Third Person's Point of View

She remembered to release the binding on Hunith's home as she knelt beside her third patient. While she'd by no means succeeded under Gauis' brief medical tutelage, she knew more than most. And with her minimal skills she did what she could for the injured scattered among Ealdor.

An elderly woman held out more bandages as she packed them onto a boy's leg wound, his teeth gritted in pain. The sword had gone deep, but he'd be alright. Her magic probed his blood and found no damage to nerve or muscle, only flesh.

"Morgana." She looked up as a flushed Hunith appeared, her eyes alight with horror at the carnage that surrounded them.

"Hunith. Could you make more of that paste? The salve you used on my burns? It should do well with some of the baser injuries." Her guardian nodded, briskly making her way back to the cottage. Morgana watched her go for a moment, allowing selfish thought to take root. What would she think of her when she knew she was responsible for this destruction?

The boy at her side moaned and she turned back, applying more pressure as she tied the cloth around his makeshift bandage.

After all had been tended to, Morgana made her way to the well in the village center. The front of her dress was stained with blood, her hands drenched. She suspected there was a bit on her face too, from when she'd rubbed her cheek with the back of her hand.

"Morgana." Hunith stepped towards her, grim faced. Her dress hadn't fared much better.

"They came for me." She murmured, though she had a feeling Hunith already knew.

"But why?" she touched her arm, but Morgana shrugged away. She didn't deserve comfort, this was her fault.

"The last soldier confessed he's a part of a larger army, though he wouldn't say who leads them. It seems they're more terrifying than even I."

Hunith gripped her shoulder, tilting her chin up. "You did what you had to do to defend this village, to defend me. No one blames you for that."

She looked away. "There wouldn't have been anything to defend against if I hadn't been here."

"There are too many what ifs to consider, and there's no point to dwelling on it. All we can do now is move forward, and do our best to protect the ones we love."

Morgana nodded. She looked around at the village, at this quiet place she'd begun to think of as a haven. It had been her shelter for only a few fleeting weeks, but she'd felt safer here than anywhere else in her life, excluding her birthplace.

"We should bury the dead, and make for Camelot."

"So soon?"

"It's the safest place there is. When these men don't return, they'll know I'm here. Most like they'll come for me again, in greater numbers. It's a foolish risk to stay." She glanced up, at those still left alive. They huddled over the injured and wept over their lost friends and family. It was cruel to make them leave so sudden and without time to grieve or honor their dead, but this was war now. If they stayed they would perish.

She couldn't stomach the thought than any more innocent people would die for her.

"My Lord, they've not yet made an approach. Their camp is stationary." Leon reported.

Arthur frowned, glaring down at the map upon the round table. The army was close, too close for comfort, yet they hadn't made a single move to surround them. It was as if they were waiting, or biding their time. But for what?

"What are they waiting for?" he pondered to himself.

"A weapon?" Merlin guessed.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "And what would that be?"

"How should I know, you're the brains aren't you?" he smirked. Arthur appreciated his friends attempt to bring levity to the situation, but it was for naught. His kingdom was in danger, his people were threatened. And there were more innocents in Camelot than ever, with the druids added to the population.

But his thoughts retuned to Merlin's suggestion; a weapon. Perhaps there was some credibility to the notion. Why else would they wait so long? Perhaps for a leader?

"Have the missives been sent yet?" he asked. Merlin nodded affirmatively.

He'd sent letters to all corners of the five Kingdoms, hoping – though begging was a more appropriate term – for assistance. This was what their peace treaty was meant for, but it was so new and delicate. He could only hope his sudden declaration for magic would not cause them to ignore his pleas.

The door creaked open and Guinevere made her way into the throne room, smiling softly. "Any news?" she asked, coming to his side and placing her hands on his shoulders.

Her very touch soothed him, her fingers kneading gently into the knotted muscle the tension had created. "None." Merlin answered.

He felt her nod behind him, her touch trailing across his neck as she took the seat beside him. "It's been days. The people are restless, the knights even more so. I only wish there was more I could do to help." She laid her head on her hand, feeling exhausted. Arthur tucked his arm around her waist, tenderly brushing a curl from her eyes.

