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Chapter Text

Oblivious to the fate that awaited him, Arthur whistled as he approached the front door of the ground-floor flat that he shared with Merlin. His sense of anticipation had nothing to do with upcoming events, for which he was not at all prepared. No, if he had even the tiniest inkling about his upcoming ordeal, he would have picked up his trainers and sprinted away to spend several weeks in the countryside until everything had settled down, perhaps staying with his sister Morgana and her husband, Leon, even if it meant tolerating her snide remarks, because Leon was a treasure, and probably could do with someone to go down to the local pub with, to get away from Morgana's sharp tongue, and so Arthur would be doing a public service, really. 

But no, there he was, oblivious to the doom that awaited him, whistling, feeling nothing but a rising optimism about the next few hours – an optimism that was wholly related to the bag of groceries he’d just picked up from Marks and Spencer, and the lanky Welshman he intended to share it with. The vegan sweet potato katsu curry would do nicely for Merlin while Arthur would tuck into his own, more carnivorous version. Bang on cue, his stomach gurgled at the thought. Not that there was anything wrong with the vegan one, mind. It was just that Arthur enjoyed arguing with Merlin about it far more than he liked to let on. It was just one of their many points of disagreement over the months since they had become flatmates, and if pressed, which he never was, except by Morgana, Arthur would probably admit that he enjoyed sharing a flat with Merlin far more than he’d ever enjoyed living on his own. 

What he wouldn’t admit, not even to himself, not even in the middle of the night, was that his feelings for Merlin were beginning to go far further than one would ordinarily expect of one flatmate for another. But it was no use. They would never be reciprocated. They'd never really discussed it, but from the occasional remark about past relationships he was ninety nine percent certain that Merlin was straight. So, all Arthur had to offer in this relationship was a regular investment of hard cash, which Arthur didn’t begrudge. Not if it meant he could use his position as the bankroller in this scenario to keep an eye on things and stop Merlin from being taken in by every implausible charlatan claiming to have a magical hard-luck story out there. Someone needed to look after Merlin, after all. 

Pressing his key into the latch, Arthur switched to whistling a tuneless version of Merlin’s least favourite Taylor Swift song, and struggled to stop his grin from making his lips turn up, which would ruin the effect, because it would inhibit both the volume and piercing quality of his whistling. 

“Stop that, I’ve got a customer,” came a call from behind the kitchen door. 

Uh-oh. Hopefully this was not another barmpot like that Cedric bloke who’d come round the previous week. Arthur liked to think of himself as being an open-minded sort of bloke. But the guy had been dressed from head to toe in black feathers. He looked like a deranged crow. Luckily for Merlin, Arthur had sent him packing before he could open his mouth.

Hanging his coat up on the hook by the front door and stepping over a number of ill-matched, scruffy boots (Merlin’s), plus an additional pair of Doc Martens that looked like they’d been chewed by someone’s puppy, Arthur made a cursory effort to stop whistling and went into the kitchen without knocking. 

“Hey!” protested Merlin. “Like I said, I’ve got a customer!” 

“Hi,” said the woman sitting with him, half rising to her feet. She was wearing a tattered hoodie, full of long holes and scratches, and her jeans were torn. Perhaps the half-chewed shoes he fell over on his way into the house were hers also. “I didn’t realise you had a housemate, sorry, I can… we can move to…” 

“Sorry,” said Arthur, curious despite himself, offloading the groceries into the fridge one by one. “Just need to put these in the fridge.” 

“I do apologise for my partner,” said Merlin, prim-lipped and formal. “He can be a little abrupt.” 

“Your partner? Oh, I see,” said the woman, sinking back onto her chair.

“Yes. This is Arthur Pendragon. Arthur, this is Freya. Now, Freya, Arthur is a mundane…” 

“I prefer the term rationalist,” said Arthur, looking up as he scrunched the grocery bags up ready to put them back in the cupboard.

“...mundane,” repeated Merlin, frowning at him, “and he may seem a bit dim—”

“Oi!”

“…but despite his oafish appearance, he brings a surprisingly sharp analytical brain to the case. Sometimes mundane…” 

“...rational…” interrupted Arthur.

“... mundane solutions are the best way to solve even magical customer problems. I’d like you to share your predicament with him, if that’s okay.”

Arthur opened his mouth. 

“He won’t say anything else,” Merlin went on, glaring pointedly. “Will you, Arthur?”

Normally, Arthur would not tolerate being told to shut up. But the woman did look a bit skittish. So Arthur shook his head and made a pretend zipping motion against his mouth as he closed it, resolving to argue the toss with Merlin later, after she'd finished describing her problem. The woman narrowed her eyes to defensive slits, flashing him an appraising glance from beneath her eyelids.

After shoving the grocery bags in the cupboard, Arthur sat down on another one of the kitchen chairs, and shrugged, schooling his expression to neutrality. Just because the poor woman was clearly deluded into thinking that magic was real – she must be, otherwise, why would she seek help from Merlin? – didn’t mean that he should be sarcastic or anything. He had learned to save his more sceptical responses to such situations for another time when he could discuss them in private. 

“Well,” she stuttered, with a sideways look at Arthur. “As I was saying…” 

“Go on,” said Merlin, in a smooth, encouraging voice. At the same time, his foot pressed hard onto the bridge of Arthur’s in warning, making him bite his lip to avoid wincing, because Jesus! How could such a slight slip of a beanpole press down so hard and painfully without - and this was the important bit - without any shoes on ? “You were about to tell me about the curse.”

“How did you—?” She looked up at him, wide-eyed, “I hadn't told you yet—?”

“It’s all right.” Merlin leaned forward to take one of her hands. “You can tell me. I can see it in your aura. The curse, I mean. It’s plain for all with the Sight to see. All angry and pained. So, tell me about it. So that I can help you. What does it feel like?”

Arthur quirked a half smile at the soft burr of Merlin’s voice and shook his head, amazed as always at Merlin’s knack for making people trust him. Merlin would have her eating out of his hand in no time, telling him secrets she didn’t even know about herself. 

“I feel totally out of control,” she bursts out, looking straight at Merlin. “I don’t know what happens, when it comes over me. I lock myself in my room every night, so I don’t hurt anyone. But the next day, my room is shredded.” 

“What do you mean by shredded?” said Merlin, his free hand hovering over his notebook. 

“Just what I say. Like, literally shredded, as if something with nails and teeth has attacked it.” Freya gestured at her torn clothes. 

 “Nails and teeth? Could there be some wild creature gaining entry?” said Arthur, forgetting that he had said he wouldn’t speak. “Or someone’s frustrated pet?” 

Merlin frowned at him and shook his head minutely, but Freya answered anyway.

“No, definitely not,” she said. “All the doors and windows are sealed. It’s the curse, I swear it. The sorceress, she said… she said… I would change every night at midnight. And as far as I tell, that’s what I do. And even if I lock myself in my room…” her voice broke here and she let out a sob, “even then, that just means that all my things are shredded. I have nothing left to wear!” 

Arthur opened his mouth again, but at Merlin’s pointed look, which said, shut up, clotpole, let me handle this, he closed it again. For now, he contented himself with noncommittal humming as she outlined the issue, while Merlin nodded and did his own personal magic, which, if you asked Arthur, not that anyone ever did, had nothing to do with so-called supernatural powers, and everything to do with being able to nod sympathetically at the right time, and say diplomatic things in a deep, reassuring voice with a soft, unidentifiable accent. 

“And who put this curse on you?” said Merlin, eyes warm with sympathy.

“A sorceress,” she whispered. 

“Why do you think she did that?” said Arthur, invested in spite of himself, ignoring the sudden pain in his foot from where Merlin was stamping on it.

“Arthur!” warned Merlin. “Shh.”

“Because, I don’t know, well, I do know. It was… I made a mistake…” 

It took a while for Merlin to untangle Freya’s story through gentle questioning. Freya seemed to be claiming that she went to see a woman, who had kittens for sale. But the woman was keeping the kittens in terrible conditions, and she asked her for more money than she could give, and so, Freya refused to pay. Things might have ended there, but so desperate was Freya for a pet, and so wretched were the conditions under which the cats were being kept, that Freya tried to break in and rescue all the kittens one night. And because of that, the woman cursed her. And since then, Freya transformed every night into a creature with fangs and claws at night, shredding her belongings and clothes, but not harming herself. 

Reading between the lines, Arthur surmised that Freya owed this woman some money. And this woman, spitting out curses, had convinced Freya that she was transforming into an animal in her sleep. Obviously, the woman kept animals, and was now smuggling a ferocious animal of some sort into Freya’s bedroom at night, one that didn’t harm Freya at all, but still managed to wreck all her soft furnishings. It seemed implausible, but less implausible than the idea of a modern-day wise-woman flinging curses. 

“And the worst thing was, I still don’t have a kitten and those poor little things are still there, and I just… I just… I just wish I had a pet, to love me, and to love, something to cuddle, something warm and soft and sweet. I’m so lonely.” Freya stood up, her face still wet with tears, body trembling. “Do you know what I mean?” 

Arthur shifted awkwardly out of his chair, legs scraping noisily on the kitchen floor. A voice in his head, which sounded a lot like his father’s, scoffed and muttered about stiff upper lips and stopping being such a baby. With an effort, and out of force of long habit, instilled in him at home and reinforced at preparatory school, to hide uncomfortable feelings at all costs, he bit back this voice and the accompanying lump that threatened to destabilise his throat. He busied himself with tidying away the mugs.

“Can I use your loo?” Freya was saying, voice still shaky. “To… you know. Clean up.” 

“Oh, you poor thing,” said Merlin, standing close to her. “Look at you in all your tattered clothes and all. Look, of course you can use our loo, and you must get changed, too. I’ll find you a warm hoodie to wear. But first, you need a hug. Come here.” He stretched his arms out wide in invitation. 

She fell gratefully into those noodle arms, and Merlin actually crooned and shushed while he held on to her, his face against the top of her head, hands flat against her back, moving up and down against her almost tenderly, while she cried like a baby. For a moment, Arthur could almost imagine how Freya must feel being hugged like that, with those long fingers gripping her back, describing warm circles one minute, soft vertical movements the next. How her face must feel, buried into the soft fabric of Merlin’s t-shirt, all warm and cosy, inhaling his scent. 

A sudden ugly sense of resentment knotted against the back of Arthur’s throat, sending his jaw into spasm. At a loss, he stood at the sink with his back to them, lips pressed tightly together, rinsing mugs for what seemed like hours, while Merlin murmured comforting noises into her hair and she sobbed against Merlin’s shoulders.

Really, they needed to solve this case as soon as possible.   

“It’s a curse,” Merlin said in a low voice, while she was in the loo. He pulled out a bunch of books from his shelf, seemingly at random. “We need to find out how to lift it. A cure for her.” 

From Arthur’s point of view, the next step should be to figure out how the woman was getting this creature into Freya’s flat, but of course Merlin would immediately jump to the conclusion that Freya was indeed transforming into a creature with fangs and claws at night. 

“It’s most likely some charlatan with a cult following,” said Arthur, keen to deflect Merlin away from his mystic nonsense so they could wrap the case up as quickly as possible. 

But undeterred, Merlin continued with his rifling. Muttering under his breath bizarre phrases like “try Ezaneth’s Transformation Idiom,” and “Ah, yes, Dismaginia’s Metamorphoses ,” or some other nonsense from his arcana, he scrabbled through the books. Between his teeth, he held a pen, which forced his expression into a wide-mouthed grin, unleashing his unfairly distracting dimples. It was Merlin’s favourite pen, some sort of novelty item, which, every so often, Merlin would let go, and it would fall, and of its own volition, start scribbling notes in a notebook that seemed to be able to open and close itself. 

It was a clever piece of sleight of hand, Arthur had to admit. He had not yet fathomed how the system of wires and mirrors that Merlin must be using for this activity worked. He did hope that Merlin was being careful about strong electromagnetic fields. They could be bad for his health. Or damage his laptop.

“Eliminate the impossible, dear Merlin,” drawled Arthur, trying not to get distracted by the pen, or the dimples, because he was gainfully employed in typing into his laptop, as he did an internet search on wounds inflicted by clawed animals. “And whatever is left, however implausible, blah, blah--”

“All right, Sherlock,” said Merlin, pacing around the room. With a casual flick of his hand, he flung another volume into the air and it miraculously landed in its place on a shelf, another one of his tricks. Quite how Merlin managed to be so skillful with shelving books one minute, and so inept with basic tasks like remembering to close the door the next, Arthur would never understand. “I think I’ve found something. Nagrazilla’s Detransmogrifier might do it, but we need to act quickly…” 

“Allelujah.” With a sigh, Arthur closed his laptop and grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair. “I knew you’d come round to my way of thinking. Let’s go. We need to go and investigate Freya’s apartment…” 

The sooner they got that hug-stealing woman out of here, the better. And no, Arthur was not being entirely rational about this, but he really didn’t see why he should put up with people who stole hugs from Merlin. 

