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Merlin had come to expect that whenever Arthur called for a “hunting trip” he really meant “Let’s go tramp blindly about the forest, killing innocent bunnies and probably wandering into a bandit attack, making Merlin’s job of keeping Prince Dollophead alive so much more difficult!”

On some level, Merlin understood he was being a little unfair. It didn’t happen every time they went on a hunting trip; By that point even Arthur would have caught on. The Prince Regent was thick, to be sure, but he wasn’t that thick. On the other hand, it happened enough that Merlin had made an art form out of sending tree branches into unsuspecting skulls. However, as yet another aggrieved sorcerer appeared in a cloud of smoke, screaming vengeance for Uther’s sins and casting bolts of magic, Merlin found himself missing the bandits.   

One day, Merlin swore as he slid from his saddle. One day, Arthur would manage a hunting trip where things didn’t go horribly wrong.

Merlin leaned aside as the Knights charged past, ducking his head to hide the gold shimmering in his eyes. An invisible force pulled Lancelot away from a stray fireball headed for his chest, the supernatural fire only singing the man’s cloak. The Knight sent a grateful glance Merlin’s way before diving back into the fray. Merlin let out a sigh — Ah, Knights, always charging headfirst into danger — only for it to seize in his chest as he spotted something across the battlefield that turned his blood to ice. 

Crystal-tipped staff, level with Arthur’s chest. Spell, on the sorcerer’s lips. Eyes, burning gold. 

No!

Time slowed— 

And Merlin ran.

Magic unfurled outwards, turning the air to molasses. Arthur was trying to move, his wide blue eyes reflecting the light of the sorcerer's staff as it blazed gold, the spell headed for the Prince’s heart who wasn’t moving fast enough— 

But Merlin was.

His fingers closed around red fabric, and everything snapped back into motion. 

Arthur was shoved sideways. 

And Merlin was blasted backward.

Pain exploded over his skin, more akin to magma than magic. Merlin’s blood burned as the sorcerer's spell clawed at him, his own magic surging up like a tidal wave to meet the foreign energy. Distantly, he was aware of someone calling his name. Merlin tried to cling to the sound, keep hold of consciousness because that was Arthur, wasn’t it? It couldn’t be good if Arthur sounded so panicked…

And then the world was subsumed by darkness. 

Ow.

That was Merlin’s first coherent thought. 

Get up, was his second.

Only half-conscious, Merlin pushed himself to move, to claw himself upright and figure out the rest later. He must have made some sort of twitch, because a bone-deep ache rippled over him alongside a persistent itch over his skin.

Wha… ? 

Slowly, Merlin fumbled his way back toward awareness. His everything felt sluggish, and there was something he was missing… What was he missing? Merlin’s thoughts slipped sideways, away from the empty space, leaving him treading water in the vastness of his mind. Hmm… he’d figure out that … whatever it was, later. Merlin reached for his magic, hoping it had the answers and sense to make his brain stop tripping over itself.

Except his magic felt… weird. Or maybe that was just him. Merlin prodded the wellspring inside him, trying to coax it and by extension, himself. But his magic protested, hugging him tighter and refusing to relax and stop… whatever it was doing. Deciding that problem could wait, Merlin cracked open an eye. He immediately regretted it. Vertigo slammed into him like a charging stallion and the warlock snapped his eyes shut. The strange nausea quelled almost instantly.

Gods, what was wrong with him? 

Slowly, Merlin opened his eyes, bracing himself for the vertigo. It was just as terrible the second time around, but the servant shoved it aside in favor of taking in the world around him. And what a sight it was.

It was like being immersed in the most detailed and painstakingly rendered painting ever made. Every leaf in the overlapping canopy was distinct from the next, veins tracing their surfaces. Under the leaves, the bark was cracked, the lattice of texture different for each tree. Insects skittered across the green and brown, a colony of aphids on one, a chewing caterpillar on another. The more Merlin looked, the more he could see.

Now, Merlin’s eyesight wasn’t terrible. In fact, it was better than most. But compared to this, it was as if he’d spent his life looking through warped glass. Merlin gaped for several moments, basking in the sudden detail that had exploded across his sight. But then, memory caught up with him and his awe retreated.

Arthur. That’s what was missing. He needed to find Arthur. The servant shook his head, trying to orient himself. Arthur, where— The sorcerer! Damn it, Merlin needed to get going before Arthur got himself into deeper trouble.

Merlin shifted. He was on his back, he realized, having been staring up at the forest canopy. He attempted to roll over, but his arms were deadweights and when he attempted to catch himself on his hands, he just fell face first into the dirt. Holding back a grunt, Merlin craned his neck backward. Maybe he was injured and didn’t realize? He twisted his head around — neck oddly more flexible than he remembered — as he tried to take stock of himself. And Merlin froze. Because instead of his usual tunic and red neckerchief… were feathers. Lots and lots of feathers.

The resulting screech that left Merlin’s throat was inhuman. 

Merlin flailed, somehow managing to get himself onto two feet. Except, he wasn’t on two feet, but two talons. 

“Oh gods,” Merlin muttered as he looked himself over. He was a bird. He was a godsdamned bird. Specifically, some sort of bird of prey, judging by the talons. Blue-gray feathers swept across his back and when he looked down, it was to a feathered white breast flecked with rusty brown. A coloration he recognized from the falconers at Camelot… 

Merlin’s groan left his beak as a dismayed squawk. Clearly, the Fates had a sense of humor. He wasn’t just any falcon… he was a merlin.

A small part of Merlin was thrilled at the fact, because what child hadn’t dreamed of flight? But the part that had grown accustomed to saving Arthur’s royal arse from magical maladies knew that this was a Problem. As much as he marveled at the transformation, it couldn’t last. Merlin reached out to his magic, trying to get a sense of how Big this Problem was. But just like last time, his magic felt… weird. Restrained, but also, not. It was like a net had been wrapped too-tight around his body, which held his physical form in place, yet couldn’t contain his magic, which spilled through the alien enchantment.

