Before the Sun Breaks Another Day -- Chapter Nine
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: 4,873
Disclaimer: Not ours. No money is being made. Please don't sue.
Authors' Note: Many thanks to ravenflight21 for the beta/Brit-pick, especially for squeezing in this chapter on short notice. Also, we will be taking a posting break for a couple of weeks.
Previous Chapters: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight
CHAPTER NINE
For daring to question his father's authority in front of the whole court, this was his punishment -- his royal presence not only officially requested at the beheading, but physically escorted there by a three-man retinue. Arthur kept his fingers locked behind his back, lest they should try to make a break for the executioner's axe and run away with it; that would be as useless as attempting to influence Uther's closed mind, it would only put a temporary halt to the proceedings, and then Uther would probably force first-hand decapitation experience on him for being insolent.
Below, the assembled crowd droned in an indistinct, collective murmur as the prisoner was led -- practically carried -- to the platform; he sank to his knees without prompting and rested his chin on the block. The executioner adjusted his hood.
Unconsciously, Arthur's hand crept to the back of his own neck; he remembered the adrenaline pumping through his veins, chased by quiet resignation, when he'd chosen to honour his word to Morgause and offer himself to her axe and mercy. He remembered the curve of the wooden block, carved and smoothed to a perfect angle, and Merlin shouting at him, and the apology he'd composed silently in his head to nobody in particular and everyone he loved.
There had been no drums then as there were now, a steady countdown setting a base rhythm to the racing beat of his own heart. There had been a choice then as there wasn't now, just a heavy air of inevitability that made Arthur want to sigh and rage at the same time.
Uther raised his arm, slicing the crowd into silence. In perfect, practised succession, his arm flagged a final drumbeat to resound across the courtyard, and the axe flashed.
His face could betray nothing, but Arthur's insides clenched at the sight, another warning to those in defiance of Camelot's rule, another waste. Standing before the balustrade, Uther addressed his gathered subjects, some of whom were still staring at the blood and the body, but Arthur, seizing the earliest opportunity to get away, slipped back into the castle, frustration following him like a shadow.
He was, however, grateful for the small favour Merlin had granted him in acceding to his wishes earlier that morning to stay behind in the royal chambers and take care of chores that Arthur had largely invented. It hadn't escaped his notice that Uther's pronouncement of the young boy's death a few days earlier had made Merlin look as though he might be sick; given Merlin's aversion to killing for sport under normal circumstances, and the recent, sad fragility that tinged his every movement, it was clear that he needed much less serious things to occupy his mind, if only for a little while.
Not, of course, that the complete and proper care of every single piece of clothing Arthur owned was a frivolous matter.
Arthur strode into his chambers, injecting his voice with a probably unhealthy dose of jocularity. "Well, now, Merlin," he said, eyeing his manservant sitting cross-legged on the floor next to the wrinkled contents of Arthur's wardrobe. At Merlin's feet, a small scatter of needles and a rainbow of threads spilled from a little basket. "Hard at work, I see?"
"As I was told," said Merlin, inspecting a hem closely. "Though I still haven't found the shirt you wanted mended."
"Oh," said Arthur airily. "Forget it, then."
Merlin raised a baleful eyebrow. "This morning you told me one of your sleeves had a little tear in it and princes couldn't go around wearing tatters and I was to fix it straight away. Even though you couldn't remember which shirt it was," he said, in a tone so pointed Arthur nearly had to dance out of the way of being stabbed.
As if it was Arthur's fault that the gods and seamstresses had blessed him so kindly with myriad tunics to last him through old age and beyond. Although, perhaps, I think it's a red one that's got mangled, Merlin; no, maybe blue -- actually, possibly brown, and why don't you just check all of them? may have been a tad much.
"Yes, well, on second thoughts," said Arthur, rallying, "princes of my calibre can also afford to buy up all of Camelot's linen industry, so one tear probably isn't going to ruin me."
Merlin's mouth twisted to the side as he considered the jumble of clothing in front of him. "Would it be a lot to ask for you to have your epiphanies a bit quicker next time?"
Careful to maintain a casual air, Arthur toed aside some of the shirts and sat next to Merlin on the floor. He leaned against the wall just underneath a window that streamed sunlight onto Merlin's hands, absently twining a shirtsleeve around his fingers. "Possible," Arthur conceded, watching Merlin wind and unwind the cloth, "though it did look to me like you needed some busy work to get your mind off things for a while."
"What are you talking about?"
"Why don't you tell me?"
Merlin looked at a crack in the floor, frowning at it like it had done him some grave injustice. "I don't know what you mean."
Arthur waved an irritable hand. "Come off it, Merlin; I'm not blind. Half the time you look as though someone's applied thumbscrews to your favourite puppy."
"Dogs haven't got thumbs," he mumbled.
"Oh, apply logic only when it suits you?"
Merlin shrugged helplessly. "Take it up with Mother Nature if you're not satisfied with how dogs turned out."
"Look," said Arthur, putting his foot down before the conversation veered completely out of hand. "I'm not going to ask you what's wrong, all right? You're only going to tell me everything's fine, even though it's obviously not and you're a terrible liar."
Merlin's stare was equal parts grateful and terrified.
"Something's worrying you; that much is pretty clear. And if you need to work it out on your own, fine. But if you can't, just know," Arthur said slowly, deliberately, "that whatever it is, or whoever it is, you can come to me, when you're ready. And I will -- take care of it." Hearing the words assemble themselves as they came out of his mouth slightly differently than he'd envisioned, he added, "That sounded a bit like I was insinuating that I'd kill someone for you; I can't promise that."
"I wouldn't ask you to," Merlin protested hastily.
"No," said Arthur, feeling reckless. "But I'd consider it, anyway."
"Arthur." There was a warning tone to his voice, the same one Arthur often ignored before bounding off to do something stupid, and over time its frequent usage had turned up a long-suffering quality at its edges.
