Hello lads and lasses,

Second installment. Last time I said I thought it would be 3 or 4 parts, yeah that's not going to happen. It's going to be as long as it needs to be, however long that is. I'll try to update every Saturday but can't make any promises.

I also thought I'd answer reviews for the previous chapter in the start of the current chapter. It's something I have wanted to try but have a hard time remembering previously. Hence, two people will have already received message responses but I'll answer them again here in the name of consistency.

Review Responses:

ProcrastinationIsMyCrime: Thank you, Merlin definitely does some dramatic and desperate things later in the story; these are just the first stones that will eventually form a landslide.

The MightyE: Thank you.

Mark: Thank you for the feedback.

Guest: Despite Merlin's frequent verbal sparring with Arthur, his faith in Arthur does seem to eclipse his self-respect. It almost seems like his prioritization of Arthur is a part of his personality, so I'm going to have fun poking that with a stick.

And now, Part II.

(Becomes roman numerals, much like bow ties, are cool.)

Enjoy.

Part II: Beginning

Arthur had never liked burnings.

He knew he was supposed to; they punished the use of magic whilst also cleansing Camelot of its insidious taint. His father would watch an execution by fire without hesitation or doubt; proud of this thing he had wrought. But Arthur found he couldn't help hating them, every aspect of them. He used to have nightmares about the smell and how the sorcerers stopped looking human long before they had stopped moving. Whenever he watched a person being burnt to death at the stake he couldn't help but think, "Nobody deserves this."

The previous week had started with a burning and so Arthur had spent the rest of it horse riding, hunting and hammering his knights into the dirt. He filled his mind with correct form and aching muscles and made a concerted effort to exhaust his body every day. Every night since the execution he had fallen into an immediate, dreamless sleep; of course what dreamless really meant was nightmare-free.

He didn't always need to drive himself into the ground to forget the look in the eyes of the damned. Arthur used to be able to just stop feeling and stop thinking through sheer willpower and a paralyzing horror. But he needed to resort to these extreme methods, all thanks to one thing.

More specifically, one idiot.

Merlin.

Since he had become Arthur's servant every time a burning occurred Merlin suffered a sort of severe attack of the conscience that manifested itself in odd, often alarming ways. He got an even worse memory than usual, had outbursts over seemingly insignificant things and a sudden tendency towards open emotions, which made Arthur very uncomfortable. Additionally, the longer Merlin was his servant the more Arthur learned about him, so with every new burning Arthur noticed a new aspect of Merlin's bewildering but undeniably genuine distress.

After the first few burnings Merlin had seen he had gone quiet in a deep, painful sort of way. It was more than just not talking; Merlin would disappear inside himself for a time and have a sort of internal civil war Arthur was not privy to. He had been forced to realize that Merlin was not just a maddening, quirky peasant who existed as both a subject of and audience for the Prince's hilarious sense of humour.

However as time progressed Merlin had starting talking. He began asking questions, and he asked questions with a vengeance. Sharp questions, heavy questions, questions that cut Arthur up even as he tried to answer them. As the burnings continued Merlin became less and less concerned that what he said sounded like treason and Arthur began to see that there was a recklessness in Merlin that he had miscalculated. It was more than just scrambling into battle after his Prince, it was being thrown into jail for saying something and then, upon his release, saying the same thing all over again. Arthur couldn't understand where Merlin's fervor came from. The servant had seen the damage magic could do, had been on the receiving end of more than one magical attack, but without fail after every execution he would be there in front of Arthur with his strange grief and his unknowable motivation and his question, "Why?"

Always that question, "Why?"

The most recent execution had occurred after a long dry spell. Indeed the gaps between executions were getting longer and longer, to the point where the smell and the sight of them would hit Arthur all over again every time. Merlin had reacted with a wild, alarming grief that Arthur hadn't been able to get his hands on. There'd been a look in Merlin's eye that Arthur hadn't recognized and couldn't forget.

When Merlin had stormed into Arthur's chambers then stormed right out again Arthur had been on the verge of following him, but had stopped himself before he could reach the door. He realized he had been yelling out Merlin's name and was about to go chasing after him. As soon as Arthur thought about what it would look like and who might see pride wouldn't allow it. He let Merlin go with some reluctance, but he let him go nonetheless.

