Disclaimer: I own neither Merlin nor Daniel Deronda. My brain is just crazy and likes to run wild at times. :P

A/N: Sooo, this is a Merlin fic, but it's based on George Eliot's 1874 novel, Daniel Deronda. I was watching an adaptation the other day and realized how perfect most of the characters are, so I said, "What the heck!" and sat down to write. Here's a quick list of characters and their DD counterparts:

Morgana Gorlois - Gwendolen Harleth
Gwen - Mirah Lappidot/Cohen
Merlin Ambrose - Daniel Deronda
Arthur Pendragon - Hans
Sir Gaius - Sir Hugo Mallinger
Alvarr - Grandcourt
Aglain - Lush

Feel free to tell me how crazy I am after you read this, haha.

A big thank-you to wickedinsanity for the beta! :)

He walks unnoticed into the room, the crowd around the roulette table immediately catching his eye, a glimpse of ivory skin visible through the bystanders. Most are too absorbed in the games of chance to spare him a glance, leaving him at his leisure to contemplate the woman commanding the room. This room is hers, and she knows it, desires it even. He can see with just a cursory glance that half the men are after her, and the other half wish they were free to pursue.

After bending down to murmur an observation to her companion, she straightens and returns to play, showing the full height of a graceful figure. Her skin, so delicately pale, is thrown into relief by wavy black tresses, and she wears a jade necklace, its gems blazing green, that brings out her emerald eyes. It's those eyes that enchant him. They burn with intelligence, restlessness, passion, and . . . magic, he thinks. And yet her haughty, aloof manner veils it all.

He has to consciously squash his own magic down to keep it from being noticed.

"Not again, Merlin. Who is it this time?" comes a voice.

Merlin can sense his friend's smile without even shifting his gaze. Reluctantly, he tears his eyes away from the beauty and turns his attention to Arthur Pendragon.

They'd met a few months ago, at the behest of Merlin's uncle, Sir Gaius, and Arthur's father, Uther. The two old school friends had thrown their son and nephew together to fulfill the last leg of their education, the Grand Tour. Bored and even slightly lonely, the boys had agreed somewhere between Madrid and Barcelona to stick together for company.

Their teasing had arisen naturally within a few days of their acquaintance. For a few days was all it had taken for Merlin to notice how women throw themselves at Arthur, and for Arthur to notice the dazed look on Merlin's face whenever he's met with a pretty face.

Now, Arthur follows his gaze across the room.

"Oh, no," he sighs, his lips pursed in agitation.

"You know her?" Merlin queries, not at all put out by his friend's tone.

He's just the sort of fellow for whom nothing is good enough, and that includes most of the women he meets.

"That," he emphasizes, "is Morgana Gorlois, eldest daughter of my father's late friend. We practically grew up together."

"Why do you say it like that?"

"Because. She's turned into quite the beauty, as you have so aptly noticed. But she can break hearts just as easily as she takes them."

Merlin grins. "It sounds as if you've experienced this first hand."

"Don't be daft," Arthur scoffs. "Only as a first-hand observer. She's not the girl for me."

"Of course," Merlin chuckles as he rolls his eyes. "Then you'll have no objection to introducing us."

"Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you."

Morgana is only dimly aware of Arthur's lips brushing the back of her hand. She's too enraptured by the stranger beside him. He is tall, but not overly so, with rich black hair to complement his fair skin. He's well-dressed in a slightly overlarge black suit, with a neatly-pressed striped vest and an impeccably-tied cravat, and she admires the bright square of red handkerchief sticking out of his breast pocket. Not typically handsome, he nevertheless possesses lovely, angular cheekbones, and a dazzling smile.

But she's unpleasantly aware of how his eyes, unlike anything she's encountered before, haven't released her yet. They're a deep shade of blue, the pupils surrounded by a ring of gold flecks.

Then he takes her hand in greeting, and she seizes the moment to regain control of her senses.

Offering an aloof, condescending smile, she says, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ambrose."

"Merlin, please," corrects the gentleman in question, and she notices his slight Irish brogue, partially concealed by long periods of travel.

"Merlin, then."

Arthur, his gaze meandering over the company, asks, "Have you had any luck at the roulette table tonight?"

"Loads," she answers breezily. "I've won 200 ₤ already."

