Before the Sun Breaks Another Day -- Chapter Thirteen
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: 7,440
Disclaimer: Not ours. No money is being made. Please don't sue.
Authors' Note: Many, many thanks as usual to ravenflight21 for the beta/Brit-pick.
Previous Chapters: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It only took a few minutes in Gwen's company the following morning for Morgana to notice that something was off with her maidservant. She bustled about the room, rearranging items and tidying things that were already neatly arranged, only answering Morgana's questions with one or two words, and trailing off mid-way through every other sentence. After the third time she heard Gwen mutter, 'I'm sorry, what did you say, my lady?' did she decide that enough was enough already.
"I can tell that you have something on your mind, Gwen, so you might as well just come out with it," Morgana said, when she could take the sudden silence no longer, casting a sidelong glance at her maidservant.
In fact, if her suspicions were correct, there was only one topic in particular which Gwen intended to broach with her, and she began to mentally prepare herself for the impending conversation.
Much to her surprise, there were no protests or denials on Gwen's part. She merely nodded, setting the new vase she held back down on the night stand, and turned to face her mistress. "Look, Morgana, you know that I care about you, right? And that I'd never bring something up unless I was truly concerned?"
Already, this conversation wasn't looking overly optimistic, but it was easy to see where it was going, and so Morgana nodded, smiling reassuringly at Gwen. "Of course I know that, Gwen. Please, talk to me." She gestured for Gwen to join her at the table, and with only a brief pause, Gwen seemed to set aside any misgivings she may have had and sidled up to the table, sinking into the empty chair at her hip.
Gwen bit her lip, dark eyes filled with worry and doubt, and her expression was so intense that Morgana had to hold herself back from demanding that Gwen spit it out already. But it was obviously taking no small amount of courage on Gwen's part, and so she forced herself to be patient and wait, even when her mind was screaming that she wanted to be done with this as quickly as possible.
"What's going on between you and Uther?" Gwen finally asked, voice barely an echo against the chamber walls. "I ran into Arthur earlier today and he-- he told me. About what happened. With you. And the king."
For several beats, Morgana considered playing dumb, denying that she knew what Gwen was referring to, but she knew it would only prolong the inevitable. The information had come from a reliable source, unfortunately, but even if it hadn't, Gwen was no fool. She'd grown suspicious of Morgana's intentions a number of weeks ago, and this new information would only serve to confirm whatever theories she may have possessed.
"I don't know," she said at long last. It certainly couldn't have been a satisfying response, but in her efforts to keep Gwen free from her litany of lies, it was the only genuine answer Morgana could provide.
"I can't begin to imagine what you went through when you were gone for all those months," Gwen said, as Morgana bit back the wave of shame that washed over her, for allowing Gwen to continue to believe that lie, even if it hadn't been told to her directly, -- "but I've noticed you've been acting, well, strange since your return, especially when you've been in the king's company. At first, I thought it was because you were scared and didn't want to admit it. Then the rumours started around the castle, but still I brushed them off. But then, well, I, er-- I spoke with Arthur earlier today, and I wasn't sure what to think any longer. I know this is none of my business, and that I have no right to say anything at all about this to you, but I'm, um--" Gwen reached out and took one of Morgana's hands in her own, squeezing it gently. "I'm worried about you, Morgana."
Regret clenched at Morgana's stomach painfully, twisting and turning, not for the first time since her return to Camelot.
"I--" she started, then stopped herself, because what could she say to that, really? Gwen certainly could not be faulted for interpreting her behaviour as being cause for concern, even more so given the limited information she was working with, and Morgana was quite confident that she would react in a similar fashion if the situation had been reversed. Gathering her thoughts, she attempted to assuage Gwen's fears. "I appreciate your concern, and I certainly can't blame you for being worried about my behaviour. I know it may seem-- somewhat erratic, at times. But please believe me when I say that I'm fine, that everything will work out for the best, in the end."
The crinkle of Gwen's nose spoke louder than any words to express just what she felt about that claim, but Morgana could hardly blame her. What was she supposed to think, especially when Morgana had purposefully kept her in the dark as a means of protecting her from harm? To ask for her trust at this point was presumptuous at best, yet knowing Gwen's loyal nature, it was not altogether impossible that she would still offer it willingly anyway.
"Forgive my forwardness, my lady, but does working out for the best include starting up a relationship with the king -- someone who has treated and loved you as a daughter all your life?"
Holding back a sigh, Morgana tried without success to ignore the flood of images that appeared in her mind's eye -- Uther presenting her with a flower after she'd fallen and scraped a knee, the time when he'd ordered an extravagant dress made for her after a visiting princess had 'accidentally' destroyed hers (though Uther would publicly deny that he was trying to show up their guests in any way, even though they both knew the truth), the way he used to sit in her room with a smile while she rambled on about her day despite the fact that he probably had far more important affairs to attend to. A feeling of peace settled over her for a moment as she basked in these memories, before shaking them clear from her head. Just because he'd demonstrated the rare moment of compassion or affection for her in the past didn't change the cruelty within his soul for the way in which he slaughtered her people now. "It's... complicated, Gwen."
A concerned frown marred Gwen's usually pleasant features, worry lines creasing her forehead, and she suddenly looked several years older. "I know you care for him, but..." There was a question, or possibly an implication tucked in amongst her words.
"I'm not in love with him, if that's what you're thinking," Morgana said, staring down at the table as her index finger idly traced the lines from the wood along its surface.
"Then what are you doing?" Gwen asked, gentle, but clearly bothered all the same.
It was a loaded question requiring an even more loaded answer. To be honest, Morgana wasn't even entirely sure what she was doing any longer. Of course she knew; she was trying to liberate her people from the lifetime of oppression and fear that'd enslaved them for so long under Uther's reign. She wanted to provide them with freedom from an existence of constant fear, freedom to be themselves and to share with the world who they truly were. But over the past several days, she was beginning to doubt the rightness of her plans -- not the end goal itself, but the means by which she was hoping to accomplish it. That there may have been other options hadn't passed through her mind until recently, but now that the idea had been planted, she couldn't help but wonder if this was truly the only way to effect change.
"I don't know." She'd already provided that response once this conversation, but she wasn't sure what else there was to say. Had Gwen posed this same question a week or two ago, she was more than certain that her reply would have been altogether different. She was doing what was right, what was necessary -- wasn't she?
Gwen's quiet voice interrupted her brief reverie. "And what of Sir Leon in all of this?"
Snapping her head up to stare at Gwen, Morgana made a weak attempt to appear nonplussed by the comment, but failed miserably, if Gwen's raised eyebrows were any indication.
"What about him?" she asked, making a play at ignorance as she tried to overlook the way her heart skipped at the mention of his name, though the likelihood of Gwen falling for it was slim to none.
"Morgana," Gwen pressed, leaning forward as she continued to stare knowingly in her general direction.
"He's been my personal guard for several weeks now, so naturally we've begun to get to know one another. Leon is a wonderful, honourable man whom I'd be proud to call my friend." Her eyes flickered almost unconsciously towards the door, knowing that he still stood watch on the other side, and with that single gesture she seemed to confirm with her body language what she'd denied with her mouth.
"And I'm sure he, too, would like to call you friend. Though I'm quite certain he would like to call you much more than just a 'friend'," Gwen said, as though she held onto a deep secret that she was about to impart out of the kindness of her heart.
Morgana felt her heart jump up into her throat. "What are you talking about? Stop being silly, Gwen," she chided, ignoring the slightly hopeful lilt to her voice, even as she could feel her face slowly warming.
Folding her arms, Gwen gave Morgana a disbelieving look, as if she couldn't possibly believe they needed to have this conversation at all. "Look, I may not be around you all the time, but that doesn't mean I'm blind either. I've seen the way he looks at you, the way he smiles when you talk, and even when you're not looking at him at all. I've seen the way you drag him with you everywhere you go, sometimes disappearing for hours at a time. And before you tell me that you have to have him with you all the time, keep in mind that his duty is to protect you, not to walk and talk for hours in the castle gardens. He can see you at all times when you're outside. There's no need for him to walk by your side as you wander through them. He obviously cares about you, and I think that you care about him too."
Morgana blinked as the flush heated her entire face now, and she clenched her jaw, feeling like a thief caught redhanded, with nowhere to run. "It's not that I-- I just--" She fumbled for the right words, not sure she could openly admit such a thing out loud just yet, which was probably telling in and of itself. "I suppose you could say-- Well, er, yes," she finally acquiesced, feeling as though something had inexplicably and irreversibly changed with that admission.
