Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This is fine, thinks Merlin. This is perfectly, perfectly fine.

He tugs on Gwen’s robe, pulling it tighter around his body, which is her body, which is his body, and rocks forward on his feet (Gwen’s feet). He looks at Arthur. “So,” he says, in Gwen’s voice. “Did you want to get dressed?”

Arthur buries his head in his hands, and Merlin winces. When he reappears from behind them, his face is ashen and desperate in a way Merlin really doesn’t think the situation calls for.

“I swear,” says Arthur, “if this is a joke—”

“It’s not a joke!” protests Merlin, waving his hands about. The robe falls open again and he hurries to close it, trying as best he can to preserve Gwen’s modesty. Someone should invent one of these things that has some kind of tie. “I really am Merlin!”

Even Merlin can admit that, in Gwen’s voice, it’s not all that convincing.

“I haven’t even had breakfast,” moans Arthur, which Merlin can sympathise with. He hasn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon, and it wasn’t exactly his priority upon waking up. Breakfast got overshadowed by all the body-swapping.

“We could at least get you dressed,” tries Merlin again, and Arthur glares.

“You are not dressing me,” he says, and looks Merlin up and down. He flushes instantly, like he forgot what looking Merlin up and down would entail, which is quite sweet. It’s especially so since Merlin knows Gwen’s body looks very nice in her nightdress and robe. “Not like that, anyway.”

“Alright,” says Merlin. “But Gwen’s going to be back in a minute, and you’re hardly going to want her doing it, are you?”

Arthur pales again. “I can manage myself,” he says shortly, and Merlin shrugs. They stand about in silence a little longer, waiting for Gwen, and Merlin wonders which of her dresses she’s going to bring back for him. He hopes it’s the purple one. He likes the purple one.

Arthur’s chambers are nice and warm this morning, and there’s a pleasant breeze coming in through the window. Merlin came here straight away, on the assumption that Arthur would also be experiencing this bout of body-swapping, but so far he’s perfectly convinced that it really is Arthur fidgeting opposite him. No-one else could ever hope to be so endearingly annoying.

Merlin swings back and forth on his feet, waiting, and absently reaches up to touch Gwen’s hair. It’s much longer than Merlin’s has ever been, and he sort of likes how it feels to tuck it behind his ears. He hopes posing as Gwen doesn’t mean he has to bathe Morgana – Merlin’s ethics are bad, but they’re not that bad.

There’s a quiet knock at the door, and then Merlin has the uncanny experience of watching his own body slip inside, tripping a little over its own feet. Merlin grins a little; at least this time Gwen doesn’t burst through the door in his sleep clothes and shouting. Now she bears gifts.

“Here,” says Gwen, and holds out a dress for him. It is, actually, the purple one. Merlin beams. “The corset’s sort of fiddly, but I can help with it.”

“Thanks, Gwen,” says Merlin, and she gives him a bewildered sort of smile, tilting her head down to see him. Merlin knows he’s only looking at his own face, but he still feels like he can see her behind his eyes, lovely and charming and funny. She wrinkles her nose.

“Oh, this is so strange,” says Gwen, leaning close to scrutinise her own face. “That’s me.”

She reaches out and tucks his hair behind his ear, then falters. Her fingertips brush against Merlin’s temple. If Merlin liked doing the action himself, it’s nothing to the sudden zing that shoots through him. “Sorry,” she says, flushing. “Habit.”

Merlin shrugs, awkward. “It’s fine. It’s your hair.”

Arthur clears his throat. They both turn to look at him, and he blushes bright pink.

“If you’re quite finished,” says Arthur, who has been grumpy ever since Merlin woke him up. “Could we please get on with it? I don’t want Guinevere’s reputation sullied any further.”

It’s a day for blushing, apparently: Gwen’s cheeks turn a bright, rosy pink at the statement, as do Merlin’s. And, yeah, okay, maybe running straight to Arthur’s chambers in nothing but Gwen’s nightdress and robe wasn’t the best idea, but Merlin thinks he should be forgiven for it, considering the circumstances. At least Arthur’s being nice. Though that might be because of Gwen.

“Of course,” says Gwen, all business. “Come on, Merlin.”

She leads him behind the dressing screen. Merlin feels, all of a sudden, very uncomfortable. He’s been trying to ignore the fact that this is Gwen’s body, which is made easier by the fact that Merlin trips and walks into things all the time and hasn’t really suffered from the sudden drop in height and weight, but the reminder that he’s inhabiting her skin sends a hot wash of guilt crawling up his neck.

“I’m really sorry, Gwen,” he says, but she smiles kindly at him.

“It’s not your fault,” she says, and pries his hands off the robe. He lets her, holding his arms awkwardly at his sides as she slips it off his shoulders. He determinedly does not look down. “Close your eyes.”

He does, and Gwen gathers up his nightdress and tugs it up and over his head. The rough fabric brushes against his sides, cool air hits places he didn’t have yesterday morning, and everything is awful and weird. Really, really weird.

Gwen grabs one of his hands and forces it through a sleeve. Merlin does his best to help her, but it’s hard with his eyes closed. His own hands feel gentle and firm and sure on Gwen’s body, and he knows that the reason for it is because Gwen’s the one controlling them, but it sends a weird sort of flutter up his spine anyway. The purple dress falls down around his legs.

“Open,” says Gwen, and Merlin does. She gives him a half-smile and passes him the corset. He slips his arms into it and she pulls it close at the front. Her hands are all over him. Merlin is the worst person in the world.

“I really am sorry,” he says again, and she tuts.

“Don’t be silly. You know there’s no-one I’d trust more with this.”

Honestly, that might make it worse. Merlin does not exactly have a crush on Gwen, he just thinks she’s pretty and wonderful and that they should probably get married. That’s a totally different thing.

Gwen pulls tight on the corset’s cords and it squishes Merlin together. It’s not unpleasant, exactly, but it’s definitely different. She has to stand very close to do it, and Merlin knows he shouldn’t be thinking like this, especially when he’s looking at his own face, but it’s Gwen. It’s Gwen, who’s in love with Arthur, and Merlin really, really needs to stop thinking.

“There,” says Gwen, as she ties off the cords. Merlin finally allows himself to look down and flushes bright red. An odd little smile plays at Gwen’s lips.

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” she teases, and Merlin flushes even darker.

“Gwen!” he says, scandalised, and she giggles. Merlin didn’t know his voice could giggle. There’s a thunk on the other side of the screen, which Merlin thinks might have been Arthur’s head hitting the table. He meets Gwen’s eye and has to stifle a laugh. A touch of pink works its way into her cheeks.

“Um,” she says, and looks down at herself. She’s put Merlin’s body in his purple tunic and red scarf, and made an attempt to pat down his hair into something presentable. There’s a haphazardness to her dress that tells Merlin she attempted to do it while touching as little of his body as possible, and he finds himself warmed by it. He said she didn’t have to worry, but it’s nice she cared enough to be considerate anyway.

Merlin reaches out and fixes her collar where it’s bunched under the scarf, making sure it sits flat. It’s weird to see his fingers (Gwen’s fingers) brushing against his own skin and not feel it, and maybe that’s why they linger once he’s done. He thinks Gwen might be holding her breath. Arthur makes a pointed huffing sound from the other side of the screen.

“Alright,” says Merlin loudly, and takes his hands back. It’s just the novelty of the experience, that’s all (although it can’t be, really, can it, because Merlin’s had plenty of practice fixing Arthur’s collar without his stupid longing fingers giving him away, and now he really needs to stop thinking). He tugs anxiously on the corset. “Promise you won’t laugh.”

“You’re wearing a dress, Merlin.”

Merlin scowls and gathers up Gwen’s night things, stepping out from behind the screen. “At least you think it’s funny,” he grumbles, as Gwen follows. Arthur doesn’t say anything.

