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Don't Lose Your Head Over It: A Merlin RP (SevenxKawa)

Gaius watched his nephew leave, that tuft of fur that made up the manâ??s right eyebrow still inhumanly high. Everything was fine. The old physician â??hmphâ??d to himself. Fine, indeed. If fine meant being an artless young warlock that had caught the eye of a king that responded in less than rational ways to any sort of magic. Just so he could feel better, he â??hmphâ??d again, because, really, this situation deserved more than just two grunts of disproval.

But Merlin had survived a whole year under Utherâ??s nose. That had to mean something.

---​

Now where wasâ?¦? Oh. There he was. The young woman, roughly Merlinâ??s age or maybe a little older with a chubby face and warm brown eyes, called, â??Merlin!â? She hurried over, gathering up her coarse linen skirts as she moved along the grounds. By the time she reached the other servant she was out of breath, being the sort that usually worked in the kitchens and sampled food without having to do much running.

â??A note from you, from Matthew and Arthur.â? Why the kingâ??s manservant and his son were both sending notes, she wasnâ??t sure, but that wasnâ??t her business to know. Not yet. Sheâ??d keep an ear open, because certainly it would explode into good gossip. She handed off both scraps of paper, both in a similar sort of hand, smiled, tucked back a bit of strawberrry blonde hair and waited in case he had to send a note back.

Besides, seeing his face when he read might give a juicy clue to take back to the kitchens like fresh picked fruit.

The first, signed from Arthur, was simple and direct: â??Come to my rooms when you get this note.â?? The second, in the same sort of strong, masculine print was not much longer: â??I expect to see you in that same outfit at the next social eventâ??. This paper, tugged off the edge of something else, was of a nicer quality than even Arthurâ??s. The girl smiled brightly at Merlin. â??Need me to send a note back, dear?â? she asked, because while Merlin might be near her in age, his manner was so sweet one couldnâ??t but call him â??honeyâ?? or â??dearâ??. Seemed everyone babied him, not that she minded, he really was darling.
 
Merlin hadn't even got close to the market square before he was accosted by a flurry of flouncing fabric and the round, pleased face of a young servant girl that he knew worked in the kitchens - a quick mental search, and he remembered her name was Joanna. She pushed a pair of notes into his hand, one from Arthur - no surprises there, probably needed his boots laced, or someone to hit on the field again.

The second, however, was from the King's servant and thus, from the King himself:

‘I expect to see you in that same outfit at the next social event’.

Outfit?

It took a moment, but Merlin's mind connected the information; the King was referring to the ridiculous mascot costume - the one he had described as being 'rather fetching'. Merlin's eyes went just a little wider, and then he found himself unwillingly thinking about the previous night, when the king had been touching his face and inviting him to his bed - the warlock turned an interesting shade of pink.

His head snapped up when the girl spoke,

"What? No. Oh. No thank you Joanna, I'll just be off." Merlin said, backing away from the girl as though she might suddenly catch fire, "Prince's orders and all."

And then he was heading for the castle grounds again, through the courtyard and inside, moving through the passageways to reach Arthur's room - always with a couple of annoyed-looking guards outside of it - and he stopped just inside the door, panting from running - he could have ambled up, of course, but for some reason he had felt as though if he could run fast enough, he might be capable of escaping his own thoughts.

"You needed me?" Merlin asked, eyebrows jerking up.
 
The annoyed look must have been catching, because Arthur had nearly the same one twisting his handsome features when he turned his head to the door. For a moment, just a moment, something like relief loosened his brows and the skin around his eyes, smoothed the worry and annoyance from his curled mouth and his straight shoulders. But then his fatherâ??s teaching kicked back in and Arthur was back to the put out, haughty prince.

â??I trust you enjoyed sleeping in?â? he said, taking a final few seconds to look out the window and fully compose himself. Just to make sure. He hoped that it looked like dismissal, apathy. Had his father taken the boy? There was no dark thundercloud lurking around the bright and sunny expression Merlin always had, that was a good sign. No limp. â??I had to send for someone to bring my breakfast. Nearly a year, Merlin, and youâ??re still doing badly.â?

Arthur turned around finally, the cool light of autumn draining him a little of color. For a boy like him, warm and golden unlike his father, fall and winter always made him look a little sickly, where Uther looked more like stone than metal. And Merlin wasnâ??t the sort for stone and metal. Not that he knew what Merlinâ??s sort was, it just seemed moreâ?¦ leafy or something.