A beat passed, and then, "So if you have feelings for Leon, then what's going on with Uther?"
There it was, then. A completely fair question for which Morgana had no logical answer, without revealing what was actually going on, and unfortunately, that was not an option.
"Morgana, look, I'm not necessarily asking for an explanation," Gwen said, when Morgana remained silent, holding up both hands in a sign of mock surrender. "I'm just… confused. None of it makes any sense to me."
She wasn't the only one. This was supposed to be a relatively straight-forward plan: seduce the king, convince him to make her his queen, secure the throne, and pave the way for Arthur, along with ensuring freedom from persecution for magic users. Nowhere in the plan did it dictate that she was supposed to feel regret or confusion over what she was doing, or to drag several innocent people into the whole mess, and there certainly wasn't room for developing feelings for someone else. This was becoming all so unbelievably complicated.
Two quick raps at the door interrupted the conversation, perhaps for the better, and before she could even respond, the door was pushed open to reveal Uther. He stood awkwardly in the doorway, looking as though he perhaps wished to flee the vicinity, but had resolved to do whatever he'd come to do regardless of his own feelings on the matter. It did not look promising. Gwen immediately rose, bowing her head in reverence for her king, while Morgana stared expectantly, a tightness coiling in her chest at the sight of him.
"I would like a moment alone with Morgana," he said, any traces of what he was thinking or feeling carefully masked from her.
Gwen remained standing with her head bowed low, but Morgana could see the tension coiling in her shoulders all the same.
"It's all right, Gwen. You may take the rest of the evening off," she said kindly, shooting her an apologetic smile.
With a quick nod and a barely audible 'thank you', Gwen hurried out of the room, closing the door snugly in her wake.
Which left Morgana alone to contend with Uther. He coughed into his hand, gaze darting down to the floor for a brief moment. It was an odd sight, to see the king of Camelot looking so out of his element, and it brought her far less joy than it might have done a few weeks prior.
"May I speak with you?" he asked.
Morgana nodded and rose from the table. "Of course."
"About what happened yesterday--" Uther started, then stopped. It was clear that he was hesitating, and if the pained expression on his face was anything to go by, this did not bode well for Morgana. Then again, what exactly did she expect? Having grown up in the royal household, raised as one of Uther's own children and granted virtually all the same privileges as Arthur, did she truly believe it was possible to reverse the relationship that they'd established over more than ten years in little less than a month?
She swallowed heavily and bit the inside of her cheek in anticipation, already mentally preparing for the rejection she knew was coming.
Taking a couple of tentative steps forwards, Uther reached out a hand as though to touch her, but he pulled back at the last moment, hand dropping to his side instead. "I wanted to say that I'm sorry. About what happened."
She blinked back surprise, mouth falling open ever so slightly, and Uther appeared to take her silence as a cue to continue speaking. "I know that you've been under a great deal of stress since you escaped from your captors, even though you try to hide it, and for that I blame myself."
Her eyebrows crinkled in confusion and she was surprised with the genuineness with which the words left her mouth. "Why would you say such a thing?"
"I should have found you. I never should have rested until you'd been rescued. But I failed you, and for that, I will never be able to forgive myself." This time he did reach out to touch her upper arm, gazing down at her with what could only be described as true affection. "You've been confused and hurt and I took advantage of that vulnerability."
"But, my lord--"
"No," he shook his head, interrupting her attempt at protest. "No. I should have been more diligent in watching out for you since your return. I understand, now, that you were only trying to gain my attention. But I promise you that you have it now, and that I will do everything in my power to protect you in the future. I hope you know that you are very important to me, and that I love you as if you were my own daughter."
The words were so unexpected that she found she could do little more than nod dumbly at his declaration as her brain struggled to process the information.
"Good," Uther responded with a smile, seemingly satisfied. "Well, I suppose I should leave you be."
His hand cupped her cheek briefly before he turned on his heel and strode confidently out of the room, leaving Morgana feeling more confused and conflicted than she'd ever felt before.
Of all the times Merlin could have chosen to show initiative in carrying out his duties as Arthur's manservant, this probably ranked among the dumbest. Arthur might have seen this coming -- there was some little defect in Merlin's brain that wildly reinterpreted every other order handed to him, hence rat stew and downing poison and repeatedly riding into trees.
Quiet, Arthur clicked his chamber doors shut. He loomed over the bearskin rug at his fireplace for a moment, wondering just how Take the day off, Merlin could have possibly been misconstrued as Polish one of my boots, Merlin, and have a midday nap on my hearth. He knew Gaius had heard him perfectly well and would have passed along the message in full, so the problem obviously lay with the man currently curled up on the floor, dead to the world.
At his feet, Merlin snuffled, content in repose and a job half done. Not far from one outstretched hand stood a single boot, its toe shining.
Arthur sighed, getting on his haunches and intending to shake Merlin awake, but upon closer inspection, withdrew his hand. Merlin on his best days was pale, but he was nearing translucence now, a clammy sheen to his skin that made it clear that he'd neglected to take his sanctioned time off in favour of pushing through his illness instead, stubbornly forcing physical labour on himself to prove some kind of point.
With his manservant passed out in the middle of the room, Arthur hadn't taken notice of much else when he'd first come in, but now that he had caught up with events, he could see his armour clean and stacked carefully in one corner, the absence of the nearly sentient pile of dirty laundry behind his dressing screen, books and papers organized in a fashion that didn't involve the floor. Arthur regarded each new discovery with a tightening frown; Merlin had done what usually amounted, for him, to a week's worth of work just to show that he could.
"You," murmured Arthur, "are such an idiot."
He dithered for a second, wanting to leave Merlin be to let him get the rest he so obviously needed, but sleeping on the floor wasn't exactly the most effective method of recuperation, so Arthur angled an arm underneath him and hefted him upwards as gently as he could.
"Come on," Arthur said bracingly to the limp rag in his arms. "To bed with you."
Despite all the jostling, Merlin's eyes barely opened. He mumbled something incoherent as Arthur shifted his weight, head lolling and lips brushing against Arthur's skin. A frisson of excitement raced through Arthur's veins, involuntarily, inappropriately, and he froze mid-step, as if it would halt the course his imagination had embarked upon without warning, a picture of Merlin's mouth pressed against his neck, warm and breathy and --
"Stop it," Arthur said to himself, tamping the heady feeling down until common sense finally slunk back into place.
He looked at Merlin's pasty profile. Contagious, Arthur thought. That must be it. Contagious delirium.
Pushing away the immediate thought that formed, in his own traitorous voice, that there wasn't any such thing, Arthur dragged Merlin to the bed and bundled him into it, yanking off his boots before tucking him underneath the sheets. He perched himself on the edge of the bed, uncertain, and his hands itched without the touch of Merlin in them.
More indecipherable sounds emerged from Merlin's mouth, the whimpers and groans of the uncomfortably ill, and Arthur thought he caught his name among them.
"I'm here," he said, feeling immediately foolish for responding to what could just as easily have been a string of verbal nonsense. Struck with the necessity of making himself as useful and unsentimental as possible, Arthur pressed the back of his hand to Merlin's neck, still warm from the fever that had plagued him earlier this morning -- a bit too warm for Arthur's liking, and he propelled himself off the bed, marching to the doors.
It didn't take long to find a servant passing by. It was part of a servant's duties, after all, to lurk out of sight and reappear at a moment's notice -- something Merlin had never quite managed to grasp, constantly underfoot and too loud in his brightness, except when things needed scrubbing, but it had long since ceased to vex Arthur. Any other servant might know how to dust a mantelpiece properly or fold instead of crumple a shirt, but Merlin outshone everyone else by miles where it counted, and Arthur knew where his priorities lay.
"Fetch me a bowl of water and a towel, will you?" said Arthur to the servant girl. "And get whatever medicine Gaius was administering to Merlin this morning. Quickly."
Mission accomplished, Arthur spun on his heel to face the bed, expelling a terse sigh at the sight of Merlin fidgeting underneath the covers, tugging this way and that as if he couldn't decide whether he was too hot or too cold.
Merlin emitted an unhappy, stilted groan, half his face mashed into the pillow. And then, unmistakeably, "Arthur."
