Author's Note: I'm afraid this chapter turned out to be quite short - sorry and I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

10. Ere the Night Is Over

Merlin was bone-tired. Being Arthur's manservant and Gaius' apprentice had been demanding enough, but now he was also a druid and had to sit through endless discussions about the rights and duties of magic-users. They were making progress, though, and Merlin was glad to see that both parties were trying. Arthur was still wary about magic, about what it could do, and wanted systems in place to stop any abuse of power and keep an eye on anyone who was magically inclined. The druids had radically vetoed obligatory registration, pointing out that it would invite persecution and discrimination and that not everyone with magical talent actively practised or was even aware of their abilities. That had taken two entire days.

"Merlin, stop daydreaming and get started on my bath," Arthur called, already shucking his shirt and starting on his belt. "The water won't pour itself."

"It's past midnight."

"I'm aware of that, which is why I asked you to get going. Run along now." Arthur made shooing motions with his hand.

"Are you also aware that there are three flights of stairs between your chambers and the well? And that I'd have to take them at least five times, down and up, to get the water for your bath, not to speak of the time it will take to heat the water and bring out the bathtub?" Merlin demanded. "It's past midnight, and I've been up since before dawn to get your breakfast, fix your tunics, polish your armour, walk your dogs and write down a schedule for negotiations today. I'm tired."

"Well, then think of another way," Arthur said offhandedly. "I know you can be resourceful with the right motivation. Take this as motivation."

Merlin froze. "Magic is still banned."

"But no longer punishable," Arthur pointed out. "I'll have my bath now, Merlin."

"Okay," Merlin said softly, his hands shaking even as the bathtub lifted off the floor, as it had done a hundred times before, but now under Arthur's watchful gaze. He stumbled over to it when it was positioned in the middle of Arthur's room and didn't dare to look up from the steaming water that slowly rose in the bathtub.

"Would you like me to add some bath oils?" Merlin asked timidly when the tub was filled.

"Sure, and bring me that sponge," Arthur said, already lowering himself into the water. "Your eyes glow when you do that."

Merlin hummed in vague agreement, handing over the required item and dribbling some herbal oils into the water.

"I've noticed it before, but I always put it down to a trick of the light or a flight of imagination," Arthur continued his ruminations. "Mostly when you were cheating at chores, though. I don't remember you using magic to save me."

"That might be because you have a habit of fainting at convenient times, Sire," Merlin mocked, ignoring the pang in the region of his heart.

Arthur sent a splash of water in his direction in retaliation, soaking the front of Merlin's tunic and his neckkerchief. Merlin sighed in frustration, nestling at the knot at the back of his neck until it came off, carefully wringing it out and putting it aside. When he looked up again, Arthur's gaze was fixed on his neck and Merlin felt the familiar panicked discomfort rise up in him.

"Why did you get that?" Arthur demanded with the mixture of accusation and protectiveness that had become his standard, and Merlin saw his fingers twitch as if he once again wanted to reach out, touch, but then thought better of it.

Theirs was a strained peace, forgiveness held at bay by guilt, betrayal, hurt, anger. Some nights Merlin woke choking on his own magic and the feeling of unwanted hands under his clothes, and some mornings Arthur avoided his gaze and his attempts at conversation with a determination that pulled the floor from under Merlin's feet. But there was also protectiveness in Arthur's actions if not his words, in his refusal to have Merlin anywhere near the stables or send him through the castle at night. And now this, overt permission to use magic in his presence, wariness but no fear, curiosity, maybe even a hint of acceptance. They were making progress.

"We needed to be a unity to create the barrier," he explained carefully. "The tattoo is my point of connection to their magic, and theirs to mine."

Arthur scowled. "What does that mean? Can they draw on your powers? Can they control you? Did you even think to ask these things before you let them brand you?"

"It's not like that," Merlin protested. "It's more of an awareness that I'm not alone. It helps me focus, gives me stability."

Arthur still looked sceptical and Merlin found it difficult to explain something that he only understood on an instinctive level. The very fact of Arthur's birth set him apart from everyone else, made him special and gave him power most only dreamed of, and in a way, it had been like that for Merlin, only that his gifts had often felt more like a curse, forbidden and damned instead of accepted and celebrated. Arthur would never understand how Uther's propaganda had affected him as a child, how his mother's love was not always a sufficient buffer against the fear and hatred of magic all around him, how alone and scared he had been any given day of his life. And by extension he wouldn't understand how good it felt to be accepted, no strings attached, to have the support of people who didn't see him as a monster.

"Here," Merlin said finally, reaching out for Arthur's hand and pressing it against his tattoo, ignoring the flare of panic as best he could. "Concentrate on me. I'll show you."

Arthur's wet fingers pressed only lightly against the black lines, but Merlin had to remind himself to stay in the present (blood gushing out between his fingers). He focussed on his magic, let it build up in the palm of his free hand, a spark of energy that made eddies dance over the surface of the water, drew it up in spirals and animal shapes; and the calm in the back of his mind, a levee against the storm of his magic like providing him with horse tack for a beautiful, wild stallion. He let the magic ebb after a while, drew the curtain closed on the connection to the druids and released Arthur's hand when he was sure the king had experienced what he had wanted to show him.

But Arthur's fingers stayed against his skin, tracing the intricate triskelion on his neck and Merlin couldn't stop his eyes from drifting close, leaning slightly into the gentle touch that would never mean what he wanted it to mean. Not after everything that had happened (he best not find out, then).

He jerked away, feeling guilty and lost when Arthur withdrew his hand immediately. He couldn't look at Arthur, but felt the water sloshing over the rim of the tub when the king got out.

"Get me that towel," Arthur ordered, his back to Merlin, and Merlin's magic flared reacting to some indefinable emotion in the air.

"Sure," he murmured, floating the towel over to Arthur and then busying himself with letting the water out of the tub and moving it back to its normal place so that he wouldn't stare at Arthur's golden form.

When he was done, Arthur had changed into his night clothes and was slipping into bed. Merlin made sure the fire in the fireplace would burn through the night and then started to douse the candles.

"Pleasant dreams, Sire," Merlin whispered, using the last candle to light his way.

"Tell me," Arthur stopped him. "Tell me how you saved my life."

"Aren't you tired?"

"I'm curious," Arthur replied, punching his pillow as if that would make it any more comfortable. "Tell me."

Merlin sighed, but obediently reversed his steps, dropped himself into the high-backed chair next to Arthur's bed. Arguing with the king was frustrating in the best of cases, and fruitless in most, and he simply was too tired to bother with it now. And Arthur wanted to know, had a right to know even; Merlin couldn't deny him.

"There once was a young warlock who lived in a small village at the edge of a mighty kingdom," he started when he had settled and gathered his courage.

"Merlin," Arthur interrupted, annoyance clear in his voice.

"That's right. His name was Merlin and though their life was simple and sometimes harsh, he was happy, content to help his mother and fool around with his best friend. But his mother grew steadily more worried that someone would find out about his magic, that they would harm him or take advantage of him. So she decided to send him to an old friend of the family so that he might teach the young warlock how to use his gifts more responsibly."

Arthur had turned to him, his eyes open and attentive even if he wasn't looking directly at him. And Merlin knew that he couldn't stop now, that he had to start somewhere and this might as well be it.

"The young warlock was sad to leave his mother and friend behind, but he was also excited that he would be living in a real castle and get to see the world beyond the confines of the village. However, he chose a bad day to arrive at the castle for the kingdom was celebrating twenty years of driving out the plague of magic and the king had just sentenced a man to death for the crime of sorcery..."

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