as if they were not gold; part 1b
A knock at her door causes Morgana to put down the hairbrush she held in her hand, smiling into the looking glass over the dressing table Uther gave her for her twelfth birthday. She knew Merlin would come.
But when she opens her door, it isn’t Merlin’s blue eyes that stare at her expectantly.
“Well,” Arthur demands, in that ever present impatient tone of his, “are you going to let me in or not?”
Feeling her lips twist in a frown, Morgana steps aside and lets Arthur into her room. She spies Merlin at the bottom of the steps, and motions for him to stay where he is.
“Morgana.”
She spins, shutting the door too quickly and too loudly for so late at night and pinches her finger.
Arthur eyes her. “Are you all right? You seem a bit…” His eyes rake over her. “Twitchy.”
Morgana bristles at his description. “I’m fine. Just not accustomed to men dropping by my bedchamber in the middle of the night.”
His lower lips protrudes in a over exaggerated pout. “Must you make everything so difficult?”
“How am I making things difficult?” She throws her hands up in exasperation. He really is the most insufferable man to ever walk the Earth, she’s sure of it.
“Just listen.” Arthur’s hands come toward her, hovering in the air over her shoulders, as if he’s about to take hold of her. Only he doesn’t, and Morgana’s skin tingles with the disappointment of a phantom touch instead. “I think…” He pauses, licks his lips. Morgana’s eyes draw down to the motion. “I may have a way to keep my father from marrying you to Marcus.”
She’d almost forgotten about that. Between Arthur in front of her and Merlin waiting outside. Almost.
“What is it?”
Very matter of factly, Arthur stares into her eyes, every inch the Crown Prince of Camelot. “You marry me instead.”
For a second there is only the rushing of blood in her ears and the smattering of stars in front of her eyes. It’s anger, pure and hot, and all consuming. How dare he mock her situation this way.
Then, it sinks in that, good God, Arthur is serious. And nothing in the world could have prepared her for the possibility.
Her stomach drops, the weight almost tangible and her legs go out from under her with it. She sits abruptly on the edge of her table. It can’t be real. It can’t. Yet… it is. Arthur is before her, offering her that which she wants the most in the world.
“I’ve shocked you then.” Arthur sinks down on to his knee before her, placing one large, warm palm over hers. A small smile edges his lips up. He likes having an advantage over her. Always has. It all goes back to their equally competitive natures - they’ve been trying to one up the other forever.
She laughs, hollow and breathy. “Yes.” Letting her eyes meet his, she yearns to run a hand along the sharp line of his jaw. “It isn’t everyday I get a proposal from a prince.”
His smile blooms into a laugh. “Is that a yes?”
An aching awareness of love and gratitude raising up in her chest, Morgana shakes her head. “You don’t love me, Arthur.”
He blinks, surprised, not prepared for the possibility of being refused. “Yes I do.”
A hot rush of tears burns up behind her irises, but she bites the inside of her cheek to keep them at bay. Arthur does love her. She knows that as well as she knows her own name, as well as she knows that Uther truly believes he has her best interests at heart. It’s one of the only things she has never doubted. Arthur loves her. Fiercely. Has shown it time and time again.
But…
“You’re not in love with me.”
Arthur frowns. “So?”
She wants to laugh, to cry. Wants to sigh and roll her eyes and maybe smack him upside the head for good measure. Only Arthur would see something such as love as little consequence when it comes to getting his way.
Morgana wants to ask. Gwen. What about Gwen. But she doesn’t - she can’t. It may not be the moment she’s dreamt of, but it is no less precious. He is so dear. Finally, Morgana does let her hands come up to lay against his cheeks. Surprise flashes in the depths of his blue eyes. “It’s very noble of you to offer, Arthur, but I can’t let you do this for me.”
Annoyance flits over his face. “Don’t be such a martyr, Morgana. It isn’t as if you asking me to cut off my arm or some such nonsense. It’s not that big of a deal.”
Wanting to scream in frustration, Morgana lets her hands slip away from the warmth of Arthur’s face as she falls backwards on her bed, covering her own face with them instead. This is madness.
Morgana feels Arthur take hold of her elbows and pull her back upright. “Morgana,” he says, tension in his voice despite the carefulness with which he speaks. “You’re not being sensible here.”
It’s all she can do not to push him backwards on the floor. He really can be the most unbearable man. Sensible has no place here, amongst the discussion of marriage, not when he is all that is in her heart while Gwen occupies his.
It isn’t fair.
“May-” she breaks off, emotions clogging her very soul. “I need to think about this, Arthur.” Scowling, he sits back on his heels. He is detaching himself from the moment, from her. It hurts more than she can describe. “Uther won’t be happy with us,” she says quickly, “if indeed we go forward with this idea. He may very well throw me over a horse and drag me to Cornwall at once.” She begins to lay her hand on his shoulder, but changes her mind practically at once and brings it back to her lap. “People in our positions must be careful, always.”
By the flashing of comprehension in his eyes Morgana knows that, at least for now, she’s won.
“Then I’ll wish you goodnight,” Arthur states, rising stiffly to his feet and vanishes out her door without another glance.
Almost the second the door closes a cloying, choking panic wraps around Morgana’s throat. She can’t breathe. Everything is too hot and too close around her, the walls closing in. Standing abruptly, the grace Uther had drilled into her as a girl deserts her, and she walks in fast angry paces by the side of her bed. Her skin tingles, her heart racing. She is coming apart at the seams.
And there is only one thing she can do about it.
…0…
When he sees the top of Arthur’s head behind Morgana, Merlin panics. The prince’s anger would rival that of his father if he were to find out that Merlin, despite Arthur’s specific instructions to stay away from Uther’s ward, had gone against his master and overreached his own station by taking liberties with Morgana.
Never mind that she was the instigator, Merlin thinks. Her word is worth ten of his - even more where the King is concerned. Not a soul outside Gaius, and maybe Gwen, would believe him. Arthur has assumed him to be in love with Morgana for months.
To the casual observer, he’s guilty as sin.
As he scrubs his hand over his face in distraction, Merlin allows himself to wonder what’s going on that has Arthur so distracted, what has him speaking to Morgana for so long and late at night. What is going on that they feel the need to keep to the dark for their conversations?
Innate, irrational jealousy fills the cavern of his chest for a breath, followed by shame. He has no right to his envy. Has no rights to Morgana. Last night changes nothing. Well, nothing but increasing the size of the danger he’s in.
There’s a quiet shuffling on the stairs, and then his door opens quietly, Morgana’s small frame edging into the room like a ghost in her white nightdress and loose hair.
He jumps to his feet. “Morgana,” careful to keep his voice low, Merlin shuts the door behind her and stands in front of it. Should Gaius overhear them and come to investigate, he’ll be able to buy them some time. “You shouldn’t be here.”
She steps in closer to him. “I thought you would come after Arthur left.”
“I wasn’t sure how long he would stay,” he tells her. “If he saw me-”
He’s cut off by Morgana pulling his face down to hers. Her mouth is soft and warm under his, and she yields to him as if she’s been thinking on last night as much as he has. While one clumsy hand tangles itself in the wild curls at the back of Morgana’s head, the other grapples for the lock on the door. He follows willingly when she wraps a hand around the back of his neck and leads him towards his bed.
She stays until the first lightening of the sky shows through his open window, the flushed skin of Merlin’s neck muffling the noises that she makes first, then tracing the shell of his ear with her finger.
He rolls his shoulders, twists his head, but she won’t stop. Only giggles and persists in her assault on him.