In less than a second Arthur was at his bedside again, overflowing with an unfamiliar feeling of solicitude, willing Merlin to get better by the strength of his presence alone. He didn't like seeing Merlin like this, ashen with exhaustion and infection and god only knew what else Merlin had put himself through. Arthur knew there were things Merlin kept from him, and that was his right, after all -- it wasn't Arthur's place, royalty or not, to demand full disclosure of whatever personal life Merlin managed to cultivate during off hours, especially as he wasn't sure, sometimes, that he wanted to know what little secrets Merlin nursed in the dark of his heart. But there was no hiding the fact that underneath the silly smiles and bumbling limbs and stupid questions, Merlin had a will of steel and the heart to back it up, a vitality that filled rooms, and its lack, this enervation and quiet, was glaring.
Arthur picked sullenly at a bit of lint on the hem of his blanket, mouth twisting and jaw clenching shut like he was afraid he might give voice to his thoughts. It wasn't as though he'd never seen Merlin sick before, and it wasn't as though Merlin hadn't steadily been wilting before his eyes for the past few months, but it had all come to a head now, Merlin laid up in bed, practically unconscious, fevered and muttering, and a spike of guilt seized Arthur's insides. I should have taken better care of him.
It was a preposterous thought, considering who he was and what he was, but Arthur found that he couldn't dismiss it out of hand. He could have done more for Merlin, could have offered more than his presence and his royalty. Merlin mattered.
Almost grudgingly, Arthur slid his fingers along Merlin's forehead, unsticking the damp fringe that had plastered itself there, and his fingertips of their own accord traced the smooth, fine edge of Merlin's cheek.
A polite cough sounded behind him, and Arthur's hand dropped at once. He whipped his head around, seeing Gwen in the doorway, cradling a bowl of water in one arm, a clean square of cloth and a small bottle in her other hand. Her expression spoke nothing of what she'd witnessed.
"Guinevere," Arthur said, a little too loudly, shooting off the bed.
"My lord." She tipped her head at him, coming forwards and placing everything gently on the nightstand. "I ran into Eleanor on her way to Gaius' rooms and thought I'd give her a hand. How's Merlin doing?"
"Fine. Er," said Arthur, "I mean, not fine."
One corner of Gwen's mouth lifted ever so slightly upwards, and if Arthur didn't know any better he could have sworn she was gleaning some kind of amusement from this. He tried not to narrow his eyes at her.
She held out an amber bottle, and Arthur took it, mutely. "Gaius said to give Merlin half a dose of this whenever he wakes up next, and then again come morning. He should feel much better by then."
Maybe they were intentional, maybe not, but Arthur felt the implications curl around him as he pocketed the precious vial -- that he would be there when Merlin awoke, that Merlin would still be in his bed through the night, that nursing Merlin back to health was Arthur's responsibility. Arthur cleared his throat and grunted, unsteadily, "Yes, all right."
Gwen smiled, gentle approbation in her eyes. "You care for him a great deal, don't you?"
Arthur felt his eyes widen before he could stop them. "Er," he said, eloquent as ever, his brain working so furiously to come up with a clever rejoinder it put all other functions out of working order, and Arthur's mouth opened and closed a few times uselessly. "Ah, well," he coughed, picking up the words from distant memories of when he was still capable of normal speech, "it's such a hassle finding new manservants."
"Is it?" she asked conversationally, and dipped the cloth into the water, wringing it out with practised efficiency.
He stared at her as she offered him the damp linen, certain this innocuous little chat was going in a direction he didn't want to tread.
"If you'll forgive my effrontery, sire," Gwen said, pressing the cloth into his hands when they remained limp at his sides, and nodded towards the bed, "I think perhaps Morgana may have been onto something?"
Arthur's gaze flicked involuntarily to Merlin, recalling the sputter of indignation that had risen within him at Morgana's accusations; traces of it still lingered. "Morgana," he scoffed, "is rarely right about anything."
Gwen smiled, almost laughed. "Arthur," she said affectionately, looking for all the world as if she was moments away from ruffling his hair, like a patient nanny just waiting for him to come out with the whole story, not just the bits where he mimicked exemplary behaviour. "Trust me; on this one, she's definitely right."
He thought about putting up a fight, but lying to himself was a lot easier than lying to Gwen. And what would be the point, after all? "Gwen, you and I..."
"We had our moments," she said, thoughtful, squeezing his arm briefly before remembering herself. "But you and Merlin..." She paused, shaking her head as if unable to grasp the enormity of it all. "You have a whole life together."
A series of recollections opened in his mind's eye, the journey Merlin had made from being an insouciant pest who stuck his nose everywhere it didn't belong to becoming the person Arthur trusted most in the world; on a parallel track, Arthur's rough edges had smoothed out, pettiness and bored stupidity pushed aside by everything he should be, and wanted to be. And in between each milestone, there was Merlin, challenging him, constantly, to be a better man. There was no pinpointing when annoying had turned into welcome, but he knew now he needed Merlin, in so many ways, and he couldn't imagine, or bear to, a future without Merlin by his side.
Arthur sighed, still slightly vexed by the knowing look in Gwen's eye, crossing his arms over his chest. "It's that obvious, is it?"
Gwen smiled widely, pleased, and rose on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. "Take care of him," she said, and glided out of the room.
He sank onto the edge of the bed again, spent, and dabbed a corner of the cloth along Merlin's brow, cupping his cheek briefly. "I will."
It had been more than three hours since her conversation with Uther, but Morgana was unable to get the things he'd said out of her mind. That he had come to speak with her was no surprise, but that he'd accepted responsibility for her actions was nothing short of astounding. For all of his misplaced fury at magic, for all the despicable actions he'd taken and likely still would, she could no longer deny that when it came to his love and affection for her, there was not an insincere bone in his body. He meant every word he said, and she could no longer turn a blind eye to that.
This revelation should have brought with it the provision of relief, but instead she felt more conflicted than ever before, Morgause's parting words still lingering at the back of her mind like a dead weight. Prior to her return to Camelot, failure had never once crossed her mind as an option, and yet now, when she was at the cusp of finally moving things along, failure was beginning to feel more like the solution than the predicament.
There still remained no doubt in her mind that Uther deserved to pay for the atrocities he had committed throughout his life -- the murder of hundreds of innocent people simply for being born a certain way, and the thought still made her ill, the knowledge that her kin had been unjustly persecuted for the majority of her life. But perhaps appointing herself his personal judge and executioner was just as unfair. It was a thought that had been steadily building, even more so at the time of Morgause's visit, and Morgana wondered if perhaps it would be wise to try and contact her sister to test the waters of her receptiveness to the potential alternatives.
With that decision made, Morgana permitted herself a few moments to think of the man who'd been instrumental in her shifting perspective. Leon was an incredible man, beautiful inside and out, with upstanding virtue and a strong moral compass. He was everything that she could ever askhope for in a friend, and dare to hope for in a potential future husband. But there was still one significant barrier in their way, one that could destroy any hope they may have had in an instant.
There was no way she could even entertain the thought of something more, without first knowing how he would react to the idea of magic, and specifically her own abilities.
After a moment's hesitation, she determined that there was no time like the present for finally sorting through this issue once and for all. Pulling open the door, Morgana turned a smile upon Leon. "Can we walk?" It was getting late, but he would remain on duty for at least another couple of hours. They had more than enough time to work with.
He nodded, eyeing her curiously but saying nothing. Depending on how he reacted to the conversation she was about to start, Morgana determined, after mulling over every possible option and potential way for this whole thing to turn sour -- and there were many ways in which it could -- that she would tell him the truth. Or at least as much as she could, without incriminating herself. Still, all the status in the world, and all the love that Uther may harbour for her would not be able to protect her from the truth of the role that she played in this whole debacle, or the intention behind the actions that were taken.
"I've been thinking," she started, after they'd been walking for a few minutes, when she was certain they were far enough away from prying ears. Most of the regular activity and energy in the castle had faded by this hour, but one could never be too careful. "About the boy. Who was recently executed."
When his response wasn't immediately forthcoming, Morgana felt her heart sink to her feet. Perhaps she'd been naive in believing that he still cared for her, following the near melt-down she'd had in his arms early that morning, sinking into his strength like a drowning woman clinging to the one thing that would keep her afloat. He was required to protect her from anything that may cause harm, so would that not, then, logically include comfort from night terrors? After all, hadn't she made her lack of affection for Leon painfully clear when she'd kissed Uther, even if her actions were directly opposed to the desires of her heart? The idea that he was merely executing his responsibilities and nothing more was suddenly a frightening possibility that Morgana didn't want to even entertain, let alone investigate. Still, she had to know for her own peace of mind. Better to discover the truth now, when the pain would burn but extinguish in time, than wait until her heart was already fully invested.
