A/N: I asked lemissingmask on tumblr if they could draw some Lancelot with a kitten sketches, and they were kind enough to indulge me. So then of course I had to write a fic to go with them. I wish ff allowed links so I could easily direct you to the sketches, but they'll be in the fic on Ao3 if you want to take a look. (They're absolutely adorable, so you should.)
"Little Harbinger"
It was a cold and drizzly day, the kind that knights loathed for patrol duty. Chilly droplets fell from the tree canopy and down the back of Lancelot's collar. His boots occasionally slipped on the slick and matted grass. He tucked his hands under his armpits as he trudged along the path, eager to return home and get out of these damp clothes and sit by a warm hearth.
A high-pitched, squeaky crying pulled him up short. The others hadn't noticed, as they kept going, but Lancelot turned to the chaparral on his right and listened, trying to home in on the source. Bending down, he pushed aside some of the scraggly branches to reveal a wet and dirty black kitten. The skittish thing tried to back away from him, but it was caught in the brambles and mewled even louder. Lancelot frowned as he looked around for the kit's mother, but he didn't see any sign of her.
"What is it?" Elyan asked, backtracking after realizing Lancelot had stopped.
"A kitten," he replied.
"A kitten?" Gwaine repeated dubiously. "You're delaying us for a kitten?"
"It's alone."
Leon leaned over to get a look at the frightened creature in the bushes, his expression furrowing. "Black cats are a bad omen. Leave it."
Lancelot's mouth turned down further. "It'll die."
"No doubt someone dumped it out here," Elyan said. "I've seen it before."
Frowning, Lancelot reached in to pick up the kitten. It flinched and hissed at him, its tiny claws scratching the back of his hand. He grimaced but didn't let go, and hauled the thing out to then securely wrap in his cloak, careful to make sure those little claws were trapped. The kitten only gave one squirm for show before it realized the red material was softer and warmer than the mud under the bush.
Gwaine let out a dramatic groan. "You can't be serious."
"You don't honestly believe in superstition," Lancelot rejoined.
"No," Gwaine huffed, but he gave the kitten's exposed head the side-eye as Lancelot passed him. "But if you catch the plague, don't say we didn't warn you."
Lancelot shook his head in exasperation and resumed heading back to Camelot. The kitten wrapped snugly in his cloak gave a muffled protest here and there, but he could feel it shaking from the cold and damp.
Once back at the castle, Lancelot went straight to his chambers where thankfully the servants had kept a fire going in the fireplace to keep the room warm. He hooked his foot around the leg of a chair and dragged it closer to the hearth, then sat down. With one hand holding the kitten, he peeled back the edge of his cloak to get a look at it. Its eyes were closed now and it was still shivering. Lancelot adjusted the folds of fabric to bundle it up more and angled himself toward the crackling flames. He ran his forefinger over the kitten's head, trying to be gentle with how small and bony it felt.
Gradually the shivers in both of them ceased, and when he angled a look down at the cat, it looked asleep. He started to wipe his cloak over its dirty fur, which woke it, and that little squeal of a voice yowled its discontent yet again.
"You're probably crying for your mother, aren't you," Lancelot said. "I'm sorry, I don't know where she is."
Now fully awake, the kitten squirmed and tried to crawl its way out of the bundled cloak. Lancelot easily captured it in his hands, but he had to consider what to do with it now, since he couldn't hold it in place forever.
A knock sounded at the door, but it opened before Lancelot could respond. He rolled his eyes fondly at Merlin, who let himself in.
"I heard you brought home a stray."
"I couldn't leave it in the forest to die," Lancelot replied, glancing down at the little squirt again. He looked back up at Merlin. "I hope you're not superstitious about black cats."
Merlin frowned, coming over. "I don't know. It doesn't look that frightening."
"He is—a frightening mess."
Merlin smirked. "I can see if I can scrounge up some milk from the kitchens."
"That'd be great," Lancelot said gratefully.
Merlin left just as quickly, and Lancelot stayed where he was, simply holding the kitten and stroking its head trying to get it used to human touch. When it got too squirmy again, he finally extricated it from his cloak, holding the tiny thing up to look at it. It meowed at him, loudly. Lancelot grimaced and looked around for a place to safely put it. There weren't many options, so he reluctantly settled for the empty bucket for carrying water. The sides should be too high for the kitten to jump out of it.
Lancelot gently set it inside, then quickly changed out of his chainmail and into regular clothes. The kitten wailed from its temporary prison. Lancelot went to the wash basin and poured some water from the pitcher into a bowl, then grabbed a small towel and brought both over to the table. Then he went to retrieve the kitten, which he carried over and set on the table. Trying to keep it still and wipe down its ratty fur was a challenge and Lancelot wasn't getting far.
Merlin returned, letting himself in again. He had a shallow bowl of milk in one hand, which he brought over and set in front of the kitten's fidgety face. It immediately began greedily lapping up the liquid.
