A/N: Edited 8/1/13.

At first it wasn't particularly noticeable. Things were suddenly misplaced. Nothing big; trinkets, cutlery, spools of wool, jewellery, flints, small tools, odds and ends. All of them later found in odd places, like the owner had picked it up, become distracted and laid it down elsewhere. Gaius had great difficulty trying to find anything where he'd left it and he could hear his neighbours complaining as he walked through the streets to the castle as he made a delivery.

As he neared his home upon his return, the streets seemed alive with chatter, accusations of theft, suspicion and amusement. Gaius' eyebrow was quirked in an almost permanent state of enquiry and he nearly tripped as he followed a particularly vehement argument over near the bread stall. Shaking his head, he pushed open the front door and nearly dropped his physician's bag.

With a speed belying his age, Gaius swooped inside and pressed himself up against the door as it firmly shut behind him, staring in wonderment at what had been his lab when he'd left it a half hour ago. Now it resembled little more than a jungle. From assorted jars of dried plants now sprouted living, flourishing flora, permeating the room with a multitude of exotic fragrances that were both heady and cloying. Beakers, flasks, test tubes and apparatus had seemingly twisted themselves into ornate spirals and organic blobs, gleaming like jewels among the foliage and the insects that were pinned to specimen boards fluttered their wings irately, trying to free themselves from their anchoring. Sheaves of paper fluttered across the flagstone floor, buffeted by a breeze that had no source, nor direction and the light seemed to catch oddly on the surfaces as if it were a live thing, gilding here, glittering there and reflecting effervescently off the water inside the mop bucket that had been carelessly left where someone might trip.

Cautiously Gaius approached the bench, jaw slack and gaping in disbelief. "What in heaven's name...?" he muttered, his voice trailing off as he caught sight of one of his books laid open on the bench top. It was a manual on the beasts of the realm and within the pages they prowled, stalked, preened and preyed. He had to grip the bench as his knees weakened beneath him before he decisively moved to the door and barred it shut. He couldn't afford to have anyone walk in at this moment; there was simply no way that he could possibly explain this to anyone and he did not delight in testing that theory.

With the sturdy wooden bar firmly in place he turned around and with a steadying of his nerves and the clearing of his throat, he set off towards Merlin's room where he'd not ventured into since the night before.

Merlin had been under the affects of the potion for a little over twelve hours. Gaius had made a potent mix of sleeping draught and dream suppressant and he'd expected Merlin to sleep maybe ten hours, but had allowed him to continue to rest after seeing how exhausted he'd appeared, now that he was frozen in respite.

He peered in now, not bothering to knock; the situation was too urgent for such niceties. The room was a shambles. It seemed every item of clothing that Merlin owned was splayed about the floor - not that that equated to much, really. But joined with all the odds bobs that had inhabited the room since its original purpose as a storeroom and the collection of little knick-knacks, scrolls and books that had accumulated since made it a living, breathing maze. The objects writhed on the floor like insects crawling through leafy undergrowth, undulating to a rhythm all its own that Gaius could not gauge nor comprehend.

In the midst of it all was Merlin, looking serene and untouchable as he lay, stretched out on top of his sheets, his plain woollen shirt loose at the neck and riding up his abdomen. His hands were limp by his side, his brow untroubled by worry and a slight golden haze hovered over him like a mist. A mist that swirled and eddied around him with each steady rise and fall of his chest. Pinpricks of light, like miniscule stars danced within the haze, growing, glowing brightly then bursting and dying only to be replaced by another tiny spark.

It was a stunning sight; unlike anything Gaius had seen in all his many years and he had seen quite a lot where magic was concerned, though mostly during his youth. He hesitated in drawing near; his gut was telling him not to get too close but his curiosity urged him forward.

"Merlin?" He called in his gruff voice. The boy didn't bat so much as an eyelash. "Merlin," Gaius repeated, louder this time, taking another cautious step closer to where Merlin lay, inert. The mist surrounding him reared up as he approached. A translucent tendril separated from the main group and came towards Gaius. He lurched back and stopped, breath caught in his chest, heart hammering against his ribcage. The little tentacle halted at his movement then progressed towards him. Gaius held still, held his breath and tried not to panic. The golden light touched him, tentatively running along his arm, tracing his torso with a touch that wasn't so much felt as it was sensed.

