A/N: Thank you so much for your lovely comments! Just to let you know - there will be four parts to this story (which has ca. 11.000 words), but I might write more in this universe; I'm not sure yet.

Enjoy!

Part II

The days that followed the Epic Monopoly Fight were a blur of hushed conversations, trips to Uther's study, Gaius' worried face, and finally, being bundled off in a car and driven to the clinic. Merlin was horribly scared. His magic had gotten past the controls – which it was not supposed to do, it was impossible – and Gaius had never looked so pale before.

At the clinic, they did tests, hundreds of them. They strapped Merlin onto a table and pushed him into a huge tube called a CT scanner, where he had to lie still and got yelled at when he tried to talk. They gave him shots that made him feel sick or sleepy, and kept him in a bed with electrodes glued to the back of his neck, where his controls were. One of the nurses, a man called Lance, was nice to him - he brought him chocolate cake and joked about Merlin looking like a space robot with his hair shaved off and all those electrodes and instruments stuck on him. He didn't yell when Merlin vomited after the shots, and even let him sit in his lap, stroked his back and didn't once call him a crybaby.

Merlin wouldn't have blamed him; he cried a lot in those days. The worst was when they cut open his head to see what was inside. Merlin had to stay awake during the surgery, while the doctors poked around in his brain and tried to 'get a reaction'. It didn't hurt, but it was awful, like something out of Arthur's horror movies. Merlin only got through it because Lance held his hand and talked to him, telling him all about his girlfriend Gwen and their Newfoundland puppy Percival.

The doctors didn't get a reaction by stimulating his 'ESP center', and so they started a new series of tests, lowering his controls and 'directing his magic'. Merlin had to levitate things, set newspapers on fire, make water boil or freeze, conjure objects from thin air and duplicate other objects they put in front of him. It went on for days, and they yelled at him whenever the magic didn't do what they wanted. One of the doctors even slapped him when he cried. Frightened and exhausted beyond endurance, Merlin threw the man across the room. He thought they were going to kill him for attacking a Natural with magic, but instead they started a whole new line of tests, trying to provoke 'defensive reactions' from him. Those had been horrible. During the few hours they left him alone, he sobbed into Lance's shoulder or slept, dreaming of more tests and instruments poking around in his brain.

Finally, finally, when Merlin had lost seven kilos and was stubbly all over where his hair was growing back, they told him that he would be going home. Merlin remembered Lance holding his arm in the Senior Consultant's office, supporting him when Merlin's knees threatened to buckle. Uther was there, talking to the doctors, but Merlin caught only a few words: "... incredible potential...", "...reinforced controls...", "...twice as much once he's trained."

Later, when he was back in Camelot Mansion and lying in his bed, Gaius explained it to him. "They were testing the extent of your powers," he said. "It seems there isn't much your magic can't do. Uther will want to train you when you're older."

"Will I have to go back to the clinic?" Merlin asked, petrified that Gaius would say yes.

"I don't think so," Gaius said, stroking Merlin's stubbly hair. "They can only test your powers, not show you how to use them. I'm sure Uther will find you a teacher or instructor."

Merlin closed his eyes. "Gaius."

"Yes?"

"They cut my head open."

Gaius said nothing and just let him cry, stroking his hair until he fell asleep.

It was a surprise to find Arthur sitting at his bedside when he woke. Merlin had only seen Arthur in the servants' quarters once or twice; it wasn't appropriate, after all.

"Hey, Merls," Arthur said. His eyes and nose were kind of red, Merlin noticed, like he had a cold or something.

"Hey, Arthur. Are you sick?"

"Naw," Arthur said, dragging a sleeve across his face. "You were sleeping like, forever."

Merlin looked at Gaius' old alarm clock, and saw that it was almost noon. He usually never got to lie in past seven.

"Your hair's all weird," Arthur said. "And you've got a scar..."

Merlin nodded. "They cut me open."

Arthur's eyes widened. "Your head? You mean, with a saw and all?"

Merlin suddenly felt a little bit better. "Yeah, kind of like a drill. It made a really awful noise, bwww..." He mimed drilling into an invisible skull. Arthur looked satisfyingly nauseated.

"That's horrible."

Merlin nodded. "Yeah, it kind of was."

