A/N: Hello! Welcome to my first foray into creative writing. I've never tried anything with a plot before, and have never written anything longer than a page that wasn't science-y. I have no betas (mostly because I'm not sure how they work, so if you want to clue me in, please do), no outline, and no update schedule. But let me know what you think, and we'll see if this is worth continuing and fleshing out.

This is inspired by Qwerts' one-shot 'Work Cut Out for a Warlock'. If you haven't read it, go and do that immediately. It's hilarious.

Disclaimer: Because of the nature of this fic, it's not going to be the most action-adventure. If you're looking for swords and epic battles and plots against the kingdom, you (probably?) won't find it here. However, if you like tons of magic, magic theory, and Merlin getting to be a bit of an egghead, read on.

Oh, and I don't own Merlin. This is FanFiction. Does anyone claim to own anything here?

Let's begin!

Chapter 1

Arthur sat on his throne, digging one thumbnail into the armrest and looking distinctly unhappy with the scene in front of him.

In the middle of the throne room floor, a pair of guards held a young boy between them—a boy who couldn't have seen more than seven or eight summers. His nose was red and wet from crying, freckled cheeks flushed with terror and misery, and the poor child was shaking like a leaf in a maelstrom. His scraped, knobby knees would have probably been knocking together had they not been forced onto the cold stone floor like those of a common criminal on trial. Although, Arthur wearily supposed, that was exactly what he was.

"This boy was caught attempting sorcery just outside the citadel walls, sire," one of the guards reported, giving the boy in question a small shake as if he needed to clarify whom he was talking about. The motion was enough to elicit a small whimper from the child, and the sound sent a small stab of guilt through the king's heart. This was the sixth "attempted" sorcerer brought before him in as many months, though he was by far the youngest. A child.

It was with great self-control that Arthur managed to refrain from heaving a sigh and pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. This was getting out of hand.

"What is your name?" Arthur asked with as much kindness as he could manage, but mentally winced when he heard some of his irritation color his tone. He didn't want to traumatize the child any further. He wished Guinevere were there, she was always a much more calming presence than he was, but she had her own duties to see to for the afternoon.

The boy gave a great sniffle and another pitiful whimper before answering quietly, "A-Annan."

"Can you tell me what happened, Annan?"

It was as if an emotional dam burst within the child, and it was all Arthur could do stifle his startled jump when Annan began to wail.

"I was jus' trying to help!" he sobbed. "There was a birdie, but it wasn't flying because it's wing was all broken. I thought a cat got it, but I didn't see a cat, an' it looked jus' like when Fenian broke his ankle las' week jumping the creek. But Lavie fixed up Fenian's ankle, and Lavie wasn' there to help the birdie, so I jus' tried to help it like she helped Fenian, an' I didn't hurt nobody, honest I didn't!"

Arthur was trying to process the boy's frantic rant when he heard a small sniff behind and to his left where he knew Merlin was standing, and hoped beyond hope that the idiot wasn't back there crying like some heartbroken maid. It was just a bird. He resisted the temptation to turn around and raise an eyebrow at his servant, and instead turned that eyebrow toward the guard who had spoken earlier.

"He was overheard by the sentry trying to enchant the bird. He was using some... incantation or some such." The guard looked almost painfully uncomfortable using the words "enchant" and "incantation," as if he were afraid of being arrested right then and there just for saying them. The king wanted to roll his eyes. It wasn't as if speaking were a crime, for heaven's sake, but clearly he had to say it out loud for anyone to realize that.

"And did anything happen? Was this boy witnessed performing magic by anyone?" And if he was, am I really expected to pass judgement on a child who fixed a bird's broken wing?

"No, sire."

This time, Arthur did let out a small huff that had been building since the boy's entrance. "Then I will take this opportunity to remind all of you that speaking is not a punishable crime in Camelot. While I appreciate your vigilance, I believe we could all benefit from a small amount of discretion. This child has performed no magic, and thereby has committed no crime." Though I'm glad we wasted a perfectly good afternoon to address this. Again.

The king turned his attention back to the child. "Annan, can you tell me where you live? Are you able to find your way back home from the castle?"

Annan gave the king a wary glance before shaking his head, blond curls bouncing everywhere. "Can' tell. Lavie says I'm not allowed to tell people where our camp's at unless I ask her first."

Arthur looked at the boy, taking in his threadbare trousers cut off at the knee, the rough, homespun tunic of undyed wool despite the summer heat, the cords of braided hemp on his tiny wrist, and the layer of dried mud on the bottoms of the cloth wraps covering his feet.

