Before the Sun Breaks Another Day -- Chapter Six
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: 6,485
Disclaimer: Not ours. No money is being made. Please don't sue.
Authors' Note: Thanks once again to ravenflight21 for the beta/Brit-pick :).
Previous Chapters: One | Two | Three | Four | Five
CHAPTER SIX
"Just give me time," Morgana pleaded.
Morgause's mouth screwed into a slight frown. "We could have Camelot bent to our will with a snap of our fingers," she said, almost wistfully.
"If we take Camelot with magic it'll only fuel his hatred; he'll go to his end thinking he was right about sorcery all along. But just think," she said, clutching Morgause's arm fervently, "of how much more satisfying it would be to see the look on his face when he hands us the keys to his kingdom, knowing he only has his own weakness and stupidity to blame."
A hum of appreciation shivered past Morgause's lips at the thought of bringing Uther to his knees by the cleverness of deception alone. "Temptress," she said pertly.
Morgana smiled. "That's the plan."
*
Morgana was furious. She was already operating on borrowed time as it was, and now this, of all the pointless, ridiculous interferences that could have cropped up. There was a part of her that was just as angry with herself as she was with the situation, helpless as she was to do anything about it, likely because she hadn't the foresight to come up with contingency plans for impromptu Northumbrian state visits.
She paced the same length of floor her feet had been following for the past day and a half, her hands gripped tightly behind her back to fight off the urge of hitting something.
The trouble had begun two days prior with the arrival of King Pellinore and his retinue from Northumbria; the sojourn had only been scheduled after her return to Camelot, it seemed, and if Morgause had caught wind of it she hadn't bothered to let Morgana know. Even after asking around for more information, Morgana wasn't entirely sure of the exact nature of the king's business with Uther. All Leon could tell her was that part of the reason for Pellinore's presence had to do with a standard review of the clauses of Northumbria and Camelot's peace treaty, and part was purely social. It'd always come as somewhat of a surprise to Morgana that Uther actually had friends, especially given how numerous and vast his enemies were. Yet, Pellinore and Uther had developed a camaraderie many years ago when the two nations had allied in a war against Mercia, and to this day, their friendship remained strong. Morgana, herself, had no personal quarrel with the visiting king, simply wished he would go away and leave her to the task of watching over Uther.
The plan had been progressing at a stunted rate as it was; for every two steps forward, Morgana felt as though she were moving one step back. Now to have the past day and a half completely wasted, in which Uther had been wholly preoccupied by hunting excursions and entertaining his esteemed guest, she knew that things were not looking promising. In the first day of Pellinore's stay, Morgana had barely managed to snag more than five minutes of Uther's time, unattended, and today she'd yet to even encounter an opportunity to speak with him. With little room for error or delay, she could not afford such extravagances as letting Uther out of her sights for the week Pellinore intended to stay.
Morgana let out an irritated sigh. It was her own fault, she knew, rushing into this, forming a less than sturdy plan around an emotional reflex. The heady feelings of imagined triumph, of exacting revenge, seemed so distant now. Morgause had been right -- they could have taken Camelot by now if they’d used magic, but Morgana didn't want Camelot, she wanted Uther to be sorry.
Soft knocking at her chamber doors halted the pacing momentarily, and she turned towards the door. "Come in," she called out.
The door eased open, and Gwen stuck her head in. "Good afternoon, my lady," she said with a smile, coming forward, a tray balanced neatly on one arm. "I've brought you some lunch.
"Thank you, Gwen," Morgana said, flicking her eyes over the food. "But I'm afraid that I'm not very hungry at the moment."
Concern etched its way into Gwen's features, lips pulling downward. She was across the room in a few quick strides. "You haven't been eating well for the past two days. Is something troubling you?"
"No, I'm fine."
It was an easy answer, though not easily given. Gwen had always been her confidante, a solid rock she could rely on whenever worries crossed her mind. But she knew she couldn't breathe a word of this to her maidservant; Gwen wouldn't see it the same way she did, compassionate as she was, and the last thing Morgana wanted to do was fracture the last genuine relationship she still had.
"I haven't been sleeping all that well, and my mind has been distracted. Food hasn't remained at the forefront of my priorities, I suppose, but I assure you that I'm eating enough to keep up my strength," Morgana said. It wasn't an outright lie, after all.
Gwen's frown deepened, eyes assessing but exuding warmth. "Have you been having nightmares again, Morgana?"
She shook her head. "Everything is all right, Gwen, honestly. I promise I'll eat something later on this afternoon, if it would please you." Morgana accorded Gwen a light smile, though it didn't reach her eyes, and she wondered if Gwen was astute enough to notice.
"If you say so, my lady," Gwen said, after a moment's hesitation, though it was clear from her tone that she didn't quite believe Morgana's words. Still, it was the best Morgana could hope for at present.
Silence settled over the room, as Gwen went about her business of tidying up and Morgana rooted herself against one wall so her incessant pacing wouldn't get in the way. As far as she had been made aware, Uther was out hunting with Pellinore and would not be back until late afternoon. A feast was planned for the evening, in celebration of Camelot and Northumbria's renewed peace treaty. As the king's ward and a member of the royal household, she would be seated at his left, as was customary, and if all went well, it would afford Morgana some time with Uther, even if she would have to share it with their guests. In the meantime, however, there was little available for Morgana to do to occupy her time, save for pacing and sulking, neither of which was a particularly enjoyable way of passing the time. What Morgana needed, what she would welcome, was a distraction, something to occupy her mind and her time while she was forced to wait for Uther's return.
"Gwen," she said. "Help me decide what to wear for the feast tonight?"
Gwen smiled and nodded at the request, temporarily putting aside discarded books to fish through Morgana's wardrobe. She pulled out a handful of dresses, laying them on the bed for scrutiny. "The green quite suits you," she suggested, smoothing a hand over a wrinkle in the fabric.
Morgana tilted her head in consideration. "No..." she said, her eyes roaming over the selection. Lighting on a deep purple dress, she lifted it up and held it in front of her, pinning its waist to hers as she surveyed herself in front of the mirror. Its cut was a bit more daring than her usual fare, and certainly not for everyday wear. Thoughtfully, she fingered the tiny jewels sewn into its neckline.
"Who are you hoping to impress tonight?" Gwen joked, coming to stand next to her.
"Uther's always liked me in this one," Morgana murmured, mostly to herself.
Gwen's reflection flushed a deep shade of red, and she turned from the mirror hastily.
"What's the matter?" Morgana asked, flinging the dress back onto the bed.
"Nothing. It's nothing," said Gwen, who could never lie to save her life. She was a byword for honesty, and try as she might to prevent it, her emotions always splayed themselves nakedly across her face.
Morgana touched her arm lightly. "Gwen, you can tell me anything."
"No, no, it's really--"
"Gwen," she said, a little more sternly.
"It's just something I heard in passing," Gwen said, a desperate tone creeping into her voice. "Just -- stupid gossip. Got into my head for a moment, that's all. It's not worth repeating."
Morgana's eyes narrowed assessingly. "Is it about me?" When Gwen didn't answer, she added, "There's obviously something you don't want me to know, but you might as well just spill it, as I'm going to find out sooner or later anyway. God knows the kitchen staff couldn't keep their mouths shut even if they tried."
Gwen hesitated, but acquiesced in the end, her face pained. "There's just been a bit of talk -- nonsense, you understand -- about questionable relations between you and... well--"
Nervous anticipation churned in Morgana's stomach.
"Ah... you and the king," Gwen finished, and took a minute step backwards, cringing, as though afraid she might have gone too far.
"Me and Uther?" Morgana repeated, carefully sidestepping the accusation. "Why would they say there's something going on between us?"
She knew exactly why; after all, it had been what she'd been hoping for all along, for people to start talking, to start wondering if she had become something more than just Uther's ward. It was already well-known throughout the land that he adored her, and it didn't take much of a leap to turn that fact into speculation as to just how deep that love ran.
