Gwen/Morgana, mention of Gwen/Arthur, set during 3x13, smidge of dub con.

Disclaimer: I don't own BBC's Merlin, this is just for fun and I make no profit with it.

We'll Reconstruct the Future (With Pieces of the Past)

You could almost think that nothing has changed as Gwen goes through all the familiar motions, puts her dress away, collects the carelessly discarded pieces of jewellery, goes back and forth in the room quietly. Of course, there was a time when they'd chat cheerfully throughout all this, but that time was over with the first flare of the extinguished candle, even if she didn't know it at the time, when everyone on whose love she thought she could count was turned against her.

She also notices – she knows to look for it – something stilted in her maid's gestures that reminds her of the change; repressed fear, probably – and she should fear her; that is what kingship is. Gwen could never have done it.

The need for careful distance, which she has maintained since her return and before that, is gone now; it is time to reclaim what Uther and Arthur made her lose. She waits for the moment when Gwen is about to blow out the candle, always carefully avoiding looking at her, to call out to her, with authority:

"Gwen."

Gwen halts in mid-movement, slowly, reluctantly turns towards her, puts on a forced smile.

"My lady?"

"Come here," she orders.

Another hesitation, and then Gwen obeys, walks towards her in slow, measured steps, stops in front of the bed, her eyes wary. She's beautiful in the candlelight; Morgana will get her a new dress, one fit for the servant of a reigning queen.

"Come," she repeats, shuffling aside on the bed.

Gwen stares at her for a moment; then, wordlessly, she climbs onto the bed, sits next to her, both legs on the bed, stretched out in front of herself, smoothes out the folds of her dress. Morgana sees her swallow, and that is why, once she has settled, she leans in to kiss her throat.

Gwen is completely still, her body taunt and frozen. She stays like that when Morgana lays a hand on her arm, to steady herself, moves to kiss up her throat, her chin; but when she reaches her lips she kisses back, carefully, hesitantly, like this is the first time, and when she settles her body half above hers she relaxes, seems to melt and solidify beneath her. Her eyes are closed, and Morgana thinks that she looks like she is dreaming.

She kisses her more deeply, slipping her tongue between her lips, letting hers curl against it in that way she's almost forgotten, closes her fingers on her arm. She can feel their breaths mingle as Gwen raises her head a little, as if to force more closeness, and the old, at once comforting and exiting familiarity drapes around her; it beckoned her the few times she's let Gwen come close, in the past, to forget her safety, her goals, Merlin's betrayal, to settle back into this false security – but she can move beyond that, she must. And triumphant, she thinks: she no longer needs to hide anything from her, never again...

She is glad, now, that she has escaped her murder attempt. Maybe she never truly wanted to succeed: it would have been so easy to hand her a poisoned cup and pretend ignorance later (Gwen gasping for breath, her throat constricting, Gwen looking at her with betrayed eyes as darkness swims before her, threatening to overtake her – no), to secretly invite herself to her house, and, as she sleeps... If she had died for her treacherous love for Arthur, his father's henchman, the accomplice in his murders – well, that would have been fair. She would have had no regrets: she mourned the loss of her friend that day, in Morgause's castle, when the realisation finally settled in for good, that Gwen would view her as a danger and see her killed if she knew.

But that is over now; Gwen has renounced Arthur and the old law, has sworn loyalty to her, the new queen. Maybe it is fear alone that has motivated her, but no matter: this can change, with time. Gwen will understand, will see her be the ruler that Uther never was, that Arthur could never have been. The old companionship will not be regained, she has no illusions about that, too great is the distance between them, but – maybe there can be something different, something strong and true.

"Gwen," she murmurs, drawing her head back a little to look at her; she almost adds: I missed you, but the look in Gwen's eyes makes her pause.

She narrows her eyes, suddenly angry: Gwen has no reason to look at her with such open longing and pain, like she is yearning for something just beyond her reach...

"My lady?" Gwen says again, hesitant. One of her hands has come to rest on his hip, the other at the juncture between her shoulder and her neck; her legs are closed around one of hers; it would be so easy to –

Briskly, she pulls back, detangles herself from Gwen completely; for a brief moment, Gwen looks genuinely hurt. Morgana turns her head away.

