FIC: She Dreams With an Open Heart (Arthur/Gwen, PG) 7/
She Dreams With an Open Heart- Part VII
Rating: PG
Pairings: Gwen/Arthur, hints of Merlin/Morgana but very much an OT4 piece.
Disclaimer: Merlin belongs to the Beeb. Certain aspects of this from Doctor Who Series Five, and the cut text is from the episode “The Beast Below.”
Summary: Nothing is ever forgotten, not completely. When a tragedy occurs, Gwen finds herself in a new kingdom, with no recollection of her life in Camelot. The presence of a mysterious person is triggering her memory, but meanwhile, an injured man turns up, whom she seems to have a great affinity for. But why is she here? Who is the person she keeps on seeing? And why can’t she remember a thing? AU after series two.
A/N: So, this was originally going to be posted in two parts, but I haven't quite finished the next part as it's much longer than expected and quite a lot happens, which might be too much for one installment. Hence, I've decided to post this separately, and I'm sorry becaue it's not as eventful as it would have been combined with the other part. But I'm almost done with that and it should be up next week.
Many to thanks to the fabulous _autumncolours for being all knowledgeable and stuff. This chapter was written to angsty-ness that is Augustana's Twenty Years.
Prologue/ Part One/ Part Two/ Part Three / Part Four / Part Five/ Part Six/ Part Seven/ Part Eight/ Part Nine/ Part Ten
VII.
Everything in his life was so damn serious now and he couldn’t remember the last time he laughed. Maybe it had been when he and Merlin had defeated the Dragon and in his victory, he had drunkenly celebrated with Gwen.
But that had been a lifetime ago.
With Morgana long gone and Camelot at war, there was no time for laughing anymore and certainly no time for living the lives they wanted.
Arthur was painfully reminded of this when he went to look for Merlin and Gwen. He found them seeking solace in Morgana’s old chambers. Hearing their voices coming from her room, he had pushed open the door slightly, only to find the two sitting in front of Morgana’s bed.
“I miss her,” he heard Gwen confess. “I think about her all the time.”
There was silence, and then he caught Merlin’s quiet: “I know, me too.”
He heard the sound of muffled sobbing and Merlin’s quiet shushes and murmurings of comfort as he put his arm around his friend and kissed her on the head.
“I’ve been dreaming about her,” Gwen carried on. “And when I dream about her, I talk to her and tell her how much I want her back. And then last night she said that if I ever, ever need her then all I had to do was think of her and call out to her and she’d been here.” Gwen inhaled deeply and Arthur watched as she closed her eyes in despair.
Merlin looked slightly surprised. “Did you...?” he began.
“Did I...?”
“Call for her?”
Gwen’s eyes opened. “No,” she said with a rueful smile. “I did not, no matter how tempting the prospect seemed. Because even if I did call her and even if she somehow decided to come, she wouldn’t be the same. She wouldn’t be the same Morgana that I know.” She let out another weep. “And I can’t reconcile her with the image of the monster people are making her out to be, Merlin, I can’t. She was supposed to help save Camelot, not destroy it!”
The crestfallen expression on Merlin’s face told Arthur that the warlock had harboured these thoughts too.
“It’s my fault she’s like this,” Merlin stated and his tone was bitter and regretful.
“No-,” Gwen began, but Merlin cut her short.
“You know it’s true, Gwen. I’m the one who hid her from magic when I should have exposed her to it and helped her; I’m the one who poisoned her and what for?”
“You didn’t have a choice, Merlin!”
Merlin’s eyes closed and tightened in pain. “Then I should have made more choices! If there was no other way, I should have tried my hardest to find one! I should have picked her over Camelot, her life over the king’s because she meant more to me than all of those things.” His eyes opened. “I loved her the moment I met her, did you know that?”
Gwen laughed hollowly. “Of course I did, Merlin. Back then, I wanted you to notice me, and Morgana was the only thing you saw.”