Their moment was interrupted as a Knight strode purposefully into the room, his gaze seeking out that of his King. "My Lord." He bowed at the waist.

"Yes."

"There is a group of fifty-odd people at the gates. They beg entrance, and one of them has asked to speak with your personal servant; she claims to be his mother."

Merlin started, instantly alert. His mother? Here in Camelot? And what of Morgana?

He lurched for the door, his feet pounding through the halls. He made his way down the citadel steps, chest tight. Something was wrong, something had to be terribly wrong for either of them to leave Ealdor. His thoughts swam with visions of Morgana, dead in the grass, her blood pooled around her.

He thought of the words he'd written to her, and how not-enough they'd been. They would never be enough. A few measly letters detailing his affection for her and no more? He felt a fool for not saying more when he had the chance, though he had to remind himself he did not know the truth of what had happened. There was still hope.

He took a horse from the groomsmen in the courtyard and made for Camelot's gates, the wind at his heels and nary a concern for the people who leapt out of his way.

His heart was leaping by the time he reached the wrought iron arches. Through the gates he could see the group of travel worn villagers, shouting pleadingly at the knights in front of them. As he dropped from his horse and foisted his reigns upon another, he saw his mother.

She stood at the front of the crowd, silent, her gaze roaming searchingly over anyone who approached. "Mother!"

Her eyes snapped to his, a smile stretching across her lips. "Merlin!" she called.

The clatter of hooves striking stone cut through the noise as he pushed past the knights, and he turned to see Arthur and Guinevere appearing behind him. He looked back towards his mother as the King commanded the villagers be allowed inside, reaching out for her.

She threw herself into his arms, squeezing his waist with considerable strength. Her hand reached up to cradle his head. "Oh my son." She breathed.

He pulled back, "What happened?" he tried to convey his desire to know of Morgana's whereabouts through his gaze, knowing that speaking her name with so many prying ears nearby would be foolish.

Arthur and Guinevere stepped up beside him as she prepared to speak, her cheeks flushing at the attention she was thrust under.

"We were attacked. They struck down many, and we have injured among us. I was lucky enough to have hidden from their sight, and they did not find me. By the time they left, we were given the impression they would return." She glanced at Merlin with an expression he couldn't quite decipher. "The people of Ealdor seek asylum in your Kingdom, Your Majesty." She attempted a curtsy, though it was obvious she was exhausted from the journey.

Arthur bowed to her, leaving the older woman plainly shocked. "I commend you for your bravery, Hunith. You will have shelter, and whatever else you need within my walls."

From behind him Guinevere smiled proudly, then offered a hand to his mother.

"If you'd come with me." Hunith nodded, gladly accepting the help.

"Hunith, if you would, I do have one question." Arthur said.

She turned, "Yes Your Majesty?"

"What did they say that left you believing they would return?"

She looked to Merlin, and her gaze said what she could not. This had to do with Morgana. "Perhaps we should talk of this in private. War is not meant for delicate ears." She smiled at the curious children and folk watching from their doorsteps.

Arthur nodded, leading them all to the citadel from atop his horse.

Morgana held her cloak tight around her, fingers trembling. It mattered not the years of good memories she'd made in Camelot; it only took the single horrific event of her execution to set the worst of terror into her bones again.

She hated the fear this place instilled in her, hated that it made her flinch from every person who stepped past her. She held the most immense power at the tips of her fingers, and yet she'd never felt so weak.

Hunith slipped in beside her, jostling through the crowd as Guinevere led them to the Citadel. She reached down and held her hand, smiling softly in what was most likely meant to be encouragement. But Morgana could take no comfort.

Though her hair had been lightened and her eyes darkened –both through magic– she felt as though she radiated with guilt, and that any moment someone would realize who she was. She strode with baited breath, anticipating pointed fingers and angry shouts.

Hunith squeezed her hand, anchoring her back to the present as Guinevere stopped in front of them. She was stunned to realize they were the last left in the hall from their traveling party. "Hunith, if you'd follow me to speak with the King?"