It was like standing in a ray of hot sun during a freezing cold day. It felt playful, questing, cheerful. Wherever it touched, the patterns on his robe morphed into something more intricate. Instead of the geometric patterns, curlicues, celtic knots and fern-like curls grew and raced behind the path of the magic. That was only thing it could be; magic. Merlin's magic, unrestrained by consciousness, running chaotic and free. Now Gaius understood what Merlin meant when he claimed that the mess in his room 'just happens'. The magnitude alone spoke wealth's about Merlin's normal level of control, even during sleep. It made him pause for a moment. Maybe this was the reason that Merlin had trouble waking early normally, maybe a part of him was always conscious and keeping himself in check so that the magic was never left unrestrained. Then again, knowing Merlin, that was just as likely as it wasn't.

Looking around, Gaius picked up a small book that slithered over his shoe and with a small amount of force threw it at Merlin's head. It hit with a resounding thock! and Gaius snorted in surprised laughter. He had thought for some reason that the magic would somehow prevent it from hitting him. Merlin's head rocked to the side at the impact and a triangular red spot began to bloom at the centre of his forehead but the boy himself barely even stirred.

Retreating back to his workspace, he picked up the bucket from the middle of the floor and held it above Merlin. Slowly he began tipping it over him. Merlin reared out of bed with an almighty gasp, his eyes wide and from edge-to-edge they were like molten gold orbs, his face dripping with water. The mist that had surrounded his body started pouring, as if being sucked up into his eyes until no wayward light was visible. Then as the final light disappeared Merlin's breath stopped, his eyes turned to their normal blue before rolling back into his head and he collapsed against his bed, still and unmoving except for his eyelids fluttering and his eyes moving frantically beneath his quivering lashes.

Gaius returned to his workroom once again, carrying the broom with him back to Merlin's bedroom. He reversed his grip so that he held the broom by the bristles and poked Merlin with the end sharply, before stepping back warily. Merlin moaned in protest and rolled onto his side. Gaius supposed this was a good sign. Indeed when he had finally gathered the bucket and broom and shut the door to Merlin's room on the way out, his lab was somewhat back to normal. The plants were shrivelling and withdrawing back within their jars, the insects had ceased their angry fluttering though his beakers, test tubes and glassware had definitely seen better days; they refused to return to their original shape. Gaius sent a look towards Merlin's room and took another appreciative glance around his work area as even the loose sheaves of paper formed a neat stack.

He stayed in his quarters an hour after the last object ceased movement, just in case. It would be unwise to assume that the magic was under control until he could wake Merlin from his slumber. Gaius sighed wearily. He was getting too old for this.

He was expected up at the castle for supper - the lord and his daughter would be departing in the morning and Uther had organised a small feast as parting gift. Gaius wasn't particularly fond of going to feasts; he wasn't as young as he once was and the carousing of the knights, the high-pitched whines of the young women and the general frivolity of the occasion always made him feel even older, although he didn't mind the food. It was by far much better fare than he could provide for his and Merlin's own dinners.

Tonight though, he would have preferred to abstain; it had been stressful enough today and with Merlin out of commission, he could now appreciate how much he relied on the boy to gather his herbs, or make deliveries or even as just someone to fill the void. And of course, let's not forget the leech tank. Gaius gave an involuntary shudder at the thought. He took one last parting glance around his rooms before firmly shutting the door and making the short trek to the castle.

As he walked through the halls, he began to notice a certain sense of anxiety among the inhabitants of the castle. Guards fidgeted at doorways and walked hastily along their routes, eyeing the space around them distrustfully. Maids hurried from place to place, keeping together in pairs or in a group where they could, though the knights and guests that walked the halls appeared only curious at the strange behaviour of the denizens of Camelot.