“Wait,” said Merlin, clutching his arm and giving Arthur a pointed look. A look that said, stop being such a stubborn, impetuous fool, and think for a minute before diving out of the door. A look that Arthur chose to ignore, because he had a horrible premonition about what would follow on, and it would involve Merlin spending more time with this person than Arthur was prepared to allow.  

“Wait for what?” said Arthur with the requisite amount of patience, which was to say none at all, because the sooner they acted, the sooner she would be gone.

“Well, don’t you think that we should check out her story first? Plus, it’s getting dark. Presumably, she will start to transform soon. And it’s not safe for her at her place. Not with her transforming like that.” 

“She’s not… trans forming, Merlin,” Arthur interrupted, not wanting to let this slide. 

“Oh?” Merlin put his hands on his hips. “So, Lord Sceptical, there’s-a-rational-answer-for-everything Pendragon. Pray, enlighten us, oh great oracle, as to what is happening, then?” 

“Well, obviously that nasty old cat breeder has found out a way of letting something into Freya’s bedroom at night.” 

“Well. In that case, it’s doubly unsafe for her at her place, isn’t it?” said Merlin. 

Damn. Arthur had backed himself into a corner. He should have seen that coming. 

“What are you suggesting?” Arthur felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. He thought he knew what Merlin was going to say, but he was damned if he was going to say it first. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” 

“Not at all!” Arthur folded his arms. 

“Well, obviously,” said Merlin, folding his own arms to mirror Arthur's, and echoing Arthur’s earlier tone of voice, “either way, Freya should stay here, in my room, tonight.”

“Absolutely not.” 

“I haven’t finished speaking! Look, either I’m right, and she’s cursed to transform, in which case she should be here where I can control her environment and keep an eye on her. Or, you’re right, and the sorcerer…”

“Perpetrator!” 

“The… the… witch has found a way to introduce a creature into her bed. In which case, she’ll be far safer here, because how will the witch know where she is?”

“I don’t know, Merlin. What if the perp has put a tracker on her?”

“That’s a risk I’m prepared to take.” Merlin’s mouth set in a stubborn line. “I’m not going to let her face this alone.” 

And that there was the problem with Merlin.The girl obviously didn’t have two pence to her name, if she couldn’t afford to buy a kitten. But Merlin, being the sort of person who couldn’t say no to poor, needy creatures, would take her case anyway. And Arthur would end up going along with it, because he had a terrible weakness for Merlin’s dimples and beseeching looks. It didn’t mean he had to like it, though. 

“So,” Merlin carried on. “She can sleep in my room.” 

“She can not do anything of the sort!” cried Arthur, mind immediately jumping to more of those horrible looking hugs, but this time, happening behind closed doors where he couldn’t put a stop to them. “You will not put yourself in danger from—” 

“Wait a minute and let me finish! I’ll clear it out and secure the doors and windows, and I’ll sleep on the sofa, which I’ll move just outside my door, so I can keep an eye on things.”

“We.”

“Hmm?”

“ We will keep an eye on things,” said Arthur, who wasn’t going to let Freya nobble Merlin when he wasn’t looking. “Both of us.”

“There’s no need—” 

“I’m not budging,” said Arthur. “And that’s that.” 

Creature or no creature, there was no way he was going to let that… that… cuddle monkey stay in Merlin’s bedroom without Arthur keeping an eye on things to make sure she didn’t get her claws right in. And Arthur didn’t mean creature-ones, either.  

Arthur was being even more stubborn and mule-faced than usual. So when Freya came out from getting cleaned up, Merlin decided to tell her the forward plan, before Arthur could interrupt and say anything that might upset her. She looked a lot more relaxed and much less pale and stressed than she had been when she arrived. She was wearing an old pair of Merlin’s tracksuit bottoms that were too big for her, so she’d rolled them up, revealing a pair of fragile-looking ankles, and one of Arthur’s outsized t-shirts. She smiled at them both shyly from under her fringe. 

Arthur snorted, so Merlin elbowed him sharply in the ribs to get him to shut up. The stubborn clotpole had managed to get a pickle up his arse about something, there was no telling what. The only thing to do would be to steamroller over all his no doubt sceptical objections – not for the first time. 

“Right. So, here’s our plan, Freya. It’s getting dark already. So you’ll stay here tonight at our flat,” said Merlin firmly, sending a pointed look across to Arthur who was standing watching him, with his back to the kitchen counter. “We’ll clear out my room. You can stay in there – it’s really secure. You should feel safe inside.” 

“In your room? But…!” Freya gaped at them, looking from one to the other and then back again as if watching a tennis match. “But… what… what about… what about your boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend?” said Merlin. “What boyfriend? I don’t have a boyfriend!”

“Yes, you do!” she said, puzzlement splitting her brow. She nodded towards Arthur, who was filling a cup with water and taking a long draught. “Him. Arthur!”

“Me?”Arthur spat his water out into the sink, coughing as he turned round. 

“Yes!” Frowning, Freya turned to Merlin. “Your partner, you said. Won’t he—?”

“Oh! Haha! I see! Hahahaha. Him? Don’t be daft!” For some reason, Merlin’s voice came out in an embarrassing squeak that he hastened to remedy by lowering his voice an octave or so. “Um. Haha. Sorry! I should have clarified. He’s not my… he’s just my business partner. Not my romantic partner.” 

“Indeed, no, good heavens, spare me,” said Arthur in what would no doubt come across to most as a relaxed drawl, although there was a tension across his brow that even Merlin, long-time observer of all Arthur’s expressions, couldn’t fathom. “I could never have a partner who was such a scruffy-haired, impetuous, bird-brained idiot .” 

Which shouldn’t have hurt, because both of them had expressed the same sentiment many times before. But for some reason, all his many anti-Arthur shields, normally shored up daily with all the dollophead-deflecting tools in his armoury, were soft and shaky today. It was probably something to do with the way that Arthur’s own defences seemed to be less firm than usual, introducing a strange tone to Arthur’s voice whenever he looked at Freya. And a vulnerable Arthur was one to avoid, being dangerous to Merlin’s equilibrium. 

“And I could never have a partner who was such an arrogant, supercilious, condescending clotpole ,” he huffed in reply, to disguise these feelings. They were threatening to undermine all his many months of resistance to his deeply buried attraction to Arthur. And that simply would not do.

“Oh, those are big words,” said Arthur, dropping his mug in the sink, mouth quirking up in a half smile that heralded sarcasm and verbal abuse. He folded his arms, which distractingly displayed his wide, manly shoulders and bulging biceps to their best effect. “Such a shame you don’t know what any of them mean.” 

“You’re only saying that to disguise the fact that you don’t know them,” said Merlin, blinking up at the ceiling in a vain effort to avoid watching the way Arthur's muscles played underneath his white shirt when he was being sarcastic.

“I’m not.”

“You are, too.” 

“Not. You, however, are trying to divert attention away from yourself, Mer lin. Which means you haven’t got a clue what they mean.” 

“I have!” 

“Then why are you occupied with shredding that unfortunate envelope?”

“Hmm?” Merlin looked down at his hands, which, of their own volition during the course of this discussion, had picked up an envelope and were busily ripping it into small pieces. “This envelope?”

“What other envelope?” 

“Well.” Merlin shrugged. “What can I say? I hate envelopes. And this one had offended me.” 

“You hate envelopes.” Arthur barked out a laugh. “Because that’s a totally rational hatred.” 

“Ahem!” Freya coughed and sent them both a shy smile that made her face light up with mischief. “Are you sure you’re not dating? Because—”

“Absolutely not!” said Arthur firmly. 

“Definitely not!” said Merlin at the same time. 

It was good to get that straightened out, even though Merlin couldn’t help feeling a bit aggrieved by how quickly Arthur had decided that he didn’t want to be his partner. 

Later, just before nightfall, Merlin set up a bed for the night on the slightly-too-short-for-his-lanky-torso sofa. According to Merlin’s plan, Freya had locked herself in Merlin’s room. Having decided not to let Merlin stand vigil by himself, Arthur did not bed down in his own large and supremely comfortable bed, but instead pumped up Merlin’s ancient camping mattress and placed it between the sofa and Merlin’s doorway, the better to protect Merlin from any marauding, predatory females masquerading as feral creatures who couldn’t control themselves.

Being somewhat of a shy woodland animal himself, Merlin obviously needed protecting from such things. He needed protecting from himself, most of the time. 

The mattress was far from comfortable, but Arthur would never admit that. 

“All right?” said Merlin, standing hesitantly in the living-room doorway for a moment while Arthur thumped his pillow for the tenth time. “Are you sure you’re comfortable there? I can look after myself, you know.”

“Absolutely fine,” lied Arthur, snuggling into his duvet and trying to ignore the way that the wood floor dug into one hip when he turned onto his side. “Now, settle down. I’m trying to sleep.”

But instead of getting into his own warm place of vigil on the sofa, Merlin kept fiddling around with the door to his bedroom.

“What are you doing?” said Arthur. “You’re keeping me awake.” 

“I’m going to set some wards.” 

“Of course you are.” Arthur rolled his eyes.

For what seemed like half an hour, Merlin muttered mumbo jumbo, hands fluttering around the doorframe. He must have been wearing rubber soled shoes or something, to be generating lots of static, which every so often discharged off his fingers towards the door like little mini lightning bolts. It was quite impressive, and could almost be quite convincing if, unlike Arthur, you were inclined towards irrational and magical explanations for things. 

Arthur just found it irritating that Merlin was trying to convince him that magic was real after all this time. Surely Merlin should know by now that he wasn’t going to pull the wool over Arthur’s eyes! 

“Stop huffing,” said Merlin, stopping his monologue after a while. “You’re putting me off my spellwork.” 

“I’m not huffing!” 

“You are. You’re generating negative, sceptical energy.” 

“Oh, fine,” grumbled Arthur. 

This was the thing about Merlin. No matter how much Arthur explained that it was all in his mind, and there was no such thing as magic, the man still insisted that he had special powers that would enable him to ward off so-called magical threats. 

Which in fairness was all very well, live and let live and all that, and Arthur wouldn’t mind so much if it didn’t mean that Merlin was forever putting himself into the path of danger. But in his path of work, delusional strangers or worse, ruthless sociopathic charlatans were always convincing Merlin that they were in need of his special powers. And such people, whether delusional or downright evil, were by their very nature dangerous to a waif-like man like Merlin, who would no doubt be blown over by a strong gust of wind. 

“All I can say is, it’s a good thing you’ve got me to look after you, Merlin,” said Arthur quietly when Merlin returned to the sofa.

“Whatever you like to convince yourself,” Merlin retorted but without heat.

It was not long after nightfall, when the street lights outside were still bright through the net curtains, that Merlin heard the first growl from his bedroom. Arthur was snoring softly, a bulky shape hunched under his duvet. Not for the first time, Merlin found himself marvelling, not without fondness, at how easily Arthur could dismiss his magic as some sort of conjuring trick, even when he performed it blatantly under Arthur’s nose. It took a particular brand of stubborn obliviousness to be so wilfully ignorant. 

Taking care to dampen down the sound of his own socked feet on the floor, Merlin padded over to the door of his bedroom and pressed his ear to it, whispering a spell to augment the sounds from within. 

Yes. There it was again. Unmistakably, a growl. And not just any old growl, either. A deep, feral sound that made the floor vibrate under his feet and set his bones shivering with a primaeval fear. 

So much for Arthur’s theory. Freya had to be transforming. With the wards that Merlin had set around the room, there was no way that another person had come anywhere near it, let alone set a creature loose in there. 

As the growl crescendoed to a savage snarl, there was a heavy thud inside the room. 

Gods. Merlin hoped Freya was not hurting herself in there. He was tempted to go inside and take a look

“Freya?” he cried, banging on the door. “Freya, are you all right?”

In answer, the snarling and growling intensified. Something heavy crashed against his wards, making him flinch. Gritting his teeth from the effort, he lifted a hand to shore them up, thanking his own foresight for prompting him to cushion the walls so Freya did not end up too bruised in there. The creature she had transformed into bashed repeatedly against them. Gods, she was strong. 

“What’s going on?” said Arthur, from the floor. “Merlin? Are you all right?”

“She’s transformed,” said Merlin shortly, hand still up against the door, panting from exertion. He put his hand on the door handle. “I’m going in to check she’s not hurting herself.” 

“What? You’ll do no such thing!” cried Arthur, leaping out of bed in one smooth movement and joining him over by the door. “Are you insane? There’s some sort of panther in there, by the sound of it! It’ll have you for breakfast!” 

“But what if she’s hurt?” said Merlin, fear making his hands tremble. “It’s not safe in there!” 

Bang on cue, the thing inside his room let out a loud, unearthly sound, half roar, half yowl, which made the floor tremble. It had a predatory quality that pebbled his skin with goosebumps. 

“Freya!” Merlin banged on the door. “Freya, are you all right?” 

The thing made that awful noise again again. Gods, the neighbours would not be happy. 

“Look,” said Arthur in an urgent whisper. “Just think! Whatever it is, we have to assume that she’s somehow brought it in with her, and therefore she won’t be hurt. She wasn’t hurt before, was she?” 