"Oh, all right," sighed Arthur, who could match long-suffering pitch for pitch. "Only the thumbscrews, then."
In spite of himself, Merlin snickered.
"There you are," Arthur said softly to the light flickering behind Merlin's eyes. His chest tightened at the sight; it had been a long time since he'd seen Merlin's eyes really shine, and, he suspected, it would be a long while yet before he saw it again.
Checking himself, Arthur clapped Merlin on the shoulder with more force than necessary, bending him double, and heaved himself up off the floor. He straightened his clothes and rubbed his hands together, signalling the end of the conversation and the start of pretending it had never happened.
The decision was made before she really even had time to process the recklessness of what she was doing. But it'd been nearly three weeks already, Arthur had returned from his mission, and Morgana was no closer to becoming queen than she had been before he'd even set off. Morgause would be coming to check on her progress soon, and Morgana was not going to let her down. It was time to take definitive action. Tonight was the night that she made her intentions clear, and prayed to whatever gods may be listening that all went according to plan.
Throwing open her chamber doors, Morgana shot Leon a pointed look. "I need to see the king."
He blinked, stared at Morgana for a fraction of a second, as though waiting for further explanation. But when none was forthcoming, he nodded his head, smiling. "Of course."
They made their way down the hall in silence. It was the quietest walk they'd embarked on since the first day he'd been assigned as her personal guard, but he seemed to sense she had something on her mind, and didn't push. She was both grateful and yet also slightly disquieted, somehow. It wasn't that she wanted him to ask; she wouldn't have told him the truth anyway. But where most might have attempted conversation for the sake of simply filling the quiet void, or stood back and maintained an appropriate distance, Leon did neither, quite purposefully. It disturbed Morgana, at times, how much he seemed to truly understand how her mind worked, and she worried, now, if he somehow had figured out her scheme, or worse -- if he'd lost all respect for her. Though why it should matter either way was not a matter she wished to entertain.
"You can wait out here, Leon," Morgana said, once they'd reached the throne room, throwing him what she hoped was a reassuring smile.
Without waiting for a response, she shoved open the doors to the throne room and stepped over the threshold. Uther's gaze snapped up, at first in alarm, but the worry faded immediately upon sighting her.
"My lord, I'm sorry for interrupting you," she said, voice unduly apologetic.
But Uther shook his head, gesturing for her to enter. "Nonsense. You know I always have time for you."
With a quick nod of his head, Uther dismissed the guards from the room, and they quietly made their way out, pulling the doors shut behind them.
Uther pushed aside the papers that lay strewn across the table behind which he sat, indicating for her to take a seat, and Morgana found herself, quite unexpectedly, touched by the action, that he would put her above his work. However, as quickly as the sentiment arose, she forced herself to shove it back down, steeling herself for what she was about to do. There was no room for emotional attachment in this plan, and she wasn't about to start now.
"What can I do for you, Morgana?"
Several potential responses had floated through her mind, long before the question had even been asked, in preparation for this very moment. There were several ways the scenario could play itself out, but she was only interested in the one that inevitably helped push her plans forward. Uther was a strong man, hardened by grief and loss and the burden of running a kingdom alone for so many years, but he also had his weaknesses, one of which worked very much in Morgana's favour, and it was this vulnerability that she sought to exploit now.
"It's nothing, really... It's just--" She trailed off, turning her head, as though embarrassed. Quieter, barely more than a whisper, "It's silly."
Uther eyed her, concern and fondness radiating from his features in equal measure. "You know I would never think anything you had to say was silly."
Morgana bit her lip, determinedly shoving down the tiny pangs gnawing at the back of her chest that felt suspiciously like guilt. "It's been good to be back, to finally be home again. I never realised how much I missed everyone. But what I've come to realise most is just how much I relied on certain people for strength and the feeling of safety." Instead of sitting, as had been offered earlier, Morgana turned her back to Uther, head bowed and shoulders slumping. "It's not easy for me to admit, but while I feel safe within these walls once again, sometimes I remember my ordeals-- And I'm filled with the urge to be near to the person who makes all those feelings disappear." She stared at a spot on the far wall, hardening her mind as she simultaneously allowed her features to soften, allowing the implications of her words to hang in the air.
As predicted, the sounds of a chair scraping against the stone floor indicated that Uther was making to stand, and it came as no surprise when a gentle hand found its way to her shoulder shortly thereafter.
"I'm sorry I wasn't able to protect you, and I will live with that guilt for the rest of my life," Uther said, tugging on Morgana's arm until they stood face to face.
Morgana cast her gaze upon him, eyes glistening with unshed tears which were alarmingly easy to conjure. "I know you will, but you mustn't blame yourself. The important thing is that I'm home now."
"Yes. Yes, I suppose you're right," Uther agreed, voice steady but eyes distant. And then, in the next moment, Morgana found herself nearly falling into Uther's embrace, as he pulled her to him in a firm hug. Burying her face in his shoulder, she found her arms tightening around Uther's waist unconsciously, in spite of herself, soaking in some of the strength he seemed to imbue. The thought rose in the back of her mind once more, that maybe it was possible that Uther did love her just as he claimed, and Morgana searched through her memories for an instance where he'd been awful, if only to reassure herself that she was still doing the right thing. But the reality was all too clear. Uther may claim to love her, but he would have her executed were he ever to discover the extent of her magical abilities, and she clung to this truth as desperately as a starving man to his last scrap of food.
"I feel the safest when I'm around you," Morgana said, when Uther pulled away from her, ducking her head briefly as though she hadn't meant for those words to slip past her lips.
Before she could talk herself out of the action, Morgana leaned forward and pressed her mouth to Uther's. It was chaste, soft, barely the touch of lips, and yet she instantly felt the hesitation in his body as Uther's muscles seemed to tense simultaneously. She reached up to press a palm against his neck, fingers dancing around the edges of his fringe. Uther had yet to respond to her advances in any way, frozen to the spot by either fear or shock, but on the other hand, he also hadn't shoved her away just yet, and for that, Morgana felt a small sense of satisfaction. Perhaps this hadn't been the worst plan. Maybe, just maybe, he'd even begun to fall for her in the way she'd been anticipating since her return to Camelot.
