Before the Sun Breaks Another Day -- Chapter Three
Title: Before the Sun Breaks Another Day
Authors: accordingtomel & adelagia
Summary: Three months after her disappearance, Morgana returns to Camelot with a hidden agenda, but she's not the only one keeping secrets, and a series of unintended revelations forces her, Merlin and Arthur on an intertwined journey of revenge, redemption and love.
Pairings: Merlin/Arthur, Leon/Morgana (elements of Uther/Morgana, Arthur/Gwen)
Rating: PG-13 (eventual NC-17)
Spoilers/Warnings: Everything up to and including 2x13
Word Count: 5,574
Disclaimer: Not ours. No money is being made. Please don't sue.
Authors' Note: Once again, thanks so much to our beta/Brit-picker ravenflight21.
Previous Chapters: One | Two
CHAPTER THREE
Dawn crept in with even less conviction than it had on previous days, grudging them only a thin, sickly light that did little to penetrate the fog that had come upon them in the night. It cocooned the forest, twining milky fingers around each leaf and branch, permeating every crevice with its wet touch. The convivial atmosphere Arthur had worked hard to bring about throughout their journey thus far had no place here; it seemed as though they'd been tipped onto a different plane entirely.
Not that it was even likely to make a difference in how things had been going. After giving them the silent treatment, it seemed as though the forest now wanted to make a game out of them; for two straight days they'd been following trails that led nowhere, catching scents that circled them right back to where they'd started. It was frustrating, to say the least, and now further handicapped by the weather, progress would be even more difficult to come by.
Merlin could barely see a thing; there were vague, reddish shapes moving sluggishly in front of him, which he assumed to be a few knights with their cloaks still on, waiting out the fog in silence. And there was Arthur, standing with his back against Merlin's, like they were in a fight stance against an enemy closing in on all sides. He could feel Arthur move occasionally, out of restlessness or straining to hear anything unusual, hand steady on the hilt of his sword.
It was an unusual time of year for a fog this dense, and it had settled all over them until the forest drowned in it. The dreamy quality to its minute drift set Merlin's teeth on edge. There were voices in there he could very nearly hear, suggestions of whispers; he'd catch a wisp of a word as it glided by, or maybe imagined the susurrations forming around him, but he knew they weren't words or voices that belonged to any of the company. The fog condensed on his skin, trickled down his neck like a cold caress. Merlin shuddered; everything felt wrong.
"Arthur," he said in a low voice. "We have to get moving."
"We can't see anything, Merlin."
"I know. It's -- I don't think this fog is going to lift," he said, trying to impress the urgency of it on Arthur without going into further detail. It wouldn't be the first time the prince took his bare word at face value; Arthur trusted him, though sometimes he didn't deserve it.
Arthur didn't respond for a moment, and then Merlin felt him shift round. He called the knights to order. "Get the horses; we're moving on."
A few voices of dissension piped up; in all honesty, Merlin would have been surprised if they hadn't. Arthur didn't mind hearing objections and welcomed the occasional criticism if his men thought he was out of order, and there were very good reasons for them to question his decision now -- visibility was horrendous; many of them had not travelled this road before and could not be sure of the way; they could easily make up the time lost if they pushed a little harder once visibility improved. But Arthur remained firm, and in the end, his deciding vote propelled the knights into action.
Only by memory and sound, distorted in the whiteness, could they locate where the horses had been tethered, but they moved as quickly as they dared and came together in short order, ready to move forward.
"We go on foot," Arthur said. "Stick to the path; with any luck, we'll be clear of this fog soon enough."
Merlin rubbed his horse's nose and took its reins in one hand, more than eager to leave this place.
"Merlin, you're at the front with me," Arthur ordered, and waited until Merlin complied. When horse and rider came up next to him, Arthur closed a fist around Merlin's reins and leaned forward far enough that what had previously been a blur in the mist resolved itself into Arthur's familiar features. "Stay close, and do not let go of these reins, do you understand?"
"Yeah," said Merlin.
Arthur nodded at him and drew back, the fog swallowing him into its shadow once more. At Arthur's call, the party set off slowly but surely, his hand bumping into Merlin's at every other step, a warm reassurance in a wide, white sea of nothingness.
The blade sliced through skin and muscle and veins, blood thick, warm, flowing over her fingers in a steady stream.
He gurgled, skin clammy and deathly pale as the light slowly faded away, futilely trying to catch a breath that would never again fill his slit throat. Blood pooled around his body, enveloping everything as far as the eye could see, a sea of crimson staining not only the ground, but the entire history and future of Camelot.
As Uther Pendragon's life blinked out of existence, his final communication with his queen came wordlessly. Through fading eyes, he expressed his love, his sorrow, and his ultimate betrayal -- murdered by the one he'd entrusted with his heart and soul. Soaked in her lover's blood, she watched, simultaneously horrified and captivated, until his chest fell for the final time.
And she wept.
Morgana awoke with a violent start, a shatter of porcelain ringing in her ears, and she whipped her head to the side to find the vase on her nightstand scattered in shards.
"No..." she moaned softly, squeezing her eyes shut. It had been ages since anything like that had happened; Morgause had taught her how to focus her magic, how to reel her emotions in and temper them so they wouldn't dive for the first outlet they saw and destroy everything in their wake. She had been getting so much better at directing her magical abilities in useful ways, but now that she was back in Camelot it seemed as though everything was undone.
Several sharp knocks sounded at the door, but she paid the sound no mind, struggling to slow her erratic breaths. Whoever was outside her chambers chose not to wait for permission before barging into the room, and a moment later, Morgana encountered Leon's panicked expression, as he grasped the door handle with one hand, the other ready at the hilt of his sword.
"Are you all right, my lady?" he asked, gaze hastily sweeping the room in search of any sign of intrusion or threat, before settling back on Morgana.
"Yes, I'm fine. I just accidentally knocked over a vase," she lied quickly with a flick of the wrist, holding up a guilty elbow as though offering evidence.
Leon's brows furrowed thoughtfully as his eyes sought physical confirmation, but he eventually nodded his head, seemingly placated by her explanation and the sight of broken shards of glass littering the floor.
"Let me find someone to clean it up for you," he offered.
"No!" she cried out, voice far louder and more insistent than she'd intended. To say that Leon looked taken aback would have been an understatement, but before he could react to her outburst, Morgana was climbing out of the opposite side of her bed, bare feet sinking into the plush rug below. "Sorry, I just meant that I don't want to trouble anyone to clean up a mess I made due to my own carelessness." She elevated one shoulder in a nonchalant half-shrug, shooting him a sheepish look.
Morgana turned her back to him, rummaging around at the back of her closet for the broom that Gwen had started leaving in the room when the nightmares had increased in both frequency and intensity -- in addition to her magic seemingly acting of its own free will -- resulting in far more broken items than could be explained away reasonably. Leon remained rooted on the spot, but she could feel his eyes on her, boring into her back, as he wondered what she was doing.
