Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was completely dark in the cave when Merlin woke up—so dark that he was not entirely sure if he had actually succeeded in opening his eyes or not. He spent a brief moment taking stock of his body before he dared move it, but there was no pain indicating an injury. He just felt a little…off, somehow, but that might just be because he had been lying on the cold ground for however long he had been unconscious.

Various grunts echoed through the cave, informing him that his friends were still there and also waking up.

“What happened?” Arthur’s voice said, somewhere in the darkness.

“Must have been some sort of spell,” Merlin answered, his voice coming out a tad higher in pitch than intended. “See, didn’t I—?”

“Yes, fine, you told us getting rained on was better than seeking shelter in the creepy cave that wasn’t on any of our maps. Happy now?”

“Not particularly.”

Merlin clambered to his feet, immediately tripping and almost falling over as he stepped on the hem of his…robes? Struck by the sudden fear that he had accidentally transformed himself into his Dragoon persona, his hands flew to his chin, feeling for a beard, but he found none.

“I feel…weird,” Percival said, interrupting Merlin’s attempt to figure out why he was wearing something other than his usual breeches.

“Me too,” Gwen agreed. “I— Uh. Something’s wrong with my voice?”

She sounded more or less like she always did to Merlin, and he frowned and asked, “Are you all right? Any injuries?”

“Merlin, is that you?” she asked in return. “Something’s wrong with your voice too.”

She might have a point there, actually. It was still higher than usual.

“We need light,” Leon said.

A split second later, the cave was bathed in the cold, blue light of a glowing orb floating above their heads. Merlin’s heart all but stopped in his chest as fear flooded him. He had not meant to summon the light! How could he have been so careless? He—

Wait. He had not summoned it. After two and a half decades of practising magic, he knew very well what it felt like when he cast a spell, and this was not it. But then where had it come from?

“Who did that?” Arthur exclaimed, obviously wondering the same. He was looking wildly around the cave, blinking against the harsh light.

“Perhaps it’s the cave itself?” someone suggested. “It’s magical, right?”

Merlin turned towards the unknown voice, surprised to see a child standing among them. The boy could not be more than nine winters old, and though he looked very familiar, Merlin could not remember ever seeing him before.

“Who are you?” Arthur asked warily.

The boy frowned. “What do you mean? It’s me, Gwen?”

“No, that’s Gwen,” Percival said, pointing at the girl standing beside the boy. “Or…is it?”

“What? I’m Elyan, you— What happened to you?!”

There was so much wrong with this picture that Merlin did not know where to begin.

There was Percival, whose voice and face were definitely his own but whose body was decidedly not. The mountain of a man had shrunken in stature and build, now resembling nothing so much as Merlin during his early days in Camelot—all gangly and scrawny.

The person claiming to be Elyan looked very much like Gwen, only a younger version of her. She was a little shorter than usual, her face was rounder and more youthful, and her body was not filling out the simple dress she wore the way it normally would. If Merlin had to guess, he would say that she looked to be around thirteen—if, indeed, it was her and not Elyan.

Oh. That was whom the young boy standing beside her reminded him of.

“Is that…me?” Gwen-Elyan asked weakly, staring at the boy.

“Elyan?” the boy asked, eyes widening. “Why are you in my body? And where did you get that dress from? I haven’t seen that in years.”

“What is going on?” Arthur asked exasperatedly.

“Maybe some light would help us figure it out,” Leon suggested, again. “Does anyone still have their torch?”

“Leon, we have light.”

“Oh. Then I suppose I’ve gone blind.” Only Leon could have taken this news with such equanimity.

Merlin sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let me get this straight; Leon is blind, Gwen and Elyan have switched bodies and turned into younger versions of themselves, and Percival is…small. Anyone else experiencing any strange changes?”

Off to the side, Gwaine waved his arms in a bid for attention. He had been uncharacteristically quiet up until now, and Merlin soon understood why as he pointed to his mouth which was moving without so much of a peep coming out of it.

“You’ve lost your voice?” he asked.

Gwaine nodded vigorously.

Arthur huffed. “At least some good has come out of this mess, then.”

Gwaine pouted.

“What about you?” Merlin asked Arthur. “Do you feel different?”

“No,” Arthur replied quickly, but there was something shifty in his eyes which belied his words. “You should worry about yourself.”

“Me?”

“Merlin, you’re a girl.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “So you keep saying.”

“No, really. You’re obviously still you, but you’re definitely a girl.”

“What?” He looked down at himself. “Oh.”

He was not wearing robes, after all; he was wearing a dress. Beneath the blue fabric, the unmistakable curves of a modest bosom protruded from his chest and when he brought his hands to his hips it was to find that they were a bit wider than normal while his waist had narrowed some. Further examination indicated that what felt a lot like one of his neckerchiefs was tied around his head instead, and beneath it his hair was pulled back into a plait which reached down to his mid-back.

Well, that explained his voice. Her voice? Compared to Leon, he had gotten off easy.

“All right,” he— she sighed. “I’m a girl and you’re…something. I’m sure we’ll figure out what’s wrong with you sooner or later.”

“I feel fine,” Arthur lied.

Gwen—no, Elyan—cleared his throat. “How do we break this spell? I don’t want to be my sister a second longer than I have to. No offence, Gwen.”

“None taken. I don’t want to be a boy either; boys are gross!” Her eyes widened. “I’m…sorry. I don’t know where that came from.”

Merlin smothered a laugh, reminding himse— herself that the situation was rather serious, despite it all. Who knew, whatever was going on with Arthur might prove to be more sinister than Percival losing his muscles or Merlin gaining a couple of novel body parts…

She took a look around the cave, searching for clues as to how this had happened and what might be done about it. She could no longer sense the undercurrent of magic that had been thrumming through the earth as they entered the cave before cresting and knocking them out. Perhaps the spell had exhausted the cave’s natural magical reserves for the time being.

She was about to give up the search when something caught her eye. Some distance away, there appeared to be etchings in the cave wall. Curious, she stepped away from the group to investigate them, but this far from the glowing orb, the light was a bit too dim to make out the writing. Luckily, the glowing orb followed the others when they noticed Merlin slipping away and went after her.

“What did you find?” Arthur asked.

She squinted in concentration, trying to make sense of the inscription. “I’m not sure. It’s written in an ancient script.”

“Can you read it?”

“I think so. Some of Gaius’ books are written in it. Give me a moment…”

It took several minutes before she was sure enough of her translation to deliver it to the rest of the group, most of whom had dejectedly sat down on the ground while they waited.

“All right,” she said at last. “As far as I can tell it says something along the lines of, ‘Whosoever enters this place shall not emerge the same as before. Only through accepting the…uh…lesson of self shall they be returned to such as they were, and they shall be better for it.’”

“‘The lesson of self?’ What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Percival.

“I’m not sure. Could be that my translation is off, but it sounds like your typical moral spell to me.”

“Moral spell?”

“Yeah, you know, the ‘learn your lesson or stay cursed forever’ kind of deal.”

“What lesson am I supposed to learn from turning into my sister?” Elyan squeaked, then looked horrified at having made such a girlish sound.

Merlin shrugged. “I don’t know, but I think you’re stuck like that until we figure it out.”

“Is there no other way?” Arthur asked, glancing uneasily between the de-aged siblings.

“Doesn’t seem like it, but we should ask Gaius for a second opinion. I don’t think there’s much more to be learned here.”

“Great. Just great.” Arthur heaved a weary sigh, then squared his shoulders resolutely. “Very well. Let’s find our way out and head for Camelot. Percival, help guide Leon.” With that, he started walking towards the mouth of the tunnel through which they had entered the cave, flinching slightly when the magic orb of light followed them as soon as they started moving.