As he rounded a corner he had to quickly brace himself as Gwen ran into him, her face unnaturally pale and her hands shaking with nerves. Gaius steadied Gwen with firm grip to her forearms. She looked up gratefully.

"I'm so sorry Gaius, thank you! I've just been so frantic and it's all been so strange today. Arthur's been on edge since last night and Morgana is being...well, Morgana. The only blessing we've had today is Uther's been on a hunt with Arthur for the most of today." It all came out in a hurried flood and it wasn't till she'd taken a breath that it dawned on her that she was speaking out of turn. Her eyes widened almost comically and she began to stutter. "N-not that we wish that Uther weren't here and-"

"Calm yourself, Gwen. Can you tell me what's been happening?" Gaius asked steadily.

"I-I, it-"

"Gwen!" Morgana's voice rang from further down the hall. Gwen and Gaius looked up and Gwen's shoulder's hunched guiltily. "I need you to attend me." With an apologetic shrug, she turned and made her way towards her mistress.

Gaius watched them head off with momentary apprehension before he continued on his way. He just prayed that there weren't anymore surprises in store.

Gossip was a staple for the servants of Camelot; they lived it, they breathed it, it made their lives that little bit more enriched. It helped if it was something amusing, but they weren't picky; drama, suspense, danger, battles, torrid love affairs and affiliations, any and all of these kinds of stories were great fare and they were told, retold and embellished. Truths turned to myths, myths to legends and facetious suppositions became truths.

Of course the life of their Royalty, especially their prince and his knights were considered the best fodder and they were often spoken of in hushed conversations or tales told round the fire in the kitchen once they had done serving the formal dinner and had tucked into their own meagre feast.

Today though, there were ghosts in the hall, gremlins in the hangings, fairies in the flower bouquets and pixies in the cupboards. It was all a little exaggerated but Meredith said that Jacob told William that Rowenna heard it from Judith that Penny had seen with her own eyes the Prince's bed make itself. An unfortunate groundskeeper, Seamus, had had a chamber pot's contents dumped on him as he passed that side of the castle. He'd looked up to curse the son of a mule who'd done it and was faced with an empty window and a hovering chamber pot slowly sailing back through the arch. After cleaning himself off, he'd told James his story before going with him down to the inn for a well-earned pint. Neither were seen for the rest of the day.

Gwen had herself seen something of that ilk. After Penny's run-in with the self-making bed, she'd braved Arthur's chambers, quietly deriding Penny's 'vision' beneath her breath. Gwen had opened the door and begun picking up the clothes that had been left discarded on the floor when the shirt slid from beneath her fingers. She looked up and her mouth fell open as it folded itself before flying onto a pile of ever growing laundry. She'd sat stunned, mouth agape and her breath barely disturbing the air in front of her and just watched for a time.

The pile of clothes, once all stacked together moved towards the shut door. Gwen almost expected the door to open and the clothes to continue on its merry way to the laundry room. She laughed weakly when it merely hit the door and collapsed to the floor, lying inert where it fell.

The sound of brush on leather drew her gaze to the fireplace where a line of Arthur's boots sat, some already cleaned and oiled while others were getting brushed off with the wire brush as the others were being rubbed with the oil cloth. Her head turned to the table where the clinking of cutlery alerted her to the breakfast plates piling themselves onto the tray. She watched stunned as a silver goblet fell from the edge of the table and the liquid froze mid-air before reversing back into the cup as it righted itself carefully. And although she didn't run screaming from the room, since that would have meant tripping over the laundry, she sorely wished she could have. Gwen moved as quickly as she could and slammed the door shut in her wake. As soon as she was out of the room she ran, all the way out of the castle to gather herself and some fresh air. But the strangeness seemed to follow. A group of Royal Ostlers were standing around Arthur's stable boy who was wailing and crying as one of them pat him on the shoulder.

As she walked past them, Gwen caught enough of the conversation to understand that the manure had been shovelling itself.

Then when rumours began to filter in from the town of objects going missing, moving themselves and other, more ethereal phenomena, the tension in the castle – and the rumours – grew, as did the sense of worry. It was indeed a blessing that Uther had left early in the day for an unexpected hunting trip.

