Before the Sun Breaks Another Day -- Chapter Seven
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: 7,140
Disclaimer: Not ours. No money is being made. Please don't sue.
Authors' Note: Thanks so much to ravenflight21 for the beta/Brit-pick :).
Previous Chapters: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six
CHAPTER SEVEN
The sun was still hanging in the sky, having barely dipped below the tree line, when Arthur declared that they were going to make camp for the evening. Merlin's restless shifting throughout the afternoon and early evening had not evaded Arthur's watchful eye, in spite of the fact that Merlin appeared to be unsuccessfully trying to mask the obvious discomfort he was in. They weren't in any particular hurry, Arthur determined. Besides, any attempts at further travel would be essentially futile, what with Merlin practically ready to fall from his saddle at any moment.
"Why are we stopping so early?" Merlin asked, slowing his horse to match Arthur's pace.
Both eyebrows rose high on Arthur's forehead as he turned to glance at Merlin. "Do you want to keep riding?"
"No. But that's never made any difference before."
"Then consider today your lucky day," Arthur said, voice full of cheer as he brought them to a halt, dismounting in one fluid motion. It took a lot more than one near-death fight with a creature to bring him down.
"Right," Merlin grumbled. "Getting thrown off my horse, surviving an attack by a giant snake, then being forced to continue riding for several more hours is definitely what I'd call luck."
Arthur shrugged, smiling in spite of himself. "It could be worse. You could be dead," he pointed out.
Merlin's face twisted with displeasure. "Ha ha, very funny, sire. I feel so much better now, thank you."
"Anything I can do to help."
They stared at one another, Merlin glaring and Arthur smirking, until Arthur finally broke contact, gesturing for Merlin to get down. For a few long moments, Arthur watched him struggle to climb off the horse, looking more pathetic than a wet rat. It really was almost laughable, at times, how entirely useless Merlin could be, even with the injuries he'd sustained. With anybody else, Arthur would have long since shaken his head at the individual's ineptness and washed his hands of them entirely. But this was Merlin, the man who'd managed to turn Arthur's world upside down on a regular basis for over two years now, and there was something about him that was so plainly endearing and vulnerable in equal measure, that in spite of Arthur's best efforts, he found he could never actually combat the urge to care for Merlin, even when everything in him resisted the idea.
"For pity's sake, Merlin, are you truly that helpless?"
A noise resembling a groan -- or perhaps a growl, Arthur couldn't quite be sure -- escaped Merlin's lips. He stared down at Arthur, wary. "No. I was planning on sleeping on my horse tonight, of course."
"No need to get all huffy on me." Arthur bit back a smile as he sidled up to Merlin. He scratched his chin, eyes narrowing, as he pretended to deeply contemplate the situation. "I suppose you could just lean to the side until I can grab onto your shoulders and lower you down."
Merlin blinked. "You want me to just fall over and hope that you don't drop me?" he asked, dubious. "That seems even madder than spending the night up here."
"Please, Merlin, stop being such a little girl. Do you honestly think I'd just let you fall?" Really, there were only so many times that Arthur could put up with such an assault on his character. At times where death was nearly a certainty, Merlin had the utmost faith in Arthur, almost foolishly so. Yet with something as simple as catching him before he fell off a horse, Merlin looked as though he suspected Arthur of plotting his murder. Of course, Arthur knew he was only joking, but there was no harm in riding out the game anyway.
"I think it would be wiser if I didn't answer that."
Arthur scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Just get down here already." He tugged on Merlin's sleeve, just to further illustrate his point.
"All right, fine," Merlin said, sounding truly put upon, but there was a mischievous glint to his eyes.
The whole thing, surprisingly, went exactly as planned, and between the two of them, Merlin managed to end up feet first on the ground with no further mishaps. It was the first legitimate stroke of good luck they'd experienced since setting out on this journey, and even Arthur wasn't above celebrating the smaller successes in life.
In a fit of charity that Arthur would later deny, he assisted Merlin with setting up camp. Which, in this case, meant that Arthur pretty much did everything while Merlin stood around looking, for all intents and purposes, useless. More than once Arthur caught Merlin watching him with an expression that was almost fond, and every time it happened Arthur found himself forcing his gaze to the ground, willing the heat prickling at the back of his neck into oblivion.
After a while, Arthur grew tired of Merlin simply watching him work and sent him out to collect wood, seeing as how he wasn't doing anything else the least bit useful anyway. Arthur welcomed the resulting silence, as it afforded him some much needed time to think on a few things. There'd been something that had been bothering him all afternoon, though by no means was the thought foreign. It'd come up more times over the past couple of years than Arthur could count, often sneaking into his head, tumbling around for a few moments, and then vanishing in a puff of proverbial smoke, never to be considered in further detail -- at least not until something else happened to trigger another moment's contemplation. Preposterous as it seemed, he couldn't quite extinguish the idea that perhaps something, or someone, was watching out for him, protecting him from harm. The first time the idea invaded his mind was almost two years prior, when a glowing blue light had guided him to safety in the cave housing the Mortaeus flower, the only thing preventing him from death that day. The next time Arthur could acutely remember the idea floating to the surface of his mind was immediately following the incident with the Questing Beast. There was no way he should have survived that incident, from everything he'd been told. And yet, here he was, alive and well.
The belief that he was being protected had begun to pop up more and more over the past year, and at times Arthur looked back on earlier incidents in his life and wondered if he couldn't draw the same conclusion then as well. But the thing was -- and this was the most important part of his recent revelations -- when Arthur reflected on all those seemingly inconsequential occurrences, there was only one common thread: Merlin. No matter how many times Arthur attempted to find another explanation or reason, he fell distinctly short, every single time. As much as Arthur enjoyed ragging on Merlin, the reality was that he was one of the most fascinating people Arthur had ever met, and he hadn't lied that day when he'd claimed there was "something about Merlin" that Arthur couldn't quite put his finger on.
Except that he could, now, put his finger, figuratively speaking, on what was special about Merlin. Or at least Arthur thought he could. The problem lay in the fact that to even suggest to Merlin what had been tumbling around in his brain for far too long, a suspicion made all the stronger by recent events, was treason to the very crown to which he swore fealty and allegiance. And if he happened to be wrong in his deductions... well, that would be the end of that, mystery solved. But if Arthur's suspicions were correct, he would be forced to make a decision that would endanger both of their lives, because there was only one true option that he could ever imagine. Sometimes he desperately sought the answers to the question that'd already been asked in a million different ways, but there were other times when Arthur knew that never knowing for sure would leave him without culpability, which in turn meant that he wouldn't have to take any action. It was admittedly a cowardly response, but it seemed the safest course of action all the same.
However, Arthur saw no harm in fishing for more information anyway. Especially in light of the highly suspicious nature of his recent success with the serpent attack.
"So... I've been thinking about that snake," he said casually, when Merlin returned from his wood-gathering excursion.
A single eyebrow rose on Merlin's forehead as he gingerly knelt down to begin preparing the fire. "Oh?"
"It was an awfully impressive final blow, wouldn't you agree?"
"I don't think I was conscious yet at that point, but I've no doubt it was amazing, sire," Merlin agreed, overly indulgent, though far from convincing.
"Hmm, really? I could have sworn I saw you looking over at me immediately after." Arthur tried to affect a casual air, eyeing Merlin carefully as he watched for a reaction to the statement. "Looked like you were waving or something, what with your arm held up like that. Very bizarre, even for you."
A short laugh escaped past Merlin's lips, and Arthur was certain there was a nervous edge to the sound, though perhaps it was only wishful thinking on his part. "Yes, well, I needed to, er, get up, you know."
Arthur nodded, watching as Merlin worked to get the fire started. Funny how it was taking an awfully long time now, yet in the past there were times when Merlin had been able to work up a roaring blaze almost immediately. The other night, in fact. A thought occurred to Arthur and he stood, turning his back to Merlin, with the excuse that he was grabbing something from his satchel. Sure enough, no more than five seconds after he'd turned away, Arthur glanced back at Merlin to see that a spark had just lit, and the fire was slowly burning. It could've been a coincidence, Arthur was willing to concede, but the likelihood was slim. If anything, it only confirmed what he already thought. Still, it wasn't enough yet. He needed to switch tactics.
"What do you think about the idea of guardian angels?" Arthur asked, attempting to come across as nonchalant and uninterested as possible, idly tossing a few sticks into the now steadily burning fire.