Maybe with pumpkins. Merlin did seem like a pumpkin sort.

â??Morgana tells me my father asked for you again last night.â? Damn her. She had the same suspicions as the prince, yet she was sending Merlin right into the lionâ??s den. What was wrong with her? Arthur bit his lip with his sharp teeth. Girls. Heâ??d never understand them. â??I would ask to know what you two discuss in his chambers.â?
 
Merlin didn't have a response for Arthur's complaint; it was a part of the routine - he had learned over the past year that, regardless of how well he did his job or how much effort he put into his work, the Prince would always find something to nitpick about. The warlock had simply come to accept it as a daily ritual and brush it off when it happened.

However, there was something different about Arthur that morning, something that made him look drawn and worried, made him appear older than he was - it stirred concern inside of Merlin, but he said nothing yet, knowing that Arthur would deny it even if he was unwell. He waited patiently for Arthur to speak again, but what came hadn't been something he expected - though he wasn't sure why it hadn't occurred to him that the Prince might be curious as to why his personal servant was being ordered to his father's chambers.

But surely Arthur wouldn't - know - what it had been about.

Merlin stared at the Prince for a moment, then he said slowly,

"Well, there's not a lot of talking."

It was true, wasn't it? Of course, he quickly realized that it implied there were other things occurring in the absence of speech.

"Mostly he just has me tend to the fire and assist him with his mail." Merlin said, and lifted a thin shoulder in something like a shrug.
 
Merlin managed to get his liegeâ??s face to drop into something that wasnâ??t an arrogant mask for the second time that day. Arthurâ??s eyes widened prematurely at the issinuation that they were Not Talking, which meant they were doing Other Things, both phrases requiring capital letters in his mind because they both meant essentially the same thing.

Sex. The king was laying with his servant anâ??

Said servant saved him from doing something embarrassing, like actually letting himself scowl or, heaven forbid, actually look worried in connection to the other manâ??s Not Talking. â??â??Tend to the fire and assist him with his mail,â??â? Arthur repeated slowly, voice fluctuating between relief and the normal haughty tone that implied looking down on another without even having to raise oneâ??s head.

â??He asks you for nothing else?â?

Why was Merlin so stupid? Did he not get that jumping into the kingâ??s bed was a bad idea? Arthur considered assigning upper case letters to that phrase, too, but he had a limit of two per conversation, even in alarming ones like this where he was discussing his parentâ??s potential paramours.
 
Merlin thought he had nearly got out of it, that perhaps things would be simple and he would be able to leave Arthur with the belief that the only conversation that had occurred between his father and his servant had been about fire or chainmail, and nothing even remotely related to - to - well -

- but no, it couldn't be that easy.

He asks you for nothing else?

Now, the warlock was painfully aware of how terrible he was at lying, but he was also horrified by the idea of explaining precisely what the King had alluded to during their brief conversation the previous night. Ultimately, the worry showed on Merlin's kind face, knitting his eyebrows and making him duck his head just slightly - and he hadn't even lied yet, he had merely thought about it.

"Nothing of - relevance." Merlin struggled; he was looking increasingly uncomfortable in his own skin, fidgeting and anxious under Arthur's scrutiny.

"Should I go muck the stables, then?" he asked, with what might have been a note of hope in his voice.
 
Oh, God. Oh, God, he was lying.

Merlin lied like most men swam with weights tied to their throats: yes, they gave a good effort but they flailed and sank all the same, and everyone watching thought it was either an amusing show or so terribly painful they had to look away. And if he was lying, that meant that his father hadâ??

Even the idea of the king asking Merlin to join him in bed made him sick to his stomach. To be completely honest, part of that was the same sort of general nausea that happened whenever a child thought too hard about their parents as sexual beings. But the rest was the same worry on Merlinâ??s face. He had a good guess. Will, God bless his soul and keep him, really didnâ??t seem like the sorcerer sort. Netiher did Merlin, but he had a certain light in his eyes sometimes and Arthur was willing to bet a year of mucking out stables that the manservant was somehow connected to the problems in Camelot over the last year and their subsequent solutions.

He didnâ??t think he father would care much about the solutions part if he found out.

