No man would ever be the Doom of Morganna. It just wasn't possible! She wouldn't allow it and she certainly wasn't going to sit and wait for the man in the shadow stalking her to jump her! No, she would fight the shadows. She would become the shadow so that she would see him. If she could see him, she could fight him. If she could fight him, she could defeat him.

If a vial broke, Emrys did it.

When the roof leaked, Emrys, did it.

If her nail broke, Emrys did it.

When she couldn't remember the words for a spell, it was Emrys's fault!

She had fought the old sorcerer over the Fomorroh and he had proved to much for her. Surprisingly he was more concerned about killing the creature than killing her and she had no idea why other than that Merlin must somehow be one of his confidants. She had no way of verifying that, but it was the only thing that made sense.

Merlin! Oh how she wanted to gut him. That sniveling little two-faced liar! She used to think so highly of him, but as much as she liked him – she now hated him. She would never forgive him. Never!

Instead of sending her to Emrys to learn magic, he had sent her to the druids. Emrys was to precious to reveal. He was more important than she was! Everyone was more important than she was! She was so easily sacrificed! So easily poisoned! So easily tossed aside.

She would make Arthur's manservant pay for pretending to care about her. She tried to run her hand through her tangled hair as she thought about him, but gave up when tugging made the knots tighten further. Merlin, he might have cared a little at one time, but like everyone else – when it came to a choice – NO ONE chose her side! No one who had mattered had for so long, Morgause had eventually, but she tried to Arthur first. When Morganna had learned of that, she forgave her sister. With all her heart she forgave Morgause, because they hadn't known each other yet. It didn't erase the fact that it had hurt so very much.

Morganna was tired of being hurt. She threw her head back and her mass of black knots and ragged curls slammed against her back. It no longer flowed around her in the soft veil. She chuckled softly as she considered how it seemed to match her progressing wretchedness that "they" would pay in kind for... it wasn't her fault.

She never asked for magic. She synthesized with those that Uther executed, but never once in her wildest dreams did she ever WANT magic. She didn't want to be a monster. She didn't want to be hunted, but she did have magic. She saw first hand what it was that Uther did. She couldn't be like the druids and wait peacefully to be caught and be lead to her execution.

She had no choice, but to advance her skills in magic. She had no choice but to take her sister's place as high priestess of the Old Religion. A grim smile graced her pale lips as she considered how much tougher Emrys would find her after she completed her transformation.

As George elegantly swept around the royal chamber Arthur stared at his form super-imposing efficiency with bumbling as if on instinct. Yesterday, did not happen. Arthur did not want to admit to losing his temper at Merlin. He did not want to think about the argument that had Merlin admitting that he should be sacked. He did not want to think about how he had pressed the thin frame of his friend into the wall without thought or mercy or how he had his uncle slap Merlin into the stocks.

Something was wrong with Merlin and Arthur was an idiot for not noticing! Guilt seasoned his midday unpleasantly, despite it being one of his favorite dishes. The seasoned chicken cooled in his fingers as the lump of flesh in his mouth defied flavor.

Seeing Merlin passed out draped over Percival's shoulder had made something in his chest tighten without his permission. Had he been paying attention, maybe that little scene would have never of played out!

George. Oh that ridiculously boring man. He was sweeping Arthur's room now and he was doing it wrong. For one, his mouth was shut. George's thin lips... well they weren't thin. They were thinner than Merlin's. Merlin's mouth was plump, like a child's mouth. No. Not like a child's mouth. He spoke like a child. His mouth was more like...Arthur glared at George through his lashes even though he was thinking of Merlin. Merlin's mouth was more like an Angel's mouth! No. Yes! Merlin might be a moron but he … No. It didn't matter what Merlin's mouth was like, because George was sweeping the floor wrong.

That boring manservant very skillfully swept dust and debris into little piles before ushering the piles into that collector thing and dumping it in the ash bucket. His grip on the domestic tools was more firm and commanding as if he was born to wield these as Arthur was meant to wield a sword. Merlin would fumble and drop the broom several times as if it didn't belong in his delicate porcelain hands.

His hands, Merlin's – did they even look like other people's hands? Certainly they did.

He felt frantic and a bit stupid. Since when did he think of Merlin as an angel?! HA! Arthur's head was spinning with confusion. It was the same problem. The same thing about Merlin from the very beginning. There was something about Merlin. Something he knew about the man from the moment their eyes met. He was bold, brave, and he was so stupidly delicate for one so resilient. Something was wrong, so very wrong with Merlin.

He should have known. He knew his friend. He knew his manservant's unwavering loyalty. He knew Merlin wouldn't have skipped serving dinner over preferring drinks with Gwaine. Something important had to have happened and of course Merlin would take the blame rather than try to justify. Even if he had a good excuse, Merlin would never even attempt see one for himself. He only excused Arthur's mistakes. He called them, "learning experiences" and "growing pains." A hiss of breath left Arthur's lips as the pain of shame overcame him. Shame wasn't an emotion Arthur was familiar with and he violently rejected it by flinging himself out of the room and through the hallways as he targeted the unpleasant source: Merlin.

