A/N: Thank you for all of your comments on the previous chapter! I hope you're enjoying reading this as much as I am writing it. I apologize for taking so much longer with this update, but I'm also a swamped grad student, and the last few weeks have been a bit hectic. (And for those wondering, certain other characters will be making an appearance in the very near future.)

They settle on listening to an Irish artist both Merlin and Morgana like, and melancholic melodies about dead lovers and eerie woods wash through the air as Morgana cooks and Merlin leans against the kitchen counter. He chats and quietly jokes, keeping his eyes anchored on her all the while.

A newly familiar tug makes itself known in her chest. She's never been one to be shy, to hesitate, but everything about his presence in her home fills her with happy nerves and she finds herself hoping that the night is only the first of many.

He offers to help, claiming that he actually enjoys to cook, but Morgana insists on doing everything herself, intent on proving that she can in fact cook, and only allows Merlin to hand her the ingredients she has laid out on the counter. His fingers brush against hers as he does so, lingering a little longer each time, and she knows it's just a matter of time until one of them doesn't let go.

Lost in her thoughts, she dumps more than the usual amount of cayenne pepper into the sauce she's making, forgetting that she's already sliced in a generous amount of pepperoncino, and doesn't notice until Merlin pushes away from his perch and comes to stand beside her in horror.

"Just how much did you put in there?!"

"Not that much?"

"It looked like much."

"It's not that hot, Merlin." She dips the wooden spoon into the sauce and samples it before holding it out for Merlin. "See?"

She watches as Merlin takes a cautious mouthful, holding back laughter when he goes from looking appreciative to spluttering within seconds.

Reining her amusement in to a grin, she rolls her eyes and takes another taste for herself. The tomatoes and onions melodiously mix together on her tongue and the peppers add a pleasant edge. She smiles and momentarily closes her eyes to savour the taste.

"Do you honestly mean to say that isn't spicy for you?"

She shrugs and the spice that had barely phased her seconds earlier hits her a little harder in its aftertaste, and mid-triumphant eyebrow raise, she coughs and has to concede. "Okay, maybe it's a little on the too-spicy side. Hand me the vodka? and another tomato?"

They eat sitting at the island in the kitchen, knees knocking together and smiling at each other over generously filled glasses of red wine.

Pushing the gnocchi about on her plate, Morgana marvels at the ease of it all. She's never enjoyed dating, preferring to flirt and run before awkward meals and obligations arise, but everything she's avoided with others comes easily with Merlin.

That they've skipped passed all the other stuff and slipped straight into whatever it is that they have… well, she can't say she minds. In fact, it's the first time she hasn't minded the thought of relationship, and the unspoken promise of it fills her with elation.

"What is it?"

She looks up to find Merlin watching her, barely holding back a crooked smile, and realizes she's been smiling at her plate.

"It's nothing." She picks up her glass and sips, feeling heat rush to her cheeks. She's thankful she'd opted for the wine. She hasn't been drinking much lately, having discovered how much more violent her dreams become when she does, but she feels confident that they'll stay away tonight.

"Mhm," he concedes, happiness laced into his sing-songy reply, and he looks as if he's going to say something more, but then his phone begins to ring from the other room.

He hesitates as it rings a second time and frowns when Morgana's begins to ring when his goes silent. She has her ringer turned off, save for certain numbers, causing her own brow to crease at the sound, and she hops off her perch to look for the phone in her bag.

She finds it in the living room and digs it out. "It's Gaius." Gaius never calls her, let alone at night, and dread fills her as she answers.

The dread proves to be founded as he says something about Hunith and urgently needing to speak to Merlin.

Merlin wanders away from the table as he takes the call, and Morgana watches his face fall through the brief conversation. He nods as Gaius speaks, asking questions and knotting his hand in his hair, and she knows that whatever he's hearing isn't good.

Hanging up, he fidgets with her phone. "I'm sorry, but I have to go. They don't know what happened, but Mum's in hospital and she isn't conscious, and they think I should go out. Gaius got me on the last flight out tonight, and I have to leave now if I want to make it in time."

She nods, and anger rises within her. It isn't fair that everyone she loves is suffering, that Merlin has to, too. "I'm so sorry, Merlin."

"She'll be fine. I'm sure of it."

His voice starts out as steady but then quavers at the end, and he looks so unsure that she steps over and wraps her arms around him in a hug.

