Hello, and sorry for the wait – I know I said after posting the last one that I was already started on this chapter, and that was true…but this chapter turned into another monster chapter and also stuff, so there's that. And then also, recently – the second season of my second-favorite show in the universe, Marvel's Daredevil, came out a few weeks ago. I've been pretty obsessed, and then there's the Daredevil story that I'm also writing because that show's so freaking good…so, if you like that show, feel free to check it out. Anyway.

One thing I wanted to mention – so, I know I probably should have done this literally years ago…but, a few weeks ago, I did the impossible and actually wroteout an outline for the rest of this story. Shocking, despite the fact that I love outlines and regularly advise people to use them. For some reason, I never seem to get around to using them for my stories. I just keep my plots…in my head.

I know, I know.

But, the point – I do love outlines, because they really work and after writing the full outline for this, I feel like I finally have a map that will really, really help in making this story go where I want it to. Therefore, from this point onwards – things are happening. Not that they haven't been before, but as you've all probably noticed, I tend to focus a lot on the fallout of things rather than new things happening. It's annoying…especially for me, when I know exactly what I want to happen cuz it'll be awesome except it's taking forever…

Anyway, my point – this is the place in the plot where things, finally, begin to happen. I'm really excited.

Oh yeah and also – thank so much to everyone who's reviewed, read, generally supported this! I love you all, and remember…100 reviews! Let's do this.

Chapter 25: Red-Handed

Boom, boom, boom. The sound refused to stop, refused to falter in its approach – like a drum pounding onwards to announce a death sentence. Every time it pulsed, her heart seemed to leap in time with it – like fuel to the flames for her shaking hands, frantic feet, but there wasn't anything to do.

Boom – boom – BOOM –

She took a hysterical breath, heart pounding as she glanced around, again – with the same result. She'd backed herself into a corner, and there was nowhere to go. The cold, blank walls of the dead-end corridor she'd so blindly stumbled into were unforgiving, just as much as the deafening sound of footsteps approaching, nearer and nearer.

Her breath ripped out of her chest, tearing a hopeless sob from within – not again, not now, why does it always have to be this way – but her hands were clasped tight at her sides, unwavering. I won't. She wouldn't give in.

The final seconds ticked by, agonizingly slowly – BOOM, BOOM – she flinched away as they rounded the corner, hard faces and sharp weapons glittering in the torchlight.

Prince Arthur stood unmoving for a moment, simply glaring at her – the contempt was obvious on his face. "Seize her," ordered the prince finally, his words sharp and irrevocable. "And this time, throw her in the dungeons where she belongs."

I'm sorry. But she didn't bother to say it, because it was obvious that Arthur was furious and not about to listen to anything she had to say – Elsa let herself go limp, tears running hot trails down her face as the guards roughly took her arms and marched her away. Merlin… you were wrong.

Earlier that night…

When Merlin let himself into Arthur's chambers, still mulling over everything that Morgana had said, he found the prince standing at the windowsill across the room, standing still and silent as he stared down into the darkening courtyard. Merlin had to internally sigh, because this sight was familiar – and never good. Arthur was in a thinking mood.

The prince didn't move as Merlin entered the room audibly, his boots scuffing the floor. After sending an aimless glance around the room, Merlin approached Arthur's back, drawing a breath as he prepared to speak.

"You can go, Merlin," said Arthur quietly, beating Merlin to it. "Might as well get some sleep."

How is it that the only time he ever tells me to sleep, is when I have to stay and talk to him instead? Merlin tilted his head with raised eyebrows, letting his arms flop to his sides. "I just wanted to make sure that you….were alright?"

Arthur let out a short sigh. "I am, so you can go."

Wait for it…Merlin didn't move, just stayed silent and patient. This always worked out in one of two ways – either Arthur would shout again for Merlin to go, sometimes throwing a hard and heavy object to make his point clear, or Arthur would wait a few seconds before sighing and quietly spitting out whatever his problem was. This time was no exception – after ten seconds of silence, he spoke.

