Chapter Text
Gwaine sniffles as he walks through the palace, vaguely wondering whether he should ask Gaius if having a runny nose after eating is normal. It’s Gwaine’s normal, but he’s aware enough to know other people don’t get sniffly because of bread and cheese.
It seems a bit extreme to go to the Court Physician over something so minor… Maybe Merlin then. Gwaine grins at the excuse to see Merlin.
Gwaine’s happiness will unfortunately have to wait though — he’s got knightly duties: the daily prance of the Knights of Camelot through her city. King Arthur says it’s for the citizens’ morale, to see their protectors among them, and to keep an eye out in case of trouble. In Gwaine’s opinion, it’s a load of fancy made up to flex power during Uther’s reign and is now just for Arthur’s peace of mind, but he enjoys the strolls through the market and doesn’t complain with any sincerity, only enough to annoy Arthur.
After this afternoon, Gwaine finds that he isn’t so fond of the Lower Town anymore.
As it turns out, the imposing, skilled knights of Camelot are most useful for chasing down chickens and tripping into washtubs. Gwaine returns to the citadel a defeated man, discovering feathers where he’s sure he’d already removed them and soaked up to his knees in the dirty water of someone’s laundry. He can barely muster a wave goodbye to the knight he’d been with who scurries off to change out of his own wet and feathery clothes.
Gwaine watches the other night go and dreads his own long trudge to the knights’ barracks.
“Sir Gwaine!”
Lancelot comes speeding down the hall, almost a jog for the sheer length of his stride from hurry.
Gwaine reflexively raises his hands in defence even if he knows Lancelot has more control than to barrel into him — if nothing else, the chicken feathers should give him pause.
“Woah, what’s the rush?!”
“A curse has befallen some of the men within the walls of the citadel.”
Gwaine waits for more explanation but receives nothing. Lancelot must’ve come a long way because he’s consciously evening out his heavy breaths to recover more quickly.
“And…?” Gwaine prompts.
Lancelot makes a face and Gwaine is very sure he hadn’t wanted to say more specifically because it’s Gwaine in front of him.
“Some men…have been enchanted into women.”
Gwaine stares at Lancelot. Lancelot stares back, thinning his lips. Gwaine tilts his head and squints slightly, trying to understand the joke. Lancelot’s eyebrows furrow and he grimaces, disproportionally upset. Gwaine’s eyes slowly widen.
He opens his mouth to speak but Lancelot interrupts, “Yes, King Arthur is one of the affected men.”
Gwaine shuts his mouth and nods, probably doing a horrible job of concealing his growing amusement.
Lancelot levels him a very serious stare and begs him, “Please, don’t blow this out of proportion. There’s enough chaos going on right now without you getting involved.”
“I wasn’t going to do anything!” Gwaine lies, already thinking of ways to mess with Arthur. “Say…how exactly did a bunch of people get enchanted? Sounds pretty harmless too.”
“Merlin thinks it was random. He’s still trying to figure out what exactly happened, but he says it must’ve been the goblets — someone might’ve tampered with some of them in the kitchens. And it’s mostly men who drank after lunchtime that have been enchanted.”
“Did Merlin get…” Gwaine wiggles his fingers to indicate magic. “…as well?”
Lancelot sighs, clearly unhappy to tell Gwaine, “Yes. He’s a lovely young woman and is currently prioritising his wardrobe over reversing the spell.”
Gwaine tries to image Merlin as a woman, face and bosom soft, but he can’t think of Merlin as anything but what he is — ethereal, brave and good, and not smooth enough for femininity. His body is marred like a tree struck by lightning, covered in such a range of scars that he’s permanently colourful and twisted, as perfect as the day they met and as he will be every day Gwaine won’t get to share with him.
Gwaine can’t imagine it, so he’ll just have to see it for himself!
Lancelot recognises exactly what he’s thinking and, surprisingly enough, huffs a laugh. Lancelot is all noble and courageous, and Gwaine sometimes forgets that he’s one of the few that can keep up with and match Merlin’s insanity — Lancelot is less boring of a man than Gwaine often expects.
Something moves noiselessly in the corner of Gwaine’s eye and he snaps his head towards it.
There’s nothing there and he almost dismisses it as his imagination until it happens again, something moving perfectly out of sight to let him be purposefully unaware, or to make him mad with doubt.
A finger drags across Gwaine’s back and he only feels it because of the way the layers of his knight uniform press just slightly closer to his skin. He shivers and Lancelot’s eyes flit slightly behind him. No panic; in fact, Lancelot raises his eyebrows appraisingly.
Gwaine whips around, the person stepping back slightly to avoid getting knocked by his shoulder.
He very nearly screams.
It’s Merlin, that much is obvious. Except his hair is long enough to curl gently around his shoulders and he’s wearing a green dress that is far more filled out in the front than any man as skinny as Merlin could hope to achieve. The neckerchief is there, because it’s Merlin and what is Merlin without a covered neck (very scandalous; a bad idea for Gwaine’s heart). His face is smoothed over, the few indicators of age worn away and cheeks softened.
