Of all the possible things that Gwaine could have said, it was beyond the last thing that would've have come to mind. For an awkward moment, Merlin was nonplussed. He knew his face must've been pale when he choked out,

"W-what?"

"Don't make me say it again," Gwaine hissed, eyes darting furtively. "I have magic."

"Magic."

"Yes, Merlin."

"How?" Merlin thought the question was obvious and easy enough to answer, but it seemed to frustrate Gwaine.

"I don't know!" The knight tossed his hands in the air. "I don't know. One day, I don't have magic, and next thing you know…" He ran his hands through his hair. "What do I do, Merlin?"

"Wait, hang on," Merlin put out a hand, "you mean to say that you just suddenly have magic?"

Gwaine shrugged helplessly. "I don't know, I guess…" he looked scared when he said, "that's how everyone says it happened with Morgana, isn't it?"

Merlin took a physical step back when he saw the fear in Gwaine's eyes. He felt guilty. Of course that wasn't what happened with Morgana, Merlin wanted to say, but he knew that if he did say that, he wouldn't be able to explain himself. Gwaine had his head in his hands, fingers knotting into his hair. Merlin reeled, trying to find an explanation, trying to find anything to say that would be reasonable under these circumstances. It was a situation he was completely unfamiliar with. Ironic, he thought, all things considered.

"How do you know it's magic?" Merlin asked.

Gwaine looked up at him. "Flying objects, animate swords, sun when it should be raining… I don't think it's exactly normal, Merlin." The serving boy was shaking his head.

"But you don't know any spells."

"No, but…" Gwaine spread his hands and raised his brow for emphasis. "It happened, Merlin!"

There was a pause. Merlin crossed his arms. "What did it feel like?" He asked, hoping he wasn't toeing any lines here.

Gwaine gave him an odd look, but answered, "Strange. Not… Not bad, but not really good, either. I didn't really the feeling until a few days ago."

"And it feels like that all the time?"

"No. No, only when… things go wrong. When things happen."

"Because of the magic?"

"Yes."

Merlin looked down at the ground and pursed his lips. It was hard to assess any type of magic that wasn't his own, especially because he'd only ever met one or two sorcerers outside of those who wished to kill him. What Gwaine was describing was relatively minor forms of magic; child's play, to Merlin, but non-verbal. Instinctual. Just like Morgana, Gwaine had said. But Merlin was unconvinced. Surely not. Surely Gwaine couldn't. But he simply didn' t know.

"When did it start, Gwaine?" He asked at length. Gwaine sighed.

"I've been trying to think. It was slow, at first. But… I think it was a little over two weeks ago."

"What happened then?" Merlin frowned.

"Nothing magical, if that's what you're about. The hunting trip."

"Hunting trip?"

"Yeah, remember? With the boar? You were rotten about it all, that day."

"Oh," Merlin raised his eyes in understanding. "Yes, I remember."


Sixteen days ago….

Merlin hated hunting.

He told Arthur often. In fact, he made it a point to mention it out loud every time it came to mind, just to spite him. But for some reason, repetition didn't seem to matter to Arthur, at least, not so long as it was Merlin doing the repeating. Something about the manservant's voice (particularly his whine, he'd noticed) had found a deaf spot in Arthur's eardrums over the years. Merlin knew this, but would be damned if he didn't try anyway.

"You just shot two stag last week – why do we need more meat?" Merlin groaned tiredly, letting his head loll back to the rhythm of his horse's gait. It was borderline abuse on his neck, but he was too sleepy to care.

"It's nearly winter, Merlin. We'll need to stock our pantries unless we want to starve."

"Oh, believe me, I've seen the pantries, we can make it without."

"What, and all end up looking like you?" Arthur quipped, "I'm surprised the horse tolerates carrying around a bony sack like you."

"Better bones than bulk, Sire."

