George had the sense not to blurt out his suspicions, but he saw pieces of the puzzle fall together for the other members of the society. Not every servant was welcome to join or involved, only the most trust worthy and confidential members of the serving staff were involved. Most of the members had family members who had served – it was really important not to let anyone in who could be bribed, swayed, or anyone who might blab about their practices. In many ways what they did would be more damning than magic. No Lord or Lady would want their private secrets let out and the posher the family – the dirtier the laundry.

Brock, the manservant to the Chancellor, financial Secretary, came late to the meeting. He was a tall young man who seemed to be made of patience unless he was under to much stress, who was a very important member of the society. "Sorry I'm late. My man's being a worry wart. Lots of talk and panic about some warlock named Emrys apparently at some meeting about the storm the other day. That said, now Aggravaine's been poking around on some sort of witch hunt. Practically accused him of hiding a magic user in Camelot! It took four pints to get my man to calm down after dinner with that oily piece of shite. I wish he would crawl back under the rock he came out of – how dare he..."

"Interesting," muttered one of the maids causing Brock to pause his tirade. Her name was Clothilde and she was proud of her braids, "Emrys is what we've been talking about."

"And?" curiously yet politely prompted Brock.

George cleared his throat, "Emrys is our salvation. Not just us, all of Camelot. In fact, all of Albion. He is an essential element to uniting the lands and bringing peace. Apparently he is here in Camelot. He's here in our castle, working behind the scenes. Protecting Arthur, standing in the shadows at his side. Hidden in plain sight. He and our Arthur are part of some prophecy with a grand destiny, however – his identity must remain secret. Morganna and Aggravaine are hunting for him."

Brock stared at George, "How do you know this?"

"The druids came and told Arthur this much and a bit about the storm. Apparently the storm is not a magical attack – it's actually magic attacking. It's all Uther's fault," explained George hastily. He'd already explained it once tonight.

"How upset was Arthur?" asked Brock, his concern was real.

George shrugged, "He's mortified, of course, because of his father's responsibility in ..."

"Not about that part, about Emrys."

"Oh that," smiled George wanly, "you know, I don't think he knows who Emrys is yet."

There was much muttering and rolling of eyes. No one said it but they were all thinking the same thing. In fact, the very words of the prophecy sort of gave it away. One only need to look at the man serving at Arthur's side to find Emrys and that was Merlin. Only Brock actually began to chuckle a little.

"What can we do to help?" the maid Clothilde asked.

George scratched his head, "I think in order to support Emrys – we need to step up our game. We've always managed around comfort and our predictions of what will be needed. However we're entering a time where either destiny will be fulfilled or all will come tumbling down. Destiny and fate are not the same, after all. Morganna and her kind will no doubt try to bring Camelot down. She will attack the kingdom, Arthur, and she's looking for... Emerys. We need to be ready for invasion, evacuation, and the ever so popular – seige. The people we support are the ones who need to witness the birth of Albion. We have to make sure that more people survive than die."

Brock interrupted, "Surely, this is a knights duty." He raked a delicate hand through his straw colored hair and sighed. Exhaustion was etched under his eyes, the normally well put together servant was in need of decent sleep. Aggravaine was harassing his master quite a lot lately.

Clothilde shook her head, "There's not enough of them. Morganna doesn't fight fairly. This is magic we're talking about. And.. Emrys, Emrys can't come out and fight face to face. He'll have to be sneaky which puts him at a disadvantage. Magic isn't exactly legal, you know."

"He should just eliminate her and then present his case if he's so great," an aging servant said as he passed out rolls with bits of rosemary and cheese baked into them. Cheese was expensive but used like this, it could be spread out and still be a treat. Grateful hands accepted theirshare and while exhausted men and women thanked the baker for his hard work.

"No," Clothilde protested, "No! Absolutely not. How dare you suggest that? He's not even a knight. He's just a man. He's protecting the very kingdom that condemns him. You ask for to much and besides that, that's not how the prophecy says it works."

"I agree with Clothilde," said George, boldly.

"What about Merlin?" asked Mary a scullery maid with a wicked sense of humor and an eye for trouble.

"What do you mean?" snapped Clothilde before George could respond.

"Does anyone know how he is? He was in such a bad state. I saw him when Arthur brought him in," Mary's eyes were misty with emotion. She had a soft spot for Arthur's manservant. George had thought they had all figured out the Merlin Emrys connection, but now he wasn't sure.

"He's fine," George reassured her, "I saw Gwaine in the hallway and he wasn't falling to pieces. If Gwaine is fine – then Merlin will be fine. There's no way that man would have left the physician's chambers if Merlin was dying."

Everyone nodded in agreement.

"Shall we commence with the normal part of the meeting then?" interrupted the usually patient Brock, who obviously needed sleep. George smiled at his friend fondly.

"Yes, I think that would be appropriate," said George as he flipped open a small black book. "Who wants to start the commentary?"