Gwaine sidled up to Merlin as they walked, drawing her attention by laying a hand on her shoulder. He raised his eyebrows and nodded towards the glowing orb and made some sort of questioning expression.

“What?”

Gwaine mouthed something Merlin did not entirely follow.

“I have no idea what you’re saying. Sorry.”

While his words were not audible, his resigned sigh was, and he made a gesture which clearly meant, “Never mind.” After a moment of walking on in mutual silence, he bumped his shoulder against Merlin’s, and when she turned her head to look at him, he mouthed what looked like, “You okay?” and gestured vaguely at her general appearance.

“I’m fine,” she reassured him. “Really. Compared to everyone else, this is not so bad.”

Gwaine gave her an exaggerated once-over, his eyes raking over the changes in her figure, then sent her a cheeky wink and mouthed, “Not bad at all,” or something to that effect.

Torn between flushing red and rolling her eyes, she gave his shoulder a playful shove. “Ever the chevalier, Sir Gwaine.”

He laughed silently and bumped their shoulders together one last time before turning his attention to the path ahead of them again, allowing Merlin to fight her blush in peace.

As luck would have it, their horses were still waiting for them at the mouth of the cave, and if any of them had switched bodies with each other it did not seem to faze them in the slightest. The ride home from the cave was not all that long, but it was still a bit of an adventure, especially for Merlin, Gwen, Elyan and Leon. Merlin and Elyan had to get used to mounting and riding their horses while wearing dresses and Leon’s reins were tied to Percival’s saddle as his blindness prevented him from guiding his horse himself.

Gwen, meanwhile, was struggling a bit with the fact that she was now a boy half the size of her former self riding on a rather large horse. Despite having shortened her stirrups, she was sliding around and looking uncomfortable to the point that Elyan eventually called the whole company to a halt.

“Come on, Gwen,” he said. “You can ride with me. We won’t be too heavy for my horse like this.”

She scowled petulantly. “I’m not a baby, Elyan! I can—” She interrupted herself, screwing her eyes shut and shaking her head lightly before looking up and smiling sheepishly. “Sorry. What I mean to say is thank you for that kind offer; that sounds great. Could someone help me get on his horse?”

“I’ll lift you,” said Percival, but then he hesitated, dejectedly looking down at his spindly arms. “Or maybe not…”

Arthur huffed and dismounted. “What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t help my wife?” He glanced at Gwen. “Or my, uh, husband…?” he amended awkwardly.

“Wife,” she said decisively.

“Wife,” he agreed with some relief.

With Arthur’s help, Gwen was quickly transferred to Elyan’s horse and as they continued on she looked a little more secure where she sat in front of her brother, bracketed by his arms as he held the reins.

“What lessons do you reckon we’re supposed to learn from all this?” Elyan asked after a while.

“Dunno,” Percival replied. “Maybe I’m supposed to learn not to rely too much on my strength? Isn’t that what you always say in training, sire?”

Arthur looked over at him, considering this. “Perhaps in the beginning, but your swordsmanship has improved significantly since then. What I’m wondering is what Merlin has done that necessitates turning into a woman to learn a lesson.”

“Why do you assume I’ve done something?” Merlin exclaimed defensively.

“You do spend an awful lot of time in the tavern. For all I know, you’re one of those men who turn into lecherous bounders when they get too deep into their drinks.”

Arthur’s smile was teasing, but Merlin’s hackles rose nonetheless. “First of all, I’m almost never at the tavern. Secondly, I very rarely drink recreationally, and thirdly, I don’t start harassing people when I do. Oh, and fourthly, I’m not even a man anymore.”

This last bit earned her a few sideways glances.

“You sort of are, though,” Elyan pointed out.

Merlin snorted and gestured at herself. “I thought Leon was the blind one. Does this look male to you?”

“But you’re still Merlin, aren’t you?” Percival asked. “Just in another body?”

“Yes? A female one, thus making me a woman?”

“Do you mean that you feel like a woman?” Leon asked, sounding curious.

Merlin narrowed her eyes, starting to feel as confused as her friends looked. “What do you mean ‘feel like a woman?’”

“Like you felt like a man in your old body,” Leon clarified.

“I…feel like Merlin? Just like I always have?”

Arthur gave him a strange look. “Are you saying that you never felt like a man?”

“I didn’t need to feel like a man; I was one, despite all your inane jokes to the contrary. And now I’m a woman.”

“Well, I still feel like a man,” Elyan said with great conviction. “Physically turning into a teenage girl doesn’t change that.”

“And I feel like a girl,” Gwen agreed. “I mean, like a woman.”

A trace of doubt started to creep into Merlin’s mind at this, but she quickly dismissed it. “But that’s different. You two aren’t in your own bodies. I’m still me, only I’m now who I would’ve been if I’d been born a woman.”

“I don’t know,” Percival mused, “I think I’d still feel like a man if that happened to me.”

Merlin snorted. “Right.”

“I’m serious.”

Merlin stared at him for a second before her gaze flitted over the bemused faces of her friends, taking in their nods of agreement with Percival. “You’re having me on,” she said.

When they all shook their heads she looked to Gwaine in a last desperate attempt to find some support, even though she knew he would not be able to give it verbally. She was mildly surprised to see a thoughtful look on his face as he studied her, quite unlike the bewilderment she was met with from the others.

Meeting her eyes, Gwaine said something inaudible which she could not make out by reading his lips, then frowned in frustration with his own muteness and simply shrugged instead.

Feeling not at all enlightened, Merlin looked back at the others, shaking her head as she said, “If you say so.”

Arthur cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Well, Merlin, I always said you were a girl’s petticoat. You want to be a woman? Go ahead. At least now you’ll fit into those dresses you’re always sneaking off with.”

“I don’t—!” Merlin sputtered. “I’ve never worn a dress in my life before today, thank you very much, and I didn’t say I want to be a woman, just that I am one at the moment.”

She decided against adding, I’m not saying I particularly want to be a man either, reasoning that Arthur was acting constipated enough about the whole thing already. He would surely spin her utter indifference towards what arrangement of body parts she happened to possess into something weird.

“Fine, you’re a girl. At the moment.”

“Good,” she muttered. “That’s sorted then.”

Unfortunately, Gaius had no better advice than to ride out the curse until they all figured out what lesson they were each expected to learn from it. At least that was what he told the group while they were gathered all together. As soon as he and Merlin were alone, he pulled out an ancient tome and started going through a list of counterspells in search of something which might be able to lift the curse.

“Here, try this one,” he said, pushing the book across the table towards Merlin.

She took a look at the spell indicated, studying it for a moment. It seemed relatively straightforward, and so she took a deep breath, pulling on her magic as she spoke the words…to no effect.

Something felt wrong. Very wrong.

“Hm, perhaps not, then,” Gaius muttered, retrieving the book and going back to leafing through it.

Merlin stared in horror at her hands. It had not felt as if it had been the wrong spell, it felt like there was something wrong with her magic. Trepidation rising inside her, she reached out towards a cup on the other side of the table and tried to make it move. She felt no response from her magic whatsoever as she tried to rouse it.

“Onbregdan,” she whispered.

Still nothing.

Starting to feel desperate, she turned to the nearest candle and said, “Forbærnan!”

Not even a spark.

“What are you doing?” Gaius asked, looking up at her.

“Something’s wrong,” she choked out. “My magic… I think I’ve lost it.”

