A Prince's best friend
Chapter 3: In which Arthur finds himself strangely possessive for some obscure reason

'You snore a lot you know,' Merlin commented next morning, finding himself in a curled arm, quite safe with a husky scent of pure Arthur embedded in the sheets and pillows, the prince himself still deeply asleep. And it was also then he realized that his furry little body was in Arthur's arms in Arthur's bed and he shot up, blushing – well, would be blushing, if the fur hadn't been in the way – out of the blonde's tender grip.

'Oh my god, I slept with Arthur!' Merlin panickedly cried, err, yowled. In truth he wasn't really bothered by the fact itself of sleeping with Arthur (it was a rather, erm, nice thought actually); mostly he was scared of the man's reaction. It was one thing, expressing affection, like at dinner yesterday, stroking against the man's ankles or licking his nose (though that had been a total accident. Yes, honestly, an accident, like cat instincts taking over), but he doubted Arthur was happy with having hold him all night even as a cat, god, Arthur was going to have him put in the stocks for years, oh god he'd slept with Arthur! Yesterday night it hadn't seemed a bad idea at all, but now – what would Arthur do when he found his manservant in his bed?

"What are you doing in my bed?" Arthur asked when he woke up a few moments after these thoughts had made it through Merlin's head. The man looked down at him strangely. "Wait a minute – it wasn't a dream? Is it you?"

… He didn't seem so mad. Or upset.

Merlin sighed in relief.

Maybe he'd overreacted a bit there.

'You mean me being a cat?' Merlin asked carefully, slowly walking over Arthur's left leg to be able to move out of the large bed. It was both a relief and a disappointment to get away from Arthur, the man's body heat no longer radiating far enough for Merlin to feel it. 'Yes, it's me.'

"…I'd hoped it was a dream." Arthur scratched his neck and stretched his arms next, yawning. "What's that … smell? And there are cat hairs everywhere…!" He cast a look at the cat, though Merlin was unable to determine if it was angry, annoyed or something else. "Let's forget about it. I'm too tired for this." Arthur stood and began shuffling through his wardrobe. "…Before you got that accident of yours, did you manage to clean that red shirt and my favourite jacket?"

'I knew there was something I forgot!' Merlin exclaimed. The prince heard only upset yowling, but guessed it meant No.

"Go fetch breakfast," he said to the cat instead while starting to pull on a blue shirt.

'How am I supposed to do that?' Merlin asked, confused.

Arthur didn't understand a word of that, naturally, but seemed to realize what the cat had meant to say. "Well, go on. Act…cute and pitiful or something," he advised, helpfully, and nudged the door open.

'Gee, great, thanks. I don't even have hands you know, I can't carry a tray!'

The kitten stuck out his tongue at the prince's back before leaving, missing Arthur's smirk.

()()()

Sara, head of the cooks, squealed in delight at the sight the kitten with uncertain wide eyes lingering in the doorway.

"Oh, look at you, sweet little thing!" she cooed at the kitten, leaning down and scratching his ear (surprisingly it wasn't as nice as when Arth—Uhm. Moving on.). "Do any of you recognize it?" Sara asked one of the maids who were present, preparing breakfast.

"I thought I saw it with Prince Arthur yesterday, but it could be just a stray cat," the girl said uncertainly. What if it really was the prince's pet which had wandered off and gotten lost? It'd mean no good, for them nor the cat. Prince Arthur had tendencies to be angry when he was (worried and) looking for things.

Merlin felt his stomach rumble and began to grow impatient, nudging the woman's ankles with his head trying his best 'pitiful and cute'-look.

"Another royal guest then, huh?" Sara said with a laugh. Had she know it wasn't a royal cat or even a cat she'd probably throw him out – she usually did, always annoyed when he came bumbling in, dropping trays and goblets and being in the way and whatnot. Now however she told the cat to wait and one of the staff prepared him some very nice creamy milk. He obeyed, bouncing excitedly on his pack paws upon the stone floor.

"There you go." A bowl was put before him.

Arthur can get his own breakfast, Merlin thought. This was much nicer than having to struggle down the corridor with the prince's food. He was happy just sitting in a corner eating and observing the servants working, in peace, nobody attempting to kick him out or trip him. Occasionally a passerby would pat his head which wasn't too bad either. Nobody ever paid him that attention before, or at least it was rare that so many people were that kind to him. (They usually got irritated. He was so clumsy, they said, but hey he couldn't help that! All that tripping and breaking things just sort of happened…It was so unfair.)