A small smile crept over Merlin’s face, but it immediately fell. “I loved her,” he told Gwen. “I loved her so much. But I should have loved her better...”
+
Feeling like he was intruding on this intimate moment between his friends, Arthur shut the door. He leaned his head against it and it was his turn to shut his eyes in despair. He’d suspected, of course, the pain his friends were going through, especially with the loss of Morgana. But it was only today he was able to see and hear just how much her leaving them was costing them all, and knowing they were all suffering and being able to do so little to help was the worst feeling of all.
Gwen. Merlin. His father. Morgana. Camelot. How was he supposed to save them all?
+++
Gwen sits on the empty bed in shock. The outline of the man is still imprinted on the bed, and cautiously she traces it with her fingers.
She doesn’t understand how he can suddenly be awake. Gerald said the man would need time and eventually he would awaken. Gwen had given him time and had been at his bedside whenever she could, praying that he would regain consciousness. She just never expected him to suddenly...wake up.
Because he had, hadn’t he? She’s sure that the man staring up at her and coming over to talk had been him. There were differences with him awake than with him unconscious, of course. With him awake, she could discern the colour of his eyes and the expression on his face. And with the dirt out of his hair, she was able to make out its shade, whereas before it had been tinged with mud. With him awake, he was able to stand and Gwen had seen how tall he was. He had seemed like a different man to the one who had been sleeping on this bed this whole time and she truly can’t believe it was him.
Her eyes wander around the room. It’s a bit messier than usual, and she sees that clothes are missing from Gerald’s peg line and she assumes the man has taken them. There are wet footsteps trailing from the bath in the corner and the pail of water by it is empty, and it seems that having a wash had been a top priority for this man. Despite her confusion, Gwen can’t help but smile at this.
Had he waken up alone? She wonders. He must have done, otherwise Gerald would have told her that he’d awakened, surely? She pictures this man waking up in a strange room, by himself. It must have been hard for him, not knowing where he is. I bet he was even scared.
She thinks she should probably go and find the knight to let him know that she’s the one who’s found him and reassure him should he need it. Maybe she can even try and get to know the person she’s been so diligently sitting beside all this time and ask him where he’s from and how on earth a knight like him managed to find his way to Souhaiter.
And yet a part of her already knows that he is not just some random knight who so happened to turn up in Souhaiter, and that he’s actually connected to the strange woman and every bizarre thing that has been happening to Gwen since she first saw the lady. Really she should go and find him and find out more.
But she knows that if she goes to see him, whatever happens next will be completely revelatory and utterly explosive, and despite everything, she’s suddenly not sure if she’s ready to find out exactly what it is.
So she stays where she is that bit longer and she waits.
+
The fresh air hits him like a stone wall.
He needs this air. He needs to breathe. He needs the oxygen to reach his brain, to infuse into him so he can function again; needs the cold night air to slow his heart rate down and to seep to his bones and recover, because right now he’s falling apart and on the edge of a breakdown.
He’d seen her. After an entire year of her gone from his life, he’d seen her. She’d been right in front of him, she’d talked to him and touched him and she had been there. Alive and real and not a figment of his imagination.
He leans his head against the castle wall and closes his eyes.
He doesn’t understand anything. He’s not supposed to be alive; in fact he’d been certain he wasn’t going to escape death. But instead of the end of everything, he finds himself here in Souhaiter, miles and miles away from where he’d been fighting on the battlefield.
How is it possible?
He recalls waking up alone in a strange room and having no clue as to where he was. His initial thought was that this place was the afterlife, but if it had been then why had he been able to touch things and smell, and why was he haggard and beaten-looking and when he touched his cuts, why were they tender and sore?
It had taken him a while to believe that he was alive, despite the obvious signs in front of him. After a long period of mindless thinking, he dared himself to believe that he’d been given a second chance.
