It was quiet in Camelot. Suspiciously so. Merlin hadn't dealt with any wayward sorcerers, evil witches or deadly assassins in weeks. It was peaceful, and it made Merlin's paranoia buzz warily in his chest.

"You don't find it strange, how calm it's been?" Merlin asked, his spoon twisting anxiously through his porridge.

"I merely find your behavior strange, Merlin. And you're always strange," Gaius said with a quirked eyebrow.

Merlin ignored the jest, his thoughts meandering away. "I don't know what it is. Perhaps I'm bored."

"I would expect boredom to be a blessing with you."

Merlin shrugged. He supposed Gaius was right, as usual. It was sort of nice not to have to worry about keeping the royal prat's head on his shoulders. Still, something was off.

"You'd better get going if you want to wake the king on time."

Merlin sprang for the door, leaving his mostly untouched porridge in his wake.

Merlin.

Merlin turned, his hand hovering over the door handle. "What?"

Gaius turned, his eyebrows raised questioningly.

"Did you say something?" Merlin asked.

Gaius shook his head, frowning. "Did you get enough sleep last night?"

Merlin didn't. "Yes, I—never mind."

Merlin flung himself through the door, making his way towards Arthur's chambers. That must be it: Merlin was sleep-deprived and so he was hearing things. He didn't quite know what had been keeping him awake lately, but he hoped to sneak in a sleeping draught later that night to break the cycle. Then he'd be back on his feet, ready to take on the next threat that would surely launch itself at Arthur sooner rather than later.

…

Arthur woke to the sound of Merlin tripping over his own feet. The king rolled his eyes, moving away from the eastern window before his idiot manservant had the chance to fling it open. Arthur smirked when he heard the curtains draw, having successfully avoided the oppressive light to soak up every bit of rest he could get.

His moment of triumph was short-lived. Merlin started talking his usual chipper gibberish, and proceeded to rip the warm covers off of Arthur. This was a capital offense, and it would not go unpunished.

"Merlin. I'll put you in the stocks for this."

"You have a council meeting, sire. And two knighting ceremonies to arrange. And that's just for the morning," Merlin said lightly, as if his words carried no weight at all.

Arthur groaned, pulling his pillow closer to shield himself from his duties. He began to think that he had been successful and that Merlin had just magically disappeared. At least, until Merlin snatched Arthur's pillow out of his grasp with surprising strength and speed. He let it hover in the air above the king's head.

"Don't you dare," Arthur warned.

Merlin dared. He sent the pillow flying back at Arthur's face.

Arthur grabbed the pillow out of the air before it could hit him, then flung himself out of bed to retaliate. Merlin let out a comedic squeak as he tried to get out of range of Arthur's fluffy, menacing weapon. When Arthur had gotten in a few good hits, he relented, smirking at Merlin's now-ruffled dark hair. But Merlin just grinned at him.

"At least I finally got your lazy arse out of bed," he said, his eyes narrowing slyly.

Arthur was taken aback at the simple genius of Merlin's little scheme. The bastard really knew how to get under his skin. Arthur glared, hoping to wipe that self-satisfied smile off of his servant's face.

"If you ever do that again, I'll be sure to run you through."

Merlin had the audacity to look confused. "With a pillow?"

Arthur shoved Merlin's shoulder indignantly. "With a sword, you idiot."

Merlin hummed, his hands resting on his hips in a contemplative stance. "It's hard to take you seriously while you're holding that." He gestured to the pillow, still secure in Arthur's arms.

Arthur promptly whacked Merlin again with it, before tossing it back onto his bed. The king had completely forgotten how tired he had been upon waking.

Merlin meandered around the room, straightening things up and remaking the bed while Arthur ate his breakfast, which was now cold. Arthur supposed that was his own fault, so he kept quiet. He was content to listen to Merlin roaming about, humming softly. Arthur found it annoying, but also comforting in its familiarity. It seemed that this morning routine was one of Arthur's only constants in his life. It was small, but he appreciated it all the same, even if he'd never admit it.

Then the humming stopped. Without prompting. Arthur turned in his chair, ready to fire some insults, but the words died in his throat. Arthur's bed was half-made, his pillows strewn over the floor, soon to be rearranged. And Merlin was standing quietly, staring intensely at the folded blankets as if he was expecting them to lash out at him any second. His body was rigid. It unnerved Arthur more than he cared to admit.

"Merlin, what on earth are you doing?"