It was the doing of that unknown sorcerer, no question about it, except… transformation magic was incredibly difficult. Merlin had tried it before, but with how volatile and disastrous the results had been, he’d focused on other spells. Most casters did the same. A true transformation spell was far more work than it was worth, when a glamor or combination of other spells or potions could accomplish the task.

So… it probably wasn’t the enemy sorcerer that had done this, at least not intentionally. More likely, it was Merlin’s magic, which had altered the original enchantment to protect him. But that left the servant with an even bigger issue.

How am I even supposed to get out of this? Merlin thought, shifting his weight. Sure, he had transformed himself into Dragoon, but that was aging which… okay, still incredibly difficult and requiring a lot of raw power, but it was still him. Technically. Just old. Merlin resisted a groan. Most powerful sorcerer ever to walk the Earth, and I don’t even know how my own magic works.

At times like this, Merlin appreciated that Arthur didn’t know about his magic. Merlin didn’t think he’d be able to handle the ridicule from Gaius and Arthur.

Arthur…  the sorcerer… Godsdamnit.

“I have to find Arthur,” Merlin squawked quietly to himself, pacing. (Transformed as he was, he couldn’t even pace properly, instead forced to waddle awkwardly on spindly talons.) “If I don’t, that clotpole will get himself turned into a fish or something. No, wait… I was the only one hit by that spell, plus this is also partly a result of my magic.”

This would also make it particularly hard to get to Arthur. Waddling the whole way on his talons would be a pain. Merlin stared at his wings, mourning his lack of opposable thumbs. Wait. Wings.

“Maybe I am an idiot,” Merlin muttered, the only audible confession being an ear-piercing screech. 

If anybody had happened to be staring at the sky above the Darkling Woods, they would have seen a rather odd sight: a full grown bird fumbling through the air as it learned how to fly. However, as the bird approached Camelot, its wingbeats evened out, and its path through the sky turned to dips and whirls, the bird tumbling into freefall for no apparent reason other than play.

Merlin, meanwhile, was enjoying his newfound power of flight. He hadn’t abandoned his quest for Arthur. He was just… taking advantage of the current situation, what he could at least. Flight was exhilarating. Flying under his own power, on his own wings, was just as — if not more — thrilling than riding atop Kilgharrah. (Though even when stuck as a rider, dragon-flight had a certain something that couldn’t be matched.)

Upon taking flight, Merlin hadn’t been able to spot Arthur or any of the Knights. He could have used his magic, but anxiety stayed his tongue. All his previous attempts at speech had failed, and he doubted the Old Language would fare any better. He could theoretically cast the tracking spell wordlessly… but he had no idea how his small avian body — already bursting at the seams with magic — would handle channeling more of his power. Not to mention, unlike usual, he was the one who’d been enchanted. There wasn’t anyone else who could fix this if he messed up. 

So. His current mission was to: (1) find Gaius and explain the situation, (2) get help (particularly the sort with opposable thumbs) to figure out who had taken Arthur and how to reverse the enchantment, and (3) rescue Arthur and the Knights from this week’s sorcerer (preferably after regaining the use of his thumbs and magic.)

Which is why he was now circling above Camelot as a bloody bird.

Easing into a glide, Merlin slowed his wingbeats as he surveyed the city from the sky. It was almost overwhelming. He could see everything, from Agatha selling her cabbages in the market square, to Elias patrolling the upper battlements, even a rat scurrying across the alley. Turning his head, Merlin’s new eyes focused on the castle towers, searching for the one he called home. It was difficult to recognize the castle from above… perhaps he’d have to get closer.

Merlin half-folded his wings, suspended for a breathless moment before gravity took over and he twisted into a dive. He was quick to snap his wings back open before he fell too far — he wasn’t that confident yet — giving several hurried flaps as he leveled off among the towers. Merlin circled once, twice, before he spotted his target.

Merlin swooped toward the window to his room. However, while he had done well to master flight in the short time he’d had it, he had not yet mastered, or even practiced, landing. He was rather lucky the window opened directly over his bed. A crash and loud pained squawk later, the warlock-turned-falcon was struggling upright amidst his blankets.

“Nothing broken,” Merlin groaned as he tested his limbs. “But ow. This is worse than when Arthur used to wail on me under the excuse of ‘teaching me to use a shield.’”

Merlin hopped down from the bed and through his open door, wing-assisted jumps taking him down the stairs to Gaius’ chambers. He glanced around, looking for the physician, quickly spotting the man bent over a book. Merlin gave a joyous screech. Gaius startled, especially once Merlin had closed the last few meters to the table, landing rather gracelessly on the tabletop.

“A… merlin?” Gaius exclaimed, eyebrows raising high. Merlin chirped affirmatively, happy to be recognized. He hopped on the table, bobbing his head. However, his good mood plummeted with the next words. “How did you get in here? Go on, shoo! I can’t have you making a mess of my elixirs!”

The servant gave a squawk of alarm as Gaius reached for him, fluttering back to avoid the hand. It was at this moment that Merlin remembered that merlins weren’t the largest of raptors. In fact, Merlin was about as big as a bloody pigeon. Gaius reached for him again, this time managing to close his hands around Merlin’s tiny body. Merlin screeched in alarm and sent a mental apology to Gaius as he nipped at the man’s fingers.

His mentor dropped him, startled, and Merlin fell backward, flailing into the bottled ingredients on the tabletop. Both he and Gaius gave a cry as the warlock-turned-bird and medicine vials pitched toward the hard stone floor. 

Merlin’s magic, instinctual as it had always been, responded to his unconscious thoughts. It surged out of the too tight container that was his current body, a lapse of controlled intent he hadn’t had to deal with since he first came to Camelot. A familiar honey-sweet ginger-burn pulsed through him as time slowed.

He hit the ground, dazed for a brief moment. Then, Merlin was pushing past the pain, rolling back to his taloned feet and raising his gaze to see the many vials hovering in the air as opposed to shattered on the stone. With a careful hand (or… wing?) Merlin guided the fragile items back onto the table. 

Once they’d settled, he released his magic. Instead of immediately dissipating, some of the magic settled back into him, picking at the invisible threads of the sorcerer’s enchantment and making his skin itch beneath his feathers.

