Author's note: A little story dedicated to my little sister for introducing me to the Merlin series. She'll probably never read it, but it's the thought that counts.

I do not own anything, except my added characters and the idea for this story, but I do have a very strong tendency to wish Merlin were mine.

Here's chapter one, enjoy. (:

Merlin knows he shouldn't be doing this, but sometimes he can't help himself. It is things like this that would not only make Gaius extremely displeased with the young warlock, but also be to Merlin's peril were he ever found out.

The night is pitch black and the thick woods surrounding Camelot can be a sinister place even on a sunny day. There's no moon in the sky and it is eerily quiet. Heading back is starting to sound like a very logical idea in Merlin's mind, but the pull of the magic is too strong. The last few weeks had gone by uneventfully, and with the exception of a few rats and bats no dangerous beast had threatened to destroy them all, leaving Merlin's powers mostly unrequired.

It's no wonder his fingers are itching for some action, because even though he knows what trouble he could get into, it's still hard to hide what is as natural to him as breathing. So he's heading out in the middle of the night, just for a trick or two. He'll be back a few hours before dawn and neither Gaius or anyone else will be an edge wiser.

He reaches the lake and stops dead in his tracks as he sees lights floating around its edge. Panicked, he crouches against a broken tree trunk, thinking it to be the Shee, but as one of the lights glimmers closer, Merlin heaves a sigh of relief. He lets out a breathy laugh at his own antics, realising it to be a harmless firefly.

Standing up, he dusts off his trousers and walks to the shore. He takes a deep breath to steady himself and closes his eyes for the briefest of moments. As he opens them again, they glow like molten gold and he whispers a quiet command, while stretching out his hand. The water ripples and seconds later, a fist sized stone bursts through the surface and then levitates a few feet above the ground. He attempts to keep it that way for a long as possible, but earth is a stubborn element and he hasn't fully mastered it yet, so the rock wobbles and slips out of his hold. It falls back into the lake, efficiently splashing Merlin in the process.

"Oh, great," the young warlock mumbles as he appraises his wet attire. His shirt is drenched and so is the front of his trousers, and that is not very pleasant under any circumstances, especially not on a chilly spring night.

He is about to dry himself off with the help of magic, when it happens. He's not sure whether he's imagined it or not, but for a moment there, he could have sworn he heard sobbing. He is about to dismiss it and proceed with his former plan of action, but then he hears it again and this time Merlin is sure it's not his mind playing tricks on him.

"Who's there?" he calls out and turns around, trying to locate the origin of the sound. As soon as he utters a single word, the weeping ceases, making him suspicious. He searches the woods nearby and quickly grabs hold of a long, thick branch. Even before he has a good hold on it, his eyes glow and the end of the branch lights aflame, making it the perfect makeshift torch. Merlin wastes no time in uttering a third spell and suddenly he can hear everything.

His enhanced senses have no trouble finding the source of the sound, and it seems to be coming from further down the left side of the lake, not far from where he is now. He wastes no time and runs down the path, pushing branches out of his way as best he can while balancing his torch in one hand.

As he pushes the last few stray branches out of his way, Merlin finds himself on a small clearing and right in the middle of it, he finds the source of the crying. From what he can see with a limited source of light, the stranger appears to be human; a boy his are or younger if the clothes are any indication. But he has no time to ponder about how he got there, because the arrow piercing the stranger's shoulder erases every other thought from his mind.

"Are you all right?" he asks, but realises it's a stupid question to ask someone with an arrow stuck inside their torso.

Merlin attempts to walk closer, but the boy's seemingly limp body starts twitching and writhing in an attempt to get away. "N-no...stay back," he mutters in such a coarse voice, the young warlock can hardly understand it.

"Please, don't move," Merlin tries again, hoping to calm the injured stranger down. He fears moving will make the injury worse. "It's okay, look, I'll take you to Camelot. My friend~"

The rest of his promise is cut of by a cry of agony, and Merlin can only assume all that defensive movement has caused the jostled the arrow.

Having no other choice, he takes several steps forward. Luckily, the boy is no longer protesting, whether from trust or pain – although he's guessing the later – and Merlin seizes the opportunity. He thrusts his burning branch into the grass hard enough for it to stand upright on its own. With that accomplished, Merlin drops to his knees a foot or two away from the trembling body, in hopes to take a better look at the wound and hopefully persuade the boy to cooperate.

He is soon to realise his mistake, because the boy is struggling again and trying to curl into himself as if expecting to be shot anew.

"You'll make it worse," Merlin cries, but it's too late because even in the orange glow of the fire he can see fresh blood seeping out from around the wooden arrow, soaking the boy's shirt crimson. He has no choice but to grab hold of the stranger's hands and hold them in place, to stop him from twitching. He tries to do so as gently as possible, because he desperately needs to make the boy believe he means him no harm.

It's a mute point, he realises, for the last conscious words the boy utters are a frightened, "Please don't kill me."

The desperate plea tugs painfully at Merlin's heart, seeing as, while trying to help, he has actually made matters worse. But he is determined to set things right. Regardless to the cold, he slips out of his leather jacket and uses it to brace the boy's injured shoulder as best he can, before loading him onto his back. He doesn't dare use magic since the stranger might wake up on the way back. Something tells Merlin, nobody would be particularly happy finding out they are being levitated through a forest, especially by a person they believe is about to finish what the arrow failed to do.

With the utmost care he shifts the limp body into a better position before slowly heading back towards Camelot. The journey takes much longer than Merlin has expected and although the weight on his shoulders is much lighter than he thought it would be, he has to stop several times to catch his breath. At some point he almost wishes Arthur were with him. The prince might be a royal class prat, but as much as Merlin hates to admit it – much stronger than him.

After what seems like a short eternity, the forest thins and the outline of Camelot comes to view. Merlin sighs in relief. He's nearly made it and it might yet not be too late. He can still feel the shallow exhales against the nape of his neck, indicating the stranger is still alive, and once he gets him to Gaius... oh gosh, Gaius! In his concern to get the boy back safely, he has completely lost track of time. Dawn is already breaking, casting mesmerizing sparkles across the horizon and the city is coming to life, which means Gaius will already be awake when he returns.

That, in itself is good, because he will be able to help immediately, but it also means that Merlin will be stuck cleaning the leach tank for a week for sneaking out in the middle of the night to practice magic.

Caught in his internal rant, Merlin fails to notice the arrow dislodge itself from the stranger's shoulder and torn skin stitch back together, leaving behind only traces of dried blood against smooth ivory skin.