"You're right; he is a frightful mess," Merlin commented.
Lancelot waited for the kitten to drink its fill before he started trying to clean its fur again. Merlin stepped in to help hold it, which it did not like, and it cried throughout the entire process.
"Yes, I know you were just wet, but you'll be dry and clean again soon," Lancelot told it.
Merlin's lips twitched.
Lancelot tried to be gentle with the washing, but there was a lot of grime to get out of the fur, which was a frizzy mess by the time he'd finished trying to rub it dry.
"Now it kind of looks like a rat," Merlin said.
Lancelot shot him a look and scooped the kitten up into his arms again. "Don't listen to him," he crooned, grabbing a spare shirt and wrapping the sodden kitten in it as he retook his seat by the fire. Without his chainmail, the kitten warmed up faster against Lancelot's shared body heat.
Merlin stood there watching for a few moments. "Are you keeping it?"
Lancelot considered it for a moment, then tucked his chin over the kitten's head. There was the faintest rumble of content emanating from its tiny body.
"Yeah, why not," he found himself saying, then added more softly, "Us orphans have to stick together."
Taking care of a kitten was a lot of work. The little runt was always running around the room and getting into things. It still skittered away from Lancelot when he tried to catch it, so he resorted to bribing it with bowls of milk and meat scraps, patiently waiting out its suspicion and then simply lying on the floor next to it while it gobbled up the food. It didn't take long for it to get used to him, though it was still a bit hand shy. No doubt a sign of the abuse it had suffered for simply being born the wrong color.
Gwen came by, bearing a tray lined with sand. "So it will stop leaving messes around your room," she explained, setting the litter in the corner.
"Thank you," Lancelot said with a wince. That had been a problem.
He picked up the kitten and carried it over to show it its very own version of a chamber pot. The kitten sniffed the sand, made a few digs at it, and then plopped down and began to roll around.
Lancelot sighed. "And now you're filthy again."
Gwen giggled.
Without warning, the kitten bolted from the tray, spraying sand everywhere as it went barreling across the room like a little terror.
"Quite the little scamp, isn't he?" Gwen said.
"Very."
"What did you decide to name him?"
Lancelot frowned. "I don't know." He regarded the kitten as it bounded around the room, darting and running from invisible specks of shadow. Maybe he'd call him Scamp.
The kitten was a scruffy little thing, even after the bath. His fur was mostly thin, but with long pieces like wiry whiskers sticking out all over. Yet as he got proper nutrition, his coat gradually started filling out and became smoother and healthier. He also had a boat load of energy and spent half the night playing with whatever he could get his paws on. Lancelot often lay awake, half exasperated, half resigned.
One day he had draped his cloak over the back of his chair to dry after another drizzly patrol, and the next thing he knew, the kitten was trying to climb up it like a squirrel. There was a loud ripping sound as his claws tore through the fabric, and his weight pulled the cloak and chair down with a raucous crash. Lancelot scrambled over and snatched the kitten up, quickly looking him over for injury. Fortunately, the only casualty was Lancelot's cloak.
Lancelot held the kitten up to his face. "You are a little harbinger, aren't you?" he said with a sigh.
He set the scamp back down on the floor and picked up the chair and torn cloak. Then he went and got out his sewing kit. Sitting at the table, he threaded the needle and began to mend the tear. But then the kitten was jumping up into his lap and swatting at the dangling thread. With a huff, Lancelot picked him up and set him on the table where he could use his arm to attempt to push him away. But he was a squirmy one and kept getting over or under his guard to attack the string again.
Lancelot leaned back in his chair with an annoyed sigh. He couldn't stay irritated long, though, not when those big amber eyes looked at him like that and Scamp pounced on the thread like he was a mighty hunter catching his prey.
Lancelot dug around in his sewing kit for some old scraps of fabric from previous patch jobs. He cut them into thinner strips, then braided them all together and joined the two ends with a knot to make a circle. He then waved the toy in front of the kitten's face, and the little fringe on the ends immediately caught his attention. Lancelot tossed the toy across the room, and Scamp went barreling after it.
With the kitten now fully occupied with that, Lancelot turned his attention to mending his cloak, a smile cracking his face as Scamp tossed his new toy to and fro through the air.
Scamp grew quickly, transitioning from a tiny ball of fluff to a lean, wiry thing that loved to jump on everything. At least he was getting better with his balance and not ripping things when he fell.
Lancelot walked by the dresser where the kitten was perched, and Scamp suddenly jumped from the edge and landed on Lancelot's shoulder. He froze, cocking his head curiously at the cat. Scamp mrrped at him affectionately and started rubbing his head in Lancelot's hair. Lancelot smiled and reached up to scratch behind the kitten's ears.
The older he got, though, the more adventurous he became. Whenever the door opened, Scamp would try running out. Getting in and out every day was practically an acrobatic feat for Lancelot. One his friends hadn't mastered yet.
