Before the Sun Breaks Another Day -- Chapter Sixteen
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: 7,452
Disclaimer: Not ours. No money is being made. Please don't sue.
Authors' Note: Many thanks to our fabulous beta and Brit-picker ravenflight21.
Previous Chapters: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Merlin's world blinked into focus as his eyes fluttered open. He took a moment to take in his surroundings and almost instantly was struck with two thoughts. The first was that he was lying in his bed, and felt as if he'd been there for at least a week, if his stiff muscles were any indication. The second was that he hurt all over -- his head, his chest, his arms -- but he had no idea why. Merlin wracked his brain, trying to remember what he might have done to cause this situation, but he came up blank. He heard Gaius puttering around in the other room and tried to call out to him, but the words came out as nothing more than a weak cough, throat painfully parched. But it was enough to alert Gaius to his state of consciousness, and a moment later, the old man peeked his head through the doorway.
Gaius' eyes widened, round as saucers, at the sight of him. "Merlin, my boy, you're awake!"
The relief and joy in his voice was obvious, but Merlin had no recollection of what might've happened to warrant such a reaction.
"You must be thirsty, let me get you something to drink," Gaius said, disappearing into the other room for a moment before returning with a pitcher and cup. He perched on the edge of Merlin's bed and helped dribble some of the cool water into Merlin's mouth before gathering supplies.
There were about a million thoughts racing through his mind, but only one that emerged victorious. "Was I injured?" It was a stupid question, one he knew as soon as the words left his mouth, but it was too late to take it back.
Gaius frowned, halting mid-movement. "You don't remember? You've been here for the past three days."
Shaking his head slightly, Merlin struggled to recall how he'd ended up in pain, lying in this bed for several days on end. It must have been a significant injury to knock him off his feet for this long, though. "No. I don't, Gaius. What happened to me?"
"Ah, well, that's probably for the best anyway. It will come back to you in time, my boy," Gaius said as he started examining Merlin, fingers pressing into the soft flesh at his wrist.
As he continued his examination of Merlin, the blanket was pulled back to reveal a large white bandage across his chest. Merlin stared down at it in wonder, finally making the connection between the dull throb and the original source of the pain. A vague notion that he'd been struck in the chest by something floated back to him. And then, memories -- of hunting down Arthur in the forest, of being attacked by a behemoth, of revealing his magic and killing the beasts, of Arthur holding him in his arms while he tried to say good-bye, of being kissed with the urgency and desperation of a hopeless man -- came rushing back, and the emotional turmoil of it all twisted and churned in his gut.
"Oh, god, I do remember. Arthur was out in the woods all alone, and Morgana went after Morgause," Merlin mumbled, almost to himself.
"Mm, yes," Gaius agreed, peeling the bandage from Merlin's chest with great care. "That's right."
Glancing down, Merlin surveyed the damage to his body from the behemoth attack. There were four long gashes spanning almost the length of his chest from the behemoth claw that had torn apart his flesh, mostly scabbed over at this point, and several fading bruises that followed the line of the injury, somewhere between purple and greenish in hue. Merlin was no physician, but as the injury had been sustained a mere three days ago, he thought the wound appeared to be healing rather quickly, all things considered.
"Arthur wasn't injured, was he? He's all right?" Merlin asked, his heart lurching with the realisation that he still didn't know if Arthur had made it away unscathed.
Gaius nodded. "Yes, he's fine. A few cuts and bruises, but very few injuries otherwise."
He couldn't quite hold back the smile that formed on his lips, relief settling over him. "Good. That's good."
And then Merlin remembered that Morgana had gone off to confront Morgause on her own, and had no idea whether or not she'd survived. "What about Morgana?"
There was a brief pause as he moved away to retrieve a bottle from the side table, and then, "She's fine. In fact, she single-handedly brought down the sorceress, Morgause."
"Brought down?" Merlin blinked, confused.
"Killed her," Gaius clarified.
"Oh." Merlin fell silent as Gaius continued to tend to his injuries, allowing this information to sink in. Morgana had killed Morgause? Had it been intentional, or an accident, he wondered, and had she used magic to accomplish the task? The thought reminded him of his own indiscretions, and he wondered if Gaius was aware that he'd revealed his magic to Arthur. It was fairly likely that he did know, but on the off-chance he was still unaware, now might be the best time for Merlin to come clean. Surely Gaius wouldn't yell at him in his current state.
"Um, I should probably tell you--" Merlin said, pausing to see how Gaius might react, but his impassive face revealed nothing. "I, uh-- Well, I sort of used magic. In front of Arthur. And he saw me do it. So, er, he knows. About my magic, I mean."
Surprisingly, Gaius barely even reacted at all, save for the bemused look he tossed in Merlin's direction. "Had you told him anything of your magic prior to this point?"
Merlin shook his head as Gaius applied some sort of salve to his wounds, eyes squinting shut against the sudden stinging sensation. "No. It was like he already knew."
"I can't imagine how. You're usually so careful," Gaius said, shooting Merlin a pointed look. "But you're very lucky that Arthur was your only witness, otherwise you might not still be here."
He knew that. Merlin was incredibly fortunate. All the same, he couldn't help but wish there'd been another way. He would have preferred telling Arthur directly -- even if he'd already known -- instead of having his secret forced out into the open through unfortunate circumstances. He wondered, vaguely, if Arthur's stance regarding Merlin's magic had changed at all, once he'd been given time to fully process the information. Or worse, if he'd lied to Merlin in the first place about not caring, seeing as how his death had appeared to be imminent anyway. The fact that Arthur had apparently suspected he had magic prior to the behemoth incident and had clearly chosen not to act on it was a hopeful sign. Yet suspecting someone was a sorcerer and actually seeing confirmation of those suspicions were entirely different matters. Even the faintest idea that he might have ruined everything with his recent actions filled him with anxiety. But one thing was for certain -- and in this he was able to take some comfort -- the fact that he was still in his own bed told him that at the very least, Arthur had not informed his father of Merlin's abilities, nor was it likely that he would. For now, without being able to learn anything more until morning, it would have to be enough.
"I know," Merlin huffed, trying not to sound petulant, because in truth, he deserved a dressing down about his lack of self-preservation skills. "But could you perhaps save the lecture for another time?"
Gaius was applying the new bandages now. "I have no doubt that you'd listen just as well in a week as you would at this very moment, but in this case, you did a good thing, Merlin, and I'm proud of you."
"Thank you," he said, relishing the praise, rarity that it was.
Shifting just barely, Merlin suddenly noticed that something felt different about the bed. It seemed more spacious, like he actually had room to move, and it was softer than the hard straw he'd become accustomed to. He squirmed and tried to bounce a little in an attempt to test his newly discovered theory. "Is this a new bed?" he asked.
Gaius tutted softly at his actions. "Yes. Arthur had it brought around a couple of days ago; he thought it might help speed along your recovery."
That didn't sound like something Arthur would do, which meant that Merlin truly must have been on the brink of death. Oddly enough, the idea filled him with contentment -- that Arthur cared enough about him to obtain a new bed specifically to help with his recovery -- and his heart swelled.
"I want to see him," Merlin said, suddenly longing for nothing else but to be near Arthur again.
"I don't think that's wise right now, Merlin," Gaius said, turning to rinse his hands in a basin of water next to the bed.
"Why not?"
"Because I only just managed to convince him to leave for the night. Let him get some rest first."
Merlin waved a hand dismissively, the action looking far more feeble than he'd intended it to. "Surely he can sleep later--" Merlin's voice faded when Gaius' words finally sunk in. "Wait. What do you mean you 'managed to convince' Arthur to leave? He hasn't been here that much, has he?" There was no hopeful tone to his voice, no eager smile, no fluttering in his chest. Or at least that's what Merlin told himself.
"Arthur has barely left your side since your injury, save for attending to his usual duties. I dare say he's spent more time in my workshop the last few days than I have."
"Really?"
"You sound surprised," Gaius said, smiling fondly. "You should give him more credit. He's been worrying himself silly over you."
Merlin perked up, the hopeful tone getting away from him now. "Did he say so?"
"Of course not. It's Arthur. But he didn't have to. Anyone could see it written plain across his face every time he looked at you."
A flush crept up the back of Merlin's neck and stained his cheeks pink, and he suddenly wished it were darker in the room. "Oh. Well, uh, I'm glad."
For a moment, it appeared as though Gaius wanted to say something else -- perhaps ask a question -- but at the last moment he shook his head, as if to clear it of all thought, holding his tongue for now, it would seem. "You need to get some rest. But first, drink this. It should help with your recovery."
Reluctantly, Merlin took the phial from Gaius' outstretched hand and swallowed the revolting concoction in one gulp. He was asleep again before his head even hit the pillow.
Morgana stared out of the window, seeing nothing. She had begged off dinner with Uther, claiming a headache, not sure she could stand another minute of seeing his eyes shine with pride that she had singlehandedly brought Morgause down. She'd had to lie, again, about what had happened and what she had done and what it had meant to her.