“What?” demands Merlin, looking up, and has the satisfaction of seeing Arthur’s throat bob.

“Nothing,” he says. “You look very nice, Guinevere.”

“I’m Merlin.”

“I know that,” snaps Arthur. “It’s just. You know. Purple suits her.”

Merlin opens and closes his mouth. Then he turns to Gwen. “And this works on you?”

Gwen flushes, her cheeks turning bright pink, and makes an odd little motion with her hands. She looks like she’d much rather be somewhere else, and possibly with other people.

“Unbelievable,” mutters Merlin.

Gwen elbows him in the ribs, but their displaced bodies get the better of them again and it hurts a lot more than Merlin was expecting, when it’s done with his own bony elbow.

“Ow!” He jumps away from her, rubbing at his side, and concern washes through Gwen’s expression. She’s already apologising, reaching out to make it better, and Merlin scowls even as he lets her cover his hands with her own. “I forgot!” she cries, and Merlin grumbles.

Arthur clears his throat, and when Merlin finally looks back at him, he realises Arthur’s awkwardly clasping sprigs of lavender in his fist, apparently freshly pinched from the bouquet on the table. A drop of water runs down one of the stems and splashes on the floor. Arthur won’t look at either of them.

“For your hair,” he says, possibly to Gwen, but also just as possibly to Merlin. Unfortunately Merlin is not immune to great swellings of fondness in the face of Arthur being thoughtful, and the one that washes over him now is particularly dreadful, clogging up his throat and his nose and also possibly his ears. Gwen presses her lips together and takes the flowers, letting her hand (Merlin’s hand!) close over Arthur’s as she does. Arthur goes very red.

“Right,” says Arthur. “Well. I’m going to have breakfast.”

He walks out of the room.

Gwen shoots him a horribly sly look. “What’s that you were saying about things working, Merlin?” she asks, and Merlin takes advantage of being in her body and elbows her in the side.

“Shut up,” mutters Merlin, and thankfully for him Gwen takes pity on him, and doesn’t tease him too terribly for being in love with her boyfriend. They’ve got quite a system going, actually. She sits him down at Arthur’s table and does his hair while Merlin tries to come up with a plan, which unfortunately does not get much further than asking Gaius, but in his defence, Gaius does usually know the answer.

Gwen agrees that this is a good plan, and so they decide to go straight to the workshop now that they’re both presentable, until Merlin remembers that Arthur’s meant to be meeting with Sir Bedivere and Merlin’s forgotten to tell him. To his surprise, Arthur is already back in his room when Merlin returns, even though it surely can’t have been long enough for breakfast.

“That was quick,” says Merlin, frowning, and Arthur jumps so wildly that he knocks the fruit bowl to the floor. Merlin stares at him.

“Oh,” says Arthur, and scrubs at the back of his neck, mucking up his hair something frightful. “Yeah, well, you know. Morgana.”

“Right,” says Merlin, sceptical. Arthur likes to pretend that Morgana annoys him, but Merlin knows she’s not nearly frustrating enough to have put him off eating. “Okay. Well, I just wanted to make sure all your things were ready for your meeting with Sir Bedivere. Which you have after training and which I definitely did not forget to tell you about.”

“Of course you didn’t,” says Arthur, a little fondly. He gestures at the room. “Go ahead.”

Merlin does so, after a moment in which he debates whether it’s possible Arthur is enchanted after all. Ultimately he dismisses it and decides Arthur is just being weird. Arthur hovers with a keener eye than usual, to the point that Merlin feels the need to explain himself when he’s finished, and to let Arthur know he and Gwen will spend the rest of the day with Gaius.

“That makes sense,” says Arthur, looking at him. “I think it’s best you stay as out of the way as possible, to make sure no one suspects anything. I’ll try and find out if there’s been any reports of sorcerers near Camelot in the past few days.”

“Yeah, alright,” says Merlin, and reaches out to fix Arthur’s collar without thinking, because Arthur turned it up while ruining his hair. “Whatever spell it is doesn’t feel malevolent, though. Just kind of tingly and weird. I don’t think anyone was trying to hurt us.”

“Yes, well,” says Arthur, looking a little uncomfortable, and Merlin realises that this is probably because of what he said earlier, about not wanting Gwen to dress him. He withdraws his hands quick-smart to his sides.

“Sorry,” he says, grimacing. “This must be weird for you.”

Arthur is taller than him. Merlin has no idea why he hadn’t noticed this already, unless he blames the distraction of being in Gwen’s body and the fact that Arthur seems to have been going out of his way to avoid them all morning. He tips his chin up and realises this must be what Gwen sees all the time, Arthur’s face tilted down to her and his hair falling over his eyes as he leans towards her and—

Merlin smacks himself around the head within the confines of his mind. He is supposed to be over this.

“It’s— strange, yes,” says Arthur, sounding a bit strangled. “But I think— Now that I know, I mean, I can sort of— see you. In your eyes.”

Merlin raises his eyebrows. Arthur nods. “Yeah,” he says, almost to himself. “Just—”

He lifts his hand to Merlin’s temple, his fingers brushing Merlin’s skin so slightly that Merlin only really notices because of how his hairs stand on end. They are standing very, very close together. Merlin is in Gwen’s body.

“Um, Arthur?” says Merlin, and Arthur snatches his hand away, a deep crimson crawling up his neck and curling around his ears and under his jaw. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” snaps Arthur, and tucks his hands behind his back. He looks hurriedly away. “I’m fine.”

“O-kay,” says Merlin, disbelieving. Arthur shoos him.

“Just. Go and talk to Gaius, will you?”

Merlin holds up his hands, the moment instantly forgotten. “Alright, alright!” he cries. “Do this Merlin, do that Merlin! It would be up to me. You’re just as capable as opening a book, you know! Understanding it, maybe not—”

He keeps grumbling all the way to Gaius’ workshop, muttering under his breath and tripping over Gwen’s feet. He’s sure Gaius will have an answer, and if not, magic like this surely can’t last very long. Whatever they’ve got themselves into, if it hasn’t affected Arthur, Merlin’s sure that the kingdom, at least, is safe. It can’t be that bad.

*

Merlin feels differently by the time it gets to the afternoon. He feels very, very differently.

Merlin does not want to go with Morgana into the forest. He wants to stay with Gwen and keep pouring over Gaius’ books, and get himself back into his own body. Not to mention that he has no idea what girls talk about, and while he thinks he’s done a decent job at pretending to be Gwen so far, he’s fairly certain his impression won’t hold up against her oldest friend. It can literally only end badly.

“You’ve been very quiet today, Gwen,” says Morgana, when a quarter of an hour has gone past without Merlin saying a word. He lifts his shoulders.

“I’m not feeling well,” he says, and then wonders why on Earth he didn’t think to say that before, to get himself out of this stupid ride. Morgana frowns in concern.

“Whyever didn’t you say anything? Do you want to head back?”

Yes, thinks Merlin, but knows Gwen would never say it. Instead he sighs and shakes his head. “No, I’m alright.” At Morgana’s sceptical look, which Merlin would really love to take her up on but knows he really shouldn’t, adds: “Really, don’t trouble yourself.”

“If you’re sure,” says Morgana, and Merlin curses Gwen’s lovely, decent heart for never allowing her to put her own needs first. When he gets back to Camelot, he’s getting her some fresh flowers and a hot bath, it’s decided.

Morgana at least seems to accept his half-hearted excuse. She chatters away enough for them both, and Merlin is sort of fascinated to hear her speak so freely and openly to him (well, to Gwen), and wishes he could return the gesture in kind. At the risk of making her realise he’s not actually Gwen, and at best getting himself thrown in the dungeons and at worst making her very very mad at him, he keeps himself to non-committal hums.

It can’t end soon enough, in Merlin’s eyes. It’s a relief to finally finish their turn and head back to the city, horses trotting contentedly along after such a pleasant stroll.