"Guardian angels?" Merlin's confused expression met Arthur's gaze.
Arthur couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Yes, Merlin. I know the conversation is moving along at an alarming rate, but try to follow along here, would you?"
Somehow Merlin managed to smirk at him while still glaring, and the sight did something funny to Arthur's stomach. He pushed it down, waiting for the retort he was expecting, but Merlin didn't rise to the barb. "My mum believed in them, thought that everyone had their own guardian angel, but that they only appeared when they were really needed. It's an interesting idea." There was a pause, and then, carefully, "Why are you asking?"
Still no revealing reaction from Merlin, Arthur noted. He pressed on. "Just thought I've had… that someone might be watching over me sometimes." Arthur dug the toe of his boot into the ground.
Merlin snorted. "With all the trouble you manage to get yourself into, I wouldn't be surprised if you did have someone out there watching your back." He looked for a moment like there was something else he wanted to say, but he clamped his jaws shut instead.
"Funny. I never seemed to get into quite so much trouble before you arrived, Merlin," Arthur remarked slyly, attention still focused entirely on him. "Perhaps you were the catalyst."
There was a moment where Merlin stilled, just for the briefest of seconds, but it wasn't lost on Arthur. "I'm quite sure you were more than capable of finding trouble long before I arrived, Arthur," Merlin said, smiling tightly at him.
Several seconds passed before Arthur spoke, as he pretended to deeply ponder this suggestion. "You're right. The idea's rubbish." He waved a hand around aimlessly. "I don't need a guardian angel. I can take care of myself just fine. What a preposterous notion, that some stranger should hover around me all the time, just waiting for an opportunity to protect me from harm that I'm more than capable of dealing with on my own."
The line of Merlin's jaw was firm, hands balled into loose fists at his side. To the casual observer, he looked entirely normal, but Arthur could practically feel the tension coiled in his shoulders. A reaction, finally.
"How do you know it's a stranger?" Merlin asked, eyeing Arthur carefully. "Hypothetically, of course."
"Because it's not anybody I know, clearly. The only person that hovers around me with alarming frequency is you, and we both know that the mere notion of you being my protector is utterly absurd. Laughable, even."
Merlin met his gaze this time, eyes dark but mostly impassive. Still… there was a hint of annoyance and maybe even challenge lurking behind his expression, and Arthur felt a thrill shoot through his veins like electricity.
"How do you know I haven't been watching out for your princely arse ever since I arrived in Camelot?"
Arthur scoffed, laughing openly, though not unkindly. "Please, Merlin. You can barely tie laces properly. The notion of you actually having the skill and wit to watch out for me..." he trailed off then, unexpectedly, suddenly feeling as though he didn't want to finish the thought. His point had been made, after all. And while Merlin hadn't outright demonstrated any obvious indications that Arthur's suspicions were correct, he felt fairly confident in the knowledge that Merlin was hiding a very large part of who he was from Arthur.
For several moments, Arthur watched Merlin's jaw tighten and then slacken, mouth opening twice before quickly shutting again, as if he were tossing aside potential retorts. "I think you underestimate me sometimes," was what he finally seemed to settle on, and there was an air of sadness and disappointment to the words that made Arthur's stomach churn.
He was beginning to think that perhaps Merlin was right. Arthur forced a smile, saying nothing, and threw a stick at him, fighting down the fear and want that was simultaneously eating away at his core. Two significant pieces of information had been obtained by Arthur in the past day, and now he needed time to sort through what it all meant and how it had the potential to change him, and his relationship with Merlin, permanently.
After the startled and vehement denial Uther had given to King Pellinore's remarks, Morgana had worried that, in trying to keep up appearances of propriety, Uther might distance himself, but he seemed no less willing to spend what time she asked of him in her company, and that was something of a relief. It was a simultaneous credit and deficiency to his character that Uther often cared little of what others thought of him, unless they thought he was a firm, hard-nosed, no-nonsense ruler, in which case he welcomed it; a king's reputation could do much worse.
With Morgana, however, since her return, he was far more given to lightness and ease. That he cared for her, in his limited capacity, was no secret, else she might well have spent her adolescent years languishing in the servants' quarters rather than growing up the lady of the house, and as much as it played into her plans for him, it unnerved her as well. She had to afford him as much of her time as she could find, but as the days went on, stemming what had initially been a trickle of latent affection for Uther became harder and harder to deal with. A little affection sometimes burst into overwhelming warmth, jumping her nets and swelling into a genuine smile on her face when she least expected it.
At the same time, with Arthur due to return soon, she knew she had to keep wearing Uther down with gentle words that, day by day, felt less and less like lies. It had been easy when she'd been away, wrapped in Morgause's incendiary confidence, to fuel the animosity she'd felt towards him, to envisage the hard lines on his face and the cold glitter in his eyes; but she could see none of that now, as he smiled amusedly at her over their chessboard, where he'd just felled one of her rooks.
Morgana shut her eyes and pushed away the image of his benign smile, and remembered, savagely, that this was the same man who'd clapped her in chains simply for daring to have a difference of opinion. Her will hardened and her eyes snapped open, her sights focussed singly on the white king across the board.
"My lord," she said, her voice thick with ingratiation, "I wonder if --"
An urgent knock on the door whirled Uther's attention away from her, and Morgana bit down a frown. At Uther's leave, the door swung open, and a guard stepped in.
"Sire, the knights have returned."
"Ah, excellent, that'll be Arthur," said Uther, rising from his chair. "This shouldn't take long; I'll be back to finish your king off in no time." He smirked at Morgana, and if she didn't know any better, would have sworn there was a twinkle in his eye, playful and alarming in equal measure.
Morgana bowed her head in acknowledgement, fighting the urge to tip the chessboard onto the floor and crush every piece with her foot, as Uther strode out of the chamber. She stood, sparing no more than half a second's glance at the sentries at the door, and began to pace.
Of course, she had been expecting Arthur for days now, and had, in fact, developed and subsequently buried a niggling worry that something might have happened to him on the way there or back, as she'd often done in the past whenever Uther sent him off on his fool's errands in Camelot's name. But now she couldn't help feeling a slight resentment for the difficulties Arthur would no doubt present to her plans. For all of Uther's indifference to the way others perceived him, Morgana knew that Arthur's opinion, however often discarded, held more weight than his father let on, and she had a feeling he'd be none too pleased with the direction her ambitions were taking.
Everyone knew she was meant to be Queen someday; that hadn't changed. The only minor difference was whose.
It would take more than a few syrupy words to soften Arthur if he got his hackles up about this -- and if she knew him at all, he most certainly would have more than a mouthful of objections to share with anyone who'd listen; it was all well and good sending him off to the woods to chase after ghosts for a while, but she needed to find some other method of keeping him out of the way if she had the slimmest hope of getting to the throne.
A quiet rapping sounded at the door; it eased open, and Sir Leon slipped in. "My lady."
The habit hadn't quite been eliminated yet, no matter how many times Morgana had told him not to stand on ceremony with her, but the tone of his voice told her this wasn't the time to pursue the matter. "What is it?" she asked.
"I thought you ought to know," he said grimly. "The knights have returned --"
"Yes, I heard; Uther is getting Arthur's report now."
Leon shook his head slightly. "Prince Arthur isn't with them. They have no idea where he is; they've been separated for days and there's no trace of him."
Morgana stared. "What?"
"I was given to understand that they lost sight of him in bad weather," he said, apologetically, as though he'd had some part in it, "and they spent some days searching for him but it was unfamiliar terrain. Sir Bedivere decided to turn back for reinforcements; they're with the king now."
Apprehension gripped her by the heart, and Morgana clutched the corner of her chair, leaning her weight and worry against it. She'd never meant for anything to happen to Arthur -- had, in fact, extracted a promise from Morgause that he would make it back to the castle unscathed. Morgana closed her eyes for a moment; this was her fault. She'd sent Arthur away to blindly navigate a maze of nothingness and now he was lost.
And even as guilt tightened its noose, a tiny part of her rejoiced at having one less obstacle to her plans, and it made her feel worse than ever; if Arthur never came back, she wasn't sure if her conscience could withstand the crush of remorse piling brick by brick inside her.
Leon strode forwards hurriedly, hands hovering around her as if he thought she might slump to the floor any moment. "I'm sure Arthur is all right," he said, "and if the king will allow it, I'll lead the search party myself."
Morgana blinked at him. "Of course."
She felt the weight of his hesitation before he covered her hand, briefly, with his. "I'll bring him back; I promise."
