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“Merlin,” Arthur said, pausing as he reached for the tunic his servant held out for him, “did your shirt just meow at me?”
Merlin gazed back with a glassy-eyed smile of practiced innocence.
“No, sire.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow, “Honestly, Merlin, I’ve never met anyone as bad at lying in my life.”
“It wasn’t a lie, shirts don’t meow.”
The noise came again. It was most definitely a meow.
“Oh, so I suppose that was your chest, then? I don’t know about you, but in my experience, tits don’t make cat sounds,” Arthur said, gesturing vaguely at his own pectorals.
“Having experience would imply you’ve actually been around enough tits to know, which I highly doubt.”
“ Merlin !”
The ensuing scuffle ended with Arthur’s hair rather the worse for wear and Merlin crouched on the top of the dresser, waving Arthur’s tunic obnoxiously just out of reach.
Arthur sighed, “It’s not a crime to have a kitten. Although you are an idiot to do chores with it in your shirt. Can I see it?”
Merlin narrowed his eyes, “Is this a ploy to lure me into melee range?”
“Of course not, what do you take me for?” Arthur said, somewhat too quickly.
“A prat who likes to abuse his loyal servant?”
Arthur gave up all pretenses and made a lunge for Merlin’s legs.
***
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Gwaine said, amused.
Arthur glowered, but came over to sprawl between Gwaine and Leon in the sunny corner of the practice field that the knights had claimed as their own.
“Quite literally,” he said, trying vainly to brush fur off of his tunic, “Merlin has a cat now.”
“Oh?” said Elyan, leaning forward with a grin, “is that why you’ve got a hole in your sleeve?”
Arthur groaned, “The little beast is constantly trying to climb me. Merlin says it likes me, but I think it just likes to threaten me.”
“I’ve met it,” said Percival, nodding gravely, “it’s ominous. But in a cute way.”
Arthur stabbed a finger triumphantly in his direction, “Thank you! It’s completely ominous! If Merlin had to go and get himself a kitten, why couldn’t he have gotten a normal-looking tabby? My father is already leery about cats, considering their unsavoury ties to magic users.”
“What’s it look like?”
“Pure black, long and skinny like something out of a story about witches. And it’s got these great big golden eyes. It likes to watch me while I sleep.”
“Well,” Gwaine shrugged, “we probably could do with more cats around. Never lived somewhere with so few cats before, and the castle doesn’t have an actual wise woman, so Merlin is probably the closest thing we’ve got.”
Arthur frowned, “Merlin isn’t wise. Or a woman. Or a cat.”
Gwaine waved his hands awkwardly, “No, no, just, you know, every village has to have at least one wise woman with all the herbs and books and things. And cats. So. Merlin.”
Arthur frowned even harder, “That sounds like you’re describing a witch. And witches are why Father dislikes cats. Merlin’s not a witch.”
Lancelot nodded vigorously, “Most certainly not a witch. Merlin is the least magic person I know.”
Leon cracked an eye open to glare at Gwaine, “You are rubbish at explaining things.”
Gwaine threw up his hands, “They don’t have to be witches, they just do lore and medicine and stuff. Kind of like Merlin. Since when would you know anything about wise women anyway? You’re a noble, not a villager.”
Leon sniffed, “I’ll have you know that I once knew a girl whose grandmother was a wise woman.”
All of the knights turned to stare at Leon.
“You?” shrieked Gwaine, “You? Knew? A girl? Like knew, or knew knew?”
Elyan reached around Percival to grab Leon’s face with both hands.
“Teach me your ways.”
Leon narrowed his eyes, “I don’t think it warrants that level of surprise. Why are you all acting like you think I’ve never been with a woman before?”
“To be fair, you never talk about women,” Arthur said.
“Yes, because I like my personal life to remain personal, unlike you lot.”
“Ah, well, we all just assumed you were into men,” Gwaine said, miming demonstratively.
Lancelot snorted out the gulp of water he had just taken and started coughing helplessly into the back of Percival’s shirt.
Leon gave up and lowered himself back to the ground, staring lifelessly up at the sky.
Percival patted him gently on the shoulder, “Gwaine exaggerates. Not all of us thought you were into men. I thought maybe you had taken a vow of chastity for some reason.”
Leon banged his head repeatedly against the ground.
“I hate every single one of you.”
***
There was something wrong with the cat. Or maybe this was just how all cats were, Arthur wasn’t an expert.
