A/N: This is the very last chapter! Thank you so much for staying with me through the 6 1/2 months it took to finish! Thank you to reviewers, both one-time and faithful- I couldn't have done it without your support and reviews, which I feed on.
The halls of Camelot are eerily quiet; a far cry from the bustling state they were in but a few days ago. The social season cut short, most of the nobles have left to prepare their own estates. The ones that remain at Camelot have their duties as well, everything from overseeing supplies to mobilizing the army; a determined calm settles over the inhabitants. Even the servants are quieter than usual.
For Arthur, almost every waking hour is spent in preparation. He sees far too much of his council now- good men resolved on protecting Camelot, but rather set in their individual opinions. One of his greatest desires now is to go a day, just one day, without an argument erupting during the council sessions. He takes his meals while poring over reports, and sleep seldom keeps him for longer than a quarter of the night.
He knows it's the same for Morgana, who is by his side in all this. She may even be more worried about this invasion than he is, if that was even possible; she knows Cornwall is the first in the line of fire. She reports daily to Arthur on the state of affairs on the coast, and the circles under her eyes grow deeper. Merlin has taken to spelling the area around Arthur's table to be lit through the night; more often than not, Arthur and Morgana sit together until dawn and work through the overwhelming logistics needed for combating such threats.
"They'll attempt to gather supplies as they conquer," Morgana remarks one night. "They can't possibly bring enough to feed their armies for the length of the invasion, and they can't drag their ships with them as they go inland."
Arthur looks up from the grain inventory he was peering at. "Your point?"
One corner of her lips twists up wryly. "Expect massive amounts of damage done to the countryside. We may have to evacuate all villagers to nearby fiefs."
"That may not be enough," Arthur says, "they'll be able to get supplies more easily, with no resistance."
Morgana nods, then meets his eyes. "How far are you willing to go to prevent that?"
"I see no viable way to do so right now."
"There is one way," Morgana comments, hand hovering over the map where the army markers and camps have been set up. She smiles drily. "Have the villagers take everything they possibly can into the fortresses, then burn the rest."
Arthur's eyes widen. "Morgana, the spring crops have just been planted. Their entire livelihood-"
Morgana raises an eyebrow. "Cornwall has already begun the burnings." She runs her hand along the coastal region marked on the leather map. "Everything along here. They tell me the smoke can be seen from Tintagel. But luckily, it's blown out to sea."
Arthur puts down his parchment. "What happens to them after the invasion passes?"
"They start again," Morgana says calmly, "as they have done in times past."
"I…" Arthur's mouth tightens. "I will consider that course of action."
Morgana nods curtly, and they both return to their respective documents.
Neither of them mention it again.
.
Once the initial flurry has passed, however, the grim mood eases slightly. With all possible arrangements made and responsibilities divvied out, Arthur can now focus more on battle strategies and training the knights. The dawn sessions are extended to become morning sessions, with Lancelot presiding as drillmaster. Lancelot is an honorable man, and Arthur appreciates the fact that he is able to overcome personal feelings to do his duty for his nation. Arthur takes part in this as much as his work will allow, often sparring with Lancelot and Gwaine.
Guinevere watches, always hovering near her husband during the brief breaks. She is stuck in an awkward situation in Camelot; she must stay as her husband is needed, but it is unclear what role she herself has to play. There is no one she can pay social visits to, and it has been long since Guinevere has given up her role of hostess of Camelot. Her chocolate eyes are melancholy more often than not, but she hides it well around her husband.
Arthur watches during a water break as Guinevere approaches her husband to whisper in his ear. Lancelot embraces her, his strong arms slipping to encircle her waist. She smiles gently and leans her head on his shoulder. It is a scene of tranquility, and the knights dare not comment, in respect for the brief illusion of peace it allows them. Of normality and domestic happiness they may never have.
Guinevere seems genuinely happy. Arthur observes the couple, not with jealousy but a sincere curiosity. He has not seen many contented couples in his life- none in stable relationships he could see as an example of a healthy matrimony. Seeing his once-closest knight so clearly enjoying the company of his wife-who-was-once-betrothed-to-him, Arthur cannot help but wonder at the sheer luck of Lancelot.
His reverie is broken by a hand on his shoulder. He looks back to see Morgana clutching a letter in her hands.
Morgana leans down to whisper, "You need to see this. Training can wait."
She thrusts the letter at him and beckons for him to follow her. They walk into the castle, heading to the empty council chamber. Arthur takes a seat and begins reading the letter, but she remains standing and drums her fingers against the table impatiently.
Arthur reads through the official correspondence slowly, and then rereads it. He frowns.
"Monarchs from all of Albion are coming to Camelot. This isn't a request, is it?"
"No, " Morgana agrees, "It isn't." She looks at him, as if waiting for something. Arthur is nonplussed.
"If they had wished for a diplomatic visit, should they not have discussed it with us? They seem to be wanting to have a strategic summit for the coming threat- it would be common courtesy to give us notice. I haven't received any word of this before."
Morgana sighs. "If you haven't realized by now, there's no point in me enlightening you. I'll make the preparations. Be ready to receive them." She walks out, leaving him to reread the letter again. He mulls over her words afterwards, but he cannot imagine what she can be referring to.
The delegations start arriving within a few days. Duke Gorlois arrives first, accompanied by his daughter and son-in law. Cenred of Escetia is a sharp-looking man, two swords strapped to his back and clad in leather. His wife, Morgause of Cornwall, rides beside him in a red dress with delicate chain mail. The reception is cordial, although there is a strange undercurrent that Arthur cannot explain.
