Third Person's Point of View
When Merlin woke, it was to the sensation of something soft against his cheek. He opened one eye warily, recoiling at the looming presence of a horse.
It snorted at his sudden movement, and walked a few steps away, grazing leisurely as Merlin propped himself up on his elbows and looked around. The light of day was fading quickly, and he could just make out the beginning of a sunset over a distant ridge.
To his right Morgana lay still, her dark hair splayed about her head, her face pale. Her calves to her feet were red with the blood of broken blisters caused by the flames that had touched and subsequently burnt her flesh. He lurched towards her, wincing at the pain in his bones. He touched his fingers to her neck. Her pulse beat steadily, her brow furrowed in restless sleep.
She was alive.
He would get them to Ealdor still, and she would be okay. His mother would help him to treat her burns and she would recover. Then he would talk with Arthur...
The recollection of what exactly he had just done hit him. He had revealed his magic in front of virtually the entire kingdom of Camelot. To save Morgana a part of him whispered.
He looked up at the sound of warning bells, chiming their escape. There was no time, he had to stop dawdling and they needed to start moving.
Merlin struggled to his feet, leaning heavily up against a tree until he'd gathered his breath. The horses he'd prepared grazed only a few steps away, their leads tied to a low lying branch.
He walked, slowly but somewhat steadily, to the horse Arthur had given him. It took a few clumsy attempts but he managed to get a semi-aware Morgana onto it's back, hoisting his saddle pack onto the second. He tied it's lead to his stallion's saddle and climbed on behind Morgana, pulling her to lean against his chest.
He clicked his heels into his horse's sides and they started off to the hunting party's trumpeting horns.
Arthur made his way to his chambers slowly and without a word, Guinevere at his side. She had not spoken since they'd left the square, her fingers twisted tight around the fabric of her skirt.
He opened the heavy wooden door to his chambers and ushered her inside, shutting the door with a wary gaze into the empty corridor.
The tapping of his boots echoed as he moved to his desk, sinking exhausted into his chair. Guinevere stood nervously by his bed, feeling the rough wood of the foot-board with her fingers.
It was as if she suddenly needed to touch something, to feel a sense of reassurance that whatever it was beneath her fingertips had to be real, for she could feel it. Magic could not be felt, it was in the sky, permeating the air around them. It was uncertain, unsubstantial, and it scared her that something she couldn't feel could be so devastatingly real.
"Did you know?" he'd dropped his head to his hands. He couldn't bring himself to look at her, for fear she would say something that could hurt him nearly as badly as Merlin's betrayal had.
"No." she perched herself on the edge of his bed. "How could he have kept this from me?"
"Do you think he saved Morgana?"
They spoke at the same moment, and looked up into the others eyes from opposite sides of the room.
"Yes. I have no doubt." she said. No matter the doubts she held in her head concerning Merlin's magic, his betrayal, she had to believe that he'd gotten to Morgana in time to save her. She had to believe, or all hope was lost. His sacrifice, his reveal, it would have been for nothing.
They tensed as the door was flung open, a guard standing somewhat awkwardly in the doorway.
"Sire." he glanced at Guinevere. "My Lady. It's the King. Gaius has asked that you come to his chambers."
His horse moved sure footed through the forest, threading around trees and brush without a sound. Morgana was limp and heavy in Merlin's arms, her head resting in the hollow of his throat.
Her long fingers gripped at his sleeve as they rode on, and in her sleep she moaned in pain. His heart constricted and he tightened his arm around her waist, urging his horse on. He knew it was detrimental to her health to ride through the night, but he felt there was no other choice.
He had no healing spells for Morgana's burns, and if they stopped for the night and made camp, he felt unsure of whether or not she would make it to Ealdor. He had from Gwen of the little bits of food she'd been fed whilst in the dungeons, and the circles under her eyes were evidence enough of the lack of sleep she'd gotten. With the stress of it all and her execution, her body had taken a heavy toll.
