xi.

"Please—no—don't!" screamed Gwaine. He raised his arm against Arthur's assault, fear caught in the whites of his eyes. Arthur tried to hold back his strike, but could not prevent his sword from slicing through Gwaine's neck. His friend's terrified eyes still begged him for mercy as his head fell into a pool of its own blood.

Arthur opened his eyes to the pitch-black room, his breath harsh in his own ears. Sweat plastered his shirt to his back and trickled through his hair. He stood up, ripping the linen shirt off and throwing it to the floor before stumbling to the only light in the room, faded moonlight through a window. He looked down at the stretch of grass and foliage between the castle and the ground gates. His heart still thundered in his ears and he struggled to catch his breath as his eyes wandered the grey-blue wash of the world outside.

A pressure on his arm startled him. He whipped around, stopping when he realized it was only Gwen. She was a mere silhouette in the darkness and had not even stepped back at his frenzied movement. He took her hand off his arm.

"What is the matter?" she asked. Her voice was soft and sweet and concerned, nothing at all what Arthur deserved. He released her hand only for her to take his again, pressing his knuckles to her lips.

His heart panged and he pulled her closer, kissing her soft lips too roughly, holding her waist too tightly. She did not mind, leaning into his torso and returning his affection until he tore away from her.

He put three paces between them and leaned against the wall, pressing his forehead to the cool stone.

"Arthur," Gwen admonished. "What is wrong?"

"It does not concern you," he started to say, but before he could get the last word out she gave a disbelieving scoff.

"It does concern me! It almost certainly concerns me! And especially so if it is preventing you from sleeping!" She moved towards him and he stepped away. The moonlight kissed the side of her face through the window, hazy and gentle, but Gwen's face was set to anger. She crossed her arms. "Stubborn fool! What has gotten into you? You're always impossible, but since you came back from—"

"From seeing my men murdered before me?" Arthur finished for her. She pressed her lips together.

"You've been to war, been through battles. You've seen men die before. It didn't make you like this."

"That's different."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not the one who killed them!" Arthur bellowed. "Not my own men, not so many, without even a chance to fight back. I'm the reason they were turned into monsters."

That made Gwen's anger drop. "What?" Arthur paused at Gwen's confusion, realizing he had not told her. He sighed and rubbed at his temples.

"Merlin speculated the reason the bodies were gone was because of necromancy. The trackers' observations confirmed it." He did not like to lie, but it was what he told his council, and it was the closest he could get to the truth without jeopardizing Merlin's secret.

"Necromancy?" Gwen scoffed again. "That is impossible."

"It is not!" Arthur said, his voice sharper and louder than he intended. Guinevere fell silent and looked at him. In the half darkness and half hazy light, her face wavered into the shape of Gwaine's. He drew in a sharp breath and turned away from her, his heart pounding anew. Guinevere stepped up to him again.

"Arthur," she whispered. "It is not your fault." She took his hand and tugged on it. Instead of following her beckoning he only turned around again. She was back in darkness, back to her own outline. He pressed his palm to her face, running a shaky thumb across her lips. "Come back to bed," she implored.

Arthur did not want to sleep, the memory of the dream still haunting the edges of his mind. He ran a hand down her side, her warmth palpable through her linen nightgown. He drew in a shaky breath and pulled her into another kiss. "I am sorry I yelled," he whispered.

Guinevere smiled. "Your anger never frightened me, you know that."

Arthur gave a soft laugh, leaning his forehead against hers. "I do. It's part of the reason I fell in love with you."

"Oh? And what were the other reasons?" Guinevere asked with such false innocence Arthur had to stop himself from laughing again.

"Hmm," he feigned thought as he stepped backwards, pulling her along. "Your laugh," he said, coming up to the writing desk. "Your wit," he decided for the second item. He sat down in the chair and Guinevere straddled his lap.

"And?" she incited, draping her arms over his shoulders.

He looked up at her form in the darkness, her curly hair drawn back in a loose braid and her features barely perceptible. He did not need to see them to know how lovely she looked, even after waking in the middle of the night. The truth was, there was nothing about her he hadn't fallen in love with. "And that defiant look you get whenever I say something you don't like," he finished.

Guinevere's breath brushed his lips. "Which is almost everything you say," she teased.

"Is it?" Arthur replied, his hands trailing down her shoulders and loosening the lace tied behind her neck. "Do you have that look now?"

Gwen pressed her lips hard to his. "No," she laughed. "I believe I have a much different look at this moment."

Arthur was agreeable to that.