"I shouldn't be surprised. Fortune has always smiled upon you."

Catching the look on Merlin's face, Morgana says, "What's the matter, Merlin? Don't you approve of a woman gambling?"

Merlin smiles hesitantly. "Judging from your success, I wouldn't think a woman like you would need my permission."

She raises a brow in amusement. "'A woman like me'? And just what sort of woman do you believe me to be?"

The tips of his oversized ears turn a furious shade of red, and, looking down at his shoes, he stammers, "T-that's not exactly what I meant."

"Then perhaps you should explain yourself. You have piqued my curiosity"

"Morgana," Arthur chastises lightly, "stop being so vexing. He's not used to your sense of humor."

"Very well," she concedes, a hint of mischievousness still lingering in her smile. "But only for you, dear coz. Are you staying long in Libron?"

"No. I sail on Thursday."

"Mr. Ambrose, will you be returning to England as well?"

He simply nods, perhaps afraid any utterance will prompt her teasing.

Arthur, with a slight roll of his eyes, explains, "He has come to live with his uncle, Sir Gaius."

"Oh! I did not realize he had a nephew."

"I've lived with my mother, in Ireland, until last April."

There, an explanation for his accent. A brief sadness flickers across his face, and she has a strong impression that Sir Gaius is the only family he has left.

"Well," she begins, her voice soft with genuine kindness, "perhaps you settling so close will allow us to better acquaint ourselves."

"I should dearly hope so."

No matter what Arthur may say, Fortune most certainly does not favor her.

She comes to this unhappy realization as she walks through the door of a French pawn shop, a jade necklace in her otherwise empty moneybag.

The clerk is unsympathetic to her plight, having seen too many similar ones over the years. And, though her French is impeccable, she's not used to haggling, and he won't give her more than nine louis. She'd been hoping for fifteen, but even that won't stretch very far.

She takes the money with a sigh and relinquishes the necklace.

It'd been a gift from her beloved father.

He should be here, to take care of the family, to find a solution to their current predicament. But he's not, and her mother is too ignorant of the world, her siblings too young, to really make a difference.

And so, by default, the burden falls heavily upon her fragile shoulders. It is a pity that this world is one in which her magic has no currency.

"Have you heard, Sir Gaius?"

Uther Pendragon, his hair silver with age, takes a puff of his cigar as he lets his question sink in.

They're in Sir Gaius's study, the light dimming as the sun sets. His sunken leather chair is comfortable against his tired back. He's getting old. Probably too old for gossip, but he's been a man of leisure for too long, and news of his neighbors at least gets him interested in something.

"I don't believe I have," Sir Gaius replies. "What's happened?"

"The Gorlois family has lost its fortune," Uther sighs. "Bad speculation, I've heard. It's a shame, really. Gorlois was one of my oldest friends."

Gaius takes a long, contemplative sip of his gin. "Perhaps we should do something for them?"

"What can we do? The oldest girl must marry well, that's for certain."

"You have a large acquaintance. Perhaps you can introduce her to someone."

"Yes," Uther murmurs thoughtfully, rolling his cigar in his fingers. He lifts his eyes to his friend. "What about that nephew of yours?"

"Merlin?" Gaius asks, eyebrow raised.

Uther shakes his head. "No. The other one."

"Alvarr?" The older man huffs. "He's a scoundrel and a reprobate if I ever saw one."

"But he is rich?"

Gaius nods grimly and confirms, "He is rich."

The package is small and plain, but Morgana can guess what it holds simply by its weight. She's gotten enough gifts like this throughout her lifetime. Delicately, she opens the end and lets a red handkerchief spill onto the table. She swallows thickly, lifts a corner of the handkerchief, and stares down at the necklace, the green gems glittering in the fading sunlight, shining brightly against the red cloth.

There's an accompanying note, she realizes belatedly.

It's written in a fine, masculine hand, and reads:

Miss Gorlois appears to have misplaced something very dear to her. An admirer returns it in the hopes that she will be more careful in the future.

The gesture, however well-meant, stings her a touch, hits at the center of her pride. Her father is gone, leaving her the sole caretaker of her family, and she shouldn't have to rely on the generosity of new acquaintances. The option of returning it to Mr. Ambrose is nonexistent, for if she takes the liberty and is wrong, she will only look like a fool. However, neither can she accept it, not when the possibility of meeting him again is inevitable. He will suspect, know her need, and leave her in hateful, helpless humiliation.

