They both know it can't last. He is a knight of Camelot, sworn to protect King Arthur. She is their greatest enemy, destined to bring about Arthur's doom.

They both have their parts to play. He is the best fighter in Camelot and she the most powerful sorceress in history; but fate bows to no one.

But here they can pretend. Here, in the quiet shade of the forest they can be themselves. They can be simply Morgana and Gwaine, not a knight or a witch.

Sometimes they cannot sneak away. Sometimes she sits for hours with her feet dangling in the stream and her fingers stroking the white dragon at her side. Sometimes he slips away from a patrol to find only an empty clearing. Sometimes one will step into the glen to find the other waiting.

They kiss. Often they do more than kiss, fingers curled in dark hair, lips pressed to pale skin.

They talk. But those conversations are guarded. Both are too loyal to speak much of their lives outside this clearing, and they are not naive enough to believe they have any chance at a future together. They cannot not talk however, their wits are too sharp, the desire to verbally spar too much. His quick wit and flirtatious jibes are perfectly matched with her dark sarcasm and cutting retorts and they both revel in the challenge a single conversation holds.

She asks him to join her once, to leave Camelot behind and fight and rule beside her. He asks her to stop her revolution. Neither truly believe the other will do as they ask. Neither can help asking anyway.

It is not a great love story. They have no future together, no past of shy glances sweet embraces. They have only a present of secret meetings and stolen kisses.