#im sob

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“You will not be cowed, will you, boy?” Uther observed.

Merlin looked confused for a moment, then he mooed loudly, and bounced down to the floor, where he proceeded to scramble around on hands and knees. He went at breakneck speed across Uther’s Persian rug, stopping every so often to lower his head and munch on the fibers of carpet. “Arthur!” he giggled. “Come play cows with me!”

“Merlin!” Uther said sternly. “Now is not the time. Come to bed.”

Merlin sat back on his haunches. “I’m not Merlin! I’m a cow!” He put his fingers up on top of his head where horns would be and mooed again, loudly. 

Uther sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Perhaps the boy was due for a spanking after all. But the next moo reminded him of a time, not so long ago, when he’d been on a walk with his queen, and they’d encountered a farmer and his son. The son had bumped into them and Uther had sternly rebuked him, but the queen had given him a dirty look, got down on the little boy’s level and entertained his games. It was the moment Uther had decided, biology be damned, that she was destined to be the mother of his children. 

And so he decided to try a new tactic with Merlin. 

“It’s time for little cows to return to the barn and settle down in the hay for the night,” he said through gritted teeth, lifting the cover in invitation. “Come along home, little cow.”

Arthur watched this exchange with wide eyes. 

The next night they bounced around as dogs, at Arthur’s suggestion. After wearing themselves out on the poor rug for awhile, Arthur bounded over and said, “Father! Come and teach us some tricks!”