"It's this bulk that that's making sure you don't die of starvation come wintertime, Merlin." He glanced disdainfully at his friend's sleepy form swaying atop his horse. "Though I'm sure you can think of plenty of other creative ways to get yourself killed, klutz as you are. Wake up, would you? I need you at your best so you can concentrate on not scaring off the prey."

Merlin heaved a sigh. "I should be asleep," he said.

"It's light out, Merlin."

"Barely."

"Ladies, let's not fight, shall we?" Gwaine's horse cantered up between the two. "I'm sure you're both just as lovely as the other after a beauty sleep." He glanced between them. "Mind you, I'm not sure that's saying much."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Gwaine, I thought I told you to bring up the rear." And keep your yammer out of my ears for once, Arthur added silently. Gwaine tossed his hair and smiled.

"And I have done, but I came to tell you: Leon's found himself a boar's trail."

"A bores trail?" Merlin asked, wrinkling his nose, "Well, tell him we've already found a trail of bores by ourselves, thanks."

Gwaine smiled at the joke, but Arthur tossed his head and sighed. "A boar, Merlin, not a bore, now come on." The king turned his horse back towards the rest.

"I think those are the same thing," Merlin said to Gwaine, who chuckled.

"I'll bore you if you don't shut up," Arthur growled under his breath. Merlin heard him.

"Too late for that, I'm afraid, I'm already done for." the servant shot back. Gwaine laughed again at Arthur's expense. Arthur said nothing, but sighed again.

Elyan stood his horse just by the beginning of the trail, and as they approached, Merlin ceased his pretense of banter. He didn't like hunting, it was true, and he wasn't all that much a fan of pork, either, but he knew the importance of well-stocked castle kitchens in the winter. Anything to keep Arthur from being grumpy on an empty stomach. Merlin was as quiet as possible as they approached the mouth of the trail.

"Leon and Percival went in to scout it out," Elyan told Arthur as the king dismounted, "Looks to be pretty big, by the size of it," the knight gestured to the large hole in the bushes scoured out by the boar. Its height was nearly to Elyan's shoulder.

"I'll say," Gwaine said, dismounting beside Arthur, "a right beast," he surveyed the huge hoof tracks.

"A right feast, perhaps," Arthur said, crouching down to inspect the trail.

Behind them, Merlin was making a ruckus of half stepping, half falling off his horse. "Great, lots of food. Does that mean if we kill it, we can go home?" he asked, brushing off his jacket and huddling against the chilled air.

Arthur stood and smacked Merlin on the back just harder than he should have. "So long as you manage to keep your stupid noisiness to yourself, we just might. Get the crossbows." Arthur drew his sword and began down the path, Elyan and Gwaine following closely. Merlin sighed and heaved a heavy crossbow off his horse's packsaddle. Why Arthur thought it wise to give the clumsiest, least-muscular servant in all of Camelot a job like minding the kings' hunting equipment at the crack of dawn in a quiet forest, Merlin wasn't sure. He knew his shoulders would ache later from holding it aloft. Following closely behind Gwaine, Merlin didn't get a good look at the boar's hideaway until they were nearly upon it. Eventually, they reached an open space that led to a large, untidy clump of bushes, where Percival and Leon crouched. Leon had his finger pressed against his lips for silence. Quietly, the knight made his way to Arthur.

"Is a huge catch, milord, but we'll need to bring it down quickly. I wouldn't want to face those tusks," He said.

"Right. We'll surround it, and attack in force." Arthur said.

"You think that will work, Arthur?" Elyan put it, his expression doubtful.

"If we work quickly – get a surprise jump on it."

Merlin gulped as he watched the exchange between knights. He knew that out of all types of hunting, boar hunting was extremely dangerous. Boars were huge, violent, and dangerous when angered. Usually, boar hunting parties had half a dozen more knights than their five-man company (not counting Merlin) and long, sturdy spears instead of swords. Unfortunately, Merlin also knew that under the circumstances, they couldn't bother about things like spears. The castle needed food, and they had to take what they could find, no matter how dangerous.

"It'll be a risk, Arthur," Leon said.