Gwen and Arthur are in the courtyard as they enter, Arthur craning his neck anxiously to get a look at them. Merlin snickers a bit. He helps Morgana down from her horse but seems determined to leave Merlin to himself, which suits Merlin perfectly. Then Merlin makes the mistake of looking at Gwen.

Gwen is, by all accounts, the bestest and most wonderful person in all of Camelot. Merlin would be the first to proclaim it, so long as he wasn’t beaten to it by Arthur or Morgana or Lancelot or any of the other hundred people who love her. Gwen is his best friend. He loves Gwen.

But sometimes—

She’s got this look on her face (his face! She’s making his face do that!), and it bodes absolutely terribly for Merlin. She’s awful. She’s the worst. He loves her dearly.

She glances at Arthur and bats her eyelashes. It’s disgusting. “I think Guinevere could use some help, don’t you, sire?” she says, and Arthur loses all colour in his face. Merlin glares at her.

“I don’t need help,” he says, and she smirks. This is her revenge for discovering Merlin’s secret earlier in the day, he’s sure. He gulps as Arthur glances at Morgana, who is just near enough to still give him a lecture on chivalry if she chooses, and steels his jaw for what he knows is coming.

“Of course,” says Arthur, and offers out a hand to Merlin. “Come on, Guinevere.”

Merlin slides Gwen’s palm into Arthur’s. Her hand is a lot smaller than Merlin’s own, and he can admit that it’s sort of a comforting feeling, having it clasped in Arthur’s. He realises fairly quickly that it’s not at all helpful in terms of getting off the horse, though. Gwen snickers.

“Um,” says Merlin, and watches, fascinated, as a vein pops in Arthur’s jaw. He won’t meet Merlin’s eye.

“Hang on,” he says, and then he puts his hands on Merlin’s waist (Gwen! Gwen’s waist!), and lifts him off the horse. His hands are very hot. Arthur puts him on the ground and Merlin’s hands are on his shoulders, and unfortunately for Merlin, Arthur’s rattled expression is more alluring than it is off-putting. This is a side-effect of being a prince blessed with good looks, probably. His mouth is all slack and his eyes are wide, and one of his hands slips a little closer to the small of Merlin’s back. Merlin’s throat is very dry.

“Arthur,” he says, and squeezes his shoulders rather harder than he needs to. Whatever he has to do to remind Arthur that he is not actually Gwen. Arthur’s hands tighten on his waist before he lets go, clenching and unclenching his hands as they return to his sides. Merlin’s going to kill Gwen.

“Very chivalrous, sire,” says Gwen, and when Arthur looks over his shoulder at her, Merlin glares as fiercely as he can in her direction. She sticks her tongue out as soon as Arthur can’t see. Merlin blusters.  

The day cannot possibly end soon enough.

Chapter Text

Oh, dear, thinks Gwen, as Merlin looks up at her. This is going to end really, really badly.

She blinks to clear her head, and settles back into braiding his hair. Her hair. Their hair. This is the oddest day of Gwen’s life.

“I feel bad, now,” says Merlin conversationally, and Gwen hums. “I didn’t know girls had to do this much to get ready.”

Gwen laughs and picks up another section of hair. Normally she wouldn’t be this fussy about it, but since today she actually can see the back of her head, she wants to make sure it looks good. “Arthur must take just as long, surely.”

Merlin snickers. “That’s true.” He twists the sleeves of Gwen’s purple dress between his fingers and Gwen winces, worrying about him stretching the fabric. She should have considered that habit of his before giving him her favourite dress, but it can’t be changed now. “I’m not going to have to dress Morgana, am I?”

Gwen shakes her head, and tucks another sprig of lavender into her braid. “She’ll be dressed already by now. I told the steward I wasn’t feeling well.” She pauses, cocks her head to the side. “I mean, that you were unwell. You know what I mean.”

Her fingers, pale and white and longer than they should be, twist in hair that is no longer attached to the skull Gwen’s inside of. She keeps fumbling the braid, just like she keeps bumping into things. She’s not sure if the clumsiness is because she’s in an unfamiliar body or if it’s just Merlin’s usual awkwardness, and Merlin isn’t much help when she asks him. The same question pervades.

“We’d only really know if Arthur had been swapped too,” says Merlin, considering. “He doesn’t usually run into things. I wonder if being in your body means I can sew?”

Gwen grins and finishes up his hair. Arthur’s chambers feel empty without him in them, and lingering here with Merlin just feels sort of wrong, so they both make their escape as soon as Merlin’s presentable. Gwen pokes her head out the door and Merlin slips his head underneath hers to peer out, which is not how they’re supposed to work at all, but the coast is clear. They scarper quickly into an adjacent corridor, because the last thing her and Arthur need is someone saying she’s been in his room before breakfast.

Merlin loops his fingers with Gwen’s while they walk, and Gwen’s heart gives a wistful, supposedly long-squashed sigh.

Well, she’s not sure if she can really say her own heart gives it, given the situation, but it’s close enough. The thought that she’s finally in possession of Merlin’s heart just makes her queasy.

Sometimes she thinks Merlin might like her, and sometimes she laments the fact that, if he does, he didn’t think to speak up about it before. Gwen’s liked him since forever, since almost the first time she saw him, and she’s happy with Arthur, she is, but it’s Merlin. He’s all the more dear to her for being the first boy she ever kissed, the first boy she ever wanted to like her back.

“Oh, wait,” says Merlin, and lifts a hand to his face. “I forgot to tell Arthur— Sir Bedivere’s coming, I’ve got to get his things out— I’ll catch up with you—”

He kisses her on the cheek and dashes back the way they came, leaving Gwen blinking in the corridor. 

She doesn’t much fancy facing Gaius by herself; she didn’t stop to explain on her way out this morning, and outright dodged his questions when she slipped back to Merlin’s room to dress. It’s all just so very odd.

“Ah, Merlin,” says Gaius, when Gwen gets back. He must see something in Gwen’s face, perhaps less of her general frenzy, because he says, “I trust I’m finally going to get an explanation for all this excitement.”

Gwen shrinks a little, and clasps her hands in front of her waist. “Right,” she says. “Okay. Well, the thing is, um, Merlin and I have found ourselves in a bit of trouble. Um. In the sense that I am not, actually, Merlin. I’m Gwen.”

Gaius blinks at her. Gwen tries to smile. “Surprise? Merlin’s on his way, he just forgot something for Arthur, and he can probably explain it better than I can. But I’m… definitely Guinevere.”

Gaius opens and closes his mouth, then frowns. “Would you like some breakfast?”

“Please,” says Gwen, and sits down opposite him. She takes the offered bowl of porridge and tries to look unconcerned as Gaius studies her. It’s a bit too hot, but Gwen doesn’t mind, although she wishes Merlin would hurry up. Gaius keeps asking her questions to ascertain if she’s really Merlin, and after that if she’s really Gwen, and it would just be a lot easier if Merlin was here to answer them too. Gwen doesn’t know why this has happened.

When Gwen gets halfway through her bowl, Gaius accidentally knocks over a bucket of water, and it spills all across the floor. Gwen jumps, and finds Gaius already scrutinising her when she turns to face him.

“Are you alright?”

“Certainly,” he says, and then sighs. “Well, this is a conundrum, isn’t it? Are you alright, my dear?”

Gwen nods, then pauses. She starts to smile. “You called me ‘my dear’. Does that mean you’re sure I’m really me?”

“As much as I can be,” says Gaius. “You forget that I’ve known you all my life. I know your quirks and manner of speaking, and there is something in your eyes… yes, I’m fairly certain I know who you are.”

“Thank goodness,” says Gwen. “Do you know of anything that might have caused this?”

“I couldn’t say. Have you or Merlin encountered anything suspicious of late?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You haven’t met with any strange persons, or touched anything you shouldn’t have?”

