Chapter 2 - The Time We Have to Spend Apart Will Keep Us in Each Others' Hearts

Merlin was cautiously optimistic.

Life with Gaius was great. He acted just as he had always done whenever they had spoken before. There was no monster lurking, waiting to come out now that they were alone behind closed doors. He was kind. He always made sure Merlin was eating enough. He liked to check that Merlin understood his homework, that he knew that the offer to help was always there (even if Merlin never really needed it). He was pleased whenever Merlin volunteered to help him make his potions. He always made sure to ask about his day, and usually asked how Harry was doing too. And he was careful to always give him privacy to talk to his brother and never demanded to see what they wrote in their letters. It really seemed like Gaius trusted Merlin. And whenever he was asked, he was always ready to share a story about Merlin's parents.

His new house was great too. Aithusa loved the garden. And after she was told off for eating some of Gaius's plants she was careful to never do so again. She was happy enough just chasing the gnomes around and lounging wherever the sun seemed to hit the ground. Seeing her happy made Merlin happy too. The house was small, with only two bedrooms. It meant that he would have to share whenever Luna might come to stay over. And while he was a little worried about having to share a room with a girl Gaius had assured him that if he really wanted to he could sleep on the settee those nights instead. It was no small relief. And Merlin didn't think Aithusa would mind sharing the sofa with him for a night.

And Merlin really did think his room was great. He had been allowed to paint it whatever colour he wanted. He had thought that Gaius would just change the colour with magic, but instead they did it the muggle way. Gaius had said that that way it was something they could do together. And now whenever Merlin thought of his room, he remembered laughing as magic swept him off his feet so that he could reach the top of the wall, Gaius wielding a paint roller in one hand and a wand in the other. He thought the bright yellow reflected that memory pretty well. And the colour was enough to remind him of his other home too.

His new cousin (niece?) and uncle (brother in law?) were pretty great too. He was almost certain that they were completely insane, but only in the best way possible. They just seemed to care incredibly little for social norms and what the majority of the wizarding world considered 'fact'. Instead, they decided for themselves what they believed in. And while he found it a little odd and a tad puzzling to get used to, it had the benefit of making them both incredibly accepting people, who didn't so much as bat an eye at his sudden addition to their family. Luna did not seem to resent him for stealing away her grandfather, and it was almost enough to make him feel truly welcome among them.

. . . So, yeah. Everything was great.

The only problem was that Merlin's life had a track record of not really going great. Which meant that all of this still didn't seem real to him. He felt like he would return to Hogwarts in a few weeks, and it still won't have felt real. It was all just too good to be true. He wasn't meant for a happy family and a loving home. It was supposed to be him and Harry against the world.

Merlin felt like he was constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop, which had the unfortunate side effect of setting his magic on edge. The jumpiness that he hadn't had a problem with in months suddenly returned full-force. He flinched away from any hand too close and panicked at any noise too loud. And it was only made that much more of an issue when his magic started breaking things whenever he freaked out.

It was an exhausting and seemingly-unending chain reaction.

A sudden noise would make him flinch, so his magic would react and shatter the nearest window, which only ended up making him more alarmed, only then added to it was the fear and guilt of ruining Gaius's nice home, making him more afraid and his magic more likely to lash out. He could see that the man was trying to be patient with him, but Merlin had long ago learnt to tell when someone was starting to get frustrated with him. And while he was certain that Gaius's methods to vent his frustration would be very different from Cenred's, anxiety clawed at him from within, waiting for it all to come to a head.

And so it did, one morning over breakfast.

Usually, in the morings Gaius would either wake Merlin up himself or check to see if he was already awake. This tended to happen around eight o'clock, as it did that morning. He said and did nothing to make Merlin think that this morning would be any different from any other. Merlin was informed that breakfast would be ready in fifteen minutes, and to come to the kitchen by then, as he was told every morning.

By the time Merlin came in, Gaius was usually already sitting, taking the first few mouthfuls of his meal, while Merlin's plate sat across from his in front of the empty chair. Only this time, the space in front of his chair was empty, and instead two plates of food lay in front of Gaius.

It was enough to make Merlin freeze when he entered the room. Dread settled low in his stomach. He wasn't going to be allowed to eat, was he? They had done the same thing, Cenred, Morgause and Mordred. They had made him sit at the table with them and watch them eat while he wasn't allowed to touch any of it. They always made sure to eat extra so that it really hurt. He supposed that was what Gaius was doing, eating Merlin's share so that he would understand the consequences for his actions.