She answered the unspoken question. "I'm trying to find my broom."
"Do you need any help?" he asked, solicitous, a moment later, when she emerged from her closet, victoriously holding the broom in hand.
Morgana shook her head. "No, I'm fine, thank you." She placed the broom on the ground and moved to pull on a pair of boots to avoid stepping on the broken glass and incapacitating herself further.
"Really, I insist," he said.
Morgana tilted her head up at him, staring through dark lashes, curious. "I don't want to trouble you," she said, after a pause. "It'll be a simple enough task."
"What kind of gentleman would I be if I stood around and simply watched you do all the work, instead of assisting?" he retorted easily, reaching out to pluck the broom from her hands.
She felt the broom handle lift easily from her fingers, so caught off guard by the action that she barely had time to register what was happening at all.
Her expression must have betrayed the surprise she felt, as Leon's lips twisted into a sheepish smirk and he ducked his head respectfully. "I mean, if I may? My lady?" he added, chagrined.
Morgana felt a smile, genuine and warm, tug at her lips, and she didn't even try to fight it. "I suppose I can't refuse when you put it like that."
Before getting down to work, Leon offered her his gloves to protect her hands from the glass, and she gratefully accepted. They worked quickly and efficiently, she picking up the larger shards, and he sweeping up the rest of the floor. Within five minutes things looked exactly as they had before, save for the now vacant spot on her nightstand.
"Thank you," Morgana said. "You didn't have to help me."
"It was my pleasure," Leon told her, nodding his head respectfully.
He stared at her for a few moments, as if uncertain about whether to stay or go. After a moment's pause, Morgana lifted a single questioning brow in his general direction, and she couldn't be quite sure, but it almost appeared as though he was blushing. With a mildly uncomfortable cough, Leon finally excused himself with a coy, if not slightly embarrassed, grin.
He was nearly out of the room before a thought occurred to her. "Wait!"
Leon froze, casting a glance at her over his shoulder. "Was there something else you needed, my lady?"
"Yes, actually," she said, then gestured at him to come back in the room. Morgana waited patiently until the door clicked shut behind him before speaking again. "I would appreciate it if you didn't share this particular incident with my maidservant, Gwen, when she returns. She worries a great deal about me as it is, and I fear that she'd read too much into this. I'd rather not upset her unnecessarily, you understand."
Leon hesitated a moment, lips pressed together into a thin line and curling down ever so slightly at the corners, concern evident in his warm eyes. But eventually he nodded his assent, raising his right hand and shooting her a kindly smile. "You have my word, my lady."
She returned the smile, grateful. "Thank you. And please call me Morgana. Didn't we already have this conversation?"
Something in his countenance shifted, as though a little flicker of something was trying to break through, but it vanished as quickly as it'd come. "All right. You have my word, Morgana."
His smiled brightened as he headed out of the room.
Morgana ambled over to the window, knowing she wasn't about to get any more rest this morning, and resigning herself to that fact. Pressing the palm of her hand against the pane of glass, she sought comfort in its cooling surface. The sky was still clouded over, grey and dark, almost as if reflecting her current state of mind. She allowed her thoughts to drift for a few fleeting minutes, permitting them to linger on the dream she'd awoken from in such a state.
She'd dreamt more than once of Uther's ultimate end, of watching his life fade before her very eyes, but this was the first time her role in his death featured so prominently. Memories of blood filled her consciousness, warm and viscous, coating her hands and pooling at her knees, a river of crimson accumulating into a veritable ocean all around them. She could still recall the feel of the thick liquid spilling past the cracks in her fingers, the coppery smell of freshly spilt blood, but worst of all -- Morgana remembered the haunting expression contorting Uther's face, the betrayal and hurt he could not mask in his eyes. It was enough to make her feel physically ill.
A soft knock at the door dragged Morgana's attention away from the window, interrupting her reverie.
"Good morning, my lady. You're up early," said Gwen, padding into the room on quiet feet as though afraid of waking the whole castle, breakfast tray in hand. Her easy smile faltered into an expression of deep concern. "Is it -- You haven't been having those dreams again, have you?"
"No, no, I'm all right," Morgana reassured her, quashing the spike of guilt that arose in her gut at the blatant lie. But she was only doing it to protect Gwen. The woman had dealt with enough of late and was not in need of another source of angst. "I suppose I'm just feeling a bit restless, that's all."
Gwen nodded, scepticism written across her features, but she didn't press Morgana for more information. Morgana meandered her way to the table as Gwen began laying out her breakfast.
“Sit with me,” Morgana offered, gesturing to the empty chair on the opposite side of the table.
Gwen seemed to deliberate, casting her gaze uncertainly over Morgana’s shoulder -- there was work to be done, her eyes read -- before taking a seat in the proffered spot with a grateful smile. They used to eat meals together all the time, when Morgana wasn’t dining with Uther, and there was something comforting to be able to do so once again.
“Tell me how you’ve been,” Morgana started, picking through the food in front of her, and glanced expectantly at her friend.
Gwen shrugged her shoulders noncommittally. “I’m not sure what you want to know,” she admitted, plucking a piece of fruit delicately from the tray that sat between them.
“What’s happened here since I... was taken away?” She swallowed and glanced down at her plate. “What has everyone been up to in my absence? But more importantly, how have you been?”
Truthfully, Morgana cared very little for an update on castle gossip, or a play-by-play of the recent happenings in Camelot. She was aware of the search for her and eventual abandonment of said search, of the dragon attack, the hunt for the last Dragonlord, and the general comings and goings of notable guests in the castle since her departure. Morgause had made a point of apprising her of relevant information pertaining to Camelot and its inhabitants in preparation for her eventual return.
No, Morgana was decidedly more interested in keeping the conversation as far away from her own imaginary kidnapping as she possibly could. She may have been able to flagrantly lie to Uther’s face, but the one person she’d never manipulated was Gwen, and Morgana intended to keep it that way, if at all possible. However, for less selfish reasons, Morgana truly cared about her maidservant and did genuinely want to know what had happened in her life over the past several months.
Gwen smiled warmly, then proceeded to inform Morgana of everything that had occurred in the past few months. Uther's distraught disposition at Morgana's kidnapping, as well as Arthur's relentless search for her, often forgoing sleep and food in favour of spending just one or two more hours out on the road. Gwen spoke of Gaius and Merlin -- Morgana took special care to school her features into perfect neutrality at the utterance of Merlin's name, for fear of inadvertently revealing her fury with him to an unsuspecting Gwen -- then proceeded to share some of the latest castle gossip in conspiratorial tones, as though anyone walking past her door would be able to hear.