He had got up from the bed, determined to find out where he was and how far away he was from Camelot. The bathtub on the other side of the room and the pail of water beside it had caught his eye. Even though he had no clue where he was or even if he was remotely in danger, the prospect of encountering someone in the dishevelled state he was in disturbed him far greater than any imminent trouble could. So he had washed himself in a stranger’s bathtub and taken their clothes off a peg line and then left the room for answers.
He stopped the first person he had seen in the corridor and asked them where he was. Looking at him strangely, the servant had told him he was in the castle of Souhaiter and Arthur had been too shocked to thank her.
His first thought, after he had recovered, was that Gwen was here. He had felt his heart begin to pound wildly at that thought and hope dwelled within him. His mind was flooded with images of her- her smiling face and cherished memories, and there was a part of him that rejoiced because he could go and see her right now if he chose. But the logical part of him froze that thought and refused to contemplate that idea, no matter how much the other part of him demanded attention. He couldn’t, not right now when nothing was making sense.
His second thought was that maybe Merlin had brought him here. But he knew that if it was true, Merlin would have revealed himself. As it was, there had been no sign of him. Confused more than ever, Arthur had wandered around the castle, and following the din, had found himself in the great hall.
The hustle and bustle of the people around him had suggested some sort of celebration was taking place, and he’d ended up in the midst of it all. People walked by him without a second glance and he wasn’t used to being ignored and people having no clue as to who he was. He looked around, telling himself he was trying to find his bearings, to see if he could find something that would give him a clue as to why he was here, but he knew he was lying to himself.
It took a few moments, but his eyes soon found her.
Gwen was leaning against the rail of the balcony above him with her eyes closed, obviously agitated but he hadn’t been able to see any of that. Instead, he saw a woman so beautiful it made his heart ache, with hair so much longer than before that it made his fingers tingle with want and a simple dress of the lightest green that clung to her curves and halted his breathing.
It had been a long, long year without her.
Her eyes opened and instantly fell upon him.
His mind instantly conjured up memories of that foolish dream of his, the one where he comes to Souhaiter to get her back and she remembers him and runs up to him in joy.
There was a look of confusion on her face. But also something more than that.
Despite the choice he had made, every damn day and night had been empty without her and he had felt that loss as if she’d been taken out of his hands against his will.
He really shouldn’t be looking at her. He shouldn’t be here at all.
Some days, when he was feeling at his lowest, he’d acknowledge that he’d made a terrible mistake in sending her away, and despite a constant mantra telling himself that at least she was safe, Merlin’s words would echo in his mind: If there was no other way, I should have tried my hardest to find one. Because in the end, being desperate, feeling broken and torn apart by grief wasn’t a great enough reason to send her away, and it didn’t matter that he loved her so much that he couldn’t risk anything happening to her again; it didn’t matter that he was at such a loss he would have done anything to ensure her safety. When it came down to it, she was still a person and there had been a heart that shouldn’t have been toyed with and a mind that wasn’t supposed to be tampered with, and there were consequences and repercussions and so much more at stake than before he’d intervened and messed it all up.
It wasn’t like she would remember him and he had no right to get his hopes up. Going up to her wouldn’t be fair on either of them, but especially her. He wasn’t allowed to be selfish. He wasn’t allowed the right to be near her because it hurt so damn much to be so close and yet a hundred miles away from her. He wasn’t allowed to touch and embrace her, no matter how much his body and mind screamed for it. He wasn’t allowed any privileges with her, because he had forfeited that right the moment he had let her go.
When he had been dying on the battlefield, he remembered making a wish to see her again, and even though seeing her would mean having to explain everything or make her remember, he was willing to do whatever it took to undo what he had done in hope that somewhere along the lines, she would forgive him and they would learn to live their lives together again.
