Maybe one day someone would put this tragedy to music! Arthur mentally slapped himself. His vanity had once again grown. It'd just been mere hours since his loyal ego trimming companion had been struck down by a magical monstrosity of his father's making and already he was imagining musicians fixated on immortalizing his problems.

Arthur smiled wryly, Merlin certainly enjoyed keeping him inline.

There would be some who claimed that magic was merely a tool, but after what the druid leader had said about it – magic would never be the same to Arthur. His father had always claimed that magic was evil and those who used it were evil. He claimed that magic was something that could not been seen easily and that anyone could possess it and it could turn the innocent into evil. How wrong he had been! How arrogant! How misguided! Someone once said that magic was like a sword and it was up to the wielder how it was used? HA! That was bull. Sure, maybe for a sorcerer it might be like that. Sure, magic might be something that can be used for good or evil, but now Arthur knew the truth about magic and it made him angry.

Arthur stood at the window inside a room that used to belong the the former court sorcerer's chambers and watched the two druids leave Camelot. Their gray green cloaks danced in the wind as their forms retreated from the very citadel that would normally persecute them. How they knew they could walk in say those words and leave unmolested – was a mystery in itself or was it? They had spoken of prophecies. Magic. They spoke of things he had never wanted to know. It was more painful than hearing about his own birth and how his father had betrayed his mother by taking her future away by exchanging her life for an heir.

His father had been such a fool!

When Arthur turned he saw George, the pale imitation of his Merlin, trying to blend in with the décor of the room. They were surrounded by red and blue draperies, strange glass bottles, and dusty tomes. His father hadn't even commanded this room to be purged even though he had ransacked his kingdom of every magical being he could find. He left this room as some kind of shrine to his crime. A physical memory that he could visit. His priorities were no where near where a reasonable man's should have been. He'd killed healers and seers. He hadn't just focused on malevolent magic, he tried to strike down magic itself and now – now they were paying the price.

Perhaps one less drop of magical blood spilled would have prevented it, but once Uther set in motion the prejudice against those who had magic... he had set this in motion. "Normal" people took advantage of enchanters and killed them instead of paying. Magical people could not come for justice. Healers were sacrificed after saving lives. Seers condemned and burned after giving life saving prophecies. Magical beasts were ravaging the country sides – and he and his knights had put them down for the good and for the bad.

He wanted to be sick to rid himself of the turning feeling inside his guts, but he knew even if he did manage to vomit – it wouldn't help. He needed to cleanse himself. Camelot and it's rulers had enough of purges.

"You will say nothing. You will say nothing to anyone," commanded Arthur through his perfectly white teeth that were grinding together even as he spoke, "This is a secret."

Merlin wouldn't need to be told to be quiet. As much as his manservant could prattle on and on about absolutely anything under the moon and sun, Arthur hated to admit that Merlin knew when to keep his mouth shut. If he had decided to keep a secret, he kept it. If he was told to keep a secret, he kept it – unless it was only a matter of vanity.

Unsatisfied Arthur marched his way across the room, but just as he passed George – he had to catch his breath. For just a moment – one brief fleeting moment, he swore, the man had... rolled... his eyes...

"Are you trying to kill me with that infernal stench? Gaius, please, use the candles that I made! Tallow candles are hideous! Beeswax is so much better!" complained Merlin shouted from his room down to his mentor.

"How did you know I was using tallow candles?"

"Animal fat has a distinctive smell. I know they aren't pure tallow, but they still burn dirty. Don't use those sooty, disgusting candles. They pollute the room, the air, and my lungs!" yelled Merlin from above – his voice more annoyed than before.

"Merlin, go back to bed. If you don't behave yourself, I'll dose you so that you'll sleep for the next fortnight!"

"Is he always so sensitive?" asked Gwaine.

"Now that you mention it, no. He normally doesn't complain about what kind of candles that I use," muttered Gaius as he guttered the candles while Merlin cursed from his room about it being a crime to render animal fat for the purpose of candle making.

"How long do we have to keep him up there?"

Gaius shook his head, "I'm not sure how to explain his recovery. But," picked up several rolls of bandages and placed a few in Gwaine's hand, "Do me a favor, help me. We're going to go up there and you are going to help me wrap him up. We can make him look like he's being treated at least."

"Kitty cat man is not going to like this!" Gwaine started to chuckle as mischief flashed in his eyes.

Gaius frowned at him, "And YOU," he stabbed the knight in the chest with his index finger, "YOU could be less relieved, happy, and cheerful. At the very least be prepared to be appropriately concerned."

Gwaine giggled, "This magic secret keeping stuff is so sneaky. It's kind of fun."

Merlin thought he knew the meaning of the word demoralization. Working for, with, on Arthur for as long as he had – had always been a challenge to his own sense of pride. Even as a monster, he had his own sense of right and wrong. Even as a freak, he had some sense of decency. Sure he was different than everyone else, but his mother was "normal" and she had done her best to bring him up to be an honest and caring person. He tried. Sometimes he failed, but he tried to be Good. And yes, he had a belief that people, deep down, were all the same. That said, he thought he could trust Gaius and Gwaine not to throw his world into total chaos, but they invaded his room and... If, and maybe sooner than if, magic ever became legal – Merlin swore he was going to serve up a great big steaming heap of revenge on the two men who practically mummified him.