In spite of having to listen to Gwen speak of Merlin as though he were a trustworthy friend and not a murderous traitor, Morgana believed that some of that information might come in handy in the future, and was grateful to Gwen for sharing it with her. Admittedly, it also felt good to know that the kinship she shared with Arthur was still standing firm; she may need to rely on some of the trust and affection he held for her if trouble arose in her plans for Uther. Interestingly enough, Morgana noted throughout her stories that there was a significant person she'd neglected to mention.
Morgana plucked a piece of cheese from the plate and held it between her thumb and index finger, letting it dangle loosely in her hand as she caught Gwen's eye. "Thank you for the update. I've missed spending time with you," Morgana said with affection. "But tell me -- what of you? I noticed that you never spoke of yourself even once, and yet you're the one I'm most interested in."
Gwen ducked her head and grinned shyly. "I'm not sure that there's much to share," she admitted, gaze shifting to stare at a spot on the table as though it was the most fascinating sight she'd ever beheld.
Morgana reached across the table, tapped her on the back of the hand. "Somehow I doubt that."
Soft brown eyes met hers a moment later. "I suppose there have been a few changes in my life as of late."
"Tell me," Morgana encouraged, smiling.
Gwen nodded. "Well, my father's friend, Paul, recently decided to re-open my father's blacksmith shop. When I haven't been seeing to my duties in the castle, I've been training under his guidance. I know as a woman I can't ever take over the shop on my own, but perhaps one day I could work alongside Paul. My father would have liked that."
Morgana beamed at her friend, pride swelling in her chest. "It won't always be that way," she said, belatedly realising that Gwen would have no reason to put hope in her words. As far as things stood in society at the present moment, women held about as much power as sorcerers. But Morgana would change all of that, soon. Not surprisingly, Gwen shot her a disbelieving look, quirking a single brow.
"At least, I hope it won't be," she amended, then took a bite of a piece of bread from her plate, chewing thoughtfully.
"You have high expectations for the future," Gwen remarked, a bit uncertainly.
Morgana shrugged casually, trying to affect an air of nonchalance, but smiled lightly. She decided this line of conversation might lead down an undesirable path, and opted to shift things in a different direction. "Has anything happened with Arthur since I've been gone?"
Gwen's eyes widened comically, as though it were the last thing she'd been expecting, and she shook her head as a light flush came over her, clearly embarrassed by the question.
Her expression became distant as she bit thoughtfully on her thumb nail, clearly considering how to answer. "I'm not really sure, to be honest," she finally said.
"What do you mean?" asked Morgana, brows furrowing in confusion.
"Well, he hugged me after he returned from fighting the dragon. We speak often. He's kissed me a couple of times on the cheek since then, but I find it hard to read him," Gwen said, her entire attention now focussed on the nail she held up in front of her face. "Sometimes I think that he's interested, and then at others I don't know what to make of him. It's almost as if he's distracted by something -- or maybe even someone -- else."
Morgana frowned. "Don't be silly! He'd be lucky to have you, and he's a fool if he thinks otherwise."
Gwen shrugged in a way that neither confirmed nor denied the sentiment. "As I say, I just don't know. Most of the time he seems interested, but then there are moments..." she trailed off, letting the silence speak for itself.
Morgana tutted disapprovingly and made a mental note to speak to Arthur at some point about his behaviour in regards to Gwen. It was completely unacceptable, in Morgana's eyes.
"And what of Lancelot?" Morgana asked, hoping this line of questioning would lead to a more cheerful discussion. Unfortunately she'd been incorrect in that assumption.
Gwen's smile fell from her face momentarily, a glimmer of disappointment flashing in her eyes before she met her mistress' gaze. Morgana immediately regretted asking the question. Perhaps something dreadful had happened to him in her absence, though she assumed that Morgause would've informed her of Lancelot's return to Camelot.
"Nothing," Gwen responded after several long moments, resting her chin on an outstretched palm, gaze focussed on a spot over Morgana's shoulder. "I haven't heard anything from him since he rescued me from Hengist's henchmen."
There was no mistaking the disappointment in her voice, slumped posture merely confirming the fact.
Morgana reached across the table and squeezed Gwen's free hand, curling her fingers into the centre of her palm reassuringly. She waited to speak until she'd regained the woman's attention once more. "I'm sorry. I know you truly cared for him. But perhaps he will still return?"
Gwen smiled, giving Morgana's fingers an affectionate squeeze back, but the light didn't fully reach her eyes. "Perhaps," she said, eventually, though the tone lacked conviction or hope. Then, "I should probably tidy up now. Thank you for breakfast." And in the process of standing, it was clear to both that the conversation had effectively ended on that note.
Gwen fluttered about the bed, pulling at the linen expertly until there were no creases at all to be seen. "Well, it looks like it'll be a fine day for a walk?" she said hopefully, all traces of her prior mood completely vanquished.
Morgana smiled, grateful. She knew Gwen worried about her and had been trying to get her to leave the confines of the castle in hopes that it would leaven her spirits; even her brief stroll through the castle halls in the days prior had excited Gwen's approval considerably. In all honesty, Morgana did quite miss spending time with her maidservant as she'd had before -- sharing stories and gossip, walking arm in arm through Camelot's lush greenery, laughing like children; but there was no space in the plans for Gwen. At least, not yet. Once things slotted into place, Morgana would have all the time in the world for her; she'd make sure of it. Gwen would be well taken care of when everything changed.
"Perhaps," Morgana said, in solemn enough tones that the word resounded in the negative.
"Well, you know," said Gwen, sidling up to the window, "today is the first day of the trade fair."
"Has it come again already? I've been away so long..." Morgana said distractedly. She shook her head as if to scatter unwanted thoughts, and turned a smile on Gwen. "Why don't you take the day off; go and enjoy the fair?"
"Oh, no, I didn't mean --"
Morgana placed a gentle hand on her arm. "I know, but you've been working so hard these past few days; you deserve a little time to yourself," she said.
"We could visit the fair together?"
"I'm afraid I don't feel quite up to it today. But," Morgana said with a smile, squeezing her hand, "I want you to go and have a good time. That's an order."
True to form, Gwen tried her best to coax Morgana out of her room, but she knew when to push and when to step back, and with Morgana doing her best impression of a stone wall, Gwen eventually resigned herself to attending the fair alone and leaving Morgana to brood.
By mid-afternoon the sun finally condescended to do its job properly, beaming like a maniac in overcompensation for its poor performance earlier. Much to the knights' consternation, however, the fog not only remained, but turned into a blinding white wall thanks to the day's new brightness. The company plodded along at the pace of an infirm snail, with Arthur and Merlin leading the pack, squinting horribly the whole way, while, behind them, the sporadic sound of horseshoe on stone contributed a gentle counterpoint to the knights' muttered frustrations.