"She will be," she says, putting all of her stubbornness into her words. That she doesn't have any power in the matter doesn't matter. She refuses to see Merlin go through the same pain as Gwen.

Merlin tightens his arms around her. "Thank you."

She moves away the slightest bit and reaches up to cup his cheek. "Is there anything I can do? If there's anything that would make things easier for you…" She hesitates and considers offering to go with him, but she fears that it would be too much, too soon.

She brushes her thumb across the slight stubble on his cheek, and he presses into her touch."No. Just.." he trails off, voice dropping. His gaze flickers to her lips, and he moves closer, pausing only to meet her eye for approval. The corners of her mouth quirk upwards, and he bridges the gap between them, brushing his lips against hers.

It's a soft, chaste kiss, but it manages to communicate in seconds what she's been afraid to recognize for weeks. Comfort courses through her, even as her heart aches for him, and she understands that she isn't falling for Merlin but has fallen already. When Merlin pulls away but rests his forehead against hers and tightens his grip around her waist, the words he'd whispered as she'd fallen asleep the other night come back to her, and she knows he feels the same.

Morgana insists on driving Merlin to the airport, and she pulls up to the drop-off curb just in time for him to be able rush through security.

"Call me when you get there?"

"I will." He squeezes her hand before jumping out of the car and slinging his duffle bag over his shoulder. He leans down beside her open window and adds, "And I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for. Just let me know if you need anything, okay?"

Merlin nods and leans forward to kiss her on the corner of her mouth, before running into the terminal.

Morgana watches him disappear, and for a brief moment, her anger turns so that it isn't the additional suffering that makes her upset but the fact even Merlin is being taken from her.

She knows she's being selfish, that she doesn't need him beside her when Hunith needs him more, but days of solitude, with nothing but books and terror-filled nights loom ahead of her, no Merlin, no Gwen, no Arthur, and the anger drives her as she steps on the pedal and pulls away from the curb.

She takes her time going home, listening to music and deciding to take local roads into the city. Driving through the dark calms her, and the shift in her emotions leaves her exhausted by the time she does make it back to the flat and collapses onto her bed with Aithusa and the promise of a phone call.

The first few days of Merlin's trip go smoothly. Hunith's injuries turn out to be serious but not life threatening, having been knocked over by a reckless driver and shattered her leg, and Merlin stays with her, first in hospital, then at home, to help her adjust to her newly limited mobility. Morgana offers to fly out and help, and Gaius insists on taking over, but Merlin won't hear of it from either of them, at least until he gets things under control.

"He's always been stubborn," Gaius laments. "He'll do anything in his power to help others, but he won't accept anyone else doing the same for him."

Morgana smiles, mindlessly stirring her mocha as she leans back in her chair. It's early by her standards, only ten p.m. or so, but she's planning to spend at least half the night in the shop, working her way through the first draft of her next chapter at her secluded corner table. She's been extremely productive over the past few days, free from nightmares and new developments with the scandal, and she doesn't want to break her streak. "I'm not at all surprised."

Gaius shakes his head at the thought of his nephew. "I should have gone with him in the first place. Do you know he did something like this when he was a child? Hunith fell ill with a fever a few months after his father passed away, and he didn't even call me. He went through the medical books I'd left behind and he claims to have called their physician, but he took care of her on his own, and she recovered far more quickly than should have been possible."

"How old was he?"

"Eight or nine."

Morgana's eyes widen, and she thinks back to herself at that age. She'd been a compassionate child, but she'd been quiet and angry and more interested in fencing and tormenting Arthur than nursing anyone back to health. "And he didn't turn out to be a physician?"

Gaius chuckles. "He's always put duty and passion first. He would have made an excellent physician, but there's never been anything but history for him." Sighing, Gaius gets up from his chair. "I'm flying out at the end of the week whether he likes it or not. It's been six days now, and he needs to get back to his classes."

"His professors have been understanding."

"I'm sure they have, and so have you, but he'll never admit to needing help, and he'll refuse to leave until Hunith gets back on her feet. Besides, Hunith is my little sister. Looking after her is just as much my responsibility as it is his."

Morgana smirks at the elderly man and takes another sip of her drink. "I'd like to see you try to tell Merlin that." She's spent hours on the phone with Merlin over the past few days, listening to every detail on his time in Dublin and more often than not, falling asleep with the phone beside her, and she has no doubt Gaius has quite the task ahead of him.