Duke Gorlois makes the introductions. Cenred clasps arms with Arthur, meeting his eyes boldly. The man rumbles, "you'll do," and says nothing more. It is Morgause who goes through the formal pleasantries with Arthur, her regal presence exceeding that of her husband. A coronet crowning her fair hair, there is a look of iron resolve and cold calculation visible in her countenance despite her pleasant words and manner.
"Camelot hopes that your stay will be a comfortable one," Arthur offers. Morgana is standing in his retinue, and he can see from the corner of his eyes that she is smiling at her sister. Morgause makes a discreet hand gesture to her that he barely catches before she replies.
"Escetia is heartened by your hospitality. We trust that we will not impinge on your generosity overlong. " Cenred grunts at that. Arthur glances at him, but directs his words to Morgause.
"I am sure you are weary from your journey. The servants will escort you to your chambers now."
Morgause nods, the chain mail of her sleeves glinting as it reflects the light streaming in through the windows. She and her husband follow the two pages to the quarters prepared for them, and various other servants lead the rest of the retinue to theirs.
Gorlois is led to his own quarters, and Arthur sighs in relief that the ceremonies were over. Distantly, he thinks it could have gone much worse.
Dinner is a stately affair, even if it is relatively tense. Cenred sits to Arthur's right at the center of the royal table, with Morgause at Cenred's right and Morgana sitting next to her. Gorlois sits at Arthur's left. Cenred makes no effort to make conversation, and Gorlois seems content to remain silent. Arthur almost wishes Merlin would do something catastrophically stupid like spilling wine over Cenred's head or something that would cause a diplomatic nightmare, if only to relieve this stifling silence.
Morgause notices, and whispers something to her husband before turning back to Morgana and resuming their conversation. Cenred sighs and mutters something that sounds like "women," before finally speaking to Arthur. "You hunt?"
The abrupt question takes Arthur by surprise, and he struggles to swallow before replying, "Yes. The forests at Camelot are well gamed. Do you?"
A grunt. "It's better than sitting around and talking to people." They lapse into silence.
Arthur feels obligated to begin conversation again. "How are your people faring with news of the Saxon threat?"
"They'd be panicking- which is why they aren't told," Cenred grins, "Morgause is very good at keeping secrets from leaking out."
Arthur blinks. "They...do not know?"
Cenred looks at him askew. "Yours know? What use is the knowledge to peasants? As long as they follow orders and keep up the supply, there's no need."
Arthur opens his mouth and closes it. Cenred seems to see the struggle in his eyes to keep calm, and lowers his voice. "Perhaps them knowing would have advantages as well. But for Escetia's peace, this is better." Arthur nods, and Cenred twists his mouth up. "It's good to see you're as noble as they say. At least you won't backstab us, if you're this concerned about principles."
There's not muchc Arthur can say to that. They go through the rest of the meal in silence.
Morgause and Cenred excuse themselves at the end of the meal. They march - and Arthur thinks there is no other way to describe how they move together than in a militaristic sense- back to their chambers, and the rest of the court slowly filters out as well.
Duke Gorlois remains until the hall is nearly empty.
"It is no small thing that they are doing, King Arthur," he remarks, "for Cenred is a man not used to bending to others' wills."
Arthur inquires, "But what are they here to do? No one," he shoots a glare at Morgana, "has seen fit to enlighten me in this."
Duke Gorlois is bemused. "Is it not clear? They are here to negotiate an alliance for Albion, as are the others. The Saxon threat is such that no one country can stand alone any longer. United is the only way that Albion will survive."
"I do not see how or why Camelot is chosen to be the meeting grounds for such a union," Arthur counters. Remembering Mercia's Poison Incident- they really needed to beef up security to prevent poisonings at state affairs, it's happened at least three times already- he adds, "Camelot is by no means neutral, nor is it free of unsavory incidents."
Duke Gorlois shakes his head. "You will see, King Arthur." His eyes suddenly crinkle up in a smile. "This may be the reason you are the right choice, after all. You think not of machinations or power. Yes, you will do."
Arthur opens his mouth to question him, but Duke Gorlois bows. "If I may, I would like to spend some time with my daughters. It has been long since I have spoken to both of them. If you will excuse me," he says. Arthur runs a frustrated hand through his hair, but nods. Morgana takes Gorlois's arm and leaves. Arthur stalks off to his chambers to try to puzzle out the meaning of the duke's cryptic words.
The exercise bears no fruit. Arthur cannot derive any meaning from the actions of the monarchs, apart from a wish to solidify alliances in order to show a more united front against the Saxons. He sighs.
Arthur knows that he is not a brilliant philosopher- while he is by no means dull, court intrigues and machinations hold no interest for him. He has little aptitude for subtleties; his strengths lie in strategies, the rush of battle, the protection of his people. Pretty words mean as little as they praise, and he refuses to expend more energy on them. He closes his eyes and goes to sleep.
Sometime between the sun's rising and breakfast, when he is sitting at his desk and looking at more reports, Morgana strides in. She states without preamble, "The rest of the Five Kingdoms delegation has arrived. Let's go."
Arthur grunts and picks up his crown, jamming it on his head. Morgana smiles unwillingly, then goes on tiptoe to arrange it better on his head. Her callused fingers brush against his forehead. He distantly wonders if his mother's fingers were rough as well. When he looks at her, she has taken her hand away and is looking at him quizzically.
"Something wrong?"
He shrugs. "I trust the retinue is ready."
"Of course," she tosses her hair, "they're all waiting for you."