"I will," offered Brock smiling and nodded to his friend as a warning to be ready to write, "Brock manservant to the money counting git notes that nervous habits are increasing lately as pressure to find mysterious warlock is applied. Formally unknown, aunt claimed to be an enchantress who made interpreted dreams and made luck charms. Unsure validity of claim of magic, however she was killed during purge."

"My turn," Clothilde said and then cleared her throat, "Clothilde notes that pantry supplies are low even though we had a restock just last week. Suspect that someone's been pinching food, but not out of need. This is to much food for it to be for a family."

One by one, the servants stood and made their reports. Missing supplies. Missing apprentices. Witnessing bribes. Nervous nobles.

The storm raged on.

"Are you alright?" asked Arthur for the hundredth time. His smiles had long fled as his feeling of relief had finally settled down. No longer fueled by highly powered emotions, Arthur had taken up badgering Merlin who had taken up a spontaneous vow of silence since praying the room with apple. It just wasn't fair, he had been so worried and now Merlin was angry about something. Again. "Can I get you something?"

"..."

"Are you in pain?"

Merlin sighed and then finally asked, "What's wrong, Arthur? Something is bothering you."

It always came down to this. His infernal ability to see – when Arthur needed to be seen. Arthur started to talk, but he only talked about his father's connection to the storm. How it was just one more thing that his father could be blamed for. He talked about his meeting with the druids, in Nimueh's old room. Merlin hung onto every word. He only commented with,"Wish I could have met the druids," and "who have you told?" and "I wouldn't tell your uncle, he's got a thing for Emrys," and "honestly, Arthur, you would think that Camelot attracted magical nonsense."

Maybe that was it, Arthur thought to himself as he allowed a weak smile to flutter over his lips. He struggled for a moment. He had been able to feel happier earlier, but sitting beside Merlin drinking in his presence – getting apple spit on him. Even being annoyingly measured by those bottomless blue eyes that never seemed to miss even the slightest attempt at a lie. He knew he better confess of his own volition, so he admitted, "that's not all that's on my mind."

Merlin nodded, prompting his friend to continue as he drained a cup of the weak beer sweetened with honey that Gaius had left for him to drink. The water supply had been tainted recently again and it wasn't safe to drink water. Merlin didn't mind the drink, but he thought he'd be better off with warm honeyed milk – but what did he know? It was only his body. It was only his stomach. He was only the person who had to drink it. He was the one who had to keep it down.

"I thought you might not live through that," confessed Arthur shamefully. He laid out his feelings raw, not completely – but he tried. "Merlin, that was awful.."

The long thin frame wrapped in bandages stretched as much as it was able. The toes that were poking through the bottom end of the sheet had flexed outwardly and Arthur watched them in fascination. They were long, slim, but they were healthy looking. The nails were trimmed nicely. Arthur hadn't realized that a peasant's toes would be so clean and perfectly formed. The pale skin was pink and there was a ghostly freckled that seemed to wink in and out of sight as the toes fanned out for a moment and then slightly curled before they once again relaxed into their natural state.

Merlin was tired and had hidden a yawn, but his body betrayed him.

Arthur wanted to leave now, but he was held in place by Merlin's stare. There was nothing threatening about being under the direct scrutiny of this servant. Violence wasn't natural to the boy, but it hurt sometimes to be seen as much as it hurt not to be seen. If anything happened to Merlin – Arthur would be invisible for the rest of his life.

Merlin didn't tease him. Usually it was one of those opportunities for Merlin to prattle on about feelings and say everything that Arthur wasn't admitting – except it wasn't because Merlin could read minds. He was just voicing his own hopes. All he wanted to hear from Arthur was that: Merlin mattered. No, instead what the manservant did was shake his head sadly. His eyes were full of sympathy, "I don't know what happened, but I am fine now. You have to believe in me, Arthur. Everything is going to be alright. We will get through this, together. I'm not going to leave you. I'll serve you until the day I die, you have my solemn..."

"MERLIN!" the mental plea froze the boy as the ancient dragon's voice commanded his attention.

"SIRE!" Leon burst into the room, still worthy of being a sitter for a painter. The curls, the desperation, and the obvious suffering. Yes, painters loved these types of subjects to paint. Add a layer of sweat, a few droplets of blood, and some smoke stains – and there is one more perfect example of what the age romanticized as romantic and manly. In all it's sooty and metal encased – melodramatic …

"Merlin... Merlin... Merlin!"

"The storm, it is getting bigger and the snow is starting to accumulate now. It is beginning to become a threat. People are panicking. Our men who aren't in the citadel are directing those in harms way to some natural caves, but some of them take days to walk to – the storm stands between them and shelter. One of our men risked riding through it to make a report," Leon looked stressed.

"Merlin... Merlin... Merlin!" Kilgharrah was certainly going to have to get a lecture about his communication skills. Not every chat had to be face to face if he knew he could be heard – they should just get things out and the open and speak his mind. This constant calling Merlin's name was childish. Merlin was not a "governess" at the hearth, stirring a pot with a royal dragonet tugging at the cuffs of his trousers - calling out his name: "Merlin... Merlin... Merlin!"