"Look..." Arthur plucked at Merlin's blanket, not looking at him. "I – I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry."

"Huh?"

"That day, with the Monopoly game... I didn't know that could happen. I never wanted them to take you away."

"S'okay," Merlin said. "It wasn't your fault." Arthur had stolen Park Lane and started the fight, but Merlin knew that what had followed – the clinic, the tests – hadn't been Arthur's doing. Arthur was a prat, but he wasn't mean like that.

"I made you something," Arthur said, and plunked a badly wrapped package on the bed. "It was a Christmas present, actually."

For a moment, Merlin remembered how he'd spent Christmas day – in a bathtub full of freezing water, the doctors watching to see how his magic would protect him from the cold. Not that well, it turned out. At some point, Lance had carried him back to his mattress in the corner, had piled blankets on him and given him a dog-shaped biscuit with blue icing. "Gwen and I made them specially," he'd said. "I'd wish you a happy Christmas, kid, but it would be kind of stupid, wouldn't it?" And he had looked so sad that Merlin had dragged up a smile for him and eaten the biscuit, although he didn't feel hungry at all.

Arthur was watching him expectantly, and Merlin shook off the memory. He didn't want to think about it.

"What is it?" he asked, reaching for the present.

"I'm not telling you, you idiot. That's why it's wrapped."

"Huh." Merlin began to pull off the many strips of tape Arthur had stuck all over the paper.

"Just rip it, Merlin," Arthur said, bossy as usual. "Haven't you ever opened a present before?"

Not that many, would have been an honest answer, but Merlin just shrugged and did as he was told. The paper came off easily enough, revealing...

"What is it?" Merlin asked, holding the Thing in both hands. It didn't look like anything he'd ever seen before.

"A piggy bank," Arthur said proudly. "I made it with my Arts and Crafts tutor."

The piggy bank didn't look like a pig – more like a lopsided shoe box with a slit on top.

"It's so you can save your money," Arthur said, his cheeks a bit red. "You know, and buy stuff."

Merlin remembered their Monopoly fight and the things Arthur had said, and grinned. "Cool. Thanks."

On that day, they'd somehow become friends without realizing it – not just a lonely young heir and a little Sorcerer slave who played together because there were few other kids around, but actual friends.

Merlin kept the piggy bank and even put coins in it sometimes, although getting them back out was almost impossible (unless you had a lot of patience and were quite handy with a knitting needle). He had a vague idea that he might someday use the money to buy things for a puppy, but he never told anyone about that.

Except for Arthur, of course. Arthur could be really annoying if he thought you were keeping a secret from him.

###

One year later

It's only a small dinner party, Gaius says, that's why they're having it in the Bordeaux Room and not in the big dining hall. Merlin doesn't think it's that small, but then, he's never been to one of the official soirées or banquets. Little serving boys are not allowed at those, and if Arthur's griping and moaning is anything to go by, he isn't missing much. They seem to be mostly about listening to boring speeches and 'minding one's manners', and Merlin isn't too good at either.

The table in the Bordeaux Room seats thirty people, plus an extra table that has been set for the young guests. There are six of them – Arthur, Morgana, Elena and Vivian who are about Morgana's age, five-year-old Gwaine ("Keep an eye on that one," Gaius told Merlin quietly), and Valiant, who is fourteen and looks sulky at being placed at the children's table.

So far, things have gone well, by and large. Merlin served Morgana's soup from the left instead of the right, but she was too busy talking to Vivian to notice (and probably wouldn't have cared if she did). Arthur is looking bored. Elena, who doesn't seem to like curried cauliflower, tried to hide hers in the centerpiece decoration. This resulted in some rather large stains on the table cloth, but she's covered them up with her napkin and Merlin pretends he hasn't seen. It wouldn't be good manners to point it out, anyway.

Merlin is almost done serving the third course – braised rabbit with Spanish rice – when Gwaine spills his soda all over the the table. Vivian squeaks and pushes her chair back, although she was never in any danger of getting drenched. Gwaine looks at Merlin, his happy grin gone and replaced with a woeful expression.

"Sorry 'bout the mess," he says. "I'll help clean it up, yeah?"

Valiant snorts unkindly. "You don't have to clean anything. That's the freak's job."

