Chapter V: Guinevere's Vow

"Sooooo," Morgana said, eyes bright with mischief, "how is your Merlin doing?"

Gwen flushed, a very recent memory rushing to the forefront of her mind. "Oh, hush," she mock-grumbled, reaching down to gather up a laundry basket. "There's nothing between us."

"Really?" Morgana drawled, lips twitching.

"Really," Gwen confirmed. Her blush deepened. "I may have… er… made my interests a bit obvious—all right, that's something of an understatement—but he had been dying! And then he was alive and I was just so relieved that I did something very silly and, well, he said that he wasn't interested in me in that way—not in those exact words, of course—"

"What happened?" Morgana interrupted.

Gwen straightened, laundry basket in hand, unable to excuse her crouch anymore. She just knew that her cheeks were flaming. Not for the first time, she thanked her father for her skin tone. Someone as pale as Morgana would strongly resemble a tomato if she was blushing this badly. "I kissed him when he woke up."

"And?" Morgana leaned forward, eager for more details.

"And he blushed and stammered and told me that while he was flattered, he really didn't think it would work." Gwen gave a helpless little shrug. "He sees me as a friend, not a potential soul mate, and after that kiss, I'm starting to think he might be right." She smiled sadly. "There wasn't any passion, and while I think part of that might have been due to him just waking up—actually, it probably was—I think that a lot of it was just that some people are better off as friends."

Morgana was frowning. In an effort to cut off the inevitable growling about how Gwen was the best person around, she deserved her pick of men, and Merlin was an idiot for not seeing that, the maid hastily added, "Like you and me, for instance. Unless there's something you're not telling me?"

The lady choked, spluttered out a laugh. Gwen laughed along, pleased that the heat was fading from her cheeks.

"Yes, Gwen. There is indeed something I'm not telling you." Green eyes danced with mirth. "I think we should be mortal enemies from now on."

Gwen laughed again. Morgana tried to remain stoic-faced and (relatively) serious, but soon gave up and joined in.

The laughter died down, as all laughter must do eventually. Humming softly, her mood still light after their jokes, Gwen began putting clean dresses into Morgana's wardrobe. They continued for a few minutes in companionable silence.

Morgana was the first to speak. "Seriously, though, Gwen. If you want to talk about Merlin… well… about Merlin's choice, I'm here."

"Thank you, my lady," Gwen replied quietly. "That means a lot to me."

By this point, she'd hung up all her mistress's clean laundry. The maid looked around, saw yesterday's discarded dress and shift. She deposited them into the basket. "I'll be back soon. Should I get you a sleeping draught while I'm out?"

The last vestiges of Morgana's smile faded. "Yes. But…." She trailed off into silence.

"They got worse?" Gwen asked, not at all surprised. Both women knew that Morgana's dreams got worse during times of stress, and what with Merlin almost dying and Uther declaring war (and then deciding to keep the peace, though no one was entirely certain why) things had certainly been stressful lately.

"Yes," Morgana confirmed with a heavy sigh. "I dreamed about the road again."

"What was last night's obstacle?" Gwen queried. Her friend had told her all about the strange dreams with the split path and the shadow-faced man's inexplicable presence.

Morgana remained quiet.

"My lady?"

No response.

"Morgana?"

"…You know that I'd dreamt of spiders," Morgana blurted. She winced. "On the road, that is. Huge spiders the size of my head and a reptilian thing with sails on its back and a dark cave." The lady sank onto her bed. Her hands rested in her lap, fisting the fabric of her dress. Her knuckles were white. "And that's what Arthur was talking about: spiders and a sail-backed reptile and a dark cave." Her fists clenched and unclenched, wrinkling the fabric. "I'm starting to think that sleeping draughts can't help with… this." Her shoulders were shaking.

Gwen nearly dropped her laundry basket. She caught it at the last moment, though, and put it down gently before gliding over to sit at her friend's side. The maidservant opened her arms, folded them around her trembling mistress. Morgana buried her face in her friend's shoulder.

"I'm scared, Gwen."