They were noticeably awkward towards each other over the next few days. Neither brought up Merlin's outburst but the memory of it still shuffled into every room with them, knocking over the furniture and staring at them both. Arthur was more than ready for life to go back to normal, or whatever the closest to normal life as the Prince of Camelot could get to. And it did, for a whole week the world was its usual not-quite-normal normal.

He should've known it couldn't last.

Two weeks to the day had passed since the sorceress had been burnt, enough time for Arthur to move on and, apparently, enough time for Merlin's hand wringing and agonizing to resolve itself into action.

Like a bony black street dog that wanted the bone in a lion's mouth Merlin came into Arthur's chambers, Arthur's domain, sunk his teeth into the issue and wouldn't let go.

It had started off with an unusual dinner, unusual because it was still hot from the kitchens. Arthur had thought it was just a happy mistake, doing anything properly was the result of a mistake for Merlin, but it didn't take long for him to realize it had been an attempt to put him in a good mood.

"On time for once," Arthur remarked as he buttered a steaming roll. The roll was actually warm enough that the butter melted as he did so. "And the bread rolls are still hot. Who are you and what have you done with Merlin?"

"I am an imposter whose schemes consist of providing you with a good breakfast," Merlin replied as he made Arthur's bed, or at least did his version of making Arthur's bed which involved staring at it as tough he were sizing up a formidable opponent.

Enjoying the hot meal Arthur graciously awarded Merlin a chuckle for his joke.

"You can stay," he said around his mouthful of roll.

When Arthur glanced across Merlin rolled his eyes in an extravagant gesture of exasperation, which was so typical of Merlin that Arthur laughed again.

"The soup is hot too!" Arthur nearly yelled in happy astonishment, having just scalded the roof of his mouth with the boiling liquid.

He glanced up to share a look with Merlin but the servant was looking down at the rumpled bedcovers again as though they were the most complicated thing in the world. He looked aggrieved, as opposed to his usual perplexed, so with his usual brand of sensitivity Arthur asked, "What's with the face?"

He speared a piece of cooked lamb as Merlin replied, "I need to talk to you, Arthur."

Jabbing his fork into a piece of potato as well Arthur transferred the small mound of food into his mouth. It was a delicious mixture of smoky, simple flavours and an explosion of spices and herbs.

"You are talking to me," he said as he reached for his goblet. He took a swig of wine.

"It's about what happened the other day…" Merlin was speaking in a sort of careful voice that made Arthur irritable due to the fact that, first, it made him anxious.

"Merlin this is Camelot, something happens every day. Be a little more specific and spit it out will you?" Arthur ordered as he wiped his mouth.

"It's about the sorceress who was executed."

The sentence was bulky and cumbersome and knocked against Merlin's teeth.

Arthur's stomach did a little snarl and his temper bared its teeth. Keeping himself in careful control Arthur looked at Merlin, wary.

"Is this about how you ran into my room and started yelling at me and got all upset then ran out again?" he asked with a bluntness that encouraged Merlin to drop the issue immediately.

"Sort of," Merlin gave up on the wrinkled bed covers and moved to stand next to the end post of the bed on the closest side to Arthur.

"Not really," he added, not quite meeting Arthur's eyes.

"Sort of not really?" Arthur repeated.

Of course he knew better then to try and intimidate Merlin into silence but still, old habits died hard.

Or not at all, sometimes.

Merlin looked up at the Prince. The thick wooden bed post and heavy gold-thread drapes loomed over him and his shabbiness and made him look smaller then he was. But still, he lifted his head and squared his thin shoulders and declared,

"I don't think what happened to her was right."

Arthur wasn't surprised. He was the entire opposite of surprised. This was Merlin's typical, complete disregard for social law and his own standing in Camelot. However, Merlin had not been immediately deterred by Arthur's Merlin-deterrent tone, so Arthur had to choose to either ignore him or engage. It was hardly even a choice for Arthur, really. Ignoring a fight was tantamount to giving in and giving in went against every part of his nature.

"You don't think a criminal being punished for committing a crime is right?" He said.

"She didn't hurt anyone and she didn't plan to hurt anyone. She didn't deserve to die," Merlin responded quickly. He sounded like he had been preparing for this discussion.

"She used magic, Merlin, we've been over this," Arthur said, tired and patient, "magic is…"

"Evil?" Merlin challenged.

Something in the room changed. Tightened.