Occasionally, Merlin did his best to call up tiny gales from his fingertips to dispel the mist just long enough for Arthur to catch a glimpse of where they were going, but he dared not do much more than that. He had been so careless with his magic so many times in the past, it seemed near a miracle that Arthur, sharper than he usually liked to let on, hadn't already arranged for Merlin to be eaten by wild dogs.
And it was for that reason that Merlin remained steadfast in his silence now, despite the creeping thought clearing space in his mind for a more comfortable, lengthy stay. There was something off about this whole journey that couldn't be ascribed solely to bad luck, from the forest's eldritch tone to their repeatedly losing their way, to the voices in the fog just a shred beyond the edge of hearing.
The thought unpacked its luggage.
It was Morgana. It had to be. What magical ability she possessed or had honed in her time away Merlin couldn't be sure, but she was the one who'd shown them the map, pinpointed their target location, directed Arthur's focus off the main roads and onto lesser-used paths, all with nary a word of explanation. In the chaos of her sudden return and Uther's thirst for swift vengeance, no one had thought to question her or how she had come by her knowledge of an unfamiliar landscape. Everyone had accepted Morgana's word for what it was. And why shouldn't they? She was Uther's ward, beloved; she was royalty.
And Merlin -- well, he was only someone who'd tried to kill her.
He swallowed heavily, trying to blink away the recollection of Morgana clawing at her throat, of desperate accusation in the eyes that had once laughed with him, of her slender frame wracked in death throes. The visions had plagued him endlessly, even with Gaius' assurances that he had done right by Camelot and saved thousands of lives. And just when he'd been starting to believe it, here was Morgana to torment him again, in the flesh.
Merlin almost wished everything was out in the open; at least he'd know where he stood, even if that meant standing on top of a pyre. But he had secrets piled upon secrets and no doubt so had she. It made her dangerous; she was as unpredictable as lightning and Merlin had no idea where she meant to strike.
"Duck," said Arthur.
Merlin smacked his face into a low branch.
"Was that the sound of you not listening to me?" came Arthur's plaintive voice out of the heavy mist, followed soon after by Arthur himself, crowding into Merlin. "You're bleeding."
"What?" Merlin said, and pressed fingers to his forehead, which came away damp. "Ow."
"Well, don't prod at it; you'll make it worse," Arthur admonished, and disappeared towards his horse again after calling the knights to a temporary halt.
Merlin poked at his wound some more. The gash didn't seem particularly grievous, and apart from the initial sting of running into a devious bit of tree, the pain was only slight and would ebb in due time. He wiped his fingers on the side of his trousers; they really needn't have stopped at all.
The sound of ripping cloth tore into his ears. "No," he said in the direction Arthur had gone last, stretching the word to its limits. "I'm fine. Why do you keep -- I just mended that."
"So mend it again," said Arthur, breezing back into view with a waterskin and a strip of what used to be a perfectly good saddle blanket. He splashed a bit of water onto the cloth and dabbed Merlin's forehead with it, eyeing him carefully while he cleaned the wound.
"It's really nothing," Merlin said, feeling the skin at his neck grow uncomfortably warm.
"We just need to make sure there aren't splinters lodged in there that could cause infection, that's all," Arthur murmured. "Your brain's already muddled enough as it is; I shudder to think what would happen if it were compromised further. Well, it looks all right."
"I tried to tell you."
"Does it hurt much?" Arthur asked without giving him a chance to respond, and spread all five fingers, holding them up in front of Merlin. "What's this?"
"That's your hand in my face," he said, and received a light cuff on one ear.
"Not concussed, then," said Arthur.
"I've had a lot of practice taking blows to the head," Merlin said pointedly.
Arthur grinned. "Let's move on," he called out, picking up both his and Merlin's horses' reins again.
Merlin's lips pricked into a smile. The fog was a menace, there was no doubt about that, but it felt as though he and Arthur were swathed in a little world of their own, and a tiny part of Merlin wished it could just stay that way. With Arthur, Merlin felt anchored while the rest of the world cracked and swayed beneath his feet. Arthur was a steady, consistent presence; he'd never have to worry about what Arthur would say or do, because even with his occasional bluster and conceit he'd always been the same underneath, and would always be, until --
The smile distilled, leaving nothing but unease.
Until he discovered Merlin had been lying to him for years. Until he found out what Merlin had done to Morgana. Until everything fell apart.
Merlin trudged on, with dread clinging to him like a shadow. Once they returned to Camelot -- and whatever traps the forest had set for them, Merlin would make sure Arthur at least returned home safely -- he would lose everything. He could already see Morgana pointing a damning finger at him, smell the crackling pyre, watch Arthur's heart turn to stone. Merlin breathed in a gasp and choked on it.
In a sudden fit of defiance and certain suicide, Merlin sent a burst of wind tumbling through the fog, daring it to linger in the face of his power. It fled. The verdure it left behind was startling, and the ordinary sounds of the forest, of birds twittering in the trees and ground animals flitting across the undergrowth, seemed far too loud after almost an entire day of being muzzled by the haze.
Arthur blinked at his surroundings. "Stroke of luck," he said slowly, the tail of his words just barely rising into a question.
"Yeah, must be," said Merlin quickly, looking around and noticing a suspicious lack of knights. "Where's everyone gone?"
Arthur turned in all directions, as though expecting a sea of red cloaks to crest over the horizon any minute. "Must've lost them along the way in that bloody fog. I thought they'd been awfully quiet for about the last hour." He frowned, and kicked at a pile of dead leaves.
"It's not your fault," Merlin said, knowing Arthur was upset with himself for having misplaced an entire contingent of knights. "And you've trained them well; I'm sure they can look after themselves. They'll be all right."
"We're probably about a day out from where we need to get to, if we haven't gone off course," Arthur said, at length. "I don't know what's ahead."
The wistful tone that left Arthur's voice almost as soon as it had entered made Merlin's insides clench, a reverberation that shivered all the way down to the soles of his feet. They had wildly different views sometimes, he and Arthur, but in this, he understood Arthur completely. Every morning Arthur woke up with duty riding his shoulders; every time he rode out under Uther's orders or entered the tiltyard or picked up a gauntlet to preserve Camelot's honour, death stared him in the face and he wasn't allowed to look away.
And now, with expectations to bring in Morgana's captors -- and sorcerers, no less -- while his entire team had gone missing, the palpable apprehension in Arthur's face was no great surprise. Arthur would see it through to the end, no doubt, because that was just how he operated, even if the end was his.
"Well, you've still got me," Merlin said bracingly, laying the groundwork for one of Arthur's favoured, flippant remarks about idiot servants if only to temporarily distract him.
Arthur considered him for a long moment. "Yeah, I have."
He turned away, surveying the landscape, and then idly picked around in the moss and fallen leaves for dry wood. Merlin stared after him, itchy with the feeling that he'd just missed something significant and now it was too late to call the moment back.
A bit of twig bounced off his arm. "The firewood's not going to collect itself, Merlin," said Arthur, and chucked another piece at him for good measure.
