eye.

When he finally manages to hold his eyes open he sees a slightly green very pale-looking Arthur. He doesn’t even look surprised to see them in here, just exhausted, and sick.

“Wanna join?” Gwaine asked helpfully.

Arthur turned his attention to Gwaine, he didn’t respond, just stared at him. There was a haunted look in his eyes, he looked haggard.

“You don’t have to join,” Elyan says quickly, trying to nudge Gwaine to tell their King and employer to-shut-the-damn-door-you-utter-idiot-I-swear-to-

But Gwaine seemed to interpret the increasingly rough nudges as well-done-get-the-king-in-here-with-us-you-bloody-beautiful-genius-

They both meant about the same thing, one completely devoid of anything except murderous intent, the other with the same meaning but hidden beneath a heavy layer of happy sarcasm.

The awkward silence continued all of five seconds before Arthur turned on his heels and strode off.

One of the closet doors cracked and fell off its hinges, the other one swinging wildly in their King’s wake.

They were exposed. Out in the open and so so exposed. Gwaine stared at the damage, “Well,” He finally said, “That certainly puts a damper on the spirits.”

“What spirits?” Elyan asked incredulously.

Gwaine stood and stretched, “Well, it would’ve worked, you know.”

Elyan followed suit, groaning at the steady ache he felt in his back legs and brain, “I’ll grant, the first bit worked.”

Great. Another headache, courtesy of Gwaine. How delightful.

“Exactly.” Gwaine beamed at him, “The fight was very convincing, as was your faint,” He added graciously.

“You played unconscious very well too,” Elyan said grudgingly.

“As far away from the action as you could possibly be,” Gwaine said, stepping forward happily.

“Except we’re going right back to it almost immediately,” Elyan grumbled. His half-asleep limbs kept him on guard with how often they attempted to send him careening off in a different direction than where he told them to go.

He was going to end this entire adventure with a broken nose, he just knew it. From his own clumsiness or from Gwaine’s inability to think through anything- or

But really. The only person he could truly blame was himself. He could only blame himself. No one forced him to go along with the crazy things that happened, he just did, compelled almost. No one but himself-

Well…He could blame his parents. Yeah… yes indeed, that seemed very reasonable.

And with a lighter heart, Elyan set off, jogging to catch up to Gwaine who was already deep into a soliloquy.

“Damn them,” He whispered, feeling out the words, “Damn them, I say.”

Gwaine glanced at him confusedly, “Who?”

And all Elyan could do was smile. There were so many possibilities, every bit of his life teeming with opportunities, all in the near future.

“No one,” He said, “No one at all. Sorry, what were you saying?”

Chapter Text

Everything went silent when the door banged open and shut, launching a stumbling Gwaine and Elyan into the center of the room. A room full of conspirators.

Morgana glared at them, “What took you so long? Too busy making out?” She snapped.

Gwaine crossed his arms defensively, “Would’ve been, except that ones-” He nodded towards Elyan, “been mumbling the whole time."

He took in the grim faces of those around them, "So, what did we miss?” He paused, “Also, wasn’t it You who locked Us in a closet?”

Morgana waved a hand dismissively, “Wasn’t that your plan all along? And you haven’t missed much, just as Mordred's been explaining. Apparently, there’s been a lot we haven’t missed.” The last bit was said bitingly, a dark-eyed glare directed purely and menacingly towards the unfortunate named “Mordred.”

The creature in question stared defiantly back.

Morgana huffed, “Well, tell them what you told us.”

Mordred narrowed his eyes, “And have things thrown at me again?”

She sighed, “Of all the times to grow a backbone,” She turned to the ex-knights, “Remember when we kidnapped Merlin to solve his…anger problem?”

Elyan muttered something. Gwaine shot him a worried glance, “Hard not to.”

“We got Merlin back.”

“I know, I saw him. Did the impromptu therapy help?” Gwaine asked, “Where did you send him, by the way?” He wrinkled his nose, “Though I definitely should’ve asked that a couple of days ago. Where is he?”

“Just running around the castle.”

Gwaine nodded fondly, “Sounds like our Merlin, back to normalcy, eh?”

Morgana’s smile twisted cruelly, “Well,” She drawled.

Lancelot, Leon, and Gwen held their breath, and so did the room, it felt like. Absolutely stifling.

“There’s a little more to the story than just that.”

Gwaine frowned, “Well? Get on with it.”

“What?” Gwaine shouted, scandalized. He wasn’t taking the news well. Not a bit. All's the better, his rage would fuel the hunt for-.

“Elyan!” Gwaine shouted again, “You can’t say things like that.”

Gwen shot Morgana a confused look, one she could only reciprocate. Leon and Lancelot flinched a step back, arms raised. They lowered them slightly, peaking through their fingers to stare at him. They looked to Morgana next.

