Em stared up at the massive gates that led into the city of Camelot, and felt he was staring Death in the face. Just two brief hours ago, he had hugged his uncle, brother, and cousin goodbye before making the final leg of the journey to Camelot by himself. The whole trip had been extremely stressful—they had a few close encounters with Camelot soldiers on patrol, including an experience that led to them hiding in a cave for half a day. That had been fun.

He was in the damn city now, at least. Well, almost. He still had to walk through the gate.

He did not want to, though. Despite its white stone walls, magnificent castle, and cozy little cottages whose chimneys let out puffs of smoke, he could not shake the feel that death was imminent. How could a Druid not feel that way in Camelot?

How had Finnlagh been able to stay undercover here for years? He'd been standing outside the gate for about ten minutes and he was ready to leave.

At least he had Bandit with him. The shepherd pressed against his leg comfortingly, tail wagging. Em buried his fingers in his dog's thick fur and closed his eyes. He muttered a quick prayer to nature and moved forward with resolve. Bandit followed him like a shadow.

To get through the city, one had to state their name and reason for entering the city to a guard. Iseldir had coached him on what to say, but Em still worried that he would somehow come off as a Druid to the vigilant city guards.

He waited for about fifteen minutes—there were half a dozen people ahead of him, mostly farmers looking to sell their crops in the city market.

Finally, it was his turn. A guard in his mid-thirties beckoned him forward. He wore chainmail, the Pendragon coat of arms, and a battered helm. A well-used, sheathed sword hung on his hip. "State your business here, where you come from, and your name," the guard said gruffly. He eyed the sword that hung on Em's own hip.

"My name is Merlin, sir, and I am of Essetir. I came here to seek out my uncle, who is the court physician."

"How does an Essetirian have family in Camelot?"

"My mother hails from this land, but she married an Essetirian and moved out there to reside with him."

"What's the dog for?"

"Protection and companionship on the road."

"And the sword?"

"Same reason as before, sir," Em said, trying to sound confident.

The guard's lips twitched in the tiniest hint of a smile. "Is the sword a better companion than the dog?"

"It depends," Em said with a laugh.

The guard finally nodded. "You may enter the city. Go to the palace gate and tell them you wish to speak to the court physician."

"Thank you, sir," Em said. He hurried into the city.

He forgot some of his worries and fears as he walked through the city's Lower Town. Though it was a slum, the dilapidated cottages were far nicer than the huts back home. They had actual chimneys, rather than holes cut into the roof to let smoke out. The dirt streets were bustling with people selling wares and trading. Women did laundry and sewed on front their stoops, chatting with one another. Children played in the streets. Chickens, pigs, cats, and dogs roamed everywhere. It was equally overwhelming and fascinating. As he moved deeper into the city, heading closer and closer to that big white castle, it became a lot nicer. The cottages were not so rundown, and the dirt beneath Em's feet eventually gave way to cobblestone. Finally, he found himself in a square just outside the castle. A big crowd was forming around a raised platform.

When Em got closer, he realized something was terribly wrong. Four men stood on the platform—one bound and beaten, a masked man, and two guards with spears pointed at the bound man.

This was an execution.

Em stood at the edge of the crowd. He knew he shouldn't be watching this, but…

He couldn't draw his eyes away from it. Bandit whined a bit, and Em stroked his silky ears.

A man's voice boomed out, so loud that Em thought it was amplified with a spell. Then he remembered that this was Camelot, and all spells were illegal. Em looked up to see the source of the voice. A man swathed in a fine tunic and scarlet cape stood on a balcony jutting out of the castle. Half a dozen guards surrounded him. Em recognized him immediately as Uther—Iseldir had conjured the likeness of the man in a fire last night. A faint scar sloped down one side of his face and, though he was now aged, one could tell he used to be handsome. Just the sight of him made Em wish there was a spell that could whisk him away to Sábháilte.

A few other people from inside the castle watched, too. A girl clad in a fine blue gown, no older than eighteen, peered down from an open window, her elbows propped up on the sill. Her lovely raven hair hung in elegant curls, and Em could see the glint of piercing green eyes, even in the square below. He wondered who she was. Perhaps the daughter of some knight or lord? She was old enough to be married, he supposed.