The boy was a Druid.

Arthur had no qualms with the Druids. While he knew that many of them possessed some magic, he also knew that there were many who did not. Those who did did so quietly, discretely, and performed it rarely enough that it was almost never brought to Arthur's attention. Most importantly, those who did did so peacefully, a quality that did not escape Arthur's notice. Oh, what his father would think to hear his son's internal monologue regarding a people he had tried for decades to wipe out... But this was not Uther's Camelot anymore. Arthur was making sure of that. No, he had no qualms with the Druids, but the same could not be said for the guards and knights who were stuck in Uther's Camelot, having grown up or grown old enforcing the Purge.

"Can you find your way back to your camp from here?"

Annan looked thoughtful for a moment, furrowing his brow over big brown eyes in child-like concentration before nodding at the king.

"Good." Arthur smiled at the boy, but felt a pang of uneasiness at letting a child wander the woods alone, even if he did live in them. He couldn't send a guard or a knight as escort. Even if it wouldn't be seen as inappropriate, there were very few who would walk into a Druid camp without taking issue, and none at all who wouldn't give the Druids a collective heart attack on arrival. He would just have to hope that Annan knew his way around the forest. He addressed the guards, "See that he finds his way out of the castle safely. Dismissed."

As the few people gathered in the throne room filed out, Arthur turned in his seat toward Merlin, who was approaching the side of the throne. "Do you want me to walk him back to his camp?" he asked in a low voice. "I'm worried about him being in the woods alone, and it's not like you can lend him an official escort." Arthur breathed a small laugh, equally amazed and concerned at how his manservant's train of thought often ran parallel to his own.

But this was Merlin, which meant Arthur was required to mask his laugh of amazement with one of good-natured derision. "And what are you going to do, Merlin? Protect him from the daffodils?" The servant gave his king a rather impressive eye-roll while he continued, "I hardly think it's any safer for the child if I just send another child out after him." The servant cocked an eyebrow at his king, waiting for a serious reply. Arthur finally relented with a small grateful smile, "I'd appreciate that, Merlin. Do you not have a problem walking him to a Druid camp?"

Merlin gave a small snort, as if the question was ridiculous. Arthur thought the question was perfectly valid. After all, it was no secret to the king that magic made Merlin uncomfortable. "No, not at all. I run into Druids from time to time while I'm out gathering for Gaius, usually the same few who do the gathering for their clan, I think. I might recognize a few faces."

Arthur blinked. That was new. He knew there were Druid clans living closer to the city now that he had declared peace with them, but he didn't realize Merlin was out getting chummy with them. Though he supposed he shouldn't be too surprised, Merlin could walk into a broom cupboard and walk out with a new friend. "Very well. Just make sure you're back in time to prepare me for bed. I'll have someone else see to supper for Guinevere and I."

Merlin gave a small nod and jogged out of the throne room to catch up with his young charge. Arthur had a few small reservations about sending Merlin out into the woods without a guard or a knight as escort, but trusted the man could manage one afternoon.

Arthur heaved a sigh, almost obscenely loud in the now empty throne room. He hadn't missed the looks of displeasure on on the faces of some of the nobles who had gathered when they heard another magic user was being brought before the king. Many of them, old retinue from Uther that Arthur had inherited along with the crown, were rather disapproving of the changes Arthur was making, like his leniency with the Druids, insistence that concrete evidence or witness be provided with accusations of magic, and unwillingness to call for an execution barring extreme circumstances. Arthur figured that these changes would be small enough for the council to swallow without too much political indigestion, but alas, he had overestimated his council. If they had a problem letting an innocent boy return to his family, they really weren't going to like where this kingdom was headed. But he already knew that peace wasn't going to be easy.

I've got a lot of work to do.

Merlin racing through the corridors was hardly a novel sight anymore. Most servants, knights, and even a handful of the better-tempered nobles had become quite adept at avoiding his long limbs and tunnel vision. So it was with pounding steps and a rather ungraceful skid around a corner that Merlin caught up with the boy and his temporary escort at the west exit of the castle. He watched as the guards led him out onto the steps before closing rank behind him, as if they would need to physically stop him from reentering the castle. Annan turned and gave one last frightened look at the guards before running down the castle steps.