Unfortunately fate had a sick sense of humour, and there was no way of determining the results of her weeks of slow seduction, as the door to the hall suddenly burst open, forcing the charade to an abrupt halt with simultaneous gasps from the intruders.
"What on earth is going on here?" a voice demanded, and Morgana didn't need to look to know to whom it belonged.
Uther wrenched away from her first, hands clutching both arms in a white-knuckled embrace (when had that happened?) as they both turned, as one, to face not only Arthur, but Leon as well. Their matching looks of shock and confusion might almost have been comical, had this been a dream. Or perhaps another situation in which she was merely an observer and not actively involved. As it was, however, that was not the case, and Morgana felt something like embarrassment, and perhaps even a small twinge of guilt, well up inside her, grabbing at her conscience with a chokehold.
"This is not--" Uther swallowed, taking half a step away from Morgana. "--not what it looks like."
Arthur's eyes narrowed, gaze shifting back and forth between them, filled with suspicion and uncertainty. "So you two weren't just kissing then?" he asked slowly, a single finger drawing a line in the air through the space between Uther and Morgana.
"No. Well, yes. But as I say, this isn't what it appears to be," Uther said, sounding far more in control than Morgana would've anticipated. However, she was glad to let him handle this unexpected invasion, her own cheeks flushed a deep red, and she found she couldn't quite meet either Arthur or Leon's eyes... couldn't bear to see what was written in their expressions.
"Funny. I'm having a hard time trying to figure out what other explanation there possibly could be."
Arthur's indictment hung in the air, unchallenged, and Morgana, finally finding the courage to turn her eyes to him, could see a rash of emotions fly across his face before colliding into nothingness. Abruptly, he spun on his heel and marched out of the room; that he hadn't the wherewithal to deal with any of this right now was clear, a propensity for denial one of the many traits he'd inherited from his father.
But even as his footsteps faded, each rang with accusation, and it was too much to bear in the wide silence of the throne room, where Uther stood rooted to the floor, staring, and Leon plastered himself against one wall, out of place and with no leave to stay or go. Morgana fled the room.
She was being a coward, and she knew it. The shame of it gnawed at her, but still it was preferable to the judgment she'd felt boring into her back as she'd run from the throne room, and if she never felt that burn again it would be too soon.
Impatient, she'd overplayed her hand with Uther, and now she was probably right back where she'd started with this whole improbable plan. Or possibly even farther back than that, considering that she couldn't face looking Uther straight in the eye again. For the moment she couldn't even remember why she'd thought it such a clever scheme to begin with, or why Morgause let her go through with it, or what kind of thrill she was supposed to get from weakening the king.
Things weren't supposed to be like this. There wasn't supposed to be room in her heart for guilt or regret or exception. And there certainly wasn't any good reason why the sting of failure should feel so much less painful than the violent twist of her stomach every time she thought of Arthur and Leon witnessing what they had.
Conflicting emotions came at her from all sides -- she wanted to take back everything she'd done; she wanted to regroup and focus on how she could move things forwards with Uther and take him down; she wanted to hide in her room until it all blew over. But, eventually, clawing its way through to the top was the desperate urge to make things right with Arthur; she needed him on her side.
She found him in his chambers, loitering sullenly amidst debris that had no doubt been thrown in a fit of temper. "Arthur," she said, shutting the door behind her.
He shot her a glare.
"Look, it wasn't --"
"What? It wasn't what it looked like? So I've been told," Arthur said sourly.
"It's really not what you think." Which, technically, was true; it was only what she'd wanted him and everyone else to think, although, had she had the choice, the timing of his discovery would have been significantly different. Twenty years from now, for instance.
"It's not what I think," Arthur parroted slowly, his aptitude for sarcasm truly outstanding. "What am I to think, then? Did you trip and fall onto his face? Or did a snake bite him on the mouth, and you were only trying to be helpful and suck the poison out? Am I anywhere close?"
"Arthur, you're being ridiculous."
"Are you sure you haven't got me confused with you?"
Morgana drew herself up, trying to look in control of the conversation. She'd always known this would happen sooner or later; after all, wresting control of the kingdom from under Uther's nose wasn't exactly the sort of thing that would escape notice. But Arthur was difficult to anticipate and difficult to handle; there were times when he seemed to have an endless reservoir of calm wisdom, accepting and adapting to challenges as they came, and others when he dug his heels in like a little boy, never satisfied with any explanation as long as he could tack on a but why? at the end of it.
"It just happened, all right?" Morgana said. She took in a breath; she didn't want to keep lying to him, but telling him the truth was even less of an option. "I -- You don't know how hard it's been for me these past few months, and even now that I'm back. Uther... He makes me feel safe. I can't explain it any more than that."
Arthur's expression softened, but he shook his head. "You are safe here. You have me, and Sir Leon and every knight of Camelot at your disposal."
"You just don't understand."
"No, I really don't. Please, enlighten me. Because from where I'm standing, this is madness. He's old enough to be your father. He practically is your father!"
"Right," said Morgana slowly. Appealing to Arthur's better nature was obviously getting her nowhere. She cocked an eyebrow. "Well, forgive me if I'm not exactly eager to take romantic advice from someone who's proposed marriage to two women in as many years after knowing them for approximately, what, an hour?"
Blindsided, Arthur took a step backwards. "What? What are you talking about?"
Morgana's laugh was brittle. "Sophia and Vivian? Don't tell me you've forgotten them already."
"Of course I haven't," Arthur protested, straightening as though about to launch into an impassioned explanation, but he stopped himself and narrowed his gaze at her. "Where is this coming from? That has nothing to do with anything."
"Come off it, Arthur. Just because you're emotionally stunted doesn't mean the rest of us have to be."