Uther glared down at the gathered people below. Em focused his attention on the king. "This man, Thomas Collins, was discovered last night by our esteemed city guards, practicing the dark art of sorcery. Since the Purge, I have worked tirelessly to cleanse Camelot of the disease of magic. Sorcerers are a blight upon this land—they would have destroyed this realm if not for the Purge. Therefore, I can only do one thing: sentence this man to death."

Thomas Collins only clenched his jaw. The guards forced him to kneel down and place his head on a raised block. Em swallowed nervously as the headman hefted the axe. It came down—by Nature, the sight of it…

It was like watching Will and Alvarr cut the wheat with scythes during harvest season. The headman leaned down and held up the head victoriously. Em wanted to barf. Sure, he had killed those bandits in the forest all those years ago with Ruadan and the others—he'd stabbed a man in the stomach, watched him bleed out. But that had been a life or death situation.

This was the murder of an innocent man whose only crime had been practicing magic. Em wove his fingers into Bandit's fur. His dog whined again, smelling the blood. Em listened in horror as the king announced a celebratory feast to mark the twenty-year anniversary of the Purge. The bastard—

An anguished cry came from one of the onlookers. Em saw a pockmarked and gray-haired woman beating her breast in sheer agony. With pure hatred on her face, she looked up at Uther and spat, "Sorcerers did not destroy this realm, Uther Pendragon. You did—you slaughtered thousands of innocents when you conquered these lands." She pointed to the headless corpse. "You will share my tears. An eye for an eye; a tooth for a tooth;"—she took a deep, shuddering breath—"a son for a son*."

Uther's eyes blazed in fury at her words. "Guards, seize her!" he yelled.

As the two guards on the platform moved to grab the woman, she gripped an amber talisman on her throat and began to whisper something. Em reached out with his magic and sensed a dark, dark power unlike any he had felt before.

The woman disappeared in a swirl of dust and rags. Uther's guards bustled him into the palace. The girl watching from inside the castle shut her window and disappeared. The guards in the square ordered the crowd to disperse immediately. Em stood there in shock for a moment. He had lived among powerful sorcerers for years—hell, he was the most powerful sorcerer amongst the Druids—but even he was not able to cast a disappearing spell. Those were the thing of legends. Then again, there always was some truth in legends. Perhaps those with the ability to cast such spells were so rare that they have become legends themselves?

Em could not wrap his mind around it. Sighing, he whistled to his dog and approached the palace gate. Two burly guards stood in front of it, armed with nasty spears. Em's hand wanted to seek out the comforting weight of his sword hilt, but the Druid knew it would only aggravate the guards and motivate them to use those spears on him.

"What's your business in the palace, boy?" The one guard sneered at him.

"I am seeking the court physician," Em said with feigned confidence.

"Whoever's sick in your family, you won't be able to afford his treatments. Be on your way, boy," the guard said, eyeing Em's clothes and his slightly grimy face. The boy straightened.

"I'm not sick. I'm Gaius's nephew."

"Are you, now?"

"There's sommat of Gaius in his nose, Edon," the other guard said. He was younger, no more than nineteen.

Edon tilted his head. "What did you say your name was?"

"Merlin. I'm his sister's son," Em said.

Edon elbowed the younger guard. "Hudde, show him to Gaius's chambers and report back here as soon as you are done."

Hudde nodded. Edon let them inside the palace and Em was blown away by the intricate stonework and many stairwells and passage. Hudde took him down one hallway, and then another. They went up another set of steps, down another hallway, and finally a staircase that led to a plain oak door with a sign that read Court Physician. "Here we are," Hudde said. With a final wave, he trotted back down the stairs and went on his way.

Em stared at the door for a minute before he mustered up the courage to knock. Finally, he brought his knuckles to the door and rapped firmly on it. He heard a muffled shout of, "Come in!"

Em hoisted his pack and opened the door. He stepped in and was faced with a white-haired man who looked startlingly like his brother Gilli.

Gaius was faced with a raven-haired, blue-eyed, grimy-faced youth dressed in worn clothes. A pack was hoisted on his back, and a shepherd dog stood beside him, tail thumping. He wore a sword belt with a battered scabbard. The boy was barely sixteen, if that.

"Who are you?" he asked, tilting his head.

The boy fiddled with his hands. "I-I have a letter," he managed. He reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a worn piece of parchment sealed with beeswax. He handed it to Gaius silently.

