A/N: A thank-you to everyone who's reviewed so far! I apologize for not personally getting back to each review; I've tried to do so for people who review multiple times, but I'm a little wary because someone once said that was creepy, haha. So if you're creeped out by my response to your review, please don't be. I really do appreciate hearing from people. :)

Also, Mnem's I Love To Serve (with a possible title change) is still going on. And let me tell you, it's fabulous (and so, so different from this, haha). I'm sure anyone reading this has checked it out already, but if you haven't, go do so soon!

This chapter was getting a bit long, so I've split it up. The second part should follow this weekend hopefully!


And he said, "Take my hand.
Live while you can.
Don't you feel dreams lie right in the
Palm of your hand?"

- "Ordinary Day," Vanessa Carlton


The sun peeks over the horizon, the thin early morning light stretching into bands of orange and pink. Morgana, knees drawn to her chest and arms resting on her legs, sits patiently in the meadow. This is the day she's been waiting for, the day that everything falls into place and her life can truly begin. Unable to sleep, she's been waiting for him for hours now, keeping a silent vigil through the night.

He finally appears over the crest of the hill, leading her brown-red mare and his own dappled grey by the reins. He's smiling, the brilliance of that grin outshining the sun.

Smiling back at him, she rises and traipses through the calf-high grass to meet him. She wraps her arms around his waist and surrenders to his kiss, delighting in the familiar taste of him.

As if he's afraid to break the hush of the morning, Merlin pulls away to gaze at her silently. As his eyes pierce hers, she can see the question behind them.

She nods; she's ready.

She accepts his help to slide into the saddle. She hasn't ridden Boudicca in nearly four years, but the bond between rider and horse hasn't disappeared. She leans forward to rub Boo's neck, feels that connection reignite and grow when the mare responds with a pleased snort. It seems like just yesterday, she and Merlin had been racing through Camelot's outlying fields, laughter on their lips and stars in their eyes. Suddenly, that seems in sight yet again.

Morgana glances at him as he settles into his saddle, hardly daring to believe that destiny is finally setting them free. Although a piece of her heart will always remain with the people here, she no longer feels like the universe's pawn, no longer feels a slave to her duties. She makes her own destiny now.


Because it's still early, the day has barely begun as they ride through the fields just outside the city. The farmers, having risen with the sun, are out toiling in the fields, but their work is too consuming for them to take notice of two passing riders. Even as they pass into the town proper, the peasants are just starting their day, and there is no one in the streets to gawp as the Lady Morgana returns to Camelot.

To her surprise and relief, her return isn't heralded or treated as anything out of the ordinary. She's not subjected to a dazzling feast, or a spectacular parade, or any other welcoming display of wealth and grandeur.

Instead, she reclaims her chambers, untouched over the years except for a few thorough cleanings, and simply luxuriates in the feel of a plush mattress and soft pillows beneath her body.

Save for the turnover in power, not much has changed really.

Gwen is exactly like she remembers, only more beautiful, and more kindhearted if that's possible. Arthur is the same as he ever was – rash-headed, strong-hearted, perhaps softened a bit by Gwen's influenced. Gaius is still Gaius – intelligent and kindly. And Merlin . . . Merlin is truer than he ever was, as if the separation between them has only strengthened his resolve.

Hunith's living in the city now, having nothing left of value in Ealdor and nothing left to fear in Camelot. Merlin and Gwen have found her a modest home in the upper town, and she's taken up work as a seamstress.

When she visits Alice and Caleb, she finds Nicholas grown into a strong young boy. He's five now, an older brother to two-year-old Seth, with a second sibling on the way. He doesn't remember her of course. She hadn't expected him to. But he and Seth take to her as if she were an aunt come for a visit.

As she watches them, as she teases Seth and chases Nicholas, a warm, unfamiliar feeling suffuses her.

Maybe this is why she's come back. Not for Arthur, not even for Gwen, but for this. She never could have had this with the Druids, living the forests, but now that she's living in the castle again, now that she and Merlin are together again, perhaps this simple kind of life is finally within reach.


"Morgana," Arthur smiles as she enters his room. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She leans a hip against the wooden table, notices with a smirk his crown hanging over the bedpost. "I just wanted to check up on you, make sure you were ready for the coronation tomorrow."

"Of course. You're not going to wear that, are you?"

Chuckling, she looks down at her plain grey dress. She's given up her gowns she used to wear in the castle, given up the trousers she so often wore in the wilderness, in favor of unadorned dresses. "I'll dig something nice out of my wardrobe, but only because you asked so nicely," she promises.