"Emotionally stunted?"
"Yes," she hissed. "Need I mention again your grand plan to elope? And what of Gwen?"
Arthur looked completely perplexed now. "What about Gwen?"
The thread of the conversation was sprinting away from him now, and truth be told, Morgana didn't even fully understand half the things she was saying even as she said them, but the important thing was to keep Arthur distracted, confused, and entirely off the point. It probably wouldn't keep him off her back for very long, but for now she'd buy any time she could get. Whatever ended up being her next step with Uther, it would be made far less complicated if she didn't have to deal with a petulant prince at the same time.
"That's exactly what I'm talking about," she said. "You don't even know there's a problem."
"Oh," Arthur said, lifting up an interrupting finger, "I know there's a problem." His brow furrowed as soon as the words left his mouth, unsure what he'd just admitted to in his haste for one-upmanship.
"Oh, do you?" Morgana said, heavy encouragement in her voice. "Do tell?"
He hesitated.
She patted his arm in the most patronising manner she could achieve. "Let me help. You've been making eyes at her for a year now, but you won't commit to anything."
"It's complicated," Arthur said, averting his gaze.
Morgana scoffed. "No, it isn't. Either you truly love her or you don't. And if you don't, which I suspect is the case, then you'd do well to stop leading her on. She's not somebody you can just pull on a string whenever you feel like it."
"Which you suspect is the case?" Arthur repeated. "Just what is that supposed to mean?"
"Gwen thinks you're in love with someone else. I'd say that's pretty telling, wouldn't you?"
Arthur levelled a condescending glare at her. "There isn't anyone else. Who could I possibly be in love with?"
She almost missed it. He probably didn't know he'd even done it. But just like that, pieces she never even knew had been missing fell perfectly into place. Who could he possibly be in love with, indeed? His eyes had flicked, on those words, towards the antechamber where Merlin sometimes slept when Arthur was ill or feeling particularly demanding, and Morgana felt leverage anchor firmly at her feet.
It was suddenly so obvious she couldn't believe she'd never realised it before. She'd always known, rather abstractly, that mere coincidence couldn't account for Arthur growing so quickly out of his aimless arrogance and into someone she'd one day be proud to call her king; Merlin's arrival at Camelot had actively precipitated it. But beyond the deep loyalty and friendly repartee, she hadn't recognised the undercurrent that ran silently across their interactions for what it was. And with this tiny, unconscious action on Arthur's part, it all became clear now; the looks they shared, the way they tilted every expectation of the master-servant relationship on its head, the unwavering devotion that even the worst of insults couldn't mask -- they all spoke to one thing.
"Does he know?" she asked.
"Who? Know what?"
"Merlin," she practically purred. "Does he know?"
"What, that you've gone off the deep end? No, I don't believe so, Morgana, but I'll be sure to make a point of telling him."
She smiled, pityingly, and leaned forward. "Does he know, Arthur, that you're in love with him?"
There was a great deal of indignant sputtering to be endured before Arthur pulled himself together, eyeing her with disbelief when he realised she was waiting for a real answer. "Merlin? Merlin? You mean my manservant? Merlin? Who can't follow orders or do anything right to save his life?"
Morgana shrugged nonchalantly, even as some inward part of her triumphed at having zeroed in on the perfect way to divert Arthur's attention. "Well, why should he bother when you've proven time and again that you're obviously more than willing to give yours for his?"
"That's-- He's--" Arthur struggled, apparently finding this insouciant remark more than a little difficult to face head-on. Considering it had taken her this long to see it, she wasn't surprised that Arthur himself had never seriously contemplated the implications of his own regard for Merlin. After a few more false starts, he settled vaguely on, "He's done a great deal for me. His loyalty deserves mine in return."
"I don't see you sticking your neck out like that for someone like Leon. Or any other knight," she appended.
Arthur huffed irritably. "That's because they're perfectly capable of taking care of themselves. Merlin -- Merlin's useless."
Morgana glanced at him sharply, a sudden spark of recognition triggered in her memory banks. "Is he?"
"We are talking about the same Merlin, aren't we?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at her.
"Yes, of course. The one you're in love with," she replied.
Her tone was tart, and the way Arthur's face flushed red suggested that she'd managed to hit the right nerve again, but she couldn't concentrate fully on that little victory when her mind was racing with the significance of Arthur's remarks. He did think Merlin was useless. But Merlin very much wasn't; she'd seen proof of it herself. Which meant that either Arthur knew nothing of Merlin's magic -- perhaps deliberately -- or that he was keeping Merlin's secret for him.
Arthur glared. "Will you stop saying that? No one's in love with Merlin, least of all me."
"Yes," Morgana said, barely suppressing a grin, "you keep telling yourself that, Arthur."
If she had to guess whether Arthur simply didn't understand his own feelings, or was refusing to understand them, or was playing dumb, she'd toss out the final option first. Arthur was good at a lot of things, but being purposefully and effectively misleading was not one of them; one of his great traits and downfalls was that he often kept his heart right on his sleeve, and there wasn't a shadow of a doubt in her mind now of what place Merlin held in Arthur's esteem.
And perhaps more importantly, she now had exactly what she needed to lord over Merlin's head to keep him quiet and compliant. She almost admired him for being able to deceive Arthur for so long; clearly, none of them ever really knew Merlin at all.
Arthur opened his mouth to protest some more, but there was a short knock at the door, and Merlin stuck his head in. He looked surprised to see Morgana there, but pulled his attention from her, addressing Arthur instead.
"The king wants to see you," Merlin said, obviously uncomfortable in the present company.
A frown crossed Arthur's mouth, but he strode to the door anyway. He stopped short, just as he passed Merlin, and turned to Morgana, raising a finger in warning. "We never had this conversation," he said, and walked out, his footsteps dragging down the hallway.
Before Merlin could follow suit, Morgana grasped him by the arm and held him back. "Maybe. But this conversation, Merlin, is definitely happening."