It had been unavoidable, telling Leon, and then Arthur, when they'd both seen the blood all over her hands. And by the time it had got back to Uther, the celebrations were inevitable: Camelot had once again triumphed over sorcery. Amidst the wine and revelry, nobody had noticed Arthur on the edge of falling apart from worrying about Merlin, and nobody was aware of the cold hand that gripped her own heart every time somebody stupidly babbled a toast in her honour.
Perhaps Leon might have, more perceptive than most, but she hadn't spoken to him since they'd got back. Buoyed by the news of Morgause's death, Uther had stood Leon down from duty that very night, leaving Morgana free to come and go as she pleased.
She supposed it should have made her happy. But she'd been grateful, at least, for the chance to leave the castle unattended, so she could give Morgause a decent funeral, even if the obsequies were nothing more than a fire burnt in quiet of the night and whispered apologies no one would hear.
She wouldn't have known what to say to Leon anyway. It wasn't as though they were saying goodbye, after all -- at least, not for the time being. But then a day went by, and another, without her saying anything at all, and the more words she left unspoken the less sure of herself she became.
The roiling emotions that had caused her magic to flare up during the confrontation with Morgause were just a simmer now, but Morgana knew she couldn't avoid them forever. And although the thoughts had been unwilled and unwelcome, it was clear that she'd been telling herself the truth: staying in Camelot and pretending everything was the same would only engender the same bitterness that had driven her out before.
She couldn't risk something like that ever happening again and she needed to learn how to deal with her magic in a safe, controlled way so she wouldn't repeat her mistakes, wouldn't trap herself in her own lies again. But where Leon stood in all this, she couldn't say. And the longer she avoided finding out, the more her courage ebbed away. She had to come clean with him -- wanted to -- but every time she set foot outside her door, fear chased her back in.
Morgana turned away from the window, shaking away thoughts of Leon, hear Gwen knocking at the door and coming in with a tray.
"Are you feeling a bit better?" Gwen asked, setting the dinner things on the table.
"I am, thank you," Morgana replied, smiling, glad of Gwen's presence. "How's Merlin coming along?"
"He's come to," she said, flushed with pleasure, "and Gaius says he's definitely on the mend, so that's good news."
"That's wonderful," Morgana said, only mildly surprised to realise that she meant it. "And how... are the knights?" she asked lightly.
Gwen ducked her head, trying to hide a smile. "They're all doing quite well, all patched up since the attack. Just about the same as when you asked this morning."
"Ah," said Morgana, with the sneaking suspicion that Gwen was purposefully withholding information for her own amusement.
"Of course," Gwen went on, pouring out a measure of wine, "there is one in particular who keeps asking me about you, and I think there's one in particular you keep wanting to ask me about, so if I were you I might go and see that one knight in particular for myself?"
Morgana willed herself not to blush, but her cheeks still felt as though they were on fire. "I cannot imagine what you're talking about, Gwen."
"Yes, silly of me," Gwen said, not even trying to maintain a semblance of decorum now. "I must be thinking of some other Sir Leon and Lady Morgana."
"Gwen!"
The cheekiness dissolved into an expression of gentle commiseration, and Gwen reached over to squeeze her hand. "What's stopping you?"
Morgana shook her head. "I don't know," she said, a small, unsteady laugh winding its way out of her throat.
"He's a good man, and he cares for you."
"Do you think so?"
"You know he does."
She did know. Everything Leon had said and done came straight from his heart, incapable of guile. It was what had first drawn her to him in the first place; all the knights regularly spoke of honour and nobility, but Leon lived it, and she owed it to him to give that honour in return.
At Gwen's encouraging look, Morgana pushed her uncertainty down once and for all. "Well," she said, "if you insist."
"I do," Gwen said loftily, smiling. "And I happen to know that he's in his rooms waiting for Gaius to make the rounds. Dinner can keep for a bit, don't you think?"
Morgana pulled her friend close and held her tight. "What would I do without you, Gwen?"
"All kinds of silly things," Gwen said softly. "Go."
Morgana hugged her again, and pushed herself out the door before second thoughts could crowd her intentions out. Apprehension followed on velvet footsteps as she swept through the corridors, towards the wing of the castle that the knights and squires inhabited, and although some of them gave her slightly quizzical looks in passing, her path was unhindered, and soon she found herself standing outside Leon's rooms.
The door was ajar, and through the gap, she could hear Gaius talking, telling Leon that the wound he'd sustained in the fight was healing nicely and that he'd soon be back on the training grounds, good as new.
Morgana knocked, and eased herself halfway in before she could talk herself out of it. "Evening," she said.
"Oh, Morgana," said Gaius, surprised, his hands mid-air, holding a strip of bandage.
Leon got to his feet. "My lady," he said, slightly abashed, as he glanced down at his shirtless, bruised torso. An angry, red gash lined his upper left arm, a souvenir from Morgause's beast.
"Gaius, you must have your hands full. Let me?" Morgana nodded towards the clean bandage in his hands.
"Ah," he said, momentarily startled at the request. "Yes, that would-- By all means." Gathering up his basket, Gaius bid them both a good night and scuttled out of the room, pausing for just a moment before closing the door quietly behind him.
Morgana picked up the cloth. Silently, she took Leon's hand and rested his arm over her shoulder while she twined the bandage around his wound, a sudden thrill skittering across her skin at being so close to him, touching him. "How are you feeling?" she asked, to cover the sound of her heart thudding against her ribcage.
"I-- I'm fine," he said, watching her. "And you, my lady?"
She lifted her eyes to his, smiling. "It's Morgana."
"Morgana," he repeated, a whisper.
Slowly, expertly, she secured the bandage and moved his arm off her shoulder, though their fingers tangled briefly. Unsure of herself, lost for where to even start, Morgana looked around the room helplessly; it was ordered and neat as one might expect of him, but what caught her attention was a golden yellow flower in full bloom at his bedside, standing proudly in a makeshift vase.
"Is that...?"
Leon followed her gaze over his shoulder. "A yellow peony, yes. It reminds me of--" He stopped abruptly, but seemed to come to an internal decision to forge ahead, and said, catching her eye, "It reminds me of a remarkable woman I know. It's her favourite flower."
Morgana bit back her surprise. It couldn't be pure coincidence, but there was no way he could have known, either. She remembered a turn around the royal gardens with him, what seemed like an age ago, telling him about her father and his habit of picking flowers for her, and teasing Leon about guessing what her favourite flower was. She had favoured a pink peony that day, she recalled, but... "Why yellow?" she asked, feeling an unreasonable amount of anticipation at his answer, like something tremendous hinged on it.
One side of his mouth tilted upwards as he went to retrieve the flower. "Gold," he said softly, offering the bright blossom to her. "The colour of her father's crest."
Unexpected tears pricked her eyes. It wasn't something he could have found out just by asking around; even Gwen didn't know. The fact that he had spent that much thought on something she might not have ever seen was astonishing. "How did you know?"
"I was watching you that day," he admitted, "and knowing how close you were to your father, it made sense to me."
Morgana smiled, taking a step forward, twirling the stalk between her fingers. "Did you desecrate the royal gardens for me?"
Leon chuckled softly, his chin tucked downward. "I'd do it again."
"I have no doubt. Thank you," she laughed, and rose up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek.
His hand went to her waist, and in that instant, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to just slide into his arms and press her lips to his, but as much as she wanted to, Morgana forced herself to pull away. They had much to talk about -- she, at least, had a lot to explain -- and she owed it to him to tell him the truth before anything else happened, so he could decide for himself what he wanted out of this, whatever it was that they had.
She smiled at him reassuringly, though reassurances were something she sorely needed herself, and gestured for him to sit. "Leon, I have to tell you something," she said haltingly, "about me."
"All right," Leon said, curious, a flicker of worry sparking in his eyes.
Her fingers twisted in her lap. "And if you never want to speak to me again after this, I understand, but you have to know I'd never intentionally hurt you."
He leaned forward. "Morgana, what's wrong?"
"I'm not who you think I am. Or-- Or maybe I am," she amended, an uncertain laugh juddering past her lips; no more than three sentences in and already she was unravelling. "I'm sure you've suspected, haven't you? That I have magic."
She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting -- something dramatic, maybe; a lightning strike, alarm bells, fury -- but Leon only remained stock still for a moment, before nodding.
"Yes," he said slowly, "I remember thinking it was strange that all these accidents kept happening in your room, and... All those talks we had about magic -- I confess I did wonder."