Two young men, one with a blanket and an arm draping his shoulders sat side by side waiting for bowls of steaming porridge and bone warming, medicine laced, tea. Merlin had been leaning into Gwaine's half hug as he sniffled and shivered. Gaius had dosed him pretty heavily the night before and he still felt as if his mind were cloudy. Gwaine kept ruffling his hair on the back of his head and asking him how he felt.

Blue eyes humid with gratitude and pure affection drank in the knight at his side. Merlin didn't even want to wonder how Gwaine would react when he learned that Merlin had magic, but he wanted to believe that Gwaine wouldn't mind. He wanted to believe in Gwaine.

"Nobility is defined by what you do, and not by who you are. And these men are anything but. They are arrogant thugs!" that was what Gwaine had said about those of his own social rank that Gwaine rejected. He was the man who saw nobility in peasants. He valued actions and intentions.

There were so many times Merlin wanted to tell Gwaine. He considered Gwaine a true friend, but he still wasn't. He could never truly be until he could fully be himself with his friend. The knight was true and much nobler than any of the nobles he had met. In fact, in many ways Gwaine made Arthur look a bit churlish. Arthur had the weight of kingdom on his shoulders and he had been taught that he had to freeze his heart in order to make "just decisions."

In some ways, Merlin agreed that a governing body should not take sides due to personal affections – however to know the difference between right and wrong? That was when the heart was truly needed in order to avoid being cold and cruel.

"If it weren't for Gwaine's drinking and wild tavern behavior, he might not be able to hide his noble blood," the thought flit in through the fog in Merlin's head and quickly left again like a bird entering and exiting a mead hall in panic during a celebration.

The extra warmth and weight across his shoulders lifted as breakfast was served, Merlin sat a little straighter. His mentor sat across from him and began lecturing him on the intelligence of eating regularly, it would be the believable excuse that Gaius would blame for yesterday's black out. It was common for servants to occasionally black out from lack of food or water and even if Arthur blamed it on a hangover – Arthur couldn't argue with the Court Physician.

The times of the Pendragon's arguing with Gaius about his diagnosis's was now in the past if they wanted to keep him in Camelot.

"...me to feed you? Merlin?" asked Gwaine.

Merlin had been staring at his food. Suddenly he snatched up his spoon and began shoveling the watery cereal into his mouth as he bat the knight's hand from his spoon he admonished, "Gwaine, I can feed myself."

His face, neck and ears were approaching Pendragon red as his embarrassment blossomed. He did not want to be treated like a child and he shot a petulant look at his mentor who was so obviously trying not to laugh at him.

The door to their chambers opened as Gaius continued his lecture for the sake of Gwaine's understanding and as instruction to Merlin for excuse making, "How many times have I told you Merlin not to skip meals no matter how busy you are! You are lucky you do not collapse more than you have."

Arthur stood in the doorway, out of breath and pale. He had heard Gaius's admonishment and was taking in the scene before him. Merlin poured a copius amount of honey into his bowl and then began to slice an apple over the honey.

"Why didn't you do that when it was full?" asked Gwaine jealously snatching the honey from Merlin and copying his actions.

Mischief fluttered across Merlin's countenance as he answered, "Tastes better this way. The second half is the reward." As if to prove his point he lifted the sticky porridge laden with fresh apple and stuffed an overly large spoonful into his mouth, his eyes closing in delight.

"Enjoying your breakfast?" The cold voice of Arthur interrupted the peaceful scene. Gwaine didn't react much, he merely raised his eyebrows a fraction. Gaius smiled wanly. Merlin grabbed his hot mug of peppermint tea in an attempt to clear his mouth and nearly choked. His chair flew back as a flustered Merlin sputtered and rose rigidly to his feet.

"Sire?"

Arthur watched as Merlin's adams apple bobbed as if he were afraid he was going to be banished for passing out in the stocks. "Only Merlin could be so stupid."

"You know, you're not fired, Merlin." Gwaine and Gaius sat quietly in the tension.

"I don't like George waking me," complained Arthur. "You have no idea how long it would take me to correct his faults – if his faults are even correctable."

Merlin didn't smile.

Arthur frowned. Normally Merlin would smile that goofy smile and say something like, "so you like me being your manservant" or "you miss me?" or even "is that because I'm not just a servant? I'm actually your friend?" The later would be said in hopeful tones with even more hopeful wide eyes – like a child.

"Return to work tomorrow. Take today off, eat. I don't want you weak, making poor judgments, or passing out. Our guests leave tonight anyway."

Arthur turned and left. He didn't even bother shutting the door.