"Gwen?" Morgana's soft, dulcet voice brought Gwen back to what she was doing. Morgana's reflection stared up at her worriedly from where she sat. In her hand were soft piles of Morgana's hair, her brush run halfway through the silky lengths. "Are you hale?"

"Yes, my lady, forgive me," Gwen responded, she had to shake herself and make a concerted effort to keep to her task. Her gaze kept bouncing around the room, expecting at any moment for the unlit candles to burst into flames or the vase to tip its water out the window, though it remained peaceful, placid in the sanctity of Morgana's chambers. Gwen's hands slowed again as she took a surreptitious look around the room.

"Are you quite sure, Gwen? You seem awfully distracted," Morgana pressed. Her tone was gentle but her piercing eyes were unforgiving.

"It's been a strange day..." Gwen conceded with a nervous chuckle. Morgana's eyebrow's lifted in silent question and Gwen's smile broadened. Though she was loathe to admit it, she loved the gossip as well as any other servant and had done her fair share of truth-stretching or "story-telling" as she put it. "Arthur's room...this morning as Penny was to attend him, his bed made itself, or so she said. Of course, this is Penny and she's not exactly known for her wits. She refused to re-enter the room, so I went in her stead." Gwen paused as she began sliding the pins into Morgana's hair. It was amazing how many were required to construct the elaborate hairstyles that were currently in fashion.

"Yes?" Morgana prompted. Gwen slid another pin into place before continuing.

"Well, I thought that Penny had just been at it- er, I mean, what I meant to say was, I thought that Penny had been telling fibs, but right before my eyes! The shirts began folding themselves, the plates stacked themselves up on the dining tray. Arthur's boots were being scrubbed but by no one and I didn't stay long enough to see what would happen next.

"I went into the town and there's talk of all matter of strange things happening and the servants have been chatting about it all this afternoon. Do you know Marcus? The Falconer? He thinks this place is haunted. But Geoffrey of Monmouth says that this isn't like any ghost he's seen, which is frightening to think that this place might actually be haunted."

Guinevere shuddered uncontrollably and put the last finishing touches on Morgana's hair. Morgana stood, sweeping her skirts out behind her.

"Gwen, I want you to spread the word that Uther is not to hear of this, understood?" Morgana ordered. "The moment he catches wind of this, you know he'll be on a witch hunt faster than you can say inquisition and there's been enough bloodshed of late; no need to add innocents to that."

Gwen nodded her understanding. The thought made her shiver. Having personally been at the pointy end of Uther's wrath, she was in no hurry to inflict that kind of misery on someone else. She didn't care if it was magic – and knowing Camelot's track record, it wouldn't be unlikely – and whatever it was, it seemed to be beneficent; it was harming no one. Indeed it was like a fairy story.

Stories about magic were taboo in Camelot – you never knew who was listening and what counted as treason these days, however as a child Gwen's father had often told her stories that involved fairies, gremlins, elves, monsters, demons and magic and she'd been enthralled by them.

The old man Jenkins who was in charge of cleaning the kitchens of a night would tell anyone that would listen that it was a Brownie, a faerie that would reside in a home and do the chores that were left undone. He had the kitchen staff convinced to leave out a bowl of cream and a cake drizzled with honey tonight, so as not to displease the sprite that he may continue to work around the castle. The laundry women thought it was ridiculous, and as they pointed out, Brownies only did work throughout the night, were never seen and their work was impeccable.

They claimed it was more likely a slightly incompetent poltergeist trying to help out. Gwen was dismissive of this idea; it was even less likely than the Brownie story and certainly neither explanation could account for the variety of strange things that had been happening not just in the castle but around the town as well.

For now all she could do was pass on the message to keep the mutterings discreet and hope against hope that no one breathed a word to Uther.

It had been a change in routine for the King and for Arthur, who hadn't been hunting with his father in many years now. He hadn't wanted him to come, though he didn't say it because, well, he was the king and on top of that his father. It wasn't that he disliked spending time with the man. Indeed, in the past he would have done almost anything to gain the affections and attention from Uther but now was not that time.