His response was so quiet that for a moment she thought she'd imagined it. "What about him?"
With wide eyes, she cast a glance in his direction, shadows from the glow of candlelight softening his features, and to her surprise, he was watching her openly, eyes alight with something she never thought she'd see again. Almost immediately Morgana found herself overcome with the urge to reach up and run her fingers down the side of his face, to feel the soft hair from his beard against her fingertips. Locking the desire in her heart, she mentally shook herself with a reminder of the purpose of their current conversation.
Swallowing, she shoved aside all other thought. "He died because he was trying to save his sister from the illness that was killing him. He wasn't harming anyone or acting with any sort of malicious intent, and now his parents have lost both of their children. It's heart-breaking and unfair."
"Yes, it is," he agreed. "I can't imagine how his parents must feel."
"Nor can I," she said sadly.
A couple of servants turned down the hall, walking towards them, and they both fell silent, instinctively falling in line with what was appropriate, instead of walking side by side. When they were alone once more, Morgana returned to the conversation.
"Do you think the boy deserved death for his crime?" she asked before she was aware of the question even formulating in her mind.
He turned to stare at her, obviously a little taken aback. "He used magic and was caught. The laws must be upheld, whether or not we agree with them."
"But I'm asking you for your opinion, whether you think his execution was just," she pressed, aware of the fact she was cornering him, but not sure how else to elicit the responses she sought.
Leon dropped his voice, leaning just slightly into her personal space. "Morgana, you understand that I could be thrown into the dungeons for even having this conversation with you."
She was sure Leon wasn't saying this for his own sake; she was confident he knew she would never reveal their conversation to another soul. So he must be giving her a way out - a chance to end the discussion here and now. And if he wasn't trying to protect himself, then he was trying to protect her - even if he didn't know exactly what from.
Touching his arm to garner his attention, she met his deep green eyes, speaking with confidence and assurance. "I know."
And just like that, his entire posture seemed to relax just a fraction, perhaps noticeable to Morgana alone, but it was enough of an assurance that she'd said the right thing. "All right," he said, even sounding relieved.
And then the question was there, dancing around at the back of her mind, reluctant to take shape. It was significant, in any number of ways, because there was so much more resting on his words now. But before she could prevent herself from speaking, Morgana forced the question from her lungs in a rush. "Would you, if you had the ability or resources-- would you have used magic, if you could have? To save your brother from being killed?"
He stopped, immediately, at the question, and Morgana was suddenly terrified to look at him, afraid of what she might see on his face. But the question was now out there at least, and it would certainly reveal his personal perspective on magic once and for all, even if he didn't provide her with the answers she sought
"I'm not sure, exactly, how magic would have helped," he said at length, slowly, as though still carefully considering her words and his opinion on them, "but if there had been some way, if I'd had the ability or means with which to do so, I think-- I think that it's not completely out of the realm of possibility that I might've considered something like that. Provided, of course, that by its use, I wouldn't have condemned someone else to the same fate, because no one should have to go through what my family and I did."
Her heart skipped a beat, some of the heaviness floating away at his response, and even she could not quash the hope that was beginning to bubble in her veins. Yet, there was still more she needed to know, more that she had to ask. "Even if it was illegal, and could have resulted in your own death?"
Folding his arms, Leon scratched thoughtfully at his chin. "I can't say for certain, of course, but I think so. When your convictions are strong enough, I think that it's possible to be more than willing to risk your life for someone you care about."
Morgana felt hope rise at that answer, but she sent a cautious warning her own way with the reminder not to jump too quickly to conclusions without all the facts.
"Does this mean, then, that you disagree with the official stance on magic?" she asked in hushed tones, glancing down the corridor once more just to reassure herself that no one else was around.
Clear anxiety settled into his features and Leon folded his arms across his chest, somewhat defensively.
"I'm not saying that I don't," Leon said hastily, then seemed to catch himself. "It's just-- I don't know what happened twenty odd years ago that changed everything, but I suspect that actions were taken that felt fully justified at the time, and perhaps they even were, to a small extent. However, if I may speak so freely, I think that the king may have been attributing malicious intent to the wrong factor."
If she was hearing him correctly, then that meant... No, she still needed to hear more. "So what are you saying, exactly?" Morgana asked, as much to clarify as to hear the words just one more time, with the hope that they might truly sink in.
"I'm suggesting that you could hand a sword to an honourable man and he would use it to defend and protect, while a dishonourable man would use the same weapon to steal or kill. What matters is not the weapon of choice, but what's in the heart of the person who wields it." He paused, then deliberately lowered his voice even more, so much so that she had to lean in closer just to make out what he was saying. "Some will use magic for destruction, but I see no distinction between the use of magic, a sword, or a cross-bow. Those who wish to do harm will use whatever means they have available to them in the same way as those who wish to do good. Punishment should be doled out based on the crime, not on the means that were used to commit the crime."
And there it was, the answer she so desperately sought. Instantly the dread and fear hovering over her head like a storm cloud dissipated and began to drift away. "You-- you're absolutely correct, I think. At least, that's how I see it too. Someone who has an ability, whether it's swordsmanship, unarmed combat or magic -- they shouldn't be condemned simply for possessing the skill in the first place. Only if they choose to use it for evil purposes." She pointedly tried to forget the current misuse of her own talents.
"I didn't realise quite how much passion you have for this topic," Leon said, but if he was implying something, it wasn't immediately obvious.
"There's so much you still don't know about me," she breathed, filled with something resembling regret all of a sudden, and cast her eyes towards the floor. It was as close to an admission of her magic as she'd ever given, save for that one time when she'd foolishly decided to confide in Merlin, though he had yet to reveal her secret, and that, at least, said something about his character.
"Perhaps so," he agreed softly. She felt his fingers curls gently around her arm, tugging until she met his gaze once again, eyes warm and swimming with openness. "But I'd like to. Learn more about you, I mean, if you-- if that's something you want as well, of course."
He spoke with such candour, his voice filled with both hope and nervous anticipation, that there was no room for misinterpretation of his meaning or the intention behind his words this time. Perhaps, then, not all had been lost when she'd kissed Uther after all, if Leon still desired to pursue something more with her. Without even realising what she was doing, her hand moved to cover his, her smile so bright it could have lit the entire corridor on its own. Ducking her head, as much to hide the blush that stained her cheeks as to prevent herself from doing anything rash, she heard herself replying, "I very much would like that, yes."
His responding grin made her feel weak at the knees for just a moment, even as her heart felt as though it might burst free from her chest. "I'm glad," he said, eyes darting to fixate on the place on her shoulder where their hands still touched. "And I just-- I wanted to let you know that no matter what I happen to learn about you, it won't change anything. About how I see you, I mean. No matter what it is." He spoke slowly, placing just slightly more emphasis on the last sentence, staring deep into her eyes, and she could tell that he was referring to any of the secrets buried deep within her mind, knew without fully knowing that he was telling her he'd still accept whatever it was she kept locked away.
Just like that, every fear, every worry, every bit of indecision she was feeling shattered like tiny shards of glass at her feet. They had a long road to travel, one they'd barely just begun, and she had no idea where it would take them, what she was going to do about all of the loose ends furling around the edges of her life, but she had her answer now, knew exactly where they stood, and it was enough to convince her to try to contact Morgause in order to reevaluate their strategy.
Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, Morgana smiled up at him, grateful beyond expression. "Thank you."
Comfortable silence hung between them for several moments, as if both were simultaneously basking in their unspoken confessions while attempting to figure out what there was to say now. As anticipated, Leon was the one to finally break the quiet.
"We should probably head back," he suggested, letting go of her shoulder and reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck a bit awkwardly, a content smile still resting on his lips.
Were it not for the fact that they could be caught at any moment, she might have taken his hand in her own, entwining their fingers and leaning into his side like she'd wanted to for longer than she was even consciously aware. But as it was, the risk was still too great, and she still had business to take care of, had to figure out a way to get in contact with her sister. So instead, she settled for merely enjoying the way their arms or hands occasionally brushed against one another as they walked, feeling optimistic about her future for the first time in longer than she could remember.