Continue to Chapter Ten
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: 4,873
Disclaimer: Not ours. No money is being made. Please don't sue.
Authors' Note: Many thanks to ravenflight21 for the beta/Brit-pick, especially for squeezing in this chapter on short notice. Also, we will be taking a posting break for a couple of weeks.
Previous Chapters: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight
CHAPTER NINE
For daring to question his father's authority in front of the whole court, this was his punishment -- his royal presence not only officially requested at the beheading, but physically escorted there by a three-man retinue. Arthur kept his fingers locked behind his back, lest they should try to make a break for the executioner's axe and run away with it; that would be as useless as attempting to influence Uther's closed mind, it would only put a temporary halt to the proceedings, and then Uther would probably force first-hand decapitation experience on him for being insolent.
Below, the assembled crowd droned in an indistinct, collective murmur as the prisoner was led -- practically carried -- to the platform; he sank to his knees without prompting and rested his chin on the block. The executioner adjusted his hood.
Unconsciously, Arthur's hand crept to the back of his own neck; he remembered the adrenaline pumping through his veins, chased by quiet resignation, when he'd chosen to honour his word to Morgause and offer himself to her axe and mercy. He remembered the curve of the wooden block, carved and smoothed to a perfect angle, and Merlin shouting at him, and the apology he'd composed silently in his head to nobody in particular and everyone he loved.
There had been no drums then as there were now, a steady countdown setting a base rhythm to the racing beat of his own heart. There had been a choice then as there wasn't now, just a heavy air of inevitability that made Arthur want to sigh and rage at the same time.
Uther raised his arm, slicing the crowd into silence. In perfect, practised succession, his arm flagged a final drumbeat to resound across the courtyard, and the axe flashed.
His face could betray nothing, but Arthur's insides clenched at the sight, another warning to those in defiance of Camelot's rule, another waste. Standing before the balustrade, Uther addressed his gathered subjects, some of whom were still staring at the blood and the body, but Arthur, seizing the earliest opportunity to get away, slipped back into the castle, frustration following him like a shadow.
He was, however, grateful for the small favour Merlin had granted him in acceding to his wishes earlier that morning to stay behind in the royal chambers and take care of chores that Arthur had largely invented. It hadn't escaped his notice that Uther's pronouncement of the young boy's death a few days earlier had made Merlin look as though he might be sick; given Merlin's aversion to killing for sport under normal circumstances, and the recent, sad fragility that tinged his every movement, it was clear that he needed much less serious things to occupy his mind, if only for a little while.
Not, of course, that the complete and proper care of every single piece of clothing Arthur owned was a frivolous matter.
Arthur strode into his chambers, injecting his voice with a probably unhealthy dose of jocularity. "Well, now, Merlin," he said, eyeing his manservant sitting cross-legged on the floor next to the wrinkled contents of Arthur's wardrobe. At Merlin's feet, a small scatter of needles and a rainbow of threads spilled from a little basket. "Hard at work, I see?"
"As I was told," said Merlin, inspecting a hem closely. "Though I still haven't found the shirt you wanted mended."
"Oh," said Arthur airily. "Forget it, then."
Merlin raised a baleful eyebrow. "This morning you told me one of your sleeves had a little tear in it and princes couldn't go around wearing tatters and I was to fix it straight away. Even though you couldn't remember which shirt it was," he said, in a tone so pointed Arthur nearly had to dance out of the way of being stabbed.
As if it was Arthur's fault that the gods and seamstresses had blessed him so kindly with myriad tunics to last him through old age and beyond. Although, perhaps, I think it's a red one that's got mangled, Merlin; no, maybe blue -- actually, possibly brown, and why don't you just check all of them? may have been a tad much.
"Yes, well, on second thoughts," said Arthur, rallying, "princes of my calibre can also afford to buy up all of Camelot's linen industry, so one tear probably isn't going to ruin me."
Merlin's mouth twisted to the side as he considered the jumble of clothing in front of him. "Would it be a lot to ask for you to have your epiphanies a bit quicker next time?"
Careful to maintain a casual air, Arthur toed aside some of the shirts and sat next to Merlin on the floor. He leaned against the wall just underneath a window that streamed sunlight onto Merlin's hands, absently twining a shirtsleeve around his fingers. "Possible," Arthur conceded, watching Merlin wind and unwind the cloth, "though it did look to me like you needed some busy work to get your mind off things for a while."
"What are you talking about?"
"Why don't you tell me?"
Merlin looked at a crack in the floor, frowning at it like it had done him some grave injustice. "I don't know what you mean."
Arthur waved an irritable hand. "Come off it, Merlin; I'm not blind. Half the time you look as though someone's applied thumbscrews to your favourite puppy."
"Dogs haven't got thumbs," he mumbled.
"Oh, apply logic only when it suits you?"
Merlin shrugged helplessly. "Take it up with Mother Nature if you're not satisfied with how dogs turned out."
"Look," said Arthur, putting his foot down before the conversation veered completely out of hand. "I'm not going to ask you what's wrong, all right? You're only going to tell me everything's fine, even though it's obviously not and you're a terrible liar."
Merlin's stare was equal parts grateful and terrified.
"Something's worrying you; that much is pretty clear. And if you need to work it out on your own, fine. But if you can't, just know," Arthur said slowly, deliberately, "that whatever it is, or whoever it is, you can come to me, when you're ready. And I will -- take care of it." Hearing the words assemble themselves as they came out of his mouth slightly differently than he'd envisioned, he added, "That sounded a bit like I was insinuating that I'd kill someone for you; I can't promise that."
"I wouldn't ask you to," Merlin protested hastily.
"No," said Arthur, feeling reckless. "But I'd consider it, anyway."
"Arthur." There was a warning tone to his voice, the same one Arthur often ignored before bounding off to do something stupid, and over time its frequent usage had turned up a long-suffering quality at its edges.
"Oh, all right," sighed Arthur, who could match long-suffering pitch for pitch. "Only the thumbscrews, then."