He strides into the throne room, meeting the kings halfway. There are three of them, all at a sufficient distance from each other; Alined from Clarence steps forward to clasp his arm and drawl a few pleasantries first. He remembers the man as a deceptive man, always keeping up that façade of a peace-loving king. As he returns those sentiments, he can't help wondering what he is planning this time- the last time he had visited, his little love potion trick had him infatuated with Princess Vivian of Cantia. He had had to apologize for a month to Guinevere after that, with flowers every day and special events. Princess Vivian is present as well; she stands behind her father King Olaf, in the delegation of Cantia. Arthur moves to greet Olaf; he sighs a little when Olaf's grip is a little tighter than is polite. Nevertheless, he repeats the same words said to Alined, and Cenred before that.
"Camelot welcomes you and hopes that your stay will be a comfortable one."
Vivian giggles nervously and flutters her fingers at him. Olaf glances at her and sighs wearily- it is clear that he is used to her behavior. Arthur is still rather confused about the incidents that occurred the last time the Five Kingdoms had gathered: Merlin had told him that the Trickster had slipped both Arthur and Vivian love potions, and he had had to break the spell. For some reason, Merlin had failed to break the part where Vivian was utterly in love with him. Arthur inwardly sighs at the prospect of having to avoid the princess for the coming days.
Bayard is last, and he is the most awkward to face. The poisoning incident notwithstanding, Camelot and Mercia has never been on good terms. Arthur winces at the last time he was in Bayard's castle, the second time he had encountered Morgana- they had ended up escaping from Bayard's guardhouse by blowing up a wall. Not the best impression to leave.
But the king seems ready to let bygones lie, clasping his hand amiably enough. Morgana grimaces a little- Arthur guesses she's remembering the same incident. The rest of the reception goes well, and soon they are led to their quarters as well. In a way, it is a mercy that most of the nobles have left court; there would be no way for Camelot to house all these nobles appropriately had the castle not been so sparsely populated at the moment.
Arthur watches them walk off, and is about to leave himself when Morgana whispers to him, "Odin of Meredor has arrived. Will you be alright?"
Arthur grimaces; Odin has a personal grudge against him, as he has told Morgana. He does not blame the king- Arthur killed his son Thor in a tournament after a duel had gone bad. Odin had loved his son fiercely; the king's whole family considered themselves the descendants of the Norse gods, hence the names. With the Viking influence strong in them, Arthur knows it is hard for Odin to let go of such bad blood between them.
"I'll be fine."
To Arthur's surprise, she slips her fingers between his and squeezes gently. Her voice is noncommittal as she remarks, "At least you have counter-leverage; the man did send two assassins after you, didn't he? If he has any shame, he'll stay put." She releases his hand and steps back to her allotted position in the retinue.
He has no time to comment as the Meredor delegation strides into the throne room before he can speak. Odin stares at Arthur with open animosity before grating out, "I have no wish to be welcomed by Camelot, nor do I hope that it will be comfortable. But the enemy of my enemy must be an ally for now. Know that, if we fall, I will exact my full vengeance before I die. Boy, you had better not be found wanting."
Arthur frowns, but makes no reply. He has that feeling that he is missing out on something vital again. Morgana steps forward smoothly. "I am sure your majesty would like to see his quarters. The servants will escort you."
Odin peers at her. "You're Gorlois's girl- the younger one. It's a wonder you're still at Camelot. Very well." The grizzled king nods and follows the liveried pages out of the hall. Arthur turns to Morgana when they have left.
"Be found wanting for what? Morgana, if you're hiding something from me…"
Morgana shrugs. "It's not my fault you're too dense to figure it out, my lord." She wanders off. Arthur groans.
Two kings arrive the next day, each accompanied by their daughter. Arthur would suspect these visits as attempts at securing him as a husband, had it not been for the fact that practically every other king in Albion had also invited themselves here. King Keredic is wary but pleasant, and his daughter Mithian makes up for the awkwardness with her warmth. Nemeth and Camelot has had a rocky relationship in times past, with the dispute over the land of Gedref having led to a betrothal between him and Mithian when Uther was king. Mithian had understood that there was Guinevere, and his duties, and that Arthur wouldn't be able to make her happy, and had little objection when Arthur managed to tangle his way out of it.
Arthur thinks the gods arranged today to punish him with untold awkwardness- Mithian and Elena has arrived on the same day, both princesses he had been engaged to. And there was Vivian already settled in. Godwyn of Logres seems to have retained his permanent good cheer. Arthur cannot meet King Godwyn's enthusiasm completely in his greetings, but he is glad for the ties between Camelot and Logres- at least there isn't animosity between them.
Queen Annis of Caerleon is the last to arrive. Hair adorned by a simple gold band, Annis is the essence of understated formidability. Arthur thinks Morgause could look like Annis when she grows old; the same steel is apparent in their eyes. Annis looks up at him coolly and extends a hand. He kisses it, bowing. The formal greeting, which is getting rapidly annoying and so cliché that he could recite it in his sleep, is said.
Queen Annis nods. "And we are glad to be here. My husband is completing the fortification of Caerleon, and could not be excused. I trust Camelot is faring well."
Arthur replies in the affirmative, then offers to have the servants show them to their
quarters. With so many rulers received in so short a time, it feels as if this is an endless cycle that he has to run- bow, smile, bid them welcome, show them to their chambers, bow, smile. Gorlois leaves with Annis- they have been firm friends, and they are eager to talk. Arthur lets himself slump a little and heads back. Merlin walks back with him.
"At least it's all over now. They'll be gone within a week."
He snorts. "Least of my worries right now, Merlin." Merlin frowns, before realizing.
"It's the Saxons you're concerned about, then?"
Most powerful magician in existence Merlin may be, but no one can say he is the sharpest knife in the drawer. Arthur resists the urge to smack himself in the head, and the even more greater one to smack Merlin in the head.