Continue to Chapter Fourteen"
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: 7,440
Disclaimer: Not ours. No money is being made. Please don't sue.
Authors' Note: Many, many thanks as usual to ravenflight21 for the beta/Brit-pick.
Previous Chapters: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It only took a few minutes in Gwen's company the following morning for Morgana to notice that something was off with her maidservant. She bustled about the room, rearranging items and tidying things that were already neatly arranged, only answering Morgana's questions with one or two words, and trailing off mid-way through every other sentence. After the third time she heard Gwen mutter, 'I'm sorry, what did you say, my lady?' did she decide that enough was enough already.
"I can tell that you have something on your mind, Gwen, so you might as well just come out with it," Morgana said, when she could take the sudden silence no longer, casting a sidelong glance at her maidservant.
In fact, if her suspicions were correct, there was only one topic in particular which Gwen intended to broach with her, and she began to mentally prepare herself for the impending conversation.
Much to her surprise, there were no protests or denials on Gwen's part. She merely nodded, setting the new vase she held back down on the night stand, and turned to face her mistress. "Look, Morgana, you know that I care about you, right? And that I'd never bring something up unless I was truly concerned?"
Already, this conversation wasn't looking overly optimistic, but it was easy to see where it was going, and so Morgana nodded, smiling reassuringly at Gwen. "Of course I know that, Gwen. Please, talk to me." She gestured for Gwen to join her at the table, and with only a brief pause, Gwen seemed to set aside any misgivings she may have had and sidled up to the table, sinking into the empty chair at her hip.
Gwen bit her lip, dark eyes filled with worry and doubt, and her expression was so intense that Morgana had to hold herself back from demanding that Gwen spit it out already. But it was obviously taking no small amount of courage on Gwen's part, and so she forced herself to be patient and wait, even when her mind was screaming that she wanted to be done with this as quickly as possible.
"What's going on between you and Uther?" Gwen finally asked, voice barely an echo against the chamber walls. "I ran into Arthur earlier today and he-- he told me. About what happened. With you. And the king."
For several beats, Morgana considered playing dumb, denying that she knew what Gwen was referring to, but she knew it would only prolong the inevitable. The information had come from a reliable source, unfortunately, but even if it hadn't, Gwen was no fool. She'd grown suspicious of Morgana's intentions a number of weeks ago, and this new information would only serve to confirm whatever theories she may have possessed.
"I don't know," she said at long last. It certainly couldn't have been a satisfying response, but in her efforts to keep Gwen free from her litany of lies, it was the only genuine answer Morgana could provide.
"I can't begin to imagine what you went through when you were gone for all those months," Gwen said, as Morgana bit back the wave of shame that washed over her, for allowing Gwen to continue to believe that lie, even if it hadn't been told to her directly, -- "but I've noticed you've been acting, well, strange since your return, especially when you've been in the king's company. At first, I thought it was because you were scared and didn't want to admit it. Then the rumours started around the castle, but still I brushed them off. But then, well, I, er-- I spoke with Arthur earlier today, and I wasn't sure what to think any longer. I know this is none of my business, and that I have no right to say anything at all about this to you, but I'm, um--" Gwen reached out and took one of Morgana's hands in her own, squeezing it gently. "I'm worried about you, Morgana."
Regret clenched at Morgana's stomach painfully, twisting and turning, not for the first time since her return to Camelot.
"I--" she started, then stopped herself, because what could she say to that, really? Gwen certainly could not be faulted for interpreting her behaviour as being cause for concern, even more so given the limited information she was working with, and Morgana was quite confident that she would react in a similar fashion if the situation had been reversed. Gathering her thoughts, she attempted to assuage Gwen's fears. "I appreciate your concern, and I certainly can't blame you for being worried about my behaviour. I know it may seem-- somewhat erratic, at times. But please believe me when I say that I'm fine, that everything will work out for the best, in the end."
The crinkle of Gwen's nose spoke louder than any words to express just what she felt about that claim, but Morgana could hardly blame her. What was she supposed to think, especially when Morgana had purposefully kept her in the dark as a means of protecting her from harm? To ask for her trust at this point was presumptuous at best, yet knowing Gwen's loyal nature, it was not altogether impossible that she would still offer it willingly anyway.
"Forgive my forwardness, my lady, but does working out for the best include starting up a relationship with the king -- someone who has treated and loved you as a daughter all your life?"
Holding back a sigh, Morgana tried without success to ignore the flood of images that appeared in her mind's eye -- Uther presenting her with a flower after she'd fallen and scraped a knee, the time when he'd ordered an extravagant dress made for her after a visiting princess had 'accidentally' destroyed hers (though Uther would publicly deny that he was trying to show up their guests in any way, even though they both knew the truth), the way he used to sit in her room with a smile while she rambled on about her day despite the fact that he probably had far more important affairs to attend to. A feeling of peace settled over her for a moment as she basked in these memories, before shaking them clear from her head. Just because he'd demonstrated the rare moment of compassion or affection for her in the past didn't change the cruelty within his soul for the way in which he slaughtered her people now. "It's... complicated, Gwen."
A concerned frown marred Gwen's usually pleasant features, worry lines creasing her forehead, and she suddenly looked several years older. "I know you care for him, but..." There was a question, or possibly an implication tucked in amongst her words.
"I'm not in love with him, if that's what you're thinking," Morgana said, staring down at the table as her index finger idly traced the lines from the wood along its surface.
"Then what are you doing?" Gwen asked, gentle, but clearly bothered all the same.
It was a loaded question requiring an even more loaded answer. To be honest, Morgana wasn't even entirely sure what she was doing any longer. Of course she knew; she was trying to liberate her people from the lifetime of oppression and fear that'd enslaved them for so long under Uther's reign. She wanted to provide them with freedom from an existence of constant fear, freedom to be themselves and to share with the world who they truly were. But over the past several days, she was beginning to doubt the rightness of her plans -- not the end goal itself, but the means by which she was hoping to accomplish it. That there may have been other options hadn't passed through her mind until recently, but now that the idea had been planted, she couldn't help but wonder if this was truly the only way to effect change.
"I don't know." She'd already provided that response once this conversation, but she wasn't sure what else there was to say. Had Gwen posed this same question a week or two ago, she was more than certain that her reply would have been altogether different. She was doing what was right, what was necessary -- wasn't she?
Gwen's quiet voice interrupted her brief reverie. "And what of Sir Leon in all of this?"
Snapping her head up to stare at Gwen, Morgana made a weak attempt to appear nonplussed by the comment, but failed miserably, if Gwen's raised eyebrows were any indication.
"What about him?" she asked, making a play at ignorance as she tried to overlook the way her heart skipped at the mention of his name, though the likelihood of Gwen falling for it was slim to none.
"Morgana," Gwen pressed, leaning forward as she continued to stare knowingly in her general direction.
"He's been my personal guard for several weeks now, so naturally we've begun to get to know one another. Leon is a wonderful, honourable man whom I'd be proud to call my friend." Her eyes flickered almost unconsciously towards the door, knowing that he still stood watch on the other side, and with that single gesture she seemed to confirm with her body language what she'd denied with her mouth.
"And I'm sure he, too, would like to call you friend. Though I'm quite certain he would like to call you much more than just a 'friend'," Gwen said, as though she held onto a deep secret that she was about to impart out of the kindness of her heart.
Morgana felt her heart jump up into her throat. "What are you talking about? Stop being silly, Gwen," she chided, ignoring the slightly hopeful lilt to her voice, even as she could feel her face slowly warming.
Folding her arms, Gwen gave Morgana a disbelieving look, as if she couldn't possibly believe they needed to have this conversation at all. "Look, I may not be around you all the time, but that doesn't mean I'm blind either. I've seen the way he looks at you, the way he smiles when you talk, and even when you're not looking at him at all. I've seen the way you drag him with you everywhere you go, sometimes disappearing for hours at a time. And before you tell me that you have to have him with you all the time, keep in mind that his duty is to protect you, not to walk and talk for hours in the castle gardens. He can see you at all times when you're outside. There's no need for him to walk by your side as you wander through them. He obviously cares about you, and I think that you care about him too."
Morgana blinked as the flush heated her entire face now, and she clenched her jaw, feeling like a thief caught redhanded, with nowhere to run. "It's not that I-- I just--" She fumbled for the right words, not sure she could openly admit such a thing out loud just yet, which was probably telling in and of itself. "I suppose you could say-- Well, er, yes," she finally acquiesced, feeling as though something had inexplicably and irreversibly changed with that admission.
