Title: Nights Like These

Author: Still Waters

Fandom: Merlin (BBC)

Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin. Just playing, with love and respect to those who brought these characters to life.

Summary: There were times where destiny's weight was lifted and all Gaius saw was Merlin: his cheerful, warm-hearted, beloved boy.

Written: Draft 4/8/13. Edited 4/13/13.

Notes: This short piece, which came out of nowhere and insisted on being told, is my first journey into writing the Merlin universe. I tried watching some of the series a few months ago and it didn't grab me. Two weeks ago, I tried it again on a whim and…. here I am. I'm a sucker for strong friendships and strong mentor relationships; with this show having both, I suppose it was only a matter of time before I was pulled in. I truly hope I did the characters justice. Thank you for reading and for your support as I begin exploring this world.

"Destiny" was as multifaceted a word as those who hadn't been indoctrinated with Camelot's hatred knew "magic" to be. It was solemn honor and responsibility mixed with long nights of self-doubt and an endless learning curve; painful, hopeless lows interspersed with explosions of exhilarating victory – moments of certainty, of joy and relief, felt down to the same indescribable depths touched by the sweeping music associated with the great legends of old.

Destiny had brought Merlin to Camelot; to Arthur's side for the future of Albion. To Gaius's care for guidance and protection toward that end. But as much as Gaius would be forever grateful to it for bringing the young boy into his life – a bright light in his twilight years, the son he'd never had – there were too many days where it was the foulest of curses, bitter on his tongue. Days where destiny bowed shoulders with its impossible weight, stole the spark from impish eyes, sucked the air from lungs faster than the endless pyres of the Great Purge. Days where destiny hung over Merlin's head like the executioner's blade.

Which made days like today all the more a blessing.

Because tonight, Merlin was not the powerful sorcerer of prophecy, born with magic to protect the Once and Future King. Not the last of the Dragonlords, forced to hide in plain sight within a kingdom that would immediately turn a blind eye to his years of fervent loyalty and compassion should it ever learn the truth; a kingdom that would gladly see him dead for nothing more than being born.

Tonight, Merlin was sitting cross-legged by the fire, wrapped in blankets after a long, cold day's hunt with Arthur, a bowl of hot stew at his knee. Absently taking a bite every page or so, he was lost in the book of magic in his lap, poring over Gaius's first gift to him, eyes shining with the thrill of knowledge, of being not only permitted, but encouraged to grow into himself, mouth silently familiarizing itself with new incantations. It wasn't until the last, cold spoonful passed his lips that the day finally caught up with him and he curled onto his side, half-reading, half-playing as subtle twists of his hand, lazy with sleep, guided the flames into shapes: a horse, a running rabbit, a doe morphing into a unicorn, followed by a sparrow taking flight.

Gaius wondered if this was how Merlin had soothed himself to sleep in Ealdor as a child. He felt his chest swell with love for the boy who felt safe enough to do it now in his presence; a warmth that roared to a burn as fierce protective instinct surged and he renewed his vow to safeguard both Merlin and the home they now shared. To preserve their small oasis of magic, hidden, just as Merlin was, in plain sight: within the chambers of Uther Pendragon's - the man at the heart of Camelot's war against magic – court physician.

Slowly stretching his aching back, Gaius stood from his workbench and walked over to Merlin's side, taking the empty bowl and closing the book at the sight of the boy's half-lidded eyes.

"Sorry," Merlin murmured. Gold irises swiftly faded back to guilt-tinged blue as he dropped his hand, allowing the flames to resume their natural dance.

Gaius squeezed his shoulder warmly. "Sleep, Merlin," he said, the open fondness in not only those words, but every line of his face, silently assuring Merlin that no wrong had been done.

"Thank you," Merlin breathed. Making no move to leave the floor for his own room, his eyes caught Gaius's before, with a sleepy, grateful smile, closing into easy slumber.

Gaius tucked a pillow under Merlin's head and fussed with the blankets to ensure he was warm enough before going back to his work, sorting herbs and watching the rise and fall of the blankets as Merlin breathed. Like a jewel in candlelight, the moment they shared reflected back to him in bright slivers of beauty: that grateful smile, that show of trust – one of many he'd been gifted – but, most of all, Merlin's eyes just before sleep took hold.

There had been no destiny in those blue eyes tonight. No fear, no doubt, none of the weary, mournful weight that, by all rights, should only burden a man who had passed long, lonely centuries on this earth.

Tonight, all Gaius saw was Merlin: his cheerful, warm-hearted, beloved boy.

It was a rare reprieve in the battle against destiny's all-consuming current.

So Gaius settled in for the night, filling the late hours with non-essential tasks that kept Merlin's untroubled, sleeping form a glance away.

And cherished every second of it.