Arthur put down his knife and fork carefully, wiped his mouth on a dining cloth and sat up straighter. It was a practiced series of actions; he'd sparred over many a dining table with his father and Morgana.

"Why?" Merlin asked; eyes trained on Arthur's face.

The two young men looked at each other, each sizing up the other and see the other sizing them up in turn.

"It is used by sorcerers to hurt and kill innocent people," Arthur said.

"Swords have been used to hurt and kill innocent people," Merlin countered immediately.

"Swords are used to defend Camelot," Arthur said sharply, feeling oddly protective of his own blade propped against the dining table.

"Mostly against soldiers using swords to attack," Merlin said.

"That's ridiculous, swords aren't evil, they are inanimate objects."

"If swords are governed by those who use them, why can't magic?"

This alluded comparison between him and a magic-wielder got Arthur's back up.

"Magic is only used for evil; swords can be used to protect the innocent."

"The druids use magic but they never attack anybody," Merlin said, punctuating his speech with small hand gestures as though he couldn't quite contain himself. "They often offer aid to complete strangers. Magic can heal as well as hurt but a sword can only ever hurt."

"I'd say that this is bordering on treasonous talk," Arthur said waspishly, "but look behind you, you crossed that line a while ago."

Merlin took a step forwards and Arthur had to resist the compulsion to surge to his feet.

"That's a cheap response, Arthur, it's beneath you. Don't try to silence me with accusations of treason just because I made an argument you cannot counter."

"Okay, I won't accuse you of treason. I'll point it out to you, because apparently it's not obvious. That's treason, Merlin," Arthur snapped.

His growing anger was not just because treason was an insult to him and an insult to his father, though that was admittedly a very large portion of it, he was also angry because such talk was likely to get Merlin killed one of these days.

Pride and fear. A combination that catalyzed an anxious, dangerous rage.

Merlin was obviously forcing himself not to speak in anger. He worked his jaw for a moment as though chewing on what Arthur had said, then took a deep breath. The inhalation was shaky with temper, but the exhalation was soft and controlled.

"Arthur," Merlin said and for a moment Arthur was envious of how calm he had managed to sound. "You once helped me save a druid child from being executed. I don't believe you would've done that if you thought he was a threat."

Arthur glared at Merlin. How could he bring up an example of Arthur's betrayal of his own father's law now?

"Remember that light you told me about? When you went to get the flower for that antidote after I got poisoned? And…do you remember my friend Will? He used magic to save you," Merlin's voice became quiet and intense. "He wasn't evil. He was born with magic, he had no choice. He only ever used it to help."

Arthur ground his teeth and looked away. That was a cunning blow and he hadn't thought Merlin the sort to use it. Arthur could hardly argue against magic without insulting Will's memory and Merlin's own friendship with the sorcerer. Merlin was using Arthur's respect for the dead against him.

His mind was hazy, he felt angry and a little betrayed, so Arthur almost missed the rest of Merlin's small pro-magic speech.

"He could've left Ealdor, he was very talented. There are many kingdoms where his power would be celebrated. There he would've been equal with royalty. But he chose to stay in Ealdor where he was in danger because of the prejudice that spread from Camelot because he wanted to be where he was most needed…and simply…because he didn't want to leave his family and friends. Does that sound evil to you?"

"There are always exceptions," Arthur said stiffly, trying simultaneously to win this ridiculous argument and be respectful of the man who, though Arthur loath to admit it, had saved his life.

"And the druids, Arthur?" Merlin asked, "that's a pretty big exception."

Arthur felt like he was being pushed into a corner. He had been getting pushed into corners his whole life and he hated it.

"What do you want from me?" Arthur snarled, all trapped and miserable.

Merlin stepped forward again and Arthur almost snapped out something else, then he realized Merlin was not advancing provocatively, but earnestly. Merlin's expression had passion and hope and deference in it. The deference looked like a mask on him; it didn't seem to fit properly with the muscles on the servant's face.

"Think about it Arthur," Merlin said quietly, "all of the evidence indicates that magic is not evil, it is just occasionally used, like a sword, by bad people for bad purposes. Just…please think about it."

"Why?" Arthur asked, irritated enough that he didn't stop himself from parroting Merlin's own favorite question back at him.

He didn't like the persuading tone in Merlin's voice or the look on his face. It all felt too much like he wanted something from Arthur just like every other damn person in the whole damn world did.

"Because once you acknowledge that magic isn't evil you'll realize executing people solely on the grounds of having it is unjust."