Gaius’ eyebrow rose as concern coloured his features. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I can’t reach it. It’s like it was never there.”

“That is grave news indeed.”

Merlin bit her lip, trying to stave off the despair clutching at her. Until now, she had considered herself the luckiest among the bunch—excepting Arthur, whose curse had not yet manifested itself—but losing her magic was a problem. She needed it, not just to attempt to break this curse but to protect Camelot. What use was she without it? It was only a matter of time before someone tried to kill Arthur for the millionth time, or perhaps his curse would put him in danger somehow, or—

“Merlin, calm yourself,” Gaius said kindly, reaching out to lay a hand on her arm.

“I need to get it back.” She shot up from the bench, starting to pace restlessly. “How do I get it back?”

“By breaking the curse.”

“How? I’d need my magic to do it.”

Gaius sighed and shook his head. “If the curse is powerful enough to steal magic such as yours, I fear that there may not be a counterspell that could break it. You will just have to muddle through and try to find out what lesson you must learn.”

“And that will bring my magic back?”

“That must be our hope.”

Her shoulders sagged as resignation settled over her. “Fine.” She turned and stalked towards the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I need to check on Arthur.”

Chapter Text

“Go away, Merlin!”

These are the thanks I get for worrying about you?

“Arthur! Open the door!” she called, impatiently knocking again even though he was already alerted to her presence.

“What part of ‘go away’ do you not understand?” came the irate reply from within Arthur’s chambers. “I do not wish to be disturbed!”

“Is this about the curse?” she asked. “I won’t laugh if you’re slowly turning into an ass again. Can’t make any promises if you start braying, though.”

“I’m fine! I just want to be alone.”

“Have it your way. Just let me in so I can grab your laundry.”

“Leave it. Take the evening off.”

Merlin blinked. Those were words she very rarely heard, and though it was obvious that Arthur was hiding something—most likely something curse-related—she decided that she was not going to look a gift day off in the mouth. Given the (relatively) benign nature of the others’ afflictions, it probably would not kill Arthur to spend the night stewing in whatever misery the curse was inflicting on him. Besides, now she could spend the rest of the evening digging through the library in search of anything that might clue her in on what she was supposed to learn from losing her magic on top of being turned into a woman.

“If you insist,” she said. “Just don’t blame me if you can’t find anything clean to wear tomorrow.”

Without waiting for an answer, she turned and walked away.

The following morning, Merlin was relieved to find the king’s door unlocked when she came to wait on him. Sneaking in silently, she set down Arthur’s breakfast on the table before going about her usual turn around the room to pick up stray articles of clothing to toss in the laundry basket. She was just about to draw away the curtains to wake him when a quiet whine drew her attention.

Turning to the bed, she found that Arthur was tossing and turning beneath the covers, his face scrunched up in what looked like agony. As she watched him, he suddenly drew a sharp breath, tensing and grinding his teeth before going limp again with a pained whimper.

She hurried to tug at the curtains, bathing the room in morning light, then she scurried up to the bed and laid a hand on Arthur’s shoulder.

“Arthur, wake up,” she said softly. “It’s just a dream.”

As she gave his shoulder a light shake, he jolted, eyes flying open. The next she knew, her wrist was caught in a vice-like grip while Arthur’s other hand fumbled under his pillow for something.

“Your dagger is in its sheath on your belt,” she said, trying not to wince, “which I found on the floor, by the way.”

Arthur blinked. “M’rlin?” he mumbled.

“Yes, it’s me.” When Arthur threw a look of sleep-addled panic around the room as if searching for something rather than ease his grip on her, she said, “You’re hurting me.”

It took a second for the meaning to sink in, but when it did Arthur immediately let go of her wrist, snatching his hand away. “Sorry. I…”

“Had a bad dream?” She drew back her arm, rubbing at the sore spot. In her old body, it might not have been quite as painful, but her wrists were a touch more slender now and somehow…squishier. She still had the reasonably fit musculature of someone used to performing the manual labour of a servant, but things like body fat and muscles were somewhat redistributed compared to what she was used to.

Arthur fell back against the pillows, running a hand through his hair to unstick it from his sweat-dappled forehead. “Yeah. God, it felt so real…”

“Want to talk about it?”

Predictably, Arthur shook his head dismissively. “It was just a dream.”

“Maybe that’s your curse,” Merlin quipped. “Bad dreams.”

“Maybe,” Arthur grunted, but he looked vaguely guilty as he said it and did not meet Merlin’s eyes.

Making the assessment that any clues as to Arthur’s real curse were unlikely to be needled out of him before breakfast, Merlin turned away to pick out an outfit from the wardrobe (which, thankfully, still housed plenty of clean clothes despite her not having been allowed to collect the laundry yesterday).

Arthur was still lazing in bed by the time she was finished, so she said, “Come on; up and at ‘em!” and reached for his blankets, starting to pull them away, only for Arthur to startle and drag them right up to his chin again.

“What are you doing?” he squeaked—not that he would ever use that word for the noise he had just made.

Merlin shot him an impatient glare. “Trying to get you out of bed. You have training this morning.” She gave the blankets another tug, but to no avail.

“I’m shirtless.”

“So?”

“So, you’re still a girl, as you so adamantly insisted yesterday.”

She stared at him. “I’m still me, though. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“Well, it’s different now.”

Narrowing her eyes, she asked, “Arthur… Are you worried that I’ll be attracted to you?” When he flushed and looked away, she snorted, then burst out laughing at the sight of Arthur’s offended expression. “Oh my God, you are! Wow, that’s a bit arrogant, don’t you think?”

“Excuse m—?”

“Setting aside the fact that nothing’s really changed about me but my looks, you’re not even close to my type.”

“And what sort of exacting standards do you have that not even I live up to them?” Arthur grumbled petulantly.

Kind, brown eyes, Merlin thought, but said, “A good personality, for a start. Now stop acting like a child and get out of bed. I promise I won’t ogle you, nor will the sight of a shirtless man offend my ‘maidenly’ sensibilities.”

With a last roll of his eyes, Arthur acquiesced, flinging the covers aside and getting out of bed. Through some miracle, Merlin did not spontaneously combust when she laid eyes on his bare chest. Imagine that.

Arthur disappeared behind the changing screen to have a quick wash, and Merlin caught his sleeping breeches with practised ease as they were thrown over the screen, stowing them away in the laundry basket.

“Where’s Gwen?” she asked as she readied Arthur tunic for him. “I take it she didn’t sleep here?”

“God, no,” Arthur huffed. “It may be my wife stuck in there, but I’ll not share my bed with a prepubescent boy. Imagine what the court gossip would say.”

“…You may have a point there. Where did she sleep, then?”

“I think they put a pallet in Elyan’s room. Guinevere said something about it being like the good old days when they were children.”

“A family sleepover? Sounds nice.”

As their conversation trailed off, Merlin waited patiently for Arthur to come out from behind the screen. Judging by the sound of it, he was done washing up by now, yet she kept waiting. And waiting. And waiting.

“Arthur, you haven’t drowned yourself in the washbasin, have you?” she asked after a minor eternity.

“No,” came the curt answer.

“Then come out and let me dress you. You’ll be late to training at this rate.”

“I…can’t.”

“Why not?”

“It’s— It’s too weird, Merlin—you being a girl. I just can’t.”

She laughed in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. Just toss the clothes over the screen and go fetch George, will you? He can take over for you until you’re back to normal.”

“I’m sorry? You’d rather be stuck with George for the foreseeable future than let someone who has dressed you a thousand times see you naked?”

