When Morgana recognised Merlin she ran towards him. Merlin stopped in his tracks. Morgana was barefooted, her hair, like a stream of black silk, her face as ever pale and ethereally beautiful.
"Merlin, it's you," Morgana's voice was bright with hope but her eyes clouded with sleeplessness. "Where are we? How did I get here?"
"Morgana stopped short of him, eyeing him with confusion. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing, nothing Morgana." Merlin drew cautiously closer and when he was within arms reach she held onto him fastening her hands until her knuckles whitened. She was flesh and blood, not a ghost, not a figment of imagination.
She lowered her voice to a whisper.
"I think I am dreaming Merlin." She made darting looks around the circle and shivered, though it was not cold.
"Don't you remember Morgana?" asked Merlin gently, she looked up at him puzzled.
"Don't you remember when we were last together in Uther's chambers I gave you water out of my flask?"
"You held me in your arms," she said smiling. Merlin went cold inside.
"Yes but I…"
"I was hurt," she continued shaking her head.
"I…I…" Merlin did not have the words.
Morgana struggled to remember, a familiar desperation shook her frame
"Why can't I remember?"
Merlin closed his hand over hers, still fastened in a tight grip to his jacket. Tears pricked his eyes. "I'm here to help you now," he said, "to help you remember."
"You were ever a good friend to me." Morgana lifted her hand to Merlin's face, she had never been so intimate with him, Merlin held her wrist and lowered her hand. He could not bear her to touch him like that. He looked down, recalling that there should be a bracelet on her wrist: the one given to her by Morgause. She had worn it ever since. Gaius said it had cured her of nightmares. But the bracelet was not there, Merlin looked into Morgana's eyes trying to read what was behind them.
"You do not have the bracelet?"
"What bracelet?" Morgana held her wrist then looked back up at him. "Did you give it to me?"
"No, my Lady," he replied evenly, not sure what to make of her. "The bracelet Morgause gave you."
"Morgause, the warrior, when did she give me anything? I have not even spoken to her"
Merlin stepped back and held Morgana at arms length.
"What day do you think this is Morgana?"
"Now Merlin! Do you think I'm mad? It is night despite the sun and this place it is the night before Arthur fights, the night before she kills him. I have seen her defeat him in my dream, in this dream."
Merlin's head was in a whirl. This was all tangled up! Nothing about this was real and nothing could be solved. Morgana was adrift like a feather on the wind of time blown about by each word he said and never settling, never moving on. She was the Morgana he had poisoned, the girl he had first met, the young woman tortured by visions.
"What is it? Why are you looking at me like that?"
Merlin looked at the girl who had so often made his heart ache with compassion. Her eyes were red with crying and her face drawn.
"Morgana, I need to tell you something, something I should have told you a long time ago. You came to me in Gaius' chambers one day, dressed as you are now and you wanted to know what was happening to you, if it were magic. Even though I said that you could trust me, I did not tell you the truth." Morgana looked at him and calmness at last descended on her.
"Your dreams were real, this I believe you already know. But I must hear myself say it. I have acted on your visions and saved Arthur because of them. You are a seer you have the gift of magic." Merlin paused, he had more to say but he had never said it before, not in words, not to anyone.
"And so do you." Morgana said, her confusion and frailty had disappeared and along with it the frustration and anger that had turned this young woman from Uther's confidante into his worst enemy.
Merlin looked at her in silence, watched the change in her, like clouds blown away from the sun. There was no need to speak. Their very natures had spoken one to another and he finally understood that the shame he felt was in this first betrayal, not in the terrible deed that had come after, not in the suspicion and fear of her growing evil. And with this understanding the anguish he had felt for all these months began to diminish.
Tears welled up in Morgana's eyes she stood straight and regal then drew the back of her hand over her eyes like a child.
"Thank you."
A strong breeze blew through the willow trees above them. The two dark haired figures embraced. From the far side of the circle someone was watching, he strode out towards them with his sword drawn.
Arthur
Arthur did not move towards Tom at first and the man merely waited patiently, almost like a servant for his master. Arthur had expected to see some of the men he had killed and perhaps those he felt he had wronged, but not the Blacksmith.