"Well, you were right," Morgana said, and looked down at her hands, tightening around each other, afraid that if she looked Leon in the eye she might lose her nerve. "I didn't know it myself until about a year ago. I've always had very vivid dreams, but they started getting more and more terrifying, and some of them-- Some of them came true. And there wasn't anyone I could turn to for help." She paused, feeling tendrils of bitterness creep up, and waited until they went away again. "I was scared, and angry. I didn't ask for magic, and I didn't want it. I felt like some kind of... abomination, and I knew Uther would never understand; no one would, not in Camelot. And when Morgause came along, for the first time since this all began, I felt accepted, loved for who I truly was, not like some dirty secret that had to be locked away."
"Morgause..." Leon murmured. "She was the sorceress that--"
"I killed her, yes. I had to stop her," Morgana affirmed, in a voice that wasn't really hers, so practical, like her heart didn't hurt. "She was my sister."
Leon shook his head lightly, uncomprehending.
"We were separated before I even had a chance to know her," she explained. "And when she came back for me, I wasn't so alone any more. She made me feel like there wasn't anything wrong with me after all."
"There isn't," Leon said firmly.
Morgana tried to smile, loving Leon in that moment, but there was more to come. She took a deep breath, trying to drown the quaver in her voice. "I wasn't taken. I was with Morgause during those months," she admitted quietly, "making plans to dethrone the king. That's why I came back. I felt so angry and abandoned, and I had every intention of killing Uther for what he'd done to all those innocent people for the past twenty years."
Leon said nothing, his hands steepled and pressed against his mouth, staring down at the floor.
"I'm not proud of myself for it," Morgana went on. "I let things get completely out of hand, and people got hurt. And for that, I am truly sorry. But whatever else you think of me, please know that I couldn't go through with it because you made the difference. You had every reason for vengeance and hatred, but you're so much stronger than that, and I only wish I could have learned that from you a little earlier."
Still Leon remained silent; she didn't know what she'd come hoping for -- understanding, forgiveness, maybe even an upbraiding, but none seemed forthcoming, and Morgana rose from her seat. His gaze followed her upward.
"I'm grateful for all your help, even if you didn't know you were giving it," she said, smoothing out an invisible wrinkle in her dress to stop her hands shaking, "and I will always think of you as a friend, but I understand if-- if you don't, if you can't feel the same about me."
Slowly, Leon eased himself from the chair. "What are you going to do now?"
It wasn't quite the blank, stiff demeanour Leon had shown her after he'd seen her kiss Uther, but it was close, and before she could stop it, tears welled up in her eyes again. But she only had herself to blame. She inhaled deeply, trying to wrest some calm back. "Uther's still the same, Camelot is still the same. I'm the one who's changed, and I can't pretend everything's fine. I can't risk becoming that person again. I can't risk hurting everyone again. I can't stay," she said, and as soon as she'd said it she knew she couldn't take it back; her mind was made up. Even so, the tears spilled over her cheeks.
Leon stepped closer, then, and cupped the side of her face with one hand, brushing the tears away, his warmth returning and enveloping her in a halo. "Can I change your mind?"
That quiet gentleness only made her want to cry harder, and he wrapped her in his arms until the shaking subsided. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to keep crying on you," Morgana said, feeling an inappropriate laugh bubble up in her throat as she wiped at his chest.
He smoothed her hair reassuringly. "Morgana, I can't say that I agree with what you did, or what you meant to do, but I know what it is to live with that kind of anger, that injustice, and I can't fault you for that."
"But?" she asked in a small voice, still expecting something else, something worse.
Leon shook his head. "I meant what I said that day. This doesn't change how I feel about you."
"How can it not? I-- I tried to destroy Camelot!"
"But you didn't. And it's not because you failed; it's because you chose to stop it from happening," he said, fixing an intent gaze on her, "and that says more to me about who you really are than any dreams or plans or magic."
It wasn't absolution, and in any case that wasn't really his to give -- Morgana knew that could only come from herself, but still she felt as though a massive weight had been lifted off her shoulders, and she hugged him again, tight. "How are you so lovely?" she murmured into his skin.
Leon chuckled, and it rumbled through his body. "I do my best," he said, his fingers making little, soothing circles at the small of her back.
There was something so comforting about being wrapped up in him that Morgana, for all her intentions for the future, wished she could stay here, like this, forever. Slowly, her hands travelled up his back, just a ghost of a trail, and she felt him shiver. Morgana lifted her head from his shoulder, their cheeks brushing, and then there was just the minutest of spaces between them. She couldn't say who closed it first, their lips just barely touching, tentative, experimental, like dancing too close to a flame. Then, softly, he pressed forward, and nothing had ever burned brighter.
Pulled tight and close against him, Morgana buried her hands in his hair and opened her mouth to his, a slow, drugging kiss that made her feel as light as air and as though she was made for nothing but this, and for a while, she let herself believe it.
A loud rapping at the door was what eventually pulled Arthur from his tenuous grasp on sleep. He'd barely slept the last few days, so wrought with worry over Merlin that his nights were filled with restless tossing and turning, or plagued with nightmares of Merlin's death. Cold fear stabbed at his heart at the sound, clearly an indication of something urgent, and Arthur couldn't bear the thought of a page arriving to inform him that Merlin had passed on, in spite of Gaius' insistence that he'd been improving.
"Enter," he called, sitting up and mentally bracing himself for whatever it was that he was about to hear.
As anticipated, a dark-haired page stepped cautiously into the room, looking contrite. "I apologise for waking you, my lord, but I bring word from the royal physician, Gaius."
"Yes, what is it?" Arthur forced the words from his lungs, trying -- and likely failing -- to appear impassive.
The page ducked his head. "It's about your manservant, Merlin."
Was everyone employed in the castle this infuriatingly obtuse? Arthur wanted to reach over and shake the answer from the whelp, but he managed to muster up some restraint, hands fisting in the sheets at his fingertips instead. "What about him?"
As if finally catching on to Arthur's impatience, the boy spat the words hurriedly. "Gaius requested that I inform you at once that Merlin is awake and has asked for you."
The page continued to talk, but Arthur wasn't able to process anything beyond Merlin is awake. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe as the news sank in, filling him with overwhelming relief, and much to his immense embarrassment, Arthur suddenly found himself on the verge of tears, all of the emotion of the past several weeks finally bubbling to the surface. With a curt nod and 'thank you', he dismissed the page, shoving his emotional turmoil back down where it belonged, for now.
Arthur was out of bed and dressed in a flash, hurrying down the corridors without a care in the world as to who might see him. All he knew was that he needed to reach Merlin as soon as he possibly could.
When he reached Gaius' chambers, he found the door partially ajar. Knocking lightly, Arthur pushed the door open when no response was immediately forthcoming. A cursory scan of the room revealed that it was empty, and he felt oddly relieved by that knowledge. He'd spent a great deal of time with Merlin over the past several days, which meant that he'd often been in Gaius' presence as well. Though Gaius was getting on in age and his eyesight wasn't what it used to be, that hadn't prevented him from noticing the way Arthur held Merlin's hand while he shared news about his day, or occasionally brushed the dark fringe from Merlin's eyes. Gauis hadn't expressed any disapproval, but he often shot Arthur curious looks that unleashed discomfort in Arthur's belly, like a parent carefully eyeing their child's suitor and assessing their worthiness. It hadn't been enough to convince him to stop, because Merlin meant too much to him for that. Besides, he doubted that Gaius would have ever tried to keep him away, but he often found reasons to slink away on the spur of the moment anyway, when it appeared as though Gaius might question him about what was going on. Thankfully, though, his reunion with Merlin would be a private affair.
Sucking in a nervous breath, Arthur eyed Merlin's bedroom door with no small measure of elation, and perhaps an element of fear. A great deal of very sensitive and relationship-altering information had been revealed in a short period of time, and there was no way of knowing what Merlin thought about everything. He might not even remember any of it happening at all, which Gaius had noted was a possibility.
Making the trek across the room, Arthur reached up to knock softly on Merlin's door and was surprised to note the way his hand trembled.
"Come in," he heard from the other side.
He sucked in a deep, calming breath before pulling open the door and stepping inside. Merlin was lying in bed, covers tucked around him like a cocoon. His breathing was slow and easy, but his skin looked pink in the light, void of the last remaining signs of the deathly pallor which had been present in the first few hours after the attack and lingered until the night before. At Arthur's entrance, Merlin's entire demeanour brightened, breaking out into a blinding grin, and Arthur could do nothing but smile at him in return, even as his heart did a little flip in his chest.
They stood staring at one another for a few seconds, until Merlin gestured for Arthur to come sit beside him.
"How are you feeling?" Arthur asked as he perched himself on the edge of the bed.
Merlin's hand reached up to splay carefully across his chest, and he bit his lip thoughtfully. "Like I've been slashed apart by a behemoth," he joked with a smile, but Arthur wasn't amused.
"You could have got yourself killed, you know," Arthur said, already feeling his emotions rumbling to the surface. "Why did you jump in my way?"