"Look, Merlin, it's nice to see that you've been working on those manners of yours, but still, I'm not the one you should be worrying about…or, I should be worrying about, anyway." Arthur finished speaking in a mutter, seeming to tilt his head back down to stare again at the dark courtyard.

Thought so. "You're worried about Elsa."

Arthur snorted slightly, his shoulders shifting. "You're not?"

Merlin took in a silent, deep breath before speaking, deliberating on what to say. "Well, I'm not…not worried about her," said Merlin slowly, trying to find the right words. "I mean, I guess I am a little, but there really isn't any reason to be. No one has any reason to suspect her, so there's not much that can happen to her in one night…"

After a short moment, Arthur turned around deliberately, pinning Merlin down with a flat, almost exasperated stare. "I wasn't worried for her wellbeing," retorted Arthur snappily, rolling his eyes. "Though I shouldn't be surprised that you were…"

It took Merlin a second to catch up, and when he did – a frown immediately etched itself onto his face, along with the return of the heavy feeling to his chest. "You were worried about what she might do?" Merlin's question was sharp, incredulous but not really a question, because the look on Arthur's face already answered it. "Arthur, she's already – we already know, she's definitely on our side, and there's no way she'd ever do anything –" Arthur cut into Merlin's rushed defense, an irritated scowl beginning to set in on his face.

"Yes, Merlin, I know, I don't need to hear your speech again," said Arthur, annoyed. "I'm well aware that you're completely sold on the idea that Elsa is good, on our side, all that. I suppose I'm just not as capable as you at believing something so fully with barely enough proof to drink a toast at."

I don't need proof – I know. Merlin wanted to bite out the words, somehow make Arthur see how impossible it was for Elsa to be evil – but he didn't, and waited, watching as Arthur heaved a sigh and turned halfway back towards the window, his eyes drifting away.

"That doesn't change the fact…that I still just can't – can't believe, completely, that she is good. Almost as if…if I do believe that, then she'll be bound to turn out to be evil after all. I saw her help us, fighting against Dezyra, and yet…she's still a sorceress." Upon saying the word, Arthur's head shook in a slight shudder, as if coming to the new realization that he was harboring a sorceress in the castle. "I shouldn't even be trying to believe that she's good…"

The words were like weights being added to the heaviness accumulating in Merlin's chest – they fell hard and heavy, cold but already familiar. He refused to think about it, instead keeping Elsa's face in his mind and pushing onwards – farther and farther out onto the limb that he seemed to be dangling from constantly, these days. "Arthur – you already know that not all magic has to be evil. The druids, and that little boy…and Elsa, she didn't want her magic, she was born with it, she can't help it –"

Arthur ran a hand over his face tiredly, shaking his head. "The druids are different – they practice peace, they live in isolation…and Elsa, well – I don't know what she is."

"Not evil, at least."

The prince sighed harshly, irritation more than apparent, upon hearing the words. "You keep saying that, Merlin, but you don't know. That's the thing – we just don't know. That's why I'm worried." He was clearly getting more agitated, restless – Merlin plowed right on ahead, not stopping to think.

"Well, you don't have to be worried, then, because I do know, and she's not."

"You don't!" Arthur exploded, his voice reverberating sharply across the walls. Merlin took a startled step back as Arthur spun around, face resolute. "You can't know that, Merlin! Anything could happen!"

Arthur stared for a moment with a scowl at Merlin's rather stubborn expression, before finally shaking his head quickly and waving a dismissing hand at the servant. "Oh, just go and – try to make yourself useful somewhere," muttered Arthur, turning away.

"I –" Merlin started – he didn't even know what he was going to say, but Arthur cut him off anyway.

"Get out."

After a second standing there, mouth open with whatever unsaid words still within, Merlin abruptly spun on heel and marched away, grinding his teeth silently. He yanked open the heavy chamber door and strode out, letting it slam shut again, before taking of down the hall, shaking his head.

What a prat of a destined hope for the future anyway –

Well, fine then, Arthur, if you want to be that way about it, then you go right ahead and worry your pretty head off all night long. I'm going to bed.