Arthur put away his sword and walked towards Tom, as he did so Tom withdrew back into the trees until there was a distance of a few yards between them. On he walked keeping the same distance, without turning around. The forest floor was covered in ivy but Arthur noted that the man ahead made no impression on the ground. When he slowed Arthur slowed until finally Tom turned and stopped.
Arthur carried on walking until he drew close to him.
"Sire," said Tom in greeting.
Arthur's eyes narrowed. He scrutinised him. It was indeed Gwen's father, the man whose strong and gentle hands had tended to his horses so well. The man his father had killed without a murmur of regret. He looked exactly the same as they day he arrested him.
"I think I could have saved you Tom," he said.
"No sire," answered Tom emphatically. "You could not."
"Then why are you here?"
"I have told you what you needed to hear," said Tom, "and to bring you to this."
"To what?" asked Arthur in suspicion.
Tom looked down a leaf littered slope towards a rock face and Arthur's eyes followed
Through the hazel rods, bright with leaves Arthur caught sight of a woman, standing next to a deep cleft in the rocks.
"Guinevere?" he said with surprise.
He turned to where Tom stood. He searched his face for some betrayal of intent but only saw frankness.
"It is alright sire," Tom assured him. Arthur wasn't sure if this was a father's consent or a reassurance of safety.
Slowly the Prince descended the slope towards Gwen who kept her position at the cleft in the rock as though she were standing guard. Despite appearances, thought Arthur, the woman he was about to speak to could not be his Guinevere. Hadn't he just spoken with a dead man, a man with no footsteps in a forest with no pathways. Still he wondered what wrong he had done her that she should appear in this arena. Arthur stopped a little short of her. She was Gwen in looks. Her black hair caught at her neck, her cheeks flushed beneath her dark skin. She smiled at him and tilted her head to one side. He honestly could not discern anything in her that was not familiar and loved. It was difficult for him to remain impassive.
"Are you coming down?" she asked, still smiling and holding out her hand.
"I'm not sure what's going on here," said Arthur trying not to let any emotion enter his voice but failing miserably. "Guinevere is miles from here, safe in Camelot."
She laughed. "I don't know Arthur, perhaps we are both dreaming!" She was, for all the world, the girl he loved. Arthur could not control the skip his heart made. It was so good to see her, hear her laugh, there had been too little of that between them.
Gwen still held out her hand and she spoke again. Some gravity had crept into her voice.
"Come Arthur, there is something you need to see."
Gwen's hand was warm, a flesh and blood hand. He ran his thumb over her knuckles.
"I have missed you," he said quietly.
"And I you."
She led him into the cleft in the rock, which although appearing shallow was the mouth to a cave. He put his hand quickly to his sword.
"You won't need that," said Gwen.
Arthur was half-convinced by her but not so easily persuaded that he abandoned his training and instincts. He had already been taken by surprise in the Forest of Heaf. He drew his sword and followed her.
The narrow entrance to the cave belied the splendour within. It glittered with a blue green light. Apertures above them directed the sun across the floor and walls. It was a perfect temperature and something of the forest had crept inside, vines and ivy snaked their way up to the ceiling mosses and fungi clustered in the half-light of the corners.
It could have been the throne room of a great castle in a Kingdom at least the equal of his father's.
Across the great hall of rock the two walked until they came to a smaller cave, this one dark and cool.
"You will have to let your eyes get accustomed to it," said Gwen, turning to leave him. "I will be out here if you need me."
"What is this about? What is in there?"
"It is for you to discover Arthur. I cannot tell you."
"But why you? Why are you here?
"I am here for you Arthur," said Gwen simply and in one look she conveyed all her love and silenced his doubts.
Arthur entered what to all intents and purposes was a room. Barely three paces in he had to stop and wait so he could see. Gradually his eyes adjusted and what lay before him brought him to his knees. On a stone slab in the centre of the room was a man whose skin in death seemed to be the same substance as the rock on which he lay.
"Father!" he cried out in disbelief.
Arthur gently took the scarred hand that had touched his face not two weeks before and wept.