Maybe later, she thinks, calming herself. When Gwen has proved herself loyal, when she can kiss her without all the memories of a past life flooding back, hitting her with all that she shouldn't miss (no-one has ever truly loved her before Morgause); maybe then she will claim her, brand her, make real what they have in the past done in play. Briefly, images flash through her mind, Gwen crowned queen by her side, Gwen smiling at her at Arthur's execution, Gwen, in Uther's bed, above her, pushing something deep, deep inside her...

She sits up. Being queen means power, but it doesn't always mean indulgence, she has learned that already.

"You can go," she says coldly, without turning round. There's a silence, and for a fleeting moment she thinks (yearns): she will not obey. Then she can hear the rustle of clothes and sheets, as Gwen gets up, then her steps on the floor, and the candle being blown out, plunging her in sudden darkness; she clings to the bracelet on her arm as the steps move away, and then the door closes on Gwen.

She sits still for a few moments, but the odd sensation in the back of her eyes, threatening tears, doesn't go away. She turns to the candle; after a moment of concentration, the flame returns; slowly, she allows herself a little smirk as she stands up, the constricting feeling of too real past memories ebbing away in the face of her new power, her new freedom. She dons the red coat left on a chair, takes the candle, and makes her way to Morgause's room.

Gwen walks down the corridor in front of Morgana's chambers in hurried steps, the dark, ever-wakeful guards moving aside for her. She fights down the tears that threaten to spill from her eyes, and eventually, in an alcove, she stops.

For a fleeting moment, she wanted to stay. She would never have betrayed Arthur, but in spite of all Morgana has done to her and those she loves, she wanted nothing more than kiss her, touch her, hold her close, pretend that the past two years never happened!...

She leans her forehead against the cold stone and breathes slowly. Morgana has smiled as she was dragged away to death. Morgana – she knows that now – has threatened her bother's life, and Arthur's. Today, Morgana has had her soldiers fire on the town's people. There is no place for love between them anymore. In truth, there hasn't been in a long time.

She used to love Morgana, and more than that: she admired her bravery, her resolve, her compassion, her easy grace. More than Merlin, more than Lancelot, Morgana was the heroic figure she always wished for.

That was before her father's death. That day, she briskly realised that a single person's willingness to stand up for what was right might never be enough; and that this was no reason to despair, because there was hope yet, and it lay in Arthur, who would be king.

And he has not let her down.

Still, she doesn't think that it was Arthur alone who tore her starry-eyed admiration for Morgana from her; it happened over time, as her mistress grew cold and distant; and she never ceased to love her. Now she has to wonder when the deception started, when Morgana has started doing magic behind all their backs, when she has reached the point where all their deaths meant nothing to her but triumph.

Gwen wants to believe that it happened during her year of absence, that whatever happened to her during that time is what has twisted something inside her beyond repair, and that alone is frightening enough – but she has doubts, now. She wonders now at Morgana's dark dreams, the mysterious fire in her room and her subsequent absence, her curt dismissals that betrayed a desire to be alone and hide from her; and at her absence when Arthur and Merlin came to rescue her, her early admiration for Morgause, her willingness to push Arthur farther than he would otherwise go, her wavering from intense hate to equally intense love for Uther... She thought that she knew Morgana better than anyone, but now she has to wonder if Morgana ever was the person she had thought her to be, if there ever was something she can now regret, and it makes her long for it all the more.

She thought that she had moved on already before Morgana's betrayal became known to her, but now she realises that she misses her still, and that it takes very little to drag the secret arch in her heart back to the surface. And still she wonders if, if Morgana had not grown into this cold, hateful creature, she would do what she can to bring her down instead of looking at her dawning reign with hope...

She straightens back up and shakes her head. It doesn't matter, and Morgana's actions would be horrifying regardless, Uther's projected murder, the theft of Arthur's rights,...

It is of Arthur that she thinks to strengthen her resolve, and of Leon down in the dungeons. She cannot allow herself to soften in the name of something that maybe never was. As soon as she can, she will free as many of the knights as she can; they will find Arthur and Merlin, and together they will fight and defeat Morgana and Morgause and their immortal army; they have to; anything else is unthinkable.