He understood the reasoning, but they had not been gentle. It would not had killed them to be a little kinder or be a little considerate of his modesty. He was never someone who was comfortable being naked in front of another person, although he had changed his clothing in front of others before. His modesty stemmed more from the shame from not being sculpted like a save the world kind of man by the quality of muscle. That said, they gave no thought to his shame as they stripped him down and wrapped him up in the long strips of bandages, wasting them – for he did not need them. They could have just done the visible parts and it wasn't fair that they had made the bandages beyond tight? It wasn't like they were trying to prevent him from escaping or something – were they? He didn't need them everywhere, but no Gaius went for "authenticity." Gwaine kept saying things like, "don't throw a hissy fit" mocking Merlin's transformation into a cat the night before. And as the mummification became more and more complete, his friends – his supporters went from serious to amused – and that wasn't very nice.

Gwaine was a bad influence on Gaius, Merlin decided as he glared at the handsome knight as the man patted him on the top of his head as he made cheeky comments on the difference between Merlin's hair and his fur.

After the binding, Merlin decided to call it "the binding," then they decided to feed him or rather Gwaine decided to hand feed him. He showed Merlin the scratches that he had gotten and moaned about the noxious treatment that Gaius had given him. Merlin doubted it was so heinous. Gwaine was grinning like proud sinner who was about to perform his next act of blasphemy in front of the gods themselves and Merlin glared at him with a mouth full of porridge. Any time he went to say anything in protest or defense, Gwaine shoveled an overly large portion of the gloop into his mouth and submitted him to another series of ridiculous claims. Merlin highly doubted he attacked Gwaine by leaping onto his face. He doubted that Gaius had to pull him off. He didn't think that he would have bitten his good friend. Yes he was clawed, but he was also told that the man had given him a bath – and even if he didn't remember it – doesn't mean that he had acted that savagely.

It wasn't long after the treatment that Arthur had come oozing into the physicians chambers, like a humble little slug. Maybe oozing was the wrong word, but Merlin wasn't in a generous mood. Gwaine had brought him down and had settled him onto a cot. He had gotten a chair with a highback and had pushed it against Merin's, he was peeling an apple and slipping sweet wedges into his captive's mouth chattering about having an opportunity to finally be able to fatten Merlin up. Maybe it wouldn't be so unpleasant, but Merlin was going to have to talk to Gaius about allowing Gwaine to feed anyone.

Apparently unless Merlin's cheeks were bursting like an over ambitious squirrel, Gwaine would be dissatisfied with his effort. The porridge was bad enough, but an overflowing mouth of apple was difficult. Chewing was nearly impossible – and Sir Handsome was still producing wedges. This was how Arthur found them. His blue eyes widened. Whether it was from relief or surprise, Merlin didn't know and really didn't care. He was preoccupied with other issues: not choking, chewing, breathing. Comeuppances.

Pendragon attention focused on him, the manservant. The knight, as if challenged, fed him the manservant – with continual heroic efforts. Merlin looked from man to man in increasing desperation. Arthur asked about Merlin's health and Gaius assured Arthur that Merlin was perfectly fine. Gaius wasn't even lying! He said that Merlin's injuries had been bad, but everything was fine now. He said he had no explanation for Merlin's good state of being. He made a comment about his energy being good and how he had been able to rest. Arthur was relieved but his voice heavy with emotion and confusion – however he accepted everything Gaius told him. Questioning Gaius about magic right now wasn't advisable and it was a magic bolt that had fried Arthur's manservant. There was nothing more Merlin wanted to do than to SAY SOMETHING, but Gwaine made that impossible. The knight was adept with a knife. He had nimbler fingers than Merlin had imagined. He was also more wicked in his heart than Merlin had ever wanted to give him credit for.

Gaius was wearing a familiar expression that he normally reserved for the more candid chats that occurred in these chambers. Merlin recognized it and he was hit with a second bolt. It wasn't from the storm. It was an intellectual one. As the realization struck him, apple sprayed from his mouth:

It was at this moment that Merlin realized that it was true. Arthur was his other side. He was the brighter side but the list went like this:

Merlin was smart.

Arthur was dim.

Merlin had a mother, and she was lovely.

Arthur had a father, and he was horrible.

Merlin met his father fleetingly, and it broke his heart.

Arthur met his mother fleetingly and it broke his heart.

And BOTH had traitorous uncles! Aggravaine was evil and Gaius just had an evil sense of humor.

Gaius was inwardly laughing.

Gwaine was doing this at his bidding.

All eyes in the room turned and focused on Merlin.

"You will say nothing."

The storm was Uther's fault and although he wasn't allowed to speak of it to anyone else, that did not mean that he wasn't allowed to do anything about it. George noiselessly glided through the castle in elegance. He wasn't tall. His frame wasn't exaggerated. His face wasn't romantically pale strained with late nights and bruised with the lack of sleep. He might don the garb of Merlin, but Merlin he was not – but he supported the brave man who could tame a Pendragon.