The cat liked to sit in the shadowy corners of his room and stare at him. It liked to stalk along the rooves of the inner keep at night, or stroll the walls to perch on the finials atop the merlons like a tiny gargoyle. It liked to wrap itself around Merlin’s shoulders and crouch, clinging with its claws as he went about his chores.
It also screeched like a demon from the depths of hell in the middle of the night for no discernible reason that Arthur could find.
Merlin named it Pwyll. Gwaine looked unnecessarily vindicated when Percival explained that the name meant “wisdom”.
***
“‘Wisdom’ is not what I would call whatever this is,” Leon said, hands on his hips as he gazed disapprovingly at the group hiding in Arthur’s chambers.
Merlin had a smudge of flour over one eye and a leg of chicken in each hand. Gwaine had similar markings on his cloak that looked suspiciously like the imprints of a cooking spoon. Percival was pristinely untouched, but also eating chicken.
Arthur was sitting at the table pretending none of them existed.
Pwyll glanced up at Leon, then pointedly went back to licking grease off of his paws.
“It’s a feud,” Gwaine said gleefully around a mouthful, “have some chicken, Leon?”
Leon eyed the extended offering dubiously, “That’s stolen chicken, isn’t it?”
Melin sniffed, “Audrey told me to ‘keep my filthy cat away from her pies’. As if anyone actually likes her pies. Pwyll has better taste than that.”
“We’re knights of Camelot,” Gwaine said, pointing at Pwyll, “how could we let such injustice stand? Clearly we needed to help mete out retribution for such thoughtless slander against one of our own.”
“Exactly,” Percival said, placidly taking another bite, “and we need sustenance to keep up our knightly physiques.”
“Ah, I’m afraid I hadn’t been informed that we had a new member of the Round Table,” Leon said, bowing to the cat with a flourish, “forgive my ignorance, brother.”
Pwyll finished cleaning his whiskers, then strolled forward to sniff Leon’s boots.
“Sir Pwyll needs a cape,” Gwaine said, grinning madly.
“Arthur’s got plenty of spares,” Merlin said, polishing off his last drumstick, “We can cut a bit out of one of them.”
Arthur finally gave up trying to pretend none of this was happening, “You are not cutting up any of my capes.”
“Princess, you’ve got like twenty,” Gwaine said.
“ No .”
“I can just take five or six inches off the bottom and re-hem it,” Merlin added, “they don’t actually need to be as long as they are. He just likes them to swish dramatically when he jumps off of his horse.”
Pwyll abandoned Leon’s boots in favor of leaping onto the table. He stalked forward to settle comfortably in Arthur’s lap. Arthur froze.
“Merlin,” Arthur said, holding very still, “get it off, it’s growling.”
“He’s just purring, milord,” Merlin said, clearly trying not to laugh, “it means he likes you.”
“Well, I’d appreciate it if he’d like me from further away. Preferably not in biting range.”
“He’s not going to bite you.”
Arthur glowered, “You can’t guarantee that, I saw what he did to Uncle Agravaine.”
“Yes, well, your Uncle Agravaine was being a dick,” Gwaine said.
“I mean, that is where Pwyll bit him,” Leon said thoughtfully, “maybe the cat is wise after all.”
“Dick or no dick, he’s being very familiar with his claws in close proximity to mine right now,” said Arthur, visibly panicking.
Pwyll blinked slowly, and continued kneading his paws into Arthur’s thighs.
“You have to speak gently to him,” Percival said helpfully, “and offer him some incentive to move.”
“Or you could try appeasing him. He probably wants you to pet him,” Leon suggested.
Arthur took a deep breath, glaring down at the cat.
“Good kitty,” he said between his teeth, “look over there, it’s your idiot owner. He has chicken.”
Pwyll opened one eye disdainfully, but remained unmoved.
“Clearly he wants a cape,” Gwaine interjected, “Sir Pwyll doesn’t bow to tyrants who refuse to clothe their knights adequately.”
Arthur gingerly wrapped his hands around the cat and lifted. Pwyll hooked his claws in deeper and yowled.
“Fine,” Arthur ground out, “the cat can have a cape if you get him off my legs.”
***
Uther stared. The Knights of the Round Table stared back, with varying levels of innocence.
Pwyll yawned from his perch atop Leon’s head.
“Arthur,” Uther said, “Why is your servant’s cat wearing a cape?”