There was a long pause from Gwen, hands knotting behind her back almost nervously. "You've been dining with him alone an awful lot since your return."
"That's not so unusual," Morgana pointed out, and it wasn't. They'd often eaten meals together in the past, without Arthur, though the increasing strain in their relationship prior to her departure from Camelot had lessened the frequency considerably.
"Right, of course."
"Is there more?" Morgana encouraged, trying to play down her eagerness and sound more concerned about her reputation instead. In any other circumstance, she couldn't have cared less what the servants were saying about her -- life in the castle was often dull and if they needed salacious gossip to pass the time, then so be it -- but in this case, she wanted to hear everything. Nothing untoward had happened between her and Uther, but if people were already talking then it must mean she was doing something right. Perhaps the situation wasn't as dire as she'd previously thought, and Pellinore's visit not as ruinous a setback.
Gwen bit her lip, her gaze fixed on the floor. "They also say you two have been seen strolling through the castle grounds and town, looking far less than king and ward, and far more like, well..." She paused.
Morgana planted both hands on her hips, brows crinkling. "Far more like what, Gwen?"
There was nothing for a long time, and then, "Witnesses attest to you acting as though you were, um, more like lovers." She nearly choked on the last word, still refusing to meet Morgana's gaze.
"Lovers? Really?" There was a split second of accomplishment in knowing that her efforts hadn't gone entirely to waste, but it was quickly overshadowed by a burgeoning worry. The revelation was helpful, and it was, of course, precisely what she wanted people to believe, but at the same time, Morgana knew she hadn't done nearly enough to warrant quite such an extreme reaction just yet. Besides, the only one who truly needed convincing was Uther, and Morgana had barely had time to bat her eyelashes at him in the past couple of days, let alone make any sort of proper advances. Ultimately, all the gossip in the world would not help further her cause if Uther wasn't falling for her, plain and simple.
It was a good start, but if she wanted to wear Camelot's crown, she would have to work a lot harder. The thought, which should have motivated her, only served to nurse the growing ache in the pit of her stomach. Morgana stamped it down hard.
Gwen, who had resumed tidying the room, remained quiet. That she wasn't saying anything now was revealing of her own thoughts on the subject, and suddenly, Morgana found that she didn't want Gwen to believe she had feelings for Uther, even when every action she would take in the future would certainly indicate the contrary.
"It's no matter," she said breezily. "Let them talk. I can guarantee you I have no romantic interest in Uther."
"Of course not," Gwen said, without hesitation, shooting a small smile at Morgana.
And if there was doubt in her maidservant's tone, Morgana chose to ignore it. After a moment's consideration, she picked up the purple dress from her bed and hung it across the top of her dressing screen, carefully avoiding Gwen's gaze.
Persuading Arthur, after their brief contretemps with a creature that had clearly been one of the gods' attempts at showing off, to return to Camelot hadn't been too difficult, for which Merlin was quietly thankful; it was obvious that whoever had captured Morgana -- and he used the word 'captured' lightly -- hadn't stuck around to enjoy being hunted down by Camelot's finest. He didn't have anything more useful than a gut feeling, but Merlin knew that he and Arthur were only wasting time in the wilderness, alternately braving the capriciousness of the elements and narrowly escaping a dalliance with a giant serpent's intestinal mechanisms, with no results to show for all their efforts except masses of hideous contusions.
They were turned back now in the direction from which they'd come, but it was slow going, taking into account the fact that their progress had to be hampered from being sore and stiff and nursing a multitude of injuries for which Merlin could only do so much, in secret, late at night by the light of blinking embers, when Arthur's contributions to the conversation were limited to occasional snores that he'd later swear were not emitted by the likes of royalty.
That Arthur was swearing at all in the first place was encouraging, after the long, hard look he'd given Merlin just after the beast had fallen, a look as though he knew. Sheer necessity had driven Merlin to blasting his magic right in front of Arthur, and he'd been almost sure that Arthur had seen -- and given the opportunity to make the choice again, Merlin knew he'd do the same, every time -- but it didn't seem to have made any lasting impression on Arthur, who'd wrenched the look away after a while and had then wondered out loud if sawing off the snake's horns to bring home as trophies might result in pestilence raining down upon Camelot's general populace.
With his neck safely out of the equation, Merlin had suggested that they forgo the sawing and save their energies instead for a homeward journey. And as much as Arthur loathed the prospect of reporting failure to his father, particularly when the stakes were this high, he'd agreed. Given the lack of knights and Arthur's injuries, even if they did manage to find Morgana's captors, he and Merlin wouldn't have been able to do much more than shout some threatening last words.
The forest was clear now, warm and bright, offering an accompaniment of sweet birdsong as they wended their way along familiar trails. In spite of the fact that they were headed back to the castle, where Morgana would most certainly find a way to exact painful revenge on him, Merlin shoved all such thoughts aside as best he could and tried to enjoy the sun on his neck and Arthur riding at his side. It might be the last time, after all, he thought. At least he'd get to spend it with Arthur. He smiled wanly into his chest.
"Merlin," said Arthur suddenly.
Merlin's heart leapt a little, for no other reason than how lovely his name sounded rolling off Arthur's tongue. "Yeah?"
"You reek."
"What?"
Arthur pulled his horse into a slow walk. "Here we are in a wide, open space, and I should be filling my lungs with all this nice, fresh air, but all I get is you, and you smell something awful."
Merlin wrinkled his nose. "You aren't exactly a bouquet of roses yourself, you know."
"Nonsense. I'm a prince, Merlin; I smell of rainbows," said Arthur blithely. Before it could be pointed out in how many ways he was wrong, he added, looking up at the sky, "We'll be coming upon a lake in a bit; should be warm enough for a quick bathe, I think."
Before long, the sunlit glint of water shimmered into view, and Arthur let out a pleased murmur. Dismounting, Arthur tethered his horse and held out his hand for Merlin's reins. With some difficulty, Merlin grimaced as he inched himself out of the saddle; with the adrenaline of the fight now all ebbed away and his muscles having gotten over the shock of sudden, intense exertion, they now pitched up a chorus of complaints at any hint of movement.
"Any time before nightfall, Merlin," Arthur said, eyeing Merlin's limited progress with slight impatience.
"Bit sore," Merlin mumbled, when both feet finally touched ground.
Arthur gestured for him to assist with removing his armour. "If anyone's got a right to be sore, it's me," he said, and muttered a few culturally insensitive remarks about the whole of the reptilian kingdom. With his armour and mail stacked carefully at the foot of a tree, Arthur removed the rest of his clothing and inspected the bruises down his front. "This salve of Gaius's I brought along seems to be working wonders, though. Healing faster than usual," he said, glancing up at Merlin.
For his part, Merlin could only manage a brief nod of his head, which was largely involuntary, given that his eyeballs were torn between lapping up the sight of Arthur stripping and looking very, very far away, and only ended up fighting to run in diametrically opposite directions. Turning around, he clamped his eyes shut and pretended to busy himself with patting his horse, which didn't have quite the same enterprising effect as when he pretended to busy himself with moving messes around in Arthur's chambers during bath time.
"Watch our things, Merlin. I'll be quick," said Arthur from somewhere behind him.
As Arthur pattered away, Merlin eased his eyes open and heard Arthur wading into the lake. He gave up on rubbing his horse's nose, which it seemed to appreciate, and turned back around. In the near distance, he could see Arthur sitting happily in the lake, his hair struck bright gold in the afternoon light, skin gleaming with water. Merlin gave the other horse an industrious pat.
True to his word, Arthur returned in short order, looking refreshed, and Merlin couldn't decide whether or not to be disappointed that he'd had the foresight to bring along a sheet with him to the edge of the lake to dry off, which now hung wrapped around his hips. Merlin helped him get dressed again because it was his job; his fingers skated across Arthur's cool, damp skin because he couldn't quite help himself.