A candle flickers into life, casting a sparse light about the room.

It reveals smooth stone walls, decorated tastefully with a various shields, standards and hangings. The four-poster bed is carefully made, the blankets tucked in neatly despite the darkened windows indicating that it was night. There is nothing in the room to tell who it belongs to – no clothing, no personal trinkets.

That – and one figure, standing silently by the wall, concealed by a heavy and hooded cloak. The figure lifts a hand, the motion seeming to draw the candle's light to it. With a wave of the hand, the light rises into the air – hovering with an unseen force, it floats up to stay just above and behind the figure. With barely a sound, they set off, stepping smoothly towards the door. With another wave, the handle lifts with a click and, silently, the door glides open.

Like a ghost, the figure leaves the room, moving soundlessly down the corridor beyond.

The darkness seems to press in on the light and the cloaked figure as they travel down corridor after corridor, the stone walls and occasional tapestries and hangings adorning them giving no help at determining the location. Finally they reach a stairwell with a torch hanging on the wall nearby. The figure pauses at the top of the steps before descending, the blue cloak swirling in its wake.

Below, the walls are rougher; even more darkness, and more corridors. The figure marches onwards, pausing every so often as if they were unfamiliar with the place. They pass through a gate and, leaving it swinging wide open, continue into a rough-cut tunnel with rock walls; torchlight shines at the end of the tunnel, flickering uncertainly.

The figure approaches the light steadily, the cloaked head bowed as if sleepwalking.

Rounding the bend, a chorus of surprised grunts and voices sounds – a pair of guards stand outside a barred gateway, the metal framing protruding out from the cave-like walls and ceiling. The men reach out to grasp at their swords, one of them partially drawing it.

"Hey! No one should be down here – show yourself!"

The cloaked figure stops, raising its head slightly.

Then, after just a moment, a hand lifts unhesitatingly – with a flick of the fingers, a pulse emanates throughout the space – the two men are immediately blown backwards, away from the door and into the rough rock wall behind. Hitting the hard wall with a sharp clank, the guards crumple to the ground limply.

The figure in the cloak drops its hand and steps outwards again, navigating around the splayed limbs of the two unmoving men and coming to a stop before the barred gate.

Sticking its hand out once again, the figure turns its wrist slowly to the side, in time with a quiet click – the gate shakes slightly and swings open loosely, admitting the sole figure standing outside.

The room within is cluttered, but impressively so; there are countless chests and boxes, intricately decorated; some objects sparkle, some seem to absorb the light. The figure stops for a moment, looking around from beneath the cloak as if taking it in. No movement – then, as if prompted by a sharp command, the figure starts and moves away, towards a tall shelf crowded with strange objects.

The figure raises both hands and steps close to the shelf, moving along it gradually – looking for something. After a short search – it reaches out and grasps an elaborate chest, complete with clawed legs and a large, fancy clasp. The figure lowers the chest, about a forearm in length, to the ground and sits before it, hands sliding off the shiny, dust-free surface.

They wave at the chest – almost hesitatingly – but, nothing happens. The lid remains tight, stubbornly in place. Not pausing, the cloaked figure reaches out and places a hand on the chest, straightening and tipping its head back – a quiet stream of strange words sound in the quiet space, accompanied by a faint glow emanating from underneath the hand resting on the chest.

With a soft click, the chest's lid springs upward slightly as the mechanism is released.

The figure reaches slowly, lifting the lid – the candle still floating behind their head moves forward, casting its glow directly into the contents of the chest.

Inside is a long candle, the stand glittering like silver, covered in strange markings and glyphs. The wick is just slightly burned at the tip – other than that, never used.

The figure stares for a moment, before reaching a slightly trembling hand into the chest – grasping the candle with careful fingers, the figure pushes itself to its feet, holding the candle out before almost reverently. As they shove themselves to their feet, the hood of the cloak slips back – it falls heavily across the person's back, revealing pale blonde hair and a delicate, feminine face.