A beat passed, and then, "So if you have feelings for Leon, then what's going on with Uther?"
There it was, then. A completely fair question for which Morgana had no logical answer, without revealing what was actually going on, and unfortunately, that was not an option.
"Morgana, look, I'm not necessarily asking for an explanation," Gwen said, when Morgana remained silent, holding up both hands in a sign of mock surrender. "I'm just… confused. None of it makes any sense to me."
She wasn't the only one. This was supposed to be a relatively straight-forward plan: seduce the king, convince him to make her his queen, secure the throne, and pave the way for Arthur, along with ensuring freedom from persecution for magic users. Nowhere in the plan did it dictate that she was supposed to feel regret or confusion over what she was doing, or to drag several innocent people into the whole mess, and there certainly wasn't room for developing feelings for someone else. This was becoming all so unbelievably complicated.
Two quick raps at the door interrupted the conversation, perhaps for the better, and before she could even respond, the door was pushed open to reveal Uther. He stood awkwardly in the doorway, looking as though he perhaps wished to flee the vicinity, but had resolved to do whatever he'd come to do regardless of his own feelings on the matter. It did not look promising. Gwen immediately rose, bowing her head in reverence for her king, while Morgana stared expectantly, a tightness coiling in her chest at the sight of him.
"I would like a moment alone with Morgana," he said, any traces of what he was thinking or feeling carefully masked from her.
Gwen remained standing with her head bowed low, but Morgana could see the tension coiling in her shoulders all the same.
"It's all right, Gwen. You may take the rest of the evening off," she said kindly, shooting her an apologetic smile.
With a quick nod and a barely audible 'thank you', Gwen hurried out of the room, closing the door snugly in her wake.
Which left Morgana alone to contend with Uther. He coughed into his hand, gaze darting down to the floor for a brief moment. It was an odd sight, to see the king of Camelot looking so out of his element, and it brought her far less joy than it might have done a few weeks prior.
"May I speak with you?" he asked.
Morgana nodded and rose from the table. "Of course."
"About what happened yesterday--" Uther started, then stopped. It was clear that he was hesitating, and if the pained expression on his face was anything to go by, this did not bode well for Morgana. Then again, what exactly did she expect? Having grown up in the royal household, raised as one of Uther's own children and granted virtually all the same privileges as Arthur, did she truly believe it was possible to reverse the relationship that they'd established over more than ten years in little less than a month?
She swallowed heavily and bit the inside of her cheek in anticipation, already mentally preparing for the rejection she knew was coming.
Taking a couple of tentative steps forwards, Uther reached out a hand as though to touch her, but he pulled back at the last moment, hand dropping to his side instead. "I wanted to say that I'm sorry. About what happened."
She blinked back surprise, mouth falling open ever so slightly, and Uther appeared to take her silence as a cue to continue speaking. "I know that you've been under a great deal of stress since you escaped from your captors, even though you try to hide it, and for that I blame myself."
Her eyebrows crinkled in confusion and she was surprised with the genuineness with which the words left her mouth. "Why would you say such a thing?"
"I should have found you. I never should have rested until you'd been rescued. But I failed you, and for that, I will never be able to forgive myself." This time he did reach out to touch her upper arm, gazing down at her with what could only be described as true affection. "You've been confused and hurt and I took advantage of that vulnerability."
"But, my lord--"
"No," he shook his head, interrupting her attempt at protest. "No. I should have been more diligent in watching out for you since your return. I understand, now, that you were only trying to gain my attention. But I promise you that you have it now, and that I will do everything in my power to protect you in the future. I hope you know that you are very important to me, and that I love you as if you were my own daughter."
The words were so unexpected that she found she could do little more than nod dumbly at his declaration as her brain struggled to process the information.
"Good," Uther responded with a smile, seemingly satisfied. "Well, I suppose I should leave you be."
His hand cupped her cheek briefly before he turned on his heel and strode confidently out of the room, leaving Morgana feeling more confused and conflicted than she'd ever felt before.
Of all the times Merlin could have chosen to show initiative in carrying out his duties as Arthur's manservant, this probably ranked among the dumbest. Arthur might have seen this coming -- there was some little defect in Merlin's brain that wildly reinterpreted every other order handed to him, hence rat stew and downing poison and repeatedly riding into trees.
Quiet, Arthur clicked his chamber doors shut. He loomed over the bearskin rug at his fireplace for a moment, wondering just how Take the day off, Merlin could have possibly been misconstrued as Polish one of my boots, Merlin, and have a midday nap on my hearth. He knew Gaius had heard him perfectly well and would have passed along the message in full, so the problem obviously lay with the man currently curled up on the floor, dead to the world.
At his feet, Merlin snuffled, content in repose and a job half done. Not far from one outstretched hand stood a single boot, its toe shining.
Arthur sighed, getting on his haunches and intending to shake Merlin awake, but upon closer inspection, withdrew his hand. Merlin on his best days was pale, but he was nearing translucence now, a clammy sheen to his skin that made it clear that he'd neglected to take his sanctioned time off in favour of pushing through his illness instead, stubbornly forcing physical labour on himself to prove some kind of point.
With his manservant passed out in the middle of the room, Arthur hadn't taken notice of much else when he'd first come in, but now that he had caught up with events, he could see his armour clean and stacked carefully in one corner, the absence of the nearly sentient pile of dirty laundry behind his dressing screen, books and papers organized in a fashion that didn't involve the floor. Arthur regarded each new discovery with a tightening frown; Merlin had done what usually amounted, for him, to a week's worth of work just to show that he could.
"You," murmured Arthur, "are such an idiot."
He dithered for a second, wanting to leave Merlin be to let him get the rest he so obviously needed, but sleeping on the floor wasn't exactly the most effective method of recuperation, so Arthur angled an arm underneath him and hefted him upwards as gently as he could.
"Come on," Arthur said bracingly to the limp rag in his arms. "To bed with you."
Despite all the jostling, Merlin's eyes barely opened. He mumbled something incoherent as Arthur shifted his weight, head lolling and lips brushing against Arthur's skin. A frisson of excitement raced through Arthur's veins, involuntarily, inappropriately, and he froze mid-step, as if it would halt the course his imagination had embarked upon without warning, a picture of Merlin's mouth pressed against his neck, warm and breathy and --
"Stop it," Arthur said to himself, tamping the heady feeling down until common sense finally slunk back into place.
He looked at Merlin's pasty profile. Contagious, Arthur thought. That must be it. Contagious delirium.
Pushing away the immediate thought that formed, in his own traitorous voice, that there wasn't any such thing, Arthur dragged Merlin to the bed and bundled him into it, yanking off his boots before tucking him underneath the sheets. He perched himself on the edge of the bed, uncertain, and his hands itched without the touch of Merlin in them.
More indecipherable sounds emerged from Merlin's mouth, the whimpers and groans of the uncomfortably ill, and Arthur thought he caught his name among them.
"I'm here," he said, feeling immediately foolish for responding to what could just as easily have been a string of verbal nonsense. Struck with the necessity of making himself as useful and unsentimental as possible, Arthur pressed the back of his hand to Merlin's neck, still warm from the fever that had plagued him earlier this morning -- a bit too warm for Arthur's liking, and he propelled himself off the bed, marching to the doors.
It didn't take long to find a servant passing by. It was part of a servant's duties, after all, to lurk out of sight and reappear at a moment's notice -- something Merlin had never quite managed to grasp, constantly underfoot and too loud in his brightness, except when things needed scrubbing, but it had long since ceased to vex Arthur. Any other servant might know how to dust a mantelpiece properly or fold instead of crumple a shirt, but Merlin outshone everyone else by miles where it counted, and Arthur knew where his priorities lay.
"Fetch me a bowl of water and a towel, will you?" said Arthur to the servant girl. "And get whatever medicine Gaius was administering to Merlin this morning. Quickly."
Mission accomplished, Arthur spun on his heel to face the bed, expelling a terse sigh at the sight of Merlin fidgeting underneath the covers, tugging this way and that as if he couldn't decide whether he was too hot or too cold.
Merlin emitted an unhappy, stilted groan, half his face mashed into the pillow. And then, unmistakeably, "Arthur."