Perplexed, Gaius took the letter and went to his worktable to grab his spectacles. Tearing the seal open, he began to read. He teared up when he recognized the handwriting:

My dearest Gaius,

I believe it has been nearly ten years since I last wrote to you. We had to flee one night for reasons I am sure you are aware of and have been in hiding since. We are safe, and happy. (Magic, Gaius surmised) I have sent you your nephew. He is the third eldest. You may call him Merlin. (The name of Hunith's third child was Emrys, he was sure of it! And "you may call him Merlin"—what an odd way to word that. He would have to question the boy on it later.) He is much like his father. He's a good lad, and a hard worker. Please keep him safe.

Your loving sister,

Hunith

Gaius's hands were shaking. "You are Hunith's son?" he asked. "Which one?"

"The third one." The boy swallowed nervously. "I am Merlin."

"But my nephew was named—"

"Call me Merlin," he said, almost pleadingly.

Gaius let the matter drop. "It says here you are much like your father. Do that mean…?"

"Yes," the boy whispered.

Gaius stared at him, stricken. "Why would she send you here?"

"I—" Emrys, or Merlin, or whoever the hell he was, shook his head and held a finger to his lips. He opened the door and disappeared for about two minutes. Gaius thought about going after him, but fed the dog some leftover bread from his breakfast instead. When the boy returned, he looked much more self-assured.

"I set an alarm spell at the bottom of the stairs and a spell that seals in all sound from this room," he announced. "Now we may speak freely."

"You what?" Gaius's mouth opened and closed several times, like a fish's. "You cast spells in the king's palace? That could get you killed, my boy."

"I know. I just can't get caught." The boy sat in the chair across from Gaius. "Let me properly introduce myself, Uncle. I am Emrys, the son of Balinor and Hunith."

"I gathered as much." He tried to think of some logical explanation, some reason as to why Hunith and Balinor would endanger their son like this. "Why are you here? Where has your family been all these years?"

"Uther's men came for us one night, and we fled. We joined the Druids," Emrys said shortly. "My family is safe and happy. I was sent here to fulfill a prophecy."

"What prophecy might that be?"

Quickly, Emrys explained to him the Vision his uncle—"my father's brother, not one of yours"—had Seen, and the strange warning from the woman in the dream. All of it was very precise and to the point, like it had been rehearsed. Still, Gaius saw the doubt and the terror in his nephew's eyes. He wanted to hug the boy, but he did not know him well enough to do that.

"While I conduct my mission here, I need a place to stay. My mother hoped that you would be gracious enough to let me stay with you."

"Yes, of course." The boy would not be much a burden. Gaius had plenty of money saved up, and the lad was so skinny. He probably did not eat very much.

"You also must call me Merlin. We have a story prepared—I am the bastard son of your youngest sister Sefa. To keep her reputation, she sent me to live in Essetir with your sister Hunith. When I became old enough, Hunith sent me to Camelot to find work. I do not know who my father is."

"But Sefa had no bastard son, only the child she died giving birth to. That boy died as well," Gaius said in a low voice. "If anyone from my home village came to Camelot, they would be able to disprove that story immediately. Furthermore, my brother-in-law Norman lives in Camelot. Most of the people acquainted with me know he was married to my deceased sister. Surely he would have mentioned a son if he had one?"

"He would not mention a bastard stepson," Emrys insisted.

"Say you are the son of my sister Hunith, her bastard son if you must."

"What if someone from Ealdor comes to Camelot—"

"Do you ever see that happening?" Gaius countered. "Ealdor is a small, isolated village in another nation. My home village is a two-day's journey away."

Emrys sighed. "I suppose you are right. So, I am the bastard son of your sister Hunith. We'll say she got impregnated by a trader selling his wares in her village after her husband died in a war. I have two older half-brothers, Will and Gilli."

"Why must I call you Merlin, Emrys?"

"Just as an added precaution. Pseudonyms help maintain your cover. In private, if you'd like, call me Em. That's what everyone back home calls me."

"Where's home? A Druid camp?"

"Yes." Em's face crumpled a bit.

"Where?"

"I can't tell you. I'm sure you understand."

Gaius reached across the table and gripped the boy's hand. "I understand." He released the boy's hand, and released he was missing a pinky finger. The scarring around the stump was fairly recent, no older than a couple of years. "What happened to your hand?"

Em yanked his hand back. "I lost it in an accident."

Gaius almost asked him to explain further, but the look of deep unhappiness and perhaps shame in his nephew's eyes stilled his tongue. "How unfortunate," he said instead. He stood up. "I'm sure you are exhausted from your journey. I'll show you where you will be staying. Does your dog have fleas?"