"No, Merlin, of course I'm not worried about the hordes of foreign mercenaries ready to ravage our lands and destroy all of Albion. No, not at all."
Merlin blinks. "That was definitely sarcasm. But according to Morgana, there's more than a fortnight before they even approach our shores. And Gorlois says the tides will not allow their landing until a week after, if they're lucky."
Arthur stares ahead. "That doesn't mean they're not coming."
"It'd be nice if they didn't," Merlin shrugs, "but we'll win, won't we?"
Arthur grunts. He knows Merlin pretends to be more optimistic than he is; happier and dumber. He's seen Merlin burn men alive, smite them with lightning, and once even encase someone in living rock. Merlin knows more- sees more than he lets on.
Arthur claps him on the shoulder once and parts ways. Entering his chamber, he tosses the crown lightly onto the bed and stretches.
Odin of Meredor. Annis of Caerleon, Keredic of Nemeth, Godwyn of Logres. Alined of Clarence, Olaf of Cantia, Bayard of Mercia, and Cenred of Escetia. The last four he can understand- the Five Kingdoms have banded together in dangerous times, for protection and handy allies. Logres as well; King Godwyn has been firm friends with Uther. But Caerleon and Nemeth? With their history of raiding each other? Meredor?
But we'll win, won't we?
Merlin's words echo in his ears. All of these countries want one thing, after all- survival. They were scrabbling for any way to increase their chances against the Saxons. Only a fool would be assured of victory.
And he is not a fool.
.
The day dawns abruptly; spring has been inching closer, and now it swept through in the course of a day. The still chilly air is alternated with warmer summer breezes. Arthur wakes up and dresses for training before remembering- the monarchs have together requested an audience. Practically a summit. He sighs, and picks out a clean linen shirt and breeches, then shrugs on his best ceremonial tunic and jacket. A page comes in with his cape, sword, and crown, then slips out. Morgana comes in, after knocking for once instead of barging in. She sees him struggling with the cape and smiles that fond, unwilling smile again.
"Oh, Arthur. Have you been bested by a mere article of clothing again?"
Arthur raises the corner of his lips. "You've caught me." She steps over and arranges it around his shoulders.
"I should tell you- be prepared. It's a big day." He huffs.
"And you wouldn't be planning on telling me why it's a big day, would you?"
Morgana taps her lips with a finger. "What would be the fun in that?" She places the crown on his head, and then grows serious.
"Arthur."
"Hmm?" he asks, strapping his sword belt on.
"Believe me when I say, you are the only man I know who I'd consider worthy of this. No matter what happens today, promise me that you will not doubt yourself."
Arthur quirks his lips up. "But you still won't tell me what's going to happen."
She looks up at him, her jade eyes grave. "They have arranged this visit since the very day we heard of the Saxons' returning. Father told me, and I have been making arrangements ever since then. We've worked hard to keep you unaware. You-" she chuckles a little, "you help our cause best by being unaware. It makes it more convincing, lets the other nations be more convinced of your character and sincerity." She smoothes down the nonexistent wrinkles on her violet dress- in a distant corner of his mind, he notes that it's the same dress she wore that day in the throne room when Gorlois had sworn fealty. A sudden thought strikes him.
"Morgana, you-"
She surprises him into silence by taking both his hands in hers. "Arthur, you need only be yourself. Men would willingly follow you to hell itself on that. Don't be afraid."
He swallows. "I'm never afraid."
She smiles gently and goes on tiptoes to press a chaste kiss to his lips. He goes still, hands resting on her waist. She steps back.
"For luck, then." She sweeps him a deep curtsey- the deepest he has seen her make- and pads out.
Arthur smiles.
.
The throne room is arranged in an unorthodox manner; usually, the king and his closest would sit on the raised dais while the rest of the court stands. With a royal visit, both monarchs would stand. Now, with nine nations represented in the same audience, Morgana has settled for an odd solution: Arthur and his court stand behind where the raised dais would usually be, while the remaining eight fanning out in a semicircular formation facing him. Arthur considers himself fortunate that this is only an audience and not a full-blown negotiation session, as it would have been difficult to arrange sitting plans in a way that would not result in blows or bloodshed.
Arthur waits as one by one, each delegation enter and stands at their allotted positions. Morgana stands at his side with her father, as does Merlin with Gaius. The rest of the knights and dignitaries of Camelot stand fanned out according to rank behind them. When at last Odin and the Meredor delegation enters and takes their place, Arthur clears his throat.
"I hope that you have had a comfortable night. Camelot welcomes you once more."
Their faces hold identical expressions of gravity. Odin glowers, while Godwyn smiles. After a brief pause, Queen Annis stands forward. Her steely eyes are fixed on his face as she begins speaking- and it becomes apparent as she does that the royals have all conferred privately and chose her as their spokesperson.
"We are grateful for the magnanimous hospitality shown by Camelot, and thank you for granting us this audience." She raises her chin. "The Saxon threat is looming over us. We nations of Albion have long searched for a way to ensure the safety and protection of our people. And now, let me speak frankly. We are resolved to take whatever action to secure our victory against the Saxons, to prove that Albion is no easy prey. We have all reached the same conclusion: that only united will we triumph." She nods at Bayard, and he speaks in his gravelly voice.
"We have all had our fair share of disagreements and wars; none of us are fierce allies with one another. But we must put aside our animosity in light of this greater enemy." Bayard glances at Odin, then resumes. "There is no other way. We then proposed a temporary alliance amongst individual nations; but this will not do. We have received reports from the Continent- Celidoine and Branlant has fallen; the Saxons sow salt in their fields and burn everything in their way. Even the Romans have retreated from Clauvegris, from which they are preparing to set sail to our Isle. The magnitude of this threat requires something greater than weak alliances; something permanent."
