Look, a relatively quick update! Go me, go me! But yesterday was the first day of a new semester, and I can't afford to flunk algebra again, and I also want to work on my other ongoing stories, so this will be my last TSB update until Valentine's Day. Then I'll come back with a new chapter that will hopefully knock your socks off.

Other news: I'll be closing the poll this weekend and displaying the result, so if you haven't already voted make sure you do by Saturday.

Warning: Uther is kind of a manipulative jerk in this chapter, sorry Uther fans. If there are any Uther fans...hello, anybody out there?

Convalescence did not suit Arthur. Gwen hardly had time to set out Morgana's breakfast before another maid burst in, looking both distraught and apologetic as her eyes sought the lady's. Morgana was on her feet in a flash. "What's Arthur doing this time?"

"He won't stop fussing with his bandages, my lady - says they're either too tight or too loose or that they're causing his arm to cramp. No one can do a thing with him," the maid admitted, eyes fixed on the floor in embarrassment.

"Leave him to me." Morgana swept out of her chamber, ignoring Gwen's protests that she needed to eat her breakfast, and made her way to Arthur's rooms. She had been spending a lot of time in them since his return from the battlefield, because she was the only one who could handle him when his injuries put him in a really foul temper.

Sure enough, she found him harassing the servant who was trying to retie the sling holding his arm. "Not so tight, idiot!" he bellowed. "You're cutting off my circulation!"

"Yes, it's obvious that too little blood has been reaching your brain lately," Morgana agreed, then added as an afterthought, "although I think you may have had that problem all your life. Here, let me do that." She took the long cloth strip away from the servant, who thanked her and ran before she could change her mind.

Arthur leaned back on his pillows and stretched his good arm. "Thank the gods you came to save me from that incompetent moron! Have you noticed how the servants can't do anything right anymore?"

"I haven't. I've noticed only that you've become impossible to please of late." Morgana stopped herself before she said something that would start them fighting. It isn't his fault, it isn't his fault . . . She lowered her voice and attempted to sound more compassionate. "I understand it must be hard for you, to have to limit your activities until your shoulder heals-"

"If it is healing," Arthur interrupted. "I've tried to do as Gaius says and be patient - for weeks now - and it never feels like it's getting any better." His voice dropped to a low murmur on the last words, and a sort of hurt entered his tone.

Morgana winced in sympathy. "Are you in pain?"

"No, Gaius' medicines are good for easing the pain. I just worry . . . What if I'm never as strong as I used to be? I still can't move my right arm, Morgana; I can barely even feel it! It's like a dead weight."

Right then Morgana felt that she would have given anything to be able to honestly tell him that he would recover fully, that she knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt - but she couldn't. She was no physician; there was nothing in her power to do for him, save one small, relatively useless gesture. She slid closer and very carefully wrapped her arms around her brother.

Arthur gave her a one-armed squeeze in return, then sighed and said, "I wish I had never seen that damn dragon."

Morgana pulled away, not liking the bitterness in Arthur's voice. She'd heard far too much of that in the last few days. It was time to prod him out of his gloomy mood. "Well," she began in a carefully calculated tone that was equal parts humor and derision, "just be grateful the dragon didn't actually pull your arm off. Then you would look even more ridiculous than you usually do."

It worked; Arthur's head snapped up, and Morgana recognized his expression from when they were children and she used to taunt him mercilessly. He would endure her for a while, but sooner or later he would always get her back. "I'll show you who's ridiculous!" Reaching behind himself, he grabbed one of the pillows that had been strategically stacked up to support his bad arm and lobbed it at her. When Morgana danced nimbly out of its path, he proceeded to throw the rest of his pillows until he ran out. She then picked one up off the floor and moved to hit him in the face with it, but the sound of someone loudly clearing their throat stopped her.

She and Arthur froze, then slowly turned toward the open door. Uther stood in the doorway, clearly torn between amusement and disapproval, with Gaius behind him. "What is going on here?"

"Nothing, Father. Morgana was just trying to cheer me up, that's all." Arthur made an effort to sit up straighter, flinching as his shoulder was jarred due to the lack of support.

Gaius pushed past Uther to examine his patient. "Why aren't you wearing your sling?" he demanded. Snatching the long piece of cotton cloth off the floor where Morgana had dropped it, he looped it around Arthur's torso, muttering that the prince would be the death of him.