Continue to Chapter Four
Authors: accordingtomel & adelagia
Summary: Three months after her disappearance, Morgana returns to Camelot with a hidden agenda, but she's not the only one keeping secrets, and a series of unintended revelations forces her, Merlin and Arthur on an intertwined journey of revenge, redemption and love.
Pairings: Merlin/Arthur, Leon/Morgana (elements of Uther/Morgana, Arthur/Gwen)
Rating: PG-13 (eventual NC-17)
Spoilers/Warnings: Everything up to and including 2x13
Word Count: 5,574
Disclaimer: Not ours. No money is being made. Please don't sue.
Authors' Note: Once again, thanks so much to our beta/Brit-picker ravenflight21.
Previous Chapters: One | Two
CHAPTER THREE
Dawn crept in with even less conviction than it had on previous days, grudging them only a thin, sickly light that did little to penetrate the fog that had come upon them in the night. It cocooned the forest, twining milky fingers around each leaf and branch, permeating every crevice with its wet touch. The convivial atmosphere Arthur had worked hard to bring about throughout their journey thus far had no place here; it seemed as though they'd been tipped onto a different plane entirely.
Not that it was even likely to make a difference in how things had been going. After giving them the silent treatment, it seemed as though the forest now wanted to make a game out of them; for two straight days they'd been following trails that led nowhere, catching scents that circled them right back to where they'd started. It was frustrating, to say the least, and now further handicapped by the weather, progress would be even more difficult to come by.
Merlin could barely see a thing; there were vague, reddish shapes moving sluggishly in front of him, which he assumed to be a few knights with their cloaks still on, waiting out the fog in silence. And there was Arthur, standing with his back against Merlin's, like they were in a fight stance against an enemy closing in on all sides. He could feel Arthur move occasionally, out of restlessness or straining to hear anything unusual, hand steady on the hilt of his sword.
It was an unusual time of year for a fog this dense, and it had settled all over them until the forest drowned in it. The dreamy quality to its minute drift set Merlin's teeth on edge. There were voices in there he could very nearly hear, suggestions of whispers; he'd catch a wisp of a word as it glided by, or maybe imagined the susurrations forming around him, but he knew they weren't words or voices that belonged to any of the company. The fog condensed on his skin, trickled down his neck like a cold caress. Merlin shuddered; everything felt wrong.
"Arthur," he said in a low voice. "We have to get moving."
"We can't see anything, Merlin."
"I know. It's -- I don't think this fog is going to lift," he said, trying to impress the urgency of it on Arthur without going into further detail. It wouldn't be the first time the prince took his bare word at face value; Arthur trusted him, though sometimes he didn't deserve it.
Arthur didn't respond for a moment, and then Merlin felt him shift round. He called the knights to order. "Get the horses; we're moving on."
A few voices of dissension piped up; in all honesty, Merlin would have been surprised if they hadn't. Arthur didn't mind hearing objections and welcomed the occasional criticism if his men thought he was out of order, and there were very good reasons for them to question his decision now -- visibility was horrendous; many of them had not travelled this road before and could not be sure of the way; they could easily make up the time lost if they pushed a little harder once visibility improved. But Arthur remained firm, and in the end, his deciding vote propelled the knights into action.
Only by memory and sound, distorted in the whiteness, could they locate where the horses had been tethered, but they moved as quickly as they dared and came together in short order, ready to move forward.
"We go on foot," Arthur said. "Stick to the path; with any luck, we'll be clear of this fog soon enough."
Merlin rubbed his horse's nose and took its reins in one hand, more than eager to leave this place.
"Merlin, you're at the front with me," Arthur ordered, and waited until Merlin complied. When horse and rider came up next to him, Arthur closed a fist around Merlin's reins and leaned forward far enough that what had previously been a blur in the mist resolved itself into Arthur's familiar features. "Stay close, and do not let go of these reins, do you understand?"
"Yeah," said Merlin.
Arthur nodded at him and drew back, the fog swallowing him into its shadow once more. At Arthur's call, the party set off slowly but surely, his hand bumping into Merlin's at every other step, a warm reassurance in a wide, white sea of nothingness.
The blade sliced through skin and muscle and veins, blood thick, warm, flowing over her fingers in a steady stream.
He gurgled, skin clammy and deathly pale as the light slowly faded away, futilely trying to catch a breath that would never again fill his slit throat. Blood pooled around his body, enveloping everything as far as the eye could see, a sea of crimson staining not only the ground, but the entire history and future of Camelot.
As Uther Pendragon's life blinked out of existence, his final communication with his queen came wordlessly. Through fading eyes, he expressed his love, his sorrow, and his ultimate betrayal -- murdered by the one he'd entrusted with his heart and soul. Soaked in her lover's blood, she watched, simultaneously horrified and captivated, until his chest fell for the final time.
And she wept.
Morgana awoke with a violent start, a shatter of porcelain ringing in her ears, and she whipped her head to the side to find the vase on her nightstand scattered in shards.
"No..." she moaned softly, squeezing her eyes shut. It had been ages since anything like that had happened; Morgause had taught her how to focus her magic, how to reel her emotions in and temper them so they wouldn't dive for the first outlet they saw and destroy everything in their wake. She had been getting so much better at directing her magical abilities in useful ways, but now that she was back in Camelot it seemed as though everything was undone.
Several sharp knocks sounded at the door, but she paid the sound no mind, struggling to slow her erratic breaths. Whoever was outside her chambers chose not to wait for permission before barging into the room, and a moment later, Morgana encountered Leon's panicked expression, as he grasped the door handle with one hand, the other ready at the hilt of his sword.
"Are you all right, my lady?" he asked, gaze hastily sweeping the room in search of any sign of intrusion or threat, before settling back on Morgana.
"Yes, I'm fine. I just accidentally knocked over a vase," she lied quickly with a flick of the wrist, holding up a guilty elbow as though offering evidence.
Leon's brows furrowed thoughtfully as his eyes sought physical confirmation, but he eventually nodded his head, seemingly placated by her explanation and the sight of broken shards of glass littering the floor.
"Let me find someone to clean it up for you," he offered.
"No!" she cried out, voice far louder and more insistent than she'd intended. To say that Leon looked taken aback would have been an understatement, but before he could react to her outburst, Morgana was climbing out of the opposite side of her bed, bare feet sinking into the plush rug below. "Sorry, I just meant that I don't want to trouble anyone to clean up a mess I made due to my own carelessness." She elevated one shoulder in a nonchalant half-shrug, shooting him a sheepish look.
Morgana turned her back to him, rummaging around at the back of her closet for the broom that Gwen had started leaving in the room when the nightmares had increased in both frequency and intensity -- in addition to her magic seemingly acting of its own free will -- resulting in far more broken items than could be explained away reasonably. Leon remained rooted on the spot, but she could feel his eyes on her, boring into her back, as he wondered what she was doing.
