Leon is penning a letter to his mother when the front door of the townhouse slams shut so hard that Allegra barks in alarm at it. Quickly, he sets aside the quill and stands, leaving his chambers just as a flash of red fabric and dark hair storms down the corridor into the library. Curious, he goes to the doorway but no further, leaning his shoulder against the frame; Merlin's ability to control his magic has the additional bonus of giving him ample control of his emotions. Which means a fit of temper is nothing to be taken lightly.

True enough, Merlin is sitting stiff in his chair, long-fingered hands working around the carved arms like a cat kneading. There're white lines around his mouth, and his eyes flicker from gold to blue like fast-moving shadows across sunlight. Several of his knives dangle in midair as if from unseen threads, the blades spinning so fast they blur. Allegra slinks over to him and rests her muzzle on his knee, but Merlin doesn't even take notice.

Leon folds his arms. "Do you wish to speak of it, or shall I leave you to it?" he asks, making his tone light but careful, one eye on the darting silver of the knives.

"The Lady Morgana," Merlin spits.

A cold stone drops in the pit of his belly. "Oh, gods, Merlin, you haven't—"

One hand waves impatiently, dispelling whatever though he might have voiced. "No, no, she has done nothing. It's what's been done to her." A muscle in his jaw jumps. "Morgana is a seer. She has magic."

Of all the things that Merlin might have said, that is the very last one Leon expected to hear. He shakes his head a little, eyes wide. "Wh-what? According to whom? What makes you think that?"

The young man takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment; when his lashes part again, his eyes are blue and remain as such. The knives cease spinning, though they still dangle brightly in the air. "I have had my suspicions for some time, but I had no way of confirming it. Until Sophia and Aulfric."

The Sidhe. Leon doesn't know much of the fair folk other than they are capricious, powerful, and chillingly amoral. Even near-stripped of power, Sophia had been strong enough to wrest an enchantment around Arthur insidious enough for her to near drown him without a struggle. "What of them?"

"Morgana dreamt of Sophia drowning Arthur in the lake. She saw her face…before they ever arrived in Camelot," Merlin explains; one hand strokes Allegra's head, scratching behind her ears. "The nightmares. The sleeping draughts. I have administered Gaius's mixtures to patients before, and grown men have slept deep as the dead with them. And yet, she still does not sleep. She still has nightmares."

"But a seer…?"

The knives begin to spin again. "Oh, yes. Gaius told me, when I asked him. He says that Morgana's dreams have come to pass before, and he has known what she was for some time," he says, grinding the words out from between his teeth. "And he has decided that it is in her best interests not to know, that it is best for her to remain ignorant of her power."

And there is the heart of it. Leon is much aware that Merlin's opinion on certain subjects of magic are vastly different than his great-uncle's, and they have had their quarrels over it before throughout the years. He's tried not to get himself much involved, having no gift of magic himself and no place to speak of it. It makes him somewhat objective, anyways. Gaius errs on the side of caution, but having lived through the bloodiest first years of the Purge in the heart of Camelot, steeping in paranoia, he's learnt the hard way that one wrong word uttered to the wrong person might become the torch which lights their pyre. However, secrets are double-edged blades that can cut deep, and some trusts, once severed, cannot be so easily repaired, if at all. Ignorance is not always the best option; lambs go willingly to their own slaughter, ignorant of the knife hidden out of sight.

"You do not think it so?" Leon ventures.

Merlin gives a harsh bark of laughter. "To put it as such is a gross understatement. If Morgana is a seer, then she was born one. Her gifts are in her blood as mine are, and it will out. Whether Gaius likes it or not. I heard her speaking to Gwen some time ago. She fears she's going mad," he says, his voice breaking slightly. "Her power will not disappear simply because Gaius wishes it so, and it will eat her alive from the inside out. I do not use my magic simply for the pleasure of it, Leon. I cannot go without it, no more than I can go without breathing. I tried once. Do you recall? The winter I took with fever, when we were children."

