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"Come up off the ground," comes the low, gentle voice, "you'll hurt your knees like that."
Merlin looks up. Leon stands over him, red cloak swaying in the wind, ginger curls framing his face. His brow furrows lightly as he reached down to extend a hand. Merlin looks at it. He blinks.
"Merlin," Leon prompts again, still as patient as ever, "come stand up, please?"
Merlin takes his hand and lets Leon pull him slowly to his feet. Leon quickly takes his cloak from his shoulders and drapes it over Merlin's. He goes to protest—he's fine, he doesn't need it, he doesn't like it—only for the sudden rush of warmth to nearly send him back to his knees. Leon catches him effortlessly, because of course, he does, and wraps a steadying arm about his waist.
"You've been out here for quite some time," he murmurs, somehow able to turn the bustling courtyard into a bubble of intimacy, "is there something I should fret about?"
It's said with enough lightness that Merlin knows it's only a jest, that Leon is more worried about him than the things he may have been pondering, but he can't help but lean into the knight's embrace all the same. Leon bears his weight with a grace and ease that comes from wielding a heavy sword in a full suit of armor for most of his life. Merlin tucks his chin against the crook of Leon's shoulder and closes his eyes. They ache with the sting of grit and wind. The hand comes up to the center of his back, not pushing, just holding.
"Merlin?"
He manages a grunt.
"May I take you inside? You're cold."
That's right, he is cold. His legs are cold. They aren't working properly. He probably shouldn't have spent so long on his knees, but then again, he wasn't exactly the one to notice how long he's been out here. He glances over his shoulder one more time.
The kennel sits innocuously on the ground. The straw that had spilled through the cracks in the wood have mostly been blown away by the wind already. The hinges still bear the rust from where he'd tried to scratch it off, his progress impeded by his own fingers and the noises coming from inside. He angles his head just slightly and the young pup inside catches his eyes once more.
"Merlin," Leon says, voice firmer now, giving him a shake, "Merlin, we need to get you inside."
Right. Right, he needs to do that. Yet he can't bring himself to look away. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Leon's head turn, looking at the pup as well, and something like recognition laces the wordless hum that leaves his throat.
"It's going to be alright, Merlin," he says with infinite softness, "the pup is going to the family just outside the city. They've been anxiously waiting for a new hound. The pup will be well taken care of, well loved. Neither it nor you has anything to fear."
As if it could hear Leon, the pup's eyes soften and it lets out a low bark. Merlin's fingers twitch towards the kennel. The pup barks away and its tail wags.
Merlin allows himself to be coaxed away, into Leon's gentle coaxing up the castle steps, down the halls, into a set of chambers. Leon's chambers, he realizes when he's sat not on his own bed, but a much, much larger one, the cloak still wrapped around his shoulders. Leon lights a candle and places it on the side table, returning to Merlin's side with a small cup of water.
"Drink," he urges, "I have no idea how long it's been since I've heard your voice properly. Your throat must ache."
It does. How Leon manages to know such a thing when Merlin himself did not is still a mystery. He's the one with magic, how does Leon know everything? Still, he takes the cup and raises it to his lips, his shoulders slumping as the water begins to soothe his throat.
"Good," Leon says softly, "now, not too fast—no need for you to get yourself sick. There's plenty more if you need it."
He lowers the cup again, leaning against Leon's side. The knight moves to take his weight and somehow that, more than anything else, that, just that one little movement to make Merlin's life the slightest bit easier, that is the thing that springs tears to the corners of his eyes.
He knows Leon has seen them when the knight lets out another one of those wordless soft noises, the kind that speaks of nothing but comfort. The cup is coaxed from his hands, replaced with the softest of handkerchiefs, one arm around his shoulders, a hand to his chest. He's pulled closer still, Leon's chin almost to his temple, words murmured into the crown of his head.
"Shed your tears if you wish, Merlin. I will allow no harm to come to you. Hush, hush, you are safe…I am here. Say the word and I will fetch whatever it is you might need. Oh, come now," he murmurs anew when a sniffle rings out in the otherwise still air, "come, come—there is no need for you to ache so…"
Merlin turns his head and buries his face once more in the crook of Leon's shoulder. The maille pushes roughly against his skin, already raw from the cold winds, and Leon tuts, quickly laying the cloak over himself so that Merlin's cheek might meet the soft red fabric instead. He cradles the back of Merlin's neck and wraps the other arm about his waist once more, nearly pulling him into his lap. No more words are spoken, none need to be; his hand makes great sweeping rubs of his back as he hums a meaningless tune, the gentle rumblings of his chest and throat doing wonders to coax the tears from his cheeks.
Merlin's fingers curl into the cloak and the fabric of Leon's trousers and hang on tightly.
"Now, then," Leon murmurs when his tears have begun to slow, "more water, I think, and then a little something to eat, yes?"
Merlin nods and lets Leon fuss about, the cup back in his hands, full of cold water, a small piece of bread following after. He drinks. He eats. Leon's hand remains cupping the back of his neck or resting in the small of his back, firmly at his side. When Merlin must pause to blow his nose with the handkerchief or allow himself to catch his breath, he does not comment, only reasserts his presence with a gentle touch or hum.
"What is it I can do," he says gently when Merlin has finished with both food and drink, "how can I help?"