She answered the unspoken question. "I'm trying to find my broom."
"Do you need any help?" he asked, solicitous, a moment later, when she emerged from her closet, victoriously holding the broom in hand.
Morgana shook her head. "No, I'm fine, thank you." She placed the broom on the ground and moved to pull on a pair of boots to avoid stepping on the broken glass and incapacitating herself further.
"Really, I insist," he said.
Morgana tilted her head up at him, staring through dark lashes, curious. "I don't want to trouble you," she said, after a pause. "It'll be a simple enough task."
"What kind of gentleman would I be if I stood around and simply watched you do all the work, instead of assisting?" he retorted easily, reaching out to pluck the broom from her hands.
She felt the broom handle lift easily from her fingers, so caught off guard by the action that she barely had time to register what was happening at all.
Her expression must have betrayed the surprise she felt, as Leon's lips twisted into a sheepish smirk and he ducked his head respectfully. "I mean, if I may? My lady?" he added, chagrined.
Morgana felt a smile, genuine and warm, tug at her lips, and she didn't even try to fight it. "I suppose I can't refuse when you put it like that."
Before getting down to work, Leon offered her his gloves to protect her hands from the glass, and she gratefully accepted. They worked quickly and efficiently, she picking up the larger shards, and he sweeping up the rest of the floor. Within five minutes things looked exactly as they had before, save for the now vacant spot on her nightstand.
"Thank you," Morgana said. "You didn't have to help me."
"It was my pleasure," Leon told her, nodding his head respectfully.
He stared at her for a few moments, as if uncertain about whether to stay or go. After a moment's pause, Morgana lifted a single questioning brow in his general direction, and she couldn't be quite sure, but it almost appeared as though he was blushing. With a mildly uncomfortable cough, Leon finally excused himself with a coy, if not slightly embarrassed, grin.
He was nearly out of the room before a thought occurred to her. "Wait!"
Leon froze, casting a glance at her over his shoulder. "Was there something else you needed, my lady?"
"Yes, actually," she said, then gestured at him to come back in the room. Morgana waited patiently until the door clicked shut behind him before speaking again. "I would appreciate it if you didn't share this particular incident with my maidservant, Gwen, when she returns. She worries a great deal about me as it is, and I fear that she'd read too much into this. I'd rather not upset her unnecessarily, you understand."
Leon hesitated a moment, lips pressed together into a thin line and curling down ever so slightly at the corners, concern evident in his warm eyes. But eventually he nodded his assent, raising his right hand and shooting her a kindly smile. "You have my word, my lady."
She returned the smile, grateful. "Thank you. And please call me Morgana. Didn't we already have this conversation?"
Something in his countenance shifted, as though a little flicker of something was trying to break through, but it vanished as quickly as it'd come. "All right. You have my word, Morgana."
His smiled brightened as he headed out of the room.
Morgana ambled over to the window, knowing she wasn't about to get any more rest this morning, and resigning herself to that fact. Pressing the palm of her hand against the pane of glass, she sought comfort in its cooling surface. The sky was still clouded over, grey and dark, almost as if reflecting her current state of mind. She allowed her thoughts to drift for a few fleeting minutes, permitting them to linger on the dream she'd awoken from in such a state.
She'd dreamt more than once of Uther's ultimate end, of watching his life fade before her very eyes, but this was the first time her role in his death featured so prominently. Memories of blood filled her consciousness, warm and viscous, coating her hands and pooling at her knees, a river of crimson accumulating into a veritable ocean all around them. She could still recall the feel of the thick liquid spilling past the cracks in her fingers, the coppery smell of freshly spilt blood, but worst of all -- Morgana remembered the haunting expression contorting Uther's face, the betrayal and hurt he could not mask in his eyes. It was enough to make her feel physically ill.
A soft knock at the door dragged Morgana's attention away from the window, interrupting her reverie.
"Good morning, my lady. You're up early," said Gwen, padding into the room on quiet feet as though afraid of waking the whole castle, breakfast tray in hand. Her easy smile faltered into an expression of deep concern. "Is it -- You haven't been having those dreams again, have you?"
"No, no, I'm all right," Morgana reassured her, quashing the spike of guilt that arose in her gut at the blatant lie. But she was only doing it to protect Gwen. The woman had dealt with enough of late and was not in need of another source of angst. "I suppose I'm just feeling a bit restless, that's all."
Gwen nodded, scepticism written across her features, but she didn't press Morgana for more information. Morgana meandered her way to the table as Gwen began laying out her breakfast.
“Sit with me,” Morgana offered, gesturing to the empty chair on the opposite side of the table.
Gwen seemed to deliberate, casting her gaze uncertainly over Morgana’s shoulder -- there was work to be done, her eyes read -- before taking a seat in the proffered spot with a grateful smile. They used to eat meals together all the time, when Morgana wasn’t dining with Uther, and there was something comforting to be able to do so once again.
“Tell me how you’ve been,” Morgana started, picking through the food in front of her, and glanced expectantly at her friend.
Gwen shrugged her shoulders noncommittally. “I’m not sure what you want to know,” she admitted, plucking a piece of fruit delicately from the tray that sat between them.
“What’s happened here since I... was taken away?” She swallowed and glanced down at her plate. “What has everyone been up to in my absence? But more importantly, how have you been?”
Truthfully, Morgana cared very little for an update on castle gossip, or a play-by-play of the recent happenings in Camelot. She was aware of the search for her and eventual abandonment of said search, of the dragon attack, the hunt for the last Dragonlord, and the general comings and goings of notable guests in the castle since her departure. Morgause had made a point of apprising her of relevant information pertaining to Camelot and its inhabitants in preparation for her eventual return.
No, Morgana was decidedly more interested in keeping the conversation as far away from her own imaginary kidnapping as she possibly could. She may have been able to flagrantly lie to Uther’s face, but the one person she’d never manipulated was Gwen, and Morgana intended to keep it that way, if at all possible. However, for less selfish reasons, Morgana truly cared about her maidservant and did genuinely want to know what had happened in her life over the past several months.
Gwen smiled warmly, then proceeded to inform Morgana of everything that had occurred in the past few months. Uther's distraught disposition at Morgana's kidnapping, as well as Arthur's relentless search for her, often forgoing sleep and food in favour of spending just one or two more hours out on the road. Gwen spoke of Gaius and Merlin -- Morgana took special care to school her features into perfect neutrality at the utterance of Merlin's name, for fear of inadvertently revealing her fury with him to an unsuspecting Gwen -- then proceeded to share some of the latest castle gossip in conspiratorial tones, as though anyone walking past her door would be able to hear.