The door opened as Merlin tried to come in, and Scamp immediately went zooming for the exit. Merlin dove to catch him and ended up twisting and falling to the floor in a heap, one very grumpy kitty wriggling in his arms.
Lancelot rushed over and took Scamp. "Sorry," he gushed to Merlin, then turned to the kitten. "You know better," he chided.
Merlin got to his feet and quickly shut the door behind him. "Probably wants to know where you go every day."
Lancelot sighed. "Yes, but the castle is too big to let him just go wandering off." He'd hate for Scamp to get underfoot of anyone, especially if they weren't tolerant of black cats.
"I have an idea!" Merlin declared. "Just have to rig something up."
That something was a leather harness similar to a horse's bridle. By fastening it around Scamp's chest, neck, and under his belly, he was held firmly by the leash attached to it. And Lancelot was finally able to let him venture out into the hallway under close supervision.
Merlin stood with arms crossed and a grin on his face, obviously pleased with his work as the kitten cautiously trotted around to explore the new sights and smells.
"What the heck is that?" Gwaine asked as he came toward them.
"What's it look like?" Merlin answered.
"It looks ridiculous, that's what it looks like."
Merlin rolled his eyes and ignored him.
Scamp went rigid as Gwaine approached, eyed him for a long moment, then continued on his exploration.
Lancelot started taking him out for daily walks after that, which reduced the escape attempts. The other knights teased him and Merlin for walking a cat like a dog, but Lancelot didn't mind. Scamp had filled a void he'd had for so long in his life that he'd forgotten it was there. He had friends here in Camelot, of course, but Scamp provided a level of companionship that few offered, save Merlin—that of unconditional affection.
And constant trouble.
Lancelot came back from training one day to find that Scamp had knocked one of the candle sticks off the table. Lancelot knew it was him because he was sitting smack dab in the middle of the table, tail curled around his paws, and giving Lancelot a guileless look. Lancelot simply picked the item up and put it back on the table.
Then later that afternoon when he was reading, Scamp jumped back up on the table and stared at that same candle stick. Lancelot watched out of the corner of his eye as the kitten surreptitiously moved a paw toward the base.
"Hey," he warned.
Scamp stopped. Lancelot went back to his reading, but a moment later, movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention, and he looked to find the little rascal tapping the candle stick with his paw.
"Pst," Lancelot said sharply.
The kitten stopped. Lancelot narrowed his eyes. Then, without breaking eye contact, Scamp smacked the candle stick hard enough to knock it off the table.
Lancelot closed his book and set it aside, then glowered at the kitten, who didn't look at all apologetic. In fact, if Lancelot had to guess, he'd say the little cretin was daring him to put the offending candle stick back.
Lancelot rolled his eyes and picked the item up, then set it on top of the mantel instead. And instead of returning to his book, he found Scamp's braided toy and sat down on the floor to throw it for him. If walking a cat on a leash was strange, so was the fact that he could fetch, and did so with joyful exuberance.
Lancelot passed the next hour playing with that kitten.
"Easy," Merlin coaxed as he helped Lancelot hobble down the corridor to his chambers. He'd insisted on walking on his own power after Gaius had tended his wound, though each step tugged at raw stitches across his chest.
They entered his room and were immediately greeted with the plaintive meows of a cat whose dinner was late. Scamp darted in and around their legs, rubbing up against them. Fortunately, Lancelot was moving slowly enough so as not to trip.
"He's hungry," Lancelot said breathlessly. The long walk up the stairs had taken the last of his reserves.
"I'll take care of it," Merlin replied, guiding Lancelot over to the bed where he helped ease him down.
Lancelot exhaled heavily as his body sank into the mattress. The pain relieving herbs Gaius had given him earlier were beginning to wear off.
Scamp continued to complain after Merlin left, but once he returned with a plate of food did his yowls turn to excited chirps. Merlin set his supper on the floor, then came back over to Lancelot.
"Want me to take him while you're recovering?"
"No, that's okay." Lancelot's heart gave a squeeze at the thought of being completely alone in his chambers without the constant presence of the kitten.
"Alright. I'll just bring his breakfast with yours tomorrow. Do you need anything?"
Lancelot shook his head tiredly. "No, thank you, Merlin."
"Okay. Get some rest."
Merlin left, and Lancelot listened to the soft pitter patter of the kitten for a bit. But then Scamp was jumping up on the bed and padding over to him. Lancelot reflexively lifted an arm to prevent the kitten from walking over his wounded chest.
But Scamp didn't try to play or be a nuisance. He walked right under Lancelot's raised arm and plopped down in a curled up ball against his side. Lancelot slowly lowered his arm around the kitten, who flipped his head upside down and wrapped his forelegs around Lancelot's bicep. Lancelot smiled and closed his eyes as the rhythmic sound of purring soothed him to sleep.
The black kitten wasn't a bad omen; he was a blessing.