Cenred and Morgause step forward, but it is Morgause who speaks. "A High King to unite Albion. We have found this to be the only viable course of action. For many days we have discussed the nature of this way. Who is to lead us- to unite us in a way that we are bound closer than blood?" She pauses, golden hair glinting in the sunlight. "And we have made our decision."
Arthur tenses at the suddenly charged atmosphere. Morgana murmurs, "here it comes." Before his eyes, Cenred and Morgause kneels. The Escetian delegates and knights fall to their knees immediately afterwards. As Arthur stares in bewilderment, King Godwyn kneels as well, followed by Keredic, Bayard, Olaf, Alined. One by one the delegations fall to their knees, bowing- Annis nods once and gracefully kneels, and even Odin reluctantly genuflects. All before Arthur bows in submission, and Arthur gapes at the sight of each monarch on their knees.
Morgause looks up. "We, the nations of Meredor, Logres, Caerleon, Nemeth, Clarence, Cantia, Mercia, and Escetia,submits itself to Camelot's King Arthur. We offer the High Kingship in hopes of unity. In life and death, all Albion offers allegiance. Let a new Albion come forth, united in kinship. King Arthur, we swear fealty to you."
Arthur is struck dumb as each ruler repeats the last sentence. Morgause continues with the binding vows.
"We offer our loyalty in life and death. In battle and peace, our faith and our strength." He can do nothing but stare as the sentence is echoed by each and every dignitary. There is absolute silence as Morgause pauses.
"We offer you our heart and soul. All Escetia, united in this."
Bayard nods. "All Mercia."
"All Cantia," Olaf intones.
"All Clarence," Alined says, grimacing.
"All Nemeth."
Annis's back is ramrod straight, even in genuflection. "All Caerleon."
Godwyn smiles. "All Logres."
Odin hesitates, but at last he grits out, "All Meredor."
They take a breath, and repeat, "We offer you our heart and soul, our fealty and the High Kingship. King Arthur of Camelot, All Albion united in this."
Arthur stands frozen, still standing. Another silent pause, and it is broken by the sounds of knees hitting the floor as Morgana and Merlin kneel. One by one, the court of Camelot kneels. Arthur turns.
All Albion, united in this.
Morgana raises her voice triumphantly. "All hail High King Arthur!"
The cry is taken up by the entire assembly. "All hail High King Arthur!" "All hail High King Arthur!"
The cheering echoes through the throne room.
All Hail King Arthur.
For Albion.
The rest of the week passes in a blur for Arthur. The official documents are signed, feasts are given, private audiences had. There is much to do and too much to learn, and everything is almost surreal for Arthur. High King. Soon enough, it is time for the rulers to leave for their countries, to prepare for the coming campaign. One last grand feast is thrown in their honor.
Arthur announces that they are to march separately to Glauchedon in a week's time, where they would set up headquarters and begin the campaign against the Saxons. Each monarch makes their own speeches, declaring their acquiescence and renewing their vows of fealty. The feast begins in solemnity.
Arthur sits with the nine kings and queens at the head table; the three princesses and numerous dukes are relegated to a secondary table with Duke Gorlois and Morgana. Looking at them, he realizes that had Duke Gorlois waited to swear fealty, he would still have been a king.
Queen Morgause does not miss the direction of his gaze. "You think my father is foolish to have lowered Cornwall to a dukedom," she states bluntly.
Arthur stammers, "I…"
She shakes her head sharply. "You do not understand. This-" she waves a hand at the table and the general atmosphere " is what my father has dreamed of for decades. United Albion, headed by a mighty king." She smiles bitterly. "He thought it'd be Uther Pendragon."
Morgana notices that both Morgause and Arthur are looking in the direction of their table, and nods slightly. Morgause's smile softens. "You have my father to thank. The rest of us would never have considered such a move before he showed that he would be willing. Seeing Cornwall relegating itself to a dukedom, it didn't seem so bad to be kingdoms under a High King."
"My father-"
"Was a tyrant. We hold little love for him," Morgause grimaces. "But you are different." She nods and turns her piercing eyes away. "Let us hope we were right in our decision." She faces her husband again, signaling that their conversation was over.
Arthur takes time to digest her words. Gorlois had as much right to be an equal to these rulers. Cornwall deserved better than to be a small dukedom of Cornwall. And Morgana…
Morgana nods at Morgause, who seems to have been gesturing at her. She stands up and walks out the door. Before Arthur can ask Morgause, Morgana reappears, a box in her hands and flanked by two knights holding standards with the flags rolled up and tied. Conversation trickles away as she slowly walks up to the royal table and curtsies. Morgana smiles.
"Cornwall presents this gift to the High King of Albion, in hopes that all nations will rally under his leadership." She offers the box to him.
He opens the lid slowly; it reveals an expanse of red fabric. When he lifts it up, it unrolls to show the Pendragon crest.
It's a flag- his standard. But it's been changed- the golden dragon has been crowned, and the simple red has been bordered by the colors of all the crests of the nations of Albion. It is a beautiful piece of work. Arthur holds it reverently. "I…"
Morgana snaps her fingers, and the two standards borne by the knights unfurl to show the same flag hung on it.
"May your standard always symbolize justice and peace, and the dragon standard be feared by all our enemies. Cornwall would be honored if you accepted this mark of our fealty."
Arthur's throat closes up, and he swallows to clear it. "I...am grateful to Cornwall, for its gift and fealty. It will be my personal standard, raised up in battle. I thank you." And suddenly, Arthur has an idea- impulsive, but he's the high king, isn't he? Morgana curtseys, but he stops her before she can walk back to her seat.