'Annan, wait up! I'll walk you back!' Merlin called mentally, though he wasn't sure it would do much good. He had tried communicating with the boy in the throne room, trying to give him some reassurance that nothing bad was going to happen to him, but he gave no indication that he had heard. The kid obviously didn't even have magic, but was brought before the king anyway. Well, it was obvious to Merlin, at least, but he couldn't exactly tell Arthur that. No, sire, I know he didn't perform any magic. You see, when I used the Druidic method of thought-speech to talk to him, he couldn't even hear me, which means he has no magic, latent or learned. Also, he was not trying to enchant the bird. Healing is not enchanting. Your guard doesn't know what he's talking about.

Merlin snorted at the thought. Yeah, that would go over well.

Merlin quickened his pace and tried calling the boy's name the old fashioned way. "Annan! Hey, wait up!" The boy whirled around, eyes blown wide before his sight settled on Merlin. He visibly relaxed, fear tempering out into a shy wariness. Merlin dropped to a squat when he reached the boy so he could speak to him at eye-level. He stuck out a hand. "Hi, I'm Merlin." Annan looked down at the outstretched hand a moment before shaking it as best he could.

"Hullo."

"Arthur sent me to make sure you got back to your camp safely. Is it okay if I come along?"

Annan chewed his lip in indecision. "I'm not s'posed to show where camp's at unless Lavie says so."

Merlin gave the child a warm smile. Yup, he definitely didn't have any magic if he didn't recognize Merlin. It was refreshing to talk to a Druid who didn't automatically know he was Emrys, even if the Druid in question was only eight years old.

"I don't think Lavie would mind if I came along," Merlin smiled. He didn't know Lavie, of course, but he was only aware of one camp due west of the city. He asked in a low voice "Is Iseldir your chieftain?"

Annan's uncertainty morphed into bright hope. "You know 'Seldir?"

Merlin gave a quiet chuckle "Yeah, we're good friends." That wasn't perfectly true. Merlin had spoken with the man no more than a dozen times in half as many years, but they were certainly friendly, if nothing else. "C'mon," Merlin stood and offered a hand for Annan to hold while they walked through the busy street, "Let's get you home.

Annan grabbed on and tucked in close to Merlin's hip. His big brown eyes roved all up and down the bustling avenue, his earlier fear gradually giving way to wonder and awe. Merlin remembered the first time he stepped into Camelot, and imagined that his expression hadn't been much different. All of the vendors and artisans and street performers made for an impressive sight. "Is this your first time seeing the city, Annan?"

Annan tore his gaze away from the cart of a woman selling bright strands of glass beads and nodded, "Uh-huh."

He was about to ask the boy what he thought of it, when Annan tugged on his hand. "Hey mister Merlin, what's that?"

Merlin looked through the crowd to where the boy was pointing. "The well?"

Annan furrowed his little brow and looked up at Merlin, "Doesn' look like a well. Well's a big em'ty hole."

Merlin smiled. He remembered being equally confused by the spigot when he first arrived in Camelot. Gwen had to show him three times how to work it, and he could still hear her little snort as she tried not to laugh at the poor baffled country boy. "It's a different kind of well. This is where the people in the town get water. You wanna see how it works?"

The boy nodded enthusiastically, so Merlin brought him over to the pump and dropped into a squat. "You see that big metal handle at the top? You lift it up, and when you push it down, clean water comes out of this little hole here." He gestured to the spigot. "Here, cup your hands and hold them right—there."

Annan did as he was instructed, and Merlin stepped up onto the worn stone platform behind the well and gave the lever a little pump. He watched the boy's eyes go wide and giggle in childish delight as the cold water gurgled up the pipe and splashed down into his tiny cupped hands. He looked up at his impromptu tour guide. "How's it do that, mister Merlin?"

Merlin gave him a confused smile. "I just grab this part here, and—" He cut himself off at the sight of Annan shaking his head, dirty blond curls all over the place. "I mean, how's the handle work? How's it bring water up?"

Merlin opened his mouth to answer, but slowly closed it again as he realized he had no idea. He cocked his head. "You know, I'm not really sure."

Annan looked from the water in his hands, to the pump, and back to Merlin before asking in the excited and loud voice of a child who had just puzzled out an answer, "Is it magic?"

Merlin swallowed a swear—not in front of the child!—as he heard a clatter and a feminine gasp behind him. He whirled, nearly falling right off of the stone platform, and locked eyes with a young woman waiting to fill a bucket. A bucket that she had just dropped in favor of pressing her hand to her chest, as if the mere mention of magic would stop her heart if she didn't clutch at it protectively. Merlin jumped down from the spigot and drew Annan away from the well by the arm, making him spill his handfuls of water all over the flagstones.