Even as he looked at her, his mind was already reminding him of the dangers that lurked around him. What if Morgana was hovering about, ready to steal Gwen away from him before his eyes? What if Merlin hadn’t defeated Morgause and she somehow knew where to find Arthur and Gwen? What if Camelot had lost the final battle? Without knowing anything, Gwen wasn’t safe with him around and every moment he lingered, he was putting her life in even further danger.
And yet despite this, he was unable to tear his eyes away from her, was unable to move away and leave her here or disappear without going up to her just in case she knew him.
Because really, it had been a really long, hard year without her.
+
And so against his better judgement he had gone up to see her, disregarding the consequences. Just like he had expected, she had no clue as to who he was but it had hurt all the same.
He had had to keep his hands glued to his sides to refrain from touching her and kept his voice controlled and regulated, as not to give away the sheer emotion that was threatening to break in his voice. He didn’t want to let on that he knew her, lest she ran off in fear.
When recognition had flashed in her eyes, he had thought that maybe, hopefully she remembered even a semblance of her former life, but it was quickly apparent that it wasn’t so much as recognition in her eyes, but alarm, and she had ended up running away from him anyway. He had wanted to call out her name or follow her- anything to keep her in his sights- but there was a voice in his head that reminded him that he had been given a window of chance to see her, and now he had and that window had closed and it was time to leave her be.
And now he’s out in the cold night air, thinking that maybe he should find out whether Merlin is still alive and whether Camelot is still standing and Morgause has been defeated, even though all he wants to do is to stay here with Gwen and pretend to be a man she doesn’t know and love her as though she did.
Foolish dreams, his mind chides. But he wishes anyway.
+
Somehow, she ends up falling asleep on the bed. She’d been staring around the room, lost in her thoughts when a feeling of tiredness overwhelms her and unbidden, she ends up sleeping on the imprint left by the man.
This dream is different. It is clearer and the distortion that had been prevalent in all her other dreams is absent. She can even make out faces:
She’s young here. She knows this by looking down at her small hands and the delicate way she feels inside.
She looks around and sees that she’s in a house she doesn’t immediately recognise: low ceilings and wooden beams and flowers hanging everywhere, and then suddenly it becomes utterly familiar to her.
A face appears and calls her name. When she looks up, she sees a man she is certain is her father.
“Gwen, look!” he exclaims, holding up a piece of parchment. “The castle is advertising for a handmaiden for the King’s new ward. You should apply.”
Her mouth drops. “Me? Serve a lady?”
Her father laughs. “I don’t see why not.”
She bites her lip and considers it.
The scene shifts and so does the time frame.
The Lady Morgana is watching outside her window when Gwen joins her. It’s been a few months since she’d started her role as handmaiden, and Gwen is still uncertain about Morgana. Even though the lady had been a regular at the castle when her father had been alive, with him no longer here she seems to abhor having to actually live in the castle.
Gwen finds the King’s ward surly and moody -not that she can blame her, given her circumstances- and she doesn’t really know how to bond with her. Servants aren’t supposed to be friends with noble people, but Gwen is astute enough to see a young, vulnerable girl before her, one who is in need of a friend. And Gwen can’t deny her that, no matter how much she’s supposed to refrain from doing so.
She goes to stand next to Morgana by the window, and finds her watching the young Prince Arthur. Even though he’s runt-sized and dressed in chain-mail that seems to drown him, he barks orders and bullies passersby like the spoilt prince he’s supposed to be.
They both watch as Arthur pushes a lackey servant to the ground and points and laughs. Gwen gasps and Morgana snorts.
“Good to know that Arthur remains resolutely charming,” Morgana muses.
“He shouldn’t treat people like that!” Gwen exclaims, suddenly angry. “Just because he’s Prince doesn’t mean he should treat anyone any less. He shouldn’t be allowed to get away with it!” And then her eyes widen when she realises what she has said and to whom.
But Morgana just gives her a long look and smirks. “You know what, Gwen? You’re right. He shouldn’t get away with it. We should teach him a lesson.”
