Phew. Well here is chapter two – I have surprised myself with how easily I managed to write this! I think I owe it to the people who bothered to review, who have said such kind things about the story so far. Thankyou!

In response to the reviews, I have to assure you that this will NOT be a Mary-Sue story! No need to panic about that, haha. Also, if anyone has an idea for a more suitable title either now or later on, when you know more about the story, that would be wonderful. As a lovely reviewer pointed out, there is already another fanfic with the same name.

Mainly though, thank you so much for the comments, they made me smile and I haven't stopped yet :) Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Although I wish I did - with all my heart! - I do not own BBC or Merlin, only my original characters.

CHAPTER TWO

After tidying Arthur's chambers and laying out a cooked breakfast for when he returned from training, Merlin made a beeline for Gaius' quarters to fetch himself something to eat – and though he was indeed hungry, his thoughts remained fixated on the jeweller he had seen and wondered about so much that morning. Gaius smiled at him as he entered and handed him a bowl of luke-warm soup, which seemed rather pathetic compared to the gourmet meal the Prince would be feasting upon. Merlin took the bowl in silence, then suddenly:

"Have you seen the castle guests?" he blurted.

Gaius frowned disapprovingly.

"You're welcome, Merlin."

Merlin looked at him in confusion, then smiled apologetically.

"Oh, sorry. Thank you," he said, dutifully gulping down a spoonful of the lumpy green liquid – which much to his surprise did not taste half bad. "Have you seen the castle guests?"

Gaius sighed at the boy's relentless curiosity. "The jeweller?"

"Yes, and his servant girl," Merlin nodded.

"What of them?"

Merlin hesitated, and his face seemed to contort with the difficulty of voicing exactly what. "The man, Dougal…" he struggled. "He just… he doesn't look quite right."

Gaius stared at him from beneath a slumped eyebrow as the other rocketed to a remarkable height, but did not interrupt his ward as he continued to stammer.

"He seems… He seems like… like a poor man dressed as a rich man," Merlin said finally, rushing the last part as though ashamed to say it. He gave a lengthy sigh and glanced up at Gaius.

The old man looked back at him, unimpressed. "Anything else?"

Merlin kept quiet.

"I must say, I'm a little surprised," Gaius said scornfully. "It's not like you to be so judgmental about someone based solely on their appearance. I had thought you better than that, Merlin."

Merlin blinked, a little hurt by the disapproval in the old man's voice – although he had guessed that his remark might be taken in such a way. He hung his head to stare at the table. It would have appeared that he was studying the wood in detail, if it weren't for the fact that his blue eyes were unfocused and absent. Merlin was fixated entirely on what he was about to reveal.

"There is something else," he said softly.

Gaius huffed and sipped from his soup bowl, now disinterested.

"And what might that be?"

Merlin took a breath.

"When I was near him this morning… I felt this strange feeling…"

Sudden concern flashed on Gaius' face. "You don't mean… a magic feeling?"

When Merlin nodded, Gaius quickly set his soup bowl down on the table and gazed at him intently, all scorn instantly forgotten.

"It was strange," Merlin muttered. "Like awful magic and good magic rolled into one."

Gaius considered this and seemed to realise something.

"I wouldn't worry about it if I were you, Merlin. The witch-hunter at the gates is an old friend of mine. He does not turn anyone with magic over to the guards," he paused at Merlin's gape of disbelief. "Instead, he warns them of the death penalty and urges them to stay out of Camelot."

"The witch-hunter helps people with magic?" Merlin exclaimed. "Are we thinking of the same man?" He puffed his cheeks full of air and mimed a potbelly.

Gaius nodded, scratching his ever-thinning white hair and beginning to chuckle.

"He helps people?" Merlin repeated incredulously.

"Of course he gives you a hard time, Merlin," Gaius spluttered, barely managing to keep from laughing at the boy's stunned expression – and, with even more difficulty, his imitation of the extremely overweight man. "He doesn't believe you should be in Camelot – he's told me countless times." He became serious, raising his hands as Merlin began to protest. "Calm down, Merlin. He only says such things because he believes your trusted position as the Prince's servant is a risky one. You would put many people under suspicion if you were to be caught."

"You don't think he will turn me in?"

Gaius shook his head fervently.

"Provided they are innocent and well-intentioned, he will never turn anyone in. Nor will he let them enter Camelot. That is why I don't think that Dougal is in fact using magic."

There was a silence as Merlin considered this. He was certain what he had felt was magic – that violent and angry shudder in the air that had radiated from the jeweller like heat from the sun. Then, once that had faded, Merlin had felt a sweet, familiar magic; so similar to his own that at first he feared he had cast some by accident. But that sense of magic, though weak, had also come from Dougal and his servant.

His servant.

"Gaius, it could be the girl!"

The man sighed.

"You have misunderstood me, Merlin. What I said about the witch-hunter applies to the girl as well," he pursed his lips. "Besides, you think the she has magic? Be reasonable: a servant?"

Merlin looked at the physician pointedly, and a smile twitched on his aged and wrinkly lips.

"Ah. Point taken," Gaius said. "We may find out soon enough anyway – Dougal has requested an audience with the King so he may present him his gifts."

"When?"

The old physician's often sagging facial muscles seemed to spring into life all at once as a look of abrupt surprise crossed his face. With the clumsy panic of remembering something important, he became flustered and started to hurry aimlessly around the room.

"Goodness, it begins in only a moment! Hurry and eat your soup or we'll be late!"

But Merlin's hunger had left him, and he could not stomach any more. He set it hastily on the table and stayed a moment to watch the thick liquid swirl and slosh around the inside of the bowl, much like the unsettling turmoil of thoughts within the confines of his head.