Arthur stood up slowly as Merlin approached.

"Are you saying that my father is an unjust King?" He asked in a serrated voice.

Merlin stopped advancing. He was now the wary one. The fact that he did not immediately answer with "No," made Arthur move around his desk as though he were readying for a fight.

"I think you're father believes magic is evil, and that executing people with it is the right thing to do," Merlin said cautiously. It did little to placate Arthur.

"Are you saying," Arthur repeated, "that my father is an unjust King?"

Merlin turned his head sidewards ever so slightly, a cornered look, as though trying a different angle in order to better see if a hit was coming.

"Answer the question," Arthur demanded.

"No," Merlin said, "I didn't come here to fight."

"So you do think he is an unjust King," Arthur stepped forward, fingers itching reflexively for a sword.

"That's not what we are talking about; we are talking about if magic is evil. Please, Arthur, look at the evide-"

Merlin was imploring him again, trying to get Arthur to do what he wanted. How dare he try to manipulate Arthur? Especially after insulting his father, Merlin's King.

"This is treason," Arthur interrupted with a voice like his father's, "shut up before I have you thrown in the dungeon."

Merlin looked upset, desperation in the edges of his eyes. He was quiet for a moment, rocking on his heels but refusing to back away as his Prince stalked towards him.

"Please Arth-"

"Shut up, Merlin."

Merlin clamped his mouth shut. Arthur was an arm's length away now and staring him down. Merlin turned his head a little more and his eyes skipped away, resolve flickering. Then he glanced back. The glance became a look. Merlin faced his Prince.

He looked determined in a way that Arthur had never seen before. He didn't know how it was different, only that it looked greater then itself, like it wasn't Merlin he was looking at but the face of a whole people. Looking at Merlin felt like vertigo.

"It's important you think about this," Merlin said quickly. His sentence was over and irrevocably heard by the time Arthur had drawn enough air in his lungs to yell, "GUARDS!"

Merlin had tried.

It was not much, but he had tried.

Narrow arms dangling through the familiar bars to his cell, elbows resting on the cross beam, Merlin leaned his head against the door wearily. He stood in a blue shadow, the light of the guards' oil lamps did not reach as far as him.

He had been hoping he could convince Arthur to talk to Uther, change all of this without anyone having to get hurt and without him having to resort to his magic. It had been a terribly long shot, both trying to convince Arthur and hoping Uther could somehow be reasoned with, but he had had to take it.

Merlin knew that when things started to downhill and began to get dark and desperate, as he could feel in his bones that they would, it would be very important that he had tried.

Not that he had not given up on Arthur, of course. As long as there was hope Merlin would hold onto it with a tenacity bordering on fanaticism, but now the path was going to get a lot rougher. Whilst telling Arthur the truth about his magic would show him absolutely unavoidable proof that it could be used for good, it also meant that Arthur would not just be basing his decision on justice but on whether or not he was willing to forgive Merlin. Merlin had often imagined telling Arthur about his magic and Arthur laughing and thanking him and forgiving him all in one breath, but realistically he knew it wouldn't be like that. He couldn't not do it though, it was his biggest chance of convincing Arthur that magic wasn't evil and it was his last chance to win Arthur over before the revolution began.

Because there might not be any executions in the citadel right now but in holds and towns spread across Camelot there would be. Mobs would still be forming and people would still be getting dragged from their homes onto cold, cobbled streets. People would still be getting torn apart by so called friends and strung up by so called justice, all in the name of Uther's paranoia. People were being murdered by the King even as he slept; change could not wait for Arthur indefinitely.

Merlin was released from the dungeon just before lunchtime the next day. Having missed dinner the night before and breakfast that morning his stomach was making gnarled little noises of protest as he entered his and Gaius chambers.

Gaius was sitting next to his working table, grinding some herbs for a poultice. He looked up when he saw Merlin and immediately stood, making his way to their small kitchen in the corner of the room and returning with a plate of bread and cheese.

"Thanks," Merlin said, collapsing into a chair opposite Gaius' seat and falling ravenously upon the meal.

"I take it your talk didn't go well," Gaius said as he sat back down. In the many discussions he and Merlin had during the previous week he had predicted it wouldn't. Merlin gave Gaius a sideward frown that told him in no uncertain terms that he could keep any "I told you so"s to himself.