Morgana allowed herself a moment to look over the woman she'd once known as her maid. Her hair had grown longer, and she wore a velvet gown of deep blue that skimmed the stone floor. She looked the very image of a Lady. Pride welled in her chest.

"Of course." Hunith murmured. "My ward will be joining us, if she may."

Gwen's brow furrowed, but she nodded. "Of course."

She led them through the hall to the throne room, though Morgana could have found her way with her eyes closed. It seemed she would not have recognized the room itself, she thought, as she found it very changed.

The dais upon which the throne had sat, and Arthurs and hers with it, was now burdened with tables bearing fruit, bread, and cheeses. In the center of the room, where men and women of the court would once stand to perceive the happenings of court, rested a grand round table.

In the seat at the far end was the King, and beside him Merlin. At the sight of Hunith, Arthur stood, his knights following.

"I suppose that is all there is for now, continue to your duties." At his words the armed men dispersed, leaving only the five of them in the cavernous room.

Morgana took a breath, allowing the visage of the young blonde woman to fade from her. She lowered her hood, looking nervously upon the people before her.

Arthur startled, coming round the table in a quick flurry of movement. "Morgana," he breathed. He embraced her tightly, arms around her shoulders. He held tight to her, his head bent into the curve of her neck. She felt every part of her relax, limbs tight around his.

She hadn't realized how badly she'd needed this comfort. Arthur's warmth surrounded her. For a moment, she could pretend they were young again; he'd found her crying after a nightmare –somehow he'd always known when she'd had one– and crawled into bed with her, hugging her tightly until she'd fallen back to sleep.

Morgana pulled back, keeping him close. "I'm so glad to see you're alright. When I saw Hunith, and the rest of them, but not you, I feared the worst."

"Well no need, as you can see I'm perfectly well."

He smiled, though she could see the exhausted circles that rimmed his eyes. Guinevere came to her side, pulling her into an embrace of her own. She murmured her own words of happiness before standing back, gesturing for her to take a seat at the table.

Merlin took the one beside her, and beneath it he reached for her hand, squeezing tightly to convey his relief. She held tightly to him, uncomfortably unfamiliar with the feeling of overwhelming safety he seemed to rouse in her.

"Morgana, what happened?"

She frowned. "It was a small group, though you wouldn't know it by the damage they caused. They came for me. They wouldn't say who."

Arthur straightened. "Who would want you?"

She shrugged. "Any number of those I've caused harm I suppose."

"Don't act the martyr 'Gana, it doesn't suit you. Is there anyone you could've personally harmed who holds the power to raise an army? Because I can't honestly think of anyone."

"I can." She murmured, shooting him a sardonic smirk.

He rolled his eyes. "Well, present company aside, I don't see any viable reason whoever's leading this attack on Camelot could possibly want with you."

"A weapon." Merlin uttered.

Her head swiveled. "What?"

"Arthur, we thought they were waiting for a leader, or a weapon. What if Morgana was their intended weapon? What if they hoped she would join them? Rally to their cause, whatever it might be."

Arthur shook his head. "That's a risk, attacking the village she's staying in on the chance she might join them?"

"I don't think they were asking." Morgana said. "They seemed much more intent on capture, and they weren't too keen on taking me unharmed."

Merlin scratched his chin. "It doesn't make any sense."

"No. It doesn't. But we don't have time to continue pondering what their motives for taking Morgana might've been, and we need our rest if this is truly going to be war." Guinevere spoke up, standing from her seat. The rest of them followed suit. "Hunith, allow me to bring you to one of our guest rooms."

Hunith nodded gratefully. "I'll walk you to your old chambers." Merlin murmured, somewhat questioningly to Morgana.

She nodded. Though this place left the bitter taste of resentment on her tongue, her rooms felt somehow untouched. Plenty bad had taken place in those walls, and yet she still felt safe. Perhaps due to the memories of her time with Gwen, when they were both young; or of she and Arthur, playing hide and seek as children. She'd always chosen the wardrobe, and he'd always pretended not to know.

"Morgana?"

"Yes. Just a moment." She felt her eyes burn as she whispered softly beneath her breath, her long dark hair lightening to a summer's glow, her irises darkening in the same manner.