Striker was a strong horse, and he had faith that he would get them to Ealdor in quick time. It wouldn't be long now, a few hours at most. They were nearly there.
Gaius looked up solemnly as the King regent entered his fathers chambers, his gaze moving to the frail unrecognizable figure of Uther. Small and prone he lay on his back, propped up by a mountain of pillows.
He looked nothing like the strong man he'd been for so many years upon the throne. He looked nothing like a King.
He smiled at the sight of his son, a hand raising feebly. "Arthur. Come here my son."
Arthur moved to his bed side, reluctantly taking his hand. He'd nearly succeeded in having his sister killed only hours ago. But a part of him felt only pity, knowing his fathers plight against magic was fueled by fear.
And yet, what if Morgause had spoken the truth that day? He hated to entertain the thought after all that Morgana had endured at her hands, but perhaps she had been truthful when she had shown him his mother. What if his father had seen magic as a tool, and used it for his own gain when it suited him?
Who was he to decide whether it was used properly?
Who was he to decide who was to live or die?
"I want you to know how sorry I am. I am sorry there was a sorcerer living among us, I wasn't able to protect you from him."
His jaw tightened. As if Merlin could hurt him, he wouldn't dare to entertain the thought. At least not here, not now, where his father could take his doubts and twist them to his advantage.
"It's alright, father. I'm safe."
He shook his head, his brow shone with a thin veil of sweat. "No. I have only ever tried to do right by you and your sister, but I have failed. I'm sorry for that." he turned, coughing violently.
Gaius frowned, dabbing his head with a cool cloth. "I'm sorry Arthur. He'll be gone soon."
He nodded, squeezing his father's hand. For a moment he allowed himself to forget it all. He thought only of the man who'd raised him, who'd taken care of him his whole life.
He remembered when Morgana had come to stay with them, just a girl. She'd been so lost in her grief that she'd barely spoken a word. Uther had leant down and touched her cheek, and assured her she would always be safe with him.
They'd become a family, and it pained him to remember how close they'd once been. Rides through the forest, picnics by the lake, indulging in merriment they thought they'd know for the rest of their lives. When had it all changed?
He thought of these memories but he couldn't recall when they'd become just that, memories. And now he sat by his father's side, watching as he struggled through his last breaths.
"I forgive you." he lied.
There was no point to torment him as he died. What would he gain by causing his father to suffer in his last moments.
Uther smiled, and breathed in. He didn't breath out.
An owl hooted overhead and Merlin jerked, he'd nearly dozed off. Striker had slowed to a heavy plod, his sides heaving from their long journey he'd mostly run.
He narrowed his eyes at a light in the distance. As they neared, he could pick out a house from the dark shapes and shadows of the wood.
Weary but hopeful he slid to the ground, taking care to keep Morgana in the saddle. She leaned forward onto the horses neck, her arms circled loosely about it's neck. He could see his mother's house.
He took the horses reins and led him forward, keeping to the shadows. There was a shack behind the garden of the house, the perfect place to store the horses. It was just big enough. Hurriedly he ushered them inside, pulling Morgana into his arms.
She cried out in pain and he winced, carrying her as quickly as possible to the door in the back. With his foot he kicked at the door, praying to whoever it was that watched over him.
"Who's there?"
"It's me mother. Merlin." The door swung open, and the excited grin she wore quickly vanished. She held a lantern in one hand, the skirt of her dressing gown in the other.
"Bring her through, to the cot."
He ducked inside, the door clicking closed behind him. Hunith made for the hearth and lit a fire, lifting a heavy cast iron pot of water onto the hook above the starting flames.
He lowered Morgana onto the cot he'd once slept upon, cradling her head until it touched the pillow. She moaned as her body settled, her fingers unfurling from their hold on his shirt. He knelt beside her, taking her hand. She looked up at him through half-lidded eyes, sweat gathering on her brow.
"Here we are." Hunith came to his side, a damp cloth in her hand. She placed it across her forehead, cooing quietly as she whimpered. "Where is she hurt?"