Despite their efforts, Arthur could not shake the remnants of his dream. He lay awake the rest of the night, listening to Gwen's soft breathing. The second the room turned from black to slight grey, he was up and changed and out the door. His throne room had been cleaned of all the flora Merlin had put there, but as Arthur stood staring at the dais it seemed now to be missing something. He dismissed the thought, annoyed at the sentimentality unbecoming of a king.

He walked to Merlin's guest room, but it was empty. He went instead to the courtyard. A groundskeeper was there cleaning the ornamental pond in the center of the yard. Merlin watched the process from a stone bench, crouched on it in his heathenish manner. Merlin looked at Arthur as soon as he entered, as though the fairy had been expecting him. When he did not move, Arthur sighed and went to him instead. "What are you doing out here?"

Merlin smiled at him with a hint of disappointment, as though he should have known already. "This is the only location in your castle that does not suffocate the life out of its dwellers." Merlin was right, Arthur should have guessed that response.

"I have free time this morning," Arthur said, a subtle suggestion.

"You want to start your lessons?" Merlin asked, clapping his hands together. The groundskeeper looked over and Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. It was exactly what he wanted to avoid. If word got out that a lowly traveler was teaching the king, he did not know the rumors or feelings that would spread.

"It is more a conversation," Arthur said, matching Merlin's volume, before grabbing the fairy's wrist and dragging him off the bench and back into the castle.

He stopped outside the library, ignoring Merlin's inquiries. Once the archiver had unlocked the door, Merlin took one step inside and turned to Arthur accusingly.

"And this is the exact opposite of where we need to be!"

The library was cramped and dark, the shelves lining the wall illuminated only by the candle the archiver held. The smell of parchment and glue rolled out of the room like a stale wind.

"Don't fret," Arthur said, stepping in. He gestured, and the archiver rested the candlestick on the center table and left. Arthur stepped up to the shelf on the far wall, brushing his fingers over the book spines. He knew exactly the one he needed, its leather cracked and worn far more than the others. He pulled it out and rested it on the table.

"Come here." Merlin did not budge. He looked up, ready to reprimand him, when the expectant look on Merlin's face reminded him. He sighed. "Look at this with me, if you will."

"Your first lesson ought to be on saying 'please,'" Merlin muttered, but he stepped closer.

Arthur opened the book to the first illustration. It was beautiful and intricate, a scene of nine fairies dancing in a forest clearing. On the opposite page, the tale began. He did not need to read it to know the story. He may not have remembered it exactly as it was written, but these words were all he had left of his mother. Even just seeing the illustration again brought the sound of her voice to his ears, reading over his shoulder as he snuggled in her lap. Merlin's voice broke through hers.

"What is this?"

"Fairy tales," Arthur answered, shaking away the nostalgia. "Many are about the struggle between fairies and humans." He flipped through the pages carefully until he came to the illustration he remembered. The description below it read, Morgana le Faye. A beautiful dark-haired woman with a strong jaw and piercing green eyes. "I knew I recognized the name from somewhere else. Is this her, as you remember?"

Merlin pushed Arthur aside to see, looking troubled. "It is accurate. How…?"

"I do not know where it came from or who made it."

Merlin flipped through the next couple of pages, brow furrowed. "I would like to read this. Can I bring it to my room?"

"No," Arthur said, perhaps too quickly. Merlin straightened and looked at him. He cleared his throat. "It is safer here. If you want to read it, you will have to come here."

Merlin looked around the room, his lip curling. "But it's disgusting here."

Arthur shrugged, closing the book and nearly catching Merlin's fingers in the pages. "If you change your mind, I will tell the archiver to give you access." He returned the book to the shelf and nodded to the door. Merlin held a scowl on him for another moment before acquiescing and walking out. The archiver closed and locked the door behind them and gave a bow to the king, who was already moving off down the hall.

"What does that book say about Morgana?" Merlin asked as he followed Arthur.

"Nothing much. It only mentions her as giving advice to another fairy." The king stepped into his study, a small room but far less cramped and with a large open window overlooking the north gardens. Below the window was a writing desk, and a chest beside the chair with papers and quills.

"This is where I took my scholarship as a boy," Arthur explained.

Merlin glanced around, then resigned himself with a sigh and sat on the floor. "Not ideal, but it will work for the first lesson."

Arthur pulled out the chair and sat facing Merlin, elbows on his knees. "I'm listening."

Merlin paused, a strange expression coming over his features as he looked up at Arthur. Before Arthur could ask, the fairy had leapt to his feet and paced the small room.

"First, the cycle of elements…"