Arthur stuck his head around the screen then, looking vaguely embarrassed. “It’s not ideal, I’ll give you that, but I’m the king; I can’t have a maidservant!” Upon seeing Merlin’s crestfallen expression, he added, “Don’t give me that look. I’m not sacking you; you’ll have your wages, and you can come back to work when your curse is broken.”

“But that could take ages!”

“Think of it as a vacation; you’re always badgering me about getting one of those. And I’m sure Gaius would appreciate having you around more to assist him.”

Merlin stared at him silently for a long moment as she processed this. On the one hand, it was tempting to take the offer and run before Arthur could change his mind. She could use the break. On the other hand, how was she supposed to protect him if she was being kept at a distance? Although, she had lost her magic… She was not going to be much use to him like this anyway. Perhaps it would be better to get some time to herself so she could concentrate on figuring out the solution to her curse as soon as possible.

“Fine,” she said at length. “Have it your way.” She threw Arthur’s tunic unceremoniously over the back of a chair rather than over the screen as requested. “But don’t come crawling back to me when George starts driving you mental with his pedantry. I’ll see you when I’m a man again.”

She ignored Arthur’s exasperated, “Merlin…” as she strode off towards the door.

Chapter Text

“Come in!”

Merlin opened the door to Elyan’s room to find Young Gwen sitting on the edge of the bed with Young Elyan kneeling on the mattress behind her, plaiting her hair. No, wait— Gwen was plaiting Elyan’s hair. Right. Yes.

“Hello there,” Merlin said, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. “Thought I’d check in on you. Still cursed, I see.”

“As are you,” Elyan commented, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye so as not to have to turn his head and disturb Gwen’s work.

Gwen looked over at her properly, however, smiling warmly. “You make a very pretty girl. If we put you in one of my dresses, you could pass for a princess.”

“I’m just glad getting cursed came with a dress, free of charge,” Merlin laughed. “It was a very thoughtful curse in that regard. My old clothes wouldn’t have fit anymore, and this is much more practical than if I’d had to borrow yours. I don’t know how you stand it, walking around in all that silk all the time. I’d be too worried about spilling something and ruining it to enjoy it.”

“Believe me, I’m not used to it either. I still get nervous every time I eat soup.” She gave Merlin’s dress another once-over and said, “If you stay cursed much longer, I’ll see if I can’t find some of my old dresses to lend you so you at least have a few spares. I haven’t gotten around to giving them away yet. They should fit you well enough, even if you are still a bit taller than I am— Well, than I was. You’re a lot taller than I am right now.”

Merlin nodded gratefully. If she had still had her magic, she could simply have made sure that her only set of feminine clothes stayed clean, but, as it was, she would soon need at least another shift to change into while hers was being laundered.

Other than there being just one of it, she had no real complaints about her new dress. It really did seem like the curse had transformed her into what she would have been like had she been a woman all along, right down to her clothes. The dress was of a simple cut and was made from the same blue wool as the tunic she had worn on their excursion. It even had a little patch on the right sleeve in the exact same spot where she had mended her tunic after catching it on a branch a while back. It felt familiar, even though she was still getting used to the skirts.

“How are you two coping with the changes?” she asked, taking a seat on the bed beside the two siblings.

“It’s awful being Gwen!” Elyan exclaimed. “Ow!” he added when Gwen tugged on a lock of his hair in revenge. “I only meant that if I had to turn into a girl, I’d much rather be myself as a girl than my teenage sister. Do you have any idea how annoying it is to change clothes while keeping your eyes shut? I don’t want to see any of that!”

“He has a point there,” Gwen chuckled, tying off the plait with a ribbon. “It would’ve been easier if we had our own bodies, even if I had still turned into a boy and Elyan a girl.”

“But you still feel like yourselves?” Merlin asked.

“Yeah,” said Elyan. “But… I don’t know. I feel younger, but also the same, but also not?”

Gwen nodded her agreement and fell back onto the mattress, sprawled out on her back. “I know what you mean. I feel like myself, but I also have this urge to jump on the bed. I keep having to remind myself that I’m an adult woman, not a child. I just want to run and play, you know?”

“Then why don’t you?” Merlin asked. “Why not make the most of it and have some fun?”

She shook her head, sighing as she stared up at the ceiling. “I’m the queen. Word of the curse will soon spread through the court, if it hasn’t already. I still have to uphold decorum, even if I look like a little boy.”

There was some sense in what she said, but Merlin could practically see the youthful restlessness simmering within her friend, and she feared that without a nudge out the door, Gwen might decide to stay isolated in this room indefinitely in an attempt to wait out the curse, and that seemed a crying shame.

“Why don’t you come with me to the forest this afternoon?” she asked. “Gaius wants me to pick some herbs for him. You could help me out, and maybe even climb a tree or two with no one around to judge you for letting loose a bit.”

She perked up at this, bounding up to her knees again with sudden vigour. “Oh, we could make it a picnic, and Elyan could come too! Please, Elyan, come with us, it’ll be so much fun! Please, please, plea—” She shut up abruptly, clasping a hand over her mouth in horror. Composing herself, she sat back on her heels and folded her hands neatly in her lap. “I mean, thank you, Merlin, that sounds wonderful. Elyan, would you like to join us?”

Merlin could not help laughing at the display. The studious dignity looked hilariously out of place on a young boy.

Elyan joined in on the laughter too, affectionately tousling Gwen’s short-cropped curls. “Sure, I’ll come too. I think I had better keep an eye on you so you don’t get yourself into trouble, you little scamp. Besides, I don’t have anything better to do, seeing as I’m excused from training until this blows over.”

“Great!” Merlin said, beaming. “This is going to be fun! I’ll pick you up when it’s time to go.”

“I need a volunteer,” Merlin announced as she entered the armoury.

She was pleased to find that the very people she had been looking for—namely Gwaine, Percival and Leon—had lingered there after the morning’s training session had concluded.

Gwaine looked up from the sword he was polishing with a bright smile, mouthing something at her which she did not catch, but which looked cheerful. She just smiled in return.

“What’s the job?” Percival asked, groaning as Leon’s fingers dug into a muscle in his scrawny back. Judging by the smell, Leon was massaging one of Gaius’ salves for sore muscles into Percival’s skin, presumably getting by on touch alone, as he seemed to be blind still.

“I’m taking Gwen and Elyan out to gather herbs. Gwen thinks we need an escort if we’re going into the woods.”

Merlin had shot down the idea at first, reminding them that she often went out for herbs by herself and almost never had any trouble—except when she did—but Gwen had insisted that their odd circumstances left them a bit vulnerable. That had reminded Merlin that she no longer had access to her magic, should she need to defend herself, and suddenly the idea of some additional security had not seemed as superfluous.

“Well, if Elyan is with you…?” Leon said, looking unseeingly in Merlin’s general direction with a slight frown of confusion.

“Elyan currently has the body of a thirteen-year-old girl. His sword is way too heavy for him, and he certainly doesn’t look very intimidating.”

“Right. I almost forgot.”

“I would go with you, but I’m not very intimidating at the moment either,” said Percival, looking forlornly down at his skinny body. “Also, I can barely lift my arms after the drills Arthur put me through this morning. Everything hurts.”

“And I’m not much use to anybody like this,” Leon sighed. “I couldn’t even join training.”

“I think someone wants to volunteer, though,” Percival snorted, looking over at Gwaine.

Gwaine was, indeed, raising his hand rather enthusiastically. Whatever it was he was trying to say was lost on Merlin, however.

“You want to come with?” she asked, lips twitching in amusement when Gwaine nodded eagerly. She tried her best to read his lips as he mouthed something in response, but with little success. “Sorry, come again?”