"Her legs are burnt, and her hands. I should be able to heal her, I just-" he rubbed at his head. "I can't remember, there's a spell..."
She touched his cheek, stroking softly with her thumb. "It's alright. We'll make do."
He nodded, taking comfort in his mother's assurances. It had been so long, too long, since he'd been here with her.
"Now. I need you to get me some herbs from the garden. I'll make a past to dress her wounds. It should bring down the swelling and help the skin to heal." she moved down Morgana's body, lifting the dress to her knees.
He retreated to the door as she rattled off the herbs she'd need. He turned to see Morgana watching him go, her hand outstretched in his direction. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and walked outside, blinking back tears.
If she didn't make it... He shook his head. He could not entertain the thought. She was good, Morgana was a good person who'd been dealt a bad hand in her life. She didn't deserve to die like this.
She didn't deserve to die at all.
The sound of bells tolling the news of the King's death rang out in the night, waking the sleeping citizens of Camelot from their slumber. Arthur stood by his window, awake as he had been since the moment his father had taken his last breath.
Look down at the courtyard he almost expected to see Merlin fumbling with his armor or something. The sight of servant, and friend, disappearing in the middle of a storm cloud of magic wouldn't leave his mind no matter how strongly he willed it to; nor would the image of his sister burning at the stake.
Guinevere stood just outside his door, her hand raised as she struggled to find the courage to knock. The guard at the end of the hall watched her with muted amusement and she forced a smile, biting her lip as she forced her first to do quick rap.
Arthur appeared in the open door. "Guinevere."
"Arthur."
He stepped aside. She wrung her wrists as she stepped into his room, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. Candles were lit upon the walls, bathing the room in a warm golden glow, and the curtains were drawn tight across every window but one.
She couldn't help but notice it was the one overlooking the semi-dismantled platform, the burned and gnarled wood in a pile beside it. When it had become obvious Merlin and Morgana were not attempting to attack Camelot the people had gone to work putting out the growing blaze, dousing it in moments. She'd almost expected them to rise from the ashes.
"It's late." Arthur pulled her from her thoughts. She nodded.
"I know. I'm sorry, I just..." she trailed off.
Arthur walked closer, taking her hands gently. "It's alright. I think I understand."
"You do?"
He took her to the table by the hearth, sitting across from one another. "You're confused. As am I. I just don't understand how Merlin could keep something like this from me. I thought we were friends." he muttered 'friends' bitterly.
She narrowed her eyes. "Why would he?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"He is but a servant, and could you honestly tell me you would not have said a word to your father if he had told you? How was he to know he could trust you with such a secret?"
"I'm his friend, he should have had faith in me."
"But do you trust him? If he had told you would you have thought he was an innocent man? You have had time to think about this, and he isn't here to speak with, it's easy to say these things when he's not here to say them to."
Arthur looked into the flames.
"I'm sorry, I spoke out of term." she stood to leave. "I should go."
"No." he got to his feet and took her hand.
"I'm sorry." she shook her head. "I just, I can't bear to think that I will never get a chance to ask him any of these things. What if he never comes back? What if Morgana is dead? Did we get her back for so short a time only to lose her again?"
He frowned, feeling selfish. He had thought nothing of Guinevere's feelings through all of this. He pulled her into his arms, resting his cheek atop her head. They held tight to one another, taking comfort in their solitude.
Morgana had fallen asleep some time ago, her legs and hands coated in an herb paste and wrapped over with cloth. His mother had taken great care of her, and had started a stew above the hearth.
He watched her work as his thoughts strayed to Morgana and the guilt he felt. He had the ability to take her pain but was unable, all because the stress of the day had made it too difficult to bring to mind a simple healing spell.
His mother was positive Morgana had developed a fever, and had covered her in blankets to help her sweat it out.
"Are you ready to talk?" Hunith leaned over him, handing him a bowl. He sighed.
"I outed myself to all of Camelot."
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