There was no reason to believe that he could, but Morgana nodded at him, feeling a flutter of hope and gratitude all the same.
Morning rolled around with little fanfare, though even had it blown a thousand trumpets to announce its arrival, Merlin would have been unlikely to notice, his thoughts wrapped firmly around Arthur.
It was a curious thing about Arthur that he could be read about as easily as a children's book -- with the last page torn out.
There was an open honesty about his features that occasionally lent itself to the impression of happy stupidity, and given the way they'd first met, Merlin, had he not had the fortune of being foisted into Arthur's employ, would have easily believed there was nothing in the prince's head so much as hot air. He knew better, of course, of the fierce intelligence that simmered underneath -- spend enough time around Arthur and it just begged to be noticed. A light like Arthur's couldn't stay hidden for long, and with over two years of service under Merlin's belt, the surprise of Arthur's astuteness breaking the surface had long ceased to be novel.
It was puzzling, then, that Arthur should be playing this game with him, making all kinds of breezy remarks about guardian angels and prancing round and round the point but never quite getting to it. That Arthur might suspect Merlin's true identity should have come as no surprise; there had been so many instances in the past where Merlin had had to use his magic in Arthur's presence and although Arthur liked to pretend sometimes that he was thick to lull others into complacency, he very much wasn't. And despite what seemed to be aimless chatter, Merlin knew Arthur was fishing for answers without so much as asking anything.
What remained to be said now was as simple as yes or no, and as complicated as I'm sorry.
But Arthur was no closer to getting to the question than Merlin was prepared to answer it, and it was frustrating as much as it was a relief. For all he knew of Arthur, his sense of justice, his inherent goodness, his heart, there was an equal part of years-long indoctrination that sorcery was evil and those who committed it likewise, and in Merlin's mind, neither outweighed the other; he had just as good a chance of gaining Arthur's confidence as swinging from the gallows.
When it came right down to it, Merlin wouldn't think twice about using his magic for the whole world to see if it meant saving Arthur's life, but in order to get to that point, if it ever came, Merlin himself had to stay alive. Given his odds, Merlin let Arthur prattle on, feigning interest and innocence as they travelled homewards.
He'd come clean, Merlin knew, if Arthur ever asked him directly -- he hated lying to Arthur; hated hiding, hated keeping so many secrets from the man who'd become dearer to him than his own life -- but Arthur himself, despite dropping crumbs all over the place for Merlin to pick up, wasn't anywhere near putting his finger on it, and Merlin wondered if perhaps he wasn't quite sure he wanted to know the answer just yet.
Or perhaps he was just waiting for Merlin to say it first. Like how Uther would lighten a sentence to merely chopping one hand off instead of two if the criminal confessed to thievery without too much prompting.
Merlin glanced at Arthur guiltily, and Arthur gave him an encouraging lift of an eyebrow in return. It said, in Merlin's imagination, we'll only behead you halfway if you tell me now.
He looked away quickly, pretending to eye something interesting in the distance, until the distance really did present him with something interesting to look at.
"Arthur -- do you see?" Merlin pointed to pinpoints of bright red steadily getting closer.
"My knights!" Arthur said. "About bloody time."
Before long the two parties caught up with each other, and it was with clear relief shining across his face that Sir Leon greeted them, waving one arm and shouting a great halloo for good measure.
"Sire!" said Leon, as they reunited. "Thank god you're all right; where did you go?"
"Where did I go? Where did the rest of you go?" Arthur accused, and waved a hand at Leon. "Not you; you weren't there. Everything at home all right?"
Leon nodded. "Everyone's been worried, but I promised the lady Morgana I'd bring you back," he said, with a smile.
"Morgana?" Arthur said, as the group continued on its way. "She's probably just glad to have run of the castle without me there to rein her in."
Merlin threw him a sharp glance, but Arthur and Leon were already moving on to other topics of discussion, and he was left to wonder just how true Arthur's flippant statement might be. Arthur had no reason to distrust Morgana, but Merlin had plenty; he didn't know what had been said or done during her long absence, but it seemed a very pretty coincidence, as he thought about it now, that Arthur should be sent away as soon as she'd returned, and not merely sent away but cut off from his reinforcements and nearly killed as well by a creature from the worst of nightmares.
He was sorry, still sorry that he'd tried to kill her. But not as sorry as she would be if he found out she had been behind the attack.
Buoyed by the prince's safe discovery, the company made it back to the castle well before nightfall, and Arthur was called to an audience with the king as soon as he dismounted. In the great hall, Uther smiled, pleased, upon seeing Arthur alive and well, and seated to his left, Morgana immediately leapt from her chair, squeezing Arthur's hand, shades of relief in her eyes.
Merlin stood at one side of the room, mostly unnoticed, watching the proceedings closely; he couldn't help the stab of suspicion that Morgana might be putting on a very good performance, and consequently, the anger that followed on its heels.
As Arthur reported to his father what had happened on the journey, however, there was no mistaking the shock that crossed Morgana's face, the worry that creased her brow, and Merlin's ire abated, petering out as quickly as it had surged to life. Perhaps she was that good an actor and Merlin was being taken in, but it seemed as though she was genuinely horrified to hear of the serpent's attack, not to mention its unlikely existence to begin with, and Merlin frowned to himself, torn in more directions than ever.
"-- but without Merlin's help, I doubt I could have overcome it," said Arthur, and Merlin blinked at the sound of his own name.
"Yes, good," said Uther, losing interest in the narrative now that it had come to a servant's exploits. He waved a generous, dismissive hand. "A few extra coins this week for his services to the throne, perhaps."
Merlin bowed stiffly and affected a smile of servile obligation, catching Morgana's eye as he straightened; the resentment that burned in her gaze still cut like a knife, but it was duller somehow, tinged with something like grudging curiosity. It disappeared a moment later, along with Morgana's regard, as Uther dismissed Arthur and the knights from the hall, and he wasn't sure if he hadn't imagined it in the first place.
As the assemblage exited the room, Merlin felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, and knew without looking that it was Arthur. He turned.
"Merlin. I want you to know..." he said in a low voice. In the dancing light of the sconces that studded the wall, shadows unfurled over his face, and he looked more serious than Merlin had ever seen. A knight, straggling behind the rest, passed by; Arthur glanced at him with a nod as he walked past, and when his gaze returned to Merlin, the moment was gone. One side of Arthur's mouth lifted. "Take the night off. You've earned it."
"Thank you, sire," said Merlin, for lack of anything more useful to say.
Arthur gave him another long moment's consideration, and then turned on his heel and headed toward his chambers. Staring after him produced little other result, so Merlin made his way back to his own quarters, body battered and fatigued, but his mind still trying feverishly to untangle the jumble of his thoughts.
"Ah! My boy," said Gaius, when Merlin threw the door open, and came forward with his arms outstretched to embrace him, fond and familiar. "I heard you and Arthur ran into a bit of trouble?"
Merlin smiled. "That's putting it lightly," he said, moving towards Gaius's overworked bookshelves. "What do you have on giant snakes?"
"My goodness," said Gaius, and surveyed his collection for a moment before pulling out several large volumes, to Merlin's increased dismay.
Sat at an empty end of Gaius's workbench, Merlin, plied with tea and leftover stew, set to work paging through each tome. By the fourth book his energy was beginning to flag dramatically, and he groaned out loud, slumping onto the table like a limp slab. He turned the page and immediately shot up again.
"There," he said, pointing to an inked image of a rearing snake, fangs bared and tipped with venom, horns poised to strike, and about five times larger than the little, hand-drawn figures dropping their farming tools and running away from it. "That's it. Gaius, that's what we fought."
Gaius shuffled over and peered at the end of Merlin's finger. "Cerastes," he intoned, and frowned, flicking a significant look at Merlin. "It is a creature of magic."
Merlin stared at the picture; remove the extra people fleeing in horror and swap out the pitchfork for a sword, and the drawing could have been of him and Arthur facing down the awful serpent. "Do you mean somebody conjured it up?"
"It's possible," said Gaius. "I have not heard news of them in these parts for a very long time."
"So someone might have made it specifically to get at Arthur?"
One eyebrow made a dash for the top of his head as Gaius stared at him, unsure how Merlin had got from one thought to the next. "What makes you think that?"
Merlin hesitated. Conspiracy theories were nothing new in Camelot, but in this case he had nothing more to go on than a gut feeling and what could easily be put down to coincidence. "What," he asked slowly, "do you think Morgana was doing while she was away?"