She shrugged.

Gwaine turned back to Morgana sheepishly, “Oh, sorry M’lady, what were you going to say? Or said? I apologize.”

“As I was saying-”

“Elyan!” He was appalled, “Those are your parents!”

Gwen, affronted, scowled, “Whose parents? Elyan, you know we share them,” And when she got no response she spun angrily on Gwaine, “What is he saying Gwaine!”

A brief scuffle, and a very loud argument that was sure to bring every guard in the castle running (if they weren’t completely and utterly useless) later; and Morgana, ruffled and irritated managed to drag an equally disheveled Gwen away. And only just barely, from what was looking like the second greatest grievance that this castle had seen since Merlin, a mere few weeks ago.

Gwaine had Elyan in a headlock. Effective but brutal in its efficiency. 
Their bystanders were just as useless as the guards. Apparently watching two siblings trying to murder, if not seriously maim each other was easy entertainment.

Morgana would show them easy entertainment.

“As I was trying to say,” Morgana huffed, blowing a strand of hair away, “Merlin’s the damned dog.”

In his surprise, Gwaine let Elyan go.

Lancelot and Leon crept along the corridors, silent like shadows. Except Lancelot’s boot kept squeaking.

After a fifth such sound, Leon straightened up from his crouched position, “Really?” He asked.

“Shh.” Lancelot hissed at him.

“Hard to be quiet when we’ve got that-” Leon gestured at Lancelot’s shiny sleek new shoes, “Monstrosity-”

“Hey!” The offender exclaimed.

“What happened to being quiet?” Leon asked snarkily. “Why did you have to buy new boots, weren’t your last ones perfectly serviceable?”

Lancelot stared at him, wide-eyed, “They’re a gift.” he said defensively, “You’re the reason I got new ones.”

“Was I?”

Lancelot spluttered, “Right through the window too, and you don’t even remember.”

Leon sighed. He did remember. And what a thing to think back on. It was a glorious throw, carried right on. The furthest thing he ever threw, an even better shot than that Gryphon Lancelot supposedly took out a few years back. He rubbed his face tiredly, “Sorry, it's a bit much right now.”

Lancelot gave him a look that said, like you don’t spend every chance you can to remind me of it And without another word, slipped his boots off, leaving them standing upright and alone in the center of the floor.

“Thank you.”

Lancelot shrugged and continued down the hallway without another word. Once he was safely around the corner Leon gave a kick at the boots.

He had kicked the first pair as well, only, he hadn’t told that particular part of the story to the owner. Ex-owner.

Respect meant tossing with one's hands, kicking was pushing the line on how close he could get before Lancelot finally broke and tried to strangle him.

To be fair, when it had happened Leon was having a bad day, and those boots were… Very squeaky. Much like their successor.

Satisfied with his work he nodded then he turned and ran to catch up with Lancelot.

Arthur was still trying to comprehend everything. His eyes firmly shut, hands clenched on at wall to somehow anchor and restrain himself from any violent action. And by everything he meant… Well, the fact that his Manservant, Merlin, had somehow exchanged souls with… Derek. The fact that it was all Morgana’s fault and that she was standing- right there- did not help at all.

Clamping down his more violent impulses took a little longer than it should’ve but when he did he felt a little better.

“How could you?” He finally managed.

No, the violent impulses were still there, and growing stronger by the minute.

Morgana yelped.

“Morgana!” Arthur yelled, trying but not successfully to stop himself from shouting. He failed. Evidently. “What have you done to Merlin!”

Morgana blinked down at him, breathing heavily, “How long have you been standing there.” She said.

“Get off of Guinevere, I can’t take you seriously when you’re up there. You look like a parrot.”

Gwen let Morgana down gently.

“I’ve been here the whole time,” Arthur said once they were on equal ground.

“The whole time?” Morgana said, surprise badly disguised by her- whole demeanor.

“What did I say about a parrot?” Arthur snapped.

Morgana’s hands shook slightly. She was probably filled to the brim with adrenaline after the scare Arthur had given her.

Good, Arthur thought viciously, When she crashed in a few hours it would be courtesy of his incredible stealth skills.

Morgana snarled, “What do you want?”

Arthur stared at her in disbelief, “What could I possibly want? Like my manservant? Merlin? My Merlin?”

Morgana snorted and dusted herself off. She smiled sardonically, “Nice to know you’ve got your priorities straight- Oh wait.”

“Where else would my priorities lie?” Arthur demanded.

Morgana sniffed, and turned away from him, “If you really were the whole time-” Arthur smothered a mocking squawk underneath a less than subtle cough. “-and I mean that, then you’re-” her head snapped towards him in realization, “Arthur,” she said slowly, “Where’s Derek- Merlin?”