"So…" Gaius said instead, having seen Merlin's look, "now…Morgana?"

He looked worried and doubtful.

"Morgana," Merlin said firmly, nodding over his half-finished meal.

"Are you sure-?"

"After I tell Arthur," Merlin didn't have to specify what, "if he doesn't…if it goes badly, we might need to act fast. We need an ally, somebody else who can talk to the druids and organize things. And for when it actually happens we need someone to rule in the transition. Morgana is someone the people will accept. Say what you like about her but she's perfect for what we need."

Gaius sighed nervously and some of the herbs he was grinding fluttered on his breath.

"She won't betray me anyway," Merlin said, "not when I could just betray her in turn."

The brutal logic of blackmail was distasteful yet for all of its distaste, necessary. Gaius looked slightly more confident having been reminded of what they both held over Morgana and nodded. There was a slightly sour taste in Merlin's mouth over how Gaius was so undisturbed by the conniving tactic, but he polished off his lunch and tried to remind himself it was only out of concern for Merlin.

"And you're sure you don't want me to come?" Gaius asked, looking across the table at him.

"Yes," Merlin said.

He didn't say it though out loud, but Merlin honestly didn't know if he had it in him to betray Morgana's secret if this all went south, even if she had betrayed him. In case of this he wanted Gaius well out of the way because if Merlin went down he refused to take Gaius down with him.

"Oh, Merlin," the head cook said as Merlin entered the kitchen, "Gumpas had orders to serve the Prince today."

Looking around this familiar place with its comforting cooking smells, Merlin wondered how much a revolution would change the kitchen. Would the servants here hate it or would they sympathize with the plight of the magical community?

"I know," Merlin replied to the cook, grabbing an apple from the top of the large fruit baskets in the corner, "I was in the dungeon again last night."

His actions were going to have consequences on people that he wouldn't even know about. There was no end to the ripples he would cause with his one, gigantic splash.

"Merlin," the woman scolded. She didn't ask what he had done; he was in the dungeon so often the concept had lost its novelty.

"Yeah," he said, shrugging.

He knew he looked a little bit like a hopeless case; he was all scruffy from a night sleeping on stone and lacked the absolute panic other servants descended to if they got so much as sharply scolded. It wasn't a bad thing though, he knew a lot of the elder servants found his good natured incompetence endearing. He had used to his own advantage more than once.

This was, he supposed, less endearing.

With some effort Merlin hoisted a goofy grin onto his face. He expected it contrasted nicely with the straw in his hair.

The cook smiled chidingly at his seemingly one dimensional friendliness.

Why did this have to end?

"Do you know where the Lady Morgana is? I was ordered to go to her when I was let out," Merlin said.

"I believe she's still in her rooms," the head cook said. She turned and conferred with a baker.

"Yes," she said, turning back to Merlin. "She took ill in the night and so is spending the day resting."

Took ill in the night, Merlin thought as he walked away from the kitchen and up the stairs.

Morgana had dreamed her nightmares again last night, her terrifying, magical nightmares that either came true or bore some other supernatural significance. This may actually help his cause; having cast magic so recently, albeit accidentally, the subject of the law and her own impossible position would be at the front of her mind.

He turned up another corridor and another set of stone steps; ascending the castle stairs was always a bit like climbing a mountain from the inside.

It wasn't just Merlin's gut that was a Gordian knot, but his mind. As he walked he tried to unravel it, get his head into something workable, something he could use to convince Morgana that they were on the same side. He had no idea how Morgana would react, no idea if he could trust her even despite her own magic, but if anyone was going to trust him it was her. And, as he had thought from that cell, he had to try.

Merlin turned down the corridor to Morgana's room. A servant was walking past with a pile of linens and a random, singular shoe tipped on its side on top of the pile. Merlin was feeling very strange. When he knocked on the door he was sharply aware of the feeling of the wood beneath his knuckles and the cloth on his skin. In the moment between knocking on the door and it being opened Merlin was very conscious of the mechanics of breathing.

"Merlin!" said Gwen happily, opening the door.

"Gwen," he said, but he hadn't quite gotten his voice right. He still felt a confused mess inside and his voice had sounded rather strangled because of it.

Her expression became worried.

"Sorry," he cleared his throat, "Gwen."

His voice sounded normal the second time, but by Gwen's continued concern it had apparently only served to emphasize the initial oddness.