"I couldn't let you die," Merlin said with a shrug, as if that explained everything. It was infuriating at times, how willing Merlin was to save Arthur's life at the expense of his own. Did he truly not know how valuable his life was to so many people, including -- no, especially to -- Arthur? Merlin carefully shifted into a sitting position, and Arthur instinctively provided assistance with the process.
"I hope you know that you're an idiot," he said, once he was confident that Merlin was comfortable and properly supported in the bed. They'd had a conversation similar to this one before, but he figured it was worth repeating. It might take a hundred thousand conversations like these to get the words to finally stick in Merlin's brain.
However, instead of the barb he was anticipating, Merlin turned a fond smile on him. "Yes, well, if I ever happen to forget that important fact, I've no doubt that you'll be right there to remind me of it, sire."
Before Arthur was able to come up with a witty rejoinder, Merlin abruptly began to cough. It wasn't a particularly forceful cough, but considering the state of his chest -- Arthur hadn't seen it, but he could only imagine -- it sounded like a painful affair.
"Are you all right? Here, have some of this," Arthur said once the coughing had slowed, picking up a cup of water from the bedside table. He handed the cup to Merlin, while his other hand rested supportively on Merlin's shoulder.
Gratefully, Merlin accepted the cup and raised it to his lips, taking several long gulps before pressing it back into Arthur's waiting hand. Arthur's eyes unconsciously fell to a few drops of water that dripped from the corner of Merlin's mouth, and before he could think better of it, he reached over and wiped away the liquid with the pad of his thumb.
He felt Merlin's fingers curl around his own, squeezing gently before Merlin raised their hands to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss to Arthur's palm. Arthur's gaze flickered to Merlin's eyes, beautiful blue pools that he'd feared he would never see again, and for the first time since walking back into Merlin's room, it truly sunk in just how close he'd actually come to losing him forever.
"Arthur--"
In one surprisingly quick movement Merlin leaned forward and pulled Arthur into his arms, wrapping him in a tight embrace. For a brief moment, Arthur froze, startled by the action, before he relaxed once more, his own arms tentatively circling around Merlin's waist. He had no idea where to begin, how on earth to even attempt to express everything he was feeling. He wanted nothing more than to crush Merlin to him, to feel the beating of Merlin's heart against his chest, but he was afraid of hurting him.
"I'm not as fragile as you think I am." Merlin's breath puffed hot into his neck, as if he could sense what Arthur was thinking, and he was grateful. "I feel at least five times better than I did yesterday, and more than twenty times better than the day before."
The claim was outrageous, given the fact that Merlin hadn't even been awake two days prior, and yet, Arthur couldn't help but appreciate the sentiment behind the words.
"But you're not as tough as you think you are either," Arthur pointed out. His only response came by way of a gentle squeeze.
Silence hung heavy, palpable in the air between them. Arthur buried his face into the crook of Merlin's neck, brushing his nose against the soft skin he found there as Merlin's hand continued to stroke his back.
"I thought you were going to die," Arthur eventually whispered against Merlin's ear, revealing his most heart-wrenching fear as he pressed further into Merlin.
To feel Merlin warm and alive in his arms, to know they still had time for all the things he'd only recently acknowledged were desired and important, seemed to push Arthur to his breaking point, and he found himself fighting back a sob. It felt absurd to him that the person who had nearly died saving his life was the one who now provided him comfort, but he selfishly clung to Merlin as though he was a lifeline. Maybe in some ways -- in a lot of ways -- he was. Merlin merely held him close, rubbing soothing circles down his back, and simply allowed him to be. It should have felt awkward or out of place, but strangely, Arthur found it the exact opposite -- comforting, reassuring. There was also the unfamiliar sensation of feeling safe here in Merlin's arms, which was something Arthur could honestly say he'd never imagined in his entire life.
Pulling back a fraction, Merlin tilted his head to nuzzle the side of Arthur's face. Merlin pressed his lips to the skin at the bottom of Arthur's neck and planted a soft kiss to the spot as Arthur shuddered beneath his touch. Encouraged, Merlin trailed kisses up his neck, across his jaw line, running his fingertips down the side of Arthur's face before brushing his lips against each of Arthur's eyes.
Finally breaking the embrace, Merlin reached up to stroke Arthur's cheek with his thumb, and Arthur opened his eyes to meet Merlin's gaze. The love and affection he saw radiating from Merlin's eyes nearly bowled him over, and he couldn't believe he'd never noticed before how much Merlin cared for him.
"I thought you were going to die," he repeated, not sure if it was a justification for his slightly odd behaviour or simply a statement of the only thought he was capable of articulating at present. Either way, though, he knew they were on the crux of a very distinct change in their relationship, and the thought was exhilarating, if not minutely terrifying.
"I know. But I didn't." Merlin tossed him a watery smile, eyes filled with unshed tears of his own. "I'm all right, and I promise you I'm going to be around to fold your laundry incorrectly, break valuable castle dishes, and call you a prat no matter how many times you tell me I can't talk to you like that."
Arthur grinned, a laugh bubbling forth, and then he leaned forward and closed the distance. Something sparked instantly between them, the heat and fire of their repressed feelings finally finding an outlet as their lips met, and Arthur was quite sure this would go down in history as one of the greatest moments of his life. Mouths opened readily, tongues slipping against one another with such familiarity and ease that it was almost as if they'd been designed to do just this. Arthur moaned, deep and low, in the back of his throat, fingers tugging gently on the hair at the nape of Merlin's neck as though they could somehow get closer than they already were. Merlin's hands fisted at the back of Arthur's tunic, alternately tugging on and smoothing out the fabric as their lips moved against one another. The kiss was slow and deep, an element of desperation and need guiding it, but never quite pushing it over the line. A spike of arousal shot straight to Arthur's groin as Merlin moaned into his mouth, and he pulled back to suck at Merlin's lower lip. A breathy laugh slipped past Merlin's mouth, and Arthur thought it was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard.
For a while, Arthur forgot about the need for air, the need for food and water or anything else, really, save for the taste of Merlin on his tongue, the feel of him in his arms, the desire, white and hot, coiling in his belly. There was no prince and servant, no kingdom and responsibility, only Arthur and Merlin, pure, beautiful, genuine, and he knew then that nothing else mattered.
Which was why, he reasoned, he neither heard the door open, nor the sound of footsteps entering, until there was someone already reacting to what had transpired between them.
"Oh! Oh, god. I'm-- I'm sorry. I didn't realise you were-- Oh, god."
Arthur nearly fell off the side of the bed as he hastily broke his kiss with Merlin, head whipping around to glare at the intruder in the room. He was not the least bit surprised to see Morgana standing in the doorway, face ducked and cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment.
"Don't you know how to knock?" he demanded.
"I did," she said forcefully, still avoiding his eyes. "Twice. But you were obviously too busy to notice. Did it never occur to you to lock the door? What if I'd been Gaius? Or, I don't know, Uther?"
The thought sent an involuntary ripple of anxiety through Arthur's body, and he shuddered visibly. "Morgana! Don't say things like that."
"Well, it's true."
"I don't care. Just... don't. Not right now." He reached up to scratch the back of his neck, carding his fingers through his hair, and cast a sidelong glace at Merlin, who looked rather flustered. Rightfully so. "Did you want something, Morgana?"
She blanched for a second, before recovering. "I-- well, yes, but. It can wait."
"You've already interrupted us, so you might as well just spit it out," Arthur said, with reluctance, and to his great surprise, Morgana actually looked even more abashed than before.
"I was hoping to speak with Merlin, actually," she said, indicating her intent with a sideways nod in his direction.
He had no justification for the sudden wave of protectiveness that washed over him, and yet he still heard himself say, "Does it have to be right now? He's still recovering."
"And yet he can do all of this--" she waved her hand around rather aimlessly in their general direction, "--with you?"
He was forced to admit that she had a fairly valid point. Still, somewhat selfishly, he wanted Merlin all to himself right now. But before he could even say anything, he felt Merlin's hand cover his own, squeezing gently. "It's all right, Arthur. I'm perfectly capable of talking to Morgana."
Protesting would have been easy, but in the end, he knew Morgana well enough to know that she could wait them out. Or, she'd disappear and come back later at an even more inopportune moment. With an exaggerated sigh, Arthur nodded. "As long as you're sure."
"I am," Merlin said, and then tugged him close, pressing a feathery kiss to Arthur's lips. Lowering his voice so that Morgana couldn't hear, he added, "We have all the time in the world now. There's no need to rush anything, right?"
Arthur's heart swelled in his chest, making him feel light and almost giddy before shaking himself. "Yes, right. Well, I'll be back soon," he said, smiling a bit stupidly in Merlin's direction as he stood.
Just before he left, Arthur grabbed hold of Morgana's arm and leaned in close. "Don't tire him out too much."
A smirk formed on her lips as she nodded. "I won't, I promise."
And with that settled, Arthur took his leave, thoughts already drifting to the next time he would be with Merlin.