Arthur barely noticed the correction because Morgana’s face was getting far too red to be healthy, “I-” he started.

“Isn’t he usually with you, Arthur?” Gwen asked from where she had Gwaine on the floor, pinned down.

“I-” Arthur said, momentarily speechless for an entirely different reason now.

“Really I don’t see how we missed it before,” Guinevere mused, “he always seemed so- human.”

Gwaine let out a choked sound.

“Hush now.” Gwen comforted, “Have you rethought your strategy yet?”

Gwaine didn’t get a chance to respond before her attention returned to Arthur. Arthur who was watching in fascinated horror.

She and Morgana were really truly perfect for each other.

“What? Sorry?” Arthur must be losing his mind to show weakness in front of a predator like that. He had to pray that Gwen wouldn’t taste blood in the water.

“Morgana’s right, where is he?”

Oh, thank goodness she had said something.

“Merlin or Derek? Also, if Merlin’s head is in Derek’s then where is Derek’s head gone- oh.”

Morgana inhaled deeply, a deep exasperated gasp, “Welcome to the party,” she said, “and that’s why we need both of to somehow switch them back-”

“Somehow?” Arthur interrupted. Morgana had the grace to look a little bit embarrassed.

“It’s druid magic, and we’re not exactly druids.” Morgana said, and then taking pity on him, (as if kings need to be taken pity on) “We’ll do our best, and we’ll get him back.”

The sentiment, however pitty-filled, was appreciated.

“But how?” Arthur couldn’t help stressing the words (and everyone else in the room, no doubt).

Gwaine said something, it was muffled underneath Gwen’s weight. Elyan, now entirely free from the conflict only watched apathetically when Gwen lifted Gwaine’s head by his hair, peering into his face, “Sorry, did you say something?”

Gwaine gasped, “I said, Elyan Damn you-!” And then he went back under Gwen’s unrelenting grip.

She blinked innocently up at Arthur, oblivious to Morgana’s adoring gaze, “Don’t worry Arthur, we can figure something out.”

Arthur nodded. He could trust her…to some extent though maybe not physically.

In the middle of the floor the pair of boots, toppled and forlorn on the floor looked…lonely.

Percival stopped walking and stared at them. The little bundle under his arm wriggled and let out a low whine.

He patted it absently.

Considering them carefully for a moment before he decided that they would be, most likely, rather valued and loved and thus should be taken with him. Percival was collecting lost things.

Mordred kicked his legs out in a futile attempt to free himself. He was another thing that Percival had found. Him and the dog.

Arthur was probably missing his little companion, almost as much as he missed Merlin. It was Percival’s duty to return him, and eventually, he could get the manservant as well.

“Percival-” Mordred tried, “Maybe we could let me down for just a moment-”

The dog barked.

Percival bent down, and once he had the boots in his grasp he carefully balanced them on top of Mordred’s head. His arms were already full, it was the only place where they could perch successfully.

“I’m losing circulation Percy!” Mordred cried.

And after a quick check to make sure he hadn’t missed anything, he continued sedately down the hall. Mordred’s feet dragged behind him twitching occasionally in a sad attempt for freedom.

Percival was unhurried and unbothered. Everything was coming to its end and life would return to normal, exactly how he wanted it to.

Gwaine coughed and with a glare as best as he could manage dressed down Elyan. It took several tries because Gwen kept hitting his head down.

He wasn’t entirely sure how he got here. Elyan and Gwen were fighting, as they were wont to do. He must’ve stepped in at some point to prevent a death (because with these two you really couldn’t tell who was going to come out on top) and then all of a sudden the fight stopped being Elyan against Guinevere and just became Gwen against Gwaine.

He was Gwaine, and he didn’t appreciate it.
Arthur was still having the equivalent of a panic attack about Merlin. The equivalent because “Kings don’t panic” but as far as Gwaine was concerned they did and Arthur was.

He also didn’t see what the big deal was. The solution was clear and very straightforward and he’d just say if it Gwen would let go of his head for one god damn second-.

She did, at the same time that the door banged open suddenly. Gwaine’s neck cricked, and he groaned in agony.

The were muffled talking, and a few explanations. There was also some shuffling and a three loud thuds each accompanied by their own individual curses.

When Gwaine finally managed to ease his head up all without intense pain he saw someone he wasn’t expecting.

Percival, and at his feet Mordred, Leon, and Lancelot all sprawled on top of each other gasping like fish out of water.

Ouch, Gwaine winced, he’s been there before. Getting your breath knocked out of you was no joke. Ah, the dog’s here too, that makes things significantly easier.

“Heya, Princess?” He asked, “Maybe you could let me breathe?”