"Let him in," Morgana's voice came from behind the door and Gwen opened it fully.

The room had bigger windows then Arthur's, and so was much brighter. Morgana's bed was smaller and there were more small tables, as opposed to Arthur's singular multi-purpose desk. There were a few ceremonial weapons decorating the wall but Uther did not allow Morgana the same freedoms as Arthur. Having proper combat or hunting equipment in her rooms was unladylike, according to him, though from conversations with Gwen Merlin knew there was a sword hidden on the underside of the lady's bed and a bow and quiver in the back of her cupboard. Instead of having weapons or armor filling her room, Morgana had bookcases. They were made of polished wood with lavish carvings and the books were in neat rows; Merlin expected that when Uther saw them he thought they looked very nice and wasn't his ward such a smart little woman. What Uther did not know was that Morgana, without weapons or training, had instead used these very books to turn herself into a force to be reckoned with.

Merlin was counting on this.

Morgana was sitting in a chair positioned in a huge square of sunlight slanting in through the window. In the bright light her long hair was not just black; it had rainbows dancing through it. Her hands were in her lap and her eyes, whilst alert, had lines around them, betraying a sleepless night.

"Merlin, what do we owe the pleasure?" She said as Gwen closed the door behind him.

"Actually, Morgana," Merlin had long since given in to her insistence he dispose of the 'My Lady's', "I was hoping to speak with you…uh…alone?"

He looked around at Gwen. She looked slightly offended.

"I'm sorry, it's not anything to do with you Gwen, it's just…ah…"

"No, no, that's alright," Gwen said, looking to Morgana, who nodded. "I'll just be…in the hall?"

"That's okay Gwen, you gave up your night and morning for me, you may go home," Morgana said kindly. Then, "If Merlin tries anything I'll knock him out and you can clean it up later."

"Okay," Gwen said nervously, as though she wasn't entirely sure that Morgana was joking.

Morgana smiled delicately from her chair and Gwen left, not looking very reassured. When the door closed again Morgana lifted a foot and pushed the chair opposite her to face Merlin, an invitation to sit.

"How may I be of service?" She asked.

Merlin had seen her use servile words before to mislead or unsettle individuals from upper and lower classes alike. He didn't think she was trying to unsettle him, it just seemed that trying to get the advantage in any situation or conversation came as second nature to her now.

He wasn't sure if he should but he didn't want to start out this conversation by rejecting a polite offer, even if he rejected the polite offer politely. Merlin sat down, perching on the edge of the seat.

"I need to talk to you about…" his throat stuck. A delicate issue? A matter of the court? Justice?

But then, Merlin thought, crashed by inevitability, why beat around the bush? They'd get to the forest sooner or later.

Might as well be sooner.

"Magic."

Out of all of the answers he could've given Morgana obviously did not expect this. Like Arthur had the day before Morgana straightened in her chair. She looked alert but not alarmed as they had talked about magic before, Morgana and Gaius and he.

"Magic," she said, then, "yes?"

Merlin thought for a moment. Where he put his hands together he could feel his pulse heater perhaps harder than it should in his fingertips.

"You have magic," he said.

Morgana looked slightly wary but said, "Yes."

Merlin looked at the clean stone floor and his long spider's hands.

His hands had scrubbed horse manure from the bottom of shoes and turned back death itself.

"So," Merlin said, looking up slowly into Morgana's wide eyes, "do I."

Morgana stared at him, for once utterly without words. Her hands moved slowly from her lap to sit along the arms of her chair.

"I'm sorry I did not tell you sooner," Merlin said honestly. "I was afraid."

Morgana swallowed a few times, then said in a voice that was hard because otherwise it would tremble, "Is this some sort of cruel joke?"

Merlin raised a hand and a word was on his lips, then he looked at the window. The sun shone damningly through the wide open window.

"Can we close the blinds?" He asked.

Morgana stared at him like he had lost his mind. Feeling sick with nerves and jittery with a weird, bad kind of excitement, Merlin stood and jerked the curtain across. The yellow light became a brown shadow as Camelot was cut off from their view and they were cut off from Camelot's. Taking deep, shuddering breaths, Merlin stepped away from the curtain and table to face Morgana. Her eyes and head had followed his movements unerringly, like some sort of bird of prey. The suspicion and canniness of her regard was mildly unnerving in a situation that was a lot unnerving.