Gwen shakes her head, and when Merlin finally catches up with her, he says the same. Gaius scrutinises him as well, but it takes a lot less time for him to become convinced, which Gwen thinks is fair. Merlin just seems to sort of shine out from behind Gwen’s face, like even a different body can’t contain all of his lovely quirks, and Gwen feels extraordinarily charmed by him, propping her chin on her hand to watch while he complains and laments and moans.

“Alright, alright,” says Gaius, “I’m quite convinced. Not even the two of you could imitate each other so perfectly.”

Merlin makes an affronted noise. “I’d be a great Gwen,” he says, and Gwen laughs. Gaius shows them all the books he has on magic, which is far more than he should have, and Gwen raises a suspicious eyebrow at Merlin when they’re brought out, as both physician and apprentice firmly avoid her gaze.

“Now, Gwen,” says Gaius, “These books are not… magical, exactly, so much as they are… serving a worthwhile purpose in eliminating threats to the king.”

“Of course,” says Gwen, and Merlin nods.

“I mean, you’ve seen what Arthur gets into,” he says, “if Gaius didn’t keep stuff to hand, we’d never have broken him out of the love-spell, or figured out how to break up Uther and the troll, or…”

Gwen covers Merlin’s hand with hers, and squeezes. “It’s alright, Merlin,” she says. “I’m not going to tell anyone. Uther may choose to be blind as to where your knowledge comes from, but I know you would never do any harm.”

“Right,” says Merlin, looking relieved. “Well, then.” He hands Gwen a stack of books, and picks up his own. They’re very heavy. “Now the fun bit.”

*

Merlin and Gwen pour over the books for hours, and Gwen very determinedly doesn’t think about what might happen to them if they’re caught. Whatever Merlin and Gaius said, Uther isn’t likely to appreciate proof of Gaius’ mysteriously endless knowledge.

With that in mind, she’s glad they’ve chosen to hide in Arthur’s chambers instead of the workshop; there’s far less chance of them being interrupted here, unless it’s by Arthur himself, and Gwen hasn’t seen hide or hair of him since the morning. Unfortunately their situation means that she can’t break up the monotony by stealing glances at Merlin’s lovely face, but Gwen bears it as best she can.

Just after lunch, Gaius appears and tells them Morgana is asking for Gwen.

“It’s alright,” she says, nodding reassuringly at Merlin. “You go, I can continue with this.”

“You’re sure?”

But there is nothing, nothing, in Merlin’s illegal spellbooks. Gwen pours over them until the shadows change, and finally decides that they’ll just have to hope Gaius has found or remembered something general, perhaps some sort of catch-all cure for harmless curses. There are worse people to be stuck as, but Gwen would rather have her own body back eventually.

Closing the book, she looks around at Arthur’s chambers. It’s odd, being allowed in here with no risk of scandal. She could do whatever she liked. Not that she hasn’t been in here before, but, well. They always have to be careful, she always needs to have a reason for it. She certainly couldn’t just sit as she is now, not yet.

Gwen flushes, her cheeks burning, and checks herself.

She wanders over to the looking glass, where Merlin stares back at her. Yes, she thinks, there are far worse people with whom Gwen could be experiencing this switch. Merlin is kind and lovely, for one, and if worse comes to worst she won’t mind walking around with his face quite so much. It is, after all, a very nice face.

Gwen reaches up a hand and fiddles with Merlin’s hair, scrutinising herself. She tilts her chin up and to the side, then nods. She can survive living as a handsome man, she’s sure of it. And Merlin is handsome. She’s always thought so. In a different way to Arthur, yes, but it wasn’t Arthur who first caught her eye, was it? She smiles a little at her reflection.

Oh, but this is terrible. This is so, so terrible, and Gwen can’t be thinking this, it isn’t right. She curls her hands into tight fists, tucking them behind her back, and sways forward on Merlin’s feet. But she doesn’t move away from the mirror.

She shouldn’t. She absolutely shouldn’t, but Merlin did say he didn’t care, and it’s not like she wants to do anything ever so bad. It’s not even anything she hasn’t done before. She presses her lips together, and then, before she can talk herself out of it, raises her hand to them. They’re soft. Gwen has to stop.

Would Arthur keep courting her? It’s not a question she should be asking herself, not when there’s still plenty of time to find themselves a solution, but her mind’s run away with it now and she can’t help wondering. She thinks he would, but that would be terrible for Merlin, wouldn’t it? It would be the worst sort of agony. She couldn’t do that to him.

A horrible sick feeling overtakes her gut, and the mirror suddenly splinters in half with a CRACK. It shatters in pieces on the floor, but not before Gwen sees Merlin’s eyes burn gold, and not before she feels energy rush from head to toe and out her fingers. She’s goes stock still.

“Oh, god,” says Gwen, and doubles over. “Oh no, oh no, oh no.”

She gasps, arms and legs tingling, and stares at the evidence on the floor. Oh, she wishes it hadn’t happened. She wishes it was a few moments ago, wishes the mirror were whole again—

In an instant, the pieces float into the air and join together, and then the mirror settles itself back on the hook. Gwen is going to be sick.

“Oh, Merlin,” says Gwen, aloud, and covers her mouth. She’s not sure what she feels —shock, horror, fear — but most of all she knows that this is not hers. It feels just like Merlin’s body does: comfortable and sure of itself, a little clumsy in Gwen’s hands, but so clearly at ease that it could never have existed anywhere else. It also, to Gwen’s surprise, feels nice.

She stares at Merlin’s face in the mirror, at the terror in his eyes, and realises that this might have been what she were really looking at, had she found out some other way. Because Merlin must be scared— he must be, he lives in Camelot. Fear for Merlin abruptly consumes her fear of anything else.

With no idea why it’s happening now instead of earlier, Gwen looks sharply at the door to make sure no one’s seen her, and it bolts itself shut on its own. A chair rushes up and knocks the back of her knees so she can sit down, Arthur’s window opens to let in a cool summer breeze. Gwen doesn’t ask for any of it, she doesn’t even consciously want any of it, but it comes to her anyway, like all it wants is to make her life easier.

Terribly, terribly glad of the chair, Gwen buries her face in her hands. Her father died because of magic, but this isn’t at all what Gwen thought it would be like. Even through her haze she can be glad that it’s happened like this; she doesn’t think she could have known, otherwise.

But, god, Merlin. She gets to her feet, because she has to find him, has to talk to him right now, not least because if she’s not careful, she might not have a body to trade back with him.

*

Morgana is likely to be wanting a riding companion at this time of day, so Gwen hurries to her chambers in the hopes they haven’t left yet. She bangs on the door more loudly and more frantically than she normally would, and hopes she can pass it off as Merlin’s usual loudness.

“Whatever is the matter?” demands Morgana, and Gwen looks desperately at Merlin (who, to be honest, is looking over the tea-set with equal desperation) and says:

“I need to talk to Gwen.”

Morgana arches an eyebrow. “About what?”

“About—” Gwen can feel it building up in her again, fuelling and fuelled by her own anxiety, and twitches her fingers. “Dinner. It’s important. Arthur’s in a right mood, and, well, you know, Gwen’s just so much better at this sort of thing than me.”

Morgana’s eyebrows twitch together, and she cocks her head a little to the side.

“Alright,” she says, slowly. “But are you sure you’re alright, Merlin? You don’t quite look like yourself.”

“Fine!” cries Gwen, and grabs Merlin as soon as she can, yanking him past Morgana and shoving him down the corridor. “Back in a moment, my lady!”

Merlin tries to give Morgana a quick parting bow, panics and curtsies instead, and then trips over his hem. Gwen resists the urge to facepalm, which is made much easier by whatever is trying to leap out of her bloodstream, and drags him into an alcove a little down the corridor. She draws the tapestry closed to hide them, and not a moment too soon.