In less than a second Arthur was at his bedside again, overflowing with an unfamiliar feeling of solicitude, willing Merlin to get better by the strength of his presence alone. He didn't like seeing Merlin like this, ashen with exhaustion and infection and god only knew what else Merlin had put himself through. Arthur knew there were things Merlin kept from him, and that was his right, after all -- it wasn't Arthur's place, royalty or not, to demand full disclosure of whatever personal life Merlin managed to cultivate during off hours, especially as he wasn't sure, sometimes, that he wanted to know what little secrets Merlin nursed in the dark of his heart. But there was no hiding the fact that underneath the silly smiles and bumbling limbs and stupid questions, Merlin had a will of steel and the heart to back it up, a vitality that filled rooms, and its lack, this enervation and quiet, was glaring.
Arthur picked sullenly at a bit of lint on the hem of his blanket, mouth twisting and jaw clenching shut like he was afraid he might give voice to his thoughts. It wasn't as though he'd never seen Merlin sick before, and it wasn't as though Merlin hadn't steadily been wilting before his eyes for the past few months, but it had all come to a head now, Merlin laid up in bed, practically unconscious, fevered and muttering, and a spike of guilt seized Arthur's insides. I should have taken better care of him.
It was a preposterous thought, considering who he was and what he was, but Arthur found that he couldn't dismiss it out of hand. He could have done more for Merlin, could have offered more than his presence and his royalty. Merlin mattered.
Almost grudgingly, Arthur slid his fingers along Merlin's forehead, unsticking the damp fringe that had plastered itself there, and his fingertips of their own accord traced the smooth, fine edge of Merlin's cheek.
A polite cough sounded behind him, and Arthur's hand dropped at once. He whipped his head around, seeing Gwen in the doorway, cradling a bowl of water in one arm, a clean square of cloth and a small bottle in her other hand. Her expression spoke nothing of what she'd witnessed.
"Guinevere," Arthur said, a little too loudly, shooting off the bed.
"My lord." She tipped her head at him, coming forwards and placing everything gently on the nightstand. "I ran into Eleanor on her way to Gaius' rooms and thought I'd give her a hand. How's Merlin doing?"
"Fine. Er," said Arthur, "I mean, not fine."
One corner of Gwen's mouth lifted ever so slightly upwards, and if Arthur didn't know any better he could have sworn she was gleaning some kind of amusement from this. He tried not to narrow his eyes at her.
She held out an amber bottle, and Arthur took it, mutely. "Gaius said to give Merlin half a dose of this whenever he wakes up next, and then again come morning. He should feel much better by then."
Maybe they were intentional, maybe not, but Arthur felt the implications curl around him as he pocketed the precious vial -- that he would be there when Merlin awoke, that Merlin would still be in his bed through the night, that nursing Merlin back to health was Arthur's responsibility. Arthur cleared his throat and grunted, unsteadily, "Yes, all right."
Gwen smiled, gentle approbation in her eyes. "You care for him a great deal, don't you?"
Arthur felt his eyes widen before he could stop them. "Er," he said, eloquent as ever, his brain working so furiously to come up with a clever rejoinder it put all other functions out of working order, and Arthur's mouth opened and closed a few times uselessly. "Ah, well," he coughed, picking up the words from distant memories of when he was still capable of normal speech, "it's such a hassle finding new manservants."
"Is it?" she asked conversationally, and dipped the cloth into the water, wringing it out with practised efficiency.
He stared at her as she offered him the damp linen, certain this innocuous little chat was going in a direction he didn't want to tread.
"If you'll forgive my effrontery, sire," Gwen said, pressing the cloth into his hands when they remained limp at his sides, and nodded towards the bed, "I think perhaps Morgana may have been onto something?"
Arthur's gaze flicked involuntarily to Merlin, recalling the sputter of indignation that had risen within him at Morgana's accusations; traces of it still lingered. "Morgana," he scoffed, "is rarely right about anything."
Gwen smiled, almost laughed. "Arthur," she said affectionately, looking for all the world as if she was moments away from ruffling his hair, like a patient nanny just waiting for him to come out with the whole story, not just the bits where he mimicked exemplary behaviour. "Trust me; on this one, she's definitely right."
He thought about putting up a fight, but lying to himself was a lot easier than lying to Gwen. And what would be the point, after all? "Gwen, you and I..."
"We had our moments," she said, thoughtful, squeezing his arm briefly before remembering herself. "But you and Merlin..." She paused, shaking her head as if unable to grasp the enormity of it all. "You have a whole life together."
A series of recollections opened in his mind's eye, the journey Merlin had made from being an insouciant pest who stuck his nose everywhere it didn't belong to becoming the person Arthur trusted most in the world; on a parallel track, Arthur's rough edges had smoothed out, pettiness and bored stupidity pushed aside by everything he should be, and wanted to be. And in between each milestone, there was Merlin, challenging him, constantly, to be a better man. There was no pinpointing when annoying had turned into welcome, but he knew now he needed Merlin, in so many ways, and he couldn't imagine, or bear to, a future without Merlin by his side.
Arthur sighed, still slightly vexed by the knowing look in Gwen's eye, crossing his arms over his chest. "It's that obvious, is it?"
Gwen smiled widely, pleased, and rose on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. "Take care of him," she said, and glided out of the room.
He sank onto the edge of the bed again, spent, and dabbed a corner of the cloth along Merlin's brow, cupping his cheek briefly. "I will."
It had been more than three hours since her conversation with Uther, but Morgana was unable to get the things he'd said out of her mind. That he had come to speak with her was no surprise, but that he'd accepted responsibility for her actions was nothing short of astounding. For all of his misplaced fury at magic, for all the despicable actions he'd taken and likely still would, she could no longer deny that when it came to his love and affection for her, there was not an insincere bone in his body. He meant every word he said, and she could no longer turn a blind eye to that.
This revelation should have brought with it the provision of relief, but instead she felt more conflicted than ever before, Morgause's parting words still lingering at the back of her mind like a dead weight. Prior to her return to Camelot, failure had never once crossed her mind as an option, and yet now, when she was at the cusp of finally moving things along, failure was beginning to feel more like the solution than the predicament.
There still remained no doubt in her mind that Uther deserved to pay for the atrocities he had committed throughout his life -- the murder of hundreds of innocent people simply for being born a certain way, and the thought still made her ill, the knowledge that her kin had been unjustly persecuted for the majority of her life. But perhaps appointing herself his personal judge and executioner was just as unfair. It was a thought that had been steadily building, even more so at the time of Morgause's visit, and Morgana wondered if perhaps it would be wise to try and contact her sister to test the waters of her receptiveness to the potential alternatives.
With that decision made, Morgana permitted herself a few moments to think of the man who'd been instrumental in her shifting perspective. Leon was an incredible man, beautiful inside and out, with upstanding virtue and a strong moral compass. He was everything that she could ever askhope for in a friend, and dare to hope for in a potential future husband. But there was still one significant barrier in their way, one that could destroy any hope they may have had in an instant.
There was no way she could even entertain the thought of something more, without first knowing how he would react to the idea of magic, and specifically her own abilities.
After a moment's hesitation, she determined that there was no time like the present for finally sorting through this issue once and for all. Pulling open the door, Morgana turned a smile upon Leon. "Can we walk?" It was getting late, but he would remain on duty for at least another couple of hours. They had more than enough time to work with.
He nodded, eyeing her curiously but saying nothing. Depending on how he reacted to the conversation she was about to start, Morgana determined, after mulling over every possible option and potential way for this whole thing to turn sour -- and there were many ways in which it could -- that she would tell him the truth. Or at least as much as she could, without incriminating herself. Still, all the status in the world, and all the love that Uther may harbour for her would not be able to protect her from the truth of the role that she played in this whole debacle, or the intention behind the actions that were taken.
"I've been thinking," she started, after they'd been walking for a few minutes, when she was certain they were far enough away from prying ears. Most of the regular activity and energy in the castle had faded by this hour, but one could never be too careful. "About the boy. Who was recently executed."
When his response wasn't immediately forthcoming, Morgana felt her heart sink to her feet. Perhaps she'd been naive in believing that he still cared for her, following the near melt-down she'd had in his arms early that morning, sinking into his strength like a drowning woman clinging to the one thing that would keep her afloat. He was required to protect her from anything that may cause harm, so would that not, then, logically include comfort from night terrors? After all, hadn't she made her lack of affection for Leon painfully clear when she'd kissed Uther, even if her actions were directly opposed to the desires of her heart? The idea that he was merely executing his responsibilities and nothing more was suddenly a frightening possibility that Morgana didn't want to even entertain, let alone investigate. Still, she had to know for her own peace of mind. Better to discover the truth now, when the pain would burn but extinguish in time, than wait until her heart was already fully invested.
