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The first chicken exploded at breakfast.
Not violently, thankfully.
Just dramatically.
One moment it was perched on the middle of Camelot’s banquet table pecking at a heel of bread, and the next it burst into a cloud of golden feathers with a sound like a badly played trumpet.
The entire hall fell silent.
A feather drifted slowly into Arthur’s goblet.
Merlin stared at it.
Arthur stared at it.
Then Arthur turned very slowly toward Merlin with the exhausted expression of a man who had endured far too many years of magical nonsense.
“What,” he said flatly, “did you do now?”
“I didn’t do anything!”
“You say that every time.”
“Because it’s usually true!”
“It is never true.”
At the far end of the table, Gwaine was openly crying with laughter into his wine.
Leon looked as though he regretted every decision that had led him to knighthood.
Gwen pinched the bridge of her nose.
And beside Merlin, Mordred calmly reached over, plucked a feather from Merlin’s hair, and said, “In fairness, this does seem slightly beyond his usual level of disaster.”
Merlin glared at him.
“Oh, thank you,” he muttered. “That’s very reassuring.”
Mordred smiled.
That was part of the problem, really.
Mordred smiled now.
Not often, perhaps. Not loudly like Gwaine or warmly like Gwen. But he smiled quietly, unexpectedly, in ways that caught Merlin entirely off guard and made coherent thought significantly more difficult than it ought to have been.
Which was inconvenient.
Especially because Mordred had recently started doing it at Merlin specifically.
Arthur pointed accusingly at the dissipating cloud of feathers.
“Explain the chicken.”
“I can’t explain the chicken.”
“You’re the court idiot. Explaining strange events is practically your occupation.”
“I’m your servant.”
“A distinction nobody in this room believes anymore.”
“That’s hurtful.”
“It’s accurate.”
Another chicken sprinted through the hall.
This one was glowing blue.
Gwaine nearly fell out of his chair.
“Oh, this keeps getting better.”
The glowing chicken launched itself directly at Arthur’s face.
Arthur shouted something deeply unroyal and ducked.
Mordred caught the chicken midair with startling ease.
The bird blinked at him.
Then it laid an egg in his hand.
The egg exploded into flowers.
Silence.
A single daisy landed in Arthur’s hair.
Gwen lost the battle against her composure and started laughing.
Merlin buried his face in his hands.
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes,” Gwaine wheezed. “This is the finest morning of my life.”
Arthur pointed at Merlin again.
“You have until sunset to fix this.”
“I still don’t know what this is!”
“You’re clever. Figure it out.”
Then Arthur stood, brushed flower petals off his tunic, and stalked from the hall with all the dignity available to a man wearing a daisy behind his ear.
The second he disappeared, the room erupted into noise.
“Did the chicken wink at me?” Leon asked weakly.
“I think it fancied you,” said Gwaine.
“It laid an explosive egg.”
“That’s practically a proposal.”
Mordred set the chicken gently on the table.
It immediately stole a sausage and fled.
Merlin groaned.
“This is a nightmare.”
“Oh, I disagree,” Mordred said lightly. “I’m enjoying myself immensely.”
“You would.”
“You’re covered in feathers.”
“That is precisely the sort of thing I enjoy.”
Merlin hated the sudden warmth in his face.
Gwen noticed immediately.
Of course she did.
Gwen noticed everything.
Her eyes flicked between them with the expression of someone rapidly assembling dangerous conclusions.
“Oh,” she said.
Merlin pointed at her.
“No.”
“You didn’t even let me say anything.”
“I know that look.”
“What look?”
“The matchmaking look.”
Gwaine looked up instantly.
“The what?”
“There is no matchmaking look,” Gwen said innocently.
“There absolutely is.”
Mordred, traitor that he was, looked delighted.
“Well,” Gwen said, rising from her seat, “I’m sure the two of you can solve the mystery together.”
Merlin narrowed his eyes.
“Why did you emphasize together?”
“I didn’t.”
“You absolutely did.”
She smiled sweetly and left.
Gwaine followed immediately after, but not before clapping Mordred hard on the shoulder.
“Good luck.”
“With the chickens?” Mordred asked.