Merlin supposed not. 

“Can you talk to her?” Arthur went on. “Maybe she’ll calm down.”

“I don’t know.” 

With an effort of will, he sent waves of soothing crooning noises into the room, and the sounds from inside subsided a little. The effort left him trembling, his legs like jelly. He sank down to the floor. 

For once, Arthur didn’t object. Instead, he joined Merlin at the door, silently placing a blanket around his shoulders, while they listened out for further signs of life inside. 

The next morning, the conversation with Merlin went badly. They stood next to Merlin’s open bedroom door, sipping tea and viewing the devastation inside while a tearful, exhausted-looking but miraculously unhurt Freya went to get cleaned up in the shower. 

“So, there’s your proof,” Merlin began, indicating the shredded bedclothes, the smashed windows, the ominous tufts of soft black fur that littered the room, and the unspeakable mess on the floor. “Freya has been cursed to transform, just as she told us.” 

“That’s absurd,” Arthur pointed out, quite reasonably, while he blew on the surface of his tea to cool it. “No, this proves nothing except that the perpetrator must have followed Freya here. And therefore, as someone that is helping the victim, that puts you in danger, Merlin. It’s a good thing I’m here.” 

“Oh, for the Gods’ sake, don’t be daft, Arthur. if I’m in danger, you are more so.”

“How so?” Arthur frowned. 

“Because you’re an over-protective, non-magical clotpole who’s too bloody stubborn to admit that he’s vulnerable.” Merlin took a sip of his tea, slurping it loudly. “And anyway, why would they follow her all the way here? We’re on the other side of London!” 

“To frighten her, of course, you obtuse, scruffy peasant. Or maybe they put a tracker on Freya’s clothes.” 

“Oh, for— You’re a stubborn, blinkered muggle without any imagination.” 

“Oh, so now we’re doing the ad hominem attacks are we, Mer lin?”

“You started it!”

“No, you started it!” 

“You’re insufferable.”

“I’m not insufferable, I’m using scientific method and rationalism, rather than resorting to superstitious nonsense.” 

“It’s not superstitious nonsense! Look!” cried Merlin, conjuring a butterfly with a waft of his hand. “It’s magic, and it’s literally right here in this room.” 

Merlin was wont to do this whenever they had this particular argument. One of these days Arthur would get to the bottom of where he was hiding all the little insects and their eggs and what-not.

“You’ve shown me that trick before,” he pointed out. “Just because I don’t know where you are keeping the caterpillars…” 

“I give up!” Merlin threw his hands up in the air. 

“Good! The less time you spend barking up the wrong tree looking for witches and warlocks and fairies and pixies and leprechauns and elves and dwarves and hobbits and, and…”  he paused to think of the most far-fetched magical creature that he could, to bring to this argument, landing on, "…dragons and the like—” 

“Sorcerer,” said Merlin sullenly. “We're looking for a sorcerer. And as for dragons, I know you think you're being clever, but they're actually more common than you think, there's a sanctuary near where I grew up…”

“—whatever. The more time we’ll have available for finding out what really happened. Now, the creature has gone, whatever it is, so let’s go and look for it.” 

“No, you idiot, the creature is here! Freya is the creature! No, we should be looking for the attacker,” said Merlin, holding up a single long finger in warning. “It’s the sorcerer we need to find. The spell I need to cast to neutralise the curse only acts on the source of the magic, not its destination.” 

Merlin’s hair, always galvanised when he got into a tizz about magic, spun away from his face in black, curly clumps that framed the fey line of his cheekbones and the ocean blue of his eyes. 

“Absolutely not,” said Arthur, turning his face away from this arresting sight with a frown, to show the extent to which he refused to be charmed by wild tangling curls and cheek dimples, however inadvertent. “I refuse to go gallivanting off to find some deranged local charlatan when we don’t even know what sort of an animal she is releasing into Freya’s bedroom every night. We must go to Freya’s place…”

“This is not your call. We talked about this. Don’t be such an annoying, arrogant, obstinate, obstreperous idiot !” Merlin’s eyes flashed with a dangerous ire and he waggled an angry finger. “This is a magical case. You don’t get to decide how we tackle it.”

“They’re all so-called magical cases, according to you.” Pulling on his jacket, Arthur rolled his eyes. “I agree that we need to find the person responsible for this. All I’m asking is that we locate the person or animal responsible for the damage first! It might have been set loose! It might hurt someone out there!” 

“No, because it’s Freya, and she’s literally right here…” 

“And it might generate some leads that we can use to find this… this… perpetrator.” 

“Sorcerer.”

“ Perpetrator .”

At that moment, Freya came back into the room, her hair neater, wearing yet another one of Merlin’s seemingly endless supply of old hooded sweatshirts, this one conveying the message Dragons are People Too. She looked from one of them to the other, a puzzled line appearing between her brows as she took in the room’s evident disarray and the dishevelled state of Merlin’s hair. 

“Is everything all right?” she said. 

“Perfect,” said Merlin through gritted teeth. “Now, can you tell us where this sorcerer lives?”

Of course they ended up looking for the sorcerer first, of course they did, because no matter how much Arthur might protest, Merlin, once he had a bee in his bonnet, was about as difficult to deflect from his stated destination as a runaway train, and twice as dangerous. Arthur felt that he had better come along just to make sure the idiot didn’t get into too much trouble. 

Which, it turned out, was a big mistake.

Chapter Text

Merlin was not quite sure how he had managed to acquire a magical sceptic as an investigative partner in his magical consultancy business. It was probably through some unholy combination of Arthur’s sheer persistence and Merlin’s inability to act in his own interest when handsome, broad-shouldered blonds muscled their way into his life. There were not many people who could resist Arthur’s charisma-filled obstinacy when turned on them in full force. But whatever he blamed for the situation, this is what he had ended up with: being driven pell-mell, against his better judgement, through the streets of London in Arthur’s sleek, black Mercedes, while alarmed pedestrians and cyclists jumped out of their way.

“I don’t know why you couldn’t get a more unobtrusive car,” Merlin grumbled as they nudged through traffic near the dodgier parts of the Old Kent Road. “Tinted windows? Honestly? Everyone thinks you’re a pimp, or a drug dealer.” 

“Stop complaining and find me a mint. They’re in the glove box.” Grimacing, Arthur gesticulated out of the window at a hapless cyclist who looked like she was going to try to undertake him at the traffic lights, yelling, “don’t even think about it, arsehole!”

“I’m not your minion! Find your own bloody mints!” 

“It may have escaped your mind, Merlin, but I’m actually driving at the moment, which requires concentration.” 

Merlin was about to point out that they weren’t going anywhere, because the traffic lights were red, but at that moment, the lights changed. 

“Out of the way, imbecile!” Arthur leaned forward and bashed repeatedly on the horn. 

The Mercedes lurched forward, engine roaring. Merlin squeezed his eyes shut. That was the other problem being driven around by Arthur. He turned into a maniac behind the wheel. 

“I’m going to learn to drive,” he moaned. “If I survive this journey, that is. Remind me again why you insisted on coming along?” 

“Someone needs to keep an eye on you, you have all the self preservation of a sheep.” Arthur’s mouth curved into an arrogant half grin that made him look so handsome that literal shivers tingled up and down Merlin’s spine.  

“And yet,” he said, refusing to let his attraction to Arthur deter him from a good argument, “here you are, trying to kill me in a road traffic accident.” 

“I am a superb driver!” 

“You’re a terrible driver!” 

“Ahem.” There was a polite cough from the back seat. It was Freya. “I think it’s down this street. I recognise the pub.” 

For a moment, caught up in the ebb and flow of his usual banter with Arthur, Merlin had almost forgotten that Freya was a passenger in the back. Opening one eye, Merlin observed the pub in question with a shiver. The pub was called the Thomas A Becket . Merlin vaguely recalled that it was known to be the most haunted pub in London. It certainly exuded an air of  menace that he couldn’t explain. 

Abruptly, Arthur clicked the turning signal and swung into the side street alongside the pub, switching back and forth among a labyrinth of minor roads and housing estates. 

“It’s very brave of you to come with us, Freya,” said Merlin, not least because of Arthur’s insane driving, which had brought them to the door at breakneck speed. “But you should stay in the car and let us handle this sorcerer.” 

“Don’t worry, I will. I don’t want to see her again,” she said, and then added, pointing, “there it is! That’s the house where she lives!” 

“Are you sure?” said Arthur, frowning and staring at the house she had singled out as he drove past. 

But Merlin could tell that she was right. There was a strangeness about the run-down terrace that she’d pointed out - an aura that gave him goosebumps.

“Thanks, Freya. Stay here, and I’ll go and cast the countercurse,” said Merlin, clicking his seatbelt open as Arthur drove past. 

“Where can I park?” said Arthur, eyes on the road as he pulled over a few doors down.

“I don’t know,” replied Freya in a small voice. “I don’t have a car. I think it’s all residents-only parking around here.” 

“There’s one,” said Merlin, pointing. 

“Don’t be absurd, Merlin. It’s under a tree. I’m not having bird poo all over my car.” 

“You’re such a posh git.”

“It’ll damage the paint work!” 

“So will a scratch along the door with my door key!”

“You wouldn’t dare!”  

“Wouldn’t I?”

“No, and anyway, you wouldn’t damage my car, because you love me really!” 

“Huh. Arrogant wanker. I’m surprised you can fit your fat head into this car.” 

After another few moments of wrangling, Arthur swerved into a spot and killed the engine.

Muttering a spell of unobtrusiveness under his breath, and waving his hands across the roof of Arthur’s car to protect it from pigeon droppings, because despite himself, he appreciated the shiny black of the paintwork almost as much as Arthur did, Merlin followed Arthur along the street to the house that Freya had indicated, stepping in front of Arthur to press the doorbell. It was a Victorian mid-terrace house, modest and a little run down, with dark green paint peeling off the front door. The ground floor bay windows sported tattered, stained net curtains. In the fenced-off gap between the street and the wall of the house, two overflowing bins lurked, imbuing the air with a rotten smell that made Merlin’s nose wrinkle. The exterior of the house stank of carelessly used magic, creating a magical miasma akin to a lingering cooking odour that made Merlin feel faintly nauseated. This was definitely the right place. Magic had been cast here recently, and with malice. 

“I’ll handle this,” he hissed, applying his elbow to Arthur’s ribs as he moved past. “You stay back and out of trouble.” 

“Of course you will!” drawled Arthur rolling his eyes, as he crowded forward alongside Merlin, pressing the doorbell again instead of staying out of the way. “And what are you going to do if she turns violent? Flail your noodle arms at her?” 

“I can look after myself!” protested Merlin. “She’s a sorcerer, remember? And I’m the magical one, so keep out of the way! Remember, all we need to do is get me in to talk to her, and cast the counter-curse. You don’t need to get involved at all.” 

But Arthur folded his arms, refusing to move. The door opened and a woman looked out, glowering at them in suspicion, her grey hair spinning out around her face.

“Not today, thank you!” she said, moving to close the door. 

“Mrs Collins?” said Merlin. 

“We’re not selling anything!” said Arthur at the same time, jamming his foot in the door. “We have heard some distressing reports about illegally bred kittens that we want to talk to you about.”

“Who are you, the fucking RSPCA?” her eyes narrowed suspiciously to little pin pricks as she peered out of the gloom at them. An unpleasant, stale aroma wafted out of the hallway. “Where’s your identification card?” 

“No, we’re here on behalf of our friend Freya. She has alleged that you have been releasing exotic animals into her home. Now, I could call the RSPCA, or the police if you’re illegally breeding animals, but I’m sure we can solve this amicably—” 

“That thieving bitch? She tried to rob me, so I put a hex on her!” said the woman. “She got what she wanted, and what she deserved. And I’ll do the same to you if you don’t leave me alone. Now fuck off.” 

While Merlin desperately tried to summon the strength required to cast Nagrazilla’s Detransmogrifier , a fiendish spell with some very difficult pronunciation, the door slammed repeatedly against Arthur’s obstinate foot. Arthur’s face took on the mulish expression that he tended to adopt when he was about to do something incredibly brave and stupid, and he pushed against the door with all his considerable might. 

A sense of doom crashed over Merlin like a wave and his spellcasting petered out, lost in a fog of counter-magic. The woman seemed to exude strong magic. He could taste the tang of it on his tongue. Abruptly, he realised that countering Freya’s curse would take intensive further study, not to mention a serious discussion with his mentor, Gaius. 

“Arthur, we need to go,” he said, alarmed. 

But Arthur shook his head. “What do you mean, what she wanted and what she deserved?” 

“Arthur, no!” cried Merlin. “Remember why we’re here!”

The door opened a crack and a pale, rheumy eye peeped out. 

“She craved a pet. And a pet is what she got. Now piss off.” The woman started to chant, her voice muffled as she muttered words of power under her breath.

The crack narrowed again, door trapping Arthur’s foot. A dense, dark cloud of magic, invisible to any mundane, crept out from under the door, encircling Arthur’s foot and slowly working its way around him. It reeked of malice and curiosity. 