Huffing in frustration, Gwaine looked around as if searching for something, then put the sword aside and rose to fetch an object from across the room. It proved to be a double-slated, hinged wax tablet of the sort Gaius often used to make notes too unimportant to waste parchment on. After some furious scribbling with the stylus, Gwaine walked up to her and held out the tablet for inspection.

“It would be my honour, my lady.”

“I may be a woman now, but I’m hardly a lady,” Merlin protested, an unladylike snort of amusement supporting her point.

Gwaine grinned and retrieved the tablet to write something else. “Pretty enough,” it read when he held it up for her again.

It was not so different to Gwen’s compliment earlier, yet it brought a light flush to Merlin’s cheeks simply by virtue of coming from Gwaine. She tried to push away any thoughts about how she wished she did not have to turn into a woman in order for Gwaine to pay her that sort of compliment, but it proved futile.

In an effort to deflect attention from the all-too-real effect the words had on her, she put on an exasperated expression and jokingly said, “I should’ve known losing your voice wouldn’t stop your one-liners. Come on, then. You don’t need to be able to speak to protect us from bandits.”

Gwaine chuckled silently and wrote, “Let me wash up.”

“All right. I’ll head down to the kitchens to grab us a picnic basket. Meet us at Elyan’s room when you’re ready?”

“It’s a date!”

Merlin was sure that her blush must have been noticeable as she made her excuses and fled the room—a single thought filling her mind as she hurried down the corridors towards the kitchens.

If only it were…

Gwen’s idea to combine the herb gathering with a picnic was a brilliant one. It was a lovely day for it, and, as Arthur had so kindly made sure that Merlin had an unprecedented amount of free time on her hands, she felt no need to rush through their lunch. She had all afternoon to find the herbs, and there was nowhere she needed to be that evening either, come to think of it. She could get used to this.

Full and sated, she brushed the last crumbs of food off her hands and arranged herself on the picnic blanket to sit with her legs stretched out in front of her, using her arms as support as she leaned back against them to bask in the sun.

She felt utterly at peace as she watched Gwen and Elyan play-fight using sticks as swords a little distance away, looking like they were having the time of their lives. It had taken some doing to convince Gwen to let loose and give in to her childish impulses, and Merlin was very grateful that they had succeeded, for she had not seen Gwen this happy and carefree in ages.

“They’re adorable, aren’t they?” she murmured.

Beside her, Gwaine nodded. His lips were curled into a soft smile and it widened into a silent laugh as Elyan caught the tip of Gwen’s “sword” under his armpit and trapped it there, groaning theatrically as he feigned having received a mortal wound, dramatically falling to his knees without any care of potentially staining his dress.

“It must be weird, suddenly being so young again,” Merlin mused, grinning at Gwen’s jubilant victory pose. “Having all your memories of your adult life, but the body and urges of a child… I’m glad they’re having fun with it, but I wouldn’t want to change my curse for theirs for love nor money.”

Gwaine picked up his wax tablet and jotted something down on it. “And you? Any feminine urges?” it read.

She shrugged. “I told you, I feel much the same as always. The only thing that’s different is my body. And the clothes. I don’t suddenly feel a burning need to take up needlepoint, or whatever it is you imagine girls live for.”

Though she kept her gaze fixed on the playing siblings, she was aware of Gwaine studying her for a moment before writing on the tablet and holding it up in her line of sight.

“You really don’t mind?”

“Why should I?” she replied honestly. “I mean, ask me again if I get stuck like this long enough to get my, um, monthly courses, but so far the biggest annoyance has been dealing with long hair.”

A strand of said hair that had escaped her poor attempt at plaiting blew into her face as if to drive her point home, and she tucked it away behind her ear, making a mental note of readjusting the kerchief she had tied around her head in an attempt to keep it under control—just as soon as she could be arsed to.

“The only real downside is that Arthur is being weird about it, but even that just means that I get a break for the first time in forever.”

Well, there was also the separate issue of her magic being gone, but with Arthur acting even more prattish than usual, it was hard to feel that upset about not being able to protect him at the moment.

“Weird how?” Gwaine wrote.

“He seems convinced that it’s suddenly inappropriate for me to serve him,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I’m not sure if it’s just that he’s too much of a baby to deal with the thought of a pair of breasts being in the same room as him while he takes a bath or if he thinks the court will make assumptions of indecency if he keeps a maidservant—as if I would let Arthur of all people seduce me even if he’d been inclined to try. He seemed a bit worried that I would suddenly start fancying him, actually. You should have seen his face when I told him he isn’t my type.”

If Gwaine’s wide grin and shaking shoulders were anything to go by, he could not only imagine it but found the image extremely amusing. When his hands were steady enough to write legibly, he asked, “What IS your type?”

Merlin could not prevent her eyes from flitting from the tablet and up along the arm that held it, lingering on the outline of firm muscles which the fine linen of Gwaine’s tunic could not entirely obscure, especially not where the slit in the neckline gaped wide open.

As heat bloomed in her cheeks—not for the first time that day—she cursed the fact that the man had chosen to forego his gambeson and mail for this excursion, apparently confident that his sword was all the protection they needed.

She really needed to get this blushing issue under control. Surely she had not blushed this much as a man? Was her new body more prone to it, she wondered, or was it just because she imagined that Gwaine was paying more attention to her in this body?

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she quipped after a pause that lasted just a second too long.

“Maybe I would,” came the answer, accompanied by a cheeky wink.

She turned her gaze back to Gwen and Elyan, who were still playing in the distance. This is temporary, she reminded herself, biting at the inside of her cheek to keep her emotions in check. Even if he means what I’d like him to mean, he’s only flirting because I look different now. If he’s actually interested, then it’s in this body, not in me, and even if it could eventually grow into something deeper, there’s no point when I could turn back at any moment.

She felt a pang of disappointment at the thought of eventually turning back into her old self, and she realised with a start that when she had been asked the previous day if she had secretly wanted to be a woman all along it had not been entirely truthful to say no. She had thought about it before all this, if only once or twice in passing as she wondered if, perhaps, she would have had a chance with Gwaine if she had been born a girl.

Well, now she was one, and Gwaine was flirting with her. Probably. She was sorely tempted to play along to find out for sure, but the thought of what it would mean for them if it actually went anywhere only for the curse to break gave her pause.

Come to think of it, did it have to break…? But no, she needed her magic back. Unless she could break just half of the curse? No, it was ridiculous to think like this. She had a destiny to think about—that needed to be her main focus. Besides, Gwaine had never given her the impression of being the type to settle, and she did not want to be just another conquest. Although, he had quit his roaming life to settle down in Camelot and had given no indication of regretting that decision so far…

Forcing herself to stop thinking too closely about all these confusing desires and what-ifs, she returned to the question posed to her, wetting her lips before saying, “I want what anyone wants in a partner: kindness and respect. Suppose it doesn’t hurt if they’re pleasing to look at, though.”

She observed Gwaine closely out of the corner of her eye, keeping a special lookout for any reaction to her intentional vagueness in regards to the gender of her hypothetical suitor. Admitting to an interest in men might seem safe while in the guise of a woman, but she had made a point of the fact that she did not feel any differently from her old self, so it would be just as much an admission of having liked men while she had been one. While that sort of thing was not, strictly speaking, prohibited, it was not commonly flaunted either.

Gwaine just nodded sagely, a warm smile on his face. Then a thought seemed to strike him, and he chuckled quietly and wrote, “So the OPPOSITE of Arthur.”