The woman with white-blonde hair and icy blue eyes stares at the candle as if it is a prize, her eyes abruptly changing to gold as she opens her mouth to speak –

Morgana shot up into a sitting position, legs kicking and chest heaving, choking down a scream that was part sob.

"Arthur! Arthur!"

The sound of his name being called out harshly, half-whisper and half-shout, drifted faintly through the fog that was sleep – Arthur heard it, yes, but a second after registering the sound, it slipped away back into the darkness. His bed was warm and soft – why bother getting up, wasting energy, trying to find out why someone was calling his name?

The cold hand that touched his bare shoulder, annoyingly shaking his entire frame, did manage to break through the fog. Arthur jerked out of any lingering sleep, blinking rapidly in the dark – it is dark, still night, why am I waking up – a pale face hovering over his bed suddenly snapped into focus. The prince jumped backwards in shock, clutching at his blankets, heart pounding.

"Morgana – what're you doing–"

Standing at Arthur's bedside hesitantly, Morgana was breathing heavily as if she'd been running, twisting her hands together nervously – she was in her nightgown, with nothing more than a light layer worn over it. She backed away slightly as Arthur tugged at his blankets self-consciously, sitting up against his pillows and staring at her with wide eyes and an incredulous frown.

"Arthur – something's wrong –" Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper, trembling so much he could barely recognize it. She wore a twist of a frown on her pale face, eyes bright with fear.

"What?" The strangeness of the situation had, at least, completely wiped away every trace of sleep lingering in Arthur's body and mind. His head was clear, wide-awake, and his heart was still pounding quickly – now, it was beginning to do so out of concern. "What's wrong, what happened?"

Morgana took in a gasping breath, her eyes darting away for a second before locking back on to his face. "There's – there's someone in the castle, they're breaking into the vaults – they're going to steal something, but I think they might already be down there –"

"Whoa, slow down, just hold on –" Arthur cut off Morgana's rambling, allowing her to gasp in another tight breath and giving time for him to do the same. "How – how do you know all this? Did they – were you attacked? Did they hurt you?" Arthur's voice rose in panicked anger as the chain of thought was voiced – why else would she be here, coming to him? I swear, if they did – I'll make sure they get locked up for the rest of their worthless lives –

"No, no – it's not like that, I just – I just know," cut in Morgana, her voice stronger. She met Arthur's eyes steadily, still frowning but more certain – Arthur stared back, unable to ignore the confusion that was setting in.

"But then – how did you find out? And – why didn't you call the guards…" Arthur turned to look towards the door, searching for any sign of the guards standing by but there were none – it didn't make sense. Why did she come to me first...?

Morgana's eyes darted away again as soon as Arthur voiced his questions, ducking her head as she let out a tight breath. "Look – it doesn't matter, I just do, and if you don't hurry and get down there then they'll probably get away, hurting who knows how many people in the process –"

Arthur sighed in exasperation, straightening reluctantly. "Morgana…"

"Please, Arthur!" She cried out, voice cracking, eyes wide with urgency – her black hair bounced as she made her point, hands clenched tight. "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't important."

She stood waiting for his answer, eyes still bright with conviction – Arthur internally sighed again, sensing already that he had no choice but to do as she wanted. Even though things weren't the same as they used to be – the days when Arthur would do anything he could to get the Lady Morgana's attention and approval had passed, somewhere along the road, but she was still practically his sister. And after all – if she was right, and someone was breaking into the vaults…then it was his duty, nonetheless. He couldn't just ignore it.

"Fine," sighed Arthur, moving to swing his legs over to the side of the bed and reaching down to find his boots. In the past, he might have been self-conscious to let Morgana see his with just trousers on – but, not anymore. After all, it wasn't the first time she'd seen him with no shirt on, and it didn't matter anyway.

Morgana backed away, audibly breathing out a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Arthur," she murmured, turning away as he rose to get dressed.

In moments, Arthur had finished buckling on his sword belt and was tugging on his jacket rather tersely, striding to the wall by the door to find a torch. Morgana followed after him hastily, arms held at her sides and expression tense. Wrenching open the heavy wooden doors to his chambers, Arthur held it open for Morgana ironically, gesturing.