Gwen begins to protest and starts to say she didn’t mean what she said, but there’s a look of determination in Morgana’s eyes and Gwen realises she won’t be able to get out of this one.
The scene shifts again.
This time, she and Morgana are walking away from the crypt, of which they-or rather Morgana- have cunningly and surreptitiously locked Arthur in. Gwen is absolutely shocked and horrified at having been Morgana’s accomplice in this. But when she hears Arthur’s shouts of protestations and him banging on the door, she can’t help but feel a little proud.
Morgana looks at her and grins and Gwen is surprised to see her do so; she hasn’t smiled in a long time.
“You did a great job today, Gwen,” Morgana informs her, and there’s something in her eye: it’s a look of pride but also of camaraderie.
Gwen knows she has made a friend today. She tells herself this, even though her heart is still racing.
The scene dissolves and the subsequent ones follow, but quicker than the others. Through her eyes, she sees the relationship between ward and prince. She sees Morgana playing pranks on Arthur whenever he does something wrong, sometimes with his knowledge and mostly without, but always, always with Gwen- not as her sidekick but as her equal. She sees Arthur slowly but surely learning from these pranks and containing his immature ways. She sees him heatedly bickering with Morgana and then fighting her in jest. She sees them comfort each other when the other is down and she learns from Morgana about the kiss she shares with Arthur-the first for them both, she informs Gwen.Wet and disgusting and never to be attempted again, her mistress confides, even though Gwen doesn’t really want to know the details. She sees two people who are similar in so many ways but completely different in others; who understand one another implicitly but at times not at all; two people who love and hate each other in equal amounts and are linked to each other irrevocably. Mostly, she just sees two people... and they are important to her.
She finds herself walking along a timeline, as if it’s a corridor and as she passes through, the scenery changes. She grows older and taller and the scenery expands and breathes itself to life.
Her friendship with the King’s ward becomes stronger and she is privy to so many secrets of Morgana, a privilege she doesn’t feel deserving of. She watches as Morgana becomes bored of playing pranks on the prince; instead she grows more concerned with other matters, like the troubling issue of her dreams, and as she ceases teasing Arthur, Arthur starts again on his wayward path. With no one to berate him, he settles back into being the obnoxious prince she always saw him as.
She continues walking along the timeline, with scenes flashing by her. Most things remain constant and then the presence of a strange boy changes everything. Whereas before, everything had been subdued and muted in colour, suddenly everything is ablaze with light: flaming reds and bright orange hues, and all she sees is this boy’s face lit up with these colours as he takes on a prince and wins...almost, anyway.
Gwen reaches the end of her corridor and finds two walkways in front of her: one is poorly lit and narrow and the other is full of light and wide. When she looks down the darker walkway, she sees glimpses of her life she’ll lead if she chooses to walk down it: a life of living in the shadows, being under the rule of a harsh sovereign, feeling incredibly lonely and confined to being merely the handmaiden of the King’s ward and without a voice to speak -if she chooses to ignore the intriguing stranger. Gwen’s eyes dart to the other walkway, and she swears she sees the same boy running down it. As her eyes trace the path she thinks she sees him following, she begins to see what lies ahead if she decides to go after him: him capturing her heart and her imagination, a plethora of possibilities, a life-altering friendship, a change in a man of very high status, having a voice and not being ashamed to use it, feeling like she matters and knowing of a love she could have only dreamt of otherwise.
She doesn’t hesitate in choosing. She chooses the bright-lit path and immediately she hears familiar-lines spoken:
”I’m Merlin. But most people just call me idiot.”
“You’re not going to die! I am not going to let this happen.”
“Sometimes, Guinevere, I wonder if you’d know what your type is if it was standing right next to you.”
“I think you’ve been amazing, after all that’s happened...getting your life back together.”
“You have a good heart, Gwen. Don’t ever lose that.”
“Gwen, don’t worry, I know everything. Anyone who spends five minutes with you can see how you feel about each other. Look, I do not have a lot of time to explain, so you’re gonna have to trust me...”