Arthur leans back in his chair with a grin. "So what did you really come here to ask, Morgana?"

She smiles at how easily he can see through her after all these years. Crossing her arms, she says, "Fine. I want Mordred to come live here. I want him you to employ him somehow, perhaps under Merlin, Gaius even."

"Mordred?" he asks with raised brows. "The Druid boy?"

"He's nearly fifteen now. He can be helpful to you."

"Why is this so important to you?"

Morgana sighs. She can't explain the dreams she's had recently, the ones in which Arthur and Mordred lie dead on a battlefield, their armies torn to confusion around them. And through it all, Merlin – grieved, hopeless, broken.

She hasn't even been able to tell Merlin about these nightmares. And Arthur, who has spent so much of his life in fear of magic, how is he to take to heart the things she's seen in dreams?

Instead, she frowns and explains, "He is lost, Arthur, as I once was. I fear . . . I fear what will become of him if there is no one to look after him, to guide him down the proper path."

"And you think I can do that?"

"I think we can. He's a soldier, in need of a king like you, but he is also a warlock, and Merlin and I can help him, if only we had the opportunity."

Arthur sighs, contorting his mouth contemplatively. "All right," he finally says, "I'll discuss it with Merlin."

Smiling softly, she leans down to press a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you, Arthur."

He shakes his head and waves her off. "Now go pick out a dress. If you show up in that rag, Gwen will turn you out!"


Her hands resting on the sill of the open window, Morgana breathes in the cool night air and lets her gaze drift out onto the city, ablaze with celebratory bonfires and alive with sounds of merriment and festivity.

This, she decides, this is what Camelot is meant to be. A celebration of life. This is what Arthur inspires in the people. This is what she's returned for.

"Sneaking away from the banquet, I see."

She turns with a smile on her face to see Merlin standing a ways down the corridor, resplendent in his formal jacket and trousers. Taking a breath, she explains, "I've been away for so long, I'd forgotten how stifling that hall can get with so many people. I've just come for some air."

He nods and walks over to her, that lopsided smile she loves so much gracing his lips. "Are you sure you're not out here plotting your escape?" he teases.

Morgana laces her fingers through his with a soft laugh. "It'd be much less conspicuous to plot my escape from the inside, don't you think?"

"Of course," he agrees. Turning his eyes to the town, he lets out a sigh. "I've never seen them so happy."

"Nor I," she murmurs.

"A little while ago, I would have been out there among them, drinking too much ale, singing too loudly, acting like there was no tomorrow."

She glances up at him, surprised at how wistful – sad almost – he sounds. A sneaky smile on her face, she suggests quietly, "You can have that again."

Merlin narrows his eyes at her. "Are you suggesting . . . Morgana!"

"What?" she asks coyly, a sparkle in her eyes.

"We can't just flee the official celebration."

"We can," she clarifies. "We just . . . ought not to."

He scrutinizes her, trying hard to keep the grin off his face. Finally, as a raucous chorus of drunken singing reaches their ears, he tugs at his coat and says, "We can't go out in these."

In the end, they opt for cloaks as disguises, deciding it will take too much of their precious time to change into peasant clothing, instead throwing the rough brown cloaks straight over their formal wear.

Hands latched together and laughing, they race through the streets like careless adolescents. The townspeople, so caught up in the celebration, don't notice the newcomers. Morgana takes the opportunity to drag Merlin along to the nearest fire, burning high and bright in the middle of the street. The crowd gathered around it is so thick that they can't get near the flames, but Merlin manages to secure two mugs of ale from a passing vendor. She accepts it gratefully, taking a long, refreshing swig while he looks on amusedly.

The ale is sweet, sliding smoothly down her throat. But she's used to wine, and the stronger alcohol quickly goes to her head.

"This is delicious," she tells Merlin with a grin.

He laughs and pulls her closer, ghosting a kiss over her temple.

She's about to draw his attention to a haphazard foot-joust between two drunken shopkeepers on the side of the lane when a man suddenly rises a head above the crowd and begins to speak. The people, interested in what he's saying, part for him enough for Morgana to see that he's standing on a small crate.

Holding his mug in the air, the man shouts, "He's shown bravery beyond his due, stood up for the people when his father refused to treat us fairly, proven himself to be more than his father's son."

"Aye," someone yells from the throng, "and he saved us from the Questing Beast!"

"And from the Dragon!" comes another voice.