"Yes, and it'll be worth it. Capture this boar, and the castle will feast for weeks. I promise you, if you help me bring this beast down now, I'll buy you all drinks to celebrate after."

"Can I get that in writing?" Gwaine smiled. Arthur didn't answer, but motioned for quiet and moved around the bush. Using rough hand movements, he communicated their plan to Percival, and then to the rest of the knights. They slowly surrounded the bush where Merlin could hear heavy rustling and snorting. He fidgeted. As he crouched down into a fighter stance, Arthur caught sight of Merlin and gave him an annoyed look. He waved his hand quietly but urgently at the servant. Merlin took the gesture as a signal to get out of the way, which he did gladly, dodging behind a thick tree that he hoped, should it come to it, would be tusk-proof.

Merlin couldn't tell very well what was happening, but he heard Arthur shout "now!" and then there were swords and grunting and a high, keening squeal that he knew belonged to the boar. Then, out of the bushes, the boar charged, head high, Percival's sword still decorating its hindquarters. It charged blindly towards the knights it saw, and the knights swung and stabbed at it passed, dodging hooves and tusks. It slammed into Leon and the knight fell, leaving the boar with a new trajectory headed straight toward Arthur. Merlin's heart leapt, but he didn't miss a beat.

"Áblænde!" his eyes flashed and the boar reared back suddenly with a loud screech, blinded and stunned by Merlin's spell.

Taking the opportunity, Arthur stepped forward and planted his sword firmly into the boar's chest. As Arthur took in the feeling of victory, Merlin heaved a sigh of relief and shook his head. The knights slowly came around and ogled the huge game, slapping Arthur on the back in congratulations. Percival retrieved his sword. Arthur was smiling when he called back,

"You can come on out, Merlin, it's dead. Unless you too much of a girl for the sight of blood."

Merlin chose to ignore the last comment, although it was true that blood could make him queasy, on some occasions. "Great," he said, completely unaffected by the triumph that the others felt. "You've got your bore. Does this mean we can go home now?"

And it spoke to how happy Arthur was that he only let out a huge laugh and nodded.


"Yes, that hunting trip. You remember what happened afterward?" Gwaine was serious, but Merlin snorted.

"Barely."

"Yes. Well, you never could hold your liquor."


After they'd strung up the huge hog and dragged it back to Camelot behind their horses, Arthur held true to his promise (after some strong reminders from Gwaine) and taken the whole troop, Merlin included, out for a drink.

"To a good hunt, and a good winter!" Arthur toasted, and the rest followed. They all took large gulps from their glasses, but Merlin sufficed with only a small drink.

"Oh, come on, Merlin," Arthur teased, still too happy about the hunt to deal out any real insults, "you can let loose a little. This isn't one of your day-long escapades to the Rising Sun – you have my permission, have a few drinks." Arthur slammed his servant on the back and took another deep swig of his mead.

Merlin smiled tightly in response and watched as the mead and ale flowed in tankards to their table. Arthur may have thought that Merlin spent all of his free time and coin in the tavern, but truth was, Merlin had never been a drinking man. He didn't begrudge the taste of mead or ale, but then, he wasn't overly fond of it, either.

And of course, there was the magic to worry about. Merlin knew from working with Gaius that his slight built meant that he would get drunk far faster than the average bloke, and he knew from experience that his drunken delusions tended to be a bit more theatrical than others, what with the levitating tankards and magical apparitions and babbling in a language that could get him killed. He'd learned his lesson years ago with Lancelot, and he had no intentions of reliving it anytime soon.

Still, surely a little wouldn't hurt. So long as he maintained a sense of moderation, he'd be find. Besides, part of him thought as he took another drink, sure he deserved a little leeway. It'd been a long harvest and a hard season looking after Arthur. Surely, Merlin thought, he deserved a little break. He took another swig of the ale and watched the knights surrounding him slowly, over the next few hours, grow redder in their faces, freer with their smiles, and looser with their tongues.