“Arthur!” said Merlin, alarmed, tugging at his arm. “Arthur! She’s spellcasting! We have to leave. Now. Let’s do what she says”  

But Arthur, ever obstinate, shook away Merlin’s hand and jammed his shoulder into the door, forcing it open a bit more. 

“How do you know what she wanted?” he demanded. “Are you keeping animals in there?”

“I can read people, posh boy. I can see what you want, too. And if you’re not careful, I’ll give it to you.” She cackled, the sound a breathy staccato that raised goosebumps on the exposed flesh of Merlin’s arms.

The clouds of magic billowed around Arthur, fogging Merlin’s vision, filling his nostrils and lungs with an acrid scent that made him cough. 

“What the hell do you mean by that?” said Arthur, jaw set into a straight line that betrayed determination and anger. 

“Arthur,” said Merlin, coughing into one arm, pulling at Arthur with the other, still hoping against hope to prevent the impending catastrophe. “Arthur, come on. We should leave. It’s all right. We’ll go and look at—” But he didn’t have time to complete the sentence.

Two things happened at once. First, the door opened wide. Arthur, who was leaning against it with all his weight, lurched into the hallway. Second, the woman stopped chanting and raised her hand, power crackling from her fingertips. As she discharged her spell, she made a throwing motion. Magic spat out like electricity, hitting Arthur. There was a loud cracking sound. Arthur was flung back out onto the street through the open door.

“Be careful what you wish for, posh boy,” she cried. “You won’t survive if you don’t get it.”

The door slammed shut. Arthur landed like a ragdoll on the pavement, limbs flung out and still. 

“Arthur!” cried Merlin, forgetting all about the woman and her curses as he rushed to check on Arthur. He put a finger to the pulse point on Arthur’s neck.  “Arthur, are you all right? Arthur? Talk to me, you wretched, stubborn clotpole. God, Arthur, don’t be dead. If you’re dead I’ll kill you myself, you hear? Bloody hell, Arthur.” 

A crowd of bystanders was beginning to gather. With a wave of his free hand, Merlin sent them away with a spell of forgetting and turned back to Arthur. Arthur’s pulse was too fast but strong and steady against his fingers. Gently, he turned Arthur over, and cupped his face in one hand. Arthur looked so pale, his eyes closed but flickering, revealing little chips of blue. Merlin’s heart constricted at the sight. 

“Come on, clotpole,” he said, gathering a spell of waking into his breath and exhaling it across Arthur’s beloved features. “Stay with me.” 

Arthur’s eyes blinked open. Meeting Merlin’s gaze, he smiled a small, sweet smile, one that hinted at surprise and kindness and affection.

“Merlin,” he murmured.

But then his eyes fluttered closed again. 

Damn. 

When Arthur woke up in Merlin’s arms, for one brief, perfect moment, everything seemed like it was going to be all right. A halo of light spun out around Merlin’s hair. His hoodie and scarf blurred, blue and red, before swimming into focus. 

“You’re awake!” Merlin’s worried eyes lit up. His face split into Arthur's favourite ear-to-ear grin, the one that made his eyes disappear into little half-moons of joy, and there was a warm, contented feeling expanding across Arthur’s chest where Merlin’s hand rested on it. “Thank goodness for that! Are you feeling okay?” 

“I had no idea you cared so much,” joked Arthur, although the warm feeling intensified a little at the thought. The act of speaking made him cough. He grabbed his ribs, wincing at a  sudden jarring pain that shot through his chest.  

“Huh, you wish, I just don’t know how we’d get your fancy car back to the flat otherwise,” said Merlin, although there was a pink tinge to his cheeks. “I was worried that I might need to drive it myself.” 

“You? Drive my car?” Arthur coughed again, mentally tallying all the little aches and pains that were beginning to make themselves known. There was a splitting pain in his head, which wasn’t pleasant. And a growing discomfort in his belly. But the worst thing was that dull ache in his chest, which sent fire shooting out across his shoulders and down into his stomach whenever he moved or spoke. He rolled onto his knees, clutching at his ribs, not wanting to show weakness, gasping out a protest, “never!” 

“Well, then, Up you get! Before people start to notice and think you’re drunk. Then we’ll never convince them to let you drive.” 

“I’m fine,” lied Arthur, lurching to his feet, legs painfully weak, as if he’d been overdoing leg day in the gym, “honestly, stop fussing, you’re such a big girl.” 

“Stop making sexist comments,” echoed Merlin, “honestly, you’re such a massive arse. What the hell did you think you were doing, confronting a bloody sorcerer like that?” 

“ Perpetrator ,” Arthur tried to say, but his breath didn’t come out quite right. His throat felt like a ball of fire had lodged behind it, and his head was throbbing. He let his hand come up to his throat for a moment, as if that would help, and massaged his aching jaw. 

“You stubborn idiot. Honestly, it’s a miracle you’ve survived for this long,” Merlin scolded. “You’ve got no sense of self-preservation.” 

“You’re a fine one to talk,” Arthur rasped. 

Merlin continued to berate him as they staggered along the pavement together, Merlin’s hand curled around Arthur’s waist, and his weight a comforting counterbalance to the tremble in Arthur’s thighs. At one point, Merlin went to move his hand away, but Arthur reflexively stopped him by laying his own hand on top. 

“Sure you’re okay to drive?” A worried pair of blue eyes peered at him. 

“I’m fine,” said Arthur hoarsely, not wanting to admit how much even this small amount of exertion had cost him, nor that there was a growing sense of panic building in his chest whenever Merlin’s hand threatened to withdraw. “Just… need a bit of help with balancing, that’s all.” 

“Did you bump your head?”

“No! I’m fine, honestly! You are not driving my car!”

But in the end, it was clear that Arthur was in no fit state to drive and so, against his better judgement, he suggested that Freya sit in the driving seat, as someone who actually had a driving licence, and it was her who took them slowly back to Clapham while Arthur slumped against Merlin in the back seat, breathing heavily and slipping in and out of consciousness. 

As soon as he got Freya and Arthur back inside his flat, Merlin slumped against the front door, head in his hands. So, now, he was in charge of not just one but two people under the influence of curses, one of whom refused to admit that such things even existed, and the other of whom would shred everything within reach at nightfall. 

So, he did what he should have done all along. He picked up his phone and sent a shaky-fingered message to Gwen.

***

***

And once again, after many years of friendship, he had cause to be grateful for the lucky moment when the two of them found each other at university and bonded over a shared love of obscure Korean boy bands. 

***

***

Merlin hardly breathed while he was waiting, but sure enough, although it seemed like hours, it must only have been a few minutes later when Gwen called him. After telling Gwen what had happened, Merlin felt a lot better for a few moments. But that soon changed while he was waiting for her to arrive, with Freya sleeping in his bedroom, and Arthur lying slumped and shivering on his sofa with a blanket over him.

Merlin observed Arthur, arms crossed. Arthur was in a bad way. His head lolled listlessly to one side, and the tense set of his shoulders and jaw betrayed severe pain. His breath was coming in heavy gasps, as if he’d just run a long distance. A severe line had appeared between his brows. The last time Merlin had seen Arthur look this bad, the clotpole had come down with flu and couldn’t keep any food down. But if anything, this seemed even worse; Arthur kept clutching at his chest, hand fluttering up and down his abdomen. 

Worry squeezed at Merlin. He needed to get to the bottom of this curse, but he couldn’t for the life of him work out what would turn it around. 

Wracked by a sudden bout of coughing, Arthur wrapped both hands around his chest. His shoulders heaved. From his mouth came a high-pitched keening sound. His body arched up off the sofa and started to jerk violently. 

“Arthur!” Terrified, Merlin rushed over and placed one hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Arthur! Stay with me, clotpole!” 

“Just…” Arthur’s eyes fluttered open and his body stopped moving for a second. “Just… your hand – it hurts less when you touch… please…” 

Giving in to an instinct, he wasn’t sure where from, Merlin brought his other hand up to gently brush the hair away from the pale, sweat-drenched arc of Arthur’s forehead. 

“Aaah.” Arthur drew in a breath, and his eyes closed as he exhaled, the pain line between them smoothing. “That’s…” 

“The pain goes away when I touch you?” Wondering, Merlin placed his palm against Arthur’s cheek

“Just… hold me.” Arthur’s trembling body curved towards his. “Please.”

Tentatively, Merlin leaned forward, still kneeling on the floor, sliding one hand beneath Arthur’s head until it was resting on his upper arm, and wrapping the other around Arthur’s waist, effectively enfolding Arthur in a hug. 

“Aaah,” said Arthur again, this time exhaling into Merlin’s chest. He breathed in deeply, ribs expanding and contracting beneath Merlin’s hands.

“Like this?” Merlin murmured, patting at the solid warmth of Arthur’s back.

“Yeah,” croaked Arthur, body still shaking, his breath coming fast and hot against the fabric of Merlin’s T-shirt. “Yeah. That’s good. Thanks. Yeah.” 

As soothingly as he could, Merlin described small circles on Arthur’s back with his hand and murmured any old nonsense that sprang into his addled brain, his mind working all the while. Why would giving Arthur a hug make him feel better?  What exactly did the witch’s curse do?

“Hush,” he said, while Arthur’s muscles began to relax, shoulders slumping in relief. “Hush. It’s all right. I’ve got you.” 

When Merlin’s doorbell went, Arthur was still holding on to him for dear life. Part of it was because he did not want to go back to how he was feeling before Merlin started to hug him. But a large part of it was just that he was enjoying the unexpected closeness of their contact. Perhaps it was selfish, because Merlin’s knees surely were not comfortable resting on the floor for as long as they had, but Arthur just couldn’t bring himself to let go. He couldn’t remember whether anyone had ever held him like that, just warm against him, demanding nothing in return. 

As a matter of fact, he was feeling totally fine now. His heart rate had slowed, and the hacking cough had retreated, and the throbbing ache in his head was beginning to ease. It was odd, how all the pain that had made him feel as if he were going to die, right there on Merlin’s sofa, had left him as soon as Merlin put his hands on him, leaving him only with a sense of longing that, if he was being honest with himself, was nothing new. 

He should pull away. But the sheer fact of the matter was that his face was buried in Merlin’s shoulder, and that was where, out of all the places in the world, it most wanted to be at that moment. Breathing in the sandalwood-and-musk scent of Merlin’s skin. Nuzzling against the softness of his hair. Hands grasping deeply at the soft fabric of Merlin’s t-shirt. 

“That’s the doorbell. It’s Gwen. You’re going to have to let me go for a second, clotpole,” Merlin murmured. “Who would have thought you would turn out to be this needy a cuddler?”

“I’m not needy!” said Arthur, still clinging on. His voice was slightly muffled, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, because at least he could speak, which was a massive improvement on the situation ten minutes ago. “I was just… I think she must have poisoned me, that’s all. And it’s wearing off now, but thank you for your kindness. Anyway, I’m not a cuddler. Not at all.” 

“Sure you’re not,” said Merlin. “Which is why you’re not letting me get up and let Gwen in.”

Bang on cue, the doorbell chose that moment to ring again. 

“I just don’t…” Arthur confessed. “... I just… I feel so much better when you’re close. I don’t know why.” 

“It’s the curse,” said Merlin, with a sigh that ruffled Arthur’s hair, a warm gust that sent tingles fingering along Arthur’s skin from his scalp all the way to the base of his spine, making him shiver. “The woman cursed you. Remember?”

“More likely, I had a panic attack, after being poisoned?” said Arthur, determined to find a non-magical solution for what had happened. 

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, how stubborn can a person be? Even when he’s been cursed, he still bloody well refuses to believe in magic,” complained Merlin, rolling his eyes and beginning to pull away. “That witch cursed you. I just don’t know what the curse was, that’s all… just because you’re feeling better doesn’t mean that it’s gone away, you know. You were in a bad way ten minutes ago. We need to look out for it coming back again.”

“I’m fine, now,” said Arthur, sulkily. The better he felt, the more he was convinced that the woman had just been insanely strong, and somehow managed to drug him before flinging him out of her house. Don’t they say that the clinically insane can take on an inhuman strength? Well that must have been what happened. He would be fine. 

“All right, well in that case, you won’t mind letting me go, will you?”

“Huh.” Arthur snorted and with some reluctance, eased his grip on Merlin’s t-shirt. 

Merlin wriggled away, stumbling to his feet, leaving a cool patch where his body had been next to Arthur’s.

“Stop pouting,” said Merlin with a faint grin. 

“I don’t pout!” pouted Arthur.

“Yes you do.” Merlin’s grin widened. Coincidentally, a small ache started to develop at the base of Arthur’s sternum. “I’m going to let Gwen in. And if you’re still feeling rough, I’ll come back and give you another curative cuddle afterwards.” 

“I didn’t need a… a… cuddle, and I won’t need another one,” protested Arthur, although he didn’t know why, because actually, having had a cuddle, and a protracted one at that, another one sounded like exactly what he’d like next. But a prominent voice in the back of his head, one that sounded just like his father’s, was telling him to man up and stop showing signs of weakness, which was horribly confusing, so he pressed his lips together instead, and crossed his arms. 