“That tickles,” Merlin protests, pouting up at her on her propped elbow.
“It’s meant to.” She shows no remorse, obviously, not that he expected any. He grins and catches her hand, playing idly with her fingers. She lets him, giving him an indulgent smile like he’s a small child with a new toy. Then she sighs, the lightness of the moment shattered. “I should go.”
She dresses silently, her back to him. He doesn’t know what he expects - maybe a kiss goodbye? But Morgana only stops at the door, listening for Gaius moving about below, and then turns back to him before she leaves. “Do try to be a bit more subtle, Merlin.” With a sly smile, she vanishes.
…0…
A long blue velvet cloak conceals Morgana from Merlin’s eyes. She stands before him a vague, distant figure of sapphire until her hands raise to push her hood back.
Some part of Merlin’s mind wars with him. He doesn’t know how to react to Morgana. Once, she was a friend. She became more from there, became someone he cherished in a way he had no right to do.
Thinking of her hand burning white hot on the skin of his side reminds him that for the better part of the last twenty odd years she’s been a sworn enemy.
Yet she stands before him with no malice in her eyes, no hatred, no accusations.
And still, she is the most beautiful woman he has ever gleamed eyes upon.
“Merlin,” she says, “we have much to discuss.”
…0…
Arthur can’t for the life of him keep his mind on training the next morning. He messes up footwork even the greenest of squires could master and were it not for Sir Leon’s determination to never let real injury befall the heir to the throne, he would have done himself serious personal injury on a low lying tree branch.
The stable hand had told him that morning that Morgana had gone off on a ride, hours before he was even awake.
He can’t help but think that she’s trying to get away from him.
Honestly, if he’d known his offer of marriage would draw this sort of reaction from her, he would have kept it to himself.
Three weeks have passed since that night and not once has Morgana ever allowed the circumstances for the two of them to be alone in a room to come to fruition. Arthur is beginning to suspect that she’s somehow managed to have Gwen sewn to the hem of her gown so that there is always at least one other person around at all times.
Sir Harold parries his sword, and Arthur, lost in the swirling clouds of his own thoughts, is knocked onto his back. Groaning in frustration, he lays there for several seconds.
“Sire?” The crowd gathers around him quicker than he expected. “Are you injured?”
“Only my pride,” Arthur mutters, and takes Harold’s proffered hand to pull himself to his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur spies Merlin scurrying towards the castle, his arms full of something. He frowns. Merlin has been acting squirrelier than usual lately.
But he doesn’t have much time to contemplate it as his father sends for him and utters the word that will change everything; Witchfinder.
Aredian arrives and a chill falls over Camelot. Everyone is terrified. He sees panic in Gwen’s eyes, for she herself was once mistakenly accused of witchery. Morgana is paler than ever, obviously shaken. Not surprising, given her tendency to go up against authority on behalf of those accused of magic. Silently, Arthur prays that everyone keeps their mouths shut about that one.
Even Merlin looks nervous. Which is just preposterous. As if Merlin had the ability to practice any sort of duplicity.
Then it actually happens. Merlin is accused and hauled away and Arthur has to stand there while Gaius’s chambers are searched. Sir Leon finds some sort of amulet, and Arthur is powerless to prevent him from showing it to Aredian. Gaius tries to confess to Merlin’s charges, but Uther will not hear of it. He has never held any sort of affinity for Merlin, not even on the occasions that the servant has saved his son’s life. Gaius on the other hand, has been in the King’s service for decades. His pleas fall on deaf ears.
A trial is scheduled for the next day, Merlin hauled off to the dungeons. Gwen is in tears, Morgana looks ready to fall over.
Late that night, long after the stone walls around him are silent, the door to Arthur’s chamber opens. He’d been sitting, trying - praying - to think of a way to save Merlin. There’s no proof against him, couldn’t possibly be. When the squeaking of hinges against wood pull him from his thoughts, he grabs his sword and jumps to his feet.
Morgana appears and rolls her eyes. “Put that away before you hurt yourself, Arthur.” She sits at his table and looks up at him, expectantly, waiting for him to join her.
She sighs. “What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know that there’s anything we can do,” he tells her. Arthur tentatively places his hand over hers. She blinks in surprise, then covers it with her other palm.
“Arthur,” she whispers, urgency undercutting her words, “we can’t just stand by and let this happen. Do you honestly think Merlin will get a fair trial?” Arthur drops his eyes, unable to stand the pain he sees in her face. “Arthur, please.” She tries again, “He’ll be killed.”
“It isn’t as if we can break him out, Morgana. Even if my father could truly be convinced that neither us had a hand in it,” Arthur fights a shudder at the thoughts of Uther extracting any sort of reprimand on Morgana, “he would still hunt Merlin down. You know Uther - he will not rest until any so called sorcerer is dead.”
Tears gather in Morgana’s eyes faster than should be humanly possible. She raises her hand from the top of Arthur’s and wipes at her face.
It kills Arthur to see her like this. Morgana is always so stubborn, so defiant. Seeing her hurt reminds him of that, despite her bravado, she is small, and as breakable as anyone. Seeing her suffer like this opens an often ignored wound deep in the bottom of his heart.
“What if we plead with Uther,” she tries. “I can go to him, tell him I’ll marry Marcus willingly,” she barrels over Arthur’s protest, “if he spares Merlin’s life. He can banish him instead.”
If it were any other crime… Merlin saved Arthur’s life, and Uther owes him. But magic is unpardonable. Which is what he tells her.
Jerking away from him, Morgana paces the length of the room. “Don’t you care, Arthur? After everything Merlin has done for you - you’re not even going to try?”
Shame, heavy and solid, hits him. No one but Morgana has ever been able to make Arthur, despite his years and rank, feel like nothing more than a misbehaving child that has just acting most disappointingly. Feeling his shoulders slump, Arthur rises and walks toward her. “Morgana, you must know that if there were a way, I would do it. Please,” he takes her hands, “believe me.”
“I want to,” she whispers.
As well she should. They may bicker and quarrel, but this girl before him knows Arthur better than anyone else in the entire world ever has. He has to - needs to - convince her. “I am so sorry, Morgana,” he says, desperately. “I consider Merlin a friend. If there were any way, I would do it.”
She regards him warily, her eyes swimming with something unknowable to him. Finally she nods, takes a step back from him. “Arthur, I have never asked you for anything, not for myself.” He knows this. She’s far too proud to humble herself before him that way. “But I’m asking now. If you won’t save Merlin for Gaius, or for yourself, or just because it’s what’s right, then do it for me. Please.”
The Prince feels as if his whole world has just titled on it’s axis. Everything is upended.
“Morgana…”
She stands directly before him again, the wheels turning in her head reflecting in her pale eyes. “Arthur, please,” she repeats. Eye flicking down, heat flooding her face, she grips her hands so tightly that he sees all of the little color she possesses flee from her knuckles. “I- I’ll do anything.”
On ‘anything,’ her eyes flick back up to his eyes and there is little doubt of her meaning. “Morgana, I-” He’s what? Surprised? Scandalized? Insulted? He doesn’t know, but it is unlike anything else, ever, that he’s felt.
At his silence, Morgana turns and leaves without another word.
…0…
It isn’t mentioned.
Gaius and Gwen, wonderful souls they are, they find proof of Aredian’s treachery. Morgana wonders how many other innocent people he’s condemned just for the sake of his own reputation as she watches Merlin released from his chains and hugs his saviors.
Arthur stands on the other side his father as Uther apologizes to Merlin. He’s silent, as usual when the King speaks, but Morgana feels his eyes on her. No big shock there, not after she basically offered herself up to him the night before, all for the sake of somebody else.