Another frown pulled at the physician's mouth. "Thinking up an escape plan, I'd imagine," he said, and eyed Merlin closely. "Are you saying Morgana had something to do with this?"
"I don't know," Merlin sighed, and scrubbed a dry palm over his face. "I just don't think it's an accident that following Morgana's directions led Arthur to being attacked."
Gaius squeezed his shoulder. "The people who took her must have known Arthur would be coming after them; they could have easily set the trap and gone," he said, a kindly look in his eye, which was somehow worse than if he had rebuked Merlin for thinking such scandalous thoughts in the first place. "You're tired, Merlin. Get some rest; it'll make more sense in the morning."
Merlin's face screwed with dissatisfaction.
"Look," said Gaius. "I've known Morgana since she was a little girl. She is capable of many things, but trying to kill Arthur --" He shook his head.
Whether that was true or not, Merlin couldn't quite be certain, but he was in no state of mind to argue the point at present. What Gaius had posited made far more sense than Morgana wanting Arthur dead; her objections and recriminations had always been laid at Uther's feet, not Arthur's, and Merlin himself had seen the horrified expression on her face when Arthur had related the news of the attack and could readily believe that she'd had nothing to do with it. But he couldn't shake the feeling that she had still been involved somehow.
"I suppose you're right," said Merlin, eventually, closing the book.
Gaius smiled warmly at Merlin, reaching out to give his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. "I'm sure I am. Now, I have a few errands to run, my boy, but you should get some sleep while I'm gone."
The idea struck Merlin as very appealing, suddenly. With a little wave, he watched as Gaius toddled out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him.
Merlin eyed the books still strewn haphazardly across the workbench and decided that the least he could do for Gaius would be to put them away before going to sleep. The physician was not as young as he sometimes liked to think, and each tome was quite heavy. The problem, Merlin quickly discovered, was that he barely had the energy to stand himself, let alone lift several cumbersome texts.
Without any real thought or consideration for what he was doing, Merlin extended his hand and muttered a few words as he levitated the first book from the table, guiding it to its proper place on Gaius' shelf.
Halfway through the pile, a silky voice slithered in behind him. "Well."
There was a loud thunk as the book dropped to the floor, instantly stopped in its course towards the shelf, and Merlin spun round to find Morgana advancing slowly on him with measured footsteps, a dagger twirled idly between her fingers. It was small, but he had no doubt of the extent of damage she could do if she put her mind to it; he'd seen her with a sword before, and coupled with the incredible menace she'd packed into the single word uttered thus far, the fear seeping through his body seemed the only logical and appropriate response. Merlin hadn't even heard her enter the room, and the knowledge filled him with a sickening sense of horror. How could he have been so utterly careless, so completely foolish? His feet shifted backwards.
"Morgana," he said, eyes darting about for any sign of her private guard. He'd caught wind of the tail end of a conversation between Arthur and one of his knights, informing him that Uther had kept a tight leash on Morgana since they'd set out on their journey. Surely she wouldn't openly murder him in Leon's presence.
As though she could read his mind, Morgana said brusquely, eyes glittering like cold stars in an endless sky, "He's meeting with some of the knights. It's just you and me, Merlin."
"What are you doing here?" he asked. It was a stupid question and he knew it, but he was clutching at straws to stall for time, for all the good it would do.
"Oh," she said, playing along, "I ran out of the sleeping draught Gaius usually gives me; thought I might as well fetch some more as I was passing by." The knife glinted as she drew the blade along her fingertips, testing its sharpness, and her voice took on its an edge. "Lucky coincidence to find you here."
In the time it took him to swallow the panic rising in his throat, Merlin found himself shoved against the bookshelf at the back of the wall, the force so sudden that it took him a second to register Morgana's forearm pressing flat at his throat and the knife in her raised fist, aimed at the dead centre of his chest. Her eyes burned, all pretences abandoned and leaving nothing but steel and fury.
"You," she said in a voice so savage it could have torn the world to shreds. "You utter bastard."
"Morgana, please," he choked, but made no move to fight her off, half-hoping she'd just stab him and get it over with.
"Defend yourself," Morgana hissed through clenched teeth, "sorcerer."
Merlin's eyes pricked with tears, and whether that was from the crushing pain at his throat or the flood of past regrets, it was difficult to tell, and made no easier by the realisation that not only did she have the grounds to extract an eye for an eye, his sheer carelessness, his stupidity and laziness had let slip his true identity to her. For his betrayal, for his selfishness, for his unwillingness to help her when she'd needed it the most, he couldn't fault her anger.
"I'm sorry," he rasped. "I'm sorry."
His throat tightened, all apologies smashed flat as Morgana bore her arm down on his windpipe. "You're sorry?" she spat. "For what? Poisoning me? Letting me think I was mad and dangerous? Leaving me on my own to struggle with my abilities when you yourself have magic? And all the while calling yourself my friend? Give me one good reason, Merlin, one good reason why I shouldn't strike you down where you stand."
Merlin opened his mouth, but no more sound could escape than air could get in. He wondered, inanely, when Gaius would discover his body, if Morgana left anything to be found.
Her right arm, poised to strike, suddenly flagged, and with another ungracious push, she let Merlin slide down the wall and tossed the dagger away like an old plaything; it bounded harmlessly across the floor.
"Thank you," he croaked, slumped to the ground and massaging his neck.
"You're no good to me dead," Morgana said, barely looking at him now; her hands shook for a moment and she clasped them tightly across her stomach. "There are too few of us as it is, and I won't do Uther's dirty work for him."
"Morgana --"
She flicked a careless glance his way. "You have magic," she said, as a statement of fact.
Merlin nodded. "I'm sorry," he said again, uselessly.
This time, the look she shot him was sharp enough to cut glass. "You abandoned me, and then tried to kill me. Do you really think that's enough?"
"No. And maybe it will never be, but please -- please believe that I had no choice," Merlin said, scrabbling to his feet, and swallowed another sorry. All the apologies in the world would get him nowhere, when she didn't want to hear them. "All of Camelot would have died because of you; it was the only way I could save them."
It was nearly imperceptible, a flinch that seized Morgana's features, and it fled as quickly as it came. She stared at him, the hauteur of royalty, making him feel as insignificant as the dirt beneath her feet. "Sometimes sacrifices need to be made for the greater good," she said. "At least it would have effected change. We could have been free. All you managed to do was earn yourself an enemy and reinstate Uther to his old ways."
For a second, Merlin wished he had her strength of conviction. Long had he wished things might be different, that persecution didn't hound him and his like at every corner, that his life might not be a lie. But he remembered the terrified, helpless look on her face that afternoon; no matter what she said now, it was clear that at the time of the sleeping spell, she had had no idea she was the one causing it.
"Was it your choice?" Merlin asked. "Would you have let everyone just die like that? Arthur, Gwen, Gaius?"
The arrogance faded for a moment, and in her hesitance, Merlin gleaned the answer; she was just as conflicted as he was about her place in this world, tied to the familiar and the friendly whilst stamping down an essential part of herself that longed to shine. He knew the feeling, the constant vacillation between the mundanity of an ordinary life, but a life nonetheless, and proving himself to be extraordinary, but dying for it. For himself, he'd made the latter option unavailable; whether or not the dragon had lied to him with his grand words about destiny, Merlin knew, fate aside, that he loved Arthur and needed to protect him, and if the world never knew what powers he held at his fingertips, then so be it. For Morgana...
He blinked at her curiously, overriding the trepidation churning around his insides to ask the question that had plagued him ever since her return. "Why have you come back?"
It took her a moment too long to respond. "I don't know what you mean."
"I mean," said Merlin carefully, "that you weren't taken or held against your will, were you? You could have been free, outside Camelot."
Morgana narrowed an assessing gaze on him, weighing her options and their consequences. Eventually, she said, "I'm here to set things right."
"What does that mean? What are you planning?"
"It means, Merlin, that I'm doing what you haven't the courage to do," she said, a rise of anger flushing her cheeks. Her voice softened, but it was no less dangerous, as she added, "And if you get in my way, getting sentenced to the pyre will be the least of your worries."
Merlin shook his head. "Morgana, whatever it is --"
"Is none of your concern," she snapped. "Stay out of it, Merlin."
With that, she sailed out of the workshop, all elegance even in her fury. Merlin stared at the door for a moment, then sank down on his haunches and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, tired and helpless and alone.