“What?” asks Merlin, and Gwen bursts into flame.

Merlin yelps, jumping backwards, and his eyes go very wide in Gwen’s face. He pales. “Oh, god,” he says, and Gwen gestures wildly about.

“It keeps happening,” she cries, and Merlin runs his hand through his hair. Bits of lavender fall down around his feet.

“You keep setting yourself on fire?” he demands, and Gwen just stops herself from smacking him again, but only out of concern that she’ll set him alight too.

“And other things!” she cries, and Merlin gulps.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay, this is fine. Just, um. Take a breath.”

Gwen glares and Merlin panics even more. “Okay, okay!” he says again. “Think of water.”

Gwen tries to think of the water pump in the city centre, but is distracted a little by her sleeves catching alight. She squeezes her eyes shut and remembers when the lower town flooded last summer, how the water dripped in through Gwen’s roof and snuck under the doors and how half of her belongings ended up replaced. A cooling sensation runs up and down her arms, and when she opens them, everything is unburnt and whole once more.

Merlin leans his head back against the wall with a great, huge sigh. Then he goes pale and stiff and looks as though he expects Gwen to drag him to the king by the ear. Gwen bursts into tears.

“Gwen!” says Merlin, startled, and Gwen flaps her hand at him.

“You never told me,” she cries, wiping hastily at her cheeks, and Merlin gulps. His hands hover uncertainly near her elbows, like he wants to take hold but can’t bring himself to. “This is you, isn’t it? It’s because I’m you.”

Merlin nods.

“If it helps,” he says, “I really did not know this was how it worked.”

Gwen laughs in spite of herself, a sharp little huff falling out of her mouth. Merlin grips her elbows.

“It’s alright,” she says, sniffing. “It’s alright, Merlin, I promise. I won’t say anything.”

Merlin sags. “Really?”

She nods. “Really. I’m just so— so scared—”

Merlin’s face creases in on itself, eyebrows drawing together and oh so much pain behind his eyes, and Gwen starts crying again, tears rolling over her cheeks.

“Gwen, Gwen,” says Merlin, and takes her face in his hands. He strokes at her cheeks, looking pained. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but I swear it won’t hurt you.”

“Promise?” asks Gwen, a little shakily, and his face creases up. She wants it to be a joke, but she is scared, she’s really, really scared. Merlin furrows his brow, looking at her intently.

“I swear,” he says, holding her steady. “The magic is me, Gwen. I could never hurt you.”

Gwen closes her eyes and nods, and then drapes herself over Merlin’s shoulders. It’s different to usual, obviously, and she wishes more than anything that she could have the reassurance of his arms, the familiar sensation of her head tucked underneath his. He squeezes his arms tight around her waist and she finally pulls away, wiping at her eyes.

“Alright?” asks Merlin cautiously, and Gwen nods.

“Yeah. Oh, Merlin.”

He blushes, looking away. “Sorry.”

She grabs his hands. “No, don’t be. I’m sorry. I never thought to ask, I never noticed—”

“I was sort of trying to keep it that way,” says Merlin sheepishly, and Gwen squeezes his hands. He entwines his fingers with hers and sighs. “This is bad, actually. I figured I could probably put us right if no easier solution turned up, but if you’ve got my magic… we really need Gaius to find a solution.”

“You don’t think I could try?” asks Gwen, and Merlin pulls a face.

“You could,” he said, “but magic is… hard. Kind of. Something like this would be, anyway. I wouldn’t want us to get stuck permanently.”

Gwen nods, and licks her lips. “Erm,” she says, and darts a nervous look at the tapestry. She peeks out through it, and, satisfied that there’s no one to overhear, carries on. “Do you think I could— could I do some magic?”

Merlin’s eyebrows raise, and she hurries to explain herself. “I just mean,” she says, blushing, “it sort of feels like it— like it wants to be used. I keep doing things by accident anyway, and I don’t want to set anything on fire again.”

“Okay,” says Merlin, and smiles. It pulls at his mouth and Gwen mirrors it, even though it’s not his usual lovely grin. “Um, yeah.”

He turns her hands over in his, cupping them together and supporting them with his own. His cheeks are dark and he looks nervous, and Gwen loves him so very, very much. Merlin could never be bad, could never hurt her or Arthur, and with the magic itself being so bubbly, so intoxicating and right, Gwen thinks it might even be good.

“Just think of what you want it to do,” Merlin says, stroking his thumbs over her palms. Gwen does, closing her eyes and letting it flow through her, and it’s Merlin. It’s so wholly Merlin that she could never have mistaken it for anything else.

A rose unfurls itself in Gwen’s palm and she wonders at it, the red petals so soft against her skin. Merlin frowns at it, looking curious, and darts his eyes back up to Gwen.

Something blooms in Gwen’s heart, a fancy that rooted itself there years ago, and Merlin’s face looks like he can see it within her, like he understands the rose and what it means.

“Gwen,” he says, choked, and Gwen can’t, because of Arthur, but—

She wants to. She really, really wants to.

“Merlin,” says Gwen, and Merlin licks his lips, and it doesn’t matter that they’re wearing each other’s faces. She can still see Merlin behind her own face, she can still feel Merlin in this alcove with her, and— and Merlin is in love with Arthur, but he loves her too, Gwen knows he does, and Gwen loves them both something awful, and maybe if only Arthur cold be persuaded—

The tapestry tears itself apart and they both jump, flapping about almost as much as the curtains themselves. A little shriek escapes Gwen’s mouth, but there’s no one there. Just a long empty corridor and a rush of cold air.

Oh, thinks Gwen, hand on her heart. Magic again.

Merlin sags against the wall, scrubbing at his face, and huffs.

“I should go with Morgana,” he says, and Gwen nods.

“Right,” she says. “Yes. I’ll see you later?”

He clasps her hand quickly and Gwen watches him retreat, glad that at least her hair still looks good. She might need to take in her dress, though, because it’s bunching a little around the hips. This could not be less important.

Gwen glances down at the rose and tucks it into her scarf, thinking to herself that this day cannot possibly be over soon enough.

Chapter Text

Just once, thinks Arthur. Just once, he’d like to have a normal week. He hasn’t even had breakfast yet.

It’s not every day Gwen bursts into his rooms in her night-gown, and even less so that she enters yelling frantically about magic.

“Guinevere,” says Arthur, and takes her hands in his. She jerks away, a look of utter horror crossing her face, and leans back as far as she possibly can. Arthur’s a little offended— his morning breath isn’t that bad.

“Sire,” says Gwen, with real desperation in her voice, “I am not. Gwen.”

Arthur lets go, unsure what’s gotten into her but knowing it can’t be good. She takes a deep, shuddering breath and runs a hand through her hair, her robe falling open with the motion, Arthur abruptly hopes no one saw her on her way to his room. She looks very pretty, and all, but the last thing he needs is someone calling for their marriage. He’d rather not rush the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

This is when Merlin enters.

He bursts through Arthur’s door with a rapid knock (which is unusual enough), his eyes big and huge in his face and his sleep shirt hanging loosely around his neck because apparently no one in Camelot is getting dressed today. Merlin sees Gwen and claps a hand over his mouth.

“You!” shrieks Merlin, rather dramatically, and thrusts a finger at her. Arthur instinctively tries to tug Gwen behind him.

“Oh,” says Gwen, after a moment, her lips shiny and pink. “Gwen?!”

Merlin nods and she pales.

“I can explain,” placates Gwen, holding out her hands as Merlin crosses over, looking almost as crazed as Gwen herself, his eyes all wide and bright, and then Merlin whacks her hard on the arm.

“Merlin!” cries Arthur, aghast, and catches his wrist. Merlin flushes bright red and for the first time in Arthur’s life he hears Gwen swear, clutching her arm and hopping on the spot.