“With Merlin,” Gwaine replied.
Then he vanished before Merlin could throw something at him.
Merlin turned slowly toward Mordred.
“This is your fault.”
“I fail to see how.”
“You encourage them.”
“I merely exist.”
“Yes, well, stop doing it so suspiciously.”
Mordred laughed quietly.
Merlin immediately regretted having functioning ears.
—
The problem, unfortunately, was actually Merlin’s fault.
Not intentionally.
Mostly.
Three nights earlier, he had discovered an ancient spellbook hidden beneath one of Gaius’s cabinets while searching for clean bandages.
The book had been wrapped in old cloth and sealed with protective sigils that practically screamed do not touch this.
Naturally, Merlin had touched it immediately.
In his defense, curiosity was a disease.
The spellbook appeared harmless at first. Mostly translations. Old incantations. Household charms.
Then Merlin found a page labeled:
Minor Enhancement Enchantment for Domestic Creatures.
Which sounded innocent.
Helpful, even.
And perhaps Merlin had been slightly sleep-deprived.
Perhaps he had also been irritated because Arthur kept complaining that Camelot’s chickens were “alarmingly ordinary.”
Which was an absurd sentence.
So Merlin had cast the spell.
Just a tiny one.
Only now the chickens appeared capable of teleportation, spontaneous combustion, and emotional manipulation.
Gaius was going to kill him.
“You’re thinking too loudly again,” Mordred said beside him.
They were walking through the marketplace, following a trail of blue feathers and public destruction.
“How can you tell?”
“You get this particular wrinkle between your eyebrows.”
“I do not.”
“You do.”
Merlin scowled.
Mordred looked unbearably fond about it.
A merchant stumbled toward them carrying three squawking chickens under his arms.
“They’ve stolen my cabbages!” he cried.
One of the chickens belched sparks.
Mordred accepted this with surprising calm.
Merlin rubbed a hand over his face.
“I’m going to live in the forest,” he announced. “I’ll become a hermit. People will tell stories about the strange man haunted by enchanted poultry.”
“I’d visit you.”
“That rather defeats the point of becoming a hermit.”
Mordred’s smile softened.
“Still.”
There it was again.
That look.
Warm. Steady. Entirely too sincere.
Merlin abruptly walked faster.
This was becoming a problem.
A significant one.
Because Merlin had spent years carefully not thinking about Mordred in ways that would complicate his life.
Unfortunately, Mordred had grown up.
Which was frankly inconsiderate of him.
He had become taller than Merlin somehow. Broader in the shoulders. Quietly confident in a way that made people instinctively trust him.
And worse than all of that, he looked at Merlin like he mattered.
It was deeply unfair.
“Merlin,” Mordred called.
Merlin turned.
Immediately, a chicken flew directly into his face.
There was a flash of gold.
Then suddenly—
Everything was enormous.
Merlin blinked.
The world blinked back.
“Oh no,” Mordred said.
Merlin looked down.
Tiny claws stared back at him.
Absolutely not.
Absolutely—
He squawked.
Mordred pressed both hands over his mouth.
Which only made the laughter escaping through his fingers worse.
Merlin launched himself at him furiously.
As a chicken, this was significantly less intimidating than intended.
“You are,” Mordred gasped, “the angriest bird I’ve ever seen.”
Merlin pecked his hand.
“Ow!”
Good.
Mordred scooped him up carefully anyway.
The indignity.
“This might be my favorite thing that’s ever happened.”
Merlin flapped furiously.
“Don’t glare at me like that,” Mordred laughed. “I’m trying to help you.”
Merlin pecked him again out of principle.
“You’re very violent for something so fluffy.”
A group of children pointed excitedly.
“Look! Sir Mordred has a chicken!”
“This is not helping my dignity,” Mordred informed Merlin solemnly.
Merlin made a deeply threatening cluck.
“That sounded rude.”
A woman passing by smiled knowingly at them.
“You make a lovely couple.”
Mordred nearly dropped Merlin.
“What?”
“The devotion,” she sighed. “Carrying his little pet chicken everywhere.”
Merlin wanted death immediately.
“It’s not— he’s not—”
The woman wandered away before Mordred could finish.