Em looked almost offended. "No, my mór—grandmother puts a fleabane tincture on him every month. His name is Bandit." The dog wagged his tail.

Gaius took him to the little storage room off the main chamber. It was tiny, with a few boxes scattered around, a small wardrobe, and a narrow bed he kept for his patients. Em stared at the straw mattress for a long time.

"Something the matter, lad?" Gaius asked.

"No, I just—back home I sleep on the ground. I have a couple blankets, of course, but we never have enough money for more than one mattress. Thank you," Em said, his voice thick.

Gaius felt stricken. He sometimes forgot the bleak poverty peasants in the outlying villages—or Druids in isolated camps—faced. City life had softened him. "I'm glad you like it," he managed.

Em unrolled a blanket stuffed in his pack and spread it out on the ground. "For Bandit," he explained when his uncle titled his head to the side, confused. He set his pack on the bed and headed back to the main room. The dog followed him like a shadow.

Gaius sliced some bread for his nephew, and they sat back down at the table. "What does your mission entail, exactly?"

"We don't know. The prophecy does not give us much to go on. My uncle suggested that I observe the royal family as much as I can, and go from there," Em said.

"This uncle of yours, is he Balinor's brother?"

"Yes. Well, Uncle Iseldir is his half-brother."

"Have you any way to contact him?"

"Of course. I have a scrying mirror that is a twin with one in my grandmother Emerald's possession. I could scry her right now if you wanted me to," Em said.

Gaius's head was spinning. He was suddenly yanked back to a time when such matters could be discussed openly, when his nephew wouldn't be killed for possessing a harmless spelled mirror. Looking at his nephew's dark hair and angular face, he was reminded of a much younger Balinor. He wondered what his old friend looked like now—was he still well-built and brooding, or was he fat and cynical now?

"Perhaps later," he said. "I want to get you set up with work first."

"I'm willing to do whatever," Em said. "I'm skilled with a sword and I know my way around a farm."

"You're too young to enter the guard, and farm work can only be found in the villages. Besides, you need a way to interact with the royal family…" Gaius snapped his fingers. "I've got it—I could find you work as a servant in the kitchens. You would serve at royal feasts and banquets, along with regular kitchen duties."

Em frowned. "Is it hard work?"

"I would say it is easier than field work," Gaius said. "You'd mostly be washing dishes and bringing meal trays for nobles. The pay wouldn't be much, but you aren't here to make money anyway."

"I wouldn't want to burden you," Em said carefully. "I'll pay you for my room and board."

Gaius waved a hand. "Don't be ridiculous. The king pays me well enough for my services, and I have saved quite a bit over the years. I have no children or wife to spend my coin on."

"Uncle Issy says the same thing. He has no wife or children," his nephew said with a little grin. He finished his bread. "I think you would like him, Uncle."

Gaius stood up. "I'll go speak to the cook. She owes me a favor or two—I make a potion that relieves her indigestion. Cook's an unpleasant woman, but she's fair and runs the kitchen efficiently. Meanwhile, you can deliver a few potions and medicines to some of the nobles. Address the women as 'my lady' and the men as 'my lord'."

"I—I don't know my way around here," Em said. The palace was a miserable rabbit warren.

"There's signs. You'll be fine." Gaius grabbed a shoulder bag from one of his worktables and placed a labelled few vials and small bottles in it.

Sighing, the boy took the bag and whistled to his dog. "If I get lost, it's your fault, Uncle," he warned.

Gaius laughed for what felt like the first time in ages.

A/N: Hey, long time no write. I am so sorry it took me almost a month to update. Things have been crazy lately-you know, the usual excuses. I am SO FREAKING EXCITED. Em is finally in Camelot! Sorry Arthur wasn't in this one, we were already to 3400 words and this seemed like a logical end to the chapter. But we have finally met Gaius, Uther, and Morgana. At least I fulfilled part of my promise? (Please don't hate me.)

As always, a huge thank you goes out to everyone who followed, reviewed, and favorited. I especially love reviews, they really do make an author's day. A 100+ followers is mind-boggling! Much love.

Disclaimer: the asterisk marks dialogue I took directly from the show, and is in no way mine. That is probably the only time I will ever do that. I just felt that it was too heartwrenching to leave out. Please don't sue me, BBC.