In spite of himself, Merlin snickered.
"There you are," Arthur said softly to the light flickering behind Merlin's eyes. His chest tightened at the sight; it had been a long time since he'd seen Merlin's eyes really shine, and, he suspected, it would be a long while yet before he saw it again.
Checking himself, Arthur clapped Merlin on the shoulder with more force than necessary, bending him double, and heaved himself up off the floor. He straightened his clothes and rubbed his hands together, signalling the end of the conversation and the start of pretending it had never happened.
The decision was made before she really even had time to process the recklessness of what she was doing. But it'd been nearly three weeks already, Arthur had returned from his mission, and Morgana was no closer to becoming queen than she had been before he'd even set off. Morgause would be coming to check on her progress soon, and Morgana was not going to let her down. It was time to take definitive action. Tonight was the night that she made her intentions clear, and prayed to whatever gods may be listening that all went according to plan.
Throwing open her chamber doors, Morgana shot Leon a pointed look. "I need to see the king."
He blinked, stared at Morgana for a fraction of a second, as though waiting for further explanation. But when none was forthcoming, he nodded his head, smiling. "Of course."
They made their way down the hall in silence. It was the quietest walk they'd embarked on since the first day he'd been assigned as her personal guard, but he seemed to sense she had something on her mind, and didn't push. She was both grateful and yet also slightly disquieted, somehow. It wasn't that she wanted him to ask; she wouldn't have told him the truth anyway. But where most might have attempted conversation for the sake of simply filling the quiet void, or stood back and maintained an appropriate distance, Leon did neither, quite purposefully. It disturbed Morgana, at times, how much he seemed to truly understand how her mind worked, and she worried, now, if he somehow had figured out her scheme, or worse -- if he'd lost all respect for her. Though why it should matter either way was not a matter she wished to entertain.
"You can wait out here, Leon," Morgana said, once they'd reached the throne room, throwing him what she hoped was a reassuring smile.
Without waiting for a response, she shoved open the doors to the throne room and stepped over the threshold. Uther's gaze snapped up, at first in alarm, but the worry faded immediately upon sighting her.
"My lord, I'm sorry for interrupting you," she said, voice unduly apologetic.
But Uther shook his head, gesturing for her to enter. "Nonsense. You know I always have time for you."
With a quick nod of his head, Uther dismissed the guards from the room, and they quietly made their way out, pulling the doors shut behind them.
Uther pushed aside the papers that lay strewn across the table behind which he sat, indicating for her to take a seat, and Morgana found herself, quite unexpectedly, touched by the action, that he would put her above his work. However, as quickly as the sentiment arose, she forced herself to shove it back down, steeling herself for what she was about to do. There was no room for emotional attachment in this plan, and she wasn't about to start now.
"What can I do for you, Morgana?"
Several potential responses had floated through her mind, long before the question had even been asked, in preparation for this very moment. There were several ways the scenario could play itself out, but she was only interested in the one that inevitably helped push her plans forward. Uther was a strong man, hardened by grief and loss and the burden of running a kingdom alone for so many years, but he also had his weaknesses, one of which worked very much in Morgana's favour, and it was this vulnerability that she sought to exploit now.
"It's nothing, really... It's just--" She trailed off, turning her head, as though embarrassed. Quieter, barely more than a whisper, "It's silly."
Uther eyed her, concern and fondness radiating from his features in equal measure. "You know I would never think anything you had to say was silly."
Morgana bit her lip, determinedly shoving down the tiny pangs gnawing at the back of her chest that felt suspiciously like guilt. "It's been good to be back, to finally be home again. I never realised how much I missed everyone. But what I've come to realise most is just how much I relied on certain people for strength and the feeling of safety." Instead of sitting, as had been offered earlier, Morgana turned her back to Uther, head bowed and shoulders slumping. "It's not easy for me to admit, but while I feel safe within these walls once again, sometimes I remember my ordeals-- And I'm filled with the urge to be near to the person who makes all those feelings disappear." She stared at a spot on the far wall, hardening her mind as she simultaneously allowed her features to soften, allowing the implications of her words to hang in the air.
As predicted, the sounds of a chair scraping against the stone floor indicated that Uther was making to stand, and it came as no surprise when a gentle hand found its way to her shoulder shortly thereafter.
"I'm sorry I wasn't able to protect you, and I will live with that guilt for the rest of my life," Uther said, tugging on Morgana's arm until they stood face to face.
Morgana cast her gaze upon him, eyes glistening with unshed tears which were alarmingly easy to conjure. "I know you will, but you mustn't blame yourself. The important thing is that I'm home now."
"Yes. Yes, I suppose you're right," Uther agreed, voice steady but eyes distant. And then, in the next moment, Morgana found herself nearly falling into Uther's embrace, as he pulled her to him in a firm hug. Burying her face in his shoulder, she found her arms tightening around Uther's waist unconsciously, in spite of herself, soaking in some of the strength he seemed to imbue. The thought rose in the back of her mind once more, that maybe it was possible that Uther did love her just as he claimed, and Morgana searched through her memories for an instance where he'd been awful, if only to reassure herself that she was still doing the right thing. But the reality was all too clear. Uther may claim to love her, but he would have her executed were he ever to discover the extent of her magical abilities, and she clung to this truth as desperately as a starving man to his last scrap of food.
"I feel the safest when I'm around you," Morgana said, when Uther pulled away from her, ducking her head briefly as though she hadn't meant for those words to slip past her lips.
Before she could talk herself out of the action, Morgana leaned forward and pressed her mouth to Uther's. It was chaste, soft, barely the touch of lips, and yet she instantly felt the hesitation in his body as Uther's muscles seemed to tense simultaneously. She reached up to press a palm against his neck, fingers dancing around the edges of his fringe. Uther had yet to respond to her advances in any way, frozen to the spot by either fear or shock, but on the other hand, he also hadn't shoved her away just yet, and for that, Morgana felt a small sense of satisfaction. Perhaps this hadn't been the worst plan. Maybe, just maybe, he'd even begun to fall for her in the way she'd been anticipating since her return to Camelot.