Merlin buried his feathery face in Mordred’s shoulder.
Mordred was shaking with silent laughter.
“You’re never allowed to speak again,” Merlin thought furiously in his direction.
To his horror, Mordred blinked.
Then stared at him.
“…Merlin?”
Merlin froze.
Right.
Telepathy.
Ancient druids occasionally shared thoughts through magic.
Usually intentionally.
Merlin had apparently done it by accident while transformed into livestock.
Wonderful.
“Oh,” Mordred said slowly.
Merlin contemplated throwing himself into a river.
“You can hear me?”
“Yes.”
This was terrible.
Absolutely terrible.
Especially because Mordred still hadn’t stopped smiling.
“Well,” Mordred thought back gently, “this is new.”
“You are enjoying this far too much.”
“Only because your outrage is adorable.”
Merlin made a strangled chicken noise.
Mordred laughed again.
Somewhere nearby, another stall exploded.
Neither of them looked away from each other.
—
Gaius nearly dropped an entire tray of herbs when Mordred carried Merlin into his chambers.
“…Why are you holding a chicken?”
Mordred set Merlin carefully on the table.
The chicken glared at Gaius.
Gaius stared.
“Oh dear.”
Merlin squawked furiously.
“Yes,” Gaius said. “That does sound like something you would do.”
Mordred leaned against the table, still visibly delighted.
“He bit three people.”
“I bit one person.”
“You bit me twice.”
“You deserved it.”
Gaius blinked between them.
“…Are you speaking telepathically?”
“Yes,” Mordred said.
“No,” Merlin thought aggressively.
Mordred snorted.
Gaius looked exhausted already.
“Right. Wonderful. Of course.”
He began rifling through books.
“You transformed yourself through sympathetic magical backlash. Reversal should be possible.”
“Should?”
“Comforting word, that.”
Merlin threw his wings dramatically into the air.
Mordred scratched gently beneath Merlin’s feathers.
Merlin instantly forgot his fury.
This was worse.
Far worse.
Mordred noticed immediately.
The smug expression was unbearable.
“Oh,” he murmured softly. “You like that.”
Merlin glared with all the fury available to a tiny bird.
Mordred continued anyway.
Traitorous body. Traitorous feathers.
Gaius made a noise suspiciously similar to a laugh.
“You’re both impossible.”
“Mostly him,” Mordred said.
“You are literally petting him.”
“And?”
“And nothing,” Gaius replied, far too innocently.
Merlin narrowed his eyes.
Something dreadful was happening.
—
The reversal potion required moonwort, valerian root, and—unfortunately—the feather of the original enchanted creature.
Which meant they needed to catch one of the magical chickens.
By sunset.
Camelot had approximately forty-seven enchanted chickens rampaging through the kingdom.
“This is your fault,” Merlin reminded Mordred as they searched the lower town.
Mordred held him tucked securely beneath one arm.
“You’ve said.”
“I’ll continue saying it.”
“You turned yourself into poultry.”
“You could at least pretend to feel sympathy.”
“I do feel sympathy.”
“You’re smiling.”
“I contain multitudes.”
Merlin contemplated pecking him again.
A shout erupted from nearby.
“There!” Leon yelled.
Three knights sprinted across the square chasing a glowing chicken that was somehow outrunning horses.
The chicken leapt through a fruit cart.
Apples exploded everywhere.
Gwaine slipped on one and crashed directly into Percival.
Percival caught him automatically.
Gwaine grinned up at him.
“Hello.”
“You are bleeding.”
“Romantically.”
Leon looked ready to resign from knighthood.
Mordred sighed.
“Stay here.”
Merlin squawked indignantly as Mordred set him atop a barrel.
Then Mordred joined the chase.
Merlin watched despite himself.
Because unfortunately, Mordred moved beautifully.
Quick and graceful and sure-footed, weaving through chaos with irritating competence.
A child nearly got knocked over by the panicked crowd.
Mordred caught him immediately, steadying him with one hand before continuing after the chicken without missing a step.
The child beamed at him.
Merlin’s chest did something deeply inconvenient.
“Oh, you’re doomed,” said a voice beside him.