Leon does remember. Merlin had grown dreadfully ill, so much so that Father had near been willing to make the journey to Camelot on his own, to get treatment from Gaius. He had been so afraid that his little brother would die, huddling at his bedside all hours. "You grew ill because you tried to repress your magic?"

"I did. I thought…I thought that if I could just stop using it, if I could make it go away, then I could live with my mother again. I missed her so much, and I loathed myself, too, wishing that I could just be…normal. So I buried it as deep as I could." He takes a shuddering breath. "It hurt. Everything hurt. And then it didn't. I felt cold all the time, and the weather had nothing to do with it. I just felt numb, all over. And then I fell ill, and I stayed ill…until I let my magic go again. I tried to keep it pinned up inside myself, and without any place to go, it turned in on me, like it was trying to make me weak enough that I couldn't fight it anymore. That is what is happening to Morgana, and it will only get worse. It will devour her, you understand? And I…I cannot sit here and watch it happen." He raises his gaze to Leon's, a sheen of tears in his eyes; the knives clatter and thump to the floor. "I cannot."

"She is the King's ward…"

"And I am the Prince's manservant. It is dangerous to even breathe in this damn kingdom, but we do each other no favours by isolating ourselves. I have to help her. I have to. I don't think I'll be able to abide myself if I don't."

Leon walks into the library, crossing the room to his side, and he rests a hand on Merlin's shoulder. The young man rests his brow against Leon's arm, sniffling. "When the choice is between doing one's duty and doing what is right, there is no choice at all," he murmurs, squeezing gently. "I don't envy your position, and I wish that I could steer you true. All I can say is to make the decision that you yourself can live with making."

Merlin is a strange sort of friend to have, or at least so it seems to Morgana. He has the amazing ability to switch from being recalcitrant to obsequious in the blink of an eye, depending upon who he's addressing, he knows the oddest things on the strangest subjects, and he's never displayed even the slightest indication that he might desire her. It had pricked her ego at first, just a little bit, but now she near relishes it, being able to have a decent conversation with a member of the opposite sex without playing subtle games of courtship. Sometimes he seems so much older than he is, and other times he seems as innocent as a boy. Arthur might call him an idiot on a near-daily basis, but he has a wit keen as a blade and true as an arrow from a bow. It's the most entertaining part of her day, hearing some of the quiet, backhanded insults he murmurs about the other nobles and courtiers.

When he asks her, courteous as anything, if they might take a ride outside the city, as it's the perfect weather for it, Morgana heartily agrees and has her favourite palfrey saddled. "Will you chaperone for us?" she asks of Gwen, already knowing the answer. Her maidservant is a close friend of Merlin's, his near-equal in rank in the royal household, and Merlin never hesitates to exploit that whenever someone suspects him of being a little too near to the King's ward.

Once they're outside the city, hovering on the brink of autumn but still warm, Merlin immediately drops all pretense of propriety, just as she prefers. "I'm grateful you accepted my offer, Morgana. I've missed your company."

"And I yours," she agrees, leaning over in the saddle to unclasp Celeste's leash, letting the young wolfhound spring ahead of them, chasing after Allegra. "Do you take Allegra out here often?" Morgana asks, watching the two wolfhounds bound through the long grasses ahead of them, snapping at passing insects and mock wrestling one another.

He nods, smiling with amusement at the dogs' antics. "Whenever Prince Prat goes hunting, I bring her along. I think he's glad of her, even if he'll never admit it."

"Of course not."

Merlin glances back at Lancelot, assigned to guard duty by no mere fallout of chance, who follows at a sedate pace behind them. Gwen walks alongside him, the two sharing quiet conversation of their own, and he grins at the obvious cow eyes that Lancelot is making at the young woman. And, even more interestingly, the fact that Gwen is making them in return, blushing under his gaze. When he casts an amused glance at Morgana, she's watching their interactions just as curiously, and they exchange a knowing grin. Merlin jerks his chin forward, and she nods, urging their horses onwards to put a little more space between them, staying within sight but out of speaking range.