She burst out laughing, relaxing a little. “Exactly.”

They settled into a comfortable silence for a while after that, content to watch Gwen climb a tree while Elyan shouted encouragements at her from the ground. Gwaine busied his hands with erasing his side of their conversation with the flat end of the stylus, scraping at the wax on the tablet until it was smooth enough to carry new words.

“What about your curse?” Merlin asked eventually. “Any ideas as to what you’re supposed to learn?”

A sheepish grimace twisted Gwaine’s features at that, and he nodded even as he shrugged haplessly. “Shut up,” he wrote. When she raised an eyebrow, he hurried to point to himself and mouth, “Me, not you.”

“You think you need to shut up more?” she asked.

“I’m annoying,” he wrote.

Frowning, she sat up a little straighter and turned to face him better. “You’re not.”

“I am. Told you people get sick of me.”

“And I told you I didn’t. Still haven’t.” When Gwaine seemed unconvinced by this, she reached out and laid a hand on his knee, fixing him with an earnest look. “I enjoy talking to you. Often it’s the highlight of my day, running into you in the corridors, and patrols are always so boring if you’re not there to help while away the time with your stories.”

Gwaine ducked his head, glancing up at her almost shyly. It was not hard to read the word, “Really?” on his lips.

“Really. And today has been very nice too. You’re good company whether or not you talk, so if I were you I would get back to the drawing board when it comes to breaking your curse, because just shutting up more sure doesn’t sound like the right lesson to me.”

There was a hint of vulnerability in the small smile Gwaine gave her at this reassurance, and she privately vowed that the next time she heard any of their friends make a joke about him talking too much she would hex them into next week. That alone was cause to regain her magic as soon as possible.

“Thank you,” Gwaine mouthed.

Almost hesitantly, he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She had barely noticed it tickling her face, but the light brush of Gwaine’s fingers against her cheek and ear felt like a brand upon her skin for several seconds after he had retrieved his hand again. Dazed as she was by the tender gesture, she did not quite follow what Gwaine tried to say next.

“‘Deed…kelp with sack?’” was her best guess.

Gwaine dissolved into quiet laughter at her vain efforts at lip reading and reached for the wax tablet again. “Need help with that?” he clarified, pointing to her hair.

Her hand flew to the back of her neck where a cursory touch was enough to tell her that her plait was a loose mess by now with half the hair sticking out of it, and the kerchief was well on its way to sliding off completely.

“Damn,” she groaned. “I thought I knew how to plait after all those years of helping my mother do it, but it’s so much harder when it’s behind your own head.”

“Let me.”

“You know how to plait hair?” she asked, visualising Gwaine putting plaits into his own hair. It was not a displeasing image.

“Helped my sister.”

“Oh. All right, go on then. It’ll drive me crazy when we’re picking herbs otherwise.”

Gwaine grinned so excitedly that one would have been forgiven for thinking that she was doing him a favour by allowing him to help her out. He reached for a pouch on his belt and drew a comb out of it.

“You just carry that around with you wherever you go?” she laughed, pulling the kerchief off her head.

Gwaine shrugged and ran the comb through his own hair a couple of times, half in demonstration of its purpose and half to undo any damage the light breeze had done to his perfect coiffure over the course of the picnic.

“Fair enough,” Merlin conceded and turned around to present the back of her head to Gwaine, gathering her skirts around her to sit cross-legged.

He wasted no time in kneeling behind her to undo the blue ribbon (which was fighting for its life not to slip off the ends of her hair) before separating the mussed-up strands of her plait. It was immediately clear that he had been telling the truth about having done this before, for he was incredibly gentle as he started combing through her hair—far gentler than she herself had been when rushing through the unfamiliar chore that morning. There was nary a tug, even when he worked out the tangles that Merlin had simply given up on as she had been in a hurry to pick up Arthur’s breakfast.

It felt oddly intimate to have someone do this for her, especially with that someone being Gwaine. She caught herself holding her breath a few times without a clear idea why, and this problem only grew worse when he moved on to partitioning her hair into sections for the plait. He seemed to be going for something more complicated than what Merlin had settled for, and the feeling of his fingertips dragging across her scalp sent a thrill down her spine which made her breath stutter in her chest.

It was torture to have to sit there and try to hide how much she enjoyed the feeling of strong hands running through her hair with such uncharacteristic gentleness, yet she would have killed anyone who dared interrupt them. Every so often, Gwaine’s hands would brush against the skin of her brow or temple as he worked a complex plait into her hairline on the left side of her head, and every time it happened she had to subdue a shiver.

She did not realise that her eyes had fluttered closed somewhere along the process until the sensation of Gwaine touching her left hand startled her out of her trance. She looked down to see his hand curl gently around hers where it rested in her lap before lifting it up to the back of her head to press against the plait there, just beside the spot where he was pinching her hair to keep the plait from unravelling. She almost withdrew her hand before she recovered from the surprise and realised what was being requested of her.

“Hold here?” she asked.

Gwaine, naturally, had no easy way of confirming this without reaching for his tablet again, but his free hand fell to her shoulder, squeezing it once, which Merlin interpreted as a yes.

“All right.”

Satisfied that she had a good grip on the section of hair, Gwaine’s hands moved on to the other side of her head to repeat the procedure with just as much focus and care as the first time around.

Having a task to keep at least one of her hands busy helped her relax somewhat, and her breathing came a little easier than before despite the experience being no less thrilling. She absentmindedly watched Gwen’s tree-climbing escapades with half-seeing eyes, focusing on keeping her grip on the plait while revelling in the feeling of deft fingers working along her right temple.

Before too long, she was relieved of her hair-holding duty as Gwaine was ready to join the two plaits into one at the back of her head, and she returned her hand to her lap, resisting the urge to clench it in the fabric of her skirts. She failed in this endeavour when she felt the light brush of Gwaine’s knuckles against the sensitive skin at the nape of her neck, and she could only bite her lip and pray that he did not notice the shiver running through her at the contact.

And then—after an eternity and all too soon—it was over. The plait was tied off at her mid-back and Gwaine ran his fingers along it a few times to make sure everything was secure.

As Merlin noted him sitting back to admire his handiwork, she shot him a grateful smile over her shoulder and raised her hand to gingerly pat at her hair, trying to explore the results without disturbing the careful array. If only she had had a mirror to be able to fully appreciate the fruits of Gwaine’s labour.

“Thank you,” she said, shuffling around a bit on the blanket to face her friend again. “It feels…good. Um. Very secure. Well done.”

Gwaine was already writing on his tablet. When he turned it around, it was to show a single word pressed into the wax.

“Beautiful.”

“I’m sure it is.”

Something like fond exasperation crossed over Gwaine’s face, and he chuckled silently, lightly shaking his head as he parted his lips to mouth something at her.

He was interrupted by the sound of cracking wood from across the glade, followed by a high-pitched yelp and a pained grunt.

“Gwen! Are you okay?”

They both turned their heads to look over at the siblings, only to find that Gwen was no longer climbing the tree but lying in the grass beneath it, a frantic Elyan kneeling by her side. Sharing a look of concern, they jumped to their feet and rushed over in time to see Gwen sit up, ashamedly wiping at her eyes.

“I’m fine, Ely,” she said obstinately, but then her eyes caught on a rip in her sleeve where it must have caught on a branch during her fall and her bottom lip started wobbling. “Oh no! Dad will be so cross!”

“It’s all right,” Elyan hurried to reassure her. “It’s a clean tear; I’ll have that mended in no time! He won’t even be able to tell it was ever there.”