Merlin nearly fell off the barrel.
Gwen stood there holding bread.
“When did you get here?”
“When you started staring.”
“I was not staring.”
“You transformed into a chicken and you still can’t lie convincingly.”
Merlin flapped at her irritably.
Gwen smiled.
“He looks at you the same way, you know.”
Merlin froze.
“No, he doesn’t.”
“He really does.”
Across the square, Mordred finally tackled the glowing chicken successfully.
The crowd cheered.
Mordred looked up automatically toward Merlin.
Their eyes met instantly.
Oh.
Oh, that was unfortunate.
Gwen made a very soft, very knowing sound.
“I hate everyone,” Merlin announced.
She laughed outright.
—
The potion worked at sunset.
Mostly.
Merlin turned human again in a burst of gold magic directly in Gaius’s chambers.
He stumbled immediately because apparently having two legs again required adjustment.
Mordred caught him before he hit the floor.
Their faces ended up very close.
Merlin became painfully aware of approximately everything.
Mordred’s hands on his waist.
The warmth of him.
The fact that Mordred was looking at him with quiet concern that slowly shifted into something softer once he realized Merlin was fine.
Neither of them moved.
Gaius loudly cleared his throat.
Merlin jumped backward so quickly he nearly knocked over a shelf.
“Right,” he said faintly. “Human again. Excellent.”
Mordred’s mouth twitched.
“You seem disappointed.”
“I am going to throw myself into the sea.”
“You’d make a terrible fish.”
“Why are you like this?”
Mordred stepped closer.
“You tell me.”
The room suddenly felt very small.
Gaius abruptly stood.
“Well! I shall go check on the remaining chickens.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Yes.”
“This feels deliberate.”
“It absolutely is.”
Then Gaius fled with suspicious speed for an elderly man.
Merlin stared after him in betrayal.
Mordred leaned back against the table.
For once, he looked uncertain.
“Merlin…”
Dangerous tone.
Very dangerous tone.
Merlin immediately panicked.
“No.”
Mordred blinked.
“I haven’t said anything yet.”
“You were about to.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
A pause.
Then, incredibly, Mordred laughed softly.
“You’re frightened.”
“I am sensible.”
“You fought immortal armies.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“There were fewer feelings involved.”
Mordred’s expression gentled completely.
Which somehow made it worse.
“Merlin,” he said quietly, “I’m not asking for anything.”
“That sounds suspiciously like asking for something.”
“I only mean… you don’t have to run from me.”
Merlin looked down.
Because that was the problem, wasn’t it?
He had spent so long afraid of destiny and prophecy and loss that he had never learned what to do with simple kindness.
And Mordred—
Mordred had every reason in the world to hate him sometimes.
But he didn’t.
Instead he carried Merlin around as a chicken and looked at him like he hung the moon.
It was honestly unreasonable.
“You make me nervous,” Merlin admitted finally.
Mordred smiled slightly.
“You make me nervous too.”
“That can’t possibly be true.”
“I once faced a wyvern with less fear than I feel when you smile at me unexpectedly.”
Merlin stared.
“That was disgustingly romantic.”
“I’ve been holding it in for years.”
“You should’ve continued holding it in.”
“Probably.”
But he was smiling again.
Softly.
Fondly.
Merlin’s heart gave up entirely.
“Well,” he muttered, “this is horrible.”
Mordred stepped closer.
“You keep saying things that mean the opposite.”
“I absolutely don’t.”
“You really do.”
Merlin opened his mouth.
Then closed it again.
Because Mordred was very near now.
Close enough that Merlin could feel the warmth radiating from him.
Close enough that if Merlin leaned forward even slightly—
The door slammed open.
Arthur stormed inside.
“Good news,” he announced. “The chickens have somehow learned to open doors—”
He stopped.
Looked at Merlin.
Looked at Mordred.
Looked at the very obvious tension in the room.
Then sighed the sigh of a man profoundly exhausted by everyone around him.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.”
Merlin sprang backward.
“We weren’t doing anything!”
“Mm.”
“We weren’t!”
Arthur pointed at them.
“You’re both blushing.”
“We are not.”