“Sure, you don’t need cuddles,” said Merlin softly, turning back to look at him with an unreadable expression in his eyes. “Because some people just don’t need physical affection or anything of that sort, right, Arthur?” 

“Right,” said Arthur but he couldn’t bring himself to meet Merlin’s eyes as he said it, and he had to reach up to his chest to scratch away the discomforting knot that had lodged behind his sternum when Merlin moved away from him. “I… I should go. Back to my room, I mean. I need some rest.”

He moved from his position lying down on the sofa to sitting, and started to stand.

“Don’t be daft,” said Merlin. “You need to stay right here where I can keep an eye on you.” 

“But--” 

“I insist,” said Merlin firmly. “Now stop trying to be such a stoic, stubborn, obstinate old fart, and let me go and let Gwen in.”

At that moment, awakened by the kerfuffle, Freya appeared in the doorway of the living room. 

“Is everything okay?” 

“It isn’t yet,” said Merlin, pushing past her apologetically, his footsteps retreating down the hallway. “But it will be, now that Gwen’s here.” 

With that, there was the sound of the front door opening and greetings on the doorstep. A few moments later, Gwen walked into the room. A vet friend of Merlin’s who had met him at university, she had come into Arthur’s life a couple of years ago. She must have changed out of her work clothes tonight, but she was carrying what looked like a cage.

“I came as soon as I could,” she said, tilting her head on one side appraisingly, “but I had to go and pick something - or rather, someone - up first. She’s not happy with me, are you darling?” 

From inside the cage came a loud, answering meow of protest. 

Ever since she met Merlin years ago, Gwen knew that she had found a kindred spirit. Someone kind, who wanted to look after the lame ducks, injured creatures and orphaned babies of this world, and tuck them away under his wing until they were ready to fly once more. Given her job, it was no surprise to her that sometimes Merlin would come to her for help with one or more of his charges. 

So, she really shouldn’t have been surprised that it was Arthur who needed looking after this time. After all, she had made a career out of caring for dumb animals who couldn’t ask for what they really needed. 

“Oh, Arthur,” she said, understanding flooding through her as she took one look at Arthur's sulky, pouting face. He had sunk back, arms folded around his chest as if protecting it, onto the couch. “Are you all right? What’s happened to you this time?”

“The stubborn git got himself cursed,” said Merlin, in a lighthearted, teasing voice that didn’t fool Gwen for one moment. “It’s his own damn fault, as always.”

“Nothing of the sort has happened to me,” said Arthur, presumably unaware that his defensive body language gave the lie to his words. “A woman… must have poisoned me or something, maybe a gaseous substance, but it’s worn off now and I’m absolutely fine. Everyone’s making a big fuss about nothing. But I’m glad Merlin called you, Gwen. Presumably you're here to help Freya." He indicated the other woman in the room. "As an animal husbandry expert, you might be able to help her to locate the creature that keeps breaking in and damaging her things, and secure it where it can be looked after without causing any further damage.” 

“Something like that,” said Gwen, huffing out a laugh.

Honestly, the lengths that Arthur would go to, to deny Merlin’s more esoteric talents, were almost as ridiculous as the tactics that he used to avoid talking about his feelings. Especially his extensive non-platonic feelings for Merlin, the ones that were plain for everyone to see except for the two stupid men who most needed to talk about them. Look at him now, gazing adoringly at Merlin from underneath his eyelashes, presumably thinking that Gwen couldn’t see that sheer affection that beamed from his face.

Dumb animals indeed.

Talking of which… 

“So. You are Freya,” she said, tilting her head on one side to appraise her. “Merlin says you’ve got a bit of trouble with a recurring metamorphosis.”

Arthur muttered something, and Merlin told him to shut up, which was normal for them, so she ignored them to focus on Freya.

“Yes.” Freya, who was sitting in the other chair in the room, lifted her chin. She was a petite, sweet-faced woman, with shoulder-length dark hair and an air of frailty about her. 

“I’m Gwen,” she said. “I'm… well, let's just say I'm a medical professional. And don’t get up. I can see you’re tired. And no wonder. You’ve been getting no sleep recently.”

“It’s all right,” said Freya, disguising a yawn behind one hand. “I’m all right at the moment. But I don’t know how you can help me? I am not ill, I just have this… problem at night.” 

Tears filled her eyes as she spoke. 

“Oh, love, I’m so sorry,” said Gwen, heart aching for the poor thing. She walked over to her and perched on the worn-out arm of the chair, putting her hand on Freya’s trembling arm. “I don’t know if I can do anything about the transformation, but Merlin said, you’d always wanted a pet? And the sorcerer who cursed you mentioned something about that. So, we thought that maybe looking after a pet could help to lift the curse? So… Well, let’s see, shall we?” 

She got up and went back to the box. It contained a small feline with a mighty voice. As Gwen opened its door, the little animal, who had been meowing fit to bust for the whole duration of the visit, chose that moment to curl up in a ball and lick her paws, glaring accusingly at Gwen through the open door, but refusing to come out. 

Honestly, in a competition for the most stubborn creature in the room, she might even give Arthur and Merlin a run for their money. 

“This is Aithusa. She might take a minute to come out,” said Gwen, crooning at the little white kitten. “She can be a bit shy. Just keep talking, quietly, so as not to alarm her. And we’ll just let her have a little look around. And then perhaps, if she deigns to come out, you’d like a little cuddle? She’s quite tame… mostly, anyway. Just look out for her claws.”  

Pursing her lips, Gwen held out a treat on the flat of her hand, making a kissing noise with her mouth to coax Aithusa out. 

“Oh, isn’t she sweet!” gasped Freya, making to get out of her chair. 

“You’d think so!” Waving her other hand to indicate that Freya should stay seated, Gwen chuckled. With her other hand, she held out to her a tiny soft toy - a green dragon, one that Aithusa liked to play with. It was second hand, and bore one or two tiny mysterious scorch marks, which was a bit weird but did make it look doubly authentic as a dragon. “Here. It’s her favourite toy, Idris. Aithusa is a very special kitten, and she’s looking for a home right now. If you hold out Idris for her, let’s see if she will come to you. We'll give you a few tips about caring for her. And then, once you two are making each other’s acquaintance, perhaps we can take a look at finding out what’s wrong with Arthur.” 

“I’m a person, not an animal,” protested Arthur. 

“Huh, that’s a matter of opinion,” muttered Merlin. 

Over in the corner, Aithusa’s inquisitive nose began to emerge from the carrier, followed by one paw. Freya leaned forward, making encouraging noises and holding out Idris. 

“Shut up, Merlin,” said Arthur meanwhile through gritted teeth. “I am feeling much, much better. I don’t need medical attention from anyone, let alone a vet!” 

“No, of course not,” said Gwen, with all the tact that she could muster, because Arthur was obviously looking uncomfortable. There was a pale, almost green tint to his face, and he kept rubbing his chest when he thought no-one was looking. 

“So, you’d be wasting your time.” 

“I don’t think so.” She shook her head, observing out of the corner of her eye Aithusa climbing up onto an ecstatic Freya’s lap. Good.

“Why does everyone think they know what’s best for me?”  Arthur threw both hands in the air, causing him to wince, which he failed to disguise well enough to hide it from Gwen’s professional eye.

“Huh. Where shall I start? Because,” she said gently, ticking off her reasons on her fingers, knowing better than to mention magic, because that would be guaranteed to get him to clam up. “First, how should I put this…? You went to very posh schools, Arthur…” 

Arthur frowned. “So?” 

“Well. You’re…” she looked to the heavens for inspiration. “They’re not exactly renowned for giving you a good emotional start in life, are they? Separating you from your family, forcing you to man up all the time, all that stiff upper lip stuff…” 

“I had the most expensive education money could buy,” huffed Arthur. “I attended the best private schools from the age of three!” 

“I know, I know,” said Gwen, holding up both hands. “And I’m sure you learned a lot of… of… rugby and stuff, but… when it comes to teaching you about what’s good for your mental and… you know. Emotional health and wellbeing…”

“What she’s trying to say,” interrupted Merlin, “is that you were doomed by our repressive private school system to a life of chronic emotional constipation, and now have a massive stick up your arse and a total inability to see it.”

“Hush, Merlin!” Gwen admonished. “Stop putting words in my mouth!” 

“Gwen’s too nice to say it, but it’s what she means,” said Merlin. 

Which, okay, it was probably true, but he could have been kinder about it. Poor Arthur, glowering at him, looked quite nonplussed.

“Second,” she carried on hastily, “If you don’t mind me saying so, I hope you don’t mind, Arthur, but you did ask, and… well. You seem to be physically incapable of asking for help, and you’ve got a stubborn, self-sacrificing streak a mile wide. Third, you are obviously in pain, so you need to talk to someone about your symptoms. And fourth, you’re more likely to talk to me about your problems than just about anyone else apart from Merlin here.”

Frowning, Arthur closed his mouth into a petulant, sulky downward arc. 

Gwen sighed and exchanged a despairing look with Merlin. 

Still. Loud rumbling sounds were coming from a now snoozing Aithusa, who had curled up on Freya’s lap and was purring louder than an incoming jet aircraft, eyes closing in ecstasy while an ecstatic-looking Freya rubbed behind her ears. So, at least one of the people in the room was getting some much needed therapy. 

As she watched, Aithusa opened her mouth in a kittenish yawn, revealing an array of tiny yet sharp-looking teeth. For a moment, it looked like there was actual smoke coming out of her mouth. But that would be ridiculous. Gwen frowned and rubbed her eyes. She needed a good night’s sleep. She was beginning to see things that weren’t actually there.  There must be dust motes or something, catching the dying rays of the sun. Little kittens couldn’t actually breathe fire, after all. And there was no such thing as dragons. No, this just went to show that she needed an early night. 

Chapter Text

Arthur really did not approve of all the chaos going on in his life at the moment. He just wanted to go back to simpler times, with Merlin saving the world, and him saving Merlin, and the two of them taking on all the weird and wonderful people of London and helping them to make sense of things, with rational, non-magical explanations for all their problems, and a nice, ordered, disciplined way of approaching solving them. Not being in a house full of people – even if those people were actually just Gwen – and cats, and oddly realistic dragon soft toys, and other people, like Freya, who may or may not be half person, half animal. 

And the worst thing of all was that Freya, having learned that Merlin had no romantic partner at the moment, seemed to have taken it upon herself to try to become one. At least, that was what Arthur surmised from the way she was sitting, fluttering her lashes at Merlin, while he knelt in front of her, cooing at the cat on her lap and making kissy-kissy noises at said feline - an action that made his already plush lips push out into thick, inviting rosebuds. Little wonder that she was so taken with him. But how dare she? How dare she walk in here, steal his Merlin’s affection and sympathy, and cause Arthur to feel like an absolute arsehole for resenting her? Every time his gaze landed on her, a shooting pain went through his chest, a dart of agony that made him want to cry out in pain. 

Quite apart from all that, another one of the things he objected to was the way that his own scepticism about magic, a critical part of his emotional equilibrium, had suffered some serious knocks over the past few days. He’d been trying for years to hold on to it, but there was something about living in a flat with Merlin that made it very difficult for him to cling to his beliefs. From the way that Freya was acting, and also from his own experiences at the hands of the batty old woman who had chucked him out of her home, not to mention Merlin’s repeated displays of implausibly impressive sleight of hand, Arthur was beginning to have an inkling that maybe, just maybe, there was a teeny tiny bit of truth to this magic lark, after all. 

Not that he could ever admit that to Merlin. It would be too humiliating. Nor Gwen, for that matter, who was looking at him now, head tilted on one side with those sympathetic eyes of hers trained on him as if she could detect all his secrets. Instead, he rubbed at his chest, which was aching like mad, despite the fact that he’d wrenched his attention away from Merlin and Freya some minutes ago. Perhaps leaving the room would help. So, he got up to offer everyone some tea. When he glanced at Gwen she was still looking all sympathetic, so he plastered his most intimidating scowl onto his face, which had the opposite effect to that intended, because it just made her burst out laughing. 

“What’s so funny?” he said, pushing open the door to the kitchen. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, Arthur,” she said, following him into the kitchen. She put a hand on his arm. “You just look so sweet when you’re trying to hide how grumpy you’re feeling. But it’s okay. Everyone feels grumpy sometimes.”

“I’m not! Grumpy!” he protested, turning his back on her to fill the kettle from the cold tap. “I’m making everyone tea!” 

“Of course you’re not grumpy, that was the wrong word.” She reached up into the cupboard and pulled down four of the less-chipped mugs while Arthur got the tin of teabags out. “The word I think I’m looking for is sad. And possibly a bit jealous.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

There was a burst of laughter from the other room. Arthur looked at the door, despite himself, and rubbed at the burning ache that suddenly bloomed behind his sternum. 

“Really?” said Gwen gently. 

Arthur bit his lip. No-one could resist the kindness that lurked in those soft brown eyes of hers. No-one. He defied the world to resist them. Even his father, he was sure, would have been unable to put up all the usual barriers against them. 