Continue to Chapter Seventeen
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: 7,452
Disclaimer: Not ours. No money is being made. Please don't sue.
Authors' Note: Many thanks to our fabulous beta and Brit-picker ravenflight21.
Previous Chapters: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Merlin's world blinked into focus as his eyes fluttered open. He took a moment to take in his surroundings and almost instantly was struck with two thoughts. The first was that he was lying in his bed, and felt as if he'd been there for at least a week, if his stiff muscles were any indication. The second was that he hurt all over -- his head, his chest, his arms -- but he had no idea why. Merlin wracked his brain, trying to remember what he might have done to cause this situation, but he came up blank. He heard Gaius puttering around in the other room and tried to call out to him, but the words came out as nothing more than a weak cough, throat painfully parched. But it was enough to alert Gaius to his state of consciousness, and a moment later, the old man peeked his head through the doorway.
Gaius' eyes widened, round as saucers, at the sight of him. "Merlin, my boy, you're awake!"
The relief and joy in his voice was obvious, but Merlin had no recollection of what might've happened to warrant such a reaction.
"You must be thirsty, let me get you something to drink," Gaius said, disappearing into the other room for a moment before returning with a pitcher and cup. He perched on the edge of Merlin's bed and helped dribble some of the cool water into Merlin's mouth before gathering supplies.
There were about a million thoughts racing through his mind, but only one that emerged victorious. "Was I injured?" It was a stupid question, one he knew as soon as the words left his mouth, but it was too late to take it back.
Gaius frowned, halting mid-movement. "You don't remember? You've been here for the past three days."
Shaking his head slightly, Merlin struggled to recall how he'd ended up in pain, lying in this bed for several days on end. It must have been a significant injury to knock him off his feet for this long, though. "No. I don't, Gaius. What happened to me?"
"Ah, well, that's probably for the best anyway. It will come back to you in time, my boy," Gaius said as he started examining Merlin, fingers pressing into the soft flesh at his wrist.
As he continued his examination of Merlin, the blanket was pulled back to reveal a large white bandage across his chest. Merlin stared down at it in wonder, finally making the connection between the dull throb and the original source of the pain. A vague notion that he'd been struck in the chest by something floated back to him. And then, memories -- of hunting down Arthur in the forest, of being attacked by a behemoth, of revealing his magic and killing the beasts, of Arthur holding him in his arms while he tried to say good-bye, of being kissed with the urgency and desperation of a hopeless man -- came rushing back, and the emotional turmoil of it all twisted and churned in his gut.
"Oh, god, I do remember. Arthur was out in the woods all alone, and Morgana went after Morgause," Merlin mumbled, almost to himself.
"Mm, yes," Gaius agreed, peeling the bandage from Merlin's chest with great care. "That's right."
Glancing down, Merlin surveyed the damage to his body from the behemoth attack. There were four long gashes spanning almost the length of his chest from the behemoth claw that had torn apart his flesh, mostly scabbed over at this point, and several fading bruises that followed the line of the injury, somewhere between purple and greenish in hue. Merlin was no physician, but as the injury had been sustained a mere three days ago, he thought the wound appeared to be healing rather quickly, all things considered.
"Arthur wasn't injured, was he? He's all right?" Merlin asked, his heart lurching with the realisation that he still didn't know if Arthur had made it away unscathed.
Gaius nodded. "Yes, he's fine. A few cuts and bruises, but very few injuries otherwise."
He couldn't quite hold back the smile that formed on his lips, relief settling over him. "Good. That's good."
And then Merlin remembered that Morgana had gone off to confront Morgause on her own, and had no idea whether or not she'd survived. "What about Morgana?"
There was a brief pause as he moved away to retrieve a bottle from the side table, and then, "She's fine. In fact, she single-handedly brought down the sorceress, Morgause."
"Brought down?" Merlin blinked, confused.
"Killed her," Gaius clarified.
"Oh." Merlin fell silent as Gaius continued to tend to his injuries, allowing this information to sink in. Morgana had killed Morgause? Had it been intentional, or an accident, he wondered, and had she used magic to accomplish the task? The thought reminded him of his own indiscretions, and he wondered if Gaius was aware that he'd revealed his magic to Arthur. It was fairly likely that he did know, but on the off-chance he was still unaware, now might be the best time for Merlin to come clean. Surely Gaius wouldn't yell at him in his current state.
"Um, I should probably tell you--" Merlin said, pausing to see how Gaius might react, but his impassive face revealed nothing. "I, uh-- Well, I sort of used magic. In front of Arthur. And he saw me do it. So, er, he knows. About my magic, I mean."
Surprisingly, Gaius barely even reacted at all, save for the bemused look he tossed in Merlin's direction. "Had you told him anything of your magic prior to this point?"
Merlin shook his head as Gaius applied some sort of salve to his wounds, eyes squinting shut against the sudden stinging sensation. "No. It was like he already knew."
"I can't imagine how. You're usually so careful," Gaius said, shooting Merlin a pointed look. "But you're very lucky that Arthur was your only witness, otherwise you might not still be here."
He knew that. Merlin was incredibly fortunate. All the same, he couldn't help but wish there'd been another way. He would have preferred telling Arthur directly -- even if he'd already known -- instead of having his secret forced out into the open through unfortunate circumstances. He wondered, vaguely, if Arthur's stance regarding Merlin's magic had changed at all, once he'd been given time to fully process the information. Or worse, if he'd lied to Merlin in the first place about not caring, seeing as how his death had appeared to be imminent anyway. The fact that Arthur had apparently suspected he had magic prior to the behemoth incident and had clearly chosen not to act on it was a hopeful sign. Yet suspecting someone was a sorcerer and actually seeing confirmation of those suspicions were entirely different matters. Even the faintest idea that he might have ruined everything with his recent actions filled him with anxiety. But one thing was for certain -- and in this he was able to take some comfort -- the fact that he was still in his own bed told him that at the very least, Arthur had not informed his father of Merlin's abilities, nor was it likely that he would. For now, without being able to learn anything more until morning, it would have to be enough.
"I know," Merlin huffed, trying not to sound petulant, because in truth, he deserved a dressing down about his lack of self-preservation skills. "But could you perhaps save the lecture for another time?"
Gaius was applying the new bandages now. "I have no doubt that you'd listen just as well in a week as you would at this very moment, but in this case, you did a good thing, Merlin, and I'm proud of you."
"Thank you," he said, relishing the praise, rarity that it was.
Shifting just barely, Merlin suddenly noticed that something felt different about the bed. It seemed more spacious, like he actually had room to move, and it was softer than the hard straw he'd become accustomed to. He squirmed and tried to bounce a little in an attempt to test his newly discovered theory. "Is this a new bed?" he asked.
Gaius tutted softly at his actions. "Yes. Arthur had it brought around a couple of days ago; he thought it might help speed along your recovery."
That didn't sound like something Arthur would do, which meant that Merlin truly must have been on the brink of death. Oddly enough, the idea filled him with contentment -- that Arthur cared enough about him to obtain a new bed specifically to help with his recovery -- and his heart swelled.
"I want to see him," Merlin said, suddenly longing for nothing else but to be near Arthur again.
"I don't think that's wise right now, Merlin," Gaius said, turning to rinse his hands in a basin of water next to the bed.
"Why not?"
"Because I only just managed to convince him to leave for the night. Let him get some rest first."
Merlin waved a hand dismissively, the action looking far more feeble than he'd intended it to. "Surely he can sleep later--" Merlin's voice faded when Gaius' words finally sunk in. "Wait. What do you mean you 'managed to convince' Arthur to leave? He hasn't been here that much, has he?" There was no hopeful tone to his voice, no eager smile, no fluttering in his chest. Or at least that's what Merlin told himself.
"Arthur has barely left your side since your injury, save for attending to his usual duties. I dare say he's spent more time in my workshop the last few days than I have."
"Really?"
"You sound surprised," Gaius said, smiling fondly. "You should give him more credit. He's been worrying himself silly over you."
Merlin perked up, the hopeful tone getting away from him now. "Did he say so?"
"Of course not. It's Arthur. But he didn't have to. Anyone could see it written plain across his face every time he looked at you."
A flush crept up the back of Merlin's neck and stained his cheeks pink, and he suddenly wished it were darker in the room. "Oh. Well, uh, I'm glad."
For a moment, it appeared as though Gaius wanted to say something else -- perhaps ask a question -- but at the last moment he shook his head, as if to clear it of all thought, holding his tongue for now, it would seem. "You need to get some rest. But first, drink this. It should help with your recovery."
Reluctantly, Merlin took the phial from Gaius' outstretched hand and swallowed the revolting concoction in one gulp. He was asleep again before his head even hit the pillow.
Morgana stared out of the window, seeing nothing. She had begged off dinner with Uther, claiming a headache, not sure she could stand another minute of seeing his eyes shine with pride that she had singlehandedly brought Morgause down. She'd had to lie, again, about what had happened and what she had done and what it had meant to her.