â??Yes,â? Arthur replied distractedly, again staring outside where he could see his father stalking across the grounds, his bright red cloak fluttering out behind him. The short man that had sought his attention was struggling to keep up. Did he really want Merlin? Hadnâ??t they all done a good job convincing him that the boy was just some stupid servant? "Yes, you do that. Make sure you don't come back smelling of manure this time." Even his attempt as snobbery sounded forced at the moment. Something had to be wrong.

Arthur would be sure to keep Merlin out of Utherâ??s sight for the next few days.
 
Relief was as evident on the warlock's shoulders as the guilt was on his features; Arthur had turned away again, and his tone was distant and hollow in a way that he couldn't remember hearing before - not directed at him, anyways. For a long moment, he considered questioning the response, but he was also aware that Pendragons simply didn't Talk.

Unless, of course, the mood struck, in which case everyone should most definitely Listen. Sometimes Arthur even got playful.

"I'll uh, remember to scrub up before returning." Merlin said pointlessly, and then headed out of the room and towards the stables, but he paused in mid-stride when the glass vials in the satchel rattled - he needed to get those samples for Gaius, didn't he? After all, with the threat of a plague, the water supply was more important than the stables.

Changing course, Merlin made his way back through the marketplace, weaving down what was unfortunately a familiar path towards the city's water supply, grimly thinking about Arthur's coldness. He was sure he hadn't done anything wrong, aside from showing up a bit late - alright, so maybe he wasn't the most punctual servant in the world, but he did have his good points - for instance, he kept daggers out of Arthur's face and flesh-eating bugs out of the King's ear. That had to be worth something, even if it was a bit difficult to actually explain.

Tugging a torch off one of the walls, Merlin moved down into the darkness of the cavern, and beneath the city; uncertain, he approached the stone reservoir and plucked out several vials, carefully filling them while keeping a paranoid eye on the water's surface, in the off-chance something angry and - angry - was about to pop out and try to eat him.

Ultimately, the trip ended up being entirely uneventful and had Merlin traipsing back through the marketplace looking rather pleased with himself, up until the point he saw a familiar, fluttering red cape out in the courtyard not so terribly far away, and suddenly found himself running for the cottage to bring Gaius the samples.

It occurred to Merlin along the way that the King probably hadn't even seen him, and if he had - it wasn't like it would matter, would it? After all, Uther had seemed to accept his stuttered response that he wasn't - 'right for the job', and perhaps that would be the end of it.

Well, except for the note he had received that morning, about the outfit and all. But that just meant the father had the same sense of humour as the son, didn't it? Nothing else, surely. After all, 'wear the feather hat again' didn't mean 'get into my bed' - it wasn't exactly one and the same.

Merlin set the glass vials in a neat little row on the table and stood looking worriedly at them for a long moment; when he realized his own expression, he corrected it by forcing himself to smile as though it would change things, and he headed back out to the stables, where he would spend an unfortunate few hours doing the work.
 
Around hour two, when most men were starting to curse their lords for putting them in the stables, their nose and clothes taking on an unmistakable smell of manure that would only leave with heavy scrubbing with caustic materials, a tall figure wandered in. It was of indeterminate sex, the clothes cut like any poor servantâ??s, covered in dirt, the leather boots and pants stained and worn. The hood was down, but even the long, dull brown hair was cut in a way that was neither particularly masculine nor feminine. The newcomer smiled slowly as it walked past Emyrs, moving to pick up a shovel and start moving manure.

She had, after all, quite some time, and work she did would be work someone else wouldnâ??t. Besides, she liked horses. Their tall, long legs pleased her. She kept a horse, not because it was practical (magic made it so very unnecessary and the Warden did not often go far from her lands), but because the large, brown eyes were calm like her own. Sometimes, while she was working in the stables with Emyrs, the little boy that would become something great, she stopped, leathery hands resting on the top of her shovelâ??s cracked wood so she could stare at one of the horses. It would stare back, a whole conversation in those watery large eyes that pleased her, made her forget any fear she felt from standing in the land of a man that wanted her dead and a land of men that was covered in stone and wood and made her feel so very lonely.
 