He should say any number of things. He should say that he is fine now, that he has to return to his duties or Arthur would have his head (he wouldn't, they all know he wouldn't, in fact if he knew what was going on, he would be the one bundling Merlin into his own bed with food and drink and stern orders to rest). He should say that he wants more food, or more drink. He should say that he wants just this, to sit with someone kind in silence. He should say any number of things.
What he says instead is this:
"If I were a pup, would you keep me?"
Leon's hand, which had been making gentle circles on his back, slows to a stop. Distantly, some part of Merlin thrills at being able to take the man by surprise. "What?"
"If I were a pup," he rasps, throat protesting, "would you keep me? If I were a pup. Not if I were one of the hunting dogs, or the tracking dogs, if I were a dog."
"What would you be like, as a pup?"
"Like this." He can't summon the energy to gesture at himself, but he's fairly certain Leon gets the point. He almost always does. "Clumsy. Easily frightened. A—a fool. A coward."
"And why would this pup have those qualities? You are not a fool or a coward. Ah, no," he says, still soft, still gentle, when Merlin goes to open his mouth. "That was my mistake. You are not a fool, and you are not a coward."
"But if I was. If I was a pup that spooked at everything and ran into walls and couldn't bear to be left alone and couldn't hunt and couldn't track and couldn't do much of anything except get in the way—" his voice cracks just a little bit— "would you keep me?"
Leon is quiet for a moment. Only a moment, but Merlin can only read it as hesitation and his eyes threaten to well up once more. Then Leon breathes out another one of those quiet noises and there is a hand on his face, gently turning his chin up to look the knight in the eyes.
"You could be a pup," he says quietly, "any sort of pup, and yes, I would keep you."
"R-really?"
"Yes. As long as I had the capacity to care for you, to keep you fed and watered and warm in the cold—" and here he tucks the cloak more firmly about Merlin's shoulders— "I would keep you."
"Even if I were useless?"
"But you would not be useless. You would be a warm body of fur that I could hold in my arms when I was upset, you would be a happy face when the sun was shining, you would be wonderful, Merlin, no matter what form you chose to wear, and I would keep you. Of course, I would keep you." His thumb passes gently over a damp, wind-rubbed cheek. "What brought this on? Did the sight of the pup frighten you? I swear, it will only know love from that family—"
"Nothing brought it on," Merlin says roughly, "I just…thought of it."
"No one was cruel? I do not need to have words with Arthur?"
"No. No, no one was cruel. My head, it just…"
Leon hums when he cannot finish the sentence. "Minds can be tricky like that. They think so often that they think of traps for themselves and then fret terribly when they cannot think their way back out."
"Mine's good at that."
"Yes, I daresay it is." Leon brings him closer, a chaste kiss to his temple. "Do not worry. You have many friends to help you find your way out."
"I would keep you too," Merlin says in a rush, his tongue loosened from tears and time, "you'd be such a good dog. You would be able to do so many things. You're so clever and good at doing things."
"Thank you," Leon chuckles, holding him close, "I believe that is quite a compliment."
"If we were both dogs, would Arthur keep both of us?"
"Oh, yes, I think he would. You would be at his heels at all times, as happy as can be, and he would smile every time he saw you."
"I don't want to be alone without Arthur."
"You wouldn't be. You won't be."
"Are you sad too? Is that why you were outside?" The weariness of his mind's relentless spinning loosens his tongue better than any magic ever could. "I was sad. So I went outside. Is that why you were outside?"
"No, I was outside to look for you. Why were you sad, Merlin?"
"'Cause I thought if I was a pup, no one would want me inside anymore."
"I can assure you that we would, Merlin. We would want you inside where we can keep you safe and warm. I daresay Arthur would even let you up on the bed."
"He wouldn't."
"He would. He cares for you so deeply, you know that, right?"
"I care about him a lot."
"I know." Leon's voice is soft. "I know, Merlin."
"Would you let me on your bed? If I was a pup?"
Leon chuckles. "I think I would try very hard to say no to you, and then you would shiver and look up at me with those tearful eyes of yours and I would give in very quickly. I would swear you to secrecy, of course, but I would wrap you up in a blanket and hold you close."
Merlin's eyes begin to droop closed. "I want that. I want to be kept."
"Oh, I'm afraid you don't have much of a choice. Be you a dog or a man. You're getting kept, Merlin."
"That's good."
"Yes, it is. Now, I believe someone's in need of a little nap, hm?"
"But it's the middle of the day," he protests even as his body begins to slump into Leon's hold, his tongue growing thicker and thicker with each passing word.
"That's alright. You've worn yourself out. You can rest here, I will keep watch over you. None will disturb you, not even Arthur. I'll tell him you need the rest."
Merlin mumbles something back as he lets Leon coax his boots from his feet, gently urging him under the covers. As he's tucked in, he manages to pry his eyes open long enough to catch Leon's gaze once more. The knight stills, looking at him kindly.
"If we were both dogs," he manages, "would we be brothers?"
Leon smiles, his hand cupping Merlin's cheek once more. "We are brothers in every world, Merlin, whatever forms we take."
Merlin smiles, a sweet little thing, and lets his eyes fall closed once more. He thinks he feels a kiss pressed to his forehead and his dreams are filled with happy barks and wagging tails.