"If the report can't wait for the round table then you need to speak clearly, Sir Leon," prodded Arthur.

"There is a small band of travelers heading this way. They look foreign, Sire. They aren't Romans. They're.. different."

"Merlin... Merlin... Merlin!" Kilgharrah's mental pleading did not sound panicked. Instead it reminded him of the time they had a child princess visiting the kingdom. She had taken a liking to Merlin and had gone to him with every request. Her small noble voice had been laced with a feeling something like, Merlin I want a sweet! I need you to pay attention to me right now because I'm going to catch on fire. Hold my hand and walk with me. I would like flowers now. My needs are speaking. You need to pay attention now. Just look at me. Admittedly Merlin had liked the child. She was starved for affection. She drank in his attention like a plant that suddenly had enough water and light. It was an almost hysterical response she latched onto him. Arthur allowed him to tend to the girl for a few hours a day at her request, despite her many attendants, teachers, and body guards. Like Arthur, the affection had started with a rebuke. The pampered princess had gone missing. She liked to escape a little. She didn't leave the castle, but she left those who would hover over her with watchful eyes and judgmental mouths. She had pulled a cat's tail so Merlin had gently tugged at one of her twin tails and lectured her that she was not the only creature who trod the earth who possessed feelings. She kicked him. He had knelt before her and told her that he forgave her, but added that she was the noble. Her manners needed to be better than his – one day she would be the law of her kingdom. One day she would be the one to pull hair, lecture, and kneel – but not now. Now, she was a child and it was time for sweets and with that he swept the naughty girl into his arms and smuggled her into the kitchens where she was treated to bread, honey, and milk.

Merlin sighed at the memory, Dragons were like royals, they insisted. Happy anticipation was not an emotion Merlin associated with his dragon. The only other time he felt this from Kilgharrah was when Aithusa was involved.

There were many children in Ealdor and most were well behaved. When hunger came, everyone suffered.

"Arughhhhh!" yelled Merlin in pure frustration but it was enough to alarm the entire room. As soon as the pained sound left Merlin's lips, Gaius swooped down on him like a bird of prey. Arthur jumped to his feet, in full alarm. Leon looked shamed as if he had struck the boy himself.

"W-We better be..." Arthur stammered.

"Yes, you better," agreed Gaius looking at Arthur and then the door.

Emryssss... Emryssss...Emrysss..." Aithusa's voice joined Kilgharra's.

After the men left, Merlin begrudgingly told Gaius what was wrong. He still resented the bandages, porridge, and apple treatment that he knew this treacherous man was responsible for. As much as he craved hugs and approval from this man, he also knew that there was a side to Gaius that truly was wicked – and no one would ever be able to exercise that sense of humor. Not that Merlin normally minded it, for he also tended to mine humor from the same vein.

"Why are the dragon's calling for you?"

"I don't know," answered Merlin truthfully as he struggled against his wrappings to sit up but he couldn't. Breathlessly he collapsed against the cot in a fit of vengeful oaths.

"Oath Breaker," teased Gaius and Merlin smiled sheepishly through his annoyance before answering, "Well it would be justice for both you and Gwaine to wrapped for a week. This is not fun, Gaius. You're going to have to release me."

"No, I don't think so," replied the elderly man fondly.

If looks could kill.

"Please?" begged Merlin. "Please Gaius, Kilgharrah can't attack Camelot, but I've made no such restrictions on the baby. If desperate enough Kilgharrah will do something where he cannot be ignored by anyone. I can't afford for that to happen and if he challenges me to deal with him directly just so that we can have a conversation – I'll never hear the end about it. He's worse than you are about "duty" and "obligation" of course he's not talking about my job. He's talking about my other job, my main role. My destiny. I cannot ignore my dragon, Gaius. I cannot.!"

"I'm not releasing you, Merlin."

"Oh!"

George flowed from one end of the citadel to the other. He plucked up a tray that held Arthur's food and a jug of heavily spiced wine. It was mildly alcoholic, but it was pleasant. It would have less of an impact than one of Gaius's drafts, but the idea was to have Arthur able to make decisions. George slapped a wedge of cheese onto the tray, remembering how he had once seen Merlin had thrown food together. It was as if food – was the last thing on Merlin's mind.

Some speculated that Merlin, behind closed doors would shove food at Arthur and say things like, "This is all your getting, greedy guts. You've got to earn the rest. Your performance on the training field was pitiful yesterday you let your guard down." It was a joke really. No one really believed it, but it was fun to fantasize about for those who served. If anyone could do that sort of thing, it would be Merlin. If anyone knew him, they knew even if he could do something like that – he wouldn't. If Merlin had all the power in the world, it would be wasted. He simply had no ambition of his own.

George smiled at the idea anyway. Just once he would like to see Merlin "school" Arthur. He wasn't sure how he did it. He suspected that Merlin was Emrys, but Merlin would never use magic on someone to change who they were. Merlin would never influence another person for his own gain. It didn't matter in the long run. It was just a dream. George inwardly smiled at his own childishness.

Still, it would be nice.