"Right, well," said Arthur, the tips of his hair wet and clinging to his neck. "Your turn."
"Er," said Merlin, fingers curling around the edges of his tunic, and indicated that Arthur should turn around.
He rolled his eyes, massively, and made a huffy noise, but turned his back anyway. "You really are such a girl, Merlin," he complained.
The insult wasn't anything new, or given with any real malice, so Merlin ignored it and concentrated on getting his muscles to work, raising his arms slowly to bring his shirt over his head. His torso tautened with a dull pain, though this was manageable, but only because the ache that ran down the length of his back was worse; given that he and Arthur hadn't stopped for much else other than to eat and sleep since they'd left the snake to rot, Merlin hadn't had a chance to really inspect his own injuries, and he grimaced now at the purple spot emblazoned across his chest.
Arthur sucked in a sharp breath. "Merlin," he said, having forgone the customary waiting period to turn back around, and looked aghast at the extent of Merlin's bruising. "Why didn't you tell me it was this bad? Is anything broken?"
"Er, no, I don't think so," said Merlin, poking around gingerly at his ribs.
A minute frown dragged at the corners of Arthur's mouth. "Go and wash, then," he said, a hint of worry alight in his eyes as they flicked up and down Merlin's torso. "We'll take care of this later."
Merlin trudged to the edge of the lake, inching behind a well-placed shrub to remove the rest of his clothing, and eased himself into the gently undulating water. A strong afternoon sun had warmed it to a fairly comfortable degree, and Merlin submerged himself up to his neck, feeling some of the tension in his body wash away. He scrubbed off the few days' worth of sweat and grime as best he could, wincing occasionally as he reached for spots his muscles disagreed with. Eventually he hauled himself out of the lake's calm, dripping everywhere, and dried himself off and pulled his trousers on. He padded back towards the horses and Arthur, who was straddled across a fallen log, lobbing a small jar between his hands.
"Sit," said Arthur, and held the jar out to him as Merlin perched himself alongside. "Rub some of that stuff on; it should help a bit."
"Okay," said Merlin, recognising the whitish unguent that Gaius regularly whipped up for the knights when they complained of soreness from a day of hard training. Its light, soothing scent intensified as he applied a thin layer of the salve on the ache across his chest, still smarting slightly from the day he'd run into that branch and fallen off his horse, some of which was probably residual embarrassment.
The ointment tingled a little as he spread it on, and Merlin felt the pain alleviate instantly, thinking of Gaius's warmth and kindness and resolving to be a better help to the physician when they got back. Assuming Morgana didn't come and murder him in his sleep, the likelihood of which, all things considered, was a lot higher than Merlin would have liked. He sighed quietly, shoulders drooping.
Arthur gave him a sharp look. "What is it?"
Merlin started. "Hm? What? Oh, nothing," he lied. "Just, er, thinking. Of, you know, things."
"Well, that's certainly a momentous development," said Arthur, his lips tugging upwards. "Shall I organise a parade, do you think?"
"Only if I don't have to clean it up after."
"Mm," said Arthur, "then what would be the point?"
Merlin pursed his lips slightly. "My devastating cleverness isn't enough for you?"
"Oh, we both know that's not true," said Arthur. "You haven't any to speak of."
Merlin's eyes narrowed, but only for a second; leaving aside the fact that he secretly harboured a great deal of mushy feelings for Arthur, this was what he liked best about their relationship -- where other masters might have had him drawn and quartered by now for his casual, familiar impudence, Arthur only egged him on. Merlin had learned long ago that Arthur's insults very rarely had barbs behind them; it was only his way of engaging Merlin's attention, and even given their massive differences in station, Merlin very firmly thought of Arthur as a friend and sometimes suspected that the feeling was mutual. Servants were expected to blend into the background and go about their business unseen and unheard, but with Arthur, Merlin stood front and centre.
He felt a rush of affection for Arthur well up inside his chest, and wiped his nose on his arm to hide whatever embarrassing emotion was threatening to spill forth.
Concentrating on the little jar in his hands, Merlin scooped out a bit more of the salve with two fingertips and tried to reach round to his back, which he obviously couldn't see, but judging by the grimace Arthur gave him, it probably looked pretty horrible. He had been flung into the thick of a tree, after all; it was lucky he hadn't broken his back entirely. As he tried to rub the ointment in, the strain of twisting his arm backwards made him hiss in pain, and Arthur snatched the jar from his hands.
"Give me that," he said, and motioned for Merlin to turn around so Arthur could have at his back.
"Er," said Merlin, not sure that Arthur rubbing things on him was at all a good idea. "I can manage."
"Without doing yourself further injury? I don't think so."
"No, it's fine," he said, a little too brightly. "I --"
"Limited time offer, Merlin," Arthur interrupted.
Merlin complied, finally, because there were times when accepting help was the only gracious thing to do, especially when it was being offered by a royal person, and because there was a little bit of masochism in him that suddenly decided it was a fine day to come out and play. He shifted his perch on the log, steeling himself for the inevitable confusion of pleasure and unfulfilled want as Arthur laid his hands on him.
He bit his lip upon feeling Arthur's fingers gently smoothe the salve over his skin, and tried to think of awful, hideous things, of many-headed beasts and feathered abominations he'd paged through in Gaius's bestiaries.
Arthur cleared his throat harshly, his hands stilling for a moment along the slope of Merlin's shoulder. "My god, Merlin," he said in a loud, jaunty voice. "You must have razed an entire forest in a past life. It's like the trees are all mobilising to get you."
Merlin acknowledged the statement, likely as not true, with a tiny chuckle, hoping Arthur might keep talking so he could concentrate on something else other than Arthur's soft touch.
It didn't work; Arthur seemed to find nothing else worth commenting on, and Merlin was left with his hands making warm, soothing circles all up and down his back. He tensed, trying his best not to be lulled into serenity.
"Relax, will you?" Arthur said, voice a bit thick. "Does it hurt?"
"No," Merlin said tightly, except that it sort of did, but only in the general area of his heart.
It was possibly due to Arthur never doing anything by halves, but the whole process seemed to stretch far longer than it should have taken to rub a bit of ointment in. The ointment appeared to have been forgotten entirely, in fact; the jar sat at their feet, neglected, while Arthur's hands made absent, abstract patterns over the expanse of Merlin's skin, and Merlin was torn between wrenching himself away from the gentle torture and just sitting there for the rest of his life.
In his dreams, in the tired space just before he fell asleep at night, Merlin had imagined dozens of scenarios just like this one, and they'd all ended with his hand shoved down his pants, furious and frenzied, the high of satiation lingering until he drifted to sleep. Emptiness usually replaced it in the morning, but that was a trifle compared to the disappointment, even as it was thoroughly expected, that swept over him when Arthur pulled his hands away suddenly and vaulted off the log, expelling a harsh breath as he reared back.
"Done," he said, brusque. "That's done."
"Yeah, thanks," Merlin said, equally short, willing his nerves back in order. He pulled his tunic on again while Arthur looked away.
The forest was silent for a moment, as if taking its time to weigh the outcome of Merlin's foray into the jaws of temptation, but Arthur broke it with his usual delicate flair.
"Well," he said, "at least you don't have such a niff about you anymore."
Merlin shut his heart down. "So is that you I smell, then?"
"Rainbows, Merlin."
Untying the horses, Merlin dredged up a small smile. If he couldn't have more, at least he could have normal, and normal was good enough.