Unfortunately fate had a sick sense of humour, and there was no way of determining the results of her weeks of slow seduction, as the door to the hall suddenly burst open, forcing the charade to an abrupt halt with simultaneous gasps from the intruders.
"What on earth is going on here?" a voice demanded, and Morgana didn't need to look to know to whom it belonged.
Uther wrenched away from her first, hands clutching both arms in a white-knuckled embrace (when had that happened?) as they both turned, as one, to face not only Arthur, but Leon as well. Their matching looks of shock and confusion might almost have been comical, had this been a dream. Or perhaps another situation in which she was merely an observer and not actively involved. As it was, however, that was not the case, and Morgana felt something like embarrassment, and perhaps even a small twinge of guilt, well up inside her, grabbing at her conscience with a chokehold.
"This is not--" Uther swallowed, taking half a step away from Morgana. "--not what it looks like."
Arthur's eyes narrowed, gaze shifting back and forth between them, filled with suspicion and uncertainty. "So you two weren't just kissing then?" he asked slowly, a single finger drawing a line in the air through the space between Uther and Morgana.
"No. Well, yes. But as I say, this isn't what it appears to be," Uther said, sounding far more in control than Morgana would've anticipated. However, she was glad to let him handle this unexpected invasion, her own cheeks flushed a deep red, and she found she couldn't quite meet either Arthur or Leon's eyes... couldn't bear to see what was written in their expressions.
"Funny. I'm having a hard time trying to figure out what other explanation there possibly could be."
Arthur's indictment hung in the air, unchallenged, and Morgana, finally finding the courage to turn her eyes to him, could see a rash of emotions fly across his face before colliding into nothingness. Abruptly, he spun on his heel and marched out of the room; that he hadn't the wherewithal to deal with any of this right now was clear, a propensity for denial one of the many traits he'd inherited from his father.
But even as his footsteps faded, each rang with accusation, and it was too much to bear in the wide silence of the throne room, where Uther stood rooted to the floor, staring, and Leon plastered himself against one wall, out of place and with no leave to stay or go. Morgana fled the room.
She was being a coward, and she knew it. The shame of it gnawed at her, but still it was preferable to the judgment she'd felt boring into her back as she'd run from the throne room, and if she never felt that burn again it would be too soon.
Impatient, she'd overplayed her hand with Uther, and now she was probably right back where she'd started with this whole improbable plan. Or possibly even farther back than that, considering that she couldn't face looking Uther straight in the eye again. For the moment she couldn't even remember why she'd thought it such a clever scheme to begin with, or why Morgause let her go through with it, or what kind of thrill she was supposed to get from weakening the king.
Things weren't supposed to be like this. There wasn't supposed to be room in her heart for guilt or regret or exception. And there certainly wasn't any good reason why the sting of failure should feel so much less painful than the violent twist of her stomach every time she thought of Arthur and Leon witnessing what they had.
Conflicting emotions came at her from all sides -- she wanted to take back everything she'd done; she wanted to regroup and focus on how she could move things forwards with Uther and take him down; she wanted to hide in her room until it all blew over. But, eventually, clawing its way through to the top was the desperate urge to make things right with Arthur; she needed him on her side.
She found him in his chambers, loitering sullenly amidst debris that had no doubt been thrown in a fit of temper. "Arthur," she said, shutting the door behind her.
He shot her a glare.
"Look, it wasn't --"
"What? It wasn't what it looked like? So I've been told," Arthur said sourly.
"It's really not what you think." Which, technically, was true; it was only what she'd wanted him and everyone else to think, although, had she had the choice, the timing of his discovery would have been significantly different. Twenty years from now, for instance.
"It's not what I think," Arthur parroted slowly, his aptitude for sarcasm truly outstanding. "What am I to think, then? Did you trip and fall onto his face? Or did a snake bite him on the mouth, and you were only trying to be helpful and suck the poison out? Am I anywhere close?"
"Arthur, you're being ridiculous."
"Are you sure you haven't got me confused with you?"
Morgana drew herself up, trying to look in control of the conversation. She'd always known this would happen sooner or later; after all, wresting control of the kingdom from under Uther's nose wasn't exactly the sort of thing that would escape notice. But Arthur was difficult to anticipate and difficult to handle; there were times when he seemed to have an endless reservoir of calm wisdom, accepting and adapting to challenges as they came, and others when he dug his heels in like a little boy, never satisfied with any explanation as long as he could tack on a but why? at the end of it.
"It just happened, all right?" Morgana said. She took in a breath; she didn't want to keep lying to him, but telling him the truth was even less of an option. "I -- You don't know how hard it's been for me these past few months, and even now that I'm back. Uther... He makes me feel safe. I can't explain it any more than that."
Arthur's expression softened, but he shook his head. "You are safe here. You have me, and Sir Leon and every knight of Camelot at your disposal."
"You just don't understand."
"No, I really don't. Please, enlighten me. Because from where I'm standing, this is madness. He's old enough to be your father. He practically is your father!"
"Right," said Morgana slowly. Appealing to Arthur's better nature was obviously getting her nowhere. She cocked an eyebrow. "Well, forgive me if I'm not exactly eager to take romantic advice from someone who's proposed marriage to two women in as many years after knowing them for approximately, what, an hour?"
Blindsided, Arthur took a step backwards. "What? What are you talking about?"
Morgana's laugh was brittle. "Sophia and Vivian? Don't tell me you've forgotten them already."
"Of course I haven't," Arthur protested, straightening as though about to launch into an impassioned explanation, but he stopped himself and narrowed his gaze at her. "Where is this coming from? That has nothing to do with anything."
"Come off it, Arthur. Just because you're emotionally stunted doesn't mean the rest of us have to be."
"Emotionally stunted?"