Thus happy and relaxed he failed to notice the incoming footsteps and shouts ("Merlin, you idiot! Where've you run off to?") until it was too late and the door opened to the warm, slightly steamy room, revealing Arthur much to the cooks' surprise.

"Sire!" the woman exclaimed. "Can we help you, my lord?"

"You haven't happened to have seen—"

An unimpressed gaze landed on the creature in a corner, nose covered in milk. It didn't make a single attempt to seem embarrassed, with Arthur found very…annoying.

"Never mind. Well, I'd like some breakfast," Arthur said, glaring warningly at Merlin.

"Of course sire. Bacon, eggs, bread fresh from the oven, some nice fresh fruit…" the cook babbled as she settled things on a plate and filled a goblet, she always got nervous around lords and ladies. "Where would you like it, sire?"

"I'll take it from here," Arthur said, once again surprising the staff. The prince rarely came here. In fact royalty and lords in general rarely came here, never to fetch their own breakfast – that's what servants were for. (To Merlin, it was a wonder the prince even knew where the kitchens were situated). The prince balanced the tray on one arm while grabbing the cat (it squealed loudly in protest) by the scruff of the neck before walking out.

"I said fetch breakfast i.e. come back to my room as quick as possible! God, how could you stand being in that hot room anyway?" Arthur muttered at the squirming creature as he walked down the hall. Some ten meters from the door he set Merlin down onto the floor. "Just follow me and don't run off. When you didn't come back you got me wo—thinking you'd gotten into trouble. Again."

'You didn't let me finish eating,' Merlin said gloomily, reluctantly trotting after his master. That bigheaded … clotpole. That cream had been so wonderful! Couldn't Arthur at least have let him finish that single plate? It'd been heaven outright and he was starving. (Maybe being a cat wasn't so bad.) It was so unfair.

They passed the corridors and up some stairs back to the prince's chambers. They needed tidying: yesterday there'd been no servant there, and this morning Arthur had decided to throw out half of his wardrobe onto the bed and floor. (Clearly, he's still too young to dress himself properly.) Arthur sat by the table to eat, offering Merlin a piece of bacon, placing it onto a smaller plate he'd taken with him.

"I'd planned to go hunting today-" (Merlin groaned, honestly, why was the prince so obsessed with running after poor rabbits and deer all day, it was so boring, plus why did Arthur have to kill those innocent animals? It's not like he always ate them or hunted because he had to feed his family.) "-However, I think searching the libraries is a better idea. We got to find a solution to your…transformation. Pity there's no way of knowing what you're saying, so you can't tell what happened."

It had been a complete accident. He'd stayed up reading through his magical book (he'd noticed that sometimes, the pages seemed to swap, spells change, new ones appearing – it was rather difficult to find an earlier spell as it might have written itself onto another page), expanding his spell knowledge and vocabulary of the Old Religion's language. Once he fell asleep his head was filled with new curious things which he repeated to not forget and must have had a slip of tongue – and magic – because when he woke up, he had four legs and fur and tail.

Not that he could in any way tell Arthur that. Then he would get hanged/burned/have his head chopped off, cat or no. Or at least get into some very deep, deep serious trouble.

()()()

Geoffrey.

Was not pleased.

(And like Morgana a bit scary, though in a more old-senile-distrustful-man kind of way.)

But Arthur was the prince and princes are used getting what they want. He refused to budge and with Merlin loyally following on his heels, he made his way deeper into the library. Gaius had given some directions of what to look for.

Merlin glanced nervously at the broom leaning against Geoffrey's desk now and then. Just in case. Who knew what the old man could do when Arthur turned his back…

The day proceeding wasn't that bad. It turned out, after a while of reading, Arthur wasn't complaining much (the "Gods how many books are there really in here!" and "Merlin, stop jumping around, you're going to break something" subsided) but he kept calling the warlock 'stupid' or another fitting adjective.

Every time they thought they found something, they'd jump out of their seats; Arthur calling out and Merlin yowling. But all solutions would require magic, Arthur soon summarized. And they couldn't do magic. Even if they could or found someone who could, who'd dare use sorcery right in the palace? (Arthur wasn't even going to ask how come there were so many ancient, magic-related books in this library. His father probably didn't come down here often to read. Maybe he didn't know about them all. Oh, the secret were everywhere.)

"We need to find a sorcerer," the prince murmured lowly, glancing down the aisle but Geoffrey didn't raise his head from the paperwork or whatever he was doing.

'Found one,' Merlin said. He leapt up the prince's lap and leaned over the table, scanning the page opened. There was a spell! His heart filled with joy. Now, he only had to memorize it and use it when Arthur wasn't looking.