When she looked up, Merlin was gazing at her with something like wonderment. "What?"

"Nothing. I just never realized how much I prefer you the way you are."

She blushed, though she blamed it on the rosy cheeks of her disguise. She bid goodnight to her brother and the others, then took Merlin's arm.

She left the hood of her cloak down, doing her best to stride confidently beside him. His fingers squeezed her arm tight, and he looked down on her softly. She smiled back at him. She felt safe walking with him, but she hated that it took his presence to make her feel so.

Once she had been strong and needed no one to instill security in herself, but then she thought maybe none of that was real, and it may have all been just a part of Morgause's façade.

Merlin tugged on her elbow as she drifted into her thoughts, bringing her back to the moment as they approached her room. She looked down, embarrassed at having been caught wandering in her own head, yet again.

He looked around the empty hall and slid his hand down to grasp her own, her body flushing in response. She'd missed this, the feeling of his hand on hers, the warmth of his person. Her skin shivered at the contact, and she knew he felt it. His grip tightened.

The time they'd had together, while their feelings had been realized, was short and somewhat fleeting. But it was stronger than anything she'd ever felt before in her life. She was frightened of it, but she desired to wholeheartedly embrace it.

His gaze darkened as they crossed her threshold, the heavy door swinging shut behind them. So quickly a startled gasp left her lips, he had her pressed against the door. His hands framed her face, his lips finding hers in a brusque breath-stealing kiss.

She responded in kind, her fingers climbing up his back to grasp his neck. He pressed into her bruisingly, his knee between her legs. She moaned, and he smiled into her mouth.

"Have you missed me?"

She laughed hoarsely as he kissed down her neck, lingering on a faded bruise. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"I would." He nipped at her jaw and her eyes fluttered.

"If I had to say," his hand squeezed her waist. "I suppose I did. Miss you. Only a little."

She felt absolutely boneless as he ran a hand down her waist, the other up towards her breast. She gripped the hair at his neck, fingers curled through it as she pulled him back to her for another kiss. She felt every touch ignite her blood, sending an icy-hot sensation through every limb.

It was like something in him called to her; she could feel her magic straining at the edge of her flesh, as though it desired to burst from within her. She pushed herself further into him –though it didn't feel possible– lifting a leg to pull him in closer, her heel pressing into the back of his thigh.

He hissed, biting down on her lower lip. She roamed her hand down his chest, fingers pulling at the ties of his tunic. Her leg dropped as he pulled back, purposefully dragging the shirt up and over his head.

Somehow this had become so much more than she'd anticipated, and to her bewilderment she wasn't frightened or anxious. She wanted this. Wanted him.

She turned, gathering her hair to one side. His fingers raised goosebumps along her skin as he ran them down her neck, then unlaced the ties at the back of her plain frock. It pooled at her feet and with it she left her plain leather boots, until she stood before him in a short white undergown.

She'd thought in this moment she'd feel embarassed, or trepidation, but all she felt was need. She needed him, and she wasn't ashamed of it. She stepped forward, hands on his chest, until he stepped backwards. He walked until his knees hit the bed, and he fell to lie on his back.

She crawled on top of him until she straddled his hips, leaning down to kiss him, her hair on either side of his face like a curtain. For a moment they slowed, became gentle, as his hands framed her face, and his lips touched hers so softly. She could feel his love for her like a fact, in every motion between them.

His touch drifted until his hands were at her waist, bracing her as he rolled them so he lay atop her. His weight was heavy, but pleasant, and he stopped to look down at her. He ran a finger down her cheek. "I love you."

She nodded, and in this moment she found she did as well. She leaned up and kissed him, her legs coming to wind around his waist. He dropped into her, their actions becoming more frenzied. Their lips came together in a bruising kiss, and for a moment she could've sworn his eyes were liquid gold.

so wow this took a long ass time, but i picked up again yesterday and banged this out overnight. i really wanted to get 3k words and im pretty proud i did, might not seem like much but it is to me. anyways i hope you guys like this one i worked pretty hard on it, and please let me know if my attempt at my romance was totally botched 'cause i don't really know how it came out. comments are appreciated, hope this update is pleasing