And she feels her heart growing in warmth at each passing phrase, at first with something almost like love and then settling into the highest kind of affection. She trusts this boy. She has faith in him. She admires his morals and his stances. He rescues her when she’s inches away from death, even if she didn’t know the hand he had to play in it. He saves her father from an illness- a gesture borne out of foolishness, but laden with love. He is her rock when her world crumbles down, once, twice- so many times. He is the one who inspires so many things within her: hope, love and joy and his mere presence is the only thing that completely soothes her all those times she needs comforting.
Then there’s an image: of handing a purple flower to this boy and wishing fervently that it would bloom in his hand; of seeing him much later with another flower, but it’s not purple, it’s pink and it’s not for her hands but for another, except by now it doesn’t really matter that he’s holding out his hand and extending his heart, and neither are hers for the taking. She’s just grateful for any instance when he smiles brightly and it touches her heart; thankful for any reminder of him walking into her life and setting her on the right path.
Oh, how she misses him and oh, how she wonders where he is!
She looks down at his hand and at the flower there and watches as they both transform: his hand becomes smaller, elegant, more feminine and lacking any calluses; the flower shrinks and turns back to purple again. When her eyes fall on the flower, she traces the path of the hand it extends from, up the owner’s arm and finally settling on the person’s face. She sees a woman of pristine beauty, immaculate hair and soulful eyes. She’s older here and has grown into the woman she was always meant to be and even though she’s different from earlier and even though she’s very much changed Gwen recognises her now, when before there had been a face she couldn’t keep hold of. Gwen finds herself smiling- really smiling- and the Lady Morgana’s beam is just as wide as hers. The flower has dropped to the ground and they’re reaching up and hugging each other like all those times before, and oh how Gwen wishes that she’d realised it had been Morgana dancing in all those haunting dreams all along!
She hears Morgana’s voice, except it’s not coming from her; rather she can hear her voice all around them:
“You cheer me up!”
“I believe you!”
“I feel I’ve put you in danger without ever stopping to ask how you feel about it. I’m sorry.”
“You need to go home, Gwen. Get some rest. Please.”
“You’re very secretive these days. I’m beginning to think there’s a man involved...”
“I’m not leaving you behind!”
“Gwen! I thought I’d never see you again!”
She can feel Morgana in her arms as if she’s a real person and not a figure from a dream. She can hear her sighing; feel her touching her hair in affirmation that they’re both here; her cheek pressing against Gwen’s hair and she thinks that she can feel her hair grow damp. From Morgana’s tears, perhaps? And Morgana’s talking but her voice is so quiet that she barely hears a word: “Gwen, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry...”
Gwen pulls away to see exactly what she is so sorry about, only to find that the Morgana in front of her is suddenly the Morgana of yesteryear: small and fragile like she was when Gwen first became her maid. A blink of an eye and now she’s slightly older and stronger and that bit more open-hearted. Another blink of an eye and she’s Morgana when she was truly happy and enchanted with the world. Then she’s Morgana with a haunted look, Morgana with fear in her eyes, Morgana with a discontented heart. More rapid blinks of an eye and Morgana has transformed into the Morgana who disappeared for so long and Gwen couldn’t understand why. One more blink of an eye, and she’s back to how she was, and Gwen realises that this is Morgana who came back to her.
There’s a question in this Morgana’s eyes and she’s waiting for Gwen to answer. Gwen senses the question, but not the reason for it. She doesn’t understand the sorrow in her lady’s eyes or the guilt laden there; she wonders why Morgana came back to her after all this time and why she’s asking to be forgiven.
Maybe it doesn’t really matter. Maybe all that really matters is that Morgana returned and she’s here.
Questions cast aside, Gwen embraces Morgana again, and the lady pulls her in tightly. There are whisperings of “I missed you so much,” “I’m so glad you’re here” and “Please don’t leave me again,” and the strange thing is, Gwen has no clue as to who is talking.