Merlin was used to working in the stables by now; of course, the smell never quite went away, but it sort of faded to the background the way that it had out in the village - though, the village stables were never quite so close or quite so well-built, nor did they have so many horses. But like with anything else, the warlock had adapted and he would work for hours in the stables until the job was done, occasionally smiling at the sound of another servant's groans of disgust when they stepped in the wrong spot or became painfully aware of how badly they smelled. It was all part of the job; the glamorous life of serving Camelot's royalty.

But that was alright; Merlin wouldn't know what to do with an easy job.

He had been focused on his work, but then there was someone else nearby - a servant he had never seen before, tall and covered in dirt in a way that made others stare while Merlin considered how terribly hard she must have been working. She was all long limbs and limp hair and plain features, a collection of characteristics that made him think of the outdoors, of plants, of tall, sparse trees in the fall - he could even smell it on her, something sweet and vaguely earthy that was somehow overpowering the scent of the stables.

But it was her eyes, those were what had Merlin pausing in mid-motion; they were strange, bright things that stood out in the dirt that peppered her face, clovers amidst soil and clay. She seemed to be fixated on one of the horses and it, in turn, seemed to fixate on her - it was something that gave Merlin a strange, familiar feeling in his chest, like he was on the edge of witnessing something terribly important but he couldn't quite see what it was.

Ever the personable, Merlin offered up a bright smile,

"That one is Lita," Merlin said, gesturing to the palfrey that she had been exchanging looks with, "The king's ward - Lita was a gift for her. Lady Morgana treats her very well."
 
She only had eyes for Emrys.

When he spoke, she turned her thin face to him and stared, blinking once or twice very slowly. He was beautiful, because she knew him. She could remember wandering into the human village Ealdor, meeting another Warden on the way because he was born in a place that was on the edges of territories. Theyâ??d both watched the infant and spent the night comparing songs that featured his name. It had been a good night, being with someone of her own mind in the presence of a child like Emyrs, with a chubby face and bright blue eyes.

The same eyes that were looking in her direction now, the color of clear still lakes. Oh, the face was less pudgy, but it was still so very similar, lacking the lines of sorrow that the elder Emyrs would have.

After a long moment of staring, she spoke slowly, her voice like a breeze in treetops, gentle and calm, â??Lita is a good name, but not her True Name.â? The smile blossomed in the lines of her face and the subtle movements of muscles. â??Her Merlin to Emyrs.â? She closed her eyes then opened them again, always in motions that spoke of time measured in the years of trees, not men. â??Lady Morgana will See what's in the water for what it is. Listen to her fears, though your caregiver wishes to protect her from your companion."
 
Merlin had discovered that this sort of thing happened often in Camelot; in his openness, he would enter into what he thought was a casual, innocent conversation with a friendly stranger and he would end up with a horrible shock from the whole thing. Usually, Merlin got a stiffening cold chill down his spine upon realizing something was terribly wrong, but in the case of the reedy, dusty woman in front of him, the awe came like a warm breeze that had his voice catching mid-way in his throat.

She already knew his name - that was fine, given that he had been in the stocks often enough that the other servants would want to know who the idiot with all the tomatoes on his face was, but she knew - that name, the one that he had only heard once before, from the mouth of Nimueh.

Emrys; she had called him Emrys.

For a long moment, the warlock gaped at her,

"The water?" he repeated dumbly, then shook his head, taking a tiny step towards her, but rethinking it and stepping back, eyes surveying her with a mix of curiosity and a touch of apprehension.

"Who are you?" he mouthed out, not wanting to call attention to them.
 
Nimueh, and very long ago, from a young druid boy. Because her knowledge came from the same line as the druids, she had all the same names for him, none of them quite his True Name, but closer than Merlin.

That, after all, would be his own journey, his own Holy Grail.

She pulled out a pouch, waved a thin, branch-like hand scattering a few dried leaves and the world slowed down. It was why she had chosen the stables to come to Merlin, along with her love of horses; the stables were out of the way and the amount of stone and wood between her and the ground was much less than the other places, allowing her magic to still function without taking much out of her. Men, after all, were under her dominion but their energy was so frantic she could barely conduct it.

â??I am the Warden. I do not remember the name I was given and I will not tell you my other Name.â? Her voice was dry, crackling like autumn leaves on the ground from disuse. This was more than she had spoken in the prior ten years. â??You are Merlin also Emrys, servant to Prince Arthur, the once and future king, and companion to Uther Pendragon.â?

