For years, it had just been another of Merlin's well kept secrets. Like his magic/ the fact that he was the most powerful warlock to ever walk the earth.

Every morning he would take a special drought of herbs that Gaius prepared, and that was that. Of course there were occasional incidents, but Merlin was good at recognising the signs, and would head straight for cover as soon as his aura – usually a sharp, bitter smell – came. This usually meant retreating to his room in Gaius's chambers, or hiding in the unused quest quarters.

Being the secret protector if Camelot and having epilepsy wasn't ideal, but it was manageable.

Gaius had known from the beginning, of course. Hunith had mentioned it in the letter she had sent him; along with instructions for the herbal tincture she usually prepared to prevent them. It was her own recipe, something she had developed some time around Merlin's seventh birthday when, as his magic ability intensified, the number of seizures had spiked above a manageable level.

It hadn't stopped the attacks, but it had decreased the number significantly. Merlin went from having several a day to one or two a week – and as his magic settled down, only one or two a month. As long as he remembered to take his remedy every morning, he was fine.

"It's not that I mind saving Arthur," the warlock was explaining to his mentor one evening at dinner. "It's just, I wish he'd show a bit of appreciation once in a while."

Gaius gave him a sympathetic look "It's not forever, Merlin, and you know it's the safest thing right now."

After reluctantly agreeing, Merlin turned back to his broth. The stale bread wasn't quite so hard once it had absorbed a fair amount of the thin liquid, but you had no pull it out at the right moment or it turned into soggy mush.

Gaius continued to pursue the healing journal he was reading; a thick volume with pages so delicate he had to turn the paper slowly to prevent it from tearing (this was one of the books he had forbidden Merlin to touch unless supervised). Every now and again he would turn to take a loud slurp from his own broth.

A couple of minutes later Gaius looked up to ask his ward what time he was attending Arthur tonight, only for the words to freeze on the tip of his tongue. The warlock was staring blankly into space, eyelids flickering. One hand, resting on the table beside his bowl, was twitching repeatedly.

Gaius got up quickly and moved to Merlin's side, knowing that it would be over soon. He was right – barely ten seconds had passed before Merlin came back to life, looking down at his broth in confusion at the disintegrated remains of his roll, congealed to the sides of the bowl.

"Merlin?" Gaius asked, and the boy seemed startled to find his mentor beside him.

He looked down at the bowl, and then back up at the physician, before realisation dawned in his features.

"Sorry." He sighed, voice slightly slurred, but smiled at the old man in reassurance. The first couple of times it had happened in front of Gaius he had felt embarrassed - but they were well beyond that now.

"There's nothing to be sorry about." Gaius told him sternly, looking into his eyes to check his pupils. He gently lifted Merlin's wrist to take his pulse, and was relieved to find it strong and steady. "Do you feel tired?"

The boy nodded, frowning. Even small seizures like this could sometimes make him feel sleepy. But he was supposed to be attending Arthur tonight -

"I'll send a message with the guard that I need your help preparing a tonic. The prince will have to undress himself for once."

Merlin smiled, grateful for his mentor.