"Well, now that we're going, d'you feel like telling me how you know this after all?"

Morgana gave Arthur a fleeting glance with wide eyes before turning as they strode down the hall together. "It doesn't really matter, Arthur."

Rolling his eyes, Arthur blew out an exasperated sigh, unable to help feeling disgruntled. "So, just do what you say and don't ask any questions, is that right?" asked Arthur sarcastically, glaring at Morgana out of the corner of his eye.

He was expecting sarcasm and mockery in return – that was the usual, between them – but instead, Morgana just glanced back at him quickly, her frown firmly in place. "Yes, that would be nice," muttered the dark-haired woman quietly, turning back and increasing her pace. "Come on – let's hurry."

She is worried, isn't she? Arthur frowned at Morgana's stiff back that was steadily getting farther ahead of him – he quickened his pace to catch up, watching her closely. It was rare for Morgana to be so serious about anything – thinking about it, the first thing that came to mind was the incident with the druid boy, Mordred. That had been an occasion where Morgana had been completely and totally involved, resolved to do whatever she could to help – not even sparing a moment for jokes or lightheartedness, as was normal for her. And here she was again, dead serious and urgent -

It wasn't that Arthur didn't believe Morgana when she said that someone was breaking into the vaults – he did, or at least, he believed that something must be happening. However, with the lack of guards and any other activity in the castle, it seemed unlikely that Morgana could even find out about such a thing – and if she wasn't attacked, then how did she know? He couldn't help being a little skeptical, especially with Morgana's past record of overreacting and making impulsive decisions. She was strong-headed, spontaneous – and not always right.

But even if she was right – it shouldn't be that much cause for concern, anyway. If someone was breaking into the vaults, then he and Morgana would catch them before they got the chance or perhaps even in the act. One or two people infiltrating the depths of the castle wouldn't be too much of a problem, anyway. We'll take care of it, and then I'll be able to go back to sleep.

Arthur told himself that, anyway, but watching Morgana march along with that pinched expression, a hint of nervous anticipation began to replace his confidence.

They walked through the dark halls in silence – Arthur kept an eye out for anything strange, looking for guards patrolling or anything out of place, but they had encountered nothing so far as they began to descend down into the lower levels of the castle. Arthur found it slightly disturbing how they didn't even run into any of the guards who should be making rounds throughout the castle every so often – was Camelot's security really that bad, after all?

With too much ease, they made their way through the complex series of passages leading to the vaults – finally coming to the section where the first gate was, Arthur unconsciously slowed to a stop, staring ahead. Beside him, Morgana paused too – he paid her no mind, looking ahead with rapidly growing concern.

The barred gate that should be closed and locked, as it always was regardless of the time of day or night, was not – instead, it was swinging wide open, unchecked. There was no key in sight – of course, the guards in charge of watching over the vaults had copies of the key for this particular gate. Still – it should be locked.

"That's not right..." said Arthur into the silence, taking a half step forward before turning to look back at Morgana – she must be right after all, then; how did she know? He was about to ask but stopped, thrown off guard once again, when he saw Morgana. She stood absolutely still, staring at the sight before them – just an open gate, swinging where its user had left it, but her face was drawn pale once again, mouth open and lips trembling. She seemed to be shocked – as if she hadn't believed in her promise that someone was breaking into the vaults, herself.

Drawing a shaking breath and glancing quickly at Arthur, Morgana ducked her head to look away from the gate. "I didn't – I wasn't sure," breathed Morgana uncertainly, confirming Arthur's thought. Her words were so quiet, she could have almost been talking to herself. Taking a rather gasping breath, she blinked and shook her head, eyes wide with wonder and a hint of dread. "I wasn't sure, I thought – I'd take you down here and it'd be nothing and you'd call me foolish, send me back to bed – but…But this means – she's already down there…"

Arthur stared at her for a moment, feeling what was the beginnings of the rush of adrenaline that any situation like this always brought, starting to rush through his veins. She? "Morgana?" Her hair bouncing with the motion, she looked up quickly, eyes going to Arthur in a disoriented sort of way.