Even as he realized that every one of them was drunk (particularly Arthur, which was met with huge guffaws of laughter by the rest) Merlin could feel a slight buzz taking over his head. His vision seemed strangely unfocused. Oh, hell, he thought in irritation, and shoved his half-empty tankard to the side. Gwaine took it without asking and finished it for him.

He was drunk. He knew he was drunk, although perhaps not quite as drunk as everyone else at the table.

"And then… I smashed it in two," Arthur swung his arm and unbalanced himself, landing half on the table." His head lolled. "Jus'like I told you. Don'you 'memer, Leon?" the king slurred.

Leon tended to get very giggly when he was drunk, it seemed, and laughed at the King's story. "I do, you were still learning how to fight," another giggle, "and barely knew how to handle a mace. Did he tell you, lads, he hit himself in the face with it, once," this earned a round of laughter from everyone except Arthur, who was trying (and failing) to maintain an air of dignity despite his drunkenness. The laughter continued and Arthur resumed his tale, but Merlin wasn't listening. He was trying desperately to clear the wool from between his ears and focus on anything for more than five seconds.

"Your Majesty," a new voice came in, and grabbed their attention through all the alcohol. Arthur looked up and around to another man, who looked like he must frequent the tavern, too. The man smiled. "I hear you and your men are celebrating a massive kill today, Sir," He said, and Arthur nodded.

"We are," he affirmed, making a huge effort not to slur his words in front of his subject, "a massive boar, size ofa boulder, wouldn't ya say, Merlin?" He rolled his head over to Merlin, and the servant nodded dumbly. The man smiled.

"Well, then, congratulations to your majesty and his knights. Here, have a drink on me, Sire, finest wine in the kingdom." He set down a heavy pewter gobletful of wine in front of the king, and Arthur thanked him blearily through his drunken stupor. After the man was gone, however, the king groaned and pushed it aside.

"Here, you 'ave'it, Merlin. I couln'da keep it down… you've bare'y touched your cup."

"No, Arthur," Merlin was surprised when his tongue felt like jelly in his mouth, "I don't think that's a very good idea…" He blinked.

"Oh, sissies, the both of you," Gwaine said, reaching for the goblet. "Let a pro show you how it's done," he said, and downed the wine. Arthur looked on with drunken amusement. Across the table, Elyan clapped.

"There, you see? Best wine in the kindom, he says." Gwaine smiled, "only wish I wasn't too drunk to enjoy it." Then, he promptly laid his head down and fell asleep. Merlin noticed then that Percival was drooling on the table, too. He sighed, and stood unsteadily to his feet. Of course it would be his job to get them all back to the castle. He stumbled around the table to the bar, where he paid the bartender before straggling back to his drunken friends, first to Arthur.

"Come on then, your Pratness," Merlin heaved Arthur up, who was too intoxicated to notice that he'd been insulted, "let's get you home."

It was a feat in and of itself that Merlin managed to get Arthur back without first collapsing himself, much less that he'd had the coherency to send some of the auxiliary knights off to fetch their betters from the tavern before Merlin collapsed on his own bed.

Gaius will kill me, he thought, before he fell asleep.


"You were far drunker than I," Merlin told Gwaine.

"Aye, but I can hold my liquor. But that's not the point." His expression remained seious. "When the magic started… Well, you should remember, you were there."

Merlin's started and looked at Gwaine in surprise. "What?" He said, "I think I might have noticed if my best friend had used magic."

Gwaine sighed. "That's the thing, you probably didn't. It wasn't obvious… Even I didn't give it much thought until later, when things got stranger."


Unfortunately, Merlin was proven right the next morning. He groaned as he awoke, his head throbbing and gut churning. He heard footsteps, and then his door was open.

"Merlin," Gaius snapped, completely uncaring toward Merlin's sensitive ears, "what have I told you about getting drunk?"

Merlin groaned, but didn't bother to look up. "To not to," he said hoarsely. Gaius sighed.