Gwen smiled shakily as she looked up at her brother who was wearing her face, making to speak before her eyes widened and something shifted behind her eyes. “Oh,” she said. “Dad’s no longer with us, is he?”

Elyan blinked. “And I can’t mend clothes to save my life.”

As years of briefly-forgotten memories settled over them again, the siblings exchanged a look laden with emotion, and Merlin realised that she had just gotten a brief glimpse into their childhood, only with the roles reversed.

Gwen had once told her that she had practically raised her little brother after their mother died, looking after him while their father worked and cooking for the whole family as soon as she was old enough to be trusted with fire. How many scraped knees and torn clothes must she not have patched up over the years? How many times had she abandoned her work to come to Elyan’s aid after he had played a little too roughly, while having no time to play herself, a child though she was?

Elyan sighed, standing up and reaching out a hand to his sister. “Come on, up you go.”

She took it gratefully, allowing him to pull her to her feet.

“Are you injured?” Merlin asked, finally remembering her training as a physician.

“Just a couple of bruises, I think,” Gwen replied, dusting herself off. “I wasn’t that high off the ground and children’s bodies are surprisingly hardy.”

“Do you want to go home?” asked Elyan.

“No, I’m fine. I’m all played out for today, though. Let’s pick some herbs.”

Merlin nodded, and they started walking back towards the blanket. Looking down at Gwen, she smiled and said, “It looked like you were having fun—until the fall, that is.”

She chuckled and rubbed at her neck, looking a little embarrassed of her childish conduct now that her adult self was back in control. “It was,” she confessed. “Did you know that I’ve never climbed a tree before?”

“What, never?” Elyan exclaimed.

“Not that I can recall. I was always so busy…”

He stared at her in mute shock as she knelt on the blanket and started gathering up the remains of their picnic. A moment later, he shook himself out of it and fell to his knees beside her. “Here, let me help you with that.”

Over their heads, Merlin and Gwaine briefly caught one another’s eye, exchanging a smile before fondly looking back down at their young friends.

The rest of the afternoon was spent picking herbs. Merlin could not remember ever having enjoyed the chore so much, and she could stow away her kerchief in her basket as her new plaits kept the hair out of her face admirably.

Not until she was preparing herself for bed that night did she notice the flower stuck into the end of the plait, and she was struck by the realisation that the green ribbon in her hair was not the same one that she had put in it that morning. Where her blue ribbon had ended up, she had no idea.

Chapter Text

Merlin was no stranger to complaining about her workload, but it was not until she was relieved of it that she was hit by the full extent of just how much of her time it ate up. Sure, Gaius took advantage of her newfound availability by making her run errands for him and assist him with patients and potion-making, but even that still left her with loads of free time when compared to the never-ending work of a servant.

To be fair, she suspected that Gaius was giving her quite a bit less to do than if she had truly been his apprentice full and proper—not just to give her space to work on breaking the curse but likely because he knew this was her first real break in years. It had been sorely needed, she realised.

In between assisting Gaius and researching morality curses, she often found herself drifting around the citadel, deep in thought. She often did some of her best thinking on her feet, albeit because she had rarely had time to sit down much before this.

On one of her aimless walks, she ended up by the training grounds and decided that she might as well watch the knights while she ate the apple she had meant to have for lunch but had ended up absent-mindedly toting around half the castle, all but forgotten.

She took a seat on a bench on the outskirts of the field, biting into the apple as she observed the goings-on. The heat of the day had driven most of the knights to forego their mail, and even in their shirtsleeves it looked like sweaty work. Arthur was nowhere in sight and instead Leon seemed to be in charge of training, shouting instructions at the men as he ran them through their standard drills. Percival stood by the sidelines as well rather than participating, saying something to the still blind Leon every now and then, prompting him to call out for a particular knight or other to improve his stance or mind his footwork.

Gwaine broke formation the second he spotted Merlin, waving cheerfully to her. She waved back, then laughed when Leon shouted for him to focus up. Even at this distance, Merlin could tell that the silent word Gwaine directed at Percival before complying was, “Traitor.”

A minute later—perhaps as an apology to Gwaine—Percival whispered something else to Leon, whereupon he nodded and called out, “All right, good work, men! Take five minutes of rest, then get back at it!”

Gwaine wasted no time in jogging up to Merlin while Percival followed at a slower pace, guiding Leon with a light hand at his elbow. In her inexpert opinion, the greeting Gwaine mouthed at her as he reached her looked to be something along the lines of, “Hello, you.”

“Hello to you too,” she said after swallowing a mouthful of apple, looking up at Gwaine with a smile. “Good session?”

He started saying something, but when he saw the incomprehension in her eyes he faltered, looking back towards the citadel before sighing and miming writing something on the palm of his hand while he shook his head.

“Don’t have your tablet with you? Well, I should probably practise my lip-reading skills anyway. We’ll make do.”

Gwaine smiled brilliantly at her before saying something inaudible, his mouth curling around the syllables with exaggerated care.

With some concentration, she managed to decipher it to mean, “‘Grand so?’”

He nodded proudly, taking a seat beside her on the bench.

Their friends caught up with them then, and Merlin said, “I’m surprised to see you leading the training, Leon. How come?”

“Apparently Arthur is indisposed. He hasn’t joined us for training since that first day after getting cursed.”

“But it’s been four days. That’s not like him.”

“He hasn’t been to council either. I was hoping you would know why?”

“No, I haven’t talked to him since having my vacation forced upon me…” A frown etched itself into her brow as she realised that she had not even seen Arthur in days—not even a brief glimpse around the castle. Gwen had bemoaned the fact that he was avoiding her as well, come to think of it, though she had blamed that fact on her curse making things awkward between them. “Has anyone seen him outside his chambers at all?”

They all answered in the negative.

“Think he’s sick?” Percival asked.

“I doubt it. George is too much of a stickler for procedure not to tattle to Gaius if that were the case. My guess would be that he’s too embarrassed by his curse—whatever it is. It must be something he doesn’t want the court to see.”

“Perhaps you could speak to George about it?” Leon suggested. “Maybe he can give us some clue as to what the curse is, at least.”

She sighed and took another bite from the apple, speaking around it as she muttered, “Yeah, I’ll do that… Can’t promise I can get the prat to let us help with the curse, though. He can be worse than a cat that’s got its claws stuck in a barley sack when it comes to accepting assistance.”

She could feel Gwaine’s silent laughter shaking the bench they sat on, and even Leon smiled at the joke.

“Do what you can,” he said. “The sooner he resumes his duties, the better for the kingdom. And without my eyesight, I can only do so much when it comes to training the men.”

“Looks like you’re doing a great job, all things considered. You and Percival work well together.”

Percival ducked his head. “I’m just his eyes, is all.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” she protested. “You have a keen eye, and from what I’ve caught from over here, you seem to have many insightful observations on the men’s performance.”

Blinking in surprise, Percival asked, “Really?”

“Really.”

“I agree,” Leon said. “I couldn’t do this without your help. Now, I think it’s time to get back to work. Keep an eye on Sir Brennis’ form for me, will you? He’s been sloppy since coming back from his injury.”

Smiling excitedly, Percival started guiding Leon back to the centre of the training grounds, shouting, “Break’s over!” at the men lounging in a shaded spot at the other side of the field.

Merlin turned her head to look at Gwaine, who was making no move to get up from his comfortable spot on the bench. “You heard him; no more lazing about,” she teased, bumping her shoulder against his.

He grinned conspiratorially and pointed to Leon before covering his eyes with his hand, saying something which the gestures helped her interpret as, “Leon won’t notice.” He finished it off by holding a finger in front of his lips as if asking for her discretion in this matter.