“… Merlin?”

At the sound of his name, the warlock in question turned his head. He found Gaius staring at him, the physician’s eyes blown wide. “Merlin?” the man repeated, his voice strangely hesitant. “Is… is that you, my boy?”

Merlin gave a joyous cry, flapping excitedly. “Gaius! Yes, it’s me Gaius!” he said, though once again, it was nought by a falcon’s call.

Gaius approached him, slowly, but grunted as he began to bend down to inspect Merlin. “Hmph, if that is you, my boy, could you get up a little higher? And please, this time, do not knock over my things.”

Merlin obliged, a few flaps taking him up to the back of one of Gaius’ chairs. His landing wasn’t the most elegant, but he didn’t fall off, so he counted it as a win. He turned his head as Gaius approached, the old physician taking a seat in one of the other chairs. The man’s eyes swept over him, incredulous.

“By the Fates,” the man whispered. “You’ve turned yourself into your namesake? Incredible… and it’s not a glamor?” When Merlin shook his head, the physician chuckled in astonishment. “A true transformation… once again, you never cease to amaze Merlin.” Then, the man paused and exclaimed, with no little annoyance, “You pecked me!”

Merlin squawked, half in apology and half in: “Well, what else was I supposed to do?”

Gaius knew him well, because despite the language barrier, one of Gaius’ eyebrows arched. “I’m sure you could have done better than pecking this old man. You are a raptor at the moment, lest you forget. Your beak is rather sharp.” Said beak clacked in annoyance, but Merlin bowed his head, appropriately chastised. Gaius huffed, reaching out a hand and carefully running a finger over Merlin’s head. “How did this happen Merlin? I thought you were out on a hunting trip with Arthur and the Knights? Don’t tell me you were practicing spells… unless…?”

Merlin shrieked a denial, shaking his head. He tried to speak, only to swallow his words and his inhuman screeches. Frustrated, he looked around. There had to be something he could use for better communication! But he didn’t even have hands! How was he supposed to write? The warlock paused as his eyes fell on Gaius’ many, many books. Who said he had to write? He could just use what was already written. Excited, Merlin jumped off his chair-perch to the table, waddling over to the books. He tugged on one with his beak, managing to flip it open.

“Merlin! Didn’t I just tell you to stay off the table? And be careful, with your talons you could—” Gaius faltered as he saw Merlin perched next to the open book. When Merlin saw his mentor was looking, he pointed with a careful claw. S.

Gaius leaned closer, beginning to verbalize the characters as Merlin pointed to them, one by one. “S-O-R-C-E-R-E-R… sorcerer? You mean to tell me you are like this because of another sorcerer?” Merlin nodded vigorously, continuing the game of charades. “A-R-T-H-U-R. T-A-K-E. Arthur… take… the sorcerer took Arthur? And did this to you?”

Merlin shrieked loudly in agreement. 

SORCERER. ME. MAGIC. MIX. Merlin slowly spelled out, leaving Gaius to fill in the gaps. His mentor didn’t fail him. “The sorcerer did this to you… but so did your magic?” Gaius asked, expression creasing into a frown. “They combined and that caused… this? Am I getting that right?”

Merlin chirped, bobbing his head up and down.

“Can you change yourself back?”

Merlin shook his head, then paused, and moved back over to the book. NOT. KNOW. AFRAID. “You’re afraid to try transforming yourself back?” Gaius clarified, to which Merlin nodded. Gaius hummed in thought. “Well, you can evidently use magic,” the physician muttered, casting a glance at the medicine vials that had narrowly avoided disaster. “But you’re right, trying to undo the combined spell could be disastrous if not done properly.”

Merlin gave a high-pitched shriek of protest. He knew that! But he didn’t want to be stuck like this!

Gaius huffed. “I’m aware you’d like to be back to normal, but trying to restore you without knowing the spell the sorcerer used is almost guaranteed to end badly. At least that way we can work backwards to why your magic responded this way.”

Another shriek.

“I know the Prince is in danger, but you are hardly in a state to rescue him as you are!” Gaius protested, spreading his hands. “You have no hands, you are barely larger than a rat, and your magic is far more likely to react without your say so! It’s folly!”

Merlin screeched in protest. Yes, he did know that, thank you for bringing it up again! But I have to save Arthur!

“Perhaps we can inform the Round?” Gaius muttered, rubbing his chin. “No, they were taken too. The guards? The council? But how am I to explain my knowledge of the affair… perhaps simply inquire after your absence, but that would—” Merlin watched as Gaius shuffled about, thinking and discarding plans with Merlin unable to offer input.

Then, something hit him. The Knights were taken, yes, but not all of them. Merlin shrieked to catch Gaius’ attention, then quickly spelled out his message. 

GWAINE.

“Gwaine?” Gaius furrowed his brows. “What do you— Ah, Sir Gwaine stayed behind today, yes?” Merlin nodded. Gwaine had come down with mild hayfever, and while nothing too serious, Gaius had banned him from anything too strenuous to ensure a smooth recovery. Despite Arthur’s protests that ‘hunting is perfectly relaxing!’ which Merlin took to mean ‘because Merlin does all the work and worrying for us’, Gwaine had taken up Gaius on the day off. 

Which meant the Knight was likely spending his rest day in the tavern.

Merlin chirped, glad at the prospect of having his friend’s aid, but Gaius wasn’t convinced. “Even if Gwaine isn’t captured, he doesn’t know about your magic my boy. How are you to help, or rescue the others, when he doesn’t know it's you?”

TELL HIM.

“What?!” Gaius’ voice rose incredulously. “Merlin, have you lost your senses?! You can’t be serious! You—”

A shrill screech interrupted Gaius as Merlin pointedly spelled out his message. NOT MAGIC. BIRD.

“Bird… you wish to tell Gwaine that you,” Gaius waved a hand demonstratively at the warlock’s feathery form, “are Merlin?” Merlin bobbed his head in agreement. “Hmm… it's still risky. Even if you didn’t cast the spell, Uther wouldn’t stand for a transformation, even if the transformed individual was trustworthy. Off to the pyre regardless.”