Continue to Chapter Eight
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: 7,140
Disclaimer: Not ours. No money is being made. Please don't sue.
Authors' Note: Thanks so much to ravenflight21 for the beta/Brit-pick :).
Previous Chapters: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six
CHAPTER SEVEN
The sun was still hanging in the sky, having barely dipped below the tree line, when Arthur declared that they were going to make camp for the evening. Merlin's restless shifting throughout the afternoon and early evening had not evaded Arthur's watchful eye, in spite of the fact that Merlin appeared to be unsuccessfully trying to mask the obvious discomfort he was in. They weren't in any particular hurry, Arthur determined. Besides, any attempts at further travel would be essentially futile, what with Merlin practically ready to fall from his saddle at any moment.
"Why are we stopping so early?" Merlin asked, slowing his horse to match Arthur's pace.
Both eyebrows rose high on Arthur's forehead as he turned to glance at Merlin. "Do you want to keep riding?"
"No. But that's never made any difference before."
"Then consider today your lucky day," Arthur said, voice full of cheer as he brought them to a halt, dismounting in one fluid motion. It took a lot more than one near-death fight with a creature to bring him down.
"Right," Merlin grumbled. "Getting thrown off my horse, surviving an attack by a giant snake, then being forced to continue riding for several more hours is definitely what I'd call luck."
Arthur shrugged, smiling in spite of himself. "It could be worse. You could be dead," he pointed out.
Merlin's face twisted with displeasure. "Ha ha, very funny, sire. I feel so much better now, thank you."
"Anything I can do to help."
They stared at one another, Merlin glaring and Arthur smirking, until Arthur finally broke contact, gesturing for Merlin to get down. For a few long moments, Arthur watched him struggle to climb off the horse, looking more pathetic than a wet rat. It really was almost laughable, at times, how entirely useless Merlin could be, even with the injuries he'd sustained. With anybody else, Arthur would have long since shaken his head at the individual's ineptness and washed his hands of them entirely. But this was Merlin, the man who'd managed to turn Arthur's world upside down on a regular basis for over two years now, and there was something about him that was so plainly endearing and vulnerable in equal measure, that in spite of Arthur's best efforts, he found he could never actually combat the urge to care for Merlin, even when everything in him resisted the idea.
"For pity's sake, Merlin, are you truly that helpless?"
A noise resembling a groan -- or perhaps a growl, Arthur couldn't quite be sure -- escaped Merlin's lips. He stared down at Arthur, wary. "No. I was planning on sleeping on my horse tonight, of course."
"No need to get all huffy on me." Arthur bit back a smile as he sidled up to Merlin. He scratched his chin, eyes narrowing, as he pretended to deeply contemplate the situation. "I suppose you could just lean to the side until I can grab onto your shoulders and lower you down."
Merlin blinked. "You want me to just fall over and hope that you don't drop me?" he asked, dubious. "That seems even madder than spending the night up here."
"Please, Merlin, stop being such a little girl. Do you honestly think I'd just let you fall?" Really, there were only so many times that Arthur could put up with such an assault on his character. At times where death was nearly a certainty, Merlin had the utmost faith in Arthur, almost foolishly so. Yet with something as simple as catching him before he fell off a horse, Merlin looked as though he suspected Arthur of plotting his murder. Of course, Arthur knew he was only joking, but there was no harm in riding out the game anyway.
"I think it would be wiser if I didn't answer that."
Arthur scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Just get down here already." He tugged on Merlin's sleeve, just to further illustrate his point.
"All right, fine," Merlin said, sounding truly put upon, but there was a mischievous glint to his eyes.
The whole thing, surprisingly, went exactly as planned, and between the two of them, Merlin managed to end up feet first on the ground with no further mishaps. It was the first legitimate stroke of good luck they'd experienced since setting out on this journey, and even Arthur wasn't above celebrating the smaller successes in life.
In a fit of charity that Arthur would later deny, he assisted Merlin with setting up camp. Which, in this case, meant that Arthur pretty much did everything while Merlin stood around looking, for all intents and purposes, useless. More than once Arthur caught Merlin watching him with an expression that was almost fond, and every time it happened Arthur found himself forcing his gaze to the ground, willing the heat prickling at the back of his neck into oblivion.
After a while, Arthur grew tired of Merlin simply watching him work and sent him out to collect wood, seeing as how he wasn't doing anything else the least bit useful anyway. Arthur welcomed the resulting silence, as it afforded him some much needed time to think on a few things. There'd been something that had been bothering him all afternoon, though by no means was the thought foreign. It'd come up more times over the past couple of years than Arthur could count, often sneaking into his head, tumbling around for a few moments, and then vanishing in a puff of proverbial smoke, never to be considered in further detail -- at least not until something else happened to trigger another moment's contemplation. Preposterous as it seemed, he couldn't quite extinguish the idea that perhaps something, or someone, was watching out for him, protecting him from harm. The first time the idea invaded his mind was almost two years prior, when a glowing blue light had guided him to safety in the cave housing the Mortaeus flower, the only thing preventing him from death that day. The next time Arthur could acutely remember the idea floating to the surface of his mind was immediately following the incident with the Questing Beast. There was no way he should have survived that incident, from everything he'd been told. And yet, here he was, alive and well.
The belief that he was being protected had begun to pop up more and more over the past year, and at times Arthur looked back on earlier incidents in his life and wondered if he couldn't draw the same conclusion then as well. But the thing was -- and this was the most important part of his recent revelations -- when Arthur reflected on all those seemingly inconsequential occurrences, there was only one common thread: Merlin. No matter how many times Arthur attempted to find another explanation or reason, he fell distinctly short, every single time. As much as Arthur enjoyed ragging on Merlin, the reality was that he was one of the most fascinating people Arthur had ever met, and he hadn't lied that day when he'd claimed there was "something about Merlin" that Arthur couldn't quite put his finger on.
Except that he could, now, put his finger, figuratively speaking, on what was special about Merlin. Or at least Arthur thought he could. The problem lay in the fact that to even suggest to Merlin what had been tumbling around in his brain for far too long, a suspicion made all the stronger by recent events, was treason to the very crown to which he swore fealty and allegiance. And if he happened to be wrong in his deductions... well, that would be the end of that, mystery solved. But if Arthur's suspicions were correct, he would be forced to make a decision that would endanger both of their lives, because there was only one true option that he could ever imagine. Sometimes he desperately sought the answers to the question that'd already been asked in a million different ways, but there were other times when Arthur knew that never knowing for sure would leave him without culpability, which in turn meant that he wouldn't have to take any action. It was admittedly a cowardly response, but it seemed the safest course of action all the same.
However, Arthur saw no harm in fishing for more information anyway. Especially in light of the highly suspicious nature of his recent success with the serpent attack.
"So... I've been thinking about that snake," he said casually, when Merlin returned from his wood-gathering excursion.
A single eyebrow rose on Merlin's forehead as he gingerly knelt down to begin preparing the fire. "Oh?"
"It was an awfully impressive final blow, wouldn't you agree?"
"I don't think I was conscious yet at that point, but I've no doubt it was amazing, sire," Merlin agreed, overly indulgent, though far from convincing.
"Hmm, really? I could have sworn I saw you looking over at me immediately after." Arthur tried to affect a casual air, eyeing Merlin carefully as he watched for a reaction to the statement. "Looked like you were waving or something, what with your arm held up like that. Very bizarre, even for you."
A short laugh escaped past Merlin's lips, and Arthur was certain there was a nervous edge to the sound, though perhaps it was only wishful thinking on his part. "Yes, well, I needed to, er, get up, you know."
Arthur nodded, watching as Merlin worked to get the fire started. Funny how it was taking an awfully long time now, yet in the past there were times when Merlin had been able to work up a roaring blaze almost immediately. The other night, in fact. A thought occurred to Arthur and he stood, turning his back to Merlin, with the excuse that he was grabbing something from his satchel. Sure enough, no more than five seconds after he'd turned away, Arthur glanced back at Merlin to see that a spark had just lit, and the fire was slowly burning. It could've been a coincidence, Arthur was willing to concede, but the likelihood was slim. If anything, it only confirmed what he already thought. Still, it wasn't enough yet. He needed to switch tactics.
"What do you think about the idea of guardian angels?" Arthur asked, attempting to come across as nonchalant and uninterested as possible, idly tossing a few sticks into the now steadily burning fire.
"Guardian angels?" Merlin's confused expression met Arthur's gaze.