Uther had really gone all out for the feast, serving some of the finest delicacies that Camelot had to offer, in spite of the fact that the banquet had never been intended as an extravagant affair. The only individuals in attendance included Uther's council, King Pellinore and his retinue, and some of the more prominent members of the noble class. Several of Pellinore's servants had been involved in the preparations for the event, and as such, there were fewer of Camelot's servants required in order to serve that evening. Naturally, with that knowledge, Morgana dismissed Gwen for the evening with an appreciative smile, informing her that she could take some time to enjoy herself. Curiosity and a small measure of suspicion lit momentarily behind Gwen's eyes before she could hide the reaction, but she quickly schooled her features, curtseying and offering a grateful 'thank-you' before shuffling out the door. Something about the knowledge that Gwen would not be present that evening relieved an anxiety in Morgana that she hadn't even been aware of holding, even though Gwen would find out eventually what she'd been planning all along. Morgana couldn't afford to have Gwen around as a distraction, and more importantly, didn't want to see the look of disappointment in Gwen's eyes.
Another source of distraction -- one she hadn't considered until it was too late to do anything -- was the presence of Leon in this whole affair. As of yet, he hadn't been asked to stay with Morgana while she dined with Uther, but this was quite a different situation, and there was no way of knowing whether the king would require his attendance as well. So it had come as a great relief to Morgana earlier that afternoon when Uther also dismissed Leon for the night, relieving him of his duties while she was attending the banquet. She would be safe under Uther's watchful eye, he'd claimed, and that was the end of it. The knowledge that Leon would no longer be present, watching over her every move, caused a small amount of tension to drain from Morgana's shoulders, and she told herself that it was simply because he would interfere with her plans, not for any other reason.
So with the only two potential distractions still remaining within Camelot effectively removed from the equation, Morgana felt her confidence rise. King Pellinore would still be there to potentially hinder her advances, but Morgana knew that with the dress she wore, Uther's attention would instinctively be drawn back to her no matter what Pellinore did.
Uther rose from his seat as the last of the food was placed down on the tables in front of them, and a hush quickly fell over the room as all eyes turned to him.
“Today, we gather to celebrate the continued friendship and alliance between the great nation of Northumbria and Camelot.” He dipped his head respectfully to the right. “King Pellinore, we are honoured to have you. You and your people are always welcome in Camelot.”
Rising to join Uther, Pellinore began making his own speech. Apparently one of the required characteristics of royalty was a penchant for long-winded declarations and a contentment with the sound of one’s voice. Morgana plastered on a wooden smile as the two kings continued to stroke each other's egos.
"That was a lovely speech," Morgana murmured into Uther's ear as he sat down a few minutes later, smiling broadly at him.
A look of curiosity passed over Uther's face before he broke out into a smile. "Thank you, Morgana."
As dinner was served, Morgana immediately claimed Uther's attention, speaking of the treaty and the food and the cause for celebration. None of these were topics in which she harboured any real interest, but she knew Uther cared, and that was enough motivation for her to use in order to draw his consideration. Morgana made a point of laughing and smiling more than was strictly necessary, her hand often landing on Uther's forearm. She called the servants over often, ensuring that his glass always remained full, though he could hold his liquor far better than one would expect. Morgana did not need Uther inebriated; in fact, it would likely hinder her plans. But a slightly tipsy Uther would loosen his tongue, slow his reaction times, and lower his defences. All would prove useful if she hoped to ingratiate herself with him this evening.
"Forgive me for any impropriety, my lord," Morgana said, some time during the third course, smiling brightly, "but you look positively delighted this evening. So handsome and every bit the great king I know you to be. It pleases me to see you so filled with joy. It suits you well." For added effect, Morgana leaned closer to him, providing ample opportunity for him to gaze down at her breasts, should he so choose, and placed a hand on his upper arm, giving it a gentle squeeze.
If there was any suspicion or confusion elicited by her remarks or gestures, Uther did not let them show. "I have been filled with joy, ever since your return. This is but a small feast in comparison to the one we will throw for your safe return, once Arthur is home to join us in our celebrations."
The mention of Arthur's name put an immediate damper on her spirits; if he knew what she was doing, celebrating would be the last thing on his mind. It was true that, prior to the revelation of Lady Catrina’s less than noble -- or human -- background, he'd handled his father's relationship with her with surprising maturity, but Morgana suspected that he might not respond quite so favourably to having his sister become his stepmother, and worse, submitting to her reign once Uther died after the wedding.
And he would die. She and Morgause hadn't decided how yet; she'd played so many scenarios of Uther's death in her head during her absence that they'd all started to blur together. She'd even imagined imprisoning him somewhere for the rest of his natural life so he could spend the last of his wretched days consumed with anger and regret, and the thought had made her smile through her hatred.
"What do you think?" Uther said, startling Morgana out of her thoughts. "Shall I commission a bardic performance for it? I remember you used to like those best when you were younger."
Morgana blinked, a breath caught in her throat. What she used to like was the serene lull of the lyrics as they washed over her, and the way everyone indulged her drifting to sleep in her chair, and Uther, after all the guests had gone, cradling her in his arms and carrying her to bed. And there were times when she'd only pretended to fall asleep just to be held, the smell of scented water Uther'd used for washing the most comforting thing in the world in that moment, until she'd got too old for it and had propriety to think of.
"That would be wonderful," she said. "I'm surprised you remember."
"Of course I do," Uther said, smiling, and squeezed her hand fondly.
Before Morgana was able to do anything else, the voice of King Pellinore interupted them, boisterous and slightly louder than would've been preferable. "Uther, why didn't you tell me?"
Uther blinked, retreating away from Morgana as he turned his head to glance at his friend, confusion etched into his features. "What are you talking about, Pellinore?"
A large, ring-adorned hand gestured between Uther and Morgana, eyebrows raising suggestively, and she felt a light flush heat her face, even before he spoke. "I always knew you cared deeply for your ward, but I never realised that things had progressed quite so much since we last spoke..."
The frown tugging at Uther's lips and the perplexed creases on his forehead told Morgana that he genuinely had no idea what Pellinore was trying to imply. "What do you mean? What about Morgana?"
Pellinore grinned, flashing his teeth at them. "Don't worry, my friend. I would never judge who you choose to take as a... companion. As long as you're happy -- and you both clearly seem to be -- then that's all that's important to me."
"Companion? Morgana...?" Eyes narrowed into tiny slits as Uther struggled to process what Pellinore was saying. Morgana knew that wine had the tendency to dull his senses and fog his mind, just enough to make the outlandish suggestion from the king all the more mystifying. But then he blinked, darting wild eyes between Pellinore and Morgana, as a deep flush crept up his neck. His mouth formed into a shocked "O", and it became obvious, then, that he'd finally managed to put all the pieces together.
"Wait, you think that Morgana and I... that we're together, in that... way?" Uther sputtered. It was the most flustered Morgana had seen him in a long time, and she wasn't sure if she should be encouraged or disturbed by the reaction.
King Pellinore froze in place, one hand still hovering aimlessly in the air, smile sliding from his face. "You are, aren't you? Romantically involved, I mean."
Wide eyes glanced anxiously around the room, as though Uther feared there were spies all over, watching and listening to every aspect of their conversation. It wasn't an impossibility, and in actuality, Morgana almost hoped that someone caught wind and spread the information.
"No, of course not. That's completely preposterous. What would lead you to believe such a thing?" he asked, keeping his voice low, but still loud enough for both to hear.
"I just thought… I mean surely, with the way you were looking at each other, and acting, it just seemed--" He shook his head, as if wiping the idea from his mind.
Uther leaned forward. "I assure you, my friend, that you have drawn the wrong conclusion. Morgana is my ward, and I care for her deeply, but what you are suggesting is simply incorrect."
Pellinore’s jaw clamped shut, eyes darting to his lap momentarily before meeting Uther’s stern gaze with the same measured confidence he always exuded. "I apologise for my egregious error. Let us not allow it to ruin our feast tonight."
Without further discussion, both men returned their attention to the feast and their celebration while Morgana sought solace in her goblet of wine. It was yet another partial success, with a heavy side of failure, and she resolved to move things along in the coming days. But she would be triumphant, of that she was certain.