But Morgana couldn’t tell him… couldn’t say the words; that she loves him so desperately, that she cares for Merlin more than she ever thought she would. That she knows Arthur will never love her as she wishes and would settle for one misspent night even if she has to barter for it. It’s all so tangled and messy, and she stayed awake until dawn wondering how she let herself get into such a fix.
That night, as she lies in her bed with Merlin curled up behind her, Morgana imagines what Arthur must think of her. Uther had her schooled diligently to ensure that she grew up a proper lady of the court. And she had gone to Arthur and offered up her virtue as payment for a favor. She shuts her eyes tightly. The steady rhythm of Merlin’s heart against her back is comforting. Tangible proof of what she had been bargaining for. Merlin is so… good. Such a sweet, kind hearted man, without a selfish or malicious bone in his body.
Her affection for him does not, however, diminish her love of Arthur that runs straight to her soul. She sighs deeply, hoping that it doesn’t rouse Merlin from his sleep, and imagines what would have happened had Arthur had answered her, had he not been effectively struck dumb by her lack of shame. And it stays in her mind all the rest of the night and on into the morning, while she and Gwen visit with Lady Corinne and her new baby, at dinner with Uther where he carefully broaches the subject of Duke Marcus coming for a visit.
It does not leave her mind until yet another mysterious knight comes into Camelot and challenges Arthur.
Morgause, she says. And though there is no reason for it, Morgana feels she knows her. There’s something in the other woman’s eyes that seem so familiar to Morgana, as if she’s seen them before but she is certain that they have never met.
When Morgause bests Arthur, he acts the same way he used to when Morgana would beat him at one of their endless challenges with their small wooden swords. She goes to see him, having heard that Uther has ordered him confined to his room upon Morgause’s request. Uther doesn’t know his son at all if he thinks that’s going to prevent him from keeping his word. Arthur is too noble, too prideful, to let any broken promise fall from his lips.
And it is exactly that pride that has him acting like a child when she walks into his guarded chambers. “Still sulking?”
He raises his head from the table and glares at her. “Surely you have better things to do than mock me.”
“Oh never,” she teases, leaning against the table beside his chair. “It isn’t the end of the world, Arthur.”
He snorts. Rolling her eyes, Morgana expects a tiny scratch above his eyebrow. He’d been wearing a helmet, so he must have gotten it some other way. He jerks his head away from her hold. “Are you here merely to poke fun at me, or did you actually need something?”
Morgana tamps down the hurt of Arthur turning away from her. He’s been avoiding her ever since the night he came and asked her to marry him. Then, she remembers. “That night, when I asked you to save Merlin-”
He colors. “Don’t.”
But Morgana has never been one to listen to Arthur. Not without proper cause - which is rare. “I said I’d do anything… you could have made me promise I’d marry you.”
Cheeks still flushed, he looks up at her from beneath his lashes. “You think I’d do something as dishonorable as that?”
No. Of course he wouldn’t. “I don’t, but you could have.”
Arthur stands, the chain mail he’s still wearing making his shoulders look even more broad than usual. It glints in the firelight, twinkling like tiny stars. “When you say yes, Morgana, I would prefer it to be of your own free will.”
She quirks an eyebrow at him. “When I say yes?”
He grins, every inch the same little boy she first met. “You’re a lot of things, Morgana, but you’re not stupid.”
Opening her mouth to retort, Morgana is hit by a picture inside her head, so vivid, that it steals her breath. Gasping, she fumbles for the edge of the table. Quicker than she can blink, Arthur takes hold of her shoulders and directs her to his vacated seat. He crouches down in front of her, concern running along the edges of his sharp features. “Morgana, are you alright?”
Not trusting her voice, she nods. “I don’t think you should go, Arthur. You don’t know what she wants.”
The way he looks at her in that moment, she’s convinced he knows. But he only says, solemnly, “I gave her my word.”
When she leaves his chambers, she sees Merlin slipping down the hallway, a tray in his hands. “Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid,” she whispers, and makes her way to Morgauses’s room.
She’s packing her things to leave. Again Morgana feels like she knows her. “You aren’t going to hurt him, are you?”
“No,” Morgause assures her. “I just need to talk to him, and I can’t do that here.” And despite all evidence to the contrary, Morgana believes her.
Morgana’s eyes slip down, at a loss. This isn’t Sophia and Morgana has no proof that Morgause would actually harm Arthur in any way. “That’s a lovely bracelet.”
“Thank you. It was my mother’s.” She steps closer, face serious and eyes searching. “You look tired.”
“I haven’t been sleeping well,” Morgana tells her. “Nightmares.”
Sliding the metal off her wrist, Morgause hands it to her. “Here. This is a healing bracelet. It will help.”
“Oh, I couldn’t,” she says, but Morgause presses it into her hands. “I insist.”
That night, while Morgana sleeps better than she has in years, Arthur and Merlin slip out of the castle. No one knew it then, but that was when the shift began.
…0…
Stepping away from the window, Arthur looks around the room, not really seeing the new quilt Gwen had made for his birthday, or the tapestry given to him by the monks at Glastonbury. Instead he sees himself, younger, on the day he almost killed his father in the throne room.
He remembers Morgana. The concern on her face, the softness of her eyes, all of it as fresh in his mind as the day it happened. He still doesn’t think she actually knows what happened - there, with Morgause - but she knew something was wrong.
But more than anything, when the night that followed his sword at his father’s throat comes into his mind, Arthur recalls the thump of his heart when Morgana had come to his chambers, silently, and wrapped her arms around him.
…0…
“Do you know the story of Cassandra, Merlin?”
He looks over at her at her small writing table, drafting a letter to some aunt in France that he hadn’t even known she had until that morning. He looks up from his task of cleaning out her fireplace, wiping at some soot he feels on his face. “Can’t say I do.”
“She was a Greek princess who could see the future.” Taking a deep breath, she gives him a sad smile. “She saw terrible things, Merlin, the destruction of her home, the deaths of her family. But nobody believed her. It drove her mad.”
He stands and walks over to where she’s sitting. “I thought you said that the bracelet Morgause gave you was helping with the nightmares.”
“It is,” she tells him, toying her quill in between her fingers. “But…”
“But?”
Looking up at him with watery eyes, she shudders out a breath. “I’ve started having them when I’m awake.”
Guilt with the force of a living creature gnaws at his insides, threatening to tear him apart and eat him from the inside out. It hurts, more than anything he’s felt before. Worse than any physical pain for sure. He should tell her… he can help her, let her know that she’s not alone in this. Covering her hand with his, he rubs across her pale skin. The metal of her bracelet is cool under his fingers when he brushes it. He traces the lines of intricate engravings idly. “What do these mean?”
Morgana shrugs. “I don’t know really, but they look familiar.”
“Yeah,” he murmurs, “they do.” In truth they look like the symbols in his magic book. He’s been waiting for her to take the bracelet off. Morgause is not to be trusted. Merlin’s as sure of that as he is his own name, and he wants to have a look at this particular piece of jewelry for himself but Morgana never takes it off.
Arthur hasn’t spoken of Morgause since they left her, not to him in any case. Doubtful if he’s talked about it with his father. The king seemed only too eager to have the whole business behind them. Arthur isn’t one for speaking openly of his feelings. Merlin can recall, with perfect clarity, the pained expression on the prince’s face every time Merlin had inquired about anything involving Gwen. But on the rare occasions that he does open up, if not Merlin, then Arthur confides in Morgana. Well, as much as his pride will allow him to.