She paused, thinking, as if words were precious and she was only allotted a certain amount per century or she had simply forgotten how to prune her speech. â??The Seer knows. Will know. You will need her help once more. There is a new high priestess.â?
 
Merlin felt his hackles rise, the hairs prickling on the back of his neck; the woman waved a long-fingered hand - it reminded him of a tree branch, bare of leaves - and suddenly the world around them froze.

No, that wasn't quite right - it didn't freeze, because if Merlin watched closely, he could see the other servant's were still shifting, but they were going so slowly that it was hardly apparent there was still motion. Wide-eyed, Merlin gazed around the stables; even Lita had slowed her blinking, lids stuck at half-mast and long lashes wavering in a slight breeze; the warlock finally turned his eyes back to the Warden, fascination apparent on his face.

Everything she said had to roll through him several times, and a sudden string of questions came all at once,

"Seer?" He repeated, "What seer?"

No, that wasn't the important bit, was it?

"New priestess - one in Nimueh's place?" Merlin asked, stepping towards the Warden again, worry creasing his brows, "Are her intentions the same?"
 
The Warden took a moment to collect her thoughts, contemplating the fact that she very much liked the world of men when they slowed down like this. Made them simpler, easier to predict, just like her trees. If only there was a way to keep them permanently slow, motions like old oaks, glaciers and earth.

Shame. Then there would be no bright magic, not like her own or Emrysâ??, but she certainly wouldnâ??t mind the sap-slow energy of a tree.

Or the girlâ??s. The girlâ??s would grow to be quite the problem. But she couldnâ??t tell the boy that, not when the information would cost more than he wanted to pay.

â??Of course,â? she said gently, something subtle appearing on her face. It might have been amusement, it might have been pain; in any case, it grew slow and sure as she spoke. â??A vacuum does not stay empty for long and the priestessâ?? violent severing from this world means a stranger has taken up the mantle.â? Bright green eyes watched him for an unnaturally long time, the Warden having fallen silent again, then,

â??She wishes for the Pendragons to be killed and their names scoured from all records. I can tell you little else because it is prophecy.â? Another pause. "And prophecy has high costs and little clarity. It is the world of dragons." The last word was uttered with distaste, as if it were some sort of rotten fruit and she wanted to spit it out but was too polite to do so.
 
It was Merlin's turn to look pained; it wasn't bad enough that the world around him had literally come to a stand-still for the duration of their conversation - and he wondered if it was just inside the stables that things had slowed, or if maybe Gaius was sitting in his cottage with a drop of some foul-smelling concoction in mid-air on its way to a heated glass beaker, his eyebrows ruffling in the breeze through the windows and face screwed up in a permanent look of concentration - but now he was being given riddles.

Merlin hated riddles. It wasn't because of the challenge, but there was something about philosophy in general that frustrated him, when people spoke in twists and turns - perhaps it was because he was so incapable of doing so himself that it bothered him.

Or perhaps because riddles reminded him of that damned dragon.

For a long moment, Merlin stared at the Warden, and then his face slowly sank to a scowl,

"Of course she wants them dead. Naturally." he huffed, lifting his hands in a sort of shrug and then dropping them back down in a frustration that clapped against his sides, barely resisting the urge to spew out a stream of adolescent sarcasm - not because he was irritated with the Warden of course, but it was more the general situation and the knowledge that he might have to throw Arthur out of the way of another knife. He just worried that one day his reflexes might not be as accurate.

He took a breath that inflated his sparrow chest,

"Well it won't happen." he said firmly, "It won't matter what any prophecy says, it's not going to happen."
 
She considered telling Merlin that the prophecy was in his favour. That one day Arthur would be king, a good king, and his reign was one of those constant prophecy was pegged on, wrapped around, supported by: Merlinâ??s births, Arthurâ??s reigns and the movement of the sun and stars and moon. All of them were as good as fact. She also considered mentioning that men were unique among creatures because the didnâ??t have to follow the prophecies dragons put so much stock in, that they were free to cut their own path. Prophecy, after all, was nasty business that tended to suck a follower down like treacherous undercurrents beneath seemingly still waters. Teresias could attest to that, if he was still alive and smacking snakes.