"Ah, no, it's not magic," Merlin explained hastily, eyes darting between the boy and the woman. Because, really, the explanation seemed like it was for her benefit as much as it was Annan's, as ridiculous as that sounded. "I'm sure there's some...mechanical reason," he babbled, "that the spigot works, I'm just not sure how, that's all. There's probably someone in the city who can tell you exactly how it works, but why don't we just get you home, hm?" He grabbed a hand and steered the boy back in the direction of the western gates before sparing a glance over his shoulder, where he saw the woman retrieve her empty bucket and set off in the other direction. Probably to find a different well. He gave a small, sad sigh. These people were terrified of magic. It wasn't healthy.

At the gates, he gave the guards a small nod as he herded Annan out of the city, but they paid him no mind. How can they know who's coming in and out of the city if they don't even look people in the eye? He brushed the thought aside. He wanted to address the issue of the lackadaisical guardsmen with Arthur at some point, but that day was not today.

No more than twenty paces from the city wall, Annan gasped, abruptly broke away from Merlin's grasp and bolted a few feet into the tall grass. "Annan!" Merlin cried in reprimand, weaving through the grass to follow the boy. He was crouched over something, and Merlin copied the crouch to see what he was looking at on the ground.

"It's the birdie! It's still here!" Annan stage-whispered.

In the grass lay a little sparrow, one wing bloodied and bent all out of shape. It didn't move, aside from its little grey breast heaving in rapid, labored breaths. Merlin's heart squeezed, and he saw Annan's lower lip quiver just a little. He reached up under his neckerchief and undid the knot before pulling it off. He draped it over the bird and gently scooped it up, spreading long fingers under the broken wing to try and stabilize it as much as possible.

"C'mon, Annan." Merlin said, cradling the bird. "Let's see if we can find some way to fix him up. You go ahead and lead the way to camp."

Merlin followed the boy into the woods. No more than a league past the tree line, Annan turned to look back at him. "How're you gonna help it, mister Merlin?"

Merlin stopped walking and gave a quick glance around. After determining that no one was near, he gestured for Annan to come over. He smiled at the boy. "Why don't you tell me what you tried?"

Annan bit his lip, clearly unsure if he should repeat the spell he tried to use despite having no magic. Merlin couldn't blame him for his caution—whatever he had said had caused him a lot of trouble that afternoon.

"Go ahead," Merlin encouraged, "it's alright."

"Well..." Annan began slowly, "When Fenian broke his ankle in the creek, Lavie said that bones need special spells to heal, because you have t'make sure the bones go back t'gether the right way. If you don't use the special spell, then the bones don't go back together. Her bone spell is..." Annan scrunched up his nose, trying to say the complicated words correctly, "an-lay-can, thor-heelay bon bree-kay."

Merlin tried not to chuckle at the boy's pronunciation, but he thought he got the idea. While he had become decent at healing, the young warlock didn't know many healing spells and very little about magical healing theory. What Annan said made sense. After all, according to Gaius, a bone must be properly set and aligned for it to knit back together. If it isn't properly set, the bone itself will heal, but not fuse.

"Well, then I guess we'll start with that, then," Merlin said brightly. He took a deep breath and gathered his magic to pool in the palm of his right hand, the one spread under the sparrow's broken wing. "Anlæcan. Þurhhæle bánbryce."

Merlin felt the familiar heat behind his eyes and saw the edges of his vision tint with gold. The small space between his hand and the bird grew warm, and he watched as the delicate little bones of the sparrow's wing realigned and returned the wing to its unbroken shape. A moment of confusion budded when he saw that the skin and feathers remained unaffected. Well, I suppose that was a very specific healing spell. It probably needs something different for the skin.

"Þurhhæle dolgbenn."

Merlin watched in satisfaction as the muscle and skin in the wing slowly closed and the mangled feathers repaired themselves.

"Woah..." Annan breathed.

The sparrow's rapid, labored breathing slowed, and with a flutter, it scrambled up onto its feet. It hopped from Merlin's cloth-covered hands up onto his sleeve where it gave a little chirp and took off for the branches high above their head. The pair of them craned their necks to watch it disappear amongst the leaves.

"You did it!" Annan shrieked, his excitement tearing through the quiet of the forest.

"Annan?!"

Merlin snapped his head to his left, where he heard a woman shout the boy's name. Bushes and branches crackled and snapped and she came tearing through the brush toward them. Merlin instinctively stepped in front of his young charge, but Annan darted around him and toward the voice. "Lavie!"