He is glad that Uther has called his son in for some meeting or something - its about a border dispute up north. While Merlin can use his excuse of cleaning Morgana’s fireplace in preparation for the cold weather, he knows that Arthur may not be too keen on believing him.
With good reason, he reminds himself. The fireplace is just in case someone should come into the room. Gwen, or Gaius maybe. In reality Morgana had asked to see him. He finds her paler than normal and distressed about what she’s seeing.
“It’s always Arthur,” she mumbles against Merlin’s skin. “Why is it always his pain that I have to see?”
At a loss of what to tell her, Merlin hugs her closer, feeling the ridge of her bracelet digging in to the small of his back as she grips at him.
…0…
One thing that Arthur has never been is a quitter. And one thing he is, as Morgana likes to remind him, is stubborn. Hopelessly so.
Morgana may be just as stubborn as he is, but she’s also practical, if prone to the odd hysteric. Marcus is due to visit Camelot in only two months time and if he finds her to be pleasing enough, then she is to be married. It won’t matter if she wants it or not. Uther has the final say and Arthur knows that though it would hurt him to have her so far away, the king will be happy to see Morgana settled and safe.
If she wants to avoid a life in the cold Cornish cliffs married to a man old enough to be her father, then she has very few options.
There are moments though, when the light is low or she’s turned away, that Arthur sees a sadness in her eyes that he’s not accustomed to from her. If he’s too proud to ever show his weaknesses, then Morgana is even more so. She tries so hard to keep up her icy exterior of the proper lady. But Arthur knows her - no matter how much she likes to think otherwise. He knows her better than he knows himself, certainly as well as a man can know any woman.
He’s begun to take his meals with her. She raised one dark eyebrow the first time he entered her chambers, looking anywhere but at Gwen, and asked her very formally to have dinner with him. That telltale light of not quite contentment had flashed in her eyes only to disappear so quickly he wonders if he imagined it. And wonder he does. Truly. Morgana knows exactly what he’s doing, not that he’s trying to be underhanded about it. Wryly he thinks that if he stays on his good behavior he could probably charm her into falling in love with him - if she were any other woman in the world other than Morgana. For as well as he knows her, she knows him just as well.
He is simply making an effort.
The morning after Merlin is convinced he heard someone in her chambers, Arthur orders flowers brought to her before Gwen brings their food in. The maid is unnaturally quiet, but Arthur does his best not to think about it. That is a pipe dream. Morgana is tangible, Morgana is his future. Letting his thoughts drift isn’t going to help matters at all.
“Morgana,” he says, “again, I am sorry about last night.”
She’s distracted this morning. Very. It verges on insulting, especially when she doesn’t seem to hear him and he has to resort to snapping his fingers in front of her face to get her attention. “Morgana?”
Starting, she meets his gaze and her pale eyes look troubled. “I’m sorry, what?”
With a frown, Arthur repeats himself. She waves it off. “Morgana, are you alright? You haven’t even touched your plate.”
Morgana smirks at him knowingly, taking pleasure in teasing him. “If that’s your way of asking for my sausage you could be a bit more subtle.”
Arthur fairly aches to stick his tongue out at her. But they’re past that now, so he sighs out his ire in a long breath and purses his lips. “I better go,” he tells her as he stands, “as I’ve actually cleaned my plate.”
“No surprise there,” she remarks, airy and lofty as she can muster.
“Yes well, I have Druids to find after all.” Arthur stops at the door, seeing her again lost in thoughts that he finds himself uncomfortable not to know. “I may not be back in time for lunch - will you join me for dinner?”
She waves her hand at him. “Of course.” Again, he wants to make his displeasure known. Is it really so much to ask that she give him her attention when he’s standing in her chambers speaking directly to her?
With one last huff, and one last avoided glance from Gwen, he stalks from the room, determined to find the Druids and get on with the real matter at hand.
…0…
Three months. That’s what Morgana figures. The night Arthur asked her to marry him. An angry tear streaks hot down her face. How tragically ironic that she is so close to getting what she wants the most only to have it all fall to dust.
Holding a hand to her rolling stomach, she paces back in forth in front of her window. Morgause asked to meet her and the hour is fast approaching. Its foolish, but from what Arthur told her its obvious that Morgause has magic, and the yearn to be with someone who understands pulses deep in her soul.
And perhaps a part of Morgana hopes that the other woman will be able to help her, not only with her ever growing powers, but with Uther. He’s becoming more and more insistent that Morgana marry Marcus. The Duke is a good man, that much Morgana remembers when she thinks about the man who gave her a pony for her seventh birthday and stood with her father while she rode it for the first time.
What sort of punishment will Uther decree once he’s aware that marrying her to Marcus is no longer an option? A shudder goes through her. Most likely he’ll banish her for bringing shame upon his good name. A snort makes its way out of her with that thought. That’s all she’ll get if she’s lucky - that and a tarnish on her reputation whenever anyone speaks of her in Camelot again.
If things had gone a different way, she would be marrying Arthur. Her life has become a series of ifs. If she had figured it out sooner. If Arthur were less noble, if she were less proud. If she hadn’t been so foolish.
But now, now the ifs don’t matter. Now it is whats. What Uther will do. What Merlin will say. What Arthur will think.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “I’m sorry I didn’t do better for you.” Her other hand falls to lie alongside the other one, the entire field of her stomach covered. Perhaps, if she had realized sooner, maybe this could have been Arthur’s baby…
No. Morgana could never do that to him. And it isn’t only that she loves him so dearly. Arthur is too good, has been too good to her, for her to deceive him that way, and far too honorable to have laid a finger on her outside of marriage. His father would kill him.
What will become of Merlin should he be found out? She won’t name him, but Merlin as well has too much character. Much too much to allow him to stand by silently while she’s thrown from the only home she’s known since she was ten years old. He’ll offer to marry her, of course. But can she go through with it? As dear and sweet as Merlin is, as much as she cares for him, could she stand before God and give him her vows while her heart is full of nothing but Arthur?
Alvarr, he had been so close. So very close. Morgana would be free now had he succeeded. Uther would be gone, Arthur would be the king Camelot needs, and Morgana would be free.
Opening her door, Morgana peers out into the dark castle hallway. There are no guards to be seen. Merlin hasn’t come to her room in over a week, not that she’s exactly upset about that. She would have to tell him - surely he would notice her weight gain without the aide of her flowing gowns. Yes, Morgana knows that she is going to have to tell him - tell everyone - at some point, soon. It will just be easier for everyone once Uther is out of the way.
Grabbing her cloak, she tiptoes down the stairs and out a side door, the shadows hiding her all the way into the forest.
…0…
“I’m fine, thanks,” Merlin replies glibly, moving his cloak out of the way to sit on an old tree stump. He look up at Morgana, eyes guarded, rimmed by lines at the edges, bright silver streaking liberally through his dark hair.
Morgana crosses her arms over her chest. He’s being a tad petulant here and he knows it, but it’s been twelve years since he’s last laid eyes on this woman and she still haunts his dreams with her green eyes and her bright smile, with her good heart turned so dark.
He doesn’t think that he’s being unreasonable, not wanting to make this easy on her.
One dark eyebrow arches in her still unlined face. For all intents and purposes, Morgana appears entirely unchanged. Fairy blood. “Really, Merlin,” she says, “can’t we try and be civil here? For old time’s sake?”
With a sarcastic twist to his mouth, he studies her, and the space around her, for any sign of the subterfuge he knows has to be lurking nearby. “No, we can’t. Why don’t you just tell me what you want, Morgana.”