Merlin lifted his hand again and crooked it into a spell casting gesture. Through his ready fingers he saw Morgana look at it. He swallowed and wiped his tongue over paper dry lips.

Now or never.

"Leoht," he whispered into his palm.

He felt the familiar tug and tingle as a small golden light appeared above his hand.

Morgana stood violently and sent her chair toppling over backwards with a crash. The noise jarred through Merlin, who was strung out and already terrified. He startled and dropped the spell. The light vanished and because his eyes were no longer adjusted to the room it seemed a lot darker then he thought it should. He looked at Morgana, heartbeat ricocheting through his whole body.

Her eyes were round and owlish and she was looking at Merlin like she had never seen him before. Which, in a way, she hadn't.

"Sorry," she said clumsily, stepping over her chair and turning to stare at it in turn. She looked back up at him. "I…do that again."

Merlin said the spell a little louder this time, "Leoht."

The little light appeared again, quiet and gold.

Merlin could see the golden reflected in Morgana's eyes, knowing the small shimmer was incomparable to the unnatural glowing of his irises. He'd done magic in front of a mirror to see it once and had never done it again. He hadn't known the person he'd seen there.

But Morgana's dumbfounded expression wasn't that of someone who'd suddenly been struck in the face and was still working out the pain. Her expression was of someone who'd suddenly been pulled from a river and had their feet on solid ground.

"Merlin," she whispered, like it was a secret.

He just stood there with the light in his hands, waiting, without any clever words or emotional speeches to save him.

Morgana took a step forwards.

"You have magic," she said.

"Yes," Merlin said. Then, compulsively, because he couldn't help it, "don't tell Arthur."

Morgana looked at him, and then something clicked behind her eyes.

"He doesn't know?"

"No one knows. Well, apart from Gaius…and Lancelot…and Kilgarrah…"

She looked confused.

"The great dragon," Merlin explained.

She still looked confused.

"Never mind."

"How long?" Morgana asked hesitantly.

Merlin's arm was getting sore from being held up so long so he played the light into his other hand.

"Since I was born," he said. "All people with magic are born with it; they just learn to access it at different ages."

"I never learned," Morgana said.

"No," Merlin admitted. "Neither did I. But that's just us; we are the exception to the rule."

He waited, watching to see Morgana's reaction to the word 'we.' He'd been wary of disgust or fear, perhaps anger, but didn't expect the joy and relief that suddenly shone from Morgana's face.

"Merlin…I thought I was alone," she said in a constrained voice.

Merlin suddenly knew that he'd done the right thing.

"I know," he replied emphatically, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I'm really sorry. I just…" he raised his hands helplessly.

"You were afraid I would betray you?" Morgana said softly.

"I don't know. You had magic, you wouldn't have…I guess after a while…"

"You become afraid that anyone would betray you, no matter the circumstances," Morgana said.

She said it quietly and without drama but it still felt like a blow to the chest. Merlin nodded, finding himself unable to speak. That someone had said what he was thinking…that had never happened to him before. Not with his mother or Gaius or anybody. Not ever.

The silence rested for a moment, and then Morgana's eyebrows folded.

"Why are you here?"

"Here?" Merlin said.

"In Camelot," Morgana specified, "this is possibly the worst place for somebody with magic, yet here you are. You're not the idiot everyone believes, so you must have some reason for staying that outweighs the danger of execution."

Morgana's eyes were narrowed. Merlin didn't feel like it was his revelation that made her think he was not a bumbling fool, the shrewdness of her expression made him suspect that she had already known.

"What is it?" She asked when Merlin did not answer.

Merlin scratched the back of his head and gave a lop-sided shrug. A few weeks ago the answer would've been easy and immediate, "Arthur," "Albion," "Destiny." Not anymore, though.

"I would like to return magic to Camelot," Merlin said, slowly and haltingly, honesty born from the lack of rehearsed words. "As peacefully as I can…I mean, I don't want to hurt anyone to do it, but…I don't want anyone with magic to get hurt anymore, either."

Morgana looked at him for a long, long moment.

"You have magic and you're in Camelot and you want to free magic without hurting anyone," she shook her head slightly and startled Merlin with a sudden smile, "You have magic but…that's very…Merlin."

It was one of the kindest things he'd ever heard.

"Your dreams are too big for you," Morgana said with another shake of her head, but then she looked up at him and smiled an excited and colluding sort of smile and Merlin knew she was in.