Morgana glanced at the gate again, obviously thinking quickly – Arthur noted the exact moment a realization hit her. Morgana's eyes lit up with panic and she jumped, moving closer to Arthur in an instant – she grabbed at his arm, urgency written all over her face.

"Arthur, there's something else – we have to be careful," said Morgana quietly, urgent and tense. Her eyes were compelling, dark and completely serious. "This – the person who's breaking into the vaults – they're using magic. Strong magic."

What? That word alone was like taboo, immediately sending his heart racing and a heavy feeling of dread, dropped straight into his gut – "What – magic? Morgana, how d'you – why didn't you tell me sooner?" Voice incredulous, Arthur's words were sharp like knives – but Morgana held his gaze, unflinching.

"I didn't tell you because I wasn't sure that it was even real," replied Morgana quickly, her tone wanting to get the conversation over with. "I thought I might have been wrong, but this proves that I wasn't, so I'm telling you now. They're using magic, and they already might've hurt someone if they've gotten this far –"

"Wait, stop. What do you mean, you weren't sure? How do you know all this, anyway? And who are they?" Arthur asked hurriedly, all his doubt gone – Morgana averted her gaze, beginning to pull away, but this time Arthur grasped her arm to hold her in place, pinning her down with a hard glare. "Morgana, tell me."

"I…" Morgana started, eyes flickering – she met Arthur's gaze hesitantly, silently begging him to let it go, but Arthur didn't budge. I've come this far – I deserve to know. Morgana must have seen his resolve in his eyes – she let out a slow sigh, looking away. "It's…it's complicated."

"So uncomplicate it."

The young woman rolled her eyes slightly, scoffing lightly. After a short moment, she bit her lip, glancing back down the corridor they still needed to go down – Arthur knew they were losing valuable time, but still. I need to know. Finally, Morgana bit her lip and turned back, making her decision.

"I dreamt it, Arthur," murmured Morgana softly, her eyes fixed firmly on a spot somewhere behind Arthur – away from his gaze. Arthur scarcely registered her words, as she spoke them – it didn't make sense, was barely comprehendible, at first. "My dreams – they come true sometimes, and recently they have been, so I thought – when I dreamt about this, I thought it must have been true and I couldn't just ignore it like I usually do –" She broke off as her words began to run together, clashing together in what must have been rising panic –

Arthur took a moment to blink, processing what she'd said – dreamt it, literally? how does that make sense – it didn't really work. "What? – How…that doesn't make any sense." Arthur stared at her in confusion, stupefied, as Morgana backed away and wiped at her forehead wearily.

"I know it doesn't, Arthur, why do you think I didn't want to tell you? Now can we just go, before something happens –"

Morgana turned and strode off down the corridor with Arthur stumbling blankly behind, his steps growing more and more reluctant. The rush of emotions thrown at him so disorderly – worry, concern, panic, and now utter confusion – his mind seemed to be shuddering to a halt, refusing to process. This truly felt like a dream now, ridiculous and impossible to comprehend because it wasn't real and there was really no point trying to rationalize, was there?

Except that his heart was still racing uncomfortably, and that leaden feeling was still swirling around in his gut, telling him to do something and do it quick before something even worse happened – and something told him that the even worse was not far off…shaking his head roughly as if to clear his thoughts, Arthur stumbled to a halt, running a hand through his hair. She must have heard him stop – Morgana paused and turned around after a second, looking back at him.

"Arthur – please, we don't have time – we need to…" Her eyes were pleading and desperate – Arthur hadn't seen Morgana looking like this in a long time, and it wasn't a welcome change. She was clearly terrified, and all because – a dream? That came true? How?

"Morgana, you do realize, you're – this isn't making any sense," sighed Arthur, shrugging and swinging his arms slightly, as if to encompass their entire surroundings, the whole thing. It was how he felt, anyway – everything, from Morgana's shaking frame to the rough stone walls, their jagged shadows flickering uncertainly in the pale lighting…everything. It didn't make sense. "I don't understand. How could – Morgana, dreams don't come true, you couldn't have dreamt about this, so what…" He trailed off, staring at her in bewilderment. How? The word echoed around in his mind, bouncing back and forth repeatedly.