She didnâ??t, though. She merely smiled beatifically, incapable of putting such thoughts into words in such a short period of time. Maybe if he came back to her in a month or three, sheâ??d have her thoughts harvested for him to enjoy. Maybe not. After all, Emrys already had a healthy attitude towards prophecy.

That is, the stuff was awful.

â??Good,â? the Warden said simply, then took her bare foot and scuffed it along the herbs on the dirty, straw covered floor. As she did, the world suddenly came back into rights; the horseâ??s lids finished their blink and other servants the same word they had been on their whole conversation. â??Your choice of companions: be careful,â? she added slowly, her own blinking very much like the horse when she remembered to do such. The Warden paused again, unnaturally still for a human being, then added, â??If you need shelter, you will know where to find me.â?

And, because she had simply forgotten how to smoothly end conversations, she merely turned and left, not even nodding or gesturing that the conversation was over.
 
The world started again; the stable hadn't been particularly noisy, but after the complete absence of any sound, everything seemed as though it had been amplified. He watched the mare to his left complete the blink she had begun several minutes ago, and watched her do it again a few seconds later, watched stable hands continue their work and finish their sentances as though nothing had happened - and perhaps, as far as they were concerned, nothing really had happened. Time had slowed only for an instant for them.

The Warden left the stables and left the warlock staring after her.

But he didn't know where to find her; if he had to guess, it would be somewhere distinctly woodsy, however.

Suddenly his brain backtracked and Merlin did a double-take, looking at the door the warden had left through, gaping at it.

What did she mean, 'companion to Uther Pendragon'?
 
â??Oof.â? Gaius pulled the bucket of water from the pump, wishing he had chosen a smaller garden. His old bones were not what they used to be, and lugging water to the small patch of herbs he kept near the cottage was becoming a more difficult chore. Especially as winter approached; Uther, he and all the old men and women in the castle would have their myriad of aches and pains increase with the cold weather, though Gaius would spend his time in front of the fire with a good, heavy book. Better than chasing down a friendâ??s nephew that was half his age, thank you very much. If Uther wanted to make a fool of himself bedding a young man, fine on him. But add in Merlin, and he had half a mind to talk to his liege himself.

Just. Carefully. All those aches and pains left Uther a bear to deal with at times and Gaius, unlike the aforementioned nephew, was too old to be in the stocks. Especially in the cold.

Someone passed by him and Gaius felt an unidentifiable urge to watch her interrupt his internal ranting as he leaned against the pump. Something about that walk was faâ??The face turned his way and he caught a thin, angular face right out of his past. Good gods. His jaw dropped open and the motion (or maybe just the fact that he was one of her creatures) caught the Wardenâ??s eye, made her look towards him.

Along the line, she must have refreshed herself in the customs of human beings, because she did not freeze. Instead, she managed a stiff smile, took a few jerky steps and continued on her way. Gaius cursed his bucket, eyes darting between her retreating figure and his water, and dropped the thing as casually as he could, knowing he would lose her if he didnâ??t go after her now. Why was she here? She survived happily away from the city. What did she need?

What was wrong?

By the time he caught up to where she should have been, right around an inner gate, she was gone. It was as good as if the Warden had never been in Camelot. Gaius leaned against the smooth, cool plaster, taking a deep breath, his heart pounding in his ears from the brief sprint.

What was wrong, indeed?

---​

For Uther, his day involved just as much manure and cryptic words, though happily less in the matter of sorcery.

Any day at court involved a certain amount of verbal fighting: feints within feints, words twisted into a pleasing way that held a rotten core in the middle of their knots, constant pecking for favours and status. Arthur, he knew, had no interest in these things. That was the pleasure of being the crown prince and not the king; he could sit and watch, commenting on the skill like a spectator, but he did not have to jump into the ring. He had learned that from his father, not just his boredom. It was best to stay apart, aloof. Let the speaker have his time, let those around them bicker, watch for alliances, enemies, clues then make a decision.

Uther was, unsurprisingly, a man that was capable of making decisions quite quickly. He had been king for so long that little was able to surprise him, to make him half to draw away and think. But time with the court wasnâ??t about the actual decisions, as any good liege knew. It was about all the subtle shifts of power that every word conveyed, the flow of relationships appearing and disappearing as if in a fevered dream. The king rather enjoyed sitting on his throne, crown set straight and heavily on his head, face as unmovable as stone as he watched this subtle play.