In spite of having to listen to Gwen speak of Merlin as though he were a trustworthy friend and not a murderous traitor, Morgana believed that some of that information might come in handy in the future, and was grateful to Gwen for sharing it with her. Admittedly, it also felt good to know that the kinship she shared with Arthur was still standing firm; she may need to rely on some of the trust and affection he held for her if trouble arose in her plans for Uther. Interestingly enough, Morgana noted throughout her stories that there was a significant person she'd neglected to mention.
Morgana plucked a piece of cheese from the plate and held it between her thumb and index finger, letting it dangle loosely in her hand as she caught Gwen's eye. "Thank you for the update. I've missed spending time with you," Morgana said with affection. "But tell me -- what of you? I noticed that you never spoke of yourself even once, and yet you're the one I'm most interested in."
Gwen ducked her head and grinned shyly. "I'm not sure that there's much to share," she admitted, gaze shifting to stare at a spot on the table as though it was the most fascinating sight she'd ever beheld.
Morgana reached across the table, tapped her on the back of the hand. "Somehow I doubt that."
Soft brown eyes met hers a moment later. "I suppose there have been a few changes in my life as of late."
"Tell me," Morgana encouraged, smiling.
Gwen nodded. "Well, my father's friend, Paul, recently decided to re-open my father's blacksmith shop. When I haven't been seeing to my duties in the castle, I've been training under his guidance. I know as a woman I can't ever take over the shop on my own, but perhaps one day I could work alongside Paul. My father would have liked that."
Morgana beamed at her friend, pride swelling in her chest. "It won't always be that way," she said, belatedly realising that Gwen would have no reason to put hope in her words. As far as things stood in society at the present moment, women held about as much power as sorcerers. But Morgana would change all of that, soon. Not surprisingly, Gwen shot her a disbelieving look, quirking a single brow.
"At least, I hope it won't be," she amended, then took a bite of a piece of bread from her plate, chewing thoughtfully.
"You have high expectations for the future," Gwen remarked, a bit uncertainly.
Morgana shrugged casually, trying to affect an air of nonchalance, but smiled lightly. She decided this line of conversation might lead down an undesirable path, and opted to shift things in a different direction. "Has anything happened with Arthur since I've been gone?"
Gwen's eyes widened comically, as though it were the last thing she'd been expecting, and she shook her head as a light flush came over her, clearly embarrassed by the question.
Her expression became distant as she bit thoughtfully on her thumb nail, clearly considering how to answer. "I'm not really sure, to be honest," she finally said.
"What do you mean?" asked Morgana, brows furrowing in confusion.
"Well, he hugged me after he returned from fighting the dragon. We speak often. He's kissed me a couple of times on the cheek since then, but I find it hard to read him," Gwen said, her entire attention now focussed on the nail she held up in front of her face. "Sometimes I think that he's interested, and then at others I don't know what to make of him. It's almost as if he's distracted by something -- or maybe even someone -- else."
Morgana frowned. "Don't be silly! He'd be lucky to have you, and he's a fool if he thinks otherwise."
Gwen shrugged in a way that neither confirmed nor denied the sentiment. "As I say, I just don't know. Most of the time he seems interested, but then there are moments..." she trailed off, letting the silence speak for itself.
Morgana tutted disapprovingly and made a mental note to speak to Arthur at some point about his behaviour in regards to Gwen. It was completely unacceptable, in Morgana's eyes.
"And what of Lancelot?" Morgana asked, hoping this line of questioning would lead to a more cheerful discussion. Unfortunately she'd been incorrect in that assumption.
Gwen's smile fell from her face momentarily, a glimmer of disappointment flashing in her eyes before she met her mistress' gaze. Morgana immediately regretted asking the question. Perhaps something dreadful had happened to him in her absence, though she assumed that Morgause would've informed her of Lancelot's return to Camelot.
"Nothing," Gwen responded after several long moments, resting her chin on an outstretched palm, gaze focussed on a spot over Morgana's shoulder. "I haven't heard anything from him since he rescued me from Hengist's henchmen."
There was no mistaking the disappointment in her voice, slumped posture merely confirming the fact.
Morgana reached across the table and squeezed Gwen's free hand, curling her fingers into the centre of her palm reassuringly. She waited to speak until she'd regained the woman's attention once more. "I'm sorry. I know you truly cared for him. But perhaps he will still return?"
Gwen smiled, giving Morgana's fingers an affectionate squeeze back, but the light didn't fully reach her eyes. "Perhaps," she said, eventually, though the tone lacked conviction or hope. Then, "I should probably tidy up now. Thank you for breakfast." And in the process of standing, it was clear to both that the conversation had effectively ended on that note.
Gwen fluttered about the bed, pulling at the linen expertly until there were no creases at all to be seen. "Well, it looks like it'll be a fine day for a walk?" she said hopefully, all traces of her prior mood completely vanquished.
Morgana smiled, grateful. She knew Gwen worried about her and had been trying to get her to leave the confines of the castle in hopes that it would leaven her spirits; even her brief stroll through the castle halls in the days prior had excited Gwen's approval considerably. In all honesty, Morgana did quite miss spending time with her maidservant as she'd had before -- sharing stories and gossip, walking arm in arm through Camelot's lush greenery, laughing like children; but there was no space in the plans for Gwen. At least, not yet. Once things slotted into place, Morgana would have all the time in the world for her; she'd make sure of it. Gwen would be well taken care of when everything changed.
"Perhaps," Morgana said, in solemn enough tones that the word resounded in the negative.
"Well, you know," said Gwen, sidling up to the window, "today is the first day of the trade fair."
"Has it come again already? I've been away so long..." Morgana said distractedly. She shook her head as if to scatter unwanted thoughts, and turned a smile on Gwen. "Why don't you take the day off; go and enjoy the fair?"
"Oh, no, I didn't mean --"
Morgana placed a gentle hand on her arm. "I know, but you've been working so hard these past few days; you deserve a little time to yourself," she said.
"We could visit the fair together?"
"I'm afraid I don't feel quite up to it today. But," Morgana said with a smile, squeezing her hand, "I want you to go and have a good time. That's an order."
True to form, Gwen tried her best to coax Morgana out of her room, but she knew when to push and when to step back, and with Morgana doing her best impression of a stone wall, Gwen eventually resigned herself to attending the fair alone and leaving Morgana to brood.
By mid-afternoon the sun finally condescended to do its job properly, beaming like a maniac in overcompensation for its poor performance earlier. Much to the knights' consternation, however, the fog not only remained, but turned into a blinding white wall thanks to the day's new brightness. The company plodded along at the pace of an infirm snail, with Arthur and Merlin leading the pack, squinting horribly the whole way, while, behind them, the sporadic sound of horseshoe on stone contributed a gentle counterpoint to the knights' muttered frustrations.
Occasionally, Merlin did his best to call up tiny gales from his fingertips to dispel the mist just long enough for Arthur to catch a glimpse of where they were going, but he dared not do much more than that. He had been so careless with his magic so many times in the past, it seemed near a miracle that Arthur, sharper than he usually liked to let on, hadn't already arranged for Merlin to be eaten by wild dogs.