Continue to Chapter Seven
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: 6,485
Disclaimer: Not ours. No money is being made. Please don't sue.
Authors' Note: Thanks once again to ravenflight21 for the beta/Brit-pick :).
Previous Chapters: One | Two | Three | Four | Five
CHAPTER SIX
"Just give me time," Morgana pleaded.
Morgause's mouth screwed into a slight frown. "We could have Camelot bent to our will with a snap of our fingers," she said, almost wistfully.
"If we take Camelot with magic it'll only fuel his hatred; he'll go to his end thinking he was right about sorcery all along. But just think," she said, clutching Morgause's arm fervently, "of how much more satisfying it would be to see the look on his face when he hands us the keys to his kingdom, knowing he only has his own weakness and stupidity to blame."
A hum of appreciation shivered past Morgause's lips at the thought of bringing Uther to his knees by the cleverness of deception alone. "Temptress," she said pertly.
Morgana smiled. "That's the plan."
*
Morgana was furious. She was already operating on borrowed time as it was, and now this, of all the pointless, ridiculous interferences that could have cropped up. There was a part of her that was just as angry with herself as she was with the situation, helpless as she was to do anything about it, likely because she hadn't the foresight to come up with contingency plans for impromptu Northumbrian state visits.
She paced the same length of floor her feet had been following for the past day and a half, her hands gripped tightly behind her back to fight off the urge of hitting something.
The trouble had begun two days prior with the arrival of King Pellinore and his retinue from Northumbria; the sojourn had only been scheduled after her return to Camelot, it seemed, and if Morgause had caught wind of it she hadn't bothered to let Morgana know. Even after asking around for more information, Morgana wasn't entirely sure of the exact nature of the king's business with Uther. All Leon could tell her was that part of the reason for Pellinore's presence had to do with a standard review of the clauses of Northumbria and Camelot's peace treaty, and part was purely social. It'd always come as somewhat of a surprise to Morgana that Uther actually had friends, especially given how numerous and vast his enemies were. Yet, Pellinore and Uther had developed a camaraderie many years ago when the two nations had allied in a war against Mercia, and to this day, their friendship remained strong. Morgana, herself, had no personal quarrel with the visiting king, simply wished he would go away and leave her to the task of watching over Uther.
The plan had been progressing at a stunted rate as it was; for every two steps forward, Morgana felt as though she were moving one step back. Now to have the past day and a half completely wasted, in which Uther had been wholly preoccupied by hunting excursions and entertaining his esteemed guest, she knew that things were not looking promising. In the first day of Pellinore's stay, Morgana had barely managed to snag more than five minutes of Uther's time, unattended, and today she'd yet to even encounter an opportunity to speak with him. With little room for error or delay, she could not afford such extravagances as letting Uther out of her sights for the week Pellinore intended to stay.
Morgana let out an irritated sigh. It was her own fault, she knew, rushing into this, forming a less than sturdy plan around an emotional reflex. The heady feelings of imagined triumph, of exacting revenge, seemed so distant now. Morgause had been right -- they could have taken Camelot by now if they’d used magic, but Morgana didn't want Camelot, she wanted Uther to be sorry.
Soft knocking at her chamber doors halted the pacing momentarily, and she turned towards the door. "Come in," she called out.
The door eased open, and Gwen stuck her head in. "Good afternoon, my lady," she said with a smile, coming forward, a tray balanced neatly on one arm. "I've brought you some lunch.
"Thank you, Gwen," Morgana said, flicking her eyes over the food. "But I'm afraid that I'm not very hungry at the moment."
Concern etched its way into Gwen's features, lips pulling downward. She was across the room in a few quick strides. "You haven't been eating well for the past two days. Is something troubling you?"
"No, I'm fine."
It was an easy answer, though not easily given. Gwen had always been her confidante, a solid rock she could rely on whenever worries crossed her mind. But she knew she couldn't breathe a word of this to her maidservant; Gwen wouldn't see it the same way she did, compassionate as she was, and the last thing Morgana wanted to do was fracture the last genuine relationship she still had.
"I haven't been sleeping all that well, and my mind has been distracted. Food hasn't remained at the forefront of my priorities, I suppose, but I assure you that I'm eating enough to keep up my strength," Morgana said. It wasn't an outright lie, after all.
Gwen's frown deepened, eyes assessing but exuding warmth. "Have you been having nightmares again, Morgana?"
She shook her head. "Everything is all right, Gwen, honestly. I promise I'll eat something later on this afternoon, if it would please you." Morgana accorded Gwen a light smile, though it didn't reach her eyes, and she wondered if Gwen was astute enough to notice.
"If you say so, my lady," Gwen said, after a moment's hesitation, though it was clear from her tone that she didn't quite believe Morgana's words. Still, it was the best Morgana could hope for at present.
Silence settled over the room, as Gwen went about her business of tidying up and Morgana rooted herself against one wall so her incessant pacing wouldn't get in the way. As far as she had been made aware, Uther was out hunting with Pellinore and would not be back until late afternoon. A feast was planned for the evening, in celebration of Camelot and Northumbria's renewed peace treaty. As the king's ward and a member of the royal household, she would be seated at his left, as was customary, and if all went well, it would afford Morgana some time with Uther, even if she would have to share it with their guests. In the meantime, however, there was little available for Morgana to do to occupy her time, save for pacing and sulking, neither of which was a particularly enjoyable way of passing the time. What Morgana needed, what she would welcome, was a distraction, something to occupy her mind and her time while she was forced to wait for Uther's return.
"Gwen," she said. "Help me decide what to wear for the feast tonight?"
Gwen smiled and nodded at the request, temporarily putting aside discarded books to fish through Morgana's wardrobe. She pulled out a handful of dresses, laying them on the bed for scrutiny. "The green quite suits you," she suggested, smoothing a hand over a wrinkle in the fabric.
Morgana tilted her head in consideration. "No..." she said, her eyes roaming over the selection. Lighting on a deep purple dress, she lifted it up and held it in front of her, pinning its waist to hers as she surveyed herself in front of the mirror. Its cut was a bit more daring than her usual fare, and certainly not for everyday wear. Thoughtfully, she fingered the tiny jewels sewn into its neckline.
"Who are you hoping to impress tonight?" Gwen joked, coming to stand next to her.
"Uther's always liked me in this one," Morgana murmured, mostly to herself.
Gwen's reflection flushed a deep shade of red, and she turned from the mirror hastily.
"What's the matter?" Morgana asked, flinging the dress back onto the bed.
"Nothing. It's nothing," said Gwen, who could never lie to save her life. She was a byword for honesty, and try as she might to prevent it, her emotions always splayed themselves nakedly across her face.
Morgana touched her arm lightly. "Gwen, you can tell me anything."
"No, no, it's really--"
"Gwen," she said, a little more sternly.
"It's just something I heard in passing," Gwen said, a desperate tone creeping into her voice. "Just -- stupid gossip. Got into my head for a moment, that's all. It's not worth repeating."
Morgana's eyes narrowed assessingly. "Is it about me?" When Gwen didn't answer, she added, "There's obviously something you don't want me to know, but you might as well just spill it, as I'm going to find out sooner or later anyway. God knows the kitchen staff couldn't keep their mouths shut even if they tried."
Gwen hesitated, but acquiesced in the end, her face pained. "There's just been a bit of talk -- nonsense, you understand -- about questionable relations between you and... well--"
Nervous anticipation churned in Morgana's stomach.
"Ah... you and the king," Gwen finished, and took a minute step backwards, cringing, as though afraid she might have gone too far.
"Me and Uther?" Morgana repeated, carefully sidestepping the accusation. "Why would they say there's something going on between us?"
She knew exactly why; after all, it had been what she'd been hoping for all along, for people to start talking, to start wondering if she had become something more than just Uther's ward. It was already well-known throughout the land that he adored her, and it didn't take much of a leap to turn that fact into speculation as to just how deep that love ran.