It had been unavoidable, telling Leon, and then Arthur, when they'd both seen the blood all over her hands. And by the time it had got back to Uther, the celebrations were inevitable: Camelot had once again triumphed over sorcery. Amidst the wine and revelry, nobody had noticed Arthur on the edge of falling apart from worrying about Merlin, and nobody was aware of the cold hand that gripped her own heart every time somebody stupidly babbled a toast in her honour.
Perhaps Leon might have, more perceptive than most, but she hadn't spoken to him since they'd got back. Buoyed by the news of Morgause's death, Uther had stood Leon down from duty that very night, leaving Morgana free to come and go as she pleased.
She supposed it should have made her happy. But she'd been grateful, at least, for the chance to leave the castle unattended, so she could give Morgause a decent funeral, even if the obsequies were nothing more than a fire burnt in quiet of the night and whispered apologies no one would hear.
She wouldn't have known what to say to Leon anyway. It wasn't as though they were saying goodbye, after all -- at least, not for the time being. But then a day went by, and another, without her saying anything at all, and the more words she left unspoken the less sure of herself she became.
The roiling emotions that had caused her magic to flare up during the confrontation with Morgause were just a simmer now, but Morgana knew she couldn't avoid them forever. And although the thoughts had been unwilled and unwelcome, it was clear that she'd been telling herself the truth: staying in Camelot and pretending everything was the same would only engender the same bitterness that had driven her out before.
She couldn't risk something like that ever happening again and she needed to learn how to deal with her magic in a safe, controlled way so she wouldn't repeat her mistakes, wouldn't trap herself in her own lies again. But where Leon stood in all this, she couldn't say. And the longer she avoided finding out, the more her courage ebbed away. She had to come clean with him -- wanted to -- but every time she set foot outside her door, fear chased her back in.
Morgana turned away from the window, shaking away thoughts of Leon, hear Gwen knocking at the door and coming in with a tray.
"Are you feeling a bit better?" Gwen asked, setting the dinner things on the table.
"I am, thank you," Morgana replied, smiling, glad of Gwen's presence. "How's Merlin coming along?"
"He's come to," she said, flushed with pleasure, "and Gaius says he's definitely on the mend, so that's good news."
"That's wonderful," Morgana said, only mildly surprised to realise that she meant it. "And how... are the knights?" she asked lightly.
Gwen ducked her head, trying to hide a smile. "They're all doing quite well, all patched up since the attack. Just about the same as when you asked this morning."
"Ah," said Morgana, with the sneaking suspicion that Gwen was purposefully withholding information for her own amusement.
"Of course," Gwen went on, pouring out a measure of wine, "there is one in particular who keeps asking me about you, and I think there's one in particular you keep wanting to ask me about, so if I were you I might go and see that one knight in particular for myself?"
Morgana willed herself not to blush, but her cheeks still felt as though they were on fire. "I cannot imagine what you're talking about, Gwen."
"Yes, silly of me," Gwen said, not even trying to maintain a semblance of decorum now. "I must be thinking of some other Sir Leon and Lady Morgana."
"Gwen!"
The cheekiness dissolved into an expression of gentle commiseration, and Gwen reached over to squeeze her hand. "What's stopping you?"
Morgana shook her head. "I don't know," she said, a small, unsteady laugh winding its way out of her throat.
"He's a good man, and he cares for you."
"Do you think so?"
"You know he does."
She did know. Everything Leon had said and done came straight from his heart, incapable of guile. It was what had first drawn her to him in the first place; all the knights regularly spoke of honour and nobility, but Leon lived it, and she owed it to him to give that honour in return.
At Gwen's encouraging look, Morgana pushed her uncertainty down once and for all. "Well," she said, "if you insist."
"I do," Gwen said loftily, smiling. "And I happen to know that he's in his rooms waiting for Gaius to make the rounds. Dinner can keep for a bit, don't you think?"
Morgana pulled her friend close and held her tight. "What would I do without you, Gwen?"
"All kinds of silly things," Gwen said softly. "Go."
Morgana hugged her again, and pushed herself out the door before second thoughts could crowd her intentions out. Apprehension followed on velvet footsteps as she swept through the corridors, towards the wing of the castle that the knights and squires inhabited, and although some of them gave her slightly quizzical looks in passing, her path was unhindered, and soon she found herself standing outside Leon's rooms.
The door was ajar, and through the gap, she could hear Gaius talking, telling Leon that the wound he'd sustained in the fight was healing nicely and that he'd soon be back on the training grounds, good as new.
Morgana knocked, and eased herself halfway in before she could talk herself out of it. "Evening," she said.
"Oh, Morgana," said Gaius, surprised, his hands mid-air, holding a strip of bandage.
Leon got to his feet. "My lady," he said, slightly abashed, as he glanced down at his shirtless, bruised torso. An angry, red gash lined his upper left arm, a souvenir from Morgause's beast.
"Gaius, you must have your hands full. Let me?" Morgana nodded towards the clean bandage in his hands.
"Ah," he said, momentarily startled at the request. "Yes, that would-- By all means." Gathering up his basket, Gaius bid them both a good night and scuttled out of the room, pausing for just a moment before closing the door quietly behind him.
Morgana picked up the cloth. Silently, she took Leon's hand and rested his arm over her shoulder while she twined the bandage around his wound, a sudden thrill skittering across her skin at being so close to him, touching him. "How are you feeling?" she asked, to cover the sound of her heart thudding against her ribcage.
"I-- I'm fine," he said, watching her. "And you, my lady?"
She lifted her eyes to his, smiling. "It's Morgana."
"Morgana," he repeated, a whisper.
Slowly, expertly, she secured the bandage and moved his arm off her shoulder, though their fingers tangled briefly. Unsure of herself, lost for where to even start, Morgana looked around the room helplessly; it was ordered and neat as one might expect of him, but what caught her attention was a golden yellow flower in full bloom at his bedside, standing proudly in a makeshift vase.
"Is that...?"
Leon followed her gaze over his shoulder. "A yellow peony, yes. It reminds me of--" He stopped abruptly, but seemed to come to an internal decision to forge ahead, and said, catching her eye, "It reminds me of a remarkable woman I know. It's her favourite flower."
Morgana bit back her surprise. It couldn't be pure coincidence, but there was no way he could have known, either. She remembered a turn around the royal gardens with him, what seemed like an age ago, telling him about her father and his habit of picking flowers for her, and teasing Leon about guessing what her favourite flower was. She had favoured a pink peony that day, she recalled, but... "Why yellow?" she asked, feeling an unreasonable amount of anticipation at his answer, like something tremendous hinged on it.
One side of his mouth tilted upwards as he went to retrieve the flower. "Gold," he said softly, offering the bright blossom to her. "The colour of her father's crest."
Unexpected tears pricked her eyes. It wasn't something he could have found out just by asking around; even Gwen didn't know. The fact that he had spent that much thought on something she might not have ever seen was astonishing. "How did you know?"
"I was watching you that day," he admitted, "and knowing how close you were to your father, it made sense to me."
Morgana smiled, taking a step forward, twirling the stalk between her fingers. "Did you desecrate the royal gardens for me?"
Leon chuckled softly, his chin tucked downward. "I'd do it again."
"I have no doubt. Thank you," she laughed, and rose up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek.
His hand went to her waist, and in that instant, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to just slide into his arms and press her lips to his, but as much as she wanted to, Morgana forced herself to pull away. They had much to talk about -- she, at least, had a lot to explain -- and she owed it to him to tell him the truth before anything else happened, so he could decide for himself what he wanted out of this, whatever it was that they had.
She smiled at him reassuringly, though reassurances were something she sorely needed herself, and gestured for him to sit. "Leon, I have to tell you something," she said haltingly, "about me."
"All right," Leon said, curious, a flicker of worry sparking in his eyes.
Her fingers twisted in her lap. "And if you never want to speak to me again after this, I understand, but you have to know I'd never intentionally hurt you."
He leaned forward. "Morgana, what's wrong?"
"I'm not who you think I am. Or-- Or maybe I am," she amended, an uncertain laugh juddering past her lips; no more than three sentences in and already she was unravelling. "I'm sure you've suspected, haven't you? That I have magic."
She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting -- something dramatic, maybe; a lightning strike, alarm bells, fury -- but Leon only remained stock still for a moment, before nodding.
"Yes," he said slowly, "I remember thinking it was strange that all these accidents kept happening in your room, and... All those talks we had about magic -- I confess I did wonder."