A bright, cold smile spreads across her face. “I want to see Arthur.”
…0…
Part 1a
But when she opens her door, it isn’t Merlin’s blue eyes that stare at her expectantly.
“Well,” Arthur demands, in that ever present impatient tone of his, “are you going to let me in or not?”
Feeling her lips twist in a frown, Morgana steps aside and lets Arthur into her room. She spies Merlin at the bottom of the steps, and motions for him to stay where he is.
“Morgana.”
She spins, shutting the door too quickly and too loudly for so late at night and pinches her finger.
Arthur eyes her. “Are you all right? You seem a bit…” His eyes rake over her. “Twitchy.”
Morgana bristles at his description. “I’m fine. Just not accustomed to men dropping by my bedchamber in the middle of the night.”
His lower lips protrudes in a over exaggerated pout. “Must you make everything so difficult?”
“How am I making things difficult?” She throws her hands up in exasperation. He really is the most insufferable man to ever walk the Earth, she’s sure of it.
“Just listen.” Arthur’s hands come toward her, hovering in the air over her shoulders, as if he’s about to take hold of her. Only he doesn’t, and Morgana’s skin tingles with the disappointment of a phantom touch instead. “I think…” He pauses, licks his lips. Morgana’s eyes draw down to the motion. “I may have a way to keep my father from marrying you to Marcus.”
She’d almost forgotten about that. Between Arthur in front of her and Merlin waiting outside. Almost.
“What is it?”
Very matter of factly, Arthur stares into her eyes, every inch the Crown Prince of Camelot. “You marry me instead.”
For a second there is only the rushing of blood in her ears and the smattering of stars in front of her eyes. It’s anger, pure and hot, and all consuming. How dare he mock her situation this way.
Then, it sinks in that, good God, Arthur is serious. And nothing in the world could have prepared her for the possibility.
Her stomach drops, the weight almost tangible and her legs go out from under her with it. She sits abruptly on the edge of her table. It can’t be real. It can’t. Yet… it is. Arthur is before her, offering her that which she wants the most in the world.
“I’ve shocked you then.” Arthur sinks down on to his knee before her, placing one large, warm palm over hers. A small smile edges his lips up. He likes having an advantage over her. Always has. It all goes back to their equally competitive natures - they’ve been trying to one up the other forever.
She laughs, hollow and breathy. “Yes.” Letting her eyes meet his, she yearns to run a hand along the sharp line of his jaw. “It isn’t everyday I get a proposal from a prince.”
His smile blooms into a laugh. “Is that a yes?”
An aching awareness of love and gratitude raising up in her chest, Morgana shakes her head. “You don’t love me, Arthur.”
He blinks, surprised, not prepared for the possibility of being refused. “Yes I do.”
A hot rush of tears burns up behind her irises, but she bites the inside of her cheek to keep them at bay. Arthur does love her. She knows that as well as she knows her own name, as well as she knows that Uther truly believes he has her best interests at heart. It’s one of the only things she has never doubted. Arthur loves her. Fiercely. Has shown it time and time again.
But…
“You’re not in love with me.”
Arthur frowns. “So?”
She wants to laugh, to cry. Wants to sigh and roll her eyes and maybe smack him upside the head for good measure. Only Arthur would see something such as love as little consequence when it comes to getting his way.
Morgana wants to ask. Gwen. What about Gwen. But she doesn’t - she can’t. It may not be the moment she’s dreamt of, but it is no less precious. He is so dear. Finally, Morgana does let her hands come up to lay against his cheeks. Surprise flashes in the depths of his blue eyes. “It’s very noble of you to offer, Arthur, but I can’t let you do this for me.”
Annoyance flits over his face. “Don’t be such a martyr, Morgana. It isn’t as if you asking me to cut off my arm or some such nonsense. It’s not that big of a deal.”
Wanting to scream in frustration, Morgana lets her hands slip away from the warmth of Arthur’s face as she falls backwards on her bed, covering her own face with them instead. This is madness.
Morgana feels Arthur take hold of her elbows and pull her back upright. “Morgana,” he says, tension in his voice despite the carefulness with which he speaks. “You’re not being sensible here.”
It’s all she can do not to push him backwards on the floor. He really can be the most unbearable man. Sensible has no place here, amongst the discussion of marriage, not when he is all that is in her heart while Gwen occupies his.
It isn’t fair.
“May-” she breaks off, emotions clogging her very soul. “I need to think about this, Arthur.” Scowling, he sits back on his heels. He is detaching himself from the moment, from her. It hurts more than she can describe. “Uther won’t be happy with us,” she says quickly, “if indeed we go forward with this idea. He may very well throw me over a horse and drag me to Cornwall at once.” She begins to lay her hand on his shoulder, but changes her mind practically at once and brings it back to her lap. “People in our positions must be careful, always.”
By the flashing of comprehension in his eyes Morgana knows that, at least for now, she’s won.
“Then I’ll wish you goodnight,” Arthur states, rising stiffly to his feet and vanishes out her door without another glance.
Almost the second the door closes a cloying, choking panic wraps around Morgana’s throat. She can’t breathe. Everything is too hot and too close around her, the walls closing in. Standing abruptly, the grace Uther had drilled into her as a girl deserts her, and she walks in fast angry paces by the side of her bed. Her skin tingles, her heart racing. She is coming apart at the seams.
And there is only one thing she can do about it.
…0…
When he sees the top of Arthur’s head behind Morgana, Merlin panics. The prince’s anger would rival that of his father if he were to find out that Merlin, despite Arthur’s specific instructions to stay away from Uther’s ward, had gone against his master and overreached his own station by taking liberties with Morgana.
Never mind that she was the instigator, Merlin thinks. Her word is worth ten of his - even more where the King is concerned. Not a soul outside Gaius, and maybe Gwen, would believe him. Arthur has assumed him to be in love with Morgana for months.
To the casual observer, he’s guilty as sin.
As he scrubs his hand over his face in distraction, Merlin allows himself to wonder what’s going on that has Arthur so distracted, what has him speaking to Morgana for so long and late at night. What is going on that they feel the need to keep to the dark for their conversations?
Innate, irrational jealousy fills the cavern of his chest for a breath, followed by shame. He has no right to his envy. Has no rights to Morgana. Last night changes nothing. Well, nothing but increasing the size of the danger he’s in.
There’s a quiet shuffling on the stairs, and then his door opens quietly, Morgana’s small frame edging into the room like a ghost in her white nightdress and loose hair.
He jumps to his feet. “Morgana,” careful to keep his voice low, Merlin shuts the door behind her and stands in front of it. Should Gaius overhear them and come to investigate, he’ll be able to buy them some time. “You shouldn’t be here.”
She steps in closer to him. “I thought you would come after Arthur left.”
“I wasn’t sure how long he would stay,” he tells her. “If he saw me-”
He’s cut off by Morgana pulling his face down to hers. Her mouth is soft and warm under his, and she yields to him as if she’s been thinking on last night as much as he has. While one clumsy hand tangles itself in the wild curls at the back of Morgana’s head, the other grapples for the lock on the door. He follows willingly when she wraps a hand around the back of his neck and leads him towards his bed.
She stays until the first lightening of the sky shows through his open window, the flushed skin of Merlin’s neck muffling the noises that she makes first, then tracing the shell of his ear with her finger.
He rolls his shoulders, twists his head, but she won’t stop. Only giggles and persists in her assault on him.
“That tickles,” Merlin protests, pouting up at her on her propped elbow.