Merlin went to protest, but Gaius held up a hand. “I know Gwaine isn’t Uther—“ I should bloody well hope not, Gwaine is a far better man and has far better hair, “—and I’m not saying Gwaine will think that of you, but, you need to be aware that the stance exists. Though Uther is an… extreme example.”

Very extreme, Merlin grumbled.

“While they may be uneasy at the obvious spell cast on you,” Gaius continued over Merlin’s treasonous thoughts. “They don’t know you are a source of the magic. We’ll tell them that we need the sorcerer’s staff to break the enchantment, which should give us some ground to work from to return you to human.”

Merlin chirped his agreement.

“But there’s also the problem of finding the Prince and the Knights,” Gaius pointed out. “Unless you happen to know where they are?”

The warlock bowed his head, shaking it mournfully. He didn’t. Once he’d been able to get the wind under his wings, he’d searched, but there was little to be found at the scene of the battle. Except… now he would have thumbs and magic on his side. Buoyed, Merlin quickly scratched a message to his mentor.

TRACK.

“Track… You mean to cast a tracking spell?” Gaius nodded thoughtfully but swiftly frowned. “Is that even possible? You can hardly speak like this.”

Merlin clacked his beak. While the warlock now knew he (likely) wouldn’t explode from magic-use — accidentally slowing time had proved that much — casting the spell without being able to speak the Old Language was another matter. For most, it would be impossible, but Merlin’s magic had always been strongly tied to instinct and intent. Perhaps chanting the words in his mind would be enough?

Steeling himself, Merlin gave Gaius a sharp nod. His mentor gave a weary sigh. “Very well, you know your magic better than I. But at least test the tracking spell first. See if you can find Gwaine, he was in here recently enough for the spell to work. Two birds with one stone, as it were.”

At the turn of phrase, Merlin sent a cross look at Gaius. The physician’s expression pinched, as sheepish as Gaius ever got. With a huff, Merlin purposefully turned his tail on the man, a quick flap taking him to a nearby chair. Perched, the sorcerer took a breath, and focused.

Gwaine. He needed to find Gwaine. Knight of Camelot. Drunkard. Friend.

Inlīht spor.

Reveal the path.

Magic welled up within him, a breath of wind and burn of ale. Dust motes glittered from shafts of light, from shadows, condensing into a ghostly golden trail that drifted through the air. It rippled, coy and beckoning. Chase the rabbit. Merlin’s magic followed and his perception went with it. The gold wound through corridors and stairwells, to the barracks and armory and back. Then, finally, trailing into the inner city heading straight for the tavern, where the gold sat and wavered. 

Ah, Gwaine. Never change.

He exhaled.

Merlin stumbled as mind slammed into his body all at once. In the corner of his eye, the golden trail still drifted, inviting him to follow. Merlin grinned as much as his stiff avian beak would allow, turning to Gaius with a triumphant air, feathers fluffed proudly. Only to find his mentor looking at him with a mildly confused expression. “Did you cast it?” Gaius asked when he saw Merlin looking. 

The warlock tilted his head, puzzled. Hadn’t Gaius seen his eyes glow? Gaius apparently picked up on the question after Merlin had stared at him silently for several long seconds. The physician chuckled, an amused smile crossing his face. “You've got a raptor's golden eyes like this, my boy. It hides the gleam of magic.”

Really? Merlin glanced down at himself in surprise. He quickly shuffled over to one of Gaius’ vials, tilting his head to the warped glass in hopes it could afford him a view of reflection. While highly distorted, he could just make out his own feathered face and the pair of golden eyes set into it. 

“Well, that’ll be helpful,” Merlin muttered to himself.

“Alright, enough preening,” Gaius cut in, leaving Merlin to whip his head towards Gaius in mock offense. “Let’s summon Gwaine.”

A page was sent to fetch Gwaine, and soon the Knight was knocking on the physician’s door. He stepped inside, a heavy sigh already on his lips. “Really, Gaius? I swear I’m taking it easy. I’m not a tryhard like the Princess. Though if you want to shove more of your foul concoctions down my throat, perhaps you could knock me unconscious first?”

Laughter bubbled up in Merlin’s chest, leaving his beak as a clacking squawk. The sound had Gwaine turning to him, leaning forward with interest. “New pet, Gaius?” Gwaine asked, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t take you for falconry.”

Merlin’s feathers puffed up in offense. He wasn’t a pet, thank you very much!

“No, Gwaine,” Gaius sighed. “This is Merlin.”

Gwaine raised an eyebrow. “Naming your bird after your apprentice, well I’m sure he’s honored. Though… Did you seriously name a merlin, Merlin?” Merlin held back a groan. Seriously. The Fates were clearly messing with him. Was this revenge for all the times he told Destiny to shove Its prophecies and the Once and Future Dollophead up Its arse?

Gaius, however, wasn’t particularly amused. “This. Is. Merlin,” the physician repeated, slowly and carefully, holding Gwaine’s eyes the entire time. 

“Really, Gaius, I never took you for a prankster,” Gwaine chuckled, but his humor dwindled as Gaius remained stony faced and Merlin remained sullenly perched, head bowed. The warlock-turned-falcon could see as realization began to dawn, disbelief and horror overtaking any amusement. “Wait, you’re serious?” When Gaius nodded grimly, Gwaine let out a cry, lunging forward towards Merlin. “Merlin! Mate, what happened?!” Merlin startled as he was suddenly picked up, Gwaine’s hands wrapping around him and hoisting him aloft. “Are you still in there? Come on, speak to me!”

“BLOODY LET GO OF ME, I CAN’T BREATHE!” Merlin screeched, pecking Gwaine’s fingers. Why did everything think him being tiny now was an invitation to be picked up?! He was a bird! He had spongey bones! Have pity on a poor warlock and stop bloody squeezing him! Gwaine got the message after Merlin drew first blood (which, by the rules of dueling, meant he won) and finally set him down. 

Merlin quickly flew to another perch, feathers fluffed out and hissing at the Knight. Gaius, like the good mentor he was, rapped Gwaine on the head for good measure. “Slow down and listen to me, boy. Goodness! If you had, you’d know: Yes, that is Merlin. No, he can’t speak right now. And, what happened is the hunting party was caught in an ambush, and Merlin was hit by a spell that transformed him into what you see now.”