“Come here, you great big daft sausage,” she said, opening her arms. “You look like you need a hug.” 

And so it was that he unexpectedly found two arms encircling his chest, and his face buried in soft curls while she patted him on the back and told him everything was going to be all right. 

He resisted at first but then, prompted by something, he wasn’t sure what, but maybe it was the way that the tightness in his ribs loosened when she turned her head to one side and rubbed gentle circles around his shoulder blades, he allowed his arms to snake out around his shoulders. Once he’d let himself relax, his body just sort of melted into the warmth of the hug. Her hair smelt wonderful. Her cashmere jumper was made of something soft and delicate as rose petals. And he knew there was nothing remotely sexual about this contact; he himself was as gay as a maypole, and Gwen was as utterly devoted to her husband, Lancelot, as anyone had ever been. Perhaps because of that, there was something remarkably freeing about being lost in the warmth of her body heat. He found his eyes fluttering closed as he gave himself over to the moment. 

“There you are,” she said, soothingly. “There, there. It’s all right.” 

All the sorrow and the longing that had been twisting his gut into knots gradually abated, and the pain fled, chased into oblivion by Gwen’s kindness and affection, as it had when Merlin had hugged him before. 

Did hugging always feel this wonderful? Because if so, how come his father had never hugged him like this, when he was little and ran to him seeking comfort? It was obviously something to do with Arthur’s many shortcomings. His father had always been perpetually disappointed by Arthur throughout his childhood. Morgana always got the hugs in their family. Never Arthur. He wasn’t sure if it was his gender or the circumstances of his birth, but affection between him and his father just wasn’t a thing. Ever since Arthur arrived on the scene, bawling and needy, the weight of expectation and the blame for what had happened to his mother during childbirth had lingered, forever clouding their relationship.

But it was no use dwelling on that. No amount of regret or therapy would change any of it, nor bring his father back. 

“Are you all right, Arthur?” said Gwen, looking up at him for a moment, eyes dark with concern. “You’ve gone all tense.” 

Arthur tried to extricate himself. “I just… I’ve taken up enough of your time already, Gwen…” 

“Don’t you dare, Arthur Pendragon,” she admonished, grasping his upper arms and giving him a little shake. “Just let yourself relax for once, you silly man, and accept that you are worthy of being loved, and giving and receiving affection just like the rest of us mere mortals.” 

Not for the first time, Arthur rued Gwen’s perceptiveness but nevertheless allowed himself to sink back into the hug for a few moments more, consuming the kindness given as if it were nourishment and he, a man who had been starved of nutrition for his whole life. 

And later, when she went back into the lounge clutching mugs of tea in both hands, he put a fist to the painful knot that had lurked deep in his chest. Finding it quite unclenched, he followed her feeling lighter, with a burden unexpectedly lifted. 

The curse had gone. He was cured! 

A bit later, they were all sitting around the kitchen table, four of them squeezed into a space that normally only had to accommodate two, having worked their way through one of the packs of pasta in the cupboard, with some vegan cheese out of the fridge.

“I feel much better,” Freya stated, as she watched Aithusa working her way through a small pack of kitten food.  “I think I can go home now. If it’s all right to take Aithusa with me?”

“I’ll have to come and check that your place is suitable for her,” said Gwen, “but that was the original idea, yes.”  

“Absolutely not!” cried Merlin. “We still don’t know that you’ll  be all right! The curse…” 

“I think it’s gone!” said Freya, blinking at him, her face still all pale and dark-eyed from lack of sleep. “I think Aithusa has cured me!” 

“I think it’s a great idea,” said Arthur, sitting back on his chair, arms folded. 

“What?” Merlin gaped at him, betrayed. “You can’t be serious. You saw what happened last night?” 

“Yes, but she’s feeling better now. You heard her.” 

“I’ve spent enough time invading your home,” Freya added. “Aithusa and I… I don’t know how to describe it, but we’ve developed a kind of bond. Haven’t we sweeting? And I just know I’ll be fine, with her there.” 

She made a cat-summoning noise with her lips, and Aithusa abandoned her dish, licking her lips with a tiny delicate pink tongue, before wrapping herself around first Freya’s then Merlin’s legs, purring up a storm. 

“How will we know you’re all right?” 

“I’ll call you,” said Freya, looking up at him through her lashes. “And you can come and visit me.” 

Arthur let out a snort. Merlin kicked him under the table. 

“But won’t your transformation put her in harm’s way?” protested Merlin, although he could see where the wind was blowing. “She’s only a little kitten.” 

“I’m sure Aithusa can look after herself, Merlin,” said Arthur. “She’s already escaped your grip by scaling the curtains once. I’m sure she could do that again.” 

Sure enough, when Merlin bent to pick her up, something must have spooked her, because she shot away out of his beckoning grip, found purchase on the curtains, and clambered up them, wailing piteously as she went. 

“See?” said Arthur, grinning. Pushing the chair back so it scraped across the kitchen floor, which spooked Aithusa even further, he crossed the room, making the same noise as Freya had, hands outstretched towards the hissing kitten. “Come on puss-cat. No-one’s going to hurt you. Just come with me now…” 

But instead of responding to Arthur’s crooning, she stood on the top of the curtain pole, laid her ears down flat against her head and hissed, making not only a burst of flame but a tiny hint of steam escape from her mouth, framed by small but exceedingly spiky teeth.

“What the--” cried Arthur, pulling back and waving frantically at his fringe. There was a sudden sharp smell of burning hair. “Did she just… Gwen! She burnt my fringe! How did she…?”

“Oh!” cried Gwen. “She’s never done that before! Clever girl! Come down, now, darling. Did the nasty man scare you?” 

“That… that… creature,” said Arthur, pointing an admonishing finger at the cat. 

Aithusa, who had now submitted to Freya’s more gentle coaxing, leaped down into her arms, purring as if nothing had happened. 

“That creature is a menace. And a fire hazard. And it must not spend another night without serious fire protection!” 

“She’ll be fine with me, won’t you sweeting?” hummed Freya, trying not to laugh. “Like I said. She and I have a bond. She won’t hurt me, and I would never hurt her.” 

Despite Merlin’s many misgivings, the rest of the group agreed that Freya and Aithusa would go back to Freya’s flat and take care of one another from now on. Which meant that, if her curse had genuinely been lifted, and so had Arthur’s, they had been successful in countering the problems created by the sorcerer, and Merlin could relax. So, he should be happy. But there was something nagging away at him – something about Arthur, an odd cast to his aura that made him worry that things were not all as they should be. 

“Are you sure you’re all right?” he said later, when Gwen and Freya had left, taking Aithusa with them. 

“I’m absolutely fine,” said Arthur, with a bright smile that didn’t fool Merlin for one minute. “Brilliant, in fact.” 

Some might say that Merlin had done his bit, and should leave things at that. But as a close – some might say ardent – observer of Arthur Pendragon’s many moods and facial expressions over the past months, Merlin had developed a finely honed instinct for when Arthur was trying to hide something. Not that Arthur was prone to hiding things. No, he was a truthful man. Not prone to shying away from criticism. Anger, he never hid, although it was normally quickly over. But uncomfortable emotions. Pain. Physical and emotional. Love. Affection, for himself and for others. Those, he hid away in a compartment where they could not be attacked and used against him. A coping mechanism, no doubt learned at home from his cold, distant father and reinforced by those archaic, horrible schools the English upper class still insisted on ruining their children at. 

“You don’t look fine,” said Merlin, reaching out with one hand to Arthur’s shoulder. 

Arthur flinched away from the implied approaching touch. Which was when he lost his balance, and sort of crumpled, his feet ending up beneath the kitchen table, and his head coming to rest against the cupboards. 

“Arthur!” cried Merlin, kneeling by his side, cupping his face with one hand. “Arthur! Stop trying to deal with this by yourself you dollophead! Let me help you!” 

With an effort – because Arthur was heavy – he managed to manhandle Arthur to a seated position, resting with his back against Merlin’s chest. 

“Come on, you stubborn git,” said Merlin. “Let’s get you into bed. What did you say helped you before?” 

“You can’t help me,” rasped Arthur. 

“Yes I can! You were fine, for a bit. What helped?” 

“I— just… just… hold me. Please.” 

And Merlin did, for some minutes, while Arthur’s breathing became less ragged. Slowly, Arthur’s heart began to thud more slowly against Merlin’s palm, flattened against his chest. Arthur’s shoulders, so broad and tense, began to relax, allowing Merlin to shift his weight around and line his chest up properly against Arthur’s back.

Arthur groaned out in relief. 

“Hugging?” guessed Merlin. “Is that what helps?” 

“God help me,” said Arthur, his voice now more approaching normal. “God help me, that’s what I think it is.” 

“And your last hug was?” 

“About four hours ago…”

“And for how long?” 

“About five minutes,” said Arthur.  

So… a five minute hug, and you managed four hours without significant pain?” 

“Ah. No. It was more like one.” 

“You’ve been hiding pain this whole time?” 

“What do you expect me to do?” 

“I expect you to ask for a hug when you need a hug, you turnip-brained ass!” 

“That’s a horrible mixed metaphor.” 

“You’re a horrible mixed metaphor.” 

Arthur actually chuckled, easing the worry a tiny bit. 

But as Merlin helped Arthur into his bedroom, and towards his beckoning bed, Merlin gulped. It was mad. It was like a dream, and a horrible nightmare. Because now he had the perfect excuse to hug Arthur. 

“I could stay with you tonight?” he croaked, bracing himself for the rejection. “That way, if you need a hug, I’ll be on hand. 

Arthur eyed him with an unreadable expression. 

“I’ve endured worse, I suppose…” he said finally. 

And later, when the lights from the streets outside dimmed, obscured by the curtains, and the insistent sounds of the city settled to a low, distant, hum, Arthur turned to Merlin, trembling and wordless in the night. Taking Merlin’s arm, he pulled it across the broad planes of his athlete’s chest, and with one economic movement turned onto his side with his back fetching up against Merlin’s breastbone. 

Merlin’s mouth settled behind the line of his spine, within kissing distance. With his upper hand, Arthur clung to Merlin’s forearm, keeping it tight against him, threading his fingers through Merlin’s and pressing Merlin’s hand to his sternum. He let out a sigh. The tremors that had wracked his body began to lessen. 

Tightening his grip on Arthur’s hand, Merlin buried his face in the warmth of Arthur’s t-shirt-clad back and silently nested his knees against the back of Arthur’s legs while Arthur shook, muscles clenching and unclenching against the pain. The hand clutching Arthur’s t-shirt could feel Arthur’s heart rabbiting against his ribcage.

Some time later, the spasms grew further apart before stopping, while Arthur’s pulse slowed and his breathing became even and steady. The crisis had passed. Arthur was asleep. 

“We’re trying to help you, Arthur,” muttered Merlin in an undertone, exasperated, his hand resting flat against the door to prevent Arthur from exiting it at high speed. “There’s no need to be so sulky about it.” 

“I’m not sulking!” said Arthur, arms folded, bottom lip extended in a pout that, if pouts were creatures, could have been paraded as the type example of the species poutus poutus in front of a group of excited children learning about what they looked like for the first time. 

“You could have fooled me!” hissed Merlin, gazing up at the heavens in despair. 

“Well, I just fail to see,” Arthur added in a furious whisper, “how my most… my most intimate emotions and feelings and thoughts should be paraded around in front of all and sundry!” 

“Uncle Gaius is not all and sundry!” 

They were standing just inside the door of Merlin’s bedroom, having left Gaius in the living room.

“Well, I’ve never met him before.” 

“He’s a professional. You can trust him utterly.”

The worst thing about all this was that Arthur looked pained. That chronic sort of pain that made a heavy line appear between his brows, and leached all the colour from his normally golden skin, leaving his eyes looking heavy and drawn. All Merlin wanted to do was to help him make the pain go away. Why couldn’t Arthur accept help from the one person Merlin trusted above all others? 

“I’m sorry.” Merlin sighed, pinching the skin between his own brows. “Look, I know this is hard for you. I know you’re very private about your feelings and all, and I get that, all right? Not everyone can be like Gwen and put their emotions on their sleeve all the time but… but the truth is that I can’t figure this out on my own, all right? And it… it kills me to see you in so much pain all the time, with nothing that I can do to help. I just know Gaius will point us in the right direction. Please. Please, just give him a chance.”

He looked up, biting his lip. 

“You’ve really thought about this,” Arthur was watching him closely, his hand fluttering up to his chest as it always did when the pain was beginning to get unbearable, and then back down again as, with an iron will, he forced himself to avoid showing any weakness. 

With an involuntary movement that he could not have stopped even if he had wanted to, Merlin reached out to clasp Arthur’s hand and pulled him closer, until they were pressed body to body, with Merlin’s arms whispering around those broad, stiff shoulders. 

“I really have,” said Merlin. 

A tiny noise of relief - more an exhalation than a gasp - escaped Arthur as he let his head dip into the gap between Merlin’s shoulder and his neck. Arthur gripped the thin fabric of Merlin’s jumper hard with both hands, as if he were drowning and Merlin was the only thing keeping him afloat. 