"What's a freak?" Gwaine asks.

"It's a word only asshats like him use," Arthur says, glaring at Valiant.

"What's an asshat?" Gwaine asks, looking interested.

"There's one sitting right next to you," Arthur replies, as if Gwaine had asked about the pretty pictures on the wall. "See? The big bloke with the face like a dropped pie."

"Why don't you shut your fucking mouth, Pendragon," Valiant snaps.

Morgana laughs her evil laugh, and Merlin knows what's coming; no one but herself is allowed to torment Morgana's little brother. "Ooh, what a witty comeback, Val. How long did it take you to come up with that one?"

Valiant blushes an angry crimson. "You keep out of this, Morgana."

Morgana smirks and tosses her hair back. "Or what, pie boy?"

Valiant takes a deep breath, but luckily Gwaine pipes up before he can say anything. "My shirt's all wet," he says mournfully, pulling it away from his body. "All sticky."

"Come on," Merlin says, glad to get away from the table. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Gwaine prattles on the entire time they spend in the bathroom to wash the soda stains out of his shirt. Merlin doesn't mind. It's much easier listening to Gwaine's talk about Christmas presents than thinking about Valiant, and the way Arthur stood up for him.

"I'm gonna get lots and lots of presents." Gwaine says, rubbing both hands through his hair and admiring his disheveled self in the mirror. "Are you gonna get many presents?"

Merlin shrugs. "Maybe... a dog."

"Cool! Mum says I can't have a pet until I'm seven," Gwaine informs him. "Does your Mum like dogs?"

Merlin feels something clench in his stomach. "I guess so," he says, trying to smile for Gwaine, who is sort of like a puppy himself – bouncing, happy and always in trouble. "C'mon, I've got to serve the next course."

"Why?" Gwaine asks his favorite question.

"Because there's another course, and then there's dessert."

This last bit of information distracts Gwaine enough to make him forget about dogs and mums, allowing Merlin to bundle him back into the dining room and onto his chair. Someone has spread a napkin over the soda stain, and both Arthur and Valiant sit there with their arms crossed, looking grumpy. Morgana is smirking at no one in particular.

The rest of the dinner passes without incident (except for Arthur and Valiant glaring at each other). Gwaine charms Morgana and Elena until they share their dessert (cocoa truffle tarte) with him, and adds a few chocolate stains to the soda one, but no one cares about that. When Uther asks everyone to retreat to the drawing room, Gwaine is the first to jump off his chair.

"Race ya!" he shouts at the rest. Elena laughs and runs after him, nearly stumbling over the hem of her dress.

"Really," Vivian says. "Could she be like, any more immature?"

Behind her back, Merlin catches Morgana rolling her eyes.

He begins to clear away the dessert plates, loading them onto the trolley. Gaius, who is busy doing the same at the big table, catches his eyes and nods. Good job, his expression says, and Merlin smiles. These dinner functions aren't that bad, really. And with Gwaine and Elena around, any spillage that might occur is not going to be blamed on him.

"Aren't you coming?"

Arthur is leaning against the table, looking uncomfortable (although that might be because of the white shirt and tie he's been forced to wear). Everyone else but the servants has already gone to the drawing room.

"I've got to take these to kitchen," Merlin says, nodding at the trolley.

"Can I come?"

Merlin blinks. "You want to come with me to the kitchen?"

Arthur nods.

"Aren't you supposed to be in the drawing room?"

Arthur grimaces. "I don't really want to listen to Vivian sing, or Valiant murder Christmas carols on the piano."

Which, Merlin thinks, is a bit rich, coming from the Howler Monkey Violinist, but he doesn't say so. It was really decent of Arthur to tell Valiant to shut up.

"Yeah, okay," he says, grabbing the trolley. "I've got to go back after I've taken care of these, though."

Arthur falls into step next to him. "Valiant's a wanker."

"Yeah," Merlin says. He knows he's not supposed to say things like that, or even agree when things like that are said about Uther's guests, but this is Arthur. "I thought he was a creep."

They grin at each other, and Merlin's somber mood evaporates, just like that. Vivian hasn't eaten most of her truffle tarte, and Merlin sticks a finger into the leftovers, scooping up a large gooey bit. It tastes delicious.