"Idiot boy." Gaius said, but it sounded strangely like an endearment. He sat down next to Melrin on his bed. "Sit up, and drink this."

"I wasn't as drunk as the rest of them," Merlin said as he took the potion and downed it quickly. He'd long learned not to ask what was in it. He grimaced fiercely against the taste.

"Yes, well that hardly matters if you lose control of your magic. You didn't, did you?"

"No," Merlin said, "I was actually doing quite well, up towards the end."

Gaius sighed and closed the curtains for Merlin's benefit. "I saw the boar," he said, "it's no wonder Arthur wanted to celebrate. But next time, please just get cider instead."

"Gwaine would make me get mead anyway," he said

"Gwaine isn't exactly the man I would take drinking advice from. The man's liver must be made of iron, but one day, it'll come back to bite him."

"Hrnng," Merlin hummed, too tired and hurting to form any real words.

"Once that potion kicks in, I need you to take some doses to Arthur and the knights. They'll need it, too."

Merlin grunted agreement and began praying that Arthur was still asleep. The king was hardly pleasant company when he was hungover.

By the time he'd given Arthur, Percival, Leon, and Elyan all their doses of Gaius' hangover cure of questionable ingredients, Merlin was surly, sporting a half-formed black eye, had been yelled at, hit, and had water on half of his shirt. He drew a huge breath and knocked on Gwaine's door, fearing the worst. After a few seconds of silence, he let himself in.

"Gwaine, wake up, you need to drink this." He set down the vial on the table next to the bed. "It's from Gaius. Come on then, get up." Too beaten to care anymore, Merlin fearlessly grabbed a bare shoulder and hauled the man off his stomach. The motion stirred him, but he was still in the land of dreams. Gwaine groaned and shoved half-heartedly at the air around Merlin's hands.

Merlin sighed. "Come on, Gwaine. Wake up."

"Nggnth," Gwaine squinted up at him. "What do you want, Little Horse?"

Merlin clenched his jaw at the stupid nickname, but ignored the knight. "From Gaius," He said, brandishing the bottle, "It's for your hangover. Though why you aren't just used to those by now, we'll never know."

"Hrmmn." Gwaine closed his eyes again. Merlin was struggling with the cork stopper.

"It won't… open…" He tugged at it, twisting and yanking. "How on earth did Gaius even get it in there so firmly?" He looked at it, and tried using a corner of his sleeve to grip the cork more firmly. On the bed, Gwaine wasn't paying attention, and was instead staring at the ceiling. He blinked a few times, and looked around, in strange surprise. Eventually, he snapped out of it and looked back to Merlin.

"No need to bother with it, Merlin," Gwaine sat up, smiled, and to Merlin's surprise, hopped up without a second thought or a single complain. "I feel fine," He said. Merlin regarded him incredulously for several moments before saying,

"Gwaine, you were sloshed. Truly and thoroughly." His hand was still wrapped around the cork stopper of Gaius' medicine.

Gwaine shrugged and adjusted his trousers. "Perhaps I was. But I feel fine now." He put on a shirt. "How's the princess faring?"

Merlin didn't answer his question, and stared instead. "I knew you drank a lot, Gwaine," He shook his head. "But really? Even you…"

Gwaine smiled wide, shrugged, and pointed to the bottle Merlin held. "You can save that for next time, Little Horse," he stepped out of the door, leaving behind a very befuddled (and slightly jealous) Merlin.


"You cured your own hangover?"

"Apparently."

"With magic."

"As far as I can figure, yes."

There was an odd pause between the two. Merlin unsuccessfully fought back a grin.

"I have to say, Gwaine, only you would use magic to cure a-"

"This is serious, Merlin," Gwaine said, and the deadpan tone let Merlin know that he meant it, "It's magic. I doesn't matter what I did with it, it's magic, and it could get me killed."

And Merlin knew he was right. He knew all too well. He frowned. He should know what to do, shouldn't he? He was the magic one. He was the one who dealt with this dilemma daily. So why did he feel so lost?