“I can explain!” she yells, looking betrayed. “Ow, Gwen!”

They stare at her, waiting, and dark spots appear in Gwen’s cheeks. She darts a nervous look at Merlin. “Alright, so maybe I can’t—”

Automatically, Arthur squeezes tight around Merlin’s wrist. He doesn’t think he’s going to hit her again, but still. He never thought Merlin would.

Merlin glances down at Arthur’s hand, his muscles relaxing under Arthur’s touch. He sighs, laying his own hand on top of Arthur’s and looking at him with this— this face.

Arthur blinks. Merlin squeezes his hand and turns to Gwen. “I didn’t even think, I’m sorry. Are you hurt?”

Gwen tuts, rubbing her arm. “It’s fine,” she grumbles, extra sulkily. “But it’s not my fault. I woke up like this!”

“As did I!” cries Merlin, and mercifully releases his hold on Arthur. He sticks both his hands out in front of him. “And now I’m you!”

Arthur doesn’t know what’s going on, but he knows enough to know he doesn’t like it.

“What the hell are you both talking about?” demands Arthur, and the pair of them shut up immediately. It’s quite gratifying, actually; usually Merlin doesn’t shut up for anything. Merlin reaches out and tugs Gwen’s robe closed, and Gwen flushes a deep purple.

“Sorry,” she says, holding it closed over her chest. Merlin looks anxiously between her and Arthur and bites on his lip.

“Um,” he says. “Right, so, yes— I’m Gwen? Guinevere, I mean. You know that. But I just—well, I’m Merlin. Also. Um. I’m in Merlin’s body, I mean. But I’m— I’m definitely Gwen, I’m sure of it.”

Here, he puts hand to his mouth, fingers splayed across his lips, and Arthur catches on it, because it’s a move he’s seen Gwen make a thousand times in the moment before chewing on her thumbnail. It’s as Arthur realises this that Merlin does the same himself, and Arthur’s planned retort vanishes even if the idea is absurd.

He rubs at his eyebrow. It’s very early, and he’s also contending with the aforementioned lack of breakfast. “You two do know it’s not Misrule, right?”

“She’s right,” says Gwen miserably, fiddling with her sleeves. Arthur stares. “I woke up and I was Gwen, but I’m actually Merlin. In Gwen’s body, that is.”

Arthur’s stupid, traitorous mind looks instinctively at the body in question before he snaps his gaze back up. Now is not the time. He looks over at Merlin again, at his stance and way of holding himself, and admits that it does look a little off.

“Nonsense,” says Arthur, but a bit less sure of himself than he was before. He jerks his hand at Merlin. “Come here.”

Merlin does, but not without glancing quickly at Gwen. He steps forward and Arthur inspects him, trying to determine whether there could be any truth in the claim. It wouldn’t be totally out of the ordinary for he and Gwen to play a joke, but they usually confine themselves to smaller, less obvious affairs. He also doesn’t really see what the point would be.

Arthur squints and looks deeply into Merlin’s eyes. He knows Merlin very well, after all, and there is something a little odd about the way his eyebrows are pulling together and his eyes are pleading, but he could just be trying really, really hard. He frowns and looks at Gwen.

She meets his gaze with a fierce, blazing look, almost daring. It invites an electric thrill of understanding that Arthur has only ever known from one person, and he feels his face contort in disbelief.

“Merlin?” he demands, and Gwen – Merlin – beams.

“You recognise me!” he cries, from behind Gwen’s face. Arthur feels oh so terribly ill. Merlin – Gwen – puts Merlin’s hand on Arthur’s arm and sags in relief.

“Oh, thank god,” says Merlin’s voice, leaning against Arthur. Arthur is— Arthur does not know what to do with this. If he doesn’t look, then he can admit that the squeeze to his arm is reassuring, and a very familiar Gwen gesture, but— you know. It’s Merlin.

“Right,” says Arthur, a little choked. “So, this is— what is this, exactly?”

“No idea,” says Merlin brightly, as Gwen echoes the sentiment. “I just woke up and I was Gwen.”

“The same for me,” says Gwen, and steps away from Arthur with one last squeeze to his arm. She peers at Merlin, tilting her head. “Except that I woke up as Merlin, obviously.”

“Obviously,” repeats Arthur, faintly. “Great. Wonderful. I assume we can blame sorcery for this.”

“I mean, yeah,” says Merlin. “Pretty sure this doesn’t happen without magic. I was going to talk to Gaius, but, I dunno. I thought if sorcery was being used in Camelot there was a good chance you’d be affected by it too, so I came here.”

“And I didn’t know where you were,” says Gwen to Merlin. “Or, where I was, I suppose. This really is strange, isn’t it?”

They stare at each other for a moment, caught like stars in each other’s orbits, and Arthur feels nauseous. Merlin shakes himself out of it.

“Right,” he says. “Well, now that we know Arthur’s not affected, I guess it’s not really so dire. I’ll go and ask Gaius about it, he might know what’s caused it. Maybe the fifteenth day of Summer is cursed, or something.”

“Wait,” says Gwen, and grabs his arm. “You can’t go out like that.”

Merlin glances down at Gwen’s nightdress and flushes. “Oh, right,” he says, with a nervous look at Arthur, and an apologetic one at Gwen. “No, you’re right, I just—”

He angles his body away from Arthur, though it does a fat lot of good at obscuring his next words. “I didn’t want to, y’know. Invade your privacy. By getting dressed.”

Gwen flushes as well, turning Merlin’s cheeks a bright, becoming pink. A bright pink. Good lord. “I’ll get you some clothes,” she says, and squeezes his wrist. “Um— I mean, can I— can I get dressed?”

“Oh, yeah,” says Merlin, and Gwen turns even darker. “That’s fine.”

“Great!” she says, after a moment. “Um— stay here.”

She hurries out, and now Arthur is left with Merlin, in the body of his girlfriend, in his girlfriend’s nightdress, standing in the middle of Arthur’s room. Where Arthur is also not dressed. Maybe it is a dastardly plot against Arthur after all.

Merlin rocks forward on his feet. “So,” he says. “Did you want to get dressed?”

Arthur buries his head in his hands and considers throwing himself out the window. “I swear,” he says, “if this is a joke—”

“It’s not a joke!” protests Merlin, dropping his grip on the robe. It falls open again, and Arthur is trying, he is, but he’s been trained to pay attention to the slightest movement and his eyes keep going places without him wanting them to. He covers his eyes with his hand. “I really am Merlin!”

“I haven’t even had breakfast,” moans Arthur. Merlin makes a consoling hum.

“We could at least get you dressed,” he offers. Arthur thinks about how likely he is to survive Gwen’s fingers dancing across his body without endangering either his life or his dignity, and promptly dismisses the notion. Merlin’s suggestion that Gwen help him is even worse.

“I’ll manage,” says Arthur, and is saved from saying anything further by Gwen’s return.

*

Given the way the day started, Arthur knows he shouldn’t be surprised when the rest of it turns out similarly awful, but he is. And it really is awful.

There’s Merlin flouncing about in Gwen’s body, doing a horrendously good imitation of her and her manner of speaking, and Arthur finds himself staring at him every time he has the misfortune to see him, wondering how the hell he’s doing it. He knows that they’re friends, but really. This is absurd.

Not to mention it’s— it’s doing something. To him. Because. Well. There are things. There are things that Arthur thinks and feels, and some of them are not very becoming for a prince. He likes Guinevere very much, loves her, even, because Gwen is kind and wise and funny and beautiful. Merlin is an idiot who talks back and makes Arthur’s life hell. Even if Arthur wanted— well. It doesn’t matter, does it, because he’s courting Guinevere and very happy about it and would never dream of doing her a disservice.

Merlin comes and tidies Arthur’s rooms to get him ready for a meeting, and Arthur watches him look out from behind Gwen’s eyes and wants to kill himself.