A feminine figure broke from the foliage. She couldn't have been more than sixteen or seventeen summers, with auburn hair tied up in a headscarf and big brown eyes like Annan's. The young woman tore her broadcloth skirt free of the brambles and ran to the little boy, dropping to her knees in front of him and drawing him into a tight hug. "Don't you dare run off like that again! I've been looking for you for hours! When Gavan found you before the king, I nearly had a heart attack!"

"How did you know he was brought before the king?"

The woman, who Merlin has gathered was the aforementioned Lavie, glanced up at Merlin, surprised to see someone with Annan but primarily concerned with the boy. Her gaze went back to Annan for a moment to look him over, but snapped back up to Merlin in recognition. Her eyes widened almost comically as realization hit her like a runaway warhorse.

"Emrys?!" she breathed.

Annan wriggled out of her grasp. "No," he said, clearly confused, "that's mister Merlin. King Arthur made him come with me when he told me I could go home."

The young woman looked between the two of them rapidly. Merlin tried to mask his uneasiness at her gawking with one of his signature, friendly, lopsided smiles. He loped over and extended a hand to help her up. "It's nice to meet you, Lavie. I've heard a lot about you today."

She winced. "Please, call me Lavena." She stared at his hand for a moment before accepting it gingerly. "You did not need to come all the way out here, my lord. I'm sorry for any inconvenience my brother may have caused you." When she was on her feet, she bowed her head, and it was Merlin's turn to wince.

"Oh, I'm—ah—I'm not a lord." He stammered. "See?" He spread his arms and spun in a circle. "Just your regular bedraggled peasant."

Annan giggled, and Lavena hushed him. "Annan! We do not laugh at Emrys!"

Merlin could feel the heat of a blush rush to his ears. "Oh, no, it's okay. Really. Everyone laughs at Emrys. Even Emrys laughs at Emrys." He gave an awkward chuckle, then swallowed the prattle threatening to overtake him. "But please, call me Merlin."

Lavena opened her mouth to say something, but Annan beat her to it. "Are you really Emrys, mister Merlin?"

Merlin crouched in front of he boy. "Yes, I am," he admitted with a small smile. That smile turned into a full-blown laugh when Annan exclaimed, "Wow! I spent all day with Emrys! Lavie—" He tugged on her skirt, "—he doesn't know how a well works!"

Poor Lavena appeared to be stuck in a terrible place between awe, mortification, and confusion.

Merlin stood. "I'm sure Annan will be more than happy to tell you all about his day. He's been quite a busy little man this afternoon." Merlin cocked his head. "Speaking of, how did you know he was brought before Arthur, again?"

The young woman blinked herself out her daze. "Gavan, one of the seers of our clan, scried him earlier. When I saw him on his knees before the throne, I—" She cut off as her voice broke.

"It's okay," Merlin soothed. "I wouldn't have let any harm come to him."

Lavena looked down at her little brother, the fear of losing him written all over her face. "Why was he even there? What happened?"

Merlin shifted and clicked his tongue softly against the roof of his mouth. "Ah, I believe he was trying to heal a bird."

Lavena's brow knit in confusion. She looked down at Annan, "Annan, you don't have magic."

The little boy pouted. "But I didn't know how else to help." The pout morphed into a smile, and he beamed at Merlin. "But mister Merlin fixed it! And I helped! I gave him your special bone spell!"

"I'm sure Emrys—er," she glanced up at the warlock, "—Merlin would have been able to do it all on his own."

Merlin chuckled. "Hardly. I only know a few healing spells, and I've never had any of them work on a fracture before. It sounds like you're quite the accomplished healer."

A blush crept up the young woman's shocked face. "Really? I—I mean, thank you. But, I'm no great healer."

"A sight greater than me, by the sounds of things," Merlin admitted with a smile. He was no shabby healer, provided he understood the mechanics of both the spell and the problem. Living with the court physician certainly helped with the latter, and having a natural mind for magic—essentially being magic—certainly helped with the former. However, while he had gotten decent at altering spells to fit his needs, and on the rare occasion, crafting new ones, he wasn't quite comfortable applying this to healing. Especially since most of his healing experience had been in rather dire situations that didn't lend well to experimentation. Merlin shrugged, "I can't scry either. I've tried a couple of times in water, but I haven't gotten anywhere with it yet."

Lavena blinked. "Are you a seer? I've only ever known seers to be able to scry visually."