"Exactly my point!" the man on the box says. His voice escalating in emotion and intensity, he continues, "Through his honor, and his unparalleled bravery, he has saved us from threats too numerous to count. He shall return Camelot to its proper glory. Under his rule, we shall know what it is to earn respect as a kingdom. We shall know prosperity. We shall finally know peace!"

With this declaration, the people erupt in an ecstatic cheer.

"Long live King Arthur!" comes a voice.

"Long live King Arthur!" echoes the leader.

Morgana and Merlin, swept up in the atmosphere, raise their glasses along with the rest of the crowd and repeat, "Long live King Arthur!"

To her surprise, no one seems to even recognize them, despite the fact that they're disguised in just cloaks. No one seems to even take notice of them.

She takes a deep breath, breathing in the euphoria surrounding them. Her palm resting on his chest, she looks up and asks, "This is much more exciting than the banquet, wouldn't you agree?"

"Of course," he chuckles. "Although I suppose we didn't even need these cloaks. It seems like everyone is too happy or too drunk to care about just two people."

"Yes," she murmurs as she rests her forehead against his.

For so long, the only place she's felt truly at peace is in his arms. But they've had such troubles figuring out where they belong together, navigating their fates in order to find a home. Even back at the castle, she's having a hard time figuring out where she fits in. Arthur's offered her a place as one of his advisers, alongside Merlin, and she's hoping a role like that will fill her need to help others while allowing her to explore her power.

This, though, this feels right – being out among the people, experiencing it through their eyes. There's no separation, no line between peasant and noble, and the best part is that Merlin is right by her side.

"That's exactly what we are," she breathes, "Just two people . . ."


The celebrations don't end. They go on for days, and even work slows down so the people can celebrate. Just when they seem about to end, Arthur announces his official intentions to make Merlin a freeman and his advisor. The announcement causes a furor among the nobles, especially among the knights, who have come to respect Merlin like a brother.

The servants are busier than ever, cleaning up from the coronation celebrations and preparing for the next feast. Morgana watches them bustle through the hallway, always a new task to complete – a new delivery to make or a new gown to wash or a new floor to sweep.

Strolling through the corridors to clear her mind, she nearly runs straight into Merlin as she rounds a corner.

"Morgana," he smiles, "I was just looking for you."

"Well, you seem to have found me," she replies playfully.

Nodding almost nervously, he takes her by the hand and leads her into an alcove over the looking the courtyard. "How are you?" he asks. "I feel like I haven't seen you much over the past few days."

"I'm fine," she tells him, smiling at his concern. She looks him over, noting that he's still dressed in his usual servant attire, and reaches out to fix his shirt collar, tucked in on itself. "But how are you? Are you ready for tonight?"

"As ready as I'll be," he shrugs. "As long as you're there."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," she chuckles. "Now, what will your first act as a freeman be?"

Merlin swallows, looking out onto the courtyard below. When he doesn't answer, Morgana's smile fades. Surely he's not having qualms. He's always been faithful to a fault, and she can't imagine him ever having second thoughts. Besides, he'll still be serving Arthur. With the ban on magic lifting, in fact, he'll be able to serve him better than before.

She places a hand on his forearm, hoping to calm his unvoiced doubts. Turning back to her, that nervous look still in his eye, he says softly, "Marry me."

Morgana's breath catches in her throat.

She's thought about a life with him, but their discrepancy in status has always kept her from envisioning him as her husband. Even when she'd left Camelot, she was still high-born, he still a servant. They could act on their feelings, but they couldn't marry.

Marriage.

She's never been in a position to think well of that institution. She's seen what it can do to people, the injustice between man and wife, how women are subjected to the whims of their husbands.

Merlin is a wonderful man, but a husband? He is soon to become a freeman, and Arthur's adviser, and she's seen power go to other men's heads. What if he is no different?

But she stops herself there. She's being ridiculous. Isn't she?

"Merlin . . ." she murmurs.

"Merlin! There you are! I've been looking all over for you."

Their gazes snap toward Arthur, who's appeared in the archway of the alcove. Merlin clears his throat and looks chagrined at the interruption, but the newly-crowned king fails to catch his friend's hint.

Instead, he claps Merlin on the shoulder and says, "Come on then. I need to discuss tonight's ceremony with you. And we need to find you something suitable to wear."

Morgana opens her mouth to protest, but Arthur's already dragging him off. He avoids her eyes as he allows Arthur to guide him away. Watching their retreating forms, she runs a hand through her loose hair and lets out a sigh.

Soon. She would have time to answer him soon.