The only thing that caught his attention was a curious visitor to the court. She was strikingly beautiful, dressed in rich blues and golds. Her hair had been woven a delicate gold chain and more gold dripped from her ears and across the curves of her neck and chest. She had to have belonged to a noble line and yet, Uther could not place her face.

Something about her made him sit up a little straighter when she approached the thrown, bowed low and spoke gently. â??Sire.â? Arthur, standing next to him, shifted in a manner nearly imperceptible, straightening just as he had. While her dark head was down, Utherâ??s glanced around the room casually, noting the monopoly she had on his courtâ??s attention. He had to fight down a smirk, some part of him having gone loopy from sitting still too long: some days, it seemed like the nobles bickered like children in their silks and gold cloth and the moment was rare when they could all pay attention to one individual.

One individual without a crown, of course. Uther had his own ways of getting attention that happily did not rest on rolling heads.

When she raised her eyes, blue like inked cloth (not like the boyâ??s, whose eyes in this grayish weather took on a hue more like ocean), and smiled, the king felt he had missed something. Some detail, some delicate movement in the face or the body that was keeping him from the whole picture. She was a lovely woman, but something was telling him she was dangerous.

Hmph. Well, all beautiful women had their dangers for men. It was just that. He gestured a hand towards her, allowing her to continue.

Her smile didnâ??t reach her eyes. A few of the muscles around them twitched, but the skin was surprisingly unaffected. â??My lord, from my father.â? She produced a carefully folded sheath of heavy paper, stepped forward and handed it off to the Arthur. â??His only request is that you read it in private.â? Uther frowned lightly as she bowed again, waiting for her dismissal. The request was odd, but not too odd; after all, Uther did better reading away from others. Quiet allowed him the ability to better focus on the matter at hand instead of watching and reading others.

He waited a moment, enjoying the quiet now before he waved her off and little stirs of gossip would start around him. And then she was gone, that same false smile twisting her lips.

The letter would sit, unread among several others, for several days.
 
It wasn't long after the Warden had left that Merlin followed in the same direction, finished the job and smelling distinctly - organic. Tired from the days work and with his mind still on the Warden, he was scarcely paying attention to where he was going and nearly tripped on an overturned bucket that had been dropped in the middle of the square. A quick look over it, and Merlin recognized the scarring and beaten metal as being uncannily like the one that belonged to Gaius, so he picked it up and glanced around the square in search of him.

With no sight of him, Merlin loyally went back to the water pump, filled up the bucket, and continued back to the cottage; almost immediately, he set it down on the table, then took up a seat there, cracking open a large tome in search of answers.

Was there a scientific name for vaguely unhinged, but very nice ladies who live in the woods?

Apparently not, because Merlin's search came up with nothing and he ended up nodding off with his forehead planted into the centre of the text.
 
Gaius was on much the same search, because those vaguely unhinged, very nice women tended to only show up when there was a problem. It wasnâ??t that he didnâ??t enjoy seeing her: the woman, unless she had changed, had always been a benevolent, if slightly anti-social, figure. One that had been fond of helping a young scholar and now an old physician find herbs with uses even he was unaware of. Fond of helping the lost out of the forests, too, but he doubted Uther would remember that kind show from a magical being.

For a man that was two decades his junior, Uther had an awful amount of memory problems when it came to magic users and yet managed to single out the only one Gaius was terribly fond of these days.

Returning to the pump to finish his aborted chore, Gaius found no sign of his bucket and thought this was entirely unfair. It wasnâ??t like buckets were gold: there had been no point in stealing an old manâ??s bucket, especially one that had just realized he had pulled something in his back when chasing down the Warden. He was cursing the thief, the Warden and the general state of affairs when he finally made it home, hand pressed against his lower back in an attempt to support it.

And, of course, right next to Merlinâ??s dark head, filled with fresh water, was his bucket. Gaius felt a sudden surge of warmth that had nothing to do with the pain in his back as he took in the boy. If something was wrong, inevitably, Merlin would have to pay for it. It would be his boy that had to do something stupid and painfully brave, something that could easily get him noticed by Uther. Not in the way that he had been, of course: as far as Gaius knew, Uther still thought Merlin to be a complete idiot.

Now, if only they could keep it that way.