"Well, you were right," Morgana said, and looked down at her hands, tightening around each other, afraid that if she looked Leon in the eye she might lose her nerve. "I didn't know it myself until about a year ago. I've always had very vivid dreams, but they started getting more and more terrifying, and some of them-- Some of them came true. And there wasn't anyone I could turn to for help." She paused, feeling tendrils of bitterness creep up, and waited until they went away again. "I was scared, and angry. I didn't ask for magic, and I didn't want it. I felt like some kind of... abomination, and I knew Uther would never understand; no one would, not in Camelot. And when Morgause came along, for the first time since this all began, I felt accepted, loved for who I truly was, not like some dirty secret that had to be locked away."
"Morgause..." Leon murmured. "She was the sorceress that--"
"I killed her, yes. I had to stop her," Morgana affirmed, in a voice that wasn't really hers, so practical, like her heart didn't hurt. "She was my sister."
Leon shook his head lightly, uncomprehending.
"We were separated before I even had a chance to know her," she explained. "And when she came back for me, I wasn't so alone any more. She made me feel like there wasn't anything wrong with me after all."
"There isn't," Leon said firmly.
Morgana tried to smile, loving Leon in that moment, but there was more to come. She took a deep breath, trying to drown the quaver in her voice. "I wasn't taken. I was with Morgause during those months," she admitted quietly, "making plans to dethrone the king. That's why I came back. I felt so angry and abandoned, and I had every intention of killing Uther for what he'd done to all those innocent people for the past twenty years."
Leon said nothing, his hands steepled and pressed against his mouth, staring down at the floor.
"I'm not proud of myself for it," Morgana went on. "I let things get completely out of hand, and people got hurt. And for that, I am truly sorry. But whatever else you think of me, please know that I couldn't go through with it because you made the difference. You had every reason for vengeance and hatred, but you're so much stronger than that, and I only wish I could have learned that from you a little earlier."
Still Leon remained silent; she didn't know what she'd come hoping for -- understanding, forgiveness, maybe even an upbraiding, but none seemed forthcoming, and Morgana rose from her seat. His gaze followed her upward.
"I'm grateful for all your help, even if you didn't know you were giving it," she said, smoothing out an invisible wrinkle in her dress to stop her hands shaking, "and I will always think of you as a friend, but I understand if-- if you don't, if you can't feel the same about me."
Slowly, Leon eased himself from the chair. "What are you going to do now?"
It wasn't quite the blank, stiff demeanour Leon had shown her after he'd seen her kiss Uther, but it was close, and before she could stop it, tears welled up in her eyes again. But she only had herself to blame. She inhaled deeply, trying to wrest some calm back. "Uther's still the same, Camelot is still the same. I'm the one who's changed, and I can't pretend everything's fine. I can't risk becoming that person again. I can't risk hurting everyone again. I can't stay," she said, and as soon as she'd said it she knew she couldn't take it back; her mind was made up. Even so, the tears spilled over her cheeks.
Leon stepped closer, then, and cupped the side of her face with one hand, brushing the tears away, his warmth returning and enveloping her in a halo. "Can I change your mind?"
That quiet gentleness only made her want to cry harder, and he wrapped her in his arms until the shaking subsided. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to keep crying on you," Morgana said, feeling an inappropriate laugh bubble up in her throat as she wiped at his chest.
He smoothed her hair reassuringly. "Morgana, I can't say that I agree with what you did, or what you meant to do, but I know what it is to live with that kind of anger, that injustice, and I can't fault you for that."
"But?" she asked in a small voice, still expecting something else, something worse.
Leon shook his head. "I meant what I said that day. This doesn't change how I feel about you."
"How can it not? I-- I tried to destroy Camelot!"
"But you didn't. And it's not because you failed; it's because you chose to stop it from happening," he said, fixing an intent gaze on her, "and that says more to me about who you really are than any dreams or plans or magic."
It wasn't absolution, and in any case that wasn't really his to give -- Morgana knew that could only come from herself, but still she felt as though a massive weight had been lifted off her shoulders, and she hugged him again, tight. "How are you so lovely?" she murmured into his skin.
Leon chuckled, and it rumbled through his body. "I do my best," he said, his fingers making little, soothing circles at the small of her back.
There was something so comforting about being wrapped up in him that Morgana, for all her intentions for the future, wished she could stay here, like this, forever. Slowly, her hands travelled up his back, just a ghost of a trail, and she felt him shiver. Morgana lifted her head from his shoulder, their cheeks brushing, and then there was just the minutest of spaces between them. She couldn't say who closed it first, their lips just barely touching, tentative, experimental, like dancing too close to a flame. Then, softly, he pressed forward, and nothing had ever burned brighter.
Pulled tight and close against him, Morgana buried her hands in his hair and opened her mouth to his, a slow, drugging kiss that made her feel as light as air and as though she was made for nothing but this, and for a while, she let herself believe it.
A loud rapping at the door was what eventually pulled Arthur from his tenuous grasp on sleep. He'd barely slept the last few days, so wrought with worry over Merlin that his nights were filled with restless tossing and turning, or plagued with nightmares of Merlin's death. Cold fear stabbed at his heart at the sound, clearly an indication of something urgent, and Arthur couldn't bear the thought of a page arriving to inform him that Merlin had passed on, in spite of Gaius' insistence that he'd been improving.
"Enter," he called, sitting up and mentally bracing himself for whatever it was that he was about to hear.
As anticipated, a dark-haired page stepped cautiously into the room, looking contrite. "I apologise for waking you, my lord, but I bring word from the royal physician, Gaius."
"Yes, what is it?" Arthur forced the words from his lungs, trying -- and likely failing -- to appear impassive.
The page ducked his head. "It's about your manservant, Merlin."
Was everyone employed in the castle this infuriatingly obtuse? Arthur wanted to reach over and shake the answer from the whelp, but he managed to muster up some restraint, hands fisting in the sheets at his fingertips instead. "What about him?"
As if finally catching on to Arthur's impatience, the boy spat the words hurriedly. "Gaius requested that I inform you at once that Merlin is awake and has asked for you."
The page continued to talk, but Arthur wasn't able to process anything beyond Merlin is awake. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe as the news sank in, filling him with overwhelming relief, and much to his immense embarrassment, Arthur suddenly found himself on the verge of tears, all of the emotion of the past several weeks finally bubbling to the surface. With a curt nod and 'thank you', he dismissed the page, shoving his emotional turmoil back down where it belonged, for now.
Arthur was out of bed and dressed in a flash, hurrying down the corridors without a care in the world as to who might see him. All he knew was that he needed to reach Merlin as soon as he possibly could.
When he reached Gaius' chambers, he found the door partially ajar. Knocking lightly, Arthur pushed the door open when no response was immediately forthcoming. A cursory scan of the room revealed that it was empty, and he felt oddly relieved by that knowledge. He'd spent a great deal of time with Merlin over the past several days, which meant that he'd often been in Gaius' presence as well. Though Gaius was getting on in age and his eyesight wasn't what it used to be, that hadn't prevented him from noticing the way Arthur held Merlin's hand while he shared news about his day, or occasionally brushed the dark fringe from Merlin's eyes. Gauis hadn't expressed any disapproval, but he often shot Arthur curious looks that unleashed discomfort in Arthur's belly, like a parent carefully eyeing their child's suitor and assessing their worthiness. It hadn't been enough to convince him to stop, because Merlin meant too much to him for that. Besides, he doubted that Gaius would have ever tried to keep him away, but he often found reasons to slink away on the spur of the moment anyway, when it appeared as though Gaius might question him about what was going on. Thankfully, though, his reunion with Merlin would be a private affair.
Sucking in a nervous breath, Arthur eyed Merlin's bedroom door with no small measure of elation, and perhaps an element of fear. A great deal of very sensitive and relationship-altering information had been revealed in a short period of time, and there was no way of knowing what Merlin thought about everything. He might not even remember any of it happening at all, which Gaius had noted was a possibility.
Making the trek across the room, Arthur reached up to knock softly on Merlin's door and was surprised to note the way his hand trembled.
"Come in," he heard from the other side.
He sucked in a deep, calming breath before pulling open the door and stepping inside. Merlin was lying in bed, covers tucked around him like a cocoon. His breathing was slow and easy, but his skin looked pink in the light, void of the last remaining signs of the deathly pallor which had been present in the first few hours after the attack and lingered until the night before. At Arthur's entrance, Merlin's entire demeanour brightened, breaking out into a blinding grin, and Arthur could do nothing but smile at him in return, even as his heart did a little flip in his chest.
They stood staring at one another for a few seconds, until Merlin gestured for Arthur to come sit beside him.
"How are you feeling?" Arthur asked as he perched himself on the edge of the bed.
Merlin's hand reached up to splay carefully across his chest, and he bit his lip thoughtfully. "Like I've been slashed apart by a behemoth," he joked with a smile, but Arthur wasn't amused.
"You could have got yourself killed, you know," Arthur said, already feeling his emotions rumbling to the surface. "Why did you jump in my way?"