"I wanted to speak to you privately, Morgana," Merlin begins carefully, reaching forward to gently stroke the Hellion's strong neck. "And this is the best way I knew of to do it without being...improper."

"As though you've ever given a whit for propriety," she replies, though she's curious as to what is so important he would want her outside the city walls to speak of it.

"For this, I do." He glances back at Lancelot and Gwen, still out of their hearing unless they shout, and he takes a deep breath, seeming to brace himself for what he means to say next. "This might sound a bit mad, but I ask you as my friend to hear me out, yes?"

A faint touch of worry colours her curiosity. "Of course, Merlin. What is it?"

"When did you first begin to have your dreams?" he asks, and she raises her eyebrows in surprise. "You know the ones I mean. The ones that wake you in a cold sweat and haunt you the rest of your waking hours."

She straightens in her saddle, twisting the reins a little tighter around her hands. Nobody ever asked her about her dreams, aside from Gwen and Hunith. It is something that people politely ignore and overlook. Even Gaius never asks her about them, only gives her another sleeping draught that does nothing to alleviate them. "Since I was a child," she replies.

Merlin glances at her sideways, head tilted slightly. "Since you became a woman?" he prompts.

She flushes at his bluntness, but it is one of his contradictory traits. He can dither with the best of them, but he can also be painfully direct. And now that he's said it, she realises that the beginning of the dreams did coincide with the start of her woman's courses. "Yes."

"And the things you have dreamt...they have sometimes come to pass, haven't they? Even things you couldn't possibly know about?"

Her heart is beginning to beat quicker, a tightening in the pit of her belly. "Yes," she whispers.

Merlin turns his gaze to hers, and for the first time since knowing him, his gaze is hard for her to hold, full of such knowing and empathy. "Morgana. Your dreams are not merely dreams," he begins; her body trembles slightly, hands gripping the reins so tight the leather bites into her fingers. "They are visions. True dreams, glimpses of the future. You're a seer. You have magic."

He's said it.

Morgana draws in a ragged breath, feeling as though some terrible tension has at last been released, a spring coiled too tight finally loosed. "I have magic," she whispers. Even as she says it, the truth of it settles down in her bones, fitting clean and true.

"You have the right of it," Merlin continues gently. "The gift of foresight is an innate one. It is something that chooses you. You were born with it." He leans towards her slightly, holding her gaze unblinking. "As was I." When she gapes at him, he uncurls one hand, palm-up, and a flower blooms in the middle of his palm, opening petals the same blue of her gown. He holds it out to her.

She takes the flower in trembling fingers, holding it to her breast. "Merlin...I..."

"I don't want you to be afraid of yourself any longer," he says gently. "I can help you. I want to help you. And not only me. There are those here in Camelot who will help you, who know that the ban of magic is wrong, the persecution of sorcerers unjust, and would see it all undone."

"You want to bring about the return of magic...in Camelot. Under Uther's reign," she says flatly, staring at him. "Merlin, you have said bold words before, but this... Your faith in the goodness of people is admirable, but Uther will not be swayed. He's as cold and unyielding as stone."

He doesn't argue with her, only nods agreement. "I know. I know. It may not seem like it, but Uther is still only a man, and mortal for it. He won't live forever. I know he won't change, but I don't expect him to. I have hope elsewhere."

"Arthur?" Morgana exclaims incredulously.

"Arthur."

"You truly think that someone raised under Uther is going to repeal the ban of magic?" she asks with a shake of the head, clearly doubtful.

Merlin sighs. "Arthur wishes to please Uther, make him proud. Such is the way of sons and their fathers. But come down to it, Arthur is not his father, and he never will be. You told me he has a soft heart under it all, and he does. He does not have Uther's capacity for…impersonal cruelty. Yes, he has somewhat of his father's temper, but he is far more inclined to forgiveness, understanding. With some time, yes, I think he will." He casts her a sharp look. "And don't you ever tell him I told you that."

Morgana turns her gaze back out on the stretch of field, the wind stirring her hair. "You could have killed him, couldn't you? Anytime you wanted, you could do it. You have all the reason in the world to."

