When a Girl Squirrel Chooses Her Mate, it's for Life

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of 'The Sword in the Stone'; the Walt Disney Company does. This is merely written for my own enjoyment and that of those who read it. I make nothing from this, so please don't sue.

Chapter 1: A Squirrel's Devotion

Arthur clung tightly to the tree branch, his small, furry body trembling as he looked down at the ground far below. "I'm starting to think this wasn't such a good idea, Merlin!" he squeaked, his bushy tail twitching with anxiety.

Merlin, perched nearby in his own squirrel form, adjusted his tiny spectacles and sighed. "Nonsense, boy! You wanted to learn about life, didn't you? Well, squirrels know all about survival! Now, jump!"

Reluctantly, Arthur leapt to the next branch, his claws scrabbling for purchase. He barely landed before a cheerful chatter reached his ears. A small, red-furred female squirrel approached, her bright eyes fixed on him with an unmistakable sparkle. Arthur froze, unsure how to handle the sudden attention.

Merlin chuckled under his breath. "Ah, the mysteries of love," he muttered.

The adventure unfolded as it had before. The female squirrel followed Arthur tirelessly, her affection unwavering even as he tried, in vain, to explain his unusual predicament. When danger appeared in the form of a ravenous wolf, her bravery saved Arthur's life, further deepening her bond with him. But when the spell ended, and Arthur returned to his human form, the poor squirrel was left heartbroken.

Merlin and Arthur watched from the forest's edge as the female squirrel sat forlornly on a branch, her tiny paws clutching her chest as if to hold her shattered heart together. Arthur's own heart ached for her, and he turned to Merlin. "I didn't mean to hurt her, Merlin. I didn't think it would end like this."

Merlin rested a reassuring hand on the boy's shoulder. "Love is a complicated thing, lad. Sometimes, even the purest devotion can't overcome the boundaries of our worlds."

But as they turned to leave, a rustling sound stopped them. The little red squirrel, her eyes now filled not with sadness but determination, had leapt down from the tree and landed at Arthur's feet. She let out a loud, chittering cry, standing tall despite her tiny stature.

Merlin frowned, adjusting his spectacles. "Oh, this is unusual."

Arthur knelt down, offering a hand. The squirrel clambered onto it without hesitation, looking up at him with such determination and affection that he couldn't help but smile. "She's not going back to the forest, is she?"

Merlin sighed. "It seems not. And I suspect this is going to be a great deal more complicated than I expected." Merlin crossed his arms, his long beard twitching with thought. "Well, this certainly puts us in a pickle, doesn't it? A squirrel-turned-shadow isn't exactly something Sir Ector or that son of his will overlook for long."

Arthur shifted uncomfortably. "We could… keep her in the tower for now?"

Merlin gave him a withering look. "The tower barely has enough room for my books and Archimedes' incessant hooting." At that, the owl in question ruffled his feathers indignantly from his perch on Merlin's hat.

"I don't hoot incessantly," Archimedes grumbled. "You simply don't appreciate my input."

Ignoring him, Merlin continued, "Hiding her is one thing, but if she's determined to stick by your side, boy, this is going to get a lot trickier. Sir Ector doesn't take kindly to stowaways, even the furry kind."

Arthur frowned, looking at the little red squirrel perched on his arm. She gazed up at him with such trust and determination that his chest tightened. "We can't just send her back to the forest," he said softly. "Not after all this."

Merlin's stern expression softened, just a fraction. "Oh, very well," he grumbled, stroking his beard. "We'll figure something out. But if she's staying, she can't stay a squirrel. Sir Ector and Kay would never let you keep her here—especially Kay, the great lummox. No, no, this will require a more… creative solution."

Arthur brightened. "You mean you can make her human?" At this, the squirrel looked at Merlin with hope-filled eyes.

"Oh, I can do it, yes," Merlin said, waving his hand dismissively. "But there are conditions, boy. Magic like this always has strings attached."

Archimedes tilted his head. "Strings like what, precisely?"

Merlin began pacing the cramped tower room, stepping over piles of books and scrolls as he muttered. "Her humanity would have to be tied to something—something powerful enough to sustain the spell. Loyalty, for example. If she ever falters in her loyalty to Arthur, the spell would unravel, and she'd return to her original form."

Arthur hesitated. "That sounds... risky. What if she changes her mind? What if she regrets it?"

"Then she wasn't meant for this life to begin with," Merlin said bluntly. "Magic can't force the heart, lad. It can only reflect what's already there." He turned to the squirrel, who was sitting on Arthur's shoulder and was watching the conversation intently. "Well, my dear, the choice is yours. Stay as you are, or take the plunge into a new world. What will it be?"