No response. Merlin just stared, unblinking. Arthur stood, his heart jumping a little.

"Merlin?"

Merlin didn't move until Arthur rested a hand on his shoulder, and then he was flinching away, as if he had been burned by Arthur's touch. His eyes were wild as he leaned away. Something pulled in Arthur's chest.

"Woah, what was that?" Arthur asked, hoping his concern wasn't too obvious in his voice.

Merlin's shoulders relaxed, his expression softening when he turned and saw that it was Arthur standing there. Arthur frowned. Something was definitely off.

"Oh, I zoned out I think," Merlin said, shrugging after a beat of silence. He also frowned.

Arthur was prepared to chalk it up to exhaustion, or even incompetence. That is, until he saw the blood.

"Your nose—Merlin, your nose is bleeding," Arthur said dumbly.

"What?"

Merlin's hand flew to his face, two of his fingers dabbing at the blood. His hand fell away and Merlin stared at the crimson staining his fingertips. He looked up at Arthur, his eyes wide, and Arthur suddenly remembered how young Merlin actually was. Arthur didn't know what to do, so he pushed Merlin down until he was sitting on the edge of his bed. He offered Merlin a handkerchief and Merlin took it, dabbing at the blood that was now leaking steadily from his nose.

"Leave it to you to get a random nosebleed. On my bed, no less," Arthur grunted, trying to sound frustrated but not quite achieving it.

Merlin was uncharacteristically quiet, his gaze burning a hole through the tile floor. Arthur hesitated, then allowed himself to drop down onto the bed next to Merlin. Only in such close proximity did the king truly look at Merlin, and he looked awful. His skin was paler than usual, and the skin below his eyes was dark. He looked downright exhausted. Arthur took a breath.

"What's going on with you?"

Merlin shrugged, his eyes still fixed on the floor. "It's just a nosebleed, Arthur."

Arthur's brow furrowed. He wanted to call bullshit, but something stopped him. Arthur suspected it was that part of his brain that was still desperate for Uther's approval, even though his father had passed over a year ago. Whatever the case, Arthur knew something else was probably going on and Merlin was hiding it for some idiotic reason, as if he didn't want to bother Arthur with it.

"You should have Gaius—"

"I'm not going to bother him with this. I'm fine." Merlin stood abruptly, still holding the handkerchief to his nose.

The bleeding was mostly stanched now, but some of it still trickled lazily towards Merlin's upper lip. Arthur held his hands up in mock surrender.

"If you're sure, then why don't you help me get prepared for this council meeting?"

Merlin nodded, turning his back to face Arthur's wardrobe. Arthur hoped that Merlin was actually alright. He silently prayed to his guardian angel—the one who had seemed to protect Arthur his entire life—wishing that whoever it was would protect Merlin this time if Arthur couldn't.

…

Merlin was used to weird. He was a warlock living in a time of magic—he had seen some strange things. He'd seen a beautiful woman morph into a troll, a goblin possess his surrogate father, and an old woman catch flies with a foot-long tongue. And that was on a normal day.

Still, after all Merlin had experienced, he was rarely the target of strange occurrences or malicious intent. But he had gotten the oddest sensation that something was trying to contact him. Merlin just couldn't discern if the unknown entity meant any harm.

It had started with a voice. It had called Merlin's name, then went silent, sliding coyly out of Merlin's grasp. But then, in Arthur's chambers, Merlin had sensed some kind of presence. Merlin could immediately tell that the entity was not actually there, but it was reaching out from a distance. Could it be a sorcerer or Druid, hoping for contact? Or some kind of spirit wishing to deliver a message? Or maybe it was Morgana, seeking to find his identity? That last thought made Merlin shiver involuntarily, and he tightened his grip on the pitcher of wine he was holding.

The council meeting had dragged on for what seemed like hours now. Lord Agravaine was still debating with Lord Orlander about the value of the westernmost bit of land that had long been sought after. Merlin rolled his eyes, then realized that Arthur's eyes were on him. Merlin's cheeks felt hot, but Arthur simply looked amused. He must've been just as bored as Merlin.

Merlin.

Merlin started, glancing around for a sign of the entity. There was nothing.

Who are you? Merlin thought, hoping it would reach whoever—whatever it was.

Emrys.

How do you know my name?

Merlin could feel the presence beginning to fade, but he grappled to maintain the link. But the connection was severed and his ears started ringing.

When Merlin blinked back into the present, the council meeting was over.