Merlin grinned. "No, I'm not. But that's good to know." He loved learning new things about magic.

Annan gave his sister's skirt another tug. "Lavie, can mister Merlin-Emrys come to camp with us?"

Lavena and Merlin both turned to find the sun through the branches of the trees. The sun had sunk low enough that it had begun bathing everything in a beautiful golden light. Dusk would be upon them within the hour, and he was still at least an hour from the city gates. "I don't know if he'll have time to tonight, Annan..." Lavena began, turning a quizzical look toward the warlock.

"Mm, probably not tonight," Merlin mused, and dropped to a squat to address the boy eye-to-eye, "But I promise to come visit sometime soon. How's that sound?"

Annan nodded enthusiastically, clearly excited for that day, and it warmed Merlin's heart. He was almost as excited as Annan to pay a visit to Iseldir's camp, something he had been wanting to do for over a year now, but between Arthur's ascension to the throne, losing and retaking Camelot, and his ever-increasing serving duties, he hadn't made time.

"I'm sure we would all appreciate a visit," Lavena said warmly. She held a hand out to her brother. "Come. We should try to make it back to camp before dark." She looked up to Merlin. "It was an honor to meet you, Merlin. I cannot thank you enough for looking after Annan."

Merlin gave her a bright grin. "It was my pleasure, really. Please, take care."

"You as well."

It was with a lightness in his heart that he turned and headed back toward the castle. A stressful afternoon had turned into a rather pleasant evening. He looked back up toward the sun, trying to track the time. He should have at least a couple of hours before Arthur and Gwen finished with supper.

And I might have just enough time to knock out a few chores before the night is over.

It was hardly an hour after sunset when Merlin entered Arthur's chambers, basket of clean laundry tucked under one arm. He was surprised to see a few candles already lit, and wondered what servant came in to light the king's chambers and left before finishing the job. That was until he saw said king sitting in the window sill, staring out at the courtyard.

"You're back from supper early," Merlin noted.

Arthur hummed in response. He was lounging in the little alcove where the stained glass window was set, one leg propped in front of him, left hand propped under his chin while his right picked idly at the chipped mortar between the bricks under his seat.

"I thought I told you to leave that alone until we get a mason in to repair it," Merlin nagged, not bothering to look up from the tunic he was folding at the foot of Arthur's bed. "You're just making his job harder. And the fix more expensive, I might add."

"I'm the king, Merlin. I do as I please," was Arthur's distracted reply as he flicked a small chunk of mortar onto he floor. But nevertheless, Arthur stood from his perch by the window and sat back down heavily at the small table near his empty fire place, mouth pressed into laced fingers and brow drawn in contemplation. Merlin observed his king's pensive behavior as he puttered about putting away laundry and lighting the remainder of the candles. Arthur must have lit the few that were already burning himself. He looked down at the lit candle stub in one hand and the pair of extremely flammable trousers in the other and decided he ought to focus on one task at a time. Once the room was lit and Merlin had returned to sorting the laundry, the servant had decided to address his king.

"Arthur, is everything alright?"

The king took a deep breath as if preparing himself for something unpleasant before nodding toward the seat across from him. "Merlin, sit down."

Merlin tossed a set of nightclothes over the changing screen, dumped the now empty laundry basket in the corner by the wardrobe, and joined Arthur at the table. He noticed that Arthur had dropped one hand to the table's edge where he scraped a thumbnail over a small splintered portion in the oak. Arthur tended to pick at and destroy things when he was nervous, a tic he only ever displayed in private, but one that resulted in a lot of rough edges on various surfaces littered about his chambers. And a small channel dug into the inside of the right armrest on his throne, but Merlin was sure he was the only person who knew that was there.

"What's going on? Has something happened?"

Arthur must have realized he was picking at the table and laced his fingers back together. "Merlin, I've been thinking—oh, don't look at me like that, you idiot—I've been thinking, and I think... I think we're wrong."

Merlin waited for the king to continue, and frowned when Arthur seemed to deem that an appropriate place to end a sentence. "Wrong about...?" he prompted.

Arthur sat back and carded a hand through his hair. Whatever was going on, it was stressing the man out. "This is going to sound a little mad, but I've been giving it a lot of thought recently. I need you to hear me out, and really listen to what I'm saying. I need some feedback... But I need you to keep an open mind." The look in the king's pale blue eyes was a curious mix of apprehension and determination, and the intensity there concerned Merlin. Where was this going?