A month flew by without much of anything happening and Merlin was grateful. He finally had settled into a somewhat decent schedule. He was tired, but he did not have any more accidents. He hadn't accidentally spelled anything since the incident in the stocks. He was actually making decent money making herbal waters, spot removers, and a mild skin antiseptic that he made from goat weed for the apothecary.

With the extra money, Merlin was able to send his mother a thick wool fabric that she would be able to use for clothing or a blanket for the coming winter, paper and ink, and he was also able to send her some money to use if she needed anything. For himself, he was able to procure all sorts of things that he would need for his studies in magic. He even had a few spare coins left over which he hid with his spellbook. Soon, he would be able to move his mother to Camelot where he could take care of her properly.

Merlin really missed his mother. She said she didn't want to move to Camelot, but she had no reason to stay in Ealdor anymore. His father was dead. He would never return to her. Her wait was over.

He wanted to get a small place for her, like Gwen's house. Small and cozy. He would buy her a bed and a comfortable chair. She would probably insist on helping him with the apothecary items, and together they could make a living. She'd be close and out of danger. She could see Gaius when she wanted. She would never see another winter on a cold floor without enough food ever again.

The situation with Arthur was the same. He was still bombarded daily with goblets and boots, tasks that other servants were supposed to do were piled onto him, and there was a distance that had been growing between the two of them. Merlin was ashamed of being both taken advantage of and being made to look a fool by having so many chores that one person would never be able to complete them all without magic.

He cheated, of course, when he could.

He no longer tried to share a midday meal with Gaius. He stuffed apples and nuts into his jacket pockets and kept his gathering bag near at all times so that he could get supplies during those moments when he could leave Arthur on his own. Arthur wasn't likely to get in trouble at meetings or when he was doing paperwork. There was this new habit he had acquired lately of hanging out with his knights after practice and chatting. Merlin had no idea where that came from, but he liked it. Arthur surrounded by his men was the safest place he could leave him for an hour or so - while he ran around like a madman gathering supplies.

Merlin thought that he would feel better, but he just didn't. He didn't have any energy. The few times he went on patrol as either a rat or a cat – he was almost to tired to return to his room and change back into his human form. He felt like curling up in front of the fire in Arthur's room and sleeping. Arthur's chambers really were made for relaxing and laziness. It was a shame they belonged to a person who never actually used them for that purpose unless it was time for sleep. If anyone noticed the strain in the relationship between the manservant and his master of disaster, no one said anything to either of them.

The prat was always in peril of some kind and Merlin saved him from blisters, scrapes, and boredom – when he could. No one had shot an arrow at Arthur lately, but Merlin was always on alert looking for any sign of danger.

Merlin was still threadbare, but he didn't mind. He couldn't wear decent clothes even for his class. The last time his clothes were mended and spot free, he was living with his mother. He didn't have an ASS who threw things at him all the time who ruined everything that he owned!

Destinies are more than troublesome things.

Breaks were missed. Merlin fantasized about taking naps. Arthur reprimanded him for yawning, fidgeting, scratching at itches, and everything else that he did. It wasn't his fault! He was tired. He was itchy. He still got bored following around Arthur watching him do tough and rough guy things to prove to his people that he was the kind of man who could save the world!

Aggravaine was more aggravating than ever. He still mysteriously swept around the castle like he knew something that no one else did and Merlin knew that something was a someone named Morganna. He gave Arthur bad advice that Merlin tutted over after he left the room. He kept slithering around Arthur's advisers, asking them to dine with him. Asking them to many questions over to many servings of wine – he had a talent for making a real pest of himself.

The problem was, Aggravaine hadn't done anything that Merlin could turn him in for yet. He had no proof. No evidence. Arthur lapped up his attentions like a starving infant at the wet nurses breast.

Just when Merlin thought he could relax in a schedule, Arthur had to go and ruin it all.

They were going on a three day hunting trip with the knights.

That night, as the young warlock complained and whined about hunting, his mentor secretly worried about whether or not Merlin should go on the hunting trip. He knew that the boy would follow Arthur no matter where the royal led him. It was his duty to keep Arthur safe, but there was something that just didn't feel right about the hunting trip.

Gaius patted Merlin on the shoulder a few times before handing the boy his supper. Merlin wrinkled his long nose at the meal, but didn't complain. He didn't really like Gaius's cooking, but he was grateful for the food. Gaius watched the boy's face earnestly express all his feelings about how he really felt about hunting. Merlin hated seeing death. Gaius heard it all before and he knew he would hear it again. He didn't trust himself to comment this time. The more Merlin spoke, the colder and harder the knot of concern grew in the old man's stomach.

He didn't want Merlin to worry. He knew that Merlin's state of mind could affect his magic and so all he could do is give his ward, his nephew, his boy... a smile and sent him to bed.