He looks… Well, Merlin looks like a woman.
“Merlin?!”
There’s incredulity and amazement and shock. Merlin grins back, amused at Gwaine’s reaction. He turns on the spot, holding his arms out slightly — it’s a sweet little twirl to show off his new self.
“Hi, Gwaine,” Merlin says, consequently knocking Gwaine’s socks off; his voice is different, higher than most men’s but more rumbling than any woman that Gwaine’s ever heard.
“Wow,” is all Gwaine can muster as he takes it all in.
He has to look down to meet Merlin’s eyes, now the perfect height for a forehead kiss — a perfectly average height for a woman, though Gwaine distinctly recalls just earlier today when Merlin had been taller than him by enough that it makes Gwaine weak in knees sometimes. Merlin is happy to watch Gwaine make a fool of himself staring adoringly (because how can he gaze upon Merlin with anything less than complete awe?).
Gwaine is eternally glad for the development in their relationship which means he has no shame in ducking down and laying his head against Merlin’s chest, wrapping his arms around his sweetheart.
“You look so wow ,” Gwaine says a bit more coherently.
Merlin laughs goodnaturedly, pleased and amused. He threads a hand through Gwaine’s hair, instantly relaxing him. He feels Merlin pluck out a stray feather and doesn’t even care about the chaotic afternoon anymore because he’s laying his cheek on Merlin’s bosom, nose tickled by the worn neckerchief.
Lancelot seems to materialise into existence even though he never left, though he might as well have for how little Gwaine has thought of anything but Merlin since he’d appeared, clearing his throat to say, “I’ll leave you to it. Merlin, very nice dress. Please figure this out before the king does anything foolish.”
There’s a twinkle in Lancelot’s eye that Gwaine takes to mean that he wouldn’t mind Arthur being a woman for quite a while, and Gwaine is inclined to agree, though he’s currently more invested in the way he feels Merlin’s breathing press her new breasts against his face.
“Made it myself,” Merlin smiles proudly, completely ignoring any mention of Arthur.
Gwaine is in a relationship with the most creative, coolest person ever. He wonders how Merlin possibly had the time to make a dress, unless he’d already made one…? Gwaine doesn’t know much about dressmaking so leaves that thread of thought alone.
‘ Merlin smells the same as usual ’ is what Gwaine notices as Lancelot leaves them alone in the corridor. Something vaguely like all of nature combined and the specific time of year, a hint of dried herbs and an underlying hum of something uniquely Merlin — Gwaine feels right at home. Though his concept of a home had greatly expanded upon meeting Merlin. His home: a person. Not the warmth of a hearth but the hold of deceptively strong arms. Not familiar bed sheets but familiar clothes.
Gwaine doesn’t hide how deeply he breathes in Merlin’s skin, nosing his way into her neckerchief and along the side of her neck.
‘Her’? It feels easy to fall into the address.
“You make a lovely lady,” Gwaine murmurs against her skin.
Merlin probably rolls her eyes, signalled by a briefly empty moment before she gently scratches at Gwaine’s scalp. He nuzzles more firmly against her at the soothing gesture, feeling like he’s melting both for the sweetness and the way his knees are aching from the awkward crouch he’s put himself in to reach Merlin’s neck.
Regretfully, he straightens up to stretch his legs before he ends up accidentally collapsing on top of her, not that Gwaine has ever hesitated to lay on Merlin like a pile of discarded armour. Merlin is plenty strong enough to handle it usually.
Merlin muses, “I should probably go figure out what’s up with this enchantment.”
Gwaine agrees wholeheartedly aloud but his hands sit firmly on Merlin’s waist, thumbs rubbing circles and palms admiring the new curve of her hips. He makes no effort to let Merlin get on with her day. Her hands come up to his wrists, caressing up the chainmail on his arms until they rest on his chest. Gwaine desperately wishes they were touching skin-to-skin right now.
He leans in, perhaps a bit desperately, and Merlin’s smile brightens. She rises to her toes and presses a chaste kiss to his lips, pulling away to look at his eyes. Then she swoops back in, arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him into a proper kiss.
Gwaine’s delighted, holding Merlin close by the waist.
She’s lighter like this and he easily scoops her up against his chest to twirl them around. Merlin gasps and laughs at the sudden movement, a bit breathless when he sets her down on her feet again.
Gwaine makes sure to pepper her face with little kisses, learning the altered shape of her under-eyes and chin. Merlin returns as good as she gets, nipping at his neck exactly where she knows he likes it, rolling his skin between her teeth even if he reeks of sweat and chicken.
“You stink,” Merlin says, seeming not at all actually bothered.
Gwaine assured, “I’ll wash up just for you.”
“I’ll get you a warm bath.”
Merlin grins, planting a final kiss on his cheek before heading towards the nearest water pump, giving him no room to argue.
Gwaine watches her go sadly, wishing Merlin was still in his arms. He eventually realises he’ll need to be in his chambers for the aforementioned bath and rushes off to make good time and change out of his armour before Merlin gets back. It’s no use being a liability.