Arthur couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Yes, Merlin. I know the conversation is moving along at an alarming rate, but try to follow along here, would you?"
Somehow Merlin managed to smirk at him while still glaring, and the sight did something funny to Arthur's stomach. He pushed it down, waiting for the retort he was expecting, but Merlin didn't rise to the barb. "My mum believed in them, thought that everyone had their own guardian angel, but that they only appeared when they were really needed. It's an interesting idea." There was a pause, and then, carefully, "Why are you asking?"
Still no revealing reaction from Merlin, Arthur noted. He pressed on. "Just thought I've had… that someone might be watching over me sometimes." Arthur dug the toe of his boot into the ground.
Merlin snorted. "With all the trouble you manage to get yourself into, I wouldn't be surprised if you did have someone out there watching your back." He looked for a moment like there was something else he wanted to say, but he clamped his jaws shut instead.
"Funny. I never seemed to get into quite so much trouble before you arrived, Merlin," Arthur remarked slyly, attention still focused entirely on him. "Perhaps you were the catalyst."
There was a moment where Merlin stilled, just for the briefest of seconds, but it wasn't lost on Arthur. "I'm quite sure you were more than capable of finding trouble long before I arrived, Arthur," Merlin said, smiling tightly at him.
Several seconds passed before Arthur spoke, as he pretended to deeply ponder this suggestion. "You're right. The idea's rubbish." He waved a hand around aimlessly. "I don't need a guardian angel. I can take care of myself just fine. What a preposterous notion, that some stranger should hover around me all the time, just waiting for an opportunity to protect me from harm that I'm more than capable of dealing with on my own."
The line of Merlin's jaw was firm, hands balled into loose fists at his side. To the casual observer, he looked entirely normal, but Arthur could practically feel the tension coiled in his shoulders. A reaction, finally.
"How do you know it's a stranger?" Merlin asked, eyeing Arthur carefully. "Hypothetically, of course."
"Because it's not anybody I know, clearly. The only person that hovers around me with alarming frequency is you, and we both know that the mere notion of you being my protector is utterly absurd. Laughable, even."
Merlin met his gaze this time, eyes dark but mostly impassive. Still… there was a hint of annoyance and maybe even challenge lurking behind his expression, and Arthur felt a thrill shoot through his veins like electricity.
"How do you know I haven't been watching out for your princely arse ever since I arrived in Camelot?"
Arthur scoffed, laughing openly, though not unkindly. "Please, Merlin. You can barely tie laces properly. The notion of you actually having the skill and wit to watch out for me..." he trailed off then, unexpectedly, suddenly feeling as though he didn't want to finish the thought. His point had been made, after all. And while Merlin hadn't outright demonstrated any obvious indications that Arthur's suspicions were correct, he felt fairly confident in the knowledge that Merlin was hiding a very large part of who he was from Arthur.
For several moments, Arthur watched Merlin's jaw tighten and then slacken, mouth opening twice before quickly shutting again, as if he were tossing aside potential retorts. "I think you underestimate me sometimes," was what he finally seemed to settle on, and there was an air of sadness and disappointment to the words that made Arthur's stomach churn.
He was beginning to think that perhaps Merlin was right. Arthur forced a smile, saying nothing, and threw a stick at him, fighting down the fear and want that was simultaneously eating away at his core. Two significant pieces of information had been obtained by Arthur in the past day, and now he needed time to sort through what it all meant and how it had the potential to change him, and his relationship with Merlin, permanently.
After the startled and vehement denial Uther had given to King Pellinore's remarks, Morgana had worried that, in trying to keep up appearances of propriety, Uther might distance himself, but he seemed no less willing to spend what time she asked of him in her company, and that was something of a relief. It was a simultaneous credit and deficiency to his character that Uther often cared little of what others thought of him, unless they thought he was a firm, hard-nosed, no-nonsense ruler, in which case he welcomed it; a king's reputation could do much worse.
With Morgana, however, since her return, he was far more given to lightness and ease. That he cared for her, in his limited capacity, was no secret, else she might well have spent her adolescent years languishing in the servants' quarters rather than growing up the lady of the house, and as much as it played into her plans for him, it unnerved her as well. She had to afford him as much of her time as she could find, but as the days went on, stemming what had initially been a trickle of latent affection for Uther became harder and harder to deal with. A little affection sometimes burst into overwhelming warmth, jumping her nets and swelling into a genuine smile on her face when she least expected it.
At the same time, with Arthur due to return soon, she knew she had to keep wearing Uther down with gentle words that, day by day, felt less and less like lies. It had been easy when she'd been away, wrapped in Morgause's incendiary confidence, to fuel the animosity she'd felt towards him, to envisage the hard lines on his face and the cold glitter in his eyes; but she could see none of that now, as he smiled amusedly at her over their chessboard, where he'd just felled one of her rooks.
Morgana shut her eyes and pushed away the image of his benign smile, and remembered, savagely, that this was the same man who'd clapped her in chains simply for daring to have a difference of opinion. Her will hardened and her eyes snapped open, her sights focussed singly on the white king across the board.
"My lord," she said, her voice thick with ingratiation, "I wonder if --"
An urgent knock on the door whirled Uther's attention away from her, and Morgana bit down a frown. At Uther's leave, the door swung open, and a guard stepped in.
"Sire, the knights have returned."
"Ah, excellent, that'll be Arthur," said Uther, rising from his chair. "This shouldn't take long; I'll be back to finish your king off in no time." He smirked at Morgana, and if she didn't know any better, would have sworn there was a twinkle in his eye, playful and alarming in equal measure.
Morgana bowed her head in acknowledgement, fighting the urge to tip the chessboard onto the floor and crush every piece with her foot, as Uther strode out of the chamber. She stood, sparing no more than half a second's glance at the sentries at the door, and began to pace.
Of course, she had been expecting Arthur for days now, and had, in fact, developed and subsequently buried a niggling worry that something might have happened to him on the way there or back, as she'd often done in the past whenever Uther sent him off on his fool's errands in Camelot's name. But now she couldn't help feeling a slight resentment for the difficulties Arthur would no doubt present to her plans. For all of Uther's indifference to the way others perceived him, Morgana knew that Arthur's opinion, however often discarded, held more weight than his father let on, and she had a feeling he'd be none too pleased with the direction her ambitions were taking.
Everyone knew she was meant to be Queen someday; that hadn't changed. The only minor difference was whose.
It would take more than a few syrupy words to soften Arthur if he got his hackles up about this -- and if she knew him at all, he most certainly would have more than a mouthful of objections to share with anyone who'd listen; it was all well and good sending him off to the woods to chase after ghosts for a while, but she needed to find some other method of keeping him out of the way if she had the slimmest hope of getting to the throne.
A quiet rapping sounded at the door; it eased open, and Sir Leon slipped in. "My lady."
The habit hadn't quite been eliminated yet, no matter how many times Morgana had told him not to stand on ceremony with her, but the tone of his voice told her this wasn't the time to pursue the matter. "What is it?" she asked.
"I thought you ought to know," he said grimly. "The knights have returned --"
"Yes, I heard; Uther is getting Arthur's report now."
Leon shook his head slightly. "Prince Arthur isn't with them. They have no idea where he is; they've been separated for days and there's no trace of him."
Morgana stared. "What?"
"I was given to understand that they lost sight of him in bad weather," he said, apologetically, as though he'd had some part in it, "and they spent some days searching for him but it was unfamiliar terrain. Sir Bedivere decided to turn back for reinforcements; they're with the king now."
Apprehension gripped her by the heart, and Morgana clutched the corner of her chair, leaning her weight and worry against it. She'd never meant for anything to happen to Arthur -- had, in fact, extracted a promise from Morgause that he would make it back to the castle unscathed. Morgana closed her eyes for a moment; this was her fault. She'd sent Arthur away to blindly navigate a maze of nothingness and now he was lost.
And even as guilt tightened its noose, a tiny part of her rejoiced at having one less obstacle to her plans, and it made her feel worse than ever; if Arthur never came back, she wasn't sure if her conscience could withstand the crush of remorse piling brick by brick inside her.
Leon strode forwards hurriedly, hands hovering around her as if he thought she might slump to the floor any moment. "I'm sure Arthur is all right," he said, "and if the king will allow it, I'll lead the search party myself."
Morgana blinked at him. "Of course."
She felt the weight of his hesitation before he covered her hand, briefly, with his. "I'll bring him back; I promise."