The words came out in a whisper that was further muffled by her friend's body. Gwen could only imagine how much the confession cost her proud friend. She squeezed tighter, wondering how on earth she could help with something like this.

"You know my mother was one," Morgana continued.

"Your mother had to train for years," Gwen reminded her.

Morgana nodded. "But what if—what if there's more to it than training? What if you don't choose it? What if it chooses you?"

"I don't know," Gwen was forced to admit.

Morgana shuddered.

"But," Gwen continued, "there's an easy enough way to test if these dreams are… special."

Morgana jerked out of the embrace. Red-rimmed eyes focused hopefully, intently, on Gwen's expression.

"If the next obstacle from the dream appears, then it really…." Gwen didn't want to say it. "And if… if it does make an appearance in the real world, well, I suppose we'll have to cross that bridge when we come to it. Er, if we come to it. If. There's a possibility that this is just a coincidence. In fact, it probably is."

The king's ward might be distraught, but she still managed an incredulous snort.

"Well," Gwen protested, hands aflutter, "stranger coincidences have happened!"

"Like what?"

"Ah…." Gwen searched her memories. Inspiration struck. "Oh! Do you remember the story about Elyan and me and the tomatoes?"

"How could I forget?"

Gwen smiled. The story was quite unforgettable. "Yes. So stranger coincidences have happened, and, well, if it's not—not that I don't think it's not, because I do. I don't think this is anything more than a strange coincidence like the one we just mentioned. But—but if I'm wrong, I'll help you. Somehow. I haven't figured that part out yet. But I will, Morgana. I swear it."

"Thank you." A tentative smile flickered across Morgana's face. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Gwen replied, trying very hard not to think about the fact that she might have just promised to commit treason. She leaned over, reached once again for the laundry basket. "But I'll get still the sleeping draught on my way back. Better safe than sorry, right?" She pushed herself off the bed, started heading toward the door.

"Wait."

"Yes?"

"Didn't you want to know about the thing I saw? The thing that might be coming?"

Oh. That was right. She had been so focused on the whole treason bit that she'd forgotten the new obstacle in Morgana's dream. "What is it?"

"I honestly don't know," the younger woman confessed. "It has the body of a lion but the wings and head of an eagle. A really big, lion-sized eagle, so it was bigger than Arthur's dogs but smaller than the horses. Its front feet were talons, but the hind legs ended in a lion's claws."

Gwen's brow furrowed. "I've never heard of a creature like that."

"Neither have I," Morgana confessed, "but that's what I saw."

"Maybe you should ask the hooded man what it is," Gwen suggested.

"That's actually a good idea," Morgana said. "He's got to be there for some reason."

Gwen's lips twitched. "He's probably one of your many admirers. So many people care for you, Morgana. Always remember that."

Morgana smiled ever so slightly. It wasn't the chuckle Gwen had been hoping for, but it was a lot better than the fear-filled expression that had previously covered her lady's face. Morgana was scared, and she had good reason to be. Gwen was scared too, and she was only involved by association. She couldn't imagine what her poor friend was going through. But confiding in someone, even if that someone was only a maid, and hearing a promise to help had done wonders for Morgana's anxiety. Her face was calming, the wrinkles of worry smoothing out.

As Gwen made her way to the laundry room, she thought about what had just happened. Of course she did—how could she not? Her dearest friend in the world might be developing magical powers, and she had promised to aid her even though that was treason and Uther was not particularly forgiving of treachery. Or anything at all, really, but especially not treachery. If Morgana was right and Gwen helped her and they got caught, they would both burn.

Despite the heat of the day, Gwen shivered.

"Ah, Guinevere."

For the second time that hour, Gwen jumped, nearly dropping the laundry basket and spilling its contents all over the floor. "My lord," she said, dropping into a curtsey as best she could. Inside, she was trying not to panic. Short of Uther himself, Prince Arthur Pendragon was the last person she wanted to see while thoughts of magic and treason and secrets still bounced around her head.

"I was hoping to find you."