His hunting jaunts had taken on a new meaning as he'd begun to go with just his knights and then with Merlin tagging along. It was a chance for him to bond with his men, to forget the pressures of his royal obligations and just be Arthur. With the King tagging along, the easy atmosphere that he'd cultivated with the knights and within himself was stifled, destroyed. He couldn't pal around with them like they so frequently did and there was a formality to the occasion that made him feel like he was at the feast already, carefully walking on eggshells, minding his manners and elevating himself to a point above the 'commoners'.

Everyone was on tenterhooks the entire time and Arthur still could not fathom the reason for Uther's sudden interest, though it may have had something to do with the pomposity of the Lord Vortigern and Uther's own desire to escape pleasantries with the odious man.

Vortigern was a disturbing mix of obsequiousness, cunning and cowardice. His daughter, Enid was possibly even worse; boorish, provincial and self-important and so assured of her own beauty that she felt no need to improve her mind. It was understandable, Arthur supposed but Uther's presence was still not entirely welcome.

However, with the absence of Merlin, the hunt was proceeding quite nicely. They had brought down a couple of foxes and were currently on the trail of a herd of deer. Uther had taken to the hunt avidly and though he may have been ill-used to it at first, his ability with the spear was impressive, his aim true. As the day drew on, they managed to bag a doe and a down of hares before they decided to return, after all there was still a banquet to attend.

They would have been blind, deaf and dumb not to notice the change in the atmosphere. Arthur walked through the streets of the town, his nerves alight with tension. He eyed the townsmen apprehensively as they scurried about. He was used to having to greet each citizen as he passed, though today they were quickly bobbing their heads respectfully before hurrying off elsewhere. It had the same feel as the oppressive and tense wait for the enemy to charge across a battlefield or like a storm building, the electricity alive and heady in the air. And even as he thought it, he noticed the clouds become thicker, the sky turning a gloomy shade of grey. Stalls that normally remained open till later were packed up or packing away; some merchants already having retired for the day and a number of streets were entirely deserted.

"What's going on?" He murmured to himself as he observed the near deserted town. The knights pulled in tighter around the two monarchs as they continued the short distance to the castle. As they dismounted, nervous stablehands came to take their horses and one of the squire boys was sent with the game to the kitchens. As if reflecting the mood of the city, the wind picked up, tugging at cloaks, ruffling hair and scattering hay, bringing with it a pervading coldness as well as the promise of rain.

As the group gained the stairs, rain gently began to patter against the flagstones and they hurried those last few steps till they were safe under the protective eaves of the castle.

"We got back in time, I see," Uther said, running a hand through his hair, removing the raindrops that clung there.

"Indeed we did," Arthur replied as he shook water from his cloak. The knights filed past them, headed to their quarters, leaving the two uncomfortable and alone in each other's company. Silence followed their brief exchange and they each made a study of the stonework in the hall, avoiding one another's gaze.

"Well, that was a great hunt," Arthur offered awkwardly.

"Agreed, a great hunt. You did very well, son," Uther responded, laying a paternal hand on Arthur's shoulder, the gesture stilted and unpractised. Arthur smiled tightly.

"You did well yourself, father," he responded, folding his arms against his chest, his gaze turned to the courtyard where rain continued to fall steadily. "I mean," he continued, looking at his father askance. "For an old man."

Uther turned to him with an incredulous stare and Arthur's face broke into a grin at his expression. "Why, you little scamp!" Uther cursed, the smile softening his tone but the punch to Arthur's shoulder was anything but soft. Arthur gave a short chuckle and dashed off, rubbing his shoulder as he ran, leaving his father to trail after him.