A year ago, Arthur would have told him not to be disgusting like that, but he doesn't now. After spending so much time with Merlin, Arthur knows that the servants don't get to eat until the official party is over, or whenever they can grab something in between.

They take the servants' lift downstairs, the door opening to reveal the hustle and bustle of the kitchen. Someone grabs the trolley from Merlin's hands ("About time, too – oh, sorry, didn't see you there, Master Arthur!"), while someone else shoves a tray loaded with biscuits and sweets into his arms. "Take those to the drawing room and make sure they don't run out – hurry, now!"

The door closes again, taking with it the noise, steam and smells. Arthur blinks. "Is it always like that down there?"

"Must've been worse before dinner," Merlin says. "They're just cleaning up now – hey! They'll think I took that!"

"It's for the dinner party anyway," Arthur says around the fudge in his mouth. "No one's going to notice."

"Gaius is," Merlin says as the lift door opens. "He'll be looking for you, by the way."

"Indeed," a voice says behind them. Gaius seems to have materialized out of thin air in that unnerving way of his, and he does not look happy. "Master Arthur, your father's been asking for you. What are you doing out here?"

"Helping Merlin take the dinner stuff to the kitchen. It was too heavy for him to carry on his own," Arthur says sanctimoniously.

"You prat, you didn't-"

A look from Gaius cuts Merlin off. "Merlin, you'd do better not to finish that sentence and get yourself to the drawing room this instant. They're nearly done with the musical performances. Master Arthur-" Only Gaius could make the honorific sound like a threat. "I strongly suggest that you stop hiding in the hallway and proceed to the drawing room, where your father expected you ten minutes ago."

His eyebrow has been climbing steadily higher, making him look rather dangerous. Arthur mumbles something indistinct and sets off for the drawing room rather quickly, Merlin in his wake. Gaius' Eyebrow of Doom seems to follow them like an armed guard.

"It's almost time for your magic show, isn't it?" Arthur whispers as they slip into the room.

Merlin sets down his tray on a nearby table. His performance was supposed to be a secret, but he knew Arthur would sulk for weeks if he didn't tell him. Besides, he wanted someone to share the news with.

"Almost," he whispers back, and suddenly his stomach is a nothing but a ball of nervous energy. There are so many people, all of them in their posh evening gowns and dinner jackets, and they're all going to be staring at him. What if he stumbles on his way to the fireplace?

"Arthur." Uther is standing by one of the tables, gesturing for his son to come over. He doesn't look too pleased. "Where have you been? Come on, I've been meaning to introduce you to Lady Helen."

With a long-suffering glance at Merlin, Arthur begins to walk over to his father and a beautiful lady in a yellow gown. As Merlin sets out to refill the plates with biscuits and chocolates, he catches a fragment of whispered words: "...not appropriate for you to tag after that serving boy when our guests are waiting..."

The Christmas tree is beautiful. Merlin stares at it, and for a moment forgets all about Uther, the guests and his imminent performance as a surprise act. There's another tree in the entrance hall, and small one in the servants' common room, but neither of them can compare. This one's at least four meters tall, and the angel on top almost touches the ceiling. There are so many lights on it, you can't look at it without squinting. Garlands are wrapped round and round, and Merlin just itches to see if those baubles on the lower branches are really made of chocolate.

"Don't even think about it," Gaius says in an undertone, appearing next to him. "Fill those plates over there and do not let me catch you touching that tree."

Gaius seems to be on edge, and Merlin knows that it's better not to point out that he wasn't doing anything. Arthur has been pulled onto a chair next to his father, where he sits with his arms crossed, looking sulky. His tie is askew, and he's wiggling his left foot, the way he does when he's annoyed.

At the piano, Valiant just finished a rather martial rendition of "Joy to the World", and everyone applauds dutifully.

More servants enter the room with trays, and Gaius directs Merlin to serve bowls of mulled fruit and custard to the tables in his vicinity. The dessert smells wonderful, and Merlin's stomach clenches again, this time with hunger. He hasn't had anything to eat since the hastily put-together sandwich Gaius pushed at him for lunch. Many of the guests hardly touch their servings, which is no surprise - they just finished a five-course dinner, the greedy pigs. Gaius glances at him, and Merlin wonders for the umpteenth time if Gaius has some kind of psychic mind-reading power that alerts him whenever Merlin thinks something inappropriate or disrespectful.