"Oh?" It came out a squeak. There was no possible way he could know, Gwen reminded herself. Unless he'd been eavesdropping. Oh, heavens, what if he'd been eavesdropping? Or what if he'd noticed that Morgana's dreams had a way of coming true and wanted to question her about that? She didn't know if she could hold up to an interrogation, especially not so soon. Please don't be an interrogation. Please don't be an interrogation….

Arthur smiled. "No need to look so worried," he assured her. "I merely wanted to thank you for conveying the mortaeus flower to Gaius."

"I…." So not an interrogation then. That was wonderful. "….You are very welcome, my lord, but you didn't need to thank me. Merlin is my friend. I was happy to do it."

The prince nodded. "Yes. Well. Nonetheless, I am grateful to you. I've almost got him turned into a halfway competent manservant. It would be tiresome to train up a new one from scratch."

"It isn't Merlin's fault, Your Highness," Gwen protested. "Merlin grew up in a farming village, you see. He never had any training until he arrived in Camelot. He'd never even touched a sword until his first day in your employ. I've been teaching him, of course, but he's really doing quite well for someone with no experience. Sire."

"I suppose you might be right," the prince admitted. He leaned closer. "Just don't ever tell him I said that, you understand? He's already being unbearable about that blasted flower. Honestly, why did it have to be a flower?"

Gwen fought back a laugh. "I suppose because trees don't really grow in caves."

"Couldn't it have been a fungus or a mushroom or something?" Arthur grumbled. "Because Merlin just won't shut up about flowers and feelings and all that ridiculousness."

"I think that that's his way of dealing with almost dying," Gwen replied, her laughter slipping away. She remembered how pale Merlin had been, the sweat running down his brow, that awful rash creeping across his body. "It must have been terrifying for him, and the only way he knows how to cope with what happened is through laughing at it."

"Laughing at me, more like," Arthur corrected, but there was no heat in his voice. His eyes were distant as he saw once again the servant lifting his hand in a toast, a few seconds of calm, then Merlin's entire body going limp and sprawling across the floor. The prince caught himself with a shudder. "Well. I suppose that there's no harm in letting him laugh, then. But I still wish it wasn't a flower." He nodded. "Again, thank you, Guinevere. I'll leave you to your duties now."

Gwen curtsied as the prince walked away, then continued along to the laundry room.

Without Arthur distracting her, she found her thoughts turning once again to Morgana's predicament. The maid offered up a brief prayer to all the gods she could think of that her friend and mistress was wrong, that her dreams really were just coincidences, that she didn't have magic, that they weren't both in terrible danger. But she couldn't help the dread curdling in her stomach because, well, she'd noticed how strangely prescient the dreams could be long ago. She hadn't thought about it—hadn't let herself think about what it implied—but she wouldn't be surprised if Morgana's suspicions were right. Dismayed, yes, and frightened, but not surprised.

She dropped the dirty clothing off with a laundry maid. Since they didn't have any more clean clothes for her to convey back to Morgana's chambers, she carted an empty basket into Gaius's chambers.

The physician in question was fixing his infamous stare of disapproval on Merlin, who was trying to remain unrepentant but failing miserably. "What did he do?" Gwen asked Gaius.

"He was running about the castle wearing himself out just a few hours after he woke up," the physician grumbled.

"No I wasn't," Merlin retorted. "I was walking, not running. There's a huge difference."

Gaius glared. Merlin squirmed.

"What were you doing?" Gwen demanded. "I know that the prince gave you the day off."

"Making arrangements for my sheep-smuggling ring," Merlin replied.

"Sheep smuggling, Merlin?" Gwen sighed, rolling her eyes. Honestly, he had such a strange sense of humor sometimes. But then, he had almost died. She should expect him to be even stranger than usual.

But still, sheep smuggling? Sometimes, she really wondered what on earth happened in that head of his.

Gaius cuffed his ward over that head of his.

"Ow," Merlin whined. Rubbing at the bump, he grumbled, "I thought that physicians were supposed to help invalids?"

"If you're well enough to smuggle sheep, you're well enough to handle a light tap on the head," Gaius retorted.

"Does that mean I'm well enough to get out of bed again?" Merlin asked hopefully.

