Chapter 10 – Serket

AN: I don't own Merlin.

Sir Percival turned his horse to watch his patrol safely arrived inside the courtyard. He quickly counted heads, satisfied that all hands had returned intact, and dismounted softly. His patrol followed suit, a few grunts and groans as the long ride took its toll.

Percival hid a small smile in his horse's neck.

He'd been placed over the new recruits, and they were green as a fresh spring day. Most of them were eager to please and easily went along with training, but those first few months were always grueling, especially in the saddle.

Percival ignored his tired troops, who knew to bring their mounts to their stalls, untack them and brush them down. Instead, he lavished attention on his worn mount, who wuffled a deep breath into his face and sank deeper into his ministrations. His fingers worked up and down her neck, paying special attention to the dip behind her ears.

"Spoiled, isn't she?" one of his more talkative recruits commented.

"Sure is," Percival murmured. His recruit shook his head good-naturedly and continued leading his horse to the stable.

Silence settled into the courtyard as Percival continued to pamper his horse, telling her with his fingers what a good job she'd done and how proud he was of her. With a joined sigh, they both straightened and headed together toward the stables. The rest of the patrol had vacated the area and it was time for supper.

As he entered the stable, he checked in on the horses his patrol had taken care of, looking for lapses in duty. Most everything looked good enough, although some training in diligence wouldn't go amiss. He narrowed his eyes at a saddle hung askew, and bits still covered with lather. But all the stalls were shut appropriately and the horses had been brushed down. At least the animals had been tended well.

He led his horse into the second to last stall, tying the reins to the hook for that self-same purpose and proceeding to untack his mount. She stood patiently, stamping a foot periodically for good measure. Putting brush to coat, Percival smiled as his horse shook herself lightly, which she always did right after she knew she'd be brushed.

He lost himself in the steady movements, mind clearing bit by bit with the satisfaction of his mount. By the time he finished, his thoughts were unburdened and his mare was almost asleep. He smiled, slipped the comb onto its hook, and fastened the stall door behind him silently.

Percival hefted the saddle into his arms, bridle resting on top, and headed toward the tack room to set things to rights. He padded softly down the corridor, enjoying the scent of hay and alfalfa from each stall. Entering the tack room, he set the saddle on a bench for the purpose, grabbed a cloth, and started cleaning the bridle.

A quarter hour later, he shoved the cloth back into its bucket and placed the saddle on its hook next to his bridle, smiling with satisfaction. He turned left out of the tack room, intending to find his way out and toward a meal.

His steps slowed with a steady hrush...hrush sound coming from a stall halfway to the exit. He'd thought the stables were empty when he'd walked through before.

Pervical hesitated by the noise, and peered in to see Merlin spreading clean hay for the king's horse. He smiled and started to think about greeting the young man, when his eyes stopped on something unusual.

Merlin had removed his shirt in the stuffiness and tossed it over the half-door. Sweat spread its glistened fingers over his back. And Percival's eyes were riveted to a strange mark, half-obscured by Merlin's trousers.

An oval depression blackened an area the size of his palm just to the left of Merlin's spine. Small tendrils of black reached out across his skin, a few wrapping around his side, some halfway up his back. It looked for all the world like some sadistic black sun in a cursed land.

Percival blinked.

Huh.

Last time he'd seen a mark like that, it'd been on a dead man. The blackened eyes and tendrils covering his skin often made their way into his rare nightmares.

You didn't survive a serket sting.

And yet, here was the miraculous Merlin, once again defying all logic.

Then again...

"You almost done, Merlin?"

Merlin started, a whole body flinch followed by frozen limbs. He slowly looked over his shoulder. "Sir Percival?"

He grunted.

"Do you need something?"

"Just something to eat."

"I'll be done in a moment, then I can fetch some supper from the kitchens for you."

"Get two meals."

Merlin had turned around and was quickly spreading the rest of the hay, his back toward the wall. "Two? Who's eating with you?"

"You."

Merlin paused, then slowly leaned his pitchfork against the wall nearest to Percival. "Me?"

"Yeah."

Merlin grabbed his shirt as though he thought Percival would take it first, and tugged it on haphazardly over his head. "Umm...okay?"

Shirt finally in place, he grabbed his pitchfork and ran it down to the tack room. In his absence, Percival retrieved the king's horse from its tether and brought it back into the stall. He pushed the bolt home as Merlin returned, jacket in hand, trying to tie his neckerchief back on.

"Am...am I in trouble?"

Percival gave him a look. "No."

"Then...why?"

"You don't like eating alone."

Percival began walking out, not even looking to see if Merlin would follow. Soon the shorter man's steps fell in line with his own, and they headed toward the castle kitchens in companionable silence.

Silence reigned over the cloudy sky. The overcast park bench held one occupant, a grizzled old man in fingerless gloves and a blue knit cap. He closed his eyes, reveling in the rush of the wind and the chatter of birds and squirrels in the tree above him.

That was one thing he'd been given.

A gift of restful silence.