“If he can’t speak, how do you know that?” Gwaine asked, glancing at Merlin. The Knight narrowed his eyes. “How do you know it's Merlin and not Morgana?” 

“Let’s just say, I know,” Gaius said flatly. Merlin and his mentor both shot a glance at the nearly broken vials. Gwaine, however, still wasn’t quite convinced, so Merlin shrieked, catching their attention. He returned to the book he’d been using to communicate, tapping a talon to the open page and summoning them to read.

MERCIA. DRUNK SNAKE.

“… Okay, it’s Merlin,” Gwaine muttered, the tips of his ears flushing. The Knight bent down so he was eye-level with Merlin. “Sorry, mate. You alright?” Merlin huffed. He still hadn’t quite forgiven Gwaine for nearly suffocating him… but he couldn’t hold a grudge at Gwaine for long. The warlock chirped. A quick flap had him clinging to Gwaine’s shoulder, nudging the Knight with his head. “Aw, thanks mate.” However, the jovial attitude quickly turned serious as the Knight’s smile fell into a scowl. “You said a sorcerer did this? And captured Arthur and the other Knights?” Gaius nodded and Merlin chirped his agreement. “What’s our plan then? How do we turn Merlin back?”

Gaius was quick to explain. “We need the sorcerer’s staff,” the physician said, gesturing to Merlin. “It will be critical to understanding and undoing this spell. As for the Prince, Merlin was with the group at the time of the attack. He can guide us to where they were taken.”

“I suppose it’s rather hard to mount a rescue as a simple bird, huh?” Gwaine asked, turning his head to look at where Merlin perched on his shoulder. Merlin slumped, mourning his opposable thumbs. And ability to speak. How was he supposed to make witty comments when they all came out as a falcon’s shriek? “It’s alright mate,” Gwaine said, rolling the shoulder Merlin sat on. “We’ll get you back to yourself real soon, you’ll see!”

“And perhaps you should be going,” Gaius said sternly. “You are losing daylight, and Arthur has already been captured for far too long.”

Merlin gave a defiant screech of agreement, a cry mirrored by Gwaine. “Alright,” the Knight declared, standing tall and resting a hand on the hilt of his sword. “Let’s go rescue the Princess. What sort of knight would I be if I didn’t help a damsel in distress?” 

Together, Gwaine and Merlin set off for the Darkling Woods, Merlin in the lead and Gwaine following astride his horse. As they approached where the ambush had occurred, Merlin slowed to perch on a tree branch. Gwaine reined in his horse, joining Merlin and scanning the area with a sharp eye. “Well, there was definitely a battle here,” the Knight muttered, casting his gaze over scorch marks with no apparent source. Gwaine looked over at where Merlin was perched, brows furrowed. “So, where do we go from here, mate?”

The warlock took to the air, rising into the canopy and beginning to circle. He breathed — Arthur, find Arthur — and pulled on the wellspring inside him. 

Inlīht spor.

Gold flowed through his veins, filling him to the brim. It spun outward, condensing into light rays and shifting shadows in the understory. From it, a golden road shimmered into view, a path for his eyes only. Arthur.

Merlin gave a defiant cry, swooping by Gwaine and winging deeper into the forest. A shout and neigh behind the warlock-turned-falcon told him the Knight had given chase. The trees blurred past, Merlin’s focus wholly on the golden path taking him closer, closer, closer to Arthur. In time the forest gave way, thinning out to reveal a stone keep sat atop a rocky cliff. Merlin soared closer, arcing around the parapets as his sharp eyes scanned the fortification. 

An open window beckoned and he slowed his pace, managing to not collide with the wall as he slipped through the narrow gap in the stone. On the opposite side the space opened up into the rafters of a hall. Merlin quickly landed on the wooden beams, squinting into the dim interior lit only by the meager light of flickering torches and narrow windows. Below, he counted the guards, some playing stones and others sharpening spears.

But no Arthur.

With the quietest flaps he could, Merlin took flight, following the golden trail deeper into the keep in search of his Prince. Left, right, left, left, down, down, down, down. The air grew cooler and the light dimmed further as he descended, the magic leading him to the keep’s basement level and dungeons. When he caught the low chatter of voices Merlin swiftly darted back to the relative safety of the rafters. Once he realized the voices weren’t getting any closer, he hopped between the wooden ceiling beams until he could see the guards, the cells, and their occupants.

They were weaponless, armorless, all sporting bruises and split lips, and a quiet sadness and fury hung over them like a shroud. And there, face hollowed and knuckles split, emotions the most wrought of them all…

… Arthur. 

Merlin drank in the sight of his friends, alive and relatively unharmed. Bruises would heal. Merlin would likely be the one to aid the healing (given he’d regained thumbs). And as for the shroud that hung like fog… Well, considering all the Knights were accounted for, Merlin could only guess it was due to his own absence. After all, last they’d seen he’d been taken out by an unknown spell. Relief settled in Merlin’s chest at the same time a nameless itch took its place. So close. So close. But for all Gaius and Mother called him impulsive, Merlin did know the value of regrouping… and so, with a heavy heart and no little difficulty, Merlin turned and retraced his flight. 

It was a welcome change to return to open air, even though the distance from Arthur made Merlin’s talons curl. He swooped back toward the treeline, his sharp eyes finding Gwaine amidst the brush. He stooped low to rejoin the Knight, who offered his arm on Merlin’s approach, now sporting a leather falconer’s glove. The warlock landed, a little clumsy but thankfully not falling on his beak.

“Hah, doing better at that,” Gwaine chuckled. “So, what are we facing?”

“Well, there’s a dozen guards and no sign of the sorcerer,” Merlin reported, only to be reminded he was currently lacking a voice when out came a falcon’s screech and Gwaine’s confused expression.

Ah.

“Hold on, I’ll see if I have any—” The Knight patted his pockets with his free hand, searching for anything written, only to come up empty. He winced, looking up at the warlock-turned-falcon. “…How’s your charades, mate?”