Then, Uther gets to his feet, and Merlin realizes with a jolt that it's time. Time for him to walk out in front of all those people, some of whom are just like Valiant.

"Thank you all for joining my family and me here today. It is an honor." Uther pauses, and everyone applauds. "We've had some wonderful entertainment by our talented young guests-" -more applause- "-and I'd like to add to that by presenting to you a performance that was especially prepared for tonight."

'Presenting', Merlin thinks. So he is sort of like an heirloom in a display case – only one that can move, talk and perform magic tricks.

"Gaius, if you would send up the boy."

Merlin is about to head for the fireplace when he feels a hand close on his shoulder.

"Your apron," Gaius hisses.

"Oh." Merlin blushes fiercely and quickly unties the serving apron, handing it to Gaius. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Gaius only reminded him a hundred times to take it off.

It's very hot in front of the fireplace. Merlin tugs at the hem of his sweater, feeling his face burn. They're staring at him, all those ladies and gentlemen who have never touched a dust rag or dirty dish in their lives. Some of them are smiling, but most look politely surprised, or exchange glances with one another. Servants – Sorcerers – aren't acknowledged or spoken to; it isn't done, and certainly not skinny little serving boys like Merlin.

"This boy," Uther says, "came into my possession four years ago. One year ago, his powers manifested themselves in an unusual way, and I had him taken in for testing. He was examined by the leading experts in ESP study and control, who assured me that they'd never come across an individual as powerful as him. His levels of Extra-Sensory Power are unparalleled, and he's performed magic that experts believed to be impossible."

By now, the guests are muttering to each other, and some are shaking their heads. A bearded man at one of the tables closest to the fireplace cleares his throat.

"Bayard?" Uther asks.

"Well," Bayard says, "as far as I know, a Sorcerer's magic doesn't reach its full potential until puberty. How old is this boy?"

"Eleven," Uther replies in a strange tone, as if he's trying to suppress a smile. "He was tested when he was ten."

"Who tested him?" one of the men at Bayard's table asks.

"Dr. Aredian and his team. I have the reports if you'd like to look through them."

Bayard eyes Merlin as one might look at a fascinating but dangerous animal. "If he's that powerful, how do you keep him restrained?"

Uther doesn't lose his not-quite-smiling tone. "Dr. Aredian designed a reinforced version of the standard controls. He and his team assured me that they're a hundred percent secure." He holds up a small, black device. "I'm in complete control of the boy."

"Merlin," a voice says, and everyone turns their heads. Arthur sits with his arms crossed, staring at Uther with a strange expression on his face. "His name is Merlin."

A second or two of awkward silence follow. Then Uther cleares his throat. "Yes, that's right." He smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "My son has become rather attached to the boy."

Bayard makes an impatient gesture. "I'm not quite sure about this, Uther. If the boy's that special, why has the discovery been kept secret?"

"Because I asked Aredian not to spread the news," Uther says simply. "I didn't want a media stir, and I don't want any trouble in my household. But I'm sure the boy's talent will find its uses in time."

Uther smiles again, and this time it reaches his eyes, but the general impression is not one of kindness; rather that of a predator moving in for the kill. "Let's not get caught up in the details just now. I'm glad so many of you could join us here tonight, and Merlin has prepared a very special performance for the occasion."

He steps closer, and Merlin feels the touch of the controller at the back of his neck. He doesn't understand how the device works, of course not. Sorcerers have no mind for technology. That is what the Naturals say, anyway, and it's probably true. All Merlin knows is that it has something to do with microchips implanted at the base of his skull, and impulses that are blocked or interfered with. Uther, whose fingerprint is programmed into the controller, is the only person who can release his magic – for a minute, an hour, a day, just as he wishes.

The device feels cool against his skin, and Merlin holds his breath, waiting. For a second, nothing happens. Then there is a jolt, and a rush like a sudden gust of wind. Some of the guests draw a sharp breath, as if they have felt it too. The magic is free.

Next up: Merlin's magical Christmas show :)

Reviews are vey welcome!