Gaius fixed him with a long level stare before returning his attention to the amused Gwen. "How can I help you today, Gwen?"

"Morgana needs another sleeping draught," she explained. "Her nightmares have gotten worse again."

"They'll usually get better soon, though," Gaius reminded her.

"I know," Gwen agreed, "but the last draught you tried didn't work very well."

Gaius frowned but did not appear surprised. "Hmm…. I suppose there are one or two things left to try, but perhaps we should look at alternatives to draughts. Has she been exercising?"

"We usually go for at least one ride and several walks each day," Gwen answered. "She's a bit less active in the winter, but it's high summer now and she does tire out her body. It hasn't helped."

Once again, Gaius remained unsurprised. "Perhaps we should start monitoring what she's eating. There may be a pattern."

Gwen doubted that there would be, but she agreed to bring it up with her mistress anyways. It wasn't like monitoring Morgana's diet would hurt anything, and if there was a chance, however remote, that her nightmares were related to food, they should investigate it.

The gods knew it was certainly a more palatable explanation than sorcery.

Like her servant, Morgana was not at all convinced that diet had anything to do with her nightmares, and it took Gwen a long time to convince her that at least trying it out couldn't hurt. At worst, it would be a couple minutes of wasted time each day for a month or so. At best, they would discover some bizarre correlation with, say, roast beef.

"But you don't think it's food either, do you Gwen?"

She sighed. "No, I don't."

Morgana just nodded.

They started her dream/food journal that evening. Morgana dutifully recorded her breakfast, lunch, and supper before turning in, and she did it with a minimum of grumbling.

When Gwen returned the next morning, she found her mistress already awake. "Bad night?" she asked.

Morgana nodded. "I saw the creature again. Here. I've drawn it." She pushed a scrap of parchment towards Gwen. The paper was dominated by the black outline of a strange-looking creature, half-lion and half-bird. The beast reared on its hind legs, beak gaping, claws extended. "It's called a griffin, apparently."

"Griffin," Gwen murmured, leaning over to better examine the illustration. Morgana wasn't the best artist in the world, but she'd still captured the terror of the monster, the rage in its eyes. "Your dream man told you that?"

"That and more. Griffins are creatures of magic that can only be killed through magical means. If this is a true dream and there really is a griffin coming towards Camelot, then all we can do is capture it."

Gwen frowned. "Don't you think it's a bit premature to start plotting against it?"

"Better premature than too late!"

"You're right, of course." Gwen forced herself to think like everything Morgana's dream man had told her was true. "If this griffin is a creature of magic, can it be held with regular chains?"

"I don't know," Morgana confessed. "I didn't ask. I'll do that tonight."

The next morning, she announced that griffins could, in fact, be bound by ordinary chains, but that her hooded guide swore there was nothing for her to worry about. The griffin, he promised, would be 'taken care of.'

"And when I asked him what that meant," Morgana growled, pacing her room in frustration, "he just grinned at me and stopped talking!"

"But if his face is shrouded in darkness, how did you know he was grinning?"

"It was something in the eyes, I think," she grumbled.

But for the next week and a half, nothing happened. Life went on. Morgana's dream continued, not every night but several times each week. She dutifully recorded what she had eaten each day in the new dream journal, but, true to her predictions, it hadn't revealed any patterns thus far. Gaius told her not to be deterred and requested that she keep making entries until the end of the month. Morgana agreed more to humor him than from any real conviction.

She and Gwen danced around the topic of magic. They would never mention it directly, never use words like 'sorcery' and 'magic' and 'witch.' But they thought about it all the time. Gwen started having nightmares too, and like her mistress prayed that the things she saw at night never came to pass. The thought of Morgana burning at the stake….

No. It wouldn't happen. She wouldn't let it.

Besides, she told herself, it was only dreaming. Even if Morgana's dreams were 'special,' nobody needed to know about them. As long as she kept quiet about the details of her nightmares, quiet enough that no one else could connect the dots, she would be safe.

Relieved by the thought, Gwen brought it up the next day as she helped Morgana dress. For a moment, she thought that she had done it, had finally banished the cloud of gloom and fear that followed Morgana around like a perverse duckling. Hope brightened Morgana's features.