Eyes clenched tightly shut, Gwen feels the form of her lady changing: the shoulders become broader and the figure taller and when she opens her eyes, she’s staring at the face of a man, and instantly recognises him as the boy who was a prat but grew up into a man.
She lets go of him and takes a step back, her foot treading on a fallen rose. He watches her carefully and she stares at him with an expressionless face. Then suddenly she’s laughing and shaking her head and bringing up a hand to clasp his face, and he’s closing his eyes and sighing in relief and she’s wondering how on earth she could have forgotten him after all this time.
“It’s you,” she says. “It’s really you.”
His eyes are open and he’s nodding his head and pulling her close, then their foreheads are touching and their arms wrapped round one another, and she’s closing her eyes and mourning his loss after all this time, but glad, so glad of his return.
Words are spoken, further reminding her of all that matters:
“Wait a minute, I can’t possibly eat this, it’s disgusting!”
“Thank you. You’re right. And you’re right to speak up.”
“... I know that under the circumstances it’s not much but anything you want, anything you need, all you have to do is ask.”
“You always surprise me.”
“I have everything to prove!”
“I have never loved another.”
“...I wasn’t going to let anything happen to you.”
Eyes flashing open, she finds his gaze locked on her face and when she peers into his own eyes, she finds so much held there, she wonders how she could have missed it in the first place: his love for her, so sure, so strong and so unquestionably genuine; his happiness over her, his warmth, his joy and strength of emotion, just at her presence; but there’s sadness in his eyes too, and grief tinged with his failings and she knows they’re associated with her, though she has no idea how.
The sheer volume of emotion she sees radiating in his eyes leaves her reeling. She never believed anyone would feel like this about her- could feel like this about her- and yet he stands tall and strong and evidence to the contrary.
She wonders what she did to deserve him and how he could have evaded her memories all this time. But then she recalls a man who had been haunting her dreams for so long, and thinks maybe he’s been there all along.
She has so many questions she needs to ask him and she has no idea where to start. But when she looks at him, she realises that he isn’t here to stay and there’s pain in both their eyes at the prospect.
“Stay,” she begs. Her hand falls onto his and clasps it.
“I can’t.”
Her gaze drops, but she already knew his answer. He’s just a figment in her mind after all; she can’t expect him to last.
He’s fading now, about to disappear to wherever apparitions vanish to, but she desperately tries to keep a hold of him, even as his hand disappears from beneath her own.
She hears him speak one last time: “I need you to know how sorry I am for everything and it wasn’t my intention to hurt you this much.” His voice is weak and so unlike the prince she knows him as, but still it continues. “I just hope...that whatever happens next, you don’t hate me.”
And before she can question what he’s talking about and before she can interject that she doesn’t hate him- not now and not ever- he’s gone, and she’s left standing in darkness.
She peers around and there’s no one left: no Merlin, no Morgana and certainly no Arthur.
She inhales deeply, because she knows who they are now and they’re gone and it hardly seems fair. Why couldn’t they have stayed?
When she breathes again, she realises she’s standing on a precipice and even though she can’t see in the darkness, she knows she’s standing high up.
Another jagged breath and she realises she’s why she’s here and what she’s got to do next. If she wants to find her friends then she has to be prepared to take a leap, even though she has no idea where she’s leaping to.
She’s scared and reluctant to make another step forward, but the need to not be left alone again burns stronger.
A few more breaths and she imagines she can hear them calling from down below; her eyes tightly shut, she pictures light instead of dark and with her arms held out wide, she thinks of flying instead of falling.
One more breath, and then she jumps.
+
She tosses and turns in this unfamiliar bed and her eyeballs move rapidly behind tightly shut eyes. Memories emerge from obscurity and realign themselves; there’s a flash of light and then her eyes fly open.
Part Eight