There was no reason to believe that he could, but Morgana nodded at him, feeling a flutter of hope and gratitude all the same.
Morning rolled around with little fanfare, though even had it blown a thousand trumpets to announce its arrival, Merlin would have been unlikely to notice, his thoughts wrapped firmly around Arthur.
It was a curious thing about Arthur that he could be read about as easily as a children's book -- with the last page torn out.
There was an open honesty about his features that occasionally lent itself to the impression of happy stupidity, and given the way they'd first met, Merlin, had he not had the fortune of being foisted into Arthur's employ, would have easily believed there was nothing in the prince's head so much as hot air. He knew better, of course, of the fierce intelligence that simmered underneath -- spend enough time around Arthur and it just begged to be noticed. A light like Arthur's couldn't stay hidden for long, and with over two years of service under Merlin's belt, the surprise of Arthur's astuteness breaking the surface had long ceased to be novel.
It was puzzling, then, that Arthur should be playing this game with him, making all kinds of breezy remarks about guardian angels and prancing round and round the point but never quite getting to it. That Arthur might suspect Merlin's true identity should have come as no surprise; there had been so many instances in the past where Merlin had had to use his magic in Arthur's presence and although Arthur liked to pretend sometimes that he was thick to lull others into complacency, he very much wasn't. And despite what seemed to be aimless chatter, Merlin knew Arthur was fishing for answers without so much as asking anything.
What remained to be said now was as simple as yes or no, and as complicated as I'm sorry.
But Arthur was no closer to getting to the question than Merlin was prepared to answer it, and it was frustrating as much as it was a relief. For all he knew of Arthur, his sense of justice, his inherent goodness, his heart, there was an equal part of years-long indoctrination that sorcery was evil and those who committed it likewise, and in Merlin's mind, neither outweighed the other; he had just as good a chance of gaining Arthur's confidence as swinging from the gallows.
When it came right down to it, Merlin wouldn't think twice about using his magic for the whole world to see if it meant saving Arthur's life, but in order to get to that point, if it ever came, Merlin himself had to stay alive. Given his odds, Merlin let Arthur prattle on, feigning interest and innocence as they travelled homewards.
He'd come clean, Merlin knew, if Arthur ever asked him directly -- he hated lying to Arthur; hated hiding, hated keeping so many secrets from the man who'd become dearer to him than his own life -- but Arthur himself, despite dropping crumbs all over the place for Merlin to pick up, wasn't anywhere near putting his finger on it, and Merlin wondered if perhaps he wasn't quite sure he wanted to know the answer just yet.
Or perhaps he was just waiting for Merlin to say it first. Like how Uther would lighten a sentence to merely chopping one hand off instead of two if the criminal confessed to thievery without too much prompting.
Merlin glanced at Arthur guiltily, and Arthur gave him an encouraging lift of an eyebrow in return. It said, in Merlin's imagination, we'll only behead you halfway if you tell me now.
He looked away quickly, pretending to eye something interesting in the distance, until the distance really did present him with something interesting to look at.
"Arthur -- do you see?" Merlin pointed to pinpoints of bright red steadily getting closer.
"My knights!" Arthur said. "About bloody time."
Before long the two parties caught up with each other, and it was with clear relief shining across his face that Sir Leon greeted them, waving one arm and shouting a great halloo for good measure.
"Sire!" said Leon, as they reunited. "Thank god you're all right; where did you go?"
"Where did I go? Where did the rest of you go?" Arthur accused, and waved a hand at Leon. "Not you; you weren't there. Everything at home all right?"
Leon nodded. "Everyone's been worried, but I promised the lady Morgana I'd bring you back," he said, with a smile.
"Morgana?" Arthur said, as the group continued on its way. "She's probably just glad to have run of the castle without me there to rein her in."
Merlin threw him a sharp glance, but Arthur and Leon were already moving on to other topics of discussion, and he was left to wonder just how true Arthur's flippant statement might be. Arthur had no reason to distrust Morgana, but Merlin had plenty; he didn't know what had been said or done during her long absence, but it seemed a very pretty coincidence, as he thought about it now, that Arthur should be sent away as soon as she'd returned, and not merely sent away but cut off from his reinforcements and nearly killed as well by a creature from the worst of nightmares.
He was sorry, still sorry that he'd tried to kill her. But not as sorry as she would be if he found out she had been behind the attack.
Buoyed by the prince's safe discovery, the company made it back to the castle well before nightfall, and Arthur was called to an audience with the king as soon as he dismounted. In the great hall, Uther smiled, pleased, upon seeing Arthur alive and well, and seated to his left, Morgana immediately leapt from her chair, squeezing Arthur's hand, shades of relief in her eyes.
Merlin stood at one side of the room, mostly unnoticed, watching the proceedings closely; he couldn't help the stab of suspicion that Morgana might be putting on a very good performance, and consequently, the anger that followed on its heels.
As Arthur reported to his father what had happened on the journey, however, there was no mistaking the shock that crossed Morgana's face, the worry that creased her brow, and Merlin's ire abated, petering out as quickly as it had surged to life. Perhaps she was that good an actor and Merlin was being taken in, but it seemed as though she was genuinely horrified to hear of the serpent's attack, not to mention its unlikely existence to begin with, and Merlin frowned to himself, torn in more directions than ever.
"-- but without Merlin's help, I doubt I could have overcome it," said Arthur, and Merlin blinked at the sound of his own name.
"Yes, good," said Uther, losing interest in the narrative now that it had come to a servant's exploits. He waved a generous, dismissive hand. "A few extra coins this week for his services to the throne, perhaps."
Merlin bowed stiffly and affected a smile of servile obligation, catching Morgana's eye as he straightened; the resentment that burned in her gaze still cut like a knife, but it was duller somehow, tinged with something like grudging curiosity. It disappeared a moment later, along with Morgana's regard, as Uther dismissed Arthur and the knights from the hall, and he wasn't sure if he hadn't imagined it in the first place.
As the assemblage exited the room, Merlin felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, and knew without looking that it was Arthur. He turned.
"Merlin. I want you to know..." he said in a low voice. In the dancing light of the sconces that studded the wall, shadows unfurled over his face, and he looked more serious than Merlin had ever seen. A knight, straggling behind the rest, passed by; Arthur glanced at him with a nod as he walked past, and when his gaze returned to Merlin, the moment was gone. One side of Arthur's mouth lifted. "Take the night off. You've earned it."
"Thank you, sire," said Merlin, for lack of anything more useful to say.
Arthur gave him another long moment's consideration, and then turned on his heel and headed toward his chambers. Staring after him produced little other result, so Merlin made his way back to his own quarters, body battered and fatigued, but his mind still trying feverishly to untangle the jumble of his thoughts.
"Ah! My boy," said Gaius, when Merlin threw the door open, and came forward with his arms outstretched to embrace him, fond and familiar. "I heard you and Arthur ran into a bit of trouble?"
Merlin smiled. "That's putting it lightly," he said, moving towards Gaius's overworked bookshelves. "What do you have on giant snakes?"
"My goodness," said Gaius, and surveyed his collection for a moment before pulling out several large volumes, to Merlin's increased dismay.
Sat at an empty end of Gaius's workbench, Merlin, plied with tea and leftover stew, set to work paging through each tome. By the fourth book his energy was beginning to flag dramatically, and he groaned out loud, slumping onto the table like a limp slab. He turned the page and immediately shot up again.
"There," he said, pointing to an inked image of a rearing snake, fangs bared and tipped with venom, horns poised to strike, and about five times larger than the little, hand-drawn figures dropping their farming tools and running away from it. "That's it. Gaius, that's what we fought."
Gaius shuffled over and peered at the end of Merlin's finger. "Cerastes," he intoned, and frowned, flicking a significant look at Merlin. "It is a creature of magic."
Merlin stared at the picture; remove the extra people fleeing in horror and swap out the pitchfork for a sword, and the drawing could have been of him and Arthur facing down the awful serpent. "Do you mean somebody conjured it up?"
"It's possible," said Gaius. "I have not heard news of them in these parts for a very long time."
"So someone might have made it specifically to get at Arthur?"
One eyebrow made a dash for the top of his head as Gaius stared at him, unsure how Merlin had got from one thought to the next. "What makes you think that?"
Merlin hesitated. Conspiracy theories were nothing new in Camelot, but in this case he had nothing more to go on than a gut feeling and what could easily be put down to coincidence. "What," he asked slowly, "do you think Morgana was doing while she was away?"