“It’s meant to.” She shows no remorse, obviously, not that he expected any. He grins and catches her hand, playing idly with her fingers. She lets him, giving him an indulgent smile like he’s a small child with a new toy. Then she sighs, the lightness of the moment shattered. “I should go.”
She dresses silently, her back to him. He doesn’t know what he expects - maybe a kiss goodbye? But Morgana only stops at the door, listening for Gaius moving about below, and then turns back to him before she leaves. “Do try to be a bit more subtle, Merlin.” With a sly smile, she vanishes.
…0…
A long blue velvet cloak conceals Morgana from Merlin’s eyes. She stands before him a vague, distant figure of sapphire until her hands raise to push her hood back.
Some part of Merlin’s mind wars with him. He doesn’t know how to react to Morgana. Once, she was a friend. She became more from there, became someone he cherished in a way he had no right to do.
Thinking of her hand burning white hot on the skin of his side reminds him that for the better part of the last twenty odd years she’s been a sworn enemy.
Yet she stands before him with no malice in her eyes, no hatred, no accusations.
And still, she is the most beautiful woman he has ever gleamed eyes upon.
“Merlin,” she says, “we have much to discuss.”
…0…
Arthur can’t for the life of him keep his mind on training the next morning. He messes up footwork even the greenest of squires could master and were it not for Sir Leon’s determination to never let real injury befall the heir to the throne, he would have done himself serious personal injury on a low lying tree branch.
The stable hand had told him that morning that Morgana had gone off on a ride, hours before he was even awake.
He can’t help but think that she’s trying to get away from him.
Honestly, if he’d known his offer of marriage would draw this sort of reaction from her, he would have kept it to himself.
Three weeks have passed since that night and not once has Morgana ever allowed the circumstances for the two of them to be alone in a room to come to fruition. Arthur is beginning to suspect that she’s somehow managed to have Gwen sewn to the hem of her gown so that there is always at least one other person around at all times.
Sir Harold parries his sword, and Arthur, lost in the swirling clouds of his own thoughts, is knocked onto his back. Groaning in frustration, he lays there for several seconds.
“Sire?” The crowd gathers around him quicker than he expected. “Are you injured?”
“Only my pride,” Arthur mutters, and takes Harold’s proffered hand to pull himself to his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur spies Merlin scurrying towards the castle, his arms full of something. He frowns. Merlin has been acting squirrelier than usual lately.
But he doesn’t have much time to contemplate it as his father sends for him and utters the word that will change everything; Witchfinder.
Aredian arrives and a chill falls over Camelot. Everyone is terrified. He sees panic in Gwen’s eyes, for she herself was once mistakenly accused of witchery. Morgana is paler than ever, obviously shaken. Not surprising, given her tendency to go up against authority on behalf of those accused of magic. Silently, Arthur prays that everyone keeps their mouths shut about that one.
Even Merlin looks nervous. Which is just preposterous. As if Merlin had the ability to practice any sort of duplicity.
Then it actually happens. Merlin is accused and hauled away and Arthur has to stand there while Gaius’s chambers are searched. Sir Leon finds some sort of amulet, and Arthur is powerless to prevent him from showing it to Aredian. Gaius tries to confess to Merlin’s charges, but Uther will not hear of it. He has never held any sort of affinity for Merlin, not even on the occasions that the servant has saved his son’s life. Gaius on the other hand, has been in the King’s service for decades. His pleas fall on deaf ears.
A trial is scheduled for the next day, Merlin hauled off to the dungeons. Gwen is in tears, Morgana looks ready to fall over.
Late that night, long after the stone walls around him are silent, the door to Arthur’s chamber opens. He’d been sitting, trying - praying - to think of a way to save Merlin. There’s no proof against him, couldn’t possibly be. When the squeaking of hinges against wood pull him from his thoughts, he grabs his sword and jumps to his feet.
Morgana appears and rolls her eyes. “Put that away before you hurt yourself, Arthur.” She sits at his table and looks up at him, expectantly, waiting for him to join her.
She sighs. “What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know that there’s anything we can do,” he tells her. Arthur tentatively places his hand over hers. She blinks in surprise, then covers it with her other palm.
“Arthur,” she whispers, urgency undercutting her words, “we can’t just stand by and let this happen. Do you honestly think Merlin will get a fair trial?” Arthur drops his eyes, unable to stand the pain he sees in her face. “Arthur, please.” She tries again, “He’ll be killed.”
“It isn’t as if we can break him out, Morgana. Even if my father could truly be convinced that neither us had a hand in it,” Arthur fights a shudder at the thoughts of Uther extracting any sort of reprimand on Morgana, “he would still hunt Merlin down. You know Uther - he will not rest until any so called sorcerer is dead.”
Tears gather in Morgana’s eyes faster than should be humanly possible. She raises her hand from the top of Arthur’s and wipes at her face.
It kills Arthur to see her like this. Morgana is always so stubborn, so defiant. Seeing her hurt reminds him of that, despite her bravado, she is small, and as breakable as anyone. Seeing her suffer like this opens an often ignored wound deep in the bottom of his heart.
“What if we plead with Uther,” she tries. “I can go to him, tell him I’ll marry Marcus willingly,” she barrels over Arthur’s protest, “if he spares Merlin’s life. He can banish him instead.”
If it were any other crime… Merlin saved Arthur’s life, and Uther owes him. But magic is unpardonable. Which is what he tells her.
Jerking away from him, Morgana paces the length of the room. “Don’t you care, Arthur? After everything Merlin has done for you - you’re not even going to try?”
Shame, heavy and solid, hits him. No one but Morgana has ever been able to make Arthur, despite his years and rank, feel like nothing more than a misbehaving child that has just acting most disappointingly. Feeling his shoulders slump, Arthur rises and walks toward her. “Morgana, you must know that if there were a way, I would do it. Please,” he takes her hands, “believe me.”
“I want to,” she whispers.
As well she should. They may bicker and quarrel, but this girl before him knows Arthur better than anyone else in the entire world ever has. He has to - needs to - convince her. “I am so sorry, Morgana,” he says, desperately. “I consider Merlin a friend. If there were any way, I would do it.”
She regards him warily, her eyes swimming with something unknowable to him. Finally she nods, takes a step back from him. “Arthur, I have never asked you for anything, not for myself.” He knows this. She’s far too proud to humble herself before him that way. “But I’m asking now. If you won’t save Merlin for Gaius, or for yourself, or just because it’s what’s right, then do it for me. Please.”
The Prince feels as if his whole world has just titled on it’s axis. Everything is upended.
“Morgana…”
She stands directly before him again, the wheels turning in her head reflecting in her pale eyes. “Arthur, please,” she repeats. Eye flicking down, heat flooding her face, she grips her hands so tightly that he sees all of the little color she possesses flee from her knuckles. “I- I’ll do anything.”
On ‘anything,’ her eyes flick back up to his eyes and there is little doubt of her meaning. “Morgana, I-” He’s what? Surprised? Scandalized? Insulted? He doesn’t know, but it is unlike anything else, ever, that he’s felt.
At his silence, Morgana turns and leaves without another word.
…0…
It isn’t mentioned.
Gaius and Gwen, wonderful souls they are, they find proof of Aredian’s treachery. Morgana wonders how many other innocent people he’s condemned just for the sake of his own reputation as she watches Merlin released from his chains and hugs his saviors.
Arthur stands on the other side his father as Uther apologizes to Merlin. He’s silent, as usual when the King speaks, but Morgana feels his eyes on her. No big shock there, not after she basically offered herself up to him the night before, all for the sake of somebody else.