She chuckled and whispered, “My lips are sealed. It’s Percival you have to worry about.”

As if on cue, Percival chose that moment to look back at them and yell, “That includes you, Gwaine!”

Groaning inaudibly, Gwaine shook his head in resignation. Instead of immediately getting up, however, he reached out and wrapped his hand gently around Merlin’s wrist, his thumb rubbing lightly over the pulse point. As she froze, he took advantage of her surprise by ducking in to steal a bite right out of the apple in her hand before bounding to his feet with a triumphant smile, chewing smugly on the ill-gotten spoils of his trickery.

“Oi!” She levelled an affronted glare at him, the effect of which was probably undercut by the fact that she could not keep the laughter out of her voice as she cried, “You owe me for that!”

He just laughed silently, shooting her an unrepentant wink over his shoulder. As he made his way towards the other knights who were reluctantly stepping back into the summer sun, Merlin noticed him removing something that had been tied around his wrist. He raised his arms and brushed his hair back, gathering it into a small ponytail and tying it up as well as the length allowed with…a blue ribbon.

It took a second for the implication to register with Merlin, but when it did she hurried to reach back to pull her plait around to her front to inspect it. Her eyes widened as she belatedly realised that the green ribbon tying it together (perfectly securely, courtesy of Gwen’s assistance that morning) was actually suspiciously reminiscent of the one Gwaine usually used to tie his hair up during training, meaning that the blue one he was now using was almost definitely hers.

Perhaps he had mixed them up while plaiting her hair on the day of their picnic, accidentally using his own out of habit? But would he not then have noticed the mistake when he pocketed the wrong one? Unless he had switched them on purpose?

Her stomach made a somersault at the idea of Gwaine putting his own ribbon in her hair as a…a token while openly wearing hers around his wrist—perhaps out of convenience should he need it, like now, or perhaps just waiting for her to notice…

She swallowed and looked up, searching out Gwaine among the knights who had resumed their training under Leon’s instructions and Percival’s watchful eye. Already, some of Gwaine’s hair had escaped the confines of the ribbon and fallen forward to frame his face. Tying it up only really served to keep it off his neck, helping him stay a little cooler, for not all of it was long enough to reach the ribbon at the back of his head or stay put in it for long.

Turning back to the ribbon in her own hair, she ran the ends of it between her fingers, pondering its meaning. Assuming that it had been intentional, was this gesture just a device pulled from Gwaine’s extensive seduction kit, or was it meant to signify something deeper? Given his status as a knight, wearing a token of hers was almost like wearing her favour—albeit one given unknowingly—and that steered the whole situation dangerously close to proper courting.

But surely Gwaine did not want to actually court her? Sure, his flirting had grown more and more blatant during the past couple of days, but he knew as well as she did that this was temporary—that she would turn back into her regular old self at some point. What did he plan to do then? And even in the extremely unlikely event that he would want to court Merlin as a man—if he was actually capable of attraction to her male form, which he had never given any indication of—it was just not done. Not openly, at least…

No, it was much more likely that he simply wanted sex, maybe not for just a single night, but not beyond the duration of the curse either. Perhaps that ought to insult her, but she was not so blind as to doubt that Gwaine cared deeply for her as a friend—be she male or female. If he was prepared to actively pursue her, then he must believe that their friendship was strong enough to survive the physical aspect of their relationship inevitably coming to an end. She knew him too well to think that he would ever use her and forget her as soon as the fun was over. Their friendship was much too important to him for that.

But even if Gwaine was confident that they could remain friends afterwards, she did not know if her heart could take it. Obviously, she knew that people were often intimate with their friends (or total strangers) with no expectations of permanence; the servants in the citadel loved nothing more than to gossip about it. She had even had a couple of hurried trysts with a stable boy or two herself—well, himself, at the time—and, on one memorable occasion, a scullery maid, but she had been nowhere near as closely acquainted with them as she was with Gwaine, and she had not had feelings for them.

It seemed to her that getting a taste of the forbidden fruit only to have to go back to watching it dangle just out of reach again would be torture. And yet…it seemed just as torturous to keep denying herself when she knew—or was reasonably sure, at least—that the sweetness she so craved was finally within her reach, if only for a limited time.

Seized by the irresistible urge to lay eyes on Gwaine in the vain hope that it would help her make sense of the situation, she refocused her glassy gaze and turned it to the training field once more, only to see—

Oh, you shameless rake!

Perhaps she should have expected to find that Gwaine had discarded his sweaty tunic in favour of training bare-chested—he did it all the time, after all, much to Arthur’s annoyance—but this time he knew that she was watching as a spectator, not just hovering by the sidelines to pass Arthur his weapons like she normally did. This time, it felt like he was putting on a show for her benefit.

And what a show it was. Though torn between amusement and exasperation at his brazen peacocking, she could not deny that it had the intended effect on her. What, was she not supposed to enjoy the sight of rippling muscles beneath sweat-glistening skin? Come on. She had been sneaking peeks for years while pretending to sort through the weapon racks or polishing armour; the only difference now was that she was encouraged to look.

Perhaps it would have been better for her resolve and sanity if she did not, but the temptation was too strong, and she was driven not only by lust but curiosity as she felt the stirrings of arousal in her loins. It was a somewhat different experience in this body, and the small portion of her brain that was not busy admiring the swell of Gwaine’s biceps as he swung his sword was observing her body’s reaction to the display of strength and skill with almost clinical fascination.

The heat pooling in her groin was familiar to her, but of course the results were not as visually extreme as in her old body. A thrill ran through her at the realisation that an onlooker would have no clue as to her arousal apart from the flush in her cheeks, which could easily be explained by the sun. There was no cock to tent her clothes and give the game away if she let herself get carried away by desire—no erection that needed to be obscured or willed away lest it make anyone around her uncomfortable.

As long as she kept her outward demeanour impassive, she could drink her fill of the enticing sight before her, and no one would be any the wiser unless they stuck a hand up her skirt and felt how slick she was growing between her legs as she let herself indulge in the fantasies she usually had to keep at bay.

She felt a dull throb of excitement in her groin at the thought of Gwaine’s hand doing just that, smoothing up along the soft inside of her thigh until he reached the dark curls covering her sex, slipping his fingers between her folds before plunging into the wet heat of her cun—

Gwaine’s eyes met hers from across the field and she almost jumped out of her skin. Instantly filled with the fear that her every dirty thought was writ plain in her expression after all, she immediately averted her eyes, her face burning as she snatched her hand away from the green ribbon which she had absent-mindedly been playing with all the while.

Suddenly self-conscious, she crossed her legs out of some old instinct to hide her arousal, which proved a mistake because oh, that actually felt quite good, especially if she clenched—

Nope!

Her legs fell open again as she bit at her lip and reminded herself that some (more or less) innocent ogling was one thing, but actively chasing pleasure in public was quite another, especially if Gwaine was watching her.

Painstakingly hauling her mind out of the gutter, she sprang up from the bench, awkwardly smoothing down her skirts. Only then did she realise that she had dropped her half-eaten, wholly forgotten apple when she had startled. If her expression had not given her away to Gwaine, that had surely done the trick.

Cursing her traitorous libido, she bent down to retrieve the apple before turning on her heel and hurrying away towards the citadel without daring to look back at the knights even once. She had better things to be doing, such as giving the apple a rinse before finishing it so as not to waste food and finding George to start untangling Arthur’s curse, for example—the latter of which she probably ought to have been given a little more precedence these past couple of days.