"Yes," she hissed. "Need I mention again your grand plan to elope? And what of Gwen?"
Arthur looked completely perplexed now. "What about Gwen?"
The thread of the conversation was sprinting away from him now, and truth be told, Morgana didn't even fully understand half the things she was saying even as she said them, but the important thing was to keep Arthur distracted, confused, and entirely off the point. It probably wouldn't keep him off her back for very long, but for now she'd buy any time she could get. Whatever ended up being her next step with Uther, it would be made far less complicated if she didn't have to deal with a petulant prince at the same time.
"That's exactly what I'm talking about," she said. "You don't even know there's a problem."
"Oh," Arthur said, lifting up an interrupting finger, "I know there's a problem." His brow furrowed as soon as the words left his mouth, unsure what he'd just admitted to in his haste for one-upmanship.
"Oh, do you?" Morgana said, heavy encouragement in her voice. "Do tell?"
He hesitated.
She patted his arm in the most patronising manner she could achieve. "Let me help. You've been making eyes at her for a year now, but you won't commit to anything."
"It's complicated," Arthur said, averting his gaze.
Morgana scoffed. "No, it isn't. Either you truly love her or you don't. And if you don't, which I suspect is the case, then you'd do well to stop leading her on. She's not somebody you can just pull on a string whenever you feel like it."
"Which you suspect is the case?" Arthur repeated. "Just what is that supposed to mean?"
"Gwen thinks you're in love with someone else. I'd say that's pretty telling, wouldn't you?"
Arthur levelled a condescending glare at her. "There isn't anyone else. Who could I possibly be in love with?"
She almost missed it. He probably didn't know he'd even done it. But just like that, pieces she never even knew had been missing fell perfectly into place. Who could he possibly be in love with, indeed? His eyes had flicked, on those words, towards the antechamber where Merlin sometimes slept when Arthur was ill or feeling particularly demanding, and Morgana felt leverage anchor firmly at her feet.
It was suddenly so obvious she couldn't believe she'd never realised it before. She'd always known, rather abstractly, that mere coincidence couldn't account for Arthur growing so quickly out of his aimless arrogance and into someone she'd one day be proud to call her king; Merlin's arrival at Camelot had actively precipitated it. But beyond the deep loyalty and friendly repartee, she hadn't recognised the undercurrent that ran silently across their interactions for what it was. And with this tiny, unconscious action on Arthur's part, it all became clear now; the looks they shared, the way they tilted every expectation of the master-servant relationship on its head, the unwavering devotion that even the worst of insults couldn't mask -- they all spoke to one thing.
"Does he know?" she asked.
"Who? Know what?"
"Merlin," she practically purred. "Does he know?"
"What, that you've gone off the deep end? No, I don't believe so, Morgana, but I'll be sure to make a point of telling him."
She smiled, pityingly, and leaned forward. "Does he know, Arthur, that you're in love with him?"
There was a great deal of indignant sputtering to be endured before Arthur pulled himself together, eyeing her with disbelief when he realised she was waiting for a real answer. "Merlin? Merlin? You mean my manservant? Merlin? Who can't follow orders or do anything right to save his life?"
Morgana shrugged nonchalantly, even as some inward part of her triumphed at having zeroed in on the perfect way to divert Arthur's attention. "Well, why should he bother when you've proven time and again that you're obviously more than willing to give yours for his?"
"That's-- He's--" Arthur struggled, apparently finding this insouciant remark more than a little difficult to face head-on. Considering it had taken her this long to see it, she wasn't surprised that Arthur himself had never seriously contemplated the implications of his own regard for Merlin. After a few more false starts, he settled vaguely on, "He's done a great deal for me. His loyalty deserves mine in return."
"I don't see you sticking your neck out like that for someone like Leon. Or any other knight," she appended.
Arthur huffed irritably. "That's because they're perfectly capable of taking care of themselves. Merlin -- Merlin's useless."
Morgana glanced at him sharply, a sudden spark of recognition triggered in her memory banks. "Is he?"
"We are talking about the same Merlin, aren't we?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at her.
"Yes, of course. The one you're in love with," she replied.
Her tone was tart, and the way Arthur's face flushed red suggested that she'd managed to hit the right nerve again, but she couldn't concentrate fully on that little victory when her mind was racing with the significance of Arthur's remarks. He did think Merlin was useless. But Merlin very much wasn't; she'd seen proof of it herself. Which meant that either Arthur knew nothing of Merlin's magic -- perhaps deliberately -- or that he was keeping Merlin's secret for him.
Arthur glared. "Will you stop saying that? No one's in love with Merlin, least of all me."
"Yes," Morgana said, barely suppressing a grin, "you keep telling yourself that, Arthur."
If she had to guess whether Arthur simply didn't understand his own feelings, or was refusing to understand them, or was playing dumb, she'd toss out the final option first. Arthur was good at a lot of things, but being purposefully and effectively misleading was not one of them; one of his great traits and downfalls was that he often kept his heart right on his sleeve, and there wasn't a shadow of a doubt in her mind now of what place Merlin held in Arthur's esteem.
And perhaps more importantly, she now had exactly what she needed to lord over Merlin's head to keep him quiet and compliant. She almost admired him for being able to deceive Arthur for so long; clearly, none of them ever really knew Merlin at all.
Arthur opened his mouth to protest some more, but there was a short knock at the door, and Merlin stuck his head in. He looked surprised to see Morgana there, but pulled his attention from her, addressing Arthur instead.
"The king wants to see you," Merlin said, obviously uncomfortable in the present company.
A frown crossed Arthur's mouth, but he strode to the door anyway. He stopped short, just as he passed Merlin, and turned to Morgana, raising a finger in warning. "We never had this conversation," he said, and walked out, his footsteps dragging down the hallway.
Before Merlin could follow suit, Morgana grasped him by the arm and held him back. "Maybe. But this conversation, Merlin, is definitely happening."
Continue to Chapter Ten