But Morgana couldn’t tell him… couldn’t say the words; that she loves him so desperately, that she cares for Merlin more than she ever thought she would. That she knows Arthur will never love her as she wishes and would settle for one misspent night even if she has to barter for it. It’s all so tangled and messy, and she stayed awake until dawn wondering how she let herself get into such a fix.
That night, as she lies in her bed with Merlin curled up behind her, Morgana imagines what Arthur must think of her. Uther had her schooled diligently to ensure that she grew up a proper lady of the court. And she had gone to Arthur and offered up her virtue as payment for a favor. She shuts her eyes tightly. The steady rhythm of Merlin’s heart against her back is comforting. Tangible proof of what she had been bargaining for. Merlin is so… good. Such a sweet, kind hearted man, without a selfish or malicious bone in his body.
Her affection for him does not, however, diminish her love of Arthur that runs straight to her soul. She sighs deeply, hoping that it doesn’t rouse Merlin from his sleep, and imagines what would have happened had Arthur had answered her, had he not been effectively struck dumb by her lack of shame. And it stays in her mind all the rest of the night and on into the morning, while she and Gwen visit with Lady Corinne and her new baby, at dinner with Uther where he carefully broaches the subject of Duke Marcus coming for a visit.
It does not leave her mind until yet another mysterious knight comes into Camelot and challenges Arthur.
Morgause, she says. And though there is no reason for it, Morgana feels she knows her. There’s something in the other woman’s eyes that seem so familiar to Morgana, as if she’s seen them before but she is certain that they have never met.
When Morgause bests Arthur, he acts the same way he used to when Morgana would beat him at one of their endless challenges with their small wooden swords. She goes to see him, having heard that Uther has ordered him confined to his room upon Morgause’s request. Uther doesn’t know his son at all if he thinks that’s going to prevent him from keeping his word. Arthur is too noble, too prideful, to let any broken promise fall from his lips.
And it is exactly that pride that has him acting like a child when she walks into his guarded chambers. “Still sulking?”
He raises his head from the table and glares at her. “Surely you have better things to do than mock me.”
“Oh never,” she teases, leaning against the table beside his chair. “It isn’t the end of the world, Arthur.”
He snorts. Rolling her eyes, Morgana expects a tiny scratch above his eyebrow. He’d been wearing a helmet, so he must have gotten it some other way. He jerks his head away from her hold. “Are you here merely to poke fun at me, or did you actually need something?”
Morgana tamps down the hurt of Arthur turning away from her. He’s been avoiding her ever since the night he came and asked her to marry him. Then, she remembers. “That night, when I asked you to save Merlin-”
He colors. “Don’t.”
But Morgana has never been one to listen to Arthur. Not without proper cause - which is rare. “I said I’d do anything… you could have made me promise I’d marry you.”
Cheeks still flushed, he looks up at her from beneath his lashes. “You think I’d do something as dishonorable as that?”
No. Of course he wouldn’t. “I don’t, but you could have.”
Arthur stands, the chain mail he’s still wearing making his shoulders look even more broad than usual. It glints in the firelight, twinkling like tiny stars. “When you say yes, Morgana, I would prefer it to be of your own free will.”
She quirks an eyebrow at him. “When I say yes?”
He grins, every inch the same little boy she first met. “You’re a lot of things, Morgana, but you’re not stupid.”
Opening her mouth to retort, Morgana is hit by a picture inside her head, so vivid, that it steals her breath. Gasping, she fumbles for the edge of the table. Quicker than she can blink, Arthur takes hold of her shoulders and directs her to his vacated seat. He crouches down in front of her, concern running along the edges of his sharp features. “Morgana, are you alright?”
Not trusting her voice, she nods. “I don’t think you should go, Arthur. You don’t know what she wants.”
The way he looks at her in that moment, she’s convinced he knows. But he only says, solemnly, “I gave her my word.”
When she leaves his chambers, she sees Merlin slipping down the hallway, a tray in his hands. “Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid,” she whispers, and makes her way to Morgauses’s room.
She’s packing her things to leave. Again Morgana feels like she knows her. “You aren’t going to hurt him, are you?”
“No,” Morgause assures her. “I just need to talk to him, and I can’t do that here.” And despite all evidence to the contrary, Morgana believes her.
Morgana’s eyes slip down, at a loss. This isn’t Sophia and Morgana has no proof that Morgause would actually harm Arthur in any way. “That’s a lovely bracelet.”
“Thank you. It was my mother’s.” She steps closer, face serious and eyes searching. “You look tired.”
“I haven’t been sleeping well,” Morgana tells her. “Nightmares.”
Sliding the metal off her wrist, Morgause hands it to her. “Here. This is a healing bracelet. It will help.”
“Oh, I couldn’t,” she says, but Morgause presses it into her hands. “I insist.”
That night, while Morgana sleeps better than she has in years, Arthur and Merlin slip out of the castle. No one knew it then, but that was when the shift began.
…0…
Stepping away from the window, Arthur looks around the room, not really seeing the new quilt Gwen had made for his birthday, or the tapestry given to him by the monks at Glastonbury. Instead he sees himself, younger, on the day he almost killed his father in the throne room.
He remembers Morgana. The concern on her face, the softness of her eyes, all of it as fresh in his mind as the day it happened. He still doesn’t think she actually knows what happened - there, with Morgause - but she knew something was wrong.
But more than anything, when the night that followed his sword at his father’s throat comes into his mind, Arthur recalls the thump of his heart when Morgana had come to his chambers, silently, and wrapped her arms around him.
…0…
“Do you know the story of Cassandra, Merlin?”
He looks over at her at her small writing table, drafting a letter to some aunt in France that he hadn’t even known she had until that morning. He looks up from his task of cleaning out her fireplace, wiping at some soot he feels on his face. “Can’t say I do.”
“She was a Greek princess who could see the future.” Taking a deep breath, she gives him a sad smile. “She saw terrible things, Merlin, the destruction of her home, the deaths of her family. But nobody believed her. It drove her mad.”
He stands and walks over to where she’s sitting. “I thought you said that the bracelet Morgause gave you was helping with the nightmares.”
“It is,” she tells him, toying her quill in between her fingers. “But…”
“But?”
Looking up at him with watery eyes, she shudders out a breath. “I’ve started having them when I’m awake.”
Guilt with the force of a living creature gnaws at his insides, threatening to tear him apart and eat him from the inside out. It hurts, more than anything he’s felt before. Worse than any physical pain for sure. He should tell her… he can help her, let her know that she’s not alone in this. Covering her hand with his, he rubs across her pale skin. The metal of her bracelet is cool under his fingers when he brushes it. He traces the lines of intricate engravings idly. “What do these mean?”
Morgana shrugs. “I don’t know really, but they look familiar.”
“Yeah,” he murmurs, “they do.” In truth they look like the symbols in his magic book. He’s been waiting for her to take the bracelet off. Morgause is not to be trusted. Merlin’s as sure of that as he is his own name, and he wants to have a look at this particular piece of jewelry for himself but Morgana never takes it off.
Arthur hasn’t spoken of Morgause since they left her, not to him in any case. Doubtful if he’s talked about it with his father. The king seemed only too eager to have the whole business behind them. Arthur isn’t one for speaking openly of his feelings. Merlin can recall, with perfect clarity, the pained expression on the prince’s face every time Merlin had inquired about anything involving Gwen. But on the rare occasions that he does open up, if not Merlin, then Arthur confides in Morgana. Well, as much as his pride will allow him to.