Gaius glanced over Merlinâ??s shoulder to the book he was currently dozing on. Now why had he been looking at that particular text? The old man was always pleased to have Merlin learning but just as wary of a sudden interest. â??Merlin?â? Gaius said gently, resting his hand on the boyâ??s head.

Merlin, a quieter, more feminine voice whispered. I'm waiting for you.
 
Merlin was dreaming about unicorns.

Naturally this was the sort of thing he kept to himself.

It would have been a pleasant dream, too, if it weren't for the fact that Arthur showed up and both he and the Unicorn called him an idiot, except the Unicorn had the King's voice, and it really wasn't such a fantastic dream after that. It only got worse, too, because in his dreamscape he wandered away from the Pendragons, and his venturing seemed to take him out of that world and into a new, dark one - a terribly familiar one, filled with endless black.

A surge of something powerful moved through him, and suddenly he could see himself, as though floating outside his own body - and his eyes were lit up in hues of gold and amber, his expression bleak and drawn, something angry and strange that made it look as though it wasn't quite his own face.

The electricity was building up inside of him, new strength that he had never experienced.

Merlin. I'm waiting for you.

A hand landed on his shoulder and Merlin sat up with a bit of parchment sticking to his forehead,

"Yes, mum?" he asked immediately.
 
Gaius carefully peeled the paper away from Merlinâ??s forehead, gentle so he wouldnâ??t tear it. â??Iâ??m afraid itâ??s only me, Merlin,â? he said, voice somewhere between amused and concerned. It wasnâ??t all that late; Merlin shouldnâ??t be falling asleep on texts.

However, he was very aware of the effects his books had on his nephew along with others, so perhaps it was nothing but his own current paranoia that caused his concern. It just seemed, with the water and the Warden, that everything was related. Not that it was particularly scientific. Just an old man being worried.

He hoped.

â??Arthur over work you today?â? The boy smelled faintly of manure and straw, so Gaius neednâ??t ask him where he had been working. Better than some places he could think of. â??Did you eat?â?
 
Still stupid with sleep, Merlin's face twisted with confusion,

"Eat? Yes. I ate." Merlin mumbled out, and then put a hand to his head, pressing his fingers into his temple, trying to push down an ache that had come with consciousness. Slowly, his brows drew downwards and he shook his head, refuting his own statement, "Wait - no, I didn't."

He blinked the sleep out of his eyes, and then looked over at Gaius; as though suddenly realizing where he was, he launched to his feet,

"There was a woman, Gaius." he said, pointing in the direction of the door, "At the stables today - I think she was like me. Well, not really like me - stronger. She was warning me about the Old Religion - she said someone has already taken Nimueh's place."

Like Gaius, Merlin hoped he was just seeing coincidences, but he couldn't help thinking -

"Do you think that could have anything to do with the water? I mean, what do I do? Should I - should I go back?"
 
Gaiusâ?? eyebrows surged with Merlin though, as always, more on one side than the other. He had the urge to glance behind him, see if Uther or something terrible had waltzed through the door and thatâ??s why Merlin had leapt up, but, no. It seemed to be that the boy just had something very important to say, and he proceeded to do so very quickly.

â??A woman?â? Gaius repeated, glancing back to the door anyways because Merlin had pointed. The Warden, then. So thatâ??s why she had come. Not for him or for any supplies she had needed in the city (though he had heard she visited the other kingdoms that were in her territory more often than Camelot prior because they did not kill their magic users), but for Merlin. And to give him this cryptic news. Gaius rested his hands on Merlinâ??s shoulders and pushed the boy back onto the bench.

â??Iâ??m not surprised,â? he said carefully after a moment of chewing on his bottom lip. â??Nimuehâ??s position was very powerful. It must have been quite the beacon for those of the Old Religion.â? Happily, Gaius had never been all that good with magic and had no inborn talent with it so he had felt nothing. His next words were much more careful. â??As for the water, I cannot say. But I do know you canâ??t go back there.â? For added emphasis, his fingers squeezed into Merlinâ??s shoulders and he dropped his head to look the boy in the eye. â??We will wait. And we will watch. And you,â? he added, face just as serious. â??Will bathe.â?

There would be a lot of waiting and watching, because nothing (for once) happened within the next four days until one evening, when Arthur tossed him a bright red bundle with a grin to match.
 
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