One game of charades later, which involved lots of yes-or-no questions and chirped numbers, they managed an approximate mutual understanding of the situation. And most importantly, a plan. 

They waited until nightfall. Then, Merlin swooped low, a shadow in the dark. The guards on watch outside jolted as he dove past, nothing more than a whistle of air and blur of motion. Another dive, another bump in the night, and a growing sound of alarm.

“What’s that then?” one guard asked, raising his torch higher to try and pierce the black. He shrieked as Merlin stooped just past his firelight, fumbling his torch in the process. “Monster!” More guards gathered, torches raised and bare swords catching the light. They craned their necks and whispered quietly, heads darting back and forth from the trees to the sky as they tried to see what creature the night had borne, at what lay beyond the safety of the fire.

And then, Merlin struck. 

The grass.

A bit harder than he intended, really.

He shrieked, wings crashing about in the brush, perhaps a bit more dramatically than needed. He made a good show of struggling about, but as the torches raised up to spot him, Merlin pumped his wings, pulling himself into the air. The guards who had followed lowered their torches as Merlin vanished from the firelight and back into the night’s cloak, all groaning and spitting curses.

“It’s just a bloody night hawk,” Merlin heard one swear as he wheeled back around. The torchlight flickered as the man turned on one of his companions. “You got us all worked up for that? By the Gods, more blind than the bats it was huntin’.”

The guards descended into bickering, but the edges of Merlin’s beak curled in a smile as his eyes caught a flicker of motion in the shadows of the keep. Behind the guards clustered at the treeline, Gwaine slipped unnoticed through a doorway. Merlin flew higher, weaving around the torchlight until he found a window to sneak through. Inside, he could hear snores and distant grumbles over “getting worked up by a damn bird.” Carefully, Merlin made his way closer to the entrance. There he found Gwaine, lurking in the shadows, dressed only in leather and mail in an effort to blend in with the various guards and mercenaries here. Thankfully, no one paid him much mind. Merlin flitted to the rafters above the Knight, a flick of red tail feathers the only thing to catch the man’s eye. But Gwaine saw. He’d been watching for it after all. Gwaine edged around the hall, following the flash of feathers in the rafters. As they slipped by one table, he snagged a lone helmet, hiding his face behind steel. 

Merlin retraced his earlier path, Gwaine following his shadow. A few guards side-eyed Gwaine, but for any that looked too close, Merlin used a touch of magic. A bit of wind was enough to flare the torches further down the hall and the sudden shifting shadows enough to pull their eyes. Down down down they went, chasing tail feathers chasing a golden path. Until, finally, they burst into the dungeons.

The two guards on duty startled as Gwaine entered. “Who are you?”

“I’m here to relieve you of duty, chaps!” Gwaine answered cheerily. In the cells, Merlin saw the Knights perk up, their heads raising at the familiar voice ringing from the metal helm.

The guards, however, weren’t so keen on Gwaine’s offer. They glanced at each other then squinted at Gwaine, evidently weighing how much suspicion was worth their pay. They shifted, hands going for the hilts of their swords. “Gonna have to ask you to take the helmet off,” the guard on the left said, eyes narrowed.

“Really?” Gwaine sighed, shoulders slumping dramatically. “Honestly, that one hurt.” But he complied, reaching for his helmet. The metal fell away and Gwaine gave an entirely unnecessary hair flick as he revealed his face. He smiled brightly at the guards. “Hello!” And then he wound back his arm and slammed the helmet down on one of their heads.

“Ey! What are—” the other guard’s shout turned into a scream as Merlin raked his talons across the man’s face. At that moment, he was thankful for his small size, weaving away from the hands that flailed about, trying to grab him. Fingers grazed his tail feathers and Merlin shrieked in alarm, only for another clang to sound, followed by a dull thud.

Merlin twisted midair, wheeling around to land on a forgotten barrel. Standing over the unconscious guards, Gwaine had a smug air as he inspected his improvised weapon. “Hah! And these things are supposed to protect you!” the Knight quipped.

“Gwaine!” 

Elyan stood at the bars of his cell, a myriad of emotions dancing across his face. Behind him, the other Knights — Percival, Leon, and Lancelot — had partially risen during the scuffle. Gwaine chuckled, bending down to root through the guards’ pockets. He pulled out the dungeon keys, which jangled a merry melody as he moved to unlock the doors. 

“Well, aren’t you a sorry lot?” Gwaine laughed. “Don’t worry Princess, your knight in shining armor is here to rescue you.”

Merlin stifled a chuckle but none of the other Knights laughed. Their faces were drawn, Arthur’s in particular, who hadn’t moved from where he sat at the back of the cell. When there was no positive reaction forthcoming, Gwaine huffed. “Tough crowd.”

“Shut it, Gwaine,” Arthur growled, emotions that Merlin couldn’t name flashing across his face. “It’s no time for your jokes.” 

Merlin was taken aback at the aggression, as was Gwaine, whose face quickly contorted. “Well excuse me, Princess.”

“Merlin is dead, Gwaine!” Arthur roared, his face red and his voice thick with… grief. That’s what it was. Grief.

Gwaine stopped. His eyes were wide as his gaze moved from Arthur to the other Knights, spying the same grief Merlin saw etched into their faces. Then, Gwaine laughed. “Well, that’s where you’re wrong, Princess! Now, I’ve got good news and bad news… Good news, Merlin’s alive!”

That had Arthur and the other Knight’s heads snapping up, a desperate yet cautious hope on their faces. Lancelot, his eyes narrowed and voice hesitant, took the bait Gwaine had laid out so plainly. “… And what’s the bad news, Gwaine?”

“Well…” Gwaine drawled, voice trailing off as he glanced toward where Merlin was perched on the barrel. “Merlin’s a little… indisposed, you could say? Flown the coop, perhaps?” Gwaine chuckled to himself, but the others weren’t nearly so amused.

“Spit it out Gwaine,” Arthur snapped, his patience at its end.

Merlin, who until this point had been watching as a bystander, agreed. A quick flap had him landing on Gwaine’s shoulder, talons digging into the man’s armor. With no prior warning, Merlin screeched wordlessly straight in the Knight’s ear.