As he neared his chambers, Arthur began to notice just how deserted this section of the castle was in comparison to the other areas. It brought back all those childish fears he'd harboured long ago of the dark, of things hidden in shadows, behind the curtains and in the multitude of nooks, crannies, niches, alcoves and anterooms that peppered the halls to the forefront of his mind. He berated himself for allowing his imagination to rule his emotions and steeled himself as he made his way down the - admittedly creepy – hallway. If Arthur's footsteps quickened as he approached his room, he'd be the very last to admit it. Shutting the door behind he took a moment to calm his heartbeat.

"Merlin, I need you to prepare the bath for me," Arthur ordered loudly as he stripped off his cloak. He froze mid-motion and cursed. Of course; he'd given Merlin the next few days off. Arthur swore under his breath and turned to yell down the corridor for a servant. As he did so, he spotted the bath, already full, water steaming and clothes set out on the dresser by the screen.

"Hmph." They must have had someone in to fill the bath when they saw his approach. Arthur would have to find the Steward and praise him for his foresight.

Arthur stripped, casually dropping the clothes on the floor before climbing into the bath. It was a little hot, though with the weather turning foul outside, Arthur was nothing but grateful. He hissed as he slid in then groaned as the hot water began to soften his muscles and the aches and pains that came with whacking through the undergrowth. His head rocked back, pillowed by the small towel that had been placed on the lip of the bath.

Arthur lingered longer in the bath than he'd intended. The Epsom salts had done wonders for his muscles, his skin was scrubbed clean of all the grime and sweat he'd earned from travelling through the forest and the herbal pouch had scented his skin with a mix of rich fragrances had a masculine quality Arthur preferred to the more floral pouches.

In the distance, he heard the town crier announce the hour and with a grumble he stood from the water, grabbing a towel and slinging it around his waist as he stood and climbed over the lip of the bath. Arthur padded barefoot to his dresser and ran the towel quickly over his limbs before running it messily through his hair. He slung the now soaking towel over the screen and pulled his clothing from their place, dressing carefully, though quickly.

He eyed his reflection in the mirror a moment, ran a comb through his hair and carefully set the coronet about his brow. He turned his jaw and examined his features discerningly. "Why you handsome devil," he remarked softly to himself. The sound of a poorly muffled chuckle had him spin around, startled. There was no one immediately visible. His heart beating powerfully in his chest, his eyes pierced the gloom of his bedroom. He even crouched to look under his bed, then checked his wardrobe. He was alone, though he could have sworn that he'd heard someone. Reluctantly he dismissed it as his imagination and shortly left, walking briskly towards the great hall.

It wasn't until he was firmly seated in his position to the right of Uther that the niggling doubt from earlier resurfaced. He could see the room in his mind as he remembered it. The clothes had not been where he'd discarded them. The cloak had not been left over the back over the chair where he'd put it. His filthy boots had been moved out of sight and the dripping path of water from the tub to the changing screen hadn't been there. Arthur shivered involuntarily. Someone had been in that room with him, though he'd not heard him or sensed him in the slightest and he would have. He should have. Which lead to a possibility that he did not want to consider.

Arthur turned his gaze to the hall. His father was stood next to him, giving his customary speech. The nobles and guests were watching him pleasantly, unworried. The attending servants and the guards were a different story. Weapons were held tensely in fidgeting hands and pitchers of wine were clutched with white knuckled grips. They all stood rigidly, their eyes darted around the room nervously and as they passed one another a quick word would be exchanged.

Arthur was keenly watching one such exchange as Uther returned to his seat and more servants brought in the first dishes of the feast. He wasn't sure what was going on, and he couldn't make out the conversation from where he sat. But he thought he saw the word "ghost" taint the lips of a passing servant. He shuddered again. Old childhood nightmares resurfaced and he threw a glance at Morgana. Her piercing eyes were watching the feast with a note of suspicion and what almost seemed like anticipation.

As children she had teased him with ghost stories, even telling him that his room was haunted. He'd not been able to sleep in that room for years without some kind of light and he didn't fancy himself doing without it tonight.

His thoughts were interrupted by the simpering Enid, and his lip curled in distaste but he pulled the expression into a tight grin, that more resembled a grimace and distracted himself with inane chatter. He did not want to consider the possibility that he'd been seen bathing by some omnipresent spirit.