He's very much aware that she isn't speaking about Arthur any longer. "I could have," he agrees, knowing they would broach this subject sooner or later. "But Arthur isn't ready for the throne yet. And if he witnesses his father killed by magic, it will harden his heart to it. I've chosen that battle already, Morgana. I play a dangerous game, and a long one. Can you?"

She smiles, a flash of teeth that's more warning than mirth. "Well, we'll find out, won't we?" Her expression softens a degree. "Why did you tell me all of this? Everyone else seems content to lie, or at the very least blindfold themselves."

Merlin adjusts his grip on the reins, his voice softer when he answers. "Because when I look at you, I see myself as I might have been. Alone. Afraid. Wanting to belong and unable to do so," he replies. "Everyone has to look into the dark mirror as well as the bright, and when I do, I see you reflected back at me. Since I cannot abide what I see, I intend not to look away, but to change it."

They turn their horses around and make their way back to Lancelot and Gwen. "We can make a visit to the townhouse on our way back up to the castle. I have a book about foresight that might help you make a start at understanding your dreams until we can find a safe way to educate you inside the citadel. We can hardly go running off to the darkling wood every few days," he says, and she nods agreement, wondering how it is he can conceal books of magic in the city itself, marveling at his bravery.

Her good mood is only bolstered further when she sees that her maidservant has plucked several wildflowers and woven their stems into a colourful coronet, set atop her hair. And there is a sprig of bright yellow flowers tucked behind Lancelot's ear, matching the colour of Gwen's gown. Morgana hides a smile behind her hand, and Merlin conceals his mirth by turning in the saddle to whistle loudly, Celeste and Allegra bounding over to accept their leashes with dignity.

"Gaius won't be happy with you, will he?" she asks as they ride back. She knows the old physician must know about this. She remembers him talking her out of her nightmare-induced panics, coaxing her to uneasy quiet and persuading her to take only another mixture meant to bring her a dreamless sleep. She feels as though she might be angry with him later, but now she feels entirely too full of joy.

He gives her one of those sly smiles she has come to quietly relish, as it generally means he's feeling inclined to mischief. Usually at Arthur's expense. "Gaius does not need to know."

Merlin wonders if perhaps he has some touch of foresight as well, or if his magic unconsciously bends coincidence around him, for no sooner than he tells Morgana of her magic than an injured Druid boy comes tumbling into their lives.

"What do we do?" Morgana asks anxiously, stroking the boy's dark hair with one hand as he sleeps through the last remains of his fever. Merlin had quietly entreated his mother for feverfew and a few drops of opium tincture for the pain, and he does know just enough of healing magic to draw out infection. The boy sleeps soundly despite the frenzy of activity searching for him, cuddled up between Allegra and Celeste. The hounds had taken an immediate liking to him, flanking him like furred sentinels.

"I don't know. We need to get him safely back to his own people, but we can hardly leave the citadel now. It'd be entirely too suspicious, especially with Uther having every damned chamber searched," Merlin replies with a scowl, staring out the window at the bobbing torches down below, knowing that Arthur is somewhere down there leading the knights to search the upper city before expanding down into the lower town. Again.

His true anger, however, is reserved for the King and his determination to bring an innocent child to bay like a hunted deer. He had heard listened just outside the hall whilst Arthur attempted to sway his father towards clemency, insisting upon the Druids' peacefulness. It had done no good, of course, but it's comforting to know that there are lines Arthur will balk at crossing, and Morgana had told him of the prince's repeated insistence of the boy's innocence at supper.

"Is there no safe way out of the city?" Gwen asks, keeping her hands busy by sorting through Morgana's washing, folding up the laundry. It's more nervous habit than anything. She moves around the chambers, absently tidying.

Merlin steps back from the window and puts his head back against the wall. "Every gate is manned and the guard's been doubled," he answers. If it was any normal day, he might have taken the boy down to the Red Pavilion (albeit blindfolded) and slipped out the back way, but with as many guards as there were going around, he's certain the Pavilion would be full of them. They couldn't have gotten all the way from the citadel to the lower town without being caught. "I'm certain there's some tunnel or passage or whatever else, but I have no idea where, and I will wager that Arthur has the damned keys to them, too."

