A/N: Welcome! I present to you another one-shot, this one fluffy, a little cracky, hopefully funny, and involving one former-king and one wizard reincarnated as a dog! I wrote it a while ago, didn't post it, found it again, and decided that I actually do like it quite a bit, so here it is. It can be read as slash or friendship or any mix thereof. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Nope, not mine.
Sometimes, Merlin absolutely hates Arthur.
And also, this reincarnation thing has gotten a little ridiculous this time around. It's one thing for Merlin to be Arthur's servant; it's another thing entirely for him to be Arthur's dog.
Yes, actual dog. With fluffy ears and four legs and a tail that he can't quite control. Seriously, he can't even speak, so how is he supposed to protect Arthur or serve him? All he can do is lay there with all four paws in the air while Arthur scratches his tummy.
…Admittedly there are certain upsides to being a dog. But that's beside the point! Who cares about belly rubs and the blessed simplicity that comes along with being an animal? He's Merlin, dammit! Merlin, the great sorcerer, the human sorcerer. Not a canine.
Being an animal is…odd. The fact is that animals are markedly different from humans, and this makes things a little complicated. There's certainly enough room for his soul in this body—that's not the problem—and there's enough room for a good amount of intelligence as well. But animals don't think in the same way as humans. There just isn't the same kind of structural intelligence, what with plotting and logic and grandiose thoughts. Being an animal—being a dog, in particular—means a much simpler form of thought. It's more instinct, more empathy, more straight action as opposed to thought out plans.
It's actually a nice change. Being a dog means that his life is a lot simpler. He gets fed twice a day and gets lots of treats. He gets long walks in the afternoon, he gets to play with Arthur a lot…and he never has to polish armor or fold laundry or carry dishes. In fact Arthur is the one waiting on him.
And there is no better feeling in the world than when Arthur scratches him behind the ears, right in that one perfect spot, the one that makes his leg start scratching a million miles an hour without his permission.
But still, dammit, he's a human! And Arthur is notably pig-headed and oblivious normally, so how the hell is he supposed to tell him important things when he can't even speak?
Like when Arthur brings a date home one night. He comes sauntering into the house, clearly a little tipsy, grinning broadly, dressed in his favorite black leather jacket and tight jeans, and his date comes in after him, clearly invited back for a little…ahem, 'play-time'. Which is all well and good, he supposes—he's not jealous, not at all—except for the fact that the 'date' is fucking MORDRED!
Honestly, does Arthur have no common sense or instincts at all?
The thing to do in this situation—given that he's a little hampered by his inability to form human speech—is obviously to launch himself at Mordred, barking ferociously and giving a well-deserved bite in the leg.
He's quite happy that the bite requires five stitches and that is the first and last date with Mordred. He's pleased with himself right up until Arthur takes him to the vet the next week and he comes back missing a very important part of his anatomy.
He is so not talking to Arthur in their next life.
No matter how many belly scratches he gets.
For the low price of one review you can become the owner of your very own Merlin-puppy! (Arthur not included.)