The squirrel chirped loudly, her bushy tail flicking in determination.

Merlin smirked. "I thought as much. Very well, let's get to it."

Merlin rolled up his sleeves, revealing skinny but surprisingly agile arms, and strode toward a wooden chest tucked in the corner of the tower. It creaked open, spilling a cascade of dusty parchment and vials that clinked as they jostled against each other. "Transformation spells of this sort - since they're meant to per permanent - aren't something you just whip up on a whim," he muttered, rummaging through the mess. "No, no… you need the right components, the proper incantations…"

Archimedes fluttered down from his perch, his beady eyes narrowing at the disarray. "You mean you don't have this memorized?"

"Of course I do, you pedantic pigeon!" Merlin snapped. "I just need to—ah, here it is!" He held up a battered tome, its leather binding cracked with age. Flipping through its pages, he stopped at one that depicted a curious illustration: a squirrel poised between two human hands, caught mid-transformation.

Arthur peered over his shoulder. "That's… kind of creepy," he said, pointing to the swirling half-human, half-squirrel face.

"Magic is rarely neat and tidy," Merlin replied, setting the book on the table. "Now, let's see. We'll need a hair from the lad to tie the spell to him—loyalty, remember—and a personal offering from the subject."

Arthur blinked. "A personal offering? She's a squirrel. What could she possibly have to offer?"

Merlin wagged a finger. "Every creature has something of value, my boy. Something that represents their essence. Watch and learn."

The little squirrel tilted her head as Merlin approached, holding out his hand. "Well, my dear, if you're serious about this, you'll need to part with something meaningful. It's the only way to seal the magic."

For a moment, she didn't move, her tiny face scrunched in thought. Then, with a decisive chirp, she reached up to her tail, plucked a single red hair from it, and placed it in Merlin's hand.

Merlin inspected the hair, his expression softening. "Very good. That'll do nicely."

Guinevere stood in the clearing, the sunlight filtering through the canopy and dancing across her auburn fur. She trembled slightly, a mix of apprehension and excitement coursing through her. Merlin, with his characteristic flourish, tapped the end of his wand against a nearby branch and began to weave his spell. His words echoed in the air, a rhythmic chant reminiscent of ancient tongues:

"Mutare corpus, forma nova! Arboris nutrix, vitam nova dona!"

The clearing grew still as a faint shimmer of light enveloped Guinevere. Her bushy tail, twitching in anticipation, began to recede, replaced by the curve of a human spine. Soft fur gave way to smooth skin, and her delicate paws elongated into hands, fingers stretching with newfound dexterity. Her squirrel ears quivered, gradually flattening and shifting into human ears framed by flowing auburn hair.

Her transformation wasn't abrupt but rather an elegant unfolding, as though nature herself was orchestrating this metamorphosis. Guinevere's eyes widened as her view of the world shifted; no longer did she see the forest through the lens of a small creature. Now, she stood taller, her new form more fragile yet full of untapped potential.

Finally, the shimmering light dimmed, leaving Guinevere swathed in a simple dress of forest hues—Merlin's subtle touch of magic to preserve her modesty. She reached up, hesitating before brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, marveling at the sensation.

"I... I'm human," she whispered, her voice soft and trembling.

Arthur stepped forward, his own awe reflecting in his eyes. "You're beautiful."

Merlin clapped his hands, breaking the spell's lingering silence. "And there we have it! Welcome to humanity, my dear. It's a curious world, but one you'll find endlessly fascinating."

Guinevere turned to Arthur, her gaze steady despite the whirlwind of emotions within her. "I don't regret leaving the trees," she said softly. "Not for you."

Arthur felt his cheeks flush, his words caught in his throat. For now, he simply smiled.

Merlin coughed, breaking the moment. "Yes, yes, it's all very touching, but we've got a problem. Sir Ector and Kay aren't going to ignore a mysterious young woman suddenly appearing in the tower."

Arthur frowned. "What do we do, then?"

Merlin tapped his staff against the floor. "Simple. We say she's your cousin, come to stay with us for a time. We'll need a name, of course. Something respectable."

Archimedes let out a low hoot. "What about Guinevere?"

The woman tilted her head, trying out the sound. "Guinevere…" she repeated, her voice soft but growing in confidence. "I like it."

Arthur smiled. "Guinevere it is."

Merlin groaned. "This had better work, or we're all in trouble."