There was a long pause from Gwen, hands knotting behind her back almost nervously. "You've been dining with him alone an awful lot since your return."
"That's not so unusual," Morgana pointed out, and it wasn't. They'd often eaten meals together in the past, without Arthur, though the increasing strain in their relationship prior to her departure from Camelot had lessened the frequency considerably.
"Right, of course."
"Is there more?" Morgana encouraged, trying to play down her eagerness and sound more concerned about her reputation instead. In any other circumstance, she couldn't have cared less what the servants were saying about her -- life in the castle was often dull and if they needed salacious gossip to pass the time, then so be it -- but in this case, she wanted to hear everything. Nothing untoward had happened between her and Uther, but if people were already talking then it must mean she was doing something right. Perhaps the situation wasn't as dire as she'd previously thought, and Pellinore's visit not as ruinous a setback.
Gwen bit her lip, her gaze fixed on the floor. "They also say you two have been seen strolling through the castle grounds and town, looking far less than king and ward, and far more like, well..." She paused.
Morgana planted both hands on her hips, brows crinkling. "Far more like what, Gwen?"
There was nothing for a long time, and then, "Witnesses attest to you acting as though you were, um, more like lovers." She nearly choked on the last word, still refusing to meet Morgana's gaze.
"Lovers? Really?" There was a split second of accomplishment in knowing that her efforts hadn't gone entirely to waste, but it was quickly overshadowed by a burgeoning worry. The revelation was helpful, and it was, of course, precisely what she wanted people to believe, but at the same time, Morgana knew she hadn't done nearly enough to warrant quite such an extreme reaction just yet. Besides, the only one who truly needed convincing was Uther, and Morgana had barely had time to bat her eyelashes at him in the past couple of days, let alone make any sort of proper advances. Ultimately, all the gossip in the world would not help further her cause if Uther wasn't falling for her, plain and simple.
It was a good start, but if she wanted to wear Camelot's crown, she would have to work a lot harder. The thought, which should have motivated her, only served to nurse the growing ache in the pit of her stomach. Morgana stamped it down hard.
Gwen, who had resumed tidying the room, remained quiet. That she wasn't saying anything now was revealing of her own thoughts on the subject, and suddenly, Morgana found that she didn't want Gwen to believe she had feelings for Uther, even when every action she would take in the future would certainly indicate the contrary.
"It's no matter," she said breezily. "Let them talk. I can guarantee you I have no romantic interest in Uther."
"Of course not," Gwen said, without hesitation, shooting a small smile at Morgana.
And if there was doubt in her maidservant's tone, Morgana chose to ignore it. After a moment's consideration, she picked up the purple dress from her bed and hung it across the top of her dressing screen, carefully avoiding Gwen's gaze.
Persuading Arthur, after their brief contretemps with a creature that had clearly been one of the gods' attempts at showing off, to return to Camelot hadn't been too difficult, for which Merlin was quietly thankful; it was obvious that whoever had captured Morgana -- and he used the word 'captured' lightly -- hadn't stuck around to enjoy being hunted down by Camelot's finest. He didn't have anything more useful than a gut feeling, but Merlin knew that he and Arthur were only wasting time in the wilderness, alternately braving the capriciousness of the elements and narrowly escaping a dalliance with a giant serpent's intestinal mechanisms, with no results to show for all their efforts except masses of hideous contusions.
They were turned back now in the direction from which they'd come, but it was slow going, taking into account the fact that their progress had to be hampered from being sore and stiff and nursing a multitude of injuries for which Merlin could only do so much, in secret, late at night by the light of blinking embers, when Arthur's contributions to the conversation were limited to occasional snores that he'd later swear were not emitted by the likes of royalty.
That Arthur was swearing at all in the first place was encouraging, after the long, hard look he'd given Merlin just after the beast had fallen, a look as though he knew. Sheer necessity had driven Merlin to blasting his magic right in front of Arthur, and he'd been almost sure that Arthur had seen -- and given the opportunity to make the choice again, Merlin knew he'd do the same, every time -- but it didn't seem to have made any lasting impression on Arthur, who'd wrenched the look away after a while and had then wondered out loud if sawing off the snake's horns to bring home as trophies might result in pestilence raining down upon Camelot's general populace.
With his neck safely out of the equation, Merlin had suggested that they forgo the sawing and save their energies instead for a homeward journey. And as much as Arthur loathed the prospect of reporting failure to his father, particularly when the stakes were this high, he'd agreed. Given the lack of knights and Arthur's injuries, even if they did manage to find Morgana's captors, he and Merlin wouldn't have been able to do much more than shout some threatening last words.
The forest was clear now, warm and bright, offering an accompaniment of sweet birdsong as they wended their way along familiar trails. In spite of the fact that they were headed back to the castle, where Morgana would most certainly find a way to exact painful revenge on him, Merlin shoved all such thoughts aside as best he could and tried to enjoy the sun on his neck and Arthur riding at his side. It might be the last time, after all, he thought. At least he'd get to spend it with Arthur. He smiled wanly into his chest.
"Merlin," said Arthur suddenly.
Merlin's heart leapt a little, for no other reason than how lovely his name sounded rolling off Arthur's tongue. "Yeah?"
"You reek."
"What?"
Arthur pulled his horse into a slow walk. "Here we are in a wide, open space, and I should be filling my lungs with all this nice, fresh air, but all I get is you, and you smell something awful."
Merlin wrinkled his nose. "You aren't exactly a bouquet of roses yourself, you know."
"Nonsense. I'm a prince, Merlin; I smell of rainbows," said Arthur blithely. Before it could be pointed out in how many ways he was wrong, he added, looking up at the sky, "We'll be coming upon a lake in a bit; should be warm enough for a quick bathe, I think."
Before long, the sunlit glint of water shimmered into view, and Arthur let out a pleased murmur. Dismounting, Arthur tethered his horse and held out his hand for Merlin's reins. With some difficulty, Merlin grimaced as he inched himself out of the saddle; with the adrenaline of the fight now all ebbed away and his muscles having gotten over the shock of sudden, intense exertion, they now pitched up a chorus of complaints at any hint of movement.
"Any time before nightfall, Merlin," Arthur said, eyeing Merlin's limited progress with slight impatience.
"Bit sore," Merlin mumbled, when both feet finally touched ground.
Arthur gestured for him to assist with removing his armour. "If anyone's got a right to be sore, it's me," he said, and muttered a few culturally insensitive remarks about the whole of the reptilian kingdom. With his armour and mail stacked carefully at the foot of a tree, Arthur removed the rest of his clothing and inspected the bruises down his front. "This salve of Gaius's I brought along seems to be working wonders, though. Healing faster than usual," he said, glancing up at Merlin.
For his part, Merlin could only manage a brief nod of his head, which was largely involuntary, given that his eyeballs were torn between lapping up the sight of Arthur stripping and looking very, very far away, and only ended up fighting to run in diametrically opposite directions. Turning around, he clamped his eyes shut and pretended to busy himself with patting his horse, which didn't have quite the same enterprising effect as when he pretended to busy himself with moving messes around in Arthur's chambers during bath time.
"Watch our things, Merlin. I'll be quick," said Arthur from somewhere behind him.
As Arthur pattered away, Merlin eased his eyes open and heard Arthur wading into the lake. He gave up on rubbing his horse's nose, which it seemed to appreciate, and turned back around. In the near distance, he could see Arthur sitting happily in the lake, his hair struck bright gold in the afternoon light, skin gleaming with water. Merlin gave the other horse an industrious pat.
True to his word, Arthur returned in short order, looking refreshed, and Merlin couldn't decide whether or not to be disappointed that he'd had the foresight to bring along a sheet with him to the edge of the lake to dry off, which now hung wrapped around his hips. Merlin helped him get dressed again because it was his job; his fingers skated across Arthur's cool, damp skin because he couldn't quite help himself.