"Arthur, you're stalling."

"What if..." Arthur swallowed, "What if we're wrong about magic? What if it's not as evil as we think it is?"

Merlin's body froze while his brain split into several pieces, each screaming very different reactions.

Why would he say that? Did he see something? You idiot, you should have been more careful! Did he see something?!

We? What the hell do you mean we?!

Oh gods, it's a trap. He knows. He knows he knows he knows...

Is he serious? It's about damn time!

Evidently, none of the pieces of his brain had taken up the task of making sure Merlin continued to breathe, and he soon found himself abruptly lightheaded. Were those spots always there?

"Merlin, for heaven's sake, breathe!"

Merlin's lungs obeyed his king far more readily than he ever did, and the spots cleared from his vision. He looked up into Arthur's alarmed expression, numbly hoping that his face hadn't reflected too much of his internal panic.

"What—" his voice cracked, and he coughed to clear his throat. Stupid internal panic. "What made you think that?"

Arthur took a deep breath and launched into a speech that Merlin dimly realized sounded half-rehearsed. "Consider the Druids. They're a peaceful people. They've never sought to harm Camelot or the crown, they didn't even try to fight back or talk us out of stealing the Cup of Life from them, and I recall them healing Leon. They used magic to heal an armed and decorated knight of Camelot, and then just let him leave. My father believed it manipulation, but I know Leon saw it as an act of good will, and I'm inclined to agree with him. Gaius practiced sorcery for far longer than he's sworn off of it, and he clearly hasn't been corrupted. In fact, I can't imagine him acting ill toward anyone, and he must have been using magic for decades.

"And the boy today. If someone had actually seen him do magic, I would have been expected to pass judgement on a child for healing a bird. That's no more an evil act than the man who was brought before me last month for saying he talked to his wheat to make it grow, or the woman whose mending was so flawless 'it had to be magic.' Not only are my citizens turning on each other with the smallest provocation, but even if it were magic, how can I in good conscience sentence people for helping their neighbors? If magic can be used like this, why are we hating people for it?"

Merlin sat in stunned silence, in too much shock to even nod in agreement. He knew all of this. He knew this perhaps better than anyone in the palace, but Arthur must have misread Merlin's wide-eyed stare, because he continued, "Think about it. What if there are good people out there capable of using magic? What if they're good people who use magic for good deeds, and the only reason we never see them is because they're trying not to cause trouble? Maybe it depends on the person wielding it to determine if it's to be used for good or evil. I was thinking, maybe magic is like a sword—"

Arthur cut off abruptly at the strangled noise that managed to escape Merlin at that line. Merlin had been trying to figure out how to break the news to Arthur about magic for years, and he was not going to listen to his own brilliantly crafted sword analogy be used against him like this. Say something! You need to say something!

"Okay," Merlin began tentatively, "let's say that I agree with you—"

"You don't have to agree with me right away," Arthur interrupted. "I know that this is a radical idea. I see that. And I know that this is scary, especially for you, but I think—"

This time it was Merlin's turn to interrupt. "Hold on, what do you mean 'especially for me?'" Dread settled in his stomach with the weight of a thousand lies. Oh gods, he knows. He knows he knows he—

"You're terrified of magic, Merlin."

That was enough to send all of Merlin's panic skittering to a halt. What?

"What?"

Arthur huffed a tiny laugh. "What do you mean 'what?' Any time the subject of magic comes up or something magical happens around here, you get this—" Arthur fluttered his hand in Merlin's general direction, as if struggling to vocalize just what it was the man did, "—frazzled look about you like some sorcerer is going to start chasing you through the corridors at any moment. I just mentioned that magic might not be entirely evil, and you stopped breathing."

Merlin frowned. He supposed it was conceivable to make the assumption that he was afraid of magic, seeing as every time a magical occurrence cropped up, he had to deal with it personally. And he had been chased through the corridors on occasion. And it may have also been true that every time Arthur tried to discuss magic, either in seriousness or in jest, Merlin spent half the time sure that he had been found out and the other half despairing at not being able to truly discuss it freely. Actually, now that Merlin thought about it, those conversations did seem to be happening more and more frequently over the last several months...

"Arthur," he began carefully, "what exactly are you thinking?"

The king stood and paced a short distance toward the cold hearth, carding a hand through his hair again. He circled back around and gripped the back of his chair before meeting his manservant's eyes. "I'm thinking I can't rule a people who are already ruled by terror and hate. I'm thinking... It might be time to re-examine some of Camelot's laws."