"I couldn't let you die," Merlin said with a shrug, as if that explained everything. It was infuriating at times, how willing Merlin was to save Arthur's life at the expense of his own. Did he truly not know how valuable his life was to so many people, including -- no, especially to -- Arthur? Merlin carefully shifted into a sitting position, and Arthur instinctively provided assistance with the process.
"I hope you know that you're an idiot," he said, once he was confident that Merlin was comfortable and properly supported in the bed. They'd had a conversation similar to this one before, but he figured it was worth repeating. It might take a hundred thousand conversations like these to get the words to finally stick in Merlin's brain.
However, instead of the barb he was anticipating, Merlin turned a fond smile on him. "Yes, well, if I ever happen to forget that important fact, I've no doubt that you'll be right there to remind me of it, sire."
Before Arthur was able to come up with a witty rejoinder, Merlin abruptly began to cough. It wasn't a particularly forceful cough, but considering the state of his chest -- Arthur hadn't seen it, but he could only imagine -- it sounded like a painful affair.
"Are you all right? Here, have some of this," Arthur said once the coughing had slowed, picking up a cup of water from the bedside table. He handed the cup to Merlin, while his other hand rested supportively on Merlin's shoulder.
Gratefully, Merlin accepted the cup and raised it to his lips, taking several long gulps before pressing it back into Arthur's waiting hand. Arthur's eyes unconsciously fell to a few drops of water that dripped from the corner of Merlin's mouth, and before he could think better of it, he reached over and wiped away the liquid with the pad of his thumb.
He felt Merlin's fingers curl around his own, squeezing gently before Merlin raised their hands to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss to Arthur's palm. Arthur's gaze flickered to Merlin's eyes, beautiful blue pools that he'd feared he would never see again, and for the first time since walking back into Merlin's room, it truly sunk in just how close he'd actually come to losing him forever.
"Arthur--"
In one surprisingly quick movement Merlin leaned forward and pulled Arthur into his arms, wrapping him in a tight embrace. For a brief moment, Arthur froze, startled by the action, before he relaxed once more, his own arms tentatively circling around Merlin's waist. He had no idea where to begin, how on earth to even attempt to express everything he was feeling. He wanted nothing more than to crush Merlin to him, to feel the beating of Merlin's heart against his chest, but he was afraid of hurting him.
"I'm not as fragile as you think I am." Merlin's breath puffed hot into his neck, as if he could sense what Arthur was thinking, and he was grateful. "I feel at least five times better than I did yesterday, and more than twenty times better than the day before."
The claim was outrageous, given the fact that Merlin hadn't even been awake two days prior, and yet, Arthur couldn't help but appreciate the sentiment behind the words.
"But you're not as tough as you think you are either," Arthur pointed out. His only response came by way of a gentle squeeze.
Silence hung heavy, palpable in the air between them. Arthur buried his face into the crook of Merlin's neck, brushing his nose against the soft skin he found there as Merlin's hand continued to stroke his back.
"I thought you were going to die," Arthur eventually whispered against Merlin's ear, revealing his most heart-wrenching fear as he pressed further into Merlin.
To feel Merlin warm and alive in his arms, to know they still had time for all the things he'd only recently acknowledged were desired and important, seemed to push Arthur to his breaking point, and he found himself fighting back a sob. It felt absurd to him that the person who had nearly died saving his life was the one who now provided him comfort, but he selfishly clung to Merlin as though he was a lifeline. Maybe in some ways -- in a lot of ways -- he was. Merlin merely held him close, rubbing soothing circles down his back, and simply allowed him to be. It should have felt awkward or out of place, but strangely, Arthur found it the exact opposite -- comforting, reassuring. There was also the unfamiliar sensation of feeling safe here in Merlin's arms, which was something Arthur could honestly say he'd never imagined in his entire life.
Pulling back a fraction, Merlin tilted his head to nuzzle the side of Arthur's face. Merlin pressed his lips to the skin at the bottom of Arthur's neck and planted a soft kiss to the spot as Arthur shuddered beneath his touch. Encouraged, Merlin trailed kisses up his neck, across his jaw line, running his fingertips down the side of Arthur's face before brushing his lips against each of Arthur's eyes.
Finally breaking the embrace, Merlin reached up to stroke Arthur's cheek with his thumb, and Arthur opened his eyes to meet Merlin's gaze. The love and affection he saw radiating from Merlin's eyes nearly bowled him over, and he couldn't believe he'd never noticed before how much Merlin cared for him.
"I thought you were going to die," he repeated, not sure if it was a justification for his slightly odd behaviour or simply a statement of the only thought he was capable of articulating at present. Either way, though, he knew they were on the crux of a very distinct change in their relationship, and the thought was exhilarating, if not minutely terrifying.
"I know. But I didn't." Merlin tossed him a watery smile, eyes filled with unshed tears of his own. "I'm all right, and I promise you I'm going to be around to fold your laundry incorrectly, break valuable castle dishes, and call you a prat no matter how many times you tell me I can't talk to you like that."
Arthur grinned, a laugh bubbling forth, and then he leaned forward and closed the distance. Something sparked instantly between them, the heat and fire of their repressed feelings finally finding an outlet as their lips met, and Arthur was quite sure this would go down in history as one of the greatest moments of his life. Mouths opened readily, tongues slipping against one another with such familiarity and ease that it was almost as if they'd been designed to do just this. Arthur moaned, deep and low, in the back of his throat, fingers tugging gently on the hair at the nape of Merlin's neck as though they could somehow get closer than they already were. Merlin's hands fisted at the back of Arthur's tunic, alternately tugging on and smoothing out the fabric as their lips moved against one another. The kiss was slow and deep, an element of desperation and need guiding it, but never quite pushing it over the line. A spike of arousal shot straight to Arthur's groin as Merlin moaned into his mouth, and he pulled back to suck at Merlin's lower lip. A breathy laugh slipped past Merlin's mouth, and Arthur thought it was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard.
For a while, Arthur forgot about the need for air, the need for food and water or anything else, really, save for the taste of Merlin on his tongue, the feel of him in his arms, the desire, white and hot, coiling in his belly. There was no prince and servant, no kingdom and responsibility, only Arthur and Merlin, pure, beautiful, genuine, and he knew then that nothing else mattered.
Which was why, he reasoned, he neither heard the door open, nor the sound of footsteps entering, until there was someone already reacting to what had transpired between them.
"Oh! Oh, god. I'm-- I'm sorry. I didn't realise you were-- Oh, god."
Arthur nearly fell off the side of the bed as he hastily broke his kiss with Merlin, head whipping around to glare at the intruder in the room. He was not the least bit surprised to see Morgana standing in the doorway, face ducked and cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment.
"Don't you know how to knock?" he demanded.
"I did," she said forcefully, still avoiding his eyes. "Twice. But you were obviously too busy to notice. Did it never occur to you to lock the door? What if I'd been Gaius? Or, I don't know, Uther?"
The thought sent an involuntary ripple of anxiety through Arthur's body, and he shuddered visibly. "Morgana! Don't say things like that."
"Well, it's true."
"I don't care. Just... don't. Not right now." He reached up to scratch the back of his neck, carding his fingers through his hair, and cast a sidelong glace at Merlin, who looked rather flustered. Rightfully so. "Did you want something, Morgana?"
She blanched for a second, before recovering. "I-- well, yes, but. It can wait."
"You've already interrupted us, so you might as well just spit it out," Arthur said, with reluctance, and to his great surprise, Morgana actually looked even more abashed than before.
"I was hoping to speak with Merlin, actually," she said, indicating her intent with a sideways nod in his direction.
He had no justification for the sudden wave of protectiveness that washed over him, and yet he still heard himself say, "Does it have to be right now? He's still recovering."
"And yet he can do all of this--" she waved her hand around rather aimlessly in their general direction, "--with you?"
He was forced to admit that she had a fairly valid point. Still, somewhat selfishly, he wanted Merlin all to himself right now. But before he could even say anything, he felt Merlin's hand cover his own, squeezing gently. "It's all right, Arthur. I'm perfectly capable of talking to Morgana."
Protesting would have been easy, but in the end, he knew Morgana well enough to know that she could wait them out. Or, she'd disappear and come back later at an even more inopportune moment. With an exaggerated sigh, Arthur nodded. "As long as you're sure."
"I am," Merlin said, and then tugged him close, pressing a feathery kiss to Arthur's lips. Lowering his voice so that Morgana couldn't hear, he added, "We have all the time in the world now. There's no need to rush anything, right?"
Arthur's heart swelled in his chest, making him feel light and almost giddy before shaking himself. "Yes, right. Well, I'll be back soon," he said, smiling a bit stupidly in Merlin's direction as he stood.
Just before he left, Arthur grabbed hold of Morgana's arm and leaned in close. "Don't tire him out too much."
A smirk formed on her lips as she nodded. "I won't, I promise."
And with that settled, Arthur took his leave, thoughts already drifting to the next time he would be with Merlin.
Continue to Chapter Seventeen