“OW! Bloody hell mate, alright I’m sorry!” Gwaine exclaimed. Merlin was forced to dodge as Gwaine brought a hand to rub his ear. “Gods, did you have to do it right in my ear?” Merlin shrieked again. “Alright, alright!” Gwaine motioned invitingly and Merlin hopped to perch on the man’s hand, who held him up to the trapped Price and Knights. “Tada.”

A moment of silence.

“Gwaine, that is a bird,” Elyan said. He sounded as if he was starting to worry for Gwaine’s sanity. 

“Yes, yes, but it’s Merlin!”

“That is a merlin, yes,” Leon agreed slowly. His tone suggested he agreed with Elyan. 

“Bloody hell, is this how you felt?” Gwaine swore, glancing down at Merlin. He looked back at the Knight with a touch of sympathy. Only a touch. At least Gwaine could speak to explain himself. “Damn it! This. Is. Merlin.” Gwaine said slowly, shaking Merlin slightly with each word.

The other Knights stared at their last member like he’d lost his mind. All, except for Lancelot, who stared at Merlin, his expression slowly morphing into one of realization. He was, after all, the only one here who knew of Merlin’s magic. Lancelot slowly approached the bars of the cell and Merlin was quick to meet him, jumping to perch between on the metal crossbar of the cell door.

Lancelot bent down, locking eyes with Merlin. “Merlin? Is that you?”

“Lancelot, you can’t really be considering—”

Leon’s protest was cut off by Merlin’s vehement nod and chirp. The Knights went silent, all eyes pinned on Merlin. He shuffled uncomfortably at the attention, hunching in on himself. “Surprise?” Merlin chirped, raising his wings in a shrug. 

“How do we know this isn’t a trick by the sorcerer?” Arthur rumbled, voice thick. When Merlin looked back at him, the Prince’s gaze was hooded. But behind that, Merlin could see he was torn. Between belief and suspicion, between hope and dread. But bird or not, Merlin knew how to deal with his Prince (and best friend.) Mustering as much offense as he could in a body this small, Merlin glared. 

“I didn’t get turned into a bloody bird and fly beak first into who knows how many trees to deal with this!” Merlin shrieked. He jumped to the floor, waddling across the cobblestone toward Arthur and flapping his wings pointedly. “Now look here, cabbage head, I am me and I am currently a bloody bird. I would really like my thumbs back so can you please stop being a clotpole and get your arse off the floor so we can get out of here already!”

Merlin finished his tirade, wings spread and feathers fluffed, glaring up at Arthur with all the spite he could muster. He was cut off by a snort and Merlin turned to Percival, who was hiding a smile with his hand. “That’s Merlin alright, he’s got the same glare.” 

Merlin huffed indignantly, turning his beak up. 

Elyan laughed. “And the same offended sniff!” 

Looking between the Knights, Merlin let his beak fall open. (And inside, he grinned, snickering alongside his friends.) With a bit of extra dramatic flare he turned his tail on Elyan and Percival, hopping closer to Lancelot. When Lancelot offered his arm invitingly, a quick flap had Merlin on his new perch. “Lancelot is my favorite now,” Merlin chirped, eyeing the other Knights with mock disdain.

“Oh come on, that isn’t fair!” Gwaine protested upon seeing Merlin’s new perch. The Knight was quick to finish unlocking the cell doors, pulling the metal bars open and sending Lancelot and Merlin a fictitious scowl. “Whose the one who got you here, huh mate?”

“Don’t worry Gwaine, you still have the best hair,” Merlin consoled. While Gwaine couldn’t have understood the words, he nodded all the same.

“That’s what I thought, suck it Lancelot.”

(It was an “argument” they’d had many times.)

“… Merlin?” The voice had Merlin immediately turning, setting his eyes on Arthur. Without a word, Merlin jumped back down to the cobblestone floor and carefully waddled closer to Arthur. He watched as the Prince’s eyes, confused and hopeful and fearful, slowly lit up on his approach. “…It’s really you?”

“At your service, Lord Clotpole,” Merlin chirped, spreading his wings and ducking into an exaggerated bow.

“… That’s Merlin,” Leon muttered quietly. “I’ve never seen a bird bow so sarcastically.”

“I’ve never seen a bird bow,” Elyan muttered back.

Merlin ignored the Knights, lifting his head to shuffle closer to Arthur. Here, surrounded by Arthur and Knights, reminded Merlin how small he was like this. But as Arthur reached down, cupping his hands around Merlin and lifting him up to eye level, the feeling dissipated. “We’ll get you back to normal, Merlin,” Arthur promised, staring him straight in the eyes. “I swear it.” Merlin shifted to perch on Arthur’s arm, giving a decisive squawk. I know it, Arthur. I know. Arthur rose to his feet and looked at Gwaine. “How did this happen? How do we reverse it?”

“Sorcerer’s spell did it,” Gwaine explained and the Knights all stiffened at the reminder. “Merlin made it back to Camelot and was able to relay what happened to Gaius, then they brought me on. Gaius said we need the sorcerer’s staff and with it, we’ll be able to turn Merlin back to normal.”

Arthur nodded. “Right, come on men, we’ve got a staff to steal.”

The Knights became a flurry of activity. Weapons and armor were retrieved, guards were gagged, and Gwaine relayed the environment of the keep. As they planned, Merlin found himself perched on Lancelot’s shoulder, watching the proceedings. At one point, the Knight glanced down at Merlin and spoke softly: “So you couldn’t change yourself back?” Merlin shook his head, clacking his beak. If only. Lancelot furrowed his brow, concerned. “Can you still do your tricks?”

This time, Merlin nodded, turning his head to focus on a torch strung on the wall. He nudged Lancelot toward it and one whispered spell later, the torch’s inner flame gleamed blue. Just enough to ignore, just enough to show. 

Lancelot chuckled. “Not even being a bird can stop you, huh?” The Knight shifted beneath Merlin’s talons, moving to grip the hilt of his sword. “We’ll need it… metal versus magic is never an easy fight.” 