“I just want it all to stop,” he said in a small voice. 

“I know,” said Merlin, his thumb describing small arcs along Arthur’s shoulder. “I know. And Gaius can help. I promise.” 

“He has really scary eyebrows.” Arthur’s shoulders relaxed infinitesimally, and that was when Merlin finally knew everything was all going to be all right. 

With Aithusa having solved Freya’s crisis and gone home with her, the flat was at least a bit less populated for Arthur to pour his heart out to. But that didn’t make it any less difficult, not when the person he had to describe all his innermost feelings to had such a terrifying array of eyebrow positions to pass judgement on Arthur with. 

“Now, Arthur,” said Gaius, notebook open, pencil poised. He, Arthur, and Merlin were ensconced in the kitchen with mugs of tea in front of them. “I’m going to ask you some quite personal questions. Are you sure you wish Merlin to remain present?”

“Absolutely,” said Arthur firmly. There was no way he was letting Merlin leave him alone with his scary great-uncle. “I have no secrets from Merlin.” 

This last statement was not entirely true, but hopefully Gaius’s questions, although undoubtedly intrusive, would not deviate into a specific area that Arthur had worked hard to keep under wraps. The last thing he wanted was to expose the true nature of his feelings for Merlin to anyone, least of all Gaius. He had a hard time being honest about them with himself. 

“Good, good,” said Gaius, scribbling in his notebook. “Right. So, please describe the frequency and severity of the onset of acute neuralgia.” He looked up expectantly. 

“Hmm?” said Arthur, not having been exposed to medical language much over the years. Uther’s approach to minor ailments when he was younger was to get whatever nanny of the week Arthur had to give him some Calpol and then tell him to man up.

“He means, how often do you get these funny turns, and how bad are they?” translated Merlin. 

“They’re not funny! And I knew that was what Gaius was asking,” lied Arthur. “I was just thinking!”

“Of course you were.” 

“You’re not helping.” Arthur narrowed his eyes and directed a hard stare at Merlin, as he considered a pithy response to Merlin’s condescension. He opened his mouth to speak, but Gaius interrupted him.

“If you could just answer the question?” said Gaius, eyebrow adopting a position that Arthur could only interpret as amused . 

“Ahem. Right.” Arthur turned his attention back to Gaius, resolving to get Merlin later. “Well. It creeps up on me. Over the course of a few hours. And it starts off with a bit of a twinge behind here,” he indicated his ribcage. “Not too bad, to start with. But then it gets worse and worse, turns into a sort of burning, clenching pain. Makes it hard to breathe. And then after that, I get shooting pains throughout my body.” 

“I see. And are you experiencing symptoms now?”

“No.” 

“Very interesting,” said Gaius, tapping the table with his pencil and then turning the page of his notebook to jot something else down. “And in this instance, what seems to have alleviated the severity of the neuralgia? Have you perhaps taken an analgesic?” 

“Hmm?”

“He said, why isn’t it hurting at the moment?” murmured Merlin. “Have you taken any painkillers?”

“I knew he said that!” said Arthur. “And no, I haven’t taken anything. The thing that stopped the pain was… well. Well. I guess, I’m lucky, because I’ve found something that helps without having to take any drugs, and I know not everyone has that.”

Why was it so difficult to just come out and say it?  

“And that something is?” prompted Gaius, regarding him sternly as he twirled his pencil between thumb and forefinger. 

“A. Um. A— that is to say, I’m not sure it always – but there have been several instances – and it seems to keep the pain away for longer if it lasts for longer… and this was a short one, but it did the trick…” 

“And…?” 

“A, um. Ahah. This sounds a bit silly, but…” 

“Oh, for God’s sake, Arthur,” said Merlin, rolling his eyes. 

“What?” 

“Watching you try to find the words to express what you’re feeling is almost as painful as watching you in the grip of one of these funny turns!” 

“Well, excuse me if we can’t all be touchy-feely bleeding-heart types,” griped Arthur, feeling unnecessarily attacked. “Not all of us were brought up in a safe or sane household, I’ll have you know.” 

“Just…” Merlin let out a long exhale that was close to a sigh. “Just put on your big boy pants and use your words.” 

“You sound like my father.” 

“I very much doubt that.” 

“For God’s sake, I think I know what my own father sounded like!” 

“Well, so do I, and I never even met him. And I suspect that he was not the sort of father who encouraged you to articulate your feelings. But you need to find a way to do that, Arthur, so that Gaius can help you.” 

“All right, all right!” cried Arthur, throwing up his hands. “Stop getting at me! It’s a hug, okay?”

“A… hug ?” said Gaius. 

“Yes. When Mer— someone gives me a hug, the pain goes away almost immediately. 

“It’s true,” Merlin nodded. “The longer the hug, the longer he stays pain free.” 

“I see,” said Gaius, his eyebrow drawing up into a terrifying arch. “An acute case of Maledictionem Amplexus , is it? Hmm. I've seen this before. Sometimes, when one has a more emotional entanglement, the hugs of someone that one is in love with can alleviate the symptoms more dramatically. Is there anyone in particular whose… hugs seem to improve the acuteness of the situation?”

“No,” said Merlin.

“Yes,” said Arthur at the same time. 

Merlin swivelled on his chair to look at him. 

To play for time, Arthur buried his nose in his mug and took a long swig of tea. 

“What? But I thought Gwen’s hug…” said Merlin eventually. 

“Well, yes, but the relief wasn’t as complete or as long lasting as yours—.” 

“So, Merlin ’s hugs are more effective?” supplied Gaius, helpfully. 

If the ground were prone to swallowing people up, then that moment might have been a good time for it to have a go at Arthur. As it was, he was left floundering and stuttering with his face aflame.

“Yes,” he said, in a small voice. 

“It’s probably because I have magic,” said Merlin, a little wild-eyed.

“Probably,” lied Arthur, grasping onto this extremely useful lifeline with gratitude, even though he didn’t believe it for one minute. In fact, he had a very good idea about what the real reason was, but had no intention of letting on about it, not today to Gaius, or indeed any time in the future, to anyone at all, because to do so would mean laying bare the intensity of some unbidden feelings that had surfaced during the course of their all-night hug session a couple of days previously, and were stubbornly refusing to go away again. “That’s probably it.” 

“Ye-es,” said Gaius, who appeared to have both an uncanny perceptiveness and, thankfully, enough tact to keep his actual thoughts to himself. “And you say the duration of the hug helps. What was in fact the relationship between the duration of the hug and the length of time that the pain stays away? What is your longest pain free period since the curse?” 

“Two days,” said Arthur. 

“And the duration of the precipitating expression of affection was?” 

“Um – you mean how long did we hug for?” Arthur was beginning to get the hang of Gaius’s way of speaking. “Um. All night.” 

“I see,” said Gaius in a voice heavy with meaning. “About eight hours. Right. Well, while we look for a long term solution, the short term remedy seems fairly clear, doesn’t it?”

“It does?” 

But Merlin was already gazing at him in wild-eyed dismay. 

“No! Surely there’s a better way!” Abruptly, Merlin pushed his chair back, scraping the legs along the kitchen floor. He stood up.  “Can’t he just take something, Gaius? Isn’t there a cantrip or an amulet you can give him?” 

His hair stuck out around his ears at impossible angles, a sure sign of distress. In times of extreme emotion, Merlin’s thick thatch of black curls almost seemed to take on a life of its own.

“Not easily, Merlin,” said Gaius. “We need to find out what spell was used first, and that will take some time. In the meantime, the best idea is for you to replicate the scenario that best alleviated Arthur’s symptoms the first time around…” 

“Aargh, this is insufferable!” cried Merlin, turning his back, hand twisting on the door handle. 

It took Arthur a moment or two to work out what Merlin was getting so upset about, at which point he felt inexplicably hurt by Merlin’s reaction. 

“Surely I’m not that bad to share a bed with?” he griped, mouth turning down. “I’ve never had any complaints before.” 

But Merlin had already left the room, leaving Arthur with only a cold mug of undrunk tea and a sympathetic-looking Gaius for company.

“Just give him a moment, Arthur,” said Gaius kindly. “I suspect that Merlin will come round to my way of thinking. After all, he is a kind hearted soul, and does not want you to suffer unnecessarily. He just needs to adjust to the situation, that’s all.” 

Spending another night in bed with Arthur, vulnerable as he was, would be torture. Merlin had always had an inadvisably strong sentiment towards Arthur, one that he had tried so hard to avoid acting on over the months that they had known each other. He’d pretty much resigned himself to a life of adoring Arthur from afar, and locking all his softer feelings away in a box labelled “do not go here”. But there was something about Arthur revealing his frailties – to Merlin, and Merlin alone – that clutched at Merlin’s heart and threatened to unlock the box permanently. And where would they be then? 

But if it was the only way to prevent Arthur from experiencing more pain, what could Merlin do? 

It was not to be born. He bent over the book of counter-curses that Gaius had left, deciphering the illegible hand-scrawled text for clues. 

“I’m off to bed, now,” said Arthur, standing in the door in his pyjamas, his hand hovering around his sternum. Dark circles haunted his eyes. “But I’ll sleep alone. I don’t want to cause you any distress.” 

Despite all his evident efforts, Arthur looked pained. 

“What?” said Merlin, half rising from his seat. “No! Don’t be daft, Gaius said—”

“Well, it was clear that you weren’t happy with his suggestion, and I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, so—”

“It’s not that!” cried Merlin. “I just… I don’t feel uncomfortable hugging you. Far from it.” 

“Then why did you run off as if scalded when he suggested you spend the night hugging me?” said Arthur, his lips compressing into a distressed rosebud. He slumped against the doorframe, looking defeated. “Am I that awful?”

Shaking his head, Merlin swallowed, the words rising unbidden in his throat, and suddenly he was fed up with pretending, fed up with keeping all his emotions in check. His eyes began to heat and mist, and his vision blurred. 

“No,” he said, at last, hoarse through the clenching of his throat, not sure how to say what he wanted to say, or even if it would be a good idea, but not wanting to keep this misunderstanding between them for longer than he had to. “No. You’re not awful. You’re pretty amazing, actually. You’re brave, and kind, and selfless, even though you try so hard to hide it. It’s like you’re terrified that someone might actually find out that you’re wonderful underneath that prattish exterior, God only knows why. And I… I want to help you. But it’s just that I… I…” 

Merlin’s head of steam ran out and he blinked up at Arthur, biting his lip. 

“It’s just that you…?” prompted Arthur. 

Taking a deep breath, Merlin closed his eyes and forced himself to continue, because Arthur deserved the truth. 

“Well. The truth is that… I… I kind of hoped that our first night together would be because we both chose to be there, not because we were forced to. And I loved hugging you. I loved it. I suppose that deep down, although I never admitted it to myself, I’ve wanted to for years. And I hug all my friends. It’s normal for me. but you were such a touch-avoidant clotpole that I didn’t but now… I would happily do it every night for the rest of my life. And I felt guilty about that, because you were in pain! And there was me loving just being able to hold you, even when I knew it wasn’t your choice. And that’s why. That’s why I don’t want to… you know. So I’m looking for a cure and…” 

“Merlin, you absolute idiot,” said Arthur in a voice that could almost be construed as to be fond. 

Incredulous about this interpretation, Merlin opened one eye to observe Arthur’s facial expression, finding it, to his surprise, to match the general affectionate tone of his voice, rather than the scowl that he had expected. 

Arthur hadn’t actually asked a question – it was more of a comment, really, one of those comments that Arthur tended to make about a hundred times a day about Merlin’s intellect, or rather lack of it, which was a bit rich coming from a man who, for the longest time, thought that Merlin could conjure butterflies from a secret stash of caterpillars hidden somewhere in his room, without using magic. But he was standing there expectantly anyway, as if awaiting Merlin’s reply.

“Mm?” he ventured. 

“For the record,” Arthur went on, “I did not feel uncomfortable. Being held by you, I mean.” 

“No?” 

“No. I liked it. So, shut up.” 

“So… you’ll let me hug you tonight?” 

“God help me, I would be disappointed if you didn’t.” 

“And you wouldn’t rather I went to find Gwen?” 

“No.” Arthur shook his head firmly.

“But she…” 

“Is lovely, and married to Lancelot, and also, not the person I want to hug.” 

“Which means that I…” 

“Yes, God help me, do you want me to spell it out?” Peeling himself off the doorframe, Arthur sat down at the kitchen table opposite Merlin, propping his elbows on top of another one of Gaius’s hefty encyclopaedias of magic, and inserting his chin into his upturned hands to observe Merlin with eyes darkened by fatigue. “I would rather hug you, Merlin, than Gwen. Or anyone else for that matter.”

“Because I have magic?” said Merlin, puzzled by this outburst. 

“Aside from that at the moment – and I’m still not a hundred percent convinced – although I’ll allow that some odd things have happened recently…” 

“Finally!” 

“But! The real reason is because! ” Arthur lifted a finger to shush him. “Because… For some inexplicable reason, I have become attached to that mop of ridiculous hair, and the odd yet curiously charming mind that lies beneath it, and also the lanky body that props it up, not to mention those hairy arms of yours, which do seem, to my subconscious anyway – which must mean that there’s something terribly wrong with me – to be ideally suited to the task of hugging.” 

