A/N: Hey everyone! Story Two! :)

Pairing: Arthur/Morgana

Summary: It didn't matter how much they wanted to be together, it was just something that could never be.

Chapter 1

Morgana's heart pounded in her chest. The clang of metal on metal was faintly audible to her ears. Her entire focus was on the two figures before her. The two warriors cavorted around the arena, twirling in a vicious dance of death. One lashed out at the others helmet, but he dodge around the blow, striking his opponents leg. He fell to his knees but swept his arm and caught the other around the knees, bringing him to the ground. The soldier with the wounded leg pounced on his fallen combatant, who unexpectedly flipped his competitor onto his back knife held up, ready to strike.

All the breath escaped from Morgana's lungs. "No," she thought to herself. Suddenly, the warrior on top grunted something, then again louder, "I surrender!" Morgana's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. She inspected the warrior closer and saw with amazement, a knife pressed to the surrendering knight's throat. She breathed out a sigh of relief, letting her head fall back and a smile to curve her lips.

Arthur shoved this opponent off of him and got to his feet, readjusting the heavy armor, and removing his helmet. The cheers of the crowd assaulted his ears and he raised his arms in triumph, basking in the joy of his accomplishment. His eyes found his father, clapping along with the audience, and then his gaze shifted to the dark-haired figure beside Uther. Morgana was not clapping, and her eyes were guarded. He couldn't understand what she might be thinking. He turned away from her unreadable eyes and exited the stadium. Once he reached his tent, he began yanking of his armor, suddenly angry.

"Master?" He turned around quickly to find Merlin standing at the entrance to the tent, a strange expression on his face. "Finally, Merlin! Hurry up and get me out of this bloody armor already," He ordered, and his mind returned to musing about Morgana's puzzling countenance as Merlin lifted the heavy metal off of him.

***

Standing outside the closed wooden doors that led to the Banquet Hall, Arthur could hear the liveliness of the feast. He tapped his foot impatiently and crossed his arms. "Where in the word is Morgana?" he thought irritably. He heard the soft echo of footsteps behind him, and he spun around. Morgana was gliding towards him, hands clasped before her, head erect and proud, clad in a breathtaking white gown. Gold lace twisted in curling patterns on the bodice and silver thread embroidered the entire dress. The shear sleeves exposed her pale arms and hang daintily on her wrists. Her long ebony curls were pulled back from her face and cascaded over one shoulder, like spilled ink on a sheet of parchment.

Arthur was able to shake himself out of his stupor by the time she reached him, and bowed low. "My lady," he stated. He looked into her eyes, which were sparkling mischievously beneath the jeweled headpiece that rested on her forehead. She kept their eyes locked as she curtsied, "My Prince." Arthur could hear a teasing note in her voice but ignored it and held out his crooked arm, which she slid her own arm through.

The courtiers fell silent as the Prince of Camelot and the Lady Morgana entered the hall. A lone harpist plucking a solo melody as they joined the crowd. Arthur held up a hand, indicating for everyone to carry on with whatever they had been doing moments before, which they did immediately. Morgana searched the food laden tables while Arthur was congratulated by a revolving door of awed noblemen and women. Finally, Arthur escaped from the crowd and made his way over to Morgana. He placed his hand involuntarily on the small of her back and leaned in close to her ear to whisper, "Find anything?"

She spun around, startled, knocking Arthur's hand away. "Oh, Arthur, it's just you. You gave me a fright!" She placed a hand to her heart momentarily, Arthur's eyes on it, studying the lacy trim on her low scooped neckline. He shook himself mentally and looked up into her face, which held an expression that knew exactly where his eyes had just been pointing. "So that was some fight today," She mentioned, bring a strawberry to her mouth.

"Yes, it was quite…" Arthur's voice trailed away as he watched she bit into the vivid red fruit ever so slowly. It's juice slicked her crimson lips, and her tongue licked it away, tasting the succulent berry.

"Arthur." His head jerked up, bringing him out of his reverie. Morgana's eyes were narrowed as she said, "The fight?"

"Oh, y-yes, right." He fished in his mind for the details of his duel earlier that day. Sir Tristan had challenged him to fight to the death. It was something about needing to prove his honor by killing him in the name of Tristan's dead father. Arthur explained every detail of the fight to Morgana, stating how surprised he was to find such a skilled fighter. He got to the point where Tristan had bashed Arthur's leg with the sword and then was thrown to the ground himself.

"Your leg seems to be fine," Morgana observed. "I appreciate your concern, Morgana," Arthur teased, "but it's merely bruised. Nothing that shouldn't be well within a few weeks. Anyways, so there I was, ready to jump on Tristan when he suddenly grabbed me and flipped me onto my back. I was sure he was going to kill me then, I saw he knife raised above me, ready to come down and plunge into my beating heart when I realized I had my own dagger pressed to his throat." Arthur was so concentrated on his tale that he only realized when he looked up that Morgana was striding quickly away from him and through the stone archway that lead to the corridor outside.