“You absolutely are.”
Mordred, infuriatingly, looked completely composed again.
Arthur narrowed his eyes.
“Wait. Are you two actually courting?”
“No!” Merlin said immediately.
“Yes,” Mordred said at the same time.
Silence.
Merlin turned slowly.
“What.”
Mordred looked serenely unbothered.
“I panicked.”
“You panicked into lying?”
Arthur barked out a laugh.
“Oh, this is magnificent.”
“We are not courting,” Merlin insisted.
Mordred tilted his head.
“We held hands earlier.”
“You were carrying me!”
“You held on very tightly.”
“I had claws!”
Arthur was openly delighted now.
“This explains so much.”
“Nothing needs explaining!”
“It really does,” Arthur assured him.
Mordred looked at Merlin with suspicious innocence.
“You did call me handsome once.”
“That was one time!”
“And entirely unprompted.”
“You’d just come back from patrol!”
“You also said my arms looked—”
“If you finish that sentence I will kill you.”
Arthur actually sat down.
“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “suddenly the last several months make considerably more sense.”
“There have been no months!”
“There have absolutely been months,” Arthur replied.
Mordred looked unbearably pleased.
Traitor.
Complete traitor.
A chicken suddenly burst through the open window.
Everyone ducked instinctively.
The chicken landed directly on Arthur’s head.
Arthur screamed.
Merlin laughed so hard he nearly collapsed.
Mordred caught him automatically.
Again.
Arthur stood frozen in outrage while the chicken perched triumphantly in his hair.
Gaius reappeared in the doorway, took one look at the scene, and immediately walked back out.
Coward.
Mordred’s hand was still steady against Merlin’s back.
Merlin looked up.
Mordred was laughing too now—quiet and bright and warm in a way Merlin felt somewhere behind his ribs.
The laughter slowly faded.
But the closeness remained.
Arthur looked between them.
Then, astonishingly, he smiled.
Small and fond and entirely too perceptive.
“Well,” he said, lifting the chicken off his head with deep resignation, “about bloody time.”
And somehow that broke the last of Merlin’s panic.
Because this was Camelot.
Chaotic and loud and ridiculous.
Arthur complaining.
Gwaine probably drunk somewhere.
Gwen already knowing everything.
Magic chickens committing crimes in the streets.
And Mordred here.
Still looking at Merlin like he mattered.
Maybe destiny could wait.
Maybe prophecies did not own every part of them.
Maybe, just this once, Merlin could choose something for himself.
Mordred’s expression softened slightly, as though he understood exactly what Merlin was thinking.
Which, honestly, he probably did.
“Merlin?” he asked quietly.
Merlin rolled his eyes to hide the terrifying amount of affection threatening to consume him.
“You’re still insufferable,” he informed him.
Mordred smiled.
“And yet.”
“And yet,” Merlin admitted.
Then he grabbed the front of Mordred’s jacket and kissed him before he could lose his nerve.
Somewhere in the room, Arthur made a triumphant noise like a man winning a wager.
Neither of them cared.
Mordred kissed him back immediately—gentle at first, then laughing softly against Merlin’s mouth when Merlin accidentally walked them into a table.
“You are remarkably clumsy during emotional moments,” Mordred murmured.
“You’re distracting.”
“That sounds like praise.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
Another chicken exploded somewhere outside.
Neither of them even flinched.
Arthur stood.
“Well. Since you’re both finally done being idiots, I’ll leave you to whatever horrifyingly affectionate nonsense happens next.”
“You are never speaking of this again,” Merlin warned.
Arthur grinned.
“I’m telling the knights immediately.”
“Arthur—”
Too late.
He was already gone.
Merlin groaned into his hands.
“This is a disaster.”
Mordred gently pulled Merlin’s hands away from his face.
“You’ve said that several times today.”
“Yes, because it keeps being true.”
Mordred kissed the corner of his mouth.
Merlin forgot how breathing worked for a moment.
“This one,” Mordred said softly, “might be worth it.”
Outside, Camelot remained loud and chaotic and entirely ridiculous.
Inside, Merlin looked at Mordred and realized—with profound inconvenience—that he agreed.
~FIN~