And it was for that reason that Merlin remained steadfast in his silence now, despite the creeping thought clearing space in his mind for a more comfortable, lengthy stay. There was something off about this whole journey that couldn't be ascribed solely to bad luck, from the forest's eldritch tone to their repeatedly losing their way, to the voices in the fog just a shred beyond the edge of hearing.
The thought unpacked its luggage.
It was Morgana. It had to be. What magical ability she possessed or had honed in her time away Merlin couldn't be sure, but she was the one who'd shown them the map, pinpointed their target location, directed Arthur's focus off the main roads and onto lesser-used paths, all with nary a word of explanation. In the chaos of her sudden return and Uther's thirst for swift vengeance, no one had thought to question her or how she had come by her knowledge of an unfamiliar landscape. Everyone had accepted Morgana's word for what it was. And why shouldn't they? She was Uther's ward, beloved; she was royalty.
And Merlin -- well, he was only someone who'd tried to kill her.
He swallowed heavily, trying to blink away the recollection of Morgana clawing at her throat, of desperate accusation in the eyes that had once laughed with him, of her slender frame wracked in death throes. The visions had plagued him endlessly, even with Gaius' assurances that he had done right by Camelot and saved thousands of lives. And just when he'd been starting to believe it, here was Morgana to torment him again, in the flesh.
Merlin almost wished everything was out in the open; at least he'd know where he stood, even if that meant standing on top of a pyre. But he had secrets piled upon secrets and no doubt so had she. It made her dangerous; she was as unpredictable as lightning and Merlin had no idea where she meant to strike.
"Duck," said Arthur.
Merlin smacked his face into a low branch.
"Was that the sound of you not listening to me?" came Arthur's plaintive voice out of the heavy mist, followed soon after by Arthur himself, crowding into Merlin. "You're bleeding."
"What?" Merlin said, and pressed fingers to his forehead, which came away damp. "Ow."
"Well, don't prod at it; you'll make it worse," Arthur admonished, and disappeared towards his horse again after calling the knights to a temporary halt.
Merlin poked at his wound some more. The gash didn't seem particularly grievous, and apart from the initial sting of running into a devious bit of tree, the pain was only slight and would ebb in due time. He wiped his fingers on the side of his trousers; they really needn't have stopped at all.
The sound of ripping cloth tore into his ears. "No," he said in the direction Arthur had gone last, stretching the word to its limits. "I'm fine. Why do you keep -- I just mended that."
"So mend it again," said Arthur, breezing back into view with a waterskin and a strip of what used to be a perfectly good saddle blanket. He splashed a bit of water onto the cloth and dabbed Merlin's forehead with it, eyeing him carefully while he cleaned the wound.
"It's really nothing," Merlin said, feeling the skin at his neck grow uncomfortably warm.
"We just need to make sure there aren't splinters lodged in there that could cause infection, that's all," Arthur murmured. "Your brain's already muddled enough as it is; I shudder to think what would happen if it were compromised further. Well, it looks all right."
"I tried to tell you."
"Does it hurt much?" Arthur asked without giving him a chance to respond, and spread all five fingers, holding them up in front of Merlin. "What's this?"
"That's your hand in my face," he said, and received a light cuff on one ear.
"Not concussed, then," said Arthur.
"I've had a lot of practice taking blows to the head," Merlin said pointedly.
Arthur grinned. "Let's move on," he called out, picking up both his and Merlin's horses' reins again.
Merlin's lips pricked into a smile. The fog was a menace, there was no doubt about that, but it felt as though he and Arthur were swathed in a little world of their own, and a tiny part of Merlin wished it could just stay that way. With Arthur, Merlin felt anchored while the rest of the world cracked and swayed beneath his feet. Arthur was a steady, consistent presence; he'd never have to worry about what Arthur would say or do, because even with his occasional bluster and conceit he'd always been the same underneath, and would always be, until --
The smile distilled, leaving nothing but unease.
Until he discovered Merlin had been lying to him for years. Until he found out what Merlin had done to Morgana. Until everything fell apart.
Merlin trudged on, with dread clinging to him like a shadow. Once they returned to Camelot -- and whatever traps the forest had set for them, Merlin would make sure Arthur at least returned home safely -- he would lose everything. He could already see Morgana pointing a damning finger at him, smell the crackling pyre, watch Arthur's heart turn to stone. Merlin breathed in a gasp and choked on it.
In a sudden fit of defiance and certain suicide, Merlin sent a burst of wind tumbling through the fog, daring it to linger in the face of his power. It fled. The verdure it left behind was startling, and the ordinary sounds of the forest, of birds twittering in the trees and ground animals flitting across the undergrowth, seemed far too loud after almost an entire day of being muzzled by the haze.
Arthur blinked at his surroundings. "Stroke of luck," he said slowly, the tail of his words just barely rising into a question.
"Yeah, must be," said Merlin quickly, looking around and noticing a suspicious lack of knights. "Where's everyone gone?"
Arthur turned in all directions, as though expecting a sea of red cloaks to crest over the horizon any minute. "Must've lost them along the way in that bloody fog. I thought they'd been awfully quiet for about the last hour." He frowned, and kicked at a pile of dead leaves.
"It's not your fault," Merlin said, knowing Arthur was upset with himself for having misplaced an entire contingent of knights. "And you've trained them well; I'm sure they can look after themselves. They'll be all right."
"We're probably about a day out from where we need to get to, if we haven't gone off course," Arthur said, at length. "I don't know what's ahead."
The wistful tone that left Arthur's voice almost as soon as it had entered made Merlin's insides clench, a reverberation that shivered all the way down to the soles of his feet. They had wildly different views sometimes, he and Arthur, but in this, he understood Arthur completely. Every morning Arthur woke up with duty riding his shoulders; every time he rode out under Uther's orders or entered the tiltyard or picked up a gauntlet to preserve Camelot's honour, death stared him in the face and he wasn't allowed to look away.
And now, with expectations to bring in Morgana's captors -- and sorcerers, no less -- while his entire team had gone missing, the palpable apprehension in Arthur's face was no great surprise. Arthur would see it through to the end, no doubt, because that was just how he operated, even if the end was his.
"Well, you've still got me," Merlin said bracingly, laying the groundwork for one of Arthur's favoured, flippant remarks about idiot servants if only to temporarily distract him.
Arthur considered him for a long moment. "Yeah, I have."
He turned away, surveying the landscape, and then idly picked around in the moss and fallen leaves for dry wood. Merlin stared after him, itchy with the feeling that he'd just missed something significant and now it was too late to call the moment back.
A bit of twig bounced off his arm. "The firewood's not going to collect itself, Merlin," said Arthur, and chucked another piece at him for good measure.
Continue to Chapter Four