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The annoying thing about Merlin being drunk, reflects Arthur, is that he tends to start thinking magic is really, really funny. It's not as if Arthur's entirely sober himself – the world is definitely rather on the warm and agreeable side – but he isn't as far gone as Merlin, who's given himself a tail again.
The tail is currently wrapped round the nearest doorhandle, as Merlin strenuously resists Arthur's attempts to get him outside into the fresh air. He's also bracing his legs and hanging on to a nearby table with one hand, while Arthur pulls at his other arm; Merlin makes a bizarre three-dimensional star-shape in the hallway, radiating inebriated stubbornness.
“But I don't want to!” he wails. “It's cold!”
“It's December,” says Arthur.
“Yes! And December is cold!”
“It'll clear your head,” says Arthur, aiming for princely and commanding. What he actually hits is a kind of drunken conspiratorial.
“You're drunk,” says Merlin.
“I,” says Arthur regally, “am not the one with a tail.”
Merlin's face takes on a sudden mischievous cast, and before it can filter through Arthur's slight haze that his eyes have flashed gold, there's a peculiar tickling sensation all over his head. He lets go of Merlin and puts his hands up to his hair – which is now well below his shoulders, and bright blue.
“See,” says Merlin. “Now we're even.”
“What on earth are you two – oh my god, Arthur!” says Morgana. “What happened to your hair?”
“I did,” says Merlin. His tail's unwrapped itself from the doorhandle, and now it curls up into a wicked little question mark, the silky black tip of it hovering by the corner of his mouth.
“Oh!” squeals Gwen. “You've got a tail! That's so cute!” She materialises beside Merlin, and reaches out a delighted finger to stroke along the soft black fur.
“Ooh,” says Merlin breathily, swaying a bit as his eyes fall closed. “Don't do that.”
“No, really, don't do that,” says Arthur, annoyed, as Gwen grins cheekily at Merlin and keeps on teasing his tail.
“What's the matter? Jealous?” says Merlin, who's leaning into Gwen. His eyes flash again, and Arthur's hair suddenly turns thick and shaggy, and goes orange. He can see it in the corners of his eyes, and he folds his arms and glares. Morgana chokes with laughter; the narrow-eyed stare underneath the ginger mop makes him look like a villainous Shetland pony.
“Give me my hair back, Merlin,” he says.
“Okay,” says Merlin. The thick orange strands in the corners of his eyes disappear. Arthur opens his mouth to say “Thankyou,” and hears a donkey bray.
Morgana's eyes widen, and she cracks up laughing.
“This is not funny, Merlin -” Arthur tries to say, only to hear the donkey again. Gwen joins Morgana in hysterics. Merlin is biting his lip to keep from laughing, flushed pink with his eyes sparkling in mirth. Arthur loses his temper, and gives in to the urge to get every last insult he's ever wanted to hurl at Merlin off his chest: he stands there gesticulating wildly, braying at the top of his lungs while Gwen and Morgana hold each other up and cry with laughter. Merlin actually stuffs the end of his tail into his mouth with his fist, helpless with giggles. After a minute, even Arthur starts to see the funny side. He points at the door and brays.
“All right,” says Morgana.
“What? No -” says Merlin, but Gwen's got his tail this time, and his other arm, and he gets bundled bodily out of the door.
Outside, the night is as clear as crystal; the stars sparkle in an indigo sky, and a full moon as white as a pool of milk silvers the snow on the battlements. Their feet creak on the snowdrift that's piled up by the door.
“It's freezing out here,” says Gwen, shivering.
“Heehaw,” says Arthur, gallantly holding out his cloak. The four of them huddle together, Arthur's immense winter cloak slung over them all; it's fur-lined, and wonderfully warm.
“What a beautiful night,” says Morgana. She could be part of it, black hair like ink against her porcelain shoulders.
“Merlin,” says Gwen, sounding slightly uncomfortable, “is that your tail?”
“No,” says Merlin. Arthur holds up his arm in wordless confirmation; there's a thick silky spiral wrapped sinuously round it.
“Oh,” says Gwen, sounding rather surprised. Morgana says nothing at all. After a moment, the two girls lean into each other a bit.
“Maybe we'll go back in,” says Gwen.
There's a pause as they all look up at the stars. Arthur brays politely.
“Goodnight to you too,” says Morgana. “Come on, Guinevere.”
The heavy cloak falls closer around them now Gwen and Morgana have gone; Merlin looks up at Arthur in the dark.
“Heehaw,” says Arthur. “Heehaw heehaw heehaw heehaw complete and utter imbecile, Merlin, and I really have no idea why I -”
“Go on,” says Merlin.
“No,” says Arthur. He turns Merlin towards him, and kisses him gently.
Merlin's tail uncurls from Arthur's arm, the fur like cool satin sliding over his skin, and snakes its way around his waist instead. Arthur rests his forehead against Merlin's, their breath rising around them in pale clouds; he feels the tail, ridiculous and impossible, pressing softly against his back. The very tip twitches a little in contentment, gently stroking Arthur's side.
“You're wonderful when you're drunk,” Arthur says.