Morgana gets distracted after she heads back up to her flat. She makes progress on her chapter in the coffee shop, and over-caffeinated and not in the least bit tired, she decides to spend the rest of the night clearing away Uther's things.

The picture frames in the living room are already gone. She'd pulled them all down the morning the news about Gwen's father had broken, in an attempt to at least superficially free herself from Uther's shadow.

The ones in his study, however, remain intact, and she's met with a sea of his images. He has photos with her and Arthur and Ygraine on every shelf, and guilt washes over as she takes in the smiling, frozen faces around her.

Uther is behind every miserable moment of her life, and his actions of the past few weeks are unforgivable. She has no doubt that he deserves a fate far worse than being disowned by his family, but the photographs remind her that he is, despite it all, her father and that he did love her and Arthur through all the bullying and deceit.

He smiles down at her from the wall behind his desk, an arm wrapped around each of them, and the anger with which she'd walked into the room abates and mixes with sadness.

She doesn't know if she's ever loved Uther. She'd hated him with every fibre of her being as a child for taking her real father away from, but she'd tried to forgive him in her teens, tired of living in anger and terrified of being orphaned after her mother had fallen ill. A ghost of affection glides through her as she considers the photograph and the memories of those years rush back to her. He'd taken a bitter turn in the past year, but there was no denying that he'd doted on her and there had been hope for their relationship for a while.

Meowing, Aithusa comes up behind her and brushes against her bare ankles. Swooping down, she scratches the kitten between the ears and scoops her into her arms. "This wasn't a very good idea, was it?"

Holding Aithusa to her chest, she decides to get the task ahead of her over quickly and steps over to Uther's liquor cabinet to pour herself a finger of whisky to make it easier. She considers the danger of her nightmares but decides the latter pain will be worth her current comfort.

The whisky burns as she drinks it down, and she sets Aithusa on Uther's desk and gets to work.

Having cleared all but the gaudy, oil painting of Uther and Arthur that hangs over the fireplace out of the room and into an increasingly heavy box, she pours herself more whisky and curls up in the overstuffed leather armchair that sits against the bookshelves with a photo album she'd found hidden at the back of a shelf.

It's filled with photographs of Uther and Ygraine looking much younger and more carefree than she's used to picturing, and she loses herself in the feelings of uneasy sadness that had threatened her as she'd undertaken the task.

The pictures of her mother stare back at her, and Morgana realizes Ygraine was younger than she is now when she'd married Gorlois, and not more than a handful of years older when she'd betrayed him for Uther. Blonde and blue eyed, Ygraine looks little like her at first glance, but she recognizes pieces of herself in the photos of her mother.

She'd been far more sombre in her later years, and Morgana wonders what it would have been to better know the carefree, smiling woman in the photos. She knows Ygraine had played an active role in betraying Gorlois and destroying her childhood, but her mother had always been so loving with her and Arthur that Morgana had never been able to bring herself to hate her. She'd loved her more freely than she'd ever even considered loving Uther, and recognizing that Ygraine had visibly loved Uther unsettles her. Her eyes burn as the man she'd easily criminalized gains in humanity and pushes her to consider that his despicable actions of the past years had been driven by broken-hearted loneliness.

The realization does nothing to excuse either of her parents, but it fills her with terror as she finds that she can understand their feelings. She has no trouble imaging a future in which she drives everyone in her life away through her troubles and her nightmares. The possibility of loneliness and despair loom ahead of her, and she lets the album fall to the ground.

Aithusa is startled from sleep at the movement and, meowing, jumps off the desk and into Morgana's lap. Setting the empty tumbler down on the table beside her, she focuses her attention on the cat, thankful that she isn't home alone.

She falls asleep towards morning, and the whisky plays its part, waking her shortly thereafter with her own screams.

The visions from her dream continue to flash before her eyes and she gives in to tears. The bedclothes burn around her, and she sees herself betraying the people she loves as Uther watches on with a smile. She sends Arthur and Gwen to their graves and then she turns on Uther and his pride with a knife, and the tears run down her face with more and more intensity until her entire body is wracked by sobs.

A wave of nausea hits her in disgust at her supposed actions as the scenes play over and over, and she dashes out of bed. The cold air hits her scorched skin, and the world spins before her as she tries to find her footing, threatening to go black. She somehow makes it through the door of her en-suite before it does, only to be met with swirling darkness and cool, marble tiles against her face.