Merlin's breath caught. He didn't know whether to laugh or sob or beam with pride, and for a fragile moment, he was afraid his face would try to do all three at once. There was suddenly a lump in his throat, and it tasted like destiny. It tasted like hope, and freedom, and a love for his king.

It tasted like Albion.

This was it. This was dawn breaking over Albion, the ideal that Merlin had given up so much for, laid down his life for, lied and sacrificed and chased with every breath. For the first time in his young, sorcerous life, Merlin might be a free man. His heart soared—

"I'm also thinking there's no possible way I can do this."

—and his stomach dropped. This conversation is going to give me a hernia.

"N-no!" Merlin practically wailed. "Of course you can do this! Why couldn't you do this?" If Arthur heard the underlying desperation in Merlin's tone, he elected to ignored it.

Arthur pulled his chair back out and sat down across from his young friend, propping his elbows on the table and dropping his head into his hands. "Because I don't know the first thing about magic, Merlin." He looked up, and Merlin could see a weariness there that told of a man who had spent many long nights thinking this over. "How am I supposed to draft laws and pitch this to the council and answer their questions when I know nothing about magic or the people who use it?"

Merlin frowned, "Why not just learn?"

"You're a scholar among fools, Merlin, truly," Arthur deadpanned. "In case it's passed you by, I am the king of Camelot, a kingdom where magic has been banned on penalty of death for nearly the last three decades. Who am I supposed to learn from? As a Pendragon, I don't exactly have many magical friends."

Not many, but I can think of one. "What about Gaius?" Merlin asked instead. "He used to practice magic. He could probably tell you anything you want to know.

Arthur grimaced, "Gaius has been busy as of late. I don't want to add to his workload with this. I'd be asking him to not only teach me, but answer my questions, help me draft and revise laws, attend meetings with people involved with the magical community to discuss reintegration... It would be extremely time consuming. But I may have no choice."

Merlin winced. Between aiding in three births in the last month and a small outbreak of sweating sickness in the lower town, the poor physician had been running himself ragged. Merlin had been helping him out as best he could, of course, but it was still a lot of work even for two sets of hands, and Merlin had his own serving duties to attend to. Yes, he could see why the king was reluctant to ask the old man for help. He was starting to look a little haggard on the best of days.

"What about the Druids?" Merlin posed. "I'm sure one of the chieftains would be happy to talk with you." Especially if I ask.

"The Druids aren't exactly politically inclined," Arthur sighed. "Besides, as nice as they seem, I don't know any of them, at least not well enough to trust with something this important. I need someone I can trust to be objective, to educate me about how and why magic is used without taking advantage of that position. Someone I'm comfortable enough with to ask questions. I just wish..." The king scrubbed a tired hand over his face and gave a dry little laugh. "I wish there were someone I was close to who had magic and hasn't used it to try and kill me. Here I am, wanting to give magic a chance, and I don't even know any good magic users."

"What about me?"

Merlin mentally slapped himself. He hadn't meant to ask that out loud, he really hadn't. But for all his power, he couldn't magically grab the words out of the air and shove them back into his mouth where they belonged. But hope mixed with his natural lack of verbal self control mixed with a damning sense of irony, and he just couldn't help himself.

Unfortunately, Arthur just gave him a look that said 'Oh, you poor idiot.' "Merlin, I don't doubt that, between living outside of Camelot most of your life and living with Gaius since you've been here, you've probably been exposed to more non-hostile magic than I have. Maybe you've even picked up a little magic theory here and there. But I need someone who is familiar with magic. And who isn't going to be scared out of his—admittedly limited—wits when I start meeting with members of the magical community. So while I do appreciate the offer, I don't think—"

"No, Arthur. You don't understand. I..." He couldn't just let his friend flounder like this, right? This was his moment, the moment. This was destiny, Albion, he had been working toward this opportunity for years. He had to help. He had to. Am I really doing this? Ye gods, am I really doing this? Am I really, actually—

"Arthur, I have magic."

Spells: (I'll try to keep a list of these at the end of every chapter. I always like translations. Also, I'll be making some of these up, so my Old English probably sucks, but whatever.)

"Anlæcan. Þurhhæle bánbryce." — Unite. (Thoroughly) Heal the broken bone.

"Þurhhæle dolgbenn." — (Thoroughly) Heal the wound.

This chapter was about twice as long as I was anticipating. If I continue, they probably won't be quite this long, but we'll see.

Thanks for reading!

-Red