I. Merlin

It wasn't surprising that Merlin was no less tormented by Arthur's baby self than Arthur the king. They were seven days into this special hellish nightmare, and Merlin was being terrorised by Arthur as usual.

Gaius had assured Merlin and Gwen and everyone else concerned about the ruler of the kingdom being a (roly-poly little brat) two-year-old boy that the spell, aimed at Arthur in the thick of battle by a (frankly incompetent, Merlin thought) enemy sorcerer, would last no more than a month and Gwen need only act as Queen Regent for that long.

"Three more weeks, you should be fine," Gwen told him, looking all regal and stunning with her Queen's crown and Arthur's stolen borrowed sceptre. Merlin did up the final lace at her back and stared at her miserably in the mirror.

"Do let me know if you want to take over nappy-changing duties, then."

"I'll just leave you to it," Gwen said, hurriedly patting Merlin on the shoulder and leaving for queenly duties or whatever regents did when their king was incapacitated by way of being at an age for waddling instead of striding.

"Oh, hello, Arthur," Merlin heard Gwen exclaim right outside. "Why're you in your nightie?"

"Wen, where's Merlin?" came an exigent reply. "I want to play."

"He's right in there, darling." There was the sound of a noisy, affectionate kiss. Merlin smiled despite himself. Arthur might still be every bit an arrogant, demanding prat as a baby but he was also irresistibly adorable, and Gwen was pants at holding back whenever she saw him. "Have a fun time, love!"

"Bye, Wenny!"

Merlin waited, watching the crack between the door and the jamb carefully.

A blond head poked out from behind the door. Wide blue eyes stared at Merlin. Merlin put his hands on his waist, elbows akimbo.

"Sire," he started, faking exasperation to hide the rush of oh-lord-Arthur's-cutie-pie-face-is-so-cute in his chest. "Where's your escort?"

(Somewhere a hapless knight was running about, fearing execution for losing track of the king.)

"Dunno," Arthur said, still peeping but not entering the room. "A'you irrt—irrirt—irrirtate—wi' me?"

"'Course not!" Merlin said, surprised, which meant Arthur toddled out from behind the huge (to him) door and flung himself at Merlin.

Merlin, worryingly having got used to Arthur wanting to be carried by him, caught Arthur deftly. "Cor, you're fat, aren't you?" he said, tucking an arm under Arthur's bum as Arthur buried his head in the crook of Merlin's neck.

"'M not," Arthur insisted, grabbing Merlin's ear. "And your ears are ridic'lous."

"Nothing I haven't heard for years from your very mouth, Arty-Farty," Merlin said, exiting the room. "Let's go find the poor Sir Caradoc and tell him he isn't going to die, yeah?"

"And then we play?"

"And then we play," Merlin agreed.

"Swords and sorcerers," Arthur said, waving an arm in the air and looking haughtily at all the servants who passed them, scrunching his nose and scowling (cutely) fiercely at them. It most definitely did not work and instead caused every single chambermaid and scullery boy to melt into puddles of aww.

"Swords and bandits," Merlin corrected, walking swiftly towards Gaius's chambers, where the knight would doubtless be begging the court physician for mercy.

"I said sorcerers," Arthur bellowed into Merlin's ear.

Merlin grabbed Arthur's face with one hand, squishing his cheeks together. Arthur looked slightly alarmed. "I thought I told you never to shout into my ears again?"

Arthur blew a raspberry at Merlin, giggling.

Merlin released Arthur's cheeks and gave up, patting his bum instead. There was no fighting a tubby baby Arthur.

Arthur chattered away the entire walk to Gaius and Merlin's rooms, with Merlin spacing out most of the time (half of what Arthur spoke was gibberish, anyway). But when Merlin knocked on Gaius's door, Arthur wound his arms around Merlin's neck, planted a wet kiss on his cheek and whispered,

"Love you, Merlinnie," which made Merlin grit his teeth to prevent himself from beaming so hard his face broke.