He is glad that Uther has called his son in for some meeting or something - its about a border dispute up north. While Merlin can use his excuse of cleaning Morgana’s fireplace in preparation for the cold weather, he knows that Arthur may not be too keen on believing him.
With good reason, he reminds himself. The fireplace is just in case someone should come into the room. Gwen, or Gaius maybe. In reality Morgana had asked to see him. He finds her paler than normal and distressed about what she’s seeing.
“It’s always Arthur,” she mumbles against Merlin’s skin. “Why is it always his pain that I have to see?”
At a loss of what to tell her, Merlin hugs her closer, feeling the ridge of her bracelet digging in to the small of his back as she grips at him.
…0…
One thing that Arthur has never been is a quitter. And one thing he is, as Morgana likes to remind him, is stubborn. Hopelessly so.
Morgana may be just as stubborn as he is, but she’s also practical, if prone to the odd hysteric. Marcus is due to visit Camelot in only two months time and if he finds her to be pleasing enough, then she is to be married. It won’t matter if she wants it or not. Uther has the final say and Arthur knows that though it would hurt him to have her so far away, the king will be happy to see Morgana settled and safe.
If she wants to avoid a life in the cold Cornish cliffs married to a man old enough to be her father, then she has very few options.
There are moments though, when the light is low or she’s turned away, that Arthur sees a sadness in her eyes that he’s not accustomed to from her. If he’s too proud to ever show his weaknesses, then Morgana is even more so. She tries so hard to keep up her icy exterior of the proper lady. But Arthur knows her - no matter how much she likes to think otherwise. He knows her better than he knows himself, certainly as well as a man can know any woman.
He’s begun to take his meals with her. She raised one dark eyebrow the first time he entered her chambers, looking anywhere but at Gwen, and asked her very formally to have dinner with him. That telltale light of not quite contentment had flashed in her eyes only to disappear so quickly he wonders if he imagined it. And wonder he does. Truly. Morgana knows exactly what he’s doing, not that he’s trying to be underhanded about it. Wryly he thinks that if he stays on his good behavior he could probably charm her into falling in love with him - if she were any other woman in the world other than Morgana. For as well as he knows her, she knows him just as well.
He is simply making an effort.
The morning after Merlin is convinced he heard someone in her chambers, Arthur orders flowers brought to her before Gwen brings their food in. The maid is unnaturally quiet, but Arthur does his best not to think about it. That is a pipe dream. Morgana is tangible, Morgana is his future. Letting his thoughts drift isn’t going to help matters at all.
“Morgana,” he says, “again, I am sorry about last night.”
She’s distracted this morning. Very. It verges on insulting, especially when she doesn’t seem to hear him and he has to resort to snapping his fingers in front of her face to get her attention. “Morgana?”
Starting, she meets his gaze and her pale eyes look troubled. “I’m sorry, what?”
With a frown, Arthur repeats himself. She waves it off. “Morgana, are you alright? You haven’t even touched your plate.”
Morgana smirks at him knowingly, taking pleasure in teasing him. “If that’s your way of asking for my sausage you could be a bit more subtle.”
Arthur fairly aches to stick his tongue out at her. But they’re past that now, so he sighs out his ire in a long breath and purses his lips. “I better go,” he tells her as he stands, “as I’ve actually cleaned my plate.”
“No surprise there,” she remarks, airy and lofty as she can muster.
“Yes well, I have Druids to find after all.” Arthur stops at the door, seeing her again lost in thoughts that he finds himself uncomfortable not to know. “I may not be back in time for lunch - will you join me for dinner?”
She waves her hand at him. “Of course.” Again, he wants to make his displeasure known. Is it really so much to ask that she give him her attention when he’s standing in her chambers speaking directly to her?
With one last huff, and one last avoided glance from Gwen, he stalks from the room, determined to find the Druids and get on with the real matter at hand.
…0…
Three months. That’s what Morgana figures. The night Arthur asked her to marry him. An angry tear streaks hot down her face. How tragically ironic that she is so close to getting what she wants the most only to have it all fall to dust.
Holding a hand to her rolling stomach, she paces back in forth in front of her window. Morgause asked to meet her and the hour is fast approaching. Its foolish, but from what Arthur told her its obvious that Morgause has magic, and the yearn to be with someone who understands pulses deep in her soul.
And perhaps a part of Morgana hopes that the other woman will be able to help her, not only with her ever growing powers, but with Uther. He’s becoming more and more insistent that Morgana marry Marcus. The Duke is a good man, that much Morgana remembers when she thinks about the man who gave her a pony for her seventh birthday and stood with her father while she rode it for the first time.
What sort of punishment will Uther decree once he’s aware that marrying her to Marcus is no longer an option? A shudder goes through her. Most likely he’ll banish her for bringing shame upon his good name. A snort makes its way out of her with that thought. That’s all she’ll get if she’s lucky - that and a tarnish on her reputation whenever anyone speaks of her in Camelot again.
If things had gone a different way, she would be marrying Arthur. Her life has become a series of ifs. If she had figured it out sooner. If Arthur were less noble, if she were less proud. If she hadn’t been so foolish.
But now, now the ifs don’t matter. Now it is whats. What Uther will do. What Merlin will say. What Arthur will think.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “I’m sorry I didn’t do better for you.” Her other hand falls to lie alongside the other one, the entire field of her stomach covered. Perhaps, if she had realized sooner, maybe this could have been Arthur’s baby…
No. Morgana could never do that to him. And it isn’t only that she loves him so dearly. Arthur is too good, has been too good to her, for her to deceive him that way, and far too honorable to have laid a finger on her outside of marriage. His father would kill him.
What will become of Merlin should he be found out? She won’t name him, but Merlin as well has too much character. Much too much to allow him to stand by silently while she’s thrown from the only home she’s known since she was ten years old. He’ll offer to marry her, of course. But can she go through with it? As dear and sweet as Merlin is, as much as she cares for him, could she stand before God and give him her vows while her heart is full of nothing but Arthur?
Alvarr, he had been so close. So very close. Morgana would be free now had he succeeded. Uther would be gone, Arthur would be the king Camelot needs, and Morgana would be free.
Opening her door, Morgana peers out into the dark castle hallway. There are no guards to be seen. Merlin hasn’t come to her room in over a week, not that she’s exactly upset about that. She would have to tell him - surely he would notice her weight gain without the aide of her flowing gowns. Yes, Morgana knows that she is going to have to tell him - tell everyone - at some point, soon. It will just be easier for everyone once Uther is out of the way.
Grabbing her cloak, she tiptoes down the stairs and out a side door, the shadows hiding her all the way into the forest.
…0…
“I’m fine, thanks,” Merlin replies glibly, moving his cloak out of the way to sit on an old tree stump. He look up at Morgana, eyes guarded, rimmed by lines at the edges, bright silver streaking liberally through his dark hair.
Morgana crosses her arms over her chest. He’s being a tad petulant here and he knows it, but it’s been twelve years since he’s last laid eyes on this woman and she still haunts his dreams with her green eyes and her bright smile, with her good heart turned so dark.
He doesn’t think that he’s being unreasonable, not wanting to make this easy on her.
One dark eyebrow arches in her still unlined face. For all intents and purposes, Morgana appears entirely unchanged. Fairy blood. “Really, Merlin,” she says, “can’t we try and be civil here? For old time’s sake?”
With a sarcastic twist to his mouth, he studies her, and the space around her, for any sign of the subterfuge he knows has to be lurking nearby. “No, we can’t. Why don’t you just tell me what you want, Morgana.”
A bright, cold smile spreads across her face. “I want to see Arthur.”
…0…
Part 1a