A/N: I just can't stop writing, even when I'm nose deep in another project! Well, my craziness is your gain, I suppose. So. Some of these are by request, and some are scenes I've had in mind for a while. I'm not going to put them in any particular order, since I'm not going to be writing them in any particular order. Themes will range all over the place, from humor to drama to family and friendship to... whatever pops into my ridiculous head. Enjoy!

As usual, 'Merlin' is not mine, nor are the characters, no money made, etc., etc..

"Safe" takes place between the stories "Nightfall in Winter" and "The Wind in the Trees", a few days after Arthur and the company have brought Merlin home from Blackheath.

They had left him alone with the sorcerer. First Guinevere had been summoned to help the Lady Drusilla with some womanly matter, then Gaius was called away to aide in a difficult birth, and there was no one to summon on such short notice to sit with the sorcerer. King Arthur's orders were clear- he was not to be left alone. Even if he was just sleeping.

Gareth fidgeted at the edge of his chair, his wayward gaze sliding toward the screen separating the sorcerer's bed from the rest of the room. Though Gaius had assured him Merlin was deep in a drugged sleep and likely wouldn't awaken until late afternoon, the notion of being within arm's reach of a sorcerer rested uneasily under Gareth's skin, like a gnawing itch that couldn't be scratched.

He'd grown up hearing of the evils of sorcery, how a High Priestess had murdered the Queen of Camelot, and how sorcerers and witches sacrificed babies to their pagan gods, dancing naked around fires while drinking the blood of goats. He'd seen one witch's execution, condemned, they'd said, for blighting the fields around her village. The Sarrum'd had built a small pyre built for her, and his men had placed bets on how long it would take her to die. The woman's screams had echoed in Gareth's nightmares for a long time.

There was a cough from beyond the screen, and the rustling of cloth. Gareth held still, waiting for the sorcerer awaken, but as the minutes passed it was apparent that he wouldn't. Gareth let out a shaky breath and got to his feet. He wandered, taking in the rows and stacks of books- more than he'd ever seen in one place before, and he hadn't even been to the library yet. Curious fingers brushed over the glassware on the workbench and the shelves filled with jars and vials of herbs and potions, each neatly labeled and arranged in chaotic fashion. He breezed past the window seat, his feet taking him to the brief stairway and into the next room before he realized where he was going. 'This is His room. The sorcerer's room…"

The door swung open with a faint squeak. The room itself was not what he expected. He'd thought there would be something…more than this- a few pieces of simple furniture, some brightly colored blankets on the narrow bed, and a handful of graceful drawings tacked to the wall. He'd thought there would be ominous books filled with arcane marks, silver chalices, and a bloody great bird lurking on a gnarled perch. Not a tome of herbal lore and single candle on the bedside table. The only bird he'd seen in these rooms was a puffball of an addlepated owl that flitted about like it owned the place, getting in everyone's way until Guinevere tossed it outside.

Gareth put the room behind him and closed the door. He padded toward the table and caught his sleeve on a bit of glassware. It fell over with a clatter, rattling toward the edge of the workbench. But youth lent a person quick reflexes, and Gareth caught it before it could crash to the floor.

"Who's there?" A voice rasped. Wide-eyed, Gareth looked toward the screen. "Gaius? Gwen?"

Gareth set the jar upright. He meant to answer, but his voice caught. He'd never talked to a sorcerer before.

"I know someone's here." A fit of coughing broke out. Gareth edged toward the screen. "Please… Who's there?" there sorcerer asked. He sounded scared.

"I-" Gareth cleared his throat and peered around the edge of the screen. "I'm Gareth."

The sorcerer turned his head, his hooded eyes roving around, trying to focus on something. "Who?"

"G-Gareth, son of King Hywel of Amata.

"Amata?" The pale brow knit in confusion. "I thought… I thought we were home. In Camelot. Why… Why are we back in Amata? Arthur?" The blue eyes widened. He tried to push himself up and cried out when it jarred his injuries. His breathing quickened, too fast and turning to a wheeze. Beads of sweat stood out on his brow.