But that was okay, he had just lost his appetite anyway.

"Merlin, sit down, please," Gaius ordered calmly.

It really wasn't so bad, Merlin mused, following his instructions quickly. Lots of kids have desserts taken away from them for misbehaving. This was just like that. Merlin wasn't allowed breakfast until he had learnt to control himself.

It was fine.

It was going to be fine.

"I'm sorry," Merlin told him sincerely. Because he was. He was really really sorry. (That had been rule number three: always apologise. Merlin hadn't had to think about his rules in a long time.) "I'll do better," he promised.

"I know, my boy," Gaius said kindly, "that's what this is for." That was good, he hadn't given up on Merlin yet. It meant that there was still hope for him. Gaius believed he could learn, so Merlin would. "I believe the best way to get your magic to work for you is to really need it," Gaius explained.

He didn't have to though, Merlin understood. He wasn't allowed breakfast until he got himself under control. Maybe he wouldn't be allowed to eat at all until he showed Gaius that he could control his magic. He would need it to be under control, otherwise he wouldn't eat. That was how his lesson would go.

Merlin just needed to keep repeating that to himself. Gaius wasn't being cruel, it was just a lesson. It was necessary, Merlin needed to learn.

"I understand," Merlin said solemnly. And then he sat and waited for Gaius to start eating, for his punishment to really begin, for his lesson to start.

But Gaius only stared at him expectantly. "Well, what are you waiting for? Your food is going to get cold if you don't start trying quickly, my boy."

"Huh?" Merlin asked, confused. Wasn't he supposed to be getting punished? Merlin couldn't learn unless he was punished for failing first. He needed to be taught the consequences. He had to need his magic to get under control.

"You're hungry, aren't you, Merlin?" Gaius asked, staring at him until Merlin nodded slightly. "Your body needs food, child. You know that and so does your magic, so start trying to summon it over to you already."

"I - what?" he spluttered. So he . . . wasn't getting punished? . . . But that didn't make any sense.

Gaius sighed and waved his wand over the food, presumably stopping it from getting any colder. "The reason children stop having bursts of accidental magic after going to Hogwarts is because they spend nine months using it every day. That is how they learn control. The magic of the Old Religion should be no different. It is instinctual to you, and it always has been. But you need to start being able to use it every day to learn how to not use it when you don't mean to. It will respond best when working in your interests. You need food, so use it to get yourself your food," he explained patiently.

And that . . . that made a lot more sense that what Merlin had assumed was happening. Especially for Gaius. Gaius would never do that to him. God, Merlin was really just a horrible person, assuming the worst of him like that. Gaius wouldn't stop him from eating his food. Gaius always made sure Merlin was eating enough. He always worried about how skinny he was. He was always pushing extra food onto his plate.

Merlin had tried to twist it in his mind, to justify what he thought was happening. But he didn't need to do that; Gaius wasn't Cenred. He hoped Gaius would never know what he had been thinking. Merlin didn't want him to hate him for assuming the worst like that.

"But my magic doesn't work like that," Merlin countered hesitantly, dragging his thoughts back to the topic at hand. "It just reacts when I'm upset or afraid. I know I need to learn to control it, Gaius, and I will, I promise, but I can't just pull my plate over like that. I don't know how to do that. I don't have spells or anything like we do at Hogwarts. Whenever I've used that type of magic before, it was always by accident and always something big."

"Is that so?" Gaius asked with a knowing smirk that Merlin didn't understand. "What about when you told young Harry about your magic?"

And that made Merlin pause . . . because he was right. He had told Gaius the story in one of their letters while he was still away at Hogwarts. But Merlin had completely forgotten what his magic had done that day.

"Harry tried to walk away because he thought I was making fun of him . . . and my magic dragged him back towards me," he said in realisation.

"Exactly," Gaius said, smiling proudly. It made Merlin's chest warm. "You didn't want him to walk away; it was important to you that he really understood. You needed him to stay, and so your magic made it so."

Merlin grinned excitedly, and then turned all of his focus on the still-steaming plate of food. He raised a hand and narrowed his eyes.

He was going to get this.

If there was one thing Merlin looked forward to almost as much as his messages and fire-calls from Harry, it was his letters from Arthur.