"How the hell are we going to do that?" Arthur continued, oblivious, tapping at the ancient words which he couldn't read, the script unfamiliar. "Who'd aid Camelot using magic?"

'Oh I don't know, some warlock out there, maybe, somewhere, who is crazy enough,' Merlin said. Trying to convey what he was feeling - relief and happiness at having being presented a solution even if Arthur was rather dumb about it - Merlin stood on his hind legs with paws on Arthur's chest for support, and licked the man's chin.

"Now what is it?" Arthur demanded. "Don't tell me you're hungry. The servant came with food just half an hour ago."

'I'm thanking you,' Merlin clarified.

"Never mind. You sure you're all right? The being-a-cat-thing must be getting to your head."

Merlin cast a last look at the spell – it was rather long and complicated and he if he said the slightest word wrong, things might turn even worse. He had to memorize it exactly right. Luckily he'd gotten rather good at that by now.

I'll try it tonight, he decided.

For some reason, maybe subconsciously, Arthur didn't try to throw him off his lap a single time during the rest of the stay, idly turning through a couple of more books before lunch.

()()()

Waiting for nightfall had never been this long. Time crawled forward. Arthur insisted on staying a bit longer in the libraries, but they were forced to leave when Uther called for him by lunchtime, wanting to share a meal with him.

Merlin, naturally, followed.

Uther, strangely, wasn't displeased this time. He allowed him to stay and eat without scolding him or Arthur, even treated him nicely, which was an odd look on the man's face - Merlin wasn't used to see him smile. When the king had petted his head, though, Merlin had been slightly petrified.

Morgana, sweetly, cooed at him and insisted to have him seated on a tower of pillows atop a chair to be able to at the same level as the table, where she had asked a servant to place a bowl of milk and a plate with some meat (even Uther's suggestion of giving the cat some of yesterday's leftovers was quieted; Morgana seemingly wanted to serve the creature only the best). Merlin had a sense she knew who he was, that he wasn't an ordinary cat. He seated upon the pillows though he'd liked it better to be in Arthur's lap; Morgana was a scary woman, it was best to please her.

Arthur tended to glare at her a lot, also, which gave him a clue. That look – Arthur gave it to Morgana whenever she knew or did something she wasn't supposed to.

All in all, the meal was delicious and people were strangely nice to him though they scared him a bit. It was almost a pity he'd never be able to enjoy such a good meal again. That was, if he succeeded the spell tonight.

"I'm going to go train with my knights. You may follow if you like, but stay out of the way when we're fighting," Arthur said afterwards, walking toward the armory and stretching a bit. "It wouldn't do to have you hurt in some stupid accident."

'Are you worried about me?' Merlin asked, incredulous. 'I wish you'd act more like this when I'm human.'

()()()

The field was swarming with people: knights at the centre, by-passers and servants in the sidelines, stopping by to watch. It was quite impressive, the knights' warm-up and moves and swishing of swords. At least when you've not seen it seven hundred times before. Which Merlin has.

Merlin curled up on the table next to a tent near the stone wall, where some weaponry was laid out, to take a nap. For a while he watched through half-lidded eyes the knights fighting, especially Arthur. His wound from the Questing Beast had healed now and he was back at full strength. That poor knight … what was his name – sir Bedivere? ... didn't stand a chance.

Quite quickly though, Merlin lost interest in the fights themselves, enjoying just watching Arthur's powerful moves and the sunlight shining in his hair until sometime his eyes slid shut and, without knowing how, he was asleep.

()()()

"Move your feet! For heaven's sake you're not made of wood!" Arthur shouted impatiently at the young knight who couldn't do two things at the same time. The newcomer had just managed, by the second, to last one minute against Arthur in battle and thus been accepted to training – it was with difficulty the young man could lift his sword and move his feet at the same time. Give him a shield and his coordination was totally lost. "Move them, I said! Don't just stand there!"

Bedivere was down four seconds later.

"Go and spar with Leon. And think of your feet, your position! If you're not movable, you will not be able to dodge a blow or win a fight."

"Yes…yessire," the man said, gasping for air.

Arthur found himself a bit distracted. He glanced toward the table by the end of the field every ten minutes to make sure the cat hadn't run off. But when facing someone like Bedivere, it hadn't been much of a trouble.

About one and a half hour later, training was finished. It was warm sunny day and the men bathed in sweat, their armours heavy and arms aching. Some gathered their things and left, others decided to take off the outer layer of their armours and chain-mails, and sit down by the edge of the field where the wall shadowed the grass, to cool off.

Which was when they noticed the cat.