She may be penniless, but she's never been indebted to any man.

Merlin's never been much of an athlete. But Arthur is, and when they return to England via London, Arthur insists on a row trip on the river in order to get some exercise after their tour.

Arthur does most of the rowing. But he also makes his new friend take a turn, and so it's Merlin at the oars when they round a bend in the river and come across a young Moor on the bank.

Merlin stops rowing at the sight of the woman - black curls hanging loose and messy against her dusky, tear-stained cheeks, her feet in the water, her black dress floating about her knees. Arthur, lying back in the boat with his eyes closed to the sun, doesn't notice.

"What is it now, Merlin?" Arthur, without opening his eyes, complains at their sudden standstill.

"It's just, uh . . ." he stammers, clumsily attempting to steer the boat over to the shore.

"Merlin!" Arthur sits up, an annoyed scowl on his face. "Do I have to do everything around -" He cuts himself off when he turns, sees the young woman, and nearly falls over the side of the boat. "Merlin, you buffoon! She's in trouble. We've got to help her!"

Merlin rolls his eyes as Arthur tears the oars from his hands and rows them speedily to the bank. When they're close enough, the blond man stumbles into the water and, wrapping his muscular arms around her slender stomach, drags her back to the bank.

The girl fights against him, beating her hands at his arms as he drags her along and deposits her gently on the grass.

"Will - you - get your hands off me?" she shouts, glaring at him.

Arthur shoots a bewildered look at Merlin, now dragging the rowboat to the bank. Merlin shrugs, and Arthur turns to face the girl again.

"Excuse me, but I just saved your life. A little thank-you would be common decency."

"I didn't need any saving!" she retorts. "I was in two feet of water!"

Merlin can't suppress a grin at her spirit, or the look on his friend's face. Arthur's not used to women who refuse to fall in love with him within moments of their meeting.

"Well," says Arthur, hands on his knees as he recovers his breath, "it didn't look like that. It looked like . . . like . . ."

"Like what?" she asks hotly, jutting her chin out in a challenge.

Arthur spreads his hands wide in confusion. "Like . . . you were going to . . ."

"Jump in, is what he means," Merlin offers. He juts a finger at Arthur. "He's not big on words, this one."

Surprisingly, she lets out a laugh and gives him a smile. "I can see that," she says.

"Thank you, Merlin," Arthur grumbles.

Merlin retrieves his jacket from the boat, sits down beside the woman, and slides it over her shoulders. She takes it gratefully, her fingers curling around the fabric's edge.

"Thank you . . ." she says.

"Merlin," he smiles. "Merlin Ambrose."

"Well, thank you, Mr. Ambrose. I'm Guinevere. But everyone calls me 'Gwen.'"

"Well, Gwen, I'm sorry we had to meet under these circumstances, but I promise I'll do everything in my power to keep my overzealous friend from accosting you again."

From Gwen's other side, Arthur clears his throat.

"And that's Arthur Pendragon," Merlin grins, "your misinformed savior."

Gwen nods. "Hello, Mr. Pendragon."

Arthur gives a half-hearted wave.

Merlin clears his throat. "So, um, are you all right? You're not . . . in trouble or anything, are you?"

"What makes you think that?" she asks, but her voice is soft and shy.

Merlin shrugs. "It's not everyday a woman walks fully clothed into the river."

"Truthfully, I don't know what I was going to do."

Arthur's eyes narrow. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing," she insists with a shake of her head.

"No," Arthur says softly, "you've been crying. Something's wrong. You can tell us. We can help."

Gwen bites her lip, glances fleetingly between the two of them. "My father's died." She takes a deep breath and continues, "He was everything to me, you see. Now I have nothing, no money, no situation . . . no family."

Merlin locks gazes with his friend, who sighs heavily and asks, "Do you have someplace to stay?"

Morgana strolls into the Pendragons' parlor with an enchanting smile to find the matriarch, Arthur's two younger sisters, and their new friend occupied in sewing and reading. Igraine, Arthur's mother, welcomes her with a warm embrace. She holds out her hand to Gwen, who comes forward and her head slightly.