“But it’s still just because of the curse, of course,” said Merlin, groping to understand the truth, and hoping that it wasn't.

“For now, maybe,” said Arthur with a wan smile.

Oh. Merlin's heart dropped.

“But who knows? Maybe I’ll get a taste for hugging. Maybe the curse will turn out to have been a blessing after all? Although, as you're straight, perhaps not.” 

Straight? Merlin?

Oh. Oh.

“Where on Earth did you get that idea from?” 

“What idea?” 

“That I'm straight. I mean, I know blonds were meant to be dumb, but I thought that was just a cliche!” 

“Well, I thought you and Gwen... before she met Lancelot.” 

“Yes, we dated, but we were always better as friends. And I haven't only dated girls.” 

“But you never talked about it.” 

“Because I thought you were straight! Plus, you never asked!” 

“You mean you're…” 

“Bisexual, as it happens.”  Merlin huffed out a laugh. “And in love with a clotpole. Not sure what gender that falls under. So maybe that I be classed pansexual.” 

Abruptly, Merlin reached out to grab one of Arthur’s hands and drag it across the table where he could hold it between both of his own and stroke it, as one would stroke the paw of a beloved yet stupid dog that offered it to shake, and gave into his emotions, tremulous silly things that they were, to lift it, and bestow upon it a cautious kiss. An affection that Arthur bore, not stoically, but more with an expression of startlement and confusion, which Merlin took as encouragement.

“And anyway, it doesn’t matter either way. Because whatever happens, I’ll take care of you, Arthur,” he said quietly but sincerely, describing arcs on the back of Arthur’s hand with his thumbs, as if soothing a spooked animal, which in many ways was what he was doing. Arthur’s hand was trembling between his, and cold to the touch. The silly man had probably been hiding increasing pain for some time, but didn’t know how to ask for a hug. Suddenly, all Merlin’s misgivings vanished under the pressure of the paramount need to help Arthur regardless of the circumstances. “I always will. I promise.” 

Smiling wanly, Arthur gave him a quick, grateful nod. 

“Now, come here, you stubborn old cabbagehead, and give me a proper hug.” 

Vaguely aware of a sense of dream-like contentment, Arthur blinked open his eyes and took a moment to take stock of his surroundings. An unfamiliar wall (with an intricate pattern of interlocking dragons that hurt his eyes if he looked at it for too long) greeted his gaze. A pair of curtains with a similar motif obscured the window. At his back, someone deliciously warm and familiar was loudly snoring. To his side was a bedside table that featured a picture that had been turned away from the bed, and towards the window. Curious, Arthur plucked this picture from the night stand to study it; it showed a slightly younger looking Merlin with a kind-faced woman who must be his mother. They were standing, grinning, in front of a large enclosure at a zoo. 

So, he must be in Merlin’s bed then. 

Wait a minute. 

Arthur frowned at this last item and took another, closer look. Upon second inspection, perhaps the animal looming over Merlin and his mum was not a particularly ugly-looking giraffe, as he had originally thought. It looked almost like a dinosaur or maybe a… a… but no, that would be ridiculous. 

“…a dragon ?” he muttered softly under his breath. 

So, no, not a zoo at all. Some sort of theme park featuring monsters, perhaps.

For a moment, he could have sworn that the dragon in the picture winked at him. He blinked back at it. He must still be asleep. 

“Mmthur?” A murmur behind him indicated that Merlin was beginning to wake. “You okay?”

“Never felt better.” It was true, actually. After the epiphany last night when he discovered that he was allowed only only to hug Merlin, but also to kiss him as well, a discovery that they then acted on with great enthusiasm, for some hours… well after all that happened, somehow Arthur felt invigorated, all signs of pain and the lingering malaise that had ailed him since the curse hit him were now gone. 

“Why are you looking at Kilgharrah?” 

“Kilgharrah?”

“My dad’s old dragon.” 

“Dragon?”

“Yeah. We go and visit him, sometimes, me and mum. He’s getting a bit old and decrepit now, but he’s also a wily old reptile. Sometimes he watches me from that picture. It can be a bit creepy, to be honest. Let me know if he does anything. He listens to me.”

“But…” Perplexed, Arthur peered at the photo. The dragon remained reassuringly still, although he could have sworn that its mouth had been open the last time he looked at it. “Surely there are no such thing as actual dragons. This is some sort of … sculpture park—”

“It’s a dragon sanctuary,” said Merlin as if that was the most natural thing in the world. “It’s kind of like a care home for elderly, cranky dragons. And Kilgharrah’s been in there for… oh. Ten years or something? He says he hates it and moans about the food all the time, apparently they feed him horrible food. I’ve seen the food, and it looks perfectly nice, by the way. He refuses most stuff, but gobbles up the chicken like nobody’s business. Anyway, when I try to take him out of the sanctuary, to go for a flight for enrichment, he always says no and mutters something cryptic about destiny.  Destiny and chicken. His favourite topics of conversation.”

Turning to face Merlin, Arthur opened his mouth to say something about the vividness of Merlin’s imagination and the fact that he would never be fooled by it but then… Merlin’s head was propped up on one hand. His hair stuck up at ridiculous angles and his face was all sleep-soft and pillow-rumpled. His lips, always full and plump, were kiss-pink and enticing. The expression on his face spoke of concern mixed with something questioning that darkened his eyes and made his eyebrows quirk into enquiring arches.

Arthur drank in this striking view, dumbfounded for a moment. 

“I would take you to see him,” Merlin went on, “but stubborn old muggle—”

“Rationalist.” 

“ Muggle that you are, you’d probably try to break into his enclosure thinking that he was an animatronic or something equally ridiculous, then you'd try to find out where the remote control was, and I can assure you that there is no such thing, and moreover that Kilgharrah, old though he is, is still perfectly capable of generating enough flame to incinerate your average curious sceptical clotpole and munch on his bones for breakfast, an—”

“Shut up, Merlin” Arthur interrupted him at last, a feeling of utter contentment stealing through him. Pressing his lips to Merlin’s, he ensured that his request would be followed in the best possible way. 

Chapter Text

SEVERAL MONTHS LATER

“You just want to get away from me.” 

“Don’t be such an idiot , Merlin," said Arthur, gazing up at the heavens for inspiration, not for the first time in his quest for help in reassuring his stupid, insecure boyfriend. "Of course I don’t. In case you didn’t notice, this morning, when I thought I made it abundantly clear, several times, I love spending time with you, especially hugging you, especially, and this is important, skin-to-skin, not because it stops me feeling the effects of the curse, but because, you insecure, skinny, ridiculous, overpowered warlock, I love you to distraction! So! I just want you to be with me because you choose to, not because of some obligation…” 

“It doesn’t feel like an obligation, I swear!” 

“Nevertheless, if your… um… dragon can genuinely counter this curse…” 

Still dubious, Merlin pouted, which didn’t look adorable at all, necessitating a lengthy moment where Arthur had to give him yet another reassuring snog before letting him out of the car. 

And after that, it all happened too fast for him to get any more worried about meeting a creature who he was beginning to genuinely believe might be a real life dragon, squirreled away into this distant and remote facility, where he was kept, Merlin assured him, in what passed for dragonkind as relative luxury. 

The security team, who were wearing full protective body armour as they escorted both men into the enclosure, scuttled away before Arthur could spy any exotic creatures, large or otherwise. 

In truth, a thick, dank mist prevented him from seeing much. Apart from a few squat, bare thorn bushes, there was little vegetation to break up the monotony of the pale grey fog. The ground around them was pock marked and littered with soot-black piles of something unidentifiable. It was the very definition of a blasted heath. 

This didn’t fill Arthur with confidence either, but Merlin did seem unconcerned about his own safety as he geared himself up for his dragon-summoning spell. Which seemed to be taking forever.

“Come on! We haven't got all day! Get on with the mumbo jumbo, why don't you?” Arthur had become a bit more accustomed to Merlin’s spellcasting over the past few months. But he still liked to pretend that he didn’t believe in magic, just for old time’s sake; he enjoyed the way it riled Merlin up and made him scowl and issue inventive insults.

“O drakon," said Merlin, after flashing Arthur an annoyed glare. “e male so ftengometta tesd'hup'anankes!"  His voice came out as an uncompromising baritone that caused shivers to parade up and down Arthur’s spine and made his knees go all wobbly. Not that Arthur would ever admit that, of course. Plus, his eyes flashed golden, which Arthur always found incredibly sexy. 

“Remember, stand your ground when he flies over,” said Merlin in his normal voice. “He won’t hurt you. I won’t let him, I swear. Bow when I intr—” 

“Yeah, yeah, bow to the scary big bird, Arthur, yadda yadda,” scoffed Arthur to disguise the way that his heart was pounding in anticipation. “Don’t run away and don’t show weakness. And don’t get involved in a riddling competition. You’ve told me before. A hundred times.” 

“I know, but it’s different when you’re here. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine!” said Arthur between gritted teeth. 

“You look awfully red.” 

“Of course I look red! It’s cold!” In fact, any colour on his cheeks was probably due to the lingering effects of Merlin’s magical dragon-summoning voice more than anything else, but again, Arthur didn’t want to admit that out loud. 

But then there was no more time for dreaming up ways to disguise his discomfort. Above his head, whomp-whomping through the mist, came the leathery sound of wings flapping – approaching them at high speed while the birds, hitherto raucous, fell silent.  

“Here he comes,” said Merlin, with an air of satisfaction. 

Arthur swallowed hard. Because there, through the mist approached a huge shape - almost like a vulture in outline, but bulkier and more hunched. A terrible stink - sulphurous and acrid - permeated the air. 

“Ah, young warlock,” rasped a voice at once both terrifying and peevish. “Why have you summoned me from my meal, meagre though it was? The food here is truly diabolical. The sheep I had this morning was stringy. I’ve got bits stuck between my tee—”

“My friend,” interrupted Merlin, “is in need of healing.” 

“I can see that. I could smell the stench of his curse from the other side of the mountain. It put me off my breakfast.” 

“I have a spell that can break it,” Merlin carried on. “With the aid of a dragon’s breath. If you will help me?” 

“I see. I am some sort of magical first-aider now, am I?” grumbled the dragon. “The last of the dragons, largest and most fierce of his kind, reduced to some kind of… of… rescue vehicle for pathetic cases who can’t step out of the way of a simple curse? What are things coming to? In my heyday, I wouldn’t be summoned for anything less than—” 

“Not at all, Kilgharrah!” said Merlin. “We ask you out of the deepest humility and respect. This is my friend, Arthur Pendragon.” 

Performing a deep bow, he somehow managed at the same time to poke Arthur in the side, prompting him to follow suit with a bow of his own.

The dragon muttered a bit at that. It was chewing on something, and a bit of drool fell out of the corner of its mouth. To Arthur's horror, where it landed on a fallen tree branch, the wood began to burn and hiss. 

“And what, pray, could such pathetic mere mortals such as you grant me in return for my sacrifice?” The beast’s lip curled in disdain.

Piqued, Arthur opened his mouth to ask what the normal price would be, but fell silent when Merlin nudged him hard in the ribs. 

“I bring you news, in return,” said Merlin in a formal voice. “News of magical creatures reawakening throughout Albion. The time of the prophecy is near.” 

“You interest me, young warlock,” said the dragon, coming, alarmingly, a little closer. Tendrils of smoke snaked out of his nostrils. The air began to feel uncomfortably warm. “Tell me more.” 

“So you’ll help me, then?” Merlin lifted his chin. 

There was a lengthy pause while the dragon contemplated this response. Then it lifted its great, gnarled head and rose up, forepaws clawing at the sky, exposing long sharp talons. An extraordinary noise came out, like a cross between a seagull crying and a lion roaring. It was all Arthur could do not to put his hands over his ears to block out that awful sound, until a moment later he realised that the beast was laughing. 

“Oh, Merlin, Merlin,” he said eventually. “Of course I will help. You and I are kin, as I told you long ago.” 

“I know, you irascible old lizard,” said Merlin in a voice that, if Arthur didn’t know better, sounded almost fond. “Now, let’s get this clotpole rid of his curse, shall we?” Whereupon, he held out the piece of paper that bore the countercurse, and the dragon, to Arthur’s astonishment, began to read it out loud.

Afterwards, when they got home, Arthur felt no different, even though Merlin assured him the curse had gone. Well, he still craved hugs and kisses from Merlin, anyway, and didn't think that would change any time soon. But no, the best thing about being cured was that he could seek out the growing list of people whom he loved: Gwen, Morgana of course, Leon - who gave surprisingly soft hugs - and yes Freya, Merlin's mother Hunith, even Gaius - not to mention the others that he met through them, like Gwen's husband Lance, her brother Elyan, and Elyan's partners, Gwaine and Percy. And if from time to time he bestowed upon them a hug, they would now know it for what it truly was: a sign of his genuine and lasting affection.

A curse? More like a priceless gift.

END