"I, High King Arthur, recognize Cornwall as a full kingdom on equal footing with those of all Albion. May your people prosper and your loyalty never waver." It is Morgana's turn to be surprised, her eyes growing wide. She flushes and opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out. Arthur meets her eyes.
"Princess Morgana. King Gorlois. I, and Camelot, thank you for your gift." The standard and the High Kingship. You love working behind the scenes, don't you?
Morgana curtseys numbly and returns to her seat, shocked. Queen Morgause looks very much like the cat that got the canary. The other rulers seem relatively diffident; they seem to have no objections at least. Arthur can't help feeling proud.
.
By afternoon the next day, all of the delegations have left with a promise to gather their armies to Glauchedon. Arthur sighs inwardly, watching Vivian sob uncontrollably as she waves her handkerchief at him in farewell. With Olaf's departure, the castle is once more empty of dignitaries. He walks back through the castle gates.
Morgana is waiting for him at the steps. She curtseys. "High King Arthur."
He makes an exaggerated bow. "Princess Morgana."
Her smile is wry. "You pulled a surprise on me yesterday at the feast. That was wholly unplanned, wasn't it?"
Arthur grins. "It was planned, actually, five seconds before I started talking."
"I'm flattered," she snarks, "It was Morgause, wasn't it?"
He raises an eyebrow. "We did have an...interesting conversation."
"Morgause is very adept at maneuvering," Morgana says. "I hope you didn't promise her anything."
"I didn't, as a matter of fact." Arthur looks at her. "But I did hear some things."
Morgana stops walking as well. "Oh? Such as?"
His voice is completely serious. "You and your father planned everything, didn't you? Even when you swore Cornwall into Camelot. You were planning for this."
Morgana looks away, and Arthur continues. "There's no way you could have known that I'd raise Cornwall to be a kingdom again. It was an unlikely gamble at best- why didn't you try to make your brother-in-law the high king- or even your father?"
Her mouth tightens. "You shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth." She walks past him. He snatches her wrist and pulls her back to him. She looks up at him, furious. "You-"
He grabs her other hand. "I need to know, Morgana."
She shakes his hands off. "It was necessary." Morgana walks swiftly away from him. Arthur stares at her retreating back.
She takes her evening meal in her chambers.
.
The next day at dawn, Arthur arrives at dawn practice to an unfamiliar sight- someone of a slight build, maybe even a woman, is sparring with Gwaine. It is clear Gwaine has the upper hand, but the stranger does not seem to be outmatched. And Gwaine is not holding back- he can tell just from the speed. As he walks closer to the training pair, he realizes it's Morgana- the jet black hair and green eyes are impossible to mistake.
Morgana's training. She was stabbed and had blood poisoning, just barely escaping with her life less than four months ago, and she's training.
He can't let her.
He stalks over to them. Gwaine notices first and hesitates, giving Morgana a big enough opening to twist his sword away and send it flying. She points her sword at Gwaine's neck, then sees him staring and turns to follow his gaze.
"Arthur." She nods. "You're up."
Arthur snaps to the rest of the men, "Resume drills. Now." He steps closer to Morgana. "What are you doing here?"
She looks at him in annoyance. "Training. As you can see." She waves a hand at her attire- practical breeches and shirt with metal vambraces on her forearms, training sword in one hand.
Arthur frowns. "You're not strong enough. You shouldn't be here."
Morgana stares at him as if he has gone crazy. "I am here to train, Arthur Pendragon, and you cannot tell me that I shouldn't be here." She stalks off and gestures at Percival to be her sparring partner. He is hesitant, not used to having women ask for him to try to beat her up, but Morgana is stubborn. Besides, every knight has heard of Morgana's feats in the Cornish Wars.
Merlin wanders near as they begin their spar. Though he used to love that elusive thing called sleeping late, serving Arthur for seven years have driven it from his life- he thinks he's almost physically incapable of it now. He stops when he sees Morgana, and settles down a little ways away to watch.
Morgana goes on the offensive first, staying true to her strengths and fighting style. Arthur knows how she fights. She'll use her agility and speed to end it quickly before the opponent can use his superior strength and endurance to best her. And it seems to work, because Percival is losing ground, barely countering strikes. Another glancing blow creates a gap on the left side, and Morgana swings out swiftly- but something's gone wrong and she winces, almost dropping her sword. She holds on though, swinging the sword up in time to block Percival's arcing swipe. Their swords lock. Arthur cuts in immediately, swinging his sword up and breaking them apart. "Go. Now," he growls to Percival, who stammers before rejoining the knights doing drills.
Morgana glowers. "What, exactly, do you think you're doing?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Arthur points at her. "You aren't fully recovered. I saw you wincing. It's from the stab, isn't it?" Morgana opens her mouth to argue. He shakes his head. "Go back, Morgana."
Morgana raises her voice. "Yes, it's from the stab wound. And that's why I need to start training. I need to be able to work with it. If you would please stop being a Prathead, Arthur, I would appreciate it."
Arthur sighs. "Morgana, listen to me. I'm not going to see you overexert yourself or get hurt."
Morgana argues, "Do you not trust me to be that competent? I have led armies against you, Arthur Pendragon, I know how to handle myself."
Arthur groans inwardly. In truth, he cannot explain himself why he just can't stand seeing her train. He should be glad for it- she's an experienced general who would be an asset in the coming campaign, so it is advantageous to have her in fighting form as soon as possible. But the thought of Morgana going into battle settles unpleasantly against his stomach as well. She would never listen to him. But this need to stop her from training gnawed at him. If I made her angry enough…
"You may be able to handle yourself, but you're distracting my knights. I can't have them get all unfocused just because you're here." The knights are backing away slowly and looking at him like he's crazy now, too, but it doesn't matter because Morgana is furious.