"Come, Morgana, let us leave Gaius to his work," Uther suggested.

She followed him out and expected that they would go their separate ways, but Uther caught her arm and steered her along with him. They turned right at the end of the corridor, went down a short flight of steps, made another right turn, and stopped in front of a door which Uther opened. Morgana went in ahead of him and looked around. This was one of the castle's many guest chambers, all of which were currently unoccupied. Uther must have brought her here for complete privacy, yet strangely he seemed in no hurry to say anything.

Morgana's mind raced as she tried to figure out what important news he might have for her ears only. The worst possible scenario she could think of was that Uther had been unable to negotiate a truce with Balinor and the kingdom was shortly to be plunged back into war, but then why was Uther eyeing her so speculatively? Surely he wasn't going to send her into battle in Arthur's place?

It came as a total shock when he said, "Morgana . . . you grow lovelier every time I see you."

She smiled; even though she was used to men complimenting her on her beauty, she was still susceptible to flattery, and praise from her demanding guardian was not given lightly. Now if only she could find a man whose appreciation of her went deeper than the purely physical level, she would be absolutely, perfectly happy . . .

Uther was still talking; she made herself listen to him. "It feels as if it were only yesterday that I brought you here, when you were so young - and now, to see the woman you've become . . ."

"Yes," Morgana said uncomfortably, "I remember. It was a long time before I really understood why I would never see my father again, and when I did I was so angry . . . at the world for allowing bad things to happen to such a good man . . . at you for sending him into battle." She paused to fight back the memories. It hurt to think of those long-ago days when she'd been so bitterly unhappy that she had lashed out at anyone who came near her, wanting them to feel just a small part of her rage and misery. Why was Uther bringing it up? "I like to think I've come a long way since then."

"Indeed you have, and although I loathe the thought of being parted from you, it is time for you to take on the responsibilities of a grown woman. Don't look so shocked; I believe I have mentioned this before, during your eighteenth birthday celebration."

Not trusting herself to speak, Morgana only nodded. Overhearing Uther's comment that he needed to start trying in earnest to arrange a good match for her had effectively ruined her enjoyment of the feasting, dancing, and gifts. "I can assure you I've had my eyes open, but I fear none of the men in Camelot are quite to my liking," she said lightly, trying to ignore the churning in her empty stomach.

"That's just as well. As a member of my household, it is your duty to make a politically advantageous match - to strengthen our ties with other kingdoms, or to make an ally of an old enemy, such as King Balinor."

Blood pounded in Morgana's ears, nearly drowning out Uther's voice. She struggled to think over the roar of her own racing heartbeat, to grasp what he was saying. Something about King Balinor of Dagon . . . "Balinor," she repeated aloud. "What about him?"

"In the course of our peace talks, we agreed that you and Balinor's son, Prince Merlin, are to marry."

Morgana's stomach stopped churning. In fact, it seemed to disappear entirely. Thank goodness I didn't have a chance to eat anything. If I had, I believe I might be sick. Instead she shouted, "No! I won't!"

"Morgana!" Uther sighed. "I had hoped you would take this better, but I can't say I'm surprised; you were always so strong-willed. Though I did not think you would behave so childishly."

His air of calm disapproval infuriated her, as did the realization that he had expected her to get angry; why else would he have chosen to deliver the news in a deserted wing of the castle? "Childish? First you say I'm a grown woman, now you're saying I'm a child! So I am whatever suits your purposes, is that it?" Morgana's voice rose, eliciting another sigh from her guardian.

"No, you are not a child - not even when you insist on behaving like one."

"Fine! Fine." Morgana calmed herself; when she spoke again, there was only the slightest tremor of anger in her voice. "Then I will tell you, as one adult to another, that I do not wish to marry a man I don't even know, much less love. I will not." She fixed him with a piercing, defiant glare.

Uther's hands almost shook as he fought an urge to strike her. "How dare you? Insolent girl! After everything I have done for you, this is how you think to repay me? Where do you suppose you would be if I had not taken you in after Gorlois' death?"

"I-" Morgana faltered. Once her father was dead, there had been countless greedy men who would have plundered his lands if Uther had not stepped in to stop them, to save everything Gorlois had owned for her. Who would have protected her inheritance - protected her - if not Uther? "I suppose that without you I would be penniless," she replied as evenly as she could. "Or that someone who wanted to gain my father's title could have forced me into marriage when I was much younger."

