The lock clicks just as Merlin has Aithusa halfway under the bed.
He watches Arthur’s boots come to a halt.
“What have you got there?”
Merlin peeks out over the mattress. Arthur stares at him, unimpressed written on every inch of his face.
“Nothing,” Merlin says. He brandishes a goblet. “An ale.”
Arthur steps closer. Aithusa’s tail thumps against the hardwood.
Arthur, in an excellent imitation of Gaius, raises an eyebrow.
“I dropped something,” Merlin tries.
“Oh? Your goblet, perhaps?”
Arthur levels him with a flat look. “And yet your trousers are still up.”
Merlin gives him a fiendish grin he learned from Gwaine.
Red creeps up Arthur’s face, but he manages not to crack. Damn. Merlin thought for certain that implying desire was a surefire way to get Arthur to leave.
Arthur shucks off his boots and (gently, Merlin notes) kicks them under the bed. Then he freezes.
“Merlin,” he says slowly, “what the hell just licked my ankle.”
This is the point where any sane person would realise there’s no getting out of this one and promptly give up the ghost, but Merlin, over the years, has steadily inched away from “sane.”
“Leeches,” he blurts. “I left Gaius’s leeches underneath the—“
Arthur reaches under the bed and pulls Aithusa out by the scruff of her neck, as a mother wolf would her cub. Aithusa chirps cheerfully at him and jumps onto the bed, grabbing a pillow and shaking it madly.
Arthur glares at him, hands on his hips.
Merlin tries the slightly goofier smile that’s been getting him out of scrapes since age four. Predictably, it doesn’t work.
“How many times do I have to tell you, Merlin? No dragons indoors! And certainly not in yours or my chambers!”
“She just wanted to see you, Arthur—“
“And she would have, if you’d both waited five minutes! I was about to put on a cloak and go visit her and the brachets!”
Despite his irritation, Arthur is petting Aithusa’s back and scratching her neck.
“Well, she’s very stubborn.”
“So are you,” Arthur says. He gently eases the pillow out of her mouth and sets it back on the bed.
“It’s important that she bond with the other palace animals, and that she not be given special treatment. It’s especially important that she not become too reliant on us, Merlin. Aithusa will outlive us all; she needs to learn independence early.”
Merlin pouts. “But she looks so cute, curled up with you at bedtime!”
“Merlin. You are a dragonlord. Kilgarrah told you, very specifically, how to raise her. I should not have to tell you how to train your dragon!”
Merlin pouts some more. “I just don’t like the idea of her sleeping out in the cold.”
“Merlin,” Arthur says incredulously, “she breathes fire!”
“So do you, after a big supper, but you still get to sleep indoors,” Merlin mutters.
Arthur points at the door. “Out.”
Aithusa lays down on Arthur’s bed.
She rolls over for belly rubs. Arthur’s eyebrows knit guiltily.
“Outside, girl, come on.”
She whines. Arthur’s face crumples. He grabs his cloak from the wardrobe and pulls it around his shoulders.
“Come on, darling, I’ll walk you.” He strides to the door and pulls it open, then says, in a high voice: “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”
Aithusa perks up. She leaps off the bed and races to Arthur, grabbing hold of his cloak and bodily tugging him out the door with her. Arthur’s laughter carries down the hall.
Merlin smiles. There’s a good chance Arthur will sleep in the dogpile tonight. He shucks his tunic and socks, peels back the covers, and sinks into Arthur’s bed with a contented sigh.
for @merthurmicrofic ‘s prompt dragon | 634 words
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