The contents of the letters themselves were nothing extraordinary. Mostly filled with amusing complaints about Morgana, his father, or one of the many tutors that had been foisted upon him this summer. It was fun to read some of Arthur's more creative rants - 'I swear, Merlin, she always has just this bit of green stuff stuck in her teeth. What does she do, eat spinach for breakfast everyday? Is she secretly a rabbit animagus in disguise? Morgana's theory is that she does it on purpose, that way there's at least one mildly interesting thing about her, otherwise I think she'd be the most dull person on the planet. How does one manage to make English Literature so bloody boring? We could be reading a book about the most exciting thing in the world and she'll still manage to turn it into a lecture on the symbolism of the colour brown. Do you know what brown symbolises Merlin? Shit. Just like her damn teaching. Seriously, Merlin, I'm not exaggerating, the woman could put Bins to sleep!' - however, no matter how entertaining Arthur's writing was, the real treasure in his letters were the sketches he left on the back of them.

The first time it happened Merlin was almost certain that it was a mistake. He imagined that Arthur had reached for some spare paper he assumed was blank (because why would they use something as ridiculous as parchment unless they absolutely had to?) and had used the back of a page of doodles accidentally. Merlin had found his letter as interesting and amusing as usual and hadn't noticed a thing until Gaius's surprised voice had commented on the back, visible to him as Merlin had been holding it in his hands to read.

Confused, he had flipped the paper over to see a smattering of half-finished sketches and drawings. It reminded him immediately of the drawing he had received from Arthur for Christmas; the two of them, older, fighting side by side, but looking like they had come out of a story book. Arthur as a king with a cape and sword and Merlin with a fancy wizard's staff stood by his side.

These sketches were similar. More rushed, with less detail and less effort, and all in simple led pencil without the colour Arthur had carefully given to that bright red cape. But they were still all the same drawings. A man on a horse, weapon in hand as he charged off the page toward an invisible opponent - the symbol on the cape the same as the one in his christmas present had been. The next one of Merlin, older as he had been depicted before, rolling his eyes at the viewer, his arms crossed and with that same triangle-scarf around his neck. Then another one, this time a man covered from head to toe in armour, his helmet obscuring his face, making Merlin wonder who he was supposed to be.

Merlin's response to the letter had ended up being less about the actual contents of what Arthur had written and more gushing about the unfinished sketches. And his compliments had been peppered with questions of why. He had always assumed the gift from Arthur had just been a bit of a joke at the coincidence of their names, the legendary Arthur and Merlin. Of course Arthur couldn't have drawn him as an old man, as the original Merlin was supposed to have been, so he had drawn them at the same age, as they were now, only older by ten or fifteen years. At least that was what Merlin had thought, that it had just been a jest and nothing more. But now it was different. Whatever had possessed Arthur to dream them up in this fantasy world of his, still clearly inspired him. And Merlin couldn't be more thrilled to be seeing the results of it.

The letter he got in reply was clearly embarrassed and mostly ignored answering any questions Merlin had asked about his hobby - 'It's not important or anything. I'm just so bloody bored all day in these tutoring sessions that doing anything is better than actually paying them any attention. They aren't really finished, and no one was ever really meant to see them. I've thrown most of the pages away, so I don't even know which one I sent you. If it's the donkey one, please just burn it, I was throwing them all away for a reason.'

Merlin had only allowed himself to feel disappointed for a moment before continuing to read the rest of his letter the same as he would have done any other. He let himself laugh at Arthur's and Morgana's latest description of their tutor and the wild theories they came up with to keep themselves entertained, and tried to ignore the odd melancholy he felt at the thought of never seeing any of Arthur's other drawings again. That was, until he read the final line of the letter.

'P.S. Look on the back.'

Merlin tried to restrain his hope in the few moments before he flipped the page over, but was delighted to find the other side of his letter full of drawings once more. He was certain that he had a stupid smile on his face from the chickling sound that Gaius made, but Merlin couldn't bring himself to care.

This time, the sketches had clearly been done with more care, the intention of them being seen by another person behind every stroke of the pencil. There were more knights in armour, facing off against each other in some sort of fight, their identities still unclear. And another one of the two of them together, only this time they were dressed as bandits. The next one was of Merlin glaring off to the side of the page, a ridiculous hat on his head adorned in enormous feathers and a matching cape tied around his neck (the sight of it had made him laugh).