“It’s something about his brother, I think,” says Merlin idly, “He wants to get him a job here, he was telling Sir Erec about it on Monday. I don’t know why, I’m sure they’ve got loads of pompous prats in Willowdale he could serve instead.”

Arthur blinks at him, trying to reconcile such a Merlin sort of speech with the actual person in front of him, and wonders if Gwen might give him more dressing downs if he asks her. He doesn’t know what this says about him and refuses to think about it further.

Spending time with Guinevere is no better, not least because Arthur has to keep talking to her through Merlin’s face. It’s distinctly unnerving. At the very least her constant walking into things is an amusing interpretation of Merlin’s ineptitude, but it’s made considerably less funny by the fact that he doesn’t think she means to do it. She keeps making Merlin’s face do things, and Merlin keeps talking back to him in Gwen’s voice, and now Arthur does not know which way is up at all. It’s horrific.

He does his best to stay out of their way, which is no mean feat when they decide to hole up in his chambers (His chambers! His! Like they own the place!), but at least the extra hours he puts in at the training field help him screw his head back on. He feels almost normal by mid-afternoon (no thanks to Gwen, who made him help Merlin down from a horse, which surely counts as treason. They’re in this together, he’s sure of it).

Now, Gwen is pacing back and forth by the window, worrying Merlin’s thumb between her teeth. Arthur thinks about trying to comfort her, and then decides he’d rather die. Lead him not into temptation, and all that.

But Arthur is a knight and very brave, so the resolution lasts hardly a minute.

“We’ll sort this out,” says Arthur, awkwardly broaching the silence, and Gwen stops her pacing. She looks at him with such a familiar expression that he can’t help himself, and he reaches for her. He’s never clasped Gwen on the shoulder before, and she seems to think it’s funny; a sparkle takes root in her eyes and a smile pulls at her mouth.

“I know,” she says. “It’s just— oh, it’s just so complicated.”

She puts her hand on Arthur’s and he jerks instinctively, because he and Merlin don’t— they don’t. If he’s not careful Gwen will know, and every person Arthur’s ever met has taken care to tell him that ladies don’t like it when their suitor’s affections are divided. Gwen flushes, and her fingers twitch on top of his.

“Sorry,” she says, dropping her hand, and Arthur swallows. She looks disappointed; Arthur really is terrible.

“No,” he says, “No, it’s alright.”

He reaches out and curls his fingers around hers, lifting Merlin’s hand between them. The action is stiff but sincere, and he’s rewarded when Gwen smiles at him. Merlin’s hand is very warm. Arthur could have gone an entire lifetime without that knowledge, and he thinks again that this is clearly a rival kingdom’s attempt at destroying his wits.

Gwen tilts her head and puts her free hand on his face. A muscle jumps in his jaw.

“Guinevere,” says Arthur quietly, but she leaves her hand there. She’s looking at him, something wonderous dawning in her eyes, which is not what ladies are supposed to do upon realising, and she opens her mouth to say something when Merlin bursts in and the two of them jump apart like something scalded.

“Solved it!” cries Merlin, delighted, and brandishes two bits of string at their faces. Arthur pulls a face.

“Solved what?”

“The spell,” says Merlin, in his usual Arthur-is-an-idiot voice. He crosses over to Gwen and ties one of the strings around the hand not currently pressed against her forehead. Merlin laughs.

“Yeah, it’s embarrassing,” he says, and Arthur once again has to interrupt their little best friends club to remind them of his existence.

“What are those?” he asks, as Merlin struggles to tie his own string. He’s so inept that it’s embarrassing; Arthur takes it and does it for him.

“Friendship bracelets,” says Merlin, because of course he does. “Gwen and I brought them at the market on Wednesday. I did think the vendor looked a bit druid-y.”

He pales and looks at Arthur. “Not, er, that I think they did it on purpose. I’m sure it’s fine. Honestly, I probably made them worse—”

He shuts his mouth and Arthur does what he always does, which is pretend Merlin just said absolutely nothing. He snaps the bracelet against Merlin’s wrist. “So they’re the cause of the enchantment?”

Merlin nods, brightening considerably. “Yep! Gaius says it’s a simple fix, too. We just have to kiss!”

Arthur rears back. “We have to what?”

Merlin stares at him. “Not you and me,” he says. “Me and Gwen.”

“Oh,” says Arthur, and clears his throat. “Right. Of course.”

“Thank god,” says Gwen, a look of great relief on her features. Her shoulders sag and she presses the hand that was fiddling with her collar to her breast, looking so terribly Gwen that it hurts. “Not that— not that I don’t like being you, Merlin, but— I’d so much rather be me again. I thought it would be something awful.”

“That’s very kind of you to say,” says Arthur, with an attempt at sounding like himself, and sits himself down on the table. Merlin rolls his eyes, looking petulant.

“It’s not like we haven’t done it before,” he says tetchily, and Arthur feels his eyebrows climb high up on his head.

“What?” he says.

Merlin says, “What?”

“You just said you and Guinevere have kissed,” says Arthur, and Merlin blinks.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did,” says Arthur, not quite sure why his voice sounds so horribly strained. Gwen, clearly interpreting Arthur’s horrible, awful feelings, grimaces and steps forward, putting Merlin’s gangly form between the two of them. It does not help.

“It was a long time ago,” she admits, her hands held up placatingly, even though Arthur’s not sure he needs placating, exactly. “Before you had even begun to look at me that way, and it was just the once. You don’t need to be all, erm, you know. Jealous about it.”

“I’m not jealous,” says Arthur instantly. He’s not. At least, he doesn’t think he is. Arthur runs his tongue over his teeth, looking from her earnest expression to Merlin’s one of hopeful confidence, and is forced to admit that he’s definitely something.

“Why didn’t I know about this?” he demands, and Gwen raises her eyebrows.

“Because it’s none of your business?”

Arthur opens and closes his mouth.

“Right,” he says, folding his arms. “Yes. Of course. None of my business.”

Gwen nods, lips pressed together and looking eerily like herself for someone whose consciousness is sandwiched between Merlin’s ears. She pats him on the chest.

“Right,” she says. “Well, we might as well get on with it, then, if it’s really so simple. Come here, Merlin.”

Arthur is— Arthur wants— hm. He squirms uncomfortably as Gwen takes Merlin’s hand, which is her own hand, because Arthur’s life is awful, and as Gwen – Merlin, it’s Merlin – puts his hand on Gwen’s neck, which is Merlin’s neck, and honestly Arthur doesn’t really care who’s who anymore. A sunbeam has chosen this moment to burst through the window behind them. Merlin tips his chin up to look at Gwen.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, looking a bit red. “There might be another way—"

“Of course,” says Gwen, as something wordless passes between them. He squeezes her hand. “I trust you.”

And then they— they— hm.

Arthur’s quite glad of the light show, actually. It makes him feel like they’re really doing something, and it helps underscore that this is for pure necessity rather than anything else. He suddenly wonders why on earth he had to be here. They could have done this by themselves, surely. Arthur doesn’t need to see this.

They do, he admits, look very pretty surrounded by the gentle, golden mist, and the little sparkles that settle on both their shoulders seem to make them glow like something ethereal. They pull apart with a smacking sound, sunlight catching on the spit-string connecting them, which is definitely disgusting and not at all breathtaking. Merlin has dipped her.

“Huh,” says Gwen, in her own voice. Her hand is resting on Merlin’s chest, her thumb lightly stroking against his brown jacket, and Merlin’s hands are firm around her waist.

“Hi,” says Merlin, a bit dumbly. Arthur undergoes the uncomfortable realisation that his girlfriend is about to leave him for his manservant. Merlin tucks a bit of hair behind her ear, fingers leaving a shimmer of gold in their wake, and Gwen beams. Arthur knows that smile, knows before she does that she’s going to lean in again, the corners of her mouth pulled up in delight, and then they both freeze and spin their heads around to look at Arthur. It’s almost comical.