Uther appeared satisfied even though she hadn't thanked him for sparing her from such a fate or apologized for her outburst. "Morgana," he said much more gently, "I am not acting out of any desire to make you unhappy; you must believe that I have only your best interests at heart. You stand to gain much by marrying the crown prince of a land so wealthy as Dagon."

"Is that all you think I care for? Riches and power?"

"Those are the things you were born for. Gorlois often said he had always believed you would make a fine queen one day."

Morgana froze, all her rage and frustration quelled by the mention of Gorlois' name. "Are you-?" She choked up, paused, swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat, and tried again. Her voice still refused to rise above a whisper, but at least she managed to speak. "Are you saying my father would have wanted this?"

Uther gave a slow nod. "Yes, I believe so. It was once the fondest hope of both Gorlois and myself that you would reign here in Camelot, at Arthur's side, but I have realized that is not to be. You and Arthur are brother and sister to one another, nothing more. I see that now, and so I have had to make other arrangements for your future."

She wanted desperately to protest, to say she would rather marry Arthur than some stranger - yet her tongue wouldn't form the words. It was true that she viewed Arthur as her brother; she could live happily with him if a platonic relationship, a marriage in name only, were an option, but the idea of being intimate with him repulsed her. She would have to marry someone else, then - she did not want to become an old maid and spend the rest of her years living off the Pendragons' generosity. Becoming a queen sounded far more appealing. "All right," she whispered.

Uther paused mid-ramble. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said all right!" she repeated, louder this time. "I'll do it."

"Excellent! You're making the right decision, Morgana - for yourself and for the kingdom."

"Indeed." She forced a smile and politely asked, "May I go now? I haven't eaten a thing all day . . ."

"Yes, yes, by all means go; we can't have you wasting away. Oh, and Morgana?"

She paused and glanced over her shoulder at him. "Yes, my lord?"

"I would appreciate it if you would not trouble Arthur with this news just yet. We wouldn't want to impede his recovery, would we?"

"Of course not. May I speak of it with someone else? I cannot keep this to myself."

"I suppose you may, just make certain it's someone you can trust."

###

Gwen took the news of Morgana's impending marriage much better than Morgana herself had - but then, she was not the one who was being traded away like a prize mare. "I wish I could be as calmly accepting of my fate as you are, Gwen. But when I think of leaving the place that has been my home since I was a little girl and traveling to a strange land where I'll know no one to marry a sorcerer, all I can feel is fear and sadness. I'll be all alone."

"You won't be alone. I'm going with you, of course."

Morgana put down the bread she had been shredding into bite-sized pieces (but not eating). "Oh, Gwen . . . It means so much to me that you would offer, but I cannot ask that of you."

"You don't have to ask. Unless you do not want me with you, I'm going," Gwen said resolutely. "This is my chance to repay you for the kindness you showed me when my father died - don't you remember that?"

Morgana did; no one who had been in Camelot at the time was likely to forget the circumstances of Tom's death. Two years ago, a plague had swept through the kingdom. Gaius had eventually discovered that the source was an afanc living in the main reservoir under the castle, poisoning the water, and Arthur had slain the monster by setting it afire with his torch, but it was too late - Gwen's father, along with several others, had already succumbed to the disease. After Tom died, Morgana had mounted a search for Gwen's last remaining family member, her brother Elyan. She'd offered a substantial reward for any news of his whereabouts, using money out of her inheritance from Gorlois to do so, and Gwen had always been grateful even though the search met with no success.

"You helped me during the worst time of my life, Morgana."

"I didn't-"

"I know you weren't able to find my brother, but you tried. That's more than any other mistress would have done. Now it's my turn to help you."

"Then I will be glad to have you accompany me. Thank you, Gwen." Morgana mustered a shaky smile for her friend, but it slid off her face like water the instant Gwen turned her back. Gwen said she wanted to help, but if Prince Merlin turned out to be coldhearted, controlling, or cruel - and everything Morgana had ever been taught about magic and those who practiced it suggested that he would be all of those things and worse - there wasn't a lot Gwen would be able to do about it. Burying her face in her hands, she began to cry quietly.

And now, for your daily workout: put both hands in the air if you think Uther played Morgana like a piano and is indeed a weasel, and get up and dance if you're excited for Merlin and Morgana to meet in the next chapter.