"You- that- That simply means your knights need extra training, not that I should remove myself. They need to get used to fighting women."
Arthur snorts. "It's not like you're in proper condition anyways. How long has it been since you last fought?"
Morgana bites her lips so hard they turn white. "I'll duel you right now. See how lax I've gotten." She jerks her glove off, but Arthur blocks her before she can slap him with it. "You shouldn't challenge people you can't win against," he taunts, pulling her in and attempting to twist her arm back. She's expecting it, though, and sweeps her leg under, making him stumble. She wrenches her hand away. "Hand-to-hand sparring is fine too," she spits out, raising her hands in the ready position. Arthur huffs, exasperated that this is not going the way he'd expected. "Morgana, I'm not going to fight you. I'm not letting you fight me, either."
Morgana snarls, "You aren't letting me do anything, Arthur Pendragon." She throws a punch at Arthur, but he dodges it easily. He doesn't throw one back, however, only retorting, "You can't even keep up. You're not fit to be training right now." As she aims another blow at him, he forces himself to laugh. "You can't touch me. Getting slow, aren't you?" He deliberately taps her where he knows the stab wound is. "A page could take you right now. The great Princess Morgana, beaten by a page." He grabs onto her forearms, his strength overpowering her. He repeats, "Go back, Morgana."
Morgana's glaring eyes suddenly flash gold, and before the water barrel explodes. The wood and iron shatters into pieces, the water bursting out of its confines and flying straight at him. Arthur only just has enough time to pray that she's not actively trying to kill him before it drenches him. The water soaks his clothes, trickling down his back.
Morgana stares at him coldly, before turning and stalking off.
The other knights slowly inch back into the training area. Arthur wipes the water from his face with his hands. Merlin walks to him.
"When are you going to tell her?"
Arthur glares. "Tell her what, Merlin?"
"That you love her." Merlin keeps a straight face as Arthur turns red and splutters.
"I...you….I don't love her!"
Gwaine snorts and even Lancelot cracks a grin. "Looks like it from where I'm standing, your highness."
"You traitor. I'll have you executed."
Gwaine raises his hands in a calming gesture. "I'm just stating the truth, Arthur."
Arthur barks, "Back to training." The knights grumble before resuming the drills.
Merlin stands with Arthur as he watches. After a long silence, Arthur turns to Merlin.
"Is it really that obvious?"
Merlin nods solemnly, and Arthur runs a frustrated hand through his hair.
.
But fate seems bent against his retaining his sanity and neat hair, because when he returns to the castle, he runs in on Morgana going through drills with her sword. He ruffles his hair in aggravation.
"What. Do you think. You are doing." Arthur growls.
Morgana doesn't bother to turn around and acknowledge him. She continues the drill, and a corner of his mind notes that it's the crescent moon drill, one of her favorite moves. Pushing that thought aside, he grabs her by the wrists and drags her to face him. She breathes slowly, as if to keep calm. But Arthur is already past the point of calm.
"You shouldn't be training- what do you think you're doing?" He shakes her as if to shake some sense into her. She finally meets his eyes, glaring at him as she tries to break his grip. "Let go of me or I'll make you."
"You are deliberately disobeying the healer's orders to not exert yourself until he sees fit. I'm not having this." His hands are leaving red marks on her skin, but he's too angry right now to notice. Her mouth tightens as she struggles.
"Merlin!" he roars, and the magician stumbles into the room, hesitating at the sight that he is greeted with. Arthur's eyes are fiery. "Escort the Princess Morgana to her chambers, and make sure she does not leave it."
Merlin opens his mouth to protest, but Arthur snaps, "Now!" and he falls silent. With a look of silent apology on his face, Merlin leads Morgana out. She follows him, shooting a look of pure venom at Arthur.
Arthur slumps into a chair after she is gone, staring at his hands. They're trembling minutely- he hasn't been this angry since the quest. Noticing Morgana's training sword laying abandoned on the floor, he leans down to pick it up.
It's a well-made one, with minute carvings on the grip. Examining it more closely, he notices they are letters, forming a sentence. Duty over all. He grimaces.
The sentence explains Morgana well. He stares at the worn handle and dull edge. Morgana must have been going crazy these past months, thinking she was neglecting a part of her duty. The imprints on the handle showed the outline of her hands, so much smaller than his own. Used so much it has been molded to her.
Now sufficiently calmed down, he berates himself on his impulsive behavior. His actions are inexcusable. No matter how strong or capable she is, Morgana is a lady. He should never have touched her. Her face when he grabbed her comes unbidden to his mind. She must have found it confounding that he would react so. After all, she is in no way related to him, in blood or bonds. There is no reason to explain why he should be so worried.
But he is. And Arthur can't stop it, no more than he can stop that warm feeling coursing through him when she smiles affectionately at him or the twist in his stomach when she puts herself in danger yet again. It's inexplicable.
High King of Albion, he thinks bitterly. Doesn't even know himself.
He gets to his feet, still holding the practice sword. He had to ask her forgiveness and somehow find a way to keep her from training.
.
When he reaches the door to her chambers, he hesitates. She would not be happy to see him. Bracing himself, he knocks twice on the wooden door.
There is no reply.
He knocks again. And again. A full minute of knocking and he decides to forget protocol and barge in. Of course, Sarah rushes out that very moment, snapping, "If you think the bedclothes are going to fold themselves-" She stops.
Arthur raises an eyebrow. "Is Princess Morgana in?"
