Chapter Text
Chapter 1
“A cockatrice? ”
“Aye, your majesty, as big as my house and ugly as my nan! It swept through our fields and trampled our crops. When it turned its gaze on my sweet Inge, it turned her very flesh to stone!”
A fearful murmur swept through the court at the farmer’s cry, faces turning pale and mouths hidden behind hands.
Arthur, sat on his throne for nearly three hours until that point, beseeching his people of their woes, had his mouth twisted in a frown.
“And it had the head of a rooster?” The King asked in a bewildered tone.
Gaius’ voice rang out from the crowd, “Yes, sire. Though this beast is no common farm animal. The cockatrice is quite dangerous. It can kill a human with a mere look, and dispatching of one is quite the task indeed. Although, I was of the belief that the last of the cockatrice had been hunted to extinction during the Great Purge. Encountering one is exceedingly rare.”
The physician leveled his stare on the farmer, who was still shaking, having dropped to his knees in apparent fear onto the cold stone of the Great Hall’s floor.
“I swear it to you, my lord,” The man clasped his hands in front of him with great fervor, “People have begun to flee the village, as the beast attacks us every night!”
Arthur held up one hand, face set in a distinct look of determination that Merlin knew all too well.
“Fear not, for you are a citizen of Camelot, and as such, should never be required to live in fear of sorcery and its ilk. I myself will lead a hunting party to your village and dispatch of the beast.”
Merlin let out a barely audible sigh. If there are things in the world that can be truly certain and uncontested, they are that the sky is blue and that Arthur Pendragon will always find a new and exciting way to get himself killed.
The court was dismissed promptly after Arthur’s declaration and Merlin fell in step behind Gaius as he made his way back to the physician’s quarters.
“Do you think it’s really a cockatrice?” Merlin asked as the heavy, wooden door swung shut behind him, “That man’s story wasn’t exactly the most coherent, and you said yourself that they should be extinct.”
Gaius considered his question as he slowly lowered himself into a chair, his old bones creaking slightly on the descent. Gaius moved slower these days, Merlin had noticed. Every movement effortful and heaving. The ancient nature of his mentor’s brow further creased with each passing season.
“Cockatrice are, by their birth, rare to begin with. The circumstances for their creation are very specific, and often accidental. Though, I suppose it is always possible some slipped through the cracks. You should know better than anyone that not every magical creature hunted by the purge truly met its end,” Gaius leveled Merlin with a knowing and disapproving look.
Merlin gave a small huff in return. The last time he had spoken with Kilgharrah had been several months prior, when he had told Merlin to end Mordred’s life, just before the Disr had nearly done it themselves. Though, the young knight had seemingly only risen in Arthur’s esteem because of it. Mordred now accompanied the King on all of his patrols, and the other knights had firmly welcomed the boy as one of their own.
Through it all, the only thing that Merlin could think about was the dark relief he had felt when the Disr’s magic had pierced Mordred’s torso.
There was a moment, when Merlin had laid his hands on Mordred’s wound as Arthur cradled the boy’s head, when he had thought himself lucky. Lucky for not having to do the deed himself, let the boy die at the hands of another, of a colder and clearer enemy than he. Lucky that he got to continue being a coward.
“Merlin?”
Gaius’ gentle voice shook Merlin from his thoughts.
“Are you alright, my boy? I fear these days you have become,” the old man paused, “quiet.”
Merlin blinked, shook his head, and adopted a smile, one both rusty from disuse and strained from memory.
“And what of the farmer’s wife, who was turned to stone? Or any of the other victims. Is there a way to undo the cockatrice’s stare?
Gaius accepted the change in topic with practiced grace, “Unfortunately not. To be turned to stone is to be turned into something without life, without soul. There is no coming back from that I’m afraid. Which is all the more reason for you to exercise extreme caution on this quest, Merlin. And to advise Arthur to do the same.”
“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll get to tell him yourself in just a few seconds.”
“Oh?”
With that, the chamber door swung open, its hinges creaking as the King strode into the room.
“Gaius, I beseech you to tell me all you know about this cockatrice and how I will go about vanquishing it.”
Gaius and Merlin shared a look that Arthur took no notice of.
The old man rose from his chair, waving Merlin off when he moved to help him up. He made his way to a bookshelf filled with ancient tomes, and retrieved one bound in dark leather.
Gaius righted his glasses where they sat on his face and began to skim through the pages.
“Be warned, sire,” he said, “the cockatrice can kill with a mere look, and cannot be bested with fighting skill alone.”
Arthur’s shoulders slightly drooped at that, like a young boy being told he couldn’t go out and play. Merlin could tell that Arthur had been a little restless as of late. The encounter with the Disr had shook something within him. Yet, in the months since, Camelot had appeared to be at absolute peace. No signs of bandits at the border, no magical assailants to be dealt with. Just litigation on taxes and long hours spent in the throne room. Arthur was itching to hack away at something, Merlin thought, and smiled to himself as he half-listened to the rest of Gaius’ lecture.
“A weasel? ”
Arthur’s face had that contorted look on it again, one that was certainly not very kingly, though Arthur seeme to don it often.
Gaius nodded, “Yes, sire. It is said that a weasel is one of the few animals that is not affected by the cockatrice’s gaze, and is in fact its natural predator.”
Arthur maintained his pout.
“So, I have to catch a weasel and then set it loose on a magical beast?”
“Indeed, sire.”