There were other servants who occupied the senior positions amongst the staff members, but there was the unspoken rule that everyone who worked in the castle had to obey the servant who worked under the master with the most power and influence. Most would assume that this would make Uther's manservant the master of all, but this was not true. He merely needed assistance in keeping the dangerous Pendragon – placated. No one wanted Uther stirred up. No one wanted Uther tired or cranky. And now that he was ill, his manservant merely needed support as his purpose and well as his job – faded into obscurity. The truth of the matter was that it was Merlin who commanded the most respect and had the most influence, though he probably did not know it. No one told him and most would assume that he would deny help even if it was offered.

Merlin worked harder than all of them put together. He also offered help to anyone he came across. He always offered to share his food. He always offered a smile, a pat on the back, and much encouragement. Merlin dealt with the most difficult Pendragon, for Arthur was physical and had been cruel. Since Merlin arrived that had changed and since Merlin arrived – Arthur had been more responsible and more humble. It was nothing short of a miracle.

Since Merlin had been injured due to something that was Uther's fault and it would be impossible to say what would happen to the kingdom if Merlin would not be able to tend to Arthur, it was everyone's responsibility to do everything that they could do to help the young manservant. Stables were immaculate. Boots polished. Dogs exercised. Floors were polished. Armor gleamed. Servants who did not attend Arthur added an Arthur related duty to their regular duties – and George had created a schedule to keep it going. Sure, they had all contributed to doing Merlin's catch up work in an over night emergency clean up, but now they all were prepared to function as an invisible servant. It wouldn't do to if Aggravaine convinced Arthur to formally replace Merlin. No one wanted that to happen. No one wanted to work for Arthur. He might be a different man now, but they were no Merlin. They did not know how to maintain the man. They did not know what it was about Merlin that made Arthur – Arthur.

George glided past a maid, but not before catching her eye and giving her a subtle signal. She lowered her head slightly, but he had not waited to watch for the return sign. His expert eyes took in the condition of the braziers, and the lack of maintenance of the sills. Some things were out of place sometimes and now it made sense to him. There was a secret warlock in Camelot and he wasn't an enemy. He was their friend and it was the duty of every servant in the kingdom to report it to George. George would then decide to either tell it to Merlin or to tell it to Leon. If it looked like a security issue, it would be told to Leon. If it looked like someone was just trying to move around, exist – magically – he would leave it unreported.

It wouldn't be the first time he'd seen signs of magic that he hadn't reported. He had been harboring guilt about his silence, but now he felt conviction. Now he had a reason to encourage others. He had seen signs of rat rubbings outside windows and nothing other than a shape changer would do that. Rats didn't turn around at windows. Rats came into windows. They didn't spy. If it were Morganna, Morganna wasn't subtle. She never was. It wasn't her style. If Morganna were spying on Camelot, she had an actual spy in Camelot. She would have a human in Camelot and it would be someone bold. Someone so incredibly visible.

George had an incredible amount of pride in his house keeping. He knew the difference between a rat rubbing and a whisk of a tail feather. He knew when smudges were from lady fingers or man fingers. He had a good idea when it was a servant who nicked kindling and when it was that a visiting noble had gotten cold and wastefully dumped kindling wastefully on the hearth. A servant would just take a handful. A noble would dump the whole bucket. Neither was something he would do anything about, but the noble's stupidity was something that he would chuckle about.

Merlin frequently gathered kindling for the castle. He also gave it out. He also nicked it. No one would ever call him on it.

One by one, he signaled other servants to visit him in his chambers later. Sure, he wasn't allowed to talk about what the druid had spoken about – however there was something that Arthur did not know about the staff of Camelot. All the servants shared information about their masters in case they had to serve due to illness or emergency. They had their own secret society. Nobles could never imagine the pains that were taken to ensure that comfort and peace of mind would always be available. Unless it were a matter of security – a secret would be kept. That was a given. However keeping secrets only for the matter of vanity? The Pendragon had a better chance of winning a verbal match with Merlin which basically meant, he hadn't a chance in hell of preserving that particular. Vanity was an illusion afforded by the wealthy that really did not exist, it was up to the staff to make them think that it had been procured.

Later while talking to the servants who had crammed into his little house, George explained to the other servants who were able to make the emergency meeting. He had only an hour to impart the information he had had and had been barely able to process.

Emrys was the man – no the warlock that Camelot needed. He was the one that would save everyone. He was the one who would suffer the storm the most. He was the ...

It was at that moment, George knew.

Arthur had spent a few hours at Merlin's side. He was intoxicated with happiness, beaming at his manservant. Merlin was alert and talkative. He was angry at his bandages. He insisted that he was fine and not in pain. He teased Arthur about overreacting and being a pain in the ass.

Gwaine had finally left announcing the need for barmaids and mead. He winked at Merlin, clapped Gaius gently on the shoulder, and swaggered – as only Gwaine can swagger – out of the room.