Another frown pulled at the physician's mouth. "Thinking up an escape plan, I'd imagine," he said, and eyed Merlin closely. "Are you saying Morgana had something to do with this?"
"I don't know," Merlin sighed, and scrubbed a dry palm over his face. "I just don't think it's an accident that following Morgana's directions led Arthur to being attacked."
Gaius squeezed his shoulder. "The people who took her must have known Arthur would be coming after them; they could have easily set the trap and gone," he said, a kindly look in his eye, which was somehow worse than if he had rebuked Merlin for thinking such scandalous thoughts in the first place. "You're tired, Merlin. Get some rest; it'll make more sense in the morning."
Merlin's face screwed with dissatisfaction.
"Look," said Gaius. "I've known Morgana since she was a little girl. She is capable of many things, but trying to kill Arthur --" He shook his head.
Whether that was true or not, Merlin couldn't quite be certain, but he was in no state of mind to argue the point at present. What Gaius had posited made far more sense than Morgana wanting Arthur dead; her objections and recriminations had always been laid at Uther's feet, not Arthur's, and Merlin himself had seen the horrified expression on her face when Arthur had related the news of the attack and could readily believe that she'd had nothing to do with it. But he couldn't shake the feeling that she had still been involved somehow.
"I suppose you're right," said Merlin, eventually, closing the book.
Gaius smiled warmly at Merlin, reaching out to give his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. "I'm sure I am. Now, I have a few errands to run, my boy, but you should get some sleep while I'm gone."
The idea struck Merlin as very appealing, suddenly. With a little wave, he watched as Gaius toddled out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him.
Merlin eyed the books still strewn haphazardly across the workbench and decided that the least he could do for Gaius would be to put them away before going to sleep. The physician was not as young as he sometimes liked to think, and each tome was quite heavy. The problem, Merlin quickly discovered, was that he barely had the energy to stand himself, let alone lift several cumbersome texts.
Without any real thought or consideration for what he was doing, Merlin extended his hand and muttered a few words as he levitated the first book from the table, guiding it to its proper place on Gaius' shelf.
Halfway through the pile, a silky voice slithered in behind him. "Well."
There was a loud thunk as the book dropped to the floor, instantly stopped in its course towards the shelf, and Merlin spun round to find Morgana advancing slowly on him with measured footsteps, a dagger twirled idly between her fingers. It was small, but he had no doubt of the extent of damage she could do if she put her mind to it; he'd seen her with a sword before, and coupled with the incredible menace she'd packed into the single word uttered thus far, the fear seeping through his body seemed the only logical and appropriate response. Merlin hadn't even heard her enter the room, and the knowledge filled him with a sickening sense of horror. How could he have been so utterly careless, so completely foolish? His feet shifted backwards.
"Morgana," he said, eyes darting about for any sign of her private guard. He'd caught wind of the tail end of a conversation between Arthur and one of his knights, informing him that Uther had kept a tight leash on Morgana since they'd set out on their journey. Surely she wouldn't openly murder him in Leon's presence.
As though she could read his mind, Morgana said brusquely, eyes glittering like cold stars in an endless sky, "He's meeting with some of the knights. It's just you and me, Merlin."
"What are you doing here?" he asked. It was a stupid question and he knew it, but he was clutching at straws to stall for time, for all the good it would do.
"Oh," she said, playing along, "I ran out of the sleeping draught Gaius usually gives me; thought I might as well fetch some more as I was passing by." The knife glinted as she drew the blade along her fingertips, testing its sharpness, and her voice took on its an edge. "Lucky coincidence to find you here."
In the time it took him to swallow the panic rising in his throat, Merlin found himself shoved against the bookshelf at the back of the wall, the force so sudden that it took him a second to register Morgana's forearm pressing flat at his throat and the knife in her raised fist, aimed at the dead centre of his chest. Her eyes burned, all pretences abandoned and leaving nothing but steel and fury.
"You," she said in a voice so savage it could have torn the world to shreds. "You utter bastard."
"Morgana, please," he choked, but made no move to fight her off, half-hoping she'd just stab him and get it over with.
"Defend yourself," Morgana hissed through clenched teeth, "sorcerer."
Merlin's eyes pricked with tears, and whether that was from the crushing pain at his throat or the flood of past regrets, it was difficult to tell, and made no easier by the realisation that not only did she have the grounds to extract an eye for an eye, his sheer carelessness, his stupidity and laziness had let slip his true identity to her. For his betrayal, for his selfishness, for his unwillingness to help her when she'd needed it the most, he couldn't fault her anger.
"I'm sorry," he rasped. "I'm sorry."
His throat tightened, all apologies smashed flat as Morgana bore her arm down on his windpipe. "You're sorry?" she spat. "For what? Poisoning me? Letting me think I was mad and dangerous? Leaving me on my own to struggle with my abilities when you yourself have magic? And all the while calling yourself my friend? Give me one good reason, Merlin, one good reason why I shouldn't strike you down where you stand."
Merlin opened his mouth, but no more sound could escape than air could get in. He wondered, inanely, when Gaius would discover his body, if Morgana left anything to be found.
Her right arm, poised to strike, suddenly flagged, and with another ungracious push, she let Merlin slide down the wall and tossed the dagger away like an old plaything; it bounded harmlessly across the floor.
"Thank you," he croaked, slumped to the ground and massaging his neck.
"You're no good to me dead," Morgana said, barely looking at him now; her hands shook for a moment and she clasped them tightly across her stomach. "There are too few of us as it is, and I won't do Uther's dirty work for him."
"Morgana --"
She flicked a careless glance his way. "You have magic," she said, as a statement of fact.
Merlin nodded. "I'm sorry," he said again, uselessly.
This time, the look she shot him was sharp enough to cut glass. "You abandoned me, and then tried to kill me. Do you really think that's enough?"
"No. And maybe it will never be, but please -- please believe that I had no choice," Merlin said, scrabbling to his feet, and swallowed another sorry. All the apologies in the world would get him nowhere, when she didn't want to hear them. "All of Camelot would have died because of you; it was the only way I could save them."
It was nearly imperceptible, a flinch that seized Morgana's features, and it fled as quickly as it came. She stared at him, the hauteur of royalty, making him feel as insignificant as the dirt beneath her feet. "Sometimes sacrifices need to be made for the greater good," she said. "At least it would have effected change. We could have been free. All you managed to do was earn yourself an enemy and reinstate Uther to his old ways."
For a second, Merlin wished he had her strength of conviction. Long had he wished things might be different, that persecution didn't hound him and his like at every corner, that his life might not be a lie. But he remembered the terrified, helpless look on her face that afternoon; no matter what she said now, it was clear that at the time of the sleeping spell, she had had no idea she was the one causing it.
"Was it your choice?" Merlin asked. "Would you have let everyone just die like that? Arthur, Gwen, Gaius?"
The arrogance faded for a moment, and in her hesitance, Merlin gleaned the answer; she was just as conflicted as he was about her place in this world, tied to the familiar and the friendly whilst stamping down an essential part of herself that longed to shine. He knew the feeling, the constant vacillation between the mundanity of an ordinary life, but a life nonetheless, and proving himself to be extraordinary, but dying for it. For himself, he'd made the latter option unavailable; whether or not the dragon had lied to him with his grand words about destiny, Merlin knew, fate aside, that he loved Arthur and needed to protect him, and if the world never knew what powers he held at his fingertips, then so be it. For Morgana...
He blinked at her curiously, overriding the trepidation churning around his insides to ask the question that had plagued him ever since her return. "Why have you come back?"
It took her a moment too long to respond. "I don't know what you mean."
"I mean," said Merlin carefully, "that you weren't taken or held against your will, were you? You could have been free, outside Camelot."
Morgana narrowed an assessing gaze on him, weighing her options and their consequences. Eventually, she said, "I'm here to set things right."
"What does that mean? What are you planning?"
"It means, Merlin, that I'm doing what you haven't the courage to do," she said, a rise of anger flushing her cheeks. Her voice softened, but it was no less dangerous, as she added, "And if you get in my way, getting sentenced to the pyre will be the least of your worries."
Merlin shook his head. "Morgana, whatever it is --"
"Is none of your concern," she snapped. "Stay out of it, Merlin."
With that, she sailed out of the workshop, all elegance even in her fury. Merlin stared at the door for a moment, then sank down on his haunches and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, tired and helpless and alone.
Continue to Chapter Eight