Gwen glanced down, “In a moment, Gwaine.”

Arthur gently lowered the limp body of Merlin onto the floor and took a few steps back. They all stared at it.

“What did you do to him exactly?” Arthur asked Morgana.

She shrugged, “Don’t ask me, ask Mordred, he’s the one babysitting the man.”

Arthur turned to Mordred. Mordred swallowed nervously, “I just put him under, for a little bit.”

“Under what? It didn’t hurt him did it?” Arthur demanded.

“Not permanently.” Mordred said defensively, “Besides its nothing like what he put us through.” The last bit was said mostly to himself, but Arthur caught onto it. He narrowed his eyes at Mordred before turning back to Merlin.

Merlin the body, and the dog.

“What do we do now?” He asked, “And thank you, Sir Percival, you’ve been invaluable to me and you will be rewarded handsomely for what you’ve done today.”

Sir Percival inclined his head and-

“Hey!” Gwaine said, hurt only a little bit by the title usage, “What about us!”

Arthur turned a cool eye on him, “What about you?” He asked.

Gwaine wilted, “Well, I know how you can get him back into his body. Would that get me my title back?”

“No,” Arthur said, without even glancing at him.

“Well, your loss then.” Gwaine sniffed.

Three hours later and Arthur holding Derek up and staring into his little beady eyes despairingly, “Merlin, I know you’re in there, can you be a little more helpful?”

Morgana and Gwen were leaning up against each other and the wall, dozing. It would’ve been cute if they weren’t such monsters.

“I told you,” Gwaine nearly sang, “I know how to get your Merlin back.”

He was at a disadvantage here, and very uncomfortable. Gwen had left specific instructions to the no longer gentle giant Percival to “keep him pinned and don’t let him move.” Any pleadings relating to any particular long-standing friendship had gone ignored.

Gwaine had lost feeling in his legs twenty minutes in and was not seriously worried that he might never feel there again.

Lancelot and Leon were playing chess in the corner. Elyan had also fallen asleep though he was not the graceful sleeper his sister was. He was on the floor, face pressed flat into the stone, snoring.

“Arthur!” Gwaine begged, “Give me the time of day, for the sake of all you find holy.” When that didn’t work he tried, “For the sake of Merlin.”

He suppressed a sigh of misery when that was what finally got his King’s attention. Camelot had well and truly gone to the dogs then. Or one dog, in particular.

Arthur walked over to him, still carrying the dreadful creature, “What’s the solution, oh great mage.”

“I know you’re kidding with the title but that sounds exactly like what I would like.” Gwaine was only half joking. Mostly. Maybe less so. What? Being a mage sounded terrific.

“True love's kiss?” Arthur said, horrified.

Gwaine shrugged or would have. He couldn’t feel his shoulders anymore. “What Princess, it makes sense.”

“But-” Arthur hesitated, “Which one?”

God, he really was stupid wasn’t he.

“Look, the way I see it, and as everyone else sees it if they were awake or more invested in this tragic situation-” Leon and Lancelot huffed at him, but remained deep in their game, “- There’s only two. The Dog and the Man. The Dog has the Man in him, and the Man has the Dog in him. So kiss the Dog.”

Arthur blinked, “You couldn’t have made that more confusing could you.”

“I aim to please.”

Arthur and the dog stared at each other. Arthur hesitated a little more, “It’s just that I’ve never kissed-”

Gwaine gasped, “You’ve never kissed Merlin?”

Arthur flushed, “I have!” He said angrily, “I don’t have to prove anything to you.”

Gwaine thought for a moment, “Wait,” He said, “Do you not kiss Derek?”

“Do people usually kiss their pets?” Arthur asked, somewhat sarcastically.

He stared, dumbfounded, at the man that was supposed to be their king. Unbelievable.

“Just do it,” He sighed, “Kiss his forehead and when everything gets back to normal I swear to-” When nothing came to mind he defaulted back to “Merlin! If you don’t start showering your dog with affection I will murder you.”

Well. Merlin was back. True love’s kiss worked. And Gwaine would’ve felt very very smug about it, and he did, truly, but it was hard to be smug when, since the kiss, they hadn’t stopped.

“Well done, Gwaine,” Morgana commented, as she and Gwen made a timely exit, “Now we’ve got two insufferable idiots on our hands instead of just one.”

“Guys-” he tried weakly, “Maybe let me leave before-”

Even Mordred had gotten out easy. It wasn’t fair. And though Percival was no longer still sitting on him his limbs had taken the easy route and went off for a holiday. Leaving him helpless and alone in the room to his miserable despair.

Merlin and Arthur, wrapped in each other, very much pressed against the wall right next to Gwaine’s head, moaned. And that, my dear readers, is when Gwaine started screaming.