"Right, well," said Arthur, the tips of his hair wet and clinging to his neck. "Your turn."
"Er," said Merlin, fingers curling around the edges of his tunic, and indicated that Arthur should turn around.
He rolled his eyes, massively, and made a huffy noise, but turned his back anyway. "You really are such a girl, Merlin," he complained.
The insult wasn't anything new, or given with any real malice, so Merlin ignored it and concentrated on getting his muscles to work, raising his arms slowly to bring his shirt over his head. His torso tautened with a dull pain, though this was manageable, but only because the ache that ran down the length of his back was worse; given that he and Arthur hadn't stopped for much else other than to eat and sleep since they'd left the snake to rot, Merlin hadn't had a chance to really inspect his own injuries, and he grimaced now at the purple spot emblazoned across his chest.
Arthur sucked in a sharp breath. "Merlin," he said, having forgone the customary waiting period to turn back around, and looked aghast at the extent of Merlin's bruising. "Why didn't you tell me it was this bad? Is anything broken?"
"Er, no, I don't think so," said Merlin, poking around gingerly at his ribs.
A minute frown dragged at the corners of Arthur's mouth. "Go and wash, then," he said, a hint of worry alight in his eyes as they flicked up and down Merlin's torso. "We'll take care of this later."
Merlin trudged to the edge of the lake, inching behind a well-placed shrub to remove the rest of his clothing, and eased himself into the gently undulating water. A strong afternoon sun had warmed it to a fairly comfortable degree, and Merlin submerged himself up to his neck, feeling some of the tension in his body wash away. He scrubbed off the few days' worth of sweat and grime as best he could, wincing occasionally as he reached for spots his muscles disagreed with. Eventually he hauled himself out of the lake's calm, dripping everywhere, and dried himself off and pulled his trousers on. He padded back towards the horses and Arthur, who was straddled across a fallen log, lobbing a small jar between his hands.
"Sit," said Arthur, and held the jar out to him as Merlin perched himself alongside. "Rub some of that stuff on; it should help a bit."
"Okay," said Merlin, recognising the whitish unguent that Gaius regularly whipped up for the knights when they complained of soreness from a day of hard training. Its light, soothing scent intensified as he applied a thin layer of the salve on the ache across his chest, still smarting slightly from the day he'd run into that branch and fallen off his horse, some of which was probably residual embarrassment.
The ointment tingled a little as he spread it on, and Merlin felt the pain alleviate instantly, thinking of Gaius's warmth and kindness and resolving to be a better help to the physician when they got back. Assuming Morgana didn't come and murder him in his sleep, the likelihood of which, all things considered, was a lot higher than Merlin would have liked. He sighed quietly, shoulders drooping.
Arthur gave him a sharp look. "What is it?"
Merlin started. "Hm? What? Oh, nothing," he lied. "Just, er, thinking. Of, you know, things."
"Well, that's certainly a momentous development," said Arthur, his lips tugging upwards. "Shall I organise a parade, do you think?"
"Only if I don't have to clean it up after."
"Mm," said Arthur, "then what would be the point?"
Merlin pursed his lips slightly. "My devastating cleverness isn't enough for you?"
"Oh, we both know that's not true," said Arthur. "You haven't any to speak of."
Merlin's eyes narrowed, but only for a second; leaving aside the fact that he secretly harboured a great deal of mushy feelings for Arthur, this was what he liked best about their relationship -- where other masters might have had him drawn and quartered by now for his casual, familiar impudence, Arthur only egged him on. Merlin had learned long ago that Arthur's insults very rarely had barbs behind them; it was only his way of engaging Merlin's attention, and even given their massive differences in station, Merlin very firmly thought of Arthur as a friend and sometimes suspected that the feeling was mutual. Servants were expected to blend into the background and go about their business unseen and unheard, but with Arthur, Merlin stood front and centre.
He felt a rush of affection for Arthur well up inside his chest, and wiped his nose on his arm to hide whatever embarrassing emotion was threatening to spill forth.
Concentrating on the little jar in his hands, Merlin scooped out a bit more of the salve with two fingertips and tried to reach round to his back, which he obviously couldn't see, but judging by the grimace Arthur gave him, it probably looked pretty horrible. He had been flung into the thick of a tree, after all; it was lucky he hadn't broken his back entirely. As he tried to rub the ointment in, the strain of twisting his arm backwards made him hiss in pain, and Arthur snatched the jar from his hands.
"Give me that," he said, and motioned for Merlin to turn around so Arthur could have at his back.
"Er," said Merlin, not sure that Arthur rubbing things on him was at all a good idea. "I can manage."
"Without doing yourself further injury? I don't think so."
"No, it's fine," he said, a little too brightly. "I --"
"Limited time offer, Merlin," Arthur interrupted.
Merlin complied, finally, because there were times when accepting help was the only gracious thing to do, especially when it was being offered by a royal person, and because there was a little bit of masochism in him that suddenly decided it was a fine day to come out and play. He shifted his perch on the log, steeling himself for the inevitable confusion of pleasure and unfulfilled want as Arthur laid his hands on him.
He bit his lip upon feeling Arthur's fingers gently smoothe the salve over his skin, and tried to think of awful, hideous things, of many-headed beasts and feathered abominations he'd paged through in Gaius's bestiaries.
Arthur cleared his throat harshly, his hands stilling for a moment along the slope of Merlin's shoulder. "My god, Merlin," he said in a loud, jaunty voice. "You must have razed an entire forest in a past life. It's like the trees are all mobilising to get you."
Merlin acknowledged the statement, likely as not true, with a tiny chuckle, hoping Arthur might keep talking so he could concentrate on something else other than Arthur's soft touch.
It didn't work; Arthur seemed to find nothing else worth commenting on, and Merlin was left with his hands making warm, soothing circles all up and down his back. He tensed, trying his best not to be lulled into serenity.
"Relax, will you?" Arthur said, voice a bit thick. "Does it hurt?"
"No," Merlin said tightly, except that it sort of did, but only in the general area of his heart.
It was possibly due to Arthur never doing anything by halves, but the whole process seemed to stretch far longer than it should have taken to rub a bit of ointment in. The ointment appeared to have been forgotten entirely, in fact; the jar sat at their feet, neglected, while Arthur's hands made absent, abstract patterns over the expanse of Merlin's skin, and Merlin was torn between wrenching himself away from the gentle torture and just sitting there for the rest of his life.
In his dreams, in the tired space just before he fell asleep at night, Merlin had imagined dozens of scenarios just like this one, and they'd all ended with his hand shoved down his pants, furious and frenzied, the high of satiation lingering until he drifted to sleep. Emptiness usually replaced it in the morning, but that was a trifle compared to the disappointment, even as it was thoroughly expected, that swept over him when Arthur pulled his hands away suddenly and vaulted off the log, expelling a harsh breath as he reared back.
"Done," he said, brusque. "That's done."
"Yeah, thanks," Merlin said, equally short, willing his nerves back in order. He pulled his tunic on again while Arthur looked away.
The forest was silent for a moment, as if taking its time to weigh the outcome of Merlin's foray into the jaws of temptation, but Arthur broke it with his usual delicate flair.
"Well," he said, "at least you don't have such a niff about you anymore."
Merlin shut his heart down. "So is that you I smell, then?"
"Rainbows, Merlin."
Untying the horses, Merlin dredged up a small smile. If he couldn't have more, at least he could have normal, and normal was good enough.