"Morgana, this is Gwen. She'll be staying with us. Gwen, this is Morgana Gorlois. Her family and ours have been friends for a long, long time."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Gorlois," Gwen greets.

"Oh, please," Morgana smiles, "it's Morgana. And I have the feeling we will be the best of friends."

She's a perfect socialite, her days consisting of meeting and charming new acquaintances, even when she has no fondness for them, but one look at Gwen's smile and she feels this friendship will be different.

The women turn when Arthur and Merlin stride through the door, and the younger Pendragon girls go wild at the sight of their brother's best friend.

"Merlin! Merlin!" they shout as he greets them in turn.

"Ah, Morgana," Arthur smiles, "you have impeccable timing. We were just about to go for a ride."

"A fortuitous coincidence indeed," she replies. "You know how much I love to ride."

Her collected and amiable demeanor cracks when Merlin steps forward to greet her. She's not wearing the necklace, and yet, embarrassed, she fumbles at the jewels around her neck. He smiles as he bends to press her free hand to his lips, and a blush rises to her pale cheeks as an unfamiliar warmth ripples out from the point where his lips touch her skin.

She reclaims her hand as quickly as propriety will allow, turning to Gwen with an overly enthusiastic smile.

"Are you fond of riding, Gwen?"

"Very," she confirms, "although I've not often had the chance."

"Well, the weather is perfect, and I can show you which of the Pendragon mounts is the sweetest."

As Fortune would have it, Morgana does not spend the majority of the ride by her new friend's side. Arthur seems to have taken a deep interest in the newcomer, and he takes the opportunity of being unchaperoned to get close to her under the guise of showing her the grounds.

Leaving Merlin to fall behind and ride beside Morgana.

She keeps her eyes ahead of her and on the path in an effort to avoid his gaze. As they ride in silence, the minutes stretch out before her, and it irks her to no end that he lets her stew so quietly. She's used to men trying to take the lead, take hold of the conversation, set the terms.

But Merlin is different, and she can't yet tell if he's too respectful or simply too shy to be the first to open his mouth.

Softly clearing her throat, she says, still without lifting her gaze to his, "I suppose I should thank you."

Merlin shifts in his saddle, but looks straight ahead and only says, "I'm afraid I must ask you for clarification, for I confess I have no idea what you mean."

And for just a moment, she wonders if she's gotten it all wrong. After all, there must be many red handkerchiefs in Libron. But then she sneaks a glance at him, catches the sparkle in his eyes, the twitch of his lips.

"You have no need to tease me, Mr. Ambrose," Morgana counters, a twinge of anger surging through her veins.

"And you have no need to tease me, Miss Gorlois. You promised to call me 'Merlin,' did you not?"

"Ay, but that was before I knew you properly."

He purses his lips, confusion spreading over his pallid face. "You wish to dissolve our friendship so soon? I did not realize I had done ought to offend you. But perhaps you may enlighten me?"

The hurt in his voice makes her second guess his character, makes her think she's made an unfair judgment of him.

She dips her head and carefully smoothes out the wrinkles of her skirt. "I only meant that it is so soon in our . . . friendship for such familiarity, wouldn't you agree?"

"I wouldn't know," he admits. After a pause, he says, "It's been my experience that ten years are frequently not enough for two certain people to become suitably acquainted, and yet ten hours may be all it that is needed for another two."

"You are referring, I believe, to the notion of so-called love at first sight, as one reads of in novels."

"No. Simply . . . a connection, I would say."

Morgana bristles, the shock of her magic spreading through her fingers as if his words have awakened something in her, something deep inside. Always on edge when someone even comes close to mentioning that forbidden topic, she takes a deep, calming breath and says, "And you imagine such a connection between you and me?"

"'Imagine'?" he chuckles. "I would never presume, my lady."

Morgana stifles a smile, the tension dissipating from her shoulders. She straightens again when two strange horses appear around the bend ahead. Arthur and Gwen have already vanished down the path, and these two new men, instead of passing quietly, pull up rein in front of them.

The first, with dirty blond hair, a greasy beard, and cold eyes, offers a lascivious smile, while the second, with a bald head and dark skin, dips his head respectfully.

"Ambrose," the blond greets, barely touching his hat.

Merlin gives him a slight nod, and the newcomer turns his attentions back to Morgana.