And then the last image was of Morgana. She looked several years older, presumably to match their imagined grown-up selves. Her hair was styled in some intricate up-do and Merlin could see that she was wearing what looked to be the top half of a glamorous gown. There's no crown on her head, but it was clear that Arthur imagined her to be every inch the princess in his fantasy world. She looked poised and elegant, with just a hint of mischief in her eyes. It was clear that Arthur put much more time and effort into that one than the others. The thought made him smile. It seemed that he was not the only devoted brother of the two of them.

Merlin could not help but marvel at all of it. It seemed so incredible to him, how Arthur could manage to envision each of them so clearly that many years into their future, how he could capture their faces so easily, how he could change them just enough to envision who they could be. It was amazing.

But this time Merlin was smart enough to condense all of his compliments down to a single paragraph. Just a short few sentences. Nothing, he thought, that could possibly manage to capture the sheer wonder he felt when he stared at those images. But enough that he didn't think it would make Arthur so uncomfortable again. Then maybe, his friend would be willing to show him some more?

'P.S. I have no idea what 'the donkey one' could possibly be. But even if I did have, you couldn't pay me to burn any of this stuff. You're incredible, Arthur.'

And so started a pattern between them.

They exchanged their letters as usual, but Arthur's always carried a series of drawings on the back, and Merlin's never held more than a few sentences in reference to them. But Merlin adored it. Once or twice a week he would see the Pendragon's new owl swoop in through the open window in the kitchen, and he could barely contain his excitement.

The more Merlin saw, the more varied the images were. Arthur had drawn some of the others, like Leon and Lance, as knights, all wearing the same insignia on their capes. In one batch of drawings he had even included Gwaine among them, and despite the short, scruffy beard that strangely suited him, it was still clearly Gwaine (although it was accompanied with a quick note making Merlin swear to never mention it to Gwaine). There were a few images of Gwen too, sometimes in the fancy gown similar to what Morgana was always wearing in these, and sometimes in something simpler. Even Mithian had gotten herself a drawing, and a crown too.

Despite the aray of people Arthur included in his sketches (there was even one of George once), Merlin had only seen one real attempt to include his brother. But for whatever reason, Arthur skills to imagine him older like the others just seemed . . . off. Merlin could see that it was meant to be Harry, but only really just because of the glasses and the scar. It didn't seem to fit the way the other portraits did. It was as if Arthur's mind just couldn't conjure up the image of a grown-up Harry. Merlin made no comment on it, since it was clear that Arthur had made a real attempt at it, and he had no desire to discourage his friend. But in the end it seemed that Arthur had resigned to drawing a nine year old Harry just trailing after the rest of them. He looked out of place among the knights and princesses of Arthur's imagination.

It made Merlin smile to think that Arthur saw his friends as knights and princesses. But for some reason, Merlin was the only one of the boys never drawn in armour, never drawn as a knight. He supposed it somewhat made sense. If Arthur was still running with the whole Camelot theme then Arthur was a king, surrounded by his loyal knights, and courtly ladies in ballgowns, and Merlin was obviously the sorcerer like his namesake. And sorcerers didn't need armour when they had magic to protect them.

It was only when Merlin saw a drawing of Morgana in chainmail, wielding a sword that he let himself get mildly offended. If she could be a princess and run around with a great bloody sword, then why the hell couldn't Merlin get a weapon and armour to go with his magic too?

In his next letter Merlin dedicated an entire paragraph to his complaint - 'Don't get me wrong, Arthur, I know your sister is tougher than me. And if there was anyone I suspected of sneaking a great hulking sword into Hogwarts it would definitely be her (not that she's likely to need a weapon to cut any of us down, I've seen her in Charms verbally tearing her fellow Slytherins down to shreds. Why is your sister so terrifying?). But it just seems a little unfair that I don't get any weapons or armour. Do you not care if I get stabbed? Or shot with a crossbow? Or hit with a particularly large stick? I'm just saying that a little armour might prevent me from dying. You don't want me to die right?'

And sure enough, on the back of Arthur's next letter he had dutifully drawn Merlin in a set of chainmail and a cape, a small axe in his hand, grinning like a madman - 'I hope you know how utterly insane I think you are,' was written next to it, along with, 'You just need to ask next time, you don't have to guilt me into drawing something for you.' That same grin was definitely not present on his face as he read Arthur's words.