"Well, you could have always just asked," Arthur drawls.

Gwen drops the cloak in her hands with a startled yelp, Morgana leaps to her feet, and Merlin nearly uses his magic to fling the prince into the wall, one hand grasping for his quarterstaff on reflex.

The blond holds up his hands to show them empty, well away from his sword hilt. "Easy. I'm here on my own. And I'm here to help." He makes his way across the chamber to the foot of the bed, staring at the occupants with a wry smile. "Traitors," he accuses the two wolfhounds, both of whom merely thump their tails and give him lolling red grins. Arthur gazes down at the Druid boy, still deeply asleep from the tincture Hunith had given him. "So this is the great and terrible enemy my father is after. Gods' mercy, my tourney lance weighs more than he does."

Morgana moves a little closer to the boy, hands hovering protectively over him. "How did you know?"

He gives her a smirk, though his eyes are surprisingly soft. "You can't even kill a deer, Morgana. And baiting me, telling me you were hiding him behind the screen so I wouldn't look? You've used that same chess strategy since we were ten." He glances over at Gwen and Merlin. "I expected no less from either of you as well. And I am not going to murder a child, King's order or not. So, the boy is leaving the city tonight."

Merlin can't help but smile as he steps closer, feeling yet again that deep pang of hope he feels in his chest at times like this, like seeing the distant glimmer of sunlight beyond storm clouds. "How are we going to do that?"

"You'll go and dine with my father," Arthur says, pointing to Morgana.

"I will not—"

"Oh, yes, you will," he repeats firmly. "And you'll say some pretty words about how sorry you are for quarrelling with him and conjure up a few tears for him, too. It'll be no different from all the other times we got into mischief and I was the one punished because you started sniffling and looking wretched. He will suspect you before anyone, as much as you've argued with him on magic before. Merlin and I will take the boy out through one of the siege tunnels. The question is how we get him back to his people. The Druids are peaceful, but they're elusive, too. They move their camps constantly, and rarely ever near the city."

Gwen clears her throat softly, and they all look to her. "Correct me if I am wrong, sire, but isn't Sir Lancelot to take your place on the usual patrol? Seeing as you and your senior knights are occupied here?" she points out.

Arthur raises his eyebrows. "That...is correct, but how do you know he will agree to this? Not everyone is quite as ready and willing to commit treason."

"He will," Gwen and Merlin say in unison, exchanging a glance.

The prince glances between the two of them and heaves a sigh, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Gods' mercy. Anyone else? Shall we go ahead and begin our own thieves' guild whilst we're at it? Seeing as how we are all ready and willing to commit treason against the crown?" he asks, directing the question to no one in particular, throwing his hands up.

Merlin's never actually seen someone throw their hands up before; he finds it amusing, to say the least.

"Alright, then that's it. Guinevere, Lancelot will be down at the stables making ready to leave. Tell him that once he leaves the city walls, he needs to ride around to the east gate and bear directly right until he comes to a shallow ravine. The siege tunnel lets out there, and that's where we'll meet him," Arthur instructs. "Morgana, my father should have taken his dinner in the hall by now, you go down and play your part. Merlin, you're with me. Wake the boy."

Morgana quickly goes to her mirror and begins to pin her hair up into a semblance of order as Gwen leaves the chambers to head for the stables. Merlin leans over and gently shakes the boy's shoulder. [Wake up,] he says mentally even as he murmurs the words aloud, brushing his thoughts against the boy's as the Druids do. The boy stirs, lifting his head groggily, and his eyes widen when they land on Arthur. [Don't be afraid. Prince Arthur is helping us get you out of here. Put your boots on and get your cloak, we must depart now.]

[Thank you, Emrys.]

