I spent almost a whole week by Merlin's bedside. He was weak and unconscious because of his high fever, and he was constantly twitching and tossing around in his restless sleep. We didn't have a physician in the village, so I had to treat him myself, but my basic knowledge of herbs and draughts didn't seem to be enough. He had never been so sick before, and I was unimaginably worried. I wrote a letter to Gaius; he was a physician in the king's court, so I hoped he would be able to help. He answered that the king wouldn't let him leave Camelot now because his son had chickenpox, but he was sure Merlin's illness was caused by shock and anxiety, and he sent me a recipe for a draught that could heal him.

I started to give that draught to my son, though it looked and smelt more disgusting than any other medicine I'd made for him earlier. On the third day Merlin slowly began to regain consciousness. I can't express how relieved I felt when I saw him opening his eyes. I gave him some fresh water like Gaius had advised, then I took his hand and we just watched each other silently as he was still too weak to talk. I smiled at him, gently stroking his small fingers. I knew he was going to be alright.

It took him a few days to fully recover, and I noticed that even after he got strong and healthy, he wasn't as happy and carefree as before. He played with Will much less than earlier, and I often found him sitting alone at quiet places, staring at the ground in front of him, deep in his thoughts. Gaius was right; I could still clearly feel his anxiety and fear, and it was heartbreaking to see him like this.

"What's troubling you, darling?" I asked one day when having supper. Merlin didn't eat anything, he just kept poking his food with his spoon. He had been having problems with his appetite since his illness. He looked up at me with a very weak smile on his face.

"I'm just trying to hold my magic back," he answered simply, but the next second he broke out in tears. He was crying silently, heaving deep sighs, wiping his face with his small fingers. "I'm tired, mother," he sniffed, swallowing his tears. "I'm tired and scared and I don't want to have magic."

I got up in an instant to wrap him into my tight embrace, and I could feel him pressing his face against my shirt. I'd have given my soul to be in his shoes and carry the burden instead of him. He was too young, too vulnerable for all this. Fate was cruel.

"It's alright," I whispered, knowing that it was a small consolation. "It's alright, Merlin. I know it's hard, but you must be strong. I'm here with you."

"Why is magic bad?" he asked in a hoarse voice. I hesitated; I never felt ready for answering that question.

"It isn't," I drawled. "Uther sees only what he wants to see. He sees how easy it is to hurt people with magic, and how it's used for evil purposes. But he can't... he doesn't want to see how it can be used for creating beautiful things and saving lives." He seemed to be confused and distressed. I took his hand and looked into his eyes. "You can quit using your talent and hide until the end of your life, but you must never ever believe that you're a bad person just because you have magic. You're special, Merlin, and your magic is a gift, not a curse, even if Uther doesn't understand it, and even if you have to keep it secret in order to keep yourself safe."

He bitterly curled his lips, and tears started to cover his eyes again.

"I can't quit using magic," he moaned. "I can't hide it, I can't... I'm trying hard to control it, but sometimes it just... happens."

For a moment I let my face darken, but then I forced myself to smile.

"Do you remember wearing a nappy?" I asked. He nodded slowly, though I was sure he could have barely remembered being such a small baby. "I think it's quite the same thing with magic. It takes time, but eventually, you'll learn how to control it."

I knew very little about magic, but I really hoped I was right. Merlin smiled back at me and nuzzled with me, yawning and rubbing his eyes. It was very late, his bedtime had passed long ago. Once upon a time I used to pick him up and cradle him in my arms until he fell asleep, but now he was too old for that. I led him to his sleeping place, covered him with his thin blanket and gave him a goodnight kiss on the cheek. Then I snuffed out the candle standing on the floor next to him and went outside with another one, because I still had some needlework to do. I thought that he would be asleep in a few minutes, but soon I heard his thin but excited voice beside me.

"Mother."

"What are you still doing here? Go back to sleep."

"Having magic is like having a sword, isn't it?" he asked, ignoring what I just said. I stared at him in wonder, and he continued. "You can hurt people with it, but you can also help and protect them, and it depends on you how you use it, isn't it? You know, I think if magic is forbidden because it's dangerous, then swords should be forbidden, too."

Merlin was standing there in front of me with his blanket on his shoulders, his eyes shining bright in the light of my candle, and I didn't know what to say, but I suddenly felt immensely proud of him.

Look, Uther Pendragon, my seven-year-old son is already smarter than you.