Gareth had heard Guinevere tell Arthur of attacks like these, when Merlin woke from a nightmare and, unable to see where he was, quickly panicked. It took time to calm him down, she had said, too much time. He had heard the fear in her voice when she told the king how worried she and Gaius were. 'He's too frail for this, Arthur,' she had said, "This can't keep happening. Gaius is afraid his heart will give out, or that it will cause some other sickness he can't recover from. He's already so weak." Gareth hadn't heard Arthur's murmured replies as he took the serving girl in his arms. He'd turned away from the strangeness of that particular sight. But he had to do something to calm the sorcerer. If he died, Arthur might blame him for it.

He shuddered at the thought and sank into the chair. "Can you-" he started, but his voice was too soft. He tried again. "Can you hear me?" The sorcerer's head turned toward the boy, his blind eyes staring past him. Gareth plucked up his courage, pitching his voice as though he were soothing a spooked horse. "You're safe. We're in Camelot, not Amata. We left that all behind well over a week ago. You're home now, and safe. Do you hear me?"

"Home? How?"

"Arthur defeated the Amatans. You-" Gareth stopped and licked his lips. 'You summoned a great fire when they tried to burn you.'' he'd started to say. "You escaped. We brought you home. Now Gaius is taking care of you," he said instead. The sorcerer's hand, the good one, not the broken one, twitched against the blankets as though it was trying to pull them away, but lacked the strength to do it. The ends of one of the bandages had come loose, unwinding more with every move the sorcerer made. His breathing hadn't slowed.

Gareth looked toward the door, mentally begging for Guinevere, Gaius, or even Arthur, to appear, but none of them did. He was on his own. He swallowed, shoving his own trepidation away as he reached for Merlin's hand, gently wrapping his fingers around the sorcerer's. "Merlin," he said firmly, "We're safe. We made it to Camelot. Arthur brought us home, where we'd be safe. Do you hear me? We're safe. We're both safe." Tears pricked his eyes when he realized what he'd said. "We're safe".

And it was true. In Amata, under the Sarrum's rule, Gareth had been subject to the old king's cruel whims. He'd borne the brunt of his temper more than once, been beaten until he couldn't stand at least half a dozen times. He had learned to cringe when the Sarrum looked his way, and to cower when the Sarrum raised his hand. The old king liked it when men were afraid of him. He'd said he liked best the scent of fear and the sound of a broken man's voice.

Gareth had expected the same from Arthur, but Camelot turned out to be a land of light and laughter. The people had rejoiced to see their king come home. And no one had raised a hand or voice to Gareth. His bruises healed, and for the first time in ages he'd awakened without pain in the morning. The knights treated him like an errant little brother, and the laides were kind to him. In Camelot, Gareth had found the very thing he had craved without knowing what it was he truly wanted- safety. A place to live without fear.

"You want the same that thing I do, don't you, Merlin?" he said softly. "You want to be safe. To live in a place where men don't hurt you without cause. I guess we're not as different as I thought." The sorcerer's rapid breathing began to slow, and he relaxed against the pillows. He gingerly raised Merlin's arm and re-wrapped it, carefully, as though he were keeping a sparrow from flying away. When he was done, he took Merlin's hand in his own again. "I heard you were a sorcerer, and I assumed terrible things about you. That was all I was told about sorcerers, so I thought it must be true. But I was wrong. I see that now. Arthur and Guinevere tell me of how kind you are, and of your courage and loyalty. You didn't deserve this. I am sorry for what my kinsman did to you. And I'm sorry I didn't try to stop them." He looked down at the floor, as though to his his tears from unseen watchers.

Merlin's hand tightened, ever so slightly, against his. "Gareth…" it was hardly more than a whisper. The boy looked up at the sorcerer. "'s not your fault… You couldn't've stopped it." The blind eyes fluttered and closed. "Don't blame…." Merlin's hand relaxed and his breathing evened out. He was sleeping peacefully now.

"Don't blame myself? I'll try. I'll try to be more understanding, too, just like I'll try to be more like Arthur. I'm going to try a lot of things while I'm here." He smiled, scooted his chair closer to the bedside, and did his best to straighten the blankets without letting go of Merlin. He gave up after a few futile attempts. The sorcerer seemed comfortable without his efforts, so he let it go, settling back to enjoy the warmth and the quiet. And the safety.