Ah, that name again. The Old Ones address him as such, no matter how often he corrects them, as have the few other Druids he's encountered as they travel through Silverpine. Apparently it is his "true" name, though he doesn't know how he can have any name other than the one his mother gave him. He's halfway given up on trying to make them stop. [You know my name, apparently. Will you tell me yours?] he asks, taking the boy's hand in his own and following Arthur's determined, long-legged stride, moving down and down and down into the bowels of the castle where the siege tunnels lay.

[Mordred. My name is Mordred. Will you tell the ladies I said goodbye? And thank you for taking care of me?]

[Morgana and Guinevere? Of course. Keep quiet now, there are guards on duty in these corridors.]

Arthur peers around the corner to make sure their path is clear before moving on. Merlin feels the air growing cooler the further down they go, and Mordred's small hand grips his tightly. "Just through here. I hope Lancelot wasn't stopped at the gates," the prince mutters, stopping at the mouth of their escape route, the carved, shaped walls giving away to the rough, natural stone of the tunnels. He takes a torch from a cobwebbed bracket, swearing aloud when he realises he has no flint, but Mordred extends his free hand, and it sparks to life. Arthur blinks a few times in the sudden light, then gives a stiff little nod. "Sharp trick. This way."

The tunnel is narrow enough that Mordred has to walk slightly behind Merlin rather than directly beside, and there's places where Arthur's shoulders can almost touch both walls, pitch black ahead and behind them, but then it begins to lighten ahead. They come around a curve in the tunnel and suddenly find themselves standing at the mouth of it, standing in the bottom of a ravine about twice a man's height, perhaps some long-dry creek bed. And standing tense and wary at the lip of the ravine, Lancelot is waiting for them; in the moonlight, the Pendragon red of his cloak is deep and saturated like old blood. "Sire," he exhales in relief. "I was concerned you were...waylaid."

"Not at all." Arthur thrusts the torch at Merlin, then looks down at Mordred. "Time for you to go, little one. Sir Lancelot is going to bear you away from the city and help you locate your people."

Lancelot kneels at the edge of the ravine, and Arthur stands directly below. He hefts Mordred up with ease, lifting the boy up enough so Lancelot can reach down and pull him up. "Huh," Arthur mutters. "I was right. My tourney lance does weigh more than he does." Raising his voice slightly, he calls up, "Normal patrol lasts three days, so that's the time you've got. Make good use of it."

"I will, sire. You have my word," Lancelot replies, keeping a bracing arm around Mordred, the boy looking terrifically small and frail against his bulk.

[Listen to me. Tell Lancelot to bear southeast, towards the province of Brechfa. Keep the ridge of Ascetir to your left and the mountains in front of you, and you will enter the Silverpine estate. Ask for Sir Lionel and Lady Evaine. Tell them a villain sent you. You'll be safe there until your people can be found,] Merlin orders, staring up into the boy's pale face.

[I will. Thank you for everything. I'm sure we'll meet again.]

[I'm certain we will, Mordred.]

"Well?" Morgana demands as soon as they step into her chambers, scarce waiting for Merlin to close the door. "Did you do it? Did Lancelot escape with the boy?"

"Oh, we did, and he did." Arthur unfolds his arms and shakes his head at Morgana in mocking disappointment, gesturing between her and Merlin. "The two of you are a most horrendous influence, and I have no doubt you'll be the death of me one day," he announces succinctly. "I am going to bed before one of you wrangles me into another act of treason against my father."

Morgana flings herself at him, throwing both arms around his neck in a fierce embrace. Arthur stands stock-still, an expression of shock writ across his face, hands held out uselessly at his sides. "Thank you," she says, planting a kiss against his cheek, then lowers her arms and steps back. "And you should go before Uther sends the guards looking for you." Arthur starts to turn away, but she catches him by the arm. "One more thing."

"Oh gods, what now?"

Chuckling, she reaches up and swipes her thumb over Arthur's cheek where she had kissed him, showing him the bright red smear of carmine left behind. Arthur scowls and scrubs at his cheek with one sleeve, grumbling even as a red flush spills up the sides of his neck. Morgana, Gwen, and Merlin all laugh as the prince stomps away, muttering about treasonous maidens and seditious manservants.