Uther had really gone all out for the feast, serving some of the finest delicacies that Camelot had to offer, in spite of the fact that the banquet had never been intended as an extravagant affair. The only individuals in attendance included Uther's council, King Pellinore and his retinue, and some of the more prominent members of the noble class. Several of Pellinore's servants had been involved in the preparations for the event, and as such, there were fewer of Camelot's servants required in order to serve that evening. Naturally, with that knowledge, Morgana dismissed Gwen for the evening with an appreciative smile, informing her that she could take some time to enjoy herself. Curiosity and a small measure of suspicion lit momentarily behind Gwen's eyes before she could hide the reaction, but she quickly schooled her features, curtseying and offering a grateful 'thank-you' before shuffling out the door. Something about the knowledge that Gwen would not be present that evening relieved an anxiety in Morgana that she hadn't even been aware of holding, even though Gwen would find out eventually what she'd been planning all along. Morgana couldn't afford to have Gwen around as a distraction, and more importantly, didn't want to see the look of disappointment in Gwen's eyes.
Another source of distraction -- one she hadn't considered until it was too late to do anything -- was the presence of Leon in this whole affair. As of yet, he hadn't been asked to stay with Morgana while she dined with Uther, but this was quite a different situation, and there was no way of knowing whether the king would require his attendance as well. So it had come as a great relief to Morgana earlier that afternoon when Uther also dismissed Leon for the night, relieving him of his duties while she was attending the banquet. She would be safe under Uther's watchful eye, he'd claimed, and that was the end of it. The knowledge that Leon would no longer be present, watching over her every move, caused a small amount of tension to drain from Morgana's shoulders, and she told herself that it was simply because he would interfere with her plans, not for any other reason.
So with the only two potential distractions still remaining within Camelot effectively removed from the equation, Morgana felt her confidence rise. King Pellinore would still be there to potentially hinder her advances, but Morgana knew that with the dress she wore, Uther's attention would instinctively be drawn back to her no matter what Pellinore did.
Uther rose from his seat as the last of the food was placed down on the tables in front of them, and a hush quickly fell over the room as all eyes turned to him.
“Today, we gather to celebrate the continued friendship and alliance between the great nation of Northumbria and Camelot.” He dipped his head respectfully to the right. “King Pellinore, we are honoured to have you. You and your people are always welcome in Camelot.”
Rising to join Uther, Pellinore began making his own speech. Apparently one of the required characteristics of royalty was a penchant for long-winded declarations and a contentment with the sound of one’s voice. Morgana plastered on a wooden smile as the two kings continued to stroke each other's egos.
"That was a lovely speech," Morgana murmured into Uther's ear as he sat down a few minutes later, smiling broadly at him.
A look of curiosity passed over Uther's face before he broke out into a smile. "Thank you, Morgana."
As dinner was served, Morgana immediately claimed Uther's attention, speaking of the treaty and the food and the cause for celebration. None of these were topics in which she harboured any real interest, but she knew Uther cared, and that was enough motivation for her to use in order to draw his consideration. Morgana made a point of laughing and smiling more than was strictly necessary, her hand often landing on Uther's forearm. She called the servants over often, ensuring that his glass always remained full, though he could hold his liquor far better than one would expect. Morgana did not need Uther inebriated; in fact, it would likely hinder her plans. But a slightly tipsy Uther would loosen his tongue, slow his reaction times, and lower his defences. All would prove useful if she hoped to ingratiate herself with him this evening.
"Forgive me for any impropriety, my lord," Morgana said, some time during the third course, smiling brightly, "but you look positively delighted this evening. So handsome and every bit the great king I know you to be. It pleases me to see you so filled with joy. It suits you well." For added effect, Morgana leaned closer to him, providing ample opportunity for him to gaze down at her breasts, should he so choose, and placed a hand on his upper arm, giving it a gentle squeeze.
If there was any suspicion or confusion elicited by her remarks or gestures, Uther did not let them show. "I have been filled with joy, ever since your return. This is but a small feast in comparison to the one we will throw for your safe return, once Arthur is home to join us in our celebrations."
The mention of Arthur's name put an immediate damper on her spirits; if he knew what she was doing, celebrating would be the last thing on his mind. It was true that, prior to the revelation of Lady Catrina’s less than noble -- or human -- background, he'd handled his father's relationship with her with surprising maturity, but Morgana suspected that he might not respond quite so favourably to having his sister become his stepmother, and worse, submitting to her reign once Uther died after the wedding.
And he would die. She and Morgause hadn't decided how yet; she'd played so many scenarios of Uther's death in her head during her absence that they'd all started to blur together. She'd even imagined imprisoning him somewhere for the rest of his natural life so he could spend the last of his wretched days consumed with anger and regret, and the thought had made her smile through her hatred.
"What do you think?" Uther said, startling Morgana out of her thoughts. "Shall I commission a bardic performance for it? I remember you used to like those best when you were younger."
Morgana blinked, a breath caught in her throat. What she used to like was the serene lull of the lyrics as they washed over her, and the way everyone indulged her drifting to sleep in her chair, and Uther, after all the guests had gone, cradling her in his arms and carrying her to bed. And there were times when she'd only pretended to fall asleep just to be held, the smell of scented water Uther'd used for washing the most comforting thing in the world in that moment, until she'd got too old for it and had propriety to think of.
"That would be wonderful," she said. "I'm surprised you remember."
"Of course I do," Uther said, smiling, and squeezed her hand fondly.
Before Morgana was able to do anything else, the voice of King Pellinore interupted them, boisterous and slightly louder than would've been preferable. "Uther, why didn't you tell me?"
Uther blinked, retreating away from Morgana as he turned his head to glance at his friend, confusion etched into his features. "What are you talking about, Pellinore?"
A large, ring-adorned hand gestured between Uther and Morgana, eyebrows raising suggestively, and she felt a light flush heat her face, even before he spoke. "I always knew you cared deeply for your ward, but I never realised that things had progressed quite so much since we last spoke..."
The frown tugging at Uther's lips and the perplexed creases on his forehead told Morgana that he genuinely had no idea what Pellinore was trying to imply. "What do you mean? What about Morgana?"
Pellinore grinned, flashing his teeth at them. "Don't worry, my friend. I would never judge who you choose to take as a... companion. As long as you're happy -- and you both clearly seem to be -- then that's all that's important to me."
"Companion? Morgana...?" Eyes narrowed into tiny slits as Uther struggled to process what Pellinore was saying. Morgana knew that wine had the tendency to dull his senses and fog his mind, just enough to make the outlandish suggestion from the king all the more mystifying. But then he blinked, darting wild eyes between Pellinore and Morgana, as a deep flush crept up his neck. His mouth formed into a shocked "O", and it became obvious, then, that he'd finally managed to put all the pieces together.
"Wait, you think that Morgana and I... that we're together, in that... way?" Uther sputtered. It was the most flustered Morgana had seen him in a long time, and she wasn't sure if she should be encouraged or disturbed by the reaction.
King Pellinore froze in place, one hand still hovering aimlessly in the air, smile sliding from his face. "You are, aren't you? Romantically involved, I mean."
Wide eyes glanced anxiously around the room, as though Uther feared there were spies all over, watching and listening to every aspect of their conversation. It wasn't an impossibility, and in actuality, Morgana almost hoped that someone caught wind and spread the information.
"No, of course not. That's completely preposterous. What would lead you to believe such a thing?" he asked, keeping his voice low, but still loud enough for both to hear.
"I just thought… I mean surely, with the way you were looking at each other, and acting, it just seemed--" He shook his head, as if wiping the idea from his mind.
Uther leaned forward. "I assure you, my friend, that you have drawn the wrong conclusion. Morgana is my ward, and I care for her deeply, but what you are suggesting is simply incorrect."
Pellinore’s jaw clamped shut, eyes darting to his lap momentarily before meeting Uther’s stern gaze with the same measured confidence he always exuded. "I apologise for my egregious error. Let us not allow it to ruin our feast tonight."
Without further discussion, both men returned their attention to the feast and their celebration while Morgana sought solace in her goblet of wine. It was yet another partial success, with a heavy side of failure, and she resolved to move things along in the coming days. But she would be triumphant, of that she was certain.
Continue to Chapter Seven