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When Gwen opened the door she stopped at the threshold. Her purse slipped off her shoulder as she stared. The two occupants in the room already had their hands full, so neither paid much attention to her, until she caught Merlin’s eye from where he was buried under a sea of wiggling tan and white dogs.
“Er,” Merlin said. “Hello Gwen!”
“Merlin,” Gwen started. “...Why is our living room full of dogs?”
“Corgis,” Merlin corrected. “Full of corgis. And don’t look at me. This is Arthur’s fault.”
“My fault!” Arthur called out, affronted. “MY fault!?” It was impossible to see his face but he raised one arm out and grabbed blindly for Merlin, only to be met by a chorus of excited barks and tail wagging. He dropped his hand in defeat.
Merlin managed to push himself to his feet. He lifted one of the puppies – Gwen was not a dog person but as Merlin corrected, it was…a corgi. Growing up she and Elyan had a pot-bellied basset hound that howled all night long and bit their ankles if their pants were pulled up to expose the skin. It hadn’t been a mean dog, but Gwen had never considered owning another dog after that. She and Morgana had a cat together when they shared a flat at university.
Though she was reconsidering her internal ‘no dogs allowed’ policy. The corgis were round; round faces, round stubbly legs, and pointed ears with a white patch of fur down the middle of its face that vanished under its belly.
“Yes,” Merlin agreed. He bounced over to Gwen, holding the wiggling puppy as he went. “And I’m not letting you say otherwise. Arthur’s fault, one hundred and fifty percent.” He dropped the puppy directly into her arms. The purse dropped to the floor and Merlin lowered her into the chair, where the rest of the puppies took interest in the new stranger and scrambled over to greet her. The others quickly followed, having abandoned their fluff attack upon Arthur.
“This is Bartholomew.” Merlin scratched the tiny corgi between the ears. “I’m calling him Bart. Arthur named them all dreadfully long classical names, that old bore.”
Arthur chuffed him over the top of the head with the flat of his hand. Merlin pouted for a bit until he earned a kiss on the cheek for an apology. “They’re meant to sound regal,” he said with a sniff. “I will have you know Ferdinand and Augusta absolutely adore their names.”
Gwen floundered a bit as the army of tiny dogs amassed around her, doing their very best to crawl up the chair and into her lap on their short legs. “They’re wonderful,” Gwen said. “But I hope you know we don’t have room for all of them.”
Merlin clapped his hands. “Nonsense. I’m sure I can make some magic in our little laundry to keep all their stuff. And would you say no to all these little faces?” Merlin knelt beside her and gave her the biggest stiff-lipped pout she had ever seen.
“Oh,” Gwen murmured. “Well, alright.” She picked up one of the more eager puppies who happily licked her wrists and then the bottom of her chin and cheeks.
Merlin poked Arthur in the hip. “Oi. Are you crying?”
“No,” Arthur insisted. “I – I have. It’s just – that I have. Ahem. It’s my allergies.”
“Right,” Merlin said, though he was also a bit teary eyed as he watched Gwen pet each puppy on the head and giggled as they covered her in puppy kisses. “Sure it is.” Arthur pinched him on the neck, hard. He made a face and for a moment Gwen worried he would tackle Arthur to the floor then and there, but instead he leaned forward and kissed Gwen.
“I think I can probably train these little rascals to attack Arthur if we really wanted to,” Merlin mused. Arthur snorted a laugh. Gwen kept right on giggling, with half a dozen corgis excitedly nipping at her skirt and bouncing with bright joy.