Morgana began to shake her head, almost unconsciously, her eyes sparkling strangely in the light – filling up with tears. "Arthur…I don't know, I don't understand either, but my dreams do come true, and we have to – if we don't stop this one…if we don't stop her…" Her voice faltered and faded away as she sniffed, gasping silently for breath.

Seeing her crying, miserable, in such pain – Arthur's heart clenched and it physically pained him not to go to her, somehow comfort Morgana who was the closest thing he had to a sister – but his confusion was still like a cloud of fog around his head, blurring everything. If only he could see –

But, wait – her?

Arthur blinked, wondering if he'd misheard – but no, he was sure…she'd said her. The person breaking into the vaults, then, was female – a woman – and she also had magic – strong magic – but then…the pieces fell into place so easily, so effortlessly, that Arthur thought he must be wrong. Surely, it couldn't be – but who else? Even if Morgana had dreamt about it, impossibly – she'd already been right about the gate, about someone being down there…

His heart was suddenly thumping in his throat, and Arthur swallowed heavily, finding himself panting, his veins seeming to be running with fire rather than blood. "Morgana," said Arthur slowly, staring at her blankly – his mouth was dry like sand, every muscle screaming at the realization. "Who – who was it, that you saw…in your dream? Who's breaking into the vaults?"

Perhaps his voice was too knowing – his tone must have said what his words didn't, because Morgana's eyes sharpened immediately, and she straightened, staring at him with wide eyes. He already knew – he knew and he should've bloody known, and Morgana surely knew that he knew, as well – she gulped, tilting her head and opening her mouth hesitantly, almost as if she were afraid to voice it. To make it real.

But she did. "It…it's that new woman. Elsa." Morgana's eyes were guarded, but only to an extent – she was aware, then, that Arthur knew about Elsa. About the witch, as it so happened. "Arthur, she – Elsa has magic."

Yes, she does, doesn't she. His fists were clenched, and he was doing his best not to clench them harder, thinking that he'd better not accidently sprain his wrist or something – his teeth were grinding together uncontrollably, and Arthur simply stood there for a moment, breathing steadily and firmly deciding not to punch the passage wall. That would not be productive. Unlike the act of catching Elsa, and then perhaps never again listening to a certain somebody…

"Damn him," growled Arthur under his breath, breathing hard through his nose. "Damn that idiot…" Why did I ever listen to him in the first place? Idiot Merlin, naïve enough to trust a sorceress and think he knows everything about her too… It was perhaps a good thing that his manservant was nowhere in the vicinity, because Arthur's rage was boiling to the point where if Merlin had been around, he might just have throttled the boy in anger. I should've bloody known…

"Arthur?" Morgana's voice trembled still, and Arthur snapped his gaze up to her. She was frowning at him, hesitant again – worried, probably, but really there was no need to be. Now, Arthur knew what he was doing, and knew what to do. There was no doubt, this time – no confusion of morals, no annoying Merlin in his ear. Rolling his shoulders slightly, Arthur set his jaw and reached to his side, seamlessly drawing his sword from its sheath.

"Well, then," said Arthur in a hard voice, stepping forward and past Morgana – her eyes were still wide, watching Arthur with slight suspicion and maybe even concern. No need, he thought, taking a deep breath. "Let's go catch ourselves a sorceress."

To be continued…

Quick A/N: If anyone thinks that second scene where Arthur gets mad at Merlin is weird or OOC or anything, please remember…this story is set just before season 2, which begins with the Cornelius Segan incident. So…shouldn't be too far off the mark.

Let me just say…mwahahahaha…ahh, I love this story so much. You really have no idea…but soon, you will! I hope I can post again relatively soon – next week? Let's all keep our fingers crossed. Again, thank you so much to everyone who reads and likes this, and thank you to everyone who has left reviews. Each and every one always inspires me to keep writing and do more. Thank you!

~whatswiththemustache