The king rolled his eyes, “Very well. Merlin, come with me, we need to prepare to set out at first light.”
“Sire.”
Gaius, eyebrow raised in warning, tried to catch Merlin’s gaze as he left the chamber, but Merlin made no move to answer it.
—
That night, as Merlin had finished readying Arthur’s bed, the king seemed in a particularly chatty mood.
“Honestly, a rooster head. Have you ever heard of anything so absurd, Merlin?” Arthur had said as he kicked off his boots..
“No, sire,” Merlin answered rotely. He had begun to think of Mordred again, and of the prophecy that often circled his mind as he tried to sleep every night. As his hands mechanically straightened sheets and fluffed pillows, he thought of the way Mordred had looked at him as he laid dying. That…knowing. Not quite acceptance, not quite surprise. He had expected to die there, Merlin had realized. Expected that Merlin would have let him die. And he had, in truth. He had made his decision, even if the Disr had a different fate in mind. It seemed that there was nothing, absolutely goddamned nothing, he could do to secure Arthur’s life.
It was during this thought that something came whizzing towards Merlin’s head.
Merlin dodged the object, nearly a decade of instinct kicking in, as Arthur’s boot made contact with the wall behind his head.
The two men just looked at each other for a moment of silence.
“What was that for?” Merlin asked at the same time Arthur said, “How on earth did you dodge that?”
Another startled silence followed before Arthur’s face broke out in a grin and Merlin gave a tired smile in return.
“Seriously though, Merlin” Arthur said through his amusement, “Are you ill or something? You’re distracted.”
It was blunt, seemingly utilitarian if one did not notice the way Arthur’s eyes were tinted with worry and how his posture tilted to one side, uncertain.
Merlin gave the pillow in his hands one final fluff before turning away from the bed, “I’m just so very enthralled with making your bed every night, sire. Perhaps you should try it yourself sometime.”
Arthur rolled his eyes good naturedly, more comfortable now with Merlin’s familiar rebuttals.
“But why deprive you of your favorite pastime? Be reasonable.”
Merlin huffed, and went to finish picking up the clothes Arthur had left scattered around the floor.
“Should be fairly simple, then, this cockatrice,” Arthur said, “Though honestly, a weasel. ”
Merlin nodded, and the two discussed the hunting party’s plans for the following day.
The village they would seek was about two day’s ride, close to the border. The weasel would, theoretically, be obtained at some point along the way.
“I’m thinking of taking Mordred,” Arthur said, sprawled out on his bed as Merlin had moved to sit in the chair at Arthur’s desk.
Merlin froze. He had not had to be around the young knight since the Disr.
“Do you believe that wise, sire?”
Arthur considered his servant for a long moment.
Finally, he said, “I have thought about it at length, Merlin, but I cannot understand your dislike for the boy.”
“It is not a dislike, Arthur-”
“Then what is it?” Arthur sat up, “You do not trust him, that is certain. I’ve never seen you speak to someone as coldly as you do him. You question my judgment of his abilities, you-”
“He is young, has trained for not even a year’s time,” Merlin interjected. His arms had come up to cross in front of him, and he avoided Arthur’s gaze.
“You seemed to have no problem with lack of official training when it came to Gwaine. Or with Lancelot.”
Simultaneously as Arthur spoke, he seemed to regret it.
“I’m,” he floundered, “I’m sorry Merlin.”
“Why are you apologizing to me?” Merlin let out a heavy sigh, and felt an aching tiredness seep into his bones.
Arthur made to speak again, eyes softer now, but Merlin interrupted.
“I cannot speak on these things, sire.” Merlin’s voice had taken on a shallow and mechanical quality again, “I am just a servant. I simply am cautious of Mordred’s loyalties.”
Arthur had stood by the end of Merlin’s sentence. Eyes beseeching, one hand raised ever so slightly from his side, like he would make some move to reach out for Merlin.
“But why ?”
For one traitorous moment, Merlin thought about just telling him. If not about his magic, then about the prophecy. Then Arthur would see, would understand what Merlin was trying to do, what he should have done years ago. When they were both so much younger, still unused to each other’s company. When a captive dragon had told him to let a child die by the pyre.
But, Merlin was, after all, a coward. And so he said nothing. Simply shook his head and stepped back from Arthur’s gaze. He wished Arthur a good night, and left the King still standing at the edge of his bed, eyes following Merlin as he retreated from the room.
As Merlin lay in bed that night, thin straw mattress poking at his ribs, the scene of Mordred laid dying from the Disr’s attack kept flashing in his mind. The way his already pale skin sunk and lost its pallor, the slick of wet blood between his fingers. He thought of Arthur’s hand clasping over the boy's heart, and suddenly it was Arthur who lay dying in his arms. Around them lay the gray waste of a battlefield as Merlin pressed his hand into a large, tearing wound on Arthur’s side.
Merlin choked, salt spilling down his face and mixing with the blood all around him. He looked up to Arthur’s face and was met with the glassy eyes of a corpse, his blue lips forming around a word, around a name.
Merlin shot up in bed, panting as sweat coated the back of his neck.
That hadn’t felt like a dream, he thought. That had felt like a vision, an assurance, a damnation.
The sorcerer let his head fall into his hands where he sat hunched over on the bed, his breathing not yet calmed down.
It was nearly dawn, he realized. He’d have to ready himself soon enough. Face Arthur’s likely renewed scrutiny, as well as the beast that lay before them.