Arthur rests his weight even more solidly on the table. “No, no, don’t let me stop you,” he says, and waves his hand. “Go ahead.”

“Arthur,” says Gwen, and she finally steps away from Merlin. She’s entirely too reluctant about it for Arthur’s tastes, but seeing her spark of life behind the correct eyes does go a long way to cheering him up, as does the adoration in them. Merlin clenches and unclenches his hands once they’ve slipped off Gwen’s waist. Arthur feels faint.

“Um,” Merlin says, and draws his bottom lip between his teeth. His cheeks are pink and his skin is bright, and Arthur closes his eyes to keep from looking.

“It’s fine,” Arthur says, and gestures vaguely with his hand again. “You’ll be very happy together, I’m sure.”

“Ar-thur,” says Gwen again, laughing, and she takes a hold of his arm, leaning in close and filling the air with the scent of lavender. Merlin makes a gagging sound.

“Eurgh, you sound just like him,” he says, and Arthur kicks out blindly, rewarded when Merlin yelps, “Ow! What is wrong with you two?”

Arthur finally peels open his eyes. Gwen is looking at him like he’s an idiot, which is not an unfamiliar expression, and Merlin looks like his birthday’s come early. He’s rocking forward eagerly on his feet. Both of them look like they’ve realised something Arthur really didn’t want them to; is he really this obvious?

“Oh, get on with it,” grumbles Arthur, and Merlin takes Gwen’s face between both his hands and kisses her, drawing a lovely pleased hum from somewhere deep within her chest. Her hands are still wrapped round Arthur’s arm. This is awful. Merlin pulls away from her and beams.

“Better than when I was dying?” asks Merlin, and Gwen smiles her lovely smile, all pink and loved-up and glowing.

“Much,” she says, and tucks herself back into Arthur’s side. She kisses his cheek, and her body is a hot, delightful line where it presses against him. Arthur wishes he were dead.

“I’m sure Merlin will kiss you too, if you ask,” whispers Gwen, and Arthur chokes on thin air.

“I don’t,” he starts, looking everywhere but at them. “Merlin— Merlin isn’t— Merlin?”

He chances a look at him; Merlin is very red, but he lifts his shoulders in a sheepish sort of way, not quite looking at Arthur. “Can’t be worse than Gwen,” he says.

Gwen whacks him on the back. There are stars in Arthur’s eyes and between his ears. A swarm of bumblebees have taken root in his chest.

“My father is going to kill me,” mumbles Arthur, looking away. His face feels very hot. “It was bad enough when he thought I was only in love with one servant.”

A horribly warm feeling overtakes him like a springtime breeze, and Merlin shuffles closer. Good lord, thinks Arthur. These dreadful feelings of his are actually returned, aren’t they? He looks down at where Merlin’s toes are nearly touching Arthur’s, and feels with renewed strength the way Gwen’s fingers are solid and steady where they wrap around his bicep. She doesn’t look nearly as put out as Arthur thinks she should upon finding out that Arthur likes Merlin just as well. If anything she looks delighted.

“I mean,” says Merlin. “I wasn’t going to tell him.”

“Shut up, Merlin,” says Arthur, and finally looks at him. “Go on, then.”

“Gwen said you had to ask.”

“I swear, Merlin—”

“What?” Merlin grins, looking utterly too pleased with himself, pink high in his cheeks and eyes bright. “What do you swear?”

Arthur glares at him, his mouth pulled into a scowl and a horrible fire trying to take hold of his face, and Merlin, the irritant, just keeps grinning at him.

“Fine,” snaps Arthur, and grabs his stupid, ratty neckerchief. “Fine.”

He tugs him in and kisses him and Merlin squeaks. Gwen gasps. It’s not nearly as awful as Arthur thought it was going to be. Merlin’s hand claps against Arthur’s cheek and he surges forward a little, his mouth pressing against Arthur’s, and Arthur is taking back whatever he said about the body-swapping, actually. This is brilliant. This is the best thing that’s ever happened to Arthur in his life. Merlin grabs at his shoulders and Gwen says oh my in this tiny little voice, and Arthur pulls away with the same wonderful satisfaction he gets when he’s just bested everyone in a tournament.

To his great delight, Merlin takes about three seconds too long to get his eyes open. He licks the lips Arthur’s just kissed, his mouth red and shiny and quiet, for once.

“Right,” Merlin says, eventually. “So, that’s. Yep.”

Arthur smirks. “Lost for words, Merlin? Finally realised that I actually am the bravest, most charming knight in all the kingdom, and handsome to boot? I can’t blame you, though I’ve certainly been aware of it—”

“Ohhh,” says Gwen, with the air of one who’s just answered a long held question. “Merlin, sweetheart, he’s flirting.”

In answer, Arthur snakes an arm around her waist and pulls her close, delighted at the way it turns her cheeks rosy. She puts her hand on his chest, right beside his heart, and they haven’t stood like this before, not ever. Being in love is so terribly awful. He kisses her as well for good measure, slow and careful, and her mouth is gentle and familiar and soft. Merlin kicks at his shin.

“How come I didn’t get any of that?”

“Are you complaining?” asks Arthur, and Merlin opens and closes his mouth. He crosses his arms.

“No.”

Gwen laughs. She lets go of Arthur and grabs Merlin’s hands, pulling him close. “Here,” she says, and kisses Merlin just as sweetly, almost as if she’s passing on the message. Arthur swallows again. Merlin’s hand looks huge where it cups her face, and Gwen’s fingers look just right carding through his hair.

“Alright,” Arthur says uncomfortably, but they ignore him. Arthur’s not sure why, he is the prince, they ought to be attuned to him, and yet still Gwen is being pulled further and further away from him, almost swooning in Merlin’s arms like she can’t quite get her fill. Arthur abruptly wonders about their aforementioned kiss, and whether it was kisses plural. Her fingers clench a little tighter in Merlin’s hair and something similar clenches in Arthur’s gut. “Oi!”

They pull apart. Gwen looks dazed.

“Oh, Merlin,” she says, as Arthur looks on in disbelief. Merlin kisses her mouth again. This is terrible. Arthur can’t stop looking at their arms and their bodies and how utterly pleased with themselves they are. Why on earth do they get to wrap themselves in each other? Merlin snickers.

“Arthur’s getting jealous,” he murmurs into Gwen’s temple, as if Arthur isn’t right bloody there, having both the worst and greatest day of his life. This is agony. This is everything. Nobody ever told him he could have both.

“It’s good for him,” teases Gwen, and Arthur can tell this is what they’re going to be like now, can tell that their horrible, lovely friendship is only going to get more obnoxiously lovely with this element added to it. He knows this just as well as he knows that he’s the poor bastard who’s going to witness it, and he feels not nearly sorry enough about it as he should.

“Shut up, the pair of you,” grumbles Arthur, and decides that as soon as it hits first light tomorrow, he’s sending an envoy to every corner of the kingdom in search of a sorcerer willing to grant him two heads. No one will ever take him seriously again, but at least he’ll die happy.

He crosses the floor to them, slings an arm around Merlin’s shoulders and kisses Gwen’s hand. Twin flushes take up residence in their cheeks, so at least that’s something he can cling to. He thinks idly about the current throne room, about his and his father’s and Morgana’s chairs lined up next to one another, and wonders if Morgana might one day be convinced to vacate hers for something else.

It’s not a daydream, obviously. It’s a plan. Worst comes to worst, Arthur can have another throne built, but they might even be fine with sharing; clearly they’re all very good at it.

Putting the thought out of his mind, Arthur returns his attention to Merlin and Gwen, because daydreams are only daydreams so long as they don’t come true, and Arthur has every intention of seeing that it does.