"You really think so?"

"I know so," Gwen assured her. "You don't need to tell anyone what you see. You'll be safe then."

The hope in Morgana's eyes dimmed. "But what if it's more than just dreams?"

"Has something happened?"

"No," Morgana confessed, "but I fear something will."

Gwen chewed on her lip. Her hands, accustomed to fastening complicated dresses, continued their work without faltering. "I…. I suppose that you'll have to find a teacher."

Morgana shuddered. Whether that was from the thought of contacting a sorcerer or of Uther's reaction to her contacting a sorcerer, Gwen couldn't say. She'd bet on Uther, though. "Any teacher would be in terrible danger here in Camelot."

"What about Tintagel?"

"Do you really think that Uther will let me wander off? And even if I could," she added bitterly, "I doubt that Cador would let me live there."

Gwen grimaced. Morgana's cousin had never been overly fond of her.

"But," Morgana speculated, "some of them can do that whirlwind thing."

"You mean the vanishing?"

"Exactly. If my teacher could just pop in and out of Camelot…."

"That would be brilliant," Gwen said, tying the last knot. "There. Ready to face the day?"

Morgana actually smiled. "Actually, I think I am."

They spent the morning in a meeting with the head of the weaver's guild discussing the knights' need for new cloaks and the severe lack of uniforms for guards. After the plague, Uther had started increasing the guard, and now the captain was out of uniforms for his new recruits. "Focus on the guards first," Morgana told the guildswoman, "and the knights second. They can afford to buy their own cloaks, and we still have a supply of spares."

"Of course, my lady."

After a quick stop to purchase lunch from a vendor, the two friends returned to the castle. "We ought to see what Uther's doing," Morgana decided. He often had tasks for her to carry out, and the guild meeting was the only thing on her schedule.

But Uther was holding court, listening to a scrawny, shaking peasant describe the plight that had befallen his village.

"It doesn't take livestock, sire," he said as Morgana and Gwen slipped in. "It prefers human flesh."

Uther stiffened. "And what manner of beast is it?" he demanded. "A rogue wolf?"

"No, sire," the man replied. "It's like nothing I've ever seen before, and I don't know the name. I fear it's a creature of magic."

"Fetch Gaius," Uther ordered one of the pages. The page saluted before scurrying off. "The court physician is very knowledgeable about creatures of magic. He will know what it is and how it may be destroyed. Until he arrives, tell me about the attacks in more detail."

The court listened with steadily increasing horror as the peasant reported the creature's depredations: children missing, human corpses discovered half-eaten and mutilated from terrible claws. But Gwen and Morgana had another reason to fear.

Soon Gaius arrived, and the peasant began his description. "It has the hindquarters of an enormous cat with a tassel on its tail. The front part looks like an enormous eagle. It's absolutely terrifying."

Morgana went rigid.

"Well, physician?" Uther said, turning to Gaius. "Do you know of any creature that fits this description?"

"I believe I do, sire," Gaius replied. Gwen's heart sank, for she knew what he would say before he said it. The maid slipped her hand around Morgana's. Morgana grasped her tight.

"It is called a griffin."

So if the difference in this story is 'Merlin is proactive,' why have Gwen and Morgana started their own AU story arc? Simple: Morgana can see the future, which has changed due to Merlin being proactive. Since it's changed from canon!future, she sees different things, which means that she'll do different things, including telling Gwen. Methinks that their friendship deserves more screen time than it got on the show, so they'll get the occasional chapter as they try to deal with this magical dreams thing. Not next chapter, though. Next chapter, Merlin makes an idiot of himself and the griffin gets 'taken care of.' See you on August 13!

Cador: In the myths, Cador of Cornwall was one of Arthur's cousins. He was an important war leader under the High King's command. Here, he's Morgana's cousin; his dad and Gorlois were brothers.

Alternate chapter title: "Wherein the Lady Morgana, Not Being a Complete Dolt, Grows Suspicious of Her Oddly Prophetic Dreams and Decides to Investigate"

-Antares