"Ah...she…" Sarah stammers, "she'll be in...but…"
"Thank you," Arthur cuts in. Sarah rushes away after a few more failed attempts at speech. He walks into the room.
No Morgana.
He looks around- he has been in her chambers but a few times. It simply isn't deemed proper for men to visit ladies' chambers.
There are very few personal effects on display in the shelves. The vases are bare of flowers. His mouth tightens. There is very little to hold her here. Only her desk seems to be well-used, her quills meticulously sharpened and a few half-written letters strewn about. Arthur is about to give into the temptation to read them when Morgana's voice rings out from one of the inner chambers.
"Sarah?"
Arthur walks over. The door is closed.
Hesitantly, he asks, "Morgana? May I come in?"
Immediately, she snaps, "Who is this?" Her voice is sharp.
"It's Arthur." Silence.
"I came here to apologize. I…" He pauses. "May I come in?"
More silence. Arthur begins to worry.
"Are you alright?"
A pause, and Morgana replies in a strained voice, "Arthur, I would very much appreciate if you left now."
Arthur leans against the door. "I...Morgana…."
Morgana's trying to regulate her breathing- whether to control her temper or in pain he cannot tell. She speaks through the door again, and her voice is nearly strangled. "Arthur, I am in the bath. Please leave now."
Oh. Oops.
He jumps away from the door as if it's burned him. "I...I'm sorry. I'll...come back later."
More deep breaths. At last, Morgana answers, "you can wait in the antechamber if it's important. Otherwise, I would like if you removed yourself from my chambers.
"I'll wait."
He seats himself on one of the chambers in the antechamber. Sarah rushes in with towels, sees him, and flushes a deep red. She mutters something, and slips into the room Morgana's in. Morgana emerges a little while later, clad in a white slip and robe and her hair wet.
"Arthur, if this isn't important…"
Impulsively -and he's doing that a lot around Morgana, he realizes- he gets down on one knee, taking one of her hands. Morgana stares at him in astonishment- and she's really doing that a lot too around him. He can see the red marks he's made on her forearms, and the sight makes his heart drop. He stutters a little, before finding his voice.
"Morgana...I…"
Morgana's voice is nearly hysterical. "I swear, if you're proposing marriage to me, Arthur…"
Arthur blinks. "What?" He looks up at her, then at himself. Oh. This does rather seem like he's proposing...Oh. He lets go of her hand rapidly and stands up. "No. Oh, no. No. it's not that. No." Morgana's staring at him again. Maybe he's offended her?
"It's not that I don't want to marry you, I actually really do, but…" His brain catches up to his mouth. Dear gods.
He takes a breath and prays that he doesn't put his foot in his mouth even more. "I...wanted to apologize. I did not treat you in a gentlemanly manner this morning."
She raises one eyebrow. "What excuse could you possibly have?"
He looks down. "I don't."
"You taunted me, interfered in my training, physically stopped me- and you don't have an excuse." She massages her temples. "Arthur, please leave." She turns away.
And he's desperate now; there's so much he wants to tell her but he can't find the words. He steps towards her, and when she turns back to face her, he kisses her.
It's not so gentle this time. He's trying to express the way it seems like his world shrinks to just her when she's in the room, the way her strength draws him in. Her lips are soft and surprised, and his own seems too rough to be allowed to touch her like this. They meld together, and Arthur thinks he's really hallucinating this time.
Morgana breaks off and fights to regain her breathing. Arthur flushes and looks away. When he gathers up the courage to look at her, she's looking at him, blushing and fingers to her lips in surprise. Her mouth forms words but no sounds come out.
Slowly, hesitantly, Arthur brings up a hand to cup her jaw. He whispers, "I'll leave you now."
His words bring her back. "No. I…" Morgana bites her lip, and looks up. "You idiot."
Arthur looks at her. She stares back, a smile slowly forming on her face. "You should have just told me."
Arthur blinks. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Have it your way." Morgana smirks.
Arthur flushes. "Morgana, whatever you're thinking…"
Morgana cuts him off with a finger to his lips. "I accept your apology." She grins. "Poor Merlin nearly had a fit, he was so worried that I'd be angry at both of you forever."
He slowly grins as well. "Well, 'forever' would be very short, because we'd probably have killed each other off before long."
Morgana tilts her head. "Does this mean you won't interfere with my training anymore?"
"Not on your life."
"Arthur!"
"Ready, your highness?" Morgana whispers to Arthur. The Pendragon standards are raised high, and the Eleven Kingdoms have gathered. It is time to begin.
Arthur nods. He raises a hand, and the trumpeters blow the signal to move out. Arthur rides at the head, Morgana at his side. As the bugles grow loud, he surreptitiously takes her hand and raises it to his lips.
"Be safe, Morgana."
She smiles. "You as well."
It is too loud for conversation now, but the looks they exchange before they charge off to battle together say more than words ever could.
The first time they meet, it is on a battlefield.
Ending notes: I'm sorry if the ending was disappointing- I truly did want it to be romantic, but then I realized that a) I stink at writing romance and b) the world doesn't deserve to suffer that much. I originally planned to end it with a wedding too... oh well.
I hope you enjoyed following Arthur and Morgana's journey from being enemies, to sort-of friends, to enemies, to sort-of comrades, to sort-of lovers. Sort-of. I think the only time their relationship is ever simple and clean-cut is when they're enemies. And not even then. I truly enjoyed writing it, at least. There are so many things left undone that I'd like to write a whole complementary bits-and-pieces compilation for it, but that'd be horrific. I do have the vaguest flutterings for a sequel plot, but I'd like to know what you think. Should I?
In any case, thank you so much for all your support! Fare thee well!
Estele