"And who might this be?"

Reluctantly, Merlin gestures toward his companion. "This is Miss Gorlois. Morgana, Alvarr Grandcourt and Aglain Lush."

"On a first name basis, are we, Ambrose?" Alvarr grins before leaning forward and taking Morgana's hand.

His kiss raises goose pimples on her arm, and she snags her hand away.

She smiles. "We are well acquainted, are we not, Merlin?"

"Quite," he says, returning the smile. Turning to Alvarr, he explains, "She is a close friend to the Pendragons."

"Ahh," Alvarr nods, "and you were Pendragon's traveling companion these past few months, I believe."

"That's right," Merlin affirms.

"Yes, we just met Pendragon a moment ago, and there was an exotic beauty by his side. I don't suppose you'd know anything about that, would you now?" He laughs without waiting for a reply. "Well, I have business to attend to with Sir Gaius. We must be off."

"Then I will see you at Ealdor House tonight," Merlin ventures.

"Perhaps, but we will probably have concluded business by then." He tips his hat at Morgana. "A pleasure, Miss Gorlois. Good day."

Aglain repeats the gesture as the two ride off.

Morgana glances at Merlin, who squints into the sun to hide his emotions as he urges his horse forward.

"That man, I do not like," she declares, catching him up.

Merlin lets out a soft laugh. "Not many do."

"Yet you seem to know him well."

"He is my uncle's heir."

"You are cousins?"

"No. Alvarr is from my uncle's father's side. I'm just his nephew by marriage."

"I see. And so . . ."

"And so, when my uncle dies, Alvarr will inherit everything, including Ealdor House. I receive an allowance now, but that is likely to be cut off once Alvarr is in charge of Ealdor's income."

He sighs, and Morgana sends a silent curse skyward. Why is it that the rich men are always curs and the nice ones always penniless?

Fortune smiles upon her indeed.

When they reach the end of the grounds and turn for home, Merlin sidles his horse beside Arthur's and Gwen hangs back to stay beside Morgana.

Morgana, though still in the process of solving the mystery that is Merlin, is nevertheless glad to have a respite from the arduous task, glad for the opportunity to get to know her new friend.

"So," she begins, "how do you find Sigan?"

"He is the sweetest horse indeed," Gwen smiles, patting the horse's neck.

"I'm glad you like him. And the Pendragons, do you like staying with them?"

"They are very kind. And generous," she hastens to add. "Arthur and Merlin have even found me a position, as a seamstress."

"That's wonderful," Morgana replies. With a tilt of her head, she asks, "Merlin, too?"

Gwen confirms it with a nod. A slight smile on her lips, she says, "He is a kind-hearted man, and he seems to be fond of you."

Morgana's fingers grip tightly at the reins, her knuckles white with the pressure. "Yes, well," she breathes, "there is often a disparity between fondness and practicality, is there not?"

"Yes, I suppose there is," Gwen murmurs thoughtfully. Their horses seem to be slowing with the pace of the conversation, and they fall farther and farther behind the men. Another moment passes before Gwen says, "I have heard of your . . . troubles. Can you not find a situation? I'm certain Arthur and Merlin would help."

"I'm certain they would as well," Morgana smiles. "However, my choices are quite limited. I may either become a governess, or marry very well. Either way, I condemn myself."

Yes, there is no hope in either path. If she becomes a governess, she will move from the very center of society to its outskirts, barely noticed by anyone except those who aren't supposed to notice her. And if she marries for her husband's fortune, it is unlikely that it will be anything more than a miserable marriage of convenience.

Alvarr smiles and taps his forefinger against the glass as Aglain pours him another glass of wine.

"Did you note the young lady with my uncle's nephew today, Aglain?"

"I did, sir."

"Do you know much about her?"

"Not much, though I have heard that her family has lately lost its fortune."

Alvarr takes a long drag of wine. "Well, that is a pity."

Aglain's spine stiffens imperceptibly, and he scrutinizes Grandcourt from the shadows of the room.

Standing abruptly, Alvarr crosses to the window, wine glass in hand. "Send in my acceptance to du Lake's dinner next week. For, if I'm not mistaken, Miss Gorlois will be there." He smiles, a wicked gleam in his eye, and takes another sip of wine. "And I mean to have her."