Merlin twisted his head, pinning Lancelot with a dry stare. “What am I? Roast chicken?”

Catching the manservant’s expression, even with a beak, the Knight chuckled, his laughter rumbling through Merlin’s body. “You’re right, as ever… Arthur’s lucky to have you.” 

Merlin’s feathers fluffed proudly. “You better believe it!” he chirped, the sweet burn of magic dusting his wings.  

They all knew it wouldn’t be an easy escape. While another time they could have tried without confronting the sorcerer, they needed that staff. And so, in due time, the keep was filled with the sound of crashing metal as the Knights fought their way through the narrow corridors. Merlin swooped overhead, dodging flailing swords and maces, his talons finding the faces of any unwise enough to venture without a helmet.

While the mercenaries had numbers on their side, few knew how to fight in the cramped corridors of the keep, which was something the Knights of Camelot had an uncomfortable amount of experience with. In short order most of the mercenaries were dead or fleeing, and they’d made their way to the keep’s inner courtyard in search of the sorcerer. Then, because all sorcerers apparently paid good coin for a dramatic entrance, the sorcerer burst onto the scene in a cloud of smoke. 

Really, Merlin thought as he wove around fireballs. Did all sorcerers attend the same theatre troupe? And why wasn’t he invited?

The manservant swooped close to the sorcerer’s face, wishing he had a human tongue to try and talk them down, but all he had were shrieks and talons. Talons which he made use of, snagging the sorcerer’s sleeves and pulling their spell away from the Knights.

“Blasted bird!”

The staff had barely started in Merlin’s direction before Arthur was bearing down on the sorcerer with a furious, “Leave him alone!” Which both warmed Merlin’s heart and sent it into palpitations because idiot clotpole Princes should not run toward the person trying to kill them—! The sorcerer did not share Merlin’s reservations. Instead they turned their staff toward Arthur’s chest. 

Time slowed— 

And Merlin struck.

He fell out of the sky with all the force of an enraged warlock and all the magic of the most powerful sorcerer crammed into a body the size of a large rat. And focused, wholeheartedly, on the concussive Ástryce! accompanying his descent. The sorcerer, to say the least, didn’t fall so much as be thrown bodily into the ground, instantly unconscious due to their brain being treated like a toddler’s favorite toy. 

As the dust settled, the battlefield was eerily silent compared to the previous sounds of shouting and ringing steel. It was a silence quickly broken however, as several voices raised in chorus: “Merlin!” 

The manservant in question chirped weakly, his bones ringing from the impact. Not his smartest idea, perhaps, but when had he ever claimed to be smart when it came to Arthur's safety? No, sometimes the “dive bomb first, think later” method was quite suitable. A shadow descended over him and he looked upward, relaxing at the sight. Ah, there was Prince Dollophead himself.

“Merlin! You’re okay!”

Hands closed around his body, lifting him from the sorcerer’s limp form. Merlin however, quickly stopped relaxing as Arthur sandwiched the warlock between his chest and arms. “STOP SQUEEZING ME!” Merlin screeched in alarm as all the air was expelled from his body. “I HAVE SPONGEY BONES!!”

(Of course the one time he gets a hug from Arthur was also when he could be quite literally crushed by said hug.)

He was released in short order.

After verifying the status of the sorcerer and acquiring one magical sorcerer’s stone, the Knights and Prince of Camelot regrouped. And then, to Merlin’s relief, they headed home. The trip back to Camelot was thankfully uneventful. But due to the exhaustion of imprisonment, they had to stop to make camp along the way, which resulted in Merlin being the subject of a few playful jabs as they rested.

Gwaine was the first, swallowing his meager rations with expressive disdain. “We’d better have you back to normal soon, Merlin,” Gwaine pseudo-whispered as he leaned over to where Merlin perched. “Percival has many qualities, but cooking is not one of them.” The camp burst into raucous laughter, and to his credit, Percival took the teasing with a good natured huff. (And then passed Merlin a slice of jerky which he tore into with great delight.)

In the morning came a memorable instance where Arthur asked Merlin for his sword. Once it became apparent the sword would not be offered to him, the Prince looked over, only to see Merlin perched on top of it with a bored expression. The Knight’s cackles at Arthur’s expense continued until they reached Camelot and Gaius’ chambers.

Once there, Arthur dropped Merlin and the bag containing the sorcerer’s stone in front of the physician. “Get him fixed quickly. I prefer him when he can give me things, no matter how clumsy,” Arthur ordered before swanning out. Gaius sighed and Merlin squawked, which anyone could have told you meant ‘Dollophead.’ 

The next morning, Arthur was greeted by a falcon’s screech loud enough to wake the entire citadel and a goblet dropped straight on his head. After all was said and done, the servant’s corridors passed gossip of the Prince chasing after a bird whilst shouting, “Merlin!” 

Merlin himself would later congratulate his Prince on his avian identification skills, a remark which would have him chased out in much the same manner.

Bonus Scene:

A few months later, on another hunting trip, Merlin had been detransformed and the entire event had become nothing more than a memory. And, perhaps predictably, an avenue for ‘tease the manservant.’ Arthur shoved Merlin’s shoulder, snorting as Merlin keeled sideways. “I swear, Merlin, you’re so light sometimes it’s like your bones are still hollow!”

Merlin sniffed. “Spongey, not hollow,” he muttered, rubbing his shoulder. Ah, Knights and their muscley thick-headedness. 

There was a pause as Arthur glanced incredulously at Merlin, along with a few of the other Knights. “What are you on about Merlin?” 

Merlin rolled his eyes. “‘Hollow’ implies that there is nothing inside the bone, that it’s basically just a tube,” he pointed out. “But bird bones are more like a sponge, cork, or honey-comb. They aren’t ‘hollow’ but instead have an internal lattice structure with small gaps filled with air.”

“… So, hollow then?” Arthur surmised.

“No, hollow implies there is nothing there but bird bones have—” And so, Merlin gave the Knights and Prince a thorough dissection of avian anatomy that night. Merlin had learned quite a bit about it in the past months. After all, you never knew when being a bird again might come in handy…