His response was so quiet that for a moment she thought she'd imagined it. "What about him?"
With wide eyes, she cast a glance in his direction, shadows from the glow of candlelight softening his features, and to her surprise, he was watching her openly, eyes alight with something she never thought she'd see again. Almost immediately Morgana found herself overcome with the urge to reach up and run her fingers down the side of his face, to feel the soft hair from his beard against her fingertips. Locking the desire in her heart, she mentally shook herself with a reminder of the purpose of their current conversation.
Swallowing, she shoved aside all other thought. "He died because he was trying to save his sister from the illness that was killing him. He wasn't harming anyone or acting with any sort of malicious intent, and now his parents have lost both of their children. It's heart-breaking and unfair."
"Yes, it is," he agreed. "I can't imagine how his parents must feel."
"Nor can I," she said sadly.
A couple of servants turned down the hall, walking towards them, and they both fell silent, instinctively falling in line with what was appropriate, instead of walking side by side. When they were alone once more, Morgana returned to the conversation.
"Do you think the boy deserved death for his crime?" she asked before she was aware of the question even formulating in her mind.
He turned to stare at her, obviously a little taken aback. "He used magic and was caught. The laws must be upheld, whether or not we agree with them."
"But I'm asking you for your opinion, whether you think his execution was just," she pressed, aware of the fact she was cornering him, but not sure how else to elicit the responses she sought.
Leon dropped his voice, leaning just slightly into her personal space. "Morgana, you understand that I could be thrown into the dungeons for even having this conversation with you."
She was sure Leon wasn't saying this for his own sake; she was confident he knew she would never reveal their conversation to another soul. So he must be giving her a way out - a chance to end the discussion here and now. And if he wasn't trying to protect himself, then he was trying to protect her - even if he didn't know exactly what from.
Touching his arm to garner his attention, she met his deep green eyes, speaking with confidence and assurance. "I know."
And just like that, his entire posture seemed to relax just a fraction, perhaps noticeable to Morgana alone, but it was enough of an assurance that she'd said the right thing. "All right," he said, even sounding relieved.
And then the question was there, dancing around at the back of her mind, reluctant to take shape. It was significant, in any number of ways, because there was so much more resting on his words now. But before she could prevent herself from speaking, Morgana forced the question from her lungs in a rush. "Would you, if you had the ability or resources-- would you have used magic, if you could have? To save your brother from being killed?"
He stopped, immediately, at the question, and Morgana was suddenly terrified to look at him, afraid of what she might see on his face. But the question was now out there at least, and it would certainly reveal his personal perspective on magic once and for all, even if he didn't provide her with the answers she sought
"I'm not sure, exactly, how magic would have helped," he said at length, slowly, as though still carefully considering her words and his opinion on them, "but if there had been some way, if I'd had the ability or means with which to do so, I think-- I think that it's not completely out of the realm of possibility that I might've considered something like that. Provided, of course, that by its use, I wouldn't have condemned someone else to the same fate, because no one should have to go through what my family and I did."
Her heart skipped a beat, some of the heaviness floating away at his response, and even she could not quash the hope that was beginning to bubble in her veins. Yet, there was still more she needed to know, more that she had to ask. "Even if it was illegal, and could have resulted in your own death?"
Folding his arms, Leon scratched thoughtfully at his chin. "I can't say for certain, of course, but I think so. When your convictions are strong enough, I think that it's possible to be more than willing to risk your life for someone you care about."
Morgana felt hope rise at that answer, but she sent a cautious warning her own way with the reminder not to jump too quickly to conclusions without all the facts.
"Does this mean, then, that you disagree with the official stance on magic?" she asked in hushed tones, glancing down the corridor once more just to reassure herself that no one else was around.
Clear anxiety settled into his features and Leon folded his arms across his chest, somewhat defensively.
"I'm not saying that I don't," Leon said hastily, then seemed to catch himself. "It's just-- I don't know what happened twenty odd years ago that changed everything, but I suspect that actions were taken that felt fully justified at the time, and perhaps they even were, to a small extent. However, if I may speak so freely, I think that the king may have been attributing malicious intent to the wrong factor."
If she was hearing him correctly, then that meant... No, she still needed to hear more. "So what are you saying, exactly?" Morgana asked, as much to clarify as to hear the words just one more time, with the hope that they might truly sink in.
"I'm suggesting that you could hand a sword to an honourable man and he would use it to defend and protect, while a dishonourable man would use the same weapon to steal or kill. What matters is not the weapon of choice, but what's in the heart of the person who wields it." He paused, then deliberately lowered his voice even more, so much so that she had to lean in closer just to make out what he was saying. "Some will use magic for destruction, but I see no distinction between the use of magic, a sword, or a cross-bow. Those who wish to do harm will use whatever means they have available to them in the same way as those who wish to do good. Punishment should be doled out based on the crime, not on the means that were used to commit the crime."
And there it was, the answer she so desperately sought. Instantly the dread and fear hovering over her head like a storm cloud dissipated and began to drift away. "You-- you're absolutely correct, I think. At least, that's how I see it too. Someone who has an ability, whether it's swordsmanship, unarmed combat or magic -- they shouldn't be condemned simply for possessing the skill in the first place. Only if they choose to use it for evil purposes." She pointedly tried to forget the current misuse of her own talents.
"I didn't realise quite how much passion you have for this topic," Leon said, but if he was implying something, it wasn't immediately obvious.
"There's so much you still don't know about me," she breathed, filled with something resembling regret all of a sudden, and cast her eyes towards the floor. It was as close to an admission of her magic as she'd ever given, save for that one time when she'd foolishly decided to confide in Merlin, though he had yet to reveal her secret, and that, at least, said something about his character.
"Perhaps so," he agreed softly. She felt his fingers curls gently around her arm, tugging until she met his gaze once again, eyes warm and swimming with openness. "But I'd like to. Learn more about you, I mean, if you-- if that's something you want as well, of course."
He spoke with such candour, his voice filled with both hope and nervous anticipation, that there was no room for misinterpretation of his meaning or the intention behind his words this time. Perhaps, then, not all had been lost when she'd kissed Uther after all, if Leon still desired to pursue something more with her. Without even realising what she was doing, her hand moved to cover his, her smile so bright it could have lit the entire corridor on its own. Ducking her head, as much to hide the blush that stained her cheeks as to prevent herself from doing anything rash, she heard herself replying, "I very much would like that, yes."
His responding grin made her feel weak at the knees for just a moment, even as her heart felt as though it might burst free from her chest. "I'm glad," he said, eyes darting to fixate on the place on her shoulder where their hands still touched. "And I just-- I wanted to let you know that no matter what I happen to learn about you, it won't change anything. About how I see you, I mean. No matter what it is." He spoke slowly, placing just slightly more emphasis on the last sentence, staring deep into her eyes, and she could tell that he was referring to any of the secrets buried deep within her mind, knew without fully knowing that he was telling her he'd still accept whatever it was she kept locked away.
Just like that, every fear, every worry, every bit of indecision she was feeling shattered like tiny shards of glass at her feet. They had a long road to travel, one they'd barely just begun, and she had no idea where it would take them, what she was going to do about all of the loose ends furling around the edges of her life, but she had her answer now, knew exactly where they stood, and it was enough to convince her to try to contact Morgause in order to reevaluate their strategy.
Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, Morgana smiled up at him, grateful beyond expression. "Thank you."
Comfortable silence hung between them for several moments, as if both were simultaneously basking in their unspoken confessions while attempting to figure out what there was to say now. As anticipated, Leon was the one to finally break the quiet.
"We should probably head back," he suggested, letting go of her shoulder and reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck a bit awkwardly, a content smile still resting on his lips.
Were it not for the fact that they could be caught at any moment, she might have taken his hand in her own, entwining their fingers and leaning into his side like she'd wanted to for longer than she was even consciously aware. But as it was, the risk was still too great, and she still had business to take care of, had to figure out a way to get in contact with her sister. So instead, she settled for merely enjoying the way their arms or hands occasionally brushed against one another as they walked, feeling optimistic about her future for the first time in longer than she could remember.
Continue to Chapter Fourteen"